Another Day Of Harry Simping Over His Dearest Enemy

undertow

prompt-a-day may 2025 | day twenty: reverie | word count: 292 | daily prompts courtesy of @peachydreamxx & @uncannycerulean ⋆˙⟡

_ _ _

The sea swells like a symphony, and Harry finds himself tangled, untethered, in the reverie.

The tomb is here, he knows it, he knows it, but there’s no simple way beneath the surface, no path through the craggy caves, the harsh caps of them splitting the water like sentries.

There’s a sound over the wind, a sharp, singular tone among the roaring rip of the current. Harry listens again, the water pulling at his clothing— denim laden-down, his hoodie turned a vice.

The sound comes again, echoes off the cliffside, high and hollow. Harry strains toward it, as the deep strains toward him.

Then, clear, breaking: “Potter!”

It’s no small thing, to keep a broom steady in the gale that swirls over the sea. But there he is, upright, if not wind-blown. Draco.

Harry goes to call, but finds his throat raw, salted and aching. How long since he’d last spoken?

He raises his arm, as high as he can manage (half-mast, and flagging).

Enough— it’s enough. Draco dives for him, unflinching. His gloved hands snatch at him, pulling, lifting. The mechanics are dodgy, his grip precarious, but in the moment he pulls Harry over the broomstick, he begins their escape, coaxing the steadfast Nimbus skyward.

The ascent is slow, and speech near-indistinguishable, but Draco is undeterred.

“Idiot!” he cries, and Harry realizes then— exhaustion finally overcoming him as he slumps, boneless— that he may actually be crying.

He wraps his hand around Draco’s. Sorry, he thinks. I’m sorry.

“Yo— ne’er le—ve my si—,” Draco is shouting, the storm stealing half of it away. “Once I ge— you o— land, I— goi’ to toss y’ back i— the sea!”

Land, Harry thinks, sleepily. Land, and Draco.

Yes, he’s feeling rather better already.

I just know that dating her must be a nightmare.

The tik tokification of 'bad words' like sex/seggs suicide/unalive pedohile/PDFile grape/rape only originally censored because of moderation rules but now in colloquial (online) speech is going to send me to an early grave

emptying and reloading a gun with practiced efficiency so you think i'm an expert marksman but you later find out that's just how i stim

You don’t own fanfics. They’re inherently public domain because they aren’t your IP. Agree or disagree with AI, there are no grounds for “protection” from AI because it isn’t your IP to begin with. That’s what you chose when you chose this medium

Oh dear.

Okay, you get an answer, because at least you took the effort to write your ask out properly, even if you are hiding behind the grey, sunglassed circle.

Do I, or any fanfic author for that matter, have any legal claims to our work? No, not really, no. (Although if someone took a fic, filed off the serial number--deleted the fandom specific elements--, and then had it published for financial gain, yeah, that would be a case.)

BUT

Fandoms are built on a social contract that says we respect each others work, the effort people put into their art. We don't steal or disrespect the work of our peers. By feeding people's fanworks to AI you both steal and disprect it, and we need to make people realize that before it's too late--before fandom falls apart, because there will be no more real, actual fanworks.

Disrepectfully,

Orlissa

(i can't believe I have to say this)

Putting together a mood board for this year's art new years reminders:

I. Key

It was tiny and cold in Draco’s hand. It was entirely muggle and completely stupid. It was the key to Draco’s new prison.

Potter had gotten him out of Azkaban and in turn sealed his fate to a different kind of punishment. His own sadistic way of forcing Draco into repentance.

“You don’t actually expect me to use this,” he told his tormentor.

“How else are you gonna get in?” There was an edge to Potter’s voice, a dam on the verge of breaking. Draco despised whatever was holding it back.

“It can’t possibly be safe,” he rebutted while inspecting the small object. It was a valid concern to have.

“The wards are safe enough, this is just a way for you to get in without apparating.” It was true enough but knowing it didn't make him feel any better.

“What if I lose it?”

“You’ll have to wait for me to let you in.” Draco made a face and Potter sighed. He leaned against the wall and his shoulders slumped. The dam had broken but behind it wasn’t the flood Draco was expecting. “Look for some place else if you don’t want it.”

“I’m just going through the logistics. No need to be so irritable.” 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” he said, walking away and muttering under his breath. Draco could barely hear him saying, I’m gonna regret this. 

He’ll use the floo for the foreseeable future.

next day prompt list

my girls 💌

hang

There’s a moment that feels, every time, like suspension. When I can smell the wind off his skin and feel the heat of his gaze but I can’t taste the press of his lips. Not yet.

And every time, I hang there, strung up in the wires that run between my flighty eagerness and his silver restraint, until he sees whatever it is that he needs to see.

And then—he kisses me, and I land safely, swiftly. Every time.