Hot Summer Game Night

Listen, if a Bad President can come in and take away our rights and we're dependent on a Good President replacing them in four years to give us back our rights, then we do not have any rights.

If politicians can take or distribute them, then they're not "inalienable" and they're not "rights."

We don't have inalienable rights we have conditional privileges, divvied out according to the whims of whoever currently holds the reins.

And if we want to have actual rights, then we must build a system in which no one has the power to take them away to begin with.

Grab Your Tickets! LCDrarry starts posting soon 🍿🎞📽

What are we even talking about, you ask?

LCDrarry is a fun Drarry fest where all creations are inspired by movies, TV shows or theatre plays ... as well as audiobooks, audiodramas or podcasts. The LCDrarry works will post anonymously all through the Month of May, and the creators will be revealed on 1 June 2025 on tumblr and AO3 in our LCDrarry 2025 collection

So follow us 💚🥰 and please share far and wide, so that everyone can enjoy all the Drarry goodness this cinema season 🥰🌈🍿🎬

Your LCDrarry Mods Tami & Suzi @celilasart & @erin-riwen

microfic prompt | day 2: black

They sit in the centre of the orchestra—expensive seats for opening night. The boy is rapt by the overture, but grows inevitably restless, like all six-year-olds would, by the third aria. Harry watches from up in the mezzanine as Draco pulls Scorpius into his lap, rocking him softly to the opera singer’s bellowing vibrato. He’s asleep in Draco’s arms by the finale of the first act.

He’s still asleep when Harry approaches them outside, under the marquee, with a sea of gowns and tuxedos passing around them.

“Potter,” Draco says, breathless and familiar, like it hasn’t been seven years. Like he hasn’t been caught in a world-ending lie. Like he isn’t holding the end of the world in his arms. “So, you’re back.”

“I’m back.” Harry keeps his shaky hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring and staring at the black curls tucked against Draco’s pale neck. Sorrow sings through him with all the power of a chorus.

“I thought he’d have your hair,” Harry says.

many thanks to @smugrobotics and @mourningliliesmorningglories for tagging me! 🥰

3 ships I like: drarry, scorbus, sebinis

First ship: Saren/Nihlus from Mass Effect 💔

Last song heard: The Nightingale from The Witcher 3 soundtrack

Fave childhood book: Winnetou 🥹

Currently reading: HP & the OotP, Difficult Loves by Calvino, 77 Dream Songs by Berryman, and The Rise and Fall of DODO by Stephenson

Currently watching: Fellow Travelers (for those who saw this same answer three months ago: yes, still. i am very slow)

Currently consuming: chamomile tea with milk, the ultimate evening drink 👌✨

Currently craving: 30 hour days, please?

Pets: a teenaged tuxedo cat aptly named Silly

who's up for playing? @slightweasel @holygnocchi @chocolando @izroan-ff @lizziedrip

The Graduation

ITS THAT TIME….

This is part of a continuous story, you can read the first part here. Based off this prompt list by @peachydreamxx and @uncannycerulean

I'll catch up soon, but in the mean time:

<- previous

XXIII. Transparent

The pictures flashed on the screen, a unique sort of magic. Yet Draco’s disdain was transparent on his face.

“I thought you didn’t hate muggles anymore,” Harry said bemusedly.

“I don’t,” Draco spoke, sneer stuck on his face, “It doesn’t really go with the decor.”

It didn’t. The olde black house was not meant to hold anything so modern. So simple. So muggle.

“We should make it the statement piece.”

XXIV. Heated

Draco got home to find a piece of paper on the kitchen counter:

Busy with work I left food in the ice-box xo, HP

He took the left-over lasagna from lunch and placed it in the newest muggle addition to their home: the microwave.

He sat at the table alone with his reheated food still cold in the middle and tasting like an attenuated version of what it would taste like with Harry.

XXV. Brume

He braved the streets of Diagon Alley on a foggy morning, when he could blend in with the crowd.

He walked the cobbled streets, with the expectation of his most grim experiences coming to life, but the people simply walked by without a second glance.

Among the brume on the roads, he spotted him immediately. Horrible hair an immediate give away. Green eyes that could shine through the cloudiest skies, already trained on him—a picked up face in the crowd.

all entries read on ao3

Lindas

May Daily micros. Prompt 12: bear

Ongoing story. Prev parts: 1. key 2.black 3. coffee 4. pathetic 5.hang 6.floral 7. swell 8.crystal 9. puzzled 10. scene 11. forgotten

It was the very first thing that struck Harry about Malfoy—the snowy white of his hair, the sickly pallor of his skin, the colourless gleam of his eyes. It would have been obvious to anyone.

But Harry was eleven. He didn’t have words for these things. He wasn’t worldly. Far from it.

All he knew was that he couldn’t look away.

And then the boy opened his pale, thin mouth—and ruined it.

After that he couldn’t bear him. His pureblood sneering and his bloodless, icy appearance. 

Couldn’t bear any of it. And yet... he kept on looking.

hang

There’s a moment that feels, every time, like suspension. When I can smell the wind off his skin and feel the heat of his gaze but I can’t taste the press of his lips. Not yet.

And every time, I hang there, strung up in the wires that run between my flighty eagerness and his silver restraint, until he sees whatever it is that he needs to see.

And then—he kisses me, and I land safely, swiftly. Every time.