Written for @drarrymicrofic with the prompts “rumor” and “pink”.
“Mildred, look!” a woman says. “It’s him again, on the cover of Witch Weekly. Isn’t he gorgeous?”
“He’s so hot,” her friend replies wistfully, and Draco tries extremely hard not to roll his eyes, but it’s the thirtieth wix to make inappropriate comments about that stolen photo of Harry in his swimming trunks this week.
Draco readjusts the glasses on his nose and keeps on arranging books for the display on queer wizarding literature. He’s wearing horn-rimmed glasses today, black on the outside and pink on the inside. He would have never gone for that colour, fearing people’s reactions, but Harry said they looked good on him, that he could get a matching pair, red on the inside. And Draco had to agree, because he’s become a bloody softie.
“I bet he’s on a secret Auror mission,” the woman named Mildred says with a sigh. “He said he left the Forces a year ago, but I didn’t believe him.”
“I heard a rumour that he’s working with the Unspeakables,” her friend murmurs.
Draco doesn’t tell them that Harry spends his days tending to the garden, baking bread and cakes for Draco and reading on the sofa.
“Have you heard about his most recent love affair?” Mildred asks. “His new flame is a beautiful blonde witch apparently.”
Draco clears his throat and frowns. He wouldn’t call himself a new flame. They’ve been married for five years. And he’s certainly not a witch, for Merlin’s sake, but it’s not like he’s going to tell them.
“I bet he’s a stallion in bed,” one of the witches whispers. “Rumour has it that he can go on for hours.”
Draco doesn’t say that sometimes Harry doesn’t feel like having sex for weeks, but that he’s always up for a cuddle.
He doesn’t say that he spends his days waiting for Draco to come home from work, and then his smile is so radiant when Draco Apparates that it still makes Draco’s stomach do an odd little backflip.
He doesn’t tell them that they’re happy together, in spite of their past and their nightmares.
That Harry loves him more than Draco thought anyone ever could.
He stands in front of them, smiles politely and asks, “Are you going to pay for that magazine now that you’ve drooled all over it? I would like to close the shop and go home to my lovely husband.”
“I bet he’s an ugly wanker like him,” Mildred hisses as she leaves the shop.
Well I made this mostly to convince myself that self-inserts are okay. And as a constant reminder that my apprentice is who I’d like to become.
Her outfit is never consistent and neither is my style, alas no sprite for her yet.
Feel free to do this as a challenge #ApprenticevsArtist or send me an Ask any time to learn about MC or just discuss Arcana things! I have a few that I’ll be doodling the answers to >:3
Thank you @laufire for the tag. Here is some Nefele content since she is apparently very beloved xDD.
Stella had braided pearls in Nefele’s hair. She didn’t know where her nanny -or more likely her father- could have found them. Pearls -and jewels in general- were extremely rare as it was well-known fairies hoarded them for their magical properties. There were even legends that said that a fairy could store their magic in a diamond or a ruby, if it was powerful enough to hold their raw power. And of course, a fairy without magic was a dead fairy. So it was most likely a myth.
However she knew that young fairies wore pearls to their Naming Ceremony, as a symbol of their young and pure magic. She had always wondered if it was more than just symbolism. Did the pearl help them channel the chaos inside them? Nefele had to admit she felt strangely calm, considering the events that would unfold tonight. Unlike the days before, her magic wasn’t fighting her, trying to rip off the skin that was holding it prisoner. Instead it was at peace. Humming quietly in Nefele’s blood, making the girl feel like she was dressed in armor instead of pale green silk.
Had her father chosen pearls as a mocking gesture? A Naming Ceremony was the most important moment in a fairy’s life, and she knew Xavier viewed this night as the most important one of his daughter’s life. Was this his own way of paying homage to the other half of Nefele’s bloodline? If yes, she was not sure if it was a kind or cruel gesture.
But she didn’t know allow herslef to dwell on her father. His mind had always been a mystery to her. She tried to enjoy the last moment of piece she had left before the show would begin. She hasn’t felt this comfortable with herself since before that fateful day, when she had killed the blond woman by accident. After that, she had often found herself at odds with her own magic. It had been a surprising, and entirely unwelcome, side effect of a guilty conscience. She knew that as a half-fairy, her magic was inherently tied to her emotions. If she felt revolted by herself, her magic would of course feel revolted too.
She couldn’t help but wonder what it would think of her after tonight, when she would kill with intent. And not only that, but her victim was to be a fairy. She had never heard of fairies killing each other like humans do. Maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe their magic would completely revolt and poison the kinslayer from inside out. Nefele may be only half fae, but she thought it might be a half too many.
I am only tagging @nectargrapesand@starry-sky-stuff since I know they are both interested in this verse. And of course, anyone else who wants to do this can feel free to @ me.
I was tagged over a week ago by the lovely @merfilly(ty!)
To compensate for the delay lol, I’ll give you guys two. One for fic, another for an original.
First, the Desperate Housewives-Supernatural crossover I’ve tried to stop myself from writing xDD:
Life in Wisteria Lane, despite some of its habitants’ best efforts, was peppered with incessant interruptions of even the most carefully constructed routines.
Some of those interruptions were little more than inconveniences: a housewife’s wishes for a romantic night in were thwarted by the unannounced visit of her smothering mother in law, or a working mother’s best laid schedule went down the drain when her child had to stay sick at home. These women managed to juggle this annoyances according to their abilities and emerged victorious, one or two ruffled outfits at the other side at most.
Other interruptions were plenty welcome: the visit of a half-estranged child from college, even suitcase-full of dirty laundry, or the spontanous expensive dinner from a husband desperate to make up for his inattention.
But there were those that went beyond inconveniences. Interruptions that wrecked the peaceful passage of time in Fairview; that changed their simple little lives and tore apart their understanding of the world.
Like when my friend Lynette’s husband appeared disemboweled in the streets, eyes still open and a dropped bag filled with formula tore from his fingers.
And a few lines from my Vengeful Cinderella short story (very, very likely to change in the future, because this WIP is practically still an embryo).
Vela willed her chin not to tremble under Father’s fingers. She kept her gaze on his, carefree and childlike against cold and possessive, as Mother commented on the matching hues of their gowns and the accents of his [casaca], a picture-perfect family.
Tonight will be the last night, she told herself. Tomorrow, after the royal ball, they will both be dead.
