forgaeven1

[forgaeven1]

moved.

[forgaeven1]

moved.

[forgaeven1]

hob gadling + how to be a dog by andrew kane

[forgaeven1]

it's not a big deal, declares hermione, and well ...

neville would very much like to agree just as easily, except, again, it might not be viewed the same by augusta longbottom, who has held the reign as the longbottom's head for years. she had traversed through her father and husband's death, and then her son's and his wife's tragedies — all of which she has handled and managed with grace and a discipline which ensured the longbottom name remains its virtue and dignity; that their influences remain a trusting one.

neville, he understands, in comparison is clumsy and uncertain. of course, he himself would not deny that there is... a growing courage there after the war is done. a more matured man filling the shoes of the longbottom heir who once stuttered and stammered his way through classes and stressful times. still, in the shadow of augusta's unrelenting stance, neville feels inadequate. could he even be the head of their family ? what does that even mean ? his gran had ensured him that it's more of a social upkeep than anything, but is it truly ?

regardless, neville wraps the evening he has with hermione soon. he's nervous for what's to come, but more than anything he's quite... relieved, he thinks, that hermione was willing to say 'yes' to the gala with him. neville goes home then to inform gran of the development, who merely raises an eyebrow and announces that she will wait for hermione's owl. it's good, he thinks, that augusta didn't seem perturbed when neville delivered that hermione may not be so keen on them tailoring her any dress. if anything, he thinks gran looks rather curiously challenged than irate. dinner that night passes uneventfully.

a week of correspondences lead them, finally, to the day hermione shall visit the oak's point, the longbottom's ancestral home. the three house-elves the longbottom houses are wreak with anxiety from having ser neville's guest coming to meet the madam though neville thinks they ought not to be — they've done a marvellous job, which neville told them so.

and now he waits, rather anxiously, at their family's main fireplace. any time now, hermione was supposed to floo in. he hopes she'd gotten the address correctly.

hogwarts, of course. it has always intrigued her, the way the wizarding society worked. hogwarts was front and center in a wizard's life, it determined everything in their working life. there are no universities, no school to learn another craft, it's hogwarts and that's it, onwards you go to try and find your calling. if she had the energy, if she wasn't drowning in whatever bullshit her world was, she would start learning about it, she would try to understand how it all works. there are thousands of questions she has, questions that are going nowhere, feeling like she always finds herself at the starting line : a year and a half ago, seeing that vacant look in her parents' face and leaving it all behind. at least, she's out of her room now, she's showering again and eating, she's accepting to meet new people. it took time, she's barely there anyway, it feels like walking on the blade of a razor, like a gush of wind could push her off the cliff.

❛ that's nice, to meet at school, especially if it was first year. ❜ she wonders if she could have said the same thing for ron and her, had she not gotten so fucked up, had they not been through all of this and worst, she wondered if they would be happy. probably she thinks, but ron was made for hermione before she wiped her parents' memories, before that whole year of running and hurting, before, before, before. she feels her eyes close, tightly for a second, as if it could push away the thought, as if it could drown her pain and fill her lungs with fresh air.

❛ it's nice, that your dad made the effort. they must have been so happy. ❜ there is wistfulness there, wishing for a happiness she doesn't really believe in anymore. there is only survival, to let oneself be carried by the flow of it all, to know that only peace with oneself can be achievable. hermione does not believe that peace and happiness walk hand in hand so she has focused herself on the first one, a grave in the garden of her soul for the happiness that will never blossom. the smile she offers her is amused, tinted with a bit of a blush on the apple of her cheeks. ❛ you shouldn't worry, we're both sensible women and it would be ridiculous to argue about a dress. ❜ hermione thinks back to the yule ball, to that pink dress and viktor's gaze, the first time she had felt pretty - truly pretty. ❛ it's just a ministry event anyway, it's not that big of deal. ❜ she feels him anxious, feels it in her guts and she wants to calm him down as much as she wishes she could quiet her own worries.

[forgaeven1]

it's hard for her to believe that malfoy has never encountered anything which requires a cleaning charm. wasn't he a quidditch player as well ? and a boy, to boot ? ginny has done her fair share of living with teenaged boys, you know, considering six of her siblings were exactly that, and their personal marker for hygiene aren't exactly the epitome of healthy and cleanliness — which was probably why nearly all of the weasleys were an expert at various cleaning spells and charms one way or another. then again, she must remember: malfoy doesn't have litter of siblings.

and, of course, a prominent name they were in the aristocracy side of the wizarding world, they've got—yes, exactly when she thought of it, he admits to housing—elves.

which, well, is expected, she supposes. ginny remembers a tale once that their family, a long time ago, once had elves themselves. of course, overtime, they fell out of grace from the wealthier side of the english high society, became poorer themselves, and were no longer able to afford any extra staff on their roster. ginny doesn't think they've missed out much though, on having elves that is. the few house elves she'd come in contact with are viciously serious creature, adhering to a routine long-passed from one generation to the next. ginny wouldn't know how to manage such calculated and distant living thing, how to treat them only as servants, when her idea of a family were always warm and boisterous and nosey.

any elf under a weasley shall be family as well, she thinks, though that's quite a naive sort of thinking, isn't it ? malfoy mentions hermione and her firm belief of liberating house elves, which ginny must admit she knows very little about even if she did spend a significant amount of time hearing hermione spoke her opinion about it here and there. for a moment, ginny's quite relieved they aren't speaking in-depth of the subject. malfoy might know the magical requirement of employing house-elves and maintaining them since his family has not abandoned the practise, and hermione is generously bright. she surely would be more passionate on the lawful keeping of them. ginny knows neither. thus, the relief.

still, simply to defend her friend, ginny retorts, ❛ it isn't bullshit. your father did mistreat dobby, you know. ❜

but — again. that's an argument for another day. for now, ginny takes a moment to study the other's expression. perhaps it's the low lighting of the room, but she wonders if the hint of pinkness across malfoy's otherwise ghostly complexion a trick of the eye ? regardless, at his not-so-smooth i might benefit from someone showing me once how it is done though, the younger girl rolls her eyes once more, before she puts a finger out, and trace the air into the shape the wand is supposed to move as you cast the spell. ❛ purifico, is the word. start from the bottom, left, move up, then flick three times to the right. you think you can do it on me now ? ❜

she's still laying there, quite shamelessly, like lamb to slaughter, waiting to see if malfoy would truly test the spell out. perhaps ginny ought to be wary of the idea that a former death eater would put a wand to her in any capacity, and yet... she waits, utterly — perhaps recklessly — trusting that he would not cause any harm. she could already hear ron's loud protest in her head, demanding her to be smarter than this. to be less stupid. still, she waits.

❛ which is... ? what, resuming being a complete and utter prejudiced twat ? ❜ she asks him, quite confused, before she quite literally choke on his next question — so much so that ginny has to sit up, and pats her chest from the impact. ten kids?! she smacks him. ❛ you arse ! ❜ is that what he really thought of her at the end of the day ?! that she's— some sort of a breeding machine ? ginny's face burns red, not quite sure if she's wholly embarrassed by the idea or completely agitated at the suggestion. a wedding. and kids. ginny groans, long and hard, around the cup she makes of her hands before finally : ❛ ... we broke up. ❜ she admits, pouting a little, though the thought of pouting anywhere near malfoy is absolutely ridiculous, so ginny pretends that isn't what's happening.

❛ so no. i don't believe a wedding's exactly on the horizon. plus... he left. ❜ because he needed to save the world, but ginny knows how selfish she already sounds.

of course it's what she would choose to speak about out of the whole conversation. him admitting that he actually thinks of himself as a blood traitor, that he's basically thrown away every value he was taught for some stupid fucking gold star. somehow, all of this doesn't matter in the face of his small, tiny lack of knowledge when it comes to cleaning spells. he shouldn't be surprised really, this girl has no notion of empathy at all, it's ridiculous. there's a sigh, head slightly shaking, trying to not blush out of embarrassment like a bloody idiot.

❛ i've never needed it, i've actually been raised to not make a mess and be a slob, ❜ a pointed look is given at her clothes on his bed, lips slightly pursing as he tries to remain calm and not be a stuttering mess full of embarrassment. malfoys don't get embarrassed, there's nothing that could embarrass them because they are absolutely perfect. well, that did not work quite as much anymore, his father having been beaten in a wand fight by a bunch of fourteen years old and now being in azkaban is quite the embarrassing clusterfuck. it's disgraceful and, to be quite honest, distasteful. ❛ also, we did have house elves which was quite convenient no matter what bullshit granger keeps ranting about. ❜ there's a deep sigh that fills his lungs, visibly cringing as he remembers the last time she got on his arse about it. bloody granger and her causes and her shrill voice, merlin he's so glad it's weaslette that stayed here most of the summer.

❛ i do not need to know it as i do not need it once you are not in my vicinity with your disgusting habits, which will happen soon enough from what i've gathered. ❜ there is no need for him to know this bloody spell, he hasn't needed it since he was born and there is no future in which he will have use for it. however, he remains a practical human being, one that has back up plans for his back up plans and that spell could come in handy especially if this war keeps on going and he finds himself in muddy, disgusting places. draco is not a total snob but there's something about cleanliness that he just can't get over. ❛ i might benefit from someone showing me once how it is done though. ❜ it feels like his skin is on fire though he knows he remains as unreadable as ever, not being one used to asking for favors nor help.

her question surprises draco, a little itch of breath caught in his throat for a second. it's none of her business what he wants to do, his plans are none of her business at all. ❛ well, my plans are to do as i usually do, which is being a malfoy. ❜ there's nothing much to add, he has great plans, to restore the family name, to become someone respected in the wizarding world, to have influence in the ministry. draco has big plans but he keeps his cards close to his chest : don't trust anyone, son, you don't need any of them, only blood matters. this one he keeps, he forgets the last part now but this he keeps. NEVER TRUST ANYONE. ❛ plans for a wedding and ten kids with scarhead ? ❜

[forgaeven1]

and there it is, malfoy's answer.

in all honesty, ginny doesn't know what it is that she quite expects. though again, that's been the theme of their dynamic so far, hasn't it ? some sort of game where they learn to co-exist, realises they're far too different socially and would periodically be taken aback from that, yet somehow having to quickly adapt to the circumstances regardless. after all, never in her mind would she think she'd ever had to spend a summer with malfoy before this year, but there she was, and there they were, and ... against all odds, they weren't actively murdering one another towards the end of it.

sure, perhaps it wasn't... totally up to them at the same time, given the fact that they're all targeted one way or another and in hiding, thus are forced to cohabit the same space, but a summer spent together is still a summer spent together, is it not ? and, again, there is his answer. that he chose this, somewhat. that he knew what he was getting himself into, which side he shall be involved in and had to mingle with, even if snape would later have malfoy pretend to still side with the death eaters. was it a satisfying answer ? ginny isn't sure, but it's as honest as it comes, she supposes.

and at least malfoy has the decency to give that to her. complete honesty. no coddling, no sugar-coating, no excuses that she were too young or too childish to handle the painstaking truth.

she'll miss that, she thinks with some horrid awkwardness she's been accepting each time she must think of their odd... bond. ginny hopes the war wouldn't drag as long as malfoy is expecting it would, but if they weren't, then that'll mean he'll soon be on his way, and she on hers, and then this bond would just... disintegrate into nothingness, because why else would they speak or interact with one another ? but she'll miss this, she realises with the naivety of this feeling she suspects must only be driven by loneliness — his brutal honesty.

ginny doesn't let the thought lingers for too long though because malfoy soon speaks again, dredging up an insult of course, because what are the days in the lives of weasley and malfoy together without insults ? ginny rolls her eyes from his dramatics and, as an act of revenge, comes over to his bed and plop on it: feet dangling by the side of it, but she's leaned back, laying on his well-fitted mattress. when ginny turns to him, her words come out flat, but all-knowing: ❛⠀you've no idea how to do a cleaning spell, do you ? ❜

and then, slowly, the corners of her lips lift itself into a smile, her freckles bunching into her skin following the bounce of her cheeks. her expression clearly saying, caught you. ginny grins into the air, the tension from before easily dissipating at the mischievousness she now displays, ❛ shall i teach you then, malfoy ? it'll help, you know, since this hobo has clearly taken over your bed. ❜

after a while though, ginny speaks: ❛ what do you think you'll do, malfoy ? once the war's over ? ❜

a cleaning charm. how bloody plebeian, as if the malfoy heir had ever had to clean after him, as if he's ever been taught to be anything but pristine, never a hair out of place nor an ounce of dirt to be found after he's left a seat. draco knows of its existence, of course, it's a part of the magical world but it's more out of observing others at hogwarts than having practiced it much. he's a bit out of his depth here, that much he can recognize, he had elves and they weren't just there to look ugly. though he does think about the wall of elves' head at grimmauld place and finds himself nearly shuddering : they could be used as decorations now that he thinks about it but he's not really into all that dead stuff around him on a daily basis.

❛ or you could just not sit on my bed like hobo and actually sit in a chair. ❜ barely a movement of eyebrow, an amused glint in his eyes at the suggestion, already knowing this will not be received well. he enjoys those banters to be honest, he grew up among adults and other kids from aristocratic backgrounds, they were more into sneaking alcohol and talking shit than getting into direct verbal little fights. he has much time on his hands, he doesn't speak much, only when spoken too and he gets tired of all this familiarity after awhile, so not used to public display of affection and love that it makes his skin crawl sometimes. tenderness has been witnessed, a kiss to his mother's cheek, fingers that lost themselves in her hair for a second, but it was fleeting and discreet, nothing like what is happening within those walls.

the silence doesn't feel heavy, though draco knows where she wants to drag him to, he wants to hear her saying it out loud. it's not an easy conversation to have, that much he is aware of but he will not grant her the mental gymnastics she is asking of him if she is not torturing herself a bit first : it's ONLY FAIR to be honest. but there it is, finally. it takes him a second to register it all, his eyes narrowing slightly, pressing his tongue against his lips for a second, knowing what is underneath all of this.

draco has to give it to her though, she's straight with him, admitting her little change of heart, admitting the doubts that inhabit her when it comes to him. he's thankful, it gives him a bit of a window on what others' thoughts could be. ❛ by action i am a blood traitor. but setting foot inside this house i am a blood traitor. by helping you in this mission of yours i am a blood traitor. ❜ it is not an easy admission, his pride used to be in his blood, in his behavior and the way he would present himself. draco used to be proud to be a pureblood and to act like one, he used to look down on others that were short of perfect on the values he was taught to hold high above. being a blood traitor was nothing that inspired pride nor a feeling of accomplishment but it was a truth he couldn't avoid anymore.

❛ i'm in this until it's all done and i don't think it will be done soon anyway so we will have to share space and time in the years to come. i've made my peace with it and i've made my peace with what i am now. i had a choice and i made it. somewhat. ❜ the thought is brushed away with a flicker of elegant fingers, he doesn't want to linger on it. ❛ that does not mean i approve of your loudness or your nasty habit of barging in when people, who were not raised in the middle nowhere, knows to knock. ❜

[forgaeven1]

madge has never baked anything before.

she wouldn't know anyhow to truly criticise peeta over this method or to appraise it, though she thinks she ought to have some sort of opinion anyway. madge doesn't, ( it's always safer that way ) though she allows her eyes to flicker from the baker's son once more to the ingredients laid out — not quite as questionably as she ought to, and nor is it as judgmentally as she perhaps needed to be. their long-time staff, vienna, who's usually in charge of the kitchen, looks uncertain as she wipes the silver in the corner, though she keeps herself mum. observing.

❛⠀strawberry frosting sounds nice, ❜ again, there's that feeling — a dangerous thrill — that brims, that threatens to grow, at the bottom of her stomach. madge fantasises about a life where she could have this everyday. somebody to talk to. something to do that isn't filled with her haunting over her father's piano, or watching the life of those around her moving while she feels achingly, desperately, and deservingly still. a mayor's daughter with everything at her fingertips, what would she know of hard work ?

she doesn't, and it's half-maddening to think peeta would give this to her so freely.

❛⠀will you teach me ? ❜

@forgaeven ; continued from this ask.

         PEETA  LIKED  HANGING  OUT  WITH  MADGE  UNDERSEE  and  it  was  pretty  easy  to  get  permission  from  his  mother  to  see  her.  Her  family  enjoyed  the  pasties  from  the  bakery  and  they  were  one  of  the  few  families  in  town  who  could  afford  his  cakes.  His  mother  smiled  every  time  he  mentioned  meeting  up  with  her,  although  he  supposed  that  she  thought  a  romance  might  bloom  between  the  two.  Peeta  should  correct  his  mother's  assumption,  but  he  doesn’t.  The  boy  merely  smiles  and  attempts  to  configure  a  faint  blush  across  his  cheeks.  If  she  knew  who  he  really  had  his  eye  on,  he'd  be  in  trouble.

         ❝ Yes, ❞  Peeta  nodded,  ❝ The  steam  will  cook  the  cake  and  then  we  can  top  it  off  with  some  strawberry  frosting. ❞  The  sugar  and  flour  had  been  easy  enough  to  get.  For  the  last  few  years  Peeta  has  been  skimming  some  of  the  dry  ingredients  and  hiding  them  before  his  mother  did  inventory.  He'd  save  up  enough  to  try  out  a  new  recipe  and  if  it  turned  out  well,  he'd  suggest  to  his  mother  that  they  try  it  and  act  supposed  when  the  new  item  was  hit.  The  egg  had  been  harder  to  get,  but  as  soon  as  he  mentioned  that  it  was  a  cake  for  the  Underseas,  his  mother  handed  over  the  egg  without  question.  Madge  proved  a  peaceful  place  to  cook  and  the  berries.

         ❝ It  will  work, ❞  he  smiled  and  popped  one  of  the  berries  into  his  mouth,  ❝ I  promise. ❞  He  picked  up  another  one  and  held  it  out  for  Madge  to  take.

[forgaeven1]

madge is considerably "plain and boring" but only because she's never really lived and she holds her emotions so tightly to her chest because it's what she's been taught and instructed by her dad and i dont think she's ever really felt real or alive and she literally is the way she is because she does not have an identity nor is she encouraged to develop one and when u don't have an identity, how can u truly perceive anything properly, so u learn how to be quiet, and u learn how to repress, and you learn to take everything and put it inside and live with it

[forgaeven1]

❛⠀well now you're just temptin' me to know more, doc. ❜ maria quips around an intonation that could even be described as teasing, but blink, and you'll miss it. she's hill, after all. the ice bitch of SHIELD. not that she supposes strange has any inclination about that considering that's before the time he comes around.

it doesn't matter, does it ? he'll make his conclusions. what she'll need would be only his expertise.

she sits. ❛⠀just a few questions first. ❜ cryptid as usual. can you blame an ex-spy ? ❛⠀no thanks, ❜ she says to the offer for a drink; maria doesn't plan on staying long. ❛⠀how far does your magic go, doc ? say ... will you be able to detect an alien species among humans, even if they're shape-shifters ? ❜

Stephen's eyebrow lifts, his head tilting to the side as he moves closer to her. He can't say that he really knows Maria. Mostly because he keeps himself detached from SHIELD and the politics involved. He has bigger things to be worrying about.

"In that case perhaps it's nothing for you to worry about." Hand lifts, brushing away any concern. Last thing he wants is to draw anyone onto it that isn't needed. He and Wong can figure it out for themselves without any agents poking around.

"Oh? What do you need help with?" He moves to sit, gesturing towards the chair opposite. "Would you like a drink?"

[forgaeven1]

i'm returning 💚 and with it, a plan to trim down on some of the threads i admittedly no longer feel much muse(s) for, and to sift through my mutuals list simply for a more comfortable experience here 🫶 thank u so much for those who've been waiting <333

[forgaeven1]

december's blue is getting to me ! i've got slower energy and slower attention span to be here :(( i'll try to be here when i can, but if i'm not, i'm not trying to force it. hopefully the mood lifts again soon cause i can never be away from writing for too long <333

[forgaeven1]

but what if i want you and your weird superhero life ? mary jane doesn't ask, though the words feel like lead inside of her mouth anyways. it has mass, weight, all of a sudden. it threatens to fall. mary jane refuses to let it. peter doesn't want her—or at least, even if he does, it's... it's not like how she would want it.

the people i love always end up getting hurt, he says, and mary jane has to physically hold herself back from telling him that she has gotten hurt. she's gotten hurt many times before. gotten disappointed, angry, thrown out, chased away, drunk, high; she'd bounced from a boy's house to a friend's just so she wouldn't go home to dad. she'd begged. scraped her knees. thrown up.

the pretty girl wasting her life on booze and any man's sympathy because there wasn't a life she'd known outside of it.

so she knows. she knows for a fact peter would never hurt her, but—if this is what he wants. ❛ you can't tell me that, ❜ she refutes stubbornly anyway, tears slowly building over the shine of her eyes, though she smiles anyway. she tries. ❛ even if we're not dating, you know i'm always gonna be here, right ? i'm not going anywhere, tiger. i think you're pretty much stuck with me. ❜

There's a comfort in Mary Jane's arms, his hands grasping onto her as tightly as he can possibly manage. Peter tries his hardest to stay strong but sometimes it's difficult. Sometimes he feel like MJ is the only person he has - Which makes her all the more important. "I'm sorry for just - God -" His hand comes up to wipe at his eyes. "I didn't mean to just dump all of this on you, especially when we're having a really nice evening." He murmurs, using the Spider-Man mask to wipe at his face, getting rid of the sorrow as best he can.

"I just needed you to know that it's not cause I'm not interested, y'know?" It's as close to a confession of feelings that he can manage, clearing his throat as he looks down at his hands again, moving away from her slightly. "The people I love always end up getting hurt and as much as you say it's not gonna happen, I'm not gonna risk it. So -" His nose wrinkles, a soft sigh leaving his lips, taking a moment to look out over the skyline before back to her. "You deserve someone who can give you everything, MJ. Not me and my weird superhero life."

[forgaeven1]

❛ no, i mean— ❜ and at this, the redheaded witch hesitates. she never quite like being reminded of the fact that the trio had just left, even though ginny had understood well enough why considering there were quite literally death eaters ambushing a wedding to get to them. still. hurt's a hurt, isn't it ? and ginny learns long enough that you couldn't always help how you feel. just how you react to it, bill and dad's wise words.

and she refuses to let it out right here right now. not that hermione deserves any of her frustration anyway. it was always meant to be like that, she supposes. she was just... never old enough. close enough. smart enough. at least she and neville and luna did what they could—that ought to be enough. yes, she consoles herself, and redirects her thoughts to what she means to say.

❛ you've done it all, haven't you ? all the... the missions or directions dumbledore has given you ? ❜

ginny still hasn't sat up. she lies there and stare at the ceiling of her room. it used to be charlie's, and dad used to enchant it with the view of highlands' sky. ginny thinks about harry, and their last conversation before he went, and the kiss, and— ❛ i've never— i never understood it, you know. well, i suppose i do. it's just—it makes you wonder ... will they only fight for their whole lives ? ❜

"WITH EVERYTHING IT'S KIND OF HARD TO GUESS WHAT'S GOING ON IN EVERYBODY'S HEADS," Hermione had a hard enough time doing that before factoring in the layer of trauma from the war. Though she'd shared a room with Parvati for all those years and by extension had spent plenty of time with Padma, she'd never exactly been close with the girls. Always an outsider to their gossiping, always looking down her nose at their bitching. She supposes in hindsight it wasn't anybody's fault, they were just different people with different interests.

"With Lavender..." she pauses, swallowing back the bile that rises in her throat. It's another girl that Hermione had a tense relationship with, but the images of Fenrir Greyback savaging her is something that is burned permanently into her psyche. " I'm not sure they'll want to go back."

Hermione uses Ginny's ranting as an opportunity to cleanse her mind of the unpleasant images, instead focusing on the familiarity of the Weasley sister's tirade against her brother. If she ignores the circumstances, it almost feels like old times. "Short of stunning them and dragging them there myself? I've done everything, Gin. They're not budging."

[forgaeven1]

testing a new psd.

[forgaeven1]

actions speak louder than words non - verbal / action prompts from yours truly. (add a "swap" to swap the sender/receiver in the prompt (or just do it manually).)

back, sender gives receiver a back hug.

beckon, sender beckons receiver closer with a finger.

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver.

book, sender helps receiver get a book from a higher part of the shelf.

care, sender takes care of receiver when they're sick.

catch, sender catches receiver by the waist after they bump into each other.

choke, sender saves receiver from choking by giving them the heimlich.

cold, sender places their jacket over receiver's shoulders.

cry, sender wipes tears off receiver's face with their thumbs.

dance, sender sticks a hand out to receiver and invites them to dance.

dip, sender skinny dips in front of receiver and invites them to join.

dog, sender's dog pulls them in receiver's direction.

drive, sender drives receiver somewhere in their car.

drag, sender drags receiver into a room and closes the door behind them.

draw, sender draws receiver like one of their french girls.

face, sender turns receiver's face towards them.

flower, sender gives receiver a flower.

footsie, sender initiates footsie with receiver under the table.

forehead, sender presses their forehead against receiver's.

grab, sender grabs receiver's wrist to stop them from leaving.

jump, sender jumps onto receiver's back.

kiss, sender kisses receiver.

link, sender links arms with receiver while walking.

massage, sender offers receiver a massage.

patch, sender patches up receiver's wounds.

piano, sender teaches receiver how to play the piano.

pin, sender pins receiver's hands behind their back.

pluck, sender plucks something out of receiver's hair.

press, sender presses receiver against a wall.

propose, sender proposes to receiver.

quiet, sender gestures for receiver to be quiet.

rest, sender rests their head on receiver's shoulder.

serenade, sender serenades receiver with a song.

sign, sender walks into a sign and receiver sees.

size, sender measures the size of their hand against receiver's.

shoes, sender removes receiver's shoes for them.

sun, sender rubs sunblock onto receiver's back.

tattoo, sender gives receiver a tattoo.

tie, sender helps tie receiver's tie.

tuck, sender tucks receiver's hair behind their ear.

umbrella, sender lets receiver under their umbrella.

warning, sender presses a knife against receiver's neck as a warning.

zip, sender needs receiver's help to zip up the back of their dress.

[forgaeven1]

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 2.06 | Love Fest

[forgaeven1]

she rolls her eyes from his probable outcome, instead using the excitement of the club to take harry's hand and drags him to the dancefloor.

and merlin, she could already see the headlines—if not a few owls—coming for her in the morning now that everyone's witnessed her and harry together, hand-in-hand, dancing with one another. there's always been speculation about whether or not she and harry would be back together, especially since he's returned, but ginny... ginny just isn't sure as much anymore. she thinks she will always love harry, or at least reserves apart of her that's young and hopeful and had yearned for him so much with her until old age comes, but...

if he had left once—or plenty, rather—why wouldn't he leave again ?

not that ginny's allowing the thoughts to crowd her mind, though. instead, the redhead bounces and dances along, simply letting the rhythm guides her on how to move. the music shifts of course, into a more sensual undertone, and ginny doesn't hesitate. ( oh, she's definitely getting the owls now. ) ❛ it's just a dance, yeah ? ❜ she asks, as she tugs his hands so that it'll land securely over her hips while she gravitates her waist, moves against him.

It's a new club. Of course it is, Harry you twat. He cringes inwardly, giving her a faintly sheepish smile as he lifts his glass to his lips again, attempting and failing to hide his embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry - Can't keep up with the different clubs." As if he's out every weekend getting so drunk he can barely remember where he goes. Chance would be a fine thing. Last weekend he'd just gone to the local pub for one then gone back to his flat to work on his fantasy Quidditch league team. Hardly exciting.

"Dance?" The words send a spike of nervousness through him, remembering back to the Yule ball and the horrendous dancing moves that he'd displayed. Harry Potter was a lot of things - A gifted dancer was not one of them. But it's Ginny and she's being so nice to him so how can he say now? Draining the last of his drink he nods, gesturing for her to lead the way to the dance floor. "Alright -" He attempts to speak over the music. "But if I step on your feet you only have yourself to blame." He grins, feeling the warmth of the alcohol starting to kick in.