#So it's mostly skimming to ensure nothing is tucked in there

[creepyscritches]

read the tags. im so sorry people are being such dipshits to you. my situation is different of course but i also get comments like that when i lose weight caused by ILLNESS. people are so braindead. but anyway i highly recommend a dietrician!! theyre generally actually reasonable and knowledgeable about healthy eating and healthy weight. best place you could go for it honestly

Tbh it sounds like the same basic situation for both of us. "Weight is lower than desired due to illness" is actually a pretty widespread health concern, but (as a result of fat phobia) it's not seen as a problem. "Be thin at any cost" mentality will always result in medically underweight people being put on this weird pedestal by the general public--that is if they're deemed "attractive" enough to deserve the envy. Those who don't make the cut fall into the "bean pole" bucket that's either ignored entirely or used occasionally for low hanging fruit joke fodder.

Being fat is not bad and being thin is not good. Morality is not tied to weight. Demonizing fat people hurts not only fat patients but also patients desperately trying to gain weight. If my chronic illness poo poo 120lb body is the doctor's idea of "a goal weight" then doctors are never trying to help fat patients be healthy by losing huge amounts of weight. THIS is the ideal?? THIS is dangerous.

The times I see weight counseling in a patient encounter are usually paired w a surgery that has a risk spike at a certain weight (either due to dosage req, projected blood loss, pressure on certain organs, etc) or it's one of many options to relieve physical symptoms in certain diagnoses like osteoarthritis, COPD, or OSA (or sleep apneas in general if you're a back-sleeper). The pitfall most doctors hit is that it's the main treatment they pursue instead of offering everything available that is 1) safe 2) effective 3) reasonable. Telling a sick person to lose a quarter of their body weight before they'll get any help is inhumane with no other way to describe it and it colors how weight is handled for ALL patients.

It's also worth quickly mentioning that a person at ANY weight can suffer from malnutrition. Severe malnutrition can be the spark for a normal hospital stay to turn into a scary hospital stay while doctors try to stabilize your wack metabolic levels. There is no weight that you can automatically assume is healthy. You just think it looks good, but looks aint shit when it comes to health. While I'm in the underweight pool, that doesn't mean considering a dietitian is a 'thin' thing--dietitians are for literally anyone that eats. Just be sure you're not getting pulled into a weight loss product scam since a lot of those claim to have medical backing. Anyone that completes their schooling can be a practitioner, ethics are not a-given nor do they seem to be required in a lot of places. Focus on the nutrition and health balance of it all, be wary of those who push dramatic weight loss.

[nottivaghes]

FULL NAME: Shen Prower Ingen Ryuki SPECIES: Vampire AGE: 645 35 BIRTHDAY: October 25th GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis-man he & him FACECLAIM: Manny Jacinto OCCUPATION: Pharmaceutical Investor

CHARACTER INSPIRATION: Fenris (Dragon Age II), Damon Salvatore (TVD), Artagan/The Traveller (Critical Role C2), Loki (Marvel), Rumpelstiltskin (OUAT), Villanelle (Killing Eve), King George (Queen Charlotte), Magnus Bane (The Mortal Instruments), William Pratt/Spike (BTVS)

Shen makes you think of… blood pooling in the valley of your collarbone, the tang of ozone before a lightning strike, righteous anger, divine violence, black cashmere caressing your skin, a firm handshake sealing your fate, a calm facade concealing the tempest beneath, the burn of vintage bourbon in your throat, a teasing scrape of fangs against the soft skin of your neck, muttering to yourself by candlelight.

You pray it all away but it continues to grow.

Shen has been alive a long time, too long. Well, Ingen has, Shen has only existed for the last fifteen years or so. Ingen was born during the Ming Dynasty, which makes him a priceless antique, he'll have you know, if any of the surviving pottery is anything to go by.

A ruthlessness and a mind for politics is what the constantly changing political landscape brought for young Ingen, thrust into a world of shifting alliances that swelled and ebbed like the tide. Trade boomed; the entire face of the world shifted permanently by the ingenuity of his people.

And yet, the poor suffered underfoot of those with money, status. Ingen realized quickly that if he climbed the ladder, he'd have to block everything out as the ladder was made of people.

To this day Shen believes that the greatest compliment is an attempt on one's life. Unfortunately for his political rival, Shen had been spending much of his own resources attempting to find a way to not have to worry about assassination attempts, which was deemed mostly a fruitless fancy at the time. Humanity had been chasing the fountain of youth since the dawn of time, this foolish young man would hardly find the antidote for death.

Ingen was an adventurer, journeying across the mountains to speak to tucked-away pockets of those who lived there. After three years, on his final expedition, he found what he was looking for.

They knocked Ingen out and trapped him for a month below ground in the subterranean caves, down a shaft with an impossibly small exit tunnel. The preparation for the ritual took that entire moon cycle but by the time they performed it he was too sensorily deprived to retain any of it. Some chanting, a horrible fleshy sound, a sharp pain, hazy nothing, and then something warm dripped over his lips.

Shen came to alone and has been mostly alone since. He spent the rest of his natural lifespan learning just what he was capable of and what would kill him, he'd given up everything for a chance at ensured power and then forgot completely about his human life. He chased wive's tales across the continent trying to hunt down those who had turned him into the sun-fearing wretch, even though he'd asked.

I want to hold you close, soft breath, beating heart.

Shen has walked as a doctor, a sailor, a teacher, a poet, a philosopher, a shepherd, worked in rice fields, courtrooms, and countless other places. He is fluent in many languages, too many to list. Shen believes that as a soulless parasite leeching off the world for eternity that he needs some sort of key duty to center himself, he sees himself as an archivist or scholar. He preserves information, knowledge, and objects he believes are important in a world that so callously discards everything in his personal collection.

People always responded well to Ingen, his beauty was a tool he wielded like a blade in his human life as well as he does now. It was just skimming the surface at first, the odd word or a flash of an image when his bare skin touched that of another but as the years rolled by it solidified and grew as he pushed the boundaries of what he could do. Shen is a touch telepath, though by now he is sickened by the thought of hearing another being think about going home to have sex, shit or eat so he is almost always entirely covered when in public. Few have ever seen him without gloves, a high collar, always wrapped up.

The years have not always entirely been kind to him, though for someone so old he works hard to maintain his mind. Sometimes this becomes more difficult, when he is under intense duress he can seem quite mad. He realized some three hundred years ago that he'd never wanted to be a vampire but a full-blooded fae.

Missed out on Brant Hacke last time, arrived eight months after the war had concluded by ship after hearing a rumour at a dock. Shen returned to town to see what happens this time around and record an 'unbiased' history, maybe offer some help to certain parties if, and only if, it amuses him.

As I whisper in your ear, "I want to fucking tear you apart."

[augustinewrites]

“I totally bombed that pop quiz,” Bokuto groans, and Akaashi glances at his test to see a score of 6/15, along with a note to see their teacher after class.

You sigh a little, taking the test and humming as you skim over his answers, comparing them to your own. “I’m almost scared to ask but…how much of the book have you actually read?”

Bokuto rubs the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Like…five chapters? Mostly. Kinda. A little.”

You sigh again, raising a hand to massage your temple. Akaashi thinks you’re a saint for agreeing to tutor this oaf. “You’re supposed to have read to at least chapter ten. It’s no wonder why you failed the quiz.”

“I tried to!” he insists. “But I'm always super tired after practice and there’s so many words!”

“I go to all the same practices as you,” Akaashi points out, holding up his copy of Pride and Prejudice. “But I’m halfway through the book already.”

He's also - like you - a second year taking a third year english class, (because you’re both that good) but he decides not to bring that up now.

“Shut it, Akaashi!” Bokuto smacks his shoulder, huffing.

You laugh at their antics, and it’s with a hot blush that he realizes that it’s one of the best sounds he’s ever heard. He averts his gaze to the table when you turn to him next. “What about you? Was there anything you had trouble with? I'm going to go over the test with Bokuto.”

He glances at his own test, which is marked with a 15/15 in the top right corner. He's not struggling with english literature at all.

He nods anyway, just like he does every Friday after school, tucking the test behind his notebook and shrugging. “A few things, but i’ll just listen and take some notes, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course! If you have any questions, feel free to interrupt,” you smile, and for some stupid reason, Akaashi finds himself smiling back. He’d never interrupt you— he much prefers listening to you speak. Watching your lips move as you read with perfect cadence.

“Okay, Bokuto. For question one, the answer ‘books’ was obviously not correct when asked to name a recurring theme in Pride and Prejudice because…”

Unlike the ace - who is scribbling madly in his notebook - Akaashi doesn’t take any notes, palm cupping his chin as he idly taps his pen against the table. You’re explaining literary devices and quoting passages that are surely going over Bokuto’s head, no matter how much you dumb it down (it’s not your fault the idiot’s head is akin to a volleyball— filled with nothing but air).

But seriously, Akaashi couldn’t take notes even if he tried. He's hearing your voice, sure, but all he can think about is how much he’d like to hear it in the murmur of the new coffee shop downtown. Your voice is like auditory caramel, syrupy, smooth, and rich as you bring Jane Austen's words to life.

Lately he’s found that he can’t really focus on much when you’re within his proximity, but it’s fine. He doesn’t really need to be here anyway, because his grade in english is already better than good.

(he’s just here because you are.)

You’re halfway through the questions when you excuse yourself, heading out of the library to refill your water bottle.

“You’re not very subtle, you know?”

He cuts his gaze towards Bokuto, who’s watching him with a smirk that Akaashi wants to wipe off his stupid face. “What are you talking about?

“Dude,” he chuckles, pointing at him with the book in his hands. “You have a huge crush. It's super obvious! I mean, could you stare any harder?”

He looks around to ensure you’re out of earshot before leaning towards Bokuto, glaring at his teammate. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grits (but he knows for a fact that the tips of his ears are turning red).

“Oh, c’mon! An idiot could figure it out,” he grins, slinging a heavy arm around his shoulders. “I know it like I know a volleyball is round and english class is too hard! Accept it, bro, you’ve got the fattest crush ever.”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” Akaashi hisses, wishing the earth would open up and swallow him. “I'm begging you.”

“You didn’t deny it!” Bokuto laughs, somehow louder than before. “You really do have a crush on— ow!” Akaashi jams his elbow into his ribs when you return to the table. “Hey hey hey!” he wheezes, scooting his chair over. “How was the walk to the water fountain? See anything interesting?”

You set your water bottle down, brows furrowing slightly. “Not especially. Did you take a look at the passage I recommended?”

“Uh, totally,” Bokuto lies, slapping the cover of the novel. “The one about the breakfast— was it a buffet? Wait, no…” he suddenly snaps his fingers, looking as if he’d found the solution to global warming. “Parlour! That's the word! The one about the breakfast parlour!”

You shake your head a little, glancing at Akaashi with a look that reads ‘is he serious?’

He just sighs in response, shrugging to say, ‘unfortunately.’

“But enough about prejudice and pride,” Bokuto continues. “What are ya doin’ after this? You free?”

You seem taken aback, blinking rapidly a few times as you smooth your blazer. “I am...”

The ace smirks, and Akaashi’s stress level automatically rises when he glances at him out of the corner of his eye, because he knows that look. It’s that sneaky one he gets when he’s at the net, about to go up for one of his so-called special attacks.

His soul leaves his body when he’s pounded on the back by a heavy hand, and Bokuto all but announces, “Awesome! So is Akaashi!”

While the two of you are sitting there, shocked, Bokuto hums contentedly, gathering his things and shoving them into his backpack. “Well, I'll leave you two lovebirds to do what you will with that information. See ya guys on Monday!”

Akaashi decides that he’s going to punch him on Monday

He’s imagining all the ways he could do so when you clear your throat and say, “So, what do you want to do?”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says quickly, deflating a little. “If you...don’t want to.”

“Well, since Bokuto’s gone, we’ve no reason to be here,” you point out, reaching across the table and pulling Akaashi’s test from behind his notebook, tapping the score. “I know you don’t need any help. You’ve been coming here with Bokuto for the past month and you never ask any questions, and sometimes I catch you muttering answers under your breath.”

It’s with burning cheeks and mild mortification that he realizes his cover is blown, and he has to do something about it.

“So there’s this coffee shop downtown…”

[kinda-iconic]

Second Chances

Author's note: It's been a long time since I last wrote anything on here. This was partly caused by an issue on motivation, as I just wasn't feeling as though my writing was good enough anymore. However, I have tried to keep to it, and this is ultimately the result of my perseverance. This fanfic takes place between the events of 'Morning Sickness' and 'Truth doesn't always set you free'.

Summary: Adrian accompanies Amy to her first ultrasound scan.

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife @shelley-parah @nala-raines @lauren-raines-x @adrianadmirer @choicesfannatalie @purvishraick @flowerpowell @adriansbiss @tays-role-plays @caroldxnvxrs @crystalwillow @a-raines

Word Count: 2'703 words

Please do let me know if you would like to be tagged in future works.

‘If you could just lift your blouse up for me.’

Adrian glances around the room, the bitter scent of hand sanitizer burning his nostrils; the room is mostly bare, though as he focuses on his surroundings, he becomes more aware of its contents. The walls are plain, decorated only with the occasional information poster and a glove dispenser. The vibrancy of the lights compares to that of the sun, its fluorescent beams illuminating every corner of the room. As he continues to study his environment, the midwife approaches Amy's feet, adjusting the plastic on the end of the bed before pulling the curtain across.

Adrian focuses his attention on her, his brows knitting together as he observes her movements. A soft squeeze of the hand causes him to look away, luring his concentration back to the source of the distraction; Amy is lying before him, her petite form positioned comfortably on the hospital bed, her free hand resting atop her bare abdomen. She looks up at him, her brown doe-like eyes gazing worriedly into at his own, her voice no louder than a gentle whisper as she tries to provide him with words of comfort.

‘It’s okay, Adrian,’ she greets him with a tired smile, the pad of her thumb drawing soothing circles on the skin of his palm, ‘this is just standard procedure.’

He glances back at the woman, his expression indecipherable as he ensures that she is not privy to their conversation. Satisfied that the midwife remains indisposed, he raises Amy’s hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

‘That doesn’t mean that I cannot worry.’

Before either one can say more, the midwife turns back to face them, her fingers clasped tightly around the transducer. She shifts forward in her seat, regarding the pair with a welcoming smile as she lays sight on Amy’s stomach.

‘That’s perfect,’ she reaches forward, carefully adjusting the fabric of Amy’s shirt before gesturing to the band of her leggings, ‘I just need access to your lower abdomen if that is alright.’

‘O-okay!’

Amy does as she is asked, moving her clothing downward before looking to her for approval. She is met with a satisfied nod in return, the woman’s smile growing more evident as she retrieves a collection of paper towels from the dispenser; however, as she moves to assist Amy with tucking them in place, Adrian interjects her, strategically placing his hand over the remaining material. She lifts her gaze to meet his own, looking at him in befuddlement as she tries to ponder on the reason for his interruption.

‘Mr Raines, if I could just-’

‘I would rather be the one to do it if that is okay with you.’

The midwife does not respond, instead choosing to remove herself from the conversation, putting herself at a distance so that Adrian is able to continue her work. She watches him closely, her emerald eyes widening in surprise as she takes note of the gentleness of his touch, his fingers moving bashfully as he tries to imitate her actions. As he moves to work on the area adjacent to her hip, Amy places her hand atop of his, interlacing her fingers with his own; he hesitantly meets her gaze, as if aware that his recent actions have caused her discomfort.

‘I just want to keep you safe.’

‘I know,’ she whispers, her words soft and comforting as she carefully reaches for her stomach, her fingertips softly tapping against her skin as she continues to cradle her small bump, ‘but Sarah isn’t going to hurt me, Adrian – all she wants to do is to make sure that the baby and I are alright.'

He sighs, the corner of his mouth tugging into a sorrowful smile as he reaches up to caress her cheek, his fingers entangling in her hair as the pad of his thumb presses against her bottom lip. He inclines his head towards her, as if suddenly remembering their present company.

‘I worry about you, Amy,’ he looks down at her abdomen, his free hand coming to rest atop her own as his thoughts continue to play havoc with his mind; though his gaze begins to soften, there is a hint of worry on his brow, as though his concerns for the future of his family are weighing on his mind more than he chooses to admit. ‘It is not the first time that someone has tried to harm you and our child,’ he shifts his gaze to the side, watching Sarah as she continues to busy herself, remaining blissfully unaware of the wariness in his tone, ‘and now that Gaius knows about the baby…’

He utters his maker’s name with bitterness, every syllable spoken like venom on the tongue; as if by instinct, his muscles begin to tense, his expression glassy and vacant as he decides to press on, the hand that was once resting on her stomach now travelling up to take hold of her hand.

‘I don’t like doubting the intentions of every passer-by that graces our door,’ he leans closer, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, ‘but it is something I must do if I am to keep you both safe.’

‘I understand,’ her voice is quiet, barely audible to the ear, ‘but not everybody is out to get us, Adrian. The staff here are only trying to do their job.’ She gives his hand a comforting squeeze, the tension slowly easing from his body at her touch, ‘Don’t you think that they would have hurt me by now if they were working for Gaius?’

‘I just-’

‘I know,’ she greets him with a loving smile, her nose slightly crinkling at the gesture, ‘and that’s okay! I get that you want to protect us, but…you cannot spend the next six months fretting day and night over something that may never happen.’

‘This is Gaius, Amy; if he wants something, there is no telling how far he will go to get it.’

‘Then that is a problem for future Adrian.’

‘Amy…’

She reaches upwards, blessing his skin with a gentle caress as she cups his face in his hands, ‘I know that all this uncertainty hasn’t been easy to handle, and I understand why you are afraid,’ she releases a joyful sigh, her voice slowly trailing into a whisper, ‘but this should be a happy time. We’re about to see our baby; we’re going to see our little one for the very first time.’

He matches her enthusiasm, his words spoken with reminiscence.

‘I…I know.’

He looks over at the midwife, his stoic facade slowly fading as he observes her for a moment, taking a mental note of the care she is putting into each individual task; he turns his attention back to Amy, his fingertips grazing her knuckles as he reaches for her palm.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for…at least not to me.’

He follows her gaze to Sarah; understanding that he has overstepped, Adrian takes a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before gathering the courage to correct his mistake.

‘You have my sincerest apologies, Sarah,’ he shakes his head in self-frustration, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as his eyes drift back to Amy, his voice laden with regret and embarrassment. ‘The last thing I wanted to do was to cause any offence.’

She waves her hand dismissively, causing him to cease in his apology.

‘It’s okay,’ her attention does not stray from the monitor as she proceeds to press several buttons, ‘you’re not the first father-to-be that has questioned our practices.’

‘That still does not excuse my behaviour.’

‘There is nothing to excuse, Sir,’ Sarah sits back on her chair, drawing the machine closer to the bedside; she removes a bottle of gel from its holder before tilting the nozzle towards Amy’s abdomen, her gloved hand shifting a stray piece of tissue from the substance’s future path. ‘Amy is an exceedingly kind and compassionate young woman.’ She adjusts herself slightly, as if trying to access a better angle, ‘it is understandable that you feel protective of her.’

‘I fear sometimes that I am being too protective, but whenever I stop, I cannot help but feel as though something might happen to her if I allow myself to let my guard down.’

‘I wouldn’t say that you were being over-protective,’ she smiles up at him, ‘I have been an acting midwife for two decades; the things that have been said to me…’ she sighs, her focus never straying from the task at hand, ‘let’s just say I have had a lot worse thrown in my direction.’

‘But you are only doing your job.’

‘And I am grateful that you see it that way,’ she pauses, as if thinking over her next few words with caution, ‘the difference in this situation is that your concern was over the safety of Amy and your child, whereas theirs were more to do with the duration of the examination or advice that I had given their partners about a change of lifestyle as the pregnancy progressed. Again, these were suggestions; I was not going to force them to make these changes.’

‘But you’re a midwife,’ Amy states in befuddlement, her brows furrowing in her confusion, ‘you have a duty of care to both mother and baby. All you were doing was telling your patients how they could improve their lifestyle to make pregnancy easier…’

‘Unfortunately, not everybody sees it like that,’ her smile remains, ‘but it is nice to hear that someone agrees with me.’

She moves over to the desk, collecting Amy's patient file from the end of the bed before settling at the computer; she studies Amy's notes for a moment, her eyes skimming through her information without so much as a second thought, ‘this is your first child, correct?’

A tightness consumes Adrian’s chest, his breath slightly hitching in his throat as her words begin to replay in his mind.

The baby would indeed be Amy’s first child, that much was true.

But it wasn’t his.

He lowers his gaze to the floor, closing his eyes as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. It is only when Amy speaks that he looks back up at her, desperate to hear the softness of her comfort.

‘It-it’s my first,’ she lifts her gaze to meet Adrian’s, her brown doe-like eyes awash with reassurance and understanding; she greets him with an adoring smile, her fingers beginning to re-entwine with his, the tenderness in her touch acting as a silent understanding between them. ‘I-I have never done this before.’

'Well, I would be lying if I said it was easy,' the midwife quips, 'but to hold your baby in your arms for the very first time? Totally worth it.'

The woman places the transducer onto Amy’s skin, the coldness of the gel causing her to gasp in surprise. She pauses her examination, her gaze lifting to study Amy’s expression as she removes the device from her abdomen.

‘Are you alright?’ She reaches for a tissue, dabbing at a splotch of gel that has started to drift from Amy’s midsection. ‘Did I apply too much pressure?’

‘No, I…’ she shifts slightly, her fingers grasping onto the paper towel-like sheet that is poking out from underneath her, ‘it’s just colder than I thought it would be.’

‘My apologies,’ Sarah responds with a sympathetic smile, pressing the apparatus back on the spot just below her navel, ‘I probably should have warned you before I applied it.’

‘It…might have prepared me a little bit.’

Adrian chuckles softly, instinctively lifting Amy’s hand to his lips; he places a delicate kiss on her palm, his warm hand gently encasing her wrist.

‘It will warm up in time, sweetheart.’

‘I wonder if you would say the same if it was squeezed onto your tummy,’ she glances down at her growing bump, her tired eyes focusing on the device as it starts to move across her abdomen, ‘does it make it easier to see the baby?’

Sarah responds with a curt nod, her focus never wavering from the task at hand. She continues to alter the path of the transducer, as if trying to ensure that every inch of Amy’s abdomen is covered.

‘In a way,’ she presses down slightly, her gaze lifting only momentarily as she addresses her patient, ‘the gel acts almost like a connector of sorts. It reduces the amount of air between the scanner and your womb, so I am able to get a clearer image of the baby.’

‘Would the air bubbles distort the picture?’

The midwife raises her brow, regarding Amy with an expression of curiosity. She tilts her head in Amy’s direction, her subtlety instinctively succeeding in drawing Adrian’s attention.

‘She seems to know a lot about this subject, Mr Raines,’ a nervous laugh escapes her, and Adrian is quick to notice the faint curvature of bewilderment on her features, ‘is there some incredibly informative new parenting book that I am yet to become aware of?’

‘Not quite,’ he greets her with a soft smile, his tone becoming more animated as he continues his train of thought, ‘Amy’s pregnancy, it… took us by surprise to say the least.’ He reaches forward, gently pressing his hand to the Bloodkeeper’s cheek, ‘neither of us are experts on child-rearing, so we thought that it would be better to listen to first-hand accounts before delving into any parenting books.’

‘Sometimes it is best to listen to those that are closest to you,’ she nods in agreement, delicately changing direction of her examination as she glances back at the screen, ‘may I ask who this person this?’

‘Most of the advice we’ve had has been from my Sister-in-Law,’ Amy looks up at Adrian, whose hand rests firmly upon her shoulder, his grip supportive and familiar, ‘although my Mom has given me a few pointers that might help.’

‘It is always good to receive another mother’s advice, regardless as to whether she is your own,’ she smiles warmly at the pair, her happiness only brightening as she catches sight of the screen; the midwife refocuses her attention on the couple, her voice laced with excitement.

‘Are you ready to see your baby?’

‘Y-yes.’

She turns the monitor towards them, her right hand still slowly moving across Amy’s abdomen; at first, all Adrian and Amy can see is darkness, but as they focus on the screen, a soft, grey image comes into view.

‘Is…’ he hesitates, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes linger on the picture, ‘is that…’

‘It most certainly is.’

‘Woah…’

They both continue to look at the image, their mouths agape in wonder as they process what they are bearing witness to. After a couple of minutes, Amy glances up at Sarah, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears.

‘That’s…that’s our baby?’

She nods, reaching over to adjust the tissue that is tucked into Amy’s waistband. Using her free hand, she points to the screen.

'There’s the baby’s head, and if you look closely…’ she pauses, slowly rolling the device back down its original path, ‘you should be able to see their arms and feet.’

Amy fixes her gaze on the image, her eyes widening as the child’s features become visible. She turns to Adrian, a single tear trickling onto her cheek.

‘That’s our little one,’ she smiles excitedly, a nervous chuckle escaping her as her tears continue to fall, ‘I…this is really happening.’

He reaches for her hand, taking it in his own before lifting it up to lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

‘Neither can I,’ he flashes her a giddy grin, his gaze never straying from hers, ‘I never thought that I…that we could…’

Amy shakes her head, a nervous chuckle escaping her.

‘It’s… not exactly something that I thought would be happening to me.’

‘I thought so too, at least not for me,’ he looks at her earnestly, his gaze softening in adoration as he studies her features; he reaches up to caress her cheek, the pad of his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her skin, ‘but I’m so glad that I get to do this with you.’

[hogwartslivy]

Sometime Between Midnight and Morning.

If James and Lily Had Lived; Harry is 17.  

A heavy summer mist lay low over the quiet grounds of Potter Manor. It was closer to morning then it was to midnight, sometime in mid-August, and Harry Potter slept soundly with his window thrown open to catch the non-existent breeze in.  

A stack of books had been lying on his desk since arriving home from school; his intention being to get his holiday work out of the way before seeing Hermione again and getting told off. His broomstick was propped up next to his door, the real reason he hadn’t completed the homework. A couple of photographs littered his childhood bedroom. Mostly of Ron, Hermione and himself. They had met first year on the train and had been inseparable since. Most summers spent split at the others’ houses, or on holiday with one family or another. A few more depicted his early years, grinning next to his sister or content in the arms of one of his parents. The most recent sat on his bedside table. Ginny Weasley tucked under his arm, smiling up at him. When he thought about it, he couldn’t pinpoint the moment he’d fallen for her, but it had been hard and fast, all consuming. He remembered the sappy letter he had wrote to his father after learning she was dating Dean Thomas, explaining that he wanted to drop out because he just couldn’t bare seeing her with anyone else. James had written back, telling him to push Dean into the Black Lake and the giant squid would take care of the rest. Lily got word of James’ advice however and told Harry to be patient. So he was. Ginny won them the Quidditch House Cup, and he snogged her in front of the entire house.  

A rush of air passed through the window. The darkness shifted just enough to rouse Harry from sleep, squinting around the bedroom for the explanation. Something was moving near his door.  

“Maggie?” He called out.  

“Better.” A soft voice called back. More movement, a small rustling of clothing being stripped off and thrown carelessly among his own that was scattered on the floor, and a dip in the mattress made him reach for his glasses.  

She took the opportunity of his outstretched arm, slipping under his sheet and curling into his side. Immediately, a flowery smell took over his senses. His arm relaxed, realising who had crept into his bedroom so early in the morning.  

“What are you doing here?” He questioned. Although, he couldn’t say that he was completely upset by the intrusion. He shifted again, rolling onto his back again, her head following to rest on his chest. His outstretched arm curled around her; his fingers tracing patterns on her arm.  

She rested her hand over his heart, feeling the beat, “Missed you.”  

“So, what you –” He glanced over to where her voice had come from, a new broomstick leaning against his own, “—you flew?! Ginny that’s got to be at least forty-five minutes in the air!”  

“An hour, actually,” She said quietly, he could hear a hint of mischief present, as it often was, “Like I said, I missed you.”  

“Couldn’t wait till the weekend, for Diagon Alley?”  

“Too far away.”  

“Less then forty-eight hours.”  

“Shh. I’m trying to sleep, very tired, long flight.” She moved her hand across his shoulder, her hand finding his hair.

He laughed. He moved again, onto his side. Her hand sliding out of his hair, she turned too, pressing her back into his chest as his arms encircled her body; fitting together like missing puzzle pieces. His lips pressed in between her shoulder blades. His fingers traced the well-known patterns on her thigh, running under the elastic of her shorts when feeling brave. Ginny sighed, relaxing into his touch. Her life, while filled with love and laughter, offered little to no privacy at the best of times. She had come to realise that most things she did, she did them with an audience. She had never minded, in fact, Ginny knew she was a bit of show off. She liked people to know that she was tough, that she flew brilliantly, that could throw a powerful hex and mean it. She didn’t mind an audience. Except now, when she was with him, she did. Ron hovered, Hermione smiled knowingly, their parents planned their futures.  It had been evident that until they were out in the real world they would never be truly alone. Maybe not even then. So, when Ron had been bragging about all the plans that he had for him and Harry over the weekend in London, she had almost hit him with a Bat-Bogey Hex. It wasn’t fair, dating her brother’s best friend. Harry was always conflicted about who to spend time with, she normally won but she knew it hurt him to choose.  

She felt him press another kiss to her skin, and another, “I just wanted to see you… alone.” She whispered. His fingered dug into her hip.  

“I’m not complaining.” Another kiss, “I’m just saying it’s a long fly… and in the dark… what if something had happened…” Another, and another, “Your mother would have killed me.”  

She laughed, “Ah, so you’re worried about the wrath of Molly Weasley.”  

“Currently, she likes me better then Fleur and whoever Percy bought home last week, so yes. I’d like to stay the favourite.” He rested his chin at the nape of her neck.  

The darkness was lifting, the room around them starting to lighten. His fingers continued to trace patterns. Her breathing began to slow, and his eyes shut, content. Just like any couple the two of them had their fair share of arguments, sometimes about the smallest things. He remembered back to their last few weeks at Hogwarts. As a sixth year, there were no exams to worry about, only preparation work for his seventh year however Ginny was in fifth year and that meant sitting her OWL’s. He wanted to spend their free time by the black lake, toes skimming the water, wrapped up in each other. She needed to shut herself in the library to ensure she passed. He thought she was working too hard, and she thought he was trying to distract her on purpose. He called her irrational and she him selfish. They didn’t speak for an entire week, the longest they had ever gone not speaking since they had met. Harry was distraught the entire week, but his stubbornness overruled. Ginny spent that week unfocused and teary, and Ginny Weasley didn’t cry.  It wasn’t until she had collapsed in a defence lesson that the stalemate broke. Hermione had found out from Luna, who had carried the message from Terry Boot, and Harry had rushed to be by her side.I’m so sorry, he had said, I was being stubborn. Of course, you should study. I should be supportive. I’m so sorry.She ran a hand though his hair and told him to kiss her, the week already forgotten.  

The sun was halfway up now, “We never get time alone. Always someone around.”  

“We’re alone right now.” He said.  

“Exactly.”  

“I love you.”  

For a moment, she wasn’t entirely sure she had heard him correctly. It had been nothing more than a whisper and if she hadn’t been focusing solely on his breathing, the words may have been carried out the window and lost.  

“You’ve never said that before.” She said, blankly.  

“I love you.” He pressed his lips into her neck, “There. Now I’ve said it twice.”  

“Oh.”  

“Ok.” He said. His fingers continued their patterns and his breathing was a steady as it had been. She realised that he didn’t expect, didn’t need, her to say it back; only that he wanted to tell her, that he was ready to tell her.  

She let her eyes close again, trying to relax as her mind raced to make sense of her feelings. She had liked Harry for a long time. A lot longer than he had liked her, she knew that for sure, but when Cho Chang had stolen his attention, she was sure he had no interest in her. So, Hermione had told her to maybe date others. To perhaps look elsewhere because as much as Hermione considered Harry her brother and loved him very much, she thought he was thick and couldn’t see what was in front of him. Ginny took her advice, dating Terry Boot for a while and then Dean Thomas. They had bored her, as harsh as it is to say, but it was the truth. Harry fought with her, he challenged her opinions and told her when she was being a brat. He matched her in Quidditch and wasn’t afraid to beat her. He was just as jealous as she was, and as protective over his family as she was hers. He was her equal.  

“I love you too.”

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