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marvelmusing · 3 years

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Terms of Endearment

Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader

My Masterlist

Summary: You and Zemo go on a mission together as fake husband and wife, you come to realise that you’re closer to him than you initially thought.

For context I like to think this is set about a year after the events of TFATWS, in an alternate timeline where Zemo stuck around to help with the flag smashers so he didn’t end up on the raft, though he has to work with Sam, Bucky, and the reader on missions instead of going back to prison.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short drabble, I have no idea how it got this long. I guess I just want to go to fancy galas with my fake husband the baron

You sprawl across the sheets of the bed, revelling in the luxurious fabric. You hear Zemo shuffling about in the en-suite, which reminds you of the reason why you’re both here. Sam and Bucky thought that the two of you would attract less attention than the two Avengers. They also thought you’d be the most convincing couple - though you had argued that Sam and Bucky could easily pass as a couple. Bucky had blushed at your suggestion, but Sam was quick to argue that Zemo needed to go on this mission considering he was the well known rich man. Since the mission was to find out who was funding the newest HYDRA sub-branch, Sam was right, Zemo needed to be there. Which meant you had to go with him as his fake wife. You’re thinking about how you’ll be able to give a convincing performance when you hear the bathroom door open. You look over at Zemo. He’s dressed in a long t-shirt and boxers. It’s odd, seeing him dressed so casually. You’d half expected him to wear silk pyjamas. He meets your eyes, noticing how you’re lost in thought. He raises an eyebrow,

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m just considering our relationship.”

“We’ve been married for a day, have I done something wrong?” You laugh, pressing your head against the sheets below you. You look back up at him as he crosses the room.

“No, of course not. I’m just trying to think of a suitable term of endearment for you.” He lifts up the quilt on his side of the bed, before making himself comfortable, and leaning against the headboard.

“Care to walk me through your thought process?” You sigh, pausing to think,

“Well there’s babe, or baby. Though those seem too common for you.” You sit up, facing him, and you cross your legs. “There’s honey? Though I always think honey’s a more domestic nickname. Like, ‘honey I’m home’ or ‘dinner’s ready honey’, you know?” He nods. A small smile on his face, at how serious you’re taking this.

“What else?” He asks.

“Well there’s darling? I think that’s quite classy, so it would suit you. Or my love? That would be nice.”

“Sounds like you’ve come to a conclusion.”

“Do you approve?” You pull the covers back, and slide into bed beside him.

“I do.” You look up at him as you settle your head on the pillow. You give him an expectant look, which he returns with one of mock confusion. You sigh, resting your head against his shoulder as he settles down beside you,

“Fine. What are you going to call me?” He tilts his head in thought.

“I was thinking of the standard: Liebling, or Süsse.” He pauses. “Perhaps meine Schatz.” You lift your head up to look at him.

“Your treasure?” His eyes meet yours.

“It was a common term of endearment in Sokovia, used for our nearest and dearest.” You don’t know how to respond to this admission. You settle your head back by his shoulder.

“If you’re comfortable with it, that would be very sweet of you.” You admit. He turns on his side, so that he’s facing you, and it’s then that you notice how close you are. You breathe in his scent, the soft cleanliness of his fresh clothes, and the floral notes of the hotel soap. Underneath that is a faint scent that is undeniably him, your eyes flutter as his presence soothes you.

“There is something else I wish to discuss with you.” He mentions, his voice soft as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face. You attempt to open your eyes, murmuring a quiet acknowledgment. “But you’re exhausted. Sleep, Schatz.” As you’re drifting off, you’re sure you can feel his thumb ghost across your cheek.

You wake up the next morning to the sound of Zemo’s voice. He’s talking quietly to someone at the door. You keep your eyes closed listening to his voice,

“Thank you so much. My wife sleeps like an angel, I’d hate to disturb her.” Your heart warms at his words. There’s a murmur as the other person replies. Zemo chuckles quietly, adding, “Thank you again,” before closing the door gently. You sit up and look at him, rubbing your eyes sleepily. He’s standing at the bottom of the bed with a small tray.

“Morning.” You mumble. He smiles at you,

“Good morning. I took the liberty of ordering us some breakfast.” You frown lightly,

“I thought this hotel didn’t do room service?”

“They don’t. Being a Baron has a variety of privileges, and I thought you’d appreciate a slower morning after our journey yesterday.”

“I do. Appreciate it I mean. Thank you Zemo.”

“I believe I’ve mentioned this before, call me Helmut, please.” You nod, smiling softly. He pours you both a cup of tea, and you pull the newspaper from underneath your plate handing it to him. He thanks you, settling against the headboard as he sips on his tea before skimming through the newspaper. You pick up your phone. You have a text from Sam: ‘you still alive?’ You shake your head smiling. You send a reply: ‘despite all odds, yes, I am still alive thanks Cap’. You glance at your companion, he seems unusually quiet.

“Are you alright?” You ask him. He looks up at you from his newspaper. He nods faintly,

“It’s strange, to call someone my wife again.” You feel a pang of guilt at his confession.

“We don’t have to be married for this mission. I could be your girlfriend, or something? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Helmut.” His eyes remain fixed on your face as he considers your words. He takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips as he places a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“I’d be honoured to be your husband.” Your stomach flips at both the gesture and his words. You push those feelings away, not quite convinced that he’s okay with this. He can see your hesitation, and reasons, “For the gala I responded as Baron and Baroness Zemo. I don’t hand that title out to anyone.” You smile at his joke. At least he doesn’t seem upset at you for masquerading as his wife. You clear your throat, planning to change the subject,

“What did you want to say to me, last night? I think I fell asleep on you.” Your eyes widen. “Oh, not on you. Just on you, as in when you were talking.” He smiles at your fumbling.

“I wished to set some boundaries for this relationship. I’d like to know if there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with?” You pause, not expecting him to offer such a question.

“Oh, well I’m fine with the usual PR relationship stuff. So kissing, and hand holding, things like that are fine. If that’s okay with you?” He nods. “And no heavy stuff: like making out in closets, or fondling each other.” You feel your face heat up at the mention of being that intimate with Helmut. You have no idea why you phrased it like that. He must think you’re odd to make such an objection. To escape your embarrassment, you keep your focus on the carpet of the room. That is until you feel a finger hooking under your chin. Then your eyes are locked on his.

“I will ensure your approval before initiating anything. I give you my word.”

“Thank you, Helmut.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” You pull back a little, finding the atmosphere more intense than you’d intended. Helmut leans back against the headboard, attempting to give you some space. You take a deep breath before changing the subject,

“So, what have we got planned for today?” He sets his newspaper down on the bedside table, before glancing up at you.

“I’d like to buy you something to wear tonight, if you’ll allow me.”

“You don’t have to.” You argue. Though the thought of shopping with Helmut does sound quite fun.

“I insist.” You relent and agree to go shopping with him.

The two of you spend the rest of the morning looking through a variety of stores. Helmut buys you a beautiful dress for the gala, along with a pair of shoes, and some jewellery.

As you’re getting ready for the gala you consider the time you’ve spent with Helmut. When Bucky broke him out of prison you were skeptical, certain that he would attempt to escape as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But he didn’t. He stayed. Even when the Wakandans came for him. Then, across the variety of missions you’ve worked on with him. He’s proved himself both valuable and dependable. He’s offered his money and houses to help you and your team on multiple occasions. Your thoughts are interrupted by the man himself, as he opens the bathroom door. You stare at his reflection in the mirror in front of you. He catches your gaze,

“What are you thinking of?”

“Do you remember when we went to Prague? And you taught me how to play chess?” You smile fondly at the memory. The two of you, along with Sam, and Bucky were in one of Helmut’s many safe houses. You’d completed your mission, though the snow storm outside had prevented you from making the flight home. He smiles,

“You were so excited when the snow began. You were wearing that woollen coat, and all the snowflakes clung to it.” You turn to face him.

“I’d forgotten that.” You look down at the tie in his hands, then at his buttoned up shirt. You stand and make your way over to him. “The Baron himself can’t tie his own tie?” You smile up at him, taking the tie in hand.

“Perhaps, the Baron would like his wife to do it for him?” He offers, his attentive eyes fixed on your face. You keep your focus on your hands as you adjust his tie.

“All done.” You say softly, stepping back to admire your work. He takes this as an opportunity to take in your appearance.

“You look incredible, Liebling.” You smile at him, your cheeks warming at his compliment.

“Well I did have some help. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself today.”

“The day isn’t over yet, my love.”

When you arrive at the gala Helmut opens the car door for you, taking your hand and giving it a light squeeze as he helps you out of the car. As the two of you make your way inside he slips his arm around your waist. He introduces you to a number of the guests as his wife. You smile and shake hands with far too many people, but Helmut is clearly thriving. You keep one arm tucked around him, whilst the other alternates between resting on his shoulder, against his chest, and fiddling with his lapels, depending on how nervous you were.

With Helmut’s people skills, and criminal expertise you soon find the man who’s been lending money to the new HYDRA division. He gives you a small amount of information, but now that you know who it is you have a place to start your search. Once you’ve finished your conversation with the man, you both decide that you should stick around a little longer for the sake of appearances. The reason for your agreement is definitely not because you enjoy having his arm around you. Or that once this is over, he won’t have an excuse to call you Liebling or mein Schatz. And you won’t be able to call him your love or your darling. You’re not sure if you can go back to only seeing him at work, around the rest of your team, and only talk about new leads or data files.

You both have a few drinks and chat amongst yourselves for some time. You decide to visit the bathroom, leaving Helmut’s side for the first time since this mission began. You don’t take long but as you’re making your way through the crowd you notice someone has taken your space beside Helmut. She reaches out to trail a finger across his shoulder. He has a polite smile on his face, but he’s taking a subtle step back. She doesn’t take his hint. You head towards them before calling out to him,

“There you are, darling.” You say, keeping your eyes fixed on him. You stop close to Helmut, though the woman still doesn’t move away.

“And you are?” She asks, looking you up and down. You raise your chin to face her, stepping into Helmut’s arms.

“His wife. Now if you’ll excuse us.” You say, pulling on the front of his jacket to steer the two of you away. He shakes his head slightly,

“I wouldn’t take you for the jealous type.” Your eyes flicker to his momentarily, and you attempt a joke,

“What kind of a wife would I be if I abandoned my husband like that.” You force a laugh, in the hope that it’ll disguise how you really feel.

“You know I belong with you, Liebling. Only you.” You’re taken aback by his certainty, and despite this all being an act, you almost believe him.

“As I belong with you.” You reply quietly. He stares down at your face as you keep a firm hold on his jacket.

“May I kiss you, meine Schatz?” You trail your fingers against his lapels, laughing softly.

“Helmut, we’re married.” You reply, still playing your part despite the fact that no one is watching the two of you. He runs a finger along your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that have watched you, protected you, and seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“May I?” He repeats, gently.

“Yes.” You whisper. His lips are warm and soft. He takes his time, gently cupping your cheek, keeping you close, as if he’s committing every second of this to memory. Once you pull away, his hands settle at your waist. You rest your hands on his shoulders, before taking one hand to cup his face. You smooth your thumb against his cheek as he looks down at you, before he asks,

“I was wondering if, once we are home, my wife would like to go on a date?” You smile softly at him.

“Your wife would like that.”

#baron helmut zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x female reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #baron zemo x y/n #zemo x reader #tfatws #zemo x y/n #zemo oneshot #zemo imagine #helmut zemo imagine #baron zemo imagine

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20dollarlolita · 2 years

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Okay, I'm still a little bit nostalgic, so let's go into the first six coord pictures I found on my long trip through my 2011 facebook and tumblr.

This is Alice in the Ribbon Kingdom OP, which was my first main dress piece I bought. Those socks are actually gray, and those shoes are jelly peep-toe flats that were so small that my heels were hanging off the end. This is definitely the earliest coord pic I have because it was from before there was the giant mirror at the end of the hallway that everyone knows me for now.

I think everyone has a picture of their "i bought the dress and had no accessories at all" coord. This was mine. You can't see my hair but I took the neck brooch off the dress and bobby pinned it into my hair.

Coord rating: 4/10, nice dress and nothing else works, please step away from the cat litter box.

I definitely wore this outfit and called it lolita. The picture I posted of it is a dead link but my friend drew Equius in the same outfit I was wearing. That's a handmade skirt and then a t-shirt with Portal and the TARDIS on it, a headbow I strip-quilted with random fabric, and then some navy blue knee socks. I do not remember the conversation that happened to make this picture happen.

Coord rating 6/10: that's not how casual lolita works but A for effort.

This was my first Bodyline dress, and I'd gotten it that day, and hadn't pressed it. Those are some factory creases in there. That blouse is just a normal pointed collar blouse that I think I borrowed from my mom. Once again, we have me pinning the detachable bows into my hair. It took me years to get out of this habit. That dress was also the first lolita piece that I sold, and I wish I could get it again. I wanted a piano lolita dress from the first second I had a piano lolita dress.

Those white socks I later sewed lace to the top of, and they're still in my wardrobe and are frequently used in current coords.

I wore this to my lolita mentor's house because I was going to buy something from her. I don't remember if it was my Shirring Princess OP or if it was a blouse+petticoat+ear muff+socks combo that I later bought, but I know I was going to her house to buy something from her.

Coord rating: unable to rate because I fear the consequence of breaking eye contact with the face I'm making at the camera.

And I know that because this is the Shirring Princess, socks, blouse, petticoat, and earmuff combo that I bought from my mentor. I was so lucky to have someone who was experienced in the fashion available to help me when I was new to this. She also was selling a lot of her stuff because IIRC she was in a bit of a financial pinch. It wasn't really cold enough for earmuffs but I wanted to wear them anyway because I didn't own any hair accessories at all.

Those are my Bodyline tea parties that I've currently painted gold and made into the world's most dangerous quad skates. Those

mental health discussion cw for the rest of this post.

This picture is really weird to me because it's the last picture that I uploaded online before my bipolar diagnosis. I got diagnosed with bipolar following a quite spectacular almost-term of college with an increasingly bad major depressive episode. So I look really weird to myself here, because this was the start of like, days at a time where I wasn't able to be happy and couldn't understand why. I spent this entire winter break thinking that if I could just get back to school then things would feel better, which. They didn't. I know that I bring up my mental health any time that I start talking about early lolita me, but that's because the main reason I fully committed to owning and making lolita is really connected to this major depressive episode.

I remember wearing this exact coord again at school, but I wore the socks over white tights because I had self-harm marks on my legs that I didn't want people to see.

Coord rating 8/10: It's got most of the right things but also it's basically an entire outfit I bought from someone else.

So near the end of that term, I was determined to be a hazard to myself or others and was ejected from housing, which was also its own whole mess (I can tell the story of the head of housing being told to put a 20-year-old girl on suicide watch and her deciding to just leave said girl with a group of people she didn't know and tell them to watch her because head of housing decided to do something else, but we can save that for later).

Anyway, when you're super fucking depressed and your entire life has flipped upside-down and you've been massively cycling because you've got bipolar and someone's put you on SSRIs, sometimes you pick a thing to obsess over. And I picked lolita fashion. A nice lady at my church gave me huge piles of random scrap fabric, and I just started making things. I still have that blouse. It's basically a dickey with sleeves, because I ran out of fabric and decided it wouldn't matter if I only wore it under JSKs. That bodice is just elastic bobbin shirring done super close together, so it doesn't look very mainstream lolita at all. Looking at that skirt, I think I made that skirt out of the very first Scottish Games skirt that my mom made me when I was like 7.

This picture is really weird to me because I had completely forgotten about this dress ever existing until I found it earlier today. This is also one of the first selfies I can find that was in this mirror at the end of the hall. I still take pictures at this mirror.

Coord rating 6/10: not bad for a handmade coord but baby me wasn't really sure what a substyle was. If I'd tried to commit to styling it classic or something, it could probably work. Nice hat.

I've mentioned this before but this picture is a big deal for me because it was taken at my job/"job", which meant I was considered stable enough that I was allowed to drive my truck again. It wasn't really a job as much as my parents church taking pity on me and allowing me to "be the receptionist" on the church secretary's day off. This was the church where as a child I was banned from talking about oreos.

I found that blouse at a thrift store and it was too small but it had a rounded collar, so it was the only black blouse that I had for probably years. I made the skirt based off the Innocent World Juno skirt without me really having an understanding of why that skirt is shaped the way it is. That hair brooch is from the Dollar Tree and I was so excited when I found it because I thought it was the most lolita thing I'd ever seen at the Dollar Tree.

At this point in time, I was making maybe one thing from my sewing stash fabric about every three or four days. The petticoat I was wearing with this was a completely new petticoat that I made out of pink organza. I'd also done a skirt completely covered in rick rack which I do not have a picture of. I was basically making things because if I stopped making things then I'd feel worse than when I was making things.

I had also stopped wearing my BtSSB dress by this point because I had some disordered eating stuff going on and the fact that the zipper was a little bit tight somehow mathed out in my head to be about worth as a human.

Coord rating 7/10: technically checks all the boxes but CAN WE PLEASE BUY SOME LACE

While I was in college at that last term, I found this bodyline blouse at a record store (for some reason??), and the high waist means I could wear it with my weirdly short blouse I made. I owned three blouses at this point: this one, the too-small black one, and the long-sleeved pink one. That was my blouse collection for way too long, because I just never bought blouses. The slouch boots are an interesting addition to this. That headbow was the other Dollar Tree hair brooch that I got the same time I bought the black one.

If you've been following along you're going to notice how bad I used to be about not wearing any jewelry. I'm still pretty light on the jewelry but at least I wear it now.

I assume that the yellow thing there with the green crepe back satin ruffle is somehow related to the purple skirt with the ruffle made of the same green crepeback satin, but I have no idea what's going on with it.

I do remember taking this picture at like 2:30AM. I don't remember why I was taking this picture at like 2:30 AM. I think it's because I'd just cut my bangs and I wanted to do a whole look to show it off? I'm pretty sure this was right about when I started cutting my own bangs and just pretending it was fine however they came out. This is different from how I do it now because now I cut my own bangs and then panic when they are not fine however I tried to cut them.

Coord rating: 6/10 can we please match the shoes and headbow, but yeah I guess it checks all the boxes or something?

Overall analysis: Okay, so the first thing that past me needed (wardrobe terms, not in terms of psychiatric care) was to actually get way more hair accessories. All of these really show a lack of committment to my hair department. I think at the time, I really didn't know how to coordinate pink hair.

I did the same thing that I currently do, which I need to stop doing, which is buying big pieces like dresses and skirts and then just not having any blouses and headbows and socks. But this habit really, really held me back in my early lolita days.

The biggest thing for me in terms of handmade lolita was that I had a really good petticoat, and that helps make even my less good coordinates and pieces read like they're much better than they are.

That said, I was just dressing in a way that felt better than not getting dressed at all. This last picture wasn't even four months after the initial nadir of the major depressive episode, and I wasn't going to be determined to be able to go back to school for a few months after that. This was basically the only part of my life that I had complete control over and I decided that this was the thing I cared about.

Because of that, it took me a really long time to start focusing on some of the really detailed elements of lolita, making things balanced and pretty. I was basically just throwing anything that I could find together and call lolita.

Anyway, I was talking earlier about how you get good at drawing by doing a lot of sketches and not caring too hard if they're the best thing you'll ever draw? I think that's what I did in my first year of lolita. I just put things together. They weren't good. The vast majority of the pieces up there I either no longer have or no longer wear. But I figured out some stuff. Other stuff took way longer to figure out, but I did get some stuff figured out.

Anyway, to anyone who is feeling like they're not experienced in lolita, here's an entire year of me figuring stuff out. The 2013-2014 collection of lolita fashion that I have is also not great, so we can check that out if we want, too. I'm still figuring things out. I don't think I'll ever not be figuring things out.

Also here's a quick glimpse at how good cell phone cameras used to not be. (I've actually adjusted the white balance in all these, so the original pictures were worse)

#20dollarlolita #long post #handmade lolita #20dollarcoordposts

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wondernimbus · 4 years

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everything you didn’t say — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: reader has secrets of her own. a party at the malfoy manor reveals them.

a/n: i had to rewrite this bc im dumb n my first draft didn't save which was Very upsetting but anyways i hope you like it :'')

“Well, don’t you look dashing.”

Draco’s eyes snap up in the mirror.

[Y/N] is standing in his doorway, having somehow opened the door without him noticing. She has one shoulder leaning on the doorframe, arms folded over her chest, eyebrows raised. There is a glint in her eye that Draco knows all too well; that of playfulness, of fondness. One he has long since associated with safety.

He breathes out a short laugh. “How long have you been standing there?” Draco asks, ringed fingers deftly resuming to work on his tie, but he isn’t having much success. He feels far too jittery, and as a result he keeps accidentally knotting it, only to unwind the silk and try again, over and over like some messed up routine.

Watching her through the mirror’s reflection, he sees [Y/N] step into the room. She’s wearing a plain black dress; lace sleeves, collarbones in display, the silver necklace he’d given her hanging around her neck.

“Long enough to find out that you’re a grown seventeen year old who doesn’t know how to tie his own tie.”

Draco still has it in him to roll his eyes, to let out a short-lived laugh. “I do,” he mutters, yanking a little at the fabric in frustration. “It’s just..”

[Y/N] swiftly pads across his room to join him at the dresser, a tiny grin playing across her lips. Standing in front of him, she gently knocks his hands away so as to work on his tie herself.

“Nerves?” she says quietly. The grin on her lips falls slightly as she fixes her gaze on his tie, hands quickly working to loop the loose ends together.

Draco inhales sharply. His palms are clammy, his heart is beating too fast inside of his chest—to say that he’s dealing with nerves would be an understatement.

”You could say that,” he decides, curling and uncurling his fists at his sides. When she looks up to meet his gaze, he tries for a weak smile, if only to quell the storm inside his heart.

”It’ll be fine,” [Y/N] tells him with a pursed smile. She’s done tying his tie. Her hands move to rest on his shoulders, which are covered with his suit jacket. His mother had insisted he wear it, just as her own mother had no doubt insisted [Y/N] wear her dress; it is somewhat of a special occasion, after all, although what they are celebrating is hardly something that neither draco nor [Y/N] feel too ecstatic about it.

”There’ll be drinks,” continues [Y/N] with a lilting tone, thumbs smoothing over the creases of his suit. “And..”

She trails off. There isn’t really much to say.

”Dancing?” Draco suggests half-heartedly.

There is one brief second in which their eyes meet, and both of their lips are already beginning to quirk up at the corners, and then the next they are both breaking out into laughter. And it’s not the kind that hurts your stomach or has you pounding your fists on the ground, but it’s laughter nonetheless—a little rigid, a little heavy-hearted, but it’s just as relieving.

[Y/N]’s shoulders wrack with subtle giggles. “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding. “And I suspect Greyback will be giving a motivational speech.”

Draco feels his lips tug up into a crooked grin. “Hear my aunt might skip out on the party. She’s got knitting to do, you see.”

Both of them let themselves paint a picture inside their head: the infamous, untamed Bellatrix, sitting in a quiet corner with a quilt in her lap, humming a little tune to herself.

[Y/N] throws her head back in a loud laugh, and this time it’s not quite as tense. Draco watches her, laughing quietly on his own, and suddenly his heart doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

He watches as the last of her giggles dissipate, and she is smiling down at her shoes again, and then back up at him.

“We’ll be okay,” she tells him softly, once more reaching out, but not to tie his tie or to smoothen out the creased fabric of his suit, but to card her fingers through his hair the way she knows relaxes him.

Staring down at her—holding her gaze, which is warm and comforting and reminiscent of simpler times, like when she would sneak into his bed at Hogwarts and they would whisper and laugh quietly into the night, taking care not to wake up any of his roommates—Draco allows himself to breathe. To feel like himself again; a boy in love and nothing more.

”Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes, leaning forward to lean his forehead on hers. “Yeah, we will.”

—

Gatherings at the Malfoy Manor were usually a grand event; peacocks would mill about the lawn, some wandering past the large castle doors and into the drawing room, where the guests would stroke their feathers in admiration with one hand and hold a glass of the finest mulled wine in the other as they spoke among themselves, laughing and boasting offhandedly about the ancient living room set they'd imported from France or their children's future careers. Sometimes one would have enough courage to bring up the notion of arranged marriages, only for Narcissa Malfoy to turn them down and say that Draco would choose for himself when the time came, veering the conversation away towards things like ministry connections.

Parties happened often back then—not as much to celebrate as to fill up the overly large halls of the manor with pointless chatter—but things have changed. It’s been a while since the Malfoys last opened their doors to guests.

Does this count as a party? Draco wonders to himself, watching Death Eaters filter into the drawing room, some wearing sickening grins and others looking dead inside.

There are no more wandering peacocks. No more music, no more friendly guests eager to wed their children into the Malfoy family. There are only murderers. Death Eaters. There is laughter, but the kind that has Draco feeling uneasy.

Things have changed. Draco wonders if it's for the better.

He knows he and [Y/N] can't hide here forever—at the edge of the shadowed banister overlooking the entrance hall—but they stay there for as long as they can, until his grim-looking mother comes up the staircase and beckons for them to join the party.

Party. Ha.

So Draco and [Y/N] trail after Narcissa, who leads them into the drawing room, where most of the Death Eaters have gathered. No peacocks, no music, but there is wine, and almost everyone is clutching a glass of it.

He feels [Y/N]'s fingers graze against his. Looking over at her, she sees him staring placidly in front of her, meeting no one's gaze, but she seems to feel his eyes on her—so she turns her head to the side, and Draco sees her facade slip away for the smallest of split seconds as the look on her face softens and she gives him this small, reassuring smile.

He can almost hear her voice inside his head: we'll be okay.

Draco swallows. Nods just a fraction of an inch.

People clap him on the back as he passes, congratulating him and [Y/N] for a job well done at fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco nods mutely and lets [Y/N] do the talking—she has always been better at keeping her composure, masking her true thoughts.

"Could never have imagined it," cackles Alecto Carrow, marching up to them in the middle of the large room. Her cheeks are already tinged pink with intoxication, voice a higher pitch than usual. "Most I expected from you lot was.. well, nothing, really. Doubted you could even fix a dresser, much less a whole bloody cabinet!" she shrieks with laughter, some of the wine from her glass spilling onto the floor.

[Y/N]'s gaze is stony. "Thank you."

Alecto’s nose wrinkles, her chortles dying down. "Thank you?" she repeats. "S'that all you have to say?"

For a brief, horrifying moment, Draco almost thinks [Y/N] is going to bite back with a sarcastic remark—but things have changed and there is a mark on her arm now, so instead she says, flatly, "It wasn’t an easy feat." A slight pause. "We’re just as surprised as you."

Alecto grins. She seems satisfied. "Well, 'course it wasn't an easy feat, or at least for you." She takes a big swig out of her glass. "Could’ve done it myself in ten minutes, isn't that right, Amycus?"

Her brother Amycus snickers but doesn't reply. Draco knows it's because he doubts Alecto's claims just as much as they do; she doesn't seem capable of writing even a bloody paragraph on her own.

"Well," says [Y/N]. "We appreciate your.. praise."

Draco almost snorts. It’s uncharacteristic of her to be so formal, and most of all to take the high road when being insulted. He knows that if things were different, if their lives weren't on the line, she wouldn't be standing here at Draco's side—no, her wand would be at Alecto's throat.

But that little bit of humor quickly fades when Draco finds Amycus staring at [Y/N], uncouth eyes roaming from her lips to her exposed collarbones, the skin hiding just underneath the lace of her sleeves, the dress hugging her figure—

Draco feels anger flare up, hot and heavy inside of his chest. Unconsciously, he finds himself stepping forward, urged on by that unpleasant feeling worming its way into his stomach, curling his hands into fists, tinging the tips of his ears red as his fingers edge closer to the wand inside his pocket.

¨What are you looking at, boy?¨ Amycus sneers, meeting his gaze.

Draco thinks, at that moment, that magic would hardly be fit to put this ugly brute of a man in his place—no, he´d much rather use his fists, pummel them into that crooked nose of his until he kneels at [Y/N]’s feet and begs for her forgiveness, because no one should look at her like that—

[Y/N] is whispering something, but he can´t hear it through the blood rushing in his ears.

But all of a sudden, Amycus’s gaze changes. He is no longer looking at Draco; rather, at something over his shoulder, and then he is bowing his head, eyes downcast.

All it takes Draco is a brief glance behind him to realize why.

He hears [Y/N] now: he’s here. He’s here.

An odd hush has fallen over the large room. The cause is easy to pinpoint; the Dark Lord has appeared at the entrance of the large drawing room, bringing with him a familiar sense of foreboding as everyone’s breath seems to hitch. It’s funny, in a sick way, how easily the atmosphere has shifted from something like ease to suffocating tension. How Alecto, who had been cackling into her glass of wine just moments before, now looks like a dog called to heel. How Amycus has torn his hungry gaze away from [Y/N] to instead stare down obediently at his feet. How Draco’s own parents, who stand a few feet away from the Dark Lord at the entrance, have their lips pursed and their hands clasped in front of them in submission.

Draco would laugh, but he is one of them now, and his head is hung just like the rest of them.

¨My, my,¨ says the Dark Lord, tone soft. ¨What a lovely party.¨

It had been he, the Dark Lord, who had suggested the idea of a celebration to revere in Draco´s and [Y/N]´s success. Not out of fondness, of course, but out of sheer spite for the Malfoys, caused by Lucius’s failure at the Department of Mysteries. This party was just another part of his little mind games; not only had he forced their son, Draco, to let Death Eaters loose inside Hogwarts, but he was now forcing them to celebrate it.

But why is he here?

It had been he who proposed the party, but no one had expected the Dark Lord to actually come. He had other things of actual importance to attend to: things that involved torture and kidnap and blackmail. He was on the brink of taking over the Ministry of Magic, and thus was a busy man—the Dark Lord only goes where he is needed, and not to pointless parties.

Draco swallows.

So why is he here?

¨It is only right, of course,¨ Voldemort continues, his voice still so oddly soft, like he´s addressing children, ¨That we celebrate the success of our young Death Eaters. The task I gave them was not an easy one, I’m afraid, and yet they prevailed, in the end, and proved themselves to us.¨

He wonders if Voldemort has spotted him and [Y/N], and feels bile rise at the back of his throat. Draco doesn´t want him anywhere near her.

Just leave, Draco thinks to himself, his teeth gritted so tight he hears how they scrape inside his skull. Just leave.

“I must admit, a few months ago I had my doubts.. but now here we are, applauding them, congratulating them for a job well done, treating them as one of our own.. welcoming them.”

“Draco.”

[Y/N] has inched closer to him. A moment later she feels her fingers weaving through his, squeezing his palm so tight Draco knows without having to look that her knuckles have turned a ghostly white.

He squeezes back, thinking that she might just be as surprised as him. Just as nervous.

It’ll be okay, he tries to tell her without saying it out loud. He´s too scared to speak. It’ll be okay.

¨And yet even as we toast to their names..¨

Draco keeps his head down. He can hear the sound of Voldemort´s robes rasping against the floor as he moves about the room.

But that is not the only thing he hears. Cold sweat trickles down the side of his temple, because in the Dark Lord’s voice he hears an edge. He senses danger.

A thought bounces around Draco’s skull as he fixes his gaze intently on his shoes: why is he here?

"Even as we welcome them with open arms.. as we let them walk among us unharmed, revered, almost, for their bravery..¨

¨Draco,¨ [Y/N] repeats, a little louder this time but only for his ears, and if the room wasn´t so quiet he wouldn´t have heard her ragged, almost panicked breathing, but it was and he did.

He senses uneasy movement from behind him. One of the other Death Eaters.

¨Despite our kindness, one of them dares to turn away from us. One of them dares—¨ The Dark Lord´s voice grows colder, angrier, losing control and then all of a sudden softening again after a pregnant pause; ¨One of them dared.. dares to feed information to the fools that call themselves the Order of the Phoenix.¨

Draco hears the collective murmur of surprise that ripples through the room.

“Draco.” [Y/N]’s grip on his hand, if possible, tightens.

¨One of them dares betray us.¨

There is a brief moment of confusion on Draco´s part. He turns his head to look at [Y/N], brows furrowed as he struggles to make sense of the Dark Lord´s words.

But then Draco meets her eyes. Sees the look on her face.

¨I´m sorry,¨ she whispers, and realization hits him like a burst of icy cold water.

¨Seize her,¨ Voldemort says coldly. When Draco looks up, he sees that he is halfway across the room but his gaze is fixed on them—on [Y/N].

Amycus and Alecto are the first to move. They drop their glasses with no hesitation, sending them to the floor where they break into a hundred tiny pieces, and grab [Y/N] by the arms. She resists, wrestling in their arms, but the string of words that leave her mouth aren´t curses, nor are they pleas to let her go; no, they are apologies, repeated over and over again like a mantra as she desperately holds Draco´s gaze—”I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry.”

He watches as they yank [Y/N] across the floor, towards the Dark Lord, away from him. His lungs have stopped working, his heart is pounding wildly somewhere inside his throat, and [Y/N] is being roughly thrown at the Dark Lord´s feet—

Draco can´t breathe. His mind is buzzing, blanking out to a field of white, noise and heat colliding and melting until he can´t think through the blood rushing in his ears.

“Pity,” the Dark Lord whispers, gripping her chin harshly, jerking it up so that she would look at him.

“I thought you'd proved yourself to be worthy of my praise, but instead it seems you've proved yourself to be rather the opposite—“

She snaps her head away. “Fuck you.”

“You, my child, have proved yourself to be a fool.”

“You´re never going to win.”

The Dark Lord seems unfazed. A grin splits wide on his face, stretching his lips into an uncannily amused grin as he stares down at the girl at his feet for a few seconds before nodding—and then turning around, twirling his wand in his hands—when had he pulled it out?

“And now, my brothers and sisters.”

Draco doesn’t feel his feet move underneath him, but they do.

“Lo and behold what happens to ungrateful fools who turn us away believing that they are saving the world, when in fact they are ruining themselves.”

Everything happens so quickly that Draco barely has any time to react; Voldemort raises his wand, and it seems to almost shine in the light as he points it directly towards [Y/N]—the Dark Lord´s mouth opens, the spell resting on the tip of his tongue, [Y/N] at the opposite end of his wand—

“No!”

It’s as though something inside of Draco has snapped, like he is being jarred awake. He doesn´t think—just darts forward with no real goal in mind other than to put himself in between Voldemort and [Y/N], but then there are hands grabbing at his arms, holding him back—

“Let go of me!” his tone is feral. He jabs his elbow into someone´s stomach, trying desperately to wrestle himself free, but the more Death Eaters he rips off of him, the more take their place. “[Y/N]!” he is breathless. “[Y/N]—”

The Dark Lord is going to kill her. He´s going to bloody kill her.

“Draco,” he hears his mother´s voice but doesn’t see her—he´s too busy thrashing wildly in the arms of whoever has hold of him, yelling out profanities and curses and [Y/N]´s name; “Draco, come. You don´t want to see this.”

“Let fucking go of me!”

But then the Dark Lord´s voice cuts through the havoc—¨Let him stay.¨

“[Y/N]!” Draco shouts, gritting his teeth. There are tears in his eyes; he doesn´t realize they´re there until they´ve fallen and he tastes them on his tongue. “Don´t touch her! Don´t fucking touch her!”

But the Dark Lord is, once again, unfazed. He turns his gaze to Draco but doesn´t lower his wand. “Watch, my child,” he says, voice ringing throughout the room, cold and unforgiving. “And pay close attention. This is what happens to cowards. To fools. To ungrateful scum.”

[Y/N]´s back is turned to Draco, and maybe it is better that way, because when the Dark Lord raises his wand, he doesn´t have to see the light leave her eyes.

Draco feels the entire world slow down. A single thought appears inside the ruined mess that is his mind, almost as if it’s mocking him—[Y/N] has always been better at masking her true thoughts. At hiding things; even from him.

We’ll be okay, [Y/N] had told him.

She had lied.

¨Avada Kedavra!¨

general taglist: @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03 @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy @kpopgirlbtssvt @lumielikesbooks @teheharrypotter @susceptible-but-siriusexual @chaoticgirl04

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peachyteabuck · 2 years

Note

what is a quilt purist, please go off

oh my god oh my GOD - this is less abt craft puritans and more about what happened but like. hear me out.

i don't even know where to begin because it's genuinely so insane.

so okay. for context: in the crafting community there are a LOT of very weirdly strict people (mostly white women) who are dedicated to being the Absolute Worst. like, PINNACLE of being a karen. in quilting they only care about one type of quilt, and any other type of quilt (t shirt quilts come to mind) aren't "real" quilts

this is insane for like, 2 main reasons.

1) quilting refers to a WAY OF DOING SOMETHING (e.g. vera wang products are quilted but not quilts) not necessarily a specific physical craft

2) the way quilting has been done has changed A TON over time. in the 90s "mock quilts" became popular, where the quilt top was printed on a single piece of fabric, the crazy quilt vs. crumb quilt distinction, the invention of long arms, mass produced fabric, the transition of monetizing patterns. like quilting has been around for AWHILE (long enough i'm promised a 300 year old quilt in my mother's will), but how i quilt today is different from how people quilted then, and i (a person who does everything by hand) quilts different from someone who does everything with a machine. there are people who don't use "real" batting, instead using thick vintage blankets.

so anyway. there was a thread in this quilting group of animals on the quilts people had made. and obvi im gonna post this pic of cowboy because like

because LOOK AT HIM!! this is one of my favorite pictures of him.

so i post this, and then shit hits the FAN

within minutes i've got at least 3 women in the comment thread barating me for

wait for it

having this quilt on the floor

and for awhile i was like - hey listen, my cat is old, this is when i first got him and he wasn't very confident jumping on things. he wanted to hang out with me but didn't have a place to be other than the floor, and so i put this decently small/bulky quilt down. it's made of blocks MY GRANDMOTHER MADE that i inherited, and is really small and made especially for him with really thick batting (the inside of a quilt). plus (PLUS!!!)

PLUS

I TOOK THIS PIC TODAY. OVER A YEAR AND A HALF, TWO APARTMENTS, HUNDREDS OF WASHINGS. THIS IS HAS LAST ME OVER A YEAR AND A FUCKING HALF. IT'S FINE. IT'S FUCKING FINE. IT NEEDS TO BE DARNED IN LIKE 2 SPOTS BUT IT'S FUCKING FINE!!!

but eventually im like ?? okay, this is just fucking weird. like all yalls facebooks are decently public, y'all either got kids to raise or retirements to enjoy. why are you arguing with some rando on facebook about the proper way to "take care" of a quilt when it's still washed properly and kept out of the sun.

so like 2 hours later with breaks to do my job im kicked out of this quilting group that i really only used for inspo pics, with like 3 new friends added on facebook because not everyone is down to clown with narrow definitions of their hobbies.

EDIT: saw this right before posting

okay TECHNICALLY i answered this above but for clarities sake:

quilting is a technique that refers to something done with three layers:

top layer

middle layer (normally batting, this layer is not seen)

bottom layer

it's common to refer to quilts as a blanket "sandwich," but that's not really accurate because the inside is hidden as the edges are combines with bias tape. it's really a fabric uncrustable.

these layers are held together with basting, which is the stitches you feel that go through all three years.

the little squares you're referring to are "blocks," which just refers to the individual pieces that come together to make a quilt top. there are several methods of putting blocks together that aren't relevant, and some blocks are more complicated than others, but it's like how puzzles are made of puzzle pieces.

so yeah. quilting puritanism. it's fucking insane. and very very dumb.

#this has less reference pics than i wanted #but i'd want to use pics from my own collection and moving has NOT BEEN KIND #cee tag #all communique has been redacted for your safety;#reap what you sew

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ashes-in-a-jar · 4 years

Text

Final Statement

Summary- a recording by Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood after Everything

Relationship- Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Rated T

Cw memory loss and disorientation.

*recorder clicks on*

"Test test is this working? Statement of Jonathan Sims regarding... Martin what was this about again?"

"... it's about saving the world Jon"

"Oh. R-right. Ehem.. Statement of Jonathan Sims regarding s-saving the world and... Coming back home, Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist-"

"-no Jon, you're not the Archivist anymore, remember? It's gone now"

"Ah, y-yes. Thank you Martin... I'm sorry about this, it's taking me a while."

"No its ok, it ok. I'm here to help. If you need it. You wanted to do this. You asked me to remind you whe-if you forget to."

"I did? Good, well then" *deep breathe* "Statement of Jonathan Sims regarding saving the world and coming back home"

"I really don't remember how it happened. To be honest, I'm not sure it even did happen. I get flashes of... Something in my mind. A tower, a door, a scream... A void. I-I know I should be able to remember. It's not every day you reverse an apocalypse with your boyfriend, is it?" *chuckle* "the thing is I also don't remember why I wanted to record this in the first place. Martin says I used to know and see literally everything so I must have known that I would forget. Become forgetful. Dizzy, weak... Um... W-what was I saying? Oh. Yeah the apocalypse. So it happened and then it was gone. And now we're back. Martin and I. But I don't think it's the same as before. I don't think I'm the same as before. See we went to the place I used to work. The, um, the Magnum Institute-"

"the Magnus Institute, Jon."

"O-oh okay. So we went back there and I helped Martin collect a bunch of cassettes and tape recorders. He said maybe I could listen to them and remember what happened. So I listen to them sometimes. They are rather good, storytelling-wise. I can see why someone would want to record these stories. Very spooky and intriguing. And I have a rather good voice for it too, heh. I hear myself talk. I know it's me. I hear sometimes between the stories other people talking with me. Martin, someone named Elias a-and.. Um, some others, I don't really remember their names right now. When I'm not telling spooky stories I sound angry. Why was I angry? In the later recordings I sound scared and sad and I don't let other people help me. Why? I don't understand. I-it really doesn't feel like... Me.

"So I listen to the recordings and I know I was part of something bad. I know that but even now I think I'll need to listen again to refresh my memory to know exactly what it was about. Why did I want to record this? Did I think I would remember and be able to tell it? I must have known I'd forget. Why didn't I ask Martin to record this. Martin?"

"Jon, we've been through this, you asked me to make you sit with a tape recorder and talk about saving the world."

"Huh. Yeah you did tell me that. I'm sorry Martin. I'm pretty weird, aren't I?"

*smiles* "the weirdest, love. Go on."

"Okay. So the world was over and then we we brought it back. I don't really remember that but I do remember now. And being home again. If this is the same home from before everything. Probably not. So. Instead of trying to talk about the apocalypse I'll talk about now. And home. And Martin. Hopefully Archivist Jonathan Sims will be satisfied enough with that.

"Right now I'm sitting on a couch in a living room of our apartment. It's a good couch, very comfortable, blue and green patterns of... S-swirls? Christ, describing couches is not as easy as I thought. Moving on. On the walls we have pictures of me and Martin. One in a field with cows. I think we took a trip. It was probably very nice. I look happy. Martin does too. Another picture is from being on a carousel. It looks like we had fun. Martin is laughing which is always good. Another is with a p-person with covered hair. I don't remember who that is. Um. B-ba-"

"Basira, we saw her at the caffe last week"

"Oh yeah. She looks sad but trying not to show it. There's alot of pictures of Martin and I doing really, um, normal stuff. Washing dishes, brushing teeth, reading a book. Martin why are these the pictures we chose to hang? Seems like a strange choice"

"remembering the little things is as important as the big things. You don't want you to forget that you need to brush your teeth, right?"

"Ah. Then these pictures useful, huh. To remember the little things. Okay. So what else. Um... This apartment is small. Only one bedroom and a small kitchen. It's on the first floor because I can't go up stairs much anymore. I have a wheelchair next to the door. It's nice. There's a quilt on it with a nice cow pattern. I think Martin made that. I like it. It's soft. I remember that. I realise that I remember what things feel like more than anything else. The quilt. The cold air. The sun on my face. Martin's hands. Speaking of, Martin is here on the couch with me! He's holding my hand and it's soft and warm. I really like it. He's wearing a yellow jumper and grey joggers which by the way need mending, Martin. Good lord you have plenty of comfortable trousers I'm not sure why you insist on wearing these. Don't role your eyes at me, you know I'm right. Anyway, we are sitting together and I'm talking about it to a tape recorder for some reason. I think it's important. For the story. To remember it later. To have all the pieces fit from beginning to end. I need to be able to listen later and remember what happened and also what's happening now. Sitting here with my lovely boyfriend on the couch at home. Holding hands, being close. I wonder if we were this close before too. I hope so. I don't really remember. I don't think I'm the same as I was and I don't think Martin is either. He goes to work when he can. W-when I'm not doing... Badly. He comes back tired and hugs me. Says it's replenishing. I can't argue with that. Hugs are good. They should be our perpetual existence.

"I'm. I'm not doing great. I'm weak. I keep forgetting things. The doctors said it's like I'm getting extremely early onset Alz-um-something. My mind is going away. Like morning fog. That was pretty poetic! Aren't you proud of me Martin?"

*sniff* "Very proud, Jon. You're so good. You're doing so well."

"Thank you Martin. So are you. I love you so much. I know that when I... Go, you will be great. You will be so good. You will find every happiness that you deserve. You have so much to give and you deserve everything. And I will make more tapes! You will have tapes of me not just from before but from now, this tape, a tape of us brushing our teeth, a tape of us cooking, a tape of us hugging. I wonder what that one would sound like" *chuckle* "I'll always be with you even if it seems like I'm not. I promise Martin. These n-nows... Present moments, are recorded, with or without tapes. You have such a good memory, you'll remember it all. And it'll be good and happy. I promise."

"... O-okay Jon. Thank you."

*Fabric rustles*

"Hmmm... A-anyway what was I saying? Oh, so we won and came back home and now we're gonna end this most likely incoherent recording and go make supper. Help me up Martin, let's go. What do you want to eat?"

"let's go see what we've got. I think I bought flour so we can make homemade pizza."

"Mhmmm. Sounds quite agreeable. Lead the way Martin K. Blackwood, Knight of the Apocalypse."

"Heh. Okay. But turn off the recorder first, Jon."

"Oh! It was on? Oh yeah, I forgot. Anyway, statement ends."

*recorder clicks off*

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #Tma fic #Long post #Geez the places my mind goes #None of it good #I teared up writing this #My grandfather has Alzheimer's and i know what its like to see confusion #It hurts and im sorry #Cw memory loss #Cw disorientation #I made jon purposefully repeat himself a few times because when you're forgetful you tend to say things again and again #My tma fic

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let-me-luve-you · 3 years

Text

T-Shirt Quilts

Jared Padalecki x Reader

Summary: Every year the SPN crew does Secret Santa and this year you get your best friends name.

Warnings: Secret feelings, fluff, if there is angst you have to squint to see it i think

Word Count: 2,190

@spnchristmasbingo

MASTERLIST

SPN CHRISTMAS BINGO

You watched as Jessica, a PA, walked around carrying a basket with names on paper for the annual Secret Santa. You’ve been working on the set of Supernatural for a few months. You still didn’t know everyone so you were hoping you got someone you knew.

Secretly you hoped it was Jared. You’ve had a huge crush on him since you guest starred last year on two episodes. You stayed in touch between your days on set last season to when you started a full time role this season. It helped that you both live in Austin. Jared quickly became your best friend over the months, but you still harbored those feelings.

Jessica walked up to you and smiled at you. ”Once you draw, let me know who you got so I can write it down. And don’t worry, us PAs have different bowls. My name is in another one.”

You smiled at her and reached into the bowl. You picked up a piece of paper and opened it.

“I got myself?” You looked up at Jessica who was laughing.

“Put it back and draw again.” She said as her laughter died out. She held the bowl up to you once again. You put your hand back in the bowl and grabbed another paper.

You kept your face neutral as you read the name quietly to Jessica since the person you got was a few feet away. “Jared. I got Jared.” You smiled at Jessica as she smirked while writing his name down. Your heart was racing because you wanted to get him something special. More special than what you already have stored in your closet back in Austin.

Jared walked over to the both of you. Jessica smiled at him.

“Jared, have you drawn for the Secret Santa?” Jessica asked holding up the bowl. Jared shook his head. He reached into the bowl and smirked as he read the name. He turned to show Jessica and she smirked again as she was writing. “Well you guys have fun shooting your next scene. I’m off the rest of the day.”

“Bye Jessica. Merry Christmas.” Jared said. You smiled and hugged her as you wished her safe travels. Jared turned to look at you. “I have a few hours until I have to film again and I know for a fact you are here way to early since you are doing evening shoots. So would you like to accompany me to a movie and a nap in my trailer?” You laughed and nodded your head.

That weekend you were walking around shops trying to get an idea for Jared when you walked past a craft store. You walked in just to see what they had. As you walked further into the store, you saw all the quilt supplies hanging on a wall and laying on shelves. An older woman approached you.

“Hello dear, are you looking to make a quilt or are you looking to have one made?” She asked.

“Um… I’m not sure.” You replied honestly. “I don’t even know what pattern I would want.”

“Well let me just tell you more about what we do here so you can decide if you would like one. Holidays are coming up and it would be a lovely gift.” She led you towards the table that had a pamphlet on it. “We do patterns, we do quilt square patterns, and we do t-shirt quilts.”

“What are t-shirt quilts?” You asked genuinely confused.

“They are quilts made out of t-shirts. We cut the shirt into a square and then we put them together like a quilt square pattern. And if you don’t have enough t-shirts to fill a complete quilt, you can add some fabric.”

You thought about all the Always Keep Fighting shirts Jared had given you over the summer. A few from every campaign he had done. Plus you had other Supernatural shirts based off of Sam you could add. “I think you just helped me figure out my Christmas gift for a friend. How long does it take you to make the quilt?”

Normally it would take us a while, but with the holiday season, we would have it done in a week.” She replied happily that she might have made a sale.

“And what time do you close? I have some shirts I would like to turn into a quilt.” You said. “Do you do weighted quilts?”

“We do. It will cost you extra though.” She said. “And we close at nine tonight.”

You smiled at her. You told her you would be back in a bit. Just had to run home to grab the shirts. She smiled and said she would be here to help you when you got back.

You almost ran to your car to hurry. Jared was due to be at your apartment later that evening when you finished shopping. You didn’t want to risk him seeing you home and think it’s okay to come over. You ran into your room once you unlocked your apartment. Quickly opening your dresser, you grabbed one of each campaign. Then you went to the closet to grab the Supernatural shirt. You locked your apartment and rushed back to the shop.

“I’m back.” You said smiling. Linda, the kind lady that helped you earlier led you to the quilting room to design the front of the quilt. After aligning the shirts how you wanted them, she led you to the fabric section to select something for the back. You smiled when you saw a plaid design that just screamed Sam Winchester. “I really like this. It matches the person who is getting this.”

Linda smiled at you as she saw your eyes light up thinking about the quilt and the person it was going to. “This will be a big quilt. Probably around six feet.”

“That’s perfect. The guy I’m getting this for is 6’4.” You said with a laugh.

“I’m sure he will love it. I will give you a call when it is done.” Linda said. You smiled at her and left the store.

Two weeks later you were carrying your wrapped box into the building where the SPN Christmas party was being held. You discarded your present and walked towards Jensen.

“Hiya Jay!” You said. He turned and smiled at you. He wrapped you in a big hug.

“How’s my girl tonight?” He asked as he pulled away.

“I’m doing good. How are you? Ready to see the family?” You asked back.

“Better now that you're here.” You both laughed. “Of course I’m ready to see the family. It’s been a long week. Just glad I get to spend a few weeks with them without any interruptions.”

“I bet. I can’t wait to come see them on Christmas. I miss the little ones.” You said. You jumped as arms wrapped around you from behind.

You relaxed when you heard, “I miss them too. I’m spoiling them. Nearly all the presents under my tree are for them.” Jared said.

“Dang it Jared, I told you not to buy them anything.” Jensen said annoyed. But you noticed he wasn’t too annoyed based off the smile on his face.

“Okay guys. We have the presents to hand out, so please grab a seat.” You heard of the sound system, which stopped Jared from replying to Jensen.

Presents were being handed out by the PAs that did the drawings. Jessica handed you and Jared presents with a smirk before she turned to Jensen and handed him his.

Jared laughed as he felt how heavy his was. “Someone went all out this year. Or I got bricks. Not sure.” Jensen laughed in response.

You noticed Jared was side eyeing you as you were side eyeing him. You were nervous to see his reaction. When given the signal to open the gifts, you slowly opened yours as you also watched Jared. Jared ripped into the present. He pulled the quilt out and stood up to unfold it so he could observe the whole thing.

“Oh my gosh.” You heard him whisper. You looked up to see tears in his eyes. Jensen looked up when he heard his best friend.

“What is it?” Jensen asked. Jared turned the quilt so Jensen could see the Always Keep Fighting shirts lining the front. “Looks like there’s a note with it.”

Whenever anxiety gets the worst of you, remember to Always Keep Fighting. This is your fighting blanket. It is a 20 pound weighted quilt to help you calm down when you feel like you’re out of control. Thank you for being the best role model for people around you and the people around the world. You deserve the world Jared. AKF

Jared read the note out loud. Jensen smiled and started tearing up too. He knew the battles Jared had and he was touched by the person who gave Jared this gift.

You smiled at the two of the gushing over the quilt. You finally turned towards your gift and opened it. You pulled out a photo album. It had a picture of you, Jared, Jensen, Misha, and Alex on the cover. You flicked through the pictures. Some were cellphone pictures of you with the crew and cast, some were behind the scenes photos taken by the on set photographer, and some were from conventions. Each page had a quote on it and each quote related to the photos on those pages. You were amazed by the work someone put into your gift.

As you continued to look through the photos. Jensen and Jared smiled at you. Jared noticed your tears building and sat by you to look through the picture with you. He was surprised you hadn’t noticed his handwriting yet.

“This year we decided to let each other know their Secret Santa now instead of waiting a few days. So please go find your person.” Bob announced over the system.

You looked at Jared as he looked at you.

“Do you like it?” Jared asked.

“I love it. This gift is beautiful. Did you do this?” You asked him. He nodded his head. You smiled bigger. “I will cherish it forever. Thank you.”

“Did you see the last couple of pages?” You shook your head no and Jared flipped to the pages for you. You noticed the majority of them from your time during the summer with him. Some you didn’t recognize. You smiled as you thought these were pictures Jared snuck of you.

“You really are amazing Jared, thank you.” You said giving him a hug. Letting it go on longer than normal.

“Did you get me the quilt?” He asked. You nodded. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. What made you think to do that.”

“Was shopping around and Linda, the one who made it, gave me the idea.” You said. “I was worried you wouldn’t like it. I didn’t figure you would want a blanket for Christmas.”

“Are you kidding me? This is the best. I love it. I’m going to use it all the time. Why make it weighted though?”

“Weighted blankets are supposed to help when you feel anxious. It’s supposed to help make you feel grounded. Figure you would need that when things get overwhelming.” You said. Jared smiled at you.

Little to yours and Jared’s knowledge, you were being watched by everyone. They had set you guys up to get each other. Hoping you would both admit your feelings to one another.

“Y/N, can I tell you something.” You nodded at the taller man.”Seeing this blanket and seeing how much thought you put into it makes me have to tell you this today. I can’t hold it back anymore.”

“Okay. What is it?” You asked.

“I like you Y/N. I have since you guest starred.” He said nervously.

“Well I wish you would have said something sooner, because I feel the same.” You said back.

“Really?” You nodded. “Since you guest starred?” You nodded once again. “You could have said something too, you know.” You laughed and leaned towards him. Jared pushed a piece of hair behind your ear and leaned in. His lips just hovering over yours. “Is this okay?” He asked.

“Yes.” You whispered so quietly, Jared wasn’t sure he heard you. He leaned forward and finally connected your lips in a soft kiss.

The room erupted in cheers. You both pulled away, remembering your surroundings.

“About time you two.” Jensen said. “If all we had to do was make you secret Santa partners, we should have done that a long time ago.”

“You guys planned this?” You asked.

Jensen nodded, “Yeah. I was the one that mentioned it because I was sick of hearing about your feelings for one another but neither of you telling each other.

Jared laughed as he pulled you closer, as everyone else went back to their conversations. Jensen silently watched his best friend and someone who is becoming like a sister to him.

“I’m kind of embarrassed.” You whispered to Jared.

“Don't be.” He said looking you in the eyes. He gently grabbed your chin and brought your lips to his. “Merry Christmas Y/N.”

#spn christmas bingo #spn christmas bingo 2020 #supernatural christmas bingo #supernatural christmas bingo 2020 #jared padalecki #jared x reader #jared padalecki x reader #jared padalecki rpf #secret santa #jared padalecki one shot #jared padalecki imagines #jared padalecki fanfic #jared padalecki fanfiction #spn rpf #supernatural rpf #spn christmas

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missymallow · 4 years

Text

Drarry: Albus and Scorpius' Adventure Travelling Back in Time. (14)

---

By the time Harry got back, he was surprised to see the absence of his younger self. He raised a brow when a pair of grey eyes fiercely glared at him from where he sat on his bed, state the same as he left him; half naked with his robe covering his exposed skin.

He blinked.

"Where were you?" asked Draco, crossing his arms together, full with attitude.

Harry suppressed an incoming smile, just looking at his stance alone showed him that Draco was annoyed at him. "I was only gone for a few minutes, though." he shrugged, and carved a playful smile as he continued, "Why, did you miss me?"

As expected, the younger version of his husband scoffed out loud. "As if! You left me with Potter!"

"I don't see why that was a problem?"

"A whole lot of problems!" said Draco, and he got down from the bed, marching angrily at him. "He won't stop apologising!"

Harry chuckled, knowing full well what his little husband was saying. "Ah, was it about your scars?"

"Well, yes!"

"At least he was apologising to you, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "You don't understand, he doesn't need my forgiveness." he sighed then, lips pursed tightly as he threw his gaze towards the open window. "I already forgave him a long time ago."

Harry softened at that.

"You know how Potter is," he softly said. "He felt guilty for what he did to you."

"I know," said Draco, "But he won't stop apologising to me even when I said that I already forgive him. Stupid Gryffindor."

Harry grinned, "So what, you kicked him out?"

"One way or another," shrugged Draco, but Harry can see a tiny lift of the corner of his lips. "I told him if he wanted my forgiveness, he better get his arse back to his dorm and keep his eyes on my sons- well, your sons."

"Our sons." teased Harry when he saw Draco’s face flushed with his slip up.

"I supposed." said Draco, feigning a nonchalant gesture making Harry laugh with his antics. What a lovely creature.

"So, he went back to his dorm?"

"Well, obviously," said Draco, throwing him a look. "You didn't see him here anywhere, did you?"

"I supposed not." said Harry, not even bothered to hide his amusement.Draco made a face, then made a move of straightening down his robe to cover up the sudden awkwardness he felt; perhaps embarrassed of the way he acted in front of Harry. He brought his gaze down then, hands pinching and pulling the fabric of his robe, as if the piece of clothing he was wearing was a new specimen that he had never seen before.

Harry, on the other hand, let his eyes rested on his fidgeting little husband, soaking the view of how beautiful his little husband looked as flushes of pink decorated his face. He was aware that Draco was feeling self conscious, awkward and embarrassed at the same time. He knew that Draco doesn't know what to do around him, and he knew that above everything, Draco was still overwhelmed by the information of his life in the future; having a husband, twins and an unfortunate case of an old curse.

"Stop looking at me."

Harry was brought back to his senses by Draco's voice, and he blinked to see that Draco was still pretending to be interested in his inspection towards his robe, so Harry decided to be a bit cheeky. He shifted to put his weight on his right foot, and he gave Draco a look as he crossed his arms together. "You stand there half naked, and I couldn't do anything about it. Can you really blame me, though?"

He was satisfied when Draco flushed even more, his face went alarmingly red. His little husband's eyes were wide as saucers, as he looked at Harry with stupefaction, clearly surprised by Harry's words. "You're- you're shameless!"

"That, I am." agreed Harry easily, "Shameless, that is- only when it comes to you, though."

Draco gaped in disbelief before he scoffed, lifting a hand to rub his cheek, as if he could put off the redness that was painted on his skin. "Don't be ridiculous, and stop saying nonsense!"

Harry laughed, heart filled with fondness of this sweet creature who was currently sending daggers at his direction. Merlin, he couldn't believe this was the same person who wouldn't stop tormenting Harry every chance he got with his art of seduction, driving Harry into madness and leaving them both a huge mess by the time they were sated and exhausted. It was like learning a whole new personality of his husband, as the Draco he knew by the time they met again, was a confident Draco who did not bat an eye over any sexual innuendos. It was like falling in love all over again.

"Alright, let's stop," said Harry, deciding to put a stop on his teasing seeing the pouting that was set on his little husband's face which he was sure the younger man did not even realise. "Go change into your pyjamas, it's late already. We need to rest."Draco raised an eyebrow as a response before he shrugged.

"You haven't even told me anything about your inspection," he moved over his trunk and pulled out a pair of pyjamas. "Oh, and I hope you did not mind I went over your bag, I was hoping you'd brought spare clothes for the boys. I found them of course, I asked Potter to bring it back to his dorm so the boys can change."

Harry, who was currently rummaging through his own rucksack, nodded in acknowledgement, though he mentally relieved that he did not put any suspicious items - that could have risked revealing his identity - in the rucksack. "Thank you for doing that. I really forgot about it altogether, what's with seeing you and dealing with everything."

"You were already thoughtful for bringing them spare clothes." said Draco, giving Harry a small smile when he looked up to him in surprise. He was in the middle of buttoning his pyjamas and walked towards the king sized bed once he was done. He lay down carefully down the bed, facing the ceiling as he sighed. "Merlin knows they didn't even think about spare clothes and a few items of the future when all they focused on was to travel back in time."

"I almost lost my mind when I found out about it. If it wasn't for Hermione, I might not even be here." shared Harry, stripping off his clothes and quickly changed into his joggers and t-shirt.

"Hermione?" asked Draco, voice full of curiosity.

Harry paused at that, not knowing where the future's information stood about their friendship. He forgot to ask his twins about that part. But then, he decided to at least tell him the truth about it. "Well, yes. The both of you were friends, in the future."

"Albus and Scorpius had told me about it." said Draco softly, and Harry was glad that he just said the right words.

"I just didn't have a clue that the two of us could be friends. I was a bit bewildered." continued Draco.

Harry fondly drew a smile as he walked towards the bed. He took a seat next to Draco, who had his eyes locked onto the ceiling, hands curled loosely around his stomach. He knew what was happening inside that pretty head of his, knew what he was thinking of. He thought that he was not worth all the hard work they put on him, because he was just a pathetic Death Eater, a person who did not deserve to be given a second chance and Harry did not want him to spend his time thinking about things that were upsetting him, things that could brought him into misery. This person deserved to be loved, and perhaps it took Harry years after the War to show him that, but right now, he wanted Draco to know-

"You will never know what will happen in the future. Your friendship with Hermione was something that didn't happen in a day. It took months, years even for the two of you to put a full trust towards each other." said Harry, slowly and softly as he carefully put a hand on top of Draco’s. His hands were cold, always did and it was Harry's job to provide him warmth.

"I know it was really hard for you right now, but believe me when I said that you're going to make it in the future. You're the most stubborn head person I've ever met, and nothing's going to stop you from getting back on top of your feet no matter how deep you were dragged down. You're Draco Malfoy, the husband that I'm proud of, the husband that his children are willing to take their chance to travel back in time for him, the husband that I'm not willing to give up. You're going to make it no matter what."

Harry gave Draco a gentle smile when the younger man turned to him. There was something close to a shed of glassy tears gathered around his eyes and he knew that his little husband was enormously affected by his words but he tried to not let it show. They looked at one another, just a touch of a moment before Harry tapped his hands, and nodded to the other side of the bed.

"Come on, move over. You didn't mind if we shared this bed, right?"

Draco shook his head, and slowly moved to the other side of the bed as Harry climbed in, and they worked together to peeled the quilt silently, putting over the warm material over their bodies and they lay down side by side, looking at the ceiling. It was a nice night, and Harry felt content to have Draco by his side. A reminder that being here was a definite chance that he could save Draco’s life. He knew that this time, he could make it happen.

"Thank you," said Draco suddenly, and Harry turned to him. "Hm?"

"I said thank you," repeated Draco, turning to face him too. "You're being really kind to me."

Harry couldn't help the smile that was growing upon his face. He made a drastic decision and extended an arm towards Draco. "Let's cuddle."

Draco blinked, perplexed. "What?"

"Cuddle," said Harry, "I want a cuddle."

"I don't cuddle."

"Liar, I'm your husband."

"Not yet," sneered Draco, though without malice. "You don't get to decide if I'm a cuddler or not."

"You are, don't deny it. You're desperately wanting one right now."

"I did not." said Draco, giving him a glare.

"Did too." smiled Harry. "Tell you what, if we cuddle, I'll tell you how we met."

"That's a weak bargain." frowned Draco.

"Well, what do you want?" asked Harry, grinning widely knowing that he got his little husband where he wanted him to.

"You haven't told me about your inspection on my person."

"That's for tomorrow," waved Harry dismissively, "Easier to discuss it with everyone."

Draco scoffed, managing to cross his arms even as he was laying down the bed. "Well, I don't feel like I want to know something, so you can take your arm away."

"Did you know that one time when Albus and Scorpius were three," began Harry, waiting until he had Draco’s attention and continued once he was. "They- hm nevermind."

"What- you can't just stop like that!" protested Draco, sending him a scandalised look.

"That's my bargain." grinned Harry. "Come on, these arms are made for you. Use it well."

"As if," huffed Draco, though he started to scoot closer to Harry. "Well, since you're so desperate for it." he moved to carefully place his head on Harry's chest, tucking his head under his chin and put a hand on top of his stomach. Harry responded by wrapping his arm around his little husband's shoulder, bringing their bodies close together.

"See, feels nice, right?"

"Shut up," said Draco, and gave Harry a light slap, but curled his body closer, getting comfortable in Harry's arms. "Now tell me what about Albus and Scorpius when they were three."

Harry chuckled, pressing a soft kiss on top of Draco’s head before he began with his memories of the twins growing up, tales of mischief and their little adventures were shared with enthusiasm. Cocoon in a warm quilt, the two of them spent the night talking, sharing their bodies' heat until none of them could keep their eyes open, and they fell asleep in each other's arms.

---

Prev | Index

@nin0tchka @theoneindenial @pandaburr024 @0sincerelygay0 @loves-to-read-fanfic @slytherinsssss @hdanalyst @carrameli @erikalovesss @saltynutheart @draconianhorntail @hamb0express @nightismyhaven @abstractundefined

#Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #harry/draco #drarry #drarry fanfic

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.5}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 1.4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

A glimpse into the fourth week of travels (the third week of July):

The lightning cut through Robin's vision, making the bright day even more unbearable to the eye than the white sky was anyway. The thunder that followed broken seconds later was a sound to match, piercing and swallowing every possibility of thought. It was then when the skies opened up, and the rain came pouring down onto the fields of the heat washed Normandy. This was their first expedition to a country beyond the UK… and of course it had to go anything but smoothly. Not only had it been terribly windy all morning, but now it was storming and wet as well, making things even more dreadful for Robin and Snape as they hurried along the most desolate countryside road in all of France. Had they known they would end up here in the middle of nowhere, they probably would have gone for a different theory after all. But now it was too late, they had already come too far to turn around. They were going to see this through now.

After ten minutes in the brutally whipping rain, they finally came across a saving grace in the form of a small bus shelter (or whatever it was supposed to be), and it didn't even take a second of thought to know that they would wait here for the storm to pass. Getting drenched wasn't the worst of it, really, but being wet and out in the wind was a doom to be freezing all too soon. And they still had some miles left to go, on to a place they couldn't apparate to if they knew neither its address nor appearance.

"I hate France." Robin grumbled as she let the water fade from her clothes and hair without wasting any time in the newly gained dry space. But shedding the water unfortunately left her feeling no warmer than before.

"Have you actually seen any of the country before today or is your judgement merely based on getting caught in the rain right now?"

"It's based on me freezing right now! And even more on the stupid French books I had to translate in order to get anywhere with the stupid research on the stupid mushroom growing at the end of this stupid road!"

"You skipped breakfast again, didn't you?"

"What does it matter… It's too bloody cold to eat anyway." Robin crossed her arms over her chest with a quiet huff, trying to keep herself from shivering, but it was of no use. She did see his point though, perhaps she really was being cranky… but being cold was way worse than not eating breakfast! There had been more important matters to attend to that morning. Getting to bloody France, for example.

"I would still like you to eat." He said calmly but in determination, making Robin sigh in defeat in return. There really was nothing she wouldn't do if he asked it of her, which was equally scary as it was astonishing. Perhaps she felt this way because she knew that he would never ask anything of her that would be to her disadvantage. Perhaps she simply trusted him that much. Bloody hell, she most definitely did, there was no 'perhaps' needed. And if he wanted her to eat, as ridiculous a request as it might seem, she would relent to his wish.

"Have breakfast with me, then." Robin stated rather than asked, with a certain glance up at him now rather than down at the ground. If he could command her to his wish, perhaps she could do the same with him. "I'd bet you haven't eaten either."

"Very well." He was surprisingly quick to agree, and Robin couldn't help giving him a small smirk before first digging out the large blanket from her backpack first, then her entire storage of all kinds of food. Since living in a tent, she had gotten used to buying and thus carrying around quite enough provisions for multiple days, or in this case, for a neat breakfast for two. She would gladly share with him the little she had, without even a doubt. And as long as he didn't know just how little that really was, she believed he would gladly accept it in return.

Less than a minute later they were sitting side by side, a little warmer already from the (of course entirely accidental yet undeniably comfortable) closeness between them, and somehow Robin found herself not hating France quite so much anymore. Still, now, there were two things that were making her shiver.

"Still cold?" Snape asked in return, and Robin could have laughed at how very aware he was of her and yet how unaware of everything beyond. It was her luck that he was quite as bad at interpreting the little accidental tells of her emotions as she was at hiding them. He knew so much, and yet he knew so little at the same time… Always the ambivalence, that man.

"Quite, yes." She finally made herself reply in a breathless smile, while keeping her eyes on the tartan pattern of the blanket beneath her. She'd had that old thing for ages already, but never quite gotten around to changing its colour to something less posh. By now and in a way, she almost liked that it looked quite so terrible.

"Well, in that case I would suggest that you find yourself that black jumper you likely are keeping in your bag currently. High collar, tight sleeves, loose waist… you know which one."

"I didn't know you were so knowledgeable about my wardrobe." Robin chuckled in sincere amusement. "I could indeed wear that one, but that would be terribly unfair."

"Why, pray tell, would it be unfair to wear a jumper when you are cold?"

"Because you don't have a jacket either! I'd feel terrible to be all warm and cozy and leave you freezing by yourself."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's not!"

"It is."

"Well, then tell me in all honesty that you aren't cold." Robin quirked an eyebrow up at him defiantly. "If you're feeling perfectly fine and warm as it is, I'll shut up immediately and put on my jumper without any further discussion."

"I won't lie to you to soothe your bad conscience, Robin. I will not lie to you at all."

"So you are cold."

"Yes." He replied simply, truthfully. "But that does not by any means justify that you should be freezing as well, so do put on your jumper now or I will be gone in a second."

Geez, he totally knew that his threat of leaving was the only functioning leverage he really had on her these days… Insufferable idiot. With a small sigh and an even smaller smile Robin rolled her eyes rather visibly, then grabbed her backpack indeed and started roaming through its depth in practiced search, though not for the jumper in question. What she easily dug up instead was better by far; a warm quilt that had been serving as her duvet at night ever since she started living in her tent. But he didn't need to know that. Without asking for approval, Robin simply draped the huge quilt around his shoulders first, with little effort while sitting up on her knees, then crossed her legs beneath herself and wrapped the remaining fabric around her own body as well.

Now that was better already… and he didn't make any obvious attempt to protest either. A good chunk of nervousness she hadn't known she'd held onto fell off her mind and heart in an instant, and she found herself smiling before she knew. The blanket was large enough by far, they didn't have to sit too closely together to be covered in warmth, but still before long their arms were miraculously touching, then their entire sides, both resting against each other without a word.

"Breakfast in Normandy… I didn't think I'd live to experience that." Robin sighed after a while of comfortable silence, quirking an eyebrow up at Snape with a smirk, and her heart skipped a beat when he barely visibly smiled down at her in return. "Without being cold, it's actually quite nice here."

"Then let us hope that the storm lasts long enough to have a coffee as well."

"Or three."

"You truly are terrible."

"You probably meant to say insufferable."

"My point exactly."

______________________________

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

but i make these high heels work

summary: roman has something new that he wants to try out, but he’s nervous about his family’s reactions. he needn’t be; they’ve always got his back.

(OR: a birthday fic for roman sanders, set in my moxiety dad au)

a/n: i’m jumping on @notveryglittery‘s “giving the gay everything he wants” agenda. happy birthday roman sanders!!!

cw: anxiety, mild angst, fear of homophobia

wordcount: ~1.8k

read it on ao3!!

Roman carefully smooths his hands over the fabric spread out across his bed. He knows that no one else is awake yet. Not even Logan, who routinely wakes up early because apparently he can run on crumbs of sleep and nothing else. Not even Dad, the earliest riser out of all of them, since he doesn’t have any pressing appointments. No one is awake but Roman.

He’d tossed and turned all night, barely snatching a few hours. He knows he’s going to regret that later, but he also knows that there’s nothing particularly important happening today, so Papa and Dad will be more lenient if he decides to nap. So, rather than waiting until later to roll out of bed, Roman gets up a good hour before anyone else. He makes his bed - properly, this time, pulling off the excess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and tucking his thick quilt in. He never has the time or the willpower to make it in the mornings, but today.

Well.

Today, he has anticipation thrumming in his chest like caught lightning, and he needs something to do with his hands.

Roman showers, quietly. The bathroom is between his room and Logan’s, and there’s always the off chance that the water running will wake up his lightweight-sleeper brother. He holds his breath, keeping in all the melodies that usually bubble from his mouth in the shower, and is rewarded with no signs of wakefulness from his brother.

He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, so he doesn’t have to worry about blow-drying his fluffy curls. Instead, he spritzes them with dry shampoo he stole from his Papa and combs through them with his fingers. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to just the right state of artfully tousled, but it still doesn’t waste nearly enough time.

Which brings him to here, sitting cross-legged on his perfectly-made bed, staring at the fabric spread across his quilt. It’s plain, compared to what he usually wears, but he supposes that’s the trouble with borrowed clothing. Adding to all that, it’s not real clothing; it’s an old prop he’d salvaged from a box of costumes destined to be torn apart and repurposed. He kind of wishes he had the courage to ask Dad or Papa to take him to the mall to buy a proper one, but he’s never been that kind of brave.

Roman fiddles with the hem of the skirt between his fingers.

It’s red, at the very least, but not the proper shade of red. It’s garish and bright, like a firetruck, like a cartoon bloodstain. It comes down to about Roman’s knees, hanging in loose folds, and it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn, but he loves it. He loves the way the fabric feels when it swishes around his knees, he loves the way it flares out when he spins in circles, he loves the way it feels to smooth the fabric beneath him in a single fluid motion when he sits down.

He’s terrified to wear it out of the comfort of his bedroom, but he figures that today, June first, the first day of pride month, is as good a day as any to come out of the closet. Roman sighs, curling his hands into loose fists on his thighs.

His phone pings with a notification, and Roman almost falls off his bed as he scrambles forward to snatch his cell phone off his desk. He takes a moment to smile at his home screen photo before answering the message: it’s a picture of himself and Janus from last year’s pride festival. They’re wrapped in a rainbow flag like a cape, leaning their heads together and laughing. Janus has a genderqueer flag painted across his cheek, and Roman has rainbow star stickers across his nose and a rainbow bandanna tying back his hair.

Roman thumbprints his phone open and checks his messages. It’s from Janus himself.

[7:41 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): you’re going to do wonderfully, dearest. your family loves you, and they’ll support you no matter what. and even if they don’t, i support you no matter what. i love you <3

Roman wiggles his feet back and forth eagerly in a gleeful stim as he taps out a response.

[7:43 am] me: thank you, snove (snake love). ily2 <3

[7:44 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): are you ever going to stop calling me snake-themed nicknames, beloved?

[7:44 am] me: sno (snake no)

[7:46 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): i hate you <3

[7:47 am] me: i snove (snake love) you too <3 <3

*~*~*~*~*

Someone knocks on his door around 8:45. “Ro? Are you coming down to breakfast? I’m making pridecakes!” Dad calls. Roman’s stomach growls at the thought; every year, Dad makes multiple colors of homemade pancake batter and draws pride-flag pancakes on the griddle.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Roman says.

“Okay, kiddo!”

Roman takes a deep breath. He slides off his bed and shimmies out of his pajama pants. Rummaging around in his drawers, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a swooping golden outline of the Disney castle on the front. Carefully, he steps into the puddle of skirt and tugs the red fabric up over his hips. It’s not a perfect fit, but it comes down to his knees. Roman studies himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet.

“It’s going to be okay,” he sighs, reaching for the rainbow bandana on his desk. He folds it and ties it to form a headband which he uses to push his bangs off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Dad and Papa aren’t going to hate you. Thomas and Logan aren’t going to hate you. It’s going to be okay.”

Roman waits until he hears Logan and Thomas go downstairs before he leaves. He picks up his phone, glances at the photo of himself and Janus one more time, and then steps into the hallway.

He lurks on the stairs for a moment, glancing into the kitchen. Logan is sleepily gnawing on a bagel slathered with jam. Papa is pouring coffee into a row of mugs while Thomas helps Dad with the pridecakes. Roman grips his skirt tightly in his hands, watching his family, and then he steps into the kitchen.

“Morning.”

“Good morn - oh!” Dad whirls around, holding a spatula which he quickly foists off onto Thomas. He hurries forward, taking Roman’s shoulders, eyes scanning up and down his outfit. “That’s new! Where’d you get it?”

“It’s an old costume skirt,” Roman says. “Is that - am I - do you -”

Dad smiles, eyes crinkling up as he leans in to kiss Roman’s forehead. “I think you look wonderful, Roman. No matter what you choose to wear.” Roman smiles, hugging his dad tightly. He feels Dad reach up and press a hand into the back of his hair, rocking them back and forth a little as they hug.

When Dad pulls away, Roman’s eyes jump up to Thomas. He grins, flashing a thumbs up, and Roman shakily offers one back. “Nice skirt,” Papa says, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulling him in. Roman feels Papa press a kiss to the top of his head, and he fights to keep himself from crying.

Roman turns, looking at the only family member who hasn’t said anything yet. Logan is still placidly chewing his bagel, watching Roman with his typical calmness. “Logan?” Roman hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Do you like it?”

Logan swallows and sets his bagel down. He scans over Roman’s outfit with a strange critical expression and says, “No. It looks completely wrong on you.”

Roman’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Logan stands up, scanning over Roman repeatedly, frowning as he stares at the skirt. “Logan,” Dad says warningly.

Logan keeps talking. “That is the wrong color for your skin tone. It does not compliment the tan you always achieve in the summer months. The shape is unflattering on your body type, and the material is -” Logan reaches out and rubs the material between two fingers, shuddering. “- is entirely unpleasant. This skirt is completely wrong for you.”

Roman recognizes the glint in his brother’s eye as he examines the skirt with a critical eye. It’s the way he looks at pieces of clothing that the theater department asks him to help tailor. “You would look much nicer in a circle or handkerchief style skirt. That red is hideous, you need a darker shade. I think that dark green would also look nice on you.”

“You . . . aren’t mad about me wearing a skirt?”

Logan blinks at him. “To quote that Avatar show you like so much, ‘Pants are an illusion and so is death.’ Gender is a social construct and clothing should not be dependent on the genitalia you were born with. I do not care if you wish to wear a skirt or not, Roman. Why would I care?”

“I was nervous about wearing a skirt because I thought you would judge me.” Logan takes a few steps closer, offering a small smile, and Roman feels his heart start to swell and rise like a balloon.

“I was not judging you for wearing a skirt, Roman. If you would prefer to wear a skirt, I will support you, always. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I merely meant to offer my assistance because that skirt looks uncomfortable.”

“It really is,” Roman sighs. “I stole it from a box of outgoing props.”

“Go put comfortable clothes on,” Logan tells him. “I am going to the fabric store with Dad later today. I will take your measurements and you can come with us to find a fabric you like. I will make you a skirt that actually fits you.”

“You’d do that for me?!”

“Skirts are relatively simple garments to sew, provided you get the measurements correct. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but I will work to make sure that it is comfortable and flattering on your form.” Roman bounces eagerly. “Can I hug you?”

Logan tilts his head, considering. “Ten seconds,” he decides, which is more than enough time. Roman pulls his brother into a hug, feeling Logan’s hand flap back and forth against his bag as he happily stims.

“I love you, Logan,” Roman says, squeezing him tightly. Logan hums at the pressure, pushing closer to his brother before leaning backwards to signal that he’s done being hugged. Roman lets him go, settling down at the table. He can change after breakfast.

(Two weeks later, Roman comes downstairs in a dark red circle skirt embroidered with golden stars and detailing. Logan hums, flapping and rocking happily when he sees Roman twirl around and show off the way the skirt flares around his thighs.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love it so much!” Roman squeals. “Thank you, Logan!”

Logan flaps even more in response.)

#starshinewrites #little and broken but still good #happy birthday roman sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #platonic tlamp #brotherly logince #romantic roceit

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kittybellestark · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s Day

This is soft boi Peter celebrating Valentine’s day the best way he knows how too.

I’m a little late with this I know. But but but I’m also right on time? Anyways please enjoy this. It’s really not angsty at all. There’s a lil bit of insecure Peter, and some miscommunication but this is some soft stuff okay?

Valentine’s Day was probably Peter’s favourite day of the year. He loved the pinks and reds and the extra excuse to cherish all the people he loved. It was cheesy and corny, but did Peter ever love the day. He never got to celebrate it for what it actually was-a romantic day- not with his short fling with Liz and not with MJ either. But that’s okay, Peter loved the day anyways.

He didn’t really understand people’s hatred for it. Yes, it was now mostly just a capitalist ploy to have everyone buy into, but it was more than that for Peter.

Valentine’s Day was an excuse Peter was able to use to show the few people he had left that he appreciated them. It was a day of celebrating love and a day to fall in love with yourself. Peter liked that.

He worked hard on finding what he could make that could fit into the Valentine’s theme without being too obvious. it often took months of work and crafting to make sure he was content with what he’d gift to everyone.

For Ned it was a portrait of the two but made of Lego. For MJ (despite the relationship ending they were still friends) sketchbooks where he made the paper and bounded it himself. For May a new throw blanket, made with the chunkiest yarn he could find at the discount store. For Happy a keychain with a little toy car attached, painted to say ‘Happy Taxi,’ on it. For Pepper a crocheted cardigan this time with crushed velvet and for Tony a painting of his mother.

He was good at making things for other people, to show them his appreciation and love. He worked tirelessly on them, letting it take up his free time. But it made him happy to know that he made something with his bare hands and was able to gift it to someone he loves.

No one really understood why he gave these gifts other than May. She would always give him a small smile and a hug and then the next day he’d get discounted chocolate. May was the only one who knew that Peter did all the work himself. Everyone else just thought he purchased them. Which was fine.

No one needed to know about the sleepless nights or bleeding fingertips. They didn’t need to know how long he spent working on each individual thing. And they most certainly didn’t need to know that Peter was selling some of his own possessions to be able to fund their gifts.

Peter didn’t really plan on telling any of them either. Why should he? He’s showing his appreciation to them, learning these new skills and then becoming good at them is just a way to learn and to show his love. Besides, he wants to show his appreciation, not force the people he loves to gift him something back.

Maybe the presents he gifts them end up shoved in the back of closets or tossed out after a month. That was fine. Just because he was showing his appreciation doesn’t mean they have to show theirs. Valentine’s Day is Peter’s favourite day, it doesn’t mean that the people in his life also need to like it.

But now it was nearing Valentine’s Day and Peter and Harley were kind of sort of maybe a thing. Honestly, Peter wasn’t very sure at this point. It wasn’t like Harley was one for talking about these things. But they had made out a few times and seemed to dance around any possibility of feelings.

Harley wouldn’t talk about his feelings, he was never very open about his emotions. Besides, Harley had a reputation at school for his relationships, if anyone could actually call a hook-up a relationship. Overall, Peter was very confused. Harley was sweet and kind. He made jokes that only Peter would get and casually sling his arm over Peter shoulders. Sometimes at the tower they’d find themselves cuddled on the couch when no one was around or sometimes Peter would find himself pressed against a wall as Harley tried to bruise his neck.

There weren’t officially together, due to the lack of communicating, which meant they technically weren’t exclusive. Peter wanted to be exclusive, but every time he tried to talk about it Harley would deflect and change the conversation. But now it’s coming close to Valentine’s Day and Peter doesn’t want it to be weird. Harley only started going to school with them this year, and while he’s been in the same friend group as Peter, it doesn’t mean he won’t look at the gift wrong. Most people think that Valentine’s Day is inherently romantic. And Peter really doesn’t want to freak Harley out, especially not when they’re still... enjoying each others company.

It’s not like Harley ever celebrated Valentine’s Day the way Peter does. No one really does. So this might scare Harley. He could think that Peter believes their exclusive and while that is what Peter wants, Peter is also very, very painfully aware that that the two of the just hook up.

Spotting Harley already at their lunch table, created the perfect opportunity for Peter to explain his version of the day. Ned and MJ would be there, which would let them serve as proof that Peter just likes Valentine’s Day. So Peter hurried over to their table and sat across from Harley. It didn’t take much longer for Ned and MJ to join them and everyone to fall into their easy banter.

“So! Valentine’s Day is next week.” Peter couldn’t help the little shoulder shimmy, showing his excitement.

“Yeah, loser, what’d you get us this year?” MJ snorted.

MJ thought Peter’s idea of Valentine’s Day was cute. She was morally against the Hallmark Holiday but she indulged Peter by always accepting his gift. MJ would always roll her eyes and make some remark of her not celebrating the day but would always thank Peter for the gift. She knew the day was important to him and wouldn’t ever flat out reject Peter’s way of showing he cares.

“I can’t ruin the surprise, you’ll just have to wait,” Peter rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder against hers, “but Harley has never been here for a Valentine’s Day before.”

“Valentine’s Day is a romantic holiday to take advantage of susceptible couples what of it?”

“Peter doesn’t celebrate the day like that,” Ned explained. “He uses the day to show the people closest to him he cares. So he usually buys us all something he thinks we’ll appreciate.”

Harley raised his eyebrows surveying Peter like this was some sort of mystery when it was really simple.

“Yeah, I mean my family is like all dead, so I like to show the people that I have left that I appreciate them. Valentine’s Day is a good excuse. Also not tainted the way other holidays are with missing my family so...”

“Peter!” Ned scolded, “You can’t just drop the dead parents card, that makes people uncomfortable.”

Ned threw a pack of crackers at Peter in punishment, not that it actually ended up hitting Peter. Instead Peter caught it before cracking opening up with a cheeky grin, popping one of the crackers into his mouth.

“Listen, if I can’t talk about how my parents are dead because it makes other’s uncomfy then I don’t want other people talking about their alive parents because it makes me uncomfy.”

The group laughed before getting back onto track.

“Anyways, Harley, I’ve got everyone else a gift for Valentine’s Day, can I get you one or does that make you uncomfortable? I don’t mind either way, and you don’t have to get me anything back, I celebrate the day differently and I don’t expect anyone else to celebrate the way I do.”

Harley seemed to consider Peter’s words, his eyes squinting slightly and his head tilting to the side. There was an edge of discomfort and something else Peter couldn’t really identify painted onto Harley’s face. Peter bit onto his own lip waiting for Harley’s answer and really couldn’t help but notice how pretty the boy was.

“Peter buy’s the best gifts. Last year he bought me this quilt and I literally cannot sleep without it now.”

The amount of times Peter bled over that stupid quilt- it wasn’t a stupid quilt. It was actually really cool. Peter went from thrift store to thrift store finding cool t-shirts and fabric swatches. He found an old sewing machine- from the 50′s no less- that hardly worked and he fixed up the best he could. No one really made parts for a sewing machine that old anymore, not with them being antiques and everything. But because it was so badly damaged, he got it for next to nothing. Fixing the thing had taken what felt like a century, and the research behind it along with creating all the necessary parts was extremely painful. But the quilt was worth it, and Peter was able to get all the bloodstains out. Ned loved the thing. It was big enough to fit on a king bed, not that Ned had a king size bed now, but there was a possibility he’d get one in the future.

“It’s true, last year Peter got me this painting done of my Grandmother in Washington protesting. I still have no clue how he found that.”

Finding a picture of MJ’s grandmother was already very, very hard to do. But he managed to find a picture when he was over at MJ’s house once and cross referenced it from a textbook from the early 2000′s. From there he had the picture enhanced and expanded. Then it was just a matter of tracing the picture onto canvas, and learning how to paint. The whole thing was a wreck and Peter was positive that he was going to ruin the whole thing multiple times over, but eventually it resembled to actual photo and then started to look decent. By the time Valentine’s Day came around he only needed a frame, and Peter was okay with the idea of just purchasing a frame was more than enough.

“I do happen to know a lot of people, and they also know people. And a few of them owe me some favours.”

“Peter there’s no way you know enough people to find something like that.” MJ rolled her eyes.

“I personally know three, no five billionaires, but I only consistently talk to three, I know not one, not two but three groups of super heroes, then I also know a bunch of other vigilantes and not to mention I know so many small business owners. It’s called networking M, it’s an extremely important skill to have.”

MJ scoffed in response, now taking her turn to bump her shoulder into Peter’s.

“I don’t know why I ever broke up with you, you could have networked me into a world take over.”

“Maybe because we both realized we weren’t straight, I’m bi, you’re a lesbian? Wait no that was a power move, lesbian-bisexual solidarity. Honestly I’m not too sure anymore, might be the long distance thing we had going on, we used to sit kiddy-corner to each other at lunch. It was much to far to support our relationship.”

Ned pretended to gag, but in actuality was trying not to laugh.

“You guys were insufferable when you were dating but it’s marginally worse now.”

“It’s because we’re gay,” Peter answered.

“Bitches.”

“Say’s the token straight friend,” MJ quipped.

Ned stuck out his tongue, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“So am I buying you something or not Harls? Whatever you’re okay with, I don’t expect anything back.”

“I’m only sayin’ yes because of those wonderful testimonies. I better be dazzled Parker.”

The table cheered. Peter couldn’t help the pit of anxiety that started to form in his stomach. Now he had a week to make Harley the perfect gift and make sure that the message behind it didn’t lead to far on the romantic side. Up to this point Harley was clear about the one thing they’re not, which is the one thing Peter wants the most. So now this gift not only was going to be rushed, but not put any more pressure onto Harley then there already was.

This was going to be tricky.

The week went by faster then Peter was expecting. Valentine’s Day was the next day and Peter had just barely managed to pull together something, somewhat decent for Harley. Between his friends and the occasional make out session in the alley way behind the school, Peter was genuinely surprised he managed to make things work.

He scoured the internet and libraries looking for the perfect thing. Harley had been getting increasingly homesick, bringing up certain stores and area’s of Rosehill that he missed the most. So Peter found old pictures, many of them pre-dating Harley, and some from when the town was first established and he learned to stretch canvas and print the pictures onto it. Before printing the pictures Peter printed the headlines that the town had that really stood out to him, some from the city being founded, to others about Tony Stark making an appearance in town. With the pictures printed on top the headlines were only visible in certain lights.

Peter really hoped that this gift wasn’t too much.

“May?” Peter called from his room, each gift was laid out across his bed, except the one for May, ready for inspection.

He paced around his room, worried that nothing was good enough, that he had made a mistake somewhere. Maybe the cardigan was too loosely crocheted, or the painting of Maria wasn’t accurate. The sketchbooks not enough, the Lego portrait not the right colours. Maybe everything was completely wrong and now it was too late to restart them. This would be so much easier if Peter just purchased some gifts for everyone instead. God, what if he had over stepped with something.

May walked into his room, a smile forming on her face at each display of affection her kid created for the people he cared about. Peter taught himself new skills to try and create things people would love and he never, ever took any credit for his own work. All Peter ever wanted to do was show people that he cared and loved them.

“Peter these are beautiful. When are you going to be giving them out tomorrow?”

Peter shook his head.

“I’m going for brunch with Ned, MJ and Harley. Then after that Harley and I are going to the tower, so I’ll be able to give Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts their gifts. Then Happy will be driving me home so I can be here for when your shift ends, so he’ll get his then. And then you get yours tomorrow night,” he explained voice rushed, and face flushed. “I think I overstepped though, with Harley. Honestly probably Mr. Stark too. I don’t know. It’s not like they’ll be keeping this stuff long term anyways right? It’s not actual quality, they’ll keep it out of curtesy then toss it out when they no longer feel like I’ll be offended. I mean, Mr. Stark probably won’t because that’s a painting of his mom, so it’ll probably just end up in storage. But Harley will. May, he’s going to think I’m such a loser for getting him this, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

May hummed, pulling Peter in for a hug. The boy melted in her arms, hugging her back. Peter rested his head on her shoulder, and tried to calm his breathing. May could feel him trying to force himself to match her own.

“Baby, you made them all thoughtful gifts. You put your heart into this stuff. They’ve all been so good at accepting and appreciating the things you’ve given them. Now I don’t know how Harley will react to your gift, but I don’t think you over stepped. You’ve been pinning after that boy for months now and if he can’t see how much of a gem you are from this then he needs to open his eyes a little wider. Peter Benjamin Parker, you are a beautiful soul and these things you made for everyone reflects exactly who you are.”

“Okay. Sure, yeah. Alright. Tomorrow will be fine.”

It wasn’t fine.

Well, it was fine, it just didn’t go over the way Peter was hoping for. Brunch went pretty well. Peter and Ned sat next to each other in a both, with MJ directly across from Peter and Harley next to her. They all drank milkshakes and all got different breakfasts. Peter ate crepes, MJ ate waffles, Ned had pancakes and Harley had a typical eggs, sausage, bacon and toast. Their group was there for nearly there for two hours when they started to wrap things up. Which meant it was time for Peter to give them all his gifts.

“I think Harley should get his first, because it’s his first time being here for Peter’s version of Valentines Day.”

MJ winked at Peter after her suggestion. She knew about their complicated web of a relationship.

“Yeah!” Ned agreed, “we’ve all gotten years of this so Harley gets the honour of going first.”

Peter nodded in agreement and Harley smiled. All the gifts were in canvas bags, leaning against the window of their booth. It was best for proper protection, and also made carrying the canvases a lot easier.

“Show me whachu got darlin’. I’m sure you found somethin’ great.”

He pulled out the canvas with a picture printed of Rose Hill’s town square, from some time ago. A few of the businesses in the were shockingly still around, and there happened to be a festival going on at the time. Peter had tried his best to find out what festival could have been happening but unfortunately there wasn’t much information online.

“Alright, so I managed to find this, but if you don’t like it I can have it returned,” he couldn’t return it, but Harley doesn’t need to know that. Really, Peter would either put it in storage or he would burn it.

Peter handed it over with a smile, Ned nudging him just a little bit. Harley took it, and stared at it for much to long without a reaction. His face remained blank, jaw set and Peter felt his stomach drop. Peter had really believed this was something Harley would like, but maybe he misread what Harley meant by homesick.

Peter felt like an idiot.

“Okay well, MJ here’s yours.”

He pulled out the homemade sketchbooks, each in a different colour and tried not to look back at Harley. MJ took the notebooks, flipping through the pages a smile on her face. There was orange and red and blue and green, enough of a variety to give her a challenge when drawing, or to set the mood.

“They’re all 100% recycled paper. I know you were saying you were running low on sketchbooks and wanted to find some more ethically made ones so...”

“They’re wonderful Peter, thank you.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. No sarcastic remarks this time, a clear sign that MJ didn’t approve of Harley’s lack of reaction. Peter shook his head and MJ frowned.

“Okay Ned, this one is for you, be careful it’s a little delicate, not that it can’t be fixed but if you drop it then that’s it.”

“Yeah, yeah just let me have it.”

Peter handed over the Lego portrait, it was large, to say the least, the background red and it was accurate as it could be for plastic blocks. Ned gasped, and his grip tightened on the portrait. Peter watched Ned put it down and was pulled into a quick side hug.

“Dude! This is so cool, this is us! I can’t wait to put this on display in my room. This is so cool, they better make us into a Lego movie now.”

Everyone except Harley laughed. MJ and Ned both gave Peter looks of confusion and he didn’t have a response other than a shrug. This wasn’t the reaction any of them were expecting Harley to have. Not this silence. But Harley just continued to sit there, looking tense, no longer looking at the picture gifted to him.

“Okay, well Mr. Stark is expecting us at the tower in the next hour and we’re an hour and a half away so Harley and I should probably get going.”

Alone time could help. Or it could make things worse. They only had to sit through a bus ride and a subway trip before the tower. Maybe then Harley will have something to say. Besides they both have to work with Tony together. It’s a lot of time to spend together.

The group of teens all walked out of the diner, saying goodbyes and as they separated, gifts in hand. Peter followed slightly behind Harley as the made their way to the bus, trying not to accidentally destroy Tony’s or Pepper’s gift by taking up too much room on the side walk. He couldn’t help but notice the tight grip Harley used to hold on the canvas and Peter was very worried that Harley was going to stretch it or break the thing.

Peter tried to start conversations with Harley. But every question ended with a shrug for an answer. It was clear to Peter that somehow, someway he royally screwed up. The bus ride was bad, the subway ride was awkward but the elevator ride up the tower was unbearable. Any reaction would have been better, in Peter’s eyes. He would take Harley screaming and tossing the canvas, never wanting to see him over this horrid silence. It was too tense, and Peter was genuinely worried that making any sort of sound or movement would make things crumble. At least he wouldn’t be at the tower for too long.

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse and both the boys exited. Harley stormed off to his room and Peter went to the kitchen. After hearing Harley’s door slam shut Peter put his bags down onto the island and checking to make sure that there’s no damage on either of the gifts.

Tony entered the area, a big smile on his face. He was dressed up a suit jacket being carried in his arms. Tony and Pepper were supposed to be going out on a date, apparently Valentine’s Day is a great excuse to leave work behind for a few hours.

“Hey Roo, thought you and Harley would be hanging out?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to but I’m gonna head home. I just wanted to make sure you and Ms. Potts got your gifts. Right, yes okay first of all happy Valentine’s Day second of all I have gifts.”

Tony rolled his eyes with a fond smile. He placed his jacket down on one of the stools, and jumped up onto the island counter. He was careful to not disturb the things that were already on the counter.

“Why is it that you get to buy Pepper and I gifts but then when I try to buy you something it becomes a whole thing?”

“Because when you buy me gifts it is typically something that is over the top. You tried buying a chocolate company because I was sad they were discontinuing my favourite kind. Our idea of gifts are very different.”

Peter stuck out his tongue and Tony flipped him off.

“Okay, fine whatever now gimmie. You bought me a gift that means you can’t just not give it.”

The teen laughed pulling the painting out from the canvas bag. He handed it over and Tony took it, flipping it around to see Maria. Tony’s one hand went and covered his mouth and Peter gave a small smile. Tony gave himself a minute to recompose himself before reaching out his hand to touch his mothers face.

“Pete... How did you find this?”

Peter shrugged. “I know some people, and they also happen to know some people. They happened to not know that this was your mom and were trying to sell it so I got it.”

Really Peter saw a picture of Maria in the Penthouse, took a picture of the picture, stretched canvas went to the art store bought supplies. Sketched out Maria, tried putting down a base coat, cried because it was ugly, Tried painting it again, cried a little more while repeating “trust the process,” and the eventually it started to look vaguely familiar. Peter hated the process from beginning to end, but the painting itself was goo enough to gift so that was great too.

Just then Pepper walked into the room, hair curled and in a beautiful dark blue dress. She smiled at Peter before taking notice of Tony and the painting in his hands. Pepper grabbed onto Tony’s leg with a soft sigh. Peter felt like he was infringing in their moment when Tony looked up and her and Pepper ran her fingers through his hair.

“I uh, I didn’t get it framed, I didn’t feel that was right to do. I thought you might like finding a frame that fits your moms personality or making one, I dunno.”

“No, no, no that’s perfect. Thank you, Peter, this was just- thank you.”

“Literally no problem, Mr. Stark. I also got one for you Miss. Potts, though it’s not like an emotion one, I just thought you might want something for comfort when at home.”

Pepper tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips, eyes crinkling just so. “Peter, you really didn’t have to buy me anything.”

I know,” Peter dragged out his words head bobbing back and forth as he reached into the bag to get the sweater.

Once it was out of the bag, Peter all but pushed it into Pepper’s arms. She unfolded the soft crushed-velvet cardigan. It was a deep purple colour, and used a simple enough pattern. There were a few golden buttons sewn on in case Pepper would want something that buttoned up. Getting Pepper’s measurements weren’t too hard for Peter, he just logged into FRIDAY’s servers, then went searching through things he doesn’t have access too and then wrote down everything he needed to know. Luckily for Peter, Pepper and May roughly were the same size, so May was his model in the end. The Cardigan should reach to just above Pepper’s knees and be slightly oversized on her. The entire process was painful, using a crushed velvet yarn was an ambitious move, especially considering that Peter’s crocheting skills are very basic. It was overall a success but a painful one.

“Oh wow, Peter this is really nice.”

She put on the sweater, lifting up one finger up before rushing to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

“Peter this is so nice? Where did you find this? The quality is incredible and you can tell this is handmade by someone who cares for their work. Also It’s soft and, oh my god there’s pockets. Tony, honey, look, pocket’s I’m just saying that there’s not enough pockets in the world. I think I could fit a book in these pockets.”

Pepper stepped out of the bathroom and Peter was very happy to see it fit her properly. Her hands were deep in the pockets lifting the two sides of the cardigan up to showcase that the pockets were in fact real. She dropped her arms to the side after a moment, taking her hands out of her pocket and giving a little twirl.

“This is probably my new favourite sweater, Peter. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem Miss. Potts. I’m going to head out now, happy Valentine’s Day.”

Both the adults wished Peter well and on his way out Peter had seen Happy and was able to let the man know not to pick him up later as well as give him the little keychain. Happy pretended to think the Happy Taxi keychain was very funny. Peter knew he did in fact enjoy the joke, as Happy had put it onto his keyring immediately. And Happy doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to- at least not when it comes to Peter.

The journey home from the tower was rough. Peter couldn’t help but thinking of Harley. By the time Peter got home he was consumed by everything he could have possibly done wrong. Maybe the gift was too much. Or not enough. Harley might actually hate the pictures that Peter picked out. Peter could have messed things up earlier and Harley just felt this was the right time to ice him out. Did Peter’s breath stink the last time they hooked up? Was he too clingy or just not good enough? Harley has a few people he hooks up with at school, which he’s stopped with everyone except Peter, so maybe Harley was upset with Peter.

Peter just wanted to scream. He tried his best to be what Harley wanted, to go with whatever flow was being set. Harley didn’t seem to want anything serious so Peter stopped trying to define what they were. They’re friends who kiss and that’s fine, except maybe Harley never wanted any of this and Peter pressured him into this. The entire thing was a mess, and Peter wished he knew what he did wrong.

Boys are complicated.

Harley is complicated.

It was March 1st before Harley started to talk to Peter again. Their group of friends had been tense, Ned and MJ did their best to keep things from getting awkward. None of it really worked. Harley would talk to everyone but Peter, and when Peter would try and talk he would be glared at instead. But finally after two weeks of nothing Peter got a text.

Come over now ?

Peter’s anxiety went through the roof, but this was good right? A step in the right direction? Peter wasn’t so sure what it could mean, but talking was definitely better than nothing. So Peter responded and made his way over.

This could be the end of their friendship. What if Harley friend-breaks up with Peter? That would be mortifying. To be called over just to be told that Harley no longer see’s Peter as a friend is nightmare. It could be a reality. Peter must have messed up badly if Harley was calling him up to friend breakup.

One Peter made it up to the pent house he was surprised to see Harley making popcorn in the kitchen. Peter had stepped out of the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, moving to sit at the kitchen island.

“I’m making popcorn. We’re watching a movie.”

Peter couldn’t help but nodding too fast too soon. He didn’t much like the way Harley was talking or Harley’s tense shoulders. It was too matter-of-fact. Harley didn’t have the emotion’s that usually filled his actions and move, not a single nickname or pushing his accent to sound stronger. This was just Harley without the usual charm and it worried Peter.

They both moved over to the living room once Harley was done with the popcorn. Peter sat down in his usual spot- on the left end of the couch and Harley, well Harley just a little bit farther away than usual. It wouldn’t have been too noticeable to Peter if Harley hadn’t shut him out.

But now Peter noticed everything.

He couldn’t help but notice the way Harley’s heart was beating just a little bit faster than it usually did. Peter noticed the way Harley would not relax, how each movement was carefully thought out. Harley wouldn’t let himself take full breaths, and Peter could feel the vibration on the floor from Harley bouncing his foot.

Peter was so focused on Harley, trying to find out Harley could possibly be thinking. He wasn’t paying any attention to the movie was playing, or even what Harley’s actions were. Peter was so focused on trying to understand everything about Harley that he missed it when Harley moved.

Well, Peter missed it up until there was lips on his neck.

Harley’s hands moved to Peter’s waist, trying to pull Peter up on top of himself without losing any contact. The tension in Harley’s muscles started to relax, and Peter couldn’t stop himself from melting into Harley.

This- Peter could be what Harley wanted like this. He can be pliable or rough. Whatever Harley needed, whatever Harley wanted, Peter could be it. It’s easy to be good and in the moment with Harley. There was no talking, sure, that wasn’t great. But kissing? Sitting on Harley’s lap? That was good.

Here, Peter can be whatever Harley wants him to be. No picture on a canvas or anger. The attention isn’t solely wrapped around the lack of talking between the two, but of them together. Peter can be what Harley wants, he really, can. He just need too-

No. Peter can’t be whatever Harley wants. Not without the communication. And definitely not with everything that’s happened in the last two weeks. Every day Peter has ran through what exactly went wrong on Valentine’s Day. Whether it was the gift, or the place, maybe it was some sort of unknown expectation Harley had. But it led to nothing. Peter felt like nothing. Peter doesn’t what to be nothing, not even if that’s what Harley wants him to be.

He can’t be here, not like this.

“Harley, Harley, stop.”

Tears burned in Peter’s eyes as he forced them shut and turned his head away. Harley pushed Peter off of his lap without a second thought, and Peter hated how that felt personal.

“Darling, what’s happening? Did I do something to upset you?”

Peter wanted to hate that honey-thick accent, but he also just wanted that concern to be real. Not that the concern was fake- Harley wasn’t the type to fake concern- but Peter wanted it to be more than just situational. He wanted things to be deeper, Peter wanted Harley to care about him the same way he cares about Harley. And if Peter couldn’t have that, then he wanted to hate Harley and his stupid accent, and southern charm, and blue eyes and not-quite-brown-but-not-really-blond-hair.

So he straightened his shoulders out, and took a deep breath in. Peter opened his eyes to Harley only being a few inches in front of him. Barely enough room to breathe, but also way too much room. Peter sat more up right and shook his head.

“I can’t do this Harley. I can’t be the person you call for a good time. You haven’t spoken a word to me since Valentine’s Day, and now this is it? We just make out for a little bit and I have to pretend like I never felt like I was the one to do something wrong? I can’t do that.”

Harley pulled himself backwards, his hands pressed into the couch. His head was tilted just a little bit the the side, eye’s flickering back and forth as he thought.

“You literally gave me a present for Valentine’s Day, Peter, I wasn’t okay with that.”

Peter wanted to pull his hair out- he really did. He stood up and walked around the coffee table one hand tugging lightly at his hair while the other stayed at his hip.

“Why would you tell me that you were okay with me getting you something for Valentine’s Day if you’re going to be uncomfortable then. I asked you so I could avoid this. You even saw me give MJ, who is my ex-girlfriend, a present and Ned one. If you were not okay with it then why did you tell me to dazzle you?”

“Because I thought you’d buy me something. But you didn’t. Nobody has ever heard of Rosehill let alone sold pictures of it with headlines from the town’s news paper. You made that. I don’t want you treating me like I’m special.”

Harley also moved to stand, making his way closer to Peter. With every word he jabbed a finger in Peter’s direction, his voice getting louder as he continued. His face was patchy-red and Harley’s jaw was set tight.

“I don’t buy shit for anyone on Valentine’s Day, Harley. I made the Lego portrait of Ned and I, and MJ’s notebooks, I also painted Mr. Stark’s Mom, and crocheted Pepper a sweater, and May a blanket. Also I made Happy a little Happy Taxi keychain with working headlights. I don’t claim to buy anyone’s gifts. I do it all myself. So my bad for making you feel special for doing a two minute Google search and printing something out I’d thought you’d like. I spent months making gifts for everyone, except yours because I just didn’t know you well enough. I did what I could, but everything I gave was made by me.”

The room fell silent again. The teens stood face to face, just a few feet away from each other. Harley’s blue eyes were filled with anger and disbelief and Peter couldn’t help but feel hurt. They stood there, starring at each other for too long, breathing too heavily. The movie continued to play, casting different lights across the room and they all just seemed to fit too well.

“Okay,” Peter finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper, “okay. I’m going home. I really cannot do this anymore, Harley. The ball is in your court now. Just- if you decide that we’re not going to be friends or whatever can you please not just ignore me at lunch? It’s awkward. Also it’s not fair to MJ or Ned. And please don’t tell anyone I make their gifts, I don’t want them buying me something out of guilt. I do it because it’s important to me. Other than that, if you want to stay out of my life or whatever you decide it’s fine. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’m really sorry, Harley.”

With that Peter turned away from Harley. He hated that he was the one that was bringing things to an end. Is that even what this was? Peter gave Harley the choice, it doesn’t mean that Harley will choose to burn everything they’ve had to the ground, but he could. This could be it. No more friendship or laughing or kissing. It’d all be over. All because of a stupid picture and Peter’s need for attention.

That’s all it was ever about. Attention. It had to have been. If he was being rational, then Harley’s silence wouldn’t have bothered him. Peter wouldn’t have met with Harley after school or during lunch. This was all Peter’s fault. He just liked the attention.

No. No. That wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. Peter liked Harley. He wanted a relationship with Harley. It’s not like he didn’t try waiting for him or communicating what he wanted. Peter tried to give Harley all the time he needed. It just wasn’t enough and now Harley has a choice. This wasn’t over a picture, or attention, it’s about Harley.

So Peter walked away. He made his way to the elevator where FRIDAY already had the doors opened and waiting for him. Harley just needed time, to figure out what he wants. That’s all this is. Time. It’s not an ending. It just feels final.

Peter turns around and smiles at Harley, tipping his head forward. Harley is still all the way across the living room, just watching Peter walk out on him. The doors started to close when Harley finally, finally called out to him, making FRIDAY re-open the doors.

“I’m sorry for freaking out. I just thought you were trying to make me feel bad for not getting you anything.”

Peter sighed, “I don’t care if you get me anything, Harley. It’s my holiday, not yours. No one get me anything in return, it’s why I don’t say that I make the gifts. But I stand by what I said. I’m not doing this weird friends who make out thing anymore. I can’t be waiting around for weeks because you’re upset and wondering where things stand between us. You’re either in this or you aren’t. I can’t be another name on a list you work your way through because you’re bored.”

“Darling, you’ve never been another name on my list. I swear it.”

Harley made his way from around the couch and Peter stepped out of the elevator, but not enough to really be in the room. The both of them were saying their words a little too loudly, and it all felt like too much.

Peter could feel the heat burning his eyes as he tried his best to to cry in front of Harley. His jaw ached from the feeling and everything in him said he should just leave. Cut his loses and leave. But Harley was here, pretty as ever, with his splotchy-red face and freckles. Peter just couldn’t convince himself to leave.

“Cindy. Brad. Sarah. Ashley. Josh. Eric. Damion. Brittany. Jessica. Me. That’s a list, Harley. I tried to be okay with it, I swear. But there’s only so many times you can brush me off when I try to talk about it. You can’t tell me I’m more than just a name on a list when it’s all right there.”

Tears started to roll down Harley’s face first. Harley’s hands shook as he tried to wipe them away and Peter tried not to sob at the sight. Peter stayed where he stood and Harley moved forward into Peter’s space. He lifted his hands up to Peter’s face, thumbs on Peter’s cheeks and finger’s tangled in Peter’s hair. Harley cried as he held Peter, and Peter did his best not to lean into Harley.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m sorry that I’m scared and that I wouldn’t listen to you. I like you so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like this. I’ll do better. Please, honey, I don’t want to lose you.”

Peter couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. Tears streamed down his face as he let himself fall into Harley. He wrapped his arms around the taller boy, and Harley had one arm wrapped around Peter’s back and the other holding onto the back of his head. Peter was relieved to hear that Harley wanted him to stay. He just couldn’t imagine a life without Harley.

“We can be boyfriends, if that is also what you want Peter. I know I’d like that a lot. Just the two of us, no one else. How’s that sound?”

“Yeah, I like that, just the two of us, no one else.”

Harley tried to laugh as he held Peter, but it didn’t work out well. Instead the two just held each other as they cried. Finally releasing the emotions they held in during their fight, and instead of being left alone they got the comfort of each other’s arms.

The elevator closed. The movie played on. Peter finally got the one.

taglist: send an ask/dm to be added.

@peter-is-a-bean @jean-and-diet-coke @dead-inside-pt2 @they-were-cloudsinmycoffee @parkersjiggle @7peternotparker7 @thatonecrackheadshipper @kevinthewoman @faline4you @lynxshinon @narutoyaoifan @pastelwheeler @thecrazymarvelfan @bonjour-gays @thebestqueenoftheworld

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madmaudlingoes · 4 years

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Sewing Your Own Face Mask (Or Wearing A Cloth Mask)

I’m gonna use this post to consolidate what I know about cloth face masks (making or wearing) because I am making myself crazy looking at different proposals and arguments and research. Under a cut so I can keep the post up-to-date without spreading misinfo.

Question: what’s the point of wearing a mask?

Masks of any kind do two things: prevent the wearer from inhaling germs, and prevent the wearer from exhaling germs.

Healthcare workers need masks that will prevent them from getting sick while they treat the sick: that’s why they’ve been desperate to collect N95 masks and face shields. If you’re not a healthcare worker, isolation and social distancing are better ways to avoid being exposed to germs than masking in public. Of course, not everybody can isolate right now -- people still gotta work, gotta buy groceries, gotta use public transit, etc. -- so going out in a mask is a decent compromise.

On the other hand, if you know or strongly suspect you’ve been exposed, wearing a mask can help you avoid infecting others. (This is how masking became a norm in Asian countries long before the coronavirus pandemic.) Again, carriers really shouldn’t be venturing out of isolation at all, but if you can’t avoid it, masking up can minimize the danger you pose to others.

As of 4/3, the Centers for Disease Control recommends that everyone wear a mask when they leave the house.

Update 6/1: As states “re-open,” requirements for face coverings in public may be dropped, but that doesn’t mean you have to stop wearing one. Especially if you’re attending a protest (crowds, lots of chanting/yelling), a mask can still keep you safe.

Question: how well do cloth masks work?

The evidence on this is pretty meh. The US Centers for Disease Control has said, “Any mask is better than no mask,” but studies have shown that cloth masks are strictly inferior to single-use medical masks when it comes to preventing the wearer from getting sick. Some reasons why:

Cloth masks are often made from materials that don’t trap tiny particles as effectively.This video explains how single-use masks work, and why woven material doesn’t work as well as the non-woven polymers that are normally used for medical masks.

Cloth masks absorb and retain moisture more than single-use masks, which reduces their efficacy over time. A study from India found that cloth masks and single-use masks both lose efficacy after two continuous hours, and another study in Vietnam found a single cloth mask worn throughout an eight-hour shift actually performed worse than single-use masks, and possibly even worse than no mask at all.

Cloth masks, depending on their design, may not fit snugly or smoothly, resulting in gaps that permit unfiltered air through. A recent study from Northeastern University in Boston found that pulling a nylon stocking over your mask-- not your whole head, we’re not robbing banks -- could significantly improve the effectiveness of any cloth mask, and even single-use surgical masks, by keeping everything snug.

A wonky mask might also cause you to touch your face more trying to adjust it, resulting in contamination.

Wearers may not be cleaning cloth masks effectively between uses, or may be cross-contaminating their hands when removing a used mask. See “How do I wear a cloth mask?” below.

So a cloth mask is a last resort when isolation isn’t an option and single-use masks aren’t available. As of 6/1, the US is still facing shortages of single-us PPE thanks to mismanagement by the Trump administration, and as states “re-open” the demand for masks will start to increase again.

Question: If cloth masks aren’t effective, why bother with them?

Some healthcare facilities have asked for donations of cloth masks in order to stretch their supply of single-use masks because, as stated above, we’re running out of supplies. Some other orgs (from nursing homes to animal shelters to police forces) have been asking for mask donations to conserve single-use masks for healthcare workers. For most people going out in our daily lives, a reusable cloth mask is more cost-effective than running through boxes of disposables, especially if we’re also doing what we can to avoid high-risk acitivies.

Question: What’s the best material to make a mask out of?

Research by Davies et al (2013) compared several different materials for DIY masking. Two factors are in play: how well does the material trap germ-sized particles, and how well can the wearer breath while wearing it? For example, vacuum bags are great for filtering tiny particles, but turned out to be uncomfortable and difficult to breath through, while woven silk was very breathable but a poor filter. (Some 3D printed masks that are currently circulating could give you fatal CO2 poisoning.)

The Davies papers’ recommendations were cotton knits (like a medium-weight t-shirt) or tightly woven cotton cloth (like a high thread-count pillowcase). More layers isn’t necessarily better, but most patterns in circulation use at least two. Some also incorporate a filter of some kind, either removable or sewn into the mask.

Knit fabric is tricky to sew, especially if you’re a beginner, but the trade-off is that a mask made with knit can achieve a snugger fit. Woven cloth is easier to work with, but the resulting mask may require more tailoring to avoid gaps. If you have a choice, use plain, light-colored fabrics so it’s easier to see stains or wet spots. (Also, frankly, a mask sanitized with bleach regularly won’t retain color for long.) Some hospitals are recommending using two fabric colors if you can, to ensure you can tell the “inside” and “outside” apart easily, but if you don’t have that much fabric laying around, use what you got.

To secure the mask, narrow (1/8 - 1/2 inch) elastic bands are common, but these can pull hair/rub skin. Woven elastic in this size is also getting hard to source, and may contain latex, which is an allergy risk. Consider instead making ties from bias tape or twill tape; narrow strips of sewn fabric; a clean shoelace; or narrow grosgrain ribbon (the kind with ridges).

Some mask designs include a pocket for inserting a separate filter, which improves their protective power. Good ideas for a filter:

Quilt batting or interfacing (Fusible interfacing may help make knits more workable, at the cost of their stretch.)

Extra layers of cloth

shop towels made from microfiber or “hydro-knit” material

Bad ideas for filters include vaccuum bags (not breathable, may contain fiberglass) and cut-up N95 masks (why???). And if you’re making masks primarily for personal use on short trips out, you probably don’t need a filter anyway, though Mueller and Fernandez (2020) found that cotton masks with a filter + a nylon stocking over the top actually approached the protective power of a single-use mask.

Question: What pattern should I use?

If you’re making masks for donation, use whatever pattern is requested. If you’re making them for personal use, or for donation to an org that hasn’t given any guidance, here are some ideas:

New: The Clover Mask is a hybrid of several of the designs below, designed by the MakeMasks.Org Slack. Intermediate difficulty.

Erin’s Mask, based on a design developed by Dr. Chen Xiaoting of Taiwan. Erin tweaked the pattern and converted it to US measurements for those of us allergic to metric. This mask has a pocket for a filter and can be made with either elastic or a fabric tie to secure. Intermediate difficulty.

Cynthia’s Mask does not have a filter pocket and uses twill tape or ribbon for tie-backs. Probably the easiest on the list.

John Hopkins Medicine has also produced a mask pattern pretty much the same as Cynthia’s. So has Kaiser Permanente, which also made a helpful video if you’re not used to making pleats.

The Aries 2.0 Mask is being produced en masse by volunteers in St. Louis, which is where I’m based. It’s more complicated than Cynthia’s mask, and has a filter pocket like Erin’s mask, using curved pieces instead of pleats to achieve a good fit. Intermediate difficulty.

Some additional options, which have been less popular than the above:

The Turban Project Mask has been promoted by Deaconess Medical Center in Evansville, Indiana. It uses elastic and has no filter pocket. Just as easy as Cynthia’s mask, but the ear loop design may be less comfortable and some people have reported shortages of elastic.

The A.B. Mask is designed to be worn over an N95 mask, to extend its lifespan, or by itself. It uses cloth ties. It’s the most complex pattern to sew on this list, with darts and seam binding, but was designed by a nurse.

The Fu Mask from Freesewing uses curved pieces like the Aries mask, but has no filter pocket, which makes me a little more leery of the big center seam.

The Olson Mask has a filter pocket and uses regular hair ties for fasteners.

If you don’t sew at all, this mask can be folded from one sheet of cut cloth. A silky scarf might not be optimal material (see above re: material types) but a cotton bandana or a “fat quarter” of quilting cotton is almost the same size. If you’re using cut fabric, you could just tape or whipstitch the raw edges so it’ll survive the washing machine.

There are a ton of Facebook groups, Discords, etc. with suggestions on how to tweak these masks for best fit or greater comfort. One common hack is putting a length of pip cleaner or floral wire in the upper seam, to help the mask conform around the bridge of your nose. Be cautious when washing a mask with a built-in wire, because it might rust; the Aries 2.0 mask has a sleeve so the wire can be removed for cleaning.

Question: how should I wear/clean a cloth mask?

Depending on the mask, you might secure the mask behind your head or over your ears, either with elastic bands or cloth ties. Make sure you’re breathing primarily though the mask, and not around the sides, even when you turn your head or talk. (This might require some tweaking of your pattern.) This NYT piece has illustrations of how the mask should sit -- over your nose and under your chin, snug to your cheeks on both sides. If you can’t click through, @theexoticvet has posted the images here.

(Note: an N95 mask can’t make a tight seal over facial hair, but a cloth mask doesn’t seal even on a smooth face. So don’t fret about your beard making your cloth mask useless -- just make sure it’s pulled snug all the way around.)

Studies suggest a fabric mask is useful for two hours, max, or until your breath makes it noticeably damp. When you remove the mask, grasp it by the ties, loops or edges. Don’t touch the part that covers your nose or mouth, because that’s where germs have accumulated. If there’s a removable filter inside, wash your hands thoroughly after removing it, and then wash the mask.

Research shows the novel coronavirus can persist ~24 hours on a cardboard surface, but not necessarily how long it survives on/in cloth. Also, leaving a potentially contaminated mask laying around is probably not a good idea. So, to clean your mask:

Hand-wash with hot water and soap, at a minimum.

Boiling the mask for ~10 minutes should kill just about anything, but don’t just drop it in the pot and forget it -- you should keep stirring/agitating the water so it thoroughly penetrates all layers.

Add 1 T (15 ml) of bleach to 1 gallon (3.8 L) of cold water and soak your mask for 15-30 minutes. Then rinse thoroughly with hot water. Over-bleaching will degrade the fabric and make the mask less effective.

If you have access to a washing machine and/or a tumble dryer with a “sanitize” setting, use that. Otherwise use the hottest settings each one has.

If you have to air-dry your mask, make sure it’s completely dry before you use it again.

Question: How can I make masks to donate?

As of 6/1, mask donations are ramping down as the supply chain for both conventional PPE and reusable masks has stabilized. Most people and orgs can now buy reusable masks if they want them. On the other hand, some people can’t afford to buy a mask, so homeless shelters, food pantries and crisis nurseries may still be taking donations. Activist groups planning protests may also be looking for masks to distribute at their events.

Donations are being coordinated on a Make Masks Slack channel, at #MasksNOW, or at RosieSews.org. You can also text “masks” to ResistBot (50409) to find out how to help get PPE to healthcare workers who need it. Also try a Facebook search for “Million Mask Mayday” + your state, as the original Million Mask Mayday site was overwhelmed.

Check one of these spots or contact a local org BEFORE you sew a bunch of stuff, to ensure you’re matching their needs. Just dropping off a bunch of masks off randomly to a group that doesn’t even need them isn’t helping anybody.

If you initiate contact with a facility or org, ask them a) are they taking donations, and b) do they have specific needs regarding size, materials, or construction.

Also ask about whether the masks need to be sanitized before donation (use one of the methods above) and how donations should be delivered in light of social distancing recommendations.

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