#acciovodka

[synoir]

23 and 29 for country ask :)

23. which alcoholic beverage is the favoured one in your country?

RAKIlike, yes, beer is loved and especially where I live is full of pubs.But Rakı.It’s the most romantic of the drinks.When you cheer, you gently tap your glass on the table for all the people who is not there.When there is sea view, sea food, and some cheese, you want to share it with your friends.You remember your old friends with itIt’s a drink for conversation.It’s a drink for deep conversation: for secrets, for passions, for beliefs, for friendships and remembrance. It’s nostalgia.It’s music.You don’t listen to anything that you fancy, oh no. Raki has a music of its own.And most importantly you don’t like the Raki until you have found the friends to share it with.

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

I’m an Istanbulite. And yes, sorta. Istanbul is the biggest city in Turkey. Izmir is the second. Izmirians will always compare Istanbul and talk about how better they are. It’s not possible of course, wishful thinking I suppose. I am, of course, very objective about it. Naturally. (It’s nothing serious tho)

[killianart]

I'm going to use you in very selfish way. I'm not proud of it but... I would LOVE to see some Ron drawn by you. 💛💛💛 Maybe flying or playing chess? 🙊

Haha sure, here’s your Ron!! Sorry to have kept you waiting!

[amiandthechaos]

I know! Ron x Viktor and Chudley Cannons 😍 give me anything!

“The Chudley Canons.”

The words that came out of Viktor Krum’s mouth seemed to float in the air above all the people on the table, and the silence stretched for a bit longer than usual.

“Come again?” Ginny asked, her face splitting into a smile that Ron didn’t appreciate one bit.

Viktor finished swallowing. “I have just been bought by the Chudley Canons,” he repeated and shrugged one shoulder. “I know they have been very bad in the past, but they’re replacing the entire team and offered me the position of captain and a large sum of money. So I accepted. I like Britain anyway.”

Ron was pretty sure his face was the color of the grilled tomatoes on his plate, and even more so when everybody (except Viktor) turned to look at him.

Sunday lunch at The Burrow was usually a rather boring affair, but he never missed a chance to see his family now that he had moved in with Harry to a flat in London. Harry and Hermione usually tagged along as well, and this time, Hermione had decided to invite her dear friend and newly retired Quidditch Star.

“But I read in the press that you’d retired?” Harry asked Viktor, taking his eyes off Ron.

“From big cups and national teams, yes.” Viktor nodded and smiled warmly. Ron shivered. “I vant to play in a smaller team and not vorry too much.”

After that the conversation changed thanks to Percy and Hermione, who started discussing the latest antics of the new Minister for magic. Ron never thought he’d be glad to hear their boring bureaucratic rubbish, but now the attention was not on him, which meant he could return to sneaking glances and Viktor when he wasn’t looking. Oddly enough, Ron could feel someone’s eyes on him when he looked away from Viktor, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Time for pudding, everyone!”

Bill and Fleur helped Ron’s mum remove the dirty dishes from the table and replace them with plates of thick slices of pie. Ron started eating as he nodded along to something George was saying, but then his eyes fell on Viktor again, and his heart dropped when he saw him talking to Ginny. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, and that made him all the more worried because Ginny had that wicked look in her eyes that could not mean good news for Ron.

They stopped talking after a while and Viktor ate his pie quietly. Ron attempted to send Ginny death glares several times, but she was determinedly looking anywhere else.

Conversations grew less animated every minute, now that everyone was full and slowly making their way to the garden to enjoy some leisure time under the late afternoon sun. Ron was about to follow Harry and Hermione outside when suddenly Ginny’s voice rang louder than necessary.

“Hey, Viktor, would you like a tour of the house?”

Ron spun around rapidly, dread spreading coldly through his body as he saw Ginny patting Viktor’s broad shoulders amicably. Viktor smiled at her and nodded politely.

Ron rushed to stand in front of them, trying hard not to blush as Viktor looked questioningly at him. “Uh, Ginny,” Ron said in a very obviously forced, casual tone. “He’s probably too full to be climbing all those stairs right now. why don’t we all go outside?”

“Don’t be silly,” Ginny dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “He’s an athlete. I’m sure Viktor will be just fine.”

Viktor smiled again. “This house is very interesting. I vonder how many rooms it can hold.”

Ron didn’t know what kind of things Ginny had told Viktor, but it didn’t seem to be a way out of this without making a scene, so Ron merely nodded and started leading the way. “I’ll go with you, then.”

The three of them walked up to the first floor, where Ginny showed Viktor her bedroom whilst making odd comments about the dull color of her walls and lack of decoration. Ron pinched her hard in the arm when Viktor wasn’t looking, but she simply pointer her wand at him menacingly until he backed away. Ron had left his wand downstairs.

As they went up to the second floor, Ron tried with all his might not to stare at Viktor’s backside as he climbed up the stairs, but he failed miserably.

“Percy used to share a floor with Fred and George?” Viktor asked with amusement. “They must have drove him mad.”

There wasn’t much to see in Bill and Charlie’s old bedroom on the third floor, but as they continued their way up, Ron’s apprehension increased. He should have asked Harry and Hermione to create a diversion downstairs so they had to come down. Or he should have tried to steal some Peruvian Darkness Powder form Fred and George’s old room so he could activate it as soon as they reached the fifth floor.

“This is mum and dad’s bedroom,” Ginny told Viktor. “As you can see they don’t have anything on their walls. No pictures or posters of any kind. Much less a Quidditch team.”

Viktor looked like he found this information strange, but he nodded anyway. Ron stepped on Ginny’s foot as hard as he could, but she zapped him with a slight electric shock from her wand and he had to retreat.

As Viktor stepped into the first stair leading up to the fifth floor, Ron called out his name, desperately. “You should see my dad’s garage! He keeps all of his muggle experiments down there. I’ll show you.”

Viktor looked interested and Ron’s heart lifted, but then Ginny stepped in between them. “There’s only one room left! And then the attic of course, but that’s not as interesting.”

Ginny grabbed Viktor’s arm and started pulling him away from Ron, who followed quickly and envisioned many ways to make Ginny miserable in the future, as soon as this was over.

“Ron’s room,” Ginny said as they neared the door. Viktor looked over his shoulder at Ron and smiled at him. Ron felt his knees weaken.

“Old room!” he corrected. “Ancient, really. I haven’t been here in so long, I hardly remember what it looks like.”

Ginny put her hand on the doorknob. “You’re being too humble, Ron. Yours is truly an spectacular and unforgettable room.”

Ginny pushed the door open and led Viktor inside. The orange glow hit Ron’s eyes and he deflated so much he wondered if it was possible for the floor to swallow him and spit him out somewhere else. Ginny called him and he slowly dragged his feet towards his humiliation, thinking that it was probably less pathetic than running away.

As soon as he stepped inside, Ginny perked up. “I think mum’s calling me!” And with a loud pop, she disapparated.

Viktor was taken aback for a moment, but then his eyes kept roaming up and down Ron’s room, which looked like it hadn’t been a day since Ron finished decorating it when he was ten years old. All the posters were in perfect condition because they were magical, the orange of the walls looked brighter than ever, and Ron’s mum had even kept all the orange bed clothes exactly the way Ron did when he lived there. He know realized how ghastly everything looked, especially with the addition of his own orange hair and bright red face.

Ron tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking.” He cleared his throat and looked out the small window at his family and friends downstairs. “It’s really stupid and-”

“Wow,” Viktor interrupted him, and Ron turned back to look at him, expecting a mocking fit of laughter to erupt at any moment now.

But Viktor didn’t look like he was about to laugh, nor did he seem like he thought Ron was the most pathetic man on earth. He was looking at Ron with a mix of surprise and acknowledgment.

“I feel so embarrassed,” Viktor said.

Ron frowned. “What? Why?”

Viktor rubbed the back of his neck. “Every English person has told me that the Chudley Canons are bad, but I have never vatcted a game myself. I have been saying bad things about them and now I can see I vas mistaken.”

Ron didn’t know what to say. Why would Viktor feel embarrassed about this?

“If you like them, they must be a good team.”

Ron’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, they’re…they’re not that bad,” he stammered. “They’ve had some pretty amazing matches, even if they don’t win.”

Viktor nodded. “I vas a very bad professional by accepting to enter a team I don’t know.” He stepped a bit closer and Ron’d heart pounded. “That’s why I’m embarrassed.”

“That’s alright. The Canons have a bad reputation, but a very interesting history,” Ron said, unbelievably glad that the attention wasn’t focused on him or his extreme fanaticism for the team.

Ron watched in slow motion as Viktor’s hand reached up and landed on Ron’s shoulder.

“I need someone to teach me.”

Ron gulped and nodded.

With a swift movement, Viktor stepped in next to Ron and threw his arm around his shoulders. “And maybe later ve can come back up here and put my face on your valls too.”

Ron laughed nervously, thinking that there were probably already a few posters of Viktor hidden in between Chudley Canon’s players. Before Viktor could reply or look more closely at the room, Ron started leading them out, one hand bravely on Viktor’s back.

“You could start telling me about the canons as you show me your father’s garage,” Viktor suggested once Ron had closed the door behind them.

With the feeling of Viktor’s arm still around him, Ron couldn’t help his next words, “For starters, you’re probably the best player they’ve ever had.”

Viktor’s smile was brighter than Ron’s entire room.

[remedialpotions]

I always love your writing but this second part of Delicate?! MASTERPIECE I'M IN LOVE 💛💛💛

😭❤️

You are so infinitely sweet, thank you so much! I’m so so so pleased to hear that you liked it!

[sallyjavery]

I LOVE YOUR THEO AND HIS WARM AND INFECTIOUS (I hope it means what I think it means🙊) LAUGH 💛💛💛

THANK YOU DEAREST. I’d say infectious applies here, although hopefully it’s only Theo’s laugh that’s infectious considering that he’s shagging Harry AND Daphne (what is my brain). 

[fangroyal]

congrats on 200, you utter gem!! i gotta request our beloved ship of dron (is anyone surprised?) and them being in a fluffy established relationship (preferably at hogwarts but idm if it's after) but anything else is completely up to you - i trust you completely!

(Thank you so much for the request, hun! @acciovodka​, as you two just so happened to ask me for the exact same thing. x’D Love you both! Hope you enjoy it!)

Read on AO3

It was the first day of winter break, and Hogwarts’ halls were mostly deserted. In less than an hour, the scarlet Express would depart from Hogsmeade station, transporting them all back to the comfort of their loved ones. Normally, there would be several students remaining behind for those couple weeks, but not this year. No, this time it seemed they’d all silently agreed that after everything that had happened barely six months prior, there was no more important place for them to be than home.

Except for one.

As soon as he had finished packing, Ron had excused himself from Harry and Hermione’s company and set out on a mission to find him. Tucking a brown paper package under his arm, he set out down the shifting staircases, past a gaggle of second-years hurrying along with their trunks, and descended into the castle’s dungeons, till he came upon the familiar blank stretch of stone. There, he provided the latest password that he was sure his boyfriend hadn’t realized he’d memorized and slipped through the arch that formed in the wall into the common room. Pansy had smiled knowingly as he’d passed her by, her luggage floating behind her as she made her way out, bound for the train home. She appeared to be the only Slytherin around; the corridor that led to their dorms was empty, right up until he reached the last door on the left―the room that had been specially added for the eighth-years.

Draco was right where Ron had assumed he would be. His legs were pulled up to his chest where he rested in the furthest window seat, his hands folded in his lap. He leaned back against the cushion behind him as he gazed out into the Great Lake’s murky depths. Something unseen zoomed through the foliage growing just outside the glass, disturbing the water and casting his pale features in alternating shades of blue and green.

He looked up as he heard the door click shut, and when he saw it was Ron standing there, a glimmer of a smirk passed over his lips.

“Who let your sorry arse in?”

“I have my ways.” Ron winked as he crossed the room to press a kiss to the top of Draco’s platinum blonde head. The boy chuckled quietly to himself, a hand reaching up to clutch absently at a sleeve of Ron’s jacket.

The Gryffindor glanced around them, spying Draco’s trunk at the foot of his bed. It was still latched and shoved up against it. The drawers of his dresser were still shut as well, and there were no clothes folded neatly on top of the comforter, as he would’ve done. Ron had expected as much, and yet…

“You packed?” he asked, gesturing towards it.

Draco’s expression darkened. “I told you I’m not coming.”

“Why, because you’d rather stay here alone and sulk?”

It was telling of just how far they’d come in the past couple months that Draco merely fought a smile and rolled his eyes at the comment.

It had never occurred to Ron until recently that he might ever be standing where he was at that very moment. That this particular person’s well being would ever matter as much as it did now. But so many things had changed, so many people had changed, and if he’d learned nothing else from war, he’d learned that when it came to the aftermath of that life and death sort of existence they’d been tolerating for so long, it didn’t help anything at all to hold a grudge. It had been astounding to him what he had seen that first time he’d truly opened his eyes and looked at Draco Malfoy. And he’d decided pretty quickly that he never wanted to stop looking.

Today, when he looked at him, he thought he saw the same gloomy boy he’d never bothered noticing much back in their sixth year. There was a sadness in his cloudy eyes that Ron didn’t like. He couldn’t blame him, all the same; the idea of either of his parents, let alone both of them, being locked up in Azkaban for the holiday…It was unfathomable. The Weasleys had of course offered for Draco to come to the Burrow, but he’d refused. Politely. He was still a pureblood, after all. Ron―along with Harry and Hermione―had decided he wasn’t going to allow him to be all by himself on Christmas, no matter what the little git had to say about it. And that was why he had come there that morning.

“I thought you might still say that, so…I got you a little something.”

Draco hesitated, raising an eyebrow at the offered gift, then pulled it into his lap. As he did so, Ron slid into the unoccupied space at the opposite end of the window seat and coaxed the other’s long legs to stretch out and cross over his own. Draco ran his hands along the rough paper before slipping a finger under one loose corner and tearing. The second a tuft of wool peeked out, Ron saw recognition light up his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Is this…?”

Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Ron could still hear it crack. He swallowed against the sympathetic tugging in his chest as he replied, “Well, if you did decide to come, you’d have to have something to wear, now wouldn’t you?”

Draco ripped the package open with fervor, now, his fingers trembling above the dark fabric as he lifted it and let it unfurl before him. Ron watched the blonde’s face contort for a moment, his eyes misting. He it set back down and rubbed his hand across his mouth in a manner that the Gryffindor had come to recognize as an attempt to keep himself together. Now that it lay unfolded over his lap, the emblem the jumper bore was clear: a large, capital D, stitched with golden thread.

“I’d thought she might’ve gone with green and silver,” Draco joked, laughing lightly even as his voice tightened with emotion.

Ron shook his head, grinning even through his own physical response. “Nah, too obvious. I mean, outside of your uniform, pretty much your entire wardrobe is black, so we figured why not go with something you’d actually wear.” Draco laughed again as he brushed a stray tear from his cheek. “And gold for the letter because, well, we know you like the finer things.”

It looked like Draco was attempting to smile at that―but as his brow creased and a fresh flood wet his lashes, Ron suddenly found himself with a lapful of boyfriend as the blonde crawled across the small space between them to bury his face in the crook of his freckled neck. Ron wrapped his arms and legs around him, holding him close.

For awhile, the only sound in the room was Draco’s muffled sniffling. He didn’t make much noise beyond that, but Ron could feel his tears dripping into the collar of his shirt. They lay there for some time, the jumper and its discarded packaging pressed between their thumping hearts.

Eventually, Draco gathered enough of himself to say, “Well, it’ll certainly look good with those really tight…what-do-ya-call-‘ems I have. Janes? The Muggle ones. I know you like those.”

There was no denying that, but Ron wasn’t much bothered with the idea for the time being. Instead, he listened to Draco’s breaths as they gradually calmed and circled his arms tighter around him. The blonde squeezed him in return, before pushing himself up onto his knees and wiping the back of his sleeve across his reddened eyes.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he suddenly announced, a cocky grin lighting his features, “and just you try and keep me away.” When he leaned in to press a firm kiss to his lips, Ron thought he could feel the old Draco again in his touch, and it made his belly flip with joy. “Now, are you going to help me pack, or what? The train should be leaving soon.”

Ron was grinning, too, as the Slytherin scrambled out of his lap and bounded towards his trunk, quickly throwing it open and beginning to toss his belongings inside. He got up to help as well, and when they were done and ready to head out, Draco pulled the jumper over his head with a smirk of pride that Ron hadn’t seen him wear in a very long time.

[nxrcissamxlfoy]

made up fic title : Walking the wire 🎶

walking the wire | draco malfoy x hermione granger

he’s sure the dark lord can smell the betrayal in his breath, so he holds it. 

“and the mudblood?” he hisses, sending a shiver down draco’s spine. 

draco swallows. “completely enamored, my lord,” he responds with a convincing assurance. “i’ll have her complete confidence with in the fortnight.”

a sickening chuckle fills the room around him. “good. you may prove useful yet, boy,” he says before moving on to the next order of business. 

across the table severus glares at him, a twisted frown on his sallow face.. later, after the dark lord and most of of the foul sycophants had left the manor for the evening, he finds draco alone in the back gardens. 

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his own twisted type of concern in his voice. 

draco feels the anger rise, his chest warming, burning. “was i supposed to say no? to deny his request?”

severus grabs him by the collar, nearly stringing him up in a moment of lost control. “you were supposed to keep emotions out of it!” realizing himself, severus lets him go. 

draco falls hard onto the stone bench he’d been sitting on, pulls his collar loose, glares at severus. there’s a challenge in his stare, but also a fear. how did he know? and if he knew, what about the dark lord?

“she’ll wind up dead if you’re not careful,” severus snaps, but the malice in his tone is weak, tinged with something more personal. before draco can respond severus turns on his heels, his cloak billowing behind him as he storms away. 

[nevillelongsbottom]

Congrats again you totally deserve muuuuuuch more followers! 🎉🎉🎉 i was thinking maybe Neville x Viktor? 😍 in any way you like them

There’s a boy on his own at the end of the Gryffindor table, a clique of burgundy robes, and then him - he’s separated, a good way aways from anything that constitutes a filled chair, and poking lamely at his food with his fork; Viktor can’t help but feel attracted, like magnetism - one loner to another, and he takes a seat opposite the Gryffindor boy.

“Is it okay?” he asks, and the boy looks up from his messy tufts. 

“Oh,” he says shyly. “Yeah. It’s okay. But no-one will think you’re cool here.”

Viktor blinks. What does it matter if he’s cool? He’s not going to be accepted into the Tournament on merits of social popularity, that’s for sure, and with a grunt, he stays.

-

The boy’s name is Neville; this is information Viktor only garners when he hears the screech through the hallway, usually accompanied by a runaway toad and/or a clatter. Viktor thinks it’s rather a nice name.

Awkwardly, he crouches and picks up the toad, waiting patiently to catch sight of Neville’s curls. It’s inevitable. 

-

Viktor never exchanges words with Neville; it’s not a part of their daily exchanges of looks and thoughts, and so when it happens, it’s rare, cherishable, enough to put in the Durmstrang school paper. He’s asleep in the school library when they talk, face buried between the pages of a Herbology journal, his chest rising and falling with a gentle snore every now and then. 

He’s cute, unbelievably so: he’s got notes beside him, written in handwriting painstakingly lettered for readability, parchment in huge rolls of the stuff, and his fingers are gently blackened with ink. 

But Pince is patrolling, and the quiet has to end.

Viktor places a hand on Neville’s shoulder, squeezing. “Neville,” he whispers. “Neville.”

Neville starts, suddenly, lifting his head, eyes bleary with sleep. “Huh? What’s going on?”

“The woman,” Viktor says, and Neville almost jumps out of his seat, throwing his parchment and books with reckless abandon into his bag and hurrying, Viktor by his side, out the door; nothing good ever comes of being in the library at closing time, and Neville’s fallen asleep so many times it’s ingrained in him. “What were you doing?”

Neville’s so unused to Viktor speaking that it takes him a moment to work through the layers of his accent. 

“Oh, um, I was just looking for stuff.” Neville squeezes the strap of his backpack, nerve-wracked. “For the Task. I wondered if there was some kind of plant that could help; I really like Herbology, so I thought it could be good for homework, too… but I didn’t find anything.”

Viktor smiles; nobody’s ever done anything for him so selflessly, thoughtlessly easy. “Thank you.”

Neville flushes. “I don’t know if you should thank me. I haven’t found anything yet.”

-

(Neville doesn’t find anything; he’s almost too ashamed to turn out, but he does, Dean coaxing him out of the dorm. 

“Doesn’t matter if you didn’t find anything,” he says. “You tried. He’ll appreciate it.” 

Neville chews at his nail. “Will he, though?”)

-

Viktor’s arms are lightly scorched when he eats dinner with Neville that evening; and they spend the night in the greenhouses, rubbing mushed-up plant along the shining red burns. 

“Does it hurt?” Neville asks, frowning lightly. 

“No,” says Viktor. (It hurts; but Neville’s frown is harangued by such worry that he feel like there’s no choice but to lie - but it doesn’t hurt so much that it’s unbearable, and if it makes Neville happy, then is it a problem?) 

“Okay. But - but tell me if it does, okay?”

“Okay,” says Viktor, and suppresses a smile.

-

It’s just breakfast, lunches, and dinners until then, where neither of them exchange words, as ever; but it doesn’t really matter, not to Viktor, and Neville’s thankful for the idea that anyone would sit with him - he loves it, really. Friends are something he never feels like he gets to have - unless Viktor is there.

That’s their comfort zone, and the way they understand each other: Neville through his desperate over-reading, trying to be as on top of his classes as possible, Viktor in his stony silence, the only way to read his thoughts being where his eyes so happen to fall.

Some month or two before the Second Task, his eyes start to fall on Harry; and Neville starts to spend more time in the library.

-

“Will you go with me?” Viktor asks suddenly, out of nowhere; Neville looks up, mid-spoonful of porridge. The furrow of his brow belies his confusion, and Viktor continues, carefully. “To the Ball.”

“I-” Neville flusters, not entirely sure what to do with any part of himself as he shifts, letting his porridge drip from the spoon at dropping consistency. “I’d love to,” he mumbles. “If they’ll let you.”

“If they don’t,” Viktor says seriously, “I will complain.”

Neville has to cover his mouth to stop himself bursting into laughter, and Viktor looks at him with just a tinge of not understanding; the rest of the look is the affection with which they’ve been trading in spoonfuls throughout the year, and Neville settles down, right back into their usual comfort. 

-

Neville practises the whole way through to the Ball, waltzing with his pillow when he hopes that no-one is watching; he’s determined not to fuck this one up, because Merlin, that’s what he always does, but he wants everything to go well for Viktor, someone he can understand, an outsider just like him.

And Viktor is so handsome it just steals his breath and his rationality away; when he takes Viktor’s hand to take to the dancefloor, everything he’s learned evacuates him, and his feet just trail Viktor’s shyly as he stares up at the impassive Bulgarian. 

They sit down fairly quickly - Viktor would rather dance, of course, because he doesn’t know how to use his words the way that so many people seem to be able to, but Neville’s trodden on his feet and he’s trodden on Neville’s and it feels compulsory to have a break to let the Gryffindor stretch his weary toes.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Viktor asks, watching as teen after teen spins past him in a strange, slow-motion merry-go-round. 

“Well, I’m just not very good at dancing… I’m sorry, I’m embarrassing you in front of everybody,” Neville mumbles, eyelids fluttering as he stares down at the floor; but Viktor isn’t having this. Neville is a tripping mess of anxiety and bumbling shyness, and he just wishes that Neville knew he was worth so much more - he’s the company that Viktor doesn’t get back home, the real company to Viktor’s Triwizard fanclub, somebody who cares and falls asleep at the threat of being screamed out the library for him, somebody who puts selflessness over overdue Potions essays. 

“You are not,” Viktor says, with so much emphasis that he worries for a moment that he’s actually scared Neville - but Neville’s spent so many years being taught by Snape that he’s unflinching in the face of a raised voice, more scared by cynicism and wit than shouting. “You are important to me, or I would not have asked you here.” 

“But… I’m just clumsy, and stupid.”

Viktor reaches over, grabbing Neville’s hand. “But you are not any of those things to me! You are important, Neville. I do not care if you walk into tables, or that your writing is not neat. I care that you are kind and think of me.” 

Neville’s so red he almost matches the red of Viktor’s usual coat; but he’s lost, now, drowned in a wash of feelings that come up to swallow him whole, and he lowers his head onto Viktor’s shoulder as Viktor brushes a hand through Neville’s hair. “I treasure you,” says Viktor.

The corridor is quiet when they decide to head back to their respective rooms, a little earlier than the ending of the Yule Ball; Neville’s always been easily tired, and Viktor isn’t exactly the biggest fan of the Weird Sisters, and they step outside together, Viktor walking Neville back to the common room.

“Good night,” he says, and leans forward, touching his lips to Neville’s forehead; when he leaves, Neville is torn: he wants to leave his forehead alone, adorned just with Viktor’s lips, but he wants to touch it.

His breath catches. Dean is back, early, and he looks up; Seamus has crashed in his lap. He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Neville breathes. “Yeah.”

-

Time passes. The feeling of Viktor’s lips on his forehead wash away, and yet the feeling of familiarity over the breakfast table never end.

-

“It’s Gillyweed,” Neville says, pressing the thing into Viktor’s hand. “It’ll mean that you can breathe underwater - but I don’t know how long it lasts, so - don’t be too slow, please? I don’t want you to drown.”

Viktor stares back up at him; this is all out of nowhere, really - Neville’s run up to him in the corridor, all out of puff and red-cheeked, his eyes shining with that stupid Gryffindor earnesty that Viktor always sees from him.

“Thank you,” he says, surprised. “I will be quick.”

“Good luck,” says Neville, and disappears off down the corridor. Viktor closes his hand around the plant.

-

Viktor expects many things, but he doesn’t expect Neville paralysed at the bottom of the Lake; he bursts back through the surface of the water first, Neville’s eyes wide and terrified when they emerge, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his pupils wide.

He looks like he wants to scream, but he doesn’t have the voice, and so instead he clings to Viktor, desperate. Viktor doesn’t let go, not even when they’re back to safety and towel-wrapped; Neville keeps close, even when his heart has calmed again, listening to the heartbeat that thrums in Viktor’s veins. 

-

The Third Task always looms, and Neville waits almost as anxiously for its arrival as the Champions do; his hand shakes slightly when he eats breakfast, and though Viktor tries not to notice, he inevitably does.

“I will be fine,” he assures Neville. “I will come back.”

“Please do,” Neville says. “I need you to come back.”

“I promise you. I will.” Viktor runs a thumb across the back of Neville’s hand, and though it almost does, it doesn’t reassure, in the end.

-

It’s never truly summer in Scotland, and Neville always finds himself bundled up a few layers too thick for English weather - and also finds himself spending ever more time with Viktor out on the grounds and during the day, from just late afternoons with little to do to wanderings between classes.

They never really say anything to each other, save to ask how the other is doing; for Neville, how his studies are; for Viktor, how is he approaching what Neville views as inevitable doom. They discuss the situation at Hogwarts and the students sometimes when they park themselves on the grass to relax, and Viktor watches the scudding of the clouds.

“If I did die in the Tournament,” he says, “it would be a good end. I have had a good year, thanks to you.”

“Please don’t die,” Neville implores, again; it’s almost become his catchphrase, one grown out of desperation and possibly giving too much credence to the wild rumours that surround Harry and Cedric. He presses his head to the warmth of Viktor’s padded shoulder, and holds on to Viktor’s arm. “I’d miss you.”

“And from death,” says Viktor, “I would miss you, too.”

-

The Third Task looms, waiting like a boggart in a cupboard, and Neville descends on the week of the task almost into hysteria; Viktor has the patience for him, well-acquainted with Neville’s nervous disposition, and the only thing he doesn’t expect is the sudden quieting of Neville’s interpersonal histrionics with him the day before the Final Task, a day that they choose to spend mostly outdoors in the slightly crisp cool of the air.

“You are quiet,” Viktor notes.

“I’m sorry,” says Neville. “I shouldn’t have been so worried. You can handle yourself. I’m such an embarrassment.”

“You are never,” Viktor insists, putting an arm around Neville; he’s more of a physical comfort, his words always seeming to lack the punch that most people do - but then that would make him just like Neville: not quite right. Neville appreciates his words, though, because even if they seem hollow to their tones, they’re well-chosen if they’ve been allowed to pass Viktor’s lips. “I hope you will still care for me if I do not win.”

“I’d love you even if you pulled out now,” Neville says unflinchingly. “Or tripped over a rock, or fell into something. I would like you if your wand backfired and turned you into a weasel, or if you were so nervous you couldn’t even cast lumos. I would care about you if you fainted from fright or got hit by a Blast-Ended Skrewt or if you did so badly you got minus points, because I like you and not just those stupid Triwizard points because yeah, I get it, it’s a marker of your skills prowess, but that’s not what I’m with you for.”

Viktor grins; it’s an expression of such fierce joy that Neville’s mouth is still a round circle when Viktor leans in to kiss it, moulding Neville’s lips back into their normal shape and then beyond, into art and sculpture. Physically, it’s terrible - but the act of their connection means the world to Neville, and he’s speechless when they pull back from each other, having tasted a little too much of the other.

“I shall come in first for you,” Viktor says. “Or third. Or any place that you like. But I shall return for you.”

Neville’s eyes soften, almost glistening. He feels like he never has before: understood, treasured, a friend (or more, now, he supposes). “I’ll be rooting you on,” he says simply, and beams.

[fleetofshippyships-archive]

It's tough question! I think what brought me to you was Theo x Neville 💕 but what made me love you was Blaise x Ron EVEN WHEN YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART WITH THEM 💔

Ooooh ooooh! I quite enjoy Blaise/Ron after giving them a go!! Doing prompts is so interesting and fun! Trying new ships is scary, but I never thought I’d enjoy it so much =D

Breaking hearts? hmmmmm I’m sure I have no idea what you mean *whistles innocently*

On a side note though, all three of the prompts that I wrote were in a closet of some sort (or the potion storeroom), if I ever write them again, I should bring them out of the closet, so to speak

sorry that was lame, couldn’t help myself hahaha

Thanks for doing the meme, hun, this is so interesting =)

How do you remember me as a writer?

From this post:

Reblog if it’s okay for your followers to leave you an ask telling you what the one thing is they remember you for as a writer.  Is it a scene or a detail or a specific line? Is it something like style or characterization?  Is it that one weird kink they never thought they’d be into, but oh my god wow self-discovery time?

[quidditchleaguenet]

HUFFLEPUFF FOR THE WIN 💛💛💛

yesssss!!

-adrenne

[amiandthechaos]

Dramionarry, paneville, riktor, linny and I DON'T KNOW THE LAST ONE?!

you are….

100% RIGHT IN ALL OF THOSE

omg youre so close!

try to guess my top five ships for a drabble!

[remedialpotions]

"Will you marry me?" prompt because I hope for some happy fluff?

Yikes… I’m so sorry this took so long but these are a very important four words, you know? I wanted to do them justice. I hope I did. 💕

Warning: Copious amounts of fluff. Also, an almost-naked Ron Weasley.

***

Will You Marry Me?

Ron wouldn’t exactly say he was used to waking up next to Hermione - he would never truly get used to anything about her - but he’d come to expect it, in any case, now that they lived together. Now that three whole years together had solidified the fact that she loved him and willingly chose to put up with his snoring, his morning breath, his occasional bad temper that lasted only until his first bite of breakfast… yes, she had truly chosen him, for better or worse.

And for him, well, he had chosen her years ago without even realizing it, wholly unaware that he had welcomed her permanently into his heart and his life and his consciousness. Now, he couldn’t undo it even if he wanted to, this love for her, even as it had evolved and grown over the years. He hadn’t always known it, but it was always going to be her from the instant they met in that train compartment.

Next to him, she rolled over onto her side, her brown eyes blinking open in the vibrant Saturday sunlight. She inched toward him, snaking an arm over his waist, and nestled her face into his bare chest. Ron dropped a kiss onto her bushy hair, which was all in disarray, and felt like he had suddenly known all along where this morning was headed.

“Hey,” he whispered, tickling her back with his fingertips. “Do we have any plans today?”

He reckoned it was best to ask, since she was always forgetting to tell him. He would be under the impression that they had a quiet weekend night ahead of him only to find out at the last moment, “didn’t I tell you? We’re meant to have dinner with my gran, and remember, she thinks we’re Muggles…” and then he’d find himself scrambling to recall his ‘I’m not a wizard’ cover story. He never minded, anyway. That was just their life together: unpredictable.

“No, nothing,” Hermione said into his shoulder. “Why?”

And he’d always thought, in this moment, that he’d have to summon the spirit of Godric Gryffindor to be as courageous as he’d need to be, but that didn’t seem necessary anymore. There was nothing scary about any of it.

“Hmm.” He angled his face to touch his lips to hers. “Let’s get married.”

He knew her well enough to know she was suddenly wide awake at the suggestion.

“You’re barking,” she replied, her lips still nudging his as she spoke. “What do you really want to do today?”

“I want to get married,” Ron repeated as she looked directly into his eyes, clearly trying to read if this was just his way of teasing her on a weekend morning.

His heart started to hammer in his chest as she silently studied him.

“Are you proposing to me?” she asked, a smile just threatening to burst forth on her features.

“Yes,” Ron declared. “I want to marry you. Today.”

“Well - but - I mean-” Despite this feeble protestation, she was grinning fully now. “I mean, that’s crazy, we can’t just go and get married today-”

“Sure we can. If we go down to the Ministry, we’ll be married in time for lunch.”

Hermione sat up, blankets bunching in her lap, Ron’s old Chudley Cannons t-shirt hanging loosely on her frame.

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, it happens occasionally,” Ron replied, his every limb trembling with adrenaline as he shifted up to sit as well. “Hold on, hold on, I’ve got to do this properly, just give me one second.”

He’d been planning on doing this differently, in a much more romantic fashion, when they went on holiday next month, but best laid plans had never really worked out for him and Hermione in the past and he reckoned it was a bit naive to expect that to start happening now. They’d learned long ago they couldn’t map out every second of their lives and sometimes leaping before they looked was the very best thing for them.

So he scrambled out of the bed, barely noticing that he was only wearing his pants, and yanked open a dresser drawer. It was the one where he tended to keep things like old Quidditch gloves and some of the woolly-bladder-style knit hats that Hermione had made during fifth year - the sort of drawer she had no interest in exploring - and recovered a small, square, wooden box.

“You - when did you get that?!” Hermione exclaimed when she saw what he was holding.

“A couple weeks ago,” said Ron, clambering back onto the bed to sit cross-legged in front of her. “I was going to wait to ask you, but then - but then I woke up this morning and I looked at you and I really don’t want to spend another day not married to you and so…” He popped open the box to reveal a glittering ruby set into a gold band. “Oh, and I promise this isn’t goblin-made, I know how you feel about that, so I got it at a Muggle shop-”

“Ron,” Hermione choked out, eyes glassy with unshed tears, “are you going to ask me or not?”

“Well, I just - all right. Okay. Hermione,” he began, extracting the ring from the box, “will you marry me?”

She pounced forward, tackling him back onto the bed, and the ring went flying.

***

you can find more four word prompts here!

[lillyevanssss]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉❤💛💛💛

HABA DON’T DO THIS I’M GONNA BE CAPS LOCKED NOW.

💖 💙 💖 💙 💖 💙 💖 💙 💖 💙 💖 💙 💖 💙 💖 💙 💖 💙 💖

[fangroyal]

#9 #13 #16 #16 #50 🌟🌟🌟

9: Notp?HARRY/DRACO. I’m sorry, I’m of course fully aware of how big that ship is, but…I just…I just can’t. I don’t really like Harry all that much (I could write a book on why, trust me), and I just don’t see any chemistry between them–beyond the obvious “enemies to lovers” trope that they fall into. Which yes, I know is totally hypocritical, considering my own ships, but still. HOWEVER, I totally get that other people see this ship differently than I do! I respect people’s right to ship what they want to ship, 100%! So please don’t take me giving my opinion about it as me putting down the fact that others like it! I think we’re all free to love what we want to love, and that all ships are beautiful in their own way. Especially because…well…this doesn’t mean I’ve never read a fic about them, or reblogged art of them, or anything like that. It’s just not my favorite thing.

13: Character you most identify with?Ouu, that’s actually a hard question for me. I rarely see fictional characters as someone I can relate to–not that doing that is a bad thing, I’ve just never been like that. If I had to pick someone, I guess I would say………hmmm……probably Luna. I’ve always been this kind of weird, out-there person, and I’ve had people tell me before that I seemed very odd to them when they first met me, but as they got to know me better, they found that I was actually just very intelligent and independent. I’ve also always been told by others that I have my own style–as in, I’ve never necessarily fit fully into the box of most of the styles of people we normally see. I’m very much my own creation. I don’t know how much sense I just made, but there you go. See, I am kinda like her, huh? Haha!

16: Character you just want to be happy?RON AND DRACO. Sorry, I can’t pick just one. These two got the short end of the stick in this fandom, unfortunately–one mostly in the movies, the other overall.

50: Who would your BFF be?Oh my god, Draco. Young me would’ve been friends with him anyway, like when I was still in school. We would’ve been just two big bitches together, talking shit about the rest of the students and smoking pot in the dorms to deal with our crippling anxiety…Okay, maybe he wouldn’t have gone for that part of it, necessarily, but a girl can dream. xD Haha!

Harry Potter Themed Asks

[nxrcissamxlfoy]

acciovodka reblogged your post and added:

THIS IS PURE PERFECTION

thank you sm lil bean! <3

[nevillelongsbottom]

love of my life Ron Weasley? :)

ayyy

such a bore - bass drum of death

rock and roll night club - mac demarco

l.s.f. (version revisited) - mark ronson

debra - t.rex

squeeze me - n.e.r.d.

send me a hp character for a 5-song playlist!