Microfic self prompt: a little less conversation (and a little more touch my body) okay, less micro and more Drabble. CW: Making out against a desk?
Baby, come wind me up
“You complete pillock , do you ever just shut up?!”
Draco’s face is tomato red in anger, and his long pointer finger is jabbing my sternum painfully.
Taking in his full form, body language menacing and towering over my stunted height. His breath hot fanning my face with the fragrant earl grey we had with tea. Normally steely cool eyes are burning with passion, pupils blown in frustration. Matching with his clenched jaw and flared nostrils he was a site to behold.
The sharp edge of the desk digs into the flesh of the backs of my thighs. My eyes bore into his, never backing down from a challenge, especially not from him. Never from him.
I let my eyes narrow and just before I decide on the perfect insult to come back with, I chose to change the plot.
A smirk hangs off my lips, and my response is dripping with insinuation.
“Make me.”
Godric, I’ve been hanging around too many Slytherins.
Or maybe just the right amount. Because Draco gives a soft gasp, and his angry red flush travels to the tops of his cheek bones while the rest of his face loses color. Eyes eating me up where I stand as if he’s realizing how close we actually are. His hands come to rest on the desk besides me, I can feel the warmth radiating from them.
“Oh…okay..” He whispers.
Then before I can blink we’re crashing together in a clunky battle of tongue and teeth that I eventually let him win. We work together to get my arse onto the desk, those warm hands helping to lift me from under my thighs. There’s a crash as, undoubtedly, a stack of papers and a lamp tumble to the floor.
Not that there’s brain capacity to care about that because there are hands on my hips now, snaking up my jumper to touch the warm of my lower back. And my hands are touching him now, dragging through soft blond locks dragging him deeper into the kiss.
Our lips lock together in passion that feels like it’s been years in the making (because it very possibly has been) and he feels so good against me I forget to breathe, our hips grinding together forcing us both to pull back with a gasp and I hear a moan escape my traitorous mouth as heat gathers in my abdomen.
We get a good look at each other. Draco is a hot mess. And I mean hot. But I also definitely mean mess. Tie pulled loose and hair tousled from where I must have been pulling it, lips dark red and pupils still blown but now seemingly from lust. I can only assume I look the same.
And that’s when I burst out laughing. He surprises me by following me into lunacy, but rests his forehead on my shoulder.
“Feel better?” I ask as our fits due down, a heavy smirk on my lips and sarcasm apparent in my tone.
He scoffs and nips just under the sensitive skin of my ear, pulling a gasp from my throat.
“Less talking, and more touching me, Potter.”
I can’t help but agree and pull him back into a bruising kiss, allowing my hands to pull his hips back into mine.
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Being on Tumblr from ten years ago until now and seeing how it's aged is so funny. When I first got here everything was like "haha lol so random, superwholock, taquitos, tumblr university!" but today I just scrolled past three different memes about tax season
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my mother taught me to crochet when i was young. she was left handed, so she taught me how in the bathroom mirror so her hands would be in the right position.
she learned to crochet from her grandmother, who was right handed. her grandma was the one that originally used the bathroom mirror to teach her granddaughter properly.
i find something poetic about that. here in this bathroom mirror, through generations, we adapt to our young who have a different way of learning and interacting with the world
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part of my job as archivist for a LGBTQ center involves working with an interviewing elder queers, and the disconnect between our generation and theirs is so upsettingly palpable. so many young queers think that elders aren't up-to-date on identity politics and are "set in their ways" when it comes to understanding the nuances of gender and sexuality, but that is so incredibly far from the truth.
if anything, the real problem is in the reverse. young queers aren't giving the time of day to our elders and its only alienating all of us from our shared history. just about every elder I've spoken to is doing their best to understand how our identity politics have evolved and is actively supportive of our generation adding our language and experiences to our sprawling rainbow tapestry.
there is also this strange idea that elder queers no longer contribute to that tapestry, that their time is gone and its only the youth making progress. but again, that prevailing idea is just alienating our generations from one another. most elders I've spoken to are extremely active in the community and work hard to do what they can to preserve our histories and assist in current activism.
the fact of the matter is that we are losing our elders, both to time and estrangement, and it is critical that we make conscious efforts to bridge the gap before its too late.
TLDR: We have to do better when it comes to including queer elders in our current activism. They are our history, they are our family, and we need to give them the same love they give to us.
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I’m just kinda curious! Please reblog for a larger sample size!
Edit: everyone saying the actually put them on the floor? Im scared of you.
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Love that while online fandom in general is having a weird meltdown about the morality of enjoying anything darker than sanitized fluff in fiction, the Danny Phantom fandom is still sitting in the corner 16 years after the show ended with a blankie and cocoa and their 10,000th deep-fanon supertorture cannibalism vivisection psychological horror fic
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