Natt (nattish) wrote,
Natt
nattish

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I inflict upon you the HORROR of my artwork.

Ah, terribly sorry, katiethewriter and psychobarfly, that the picture of the crooked-faced baby Harry did not work. It works now I am sure.

I have such troubles with drawing faces! I do not claim to be an artist, but this is disgraceful. My Paint Harry and Draco creations were better than that and now this...! Ah, well. It is a progressive thing I suppose--drawing, writing, painting, and all that. Practice makes perfect and all that nonsense. NO. Practice makes certain that you are reminded that you are a weakling.

A very nude, young, Remus Lupin with an "S" necklace, which preferably stands for Severus (*flaunts Severus/Remus*), though it could very well stand for Sirius if that is your favorite. Done from a photograph because I do not claim to have such skills as to draw what is from my head. DI-fecking-SIST!

I will textually CRITICIZE you, Lupin: Your head is deformed, your hands are dainty, your pubic hair is tidy. Fecking werewolf.

Drew him a month ago. You will now attempt to enjoy his awkwardness. *shame*





Did I tell you? I have a rubber duck on which I have bestowed the name Snape. No really, his name is written in black ink on his ducky body. Snape is a good duck, and like the original Snape he likely rarely bathes (or at least he has issues with shampoo). I have found a bit of "poetry"--poetry is perhaps a leap of a title, as my attempts are rather weak and silly--that I wrote several months ago about my rubber Snape. It has nothing to do with The Snape and everything to do with a duck named Snape.

Snape: The Rubber Duck

A wisp of wind flows jauntily
Around my wings and cape.
I cannot fly, but still I try!
I am the rubber Snape.

Hopping, stopping, huffing, pouting,
None of this will do.
I cannot fly, but still I try!
I practice whole days through.

Other duckies point and laugh
And prod and glare and snicker.
I cannot fly, but still I try!
Their taunting makes me quicker.

I gasp, I puff, my cheeks do flush
Throughout my flapping spree.
At last my heels have left the ground
One inch! Now two! Now three!

The winter gusts are underneath
My shiv'ring ducky toes.
Oh! The weightless feel of flight's
More darling than Love's Rose.

Fatigue does flood with fated force
My striving little wings.
I dared to fly, and passersby
Called it a feat of kings!

Tags: experimental/drabbles
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