In Regards Of The Trump Government Scraping All Trans Inclusion In Its Queer Information Portion Of Its

microfic may day 1: key

drarry, 229 words. tw for drugs.

“It’s a what?”

“It’s called a key Coco, calm down.”

“How am I supposed to calm down? You bring me to a muggle club, procure a bag of god knows what, the floor is sticky-”

Draco is interrupted mid-rant. Harry is smiling at him fondly and his eyes are flickering with the oscillating disco lights. There’s a hand on his shoulder and the world narrows to a single point.

“All you have to do is breathe it in. I’ll go first.”

It’s strange for Draco to see him like this. His hair is wild and his shirt is unbuttoned more than it should be. Harry puts his house key into the small plastic bag and Draco watches every practiced tap of his fingers as he sifts the white powder into the tip of the biggest crevice of the key.

Harry grins and it’s all teeth, split slicked, reflective like a mirrorball. And then he lifts it up.

A short, sharp pull of air. A sniffle.

“Your turn.”

And Draco feels the hesitation on him, the twitch in his upper left cheek that Harry obviously knows to look for, and clearly, has found.

“I promised. I’ll look after you.” He’s earnest. Sincere in a way that makes Draco gag a little, but what can he do other than take a deep inhale and trust every word that he’s been given?

day 4: pathetic

drarry microfic, 333 words

The weight of the curse is heaviest in moments when Draco catches Harry looking; his gaze a loaded, lonely thing across the High Table.

It should remind Draco of a time when they, too, were only children in this very same room—but years have softened the edges of Harry's glare, turned the devoted heat of his hatred into another, a sweeter form of passion altogether.

It's just Draco's luck that Harry is too scared to word what Draco can't—no Malfoy of his proclivity has been able to properly court, or even voice whom they desire. Not until they've produced an heir.

Threads of fate and duty woven together, always, always for the likes of him, cruel where they mark bleeding lines around his heart, as if he doesn't have enough.

Still, Draco's eyes must not lie. Nor does the returned fondness of his touch when their fingertips brush and linger over a cup of sugar. But Harry's gaze just keeps shifting between his porridge and Draco, one corner of his smile sad, and Draco wonders how he doesn't notice when he's studied his every move for years.

It's pathetic—really.

Luckily, there are things even Draco's ancestors hadn't thought of.

Because it's been years since Draco has known; it's this, him, and if Harry hadn't approached him for help, taken that potion, Draco would have rather chosen to die with the curse, with lonely nights and an empty house, for all he cared—if it wasn't with him.

The curse made it so that he couldn't have any of it—but when Harry rises from the table with his hand on his swollen stomach like he does each morning now, a tiny sprout of hope springs inside Draco, too, as if he were the one carrying their child. That in three more months—he might just get it all.

Threads are easy to weave into new shapes, after all, once something as simple as a sprinkle of chance joins your side.

There’s a reason why enemies to friends to lovers is my favorite trope.

My first ink art

all these gay girls are like "wow i want a big lady to step on me" but where is the love for short girls stepping on you? short girl intimidating you with her presence and body language alone until you fall over and she steps on you?? short girl taking down a girl who's much taller than her and making her submit??? where's the love for my shadow of the colossus bitches???

not to sound like a christian facebook mom but some of yall need to have grace in your hearts for the people in your lives or the people you pass once on the road and never see again like you literally need to stop assuming the worst of everyone and their intentions it is poisoning your brain. you can be careful and responsible without being a miserable person. it is possible i promise

quick drawing i did instead of paying attention to my online class xd... i've been thinking a lot about spiderman harry x journalists draco, but i've only done this drawing about that one au 😥

Doomed yaoi forever

Ps: im new here I have no idea how this app works

get sugared (bamboozlers edition)

Microfic May: Day Five

Hang - Dronarry (157 words)

Ron’s shoes are kicked off inside the door, scarlet robes thrown at the wall in a hope that they’ll miraculously hang themselves.

From upstairs, the cadence of the shower changes as someone moves beneath it.

No. Not someone.

Some… two.

His shirt is next, lost halfway up the stairs as he trips himself closer, whilst his trousers end up draped on the bannister. He’s just in his pants when he pushes the bathroom door open, half-hard and thanking the Gods for an early finish.

They don’t notice him at first, too wrapped up in each other. Harry is gasping, breathy and loud over the top of the water fall. Head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, fingers tightening in the shock of silver-bright hair. He’s close, Ron can tell.

Draco’s on his knees, looking as utterly perfect as usual even with his mouth full. Especially with his mouth full.

Harry’s eyes snap open. “Ron.”

Ron steps straight in.