chocolando
“I just know that something good is gonna happen, I don’t know when. But just saying it could even make it happen.”
269 posts
Latest Posts by chocolando
This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
Another three for three!
<- previous
XXVI. Droplet
Drip.
A drop, a twitch of his eye.
Drip.
Another, the rustle of fabric.
Drip.
Draco’s eyes snapped open.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The percussion of water hitting the floor reverberated across his skull. With every droplet on the floor, cold and dull, the snap of wood, a fitting couplet.
A whine broke through the tune and a warm body covered his, heavy and real. He let the slow breathing hymn lull him to sleep.
XXVII. Grow
Draco had shown tremendous amounts of growth since the past year.
“Does this outfit say, ‘I’m a well-adjusted member of society?’” However, some things never changed.
“The blue looks good on you,” was Harry’s cute but unhelpful reply.
“God, you’re useless.”
XXVIII. Verdant
The courtroom was bleak and grey, exactly as it was last time.
Now there were verdant eyes that looked at Draco as he spoke. And so he knew this time it would end differently, no matter if the verdict were to be the same.
all entries read on ao3
pig,,
i need the clip here actually
transcript:
Gem, moving Scar and Grian's heads around in REPO: [giggle] We could- we could play with them, like they're dolls. They should get married. Or fight it out. Somewhere.
They could get married. Scar's got like a tiara on. It's perfect. [moves Grian to a corner] We'll put him there, [grabs Scar] and then he can walk down the aisle. [starts humming wedding march as she pushes them together]
Skizz: Who's getting married?
Impulse: Who's get- Aww!
Gem: These two, look!
Skizz: Awwww!
Impulse: How cute! Can I be the best man?
[Skizz continues humming wedding march]
Gem: Grian, you may now kiss the bride.
Impulse: I'm Grian's- I'm Grian's best man.
[Gem picks up Grian, pushes him against Scar and makes kissy noises repeatedly]
Impulse: Skizz, you be the maid of honor.
Skizz: I'll be... I'll be, I'll be- WOW! I'm Scar's best man.
Impulse: That works too.
Gem: How many times is it too many times to kiss at a wedding?
Skizz: You know what? It's their day.
Impulse: Like-
Skizz: You let it ride.
Impulse: Yeah. Yeah.
Skizz: I want it- I want it to get so crazy that people in the audience are like "we should maybe leave"
Impulse: Yeah it needs to get uncomfortable
the enormity of desire
prompt-a-day may 2025 | day twenty-seven: grow | word count: 913 | daily prompts courtesy of @peachydreamxx & @uncannycerulean ⋆˙⟡ | warning: hanahaki-inspired/mild body horror
_ _ _
“Malfoy— alright?”
Draco glares up at him from the locker room bench. “What?”
Harry shrugs one shoulder, a noncommittal up-down. “You seem tired?”
“Fuck you,” he growls.
Harry laughs, which makes it worse. “Whatever,” he says, heading for the showers.
Draco walks out, a painstaking attempt at steady, starting for the dungeons, his dorm lavatory feeling kilometers away. The sensation of foliage, unfurling, catches in his abdomen, his esophagus.
They keep growing.
. . .
“Malfoy— alright?”
Draco’s holding himself against the bartop, handkerchief tucked hidden in his palm.
“Hm?” he says, aiming for haughty, disinterested.
“You keep coughing,” Harry answers, eyes narrowing in something like caution, something like concern.
“Doxie flu,” he lies. “The cough lasts for ages.”
“Shit,” Harry says. “You’ve already seen Madame Pomfrey?”
“Plenty,” Draco says, cheeky, (knowing it’s been yes, actually plenty), before breaking into another burst of hacking.
Harry’s hand is at his shoulder then, and Draco doubles forward, uncontrollable, wheezing unevenly.
“Gotta— go,” he manages, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, face warm. He ducks from beneath Harry’s grasp.
“Hey—” Harry calls, but he can’t afford to look back, much less to stay. He slips through the exit of The Three Broomsticks and apparates with a Crack!
In his bed, he empties his cloak pockets, daisy petals and clover tumbling out by the dozens.
They keep growing.
. . .
“Malfoy— alright?”
They’re at the top of one of the myriad stairwells in the castle, Draco braced on the bannister, a bit too desperate to pay much mind to who is or isn’t watching. He swallows at the air, tugs helpless at his shirt-collar.
“You’re out of breath,” Harry says, and at a lack for words, Draco flicks him off.
“You need the infirmary,” Harry says, sounding more cross, more concerned by the second.
Draco flicks him off again. Unfortunately, it’s the most he can do, and just barely, it turns out, his legs suddenly giving way beneath him.
He lands on his knees hard, fingertips scrabbling at the railing, feels it jar up and into his teeth, feels it knock loose pollen in his windpipe. Harry is at his side, instantaneous, and Draco, furiously, can think of at least three other scenarios where he’d rather be on his knees in front of him.
Draco’s vision goes fuzzy, his hand scratching weakly at his neck.
Harry’s arm is at his back. “I’m going to pick you up now,” he says, scooping Draco upwards without waiting for an answer. Which is good, probably, since Draco couldn’t have given one.
He feels the vining expand in his ribcage, Harry’s heart hammering in his ear, his own heart hardly murmuring its response.
If he stops breathing, he isn’t awake to know it.
They keep growing.
. . .
He wakes in the infirmary with Poppy Pomfrey at his side, teary-eyed, and smiling down at him.
“Dearie, you’ve known how to fix this.” She wraps one of his hands in hers. “Please.”
Potter’s there, too, because of course he is. He’s asleep, his head cradled in his arms at the foot of the bed.
Draco pats Poppy’s hand, then gestures to Harry, resigned.
Madame Pomfrey gently shakes Harry by the shoulder, pointing him to Draco before wandering into the hall.
“Hey,” Harry says, pulling a chair to his side. “You’re awake.”
Draco rolls his eyes, jabs a finger into Harry’s arm.
Harry laughs, subdued. “Alright, yeah. I’m awake.” His face twists a bit then, his thumb running over the seam of the quilt on Draco’s lap. “Were you cursed?”
Draco nods, picking up a near-whole daffodil from the bedspread and twirling it between his fingers. He taps his throat, a cough burbling harshly out of him, petals slipping past the handkerchief he draws hastily to his mouth.
“There’s no cure?” Harry asks, brow troubled, green eyes glinting.
Draco leans back into the pillows, his gaze tracking the high ceiling, the cobwebs in the corners. He’s tired, and he can feel leaves tickling at his trachea, obstructive and insistent.
He doesn’t want to die. I’m spite of everything, he doesn’t.
He pulls Harry’s hand to him, palm up on the blanket. C, he traces with the tip of his finger.
“C,” Harry says. Draco nods, continues, Harry spelling softly aloud. “C. U. R. E.”
His eyes flicker to Draco’s, fingers curling lightly where they lay on his lap. “You do know the cure?”
Draco swallows, sharp and thorny, and nods, once. He presses a finger to Harry’s lips, a silent plea.
“Alright,” Harry whispers, falling quiet.
In his hand, Draco writes slow and deliberate, each letter drawn out against his will, each necessary to sustain him, each revealing and damning and precious.
I - L - O - V - E - Y - O - U
He keeps his eyes cast down, wraps his fingers around Harry’s once he’s finished.
“Malfoy,” Harry says, and Draco deigns to meet his gaze. “It’s alright.”
His eyes draw to Draco’s chest, and he untangles their fingers, placing his palm carefully over his heart.
“Take a breath,” he whispers.
Draco does, and he’s overcome by the scent of potions and antiseptics, the laundry detergent on the linens, pumpkin juice on Potter’s breath, spring air on his skin. He breathes in and in and in. He feels it then, the flora wilting, a slow recession, his heart thrumming a steadier song.
Harry grins at him, bright, waylaying.
He loves him.
(It keeps growing.)
FIREFLY PATH Mystic Mirror Dress if you want to support this blog consider donating to: ko-fi.com/fashionrunways
Metamorphosis
When Draco awoke in the morning, he found that he was a beetle, and not a particularly dazzling one at that, with a dull black coat and ridged legs so brittle that he almost snapped one trying to get up.
“This was going to happen sooner or later,” Pansy said when she caught him scuttling down the hall toward the bathroom. When he made no word of response except to clack his claws together, she picked him up and asked, “What are you going to tell Potter?”
Potter was Draco’s parole officer, and he didn’t find it funny at all. He harangued Draco to “transform back” for five solid minutes before taking out his wand to cast Finite Incantatem over and over and over, as though it was sheer lack of will and not some bloody blood curse that confined Draco to his hard-bodied shell.
“I wish you’d say something,” Potter said an hour later, his throat dry.
Potter took him home that day, handing him off to Pansy before Flooing the rest of the way to his own home.
A week passed with no change. Pansy left out a bit of milk and bread for him every night. On Saturday, she asked if he couldn’t set her up with a weekly allowance from his vaults for his expenses. “Nothing big,” she said smoothly, presenting him with crisp scrolls fresh from Gringotts and an ink pad for him to press his forked claw into, to sign.
“How long is this going to last?” Potter asked Pansy when he dropped Draco off again the following week.
Pansy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“This — thing. This insect thing.”
“It’s a blood curse, Potter. It lasts forever,” Pansy tutted dismissively.
Draco rather agreed with Pansy’s assessment, but still, Potter came by, week after week, neverending with his questioning: “Black or Malfoy? Are there any records? What species—” as though Draco’s condition wasn’t so hopeless as long as he didn’t stop trying to change it. As though, after all these weeks and years, Draco could still change.
It filled Draco with an idiotic kind of hope.
—————–
For today’s @drarrymicrofic prompt, metamorphosis!
🐾 RULES & GUIDELINES
🐾 CLAIMING FORM
🐾 PROMPTING GALLERY
Timeline: Prompting opens: May 1st Prompting closes: May 15th Claiming starts: May 16th Claiming closes: August 31st Submissions due: September 1st Posting begins: September 15th
🐾 Mods @getawayfox and @stavromulabetaaa
Two crows were observed perched silently atop a street light during a misty morning in coastal California. ♡
secret kisses in 8th year 💋
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
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.
next ->
all entries read on ao3
when sam said "thats a point away from gianmarco",
i suddenly wanted him and vic to be in a gamechanger episode together
Girls practice chinese lion dance
So many people who love generative AI don't have a creative bone in their body and can't imagine anyone actually enjoying the time and effort it takes to write something or draw something.
I don't think it would be challenging to make an image generator that "respects copyright" (you could train it on public domain art and photos but you could also license massive libraries of stock photos and TV shows and book/album covers etc. from the media companies that hold the rights to them) and I think the existence of such a generator would not lead people currently mad about AI to suddenly be cool with it because it's really not about copyright.
Thank you@mourningliliesmorningglories and @noctilucous for tagging me 💖
rules: shuffle your on repeat playlist and list the first 10 songs that come up
1. Deeper Understanding- Kate Bush
2. Toxicity- System Of A Down
3. Oh to Be in Love- Kate Bush
4. Boombayah- BLACKPINK
5. Reaching Out- Kate Bush
6. Cities In Dust- Siouxsie And The Banshees
7. Bite My Hip- Bauhaus
8. Pink Venom- BLACKPINK
9. Rock Lobster- The B-52’s
10. (Don’t Fear) The Reaper- Blue Oyster Cult
tagging: @smehur @smugrobotics @katieloves @xalandrix @jupitersbetrayal
I adore the fact that Host!Vic is so proudly genderless but it’s also the funniest thing in the world to me, because it means that somehow this utterly deranged deer in the headlights style creature managed to do the self introspection required to realise they were trans. I don’t believe for a SECOND that this newly born bird has even a semblance of who they are or what they truly want, and yet somehow they managed to realise their gender identity and also not be completely insufferable about it. I adore them, I am enamoured with them, I am fascinated by them. Truly the guy ever. I desperately need to know more about fictional Vic Michealis’ gender identity because how is this the only normal thing about them. They can’t even count. How the fuck did they figure that one out. They really are
@drarrymicrofic prompt: jubilee
“How’d your Prophet interview go?” Draco’s stretched out on their bed, naked. Lazily dipping bright red strawberries in dark chocolate. Plump mouth curving into a smirk.
Git looks pretty fucking comfortable. And delicious.
Harry chuckles softly. “Skeeter asked about us. Wanted to know if Mr. Malfoy makes me feel jubilant.” He drops his robes onto the floor.
Draco bites into another berry, raises a brow. He pats the spot on the mattress beside him.
Harry laughs, climbs into bed, and drapes his legs over Draco’s. “Told her I didn’t know anyone by that name. Rendered her speechless.”
Draco scoffs, traces his fingers across Harry’s chest. “She should know I go by Potter.”
OP: Back when I was young, I couldn’t afford nice clothes. Now, I buy pretty dresses for the 18-year-old me. (cr 农村的陈奶奶)
why would you attribute draco being unable to cast a patronus to him having an awful childhood and therefore no happy memories to pull from when it is soooooo much more interesting to explore the idea that he's someone who was so uncomplicatedly happy for so long that he didn't value those moments enough and when he DID finally gain perspective through suffering he was so traumatised that he struggled to remember anything except the bad things
like is it easier to say lucy bad draco sad case closed yeah but is it also the most boring shit in the world. mmmyeah
This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean
I missed yesterday so you get a two for one, yay!
XXI. Flicker
<- previous
Draco sat by the fireplace reading a book. The lights would flicker across the pages and he didn’t pay it much mind, assuming it was the work of the flames in the fireplace. It only became a matter of concern once all the lights completely turned off. The low golden light of the fire served as the only source of illumination.
Draco froze on the couch, his book completely forgotten. The house was massive, he knew this deeply, intimately. Yet, with all the lights completely off, the room seemed too small. The darkness shrinking around him until only his small corner could abate it off. Until the fire burned out.
The wood burning was the only sure sign time had passed.
“Why are you in the dark?” Harry asked.
“The magic gave out.”
“Lumos.” The lights came back on before Harry even finished speaking.
XXII. Harsh
It would take a full day for the muggle light repairmen to install the Elect Tree City. Harry had the brilliant idea to stay out at London for the day to “have a proper date.”
For breakfast they decided to eat at a pâtisserie. They browsed different shops, bought many clothes (Draco), and carried many bags (Harry). It was a very simplistic day and they hadn’t done much at all. Somehow, Draco still had fun.
The change was immediately noticeable as soon as they opened the door. Overwhelming brightness hit them and it was much harsher than lumos.
When confronted with this, Harry replied, “It’ll do for now.”
next ->
all entries read on ao3
Children please stop calling the slightest hint of sexual desire “gooning” I’m going to strangle all of you
Young Sirius.
for some reason, I have very specific head canons about the Malfoys’ Patronuses. Lucius probably isn’t competent enough to reliably produce one (and perhaps not happy enough either) but if he could it would be a Patronus. (But his happy thought is that he’s a Malfoy TM).
Narcissa absolutely can produce one and it’s a dragon. Both because while she may seem unassuming on the outside, she’s incredibly formidable, capable and fierce and because her motivating thought is always of her son Draco.
And Draco’s Patronus is a lion. Because of drarry. Because at his lowest the thought that keeps him going and the thought that finally lets him conjure Patronus in book 7 to drive away the Dementors around the school despite everything going on is that somewhere out there Harry Potter is still alive.
Harry Potter, Hogwarts flying instructor & Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Transfigurations professor
continuing my obsession with this podfic and all things Drarry, as well as thinking a lot about wizard fashion in general re: Fantastic Beasts (oh my god, I’m SO EXCITED), here are my two favorite wizards. There are rumors amongst the Hogwarts student body that professors Potter and Malfoy don’t get on, since they were enemies in their teens. Little do they know these two are thick as thieves and both love a good prank (and a good cup of tea).
(p.s. I will be at RIPExpo in Providence, RI this weekend!! I’ll have this print and others for sale along with my Poe zine!!)
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!”
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.