twin chair

okay, i’m just putting this out here because it needs to be said and i’m sick of letting the bullshit train continue when i could help stop - or at least bring attention to - it. i have a friend who is diplegic and therefore uses a manual chair (her twin was also quadriplegic and in a motorized chair) and when we watch movies with wheelchairs in them, we like to critique the designs.

do you know why mcavoy couldn’t/can’t drive his motorized wheelchair? BECAUSE THE FUCKING WHEELS ARE ON THE WRONG WAY. HANK MCCOY, WHO IS SUPPOSEDLY A “GENIUS”, DESIGNED THE WHEELCHAIR SO THE BIG WHEELS ARE ON THE FRONT AND THE SMALL WHEELS ARE ON THE BACK.

LOOK!

LOOK AT THIS ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT. DO YOU KNOW WHY HE CAN’T DRIVE IT? THE SMALL WHEELS ARE AT THE FRONT BECAUSE THEY ARE SMALL AND THEREFORE ALLOW FOR LOTS OF FINE CONTROL, AND THE BIG WHEELS ARE AT THE BACK BECAUSE THEY OFFER POWER. WHEN THE BIG WHEELS ARE ON THE FRONT IT IS SO DIFFICULT TO CONTROL WHERE YOU ARE GOING. IT’S LIKE WHEN YOU WALK BACKWARDS ON A BIKE AND TRY TO STEER STILL WITH THE HANDLEBARS. I SAT BACKWARDS ON MY FRIEND’S MANUAL CHAIR AND TRIED TO WHEEL MYSELF. IT WAS LIKE COMPLETELY REWIRING MY MOTOR SKILLS EVERY SECOND I WAS MOVING. IT. IS. BULLSHIT. AND ALL OF CHARLES’ CHAIRS ARE LIKE THIS!!! HANK!!!!! WTF!!!!!!!

ALSO. Charles would have THE WORST backpain from that stiff-ass unnecessary fuckin metal backrest that goes all the way up. YOU KNOW HOW PEOPLE’S BACKS GET UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN SITTING FOR HOURS ON A LONG PLANE OR CAR RIDE???? YOU KNOW THAT FEELING??? THAT FEELING IS THIS CHARLES’ LIFE, OKAY. HIS BACK HAS TO BE UNNATURALLY STRAIGHT ALL THE TIME. THIS CRITIQUE IS TAKEN FROM MY FRIEND’S EXPERIENCE BECAUSE SHE ALSO HAS A HARD BACK CHAIR AND HAS BEEN TOLD SHE’S GOING TO HAVE AWFUL BACK AND SHOULDER PROBLEMS BECAUSE OF IT. YET HARD BACKS ARE STANDARD AND SLING BACKS - LIKE THE ONE I’M GOING TO SHOW YOU IN A SECOND - ARE NOT! THIS IS BECAUSE THE WHEELCHAIR-GETTING SYSTEM IS COMPLETELY BROKEN AND IT’S SOMETHING YOU SHOULD REALLY CARE ABOUT BUT IT IS A RANT FOR ANOTHER DAY). THE POINT IS, CHARLES’ BACK IS ONE HURTIN’ UNIT IN THIS CHAIR I GUARANTEE YOU. HE OBVIOUSLY DOESN’T NEED IT FOR TRUNK CONTROL. HE HAS AMAZINGLY FREE RANGE OF MOVEMENT ABOVE HIS HIPS. THIS CHAIR IS  B U L L S H I T. HE CAN’T DRIVE, HE CAN’T SIT UP IN A COMFORTABLE WAY. POOR BABY IS H U R T I N G  but right, Hank’s ~~a genius~~

In contrast, look at this chair!

Look at those tiny-ass wheels on the front! The user of this could spin ON A DIME. It’s Nice as Fuck. Look at that back. (Okay I’m not 1000% certain it’s a slingback) but it doesn’t go all the way up the user’s back! That’s some free-range-of-movement-let-your-spine-do-almost-anything-it-wants-shit right there. Since Charles pretty clearly has full use of his trunk in the movies, this would make much more sense. Also, Ann (friend) and I really don’t see why he would want an electric wheelchair when he clearly could have a manual one that allows for even more control. 

AND OKAY, all wheelchairs should be specific to their users. Some people need more back support. In Ann’s quadriplegic brother’s chair there was a neck brace and little wing things on the side that came out and clamped around his body. Some people’s foot rests need to go out like Charles’ does (whether or not he requires this is kind of foggy, espc. since the overall design is so. asinine.). Some need their footrests to be more in like the orange chair. Some people get tilted wheels, some people don’t. (Also the process for deciding this is bullshit - on government insurance they will only build your chair with the assumption that you will never leave your house and therefore it’s almost impossible to get ‘add ons’ like sling backs and tilted wheels and under-the-seat brakes WHICH SHOULD BE STANDARD, AGAIN, BECAUSE IF YOU DON’T HAVE THEM YOU COULD HAVE MORE MEDICAL ISSUES DOWN THE ROAD OMG THIS SYSTEM IS SO BROKEN). 

But I think we can ALL fucking agree that your wheels should go on the goddamn correct way so you can, you know, steer. And that maybe your chair should be designed more like a mobility assistance device than a fucking 1860′s gentleman’s club wingback for no goddamn earthly reason.

SHIT this stuff gets me riled up.

[Three panel illustrated comic, titled “Twinning”.

Panel One Description: Two women are in front of a stripe wallpaper, the woman on the left is introducing the other woman to her daughters. She says “And these are my girls Lianna and Jessica.” The other woman is bent down towards the girls (out of frame), and asks “Aww, adorable! Are you two twins?”

Panel Two Description: The scene changes to an image of Lianna and Jessica as children. The girls are parked next to each other, holding hands, with monotone expressions, similar to the twins from The Shining. They are dressed in matching floral dresses and headbands. They reply in unison, with a monotone expression “No. We are two years apart.”

Panel Three Description: The scene returns to the two women. The girls’ mom says to the other woman, “It’s funny, they get that a lot. Why do you think that is?”. The other woman is looking at their mother with one eyebrow up in the air, and doesn’t know how to respond.]

Oh we don’t know mom, maybe dressing us the exact same had something to do with it? 😂

Different Types of Drinkers: (Ouran High School Host Club Edition)

Tamaki: Has one margarita and is completely wasted, falls asleep on someone’s lap.

Kyoya: Is sipping on wine in the corner of the bar.

Honey: Is drinking sweet and fruity cocktails while enjoying some desserts.

Mori: Is silently drinking sake while making sure Honey doesn’t fall off a chair.

The Twins: Downing shots with linked arms.

Haruhi: Is drinking a coke because she has to drive everyone home.

A dragon’s treasure

Prompt: Metalicana interacting with the twins by @ninja-status

Word count: 2k

Summary: Metalicana is asked to babysit the twins. It’ll be a piece of cake, right? RIGHT?! Modern-AU; Human!Metalicana.

FFnet

After three knocks to the door, only one thought crossed his mind unrelentlessly.

How had he agreed to this?

The door swung open and he looked down to be met with two hazel eyes and a bright smile.

Oh, right. It’s all the brat’s fault.

“Welcome, Metalicana,” Levy greeted him in her singsong voice and he sighed in defeat.

“Where are they?” His gruff voice and dark appearance could have scared the bravest warrior but did nothing to her. Instead, she smiled again and stepped aside to let him come inside the house.

Yeap, it’s the brat’s fault for falling for the ballsiest and cutest woman in the whole world. Don’t get him wrong; he loves his daughter-in-law, she seemed to be the only one able to keep his son in line and she was the main reason the brat cut his connections with the dark businesses he got involved in when he was young.

Still, it didn’t explain why Metalicana had to bear with the consequences of his son’s choices.

“They are in the living room watching a movie. Come on in.” She closed the door once he stepped inside and he couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at the fruity and floral scent that wafted through each corner of the house.

“Hey Pops,” Gajeel greeted his father when he came into view and- wait, did he just smiled at him?! Was Gajeel actually happy to see his old man?!

“Brat,” he greeted back and couldn’t keep the faint smile off his face at seeing his son so damn happy. Yeah, this tiny blue haired woman was changing Gajeel’s life and Metalicana hoped it would be for the better.

“Hey Lev, could ya help me with the tie?”

“Sure, honey.” Gajeel leaned down for her to be able to reach for his tie without going up on her tiptoes. With a quick motion, Levy finished her task and patted him affectionately on the chest. “All done.”

He thanked her and kissed the top of her head which earned him a cute giggle from the woman.

“Ugh, get a room ya two.” Metalicana rolled his eyes and crossed his arms feigning irritation at the scene.

“What? Ya want a kiss too old man?”

“Yeah, in my ass,” he shot back and both males grinned at each other.

“Now now, be nice the two of you,” Levy chided but before Metalicana could argued back a new voice interrupted them.

“Grampa?” Yajeh stood at the other end of the entrance hall eyeing the older man curiously.

“Come here, sweetie.” The five-year-old boy did as his mother told him and ran into her arms happily. She lifted him up with ease and embraced the child with motherly love. “Is the movie over?”

“Yeah, it was great! Can we look for our dragons next time we go camping?” His eyes shone with excitement at the mere idea of riding his own Nightfury.

“Sure thing, champ.” Gajeel chuckled and ruffled his son’s hair.

“We’ll need lots of fishes! And no eels!” Shutora added as she stepped closer to the adults. She eyed her brother with shyness and something akin to jealousy. She also wanted to be hugged but she was too proud to admit it.

As if reading her mind, Gajeel swiftly lifted her up and sat her on his shoulder. She laughed and hugged her daddy’s head to not fall off. Metalicana just rolled his eyes one more time at the family’s antiques; that many shows of affection were too much for him to bear.

“Why is Grampa here?” Shutora questioned noticing for the first time the older man in the room.

“He is staying with ya for a couple of hours,” Gajeel said as he gently put his daughter down.

“Really?” Yajeh looked up at his grandfather with his bright red eyes.

“Yes. Daddy and I are going out for a couple of hours so Grampa will be looking after you until we come back,” Levy explained as she kissed her son in the cheek and put him down. “So you better behave, alright?”

Now, both kids looked up at Metalicana with wide eyes and unreadable expressions. He started to feel uncomfortable under their innocent and intense gaze. Surely they might have prefered to be babysat by Blondie or by Igneel’s brat but according to Levy they were unavailable for the night. So now, the twins were stuck with him and they were probably going to throw a tantrum about them not wanting to spend time with their grandfather.

“Awesome!”

What?!

Keep reading

i. You give me a summer smile and say “they made me think of us.” and I want to say take them back; to say get rid of this dying thing; because they won’t last; and I want us to last. But I love your teeth and your grin

ii. So I say thank you
while I’m thinking of funerals and rain and yellowed paper and the funny way that all hospitals smell.


iii. They spend the first day in a fat round vase next to the kitchen window. I change the water too often.

iv. The wilting starts. I wish you’d given me a cactus instead. Or a rock.

v. I try to soften their wither by pressing them between the pages of an old book. Every stem and leaf and petal. Promise that this way their skeletons will stay soft; that even after they’ve died they will be recognisable still.

vi. I say, “If only we could be so lucky.” Because I’ve watched love shrivel and dry; become black petals and snapping stems; smell like nothing at all. I remember when my father stopped bringing home flowers for my mother; how they kissed with tight lips; like their tongues were too busy tasting bitter words at the back of their throats; that relationships split open like rotten fruit; ugly and unrecognisable.

vii. I say, “I hate flowers.” because I envy them.

viii. You have optimistic eyes and a bandaged heart. You let your mouth touch the curve of my ear and promise that we will be so lucky. That our love will last; and grow old and soft and wrinkly; pressed between the pages of our story; and ours hands will get tired but never of holding each other; fingers interlocking; hanging down in that empty space between twin rocking chairs; and you’ll pull a book from the nearest shelf; open it; and we’ll watch dried silken flowers slip out and flutter down; still honey sweet and soft like pink clouds; and you’ll laugh and say “Just as I promised.”
And I’ll laugh thinking that we look just the same; that we grew old but our love never changed.
And I’ll remember the first time you brought me flowers.

—  When you bring me flowers for the first time //Ceres // 25/01/17

anonymous asked:

On Emi Ozmen's (Adam Prenderghast's wife) IG story there's a video of Silver laughing and she says like 'I'm gonna marry a butthole" and Emi says "like Mummy", and it just makes me think of the misses sending a video of the kids to H, and him getting all pouty because she called him a butthole haha

Oh, my goodness. I’ve just seen her story and followed her on Instagram. She’s the cutest little girl, ever. And the baby boy? Oh, he’s so precious! I love the fact that Harry’s surrounded by family people; he’s a family man without his own family, haha.

The missus would use Instagram more than Harry would, and, she’d share photos and videos of their babies more often than Harry, and fans would always gush over how cute Persephone looked in her outfit or how handsome Alfie or how alike the twins look. And because you can tag people in them, the missus would always tag Harry in hers so he could see them, and, he’d usually always text her back with the cutest message about how he misses the kids or how he can’t wait to get home from work so that he can have a long cuddle and relax after a stressful day with them.

One video, in particular, would make the fans laugh and they’d be talking about it all over social media, sharing the videos around. It would be during dinner, when Harry was away on a small promotional tour for a batch of new music he was releasing for everyone, and the missus would film Persephone as she spoke about daddy, Alfie’s giggles being heard in the background from his high-chair. The twins tucked up in the cots upstairs as they slept before feeding.

“What did you say, baby? Tell everyone what you said to me,” the missus would laugh, holding her phone up as she filmed her eldest, “come on. What did you say to mummy?”

“M’gon’a marry a butthole,” she’d giggle hysterically, rolling her head back and making Alfie squeal out, the missus’ laugh being heard, mixing in with the sweet sounds of her children’s laughter.

“Like mummy?” The missus would smirk off-camera, as Persephone giggled and covered her face, nodding rapidly before bursting out into laughter.

And, she’d post it on her Instagram story, tagging Harry with a small caption, already know that it would be shared amongst social media before she locked her phone to eat dinner. Halfway through, her phone would buzz, a message coming through from Harry; a pouted selfie with a text beneath it.

Stop telling our kids that I’m a butthole. xx

8

My (446) pictures from Lunar Eclipse 2 this weekend are up on Flickr. As always, feel free to use any of them for edits; credit/a link back would be nice. Thanks! :)

A Family Affair
  • *Angelo's*
  • Molly's Date: *raises his glass* To us.
  • Molly: *smiles; lifts her glass* To us *clinks his*
  • Molly's Date: *nods at Angelo* A mate of yours?
  • Molly: *turns away; waves* Oh, yeah, he's friends with...someone I know *turns back* So...where were-
  • Sherlock: *suddenly next to them; exasperated* Sorry I'm late...may I join you?
  • Molly: ...
  • Molly's Date: *frowns* Excuse me?
  • Molly: *rolls her eyes* Edward, this is Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock, Edward Castle *mutters* Sherlock is my soon-to-be-ex husband.
  • Molly's Date: *raises an eyebrow* You never told me you were married.
  • Sherlock: *pulls up a chair; smug* Ah, first date. Remember ours, dear?
  • Molly: *narrows her eyes* Where are the kids?
  • Molly's Date: *splutters his drink* Wait, you have kids? Plural? As in...more than one?
  • Molly: *still looking at Sherlock* Yes. Where are they?
  • Sherlock: *thinking* Hmm...one is out solving a crime probably, teenagers, I'm sure I left the twins downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, John and Mary wanted the toddler practice and Mycroft is babysitting the, erm, baby.
  • Molly's Date: *alarmed* Jesus, how many have you got?
  • Sherlock & Molly: *glance at each other* Five.
  • Molly's Date: *confused* Well, then...why are you splitting up?
  • Molly: *smiles* The sex was crap.
  • Sherlock: *chuckles; takes her wine glass* Now, Molly, give him an excuse he'll believe *raises the glass to the light*
  • Molly's Date: *looking between them* What's going on?
  • Sherlock: *sighs* Does the name Julia Smith mean anything to you?
  • Molly's Date: *shakes his head*
  • Sherlock: Nooo *sniffs the glass* You never get to know their names first, do you? Did you know she was fifteen years old?
  • Suspect: ...
  • Sherlock: Her mother hired me to investigate her attack. Dinner at a restaurant with someone she met in a chatroom... *dips his finger in the wine glass* I don't think I need to tell you the rest *tentatively tastes the liquid*
  • Molly: *calm* You see, while you're sat here with me, the police are raiding your flat and, well...I don't think you're getting away this time.
  • Suspect: *fuming* You have no right-
  • Sherlock: *fuming* Our eldest is the same age. It is taking all my willpower not to force you to drink this and leave you at the mercy of my girls. Far worse than anything I could do to you.
  • Greg: *enters Angelo's; approaching their table* Come on, Castle. You have the right to remain silent... *leads the suspect away*
  • Molly: *holds Sherlock's hand* It's okay...we got him.
  • Sherlock: *nods* Too late *sighs* That was...good.
  • Molly: Not bad for an amateur, eh? *pats his knee* Come on, let's round up the troops.
  • Sherlock: *smiles* Thank you for helping me.
  • Molly: *grins* What would you do without me? *kisses him*
  • Sherlock: *takes her hand* Don't make me think about that.
  • MEANWHILE
  • John: *running his hands through his hair* For God's sake, Will...put that down.
  • Baby Holmes: *grinning; rips open the bag of flour*
  • John: *high-pitched* Don't you dare! Where did you even get-
  • Baby Holmes: *throws the flour at him*
  • Mary: *returns from the bathroom; examing one of Sherlock's shirts* I think I got most of it out *looks up, sees John covered in flour; stifling giggles* What happened?
  • John: *glares at her* About this baby of ours...

anonymous asked:

Grandpa Erik find out about Barbra and while they comes off as a very charming old men, throughout the bake sale, the metal chairs end up falling out from under her, the lock box for her lemon squares keeps disappearing, and she keeps walking into the fold out tables. Grandpa X knows exactly what's happening but he's suddenly preoccupied entertaining the twin girls in his chair whenever something happens

that’s what you get for being a bitch to children barbara

On The Run - Chapter Two

Summary: What would life be like if you fled the war with Draco Malfoy?

Warnings: Fleeing war, some fluff, heavy topics.

Chapter One  

(Chapter Three)  (Chapter Four)  (Chapter Five)  (Chapter Six)

A/n: If anyone wants to be tagged in this send me an ask. This is the edited version!

Originally posted by mrstafelton

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Neither of you wanted to stop walking when it started to get dark. You were still too close to Malfoy Manor, Death Eaters would be looking for you two soon, if they weren’t already. But, your bodies were protesting against every step you two took and finding your way in complete darkness would be a problem. So, you sit down on a log and decide that the spot you found was good enough.

“We’re stopping here.” Draco sits down next to you as you talk.

“Alright.” He leans his head on your shoulder. You’re both beyond exhausted but there’s still much to do before you can sleep.

“Okay,” You groan and fall to your knees on the forest floor, opening the bag, “Accio tent.”

A tent, still in the box and covered in dust, flies from the bag and lands on the ground with a soft thump. You tear open the box and read the instructions to assemble it with magic.

“We never even went camping.” Draco says as he stands up. “We just bought it to have it.”

Draco gathers some logs and puts them on the ground haphazardly. You wave your wand like the instructions say and the ten assembles itself before your eyes. Draco starts the fire.

“We never had that luxury.” You sit down next to him by the fire, leaning onto him.

“My parents are muggles so magic stuff is kind of foreign to them.” Draco balances his head on top of yours.

“Well, muggle stuff is foreign to me.” Draco holds you hand in his as the fire crackles in front of you.

“Like, telerphonies.” You giggle at his mispronunciation.

“Telephone.” You correct genlty.

“And Eclecity.”

“Electricity.” You correct.

“Whatever. Point being, everything that you know about in the muggle world, I don’t know about.” You nod and put your hands out in front of you, trying to warm them. You could feel the temperature dropping and you knew that once night fell you would have to put out the fire but you were both so cold, and the fire was so warm.

“We have to put it out soon.” You draw out your words, heart sinking as you think about the cold.

“Why?” Draco says, his own knuckles were red from the already slowly dropping temperature.

“It’ll draw too much attention.” You reply with a disappointed voice. Draco hums in agreement.

“We’re both tired, we should just go to sleep anyways.” Draco stands up as he talks, offering you his hand. You groan as you stand up, body protesting against each movement.

“We’ll need our energy.” You walk towards the tent as Draco puts out the fire, dragging your feet with heavy eyes.

The tent is bigger on the inside, holding a queen sized bed, table and chairs, twin bed, and extra blankets in a box. You pull back the blankets on the left side of them bed and lay down, falling asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

_*_

You wake up with Draco squished against your chest, holding you close to conserve warmth on this cold morning. You get out of his stronghold, waking him up in the process, but he doesn’t complain. You can tell he wants to but he won’t, probably for both of yours sakes. The tent is quickly packed up and put back in your bag.

“Y/n! Get down!” Draco falls to the ground behind a log, pulling you with him. You’re about to protest when you hear a car drive past you. You must be on the edge of the forest.

“Maybe there’s a town nearby.” You brush yourself off when you stand.

“We can follow the road, I doubt any Death Eater can drive a car.” You say, starting to walk towards where you heard the car. It’s not a paved road like you expected, it’s and old, dirt road with divots where countless cars had driven.

“What if there’s a town nearby? What then?” Draco asks as you start to walk up the road, still going north. You were going North for two reasons, it was away from Malfoy Manor, and The Order of The Phoenix had a base somewhere North, you heard Hermione Granger talking to Ron Weasley about it last year.

“Then we find an abandoned house to live in. There might even be place where we can work to get enough money to buy food.” Draco nods along to your words but soon enough you fall silent again. Neither of you talk as you walk, too afraid of the possibility that a Death Eater could be around any bend in the dirt road.

After walking for a few miles you reach a tiny village. It’s quaint, with a couple of kids running around and a market. It sits at the bottom of the valley, which is good luck for you because on the side of the valley are a few abandoned houses. They’re up for real estate but the signs are dirty and covered in vines, no one was going to be wanting this house.

“Okay, here we go.” You walk up the front porch and take out your wand, looking nervously around you. “Alohomora.”

The door unlocks and you open it, immediately greeted by an empty house. It smelled like old wood and dust, no one had been in here in quite some time. Luckily, you found no sounds of rodents, it seemed that whoever had put this up for sale had been very adamant on keeping them out, every tiny nook and cranny was sealed tight. Draco was working on getting a fire started in the fireplace while you looked around. You walked into the kitchen and tried the faucet, nothing came out.

“The water doesn’t work.” You lean against a wall, looking down at Draco who was looking in your bag for a change of clothes. He didn’t look like the well-kept boy you met in school; his hair was a white-blond mess, his silver eyes were tired, his clothes disheveled, he looked like an entirely different person.

“Did you expect it to?” Draco stands up, holding clothes that you never expect would be in a Malfoy’s storage. It was a dark jacket, tee shirt, and a pair of jeans.

“Not really.” You walk over to the small window at the front of the house, clear the dust with your shirt sleeve before staring down at the village below.

“There’s a market down there, maybe someone will have some work.” Draco hums as he disappears into a room to change.

“We need food, Draco. The stale bread in the storage room ran out this morning.” Draco comes back into the room, dressed normally.

“We can take a walk down now, but you should keep your hood up.” He secures a beanie over his white-blond hair, effectively hiding it from view.  You flip your hood up and walk out of the house, the bag bounces against your hip as you walk.

“Why do we keep going North?” Draco asks as you walk down the hill. He holds our cold hand in his own, giving the people on the pavement the impression that you were just a normal couple.

“It’s away from the manor, away from all of them.” You turn a corner, hand tightening on your wand for a second before relaxing, “And I heard about a base up North, I figure it’s our best bet at a safe house.”

You fall silent again but instead of the air being tense it feels relaxed. The people around you give you both a chance to blend in and with the new clothes you looked positively normal. The market was at the bottom of the valley, it had expands from each end of the street on each side, all selling different things. You try to pay in Galleons but the man at the stand wouldn’t accept them, not even when you told him they were made of gold.

“Is there a pawn shop here?” You ask him, stuffing the galleons back into the handbag. You could sell some of the stuff in the Malfoy’s storage, that would give you enough money for food.

“Two streets over.” The man points down the street and you take Draco’s hand again, walking with him towards the pawn shop.

It wasn’t hard to find, the only shop on the road. Draco and you had debated what you could sell to the muggles that wouldn’t kill them if they messed around with it, you agreed on some jewelry. Diamonds, it looked like, but they were covered in dust, along with some pearls, also covered in dust.  

“We’re breaking the law, you know.” You say as you fast-walk to the shop.

“What?” Draco asks, pulling his eyes from the buildings to your face.

“ ‘Wizards cannot sell any items possessed by a wizard to a muggle without punishment.’ .” You recite the book you read. Draco rolls his eyes and throws his arm over your shoulder as you near the shop.

“Yes, we’ll be giving Arthur Weasley one hell of a job when the war is over. Selling dusty diamonds and pearls to muggles, imagine the shame, the humiliation.” Draco taunts as you reach the shop.

“Okay, Mr. Bad-boy.” The bell hanging at the top of the door jingles when you open it.

The woman who ran the shop stood tall behind the counter, with soft eyes and bushy brown hair. You smile at her and she smiles right back, her smile just as soft as her eyes. You walk up to the counter.

“Are you selling or buying?” She asks, pulling out a logbook and uncapping a pen.

“Selling.” You place the jewelry on the counter and she lifts it up to examine it.

“So, what do you think they’re worth?” You ask her. Draco stands beside you, his hand is in his pocket, probably holding his wand.

“Together? Six hundred.” She sets them down and looks to you expectantly.

“Alright, that sounds good.” She picks up the necklaces and starts to write in her log book right after you speak.

“Does a check work?” She asks, pulling out a checkbook slowly. You nod and she writes down the check.

“And I’m making this out to..?”  

“Y/n Y/l/n.” You say quickly, spelling it out when she asks you to. You take the check and exit the shop quickly, walking towards the tall building next to the church that was the bank. They were the only tall buildings in the whole village, you were surprised they were even there at all.

With the check cashed you headed for the market, stomach grumbling loudly. Draco wasn’t far behind, walking as fast as he could without drawing suspicion. You buy over a hundred pounds worth of food but as you walk back towards the house, you can’t think about the money you just spent, all you can think about is that you’ll eat tonight.

Neither of you cook -you don’t even think Draco knows how-, you eat bread and apples until you aren’t hungry anymore. The house didn’t have any furniture so you had to eat on the floor but neither of you were complaining, as long as you ate you didn’t have a problem. Laying on a blanket in front of the fire with Draco, you were both completely relaxed for the first time in over a year. That was until you heard a voice.

“Hello?” It belonged to an old man. You both jump up and hold out your wands. An old man walks through the door of the house.

“STUPEFY!” Both of you cry the spell at the same time, effectively knocking the old man unconscious as well as backwards ten feet.

“That was close.” Draco sighs, running his hand down his face.

“It was just a muggle, Draco. We should wipe his memory, just to be safe.” Draco nods and helps you carry the man outside. You stand over him, with your wand pointed at his face.

“Obliviate.” You whisper, turning your wrist slowly. Draco bites down on his fingernails once you get inside again.

“We have to cast some protection spells.” You walk back outside and start to cast protective charms and spells around the house. When you get back inside, Draco is still biting his nails.

“Draco?” You ask, walking up to him. His eyes are closed but he’s shaking all over.

“It’s alright, it was just a muggle.” You try to calm him down. He opens his eyes, they looked scared.

“I thought it was- that they were-” He cuts himself off, too scared to talk. You nod and pull him into you, holding him tightly.

“I know, I get it.” He wraps his arms around you, hugging you just as tightly as you were hugging him.

“I’m a blood traitor, now.” He pulls out of the hug, looking down at you sadly.

“And I’m a mudblood-”

“You shouldn’t call yourself that.” Draco says quietly.

“Why not? I’m a mudblood and I’m proud of it!” he gives you a feeble smile, “My point is, Draco, titles that other people give you are not you, not really.”

“You can’t let others put you in a box, that’s just wrong.” You hold his hands in yours.

“Where did you learn that?” Draco asks. You give him a small smile.

“I learned that from Hermione Granger.” You let go of his hands and walk to the fire, sitting on the blanket in front of it. Draco sits next to you.

“They don’t care that we’re good, they don’t care that we have the capacity for love, they only want us dead.” Draco leans his head on yours as you talk.

“That’s why we fight, Draco,” you intertwine your fingers with his, “for what we love.”

The Prize, Ch. 3

Title: The Prize

Chapter: 3

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: T (to be on the safe side, some mild violence/blood in later chapters)

Summary: AU Tom, set in early 19th c. London. Madeleine and Tom have known each other since they were teenagers (her brother is married to his sister). Can they overcome their fears and choose each other?

Author’s Notes: I starting writing this because I noticed that the SSS poll for last week included “Heaving Bosom” and I thought it might be fun to try my hand at it. :) This is the first time I’ve written AU Tom.  I’ve tried to make the dialogue sound period appropriate, but I am writing ABOUT this era, not IN it; so, please be kind if you notice anything awkward in the language. :)   

Thank you to my beta spadesjade who caught a terrible error that would have put my already obvious lack of skill on even greater display!

ICYMI - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2


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As he stormed out of the ballroom, Madeleine fell backagainst the cushions of the settee as the sense ofself-reproach settled around her like a heavy winter cloak.  How could she have been so rude, soill-mannered.  Was familiarity breeding contempt?  She suddenly remembered the first time they had read that phrase together, when she had challenged him to read some Chaucer one summer.  He had nearly thrown the volume across the room in disgust, or was it embarrassment, when she began to giggle over his stumbling through the verse and pronunciation.

“We can’t all achieve your level of literary and linguistic perfection, Madeleine,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing as his hands clenched around the pages.

Those beautiful blue eyes were a sky of storm clouds and she’d had to employ her usual methods of calming his ire, coaxing him into remaining in the room and keeping the slender volume from being torn asunder.

“Here, Tom, I’ll help you,” placing a hand on his shoulder and feeling him relax. “Go back to this line…”

Contempt?  No, no.  She shook her head.  It couldn’t be that.  She could never hold him in contempt.  If it were that simple, then her heart would be free of his grip and she could pass through a day without constant thoughts of him.  

The expression on his face at her cruel words was imprinted on her mind.  Her knowledge of his temperament and the logical assumption that he would be brooding in the library instead of mingling with the guests compelled her to slip on her shoes and rise from the settee.  Apologize.  That was what she must do.  He always listened to her.  The idea of a rift between them, the idea that she could or had possibly caused lasting damage to their relationship was unbearable.  She’d spent considerable energy instructing her nieces and nephews that allowing unkind words to fester in someone’s heart was not acceptable when one had the power to repair what had been damaged.  The wisest course of action was usually to respond sooner rather than later.  

She moved quickly across the perimeter of the room and was just about to slip through the doors when Mr.Kingston cornered her.  He was a recent addition to her brother’s social circle, having been away for many years seeing to his family’s plantation in the West Indies.  There had been some murmuring that his woeful management of the estate after his father’s death had resulted in a great financial loss, but Pierre had judged him as worthy company and so Madeleine accepted him as well.  He was always eager to speak with her and she was his unwilling conversational captive for some minutes before she was able to make her excuses and exit the room.

She had just stepped over the threshold, glancing backwards over her shoulder to be certain that Mr.Kingston wasn’t following her when she collided with a column.  

“Oh, Aunt!  Are you hurt?”  

It was Cassie’s voice.

And it wasn’t a column.

It was him.

The force knocked her back and he immediately reached out to grasp her arms in order to keep her from falling.  

She wanted to cry when she raised her head and saw his expression, when he yanked his hands away from her as if she was burning his skin and murmured an apology.

“Forgive me, it seems I can’t keep my soiled hands from you.”

Cassie was looking at both of them curiously, first at her aunt and then to her uncle, before turning back to Madeleine and once again inquiring about her.

“Yes, thank you, niece, I am perfectly well,” she replied, glancing down to adjust her dress.  “Your uncle’s physique is certainly one to be reckoned with.”

Cassie’s face lit up with a smile and she took Madeleine’s arm.

“I’ve informed him that he’s sent all of the ladies into swoons over his handsomeness, but you know how stubborn he is.  It’s taken some persuasion to make return to the ball, although I am not half as skilled as you are on that score.”

Tom was picking invisible lint from his coat sleeve and frowning.

Madeleine took a deep breath and gave Cassie a kiss on the cheek.

“Yes, he is rather stubborn, but I’m afraid that can be explained in this particular situation. Cassie, may I-“

“Aunt, I think his mood would improve if you would be so gracious as to consent to a dance.”

Cassie was slyly attempting to transfer her aunt’s arm to her uncle’s hand when Madeleine jerked away.

“Cassie, I need to speak with your uncle.  Would you excuse us for a minute or two?”

The young girl’s eyes flew to Tom’s and she seemed to be pleading with him about something.  His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh and he motioned for Cassie to go on into the room without them.  She smiled briefly and squeezed Madeleine’s hand before disappearing through the double doors.

Tom swiftly moved to a set of chairs and stood, waiting for Madeleine to be seated first, but not looking her in the eye.

Her courage faltered momentarily.  They’d had their brief moments of conflict over the years, as would be expected; but even then, those moments were usually about something political or literary, rarely ever about their personal relationship.  Something was different this time, something that was causing previously unexperienced bubbles of fear to swirl around inside her.  The intensity of the feeling was almost taking her breath away and she couldn’t seem to make herself move.  He was behaving so formally, so stiffly, almost like a stranger. Had her words done this?  Had a single comment altered him so significantly in a matter of minutes?

She had seen him frustrated and angry over the years, although it never lasted long and it was almost rarely directed at her.  

But this time… This time she felt it.  Felt it so keenly it was frightening her.  It was a strange thing, the sensation of drifting in a troubled sea when one was on dry land.  It wasn’t new to her, but it had been years since she felt it. It mostly came to her in dreams after her father had been lost at sea shortly after Pierre and Julia had married. The doctor told her that such events of sudden but short lasting physical distress were not uncommon for young women at certain times of the month. When it came to her during waking hours, it had been Tom whose sharp blue eyes noticed it, Tom who would take her hand and murmur to her until the waves were calm and she could think again. In those moments, the dynamic of their relationship had been reversed.  In those moments, he was the comforter.  She had managed to keep it mainly hidden from everyone, somehow finding a way to get through it when he wasn’t in close proximity. But it had been years.  The dreams and the fears had faded with time.  

Now the once all too familiar sensation of fear was taking over. Her heart was pounding, her throat dry, the noise from the ballroom seemed so distant.  She was looking at him, wanting so desperately to reach for his hand as she hadn’t needed to in so long, longing for something to cling to while the cold salty curtains cascaded around her and the wind howled in her ears. But she couldn’t.  She had spoken foolishly to him, insulted the very hands of her rescuer.

He finally shifted his gaze to her face and something softened in his own.

“Madeleine.”

His voice.

She hadn’t heard that particular tone since the last time.

“Madeleine,” he repeated.

The waves were getting smaller.

“Your feet are planted firmly on the ground.  Slow deep breaths, Maddy.”

She hadn’t heard that name since the last time.  So long. It had been so long.  

The wind was calming.

“Keep looking at my eyes. You aren’t drowning.”

An anchor.  She needed an anchor.

He wouldn’t deny her. Surely he wouldn’t.  Wounded pride was a powerful motivator, but she trusted him; he wouldn’t reject her, not when this was happening again after so many years of lying dormant.

She was about to raise an arm and reach for him when he spoke again, still using that low commanding tone that she couldn’t help but obey.

“Come, sit.  You’re safe.”

How she ended up in the chair she would never be quite sure. She would also never be sure how he had procured a glass of water almost out of thin air, but it was gently pressed to lips and her hands clutched it.  When she focused her eyes again, he was sitting in the twin chair and smiling at her.

“Solid ground, yes?”

She hadn’t heard him ask that since the last time.

‘Yes” she whispered, letting the light from his eyes soothe the last tremors of alarm, the tingling in her limbs that was receding.

The first time he had helped her through it, she was certain that it would be a matter of derision in his mind. But he never teaser her about it, never made her feel as though her mind wasn’t secure.  From the first day they had met, she observed him to be an expressive emotional creature in a way that her Pierre and, for that matter, most of the males around here were not.  She had already become accustomed to his moods that bewildered his own sister. Indeed, he seemed almost relieved that he could be of some help to Madeleine in a similar manner to the way that she so often soothed him.

He cleared his throat and swallowed nervously.

“It’s been quite some time since…since…”  

“Yes, thank you.”

He appeared to be slipping back into that stiffness from minutes ago and she rushed ahead, worried that the tension between which had been erased as he helped her through her fear would come rushing back.

“I’m sorry.”

His brows came together in a frown.

“You know you don’t have to apologize, I am quite aware that this has never been something you could control.  You didn’t ask for it, I –“

“No,” she interrupted quietly, taking another sip from the glass, hoping that it would do more to help than simply quench her thirst.

“I mean to say…I’m sorry for the words I spoke earlier.  They were foolish and meant in jest.  They were not meant to…they were not meant to be insulting and they are certainly no indication of how I truly feel. You and I must never be enemies, Tom.”

He had almost imperceptibly begun to lean forward in the chair, his handsome features shifting back to that open boyish charm that had captured her heart so long ago.  At her last words, he froze; he appeared to be waiting for her to continue.  

An altogether different wave of fear now crashed over her.  He must be worried that she was going to say something he didn’t want to hear, something that would cause him great discomfort.  

You and I must always be friends, Tom.  Aren’t we more than that?  Aren’t we as intimate in our affections as a husband and wife are?

She wanted to say those words.  

She couldn’t.

It was obvious that he feared she would and that it would be the worst possible thing she could do.

“You and I must never be enemies, Tom,” she said again, “Will you forgive me, please?  We are nearly brother and sister, aren’t we?”

A swift exhale of bated breath left his lungs and his hands moved to grip the arms of the chair, those long fingers curling around the embroidered upholstery.

She wanted to weep again at his actions, ones that seemed to represent to her nothing other than immense relief.

“Yes, Madeleine.”

Madeleine.  Not “Maddy.”  

It was the only time she had ever cringed at the sound of her name.

“I forgive you.”

The sound of laughter and music burst into the space around them as the doors opened and Cassie came rushing out.

“Papa says this is the last dance! Come, you must enjoy it together!”

Tom rose gracefully from his chair and intercepted Cassie’s hands before she could pull Madeleine from her seat.

“Your aunt is feeling rather tired and you and I have yet to dance.”

Smooth.  So smooth.  A perfectly veiled maneuvering away from her.

He forgives you.  But he’s rejected you.  You finally have a definite answer.  You finally know for sure.  He would never think of you in that way.  You are a sister.  You’ll never be his prize.

I’m in total HULK SMASH mode tonight, so let me lighten the mood by telling you how my 4-year old daughter sold her twin brother the chair he was already sitting on today.

C’s just sitting on his chair, minding his own business, eating a piece of pizza and Z pops up behind our bench ottoman, smiles and clasps her hands together like the classiest of used car salesmen.

“Do you want to buy a chair?” she asks him.

C nods enthusiastically. He’s four. Who wouldn’t want to buy a chair? Chairs are AWESOME.

“Well, put it up here so you can pay,” Z tells him authoritatively. Seriously, this kid was smooth. C doesn’t even think, he just gets up out of his chair, hands the pizza to me, and picks the chair up to plonk it on the ottoman.

“What’s the number?” he asks.

Without hesitating, she tells him: “$70.20”

Mind you, this is a secondhand, beat-up, toddler-sized IKEA chair.

“That’s too much,” C tells her. He retrieves the pizza because PIZZA, duh. “I don’t want it. It’s too expensive.” (They’ve heard me tell them this a lot. When you’re living in a single income house with two kids and having to feed them wheat-free, there’s a lot they ask for that’s just too expensive, besides being completely unnecessary. IN MY DAY WE PLAYED WITH ROCKS AND MUD AND STICKS AND WE WERE HAPPY. Ahem. Um.)

“Z,” I tell her. It’s seriously a miracle I’ve kept a straight face so far. “That’s way too expensive. You’re going to have to discount it if you want to sell it.”

She looks blankly back at me, as well as she can over the chair sitting on her makeshift sales counter.

“Lower the number,” I tell her.

“$6.20?” she asks me. C looks at me for confirmation. The pizza is gone. I am still processing that he now has no chair to sit in because his twin sister offered to sell it to him and then overcharged him like a Trump corporation.

“$6.20 is very reasonable. It’s a good price for that chair,” I tell both of them.

C nods and approaches the ottoman. He takes the chair. “Okay. I’ll take it.”

No money or currency of any kind has changed hands throughout the whole encounter.

I don’t know whether to be proud of him for being frugal or her for being clever enough to sell him THE VERY CHAIR IN WHICH HIS LITTLE BUTT WAS ALREADY SITTING

bee2iinmybraiin  asked:

Omg ok fanfic prompt. Au where Charles is a elementary school teacher for Wanda and Peter and Erik meets him at a parent-teacher meeting. Charles I'd supposed to talk to all the parents but he spends the whole time talking/flirting w Erik

Look Willa I finally did the thing 

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Charles Xavier considered himself a professional man. Well, as professional as one can possibly be when you’re teaching elementary school children. He’d been doing this for almost a year now, and he had to admit, for someone who never used to like children under the age of 10, he adored his job. His students loved him, and he had finally found a profession that made him want to come to work and try his hardest every morning. The children were always so happy, and sure, some of them cried a lot, or were a little rougher, or didn’t have as much grasp on reading as the other students, they all managed to brighten up his life.

The Lehnsherr twins, however, they were different. Opposite sides of the spectrum. On one hand, we had Wanda. Very neat, clean, sarcastic for her age. Well kept. Knew right from wrong. Charles would have thought she was his own daughter, if he had any children. It was as if he raised her himself.

On the other hand, we had Pietro. Pietro liked to run around. A lot. It made Charles grateful he had working legs, otherwise that child probably would have run to China and back by now. Pietro always seemed to have at least one spot of dirt on him, one tooth missing, and most of the time (all of the time), a bandaid rested upon one of his limbs. Charles would have given ANYTHING to meet the parents of these two. The apple(s) don’t fall too far from the tree, right? Maybe the mother and father were opposite sides of the spectrum, too.

So, when it came time for the parent teacher meetings, Charles was slightly (extremely) excited to hear that Pietro and Wanda’s parents would be attending. He was less excited when little Wanda tugged on his sleeve so he’d kneel down, and in a hushed voice, she told him,

“Don’t ask about mommy in front of daddy. He says she’s in heaven, but he still gets sad.”

Charles gave the girl a gentle smile, and promised her that he wouldn’t bring up her mother.

—–

When the night finally came, Charles was ever so slightly nervous. He knew that all he had to do was sit behind his desk and talk to the parents, something that shouldn’t be hard, but all he could think about was Pietro and Wanda’s father. What would he be like? Rough and tumble like Pietro, or calm and collected like Wanda?

It took nearly an hour of talking to parents before the door to his classroom opened, and in came a man in a black turtleneck. Charles was pretty sure he made an audible gulping noise. He didn’t even need to look at the name on the list to know that this was their father. As the man crossed the classroom, Charles found himself standing up on shaky legs to shake the other’s hand.

“You must be Pietro and Wanda’s father! I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“Please, call me Erik.”

FUCK. Even his voice was beautiful. No, Charles. No. This was supposed to be a professional interview. Erik had agreed to see him because he wanted to know the progress of his children. His two children, raised only by him. As they took their respective seats, Charles gave Erik a kind smile.

“What can I help you with, Erik?”

“Nothing in particular, Mr. Xavier-”

“-Charles,”

“-Charles, I just wanted to meet the man that my children never stop talking about.”

“Pardon me?”

“Every day when I pick up Pietro and Wanda, all I hear about is their amazing teacher. How nice he is, how he manages to make story-time exciting, and when they’re sick they still beg me to let them go to school.”

It took Charles a minute to find the words to answer. Did Pietro and Wanda think that much of him? All he could do was smile and take a small sip from his water bottle that sat on the desk as Erik continued.

“They also keep suggesting that I marry you so that you can be around them 24/7.”

Charles choked. His body jolted slightly as he began to cough into his hand, trying not to spit out the water in his mouth. After managing to get it down, he forced a shaky smile.

“That’s very sweet. They truly are amazing kids.”

“They really are.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Erik gave the other man a smile. Charles had a feeling it was rare for Erik to smile, because it seemed to be difficult for him.

They ended up talking about “Pietro and Wanda” for nearly an hour, and by Pietro and Wanda, Charles ended up learning that Erik was a construction worker, he was Jewish, he was born in Poland, and Charles came to realize that Erik Lehnsherr was perfectly imperfect. He only realized the time when an angry mother knocked on his door and asked when it was her turn. Just as Erik got up to leave, he handed Charles a folded up piece of paper, which Charles would later learn had Erik’s cell phone number scribbled on it.

——-

The next day, during recess, two very giggly children ran up to him as he was sitting at his desk. Smiling down at the twins, he turned his chair around so he was facing them.

“How can I help you two?”

The two shared another glance and another giggle, before Pietro, dirty as always, looked up at Charles.

“Does that mean we can call you daddy now, too?”

Charles wasn’t sure how to answer.