*slash*

Hello! I finally finished the drawing and it’s amazing. For the second time in my life I drew something decent with my tablet and I liked it. The original picture is simply huge, but unfortunately the possibilities of the tumbler are limited. So enjoy the boys in such shitty quality ¯\_(ツ)_/¯(sorry)
As for the plot of the picture - it is not really here, although at first glance it may seem that I had an idea. In fact, all this for the sake of aesthetics. Great thanks @per-aspera-ad-astra-universe for her help in translation text because i absolutely horrible in English

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Frostmaster [page 1-4] preview

Grandmaster’s outfit from All-New Guardians of the Galaxy is too hot, and I think you need more of it :) 

Support me on Patreon and you will be able to receive the complete version of all pages, without censorship and water marks.

P.S. The link is in the description

I just want an LGBTQ+ ship to be treated with the same respect a hetero ship would be. Is that too much??? Why am I being labeled as “greedy” when I am being grossly misrepresented by the media?? Like there are literally thousands upon thousands of basic Hetero ships that, half the time are underdeveloped, forced, or abusive. I’m just… perturbed.

Harry and Draco were eighteen.

They were eighteen and the world was everything they didn’t know. The promise of a future once buried under miles of ashes rose triumphantly with newfound roots. The ache of the war gripped everyone’s insides, but to hurt was to feel, and to feel was to live, and there was so much life now. There was so much to live for now, so everyone said.

They were eighteen and to offer tight-lipped smiles to one another in passing was to say yes, yes, I understand, I feel what you have felt for your eighteen years, I am feeling with you, I am sorry. I am sorry. I forgive you.

They were eighteen and still not okay. With time to think came time to wander aimlessly around unexplored corners of the castle, to linger in the drafty and cold corridors near the dungeons where no one bothered to look for them. Tight lipped smiles. A small nod.

I’m sorry. I understand. I forgive you.

They were eighteen and alone in a room that was not as crowded as it had been two years previously. Every missing face was like forcing your tongue into the gap a tooth had fallen out of when you were a kid, but there was no tooth fairy this time. Sometimes it felt as if there would be no rewards for the grief engulfing them all like fire. It was unbearable to take a breath in this newfound utopia when there were so many people who suffered in order to attain it.

I’m sorry. I understand. I forgive you.

They were eighteen and to wander the castle alone now meant to exist quietly alongside one another, to brush shoulders when walking around corners; to reassure the other that they were both real. To physically feel the other person’s presence bring warmth to the gloom of the corridors haunted by last year’s events. They filled up the gaps with words, with small observations they never said out loud. Observations about the way one may have hunched his shoulders with his hands in his pockets while he walked, or how the other might wrinkle up his nose when he thought hard about something.

I’m sorry. I understand. I forgive you.

They were eighteen. They learned how to smile again, but it took lots of practice and insincerity before they started existing subconsciously. The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was punctuated with snowball fights alongside Ron and Hermione and pretending everything they bought from Scrivenshaft’s and Dervish and Banges wasn’t the other boy’s Christmas present.

I’m sorry.

They were eighteen and drunk. It was two in the morning on a Saturday and everyone else was home for the holidays except the two of them. There was a single bottle of firewhiskey between them, half empty, and they told each other everything they’d never had the courage to say out loud before. What if he came back, like the last time? What if there was still a piece of him hiding somewhere? Why did it still hurt so much?

I understand.

They were eighteen and it happened gradually. They were the shift from cool October drizzles to the impenetrable storms December delivered. Rain hammered on windows, and Draco’s heart hammered inside his ribcage, begging to be let out, jumping towards the one thing it had ever really cared about, and his lips met Harry’s the same way the seasons shifted from drizzles to downpours. Harry kissed back with all the fervor of a new convert, but this was no religion, this was better. This was Draco. They were a tangle of arms and legs and unexplored universes and hope, new hope, burning furiously and unforgivingly and demanding to be heard:

I forgive you.


@xx-thedarklord-xx dis one’s for u bc I talked about Christmas in it and I just love to watch the world burn <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 and also because your writing inspires me and you are all around just. Fantastic. Holy shit, wonderful.