ifwerenotcareful

[ifwerenotcareful]

Bellamy Blake appreciation week

Day 4: Favorite comfort/soft moment- Clarke comforting Bellamy

[ifwerenotcareful]

“Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home...”

kaitlin's 100 favorite female muses — 45/100: Molly Weasley

[ifwerenotcareful]

Good Enough

100-Word Drabbles for Arthur and Ginny Weasley

Fifteen drabbles written for @thethreebroomsticksfic Weasley Week, Oct 16th: Arthur Weasley. Read below or on AO3.

i.

“You’re joking.”

Molly chews back her smile, shakes her head coyly. The house isn’t quiet, per say, but in a rare stroke of luck the twins and Ronnie’s naps have aligned.

And he’s wedged around the bathroom sink with his wife, giggling like children over a potion that’s just changed color.

“A girl…”

The day she’s born, Fabian is there. Peers over the bassinet for so long, Arthur wonders if he too is counting ten perfect pink toes.

“Shit,” he says to Arthur over a cigar that night, after talking war, “this world will never be good enough for her.”

ii.

It’s his turn tonight, when they hear little feet across the kitchen floor. He’s not surprised it’s her, face still blotchy, hair sticking up everywhere from this afternoon’s tantrum that left her knackered.

She whips around in the pantry doorway, eyes like saucers. “I’m hungry.”

After leftover stew from her yellow paisley bowl, he lays in bed with her. Grants her request for a story on the condition she doesn’t suck her thumb.

“Once upon a time, there was a witch named Ginny who lived in a deep, dark wood…”

“No, Daddy,” she whispers, eyes nearly closed. “I’m a dragon.”

iii.

Molly tells him she cried the whole way home from King’s Cross. By early afternoon, he can still tell— the aftershocks seem to surprise her, those gasping little breaths. 

“You know the best part of being the last one left,” he divulges over homemade strawberry ice cream that has yet to do the trick, “is that no one’s here to fight you for your pick of broomstick.”

The rest of her bowl melts on the porch swing. She’s out until it gets dark in the orchard, comes in for supper with leaves in her hair and the biggest jack-o-lantern grin. 

iv.

The day they bring her back home, he carries her trunk upstairs and sits beside her on the bed. Apologizes for ever blaming her, even for a second. 

She counters by saying something lifeless and self-loathing and broken. Eleven-year-old fingers pick at bruised nail beds— tiny, perfect hands. He still can’t fathom it.

That night, Molly brings her dinner and doesn’t come back down. When he heads up to bed, he sees they’ve clearly emptied all her shelves, stacked every novel and journal and textbook outside her door where they can’t hurt her. 

He’s never been angrier in his life.

v.

Since this morning, he’s meant to tell her he’s sorry— sorry they couldn’t offer her anything better on her birthday than this condemnable house-turned-war room. Sorry for the second-hand leather satchel wrapped in faded Christmas paper, even though she wanted a broom; sorry everyone’s thoughts are on tomorrow’s hearing.

After dinner he finally says it, out of Molly’s earshot. Sitting on the stairs leading from the kitchen, plates of fudgy cake in hand. 

“Don’t apologize.” She’s still smiling huge, bumps his shoulder. The Flatulence Fez the twins crowned her with slips down over one eye. “I really love the bag.”

vi.

It should’ve been the day that made them proudest as parents, marrying off their firstborn. It wasn’t. 

This morning, they boxed up centerpieces and charger plates in the shed, repaired all the furniture, met with the Order. His ears still ring. The house is eerie without those three. 

He finds them in her room. His wife is clutching their daughter as she sobs harder than he’s ever seen, inconsolable, wracking herself hoarse. He feels it like a sword to the chest.

In bed later, Molly shakes her head with that look he earns sometimes when he’s being thick. “She’s heartbroken.”

vii.

Friday before Easter, he changes from work robes into something Muggle and tweed and itchy. Platform 9¾ is packed with people avoiding eye contact, and the Express is late. It was late in December, too— arrived without Luna. He waits, terror tightening his throat.

He’s numb with relief when he sees her, one of the only kids lugging a trunk like he advised. She’s swimming in a jumper he’s sure is Ron’s, and that twinges a bit. There’s something different, he notices, walking to the entrance. Colder. Quiet. He doesn’t ask… can’t quite bear to.

Four days later, they flee.

viii.

She’s fighting him. Kicking, clawing.

He holds on with everything he has, arms clasped around her chest, and it’s like he can feel her breaking inside. But if he lets go, he’ll lose her, too. Like Fred. 

Like the body they’re all staring at, lifeless at Hagrid’s feet.

Weeks later, when the Boy Who Lived finds him in the shed one night, hedging, guiltier than anyone he’s ever seen, he already knows. For a moment he considers letting the kid squirm, like the father ought to do.

But then he remembers her first year, and wordlessly hands over a screwdriver. 

ix.

“One more,” she tells their waitress, pointing at a coaster she’s put in the middle. “For my sixth brother.”

The table falls quiet. But then George chuckles and they all take his cue, except Molly.

Snow collects on the windows as the bangers and pies and chips are served. She laments early-morning practices to them all, pretends she’s already bored of all the travel.

“Knock it off,” Charlie snickers, grinning. “Rookies can’t complain. We know you’re having a blast.”

At the end of the night she beats everyone to the bar, pays their tab. Arthur suspects it’s her whole paycheck.

x.

“I definitely saw you cry,” she accuses. She’s graceful even in smugness, grinning something wicked over her lipstick-stained champagne flute.

He pretends to grumble, but he knows she knows. “Hard not to, with the bloody groom getting all choked up.”

The band calls them up soon after, and he pulls her close. “It’s okay,” she murmurs as her face starts to blur again, inches away. “Just admit you’ve gone soft, Dad. I won’t tell.” He tugs on her hand to spin her, chuckling.

They cut cake, and Harry whispers something that makes her laugh, and she lights up the room.

xi.

Predictably, the stadium loses it when she flies out with a new surname on her kit. Ron rolls his eyes as she lands on the pitch with a bit of swagger.

She flies well today, but he reckons she could miss every shot and the commentators would still talk of nothing else. In the stands, Harry laughs when Arthur leans over to ask how it feels to play second fiddle. 

“I’ll never be good enough for her,” he snorts over the rim of his pint. “But I’m sure you knew that.”

She scores twelve goals, and the Harpies clinch playoffs.

xii.

“I’d kill for a drink about now,” she mutters, leaning against the railing. He knows better than to say she probably shouldn’t be out here, either— the venue’s porch, serving as refuge for men who normally never smoke.

He takes a long drag as they watch her boys toddle after their dad on the lawn. “Nearly there, sweetheart.” Treading lightly with his words, lest he incur any of what Muriel’s other well-intended mourners did with their attempts at small talk (“Like a fucking whale, thanks for asking”).

“Hey,” she smirks, “maybe you and Mum can buy a beach cottage now.”

xiii.

The mug Molly poured when they arrived is tepid now, sitting on the table. Shadows lengthen like ghosts beneath his daughter’s eyes; he suspects they’re five days old.

The kids are all asleep, Molly updates them.

Her jaw tightens. At her temple, he notices a couple of gray strands. “I can’t—” she whispers. Squeezes her eyes shut; nothing else comes out. “They need their dad. I’m not good enough on my own.”

“He’ll come home safe, darling. Always does.” And he makes her promise to never say that again. 

He takes both of her hands in his, and they’re cold.

xiv.

They’re celebrating Ted and Vic beneath a canopy of fairy lights. Bill’s weepy toast prompts Fleur to frisk his brothers till she finds George’s flask.

She never realizes Ginny’s stowing the bottle. 

His children outlast their kids and spouses. It’s one of those nights he can’t let himself miss, tired as he is. 

His daughter points a wobbly finger. “Lils has a boyfriend, by the way. Doesn’t think we know. Harry’s going spare.”

He chuckles. “Now he gets it. Imagine trying to justify hating the Chosen One.”

She laughs, nearly tips her chair. “You should tell him that. Might help.”

xv.

It comes in waves. Feels like a lifetime has passed since yesterday; another before that. Molly— bless her— tried to prepare him for it. Tried to comfort him. Imagine.

It feels too big now, their little house on the beach. Perfect for two lives, cavernous with just one. 

She finds him in the garden before sunset. Small, warm hands enclose his. 

“Look, Dad.” 

It’s a delicate, fluttering thing with blue wings, bobbing on the wind. Molly’s favorite. 

“She’s found us again.”

He smiles and tucks a silver lock behind her ear, meeting her gaze— precisely the same shade of brown.

[ifwerenotcareful]

you must be a weasley

[ifwerenotcareful]

🧶Molly Weasley🧶

The Wizarding World’s mum ✨

She raised seven children, not to mention six of them were boys (good lord)! I have the utmost respect for this woman, keeping it together all those years. Going through two wars, trying to keep her family safe from harm.

She can be a little overbearing… a little overprotective… but she’s still a good mum, I think. I love her. I love that she knits and I can even love her for swooning over Gilderoy Lockheart, until she found out he was a total fuckup. I mean, we’ve all fawned over fictional characters✨😌 (and the occasional Pedro Pascal edit)

…. Where was I? Oh right! Molly is lovely, I love her. I hope you do too! Arthur is up next and with him the Weasley family is complete! Woop!☀️

[ifwerenotcareful]

hello good day today i come talking to you about molly weasley with chronic pain. molly weasley who sometimes is so fatigued she has to lay down again for hours after breakfast. molly weasley who has perfected spells that reduce sounds and light in her bedroom to make it a reprieve from the otherwise often loud and raucous house.

molly weasley who is buried under mountains of work to keep house and home school her seven children over the years. molly weasley who has always excelled at charms and makes use of this expertly so kitchen utensils will whip up meals she has prepared for low energy days. her household seems well run and she herself is mostly able to power through energy wise when guests pop in - but make no mistake, this is something she has worked hard for over the years, and is due to a delicate act of balance between rest and effort.

[ifwerenotcareful]

i dont exactly consider myself a pro-shipper but i am VERY anti-censorship. i hate all censorship. absolutely nothing in media should be censored whatsoever, the only exception being media that is marketed towards children because it should be up to parents/guardians/trusted adults to decide what media children are ready to consume.

but when it comes to adults? hell no.

“but but but it’s a problematic ship!!! 🥺”

there are problematic romances in real life. there are abusive relationships and sexual assaults in real life. we cope with these things by reading and writing about them and realizing that we are not alone, we are not crazy, we are going through something real. media is meant to connect people, and with the influx of social media, people don’t connect with each other anymore and censoring stories about sensitive topics purely because they’re problematic is severing that connection even more.

“but but but it’s pedophilia! 🥺”

i am a victim of pedophilia. i know many people who are also victims. again, if we don’t tell these stories, then there will be kids who have nothing to connect to who think that what they’re going through is normal or that it’s something only they will understand. it doesn’t normalize anything. if you read about pedophilia and your first thought is “okay great, now i can be a pedo because i read about pedophilia!” then it’s not the story or the author’s fault. it’s the pedo’s fault because they’ve always been a pedo. they were just looking for something to twist into justifying their actions.

and also the example i just described is something that absolutely NEVER happens. it’s something that antis made up so they could spread their censorship bullshit.

we should read stuff we disagree with. we should read stuff that is disgusting and messy and horrible if we want to. because those are all stories about the human experience. and if we censor one thing, what’s to stop people from censoring everything?

do you antis know about the wales padlock act? in america in the 1920’s until i believe the 50’s or 60’s, there was a LAW that stated that people could be ARRESTED if the media they created had any form of “obscenity” in it including nudity, pedophilia, and oh, you know what else? homosexuality. transgender characters. in fact, a play called god of vengeance by sholem asch was forcibly closed down and all actors and producers were arrested for “obscenity” because it described a beautiful and loving homosexual relationship between two young women.

do you see now? do you get why censorship sucks? you can’t just have some censorship. anybody can view anything as obscenity. bigots will turn ANYTHING into obscenity and lump it in with all the “problematic” stuff y’all want to censor. lgbtq+, interracial romance, etc. it could all be lumped in there and censored too.

i would rather have a few stories in the world that i disagree with or a few stories that make me uncomfortable than absolutely no stories that depict the human experience in a raw, unfiltered, uncensored way because when you censor art, it immediately severs all human connection that could have been formed from it.

so yeah. antis get the fuck off my page unless you want to change. i hate you and all the censorship bullshit you stand for.

[ifwerenotcareful]

I think James kissed Sirius first, almost as a joke, then grinned at him after, stifling a laugh, but Sirius was Looking At Him A Certain Way, and James kinda sobered up and said “Yeah?” and then Sirius was kissing him, properly, and no one was laughing after that. For at least a minute. Then they cracked up again and got naked.

~fin~

[ifwerenotcareful]

Day 5: Mind Control

Is it forcing a victim to slaughter their loved ones? Or is it pulling in someone for a warped, potion-influenced kiss? Who knows!

Check out the Ao3 collection! Four works so far and they're all so lovely!

[ifwerenotcareful]

Harry wished a mom and a dad who would love him.

James and Lily wished so hard to be there with their little boy....

[ifwerenotcareful]

" you might belong in hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal, those patient hufflepuffs are true, and unafraid of toil. "

━HUFFLEPUFF

[ifwerenotcareful]

I love writing stories about guys with something really wrong with them.

[ifwerenotcareful]

The first-ever Dead In December Fest!

Dead In December is a Harry Potter Dead Dove: Do Not Eat fest that I am running through December.

With the holidays, you usually think of happy times with family and loved ones. But that's not everyone's cup of tea. Some of us like the darker holiday works. Could be Neville getting harmed by a gifted plant, or Narcissa finding out about her husband's horrific interest. Any which way you fall on the Dead Dove scale, you're welcome here!

You don't have to do anything specific. You could write all thirty-one prompts or only write one! As long as it's your own work (meaning no AI or plagiarism), anything is welcome here, even art!

The fest starts December 1st but will be open until January 7th for any people wanting to squeeze in some late ones!

Day 1: Being Confined Day 2: Cannibalism Day 3: Lobotomy Day 4: Drugged Day 5: Mind Control Day 6: Self-Sacrifice Day 7: Drowning Day 8: Asphyxiation Day 9: Incest Day 10: Non/Dubcon Day 11: Infection Day 12: Buried Alive Day 13: Burned Alive Day 14: Rituals Day 15: Hallucinations Day 16: Mutation Day 17: Hunting Season Day 18: Experiments Day 19: Hostage Day 20: Torture Day 21: Medical Procedures Day 22: Hypnosis Day 23: Possession Day 24: Monsters Day 25: Human Decorations Day 26: Stalking Day 27: Human Farms Day 28: Bloodplay Day 29: Devotion Day 30: Ownership

[ifwerenotcareful]

[ifwerenotcareful]

@jonsa-creatives   Era-World War II

A gift for @mynameisnoneya1991 Thank you for the beautiful photo collage and being the best friend a girl could ever ask for!

And also gifted to @amymel86 for your help and encouragement with the story!

That night was the start, or rather the rebirth, of everything he’d been in denial about since he’d left Winterfell.  Any notions he’d harbored of his feelings for Sansa being merely familial had died on the vine when she’d taken his hand and whispered in his ear to keep him from fighting.  Those longings he’d been ashamed of as a younger man had not gone away with the war at all.  They tripled the moment he held her in his arms again.

Two young cousins start developing romantic feelings for one another only to be separated by the outbreak of World War II.  Through years of peril and loss, they grow into adulthood but never forget one another.  When the war ends, they find themselves reunited and hope to find a second chance at happiness.

Read on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001358/chapters/34769372

[ifwerenotcareful]

god I just love incest ships. the pining, the disgust at their own feelings, the secrecy and the 'we can't tell anyone about this', the way it all comes together so intensely... it all hits so good

[ifwerenotcareful]

"It was not just about sex. Even when we shot the sex scenes, those particular sex scenes, it was about a thousand other things than sex. It's about their emotional connection, where they're at, and their relationship, and how she feels about her husband. It was about so many other things than just about sex." — FRANÇOIS ARNAUD