#princessof--light

[swynlake-spill]

I want to give me roomie Eilonwy a shoutout!She's a sweetie and an awesome person to randomly get assigned to room with!

OOOOH my favourite mini-saga continues: the feel-good buddy comedy of the year staring Eilonwy and Kairi as soulmates who found each other in uni!! Doesn’t it just warm your heart that these two girls get along so well? I even heard they were playing Among Us together. That’s true friendship! 

Hi @eilonwy-notjustgirl, Kairi loves you! 

[ickle-ronniekins]

tangled up

request: from nonnie! “love those sharing a bed tropes... not saying you should do it but you should definitely do it”

pairing: fred x fem!gryffindor!reader

word count: 2.3k

A/N: ummmmmm love this request, i'm in suuuucch a fred mood lately

warning(s): brief mention of war, ~implied sexual content~ i suppose

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @keoghans @dreamer821 @wtfweasleyy @62442-am @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro | message me to be added loves!

The cool October air had a bit of a bite to it -- it seemed as though Bill and Fleur’s wedding was ages ago. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders to reduce the chill in your bones.

Suddenly two redheaded figures appeared with a pop! onto the field outside of your home. By what you could see, they’d apparated just before the line of protective enchantments -- a type of advanced magic only a very intelligent wizard could do.

“Bloody hell -- you’re a life saver, you know that?” George exclaimed as he finally reached you, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “I couldn’t be there for one more moment.”

Fred rolled his eyes and explained, “He means at Auntie Muriel’s. Being a bit overdramatic, are we, George?”

The elder twin shot his younger brother a look of amusement as George dropped his bag onto the floor and ran a hand through his hair. “Overdramatic? Tell me, Fred, would you like to go back?”

Fred then draped an arm across your shoulder and peered at his brother. “And reject our best mate’s offer to spend time at her lovely home? That would be so rude.” George swore he saw his twin shudder a bit, no doubt at the thought of returning to their Auntie Muriel’s to endure more yelling and criticism. George shot him a very sardonic look, and laughed lightly.

“Glad you two decided to come -- it’ll be nice having someone else in the house. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in months,” you waved your wand to pull three teacups from the kitchen cupboard and started the kettle. You felt a sense of ease at having your two closest friends here. “Should be alright out here, at least for a while.”

Fred glimpsed around your tiny little house. It was small, but exceptionally tidy with a very cozy feeling to it. It looked much different than the Burrow, but still emanated that feeling of home. “Lovely place you’ve got.”

“Thanks, Freddie,” you replied, handing him a steaming cup of tea. He gingerly took it out of your hands. “Just one problem.”

The twins chorused together, “What?”

“I’ve only got one extra bed.”

If the room hadn’t gone so eerily still at your comment, you never would have noticed the small jab to the hip George gave his twin. Fred grunted a bit and stifled a cough. “Oh, no worry -- George already said he’ll take the floor.”

Fred earned himself an eye roll and another jab.

You waved them both off and blew on your tea. “Don’t be silly! I’ll take the floor. You two’ve just got to battle it out for who gets the bigger bed.”

As if on queue, George immediately hoisted his bag back over his shoulder. He began walking away and pointed toward your very tiny spare bedroom off of the kitchen. “This one here, yeah? Thanks again, Y/N, really appreciate you letting us escape the wrath of our aunt -- I’m absolutely knackered, hope you two don’t mind if I turn in!” and with a quick wave to you and Fred, George closed the door and you both almost immediately heard very loud snoring. You and Fred exchanged a laugh.

You made sure everything was in order for Fred before leading him to your room. But you noticed he hadn’t brought his stuff with him -- you saw his belongings near your front door. With a wave of your wand, you brought it forward.

“I’m really okay to sleep on the couch,” he told you, pointing back toward the front.

“I’m not going to have you sleep on the couch,” you replied, shaking your head. “Besides -- you’re not staying out there. I might be a bit dramatic, but the couch is too close to the windows and the front door, and though I’ve been safe here for a while..” you voice trailed off a bit, and you swallowed down the nerves bubbling up inside of you. “Just -- we never know where the Death Eaters are. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

You patted Fred’s shoulder, ready to head back out to your front room, when he took your wrist in his hand and whirled you back around to face him. “If I’m not allowed to take the couch, neither are you.”

You crossed your arms and swallowed. “Fine,” you replied with a grin. “Have got tons of extra pillows and a massive blanket here somewhere -- let me go and fetch it. Go on then, make yourself comfortable.”

“Merlin, you are being thick today,” Fred chuckled, and you noticed traces of the young boy you grew to love. He caressed small circles on the back of your hand. “Would you just sleep in your own bed?”

“But --” your breath caught in your throat. You glanced at your own bed, easily big enough for two, maybe even three, and went against your better judgement before you could overthink it. “Just share with me, then. Nobody takes the floor.”

A hint of nervousness flashed across his features before twisting into a cheeky grin. You continued on when he stayed silent, “What’s the matter, Freddie? You’ve been my best mate for the better half of the last twenty years. I mean, I’ve seen you in your bunny slippers, for Merlin’s sake --” Fred flinched uncomfortably at the memory of you catching him, late one evening in Gryffindor tower, in bunny slippers his mum had knitted for him as a child. You had never let him forget it.

His grin deepened alongside the crimson red colour of his cheeks. “Listen, woman, they are soft and keep me nice and toasty, alright?”

“Whatever you say,” you replied before sliding yourself underneath your warm blanket. You patted the other side of the bed in an accidental sensual way and realized how that must’ve come across. You quickly cleared your throat and turned off the light before you could see his reaction. “Erm -- there are extra pillows on the couch if you need.”

You felt his body slide in next to yours, and you could still make out some of his facial features from the faint light of the lightning strikes outside. He was definitely still grinning. “I’m fine, really.”

You figured out quite quickly that neither of you were able to sleep, especially because it was only eleven p.m. and because of the wild wind and rain that were howling outside of your window. The words were spilling out of you before you could help it. “Fred?”

He turned on his side to face you. “Yeah?”

You were laying on your back, looking up at your ceiling in the darkness. “Are you afraid?”

When he didn’t answer right away, you turned your head to face him too. Each time the lightning struck it was bright and vibrant, and highlighted his features in a more intimate way than ever before. He threaded his brows together and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I am.”

It was weirdly comforting hearing him say that he was afraid. The man who didn’t have a serious bone in his body was actually scared. It was strange and unnerving and brought a sense of solace to you all at once.

You sucked in a breath, worried that your normal evening anxiety would show solely through the look in your eyes. You turned away to glance toward the ceiling again when you felt Fred brush his fingers gently against yours under the covers. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“I think it’ll be okay though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I suppose I can’t..” it was so weird, hearing him speak like this. He shifted again. “I just think.. we’re more prepared than before. Think there’s more of us this time. Besides, we’ve done our studying, and we’re all brilliant wizards.”

A smile tugged at the edges of your mouth. “You are kind of brilliant.”

“Wow,” he breathed, and it was almost a whisper. You noticed the way the edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Care to return the compliment first?”

“Hang on,” he replied, placing his hands behind his head in a bit of a relaxed state. “I need to bask in this for a moment.”

“Oh shove off, you git!”

You playfully swatted him before he retaliated. Soon enough you were both sitting upright, thwacking one another with pillows and laughing into the darkness of the night. Fred fell to the floor with a dull thump, and you stifled lots of giggles and shushed him as he slid back into bed next to you. “You’re going to wake up George!”

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were swatting at one another. It could’ve been hours, or perhaps days. But then the storm grew more fierce, and you found yourself scooting closer to him in bed. Fred always had a way of making you forget about everything going on around you. It was always surprising to you how you’d be able to drown out the rest of the world, as long as you listened to him talk, or as long as you watched him work on his inventions with gentle hands. Even in lessons, back in school, when he’d teasingly wink at you from across the classroom, you were pretty much rendered completely useless for the rest of the day. When it was just you and him, the rest of the world might as well not even exist.

He must’ve noticed how you zoned out, because he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

You turned on your side to face him fully this time. “Just reminiscing.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“Remember when we bumped into one another in the corridors during our fourth year -- I was sneaking sweets up from the kitchens, and you were attempting to sneak into one of the classrooms to finish working on inventions?” You smiled at the memory. “And then Filch was roaming around, and we nearly got caught?”

Fred laughed. You were happy that he remembered. “Never sprinted back to the common room so quickly in my life. That ruddy cat of his was clawing at my ankles.”

“Between the fact that I’d hardly gotten any sleep that night and the adrenaline rush, I was bloody exhausted.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, you fell asleep in the armchair next to the fire almost immediately when we returned and began to snore rather loudly, if my memory serves me correct.”

You grinned, not skipping a beat. “Yeah, my snoring is almost as embarrassing as those slippers of yours.”

You expected him to groan and throw another pillow in your direction, but instead he just deepened his smile and reached out and placed his hand next to yours on the edge of his pillow, your fingers almost touching. “I dunno -- I thought it was cute.”

You really hoped the steady drumbeat sound of your heart was drowned out by the sounds of the thunder outside. You weren’t so sure though. “Yeah?”

He wet his lips and nodded. “I remember having to wake you up because it was nearly four a.m. -- fire had died out and you looked so uncomfortable in that armchair -- I just wanted to carry you upstairs. Except..” Yeah, jinxes by the professors at each respective staircase. Boys weren’t allowed in the girls dorms, and vice versa. You knew exactly what he was getting at.

You felt a swift surge of confidence overtake you, so you gently moved your fingers a few centimeters before you slowly intertwined them with his. He didn’t flinch. Your voice was softer than you expected. “What else do you remember about that night?”

It was an opening -- you didn’t want to be so blatantly obvious about it, but Fred could always read you like a book. You hoped he still could, after all these years. Luckily for the both of you, nothing had changed. He took the opening. “I remember wanting to kiss you.”

You bit your lip, hoping to suppress the nerves that were bubbling up inside of you like fizzy champagne.

Fred laughed cheekily. “Never got a chance, though.”

Before you could think more on it, you nudged his leg with your toes and scooted closer to him. You could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, you were so close. “Then kiss me now.”

His mouth parted slightly in surprise, but nevertheless he inched forward and caught your lips with his. They were soft -- softer than you ever could have imagined, and so was the kiss itself. He tasted faintly of mint, and and you found yourself breathing in deeper when he trailed one solitary finger across your jawline and down your neck. The feel of him against you warmed up your entire body in a way that the common room fire never could.

He sighed against your lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Mmm we should’ve been doing this the entire time,”

You laughed softly and brought your fingers to your lips, hoping to still feel that electricity. “Yeah, we probably should have.”

All thoughts of the war seemed to subside as he leant in to kiss you again. Somehow, being with him, your limbs entangled together -- it was enough to make you forget about the war on the horizon, everything that was about to happen. As far as you were concerned, as long as Fred was beside you, tangled in the covers of your bed, everything would be alright.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. His voice was rough and sensual and soft all at the same time as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Thanks for inviting me to sleep in your bed.”

You grinned and raked your bottom lip through your teeth. “Yeah, well, like you said -- we should’ve been doing this the entire time. Figured I’d get a jump start on what we’ve missed.”

He laughed and wrapped his arms tightly around your hips. Goosebumps sprouted on your skin as he lazily trailed his fingers up and down your spine and told you, “Knew you were my favorite for a reason.”

[softhanni]

Tagged by: @shikitsune - thank you angel!! 💖

hot shower or cold shower // texting or calling // earphones or headphones // paperback or hardcover // matte or gel // 12 hour clock or 24 hour clock // blue or green // sunsets or sunrises // tulips or orchids // candle light or moonlight // sci-fi or horror // pen or pencil // pandas or koalas // gold or silver // sneakers or boots // denim jacket or leather jacket // pink or purple // chocolate or sour candy // deodorant or perfume // drive-in movie theater or the cinema // pastel colors or neutral/earth tones // lemonade or fruit juice // past or future // constellations or aurora borealis

I tag: @coloredbi @dhdh1100 @hellogirls @honeysake @hopfright @ilovehanamaru @kimono @kouka @mewto @princessof-pink @toya @yuiaka 💖

[aquata-the-champ]

False Start | Aquairi

Even Aquata had to admit that it was kind of ridiculous that she had timed this meeting specifically so she could go see the pool beforehand. It was overly sentimental and nostalgic and Aquata imagined this was probably the first sign that she was officially getting old.

But she missed the Pride U pool. And stopping by her former coach’s office to chat and catch up was the perfect opportunity to hang out there for a little bit. The one at Olympus Gym where Aquata sometimes swam laps or taught lessons had the same harsh chemical smell, the same way of tossing echoes around in its massive ceiling, but it didn’t have the same memories associated. Olympus Gym didn’t have Aquata’s favorite block that she had carved her initials into, or that particular brand of floor cleaner mixing into the smell of the chlorine, or all those banners decorating the walls declaring that Aquata was a champion. Had been, once, anyway.

Caught up in the memories, Aquata didn’t notice she wasn’t the only one in the pool area until she glanced behind her. “What are you doing here?” she snapped instinctively, before really thinking about it. Chill, she reminded herself. “I mean, er, is there a practice here or something? You a swimmer?”

@princessof--light​

[nicoledgrahamart]

Woo!! Kingdom hearts is out for Europe! I just got mine in the mail :D and as promised a little something to celebrate :3 #kingdomhearts1.5&2.5 #kingdomhearts #disney #princess #disney #disneyprincess #maleficent #fairy #darkfairy #mistressofallevil #princessof heart #heart #light #darkness #aliceinwonderland #snowwhite #aurora #sleepingbeauty #jasmine #aladdin #belle #beautyandthebeast #cinderella #thelittlemermaid #ursula #hades #captainhook #jafar #art #illustration #nicolegrahamart

[ickle-ronniekins]

the one i was meant to find

request: from nonnie! “soulmate au with George??? maybe tattoos or something with the red thread of fate?”

pairing: george x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

warning(s): angst, mentions of impending war, torture, sadness, anxiety

desc: your seventh year takes a wild turn when umbridge announces the arranged establishing of relationships to keep things in order. keep things in order? sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? people shouldn’t be paired off, you should find one another through fate! so when umbitchbridge ultimately decides to pair students off by blood status, it seems as though fate (or the ministry) is pulling you and your boyfriend miles and miles apart.

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight | message me to be added!

Umbridge’s slimy voice rang violently throughout the Great Hall. Suddenly everything sounded very muffled in your ears, and you swallowed thickly in the hopes of unpopping them. Your breathing became heavy, just as it had that winter day at the Weasley home.

You’d been sitting outside the Burrow in the snow near the garden shed with the lot of them, before Fred, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all excused themselves, leaving you and George alone. You’d sworn that you’d seen Fred wink at you before vanishing inside the bustling home. You’d bit down on your lip, knowing exactly what he’d been trying to do. Damnit, Fred.

You’d stolen a glance at George, who’d looked as calm as could be. That hadn’t helped your nerves at all. Neither had the slight mistletoe that had materialized above you both, the unmistakable sound of Frederick Weasley cackling emanating from the second floor of the house.

“You know,” George began, his voice steady as a rock as he inched closer toward you. He lifted his eyes to glance above you both. “Legend has it that if you don’t song whoever you’re with whenever mistletoe appears, you’re both cursed for life.”

You’d actually snorted and immediately caved in on yourself. How embarrassing was that? Your cheeks flooded red, both from the embarrassment and from the way his laughter had warmed your entire body. You’d hadn’t even known what to say. “You’re full of it, Weasley,”

He’d placed a hand dramatically across his chest. The tips of his ears and nose were pink from the cold, and you’d sworn you were going to spontaneously combust at the sheer sight of it. “Swear to Merlin, Y/N, I read about it.”

“You? Read about it? Sure. In what -- Ten Ways To Charm Your Crush?” you’d internally scolded yourself for saying something so bloody stupid, but George had clearly thought it was cute because his grin deepened alongside the dramatic drumbeat of your heart. You’d decided to dive in head first. “I reckon you just want to kiss me.”

His features had twisted into a childish smirk and the wind ruffled his bit of bright red hair sticking out from his hat. A few snowflakes had fallen onto his eyelashes and melted when he’d blinked. “Absolutely, I do.”

He’d caught your lips with his in a moment of clarity. It was new and invigorating and familiar all at once. You may had been informed of your magical abilities at the age of eleven, much to the surprise of your Muggle parents, but in all the years you’d been attending Hogwarts, you’d never felt magic quite like this. The feeling of his eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones and his tongue gliding gently over your bottom lip had sent you gasping for air --

A hand on the small of your back pulled you from your memory. You turned to your side and looked at George for some reassurance, except all he was able to give you were worried eyes and a clenched jaw. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, but not the way they had underneath the snow and the stars and the mistletoe. They were glistening with tears.

“You can’t pair people off like this!” Yells were ringing throughout the Great Hall, along with complaints and quite a few expletives. You squeezed George’s hand. All you wanted him to do was tell you everything would be okay. “George, she can’t --”

Umbridge kept on talking, annoyingly enough, and you were surprised at how loudly her words echoed in your ears. “The Ministry has concluded, boys and girls, that students will be paired off by blood status. Pure-bloods are to marry pure-bloods, half-bloods with half-bloods, Muggle-borns with Muggle-borns. No intermingling will be tolerated. There will be daily checks to make sure you are abiding by the rules. Be warned, children, there will be disciplinary actions for those refusing to obey. No exceptions.”

You felt as though your throat was closing up. George’s face was blurry through your vision, but you could still see the worried look glazing over his eyes. How the hell did she expect to pull this off -- daily checks? This woman was absolutely mad. Somehow though, you knew she’d stop at nothing to make sure her rules were being followed. The thought terrified you to your core. To George, you said shakily, “But -- I love you.”

You’d known it since the day you met him, and even before that. You knew that he was the one you’d been waiting for. The overwhelming feeling of warmth you’d felt when he’d introduced himself with a lopsided grin all those long years ago in the middle of a Herbology lesson was like nothing you’d felt before. You had first met his gaze across the classroom, and he’d held it a little longer than he normally would have. You’d been in love ever since. And so had he.

It isn’t fair, you wanted to yell out. What authority did Umbridge have to decide who you’re meant to be with? Weren’t soulmates to be determined by fate, and not by the corrupt Wizarding government? You had a thought of hexing her right now, but her pompous laugh made you feel as though you turned to stone. By the look on McGonagall’s face from the other end of the hall, you were quite certain she felt like hexing Umbridge, too.

Who the bloody hell was she to think that she had a say, any say, over who you were allowed to marry?

George’s lip wobbled a bit as he breathed in deeply. “I love you, too.” His voice was hoarse and different and worrisome. “It’ll all be okay, darling, I promise.”

Somehow you knew that George didn’t fully believe his own words.

What were you supposed to do, coming from a Muggle family, when the whole lot of Weasleys were pure-bloods? What were you supposed to say to this vile woman to make her reconsider her choices? When your eyes met hers in a fit of fury, you squeezed George’s hand tighter, all while Umbridge threaded her brows together and stood up a little straighter.

What were you supposed to do if your soulmate wasn’t allowed to be your soulmate at all?

-- -

As you stealthily flicked your wrist, a dull light emanated from your wand, causing Professor Snape’s hair to stand up on command and turn a rather ugly shade of yellow.

You squealed; how you’d managed to pull it off was beyond you. Behind you, your boyfriend squeezed your shoulders and grabbed your hand before pulling you out of the Great Hall and around the bend. He was finding it very difficult to suppress his laughter, as evident by the red colour rising in his cheeks and the slight tears in his eyes. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

You flipped your hair and grinned at him. “I know,” you said cheekily, earning yourself a playful jab to the ribs. You locked your arms around his neck. “I learned from the best.”

You adored the dimple that appeared on his cheek each and every time he smiled. You pushed his long hair out of his eyes. “The best, eh?”

“The best of the best,”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and lifted you into the air, your feet dangling just above the corridor floor. He spun you a bit until you claimed you were getting dizzy. “My girl is going to out prank me one day.. how’d I get so lucky? I reckon I’m the luckiest bloke there is.”

You giggled and played absentmindedly with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” George breathed, placing you back down and bringing a hand to the back of your neck. The cheekiness in his features almost immediately twisted into that of compassion, of admiration, of --

“I love you.”

If you hadn’t been so absolutely floored (even though you’d kind of been expecting it), you would’ve noticed how very quickly those three words had brought tears to your eyes. Except, you were too excited to notice such things. Nothing at all could’ve prepared you for those three words. You reckoned your smile was stretching from ear to ear now.

The three words you’d been waiting to hear for so long were playing in your head on repeat. You couldn’t wait another second before saying them very quickly back through a very excited squeal. “Iloveyoutoo!” He laughed and kissed you softly, his mouth moving very carefully against yours. You whispered against his lips in a calmer, more serious tone, “I love you, too.”

-- -

Your seventh and final year at Hogwarts was not going according to plan. Not only had Umbridge mechanically established relationships via blood status, but she also split all of the students up by blood status as well. So there were no longer Hogwarts houses. Each student were given new, generic Hogwarts robes and new common rooms. You shifted uncomfortably in a particularly painful armchair in what used to be the Slytherin common room. How convenient, you thought, that Umbridge had deemed the dungeons an appropriate spot for the new “Muggle-born Residencies”.

And George.

He was struggling to get used to the strange entrance of the previous Ravenclaw common room, now deemed the “Pure-blood Dormitories”. Umbridge had completely banned the selling of any and all Weasley products, even confiscating their trunks and blasting their items to smithereens. Everything George and Fred worked on for so long was just...gone, and you couldn’t even be there to comfort them.

The most interaction you were able to have with George were stolen glances across the Great Hall and in lessons. McGonagall didn’t have much say over the pairing off, but she did have a say in how lessons ran. She shut down Umbridge’s ludicrous “lesson by blood status” idea almost immediately.

George had sworn to you that it would be easy to sneak around, that he could jinx Umbridge or remove her memory or outsmart her any day. But bloody hell, it was proving to be difficult. This woman had certainly done her research. The Ministry had you all on a strict lockdown control.

Fleeting moments with George came less often than both of you would have liked. One recurring time Umbridge couldn’t stop you (because she wouldn’t dare step out onto the Quidditch pitch) were matches. The schedule had already been established, McGonagall had fought. It was the only time the “four houses” were able to reconvene during the school year. You waited patiently, nervously, restlessly outside of the Gryffindor changing rooms and yanked George rather violently behind the tent before pulling him onto a bone crushing embrace.

An exasperated breath left your lips. “I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.” you told him. It had only been a month -- surely it had been longer? Like five bloody years maybe?

“Me neither, love.” The feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist was exhilarating in a way that nothing else was. When he pulled away to look at you, he kept his hands gripped tightly on your hips, as if he were afraid you were going to slip through his fingers. Which, you thought, was pretty accurate. These fleeting moments were exactly that. Fleeting.

You expected to see the usual cheekiness glistening in his eyes, but he looked -- empty. Like the life had been sucked right out of him. Like he didn’t care about anything anymore. Like he hadn’t caught sleep in days.

You tugged hesitantly on his robes. “I -- I got paired off last week.”

You didn’t say this to hurt him; you said this to be truthful. You saw his jaw clench as he prepared himself for answers. “Who is it? I know him?”

You waved George off. “He’s just some guy.”

And then, amazingly, incredibly, George actually snorted. For a brief moment, you saw traces of happiness nearly lift him off of his feet. “Some guy?”

“Well I don’t bloody know!” you laughed too. It felt like discovering a completely new emotion, since despair seemed to be the only thing you were feeling these days. “We -- haven’t really spoken much. Just the bare minimum. He’s got a girl in Ravenclaw. Half-blood. So he’s dreading this just as much as us.”

George breathed a sigh of relief. “Same with mine.”

So he’d gotten paired off too. You felt a huge bout of nervousness tense your muscles, and you nodded. The question you were wanting to ask must’ve appeared blatantly in your eyes, because George took your hands in his and squeezed them. “You know that Hufflepuff? Lead singer in the frog choir?”

Your heart dropped about a thousand stories. Of course you knew her. She was stunning. And dating that Slytherin bloke, the one who was exceptionally good at Charms. It didn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up inside of you though. You bit your lip and stammered, “She -- she’s beautiful.”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. He hated seeing you like this, you could tell, because there was a type of yearning in his eyes you’d never seen before. He shook his head and pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re beautiful.”

Just then, the very obnoxious foghorn-like sound emitted from the castle, signaling the end of Quidditch and that all students must return to their respective dormitories immediately. Gravity was pulling you both apart, but you both defied it, testing fate, holding onto one another just a moment longer.

George kissed you with an intensity you’d never known -- you didn’t exactly know when the next time you’d be able to be this close to him. It proved to be the most difficult thing you’d ever had to do to pull away. “Be careful, be safe -- I love you.”

“I love you too, George.”

You watched as he ran forward to meet Fred, who shot you a sympathetic gaze. You mechanically entered the group of Muggle-borns who were heading back to the dorms. Before vanishing toward the opposite end of the castle, George threw you one last inconspicuous glance and brought a hand gently to his heart.

-- -

“George, it’s not up to me, it’s not up to you,”

Grimmauld Place looked disturbingly non-Christmas like, despite Molly’s best efforts at decorating in her spare time between visits to the hospital to see Arthur. You’d managed, in a strange, winding way, to end up here. It proved to be very difficult though. Umbridge was now monitoring all floo-networks and the skies for flying, and it was becoming increasingly hard to apparate when your heart just wasn’t in it. But you’d made it -- somehow. You worshiped these few days here, unbeknownst to her.

You shifted uncomfortably underneath the blanket, unable to find a position on the couch that made you feel okay. Comfortable. Safe.

You glanced down at your scarred hand and ran your fingers along the words that were reflected on George’s as well.

I must not disobey the law.

The law. That’s what Umbridge thought this was. So when she caught George attempting to sneak down to the dungeons one night to see you, if only for a moment, she threw the both of you in separate four-hour long detentions, these six words now permanently engraved into your skin.

“I don’t care,” George breathed. “I don’t care about Umbridge, or these stupid rules, or the shop, or the fact that I’ve got this ridiculous phrase on my skin. I don’t care about any of it, I care about you.”

You bit your lip as the tears began to flow. You knew he didn’t mean that. Of course he cared. “I care about you too, but what are we supposed to do?”

“Let’s fight this!”

“We’ve tried! We’ve tried, George! Umbridge is so set in her ways, not even Dumbledore can shut this down! D’you think this is easy for me?” you cried. “D’you think it’s easy knowing that there’s a beautiful woman you’ve been paired with, or that there’s a man who I’m expected to spend my life with when all I’ve been doing for the better half of the last two and a half years is planning my life with you? It’s not bloody easy, George, it’s not, tell me how this is fair, tell me!” You weren’t sure when you’d started pounding on his chest, but your rattled cries echoed throughout the empty living room space. George pulled you into his chest, gripping the back of your neck tightly in his hands as he continually pressed kisses into your hair. Your sobs turned hoarse and raspy; you were crying fully now, desperate moans evaporating into the tense air above you.

You hated hearing him cry, so when he opened his mouth to speak and his words were jumbled and emotional, you squeezed your eyes shut tight, hoping that you’d open them to something other than this nightmare. “I don’t -- I don’t want to give up on us, love.”

“And you think I do?”

“No, no, of course not!” he cried, letting his emotions get the better of him. He sucked in a breath as you dabbed gently at your tears, even though fresh ones fell just as quickly as the old ones vanished. How could this be the plan for you two? How could this be your fate, when you were so in love with one another? He shook his head. “No, I’m not done. I’m not done fighting for this. Bloody hell, I don’t even care if I’ve got to use the cruciatus curse on her. I’ll give up the shop, I’ll do anything. I don’t care about anyone else --”

“George, please, you can’t give up the shop, I won’t let you --”

“Come hell or high water, I’m fighting for you,” in a moment of fury, he grabbed and cradled your head in his hands before pressing a forceful kiss to your lips. It didn’t stop you from crying. When you both parted, you peered up at him and noticed tears near the edges of his eyes. “I’m not giving up on us. I love you.”

You gently brought a hand to his cheek and caressed his skin. You choked out, “I love you, too.”

Sometime later on, after you’d both drifted off, you woke to the sound of slight shuffling around the room. Wrapped around you in a tight embrace, George was fast asleep, his breathing now steady and slow. You noticed Molly walk over to you both and cover you with an extra blanket, her wedding ring dazzling brightly in the moonlight flooding the room.

She must’ve noticed your puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks, because she reached out and ran a gentle hand through your hair. Tears had risen in your eyes immediately at her touch, as well as surprise. You’d expected a scolding for falling asleep together, but instead she just whispered, “Fate will win in the end.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall, but managed to nod at her and squeeze her hand. She gently caressed your cheek and placed a kiss to your head and to George’s before crossing the room and quietly closing the door.

George stirred a bit when you interlaced your fingers with his. You pressed your lips softly to the top of his hand before letting more tears fall and adjusting within his embrace, the one you came to know so well, and found yourself craving more than oxygen itself.

-- -

“They love you. I promise. They always have, haven’t they?” The fire reflecting in his eyes resembled how the fire in your bones felt. Wild. With reckless abandon.

“But this is different!” you squealed, pushing gently away from him so he couldn’t tickle you. “Before I was just good mates with all of you. Now I’m -- your girlfriend.”

George threaded his brows together in confusion. “Wait, you are? Since when?”

He earned himself a playful jab to the ribs for that one. Outside the Burrow, the snow was falling soundlessly. It had been three days since George had kissed you under the mistletoe, two days since you made it official, one day since he re-introduced you to his family as his girlfriend. It was the perfect Christmas.

“I’m just.. worried, is all. They’re getting to know me in a different way, you know?”

“Don’t worry, love,” he reassured you, placing a gentle kiss to your hairline. “Fred’s mad for you, always has been -- waiting ages for us to get together, hasn’t he? Ginny and Ron adore you.. I can’t wait for you to meet Bill and Charlie finally. Er -- can’t make any promises about Percy, though. No matter -- he’s a foul little git, anyway.”

You sniggered a bit and felt your breath catch in your throat when George began to trace small circles on your knee. You swallowed. “And your mum and dad?”

His smile only deepened. “Well they love you, don’t they? Mum’s always called you part of the family already. And my dad, well -- you know about my dad.”

You’d never felt the Muggle part of you was that exciting, but somehow Arthur Weasley’s enthusiasm for it made you feel like it was such a precious part of you, that you were all the better for it.

George continued, “Now that you’ll be spending more time here, I reckon he’ll keep you occupied in conversation for hours. Making you tell him everything about Muggles. Apologies in advance.” George laughed softly for a moment and waved his wand to bring you both cups of tea to settle in for the evening. “Besides, he’ll go absolutely mad when he meets your parents. He’s always hoped one of us would have Muggle in-laws.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise and teased him. “In-laws? Already have us married, do you?”

When you giggled playfully, George didn’t, but instead squeezed your hand a few times and let his sincerity speak for itself through his facial features. His soft eyes, yearning and hungry and wildly in love. His mouth in a lazy grin. His chest rising and falling slowly, as if being able to look at you had finally regulated his breathing. Like you were the oxygen that was finally refilling his lungs.

You stammered, breathless. “Y-you do think about that, don’t you?”

He shrugged, as if to play off the whole thing. “Haven’t scared you off, have I?”

You brought a hand to the back of his neck and laced your fingers through his bright red hair. You smiled. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he replied cheerily, as if the idea of you two getting married was obvious. “Because I’ve known it for years, you and I. Fred reckons I may have willed this into existence,” He chuckled to himself more so than to you. You didn’t think your heart could pound any faster than it had the other day when he’d kissed you for the first time. You were wildly wrong. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. “You were the one I was meant to find.”

-- -

December 1997

The cobblestone on Diagon Alley was slick with fresh rain. The lights on either side of the street flickered ominously. But there it was, as bright and brilliant as ever, colours in the dismal gray, light in the impending darkness.

“I’m not leaving! I’m giving up the shop and I’m staying here at school, alright? I’m staying with you.”

“No, George, you can’t! You can’t give that up for me. I won’t let you. You’ve worked far too hard for this.”

“I’m not leaving you here! Not with her! She’s torturing students left and right --”

“And I will be okay,” you replied with tears in your eyes. You squeezed his hands tight and his chest was heavy with sobs. “Your plans are bigger than this, and they’re bigger than me.”

It had been almost two years since he’d left on a broomstick, firework dragons swimming through the castle and the sky as he and his brother left their final mark on the Hogwarts grounds.

Almost two years since Umbridge had been replaced by Dumbledore, and the Hogwarts you knew and loved went back to some type of normal, the entire idea of blood status pairs driven into the ground with a stake.

But it had also been almost two years since Muggle-borns were forced into hiding for fear of the impending war.

Two years since you’d seen him. Heard his voice. Felt his touch.

He was crying fully now. “This -- this can’t be it for us.”

Your lip wobbled hearing those heart wrenching words. He’d always been the stronger of you two, comforting you when you cried -- this felt strangely unfamiliar. You didn’t quite fancy being the strong one, but he needed you. “It’s not. It’s not, okay? This is not the end. I promise. But you deserve this, George. You deserve the world. And one day, when this is all over, if I’m still lucky enough -- I’ll find you again. Come hell or high water. You need to follow your dream, okay?”

It wasn’t a breakup, but it sure felt like one.

He pressed his forehead to yours and an involuntary, hoarse cry escaped his lips. “But you’re my dream.”

“George, please --” you stopped yourself. You didn’t finish the words that were rising to your lips. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. You cupped his chin in your hands and peered up at him, your vision blurry. But you could still see his lips were set in a thin, firm line, his jaw was clenched tightly. He was going to leave.

You looked down at the red thread tied loosely around your pinky finger. You followed it with your eyes as it wrapped around street lamps, signs and other shops, before ending up exactly where you’d always known it would when it had first appeared on your finger after you’d graduated school.

93 Diagon Alley.

“My heart will always belong to you, love.”

As you hurried down the street, following your little thread, and the shop came into better view, you could feel the sheer intensity of the anticipation bubbling up inside you.

You pointed your wand ahead, illuminating the dark street and readying yourself for any dementors or Death Eaters that were lurking close by.

But before you reached the doors, someone ran into the middle of the street and stopped short. You lifted your wand higher, ready to hex, until you realized who it was.

George was standing in the middle of the cobblestone, hair in disarray, in his sweater his mum had knitted him every single year. He’d always told you how comforting it felt to wear. You couldn’t help the slight laugh that escaped you, for the first time you’d seen him in two years he so very similarly resembled that young, cheeky boy you’d teased your first Christmas at Hogwarts for the socks he’d knitted on his own to match the gift from his mother.

He said your name in a whisper, but in your ears it sounded like a booming shout -- like all the world could hear it, if they were listening.

And you noticed your little thread, stretching along the street, ending in a tiny knot on his own hand.

You wanted to tell him that you were here to find him, and that you’d been able to escape the hiding you were under, due to being a Muggle-born. You wanted to tell him that you hadn’t once stopped thinking about him since you’d last seen him all those years ago and that when you’d finally seen that thread, you were convinced it led here -- you’d just never been able to act on it. You wanted to tell him that you prayed for him every single night.

But all that escaped your mouth was another nervous laugh before you were running and slipping along the street before winding up in a bone crushing embrace you were bound to feel the effects of tomorrow.

He wanted to tell you that he’d never met anyone as selfless as you, how equally excited and heartbroken he was when you’d told him to leave and charge forward. He wanted to tell you that he’d been spending every single day waiting for news, any news at all that Muggle-borns were no longer in hiding. He wanted to tell you that he’d had enough, and he was coming to find you just as he stumbled before you on this little street. He wanted to tell you that he’d never once stopped loving you.

But instead all he could do was kiss you fiercely and brush the tears away that were escaping your eyes, because that kiss was telling you both everything you needed to know -- all of those unspoken words, all of those bottled up feelings, all of the unwavering love you’d carried in your hearts for one another throughout all of the moments that kept you apart.

And then he was kneeling before you, raindrops dripping down from his hair and onto his face and neck, and he was saying the things you’d always dreamt of him saying, and he was opening a box with a ring inside that took your breath away, just as his first kiss had.

A familiar ring.

Molly’s ring.

Your breath hitched at the sight of it, and her words from that Christmas echoed in your mind.

Fate will win in the end.

When George placed it on your finger, you both noticed through blurry vision that the thread that had been attached to you both had disappeared into thin air.

You’d found one another again, despite it all, despite the tyrants and the war and the rules that were holding both of you hostage.

Because this was the fate you were both destined for. This was the moment. Husband and wife, together or apart.

Fate had won in the end.

Just like Molly had told you.

The fire crackled pleasantly alongside the faint sound of Christmas music. You reached out and traced a finger over his jawline. His words made you feel simultaneously cozy and incredibly nervous. “The one you were meant to find, huh?”

George laughed, probably because of how corny that had sounded. But he didn’t care -- he knew it was true. He’d known it since the day he met you, that fate had brought you together. He breathed in deeply and squeezed your knee. “Yeah, darling, I’ve already planned my whole life with you.”

reblogs, feedback, comments, and shares are all appreciated! thanks for reading :)

[ickle-ronniekins]

when all hope seems lost

desc: George finds himself to be lost: his business, merchandise and home have been destroyed in the war and his twin brother is still healing from a battle wound that could’ve been fatal. He’s living temporarily in a flat in a desolate looking neighborhood, and he’s desperate for anything to feel like it used to be. It seems as though all hope is lost, until he meets someone who reminds him that he’s got to endure the darkness to be able to appreciate the light.

A/N: yaknow i hate myself sometimes because whenever i just wanna write ~one fic~ i always add WAY TO MUCH INFORMATION and need to make it either a two-partner or a series smh why can’t i write shorter pieces man??? also this is me just feeding my feelings sorry.. i know some other friends need some light too so hopefully this two part (maybe more?) mini-series can help you a bit, too

pairing: george x fem!american!reader

word count: 1.9k

warning(s): mentions of war, anxiety, mental health

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley | message me to be added!

When it seemed as though every bit of light had been drained from the universe, you wondered whether the pavement beneath your feet would implode, catapulting you into some other world, some other place where maybe the darkness wasn’t so evident.

George was wallowing again, letting his unhappiness swallow him whole, the happiness he always seemed to emanate now diminished by the hollowness he felt inside of his chest. What had happened to him? How had it come to this? How had he let his desires go by the way side? Why had he given into the melancholy feeling overtaking him?

You wondered whether things would ever go back to normal. Though the war had taken place in England, it hadn’t stopped the following of the most dangerous wizard in all the world to make their way to America. They’d stopped at nothing. Not that you were surprised, really. You’d heard just how awful things had been across the pond. It was no wonder that they’d seemingly wiped out half of the population and then headed for the states, looking to inflict more damage upon the Wizarding community.

A sharp honking noise came from round the bend, but George didn’t move. He stood, feet cemented firmly into the cobblestone as he peered up at his shop; or rather, what was left of it. A few measly bricks and the siding that had been blasted open, showcasing the inner lining of the shop, their flat above it, and all of the products that had been destroyed along with it. The following of Voldemort hadn’t been kind. If he’d been there, if he hadn’t been at Hogwarts, he could’ve saved it -- Fred could’ve saved it --

You peered around the desolate little street you now found yourself on. Though the war had ended, the damage was still very prominent. Here you were -- halfway around the world, no job, no home, no life plans on the horizon, for they’d been smashed to smithereens the same way your tiny little home had been. You wondered if England would be the better choice than America. A wave of doubt surged through your bones, and you very quickly scratched at your head to try and ignore it as you made your way toward your new home.

Fred was busy at the Burrow. After his almost near experience with the great beyond, Molly had insisted that he come home. He hadn’t been too resistant, actually. He reckoned he could use some time there. George, however, desperately searched for a new place -- at least for a little while. A new place for himself, until Fred got better, and they could go back to their plans. Though, now, as he angrily clenched his fists inside of his pockets, the foreboding feeling of doubt swept through his mind, and he wondered if he and Fred would ever be able to replenish all that they’d lost.

Your suitcase clicked rather annoyingly against the cobblestone. You stopped and took an exaggerated deep breath, threading your brows together as you looked up at your new home: a tiny little apartment right on the outskirts of London. It was freshly painted a very stark white; it was beautiful, but nothing like what you were used too. It wasn’t just a new apartment -- it was a whole new world. England was too far from America, and every aspect of home felt as though it were light years of miles away.

George opened up the door to the room of his new flat: it was desolate looking -- bare walls, muted colours, a sort of dryness he wasn’t fond of, and he knew Fred wouldn’t be either. There was absolutely nothing exciting about this place. He set down his trunk in the corner and stood there for a few moments, half in a sort of daze and half in denial. He then threw his jacket onto the bed and made way toward the kitchen to make himself a much needed cup of tea.

You were busy tracing your hands over countertop in the kitchen when someone scared you. A redheaded man stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with confusion as they glanced over you. He was tall and lanky; he desperately needed a haircut (or a hair taming, rather) and appeared as though he hadn’t caught much sleep in days. You stuck out your hand to introduce yourself: right. You forgot you’d be sharing a home. With a stranger. From England.

“Hi.” George’s voice sounded weirdly firm and unfriendly in his own ears. He cleared his throat a bit and forced a smile onto his face; in his desperation to find a place to temporarily live, he’d forgotten that he’d agreed to another flatmate. He slid his hand into yours and shook gently. “I’m George. Nice to meet you.”

By the puzzled look on his face, you wondered if he knew he was going to get a  roommate. A female roommate. An American female roommate. You figured probably not, because he seemed to be caught rather off guard when he walked into the kitchen and nearly froze on the spot. The startled expression cleared from his face, and he offered a rather genuine looking grin. You introduced yourself right back. “Nice to meet you.”

George found himself in a better mood when he realized that you were bound to be a good flatmate: you were tidy, didn’t have as many belongings as he’d imagined, and offered to shower either morning or night, it didn’t really matter to you -- whatever worked best for him. He was grateful to how accommodating you were being right off of the bat, especially when he felt as though his entire world was collapsing. But when he wandered past your room that first night and saw you sprawled out on the floor, hurriedly going through your belongings and peering down at what seemed to be some type of photographs, he wondered if you were possibly going through something, too. He pretended not to notice when you dabbed at your eyes.

It was nearing midnight, and you forced yourself to place back into your suitcase all photographs of your home -- or, the home you once had. It wasn’t doing you any good looking through them; if anything, it was just making the move to London that much more difficult. Suddenly, a gentle knock pulled you from your thoughts: George was standing at the entrance of your room, two cups in his hands. “I normally have a bit of tea before I head off to bed, and well.. you looked like you could use some. Hope I’m not overstepping.”

George was glad to see the grin that appeared on your face at the sight of him holding two steaming cups of tea. He watched you quickly got up from the floor and pull your hair back into a ponytail. “Thank you,” you told him, cautiously blowing on your tea to cool it. George figured now would be a good a time as any for a casual conversation, since it didn’t look like you’d be going to bed anytime soon. “So -- America? What brings you to England?”

He caught you off guard when he asked this. When you turned back around to look at him, he was casually leaning against the doorframe. His eyes looked much more awake than when you’d first met; it seems as though your foreignness had piqued his interest. Gently, you offered, “My home was destroyed. In the war. Crazy how everything that had started over here wandered all the way over to the states. Lost my job. Lost other...personal things.” You cleared your throat a bit and watched as George bit down on his lip; he seemed to understand. “Figured it was time for a fresh start, you know? New place, new adventure. Though I suppose I could’ve just moved to another state instead of across the country. But hey, England seemed as lovely a place as any, right?” You chuckled a bit before continuing, the first genuine laugh you’d had in months. “How about you? What brings you to this little apartment?”

“I’m so sorry. That’s awful.” George felt a tightness in his throat at your words. He hadn’t expected you to be so frank right off the bat. He wondered if all Americans willingly told intimate details of their lives to complete strangers. Though it was sort of strange to him, he felt as though it was an opening. He bravely took a step forward. “My reasoning isn’t any happier than yours, I’m afraid. I own a business with my brother -- the war destroyed nearly all of it and my flat above it. Fred’s back at my mum and dad’s; he was poorly hurt. I’m kind of on my own for the time being, struggling to find which way is up. That’s how I ended up here.”

“I’m so sorry.” A sudden wave of sadness took you over. You wanted to reach out and grab his hand and squeeze it, seemingly letting George know that you knew, sort of, how he felt. You’d both lost things due to the war. You’d both had to find a way to start over. You resisted the urge and instead sipped again on your tea. You lifted your eyebrows in shock. “It’s strange, the aftermath. It’s startlingly much worse over here than it is back home.”

George found himself laughing, genuinely giggling, for the first time since before the war. “England hasn’t scared you off, has it? I promise, it normally doesn’t look this bloody dismal. And, well, this little area on the outskirts of London really did take quite a hit. Not my first choice in terms of places to live, but I reckon for the time being, it’ll do.”

You swore you caught a bit of a glimmer in his eye, and you wondered how long it’d been since it had been there. George didn’t seem like a particularly melancholy kind of guy, but you knew that with his business destroyed, his brother hurt, his home demolished that he was entitled to a few (or more than a few) bad days. You peered out of your window to see the little rain covered cobblestone street, lit by nothing but the pale light of the street lamps, and breathed in gently. No, England hadn’t scared you off -- dismal looking or not. It had actually turned out to be much nicer than you’d imagined. You nodded at George, who offered up another small grin. “It’ll do.”

When George went to bed that night, he fiddled around with a few test products he and Fred had been placing the finishing touches on. He sucked in multiple breaths to stop himself from crying and just tried to remind himself constantly that they’d work it out. Fred would get better, they’d repair the damage, they’d create new products, their flat would be fixed. When he said all of it in the same breath, it sounded like too much for two blokes to handle. So he tried to focus on one thought at a time. Right. Fred will get better, after some much needed rest. George could handle being in this flat. It would give him time to work out logistics and design more products in all this new free time he had. He glanced to his bedside table and noticed a copy of The Quibbler underneath his wand, and his trunk in the corner of the room. The furnishings actually sort of reminded him of his dormitory at Hogwarts, and he chuckled to himself before shutting his eyes. Perhaps you were right. This new life? This time for all to heal? This time spent in a new flat?

It would do. It would do just fine.

[ickle-ronniekins]

my absolute favorite person, III

A/N: hi everybody! (i’m going to put my longer a/n at the bottom because i've a lot to say!) i want to thank you all so much for all of the incredibly kind feedback on MAFP, parts one and two. the banter in italics at the end are a flashback to the scene of them at the lake during their sixth year, which you can find in part one. if i may make a suggestion: whilst reading this, listen to “we keep in touch, okay?” from the love, rosie soundtrack to evoke ALL of the emotions. if you’re new here and need the other parts, you can read part one here and part two here, loves x

pairing: george x reader

word count: 2k something

tag list: tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle

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You were worried that returning to the place where you’d fallen in love all those long years ago would be a painful reminder of everything you’d lost. You were surprised that instead, it brought to you an inordinate feeling of comfort, and of home.

The golden leaves on the trees were reflecting beautifully off of the very still water in the Black Lake. You heard an excited yelp come from the forest -- surely due to Hagrid’s first Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the year. You were certain. You grinned to yourself.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, half expecting to feel the very worn parchment you knew all too well inside. Except, it wasn’t there. You’d lost it somewhere a few months ago. You’d panicked when you’d first noticed, because how could you have misplaced something that was seemingly attached at your hip? It was just another thing you’d lost, another reminder of what you couldn’t have back. Not that it mattered, not really. You’d memorized every word of it. You could recite it in your sleep. Everyone at his engagement party had heard everything on it, anyway. Well, everything except for what was written on the other side.

You’d fallen into a very deep type of misery following his wedding. Following your divorce. You’d ignored George’s constant letters asking you to grab lunch or dinner, to come stop by the shop. You’d pretend to not be at your flat whenever he’d stopped by and knocked on your door; you’d hide behind your curtains or underneath the covers of your bed. You’d begun to pick fights with Fred for no reason at all, except to evoke some emotion other than despondency. You’d wanted to feel anything other than discouragement. You’d yelled at him one day in your flat, If you knew how I felt all those years ago, why didn’t you tell me you knew? Why didn’t you do anything about it? Why didn’t you bloody tell him? And he’d yelled right back, I tried! I tried telling him, Y/N, and I tried telling you, but it was pretty bloody difficult to break the promise you’d forced me to make when we were young, to never reveal the very best of you to anyone. Did you really expect me to betray you like that, even when it came to my own brother?

The arguments were pointless, you’d found, because Fred wasn’t to blame. Neither was George. They weren’t mind-readers, no matter how much you wished they could be. The only person to blame was yourself, and yourself alone. You’d made this awful mess; now you had to live in it.

And yet, even through your brokenness, somehow, you still found yourself going back to to your story at the party -- when you’d said all you could say, you swore there had been a type of glimmer in his eye you’d never seen before. But were you being daft? Was it your eyes and mind playing tricks on you? He was in love with her, not with you. You were just seeing what you’d wanted to see.

There was one particularly horrid day, when you’d hadn’t moved from your bed and it was nearing four p.m.; you weren’t exactly sure what number sleeve of jaffa cakes you were on but you’d certainly eaten enough of them. Your hair was greasily plastered to the side of your face, and you desperately needed to change your socks. Actually, you’d desperately needed to change your entire life.

And so you’d taken up your prior Deputy Headmistresses’ offer, packed your bags, and moved to Scotland. Which is how you ended up here, now, on the Hogwarts grounds near the lake, having just finished your first ever Charms lesson with a rather exuberant class of second years.

The sound of students calling you ‘Professor’ hadn’t really given you the same warm feeling that one of George’s sparkling grins had always given you. But it would do. It would more than do. It was a new beginning, wasn’t it? One you’d never asked for, but didn’t know how much you needed.

And then a crunch of a leaf came, pulling you from your thoughts, and you whirled around, expecting to find a young, measly student skipping out on their lesson, or a fellow Professor coming in to check on you and how your first day had been. Except it was neither of those things. It was him.

His red hair was shorter than it was from the last time you’d seen him; it looked like he’d just gotten it freshly cut. He was clean-shaven with perfect posture. He was dressed in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a grey sweater, one that had most definitely been sewn with love and care by Molly -- it nothing compared to his dragonskin suits. There were slight bags underneath his eyes, and yet, he was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Years ago, if this had happened, you’d have run into his arms, and he would’ve lifted you completely off of the ground and spun you in circles until you both fell to the ground, dizzy, and laughing. But now, you didn’t even know exactly what to say to him.

He started.

“Hi,”

You had to clear your throat a few times before any words were able to come from your mouth. “Hi,” you echoed him.

He placed his hands inside his pockets and glanced around the grounds, and you noticed a small grin lift his cheeks a bit. “Bloody hell -- Charms professor, eh? Who’d have thought?”

“Who’d have thought,” you echoed him again, carefully choosing every word to escape your lips. There was a considerable amount of distance between you both, and it felt strangely uneasy.

He met your gaze and furrowed his brow, as if to keep himself from crying. His lips were a thin, firm line. “Been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve missed you.”

The truth was, you didn’t know exactly how long it had been. Days had melted into weeks, weeks into months...you’re not entirely sure when the last time you’d spoken to him was. Not for lack of trying on his part, though. You knew this was all your own doing. You felt a sharp twang in your heart at the thought. “I -- I know. I’m sorry. Been really busy, as you can see --”

God, you were so daft. That sounded so bloody pretentious in your own ears, and you shook your head in hopes of erasing your words as they hung in the air between you both. No such luck. He walked toward you now, and stopped a few inches from you. You were certain that your feet were frozen solid into the soil and the leaves of the Earth. You were about to apologize again, when he beat you to it.

“Found something of yours,” he started, and you furrowed your brow in confusion. “Well, actually, Fred did. Somewhere in his flat. But he gave it to me.” George looked down and pulled from his pocket that piece of parchment you knew all too well, and you were certain your heart had skipped a beat. Maybe two. It looked strangely at home in his hands, as your eyes scanned the words that were engraved in your mind.

He fiddled with it delicately in his fingers, and your breath hitched in your throat as he gently turned the parchment over to the other side, to reveal those other words you’d written, but never, ever dare spoke aloud.

You swore you saw his lip wobble as you sucked in a breath. “Is -- is this how you’ve always felt?”

He handed you the parchment, and you traced your pointer finger gingerly across the words you could hardly see. The words you’d wanted so desperately to say that day, and other times, too, but couldn’t. Shouldn’t. But even so, you could still make them out, faded as they were:

I truly love you.

How utterly and painfully embarrassing. Here you were, life still somewhat in shambles, divorced, patching together the broken pieces of your mistakes, confronted by the man you’d been in love with for years about your own feelings you’d bloody written down on a bit of scrap parchment, and all you could bring yourself to do was trace your fingers over the words. You couldn’t even look at him. Ridiculous. But you shut your eyes tight, gritted your teeth, then looked up into his light brown eyes, and nodded.

You seemed to have lost your voice; but it was no matter, because George was fiddling with something else in his pocket. “Can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time,” he said, more-so to himself than to you, and he laughed lightly. He shook his head slowly, and then pulled out another bit of parchment. It was a bit yellowed, and more faded than yours, but he held it out to you. “I’ve kept mine, too.”

Of course. The speech he’d written for your wedding. An involuntary laugh escaped you, for you were immediately brought back to exactly that night, when he’d stood up and told one of the most embarrassing stories of your entire life, drunk on whiskey and friendship and fondness.

You chuckled lightly to yourself and sniffled a bit. “I remember,” you said softly, running your fingers across his handwriting. “How could I possibly forget when my best mate had embarrassed me in front of my entire family?”

A bright smile split your face for the first time in.. you didn’t even know how long, but when you looked up into George’s eyes, he wasn’t sharing that same brightness in his own grin. His was soft, and tired, and tears were glistening, glazing over his eyes. He took a deep breath and stood -- patient -- waiting for you to realize. He glanced down toward the parchment, and back up at you.

Something came over you in that moment; something from the look in his eye told you there was more you needed to know. And so you gingerly turned the delicate piece of parchment over in your hands, half expecting to see the same four words you’d written on your own, and half expecting to see nothing at all. What you didn’t expect, though, were the four words he’d written down:

Will you marry me?

Your heart stopped. You couldn’t feel your toes. Your tears froze in place and you looked quickly from the parchment to him, and back again. The ink was so beyond faded, so it’s not like he’d just scratched it down. Had he really written it down all that time ago? Had that truly been what he’d wanted to say to you before your own wedding? What he’d wanted to ask?

He took your hands in his then, your lip quivering more than you would have liked. His voice was a bit wobbly as he spoke, “It was true then,” he breathed, interlacing his fingers with yours, “and it’s true now. How I feel, I mean. And the question, I -- I wanted to ask you, after we’d finished school, even though we hadn’t ever really..” his voice drifted off, and he was swallowing down his own vulnerability. He took another deep breath before continuing, “And then the war happened and life got in the way and other people came and went and.. time got away from us, I’m afraid.”

And then he gingerly got down on one knee, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him kneeling in front of you, with his bright red hair and freckled nose and boyish charm that would never, ever fade. You noticed the tears in his eyes as he traced small circles onto your hands with his thumbs. “I shouldn’t have let you go that first time, and I’ll be damned if I let myself do it again,” you both began to laugh a bit, and you noticed his bare finger, void of his own wedding ring. You couldn’t believe this, you couldn’t possibly believe it. His voice was so beautifully broken and soft, “Marry me, and I promise to always bother you, always embarrass you, and to only ever help you with your work if you truly need it.”

A hearty laugh broke through your tears, and somehow you managed to say yes, and he placed a sparkling ring on your finger. And when, for the first time in all these years, his lips touched yours, it was a perfect piano piece resolving it’s melody, it was the quintessential blend of colours in a rainbow after a rainstorm, it was the incredibly nerve-wracking and freeing feeling of flying on a broomstick for the very first time and absolutely everything in between; there was nothing in this entire world that felt better, or more needed, or more right than the feeling of his lips moving slowly against yours.

You both parted, but you found it incredibly difficult to remove your hands from him. The colours of the leaves reflecting off of the water transported you back immediately to that day during your sixth year, when you’d realized how you felt..

“And to think,” you began to tease, sniffling slightly and pulling gently on the sleeves of his sweater, “all these years later, and somehow I still let myself hang around with the likes of you.”

He threw his head back in a laugh. He wiggled his eyebrows jokingly and said, “It’s because you love me.” He peered into your eyes now, and again around at the gorgeous autumnal grounds of Hogwarts, and shook his head. “I couldn’t live my life without you, no matter how bloody long it took us both,” he placed a piece of hair behind your ear before pressing his forehead gently to yours. He breathed, “I never stopped loving you,” and closed the gap between you both once again.

“Hey, George?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you always go around bothering people and distracting them from the work they’ve got to complete?”

“Almost exclusively.”

“Then promise me something.”

“For my absolute favorite person? Anything.”

“Promise to always bother me, for the rest of our lives. Take me away from my work and my thoughts and tell me stories and jokes like you did that night at the Yule Ball a few months ago, and make me laugh for as long as you’ll have me. Okay? Promise me.”

“Okay, darling. I promise.”

-- -

A/N (cont’d): aayyyyy my peeps! so idk how y’all feel but i like to imagine that after the ending, she and george stay at the lake, reminisce over all of their memories together, laughing and joking about all of these moments how many times the stars just hadn’t aligned for them both.

thanks again for reading, guys! i hope you feel completed and whole by the ending like i do. i didn’t realize just how much i was going to put into this -- i really came up with the idea on a whim and didn’t really expect to make it so emotional or even make it three parts, but hearing your incredibly kind words and responses to each part of this mini series has reminded me of why i ADORE writing for this fandom. I ADORE IT.

anywhoooo, please leave feedback, comments, reblog and share with your friends if you enjoy, and i'll be sure to link all of the pieces together :) thanks so much! x

[ickle-ronniekins]

when all hope seems lost [ch. 2]

desc: George finds himself to be lost: his business, merchandise and home have been destroyed in the war and his twin brother is still healing from a battle wound that could’ve been fatal. He’s living temporarily in a flat in a desolate looking neighborhood, and he’s desperate for anything to feel like it used to be. It seems as though all hope is lost, until he meets someone who reminds him that he’s got to endure the darkness to be able to appreciate the light.

⇢ Chapter 1

A/N: second installment, loves.

pairing: george x fem!american!reader

word count: 2.4k

warning(s): mentions of war, anxiety, injury, mental health, alcohol

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley | message me to be added!

The weeks dragged on, the rain continued to patter on the roof of your house, the days seemingly melted into one another. What month was it? What day of the week? The weather had gotten a bit cooler, so you figured you might be nearing October. Quite honestly, you were both too exhausted and too fragile to care, or even to check your calendar that lay across your desk underneath a pile of unopened books. Your mental capacity was absolutely shot. Four months since the war and it seemed as though nothing was getting better. You’d been searching for some type of normalcy for so long; you wondered if you’d ever be able to feel that sense of comfort ever again. You weren’t sure how many more evenings of unwanted sobbing beneath your blanket you could take.

George was soaked to the bone because of the constant rain. He was standing outside of the gloomy looking Burrow after having apparated there. He always stopped by the Burrow -- before heading to the shop, immediately after, sometimes very early in the morning to help Molly with the laundry and with breakfast, sacrificing his own hunger. With all of its colours and multiple stories, the Burrow had never looked sadder or less like home. He ran a hand through his hair to shake out the excess rainwater and stepped inside the kitchen. The first thing he noticed was that the dishes from yesterday that had been piled high in the sink were now washed and put away. Then he noticed Ginny tending to Fred on the couch. He looked more lively today. More alert. The dark blacks, purples, and blues on his hollow cheeks were healing nicely, though the pale colour of his face beneath the deep gash just above his eyebrow made him look all the more terrible. “Mate, you’re looking ghastly,” Fred joked, his voice scratchy and weak and wheezy. George wondered, as he looked down at his twin’s sunken chest, and his limp and shattered leg, if Fred would ever be able to walk properly again. Test products. Breathe correctly. Stand up straight. The idea of him not being able to do any of those things made George begin to tremor. He forced himself up to his childhood bedroom to stifle his oncoming panic attack before Fred could see him cry.

-- -

“You’re telling me there’s a waiting list for Aurors?” Your voice sounded unusually harsh for your liking, and you sucked in a deep breath. It wasn’t this young woman’s fault that so many individuals were looking to enhance their careers as Aurors. It made sense, especially given that half of the Wizarding World had been wiped out due to the war. It was only necessary for more people to sign on to protect their loved ones. The Ministry of Magic, and The Department of Magical Law Enforcement within it, was quite different than the way the MACUSA was laid out. You already felt off kilter being here. You slowed your breathing and gave the woman behind the desk a genuine grin. You apologized and asked her if she knew exactly how long the waiting list would be. Her eyes softened and she offered a lopsided, gentle sort of smile before telling you that she wasn’t sure exactly when there would be openings, but she’d be happy to keep your information on file. If only she knew how many times you’d heard that one. You huffed out a dry “Thank you” before making your way back through the Ministry and toward the street, where it was now down pouring. And where was your umbrella? Of course -- at your apartment, collecting dust, because in your hurry to get to the Ministry as early as you possibly could, you’d left it on the kitchen table. You just let the rain soak through your clothes. You could really have used one of George’s steaming cups of tea.

Why was it taking Fred so long to get better? And why did it look like there was absolutely no progress on the fixing of their shop? George shook out his umbrella and laid it gently against the front door before making his way inside. The sight of the blasted shelves made his insides twist. Their hilarious design of Umbridge faltering across a tightrope had snapped in half; their display of Love Potions had been blasted to smithereens. He glided across the floor, his feet carrying him to wherever they chose to go, when he bumped into something on the ground. Slowly he reached down and spread his fingers against their very first Weasley & Weasley trunk, which now looked more like Weas nd W, for the rest of the lettering had been damaged. His eyes suddenly became very blurry and he felt a burning sensation sting the back of his throat. He’d do anything to be back at Hogwarts now, sneakily selling products to the Gryffindor house all while avoiding Umbridge and Snape and Filch. He’d give anything to be back at school, where everything felt good and happy and alright, at least for a little while.

George had to keep reminding himself that there was an entire storage space full of products that he and Fred had been saving, in case of an event like this. At the time, it seemed like they’d had so many, and in the event of a wipeout, the brothers would be able to restock and resell as if nothing had ever happened. But looking now at how much damage had been done, and how many of their products they’d worked so painstakingly hard on had been destroyed, George truly didn’t know if the spare merchandise they had left would last them more than two weeks.

-- -

When you walked through the front door, exhausted from seeking employment all afternoon, only to find none, you figured you were allowed a glass of wine. Or perhaps several. So you put on your fluffiest pair of socks, the softest sweater you could find, and sat yourself down in front of the fireplace with your wand as you casually sipped on the bottle of red you’d purchased after leaving the Ministry this morning.

Perhaps moving here was a mistake. Would it be easier to gain employment back home in America? You shook your head at the silly thought that crossed your mind. Of course it wouldn’t. They’d gotten rid of you for a reason, hadn’t they? They couldn’t afford to keep so many people on after the war. Plus, you’d already moved your stuff in here, halfway across the world, so there was no point in uprooting your life, again. Besides, the painful memories that flooded your mind at the thought of home made you appreciate the coziness of England even more so than you did when you first got here. It was helping you forget -- about all of it.

You mindlessly muttered spells just to give yourself something to do. So this was unemployment -- repeating to yourself the charm you’d learned when you were eleven, making your belongings float in the air. How absolutely pathetic. You wondered if George felt this way too, as you lazily flicked your wrist and sent your notebook chock full of potential jobs toward your bedroom.

George couldn’t wait to change into some comfortable, dry clothes. He opened up the front door and left his wet umbrella out on the porch. As he hung up his coat in the closet, he spotted you next to the fireplace, and it seemed as though you were muttering incantations to yourself and enjoying a glass of wine. He felt a small smile tug at his lips, because he didn’t realize how much he wanted to do the exact same thing until he saw you.

It had been a few weeks, but the two of you hadn’t gotten to know one another much. Little things, here and there, such as “D’you care for milk or cream?” or “How’s your brother doing?” or “Any luck with employment?” You two just barely scraped the surface; there was no diving deep into conversation. Neither one of you prodded the other -- you both simply kept to yourselves with the occasional evening offering of a cup of tea, and then went on your separates ways once morning came. So when you asked George if he’d like to join you and sent a wine glass from the cabinet soaring through the air toward you, George accepted your invite and immediately went to change into something a bit warmer.

As he expected, it was easy to get you to open up about your life. Not just from the wine, but he was sure that helped. He’d started simple: asking you how your day was. He didn’t realize it would turn into a full blown story about your entire life, but he didn’t mind. It was sort of comforting, knowing that someone else living under the same roof as him was going through hell.

He learned all about your time at Ilvermorny, the American Wizarding school, about your studying and ambitions to become an Auror at the MACUSA (the Ministry in America, he came to find) and how you’d had a great job up until the war, when all in the same day you’d lost that job, your home, and someone very close to you. There was a bit of glassiness in your eyes, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the sadness or the buzzing of the wine.

“But enough about me, complaining about all things that have gone wrong,” you said, waving him off, gulping back the rest of your second glass, “what about you?”

Since the war, since the demolishing of his business and his brother’s injury, George hadn’t once let people see how he really felt. He kept everything bottled up, just as he always had since he was young. Fred always used to tell him that one day he was going to explode from the inside out, but George never listened. He always kept everything inside. But between the brief anxiety attack he’d had at the Burrow this morning, and the very long months of keeping everything close to his heart, he supposed there wasn’t any harm in telling you a few things, getting a few things off of his chest. Not his entire life story (like you, those Americans!) but he could share. He could tell you a bit. Maybe it was okay to open up his heart.

-- -

Somehow you’d both made it to one a.m.; not that it mattered, both of you had nowhere to go come morning, though you’d probably just go about your normal routines -- each puttering around the kitchen, sharing a simple ‘good morning’ and heading forth on your way.

Or maybe, after three and a half glasses of wine each, a simple ‘good morning’ would turn into something more.

George had six siblings, you learned. Five brothers and one sister. He’d left the British Wizarding school, Hogwarts, just before graduating to open up his business with his twin, Fred. He’d played Quidditch at school and was a ‘bloody good Beater’, in his own humble opinion, he was known for his pranks, and when he’d accidentally turned his brother Percy’s hair a permanent bright pink color one day (they’d eventually figured out the antidote) his mother had nearly kicked him into next week.

George and Fred had to put their business on hold during the war. George explained that he’d lost his ear during an attack one evening before everything had unraveled. The twins had gone back to Hogwarts to fight alongside their friends and family (your jaw had dropped when you’d found out that they were friends with the Harry Potter, who was just as famous in America as he was in England) and unfortunately due to their absence, sixty percent of their shop and merchandise had been blasted apart with no remains. Fred had been severely injured during the war, and, according to George, was lucky to be alive. More than lucky, it sounded like. It had been four months and Fred was still struggling to sit upright without getting winded.

George hadn’t really offered up much about his personal life before this, but then again, neither had you. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was the recognition that both of you landed in this apartment with the intent of a fresh start. New beginnings. Maybe he felt as though this was an opening: telling his truths to a complete and total stranger who was going through their own heartache. Well, not total stranger. You were his roommate, after all.

You were both heading in opposite directions toward your bedrooms after you hadn’t been able to keep your eyes open any longer. You were absolutely exhausted. He caught you by surprise when he called from his doorway, “I lost someone too, you know. So I understand the... worry of starting over.”

You swallowed thickly; you hadn’t gone into too much detail, or any detail at all, but from the sincerity in his eyes, you recognized that look of understanding. You wondered just how much he understood your loss, and if his was the same. “So if you ever need too.. I dunno, talk about it, I’d be more than willing to lend you an ear.” He cupped the side of his head where his missing ear should be, and actually snorted a bit at his own teasing. It took everything in you to stifle your laughter at that terrible excuse of a joke. His eyes were tired and he wobbled a little bit in the doorframe. “That’s the wine talking. Normally I’m really bloody good at jokes.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hey,” he pointed at you and threaded his eyebrows together, then laughed again. “But really. You ever need to have a chat, you know where to find me.”

“Well I’d hope so. We do live together.”

You thought, watching him from the other end of the hallway as he laughed again and scratched at the door handle, that perhaps this was a step forward. You’d learned an awful lot about him in the time it took you both to get through three and a half glasses of wine each. You were grateful. It was nice to put a story to the face you saw every single morning. He was becoming more of a person, rather than just a body living underneath the same roof. As he rubbed at his eyes and continued to laugh, you wondered if he was again becoming the George Weasley he was before the war. The one you were meant to know.

“Have a good night, Y/N.”

“You too, George.”

He was more than just your roommate. He was your friend.

[nicoledgrahamart]

#kingdomhearts1.5&2.5 #kingdomhearts #disney #princess #disney #disneyprincess #maleficent #fairy #darkfairy #mistressofallevil #princessof heart #heart #light #darkness #aliceinwonderland #snowwhite #aurora #sleepingbeauty #jasmine #aladdin #belle #beautyandthebeast #cinderella #thelittlemermaid #ursula #hades #captainhook #jafar #art #illustration #nicolegrahamart

[harmonicstupidity]

Tagged by the wonderful @ihavenotyetfiguredoutanything who you should all go follow!

Name: Phil

Star Sign: Leo

Height: 6′0

Put your music on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs to show up?

Light Up The Night - The Protomen

A Soul Can’t Be Cut -  Jamie Christopherson

Death By Disco - Zebrahead

Let The Bridges Burn - Killswitch Engage

Beast - Nico Vega

Brave This Storm - Trivium

Grab the book nearest to you and turn to page 23. What’s line 17?

“How the fuck have you been?”

Ever had a song or poem written about you?

Nope

What was the last time you played the air guitar?

A few minutes ago on my walk back from a friends house after a night of drinks. Was air-guitaring to this

Who is your celebrity crush?

Jenna Coleman. Oof ><

What’s a sound you hate and a sound you love?

Hate - Cutlery against dishes when it’s early in the morning and I’m trying to get some god damned sleep.

Love - Umm... that noise that stirring cheesy pasta makes. You know the one.

Do you drive? if so, have you ever crashed?

I don’t but I really should get around to getting my license... one of these days. 

Last book you read?

Sword of Destiny - Andrzej Sapkowski

Do you like the smell of petrol?

Not really.

What was the last movie you saw?

The Last Jedi. 

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

Did a bad turn on my scooter when I was 11, completely sliced through my left knee. Shit hurt. Thankfully there was a woman nearby who helped me back to my house. 

Do you have any obsessions right now?

A HAT IN TIME

Do you tend to hold grudges against anybody who’s done you wrong?

Umm..I usually just block out the shitty people in my life, so I’d say no. 

In a relationship?

Ahaha.. HAHAHAHA... haha.. ha. No. I’m not.

I’ll tag @psielite @fullmetalthwip @wiseuseoftime @princessof-irony @bannableoffense @all-ringils-blazing @runicmagitek @saltylich @hero-soleil @hi-im-kairi  @topographicocean

[nicoledgrahamart]

There is a Kairi version but at the last minute I took her out. I wanted to keep this as Disney as I could bust still be a kingdom hearts refrance #kingdomhearts1.5&2.5 #kingdomhearts #disney #princess #disney #disneyprincess #maleficent #fairy #darkfairy #mistressofallevil #princessof heart #heart #light #darkness #aliceinwonderland #snowwhite #aurora #sleepingbeauty #jasmine #aladdin #belle #beautyandthebeast #cinderella #thelittlemermaid #ursula #hades #captainhook #jafar #art #illustration #nicolegrahamart

[nicoledgrahamart]

Available on my TeePublic page!also there are stickers now!? I'm tempted myself 😍 cheap too! #kingdomhearts1.5&2.5 #kingdomhearts #disney #princess #disney #disneyprincess #maleficent #fairy #darkfairy #mistressofallevil #princessof heart #heart #light #darkness #aliceinwonderland #snowwhite #aurora #sleepingbeauty #jasmine #aladdin #belle #beautyandthebeast #cinderella #thelittlemermaid #ursula #hades #captainhook #jafar #art #illustration #nicolegrahamart

[nicoledgrahamart]

#kingdomhearts1.5&2.5 #kingdomhearts #disney #princess #disney #disneyprincess #maleficent #fairy #darkfairy #mistressofallevil #princessof heart #heart #light #darkness #aliceinwonderland #snowwhite #aurora #sleepingbeauty #jasmine #aladdin #belle #beautyandthebeast #cinderella #thelittlemermaid #ursula #hades #captainhook #jafar #art #illustration #nicolegrahamart

[nicoledgrahamart]

#kingdomhearts1.5&2.5 #kingdomhearts #disney #princess #disney #disneyprincess #maleficent #fairy #darkfairy #mistressofallevil #princessof heart #heart #light #darkness #aliceinwonderland #snowwhite #aurora #sleepingbeauty #jasmine #aladdin #belle #beautyandthebeast #cinderella #thelittlemermaid #ursula #hades #captainhook #jafar #art #illustration #nicolegrahamart