well, this fic isn’t going to write itself, but i’m going to wait a bit longer to make sure.
Oh No! tattoos!
lol like this is actually cute. backfire
they’re boyfriends
he’s worried his punk ass bf forgot to apply sunscreen again
he even picked out swim trunks to match his boyfriend’s tattoos. adorable
Neville and his happy plant friends! :)
I wanted to draw a little Neville print as a Patreon reward last month and decided to do it in a bit of an Art Nouveau style! Hope you guys like! <3
Always Bickering
Summary: It’s the end of sixth year, and Ron and Hermione are finally talking again - and much to Ginny’s frustration, most of that talking is in the form of bickering.
(Also read on AO3)
It had been going on for hours. Years, really, if Ginny Weasley thought about it. And she was about ready to snap. The three of them were sitting in the Gryffindor common room and waiting for Harry to return from one of his private lessons with Dumbledore. Hermione was on the ground with notes spread out all around her (a clear mark of her insanity as exams approached). Ron was sprawled across one of the red, comfy chairs and Ginny herself was perched behind Hermione, on the couch. From her seat, she could have easily kicked Hermione in the head. She seriously considered it as an option to get the two of them to quit bickering.
And to think that, a little over a month ago, she had been worried that they would never speak again. Now, all she wanted was them to shut up.
In nearly thirty minutes, Ginny realized that they had bickered over practically every topic in their repertoire. It started over the correct way to write the letter “y” (Hermione said the loop should be long a curvy, whereas Ron argued that cursive was a dead language), had somehow progressed to the ideal way to study for an exam (Hermione said diligently, Ron said cramming), and then ended up on the topic of Harry, whom they discussed with such analysis that, without context, an eavesdropper might think they were discussing their child rather than their friend.
Memos of Originality
Mornings were Harry’s favourite. Mornings meant rushed paperwork; it meant excuses and late memos. Mornings meant authors, editors and retailers never being ready.
Mornings also meant Malfoy.
When he had first opened his publishing company, he hadn’t expected to come across Malfoy professionally, hadn’t expected to not only enjoy his work, but also enjoy his company.
However, what he hadn’t expected the most was Scorpius.
The chime of his floo went off as Draco’s voice saying, “Potter’s office,” was heard before his face was seen. Familiar babbling brought a smile to his face as he kneeled in front of the fireplace.
“Gandma!” Scorpius squealed and a small hand covered Draco’s face.
“Yes, after this you’ll see grandma. You just got to be a little patient.”
Harry couldn’t see Scorpius’ full face but what he could see, Scorpius seemed to be moving restlessly.
“Sorry,” Draco apologised as he looked into the fireplace fully. “My mother went on vacation and he’s been missing her. Thank Merlin she got in last night. I fear he would have rioted if she had been gone much longer.”
“Riot, huh?” Harry’s lips grinned. “Was he going to send his stuffed animals off to war with pitchforks and brooms?”
“He’s not a heathen,” Draco argued as his lips twitched. “He’d have made sure each toy had a wand.”
“Silly me.”
There was a softness to Draco when they locked eyes, and it always lured Harry in—always made him melt.
the most unrealistic thing about harry potter
is that no teacher ever called him James by accident, or that Ron never was called “Bill-, eh Charl-, no Per-, argh!”
As a younger sister who knows this struggle all too well: THIS IS REAL. Pretty sure 70% of my past teachers still think I’m called what my sister is called in fact.
Imagine Fred being called Percy by McGonagall accidentally and then he gets so offended that he refers to her by “Professor [insert any other name but McGonagall” for the rest of the year, costing Gryffindor a considerable amount of points one at a time.
From then on, she vows to just call them all Mr Weasley.
Until Ginny comes along and she calls her Mr Weasley by accident and Ginny “accidentally’ calls her Sir and it starts again.
It’s lightly off-topic but also slightly relevant but I have long cherished this mental image of Professor Snape saying something snappish to Harry in just the wrong tone of voice and Harry absentmindedly, wearily, and completely accidentally responding with, “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”
which would have all kinds of additional ramifications when you remember snape is the only one who knew petunia personally
He asks Harry to stay after class and straight up asks him “Am I truly that unpleasant?”
Okay, okay, okay, this is probably deeply off-track, but all I can think of is Harry––who upon learning that Snape, of all people, his pain in the neck potions professor knows his aunt––has now received what can only be called a psychic punch to balls.
How, how, how, is a teenage boy supposed to rectify this, mentally? Connect these strange unjoined worlds to somehow explain that Snape––Snape!––knows his Aunt Petunia?
“It doesn’t make any sense, mate,” Harry tells Ron, blearily, desperately wishing at age thirteen years that his butter beer was a real beer. “It just––it can’t be. Why would he know Aunt Petunia?”
Ron grimaces. “Why would he want to? I mean, I know he’s Snape, and all that, but––”
Harry writes his only letter back to #4 Privet Drive, dotted with tears, and it has one line: How do you know Severus Snape?
Petunia writes back: DO NOT MENTION THAT MAN EVER AGAIN.
And this. This. Sparks a light in Harry’s head. This is the same way Petunia talks about celebrities who have deeply, personally offended her. Usually when she fancied them and then they got married. It’s so completely clear to him, now: Snape is deeply, irrevocably, utterly in love with Aunt Petunia.
This post went completely parallel to the original and in the opposite direction, but my face hurts from wheezing in silence trying not to laugh at 12 in the morning
before you write: THINK!
is it Tender?
is it Homoerotic?
is it Implicitly homosexual?
is it Noticeably repressed?
is it Kind of gay?
nunchucks are illegal in some states but guns are not. so if you tie two guns together and create gunchucks it’s neither legal or illegal
schroedinger’s gunchucks
Imagine wanting to spend billions on something so easily circumvented.
I guess lefties think that illegal aliens can walk on water.
Wow, you’re right. There’s a huge flaw in my post, I forgot that humans have no way to get across water. Thanks for pointing that out, I’ll get right on deleting this.
It’s 2019 and if you’re still telling your daughter to “put on clothes” because she wearing shorts or short sleeves in her own house because there’s men in the house you need to look at the men in yo house BITCH
A WORD BITCH! LISTEN!!!!! THANK GOD SOMEONE SAID IT!
mass-funk
