i hate when im like “i cant do this thing on my own bc autism” & someones like “ur just using it as an excuse” like??? yes???? i have a disability that causes me to struggle with certain things & im 100% citing it as the reason for that???? why is this such a wild concept for some people like what do they think disabled people Do with their disability
Mourning bride: “I have lost all” (and I’m just a tad bit perturbed that the flower is really reminiscent of Shiro’s color scheme)
For the Flower Exchange HERE, for the wonderful
Cilan(tuckersfelix) on twitter…I’ve been raring to do some sad sheith stuff for a while now so thanks for PROMPTING me to PROMPTLY finish this wonderful PROMPT you provided to accompany this IMPROMPTU ok I’ll stop now
hermione still flinches when ron’s hands brush her neck and she doesn’t understand why she does, because the cold, metal sting and everything that happened later, is painfully different from his soft palms. she stops wearing perfume, and starts casting protection charms.
remus despises his nature so much that the scars on his body are from his own hands. he knows what the taste of wolfsbane is when it doesn’t quite work; bitter and unmistakably sweet—it’s sirius’s blood when he goes too far.
ginny’s hands shake uncontrollably when she writes for hours at a time. the words will start to swim across the page and mix and scramble into anagrams. hi, i’m tom. what’s your name? hi, i’m tom. what’s your name? hi, i’m tom. what’s your na—
pansy knows what it’s like to cast unforgivables on first years. she learns how to enunciate the words with refined perfection, and learns how to want to hurt them. she throws up in the abandoned washroom after every lesson, and finds comfort in the absent arms of moaning myrtle.
ron faints everytime he apparates. he’ll wake up in hermione’s lap; his hair wet against his forehead, and his arms heavy with sweat. he always reaches for his shoulder and visibly relaxes when blood doesn’t rub off his fingers. he doesn’t know how to control his anger either, and feels the shame creep into his skin whenever hermione looks at his chest. he knows that she’s looking for the locket because he wishes that was what he could lay his blame on.
tom falls in love at the age of twelve—watched glimmering jewels glide down his own hand and pool at the bland tiles in the orphanage; started fires just to keep things lively. he collects followers like sheep in a mindless herd and finds that the acclaimed intricacies of a human brain is much more dull than he had imagined. he holds fear like a baby would with a blanket and spends nights wishing he had more time. he dies knowing he never had enough.
draco knows what it’s like to have your mind violated and out bare for all the world to see. he remembers severus saying that veritaserum has no taste, and discovers that he was wrong. the so called non dimensional potion is much too similar to the taste of the silent pleas he shouted when he watched snatchers salivate at the sight of his mother, or the copper droplets of red that sprinkled the surface of his cracked lips when he watched children slaughtered in the blink of an eye.
sirius has spent his entire childhood without the warmth of a mother’s embrace or the reassuring words of a father. he tells himself he’s okay with it—that he would rather have no family than one that wished his friends dead. he doesn’t know what to think when he has neither family or friends alive—the only embrace he will ever feel again is the one that lurks behind bars in his azkaban cell.
luna stops searching for wrackspurts, and instead, starts organizing her fathers office. she should be relieved when people stop calling her loony lovegood but all she feels is the absence of her imagination. war, it seemed, was not an adventure, but an old friend that came at inconvenient times in history.
harry doesn’t want to start a family because every father he has ever had has been hurt at his own expense. ginny rocks his body against her chest and brushes the tears away from his eyes as soon as they fall. she tells him that he’ll learn how to be a father—that it will come as naturally as magic had. the sharp pain that lodges inside of him whenever albus retreats back into his room is reflected so blatantly on ginny’s face. he wishes that he were a blind man so that he never had to see his mistakes out in the open, and rubs at his fading scar.
despite the years that had passed, it seemed that all was not well.
Ok so my headcanon for why Mary and Damien are so close (i.e. my special boy) is that they’ve known eachother forever - I’m talking since school/university, and they’ve always been best friends. Even when they both got married they made sure to call eachother almost every day and find time for “girls’ nights out.” But then a little while after Lucien was born Damien came to the full realisation that he was trans, and that he couldn’t live any longer without being his true self.
Somehow, while he was terrified to tell anyone, the idea of telling Mary made him the most anxious - even though she already accepted his growing gothic wardrobe, and his overwhelming love of dogs and graveyards. But he was scared that once he told her they would never be the same again, since he wouldn’t be her ‘best girlfriend’ anymore.
He waited, and waited, trying to find the right moment, to pluck up the courage. But if he couldn’t steel himself enough to watch Nightmare Before Christmas, then how the hell was he supposed to do this. Nevertheless, one day - when he’d lost count of how many times he’d gone into the basement to cry after hearing Lucien call him Mom, and he’d received yet another text from his best friend saying 'heeyyy *deadname* how are ya?’ - he went to her house to tell her.
She was quiet while he revealed everything, anxiously mentioning anything that seemed relevant to lessen the weight of the silence between them. He talked about how he felt as a child, and when Lucien was born; his nausea when wearing dresses and how much he’d cried recently; his ideas for a new name. And then, because of course they had to surface right now, his anxieties about what it would mean - how much he loved her, but how scared he was that he couldn’t be her best friend anymore.
When he’d finally stumbled to a halt - and she had that look on her face that meant she’d just been waiting for him to shut up - she said: 'No, you’re not my best girlfriend anymore. You’re my special boy.’ And she hugged him, so he burst into tears on her shoulder. From that moment on, she’d used that nickname to signify that she wasn’t fucking around when it came to their friendship (usually when Joseph got frustrated about how much time she spent with another man.)
She then helped him to come out to his husband, and to Lucien - and she sounded like she’d read fifty guides on how to come out to children, even though Damien thought she never read anything without romance or spies somewhere along the way. And a few days later, a package arrived at his door which turned out to be a Victorian-era appropriate binder - which he had no idea could exist. The invoice inside read Joseph Christiansen, but there was a note from Mary:
'Apparently these things are a bitch to get on and off. Let me know if ya get stuck and need rescuing, special boy. M xx’
And he knew things with Mary could never change.