President Zelenskyy Is A Stronger Man Than Me Because If Two Ignorant And Deluded Men Like Trump And

the world is running out of glassblowers and yet you want to become a fucking doctor

XIII. Beware

<- previous

Draco missed the writing in small script:

Beware to only add .05mml of bauldee extract at a time.

“Fuck,” is barely out of his mouth before the cauldron in front of him blew up.

“Draco?” Potter yelped as the crashing sounds of feet on wood descended towards the temporary lab. He stepped through the door, hair a mess, glasses nearly falling off, and chest heaving with each breath. “Are you okay?”

“I almost died again but it should be fine,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Draco!” Potter yelled once again and started moving forward.

“Stop!” Draco immediately shouted and Potter at once obeyed. “Vanish the potion vestiges, they’re lethal.”

“What the fuck,” he whispered but still complied all the same. “Everything’s good now?”

“It should be.” Draco brought a hand to his forehead—he hadn’t even noticed how sweaty he’d gotten—and continued moving it toward his hair, brushing it softly. When he pulled his hand back, locks of hair came with it.

“Shit.”

next ->

prompt list all entries

“some people don’t deserve redemption” redemption isn’t something that’s deserved, it’s something someone does. it’s making the choice to change the way you live your life, to be better, to do good things instead of bad things and try to make up for the bad things. and everyone can and should do that, at any time, no matter what they’ve done. we can’t change the past, but we can choose what kind of person to be now and in the future. we have the responsibility to do so. it is so completely not about “deserving.”

my girls 💌

III. Coffee

<- previous day

One unlucky day, Draco overslept. He walked into the kitchen for a late breakfast but Potter’s already there, a loud muggle machine making aggravating noises. He stood against the counter with a faraway gaze, his hair ostensibly sleep tussled, an oversized shirt draped over his frame, and bare feet on the linoleum floor. Whether he’d just gotten out of bed or was trying out a new look was unclear. It’s always hard to tell with Potter.

As Draco entered the room, his sleep-addled mind couldn't help but blurt out, “What on Earth is that?”

Potter snapped his gaze towards Draco, coming back from wherever his mind had went. “The coffee machine?” he asked confusedly.

“I refuse to believe that thing brews coffee.”

Potter didn’t respond and proceeded to press a button, and coffee spilled from the machine’s mouth into Potter’s ugly sienna colored mug. He handed the mug to Draco, who hesitantly took a sip.

It tasted entirely mediocre and incredibly bland, perfect to Potter’s taste. “I’ve had better,” he spoke truthfully and handed back the mug. Potter shrugged and went on to add—certainly an unhealthy—high amount of sugar to it. Still with the same mug, he brought it to his lips, inches away from where Draco’s had been, and sipped the coffee.

Draco’s breath momentarily hitched so he turned around and asked Kreacher to bring breakfast to his room.

next day ->

prompt list previous days

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by @letteredlettered

I love this fic, and the quiet deep feelings combined with fun spy plot. Not sure what about it told me it needed pink geometric animals but that’s what I’ve gone for and I kind of love it!

XVIII. Oval

This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean

<- previous

“Glasses?” Harry asked from beside him.

With his eyes closed Draco reached for the floor, searching until his hands touched an oval shaped object. Then he silently handed it to Harry and went back to dreams of golden light and green eyes.

all entries next ->

On a fateful day in sixth year, Harry follows Ron and Hermione into the hazy, vapour-filled dungeons for their class with Slughorn. Breathing in woody, floral fumes, he opens up an old annotated copy of Advanced Potion-Making for the first time.

That year, he kisses Ginny Weasley for the first time, too.

He also slices Draco Malfoy open in a bathroom.

Ten years later, he finishes up at his desk on a Friday evening, chucks the latest case notes into his bag, and wanders down to the D.M.L.E. potion lab. Technically, at this hour, there should be no-one here, but he's not surprised to find a pale blonde head bent over a row of steaming cauldrons.

"Shouldn't you be home by now?" He drops his bag on the floor, hoisting himself up onto the benchtop.

"Funny." Malfoy doesn't take his eyes off his task, peering at the dark, pearly liquid. It looks vaguely familiar. “Shouldn’t you?”

"Not like it matters," Harry says, gaze catching on the damp curls at Malfoy's nape. "Nothing to go home to except more case notes."

"Oh, the life of the Chosen One. Scintillating as ever." Malfoy stirs the middle potion clockwise, then counter-clockwise. "I'll be sure to write to the Prophet tomorrow, first thing."

Harry snorts, and Malfoy grins, wiping his brow with his sleeve. He begins stirring the potion closest to Harry, counting under his breath. Spirals of steam twist languidly in the air as a comfortable silence settles in. Harry breathes in deep, slow, recognising the warm, clean scent of Malfoy’s cologne. He’s sure he could pick out Malfoy blindfolded now, after five years of working together in close quarters.

"I should go home and use my own lab," Malfoy murmurs, brushing his hair out of his face again. "The temperature control charms here are shit. I'm sweating my fucking balls off right now."

Harry can't be blamed for what he says next; he's trying very hard not to think about Malfoy's balls.

"Well, you smell nice, at least."

Malfoy looks at him sharply, a strange look on his face. "What?"

Harry feels a heat creep up his neck that has nothing to do with humidity. "Er, your cologne. It's nice."

Malfoy carefully places the ladle down on the benchtop. "I'm not wearing cologne today."

"Oh." Harry breathes in, helplessly, wishing he would shut up even as he keeps talking. "It smells like your cologne in here." Too late, he remembers where he recognises the pearly sheen of the potion from. Sixth year. Slughorn. "Ohhhh, shit. Is that—"

"Amortentia," Malfoy breathes, crowding in between Harry's knees, and then—he's kissing Harry, kissing him hard, tugging at his hair, shoving a hand up his t-shirt. Shock, hunger, hot and electric, shoot up Harry's entire body and he pulls Malfoy hard against him, desperate. Malfoy's tongue is in his mouth. Harry wants to climb inside him.

Finally Malfoy pulls back, breathing hard. "It smells like me? Really?"

"Yes," Harry groans, chasing after him. "Yeah, this whole fucking—" Harry gasps, clutching Malfoy closer as he sucks at the skin below Harry's ear, "—room smells like you. Oh God. Fuck, fuck, don't stop—"

Draco doesn't.

Floral 🌸 Day 6 of @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean’s unofficial microfic may challenge

the "canon isn't real we make our own rules" to "i am begging you people to revisit the source material" pipeline