Hang

A large part of the reason families were bigger in the past was because marital rape was not considered rape and birth control/abortion methods were ineffective, dangerous and/or illegal. We can dance around this and act like our great great great grandmothers just loveddddd being mamas so much that they decided out of their own free will to have 11 children. We can pretend that they DECIDED to have big families because it was a financially advantageous decision so they could have more labor around the farm. But a lot of children in the past were fundamentally unwanted and not conceived out of love, children were not a choice women got to make. We need to admit that and stop pretending historical women were inherently more maternal because they were impregnated at the age of 15 and kept having babies until they were 40. That did not make them loving mothers, it did not make them ‘the divine feminine’ and it sure did not make them happy.

It is incredibly important to train yourself to have your first instinct be to look something up.

Don't know how to do something? Look it up.

See a piece of news mentioned on social media? Look it up.

Not sure if something is making it to the broader public consciousness, either because you don't see it much or you see people saying nobody is talking about it? Look it up.

Don't know what a word means? Look it up.

It will make you a better reader and a better writer, but it will also just make you more equipped to cope with the world.

So often, I see people talking about something as though it is the first time anyone has ever acknowledged it, when I've been reading reports about it on the news for months or years. Or I see someone totally misinterpreting an argument because they clearly don't know what a word means--or, on the other hand, making an argument that doesn't make sense because they aren't using words the right way.

Look things up! Check the news (the real news, not random people on social media)! Do your research! You (and the world) will be better for it.

undertow

prompt-a-day may 2025 | day twenty: reverie | word count: 292 | daily prompts courtesy of @peachydreamxx & @uncannycerulean ⋆˙⟡

_ _ _

The sea swells like a symphony, and Harry finds himself tangled, untethered, in the reverie.

The tomb is here, he knows it, he knows it, but there’s no simple way beneath the surface, no path through the craggy caves, the harsh caps of them splitting the water like sentries.

There’s a sound over the wind, a sharp, singular tone among the roaring rip of the current. Harry listens again, the water pulling at his clothing— denim laden-down, his hoodie turned a vice.

The sound comes again, echoes off the cliffside, high and hollow. Harry strains toward it, as the deep strains toward him.

Then, clear, breaking: “Potter!”

It’s no small thing, to keep a broom steady in the gale that swirls over the sea. But there he is, upright, if not wind-blown. Draco.

Harry goes to call, but finds his throat raw, salted and aching. How long since he’d last spoken?

He raises his arm, as high as he can manage (half-mast, and flagging).

Enough— it’s enough. Draco dives for him, unflinching. His gloved hands snatch at him, pulling, lifting. The mechanics are dodgy, his grip precarious, but in the moment he pulls Harry over the broomstick, he begins their escape, coaxing the steadfast Nimbus skyward.

The ascent is slow, and speech near-indistinguishable, but Draco is undeterred.

“Idiot!” he cries, and Harry realizes then— exhaustion finally overcoming him as he slumps, boneless— that he may actually be crying.

He wraps his hand around Draco’s. Sorry, he thinks. I’m sorry.

“Yo— ne’er le—ve my si—,” Draco is shouting, the storm stealing half of it away. “Once I ge— you o— land, I— goi’ to toss y’ back i— the sea!”

Land, Harry thinks, sleepily. Land, and Draco.

Yes, he’s feeling rather better already.

Edit: don’t follow me for hermitcraft/mcyt stuff, I legit never make anything of it lol 💀

V. Hang

<- previous day

He’d used the floo at the Leaky to get to Diagon Alley. Only to find out the ingredient he needed was out of stock. Deciding it was a nice day out, he stupidly chose to walk around muggle London. 

It wasn’t a completely terrible idea at first. After many exploration trips, the loud car noises had stopped alarming him and muggle pedestrians weren’t very unlike the wizard ones. At least the muggles didn’t cast hexes and jinxes at him while he passed. 

It was one drop and then water was pelting from the sky. The few muggles that were still in the streets fled indoors or pulled out their umbrellas and with no better choice, Draco hurriedly hid under the overhang of a random building. 

It was there that Potter found him, some unknown time later. He had an umbrella in one hand and a stupid grin on his face.

“Got caught in the rain?”

“How did you even find me?” Draco asked.

“Do you want to go home or not?” Draco had already become impatient with the storm and Potter’s attitude. Saying nothing, he walked away towards the nearest secluded area. 

Potter hurried behind him and Draco’s hair only had a brief moment to soak before Potter stepped up next to him and blocked the rain. 

They walked side by side, Potter having to hold the umbrella at a weird angle to cover both of them. Draco as the taller one did nothing to help as Potter’s sleeve, out of reach from the umbrella’s protection, got drenched. Once they reached a deserted alleyway, Potter reached with the same arm that had been exposed to the water.

The next moment, he apparated them back to Grimmauld Place.

next day ->

prompt list previous days

he totally had an emo phase

context

This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean

I'll catch up soon, but in the mean time:

<- previous

XXIII. Transparent

The pictures flashed on the screen, a unique sort of magic. Yet Draco’s disdain was transparent on his face.

“I thought you didn’t hate muggles anymore,” Harry said bemusedly.

“I don’t,” Draco spoke, sneer stuck on his face, “It doesn’t really go with the decor.”

It didn’t. The olde black house was not meant to hold anything so modern. So simple. So muggle.

“We should make it the statement piece.”

XXIV. Heated

Draco got home to find a piece of paper on the kitchen counter:

Busy with work I left food in the ice-box xo, HP

He took the left-over lasagna from lunch and placed it in the newest muggle addition to their home: the microwave.

He sat at the table alone with his reheated food still cold in the middle and tasting like an attenuated version of what it would taste like with Harry.

XXV. Brume

He braved the streets of Diagon Alley on a foggy morning, when he could blend in with the crowd.

He walked the cobbled streets, with the expectation of his most grim experiences coming to life, but the people simply walked by without a second glance.

Among the brume on the roads, he spotted him immediately. Horrible hair an immediate give away. Green eyes that could shine through the cloudiest skies, already trained on him—a picked up face in the crowd.

all entries read on ao3

prompt a day may - day 2 - black

a story told over the course of a month, in 50 word increments. based off prompts here: [X] you can read past entries here. drarry. 50 words. no rating

Entering the room is disorienting. The air is close – the walls, floor, and ceiling a uniform, shimmering black. 

Harry drops his things – mucky-looking against the shine – and tests the bed. Soft sheets. All of it black. Prone to stains. 

Harry closes his eyes. Stars begin to fall from the ceiling.

Real men suck it in // Ginny Weasley

I’ve always been struck by Ginny’s transformation from a little girl who cried and laughed while waving goodbye to her brothers, to the hardened young woman described as rarely weepy.

Ginny tends to externalize her pain, her grief, her displeasure, her sadness, her insecurity, and her feelings of injustice through loud, forceful displays of emotion. She rages, she snarks, she screams, she hexes, she doesn’t cry.

This transmuting of any perceived weakness into an exhibition of power is a direct message to the world that she is unshakable, invulnerable. Because, to her, if she shows any vulnerability she loses her control.

A control that is dependent on the privacy of the inner world she likes to keep so nice and tucked away. When that becomes exposed then anyone, or anything, can take and take and take.

Real Men - Mitski

Microfic May: Day Five

Hang - Dronarry (157 words)

Ron’s shoes are kicked off inside the door, scarlet robes thrown at the wall in a hope that they’ll miraculously hang themselves.

From upstairs, the cadence of the shower changes as someone moves beneath it.

No. Not someone.

Some… two.

His shirt is next, lost halfway up the stairs as he trips himself closer, whilst his trousers end up draped on the bannister. He’s just in his pants when he pushes the bathroom door open, half-hard and thanking the Gods for an early finish.

They don’t notice him at first, too wrapped up in each other. Harry is gasping, breathy and loud over the top of the water fall. Head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, fingers tightening in the shock of silver-bright hair. He’s close, Ron can tell.

Draco’s on his knees, looking as utterly perfect as usual even with his mouth full. Especially with his mouth full.

Harry’s eyes snap open. “Ron.”

Ron steps straight in.