Hannibal (2013-2015)

“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion– I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.” ― John Keats

Hannibal

another life

Rhetoric

drarry | E | 1k | kinktober, public sex, exhibitionism, sort-of enemies to lovers

Summary: Harry thought he was past being lured in by Malfoy’s dares.

Read on Ao3

“I dare you.”

Harry ignored him, glancing across the room of well-dressed gala attendees. It was tedious, one of the many little performances he was required to put on to maintain the goodwill and good behaviour of the political elite of their world. Malfoy loved it all though. He loved the formal robes and the glittering chandeliers that floated above the party, he loved the tiny hors d’oeuvres and the sparkling elfwine. He loved the pantomime of getting along.

“Come on, Potter, don’t be so fucking dull. I know you like the idea.” Malfoy paused, stepped close enough for Harry to catch the scent of him, and leaned in as though he was telling secrets. “You’re bored and I’m offering to help.”

His breath was warm against Harry’s ear. Harry stifled the shiver it prompted, but not quickly enough; the only person who noticed it was the only person he wanted to hide it from.

Malfoy lowered his tone, injected a breathy note of excitement to his voice that could have been entirely manufactured for all Harry knew. “You like the idea, don’t you? Dirty bastard.”

At the very moment Harry was about to deliver his stinging reply, the vast gong in the corner of the hall was battered by an over-enthusiastic waiter, and an usher came to hurry them to their seats.

Harry was put in pride of place at the top table—ready to give his speech and convince the landed elite of the wizarding world that donating vast sums of money to causes they shouldn’t need persuading to support was the sensible and elegant thing to do. Malfoy was seated next to him; he’d had the common sense to start throwing his money at good causes as soon as he was spared a sentence in the post-war trials.

At first Harry had thought it was pure self-interest, and he was still sure that accounted for at least eighty percent of Malfoy’s motivation, but Harry was on the board of governors of most of the charities Malfoy donated to, so he knew the sums he was donating and they were not insubstantial. These days Malfoy didn’t even talk about most of his philanthropy publicly, so it wasn’t like he was benefiting in any real way.

He was still a bastard though, and never failed to sidle up to Harry at parties and galas with a mean quip about someone’s outfit, or a suggestion so scandalous Harry would have to work not to blush.

Harry had learned to take it all with a pinch of salt though, even if sometimes he wondered whether Malfoy was actually just joking.

Benedict Hughes—rich, alcoholic, and a desperate social climber—was tonight’s host. He stood to a polite smattering of applause and began one of his infamously nasal and long-winded speeches of introduction—he was clearly pleased to have scored the prize of Harry Potter at his high table and made no attempt at subtlety in his exploitation of it. He opened his address by listing Harry’s medals of honour—awarded long after the war, when the Ministry decided a bit of a history rewrite was needed—and Harry immediately tuned out everything the man said.

“Utterly intolerable, isn’t he?” Malfoy whispered as he leaned in. He was probably only doing it to make it look like the two of them were friendly. They weren’t. They didn’t talk outside of these events. “I might actually fall asleep if I don’t take drastic action.”

Malfoy never fell asleep at parties—he glided around looking bright and engaged until the sun came up, he was the definition of a social butterfly and everyone loved him, even if he spent the entire the time criticising one half of the room to the other.

“You’re just annoyed it’s not you giving the speech,” Harry replied.

Malfoy hummed, then rearranged himself in his seat. “I’m annoyed because you used to be interesting. Can’t even rely on you to throw a punch, these days.”

“Is that what you want, then?”

Harry looked out across the room, more than fifty tables were filled with the beatifically smiling faces of people who had never been touched by the poverty this fundraiser was supposed to fight.

“I told you exactly what I want,” Malfoy muttered. And then his hand slipped under the table and he leaned against the side of his chair—it looked comfortable, insouciant, but it brought him within inches of Harry. Close enough to reach across and undo the zip of Harry’s finely tailored suit trousers.

“What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry whispered, carefully maintaining the bland smile that was the particular mask he wore when he was being paraded on stage like this.

Malfoy’s hand was deft, he had his fingers trailing up and down Harry’s cock before Harry’s words were out of his mouth. Harry stared ahead, desperately trying not to give away what was happening. Malfoy’s hand was warm, and Benedict was droning on, and Harry was getting hard.

Malfoy laughed along with whatever asinine joke Benedict had made—Harry didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear anything above the roar of shocked arousal and pumping blood in his ears—and thumbed at Harry’s foreskin. It was wet now, with precome, which Malfoy smeared around to make the tiny, gentle twists of his wrist even slicker, smoother, more devastatingly aching. Harry held his breath.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, before he used his free hand to lift his wine and take a sip. “I’m going to make you come before dear old Benedict has finished his speech. I’ll even charm you clean before you have to stand up.”

“I’m not—”

Malfoy continued as though Harry hadn’t spoken. “You are.”

He was. He was dangerously close already; hundreds of eyes on him, and one hand, and Harry couldn’t think of anything but the strength of Malfoy’s fingers and how gently, how expertly they dragged pleasure out of him. If they got caught—he clenched his hands into fists, grit his teeth, and tried to ignore the way that thought made his belly hot and tangled with anticipation.

“You are going to come,” Malfoy said. “And then after this farce of a night, I’m going to let you bend me over and fuck a load into me. How’s that for fair play?”

Harry’s balls tightened. Fair play, indeed.

Read on Ao3

October 5th from this prompt list

Read the series here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

memento mori

HONK 4 FLONKS

Playing around with a very purple color palette for a DTIYS on instagram. Tonks and Sirius have a matching earring! I like to think she stole it from him so they could match.

hello! 3 or 16 for writer asks? 🙌

Hi fw00sh!! 💕

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway) OHOHO HELL YES THANK YOU FOR THIS GREEN LIGHT cw violence and like, mild dubcon? nsfw ish. wc ~900

Draco slammed his locker shut, revealing Potter in the doorway of the locker room, looking like death warmed over.

Looking, as he usually did, fucking furious.

“Again?” Draco sighed.

Harry’s boots echoed in the empty room as he marched toward Draco, who grit his teeth in frustration.

“Oh, for fuck’s—” Draco was cut off by Harry’s fist and an explosion of pain in his jaw, then the back of his skull as his head hit the locker, because of fucking course.

But this wasn’t new. And Draco was tired. He’d had the same shitty day as Harry. They’d both been on that bollocksed-up raid. They’d both seen horrible, painful things.

Harry followed it up with a punch to Draco’s gut, knocking the wind out of him, and a familiar grunt of “Come on, you fucking—”

Draco whirled on him with an elbow to the face, a satisfying, sickening crack, and blood poured from Harry’s nose. Harry was used to that, though, and barely reacted before grabbing Draco’s shirt and slamming him back into the lockers. He pulled his fist back, and Draco said, “Stop.”

Harry’s expression flickered—guilt, fear, desperation—Draco had never before tried to stop this. In fact, Draco had usually landed twice as many hits by now.

It was the only time he was ever allowed to touch Harry. Of course he had never tried to stop it.

Because in a few minutes, Draco would give the final blow and pin him down—against the floor, the wall, a door frame, a desk, it didn’t matter. He’d have Harry’s wrists in his hands and Harry’s wide green eyes staring up at him, and Harry’s conspicuously hard cock against his hip, and Harry’s face would get even redder as he spluttered and tried to wriggle away.

And he could have. But he never did.

Instead, he’d fight with himself until he felt Draco inevitably getting hard, too; until Draco’s whole body was pressed up against him, holding him down; until Draco slotted his thigh between Harry’s legs, and Harry gave in with a shiver, frotting against him with a quiet little moan, breathing hard against Draco’s neck. Until they both came in their pants, and Harry made that sweet, broken sound that Draco was already addicted to, and Draco had to let go of him and run, unable to face Harry’s disgust in the aftermath.

It wasn’t disgust. He knew that, now.

Harry didn’t stop. His fist hit Draco’s cheekbone, but the whiplash was worse. Draco ducked under his arm, using his shoulder to ram him into the opposite wall of lockers. Harry’s back hit the metal with a loud bang and a heavy oof, and he pounded his fist against Draco’s back, trying to knee him in the gut, but Draco was faster, as always, and had his wrists pinned to the cold metal in the blink of a swollen eye: “Harry, stop.”

Harry froze, then grit his teeth and started squirming again, trying to buck Draco off. “No.” He wasn’t even hard, this time.

Because it wasn’t about the sex. It had never been about the sex. It wasn’t even about the fighting, and it had taken Draco way too long to figure it out: that while this was the only way Draco was allowed to touch Harry, this was the only way Harry knew how to ask for it.

Harry’s eyes grew brighter, shinier, and he growled as he bucked and squirmed and pushed against Draco’s hold, desperation renewed under Draco’s piercing, knowing gaze.

“Harry.” Draco quickly gathered Harry’s arms to his chest—a calculated risk, Harry could easily push him away like this, but Harry grabbed onto Draco’s shirt, instead. He still squirmed, shaking his head frantically. “Harry.” Draco wrapped his arms around him, pressing him into the lockers, locking him in a tight, confining embrace. Harry’s body shook against his, his fists clenched in the fabric of Draco’s shirt, his breaths harsh through bloodstained teeth.

“Sweetheart,” Draco breathed. “It’s alright.”

Harry tensed; Draco could hear his teeth grinding as he held his breath. Harry let out a small gasp, and another, and Draco held him even tighter as Harry finally, finally let himself cry, breaking apart in the safe, containing circle of Draco’s arms.

Draco ran his hands over Harry's sides, his arms, his shoulders, burying his fingers in those wild curls and pressing Harry's face into his neck, kissing the side of his head and whispering in his ear—I've got you, sweetheart, I'm here—and relished in the freedom of finally letting himself break, too, as all of his love and care poured out of him, surrounding them both.

"I couldn't—" Harry hiccuped, "—save them—"

"You can't save everyone, Harry," Draco interrupted. "I couldn't save them, either."

Harry clung tighter, sobbed harder, soaking Draco's shirt with blood and tears. He didn't let go, didn't pull away, not even once his sobs had subsided, his breaths slow and even against Draco's neck.

"Let me take you home," Draco said, combing his fingers through Harry's hair. "With me." Harry reluctantly pulled back to look at him. "Please?"

Harry looked awful, with blood on his face and exhausted, red-rimmed eyes, but he eventually nodded, and Draco immediately started planning which healing charms he would use, which bath potions, which dinners he could prepare on short notice.

And all the new, gentle ways he could touch him.

Specimen

A New History of Fandom Purges

On November 24th, 2018, I posted a list of major deletions of sites or of content on sites that stripped fandom of its history. A bunch of pro-shipper blogs had just been deleted, and people were nervous. I suppose I was thinking “All this has happened before…”

On December 3rd, 2018, Tumblr’s Department of Irony announced the NSFW ban. Thanks for providing this salutary lesson to The Youth and a billion reblogs to me, I guess.

Today, we have AO3 for writing. Audio, images, and video are in as much danger as ever, yet fans attack AO3 every donation drive. For those of you who forget our past…

HERE IS WHAT HISTORY HAS TAUGHT US!

1992 - Chelsea Quinn Yarbro forces a zine to be destroyed

1995 - Viacom/Paramount goes after fansites

1995 - Anne Rice gets IWTV fic deleted everywhere

1997 - Fox and Lucasfilm go after fansites

1998 - AOL goes after X-Files fansites

2000 - Warner Brothers goes after Harry Potter fansites

2000 - Anne Rice anne rices again

2001 - Tripod Massacre

2001 - Anne Rice goes after IWTV fic on FFN

2001 - The Bronze shut down as Buffy changes networks

2002 - FFN bans porn

2002 - FFN bans RPF

2003 - Gryffindor Tower implodes

2004 - FFN bans script format

2005 - FFN bans CYOA, Readerfic, 2nd person, Songfic

2005 - Sheezyart bans adult content; y!gallery founded

2005 - Viacom/Paramount goes after fansites again

2006 - Sakura Lemon Archive suddenly closes

2007 - Strikethrough, Boldthrough on Livejournal

2007 - Youtube institutes Content ID, deleting many fanvids

2008 - Slash Cotillion closes, taking much historical m/m with it

2009 - GeoCities shuts down, taking old fannish websites

2009 - Greatestjournal shuts down; RPGs deleted

2009 - Marvel gets scans_daily deleted

2009 - imeem, major vidding hub, closes suddenly

2010 - FFN forums purged for inactivity

2010 - DeviantArt purges adult fanfic

2010 - Literate Union goes after Twilight fandom on FFN

2011 - Delicious destroyed by Yahoo’s incompetence

2011 - China arrests women for writing m/m; destroys danmei.org

2012 - major FFN crackdown on porn

2012 - Megaupload deleted for piracy; also destroys vids, podfic

2013 - Max-Dan-Wiz.com purged of fan-generated content

2014 - Quizilla shuts down

2014 - China purges m/m story websites; arrests female authors

2014 - Blip.tv deletes vids

2014 - Viddler deletes vids

2015 - Journalfen’s servers become fully robust, deleting Fandom Wank

2016 - y!Gallery deleted

2016 - Elfwood goes offline

2016 - Audiofic Archive corrupted; major blow to podfic

2017 - Chinese author jailed after being ratted out over fandom drama

2017 - Parents get queer Warrior Cats fic purged from Wattpad

2018 - Tumblr deletes pro-shipper blogs

2018 - Tumblr announces NSFW ban

2018 - Wattpad deletes accounts/fics without warning

2019 - China purges weibo of m/m; more women jailed

This is only a small taste of the many times that:

Fannish moderators got bored, ran out of money, or had a falling out, deleting a site/list/forum along the way.

Sites got bought out and closed for being unprofitable.

Fandom got hit as governments targeted piracy or political dissidents.

Fans grudge reported each other.

Official forums got deleted when the canon finished.

It’s not always malicious. It’s not always about us. But we lose every time.

Some of these purges hit everyone. Many of them hit m/m content specifically or female gaze-y material in general. This is why antis are dead wrong. This is why anti-fujoshi policies end up being anti-m/m policies. This is why we need clear labeling, not content restrictions.

This is why we need AO3.

And it’s why we need a solution for audio, visuals, and video too.

Will sitting on Hannibal's desk

Hannibal 1.02 Amuse-bouche | 1.05 Coquilles | 1.08 Fromage | 2.09 Shiizakana