#70 words

[dodgerkedavra]

two of a kind

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt set

Potter’s abandonment at Grimmauld Place is a greater offense than Draco’s temporary confinement. Potter won’t look at him, or talk to him. Just as well.

For weeks, Draco ushers Potter from kitchen to garden to bed. He practises speaking aloud without bracing for a Crucio.

Then: footsteps before dawn. Potter pads straight into Draco’s arms. Lays his head on Draco’s shoulder. 

“Nightmare?” Draco asks, throat closed.

“Not anymore,” Potter answers.

[xanthippe74]

Drarry microfic: Gossamer

His spine curves like an overburdened bough. The skin of his cheeks hangs slack from his jaw. Around his skull, only a gossamer halo remains where white-gold hair once flowed.

But his eyes, when he lifts his head… his eyes are as flinty and furious as Harry remembers.

“You’d better figure out how to reverse this, Potter,” Draco rasps, “Or I will fucking haunt you for the next hundred years.”

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, "gossamer."

masterlist of my microfics

[antikate]

A storm outside, wind and lighting and thunder—but just a storm. Nothing more. The sun would rise tomorrow, and tomorrow.

“Do you remember the first storm?” Crowley said, his head in Aziraphale’s lap; his hand in his hair.

“I could hardly forget our first meeting.”

“You held your wing over me. Why?”

Aziraphale looked out into the rain-soaked night. “I suppose, even then, I knew you were worth guarding.”

(Written at 1am in the morning after @princip1914 threw down a “write a ficlet that is exactly 70 words long” challenge.)

[swift-footed-achilles-ams110]

OH.

I SEE WE MUST MENTION EVERYTHING FROM MY PAST

I suppose it would be worse to deny information that is well known.

Yes, while in hiding I was dressed and treated as a woman. I am still a warrior though! And even during this time I helped heir Neoptolemus and Oneiros with Deidamia, princess to Lycomedes.

Admittedly, I had hoped this tidbit of information would be lost to time.

[miss-tallulah]

Don't Forget Me

"Don't forget me." That's what she told me before I got taken. 

Before they started messing with my head. Telling me lies and hurting me until I could no longer distinguish the truths from all the rest. 

"Don't forget me," she said. I'm afraid it might be too late.

"Don't forget me." I think I'm breaking a promise. 

"Don't forget me." Who are you? 

"Don't forget me." I'm sorry.

[kiplingcabin]

Continue with circumstance Let it guide you into thinking
 You’re less of a man

You will be green with jealousy 
Every time something beautiful walks by
 Will you think of me?

Those blue days you’re drowning 
In the most unrealistic context
 You’re proud of the way you lie to be accepted

Will it come down to this or that
 No middle ground in which to stand
 Throwing insults, ranged combat

[brinesociety]

"The name is Dalton" | Jennell McHugh

An exercise inspired via this contest offered by Esquire:

He was a cavalier philosopher trained in the delicate dance of suggestive impalement: a ballerina maverick with an epic mane and killed-a-guy reputation. From Dayton to Daytona, he reformed toilet establishments wherein trustees of modern chemistry swilled swill. With a squinting “Pain don’t hurt” policy, the cooling conquerer picked up a runner and double-downed on the Deuce.   Releasing Jasper from its Wesleyan stranglehold, a blind guitarist was paid to play.