Children Please Stop Calling The Slightest Hint Of Sexual Desire “gooning” I’m Going To Strangle

if it sucks hit da bricks <- litany against sunk cost

take it easy but take it <- litany against burnout/apathy cycle

fuck it we ball <- litany against perfectionism

now say something beautiful and true <- litany against irony poisoning

Pathetic

Despair-infected walls rose up around Lucius, back still straight in pathetic mimicry of a past identity. Harry found it deeply satisfying. 

Lucius stared at him.

“I’m only going to tell you this once: stop writing him.”

Lucius cracked a dry, empty smile. “He’s my son, Potter. You can’t stop me.”

“Try me.”

Man, we have got to stop treating art like it has an expiration date. That show stopped airing? Doesn’t mean it can’t haunt your every waking thought. Everybody’s into this album, but you don’t have the energy for new music right now? It’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready. That movie’s fifty years old and indie as shit? Incredible, you have the chance to share it with folks who might never otherwise feel that particular punch of delight. Books don’t go bad. Shows inspire fandoms decades after they’ve wrapped up. We’re still looking at cave paintings and statue work from ancient times and letting the joy of creation bring tears to our eyes. That’s the point of art. It’s as close to immortality as we ever get. Why try to give that magic a shelf life?

WAKEY WAKEY

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

The Graduation

ITS THAT TIME….

When I say “I love this artist” I either know 5 of their songs that I play on repeat or I know their entire discography and you just have to guess which one it is

microfic prompt | day 2: black

They sit in the centre of the orchestra—expensive seats for opening night. The boy is rapt by the overture, but grows inevitably restless, like all six-year-olds would, by the third aria. Harry watches from up in the mezzanine as Draco pulls Scorpius into his lap, rocking him softly to the opera singer’s bellowing vibrato. He’s asleep in Draco’s arms by the finale of the first act.

He’s still asleep when Harry approaches them outside, under the marquee, with a sea of gowns and tuxedos passing around them.

“Potter,” Draco says, breathless and familiar, like it hasn’t been seven years. Like he hasn’t been caught in a world-ending lie. Like he isn’t holding the end of the world in his arms. “So, you’re back.”

“I’m back.” Harry keeps his shaky hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring and staring at the black curls tucked against Draco’s pale neck. Sorrow sings through him with all the power of a chorus.

“I thought he’d have your hair,” Harry says.

о/