Animagus 🐾

I feel like pirating media that isn’t sold or offered anywhere legally anymore shouldn’t be called piracy. Girl thats archaeology

knives out 4 should be set in a papal conclave and every time they elect a new pope he keeps getting murdered. black smoke white smoke black smoke white smoke the crowd goes huh?? they have to make benoit blanc a cardinal to get him inside the room and he insists on bringing his husband, because they were on vacation in rome when this all started and phillip wanted to see the sistine chapel but it got closed for conclave. to use himself as bait benoit has to get elected pope. except then he catches the murderer before he can get murdered and now he's stuck as pope. gay married pope, oops! is this anything

May Daily micros. Prompt 12: bear

Ongoing story. Prev parts: 1. key 2.black 3. coffee 4. pathetic 5.hang 6.floral 7. swell 8.crystal 9. puzzled 10. scene 11. forgotten

It was the very first thing that struck Harry about Malfoy—the snowy white of his hair, the sickly pallor of his skin, the colourless gleam of his eyes. It would have been obvious to anyone.

But Harry was eleven. He didn’t have words for these things. He wasn’t worldly. Far from it.

All he knew was that he couldn’t look away.

And then the boy opened his pale, thin mouth—and ruined it.

After that he couldn’t bear him. His pureblood sneering and his bloodless, icy appearance. 

Couldn’t bear any of it. And yet... he kept on looking.

since we were eighteen

For @drarrymicrofic prompt: "18" by One Direction. I went through like four different ideas/drafts for this prompt but this is what I got lol

"Did—did you know?" Draco asks, eyes downcast like he’s talking to the sidewalk.

Harry's throat is tight. "No," he says. "I didn't."

Draco presses his lips together and nods. He still doesn't look at Harry. "I see."

It’s quiet in the dark alley behind the pub, but Harry’s ears are full of static. He knows he needs to talk more; needs to stop Draco from filling in the blanks of Harry’s silence with his own assumptions. He knows Draco's guard rises with each second he lets pass without saying some version of what he’s thinking, which is, ‘I didn't know. But god, I wish I had.'

"It was Eighth Year, for me, " Harry says instead.

At that, Draco looks up sharply. Their eyes meet, and Harry sees the flare of hope on Draco's face; feels it in his own chest. "What?" Draco whispers.

"That's when I realized. For me, I mean," Harry blushes. "I obviously didn't know about you until, er, now. Like I said."

Draco blinks. "You mean to tell me you've been—"

"Yes."

"So all this time we could've—"

"Yep."

Draco closes his eyes and looses a sigh. When his eyes open again, he looks at Harry like the snitch in a tied Quidditch game. "Can I—?" His voice breaks, and his eyes fall to Harry's lips, and that's all he needs to say.

Harry sucks in a breath, and nods. Draco strides towards him and pulls him into a bruising kiss.

When they finally pull apart, Draco presses their foreheads together. "Will you say it?" He whispers. "I said it. And I know you implied—but I need to hear—"

"I love you, too," Harry murmurs. He presses a kiss to Draco's parted lips. "I'm in love with you."

Once you start thinking about humans as a species in a biome, it affects your entire way of looking at normal things.

The other day I referred to female morning joggers as an 'indicator species' in that if you see women jogging in the dark it means that the environment provides migration pathways (sidewalks, clear signs) and doesn't have any known predators of female morning joggers (guy with knife, bear, BigTruck, male morning joggers).

Though, I think that people consider framing humans as animals reacting to their environment as rude.

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I’ve probably said this before but having every good and service turn into a subscription model is one of the worst new developments of our era of capitalism. Like yeah, shit sucked before but it didn’t suck for 19.99 a month indefinitely. This some new shit.

Calling the shooter Luigi, or vice versa, even if you are praising them both, indicates that you believe cops and their word, even if only to some degree. That you trust them. That even when they're wrong, they're still right.

Luigi is innocent. The shooter did nothing wrong. They are two different entities. DO NOT confuse them for each other. We have no solid proof that Luigi actually did the deed. Don't just take their word for it.

disapousing news💥

Kreacher has been staring at Harry for weeks.

He opens the door to his bedroom each morning—Kreacher’s right there. Staring. The first two days, Harry shouts in surprise. By day three, he’s resigned to this strange new habit.

When he gets home from practice, Harry sheds his muddy trainers at the door and wanders down to the stone kitchen for lunch. Kreacher creeps after him down the hall, and every time Harry turns, the elf stops, staring.

“WHAT?” Harry bellows. Kreacher just stares harder.

Then he starts leaving weird shit around the house.

The first thing Harry finds is a little wooden box. The lid is etched with intricate carvings. Harry fires off five seperate cursebreaking spells that Bill had taught him after one too many fanatic mail incidents. The box is harmless.

Harry remains suspicious.

Next, it’s a finely crafted brooch. Harry has never seen it before in his life, and now it’s in the middle of the kitchen table: clearly intended to be some sort of message, although he’s got no fucking hope of decoding it.

The third item is a delicate golden ribbon, colour shifting as he picks it up. The fourth is a tiny dragon figurine of polished bronze.

“Kreacher,” he yells. “What does this mean?!”

Kreacher appears with a pop. Stares at him some more.

Harry gives up. He stuffs the dragon, ribbon, brooch and box into his coat pockets and apparates directly to Hermione’s poky little office, pushing the door open impatiently.

“Hermione, can house elves go senile?”

She looks up, bent over a large, complex looking tome. Malfoy, writing notes with an elegant grey quill beside her, does not. Harry still finds it weird that they work together. Every time he stops by, Malfoy ignores him, and today is evidently no different. Fine by Harry.

“Harry,” Hermione says exasperatedly. “Kreacher isn’t senile, he’s just—“

“Watching me like a weird creepy shadow? Leaving random shit around the house and refusing to tell me what it means? Look!” He pulls the items out of his pockets, chucking them on the desk one by one. “What the fuck is any of this shit?”

The little dragon lands in front of Malfoy, whose hand suddenly stills. He looks up, smirking, and meets Harry’s gaze. “Potter.”

Something clenches in Harry’s stomach.

“Your house elf is telling you it’s time for the Heir to the House of Black to start courting.”

Black ♣️ Day two of @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean’s unofficial microfic may challenge