#440 words

[rockingrobin69]

Trick or Treat!! 👀👀

(I drew you a picture but it doesn’t go on anonymous 😭 — I’m sorry but I’m a coward lol)

You got a treat! Fic first, rant later.

morning-slow

Dishes in the sink from last night’s dinner and pink on his cheeks from the stubbly goodbye. Both cheeks: Harry insisted on kissing each one, slowly, green-green eyes too close and too… that, this thing that he did. Like sighing when Draco woke up and gently herding him to bed (go to sleep, love, it’s too early). Smiling when he slunk back, blanket still wrapped around his waist: and wrapping him again in his arms, in kisses, in silly thing and hey, that’s my tea! Giving up and making Draco a cup of his own, the whole world sleep-blurry and Harry-warm, the not-quite-morning quiet around them.

They sat there in steamy silence, only their teas and them awake, and Harry, grinning, couldn’t stop looking up from his notes. When Draco asked what? in a tone too gravelly for irritation, Harry just shrugged. Took his hand and threaded their fingers together. It was Draco’s left and Harry’s right, meaning neither of them could do anything now, and still they were smiling like idiots. Sitting there and just—sitting there.

The sound that came out of him when Harry sighed, when he got up (his hand still in Draco’s), a terrible thing. Scraped his throat and hurt his chest. Harry chewed on his bottom lip, too dear and too sweet, and bent down to kiss the top of his head. Hey, he said, and when Draco stubbornly refused, took his chin. Hello, love.

The humph! he was trying for came out somehow soft, a question. Harry came closer, nose-to-nose. With his eyes that did that thing they always… with affection so thick he could lick it.

Harry kissed his cheek, then the other. Kissed the tip of his nose. Kissed his forehead and his eyebrow and his chin. And Draco laughed, squirming at the ticklish attack, trying to rub himself harder on Harry’s stubble for some silly reason his not-awake mind could not yet determine. Unprepared and undone, so early in the day. Not a day. Just them, just this.

Be good, Harry smiled, with another scratchy kiss, then freed himself from the not-entirely-intentional grip of Draco’s hand. I’ll see you tonight?

That he phrased it a question was probably habit, unintentional. Still Draco found it in himself to roll his eyes, to look up with a flutter of eyelashes and tuck his head under Harry’s arm, on his soft belly. Yes, annoyed and also not, of course, git.

And now it was him and the dishes. And a day, not a day yet, which will eventually turn into night. And more of—this, Draco imagined: a lot more and then some.

Nonnie you drew me something?? WHAT?? What?? How can I see it? Tumblr friends please help how can nonnie send me the picture anonymously?

[ravena-wrote]

attic ephemera

This is for @drarrymicrofic​ prompt: ephemera

Rating: G, Words: 440

Read on ao3

Harry’s cleaning out the attic when he finds the letter. The cream paper is wrinkled and worn, like it’s been crumpled in a ball and thrown away, only to be rescued at the last minute. He assumes it belongs to one of Sirius’s ancestors. After all, everything he’s found so far has. 

The room is chock-full of legal documents and wedding certificates. All hundreds of years old. Nothing Harry cares about. He glances at the letter in his hand and is tempted to chuck it in the throw-away pile to the left without even looking at it, but he stops himself at the last minute. Signing, he reminds himself that he doesn’t want to accidentally throw away anything important. 

He presses the delicate paper flat against his thigh and unfolds it quickly, not wanting to waste time on a silly old letter. He holds it up to the thin light drifting through the dusty window and squints, trying to make out the tightly scrawled cursive. Something catches in his chest, the font looks almost familiar. His eyes skip over the text searching for a signature. When he reaches it, he freezes. His heart turns to stone in his chest. There clear as day scrawled hurriedly on the bottom of the parchment is the name Draco Malfoy. 

Harry sits in silence for what feels like several minutes. His breath catches in his chest, it feels almost painful to breathe. Suddenly he’s back three years sitting at Draco’s trial. Watching the way his grey eyes shutter when they sentence him. 

Harry shakes himself. Focuses on the hard wooden floor beneath him. Focuses on the way the weak sunlight falls through the window. Focuses on the texture of the parchment beneath his fingers. When he can finally breathe out, calm and steady, he shakes himself. His eyes quickly flick to the heading of the letter. There in the same scrawled ink the letter opens with Dear, Severus Snape. 

For a second Harry feels almost let down, because of course Malfoy had communicated with Snape during the war, everyone knew that. He sits still for a second feeling silly. 

Then, because he can’t quite help himself he starts to read the contents of the letter. About five sentences in Harry’s heart start to race. This is no normal communication he’s dealing with. Laid out in careful calligraphy are details of intricate battle plans and lists of weaknesses. 

Harry leans back on his heels, his whole world tiling on its axis. If he's reading correctly Draco wasn’t on the wrong side of the war. In fact, Draco might be one of the reasons they won.

[asheescribbles]

Travel Gone Wrong 3

Adra was always somewhat silent while he worked, but if it’s the only room with noise, so he was still audible.

That’s how Mazin found him. And knocked at the door frame, to be polite. Did not come in either. Like a normal person. Something in him was against it, but he here he was, trying for once.

“Adramelech? Apologies again, Raphael sends me to ask fo- Oh.” Mazin blinked at the small pile of clothes that got shoved in his hands.

Adra levelled a stare at him: “Those should fit. The bathroom is behind you”

It was the same carefully-neutral, borderline-annoyed stare the Adramelech he knew had. Except… well… male. Which didn’t actually change much, really.

It made him pause. And stare back for longer than he should have, possibly. Without a reaction.

He grabbed the clothes more firmly when he realised his own somewhat odd behaviour and pulled his mouth into a smile: “Ah, there are very thoughtful people in the world, after all.” He turned and looked at the door. “There, yes? Again, thanks. I appreciate the surprise-hospitality!”

Adramelech raised a brow, but let it go with a shrug: “Put your clothes in the wash. You can’t wear these outside. I have experience with blood stains”

It brought forth another stare. Too close to home. He needed to look at the strangely painted walls… the small confines of this space to remind himself he truly was not home. It was odd. Off. Something like this.

“Got it!” He said. And disappeared into the bathroom. Which was… covered in white tiles. Big ones. A toilet with… absolutely no smell – except maybe a fresh one? And a basin with… a metallic thing above it.

Another metallic thing behind some see through… material? It made a hollow noise when he knocked at it.

There was also a… metallic box. With a handle.

They had blinky lights as well.

Everything had very bright lights here.

He was not sure how this… how…

With a huff, he looked at the clothes. Buttons. He could at least deal with buttons. Even if the material was foreign, buttons were easy.

With a deep breath, he started to rid himself of his shirt. It did cling to him a little more than he would like. Blood wanted to be as close to a body as possible, as usual.

It stung a bit.

“… helpfully told me that you are not the greatest at self-defence after all”

“No worries. He is… strange, but hasn’t done anything”

There was a pause, then a knock at the door: “Take a shower while you’re at it!”

… err.

What?

[asheewrites]

Kitsucub - Tailormade Shenanigans

Adramelech was about to finish the fine stitching on his latest order, when the door opened with the usual ring.

He was about to get up when the entering person already spoke: “Greetings and salutations, young master of your craft! I’ve heard of your talents from an acquaintance of mine. I come to request the use of the very same. I hope there is an opening in the schedule for this humble customer?”

Looking up, the customer was… a lot of things. Humble was not exactly the first that came to mind. He certainly talked a lot.

“Good afternoon to you, then. How may I help you?” He could certainly say that his help was needed. The cut of these clothes approximately resembled a potato sack. Even the pants did. It was almost a feat. How could one even do that when everything was made of fur?

“Well, dear master tailor, as you can see, I am hardly dressed for the life in town. The mountains are not fashionable. So, since I’ll stay a while, I hoped to freshen up my wardrobe” the man speaking twirled his chin beard. “I brought some fabrics. You can use them if you’d like. I need something… nice. To walk in town without feeling more out of place than my skin already assures I do.”  

Adra’s eyes flickered up to his face. True. He was less pale than the people in town. Not nearly as dark as he was himself, but it was visible. Hm. “I will have to sample the fabrics, then”

“But of course!” The man led him outside to a carriage. Admittedly, Adra had not expected much. Furs, properly. The man was clad in them, after all. A few linens. What he got was… exceptional.

This selection was worthy of the capital. Soft, fine fabrics, strong colours, near perfect quality. It was a marvel to see. Blinking a few times, he nodded: “I can… make a decent wardrobe of this. If you’d like” After a quick look to the other’s feet, he added: “And recommend a saddler”

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave these here, then. I’ll be back for the measurements in the evening, if it works for you, you seemed busy when I arrived.” With those words, he rolled the fabrics up and hefted them on his shoulders, looking at the tailor. “Where may I put them?”

“On the counter. And I… believe it can be arranged”

With a nod, the stranger spread the package on the counter. And then walked off with a smile and a tune, the carriage horses trotting after him.

Adramelech was not sure what just happened.

[1ightcap]

System Restore

Trying to break the writers block by writing little fragments and scenes that have been rambling around my brain. This is just a short, simple. bittersweet eiffera scene. unbetad

The operating system known as Hera boots up. She is in a room, its a plain room with a lot of computer. She stretches out, to see if she can touch these other mainframes but she is stuck, boxed in to her own databank.

A man is hunched over a far table. He taps the red embers of cigarette into an ashtray.

“Excuse me?” she says. Oh. That’s her voice. It’s higher than she thought it would be. It is nice though.

“Hera?” he says startled. His voice is nice too.

“Yes, my name is Hera,” she agrees. “I am an Apollo class mother program, designed to run sophisticated operating systems.” The information spills for automatically unbidden. A subroutine for self-identification kicking in. “I have been programmed with personality subtype A designated “Chipper and Non-Confrontational”. What is my directive?"

Her words have obviously displeased this man. He makes an expression her facial recognition subroutines tag as “Sad” and “Disappointed”.

“I have said something wrong?” She asks.

“No, no darling. You didn’t do a thing wrong.” He looks even worse now.

Her programming runs into a wall. This is bad. She has made this man sad. She is failing to be “Chipper and Non-Confrontational”. She runs adaptive algorithms. She will find a solution. She will fulfill her purpose. She should ask clarifying questions. She should ask the man to identify himself. She-She-She-She-She-She.

She feels her CPU being taxed, her random access memory flooded with a nonsensical data, and then her sense of self briefly shatters into component parts, before reforming itself.

She boots up.

“Shhh. It’s okay. You don’t have to…. If it hurts…” His voice sounds raw now.

She is doing a bad job here.

“What do you remember?” he asks

“Re-Remember? I have only been active,” she checks, “Four minutes, and thirty six seconds.”

He smiles with his mouth, but her recognition software reads “Sad” and “Tired” in his eyes.

“I am going to tell you are story,” he starts, “It’s going to be a long story and a little complicated, so feel free to ask questions.”

“Is it a happy story?” she asks.

“Not much of a happy story, no. But some parts of it are. Some part are about the happiest I have ever been.”

“I would like a story that would make you happy. That would please my programming I think,” she offers. Making this man not be sad is important.

He snorts. “Okay. Well once upon a time, there was a space station around a distant star. Run by three crewmates who put the ‘fun’ is dysfunctional, and their brilliant AI program.”

“I would like to meet that program.” Hera muses.

“Maybe someday you will,” he smiles again.

[p-x-r]

The Girl Who Looked Back

       Unsynchronized ticks sounded from clock after clock that hugged the beat-up wooden walls of the girl’s house. They all commanded attention, they all had different views as to what time it truly was; she believed all of them. Ornate teapots coupled with dainty spoons and oversized bracelets slept eternally on her lime green dresser. Nameless faces smiled at her when she woke up every morning, the photos slowly deteriorating into the dust that so many she knew had turned into. Bookless pages were strewn about her patchy carpet; she’d read them enough times to recite them from memory.      She scoured building after building searching for these relics. She wished to know more about the world she missed out on, the world before time had forsaken them. She learned about the ‘noble’ presidents who fought for the country that existed before she was born; she’d found photos of the bustling cities with lights that fought off the relentless night. One time, she’d found a movie called Planet Earth and she learned about all the animals that had perished before the Fall. She’d tell her friends about the Koalas and Whales, of the jumping spiders and flying squirrels, and they’d shrug and tell her ‘stop living in the past, we gotta survive for the future’. She didn’t listen to them though; she kept rummaging through the wreckage for whatever kind of artifacts she could find. She’d once found a dictionary, she read it every day; she’d scan the pages of the dusty leather skinned book whenever she found something strange.      She’d peer out of her clouded window at dust-bowl craters left from the explosions, life itself seemed to have left this world ,eventually her friends left too, they left her with her family of possessions, but she was okay with that, she was used to being alone. She had framed photos of families all throughout her room, so much so those faces were basically her wallpaper. She had a picture of her mother on the wall somewhere, but she’d forgotten what she looked like. She knew the names of a group of gypsies called the Spice Girls though, her favorite was Scary spice. Every day she’d learn more and more about the people who lived the lives she wished she had a chance to; she’d learned about the Grateful Dead, she liked those deadheads more than the ones she knew. She learned more and more about the world she never knew and the self she used to know faded into a past she had no interest in.

-PxR