TW for injury (not detailed)

“Oh, gods.”

“Sorry, baby. I didn’t… wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“Clearly. You’re lucky the tree didn’t take your arm off; imagine trying to fly in gale-force winds then? Now, that’d be dangerous.”

“I said I was sorry. We—”

“And to think Weaselhad to call me. Couldn’t even spare a Patronus?”

“I knew you’d get huffy.”

“Huffy?”

“I meant—”

“That’s two weeks off your broom, Potter.”

“What!”

“Minimum. You’d need to report to me every morning for a check-up.”

“Sobossy.”

“I’m your doctor.”

“Bossy doctor.”

“Shut up. Now come here and give me a kiss. Doctor’s orders.”

For@domaystic‘s day 25. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

Something

The people in the deli had all sorts of theories about the English couple: maybe the black-haired man was a soldier, or the blond a sailor, and they only got to see each other every other weekend. It would explain the infrequent, regular visits; it would also explain why they couldn’t stop touching each other, looking at each other like that. When the one with the glasses would go on tip-toes to reach for a tin, and the other would roll his eyes, so fond even the tomatoes blushed—there was just something about them, everyone could see. Something… magic.

For@domaystic‘s day 23. Find all ofRobin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

They didn’t have enough to go anywhere, plus Draco’s shifts were too erratic to plan much in advance, so Harry got some candles and a blanket stashed in the cupboard’s top shelf. The first day they both had off, he let Draco sleep in while he arranged it; breakfast in bed, the nice bath bomb they’ve been saving, and for a grand finale, picnic in the middle of the living room with some bubbly and jazz music. He wasn’t sure it was enough—but then Draco kissed him, so deep and so warm that he must’ve done the right thing.

For@domaystic‘s day 21. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll have to give you a ticket for that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Afraid begging won’t get you out of this.” Draco kept his tone as level as it went. He cleared his throat, ignoring the heat crawling up his spine.

“Are you sure?” green eyes smirked at him. Draco had to close his.

“Quite, yes. Now if you’ll just follow me—”

“No.”

His breath left him in a whoosh. “Come again?”

“I said, no.”

“I’ll restrain you if I have to.”

“That a promise?”  

Oh, damn him. Draco couldn’t help a smile. “Of course.”

For@domaystic‘s day 20. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

• £12.20 Wee shop (Monday)(we were out of juice! Not my fault they also sell my cream)
• £30 Drinks with Pansy (Tuesday)+£10 for that completely unfair wager (who could have guessed Weasel’s tolerance is so low?)
• £69 New glasses (Wednesday) (again, I’m so sorry.)
• £12 Costa with Weasleys (Thursday) (Arthur finally let you pay??)
• £29 Teddy’s birthday present (Thursday)+£58 (Thursday)+£27.50(Thursday) (have you lost your bloody mind, he’s only turning seven) (yes, for the only time in his life!)
• £48 I’ll tell you when you get home (Friday)  

For@domaystic‘s day 19. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

Local bus, foggy windows and plenty of empty seats—still he collapsed next to me, bearded and strangely different. Staring just the same, though. I never expected anything when I asked: So,who are you supposed to be now?

He startled a bit. Didn’t really get it. Who am I? he repeated, eyes wide, green and bright. I—don’t know. Harry, I guess. Just Harry.

Pleasure to meet you, just Harry, I said, for some reason with a smile. I had no way of knowing the future. No way of guessing that Potter—thatjust Harry will become my Harry.

For@domaystic‘s day 18. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

There’s a tree in the garden, young, uncertain still. Its branches seem to stagger on the way up, like it doesn’t yet know how to hold them. Draco remembers what it’s like, to feel this way—like any rogue ant, any light breeze could topple everything; like your roots don’t go deep enough, can’t quite make it. Like arms reaching out from a thin trunk, mourning the loss of each leaf as it falls. Draco found it in the end, the balance—he thinks the tree will, too. That come next spring it will bloom, bigger and stronger than ever.

For@domaystic‘s day 16. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

“I got this for you. It’s that chocolate you like, nut-free, of course. I was just in the market and saw they—what? Shut up. I wasn’t thinking about you in particular. It’s just, I know it can be hard to find things when… I was being considerate. A good friend. You were the one who said we’re friends, so don’t…

“What now? No, say it. You always have that look on your face. That look, yes, as though you’re about to… eat me whole, or something. What? We’re friends, no? What—oh— 

“Wait, wait, let me. Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

For@domaystic‘s day 15. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

It’s only been three days, and already too much; although spending time with Mother was something he wished for dreadfully, now it was mostly just dreadful. Mother was fantastic, everything he’s missed. The weather was gorgeous, the lavender fields glimmered, the air smelled of summer—still he was miserable. Mother came to sit with him in the garden, dazzling in the evening sun.

“It’s that bad?” she asked, soft. The wail that’s been choking Draco all day burned when he nodded.  

“I just…”

“This arrived today,” she smiled, laying a postcard on the table. “I think he misses you too.”

For@domaystic‘s day 14. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

“Here, for you.”

Draco turned around, smiling already, and laid the cups on the table. “Breakfast before presents, darling. It’s the rule.”

“I know, just.” Harry looked up, bright eyes hazy behind the steam. He liked his tea hot; so hot Draco always worried he’d burn his tongue on it, but he never. “I found it behind the bins at Dean’s place. Wasn’t working at first, but…”

He opened his hand, revealing a tiny musical box. Inside it lay a tinier dragon, spinning to a familiar lullaby.

All this warmth… Draco sighed, closing his eyes. Nothing to do but melt.

For@domaystic‘s day 30. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

I’m knackered. My back’s killing me—I must’ve pulled something, maybe when we played ‘catch the dogfather’ and I had to, y’know, be the dog. Teddy finds it hilarious; I only half-morph, so it’s mostly long ears and a tail, and Ted chases me around the house till Draco comes back. 

I maybe make him laugh, but Draco’s the one he’ll calm down for; even now, pyjamas on and ready for bed. Finally. He’ll be out cold before the food arrives—but then, we’ll follow soon after. At least tomorrow he’s in nursery, so we’ll have time for… y’know. Woof.

For@domaystic‘s day 29. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

Draco must have missed his alarm—he leaped out of bed, nearly crashing into the low ceiling. He brushed his teeth to the sound of the leaking tap, put on three jumpers, and rushed downstairs; Harry’s shift starts earlier, so he’s already had his tea, fiddling with an unopened box of Belgian chocolates.  

“For you.”

He sighed. “You didn’t need to get these. They’re ridiculously expensive.”

“But they’re your favourites,” Harry frowned. “You should be able—I know this isn’t the Manor, but. We have enough.”

Draco didn’t know how to say it without dying of embarrassment. “Darling—we do.”

For@domaystic‘s day 28. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

We’re on our way to your cousin’s friend’s farm, somewhere remote enough to require a full bag of snacks. Everything’s so green; I think I forgot what it was, greenlike that. Bright. You hiss when I whisper how lovely the day is, because the weather can, and will, change in a minute—that’s not really what I meant, but I don’t correct you. When we spot a highland cow you actually pull over; I must have squealed you half-deaf, but instead of berating me, you smile. Then kiss me. I think I forgot what it was, happiness like that.

For@domaystic‘s day 27. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

TW for panic attack

Draco doesn’t like large crowds. Something about too many eyes, too many worlds contained in too many heads, about getting lost and never being found again, it makes him nauseous. Harry knows this; he barely leaves his side whenever they brave a crowded shopping centre, or when he tried taking him to the cinema that one dreadful time. He’s close now too, rolling next to Draco covered in Harpies green and yellow, but—

But still, too much, too loud, too big—

Harry’s wheelchair squeaks into a stop.

“Alright, love?”

Green eyes find grey, and he takes a deep breath. Unlost.

For@domaystic‘s day 26. Find all of Robin’s Domaystic Drabbles here!

I submitted this to the Seattle Times last winter during the February snowstorm for their “rant and rave” section, where they print everyday stories of thanks or complaint. I had forgotten about it, though it flickers into my mind from time to time, until watching a scene in the movie 1917. They didn’t print it so I commit it to posterity here.

“RAVE to the seven neighbors in my Greenwood neighborhood, all strangers to me, who came to help when my car was stuck in the slush. They pushed and came with shovels, but we made little progress. Then, one of them yelled, ‘Is your parking brake on?’ It had turned on automatically as part of my Subaru’s hill holder feature! I released the brake and drove out of the slush, giving a yell and wave of thanks. I was so embarrassed that I just kept driving down the street, away from my saviors, panting and bent over, with hands on their knees. I didn’t give enough thanks to these kind neighbors who came to help when I was in need, so I submit this rave today.”

Microfic: Something Like That

for@drarrymicrofic prompt ‘zombie’

“You look like shit,” Dean says, as Harry staggers to their usual table in the university canteen at noon. Harry has already missed one class, and Magical Theory at one isn’t looking likely either.

“Thanks.” Harry’s voice is hoarse with sleep.

“Malfoy keeping you up?” Dean inquires.

Draco sat on Harry’s bed last night and offered him a corner of Molly’s quilt like it belonged to him. “Tell me about zombies.” Their conversation drifts into the early morning from there.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Dean makes a sympathetic noise and turns back to his heavily battered copy of the Aeneid.

“I thought you went out?” Mulder enters the living room and asks his son.

“Nah, we’re playing video games.”

“People still play these things?” Mulder’s amused, “this looks…old.”

“Yep, we finishedXI; it’s pretty good so we ordered the older ones from the internet.”

Mulder looks at the children, the game on the screen, and back at the kids again.

“You know…” His eyebrows knot together, “this lady looks a lot like mom. She used to wear her hair just like that.”

“You’ll have to excuse my dad.“ William says Milie, "He thinks about my mom, like, all the time.”

westmoor:

Jaskier doesn’t sing.

No one asks him to. Not in earnest. He doesn’t know what he would if they did.

The effect is surprising in its swiftness - how his breath goes shallow and voice hoarsens.

His knees are the first to start aching, but the rest follows suit and soon enough, every movement is a chore. Decay sets root in his heart and spreads to his limbs with each beat it makes.

There’s a faint taste of blood at the roof of his mouth.

He swallows it back with the contents of whatever bottle finds his hand, and doesn’t sing.

It was an easy trade. He’d never thought twice about it.

His human life, for a life of song.

It was such a simple thing, easier to do than not. With all the courage of youth now everlasting, it had been more worry than a fear, that he’d open his mouth someday and find nothing.

He knows he played his part. He took the road of his heart and in return, it gave him the songs to walk alongside it.

But now he opens his mouth to the hollow of his chest and finds it empty, and Jaskier doesn’t sing.

Jaskier doesn’t sing.

No one asks him to. Not in earnest. He doesn’t know what he would if they did.

The effect is surprising in its swiftness - how his breath goes shallow and voice hoarsens.

His knees are the first to start aching, but the rest follows suit and soon enough, every movement is a chore. Decay sets root in his heart and spreads to his limbs with each beat it makes.

There’s a faint taste of blood at the roof of his mouth.

He swallows it back with the contents of whatever bottle finds his hand, and doesn’t sing.