#she's needed this maternal touch so badly

[waughymommy]

MOMMY KNOWS BEST

CHAPTER 2

Sunlight splashed into the bedroom and Rebecca started to stir awake. As she opened her eyes, she realized that Brian was still in the same position he was in when they fell asleep. He was still asleep and to her delight he was still suckling on his pacifier. She managed to wriggle herself free and made for the kitchen to make her coffee. The previous evening was coming into focus and she realized that she had a lot of work to do. Her home wasn’t equipped for a baby yet. She had much to prepare, so many things to get. First thing first was to make plans for a nursery. She started to daydream about all of her plans when footsteps crept up behind her. “Good morning Rebecca,” Brian said sheepishly. She whipped around, “Rebecca? Have you have forgotten last night already?” Her voice was steady and firm, but also lovingly maternal, “Can you tell me what you are wearing?” Brian turned his eyes to floor and fidgeted. So embarrassed, he could barely find his voice. “Brian, I asked you a question. What are you wearing sweetheart?” This time he managed to allow words to escape, “Im, Im wearing a……diaper.” The last word exited as a faint whisper. “What was that? I couldn’t hear that last word.” He nervously glanced up to see her face, but he couldn’t find the strength to look her in the eyes and once again focused on the floor. “I said a diaper.” “That’s so good sweetheart. I’m so proud of my baby. Now tell me whose diaper is it.” He closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere but here. “It’s my…my diaper.” “You are doing so great sweetie. Now can you tell me what you were suckling on when you woke up?”

 Why won’t she just let me go. Overcome with his embarrassment, he snapped. “Forget this whole thing, Rebecca. Can we just pretend like last night happened? I shouldn’t be doing this. I just need to grow up and forget this stupid fantasy.” He stormed back into the bedroom. Rebecca took it all in stride. She knew her husband too well. She knew he would refuse to let go. He would fight it, even though he wanted this so badly. He was never going to give himself permission to just let go. It was going to be up to her to regress him. She entered the bedroom, just as Brian was about to un-tape his diaper. “Do not touch that diaper, young man!” “You can’t tell me what to do, Rebecca.” The look in her eyes made him realize his mistake. She marched over and pushed him down onto the bed. She smacked the back of his thigh as hard as he could. He let out a cry much to his surprise. “Get over my lap. And if you disobey me, you will absolutely regret it.” The sheepish feeling swept over him again and he complied. She pulled down his diaper. She laid smack after smack over his cheeks. At first he tried to grit his teeth through the pain, but after a few minutes tears streamed down his face. Tears turned to sobs as snot ran down his face. What a sight. Here was a grown man in a diaper over his wife’s knee getting a full spanking. Rebecca let up and with that same forceful maternal tone spoke up once again, “Let’s try again. Now what were you suckling on earlier?” Brian heaved his chest to catch his breath after the uncontrollable tears. “A pacifier.” “That’s right honey. So you have your diaper and your pacifier. Who uses those?” “Ba…babies.” “Great job. So if babies wear diapers and suck on pacifiers, what does that make you?” He tried to wipe the snot from his nose. There was no way to pretend that he didn’t look like a baby in this moment. “I’m a baby.” The sobs started up again, “I’m just a baby. I’m so sorry mommy.” Rebecca wrapped her arms around him and brought his face to her chest. “That’s right sweetheart. You are mommy’s baby. Mommy wants you to be her baby. I know you feel embarrassed Brian, but there is no reason to feel that way. I want this too. But you need to trust mommy and listen to me. Mommy knows best. Let me take control and I will make everything all better. Will you do that for me? He looked up and just nodded. She reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his pacifier. She gently placed it between his lips. “Once you have calmed down, I want to you to get dressed for me. Mommy has a lot of work to do. So today, you will get to be an adult. I want you to spend the day as a big boy. Go have some fun. But I want you back here this evening and we can discuss your return to babyhood.”

To be continued…

[lilithliliam]

Yandere Shoto Todoroki

Warnings:contains sexual content. obsessive behavior. references to kidnapping, references to rape, delusional thoughts. all characters have reached adulthood. Forced marriage. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. cock warming

I do not approve or recommend this behavior.

For readers strictly of legal age.

Enjoy🫡

Beginning:

Shoto was never interested in friends, friendship and relationships, but for some reason his eyes always stumbled upon the lady. She was beautiful, smart and strong. Perhaps she could even compete with Shoto himself if she spent more time training and studying. But for some reason she preferred to have fun, laugh and communicate with people, in particular Midoriya. The lady was very cheerful, laughing at recess and even managed to joke with Bakugou and win him over in petty arguments. She shone with kindness and happiness and treated everyone with her inherent love and maternal affection. Once, when Shoto was badly injured in a training battle, the lady took him to the recovery girl and even took care of him after.

"Don't frown, Todoroki-kun, come on, smile," said the lady already in the nurse's office, treating his face. Her soft hands and light touch like butterfly wings made something in his heart flutter. He decided that perhaps he was still not cured and perhaps he hit his head hard, and this is certainly good, because then she would continue to take care of him, he thought. But it turned out that he had already recovered and the nurse sent him and the lady back to the classroom.

He looked at you and Izuku and at your warm relationship, and more and more often caught himself thinking that he was jealous of him. You must always tend to Izuku's wounds as well and smile at him, blow on his wounds and maybe even kiss him.

During the sports festival, when Shoto called Izuku to talk, a lady who thought it was strange decided to eavesdrop on their conversation. Shoto talked about the situation in his family and other words that he would definitely win Izuku. Then at the festival, when Izuku fought Shinso and almost lost, the lady shouted loudly at Izuku that she believed in him, that he was her hero and one day the whole world would see him through her eyes and he would become a hero for everyone. And please don't give up, she said. It was her words that made him fight and eventually win. When the lady was going to the restroom, someone grabbed her hand and that person turned out to be Shoto. The lady remembered his story and she felt sorry for him and at the same time she was ashamed that she got into his life so much, which she immediately shared with Shoto and even asked for forgiveness. "It's okay, I wouldn't talk about it if I didn't want anyone to know about it," Shoto replied. However, the words you said to Midoriya are words of encouragement. He would also like to hear them in his address. Please say it. He asked you, and meanwhile his grip on your hands became stronger. You tried not to pay attention to it and smiling at this unfortunate, lost guy like a puppy, you said: "

"Todoroki kun you don't have a bad side or a good side, you are one and the same. There is no mom or dad side. There is only you. Todoroki Shoto. You are Shoto. You don't need to hide your emotions, feel anger, sadness or joy is not bad at all. what a person is made of. Don't let the fears of childhood and other people's instructions spoil your future, your present. Just try to enjoy every day and be yourself, okay?" He stood with a stone face, although a hurricane of feelings and thoughts raged inside him.

And taking advantage of this, the lady quickly said goodbye, snatched her hand and ran back. By the way, without going to the toilet.

Shoto is not stupid at all, but these feelings inside him are alien to him. He does not understand what it is, what to do with it. He is sick? He dies? But why is he then so good and at the same time bad. Especially when he sees you with someone else. Why do you want the whole world to disappear and only the two of you remain. So that you can always take care of him and support him. His sister told him it was love, and she seems to be right. And while Shoto did not know what to do and how to deal with these feelings, he decided to keep you closer to him, scaring off potential rivals with his whole appearance.

What provoked:

Since Shoto courageously and steadfastly realized and accepted his feelings for the lady, he decided not to hesitate and, like a real man, start courting his lady. After reading all sorts of useful and even stupid tips from the Internet and even buying a book: "How to care for a lady of the heart. A book for dummies"

And so he decided to be with the lady all the time, buying her sweets, straightening her hair, making strange compliments like: "I think if you were yourself, you would be hot yourself, because you are very warm. And although I like cold soba , soba like you, I would love even more" And of course you did not know how to react to this. Er...Thanks? Maybe...

Once Shoto, who masterfully learned how to manipulate you, his lady, asked to sleep with you at night, saying that he had a nightmare and he pressed his face against your chest all night and at some point even began to cry, remembering all the bad things that happened to him It happened. And you had no choice but to stroke his head and whisper soothing things. Since then, he constantly asked to cuddle up to your chest. He asked me to stroke him, to calm him down. He kept talking about how hard his life was and what a bad day he had today. But if you, his lady, hug him and let him lie on your chest, the day will be much better. He monopolized all your time, not allowing you to communicate with other people. If someone came up, he always looked menacingly at this person, and if you, God forbid, began to communicate closely with someone, he would start a real tantrum. And he could even freeze the poor fellow who dared to approach you. Your friends, who noticed such a special attitude of Todoroki towards you, suggested "maybe the cold prince is not indifferent to you? M. Suddenly he fell in love." To which the lady replied that she did not. Shoto just wants friends, wants attention and affection. For him, all this is new and he does not understand how to be friends correctly (although in his heart he doubted his words) and besides, she does not like Shoto. Lady too loves freedom, live communication. Shoto is just her friend. She knew this for sure. But she did not know that Shoto was behind the wall and heard everything.

But how is it? You... don't like him? But it's not mutual. Shoto thinks you two are perfect for each other. And you don't like him? And suddenly you like someone else. Like Izuku or Kaminari? An unbearable thought. God cannot be so evil. After all, Shoto experienced so many bad things in his short life, and when he met you, he was sure that you were given to him for all the suffering. To pay back all the years of torment and pain, you had to love and support him. And now you're saying such terrible things. No, that can't be true, maybe you just don't understand how much Shoto loves you, maybe you want proof. Certainly. He squeezed the handle with his hand, gloomily looking down at his feet:

"I love you, love, love. Madly. And you, love me. Honey, I will do everything ... In other words, the process is running.

Abduction:

Shoto wouldn't want to force you to live with him. In his dreams, you would have gone with him voluntarily. He believes that the whole problem of his father and mother is that he was cruel to her and not in their relationship itself. And because he will be extremely affectionate, and will never raise his hand to you. Shoto will act carefully. I use every possible way. He wouldn't even hesitate to ask his father for help if he had to. M, what is it? Did your apartment where you lived burned down? Do you have problems with money, but don't want to contact your parents? Has there been a riot in the area where you live? Yes, it’s probably not safe to live there now. But don’t worry! Shoto wouldn't be a friend if he didn't offer you his help. You can live at his house. He can solve all your problems himself. Money is not the problem. As soon as he persuades you to live with him, you can be sure that you will not leave from there. Shoto will look for excuses, each time leaving you more and more in their house, until one day he simply stuns you with the words they say "come back home? But here is your house, with me, oh dear, have you forgotten? We will soon get married. It's okay to live together before marriage, but if you're worried about it, perhaps for some religious reason, then Shoto can arrange for the two of you to have a wonderful wedding in no time."

And if you resist, you try to run home, Shoto can even tie you to the bed using a bracelet to block your quirk. And if you think that his father, or one of his family members, will help you, you are very mistaken. They have never seen Shoto as happy as he is now, and therefore it is better that they pretend that everything is fine in "your" family. After all, not such things happened in their house.

Shoto is a young man, with great energy, with a lot of stress, in the midst of puberty. Previously, before meeting you, things of an intimate nature were of little interest to him, but now everything is different. Even earlier, he thought how good it would be to start living an intimate life with you, kissing, giving each other warmth. Isn't that what lovers do? And the sight of your breast makes him have a burning desire to expose it completely, lick and suck, because it is so soft and elastic. And it smells good. But now, he has every opportunity to turn all his fantasies into reality. Shoto won't force you, at least right away. But his patience has a limit. And so, one day, it breaks. He believes that if he made you cum, then this automatically makes your sex voluntary. Otherwise, why do you cum on his tongue and fingers again and again. You can cry and scream, but Shoto sees that you feel good. He prepared well, learned a lot on the Internet. He will make you happy. But you can even say your preferences, where do you like it? Here? Maybe here? Do you want him to suck this charming bundle of nerves, or maybe hit him with his tongue? And only after he makes you cum several times. He decides to proceed to the most important thing. And when you see how he undresses, how he exposes his cock and directs it into your entrance, your body, previously clouded with the pleasure of orgasm, starts to panic again.

"Don't be afraid," Shoto says, "It won't hurt," He promises.

It hurt.

As soon as he entered you, he seemed to forget about everything in the world, the feeling that he experienced was the most pleasant in his entire life and he was lost in this feeling. Your walls are so soft and warm. They seemed to have been waiting for his cock all their lives. They hugged him like that, as if not wanting to let go, but Shoto himself did not want to leave, he could be buried in you forever. It went in and out of you again and again, chasing that unexplored feeling that was approaching. Holding your hands tightly against the head of the bed and kissing your mouth. He stuck his tongue so deep into you, never ceasing to enter and put pressure on all your sensitive points. He was like in paradise. He finally became one with you, body and soul. You didn't even have time to ask him to pull it out when he finished painting your insides milky. What if you get pregnant? But you didn't even have the energy to start worrying about it. All later. Now I just want to sleep. But Shoto has other plans. One time wasn't enough for him. He still had strength, and the night had just begun. Come on, he knows that you can take him again, and come again and again. Shoto will help you. He knows you want it too. And even after Shoto has had sex with you several times, he won't want to come out of you afterwards, wanting to be in you all night. Closer to him. Shoto knows that this is not enough for him again, but you two still have a whole life ahead of you. In the meantime, you can sleep, dear. After all, in the morning Shoto will still wake you up to continue.

[thecameronchronicles]

Haunted House

TW: Semi-public sex. Language. 

SUMMARY: Your secret relationship with Topper walks a dangerous line as he chooses to show his affection for you in a more public place beneath the guise of the annual Haunted House. 

WORD COUNT:

*Original Concept*

Haunted House

The fact you were in a secret relationship with Topper was solely to protect you. The way his friends would compare you to Sarah would be a weight he didn’t want you to have to bear. And even if you craved the sweet moments like being able to hold his hand in public or share photos on social media of just how happy he made you, there was a thrill in being together beneath the cover of darkness. Something exhilarating to be seen and even more exciting in knowing that these moments were never exactly planned. Lust took over for reason on more than one occasion. And tonight would prove no different. 

His mother, Cynthia, had convinced him to work the annual haunted house as a means for ‘charity work’ as well as an excuse to keep him at arm’s length as she was rarely one to show any form of true maternal instinct. But because of this, you were set to meet him after it closed as it had been a week and a half since your last interaction, a desperation beneath the eager pep in your step as you would be sandwiched between your friends while they led the way through the decorated shed set up on the beach. 

But through ghouls and zombies, werewolves and vampires, even a mental patient strapped to a chair, you wouldn’t find him beneath any of the cheap makeup already ruined by sweat. Instead, you feigned amusement in the jumpscares before being left behind as you became trapped by one of the actors you had recognized as having been Kelce. Committing to his psychotic aesthetic, you offered a smile before moving forward, a sudden force taking you into a darkened corner kept just out of view from the parade of patrons having paid for this thrill, as you would find this one for free. 

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” He asked, lips captivating yours as his hands were eagerly hooked at your hips. 

“I think I can feel how much…” You teased, chuckling as he would scoff. 

“You laughing at me, baby?” Your skin chilled whenever he’d call you anything-even something as simple as your name. But to know this pet name belonged to you had set your heart at an unsteady pace, as he pinned you harder into the wall. 

“Did you miss ME?” Before you could answer, his fingers were beneath the skirt of your own costume, as you fisted the shirt of his zombie aesthetic. 

“Oh you did, didn’t you baby? You need me real badly, don’t you?”

“So bad…” You breathed slowly, as he would pull you against him, his body tensing to the way your grip wrapped around his biceps. 

“Topper-”

“I love when you say my name, especially when my fingers get to know how it affects you….

“But somebody could hear-”

“They’ll just think your screams are from someone else…all while we both know I’m the only one making you scream, ain’t that right, baby?” You nodded. 

“So then do it baby…scream for me…” His arm rose and fell in the small space between you, the sight euphoric to the length your eyes were able to remain open before the pleasure of his touch became too much. Your body trembled at the way his thumb came to your clit and his middle and pointer finger curved inside of you, your clitoral hood and its sensitive nerves within were forced to rock into him as he nodded in endorsement. 

“That’s it, ride my hand…feel good for me…I’ve missed those little purrs you make-Just for me…” You wrapped your grip around his wrist, feeling him quicken as he knew this to be your silent warning of being close, a need for more but a desperation for him to continue. 

“That’s okay, baby…I want you to-”

“I don’t want it to stop-”

“It’s alright…Come for me…okay? Let me feel it two fucking meters from where anyone can see us…” He licked his lips. “Actually….” Your leg was suddenly hiked over his hip, your panites pulled to the side, before he was suddenly inside of you. 

“Top!”

“Too fucking long-” He grunted into your shoulder. His hands were quick to assess your chest, squeezing lightly at your breasts but aggressively at your hips as he would pull you into him. 

“Shit-” He groaned into your neck, a hand wrapped in your hair to pull you to face him, before his speed increased, your second leg taken around his waist in such a way that he was able to lift you with the support of the wall at your back. With eyes rolled into the back of your head and his praise grunted into your skin, you found a quick release as he was swift to follow. Depth and speed in perfect synchronicity left you both in a temporary tremble before you were set back down to your feet. 

“Ten minutes, my truck-I’m taking my time with you next time.” You nodded, feeling him pull you in for one final kiss, before returning to his shift. You returned your own costume to an attempt at normalcy before joining your friends at the exit, their eyes looking to you with wonder. 

“There you are-must have really got you good, huh?” Sarah asked as you slowly nodded. 

“Definitely…” 

And this was the final reason your relationship was a secret. You were best friend’s with his ex, Sarah. The idea of how Topper had been embedded between your legs in such depth and frequency would only hurt her. And even if she had been unfair to him with her relationship with John B and even if he had a right to move on just as she did, you also knew nobody would understand how you lusted for Topper. And tonight, under the guise of masks and costumes, you didn’t have to worry about hiding. 

At least for tonight…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #214

Your opinion on smoking: I don't think it's a good idea, but you do you. I don't at all support smoking around others that do not consent to it, however; smoking right outside of public spaces even makes me mad. Second-hand smoke has killed an obscene amount of people. You don't have to touch a cigarette to die from lung cancer.

Have you ever wanted a wild animal for a pet? If yes, what animal? I am very serious about rescuing an opossum one day. I would never do this without the proper education and permit though.

Do you like group work? Absolutely not.

Do you have any stickers on your laptop? No, but I'd like some. It's just not something I'm willing to spend money on when you consider I don't have an income, and I certainly don't care enough to ask for laptop stickers as a present.

Does your grass need cut currently? No, the dude who mows our lawn was here not too long ago.

Are you a godparent? No.

Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? Yep.

How many watches do you own? None.

Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? Girt, for just being a great guy.

Have you ever been carded when buying something? Yes.

Can you have more than one best friend? Of course you can.

What was the last thing you drank? At the time I'm answering this question, I have raspberry lemonade-flavored water.

Do you ever wonder if you will get in a car accident and die? Yes, I do. I'm terrified of cars on the road.

One night stand or relationship? One night stands are not for me.

Do you honestly have any regrets? Yes.

Who was the last girl to say something to you? My mom.

New tats in your near future? No. Of course I WANT loads more, but they're just not my priority right now.

How about piercings or re-piercings? Again, probably not soon, despite wanting more. I'll maybe ask for a nose piercing for Christmas, but that's not exactly soon.

Have you ever had a tattoo covered up or added to? Two actually. I plan on covering one more (it's very simple and VERY badly placed since it takes up such prime skin real estate for a bigger piece and I want to redesign it and place it elsewhere), and if possible, I actually plan on tampering with my Markiplier tribute tattoo; I no longer want his logo. Not because I don't like him anymore or have forgotten what his content got me through, but it's just not... relevant to my interests anymore. I would have to talk with tattoo artists to see if it's doable, but I'd actually like to adapt it to JUST a space background and, over time, expand the tattoo over the area more to add people and pets I treasured who have passed away, floating in space looking happy with astronaut helmets. I REALLY want this. It'd finally be a prime place to implement Teddy's dedication tattoo, and certainly I'd add my mom when she passes, probably even Steve Irwin, etc. etc.

Have you ever kissed someone who has previously kissed someone you hated? Yes, Jason.

Do you have any relatives with red hair? I don't think I do. My maternal grandma dyed her hair a reddish color, but it wasn't natural.

What’s your favorite kind of pasta? Just your average spaghetti with normal sauce, and add meatballs.

Have you ever had rabies? Nope.

Do you know anyone who ever had to get a rabies shot? I think so?

Ever eaten deer? Duck? Squirrel? How about lamb? No. I've heard lamb is delicious and I kinda have this urge to try it, but... the idea of eating a literal baby animal fucks with me and I don't think I really want to.

Does your car have heated seats? No, Mom's car is extremely old.

Have you ever been tempted to steal? From my friend as a kid, haha. I was OBSESSED with Dory from Finding Nemo and she managed to get the Dory toy that McDonald's had at some point and I was so envious. Of course I didn't actually take it, though.

Would you rather travel to Ireland or Japan? Ireland.

Does tickling turn you on? It sure doesn't.

What is the age gap between you and your parents? Mom is like two years older.

How many bathrooms does your house have? Is this enough? Two, yes.

Have you ever dated someone who was emotionally or mentally unstable? Yup.

Be honest: are you clingy? Not SEVERELY, but I am. I know how to control clingy urges though, like Girt always says I'm clingy enough for him to feel very loved but also not overwhelmed or like I'm pushing myself on him, he thinks it's a perfect balance.

Have you ever had bronchitis? No, thankfully.

Have you ever had a reptile for a pet? Multiple! My first was Shadow, a Chinese water dragon (I was a kid and they were very improperly cared for, they are not beginner reptiles and I had no idea what I was doing, but they lived the species' full lifespan and was a sweet thing, I hope the sweetheart knows how much I loved them and how differently I'd do things now), and I've also had two snakes in my past: Mona Lisa (died very mysteriously, I was devastated) and Cato, who died VERY quickly because they came to me with some sort of intestinal issue. Don't buy animals from PetSmart. 🙃🙃🙃🙃 Now I've had a champagne ball python morph named Venus for many years, she's my darling. I plan on having MANY more reptiles throughout my life.

Are you afraid of the dentist? I sure am. I never really was until I started to pay for the neglect of my teeth and had painful, scary procedures, plus the extraction of my wisdom teeth without being put to sleep because we couldn't afford it. I had bad problems with not brushing from my depression, simply forgetting, and executive dysfunction, but OH yeah I've learned my lesson and take much better care of them now.

Did you attend Sunday School as a child? I was forced to. Trust me, I wouldn't have gone if I had the choice. I harbor a lot of bitterness about this. I know my mom just wanted the best for me, to be a "saved" child of her god, but I KNOW religion being forced on me played a ginormous role in why I'm so hateful towards its existence, because faith caused me a lot of hell and self-conflict.

Your boyfriend/girlfriend isn’t around but their phone is. Do you look through it? No, because I trust him fully.

Have you ever liked anyone that was in a relationship with someone else? More than once. My first crush had a girlfriend, but they were struggling and he confided in me a lot.

Do you think your last ex ever thinks about you? Oh, I know she does. But not positively. She's an extremely hateful person and how dare I betray her by not keeping her being a Nazi a secret.

Would you rather have salad or french fries for a side dish? If I ever, EVER, order a salad over fries, ask with great concern if I'm okay.

Which one of your relationships was the shortest? With Juan. It didn't even last 24 hours.

Which was the longest? Over three and a half years.

Have any of your exes told you they regret breaking up with you? No.

Are you going to be getting any new pets soon? Not soon. I might be talking my mom into a velvet spider for Christmas, though... I talked about it with her recently, and they're small and OBNOXIOUSLY cute (even though she didn't quite think so lol), but because of their size, harmlessness, and I think especially my passion when talking about it, I think she might FINALLY acquiesce about me getting a pet spider. I will fucking cry if she agrees to it come Christmastime. It's no tarantula, but it's still a spider species I adore.

Do you like BBQ sauce? No, I literally hate it.

What do you like to do when you’re home alone? The same thing I do when Mom's here: I do shit on my computer. The only difference is I rarely listen to stuff without earplugs.

Should the guy always pay for the date? lmao shut the fuck up

Do you like Frozen? I don't hate it, I think people claim to hate it just to say they do, but I don't necessarily like it either. There are much better Disney movies.

Do you use Instagram often? Yes, more than usual as of the late.

What is one question you don’t like being asked? What I do for a job or what I even do in my free time.

Who is someone you know who is talkative? My nephew, haha.

Do you know anyone who plays the violin? Not that I know of.

Out of all your usernames for websites, which one is your favorite? Do you use it for more than one site? Ozzkat. It's what I use for most places.

Have you ever spent the whole day (or multiple days) just looking up one thing on the internet (e.g., videos of your favorite band, how-to videos, quizzes, etc.)? Bro I'm autistic, this is my LIFE

If someone told you that we live in a society that hates women, how would you respond? Absolutely agree.

Which of your breakups was the hardest for you to get over? ANYONE who reads these knows it was Jason.

What did you have for dinner last night? We had breakfast for dinner: eggs, sausage, and biscuits. The sausage was a brand Mom had never gotten before and it was the best I'd ever had, but of COURSE it was a more expensive brand haha, so I doubt that'll be common to have.

Do you write poetry? If so, what kind of poetry do you write? I did, mostly just angsty stuff as I dealt with mental illness. I haven't written a poem in a long time, but I actually do have concepts written down that are much more positive and hopeful.

Have your parents traveled to any countries that you have not been to? No.

What's your favorite type of gemstone? Opals of various sorts. I'm also fond of rubies.

Would you rather take a class in fencing or archery? Archery, by far.

Have you ever had a stalker? No, not to my knowledge. For which I am extremely thankful.

What was the last strong scent you smelled? A dead animal somewhere, I think.

When was the last time you changed your outfit? This evening, when Girt and I got home from Charlotte from him getting the exercise bike Javier was selling. I changed into my pjs.

What was the last thing you took a picture of? The worm snake I found at Ashley's house and showed the kids!

What were the positives and negatives of your last week? Positives are definitely multiple instances where I've really challenged my fears. The most obvious negative is I'm not as happy as I could be with my new psychiatrist; she's not as bad as the last, but still quite rude, EXTREMELY interruptive when I or Mom are talking, and just made me feel like a total fucking idiot.

What is one of your wildest dreams or ambitions? To have a photograph published by National Geographic.

What was the subject of your last phone conversation? My dad called me to talk about fishing plans. I still think fishing for fun and not consumption (re-released fish can easily encounter infection and die) is a mean, selfish thing to do, but... for the sake of bonding with my dad (who I very rarely see) and nephew, I am willing to choke on my morals here and enjoy something I did as a child with my family.

What are your plans for tomorrow? How about the weekend? Big ol' nothing. Today was a long day. It is the weekend.

What did the last jacket you wore look like? It's just a very simple, plain black with a hood. Quite sure the material is cotton.

[fumblingmusings]

What is going through francis' mind when evelyn pushes him away from matthew? Is he just annoyed with evelyn for acting like he would somehow make things worse when he was trying to help or does it sting a bit that he is no longer seen as even being an older brother to matthew? What are their interactions like? I know they're preoccupied with the war and are all allies but having the whole face family together at that point seems like it would be incredibly awkward. At least evelyn and francis had a sweet moment but i imagine it's strained at times.

He thinks she's being very childish and unhelpful. She isn't pushing him away because it's Francis particularly - she's just lashing out and in that instinctive maternal 'anyone who touches my kid wants to harm them' mindset - like what you see in things like swans when they think their babies are going to be hurt. Oftentimes it is very unhelpful to have the parent flapping and hissing in the background, but they genuinely don't know any better, or they're just in a complete blind panic.

At the same time, she let's Alfred get closer, so again, it's obvious she is not exactly facing up to facts on who is on her side, and at this point in time it is not America. I think it's rather undervalued how much the French and British troops really needed and relied on each other and worked together. The Americans and the (lack of) integration into Allied Forces was a real bone of contention. Evelyn's not got her right head screwed on in that moment - she's in Eva mode, not England mode, if that makes sense. It annoys Francis because she always has the wrong head on at the wrong moment. She can be excellent in a crisis, but only when it pertains to herself. The minute someone else gets involved she is a bit useless.

I think they were both kind of surprised that the Entente ended up working out as well as it did. They are both old as fuck as they are both prone to melancholia, so there are times were they just sit and bond over going 'what the fuck have we done to the world?' you know? But then Francis is more likely to go 'Ah. C'est la vie' and get going whereas Evelyn is more likely to not let it go.

Having said that... The French really went through it in WWI. 70% of those who went off to fight came back injured, or never came back at all. The British Empire's figure, as far as I can see, is around 35%. (The US stat is 8% - like I really can't explain how much WWI wrecked Europe). So for France it's: a fifth of the entire population goes off to fight, and 15% of the entire population are either dead or injured one way or another by the end, and those that do come back 'unharmed' may be carrying trauma of their own. My numbers are probably off. But. Considering France already had an ageing population in 1914... like it's just really hard to verbalise how much the war completely fucked with France's people, and its land.

Francis is hurting badly, and he's getting like no emotional support from the woman who's his closest ally, because she's flapping around being generally unhelpful giving doe eyes towards a kid who's still really wary of her. Francis is more practical than her, but we all know in canon Francis loves to be known as big brother. His actual attempts to act brotherly however... need work. But the big brother angle can very much be read as 'exerting influence without having having to do any actual caretaking'. He wants to have his cake and eat it too without putting in any of the emotional labour that... well. He's a bit sad that Matthew isn't exactly clamouring for his attention, but he's not vain enough to not understand why. For all Evelyn's faults, she certainly allows herself to be weak for her kids. Over and over again sentimentality is her downfall. No-one could ever accuse Francis of the same.

Francis has a better grip on what it is to be a nation and is more compelling on a larger group; Evelyn has a better grasp on what it is to be human and is more compelling one on one. I think that's a neat way to differentiate them.

[lifewiththelulus]

"Wade I think we need to be honest, we…we've been trying for months, if it was going to happen for us it would have by now right? I.. we wanted so badly to think we could fight the odds like before, break another barrier, but its time to face it. Elements dont mix, not like this." His eyes shone with pain, not only for the truth of her words but that its obviously been hurting her so badly keeping all this in. Ive talked to your mom, Ive seen the way you talk to kids at work, I know how much you want a family but…" she choked out a sob "I cant give that to you,im sorry" He finally allowed himself to cry, her cracking voice breaking his heart. Gently he cradled her face,trying to pick his next words carefully "Ember, my vivisteria in a flooded station…I would have loved you even if we'd never been able to touch, I accepted everything that came with loving you a long time ago and nothing is more important to me than you. Please dont kill yourself like this and please dont think Ill ever think less of you."

This is before they join the group for mixed couples, Flint and Ember are on good terms but they dont know their struggles with having a kid until they're invited to the session. A few weeks in Misty sees some of the same symptoms in Ember that she had at the time and considers broaching the idea to her.

I kinda imagine though that if Fire elements can smell hormonal changes or at least Cinder can, that while theyre visting the fireplace she ends up smelling that Embers pregnant before she herself knows.

i think she has an internal crisis on if Ember knows and is waiting to tell them or not

she feels bad for messing up the surprise and says as much when she thinks ember is going to confess. "oh I already know, im sorry my daughter but my nose knows eh" she chuckles adding "But Bernie has no clue you two can still tell him in the morning. Ill make you some charr sticks for the sickness and find you all old maternity stuff." Meanwhile Embers brain is shutting down

"Ashka…what are you talking about. you dont mean, I cant be…its not possible,we know its not" Cinders eyes shoot up to see her daughters horrified face and it hits her all at once she didnt know. "im so sorry I thought it was suprise for us I didnt think…oh my daughter".

Cinder has her take a seat before she collapses. Before she even realizes shes crying Cinder is gently wiping tears from her face. "Ashka….what do I do, I should be happy, I am happy, I dont know if i can even believe it, I,I- Cinder cuts off her rambling with a squeeze to her hand. "My daughter you are strong, you will know what to do and we will be here for every step.I am only sorry you find out this way". They sit in silence for awhile until they hear Wade and Bernie talking outside the door. A fresh pool of tears slide down her check, she hadnt even thought about Wade yet. The weight of it all hit in waves as she imagined it my water guy, an ashfa. Cinder looks at her sympatheticly almost knowing what she was thinking. "ill distract them, take as much time as you need in here".

[shoshanaofvenus]

my plump and oozing maternal-goodness teacher leaned over the table to talk to someone. She absent-mindedly pressed her body onto mine. I leaned into her a micro amount and breathed in the feeling of a loving human. I am so touch deprived. I need a hug so badly I feel every cell in me calling out for it in mournful cries muffled behind the facade of pleasantries I make all day. I want to be home. I want to be held. I want familiarity. I want something, anything, comforting in this foreign and strange land. Today the guy at tacos Luis asked if I spoke Spanish based off of how I said Jamaica. It satiated the homesickness only enough to make me feel how much left there is to satiate. I was voice noting Rebecca and said the word moonies and unexpectedly choked up so hard I had to pause the voicenote or all of tacos Luis would’ve seen me weep. And lord knows the streets of Jerusalem have seen more tears than any other place I’ve known. I wonder what they are watering. Hopefully home. And comfort. And solace. And a person to hug me. And a bed to sleep in. Hopefully they’re watering a garden of goodness for me to rest myself upon.

[danishkhan786]

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[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 20, Story #2 is by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: Dittany Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Neville/Hannah Prompt: Bravery Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Discussion of maternal death, mentions of violence. 

Hannah's mother had been a muggleborn, and that had been her death sentence. 

Or rather, she had been a muggleborn with the audacity and bravery to be proud about it. 

Most muggleborns ended up slipping entirely into wizarding society, and as much as they might say that they would keep in touch with their roots, the magic took over. Jeans became robes, electronics didn’t work in their homes so their pop culture references grew stale, the effort involved in keeping the statute of secrecy for extended family and old friends was too exhausting to sustain, so they saw them less and less and eventually… 

This had not happened for Mum, even though the Abbotts were a very old family, well rooted in the magical community. She had agreed with Dad to live in Godric’s Hollow, because the Abbotts had lived there for many generations, but she had insisted on Hannah attending the local primary school, where she could make muggle friends. She was adamant that they make regular trips to Liverpool, to visit her side of the family, who believed that she worked in HR (which she did, but for a potion manufacturer, not for a haulage company as they believed) and that Hannah had received a scholarship to an exclusive boarding school, and that Dad owned a pub (which he did, but they neglected to mention that it was frequented by witches, wizards, goblins, the occasional hag and a half giant). And when the Stephens side of the family came to visit, they would have a flurry of activity where they would hide away anything magical-looking, and from the loft they would bring down the big television, and they would speed read some muggle newspapers so they could give their opinions on Tony Blair or Men Behaving Badly or Charles and Diana’s divorce or whatever else they thought might come up.  

That was life as Hannah knew it, and it never felt complicated or brave or shocking or daring or any of the things she later found out it was. 

She remembered certain details from the day very clearly. She’d been easing sneezewort plants out of their pots, the last repotting before winter, her fingers shaking at the long, pale roots, creating a rain of soil. The last of the cream coloured petals, curled and brown at the edges, fell onto the potting bench. There was a sudden shock of cold air, a breeze from the door opening that hit their faces and whipped through their hair.  

‘Professor Dumbledore’s here,’ said Susan with surprise, and Hannah had glanced up to see him closing the door to the humid greenhouse, his long white beard tucked into his belt, Professor Sprout hurrying over to him. 

Hannah looked back down at her plant. The roots were all tangled together. Professor Dumbledore was probably here for Harry Potter, there were all sorts of rumours flying around about secret meetings between the two of them. 

The plant needed a much bigger pot, but the roots were strong, there was no rot there. 

‘Hannah.’ 

There was no hiding the bewilderment on her face. She had never had a direct conversation with the Headmaster before, and here he was, speaking kindly, gently, softly, one hand touching her shoulder and the other, black looking, gesturing to the door. 

‘I need to-’ she started saying, as he led her out. Everyone was staring. 

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Professor Sprout, and her voice sounded so strange, ‘I’ll finish up here for you.’ 

Perhaps part of her had known then. She knew it was something terrible. She was too afraid to ask. No one was ever pulled out of class for a good reason. She walked up to the castle alongside him as though in a dream, her heart beating up through her throat and into her mouth.

She was not sure how it happened, but suddenly she was in the warmth of his office, staring at Professor Dumbledore’s grave face, his lips moving, without really hearing, except for that first, terrible, world destroying little phrase. 

‘I’m so very sorry to tell you that your mother has been found dead.’ 

There would be no worse event, no greater loss, no stronger pain in her entire life. 

There was still dirt under her nails and in the creases of her palms, she noticed, as she reached into the silver box of floo powder. 

It had been so long since she had seen Godric’s Hollow like this, golden and red in its autumn. Fallen leaves tumbled and floated down the river that rushed through the village, or collected in the gutters along the cobbled roads, damp and heavy. The sun stayed a little lower each day, casting long shadows across the beer garden of The Lost Owl, and the wind ruffled the sign on the door which read ‘Closed due to family bereavement.’ 

During the days, she wondered what to do with herself, stuck between boredom and terrible, overwhelming grief. When she could cry no more, she wondered if there was something wrong with her for wanting to find something interesting or fun to do, but when she tried to read, she could not focus. When she tried to listen to the radio, she would fall asleep. She could not bring herself to ask her weeping father to play cards or chess or anything with her. She thought of going back into school, but how could she see other people? Now that the world had ended? She wanted to tell people about it, wanted to say the words enough until they made sense to her, or until someone found the right words to say back that would make it OK, but she did not want to do this to her friends. 

At nights, she would cry herself to sleep, and her whispers, please come back please Mummy please come back, would grow and grow and grow into sobs, begging into her pillow as the agony of it tore at her, the desperation, the feverish thought that there had to be something, that this couldn’t be it, there had to be a way, a special way, just for them, just for her, because it was her mother and there was no way she could live without her. Mum wouldn’t leave her like this, there was no way Mum would allow it, she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that Hannah was happy, she had always said so, she had always promised… 

But Death was something parents could not protect their children from, it seemed. The more Hannah thought on it, the more she became crushingly devastated, horrified to realise that each and every human on Earth had to endure this at some point. In different ways, at different times, with different feelings, but the mere act of bringing a child into the world was to condemn that child, one day, to the unbearable pain of loss. Every person she passed, she wondered, have you suffered as I have? Or is it yet to come for you? She wished she could spare them from it.

The aurors said she was probably targeted because she loudly and openly discussed her muggle heritage in the pub, and it must have been heard by the wrong people. That was what passed for bravery these days. 

In the church of St Jerome, the stained glass window pattered with rain, and Hannah looked up at the colours of red and yellow and green rather than looking at the coffin with the splay of lilies, and she wondered when this nightmare would end, when Mum would come back, and tell her that everything would be all right. 

***

Months passed in unbearable agony, worse than she could have imagined. But there were glimmers of light there too. 

Here, at the school she thought she would never return to, in the place that was filled with unimaginable horror and oppression, she had purpose again. More purpose, in fact, than she had ever had in her life. And with it, new friendships that ran deeper than she had ever expected. 

‘This way,’ Neville whispered, and they ran low across the lawn of the grounds. Some of the windows in the castle behind them blazed with light, so that she thought for a terrible moment that they must be visible from the Great Hall, but, of course, the windows would be black with night to anyone who looked out from them. 

It was the summer term now, but the air was still cold as they panted, as though Dementors were close, which, she reasoned, they might be. She could feel the dew of the grass, left to grow long since Hagrid had left, soaking the bottoms of her jeans, seeping through her ratty trainers. 

Following the dark shadow of Neville’s figure, she ran through the grounds until she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot, and, ahead, the slight shine of starlight reflecting off the greenhouses. 

‘They’re in greenhouse three,’ Neville muttered, and her stomach dropped. 

He did not notice, and continued to hurry along the garden path, past the raised beds for the hardier plants and herbs, and she followed, but at a walk now, dread gnawing at her. 

He stopped at the door, holding his hands up to the glass to peer in. ‘OK…’ he said, still breathless from the run. ‘OK, looks clear… Now, while I talk to the venomous tentacula, you grab a tray, and fill it with perlite and only a few handfuls of compost, it’s a mountain plant so it likes it nice and rocky.’ 

‘OK,’ she said, and though she thought she sounded normal, he turned to her. She could barely make out his expression in the darkness. 

‘Are you all right?’ 

‘I… I’m sorry, I just… I haven’t been in the greenhouses for a long time… especially not this one. I should have thought before I volunteered, I'm sorry.’ 

She felt immediately embarrassed for blurting it out, and she had no idea if Neville would even grasp what she was getting at. He had been in the class, yes, but did he even remember that day? What had been the worst day of her life had been a perfectly ordinary school day for the rest of her classmates, and so many terrible things had happened since then. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you out here.’ 

She thought he was telling her off, or saying that they had to go back, but before she had the time to feel hurt or ashamed, he was holding out his hand towards her. 

She swallowed, and then placed her trembling hand in his. She was not unaccustomed to physical touch with him, or many others. Over the past year, she had tended wounds and comforted people as they cried, she had grasped hands and arms and knees under desks to soothe people or tell them to control themselves, she had passed secret notes and morsels of food and whatever else needed smuggling, slipping it nimbly from her fingers into their palms as they passed in the corridors.  

But now his fingers pressed firm and reassuring against hers, and there was something very different about them holding hands. 

She let him lead her into the greenhouse; the humid, warm air surrounded them at once, like an odd sort of hug that sat heavy on their lungs. Tall, leafy plants towered above them, brushing the domed glass high above their heads, which magically reflected the brilliant stars above them and lit the place in glorious silver. 

Now that she was in here, she felt a little better. The dread that had stopped her ever returning here, that had caused her to drop herbology and pretend that this part of the castle no longer existed, had not come to pass. It was, after all, simply a greenhouse, and Mum could not die again. 

‘Are you all right?’ he said gently. 

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’ 

He nodded, and reached for some gloves on a nearby bench. She missed his hand around hers. ‘Let’s move quickly, and get you out of here,’ he said, donning some goggles and a thick leather apron.  

She went to the potting tables where Professor Sprout always stood, and seized a large seedling tray. As she took handfuls of compost and perlite, she could see Neville wrestling with the venomous tentacular, saying, ‘I’ll bring you doxy granules tomorrow - I’ll move you to a sunnier spot - I already checked with Professor Sprout - come on, you knew this was part of the deal, we agreed-’

Eventually, when he had tied enough of the writhing vines together with garden twine and stroked the shoots into calmness, he gave a nod to Hannah, and started to remove his protective gear as she hurried over and they squeezed behind the plant

There, on a table surrounded by blue lanterns to make up for the blocked light caused by the tentacula, were long, deep pots, stuffed with dittany. Their slender, arching stems were clustered with pleasant green leaves, with a dusty sort of whiteness, and they were dotted with pink flowers. She had never seen the plant as it was before; she had only ever remembered the little vials of dittany kept in their first aid kit, good for scraped knees and cuts from any broken glass in the pub. Mum had always said it was good to be prepared in an emergency, it had been one of her funny little things like that, along with being a bit of a hypochondriac, and so Hannah had had a vial in the bottom of her trunk when she returned to school. That, combined with her good potions knowledge, had helped her stumble into a kind of mothering role that she found had rather suited her. 

‘I just need the flowers, the book says,’ she said, as Neville started gently pulling some up by the roots. 

‘Yes, but I think it’d be good if I can grow another set somewhere, as a back up so we don’t have to keep sneaking out here. It’s just me and Seamus in the dorm, I don’t think he’d mind if I put them in the window between Harry and Ron’s beds. Here, take these, cut the flowers where the stem splits off - yeah, there - so it’ll grow back.’ 

‘It’s really pretty,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty. It’s usually that the most useful plants are the ugliest.’ 

‘It is,’ said Neville absent-mindedly. ‘It’s from Crete. The healing properties were only discovered in the 17th century - people used to think it was an aphrodisiac, and it’s still used in some love potions.’ 

She looked at him, and though the light in the greenhouse was white starlight only, she could still see his cheeks burn red. 

‘It’s… it’s not, though,’ he mumbled. ‘Well… a little bit, but I… I don’t know why I said that.’

‘Because it’s interesting,’ she said quickly, as he busied himself repotting the seedlings. He nodded rapidly, and cleared his throat a little, and she cast around for something to say. ‘You… you should be careful, growing these in the dorm. If you’re caught-’

‘There’s no rule against growing plants,’ he said. ‘I’ve had plants up there loads of times. Especially my mimbulus mimbletonia, that’s had pride of place for a while.’

‘You know they don’t need an explicit rule,’ she said quietly. ‘They do what they want. If they think you’re… doing anything good, anything kind. That’s enough.’ 

He nodded, looking down at the delicate, thin roots of the dittany. There was a reason that he and Professor Sprout were growing such an innocent plant in such secrecy. ‘I know… but… it’s worth the risk.’ 

‘That’s very brave.’ 

‘Is it? Just growing a plant? Is that what passes for bravery these days?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said honestly. ‘Anything good does now. And it’s not just that.’ She paused, still cradling one of the delicate, rose pink flowers in her hand. ‘I mean… what were you thinking in muggle studies the other day? I hated seeing you screaming like that.’ 

‘Well I had to say something. It was repulsive, what she was saying about muggle children.’ 

‘No one believes her, no one really thinks-’

‘We don’t know that. Maybe some people might start believing her, because it’s easier. And anyway, it’s not just about that. Remember Umbridge?’ 

‘I try not to,’ she said dryly, and in the pale, washed out starlight she saw him grin. 

‘I know it’s stupid, but as Ginny and Luna haven’t come back, and Harry and Ron aren’t here, or Dean, or loads of other people… I’ve been-’ he sighed, as though frustrated he couldn’t find the words, ‘I’ve been trying to think about what they would do. I can’t afford to be Neville Longbottom, I’ve got to be someone braver. And Harry used to just completely go off on her, used to tell her straight in lessons that You-Know-Who was back, and, yeah, it got him more trouble than it felt like it was worth at the time, but you know what? I always found it really inspiring.’ 

‘I did too,’ she said quietly. ‘I remember thinking… well… why would he stick to a lie through all that?’ 

‘Exactly. He had principles, and if he was here he wouldn’t stand for any of that rot. There’s a lot of times over the past few months where I’ve just tried to…’ he shrugged helplessly, ‘pretend that I’m Harry. That I’m brave.’ 

‘I don’t think you’re pretending at all,’ she said. ‘You are brave. You always have been. You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?’ 

‘Somehow.’ 

‘No somehow about it. You’re the bravest man I know, and that includes Harry.’ 

‘How on earth does it include Harry?’ he asked, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughter. 

‘Because he’s had to be,’ she said. ‘I’ve grown up in Godric’s Hollow, you know, I’ve seen the ruined house that he lived in. He’s had to be brave all the way from when he was a baby. But I didn’t. You didn’t. You’ve chosen to be brave, you’ve chosen to channel him. You're a pureblood, you could choose, every day, to keep your head down and get on with things, but you don't. You stand up and call her a bigoted liar in class and get tortured and you never back down. I find that more inspiring than anything.’ 

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said quietly.  

‘And you were brave lots of times even before. Don’t you remember winning those points all the way back in first year?’ 

He beamed, and looked at her directly, for the first time since he had blurted out that dittany was an aphrodisiac. ‘You remember that?’ 

‘Of course I do. Dumbledore pointing out about standing up to your friends - he was so right, that does take a lot of bravery. I tried to do it next year, when Ernie was telling me that Harry was the heir of Slytherin. I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t as brave as you, but at least I tried, I suppose.’ 

‘I think you’re very brave too,’ he said. ‘Looking after everyone like this, handing out essence of dittany, running out here with me to get more… I’m sorry that you’ve had to come back in here. I didn’t think.’ 

‘I didn’t either,’ she said, and she started cutting more flowers. ‘I was just so focused on the idea of more, I didn’t really think about where I’d be getting it from… But, you know, I’m OK, actually. The thought of it was worse than the reality. It’s just a greenhouse.’ She looked around. The white starlight bleached the dark greenery into shades of silver, bounced off the watering cans, sparkled in the droplets of water from the sprinklers. ‘A very beautiful one.’ 

‘I like to think so,’ he said, a little hoarsely. ‘I always found this whole place beautiful, but now it… sometimes feels like only the greenhouses still are. They’re the only place I haven’t seen people being tortured.’ 

She paused. ‘I’m secretly thankful my mum isn’t alive to see this. Is that awful? I’m just glad she never had to worry about me being here. I feel bad enough for Dad.’ 

‘It’s not awful,’ said Neville. ‘I know what you mean.’ 

‘Do you?’ 

‘My parents don’t know anything about what’s going on, and for the first time in my life, I’m glad,’ he said, and for some reason his words seemed to surprise him. 

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, and without thinking she put down the little secateurs and touched his arm. He breathed deeply, not quite meeting her eyes, pressing down one of the seedlings quite firmly into the tray, before finally turning to her.

‘I live with my gran, because… my…’ He took another deep breath, and suddenly there was a clanging from outside. 

They froze, and heard a low voice swearing. 'Bloody wheelbarrow…' 

Hearts thudding, they ducked down and stayed silent, Neville silently mouthing for Hannah to get onto the large empty shelf under the potting table, where bags of compost were usually kept. He reached up, fumbling for the secateurs, and then started crawling along on his belly. 

'What are you doing?' she whispered, horrified. Alecto Carrow was opening the door to the greenhouse, still muttering and swearing about the wheelbarrow he had tripped over. 

He put a finger to his lips, and then pointed at the venomous tentacula, which had begun to writhe against the twine. The snip snip snip of the secateurs seemed unreasonably loud, but from the other side of the greenhouse Carrow did not appear to hear them, rifling noisily through the plants and shrubs, sending terracotta pots crashing to the floor. 

'Anyone in here?' he demanded. 'I saw your footprints in the gravel. Hello?' 

The vines of the tentacula waved threateningly, and Hannah watched with trembling fear as one of them reached out to Neville, still prone on the ground, and started to wrap itself around his throat. 

'Don't be cheeky,' she heard him mutter to it, and he calmly prodded it with the secateurs until it released him. 

It kept one tendril around his ankle, but Neville seemed to allow it as a compromise, and instead watched through the vines as Carrow upturned a table, still shouting and swearing. 

After several, agonisingly long minutes, Carrow came close to them. The venomous tentacula silently released Neville’s ankle, and raised it's spiked tendrils. 

'OW! Son of a bludger-' 

A long line of expletives followed, and the venomous tentacular shook noisily, whip-like noises echoing through the greenhouse as it reached after Carrow, now bolting from the room. 

'Grab the tray,' Neville told Hannah. 'He'll be heading straight to the hospital wing, we should have a clear path back. Quickly, before the tentacula gets over-excited and turns on us-' 

She did so at once and he held back the spiked vines as she squeezed past the plant, and hurried safely out of range. 

She stood there, holding her tray of little dittany plants and the heads of the flowers. She watched as Neville easily unentangled himself from the tentacula, patted it, said, 'thanks mate,' and grabbed a clear cover for the tray. He came close to her as he fitted it over the dittany, protecting them from the cold night air they would have to hurry back through.  

His face was inches from her own, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat a little as she looked up at him. There was a slight clunk as the lid of the tray found its place. For a moment, they were perfectly still, just their breathing in that humid place, and his eyes, shining light blue in the pale light, lifted from the tray of dittany to meet her own. 

'Do you really think I'm brave?' he whispered. 

She nodded, and he seemed to be steeling himself for something. Please, she thought, please make this place good for me again. Her hands gripped the edges of the tray.

Very gently, very slowly, he leaned closer over the tray. His hand moved as though to softly move her face to meet his, but he didn't need to, for she was already naturally tilting her head, and her heels were lifting a little off the ground without her bidding them to. 

Their lips met, soft like the petals of the dittany between them, sweet like the fragrance. His fingertips were trembling slightly as they caressed against her cheek, but then they calmed as the kiss deepened. 

The tray pressed into them as he tried to move closer, and it reminded them where they were. They broke apart, panting and gasping as though they had just finished the run down from the castle. 

She had never kissed anyone before. She was glad, unbelievably, overwhelmingly, joyfully glad, that her first kiss had been with Neville, in this place where the warm air was scented with damp soil and sweet flowers. 

'We… we should take these back,' he said, his voice slightly hoarse. ‘Let - let me take them.’ 

He took the tray from her, and in her happy daze she allowed it, and let him lead the way out of the greenhouse. Joy had returned to her again, beneath the fogged glass, amongst the green plants, bursting with life. 

[manonblaqkbeak]

Friendship Rekindled

Hello, back for Day 10--single parents. This is the second part of a mini series during canon week. this is continuing off from Day 1--desperately in love. there’s going to be two more parts and i cant wait to get them out there!

i think this could be considered a little angsty, given some of the conversation topics that happen.

cw: brief mention of death and blood loss. mention of an abusive parent. (if i miss any, pls dont hesitate to let me know!)

enjoy! :)

2.9k words (my longest fic yet i believe)

It was nice to be finally out of the house, Aelin decided as she walked up to the nursery, her five month old daughter, Olive, strapped to her chest. After being cooped up for what felt like the last five months, Aelin had decided to liven up her apartment with some plants.

Hardy, un-killable plants, that is. Being a single mother didn't leave her much time to look after other things, so she needed some plants that required minimal water, but also had to be pretty to look at.

It was also a plus that there was a cafe attached to the nursery, and she heard that they served the best scones with homemade strawberry jam and cream in Orynth. All her life she had never come here, but she needed somewhere new to visit. And to reacquaint herself with her home town. Not long after Rowan and Lyria's wedding, Aelin had transferred to Rifthold for work, and had used the miles apart to quietly disappear from their lives.

That was four years ago now, and come back home to be closer to her parents. Aelin had never known her grandparents, and Aelin didn't want to deny her parents the privilege of knowing Olive, so she had transferred back just before she went on maternity leave. Aelin was happy to be back, especially since she hadn't seen Rowan or Lyria. The last she heard was from Elide, who got it from Lorcan, that a year after marriage, they were expecting. She was happy for them, she truly was, but that didn't stop the stab of pain she felt when she heard the news. She had dreamt of her being in Lyria's position for a few weeks after she heard the news, but forced herself to stop. To move on.

Aelin had, in a way. She would always love Rowan, but she needed to move on. It was wrong to consider her daughter a distraction, but she did provide the perfect one. Aelin briefly removed her lemon printed bucket-hat (Aelin wore a matching one) to kiss her head, her golden hair sparse, laughing her perfect baby laugh.

Aelin finally entered the nursery, tugging her nappy bag higher on her shoulder as she took in the hundreds of plants. She had no idea where to start, but started her browse. She slowly walked through the fern section, stopping every now and then to let Olive touch one, making the cute hand grabbing motion when she saw one she liked.

Aelin heard the laughter of a young child behind her, and then a deep and familiar one accompany it.

Aelin froze. It couldn't be. Surely the Gods weren't that cruel. Months she had been here, for the first time in ages she had decided to do something for herself, only to be met by that damned laughter.

Slowly she turned, her sandals making the gravel underneath crunch. She saw a flash of silver and a broad body.

Turning around had been a mistake, because when she did, so did the silver-haired man.

And for the first time in four years, turquoise eyes landed on pine-green ones.

Rowan blinked, and then blinked again as he took her in. His eyes widened as he noticed Olive strapped to her body, her face on display as she took in her surroundings. Her baby had the chocolate brown eyes of her father, but it was clear to anyone that knew Aelin that Olive was hers. Her daughter had Aelin's nose and hair colour, and would likely grow to have more of Aelin's features as the years went by.

Behind Rowan, his cousin Enda was holding the hand of a brown-haired boy. It was difficult to tell his exact age, but he looked to be about three. If Rowan was here with his son, then it was a good chance that Lyria would be here, too. The woman was a flower enthusiast, and was practically a walking encyclopedia when it came to flowers. Any questions anyone had, they went to Lyria.

Aelin really did not want to be here. Did not want to have that conversation of why the hell she had left and dropped all communication with them after the wedding.

Aelin hated it, but she adverted her gaze and started to leave. She would have to come here another day—maybe after she called the office to make sure that there was no silver-haired man in attendance.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, his voice raspy from surprise. Gods, she missed his deep voice and the rolling purr of his accent.

Aelin pretended that she didn't hear and made a beeline for the exit. Rowan called her again, and then a third time. Just as she reached the gate, his warm hand landed on her shoulder gently. His hands were still calloused, his hands always doing some type of manual labour work. She wondered briefly if he was still an auto mechanic.

Turning around, Aelin noted the shock in his dark eyes. She gave him a weak smile, not sure what to say.

“What are you—I mean, how are you? Where have you been?”

“I'm good,” Aelin answered after a moment, not really sure how else to respond. “I've been around. What about you?” Somehow, these questions didn't feel like the right ones to ask. Before Rowan could say anything, Olive made herself known, making grunting sounds that meant she wanted attention, so Aelin kissed her hand and said to Rowan, “This is Olive.”

Rowan's eyes dropped down to Olive. “Is she yours?”

Aelin snorted, a sound she hadn't made in so long. It was something she often did around Rowan—or used to, that is. “No, I bought her from the store. Yes, she's mine.”

Rowan's eyes dropped lower, to her ring finger—her empty ring finger. There had never been a ring there. Aelin's traitorous eyes drifted to Rowan's and her heart stopped when she noticed that his ring finger was bare as well—that there was no tan line to suggest that he had only recently removed it.

“I'm doing this on my own,” Aelin found herself saying after a moment.

“As am I,” Rowan said. Aelin cocked her head to the side, annoyed at herself for being curious. “Lyria...Lyria passed away three years ago.”

Aelin's heart shot up to her throat, choking her. Years ago, Aelin had horribly wished that the ring Rowan had purchased was secretly for her and was heartbroken when it wasn't.  In her loneliest moments, she had wished that Rowan and Lyria would break up and somehow find his way to her in Rifthold; but never, never-ever in a million years would she ever have wanted this to happen.

Why the hell hadn't Elide told her? Or anyone else for that matter?

Aelin found her voice after long minutes of just staring at him, processing his words. “Rowan, I am so rutting sorry. I had no idea. Are you...are you okay?”

“I have my good and bad days”. He pointed to the brown-haired boy with Enda, who were both busy inspecting each leaf and flower petal in front of them. “That's Egan, he's a plant lover like his mother.”

Aelin couldn't really see him, but she still said, “He's adorable.”

“He is, and a little terror,” Rowan said, a small smile on his tanned face. After a moment, he turned back to her, and asked, “Are you...doing anything? I'd like to talk, it's been a long time since we have.”

She should say no, but she ended up saying yes.

Taking a deep breath, she followed Rowan back inside the nursery and to the cafe.

X X X X X X

It was turning out to be an ordinary Saturday when Rowan had needed to get out of the house, so he asked Egan if he wanted to go to the nursery and his son had enthusiastically agreed, asking if Uncle Enda could join them. Thankfully, his cousin was free and more than happy to spend time with his nephew.

Never in a million years did he think he would run into Aelin. He had heard the rumours that she transferred back to the publishing house and that was it; there was no mention of her being pregnant. But when Rowan looked up and spotted Aelin, and his eyes immediately dropped to the baby strapped to her chest, his heart had stopped.

He had once wished to have that life with Aelin, exploring the world with their child, one that had Aelin's hair and his eyes; but Rowan never told Aelin how he felt because he knew how badly her last relationship ended, and he didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on her if she didn't feel the same way. Didn't want there to be any chance to ruin their friendship.

And so, he had moved on. Had started dating Lyria and came to love her, but not the same way as he loved Aelin. And when Rowan proposed, he had only done it because his parents were getting older and wanted him to get married, wanted him to have a grandchild.

It was cruel irony that they had both died before Lyria had even given birth.

He was bastard, and he hated himself. Lyria was kind, sweet and gentle—and deserved someone better than him, should have been with a man that truly wanted to marry her for her and not because of family pressures. But he never stopped himself from their relationship moving forward.

But he was doing better, thanks to therapy, because while he may have been a bastard, he didn't want his son to know that. Maybe it made him a bastard to hide this part of himself to his son, but his son was gentle like his mother and Rowan loathed the idea of Egan growing up to hate him.

And as Rowan asked Enda to take Egan home, Rowan could see that Enda thought that this lunch was a bad idea—Rowan had confessed his secrets to his cousin long ago, how he loved Aelin even when he was married to Lyria. How he had wanted that life with her instead.

Rowan knew that he was going to be on the end of a scolding conversation when he got back to his house, but he told Enda that it was going to be okay and that he was fine and could handle this.

Enda sighed heavily through his nose and muttered a 'good luck' under his breath. Rowan planted a kiss of Egan's head and told him that he would be home soon. His son was too excited to spend time with his Uncle to really notice.

When Rowan returned to Aelin's side, they soon found a nice spot in the cafe that was away from others.

It was...painfully awkward for a good while. They only spoke to order their food—scones with jam and cream with a side dish of seasonal fruits for Aelin, and a steak sandwich with fries for Rowan—and then lapsed back into silence.

They ate in silence, too, and Rowan wondered if maybe this was a tremendously bad idea when Aelin said, softly but not weakly, “What happened to Lyria?”

Taking a deep breath, Rowan swirled his fries in the mustard on his plate. He hated this part. “She passed away not long after giving birth. She hemorrhaged and bleed out too quickly for anything to be done. Egan never really got to meet her.”

“I'm sorry,” Aelin said, doing her best to speak over the lump in her throat, “that's horrible. I'm so sorry.”

Years later and Rowan still never really knew what to say to that. Needing to distract himself, he asked, “So, what's your story?”

Before she could say anything, Olive started crying, and without a seconds hesitation, Aelin started feeding her. Some people stared in disapproval and Aelin stared right back, unflinching. He knew that if someone said something, she would spit back. It never made sense to Rowan how people frowned upon breastfeeding. A small smile made its way to Rowan's mouth at the steely look in her stunning eyes. That was the Aelin he knew and loved.

When the strangers turned back around, Aelin looked back at him, the steel in her eyes softening. “I briefly dated my high school boyfriend, Sam, for a while back in Rifthold, and well...the condom broke and Olive made her appearance.” Not the most elegant way to describe the situation, but Aelin figured she had years to think of a better way to explain Olive's appearance if her daughter ever asked.

“And he wants no part of it?” He had no right to ask, but the question left his mouth before he could stop it.

Aelin sighed, and finished feeding Olive and cleaning themselves up before responding. “It's complicated...Sam's father, Arobynn, is a cruel man. He's manipulative and sadistic, but knows how to turn on the charm when it suits him. Sam has been scared of him his entire life, and didn't want Olive to know the fear that he did. So, every month Sam sends money, but he's not on the birth certificate—he doesn't want there to be any paper trails leading to Olive's existence. I had to convince him that it was safer to transfer me the money than to send it through the mail. I send him pictures from time to time, but whether he saves them, I have no idea.” Not to mention the miserable length of the conversation of sending money electronically. Sam was so damned paranoid that Arobynn checked his accounts that Aelin had almost told him not to bother to send anything when he relented. Aelin could provide Olive well enough on her own, but it was helpful to have that extra bit of cash—baby things were expensive as hell.

Aelin bit her lip. She hadn't meant to divulge that much, no one knew that, not even her best friends,  but she didn't regret it. It felt...like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“That's awful, Aelin, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I just...” She probably shouldn't ask, but out of everyone she knew, none of them were single parents. “Has Egan ever asked about his mother? What do you say to that?”

“He's asked a few times, and I've told him that she passed away when he was little, but I don't think he fully understands what I'm talking about.” Those conversations were the hardest that he ever had to go through, and he knew it would be worst when Egan grew and fully understood what death meant.

“I have no idea what I'll tell Olive when she's older and asks about her dad,” Aelin admitted. “It's not like he's gone, but he is absent and I just...what if she grows up to think he hates her? I think that would kill me if she ever thought that.”

Without thinking, Rowan reached over and too her hand in his. Her hand was soft in his, and he swiped his thumb against her knuckles. “You have a good few years to worry about that. Who knows,” he added, “maybe Sam will be able to get out from his father's shadows and you three can be a family.”

A small smile made its way to Aelin's face. She was more beautiful then he remembered, and he wasn't sure if he should feel guilty for thinking that.

“I like the sound of that, but I'm not going to get my hopes up. I'd like to think that I can do this on my own.”

“You can, but if you'd like...if you ever need help with something, if you need someone to look after Olive, I could do that for you.”

Silver lined Aelin's eyes as she watched him. “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“That's what friends are for, aren't they? To help?” And as a single parent himself, he knew how hard it could be raising a child in this hectic world.

Aelin's smile grew. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind. And if we're friends, could you help me find some plants? I'm sick of looking at my boring walls.”

“Okay, I know the perfect ones for you to get—ones that are practically impossible to kill.”

“I'm going to ignore that implication that I can't look after a plant.” Although it was true.

Rowan snorted. “Because you can't. I remember that poor aloe Vera plant that you slaughtered.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes, but he could see just a hint of mirth behind the glare. “I did not slaughter that plant, it just didn't like me!”

Rowan laughed and it was the most freeing sound he made in a long time. After he calmed down, he said, “Come on, let's finish here and I'll help you to liven up your place.”

“Fine, but I better not hear anything about my poor gardening skills or I'll let down your tires.” And she would, he knew, but Rowan just smiled even more.

“It's a deal.”

The conversation moved much more smoothly and Rowan realised how much he missed her. And Aelin realised how much she missed him, too.

Maybe things wouldn't be too bad after-all. It would be nice to have Rowan in her life again, even as a friend, even if she still loved him and knew it could never be, not after everything.

[weelittleweasley]

destined for you (d.m.)

prompt requested by @sincerelymalfoy: everyone wanted to find their soulmate. that was except for draco malfoy. in this world, you find your soulmate because you can feel the same physical pain as them. this makes it harder for draco to avoid finding his soulmate.

pairing: draco malfoy x soulmate! fem! reader, friend! ron weasley x friend! reader

warnings: mentions of previous d*mestic ab*se, language, blood (from a nose bleed), burns from an open flame

word count: 5.6k

a/n: this fic mention’s draco’s abusive household at the end. if you find that this might be triggering content for you, please skip it or do not read this fic. take care of yourself please. fanfic is supposed to be enjoyable! so read with caution! all my love in the world, lex

You had heard of it before. Soulmates. Two souls put on this planet who were destined to find each other and spend their existence together harmoniously. Until death do them part. 

It all sounded very romantic to you. Finding someone who had a soul, a spirit that matched yours. Kindred together. Your parents were soulmates and watching their relationship grow and blossom as you grew up was something you had always wanted. A love that continued to grow no matter the circumstances. A love that would guide you, protect you, care for you, and spend its days with you. A soulmate didn’t sound half bad.

Until you realized what that meant.

In order to know that you had met your soulmate, you would have to experience the same physical pains as them. Meaning everything that hurt them, you in turn felt, even though it wasn’t happening to you. The person could be on the other side of the planet, but the universe would still make you feel the same pains as them. It was an annoyance, for sure, but to you, anything that brought you one step closer to them was enough.

You remember exactly where you were when you first experienced your soulmates pain. You were about the age of eight, in your bedroom, reading on the floor, laying on your belly, kicking your legs about happily. That was before you felt a red, hot stinging sensation on your right cheek. Like someone had just slapped you in the face. Confusion washed all over you before you cried out, “Mum!” like any child would when random waves of pain washed over them with no reason why.

In a flash, your mother was in the doorway of your bedroom, asking what happened. You turned your cheek and pointed to it, telling her that it stung and hurt badly. Your mother’s eyes grew wide and she gasped, walking down to her child and touching the sensitive area. “Did you do this to yourself, sweetheart?” she asked, making sure that she wasn’t getting ahead of herself. Your soulmate couldn’t have possibly started showing signs of pain this young. 

You shook your head and looked up at your mother worried about what was happening to you. “Am I gonna be alright, Mum?” you asked, your eight year old head full of worry and fear. This was scary for anyone, especially a child. 

“Yes, darling, you will be quite alright. When you are a little older, your father and I will explain it all to you,” your mother brushed your cheek gently as you relaxed into her warm, maternal touch. She placed a gentle kiss on your hairline before speaking, “This happens to everyone, dear. I know, it’s confusing and can be scary. But it will end with good things, I swear it.”

And you held onto that promise that your mother told you that day on your bedroom floor. From that day on, you continued to feel random spurts of pain. A pinch in the fleshy part of your arm, a slap upside the head, a gut wrenching pain in the your gut, but most often you felt pain in your chest. Less physical pain, but like someone had just broken your heart. It would go away within seconds, but for those few seconds, it felt like someone had told you the worst news of your life, your heart felt hollow. This continued on and on for years but when you turned eleven things changed.

Two weeks before your eleventh birthday, your mother and father had talked to you about soulmates and how you felt their pain no matter where in the world they were. Even more specifically, your parents had given you warning that you might be meeting your soulmate soon. “What do you mean?” you sat in the dining room chair, dropping your fork at the suggestion of meeting your soulmate at the young, ripe age of eleven. 

Your mother looked at your father who gave her a supportive nod. She took a deep breath in before speaking, “(Y/N), honey, you know that you’ll be going to Hogwarts soon. Kids from all over will be going to school with you. One of those kids could very well be your soulmate. I mean, that’s what happened to me and your father,” she tells you as your father grabs your mother’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Whilst you sat at the dinner table, face blank, your mind was running a thousand miles a minute. You were going to turn eleven and all of a sudden you could be meeting your soulmate? You were a child. You should be focusing on school work, meeting new friends, having fun, enjoying this time of your life before it goes by in the blink of an eye. “But I don’t want to. Not yet,” you protest, tears starting to pool in your eyes. “I want to meet them soon, but not now.”

Rising from his chair, your father rushes to your side, not wanting to see his daughter torn over the news that she could be meeting her soulmate. She was supposed to be happy. “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay,” he wipes away your tear, brushing the hair out of your face, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It doesn’t mean you’re definitely going to meeting them. You might. That’s all. What your mother and I are more worried about is you being safe and having fun. That’s all,” he tells you with a reassuring smile. And in that moment, you calmed down and succumbed to a sniffling mess. “Hogwarts is going to be a blast. You’re going to meet so many new people and have so many new adventures, pumpkin. No need to worry about a silly soulmate.”

Your father’s words soothed you, but that was only temporary. When you arrived at Hogwarts, you were too involved in the thrill of things to pay attention to the small pains you would get from your soulmate. Instead, you let yourself wander away with new friends, discovering new parts of the castle and the grounds. Soon enough, finding your soulmate became the last thing on your mind.

But the years started to go by and a lot of your classmates were discovering that they had soulmates within Hogwarts. Students were putting two and two together, realizing the pains they were feeling were similar if not the same as their soulmates. In fact, most soulmate encounters happened in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey. A student came in complaining about a mysterious pain in their leg and low and behold, there was another student laying in a bed with their leg in a cast. Another match.

It came down to a new soulmate announcement happened every few days. You would groan and roll your eyes at the news, but deep down, you secretly wished that your soulmate would reveal themselves soon. Sure, when you first got to Hogwarts, you didn’t want to meet your soulmate because you wanted to focus on making friends and getting used to life at a new school. But now that you were in your sixth year and everyone was starting to find their soulmate, you felt left out. 

You sat in the library, studying quietly by yourself before someone hurls themself in a chair right next to you. “Quick, pretend like we’re having a conversation,” Ron grabs your arm tight and shakes you. You give him a puzzled look before he speaks, “It’s Lavender again.”

Shaking your head with a laugh, you mindlessly start talking about whatever, pretending to be deep in conversation with Ron. Out of your periphery vision, you see Lavender approach the table, but then stomp her foot in frustration before leaving the area you were in and out of the library. Ron sighs in relief and leans back in the chair as you chuckle. “Why can’t you tell her that you’re not soulmates. Is she still on you about that?” you ask him, crossing your arms across your chest.

Ron groans, “Because she makes shit up! Like in Potions! I had burnt my hand on the flame and it hurt and then she pretended like her hand burned too, but it didn’t!”

You continue to tease Ron. “Oh yeah? How do you know it didn’t actually hurt?”

He leans forward on the table and exclaims, “She’s making it up! Because when we were in class last week, she bumped into Katie Bell and she got a nose bleed. And me? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. We are not soulmates, (Y/N)! She’s bloody out of her mind.” You just sit back and laugh at Ron’s hysterics. You did have to admit though, making up pains just so you can be soulmates with someone who didn’t want to be soulmates with you. That was a little strange. “I’m telling you, we need to find our soulmates soon or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

At the mention of finding your soulmate, your heart speeds up and you gulp. You really didn’t want to talk about your soulmate right now. The thought just made you frustrated. The last sign you had gotten from them was about two weeks ago. A deep pain in your side, like something had smashed into it. 

“Have you felt anything recently? Maybe if you tell me, I’ll know of someone who felt it too,” Ron encourages. “Go on now.”

With a groan, you sit up and prop your head up on your hands as Ron waits for you to tell him. “Two weeks ago I had a crippling pain in my side. In the afternoon. Didn’t fade until an hour later,” you reveal to Ron.

He thinks for a moment and then speaks, “Which side? Where in your side? Like your stomach?”

“My left side by my ribcage. Hurt like a bitch,” you suck in, reminiscing the pain that had you curled over in bed as your roommate sat next to you in your bed, rubbing your back, trying to soothe the pain. But there was no use. 

Ron think again before speaking, “I mean...I know it’s a long shot, but I remember someone saying that during quidditch practice someone was sent to Madam Pomfrey’s for an injury. I don’t remember who, but you could probably ask Madam Pomfrey and see if she remembers.”

You shrug, running your fingers through your hair. “I don’t know if it’s worth it, Ron. What am I going to say? Two weeks ago my side hurt and I don’t know who was injured. Do you know who it was? It might be my soulmate,” you tease Ron who rolls his eyes. “When the time is right, I’ll find them.”

---------------

Another week goes by and it’s another week of no pain. From either you or your soulmate. It was like they were doing everything in their power to prevent themselves from getting hurt. Even a paper cut. Nothing. And it was making you more frustrated then ever, seeing people happily walking in the hallway with their soulmates and yet here you were, soulmate-less and painless walking in the halls by yourself. 

You walk into Potions class with a sigh, not really wanting to be here. You’d rather be hanging out with your friends in the courtyard on this beautiful, warm day rather than being cooped up inside the castle, doing nothing. “You look thrilled to be here,” Cho teases you as you take your usual seat next to her and behind Ron and Harry. “You alright?” she asks as you simply nod, not really feeling like vomiting all your baggage right now. 

Class begins as normal and your assignment was to replicate Girding Potion successfully and quickly. The whole class was at work diligently as you opened vials, reading the ingredients list, dumping them into the cauldron. As you did so, girls around you chit chatted about their soulmates and their pains, taking them as clues as to who it could be. 

The chatter was like a fly in your ear, buzzing around and around and around, driving you towards a meltdown. Sweet Hannah Abbot gushed at how Neville told her that he thought they were soulmates, bringing her two bunches of beautiful, lush flowers. Girls cooed at the story, telling her how lucky she was. Hannah was lucky; having found her soulmate and that being Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts’ sweetheart.

Girls continued to chatter about their soulmate and how close they were to finding them and how excited they were. This only made your blood boil as you angrily tossed things into the cauldron now, fists tightening. “(Y/N), take it easy,” Ron laughs next to you as he watches you angrily toss things into your concoction.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ronald. Is my frustration bothersome? I can’t help it that I’m one of the last people in this school to find their soulmate after relentlessly searching for signs that they’re still alive,” you angrily tear up dragonfly thoraxes, tossing them into the potion as Ron just watches you concerned. “I mean bloody hell, there are fourth years who have found their soulmates and I’m still clueless as if they even go to school here. You’d thing finding one person wouldn’t be so hard, but damn it, Ronald, I’m so exhausted of hearing everyone else’s stories and how happy they are and how in love people are whilst I’m standing here trying to figure out if I still have a soulmate at this point!” you whisper yell at him, growing angrier with every word you utter. “Ugh, whatever I ju-Ow! Fuck!” you hiss as you realize you’ve burnt your hand on the open flame that licks the the cauldron. 

Ron looks at the burn and his eyes widen. “Not again,” he huffs, having been through this before. “Come here, we’ll have to run it under ice water to stop the stinging,” Ron tells you, grabbing an empty cauldron. “Aguamenti,” he casts on the cauldron, filling it up with cold water as you submerge it fully, the stinging sensation subsiding. “Professor Slughorn! (Y/N) seems to have burnt her hand,” Ron calls over Slughorn who is attentive at another work table.

Slughorn turns around and lightly chuckles, “You too, Miss (Y/L/N)? Mr. Malfoy seems to have also burnt his hand. One moment and I’ll be right with you to take a look at the burns.”

Your eyes widen and your heart sinks for a moment. “O-Okay,” you stutter before you turn to Ron who looks at you in disbelief. Draco Malfoy? No. Absolutely not. No way. Not a chance. “It’s a coincidence,” you tell Ron with a shake of your head in disbelief. “Everyone burns their hand in Potions. It happens all the time,” you try to convince yourself as you focus on your hand in the cold water, watching it clench and flex underneath the surface. 

Ron opens up his mouth in protest, but you give him a look as if to say don’t you dare try to rationalize this. Ron sighs. “Whatever you say. It’s your soulmate,” he shrugs with a little smile. 

“Shut up, Ronald, or I’ll tell Lavender,” you warn him and he instantly shuts up.

The thought of Draco Malfoy being the person the universe chose to be your soulmate made you feel physically ill. Draco was nothing you wanted in a soulmate. He was cruel and vindictive and ill-mannered and vicious. He had no care for anyone except if it benefit him in some form. How could you manage to care for someone with a character like that? 

You glanced over at Draco who watched as Professor Slughorn wrapped his badly burned handle in cream colored gauze. The motion of him wrapping the gauze around his hand was almost hypnotizing as you watched it go round and round, your eyes trailing up to Draco’s face. His face was relaxed, but his jaw was clenched and tense, accentuating his bone structure of his face. Slowly, his head turned to face yours, his cold blue eyes meeting yours as you gulped. When he looked at you, your heart thumped against your chest like a drum. Shaking it off, you look back down at your hand, but you can still feel Draco’s eyes on you. 

“If he’s my soulmate, I don’t know what I’ll do,” you whisper down, not daring to make eye contact with Ron. 

------------

Another week passed and their was radio silence from your soulmate. Nothing. However, you were kind of glad there was nothing after what happened in Potions class. You wouldn’t let yourself entertain the thought that Draco Malfoy could be your soulmate in some timeline. The more you thought about it, the sicker it made you feel. 

When you passed him in the hall, you refused to look in his direction and him you. The both of you knew what the other way thinking, but wouldn’t dare confront the other about it. It was far too risky to play that game. No need to talk about something if neither one of you wanted it to be true. 

You found yourself hanging out in the courtyard, messing around with a few of your friends as you sat on the grass, absorbing the brilliant spring sun. People chattered amongst themselves, delighted to be surrounded with their friends. As you leaned up against the tree, you chat lightly to Ron, watching other people toss around a ball, others lay around in the grass, some reading books. “Lavender finally off your back?” you ask Ron, giving him a nudge with a smile. 

Ron rolls his eyes, “Bloody finally. It only took forever.” You chuckle before resting your head on his shoulder. “Anything from you? We haven’t talked about it since....you know...” he trails off, not daring to say his name like it was You-Know-Who.

But he was always around. There was no escaping him. There he was, standing in the courtyard, surrounded by his little bitch boy posse as you sneered, “No. And I’m not even entertaining the thought that it’s him. He’s horrid.” 

Ron chuckled lightly, giving your arm a squeeze. “Alright, let’s get your mind off of him. Did you do the DaDa homework? Because I certainly did not and Hermione told me she won’t let me use hers again ‘cause I used hers last week.”

The two of you keep chatting for a little while until you feel a sharp pain in your left side, like the one you had all those weeks ago. “Ah,” you wince in pain as you hands meet you left side, clutching it in pain, writhing. “Not again.”

Ron turns and faces you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You alright? What do you mean not again?” he asks, searching your eyes for some clarity. “You need a medic? Someone? Hannah? Come over here!” Ron calls out to Hannah Abbot who lays on the ground, head in Neville’s lap. She shoots straight up to meet you at your side, asking you what the problem was.

“It’s fine. This happened a few weeks ago. You can ask my roommate about it. I think it’s my soulmate actually. They hurt themselves badly and it seems like, ah shit, they’ve done it again,” you seethe in pain as you clutch onto your side, electricity shooting up and down your sides. 

Hannah looks at you and grabs your shoulders, trying to get you to stop contorting your body. “Don’t move, it’ll only make the pain worse, alright?” she tells you. “The pain should subside if it’s only your soulmate’s pain and not yours directly. That being said, you have any clue who your soulmate is? Are they at Hogwarts? ‘Cause if they are here, we can get them help which will ultimately help you,” Hannah explains.

And that’s when the moment you dreaded finally came. You gulp, your chest heaving up and down from the pain as you look up through your eyelashes to look across the courtyard. And low and below, there he was. Clutching onto his side, wincing in pain as he threw an arm over Blaise Zabini’s shoulder, using him as a crutch. 

From the distance, you hear him speak, “I’m fine. Honestly. I think I reopened whatever injury I got from that quidditch practice a few weeks ago. I’m alright, Blaise, honestly, no need to fuckin’ baby me.” Draco untangles himself from Blaise as brushes off his shirt while still wincing lightly at the pain.

Your heart sinks into your feet and all of a sudden you feel lightheaded. So the day in Potions class was real. Draco didn’t coincidentally burn his hand too. He felt your burn because you were soulmates. You felt his rib injury because you were soulmates. Draco Malfoy was destined to be yours. 

“I’ve got to go. Now,” you try and scramble to your feet, pushing through the burning pain up and down your ribcage, ignoring Ron and Hannah’s protests that you needed to take it easy. “The pain is gone. I’m fine. I need to go,” you simply call out, walking away from the group in the courtyard.

You were on a mission now and you were going to put an end to this. Once and for all. Without further hesitation, you grab your bag and start marching over to the other side of the courtyard to where Draco was. As you do so, he notices you approaching and starts to leave the courtyard, trying to prevent you and him having some sort of interaction. “God Godric, really, Malfoy?” you huff out to yourself, knowing that if this was the way he was reacting to the news, the future didn’t look too bright.

Draco starts to march through the corridors as you are quick on his heels, chasing him like a predator chases its prey in the wild. Draco turns to see if you are still on his toes and much to his dismay, you are right behind him. “Malfoy, would you stop running away from me? We need to have a conversation!”

He scoffs, “No, you want to have a conversation. I would like to go back to the common room and take a load off.”

You groan out in frustration before taking up a light jog and grabbing a hold of his wrist, pulling him into an empty classroom. Before he can squirm away, you shut the door and put your back against it, preventing him from going anywhere. 

The two of you just stand there, glaring at each other, both gravely disappointed with the reality that just slapped you both in the face. No one says anything for a moment. You two are just breathing, heavy and hot in the room, a few feet separating the two of you. Neither one of you dared to take a step closer to the other. 

“What’s the problem, (Y/L/N)?” Draco tucks his hands into his pockets, playing the fool. Pretending he isn’t bothered by this information that your souls were made for each other. He was trying to play it cool whilst inside his mind was screaming and shouting, how could this have happened? Someone like you with someone like him. The universe had to have made a mistake.

Oh, Malfoy, you fool. The universe doesn’t make mistakes.

Your chest is still heaving up and down as you speak, “We’re soulmates, Draco.”

He shakes his head, “Sure. Whatever that means. Congratulations, we did it. Go us. Now can you kindly move your arse out of the way so I can go relax in peace?”

“No!” you exclaim, firmly planted at the door, glaring at him. “Listen, I’m just as unhappy as you are with this outcome!” you reveal as Draco gulps with a scowl on his face. “But the universe chose us as soulmates for some reason and I’m going to listen to the universe. We both can’t ignore it anymore.” 

Draco looks away from you, refusing to look you in the eyes. For some reason, looking at you in the eyes was too much for him. It felt like you were looking into his soul, you knew all of his secrets with just a gaze into those iceberg eyes of his. 

“That day in Potions, you didn’t burn your hand...” you gently coax him. “That was my burn that you felt.”

“So what! We both burned our hands in Potions! That doesn’t make us any more or less soulmates!” he explodes in fury.

His sudden change in demeanor makes you change tactics. You knew that this conversation would be hard to have with Draco, but not like this. You didn’t think he would succumb to acting like a child at this news. Finding your soulmate should be something to celebrate, to rejoice about, but instead it was an uphill battle. But one you intended to win.

“Alright then, you want to ignore Potions. Fine! What about your rib cage? Four weeks ago, I was writhing in pain on my bed one afternoon for hours from the pain. Ron told me that a quidditch player got injured during timed trials. He didn’t know who. So, today, I feel the same pain in my side in the courtyard, just to look up at see you writhing in pain in your side. You were the quidditch player, Draco. And don’t you dare lie to me and say it was someone else. Because we both know damn well that neither of us deserve to be lied to again!” you exclaim, hot tears now brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill out. 

Draco hears the emotion in your voice and watches your soft face crack to reveal a truly sad person. His eyes soften and he gulps, feeling horribly guilty. But he doesn’t let you know it. 

“When I was younger,” you sniffle, “I always wanted to meet my soulmate. I felt so badly for them because I always felt their pain. And my soulmate was always hurting. In his body, yes, but in his heart,” you try to reason with him. “I told my mum and dad that when I met my soulmate I would give them a hug because I didn’t want them to feel anymore pain. I wanted them to feel loved.” Your eyes search Draco’s for some glimmer of hope. You weren’t expecting a proclamation of love or realization. You were looking for hope. “We were destined for each other.”

Draco takes a deep breath in before speaking, “We may be destined for each other, (Y/N). But I don’t think we can ever love each other.”

His words leave you blank. That was the best way to describe the way you felt. You weren’t surprised he would say that, but you were shocked that he had actually done it. His sad smile means nothing to you; in fact, it feels like he just twisted the knife that was in your gut.

He manages to slip out of the classroom, leaving you there, numb and blank.

--------------

You didn’t sleep that night. It was nearly impossible to sleep. The scene just kept playing on and on and on in your head until it became a broken movie reel. Your mind screamed to close your eyes and sleep, but your memories manifested themselves into a sick nightmare as you jolted awake, heart pounding. 

Your roommates were still fast asleep as you peaked a look at your clock. 2:22am. Angel number now? Great. Well, where were you hours ago? 

Slowly, you toss your legs over the side of the bed and grab a sweatshirt and slippers, pulling the cozy material closer to your chilly body. Quietly, you descend the steps of your dormitory and away into the castle to go for a midnight stroll, hoping that you would be caught by the Head Boy or Girl or any other prefect that roamed the halls patrolling them from midnight stragglers. 

The halls of Hogwarts were quiet. But not in a scary way. In a comforting way. The pictures on the walls slept gently, small snores coming from a few pictures making a small smile draw its way onto your lips as you shuffles the halls. The air was cool and crisp as you breathed it in, the sensation cooling your lungs as you sighed. This was much needed after a day like today.

As you stroll further through the castle, you come across the courtyard again and you gulp. The scene plays over and over in your head. “We may be destined for each other, (Y/N). But I don’t think we can ever love each other.” His words were a sick mantra in your mind. How could you possibly spend the rest of your life with someone who didn’t even want to put in an ounce of effort? You were supposed to be loved. Give love. Get love. But instead, you ended up with a shattered daydream of what things could have been. 

You peel your eyes away from the courtyard and to the corridor where on the edge of the wall sits who you wanted to see least of all right now. Your heart stops at the sight of his white blonde hair, sloppily slicked back. His eyes were dark and tired. He couldn’t sleep either. 

Maybe you could slip away without him knowing you were even there. Maybe if you turned around you coul-

“My father was ruthless to me as a child,” Draco speaks up without looking at you. You stop in your tracks and listen. Slowly, he turns to face you and gives you a sad smile. “Still is, to an extent. Not as physically ruthless, but...you get the idea,” he confesses as you sigh and walk over to him, taking a seat beside him on the cold brick, leaning your back against the wall.

Draco gulps and settles before continuing on. “I was always worried. That whenever he would make me feel hurt, my soulmate would feel it. My mother tried to tell me that they would be just fine, but I knew....I knew that she was lying to protect me. Protect me from whatever it was,” he trails off, becoming quiet. In the dark, you couldn’t really tell, but you knew he was softly crying, tears falling down from the pools of blue in his eyes. “I’m so sorry that you had to feel what I felt growing up...he’s a monster. My own father...”

You scoot over closer to Draco and shake your head. None of this was his fault. “Draco, you don’t need to apologize to me. Your father is despicable and you are not him,” you tell him as Draco wipes his tears before you could see them. He didn’t want to cry in front of you yet. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that all those years.”

He shakes his head, “You know, for years, I tried to convince myself that I didn’t have a soulmate,” he lightly laughs. “That way, I only had to protect myself. It was selfish of me. But...obviously, that didn’t work out. I would feel your pain too. I remember one day in third year, something had happened to you. You were running and you fell and you broke your arm. I remember yelling out in pain in the common room and Goyle looked at me like I had ten heads,” he laughs as you joined him, smiling at the memory. He was right. You were running with Ron when you had tripped and fallen in Hogsmeade and broke your right arm. “I remember you came back with a bright orange cast and everyone signed it in Divinations class. You told everyone Madam Pomfrey said you didn’t need a cast because of the Healing Potion, but you insisted on getting one because you had one when you were eight. I remember I thought you looked cute smiling and giggling as people wrote their get wells on your broken arm.”

The smile that appears on your face is wide as your heart gently flutters as he remembered all the tiny details of when you broke your arm. Draco knew for so long that you were soulmates and yet, you were so dead clueless. 

“I didn’t want to tell you that we were soulmates because I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” Draco confesses. “I guess I’m a bit too late on that one, eh?”

You shake your head and sigh, “No, Draco. I mean, do I think you’re a down right dickhead? Absolutely.” He laughs. “But I don’t think it’s too late for you to start trying to act differently. If you can remember me breaking my arm in third year and remember what color the bloody cast was...I think you can work on being a better person. Not for me. But for you.”

Draco inhales deeply before shaking his head, exhaling. “I want to be better. For me, but I want to be what you deserve. If we’re going to...do this, I want to do it right. And if, by some fucked up reason,” he laughs as you chuckle, “it doesn’t work, then at least we know that we tried.”

You feel his hand grab yours as he intertwines his fingers with yours. You look down at his hands and smile, giving it a soft squeeze, assuring him that his proposal sounded like a plan. You were going to give this a go.

If the universe believed in you and Draco, why shouldn’t you?

“That’s all I can ask for,” you whispered gently.

“And I promise I’m going to do more than you ask for. I swear on my life.”

------

taglist: @lumos-barnes @kerie-prince @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @another-lonely-heart-blog @starlightweasley @shilohpug​

[watermelonlipstick]

Septic

This was written as a request for anon, who asked:

I was wondering if I could request one with Dean. The reader's injury gets badly infected and she gets a high fever and they are stuck somewhere and can't go to the hospital (maybe a cabin during a snow storm or something else if you want?). Anyway her condition keeps getting worse and dean is doing everything he can to keep her alive? As for their relationship it's up to you, whether they're dating or hiding their feelings...?

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were thinking. I decided to go with a ‘hiding from Leviathans’ angle because that seemed the closest to canon compliant to me. Thanks in advance for reading; I would love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Septic

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2124

Summary: Unable to go to a hospital for fear of getting trapped by Leviathans, Dean tries his best to manage the reader’s worsening infection and fever. 

Warnings: fever, illness, swearing, implied threat of death, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (maybe? if you squint)

           “Dude, I have a fever, I haven’t been decapitated. Can you stop pacing? Sam’ll be back in a couple days, I’ll take some Tylenol and sleep it off, we’ll be good as new in no time.”

           He glared down at you where you laid on Rufus’s couch with flared nostrils. “You’re shivering under every goddamn blanket in this place and it’s been 3 days already. We’re going to a hospital.”

           You rolled your eyes at him and tried to hide the way you snuggled deeper into the woolen bundle. “So dramatic. As if we wouldn’t get made walking in the door. And if you’re so worried about me, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a hot water bottle and some tea?” You tried to give him your most casual smile in reassurance.

           Dean appraised you with a hard set to his jaw and a twinge of concern at his eyebrows for a moment before relenting. “Fuck, fine. One more day and if the fever hasn’t broken, then we’re going.” It was only a few steps to the kitchen, and you heard him putting a pot of water on to boil. “You sure I can’t just do coffee? I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”

           Like it always did, Dean’s aversion to tea made you laugh. “It’s literally just mint flavored water—you act like you haven’t drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures.”

           “The fact that I have drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures should show you how gross it is.” He tossed a hot water bottle covered in worn waxed canvas on top of your blankets and you shimmied it under your feet while he got the tea together. After a moment, he set the tea (and a plastic bear full of honey, which made you smile to yourself) on the coffee table next to you. “Can we at least watch something else? These chicks are driving me fucking nuts.”

           That made you laugh hard enough to shake loose the blanket corners tucked in under your chin. “You might be able to trick Bobby into thinking you don’t like the Real Housewives, but I’m not buying it for one second.”

           He shot you some side eye but didn’t protest, patting your feet in a signal to raise them so he could sit with your legs in his lap. You didn’t remember past the first few minutes of the next episode.

           “Hey, come on, you gotta drink something.”

           You squinted up at Dean, feeling the sickly stickiness of dried and re-soaked sweat in Dean’s stolen sweatshirt where it bunched around your neck. “You want me to sleep, you want me to wake up, pick a lane, asshole,” you tried to joke, feeling each word like a stab in your, well, stab wound. It took more focus than it should’ve too hold onto Dean’s face where he perched on the coffee table right in front of you.

           “You’ve been asleep for 16 hours, Rip Van Winkle. And you’re sweating like a whore in church, gotta rehydrate.”

           “Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” you croaked, carefully keeping your face neutral around the throbbing ache in your side as you sat up and accepted the bowl of broth from Dean. When his hands were free, he put the back of his hand to your forehead in a very maternal way that might’ve made you giggle if you weren’t in so much pain.

           Dean’s lips pressed into a tight line and he breathed a hard “fuck,” as he sat back. “Lemme see it.”

           “If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” you tried to joke.

           “No slick shit, I’m serious. The fever’s getting worse.” There wasn’t even a touch of playfulness in his tone, tight chord of anxiety clipping his words.

           “It’s going to be pink and raw like every other set of infected stit—”

           “Cooperate or don’t, but my bet is there’s no way you can slip out of getting pinned right now.”

           “Who knew you were so kinky, Dean?”

           He didn’t rise to the teasing at all, the just-this-side-of-friendly banter you normally had, and it made the nervous bile rise a few degrees in your throat. You eased back and slowly flipped down the blankets, immediately started shivering as you pulled up your damp layers to show him your stomach.

           It was worse than you’d thought it would be even before he tenderly pulled back the tape to see the injury itself, the gauze a mottled tie-dye of blood and greenish pus. The stitches strained against swollen, angry tissue oozing at the corners, and you looked away to hold onto a little denial that you weren’t completely fucked. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Dean murmured. He reached behind him for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and you didn’t even try to argue, hissing and grabbing his wrist when he poured it over the wound. Dabbing off the worst of the external mess with the moisture, you watched as his mind raced.

           You decided to try to grab the reins of the situation before he locked you both into a crazy plan. “Help me up, I want to take a shower. I feel disgusting.”

           “Can you even stand?”

           You rolled your eyes at him exasperatedly.

           “Roll your fucking eyes at me all you want, you look like Marvin the Martian. Can’t believe I let your dumb ass talk me out of taking you to a hospital.”

           “I’ve got a much better chance of beating a little infection than I do the combined force of however many Leviathans are looking for us and the full force of the federal government. Now get out of my way if you’re not going to help me up, I need a shower.”

           He pushed back the coffee table and watched you stand up, grabbing your arm and waist when you immediately swayed. “Goddamn it, sit back down, I’m getting your shoes.”

           “Dean. I am not going to a hospital. Especially not before Sam gets back. Not a negotiation. I just—you’re freaked out, I get it. I just need you to please let me call the play for once.”

           His jaw muscles tightened into firm balls and you could see the flare of panic behind his gaze as he flicked between your eyes. Ultimately he didn’t say anything, just giving you a tight nod and offering a hand to guide you up and to the bathroom. When you’d gotten there, he hovered in the doorway as you started to peel off layers, hoping that your leaning on the sink didn’t look as obvious as it felt. “Think I can take it from here, chief,” you offered, hoping he’d take the hint.

           “Not adding a head injury to this bullshit stew, sorry.”

           “No way, psycho. You’re not watching me shower.”

           His face screwed up in a scowl. “I’m not going to watch you shower, I’m just staying in here while you do in case you get dizzy again.”

           “Dude—”

           “Not a negotiation,” he growled, spinning your words back on you. You held each other’s stubborn gazes for a long beat before you gave in, getting in the tub and yanking the curtain closed with the rest of your clothes on, shucking the rest of them off and dropping them outside the tub behind the plasticized shield and curtain. You turned the water on and held onto the dial for support, hearing Dean’s movement in the bathroom as he sat down on the lidded toilet next to the shower. Laborious as it was, it felt a lot better getting clean. You’d started washing your hair when he started to talk.

           “You know what you’re asking me to do, right?”

           “Let me take a shower in peace?” You didn’t want to acknowledge the elephant in the room—what was the point?

           “If you’re not septic yet you will be in a day or two.”

           “By which time Sam will be back and you guys can strong arm some vet into giving me antibiotics like the mafiosos you fancy yourselves to be.”

           “Don’t deflect.” It was quiet but firm, and you blinked away the way your vision was starting to fuzz out at the edges. Something about it finally got you to drop the joking, if only for a second.

           “I know what I’m asking you to do.” You hoped he could hear the resolution in your voice.

           Dean was silent for a long enough beat that you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but you heard the roughness in his voice when he finally replied. “Please don’t make me?”

           The shower washed away a hot, stupid tear when it shot out of your eye like a kamikaze at his vulnerability. “I can’t be the reason you guys get caught.” You were clean now, but something about the confession-style quality of the shower curtain and the way it was letting both of you say what you really meant held you in the stream of water anyway.

           “I’m not—it’s going to fuck me up forever, you know that, right?” It was almost a grunt, the way Dean’s voice strained as he pleaded with you.

           “Long as you guys are alive.”

           He didn’t respond.

           After a long minute you felt your legs start to turn to jello. “You have something out there I can put on?”

           You heard him clear his voice, sticky and coarse. “Gimme a second.”

           A callused hand shot behind the shower curtain with a towel before Dean’s footsteps got quieter, and you tried your best to dry yourself off without stumbling. Not 15 seconds later, a bundle of clothes came in the same way. You smiled to yourself at your underwear and yoga pants with Dean’s t-shirt; he would’ve had to deliberately go into 2 different bags to get the clothes, no way it was an accidental grab. When you were dressed, you tugged the shower curtain back and didn’t argue when Dean wrapped his arm around your waist to ease you out of the tub, let him guide you back to the couch and fussily rearrange your blankets and pillows before he got out his first aid supplies.

           You watched his face as he worked on cleaning the wound again, knowing he just needed to be doing something, that he couldn’t just sit still and hope it got better. You could give him that, sat stock still even when it stung like a bitch and didn’t even tease him when he made you swallow a handful of vitamins as though that would help. Another cup of soup eaten silently and two mugs of tea later, your eyelids were beginning to droop again.

           “Tired?” he murmured, messing with the cover of the hot water bottle before ultimately getting up to refill it.

           “A little, yeah. Will you, um, will you sit with me?”

           Dean mercifully didn’t acknowledge the shake in your voice, nodding gently and sliding himself beneath you on the couch, tucking you under his arm and onto his chest, burrowing you both into the cushions. You reached your hand out of the blankets to place your palm over his heart, feeling the vibrating thrum of his pulse under your fingertips and cheek. His hand shifted so that he was smoothing the drying hair back from your temple, and after a few beats he bent his neck to kiss the crown of your head. The tenderness of it, the giving in to your request, pulled another tear out of your eye that fell straight into the cotton of Dean’ t-shirt underneath you.

           He sounded like he’d just woken up, that sleepy-syrupy sandpaper of a long night on his vocal cords. “You know, right? If it was going to be anyone for me, it would’ve been you?”

           The weight of it turned the blankets on top of you into a hug. You were nodding into him before you could speak, the tears turning your voice creaky-soft. “Same to you, dummy.” He chuckled once nostalgically at the ribbing, and you felt the rumble of it under you. “Thank you, Dean.”

           You felt the tension of the hiccupped breath before Dean got it under control to answer. “I love you, kid.”

           “Love you too.” It was the only thing to say, and neither of you had to answer or explain this undercurrent that had never been acknowledged so plainly before, no matter how rock solid it might’ve been for years. You laid there together for a long time, beating of Dean’s heart underneath you something constant to hold onto, warmth off his body better than any hot water bottle. The last thing you remembered before passing out was hearing Sam walk through the front door.

-

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[isthemicon]

Blair being maternal to Chuck as a sign of her knowing him better than anybody else.

The soft side of Blair we only see with Chuck is something that can’t be missed. It Is especially visible since both Blair and Chuck are kind of presented to be cold and distant to the outside world, they don’t really show their emotions, they don’t like to look vulnerable and yet in those moments they both are. Chuck lowers his guard and shows real vulnerability and Blair picks up on it and gives him comfort. And often vice versa.

But why is that? Why Blair, person that one could call Ice Queen is so ready to be so sweet with Chuck and act almost maternal? I think it all comes down to the fact that Blair knows Chuck better than anybody else and the fact that Chuck showed her a part of him that he would usually hide behind the cynical shield.

That is the side of Chuck that is still a terrified boy that had been almost ruined beyond repair by his parents and is touch/affection starved. Chuck prior to Blair (and later Lily) never experienced any version of love or comfort. His father made him believe that his mother died giving birth to him and then made him feel as if Chuck was responsible for Bart’s pain that didn’t even really exist. He never received any affection and believed he doesn’t deserve it as loving him can only bring pain. But he still was a human, human that wanted to be comforted when things weren’t going well, that needed to be reassured when he was doubting himself, human that just wanted someone to care about him. And Blair knew that, she knew about his past and how badly Bart messed him up and how despite that Chuck still wanted his approval because he was his father. So whenever she could she would comfort him, she would hold him in her arms and give him what he was never given: affection, comfort and love.

Her holding him and simply being there for him shows that she is fully aware of what he needs. It’s also shown in other scenes like her knowing how much his father approval means to him, we see it all the way back in 01x07 when the thing she says is how Bart is going to love Victrola, she doesn’t say it’s going to be great or something like that, she reassures him that his father is going to love it as she knows it is his biggest concern. She shows it in s5 when she helps him bring Bart back. She knows how much it means to Chuck to have his father in his life and later she knows exactly why Bart’s betrayal means so much to Chuck, she knew that in that moment Chuck’s whole life perspective crumbled everything he had ever done (even the most horrible things) was to make his father proud. Father that in end didn’t even view him as his son but as mere vehicle for his legacy, vehicle that can only be worth something if he is easy to manipulate, that’s why Bart emotionally abused Chuck into believing that his unworthy of love and that only he could ever care for him and that’s only because he had to as his father. Blair knows it that’s why she doesn’t allow him to sideline her or push her way instead she follows him and shows him how she is all in and how she loves him.

Her knowing how much he needs to feel loved is also something beautiful and extremely soft and sweet. It’s shown in her knowing how much he needs Lily and forcing him not to push her away. But perhaps my favorite moment of her knowing how much he needs love is her telling him she loves him for the first time. She knows that after Bart passed away he feels completely alone, feels that he doesn’t matter to anybody that he had lost the only person that even minimally cared about him. So she pushes her pride away and tells him what she thinks he needs to hear in this moment, she tells him that she loves him and that she will be there for him. Unfortunately the one thing she doesn’t know is that just few minuets ago Lily confirmed him in his other fear that everybody that loves him is in danger. Chuck is terrified of that because of the way he thinks his mother died, because of the way he thinks his father felt pain after she supposedly died and then Lily confirms him in that by saying how it was his fault that Bart was in the car and had an accident. Blair knew that telling him she loves him is exactly what he needed but what she didn’t know that it was in the worst moment possible as in that moment all he could think about is how love for him is dangerous.

The soft, affectionate side of Blair and Chuck is one of my favorite things on the show, it’s so beautiful in the way they are both so full of passion and pride but in those moments they are just there for each other. And the fact they’ve trusted only each other with those moments of vulnerability shows how much they trust and love each other.

I’d like to thank @equilibriosopralafollia for the idea for the post. I hope it isn’t too boring and shows something new about the depth of Chuck and Blair’s relationship.

[lemonpeter]

I Know Who You Pretend I Am

Idk if anyone else has seen the tiktok trend thing but. Yeah. This is based on that.

Yes I cried while writing it. Yes I’m a cry baby. Yes I’m still crying. Enjoy 💕

Warnings: HS au, parent death mention, Tony misses his mom

***

Peter laughed, nearly flipping over the bowl of popcorn that sat on the couch. “Oh, shi- shoot,” he corrected. He shot a sheepish glance at May, who just smiled fondly.

“You know I don’t care if you curse, Peter. As long as it’s in the right setting.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his temple.

The teen smiled, snuggling into his aunt’s touch. He’d never get tired of her love.

“So,” May started, pulling back to look into his eyes. “When’s he supposed to get here?”

Peter’s cheeks colored slightly. “Any minute now, really. I told him-“ there was a knock at the door and he sat up. “That’s gotta be him.”

He quickly made his way to the door, flinging it open and grinning when he saw his boyfriend. “Hi, Tony.”

The older boy smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Hey, Pete. I brought-“ he held up the bag he was holding. “A couple games. Some of the ones you mentioned not having.”

Peter grabbed his free hand, pulling him inside. “Perfect! Cmon, we’ll get started!”

Tony nodded, eyeing May nervously. It wasn’t that he was scared of her, it wasn’t that. He just wanted her to like him so badly. She was Peter’s mom, basically. He wanted her to have a good impression of him.

Plus maybe it was a little selfish too. He wanted her to care about him like she did Peter. But he wouldn’t ever admit to that.

As the night went on, and they played their games, things got more comfortable. They were all happy and fairly relaxed.

May didn’t miss the way that Tony kept glancing at her when he won. Or got something right.

She didn’t hesitate to congratulate him or tell him that she was proud. And she saw how happy it made him every time.

Her heart broke for him. She remembered hearing the news about Maria and Howard. And how Peter mentioned Tony had missed school for so long afterwards.

She also remembered taking in a little boy after the same thing happened to him.

Maybe Tony was older, but she knew it would still hurt. And sometimes a boy just needed his mom.

When they were in-between games, Peter jumped up to refill their snacks. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, grabbing the bowls and empty containers.

His aunt nodded before shifting her attention to Tony.

He glanced away when he saw her looking at him, biting the inside of his cheek.

He knew that he was being too obvious. That was embarrassing. He didn’t want her to know how desperate he was for her to love him too.

Although he knew that that wasn’t quite the whole picture.

May looked at Tony, giving him a smile. “Come here, it’s okay. I won’t bite,” she teased lightly.

She didn’t mind giving him the affection he clearly needed. She didn’t mind one bit. And she didn’t mind that he was using her as a stand-in for his mom. She knew what was going on.

He nervously moved to her, but relaxed as soon as her arms were around him.

There was something so maternal, so perfect about May Parker. Something he hadn’t had in so long.

Against his every wish, he instantly felt tears pricking behind his eyes and his throat burning. He didn’t want to cry. There was no reason for him to cry.

But then May just held him tighter. And leaned to his ear, whispering to where just he could hear. “I know you miss her.”

And he couldn’t help the sob that left him.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Not a Baby: Nat and Chris (And Ronnie)

CW: The first part is pure fluff with a couple underage drinking references/jokes. Second part references the events of Chris getting appendicitis (One, Two, Three, Four) and takes place while he is healing from surgery. Includes surgery references, whumpee rejecting medication, medical trauma references

Sometimes, you just want bittersweet fluff lined with angst.

-

“You gotta help me out,” Tristan sings along with the radio as they wait at a red light, Ronnie furtively checking her phone. “It’s all a blur last ni-eee-eye-ee-ight…”

One message from Paul, just now out of bed after a longer-than-usual workday had fully wiped him out, thanking her for leaving some food in the fridge. She smiles, faintly, at the sight of the little heart emojis he leaves after every single text. 

He’s not much for showing emotion in his face, not like Tristan wears his own feelings on his sleeve, but he knows how to make sure Ronnie feels loved. He always has.

The light turns green, and she taps on the gas, then lets her foot slowly press down. Next to her, Tristan dances in his seat, totally unselfconscious, rocking back and forth. 

“We need a taxi, ‘cause you’re hungover and I’m broke…”

Ronnie starts laughing, one hand over her mouth, the other still on the wheel.

He blinks, turning to look at her. They just clipped his hair short last week, getting him ready for the next competition coming up. She never expected to be a Gymnastics Mom, not once, but here she is, chaperoning her teenage son to the gym on a Saturday afternoon, where he more or less lives these days. “What?”

“I just. It’s something else to listen to your teenage son sing about being hungover, Tris. That’s all. You’re way too young for this song. And probably just for Katy Perry in general, not that anyone should listen to-”

“Mom.” Tristan rolls his eyes, leaning over and pointedly turning the volume up on the radio. “I like Katy Perry. And I, I, I know what hungover is. I’m not, not, not, not-... not-not four years old. I’m fifteen.”

“Fair enough, but I don’t think my fifteen-year-old should know about being hungover, either.” She takes a turn, the radio cheerfully blaring that’s what you get for waking up in Vegas and she wonders why she keeps letting Tris pick the radio station, exactly, when they could be listening to some perfectly fine soft rock right about now. “What do you get up to at Aki’s, huh? Maybe I need to speak to Aimi. Ask if you’re having wild parties as soon as I leave.”

“Oh my god, Mom.” Tristan turns bright red, and she tries not to enjoy how much he’s his father’s son - always but especially when he blushes, the red seeming to make the scattering of pale freckles stand out even more, not less, when he does. “You are, are not going to-... we don’t drink, Mom. We just, just watch shows and… hang out.”

“I know, baby,” Ronnie says, laughter still edging her voice. “I’m teasing you, that’s all.”

He glares out the windshield where he sits next to her, running his fingers up and down the smooth seatbelt, along its edge. Back and forth, enjoying the mix of silk and rough in the texture, she thinks. 

“I’m not a, a, a, a baby,” He mumbles, all teenage resentment and irritation. 

“Oh, honey. That’s the downside of having parents,” Ronnie says, gentling her voice down to affection, taking another turn. She can see the gym now, down at the end of the street. Aimi will probably already be here with Aki, she figures, and maybe they can make a coffee run while the boys practice. “It doesn’t matter how old you get. You could be fifty and I could be sixty-seven and I’d still see you wrapped in that hospital blanket looking up at me with big eyes. Even when we’re both old, you’ll still be my baby.”

He rolls his eyes again, but this time she catches the hint of a smile he’s trying to hide pulling at one side of his mouth. Tristan leans forward and switches the radio station over to Ronnie’s favorite, then falls back into his seat, focusing on the seatbelt again.

Sometimes, like his father, he doesn’t know how to say he loves her, but he always knows how to show it.

-

Two and a half years later

Nat came down for a glass of water, only to find Chris wide awake on the couch at 3 am, top teeth biting down so hard on his bottom lip she was afraid he’d draw blood, making his slow, careful, shuffling way towards the stairs.

She’d managed to convince him to go back to the couch, or really more or less command him, but the trade-off was promising she’d stay downstairs with him for a while.

Now, instead of water she has a mug of hot tea steaming gently on the side table, instead of her warm bed she has Chris’s head resting on a pillow in her lap while she runs fingers slowly through his hair - dark red in the night, lit with a hint of silver by the reflected light coming off the television - and instead of dreams, she has reruns of Frasier.

“You palmed your pain medication earlier, didn’t you?” She asks the question as gently as she can, without judgement.

He doesn’t answer, green eyes locked on the television, where the main character’s younger brother is preparing for a date and managing to set an ironing board on fire in the process. It’s probably one of the best scenes in television history, but Nat can’t even begin to pay attention to it. Worry has her all twisted up, heart beating a little too fast, as she picks up her mug and takes a sip, honey and lemon and yes, a little bit of whiskey in her tea all settling over her tongue. 

“Chris,” She says, softly. “I asked you a question.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all he says, and he doesn’t move. His head is a soft weight against her leg, and his hair runs like silk through her fingers. He’s pale not just from the darkness and the late-night TV, but from the pain he must be in, must be holding back.

Of course, there’s no one who has come through her house who hasn’t been pretty good at hiding pain, after a while. Once you’re drowned in it, once it’s your everyday truth, you learn not so much to actually hide it as simply to go on living with it. 

No one Chris’s age should already be so good at this.

“You have to take those, or you’re going to hurt like this all the time for a while,” Nat says, trying to keep from lecturing him. His freckles stand out more, lit by the cool blue-tinged light of TV. She watches him smile, just a little, at the slapstick comedy going on. “It’ll take longer for your incision to heal if you-”

“Don’t, don’t like pills,” Chris whispers, and she watches one of his hands, palm flat, running up and down the heavy weighted blanket she’s laid over him. It’s soft as rabbit fur, and he starts to hum, nearly a whisper, as he touches it. “Jake’s gone. Out. Didn’t… didn’t want them.”

Nat takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. “Chris, you can’t only take pills when Jake is here to give them to you. He can’t always be here, he has things he does outside of this house-”

“I know. But… I didn’t want them. I, I, I don’t mind hurting a little.”

The funny thing is, it’s not bluster. He really doesn’t. Chris would really rather lay here, awake in the middle of the night, in terrible pain than simply put two pills into his mouth and wash them down with water. There’s been too much done to him with drugs, and he’s not the only one she’s had to help recover the idea of medicine as something other than torture.

He’ll get there.

She hopes.

“Okay, well… where did you put them?”

There’s silence, again, but this time he shifts a little, a flash of his hurt and discomfort across his expression. “In, in the couch cushions.”

“Do you have any of your other doses in there?”

“... mmhmm.”

“Chris…” She sighs, putting her hand up to her forehead, rubbing her fingers just above the bridge of her nose as the tension starts to build behind her eyes. Oh, her head’s going to hurt soon. She can’t just be up at night like she used to without paying for it the next day. “How many have you skipped? Huh?”

“... four.”

“Four. Four times-... okay.” She exhales, slowly - he’s tense under her hand, now, and she can feel the worry in him. Knows he’s trying to figure out if he’ll be in trouble, get punished. Disciplined for the ways he’s learned to live with what happened to him.

A different kind of test than what he’s tried on Jake, but it’s still a test.

“Chris. I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to have to sit here and watch you and see you swallow them. I know that it’s hard for you, I do, and I’m so sorry that we have to do this, but I have to take care of you. I want to take care of you. And part of that is making sure you know how to care for yourself. When you’re recovering from serious surgery-”

“The, the, the, the cut’s not even that big,” He mutters, a hint of irritation. 

Nat feels a surge of affection for him that, if she were standing, would nearly knock her off her feet. Chris interrupting her, Chris being pouty and sulky and every inch a seventeen-year-old boy, is a new thing. She doesn’t take it for granted.

It’s just… a little inconvenient right now.

“It doesn’t matter how big it is. It went all the way inside your stomach, and it was a pretty serious surgery. You need these pills or you are going to hurt like hell for so much longer than if you take them and get better. You got it?”

He sighs, but relaxes against her again, and she starts running fingers through his hair again, simple and maternal. “Yeah. I, I do.”

“Okay. Let’s watch the show and see if maybe you’re up for taking your dose and heading back to sleep in a bit, huh?”

“Will you, you, you stay? Even if I-... even if I do, and fall asleep?” He twists a little to look up her and winces as it pulls the still-tender muscles in his abdomen. “Will you stay?”

Nat thinks about how badly her back’s going to hurt in the morning. The headache already trying to sneak its way in around the edges. How she’s going to end up napping half the day away and not getting a damn thing done she had planned.

Then she just smiles down at him, at his wide green eyes in his narrow face and the heavy blanket hiding every other inch of him in softness and warmth. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay right here with you, ‘til Ant’s up in the morning. How’s that sound?”

“Good. See if you can get comfortable for a bit.”

The two of them fall back into an easy silence, broken only by the low-volume of the TV show, and get through two more episodes of Frasier before Nat’s tea is gone and she and Chris are both half-asleep on the couch, her hand simply resting on his hair, now, light but ever-present. 

Eyes closed, the television’s cool blue still dancing against the inside of her eyelids, she hears Chris mumble, “Night, Nat,” in a sleep-slurred voice. It’s got to be four in the morning, there’s not much night left.

“Night, baby,” Nat murmurs.

“Not a, a baby, Mom,” Chris whispers, but both of them are too close to sleep to notice.

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[happyhauntt]

for the 1960s lyric game — 7, 14, & 28 for sunny! i finally got around to reading hello sunshine yesterday and i love it & her (also, love the new theme!)

me acutely in love w you right now i--

also me, knowing how to give a short, concise answer to a question?? idk her

7, DON’T WORRY BABY: What do they do when they’re stressed or worried? Do they require reassurance or validation?

sunny??? stressed or worried?? almost constantly. by season 3 she’s basically el’s mom, or at least very much a maternal figure to el in spite of the small age gap, and there is very much a failure on sunny’s part for being unable to protect el, or to stop these things happening to her, or to do them for her. in comparison with el and the other children at hawkins lab, she grew up with a relatively normal life, and once she realises the extent of that, the guilt swallows her whole. everything she does is influenced by that guilt, and while she does eventually understand that none of it was in her control and it wasn’t her fault, her existence is pretty much fueled by stress and worry and anxiety. steve and hopper in particular see it in her very very clearly, how she overcompensates for every little thing. steve knows how sunny looks when she smiles, really smiles, and he sees that less and less from the end of season 2 onwards. she still smiles, but it’s so forced, and there’s a little crease between her brows and it’s too tight and he knows it isn’t real. he knows. she also chews the skin around her fingernails - she’s always done that, but her fingers are almost always cracked and raw at the edges now. sunny doesn’t necessarily require reassurance or validation - she’ll operate just fine without both, she never really received either growing up - but fuck, when steve tells her she’s done something right?? when hopper acknowledges she’s doing a good job?? when el crawls into bed beside her at night and curls into her side and falls asleep without any nightmares because sunny is a safe place, sunny fills up in the places that were empty and hollow before, and she could burst with happiness.

14, CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’: What fills their daydreams?

OH HO HO NO bc i had a long ass conversation about this with a friend a few days ago,,, sunny’s daydreams are very much the same as steve’s, and i had that planned long before season 4 came out. slight spoilers for volume 2 ahead. sunny so badly wants a family. she wants domesticity, and safety. she is a very maternal character - you see it in scenes with el and the other younger kids from the lab, you see it when she starts interacting with the party in seasons 1 and 2, she’s fucking adaptable and has this innate need to take care of people. it’s not strictly that her childhood was bad - she had nothing to compare it to, really, and she wasn’t mistreated (well, she was but this is a realisation she comes to way later on) but she wasn’t... loved, either. her house wasn’t warm. brenner was her father, technically, but not a dad. she was lonely. her dream is this, essentially: to never feel lonely again. for sunny, that means a big family. it means laughter and happiness and love. whatever form that ends up coming in, she won’t really mind, but she dreams of never being lonely again.

28, BEND ME, SHAPE ME: What would they do for the people they love?

my good bitch, a more apt question would be what wouldn’t sunny do for the people she loves? answer: nothing. sunny goes toe-to-toe with everything that dares touch her family, and everyone is her family. she very often doesn’t get the opportunity, and that manifests in a lot of guilt (see above.) el is very capable of handling herself, and for the first two seasons, sunny’s powers don’t present in physical way, they’re mainly psychic-based, so she can’t actually protect the way el does (which really upsets sunny, because she wants to protect her loved ones, protect el like she protects sunny, and she can’t.) she does at one point fully throw herself in front of a demogorgon for steve and nancy with nothing but a hatchet, but sunny is honestly crazy. she has no real-world experience and therefore no real concept of danger (and a demogorgon is fucking dangerous). the short answer is that sunny would die for them. all of them. it honestly pisses steve, hopper and el off the most, because sunny seems to think she’s expendable in comparison?? (that’s not an active thought she has, it’s just instinct to her. she’s a mama bear.) she’s also just... readily available almost 24/7. dustin and lucas need to be picked up from the arcade?? she’s there. max wants ice-cream? done. she can’t say no to these kids (they don’t take advantage of her though bc more often than not, if steve thinks they’re going that way, he has a very stern talk with them about it. sunny finds it very endearing because she’s not stupid, she just has this pathological need to be useful and do things for people.)