Here Is How Draco Impregnated The Living Savior Of Wizardkind.

So many people who love generative AI don't have a creative bone in their body and can't imagine anyone actually enjoying the time and effort it takes to write something or draw something.

SNOGGING !!! ;3

VII. Yawn

<- previous day

After the first accidental encounter with Potter in the kitchen, they kept running into each other. At first Draco thought nothing of it. He got in, made his tea while Potter’s loud machine worked, got his breakfast, and got out.

One day, Potter said, “I made extra, want some?” And Draco stayed around while they ate in silence.

The next day it repeated and before he knew it, they started eating breakfast together.

Draco would go in while the growling machine spat out coffee and the frying pants sizzled. He made tea while Potter loaded their plates. They atd together almost like in school but now at the same table. Across from him, Potter’s hair was still a mess but he wore his sleeping clothes; still bare feet and eyes red from sleep.

Throughout the meal he’d yawn and zone out. But everyday he was in the kitchen and everyday Draco showed up.

next ->

prompt list previous days

i no longer respect the hustle i want universal basic income and dignity for everyone

“I feel like I’ve forgotten something,” Ron says, patting his waistcoat down distractedly.

“It better not be the bloody ring,” Harry grits out, teeth clenched with anxiety, nerves coursing through him like electric currents as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

“Nah, mate,” Ron grins. “Don’t you fret.”

Harry gives a choked laugh. “Me? Never been calmer.”

“Picture of serenity,” Ron agrees.

“Exactly.” Harry takes some deep breaths, shaking out his hands. “Oh god. Why isn’t he here yet? I just want this to be done.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“It is romantic,” Harry insists. “I want us to be married now. Or fucking yesterday.”

“Language!” Hermione whispers from the front row behind them, but she’s beaming and already crying a little, hands over Hugo’s little ears. Harry grins back, feeling so painfully excited. He’s a little worried he’s going to throw up from it. The thought of it makes him laugh, imagining Draco’s face if Harry was sick all over his custom-made white robes, spun from fucking unicorn hair or mermaid silk or whatever. God.

And then a hush falls over the crowd, and there he is, looking so fucking beautiful as he strides down the aisle, robes billowing behind him, sun gleaming in his hair, eyes fixed firmly on Harry. Jesus fuck. Harry's crying now too. He can't look away. Draco is a vision, glowing, his haughty, pointy, beloved face softened with something that looks like awe, disbelief. Harry can relate.

"Hey," he chokes out, when Draco reaches him.

"Hello," Draco murmurs, his mouth pulling into a grin. "My god, Harry, control yourself."

"I can't," Harry sobs. "Ugh. Fuck. I love you."

"We're not at that part yet," Draco reminds him, gripping his hands tight, radiant.

Ron puts a hand on Harry's shoulder, passing him a handkerchief. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Harry beams, wiping his eyes and looking back to Draco. "Are you?"

And Draco, grey eyes bright, nods.

Forgotten 💍 Day 11 of @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean’s prompts. Full collection on ao3.

what is HAPPENING

Is it crazy to wanna be a dishwasher?

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no sentence fills me with utter loathing so much as "i asked chatgpt"

To know and not to know; to be aware of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies; to simultaneously hold two opinions which cancel out, knowing them to be contradictory while believing in both of them; to use logic against logic; to repudiate morality while laying claim to it; to believe democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy; to forget whatever was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory at the moment it was needed, then promptly forget it again; and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself—that is the ultimate subtlety: to consciously induce unconsciousness and, once again, become unconscious of the hypnosis you have just performed.

I found this poem in an old notebook and I'm a bit shocked at my own writing.