#FUCKING POMONA

[forcedhesitation]

video editing is turning my brain into mush, take a wip of lae and my deep gnome druid pomona

[saphflare]

MY BOY IS FUCKING FREE

I USED TO PRAY I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS

HE FUCKIGN ESCAPED HE GOT OUT OF THAT FUCKING HOUSE AND FROM THAT POOR EXCUSE OF A SACK OF ROTTING MEAT AND EXCREMENT

POM GAVE HIM A REAL HUG AFTER EVERYTHING I CAN FUCKING DIE IN PEACE

[lazyreinelle]

Am I okay right now? No. Why am I not okay? Because the fact that Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick were dating at SOME POINT is CANON.

[rcmclachlan]

Relative Value (buck/tommy)

"And I feel for her, you know? I really do. The dissolution of a relationship, especially a marriage, feels like you're drowning in hot tar, and you spend every waking moment kicking your way to the surface to try and breathe. But if she brings up her divorce again while I'm in the middle of peeing? I'm going to divorce her head from her body."

Buck makes a face at the thought of Maddie's decapitated coworker. "Please don't send the 118 to that scene. I'm not so great with entrails these days. Send the 147—they deserve it after they botched that extrication on Monday." 

Maddie laughs, the sound tinny but comfortingly familiar coming through his phone's speakers. She'd propped her phone on Jee-Yun's dresser halfway through the call so she could put away laundry while she talked, and for the last five minutes he's been watching her fold Jee's clothes like she's being judged at the Olympics. 

It's nice to see that hasn't changed. Maddie should've been in jail years ago for the way she loads a dishwasher, but when it comes to laundry she's a goddamn wizard. When he was younger, his parents saddled him with taking out the trash and doing the dishes, but putting away the laundry was always Maddie's chore. She actually enjoyed it, the weirdo. She used to tell him the first whiff of warm Snuggle right out of the dryer was a cure-all. Also, she can fold a fitted sheet in under ten seconds. He'd timed her once.

Maddie takes an eye-wateringly orange shirt out of the laundry basket and with three decisive motions turns it into a perfect rectangle. If Jee ever decides she wants to go deer hunting, she'll be all set. "Since when are you not good with entrails?" 

"Since that guy was ripped in half last week."

It'd easily been the grizzliest car crash he'd ever been called to. It made the 405 pileup a few years back look like Disney on Ice. About halfway through tagging and bagging almost a dozen casualties strewn all over the westbound lanes of the Pomona Freeway, the guy responsible for the crash snapped awake while Hen and Chimney were setting up and drove off in a panic. The top-half of the motorist stuck under his car was dragged maybe sixty feet, and Buck had a front row seat to the sight of the poor guy's nerves and vasculature trailing behind him like squid tentacles before the driver came to a stop by hitting yet another car. 

"I'm also not eating spaghetti for the foreseeable future, FYI," he adds.

Maddie wrinkles her nose. "Okay, changing the subject: when do you leave again?"

It wouldn't be an overstatement to say the smile that question invokes explodes over his face. He feels it happen; the spark eats the fuse so quickly there's barely any lead-up and his cheeks burn from the sheer magnitude of the blast. 

"You look deranged," Maddie says, laughing.

"I feel deranged." He's been like this all week and it's starting to scare everyone. Chimney keeps leaving pamphlets for Clozaril in his locker. "Tomorrow morning. We're picking up the bird right after we do a coffee run."

"I wish my boyfriend was whisking me away to the mountains for a romantic getaway." Maddie heaves a theatrical sigh. "My husband says the best he can do is Shake Shack."

The whole thing is absolutely bonkers. He'd been minding his own business, half-watching a documentary about volcanoes with his feet in Tommy's lap, when they showed some insanely beautiful footage of Mount Rainier. And although his mind was focused on completing level 29 of Euclidea, his mouth was busy saying, "I've always wanted to go there." 

Thumb digging into Buck's instep, Tommy had made a thoughtful sound and said, "I'd tapped a buddy of mine to get us into Griffith Observatory after hours, but I like your idea way better. Let's do it."

If someone had told Buck 1.0 that someday a beast of a man would be flying him by helicopter to the Cascades for their two-year anniversary, he would've laughed his way into a pneumothorax. And then he would've tried to fuck his nurse. 

He looks across the living room to where their bags have been sitting, fully packed, since last night, and grins. "Tell Chim he needs to step up his game. You're worth Zankou, at least."

Maddie snorts. "Gee, thanks."

Behind her, there's unexpected movement, and every muscle in his body locks up as his heart stops in a moment of brief, blinding terror. 

It's stupid to feel this way after seven years, but a little part of him is still waiting for Doug to crawl out of the shadows like a wraith to finish what he tried to do. He's spent many a sleepless night spiraling to the soundtrack of Chimney's desperate, Do you know he's dead for sure? Did you see a body?

Buck did see his body, but a little voice sometimes whispers to him from some deep, dark place at two in the morning: it was freezing that day. It could've slowed the bleeding, could've kept him alive long enough to go to a hospital. You don't know what happened after the ambulance left with him. What if he survived? What if he's out there right now, just biding his time?

Which are bad and ridiculous thoughts to have because he knows that monster is dead, and frankly he's got better things to think about than Doug, who's absolutely having his skin torn off in hell right now—especially since his adorable, perfect niece is the one who came into the room. 

"Say hi to your uncle, Jee," Maddie says, smiling. In her hands, a pair of polka dot leggings becomes a polka dot brick with hospital corners. 

Jee-Yun jumps a little like she can't quite see him, and Maddie goes over to the dresser to obligingly tilt the camera down. 

"Hi, Uncle Buck." Jee-Yun waves, then rises an inch or two higher in the frame, and he realizes she's standing on her tiptoes. She cranes her head, moving it a bit from side to side like she's looking for something. After a few seconds, she drops back down, grimacing in disappointment.

He looks over his shoulder, but no one's there. "Sorry, kiddo, it's just me."

"Just you is fine, always," Maddie immediately pipes up, and he ducks his head with a smile. It's always nice to hear her say that. "It's just that… well, she had a question and we weren't sure if you were the one we should be asking."

Buck grins. "Lay it on me, Jee."

It's always a little hilarious to watch how Jee reacts when the spotlight's on her. She bounces and twirls a little, and her whale-spout pigtails move with her. For someone getting ready to enter kindergarten, she's got the stage presence of a Broadway star. "Uncle Buck, how do airplanes fly when they're so big and heavy?"

He opens his mouth to answer her, but there's nothing there, just an empty pocket of air that tastes vaguely like the ham sandwich he had for lunch. He closes his mouth with a click, stymied. He could've sworn he knew this one. Something about lift and drag?

"Jee, I-I'm sorry. I don't know off the top of my head. I could look it up for you?"

A little groan escapes her, but it turns into a shriek when a tie-dyed sweatshirt comes winging from off-camera and lands on her head. Jee wrestles the shirt away, static making her hair cling to her face, which she swipes with a whine. 

"That's why I wanted to ask Uncle Tommy!"

Buck has forgotten a lot about the tsunami. Time has softened the memory of how warm the water was, how it shoved its way into his mouth and nostrils like it was trying to find a way inside his veins, and that it was filled with so much debris it scored the insides of his cheeks bloody. But the one thing he never lost was how his feet went out from under him when that first wave hit like a freight train. He hasn't been able to ride a roller coaster since: he doesn't see the need to pay to experience the feeling of free fall again. He remembers every second of it like it just happened. 

He may be sitting on the couch with his feet firmly on the floor, but his stomach is thrilling at the familiar sensation of being completely unmoored. Only instead of being dragged into the dark, he's being pulled up into endless blue. 

Breathless with stratospheric joy, he digs his trembling fingers into his knees like it's going to do anything to keep him grounded, and chokes out, "Who, Jee?"

The look Jee turns on the camera is so confused that Buck isn't sure he was even using real words just then. It could've been a jumble of sounds falling from his mouth like aquarium gravel. 

"Uncle Tommy," Jee says, with the patient air of someone who forgot they were talking to an idiot. "It's okay if you don't know about airplanes, Uncle Buck. You drive fire trucks."

He's pretty sure he was just insulted. Behind Jee, Maddie's wide-eyed and mouthing an ecstatic oh my god! 

"Tell you what. When—" he swallows thickly, overcome "—Uncle Tommy wakes up from his nap, I'll have him call you and he can tell you all about how planes stay up in the air."

She mulls it over, and he can see the outline of her tongue poking the inside of her cheek like she's swishing the offer around in her mouth. Finally, she gives him two decisive nods of her head that has her pigtails bouncing. "Okay. When's that?"

"I-I don't know. Soon." If the lightning had struck a few feet away from him instead of dead-on, he thinks it would've felt like this. Any second now he's going to vibrate out of his skin and scar Jee for life. "Maybe I should go check on him." 

"I think that's a good idea," Maddie says cheerfully, coming into the foreground. Her eyes are glossy and red, and even with two screens and several miles between them it feels like she's about to wrap him up in the warmest hug. "Why don't we let you go for now? Uncle Tommy can give us a buzz later."

"Yeah, t-that sounds like a plan." He knows he's rocking the deranged look again, except it's somehow so much worse. He doesn't care. He hopes his face gets stuck like this. When he rolls into the station two weeks from tomorrow, he's going to take every pamphlet Chimney shoves at him and eat them.

Maddie's grin is threatening to split her face in half. "Give Uncle Tommy a big kiss from us."

He's going to do way more than that. "You bet. Bye, Mads. Bye, Jee!"

The very second the call ends, he's on his feet and practically running down the hall. Tommy had been coming off a rough 24 earlier when he'd sloppily kissed Buck and then staggered into the bedroom. It's been almost three hours and Buck hasn't heard a peep since. 

Buck makes sure to lift the bedroom door when he opens it so the hinges don't creak, and when he sees Tommy—sprawled diagonally across the mattress with his jeans still on and enough drool soaked into the pillowcase to fill a bathtub—his knees decide it's the perfect time to stop working. He clutches the door frame so he doesn't crumble to the floor under the weight of all this euphoria.

Jee thinks of Tommy as family. It's not hard to figure out the logic she must be using to get there: she has an Uncle Buck, who has had a Tommy for as long as she's been making real memories, and therefore… 

He can't help but wonder who else in the world is operating on that same intel. Jee has no doubt told the teachers at her kindergarten about her mom and dad and her amazingly cool Uncle Buck, but maybe she's also told them about her other uncle, who always lets her ride on his shoulders when they go to the park and who talks to her like she's a forty-seven-year old at brunch. Maybe she's told kids at the playground about the uncle who knows why planes stay in the air and who folded himself into a pretzel because she wanted him to sit next to her at the kids' table last Friendsgiving. Maybe she's drawn shitty pictures in crayon of two stick figures holding hands under a smiling sun, and when her classmates ask who they're supposed to be, she tells them, "That's my Uncle Buck and my Uncle Tommy." 

Inhaling shakily, he makes himself move from the doorway to the bed, crawling in as gingerly as he can. It's all for nothing, though, because Tommy cracks an eye open and fixes it on him. Buck scrunches his face up in apology, but Tommy just smiles a little and tugs Buck down, pressing his face into the space between Buck's neck and shoulder and settling with a hum.

Buck slides a hand into his hair and holds him close, breathing in old sweat and a hint of his own shampoo. "I love you, Uncle Tommy."

"If this is a new kink, I'm going to need at least another two hours of sleep before I'm prepared to tackle it," Tommy mumbles. 

Choking on laughter, Buck presses a kiss to the side of his head and wonders if it's possible to die of happiness. "Not quite. Your niece has a question about airplanes and wants you to call her when you wake up."

When there's no immediate answer, Buck is sure Tommy's fallen back to sleep, but then Tommy shifts a little in his arms, presses a kiss to his shoulder, and murmurs warmly, "Will do."

[baroque-hashem]

Oh you did NOT just say that Jews should just fucking expect to get hate crimed for being connected to Israel. You antisemitic cunt. "Umm, well, idk, if your country is important to you, then guess what kike, you SHOULD get fucking hate crimed". What the fuck. What kind of batshit writing is this. You guys should read Mark Dery's screed and the Letters to the Editor in response to it. This is fucking ridiculous.

[arcas-world]

I feel like the hp fandom needs to go back further. Like, why did we stop at harry's parents? Give me his grandparents. Give me Monty and Effie and Minnie and Augusta and Pomona and literally anyone else. I want us to go even more batshit. I want us to create even more OCs, let's make all of their parents and friends and lovers and backstories and happily ever afters. Let's fuck the timeline and go right the way back, fix this right from the 1950s or smth

[penguinparty88]

Minerva: I have a question.

Pomona: Shoot.

Minerva: Is the S or C in scent silent?

Filius: Fuck you, I’m going to be thinking about this all day.

Pomona: Okay well, cent is pronounced the same way as scent so I’m gonna say the S is silent.

Minerva: Okay, but sent is also spelled the same way.

Filius: Google says that the C was added in the late seventeenth century, so I guess the S is silent.

Severus: Plot twist, both the S and the C are silent and the E actually makes the sss sound.

Filius: Severus is not allowed to talk anymore.

[kerink]

in my euphoria of realizing carlos was a socal local i forgot what that meant for subtle nuances of his character. for example, i just had the most miserable drive of my life thru pomona and i think unless you experience what the la transit authority expects you to learn to tolerate there's no way for you to grasp how truly fucked the road systems are there. like socal in general has notoriously bad roads and aggressive drivers that consider the speed limit the minimum and weave in and out of traffic like fish. im born and raised IE and when i was asked to drive in small, rural towns in hawai'i i was going fucking nuts. i can only imagine what carlos had to deal with, learning not only the truly mind boggling ways night vale has their roads set up on top of having to actually drive slow

[broomsticks]

posted a two-part pride rec list over at dreamwidth (follow the links for full reccer’s notes). various queer themes including identity exploration, coming out, and related social/societal issues. there’s light to heavy angst in most of these, but all have a happy/hopeful ending. 🌈

Modern Muggle AUs

Time and Love by justtoarguewithyou // Hermione/Oliver // 6.8k, G. College/University AU, Self-Discovery, Getting Together

Love & Blowjobs & Other Sacred Things by BrujaBanter // Wolfstar & Jily // 77k, E. Preacher Remus, Priest Sirius, Former LDS/Mormon James, Hijabi Lily, Explicit Sexual Content, Priest Kink, Catholicism Is Inherently Kinky Fight Me

Discards by @picascribit // Wolfstar & Jily // 76k, M. Librarian AU, Trans Sirius Black, Latino!Remus, Japanese-American!Sirius, Black!James, Jewish!Lily, Homelessness, HIV/AIDS, Drug Use, Sex Work

Dragons Don't Know Paradise by @teacup-tai // Drarry & Wolfstar // 51k, E. Falling In Love, they meet online, Wolfstar raising Harry, HIV+ Remus, Angst and Hurt/Comfort.

Have Time To Grow by Queer_and_trashy // Wolfstar // 31k, E. Professor Remus, Poet Sirius, Trans Sirius, Dom Remus/Sub Sirius, deeply deeply queer, because fuck jkr

Midday Train to London by xinasvoice // Wolfstar, Prongsfoot, Jily // 24k, E. Muggle AU, introduction to the BDSM/kink community, introduction to polyamory

Magical Queerness

Play Me Like A Love Song by @writcraft // Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank/Minerva McGonagall // 68k, E. Queer Awakening, Stone Butch, Coming Out, Families of Choice, Drag King, Self-Discovery

Rosmerta's Special Brew by @lumosatnight // Rosmerta/Andromeda // 6k, T. Queer Themes, Queer Characters (so many), 5+1 Things, Coming Out, Fluff

burning brightly by malapropism // Rolfluna // 15k, NR. Parent-Child Relationship, Family Dynamics, Character Study, Aromantic Luna Lovegood

Knotweed by @turanga4 // Poppy/Pomona // 2.3k, T. Canon compliant, missing moment, older lesbians, past relationship

Dating the System Isn't Very Punk Rock by flibbertygigget // Kingsley/Snape // 7k, M. post-DH canon divergence, Community Organizing, Anarchism, Punk, Transfem Snape, Genderfluid Kingsley

Smoke and Mirrors by RuinsPlume // Remadora, endgame Tonks/Ginny // 38k, E. Butch Tonks, nonbinary Tonks, bisexual Remus, polyamory negotiations, Remadora raising Teddy, queer het

The Bent by @ebparentheses // Wolfstar & F/F Jily // 40k, E. No-Voldemort canon divergence, Friends to Lovers, Queer History, Queer Art, obscenity laws, queer solidarity

The Mirror Lied by tryslora // F/F Draco/Hermione // 1.8k, M. Post-Hogwarts, EWE, Transfem Draco Malfoy, Gender Exploration

[tropes-and-tales]

I tried not to request more than one but I couldn’t help it 😅

Could I request “If you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up” with Benny Magalon?

The dashboard clock reads 1:42 in the morning, and Benny Magalon is fried.  He’s on babysitting duties—not even a proper stakeout.  His only job is to watch a certain house in Pomona to make sure the inhabitant doesn’t step out.  The other guys are stationed elsewhere across the county as LAPD runs a raid.  It’s a joint effort, but Benny is alone in his unmarked car.  He’s exhausted but keyed-up, jittery from chain-smoking too many cigarettes.

He pulls out his phone and checks the time to make sure the car’s clock is right.  It’s off by two minutes.  It’s only 1:40 in the fucking morning.  

Benny sighs.

Checking the time turns into checking his email, which turns into scrolling social media.  

Which turns into scrolling through your page.  Which he’s done a hundred times.  There’s no new pictures, but he’s familiar with the ones there.  He thumbs the scrollbar until he finds his favorite one—taken at Zapata’s birthday party with an expanded group that included you.  Ben met you that night.  

It took him months to casually ask Z about you.  The man hadn’t provided much information, so it took Ben another few months to be more blunt, to ask is she single? and do you think she’d be interested? and can I have her fucking number, Jesus Christ, dude, get a fucking clue.

You were single.  You were interested.  Z finally coughed up your number, and Ben wasted another month working up the courage to text you.

He’ll be forever embarrassed that the best he could come up with as a first text was “hey.”

It’s all still early stages, but each day draws him a little further out of his depth, a little more into uncertain territory.  He likes you a lot.  He could fall for you.  He thinks he’s already more than halfway there.

It’s a Friday night, so that’s how he justifies tabbing through to your phone number and calling you.  You work a regular job, a Monday to Friday gig, so Ben pushes down any guilt at waking you up.  You can fall back asleep.  You can sleep in.  He just wants to hear your voice.

“’ello?”  Your voice is rough, froggy with sleep.  “Benny?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Are you okay?”  He hears the alertness come into your voice, the concern.  “Shit, what—”

“’m fine.  It’s fine.  Everything’s fine,” he rushes to say, cutting you off.  “I just missed you.”

“Oh.”  He hears rustling, and he can picture you nestling down into your usual bank of pillows and blankets.  “I missed you too.”

“Sorry to wake you up.”

“No worries.  What’re you up to?”

He gives you the broad strokes of the operation without getting mired down in it.  Then he urges you to talk about your day because his shit is tedious, but he misses you and wants to hear you talk.

You do.  You tell him about your day at work, about the Thai place you went to for dinner with your friends.  You tell him about the book you’re reading and how you fell asleep later because you kept reading just one more chapter—

“What are you wearing?” he cuts in, remembering that you’re lying in bed.

You miss his intention.  “Oh, just pajamas.  The blue ones with stars.”

Ben’s never seen any blue pajamas with stars.  He wonders if you’re still holding back, saving your sexiest sleepwear for when he’s over and your comfortable stuff for when he’s gone.

“Describe them,” he says.

He hears the confusion in your voice.  “They’re….blue.  With stars.  Yellow stars.”

“They comfortable?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“More comfortable than that black thing you wore the last time I was over?”

You laugh.  “Yeah, Ben.  That was a corset.  It has, like, boning in it.  Not very comfortable at all.”

He feels a touch of…guilt?  A sting of conscience that you’re still putting on your best face with him, still forcing yourself into uncomfortable lingerie for him.  Not that he’s complaining—he liked the view of that corset very much—but he wants you to be yourself.  And anyway, he’s never really been a man to care much about lingerie.  He’s always preferred his women naked in bed.  Lace or mesh or silk can’t ever quite top the sight of a naked woman.

Still half-asleep, you finally catch his intention.  He hears the intake of breath over the phone, then your light laughter.

“Wait, are you trying to have phone sex with me?” you ask.

“No.  Nope.”

“You’re a liar, Ben.  What do you care what I’m wearing in bed?”

“I care very much about what you wear to bed,” he argues, playful.  

“Bullshit.  You were trying to have phone sex.”

“Maybe a little.”  He glances at the dashboard clock.  It’s a few minutes past two.  Another hour, then the drive home.  Maybe he can stop by your place, just crawl into bed with you.  

“Just a little phone sex?”

“You have a nice voice,” he replies.  “Especially right when you wake up.  It’s sexy.”

Another light laugh.  “If you called just to get off on my voice, I’m hanging up.”

“I called to hear your voice.  Big difference.  If I happened to get off to it, then that’s just a happy coincidence.”

“You’re the worst, Ben.”  

He knows you well enough now to know that’s your quirk, using opposite words for what you mean.  Saying “I hate you” affectionately to really mean “I love you.”  Saying “you’re the worst” when you really mean “you’re the best.”

You’d done it to him right out of the gate, when the two of you started texting.  After you got past his embarrassing hey and you realized who he was.  You’d replied oh yeah the hideous dude from Tony’s party, by which you really meant that you thought Ben was good-looking and had noticed him and remembered him.

“I know it,” he plays along now.  “The absolute worst.”

“Be careful out there, okay?”  Your voice loses its teasing quality and turns serious.  “I worry about you.”

He’s already more than halfway to falling for you, and that takes him another step in that direction—the concern you have for him.  The fact that you think of him when he’s not around.

“I will,” he replies, just as serious.  “Sorry to wake you up.”

“Oh, it’s fine.  Always happy to hear from you.  And next time, just give a girl a little warning if you want phone sex.”

He smiles.  “I’ll let you know the next time I have a stakeout.”

He hears your laugh, then hears you say, “I hate you, Ben.  Goodbye.”

Then he hears the line go dead, but he feels a warm lightness in his chest.  Your little quirk.  I hate you, Ben.  

He knows what you really mean.  

[alchemisoul]

Tool | "Hooker with a Penis" (Pomona, 1996)

I ● met a boy ● wearing Vans ● 501s

And a dope ● Beastie tee ● nipple rings

New tattoos ● that claimed that he

Was OGT ● back from '92 ● from the first EP

And in between ● sips of Coke

He told me ● that he thought we ● were sellin' out

Layin' down ● suckin' up ● to the man

Well now I've got some

Advice for you, little buddy

Before you point the finger

You should know that I'm the man

I'm the man and you're the man

And he's the man as well

So you can point that fuckin' finger up your ass

All you know about me is what I've sold ya, dumb fuck

I sold out long before you'd ever even heard my name

I sold my soul to make a record, dip shit

And then you bought one

All you read and wear or see and

Hear on tv is a product begging for your

Fat-ass dirty dollar

Shut up and

Buy, buy, buy my new record

And buy, buy, buy, send more money

Fuck you, buddy × 4

[kay-elle-cee]

PROMPT 21 from the Taylor Swift list!!!!! Andddd congratsssss, again

Hello lovely Joy, THANK YOU for your patience! I whipped up a fluffy AU for you since I know that's your preference <3 Read here on ao3 or below the cut!

Taylor Swift Prompts Follower Milestone Celebration

Lily concentrates on moving the eggs from the stove onto a plate, not daring to look head-on to where James sits at her counter. It’s been a bizarre morning and she feels that one wrong word could ruin it.

She hears the click of the electric kettle and the scoot of a chair and James is there in her kitchen, pouring the hot water into their mugs.

“Sugar?”

His voice is light, laced with trepidation as though he shares her same worries.

“One scoop. Here.” She hands him a plate of toast and eggs as he picks up a mug. They settle into another silence at the counter—eyes staring and darting away, blushes crawling up cheeks.

The aftermath of an unexpected night.

“So—”

“You said last night…” Lily trails off, cheeks going pink and dropping her attention to her eggs. She clears her throat, realizing that she’s started a train of thought and dammit, she’s going to finish it. “You said you…ah…fancied me?”

“Fancy you,” James says with the quirk of his lips, taking a bite of toast. “Present tense.”

“Right. Right…” Lily’s mind races.

Their teams had gone out for celebratory drinks after the new launch. Pomona had put her card down for the tab. Three drinks. The rest of their Arcana coworkers leaving. Venting over project hiccups turning to laughing turning to reduced proximity turning to—

“And…how long…have you fancied me?” She stabs into her egg, watching the yolk run along the plate. She doesn’t know why it’s so important, why she’s following this thread. “Was it when I chopped my hair off a few months ago? Or when I called Trevor from Product an arsehole in that meeting?” Her eyes flicker up, daring to watch him. “I know you have a thing for my antagonism.”

“Evans, I’ve fancied you since my first fucking day at Arcana.”

The grip on her fork tightens, a small breath escaping through her lips. Eight months? He’d fancied her this whole time?

“What?”

He shrugs, a barely-visible flush crawling up his neck. “I…well, I thought I was shit at hiding it, honestly.”

“You barely spoke to me if it wasn’t project-related,” Lily points out, her brows furrowed.

“That’s because Snape—” James clamps his mouth shut, eyes wide as her spine goes rigid at the mention of their ex-coworker (and her ex-friend). “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” shaking his head, he pivots. “I guess I thought you knew how I felt and you just didn’t want to make it awkward—”

“Potter—”

“Which I respect, and I know things got a little…out of hand last night so—”

“Stop.” Lily drops her fork, reaching over the counter to place her hand on his and reveling in the warmth of his skin. “Don’t get ahead of yourself with a worst-case scenario. I…” she bites her lip, exhaling forcefully. “I fancy you, too. Have for quite a while.”

James’ face lights up and he leans closer to her over the expanse of the counter, a good-natured smirk on his lips. “Since my first day?”

“I hardly spoke to you on your first day!”

He takes another bite of his toast, enjoying the way her cheeks flush with color. “I bet you thought I was fit though, eh?”

“Finish your toast, you arse,” she grumbles through a smile.

[carnival-stims]

{ 🪴 🦡 🪴 | 💛 🖤 💛 | 🪴 🦡 🪴 }

Harry Potter stims 12/? - Pomona Sprout

JKR SUPPORTERS/TERFS FUCK OFF

[saintsenara]

an ask from @spacecadette on this game has, i regret to say, made me go feral... the rest of the answers to your questions are coming in the queue but let's dive into the one i thought deserved its own post:

say something about your ships that you want to say!

so... a musing on the five couples i said i'd play this ask game with - and then, for additional fun, some i didn't - on a crucial question:

are they barbie people or oppenheimer people?

answers under the cut:

bellamort: lord voldemort was definitely not traumatised by the second world war and it's ridiculous to suggest otherwise. they're seeing oppenheimer, and bella only has to hold his hand for about half of it.

riddledore: barbie. absolutely no doubt about it.

snack: they were going to go and see oppenheimer but they had an argument which culminated in them fucking over the kitchen table and missed the showing.

snapemort: they do the double, because it's important to be thorough, and they only have three or four arguments on which film to see first.

tomarry: front of the line for barbie. each of them thinks the other is the ken in their relationship.

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barty crouch jr/voldemort: oppenheimer.

deamus: dean was the art director for barbie. they're at the premiere. seamus reports back to anyone who'll listen that ryan gosling is an angel.

dramione: they do the double. draco thinks both films are about the dangers of mixing with muggles. they break up for the sixth time that month.

drarry: barbie. draco is assumed to be in costume by the staff at the cinema.

dron: they're both hooked on the fourth test and don't leave the house for four days.

fleurmione: omar el zohairy's feathers, followed by barbie.

flonks: barbie, but they spent the entire time making out.

grindeldore: oppenheimer, obviously.

harmony: are a terrible couple who loathe spending time with each other. oppenheimer.

hinny: barbie. james announces, furiously, that this means he can never go to see it now, because harry loved it so much.

jegulus: i don't know her, sorry.

jily: the vhs of when harry met sally they've had since 1991.

linny: indiana jones, which luna thinks is a documentary.

lucissa: 'we've never heard of a cinema and the implication that you saw us watching gentlemen prefer blondes at the curzon last friday is insulting.'

marge dursley/dolores umbridge: neither, they're at a dog show.

minerva mcgonagall/wilhelmina grubby-plank: they're still recovering at their house on mull from the reeling at filius' wedding.

pavender: do you even need to ask?

poppy pomfrey/pomona sprout: barbie.

prongsfoot: mission impossible.

remadora: they do the double, see barbie first, love it, get bored halfway through oppenheimer, get arrested for public indecency.

romione: initially attempting to be cerebral, they go to see asteroid city, despite the fact that ron truly does not fuck with wes anderson. they come back the next day, bicker over popcorn choices, see barbie, and have a wonderful time.

ronarry: barbie, in matching hot pink tracksuits.

scorbus: they were going to see barbie. they forgot.

snarry: severus mysteriously has potions which need finishing whenever there's a showing of either.

snily: after some spectacular arguing, they do the double, oppenheimer first. severus pretends he didn't like barbie more.

snucius: la traviata at the royal opera house, barbie - separately - the following day.

taco: barbie. in this case both draco and tom understand inherently that draco is the ken.

tombraxas: barbie. abraxas thinks the costuming is exquisite. tom just thinks it's nice the colour saturation means you can see the film.

wolfstar: they are on holiday over opening weekend. they see barbie in spanish. remus cries.

[penguinparty88]

Albus: You three, explain right now!

Minerva: It was Severus.

Filius: It was Severus.

Pomona: It was Severus.

Severus:

Severus: …fuck.

Minerva: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Albus will and will not eat.

Severus: Grass? Yes!

Minerva: Moss? Yes!!

Severus: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Minerva: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Severus: Worms? Sometimes!

Minerva: Rocks? Usually nah.

Severus: Twigs? Usually!

Minerva: Filius's cooking? Inconclusive!

Pomona: How did you… test this?

Minerva: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it.

Pomona: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Filius: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Albus: What scares you guys the most?

Severus: Werewolves!

Filius: Sharks.

Minerva: The unstoppable marching of time that is slowly guiding us all towards an inevitable death.

Pomona:

Pomona:Minerva

Severus: We need a distraction.

Minerva: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?

Albus, whispering: My time has come.