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oflights · 11 months

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Hi Allie! Love your fics and your prompt fills are great so far! If you still have room for more prompts, do you want to write something about time travel? Your time travel story in hockey RPF is one of my favorite fanfics ever and I would love to see your Drarry take. No pressure, though!

ahh hi, hello!! i have to tell you that this ask kind of broke my brain a little and gave me a new idea (not a Time Traveler's Wife AU, god, never again, bless u though) that i think is probably, sort of, maybe possibly going to turn into a real fic at some point? maybe?

here's 1.6k words of it for now hahaha. this is: professional time traveler draco who goes on an assignment back to the late 80s in surrey and maybe, sort of, possibly, accidentally kidnaps 7-year-old harry potter back to his time. yeah. enjoy? more to come someday???

Draco waits in an anxious crouch at the hearth, thighs straining, cursing himself for not just giving in to his aching back and getting on all fours. Not that that’s great for his knees—and Draco loves doing this mental exercise in his 30s, he really does, it’s—

“What do you want?” Blaise asks when he activates his Floo. He’s sitting with his legs slung over the arm of a chair, a book in his hands—upside down, because he’d definitely just picked it up and posed like that to answer the Floo. Draco rolls his eyes, face turned downward.

“Can you, erm, come over? Right now?”

“Right now?” Blaise echoes lazily. “I thought you were on assignment.”

“Right, I was, but I’m back now, and—”

“I hardly even noticed.”

Now Draco really rolls his eyes, and does not hide it; he doesn’t have the patience for this routine. “You are aware that when I’m on assignment, no time passes for you because I return directly to the moment in time where I first traveled from, right? So of course you wouldn’t have noticed, you never notice, and you just—look. Never mind. I need you to come over, right now.”

Now Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose with a frown. “Ugh. All that talk gives me a headache, you know that, Draco. Not the best way to get me to agree to your demands.”

“What if you agree to my demands because if you don’t, I will go over there and drag you through the Floo by your ear—”

“I’ve a full stone on you; unless you can time magic your way into some upper body strength—”

“I will get Greg and make him do it. Blaise.” Blaise finally looks up, the frown lingering. “I’m not joking. Please come here.”

For a moment, Blaise frowns deeply enough that it seems as if he is going to agree. He even puts down the book he’s not reading.

And then he gives Draco a slow, honeyed grin. “What’s in it for me?”

It takes the promise of a few good bottles of wine, a vow to join Blaise and his mother for tea with the latest stepfather, and all the money Draco has in his pocket—over 100 Galleons, unfortunately—to coax Blaise through the Floo. By then, Draco’s back is aching and it cracks ominously when he stands up, but the drops his hands from it as soon as Blaise steps through.

“All right,” Blaise says with a heavy sigh. “What’s so urgent?”

“It’s—I just—see, the thing is—” Draco paces, wringing his hands together, wincing at how sweaty they are. “It’s just that—oh, bollocks. I just need to show you.” Draco grabs Blaise by the wrist, ignoring his look of appalled offense, and marches him down the hall to the drawing room, where he casts a Notice-Me-Not and inches open the door. “Look,” he whispers, and Blaise pokes his head through and sucks in a breath.

“Is that—” Blaise says, and Draco shushes him quickly and shoves him back as the child looks up, frowning. He’s been frowning since Draco first saw him, hadn’t even stopped when Draco brought him here and scrounged up every abandoned toy Pansy’s girls or Teddy had ever left behind and presented them to him. He’d frowned when Draco asked him if he wanted something to eat, frowned harder when Draco had practically run to the kitchen to throw a jam sandwich together with shaking hands because he knew that, despite what the child said, he was surely hungry, he had to be, he—

“Sorry,” Draco says hastily as 7-year-old Harry Potter turns his frown in the direction of the cracked open door, ending the Notice-Me-Not. “Just, ah, checking on you. Everything all right?”

Harry just keeps frowning. He’s got a small soft toy in the form of a dragon in his hands, but he drops it on the tea table as Draco’s eyes sweep over it, placing his hands quickly in his lap. The plate from the sandwich is utterly empty, devoid even of crumbs, and the glass of milk is similarly drained, and Harry’s eyes flash to them with a guilt that shouldn’t be there, sending another fissure of heartbreak through Draco.

“Another sandwich?” he asks, knowing the answer he’s going to get and knowing the answer that’s true.

Harry shakes his head, the barest hint of movement; his tiny, too-thin shoulders are hunched. Draco takes a steadying breath, gives a firm, determined nod, and says, “I’ll be right back.”

He pushes back, where Blaise is stood to the side now, gaping. “Come on,” Draco whispers. “I’ll explain while I make him another sandwich.”

“Draco,” Blaise says urgently as he follows Draco on another dash to the kitchen. “Tell me that’s not Harry Potter.”

“It’s not Harry Potter,” Draco says in an utterly flat, emotionless voice. Blaise groans out loud.

“It’s finally happened. You’ve lost your mind completely; that job of yours has smoothed out every remaining wrinkle in your brain. Pansy was right, we should’ve staged an intervention years ago, it’s our fault, really—”

“It is, I’m in complete agreement,” Draco says, nodding vigorously as he slams into the swinging kitchen door. Everything to make the jam sandwich is still laid out on the bench, so he slices bread with shaking hands and then turns the knife on Blaise, a glob of jam trembling at the end of it. “I’ll have that intervention now, if it’s on offer.”

“It’s a bit bloody late for it, isn’t it?” Blaise says, rubbing his hands over his face. “Is he—that’s not adult Potter on potions, is it? Is this not as bad as I think it is?”

“No, and no, it’s definitely much worse than you think it is,” Draco says as he scrapes butter up on his knife and then scrapes it over the bread rather desperately. “It’s—look.” The knife drops with a clatter, and Draco whips out his pocket watch, shoving it under Blaise’s nose.

Blaise squints down at it. “I—Draco, you know I haven’t the foggiest what any of these mad instruments say. What am I looking at?”

“Do you see that ticking hand there? The green one?” Draco asks, jabbing his finger at it. “That’s our timeline. And the rest—all the different colored hands—those are other timelines. Sometimes I go to them to fix—things, aberrations, events falling too far out of control. Sometimes I go and—and destroy them, and the hands disappear. And sometimes I just go back in my timeline, the green timeline, and go on assignment, and I get bored because my assignment is in a horrible place called Little Whinging, Surrey, and I have time to kill—don’t laugh—and I decide to peek in on my old school rival and see if I can find any fun childhood embarrassments to make fun of for the next time he forgets who I am and tries to drunkenly hit on me at the pub—”

“Oh, good god, Draco.”

“—you know, when he calls me Dresden and asks where I went to school because he would’ve remembered—”

“It’s pathetic and absurd that you’re still completely fucking hung up on that, Draco, it was months ago—”

“Vengeance takes time!”

“Kidnapping someone from the past is a little far for vengeance! You are insane!”

“No, it’s not—” Draco takes a shuddering breath and turns back to the sandwich, struggling to unscrew the jam jar while still holding the pocket watch. “This isn’t vengeance. You didn’t see—I didn’t know—”

“Know what? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It was—they treated him horribly, Blaise, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—”

Draco hears Blaise suck in a harsh, shocked breath. “So this is—bloody hell. You’re not planning on sending him back?”

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to—look.” He whirls around with the watch again and points at a different hand. “See that—that tiny hand, the little red one? That’s a new timeline. It appeared when I brought him back here.”

Blaise stares at him in utter shock, more genuine emotion on his face that Draco’s ever seen. “So you created a new timeline, all on your own? Have you ever done that before?”

“Of course not. It’s utterly forbidden, it’s disastrous, I may have broken the universe. It’s—it’s the end of my time-traveling career.” Draco’s voice breaks on the last few words, and he turns back to the bench, wrenching the jam jar open, piling jam on top of the butter and then pulling out a new plate to serve it on. A flick of his wand and there’s a new glass, milk pouring into it, splashing out a little where Draco can’t keep a steady hand. His breathing is coming fast and a little wheezy.

“What are you going to do?” Blaise asks in a hushed, pitying voice.

Draco thinks about it for a second, trembling in his kitchen. A thousand different scenarios are flaring out in his mind, all the possibilities—he’s always thinking in multiple timelines in his line of work, always considering every possible outcome and calculation and consequence. It brings up an unpleasant buzzing in his head, rushing in his ears, and he has to take a deep, deep breath.

Then he sets the sandwich plate and the glass of milk to Levitate by the door, puts the pocket watch on the bench, picks up the knife, and brings the hilt of it down onto the face of the watch, smashing it to pieces that scatter all around them, dozens of colorful hands and gears and shattered pieces of glass, time strewn all about.

“Right now, I’m going to give that child a jam sandwich,” Draco says.

#drarry #drarry fic #oflights #asks #anonymous #fic prompts #deaging sort of??#a lot is unsaid here because i am almost certainly going to make this a Thing lol #but i needed to get this out rn #am i going to break my own heart writing this eventually? yes probably #ain't that just the way #my fic

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radiation · 15 days

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i can't get rocky horror picture show. i feel like for it to have appeal to you, it needed to have been formative media and a sexual awakening of sorts. watched it a couple years ago coming from 1. already being out of the closet for years, 2, knowing the reputation rhps has both with the transmisogyny and theater nerds. i was gonna approach it for what it was, and i hoped to at least find some appreciation as a pulp sci fi enjoyer. but what made the most disappointed in the end is that for its reputation, it was not nearly as weird or transgressive or as queer as other 70s movies i know of or have seen. i had already seen phantom of the paradise by that point so my expectations for weird rock operas were set much higher, and i expected more of the pulpiness that it promised. i can appreciate the acting, art direction, some of the music, and i can understand what it meant to people, but there are way better and more entertaining and weirder 70s movies out there. i watched it in a double feature with shock treatment and i liked shock better. if you want a better pulp sci fi sex comedy with questionable elements, watch flesh gordon (1974)

#I DONT LIKE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW EITHER LOL I had a friend show it to me and I was like #😟 the whole time it really just like does not hold up at all to me. And I am NOT someone who’s a stickler for like #Flawless LGBT representation & im understanding of things being products of their time #But yeah something and everything about rocky horror feels supremely base. I can see it being eye opening/validating for a certain kind #But idk I figured out I was gay and came out to my parents when I was 13 and im just trying to mind my own business rn. Offers me nothing #I can respect a lot of aspects of it in theory and totally respect people for whom it resonated with but overall I just feel like #Like . We were kind of past this back then and are certainly past this by now. It doesn’t serve us much of anything #-But I also largely dislike musicals + I simply just personally find it to be fucking obnoxious. Time warp is a good song tho

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