It was dark and ashy as usual, not another living soul around. It was during the night and normally, everyone has gone to sleep leaving nothing but absolute silence for the rest of the night. He wished he was able to sleep too.
For years, he has been roaming the ruined orphanage. Ever since the director had burnt the whole building down, all of the orphans that were still inside died along with him. But for some reason, his soul had decided to stay with the orphanage so now he’s forced to wander the area and was never able to go out.
He figured that since he was chained up during the fire, it had also meant that he was chained up to the orphanage completely. Now, he floats around the halls, basically memorizing every nook and cranny there is in this abandoned building.
Sometimes, he’ll go out to the garden just outside of the orphanage. It used to be one of his favourite places to go out to when he was still alive. There used to be various types of flowers in all kinds of colours, giving some soft of facade to the world that the orphanage was some heavenly place when in reality, it was absolute torture.
The garden was the furthest place that the chains that binded him to the cursed orphanage could allow him to go. If he were to take a step forward from where he was sitting right now, the chains would stop right there and his arms would be painfully pulled back.
He stood up and stared into the full moon, taking its beauty, before heading back whatever that was left by the fire, the chains on his wrists and ankles following suite. He remembers the time when the orphanage burnt down and there was nobody who came to help him.
He was screaming at the top of his lungs, his tears were practically boiling as it dripped down his face. The chains started to burn deep red marks on his skin, causing him even more torturous pain. He had basically suffered the worst death imaginable, and yet he has to continue living in the hellhole he died in even in the afterlife.
He lifts a hand up to his face and stares at the metal chain clinging onto his wrist, burn marks clearly visible from both edges of the chain. He was sat on the cold, hard cement floor of the basement he died in. He let the back of his head rest against the wall as he closed his eyes, waiting for dusk.
Daytime wasn’t exactly his favourite time of the day. He used to hate it, especially in the afternoon. The director would force him to do labour in the scalding hot sun and not a single drop of water would be given to him until the chore was done.
But a few weeks ago, a man with fluffy brown hair in a trench coat walked in. Being the curious and shy soul that he was, he made sure to stay out of his line of sight and watched his every move. The entire time he was walking around the orphanage, he had some sort of mischievious grin on his face.
“Aww, I was hoping I’d meet some scary ghost to finally fulfill my hopes and dreams of killing myself!” The man crossed his arms and pouted. He couldn’t help but feel irritated how the man was trying to get him out of his hiding place by guilt-tripping him. “Oh well, I guess I’ll try next time!”
Ever since that day, the man came to visit the burnt down orphanage everyday at sunrise. Sometimes, the man would even hum a song or dance alone along the hallways. He figured the man was trying to lure him out to reveal himself just for the giggles. Humans were always so curious about the supernatural, weren’t they?
But his actions had successfully caught his attention since he’s never interacted with another human ever since he died. Seeing this man pull all sorts of crazy stunts, it made him intruiged. He’s never seen anybody much like the man.
And dare he say it out loud, the man was extremely attractive as well. His curly, fluffed up hair and his hazel eyes looked so unique despite being the most common hair and eye colour. He was absolutely mesmerizing to watch, he would be lying if he didn’t say he could stare at him all day.
He wished to be able to speak to him one day. To talk to him and ask about his life, about experience being alive. He yearned for that feeling again, to breathe, to touch, to smell. He desperately wants to simply feel alive again.
Which is ironic, since the brunet only wanted to feel death.
For now, all he could do was sit quietly in the shadows and watch the man kick the ashes into the air, a childish grin on his face. He can’t help but smile as the man continued his antics everyday. Maybe one day he’ll be able to show himself.
I apologize if this is not what you actually wanted. I tried my best to write according to the prompts you gave me! I had no other ideas on how to write it so,, (plus i’ve been really busy with my school and prefect stuff)
But I hope you enjoyed it! You’re one of my favourite mutuals so I wanted it to be to your liking.
I’ve got drunk Drarry on my brain, and I don’t quite know what to do with it.
Here’s what I’m thinking: Draco has seen Harry drunk twice in his life. Once, during fifth year, in the midst of the Ministry’s play for Hogwarts. The second time, it’s at The Leaky Cauldron a year after Voldemort’s finally gone forever.
They start coming across each other more and more frequently, usually out, almost always at a pub of some sort or another.
Apparently the Weasley and Blaise are subscribed to the same gastro mag that publishes weekly articles on the best wizarding pubs and clubs (he keeps it to himself, because while the thought of watching Blaise blowing his top off over having any similarities with Weasley is hilarious, he’s saving it for when he really needs it).
They keep running into each other, and despite them being in a house of alcohol–despite watching Potter sling back lager after lager–he has yet to see him drunk outside of those two events. Draco doesn’t get it. Does Potter have some sort of Drunk Me Not spell in his arsenal? Is he impervious to the effects of ethanol? Is his tolerance level so high that he can outdrink even Hagrid?
Once, Draco tries to match his drink with Potter’s all night, and when he stands up to head to the bog, the world sloshes around him and his head is light and spinning, and his legs don’t seem quite as sturdy as he would like them to be. He’s well and truly drunk, but Potter doesn’t even look affected, and that’s unacceptable. Instead of going to the lavatory, his legs take him straight up to Potter, where he very drunkenly and mostly incoherently accuses him of being a cheat, and warns him that he’ll learn his secret if it’s the last thing he does, and promptly vomits all over Potter’s shirt.
Harry sighs, and tells the bar Draco’s done, and that he’s making sure he gets home safe. Ron, already three sheets to the wind, mutters some very explicit things about that not being all Harry wants to do.
Of course, Harry has no idea where Draco’s living these days, and as Draco is of exactly no help in this department (he presses his face against Harry’s neck and passes out like the uncooperative bugger he is), Harry makes an executive decision and ends up taking him home with the intention of forcing a glass of water down his throat and putting him to bed.
He would, if Draco wasn’t some kind of constrictor and refused to let Harry go when he tries to tuck him under the sheets and fuck off to his own room and shower. So. This is the grand lead-up to Draco prying his eyelids apart the next morning, face smooshed against, to his growing horror, Harry’s very naked chest.
It’s not like he can even blame Potter for being the secret cuddler and accosting him, because it’s very, very apparent that Draco is the one to have rolled Harry over to the very precipice of the bed where Potter wouldn’t have been able to escape him except to topple over the side, and somehow, wormed himself into Potter’s embrace.
He doesn’t even get the dignity of trying to extract himself stealthily, because Potter’s blinking blearily down at him, cocking an eyebrow as if to say “your move, mate”.
Except, he doesn’t say that. What does say is, “So, you said want to find out my secret.”
As Draco recalls, yes, he did say that, and groans in embarrassment at himself. Christ, it’s like fifth year all over again. All he can do is try to save face, so he says, “It was all part of the plan, you see. I’ve got you exactly where I want you”, and prays to whatever beings that be that Harry can’t see through the flimsy excuse.
This is, of course, barmy, and Potter’s eyebrow inches higher. Then, he’s craning his neck so his mouth is alongside Draco’s ear, and he says right into the shell of it, “And what if I’ve got you right where I want you?”
And Draco… well. Draco doesn’t quite know what to do about that, but he’s got some idea where to start.
Ye. I did a thing. Its horrible I know, I know. I’m not that great of a drawer but I’m getting better. This was supposed to be based on the flower au for Hello, Neighbor but I don’t remember what its called…
guys i don’t know if anyone else is talking about asexual todd but honestly..,.,,.??? just think about the greatness of ace todd.
-todd thinking for years that something was wrong with him
-if/when he and neil started their relationship, he would try to keep up with neil but end up chickening out last minute
-finally explaining to neil his feelings about sex
-neil understanding and letting todd draw the boundaries for them
-neil respecting todd and not being an ass about his asexuality
-their relationship being based on their feelings for each other and not just lust
-really cute cuddles and pecks on the lip and eskimo kisses
-them being the mushy couple that makes their friends gag because they’re always smiling at each other with the biggest heart eyes
-neil never complaining about the lack of sex because he knows that todd is probably self-conscious about his sexuality and doesn’t need more stress
-did i mention the cuddles?
-basically neil and todd’s relationship focusing on their love and not just sex
your pretty boy is becoming pretty trans. eyyyyy (im so sorry its a horrible joke please dont kill me)
Okay, I know you didn’t mean anything harmful behind this ask nonnie, but you can’t write that off as a joke. That’s not something that should be considered a joke. To me it’s coming off more saying transgenders are a joke and they’re not. That’s how I’m reading the ask.
And Lolli isn’t transgender. Just by wearing dresses, makeup, and anything considered girlish doesn’t make someone transgender. Lolli is genderfluid meaning he floats in between both masculine and feminine or mixes them together when he’s feeling a little bit of each, but prefers he/him pronouns. So, he is my pretty boy. My pretty orange skele boy.