Draco Has Never Been Good At Waiting.

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

if you are lucky you will love someone and their hair will thin and their breasts will sag and you will kiss them everywhere over and over again

Oh, there is thunder in our hearts

asunder gotta be one of the top five ways to be torn

SNOGGING !!! ;3

#Flirting… kind of

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

Another three for three!

<- previous

XXVI. Droplet

Drip. 

A drop, a twitch of  his eye.

Drip. 

Another, the rustle of fabric.

Drip.

Draco’s eyes snapped open.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The percussion of water hitting the floor reverberated across his skull. With every droplet on the floor, cold and dull, the snap of wood, a fitting couplet.

A whine broke through the tune and a warm body covered his, heavy and real. He let the slow breathing hymn lull him to sleep.

XXVII. Grow

Draco had shown tremendous amounts of growth since the past year.

“Does this outfit say, ‘I’m a well-adjusted member of society?’” However, some things never changed.

“The blue looks good on you,” was Harry’s cute but unhelpful reply.

“God, you’re useless.”

XXVIII. Verdant

The courtroom was bleak and grey, exactly as it was last time.

Now there were verdant eyes that looked at Draco as he spoke. And so he knew this time it would end differently, no matter if the verdict were to be the same.

all entries read on ao3

[Podfic] Dearest by hoko_onchi (M, 32 minutes)

Draco and Harry accidentally activate a marriage curse and move into a cottage. With chickens.

Harry and Draco, and CHICKENS! I loved hoko's story and wanted to podfic it, so here we go with my first podfic!

Head onto AO3 to listen to this tale of chickens and domesticity and if you enjoy it, feel free to kudo and leave comments there and on the original work!

Story by @hoko-onchi-writes | Art & podfic by @stormy-sky-art

I couldn’t not draw him as every one I thought of ok?

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.

When I was seven I spilled glitter all over my bedroom floor. It was a glorious, sparkling chaos, and even as I got yelled at, I thought how beautiful it was, golden glimmers winking at me in the sun.

Despite multiple attempts to clean it up, every now and then I’d still catch a glint, now and again, in between the cracks in the floorboard, the bottom of a drawer or caught in the tread of my slippers. I am three decades older and have moved house six times since then, and the other day I opened a box containing bits and pieces from my childhood (old toys, diaries) and a small shower of glitter fell once more to the floor.

All these years later, and my beautiful mistake is still ingrained into my universe, impossible to extricate or forget.

Remember me, the glitter says, bright and bold and irrepressible. Remember how happy I made you for one brief moment before you spent your life trying to get rid of me.