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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

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Coming full circle

Here’s a little blurb about the Grammy’s, because some things just simply can’t be overlooked. I’ve also wanted to try and write in second person for a while and I thought this was the perfect occasion. Tell me what you think, I’m interested in knowing what you prefer! Happy reading xx (gif source)

The anticipation has become unbearable at this point. Sitting on the couch of the hotel suite you’ve checked in the day before, you feel more trapped here than simply waiting for your boyfriend to come back - or should you say Grammy winner boyfriend now? Watching the whole show on a flat screen rather than with your own heart-shaped eyes has been a pain to begin with, but now that there is a tiny gold trophy topping off the night with a pinch of two gifted fingers, it is downright torture.

Your legs keep fidgeting in restless expectation as you know Harry’s return is now eminent. The suspense of the show had you going insane for hours and now that it’s all over and done with, you can’t wait to shower him with love and sweet devotion. All the passion, all the self-imposed high standards, all the hard work, have finally paid off in the eyes of the academy, and though he’s always had the encouragement of his fans, it feels good to be recognized within the industry as well. To get a hat tip from pears and musicians he looks up to. To be able to bring the six pounds momento back to you since an infinitesimal but still real part of it was your doing. Also, he can’t wait to share it all with you.

At last, after the umpteenth sigh whizzing from your mouth, you finally hear it. Footstep coming to a halt behind the door, the sound of someone rummaging through their pockets for a keycard, a few lighthearted curses when said key plays hard to get, and finally several seconds later, the soft click of the lock signaling authorized entrance.

As soon as the door starts moving on its hinges, you leap to your feet to stand a couple meters from the entrance, arms crossed behind your back. And there he is.

The charismatic superstar you’ve just worshipped on TV all night is now standing in front of you in all his charming dimpled glory, orange and yellow plaid Gucci suit still on, swathed in feathery boas. Because, yes, he’s brought back all three of them; green, purple and black fluff all tangling around his upper limbs as he attempts to remove his heeled boots without tripping. If his clumsier than usual demeanor didn’t give away his slightly inebriated state, then the rosy tint coloring his cheeks was a big telltale sign of the few celebratory drinks he’d indulged throughout the night.

Harry stops dead in his tracks once his eyes fall on your frame. A shy grin appears on his flushed face, before your own lips part to mirror his glee. And for a hot minutes, it’s just that. You and him, facing each other across the hallway like in a makeshift Western dual, except you’re bearing no guns to fire at each other. Your only weapons are your beaming smiles and unconditional support.

Then there is no greater feeling than the fireworks exploding in your chest when you finally cave and run to him. He catches you with two sturdy arms as your wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. The deep belly laugh vibrating in his chest against yours is music to your ears and you can’t help but whisper "I am so fuckin’ proud o’ you," in the shell of his, before squeezing him even tighter against you. He buries his joy in your neck in response, knowing if he tried to kiss you right now, it’d be more of a smash of lips and clash of teeth than anything.

Once your elation simmers down just enough to relax your distended smiles though, your lips meet in a passionate embrace, tongues softly licking at the sweetest of each others’ mouth; yours from the strawberries you’ve had for dessert and his from the champagne that had been served all night at the Grammy’s.

As your hands reach up to cup his jaw, his come off your thighs to unwrap one of the boas from his neck and swaddle it around you. You squeal and giggle in delight at the furry material tickling the nape of your neck and Harry’s eyes sparkle in satisfaction, "knew you’d wanna have one, now we match."

Your heart is positively soaring, you just extend your new accessory around his neck so that you’re both protected by the green boa’s higher guardian spirit, and then you lean in for another kiss. For a while the two of you are caught up in your bubble, reveling in this night of magic and well-deserved acclaims, pride seeping through your pore to sneak under his skin much like his love for you had at the beginning of your relationship.

"I love you," the three words leave your lips as you lean your forehead against his and Harry promptly echoes the sentiment while walking you to the king size cloud-looking bed awaiting you both. He gently lowers you down upon the silk sheets, you hair spreading across the pillow cases with a look of sheer bliss etched upon your delicate features. If he weren’t so in awe of you and in awe of tonight, his signature smirk would probably taunt you with the fact that it won’t take much to unravel you tonight.

Instead he just hovers for another languid kiss, all his senses heightened by the evening’s ethereality. The sound of his name falling from the Troubadour’s manager is still reeling in his mind alongside the buzz that has been coursing through his veins ever since he took those bambi steps all the way to the stage to receive the long-awaited award for the fruit of his labour. Now that he’s come home in your arms to share every bit of that success, everything feels magnified.

He swears he’s never love you more than tonight when he’s feeling at the top and you’re here to hold his hand.

It’s a high like no other and one fix is just not cutting it. This requires a myriad of caresses and affections trailed along smooth skin. This was born out of support and loving inspiration that need to be returned to their muse in kisses that match the heat of the passion that instigated all this dream. This needs to be spelt out in love language across your body’s every nerve-endings - twice - and shouted from each one of LA’s skyscraper’s rooftop.

So Harry gets to work, diligently covering every inch of your skin with his appreciation and traipsing his reverence all the way down to the waistband of your panties with your grip in his hair accompanies his descent towards your sensitivity. "Gonna put those Grammy winning lips on me?" the smug look on your face is immediately whipped out by a moan as he noses at your clit.

"Seems only fair," he sucks at your mound through the cotton, "won the damn thing writing about eating your pussy. Reckon I didn’t properly thank you in my acceptance speech." Slowly he drags the flimsy lace down your legs before tasting your arousal with a long fat sweep of his tongue. "M’just comin’ full circle is all." You can feel his amusement against your core as you let out a giggle of your own at his silliness.

Your playful banter is quickly replaced by a symphony of moans and gasps that leave the both of you absolutely spent by the time the night reaches its real peak. After all, your acknowledgment means so much more to him than any award he could possibly receive/ Especially if it comes as sweet as your gratitude always does.

➪ Masterlist

#Harry Styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles grammy #harry styles smut #just a teeny bit in passing lol #harry styles fluff #harry blurb

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heart-forge · 4 years ago

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Hi, do you ever get sad or lose confidence in your writing? Sorry if this is a bit depressing. I really enjoy your writing and I'm having a crisis over my own. Hope you're having a great day.

Oh absolutely. Oh for sure. And it’s a little trite to say “everyone feels that way” but it’s the nature of humans that I am constantly telling my beloved friends that their work is fantastic and even on bad days if there’s anything wrong with it, it’s clearly because they’re working through a brain fog so thick with agony from the struggle associated with being alive (to say nothing of the year of pandemic, uncertain and constantly moving goal posts associated with literally any professional work, and historic job insecurity) that it’s just something that happened to slip through the cracks and is by no means a reflection of them as a creator...

...but you know, when we ourselves do it it’s actually bad and realtime proof that all our illusions of progress and hard earned skill are finally disappating into the smoke that they are, revealing us nakedly in the light as frauds.

One thing I associate with myself a lot is the fear that my work is like. Good enough, you know, as in it’s not anyone’s favourite but it’ll do in a pinch, or that it’s secretly super cringe content that people consume in private but isn’t fit to really hang my hat on as art I have made. Or, that I’m slowly disappointing people: that the quality of every chapter is slowly falling, and that people will eventually lose interest altogether as chapters slowly become meandering, boring, and totally nonsensical.

One important thing to remember is that like, obviously that isn’t true, but also that the most bullheaded and stubborn way we have to deal with this lie is to keep making things anyway. I put chapters out when they’re done even if I’m self-conscious about them, because I’m self-conscious about them due to my impossible standards for myself and nobody else and that’s no reason to torment myself.

I think another thing we have to just kind of settle into is the idea that making things just feels kinda bad sometimes? It feels good enough that you keep going but also like...sometimes we just feel bad, as people, through no fault of our own with no real solution other than to work through it. That’s kind of the point of self-care, no? Sometimes we just feel bad and it’s more useful for us to understand that a shower and some ice cream will make us feel better than it is to try and reckon with the philosophical concepts of art and perfection and how they intersect with capitalism to destroy our self worth.

Also a very good not-so-secret-secret that @leylses articulated to me [time] ago, is that if it feels really bad and you’re constantly in a foggy miserable muck..........................stop doing it. You don’t have to stop forever and it’s not a failure on your part, but why keep forcing yourself to walk on a broken leg? Lemme find the TikTok....

This one from ghosthoney on TikTok !! This is actually a Twitter link but that’s the only place I could find the video RIP but anyway there’s captions on the video but the gist and most important takeaway is when he says “if you’re an artist you’re always going to be an artist and no amount of time you spend away from creating is ever going to change that”.

You can just....not do a thing if it’s making you miserable, and I’ve met a lot of professionals (and have friends who have met professionals) where it’s definitely been a case of babe, the solution to your problem is to take a break. Not like an hour or a weekend or that thing where you take a week but you’re just counting down to when you have to get back to it......if you’re like PEAK miserable all the time, stop walking in your broken leg. Artists need to consume content too so rather than worry about quality and quantity, do what you gotta do. Whether that thing is powering through, treating yourself kindly, or being like “actually fuck this” and playing video games instead.

#talkForge #JUST DO IT unless you don't want to then don't #which is a weird moral to the story but #I hope you feel better and when I was fresh out of writing school #I wrote fanfic all the time and nothing else for a year #worked my retail job and let it wash over me #I knew I still loved it but I also knew that I could squeeze the toothpaste tube all I wanted #nothing was gunna come out.#Anonymous

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plant-flwrs · 4 years ago

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no nonsense sarcastic sporty girl whos never put makeup on, using it after much pleading to the yule ball. Pair with whoever and let's see where it goes. (preferably one of the twins). Extreme fluff (always thought you were beautiful but now youre just gorgeous) type. Go about witj it however you want😁

the yule ball // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: um ok kind of losing my mind bc i got my first actual request!!! like that makes me so happy that people want me to like... make their ideas, i guess. anywho just had to say that. im so thankful for the people who read my writing and follow me and i just wanted to say thanks! so, thanks! i hope i made this request everything you wanted it to be anon, and thanks for requesting it <3 (also hope i picked the right twin for you lol) also sorry this took so long! i wrote this over like three times and with school starting i don’t have as much time :(

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“I just don’t see the point in it,” you explained to Alicia, feeling her confused eyes pouring into the side of your face, “make’s me feel weird.”

“You just aren’t doing it right!” she replied, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

You shoveled a forkful of eggs into your mouth, rolling your eyes as you chewed.

“Maybe,” you replied, covering your mouth full of food with the back of your hand.

“Hello ladies,” Fred said as he slid into the bench across from you.

“What’cha gabbing about?” George said, sliding a piece of toast off your plate as he sat next to you.

You moved to stab your fork into his hand, but missed, instead spiking the toast. Fred’s eyes widened, nearly seeing his brother lose a finger.

“Nice aim,” he said, filling his own plate.

“Was going for the hand,” you said, collecting the toast and lathering it with jam.

George wrapped his arm around your shoulder, unfazed by your attempted assault.

“Y/n refuses to join us when we get ready for the Yule ball,” Alicia said, also ignoring your failed stabbing.

Fred feigned a hand over his forehead, leaning back dramatically, “How will you ever form an unbreakable bond? Without the sanctity of Yule Ball preparations, you will have nothing that ties you together well past your prime,” he spouted, not stopping even after Alicia slapped his shoulder, “you will drift apart, knowing nothing of each other.”

George quickly removed his arm from your shoulder and dramatically clapped at his brother, who only pretended to remove and tip a hat to him.

“Why don’t you want to get ready with the girls?” George asked once Fred calmed down.

“I’ll come, I just don’t have much getting ready to do,” you said plainly, “just puttin’ on a dress.”

“Not even some mascara?” Alicia pleaded, her eyebrows raised to her hairline.

“I suppose I could let you put some mascara on me,” you said, and Alicia pretended to faint into Fred, “some!”

Fred laughed, and you got an eyeful of chewed toast in his mouth. You looked away in disgust, catching George’s eyes. He looked at you odd, like he was at incredible peace.

“Everyone’s gone mad today,” you mumbled, finishing your breakfast.

You had written home about the Ball, and your mother had sent you an incredible array of magazines to choose a dress from. You had to admit, the dress was awfully pretty.

Going to Quidditch practice, doing homework, eating, sleeping, and keeping up with romance do’s and don’t’s was becoming exhausting. Luckily, you could merge some of the activities together, like homework and eating, and keeping up with romance and Quidditch.

Alicia and Katie loved to talk anything and everything that involved the Yule Ball. If you breathed and it sounded like ‘yule’ they would talk your ear off. Katie had even asked Wood about the ball.

“Well, Oliver,” she started, wiping off some sweat from her forehead, “if you don’t have a date you could join our group.”

You Alicia, Katie, George, and Lee had decided to go as a group, not bothering with the stress of getting dates. You all knew that no matter who you took, you’d just end up ditching them to dance with your friends. Fred and Angelina were a different story.

Fred had been sending Angelina all sorts of mixed signals since he asked her. One day, he’s asking what color her dress is so they can match, and the next he’s telling her that in his opinion, dances are the most stupid thing a man could succumb himself to. It made you glad to be going with friends.

“I don’t know, Katie,” Oliver scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “I was going to run Quidditch plays on the empty field that night.”

Katie rolled her eyes and they landed on you. You felt a blush creep up your neck as she brought you some water.

“Hey, Katie,” you said, taking the water from her.

“Hey,” she said, smiling quizzically at you, “Alicia told me you weren’t all that excited about the ball.”

This surprised you. You hadn’t meant to come off as bitter, you just felt you were expressing your genuine disinterest.

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, “It’s just, not really my thing I guess.”

Katie nodded knowingly at you, like you had just hinted at some sort of huge secret. It made you nervous. You two were stood by the water cooler, and Fred, George, and Harry had come over.

“What?” you asked her.

“I think,” she said dramatically, “that the boy you like hasn’t asked you, and you aren’t excited because you don’t have a date.”

You thought she was joking, but she didn’t laugh. You blinked at her for several minutes, the gears in your head turning so fast that you couldn’t think whether to be concerned for Katie’s well-being, or your own. Among your deep thoughts, Fred laughed obnoxiously. George swallowed nervously.

“Katie,” you said slowly, “are you serious? Do you actually think that?”

She nodded excitedly, thinking you were going to uncover your deepest and darkest secrets.

“Oh Merlin,” your eyes widened, “you could not be more wrong.”

You left her with her mouth hanging open as you kicked off the ground and back into practice.

The next week, McGonagall called the entire house for a meeting. She and Filch stood next to an ancient looking record player. She explained the sacred meanings of the Yule Ball, but all you could hear was Fred and George’s snickering in your ear.

“Do you think McGonagall would dance with me if I asked nicely?” one of them said.

“I reckon you’d have to take her to dinner first, mate, she’s a classy lady.” the other replied.

Soon enough, McGonagall was sending you off to pair with each other, and you looked around. George was already looking at you, so you took a step towards him.

“Dance with me,” you held your hand out, “Weasley.”

“I’d love to,” he said, taking your hand.

His hand fell naturally on your hip, and it made your chest tighten. Your hands eased into the crook of his neck, and he swallowed hard.

You swayed to the old music, neither of you meeting the other’s eye.

Your dress was sent to you in a large cardboard box that sat unopened in the corner of your dormitory. It was propped against your mirror, and stayed there until the night of the Yule Ball.

“Oh!” Alicia exclaimed, clasping her hands together, “I can’t wait to see it!”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped into the bathroom, bringing the dress with you. You opened it slowly, and the delicate fabric of the dress was peaking out before you had even removed all the tape. It smelled of home, and your heart soared. The fabric danced through your fingers, sliding elegantly over your figure. Looking in the mirror, you slid your hands down your sides feeling awfully impressed by yourself.

You looked at the mounds of makeup on the counter in front of you, and picked some up like they were dangerous. Holding them away from your dress, you squinted your eyes to read the tiny labels. Deciding on a few, you looked intensely into the mirror, your face creased with concentration. You covered the eye-bags you had developed while studying for tests. You put some pink powder on your cheeks like you had seen your mother do. Lengthening your lashes with some odd dark goo, and styling down your eyebrows with some odd clear goo.

When you opened the bathroom door, Alicia was still stood with her hands clasped. All the girls were standing in their elegant gowns, hair and makeup done absolutely perfectly.

“Oh no,” Katie gasped, looking at you in horror.

The three of them all steered your shoulders back into the bathroom, and you looked at yourself next to them. You looked like a clown! The pink powder was in little circles on the sides of your faces, and nothing about your makeup looked as nice as the other girls.

Katie saw your face lowering with sadness and brought your eyes to her’s.

“We can fix this,” she smiled reassuringly at you, “easy.”

She held her wand to your face, and you flinched as you felt a refreshing wind gust over it. Your face felt clean, and you moved your hands to touch it. You felt no pink powder or any goos.

Katie turned you to face Alicia, who had her wand ready.

“It really is a beautiful dress,” she said, her wand twirling as you felt little tickles on your face.

You turned to look in the mirror and felt your stomach spin.

You looked amazing, everything about the makeup was flattering, but not over the top. They had known exactly what you wanted.

You pulled them all into you, your arms stretching to wrap around them all. You all joyously walked down to the great hall, each of you clutching the sides of your dresses as you walked down the stairs.

By the time you had made it to where you were meeting the boys, just in front of the Great Hall, you had fallen behind the girls, not used to walking in heals. They were all looking up at you as you came down.

Lee and Fred looked like they were seeing you for the first time, their mouths hung open in childish smiles, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia looked like proud stage mother’s.

When your eyes met George, there was an intensity you had never felt before. Standing in front of him, still on the steps so you were eye level, it was like he was the only person there. His black and white dress robes fit him perfectly, and his red hair blazed as it hung in his face. His lips were pink and he kept licking them nervously. He offered you his elbow and you accepted, following your friends into the Ball.

“You look stunning,” he whispered int your ear.

The music was loud and your dress was awkward to dance in. George leaned in close to your face whenever he had a sarcastic remark to make, and half the time you couldn’t make out what he was saying. Your brain was scrambled from the heat and the proximity of his face to yours.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” you yelled into his ear.

Pulling away, he gripped your arms, pulling you back so he could yell something. His voice was like honey and it shot jolts down your spin.

“Want me to come with?”

You smiled and nodded your head, and he looked giddy,

He trailed after you like a puppy, careful not to step on the back of your dress.

You didn’t stop walking until you had landed on a bench in the courtyard. You held your dress close to you so George could sit without landing on it. He crossed his legs at his ankles and shoved his hands in his pockets. You picked up your hair off your hot skin, holding it as if it were a ponytail. George’s gaze fell onto the exposed and shiny skin of your back, and he gulped.

Your head tilted up at the sky, and you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of the cold breeze on your sweaty skin.

“Are you having fun?” George asked you.

“With you?”

“Yeah, with me.”

“I am,” you responded, dropping your hair and looking at him.

He was already looking at you, like he so often was, and as you watched his eyes drift down to your lips, you realized Katie was right.

You didn’t want anything to do with this ball if George wasn’t with you, hell you didn’t want anything to do with life if George wasn’t with you.

You were being a sour-sport because deep down, you knew you had wanted George to ask you to the ball.

“George?” you said, and his eyes didn’t leave your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you ask me to the ball?”

At this, George’s eyes met yours and he wiped his face, as if he were in a dream and imagined you had said that.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

“I hadn’t realized,” he turned to look at his feet, “I just figured, you never seemed like you were that excited.”

“But you wanted to come with me?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly, not having to think about it.

“George,” you asked, and he turned to face you, “do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Both of your mouths turned into wicked grins, and he nodded furiously. He stood up quickly and offered you his hand.

#harry potter #hogwarts #george weasley #george #weasley #fred and george #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #gryffindor #quidditch #weasley twins

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fanfictionaries · 4 years ago

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Oh So Many Years: Ch. 16 - Flame Twin

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

What happens when two Weasleys get too involved?

Absolute chaos.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

OKAY! After 14 hours of traveling back home yesterday I fell asleep editing this chapter! So...I mean I do and I don't have any excuse for that. Thank you for your patience!

I am back to updating every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)!

I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it! And as always, please, please, please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. I LOVE interacting with you all!!

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 15

You are the hider

I am the seeker

My twin, I’m in flames

I’m rolling about

I have a name

You call me by none

My twin, I’m on fire

Come put me out

George Weasley loved his siblings very much. His eldest brother, Bill, was easily the coolest bloke he knew – somehow being a prefect, Head Boy, and working for Gringotts, without being dull as dishwater. His second eldest brother, Charlie, always knew what to say in a pinch; certainly, the most level-headed person in England, but then he’d have to be to work with dragons for a living. Percy, for all his downfalls, worked harder than anyone he’d ever known and sometimes George secretly wished he had an ounce of his ambition. Ron was always down for a laugh which George liked very much, but he also wasn’t afraid to challenge George more than any of his other siblings. Ginny, his little sister, was unapologetically herself and took zero shite from anyone. She also had a fondness for trouble, in her own special kind of way. But out of all of them, Fred had to be his favourite sibling by far. Sure, he was a bit biased considering Fred was his twin and all, but George reckoned he’d have no trouble disliking Fred if he were any different. While he and Fred were similar in many ways, they were also very distinct. Fred was more outgoing, daring, and had a penchant to take things a bit too far where he was more laid back, erratic, and carefree. George supposed that was because Fred cared more about things than he did. Most people assumed, if they even bothered to assume anything about him and his twin brother’s differences that is, that Fred was the more callous of the two. But where others saw reckless cruelty, George knew it was really the opposite.

Fred cared – a lot. Too much, in George’s opinion. He let his emotions get in the way of his thoughts and it often resulted in him taking things too far. He pushed people past their limits when he thought he knew what was best for them. He punished people too harshly when he felt they deserved it. For example, Fred was the first to suggest they find Percy and beat him to a bloody pulp when he’d made their mother cry. Fred didn’t care what the consequences were. No one made their mother cry.

But he also let the poor actions of those he cared about slide too much. Like with Angelina at the moment – there was no way George would ever put up with his girlfriend ignoring him without any proper excuse. But Fred wasn’t George. So, he sat in silent misery, justifying, and making excuses for why his girlfriend wasn’t in the wrong.

Fred also forgave too easily where it wasn’t deserved. That’s why George knew without a doubt that Fred would be the first to forgive Percy if and when he inevitably apologized, and when Angelina eventually broke his heart, he would probably find some way to make it not her fault.

All these things George loved about his brother. But it was also all these things that led to the one thing George did not love about Fred. He always had to be a bloody martyr.

George knew Fred liked Hermione. He had had a subtle inclination that Hermione liked him back. And after yesterday morning’s little show in their bedroom, there was no question the two had chemistry. The way the electricity sparked between them…George was almost convinced they’d have started ripping each other’s clothes off if he hadn’t reminded them he was there. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they’d already hooked up before, or something like it. But if that had happened Fred surely would have told him.

In George’s opinion it would be the easiest thing in the world for them to just fess up to each other and finally snog it out. Damn Angelina and damn Ron alike. But that was too easy – no, Fred had to take everyone else’s feelings into account. He couldn’t possibly take what he wanted if it chanced hurting Angelina’s or Ron’s feelings and somehow those factors had made him blind to the way Hermione looked at him. Which only made it worse of course, because he was annoyingly convinced Hermione would never be interested in him. George didn’t know why – he was a handsome chap. But then again, he was a bit biased.

It didn’t surprise him when Fred wasn’t in their room when he’d finally turned in for the night. He was probably somewhere in the house, sulking like the right stubborn prat he was. It was surprising, however, when he’d woken the next morning and found that Fred had never returned to their room. Where could he possibly be? wondered George, stepping out into the hall. He started with the kitchen. Fred was known to wake up early and enjoy a nice cuppa while he waited for the rest of the house to wake up. But the kitchen was empty – no signs of Fred or morning tea anywhere to be found. Peaking into the nearby dining room, he also saw no Fred in sight. Perhaps the parlour, thought George and he walked up to the second floor. Again, no Fred. He was irritated now. Was this tosser really going to make him search the whole bloody house for him?

Stomping across the hall, he thrust the door to the library open and paused. He could just make out the top of Fred’s head, his red hair peaking out at the end of the sofa in front of the fire. George crept quietly across the room, expecting to give his brother a bit of a scare. He supposed the only benefit of having to go searching for his brother would be to get a good laugh out of it. But when he got close enough to peer over the top of the sofa, he didn’t find just Fred. No, instead he found Hermione Granger wrapped around his brother like a Grindylow attacking its prey. Even more curious, Fred was very much awake looking down at Hermione like she was a goddess divine sent from the heavens to please him.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” asked George, crossing his arms and grinning widely.

Fred’s gaze snapped from the girl sleeping on top of him to George. He looked guilty, splendidly so.

“It’s not what it looks like,” whispered Fred, giving Hermione a tense glance when she stirred slightly. Fred only relaxed when he was sure Hermione was still asleep. She nuzzled her face further into his chest and her breathing deepened once again.

George took a step closer, leaning against the back of the sofa and staring down at his brother who was looking especially uncomfortable. “Really? Because it looks like you’re cozied up on the sofa with Hermione,” George whispered back, fighting everything within him that wanted to jump and scream ‘GOTCHA!’.

“We were only talking. She was knackered. She fell asleep.”

“And you just decided to be a gentleman and be her mattress for the night?”

Fred sighed quietly. “I fell asleep too.”

“Mmm, I’m sure.”

“Look, there’s no ulterior motive here. I’m going with Angelina.”

“Sure didn’t look that way when I walked in. Now, correct me if I’m wrong since I’ve never had a girlfriend or anything, but are you allowed to lovingly stroke other girl’s hair when you’re in a relationship?” George tapped a finger to the end of his chin in mock contemplation.

Fred let out a small groan of frustration, trying his best not to wake Hermione in the current situation. “Alright, fine. You’ve had your fun. You’ve taken the mickey out of me. Happy?”

“Not necessarily, no,” answered George, not at all amused by Fred’s lack of fight.

“What do you want from me, mate?” Fred asked in exasperation. He was bordering hysterics and George could almost see a bead of sweat forming at his brow. Good.

“You know what I want.” George fixed him with a pointed stare. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. Now’s the time Freddie boy, thought George.

Fred opened his mouth as if to say something in response, but no sound came out and he quickly closed it, scrunching his brow. This process repeated a few times, making Fred look very much like a fish in George’s opinion. It took a while, but George was willing to wait as long as it took for Fred to give him what he wanted. That’s it, that’s a good boy, you can do it, George thought encouragingly in his mind, hoping that Fred could hear his thoughts.

Finally he answered in a harsh whisper, “Fine! I like her! I’m raving mad about her! I fancy her more than I’ve ever fancied anyone in my life. Are you happy now?”

“Extremely—” George pushed off the back of the sofa and headed towards the library doors “—see you at breakfast.”

An hour later George was seated at the kitchen table, sipping on a cup of earl grey, and flipping through the Daily Prophet. Goblin stock options – boring. New cauldron regulations – boring. Which witch and wizard’s fashion were in and out – double boring. A feel-good piece on the Minister – nauseating. He threw the paper down and folded it roughly with a sigh before pulling out his wand and charming the pages to fold themselves into individual little chickens. He didn’t know why he bothered with the paper anymore. It was just like his father said these days, all a load of rubbish.

The house was mostly awake at this point. George could hear the hustle and bustle of his family combined with the odd Order member. They were always popping in. Sometimes they brought news, sometimes they were simply asking on the whereabouts of other members, and sometimes they simply needed a place to sleep. Despite housing a majority of the Weasley family, Sirius Black, and a full-grown Hippogriff, Grimmauld Place had more than enough room to spare. The kitchen was oddly empty that morning though, not even his mum had come down yet to start on breakfast. George heard the distant shuffle of shoes on hardwood as someone descended the staircase. He sat up a bit straighter hoping it was Fred. They needed to continue their conversation. The fact that Fred had admitted his feelings to George was a good first start; now he just needed to admit those feelings to Hermione.

However, it wasn’t Fred who rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. Instead it was his little sister Ginny, looking incredibly rumpled and cranky.

“Orite, Gin?” George asked, eyeing her misbuttoned blouse and wrinkled shorts. Contrary to the last few days, the morning was uncharacteristically warm and when George had looked out the window earlier he saw nothing but bright sunny skies. Perhaps summer had finally come at last.

“No. It’s going to be such a nice day out and mum’s got us cooped up in this ghastly place! I asked her if we could take the day off and go home to play some quidditch, but she said she found another Doxy nest in one of the fourth floor bedrooms,” whined Ginny, grabbing a loaf of bread from the breadbox on the counter and slicing into it with a sharp knife. “Toast?”

George nodded, watching the paper chickens on the table chase each other down it’s length.

“It’s just mental! We’ve always had chores and I’ve never complained…much, but we’ve also always had time for fun things too. But here it’s like every waking moment is devoted to cleaning this trash heap of a house and for what? Sirius doesn’t care, obviously and if Kreacher cared, well there wouldn’t be this mess in the first place!” She held a piece of bread over the flame of the stove, browning the side before turning it over carefully in her hand and toasting the other side.

“Fuck!” Ginny exclaimed, dropping the toast onto the flame, and sucking on her singed pointer finger. She kept the digit between her lips for a moment before pulling it out of her mouth and inspecting the damage. “You know, this process would go a lot smoother if I had magic.” She shot George a pointed look.

George rolled his eyes good-humouredly. With a flew flicks of his wand the bread began to balance itself over the stove flame, toasting to a golden brown before depositing itself onto a plate. While the bread toasted Ginny grabbed butter and jam from the fridge and placed it on the table before George.

“Why don’t you just try out for the quidditch team Gin? You’re well enough at it,” said George, not really wanting to get into the endless number of chores they did daily. While he agreed, he’d also been listening to Ron and Ginny complain for a month now and he was growing tired of it. At a certain point whinging got you nowhere and it was better to shut up and put up.

“Well enough? I kick yours and Fred’s butt more often then not. I’m bloody fantastic.” Ginny grinned widely, grabbing the now full plate of toast, and walking to the table with it. George grabbed a piece and began to butter it before globbing on an ample amount of raspberry jam. One of the paper chickens pecked at his hand and George broke a piece of his toast off, tossing it to them. The chickens pecked enthusiastically at it and George took a large bite off of the remaining slice. As he chewed, he looked across the table at his sister. She had four slices on her own plate, piled high with butter and jam. The amount was no surprise. Ginny always ate to excess. It was impressive more than anything. He honestly didn’t know where she put it all.

“I think I’d want to try out for chaser this year. Are there any open chaser positions?” asked Ginny, taking a large bite.

Fred shook his head. All the chaser positions were full. Ginny frowned.

“But we need a new keeper. Still haven’t filled the position since Wood left,” George offered kindly.

Ginny made a face that George didn’t quite understand. There was nothing wrong with keeper. It certainly wasn’t as cool as beater, but it was a respectable position. Perhaps it wasn’t exciting enough for his dear sister. She always did enjoy a bit of thrill, just like him and Fred. Speaking of Fred. His twin entered the kitchen looking wary as he sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of tea. Shortly after Ron and Hermione joined them. The atmosphere around the table was tense. Or at least George thought so. Everyone was too quiet. They chewed too slowly, as if the lot of them had stayed up late the night before drinking deeply from a bottle of Firewhisky.

“Everyone excited for a day of Doxy wrangling?” George asked cheerily, trying to lift the mood at the table.

His three companions groaned, their shoulders sagging. Ron, who’d snagged a piece of toast from the pile, dropped his slice onto the table and laid his head in his hands. Honestly, what was everyone’s problem these days? People needed to learn to lighten up, live a little.

George did not try to lift the mood again. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth trying, especially when Fred wasn’t in the spirit to help him. The largest of the paper chickens hopped across the table and pecked at Ginny’s hand. She gave a little giggle. George smiled. At least his little sister could still be agreeable when she was cranky. Looking to the others at the table, George caught Fred and Hermione sharing a look. To anyone else it might seem innocent enough, but George assessed the situation like a trained auror looking for clues. It was much easier to spot things when you were looking for them. Their smiles were a bit too warm, their glances furtive, and whenever they came close to touching they both stuttered away from each other. The idiots clearly liked each other but didn’t want the other to know. Ridiculous.

“Could you pass the sugar please, Fred?” Hermione asked politely, pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot in the middle.

“I’ve got it, ‘Mione!” said Ron enthusiastically. He grabbed the sugar before Fred could reach it and placed it in front of Hermione.

Fred gawped, looking slightly put out, and sat back heavily in his seat. He crossed his arms, decidedly mopey once again. Great.

“…thank you Ron.” Hermione swallowed thickly and began to pile sugar into her cup.

The table fell back into a thick silence. Thankfully, it only lasted for a few moments more as the distant sound of his mother calling them from the parlour on the second floor broke the tension. Ron, Hermione, and Fred seemed to jump from their seats, rocketing towards the door of the kitchen like they’d been waiting at the starting line and his mother’s voice was the signal to run. George and Ginny hung behind, cleaning up the last bits of breakfast before they went to their mother.

“Merlin and Morgana…could you believe the tension between them? Could cut it with a bloody knife,” said Ginny, leaning against the kitchen counter.

George paused, the plates in his hand hovering in the air as he went to place them in the sink. “How did you…?”

“Oh come on George. I mean, it’s pretty obvious they fancy each other. Hermione doesn’t think he does of course. Just wish that brother of ours would finally fess up and tell her. That way we’d finally stop having to watch them make sad puppy eyes at one another.” Ginny laughed, pushing off the counter and heading towards the door out of the kitchen.

George stared at his little sister in disbelief. He clearly hadn’t been giving the girl enough credit. That or Fred and Hermione’s actions were more obvious than he previously thought. Either way, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one in the house suffering because of them. He just wished there were a way to force them to—

“Ginny! Wait!” George reached out and grabbed his sister’s arm. Ginny spun around, giving him a confused looked. A large smile spread across George’s face and he knew he must look like an absolute maniac in that moment, but he’d just come up with a brilliant idea. An absolutely brilliant, devious idea.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Ginny reproachfully.

“Gin…how would you like to help me with something today?”

“What? Like one of your pranks?”

“No, not a prank. More like a…mission. A mission of love you might call it.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in understanding and her mouth stretched into an equally evil smile.

“Oh George, I thought you’d never ask.”

Fred groaned. Just when he thought the day couldn’t get any worse, life found a way to torture him further. It was a hot day. England had finally found its summer heat and soon the temperature rose so high even the strongest cooling charm couldn’t cut the stifling warmth. As a result the lot of them had divested themselves of their layers until they were as stripped as was proper. Fred, George, and Ron were shirtless as they cleaned out the Doxy nests in the upstairs bedroom. Getting rid of the Doxies had been fairly simple, but the compact, intricate nests they’d made in the wardrobes and drapes was another story. It would have taken less time with wands, but Fred and George had made the mistake of launching one too many Doxies at Ron, and their mother had taken their wands as punishment. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had glared daggers at them as it really was a punishment for all of them. Now they’d all be forced to remove the nests by hand. Sweat rolled down Fred’s chest as he pulled out an old box from the top of the wardrobe to reveal another clump of nests. Damn Doxies.

Across the room, balancing on a ladder, Hermione prodded at the drapes. Staring at the girl, he thought this must be what they meant when they talked about forbidden fruit. She’d pulled her hair up, twisting it into a knot at the back of her head, but after several hours of work, tendrils had fallen loose, sticking to her damp neck. Her vest top had risen at some point, revealing the creamy skin of her midsection just above a pair of shorts that had to be the tightest things in existence, Fred thought. She hadn’t been wearing them earlier in the day, but after lunch when they’d returned to their work, she’d entered the bedroom and Fred had nearly swallowed his tongue. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she’d done it on purpose. To torture him. But that wasn’t right. It was foolishly arrogant to assume Hermione wore anything for anyone, especially himself.

In addition to the true agony that Hermione was causing him physically, George was causing him equal turmoil mentally. No, he hadn’t done or said anything, but that was entirely the point. After catching him and Hermione together that morning and finally getting Fred to admit his feelings for the girl, he expected a bit more from his brother. He was sure his twin would pull him aside to continue their conversation, or at the very least make pointed jokes. But there’d been nothing. In fact, it seemed George was hellbent on acting as if that morning never happened.

Fred’s thoughts drifted back to earlier in the library. Once George left, he took a few more minutes to bask in the glory of having Hermione in his arms before he woke her. She had been mildly embarrassed when she roused to find herself wrapped so tightly around him. But Fred played it off like it was no big deal. But despite the moment of embarrassment something definitely felt like it had shifted between the two of them. Fred felt a little less on edge around her and she seemed to be more relaxed around him as well. Perhaps realizing that she could be physically close to him without him making a move had her less concerned about being around him again.

Although Fred figured if Hermione could hear his thoughts at that moment she’d feel anything but an ease. He had to physically bite his tongue when she’d hopped off the ladder and bent over to pick up the duster she’d been using. A tightness formed in the front of his trousers and Fred turned his gaze away, banging his head on one of the open wardrobe doors to. Squeezing his eyes shut tight he thought about boring things like owl post, third year herbology, and potions essays. When that didn’t work he thought of disgusting things like Blast-Ended Skrewts and Hippogriff dung.

“Hermione, could you give me a hand with this please?” asked Ginny, motioning to the second pair of heavy drapes as she attempted to get behind the tangled mess of them.

“Yeah, of course.”

Fred watched as Ginny piled the ends of the drapes into Hermione’s arms. “There’s a nest back here. I think if you lift the drapes high enough, I’ll be able to reach it,” said Ginny, instructing Hermione to lift the drapes higher in her arms.

There really shouldn’t be anything sexy about cleaning out Doxy nests, thought Fred. But as Hermione raised her arms higher and higher, she revealed more of her sweat-slicked body. The wild-haired girl struggled under the weight of the drapes, now hold them high above her head. Fred supposed if he hadn’t been checking out Hermione in that moment, he wouldn’t have seen the way her arms buckled, dropping some of the drapes and tangling them in her legs. Sprinting across the room, he caught her just as she lost her footing, trying to untangle her legs from the heavy material.

“Whoa!” Hermione exclaimed, landing hard in Fred’s arms, as the drapes fell back onto Ginny.

“Hey! Hermione, what gives—oh…you okay?” Ginny had scrambled out of the drapes to see Hermione in Fred’s embrace, looking up at him in surprise. Fred’s mouth went dry as he looked down at the witch in his arms. Her face was delightfully flushed, and he could feel bare skin under his hands. He felt the tightening in his pants return and practically threw Hermione from his hold, stepping away from her.

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered, looking pointedly down at the ground.

“Yeah,” coughed Fred.

He was just about to try and come up with an excuse to flee from the room when his mother entered, looking around the space appraisingly. “I think that’s enough for the day dears. It’s quite hot, why don’t you wrap up and we’ll finish this room tomorrow?”

“Alright, thanks mum,” said George, wiping his grubby hands on his jeans and walking over to swing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

“Uck! You’re all sweaty George!” cried Ginny, shrugging off George’s arm in disgust.

George took a moment to assess himself, looking down at his sweaty form. “You’re right Gin. I think I could use a shower actually. What about you lot?”

A chorus of agreement rang through the room from them all and they exited it, heading down to their rooms and more importantly, the bathrooms.

Ginny was only slightly disappointed in herself. Her first “mission” with her older brother George and already she was failing at it. She’d never tell him, but she considered his invitation to be quite the honour. Sure, she’d helped Fred and George with some of their little schemes over the years, but never had one of them asked her specifically to help without the other. At first she wondered why Fred wasn’t involved in their plan, but they she realized it might be because Fred didn’t know Ron was desperately in love with Hermione and vice-versa. Perhaps Ron had only told George in confidence and didn’t want Fred knowing too – Fred was the type to tease Ron more than George would about something like that. Finding out that Ginny was clued in was probably a huge relief to George.

“I’m not really sure how doing this will make them confess their feelings though,” said Ginny, knitting her brow and looking sceptically at her older brother.

“Trust me, it’ll work. All we need is a bit of sexual tension to break them. Get them hot and bothered enough and they’ll be attacking each other before you know it!”

She still wasn’t sure if she was 100% sold on the plan, but George knew about these things more than her. It had been her idea to spill pumpkin juice all over Hermione’s clothes after lunch, forcing her to change. She’d subtly offered Hermione a pair of her shorts, her smallest and tightest ones and a when the older girl had asked whether or not she should just wear her vest, Ginny encouraged it. A small part of her felt like it was a bit demeaning to resort to primping Hermione up like a prize fair farm animal for Ron to ogle, but at this point she was desperate to get the two of them to admit their feelings. Her wants in the world were simple. She wanted her siblings to be happy and she wanted her friends to be happy. If she could accomplish those things in one fell swoop then even better.

When she’d piled the drapes in Hermione’s arms, she fully expected Ron to be the one to catch her. Bloody Fred and his chivalry. He already had a girlfriend, she thought bitterly, why couldn’t he just step aside and let Ron save the day?

Either way, they were on to part two of their plan and Ginny would not let George down. Her job was to direct Hermione to the right place at the right time. Third floor bathroom at the end of the hall. George would take care of the rest. Easy.

However, to her dismay, when she’d reached the third floor she saw Ron entering the first bathroom on the right and close the door. Damn him! Where was George? Wasn’t Ron his responsibility? Putting her ear to the bathroom Ron was currently in, she heard the rings of the shower curtain slide against the metal pole and the water turn on. Fine, she could improvise. This was fine. Ginny spun around at the sound of a door opening and closing and saw Hermione exit their bedroom with her towel in hand.

“Ginny are any of the bathrooms on this floor open?” she asked, wiping a hand across her brow.

“This one is—” Ginny stepped aside the door “—I started the shower, but mum called me and needs my help. You can take it!”

“Thanks Ginny!”

“No problem ‘Mione. What are friends for?”

Hermione was grateful for Ginny giving up the bathroom. She was in desperate need of a nice long shower. For more than one reason. There was a moment in the fourth-floor bedroom that she thought she was surely going to combust. In what fair and just world should she be forced to stare at a shirtless Frederick Weasley for an extended period of time? It was painful how good he looked. Hermione cursed her inappropriate thoughts. He was a taken man. But then there was the way he’d held her in her sleep – the way he’d gently woken her in the library. She’d been embarrassed at first, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he almost seemed sad to part, but that was ridiculous. Again, he was a taken man.

Entering the small bathroom, Hermione scowled slightly at the running water. Really, Ginny should wait until she entered the shower to turn on the water. It was such a waste to keep it running. She placed her towel on one of the hooks on the wall and grabbed the hem of her vest top, sliding it up her torso. The fabric stuck to her skin, damp from the sweat of a hot day and good, hard work. If she’d known she’d be spending a majority of her summer doing exhausting chores, perhaps she would have thought twice about abandoning her parents. But then Hermione’s mind drifted to the thought of her grandparents’ cat-fur covered sofa and dry Madeira cake and suddenly she was sure of her decision once again. She was just bringing the vest top over her head when something very odd happened. The sound of water stopped. Hermione froze, arms raised over her head and top covering her eyes. Turning towards the shower, she pulled her top completely off, freeing her sight just as the shower curtain pulled back revealing a very wet and very naked Ron.

While in reality it was probably only a few seconds, for Hermione it felt like an eternity that she stood still as stone staring at Ron absolutely starkers. Ron stared back, eyes wide and mouth hung open. How? Why? What? Hermione had so many questions and yet, nothing came out of her mouth. In fact the only thing her mouth could do was open and close like an idiot before she finally let out a high-pitched scream.

Ron screamed as well, bringing his hands down to cover his more…vulnerable bits. It was a bit late for that thought Hermione but closed her eyes tightly all the same.

“What are you doing in here?!” she screamed, blindly feeling for the door.

“What am I doing in here?! What are you doing in here?!” screamed Ron back, the tile squeaking under his wet feet as he exited the tub.

“Oh my god—” Hermione desperately felt for the door handle, letting out another scream when she felt wet skin “—OH MY GOD!”

“Bloody hell, Hermione! Get out!” Ron yelled.

“I’m trying!”

Finally Hermione’s fingers found the doorknob and she flung herself from the bathroom, running as fast as she could down the hallway.

“What is it?! What’s going on?! I heard scream—oof!”

Hermione collided into someone, her frantic fleeing impairing her ability to watch where she was going. Whoever it was, she hit them hard. Hard enough to knock her backwards. Desperately, she reached out to catch herself on instinct, but the only thing her hand found purchase on was the soft fuzzy fabric of a towel that gave easily as she fell backwards. Hermione landed hard on her backside, feeling slightly dazed. Looking down at the towel in her hand, she looked up in mortification. There standing before her, at eye level she might add, was Frederick Weasley’s entirely naked body. She screamed again, covering her eyes quickly this time, a little more prepared and a little more experienced at accidentally seeing naked boys now.

“Merlin!” Fred cried, yanking the towel from her hands, and most likely covering himself. Hermione didn’t know for certain though as her hands were still tightly glued to her face. She wasn’t risking it anymore. If another Weasley boy were to show up in the hallway naked, she was prepared.

“Oh my god. I’m so, so sorry!” Hermione cried, attempting to stand without her arms or her sight. She wobbled and bumped a bit, but eventually found her feet.

“What the hell is going on?!” asked Fred.

“Hermione I—” she heard Ron’s voice start and then stop suddenly before he let out a confused exclamation. “What’s going on here?!”

“What’s going on here? What was going on in there?!” Fred asked back, sounding quite angry.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” Hermione chanted in humiliation as she was now blindly trying to find her bedroom door. She needed to get out of there desperately.

“Bloody hell Hermione. You can open your eyes now,” groaned Ron.

Hermione shook her head frantically. “Nope! Sorry. I’m not chancing it.”

“What was she doing in there with you?” Fred questioned indignantly.

“What was she doing out here with you?” huffed Ron.

“I heard screaming!”

“So you decided to come and investigate naked?!”

“I wasn’t naked! I had a towel, but she pulled it off!”

“Why would you run out in just a towel?!”

“Sorry, next time I think there’s an emergency, let me just take my sweet time getting dressed before I come and help,” Fred bit back sarcastically.

“Boys—” Hermione felt completely lost at this point, walking into a wall, and hitting her head “—ow! Please. Now is really not the time to fight. Can someone please just direct me to my room so I can kill myself?”

“Stop being so dramatic Hermione,” Ron sighed. She could almost feel his eyes rolling in his head.

“Yeah, it’s just a bit of skin ‘Mione. No need to be so affected,” said Fred.

Hermione let out a high-pitched sound of disbelief. “Are you two seriously turning on me now?”

“Well, you were the one who walked in on my shower,” Ron said sounded very irritated.

“Yeah, and you pulled down my towel,” added Fred.

“How in the world is this my fault now?!” cried Hermione, no longer attempting to find her room. Instead, she stood in the hallway, eyes still covered but entirely invested in the argument that was now happening between the three of them.

It was that moment that they heard the loud and raucous laughter of two people from down the hall. Hermione knew at once who it was. Of course.

“Ginevra Weasley, I swear to Merlin I will kill you slowly in your sleep for this!” Hermione threatened. “George, I know you were involved in this too! Don’t think for a second you’re in the clear!”

Ginny and George’s laughter continued, both of them in hysterics at this point.

“You two?!” cried Ron. “Why?!” He sounded deeply betrayed, as if he expected a lot from the two, but never something as horrible as this.

“Merlin, this is…this is better than I ever could have hoped,” said George in between laughs.

“Really George? Really?” asked Fred pointedly.

“You know George, I was a bit disappointed you failed on your end of the plan, but I think this laugh was worth failing,” Ginny commented, finding her voice through deep breaths.

“What do you mean?” asked George. “It was you that got it all mixed up!”

“Me?! What do you—”

“I can’t believe you two! Actually, George I could expect this from you but Ginny?” Hermione scolded.

“Oh lighten up Hermione, it was just a bit of fun!” scoffed Ginny.

“I mean, what was the point of this? Really?” asked Fred, continuing his rant.

“I’ve been so nice to you lately George. I even did you chores the other day!” said Ron dejectedly.

“Indecent George and Ginny! Absolutely indecent behaviour!” yelled Hermione.

“That’s rich coming from someone only in their bra and trousers,” said George.

Hermione gasped, pulled her hands from her eyes now and covering her upper half. In all the chaos and confusion she’d completely forgotten she was half naked herself.

All five of them were now talking over each other, everyone yelling at someone different as they argued in the heat of the moment. The noise was beginning the rise in magnitude until the only thing that could be heard was the overwhelming sound of screaming voices.

“SCUM! MUDBLOODS! BLOOD TRAITORS! IN MY HOUSE?! OUT! OUT! DISGRACESFUL! DIRTY! DIRTY!”

Their arguing was suddenly drowned out by the horrid sound of Walburga Black’s portrait two floors down. Everyone stopped. Now they’d done it.

Mrs. Weasley’s shrill and angry voice drifted up the flights of stairs and mixed horribly with the shouting portrait. They heard stomping feat on the wooden stairs and looked at each other in fear.

“Don’t just stand here like idiots—” said George quickly.

“—Scatter!” finished Fred.

Chapter 17>>>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

#Fremione #fanfic #fanfiction #fred weasley #fred x hermione #hermione granger #slowburn #mutualpining

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too-attached-to-fiction · 5 years ago

Text

I’m No Cinderella | f.w.

Masterlist here

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Word count: 1.6k

Requested by anon

Request: Could you write a Fred or George Weasley imagine where the reader normally goes unnoticed but then one of twins practically falls head over heels for the reader at the Yule Ball? Reader goes alone/only with a friend, but it doesn’t become “social suicide” 😂 thank you so much, and I love your writing!! Especially anything with the twins 😅

A/N: hhh the shift key i normally use on my computer is broken so i had to relearn how to use shift with my right hand while i was writing this…. This certainly got away from me and it doesn’t have much of fred in it but I love how this turned out and I hope i didn’t disappoint, anon! also angelina is gay for nora, i don’t make up the rules,,,, Pic of your dress is all the way at the bottom.

~~~

For a Gryffindor, you were notably quiet. You and Hermione Granger certainly stuck out like a sore thumb, being considered Ravenclaws in a sea of Gryffindors. Before Granger had arrived at Hogwarts, though, you had spent two years with most believing you were in Ravenclaw.

Not that it mattered in the end. No matter what people thought, you were a Gryffindor at heart - you just weren’t the type to show it off frequently.

When the tournament started, you showed little interest compared to your classmates. You had only wanted a normal year, although you weren’t exactly sure what was normal, considering you went to school of magic.

Things got even worse for you when the Yule Ball was announced. You knew it was a popularity contest, but you secretly hoped someone would ask you.

“This is all so ridiculous.” You complained to your best friend, Nora Iver. “They want to throw a party in the middle of this life-threatening tournament?” You sighed.

“D’you reckon anyone’s going to ask us out?” Nora, to her credit, was optimistic. So much so that you didn’t have the heart to shoot her down. The two of you were the quietest, introverted people in your year in your house. You looked away.

“Maybe.” You said, watching one of the Weasley twins ask Angelina Johnson to the ball. “I don’t want to jinx anything.”

“But (Y/N), don’t you want to have a date and find your Prince Charming?” Nora, a muggleborn, had been kind enough to describe every fairytale known to man to you when you asked. Even with the wizarding world on the brink of war, she believed in happy endings.

You weren’t ready to tell her that happy endings didn’t come to people like you.

“Isn’t your mum sending a dress for you? If I had known, I’d have shopped. Could you help me find one in that little boutique in Hogsmeade?”

“Sure.” You answered half-heartedly, your eyes still on the Weasley boy. He looked back at you and winked.

Merlin, this ball was a waste of time.

~~~

The weeks went by, and unfortunately, no one asked either of you. Two weeks before Christmas, Nora finally gave up.

“I can’t believe it. No one’s asked.”

“We can still go together, without dates. It’ll be fun.” You tried to convince her. You were a little disappointed too - you had hoped that this time, your cynicism would be proved wrong.

“What good is dancing by myself?”

“You can move around much more.” You said. “Dance the way you do at those Muggle weddings you always tell me about.”

“Only if you dance with me.” Nora pouted, and you laughed.

“Don’t you still need to get a dress?”

That weekend, you went to Hogsmeade. The boutique was mostly empty, but most of the dresses were slim pickings.

“What about this one?” You said, holding it up for her to see. It was a nice, sleek navy dress with a sweetheart neckline.

“Do you think you could work your magic on this one, (Y/N)? Add a few more little details?” Nora begged. You were interested in clothing, with most of your clothes having a small personal twist to them, but you’d never made anything for anyone else like that.

“Nora, I could ruin this-”

“You couldn’t. Please?”

“I’ll do my best, just pay for the bloody dress.”

The Yule Ball craze hit its peak the morning of. At six A.M. sharp, most of the girls in the dorm were awake, running around and yelling for shower slots. You, on the other hand, were finishing up Nora’s dress.

You tried your best to embroider little constellations in the tulle carefully, and it was taking longer than you wanted. Finally, you put it on an excited Nora, who immediately twirled around once you zipped her up.

“Oh, (Y/N), it’s absolutely stunning. Thank you.”

The two of you didn’t start getting ready until after lunch, eating calmly in the empty Great Hall. In a few hours, the ball would be taking place.

“Oh, I feel like a princess in this dress.” Nora said, twirling again behind you as you applied your makeup. Your hair had been cut to a near pixie cut, your hair slightly longer than the average boy’s.

“I’ll meet you in the common room, N. I just need to put on my dress.” You said, and she flounced off.

Careful to not mess up your makeup, you strode across the room and pulled out your dress from under your bed. You’d tried it on and admired it before, slipping it on now with no problem and grabbing your golden heels.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the red dress falling in all the right places, the halter neckline careful not to choke you. The last thing you put on was a small good luck charm bracelet and golden stud earrings before you made your way downstairs, clutch in hand.

“You look incredible.” Nora gasped. “I still don’t understand why no one-”

“It’s just us tonight, Nora. No boys or girls or imaginary dates are going to ruin that.” You said, hooking your arm around hers. “We’re the queens of Hogwarts tonight, and we’re going to act like it.” You thrust your chin up in the air, leading her down to the Great Hall.

Fred had been looking for you as students trickled into the hall. He’d considered taking you to the ball, but had chickened out at the last second, figuring Angelina was a safe bet. After all, she was only a friend to him, and she had definitely figured out his interest in you, however small it seemed.

He saw you and Nora appear on the stairwell after Hermione and his jaw dropped instantly. Angelina whistled.

“They certainly know their transfiguration when it comes to these things.” She remarked. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll ask Nora to dance with me while you dance with (Y/N).”

After the awkward first dances with the champions, Nora practically dragged you out onto the dance floor. Among the waltzing couples, the two of you danced to your own rhythm, unknowingly starting the real party.

The Weird Sisters cranked up the volume and the energy within minutes, and you tangoed with Nora, the two of you laughing all the way.

Eventually the two of you decided to take a break, and as the less sore one out of the two, you offered to retrieve some refreshments. When you arrived, Fred was talking to Nora, Angelina nowhere in sight.

“Fred.” You nodded in acknowledgement. “Pumpkin juice, Nor.” You handed it to her, and she grinned.

“Yeah, we didn’t come with dates.” Nora shrugged. “I was a little upset in the beginning, but (Y/N) was right. It’s just as fun with your best friend.” She giggled.

Angelina appeared. “Hey, Nora, want to dance with me?” She offered, and your friend gladly accepted, leaving you alone with Fred.

“You look stunning.” Fred said with a genuine smile, and you blushed, looking at the ground. “Was Nora right? About not having dates?” He sat next to you, looking at you even though you were slowly burning a hole into the ground.

“Yeah. Nora’s a muggleborn, and she’s obsessed with fairy tales, so she was quite disappointed when nothing happened. But she looks like she’s having a good time.” You looked up to where Nora and Angelina were dancing.

“What about you? Were you disappointed?”

You dodged the question. “One of the fairytales Nora’s always talking about is this one, Cinderella. She’s a maid, taking care of her evil stepmother and step-sisters, and the prince throws a ball. Obviously, she wants to go, but her stepmother forbids it, shredding the dress Cinderella made for herself for the ball. But then, a witch appears, and turns Cinderella into a princess for the night, shocking everybody. The spell only lasts until midnight, but she dances with the prince at the ball anyways and they fall in love. The clock starts to strike twelve and she runs from the prince, leaving behind a glass slipper before she has to transform back into a maid. Eventually, the prince finds her, and they live happily ever after.” You stared out into the crowd.

“Fascinating.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but you kept going. “So Nora has this idea that for this one night, we’re going to be princesses, and the whole school will change its mind about us, because we’re not exactly popular or anything. And she’d hoped to find a Prince Charming, and was especially set on me finding one too. I don’t know how on Earth she can believe in something like that. It’s just a silly children’s story.”

“Maybe it is, but we could try to make it real.” Fred mused. “Would you like to dance with me until the clock strikes midnight?” He asked.

“What about Angelina?”

“We went as friends. Plus, I think she’s having a jolly good time with Nora over there.” He stood up, holding out his hand. “So what do you think?”

You looked at him with a small, shy smile. “I’d love to dance with you.”

A few songs later, the two of you were swaying, too tired to actively dance. Anyways, it was a slow song.

“I wanted to ask you to the ball, y’know. But I didn’t know if you’d accept, so I didn’t. That didn’t exactly work when you came down the stairs with Nora. Merlin, you’re beautiful.”

“Just tonight.” You reminded him. “Tomorrow I’ll be back to being invisible.”

“Not to me. You never could be.” He said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “I like you a lot, (Y/N). I’m not a prince, but would you like to go with me?”

“I’m not Cinderella either.” You said with a smile. “Because I’d like to stay with you after midnight, and longer, if you’d let me.”

“Of course.” He said, twirling you gently. “There’s nothing I want more than that.”

#hp fanfic #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagines #weasley imagines #yule ball imagines #requested #no beta we die like men

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doomstypewriter · 4 years ago

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hi yes hello i feel like i only understand half of whats going on for lack of context but i am Extremely eyes emoji at that sneak peak!

(why does that make sense??)

i mean,,, hamlet didnt mean to kill polonius... (admittedly: emphasis on the polonius not the mean...) janus would absolutely do it (or its less lethal variant) on purpose asdfghjkl

but again if it doesnt fit/solve the issue it was trying to solve thats fine

i am Excited for whoever is gonna get nudged downstairs

i keep thinking about janus' insecurities about his home and how hes convinced itd be no place for patton

("His home was an illusion, a taste of richness, in which a poor man could pretend. This was not a place where Patton could live, let alone want to.")

and just hhhhh- i have feelings about patton potentially seeing his home

you had me at full picture!!

but also ahhhhhhh that sounds really cool narration-wise! kind of an epistolary interspersed with narrated segments (or vice versa)

-🏳️‍🌈🕰️

Hi RC! Long time no see.

I am very happy you liked the sneak peek!

(I really don’t know, my brain sometimes pairs things up in weird ways, heh)

I can proudly announce that the outline for the sequel of the renaissance AU is now completed!

I think I have managed to include everything you requested and most, if not all, of your ideas. I really love this AU and it’s so nice and gratifying to write, especially when I get to read all of your lovely asks and comments.

The sequel will include 5 chapters (and let’s see how short can I keep it, because I am notoriously bad at that, but I reckon you won’t mind), the second of which will focus on Logan and Remus’ backstory.

Here’s a condensed version of the structure without spoilers:

1. Setup. Chaos ensues, the pirates crash a party and Virginia is kidnapped by them.

2. Remus saves Logan from drowning. He comes out as trans. They get together. Logan saves Remus from the life planned out for him.

3. Solving a fun puzzle.

4. Grave accusations. Everything crumbling down. Janus’ home.

5. The gang gets working. Evil is defeated. Signor Morandi finally shuts up.

AND! Here is a link to see if people can try and guess what this part of my research for the sequel means:

LINK

Well, let’s hope I can write chapter one fast enough!

As always, hope you have a nice day!

Previous ask

Fic that’s a prequel to this

#moceit #intrulogical #prinxiety #renaissance au #sanders sides #fem!virgil #fem!roman #trans remus #ts janus #ts patton #moceit fanfiction #doomstypewriter #doomwrites

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heyheshi · 4 years ago

Text

A date...?

1.4k words

written and uploaded: August 6, 2020

🦋 - fluff

Please like and reblog! Also please don't post my writings anywhere!

Last part of 'The Lucky Car'! I'll be uploading a new piece tomorrow as a celebration to my 1st month of writing here on Tumblr!

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

_________

"Harry I'm leaving! Be back in a few hours! There's food in the fridge!", you yelled from the top of your lungs as you struggled to put on your shoes, hat and get your keys at the same time.

You saw Harry peaked from the top of the stairs, shirtless and sweaty, "alright love! Take care!", waving at you.

You waved back at him, smiling and left your house after locking the door. This is a normal occurrence for the both of you - you leaving the house as Harry works out.

It has been more than a month since Harry went to live at your home and everyday you both feel somewhat closer to each other.

You manage to suppress your little crush on him, as a respect to him and for yourself as well. Yes, you still find him very much attractive but you promised on being discreet about it - after all, H went to your town to have some privacy after the breakup and the last thing he needs is another heartbreak on his life.

Well you can't say a lot about how Harry feels around you but he certainly looks at you as his friend - a little sister perhaps...? No. He's been a bit of a flirt but you think it's in his nature so you let it slide all the time but he's been nothing but overall a great housemate to you.

You arrived to your main shop a few blocks from your house and did your work as per usual, today was a bit busier than the other days so you decided to stay for the day until closing time without forgetting of informing Harry about it.

Your employees all clocked out a few minutes ago as you insisted on closing the shop, you wanted to try a new recipe and make sure that the ingredients in the kitchen's still stocked.

It's a little quarter to 11 p.m. and you just finished working on this new bagel recipe of yours. The shop is clean altogether, except for the few equipments you've used. You were about to clean your mess when you heard someone knock on the front door. Ushering towards it, you saw Harry.

"Sir, I'm so sorry to inform you but our shop has closed an hour ago."

H rolled his eyes, "oh love, don't be a daft!", he brushed past you and walk towards the counter, "so where's that new bagel you made? I fell asleep and haven't eaten yet...", he told you sheepishly as he scanned the the area before him for the treat.

Locking the door again while laughing at him, you answered, "it's in the kitchen you c-", before you can finish talking, he sprinted towards the door to the kitchen and busted to it.

You followed him expecting to see him munching on it already but you're wrong. Before you is the very tall Harry Styles on your kitchen crouching down to smell the bagels you just made with his hands both on his back. He looked up at you when he felt you approach with the eyes you often see on kids when they're asking their parents something.

"Can I?", he asked, eyes a little wide and lips sporting a little pout. You we're about to answer him when you heard his stomach grumble. You felt bad for him, he's not starving himself on purpose, you know that, writing is just taking a toll on him.

"Of course! Go ahead", you told him finally and he smiled at you so big it made your heart melt at the kid in front of you, "here, do you want to eat on the tables?", you asked as you helped him with his bagels and plates.

He quickly muttered a little 'thank you' and told you he's okay eating there in the kitchen and leaned on the counter near to him.

You watched him as he took his first bite. It's nothing new that he have a free access to your new recipes and treats, it's you who suggested it actually, you needed an opinion and he's perfectly great at criticizing your work so when you texted him about staying a bit longer at work, you kind of expected him to wait for you at home or burst in to your store.

Harry finished his bagel faster than a lightning bolt before commenting on it, "can I have another one? It's so good, you gotta make me lots of this on weekends love."

And that's the only confirmation you needed, but still you asked him, "yeah, eat as much as you please. Are you sure its okay? Not to-"

"Yes! Now why won't you try it out with me? I reckon you haven't eaten huge dinner.", he gave you a bagel on a plate and got the two of you some water, "now take a bite with me?"

You only nodded as an answer and look at him as you mimic his actions of taking a bite. Realizing that your new bagel recipe tastes good, the original recipe still there. Both of you eating the bagel quietly with a few humming here and there as a praise.

"Are you adding it on the menu? It taste incredible!", Harry complimented your work again and you couldn’t help but be really happy.

"Thank you... I actually don't know. I don't want to add another bagel treat because the one we already have up is a family recipe...", you pondered.

"Yeah, I understand. But this one is good! Think about it, you'll have 2 bagel treats on your shelves..."

"In the near future maybe, if I will add that, I'm thinking about launching it with a few other flavors, I don't know yet.", typically, after finishing a great treat and liking it, you'll quickly put it in the menu, but for some reason, you're having a hard time with this bagels and you wonder why.

"Other flavors would be great", Harry crossed his arms to his chest, "you can sell it on cute boxes with different flavors inside!".

"That's actually a nice idea, kids would love it, hopefully", you mirrored his position while smiling at him. Your mind running wild from the possibility of launching your bagels, "but for now I think I'll stick to making this treat for this child in front of me. He seemed to love it very much!"

"Did you just called me a child?!", H playfully pointed his finger at you, "you're so gonna regret that love!", he slowly walks towards you while you walk backwards.

Harry absolutely knows that tickles are your weakness and he never thought twice before using it against you. "Stop! Please! I'm sorry!", you squeaked at him but he doesn't look like he's going to stop any second.

"I told you you're going to reg-"

"I'll do anything I promise!", you feel giddy and scared at the same time, praying that he won't tickle you.

"Hmmm... anything...?", Harry taunted you as he tapped his lower lips with his right pointer finger.

"Yes! Anything!"

"Alright, we're having a picnic tomorrow night! I'm cooking don't worry.", Harry turned around and started to wash the dished the two of you used.

Wait, Harry is not asking you on a date, right...? Removing that thought in your mind, you responded, "you're not going to finally kill me tomorrow, yes...?", the tension was there so you decided to cut it with the inside joke you have.

"You'll be on my sandwich tomorrow night!", Harry tried to hide his giggles but failed miserably.

You oh so fakely gasped, playing along, "oh no! Please don't! No one's going to make you treats anymore!"

The two of you goofed around as Harry finished up the dishes then locked the shop. As you started walking back to your place, you couldn't help but ask, "it's not a date, isn't it?"

"Well, you can call it anything you want!", Harry winked at you nd tickled your side a few times then yelled, "race ya!"

'That bastard!' With that, he took off and you followed him, shaking your head at his playfulness.

‘A date…?’

You’re not exactly sure how to feel about what Harry just said but you know you’re happy. You don’t want to jinx anything so you want to keep it casual tomorrow and see what happens, he’s you’re housemate after all. You can build your relationship slowly and just hope for the best.

_____

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bananaofswifts · 4 years ago

Text

Taylor Swift Leaves Her Comfort Zones Behind on the Head-Spinning, Heartbreaking ‘Folklore’

Her eighth album is a radical detour into the deepest collection of songs she’s ever come up with.

So here we are again. The world was in the middle of the cruelest summer ever, just staggering through late July, when Taylor Swift decided to make it all so much messier — her specialty. In a move that nobody saw coming, she announced a surprise album on July 23rd, less than a year after her career-capping smash Lover. (A year to the day after she dropped “The Archer.”) Like the rest of us, Swift had to cancel her summer, including her LoverFest shows, which would have been next week. Instead, she spent the quarantine season throwing herself into a new secret project: her eighth album, Folklore. But the real surprise is the music itself — the most head-spinning, heart-breaking, emotionally ambitious songs of her life.

It’s a total goth-folk album, mostly acoustic guitar and piano, largely in collaboration with the National’s Aaron Dessner. No pop songs at all. It’s as far beyond Lover as Lover was beyond Reputation. She’s always relished her dramatic creative zigzags, but this is easily her most audacious move, full of story-telling depth she’s never come close to before. Some of us have spent years dreaming Taylor would do a whole album like this, but nobody really dreamed it would turn out this great. Her greatest album — so far.

Lover self-consciously summed up the first 30 years of her life, bringing all her musical passions together. But on Folklore, she leaves her comfort zones behind. It sounds like she figured she wasn’t going to be touring these songs live anyway, so she gave up on doing anything for the radio, anything rah-rah or stadium-friendly. She just made some coffee, sat at the piano, and let her mind wander into some dark places. You can picture the candle on her piano flickering as the wax melts over her copy of Wuthering Heights and another song rolls out.

Her sonic chemistry with Dessner is right in every detail; she also teams up with her longtime wingman Jack Antonoff and duets with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon on “Exile.” The vibe is close to “Safe and Sound,” the rootsy gem she did with the Civil Wars for The Hunger Games soundtrack in 2013. As she explains in her Prologue, “In isolation my imagination has run wild and this album is the result, a collection of songs and stories that flowed like a stream of consciousness. Picking up a pen was my way of escaping into fantasy, history, and memory.”

Folklore really feels like the debut album of a whole new Swift — her narrative scope has opened up, with a wide-ranging cast of characters, for seventeen songs without a dud. Yet you can still hear that this is the same songwriter who dropped “Last Kiss” on the world ten July-ninths ago. Here’s a Swift progress report on her quarantine: “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting/I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting/I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that.” The power of her mind.

It’s amusing in retrospect how people actually worried that being happy in love might mean Swift would run out of things to write songs about. Not a chance. It turns out to be the other way around, as she lets these characters tell their own stories: A scandalous old widow, hated by her whole town. A scared seven-year-old girl with a traumatized best friend. A ghost watching her enemies at the funeral. Recovering addicts. A fumbling teenage boy. Three of the highlights — “Cardigan,” “August,” and “Betty” — depict the same love triangle, from all three different perspectives. Other songs tell both sides of a story: “The 1” and “Peace,” or “Invisible String” and “The Lakes.”

Folklore hits overdrive halfway through, when it reaches a trilogy of heavy hitters. “August,” the album’s most plainly beautiful ballad, is a summer romance gone wrong: “I can see us tangled in bed sheets/August slipped away like a bottle of wine/Because you were never mine.” “This Is Me Trying” is the disturbingly witty tale of someone pouring her heart out, to keep herself from pouring more whiskey. “Illicit Affairs” is another tale of infidelity: “Take the words for what they are/A dwindling mercurial high/A drug that only worked the first few hundred times.” The tension explodes when she sings, “Don’t call me kid/Don’t call me baby/Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.”

It’s going to take weeks if not decades to puzzle out all the intricately inter-woven narrative details of these songs. “Mirrorball” is about the same nervous dance-floor poseur of “New Romantics,” six years later, except tonight she feels like the disco ball that reflects everyone’s most desperate insecurities. “Mad Woman” expands on the familiar topic of witch hunts, but it also sharpens the feminist rage of “The Man.” “The Last Great American Dynasty” satirizes the upper-crust milieu of “Starlight” when she sings, “There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen/I had a marvelous time ruining everything.” (Taylor uses the word “marvelous” twice in her career, and both time it’s songs about the Kennedys? No detail is too tiny for her to plan eight years in advance.)

“Betty” is a first — she sings in the voice of the 17-year-old boy in a Taylor Swift song, reckoning with the fickle behavior detailed by the girls in “Cardigan” and “August.” It takes off from the harmonica solo in Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” — which feels appropriate for the only tale on the album where she goes back to high school. “The Lakes” is a bonus track for vinyl, CD and (what a flex) cassette, but it’s a must-hear: Taylor walks in the footsteps of William Wordsworth, the Romantic poet who essentially invented the kind of introspective writing she does, wandering the Windermere Peaks of the Lake District.

Remember when she was threatening to spend this year re-recording all her old albums? She does the opposite here — she refuses to repeat her most reliable tricks. So many of the world’s favorite Swiftian trademarks are missing. No country moves, no synth pop, no first dates, no “Taylor visits a city” song, not even a laugh. The references to fame are few and far between, although they’re tasty when they do show up, as in “Invisible String”: “Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to L.A.” She can’t resist adding: “Cold was the steel of my axe to grind/For the boys who broke my heart/Now I send their babies presents.” Touché.

If Lover was the last album of her twenties, Folklore is the first of her thirties. Lover was styled as a well-rounded musical autobiography, with everything from Nashville twang to electro-disco. Folklore takes a completely different approach, yet feels even more intimate, simply because it’s the sound of an artist with absolutely nothing to prove. She’s never sounded this relaxed or confident, never sounded this blasé about winning anyone over. It makes perfect sense that the quarantine brought out her best, since she’s always written so poignantly about isolation and the temptation to dream too hard about other people’s far-away lives. (“Last Kiss” is usually a summer favorite, but this year, “hope it’s nice where you are” feels a little too close to the bone.) On Folklore, she dreams up a host of characters to keep her company, and stepping into their lives brings out her deepest wit, compassion, and empathy. And it sounds like for Taylor Swift, her best is yet to come.

#taylor swift #folklore #review

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timeforelfnonsense · 4 years ago

Text

His Hero

Criella x Wyll (ft. a little Dafni x Astarion) || M || Ao3 || Ko-fi || Let me write you a story? || Want to know what Dafni & Astarion got up to?

Criella looked absolutely radiant. Her long straight lilac hair hung loose and lovely down the long line of her back. Her spiraling, rosewood colored horns dressed in chains of silver and charms of luminous crystal. Her slender arms were free of their normal leather coverings revealing a tattoo of elegantly scrawled infernal that pulsed with arcane iridescence.

Innovate

A fitting descriptor.

As striking as she was it wasn’t her beauty alone that drew him to her. Rather it was the cocktail of boldness and brilliance she had exhibited in their short acquaintance. Her mind was sharp and quick to collaborate. In the heat of battle, her voice never wavered. He had watched in awe as she conjured roaring thunder and icy lighting. Weaving each spell together in a fearsome tempest. Raining down elegant destruction on Ragzlin’s perverse throne room. Ending the leader’s tyrannical grip on the coast with one precise strike of crackling electricity.

“Enjoying your evening?” She asked, handing him a tankard of honeyed ale.

“There she is- the woman herself.” Let us raise a glass! Wyll chuckled, clicking the edge of his cup with her own goblet of red wine, “To freedom from tyranny! May we hew a path for the downtrodden to travel. To you a legend in the making! And of course to us. May our bond only grow stronger.”

“Quite the toast.” She stated, casually bringing the silver goblet to her soft, quirked lips, “Are you coming on to me, Wyll?”

Wyll shivered at the feeling of the heart-shaped tip of her tail training up his spine. The curing white lines of her facial tattoos crinkling as she arched an expectant, manicured brow.

“I hadn’t imagined myself so subtle?” He said, glancing up at her over the foam of his ale. A subtle grin curling across his lips, eyebrows ever so slightly raised, “Or to put it another way: yes.” Criella’s tail wrapped itself loosely around his waist a coy smile of her own working its way across her stunning features. Her silver eyes were nearly opalescent in the warm, gingery fire’s glow. Wyll pressed his lips to the slightly angled shell of her ear, speaking in a voice smooth as silk, “Your heart beats strong, friend. The Blade rarely seeks partnership.”

Criella’s hold on his midsection tightened as the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. The timbre of his voice felt like a hot beverage on a cool morning. Warming her from the tips of her fingers to the depths of her belly. It had been ages since she’d felt that sort of pull towards another being. Her heart dropped a bit as the memory of standing beside Zoria in a Neverwinter temple entered her mind. She had looked so beautiful, dressed in her gown of chiffon and net. The Ivory fabric standing in perfect contrast with her violet skin.

Criella had been profoundly hurt when her best friend announced she was not only to be wed to her latest sweetheart but that she’d be leaving Waterdeep with her. It had felt like a betrayal. They had built something special together. Something so unique that Criella had sacrificed her own desires to pursue something deeper to preserve it. And Zoria was going to throw it all away. Yes, she had been mad but that all fell away when she saw the love Zoria had for her bride. She loved Zoria and loving her meant wanting to see her happy even if it was with someone else. The passage of time had softened the sting of losing her. It became easier and easier to write to her in the past few years. She even had begun to enjoy hearing about her wife and the sweet life they had made for themselves in Neverwinter.

The experience had stung but it had taught her that hiding her feelings away was not necessarily the best course of action. Who could say if things would have worked out differently had she voiced her feelings? Regardless, it was not a mistake she’d be making twice. Wyll was a good man. She admired his tactical mind. His plan to take on the goblins had been clean and clever. He had fought for people whom he had no loyalties or connection to . Not because they had offered him gold or glory, but because they needed help. A fond smile played at her lips as she pictured Wyll with his tiefling charges, so gentle and patient. She’d practically melted on sight when she found him sparing amongst the children.

Wyll was the sort of man she’d imagined into fairy stories as a brave king or gallant knight. An uncharacteristically wistful sight fell from her lips, causing her baby pink cheeks to grow a deep strawberry. Gods he was handsome! With a strong, noble countenance. Yet, there was a bit of ruggedness to his stubbled jaw that added a certain something to his charms.

“Are you propositioning me, Blade?” She purred careful not to bump him with her horns as she placed her head on his broad shoulder.

“If I were?” Wyll asked.

“I would be incredibly flattered.” she assured, tilting her gaze up at him, “And happily accept.”

“In that case, I reckon our union might continue to your bunk tonight.” Wyll beamed placing a feather-light kiss on her temple. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he added, “ Or I suppose we could just start out here like those two.” Wyll nudged her hip with his own, pointing a discreet finger towards their elven compatriots.

“Now that is an idea!” Criella laughed. However, her amusement curdled as she watched Dafni’s hand travel ever closer to the front of Astarion’s breeches, “But, I think we’d best spare these poor people another...display.”

“You’re probably right.” He agreed, his hand reaching up to stroke the delicate line of her cheek, “But, I’d like to kiss you. Something to tide me over until the party winds down.”

Criella lifted her head from his shoulder with an eager look. Wyll took her chin between his sword-calloused fingers, tilting her rosy face toward his lips. The moment their mouths brushed the world spun to a halt. She tasted of cherry wine and rosewater. The tip of her tongue sliding across the inner edge of his lip coaxing a soft gasp forward. Wyll wrapped one hand around her waist, his fingers gently pressing into her hip. The other laced through the waterfall of lavender hair, soft as satin as in his grasp. His heart thumped loudly in his own ears at the feeling of her warm palms sliding against his chest. A dull ache began behind his eye. A flash of bronze hair and moonlight skin tearing through his mind.

Wyll stumbled back ending the heart-stopping embrace, “Pardon, just a bit woozy…”

“That’s alright. Do you still want to meet later?”

“Definitely.” Wyll nodded twirling a stray lock of hair around his index finger, “I’ll meet you at your bunk when you’re ready. I trust I won’t have to wait long.”

As soon as the party dwindled to its embers, Criella practically skipped back to her tent, a smile fixed on her face. As she pushed the heavy lavender canvas back she took a quick stock of her surroundings. She kept her quarters tidy enough but spick and span did not necessarily correlate with romantic. Perhaps she could light some candles? Criella’s lower lip caught in her sharp teeth. It wasn’t like her to feel like a giddy green lass! She was a woman of confidence and ambition. Her affections had always manifested as quite longings rather than whimsical, girlish fancies. Then again, she’d never been kissed in such a breathtaking manner before.

Criella brushed the tips of her index and middle fingers across the plush flesh of her lips shivering as she felt the ghost of Wyll’s astounding kiss. He tasted of ale and smelled of campfire and sweet earth. Criella had been a firm believer that first kisses were more often than not dreadfully awkward but he had proven her dead wrong. She could have even been coaxed to reconsider her stance on public displays of desire, were it not for the strange sharpness that pried them apart.

She felt a phantom throb behind her eyes. Who was that? She’d caught the glimpse of a face in Wyll’s mind as their thoughts slipped together. Bronze hair glowing in a fiery halo, flawless skin the color of the moonlight, her lips impossibly pink but the finer details of her appearance remained obscured by a fog of uncertainty. After a moment of concentration, she came to the conclusion that It didn’t matter who she was. Criella had never been the jealous sort and she had no intention of starting now. Wyll was a charming, attractive gentleman; she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking his affections had never belonged to another, nor did she mind that they had. What mattered was the here and now. And in the here and now Wyll wanted her.

With that sorted, she shifted her focus to the matter at hand. She kicked off her boots before peeled away the soft leather of her leggings carefully folding and tucking them away. She loosened the laces of her green blouse allowing it to hand loose and casual from her narrow shoulders. With a stylish flick of her hand, she projected her mirror image. She shifted her weight to her right foot, her hip popping out slightly as her hand came to rest on its peak.

“You are still glowing from battle. On my honor, you’ve never looked more beautiful.” Wyll’s warm voice filled the tent wrapping around her half-dressed body like a lover’s embrace. He approached her with slow, sure steps but his eyes flickered with a gentle want that set a fire between her thighs.

Once more, Wyll pulled her close, their lips meeting in a deep sensual kiss. Criella’s palms pressed against his firm chest taking up a handful of his dark cotton shirt as she pulled him closer. His fingers found their way to her hair, his nails skimming lightly across her scalp. Criella cupped his cheek, thumb running along his scarred cheek.

Wyll winced, pulling back from her kiss once more. Before she could ask what was wrong the needling pain behind her eye retired once more along with the mysterious woman. Her dazzling smile turned razor-sharp. Horns pushed their way through her ginger hair. Her creamy complexion shifting to a steely blue as two great, leather wings spreading out from her proud shoulders.

A Cambion.

There was no mistaking it. This woman was Wyll’s patron, she was certain. Criella tried to hold her image in her mind, searching for any defining features or giveaways of her nature but Mizora’s wicked grin cut through her thoughts like a knife forcing her to look away.

“Damnit. Must she ruin everything?” Wyll muttered bringing his palm to his stone eye to rub away the discomfort. “I’m sorry it's not supposed to be this way.”

“That was her, wasn’t it? Mizora.”

Wyll’s shoulders slumped, hand still guarding his eye, “Yes. Wherever she’s gone she still haunts me. A ghost in all but name. Sometimes I swear I can smell her- sulfur and orchids. Stops my heart just to think of it. I thought I could forget Mizora. Just for one night. Gods, how wrong I was. “

Criella’s lips turned up into a soft smile as she pulled Wyll’s guardian palm from his face. Her voice was warm and sure as she spoke, “I understand Wyll, as well as I am able at least. Why don’t you spend the night beside me? No sex just sharing each other's company, hm?”

“I’d like that.”

Criella guided him down to her woolen bedroll by the arm. Wyll’s head came to read against her chest as she gently rubbed the tension from his strong, reliable shoulders. He let out a sigh as her nimble fingers worked at a perpetually tight spot near his collarbone.

“I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel safe.” He confessed, warm whisky brown eyes meeting her’s. “I’m used to being the hero. Not so used to needing one.”

“It must be hard,” She mused in a musical tone, hands still working the stubborn muscle, Looking out for everyone else all the time. Devoting yourself to helping others. That’s a heavy burden for one man to carry. You are allowed to have a few moments for yourself. Besides, you’ll always be a hero to me, Wyll.”

“It means so much to hear those words from you.” He sighed, warping his hand gently around her wrist, I wish I could give you something more in return. My flesh at least. Something deeper were you to ask it. But only a free man can give himself fully. Until my pact is broken... I’m never free.”

“You will be rid of her one day. Sooner than you might think too.” She winked, tossing her loose hair with a flick of her tail, “You have my aid now after all! I’m somewhat of an expert on the Hells, Cania in particular, but I have a fair knowledge of the other eight as well. I’m no stranger to the politics and schemes of devils and there is nothing I can’t do once my mind is set to it. “

Wyll pressed his lips in a soft kiss to the sensitive skin on her inner wrist before pressing her palm to his steadily beating heart. “You are a blessing, Wit.”

#elf writes #wyll #astarion #Criella Wit #dafni of gwynneth #bg3 oc

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ts1989fanatic · 4 years ago

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Taylor Swift Leaves Her Comfort Zones Behind on the Head-Spinning, Heartbreaking ‘Folklore’

Her eighth album is a radical detour into the deepest collection of songs she’s ever come up with

So here we are again. The world was in the middle of the cruelest summer ever, just staggering through late July, when Taylor Swift decided to make it all so much messier — her specialty. In a move that nobody saw coming, she announced a surprise album on July 23rd, less than a year after her career-capping smash Lover. (A year to the day after she dropped “The Archer.”) Like the rest of us, Swift had to cancel her summer, including her LoverFest shows, which would have been next week. Instead, she spent the quarantine season throwing herself into a new, secret project: her eighth album, Folklore. But the real surprise is the music itself — the most head-spinning, heartbreaking, emotionally ambitious songs of her life.

Her sonic chemistry with Dessner is right in every detail; she also teams up with her longtime wingman Jack Antonoff, and duets with Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon on “Exile.” The vibe is close to “Safe and Sound,” the rootsy gem she did with the Civil Wars for The Hunger Games soundtrack in 2013. As she explains in her Prologue, “In isolation my imagination has run wild and this album is the result, a collection of songs and stories that flowed like a stream of consciousness. Picking up a pen was my way of escaping into fantasy, history, and memory.”

Folklore really feels like the debut album of a whole new Swift — her narrative scope has opened up, with a wide-ranging cast of characters for 17 songs, without a dud. Yet you can still hear that this is the same songwriter who dropped “Last Kiss” on the world 10 July-9ths ago. Here’s a Swift progress report on her quarantine: “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting/I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting/I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that.” The power of her mind.

It’s amusing, in retrospect, how people actually worried that being happy in love might mean Swift would run out of things to write songs about. Not a chance. It turns out to be the other way around, as she lets these characters tell their own stories: A scandalous old widow, hated by her whole town. A scared seven-year-old girl with a traumatized best friend. A ghost watching her enemies at the funeral. Recovering addicts. A fumbling teenage boy. Three of the highlights — “Cardigan,” “August,” and “Betty” — depict the same love triangle, from all three different perspectives. Other songs tell both sides of a story: “The 1” and “Peace,” or “Invisible String” and “The Lakes.”

Folklore hits overdrive halfway through, when it reaches a trilogy of heavy hitters. “August,” the album’s most plainly beautiful ballad, is a summer romance gone wrong: “I can see us tangled in bedsheets/August slipped away like a bottle of wine/Because you were never mine.” “This Is Me Trying” is the disturbingly witty tale of someone pouring her heart out, to keep herself from pouring more whiskey. “Illicit Affairs” is another tale of infidelity: “Take the words for what they are/A dwindling mercurial high/A drug that only worked the first few hundred times.” The tension explodes when she sings, “Don’t call me kid/Don’t call me baby/Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.”

It’s going to take weeks if not decades to puzzle out all the intricately interwoven narrative details of these songs. “Mirrorball” is about the same nervous dance-floor poseur of “New Romantics,” six years later, except tonight she feels like the disco ball that reflects everyone’s most desperate insecurities. “Mad Woman” expands on the familiar topic of witch hunts, but it also sharpens the feminist rage of “The Man.” “The Last Great American Dynasty” satirizes the upper-crust milieu of “Starlight” when she sings, “There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen/I had a marvelous time ruining everything.” (Taylor uses the word “marvelous” twice in her career, and both times it’s in songs about the Kennedys? No detail is too tiny for her to plan eight years in advance.)

“Betty” is a first — she sings in the voice of the 17-year-old boy in a Taylor Swift song, reckoning with the fickle behavior detailed by the girls in “Cardigan” and “August.” It takes off from the harmonica solo in Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” — which feels appropriate for the only tale on the album where she goes back to high school. “The Lakes” is a bonus track for vinyl, CD, and (what a flex) cassette, but it’s a must-hear: Taylor walks in the footsteps of William Wordsworth, the Romantic poet who essentially invented the kind of introspective writing she does, wandering the Windermere Peaks of the Lake District.

Remember when she was threatening to spend this year rerecording all her old albums? She does the opposite here — she refuses to repeat her most reliable tricks. So many of the world’s favorite Swift-ian trademarks are missing. No country moves, no synth pop, no first dates, no “Taylor visits a city” song, not even a laugh. The references to fame are few and far between, although they’re tasty when they do show up, as in “Invisible String”: “Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to L.A.” She can’t resist adding: “Cold was the steel of my axe to grind/For the boys who broke my heart/Now I send their babies presents.” Touché.

If Lover was the last album of her twenties, Folklore is the first of her thirties. Lover was styled as a well-rounded musical autobiography, with everything from Nashville twang to electro-disco. Folklore takes a completely different approach, yet feels even more intimate, simply because it’s the sound of an artist with absolutely nothing to prove. She’s never sounded this relaxed or confident, never sounded this blasé about winning anyone over. It makes perfect sense that the quarantine brought out her best, since she’s always written so poignantly about isolation and the temptation to dream too hard about other people’s far-away lives. (“Last Kiss” is usually a summer favorite, but this year, “Hope it’s nice where you are” feels a little too close to the bone.) On Folklore, she dreams up a host of characters to keep her company, and stepping into their lives brings out her deepest wit, compassion, and empathy. And it sounds like for Taylor Swift, her best is yet to come.

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retvenkos · 4 years ago

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hi!! congrats on 2.5k!! i was wondering if i could get a ship for atla, lok and into the spider verse (if that’s okay ofc!!) ?

i’m a 5”3 bisexual girl. i’m pretty sure i’m an enfj and i’m a leo (with an aqua moon and leo rising if that helps in any way!)

i tend to love/crave attention but i tend to be very insecure once in it (and just in general). i love meeting new people, i have a slight tendency of selfishness but i will do absolutely anything for my friends. i’m not a fan of taking a backseat in many things, including life. i like to poke fun at people but am always terrified of hurting their feelings. i also value peoples perception of me a lot.

i like to read, write, hang out with friends, learn new things, sleep, spend time with friends, photography, and going to concerts. i play basketball and work out on my own time.

hopefully that’s not too much/too little. thank you in advance and i hope you have a wonderful day/night!!

ATLA:

I ship you with Katara!

alright, so i think that katara would be a great match for you because you are both fiercely loyal and independent in life, but you also carry a softness with you that makes you feel vulnerable and insecure.

there is a bit of turbulence in both of you that would be disastrous when paired with someone incredibly turbulent (like zuko) or someone incredibly steadfast (like toph), so you both need someone who recognizes the struggles you face and gives them merit, but is also actively working for stability and peace.

you and katara would be good together because you will both do what it takes to save each other, no matter the cost. it’s good that you both have this attitude because when the other does something terrible in the name of saving everyone, you understand and don’t judge them for it.

you’re both natural leaders with a fair amount of altruism, so you both strive to do what is best for everyone, taking charge in many situations. you are the parents of the group - making sure everyone is alright and doing what needs to be done.

if you have trouble making decisions, katara is wonderful to lean on because she always has an idea, and she’s acted like a mother for so long she has what it takes to make the decision. oftentimes you can be caught between two decisions, but by taking to katara, you can figure out what path would be best.

both of you are extroverted and love to be in the thick of things, so i imagine the two of you are a bit of thrill seekers - i have no doubt that katara would go to concerts with you and would play basketball with you (although she’s not very good and would much rather cheer you on from the stands).

i have this idea that in a modern! au the two of you met at a party or something similar - maybe you’re a friend of zuko’s and you force him to go to a party he was invited to, and you meet katara and the two of you immediately hit it off and hang out for the rest of the night.

or, both of you are photographers and in a high school! au you’re in a photography club together, and the two of you are tasked with getting pictures of some school event or another, and she drives you there, and afterwards you stop to get fast food and end up talking late into the night.

either way, the two of you are a force to be reckoned with, when you team up. you’re both supportive of each other and determined and reliable.

you are a little more tolerant than katara, so you are definitely one to talk her down, esp. when she’s holding a grudge against someone, and she trusts your judgement. you may not always get her to back down completely, but you do get her to back down just a little.

LOK:

I ship you with Asami Sato!

alright, so here is a power couple if i have ever seen one

you and asami are wicked smart with the outward confidence to change the world (while still being vulnerable to your own insecurities) and hearts big enough to want to save everyone.

both of you love learning and coming up with new ideas, so when you are together, your creativity just flows and you come up with cool, new ideas together.

you guys also have a tough side to you - neither of you will turn down a challenge, and your dedication to your friends is unparalleled.

i see you guys as being the cool aunts - you are the voice of reason in your friend group, sure, but you also let them run wild with weird plans and interfere after the worst of the damage has been done. and it’s always like,,, you just go along with this ridiculous plan? “yep. because if we don’t, they’ll do it without us and that would be disastrous.”

okay, but i also just love the quiet moments between you two. you play pai sho together, and even though asami wins every time, you insist that at some point, you are going to win and continue to play anyway.

i also think that asami gets pretty competitive? she loves winning, and even though she always asks you if you’re sure, she’s secretly very glad when you insist on playing (and losing).

and she’s also so supportive? she would love to read your writing or hang up your photography. she’s a proud girlfriend™ and will not hesitate to tell you how great you are.

you, in turn, are constantly talking about how cool your girlfriend is - because have you met asami? she’s talented. she’s kind. she’s tough. she will kick you in the face, and then you’ll thank her for it.

oh, and 100%, asami will make sure that both of you find the time to sleep. both of you love having lazy weekend mornings where you stay in bed until noon, waking up when the sun filters through the windows but staying in bed, talking tiredly and laughing at each others jokes, intertwining your hands and playing footsie under the covers. you drift back off to sleep in asami’s arms, and when you finally wake up and decide to start the day, the two of you go to get brunch and then go for a drive.

and going for a d r i v e with asami is peak sweetness. you drive slowly through the city, hand in hand, and when you make it to the more deserted roads, asami goes fast. and spirits, you swear that she is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen when her hair is blowing in the wind and she has that determined but thrilled smile on her face.

Into The Spider-Verse:

I ship you with Miles Morales!

first of all, both of you have big hearts and believe that you can make a difference. you also carry that same bit of doubt and insecurity, so whenever you hype the other you’re not out of touch - you just truly believe the world of each other, so you are sincere in your belief that the other is capable of anything

you guys are also artistic, and that’s a source of bonding for sure. you both find things visually beautiful and you both have a way with words, so you two often hang out and just create together. you write while he draws, and then, on the weekends, you take photos while he puts sticker around town, or when he’s doing graffiti.

you’re also wicked smart - both of you. i imagine that the two of you love to team up on projects together because you work really well together, while still having fun. miles plays music for you while you’re working on the project, and the two of you debate over what artists are better.

miles probably introduces you to a lot of music, and the two of you plan to go to concerts together, if you ever save up enough money.

but if you are a superhero too, you definitely just put on your masks and sneak into venues and listen from the shadows. 100%, someone has caught the two of you, and so now concerts will save a spot for their friendly neighborhood heroes - they mark it off with tape and everything.

i feel like you and miles will spend a lot of time just.... chilling. hanging out, talking about whatever comes to mind. you’re lives are often going so fast - with him being spider-man and everything, so it’s good when the two of you can just hang out, sprawled out on the floor while playing video games. you bring the snacks and miles provides the entertainment, and the two of you can just be kids.

you can both be idealistic and selfless when it comes to the people you love, and while that can sometimes be a dangerous combo to have, you are both constantly saving the other after they do something recklessly noble, so you keep each other in check.

you also lean on each other a great deal. you both trust each other’s judgement more than anything, and so you often have open dialogue about the choices you have to make, and what the best course of action would be.

also, something i think is cute is that both of you like to tease, but you worry about taking it too far. so both of you will say something and be like, “but i didn’t mean it— are you alright? because it was just a joke— a pretty stupid joke, actually, i don’t know why i thought it would be funny—” and the other is like. “i promise it’s alright. yes, you’re fine i swear. i’m all good, i guarantee.”

#2.5k celebration!#celebration #lxncelotships #i love asami a whole lot you deserve her tbh

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