Thus the muses spake:
"JK you dealt kinda shittily with Dumbledore and other diversity aspects, so we’re gonna go ahead and fix this ourselves"
In other news A+ headcanons from the HP fandom.
My favourite recent thing is HP headcanons about a more diverse student body.
oh yeah baby ignore me harder
“Even this cherished body is like an autumn flower.
In an instant, it is destroyed by the frost of impermanence.”
He carefully peeled off the backing of the sticker and placed it on the flat surface just below the green traffic light. He shimmied down the tall pole a fair distance, then dropped the rest of the way to the pavement.
Creeping along the shallow streets as a distant flickering memory of the past and future, the hooded figure slunk toward the next intersection.
The following miniature billboard already had the adhesive backing exposed by the time the next spot was caught his eye; he was a bipedal hawk scanning the distant horizon for a place to throw up the carnage of his mind in a place where the herbivores could see it. The crimson octagon was left with a sticker that read-
“Let them eat cake.”
He saw them coming before they saw him going. Into the alleyway he slipped, flat on his stomach, as the search light quickly scanned the negative space between the parallel walls. They didn’t find what they were looking for.
He slashed through yards, front and back, with instinct telling his feet where to step next, which branch was sturdy enough to hold all one hundred and seventy three of his pounds. Swiftly tip-toeing as a three dimensional shadow, Ruinous was a whisper of the wind; there, here, gone. Jagged shards of early autumn crunched beneath his feet and swirled in cyclones behind him as he distanced himself even further from the wicked gargoyles in their killer-whale-skinned automobiles. Down one shortcut and up another he flew.
He was pinned between a wall and a large network of sap and branches when-
Click… Errrrk… Crunch, shk, shk…
Ruin saw them look away for just long enough, and was gone. He was a madman swimming again through the iron forest, defeating justice in order to give justice. Running, jumping, dodging, ducking, weaving, blending with geometric shapes; he was a drop of water in a vast ocean of darkness and unforgiving acreage. He leaped over moonlight puddles, finding solace in the spaces between illumination.
Four blocks away…
Passing the library at the witching hour gave such a strange sensation of floating right off the face of the earth. The only things that seemed to chain him to terra firma were the stickers and markers in his pocket and his thoughts; all were so laden with the ability to enlighten that they nearly tore a hole right through him.
The lights were off inside, only the external greeting lights were on and the parking lot was a deserted chess board. On the whole, the scene was a polar opposite of its daytime normality, as was everything in the city: the mall, the schools, downtown, the birds, the dogs and cats, the people, and even Ruin himself was nocturnally reversed.
Three blocks away…
He kept walking, slowing his pace a bit, but he was still aware that they were looking for him. There were a few times when he thought they might have found him, only to turn around and find thin air.
Two blocks away…
After climbing through the tall bushes that bordered the railroad tracks, he was suddenly transported to an ever changing art gallery that was washed a pale milky blue- the same color as his breath that floated and curled into the air as he checked the long cinder-block wall for new additions. It had been painted over about a month previously, but a few familiar names were trapped in beautifully intricate two-dimensional prisons on the surface. Ruin imagined how all of the pieces could be behind oversize panes of plexiglass; how a summer sun might reflect off of warm brass railing; how thousands of people would line up and pay good money to see the worlds greatest art exhibit. Ruin’s middle of the night daydream slipped away from him when he heard the distant rumble of a train careening towards him, only a few hundred feet away. He hugged a corner created by the wall and a shrub and slunk over the cinder-blocks seconds before the trains single sallow light could find him in the foliage.
The silent open parking lot stood before him, its ledges, boxes, and rails were painted and speckled from years of use. A reel of ghostly stop-motion animation clicked to life in his head, transposing all of his old sessions onto the concrete and steel. He wandered through the small unused business park in the direction of his house, and still, the film kept going in vivid, fully-chromatic bursts of reminiscence. Beautiful streaks and trails of light flew past him and were gone as soon as they came, only to be replaced by more.
He decided to leave one last thought to linger on the city, this time the victim was a dirty gutter. After pulling out his can of bright red and removing the lid, he painted:
He walked quickly down the street a while to his house, went inside, and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He looked out of his window on the third story and found red and blue lights coming up his street. He undressed and got into bed, a warm smile crossing his face as he drifted to sleep.
The paint and dirt on his hands was not his own, for it was everyone’s paint and dirt being channeled through him.
* * *
That I’m going to be back on tumblr posting my nonsense. I doubt I have any followers left, but a vacuum is better than Facebook. Besides, this site has cooler shit to look at.
Get ready for sweet tunes and chill writing. As well as other shit I want to post