'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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♱
'She is benediction She is addicted to thee She is sublimation She is the essence of thee Some strange music draws me in Makes me come on like some heroine
She is recreation She, intoxicated by thee She has the slow sensation that He is levitating with she The plot of our life sweats in the dark like a face The mystery of childbirth, of childhood itself Grave visitations
And whirl on a pane of glass An afixiation, a fix on anything The line of life, the limb of a tree The hands of he and the promise that she Is blessed among women Oh God, I fell for you...'
AN: this song is described as being 'the sound of a woman who was experiencing real domestic bliss for the first time and didn't quite know what to do with it because of her artistic disposition' and i think that fits perfectly. CW: sex, references to pornography (and possibly creation?) enjoy <3
There was a lot of joy emanating from 93 Diagon Alley. It seemed neverending hours spent trying to prepare the shop for Fred and George, but in reality, it had only been spare moments here and there.
At last, the shop's layout was finally perfect; the staircase painted a violent magenta and the bannisters a range of pink, lilac and mint shades. Hera had tried her best to help and so visualised where each of their products would go, already stocking some to the floating shelves and longline bookcases — painted too, in olive green and apricot oranges.
Dusk had begun to set in London, so the sky was animated in brilliant shades of gold and lavender. Hera was glad to show Fred and George the work she'd done finally and stood beside them, watching passersby coming and going from their sight.
The flat above was significantly less furnished as Hera thought that was something her friends ought to do themselves for their first home as adults. Neither knew quite how to express it but appreciated the sentiment all the while.
The model of Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs in the window was already moving, demonstrating their dazzling (albeit smaller-scale) pyrotechnics.
George's lower jaw fell open, clasped under his palm and stopping at his ear. "You did it — You really fucking did it, Rara!"
