Like Wine.

I'm so mad at people who hate on Cissy because she betrayed Bella for her "useless husband and son". Like, you guys aren't looking at this deeply enough. The emotional/mental capacity of Narcissa. Heck, the entire emotional/mental capacity of the entire Black family and maybe even Lucius. You guys aren't looking into the emotional turmoil Cissy must have been in because she had to choose between family. The angst potential of the entire family of Black and Malfoy is tremendous. The whys and the hows.

I have so many WIPs that if only I knew how to work with myself, I’d have finished or at least made sm progress. I’m trying to actually plan my fanfic now but am struggling. Some of these WIPs will never see the light of day so I’m thinking of just posting them as prompts or headcanons

Shout out to my writers that don’t plan their fics at all. Readers be like “I can’t wait to find out what happens next!”

Babe me too

I'm pretty.

That's what they tell me. People like me, they like my face. They say I'm beautiful. But it is as they say: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Those are not my eyes.

For when I see myself, I see a horrendous amalgamation. I stare into my reflection and I see the rot of a hateful person. I always wonder how people can see beauty in that face. The fat in my cheeks, the uncanniness of my face, the creepiness of my big eyes, my oily nose, my big chapped lips, my cheeks filled with imperfection. I don't have awful break outs, I don't have awful acne.

I can say I'm thankful for that.

But sometimes, there would be a too red spot in my cheek, or a red dot accompanied by two others. Sometimes my pores look too big. My lips, chapped and dry and ugly as I am on the inside.

They say I'm pretty.

I say thank you, but I don't see it.

I know what lies beneath that deceptive beauty that I cannot see. What lies underneath is hideous, repugnant person whose heart is filled with hatred that it drips out of every pore on her skin, rotting her teeth, wrinkling her skin, greying her hair. Her hatred so abundant that it fats her up.

She's ugly.

I'm ugly.

Why can no one see that?

The ugliness she harbors, why can no see that!?

Pretty? Is this what beauty is? The cruel, violent, angry thoughts that floods her mind constantly until she hallows herself out with how deep she buries her hatred and her anger and her emotions; she buries it so deeply that she digs the hole to the other side of her and it drips out for the entire world to see.

I can't see that "pretty" that they speak of. How can they say I'm pretty? When I lash out, when I speak with vitriol lining my every word, when I stare with swirling storms of vexation. What is pretty in my ugliness? What is beautiful about my hatred?

How can they see beauty in me, when all I see is every single negative thing to exist in the world in every piece of me?

They don't know me.

They are so blind as to who I am, to what I am, that they can see my being in rose. And I wish they will never take off those glasses. I cannot bear for them to see what lies beyond the rose hue of their view.

I'm pretty, they say.

It makes my skin crawl with disgust, my mind cloud with disbelief, yet it warms my heart, makes my stomach giddy. I am giddy. I am disgusted. I am an amalgamation of contrast, of duality. I smile, say thank you. While the monster that is my reflection stares at me, a constant reminder that I am an imposter of beauty.

I'm pretty, they say.

And I pray,

That in their eyes, it stays that way.

The only reason I tagged Muraskibara was that this was meant to be a fanart. As you can see, it did not work out. The base pose was from Pinterest though I forgot who the original artist was.

I legit watched "Willow" just for Tony Revolori, I will cry if they release season 2, like, 12 years later and it's not Tony anymore. I nearly cried when Graydon died but kept my hopes high, because if there's anything fiction is good at, it's never killing off characters.