Chocolando - Chocolando

but WHY is D Malf your main man?

Oh my lord that is like asking why the is sky blue, sometimes things just are you know? (because the real answer is a mile long)

I could go on and on about how I find Draco's contradictions to be endlessly fascinating (like that one lovely post that was going around, please link me to it if you know what I'm talking about), about how his narrative arc about unlearning the stupid stuff he's been taught all his life is quite relatable or even about just how vital he is to the plot of the hp books but at the end of the day the biggest reason why I stan is because I think he's a funny little man.

I enjoy the way Draco speaks (the poshness of it all), his sense of humor (I'm sorry but potter stinks is hilarious to me like, of all the things to hit Harry with this is what Draco chose???), the way he's often right about something even though his opinion was formed in the worst way possible (see: his opinions on Hagrid's teaching prowess), the comical contrast between his self preservation instinct and the way he often comes out of conflicts worse for the wear...

I think many things about Draco come together to form a hilarious picture that still manages not to be pitiful on account of his many strengths (I'll forever hold the opinion that Draco is both smart and resourceful) and his endless potential, both narratively and on a personal level.

Besides all the reasons why I find the Draco from canon to be great there's also the fact that I love what the fandom can do with him to consider. Draco is a great character in fics (I often find myself looking forward to reading a story from his pov), his features make for a very aesthetically appealing figure in fanart, I look forward to people's analysis of his character, I love drarry and he's half of the equation etc. etc. ...

I've just written a very verbose reply and I still feel like I missed half of what makes Draco so appealing to me, that's how deep my love is. Some things just can't be put into words I'm afraid, hopefully this satisfies your curiosity somewhat,

xoxo

the most annoying people are people who don't understand storytelling. they be like "oooo how convenient that this thing happened to the main character in the very beginning". yeah no shit. that's why the story begins here

So within two days of each other, Fox News writes an article comparing aromanticism and asexuality to pedophilia, and then Matt Walsh releases a video saying asexuality is a mental illness and asexuals are tricking teenagers into having depression.

Not sure what’s going on right now over in Conservative World, but it’s a hell of wild U-turn for them to suddenly switch from “Oh no! The left is sexualizing our children!” to “Oh no! The left is asexualizing our children!”

prompt a day May - day 9, puzzle(d)

a continuous story! earlier parts here

It feels different; magic cast through Potter’s voice and Draco’s hand. Balmy. Somehow smoother. A sun-warmed pebble of a spell.

Draco holds his wand aloft, sending out the Lumos to upset the dark, but it only reveals a greater puzzle.

Grimmauld’s empty hallway, fashioned out of smoke, stretching into eternity.

love drawing hc women with disproportionately and impractically huge weapons

Hi! I love your blog! Could you write a fic for drarry about falling asleep and/or waking up together?

Hello :3 ah thank you! Yes of course!

~🐍Drarry⚡️ & falling asleep and/or waking up together ~

No warnings apply

Draco had always been a morning person. He enjoyed the peace and stillness that an early morning could bring when spent alone, with just coffee and one's own thoughts for company. It was a habit that his mother had instilled in him from an early age, and he rarely ever remained in bed past 7am.

This morning was an exception.

It was half past 8, and Draco hadn't yet risen. But today, he was very content to be lounging about, wasting the precious morning hours. Today, he had absolutely no desire to leave his bed, or the sight that was before him. Because beside him in the bed, splayed out across Draco's expensive, emerald-green, silk bedsheets and half under his beloved down-stuffed duvet, was Harry Potter. And Draco found that he had absolutely no desire to be anywhere else. Because truly, what else could he be doing that would beat his current occupation of gazing at the sleeping Boy Who Lived?

Draco was still getting used to the idea that they were in a relationship, never mind that the man he'd been obsessed with since early childhood was now frequently sharing his bed for him to wake up beside. But as he took in Harry's appearance, the light flush colouring his cheeks, his already unruly black hair ruffled impossibly, the side of his handsome face smushed against the pillow that he'd burrowed into some time during the night, Draco felt something tighten in his chest.

But as he made to roll away, to swing his legs over the side of the bed and creep out of the bedroom, a strong arm shot out and wrapped around his waist. The arm pulled him across the mattress as though he weighed nothing, and suddenly he was pressed against Harry's warm, toned form. The Auror scrubbed his face against Draco's chest and let out a contented little sigh, and the sound made the knot in the pit of his stomach ease a little.

It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, necessarily, but it still made Draco freeze. He knew that feeling. Or at least, he'd heard enough people talk about that feeling that he was pretty sure that he knew what it meant. And all at once, Draco was overwhelmed and nervous and unsure, and he decided that perhaps it was time for him to get up, after all.

It unravelled entirely when Harry mumbled sleepily against his skin, 'Love you, Draco.'

VIII. Crystal

<- previous

Turned out having breakfast with Harry Potter also meant having dinner with him.

The bastard eased Draco into it. “I’m making curry tonight, you want some?”

Spiraling out of his control, Draco went from rarely seeing Potter to twice a day. Potter’s cooking being just as good at night as it was in the morning was the only upside. 

The rising daylight was accompanied by, what Draco regrets to acknowledge, was amiable silence as they prepared for the arduous days ahead of them. The nighttime was accompanied by actual conversations. It start menially: a bunch of “how was your day?”s and “who do you think will win Quidditch?”. Then Potter would bring up a memory from their eight year and Draco would start gossiping about their old classmates.

On it went, from polite chatter to affable talk then friendly banter—or from an outside perspective: verbal war. 

“You almost murdered me once,” followed by: “Like you wouldn’t’ve.”

“You were a prick in school,” proceeded by: “You weren’t?”

One night they finished eating and Potter asked, “You want a drink?”

Draco, exhausted and always susceptible to alcoholic bribes, said yes.

Potter took out firewhisky from the liquor cabinet and poured it into two matching crystal cups.

Their conversations reached their inevitable climax: quasi-flirtation. Perhaps it was the heat from the liquor—the heat radiating off of Potter—but the air felt tight-knit with tension. It might have been Draco’s imagination warping the way Potter smirked around his glass. The light from the room refracted off the crystal somehow made his green eyes shine even brighter.

“Draco,” his name coming out of Potter’s lips sounded indecent, like intruding on a tender moment. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Draco pretended he said it with sober fondness and not drunken impulse. He allowed himself this one thing.

next ->

prompt list previous days

what is HAPPENING

Girls practice chinese lion dance

as much as i understand being a hater you have to offset that shit with genuine, sincere enjoyment & wonder sometimes lest YOU become the one who is corny. and sad. imo.