#blood and boogers

[banisheed]

TIMING: A few weeks ago LOCATION: Some fancy penthouse PARTIES: Siobhan ( @banisheed ) and Metzli ( @muertarte ) CONTENT: Unsanitary TW (for blood and boogers) SUMMARY: Siobhan thinks the banshee she's looking for might be someone by the name of Regis Crotch. She enlists the help of Metzli to confront Regis at a party.

Siobhan was used to not being invited to parties; she had spent a long time cultivating a prickly attitude and a crude persona. She was proud of all she accomplished pretending to be an uncaring woman only interested in bones and having fun (a redundant statement). Yet, when Siobhan found out she was not invited to an exclusive party hosted by artsy types the likes of which she had never once interacted with or cared to, she was a little offended. At least in part because Regis Crotch was supposed to be in attendance and she really needed to see this Regis; her list of them was running thin and eventually she was sure to come up on the one she was looking for. As it turned out, hounding the host for an invite wasn’t the way to go about getting one. Thankfully, someone she knew had gotten one.

“Thanks again for doing this,” Siobhan smiled at Metzli. She adjusted her clothing, a tight but not revealing black dress and the deep red blazer she had draped over her shoulders. This party was hosted at one of those pretentious high-end lofts with the vaulted ceilings and the personal rooftop terraces and so, dressing well was expected. Though, even if it hadn’t been, Siobhan would have done so anyway. “Do you get invited to these things often?” She asked as they entered the building and she punched in the floor number on the elevator that just opened up. “Or--better question--do you come to these parties often? Any parties?” The door beeped and clunked shut; a rumbling and the telltale downward gravitation push of an elevator shooting up filled the enclosed space. The building was nice, but in the way renovated things often were; with enough old moldy corners and musty smells to make it still feel like there was some character left laying around. 

—

Metzli didn’t like social occasions, going as far as to decline harshly in order to deter any future invites. Admittedly, the people who had invited them were impressively persistent. They’d never seen anyone take so much rejection and still have enough gumption to keep requesting. Metzli supposed it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. They had an up and coming gallery that, while still getting its legs, had drawn enough attention. Oddly enough, the fact that forgers disappeared left and right had given MuertArte a reputation that artists and their managers enjoyed. 

Something about upholding impeccable standards by any means necessary. Needless to say, Metzli was a master of their craft, and it was paying off. Somewhat. The parties, they could do without. “Only ask that you help me when I am struggling with sound. Too many people. Hate it. Make me want to stab. Might stab if I do not keep calm.” They rambled, stressed their hand through their hair and adjusted their tie. “Invited a lot, but never go because I hate people—” The elevator shut and Metzli tensed. It was the kind of machinery they still hadn’t gotten used to. “And elevators. Hate elevators.” The confined space and whirring would’ve had them clawing at the doors if they hadn’t grounded themself by unconsciously reaching for Siobhan’s hand. They promptly let go and shook the tension away as best they could with an expression of embarrassment. “Sorry.” 

—

Siobhan was used to stumbling through her life without caring about the people around her; she was a force of nature, dragging people along this way or that. The only people she had to stop to think about were the fae and, well, she didn’t really have to worry about them anymore. Not yet, at least. If Regis Crotch was her girl, then she could get back to the life she was meant to live. Instead, however, Metzli reached for her hand and Siobhan stared at it. Then at Metzli. She did consider that Metzli would hate the party but she didn’t consider what that meant, exactly. Or if Metzli would have preferred taking the stairs instead. Suddenly, her stomach sank and not in any way the elevator was responsible for. Guilt crawled up into her throat and squeezed. She had spent all her time cultivating her beloved prickly attitude that she forgot why she did it: Siobhan did care, immensely. When she was living with her family, it was easier to pretend she didn’t. All these years away from them had frayed her into something raw and ugly. She needed Regis. She needed to get back. She couldn’t keep living like this taut and vulnerable thing.  

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I-I should have asked. If it helps….” Siobhan took her glove off, reaching her hand out and holding it palm up for Metzli to take if they wanted. “If you look at the numbers, it helps…or it did for me when I was a child. It’s a countdown; you know when the doors are going to open and you can get out. It’s not like being locked in some place. This has an end and it’s showing itself to you.” She smiled lightly and pointed up with her other hand. The elevator dinged again as they reached their floor and the doors slid open as promised. 

Siobhan stepped out. There was a short hallway leading into the only apartment on the floor, the illustrious penthouse of pretentious art party fame. At the door, a muscular man in a finely tailored black suit stood watch and Siobhan bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. She supposed the exclusive aspect was rather serious and was at once happy that she’d asked Metzli to come rather than trying to get in herself. “If it gets too loud, there’s a rooftop terrace we can escape to. And if that’s too loud I can scream, that usually gets people to shut up.” She smiled softly. “Are you ready to go in? Or do you want another minute out here where it’s still quiet?” 

—

Siobhan was right. Looking at the numbers did help. They were counting up, not counting down, but there was an end, as she said. Each beep brought them a floor closer to the exit, and despite hating parties, their destination couldn’t come fast enough. Metzli watched the number change and laced their fingers with Siobhan’s. The familiar coolness gave the vampire a semblance of relief, and the tension they were holding inside released in one large exhale. They were thankful Siobhan had a quiet kindness to her, that she extended her heart in her own way after everything she’d had taken from her. 

In many ways, she reminded Metzli of themself, but that was what struck a chord most with them. Her life was carved away to make room for what others needed her to be. To serve until she could no longer give herself in any capacity. No room for anything else besides her higher power. It was a disheartening reality, a double edged sword. Each cut begging to spread over more skin, and Siobhan truly believed she wanted to be marked. Maybe she did, but something told Metzli there was lingering doubt, a truer version of herself that wanted to be free. But perhaps that was them simply growing lost in their thoughts and projecting. 

“Hm?” Oh. The elevator doors had opened, and without realizing it, Metzli had been led outside. They were standing outside the entrance of the party and they were touched that Siobhan was once again taking them into consideration. Of course, she took the liberty of adding her own flair of humor. “Go in. Faster in, faster out.” Metzli led the two toward the security and stated their name to the unnecessary security guard. The two were inside in a blink, and the pretentious energy in the air alone tasted rancid and Metzli wanted to gag.  They took to adjusting their suit jacket to give themself something to fuss with, an attempt to keep calm and focused on Siobhan’s task. “How do we look for your friend?”

—

The party was, as Siobhan assumed parties of these natures were, dripping with the air of self-importance. From the few conversations she could overhear, a competition of who-could-say-the-longest-word was waged in one and random French words occupied another. The art on display itself was…. Siobhan turned to Metzli. She wouldn’t call a Pollock ugly and she did know the historical significance of Malevich's Black Square but what she saw was no better than colorful squiggles and bright splotches. There didn’t appear to be rhyme or reason to them and the conversations around her consisted of people trying to ascertain the meaning lest they appear like the dumbest in the room. Siobhan wasn’t a fan. Say the work was shite and move on. “Is this art?” She asked her companion. If anyone would be the authority on artistic expression, she thought it would be Metzli. 

Regarding their question though, Siobhan shrugged. “I thought we would just ask people,” she said. “Or yell.” She paused. “Or walk around aimlessly eating French cheese.” And at that, she grabbed cheese off a plate being offered to her and chewed it slowly. It had that funk fancy cheeses often did, the sort of thing that told her this was aged in complete darkness--which was not unlike how she thought these humans had grown up. Lacking patience however, Siobhan grabbed the nearest person and pulled them into the conversation. “Where’s Regis Crotch?” As soon as the person pointed at someone far off, Siobhan shoved them aside. “Easy. See?” 

The person pointed out seemed to be the most darkness dwelling of the bunch; someone attired in a low-cut v-neck shirt and a thick red scarf. They adjusted their beret, swirling their wine very slowly. From the distance, Siobhan couldn’t tell if they were a woman--banshee or human. “Shall we go?” 

—

At Siobhan’s questions, Metzli took a few glances around, all the pieces minimal and abstract. There was no depth, no actual forethought in any of the pieces on display. Maybe a few of the statues had some value, but that was only because Metzli couldn’t exactly place what they lacked. They were overfilled clusters of messes, not seeming to have any rhyme or reason. Metzli grumbled, about to answer when a pretentious-looking man tapped on their shoulder. 

“Excuse me—are you Mx. Bernal from MuertArte?” 

Looking the man up and down, a look of distaste began to take shape on Metzli’s face, breaking any stoicity. But only for a moment. “Yes,” They replied, someone brushing against them to move past. “Do not want to talk.” Another person bumped into them. “Please leave me alone.” Sounds became louder and light became brighter, raising Metzli’s anxiety significantly. Taking a steadying breath, they refocused on Siobhan, reaching for her hand and gripping it tightly. They should go. She’d found the man. It was the perfect excuse. 

“Let’s go,” Metzli rushed the pair in the direction of this Regis Crotch, their mind set on the first objective. “What do we do once we get to them? I can…I have thrall. Can tell them to follow.” It wasn’t something Metzli particularly liked using, but if it was for a just cause, they could put those uneasy feelings aside. 

—

Siobhan squeezed back on Metzli’s hand, assuring them of her presence and the comfort she hoped to occupy for them. She wasn’t completely heartless, despite what basic banshee education might imply. Her affection, far from vocal or obvious, began and ended with her tugging Metzli close to her, holding them, and shooting sharp glances at anyone else that recognized the artist. When they reached Regis Crotch, Siobhan’s mistake was obvious but something else broke the flush of embarrassment. 

Regis Crotch was not a particular handsome man or an intelligent one or a kind one. What he lacked in favorable qualities he made up for in arrogance. To the podcasts he listened to, averageness was simply a state of mind. Regis Crotch fancied himself an artist—  he had a few thousand Instagram followers of his exquisite A.I art. So, of course, he called himself one. Recently he typed a particularly delicious set of words into the A.I art prompt program that gave him a series of beautiful anime-styled women that were doing the rounds. Artists went to these sorts of parties and so, Regis had come despite his cold. Yes, he was sniffling up a storm in his little corner but it was his little corner and as a man of America, he was allowed to sniffle. When he went to wipe his nose, a thick spread of boogers sat on his fingers like jam. Sparing a quick glance around the party he figured there was no harm and no foul in making a tissue of the work of art he was looking at. 

He would have screamed at the sudden presence of two bodies beside him if not for his attention stuck on how artsy his boogers blended with the globs of paint; he really was an artist. One was a pretty woman that he would certainly get to later with his practiced charms, the other was a surprising face. “Mx. Bernal from MuertArte?” He grinned wide, sticking out his one boogered hand for a shake. 

Siobhan couldn’t say ‘this man disgusts me let’s push him off the roof’ with her mouth but she hoped the look she offered Metzli said it all. And yes, maybe they ought to thrall him. 

—

Though their smile didn’t reach their eyes, still wide and stale from the need to hide in the void, Metzli felt content and at ease. Siobhan, while keeping people at arm’s length, still held them close and cared enough to ease their anxieties. “I appreciate this.” Metzli muttered, keeping their eyes downcasted to avoid making contact with anyone else’s. By the time the pair had reach Siobhan’s target, their eyes had risen to meet with Regis’, and their back stiffened with disgust. 

“Yes, that is me and I already do not like you.” They continued, voice still dry, but quick in a way that showed their discomfort. Especially when they began to ramble. “Did you know your hands are covered with mocos? That is disgusting. I will not touch that hand but I am going to punch you now.” Letting go of Siobhan’s hand, Metzli’s hand, as promised, flashed too quickly to stop, crunching Regis’s nose with a powerful punch. Unfortunately for the vampire, making contact with his nose led to his boogers attaching to their knuckles and the sensation sent their nerves flaring with a sensation that felt wrong. 

Regis groaned in pain, cupping his nose, which now began to coat his hands with both boogers and blood. This wouldn’t normally be a problem, but in a room full of people, red eyes and fangs weren’t exactly ideal. Metzli grabbed for Regis’s arm, staring into his eyes until they went blank with obedience. “Follow us without making scene.” They looked to Siobhan, waiting for her to take the lead.

—

Siobhan had no qualms with this. For the fact that Regis Crotch had the audacity to be the wrong Regis— be a man when she was looking for a rebellious banshee— was enough to warrant a murder. For his boogers he certainly should have got more. As Metzli sprung into action, taking out Regis’s nose in one swift motion, she giggled with delight. As he held his broken nose, overcome with boogers and blood and then put under Metzli’s spell, she had to restrain herself from skipping through the party. Siobhan knew she needed to be careful, they didn’t need any attention as they moved. She led them through the far end of the condo, past a poorly designed barrier and up a set of stairs to the empty rooftop terrace, where the sounds of the party died and left nothing but the night air and the occasional hum of a passing car. 

“What do you want to do?” Siobhan grinned, skipping around Regis. “Throw him off the roof? Oh! But that might attract too much attention. If we kill him here, it might be some time before his body is found and I think I see a ladder coming down the side of the roof.” Whatever happened to Regis, it hadn’t been decided yet— Fate hadn’t given her a vision, Death didn’t want its cry. Regis existed in the thin space between life and death; he might still live if he could somehow break from Metzli’s thrall and run. More likely though, as soon as Metzli’s mind was made up on what fun they wanted to have, Siobhan would have a scream to swallow and a show to watch. The seconds before Death, where the promise of it loomed in the air, were always the most fun for Siobhan. “I leave the choice to you, Metzli.” She stopped skipping around, smiling at the vampire. “I think it can be great stress relief after that horrible, horrible party.” 

—

Getting to the rooftop was a blur, the thick mixture of blood and mucus doing well to keep Metzli distracted from the snake of hunger constricting their throat. Bite…bite…bite…It became a chant in their head, as it always did when a meal was ripe and ready. They wanted to make him thrash, buck like prey. Did they have the time? The thought made Metzli blink, logic hard to come by in that hungry state. They were quick to latch onto it and look at Siobhan to keep themself grounded as they answered her question. 

“I want to eat him.” Their voice was a robotic drone as usual, but less so with the losing battle of control. Metzli’s stomach tightened uncomfortably and they stood straighter, clenching their jaw enough to crack their teeth. Control was waning. Hell, it was practically gone. “I’m going to—” Metzli interrupted themself, fangs throbbing with pain and pulling them toward Regis’s throat to relieve the pressure. The release was instant, blood coating their tongue with its intoxicating umamic properties. And thanks to Metzli’s thrall, he made no call for help, no sniffle to save himself from the dripping mucus trailing down his chin. 

At that point, Metzli hardly minded the mess that stained their suit, the blood much too potent to give themself pause. They consumed for several minutes, long after Regis went limp, until they finally threw him to the side. Blood coated their mouth and cheeks, the remnants dripping from their jaw. “That made that party worth it.”

—

Heat coiled up Siobhan's body, like a shot of whiskey gone in reverse. Her lungs expanded, pressing against her ribs. At the back of her throat, a bead encased with fire formed, stopping her from inhaling; begging her to exhale. A banshee scream wasn’t just some thing her body did, it was an impulse, a reflex, as natural as blinking and as inescapable as a yawn. Some humans thought they possessed great bodily control if they could hold back a sneeze, Siobhan thought they should try being stabbed and see how much control they possessed after that. In perfect form, without the flicker of expression across her face, her scream was swallowed as if nothing was felt inside her body at all. She didn’t want to disturb Metzli’s feeding and, anyway, she didn’t need the death vision; the show was just about to begin. 

Regis Crotch died the same way he lived: limp. When it was done, Siobahn erupted in applause; heady from the sensation of death. She made no effort to glamour the dark veins that branched along her skin-- Metzli had just given her a wonderful performance, they deserved to see a banshee’s beauty in full. She flung her arms around the bloody Metzli, pulling them into a hug before she remembered that they probably wouldn’t like a hug. She let go sheepishly. “Apologies, that was just…so beautiful. Life literally drained from him; it was lovely!” To say Siobhan was ecstatic didn’t explain the almost uncharacteristic giggle that left her lips-- she was more than pleased; it didn’t even matter that Metzli was an abomination by every banshee standard. “You’re so attractive when you’re covered in blood. Come, if you’re good to walk, we should head down the ladder and enjoy a nice quiet stroll.”

—

The hug was unexpected, nearly disturbing enough to make the vampire flinch and bristle, like a feral kitten serving out a warning. But to their surprise, instead of a harsh reaction, Metzli wrapped their arm firmly around Siobhan. She didn’t need to pull away, not yet. They trusted the banshee, enjoyed her company and the way she made them feel positive about themself. It was give and take, by the looks of it, too. She had gotten a show and Metzli had gotten praise, not unlike the ovations Honey had given them. They were a beautiful monster in the eyes of their friends.

Metzli pulled away, their eyes still wild and untamed from all the stimulation. When they stood straight and looked down at Siobhan, they saw the way black veins weaved and framed her face, a beautiful web of death beneath her skin. With a hint of a smile curling the corner of their lips, Metzli let their awe take over their hand, landing it at Siobhan’s cheek so their thumb could graze her skin. She knew her beauty, Metzli knew that. How could they not? Siobhan had made that very clear as often as she could. Still, the words on their tongue slipped past their lips like a waterfall of saccharine. 

“You are…” Their eyes were unblinking and awkwardly wide. “Beautiful.” Metzli’s thumb gave Siobhan’s flesh one last brush before they pulled away and looked toward the ladder they were just referred to. A walkdid sound nice, but a ladder was boring. There was a much better use of their newfound energy from feeding. “Better than good to walk. We jump.” A full smile reached Metzli’s lips, and they threw Siobhan over their shoulder as they burst into a sprint toward the edge of the building. 

[pawzofchaos]

SPOILERS FOR TOTAL DRAMA S2//

here’s some super cool s2 fan art and stuff

[verflares]

have been working on some (semi) doodle sheets for practice purposes but i think i mightve stumbled into the prettiest link ive drawn yet instead

[cowplant-pizza]

sorry for being semi mia again, i didnt mean to!! i’ve made some big-ish life changes the past few weeks and i’ve just been adapting to those as well as having an awful fall in the garden the other day that flared up the pain in my arms and legs

but im looking to get back into my game tomorrow and also my latest bloom lp episode will upload to youtube tonight!!!

[simfuldelights]

My nose is super sensitive, especially while pregnant, and I’ve got long nails so it’s easy to accidentally scrape the inside of my nostril just a tiny bit and then be covered in blood 🙃

[queenboimler]

ohmygod it was made out of BOOGERS?!?

im literally going to be sick, i'd never travel with the doctor again after that

[mostdefinitelyahumanperson]

ugh i think i accidentally cursed myself again 🙄 i dont have the energy to cleanse myself and my house, guess ill just live with it 😒

[houseplantcreature]

Yes, this is gross, I'm sorry, the prompt was 'booger' and this is what came out of my pen.

Inktober 2022, Day 23, Booger

[ghostslazy]

Extremely rough first stab at the Taz Vs. Dracula lineup bc I love them all so so much already and don’t have the time to finish a lineup of characters for fun rn 🥲

Close up sketches, design notes and surprise drac under the break:

Travis’ characters are always the hardest for me to design idk why, but I made him very western inspired with some vampire hunting flair. Lady Agatha Thistle’s breed was one I hadn’t heard of before but I love a good blood hound. I always end up making Travis’s chapters warm toned, they’re all very red/orange coded to me. (Beef would be the exception I think he’s very pink and blue in my mind)

Clint always makes the sweetest roundest characters I love designing his. I wish we had a cannon spelling because there’s so many directions you can go with “Filo” also his characters are usually green or green adjacent to me. I cant wait to see him bust out more booger potions

Justin never misses with a character and I cling onto every single one he makes so quickly and violently it’s getting embarrassing. I like the idea that she would still dress extremely fancy and posh even tho her new body should be in some battle ready armor. Also I made her blue since she is a Frankenstein’s monster and most likely wouldn’t have the blood flow to have a human color. Plus I love the monster high color palettes so I’m referencing a little bit. Justin has very cool coded characters to me, lots of blue and purple and forest greens.

Probably not sticking with this Dracula design but I want him to love a bit more silly and slick, I think having him be lanky and shorter will pair him very well against our rough and rowdy boys

[shysideho]

Every winter I had a nosebleed at some point and after it stopped I have what I called a Load Bearing Booger that I can't remove or else my nose will bleed again

[gryphonablaze]

Based on the kiki/boba principle, I think that blood clots should instead be called blood globs. They’re very squishy

[ibbythebee]

Hospital Wing Hermits

gif credit: @handknit on wattpad

pairing: Neville Longbottom x year younger!reader

summary: From Neville's second year at Hogwarts to his last, his most memorable times with you have been spent in the hospital wing.

genre: fluffiness all round, slight angst at the end... but only a little, slow-burny

warnings: this fic is so soft that you will potentially combust, slight swearing, SO MUCH hand holding, the reader is an oblivious goofball until she's not, kissing, talks about illnesses and injuries, blood and boogers

words: 6k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 2nd Year

Clutching onto Madame Pomfrey is nothing new to Neville. In the middle of the night, however, is a different story. The Nurse coos whenever the boy makes the slightest sound of pain, holding him up as not to put anymore pressure on his right foot.

"We're just about there, dear. Come on, just a few more steps..."

Leading him to the middle of the hospital wing's room, she then guides him onto an untouched bed, and immediately slides a pillow underneath his ankle. A spot of light on the opposite side of the room does not go unnoticed to either the woman or boy as soon as they had entered the room.

Neville rubs his eyes, squinting at the strange glowing mound of sheets. He watches as, with a sigh, Madame Pomfrey marches to the other preoccupied bed and pulls over the white covers to reveal you, a sheepish looking girl.

Under the light of your wand, your face looks puffy, lips and nose chapped, hair amuck. You cough into your elbow and smile a toothy innocent smile, batting your big eyes at the woman, silently pleading your innocence.

Pomfrey, however, does not play games. "Turn off that incessant light, Miss L/N. Do you realise what time it is?"

Your lips shape into a pout, voice stuffy as you answer. "But Madame Pomfrey, it's so boring here. I'm bored."

"No, you should be asleep. Turn that off right now. I don't want to have to send another owl to your mother about you refusing medical help."

"Just a few more minutes please? I'll finish the page I'm reading."

"Absolutely not. It's basic manners and respect for your fellow peer." She motions to Neville, and you finally turn to him.

Despite the fatigue in your features, your eyes seem to glow, piercing through the dark room. Perhaps it's just his lack of sleep or absence of light, but there is something drawing him to you and he fails to look away. Nothing comes out of his mouth even though he knows he's probably supposed to greet you, but neither do you.

A second longer you stare at your new roommate and in eventual defeat, you pout. The light from your wand fades, as you mumble 'nox' under your breath and get comfortable under the blankets.

Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey clears the rubbish bin underneath your bed and turns back to Neville handing him a small flask of some sort of healing potion.

"All right. Off to bed now both of you. Good night, dears."

You both mutter a 'goodnight', closing your eyes, gingerly pulling the covers up to your chins.

It stays mostly quiet in the room, apart from the Nurse's shuffling. Though as time passes, shoes click and click away, and then the door creaks shut.

"Psst!"

Neville stirs.

"Hey, psst!"

"Huh?" Is all Neville can manage, lifting his head with a groggy squint.

"What happened to you?" You ask in a loud whisper and sniffle. Sitting straight, and staring right at him. Your eyes really are big, inquisitive.

"Well I... twisted my ankle," he finally says.

"How?"

"I... I'd rather not say. It's embarrassing, really."

"I won't tell anyone," you say as-a-matter-of-factly. "You can hex me if I do."

He looks at you through narrow eyes again and this time it's your teeth that glow. As you show no interest in falling asleep, Neville's neck admits defeat and his head crashes back down onto the pillow. "Can we just please go to sleep?"

"I caught a cold... or maybe a fever. Runny nose—" you sniff, wiping your face with your pajama sleeve "—wet cough, high temperature. My mum says I have a weak immune system."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" He comments half-heartedly to the ceiling.

"No, it isn't."

Silence. For a moment, he believes that you've finally surrendered yourself.

"So how'd you twist your ankle in the middle of the night?"

Never mind.

"You don't seem like a rule-breaker," you say.

He carefully shuffles up to sit and sighs. Where on earth did you get your energy from? He hadn't met such a talkative first year before.

Neville takes a moment to answer, debating on whether or not you're harmless enough for him to be vulnerable. "I had a nightmare, okay? I fell off my bed and... landed badly."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" You echo.

"No, it isn't."

Silence once again ensues, but this time Neville's ready for your chatterbox mouth.

"What's your name? I'm..." You suddenly stop and he nearly laughs when your silhouette jerks and you sneeze. It's loud, like his Gran.

"Nice to meet you, Achoo." He chuckles, holding a hand over his mouth.

You sniff again, face hot in a new wave of humiliation, and this time you wipe your face with more aggression. "Hey, that's not funny! My name is — A-ACHHHOO!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He can't help but laugh again. Relishing in the groan you emit and how furiously you blow your nose.

With a poke of your tongue, you retort. "Whatever, Mr... mm... Fall-out-of-bed...n-nightmare-broken-ankle-boy."

"Wow, that's really fantastic, Achoo." He slides back down into his bed, closing his eyes with content and tries to hold in his giggles as you continue with determination to clear up your mistake.

Initially, Neville thought he wouldn't even be able to get in a nap, but now with the understanding that you bark more than you bite, he creates a silly image of you in the form of a puppy. As your voice rings in the background, the puppy image barks with you, and he feels his eyes grow heavy, falling into a content and nightmare-less sleep.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 4th Year

Ever since sleeping the night in the hospital wing, Neville knew he'd be seeing more of you. It was surprising to him that he hadn't noticed you before that night, especially seeing as you were such a social butterfly. And despite being in the year below, he'd always manage to catch your eyes in the Great Hall. And in the courtyard. And in the halls. And through a classroom window. You were everywhere and anywhere. And when you weren't, you were in bed in the hospital wing.

Just like you are now. The fourteen-year-old hadn't seen you for the past few weeks after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and needless to say, he had to see you.

And such a perfect opportunity had arose today, albeit a painful one, but an opportunity none the less.

Neville opens the door to the wing as gently as possible as not to wake you, however knowing you, you probably already were.

Entering the room, he clutches his sore hand to his ribs and cranes his neck to spot the nurse. Instead he finds your lying form under a mountain of blankets.

You stir, and Neville curses at his shoes for making so much noise. Sure, his intention of coming here was to see you, but he’d seldom seen you in such a peaceful state and didn’t want to ruin that for you.

“Neville?” He hears you say and then you’re facing him.

He smiles down at you, with a voice just as soft as silk. "Hey, Achoo. Didn't mean to wake you. How you feeling?”

“I’m feeling alright. Kinda headache-y, but fine. Ugh, what time is it?” You rub your eyes and stretch as you sit up.

The messiness of your bed-hair is incredibly endearing and the curve in Neville’s lips only grow at the sight.

“It’s third period.”

“Then… what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

You’re suddenly on your feet, eyes round and wide, taking in the scene of the tall boy. He flinches, attempting to hide his hand in his robe sleeve.

You snatch his hand, bringing it close to your face. It’s a burn. All over the back of his palm. "Bloody hell— Where's Madame Pomfrey?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." A small chuckle falls from his lips as you examine him. Somehow, in some miracle he watches your big eyes grow larger as you twist his hand, move his long fingers to get as much information about his wound.

He feels like he’s going crazy, your touch is a new kind of burn on his skin. It doesn’t sting, but it is hot. And you don’t even know you’re causing it.

"She's always gone when you actually need her,” you huff.

"It's not as bad as it looks, really. Just hurts a little when I move it."

"What about when I...?" You drift off, as you slide a delicate thumb over his beet-red knuckles.

The tips of his ears turn the same shade of red. "Stings."

With no further words, he lets you pull him to one corner of the hospital wing, searching for a particular ointment on the many shelves of medical supplies. You don't let go of his hand, and he doesn't dare pull away.

"Let me guess how it happened—" you say, grabbing a round jar of blue gel to read the label.

"Seamus." You both state and then share a laugh.

Placing the jar back, you continue your search and Neville fills the comfortable silence. "It's Potions class. For once I thought I was doing pretty decent and then next thing I know, Seamus' cauldron blows up next to me and of course I get the damage."

His hand is held up to your face again and he watches as you grab a new jar with a less solid looking gel, creamy in colour.

"I suppose it's a good way for me to get out of the rest of the class," he shrugs.

"And get away from Snape," you quip and earn a chuckle from him. There was a time in Neville’s third year, when you had come to learn about his amusing boggart. He’d snuck into the hospital wing, claiming he had a nasty headache and ended up staying the night, neither of you getting a wink of sleep. It had also been revealed that the thing you were most frightened of was giants.

“Sit down,” your motioning to the mattress behind him.

He does so without question, still attached to you by your pinkie, making himself comfortable on the edge of a neatly tucked bed. He follows your every action as you place the ointment jar beside his thigh and open the lid. You scoop a teaspoon amount with your fingers and lifted his burnt hand again.

Before the cream touches his burn, you begin to tell him about what illness you've caught today and he barely feels the sting of the medicine. There's no better spell or potion to kill pain than your voice, that much was evident even back when he first met you.

Concentration laces your features and unbeknownst to you, your hips hit the edge of the mattress, unaware to the fact that Neville's knees are on either side of you.

The sight of you between him for some reason makes it difficult for him to swallow. The urge to trap you with his legs increases by the second. "Hey, Y/N?"

You wipe off excess ointment on your pajama top and turn your attention to him. He rarely called you by your first name. Something's up.

"Yeah?"

"Well, the erm... You know in a week or so?"

"Mhm?"

There's a pause as he searches your eyes for confidence, then he finally announces. "Would you say you're a good dancer?"

Creases form between your brows and you pout at the question, really thinking it over. If there was anything else Neville had learnt about you was that you always answered his queries with great interest and thought. You never treat his questions as though they're dumb, and he’s come to adore you for that.

As you ponder, he slides his non-burnt hand under yours, idly fiddling with your delicate fingers; tracing around the length of them, lifting them up and dropping them one by one, and eventually laying his palm flat on top of yours. Were his hands always this big?

The tips of your fingers tap-tap against his, as you finally answer. "I suppose... I would like to think I am."

"Well... that's good to hear."

"What about you?"

"Oh me?" He finds your face and swallows thickly. "I've been practicing lately, so I can only hope I've improved."

A giggle breaks free from your lips and it’s music to his ears. "Practicing? Whatever for?"

"The Yule Ball, of course."

"The..." The creases near your brows form again. "I've completely forgotten about that."

He squeezes a finger of yours. "So, no one's asked you yet?"

You sneeze into your elbow and then for a second time, and your voice becomes stuffy to the amusement of Neville. "Asked me what?"

"Asked you to be their date, of course."

"Oh. No." Scoffing. "Being stuck in here means no social-life. And besides—" You spin around quick to grab a roll of bandage, and gingerly flatten it over his burn "—who's gonna want to dance with someone who sneezes every five minutes?"

"I would."

"That's what I thought — wait... you would?"

In an effort to look nonchalant, Neville shrugs, finding interest in a bird that's flying near the window. The tips of his ears poking out of his shaggy hair are giving you a different response, they're blushing.

You finish with his wound and step away from the bed, fingers feeling cold when you let go of him.

Upon inspection of your medical handiwork, he smiles gently. He hadn't felt a thing. "Thanks for this."

"I... I can't guarantee that I'll be completely healthy that day," you say.

"The Yule Ball?"

You nod in an almost embarrassed way, as you fiddle with the collar of your sleeping clothes.

Neville just shakes his head. "The suit my Gran got for me has a lot of pockets so I’ll carry all your tissues for you. Or anything else you might need, I'll keep them for you."

"That'sssss.... ACHHU!"

"Bless you. So what do you say? Would you... want to go with me? Maybe? I promise not to step on your feet."

"Miss L/N?! What on earth are you doing out of bed?!"

"MADAME POMFREY!" You both exclaim, faces and necks feeling hot.

"Come on, dear, why don't you ever follow simple orders?!"

Mumbles of pathetic protest fall from your lips as the woman drags you back to the other side of the room. You knock into Neville’s knee on the way and so he’s quick to follow behind you with his own incoherent babble about the burn on his hand.

You're settled under the blankets once again and watch as the nurse's eyes bulge at the sight of the tall boy's perfectly cared for palm. She inspects the bandage, inquires about the pain and what the cause was, all while Neville can't keep the flushed look off his face.

"She— well... Y/N helped me out. It doesn't hurt anymore, I'm fine now, Ma'am."

As the said woman keeps a hold of his hand, she turns to you with daggers. "What did you use? A potion? Spell, perhaps? Mr Longbottom could have severe side-effects if you're not careful."

"He won't," you grin toothily as you did back in your first year and point to the shelf in the right corner. "I used the ointment that you gave Theodore Nott not that long ago. Haha, Nott not."

Neville stifles a laugh, and isn't surprised when the nurse doesn't question you further. You might be the only student that can get away with arguing with Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse's face instead takes the form of an appreciative and impressed expression. It's only natural that with your ‘weak immune system’, you've gained as much medical knowledge as you have colds and flus.

"I'll admit, you've done a splendid job with Neville. However, you simply cannot use whatever you like, whenever you like, on whomever you like. Next time this happens you need to wait for me to return, alright? Is that understood?"

Taking a glance at Neville's sheepish state, you sigh and nod in response.

"And Neville dear, don't encourage this behaviour. Especially not from Miss L/N."

"Okay, Ma'am."

She gives the boy a goodbye and immediately turns to you, a full on lecture spilling from her mouth. He isn’t supposed to leave yet, not when he’s just finally had the courage to ask you out.

Neville finds your helpless gaze behind the woman’s shoulder, and sends you a sad sort of smile before turning on his heel to get to the door.

"I-I'll go with you!" You yell.

The tall boy pauses, heart flipping at your words.

"To the Yule Ball."

There’s no stopping the grin that forms, and he finally nods after a second, hair shaking with the action.

Your eyes speak to him as your own smile appears.

Meanwhile, the woman huffs and puffs, cleaning the area around your bed. "Not in this state, you won't."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 5th Year

The last time Neville was in the hospital wing, he'd come to talk to you about his recent endeavours in Herbology and let slip that he's been secretly practicing defensive magic with a group of other students, being taught by none other than Harry himself. There was no doubt that you would also be trusted enough to join, however seeing as you were once again bed-ridden, it felt best to keep it a secret until you got better.

Now it wasn't a secret anymore, and each time he'd visit you'd ask him to put in a good word with Harry, with the group. Neville always said he would, but he never did, fearing that Professor Umbitch would eventually catch onto you and you'd have to pay the ultimate price.

Karma is an Umbitch, however, and now it looks as if the only answer to Neville's current predicament is to let you join Dumbledore's Army, despite all his worries and his efforts to stop you from doing that.

Today’s DA training has been cut short, due to the fact that the fifteen-year old is now incapacitated. Blood refusing to slow down from his nose.

Going to Madame Pomfrey would've required him to come up with a believable story as to what happened, so the next best thing was to send for you, someone who already knows about this secret group.

"Neville!" A Ravenclaw boy shouts, interrupting his thoughts. "Your Bogey Bug is here— ow!"

Someone smacks the kid, and then suddenly the Weasley twins are leading you into the Room of Requirement. You stand over him, adorning new pajamas he hadn't seen before.

"Hey Achoo," he weakly smiles. "Thanks for coming."

The DA gather around, as you crouch to his side and immediately take the cloth he's been holding to his nose. You make a face at him. “Oh Neville… what are we going to do with you?”

A fresh line of blood rolls down to his lip, so you let him leave the fabric there to sink it in.

"Keep your head steady, okay? Don't lean back, just let the blood flow for now."

"I think my nose might be broken?"

"Neville, I swear to..." your head spins sharply, and a few students flinch. "Who did this?"

"We were practicing stupefy," the familiar voice of Seamus answers and immediately your tense shoulders relax seeing his face emerge behind the twins. "I didn't mean to. I swear, Y/N."

"He really didn't mean to," Neville echoes.

You sneeze into your elbow and shake your head, palm making contact with your cheek. "See, this is why you should’ve told me about this secret army group thing so I could've joined and stopped something like this from happening.”

"I'm sorry."

You take Neville's hand again and lift the cloth, checking over the damage. There is damage, alright. You try not to make a show of wincing, fearing that the brown-haired boy would get anxious by your reaction, but his nose really does look quite out of sorts. Out of line. Broken.

He realises you haven't said a word in a while and smiles again, "you can fix, can't you, Achoo?"

"I told Neville I could treat him, but he kept refusing and insisted for your presence," Luna's soft voice interrupts as she crouches down beside you.

Someone amongst the crowd starts to coo and the tips of Neville's ears manage to turn beet red, more so when you turn your attention to him, expression unreadable.

Luna carries on, eyes focused on you. "He wouldn't let anyone touch him. Not until now, anyway."

"Okay!" A sudden clap startles even Luna, and you all turn to the perpetrator. Harry Potter's back is turned to your direction as he addresses the crowd, "I think we'll call it a day. Neville needs his strength and so do you."

The crowd murmurs, exchanging pouts and disappointed shrugs.

"Be proud of yourselves, you all did brilliantly today. Each and every one of you have improved. Next time we get to meet we'll continue with the Patronus Charm."

"What about Bogey Bug? How do we know she's not gonna rat us out?" A girl in Hufflepuff asks.

Neville sees you stand up, slapping a hand over your chest. "I swear on my life and the life of Neville—."

"Hey!"

"—that I will not snitch on this group or expose any of you. I promise to be loyal and keep my mouth shut about this."

Some faces don't seem convinced, as more murmurs and chatter erupt.

"She can be our nurse!" Neville exclaims, stealing everyone's attention. It's time to put in that good word for you. "We won't have to go to the hospital wing if Achoo— I mean, Y/N is here. She's really good at what she does. Plus, I accidentally told her about the army about a month ago and she hasn't told a soul since. I do..."

Your big eyes soften when he turns to you.

"...I trust her with my life."

"All right then," Harry claps once more. "All those in favour of Y/N becoming part of the army, raise your hand."

A few hands come up, whilst others whisper for a moment. One more, then four more, and then more hands raise faster than you can count them. You and the broken-nosed boy share grins, as you squeeze his free hand.

"That's it then. Y/N, welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 6th year

Following the events of the previous year of school you and Neville had grown ever closer. Outside of the classroom you'd never be seen without the other. Inseparable. There'd even been a rumour going around that you were dating, but you always denied such claims and Neville could only comply. He hadn't yet told anyone about his feelings for you, although it seemed that those in his close circle were figuring it out on their own.

After having looked like a lost pygmy puff in the Great Hall, Luna found Neville and mentioned to him that you looked 'out of sorts' during class. He hadn't even asked about you. She just knew to tell him.

So, it’s only fitting for him to be by your side now, during lunch hour.

You’re shivering underneath all the sheets and blankets, and yet as Neville glides the back of his fingers across your forehead, you’re sweating as well.

“Hang in there Achoo, you’ll be fine in no time. The spell will take effect.”

You can only give so much as a nod, and groan when your lower abdomen tightens with a deep, stabbing ache.

“Shh,” Neville smooths his delicate fingers over your forehead again, tucking loose strands back to their place with the rest of your hair. “I'm here. Do you want me to distract you with anything?"

"Anything," you squeak, eyes shut tightly as if doing that would stop your cramps and make you fall asleep faster. "Please."

"Alright, erm..." He slides his tongue over his bottom lip and leans in closer to you, elbow pressing into the mattress. "I suppose I can tell you about a dream I had not long ago. You were in it."

"The Hippogriff one?" You tremble.

"No, this is a new one," he smiles when you meet his gaze, finding your fingers peeking through the sheets and taking them into his hands. "It's really stupid, as dreams usually go, but I really like it."

Your fingers are stretched out, as Neville begins to trace over your palm. First he draws a circle and you giggle a little at the feeling.

"This is me," he draws a triangle, "and this is you. It seems like any ordinary day, except you and I have the same classes. In the dream we're both popular. Everyone cheers for us when we get good marks, and even Professor Snape smiles at you."

"No way."

He laughs and traces a shape with lots of spikes. "Yes way. It really seems too good to be true, because there's even a moment where we successfully sneak out at night, we're just in our pajamas and we're watching the stars from the astronomy tower."

"I'm waiting for the 'but'."

"But — here comes the stupid part — you just start flying out of nowhere. One second you're next to me, the next you're just in the sky. I'm freaking out trying to reach for your hand, but you're just so calm about the fact that you mysteriously gained the ability to fly."

You're giggling again, especially as he slaps your palm a few times to emphasise the story. "Accurate reaction."

"And then it just ends with me being able to breath fire."

"What?" You laugh, brows pulling together in amusement. "I wonder what Professor Trelawney would say about that. What all of it might represent."

He draws a line on each of your fingers, slow and tickly. "If it's anything like I've been told before, it probably means bad luck."

"Well I was also in the dream with you, so we'll go through the bad luck together." To his surprise, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze. You're not trembling anymore, you haven't been for the past minute or so, and it doesn't feel like you're being stabbed over and over in the stomach.

"Think you can sleep now?" He asks, fingers hesitantly unravelling.

You nod, grinning at him, those eyes of yours finally shining as bright as they usually do.

"Want me to go get Madame Pomfrey?"

You shake your head. And then your arms are around his neck, head tucked in the space between your bicep and his jawline.

It feels like a millennium till he returns your gesture, arms securing around your waist and back, pulling you in tightly and desperately. The mix of the wing's clinical scent and the smell of baked desserts fills his nose. He could've sworn he'd smelt something like this during Potions class.

"Stay with me," you purr. "Please."

He knows he has class in ten minutes, he knows he can't skip, he knows he'll get in trouble.

So with your arms determined to remain wrapped around each other he bends over, moving till your head meets the pillow. He kicks off one of his school shoes. Then the other.

You feel his knees dip into the mattress beside your thighs, and then you have to part for a moment as he slips under the blankets, his head settling on the pillow right beside yours.

When he's comfortable, you take one of his hands and lower it until he brushes over your clothed belly.

Keeping the heat from entering his ears and cheeks is impossible, as his hand flattens over your stomach, shock evident in his features from your bold action.

"Could you keep it there?" You say, when you feel his uncertainty. "It'll help if the cramps come back." Your own hands smooth over his, trapping him there.

"I will." He swallows thickly. "Are you comfortable?"

You nod. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. Yes. I am."

A content breath passes your lips and you smile, all giddy like, at the ceiling. "Thank you for being here. For being with me always. For not making fun of me being sick all the time. Not calling me Bogey Bug. For... for just being you. For being my most favourite person ever."

"I could really say the same about you." Both your voices are barely above a whisper, seeing as your faces are so close together.

"Thanks Neville," you turn to him, and tap the back of his hand on your belly.

You stare at each other for a moment, and for some reason it doesn't feel wrong. It's not awkward.

Neville breaks the silence. "You... you know how everyone keeps saying that we're... you know going out?"

"Yeah."

Neville pauses for a second, you're staring so intensely, pupils large and beautiful. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and squeezes the material of your clothes. He can talk to you, he can ask you the question. He's battled against Bellatrix Lestrange before, he's been put in Gryffindor for a reason. He can ask you. "What do you say we make those rumours... not rumours anymore?"

The corners of your mouth twitch. "You-You mean... you mean like...?"

"Yes. Like that. Like... I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sort of way."

You don't say anything.

He continues, with a small bite of his lip. "Like... I'm completely mad for you and if I don't tell you now I don't think I'll ever get the chance to again."

"This... isn't a dream, is it?"

"Can I prove to you this isn't a dream?"

"Okay."

And it really feels like a dream, as his face leans in and you feels his lips press against the corner of your mouth.

"Did that help?" he whispers.

You twist around to lay on your side, guiding Neville's big hand up to your waist. "You missed, Neville."

"What?"

"You missed."

This time you both lean in, and this time Neville doesn't miss.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 7th year

The last Horcrux has been destroyed, Voldemort's killed, the Death Eaters have fled. New life has been brought to Hogwarts, sun pooling through the shattered windows of the Great Hall.

People sit on broken stools, torn and ashy blankets, chatter quiet and solemn. A few people manage to tell jokes and liven the mood, others cuddle, kiss, crying tears of relief. Nurses scamper around tending to the badly wounded.

Only...

As Neville limps his way through the hall he desperately scans over the crowds only to realise you're not here. You're not by Madame Pomfrey. You're not by Luna either. Neville finds Ginny's tired but hopeful figure and before he can tap her shoulder, she's already turned to him with a gentle smile.

She shakes her head before he even has a chance to speak. "I haven't seen Y/N. Not since... well not since she took care of Freddie. 'M sorry Neville."

"No," he shakes his head and gives the girl a gentle hug when her voice wavers and her bottom lip quivers. "No, I'm sorry."

"You helped kill Voldemort. That's hardly anything to be sorry for," she smiles again as they part, softly pushing at his shoulder to leave. To keep searching for you. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out for her."

Neville sends her a purposeful nod and turns to leave, the sword of Gryffindor still snug in his hand. At times he uses the weapon as a crutch, the pain in his everything starting to take a toll as previous rushes of adrenaline begin to fade. The only thing keeping him going is the thought of you. You and your sneezes, your messy hair, your often nasally voice, your big eyes and equally big grins. You.

He passes what looks to be remnant of the hospital wing's door, merely a pile of wood chips and metal beams now. He hears the distant tweet of a bird, the pitter-patter of loose rubble and someone's sneeze.

The sword clangs to the ground and he's sprinting. Neville rounds the corner of the entrance to the wing and he stops, breath heavy, vision blurry.

You're there, and you're already staring at him, your grin so large and your eyes even more so and you're holding onto something familiar.

"N-Neville?" your voice is soft and so stuffy and gorgeous.

"Achoo, good Godric." His sore legs carry him to your side, and you're running toward him, arms open. And then you jump and he completely forgets about how much pain he's in when he catches you.

You cling to his sweater, to his shoulders, to his neck, to his waist, squeezing him with every bit of strength you've got left.

He's grasping at your hoody, your waist, your hair, your skin, he's touching all of you, scared that if he'll let go you won't be there anymore.

"I love you so much," he says through a trembling voice.

You pull away slightly and return your feet to the ground, legs unwrapping from his hips. You crane your neck to kiss his jaw, and then you kiss his cheek and his other and then finally his lips. And it sets your heart on fire, full of adoration and care and relief. You don't ever want to stop feeling him here, his supple lips against yours, especially as his hands cup your jaw, reeling you in for more and more.

"I love you Neville," you cry when you finally have to pull away to catch your breaths. "Ever since I first met you. You and your twisted ankle."

He chuckles, tenderly wiping a tear from the apple of your cheek with his thumb. He scans over the room for a moment, as he feels your fingers come to dance over the dry trail of blood from his head wound.

"I don't think we're ever gonna leave this place," he says with a caress of your jaw.

Following his gaze, you giggle. Those beds you spent countless nights on, those countless concoctions and medical supplies you've had used on you, they're all here, scattered and battered around the room.

"That's why I came here instead of the Hall," you say, keeping one arm around your boyfriend's waist and unravelling the other to reveal an intact jar of creamy coloured ointment. "I'm so sorry, I must've scared you nuts."

"Scared me to death more like, but all I had to do was listen out for your sneezes. Turns out it isn't that hard to find you."

You poke your tongue out and he laughs. "That's so embarrassing. Always comes back to me being a Bogey Bug."

"Yeah," he smoothly pulls you in for an ardent kiss, "my Bogey Bug."

"You know what else I am?"

You're leaning against his arms that are wrapped around you and he watches as you take off the lid of the jar. Just like his fourth year, you use your fingers to scoop up a teaspoon of the cream.

"What? What else are you?"

You step out and take one of his hands, letting his palm sit over the top of yours. And then the cream is applied over the burns on the back of his hands. In spite of these burns looking way worse than his wound from Potions class back in his fourth year, the pain is still barely felt once the ointment's smoothed over. What's also killing the sting is looking at your breathtaking eyes. He's lost in them, distracted completely.

"I'm also your nurse," you finally say, wiping the excess over your hoody.

Neville's mouth curls into a smirk, snaking his arms around you again and pressing your bodies tightly together. "Well, nurse. My lips are feeling kind of sore, do you think you can fix them?"

You hum, eyes twinkling with mischief as your hands link behind his neck.

His gaze dips to your mouth, trying to fight the heat flowing to his cheeks and ears. There will never be a time when you won't make him nervous and giddy.

You mirror his action, eyes taking their time stare at his lips. "You know what, darling? I think I've got just the thing for you."

[leclerc-s]

wait, there's another one of you?

series masterlist

isabellaperez posted new stories

this booger picked me up from the airport and then decided to mock me for buying food at the airport. little outfit change because it's not hoodie season in mexico. i ditched the booger and picked up my comfort food. no i will not be sharing, they're all mine.

lando norris someone want to explain to me who the guy in isabella's story is?

isabella perez my fucking brother? gael? dulce perez it's our brother.

charles leclerc wait, there's another one of you??

max verstappen how do you people not know this?

mae jones i didn't know...

daphne jones i did know, nice kid. i don't know how he's related to isabella.

sebastian vettel he used to come to races all the time, and then their dad died and he stopped coming.

dulce perez we all bonded with dad over f1. it was harder for gael because he was karting when dad passed. he gave up on the sport after that.

isabella perez haven't you heard, he's a big shot actor now. HE WORKED WITH THE SEBASTIAN STAN!!

penelope trevino your taste in men needs to be studied. under a microscope. isabella perez i don't really have a crush on sebastian stan. i have a crush on bucky barnes. it's very different. penelope trevino oh yeah, that makes so much sense.

max verstappen the worst thing is that he's a ferrari fan too 🙄

isabella perez HELL YEAH! FORZA FERRARI BABY!

charles leclerc LET'S GO!!

lewis hamilton i will never understand how checo's own blood aren't red bull fans.

dulce perez he was a ferrari academy driver with jules. it's practically in our blood to be tifosi. i just like to support my uncle, the other two are heathens.

isabella perez WE CAN SUPPORT UNCLE CHECO AND SUPPORT FERRARI AT THE SAME TIME DULCE!

esteban ocon we have to meet this guy!

lance stroll when can we meet him? carlos sainz are we allowed to meet him? dulce perez never. my brother will not be tainted by you nerds.

rowan todd listen, i understand the boys, but seeing as we work together with marvel. good luck keeping me away from him.

rowan todd wait-

rowan todd in the sense that, we're going to become besties. work besties if you will.

lance stroll pierre just let out a sigh of relief.

pierre gasly do you know how to shut the fuck up? if so, please do so. lance stroll why would i when you're so easy to tease?

max verstappen you have to bring him to a race soon. it's only fair! i will turn him into a red bull fan.

isabella perez listen, uncle checo driving for red bull is temporary, however long that may last, but ferrari is forever. you just have to deal with this max, uncle checo does.

carlos sainz max is just surrounded by tifosi isn't he?

max verstappen oh shut up carlos.

carlos sainz is the little one still a huge charles fan?

daniel ricciardo he called my move to mclaren the worst mistake of my life. daniel ricciardo he's also a little shit. but we love him max verstappen NO! YOU LOVE HIM! i tolerate him at best.

fernando alonso when you say patito, you don't mean pato o'ward, do you?

isabella perez i do! they were best friends growing up!

dulce perez wow, you are dumb.

isabella perez WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN??

dulce perez ask gael. maybe he'll answer the question.

lando norris someone could be in love with her and she would never notice.

daniel ricciardo i can't wait for the day i get to witness that

daphne jones don't be mean. she's not dumb, just oblivious.

pierre gasly this is like that time that guy asked for her number and she gave him dulce's number.

arthur leclerc WHAT THE FUCK? WHEN WAS THIS?

max verstappen arthur right now, probably

charles leclerc can confirm that is what arthur sounded like.

max verstappen at least someone appreciates my comedic genius. natalia ruiz he's in love with you charles leclerc literally shut up?

isabella perez WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT? HE ASKED FOR DULCE'S NUMBER?

rowan todd HE ASKED FOR YOURS! HE CALLED YOU PRETTY GIRL AND EVERYTHING?

isabella perez WHAT THE FUCK? HOW DID I MISS THAT?!

daphne jones like i said, you're oblivious.

freya vettel at least put us all out of our misery and ask out cute prema guy

isabella perez i can't.

esteban ocon the fuck do you mean you can't?

lance stroll wait. don't fucking say it isabella

isabella perez i got back together with austin

daniel ricciardo WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ISABELLA?

fernando alonso OTRA VEZ? ISABELLA, NO PUEDES SEGUIR HACIENDO ESTO! (again? isabella, you can't keep doing this!)

isabella perez but he said things would be different this time!

dulce perez THAT'S WHAT HE FUCKING SAID LAST TIME YOU MORON!

gael perez dime que no es verdad isabella! (tell me it's not true isabella!)

isabella perez that depends, what are we talking about?

dulce perez cut the bullshit. why would you do this?

isabella perez HEY YOU KNOW WHY! I LOVE HIM!

gael perez i'm gonna die and my sister's still going to be dating that lunatic.

dulce perez at this rate i'm going to get back with arthur and she's still going to be with him.

isabella perez let's talk about dulce's problems instead!

gael perez old news, we all know she's still in love arthur but in denial about it.

isabella perez by the way, was patito ever anything more than your friend?

gael perez i have to go.

isabella perez CLEARLY I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH PROBLEMS HERE!

isabella perez dulce is a snitch who's still in love with her ex and my brother dated his best friend.

dulce perez HEY FUCK YOU! WHAT HAPPENS IN THE SIBLING GROUP CHAT STAYS THERE!

max verstappen no, tell us more. as the children say, spill the tea sis.

mae jones i forget you have a broken childhood.

charles leclerc tell us something we don't already know.

dulce perez literally fuck you guys. i don't have to sit here and take this.

dulce perez i have class now.

pierre gasly coward.

dulce perez PIERRE'S IN LOVE WITH ROWAN BUT IS AFRAID TO ADMIT IT! MAX IS ALSO IN LOVE WITH MAE! AND CHARLES IS LOVE WITH NATALIA AND WE ALL KNOW THEY'RE SLEEPING TOGETHER!

dulce perez call me a coward again gasly. i know all your secrets.

lance stroll she's sort of scary sometimes.

daniel ricciardo she's a middle child. of course she knows everything.

daphne jones i love her.

max verstappen i'm kinda scared of her now. what else does she know?

dulce perez i know everything verstappen. all of you confide in me because i'm the only 'normal' one here.

dulce perez AND I KNEW ABOUT DANIEL'S PROPOSAL BEFORE ANYONE ELSE SO SUCK IT FUCKERS! (except for seb, lewis, and nando. i love you guys.)

mae jones RICCIARDO! YOU TOLD ME I WAS THE FIRST TO KNOW!

daniel ricciardo would you look at the time. i have to go walk my kangaroo.

fernando alonso coward!

daniel ricciardo no shame about it!

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¡leclerc-s speaks! if i hadn’t mentioned this character before that’s because he was literally made up like last week. i also just love danny ramirez and i had to include him somehow. this entire series is just me putting together all my interests in one. also my love for pato, i love him so much. i have too many stories and don't have time to update them all so i just create more to ignore the bigger issue.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[gideonsgirldick]

Settle an argument between my girlfriend and I

Propaganda

Tina: Just a girl who likes a little routine. owns the whole town.

Kid Vampire: his dad is count Dracula. Went to school to eat kids, ends up with best friend.

Bubby: bleeds enough from his nose to sustain a small vampire. Perfect blood to booger ratio.

[cerine0357]

i ask for Yandere ayano shimizu headcanon with a lazy and tired reader of course you can ignore and delete if your stuff is closing or for any other reason.

oc: Shimizu Family:-

Ayano Shimizu X Reader

✤ Summary: Ayano Shimizu finally has his darling, little sweetheart in his the palms of his hands and it appears that they're.....sleeping?

✤ Fluff|| headcanons|| blood, mentions of murder, invasion of privacy, noncon, dubcon?? since Reader does not care what he does to her as long as she gets to sleep, regular yandere stuff|| Yandere version of OCs

✤ Author's note: I loved writing this, it's been a while since I got back into writing!!! I love you all and thank you for reading!!

Yandere!Ayano X Lazy!S/O HCs

◊ Well, this was quite a surprise to Ayano when he realized how you did not even bother the kidnapping, only slept your way through the whole thing and kissed his forehead, thanking him for helping you escape your life and sleep all day. He was flattered and happy about it, but still surprised nonetheless.

◊ It took him a while to get used to it, he would honestly continuously in worry check your pulse and breathing to see if you're alive and well and sound, makes sure you're okay, thank god you are...It scares him and he gets spooked like a mama gets when her newborn sleeping for longer than usual...

◊ He is extremely concerned for you, so he makes sure EVERYTHING IS ABSOLUTELY OKAY! After he gets used to it, he takes his chances to smother you with his affection, kisses, hugs, snuggles, cuddles, anything that he wants, he'll give it to you with a bright smile.

◊ He has Xinyue cometimes check your head and memories to see if any of it is trauma related and how you think about him, if it's all okay, he's so relieved but still incredibly confused...don't you want to return home? Not that he's complaining, he loves that you're willing to be his little trophy doll.

◊ Sometimes he chases off his siblings when they try to see how deep you sleep by pulling pranks on you,he refuses to let them even do stupid shit near you, though he lets those siblings in who need to de-stress from the family shenanigans for self-care (Oshinyu, Oshinuza, Ilseong, Hyejun), he'll even let them apply skincare to you as long as you're not waking up, he wants you to be all freshen up even if you're asleep with drool out your mouth.

◊ Speaking of drool, he has those super absorbent and silk pillow covers for you, so drool dries easily and your hair is also not ruined..he's particular about things, okay?? He's a nepo baby! Leave him alone, by the end of a week you're becoming a nepo baby too, because you're basically family since you're so quiet.

◊ Ayano doesn't allow anyone in your room, fearing your sleep would be ruined, except his parents and some quiet siblings, so his parents sit there for hours. Both Kaiyo and Reo sit in your room with you to do their paperwork and other stuff otherwise they'll be constantly interrupted by servants, pets, the kids..

◊ Constant sleepwear shopping, he has SO MANY SLEEPWEARS FOR YOU!! Listen, poor boy never had a relationship and you're his first one and his parents always spoil each other, he thinks it's a sign of love and he loves you...Poor thing has no idea what else to do, because you're asleep half the time.

◊ He spends so much time snuggling you, de-stressing beside you, watching movies with earphones, doing homework or anything else where he wants quiet. He has a personal pool in his bedroom's large balcony, so he also spends time there, while watching you with lovesick eyes as you slept with drool, eye-crust or boogers, hair messed up and looking like a demon...Oh so gorgeous.

◊ Let's be honest, he even has specially made mattress, blankets, pillows, pillow covers, bedsheets and other stuff...all for you..all custom made, all for you to sleep, drool and fart in anyways...Yeah, pretty sweet, I know.

© cerine0357. All characters belong to me; Aurelia, Moon, Cerine. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading and if you like this check out my blog!

[novakiart]

the next panels have got to cook more but I'm impatient so here's a wip of the baby boy finally taking care of that blood booger