everything will glow for you.

you've been drinking like the world was gonna end - let's end it.

[illegitimes]

festival, ft james sirius potter @hogwartsexpress​

“so,” paris says, sidling up to james like nothing had changed, like they were still together, like batting her eyes and slipping an arm around his waist are normal things for her to do, even now, even when they’ve been broken up for something like a year. truth be told, it is normal to paris. she’s never been one for subtlety, and if there’s one thing she knows about james potter, it’s that he needs her to pretend to be normal right now. he needs her to be a distraction. she’s always been good at distracting. and if there’s one person on earth she’s about to do a good deed for, merlin help her, it’s james sirius fucking potter. she couldn’t tell you why. “do i need to scrounge together some coin to stop you being whisked away by some godforsaken heiress tonight, or are you no longer one of our most eligible bachelors?” she reaches into her purse, pulls out a flask between her thumb and pointer finger, and a pair of cigarettes between the middle and ring. “or do you just want to pretend we’re kids at some awful family function? choice is yours, jamie.”

[mimbletonias]

paris and dove.

Dove is not having fun. Just go home, they tell themselves, but then the what-ifs start to pile down. They don’t think themselves a paranoid person, per se, and yet it itches. Like a mosquito bite they try to ignore with all their might. They end up scratching it time and time again. As is to be expected from Dove Longbottom, their face is thunderous, their footsteps filled with ill-contained frustration and they think they might find some solace in the loud music played by the Bent-Winged Snitches. And they do, until their eyes fall on Paris. Paris who is looking at them. Dove looks away, Dove focuses on the guitar riff, the bass line, the vocals. They let their gaze travel and find Paris looking at her still and they stick up a middle finger. But Dove is like an oil spill right now, easily set ablaze and when they catch their ex staring at them still, at least a minute later, they stomp over. “Enjoying the fucking view, are we?” They gesture at the stage. “Disrespectful, not to pay ‘em any mind, if you ask me.”

@excvlsiors​​

[illegitimes]

paris doesn’t hate the festival, she just wishes it was a little more fun. her work behind the scenes is done, the organisation is over, there is nothing for her to worry about until tomorrow. so she wishes that there was a little more interesting, there were more people she knew how to work, more buttons to press and more chaos to revel in. but tension is all there is, thinly veiled behind a sugarcoat glaze. she’s sick of it, the thickness of it that cutting would give no satisfaction. that is, until she spots dove, across the crowd, watching some b-rate band that sounds just the same as the rest, to paris. and she can’t help herself: she stares. because dove will feel it, they’ll know. it doesn’t take long. dove’s eyes catch onto her like a hawk, or maybe like the rabbit it hunts. paris’ face turns smug, a smirk painting its way on. she winks. dove looks away, but paris doesn’t. she waits. and then they’re racing towards her like a lit fuse, a bomb going off in front of her face. “as a matter of fact, i am.” she says lightly, because if there’s one thing paris moody doesn’t have, it’s shame. “oh, i think they’ll survive. they’ve got a whole crowd looking at them, for some reason, despite their sameness. you, on the other hand... you only had me.”

[illegitimes]

festival, ft. molly weasley ii @pumpkinjuicc​

paris lost count of the amount of fire-proofing charms she’s used days ago. it had been a choice between dealing with small, mostly harmless, mostly annoying creatures and people from america, and dragons. of course she’d gone with the exciting choice. there was so little else exciting in her work now. but the smell of smoke had begun to grate on her, and keeping her clothes from being turned to cinders became exhausting very quickly. at least she didn’t actually have to mind the creatures the whole time: everything was set up, now. the mundanity of running the show could be left to someone else. she spares one last appraising glance at the charity booth, satisfies herself that it looks good, that it’ll work, that the workers from the dragon reservation know what they’re doing, and turns away, towards the rest of the festival. “you know,” she says almost immediately, recognising the nearby dark-haired girl quick as a flash, “i really thought there’d be more to this assignment than just ducking out of the way of fire-breath. maybe dealing with a bunch of americans would’ve been worth it. though i haven’t actually ridden one, yet. i imagine you’ll be lining up soon enough - your lot’s pretty well known for being adrenaline junkies, if i remember correctly.”​

[illegitimes]

‘ not many people surprise me. ‘ (dove)

a knowing, calculated, piercing sort of smile spreads on paris' face. her head shakes. "with a mind as set in stone as yours, lovely," she leans closer, "i know that can't be true." as long as paris has known them, dove has been a thing of absolutes: good and evil, true and false. paris, on the other hand, has always resided in the gaps between those things. perhaps that's why dove had fascinated her so. perhaps that's why dove had fallen in love with her. she was a challenge. she still is a challenge. and oh, how paris loves being challenging. "and darling? don’t try lying to me again. i know all your tells."