This was such an honor to participate in, genuinely, I respect @thedrarrylibrarian's work (and the work of all of our community reccers) boundlessly. Here's a little reading of my review, in my crunchy tired voice.

Love you all, joy.

Have you ever had a day that just went completely to shit? That was the entire month of November for me. I had planned to have this Happy Hour ready then, but between work and home life and hosting for the holiday and everything else...a ball had to drop. I was so disappointed, because I love doing Happy Hour and I love speaking with the creators who help with the guest fic recs.

@ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm could not have been more gracious and understanding about postponing his rec. I always thought his artworkand fics were lovely, but being on the receiving end of the his kindness makes the works even lovelier to me. I love that even in moments of violence, he portrays characters as vulnerable and soft, the gentleness of moments of solitude, and the joyfulness of the mundane. If you haven't checked out Joy's art before, I cannot recommend it enough.

So after waiting for several months, I am finally so excited to share his incredible fic rec. Our first Happy Hour guest rec of the year is by the lovely and gracious @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm.

Outside of things that become fanon, we all travel the worlds of transformative works building up our own personal sense of canon. A lot of that process is wish fulfillment and self indulgence on little pleasures and minor vanities, which is what carves out this perfectly molded comfort that we all shelter ourselves in, what comes together to broadcast our unique wavelengths of bliss. But there is also another part of the process, one that I find myself unconsciously engaging in at times, which is an attempt to rewrite, rewire, recolor the places in which the source material has dulled, or to find cracks and fissures for interpretations that will allow me to engage with the source more meaningfully in the long run while honoring the directions in which I’ve grown and changed. There’s been a lot of work in the Harry Potter fandom that took on the form of a kind of hermeneutics, or that used the setting and characters as a kind of convenient vehicle to make a point about The Real World, in a way that sometimes makes it feel like we, the naive and spirited readers of the source material are somehow distant from the world and must be gently pulled back into it in the language of our distraction. Harry Potter and Welcome to the World of Grey was the first AU retelling of a larger segment of the HP canon where I felt like I was encountering something completely new, something that had the distant shape of these previous approaches at first glance but that, right from the first page, has that almost physical pull of the complete and precious new. 

Harry Potter and Welcome to the World of Grey by @sobsicles (456,640 words, rated E)

When Harry fails to keep his anger at bay and Voldemort possesses his mind, the events that follow lead him down a long road to realizing the world isn't as black and white as it seems.

Chaos, hilarity, and tragedy ensue with a Dark Lord being honest all the time, a rival becoming something else, and a world demanding to be saved. Featuring frightened Death Eaters, deep conversations with a monster, Pureblood traditions being ridiculous, and the fight to do the right thing with no true options.

Harry's life just gets more and more bizarre with each passing moment.

Or, the one where Harry's life gets split in half, and he has to figure out how to bring it back together.

The summary is immediately gripping, and I’ll leave the reader to discover the shapes of the AU on their own, but the basic premise of the story is that Harry, at the end of 5th year, does something he would never do in the book, and that as a consequence of (?), or despite (?) or alongside (?) this, him and Voldemort begin to, on a relational and intellectual level, engage in a way that would otherwise be impossible. This story works on so many levels, all of them incredibly crafted and so masterfully sustained over the behemoth length of the first installment. The Harry in this story is funny and young and troubled in the most delicious ways all the while wading in and out of the crushing solitude of predetermination (and also maybe just humanity). I generally read exclusively fics in which they’re adults, or at least on the brink of adulthood in 8th year, but the author has crafted such incredibly convincing teenage characters in both Harry and Draco here that by the end not only do they both end up under your skin but they also become these people that sit alongside you, whose adolescence you’ve literally gone through as both a sympathetic spectator and as a mirror of them, drawn into the irresistible sweet delights of their love, the painful bonding of people captive in their lives, the hope of the future born out of surviving something together. 

There is also a tendency in fics to paint the adults of the HP world as traitors, because that’s what the majority of them are, and this is something I also usually engage with. In this fic, while we maintain that the state of the world and the fates that befell all our favourite characters are largely the result of a kind of treason of goodness and responsibility, we also get to have these incredible deep insights into why each adult character is the way they are, through relations made possible only by this unlikely scenario that the author proposes. We also get to have the warm joy of seeing a child empathize with (and pity, and comfort, and teach) people who they owe nothing to, and this is an absolute treasure that shines brighter as we move through the story.

Finally, as this is Happy Hour, apart from all the things I’ve briefly mentioned up there that make this fic a delightful and comforting experience that I constantly go back to, I wanted to talk about a strange way that made this story become my source of comfort. This story made me like Voldemort. Not the terrifying and irredeemable one from the books or the movies. There’s this feeling that I have about fics and fandom, and I think it’s shared by a lot of people who’ve been around for a while, and it’s that these characters and settings and storylines are almost… nebulous things that always existed in us and around us and that we had maybe some slight hope for, but that were first snatched out of non-being and formed by the source material authors. This is also just how art and creativity is, in general - an antenna that beams signals and sometimes someone gets the whole message first. And you grow up and sometimes things are shaped by the source material to make you think oh I’ll feel this way forever and then of course you change your mind, but this was more like an intense, emotional journey in which I realized there was all this personal negativity that I’d always shove into this concept and this being - and that when I encountered the newly formed shape that this author’s Voldemort takes on, my resentments and my fixed darknesses, once unmovable and heavy at the bottom of this big thing in my life, were suddenly things I could walk up to. That the previously unapproachable veil of evil - which is simple, and undebatable - had lifted, and suddenly I could decide to do something else with them, to pick them up and carry them or throw them away, or live alongside them as awkward housemates until suddenly the shame and fear they represented wasn’t something I had to run from. So for happy hour, I picked a story that made me, and continues to make me, engage with not only happiness but a kind of lasting adult joy that comes from letting something come in and help you redraw the city lines of your own story. It’s very precious to me. I read the entirety of this fic in two days next to the crisp Adriatic sea, but I’ve reread it in many settings since then, and it’s always made me both hungry and full in the way that good home cooking does. I hope it does the same for you too.

third brightest star

my aunt was a terrorist and a killer and an arsonist. in most of my memories she's screaming, but even the times i've heard her speak softly were still just to extend threats, to toy with her prey in new ways. my mother's memories of her all turn sour by the end, littered with violence and casual cruelty at an early age. she killed my lover's guardian and the list of children orphaned by her hand would extend far past her harlequin shadow. if she didn't die before He did, I wonder if she ever would have stopped.

in one of kreacher's fox holes at the house, tucked in between hat boxes and bags of moldy grain, i found a rolled up page of glossy magazine paper, cut out neatly at the edges with a precise gouging spell. a muggle advertisement: a vast green field at the foot of a mountain range tipped with snowy peaks, extending far beyond the page. a car, some old cheerful model, driven into the middle distance, the driver's side door left open - and then past that, traced against the bluish haze of the mountain and almost right up against the edge , a woman in a red dress, caught mid run. a softened spot in the paper and a faint crumpling, as though someone had run their thumb right over that small detail many times.

she drove someone's kind mother to murder and spent half her life in a cell. i don't think of her. i go to germany for work, i wake up early. i wander out of the hotel yard until i'm in a field that extends to the zugspitze. the morning dew is cold against my ankles. i run.

A 2011 search for nearby companions - stars that share a common motion through space- failed to conclusively find any objects that share a proper motion with Bellatrix.

HELL WILL ALWAYS BE GIVEN AT HOGWARTS TO THOSE WHO DESERVE IT

happy halloween! the excellently misread line above is by @basicallyahedgehog 🔪 fuck umbridge fuck jkr

draco and harry from @romaine2424's brilliant new xmas story More Than a Legend, which features 9 illustrations by me (finally) thru our fandom trumps hate collab 🐸🎄 everything will turn out right, the world was built on that.

draco and harry from @romaine2424's brilliant new xmas story More Than a Legend, which features 9 illustrations by me (finally) thru our fandom trumps hate collab 🐸🎄 everything will turn out right, the world was built on that.

third brightest star

my aunt was a terrorist and a killer and an arsonist. in most of my memories she's screaming, but even the times i've heard her speak softly were still just to extend threats, to toy with her prey in new ways. my mother's memories of her all turn sour by the end, littered with violence and casual cruelty at an early age. she killed my lover's guardian and the list of children orphaned by her hand would extend far past her harlequin shadow. if she didn't die before He did, I wonder if she ever would have stopped.

in one of kreacher's fox holes at the house, tucked in between hat boxes and bags of moldy grain, i found a rolled up page of glossy magazine paper, cut out neatly at the edges with a precise gouging spell. a muggle advertisement: a vast green field at the foot of a mountain range tipped with snowy peaks, extending far beyond the page. a car, some old cheerful model, driven into the middle distance, the driver's side door left open - and then past that, traced against the bluish haze of the mountain and almost right up against the edge , a woman in a red dress, caught mid run. a softened spot in the paper and a faint crumpling, as though someone had run their thumb right over that small detail many times.

she drove someone's kind mother to murder and spent half her life in a cell. i don't think of her. i go to germany for work, i wake up early. i wander out of the hotel yard until i'm in a field that extends to the zugspitze. the morning dew is cold against my ankles. i run.

A 2011 search for nearby companions - stars that share a common motion through space- failed to conclusively find any objects that share a proper motion with Bellatrix.

hey friends, i'm coming back briefly on here for a message, if anyone is around. i'll be back soon.

there is a genocide happening in palestine. this genocide is being perpetrated by the illegitimate, colonial, fascist state of israel, and aided by every single major western power.

as someone born in the war in bosnia, i want to make one thing clear: every time that the world has let something like this happen over the past 70 odd years, it's allowed it to happen to muslims. bosnia, rohingyas, uygurs, palestinians, countless others. there is empathy in all places as long as they aren't muslim.

i urge you to examine your immediate reactions to a woman in a hijab or the words allahu akbar. i urge you to examine what narratives you've been exposed to even inadvertently.

i promise you muslims are just regular people. our families fight and rejoice and cry in the same ways as yours. we can grow up to be bad or good just like you can. if they kill all of us we won't get the chance to rewrite the story that's been written for us, against us, in our place. please don't let them keep killing us.

fandom is political. love is political. don't underestimate what being open and explicit can do.

DLM

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt "stereotype"

I forget, sometimes, that I carry your name. Other than your hair color, other than the box they sent back from St. Mungos that sits unopened in the attic, other than the way I stack the deck in my favor in poker - you live on in my signature. Always leaning up against my first name and our family name, a flag post in a field. I don't think about it so much anymore, about this signifier strung together from you, mother's hopes for me and our mutual burden. I've earned so many other names now. I find myself defined more by whoever is calling out, my outlines coming together in the context of the strings I've spun my life from. I was still small when you died, even if it wasn't that long ago - small inside. I didn't know you. I want to say I've done something completely different with your name, but the truth is that I don't know what you thought you were doing with it - or who you were doing it for. An attendant at the bank calls me Lucius on accident. My first instinct is to smile, but then I don't like the way it feels on my face. Sometimes I wish I could put my weight on you again. I lean on your initial instead. I wait for it to falter. It doesn't move an inch.

Serbia has still not admitted the extent of its role in the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina or the genocide in Srebrenica. The effects of the war continue to reflect on the lives and prospects of Bosnian and Herzegovinian people.

Learn more here

Love & Breakfast

There’s bacon… in Draco’s refrigerator.

Harry, knuckles white on the counter, toes cold on the floor, stares and stares at it. He blinks, wipes his glasses on his joggers—and the bacon’s still there, among the carrots and eggs and oat milk and cheddar.

Bacon… Harry’s favourite.

On a normal Sunday, in a normal kitchen, bacon would not be such a surprise.

However, this isn’t a normal Sunday and this isn’t a normal kitchen.

It’s the first Sunday, actually the first morning, Harry’s woken up in Draco’s bed. They may have been dating for five months but Draco always says ‘I’m old-fashioned, Potter’ though he’s very much not, and he’s never asked Harry to stay over, until last night.

And Draco’s kitchen, actually his whole flat, is sacred. His ancient cat, Milton, is just as weird as Draco and neither of them tolerate ‘strangers’ very well (whether they’re dating Draco or not). Not to mention, Draco’s staunchly anti-bacon, for reasons having little to do with the food itself and more to do with his opinions on Harry’s culinary expertise.

Harry’s so distracted by the thought of bacon—especially the morning after a pub night in which he had too many pints and too little sleep—that it takes him several long moments to realise why his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

It hits him like a bludger.

‘Draco loves me.’

Harry snatches the bacon off the shelf, worried it might disappear, clutching it tight to his chest. 

lovelovelovelovelove

And there’s more than just bacon. One of Harry’s hoodies is folded neatly on an armchair; and Quidditch Illustrated, featuring the Cannons, sits on a table. There’s an extra toothbrush by the sink and special curl-enhancing shampoo in the bath and a red dressing gown hanging on the door. Socks on the floor, trainers in the hall, and on and on it goes.

There are pieces of Harry everywhere.

In a daze, Harry walks through Draco’s flat, arms full of things, the irrefutable evidence of Draco’s love.

Draco finds Harry in the study, helplessly gazing at a bouquet of dried roses—the flowers Harry gave Draco on their first date.

“What’re you doing?” 

He’s leaning against the doorjamb, in his teddy bear boxers with tangled hair and sleepy eyes, and Harry has never seen anyone so beautiful.

“You love me,” Harry says—a fact, not a question—unable to keep it to himself for one second longer.

Draco blushes, but shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes,” Harry says, dropping everything to the floor and pulling Draco into a rib-crushing hug. “You do.” 

Draco, for all his grumbling (and there’s a lot of grumbling), gives in and wraps his arms around Harry. 

“I love my mother and Milton and that’s it.”

Harry kisses his forehead, grinning in spite of Draco’s protestations. “You love your mother and Milton, and me.”

“Gross.” 

But Draco’s eyes and smile are bright as he wiggles free from Harry’s grasp and picks up the bacon and the hoodie and the toothbrush. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Harry says, trailing Draco to the kitchen, “I love you too.”

Draco doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to because he grabs his best pan, turns on the hob and tears into the package of bacon.

It’s only bacon, but for Harry, it’s enough.

A belated birthday present for @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm. I don’t really have the words to explain what Joy’s presence and his kind soul and his beautiful art mean to me. We don’t talk often, but I see Joy everywhere. Most often in those mundane day-to-day details that make up our lives, and that we so often take for granted, because that’s where the magic is. Happy Birthday Joy, you deserve the world.

All my thanks to @lqtraintracks and @thehoneybeet for their help.

hi! this is part of my submission for @lcdrarry 2023, inspired by dylan moran's black books, one of my favorite things.

you may have noticed a lack of joy lately. due to some personal things going on and some issues with my equipment that i'm trying to get money together to fix, i haven't been able to draw for two months. i'm gonna be back soon! love you.

harry introduces draco to the eurovision song contest

happy trans day of visibility! being trans is fucking magic ✨

Umbilical

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt truth. cw parent death?

They took her body away very late in the evening, much later than when anyone should have been on call at a mortuary. I spent the entire day being exactly who everyone thinks I am, imperious, uncompromising, unquestionable in the face of melodrama, of bureaucracy, of anything in life structured like a game from which someone of my breeding might crawl out victorious. I made calls, received our well-meaning friends, blew open the safe. You were there, not behind me but just close enough, matching my pace, padding the spaces where my training left sentiment to be desired.

The hearse was blue, not black, and its charmed tires made no sound. We carried her out ourselves through the manor's narrow rear corridor, down to the service entrance, me at her feet, you at the front. Cool, damp lime-washed walls, dust and a dead weight. Like the end of a vacation, moving out of a cheap apartment abroad. We stood until every trace of the vehicle was swallowed by the night. Made our way back, upstairs, isolated in the expanse of space, an establishing shot in which a ghost is trailed by a patient shadow.

Her room is warm, the bed made - did you do it? I make my way over the creaking floorboards and to the window, you hover by the door. My eyes wander aimlessly around the bare desk, the faint smell of cleaning charms, the clinical white light. For a moment, it seems like nothing of her remains in the space until I see the small, dried daisy tucked into the corner of the window pane, right by the headboard. Right where even the most feeble of hands could have raised up to place it, within view of a feebly glancing eye. I'm halfway through a step when the searing, choking feeling overtakes me, my knees giving out at the same time as I collapse in on myself, as the sobs rip their way through my lungs and past my lips and then - you're there, curving yourself around me, pulling us along a neat spiral down to the bed, holding me close. The feeling is in my stomach, more than anywhere, a chasm, a rift, the place before a black hole where all the debris lives. No one other than you has seen me cry like that - but that's not really true, is it, because she had. We stay on the bed, you whisper, I cry. The body somewhere down the road, proof of my fail-safe mechanics. The hole in my stomach, proof that I had a mother. Your arms around me, proof she didn't leave me alone.

Umbilical

for the @drarrymicrofic prompt truth. cw parent death?

They took her body away very late in the evening, much later than when anyone should have been on call at a mortuary. I spent the entire day being exactly who everyone thinks I am, imperious, uncompromising, unquestionable in the face of melodrama, of bureaucracy, of anything in life structured like a game from which someone of my breeding might crawl out victorious. I made calls, received our well-meaning friends, blew open the safe. You were there, not behind me but just close enough, matching my pace, padding the spaces where my training left sentiment to be desired.

The hearse was blue, not black, and its charmed tires made no sound. We carried her out ourselves through the manor's narrow rear corridor, down to the service entrance, me at her feet, you at the front. Cool, damp lime-washed walls, dust and a dead weight. Like the end of a vacation, moving out of a cheap apartment abroad. We stood until every trace of the vehicle was swallowed by the night. Made our way back, upstairs, isolated in the expanse of space, an establishing shot in which a ghost is trailed by a patient shadow.

Her room is warm, the bed made - did you do it? I make my way over the creaking floorboards and to the window, you hover by the door. My eyes wander aimlessly around the bare desk, the faint smell of cleaning charms, the clinical white light. For a moment, it seems like nothing of her remains in the space until I see the small, dried daisy tucked into the corner of the window pane, right by the headboard. Right where even the most feeble of hands could have raised up to place it, within view of a feebly glancing eye. I'm halfway through a step when the searing, choking feeling overtakes me, my knees giving out at the same time as I collapse in on myself, as the sobs rip their way through my lungs and past my lips and then - you're there, curving yourself around me, pulling us along a neat spiral down to the bed, holding me close. The feeling is in my stomach, more than anywhere, a chasm, a rift, the place before a black hole where all the debris lives. No one other than you has seen me cry like that - but that's not really true, is it, because she had. We stay on the bed, you whisper, I cry. The body somewhere down the road, proof of my fail-safe mechanics. The hole in my stomach, proof that I had a mother. Your arms around me, proof she didn't leave me alone.

I don't have any words I can use to describe what Robin means to me that would be sufficient or that wouldn't produce the same screeching, world-shattering effect as some biblically accurate eyeballs-rings-and-wings entity, so I won't try!

Instead, this: I have always been uncomfortable with dreaming big. Big things happen to me, and I am grateful for them and delighted by them and humbled by them, but I can't imagine them outside of some kind of elaborate daydreamy hyperbole, I can't yearn for them proactively. Instead I invest my time dreaming about things that really are, when you look at them objectively, ridiculously mundane. I'll think about sleeve pockets on jackets for a whole week. I fixate on the idea of standing a certain way and what it could change in my presentation. I love office buildings. I dream about errands and menial tasks and the smooth methodical scratching of a pilot g2 on printed forms. When I travel, I stand outside of horrible financial districts and corporate clusters in big cities and I feel my blood pressure comfortably drop. I think that the yearning we're assigned is sometimes borrowed from some other life. I don't get to indulge in this other life outside my head very often and it's an incomparable gift to have someone as talented as robin give you a sliver of a feeling I have some weird vestigial grasp on, in the body of my favorite character, in the most delightful way possible.

I'm going to go read this again and then scroll back up and read it again until there's more.

In celebration of joy

This is actually a snip from a wip (700 words) and also a ‘hey I’m alive’ and most of all, it’s a (humble!!) present for my pride and joy @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm who is out there being the best in us etc. etc. Joy, I love you, I love you, I love you. And so does this special lil guy.

The coffee machine went on a strike on a Tuesday, roughly around nine. A big notice all over the screen, CHANGE FILTER that didn’t relent no matter what Draco attempted. He changed the damn filter, three times. Changed the water. Emptied and reloaded the bean tray. Nothing worked: the notice remained, and the smell of coffee pervaded the kitchenette, made his eyes water.

The manual was in Italian, which, according to his CV, shouldn’t be a problem. Apparently there was a world of difference between chatting up pretty boys in the Piazza and fine mechanics. Apparently, Draco was equally rubbish at both. And the coffee machine, blast it to high hell, kept at its pouty, childish rebellion.  

He didn’t even like coffee. Did have an espresso every once in a while, half in punishment, half-reward. Drowned it in sugar until no flavour was discernible, went on a glucose-fuelled paperwork rampage, terrorising the office till the inevitable crash. But he liked making coffees for some of the others—liked being trusted with a task he could perform. The coffee machine was tricky, needed a gentle touch: the frothing settings, the roast, all had to be perfectly calibrated. Usually he had it. And now, change filter, and no coffee in sight.

He’s going to have to go back to Harry empty-handed.

Going to have to look him in the eye and say, hey, so, remember when you hired me, all that long month ago, and I promised I’d do my very best? Right. Yes, failed at the most basic of tasks today, what else could you expect. Also, please don’t fire me.

Draco rubbed his eyes a little harsher than recommended. Bore the angry flashes behind his eyelids, tried to breathe. Why must everything be a panic, why couldn’t he just. Be normal about this. Be a man, not a muppet, for a change.

Opened his eyes, grit his teeth till the world un-blurried itself. Took a deep breath. Went back to the manual, skimmed till he found the right place, and tried again.

In the end he ran down to the Costa across the street. Took him exactly forty minutes and twenty-three seconds to get back at Harry’s office door, red-faced and soaking wet, but with the flat white he’s promised. Tried not to look too smug about it as he sauntered through, gently laid the cup (still hot, he thought, he hoped) next to Harry’s computer screen.

“Thanks,” murmured Harry, not even looking up from the folder open on his desk. “Mm, that smells nice.”

Draco allowed himself a little smile. “No problem, Mr. Potter.”

As he knew, that zapped Harry’s attention back to him. He flushed so easily, and so sweetly too, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose for an excuse to use his hands. Calling Harry Mr. Potter always had the same effect—sometimes, when Draco was feeling rather cheeky, he even threw in a Sir, just to watch him flail.

“Erm. Yes. Thank you, Draco. Are—why are you wet?”

“Hmm?” looked down, remembered. “Oh. It’s raining again.”

Harry turned his head to the window, stared for a moment. “Yes,” he said, chewing on a poor lower lip. “Yes, it is indeed.”

Winding Harry up sure was one of the biggest perks of the job, but Draco actually had work to do. “Anything else, Mr. Potter?” (couldn’t help himself, he just couldn’t). “If you wouldn’t mind, the paperwork for Mr. Dougherty’s case requires further attention.”

More of the fidgeting. “No, no, that’s quite all right. Certainly, er, important that you get to it.” Draco nodded, and was already at the door when he heard, “Wait, why does the cup say Costa?”

Rushed out of Harry’s office without closing the door behind him. The prat never did anyway. Went back to the kitchenette, opened the manual, and a pocket dictionary from the shop right next door to blasted Costa. (The Dougherty dossier was compiled and completed two days ago. Not his fault he was good at his job). Stared the machine down until it bowed before him, spilled its mechanical guts.

He’ll get it, eventually. He thought. He hoped.

when I first started getting into drarry in march 2021, I discovered liv's blog and I think for about 3-4 months, I kept it permanently open as a tab for reference, as I devoured my way thorough everything that builds up this fanon in which I've since found a community, comfort and a home. i always say that i'll read almost anything, content-wise, but the kind of stories i'm drawn to, the kind of language and characterizations and narrative inner spark - these things I'm horribly picky about and it's a treasure to find someone whose tastes and attentions align so much with what I like - because you can trust them, because they can guide you. I'm fairly sure I would have never imagined even talking to liv at that point, so having my own sitp reclist is absolutely out of this universe!

i love the format so much, i'm so honored you've slipped out of your fic comfort zone to make something about my drawings, and I'm so honored and delighted at the way you understand and love them exactly in the way that I do. it's also insanely satisfying how every emoji next to the titles is perfectly assigned and sometimes so delightfully unexpectedly niche!

Thank you so much liv for this wonderful gesture of love and attention for my year in this place, and thank you for your friendship and trust ❤️ I'm so happy that loving things - and talking openly about them - makes life so much more interesting.

Sitp Essentials - Joyful Gems

Happy birthday to the incredibly lovely and talented @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm! I rarely do art reclists because I kinda feel under qualified for that lol, but Joy puts so much of his heart and soul into his creations and his kindness and overall genius brain inspire me so much I felt the urge to do a little something for his special day.

Dear Joy, this fandom has been more creative, enchanting, gentle and inclusive since you’ve arrived. Your art has been there for me (and for so many others) at good and hard times, always bringing a little ray of sunshine, comfort and hope. No matter the tone - healing or cheerful, spooky or bruising, bittersweet or devastating, I love how much tenderness, empathy and soft understanding transpire from your evocative pieces; I see bits of you in each one, and I hope that with this humble reclist you’ll be able to see bits of me as well. Thank you for everything you do! It’s truly an honour to share this space with you and I hope you have the wonderful and joyful celebration you deserve. Happy day!!

Now a joyful selection of Liv’s faves - which are yours? Feel free to reblog this adding your own faves, let’s shower Joy with love today!

to smile

👠 chicken shop date interview

🐦 kept in cages - multiple

👢 fashionista Draco

🌙 Sailor Moon Draco

👱‍♀️ Harry/Draco/Luna

🌟 stargazing milestone

🧸 HBD to crow, sally, rom & joy

to ache

🪞 HBD Harry

🧶 Harry& Sirius

🏝️ soft dad Draco at the beach

🪢 to be loved is to be changed

🥛 it’s hard being the golden boy

🚬 smoke after quidditch

🪦 what if it all went wrong (mcd)

to vibe contemplate

🤖 mecha Drarry

🔪 murder husbands

💍 slytherin kings

🐉 Courier Draco AU

🛹 Skater AU

🎡Rainy Tokyo AU

🚪 A Little Death Never Hurt Anyone

⏳Away Childish Things

🐈 Free to a Good Home

🪴 Relic Radiation

🦊 The Foxing Ring