38 Or 39 With Larry?

and last but not least this year, a surprise present for @jolesofthehowls

thanks for the amazing idea of aether and venti in indian clothing dear <3

alright merry christmas everyone see you next year, imma go recover from drawing 3 full pictures in less than a week :D

head empty only venti knows jackshit about braiding, he just spawned in like that and uses magic to upkeep them. When he loses his gnosis he has to use his power sparingly, which means no more wasting magic on the braids. He's got to do them manually now. As stated before he has no idea how to fucking do this, so he asks the person he thinks knows braiding best to help him. Who is that person? Aether.

Two ways to go from here:

1. Soft aeventi where Aether teaches Venti how to braid his hair. Venti is clumsy at first so Aether braids his hair for him.

(Optional part 2- He ends up enjoying this so even after he learns how to braid his hair he comes back to Aether to do it each time)

2. Aether also knows jack shit about braiding hair. His hair is magically kept it place. He tried unbraiding it once but it just didnt???? Like it would not unbraid??? help

(Optional part 2- Venti is sad because he feels like a piece of his friend is gone now)

(Optional part 3- Aether comforts Venti about it, and eventually Venti gets used to having his hair down, and starts feeling more like his own person than an imposter)

Darling!!!!!!!!!! I dare yo to write an alternate Deathly Hallows where Draco yeets the Elder Wand.

Challenge accepted. Here’s my first venture into HP fanfiction, I suppose. :)

“HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!”

 There’s something to be said about shock.

Something to be said about going into shock, but he can’t be bothered to care at this moment. The words slip from his grasp, falling aside as worthless details and half grasped concepts.

They aren’t real, nothing feels real, because as much as he’s hated Harry Potter, as deeply as he’s despised him, he’s never dreamt of his corpse. Not once, not even at his darkest, not even with his Aunt Bella egging him on as the muggles screamed…

 He’s never wished Potter dead, even if he hated himself for it.

 He freezes as the Weasley girl screams, as her father grabs her tight as he can to hold her back from the Death Eater’s loud cheers. Draco can see him – the object of his envy and hatred and irritation and complete and utter loathing – in the Half-breed’s arms, draped haphazardly like a delicate princess. It almost looks like he’s sleeping, like this is all some sick joke, and the stupid prat’s Chosen One powers are about to kick in at any moment.

 But then Draco looks at Granger and Weasley, looks at the shock in their eyes, the broken and haunted way the tears gather in their eyes, and he knows this is real. This isn’t school years, where his worst secret is the humiliation lingering after Potter’s rejection in first year, where his biggest concern is winning the Quidditch game just to show Potter up or the House Cup to give the finger to Dumbledore.

This is real, and it’s terrifying, terrifying in a way he’d barely tasted in sixth year, half-mad with desperation and the burden of that brand on his arm, the dark ink marking him as evil and wrong.

 (“Draco, years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you.”)

 He hadn’t let the old man help him, had watched Severus Snape kill him, and he feels a pang for the optimistic fool doomed to die. He never set out to make the wrong choices, but he did anyways. There were no choices, there had been honor, and duty, and loyalty, but never a choice.

 (What’s the right choice when every action leads to a death? When inaction leads to death? What is the right choice when your father bartered away your ability to make them for the loyalty of a madman drunk on power?)

 Malfoys don’t have choices, they have responsibilities.

 He’d been damned from the start.

 “SILENCE!”

 No one speaks, no one breathes, not even Draco. His eyes linger on Potter, blood-spattered and dirty, as if he’d tumbled through dirt before ‘Avada Kedavra’ struck. He wonders if it hurt, if Potter had been afraid.

Potter’s a Gryffindor, so he doubts it – what they lacked in subtlety and intelligence they made up for in fool-hardy bravery.

 (And isn’t that the conundrum Draco’s struggled with, surrounded by the Dark Lord’s suffocating presence, the toxic feeling lingering in Malfoy Manor – is it better to be a brilliant coward, or a brave fool? – Potter’s corpse doesn’t offer any answers)

 “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix? You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

 He’s never been ready for Potter’s death, even when the opportunity arose not once but twice – first at the hands of his family, second at the hands of his friends – he’d been so stupidly unprepared that he’d saved him, lied for him, even after the bathroom and all the bad blood accumulated over years of bitterness, years of envy and what he wishes he could call hatred.

 He’d never had a choice, but he let himself have one.

 His family asked him to save them, and he chose Potter, for reasons neither of them understand. ‘Understood,’ he corrects, ignoring the blathering of the Dark Lord as he glides across his field of destruction and blood, ‘Neither of us understood.’ Because it’s past tense now – hate is now hated, envy is now envied – and he still doesn’t know how to feel, even as he knows how he should feel.

Malfoys are calm, collected. Malfoys are perfect, in composure as well as pedigree. Malfoys don’t cower, nor do they fight.

As the snake strikes in the cover of tall grass, Malfoys strike in the dark, underhanded methods and crafty exchanges (money makes the bloody world spin, and the Malfoys have more money than they have emotion).

 He should be happy, should be smug, perhaps, over the death of the Boy Who Lived. The other Death Eaters are – ecstatic, actually – but he’s not the same as them, even if it would be easier for his entire family if he were. Potter is the Boy Who Lived, and he’s the fool unwilling to see him dead – the boy who had no choice – stuck on the subtle tug of his gut as Potter’s heart beats, as his green eyes glimmer.

 Draco hates himself for noticing that too, for not being what he should be for his family.

 “Draco, come.”

 His mother beckons him, lips pulled tight in a twisted mockery even he couldn’t call a grin. It’s forced, so disgustingly forced that he could scream, rage the way the Weasley girl tries to. Malfoys are calm, Malfoys are collected, and the look in his mother’s eyes – the whimper half released from his father’s throat – is anything but.

 Draco walks from the right side numbly, staring at Potter’s corpse even as the Dark Lord embraces him.

 He shivers in revulsion, sick as the man his family has served faithfully for so long embraces him as family. He’s stiff, goosebumps trailed down his pale – damn near translucent – flesh feels the Dark Lord’s words.

 Draco is released and his mother embraces him next, but his eyes still linger on the corpse that should not be, the last person he’d ever thought would die – even though Potter was the only non-muggle the Dark Lord truly wanted to die.

 No one calls him back, not that he expects them to, but he’s (mildly) disappointed all the same.

 He wonders if Potter would have attempted it, self-righteous in his own beliefs that Draco couldn’t be truly evil, truly wrong, if he’d defied the Dark Lord to let him live. He probably would have, might have called him a git or pathetic, and it’s nearly enough to make Draco laugh.

 How far he’s fallen, to crave the predictability and reliability in banter with his greatest rival. That mutual irritation… They got under each other’s skin in ways no one else could, even if Draco hadn’t killed anyone.

 “…Longbottom.”

 He ignores his surroundings, ignores his mother’s soft attempts to coax him out of his self-imposed silence, ignores his father’s whimpering and the ashen appearance that’s such a far cry from before…

 Before life became real, and actions had consequences, and his choices led to death and pain for people who didn’t deserve it.

 Somewhere between Albus Dumbledore’s death and Potter’s, he’d changed.

 Life used to be so clear…

 But his father had been abandoned to Azkaban, cast aside in his own home for the Dark Lord’s acceptance. His mother had suffered – quietly, in ways those who didn’t know her wouldn’t see – in ways she’d never suffered before. And Draco… Draco…

 “…You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

 He doesn’t know himself anymore.

 “Draco,” his father murmurs, and he pulls back, tearing his gaze off Potter for the first time since Voldemort’s loud declaration set in this cold, this numbness, settling in his limbs as if it was meant to be there.

 His mother strokes his hair, nearly as tense as he is.

 His father… looks pathetic. His once luminous blonde locks are stiff and dirty, as worn down and decayed as the rest of him. He’s lost weight, enough for his cheeks to appear sullen and sunken in, enough for his perfectly tailored robes to hang off him in ways not befitting a Malfoy.

 He shoots his father a glare, furious at the tears he can feel prickling at the corners of his eyes.

 “What?” He demands, ignoring Longbottom’s nervous words, the exaggerated gestures he makes as he speaks, drawing the crowds of right and wrong’s attention.

 “We must leave, Draco,” Narcissa interjects, eyes cold and empty. There’s a kindness in her touch that her perfect face can’t convey. “Now.”

 But he shoves her away, because his eyes are back on Potter – infuriatingly, stupidly, fixated on the boy turned man he couldn’t hate no matter how desperately he wanted to. Steady breath, in and out.

 “…a boy who made all the wrong choices…”

 He feels his mother eyes linger, demanding answers he can’t give, perhaps is unwilling to give.

 Longbottom’s shouting now, speaking of sacrifice and how Harry Potter’s stupid heart had beat and bled for them all – and honestly, after all the years and pain and suffering, how could they not already know that? How could they question that, when he only hated those who aligned themselves with pain, with hatred and wrong choices.

 Unexplainably, there’s a twitch.

 Corpses don’t twitch, and it’s small enough for Draco to nearly brush off, to dismiss it as a fight of fancy for his not-hated rival, but he knows Potter. Knows Potter far more than he likes admitting, and he sees his right hand – the same hand he extends towards the snitch every match with that infuriating grin – twitch again.

Potter can’t sit still, never has been able to…

 And Draco knows the truth before Longbottom draws the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the dirtied Sorting Hat, knows it as Voldemort laughs.

 “Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us! And it’s not over!”

 Harry Potter grunts, louder than the rapid tempo of Draco’s heart, and he flings himself from the Half-Giant’s arms to the cold stone floor of the half-destroyed courtyard.

 The Dark Lord turns, smug grin turning as the gasps reach his ears…

 Potter’s wild-eyed, hands grasping for a wand that evidently wasn’t there, still glaring at Voldemort defiantly.

 Draco Malfoy is a boy who’s never had a choice, burdened by his family’s legacy, by the weight of expectations and tradition and self-importance piled on by his father. He’s always followed his father’s rules, his father’s ambitions…

 He’s been perfect, as close as he could get.

He’s been obedient, even as it tore his soul and mind apart.

He’s been cool, even as screams scratch at his throat, demanding to be released.

 But when the Dark Lord turns, when he frowns and his eyes narrow into dark slits, Draco makes another choice, ripping his arm from his mother’s grasp.

 “Draco—” His father tries, but he’s already gone.

 “…all the wrong choices…”

 “Potter!” He shouts, ripping the wand straight from Voldemort’s bony fingers. Potter’s emerald eyes – still glimmering, Draco can’t help but notice – snap onto him, hardened and suspicious, until they notice the wand he holds in a death grip.

 He tosses the wand, ignoring Voldemort’s angry shout for another wand, and Potter catches it, looking alive and confident…

 “CONFRINGO!”

 Nagini hisses, sent flying towards the Death Eater’s as Voldemort yells again, sending waves of flames towards Potter and – fuck – him. They both jump over rubble, ducking between pillars as they run.

 “If we die,” Draco hisses, dodging another furious attack from Voldemort, “I will kill you again, Potter.”

 Potter sends him a curious look, one that makes him catch his breath.

 “If we die,” He echoes, lips curling upwards. “Tom won’t succeed, not this time.”

 Draco blinks, nearly struck by another jet of flames he doesn’t notice.

 “Who the bloody hell is Tom?”

"I wish you could just admit you made a mistake" "I didnt make a mistake, I like it with salt" *while stirring coffee*. Any pairing you want and it doesnt have to be romantic.

I had a blast writing this!! Some domestic!drarry for the soul :)

Coffee

~

Harry wakes to the smell of coffee and the sound of clattering in the kitchen. The light streaming in from the windows makes him blink blearily, the blankets warm where they wrapped around his legs. He reaches groggily over to the other side, where Draco usually slept and touched only air.

For a heartbeat, just a heartbeat that old panic comes back, of waking up and finding the other person gone. Harry’s spent too many mornings like that; Draco having slipped away some time before dawn, the bed cold and so, so empty. He clenches his hands, fists slipping on the sheets. It always took awhile for him to calm down, to be reminded that he was here, in their apartment in Diagon Alley, all old windows and exposed brick.

Draco had picked the place out, half-forgotten on a small side street, the windows boarded and the door locked. Harry had thought he was crazy at first, crazy for wanting an old wreck like this was.

But they had cleaned it up nicely: exposed beams and huge windows with emerald shutters, hard wooden flooring covered in soft rugs. Pansy had done most of the decorating - Harry wanted too much red and Draco wanted too much green. The flat was now a comfortable amalgamation of them both - broomsticks on the floor, Harry’s coffee mugs and Draco’s crystal wine glasses, a Muggle television and an old pensieve that Draco had bought from god knew where.

It felt like home. Harry’s never really felt like that before, having a place to truely call home.

He gets out of bed slowly, wincing at the bright lights. There’s a mess of clothing dumped on one of the chairs; he grabs something at random (Draco’s - only he would bother to buy a sweater this nice) and pulls it on, padding into the kitchen.

Draco’s perched on the counter, a newspaper in hand. Harry watches him, all tousled blonde hair and long legs and the faintest edge of a rosy blush on his cheeks. The sun hits him from behind making him look like he was glowing, the entire room lit up by the beauty of his smile.

Harry remembers a time long ago, back to the War and the fighting. Draco had been colder, harder, painted in shades of grey instead of gold. Still beautiful - he always had been beautiful - but nothing close to what he was now.

He could have watched Draco for hours, flipping through the Prophet idly, the smell of warm coffee in the air. Draco notices him before long though; he rolls his eyes, tossing the newspaper over Harry’s head and onto the sofa behind him. “Creep,” he says, though there’s no venom behind the words. “How long have you been watching me?”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t bother to hide the smile on his face, like he might’ve so long ago. He’s long learnt that Draco was Draco - he never needed to hide anything around him. “Few minutes. You know we have a couch right?”

“Oh really?” Draco says in mock surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Maybe you’re just stupid,” Harry says and Draco lets out a long laugh.

“Bitch,” he mutters and flicks his wand. The mail comes soaring into Harry’s hands, the door swinging slightly behind it. “Here’s all your precious fan mail by the way.”

Harry scowls, examining the parchment in his hand. “How do they keep finding us?”

“Probably a tracking spell or something. How come I never get any fan mail?”

“You have the fucked-up Death Eater guy.”

Draco pours. “Yes, but he’s a fucked-up Death Eater guy. You get all the admirers. No one has ever sent me a condom before.”

Harry shudders. “Oh please no,” he says, dropping the stack of mail onto the coffee table with a groan. “That was one time! One time!”

“It was an extra large!” Draco calls out as Harry shoves his way into the kitchen, slamming an empty mug onto the counter. Ron had gotten it for him as an 18th birthday present - one of those tacky souvenir ones that seemed to have sprouted up everywhere after the war. The Bae Who Lived was stamped on one side, along with a lipstick mark that did not resemble Harry’s lips at all.

Draco had now stretched himself out on the counter, legs dangling idly over the edge. His arm was out and bare next to him, the Dark Mark covered up by beautiful flowers, rendered in soft purples and blues and greens. It was a Muggle tattoo for the most part, with the exception of one single hydrangea - in ever shifting colours of pale pinks and soft teals. Draco had designed it himself - they still had the parchment sketched on the wall in the bedroom.

“Move,” Harry grumbles, unceremoniously shoving Draco off the counter. “Why are you even up so early? It’s not like we have practice or anything.”

Draco gives him a disbelieving stare. “It’s almost 8.”

“Too fucking early.”

“Go to bed earlier then.”

“I did!” Harry shakes his head. “You’re the one keeping me up all night.”

“Well,” Draco says, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’m sure I could wake you up by - “

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Harry scowls into his empty mug, running a hand through his hair. “The only thing I want to be woken up by today is the Lord and coffee. I need coffee.”

“Pot,” Draco says, gesturing vaguely towards the coffee machine. “My boyfriend. The handsomest idiot in the world.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Harry grumbles as he pours himself a huge cup. Draco had an unusual talent for making incredible coffee, despite not knowing how to use a french press about 6 months ago. “I defeated Voldemort, right? That’s got to count for something.”

Draco laughs. “Please. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” Harry scowls. He finds the milk in the fridge, adding copious amounts to his coffee. “Where’s the spoons?”

“This is your fucking loft too,” Draco mutters. He hands Harry the spoon from his own coffee mug, smirking as he did. “Honestly. Remember that headline a few weeks ago? ‘Harry Potter; the Hidden Mysteries of the Boy Who Lived?’”

“Vividly,” Harry mutters, now rummaging around the cupboards for the sugar. “Made me sound like some sort of bloody celebrity or something. Anything Skeeter writes is trash.”

Draco hums. He kicks his feet out in front of him idly. “True. It’s a load of bullshit anyways. Hidden mysteries my ass.”

Harry flips him off. He finds the sugar in a jar next to the stove and adds a few heaping spoonfuls to his coffee, the rich scent already helping with his headache. “I’m mysterious!” he protests. “And handsome. And attractive. And devastatingly intelligent.”

“Apparently not,” Draco says, “Seeing as you just put salt in your coffee.”

Harry freezes. He turns back towards the stove. For the first time he notices the small black letters on the side of the jar. Sea Salt.

He inwardly groans, turning back to face Draco, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. “No. I meant to do that.”

“I wish you would just admit you made a mistake,” Draco sighs, watching as Harry serenely stirs his coffee. “Gryffindors.”

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Harry mutters, clinking his spoon against his mug. “I like it with salt.”

“Oh really?” Draco says. Harry sees the glint in his eye and gulps. “Then you wouldn’t have a problem with drinking it?”

Harry swallows, hard. Shit, he thinks. Draco’s eyes are full of challenge, that streak of competitiveness that made him fall in love in the first place.

Harry slowly raises the mug to his lips. “Fuck you,” he says and chugs the whole thing. Halfway through he regrets it - it’s burning hot and excruciatingly salty, like drinking warm ocean water. He never could turn down a dare though, draining the cup to the dregs.

“See?” he says, slamming the cup down in front of Draco. “Delicious.”

Draco gets to his feet, smiling wickedly. He crosses over to the stove, picking up the jar of salt. “Delicious?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, trying to hind the grimace and the lingering taste still in his mouth. “I could drink this all day.”

He regrets the words as soon as it leaves his mouth. Draco grins, his face turning evil. “Well then,” he says. “It’s a good thing I love my boyfriend so much then.”

Fuck.

“Draco - “ Harry starts, but Draco just winks.

“Love you,” he says, and then dumps the entire pot of salt into the coffee.

YESSSS IM BACK WITH ANOTHER VENTHER ART!!!

Venti really wants to buy that new maid 😏😏

aether: */wears a maid outfit

venti: 💳💥💳💥💥💥💳💳

GENSHIN MASTERLIST!

AETHER

nothing here yet!

ALBEDO

nothing here yet!

ARATAKI ITTO

nothing here yet!

BEIDOU

nothing here yet!

DILUC

nothing here yet!

EULA

nothing here yet!

GANYU

nothing here yet!

GOROU

nothing here yet!

HU TAO

nothing here yet!

JEAN

nothing here yet!

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

nothing here yet!

KAEYA

nothing here yet!

KAMISATO AYAKA

nothing here yet!

KAMISATO AYATO

nothing here yet!

KEQING

nothing here yet!

KUJOU SARA

nothing here yet!

KUKI SHINOBU

nothing here yet!

LUMINE

nothing here yet!

NINGGUANG

nothing here yet!

RAIDEN SHOGUN/EI

nothing here yet!

ROSARIA

nothing here yet!

SANGONOMIYA KOKOMI

nothing here yet!

SHENHE

nothing here yet!

TARTAGLIA/CHILDE

nothing here yet!

THOMA

nothing here yet!

VENTI

nothing here yet!

XIAO

nothing here yet!

YAE MIKO

nothing here yet!

YANFEI

nothing here yet!

YELAN

nothing here yet!

YOIMIYA

nothing here yet!

YUN JIN

nothing here yet!

ZHONGLI

nothing here yet!

hi! i just finished reading tts for the fifth time and i've just always wondered how you thought harry and louis meeting each other's families would go? family is obviously important to both of them throughout the fic so I just was wondering how it was for them to introduce that part of their lives to one another. Thank you and I absolutely adore you and your writing!

ok, i know you sent this a while ago and i’m sorry for not replying sooner. i have been thinking about this though and i have opinions. 

the way i imagine this whole thing going is that harry would be relatively chill about it all (normal meeting the fam stress but mostly excitement), while louis would be a nervous wreck about the whole thing and blow it wayyyyy out of proportion. like.... freaking the fuck out thinking it’s a bad idea, etc etc re: introducing HIS family to harry. i know, i know, it’s a bit of a role reversal re: their dynamic in the fic since louis is such a steady and strong figure in the story while harry is a little bit adrift (is louis a lighthouse amidst the troubled seas harry is drowning in????? yes. yes he is.) BUT it absolutely makes sense to me that it would be like this. here’s why. 

first of all, i think louis meets harry’s family first. a. because harry is so excited about it and really wants to make it happen relatively quickly and b. because THEY’RE so excited about it. they’ve heard so much about louis and they know how much he helped harry when he was struggling. they know louis helped him in ways they couldn’t because the pressure was somehow on. and they’re thankful and excited and eager to discover the person behind the stories. they’re very aware that this is a big deal and a big serious relationship for harry. because they’re so thankful and they kind of love him already through harry’s eyes and stories and smiles and improvements in general, it’s maybe a little less pressure ? and more of a welcoming into the family straight away kind of thing. i like to imagine maybe harry asks louis if his family could come and stay at the b&b and meet both louis and fair isle at the same time. so they do a little weekend with his parents and his sister so harry’s two worlds can collide. and it goes very well and it’s a pretty special bonding experience for all of them. louis and gemma become best friends pretty much instantly and cliff pretty much falls in love with anne. overall, a big big success. 

harry meeting louis’ family however... i can imagine that taking a little bit longer. the way i see it, i think louis being so protective of harry and his privacy, and not wanting for him to feel exposed or pressured, would want to delay the meeting a little. there’s a lot of youngsters in his family, teenage girls he now realises absolutely know who harry is and no matter how much he loves them and trusts them, it makes louis nervous. mostly, it makes louis nervous to think it could make harry nervous and he doesn’t want to put him in this position where he maybe doesn’t feel safe. harry, bless his heart, is blissfully unaware that that’s what concerns louis and kind of thinks maybe this is about some of louis’ homophobic more distant relatives that are mentioned in the fic. and he doesn’t want to pressure louis into putting himself in maybe a vulnerable position like that. meanwhile, louis just thinks that harry would be scared of being Exposed by the fans even though he KNOWS his sisters wouldn't do that, esp. if he asked them not to. but ofc, louis’ family don’t really know about harry at all, since he kept that pretty secret so while they know there’s a new relationship, they don’t really know the finer details. so it’s all a bit awkward and unsaid and there’s a lot of misunderstandings surrounding it. at some point, louis grows a pair and admits what he’s actually scared of and harry laughs. not his finest moment, but it’s a fond one, and he kind of admits it never even occurred to him to be worried since all the stories louis told about his mother and his siblings are wonderful. he trusts louis ergo he trusts them too. so they finally decide to pop for a visit. 

i can’t decide if i want louis to like... prep his family in a way that is completely ridiculous and over the top, with like a list of rules and questions they’re not allowed to ask and etc. and when harry gets there and everyone is kind of silent and awkward he’s like ????? until one of the oldest siblings admits there’s very little they can talk about under louis’ code of conduct and harry goes ‘oh fuck that’ which 100% endears him to everyone. louis’ mum goes ‘oh thank god, i thought you were ridiculously high maintenance and out of touch, but it was just louis being protective and stupid’. to which louis replies ‘i’m you’re child, you can’t call me stupid’ and she gives him such a scathing and judgemental look that he huffs and leaves the living room to go grab a drink. he pretends to be offended but by the time he’s in the kitchen by himself, he’s beaming. he doesn’t know what he was so worried about. 

OR..... there’s a part of me that’s like.... he wouldn’t tell them a single thing except ‘i’m bringing my boyfriend for the weekend’ and just show up with harry styles in tow, giving his sisters a fucking heart attack. one of them is literally listening to a harry styles song in her room when they show up. the music is way too loud and can be heard throughout the house. the words ‘i want to die’ are uttered out loud by louis and they haven’t even crossed the threshold yet. throughout dinner, louis glares at anyone who starts asking harry a question until harry goes ‘your face is gonna get stuck like that, what were you asking me about the brits?’ and the tension finally drops a little. one of the twins does drag harry up to her bedroom so he can sign her poster and louis has a mini existential crisis because there’s his shirtless boyfriend on her wall and he can’t believe he didn’t know. he feels mortified for 1.5 sec before he starts making fun of harry for the ridiculous photoshoot. 

yeah... i can’t decide but both is good. and both end well despite major drama (mostly made up by louis and his dumb brain). 

i don’t know if that’s what you wanted, but that’s the way i imagine it!

WHY DID THIS NOT HAPPEN? HUH?!

Lukadrien is just <3 Rush draw hahahaha

Hogsmeade Weekend + Drarry

• The two of them were already pretty close friends, so it wouldn't be too awkward.

• Harry just didn't know how to tell Draco it'd be just the two of them; no Ron or Hermione.

• 'Harry, trust me, he wouldn't mind.'

• 'But what if he does, 'Mione?!'

• 'Tell him Hermione and I are going on a date.'

• 'Ronald!'

• Harry does manage to ask him (a day before the Hogsmeade weekend)

• Draco says yes, obviously, and they go together.

• It was easy for them to talk, and drink Butterbeer, and steal each others candy, and drink a little Firewhisky, and act like a couple.

• They got back late, laughing and slightly tipsy, but they quieted down once they entered the castle.

• Draco didn't remember when they'd exchanged scarves, but the Slytherin scarf made Harry's eyes appear brighter. He'd never admit Harry looked good in it, though.

• 'Thanks for today.' Draco whispered, smiling freely as he started walking away backwards. 'I ought to get back before Filch catches us.'

• Why is his smile so cute-'No problem, Draco. Best date I've ever been on.'

• Draco stopped and looked at Harry in confusion.

• 'Wait- that was a date?'

• Harry had not meant to say that out loud- but too late now.

• 'I mean... it could be. If you want it to be. Totally fine if you don't! It's not like I like you- no, wait, I don't not like you-'

• Harry stopped himself before he could continue rambling, and Draco laughed.

• 'Hogsmeade as a first date? Really, Potter? No, that wasn't a date. I'll take you somewhere better. Tomorrow.' Harry could have sworn that his heart stopped for a second.

• 'So you don't mind going on a date with me?'

• 'Honestly, Potter.' Draco laughed again. Harry found that he liked this carefree Draco as well. 'The only one who hasn't noticed my crush on you, is you.'

• Draco winked and walked to his common room, while Harry stood like a statue for the next minute.

• When he got back to the common room, he was surprised to see Hermione and Ron awake.

• 'So, how was the date, mate?' Ron asked him the second he entered.

• 'Ron! He means, how was hanging out with Draco?'

• 'I've got a date tomorrow.'

• 'Bloody hell! Harry got a date faster than me!' 'It's not my fault you took years to ask, Ronald.' 'Harry took years to confess to Draco!' 'Hey!'

• The date the next day turned out to be the first of many.

OH. THE. TEA!

Louis Tomlinson’s Walls cover art:

This moment from Todrick Hall’s music video for “I Like Boys,” after he literally kicks the closet door down:

BONUS (I Like Boys lyrics):

Lights off, doors shut Tall, dark, clean-cut Thick with a bubble butt, yup Mama, I like boys Styles like they named Harry Sizzlin’ like grease By day his name Gaston By night I call him Beast

Bitch! B to the O to the Y to the S Boys will be boys and with boys I’m obsessed Boys in their gym clothes, boys in a dress And if boys are a crime then I’m under arrest