#when fred was like those are expensive i was like. he's right!!

[hexjulia]

categorising Mrs. Caliban as Realism because it accurately depicts the dent an avocado addiction puts in your budget.

[subtly-a-selkie]

OMG IM SO NERVOUS KDJSB

but like imagine hiro with an s/o who loves to collect random stuff or like picks up rocks and gives them to hiro and is like “here this rock reminded me of you” ODMSJSHHA

i absolutely adore this ask! it might just be because i do the same thing but i’m really excited to write it. I’m so so so sorry for the delay, i had surgery in july and have been recovering since then, plus the Anniversary was last month. (yes that's a long time but please cut me some slack I have been doing my best) anyways i hope you like it! because its been so long since i started it, i wrote it a little differently than usual. it's like a little collection of moments.

also! not only do I now have an ao3, but i also have a taglist! both are linked in my navigation.

Word count: A little over 1k :)

Warnings: Big Hero Six: The Series lore thrown in (Bessie is a meteorite bear, yes it is as weird as it sounds). We are going to pretend I payed for my own matcha ice cream and know how much it was. San Fransokyo cable cars are officially Not That Expensive because I said so. i apparently really like the word intertwine

"I'm back!" You exclaim, sitting down on Hiro's bed to look at him. He was still in the same position as when you had left, staring blankly at his computer screen, he had been trying to fix something on Baymax's suit and you could tell by his slumped posture he hadn't succeeded yet. He brightens up at your voice, and rolls his chair around to face you.

"How was your adventure into the woods?" He asks, pressing the save button on his document.

"Your phrasing makes it sound like there was a seventy percent chance that I would have dropped dead as soon as I heard a bird that isn't a pigeon."

"There's moose, mosquitos, and Bessie in those woods Y/N. I'd say eighty."

"Bessie likes me Hiro. Because I appreciate nature while you would rather wither away staring at a screen."

"Bessie doesn't like anyone. She's a bear."

"A bear that likes me." You retort, laughing at his expression. "Oh! I got you something!" You rummage in your bag and pull out a rock. "Its shaped like Mochi!" 

"So a round rock." Hiro says and you gasp, cupping your hands around Mochi's ears, who had taken up residence on your lap almost as soon as you had sat down on the bed.

"Don't listen to him Mochi you are perfectly cat shaped." You coo at the cat who meows smugly in response.

Hiro takes the rock from where it lay on the bed, you had abandoned it in favor of the real Mochi, turning it over in his hands. You're right, he admits to himself, it does look uncannily like Mochi, even having discoloration where he has his patches. He moves his gaze to you and smiles, setting rock Mochi down on his desk. 

"You know that ice cream place you've been wanting to go to? The one with matcha ice cream?" 

You lift your head from your fussing over Mochi at his voice and smile back at him. "Yeah?"

He responds by standing up and pulling a ten dollar bill out of his pant pocket, then intertwining your fingers and pulling you up off the bed. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"Hi." You say intertwining your arms around Hiro's shoulders. He's sitting in his chair playing video games with Fred, and you're leaning against the back of the chair.

"Hi." He replies, as you rest your head where his neck meets his shoulder. You stay like that for a bit until his character dies and he disconnects the call, much to Freds chagrin if the whining from Hiro's speakers is anything to go by. He then spins his chair around so you are face to face.

"Hi." He repeats watching as your face brightens in remembrance.

"Oh! I have something for you." You pull a dark feather out of your pocket, smoothing it out before handing it to him. "It reminded me of you." 

"A feather reminded you of me?" He says  as he turns over in his hands.

"Yeah! It's the exact color of your hair."

"I don't think my hair is this pretty in the light though." He's twisting the feather through a sun beam, watching as the hidden iridescent colors are showcased. He turns suddenly, and places it with the Mochi rock, a patterned paper crane, and a few other items.

He turns back to you and opens his arms, you accept the offer for a hug almost immediately, resting your head back on where his neck meets his shoulder.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Your hands rake through the smooth quartz, and you turn a couple over in your hand before moving on to a different plastic box of crystals. You stop when you've chosen one and risk a glance over at Hiro. He is looking at the things you had handed him, the things that you picked out for yourself, this particular crystal is for him though, and you have to somehow pay for it without him noticing. Curling your hand into a fist to hide it, you tug on Hiro's jacket.

"I've found everything I need." You say smiling at him, he nods and leads the way to the cashier, placing your things on the counter, and reaching for his wallet. 

"You paid for the food, I can pay for my things." He pauses.

"You sure?" 

"Yeah." You wait until he's looking at what they have set up next to the counter to add the crystal to your other things, making eye contact with the cashier and then flicking your eyes over to your boyfriend. She seems to have caught your message, and wraps the crystal in tissue paper, along with a couple of the more delicate items.

"Would you like a bag?" She asks

"Yes please." You take the bag from her and intertwine your fingers with Hiro's, leading the both of you out of the shop and onto the streets of San Fransokyo.

"Where should we go next?" He asks you, bringing you closer to him by tugging on your hand, then lifting your joined hands and pressing a kiss to the back of yours. 

"Hm." Your eyes scan the street you and Hiro are on, and your eyes light up at a banner that showcases the aquariums deep sea exhibit. You gasp, and turn to look at Hiro.

"You want to go the the aquarium?" He asks before you can say anything, and you nod enthusiastically. Luckily there's a cable car stop just up ahead, and you both sit on the bench as you wait. Hiro takes a drink of his water and you dig around in your bag to find his gift.

"I have something for you." You say. Hiro finishes zipping up his backpack and turns to look at  you. You hand him the wrapped crystal and he unwraps it, turning the smooth rock over in his palm, and reading the little card that came with it.

"Did you get this at the shop we were just at?" He asks, a slight laugh to his tone.

"Yes." You grin at him and more of a laugh makes its way into his voice.

"I love it." He slips it into one of his backpack pockets and intertwines your fingers once more, resting his head on yours.

People tagged <3

@oyasumimosura your hiro fic is on my list but here's something in the meantime

[leclsrc]

congrats on 2k!! so happy to see such a talented writer get the recognition they deserve🤍🤍

can i request 5 gifts w/ charles?? ty and congrats again!

presents – cl16

genre: flufff, bit of angst, 2k celebration

Thank God for expensive cars—they barely make noise when they pull into the driveway of the house.

On nights where the bed’s emptiness is just a bit too painful to bear, your ears grow attuned to the silence so they can hear the car better. Because from then you can judge the rest of Charles’ synchronized routine—his shit parking, turning the key into the lock, heavy footsteps through the foyer and up the stairs, deliberate turning of the doorknob so he doesn’t wake you.

But he never does, because you’re never asleep. “Did I wake you?”

“Mmm, no,” you assure him, sitting up a little. He sports evidence of training, a bruise on his arm, extra stubble, a tighter fitting tee. He climbs into bed beside you holding a tiny box, rattles it so you can hear the chain shake inside. 

“Good. I have a gift for you.”

“Can it wait?” You ask throatily. “I miss you.”

He looks perfect like this, you think, pretty and handsome and tired and yours. He is rarely yours in these triple headers, season peaks where neither of your schedules give. So you envelop him into a hug, the box is laid on the bedside table, and they’re both gone by the time you wake up to the sun.

—

You were never one to accept presents, especially if they looked like they cost a month’s rent. Charles had given you a bracelet to commemorate your first year together, one that matched his.

“We agreed small gifts,” you’d said, jaw to the floor at the shiny object.

“It is… small.” He responded dumbly.

“Small, like…” you pull out your paper maché cat, which you painted to look like a Sauber driver. “Like this.”

So he’d kept the bracelet because you insisted, with all the love in the world, that you simply could not bear to wear it. Then he posted six pictures of your gift, claiming it was the best he’d ever gotten, pressing kisses all over your face.

—

“Would you like a message on the card, Sir?”

“Oui, oui. Can you write, uh…”

Charles rifles through his journal, onto which he’s written every detail of his life. There are race stats, strategy comparisons, crude venn diagrams of plans, tic-tac-toe games on slow meetings with Carlos, long-winded spiels on life that evolve from French to Italian to English, dinner date reminders, interview scripts.

But none of those is what he’s looking for. He seeks something else, a line he’d written on the day you fell asleep hugging him, comforted by his arrival. He had to leave early that day, so he enjoyed your presence and spent time writing. 

He spends a minute too long searching for it, but finds it eventually, sandwiched in between a doodle of Fred and Antonio. For all his trying, however, he later learns he miscalculated your checkout time, and the flowers never arrived on time for you to see them. He pictures the lilies, wilting alone, pictures the card you never got to unfold and read.

Thinking of you. I fall in love with you every time you walk into a room. Charles

—

You meet his eyes across the table, and narrow yours in silent challenge.

“Woah!” He laughs, amused, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction. “What was that—” He mimics your challenging expression, eyes briefly flitting down to where he holds his Uno cards. The rest of the room watch idly as the game comes to an intense close.

“It was me telling you I have great cards,” you proclaim with a giggle. “Aaaand uno.” 

The intense close is won by you, much to your opponent’s chagrin. It was an easy win, you state, I had a plus four and he handed it right to me. He finds you by the kitchen of the mansion chewing on a potato chip and extends a bottle of beer toward you, in a truce of sorts.

“Winners deserve a drink, no?” He grins, his eyes crinkling. “Consider it a gift. From me.”

“No, thanks. You already gifted me a win.”

“I just let you win,” he teases. “It was easy.”

“Was it?” You raise an eyebrow, and you both laugh. “All this talk, and I don’t even know my nemesis’ name.”

“Right, how rude,” he tsks, shaking your hand. It stays a bit too long, steals your words. “It’s Charles.”

—

In the end, your relationship befell the same fate as the collection of gifts he’d never been able to get you to receive: it just didn’t work out. 

But sometimes Charles revisits his piles of storage, picks out the florist’s business card or the winning Uno number he’d folded up and kept. He checks and rechecks boxes, wrappers, of gifts ungiven. And he goes to his trophy shelf, full of shiny metal and hard edges, and sees there, in front of them all, the Sauber driver paper maché cat.

And you sometimes go through pictures of the both of you, stare at your empty wrist and wonder what it would look like with a bracelet looped around it. You think of waiting, of the empty bed that’s now become the norm, the phone call from your hotel receptionist who asked if you wanted to return for the flowers that were sent late. 

Both of you remember. Both of you look for the other.

But perhaps most of all, both of you hope there’s a life where gifts were received and love worked. Charles passes the freeway exit that leads to your house and wonders, for a second, if he should turn into it. You lay in bed, ears attuned, wondering if you’ll hear the sound of his car.

[beartes22]

Jason Todd Imcorrect quotes (2/??)

Continuation of this post . Probably 2/2 until like, the next four years or sth

Angsty quotes I probably will add in some fic somewhen. They are also for adoption, they have no home yet. I am just very salty about this.

Bruce: we don’t kill, Jason!

Jason: why? Why can’t we? Why is this your line in the sand when there is no other fucking line you won’t cross!

Bruce: because if we do it we will be just as bad as them!

Jason: Bruce you sanctimonious fuck, I don’t want to be better! I just want to be safe!

Dick: why can’t you understand? We don’t kill! we can’t be judge, jury and executioner!

Jason: why not? We certainly don’t have judges or juries here!

Dick: just because the system is corrupt-

Jason: when I was murdered, where was my judgment? When did the judge pass the sentence, when did the jury declare him innocent? When was the dead penalty discarded?

Dick: …you know why Jason Todd could not have a public judgement

Jason: then what was it, was it private and you decided to leave my death unpunished or is he awaiting my judgement?

Dick: oh little wing-

Jason: my anger and my rage are not unjustified. They are just inconvenient for Batman’s crusade. Fuck you and your righteous fucking convenience.

Tim: you don’t understand! Bruce was broken after you died and Batman needs a robin!

Jason: I did not die. I was murdered.

Tim: I know. Bruce never got over failing to save you

Jason: why is his grief more important than my pain? Why must his needs overcome mine?

Tim: …he’s Batman

Jason: I see. so he’s not replaceable. But his robins aparently are.

Tim: no! That’s not-

Jason: better tread carefully then, replacement.

Bruce: you killed a man. You broke my rules!

Jason: and I will do it again. What will you do about it, then, big man, throw me to your justice?

Bruce: I will take you in like the rest of the criminals in this city

Jason: it will not stick. Thanks to your methods, I am a dead boy that doesn’t exist. I cannot be thrown in jail.

Bruce: you think I can’t put you under a fake Id?

Jason: you will go the extra mile to hurt me, but not for those that hurt me. Father of the year.

Now the less angsty ones. To break off with a laugh or sth

Goon 1: boss, we have a problem.

Red hood: *sighs deeply* what is it now, Fred?

Goon 1: …you know my name? There has been…a confusion in one of the orders, boss

Red hood: oh?

Goon 2: it appears someone mislabeled the… um, SEAL-quality equipment for-

*LOUD BRAYING CAN BE HEARD*

red hood: …how many live seals are in Gotham right now, Ricky

Goon 2: that;s um. a lot. Sir.

Goon 1: I think over twenty, boss

Red hood: and what am I supposed to do with 20 fucking seals?

Goon 2: I-i think they are actually an endangered species? So, so maybe you can, like, open a-

Red hood: no. No. I refuse. No. I will not end up my crime lord days to build an animal reserve. No.

Goon 1: we could also kill them sir. Their fur is expensive and crime alley could always stand to have more food

Red hood: we are not doing that.

Goon 2: I mean, we have done worse things for less money boss

Red hood: you want your ankles to be bitten to death by an angry toddler? Because this is how you get an angry toddler bit your ankles to death with his swords. Two of them.

Goon 1: is…is that a new rogue, boss?

Red hood: worse. Excuse me I gotta make a call

Red hood, on the phone: hey, baby demon, I got sth for you- what no, it’s not from Talía- shut up I do nice things for you on my own- oh fuck you habibi -you would be the bigger disappointment but you aren’t tall enough -oh? Did the baby get angry? Did the baby want a time out?- wait no, don’t pass the phone you co- yes. Hi B. No. Fuck you. No. Asshole. I’m hanging up.

The goons: …

Red hood: *picks up phone yet again* dickhead if you hang on me I swear to god I will haunt you-oh, sorry. Is dick there? Pass him the phone, please, it’s important. *a beat* dick, why did that random man pick up your phone- midnighter? And I thought I had the daddy issues. No wait! I have over 20 seals and I have to get rid of them- stop laughing you asshole!! *hangs up furiously*

Red hood: *turns to the goons* tomorrow the someone will come to pick up the seals. Probably an Atlantean. ETA 8 PM. Be ready or else *leaves*

Goons: …

Goon 1: I thought I knew how phone calls worked but apparently I don’t.

Goon 2: …me neither.

[karereiko]

I watched Musicals of Moriarty (Op1-3) and those were amazing, everything I wished anime had in matter of plot and characters was there. And no I don’t mean Truck of the sherliam that Musicals have (it’s nice add and I love it, but if they didn’t go so hard for it I would be still happy) because it had what I think was important in manga, small details of story and characters that made me love Moriarty so much now. Like the matter of taxes in Durham and how William fixed it right away to help poor, overworked people living there. I really don’t like how anime makes him for first few episodes “the devil” who only whispers on others ears and pushes them to kill and he himself doesn’t dirty his hands. He always put himself on the first line of his plans, like with “Kidnapping of noble” chapter, he kills Albert’s brother on his own etc. Like how Baskerville arc was SO important for Louis, Fred and Moran characters. Like in anime because of lack of it you can change those three to any other characters and it wouldn’t matter. Miss Hutson is amazing in musicals, gosh, poor women, how she didn’t get a stroke or heart attack yet I don’t know XD and musical doesn’t skip on that scene between her and Irene with dress that I found quite funny when I first read it in manga and thought this adds a lot to both women characters. 

You know you did wrong when your anime has less action scenes then musical... Like really, the person who did script for anime did so many strange changes to plot and cut so many important ones while adding own one it's crazy and I have no idea why it happened.

As for character, the best from the start was Sherlock for me, he’s amazing.  I think Liam's one was little too stiff and not enough emotional in Op1-2 but in Op3 he finally is perfect Liam, smiling, hurting, sassy and I think his vocal got better. As for other characters they were amazing too. I only couldn’t get used to William and Albert but only because their anime saiyuus did so amazing job. Louis had the best vocal at the start I think. From songs I think the middle one in Op2 made most impression for me, I need to rewatch it and remember names of songs for future. The “Catch me if you can” scene in the musical was the only one weaker I think in compare to anime and manga, but when at the end of Op2 they come back to theme “Catch me” it did earned a few points back in my eyes. And wow Op3 songs were so much longing of William and Sherlock to each other it’s just wow, I didn’t think they will go so hard for it and I’m not complaining. I guess Op4 focuses more on Whiteley and John&Mary arcs so probably there is not so much sharliam there, but if Op3 was like this then I can image how hard they will go with William visit at Sherlock’s place, letter and bridge scene. And I will only need Op6 with hospital and marriage vows to die happy XD.

ps. If anyone knows if it’s possible to pay and see Op4 somewhere online, please let me know. Buying stuff from Japan is always very expensive for me because of shipping cost, if I can avoid it the I would gladly watch it this way.

[sailtomarina]

Wild Lavender

Hermione x Fred | Kinktober Day 30: “Formalwear” cw: implied sex

When Hermione saw the formal invitation with “black tie” in carefully printed letters, she had to admit a part of her almost canceled on Fred right then and there.

The Merchant’s Inaugural Gala was meant to celebrate the reformation of Diagon Alley and related shopping districts after the war. It had been a long time getting back to the previous levels of activity, too long since people felt comfortable in the public spaces that once brought so many of them joy.

It was through that rebuilding effort that Hermione and Fred bonded, with her spending much of her free time on the weekends over at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes replenishing stocks and shelves alongside her favorite twin.

They were so close to taking that final step towards something more, and when he’d asked her to be his +1, she hadn’t hesitated to accept. Now, standing in his kitchen above the store after going up to get a drink of water, she looked down at the card atop his table.

Black tie.

What was she even going to wear? She didn’t have any gowns suitable for this type of event. The best she had was the red cocktail dress she’d worn at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Could she have it lengthened?

Fred popped his head in the door and noticed her standing there, chewing her lip.

“Everything alright, Hermione?”

She startled at his voice and set the glass down with a loud clunk.

“I didn’t realize the gala would be so formal.”

He sauntered over to look down at the invitation, before looking back up at her with his head tilted. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“I just don’t know if I have anything to wear,” she admitted. She willed her hands to stop twisting the hem of her sweater like she often did when nervous.

“Sorry, I should have mentioned it earlier. I didn’t have anything either, which is why I popped over to Wild Lavender.” 

That surprised her. For some reason, she couldn’t imagine him walking into the posh new boutique.

His next words surprised her even more. “If you go for yourself, let them know you’re my date. They’ll take care of you.”

She gaped at him, appalled at the implication. “I’m not letting you buy my gown, Fred!” He obviously had no idea how expensive dresses could get.

“I promise that’s not what I mean,” he laughed, shaking his head. “They’ll just make sure you get something that matches well. The proprietor also may have mentioned wanting to meet you.”

She wrinkled her brow at the strange comment. Why would a stranger want to meet her? Then another idea came to mind and she flinched. What if they were one of those people who got off on meeting celebrities? She was a household name now, alongside the boys, and she’d already suffered her fair share of dodging the press.

As if he’d read her mind, Fred nudged her playfully. “It’s nothing bad, trust me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Hmm,” she hummed skeptically. “We’ll see about that.”

Her mind whirred as she followed him back down to the shop. What could the owner of an up-and-coming clothes shop want with her?

It turned out that the proprietors were none other than Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown.

She should have guessed the connection with the name, but she hadn’t seen nor heard anything about Lavender following her hospitalization. Hermione had known it was a pretty big ordeal—it was Fenrir, after all–and that her former housemate survived, but nothing beyond that.

The two girls circled her like hawks, and Hermione tried to not stare at the scars marring the once-pretty girl’s face, focusing instead on Parvati’s excited smile.

“You’re going to be perfect!” she gushed. Lavender nodded in agreement, continuing to take her measurements.

“I’m sorry, what is going to be perfect?” Hermione asked, her nerves getting the better of her. She had to forcibly stop herself from gripping her sweater.

“We’re thinking midnight blue to match with Fred, and something that accentuates your delicate features,” Parvati answered.

“She won’t need any support with how tiny she is,” Lavender murmured.

Hermione flushed. She knew she was skinny—several months on the run had made certain of that. She had only recently gotten back to her former weight, but it was still difficult making herself eat when she could have easily skipped meals.

Lavender rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Hermione looked at her directly for the first time. She hadn’t expected the comfort, to be honest, given their history. Large hazel eyes looked back at her filled with a kindness and understanding to which Hermione couldn’t help but respond. She smiled tightly, tears threatening to fall, and it was only Lavender’s reassuring squeeze that gave her the will to stop them.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Hermione,” Lavender said softly, going on to explain, “I simply meant that we won’t need further adjustments.”

It turned out what they had in mind was more daring than Hermione would have ever, ever chosen for herself.

The drawing Parvati held up to her revealed a slender gown that hugged the model’s willowy frame, the back of which plunged deep past the center of her back with thin straps exposing her shoulders. She appreciated the design hiding the purple scar reaching across her torso—she wasn’t ashamed of it, but she still wasn’t comfortable with showing it off to others. She’d cross that hurdle with Fred if they ever got there.

The skirt flared outward at the knee in a mermaid silhouette. Hermione had only ever considered the shape as something appropriate for wedding gowns, not for anything she would ever wear.

“We’re adding a charm to occasionally shimmer gold as you move,” Parvati described. She waved her hands in her excitement. “You won’t need to wear a bra or anything for support since we’ll have spells weaved into the fabric, not that you even can wear one with this design. I’d advise against knickers, as well.”

“It’s beautiful, but don’t you think it’s a bit…much…for me?” she tentatively asked.

“Nonsense,” Lavender scoffed. Her voice regained the vigor of her youth in her certainty. “In fact, I’d wager you’ll catch every single person’s attention the moment you walk in. You are magnificent.”

Hermione only wanted one wizard’s attention, but she flushed at the compliment, all the same.

“Just make sure you credit Wild Lavender when asked about your stylist,” Parvati added. 

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. Here was the true reason they’d wanted to meet her so badly. When they refused her payment, she barely argued. If they wanted her to parade their goods to the world, she might as well take them up on the offer.

She had no idea what to expect as she waited for Fred to arrive at her flat. She trusted he’d dress appropriately thanks to the girls, but she also wouldn’t have put it past the mischievous wizard to show up in something akin to his and George’s signature orange.

Hermione had to admit that she wouldn’t even mind.

As garish as the color was, the brightness of it simply suited him. Fred was pure joy. If he hadn’t survived his injuries after the final battle, Hermione knew the loss would have devastated his family and everyone else who knew him, and she would have been robbed of some of the happiest moments of her life.

When the knock came, a cheery trio of raps that was all Fred, she took a steadying breath before opening the door.

Fred Weasley cleaned up extremely well.

The prat knew it, too.

He stood there, one hand casually in his pocket, and the other holding up a single-stemmed rose in a deep shade of red, a single dark blue ribbon tied to the stem.

He wore a three-piece suit in a shade of brown Hermione immediately likened to her favorite dark roast coffee. The color complimented his hair, shorn short on the sides and the longer tresses up top styled in fashionable messiness. Accents of a blue matching the rose’s ribbon could be found in his slim tie and pocket square, both of which brought out his light blue eyes, which were currently pinned on her and twinkling in a way that was uniquely his.

“Hello, Hermione.”

It took a twist of his lips for Hermione to realize she was gaping at him. She shut her mouth with an audible click and hastily cast about for something appropriate to say.

She was an intelligent witch. She could be witty when required.

“Hi.”

Bloody hell.

His damnable lips curled upward into a grin. He then blatantly ran his eyes down her figure, before locking back onto her stupefied gaze. “You look gorgeous.”

Hermione was forced to clear her throat, which suddenly felt extremely dry, before answering. “Thank you. You look very nice, as well.”

She flushed as he chuckled at her stiff response. She sounded nothing like her normal self, and she hated that. Why couldn’t she just act like she normally did around him? It was usually so easy.

Curse Lavender and Parvati for making him look so damn delicious.

Hermione already knew he was a good-looking and fit wizard; a blind witch could have told her that. He and George had been Beaters, after all. They had the muscle mass to back up the skills the position required: broad shoulders, thick thighs that his dress slacks hugged sinfully, and an arse so tight she knew if he just turned around she’d want to bounce a Quaffle off of it.

Were Quaffles bouncy?

“Shall we?” He held out an elbow.

“Yes, oh!” Hermione plucked the rose from his fingers and rushed back to the kitchen to set it in a vase in the dead center of the island. “Now I’m ready.”

A choked sound had her twirling around in concern. His eyes were wide, and she realized that he’d seen her back for the first time.

Her very. Bare. Back.

He smiled tightly at her, closed his eyes for a few seconds, the tendons in his neck standing out, then reopened them before offering his arm once more for her to take.

As she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, Hermione couldn’t help but squeeze lightly in appreciation. He was just so solid and warm, and she couldn’t help but imagine him wrapping those same arms around her. What would they feel like pressing her against the wall, or bent over a desk?

A throat clearing had her looking up into crystal clear eyes that looked hungry.

“Yes?”

“That’s the second time you’ve said ‘yes’ this evening and I’m tempted to make you say it several times more before we even leave the flat.” He sounded hoarse, eyes dropping down to her lips and staring like he wanted nothing more than to bite them.

Circe help her, but she wanted him to bite her.

“Then why don’t you?” she said, far more breathily than she’d intended.

“Be careful what you ask for, Hermione,” he warned, turning to face her and placing his other hand on her hip.

Looking as he did, painfully handsome and dressed up for her, Hermione summoned every ounce of courage in her body to voice her thoughts aloud.

“Make me say ‘yes’, Fred.”

His eyes flashed, and then he was on her, pressing her up against the kitchen island, the hand on her hip sliding down to grip her thigh.

“Don’t you dare rip this dress, Fred Weasley.”

“Then tell me how to take it off, witch.”

She told him, and they ended up arriving at the gala several hours late, but just in time for the final toasts. 

“Oh, this? Wild Lavender. You will not regret it.”

WC 1966

10/30 “Formalwear” prompt for @hpkinktober

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3

I don’t know if I’ve ever written Fremione, despite absolutely loving the two of them together? The twins are fantastic if any combination, to be honest, and I should probably write a triad fic for them sometime.

The title is a reference to a couple of YouTube fashion influencers I used to watch all the time. Kudos if you recognize it ;)

[russilton]

Is it bad that I want the Kimi experiment to fail bc i am tired of the obsession, especially when it comes at the expense of George.

I have very very complicated feelings about Kimi— he’s a kid, but he’s also a rich nepo kid. He’s got talent, but I don’t think he’s more special than most others. He deserves a shot as much as anyone else, but his shot has come at the expense of two different drivers who earned it just as much, but don’t necessarily have the same kind of family connection and financial backing. He’s so young and I don’t think it’s right to throw money at people that young because of what it does to their ego’s- but that’s not reasonable to expect him to turn it down.

He comes into a seat I feel a deep amount of grief and anguish over losing Lewis from, it automatically sets him up on the wrong foot for me emotionally, and that’s not his fault, but feelings don’t follow flattened logic. His promotion comes bundled with upset about how junior series and Mercedes choices are being handled, grief from Lewis, anger about Toto and his thoughtless, foot in mouth comments, and a sense of… wrong about how Fred was unfairly sidelined and somewhat disrespected by hiring a fresh 18 year old over him.

My gut, petty want is for Kimi to not work out, because it would be a perfect up yours to Toto and all of those who yes-man’d his comments and allowed his dad to shit talk George and act as if dropping Lewis was was always the plan. It would hopefully teach f1 execs squeezing teenagers for a couple more years of money has a detrimental effect, and doesn’t just produce more shitty entitled max’s. That is because I’m bitter, and frustrated, and angry

But I’ve also had enough therapy to know it doesn’t really fix anything does it— it’s not gonna make Lewis come back. It’s not gonna put Fred in a Williams on track to Merc the same way George got. It’s not gonna take away the hurt, or the shitty comments about George, or put back my faith in Mercedes, or my friends who used to like Merc and George and now can’t stand it. It won’t give me my Gewis in championships cars.

I don’t think it makes any of us horrifically bad people to kinda want those things, because sports are petty beasts made of this kind of thinking— and we are allowed to be angry sometimes. BUT I also think it doesn’t make any of us feel much better at the end of it.

You can do both, you can be petty and give yourself some eye rolling I told you so moments while ALSO just not letting that shit consume you, you know? Bc it might be satisfying but it will not feed you long term.

[fastlikealambo]

My Baby’s Got A Gun. || Mafia!Eddie Munson x Black!Fem Reader 1/2

Summary: You get kidnapped and Eddie loses his shit.

Triggers: Mentions of future violence, overheard violence against reader, use of pet names, no use of y/n.

Ageless blogs and minors, dni.

 Other Mafia!Eddie Fics

You Should See Me In A Crown

The Night We Met

                                                 Part One.

“No more street  runners, not a single one.”

 Eddie stood in front of his father’s men, now his men, in his office. He had ditched the suit jacket five minutes into the meeting, the expensive jacket strewn on the back of a leather armchair. In a black crisp shirt rolled up to his elbows with Saniderm covering a fresh tattoo of your lips on his forearm, he pointedly ignored their shocked faces.

“But sir, we need them to do the drops, distract the cops.” One dared to speak up but a dark look in his direction instantly shut him up.

“Then we put our guys on that, not a bunch of teens, they don’t need to be out there with this shit. Pull the runners we have, make sure they are paid, and get Owens to find them good homes, not assholes looking to make a few bucks by taking in a kid they don’t give a shit about. Make it happen and report back to me by midnight.” Eddie responded in a tone that left no room for complaint or disagreement.

The men disperse quickly, some still having the audacity to mutter under their breath or shake their head in disbelief that the boy that used to be the butt of Al’s jokes had taken his empire and spared their lives. 

Sometimes he couldn’t believe it himself when he woke up each morning, blurry eyed under satin sheets, like a kid who fell asleep during a christmas  party who got put in the big bed by mistake.

But then he’d look at you,  deep brown skin, completely naked under those same sheets a silk scarf covering your curls, your head on his chest sleeping peacefully and remember what truly mattered to him.

A knock on the door and his visions of a naked you are replaced by his assistant waiting patiently at the door with no doubt the next round of paperwork he had to complete.

“Sorry Mr. Munson, you told me to let you know when it was six so you could meet your wife for dinner.” He said, nervously.

“Thanks Fred. Has my wife called yet?” Eddie asked, given the fact you call and try to talk him out of taking you somewhere outside of Hawkins and go to Enzo’s for dinner instead like clockwork.

“Not yet. A courier just dropped this off though, he was in a bit of a hurry.” Fred said, dropping a slim envelope on the desk and all but running out of the room.

To escape the paperwork, Eddie picked up the envelope, a dark stain coming through the other side. He ripped the envelope open, a piece of paper and a metal object tumbling into his hand.

He forced his eyes to focus, the confusion began to fade and a fearful rage spread through this entire being as his rational mind confirmed what was in his hand.

Your wedding ring.

Your blood stained wedding ring.

“Fred, get everyone back here, now!” 

Eddie turned over the tiny slip of paper, hands shaking.

                                  LOST SOMETHING FREAK?

                                               555-555-555

“Sir, they are on their way now.” Fred quickly backed out of the room as Eddie shut his office door calmly and picked up the office phone.  Laughter crackles through the phone, the same hellish laughter that followed him through high school into adulthood.

“Hey freak.”

Jason Carver.

“You have 10 seconds to put my wife on the phone, Carver. I’ve already started counting.” Eddie stated.

“Did you honestly think killing your old man would make us scared of you? I know you, Eddie, I know the pathetic little shit you think you buried deep down all these years is who you really are and because we’ve known each other so long, I’m only asking for 80k but then again, how much is your wife truly worth to you?”

“Put her on the fucking phone.”

There’s a commotion in the background, the breaking of glass and cursing.

“Eddie?” Your voice, shaky and scared, comes through the phone and his heart breaks right then and there.

“Baby, I’m coming to get you. Did they hurt you?” Eddie asked desperately.

“Eddie, I-

Your screams of pain shut down the rest of the conversation and it takes everything in Eddie not to throw the phone.

“ I changed my mind so now it’s 200k. Benny’s in two hours or I will put your lovely wife in the ground.” 

“I want you to know that in the next two hours, I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill your men, I’m going to erase everything you have built, because I can. You are going to die anyway, but you touch my wife again and there will be nothing for your family to bury.” Eddie softly whispered into the phone.

The last he hears before the line goes dead is you crying.

At the sound of his desk flipping, Eddie’s men came rushing back into his office.

“Boss?”

Eddie said nothing for a moment, slipping his gun holster over his shoulders before straightening up and turned to face his men. 

“ Carver has taken Mrs. Munson. Half of you will go to his place, burn it down, plant whatever you need to plant and tip off Hopper. The rest of you will come with me, we’re leaving in five minutes.” Eddie said quietly, loading each gun with intention.

Inside Eddie Munson, there was a box. 

A box where he put every single bad thing about him, every time he took a life, every time his father nearly ended his life. A box of rage and cruelty ,the darkest parts of himself he wouldn’t let you see.

His freak box.

With your wedding ring in his pocket and the sound of your screams still ringing in his ears, it was time to open that box. 

I know I said no multi-chapter but part 2 will be posted tomorrow :) Okay bye!

[philliam-writes]

on that tree i'll carve our names (01)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem! Hufflepuff Reader; Sebastian Sallow x Male MC

Synopsis: You have never believed or trusted in Prophecy, not with the way you were brought up. Paying attention to Prophecy is like tossing real diamonds in the air mixed with shards of broken glass. The grab is rarely worth the injury. But when the new fifth year arrives, so do trouble and mischief, and you're inadvertently thrust into adventures and secrets too grand to deal with by yourself. Yet with hardships come friendships, and while you learn to trust the new student with your life, you're less keen on trusting the cunning Sallow boy or the quiet Gaunt heir. Still waters run deep, as they say, and you can't shake off the feeling something dark hides at the bottom of those white-veiled unseeing eyes.

content: canon divergence, fighting prophecy, enemies to friends, reluctant soulmates, platonic soulmates, slow burn, basically HL but Reader isn't MC, angst, hurt and comfort, Sebastian and Reader can't stand each other (until much later), they're all mean, because they're starving for love, will love and kill for each other, dark(ish) ominis, satisfying female rage, also Quidditch because screw Black

notes: [02]

words: 5.9k

a/n: this is so self-indulgent, i don't even know if i'll keep this up. but right now i need to get this out of my system, so here is tragic platonic soulmates with delicious slow burn for borth of them and my favourite slytherin boys. hope you enjoy!

01: hawthorn makes the heart burn

The new student has been at Hogwarts for only a week, and already you cannot stand him.

It’s got nothing to do with the fact that he is a Slytherin. You have never been a fan of the sorting system, because even if it is partly at fault for sticking kids into boxes and teaching them to think in categories, the students surely don’t make it better living by these stereotypes. Not all Slytherins are bad people, just like not all Gryffindors are brave; not every Ravenclaw is a genius, and not every Hufflepuff is a saint, e.g.: You.

“You’re joking! Three Sickles and fifteen Knuts for a Pocket Sneakscope? That’s way too expensive!”

Lifting your eyes from the list of gadgets you need to buy on your next trip to Hogsmeade, you raise an eyebrow at the second-year Ravenclaw boy. He’s taller than most of his fellow housemates, shows signs of a long, hawkish nose and has pimples scattered on his cheeks like a Leaping Toadstool Cap. You can’t really remember his name. Freddy or Fred or August, maybe.

This early in the morning before classes start, the air is especially thick with the smell of late-summer: sweet buddleia in full bloom, the rich green leaves of trees as they sway gently in the wind. Mist hangs low in the valley and over the Great Lake, a milky curtain hiding its resident gently poking long tentacles into the warm sun. The castle is only slowly waking up after a short night—the last grace of long summer days approaching their end as October draws closer.

A beautiful landscape you can hardly enjoy with the second-year’s whiny voice buzzing around your head like an annoying mosquito.

“Look, you wanted a Pocket Sneakscope, I got it for you,” you say and unhitch yourself from the cool stone pillar, one of many holding up the roof of the Viaduct Courtyard’s passageway. “It’s not my fault the underground path is infested with spiders.”

Damned Weasley could have warned you though. You have been using the secret passage under the humpbacked, one-eyed witch leading to the cellar of Honeydukes since your second year when you spied Garreth Weasley sneak through it, and since then you both agreed on staying out of each other’s way as long as nobody rats out the secret passageway to the faculty. He gets to obtain whatever he needs for his weird concoctions, and you get to continue your little business of providing first and second years whatever they want from Hogsmeade since they can’t go themselves yet—all for a certain price. It makes trips to Hogsmeade easier when you can’t use your broom, though the occasional acid spit launched your way is less favourable than the breathtaking view of Hogwarts towering majestically as the sun sets, throwing the whole castle in stark, black contrast against the warm, orange sky.

“Unless you want someone else to get you stuff from Hogsmeade,” you continue with a shrug. “Good luck finding them though.” You move to put the Sneakscope back into your pocket, barely managing to keep on a neutral expression when Freddy or Fred or August, maybe, gasps as though you have reached into the Ravenclaw’s house point hourglass, grabbed a handful sapphires and chucked them at the Headmaster.

“It’s just—it’s just a whole Sickle more than I can spend this month!” he protests, but judging by the quiver of his voice he’ll eat out of your hand in no time.

You give your brightest smile. “Not my problem.”

The Ravenclaw-boy fumes, but when you hold out your hand, he slaps the coins into your open palm, his pale face blotched red with fury.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” You hand over his Pocket Sneakscope and watch him stamp off towards the double doors leading inside the entrance hall. He stops with a small, pale hand on the bronze doorknob, turns around as by his touch alone the doors squeal open with the magic that recognises students entering. “You are the worst Hufflepuff at this school!” he shouts and quickly dashes inside.

You don’t know why he felt the need to point it out. It’s not as though people don’t know who you are: the Hufflepuff who burnt down the left greenhouse in her second year when trying Incendio after agreeing to a bet; the Hufflepuff who broke a Ravenclaw’s nose because said Ravenclaw accused her of cheating in Defence Against the Dark Arts; the Hufflepuff who smoked Silverweed in a corner under the Great Staircase in her third year to see if it would yield any relaxing effects; the Hufflepuff who actually cheated on her very first exam in History of Magic—all in all the Hufflepuff who really should have been sorted into Slytherin on her first day, according to everybody else. Except the Slytherins have no love left for you because you wear yellow.

It is a wonder you have not been expelled yet, surely to do with the fact that despite it all, one student outshines your delinquent record. Your grades are passable, neither at the very top nor bottom, though you do have a knack for quickly learning spells and charms. What keeps you in somewhat good grace is being the Beater for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team—and what a Beater you are: ruthless and quick with strong arms. Maybe not as fast as Slytherin’s Captain on a broom, but you feel comfortable enough up in the air. All your problems seem so much smaller when you soar through the sky. Speaking of Quidditch, a Gryffindor second-year asked you to get a fake Snitch to practice for the team’s try-outs. Hopefully the Spintwitches Sporting Needs opens within in the next week; you’re in need of a new broomstick servicing kit, preferably before practice starts.

You move towards the Great Hall before they clear out breakfast. You did ask Javi to save up some Pumpkin Pastries for you, but he’s been in a foul mood since yesterday because Peeves destroyed a bust in the Astronomy Tower and he had to take the brunt of it. But while you’re crossing the courtyard, you notice a shadow standing under a wide archway, tall and sinewy, though body shapes are usually hard to guess under the loose, floaty school robes. Yet you know that despite looking lanky, this boy is nimble and quick, and his presence is utterly unappreciated—that is how the circle closes; the reason why you can’t stand him.

Even from this distance, you can make out Callum St. Jude’s pale grey eyes—they stand stark against his unruly map of ink-black hair. Paired with skin pale as moonlight, he looks like one of Hogwarts’s residual ghosts.

You feel your face turn into a scowl. It seems that no matter where you are these days, he is lurking nearby. At first you thought he was spying on you to check out the competition for tonight’s Crossing Wands duel. It is the finale after all. But when you had confronted him about it, catching him on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons in the Grand Staircase after your shared Charms class, he had considered you with a blank expression. “Who are you?” he’d asked, looking down at you from a few steps above.

Behind him, trailing him like a shadow since day one, Sebastian Sallow had sniggered. “Seems like you already have admirers,” he’d said with his insufferable haughty voice. “Though that Hufflepuff is more trouble than she’s worth.”

You were about to show him trouble, face hot with shame, when Javi hauled you up, hands under your armpits, and carried you away as if you were a sack of potatoes. “You can’t get detention now, it’s still the first week,” Javi had said mildly.

At least it would have been worth it. It would have been so satisfying to blast that cocky grin off Sallow’s face, to silence St. Jude’s little mocking huff. You firmly believe St. Jude is suffering from the worst ailment to date: Main Character Syndrome.

The symptoms have been evident since his first day: joining Hogwarts as a fifth-year, arriving late to the Sorting Ceremony due to a dragon attack, besting Sallow on his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson (though you can hardly criticise him knocking Sallow down a peg) and mastering every new spell and charm as though it is as easy as breathing. Just last week, he fought off a grown troll and defended Hogsmeade, and now the whole school doesn’t shut up about it.

It is with eager anticipation that you await tonight’s Crossed Wands’s finale. Your fingers practically itch to draw your wand and Flipendo him just to juggle him around a little and wipe that blank expression off his face. He is beautiful, you hate to admit, feeling a sour taste in the back of your throat, but he’s using that face in all the wrong ways. He has the sort of face they’d probably frame in a museum, the kind that’s unbelievably pretty, but unattainable.

“Preying upon second years this early?” St. Jude tuts. “It seems there really is no rest for the wicked.”

“Looks as though I am already punished for it,” you grumble. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

St. Jude cocks his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “Interesting way to talk to someone you fancy.”

“I do not,” you press out between gritted teeth, shouldering past him as he steps into the entrance hall first, “fancy you.” You hope the Thunderbrew potion will be the first you’ll learn in Potions class. Watching St. Jude getting struck by lightning would lighten your mood considerably.

“For someone who pretends not to be interested in me,” he continues, ignoring you, “I see you around an awful lot.”

You consider tripping him as you two ascend the stairs. “Yes, that seems to be the very problem.”

“Won’t make me take it easy on you tonight though.” Since he is nowhere near a gentleman, he doesn’t hold the door open for you and it almost slams in your face. “I always duel to win.”

“I hope you don’t mind spending the next couple of days in the hospital wing.” You bump into his shoulder, hard, when you finally enter the Great Hall and immediately aim for the Hufflepuff table to the far right of the hall without another glance at him.

The hall is buzzing with students, the air filled with the tasty smell of crispy bacon, grilled leak, slightly burnt toast with melting butter on top. It isn’t as crowded as at lunch or dinner time—most students tend to skip breakfast to either sleep in after a long study night or use the hour before classes to finish assignments and homework.

The ceiling shows a clear blue sky with thin clouds drifting past lazily. You slide in the free seat next to your fellow Beater near the front of the table. Javier García is shoving scrambled eggs into his mouth, his bright brown eyes fixed on the Daily Prophet. In your first year, you didn’t pay much attention to him. If you look up Hufflepuff Student in any dictionary, it will show Javi’s face—a hard-working, loyal individual that always reminds you of a golden retriever until he steps on the field and turns into a pit bull from a fighting ring. Every summer he returns to his muggle family where he helps tending to the crops and fields, evident in his arms the size of tree trunks used to heavy lifting. Perfect for hitting Bludgers at opponents and slamming them off their brooms.

You pour yourself coffee and begin spooning slabs of apple-cinnamon-oatmeal into a bowl.

“Ranrok’s Loyalists have put up more camps around the Hogwarts highlands,” Javi says, mouth half-full. “It looks like they’re moving closer towards Hogwarts.”

“Why would they come to Hogwarts? There’s nothing here.”

“The castle has tons of secrets still uncovered. Why wouldn’t they try and get inside?”

“As if they’d manage to get through the defences. Hogwarts is impenetrable.” You take a long sip from your cup, hoping the caffeine kicks in fast. “No one’s going to get inside. Forget about the goblins. Did you see the Quidditch board? Our first game this season is against Gryffindor.”

Javi groans. “I hate their Seeker. Too small to hit with a Bludger, too quick to slam off the broom. We might as well throw in the towel.”

“Don’t let Captain hear that or she’ll turn you into a fox and wear you as a collar.” The Hufflepuff’s Quidditch Captain, Mary J. Lockwood, is sweet in pretty much every aspect except when it comes to Quidditch, and she never hesitates making you take the brunt of it. You’ve stopped counting how often she’d condemned you to run laps around the field as punishment for talking back or disrupting practice.

You finish breakfast and quickly drop by the common room to get your parchments and books for Divination class, hoping it will let time pass quickly until evening. But while staring for roughly an hour into the lazily swirling fog inside a crystal ball without an answer to how this year’s Quidditch season will end, time seemed to move slower than a snail. After dozing off twice and woken up by Adeleide Oakes’s pointy elbow to your ribs before Professor Onai could notice, the class finally ends.

Next up is Herbology and after that you’ve got two free periods until lunch and then end the day with double Potions. It’s a slow day for a Wednesday, and you can’t wait until practice starts in October to give you some change from sitting for hours in the library and going through dusty old tomes or watch the first and second-years getting roped up into playing Gobstones in the common room by the older students, filling it with the putrid smell of its foul liquid. You just enjoy being outdoors more. Which is why Herbology is somewhat fun, even if you and Javi prefer to pass time by betting on who can stick their finger closest to a Chinese Chomping Cabbage, earning a scornful side glance from Leander Prewett.

You promised Samantha Dale and Nellie Oggspire to work on the assigned group project for the essay on Ghouls for DADA during your free period, but when you’re about to set out to the Great Hall to grab a few snacks before going through the list of books you’ll need from the library, Professor Garlick appears before you suddenly as though sprouting from the ground like a flower.

“Oh, delightful, my dear, there you are!” she beams. Small brown parcels flutter around her head like butterflies. “Here is the delivery for Mr. Ollivander, if you’d be so kind and bring them to him now.”

Just in case, you look behind you. Nobody there on the stairs leading up to the central hall. Even Javi has made himself scarce already. She really is talking to you.

“Why me, Professor?” Someone must have hit you with Obliviate. You can’t remember having agreed to any favour for her.

“Oh? Frederick Gustave told me you would offer! Quite an attentive, nice boy! He will grow into a splendid Ravenclaw student one day!” Frederick Gustave? In Ravenclaw? You don’t know anyone called Frederick or Gustave or—the thought strikes you like lightning. Freddy, Fred or August. “All you need to do is bring these little parcels to Mr. Ollivander in Hogsmeade. These are magically nourished woods he has requested, and I am quite eager to see the results for myself.”

With a flick of her wand the parcels change course and begin to circle around your head before you can even begin to explain that this is a huge misunderstanding. She pats your cheek affectionately and twirls around, descending the stairs back to her flowery domain.

Javi is waiting for you at the top of the stairs, ignoring your scowl as he whistles the tune of The School of Jolly Dogs. His face lights up. “Since you’re heading to Hogsmeade, can you bring me some white Chocolate Frogs? Mine hopped out of the window last night because Arty forgot to close it.”

You answer with a rude hand gesture and stomp out of the hall, heading for where you keep your brooms stashed in the Hufflepuff locker room.

~ ⋆｡°✩ ~

The flight to Hogsmeade takes longer than usual. Every time you move too fast, the parcels begin to cry and whine like little abandoned ducklings until they catch up to you. Other than that, it is a beautiful morning as the sun keeps dipping in and out between wispy smears of clouds on the wide blue canvas. The tiny, homey town is alive with witches and wizards scurrying around to get their errands done. The novelty and excitement from visiting Hogsmeade in your third-year has worn off after two years, but it’s still a nice change from the dark school corridors and unending spiralling stair cases.

You leave your broom leaning next to the entrance of Mr. Ollivander’s shop. This shouldn’t take more than five minutes, darting in and out; you’re pretty sure you’ll be quicker than a Niffler digging through a pile of Galleons.

The door swings open easily. It has been five years since you last set foot into the small, cramped shop, yet nothing has changed and suddenly you feel as though you’re eleven again, entering for the first time. It smells of polished wood and something burnt underneath like a misplaced Incendio. Nearly every wall is stacked high with countless wands up to the ceiling, waiting to choose their witch or wizard. Back then you felt very small as a first year, anxious and excited to finally attend Hogwarts and get your own wand—the very first object that truly belonged to you and was not one of your older sisters’ hand-me-downs.

From the back of the shop you hear heavy knocks and a shrill screeching sound that makes you want to put your hands to your ears. Just like five years ago, you reach for the bronze bell on the counter but before your fingers can touch it, it lifts on its own and jingles beautifully. The knocking immediately stops, followed by a last dull clatter and then Mr. Ollivander emerges from the back room, dusting himself off.

He looks at you over the rim of his golden glasses, and a small smile spreads on his face as recognition dawns. The wide counter flap squeaks open when he swishes his wand to step through.

“Ah, the Hawthorn girl,” he says in greeting, quickly closing the space between you and taking your hands in his; you feel every wrinkle against your palm, every patch of rough skin from decades of work as he squeezes your hands. “I have hoped that I would see you soon.”

The question mark must be evident on your face, for Mr. Ollivander explains, “I remember every student and wand I paired, and you my dear, I remember the day five years ago when you came to my shop and your wand found you. Spiral, twelve inches, and a phoenix feather core. Unyielding. But what makes your wand so special is the wood it is made of. Hawthorn makes such a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death.” He chuckles to himself, blinking as if lost in a memory; not noticing how tense you are and the way your uneasy smile curls downward. As though you could forget what the hawthorn means. But instead of allowing your mother’s voice inside your head and poisoning your heart, you square your shoulders and pull your hands away from Mr. Ollivander’s grasp.

“Delivery from Professor Garlick,” you say with a faux cheery voice. It seems only then does Mr. Ollivander notice the parcels still fluttering around your head.

“Ah, yes, yes! Allow me.” He points his wand at the parcels, then to his back room and they float through the shop in rank and file, all in proper order. “And here of course, the payment.” Mr. Ollivander hurries behind the counter, and produces a heavy pouch that he hands over to you. It jangles handsomely when you take it from him.

“Well then, I wish you a nice da—”

“Tell me, dear, have you met him?”

Feet already pointed towards the entrance, you turn your body halfway back. “Met who, sir?”

Mr. Ollivander looks up from the account books he’s been writing in. Something glints in his eyes, but maybe it’s just the reflection on his glasses. “Why, the Blackthorn boy of course.”

You rack your brain for anyone you know who’s called Blackthorn but come up empty. “I’m afraid I have not made any acquaintance like that, sir.”

The wandmaker’s eyes are calm, a sparkling blue of sunlight lancing off a stream. “I see,” he says. “Well, my part of this was fulfilled when I matched your wants with you. Everything else is up to you.” He gives you a little secret smile, then goes back to his ledger, the conversation clearly over even though you have dozens of questions swirling in your head.

Back out on Lower High Street, you have been released of the fluttering parcels and instead Mr. Ollivander’s words torment your mind. You can feel a memory hiding behind a thick fog, blurry and barely visible but its presence heavy and lurking like a ghost.

Wasn’t there something he had told you five years ago? When he had presented your wand to you, still resting in its narrow satin casket. You were too excited to pay him any mind—it had sounded too much like one of your mother’s stories; like an augury or worse even, a prophecy—when he had told you about a cursed kingdom, two brothers, and a hawthorn and blackthorn tree. Why listen to old fairy tales when the real adventure—Hogwarts—was waiting for you?

Besides, if by ‘Blackthorn boy’ he meant someone with a blackthorn wand, finding that person would be nearly impossible. And why would you look for him in the first place? Superstitions and divinations have no place in your life. Not after how it had dictated your childhood with a cold iron fist.

The trip back to Hogwarts is significantly faster without having to look after enchanted parcels behaving like newborn Fwoopers. With what happened at Mr. Ollivander’s, you completely forgot to drop by Honeydukes for Javi, which makes him look like a kicked puppy for the rest of the day.

You manage to start your essay for the group project, although you don’t get nowhere near where you wanted to be before the match. Lunch is a blur of tasty shepherd’s pie and grilled mushroom skewers with a small handful of students passing where you sit to wish you good luck, pattung your shoulder hard enough you almost choke on your pumpkin juice. Others send you little notes with crude drawings showing St. Jude zapping you with a spell and losing tonight’s duel. The messages are charmed to head dive into your cup and plate, splattering mashed potatoes on your uniform.

Adeleide plucks a nervously flapping piece of paper out of your meal and unfolds it. “At least they’re creative,” she notices mildly.

You throw a wary glance at the note. “That doesn’t even look like me.”

“I don’t know.” Javi slurps loudly from his cup. “They got your scowl right.”

Double Potions after lunch flies by for a change. Your Wiggenweld Potion tends to be a tad bluer than Professor Sharp’s apple green concoction bubbling at the front table for reference, but you have a hard time focusing when your mind is already occupied with how tonight’s duel might go.

You have a handful favourite spells that you’ve practised long enough they come as easy to you as breathing. But from what you have seen during the last Crossed Wands duels where St. Jude has participated, he seems to have a natural gift for duelling. You’ve heard he competed alongside Sallow in his first duel, but every after he’s been on his own and you’ve seen the battered and bruised leftover competitors limping out of the Clock Tower. You don’t plan to follow in their footsteps.

When evening falls on the castle and the long, narrow corridors awake with dim candlelight, you follow the throng of hooded students hurrying towards the Clock Tower after dinner. The excitement ripples through the lines of people like a physical force, alive and rearing when the first students file into the Clock Tower and find a seat close to the walls and away from accidental stray spells.

You spot Lucan Brattleby surrounded by a handful Hufflepuff and Slytherin students. Javi is among them, and when you draw closer you notice the ledger in Lucan’s hand and the Sickles being passed between him and Javi.

Javi startles when you step next to him like a Mooncalf facing an oncoming card. “Hiya,” he says in the very familiar voice that sounds a lot like him hoping you won’t be mad.

You raise an eyebrow. “Placing bets?” Your eyes linger on the page as you scan the names on the chart on your side. Only a few names—Leander, who’s been especially snappy since he lost against St. Jude in the semifinals, a handful other Gryffindors, one or two Ravenclaws and the rest are students from your house. On St. Jude’s column, Lucan has started to write the names as tiny as possible to fit them all on the page. Javi’s is amongst them. He ducks away from your scrutinising gaze. “He slew a fully-grown troll last week!” he pleads his case. So much for the infamous Hufflepuff loyalty. “I’ll invite you to Honyedukes after and pay whatever you want from the win.”

“Whatever.” You turn away to get ready, walking into a hard, solid body.

Callum St. Jude steadies you before you can stumble. “Easy there.” His smile slices white. “Am I already sweeping you off your feet? We haven’t even started yet.”

You shrug his hand off your arm. “The only sweeping happening today is when I wipe the floor with you, St. Jude.”

He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll see.”

You stare daggers at his back as he retreats to his side of the hall, welcomed by other Slytherin students who pat his back and ruffle his unruly jet-black hair as though he is the fifth year’s Champion already. He doesn’t linger around them for too long, and instead retreats to a far corner where Sallow is already waiting for him. What an annoying duo.

Tugging your black robe off, you begin to stretch your limbs. For today’s occasions you’ve chosen to wear a simple shirt with ribbon uniform tucked into your plaid trousers. More mobility, less fabric flapping around. A tie or a blazer would allow too much surface for a nasty Accio. From the last duels you’ve watched, you know St. Jude is as sharp as a whip, and he uses everything in his so far meagre arsenal of spells to win.

You’ll need to keep all your wits about you. If he, and the majority assembled under the giant swinging pendulum today, underestimate you, it will be your pleasure to remind them what vicious creatures badgers are. And that they devour snakes.

When you turn, St. Jude is already standing ready, his wand raised. He’s shrugged out of his robes as well and pulled off his tie, following your example. Gone is the hint of the cocky smile he always wears, so infuriating and inviting to punch. Now he is serious, his face an impassive mask that betrays nothing but you have seen it change within a heartbeat before knocking an opponent out with a savage blast of his wand. Like a snake, waiting and watching, until it strikes viciously and sinks its venomous fangs into your skin.

“Attention!” Lucan Brattleby hops in the centre, his arms raised. “Wizards and witches! Welcome to the fifth year’s Crossed Wands Championship Round!” He lets the audience get the whistling and bellowing out of their system before he introduces both parties. “Competitors, let’s get started!”

He quickly dashes out of the way—rightly so, for St. Jude’s opening move is always a lightning-quick Levioso, just like Professor Hecat taught him. You dodge the spell and hear it disperse against the wall behind you, feeling the sparks nip your skin.

“Accio!” You whip your wand towards you, only able to catch St. Jude by the cuff of his white sleeve as he evades with a side-step. But it’s enough to unbalance him as his arm is pulled in your direction and he retaliates by using the moment to blast a few Basic Casts your way which you block by well-timed Protegos.

The crowd’s cheers disappears into background noise as you and St. Jude continue your tense dance of attack and parry; a step forward, another step back, his Incendio is answered by your Glacius; since he prefers fire you do him the pleasure of casting Confringo which forces him to dive to the side. Your spell blasts the wooden weapon rack behind him into splinters and pieces, showering the Slytherins sitting beside it with glowing embers.

“Come on, new guy, give her a proper Slytherin treatment!” one of them yells. St. Jude doesn’t let himself get distracted, not even by the instructions of his fellow housemates or the quips from your side of the room. His eyes are pinning you like a butterfly on a corkboard, following your every step. They are frighteningly bright, you have the feeling that no move will go past him.

From behind you, you pull a large crate from under the buttocks of two Gryffindors with Accio, ignoring their protests when in the last second you fling it bodily towards St. Jude with Depulso. You’ve been working on the right timing for this for a long time—people usually don’t expect to be thrown at with things instead of spells. It hurls through the hall, and to your utter astonishment St. Jude blocks it in the last second with a flying object of his own—a practice dummy.

But where was the spell? You didn’t see him cast one when he hurled that dummy through the air.

At your puzzled expression, St. Jude grins at you, his smile so sudden and jarring as a thunderclap. You narrow your eyes. There’s something growing in the pit of your stomach, rearing its ugly head and snapping sharp, volatile teeth. Basic Casts don’t feel enough, and every vicious Diffindo St. Jude parries or dodges in the last moment. His retaliation is a fiery Incendio after Incendio—you’d think after this time one of you would grow weaker, lose focus, but the heat flaring your way and the flames licking up your uniform feel anything but harmless or tame.

Sweat runs down your temples, along your cheeks, down your neck. Your wand feels hot in your hand, but you grip it tighter, knuckles white. Your lungs feel tight in your chest, but you breathe in stronger, eyes wide. That rage that always lives inside you rears. It is an almost physical pain, like nails against flesh; like teeth against bars. That unwanted animal is starving, it wants nothing more than to get out and you’re surprised nobody else can hear it howling.

“Not as quick or cunning as that Sallow boy, but her spells pack a mean punch,” they say about you. You couldn’t best Sallow, and now there is this new contender and you refuse, refuse to slide down to number three; always coming in last, always pushed aside. You snarl at St. Jude as though trying to wrap your teeth around the world.

The air crackles with magic. Faintly, you hear an echo of a familiar voice. “Do not be surprised at your wand’s ability to perceive your intentions—particularly in a moment of need.”

It seems your wand shares your taste for violence—you can feel that this is the best Expulso you have executed since you taught yourself the spell in year four. You swing your arm, wand scorching hot in your hand—vibrating even—and hurl the Blasting Spell at St. Jude.

You can see his mouth move as he speaks a spell, blue sparks fly from the tip of his wand and then crackling lightning intercepts your attack. Through the sparks and bolts you see St. Jude’s puzzled expression—now is the chance to strike. A surprised opponent is a weak opponent; you swing your arm back—your arm is stuck.

From the tip of your wand a wiry crimson light crackles across the room, connected to St. Jude’s wand. When you try pulling back again, an invisible force lurches you forward, forcing your arm up until the thin light grows stronger, redder like spilt blood. Your arm shakes with the feeling of wrongness crawling up your arm, a kernel of god-awful flavour that has you biting your bottom lip. You feel an awareness. No. More than awareness, more sentient than that. It is recognition.

The point of your wand, shining a blazing white, shakes with the effort of you trying to pull back; shakes from whatever magic is transpiring between you two. On the other side, St. Jude has his free hand around his other wrist, trying to lower his wand, his face as white as a wall. To no avail.

The magic spreading from your wand through your body is like curious, warm fingers touching up along your arm, curling around your shoulder, settling against your cheek. They wander lower and splay across your chest, then sink through your ribs. Close around your heart. Squeeze.

The world explodes.

The magical blast sends you flying. Your teeth clang together as you slam on your back. Pain radiates through your body. Black dots dance before your eyes and blur your vision as you’re struggling for air.

A hushed silence has settled inside the Clock Tower. You shake your head, your free hand rising to your chest where you still feel a sharp twinge. Gingerly, you pick yourself up, carefully feeling for injuries. The whole room is a mess as though a wild Graphorn has ravaged inside and destroyed most of the furnishings. When your eyes lock with St. Jude’s across the room, your heart beats in your throat, making it hard to breathe.

Mirroring you, one hand is pressed against his chest, the other holds his wand in a vice-grip as though his life depends on it. You see him shudder helplessly, as if it were winter and he has gone outside without gloves and caught a terrible chill. His eyes meet yours, then drop to your wand. His lips mouth a single word, and you stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreading slowly through your limbs.

And all of a sudden, you remember very clearly one thing Mr. Ollivander had told you all those years ago.

Once your paths cross, your fates will be irrevocably connected, growing together like the roots of old trees. Your wands have come from the same seed. There is no doubt that you fill find him.

Your Blackthorn boy.

A/N: If anyone is interested in this story, I can make a taglist :) Would also appreciate any sort of feedback, or just hitting the little heart so show me you enjoyed it

[twotangledsisters]

I don’t remember when but I do know u had mentioned one time that Frederic and Arianna’s relationship was secretive at first. Especially from Fred’s father. So how did everyone find out about their relationship? Did Frederic and Arianna tell Fred’s father about their relationship or were they spied on and were eventually found out? Idk but that last option sounds a little too cliche like out of a film😭

Well, they definitely didn't tell him, at least not in a traditional 'Greetings Father, this is my partner Arianna' way.

I'm actually not entirely sure at what point Frederic's father finds out. I know when the world finds out, it's at a ball in which Frederic brings Arianna as his partner. There's quite a bit of drama leading up to it, internal not external this time. Frederic gets Arianna an expensive dress which she feels is him insulting her wardrobe but was actually because he knew her favorite colour was purple and realises she didn't have any purple dresses.

But there's a good possibility his dad knows about the relationship prior as my outline right now has a few intense scenes where they support one another quite openly in front of him... But once I get into writing I could easily just drag those scenes back and place them after the ball. It really just depends on how the story plays out.

Frederic's dad doesn't approve of Arianna as a partner, but at least at the very start doesn't really believe Frederic is in a serious relationship so it doesn't bother him. It's only when Arianna starts standing up to him and Frederic standing by her side that he realises this woman has to go.

[hp-fruit-fest]

Spring has ended, and with it HP Fruit Fest...at least for this year! Thank you so much to everyone who joined the delicious festivities by creating, betaing, cheerleading, reading/viewing, liking, reblogging, kudosing, commenting, etc! You all helped this gal's dream come true! I have such love for the HP universe and for fruit and I thought I was alone, until now!

For those who don't know, I'm still new to running fests and this was quite the learning experience, especially for an event I ran by myself. Thank you so much for your patience, kindness, and support! I plan to bring this back for Spring 2024, new and improved, and I hope to see you all then! In the meantime, make sure to check out all the goodies below and leave them what love you can!

Meant to Bean

FIC. Remus/Sirius. Rated: E. Words: 2,415. Fruit: Coffee Cherry. Postwar. Sirius lives. Shameless smut.

Remus finds Sirius hiding and working in the coffee belt in South America. Though siesta time is usually meant for rest, these two find something else to do instead.

Dark Cherry

FIC. Barty/Evan. Rated: T. Words: 6,098. Fruit: cherry. Poetry. Psychopaths in love. Pureblood society. Ambiguous ending.

The Rosier family organizes a ball. A late guest joins in. Between cherry flowers and the cherry fruit, reason and madness, duty and desire, Evan has to make a choice, which will reveal his true intentions and feelings.

The Serpent Deceived Me

FIC. Draco/Hermione. Rated: M. Words: 4,152. Fruit: pomegranate. Biblical references. Original sin. Virginity loss. Dubcon.

Draco, bored with exile from Heaven and curious about the woman his father made from Harry's own rib, slides into the Garden of Eden with one goal in mind: to make Hermione eat the pomegranate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and ruin her for his own enjoyment. Instead, he finds himself losing a lot more than he bargained for.

Something Sweet Something Deadly

FIC. Harry/Tom. Rated: T. Words: 411. Fruit: pomegranate. Implied/referenced character death. Possessive Tom. Tom Riddle's Diary.

Tom Riddle had managed to retrieve the body from the diary. Now, he wanted Harry on his side

Severus Snape and the Much Needed Vacation

FIC. Remus/Sirius. Remus/Severus/Sirius. Rated: E. Words: 3,911. Fruit: Rambutan. Secret relationship. Trans Remus. Gratuitous smut.

Severus grumbled as he marched to the Portkey Office for his next Order assignment: checking up on Sirius Black. Of course, the bastard had to hide on a tropical island, and Professor Lupin was nowhere to be found, so the task fell to him. He knew Albus was having a little laugh back in his cozy office at Severus' expense. Albus had claimed it would be a lovely holiday with an infuriating sparkle in his eye, making Severus want to hex the imbecilic glasses off his face. However, by the end of the weekend, Severus was considering sending the man an extra large batch of lemon sherbets.

Imperfection, My Dear

FIC. Astoria/Draco. Astoria/Draco/Hermione. Rated: E. Words: 3,668. Fruit: cherry. PWP. Dom/sub undertones. Daddy kink.

Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy were happily married along with their gorgeous, blond-haired son, Scorpius Malfoy, but life got too busy and it was decided between the couple that they needed a babysitter. And they needed one desperately. This was where the recently turned nineteen-year-old Hermione Granger came in and was the best candidate for the job role of babysitter. However, Draco and Astoria couldn’t help it when alternate feelings start to rise from seeing the young woman with their son.

The Cherry on Top of the Cake

FIC. Harry/Fred. Rated: G. Words: 209. Fruit: cherry. Postwar. Fred lives.

Harry has to bake a cherry pie. Fred loves cherries

To Be a Cherry

FIC & ART. Hermione/Pansy. Hannah/Neville. Rated: G. Words: 699. Fruit: cherry. Engagement. POV Outsider.

Pansy is seen doing ordinary things, tasting cherries! Neville is a witness. Hannah is right there. But, it's all because of Hermione.

Draco Has No Shame (But he Does Have Apples)

ART. Draco/Harry. Rated: E. Fruit: apple. Digital art. NSFW art.

Draco does a photo shoot for Witch Weekly, in which he shows his appreciation for his favorite fruit.

Wisdom in Temptation

FIC. Draco/Sirius. Rated: E. Words: 2,581. Fruit: apple. Underage. Cousin incest. Drapple. Secret relationship.

Draco snacks on fruit. Sirius snacks on Draco. Sequel to Gray Eyes (Tell No Lies)

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

FIC. Draco/Hermione. Rated: T. Words: 402. Fruit: strawberry. Domestic fluff. Lyra & Scorpius Malfoy.

Hermione Granger had always loved springtime. She loved everything about the season even though she was a late summer baby having been born in the middle of September, she had always preferred the spring and autumn time. They always called out her names. Then she found true love with Draco Malfoy, who had also always loved the springtime. He felt the same about the season even though he was another summer baby. They purposely had their wedding in the Malfoy Manor gardens in the middle of spring. They had prolonged their honeymoon so they could celebrate it within the spring. But, then came the birth of their two spring babies. Scorpius and Lyra Granger-Malfoy. With the cherry blossom blooming on the trees across the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Newborn lambs and little piglets frolicking about in the neighbouring fields. Loads of loaded picnics with all different kinds of food and drink underneath the shining sun with their babbling children. Hermione and Draco Granger-Malfoy would always love the springtime.

How to Grow Bare Root Strawberries

COMIC. Ginny/Luna. Rated: G. Words: 1,249. Fruit: strawberry. Origami. Offscreen dialogue. Postwar. Loss & healing. Happy ending.

After the War, Ginny gently tends to Luna to help her grow back into herself.

Reawakening

FIC. Severus/Sirius. Rated: E. Words: 800. Fruit: strawberry. Postwar. Established relationship.

Sirius debated going into the office, since he figured they were done for the day, when Severus came back with a bowl of strawberries in hand. Severus held a paring knife. "They're from my garden," he said as he sliced a strawberry into small pieces, juices sliding down his fingers and onto his arms, and held a slice out.

The Sweetness of Strawberries

FIC. Draco/Harry. Rated: T. Words: 3,062. Fruit: strawberry. Postwar. Established relationship. Domestic fluff.

Baking is an unexpected hobby that Harry fell into a little over a year ago, nearly a decade after the war ended.

The Reason We Fought For

FIC. Gen. Rated: G. Words: 449. Fruit: watermelon. Friendship/love.

There is only a reason they fight. To be free of laugh, cry, play, run, and be alive.

Buck

FIC. Draco & Goyle. Rated: E. Words: 1,442. Fruit: pumpkin. Object insertion. Anal fisting. Pranks.

Harry and Ginny come up with an insane prank to play on Draco. Except it goes sideways. Well, more up, and then sideways, but only after plenty of stretching. This is crack gone overboard. Pumpkins go up holes and gaping booty gets an impressionist description; read at your own peril.

Clementine

FIC. Harry/Severus. Rated: G. Words: 162. Fruit: orange. Fluff. Kissing.

Harry and Severus share an orange.

Orange Tree

FIC. James/Regulus. Rated: E. Words: 15,653. Fruit: orange. Established relationship. No Voldemort AU. Domestic fluff.

A story about anniversaries, one-sided gift-giving competitiveness, and a genderqueer tree.

Sweet Like a Mango

ART. Draco/Harry. Rated: G. Fruit: mango. Muggle AU. Meet cute. Fluff.

"And it might sound silly but let's go home"

Sweet Nectar

FIC. Harry/Severus. Rated: M. Words: 340. Fruit: mango. Blood kink. Knifeplay. Food play.

Severus laid bare on the white bedsheets. He was on his back, and the cold ceramic plate rested on his stomach. "It has been a good year," said Harry. He had a paring knife in hand as he sliced the mangoes before setting them on the plate.

The Pit

FIC. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 383. Fruit: mango. Blood kink. Knifeplay. Food play.

The ceramic plate smashed against the hardwood floor. Harry paused his movements — the mango half peeled in his hands. He placed the fruit — all its juices and flesh — onto the soiled bed sheets. “You shouldn’t have done that. What a waste.”

Peaches and Cream

FIC. Remus/Sirius. Rated: E. Words: 2,663. Fruit: peach. Muggle AU. Modern AU. Friends to lovers.

Sirius watches Remus eat a peach.

The Booty and the Peach

FIC. Fred & Harry. Rated: G. Words: 187. Fruit: peach. Female Harry. Goblet of Fire.

Harry just wanted to study charms and eat her peach

Fresh

ART. Draco/Harry. Rated: E. Fruit: lemon. Digital art. NSFW art.

HP Fruit Fest 2023 Entry for "Lemon"

Driving Me Bananas

FIC. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 1,393. Fruit: banana. Established relationship. PWP. 8th year. Post-coital snack. Spitroasting.

Harry and Severus have some fun with bananas.

The Golden Apple

FIC. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 3,469. Fruit: apple. Mpreg. Bottom Severus. Fluff & angst. Domestic bliss. Mild smut.

Severus' life is ruined. Can be read as a sequel to Choice but can also be read as a standalone.

Pregnancy Cravings

ART. Draco/Harry. Rated: G. Fruit: apple. Mpreg. Cravings. Pregnant Draco.

Apple: Symbolism: peace, beauty, wisdom, joy, fertility, and youthfulness OR Song: Rotten Apple by Alice In Chains OR Song: Apples by Lily Allen

Eat of the Apple So Young

FIC. Draco/Hermione. Rated: E. Words: 4,294. Fruit: apple. Underage. Dubcon. Professor Malfoy. Student/teacher. No Voldemort AU. Power imbalance. Unhealthy relationship. Grooming.

Hermione wanted to writhe and bounce and grind her hips into his until her vision went white and spots formed in her periphery. She wanted to pant and gasp and moan as she combusted, shattering into a million little pieces of bliss while he kept her upright, supporting her always. She wanted to pulse and clench around him, walls fluttering frantically until he painted them white, mixing his fluids with hers and joining her explosive, carnal state of pleasure. She watched it all play out in her mind’s eye, all too tempting and enticing. Professor Malfoy wanted her to sit still. Hermione was enamored by him. She would do anything for him. And right now, he wanted her to warm his cock while he graded essays. She could do that.

Drips

FIC. Harry/Hermione. Rated: G. Words: 1,416. Fruit: kiwi. Panic attack. Comfort

Ron's left, and Harry buckles under the pressure. Hermione walks him back from the edge.

Strong and Fast Lovers

ART. Ginny/Pansy. Rated: M. Fruit: kiwi. Partial nudity. One night stand. Enemies to lovers.

It only takes takes a single day for Pansy and Ginny to give each other something better.

Taking Pear of Each Other

FIC. Draco & Harry. Draco/Hermione. Rated: G. Words: 1,245. Fruit: pear. Bars & pubs. Fluff.

Draco Malfoy has a boot full of pears and Harry Potter has a pub full of people who like eating them.

A Small Step for a Boy

FIC. Harry & Severus. Rated: G. Words: 2,677. Fruit: pomelo. Domestic Fluff. Sprinkle of Angst. Kidfic. Mentions of past child abuse. Eating disorder. Hopeful ending.

After having been rescued from the Dursleys, Harry continues to struggle with eating; and Severus struggles with watching Harry struggle - until a pomelo comes along.

Bluberry Crush

FIC. Draco/Harry. Rated: T. Words: 964. Fruit: blueberry. Getting together. Fluff & humor. Vet Harry. Healer Draco.

Draco wasn’t sure if it was palpitations or a crush. Best to find out.

Feels Like Spring

FIC. Charlie/Oliver. Harry/Oliver. Charlie/Harry/Oliver. Rated: T. Words: 5,033. Fruit: watermelon, pomegranate, (& kinda blueberry.) Fluff & angst. POV Oliver. Minor Marcus/Oliver. Breaking up & making up.

Charlie Weasley felt like summer and smelled like watermelon. Harry Potter felt like winter and smelled like pomegranate. Together, they felt like spring and smelled like home.

Bramble

FIC. Draco/Harry. Rated: T. Words: 749. Fruit: blackberry. Werewolf Draco. Established relationship.

Long fingers pluck a blackberry from the bramble bush, and place it onto a pink tongue. Rolling it around his mouth, savouring the sweet-sour taste, before biting it with white, sharp teeth, and it goes pop in his mouth. 

Worth a Fig

FIC. Draco/Harry. Rated: T. Words: 16,873. Fruit: fig. Unspeakable Draco. Lost souls. First love.

Draco struggles with infertility and hopes to find the answer in a magical fig tree. His journey takes him to Aydin Turkey, where he meets another lost soul named Harry.

Vinification & Draco Malfoy

FIC. Draco/Harry. Rated: M. Words: 26,816 (WIP.) Fruit: grape. Vineyard. France. Postwar.

The thick, wooden door, held together with ancient iron straps, swung open with surprisingly little noise on well-maintained hinges despite its age and size. The absolute last person Draco could have ever expected stared at him in a subdued, frozen kind of horror once it was open. “No,” Harry Potter said evenly and calmly, as if Draco had asked him if he was supposed to be alive. “How?” Draco choked on the question so it left his mouth as little more than breath. “No!” Potter shouted as his hands flailed back and forth in desperate negation before diving into the bedlam of black hair, like they sought shelter from the moment. “‘Arry?” a feminine and heavily French voice called out. “Is it ‘im?” “Yes!” the presumed dead man in question shouted too loudly, as if he could no longer control his own volume. “But no, he won’t- we couldn’t- I-” A woman maybe just a bit past her middle age came up behind him as he stammered. Draco continued to stare. He couldn’t even sneer; he was shocked to his core. His chest held onto his surprise like a barely contained explosion. Harry Potter wasn’t dead. It felt like it should change everything, yet they remained staring at each other as if nothing ever would.

Plum Brandy

FIC. Hermione/Severus. Rated: M. Words: 2,030. Fruit: plum. Postwar. Meet cute. Pre-relationship. Pining. Fluff. Seduction by fruit.

Professor Hermione Granger stumbles upon a secret grove of fruit trees on the grounds of Hogwarts and ends up learning more about her former professor (and current colleague) than she ever thought possible.

Sunkissed

FIC. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 1,939. Fruit: plum. Series: Love, Your Enemy. Background Hinny. Cheating. Secret relationship. Language of Flowers. Fluff & angst.

There is no room for beauty here. Still, Severus covets.

Meet Cute at the Farmer's Market

FIC. Neville/Pansy. Rated: G. Words: 489. Farmer's market. Summertime. Romance. Postwar. Friends to lovers.

Pansy Parkinson strolled throughout the local farmer's market, a wicker basket on her arm and a cute flowy summer dress around her body with her naked, newly tanned legs out on the show. The concept of the farmer's market was something that the whole of the Wizarding World in the United Kingdom had stolen from the Muggle World and everyone quickly fell in love with the idea. The farmer's market currently resided down the high street of Diagon Alley and was the perfect time for all of the families that were shopping for the new year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, what Pansy hadn't expected was to find a tall and rugby-built Neville Longbottom running a stall and being the exact image of what Pansy's ideal partner was.

Interrupted Dates

FIC. Harry/Terence. Rated: T. Words: 6,530. Farmer's market. Dating. Fluff. 5+1.

5 times Terence and Harry were interrupted in the middle of a date and 1 time they weren’t.

[racfoam]

Hello best author in the world I have a doubt harry has a lot of money both form her parents and Sirius so couldn't she buy something for the Weasley like buying ron a broom from one of your spoilers , can I have a scene where it shows that Harriet is rich , by rich means loaded

Hello, hope you’re doing well! Thank you for the ask.

I think Harry — since it is from Harry’s POV — she doesn't really talk about being loaded. She definitely is, but she never goes talking about it like some people *cough* Malfoy *cough*

Huh, I never wrote any sort of scene in nynn of Harry buying her friends sth expensive to show she is rich. She absolutely is. Harry bought three omnioculars on Quidditch World Cup, after all... Hmm, I think Harry gets them expensive stuff for their birthdays and for Christmas bcs it's the only time she can get away with buying the Weasleys expensive things without making them feel bad... Hang on...

---------

Gift shopping for Christmas has become Harry’s favourite time of the year. This time — and birthdays — was the only time she could spent some extra cash on a gift worthwhile. Of course, she set herself a limit. Nothing more than fifty galleons (too bad, she wanted to buy Ron a Firebolt) each.

Hermione was the easiest to shop for. Harry bought two books for Hermione — Arithmancy and Warding — which cost twenty galleons each but when she asked the librsrian in the Hogwarts library for the best material, she swore up and down on those two books.

Ron could be a bit tricky. She would have bought him some robes, but Fred and George already got him those. Harry decided to buy him the best Keeper gloves, ones worn by professional, star player Keepers. They cost fifty galleons. Worth every coin.

For Mrs Weasley — and this gift was brilliant in Harry’s mind — she got her a full-day package at the best spa and massage salon in London.

For Mr Weasley, Harry bought him the Culture of Britain and Its History that would teach him all about Muggle history in Britain and the current culture — something he didn't learn in school. She thought about buying him a ticket for theatre, but she didn't know what genre Mr Weasley liked, so she settled on this book. It cost her fifty pounds, but it was university grade learning material. It was bound to be very educational for Mr Weasley.

For Snuffles, she bought red paw shoes (they were too cute, all right?) for snow, and for Sirius, she bought the best wizarding cologne, with a scent like fresh clouds. It was a comforting, nice scent. It cost sixty galleons, breaking the budget, but it was worth it.

For Ginny, she bought her hair shampoo, conditioner and perfume Ginny always gushed about with Luna.

For Fred and George, she bought them wizarding ties. For Fred, blue — his favourite colour — and for George, an orange one, which was George's favourite colour.

For Lupin, she bought lots of Earl Grey teabags to last him for six months, a wool winter cloak, a light brown wizarding robe (Lupin liked brown) and two pairs of footwear: oxfords and men’s boots. Did it cost more than fifty galleons? Maybe. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

For Tonks, she bought a yellow fluffy sweater Tonks liked in a shop in Diagon Alley but was too expensive to buy — the shop in Hogsmeade luckily had it.

To Luna, Harry bought a hand-crafted, shell necklace of numerous shells and pearls on a simple string, which she would send off with Hedwig.

For Dobby, she bought ten pairs of socks.

With all her purchases placed in lightweight charmed bags with an extension charm, Harry walked down Hogsmeade, very happy with all the purchases.

However, something stopped her in her tracks. A thought she never had before — or maybe she did, when she was young and hopeful, and didn’t remember it.

I wonder what Voldemort would like.

Long moments passed, and Harry stood still among the snow and the snowflakes, face cuddled in the crook of her Gryffindor scarf.

Probably Harry in a big gift box with green ribbon and all. Wasn't it Harry, after all, who was supposed to be Voldemort’s gift for his rebirthing party in the graveyard?

Well, Harry couldn't do that. Maybe some lotions for his skin to appear more smooth? Voldemort was very pale... Maybe sunscreen against sunburn? Or, maybe, she could buy him shoes and socks...

Harry frowned. Why was she thinking so hard about a hypothetical gift to Voldemort? Nothing would be good enough for his standards, anyway...

Harry sighed, looking up to the white sky. A few snowflakes landed on her face; little stars falling from the sky.

Then, the answer dawned on Harry. What she could get Voldemort for Christmas. It was so simple, so obvious, that Harry felt stupid for not realising it before. How could it have taken Harry this long to figure it out?

Invigorated, Harry rushed back to the castle. She needed to find Collin. She needed to ask him to take a photograph of her.

[berlinbabylon]

review of s4 (skip if you don’t want to read criticism)

SPOILER WARNING

so, i finished season 4 a couple of days ago and... i liked some parts of it and one episode was good (episode 8) but for the most part i really absolutely hated this season and i never thought i would say that. in my opinion, it actually got worse towards the end! i must be living in a different reality from everyone else.

i’m sorry. i really am. but i have to get this off my chest:

- charlotte double-wielding guns and shooting up those white hand idiots like she’s in a john woo movie? awesome! except... it was dumb af. this could have been so good, i’m a huge genre fan of this type of action, but not at the expense of a character’s intelligence. there was zero reason for her to barge in there when she did. at least make it seem like they’re just about to kill the good pathologist, have them string him up or whatever and she sees and has absolutely no alternative but to intervene. or have them conclude their meeting and start making for the door. please, i’m begging, just anything to make her desperate actions make sense.

- malu taking a shot for kiddie fiddler wendt? thanks, i fucking hate it. for that matter, i hate what they did to wendt’s character.

- for that matter, awesome lgbt+ rep or uhmm not. reinhold and fred don’t even get a kiss or any significant scene together (the couples date at the very end is cute but too little too late) although fred actually has a fairly important role to play this season. we never even really get to see them talk about his decision to work for that nazi paper. like, what. okay, fred quits at the end, good for him, but does this qualify as a character arc now?

- speaking of lgbt+ rep, them blowing up the esther/edgar/walter polycule only to have walter go “well whattaya gonna do. i loved him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” right as he croaks was the most ridiculous thing i’ve seen in a long while and didn’t land at all. i actually cackled. i can’t believe they turned the complex dynamic they had introduced in s3 into this clichéd jealousy mess that had no nuance whatsoever. i’m stunned people preferred their storyline this season. it didn’t track at all. neither did edgar showing up again (as i had predicted) and gereon believing him about wanting to broker peace in the underworld. el oh el.

- also edgar being like “oh btw we need to kill doktor schmidt, he’s an evil mastermind” was an absolutely ridiculous and lame way to try and advance that storyline. it also just got dumped in there and you don’t get any sense that it’s influencing gereon or his character actions at all. not that he has much of an arc or anything this season anyway but back when the show was still good (and by good i mean exceptional), his drug addiction and guilt complex was a major driving force behind much of what he did, how he behaved at work etc. here, in s4, you have to be grateful that they belatedly remember to send him to confession because he’s a catholic but that scene also just unceremoniously gets dumped in there. not to compare but since we have already seen an absolutely outstanding confession scene this tv season (in interview with the vampire, fabulously acted by jacob anderson), i couldn’t help but notice how the confession with gereon was neither written well, nor particularly acted well, nor integrated in its episode well, nor, in fact, scored well.

- max raabe’s ein tag wie gold is a bop but other than that, this season was not scored well and i say that as someone who owns the first two soundtrack releases on vinyl. there were many times when i noticed that something was off, where the music actively worked against the scene it was supposed to be enhancing. the song at the shabbat dinner was nice but as a jewish friend who i watched it with pointed out, them playing piano on shabbat is very sus, even if they’re a reform household. there was a woman with a wig which indicates (ultra) orthodox. not going to nitpick that scene any further though because the shabbat dinner and abe goldstein’s character in general were a highlight (although i loathed the storyline he was stuck in).

- tell me you don’t want to write actors out of the show without telling me. nyssen and helga have long overstayed their welcome. nyssen they could justify by having him pop up from time to time in connection to the rocket science “plot”. but he’s lars eidinger (who’s great), so. helga has just become whatever they needed her to be. anne marie’s actress had some extremely dodgy acting going on this season, sorry to say. i don’t even want to talk about the idiocy of how they wrote this storyline which could have been extremely good and important. i’ll just say that i laughed my ass off when anne marie clocked abe with her flute but generally it was not a good choice to play these kidnappings for laughs (and i guess these rich people just have no security whatsoever, even after the first kidnapping). there’s a time and a place and this storyline wasn’t it. but rich people, funny, or something. well, they are ridiculous.

- the whole story with the butler. talk about wasting screentime. his götz von berlichingen monologue was also really bad although i was delighted when i heard the verses. it just didn’t land. that goes for many scenes this season imo. i don’t know if it was the directing or what but even stuff that looks interesting on paper just does not come across well. it just comes across as ridiculous and manieriert. but not in the good way. (there is a way to do this well and the show used to walk that line very well. not anymore, it seems.)

- (side note: the frivolity of the movie industry provided the perfect pastiche for that sort of thing in s3. which is why i really vibe with it, as someone who’s a huge fan of 1930s movies. didn’t even mind that they relocated the apex of expressionism into the late 1920s when that’s very ahistorical. but anyway that’s a different topic.)

- actually as a last point on the nyssen storyline, abe goldstein shooting a hole in the ship instead of shooting anne marie in the head made me groan. it was so obviously written that way just to give her a chance to pop up later again. it made absolutely no sense, even if you try to handwave it as an attempt at poetic justice. neither did helga leaving her down there make any sense. she had no way of knowing that abe would kill her or make it seem like he killed her. at that point, helga still looked like she could think straight, she didn’t tumble around deliriously, she made a clear choice. and they just did it for the twist, not because it made sense for the character in that moment.

- the show was always very drunk on coincidences, twists of fate etc in that 19th century charles dickens / victor hugo way and i could dig that for the most part because they had this rich tapestry of social commentary going on. while i can still appreciate the breadth of society that they’re trying to show, it now comes across as shallow, there’s no immersion, i was extremely distanced from everything going on and couldn’t have cared less, which is a damn shame considering that this is where we should start feeling even more involved.

- as for one storyline that i couldn’t have cared less about: everything to do with toni. in fact, i think it would have been far more poignant if we hadn’t seen her for a season and hadn’t known what had become of her after running away and then when we least expect it, charlotte comes across her living on the streets, maybe while chasing a suspect or something. now that’s a coincidence i could buy. and such a scene would play like a gut punch. but they rob themselves of any dramatic impact by wanting to overexplain and overshow and being all pedagogical which is a huge problem in the writing of german tv shows and s4 of babylon berlin has started showing all the hallmarks of mediocre german tv and it makes me feel sick, considering how stylish and epic the previous seasons were.

- toni’s actress is not good. i’m sorry. i just have to say it. but also, they stuck her in a nothing storyline. moritz’ actor fares better but if they wanted to pair off the spares and get rid of them, they needed to do that in a way that would’ve left more screentime for the interesting and/or relevant stuff. like, uhm, everything to do with malu/litten/charlotte etc. it’s a damn crime that they didn’t do anything with lotte being fired from the police and then hired by litten. nothing. she gets to mope around at the bar a little bit and poor jacky gets to be her hapless sounding board (he deserves better, so many characters and actors in this cast deserve better). and then she gets to be gereon’s emotional support system. once again, charlotte is deprived of any and all agency and no, the double-wielding scene does not make up for it. the scenes in that haus sonneborn institution were well-shot, the horror film genre influence was clear, but unfortunately i don’t much care for horror films and i also, at that point, did not much care for toni or her friend or the pathologist (f*ck him for getting rudi killed in a very lame rip-off of stephan’s much superior exit) and we all knew lotte wasn’t going to die. that’s what i mean by immersiveness: where in previous seasons i’d have been on the edge of my seat with tension and dread, this didn’t elicit much emotion from me at all. except for the groan when lotte did her thing at the end there. the only good thing to come out of that was her conversation with gereon about her guilt which was the only time in the entire season where i believed a scene between them, emotionally, and was invested.

- i guess that, on the bright side, she got to be happy. i support that. even though i don’t believe it should have to come at the expense of the show being good. and she still had to go through that awful ordeal of the dance marathon. (one of the few memorable scenes of the season, at the very least.)

- random but i very much liked the actor playing oskar. and he was very much underutilized. really, don’t get me started on the entire debacle that was malu’s storyline. i think i’d rather have watched an entire season set on that zeppelin than what we ended up with.

- litten not even being in the finale should actually be considered a crime against humanity considering he’s literally the best character on the show at this point. for that matter, the trial against katelbach and the undermining of the legal system and the press should have been a much bigger arc and point. katelbach still being a comic relief character only used to bumble about not knowing whether he did propose to behnke or not is absolutely ridiculous. these are the characters we’ve come to know and care about and they were paid absolute dirt in s4. behnke’s best scene was the train heist and even that was not edited or scored well but hey, at least it was amusing and they did something with some sort of flair there.

- going back to lotte for a moment. i’m happy for the charlotte/gereon shippers that they got so much fucking out of them this season (to be crude, then again so is the show) but i can’t be the only one who thought they were awkward as all hell together. i never shipped them but i did always like their dynamic and i thought their kiss in s3 was magical. what they did with them here did absolutely nothing for me, i cringed when she visited him at the station and their idea of sexy talk in between kisses was discussing case-related work. none of it had the levity, flirtation or charm you’d see in a lubitsch film (one of the alleged inspos for this season) although liv lisa fries sold the hell out of her infatuated smiles and looks. volker bruch trying to smile was physically painful to me, however. sure, it could be charming that he’s an awkward turtle duck but considering everything we know about the bts issues, it really didn’t endear me any further. i dread having to watch them be awkward together in future seasons and i absolutely dread lotte’s only purpose being tied up in that. for that matter, how did she earn her badge back at the end? surely not with her double-wielding gun action? but it’s not like the show really cared to pursue this as a storyline or her as a character this season, so why should i care.

- the way they threw rukeli in there at the very end of the season was almost offensively bad. i was extremely excited for him to show up ever since they had insinuated that he’s her half-brother in s3. the actor here was fine (i wouldn’t count on him being accurately or sensitively cast bc german productions usually don’t do this, haven’t checked it, however) but you’re really going to do a whole season where boxing is at the very least on the periphery and you’re only going to throw him in at the end to make some sort of point? we didn’t even get to stay with him and lotte during their first meeting? we’re just supposed to believe they have some sort of relationship now after that camera shot panned out, showing them through the window of the café? i’m sorry but what?

- worst of all: them having him use chalk as white paint to mock the nazis in the audience to make a point. you can’t make a character we’ve barely even met the dramatic and emotional high point of the season. and i’m sorry but rukeli was a real person and in real life he was forced to present himself with bleached hair and white paint in an “aryanized” form, this was part of the abuse he suffered!!! it makes me absolutely mad to think about how they tried to turn this into some kind of empowerment thing here. nevermind that at this point in time, audiences were still overwhelmingly on his side and actually protested against fights being rigged against him. i just absolutely hate everything this scene chooses to be. i also hate how gereon walks up to that one guy who can command~ the crowd and we get a flashback to something that happened in the same episode, like, just 30 minutes earlier, to remind us that this is the guy he refused to shoot so they can defuse the situation in the dumbest most construed way possible. i feel like i’m losing my mind when i see people say that this is good writing. good writing would have involved audiences not needing a flashback to something that happened in the same episode, just because almost nothing in this season is giving anything resembling the appropriate weight and focus.

- speaking of which, the case of the season was so uninteresting and lame i even forgot to talk about it. and i still don’t have anything to say. except one thing: why did weintraub not immediately suspect that something was up with max (the henchman) when that car bomb went up killing the other henchman? because weintraub arrived in the car, went inside, came back outside and suddenly a bomb has been attached to his car in the meantime and max was standing there all the time? like, what?? this season is littered with this dumb shit and maybe it was prevalent in the other seasons as well and i just chose to overlook it because there was so much for me to love but i genuinely can’t believe five adults wrote this season and struggled so much with thinking any of it through. it feels like they just had little chess figures with pictures of the characters attached to them and tried moving them across a board.

- oh and one more thing about the flashback issue. böhm and his family being in that apartment at the very end was an absolutely ridiculous scene. his money issues were well-telegraphed, a little too well-telegraphed if you ask me, and his involvement in the shoot-up was already extremely obvious by the time his wife demands to know where he’s got his money from. that bit where he collapses against the wall and we get all these flashbacks to things an audience that’s half-way intelligent and half-way paying attention has already gotten long ago was just embarrassing for the show. the issue wasn’t just with the flashback, however, it was also with the way it was shot and edited. so many scenes this season really don’t land as intended. i feel bad for the actors because they’re doing their best and they’re also not at fault for this weird issue in german shows where they do really bad ADR (re-dubbing scenes when there were sound issues in the footage from set, it makes dialogue sound very unnatural and strange and the show always had this issue in certain scenes but in this season it’s amplified to the max, i almost couldn’t watch the edgar/gereon reunion because of the bad sound engineering). but woof that böhm family scene could have been a highlight but the way he creepily said something to the effect of them never being separated (probably telegraphing an eventual fate that we call “erweiterter suizid” in german where usually a man kills his family and then himself) and then the show just straight up cutting to the nyssen last will scene without giving any of it the time to sink in was absolutely comical. i’m sorry. but there are scenes this season that feel amateur and i don’t think you can blame it on covid when the editing is at issue.

- having said all of that, i was excited for gereon’s arc this season and imo they never did anything of note with him undercover in the SA. why not have him befriend stennes for real, become conflicted about what he’s trying to do (and, well, in fact him and the police president do want stennes to succeed so it wouldn’t even have been that outlandish). him talking to the police president about the mission at home while his very much indoctrinated nephew is in listening distance was so so dumb omg.

- the stennes putsch which i also was very much looking forward to was such a flop that fizzled out without any real spark. his confrontation with wendt was lame af. the actor is awesome, his interactions with wendt in s3 were intriguing and this what it all leads up to? gdi. i can’t believe they wasted so much time on that homophobic blackmail material plot when it was never even picked up again after it got stennes out of prison. he never should have gone to prison before the putsch, he already had his conflict with wendt from last season, they could have saved so much time on this and dedicated it to something actually interesting. and if you actually want to get into the messiness of homophobia and homosexuality in the SA, röhm and all, you better be prepared to bring on figures like magnus hirschfeld (it’s honestly ridiculous he hasn’t even been referenced on the show yet because he was super famous in berlin and germany in general and also a favorite target of the nazis). reference the harden-eulenburg affair. do something with this. not just have wendt buggering a kid in a park. i like that gräf was quietly pissed at gereon about the whole thing but this should never have been a storyline in the way it was implemented.

- it really ruined wendt on top of things. not that it made him worse as a person because he was already bad before (though lbr it did make him worse ofc) but it made him a whole lot more uninteresting as a villain (he only seemed to find his groove back in the last two episodes). the interesting part of his dynamic with malu in s3 was the intellectual clash of ideologies. while i did not and do not ship them, i was very intrigued to see where they would take that in s4. well, i have my answer. they skipped any and all interesting and relevant development and turned it into an extremely clichéd and lame honey trap plot because we all know communists loved honey traps. groan. (yes, i watched the americans.) also, rilke is my favourite poet and has been for many many years and wendt needs to keep his words out of his damn mouth. i can’t believe they revealed that wendt used to sexually abuse underaged boys and still wanted us to think that his relationship with malu is in any way romantic, cute or intriguing?

- i was so rooting for doktor völcker to get him and then malu just had to take a bullet for him. bruh. just when i thought i couldn’t hate this season more. i know i already mentioned it but still. at least she didn’t die from it, small blessings, but her getting shot straight through the chest and then being back to spy shenanigans on the zeppelin not much later was just the height of ridiculousness. i always hated the train confrontation between gereon and bruno and it seems that the show is very very determined to evermore move towards that pulpy comic book-y version of the show that i can barely tolerate in order to get to the good stuff. but when there’s barely any good stuff to get to, it gets tough.

- do i even want to talk about edgar? him taking the kids away from esther was lame. anything to do with esther was lame. i can’t even muster more to say and edgar/gereon was one of my absolute favourite dynamics in s1/2 so i should’ve been overjoyed to see it make a return here. but, in the eternal words of the matrix: not like this.

- finally, doktor schmidt, eh? well. where to begin. first of all, jens harzer is one of the best living german actors, he’s phenomenal, and the fact that he still gets so little development is a fucking joke, frankly speaking. i might have liked his scene with alfred lying on the floor best. at least it was funny. his sessions with gereon were hamfisted in their analogies. his last scene with gereon also didn’t land, it was just groan-worthy. gereon repeating back his words just made it all the more obvious how much of their luster they have lost at this point. i can’t believe someone spoke schmidt’s platitudes in a serious way like some sort of cool mic drop when the “quelle der angst” stuff only works in that hypnotic evil drugged out therapy session way jens harzer says it. the cgi was also bad but that’s neither here nor there (there was a surprising number of badly lit and framed scenes in this season, idk if they changed cinematographers but even the staple shot of following a centered gereon with his hat around became extremely overused). the thing is that i’ve long been convinced that doktor schmidt isn’t actually anno / gereon’s brother, so i should be happy that he seems to be finally be revealed as a svengali type which i also find very fitting for the movies and culture the show references as well as the history it tries to reflect (in fact, this season was as thematically rich as ever, with many metaphors and analogies for the rise of evil etc etc but what good is that if it’s all pedagogical and the actual character writing is either non-existent or utter bullshit?). they’ve dragged this out for too long now. they also, and this might be the worst offense, have completely lost the connection gereon is supposed to have to this plot. nevermind helga or moritz. have doktor schmidt be a svengali figure, fine, love that, i vibe with it, but that doesn’t mean this plot should have no advancement. it really feels like they treaded water for as long as they could because they only had a very vague idea of where they wanted to go with this and still needed to figure out the details. well, hire some fucking writers (and by that i don’t mean hire your wife, like one of the director/writers did for s4).

- i’ve really come to loathe this very german tradition of producers, directors and others thinking they can write scripts themselves and that there are barely any decent writers around who are just that, writers. we have some that are barely okay but the structural issues of underpayment etc ensure that the talent that exists can’t turn this into a job. instead you really just have nepotism and all those people who think they can write but where the wheels eventually come off. now i’ve loved babylon berlin for a very long time, i’ve been there since the beginning, i’ve actually been there since the first press announcement (the show spent a lot of time in production hell before s1/2 saw the light of day, the budget kept ballooning etc). and i will say that i think the first three seasons featured some of the best that german tv has to offer. (s3 slightly less so but it was still entertaining and i think they did a really good job introducing a number of great characters like malu and litten in it, plus sabin tambrea is always fun!) but i must now question whether i was not more so taken in by the direction, the music, the style, and some very expertly shot and executed scenes that the show either cannot or does not want to afford anymore. the type of scenes that are needed to let the wild and often nonsensical plotting breathe and give the characters a chance to shine, to give all of it depth and resonance. i’m really so profoundly sad by the direction this show’s quality has taken and i have no idea whether it’s because one of the directors did more this season than the others, whether it was because of the new writers (i hope not). whatever happened, they had enough prep time and this just ain’t it.

- last point: i know how annoying it is when a show that you love gets hated on by others, so this is the last thing i’ll say about that. but i really needed to get this off my chest because i’ve been loving the show for a very long time, i’ve been investing a lot of time (not so much in recent years but before that) into spreading the word, at least here on tumblr and irl where i got several people into the show who all disliked s4 as well btw, i loved making gifs (which is also why i’d say i have a very good eye for the cinematography and style of the show and all the finer details but gif-making isn’t a real credential ofc lol). and i’m usually quite chill about stuff, i’m neither a super stan even when i love something (which is also why i didn’t watch it first thing it came out) nor am i a hater when i don’t like something but a case like this, where i genuinely loved something and it turns sour, that hurts, man. i’ll probably watch the next season - if there’s a next season! - because i still hold out hope that it might be better, i think it’s an important history to tell and the show had everything set up in order to tell it. there are two gif sets i want to make of this season (which is also always a good gauge for me to tell how i feel about something, and even those sets aren’t sets i absolutely want to do but i’ll do them nonetheless at some point; probably). after that i don’t think i will use this blog much anymore but i’ll keep it online for as long as tumblr is online because i always find it annoying when other people delete their stuff.

so long und auf wiedersehen!

[andyislistening]

since the latest developments of argentinian politics, besides being grieving the future of our country these past few days, I've been thinking of how many great live music I've managed to experience this year and how grateful I am for that.

this list of my favorite ones is not exhaustive and not in any particular order. there are many indie acts i can't remember the name of, but here's a few:

Barbi Recanati in #1, i saw her 4 times this year and was in the top 5 people in my soundtrack this year.

Marilina Bertoldi

Los Besos

Lucy Patané (solo this time, want to see her with the full band)

Mujer Cebra

Barullo (duet)

Tototomás

Gala (with band)

Fraxu

Mora y los Metegoles

Feik Taxi

Viktoria Jáuregui

Marina Fages

Burdas

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

also, a moment of silence for those artists I couldn't see this year and I probably won't be able to see in the future (international who probably won't be back in latam soon, or just expensive at that time):

Rosalía (I saw her during the El Mal Querer tour, and it was incredible, but I really wanted to see her during the Motomami era)

Tove Lo (her latest album made me a fan)

100 Gecs

Kali Uchis (I can't stress enough how important this woman was in my life during the Isolation era, she never misses in her releases)

Fred Again.. (well technically didn't know the guy when he played here, but I wish I would've stumbled upon him there)

Unknown Mortal Orchestra

Nenagenix (def will try to see them next year if I'm not completely broke)

Paramore (I especially regret not going to this one, but I was too broke at the time, and getting in debt to see them wasn't the best idea)

Black Midi

Dorian Electra

Weyes Blood

Domi and JD Beck

Lesbian Drama

Miranda! (this one pisses me off bc I bought a ticket for the end of the year months in advance, but I had another event come up that was impossible to cancel, so I sold it. later I found out that the other event is probably going to be rescheduled !!! and now I feel like dying)

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

I wish in the future there are smaller festivals for international artists because megafestivals like Lollapalooza or Primavera Sound are incredibly expensive for people who like only a few bands that won't play in other venues. I know it's pretty impossible bc of monopoly and capitalism and our economy being so fragile, also it's a huge risk for artists to go on tour anywhere.

for the time being, I'm very happy I took one of my friends' advice and went to see more local music. if you are a music fan, I'm sure you'll enjoy going to local venues and finding out some new music. always support local artists!

if you want to share some of your favorite music shows this year, add them in the replies, I'm always open to new recommendations

finally, a huge hug to my fellow argies out there. dark times are incoming for us, community is more important than ever, and culture and art are a huge part of it. we'll be out on the streets to defend our access to education and culture (and many many other rights which are about to be chopped). if for any reason you can't go out, remember we can always chat, and I'll be out there with my friends for all of us.

talk to you soon! - Andy ＼(^^)／

[f0point5]

Fred vesti is part of the merc driver academy and potential f2 champion. William themselves I don’t think have a candidate from f2. Logan was supposed to be in f2 for another year but they had to promote him when they couldn’t get anyone else.

Felipe drugovich the AM reserve has also been connected to the Williams seat and he did deny the Indy and FE tests (I’m pretty sure).

But I can’t see James vowles replacing Logan especially with how he’s really stood behind Logan and replacing him for a rookie doesn’t make much sense

I guess it doesn’t make sense to have to start the process all over again unless you’re sure someone else would do better and you can’t be with a rookie so you’re probably right. If they replace him they need someone with experience.

Yeah did I hear Drugovich had turned down bona fide offers in order to keep himself in the running for an F1 seat? Maybe I heard wrong. I don’t know much about the guy but honestly that seems like not the smartest move.

Idk you could forgive Logan’s crashes if the raw speed was there but it doesn’t seem to be? Also, for a team like Williams, they surely can’t afford another year of those expenses?

[ijustwantedtobeoneofthestrokesuk]

The World Was A Mess But His Hair Was Perfect

London

Tom Atkin (The Paddingtons) “Fashion and music come hand-in-hand, it’s always been the case, you look at a band and you want to look like them.” 

The Strokes didn’t only sound fresh, but old, they looked sharp, but with references to punk. Their ripped jeans, skinny blazers and leather jackets were another attraction and something that teens copied. Fashion designers were inspired by it and, eventually, it went mainstream and skinny jeans were available on the high street (before this, you had to use safety pins to get them hugging your pins). It was always a uniform for the indie kids before it became a trend. Those battered jackets and ripped jeans weren’t bought like that. 

It was The Strokes who inspired The Libertines to wear military jackets then Pete Doherty became the muse for Hedi Slimane who took the indie look to the catwalks. 

Music and fashion have run with one another for decades. Music has influenced designers and fashion has given musicians a ‘look’. ‘Looks’ are rarely ‘new’, influences can be traced back to previous generations. It’s tribal, it brings a community together and gives people an identity but in 2001 there was a change of guard, driven by youth culture.  

YSL designer Hedi Slimane reinvented their iconic suit with a skinny silhouette which would then see the return of skinny jeans. In the same year that Hedi won plaudits, he left YSL for Dior Homme and changed men's fashion, so much so that women wore his androgynous cuts. Iconic Brit brand Burberry also had a breath of fresh air with the arrival of Christopher Bailey who tapped into youth culture to revive the brand that had fallen away in previous decades.

Bands like Television, from ‘70’s New York weren’t really on the radar in the UK in the 2000’s, the skinny jeans, ripped t-shirts and scruffy jackets looked fresh and it wasn’t accessible here. When The Strokes arrived, everybody wanted to look like them but they had to go down the DIY route and search the rails of charity shops for bargain gems. It filtered down into something authentic and it organically influenced the catwalks and high streets as both high-fashion and the affordable brands caught on but it wasn’t the same. It was scruffy because nobody could afford better and relied on gaffer tape to keep them together. 

Ronnie Joice “Turning 17 over the summer, I ended up inheriting some work which allowed me to order as many band t-shirts as possible off eBay. I actually went through the second year of college and didn’t wear the same band t-shirt twice. I was already building little gimmicks unique to me, so indie, right? 

I got my mum to drive me around West Sussex one day in search of cardigans that I had seen worn on the likes of Paul Smith from Maximo Park. I especially wanted a Pringle one, not realising how expensive these were normally. I did actually find one, about 15 charity shops later. 

It was ill-fitting but matched the indie look I had in my mind, and by the time I started this new college in Worthing, a rougher-round-the-edges part of West Sussex, I had truly transformed myself into an indie kid.

After seeing Fred Macpherson’s ramshackle act Les Incompetents that really wet my whistle. As a frontman around the same age as me, seeing the fun he had on stage, the charisma he oozed, the master of a total circus on stage... it really got me excited.  I went to Office the day after seeing them live at the Purple Turtle and bought a pair of winklepickers as I’d seen him wear them. My mum also had some garish pastel coloured trench coats that I raided from her closet and started wearing too. 

I read someone called the 2000’s indie scene ‘one big fancy dress party’ and I was absolutely totally oblivious to how ridiculous I must have looked to people on the street. In fact, I wasn’t that oblivious. I would constantly be chased down the street by ‘chavs’ or in London, ‘rude boys’, who would throw rocks and expletives at me for my enormous hair, skinny jeans and pointy shoes. 

Your identity was so important in that era, how you looked wasn’t something you’d ever sacrifice. I would ruin so many family photos by insisting I wore skinny jeans, winklepickers etc at events rather than dressing in a smart suit, or with normal dinner shoes. 

Part of that has never left to me, to be honest.” 

Tom “We dressed like The Strokes, then influenced by punk, styled ourselves on The Clash, Sex Pistols and Richard Hell. We got sent a lot of stuff and shopped in vintage stores. 

Modelling for Dior Homme and Burberry was kinda weird. That was never something I wanted to do but it was a nice little bonus. Hedi Slimane was a great photographer and a cool guy. Some of his collection was based around what we and Pete Doherty looked like.” 

Charity shops would always be a great place for discovering affordable garms but this was at the same time where vintage shops were essential for a classic tee, military/leather/denim jackets or a faux Burberry mac. We’re talking Camden market, Beyond Retro on Brick Lane, Afflecks Palace in Manchester, Blue Rinse in Leeds and Freshmans in Sheffield. The look would be completed with a pair of winklepickers, Chelsea boots, brogues, Converse or Dr Martens on the feet. For accessories, there’d be the hat, trilby or bowler and a scarf not made to keep you warm. The hair cut was equally important, bowl cuts and long hair were back. There was even a tattoo trend which Pete Doherty encouraged, a heart with an arrow through it on the arm. 

Matty from Beyond Retro “The 2000’s was very much a mash of what we call true vintage from myriad eras. The likes of Lily Allen gave rise to a popularity in ‘50’s prom dresses and petticoats. Amy Winehouse fed a public desire for short ‘60’s mini dresses in bold colours and with The Strokes bringing in a deconstructed tight ‘70’s suit jacket and jeans look we did our best to provide those to them. 

Interestingly during the period currently being touted as Indie Sleaze there was a huge penchant for sailor wear. East London trendsetters like Noel Fielding and DJ groups like Queens of Noize and The Broken Hearts helped spread naval stripes across the city. 

During that same period, we also had an older demographic who were concentrated on the more classical vintage styles of the ‘30’s to ‘50’s which at the time we could find in abundance at reasonable prices. 

In the intervening years, we’ve seen a very definite shift towards ‘90’s and ‘00’s wear. Things, as always, have come full circle.” 

You dressed depending on the bands you idolised, some more low-key than others. The Strokes and The Libertines were about the military jackets or smart suits that had been abused, they always looked effortlessly cool whereas Kaiser Chiefs brought back a flamboyant suit, The Cribs had tees that were too tight and jeans which were mostly holes, The Ordinary Boys wore Fred Perry and Arctic Monkeys looked like they’d come straight from college. The Horrors arrived in ‘06 with a look that made them stand out, it was psychedelic goth with a ‘60’s bowl cut, and all-black attire, the jeans got tighter and the look was finished off with makeup, but it was organic, it was inspired by the music they were listening to. The Paddingtons and Kaiser Chiefs had subtly started wearing eyeliner, there was nothing subtle about the make-up painted on The Horrors' faces, who’d taken Neils Children’s look and took it to another level.  

This was a time where androgyny was returning having been muscled out with masculinity ‘90’s Brit Pop. Patrick Wolf was one who would happily bend the rules with glitter, sequins, make-up and outfits that, at the time seemed outrageous, looking back now, they probably weren’t and in the 2020’s he’d be celebrated for it. 

This was an era where magazine culture was still huge, you’d see the likes of i-D and Dazed & Confused covering music and fashion like an infusion of the NME and Vogue, bands would be featured in Vogue fashion pieces and that was suddenly normal.  

Then with rock ‘n’ roll loving Hedi Slimane at Dior high fashion got involved. He had a thing for skinny young boys, he based a collection on Pete Doherty, released a book full of photos (London: Birth of a Cult) from the scene. It wasn’t long before ‘heroin chic’ was being used to sell clothes, boys in bands replaced models on the catwalks and in editorials. 

The bands would soundtrack fashion events and ads. Razorlight’s ‘In The Morning’ was played for the Dior Homme  A/W 2005 catwalk show and The Rakes song ‘The World Was A Mess But His Hair Was Perfect’ was for the following season while The Subways' songs were used to sell Kate Moss’ ‘London look’ Rimmel lipstick. Christopher Bailey tapped into the scene too, using Patrick Wolf, Ed Larrikin, members of The Paddingtons and The View to model alongside Agynes Dyen for a campaign. 

Boys would raid Topshop and the girls section in H&M when skinny jeans became accessible on the high street then Topman came along with pre-ripped the jeans, removing all authenticity, ripped jeans should be earned by partying. H&M was a great place to find a tee but Topman used the scene for relevance. They stole the culture and made it ‘fashion’, sponsored the NME Awards, had in-store gigs, played the music in-store, Josh from The Paddingtons designed a t-shirt for them to raise money for charity. Was Topman a bad thing? Probably not, everyone shopped there, even if they didn’t admit to it, but it wasn’t authentic.  

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