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@drarrymicrofic

50 words for the prompt: "wound"

Harry taught himself some pretty complex charmwork in order to surreptitiously add "Draco Malfoy" to his clock. He initially thought it hadn't worked, because surely it shouldn't point so often to "Mortal Danger", even in Azkaban? He wound it daily, living for the day it would move, permanently, to "Home".

(subconsciously inspired by the latest microfic by @geesenoises)

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Book launch poster for A Power Unbound, book 3 of Freya Marske/@fahye's spectacular The Last Binding trilogy which has completely taken over my brain for the last few years. See the ones I did for book 1 and 2 here (they do look nice all lined up, if I say so myself!)

This book has so much cool action and twists and turns, and one of my favourite romances of all time (it's somehow the softest and the spiciest). Added all the other characters as well because I adore them, the most hyper competent yet chaotic protagonist group ever to run amok in 1909.

my The Last Binding tag, and my art tag

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A Marvellous Light promotional art, part of a series for Freya Marske/@fahye's stunning The Last Binding trilogy. See the ones for book 2 and 3 here!

My intend was 'how can I pour as much of my love for the arts and crafts movement in one painting'. It's what Robin would have wanted.

(Please also check out this perfect Edwin song that I listened to for weeks while painting.)

my The Last Binding tag for more of these two softies, and my art tag.

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[ID: youtube comment from Hal Sawyer:

My favorite relic English still used everywhere is the word "the" used in phrases like: "the more I look at this, the stranger it seems, or "the bigger they come, the harder they fall". This "the" is not the article of any noun, it is a different word, a conjunction descended from the old English "þā", pronounced "tha" which means either "when" or "then". Back in early Middle English the structure "if - then" had not taken over and if you wanted to express an if - then relationship you said "þā whatever, þā whatever", meaning "when such-and- such, then such-and-such". "þā" sounds almost the same as "the" and the spelling of the two converged, but the meaning remained totally different. "the more, the merrier" literally means "when more, then merrier" or "if more, then merrier'; same as centuries ago.

end ID]

this is so cool

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My mom has tick-borne encephalitis. She's a shell of herself at the moment.

This is a reminder that there is a vaccine (that she did get and still she's been sleeping about 18 hours a day for a week so far) and you should definitely get it if you live anywhere that's highlighted in red on this map and you go outside and/or have pets that go outside, because this virus is truly terrifying, trust me.

Source : Im, J. H., Baek, J. H., Durey, A., Kwon, H. Y., Chung, M. H., & Lee, J. S. (2020). Geographic distribution of Tick-borne encephalitis virus complex. Journal of vector borne diseases, 57(1), 14–22.

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50 words for @drarrymicrofic prompt wound

To reach for you is to reach into the burning flame. Each stolen touch you bestow, is both a blessing and a burden, a divine pleasure and a mortal curse.

Gladly I will wait my love, in the suffocating dark, enduring these wounds until you accept me into your light.

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for the @drarrymicrofic prompt slander. 700ish nsfw words (below the cut). Thank you @holygnocchi for the speedy beta!

SEXY SCOUNDREL SCORES SULKY SAVIOUR?

Draco Malfoy, notorious former Death Eater and all around n’er-do-well, was spotted on 22 June flirting over Fortescue’s with none other than the legendary Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter. Potter has not been romantically linked to anyone since two years ago when he ended his engagement with….

Harry slammed the paper onto the table between them. “There. You got your Prophet headline. There’s even a picture. Are we done now?”

“Darling,” Malfoy said sarcastically, “we’re just getting started.”

Malfoy had shown up for breakfast — which was not, actually, a meal that Harry typically ate. Being keyed into the Grimmauld Place wards had been one of the terms of Malfoy’s blackmail, and he’d been abusing the privilege for the past two weeks.

He looked far too well for this early in the morning. He was wearing jeans (jeans!), which were clean and flattering, a shirt that was tighter across his chest than any shirt needed to be, and the slight curl of his shiny hair was slightly damp from the shower — which, unfortunately, Harry now knew meant he’d already had his morning exercise.

Harry took Malfoy’s commitments to physical fitness and early mornings as further proof of his still-evil nature.

Also. There was the blackmail.

“What more could you possibly want?”

“I have a few ideas.” Malfoys eyes raked him up and down and Harry shifted back, wary, in his seat. Harry was wearing threadbare pajama bottoms and a shirt that read “All my squeezes love Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” He had not yet showered. That weekend.

The bitter screw of humiliation tightened in his gut. Malfoy just sat there, staring and smirking, and Harry had had enough.

“You know what?” Harry half-yelled, rising from the table. “Go on and tell them! Tell the papers, tell my boss, tell whoever you want! I’d rather be sacked than spend another second with you in my house or my life.”

Malfoy looked unbothered. “Are you sure about that? You haven’t even heard what I’m going to ask you for.”

“I don’t bloody care—”

“A shag.”

Dumbstruck, Harry felt his mouth open and close. Like a fish. He might as well have been underwater: it suddenly felt very difficult to breathe.

“Everyone already thinks we’re fucking,” Malfoy added. “So why not?”

“To be clear,” Harry said slowly. Disbelievingly. “As part of your ploy to rehabilitate your image, you’re blackmailing me into sleeping with you.”

“Well.” Malfoy said thoughtfully. “I'm already blackmailing you. I’m offering to sleep with you. Considering the way you’ve been panting after me the past few weeks, I would say I’m doing you a favor.”

“Panting—”

“You don’t really want me to tell the papers what I know. And you don’t really want me to leave, either. I think what you really want is to get down on your knees and put my cock in your pretty mouth.”

Speechless. That was this feeling. Total inability to speak. There were, actually, no words in the entire scope of the English language sufficient to encompass the absurdity—the outrage—the disgust… Harry had never—he would never—

“Never,” Harry finally choked out. “Get the fuck out of my house, Malfoy.”

Malfoy didn’t move. He settled back further in Harry’s dining chair. The fucker actually spread his legs a little wider.

“No,” Malfoy said.

“I can make you leave.”

“But you won’t.” Malfoy’s hand drifted down to the front of his trousers.

“I—“ Harry would not be goaded into a schoolboy argument. In his own kitchen. At eight o'clock in the morning. If Malfoy wanted to test him—fine. Harry would make him regret it.

It took two strides to reach him and kick the chair out from under his stupid, creepily long legs. It took one hard yank from Harry’s hands to pull him up and throw him against the wall. Malfoy’s smug head made a very satisfying thunk against the greasy, dusty plaster.

Malfoy’s eyes were burning, matching the two flaming peaks of his sharp cheekbones. “Harder, Harry,” he said mockingly.

Harry was going to kill him with his bare hands. He said so.

Then Malfoy shifted his hips, pushing them against Harry’s. “Is that a killing curse in your pocket, then? Or are you just happy to see me?”

“Fuck you,” Harry said, desperately, and dropped to his knees.

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lemon is so so so fucking good in sweet food and savory food and spicy food and salty food and drinks. she has it all

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top 3 places to bleed out:

1. the snow

2. your lover/best friend/homoerotic comrade’s arms

3. bathroom floor

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HANG IN THERE BABY!! instagram | bluesky | patreon

‼️prints here

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Okay, so I'm /actually/ about to write a porn fic to AO3, and I'm interested in knowing what the difference is between the M rating and E rating. Able to enlighten me?

Mature is ‘and then they made love.’ Explicit is ‘and here’s how they did it exactly.’

To wit: mature.

He looked at the envelope, spread out before him.

God, he’d never been this hungry.

Could he be gentle enough? Slow enough? He didn’t want to damage it, didn’t want to do anything he’d regret… but no, no, it seemed the envelope wanted this as much as he did. It slipped into his hands, it folded as he asked. When it was time for more, the card was waiting, and he somehow knew exactly what to do. He moved with his correspondence in a dance as old as the mail system, and when it was over, he was smiling and the envelope was completely, thoroughly sealed.

Explicit:

The envelope waved its flap in the air slowly, gently, and he could see the faint shimmer of the adhesive traced along its fold. It was like a taunt, a dare: won’t you? And he would, oh, God, he would, lifting the envelope firmly to his lips, licking slowly at first, then faster, more firmly, tasting the envelope’s essence, the faint bitterness, the sweetness to follow–

Oh, he couldn’t help but smile at how it felt in his hands. It was so perfectly folded. Its paper was rough against his fingers, and its crossed folds shifted slightly as it opened for his eager tongue. Yes, yes…

Now the card, and his hand trembled as he lifted it, as he held the envelope, stretching it wide. Would it fit? Oh… oh, yes, it would fit, it slid in smooth and quick and filled the envelope to bursting, oh, made for each other, and he smiled in delight at how perfect it was.

He was ready. Now, now, now: with one swift movement he folded the flap over and he pressed, yes, he pressed the flap down and it stuck, God, it stuck perfectly, and he closed his eyes in bliss.

Afterwards, he stroked the envelope, and thought about addresses.

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Malfoy

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Slander

“I heard Malfoy’s giving decent head in the prefects’ bathroom for a sickle a go,” said Seamus, not troubling to lower his voice. “No more Manor house airs for some, hey?”

Finch-Fletchley guffawed, and Ron snorted before he caught Hermione’s glare.

Harry bowed his head to his essay, a convenient place to fix his eyes so he didn’t have to look up and see how Malfoy was reacting on the far side of the eighth year common room.

But before Harry could put quill back to parchment, a voice cut through the laughter and chatter: “It’s a galleon.”

“What?” said Seamus.

It was Malfoy, rising and making some fine adjustments to his school jumper, as if it were not visibly shabby and outgrown. “It costs a galleon,” he said, all vinegar and ice. “And it’s not decent, it’s fantastic.”

*

It was fantastic, though this was the first time they’d tried the prefects’ bathroom.

Draco swallowed neatly, rocked back onto his heels, and looked up at Harry.

“Make sure you tell Finnigan,” Draco said, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, and left.

184 words for @drarrymicrofic prompt “slander”. Thanks to @citrusses and lately for the impromptu beta work when I sent a Google draft from my cruise ship.

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That's not fair.

(If you want to see me vent I'm on tiktok, @cryingbard)

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ray bradbury

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Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I'm Leaving Without You) by firethesound @firethesound

This fic... THIS FIC. If you know, you know. It’s one of my all-time favorite fics, and I had to pick it for the #TreatYoShelf2025 exchange. The story is about grief, and it DESTROYED me (and I dragged some of my friends down with me, cause why the fuck not, right?).

As I read it, the whole concept basically came to me all at once, because there’s something so surreal about living in a world after the love of your life has died. Salvador Dalí’s The Persistence of Memory fits this story so fucking perfectly, I can’t even explain it, and in a way, I feel like I don’t have to.

I sobbed while reading, talking about, typesetting, and binding this fic — and I even teared up while taking pictures of it. Talking about self-care, huh? Cry it out and give yourself time. That’s what I call self-care. Do things you love, for yourself, and let yourself feel all the feelings. Be kind to yourself. Allow yourself to cry when you need to. Time will heal. It doesn’t last forever. Nothing does. No one does. It does get better.

Anyway. First time using printable Canva and just — Look. At. This!!! Don’t even get me started on the perfect charms I managed to find for this project, or the drawings I did for the typeset. And again — if you know, you know. (The mugs!!! The jumpers!!! The ring... Fuck, I’m actually crying again as I type this lol.)

Typeset and artwork by @jessonel :)

Except for the part that is clearly Salvador Dalí, obviously, hah.

More photos here (fucking Tumblr limit)