Stranger Things
roma★
art blog(derogatory)
Cosmic Funnies
KIROKAZE
cherry valley forever
blake kathryn
DEAR READER
ojovivo
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
if i look back, i am lost
oozey mess
noise dept.
Xuebing Du
tannertan36
h
Keni
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
No title available
seen from Indonesia
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seen from Brazil
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@taleoftwoindies-blog
violetchurch:
“The going rate, I’d assume, unless you have an I’m- an-annoying-neighbour discount.”
“Being the annoying neighbor means a higher cost, not a discount. I appreciate the effort, though.” Victor looked at Violet and briefly wondered how much he could con her out of. It wasn’t like he needed the money, but he wouldn’t mind feeling like he won something.
there’s a weight in your eyes
soundsofwinter:
Did he think of Blake’s motivations? No. There was no reason for him to be compelled to wonder why she had stolen his possessions when she had no right to do so, regardless of why. “You stole jewelry, not food. Do you not believe there is a distinct difference between greed and necessity?” He appeared unmoved by her words and, mostly, he convinced himself he was. Yet the thought lingered: her family, dead. He could empathize with the scenario considering his own had long been buried in their graves, the only remains of them reduced to dust and his inheritance.
She wasn’t thinking about his family, so why should he consider hers? “You need to still have an influx of cash then, yes? If your story is to be believed. It would make no sense for me to pay you to search for items that you took from me. But there are other ways your skills could prove useful.” He couldn’t trust her. He could trust no one. Much like he had employed the private investigator without revealing too much, Dawson was an expert at getting what he wanted through different channels without exposing the gritty details.
There was a part of him that wondered if retrieving the jewelry was even possible, the cynic in him rising up to the occasion. He snuffed the skepticism, continuing onward. Forward, forward, forward, he lived a life that dictated that he move forward, surrounded by technological innovation. Halcyon was a glimpse of the future, of what was possible. Dawson couldn’t help feel sometimes that he, despite this, was stuck in time, stuck in a frozen glass case.
There were plenty of days where his feet did not want to take another step. With the past behind him, what other choice did he have? Dwelling on the past had led to trouble too many times. It was best, he convinced himself, to spend each and every day fighting the memories, lest he continue to drown in them.
“Then we have a deal? Of course, you’ll need to be monitored. You can’t expect me to take your word for it. For all I know, you agree to this and you walk out that door and you slip away like the literal thief in the night that you are. You know that’s not possible though, right? I know who you are now. I can find you with little effort.” He reached into his pocket once more, taking out not the locket, but a cell phone, sliding it across the table.
“This will be used for our correspondence. It serves as both a channel for communicating and a tracker.” He wasn’t stupid. She could leave this anywhere, but she was entrapped now. The web that she was ensnared in had her wrapped by the foot. She would realize that, too. “You’ll find me listed as the only contact: Mr. Choi. Only refer to me as such. You can even negate the Mister, if you prefer.” He was not seeking respect, after all, from the title. No, he knew that he didn’t – wouldn’t – have that. But it would serve as a constant personal distance between them, no matter how closely they may work together down the line.
There was no use in bargaining or reasoning with his kind. They lacked hearts and consciences. If they had either, then they hid them under piles of cash, and refrigerators filled with food. Blake couldn’t remember ever actually seeing a refrigerator unless she was in a house thieving. But they had become luxury items. Almost as luxurious as a poptart. She remembered the stories her father told her, of a time when those who went without at least had a little bit of support to fall back on. Yet once the corporations took over, their businesses spreading into neighborhoods--everything was extinguished. Without work, you became nothing, and somehow, many managed to become less than nothing. Ghosts. Shadows. Blake thrived in her invisibility, but there was no place to hide now. Not even her insignificance could save her.
Blake stared at the phone given to her, fascinated by its very presence. Electronics were something she stole and sold often, but they were too pricey to ever be kept, even for selfish reasons. Figuring out how to use it would be easy enough, but she felt almost--happy. As if she had won for the very small reason that she had access to something she never had before. Mr. Choi, however, could never know that he just gave her a piece of her missing life back. The life that she may have had if her father wasn’t wrongfully accused of a crime he never committed. If her mother hadn’t been more prone to self-preservation than Blake herself was.
“Of course, Mr. Choi. I understand I’m not trustworthy. I understand I’m being monitored. I hope I can get you back your precious goods as soon as possible. Wouldn’t want you to go without.”
Her voice was light and airy. It took on a detached quality. This was just another job. Another con. Anything less than a complete success and her family truly was doomed. Her sister was far too young to get into a life of crime, and her father had been lost years ago. The burden was Blake’s to bear, and if that meant a future of working for the people she hated most, then that was what had to happen.
“How much time am I being given, again? People sell things quickly around here. Gold is food.”
a shot of honeyed firewhiskey
soundsofwinter:
“Ah, thank you. Your praise is more than I deserve.” She was too kind, Hannah Abbott. She was someone that Neville didn’t feel near as nervous around. Maybe it was because of her smile, warm and inviting, wide as the horizon and twice as bright. “Wouldn’t have made it this far without you, I reckon. Pretty sure those Screechsnaps would’ve left my ears bleeding if you weren’t there to jump in and assist.” There had been more than one time where Neville had embarrassed himself even in his strongest subject, after all, passing out on more than one occasion. Typically, it was when he was his most forgetful, on the days where his mind was hazed over with a heavy fog.
It had been a wonder he’d been able to keep a level head all of seventh year, enough so that he not only kept himself alive, but the rest of the students as well. He never would have fathomed he was capable of such a thing.
And not many others would have believed it, either, yet Hannah had never seemed to hesitate in following his direction.
She was one of the genuinely good ones. “You don’t have to wait until you’re too inebriated to join us. If you want, that is. You’re both more than welcome, though I do not blame you if you need a little something to help you get through listening to Ron and Seamus argue about which quidditch team is better, the Canons or the Irish Nationals. I’d be happy to steer the conversation away from that though.” Neville wasn’t well versed in the sport anyway. He watched it, of course, but he wasn’t near the level of investment that the rest of the Gryffindor lads were, rightfully so since all of them had either tried out for the Gryffindor team or played on it during their time at Hogwarts. He wasn’t too fussed about what was discussed either way, really, but both Ron and Seamus could get heated.
“Oh. Uh, I’ll also cover whatever she’s having on my tab,” Neville indicated to the bartender once he made his way back over to them, sliding Neville his drinks and looking to Hannah for her order.
“Please, Neville. I refuse to take any credit away from you in our Herbology classes. You just had a few moments of clumsiness, and if I counted the number of times I messed up in a class, then I think we’d be here for a while. Besides, I think you ended up teaching me more than Professor Sprout did, which isn’t to take away anything from her, I adore her, but you were always very patient with me.” Hannah gleefully pushed aside his compliment, knowing that where Neville had always been concerned, he usually needed the confidence boost.
Hannah put her hand up. “It’s not that we wouldn’t like to join you, it’s just that Susan and I are rather noisy in our own right, and we wouldn’t want to start screeching out Spice Girls songs in the middle of what I’m sure is an incredibly important Quidditch discussion.” In truth, Susan and Hannah had grown even closer after the war, and sometimes they felt like two halves of a whole. Everything that was done that didn’t involve work, they were right there with one another. Supporting. Pushing. Encouraging. Post-war Wizarding World was a scary place, but it seemed that much brighter when they were beside each other.
She smiled, not surprised that Neville would do something that kind, but still hoping that he didn’t think that was why she was speaking with him. If there was one thing Hannah admired most about Neville, it was his modesty and his humbleness. Even during the height of the trauma at Hogwarts, when neither Harry, nor Ron and Hermione were there--Neville was. With Luna and Ginny by his side.
“You don’t have to do that, but I appreciate it a great deal.” Hannah turned to the bartender. “I’ll have a firewhisky and a butterbeer. Cheers!”
Hannah turned back to Neville as she waited for the drinks to arrive. “Do you still speak with everyone from the DA very often? They must all think I’m rubbish for not keeping up with them. I haven’t meant it as a slight. It’s just hard, you know?”
elliedowsons:
Ellie let a laugh fall from her lips, derisive and sharp. It was astounding how quickly she could turn to steel, and she did so now. She lifted her drink to her lips, downing the dregs of it and then put it back on the bar. Her words were icy when she spoke. “And for some reason I really don’t want to sit here with a stranger.” She uncrossed her legs, pushed herself up from the stool. “Not when that stranger is you. I’m going to go and find myself a different one,” she added, hoping to sting.
“People change, Ellie. Especially when its been a couple years. I’m not going to apologize for that.” Chris made not attempt at stopping her. Letting her go right now would be the safest decision he could have made. Trying to keep her there, in close proximity, with alcohol dripping off of his breath--that was just pure idiocy.
violetchurch:
“Drama queen, much? I need some weed and the guy who usually gives it to me is away. Can you help me out?”
“How much are you paying?”
lilyevs:
“That’s the worst argument for feeling me up I’ve ever heard in my life, Potter.”
“I think my mum might have a different opinion, but you’re not going out with my mum.”
“S’good thing then that you’re the one that can never keep her hands to herself. I’m purely on the receiving end--” James moved his hand to Lily’s waist, as if to make a point of his own ridiculousness.
“Your mum loves me. I can persuade her into believing I’m doing what’s best. Remember the last time we were over? She laughed at all of my rubbish jokes. Maybe she should be going out with me.”
charliesmarie:
Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve known you for about three minutes and I can already tell you’re a fretter. Relax, you’ll give yourself a heart attack.”
She shook her head, trying not to let her expression drip with too much cynicism. “Stop and smell the roses is all well and good, but it doesn’t do anything when the majority of the roses are rotten,” she said, shrugging.
“I’m far too young and healthy to have a heart attack. ‘Sides, they don’t run in the family. I can fret as much as I so choose, and unluckily for my mates, I choose to do it often.”
Adam clutched his drink, already knowing that the pair of them would never understand one another, at least not with this subject. “Majority?” He scoffed. “C’mon, you can’t actually believe that. Have you always thought that?”
penelopelanes:
Penny lifted her chin, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I don’t believe you. I think you’ve got a vendetta against strawberries.”
As penny’s heart began to settle back into her chest, she decided this was a good thing; meeting him, her supposed soulmate, would at last let her prove it was all a load of nonsense. That people set too much store into the ridiculous notion of there only being one person made for you. That’s what her dad believed, and look where that got him. A dead wife he could never move on from, because what was the point when she was his soulmate. Penny had watched him let grief and then loneliness overwhelm him until he was barely recognisable. She would never let anything have a hold over her like that.
“Maybe I’ve just decided to have a vendetta against you, friend.” He grinned, not letting the word friend bother him. It didn’t feel as poisonous as he thought it might on his tongue. This was doable. They could get to know one another, and fall in love with other people, and there would be no pressure to have some unknowable thing drive them together.
This could be easy. As easy as Parker wanted it to be. One foot in front of the other, one moment of acceptance leading to a lifetime of understanding. Soulmates meant more than lovers. It could mean best friends.
really wanna zigazig ah
susanbonethugsnharmony:
“I definitely don’t think dying animals will set the mood,” she said, scrunching her nose and shaking her head quickly. “What about…” Susan drew the word out long and thoughtful as she pointed from pile to pile scanning. “Here, what’s this, this looks fun.” Reaching out she plucked a colorful number from the pile nearest her, flipping it over twice before it was finally right side up and the title was facing her. She laughed under her breath, “Oh Merlin, yes,” before holding up the cover towards Hannah for her final assessment.
Spice World in big, bold letters headlined a cover that was about as Spice Girls as it could get. Already Susan could feel her mood turning around, though it was hard to say whether it was the ridiculous film, the drink hitting her stomach, or finally being at home, lounging with Hannah instead of trapped at a job she felt more and more irked by with every passing day.
Susan tossed the case through the air towards Hannah and took up her seat again on the couch, pulling her hair up into a messy pile atop her head.
“You’re a genius, Bones. A complete and utter genius. Can you believe I woefully looked over Spice World like that? I can’t believe I didn't put it in a category all of its own. Bloody stupid of me.” Hannah shook her head in disappointment, although the smile on her face was a clear sign that there was no real sadness or self-deprecation in the statement. Only a clear and present honesty and that knowledge that Spice World should have been her pick without the outside advice of Susan.
Hannah grabbed the case eagerly, her brain already getting ready to sing at full tilt, even as the tape still remained very much in her hands and not even remotely close to the tape player.
She slipped the brightly British cover off of the tape and slid it in gingerly, careful not to damage anything in the process. There could be no accidents where Spice World was concerned. And without that tape player, she was positive she and Susan would be driven absolutely mad. Sometimes people just needed to watch a film--and for the pair of Hufflepuffs, that sometimes was always.
“You know, I think you would’ve been a brilliant Spice Girl. Not that you still couldn’t be, I’d never undersell you like that.”
really wanna zigazig ah
susanbonethugsnharmony:
“Of course we want a movie,” Susan replied from the kitchen. The sounds of shifting pots and banging pans nearly drowned out her words, but instead of raising her voice she walked into the kitchen, a bowl of popcorn under one arm and two beer bottles clinking together as she struggled to carry them in her other hand. “If we don’t put a movie on, what else are we going to talk over and ignore all night?”
Huffing dramatically, she set her loot down on the coffee table, bringing her hands to finally rest on her hips as she surveyed the room. It was a nice flat, all things considered. All things being that they were two girls fresh out of school, spending their own hard-earned money from their new, entry-level jobs in a world that was trying to rebuild after the physical, financial, and emotional turmoils of war. All things considered. But, it felt like home; a little Hufflepuff, a lot of love, and some Bones family-made furniture out of storage made it feel like the kind of place Susan could thrive. Then again, with her best friend at her side she felt she could thrive anywhere. Even in the afterburn of war.
Susan slouched down onto the couch, a true testament to the long day she’d had (Susan was not a sloucher, more by education than instinct), and popped the top off of her beer with the corner of the table. “Nothing sad though, even if it’s just for background noise. Maybe a musical…” Susan was not much of a drinker, either, but by the time she set her bottle back down on the table it was less there than it was gone.
“How do you always to make so much sense?” Hannah replied over the noise. Both of them used to speaking over their loud habits, and neither of them ever minding their screaming conversations. Their neighbors might have, but as former Hufflepuffs they made it their duty to be sure to be considerate, and therefore, they placed spells along their walls to ensure that their noise wasn’t anyone else's noise.
Hannah grabbed a beer, a grin on her face. “You mean you figure that a dog dying movie wouldn’t do it for you? Damn, there goes half my bloody list!” She wrenched the cap off of her drink with her teeth, a learned skill that proved useful in no other way. But her time spent at the Leaky Cauldron meant plenty of downtime, and that was always a dangerous thing to anyone with half a mind.
She shuffled through their movie selection, throwing movies in different piles that, for the moment, only made sense to her. One was sad, another was far too sad, a third was maybe, and a fourth was scream at the top of your lungs in unison with the multiple different catchy choruses. “We’ve got options. Although I took out the movies that were too long, because I want to properly talk over them, but I always don’t want to have to talk over them for like, five straight hours. That’s why they made multiple movies.”
under the waves
soundsofwinter:
@taleoftwoindies
He couldn’t stand it, being in the Burrow for long stretches of time. It wasn’t that it was quiet. No, noise vibrated through the walls once more, the house plum full of gingers and guests. Even Bill and Charlie were home. Add in Fleur, Harry, and Hermione, along with an assortment of others, and the Burrow was as animated as it’d ever been. They were all gathered for a Christmas get-together. The first Christmas since the war had ended. Ginny and Hermione were back from school for break and his mother insisted that they all celebrate.
The traditional sweaters had been passed out, and George had to fight against lingering too long on Fleur’s, the embroidered ‘F’ familiar yet misplaced.
He quietly excused himself from the festivities without a word. Everyone was caught up in their own conversations, tucked away in their little worlds where they were all moving toward the future. Meanwhile, the jokes’ shop doors were closed and if he had any initiative, he would look into selling the property. As it was, he had no motivation. He hadn’t come up with an invention in ages. The most he’d done was move out, only able to handle being around his family in short bursts.
He’d only come to this shindig through a massive amount of persuasion, and George had been too tired to resist forever. Besides, he needed to show his face every now and again to assure his mother that he was alive and well. Otherwise, she’d show up at his doorstep with a casserole in hand.
He tucked further into his coat, snow crunching beneath his boots. He sauntered out until he could no longer hear the hum of laughter from the Burrow, leaning against the fence. He was fed up of having to insist that he was fine, wanting to be left alone. Because that’s what he was: alone. And he had accepted that, but he was still learning on how to live with it. He didn’t want to be treated as if he were made of glass, knowing that he was far from the only one who had experienced loss.
Bill, whether it was his age, or merely a part of who he was, saw George slip out from the festivities and march out into the snow. A part of it had been an eye that he kept trained on his younger brother. While everyone missed Fred, Bill was aware that there was a bond between the twins that could never be easily mended. His brother, once filled with life and spirit, had been split in half, and while he didn’t visit as often as he should have, he saw the struggle happening.
Long hair tucked back into a ponytail, his earring still stuck into his ear, Bill marched out into the snow following the footprints left behind. Even the snow couldn’t cover up the wounds that the war had left. Nor could they cover the scars that still marred Bill’s face. Proof that something horrible had happened, that it wasn’t all just a fever dream. Bill at least had the exterior injuries to show for it all, but his younger brother had nothing but an empty bed, a closed Joke shop, and a broken heart.
He saw George against the fence, and knew that his brother wouldn’t have been expecting anyone to follow him. For as sneaky as he was, Bill found it ironic how easily his brother forgot just where he learned half of his tricks from.
Moving closer, Bill bumped into George with his shoulder. “Rather noisy lot in there, yeah? S’good to see Ginny and Hermione ‘round. Especially listening to them talk about school work. Seems a bit surreal if you ask me, but I’m also old. Fleur found a grey hair in my hair the other day. Can you believe it Georgie? A grey bloody hair? I wonder if I can pass that off for a werewolf thing.”
goodnight, sleep tight
@soundsofwinter
Harry flung his pillow over to Ron, hitting him square in his sleeping face. Had he really wanted to end his suffering over Ron’s snoring, he would’ve just cast a spell, and be done with it. But there was always a large amount of satisfaction that came with waking Ron up in a less than gentle manner. His best friend was as ridiculous as he was loyal, and maybe that was why Harry could never cast a spell to quiet the snoring. The snoring at least meant that he was there. That he was alive.
“Oi, you’re doing it again.”
Harry had a huge grin on his face, the sort that James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin would be proud of. It screamed of mischief, and youth, and although the last time he saw their faces wasn’t a moment he’d like to recall often--he knew they’d appreciate the fact that despite everything, he could still throw a mean pillow.
in the hazel thicket
@iinkhecrt
There was something about silence that made Harry feel uneasy, as if he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For news that this was all a dream. That Voldemort had returned once more, more powerful than ever, and Harry would have to suck it up and fight him once again. He would always fight. That was the best and worst part of himself. The part that always had to run head first into a battle no matter the consequences, because he was noble and infuriating, and he knew that. He knew it but couldn’t never stop it.
It should have been surprising then, that Harry found solitude in the silence of the Orchards that were behind the Burrow. He knew it made no sense to both love and hate the peacefulness that surrounded him, and the innocent way the trees leaned towards the sun. Yet he could hear the memories flood into him. The hours spent back here playing Quidditch. Fred’s roaring laughter echoing across the sky. Had it really been so long ago?
Harry sat himself down in the middle of it all, his glasses in his hands as he tried desperately to clean them with his shirt. His wand, the one that he had chosen over the Elder Wand, it lay beside him carelessly. A true sign that there was no more danger. No more enemies trying to kill him. No more prophecy.
He fell back easily, his eyes trained at the passing clouds, wondering when he would feel like himself again. When the aching of his scar would truly stop. It had stopped in the physical sense. But inside? Inside Harry was knotted up tight, his heart still beating a mile a minute. Even sleep was still an issue, something that everyone in the Burrow was trying to fix. They had all become creatures of the night, blindly bumping into things, knowing that while they couldn’t be fixed right this moment, one day they would sleep. One day they would be able to wake up to a new day, refreshed and eager.
It wasn’t long after Harry laid down that he felt a shadow pass over him. He hastily reached for his wand, grabbing it with a desperate firmness before both turning around and flitting himself into a sitting position.
“Ginny,” Harry said, half surprised, half relieved. His wand dropped from his grasp.
really wanna zigazig ah
@susanbonethugsnharmony
The war changed many things. The aftermath of it alone was devastating, forcing people to reevaluate not only the social constructs that pulled everyone together, but the inner workings of themselves. No one could come out of a war like that unscathed, and Hannah, like many, lost someone she loved during it.
But not everything had to change.
Ever since they first met one another in their first year, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were an inseparable pair. They had their differences at times, which was bound to happen when two people were not only fiercely protective of the other, but fiercely loyal when it came to their own opinions. Kindness was always a part of their friendship, but honesty was perhaps the most valuable attribute. They cried, and yelled--they experienced heartbreak and fear. They were, in every sense of the word, sisters.
That was why, without needing to think about anything further, the most obvious plan after the war was to move in together. They knew they had to push forward despite everything, but they were also well aware that not everything needed to end. And that included their long lasting, and very successful, stint of living together.
Hannah was always relieved in the morning when she could wake up and know that Susan was not far. Her friend had a soothing presence, the kind that made her sure, despite it all, that they could get beyond the pain and find something better. That was why, on this particular evening, they had decided to treat themselves in staying in their flat for the night. Drinks. Music. Movies. Food that Hannah’s mother wouldn’t have approved of. But most of all, each other.
“Bones, get your cute arse in here. I can’t decide which film to pop in. Do we even want a film? It’s always mad to me that some people actually grew up without films.”
all my friends, we’re glorious
iinkhecrt:
Contrary to what most might presume, her taste for bloodshed was vaguely lacking, at best. Lust for violence had never been a draw for her. Power was. Anything else was just collateral; necessary evils of the job that had to be utilised as a means to an end but too messy and pointless and crude for her liking.
That was one reason she had chosen the profession she had. While they often literally held responsibility for a person’s memories at wand-tip on a daily basis, obliviation was essentially a rather sterile vocation that required little to no personal input or investment, only control. It was easy to switch off there and focus on the technicalities of alteration.
It wasn’t like this, when one person could leave her blood rushing in her ears just by proximity. When every new indicator of his rising temper was a boost to her ego. That was the easier end of possible responses anyway. It was easier to revel in his obvious impatience with her than to question its existence, or to wonder when exactly it was that the line between banter and argument had been cemented so clearly.
Alexandra wasn’t sure if it had happened overnight or if she had simply failed to notice the downwards slide, but she was sure she stiffened at the physical reminder of Eli’s proximity, laughter dying in her throat at the sudden dark honesty of his tone. Anger, anger, anger. At the end of the day, that was all there was, righteous fucking anger that fuelled and pushed them, fooling them into thinking either of them was in a better place. They were proof of otherwise, weren’t they? She was still cold and he was still fire and they still clashed together like steel forged under pressure, only their blades were dulled by camaraderie no more.
Perhaps it might have been enough to quake a lesser person, but Alexandra merely summoned another derisive smile. “Am I supposed to still care about what you think?” She reached for the embellished strip of fabric pushed up over her head, pulling the velvet back into place and smoothing it against the contours of her face again. Her fingers combed through her ruffled fringe to rearrange it back into place, hand brushing against him as she reached, almost consciously unconscious of the breath of space between them.
When she looked up at him again, the mask was back in place, but her gaze met his directly despite it, directness of her dark eyes rendering the façade useless. “Piss off. That’s what you’re best at.”
Eli stumbled back at her touch, however brief it was, however light. He could feel the anger still bubbling, and her touch did nothing to quelch it. Even her words paled in comparison to the small act, the kind of thing that made him lose all sense of up and down, right to left.
If there was one thing he didn’t want, it was her to feel comfortable with him. Not when he remembered, with a larg amount of disgust and disdain, that she was complicit in the terror that was happening. In the murder. The torture. Maybe she wasn’t the one carrying out those plans, and maybe she didn’t particularly relish in them--but Alexandra had chosen her side, and now, at least to Eli, she was just as bad as any murderer. The fact that her hand could so casually touch him, it made him feel unclean. Like the first thing he needed to do once he peeled off his suit was to jump in the shower and scrub the outer layer of his skin off until he was red and sore.
But no amount of scrubbing could ever rid himself of the memories that refused to disappear. Maybe he should’ve asked for the memories to be removed, but there was something about the driving force of them that made him hesitant to ever want to be free of them. If he hadn’t known so well what it felt like when Alexandra’s hand touched him deliberately, then he wouldn’t be fueled by so much anger now. Every whisper. Every conversation. Every moment his parents spoke with him about the future, he needed it all.
“You can wear your mask, Lex. You can wear your mask, and stand up straight, and mingle with the most powerful people in our world, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see through you. And you know what the worst part is? I see through you and see nothing. Nothing.”
This time Eli did turn to leave, any thought of drinking or avoiding a crowd thoroughly forgotten. Even the appetite, which he knew he’d have by this point of the party, that disappeared too. Nothing like a trip down memory lane to make his voice feel hoarse, and his hands feel shaky.
a shot of honeyed firewhiskey
soundsofwinter:
@taleoftwoindies
Professor Longbottom. It was still an odd title to grow accustomed to hearing, even after a full semester as the new Herbology professor at Hogwarts. When Professor Sprout had announced her retirement from the position, Neville had been convinced that he would be considered too young for the post, too fresh out of his studies. It was only after being showered with encouragement and assurances from his circle of friends that he’d even dared to apply. Hogwarts had always been home, even during the days where he was ridiculed and frightened by professors that were no longer among them. It was his chance to prove to himself, to his grandmother, to everyone, that he wasn’t as incapable as it had been believed when he was growing up.
His grandmother Augusta was aging, but she was a stubborn old lady who insisted that she did not need her grandson constantly looking after her. Neville knew when he was facing a lost battle, and so he had accepted the job enthusiastically, although he did insist that he be able to reside outside of the grounds, having a permanent room at the Hog’s Head Inn. During the war, Neville had grown close to Aberforth Dumbledore, and he found that he wasn’t done seeking guidance from the older man.
That night, he opted to patron a different pub, the Three Broomsticks, visiting with his former dormmates.
“I’m going to grab another butterbeer. Anyone want anything?” Neville piped up through the chain of conversation, noting the echo of responses with a nod before he slid out of the booth and walked up to the bar.
Leaning across the bar, he flagged down the bartender to place the orders to add to his tab. As much as he adored his students, it was nice to engage in conversation with his peers. The other Hogwarts professors were significantly older and he found it hard to relate to them. Not that Neville didn’t struggle with those his own age the way that it was, but Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus were different. They were his mates, considered some of his best, alongside Ginny, Luna, and Hermione.
Actually, Neville considered in his reverie, that list included his only friends. He hadn’t branched out much during his time in school, outside of his time leading Dumbledore’s Army. But there hadn’t been much time to bond that year when they were all fighting to stay afloat and protect the younger students.
Still, there was a sense of comradery that bonded all of them, enough comfort for Neville to address the familiar individual who came up to stand by the bar next to him. He tapped her shoulder gently in hopes of drawing her attention. “Hannah,” he greeted, “Fancy seeing you here. It’s been awhile.”
Hannah didn’t know why she kept coming back to the Three Broomsticks. Maybe it was nostalgia that pulled her in, a reminder that before the war, there had been good times. Times spent with the DA, or with Susan as the pair of them traipsed through the village as if they owned the place. Their laughter reverberating through the buildings. If Hannah had thought about it more, she might reflect on the fact that not much had changed in that regard. Susan was there with her tonight, the pair of them always eager for the weekend to roll around. Naturally they decided to live together, either one willing to part with the other, no matter the circumstances.
During everything, Susan had been the one to keep Hannah grounded. Even after he mother was killed, Susan was there to support her, to give her the words of encouragement that she knew she needed.
That was why Hannah usually tried to pay her friend back in kindness, and in that moment it meant grabbing her the strongest drink she could find. Sometimes friends were especially important in the act of getting absolutely plastered.
She knew, as she stood at the bar waiting for the drinks, that she was bound to run into people she knew there, people that understood the scars that had been impossible to heal. That was why, as she felt a tap on her shoulder, Hannah almost felt relieved when she saw it was Neville. A familiar face. A kind face. One that had, like Susan, propelled her through the trauma that a war caused people. Neville had surprised many people in the leadership he had possessed, but Hannah always knew he had it in him.
“I would say the same, but I hear you’re a Professor now. Can’t say I’m surprised. You always were the best at Herbology. I couldn’t think of anyone better for the job.” She smiled brightly, always one to try to light up a room, no matter how difficult it was at times. Life had its way of weighing her down, but it was the support of those around her that kept her afloat. “I saw that you lot were here, but Susan and I agreed that we wouldn’t bother you until we were properly drunk. And I have to admit, I’m only halfway there.”
first encounters of the dragon kind /
iinkhecrt:
Fleur had forgotten about her singed skirt. It was still horribly burnt up one side, like some comical allusion to Jo March, but she had stopped thinking about it the minute she had felt the warm flush of pleasure pulse through her at just how unexpectedly nice this man was. He was cute, in a rather charmingly rebellious way with all his leather and long hair and earring, but cute boys tended to be unbearably arrogant more often than not. This was — different.
Definitely different in a good way, though. In a way that made her laugh at his quick wink, too cheeky to be slick. “Good eyesight, better answer,” she commented, her answering nod serious even while the laughter continued to linger in her eyes.
She could already imagine telling Gabrielle about this encounter, lighting up her baby sister’s romantic ideals with the kindness and quick grins. Fleur didn’t write often of such things – well aware that, at ten, Gabby was already sweet and dreamy enough – but this Bill Weasley’s manner already had her impeccable posture loosening at the hinges, shoulders relaxing with how effortlessly his presence put her at ease.
“And this.” Fleur held up the massive golden egg she still held idly by her side, patting the definitely metallic side. “But ah, I see why you came to watch the First Task now. Artefacts from Egypt and dealing with shrewd goblins about them sounds suspiciously like you go on adventures for a living. I don’t know about language, though. My English is not the best, but we can understand each other just fine, oui?” she noted, unexpectedly sly grin emerging across her delicate visage.
Bill’s eyes barely glanced at what Fleur was holding, far too lost in trying to figure out the exact shade of blue of Fleur’s eyes. They were bright, but they weren’t dull. They could never be considered a stormy sort of blue, but there was no darkness floating around them either. Her eyes were as clear as a summer’s day, the kind that followed him around in Egypt. Sun blazing. Clouds not yet formed. The sky large and vast, and he hoped he might get lost in its glory.
“I’ll admit, once I heard I could leave the country if I became a Curse Breaker, it definitely made the decision easier. Not that I don’t love Britain and all of its gloomy weather, but I’ve never minded a change of pace. I find that I start itching after awhile if something doesn’t make my blood boil. And not in the anger sort of way, but the excitement of it all, you know?”
He fiddled with the collar of his leather jacket, his large calloused hands trying to stay busy, and trying to keep himself from being too quick to brush a convenient hair from Fleur’s perfectly framed face. “We might understand each other better if you learned Gobbledegook, but I suppose our rough English will have to do.”
Bill felt a crowd of people filing past them, and for a brief moment he figured he ought to find his family. But there would be time to greet them, and he had already spent the afternoon making sure his mother didn’t have a heart attack every time she remembered that Harry was participating in the tournament. This was, afterall, a vacation of sorts.
