I was scrolling through Instagram when this popped up and I had to write this little bit-
Once upon a time long long ago when the fastest mode of transport was a ship with a wee bit of borrowed pixie dust, there was an island ruled by a dragon. The few people who had not managed to escape during the tantrum teenage years of the dragon when even a small irritation made them burn a village now lived in peace with it. All was going smoothly when the villagers realised that the dragon had not been seen for a while. Fearing it's death they went to its cave to visit it. The healer realised that the dragon was bored. After some concocting a plan the villagers sent out 'prophecies' to five kingdoms near their island which tasked the prince of the kingdom to come alone to their island(if not alone a curse would befall their country, if they don't send the prince the same thing happens and so on) and slay it. The villagers knew no one could slay the dragon because it was immortal and just hoped that it would enjoy it's little play things and then story follows
All these sweet roommates to lovers fics should always highlight a phase during roommates where they despise each other so much one wouldn't care if the other got ill because of their action :)
If you do this with my fics, or anyone's fics, please know I HATE you. I hate you more than every troll comment, every "your writing sucks kys" comment, every "update soon" comment. I hate you. Other authors hate you. If you want my fic, you either WAIT for it or you pay me for it. And if you won't do one of those things, you don't deserve my fic or anyone else's.
my dad took me to see brokeback mountain in theaters because it was not even a little bit promoted as a queer love story, so we had no idea. he was just like "cowboy movie! yeehaw" and then my dad realized what was going on before I did, and we watched people scream and throw food and walk out throwing tantrums, and my very undiagnosed anxiety disorder skyrocketed because of the crowd reaction. my dad asked if we needed to leave, I said the crowd was stressing me out but I was liking the movie. so he said "cool. let them leave and enjoy it in peace" which is what we did, and then I kept watching and I understood™️ and my anxiety did not get better, but on the drive home the only thing dad said was "well! they told a hell of a love story" and he said the nervous dad cackle, and at 14 I didn't get him very much at all, but I think he knew years before I knew and he was trying to figure out how to tell me it was okay.
I'm happy that stories like this can get shared, gods above it was worse when I was coming out, but damn does it make me happy to hear any type of positive stories like this
I saw you love red, white, and royal blue and I've just gotta ask you: have you heard of Burn the House Down by Kenna Jenkins? It's an alternate history novel abt the 1st woman president and her secret sapphic relationship/bearded marriage with her mlm best friend. It also includes a subplot about arson at the White House, ft. An entirely queer main cast and really fleshed out characters, and has a really satisfying ending!
That sounds amazing and intriguing I will definitely check it out! Thank you for the rec🫶
Why did Harry use only Expelliarmus on Voldemort but Sectumsempra on Draco? Also, if Expelliarmus was Harry's go to spell why use Sectumsempra when he could use it against Draco's Crucio?
Harry fights Draco really differently than he fights everyone else.
So okay. Normally when he fights, Harry's go-to spells are:
Impedimenta (slow down)
Petrificus Totalus (paralyze)
Stupefy (knock out)
Expelliarmus (disarm)
Which means his strategy is get away from/incapacitate his opponent as quickly as possible and that's IT. Harry is not a flashy or creative fighter the way Dumbledore, Voldemort, and heck even side characters like Percy are. Which makes perfect sense. Fighting has never been a game for Harry. It's never been abstract. He'll do all these badass things but when he talks about fighting (like we see during the DA segments) he's not thinking about it like it's something interesting or cool. He's picturing going up against a more powerful opponent, probably while injured and scared. And what's the best thing to have in that situation? Four useful, all-purpose spells that you've practiced enough times that you don't have to think about them anymore.
Zachariah Smith gives Harry a hard time for relying on spell as "basic" as expelliarmus, which tells us that in-universe, Harry's stripped-down dueling style might be considered kind of plain or boring. But Harry's a very effective duelist, probably because he is so practical. He doesn't care about showing off, looking powerful, or intimidating his opponents.
... except when he's fighting specifically Draco.
When he's fighting DRACO MALFOY, Harry brings out the fun spells:
Rictusempra (tickling)
Furnunculus (boils)
Leg-Locker jinx
Levicorpus (levitate by ankle)
Toenail-growing hex
And also Sectumsempra, which he THINKS is going to be another embarrassing/fun spell, because levicorpus and the tonail-growing hex also came out of the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, and Harry thinks this third spell is going to be another one like that.
So my conclusion is that Harry just kind of... uniquely enjoys fighting with Draco. He's not trying to end the encounter as fast as possible, there probably is some element where he wants to show off, hit Draco with something new or something clever. Harry and Draco have a dynamic where it's *fun* to one-up/get the upper hand over each other, and duels are perfect for that.
To me this is a very natural extension of Harry's "lets plot hypothetical ways to get Malfoy expelled" (which he does with Ron, for fun) and "lets try to figure out what Suspicious Thing Malfoy is up to now" (one of Harry's very favorite past times.) So long story short - when Harry fights Draco, he fights like a teenager. When he fights anyone else, he fights like an auror.
alex kisses henry to make another guy jealous. that’s it. no other reason. based on a prompt for @onthewaytosomewhere. modern au. 1.9k.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Pez remarks, halfway through one of the worst house parties Alex has been to in his life. Seriously; he’s been to so many, and none of the others even compare. “Something on your mind?”
Yes. “No.” Alex takes a sip of his drink and goes casually back to not looking at Henry.
He’s kind of not really been okay-totally-watching-them all night, and it’s fine. It’s fine, because it doesn’t matter who Henry talks to, what matters is that he looks happy, and animated, and hasn’t stopped smiling.
He hasn’t stopped smiling all night.
“Hey, so, who’s the guy?” Alex asks.
Pez glances over. “Ah—yes, that’s a visiting prof in Henry’s department. Hazza talks about him quite a lot, actually.”
Alex grits his teeth so hard he’s surprised that none of them crack. “Does he.” He refrains from adding under his breath, Well, I’ve never heard of him.
“All the time, as a matter of fact,” Pez continues. He doesn’t even sound like he’s had to exaggerate. “And with good reason. It’s not even that he’s easy on the eyes, though there is that too. He’s already accomplished so much in the field despite being our age, from what I understand.”
“I see,” Alex says as neutrally as possible. He’s starting to see a lot from where he’s standing, actually, and he doesn’t like it. Like, at all.
Pez raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “Do I spy something green?”
“No,” Alex says quickly, too quickly this time. “Nope. Definitely not.”
“Well, if you say so.” Pez pops an hors d’oeuvre in his mouth and chews, surveying the room like it’s his own private theatre. Like he’s waiting for something. Like he has a vision. It’s both impressive and disconcerting to see.
As if on cue, someone comes up to Mister Accomplished and claps a hand on his stupid-broad shoulder, drawing his attention away. He flashes Henry a grin—one that’s way too white and with too many teeth, in Alex’s opinion—before walking off and leaving Henry alone in the corner.
Henry, who’s no longer smiling as he closes his eyes and sags at the shoulders. He tilts his glass back and drinks.
Well, fuck. Alex can’t even be glad anymore that the guy has just left because now he wants to punch him for it.
“Douchebag much?” he mutters under his breath.
“Oh, most excellent,” Pez is saying at the same time. “Couldn’t have planned the thing better myself.” He clears his throat, all business-like all of a sudden. “It appears that our poppet is in need of assistance. Are you up to the task, Alexander?”
“Wait.” But Alex finds himself getting pulled along by the sheer force of Pez’s will before he’s even finished speaking. “What task, exactly?”
Pez looks two seconds away from rubbing his hands together like some kind of cartoon villain. “Nothing like making a man jealous to finally spur him into action.”
Alex sputters; didn’t he just say that he wasn’t—? But then he catches the pointed look Pez gives Mister Accomplished again. Oh. That guy. Then: “Wait, that guy?”
“Nothing gets past you, does it,” says Pez.
Alex makes a wild gesture. “You want me to make that guy jealous. Fucking how?”
Pez lets out a long-suffering sigh. “The fact that I must spell it out for you really does explain a lot, actually.”
“A lot about what?”
“One kiss ought to do it, I think,” Pez muses, almost to himself.
Alex swallows. Flirting with Henry every day like he does is one thing. Harmless, mostly, unless you count feeling heartsick that Henry never looks at him the same way.
What Pez is suggesting, though, may be the thing that tips Alex fully over into heartbreak territory.
“I don’t, um.” He clears his throat and glances toward Henry, who’s gazing into his now-empty glass. “What makes you think he’ll be down with this plan?”
“Absolutely nothing, he would never. Which is why we must be quick about it.”
“But,” Alex starts to protest.
“Alex.” Pez says his name like he’s scolding a child who’s being too selfish. “Don’t you want to see Henry happy?”
“More than anything,” says Alex, too honestly. Fuck.
“Then trust me on this,” says Pez, in the voice of a person who’s not to be trusted at all, before opening his arms wide and beaming. “Hazza, darling.”
“Oh, thank God,” says Henry, glancing up as they approach. “I need another one of whatever this was.”
“I have a better idea,” Pez sing-songs, then looks askance at Alex. “Unless, of course, someone’s getting cold feet. I can always ask if dear old Hunter’s available, I think I saw him by the—”
“No, I’ll do it,” Alex says instantly. “I’ll take one for the team.”
“Yes, a big sacrifice on your part,” Pez murmurs, and Alex shoots him a sharp little glare. Henry scrunches his brow, looking between the two of them in something like concerned confusion.
“Alex? What’s going on?” he prompts carefully as Alex marches up to him, taking a breath. He’s determined to do this for Henry, no matter the cost to himself.
“All right. I’m ready,” Alex says solemnly. “Lay it on me, Fox.”
“Sorry,” says Henry, “I still have no idea what we’re talking about?”
“Babe,” and Alex takes Henry’s face in his hands, “Don’t even worry. I’m here to make all your dreams come true.”
Henry stands frozen as Alex presses their mouths firmly together. There’s a second that lasts half a lifetime in which Alex thinks he’s made a terrible mistake.
And then Henry’s lips soften—wow, fuck, they are really soft, actually—and then he’s kissing Alex back and so hard that Alex stagger-steps, almost knocking a chair over as he pulls Henry even closer.
He tries not to totally lose it when he feels Henry’s fingers thread through his hair, or the hitch in Henry’s breath when their lips part and their tongues meet.
It occurs to him that they probably shouldn’t be kissing like this while surrounded by all their work colleagues. Alex doesn’t really care. All he cares about is how devastated he’ll be once it’s over.
Henry is the first to pull back. He’s breathless and smiling, and Alex’s heart hurts like fucking hell but this is what he wanted, right? To see Henry this happy?
Alex puts his hands on Henry’s waist, which, fuck, he shouldn’t have done that; now he thinks he might never let go. His breath comes up short as he gasps into the space between them, “Is he watching?”
Henry blinks. His smile falters a little. “Is who watching, Alex?”
“The guy you were talking to. I was trying to make him jealous.” Alex can’t bring himself to see if he’s noticed. Alex thinks he would rather die than look away from Henry right now. All he wants is to kiss him again even though he probably shouldn’t. “Do you think it worked? Henry?”
Henry has gone very still in his arms. The expression on his face is glazed over, distant. “That’s why you kissed me? To make someone jealous?”
Fuck, they really should’ve talked about this first. Fuck. “Yeah?” Alex winces.
“That man specifically? I didn’t even know you two were acquainted.” Henry heaves out a breath, looking strangely like he might be sick. “So you—you like him, then?”
“What? No, of course I don’t like him. I don’t even know him,” says Alex. Henry isn’t making any sense. “I thought you liked him.” Unless…shit. Unless Henry just doesn’t want them both liking the same guy?
Henry just stares at him for a long time. He’s looking kind of like Alex is the one who’s lost it. “You what?” Henry says finally.
“I thought you liked him,” Alex repeats, but this time it comes out as more of a question.
“You thought I liked him,” Henry says for emphasis. “That man.” Like there’s some other guy Alex could possibly be talking about right now.
“Apparently,” says Alex. He realizes he’s clutched the sides of Henry’s shirt and wills his fingers to loosen a little. It feels like some kind of miracle that Henry hasn’t shoved him away yet. “And then you looked so sad when he went to talk to other people, and I thought, I don’t know, that I’d help? Pez said you talk about him all the time, so…” Wait. Wait a minute.
Henry breathes out. Something solidifies in his expression, like he’s just worked through a math problem of his own. “Hmm,” he says in a weirdly calm tone. “Did he, now.”
“Yeah,” Alex says slowly. “He…” What else was it that Pez had said? Nothing like making a man jealous to finally…
Wow. Okay. Well-played, Okonjo.
“I see.” Henry looks pointedly around for Pez, who’s conveniently nowhere in sight at the moment. “Percy didn’t also happen to mention the fact that the man’s an absolute bellend who’s been gatekeeping my department’s research funding? That I’m thus woefully obligated to kiss the ground he walks on at parties?”
Ah. “He…did not,” Alex allows. “So, just to be clear, you don’t? Like him?”
“Christ, no,” Henry says firmly, and Alex feels something light in his chest flutter and try to take flight.
“Anyway,” Henry goes on, looking all sober now for some reason, “I ought to apologize on Pez’s behalf. He really was only trying to help, in his way. He knows how I feel about—well.” He flushes. “And I’m sorry, too, for kissing you like that. I was under a very different impression as to what it, um. Actually meant.”
“Yeah, hold up.” Alex straightens. “You kissed me back.” Henry looks cautiously on as Alex starts smiling and can’t seem to stop. “You had no idea and you still kissed me back.”
Henry goes a shade pinker each time Alex says the words. “Yes, well,” Henry says faintly. “I believe what you said was something about making all my dreams come true? Which I did take at face value.”
Alex tightens his hold on Henry again. Definitely not letting him go after that. “Henry,” he says. “You’re my fucking dream, are you kidding?”
“I—” Henry gazes at him. His smile is soft with something like wonder. “You’re serious?”
“How do you think Pez got to me?” Alex wants to know. “Do you have any idea how jealous I was of that guy when I thought you were into him?”
“Mm.” Henry tilts his head. “Yet you kissed me fully believing that it would, what, drive him so mad that he’d throw himself into my arms?”
“I did.” Alex takes both of Henry’s hands into his. “I want you. Henry. But I think I want you so much that the only thing I want more is for you to be happy.”
Henry’s eyes are bright and so very, very blue. “And if I told you that they’re one and the same?”
Alex is smiling so hard that it hurts. He never wants to stop feeling like this. “Then I guess that guy can be jealous all he wants,” Alex shrugs, bringing Henry’s hands up to his shoulders. “Because he can’t have your arms now, they’re mine.”
“Noted,” says Henry, mock-seriously. “Anything else you wish to claim while you’re at it?”
“Actually,” says Alex, “yeah, just so we’re clear,” and he pulls Henry back in for a kiss.
Hello, hello! Long time no see! The ending of the summer became very busy for me, so I’ve been lacking in being active.
I’ve still been writing while I’ve been gone, so I’m throwing myself back into the pool of sharing on Sundays and Wednesdays!
You’ll soon realize that I am a major autumn girl, and this week’s share is from the Fluke AU that I’ve been very immersed in lately. It’s going to be long and I’ll probably post it in parts (season by season). I can’t wait to share it!
Here’s a small taste of what Autumn brings to Alex:
While they walk, Alex can’t help but let out a scoff as his feet step onto the yellow leaves of the giant Elm trees in the park. The paved path is wet from the dewy morning they’ve had, causing the leaves to glisten from the moisture.
He’s a bit annoyed with them now because he’s heard the quote about Autumn being proof that there’s beauty in dying, and he thinks it’s ridiculous. He’d argue that people who say it never grieve the leaves that suddenly hang loose and then fall off the branch that’s been their lifeline for two seasons. Then they just blow around, get trampled over, and sometimes pounced on by children. What’s the beauty in death about those things? The only beauty that nature holds is the leaves even change color at all.
When he picks up his head, Henry’s quite far in front of him now, yet he’s no longer walking. He’s knelt down on one knee twirling one of the yellow leaves between his fingers.
Feel free to interact if you’d like! I’ll do my best to keep getting back into the swing of this!
It had been thirteen months and three weeks since Harry had found, and saved, Malfoy from a dark, icy corner in the crooked streets of Knockturn Alley.
For thirteen months, Malfoy had not stepped foot outside of Harry's cottage. He'd spent his time sleeping, ignoring Harry, reading his way through Harry's modest book-collection, making sullen conversation with Harry, and teaching himself to cook.
It hadn't been a bad thirteen months, Harry thought. He ate a lot better now. Malfoy too. The sour, skinny git had actually turned out to be a pretty good cook and baker.
Harry couldn't complain about his life. He left that to Ron, who still bemoaned the fact that Harry had brought home a stray Malfoy and kept him and even occasionally bought him a new book or a new jumper. Harry didn't mind. It was more than worth it to see Malfoy's thin, dull face brighten.
After months, Malfoy had begun going out on walks by himself every evening. The first time he'd gone, it was after yet another shouting match with Harry and to Harry's utter shock he'd stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind himself.
He'd been sure Malfoy wouldn't return and had spent the whole evening with his stomach churning with something awful, thinking about going back to a life without that grumpy fuck.
But then, just as the sun had set, Malfoy scurried in through the small, arched front gate, his cloak held closed around himself.
Harry planted himself before the front door, fists clenched, and prepared to yell some more, this time about Malfoy just leaving him. Then, Malfoy burst in, looking around wildly, and had proceeded to produce a baby bunny from under his cloak.
"What," said Harry.
"We have to save it!" Malfoy shouted, as if he was about to sacrifice his own life or something.
They bathed and fed it. Harry firecalled Hermione to ask her about raising baby bunnies. Malfoy named it Buttercup. That was three weeks ago.
Harry now sat with Buttercup the bunny on a bundled up blanket next to him on the sofa, a mournful, old, and partially deaf bloodhound that Malfoy had met on his way back from the shops and brought home sitting by his feet, and a cat with one eye missing curled up on a cushion on the windowsill. The bloodhound, Malfoy had named Wilson, and Harry had the uncomfortable, nagging suspicion that Malfoy had actually stolen some careless sod's old dog with the firm belief that it was an underfed stray. The one-eyed cat, Malfoy had permitted Harry to name, and had immediately regretted it when Harry had named him Mad-Eye.
Harry now saw Malfoy appear at the gate and pass through it inside, his gait as hurried as ever, as if permanently late to be somewhere. Then Malfoy let himself in, saw Harry sitting and staring at him from the sofa, and turned away towards the stairs, his cloak bundled around himself.
"Where are you going?" asked Harry at once.
Malfoy scowled. "To take a piss. Merlin."
"What's that?" Harry asked suspiciously, getting to his feet.
"What's what?!" Malfoy snapped, still not fully emerging from under his cloak.
"What do you have there?" Harry pressed, walking up to him and plucking at his cloak.
Malfoy took a step back, his cheeks pink. "Nothing. What do you mean?!"
"What's under there this time, Malfoy?" Harry asked wearily. "Not another rabbit. The dog keeps trying to eat the first one."
"Wilson's not going to eat Buttercup, don't be an idiot," Malfoy said, impatient and rude as ever.
"What do you have?" Harry said loudly, tugging at Malfoy's cloak more forcefully.
Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, jerking farther away from Harry, when there was a tiny, very shrill mew.
Malfoy froze, eyes huge in his face. Harry's mouth fell open and he tugged, yet again, at Malfoy's cloak.
It fell away to reveal an extremely small, very dirty white kitten held carefully in Malfoy's bony hands. It was shivering uncontrollably, and continuously emitted small, pitiful meeps.
"You want me to leave it outside to die?!" Malfoy burst out before Harry could even say anything. "You want it to die?!"
"No, but--"
"Well, you make me take it away and it's going to die, Potter."
"Malfoy, I'm not--"
"It needs a home, and your stupid house is so big, and we can save it before it dies."
"Can you stop saying "die"?!" Harry said exasperatedly.
"If you make me take it back, I'm going with it," Malfoy said, jutting his pointy chin out at Harry.
That made Harry grin - because Malfoy was threatening to leave with the sort of confidence that one has when they know they would never be allowed to go.
And that made Harry's tummy flutter happily for some reason.
"Well, in that case, I'd better let you keep it," he said solemnly. "What would I do without you, Malfoy?"
Malfoy's face, already tinged pink, now turned scarlet. Shoulders rounding inwards a bit, Malfoy looked down at the raggedy kitten before sticking his nose up in the air.
"You love it already, Potter," he said loftily. "You love everything you save."
Then, as he processed what he'd just said, Malfoy's face turned so hot that he looked faint for a second.
Then he hurried away into the kitchen, cloak billowing behind him, calling out over his shoulder,
"Clean towels and tic medicine, if you please, Potter."
Grinning, Harry went upstairs obediently. He had a kitten to save and a whole lot more to love.
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