Long Story Short, I Lost The Actual Request.

Long story short, I lost the actual request.

Violinist in the rain

Maybe they were all right or maybe they were all wrong, who knows, love stories are born when they're written, only in tales but only few are born the way the way this one came into existence in the times of all that had been gone.

He was in love, he called it love, people could call him fool, an obsessed idiot maybe too but harry was in love with the enigmatic man he'd Always stalk from his window who'd only play violin when it rained. There was something so beautifully strange about the way that man so sleek and slender with his lanky coats would set a chair in the middle of the ramp and the way he played. No matter how breezy the rain was, no matter how harsh, no matter how soft, no matter the thunder, he'd play and he'd only play with the intensity of the rain. When it poured heavily, he'd play the most intense of tunes harry had ever heard and when it Rained in soft bliss, he'd play the softest tunes to ever exist. It was all as if in rain, he was trying to tell a story or Maybe understanding the story of the shower. Harry was in love.

To all whom he asked, they called him insane, called him a fool, called him naive for claiming he loved the boy across the street with no name, no identity, just referred as the violinist in the rain but harry was deterred to know who he was, how he was and why he was. He was often faced with a question as how could harry possibly be in love with a stranger but only if he could answer. It was as if he knew the violinist but then again he knew nothing but in all the times harry would stare from his window, it felt as if he was listening to him in ways that no one to walk upon the place we called Earth would've known. It was personal and it fastened Harry's heartbeat whenever he used to think about intimate everything was with so much distance.

Every inch of his body ached when he knew he couldn't see him or that he Only saw him in the rain. It only made his curiosity grow inside him, why must he only play in the rain ? Why must he only play in thunderstorm ? And harry was curious to find answers but he never understood how to. He was afraid that if he ever went to face him, he'd Run away and never come back but if he didn't, he'd never know who he is. He was dangling by a thin string and it was on harry how to balance.

And to him the idea came in the most bizarre ways while he was working in his office and he'd recieved a memo.

" OF COURSE " harry had yelled and excitedly say down once again.

The next time when it rained, harry made sure he wrote the simplest of memo " I like how you play " and sent it through his window to the violinist in the rain. Harry awaited like a passenger waiting for him to open the memo and only when the rain had stopped did he open the memo, read it and stashed it away on his pocket.

He did everytime it Rained for as long as he remembered adding something new each time, sometimes sent drawings harry occasionally drew of him and even sometimes song suggestions which he'd play in the next rain, but he never replied. He never did.

6 months, exactly 6 months it took harry to finally receive a reply back mentioned with thank you and small doodle of smile. Harry has squealed all day, smiling like a loon but could he blame. A man in love had finally received something more than a song and to him it seemed like a progress.

Another 3 weeks later when it rained, harry waited by his window waiting for the mystery man to arrive but it Rained for 5 hours, he never showed up. Harry only frowned till he slept.

Another 1 week later when it rained, he didn't show up again.

It was 3 more weeks in total when he didn't show up and harry drove crazy. It drove him too crazy that he stood in the rain like a maniac waiting but he never showed up. Frustrated with himself harry stashed all the remaining memo's he'd kept for future into the trash can and slept rather uncomfortably but harry knew better than to give up. He waited again the next night when it rained, and the night after and the night after until harry had enough. He was filled upto the brim that he bought the violin himself and played it in screeches with no tune or melody just for the satisfaction of it. But he didn't show up.

Harry wanted to give up but 3 more nights later the violinist in the rain showed up and immediately casted a stopping spell on Harry's fingers.

" I get your point. I only broke my violin and didn't had the money to buy new one" the man said as he remained under the hood, rain pouring down over every inch of his robe.

" will you play for me ?" Harry asked as he got up offering the violin to the other man.

With little hesitation the man took the violin, sat down on the chair and started playing while he remained there listening to him play like a child does when they are recited bed time Stories. To this day it was one of the best nights of his life.

The world might've called him a fool but his love was never wrong. His love was as strong as the thunderstorms that have remained hovering above us and the mountains in the Alps. He loved him with every fiber in his body and not once did he regret. This was his love story and the world could call him a fool but the Only foolishness he ever did was not asking him earlier.

He fell for the violinist in the rain and there Never existed any better love story.

300 followers appreciation dialogue Prompt requests open

Angst prompt requests open

Hey i want to request a drabble for prompt 'thunderstorm'

You are an amazing writer ♡

I never understood why I wanted this to be so perfect that I waited an entire month to post it and I still don't think I'd ever meet what I'm looking for in this fic. Anyways here we go.

Agreed !!!

SHIP AND LET SHIP

DON'T LIKE; DON'T READ!!

People! What the hell is happening??? Like why is the whole of Drarry community fighting over who tops and who bottoms? How does it matter? You like one think and I like something else but that doesn't make the other thing less valid!

Let's take example, shall we? I absolutely love salted caramel popcorns but don't like chocolate popcorn at all. You love chocolate popcorn and hate the other. Would you call me out for this? Make threats? My taste and choice can be different from yours.

I had threats thrown my way because I wrote a bottom Harry fic. The commenter said, they hoped me and my family would die from covid and well I was suffering through covid at that time (second attack on me like bruh) It was horrible but I asked the community for help and everyone was so fucking sweet! Can't we all be like that please???

I believe in SHIP AND LET SHIP, but moreover you know what I believe in more? DON'T LIKE; DON'T READ!

Why even read something you know you don't like? There are fucking tags for a reason!! Read the tags, many creators repeatedly say that in the a/n as well.

Seriously people, stop being this childish over something that is our own creation. Like c'mon, I can bet that anyone is spreading these words and hate, haven't written something themselves. Because creators fucking know how hard it is to write and they won't do something like this! So why hate on someone because of whom the whole fucking Drarry fandom is standing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Incase anyone is still reading, I wanted to say this was enraged after I read @sorry-i-ship-drarry 's recent post and couldn't take it anymore. I had to say something about this whole fiasco. Not even going to apologize for this being so long.

😗😗

I-i- t-take it.. It belongs to you ma'am

So beautiful 💜

Blunt-Forced Drama

It started innocently enough. In May, Potter invited their entire graduating class to a house-warming party at 12 Grimmauld.

Being the gracious guest he was, Draco arrived an hour late with a bottle of wine, two tins of pre-rolls, and a scented candle that claimed to be "woodsy".

Being the highly-distractible, schedule-free dynasty heir he also was, he arrived on a Tuesday evening. Four days after the party.

Potter shrugged and ushered him in, through the house to the patio. The chair cushions smelled like mildew, but neither of them cared. He lit the candle, then lit a joint off the candle by the time Draco realized they were alone, but that was alright. Preferable, even.

Potter was different away from people. Weirder. He was downright funny after half a bottle of wine, and peculiarly sober when he chased it with most of a joint.

"Did you ever wonder if matter stays still, and our consciousness just moves through it like fingers strumming a harp?"

"Stands to reason, Potty."

Draco, on the other hand, was borderline ridiculous, and moderately obsessed with implausible scenarios and how to handle them. When sober, he'd deny having a rampant anxiety disorder.

"What if my face just... fell right off. Right now. What would you do?"

"Suppose I'd pick it up," Potter said, taking a long swig from the bottle. "But I'd probably put it on my face, take a selfie, then wash it off and give it back to you."

Draco mumbled around the filter of a joint he had to look at with one eye to light. "Generous of you."

It became a regularity.

"Did I miss the party?" Draco would ask, libations raised in offering.

"I don't know. Did you?"

"I've never mourned the loss of a social function in my life, Potter."

The patio furniture paint started to flake off sometime in July, but that was alright. Potter left the candle out in the rain, and Draco made a note to himself to replace it with a candle that actually smelled like a thunderstorm.

"What if the stars all collapsed into black holes? Just... boom."

"Even the sun?"

"Well, except the sun."

"Probably wouldn't affect Earth for a few million years. But then you'd be named after nothing."

"True."

Harry extinguished a blunt on his tongue and rubbed the ash against the roof of his mouth.

"Universal ultimate goal..."

"Yeah?"

"...for everybody..."

"Mm hm."

"....is to become who you needed."

Draco's head lolled back over the chair, and he pretended to see the stars through the humid streetlight haze.

"Go on."

"I needed somebody to, like, save me, right?"

"Uh huh. Cupboard."

"So I became 'The Saviour'."

"So... I needed... a socialite burnout?"

Harry picked the cork apart with a thumbnail onto the scalloped glass table.

"Nah. You just... you see people. Cuz nobody ever saw you."

Draco frowned at the stars hiding behind the veil of light pollution. He took a breath to ask Harry what that meant, but Harry cut him off with a soft snore. Draco blew the candle out and went home.

Harry never minded a little rain, and Draco didn't mind the humidity.

Draco shook the lighter, flicked it, and drew a slow breath. "What if you lost all your money?"

"I'd be a librarian."

"Hm," Draco hummed around a joint. "That might be nice. Wonder what I'd do."

An animal chittered in a tree, and Harry unscrewed the cap on the bottle. "You'd make wands."

"I'd make great wands."

Harry liked tart wine and indica, and Draco liked the random shit that came out of Harry's mouth.

"I hope there's no afterlife," Harry muttered into the bottleneck. "Sounds exhausting."

Draco sprawled out on a chaise lounge that smelled like wet dirt, tried to blow a smoke ring, and failed miserably.

"I thought you already died."

Harry upended the bottle and caught the last few drops on his tongue.

"Could've been a hallucination."

"What if this is a hallucination?"

"You'd tell me."

"Cuz I see people."

"Yeah, but not like in that movie. You just, like, get people." Harry's chair scraped against the patio, and he flopped down on the damp cushions next to Draco. "What did you get Parkinson for her birthday?"

"Nothing. She only wants things she needs, and she didn't need anything."

"See? What did you get me for my birthday?"

Draco tapped ash onto the ground and stuck the blunt between Harry's lips. "That candle, but that was more for me."

"See? It's perfect."

Draco curled up against Harry and sighed. "What's perfect?"

"You got me the gift of you smelling the candle."

"Didn't even wrap it."

"I hate wrapping."

"Me, too."

Harry drew a breath through Draco's hair. "I like watching you smell the candle."

"Mm."

"It's supposed to rain soon."

Draco pressed numb teeth against his lips against Harry's shoulder.

"What if I just bit you?"

"I'd let you." Harry stubbed the blunt out on the patio.

"Maybe I will."

"Yeah?"

Harry dipped his chin and pressed his nose between Draco's eyebrows.

"Mm hm," Draco hummed against Harry's chin.

They smelled rain, then heard it, then felt the patter of it against their clothes. It dripped down Draco's hair.

Harry's bottom lip slid between Draco's teeth, and he sucked it in on a relieved gasp. The storm-scented candle sputtered out, and neither of them noticed.

The loop never ends

requested by water-that-makes-the-frogs-gay