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◎ c h a r l i e ([info]spinnets) wrote in [info]valesco,
@ 2013-05-25 19:58:00


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Entry tags:adrian mattias, andrea johnson, anton chang, charles spinnet, delilah spinnet, group, henry wadcock, howell williams, iwan quigley, magnolia mattias, marissa macfusty, oliver comstock, otto bagman, penelope fawcett, rose knightley, saoirse mullet, therese bonaccord, thomas mccormack

Hogsmeade Quidditch Weekend! Open to All!
Charlie was literally bouncing around like a school kid. How was he so keen on the ways of excited, shriek-filled Hogwarts students? Why, he was surrounded by a gaggle of them! Bouncing, the lot of them, and all donned in red and gold! It was a beautiful sight, really, and it made the slightly overcast day seem bright and sunny and warm. He wanted to hug each and every one of those kids, so he did and it was a good feeling to be recognized as some 'Gryffindor Hero!' A Gryffindor Hero! Legend, some were saying. Some teeny, tiny voice in the back of Charlie's head knew that legend, even hero was pushing it a bit far, but he would happily accept the compliments because they made him feel damn special.

He hadn't been much of a standout in school, popular enough not to lurk around the corridors without anyone noticing you were there, but he was no quidditch captain or head boy. He was just Charlie, and even if his quidditch fame and popularity had skyrocketed these past few years, he was still very much in awe of the fact that people could be impressed by him.

"All right, all right!" he laughed, prying off the clamped fingers of a young third year girl's off his arm. "I'll be back, I promise!"

There was a chorus of moans, but soon the group had spotted yet another player to lay their tremendous excitement and focus on, and Charlie was free. He bounded down the pavement, Gryffindor scarf proudly flapping in the wind behind him, and dropped down onto a wooden bench beside his very Hufflepuff-y girlfriend.

"The kids," he said, waving his hand out toward the crowd before dropping it down onto the back of the bench behind Penelope, "They dig me."



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[info]howl
2013-08-20 04:19 am UTC (link)
There are people, perhaps, who handle such situations elegantly, with grace. The depths of their feelings makes them poignant, their words the right combination of all-knowing and reverence. Howell was not one such person. The knowledge that this witch could love him, truly so, even one-tenth of what he felt for her, made him clumsy with relief and love and thankfulness.

He watched her with an expression of awe, edged with polite confusion. Surely he had not heard her correctly. Had she said what he thought—? Had he said what he—?

"Sorry?" Howell croaked. "You—you love me?"

The laughter came then, though it was disbelieving and carried a slight edge to it. Here they were, just two kids, really, hiding under the stadium of their old school's pitch. What were they even doing? Why did he care? What did anything matter, in all honesty, except this?

Her hands still clinging to his, he brought them up where they hovered, just a whisper away from her chin. "You love me," he whispered again, eyes fixed on her lips, as if looking at the source from where the words had been spoken from would make it seem more real. Howell gripped Saoirse's fingers tightly with his own as he looked her in the tear-brimming eye. His own might have had an unearthly sheen to them as well. "I love you."

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[info]mullets
2013-08-21 03:02 am UTC (link)
Saoirse had not realized she'd been holding her breath until she exhaled, anxious relief finally washing over her. Hesitation, dubiety-- what if all those nights she had spent thinking about him, curled up against him, struggled to properly convey to him just how much he truly meant to her, had been wrong? Misunderstood, misread... this swamped thing he was so very good at evoking from her had been difficult to understand because she had never felt it before, and couldn't put a name to it, but now... it didn't feel so overwhelming.

Grappling with how to set her mouth, feeling it pull up with happiness and pull down with the release of all this built-up tension, Saoirse felt her head begin to nod. How else could she respond? Her emotions felt caught in her throat, a fresh coat of exhilarated sweat had broken out onto her skin, and all she could think about, focus on, replay in her head, was his words. And his face, his beautiful face that she loved to watch and see the realist of emotions appear upon it. A fresh waves of tears budded as she attempted to collect all her thoughts into a coherent response.

Tears began to stream down her face again as she nodded, nodded feverishly while swallowing thickly. Wanting desperately to keep holding his hands, but knowing how much more she truly wished to touch his face, Saoirse loosed one hand to do so.

"I've never said that to anyone before," she rushed, clutching the side of Howell's face tightly. "I've never felt the way I feel for you about anyone else. Howell---" She wanted nothing more than to press up against him, embrace his warmth that she had become so accustomed. "I feel---" Saoirse continued to breath deeply, completely forgetting where they were, what time it was, how truly exhausted she had been. "You make me feel--"

She could not explain it, it could not be put into words. Or, maybe it could, but she by no means had the capacity to do it justice. But she didn't--- know. Saoirse fumbled for what to say, what to do, simply reaffirming her clutch on him, pressing her palms into his face, letting her fingers push though what bits of his hair they could reach.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she began to murmur on repeat, pushing closer still to properly begin kissing his face. His jaw, his cheeks, his brow, his eyelashes, his lips--- oh, his lips.

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