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#poppypomfrey – @gxldentrio on Tumblr
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i rise with the sun

@gxldentrio / gxldentrio.tumblr.com

adriana (or ria), she/her, 24. "both love and hate are mirror versions of the same game—and you have to win."
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Ephemeral

AO3 // FFN
for @ravnclaws

e·phem·er·al  (ĭ-fĕm′ər-əl)

adj.

1. Lasting for a markedly brief time: "There remain some truths too ephemeral to be captured in the cold pages of a court transcript" (Irving R. Kaufman).

2. Having a short lifespan or a short annual period of aboveground growth. Used especially of plants.

n.

Something, especially a plant, that is ephemeral.

Dear, I love you.

Right now, while we’re in bed, and your head is on my chest, I love you. I love you like this. Under my thumb. Next to my heart. I love you.

I do not know how it started. Or when, or why.

I know I love you. I love you when it’s cold, and you’ve just stepped out of the shower, and so your hair is still messy, because you haven’t bothered to brush through it yet. When you run across the corridor to grab your robe from the upstairs bedroom.

Outside, in the garden, with mud under your fingernails, because you’ve just finished potting some peonies. You’ve always been good with flowers. And with people. I’ve never been much of a people person myself, but I like to think that I’m good with you.

I love you like this.

Making pancakes, and reading with the windows open. The house gets cold because of it, but I’ve grown accustomed.

I didn’t think we’d have this much time. It used to feel like the walls were crumbling around us. In my nightmares, I couldn’t shelter you from the danger. I still can’t, but you’ve never needed much sheltering anyway. But I love you, and we got lucky.

Dear, I love you.

It’s two in the morning and I can’t sleep. Your incessant rustling under the sheets used to drive me mad, but now I can’t sleep without it. Your toothbrush lies next to mine in our bathroom. I think I accidentally used your shampoo yesterday, but it’s fine. My hair smells of lavender now, and I carry you with me everywhere I go.

I love you. Darling, I’ve loved you.

I was eleven when I met you. I’ve been in love ever since.

Sipping tea during breakfast, and putting too much butter on your toast. It’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. But I love you, and so what does that say of me?

I’m ridiculous without you, dear.

Where have you gone?

Dear, I love you.

We’re not soulmates. At least, I don’t think we are. I don’t like the idea of something pulling me to you. I love you because of who you are. Not because Fate, or the Gods, or whoever says so. I love you.

Inside the hospital room, at the funeral, under the ground, I love you.

I will love you.

In this lifetime, I will love you. And the next. And the next.

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Tagged by my lovely friends @fetchalgernon and @hiddenpolkadotsList the first lines of your last 20 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag your favorite authors. Just like Nai and Kristina did, I’m only going to do 10 because I haven’t written 20 fics.

(If I forgot to tag you - which I probably did - and you want to do this you can say I tagged you go ahead)

They meet in law school.
Contrary to popular belief, their life is not a bed of roses.
You are ten years old, living in a small town in the English Midlands. Its name is Cokeworth, and there’s a grand total of four hundred people where you live.
It’s three in the morning (honest-to-God three in the morning) when she is woken up by the incessant buzzing of her phone.
Mudblood.
That tiny, two-syllable word resounded in Lily's head over and over again.
The first time Lily visits that particular Starbucks it’s pouring outside.
If you asked James Potter at what point he figured out that he was absolutely in love with Lily Evans, he wouldn’t be able to give you a straight answer.
You’re eleven years old and you’re finally on the Hogwarts Express.
James had come to his parents as a shock, a surprise.
It had happened during the summer.

Turns out, for the most part (save for multichapters and the odd drable) I write in the present tense, and rarely on the first person, and I tend to open my stories by setting the scene.

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in another life (we could have had it all)

because this month wasn’t depressing enough yet. the lawyer/judge au none of you asked for
FFN | AO3

They meet in law school. Criminal law, senior year, to be precise. Professor McGonagall drones on and on about mens rea and strict liability and because it is an eight a.m. class on a Monday, most students are half-asleep. Potter's not, of course. He loves it.

"And the purpose of diminished capacity is… Potter?”

"To negate mens rea." McGonagall nods, and Lily swears she can see the corners of her mouth twitching.

The months go by. Eventually, because it is only natural, the two of them fall in love, and they fall hard. It’s the kind of love that lasts for better or for worse, forever. Lily’s never believed in soulmates, (Potter does, of course,) but, at the risk of sounding cliché, it feels like the familiar tug in her heartstrings was meant to be.

They could have had it all, but in the end, they both choose their careers.

It’s a mess, and it hurts more than anything, even more than the time Lily was fifteen and her sister went missing, only to wind up in the hospital a few days later. Potter doesn’t feel like a sibling, he feels like a part of her. It feels like her heart is being torn in two and he’s taking one half with him.

Neither of them wants it, but it’s how it has to be.

(Four years later)

It's nine in the morning when she steps foot inside the courtroom. She walks to the bench, sits down, and fumbles with a loose thread in her robes. People start coming in, defense attorneys and witnesses and the jury and him.

She still sees him from time to time, out of the corner of her eye after a long case, in the back of her mind when she's trying to fall asleep. He's turned into a brilliant lawyer, like she always knew he would. She stayed in law school, studying to become a judge.

When the clock ticks half-past-nine, he runs his hand through his hair - she's glad to see that hasn't changed - and stands up. Today isn't about James Potter and law school reunions; it's about Tom Riddle and his organ trafficking business. The british government has been after Riddle for years now, and Lily prays Potter doesn't muck it up. Riddle's guilty, she's sure of it, and yet she can't do anything if the prosecutor doesn't do a good enough job.

"Good morning. My name is James Potter and I am the prosecutor in this case." His voice is deep - deeper than she remembers - and his face is set in a serious expression, one she hasn't seen him wearing since his father's passing.

The trial passes in a blur, and even though his closing statement ended with "and in conclusion, may I say that black robe is very slimming on you, Your Honour," she can't help but feel somewhat foolish.

She shouldn't have been so on the edge about his performance. He nailed it, of course. And now, Riddle's in jail. Fucking finally.

When she reaches her office, he's beat her to it, undoubtedly waiting for her. Something is pulling the two of them together, time after time, and she doesn’t know what it is. It can’t possibly be fate, (because there is no way fate can be this cruel.)

"Potter."

"Evans," he nods, fully aware of the fact that they can only drop the pretence once she shuts the door. And so, she does. "Long time no see, eh?"

"I know. It's been the most peaceful month I've had ever since I met you." He clutches at his chest, and she smirks.

"Ouch."

“You did wonderful back there. I particularly liked your closing statement.”

“Well, you know me.” She does, even though he’s different now. Grown up. Life isn’t his playground anymore, it’s serious. His posture is straighter, his eyes are sharper. But not everything has changed. His smile is still the same, and the dimple on his left cheek is still there. They are both still head over heels in love with each other, but Lily knew that was never going to change.

Her gaze drops to the floor, and she asks, "do you remember-"

"Of course I do," he finishes. "Criminal law. Your hair was in a braid."

She steps closer and their foreheads touch.

"I'm sorry, James," she whispers.

"It's not your fault."

"If it got out, Riddle's lawyer could easily convince the jury of favouritism. We've been after this for so long-"

"I know."

There’s silence, but it feels like their hearts are in deep conversation with each other. Beat, beat, beat.

"I love you, you know,” she says, because it’s true, because it is the only thing she knows to be true.

"I'll always love you."

His lips touch her temple, and he leaves, under the promise of someday, somehow.

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Red, and Green, and Gold

Shoutout to Kristina for letting me borrow Algernon for this fic, and to Nai and Cindy for being tremendous sources of inspiration. I love you + my dead children. @ravnclaws @fetchalgernon @jamesandlilyaredead
FFN | AO3

Year Zero

You are ten years old, living in a small town in the English Midlands. Its name is Cokeworth, and there’s a grand total of four hundred people where you live.

Your older sister, Petunia, is twelve, and she practices her make-up skills on you. It looks horrendous, but she’s your sister and you love her, and so you walk around with blue eyeshadow on your lids.

James Potter from down the street teases you mercilessly about the way the blue clashes with your complexion. Your hair may be flaming red but at least it doesn’t look like a bug crawled on top of it and died.

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get to know me better 2.0

Thank you so much to @dancingjily​ for tagging me! (sorry it took so long!!)

Name/nicknames: adriana / ria / dri

Gender: female

Height: 1.65m or (nearly) 5’5”

Hogwarts house: gryffindor

Favorite color: black of bordeaux

Time: 20:47

Last things I googled: well before “1.65 m in ft” I googled “squid puns”

Fictional character you’d like as a sibling: this is kind of a hard question? Because like, most of the time I want to snog/be the characters, not necessarily be their sister…

Number of blankets I sleep with: one in the winter, none in the summer

Favorite band/artists: the neighbourhood, artic monkeys, halsey and jon bellion

Dream vacation: either going back to London, going to Paris or going to the HP studios in Orlando

When did I make this blog: december 2013

How many blogs do I follow: 474

What do I post about: 80% hp (esp marauders/jily) with like 10% of other of my fandoms and maybe 10% of pretty pictures + feminism/politics/social justice/issues in general

Do you get asks on a regular basis: lol i wish

Aesthetics: fire, rain (im a contrary person), candles, books, leather jackets, dark lipsticks

I’m tagging @fetchalgernon @snapslikethis @alrightevans @poppypomfrey @prongsno @jammespotter @reigulus @hugvvarts @yourbcky and @ravnclaws ! (obviously you guys don’t have to do this)

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James is determined to stay away from short, freckled redheads. Lily, having had enough drama for a lifetime, is equally resolved to avoid dark-haired troublemakers. But he rarely does what he ought, and she is too stubborn for her own good. It should be an interesting year.
Talk Me Down
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Do Me A Favour (Talk Me Down)

Prologue
The ‘read more’ link will send you to the full story on ff.net.

Chapter One or Do Me A Favour

However this may turn out to be, it is first and foremost a story, a story of war, pain and suffering, a story of family, friendship and unrequited affections, and perhaps most importantly, the story of how James Potter and Lily Evans came to fall, and then to realise that they were, in love with one another. Neither of them knows precisely when it started, but for chronology’s sake, this story begins in the summer before sixth year.

(James)

James was bored.

It was the middle of August. Remus was sick, and as usual, Sirius was stuck at Grimmauld Place, probably enduring another one of those blasted family meals. Peter was spending the holidays in France with his mother.

That left James. On his own, bored out of his wits.

Leaning against the headboard of his four poster bed, James stared into space with nothing to do. And when there was nothing to do, James thought. He thought about endings and beginnings, about his three best mates in the world, about the blooming war that no one seemed to be able to do anything about, about the rain pattering on the windows.

What James didn’t think about, however, was a certain red headed girl called Lily Evans. James couldn’t bear to think about her without his stomach fluttering ridiculously, so he just didn’t.

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Of Cappuccinos, Super Heroes and American Presidents

This started as a prompt idea and headcanon conversation that eventually merged together. Thank you so much to Grace,) without whom I would have never written this. I hope you enjoy it! (read on ff.net)

The first time Lily visits that particular Starbucks it’s pouring outside. The traffic is absolutely insane and she’s there’s no way she’s going to get to her lecture on time. She’s already a bit late anyway, and so she figures going inside for a cup of coffee couldn’t possibly do any harm.

As soon as Lily steps foot into the shop, the first thing she notices is her barista. James, it says on the name tag. It’s not that he’s particularly attractive or anything, it’s just that he’s got a stupid smirk on his face and she would rather like to wipe it off. If she’s being completely honest, it’s actually kind of offensive. How dare he give her that smile, does he actually think she’s going to fall for that? Psssssht. It’s not like it’s endearing or anything.

Lily waits patiently in line and, when the time comes for her to order her cappuccino, she does the only thing any rational woman such as herself would do in her situation; she gives him a fake name. She doesn’t miss the way the corners of his lips tug upwards when he finally shouts “Tall cappuccino for Wonderwoman!”

The plan had been to get in, get coffee, get out and never return. Of course, Lily’s life never goes as planned. The truth is, her workload this semester is stupidly intense and she needs all the caffeine she can possibly get. The coffee shop’s fortunate location is the absolute number one reason she keeps going back, she tells herself. It’s definitely not the fact that he keeps smiling at her like she’s God’s gift to mankind.

She could just go to the other café down the street, but it would be incredibly stupid to avoid such a nice coffee shop just to prove a point to no one but herself. Lily settles on simply ignoring the annoying git, and it would have worked too, except every time she has some spare time it’s his bleeding shift. Of course.

The next time she goes there, her order consists of a venti Americano and she tells him her name is Batman. This time, there’s another boy with James behind the bar. His name is Sirius but she nicknames him ‘sleek hair dude’ and wonders if his hair is actually real. She suspects he and James are probably a little gay for each other, because she’s never seen two other best friends smile like so much at each other.

Sometimes, when the shop is a little emptier James will come out of the bar with a new serving of the coffee she loves so much, and more often than not it’s on the house and the refill would be nice if it didn’t always come with a smirk attached to it.

After he goes back to his rightful place, Lily is left to wonder; is he flirting with her? She doesn’t want him to be but God, she just wants to know already.

“James is a dumb name anyway”, she rants to her friends. “His neck is stupidly long, he looks like a giraffe. Besides hes not that tall.” Lily much prefers short blokes anyway. Shorter guys are more down-to-earth.

“Plus,” she continues, “he always has two more of his friends around. One is actually quite decent, but the other? Who does that Peter guy things he his, always hogging all the cheesecake to himself? Maybe I want cheesecake too.”

“Lily,” her best friend, Mary, starts, “you’re allergic to dairy.”

“That’s not the point.” Lily shoots back. That was not the point. “I don’t like them one bit.”

This one time, she’s taking a walk with Mary and out of the blue, the not-so-subtle brunette decides she is craving caffeine like no other. They enter the stupid Starbucks, much to Lily’s dismay. Not fifteen minutes have passed and Mary’s already developed one hundred theories about James and the fact that he is, apparently, flirting with her.

“He’s hot, you should go for it.”

“He is most certainly not! He is not cute at all, Mary.” Except he is. He is sort of cute, in all of his gangly glory. But Lily has to save face, and so she asks, “Have you even looked at his hair?”

“It looks tousled.”

“It looks dumb.”

She goes back the next week only to find his phone number scribbled in her coffee cup. Lily isn’t flattered at all because honestly the nerve of some people. After that, though, she actually takes a proper look at what he wrote and just begins to laugh hysterically and keeps doing so for the next tem minutes. She had told him her name was Michelle, and James, like the enormous dork he was, asked her to be the first lady to his Obama.

It’s eleven pm and Lily is sitting on her couch, deciding if she should text him or not. It’s sort of late, maybe he’s sleeping? After all, he does start working quite early. She wonders just when did she memorise his schedule.

But because it is so late, Mary isn’t around to smile knowingly at her. She is completely alone in her bedroom, and for once, Lily doesn’t feel like she has to pretend.

Michelle Obama reporting to duty.

The response is almost immediate.

hi michelle

is michelle actually your name

Of course James would be a double texter.

Are you too good for capital letters? Or punctuation for that matter?

ha ha you're hilarious

Oh yes. And pretty too.

If Mary were there, she'd accuse her of flirting.

yep

v v pretty

Shouldn't you be sleeping?

yes but i think you'll find i don't always do what i should

You rebel. Go to sleep, James.

only if you promise to come by the shop tomorrow

Alright. Goodnight.

you too michelle

She locks her phone and turns around, nuzzling her face in her pillow. For some reason though, she doesn't seem to be able to fall asleep. Something feels off, unfinished. She picks up her phone again and stares at the screen. After a few moments of cautious deliberation, she starts typing.

Call me Lily.

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Untitled

For caroline, who inspires me every day. (read on ff.net - maybe leave a cheeky review? no ok)

You’re eleven years old and you’re finally on the Hogwarts Express. You’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life, and so far you’re getting along with everyone, except for that strange boy with the greasy hair and that red headed girl. You decide she’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, but you won’t tell that to anyone, not even Sirius, who may or may not be your best friend even though you’ve very nearly just met.

You’re twelve years old and one of your best friends is a werewolf and it’s so cool, except it’s not cool at all that he comes back full of scratches every full moon, and it’s not cool at all that he wakes up most nights, screaming with nightmares, drowning in cold sweat.

You’re thirteen, and you, Padfoot and Wormtail have decided to become illegal Animagi to help Moony, and even though it’s dangerous and you could really get in trouble, it’s Moony and what’s life without a little risk anyway? You don’t tell anyone but you wish you could tell Evans because maybe then she’d realise you’re not an insufferable git after all.

You’re fourteen and that Evans girl still doesn’t like you very much. She calls you lazy and arrogant, but for the most part leaves you alone. You still don’t understand why she hangs around that Snivellus bloke, but you’ve decided it must be far too complicated for you to discern on your own.

You’re fifteen and things have never been so terrible. Well, you’ve finally managed to do it, to transfigure into animals, to keep Remus company during his time of the month. But there’s a war blooming outside the castle (and some times inside too, you suspect) and it’s getting harder to ignore it. You don’t know how to tell Sirius you’ve seen his brother hexing a muggleborn and you’re afraid Lily is going to get hurt if she hangs around Snape any longer.

You’re sixteen and everything has gone to shit, Sirius has betrayed you, he’s betrayed the Marauders and you don’t know what to do. You don’t know if you were wrong about him because if you were, they maybe you might have been wrong about everything else. You run down the Whomping Willow to save Severus Snape, and the next week he calls Lily that awful word. She calls you an arrogant toerag and compares you to the Giant Squid as if it were your fault, but you run after her and apologise anyway. She wants space and even though you don’t like the idea, you understand her and leave her alone. When she sees you on the platform in September, she smiles at you and your heart beats a little faster and your stomach flops and she’s so beautiful.

You’re seventeen, walking the streets in Hogsmeade with your best mates, and Sirius is with you again because he’s realized his mistake and he’s sorry, he really is, and he’s your best friend and you love him, and love is about forgiveness. You and Evans are somewhat friends now, and you’re surprised that there’s so much about her that you don’t know yet, and Merlin, you want to find out. You’re seventeen and when she slips her hand into yours and laces your fingers together, you spend the better part of two months convincing yourself it was because of the cold and it takes a drunken kiss in the Common Room for you to finally accept the sheer possibility that she may like you as more than a friend.

You’re eighteen years old, an adult in both the magical and muggle world and you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Your life is falling apart and you’re constantly afraid, not for yourself but for everyone else. She spends the night with you and you admit to yourself you love her, you love her, you love her. You’re Head Boy and she’s Head Girl but you’re both just kids and you have no idea what to do. People seem to think you’ve got your shit together but you don’t, not even in the slightest, but ‘fake it until you make it’ has always been your motto and you don’t have it in you to break down now.

You’re nineteen and the world is far messier than you thought it was, even if you didn’t think it was possible. You come home after each battle feeling lost and exhausted, and one day you’ve just barely escaped from a mission alive and you’re so delirious you propose. She says yes, and even though you’ve been held hostage for over thirty six hours, the sun seems to shine a little brighter because nothing can be that terrible when Lily Evans agrees to marry you.

You’re twenty and your wife is giving birth and your son is so small and Lily, he has my hair, but pretty soon your bubble of happiness is shattered and you have to go into hiding. You hate it, you feel like a coward trapped inside his own house while other people fight your battles for you but your family is in danger and it’s your job to keep them safe, so you swallow a few frogs and pray that this is all over soon.

You’re twenty-one and there’s someone at the door and even tough you know what’s coming you foolishly hope for a different outcome. But you know that’s not possible, and so you run to the door and face your death head on, just to buy the two of them a little more time.

You don’t make it to twenty-two.

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