Last time I was here, you were with me
#DCNTHOMASES : a dependent DEAN THOMAS for noxtms written by sophia ( she / her, 22, est timezone ) established june 15th, 2023.
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@dcnthomases
Last time I was here, you were with me
#DCNTHOMASES : a dependent DEAN THOMAS for noxtms written by sophia ( she / her, 22, est timezone ) established june 15th, 2023.
bio. stats. playlist. pinterest.

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LOCATION: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic Headquarters. STATUS: Open ( @startertms )
He jolts awake with a startle and eyes blink in an attempt to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Dark walls, stacks of paperwork. The quiet, distant murmur of other people still mulling around Ministry headquarters. It doesn’t take Arthur long to realize he’s still at work rather than home, head resting against the cold wood of his desk. Back straightens while hand lifts, fingers pushing red hair ( with just a few hints of grey, if one were to look close enough ) away from tired features. It takes almost a whole minute before disorientation wears off, allowing him to notice the figure standing in office doorway. How long have they been standing there? Throat clears, bashful look flashing over face. " Sorry. I must’ve dozed off for a minute. " Again. This happened two weeks ago too. He really had to stop putting in those extra hours. " What time is it? "
really, dean was snooping. he had an interview at the ministry - an ostensible reason for a journalist’s intrusion into magical governance - but he had always found that a little wandering did him some good ( there was always a conversation or two he was not supposed to hear ). now, though, he was a little lost. the ministry had never felt organized, and some parts of it gave dean pause: some places looked a little too much like past. this place in particular - the department of magical law enforcement, if dean was correct, felt marred by tragedies ( communal and his own ). he found himself staring at the room’s only occupant - a man who had clearly recently woken from a slumper - for far too long before realizing who it is. “mr. weasley?” they’ve met before - but dean could not remember if it was at harry’s funeral or at ginny’s house or somewhere in the years in between, but it took a second for dean to recognize the man. he’s older, more harrowed, more gray.
LOCATION: The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley. STATUS: Open ( @startertms )
Lavender was in a bad mood. It’s not completely out of character. In fact, it’s not out of character at all. These days, it was impossible to find the woman in any other kind of mood, bottom lip always jutting forward in what appears to have become a permanent pout, brows knitting together as she sulked over one thing or another. — Today’s reason? Markus Scarrs, or more specifically, the fact he made her finish early ( dismissed from tattoo parlor like a child being sent to the naughty step ) for telling a customer their tattoo request was, to quote, fucking stupid. She stands by the statement, of course, not an inch of her remorseful. Fingers pick at the label of her beer bottle, slowly tearing it off piece by small piece in an attempt to distract from frustrations. When that proves unsuccessful, however, attention turns to the poor person sitting beside her to seek validation. " Hey. " The word is practically a BARK, all but demanding their attention and if that doesn’t work, the hand tapping once, twice, three times on the bar right beside their own drink surely will. " If you were about to get the dumbest tattoo ever, you’d want somebody to tell you, right? Almost like a . . . public service, yeah? " The look on her face is almost daring them to disagree, at their own risk.
the din and dark of the bar was so great that dean almost didn’t hear the words of his companion - or, more accurately, make out that they were meant for him. but this person is insistent, and when dean finally turns towards the voice, he is not surprised by its owner. “I guess it depends on how much I had thought through the decision” he pauses, takes a sip of his drink, and quirks his eyebrow. “trouble at the tattoo parlor?” he quips.
dcnthomases:
“no, please,” dean steps over some stray paintbrushes and turns to face the woman. (he’s grateful, suddenly, that he was looking down when he nearly bumped into her, because it prevented him from slipping on the art supplies the way characters in mariokart slipped on bananas. not that anyone in the wizarding world would know what mariokart was.) “let me help”
“you don’t have to-” she starts, cutting herself off the very moment it becomes obvious that dean - vaguely familiar to her thanks to three broomsticks hogsmeade trips and, you know, war hero fame - will be crouching to help her regardless of the time it takes out of his day. kindness doesn’t cost anything & contessa, despite her thought to object, really does appreciate him for it and tells him, after a moment of silent acceptance, “thank you. you don’t need to worry about being too rough with any of it - i’m only handing most of it into the secondhand store up the alley.”
he doesn’t know her - should he know her? the face is familiar enough for him to rack his brain and come up empty. dean feels a flash of panic and guilt that richochets down his chest and into his sternum. funny, how real feelings become. “’tis alright.” he mutters quietly, running a hand down the back of his head. “oh - are you an artist or something?”
𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 : diagon alley, but nowhere specific !
“i’m sorry, i’m totally in your way-” and there’s not really much that she can do about that, currently, but she still does her absolute best to pull in her limbs and minimise the blockade. the box of assorted donations that tumbled out of her arms when she tripped over an awkward piece of cobble made a bit of a mess, but contessa has almost succeeded in gathering up everything that spilled out - only a few things have managed to evade her ; paintbrushes and little colored stacking cups and a singular race car. “you can just step over me. i really won’t be offended.”
“no, please,” dean steps over some stray paintbrushes and turns to face the woman. (he’s grateful, suddenly, that he was looking down when he nearly bumped into her, because it prevented him from slipping on the art supplies the way characters in mariokart slipped on bananas. not that anyone in the wizarding world would know what mariokart was.) “let me help”

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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there’s a sense of loss running through these quiet halls this place of magic where we once were young and now there’s only the absence of you the light is flickering and the dream, dying as I stand watch, my hands shaking because the world looked at us and thought “oh these ones belong to the stars” and we were penciled in the ledger to end in tragedy
and sip tea in the sunlight once more by Abby S
for @deadcatwithaflamethrower
(via fireandsteelofangels)
— those you’ve known, spring awakening