#moody summer wedding

[ourperfectidos]

[thedivineart]

Confirmation Signs To Determine Your Future Spouse

ꕀ ׅ࣪ ꒰ ✮ ꒱ links : navigation. send love.

pacs. paid services.

one

wishing well, a fountain, throwing coin and wishing in fountain, unexpected meeting, receiving the most special gift from someone, a lost purse/wallet, climbing alone in mountain to reduce stress/ hangout, being alone without feeling lonely, a dog coming towards you, small home in forest, cross roads, being happy in other people relationship, going to building/institutions to fix legal documents, a friends to lovers trope, visioning your past life, a gallantry from someone, aiming financial achievement, lucky money wins, a nest eggs, flames, mutual feelings with someone, being flirt, co-worker, a new friend, ships, a little home/cottage, new house/places, moving to a new place, soulmate connection, meeting perfect person/ ideal lover, seeing lots of abiding love, wedding, wedding rings, hurt/painful feeling, hospital/doctor, unrequited love

⋆ feel free to ask question you didn't understand in this reading

‹𝟹 leave like or re-blog when you love it !

two

changing location whether it is for work or residency, when you heal from the past, starting a new, stork, a invitation for a event, gifts ( receive or give ), helpful advice from someone, receiving lots of good news, a clock/time, your hate and fear towards someone, a handshake, a journey ( travel ), birds, sharing ( partnership), food, restaurant/ fast-food places, notice of correspondence from important bills, writer/ journalist, financial loans/help, being at your lowest point such as feeling trapped/tired/staying at home/unhealthy situation, a friend betrayal, older than you, foreign, lawyer/authority, being attack, an enemy, invitation in weddings or engagements, church, cemetery, thinking negative/ having negative thoughts, a large body of water such as beaches, pools, fountains etc, night, cold weather/winter, locks, fishes, physical union with someone, a mending of broken friendship/ex love, party, clubs

⋆ feel free to ask questions you didn't understand in this reading

‹𝟹 leave like or re-blog when you love it !

three

younger, foreign / leader, bad girl & boy image/personality, unexpected kiss, feeling lonely, a new lover/person, family oriented, lady and moody, soulmates connection, unexpected friendship with someone, horse/sagittarius, a good news coming, an artist/poet, student of arts, athletic body or an athlete, lack of focus in commitment, receive or give gifts, fountains, generous, wears uniform that symbolize their position at work, a friend, co-worker, a peer, taking time to heal the wounds of the past, in park, in forest, walking around and meeting someone new, having time alone, wandering in woods, in the big trees, travel, achievement, lucky breaks, successful moving up ( at work or something), the space, distance, someone is far away, delay, receiving love letters and bouquet of flowers, country side, simple life, money surrounds them, professional person, workaholic and less focus on love, a bank; good at handling finances, provides good advice in finance, a happy family, fire/burning, summer, evening, warm weather country, good judgement, social

⋆ feel free to ask questions you didn't understand in this reading

‹𝟹 leave like 🙵 re-blog when you love it !

four

authority, can be foreign, arrogant, weddings, older, negative emotions, large body of water such as beaches, pool, fountains, lake, pond etc, night, cold weather/winter, a dog, a friend, a church, a purse, money, financially stable/ wealthy, office, jewelry box, a social butterfly, enjoy clubs and socializing, likes to be busy and active, wine, travel, trips via water, clouds, heavy rains, good partner, sensual, good at financial advice, an expensive wedding of a friend, children, financially secure, fixing cars, lily, workaholic, trying their best at difficult situation, lion, a Leo sign, quite, electric, jealous and possessive, like to give great advice, streets of gold

⋆ feel free to ask questions you didn't understand in this reading

‹𝟹 leave like 🙵 re-blog when you love it !

© thedivineart. do not plagiarize any of my work, translate or repost it on other social media platform.

[baddestbittyontheblock]

ellie williams fic recs (2)

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

my absolute favs: 🌱

꒷꒦  affinity - part 1 by @whore-era ellie williams x fem!reader | angst, pining, best friends, unrequited love

-after being in love with your best friend for years, one drunken night changes everything.

꒷꒦  as sweet as the sound by @xo-cori ellie williams x fem!reader | smut (MDNI), fingersucking, ellie is a filthy bottom idc, they’re a lil high but who isn’t in this economy

-she’s undeniably talented, but your girlfriend is just a bit too self-critical of her work.

꒷꒦  "what would you do if i went to touch you now?" by @louswrld11 ellie williams x fem!reader | wlw relationship, moderndayau!, whiny ellie (dying), oral, fingering, ellie's a switch?? wow, face sitting (i literally screamed into my pillow), cuddling!!!, ellie begging??omg yes pls, reader being more of a dom, ellie being a bit of a brat. literally just lesbians i mean what more could you want.

-ellie hates it when you're not paying attention to her

꒷꒦  where it all begins by @ijtaimes ellie williams x reader | pinning , jealousy , awkward tension? , ellie being mean to a kid, ellie being awkward, banter (lots of it because i live laugh love banter!), mentions of c*m

-summer is back in full swing, which means you’re back to being a camp counselor for moody, grumpy and hormonal middle schoolers. this summer however, is different! camp harmony hills has been renovated and the group of kids this year seem slightly more pleasant. not to mention, you have not one but two girls crushing on you. whew! but…something still is different about this year…the rumors are back and things seem a little. odd.

꒷꒦  wedding blurb by @spaceshipellie top!ellie x femme!bottom!reader | tlou au, ellie and readers wedding, touching in public, bathroom sex, fingering + eating out (r receiving), MDNI

-“you wanna love me right now, you wanna get alone with me”

꒷꒦  ellie headcanons pt 4 by @inf3ct3dd loser!ellie x reader

-loves matching with you. keychains, shoes, outfits, literally anything. if you have dyed hair, she’d dye a piece of hers to match you.

꒷꒦  hot to go! by ^ ellie williams x reader

-you started prepping the coffee beans, pouring them into a large class container while you moved your head back and forth, music blasting through your headphones.

꒷꒦  ellie fic by @dinasfavslut ellie williams x fem!reader | 18+ mndi!, smoking, sexual thoughts, cussing, pet names, teasing, smut (oral, fingering, slight mention of strap, squirting)

-everyone is aware that ellie smokes; we have all seen it. of course, there are also the dealer ellie fics, picture ellie making the reader squirt for the first time while high!

꒷꒦  brothers bestfriend ellie; by @hhayden222 ellie williams x reader | {sfw}

꒷꒦  ellie drabble/blurb by @amourrs  ellie williams x fem!reader | smut 18+, ai audios

-one where you wear ellie’s flannel and neither of you actually end up leaving the house

꒷꒦  store owner! ellie by @dollyhao ellie williams x reader | smut, doggy, squirting, strap in use (r!recieving)

꒷꒦ sending nudes to a high ellie by ^ ellie williams x reader | high ellie, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

-“baby…” ellie says through the phone sounding desperate as ever. she missed her girl friend so bad. she went on a friends trip with jesse and dina. you couldn’t come because you had to work still.

꒷꒦ nothing's gonna hurt you baby... by @cottontears modern au established gf ellie williams x fem reader | slight angst, hurt reader, ellie comforts her, fluff ensues, shitty friends

-ellie comforts you and saves you from your shitty friends

꒷꒦ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐂𝐒 + 𝐟𝐞𝐦!reader. by @iactuallykissedsharawheeler ellie williams x reader | weed mention

꒷꒦ gf!ellie headcannons by @phantombriide ellie williams x reader | mdni, loser gf!ellie, annoying gf!ellie, mentions of head/sex, mentions of making out, ellie's a clown and you're sick of it but love it so much, swearing and fluff

-gf!ellie who you've been friends with since junior year of high school.

꒷꒦ sweet blurb by ^ ellie williams x fem!reader

-ellie who loves coming home from patrol to a messy house. usually it's the other way around because no one wants to come home from work to a mess to clean up, but it's not like that at all.

꒷꒦ smut blurb by @wrtinginblood  ellie williams x fem!reader | pregnancy mention, nsfw

-ellie fucking you when you’re, like, newly pregnant and she’s sooo feral and excited for you to get all swollen with her baby

꒷꒦ texts with gf!ellie pt.3!! by @bellaramslover ellie williams x reader | mentions of smoking/drinking, implied sex, a little arguing

-Part 1 here!, Part 2 here!

꒷꒦ ellie fic by @d3arapril ellie williams x reader | 18+ minors dni, smut(obviously), dom!ellie, language, ellie has a dirty mouth, an ass slap.

-“cover her mouth and make her listen to how wet she is” aka jackson!ellie putting in WORK.

꒷꒦ sub service top ellie blurb by @seattlesellie ellie williams x reader | smut

꒷꒦ groupchat with ellie, dina and jesse part 2 by @elsweetheart ellie williams x fem!reader

-trying to organise going out to eat, and jesse can’t seem to catch a break.

꒷꒦ being a menace to dealer!ellie in the night part two by ^ ellie williams x reader

-you tried everything to get to sleep. you’d counted sheep, you had tried counting back from one thousand, you’d sat up and read a book— nothing was working.

꒷꒦ texts with ellie by @ellieslaces ellie williams x reader | fem!reader, suggestive conversations, harsh language, mentions of dark humor, use of pet names (babe, baby, sweet girl, etc), mentions of college!dealer!ellie

-a collection of messages between ellie and the reader! made by me. essentially this is my idea of what some daily conversations would be like with ellie if she were your girlfriend <3

꒷꒦ types of kisses with ellie by @elliesprettygirl ellie williams x reader | pure fluff

-how ellie would kiss you

꒷꒦ ellie playing the sims headcanons by ^ ellie x gf!reader | loser!ellie if you squint

-ellie being adorable

꒷꒦ ellie with a breeding kink by ^ ellie williams x reader

-"slow and steady"

꒷꒦ ellie williams and her clingy-ness by @lillysbigwilly ellie williams x reader

꒷꒦ my sweet girl by @evera-era ellie williams x afab!reader | friends to lovers, virgin reader, ellie has a praise + innocence kink, fingering, oral r!receiving, facesitting, fondling, lots of kissing, you talk her through it, fluff !!!!

꒷꒦ ellie blurb by ^ ellie williams x reader

-reader has a dream where ellie liked someone else or something (you know how a lot of couples go through this😭) and gets mad at her and Ellie is like “it was just a dream babe” and it’s all fluffy and cute

꒷꒦ f**k you by ^ ellie williams x afab!reader | hate sex, ellie’s rude as shit in the first half, alcohol use, some name-calling, aggressive kissing, fingering, scissoring, brat taming, spanking, edging/overstim

-ellie couldn’t stand you. she found you so incredibly annoying, and yet you shared the same friends. which was the biggest problem, ever.

꒷꒦ adventure time blurb by @savannahsdeath ellie williams x reader

-ellie and reader lying down on the bed while they’re watching adventure time, and all the time that princess bubblegum and marceline shows off, ellie is like “omg look at us!!”

꒷꒦ lover girl!ellie headcanons by @itsbecomeblue ellie williams x reader | nsfw with warning near the end, swearing, basically fluff, ellie and reader play soccer, puppy love, slightly loser!ellie, not explicit if reader is fem or masc

-highschool romance with ellie

꒷꒦ there's two ways to squirt by @bambiesfics ellie williams x reader | water-sports, extreme overstimulation, graphic depictions of lesbian smut, r!receiving finger bang, sarcastic Ellie, fluff + loving at the end.

-reader has a full bladder and is trapped in ellie william’s hatchback.

꒷꒦ once again, for the first time (1/3) 🌱 by @lovelettersfromluna ellie williams x reader | ANGST!!!, ellie is an oblivious idiot, quiet!reader, momentary alternative love interest, jealous!ellie, possessive!ellie

-being in love with your best friend has got to be one of the most emotionally exhausting things someone can experience, so it’s time you put your foot down and moved on….at least, try to move on

꒷꒦ silver springs (2/3) 🌱 by ^ ellie williams x reader | SMUT!!! 18+, mdni, alcohol and marijuana usage, jealous!ellie, slight asshole!ellie, cheating, oral r!receiving, edging, fingering r!receiving, pet names, kissing

-a step by step guide on how not to get over ellie fucking williams

꒷꒦ linger (3/3) 🌱 by ^ ellie williams x reader | smut!! mdni!! 18+, ellie and reader are both very sad and very stubborn, angst, hurt/comfort, alcohol usage, mention of marijuana, making out, pet names, oral (ellie receiving), tribbing

-back home for the holidays after hooking up with your best friend, who you also happen to be madly in love with...what could possibly go wrong.

꒷꒦ blossom (1/2) 🌱 by ^ ellie williams x reader | 18+!! smut!! angst!! (is it a fic of mine if there isn’t angst at this point), small town!ellie, it’s summer time ofc hehe, fingering (r!receiving), nipple play (r!receiving), petnames, ellie hurt reader in the past but is extremely desperate for her now, lots of kissing

-ellie broke up with you in high school right before she left for college. At the time, it left you devastated….five years later, she’s back. And she’s back for you.

꒷꒦ 20 something (2/2) 🌱 by ^ ellie williams x reader | angst!! ellie is an idiot in this one, joel being a dad figure to reader, alcohol usage, reader gets a lil drunk, jealous!reader

-how you ain’t say you was movin’ forward? Honesty hurts when you’re gettin’ older, I gotta say I’ll miss the way you need me.

꒷꒦ the perfect girl (1/2) 🌱 by ^ ellie williams x reader | 18+!!, ANGST, eventual smut just not in this chapter, mentions of sex, mutual pining, ellie is sort of a dick but she isn’t necessarily mean (don’t worry you’ll see), lead singer!reader, use of alcohol and marijuana, rock star life style so lots of partying, reader is a badass

-the amount of tension between you and your guitarist is fucking ridiculous.

꒷꒦ sweet little lies (2/2) 🌱 by ^ ellie williams x reader | 18+!!! Eventual smut, ellie is selfish point blank period, reader is extremely sad, some making out but doesn't lead to much, ANGST!!!!

-being on tour with someone you’ve been ignoring for two months is hard…but doable

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

Headcanons for the Shane Stardew Valley that lives in my Switch because I wanted to put them down somewhere lol 💙🐔

•He's 35 years old. When Farmer tells him that's not old he replies "Old for a gridball player" and shrugs. (basing this on mid-30's apparently being old for a lot of sports lol)

•Definitely not as "weak" as he thinks he is either. The man helps Marnie around the farm, including hucking around heavy bags of animal feed and hay. And probably hauling heavy boxes around JojaMart. So great upper body strength, just gets tired and out of breath more easily than he used to.

•Strong arms and soft tummy 👍

•5'7" but wishes he was at least 6'1". A little insecure about it, especially since Farmer is taller than him.(she's 5'10")

•Favorite color is blue 💙

•His last name is Cooper. (Purely because I find it funny for him to have "coop" in his name. Like chicken coop lmao)

•Ears are pierced. I imagine 10mm gauges and two other piercings. Doesn't wear them super often, but enough so the holes don't close up.

•I think he'd be a Taurus. Stubborn but also down to earth.

•Started showing signs of depression as a teenager, but got dismissed as being "moody" and "lazy".

•Both parents had issues with alcohol and were distant/absent. His dad physically distant, as he was gone a lot and often came home drunk. His mom emotionally distant due to untreated depression.

•Leaving Shane to care for himself a majority of the time. So lots of microwaved pizza rolls and frozen dinners.

•Started drinking before the legal age because there was always alcohol in the house.

•Has not spoken to either parent since he moved out.

•Gridball was initially a good distraction for all the shit going on in his life and a way to get out of the house. Discovered he had a genuine love for the game and was really good at it. Good enough to play for the varsity team in college.

•Definitely a bit of a hot shot in college. Pretty popular for his goofy and easygoing personality and had a lot of friends(including Jas's parents). A few flings and serious relationships too.

•Ended up tearing his ACL, which put an end to his dream of going pro with his gridball career.

•Which exacerbated his depression and worsened his dependency on alcohol as a coping mechanism...which lead to a pretty bad breakup with his partner at the time. (This literally came to me in a dream lol)

•Light sleeper, particularly sensitive to noise. On top of having trouble sleeping a lot of nights because his brain won't shut off. Hence why he'll have a beer or two before bed, it helps him sleep.

•When that doesn't work he goes on walks. Nighttime is a preferable time to walk anyway because less chance to run into someone and have to make annoying small talk.

•Has dark circles under his eyes pretty much all the time due to lack of good sleep.

•Runs hot, basically a walking space heater. Which is great in the winter but MISERABLE in the summer.

•Was the best man at Jas's parents' wedding.

•And one of the first people to hold Jas after she was born. He was afraid he'd drop her or something and in awe of how tiny she was.

•Loves that little girl SO much, but when her parents died...he was in no position to be taking care of her. Not with his worsening depression and even worse alcohol dependency. So he signed over custody of her to Marnie, who was more of a mother figure to him than his own mom ever was(In my head, Marnie is Shane's mom's older sister).

•Used to spend summers on Marnie's farm as a kid. It was a nice break from his home life and gave him things to do.

•Was living with Marnie and Jas for about 6 months when Farmer moved to Pelican Town.

•It was his idea to pay rent, because he'd rather eat his shoe than feel like more of a burden than he already does.

•Listens to predominantly rock, but secretly knows the words to a lot of pop songs thanks to Jas.

•Lets Jas paint his nails or put makeup on him. Will wear the nail polish until it flakes off, no matter the color or glitter content.

•Has an armband tattoo of fairy roses around his bicep. For Jas, obviously.

•Definitely friends with Emily (they swap bird facts and just vibe) and and considers Sam a work friend(absolutely talk shit about Morris when not talking about music). He just seems to attract bright, friendly people lol

•Not a people pleaser by any stretch of the imagination (there's a reason he stocks shelves instead of being behind the counter at JojaMart), but loves making the people he cares about happy.

•Him being standoffish and prickly is definitely a defense mechanism. Can't get hurt again by losing someone if you never get close to them in the first place, right?

•Can tell when it's gonna rain because his bad knee starts hurting. When Emily teasingly calls him clairvoyant, he goes into a spiel about the scientific evidence that the drop in barometric pressure affects joints and it's not magic. It's basically an inside joke between them.

•Swears like a sailor but tries to censor himself around the children. So "sugar" and "fudge" and "son of a biscuit". Lot of food words lol

•Walks quietly. Accidentally scares people all the time because he just "appears out of nowhere".

[romione-trope-fest]

Love and War

Fic Title: Love and War 

Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange

Selected Trope: Cockblocker Harry (+ future fake not dating)

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione shared their first kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts…. Or at least that’s what everyone else thinks.

Word Count: 4078 (Chapter 1 of 3)

Rating: T (Will likely be upgraded to M for future chapters)

Any Trigger Warnings: Mention of character death 

Chapter 1

-The Burrow, Summer 1997-

Most summers at the Burrow were busy, but the summer of 1997 could only be described as chaotic. After a dramatic escape from death eaters and an intense week of mourning Mad-Eye Moody, the Weasley clan set out to bottle up their grief like freshly-brewed butterbeer and transform their homestead into a wedding venue. Normal Weasley things, really. 

It was a hot afternoon, and Ron just needed to be alone. Well, maybe not totally alone, but solitude was better than the frantic state of his home. The bustling Burrow provided the perfect opportunity for Ron to lie low. When he was certain Molly Weasley was distracted, he crept up the stairs, tiptoed into his room, and eased the door shut, breathing a sigh of relief for an empty space. He was desperate for a moment of rest, and couldn’t risk his mother spotting him finishing a chore just to assign him a new one. 

He plopped into his bed and buried his head into the pillow. Ron couldn’t help but feel his tasks were superfluous. He had only spotted one gnome during an entire morning of de-gnoming the garden, and as soon as he returned to the kitchen for a drink, his mum appeared with another chore — cleaning the downstairs bathroom. That wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t assigned to him for the third time that week. Mrs. Weasley, being the worrier that she was, probably just wanted to keep her children occupied.

Ron jolted at the sound of a knock on the door. “Erm, come in?” He jumped to his feet and grabbed a dirty shirt from the floor. Having something in his hand might make him look busy.

To his relief, it was Hermione who cracked the door open. 

“Hello.” Just like Ron, she shuffled across his room and collapsed onto his bed. 

He had to admit that he liked the way his bed looked with her on it. “Aren’t you supposed to be putting away laundry?” he asked.

“Already finished,” she said as she fluffed a pillow under her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the bathroom?”

“All done.”

“I reckon we should ask for another task then.” She shifted over to the side of his bed, and to Ron, it looked a lot like an invitation. 

He laid down next to her and rested his head on the pillow beside hers. “Nah. This is good,” he said, as he motioned to put an arm around her. She responded by sliding closer to him and placing her head on the front of his shoulder. 

The faint floral smell of her shampoo sent Ron’s mind into overdrive. It brought him back to the Gryffindor common room fifth year, when she suddenly sat much closer to him than usual and he caught a faceful of her hair, a moment that occupied his brain for weeks. He recalled the end of fifth year when she hugged him goodbye and lingered just a bit longer than she used to. And all those goodbye hugs that became kisses on the cheek.

Something was different. He couldn’t have imagined all that. 

“Where’s Harry?” she asked, extracting him from his train of thought. 

“Don’t know.” He gently pulled her closer to him. “Don’t care.”

“Nor do I,” she said as she nestled into his shoulder.

Ron’s eyes traveled to her lips. What would it be like to actually kiss her? She had to be expecting it, right? They’ve been dancing around a kiss since the end of fifth year. If it wasn’t for that Lavender hiccup they’d already be together right now. Probably. Maybe. 

Friends didn’t snuggle in bed together. When friends kissed each other on the cheek, it was firmly on the cheek, not somewhere questionably close to the lips. 

Hermione reached for Ron’s hand and interlaced her fingers with his. He traced the back of her hand with his thumb. 

Friends definitely didn’t do that. 

The moment had to be right. Was this moment right? You only get one first kiss. He glanced at the door to his bedroom. So many people were here, and in a crowd like this, there was no sense of privacy. 

“What are you thinking about?” asked Hermione. 

Kissing you, he wanted to say. 

“What are you wearing to the wedding?” he asked instead. As if that thought was any more innocent than the real one.

She chuckled. “Dress robes.”

“Like the ones you wore in fourth year?” His voice perked up and he remembered how stunning she looked. Even though she wasn’t with him, and he wasn’t supposed to be ogling her that day.

“Different dress robes.”

“Well, I reckon you’ll look beautiful. As always.”

Hermione squeezed his fingers. “Manage your expectations.”

He glanced down at her and could have sworn she glanced at his lips. 

“I reckon I don’t need to—” 

Footsteps appeared on the landing of the stairs. Hermione jolted away from him and let go of his hand just as Ron’s bedroom door swung open. Harry stood in the doorway, his face red as though he’d just run up the stairs.

“There you are!” he said, panting. “Your mum’s looking for you. She wants you to help tidy the guest room.”

Of course there were more chores. The break was nice while it lasted. Ron glanced at Hermione, who had already risen to her feet. 

“And Hermione,” continued Harry, “Ginny needs help getting the tent set up.”

“Right.” she said. 

Harry disappeared back into the hallway while Ron and Hermione lingered behind.

Ron turned to Hermione and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Harry’s voice trailing from the stairs. 

“Coming, Ron?”

Ron sighed.  “I’ll be right down,” he shouted through the door. 

* * *

The tent on the Burrow grounds was much larger on the inside than it would seem. Floating candles and cozy tea lights illuminated the dance floor, which nearly vibrated to the beat of the music. Ginny and Hermione’s decorating efforts paid off. They had managed to create an atmosphere that felt separate from the looming darkness and danger surrounding them. The sounds of chatter and laughter were a welcome distraction to what lay ahead. It was likely a combination of music, lighting, and a few cocktails, but Ron felt a lightness and confidence he’d rarely experienced before. 

It was probably that confidence that possessed Ron to ask Hermione to dance. There was no need to ‘manage his expectations’ when he saw her in her dress robes. His knees had nearly buckled out from under him and his breath got caught in his throat. He spluttered his invitation to dance, and thanked Merlin that she agreed. 

It turned out he wasn’t too bad a dancer after all. Holding her hand, he guided her to the middle of the room and pulled her into his arms. Any other day, the twinkling lights and the clatter of shoes on the dance floor would have been a distraction, but not today. Hermione was the center of his focus.

Dancing with her in his arms felt surprisingly natural, just like he’d imagined it all those times. His hands found the perfect nook at the small of her lower back, and hers wrapped around his neck like a cozy scarf. She looked him directly in the eye, and he resisted the urge to turn away, as if that would hide the rush of color creeping into his face. 

“What inspired this?” she asked. 

His response spilled out of him without a thought. “I finally had an opportunity to ask.”

It was true. He had regretted not dancing with her at the Yule Ball years prior, and there had never been an occasion to fix it. No dances, no galas, not until now. 

“A long time coming.” She was close enough that he could feel her breath on him.

“Too long,” he confirmed, drawing her closer so that her head rested on his chest. As if they had a mind of their own, his lips found their way to the top of her head and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

She melted into him, and he could feel her mouth form a smile against his chest. 

There remained a small part of him that wondered if they could still be considered just friends. His gut said they couldn’t be, and hadn’t been for a while. 

It wasn’t the perfect moment to kiss her yet. It was too crowded, and their first kiss should be in private. He was sure of it. 

The moment was coming, and the thought made his heart beat even faster. 

~Grimmauld Place, Summer 1997~

As the trio settled into bed in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, it was easy to forget that Bill and Fleur’s wedding was earlier that day. It felt like eons ago that Ron was holding Hermione in his arms, swaying to the music, and imagining the perfect moment to initiate their first kiss. 

He had made quite a big deal of insisting that Hermione take the couch that first night, and she had made an equally big deal of rejecting his attempts at chivalry. He eventually won out, and Ron found himself on the floor next to the sofa. His eyes traveled to her hand, which dangled from the edge of the couch as if daring him to reach for it. When he glanced up at her face, he was surprised to see her awake and looking back at him.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him. 

He smiled at the memory of her asking him the same exact question not too long ago. By now, she had to know she was always on his mind. 

“You,” he quipped, acknowledging how easy it was to say the right thing when he didn’t let himself think too much. 

She smiled and reached down for his hand and snaked her fingers through his. 

“What about me?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed, but she never broke her smile.

Ron paused before he answered, wanting more than anything to just be honest. 

“You know how I feel about you, right?”  

Her cheeks flushed and she nodded, sending Ron’s stomach into knots. “I think so. I hope so.”

“Do you feel the same way?”

Instead of answering she pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. His hand lingered at her mouth for what was maybe a moment too long, but she didn’t seem to mind. He brushed his thumb against her lips before reluctantly drawing hands away and re-intertwining their fingers. 

“Good,” he whispered, and those were the last words exchanged before falling asleep, hand in hand. 

* * *

The following few days at Grimmauld Place became a dance, with both Ron and Hermione hyper-aware of Harry’s presence, the insurmountable task at hand, and the hippogriff in the room — their admission to each other that first night. It didn’t take long to address the growing tension, but only in the form of glances across the room when no one was looking, or hands brushing against one another under the table at dinner time.

It was during a particularly sleepless night when Ron heard Hermione remove her blankets and tiptoe into the hallway. Ron glanced over at Harry, still sleeping soundly, before extracting himself from his blanket and following her. 

He found her in the library moments later, snuggled into an armchair with a book in hand. 

“What are you reading?” he whispered from the doorway. 

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. “Ron!”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing awake?” she asked. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

Hermione placed a finger between the pages and closed her book. “I come here to read when I can’t sleep,” she said, shrugging. “Get my mind off of things.”

Ron peered at the book in her hand, Little Women. “Fiction?”

“One can only take so much Hogwarts, A History.” 

Hermione scooted to one side of her armchair, which Ron interpreted as a signal. Following her lead, he made his way over and sat beside her. His arm draped over shoulder, and the depression of the cushion made her press her body to his. It was a tight squeeze, but Ron didn’t mind. 

“What’s it about?” pressed Ron. 

“You don’t really care,” she said as she dog-eared the page and placed the book on the nearby table. 

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t,” insisted Hermione. She shifted so that she was facing him and draped her legs over his lap.  Without a second thought, Ron rested his hand on her thigh. 

“I do,” he repeated again, prepared to defend himself against Hermione’s accusation when he saw that she was smiling at him. 

“Ron, it’s okay,” she said, and he could have sworn she inched her face closer to his.

Suddenly, his hand felt heavy on her thigh, and he realized he’d been trying hard not to move it. Would it feel too forward if he slid it higher? Would she take it as rejection if he slid it lower? Would keeping it planted firmly mid-thigh be the mark of a man who had no idea how to finally bridge the gap from best friends to more? Was he overthinking?

He probably was. How very Hermione of him. Was she overthinking too?

His gaze traveled to her lips, then back to her eyes. She was looking at his hand on her thigh. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, nodding toward his hand. 

“Yes.”

Ron’s ears burned hot. The whole world seemed to freeze as Ron contemplated how to proceed. Maybe there was no need to proceed, and he could just stay there forever, hand on her thigh, eyes on her lips. That wouldn’t be awkward at all, right? 

He slid his hand a pace higher. Hopefully she didn’t mind. The coy smile on her lips told him she didn’t. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, turning her new favorite question back on her.

She was quiet at first, and the silence was deafening. Her cheeks turned pink and she averted her gaze as if avoiding the question. 

Ron waited. “You can tell me,” he urged. 

Hermione took a full breath as though summoning her confidence and met his eyes. “I’m thinking about kissing you.”

Ron’s face grew even hotter and he once again became conscious of how close she was. Was this the moment? It had to be. He looked at her lips. She was looking at his too. This had to be the moment. 

Ron leaned in, and Hermione met him halfway. 

Their lips barely brushed before the sudden shuffling in the hallway brought his focus back to the present. Hermione must have heard it too, because she withdrew immediately and jolted off the chair, breaking their contact once and for all.

Fuck. 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” said a winded Harry from the doorway. “I woke up and panicked.”

Ron felt a pang of guilt at Harry’s admission. There was something to be said about sticking together at times like this. “Sorry mate. We just couldn’t sleep.”

He glanced over to Hermione, who seemed to be at a loss for what to do with her hands. She resorted to straightening out her shirt, which had gotten twisted while sharing a chair with him. Harry didn’t seem to think much of it, but Ron stifled a smirk. 

“Just glad you both are okay,” said Harry, adjusting his glasses. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Are you coming too?”

Ron glanced at Hermione. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Be right there,” echoed Hermione. 

With a nod, Harry turned into the hallway and shuffled back to the drawing room. 

“So, that was—“, he began.

“We shouldn’t do that,” she interrupted. “It would be irresponsible.”

“What do you mean?” Ron’s stomach clenched into a knot. The last thing he wanted to do was resist this. If not now, then when? “You were the one who said—” 

“It was a moment of weakness,” she huffed. “We can’t let ourselves get distracted, Ron.”

Distracted. The most distracting thing for him would be bottling up his feelings for her. 

“Hermione—“

“There’s a war, Ron.”

He knew she was right. Or at least, in this moment, she needed to be right. She had a point. In the past, just a slip of his imagination could pull him straight out of reality. But right now, losing focus meant losing everything. 

On the other hand, that almost-kiss wasn’t doing his ability to focus any favors. “It’s now or never, don’t you think?” 

“No, it’s not,” she said. “We have time.” Her voice trembled over the words, as if she wasn’t convinced herself. 

“Do we?”

“I have to believe that,” she said definitively. “I’m sorry.”

With that, Hermione shuffled back to the hallway, offering an apologetic glance on her way out. 

Ron groaned and leaned back in the armchair. The book on the side table caught his eye, and he immediately pictured Hermione cuddled up in the corner reading it. In the armchair. Or at the Burrow. Maybe one day, in his bed. The image sent him reeling. He knew those thoughts would persist until he finally kissed her. 

We have time, he repeated to himself, desperately hoping it was the truth. 

* * *

Over the course of the next few days, Grimmauld Place felt smaller than ever. It seemed that he and Hermione couldn’t walk through a hallway without accidentally brushing against one another. Every time she entered the room he was in, he would immediately forget his task at hand. He could have sworn she made prolonged eye contact and stood closer to him than normal. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe she was doing it on purpose. 

The trio had been planning to break into the ministry to retrieve the locket, and Ron knew this plan could change the trajectory of the war. It would be dangerous, life threatening even. It also carried the risk of alerting death eaters to their entire horcrux plan. If Voldemort caught wind of that, he would go to even greater lengths to protect himself, and defeating him would become that much more difficult. 

And yet, kissing Hermione Granger remained the first item on Ron’s to-do list. 

He sat in the kitchen alone, staring into a cup of tea, waiting for Harry or Hermione to join him for their daily brainstorming session. The tea brought back memories of third year divination, when he and Harry would try to determine each other’s fate  based on tea leaf shapes. If only he had paid attention in that class, maybe his tea could offer some reassurance about what was to come. 

“Morning.”

Hermione’s voice brought him back to reality, or at least as much of reality as he was capable of grasping when she was around. 

“Morning.”

She wandered to the kettle on the stove to pour herself a mug of tea. “How are you?” 

“I’m alright. A bit tired.”

Their conversations had felt terse as of late, but Ron knew exactly why. She was distracted, just like him. 

She wandered over to Ron and took a seat next to him. Then, shifted her chair a smidge closer. 

Ron chuckled. He didn’t hate the game they were playing, although Hermione would probably protest him calling it a game. 

But that’s exactly what it was. Since their moment in the library a few nights ago, they’d fallen asleep holding hands every night. They’d shared hugs in the hallway. He’d caught her eyeing him when he’d changed his shirt, which he’d purposefully done in the same room as her. She wanted to stay focused, but he was determined to make that particularly difficult. 

Ron ran his fingers through his hair to fluff it up a little. She always blushed when he did that. Then, he reached for her hand. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, without resisting intertwining their fingers.

“Your hand was distracting me,” he said. “So I’m holding it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

They sat for a few moments in comfortable silence before Hermione spoke again. “So you were so distracted by your shirt you had to take it off in front of me earlier?”

Ron laughed. “Yes.”

It wasn’t just him. Ron noticed how Hermione wore lipstick the other day, in fact, he watched her put it on. And that time she sat next to him on the sofa and undid her hair tie in his direction so that her curls brushed against his shoulder. She even gave him a fucking back rub after he mentioned he was sore from sleeping on the floor. Harry was sore too, but he didn’t get a back rub.

She knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Is it a problem?” he asked her. “Are you having a hard time staying focused?”

Hermione’s face tinged pink, then turned serious. “Honestly? I can’t stop thinking about the other night. 

“What other night?”

“In the library.”

Ron didn’t respond, opting to wait for her to clarify exactly what she meant. Did she want to reiterate that it can’t happen? Because frankly, he disagreed. 

“Me neither,” he said when she didn’t elaborate.  “But, like you said, we need to stay focused. Right?”

“Right,” said Hermione. “But all I focus on is the fact that Harry’s not in here right now.”

An involuntary smile broke across Ron’s face, and he had to admit he loved seeing Hermione flustered. 

“What are you saying?” As he spoke, swiveled in his chair to face her. 

“I’m saying that I regret not kissing you,” she said boldly. 

Ron’s ears burned as he instinctively reached for her waist. 

Was this the moment?

“So, no waiting until after the war?”

Hermione looked him in the eye and gently shook her head. “Now or never,” she whispered.

It was impossible to know who initiated but suddenly his lips were on hers. Her body shifted up against his, one of his hands tangled into her hair, the other wrapped around her lower back and pulled her into him. Her lips were soft and inviting, parting just enough to allow him a full taste. She tasted like peppermint tea and Hermione, nothing he could have described, but everything he expected. Her muffled moan sent a vibration down this throat and as a result, his fingers tightened around her hair and he held her closer. 

Yes, this was the moment. 

Kissing her felt foreign yet familiar, like a dream loaded with deja vu. Maybe because it had happened so many times already in his imagination. In the common room. In his dormitory. In his bedroom. Hermione’s hand traced along the back of his neck and sent pins and needles down his spine. He responded by rising to his feet, pulling her with him and pressing her up against the countertop, not caring that the thin fabric of his joggers left none of his excitement to the imagination. 

Based on the faint smile he felt from her lips under the kiss, Hermione didn’t seem to care either. 

Time stood still, and Ron had no way of knowing if they had been kissing for a minute or an hour. Nothing could have pulled him out of this. Except…

Footsteps. Fucking Harry.

They began quietly, from somewhere upstairs. They still had time. 

One of Ron’s hands slid from Hermione’s hair down the side of her neck, down her waist, and landed on her hip. In response, her fingers dug into the skin on his shoulders. 

The footsteps grew louder as Harry descended down the stairs toward the hallway. 

Hermione’s arms snaked around Ron’s neck as though she was hanging onto the moment in time. They remained entangled until Harry’s footsteps became dangerously close. 

Ron and Hermione broke their kiss the second the door to the kitchen burst open. A flustered Harry entered with a notebook in hand. 

“I have a plan,” he announced as he spilled into the room.

Harry glanced from Ron — who had nearly missed the barstool when he sat back down in a hurry, to Hermione — who was straightening out her hair. “Are you two okay?”

“Yes,” said Ron and Hermione in unison. 

Hermione cleared her throat. “What’s your plan, Harry?”

Harry slapped his notebook down on the counter between them. 

“Alright…first we will need some polyjuice potion…” 

As Harry dove into his plan for sneaking into the Ministry, Ron snuck a glance at Hermione. She smiled at him and he felt his cheeks tinge pink. 

They were just getting started. 

[curiositydooropened]

Steve Harrington Masterlist

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

Series

Hell Hound - Being FWBs with metal rockstar, Eddie Munson, is all fun and games until a dozen red roses show up at your door with a warning: Stay Away from The Devil or you will die. Despite your protests, Eddie appoints his personal bodyguard to keep an eye out for you.

Ranged - After Hell brought Horror to the Heartland, America’s dirt roads and open woods began to fall to rot and ruin. To prevent further inter dimensional slips, the government dispatched several workers, such as yourselves, to travel the country saving small communities. 

Wildfire - When Hawkins opened up and slowly slipped into the Ether, you were there on the front lines. Now, nearly two years later, after the tragic loss of your best friend, you're left without a partner and a rage building inside you like a wildfire. When you're given the option to retire or partner with your rival, Steve Harrington, you struggle to put aside your differences for the sake of the world.

Late Checkout - The cursor blinked. A writing retreat at an exclusive 5-star ski resort. A New Years Eve party in the moody lodge bar. A handsome heir. A bratty bad boy. A snowstorm blocking every guest from the outside world.

Oneshots

Chamomile - A look at two semesters spent meeting, knowing, and pining after Steve Harrington. Slowburn, college parties, dorm rooms, a bit of unrequited Ronance, and unforgettable memories with friends.

• Lemonade - A look at your week in Hawkins, soaking up the summer sun with your newfound friends. A follow-up to Chamomile.

Domesticity - After the final Battle of Hawkins, Steve Harrington has been recruited to find all of Brenner's "experiments" that didn't perish under Henry Creel's hand. Undercover in Suburbia, with you under his arm playing the role of dutiful wife, Steve uncovers more truths about himself than he bargained for.

Group Therapy - Steve’s friends encouraged him to attend group therapy, to push past the nightmares and insomnia. In such a small community of sufferers, he didn’t expect to meet you.

Better Off - Four years since Argyle's wedding, Robin invited you and the gang to her boss's lake house. Hoping good memories will be made, you're forced to wrestle with some ghosts of your past.

[theloveoffootball10]

sᴛɪᴄᴋᴡɪᴛᴜ : s ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ

m a s t e r l i s t

s ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ

Arriving back home on the Tuesday night I slump back on the sofa with a huff. The whole weekend has been incredible and now I have to prepare myself to go back into the office tomorrow. After I left Lando at the hotel on Monday morning I spent the rest of my time with my dad.

We went for breakfast before I met him back at home in Oxfordshire for the night. Being at my dad's home has always been one of my biggest security blankets and getting to spend the time there with him always reminds me of being a kid. Although I grew up with my parents not being together my mum would always drive the near 6 hour round trip from Cheshire to Oxfordshire and back again if I wanted to see my dad and he was home. We'd never tell him, we'd just jump in the car and be welcomed with open arms at the end of the journey.

"Hello to you as well, talk about moody Margaret walking through the door" my mum says from her spot in the corner of the sofa.

"I don't want to go back to work tomorrow" I feel like I'm on the biggest comedown of my life after spending so much time with Lando.

"Right who is he?" My mum asks as she pauses whatever she has playing in the background "come on tell me. You're never this depressed when you come home from your dads and you've been in the house less than 10 minutes"

"Mum do we have to" I say with a groan. I don't mind telling my mum what happened, I tell her literally everything I just don't know if I'm ready to have this conversation out loud.

"Yes we have to, you're not having a pity party for one over this. Which driver is it?" Turning my head to my mum I nearly give myself whiplash as I frown "don't give me that look. I've been there. Only a formula one driver can turn a girl to this"

"Lando Norris. Fucking hell I can't believe I'm saying it out loud to you"

"Ooh he's a good looking lad Lucía! He had a good weekend and now I think I know why" I can't believe my mum has just said that! "Look, I've been there Lucía and you've grown up in that world so I'm not surprised you've met someone working in formula one, if Lando Norris makes you happy then I'm made up for you"

"Muuuum nothing has happened other than sex" I say with a groan knowing in her head my mum has my wedding planned and is thinking of names for her future grandchildren "he wants to take me out in Miami for an actual date though"

"And I'm guessing you said yes? I'm sure he's got something insane up his sleeve if it's in Miami but after that date you had with that Jake lad even going to Starbucks for a brew is an improvement"

"Don't ever mention that date again! It was traumatic, I think I'm mentally scarred from that experience! Who tells a girl they're taking her out, tells her to dress to impress then takes her fishing! I won't ever be over that mum" I cringe at the thought of the worst date I've ever been taken on, sitting in the rain at the side of a lake surrounded by fishing gear absolutely freezing was never my idea of a good time.

"To be completely serious for a minute though Lucía, if you think you could have feelings for Lando give him a chance. If you don't that's fine, you're an adult and I trust that you're sensible enough to make the best decision for you. As always this stays between us until you're ready for your dad to know anything"

"Thanks mum. I appreciate it. We both have completely different lives but I'll see how it goes in Miami and then go from there" I can always count on my mum to make me feel better about a situation "did the stuff I need for Tomorrowland come?"

"You've got a load of parcels that came over the last few days so I'm guessing so. When is it you go?"

"Just under two weeks time, so this weekend I don't have plans then I have Tomorrowland, I'm home for like a week then fly to Miami" when it comes to summer I'm always back to back with plans. Since I was old enough to do my own thing I've always made the most of my anual leave throughout the summer. It would be easy for me to not work and live off my dad forever but I actually really like my job.

"I won't see you until you're back from Miami. I fly to Ibiza with the girls on Sunday when you're in Belgium. I'll make sure I leave your birthday present for you to open before you go or for when you're in Miami" my mum may be in her forties but I love that she still has girls party holidays to places like Ibiza. Me and some of my friends have been on holiday with my mum and her friends one of the most memorable being a long weekend in Magaluf.

"Mum don't worry about it. I can get it when we're both home. I'm going to shower and get sorted for work tomorrow" making my way to my bedroom I throw myself on the bed. I need to shower but I can't get Lando out of my head. Checking instagram I notice I don't have any messages from him which makes me wonder if this was just a Silverstone thing. I suppose I'll have to see what happens between now and Miami. I'm not saying I want scheduled phone calls from him but a few messages would be nice especially if he is serious about taking me out in Miami.

Nine days later I arrive in Belgium with some of my closest friends for Tomorrowland, the sun is shining and we're staying in a mansion rather than camping this year so the ten of us can stay together. As a group we do this trip every year, kind of like a ritual but we've grown up together and since we were all old enough it became our thing. Posting a photo of the girls to my instagram story I pour the first of many drinks I'll be consuming this weekend.

As we're all getting settled in our home from home for the weekend I sit on my bed when I see a notification pop up on my phone. Lando Norris replied to your story. I've spoken to Lando a few times since we left Silverstone and still it's always a dm. Neither of us has asked for the other's number but I always feel like I have a heard of elephants in my stomach when I see his name on my phone screen.

landonorris

I guess I'll see you Sunday and won't have to wait until Miami x

emselucia

You're coming to Tomorrowland?

Aren't you in Hungary?

landonorris

I'm flying straight over after the race and when I'm done with media x

I might just sack off the media now I know you're at Tomorrowland x

emselucia

That wouldn't be a good idea would it Mr Norris. I can only imagine how much the media and your PR manager would disapprove. However I would appreciate seeing your face x

landonorris

Mr Norris is my dad plz don't ever say that again 🤢 you can see my face as much as you like. Enjoy the weekend as much as you can, I'm jealous I can only be there Sunday x

emselucia

we both know your weekend will be even better when you see me though so it doesn't matter if you're not here for the full weekend 😜

See you Sunday Lando x

I'm fucked. Lando Norris has well and truly got me under his spell and I'm hanging on his every word. I might love Tomorrowland but I'm wishing the next three days away until it's Sunday and I get to see him again. The fact I get to see him before Miami has made my weekend.

[kay-elle-cee]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! ❤️

Why not put your MMM fic in this list, it's such a great one! I'm sure you're proud of it ;-) xx

You and @nena-96 both think you're so sneaky 😉 Joke's on you, my MMM fic isn't one of my top 5 so HA! Also tagging @siriuslychessi who also sent this ask in!

Now this is really difficult and obviously subjective to my mood 😅 but....

i'll be fine, i'll be good Slytherin Lily AU | M | Multichap ~60k Lily Evans is never enough. Until she’s given the chance to be. Until she is.

restless waves rise and fall Pirate AU | T | Multichap ~40k In which James Potter is a gentleman pirate and Lily Evans is his loyal but vastly more competent First Mate.

A Thrill Divine, Down My Spine Canon Divergent | T | Oneshot 2.3k Two totally platonic friends get drinks after a rough day.

to have and to hold and to fight like hell Canon Compliant | T | Oneshot 2.2k It's James and Lily's wedding day, and emotions are…complicated. There's a target affixed to their backs — a muggleborn witch marrying the last Potter — and Alastor Moody plans to use that target to the Order's advantage.

And The Roar Will Rise Newsies AU | T | Twoshot ~20k It's James Potter's last summer running the circulation beat for The Daily Prophet, and he's determined to make it through the high season and leave the country—and the ghosts of his past—behind. But when the paper is sold to a new owner who begins printing vicious headlines that vilify the Wizarding community, he finds himself leading the charge of Magic and Muggle newsies (and one brilliant reporter) to take action.

I feel like some of these were neck-and-neck and could've easily been swapped out for others, but this is what I'm feeling at the moment! Thank you for the ask! <3

[carewyncromwell]

"But the tigers come at night With their voices soft as thunder, As they tear your hopes apart -- As they turn your dream to shame...!

You can take -- (And still I dream he'll come to me,) You can give... (That we will live the years together,) Let him be! (But there are dreams that cannot be,) Let him live! (And there are storms we cannot weather!)

If I die, let me die! Let him live..."

~"Bring Him Home/I Dreamed a Dream (mash-up)" by Adam Bayjou and Lucy O'Byrne

x~x~x~x

Talbott's Death's-Head-Hawkmoth bolo tie // original inspiration for Carewyn's dress

x~x~x~x

Hi all! Recently Hogwarts Mystery put out a rather underwhelming sidequest about Voldemort possibly returning to the Wizarding World, and I decided it'd be a great time to make some Second Wizarding War content for my girl Carewyn...specifically about the good friend she grew even closer to in that time, Talbott Winger!

Even at school, Talbott and Carewyn did discover they were truly "birds of a feather," upon becoming friends in their fourth year. They're both the type to put walls up around their hearts to hide their more fragile emotions, as well as to prefer the company of a few close friends to large crowds, and they both harbor a strong desire to improve the world around them despite the personal traumas of their respective childhoods. Post-Hogwarts both Talbott and Carewyn even pursue careers in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an Auror and lawyer, respectively, and it's with Talbott, his Auror partner Tonks, his Auror mentor Mad-Eye Moody, Hitwizard Ben, her own legal mentor Amelia Bones, and fellow lawyer Chester Davies that Carewyn ends up working with most closely, at the start of her career.

When the Second Wizarding War happened, though...well, that list of Ministry associates Talbott and Carewyn had accrued shrank very, very fast. Amelia Bones and her entire family was assassinated not long after Voldemort's return was fully revealed in the spring of 1995. Mad-Eye was killed in the summer of 1997 while trying to get Harry Potter to safety before his 17th birthday. Tonks had to immediately go into hiding after Bill Weasley's wedding due to her connection with the Order, and Ben had to go into hiding not long later from the newly formed Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Even Chester Davies ended up taking an assignment in Romania during a large stretch of the War, so as to support and protect his old associate and fellow Prefect Felix Rosier, who was a persistent mark for Death Eaters trying to force him to join their ranks. Several of Carewyn and Talbott's other friends outside the Ministry, like Chiara Lobosca, Barnaby Lee, and Bill Weasley, had also been forced underground to evade the Death Eaters. This left Talbott and Carewyn largely alone to deal with the blatant rot and evil that had corrupted their Department -- the place where they'd both so desperately wanted to make a difference, and yet now was forcing them to march lock-step with their disgusting whims.

Fortunately one other thing Talbott and Carewyn shared was their determination to not just cowardly shrink in the face of evil. And so covertly, both of them found a way to support the fight against Voldemort. Neither of them ever joined the Order of the Phoenix like Tonks did -- Carewyn had way too much negative feelings toward Dumbledore to ever accept him as her "commander," and Talbott preferred to follow his father's example and not explicitly join any formal organization -- but they were still valuable in their own way in opposing the Death Eaters. Carewyn smuggled intelligence out of the Ministry to anti-Voldemort causes and even took charge of the Ministry and put Umbridge under citizen's arrest during the Battle of Hogwarts. Talbott was a pivotal correspondent at Potterwatch (using the name "Raptor"), reporting on the glossed-over casualties of the War, but also frequently writing and reading aloud inspirational pieces to promote hope in Voldemort's disheartened victims. And they also worked together sometimes to smuggle prisoners out of the Ministry to safehouses, such as Carewyn's future "ward" Erik Apollo and eventual legal partner Orion Amari and his daughter Eos.

Although in retrospect, their fight was not in vain, and their eventual triumph could be seen as worth all of the turmoil and pain they suffered through, however, this doesn't mean that in the midst of it, Carewyn and Talbott didn't experience their fair share of despair, hopeless, and grief. One of these such moments was on Boxing Day, 1997, when Carewyn visited Talbott at his home in Godric's Hollow. He had called into work that day without any warning -- a very unusual occurrence -- and it prompted Carewyn right away to check on him. She arrived very late at night, when just about everyone else in Godric's Hollow was asleep -- and when Carewyn entered Talbott's Secret-guarded cottage, she found her friend collapsed in his armchair, his tear-stained face more worn and exhausted than Carewyn had just about ever seen it. Talbott had immediately bolted up at someone entering, wand raised, and had not relaxed even an molecule of an inch until they exchanged questions and answers that would verify each other's identity.

"What name did I call you, in the poem I wrote after we first met?" "'Looking-Glass Eyes.' What did you bring me on my first night in the Hospital Wing, after Rowan's death?" "A handwritten copy of the poem 'Immortality' by Claire Harner."

It was only then that Talbott slowly lowered his wand and, seeming a bit weak on his feet, swayed back to his armchair. Carewyn immediately rushed over to support her friend as he collapsed back down into it, wiping the moist mix of sweat and tears from his face.

"...Bathilda Bagshot is dead," he said at last.

Carewyn looked up, horrified.

"She'd kind of retreated into her house, these last few months," Talbott explained lowly. "An understandable thing, under the circumstances. But on Christmas, her house just blew up out of nowhere, and the Aurors were sent to investigate, and...well, even if Yaxley's crew tried to cover it all up, I saw her body, before they took it..."

Talbott's head fell as he closed his eyes, almost as if wanting to shut out the image.

"She'd been torn to pieces, Carewyn," he whispered. "Like some disgusting parasite had buried itself inside of her and then just ripped her apart..."

Carewyn slowly eased herself down onto the footstool beside his armchair, her blue eyes rippling with sorrow.

"Talbott, I'm so sorry...I know she was kind to you, when you first moved in here. Mum's always spoken so well of her -- everything I've ever heard of Bathilda Bagshot was how sweet and helpful she was..."

"She was a good woman," Talbott agreed.

He exhaled heavily through his nose as he slowly opened his eagle-like eyes.

"That's not all, though. After the fact, it came out that the reason the Aurors were called out so quickly was that 'Undesirable Number 1' may have been spotted in the vicinity of Bagshot's house."

Carewyn gave a start. "Potter?"

Talbott nodded.

"When I followed up with the rest of Potterwatch, they didn't have any real idea what he might've been doing there or what happened to Bagshot, while he was in her house...but Lupin thinks it's very likely he came to Godric's Hollow because it's where his parents died. If so...then it's possible that Bagshot found him and brought him back to her house, before whatever happened."

Carewyn's eyes softened with sadness. She knew full well Godric's Hollow hosted the old ruins of the Potter home -- she'd passed the old memorial a few times when she'd come to visit Talbott in the past. Talbott even walked over there with Carewyn, Tonks, and Chiara one Halloween not long after he first moved in, so they could all pay their respects.

"I know it's silly for me to wish I was there, but..." Talbott brought his head into his hand, his eyes falling down to the ground. "...He must've come to see his parents. They're buried in a plot only about ten feet away from where my parents are -- a plot I've visited on every holiday, bar this year..."

Talbott closed his eyes and hung his head.

"If I'd just visited this year, maybe I would've been there, when Potter was. He could've hidden out at my place instead -- I could've been more able to fight whatever attacked him and Bagshot -- "

"Talbott, don't blame yourself!" Carewyn said fiercely.

Her hand clutched at his arm, even as her eyes likewise fell down to the carpet, rather than remaining on him.

"...We don't know what it is that attacked Potter and Bagshot. For all we know, it could've been some elaborate trap set up by You-Know-Who, in case Potter ever showed up. After all, you moved here because your parents are buried here...it would make perfect sense if Potter wanted to visit this place as well..."

"Of course it does!" said Talbott, his voice strained. "That's all the more reason to wish I was there. I understand why he'd want to be here...I understand it probably more than anyone else..."

Carewyn's hand ran gently along Talbott's forearm, trying to comfort him. Talbott looked down at his own feet as he once again exhaled.

"Fred and George talk about him all the time. Lupin and Shacklebolt, as well. He's a lot like you, from what I gather -- modest and brave...with the ridiculous tendency to play the hero in every situation," the slightest of wry smiles flickered at the corners of his lips before quickly fading. "...Most of all...I gather he's never forgotten his parents. Lupin said once that the only real memories Potter has of his parents is of the night they died -- of them selflessly trying to save him, even as Vol -- the Dark Lord closed in..."

Talbott's lips twitched unhappily -- he hated the Taboo that forced him not to use Voldemort's real name.

"...I know I've never met the kid, but...I know what that's like. The not being able to forget. The knowledge that your parents gave everything, just so you could live. The shadow it casts over you...and how much it makes you fear losing anyone else...all those people who've become your family, in the place of the one you lost..."

His reddish eyes seemed to burn. Carewyn could feel waves of empathetic pain pooling off of her friend, even without him looking her right in the eye.

"I know it's silly, but...even if I don't really know Potter, and it's not like he'd have any reason to trust me in that circumstance when he doesn't know me from Adam...I wish I'd been there, for him. Because...I've been him, more than once."

The sorrow in Carewyn's eyes deepened. She bowed her head, and her forehead ended up lightly grazing the top of Talbott's head as she closed her eyes.

"You feeling that way is not silly," Carewyn said very softly. "It's noble. It's kind. And I know...if Potter is as much like you as he sounds to me...then he would appreciate knowing he wasn't alone."

Her low volume couldn't mask the strong emotions that choked her voice. Even though Talbott lacked Carewyn's flair for Legilimency, Talbott knew at his heart that -- like him -- Carewyn was likewise full of empathy for Potter's pain...because she, like both of them, also understood how much grief could isolate you...how much time could never take away the phantom pains of that loss.

Do not stand by my grave, and weep -- I am not there, I do not sleep...

The memory of the poem he'd given Carewyn after Rowan's death ran over Talbott's mind again as he looked up at his old friend. He took in the paleness of her face and the pain in her shut eyes, and he found himself bringing his own hand down to hold her arm, the way she was his. Talbott didn't speak, instead just keeping their posture as it was, with both of them leaning on each other and holding each other's arms.

Sometimes true solidarity -- true friendship -- requires no words.

[elmleif]

It's the last day of summer which means Saoirse and Cillian's wedding is just days away. At their engagement dinner Mr. Moody overheard them talking about still being on the lookout for a venue, so he was sure to let them know they are more than welcome to use his restored barn if they'd like. With a little gap in their very busy schedules Saoirse and Cillian headed out to The Bramblewood with their closest friends to tour the barn, and as soon as she stepped foot on the property Saoirse knew it was perfect. It was small and quaint, it overlooked the river and rolling hills, and Mr. Moody did a wonderful job at preserving the old, rustic feel of the barn while also having it beautifully furnished with secondhand furniture. After their little tour, Cillian stopped to chat with Mr. Moody one last time before heading home and asked if he would do them the honor of officiating their wedding as it would be so fitting on his lovely property.

[rom-e-o]

Blue (Scrooge/Constance) Ficlet

On a morning like any other, Ebenezer finds himself captivated by Constance as she applies her make-up in the morning. He stands in the doorway, his eyes fixed upon her graceful movements and the way her face transforms with each stroke of color. Constance catches him watching and playfully teases him about his apparent fascination.

Rated PG for suggestive content and language! FULL STORY UNDER GIF.

The morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the bed, casting a soft glow upon the bedchamber. Shades of gold and green glimmered in the light of dawn, highlighting all the high-points of the deco-style, geometric furniture with sprinkles of light.

The newest installation in the bedroom sat in a corner near the chamber’s moody, stone fireplace. It was a deeply lacquered vanity, featuring a mirror rimmed with carved chrysanthemums and drawers trimmed with golden hardware, that Ebenezer had purchased for Constance as a wedding present. The gift was not only greatly appreciated (Constance had kissed him practically senseless following the reveal) but used daily. It allowed her to stay in the bedroom as she readied herself for the day, which was much more convenient that occupying an entire bathroom.

On a velvet-lined stool, Constance sat down at the impressive piece, pulling at her slip to make sure to make sure it didn’t wrinkle under her bum when she sat.  Normally, she would have donned a robe for this part of her morning routine. Yet, with summer arriving mere weeks before and the heat of a stuffy London June in full effect, she’d opted for less layers, especially since she was within the privacy of the bedroom she shared with her husband.

Reaching into a drawer a palette of colors before her, she produced a compact of two eyeshadow colors; corn-flower blue and wasp-bone brown. 

As she delicately brushed a hint of the blue eyeshadow onto her lids, she noticed a flicker of movement in the doorway.

There, standing with his arms crossed and a handsome grin upon his face, was Ebenezer. He was watching her with full attention.

Donned only in his trousers, as he’d paused mid-dress to gaze upon her, he drank in the lovely sight of his almost bare form before him.

A fond smile played on his lips as he watched her transform from a bare-faced goddess to the enchanting woman before him. Her cosmetic routine was one that only he bore witness to, and as a result, he was quite protective of it. A surge of pride went through him every time he realized that he was the only one who got to witness the sacred ritual of watching the woman ready herself to face the world.

She was a performer; a socialite. In a way, her make-up was a mask. A persona she adopted in public. It was also a form of inspiration for her. For so long, her former partner had controlled every aspect of her life, from the dresses she wore to the food she was allowed to eat and, of course, her make-up.

With her freedom from his chain came the opportunity to…find herself. To embrace opportunities she’d never had before!

For example, er ex-husband hated blue. In fact, he’s said it was a color ‘suited for newborns, and nobody else.’ So, she adorned cornflower-blue eyeshadow to match her eyes and emphasize her taffy-colored hair. She took such delight in the gesture, giggling and smiling with each tap of a brush against her eyelid.

After a beat, Constance glanced back at him through the reflection in the mirror, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"My lovely husband," she teased, her voice laced with a playful tone. "Am I to believe that you find my morning routine so captivating that you cannot tear your eyes away?"

Ebenezer chuckled softly, his gaze fixed upon her radiant face. "Guilty. Your beauty never fails to mesmerize me, even in the simplest of moments."

Constance pretended to ponder his words for a moment, her brush pausing mid-air. "Hmm, perhaps I should start charging admission for the privilege of witnessing my morning make-up routine. I could make a fortune with your undivided attention."

Ebenezer stepped closer, his eyes brimming with adoration. Goodness, he loved when she accepted his compliments. It was a rare occurrence. Some other London gentlemen were dense enough to call any lack of modesty ‘unladylike’ (whatever the bloody hell that meant, he thought) but nothing excited him more than when his lovely wife seemed to catch a glimpse of the all-encompassing beauty that he saw.

"I would gladly pay any price to witness the magic that unfolds before me each day,” he said, his voice soft and genuine.

With a knowing smile, Constance continues to apply a touch of color to her lips, her movements slow and deliberate. Ebenezer's gaze followed the path of the lipstick as it glided over her the skin, turning the soft pink flesh a delicious shade of matte red.  

As she blotted the color to help it retain its vibrancy, she could see his eyes move to watch the pursing and plumping of her colored lips.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, Ebenezer closed the remaining distance between them. His expert hands lofted to her shoulders, covered only by the thin straps of her slip. With the press of his fingers, he worked her shoulders and spine in such a way that a moan left her.

His voice, filled with warmth, purred seductively in her ear. "My Sunflower, everything about your beauty, adorned with make-up or bare as a cloudless sky, transcends the strokes of any artist’s brush.”

Constance met his gaze in the mirror, his words making her chest heave with deep, stunned breaths. She sat down her lipstick, her fingers reaching up to touch his cheek.

“You have a way of making me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world,” she whispered sweetly.

“I am merely an honest man,” he countered swiftly.

“Oh, you!” she giggled, reaching for an atomizer of perfume. She sprayed it across her collarbone, the combination of pear and lily notes hypnotic and alluring. In summer, she also added a touch of apricot oil to the bottle, for a seasonal touch. He thought it made her smell even more delectable, and only enhanced his desire to take a bite out of her sumptuous form.

Before she could spray the back of her neck, he stole the bottle from her hands to assist her. Holding the crystalline bottler as gently as a dove, he held up her molten locks as he spritzed her shoulders and back, making sure all her pulse-points were properly dressed with the fragrant potion.

“Shall I testify it before the court of law?” he asked. “Under threat of perjury?”

“I think I’d die of embarrassment,” she said with a blush, waving a hand dismissively before her face.

He reached over her to set the bottle down. Then, with their faces inches apart, he turned to face her with eyes as hot as twin stars. “You’d look radiant, and you damn well know it.”

The room filled with silence as Ebenezer's hand found its way to the back of Constance's neck. Briefly toying with a curl of the strawberry-gold hair, he wound the mock around his fingers before bringing it to his lips. Then, his entire hand danced up the waterfall of hair until it reached the back of her head, and he could easily fist his fingers in the long strands.

Then, slowly, he urged her to turn her head.

Their lips meet in a kiss filled with the depths of love, the taste of devotion and the brush of smoldering passion that the closeness of their bare bodies was threatening to become rekindled.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting gently against each other, Constance whispered, “You… may stare all you like, Ebenezer. No charge.”

He let out a teasing chuckle as he pushed some loose tendrils of hair back from her face. It appeared “You won’t grow tired of my adoration?”

With deadpan seriousness, she shook her head. “I will never tire of anything about you.”

Ebenezer smiled, his voice a mere whisper against her lips.

"Then, with your blessing,” he started, sweeping her off the seat and into his arms, “I will continue to marvel at the incredible woman I am fortunate enough to call mine."

<><><>

@quill-pen​ I’m really riding high with this new “blue” motif, haha! 

[ourperfectidos]

[hawkinsgirlnextdoor]

Songs I Think Stranger Things Characters Would Listen To (The Party + Erica: Edition)

Note: For these lists, I tried to include songs that we haven't really seen in canon for the characters. We know that Max likes "Running Up That Hill", we know Mike likes "Small Town Boy", and we know Will likes "Boys Don't Cry". I love those songs and they are included in these playlists but I'm more interested in using music as a way to expand on and flesh out these characters.

I have also linked to Spotify playlists for each character. If you agree or disagree with any of my picks, please let me know!

Will Byers

Will has inherited a lot of his music taste from Jonathan but it's evolved in a way that's distinctly his own. Unlike his brother, Will's music tends to be more pop-focused. He likes new wave, post-punk, and moody songs that he can listen to while he paints. I think Will really pays attention to the lyrics of the music he listens to and it serves as a kind of therapy for him.

In Between Days by The Cure

Elegia by New Order

Mad World by Tears For Fears

Lost in the Supermarket by The Clash

It's A Sin by Pet Shop Boys

Major Tom (Coming Home) by Peter Schilling

Without You by David Bowie

This Charming Man by The Smiths

Mike Wheeler

Mike is always trying to appear slightly cooler than he is. He likes classic rock in a very Eric Forman way (if that makes any sense). By the time he joins Hellfire Club, he's trying to emulate Eddie's style and music taste because he just thinks Eddie's that cool. At his core, Mike enjoys sappy songs about love, life, and heartbreak because he's a dork who likes to jam out in his room.

Never Surrender by Corey Hart

Dream On by Aerosmith

Suburbia by Pet Shop Boys

Punishment For Love by Bronski Beat

Hold Me Now by Thompson Twins

Hells Bells by AC/DC

Summer of '69 by Bryan Adams

Eighteen by Alice Cooper

El "Jane" Hopper

El is just finding her own music taste. She’s only been shown music by her friends or Hopper so she picks and chooses what she likes. Mostly that’s a lot of pop music and ballads. She also watches a lot of MTV so her taste tends to skew pretty mainstream. When Max teaches her how to put together mixtapes her’s tend to be pretty upbeat or dramatic depending on her mood. While she’s contemplating her relationship with Mike she listens to a lot of gaudy break-up ballads. 

Hey Mickey by Toni Basil

She Bop by Cyndi Lauper

The Promise by When In Rome

Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler

Talk Talk by Talk Talk

Could've Been by Tiffany

Destination Unkown by Missing Persons

Two of Hearts by Stacey Q

Max Mayfield

Max’s music taste is kind of hard to pinpoint. It’s really a grab bag of pop, rock, experimental, and softer punk. The only way I can describe it is like “spunky”. There are also moments when the music she listens to becomes more introspective and brooding. In “Runaway Max” she mentions liking The Go-Go’s and The Beach Boys. 

Dreaming by Blondie 

We Got The Beat by The Go-Go’s 

Kids In America by Kim Wilde 

The Girl U Want by DEVO

Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes 

Hounds of Love by Kate Bush 

California Dreamin by The Beach Boys 

White Wedding - Pt.1 by Billy Idol 

Dustin Henderson

Dustin is the nerdiest of nerdiest teenage boys (we wore a "Weird Al" t-shirt on his first day of high school I mean come on). He thinks that "Weird Al" is a genius for his use of parody and critique of pop culture (which, he's not wrong). He's always liked metal but it's only become more prominent for him since hanging out with Eddie so much. Being in Hellfire though has caused him to be more stealthy about his love for novelty records and one-hit wonders. He makes mixtapes full of love songs and saves up his money to send them to Suzie in Utah.

She Blinded Me With Science by Thomas Dolby 

Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen 

The Safety Dance by Men Without Hats 

Weird Science by Oingo Boingo 

I’m Gonna Be by The Proclaimers 

As The World Falls Down by David Bowie 

Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley 

I Lost On Jeopardy by “Weird Al” Yankovic

Lucas Sinclair

Lucas’ music taste is pretty diverse. He likes rock music but not as hard as Mike and Dustin’s taste. I imagine he’s picked up a lot of soul and r&b music from his parents, specifically his mom. In “Lucas On The Line” Lucas is introduced to Run-D.M.C. and really takes a shine to it so I imagine he’d be listening to some rap and hip hop. My qualifications for my picks were “would Lucas sing this infront of his bedroom mirror while using a hairbrush as a microphone?”. 

Another One Bites the Dust by Queen 

Walk This Way by Run-D.M.C. 

Dirty Diana by Micheal Jackson

Juke Box Hero by Foreigner 

Easy Lover by Philip Bailey & Phil Collins 

Everything She Wants by Wham!

You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine by Lou Rawls 

Never Too Much by Luther Vandross

Erica Sinclair

Erica is eleven so she tends to gravitate towards music that's popular or that she hears on the radio. Pop and R&B make up most of her cassette collection. The music she likes tends to be very upbeat and kick-ass (these songs are all bangers so she has amazing taste). Like Lucas, she also does dorky lipsyncing in her bedroom but unlike him, she's never been caught.

Head to Toe by Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam 

I Feel For You by Chaka Khan 

What Have You Done For Me Lately by Janet Jackson 

Got to Be Real by Cheryl Lynn 

Let’s Hear It For the Boy by Denise Williams

Rhythm of The Night by DeBarge 

Cool It Now by New Edition 

Swept Away by Diana Ross 

[vaida-talks-about-everything]

Kailman Legacy || 15: The Ballad of Edith Dean [Part 3]

With Love Day finally over and the summer well underway, Edith Dean has spent most of her time away from the public eye, letting her spray tan fade, but her passion for music strengthens. After her niece and nephew’s birthday party, she dreamt of city life as more glamorous but familiar to her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than just her mind’s wanderings but a prophecy for what was to come. After a quick swim, Edith Dean got dressed up and headed out to her first official meeting with Octavia to talk business. Thankfully, older sister Emily Louise was in town for work and able to be there as a soundboard for what Mrs. Moon could offer. Emily Louise didn’t climb the corporate ladder without learning to see through legalese and was more than willing to ensure her little sister got the best deal she could.

So, over brunch, the trio of women got to know one another. Emily Louise found it odd that Octavia kept her wedding ring on, but considering their separation wasn't public, it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary. Edith Dean shared her vision for her first album, which was inspired by the female country storytellers of the past, lyric-heavy and moody, with a few dance-worthy songs to keep the listener engaged. Octavia was on board with this direction, especially since the public would love to know the details of what brought her name to the headlines in the first place. Her enthusiasm for exposing her soon-to-be ex-husband was apparent, almost too much so, but the sisters went along with it for the time being. She eventually returned to her potential client, telling her she could have a gig lined up once they finalize the image they'll launch her with. They spent the rest of their brunch brainstorming, and Octavia sent their ideas to a trusted stylist.

Said stylist was already shopping around one of her favorite spots, letting her know she could pull some ideas together within the hour. So the trio finished their food and headed to Copperdale's quirky thrift shop, ThriftTea Boutique, thankfully empty of other patrons for the time being. As Edith Dean got into the different outfits, all with her signature pink, she was overjoyed at the idea of such a stunning debut in the music world and couldn't choose which was her favorite from the bunch.

The first was inspired by the vengeful woman of country music eager to key their boyfriend's car and dawn a darker look, embracing their female rage and an edger sound. It wasn't too far off Edith Dean's natural styling, making her feel powerful. The second was more of the modern, girlie aesthetic that softer female vocalists in the genre embraced, with tall, white boots lengthening her already long frame. The last was the most surprising to her. While it was within her typical color palette, it was young in a way that reminded her of her school uniform, with heart-printed tights and Mary-Jane's. She thought it would look like she was trying to play innocent as the two women across from her took it all in. Playing into her youth, while certainly tempting from a PR perspective, did make her slightly uncomfortable, especially with Thorne being twice her age. Still, Edith Dean knew she looked the part. Plenty of pictures were taken, and while she and her sister spent the afternoon together, she wondered what picture she wanted to paint upon launching her career.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 17] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content Warning: Themes of sexual assault and depictions of unwanted sexual advances.

It took half a mind not to bite the man. Lash out in raw, feral fury and take out at least one of his eyes. Succumb to your mind’s screaming to descend into a slobbering, gnashing blur of nails and teeth, all growing more and more tempting with every lingering second Aleksandr Ogievich’s hand rested on your lower back. You could do it, too. Take a bite out of his blubbery cheek before he can even register your movement. Your mouth’s proximity to his throat made your thoughts of massacre trickle into your mind. That steady trickle became a thundering waterfall whenever he’d take a breath from blabbering about his Wife’s insistence on buying a second summer home in Monaco and glide his stocky fingers over your ass. 

No. Continue twirling his tie between your fingers and steeling your nerves. This is all intel Laswell and co. are watching through your necklace and hearing every vile utterance through the bangle you strategically kept held over his chest. Your coos of affection were so fake, so soulless, though he seemed to lap it up. His breath reeked of olives and vodka, though every slick mouthful of the clear liquid that slid down his gullet sparked growing confidence that he’d get looser with his conversing. Sooner or later, he’ll shut the fuck up about all the grand and expensive things he’s been up to, and the glassy eyes of the target of Ogievich’s dialogue said he shared the same sentiment. 

Between giggles and delighted squeals, you occasionally dared to swing your eyes over the growing crowd, moody dim lighting making it increasingly difficult to identify faces since daylight had been extinguished. The woman with the white lipstick from earlier was teetering a shot of either vodka or tequila between her tits, gleefully gulped by a man in snakeskin loafers. The glint of a wedding ring on his left finger forced you to redirect a bursting laugh into a stifled cough. He turned and caught your eyes. Fuck. You waved with fluttering fingers, turning to snuggle closer to your vapid paramore, enraptured by his opinions about authentic Russian vodka. 

“That’s Lucia Chacón. He’s the leading presidential candidate for the upcoming Venezuelan election,” Laswell spoke into your ear breathlessly, seeming shocked by the identification. 

It was just your luck that the president-elect was swaggering towards you. Your heart sank to a depth you’d never thought possible. You looked away again, begging that dodging eye contact would make him magically disappear into the thunderous, bassy roar of the booming Mirachi music. Feigning giving the Russian diplomat your rapt attention, nodding along attentively. Nope, a shadow darkening your peripheral said otherwise. 

“Aren’t you a precious thing,” he cooed in attempted confidence, betrayed by his fumbling English pronunciation. 

You blinked dumbly, flicking the gum over your teeth in a snapping pop, offering him a pouting smile. The orc beside you finally recognized the additional presence, huffing into a breathy chortle, making your head that was planted over his shoulder shake in the commotion. 

“Ah, Lucia! Good to see you again,” he spoke, oozing the smell of warm olives and liquor over you, “This n’ doesn’t speak. Well, she does, but only Russian.” He slapped his hand on your ass. You disguised barred teeth as a dumbfounded smile. 

“Hah, well, you know me,” his palms tilted upwards in an enthusiastic show, “the less talkin’ they do, the better, hey?” the president-elect clamoured, playfully nudging Ogievich’s other shoulder. 

Another bellowing laugh. To sell the illusion, you smiled sweetly, turning to look over your shoulder at something in the distance to imply you had no knowledge of their dialogue. In a sick and twisted way, you were pleased that people like Graves were watching an interaction like this through your communicators. 

“You know me, Lucia, I’m never shy of sharing my toys,” your companion blurted, the implication sending a chill down your spine as your mind connected with his affiliation with human trafficking back home. “But not this one. She’s my little slice of the motherland,” he retorted in his thick Russian accent.

“Oh, come on, let me take this sweetness off your hands,” he urged, with fumbling pronunciation.

“Wars have been started for less,” Ogievich responded, cheeks glinting with crimson as the alcohol was beginning to work its magic. 

That’s when you saw it. Saw her. A slim, relatively tall woman with brown hair and blonde highlights, an oddly lax red dress sat on her shoulders, implying it wasn’t her native wardrobe. Though, to be fair, yours wasn’t either. The sight was just for a moment. A flicker of a visual that made your heart skip before she disappeared into the dim crowd. Adrenaline surging through your veins commanded your feet to rise, but dutiful compliance to the undercover appearance glued you to the couch. Wait for the right time. The angle of your chest mustn’t have caught what you just witnessed; else Laswell, on overwatch, would have chirped into your ear again. You need to get off this fuckers lap, find Samantha, if that’s even her, and communicate the info to the task force that’s lurking somewhere in the inky darkness. 

You murmured in your partner’s ear that you needed to visit the lady's room, but the way he rudely waved you off made you confident that you would be easily excused. Standing, you paradoxically lifted and lowered your dress, taking a moment to gather your hips to sway as you sauntered toward the interior cabin area of the boat. Your pounding heels thumped over the planks of the deck, thoroughly muffled by the eccentric music. Taking your time to link eyes with every passing stranger, exchanging a sultry look, all as a veiled attempt to ensure overwatch can gather as many faces as possible. The indoor section of the boat was no less noisy, only slightly more muffled. A sloping, modern art bar was kept exceptionally tidy by waiting staff who shovelled out shots and cocktails to boisterous patrons. Taking quick, efficient steps through the mass of people on crunching tippy toes thanks to your shitty stilettos, you sidled your way through the crowd. 

Pale grey eyes met yours. You felt your facial muscles drop. As quickly as your eyes had connected, she dropped your stare, her gaze low and submissive. She looked like hell. Heavy-handed red lipstick covered a busted lip, telltale bruises on her biceps in the shape of fingertips said a thousand words. Eyes on the target, you adjusted your necklace in a camouflaged attempt to ensure Laswell sees what you’re seeing. Despite overstaying your visit with your lingering stare, you even identified that stick-and-poke smiley face on her hand that was wrapped around a glass of amber liquid. It took a concentrated effort to lower your shoulders from the newly induced stress and additional effort to will your face back into an indifferent but sultry scowl. 

No response from overwatch on your discovery stuck in your mind like a snagged thread, but you surged forward regardless. That’s her, there’s no doubt. 

Why is Laswell being silent? Is she still watching? Fuck, maybe there’s no signal in here, and I’m flying dark. Oh God, what if there’s a signal blocker or some sort of tracker to identify spyware…I have to get off this fucking boat.

Knocking on a bathroom door down a dimly lit hallway, you didn't even bother to wait for a response before you fucked behind the thick wood door. The bathroom was small, tidy and contemporary, with gleaming white porcelain and matte black metalwork piping along with warmly coloured wood-panelled walls. Small, barely wide enough to fully extend your arms, though at this point you had a seeming affinity for finding closets to hide in. 

“Laswell, how copy?” you raised your bangle to your lips, sliding your fingers over the smooth bracelet to see if there was some kind of activate switch. 

Radio silence, save for a faint crackle in your earpiece. You were half a second away from frantically scrambling onto the deck to get ahold of any friendly voice, regardless of suspicions, before you heard a sound through your ear.

“Cricket, solid copy,” Laswell breathed into your ear, hearing the sounds of paper rustling in the background.

From what you gathered, the copy didn’t sound solid, but you had no authority to question her message's validity. You found yourself gripping the lone porcelain sink, hands on either side and staring deeply into the backlit mirror. A twang of horror prickled down your spine as you realized you were offering a full mirror view down your tight dress from this angle, and your posture snapped to attention. 

“The target has been identified as present,” you said sternly, finding yourself out of breath as you whispered, “I repeat, the target has been identified.”

More silence. Utter silence. Deafening, nerve-wracking silence. Something’s up. 

“Understood. Return to the party and stand by for instructions.” She finally responded.

“Rog.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Before you could blink, you were slinking back to your paunchy companion, curling your calf around his knee in a relaxed seated position. Marín was chatting with your guest, making a tight circle between the cartel boss, president-elect, and your human-trafficking companion. Boxdye from earlier sat on Lucia’s lap, running long painted fingernails over the collar of his shirt, glinting in the dim light. She caught your eyes, and met yours with a surprising visage of compassion, like she was murmuring keep your chin up girl, you got this, with her eyes. Just then, the dialogue took an unexpected 180 from idle chatter about quarterly reports.

“So I heard the Yanks got their hands on some Team China uniforms the other day,” Armundo Marín spoke in smooth Spanish into the clinking glass of iced rum he slipped under his moustache, his voice stony and unsettling.  

“I heard that too,” Lucia, the Venezuelan president-elect from earlier, concurred. 

Your guest groaned in agreeance as he plopped another cracker topped with caviar and olives into his mouth, the heaping treat threatening to spill onto his proud blue rose on his lapel. 

Uniforms. That familiar code word. A million thoughts washed through your skull like turbulent waves, churning and forceful. You felt your fingertips go cold, joints buckle, scalp pinprickling with trepidation. Could that code mean what you think it meant? How could they know? No, it can’t be. Your mission was British in origin, using SAS equipment and soldiers. This has to be something else. The self-soothing thoughts did nothing to dissuade your mind from heaving over every possible outcome in nauseating detail. Are there more warheads? Had your team just scratched the surface? Maybe they hadn’t even been reported as missing yet. No, it couldn’t be a regular thing that nuclear warheads go missing. Right?

This was something you had to relay to overwatch as soon as possible. After all, it’s not your job to determine the weight of each message. Just report information. It’s not your job to understand international affairs, and even less so to know the inner mechanisms of every nationality’s artillery movement. Still, there was a lingering sense of dread resting in the base of your throat, laying dormant but ever-present. 

Boxdye doing a sultry dance to a particularly sensual song that came on enraptured enough of the local's attention to let you dexterously disappear from sight. Slipping into a small closet, off one of the half dozen bedrooms that you reckoned were scarcely used for sleeping, you tucked yourself into the oddly comforting tight space. Hangers clambered at the intrusion, bumped by your sudden movements, which you frantically quieted with hushing fingers. The split-second action gave you precious moments to gather the billions of words that rattled through your mind in order to create a cohesive sentence.

“Actual, this is Cricket. I-” your voice caught in your throat, “One of the guests mentioned Yankees having uniforms , said in a similar context to…”

“Understood,” Laswell responded, now hearing hurried typing from her microphone. 

Footsteps, echoing down the carpeted hallway, said you had seconds to evacuate. You could risk hiding, but that could have disastrous consequences. Life-ending consequences. Weighing your options in a matter of nanoseconds, you gauged that the best option would be to surrender to your camouflage and feign as a drunk hooker who got lost on her way to the powder room. Occam's razor would favour that over an undercover spy radioing to HQ to report a nuclear weapon plot. 

“Ah, M-Mister Marín,” you purred, fumbling and planting a delicate hand on the chest of his suit, “I- Um, I-” you feigned being drunk, sloppy and ditzy, but most importantly, innocent. “I have too much vodka-” you interrupted your own speech with a squealing giggle.

“You’re a funny one,” he murmured back, tangoing with your artificially drunken self to hand you upright, hand swaying on your lower back “but my sweet, I must confess... your nails are unacceptable .” He clicked his tongue, wrapping gruff fingers around your knuckle to show your mangled cuticles from nervous picking and a distinct lack of polish.

You couldn’t afford to look shocked. You could hardly even afford to register what he was saying. Eyes flickered to your nails, and they were indeed oddly bare. Hardly something you’d expect from a seasoned escort. Fuck. Fuck . 

“I didn’t pay Julien top dollar for second best now, did I?” he whispered in your ear rhetorically in a sinister tone, oozing with implication. What felt like minutes passed of him horrifyingly waltzing with your fumbling feet, still dedicating every atom of your body to commit to your act, else your life is forfeit, “Understood, little dove?”

Biting your lip, you smiled dutifully, squeezing your eyes shut before looking up with your sweetest puppy eyes. He seemed satisfied, turning and humming down the hall, one could easily get whiplash from how suddenly his tone changed from hostile to pleased. You felt your upper lip threatening to curl. Gravity begged your knees to buckle under you, and you suddenly became all too aware of the constricting nature of your tight dress on your ribs, exponentially increasing your sudden breathlessness.

“-Oh, and hurry on to the deck now. We’ll be giving the locals a sendoff before we ship off.”

“W-Water?” you gestured to the window that faced the sea, thick Russian accent rolling off your tongue as you gave yourself an imaginary pause to consider the right word. 

“Yes, little dove, we’re going for a joyride.” He snapped his fingers in a flinging motion, urging you to make haste to whatever position you were expected to assume. In reality, a new level of panic surged into you. A level of energy no human should be exposed to, like a blast of radioactive energy scrambling the atoms in the body of a helpless scientist at Chornobyl. This could get very messy, very fast.

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[sim-ply-lilacs]

Josef Moody was a favorite neighbor of Beatrice's. Young Mr. Moody, a farmer of Prussian origin, had taken up a claim nearby as soon as he got off the boat from Windenburg and quickly settled into farm life.

Before her father's passing, Beatrice and Josef knew each other from church socials and barn dances. They'd even gone walking a few times.

Had life been kinder to the young couple, their courting would have been allowed to ramble on as amiably as two friends down a woodland path on a sunny day. They would have had summer drives, fall haylofts, winter skating parties. A proposal mediated by Beatrice's father would have precipitated a meandering engagement full of quilting with Beatrice's female friends and relations, preparing her household goods, and the sewing of a fine wedding gown and going-away outfit to merrily usher her into her new role as a wife.

Those plans were forced to die with her father.

"My dearest Bea, how can I possibly express my sympathies?" Josef asked. One trembling hand reached for her face. He feared the reception such an improper gesture would receive, but let out a breath when Beatrice leaned into his touch.

"Oh Josef," Beatrice choked out, "everything seems so hopeless. We have nothing left to pay our debts and nowhere to go. I can't even find a school that will have me to teach." With that, she devolved into sobs.

Josef said nothing for some time, merely held Beatrice as she cried. "She deserves so much more than this," he thought, "So much better than the hand she's been dealt. So much better than I can offer her."

He only hoped what he had to offer would someday prove enough.

Josef held her closer, guilt gnawing at his stomach. He gloried in holding her so close—and yet, would she be seeking his arms in any other circumstance? They had started growing close before her father's death, yes, but that wasn't a guarantee that she would want to plight her troth to him. Beatrice had been destined for so much more than life as a farmer's wife. Was he a horrible cad for what he was about to offer? Josef did not know. All he could do was cut open his heart and lay his soul bare before her.

Gently, he disentangled himself from her and spoke his piece.

"My–ahem, dear Beatrice. I wish for your sake that things were not the way they are, but Providence has seen fit to challenge you terribly. Were it in my power, I'd give everything I have to bring back your father. But this is not to be. Cannot be. This, I cannot change. But I do have the power to do something, and so I offer you the one thing I might give freely—myself." Josef swallowed. He hazarded to spy a look at Beatrice. Finding her solemn but steady, he continued.

"I am not a rich man. If I were, I would pay all your debts and leave you to find what will make you happiest. As it stands, I have not much to offer. But what I do have are two willing hands: hands to work, and–and..." he trailed off. Josef could not continue. He hung his head.

Beatrice's whispered shyly, "And to what? Hands to what?" She offered an encouraging look. Slowly, she continued, "Dear Josef, don't let me frighten you."

Josef shook his head. "You could never frighten me, and yet I do fear, yes. I fear you will hate me for what I want to say. That, I fear indeed."

"Oh Josef," Beatrice cried, "I never could. Not after what you've offered me—and me a poor little thing with so little to offer myself." She sobered. "But I must hear your response. Please."

He looked with clear, shining eyes into hers. "Don't you know? Hands to love, Bea. Hands to love."

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