rising above all

Maybe I should clarify something: my experience with Neo-Nazis is not, in fact, limited to the internet.

I happen to have been raised around several white men and women who spent a good chunk of their adult lives in prison. Many of them joined white supremacist gangs during this time. They raised their kids -my friends at that time- to be white supremacists. They had swastikas hanging in their living rooms and would talk openly about beating up or killing racial minorities (but ofc they said slurs instead). I didnt say anything at the the because I was 11-13 years old and didn’t really know any better; and these men scared me. This is a meth town in Texas, where it’s expected everyone owns a gun and is ready to use it- I once saw one of them beat the shit out of a 16yo and shove a shotgun in his face.

So that’s what I think when I think “Neo-Nazis”, not these “alt right” pussies. So I know that they -and their kids- were still capable of spending time with nonwhite people and pretending to see them as humans, and then talk about how “the South would rise again” and they would “own them n*****s” and other shit I don’t care to remember.

And let me tell you: no amount of calm, rational discussion will sway these people. Ever. If you were to challenge their views they would eventually resort to violence to shut you up; if you tried to “rise above” all that would happen is they’d laugh you down and call you a pussy and continue believing, speaking, and yes, acting on their beliefs.

When I say “peaceful resistance won’t stop Neo-Nazis” it’s not just a philosophy I read in some book. It’s my lived experience.

Questions/Comments to be sent anonymously!

(though off anon is fine too!)

  • “Is there someone you hold dear?”
  • “Don’t you feel any guilt?”
  • “You’re actually afraid to be alone, aren’t you?”
  • “There must be something you fear.”
  • “Do you have a home?”
  • “Is there someone you like?”
  • “Are you really expecting a positive outcome out of this?”
  • “Aren’t you ashamed?”
  • “Aren’t you happy?”
  • “Who do you despise?” 
  • “How do you sleep at night?”
  • “How do you manage to keep going despite everything?”
  • “What do you think of kindness?”
  • “What do you think of hatred?”
  • “Why do you fight?”
  • “Why do you live?”
  • “How much blood have you spilled?”
  • “How much death have you seen?”
  • “Don’t you think your actions are reckless?”
  • “Don’t you know how much good you’ve done for others?”
  • “Can’t you tell they love you?”
  • “Can’t you see he/she would die for you?”
  • “Can’t you see that they hate you?”
  • “Can’t you tell the truth for once?”
  • “You’re not tainted.”
  • “You’re not alone.”
  • “You’re awful.”
  • “You don’t think of anyone but yourself.”
  • “You’re an emotionless robot.”
  • “You’re just a lap dog.”
  • “It’s not over.”
  • “He/she needs you.”
  • “Stop lying.”
  • “Stop fighting.”
  • “Stop pushing others away.”
  • “You’re cruel.”
  • “You’re far too kind. Too kind for your own good.”
  • “You depend on him/her too often.”
  • “You’re overprotective, it’s stifling.”
  • “You’re too impulsive, it’s reckless.”
  • “You’re too careless, it’s a liability.”
  • “He/she is bringing you down.”
  • “You’re too timid, it’s easy to see you as a target.”
  • “You need to listen.”
  • “You need to speak up more often.”
  • “You’re weak.”
  • “You’re strong. Stronger than you’ll ever know.”
  • “You’re too proud.”
  • “Quit blaming others for your mistakes.”
  • “You won’t always be around to save him/her.”
  • “One day, he/she won’t need you anymore.”
  • “You can’t cheat death.”
  • “You can’t hide forever.”
  • “They’ll find out the truth eventually.”
  • “That person is only holding you back.”
  • “They’re too good for you.”
  • “You’ll be rewarded for your efforts if you keep trying.”
  • “It will get better.”
  • “You look lonely.”
  • “You look bitter.”
  • “You look tired.”
  • “You’re hiding a painful burden.”
  • “You’re perfect.”
  • “You’re beautiful.”
  • “You will always be worthless.”
  • “Your hands are too dirty, too tainted to be clean.”
  • “You’re lost in this world. Wandering without a purpose.”
  • “You’ll rise above them all.” 
  • “You’ll find your place in this world.”
  • “Eventually, someone will knock you off your pedestal.”

I haven’t shared a picture of my face in quite a while. Today I woke up & took this one. No masks, no smile pretending, no make up, a skin rash in my left cheek, my beautiful bushy eyebrows that I have chosen to accept and love exactly as they are, my unbrushed messy wild soft curly hair, my face… Just as it is. And the reason why I feel so deeply & truly to share this is simply because I want to remind every single one of us how beautiful we are. Exactly as we are. We are already perfect. A reminder that the beauty is not necessarily in the face… At all… But in the goodness & love of your heart. How kind you are to yourself & others & the earth. How you smile from your heart. How you share beauty with all those around you. How honest & clear you are. How strongly & softly you move through life. Are you lifting others up with each action & word or putting them down? It’s so easy to forget how beautiful we are when we live in a city or are constantly surrounded by the obsession about the physical looks… Fashion magazines, television, social media craziness… As if we don’t have anything else to offer beyond our body. May we all rise above all of this. May we see the beauty within. May we always be kind. May we always be strong. May we always be soft. May we be the difference we wish to see in the world. Even if that means to simply take a early morning selfie of yourself just as you are & happily sharing it with the world… Self love is the very first romance. 🌸💓🌸

Acceptance Speech

Summary: (Modern!AU) In which Bucky uses his time on stage at the Oscars to let the world in on a secret he’s been keeping for more than two years.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,217

A/N: Happiest of happy birthdays to my twin, @imaginingbucky . You are a queen and I adore you with every single ounce of my being. I know how much you love award shows, so I hope you enjoy this too.

Originally posted by hothothotgg

Bucky feels like a nervous teenager as he sits in the backseat of a stretch limousine, waiting to arrive at his destination. His hands are clammy, his heart is beating too quickly and he can’t stop tapping his foot on the floor. After six years in the acting business, he shouldn’t feel this way. He’s attended more than his fair share of award shows to know all kinds of techniques to keep any concerns at bay. Yet here he is trying his hardest not to hyperventilate and hold his water bottle without spilling it all over his expensive suit. He’d never hear the end of it from his stylist if he did.

“Looking forward to the show tonight?” Vision asks, momentarily catching Bucky’s gaze in the rear view mirror.

Bucky pulls at the collar of his shirt before shifting slightly. Usually this backseat offers him the comfort he needs, no matter how he’s feeling. Today he might as well be sitting on rocks. “Yeah.”

“You don’t sound it,” Viz observes, as he makes a right turn down a side street. He’s an expert at getting you where you need to go while also avoiding all of the LA traffic. “Is it because you’re up for ‘Best Actor in a Leading Role’?”

Keep reading

night

They kiss on the couch, hands and lips lazy, plates and forks discarded. Jack’s mouth is soft and warm and Bitty feels like he’s being pulled under by each sweep of tongue against his bottom lip, each press of thumb against his hip. They kiss, time turned slow and thick, dripping golden as honey from second to second.

Until Jack’s hand slips beneath the hem of Bitty’s shirt, his fingers spreading across the small of his back, and Bitty’s heart ratchets up a notch and his teeth graze Jack’s lip. Jack’s breath catches. He pulls away–eyes dark and cheeks pink, mouth red–and then he’s saying Bitty’s name and pulling Bitty on top of him.

The stretch of his thighs where he straddles Jack’s, the solidity of Jack’s chest beneath his palms, the look in Jack’s eyes as Bitty rises above him; all of it is perfect, all of it is good.

“Jack.”

“Bitty,” Jack says. “Bits.” And then both hands are skimming beneath Bitty’s shirt, up his back. He pulls Bitty close and Bitty goes, eagerly, fits their mouths together.

He’d been so nervous at first, afraid that he wasn’t enough, was too inexperienced. That he wouldn’t be what Jack wanted, not really, when all was said and done. He still gets nervous, to be honest; they haven’t been together that long. But everything Jack has done, every touch and every word, pushes those fears away, wearing them down until there’s only the ebb and flow of want between them.

Bitty kisses him. Bitty is kissed. Each touch of Jack’s sinks into him, grounds him even as it sends the world spinning. He’s drunk off it after so long without. School and hockey and distance and public personas keep them apart, will continue to keep them apart. But here in the privacy of Jack’s home, there’s nothing to stop them touching.

Jack’s hair is soft beneath his fingertips, his skin warm. His hands beneath Bitty’s shirt are huge, and Bitty wants them elsewhere, everywhere. All he has to do is ask.

Jack will give.

2

The Power of Confession - Part One (teaser)

Pairings: AU!Priest!Sam x Reader

Summary: After years away the church your mother coerces you into taking her seat on the fundraising committee at Saint Mary of the Immaculate Conception, where Sam is a Priest. 

Words: 1100+

Beta: @just-another-busy-fangirl

Warnings: talk of sex, language, smut in second part. 


The Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Immaculate Conception rises above you in all its gothic revival glory. You jog up the front steps, checking the watch at your wrist and scurrying after you mother.

Keep reading

it’s funny that hamlet says ‘the rest is silence’ and then horatio says 'flights of angels sing thee to thy rest’

it’s like hamlet has thought about death so long and so hard that he’s stripped all its imagery, all its mystique. there’s nothing romantic or tragic or good or bad about dying. it just is. it’s happening to him, and he’s a little relieved and a little regretful, but it is what it is, it’s silence, and if it’s no more than that than at least it’s no less. he’s dying, and that’s all there is to say. for once, he has nothing more to say

horatio can’t have the same almost nihilistic view of death. as hamlet dies he seems to rise above it all, it doesn’t matter any more. horatio doesn’t get this luxury. he can’t look down at death and say that it just is, that it’s just silence. for hamlet, death is just darkness and silence, it’s just cessation. for horatio, death is his best friend, his love, his whole world, coughing and shuddering in his arms and then going still, going silent, going cold. while hamlet is the neutrality of knowing acceptance, horatio is pain and passion and grief and love, and he can’t just let it be silent, neutral. he needs to make it beautiful and poignant, meaningful and holy. he doesn’t need silence. he needs the bells of heaven to ring

anonymous asked:

I think we were waiting long enough in Faith AU. As much as Droutlander will be over soon, I think it is time for a big reunion. Please don´t make us wait any longer …?

So one of my all-time favorite writers is Toni Morrison. 

She once said, “If there’s a book you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”

I like to apply the same principle to fanfic. 

In other words, I’m writing the fic that I want to write and I’m going to keep writing it the way that I want to, with the plots, characterizations, and structure that I have spent the better part of two years carefully crafting and developing. 

If that’s not the fic you want to read, then don’t. I write for me and you read for you and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I promise I won’t be offended if you stop reading my fic. But I will be offended if you come back to my inbox and act like you know what’s best for a fic for which you have zero knowledge of my detailed, long-term plans. 

Right now I can’t explain all of the Whys that are going into this extended separation because SPOILERS. But this isn’t something I’ve done to personally torture you or any of my readers. Foundations are being laid; characters are experiencing growth and development. All I can hope is that the payoff for being patient and reading through it all is as satisfactory to my readers as it is for me in writing it. 

Either way, I’m proud of the work I have done on this and my other fics and my plan is to continue putting the same time and effort into them until they reach the natural and planned conclusions I have in mind. 

THE GAME OF THRONES LOVE SQUARE

This love square is in parts toxic and cringeworthy (Jamie and Cersei) to hilariously funny (Brienne and Tormund) to sweetly reluctantly romantic (Jamie and Brienne)

THE BEAST AND THE BEAUTIES

Though Sandor aka The Hound was seen as one of the biggest beast in the beginning, it was the charming good looking ones who ended up being the true monsters underneath. I loved his relationships with both Stark Sisters, how he rescued them, was brutally honest with them, taught them life lessons they needed and though both girls at first saw him as a monster, after their experiences with him they both look back on him fondly so I look forward to their reunion.

THE THREE UNEXPECTED MONARCHS

I love the three of these characters deeply, I’ve loved to watch the three of them struggle and fight and rise above them all. They are all incredibly in depth characters and although I will never love Cersei the same way I love Jon and Dany, it will be a sad day indeed no matter how horrible she is the day she dies.

Okay but seriously

I know everyone loves Hamilton and that’s great because it’s amazing but like, that intro song?  Does not even come close to covering what a fucking train wreck this guy’s life was before he even came to America.

His mom got an inheritance on St. Croix at 16 that gained her all sorts of suiters, and then, at her mother’s behest, she married this dude, Johann Michael Lavien, who was at least twelve years older than her.  He was kind of a douche but dressed pretty and made Mama happy despite the fact that she had a marriage so unhappy that she legally separated from Rachel’s father years before.  They had one kid and I’m assuming she never wanted to see dude naked again after that.

Anyway, after dwindling away her inheritance on pretty clothes and failed ventures, because of some obscure Dutch law (because it was the West Indies and basically any law you could find from any country dubiously in occupation could work), he got her thrown in jail for adultery (not refuted, but not actually substantiated, but WHATEVER, throw her in with murderers and runaway slaves because those are all the same sort of heathen anyway).  He thought her incarceration would make her a more godly and dutiful wife, til she got out and was basically just like LOL NAH and took off to St. Kitts.

After a while, our buddy Johann shacked up with another chick and decided he wanted to marry her.  He got a divorce decree that was Trump level of petty and nasty and gross, calling her a whore and demonizing her for leaving him to care for their son alone on his meager earnings, and managed to get it down that he could remarry, but she couldn’t.  Ever.

So over on St. Kitts, Rachel meets James Hamilton and they get together and have two sons and present themselves as James and Rachel Hamilton, but she has literally no ability to legitimize James Jr. and Alexander.  Fast forward about fifteen years, her boys are 12 and 10, and James brings them back to St. Croix where she has a Reputation and they can’t even fake that this is legitimate.  He’s involved in some legal action there, and when that’s over, he splits, probably because he couldn’t afford to take care of them anymore because he was ALSO kind of a giant loser.  Nice, but awful at trying to get rich quick and ending up in even more debt, time and time again.

So Rachel opens a mercantile in the first floor of their house…common practice as far as dwellings go, having a shop on the first floor, but unheard of for women.  Rachel gave no fucks, seriously.  Then obviously we know she got sick and Alexander got sick and they were given some weird treatments like enemas and bloodletting (????) and then his mom died in the same bed he was in.

So then Levine comes back, fights with the court and brandishes this divorce decree, and manages the get the sons who had no chance of being legitimate disinherited from whatever estate she DID have.  Instead it was all given to Peter, the son she hadn’t seen in 18 years, who showed up, collected what he was due, and left again, with nothing for his half brothers who, I’ll remind you, were 12 and 14.

They got sent to live with a cousin who was living with a mistress and their son…and then the cousin committed suicide, being found in a pool of blood in his bed.  Everything was given to the mistress and their kid, with nothing even mentioned about his orphan wards.  Their uncle shows up, trying to take care of things, and….dies a month later.  Again, no provisions for the boys, despite Uncle John having changed his will FIVE DAYS before he died.

At that point, James Jr. becomes a carpenter’s apprentice because he’s not super smart or super skilled at anything else (takes after his dad) and Alexander, in some weird Dickensian twist of fate, gets taken in by a trader who might or might not be his actual father but that’s for another time.  That’s when he started working as a clerk in a trading office and getting noticed, because he was smart, he could keep track of all the different currencies (there was a lot), was bilingual in French and English (even more so than Jefferson was in later years, and if you don’t think Hamilton taunted Jefferson in French because of that I don’t know what to tell you), he could chart ships, he read everything, he wrote poetry like the romantic hero weirdo he was.

And then there was a hurricane.  Because of course there was.  It was a letter to his father that he showed to the sometimes editor of the paper–well-written, intelligent, and full of melodramatic descriptions (something about distressed shrieks making angels weep or something???) that got him the attention of the whole island.  It was published anonymously, the editor even claiming that the youth who wrote it at first protested it being published, so it wouldn’t look like he was trying to capitalize on a tragedy.  Word still got out that he wrote it, and they did indeed take up a collection to send him to school in America, despite the devastation on the island.

So Alexander got a free ride to Boston and an allowance for his education, and boarded a ship with all sorts of new opportunities in front of him…and then the ship caught fire.  In the middle of the ocean.

I can only imagine that at that point, Alexander was just like…are you fucking kidding me???

tl;dr: Alexander Hamilton’s life was a shit show before he ever even came to America, but his mother’s intelligence and will and his father’s pride and a horror show history of violence and tragedy just made him more stubborn about surviving and rising above all of it.

also, Sana’s happy, shiny, positive, jeg er så glad i deg to Chris at the karaoke bar has now gotten so much more loaded. that was Sana opening up, that was her feeling love and sharing love and giving love. that was her trusting someone after being let down so many times. and to see her on the complete opposite of that spectrum now, closed off, distant, we’re alone, it’s so, so, so sad. she’s so strong and so cool, someone needs to fight for her!

Through and Through | Part Two

// Draco x Hufflepuff!reader.

Requested: No.

Summary: Ron drags Hermione and Y/n toe a Quidditch Match. Slytherin against Gryffindor. When one of the players is hurt, y/n takes them to Madam Pomfrey.

Rating: Mid-Fluff.

Warnings: Language.

A/n: This is going to have multiple parts to it (right now I’m planning for it to have Five Parts). Also, this one seems sort of rushed to me, but this is supposed to happen over a short time, yet I have quite a bit to fit in. So, I’m not very proud of this part but it’s sort of just a thing to launch the rest of it so I had to do it. I hope you guys will continue to read the series still, and I hope you enjoy it. I do apologize that it’s not that good. Cheers.

Title: Through and Through | Part Two.

Read Part One Here. //

 

Y/n hadn’t had time to explain where she’d gone to Hermione before Ron began ushering them out of Hogwarts and over to the Quidditch field. He’d said that it was going to be Gryffindor against Slytherin, and since Harry was in the game he’d wanted to make sure that they were all there.

She glares at Ron slightly as they go and sit up in the stands. “You could’ve given me some time to get ready. It’s bloody freezing out here,” she comments, peering out at the foggy sky. Hermione glances over at her, laughing softly.

“You could’ve had a jacket on already, Y/n.” She murmurs, moving slightly closer to Ron as a brisk wind picks up. “You just chose not to be ready.”

“How was I supposed to know I’d be going outside?” She grumbles, wrapping her arms around herself. “You have Ron to keep you warm, anyhow. I’ve got no one.” Hermione’s mouth drops open and her eyes widen slightly. “Oh, save it ‘Mione. It’s bloody obvious. I can’t believe Harry hasn’t caught on yet.” Hermione rolls her eyes slightly as a laugh escapes y/n’s lips.

“He can be dense, I’ll admit.” She murmurs.

“Hey! Watch how you talk about my best friend.” Ron exclaims, eliciting laughter from Hermione. She covers her mouth as she giggles slightly, and she turns her attention back to y/n.

“Anyways, you’re not alone, Y/n. You could have any guy in Hogwarts. You just…you haven’t shown any interest in anyone.” She catches onto the uncertainty that shines in y/n’s eyes at her words, and she sits up straight. Hermione’s eyebrows shoot up as she looks at Ron in surprise, and then back at Y/n. “Is there someone you fancy?” Again, Hermione notices the small blush that appears on your face. “Oh, y/n please? Tell me!” She moves closer to you, grabbing your wrist. “Please?” She repeats. Y/n’s head slowly shakes as she stares forward at the Quidditch game.

“No…I’d rather not, not right now at least.” She murmurs, poking her side. She grins at Hermione. “Now go back over to Ron before you freeze, silly. Plus, I wanna watch the game. I am here to root for Harry, after all. I might as well pay attention to the game.” Hermione rolls her eyes slightly.

“I’ll stay over here, if that’s fine with you. Plus, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Me and Ron- we aren’t a thing.”

“Yet…” She murmurs, wiggling her fingers ominously in the air. Hermione scoffs and rolls her eyes once more.

“So, you get to know who I…who I fancy,” she whispers. “But I don’t get to know who you like?” She inhales deeply and sighs. “Well, if I guess who it is, will you-” Hermione’s sentence is cut off by y/n’s shouts as the game starts off with Gryffindor already scoring. Hermione looks at her in shock, and y/n nods distractedly.

“Sure, yeah. If you think you can guess I-”

“Is it Neville?” She blurts out, not missing a beat when y/n shakes her head. “Oliver? Seamus? Dean?” After every name y/n shakes her head slightly. Hermione stares forward, following her gaze to the field. “It’s one of the…it’s one of them, isn’t it?!” She exclaims, gasping again once a slight blush crosses y/n’s face. “It is…” She pauses for a second, scanning the Quidditch Field. “It’s not Harry is it?” Y/n giggles and shakes her head.

“Oh Merlin, no. Not that he’s- uh, undesirable…it’s just…just not my…cup of tea, I guess.” Y/n says softly, staring out at the field. “Look…I would tell you Hermione. I’m just not sure I know myself.” She grasps the back of her neck and peers out at the field again, her gaze seemingly following one of the players around, although Hermione can’t make out who it is.

“Do you want to…talk about it?” Hermione whispers softly, her gaze scanning y/n’s eyes. Y/n stares down at the ground, inhaling deeply.

“Well, yes…I just, I can’t say who it is.” Hermione glances over at Ron, who is no longer paying attention to them and now watching the Quidditch game, eating some Treacle Tarts (Merlin knows he loves his snacks). Hermione turns back to her.

“He won’t hear, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No-it’s not that. I’d just feel more comfortable not saying…not saying his name.” Hermione nods slowly. “I guess, it’s just…it’s hard because…” Her voice is drowned out as the crowd of Gryffindor supporters all stand and scream. Hermione leans in closer to hear what y/n is saying, and she explains with shaky hands.

Hermione and y/n had almost lost track of the game completely as they talked and Hermione tried to help her figure out how she feels. Another loud round of shouting breaks Y/n’s attention from Hermione and her gaze turns out to the field. Her eyes widen slightly as she sees a Bludgeon get hit and flies straight at Draco, who isn’t paying attention. Y/n stands up suddenly, screaming, trying to get her voice to rise above all the cheering.

Draco! Look out!”

Draco can barely distinguish the familiar voice shouting in the crowd and he glances over to the stands. His eyes land on y/n and his heart burns to reach out to her. But why…would she be- before he can finish his thought, a large amount of his teammates calls out to him.

Hermione stands up, looking at her with concern as she screams Draco’s name over and over. A confused look crosses her face, and then she glances over at the Quidditch field.

In that moment, two things happen.

Harry catches the Snitch, and Gryffindor wins the match…

And the Bludgeon hits Draco, knocking him off his broom. His body quickly spirals down towards the ground, and screams rise from the stands. Dumbledore stands up, pulling his wand out, but before anything can be done Draco’s body slams to the ground, a loud moaning sound coming from his throat.

Hermione thought the teachers would go to Draco fast, but she hadn’t anticipated her friend practically launching herself from the stands, making her way down the best she can.

Accio firebolt!” She shouts, leaping off the stands. Hermione’s heart leaps into her throat as she reaches out towards y/n. As she falls to the ground, the broom zooms towards her and she grabs it, mounting it midair and going straight towards Draco. She falls off her broom gracefully, landing by Draco’s side and placing her hand on his cheek. “Draco?” She whispers, patting his face slightly as his eyelids flutter. “Draco, please…” Dumbledore, Snape, and Mcgonagall reach Draco’s side seconds after y/n.

“Step aside!” Mcgonagall calls out, motioning for y/n to move. As she stares down at Draco’s face, seeing his eyes slowly open, her face flushes a bright red. It just now dawns on her what she just did. She leapt from the stands, and went over to Draco like a complete lunatic. Y/n shakes her head slowly, looking up at Mcgonagall. She opens her mouth to protest, but before she can, Draco’s slight gasp cuts her off.

“Y/l/n? What are you do- hnf.” His words cut off into a pained wheeze and he grasps his side slightly, his face turning bright red. “What are you doing?”

“I-I’m making sure you’re okay.” She mumbles, not making eye contact with him. Both of their faces turn a shade darker, and Draco mumbles timidly: “Playing Quidditch out in this cold…I’m really…exhausted-you know, my face being…red and all…it must be, that is. I don’t know, but I’d only assume that-” Dumbledore cuts him off by going down and requesting y/n’s assistance to help him stand.

“Oh-I’m-I’m fine, really. I don’t-don’t need help, p-please…” Dumbledore ignores his pleas, turning his attention to y/n.

“Please escort Mister Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey.” He says softly, meeting her gaze shortly before winking slightly. “I assume you two need to talk, anyways…” Y/n’s cheeks turn redder at this, and she huffs slightly, moving so quickly that Draco trips a few times, wincing in pain once before she finally slows down her pace.

The nerve, she thinks to herself. Always meddling in his student’s person lives…what does he think we’ve got to discuss anyways? She grunts angrily, gripping Draco a little more roughly than needed to assist him.

 

“It’s good you got him here quickly,” Madam Pomfrey comments. “Nothing too horrible has happened- it will be quite easy to cure, actually. Still. Easiest to get him here fast and get the pain over with.” She pulls a potion out of a cupboard and walks over, attempting to hand it to Draco. He refuses, however, and instead lays back against the bed, folding his arms against himself.

“That stupid Potter- caught the stupid Snitch…probably off celebrating somewhere.” Pomfrey sighs and turns to y/n, holding the potion out to him.

“Make sure he drinks this, dear. I have another student I must go see.” Before y/n can explain she was just bringing him here, she glides out the doors, leaving alone with Draco, and the healing potion in her hands.

After a long, awkward pause y/n pulls a chair up to his bed, sitting down next to him. “W-well you heard her, drink this.”

Draco turns his gaze to her, turning his nose up slightly.

“What does it do?” He grumbles.

“How am I supposed to know?” Y/n huffs slightly and pops the top of the lid off, standing up and leaning over him slightly, pressing the jar to his lips. “Just drink it- then I can get out of here, and you can get back to your friends.”

Draco does as y/n asks, keeping his gaze locked with hers the entire time. Once the bottles been drained, y/n pulls back and turns around to set it on the nightstand.

Draco winces sharply, and the bottle slips out of her hands as she whirls around, looking down at him in alarm.

“Draco, are you okay?” She whispers, placing one hand on the side of his face. His eyes pop open at this, and his hand lifts up, looking as if he is pointing at something behind him. She glances over her shoulder in confusion, turning back to face him slowly. “Draco, there’s nothing th-” Her gaze meets Draco’s once again and he slowly sits up, raising his face closer and closer to her own.

Y/n’s heart pounds in her chest wildly by the time his face is only a few inches from her own.

“Thank you.” He whispers, his eyes searching every inch of her face. “I’m…” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever been an…an arse, to you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Draco.”

“But it does…it does, trust me.” Y/n cocks an eyebrow at this, trying to steady her breathing. She doesn’t have much time to react before he kisses her quickly, pulling back almost instantly and searching her eyes for a response.

She stands there, her eyes frozen wide.

“Well…well, say something.” Y/n stands up straight, her lips curving into a smile. “Bloody hell, y/n, say something.” She laughs to herself, a giddy feeling filling her heart as she turns around.

“Hermione will be looking for me. I should go,” she calls out as she races towards the door.

“Y/n, wait! I’m…I’m…sorry?”

Mustering all the courage she can, she turns around, winks, and replies: “Don’t be. I’m looking forward to seeing you later, Draco.”

Draco’s face burns bright red, and a smile graces his features as he lays back and closes his eyes.