The creator of these images is Matt Bernstein, one of my favorite educators online -- he makes incredibly clear, forceful collections of information like this one. He's queer, has fantastic nails, and has done a lot of education recently from his perspective as a Jewish person on why supporting Palestine is so important. Here's a link to this post, which he created for World AIDS Day on 12/1/23.

This is for all the unsung fic writers; the ones who don’t make the must-read lists, the ones who don’t get recced, the ones who don’t get hundreds of kudos, the rarepair writers out on the peripheries of fandom, the ones who toil away quietly for the handful of people who read and love them. You matter - you’re a writer too, and don’t you ever forget it. :)

You are a writer, too. ❤️

i need to stand ankle deep in a creek about this

Omg. The lake. But I have never related to something *so much*.

Lazy sundays

It stands to reason that Harry’s holding groceries when he runs into Draco Malfoy for the first time in twenty years.

Well— doesn’t run into, exactly. No, more like peers through a shop window like a right barmy bastard, bits of overspilling lettuce brushing his arm and passers-by on Diagon shooting him strange looks.

Of course Malfoy has to look up from the till— because, yes, Draco Malfoy is a shopkeeper on Diagon Alley apparently— and see him goggling. So, of course, Harry has to step inside, as though he meant to make a stop at— right, yeah, Narcissus Needlework Studio— all along, holding brown paper packages of vegetables.

Malfoy’s frowning when Harry makes his way over to the till.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he says. “I’ve registered the shop, everything’s perfectly within regulation—“

“Trouble?” Harry blinks. “Oh, no. I’m not an Auror. Anymore.”

“I know that,” Malfoy says unhappily. “The whole Wizarding World all over Europe knows that. Only you’ve never left well enough alone, have you, Potter?”

Harry’s forty next month. He’s lived twenty years seeing hide nor hair of Draco Malfoy, and he’s never gone looking. Well, except for that one time when he was twenty one and went to the Manor as a trainee Auror for a— well, it was a routine check, really. And that other time when he was twenty five and thought he saw a man at a club who looked just like Malfoy from the back and was convinced for four months Malfoy was back in London and must be up to something if no one knew about it. And that time when he was thirty two— and, oh, alright, Harry hasn’t ever left well enough alone, not when it comes to Malfoy, at least.

This time, though, Harry really didn’t go looking. And it’s definitely Malfoy.

“I just wanted some— thread,” Harry says. A needlework studio should have some of that, shouldn’t it?

“Thread,” says Malfoy. He looks down, deliberately, at Harry’s lettuce.

“For Molly,” Harry says. “As a, um, birthday present. New shop on Diagon, thought I’d pop by. Seemed the place, you know. Didn’t know it was yours.”

Molly’s birthday, Malfoy doesn’t need to know, is in December. It’s June.

Malfoy continues to stare at him, until Harry’s unsure whether to get indignant about it all or turn tail and flee.

“Well,” says Malfoy before he can make a choice. “Embroidery yarn for you, then, Potter. Come along.”

-

“I’ll see you again, I assume,” Malfoy says at the end of what transpires to be a surprisingly smooth purchase.

Harry nods.

He only realises after he leaves that there’s no reason for him to come back. He’s seen it for himself— what Draco Malfoy’s up to these days. Nothing nefarious or suspicious, just yarn and needles and tapestries on Diagon.

Except, well, he’s committed now, hasn’t he? And Harry Potter’s a man of his word. He said yes, when Malfoy asked— Malfoy asked!— so he’ll be back.

And really, if he has to invent Hermione’s sudden new and passionate interest in needlework— well. That’s between Harry and his lettuce.

Well. The idea of Harry Potter becoming *fantastically* (and possibly fanatically) interested in cross stitching, with little hoops on pretty much every surface, is something that is just going to live in my head forever now. 😆

a nsa agent in a suit looking through my laptop camera: she’s on her phone…….. our data shows that she’s got tumblr open on her laptop but she has tumblr open on her phone………. double check her browser?

some nerd hired straight out of college: *types rapidly* she’s definitely got tumblr open on her laptop

the nsa agent, softly: so why is she looking at it on her phone…..

My husband and myself have served in the military. When we call home from overseas, our lines are monitored and on a short delay so no sensitive information is revealed. The line will just go dead if you say something you’re not supposed to.

Now, these calls are monitored by a department in the military called Signal corps. When we’d talk on my husband’s last deployment, we had a running joke that we said hi to “Signal Guy Fred.”

So this continued for his entire 12 month deployment, and we made sure we said hi or bye to “Signal Guy Fred” every phone call. On his final phone call before returning home we made sure to thank “Signal Guy Fred” for his time and wish him farewell.

So, before I disconnect the call, I wish “Fred” the best and thank him for his service. My phone was on speaker mode (I was cooking dinner) and my finger was hovering over the end call button when I hear the softest little, “My name’s Jason.”

HIS NAME WAS JASON!!!!!

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

Some advice for when you’re writing and find yourself stuck in the middle of a scene:

Never delete. Never read what you’ve already written. Pass Go, collect your $200, and keep going.

This is the literal best writing advice I have ever read. Period.

Special note: “Kill someone” means kill someone in the story. Please do not kill random real life passers by every time you hit a block. My lawyer says misunderstanding writing advice is not an acceptable defense. See you all in 25 to 50 years.

am suffering a severe case of Rereading My Wips And Getting Excited But Realizing That in Order For Me To Read “The Rest” I Have To Write It-itis. please respect my privacy during these trying times

Random writing thought: the best stories are often the ones that only you could have written — but also the ones that you could only write at this one moment.

I couldn't write All the Birds in the Sky from scratch now if I tried. But the me of 2013 couldn't have written The Prodigal Mother either.

When people ask if I'd change anything about a book I've already written, I want to explain to them that I'm not the person who wrote that book any longer, and even if I tried right now I'd write a different one. Everything you make as a writer* is a combination of what you want to say and who you are at the time you are telling that story.

*possibly also as an artist or as a human being

2024.01.15

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. Best Mates by TawnyOwl [M, 41k]   *typo

►When Head Auror Harry Potter and top Potions Master Draco Malfoy manage to put aside their differences to live a fairytale life perfectly blended together, Harry should be happy. But every morning Harry has to watch as Draco kisses Blaise Zabini on the mouth, sometimes tenderly, sometimes sweetly, but most definitely with passion. He wishes he were Blaise Zabini.

2. House and Home by CheatsatUNO [T, 5k] 💗

►Malfoy Manor never liked children. Draco doesn’t have an excuse for every other magical House he’s been in.

3. Remember Me by velkalopsia[G, 50k]

►When Draco Malfoy shows up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, drenched in rain from head to toe and shivering violently, what do you do? […]

4. The things of light by @deliciousblizzardshark [T, 15k]

►Reclusive artist Draco Malfoy accidentally rescues a fairy, who grants him his ‘heart’s desire’ by sending him to a masked gala to spend time with Harry Potter. /// Harry’s been leveraging his fame to drum up support for his foundation and causes, but he hates everything about being a public figure. When he comes across a quiet, interesting man lurking in the shadows at one of his galas, his curiosity is piqued.

5. twillight hours (why are you still here?) by ryyss [T, 8k]

►where pansy introduces draco to the concept of bucket lists, harry potter being the poster boy of a savior, and nothing (while everything) changes.

6. Wants and Needs by toriscrazycorner [E, 1k]

►Harry gets a birthday present.

—

Fest/Exchange

1. Nine Days in Coventry by Anonymous [G, 16k]

►When a de-aged Draco Malfoy is discovered in Knockturn Alley, the Ministry appoints Family Liaison Officer Potter as his emergency guardian. Whisked away to a Muggle safehouse, Draco does not cope well, and Harry learns just how hard life can be when a five-year-old declares war on you. ★ H/D Kidfic Fest 2024 | @hd-kidfic-fest

All My Dreaming, It's Only Given a Name

Inspired by the Hozier song "To Someone in a Warmer Climate"... I'm fucking obsessed with it. I can't stop listening to it. If you haven't heard it, you simply MUST.

Harry woke up slowly, the room was still dark, his body warm and so content he couldn't be bothered by the ways his muscles twinged with the need to shift.

There was a comforting weight around his shoulders, a hand in his hair, anchoring him to the warm presence beneath him. A second hand had slipped under his shirt, hot palm cupping his side.

Godric, he never wanted to move again.

"Hi," murmured softly against his temple, lips brushing over his forehead in a lazy approximation of a kiss.

His heart swelled and burst, pressing against his ribs, pushing his lungs until he couldn't breathe with it; this easy, gentle affection. A love so full, so gentle that it felt like the tide washing over him and pulling him along. Words seemed to great a feat, so he just pressed his nose into Draco's collarbone, hoped it was enough.

"Hello, darling," whispered soft and sweet into Harry's hair as Draco's fingers carded through the curls there, his other hand drawing Harry even closer, lightly squeezing his side. "It's so early, love."

A low whine escaped Harry's throat, his body pressing closer, stretching out against Draco's until their bodies were aligned.

"That's it," he murmured encouragingly, holding Harry like he was something precious. "Come closer," he added, "close as you like."

"I'd like to crawl inside of your skin," Harry mumbled, then realized how odd that must sound.

Draco just chuckled softly, "I do understand that impulse," he said. "It doesn't ever feel like I can get close enough to you either."

He sighed, let the short-lived worry of being misunderstood fall away. "I used to dream about this, you know?"

"Did you?" he asked, voice warm like honey; indulgent, like he wanted to hear whatever Harry wanted to say no matter how ridiculous it might be.

He shook his head, "Not exactly," he said softly, turning to prop his chin on Draco's chest.

The other man shifted a bit so that he could look down at Harry, chin scrunching up in a way that should be unattractive but that Harry found impossibly endearing.

"My dreams are paltry in comparison to the reality of you," he murmured like a confession.

"Poetic," Draco replied, lips tilting up at the corners to soften his words, to tell Harry he was teasing, that he was feeling shy about being praised.

He hummed, "My whole life," he whispered, "There's this," he broke off, searching for the right word, "ache," he said, tapping his fingers against Draco's breastbone. He shook his head, "There's always been this yearning to be loved, to be held, to be cared for without the expectation of what I'll be able to give."

"Darling," Draco whispered, and Harry could hear the ache reflected in his voice. It was like this sometimes, like Draco took whatever was hurting Harry and held it in his own body, reflecting it back at him with an empathy and tenderness that left Harry elated and terrified all at once.

"But then there was you," he continued. "And all of my dreaming, it seems like a shadow compared to the reality of being loved by you. All of my longing, my yearning; the restless pursuit of something I never thought I could actually have-" he broke off, eyes stinging.

Draco's thumb brushed away a tear and lightly traced his cheekbone.

"I found all of the things I'd dreamt of in you," he managed. "And more," he added. "This is the fulfillment of everything I've ever wanted; a simple, cozy love. A shared bed, a shared home. Dinner together and evenings on the sofa, weekends attached at the hip. Someone to hold me gently, to kiss me tenderly. Someone who will let me hold them and love them with my love that's too big and never sufficient all at once."

"Darling," Draco murmured again. "You're not too much and you are enough," he assured. "I don't need anything more."

Harry nodded, snuggled back under Draco's arm, resting his head on his shoulder once more. "You make everything better."

"I love you," Draco breathed in that way of his, wondering and helpless, like the way he loved Harry was something that he found immense pleasure in. Godric, Harry loved it when he said it like that. "I love you so much," he repeated. "You make everything better too, darling."

"I love you too," Harry said softly, the simplest thing he knew. The truest thing he knew.

"Do you want to sleep a little more?" Draco asked through a yawn of his own.

He shrugged a shoulder, "Maybe," he said, "I do want to stay like this, even if I can't sleep any more."

"Alright," he agreed, dropping a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Do you mind if I go back to sleep for a while?"

"Of course not," he said, squeezing Draco's ribs and kissing his collarbone.

Draco hummed, squeezed Harry a little tighter. "You're alright?"

Harry nodded, "Better than," he replied truthfully.

"Kay," Draco whispered, then as though sleeping was as easy for him as breathing, he dropped back off to sleep.

He lay there, listening to his beloved breathe, and couldn't fathom how his life had turned out sweeter than his very best dreams.

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

(Read more of my fics, if you'd like)

Doodle exercise

"nothing is real atoms never touch each other youve never touched anything in your life" ok. well when i pet my dog he is soft and when he licks my hand it is wet and that is far more real to me than whatevers going on at an atomic level

what my atoms are doing is their fucking business man i'm busy trying to stop my dog from eating tissues directly out of the box

nuclei don't touch, but the nucleus is not the core of reality. reality is made of electrons dancing. reality is made of bonds.

you pet your dog and the atoms that are you brush up against the atoms that are him, and the electrons that are you press into the electrons that are him, and both of them change their movement.

electrons of course are not really particles and do not really move.

you pet your dog and the electron-orbitals of your skin overlap with the electron-orbitals of his fur, and both are changed by the contact. you are not made of little motes floating alone in a void. you are a single unfathomable chord formed of a trillion vibrations, and so is he. and the note you play is changing at every moment by what you touch and how you breathe, and so is his. and atoms do not really have edges, and to touch is to interact, and when you put your hand on your dog the universe does not know that you are separate. the song expands to hold you both.