#drunk authors

[tea-cat-arts]

I simply think this fandom doesn't give Wei Wuxian enough credit for the various ways in which he saved Lan Wangji

[no-light-left-on]

"Fuck you."

I've been re-reading What Lies Between Sorrow and Longing and since I am unwell about this entire fic I drew a scene from Chapter 4

[nyxelestia]

one of my favorite things about ATLA is how often they have to randomly nerf Sokka specifically to make an episode work...because otherwise he'd just solve it or prevent it from even happening in the first place

Need Aang to get captured by Zhao? Make Sokka sick.

Need to make Toph and Aang struggle to communicate? Sokka's stuck in a hole.

Need the Gaang wandering aimlessly in the desert? Sokka's tripping on cactus juice.

The show had to make Sokka the comic relief character because that was the only way to justify him being subject to absolute nonsense just to take him out of the plot.

He's too powerful and the writers knew it.

[whetstonefires]

Hey hey hang on. So you know how the uniform specs in the first Harry Potter book conspicuously don't have a trouser element?

The robes aren't open jacket things like for the movie design, they're just. Robes. Scholar's gowns. Like, old school. Monastic habits. A medieval holdover, like the quill pens. They are fairly clearly closed down the front, a one-piece uniform garment.

How these interface with the school ties is never addressed. Can you imagine the cartoonish effect of bell-sleeved wizard robes, like on say Disney's Merlin, but in black, and then a collar like on a modern buttoned shirt just fucking. Sewn on there??? To give you something to tie your tie around???

And then conical hat also. Fantastic. No notes.

This never comes up wrt the physicality of being Harry Potter ofc, because firstly rowling is a boring person and secondly these were children's books. Harry is implied to sometimes not wear his school robes outside of class hours and to wear trousers under them I think, as are the Weasley boys, I wasn't really looking into this and it's been a very long time since i read these. Anyway.

But there's this gag during the Quidditch World Cup that at the time I really enjoyed. Where there's an old guy in a floral dressing gown insisting that this is Muggle clothing, he bought it in a Muggle shop, he's Blending In, and his more worldly friend is trying to explain to him that he's cross-dressing.

Which...is not even the operative issue with his outfit, it's that it's not outside clothes, but whatever. It's a pretty realistic place for a person to go trying to talk their friend around on the spot like that, and it provides a bridge to the next bit, which is the old guy insisting that he can't abide wearing trousers or underpants because it's uncomfortable and unnatural and he 'likes a nice healthy breeze round his privates.'

So canonically wizard men don't really. Wear trousers. As a rule.

Which I really enjoyed! The weirdness of this semi-closed society being so Very in-step with Britishness in so many ways, and yet also isolated enough to have gendered clothing norms six hundred years out of date. How does this work. The implications about the cultural points of contact and how elements of modernity diffuse through the society and all that.

Bowler hat.

[ebby-bebby]

This you sign to go read the That Time I Got Drunk and Saved A Demon 📖 🩷🐉

[dipplinduo]

Not next chapter content but I can see this panning out multiple ways lol. Read the fic here.

[goodluckclove]

Hey. Stop scrolling for a second.

You scroll through writeblr a lot, don't you? I get why. Lots of fun people, interesting concepts and prompts. But maybe you haven't taken that jump from collecting resources on writing to actually writing.

Once again, I get it. It's daunting if you've never done it before. I've been doing it for a while and I genuinely can't think too hard about the act itself as it happens or else I get all sweaty and confused. I flopped spectacularly at a game of Scrabble tonight because I just ran out of words to think of and I'm in the middle of my 13th novel. Writing to me is like side-eyeing the sun - but that's besides the point.

What I mean is that you should do it. That idea that you think could be, might be, maybe has potential. More than that, I think you should do it right now. Right now.

Ooh but Clove, it's one AM and I have to do open heart surgery tomorrow. Cool. Write three sentences and go to sleep, then see if you want to do more after you get your license revoked.

But what if it's not good? Okay. What if it isn't? But what if it isn't, and it GETS good later? Or what if it isn't, but then later in the story you find a way to make those three initial sentences make sense? Three sentences isn't a story, unless you're Ernest Hemingway or a Haiku Man. Moving on.

Clove, where do I start? Honestly if you've never finished a project, or really never wrote anything at all, maybe just start at the point that sounds the most interesting in your head. To find the process that works for you takes work and experience so maybe for now you get dessert for dinner.

But I don't have an outline/character sheet/world map/mood board/playlist/ECT! Cool. Maybe that's an issue. Maybe it isn't. There's only one way to find out.

But it's hard! It's hard at first and then it gets easier. It's a muscle. You work at it consistently and you'll get to a point where you struggle to remember what it was like to not know how to write.

But it's painful! Hah yeah. That's kind of the more honest issue, isn't it. It's easier to think that your idea WOULD BE GREAT rather than face the fact that you might not be able to MAKE IT GREAT. That fear isn't based in reality, though. People like different things. You might write a work that you're displeased with in one aspect and find that it's changed someone else's life for a completely different reason.

What if I'm not a good writer? I struggle with this a lot and I've been published. It doesn't really go away even when people cry at your work and heap praise on it. But if you like to do it, if you would still be doing it even if there was no end promise of fame and success, you should do it.

What if I'm not a writer at all? I used to ask myself that. There are lots of answers to this question so I can only give my own: you are a writer if you write - past, present or future. If you haven't written in a long time but you're trying to get back to the craft, you are still a writer. You just have to keep trying.

What we do is half-trade, half-religious act, and because of that it is easily one of the weirder passions. I don't really get why people romanticize the field but at the same time I guess it seems pretty magical at times. As a writer, though, our job is to be the proverbial Man Behind the Curtain. You have to know how the magic trick works enough to do it successfully, but you also still have to be amazed. It's weird. I don't know why I do it.

I still do it though.

Write three sentences. Right now. Why not, right? If you send them to me in an ask I'll read them, or you can send them to me at my email address that I posted a few posts back because I'm old enough to know online safety and choose to ignore it. Or just do it for yourself.

Make something. You deserve to be a source of creation.

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do - 4

Dinner at Simon and Johnny's!

totally didn't mean to forget about this for two weeks.... hopefully this is enough sustenance! i recently started school again, so updates will likely slow.

also i'm a firm adhd (and dyslexic) johnny/autism simon truther so if something doesn't make sense, it's probably because i'm thinking of them as neurodivergent. ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

I Promise, I'll Be Worth The Wait

Simon and Johnny have been learning your schedule.

For a few mornings in a row, while Johnny is still asleep, he can hear you in your room, just a wall over, shuffling out of bed and putting your kettle on before he hears the hum of your TV going, presumably keeping you company as you get ready for the day.

You get back home every day around 1650. Johnny pokes his head over to say hi quickly before leaving you to decompress. You’re always asleep by 2300. Then you wake up at 0600 the next morning, and you’re out of the flat by 0730.

They know your whole schedule by the second week. By then, they have become fixtures in your life, as reliable as the old Honda Civic you’ve been driving for five years. You can easily knock on their flat with the knowledge that they’d be happy to help, whether it be a cup of sugar, advice on how to fix your blender that somehow got broken in the move, or just a little company.

It was no surprise when they invited you over to their apartment for dinner, making sure to plan it perfectly so you aren’t fatigued or grumpy from work.

Johnny is keyed up during the two days following the dinner, constantly asking Simon questions at the worst times possible. Such as how the other night while Simon was awake and Johnny, for once, couldn’t sleep:

“Si.” Johnny shook Simon’s shoulder, earning a grunt from Simon. “Do ye think bonnie likes pasta?”

“Fuck if I know.” He grumbles. “Go to sleep.” Johnny mutters something about being discriminated against but he does, eventually, go to sleep.

Or when they were going grocery shopping:

“Oh, oh! Bonnie’ll love these!” He said, holding up a pack of digestive biscuits, making Simon sigh.

“Yeah, Johnny. I’m sure they will.” He says flatly before looking back at the bread. Five minutes later, Johnny shoves a roll of Smarties into his face.

“Nobody don’t like Smarties.” He says, almost proudly.

“Justify it however you need.”

Johnny is still not satisfied when they’re making dinner (together, as Johnny had insisted), rattling off about every piece of information he’s gleaned from you so far- where you’re from, your favourite colour and food and your birthday, too. No doubt, Johnny is smitten with you.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know how to feel about his boyfriend getting a crush on someone new- he was falling hard and fast while Simon would only really call his attraction to you surface level. Sure, you seem like a rather intelligent person and potentially someone he could dare to trust, but he isn’t as outgoing as Johnny is. He can’t know someone for a month and then want to know everything about them- it just isn’t how his brain works.

And if he’s being really, really honest, he’s scared. Johnny’s never been so enamoured before. It’s always been a fleeting attraction, long enough to last a week or two. He feels a little sidelined, jealous, even. Enough so that while following this line of thought his hand slips as he’s cutting carrots for the shepherd’s pie and accidentally nicks his thumb, snapping both Johnny and himself from their thoughts.

“Aw, Si!” Johnny exclaims, immediately putting his potato masher down and reaching for the first aid kit they keep stored underneath the kitchen sink. He coos all about his poor Simon while running Simon’s thumb under cold water and then delicately putting a bandaid over the wound, his warm hands over Simon’s cool ones. It’s then Simon acknowledges that maybe he simply missed Johnny, as all of his time recently has been spent obsessing over you. He can’t help it, Simon knows, but still.

“Gotta be more careful,” Johnny says when he’s satisfied with the condition of Simon’s thumb. He grunts and that is that.

Johnny is like a dog that night, chasing his tail while he waits for Simon to join him in bed, mad with excitement. He needs a steady hand when he’s like this, Simon finds- something mindless and easy enough to tire him out.

Tonight that means that Johnny is cradled to his chest, two burly arms keeping him in place. Pressure on the body helped regulate, as he had learned in a seminar he had dragged Johnny to once.

That pressure now works wonders, because Johnny is out like a light despite all of his fidgeting. In some ways, it feels like he has a magic off-switch for Johnny, which really shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

He hums under his breath while Riley noses open the door, jumping onto the bed and curling right in between their legs. Maybe she could smell something coming off of Simon and came in as a precaution. The thought makes Simon look up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, alright. I didn’t need to sleep anyways.” He whispers.

The next morning Simon makes the finishing touches on the menu for the night. Johnny’s been texting you since he woke up, probably distracting you from your job. Even still, he doesn’t have the heart to make him stop. At some point you stop texting Johnny because he gets up just to start bothering Simon- “What’s that, Si?” or “Gimmie a kiss, ye’ve been ignoring me,” or “Did ye take the dog fir her walk?”.

When Simon is content with the state of their house at 1300, Johnny jumps his bones and drags him to the bedroom out of sheer boredom. Simon keeps his entire 95 kilos on Johnny for the better half of some three hours, out of spite, mainly, boring Johnny to the point where he fishes out his phone and does… whatever it is Johnny does on his phone. Simon never really took to newer phones, nor what the younger people did on those phones.

(Because he could never enjoy the mindlessness of a screen. He’s weary and old, he feels it in his bones, his bad back, his knobbly knees, and he knows that emptiness of those ‘TickTacks’ that Johnny’s endlessly showing him will only serve to agitate him. He knows logically he only has a year or two on Johnny, really, but they were such opposites he rarely ever felt it. Johnny has reassured him multiple times about it, but it never stopped Simon from thinking (knowing) that Johnny deserves better than an old sod like him. They might be feral dogs together but Johnny has more humanity than he, easier to nurture and to be put back into society than him.)

Maybe it’s a force of habit but he uses a flip phone that can only call and text (if barely). It suits him just fine, though, making it hard for any distractions.

So maybe he feels a little smug when Johnny goes:

“Shite, they said they gonn’ be here in twenty.” A pause. “Fifteen fecking minutes ago!” And then Johnny is off like a rocket, rolling Simon off of him and then wiggling away and rushing to put on the clothes he set aside for the occasion, cursing rapidly while trying to fix his hair while putting on his slacks. Simon watches lazily before deciding to follow suit and put on his clothes, too.

“Mask or no mask?” He asks absentmindedly. Johnny doesn’t respond, too preoccupied with fixing his bedhead. He decides on no mask.

By the time Johnny deems himself decent, the doorbell rings and he curses before scrambles to open the door for you. Simon takes longer than Johnny to leave the bedroom, taking care to not rush, so when he inevitably enters the living room, you’re chatting with Johnny while pulling off your shoes. It looks like you’ve come straight from work, if the sterile hair and scrubs are anything to go off of. You wave hi to him, a tiny smile on your face.

He and Johnny pull the food from the oven where they’d been keeping warm while you sit, so politely, on the couch. Hands in your lap and feet tucked to the side, you’re a vision, Simon thinks as he puts a plate full of cobbler on their dinky little dining table.

You sit in a circle, the three of you. Simon serves you and Johnny your plates, letting you talk in peace while he listens, maybe chiming in gruffly when he knows what the conversation has shifted to. The conversation flows and ebbs in a way that Johnny alone couldn’t manage- it’s refreshing, having someone new, someone normal at that. Someone who understands the mundane process of civilian life, who, better yet, has only ever known civilian life. There’s a spark of amusement in Johnny’s eyes as he listens to you talk about work and your college and friends and the gruelling weight that is existence. You are heart-breakingly normal and they simply can’t get enough.

When Johnny leaves the table to use the restroom, though, you go quiet. It makes sense, as he has barely said a word to you for the hour and a half you’ve been here. He decides to change this by:

“How do you stop a baby from choking?”

This startles you.

“Uh, CPR?”

“You let go of its neck.”

It shocks a laugh from you, your eyes widening, caught off guard. Simon’s face stays stony but it softens by a fraction just from the sound of your laugh.

“That’s terrible.” You say when you’ve regained your senses, still giggling a little. He shrugs.

“It’s funny.” He counters.

You promptly shovel a bite of pie into your mouth, but it can’t hide the small smile on your face.

Two hours in, Johnny breaks out the wine. It’s not good, per se, but it goes nicely with the food Simon’s made. The wine loosens you up and makes your laughs come easier. You’re so beautiful when you smile; neither of them can help but try to coax more from you. When you’re more properly eased, maybe another hour or two in, you’re laughing at everything.

(“I went to the zoo last week, but there was only one dog in it.”

You’re already giggling in anticipation. 

“It was a shih tzu.”)

By then, dinner is over, and you can’t be trusted to handle with washing up the dishes. Instead, the alcohol made you curious; you had wandered over to their record player and plopped yourself right before the crate full of records they kept. You could hardly recognise any of them, admittedly. You end up being drawn to an album that’s just sickeningly 80s- there’s a wispy, almost hypnotic landscape of a beach with a random red electric guitar to the right while a guy wearing a pinstripe suit with very strong shoulder pads stares off to the distance with a very motivational look on his face. It’s so silly that it makes you laugh quietly before putting it on the turntable.

It’s jazz, you find. It’s comforting and smooth and, wow, you’re feeling quite tired. Maybe they won’t notice if you just close your eyes for a minute.

(They do.)

Johnny coos at you and takes a few pictures of you curled up against the table the record player’s on, nodded off. Then Simon picks you up, Johnny fishing through your pockets for your keys. They carefully deposit you on your bed, tucking you in, before Johnny pens a little letter for you when you wake up.

Hi bon, you fell asleep when me and Simon were doing dishes. i think you were listning to one of our records. it was lovely, though, thank you for coming!!!!! :D xxxxxxxx Simon and Johnny

<- back next ->

[fumifooms]

You’re the resident chilchuck expert, so I was wondering about it there’s any canon evidence that he did smoke or drink alcohol when the kids were younger. I always thought it was something he picked up due to the strain of long jobs, when the kids were already older, but you seem to think differently and I was wondering if there was anything in canon that made you think that way!

Now that you mention it I guess it’s true there’s no evidence he did. Smoking we literally only know he does at all because of one post-canon panel where he has a pipe, so no, maybe this stick-looking thing in the panel below too though, I’m not familiar with medieval blunts eh. We’ve only gotten one panel of him and his daughters interacting when he was younger so that’s not too insightful on that end, and every time we see him young and freckled it’s in a job context so again not really where we’d expect him to be drinking. The earliest proof (/heavy implication since we don’t see inside his cup I guess) is 3 years before canon when Laios hired him, where he’s at a bar, classily placed in front of all the bottles ✨

Yes alcohol is almost certainly a way through which he copes especially with stress, so if we go with the theory he started around when work got stressful, well… Chilchuck started working as a dungeon diver ~10 years ago so when he was ~19, making Mei, Fler and Puck ~6 and ~4 respectively, so from that draw the ‘stressful enough to start drinking’ line wherever. We don’t know what he did before that with any certainty, and it could be he did odd jobs, lived off mostly mutual aid and community work, or just focused on only raising the girls. Half-foots tend to be poor and I see a lot of that in Chilchuck specifically so I don’t think he could have afforded to not have some paying work though.

Alright, so then why do I think he did drink when the girls were younger?

I give a more complete rundown of the info we do have on his alcoholism & his family with panels and references + all the speculation I make from it here. But the most targeted and objective answer I can give is:

Of course there’s just very very little we know of Chilchuck’s life with his family, and I think that’s by design too. I think the details being up in the air is to allow more nuance of the topic, like, will trying to reconcile go well, is their relationship salvageable? We don’t know, because we don’t know. So the message of giving hope a chance even if it’s a long shot, that things could truly go either way, is more relevant, impactful and meta in that way. How long was he usually away for work travels into dungeons here and there? How did he act with them? All we can really do is "it’s likely that", it’s a game of which way we think it’s more implied. There’s no right and wrong answer, it’s all Marcille-like larping the events out.

My main reason for thinking he did is that his father died from overdrinking and Chilchuck is very aware of that. He mentions his death casually in the extra about their stance in alcohol and in his Adventurer’s Bible profile, etc. He acts towards the alcohol presumably the same way his father did: with abandon, uncaring for the health effects, probably happily too considering Chil says "dying doing something you love is a good way to go". Very nonchalant. So you see what I’m saying here right, wether he started early or late, his view of alcoholism is very influenced by what he saw of his father growing up, it’s something he’s always been aware of and saw in a mostly positive light, something that was inherited you could say. It’s something that was normalized to him from a young age. Regardless or where it goes from there I do think this part is pretty inarguable. If he views it positively and we know that in the present alcohol is his favorite food that he loveees, why would he have held out on it? Personally that all makes me think he started drinking very young, especially since I don’t think they limited alcohol to age as much as modern standards (and I mean, teen drinking is obviously still a thing). And here you could argue, maybe his father only started being more alcoholic later when Chilchuck moved out, or something! And to that there’s nothing I can say except I think that’s a strained theory, and that Chil might even have largely cut contact with his family after moving out (since he and siblings are listed as almost strangers and he doesn’t seem to have much emotional attachment to his parents, but also we know he rents out his place to "a relative"), but it’s true we have no evidence. "I’ve picked up the same unhealthy substance abuse as my father haha! No big deal right haha" repeated several times to me just reeks of intergenerational trauma, & the alcoholism gene as they call it. Like effortless sliding into drinking as if it’s second nature, it’s natural after all, it’s normal after all, it just makes sense, it makes you feel good and that’s what matters.

BUT from my interpretation then we have a whole other layer: Alcohol is of course not all bad always. I think he’s always liked alcohol and drank it on occasion and it brought him joy etc etc, but I think here the implication in the question is, how much effect did his drinking have on the family relations and how early? And that isn’t so much about when him drinking started but when the alcoholism started. Addiction is defined by a habitual need, that has negative effects from filling that need (physical, psychological, social, etc) and negative effects from withdrawal. If Chilchuck drinks to cope and he can’t not cope without it, that’s addiction, if it affects his relationships, if it’s a need he has, it’s addiction. Addiction can be very insidious or look very casual, and how much people around the person are affected by it is case by case. Cheerful drunks can be sooo annoying and uncomfortable though let me tell you. Drunks are drunks. And this sounds harsh, but even if people around them don’t mind drunks it’ll still have some effects here and there, living with one can be such a challenge, ily drunks good luck with everything much like Chilchuck you deserve good things 🫡　

Ok so with the dad thing and the "ok well maybe he’s always drunk casually but it grew worse with time around when he started working as a dungeon diver" precision made, the other bit of info we have that can inform this is that Chilchuck is on a harsh diet and that alcohol is a hunger suppressant. We know Chilchuck "used to be fine not eating for two days", that literally on screen to quench his hunger so it doesn’t keep him awake he goes to drink water, drinking is his instinct to hunger. Again alcohol is a hunger suppressant and if you want info on that the internet has a lot of research and anecdotes about it. He diets to be light enough to not trigger traps, so it’s something he’d have started after dungeon diving most likely. Between the stress and the diet, yes it’s extremely likely he started going harder on alcohol after he started working in dungeons. There’s arguments on wether two days without eating is less bad for half-foots than humans, but apart from smaller portions there’s nothing that indicates half-foots should get less than 3 meals a day. They need less food but that’s because their bodies are smaller: the need is proportional to the body, not smaller than others’ races, the % of need is similar even if the kg amount of food isn’t. There’s also a popular headcanon with support basis that half-foots run hot and have a faster heartrate and whatnot, and that points towards a faster metabolism rather than a slower one: a bigger need for eating rather than a smaller one. He has the same bmi, 18, as Mickbell, but perhaps because Chil is much taller he’s less intensely visibly underweight with ribs showing than Mick during the bath extra, it’s most apparent when he becomes tallman.

Alcohol is something so important and omnipresent in his character that I have trouble believing it’s something that was part of only a small fraction of his life. It’s his immediate go-to, his no-brainer solution to a good time, I’ve sort of always assumed especially after looking at his family that it’s something he discovered decently young. Like he just acts like someone who’s always had alcohol to fall back on and started young idk. Alcohol is one of his 5 keywords. Alcoholism is very ingrained into his world view and life, his "it doesn’t matter" stance his ‘work hard play hard’ mentality his idea that the world is harsh so you get relief where you can, so it just makes sense to me that it’s always been in his life, if not actively then at least looming.

So yes, in summary, my take: Alcohol was always something he wholly enjoyed to an unwise level, but it could have been considered casual until he started working into dungeons and his need for it on a regular basis intensified. Alcohol has always had positive association to him as far as we see, so when it started being a problem he didn’t see it as such. To quote him, "I drink anytime I get the opportunity to". Why always? Approval of father’s alcoholism. Why alcoholism at all? Diet + stress & coping mechanism & emotional stunting + relationship issues, and she decided she had enough after they went out for drinks.

Conclusion

Chilchuck having drunk from a young age makes sense to me and it’s the strongest narrative angle I see on the table, but that’s objectively a me opinion, yes! There’s no evidence, moreso there’s canon basis and supporting info, but it’s all very left up to interpretation. I’ve made my own interpretations of things from the scraps we see, like everyone else making Chilwife and daughters content. Wether you have a stance on the topic or prefer to leave it vague in your takes, it’ll be a matter of what you think makes most sense, or what you’d rather believe I suppose (which is literally fine)

There’s a lot of subjectivity in even just setting up causal links like you probably noticed during this and I was careful with my word choices, because we’re just extrapolating from what we see and unless Kui states it explicitly from a reliable mouth all we can do is have informed opinions on most things. This particular interpretation is influenced by other details I’ve come to form about my interpretation of Chilchuck too, the more psychological and emotional sides of him and the timeline and how his marriage even happened, unplanned pregnancy imo. Like I hope you see what I mean, this wasn’t supposed to be a speculation post just a quick simple answer but there’s sort of just no other and concise but complete way with the subjectivity nuance to put "maybe it could be yes because of this but maybe it could be no because of this" haha

Edit: Wait the phrasing on this… Interesting. "In recent years"— This does imply that if not just his alcohol consumption increasing then the diversity and quality of it did, so either he indeed did start drinking more (not necessarily meaning he didn’t drink before) assumedly because of his wife leaving, or he started drinking other/more different kinds of alcohol maybe due to the union he formed + his experience gave him greater salary than he had previously (and no wife and family to provide money for), a mix of both perhaps.

[rotteneldritchhorror]

Favourite tag to have to add

Like yes writing drunk/high characters is very fun, can make things easily explained away- its great.... Do not trust a single thing I fuckin say- I've never felt any of these things lol

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Oversized Hoodie

It wasn't fair.

Harry had no defense. There was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable tide of emotions rising in his chest and stomach.

The urge to squish, and touch, and hold was too overwhelming for him to do anything other than stare.

Draco Malfoy was already more adorable than Harry could stand most days and the sight of him curled up on the end of the couch in the 8th year common room, dozing in an oversized hoodie that almost reached his knees was just too much.

The books in his arms clattered to the floor and Draco's head snapped up, "I'm awake!" he blurted, "Potions exam!" Then he blinked blearily up at Harry, "What?" he asked dazedly.

"Sorry," Harry said, licking his lips. Then instead of making up a lie, his mouth overrode his brain and he blurted, "You just look so cute.”

"I-"

"Sorry," he blurted, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Draco smiled, slow and soft, “say you’re not a dream.”

He huffed a laugh, “if I was a dream, I think that I’d be a little less of a mess,” he said, gesturing to his school supplies scattered across the floor.

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re usually a bit of a mess in my dreams,” he replied. “It’s rather adorable, if I’m being honest.”

Harry laughed and shook his head, “what else am I like in your dreams?”

He tilted his head in a way that vaguely reminded Harry of Luna in an endearing sort of way. “Usually flirting with me badly and teasing me, but in a charming way.”

“Are you sure you’re not confusing your dreams with real life?” Harry asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Draco laughed, a soft, little giggle. “You don’t flirt with me.”

“Not well, anyway,” Harry grumbled.

“Do you know what you don’t ever actually do in my dreams?” he asked, looking up at Harry under his eyelashes.

“What?”

“You never kiss me,” he said. “Sometimes you come close but,” he shrugged, “I always wake up.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, heart thundering like mad in his chest.

Draco nodded, eyes drifting shut.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer, leaning down and touching his lips to Draco’s, just a soft press that left his body reeling.

Gasping, Draco reached up and cupped Harry’s cheeks, fingers still swallowed up by the sweatshirt and pressed their lips together again. “You’re still here,” Draco murmured against his lips.

Harry nodded, mouth brushing over Draco’s, noses bumping softly together. “Told you I was real.” He opened his eyes to find Draco already looking at him, blinking like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

"Well," he said. "If that's the case, and if you want to, why don't you come sit on the sofa with me and kiss me some more."

He laughed, breathless and a little disbelieving as he crawled onto the sofa next to Draco and kissed him again, lips trailing over the other boy's softly as they explored each other's mouths, their hands lighting on one another's shoulders, waists, necks, and cheeks.

They kissed until the door to the common room banged open and a group of students came crashing in. There was a long pause where it felt like all of the sound had been sucked out of the room. Draco looked at Harry and Harry looked at Draco, and they could feel the weight of everyone else's eyes on them.

And then all of the noise rushed in and the students who'd been entering began cheering and shouting, and Harry watched, completely besotted, as Draco's cheeks flushed crimson and he smiled bashfully at Harry and the other students.

"I like you," Harry whispered when all of the noise died down and the other students started to head off to their dorms, gently teasing the two of them.

Draco grinned, "I like you too," he said before he started yawning.

After a long moment of staring at a very sleepy looking Draco he spoke again. "You should go to bed," Harry said, bumping their noses together.

"Come see me in the morning?" he asked softly.

Harry nodded, "Yeah. Of course."

"I'll probably think it was a dream," Draco said as he moved back so he could stand without bumping Harry over.

He laughed, "It's not, I promise," he said, standing too and taking Draco's hand in his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Can I walk you to your room."

"What a gentleman," Draco teased, but he was grinning widely at Harry, looking as besotted as Harry felt.

He walked him up the staircase and stopped outside of Draco's door, "Sweet dreams."

Draco leaned in and kissed his cheek, "they're always sweet when they're of you."

-----------------

Read more of my fics here.

[squipdop]

i cant believe scout is. the apparently GENUINELY good father of multiple children from MULTIPLE DIFFERENT EX WIVES? girl you are Truly. the GUY. of it all.

[stcries]

okay help me out with this headcanon because it's been stuck in my brain and i can't decide on which works more.

do we think viktor can handle his alcohol or is he a lightweight.

[pricilla-omnia-et-nihil]

There is something about this quote that makes ur inside melt🫠- Until You by MV Kasi

[deaconcheeses-blog]

"I wasn't THAT drunk!"

Mobius: actually wasn't that drunk

Casey: became the village idiot

OB: was really silly, until passing out

Loki: got aggressive

B15: the only one that WASN'T drunk

[joooonbug]

so i read this part from this fic and immediately got inspired to draw a whiny drunk thomas because YES

please please please go read the fic if you haven’t!!!!! i think it permanently changed my brain chemistry🤧🤧