#and she'd do it til past midnight

[muskpunk]

yooooooooo 5am ptsd flashback gacha pulls just dropped wooooooo yeah lets go gamers!!!!!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Elf You

Prompt Day 20: Magic AU | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Sentient Toys | Tags: Elf on the Shelf AU, Elf!Steve, Elf!Robin, Elf!Eddie, Elf Magic, Platonic Stobin, Crack Taken Seriously, Silliness, The Magic of Christmas

'Twas the night before December, and all is quiet except for the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room tick, tick, ticking as it edges ever closer to midnight. December is approaching, with only seconds to spare as the small town of Hawkins, Indiana sleeps.

When the clock strikes twelve, two little sets of eyes snap open, alive and alert for another holiday season. 

Two little Scout Elves, but no shelf to be found. No, sirree. That's amaetur hour, and they've grown past those early pranks. No, these little elves use their magic to put on big productions. Bigger and grander each night, leading up to Christmas Eve.

They were born for this. 

But right now, they've got to get their bearings after nearly a year of slumber.

Steve stretches, pushing his little fabric arms over his head. 

Robin stands, trying to work the kinks out of her back. She'd been twisted in the tote of decorations, and now her back is killing her. 

"Hey, Robbie, you okay?" Steve asks, walking over and looking at her. 

"They've got to be more careful with me next year, I'm getting too old for this shit," she complains, sitting upright. 

Steve helps her to her feet, and they dust themselves off. Being an elf is fun, but it's only for twenty-four days a year. The rest of the time they're shoved in a box in the attic. Dormant.

Shitty parents tell kids they flew back to the North Pole, but that's a goddamn lie.

The first night is hard. They don't have a plan for their nightly chaos. They have to do it on the fly, so they better get started, right away.

"Marshmallow mini golf?" Steve suggests. 

"We did that last year!" Robin whines. 

They're running out of new ideas. They've done everything twice at this point. 

"How 'bout a messy kitchen?" another voice asks, and they snap their heads towards the sound. 

"Who the hell are you?" Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips. This is their territory. "And…where the hell are you?" Steve asks. 

They can hear him, but they can't see him. 

"Yeah, interloper! Who do you think you are?" Robin demands, backing Steve up. 

Steve looks around, but there's nobody there.

Not until Steve spots the box on the counter, brand new and unopened. Slightly wobbling.

Together, they pull open the cover, and there he is. Another boy elf, with dark eyes, and long hair, trapped behind cellophane.

"What's your name and what are you doing here?" Steve demands. 

"I'm an Elf on the Shelf. We're gonna be friends 'til the end."

"Oh brother, he belongs on The Island of Misfit Toys," Robin says, snarky. "That's a Good Guy line. That's a whole different kind of magic doll. Not our department. So, clearly evil."

"I'm not evil," he says. "I'm an elf."

"That's what they all say," Robin says, looking at Steve. "Let's just leave him wrapped up. Problem solved."

Steve sighs and rubs his forehead. 

There's a little name tag on the counter: Eddie.

"Well, you were an idiot, when you showed up, too," Steve tells her, crossing his arms, annoyed. Looking back through the plastic, "Your name is Eddie."

Eddie just nods.

"Why aren't you out of your box?" Steve asks him. Eddie has elf magic. He can teleport. Surely, he can get out of a fucking cardboard box. If not, oh, brother.

Eddie looks unsure, and Steve rolls his eyes. If Steve had fingers, he'd snap them, but he doesn't. So, he just thinks really hard and uses his own elf magic to get Eddie out of his packaging.

Robin looks at Eddie, "Well, it was nice to meet you. But we've got this house covered. They've got two kids, and we're two elves. We don't really need a third," Robin is explaining, when they all hear a baby cry.

Well, shit. There's three kids now. That's what happens when elf magic keeps you dormant most of the goddamn year. You don't find out about big changes until way after the fact.

So, new elf. Steve went through this when Robin showed up after the last kid, and now they're best friends. So, maybe this will be okay. 

Then he sees Eddie dangling from the light fixture. Maybe not. 

"Stop that, asshole," Steve says, jumping up, grabbing Eddie, sending them both to the floor. "Stop messing around, and help us think of something to do tonight," Steve demands.

"Cookie baking mess?" Eddie suggests.

"Been there, done that," Steve says, "that's first year shit."

Robin puts her hand on her chin, thinking, "We really don't have much time. We'll be able to plan better tomorrow. Marshmallow bath in the sink?" she suggests.

Steve groans. It's easy. But the kids like it, and their mom always has marshmallows in the pantry.

"How about a ski slope," Eddie says, and they both turn to look at him. 

"Tell me more…" Steve prompts.

Eddie is looking around the kitchen, a little frantically, clearly trying to come up with a fully formed idea. Steve waits. Robin waits. 

And finally Eddie pops up onto the counter and grabs the full roll of paper towels and takes it to the living room, and the couch, right near the tree. He stacks up two pillows from the couch on the floor, and stands back, thinking.

"Like this," he finally says, and gives the paper towel roll a good shove, unrolling it down over the pillows and onto the ground. 

Steve looks at it. 

Robin looks at it.

This could work.

"We could rummage through the Barbie clothes," Robin suggests and Steve nods. That's a really good idea. 

Steve gets in the box with the Barbie stuff, and digs around until he throws out a snowsuit, some skis, goggles. A Christmas sweater. This will do just fine. 

They all get dressed, and in place, ready for the kids in the morning. 

Eddie might not be such a bad addition, after all.

Notes: Yeah, I don't know. They're elves. Magic elves. 🤣

This is the ski slope idea Eddie came up with.

"Friends 'til the end" is a Chucky catchphrase. Also, a magic doll. Just a very different one, lol. The Island of Misfit Toys is from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[hughiecampbelle]

Irresistible (Shiv Roy x Tattoo!Reader)

Character/s: Shiv, Logan mention

Word Count: 981

A/N: This was not requested, but I did get a Shiv request and I want to be sure I can do it justice. I feel like I know her the least besides Kendall, so I'm a lil scared to post this lol. It's a teensy bit short too, don't come for me y'all!! I just know she'd love tattoos so much. Maybe not on her, but her partners? Definitely!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

She runs the tips of her fingers across the ink of your skin. Starting innocently enough, your fingers, your hands, west and elbow. Some new, mostly old, still raised on the surface of your flesh. Up, up, across, tracing your collarbone, your chest, your neck, until she’s got your chin tipped up, examining the ink on the underside of your jaw. Her eyes are delicate, but intense. She’s dissecting you as you sit, wait, and you let her. You’d let her do a lot of things. She lets a smile slip, letting go, instead grabbing for your hand, giving it a squeeze. She’d always been a lover of art, of expression, but her favorite was your body. Covered head to toe in tattoos. The drama of it all. The pain, too. It gave you an edge, a shield. It makes me look a lot cooler than I am, you joked, but she just shook her head. Not cool, elegant. Elegant as fuck. You laughed, not expecting that certain word choice from an angel like her. The more you got to know her though, the more you expected it. The more you could rely on it, on her.

She started appearing everywhere. Not just around the office, at her fathers table, but in your corner, in your space. She hadn’t noticed you til an office party ran late. Past midnight, everyone drinking, celebrating. You never showed skin at the office. It wasn’t professional anywhere, but especially Waystar. Parties, parties were another story. Your co-workers knew what you looked like, who you were outside of work. You let loose a little, sipping at your drink, watching your peers make mistakes for tomorrow morning. Thats when you spotted her, watching you. Of course you knew who she was. Your heart fell into your stomach. She was powerful, a Goddess among men. She had power. You? You’d only been working there a year, almost two. That was all. You doubted Logan knew your name. As long as the work was done on time, he didn’t really care. She hadn’t taken her eyes off you, her gaze burning right through you. You hadn’t spilled on yourself and your fly wasn’t down, you checked. You looked behind you, too, but there was no one. No, she was looking at you. Was that a smile? You could see it in her cheeks, in the lines of her face, no matter how hard she tried to hide behind her glass. Heat rose to your face. The boss’ daughter was looking at you, staring. You tried not to let on that you knew, turning your attention elsewhere. Co-workers dancing, people you didn’t even know knew one another mingling like old friends. Every time you looked, out of the corner of your eye, there she was. 

There she was. 

You’ve been staring. It takes every ounce of courage in your body to speak those words. Flirty, just loud enough for her to hear. Maybe I like what I’m looking at. She says cooly, not looking at you directly. You’d disappeared. The crowd thickened and you took your chance, moving from one end of the room to the other, so close to her you could smell her perfume. She didn’t jump, you hadn’t shocked her, like she was always prepared for anything. Everything. Maybe? Ouch. What were you doing? You weren’t this person. You weren’t sexy or spontaneous, you definitely didn’t think you had a chance with any person, let alone the Siobhan Roy. She either didn’t notice the moment of panic or chose not to, instead shrugging her shoulders. Yeah, maybe. Where have you been hiding all this time? Accounting, you want to say, but that isn’t right. You’ve been here all along, in plain sight. Is she noticing now because of your skin, or she’d had too much to drink? She doesn’t seem drunk, not even a little tipsy. So she liked your ink. . . That made you smile despite yourself. Scary, powerful, Siobhan Roy liked tattoos? That’s pretty cute. You can touch them, if you like. You held out your wrist to her. That startled her, how you’d figured her out, how forward you were with her. She touches you as if she’s afraid you’ll break, so delicate, so frail. She traces the images, the shading and linework, getting lost in the patterns, the intricacy. She doesn’t ask what they mean, like most people. She doesn’t ask if it hurt, how expensive it was, or who you went to. She just traced. When she came to, as if coming out of a haze, she blushed. You liked it.

Her touch tickled. 

She did it when she was nervous, too. Tracing the image on the back of your hand, your knuckles, absentmindedly. She rubbed whichever arm she held, the two of you a long established couple after that night. She always get embarrassed when you bring it up. Not to tease her, rather in awe of her. She was stunned by you, by the artwork, even if she couldn’t put it into words. She buries her face into you, begging you to stop talking. Too late. You’re stuck with me, you want to tease. She can’t help it, the second she saw you, she knew things would be different. Not love, something more complicated. Something more permanent. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. That night, though? That night, maybe she’d come close. When you get new ones she studies them, hypnotized by the process. Going through all that pain for something so beautiful, so forever. She knows what her father thinks of you, of your body, but she couldn’t care less. You weren’t just beautiful, you were stunning. The artwork was just an added bonus, the cherry on top. One day you’ll get something to represent her, your wife. For now you wear your ring. For now, that’s enough.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

a Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic

genre: fluff & Christmas to begin with; angst, catharsis, with healing later...and as always, love❤️💚

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC), established relationship

word count: 2.6k

Reposting from last December as edits have been made, prior to finally completing this fic ☃️🩵🎄

moodboard by the very generous @strangedreamings 💙🩵💜

Chapter One

Stephen should have known that he had fallen in love with a Christmas person. Should have been prepared for what was in store for him come late November. Hope's enthusiasm for all things Yuletide was exactly in keeping with her nature--and of course, she had no way of knowing that when it came to Christmastime, his past had shaped him into a bit of a Grinch.

A week or so before Thanksgiving, she'd brought a mysterious shopping bag to the Sanctum and set it discretely in a corner of the living room portion of his suite. When he'd asked what was inside, she'd flashed him a pert smile and smiling eyes as she answered, "Darling, that's for me to know, and you to find out. Eventually." Then sashayed away, humming 'Good King Wenceslas'. Yup, he should've known then that Hope was...was very much a Who.

They had shared a quiet, homey Thanksgiving; Hope had eagerly prepared a little feast for them, along with far too many desserts prepped in a flurry of baking in the 48 hours ahead of time. "There's supposed to be an abundance of leftovers," she had insisted when Stephen groused that they could never finish it all, "And in my family tradition, the freezer was always stuffed with packages of turkey, potatoes, and what have you--enough for a meal a week 'til nearly Christmas." And she'd relished the sight of him digging into those leftovers--along with a healthy serving of her apple-ginger pie--as a midnight snack, looking every bit the adorable 'told ya so' when she grabbed a fork to help him polish off the pie.

When they'd finally settled into bed and snuggled close, Stephen was happy to tell Hope it had been his best Thanksgiving in decades--and that perhaps it could be the start of traditions of their own. "Good," she replied, kissing his neck and then resting her head on his shoulder, "There's more I'd love to share with you. If you don't mind...starting tomorrow."

Stephen's own family traditions always felt like dusty, ancient history now; memories he seldom allowed himself to dwell upon for the heartbreak of the losses of his sister Donna, and later his mother Beverly, who had never fully recovered emotionally from Donna's death. He sighed hard, not wishing to spoil the moment, but feeling he should give his love fair warning. "If it's Christmas related, Hope--I'm really not that guy..."

"Oh, Stephen," she started to protest.

"I don't wanna disappoint you, honey, but I...I gave up Christmas a loooong time ago..."

"Gave up Christmas?" Hope tutted. "You don't strike me as a Scrooge..."

"I'm not. Of course I'm not," he countered gently, "There's just a lot of...baggage...that I gave up carrying. Decades ago." For my own peace of mind, he thought but didn't add. "I mean, I'll be happy to see how you embrace the season, Hope, but um..."

"Alright, " she told him, laying her palm above his heart, which he always found soothing. "I promise to be mindful of your...baggage...if you help me with just one tradition tomorrow. "

Stephen's turn to quietly sigh with his intent to cooperate, "Just the one? Seems a fair bargain to make...if you can stick to it."

"Just the one--I promise," Hope laughed softly, "And after that, well...I'll go about my Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother you."

Though he could practically feel the wheels in her head turning to come up with a way to change his view of the season, he chuckled, "It's a deal then. So what will we be doing tomorrow?"

"Getting a tree, of course. That was my mom's thing. Tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving...and comes down on New Years Day. Although, since I've been on my own, I keep it up however long I want. It's an excellent remedy for the mid-winter doldrums."

"A tree it'll be, then," he promised, reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, "And then I'm out."

"Like a light", Hope assured him. "Now, do you wanna be the big spoon or little spoon tonight?"

"Big," he replied, flipping onto his side, then sliding his arm around her waist when she turned to fit herself against him. Stephen brushed his lips on her ear, "For what it's worth, honey, I hope you have some sugar plum dreams tonight."

"Thanks, Stephen," she murmured, clearly on her way to sleep, "Love you too."

By the time Hope awoke the next morning, Stephen had already worked out a plan to keep his promise. One which would involve him in as little Christmas fuss as possible. A quick online search had yielded a few spots in the Village itself where they could find fresh cut trees. After breakfast, he discreetly portaled the two of them to a side street off of Hudson Street, where they found a popular Christmas market adjacent to a city park.

Hope had been so delighted by his initiative that he had felt it necessary to remind her that this would be his sole contribution to the Christmas decorating. She had batted her eyes prettily with her reply, "As you wish," but to Stephen, it had felt more like she was saying, "We'll see about that."

They settled on a seven foot Balsam fir, which Stephen had insisted on paying for out of his Sanctum Master's monthly stipend. The warmth of the lingering kiss she pressed to his cheek in thanks was absolutely worth that investment, and Hope's happiness was a gift that thoroughly warmed his heart. Being quite pleased by how swiftly they'd accomplished their chore--and surprised that the task felt far more pleasant than he'd anticipated--Stephen arranged to have the tree delivered to Bleecker Street by mid-afternoon.

Hope had wandered over to a group of stalls featuring hand-crafted Christmas decorations, and by the time he joined her, she had a small brown shopping bag in hand. He offered her his arm, "Shall we?"

"Shall we what," she countered impishly.

"Head back home."

"Oh...well...", she bit her lip, mulling over her answer for a few moments, "You go on ahead, darling. There's just a few more things I'd like to pick up..."

Stephen hummed, studying her face for any sign that this was a coy play to get him to stay after all. Seeing only sincerity, he found himself offering to stick around anyway. "Thanks, but no, Stephen," she assured him, "I shouldn't be too long--and I did promise not to bother you beyond the tree. You won't even have time to miss me; I'm sure I'll get there before the tree even does."

Stephen hadn't expected her to be so easily accommodated. "Are you sure, honey? I can spare a while longer if...if you'd like me to."

Hope moved in close, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his other cheek. "I appreciate the offer, darling," she husked, "But how about you get a nice fire going in the hearth in your quarters, so they'll be all toasty for when I decorate the tree this afternoon?" She backed away and beamed him a smile, then turned to explore the market further without a further word.

Stephen stood on the sidewalk, the relief at being let off the expected Christmas hook colored with the surprising disappointment that Hope hadn't even tried to ask for more beyond her promise. She's probably got other plans in mind, he decided; bet she's just softening me up for that. Hands tucked deep into his coat pockets against the growing chill in the air--they'd begun to ache in the way that told him snow was on the way--he headed back to the side street, and portaled back home.

The snow arrived before Hope did, with the tree being delivered about a half-hour later. By then, Stephen had a crackling fire going in the hearth and had even used magic to set up a tree stand before one of the front windows of the living room.

Rosy-cheeked from the cold and bearing two Balsam wreaths decked with red ribbons, sprigs of holly & berries, and mini white lights, Hope appeared to be the embodiment of Christmas cheer. "I figured now that it's no secret that a magical building is part of the neighborhood," she explained in answer to the question in his eyes, "You'd at least want the Sanctum to look a little festive..."

Stephen gave a heavy sigh as he conceded that point to her. And though she didn't ask, he cast a spell to keep the wreaths in place on the Sanctum's double doors, with reinforcement to keep them fresh and green for however long they hung there. He would go on to use the same spell for the Christmas tree awaiting decorating in his quarters.

After lunch, Hope practically shooed Stephen from the room when she began to string lights on the fragrant evergreen. With a vintage selection of Christmas carols playing in the background, she was determined to keep her promise to him. "Besides, I'd like to surprise you with the ornaments I've picked. So go keep busy with whatever wizarding stuff is on your agenda, and I'll come get you for the big reveal."

Lazy snowflakes continued to fall well past dusk, looking pretty and perfectly seasonal outside the Sanctum windows, though little stuck to the streets and pavements. Hope had finally popped her head past the door to his study several hours after she'd sent him away and invited Stephen to come check out the product of her efforts. Her excitement felt contagious--and once he spied the tree, Stephen knew she had good reason for her enthusiasm.

She had dimmed the lights for maximum effect, showing off the slow, steady twinkle of the white lights that graced every branch of the tree. The ornaments were a mix of dark blue and gold bells and balls, variously sized, and many of them sprinkled with golden glitter.

Featured among them were larger, glassblown ornaments shaped as suns, moons, and stars, as well as other traditional celestial symbols. The total effect was breathtaking--and a telling reminder that Hope was an Artist, deep down to her soul.

Watching him take in the full picture, her eyes sparkled with joyful anticipation of his response. Stephen's jaw had dropped, and he remained speechless as he circled the tree before he came to stand at Hope's side, pulling her to him with one arm around her back. "This is...marvelous, honey. Fantastic. Beautiful...and...and..."

"And nearly perfect for a Master of the Mystic Arts," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice, "Don't you think so, anyway?

Stephen nodded and laid a kiss on top of her head. "I can't imagine anything more perfect, Hope," he agreed, his voice grown thick with emotion. "You were planning this for a while, weren't you?"

"Only since mid-September," she laughed, then pointed to a stained-glass disk depicting the zodiac circling a stylized sun. "I saw that one at a craft fair, and it just sort of...inspired...the whole thing."

"I should've expected something this..." Stephen searched for the perfect word to describe not only the tree, but the sentiment her gift had him feeling, "...grand...from you, honey. Grand. Grand and perfect."

"It's actually a little short of perfect, Stephen," she confessed difidently.

"No, Hope...honey...it's perfect for me," he insisted, "Both as a wizard and as a man."

"I don't mean in that way, darling. It's...it's unfinished," she sighed, motioning to the crowning branch. "It's in want of a star."

"Aaaaaaah." Stephen let the moment linger before smirking, "And is that by design, or just something you overlooked?"

"I just can't reach it," came her plaintive, honest reply.

"I see." Stephen could feel how hard she was trying not to ask for his help, in light of her promise to him. How dear that was to him! A simple yet beautiful truth about this woman he loved. How could he not offer to help? "You know, I wouldn't mind adding the finishing touch, honey. If you'd allow me to, of course."

"I suppose that'll be alright, darling. If you wouldn't mind too much."

"Not at all," he told her, truthfully. "Do you have one, or shall I conjure something to match your theme?"

"Hold on," she replied, making a beeline to a dark pink box perched on the side table by the sofa. Hope removed an object swathed in tissue paper, unwrapping it very gingerly when she returned to his side. "This star is over a hundred years old. It came to America with my great-grandmother when she arrived from Ireland back in 1921. It passes to the eldest daughter in each generation..."

"And you're the lucky winner," Stephen observed in a hushed tone, immediately adopting the same reverence with which Hope handled the fragile antique.

"Yes," she sniffled softly. "Mom was the middle child, but her older sister didn't have any girls, so when she passed away, it came to me. That was during The Snap years. Once my mother came back, she never really recovered from finding out her sister had died alone, without the comfort of her closest friend and family member."

Stephen's first thought was of his own mother, Beverly, and of the colorless Christmases between Donna's death and her own. In the face of Hope's bittersweet revelation, he couldn't bring himself to express his observation; that grief had been his mother's cause of death as well.

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

Hope took note of the pain that briefly flickered across his features. "Stephen, are you alright? You looked so sad, all of a sudden."

"Oh, honey, I'm just...just so, so sorry for your loss. I know that grief doesn't take holidays, and there are times it hits so hard, it feels like the one we've lost...that it only happened yesterday." Mindful of the crystal star in his hands, he drew Hope into his arms, then rested his chin atop her head. "But the best comfort, I'm told, is remembering the best of times you shared with them."

The smallest voice in his head gave an ironic retort. Doctor, why don't you take your own advice and heal yourself for a change? Share your story with Hope, and by doing so, maybe you can put your own ghosts to rest.

Maybe so, he told himself. But not now; not tonight. I'm not ready to face that kind of pain just yet. And the small voice answered: of course you aren't. It seems you never are.

Stephen shook off that moment of weakness--as he always did. And with the gentlest charm he could manage, he floated Hope's star to the top of the tree and fixed it safely in place. That drew from Hope her prettiest smile, so that he dared a change of subject. "Well, in light of the heavy lifting I've just done, I think it's time we fix ourselves some turkey and gravy sandwiches and maybe watch 'The Grinch'. It's one of the few Christmas movies I actually enjoy."

"Jim Carey or the DreamWorks one," Hope asked as they headed, arm in arm, toward the closer of the two Sanctum kitchens.

"Jim Carey," he asserted with a grin, "The other is far too sentimental for my liking."

If you enjoyed this little fic so far, you can read more about how Stephen & Hope met and fell in love in my stories 'Friday in the Park with Stephen' (meet-cute, flirtation & fluff), and 14,000,604 (hurt/comfort, angst, passion/smut, lovers reunited against impossible odds).

In addition, I've written a couple of one-shots/promt fills as part of their ongoing series The Wizard and the Artist.

[lavthehufflepuffpuffpass]

Ruler whose brow is laid with thorn Chapter 2 {Ominis x masc MC}

read on ao3

introduction:

Poppy and Amadeus have a lovely long chat about the events of the year, and drink some potions. You can't tell me the students didn't get high like this. A fluffy chapter of Hufflepuffs being Hufflepuffs, and Poppy being my favourite girl in the world. Amadeus has burnt out gifted child syndrome, and is down incredibly bad for Ominis. Read til the end to see Natty be a dissapointed mother.

word count: 976

The Hufflepuff common room was empty except for Poppy and Amadeus, curled up on one of the lounges.

"Nearly midnight! You'd ought to go to bed, you two."

An exasperated enchanted portrait had reminded them of the time again and again, but the two remained engrossed in conversation about all that had happened over the past year.

Poppy had made an impromptu visit after receiving an owl that read "Need to talk. Ominis. -A"

She’d expected to meet her friend heartbroken, but instead she was met with Amadeus’ flushed face and incessant rambling.

“Ominis wasn't fond of that sort of endearment before now. I’m worried that he might be in a serious predicament and is in need of my help.”

Amadeus paced in front of the dying fire. It was a blessing that the Hufflepuff common room was near the kitchens. It was always cool on default, even in summer, and therefore the fireplaces never died down.  It must be some kind of magic. 

Poppy rolled her eyes fondly and produced a vial from her pocket. Amadeus stopped abruptly. 

“Here, draught of peace.”

“I could do with some peace of mind.”

They took alternating sips of the vial. Almost immediately, Amadeus felt sharper. His senses felt enhanced, his mind quickened and spun on a waltzer. He felt the alarming need to sit down, lest he'd fall to the floor. Once he was safely seated, he turned to see how Poppy was faring.

Poppy was feeling the effects of the potion as well. She'd folded her legs up under herself, and looked fit to burst with rapture. 

“Maybe, just maybe,” Poppy began. She stretched the last syllable dramatically, no doubt preparing one of her endearing pep talks.

“Maybe, Amadeus, you’re a lovely person who did the best he could for his friend and Ominis could see that.”

“That’s bollocks, Poppy. Merlin knows I betrayed him by allowing Sebastian to stray further into the dark arts.”

Amdeus sat up sharply. Realisation dawned on his face.

“Merlin’s bloody beard, Poppy, I myself strayed into the dark arts. The very thing that hurt Ominis more than anything. I know the unforgivable curses just as well as Sebastian does.”

Poppy said nothing.

She simply stared up at him thoughtfully. She wouldn’t tell him, but she’d assumed Amadeus had used unforgivable curses. She hated poachers, loyalists and assassins, of course she did, but she hadn’t expected the ferocity and vengefulness that Amadeus possessed in battle. Knowing the truth of the matter, well, it wasn’t at all surprising.

He sat back down, groaned, and keeled over, cradling his face in his hands. Poppy, not knowing what else to do, threw her arms around Amadeus from behind, pressing her face into his back. She listened to him talk without judgement. It was one of her strengths, loyalty and patience. Poppy was a Hufflepuff through and through.

“And Ominis,” Amadeus sighed. “I don’t deserve his tenderness. I tried everything and it wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t save Professor Fig, or Lodgok. I couldn’t stop Sebastian, or save Anne. It wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t enough.” His voice broke painfully on the last word. "How can I give my best to someone I've hurt. I love him, Poppy."

“I think this potion is faulty.” Poppy whispered. She had tears in her eyes.

Amadeus laughed, but it came out a half-sob.

Poppy produced another vile. “Oh! Here is the draught of peace.”

Slowly, Amadeus turned the empty vile over in his palm. He read out the label out loud, enounciating every syllable.

“Wit-sharpening potion.”

It may as well have been a laugh-inducing potion, for the pair of Hufflepuffs laughed until their sides hurt.

Afterwards, the exhausted Hufflepuffs took the time to recuperate, tangled on the lounge.

Poppy was the first to break the silence of the common room, save from the crackling embers and ticking clock.

“Amadeus?” The boy hummed in response.

Poppy turned on her side so she could look Amadeus in the eye.

“You are enough, Amadeus. More than enough. I know you don’t feel like it, but you’ve done so much good, too much to ever allow dark magic to make a home inside you. Ominis sees that. Or knows that. Or senses that. You’d been catching up on five years worth of spells, and yet you still made time for your friends, magical beasts, and the keepers. I think you’re the best of wizardkind.”

“That’s what Professor Fig said, before he… 'Wizardkind could not be in more capable hands'.”

“He couldn’t be more true, Amadeus. I mean it. I meant all of it. I do believe this potion is similar to truth serum.”

“Oh Merlin," Amadeus chuckled dryly. "You don’t still have that Draught of Peace, do you? My mind is whirring.”

“Oh, yes!”

Poppy scrambled to uncork the vial, and passed the vial to Amadeus, who gratefully took it.

Where his entire body ached with tension, each muscle relaxed. He melted into Poppy, who giggled and delightfully took a sip of her own. The two spent the rest of the night enjoying eachothers company. Amadeus thought of Ominis, and how he'd grown to care for him in a way he didn't realise he could for another boy. 

At breakfast, Natty looked the pair over incredulousy. The Hufflepuffs hadn't changed out of their robes from last night, and looked completely bedraggled. 

"What were you two doing last night? playing with potions?"

She shook her head at their sheepish expressions. 

"Do be careful, Poppy, Amadeus. Potions are not to be messed with." 

"We will," the friends mumbled. 

They both reached over for the pot of black coffee, missing it completely. Amadeus put his head down on the table, while Poppy shakily filled their cups.

"Merlin's beard." Natty laughed from her belly, bright and loud.  "You two get some rest, alright? I'll see you later."

[aries-tornado]

When I lived in Wisconsin I was not allowed to leave the house unaccompanied by my then fiance. Even when he'd go away for long hitches to the oil or solar fields, he'd buy a month or two worth of groceries for me, my daughter, and when we had them, our dogs.

I was not even allowed to go outside with the dogs to play with them, not even to clean up their poo. That was a job my fiance tasked to my then 4-5 year old daughter. Which, in a "normal" house hold is fine, at least I think. Especially with a parent helping and encouraging. But he was gone a lot in the winters and the ground would freeze. She'd struggle and my anxiety of having to shout to her from the cracked open door on how to make the task easier destroyed me the first time or two. Bless her, she listened so fuckjng well. But, after the second time, I told her to make a "big girl pinky promise" that I'd do it, but she had to tell "daddy" she was the one doing this task.

Any sane person would, rightfully, ask "but if your abuser was 2 states away, how would he even know if you went outside?" and it's a good question.

I was (looking back) so far into Stockholm Syndrome. My reality was so warped, and I lived not in *a* world, but his world. I felt like every neighbor was on his side, or his bank roll. Or, even though he would talk so badly of these neighbors, would calculate a way to make buddy buddy enough that if I was spotted outside, they'd feel comfortable to approach me and then text him. Like "hey, just saw your old lady doing yard work and finally introduced myself, nice gal!" And I add "finally" to that fake text scenario because, even living there 4 or 5 years, I NEVER met the left most male neighbor. My fiance would have beers with him sometimes on a weekly basis, over at his house, then come back drunk and accuse me of fucking the guy. Gun to my head, a line up to 5 men, I could not tell you who this man is. And our right most neighbor, I had seen once or twice, but only because he was an older man, who literally sold my fiance the house.

All that to say, I'd wait til midnight, 1am. I'd dress head to toe covered. Think black sweats, boots, a black hoodie, hood up and drawstrings pulled tight. I'd have to boil water, to throw on the ground, to melt the ice, to pick up the dog poop. I mean, whatever. It's not a big deal, but at the same time? Bonkers.

But whatever.

What I did in my spare time, in this jail cell of a home, is a complicated answer. But what I'm reminded of today, tonight actually, is when I was at my lowest mentally. Probably the last year, maybe 2 years. Time is a fickle bitch and it's kinda pointless to try to hammer down time frames from the past.

I taught myself how to lucid dream. And yes!! That is absolutely something you can teach yourself! It can be quite fun, and I had a LOT of time to nail it down. Before I got BAD bad, I'd have fun and fly around my childhood hometown. Visit places I remember fondly. But this isn't about those times.

Sleeping became an escape from my reality. And before anything else, let me just say YouTube and music were my biggest "awake" escapes. So when I tell you I'd dream about Pewdiepie just hanging out with me on my birthday, you can laugh. It's parasocial and weird. But who else could my subconscious conjure up?

Usually I'd go to sleep and let the dreams form on their own, and slowly take the wheel to turn it into something happy. Pewdiepie (Felix) and his now wife Marzia, were commonly good friends. Mac Miller, or someone resembling him, was a common "partner". I remember what felt like a year within my dream, of just living a "normal" life with "Mac". Having an apartment in NYC, going to the flea market together. Laying on the couch cuddling. Watching a TV show giggling, and looking up to see him not watching the show, but me, before kissing my forehead and telling me how cute I was. The funny thing was, truly, there was never any sex. Just happiness. Feeling lover.

It was lovely, and unhinged, to be able to even take an hour nap and feel transported far away. To a life where my fiance never existed. Even when my waking brain thought everything was, or would be okay...my sleeping brain knew I deserved unconditional love. And that this relationship was not okay.

Tricky thing is sometimes I'd wake up feeling better. But other times I'd wake up mad. Mad that it wasn't real. It's not like I actually expected to be wisked away by Mac Miller. Lol. I just wanted that kind of love. The life where I could walk outside with my head up, go places alone and be trusted. Not spend an hour covering up a black eye with a pound of makeup before resigning to be "that douche" that wore sunglasses inside.

But, happy or not afterwards? I miss that. Because that "superpower" of at least semi-lucid dreaming?

It's gone.

How many years has it been? 5, maybe six since I stepped foot, my daughters hand in mine, out of my exes truck, onto pavement, luggage in hand at the bus stop to "freedom".

And here I am, writing this, after a very long, no good, very bad, teeth clinching day off of work. My lucid dreams are now all nightmares. Night terrors. (Can you call it a night terror if it happens during a daytime nap? Huh..)

It felt like I had 10 long dreams today, but they all had the same tone. Me, in a situation, where I needed help. One of the dreams was about when my ex, but based on the IRL time we went to visit his brother and Mom in Las Vegas. He had herion connections there, and he bought us some. And we were both strung out of our minds for the maybe week we were there.

For clarity, I'll include this dream and my commentary of it in brackets...

[[But in this dream, I ran away in the middle of the night. Dropped like that little pin on Google Earth street view into the heart of the city. It was a mash-up of my real experience of being homeless in Albuquerque, as well. My mission was to stay "well" enough to make it to this rehab center that "I knew" would help me. Why I knew? Idk man, its a fuckin dream. I was constantly hiding in alleys, and junkie houses, only able to shoot up enough to be "okay" enough to continue running from the cops. (Now that I type this out - maybe the cops in my dream represented my ex. But who knows. I don't get too into dream interpretation). Anyway, long and frustrating situation after situation later, I made it to the rehab. I collapsed on the floor in front of what was a group session of already admitted patients. The staff helped me until they got my driver's license.

"You're 20" the nurse said to me blunty. "We only take minors, 13-19." I absolutely lost it, screaming and crying "BUT TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY, I JUST TURNED 20!! PLEASE!!! I NEED FUCKING HELP!"

The room was quiet and the other teenaged patients took up for me. Kinda saying "cmon, she's just barely 20, I'm sure you can bend the rules," etc.

I begged until I was drooling at the mouth before the nurses and doctors shook their heads in disappointment, "if only you'd have come a day sooner..."

I was kicked back to the streets, to which I knew I was a lost cause, and continued the cat and mouse chase that is homelessness & drug use.]]

Sleep used to be an escape. Peace. Sometimes just silly nonsense that dreams can be. But now, I just want to dream nothing. I wish I could train my brain to just shut the fuck up for a few minutes, a few hours, for fucks sake.

I woke up from this dream, and the many others, feeling like my world was spinning. Anxiety, clinched teeth, taking time to truly wake up and tell myself where I truly was. And this happens, a lot.

My mind is not a safe space to be. It is scary. It's a scary place to be alone in.

[deanswaywardgirl]

Goodbye

A/N: Okay, so this one shot hit me while I was at work. I was listening to Goodbye by Chris Young, and I paired it with this scene from Dawson's Creek (CJ, one of Jensen's roles, where his girlfriend Jen panics and breaks up with him on a whim after finding out her Grams has cancer. But they make up and he forgives her for her "freak out") But I had to figure out the Supernatural equivalent to that and this is what I came up with. Since it's a song fic, I've included the lyrics in bold.

Faith had been having a rough couple days since their last hunt to the point her and Dean were slightly avoiding each other. She'd spent all her time in her room, crying and remembering how Dean had been so angry with her when they'd gotten back to the bunker. She'd retreated to her room and hadn't seen much of him since. She'd seen him in the kitchen, and in the halls, but they hadn't spent more than five minutes together in one room, and the whole thing was driving her crazy. She knew what it was coming to, and she figured she should be the one to break it off, thinking it would hurt less if it came from her. Gathering every ounce of courage she could, she forced her feet down the hall to Dean's room, not stopping til the golden number eleven was staring her in the face. She knocked on Dean's door, and waited, biting her lip to keep the tears at bay, knowing if she caved, she could never go through with it. When the door opened and Dean appeared, the softness of his features hardened, seeing the obvious emotion on her face. "Faith? It's almost midnight."

"I know, Dean, I'm sorry. Can we talk?" Faith asked, swallowing thickly. He nodded and moved so she could enter, closing the door behind her. Turning to face him, she licked her lips and waited til he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You know it's been three days since we've spent any time together in one room. Everytime I walk in, you walk out with some excuse," he said, not bothering to hide his frustration.

"Because I wanted to avoid any more confrontation, Dean-"

"I thought we were past this. Hell, I am past it, you're the one avoiding me." Faith slightly flinched and dropped her eyes. She didn't know when the tears spilled over, but she forced her eyes to his and took a step towards him. "I'm leaving you." Dean stiffened where he stood.

"What?"

Knock on my door You're on my porch It's about 11:30 And that only means One of two things Either you're a little bit lonely Or something ain't right And judgin' by The tear in your eye You're about to say something crazy Like goodbye

"You heard me. We can't keep doing this, Dean, this dance of ours...it-it-it's not healthy. We worry about each other constantly, we're always afraid. And when i jump in front of you trying to save you, you lose your mind, yet you're completely comfortable doing the same thing to me. We have to give this up. Yes, we do. I am, I am giving this up, I'm giving it all up--"

Able to tell she was panicking and on the verge of a breakdown, he gently pulled her into his arms and kissed her with everything he had, gripping her waist with his fingertips. It didn't take long before she melted into it and gripped his hair with her fingers, kissing him back, using the bed to wrap her leg around his waist. Dean moaned deeply against her lips as he helped secure her hold on him, then pressed her against the wall, gently squeezing her thighs as he deepened the kiss even more. Faith gripped the opening of his jacket with her fingers as she kissed him, then reluctantly broke the kiss and pressed her forehead against his, her eyes still closed as he moved his lips to tenderly kiss her forehead, letting them linger against her skin.

Stop right there Don't say a word Just let me hold you Girl, we can fix Whatever it is So whatever you do Don't let us die The love of a lifetime Is worth at least a million tries Baby what we got Is too good for goodbye

Faith realized she'd tried to break up with him, tried to leave him, and a sob escaped her as she buried her face in his shoulder, holding onto him tightly.

"Faith, sweetheart, look at me," he said, but the girl shook her head as she held onto him tighter, afraid of what he would say. "Faith, hey, I need you to look at me," he whispered, settling on the edge of the bed with her in his lap. Faith forced herself back and looked into his eyes.

This ain't a game I'm trying to play Girl, we got something real here You don't just break up Whenever it gets tough So, baby, don't you leave here I want you to say You're gonna stay And we're in this thing forever Come whatever, so

"Dean, please, no..I can't. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I can't leave," she whimpered.

"Faith, listen to me." He took her hands and held them in both of his, swallowing thickly as a single tear fell down his cheek, the emotion in his voice. "I know I'm always telling you that you deserve better than me, and that you should leave and never look back. But this time, I'm gonna beg you to stay. Okay? Faith, I love you more than anything, and for once..forgive me, but I'm gonna be selfish with you, and beg you to stay with me," he told her, cupping her face in his hand, wiping away her tears. Faith pressed her forehead against his and held on to him with a death grip.

"Dean, I'm so sorry. I love you so damn much. I don't wanna leave you," she cried, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I panicked and I--I don't wanna leave. I'm sorry," she cried and buried her face in his neck.

"Shh, sweetheart, you're alright." Faith held onto him tightly and threaded her fingers into his hair as she held him.

"I love you, Dean," she whispered in his ear once she'd calmed down, though her voice was a whisper. Dean closed his eyes as he held his girl in his arms.

It wasn't long before the two were entangled in each other's embrace on the bed. Faith didn't wanna part from him for even a second, just the thought of leaving him breaking her heart all over again. Dean held her tightly and kissed her forehead, resting his chin on her head as he moved his fingers through her hair.

"So you thought I was gonna break it off with you, so you decided to do it first?" Dean asked after several minutes of silence. Faith nodded and swallowed thickly.

"Dean, I panicked. I couldn't stand the thought of you..." she shook her head and gently tightened her grip on him, her eyes welling up again as she bit her bottom lip. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. Dean tightened his hold on her. "Forgive me, please," she begged him. Dean let his lips linger as he kissed the top of her head again.

"I guess I do have a history of trying to get you to leave, so you panicking isn't a stretch." He clenched his jaw as he rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes until she picked up her head and glanced up at him.

"I love you, Dean, and I don't want to leave. I swear, I panicked." She let her eyes fall with a deep breath before licking her lips. "Is that okay?" she asked. Dean watched her for a moment and nodded, then gently turned them over and tucked her hair behind her ear, then brushed his lips against hers before kissing her again.

It was slow and sensual and deep. Faith wrapped her hand around to the back of his neck, threading her fingers into the small hairs on the back of his head, losing herself in his lips. When Dean pulled back, she looked up into his hazel eyes and stroked his cheek with a warm crooked smile.

"I love you, too," he told her and kissed the tip of her nose, then took her hand and laced their fingers together as he tucked her into his side and wrapped his arm around her from behind. "I always will," he whispered into her hair. Faith smiled softly as she made sure she was as close to him as she could physically get, her eyelids getting heavier as she drifted off in the arms of the man she loved.

It's too good for goodbye.

A/N: Hope y'all enjoy this one. It was a tad difficult, but I think I delivered it well. Feedback is welcome, though as always, be gentle. Thank you!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the lyrics, the song, or Dean, or SPN.

@wearywinchester @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @ellewritesfix05 @avanatural @deanwanddamons @chevyharvelle @deangirl93

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Okay. Look. Doing burgers on your birthday just reeks of an impromptu celebration. Which means that Lena probably didn't tell anyone, and Kara probably found her in her office, working late as she always does.

Lena probably made some joke-not-joke about spending holidays at her desk, and we just see Kara run through all the human holidays in her head and when none of them match the date she kind of quirks her head. "Holiday?"

And then Lena blinks, clearly only just realizing Kara doesn't know her birthday and she'd actually prefer to keep it that way so she tries to brush it off, nevermind.

Except Kara is quick, and puts the pieces together in another half a second.

"Lena, is today your birthday?!"

The answering grimace is all Kara needs.

"That is unacceptable," Kara declares. "Pack up. We're leaving."

"Kara it's really not--"

"Nope, you brought this on yourself. Now move."

And Kara ushers her out, informing her that while there are no lectures allowed on birthdays, come tomorrow they are going to have a very strongly worded conversation about telling their best friends their birthdays.

It's not until they get onto the street that Kara realizes it's past midnight and everything is closed. Well... almost everything.

She forces Lena into Big Belly Burger where she orders them burgers with all the works, fries and cheese sauce to dip them in, and root beer floats to round it all out.

"And where's the army that's going to eat all that?" Lena asks with a laugh, eyes shining with mirth.

"It's hard to make burgers fancy enough for birthdays," Kara tells her. "So we have to go for volume, that's the rule. And it's what happens when you don't give your best friend time to plan something better."

They stay there all night, talking and giggling until the sun comes up. It's a rare instance where the city fully sleeps, and Kara can stay without running off to be Supergirl. It's nice.

And Kara does plan a better party the following week, at one of the fancy restaurants that was one of Miss Grant's favorites. Everyone comes, and they celebrate Lena like she deserves.

But if Lena's being honest-- and she is, even if only to herself-- she liked Big Belly more. It becomes her favorite splurge, because with every bite comes a memory of that night when it was just her and Kara alone in a booth in a sleepy fast food joint, laughing til dawn.

Lena & Kara → Big Belly Burger

[dontwalkwiththedead]

When Meredith saw the front gate, she had never let out a breath of relief so deep. For the few moments it had taken the girls to round the corner, the older one felt like she couldn't breathe, until she saw the front gates exit. Meredith could scarcely believe her luck; luck was a hard thing to find in the shitty world they were in and she was incredibly grateful it had shown now to appear. Without looking back, her and Willow left the establishment and as she promised, vanished deep into the woods where their camp was. They had converted a treehouse into a small, liveable home, where they spent a good portion of their days hunting or doing art of some shape or form. The treehouse's water stained walls were covered in drawings, nailed in with tacks Meredith had found on a run. Being able to safely make it back to the treehouse, especially after Meredith had been positive she lost Willow, was a blessing indeed.

Unfortunately, the blessing didn't last long. As most blessings did in the dark world that consumed her inhabitants. After only two weeks of being back on their own, enjoying the serenity of the forest, Willow got sick. It seemed unconcerning at first, just some fatigue and a gentle cough. Then, within forty-eight hours, the little girl was practically coughing up a lung and running a high fever that Meredith couldn't break. When they reached the third day, and Willow's condition hadn't improved, despite Meredith's efforts with natural medicine, the older girl knew she'd have to do something drastic.

She had to break into the establishment she had sworn never ever to return to.

She didn't give it much thought past the decision to go, because she knew she didn't have a choice. Willow needed medicine and an IV, and the settlement was the only place Meredith knew for sure had what they needed. So, after leaving Willow tucked into her make shift bed with a days worth of water and food, she grabbed her hunting knife and made her way back.

She waited til nightfall, being careful to stay hidden from both people and the walkers. Then, once midnight struck, she slipped into the establishment through the hole she had dug under the wall. Once she was inside, she stuck to the alleyways as she slunk over to the infirmary. She had to make it without getting caught, Willow's life depended on it.

dontwalkwiththedead:

As they got further and further away from the school building, Meredith felt less and less tensed. This was almost over, they were almost out of there, soon they’d be back in their camp deep in the forest.

Or so Meredith thought until the man pulled a fast one on her.

She didn’t know where the front entrance was, because she had broke a part of the wall and climbed in that way. She came from an entirely different side of the settlement, and had no clue what was in the second half.

Swallowing thickly, she discreetly held up four fingers to Willow. Whenever they were in a bad situation, where they couldn’t talk, Meredith would rate the danger of their situation to Willow by holding up her fingers. She rated the danger of their situation on a scale of one to five, so the younger girl knew this was bad.

“Of course, thank you for your understanding in all this, you won’t see us again,” Meredith said quickly as she scanned the area and the ground beneath them. There were fresh tracks, tire and feet, going to the left. That had to be the front exit.

Grabbing Willow’s hand, Meredith started in that direction as she tried to ignore her heart pounding in her chest.

Once outside, The Governor does slip his Beretta back into its holsters and follows along behind the pair a short distance away. Close enough for others to know the three were still travelling in a group, but far enough that he might be able to ready himself if she were to suddenly lash out. 

The Governor doesn’t answer her verbally and instead just hums his acknowledgement of her polite promise. He continues to follow behind them as she chooses to go left with the young girl in tow. The Governor keeps one hand on his belt in the old southern fashion (and conveniently close to his holster) while the other hand swings loosely at his side. 

Fortunately for the pair, the path she chose would lead out to the main street of Woodbury, by which the front gate could then be easily seen.