I Have A Date With The Chesapeake Ripper.

Chapters: 1/5 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini Additional Tags: Vampires, Clubbing, Drinking, Bodyguard Harry Potter, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Post-Canon, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, POV Third Person Limited Summary:

After quitting his job as an auror Harry finds himself frequenting one of wizarding London's grimy underground bars. Along with it comes a new drinking partner in the form of alleged illicit potions dealer Draco Malfoy and rather more run-ins with creatures of the night than Harry ever expected.

on anti culture & how narrative influences reality

So look.

A common point of discourse from anti-shippers is the fact that narrative influences reality, and therefore - they claim - depictions of harmful acts will have a normalizing effect on how real people perceive those acts outside of fiction. The problem with this claim is that, while there is evidence for the idea that narrative can indeed influence reality, it’s a gross distortion of fact to say that it does so in the specific way they mean.

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book dedications are so tender here is this piece of art i made for an audience of thousands. but really every word is for you

Incredibly late to the game, as usual, but here's some Harry fanart... I can hardly believe how much fun i had!

2x10 || 3x13

“Hello, old friend.”

tfw your fugitive ex breaks out of Azkaban

A little gift for @fw00shy 💓 a microfic written entirely in three word sentences. Also for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: blue.

2 August 2006. Department of Mysteries.

“Shouldn’t be here.” Draco sounds wary.

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” Harry laughs, loud. “Azkaban released me.” He smiles wryly. “Didn’t you hear?”

“You escaped, Potter.” Draco’s voice heats. “In broad daylight. Bit dangerous, really.”

“Yeah,” Harry grins. “Slaughtered sixty-two dementors. And Warden Umbridge.” He leans in. So, so close. Mouths Draco’s throat. “You miss me?” Voice muffled, gruff.

Draco’s eyes close. His shoulders slack. Relax, dip low. He breathes deep. “Not at all.” His eyes open. They’re dark, guarded. And he stiffens. “You’re not good. Potter, you’re not.”

Harry pulls back. “Careful,” he says. “I’d kill you. If I wanted.”

“Kill me then.”

Yet Harry falters. His lips part.

Draco’s mouth twists. “You wouldn’t, Potter.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t.” Harry laughs again. Shakes his head. Looks at him. “You look good. Draco, you do.”

“Thanks,” Draco says. He smiles unhappily. Gestures to himself. “I’ve gone official. Bloody Ministry official.”

Harry reaches out. Traces Draco’s collar. “Wearing Ministry blues. Who would’ve thought.” He grins, crooked. “Unspeakable Malfoy, yeah? Shouldn’t trust you.”

“Fuck you, Harry.” Draco eyes him. Voice rough, quiet. “Alright, I did. I missed you. Just a bit.”

“Didn’t visit me.”

“Didn’t want to. That first time… You looked dead.”

And Harry sobers. “Yeah, I know.” Harry watches him. Face cut-up, bloody. “Nicked a Portkey. To the tropics.” He smiles grimly. “I’m going away.”

Draco breathes in. “DMLE’s tracing them. They’ll find you.”

“Unregistered,” Harry says. “Sounds fun, yeah? Us, the ocean.” He laughs, gruff. “Come with me.”

“Merlin,” Draco says. Voice sharp, clipped. “It’s been years.”

“Only been three.” Harry looks down. “Still love you.” Closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Opens them slowly. “Prisoners are plotting. Ministry’s gone bad. We should leave.”

Draco pauses, considering. Bites his lip. “I’ve heard things. Whispers of things. I didn’t know…” Looks at Harry. “… who to believe. But now, I…”

“What is it?” Harry’s voice drops. Sounds low, gentle.

“I trust you.” Draco leans in. Thumbs Harry’s mouth. “Wish I didn’t. But I do.” Traces Harry’s lips.

Doors slam open. Voices yelling—loud, frantic. “Target in building. Agents, get ready.”

“Fuck,” Harry mutters. “Not enough time. I’ve gotta go.” Turns to Draco. “Coming with me?”

“Bloody hell, Potter. Yes,” Draco says. “Get the Portkey.”

My brother passed away last year during a time when I couldn't see friends or all of my family due to lockdown. AO3 absolutely helped me get through the darkest days of my life.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m perfectly happy to explain my philosophy. I’ve had a quarter of a century in fandom to think about it, after all.

No one can donate to every cause, and every year there are horrible things going on in the world.

You have to pick.

If you try to do everything, you will accomplish nothing.

I don’t owe anyone my time or money and I don’t feel guilty when people try this hackneyed anti-AO3 tactic on me. It’s common in every activist space too as a form of sealioning. It’s not a gotcha: it just means you have bad values and don’t understand how to be an effective activist in real life.

For a lot of people, their AO3 donation is part of their entertainment budget, not their ‘help starving people’ type donation budget, so they aren’t even related in the first place.

For me personally, supporting arts organizations is about recognizing that spiritual and emotional needs are valid too. Literal physical survival is only one small part of human existence.

AO3 has been fantastically important for people’s mental health during the pandemic.

written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Dangerous by Big Data, Joywave. (a sherlock reference? in a drarry microfic? more likely than you think.)

“My flat. Come if convenient. DM.”

Harry frowns and sets his phone down decisively, leaving the text unanswered.

A minute later: “If inconvenient, come anyway. DM.”

Harry’s lips almost, almost, quirk in amusement but he flattens them quickly and takes a swig from his pint, ignoring the text. He had meant what he had said the last time they had done this. It was the last.

Another text: “Could be dangerous. DM.”

“God damn it,” Harry mutters, even though he can already feel his heart accelerating in anticipation. Whether it’s the adrenaline high he’s addicted to or it’s Draco himself who’s the addiction— Harry’s no good at resisting temptation.

Downing his pint, he throws a few sickles onto the bartop, and pushes his way out of the pub and into a nearby alley. He palms his wand and apparates to Draco’s, blood singing, a euphoric smile playing at his lips.

Draco