#senem writes

[chimsmom1013]

On Ballet, PJM's thighs 🤭, Gender Norms, Society, and Parenting Teens...when insomnia plays you like a plague.

Four in the morning and I'm in my walrus form...rolling on the bed like it'll help shut down my brain, until this walrus decided to give up and get up. Welcome to today's insomnia episode feat. me and my attempt to write/blog again.

It's on nights, rather early dawns, like these where my mind ponders on the mundane things in life...like where the hell is Min Yoongi?...Lol! Is slime liquid? Is water wet? Silly questions until the most precious nerds in my life go on a full scientific debate on these (true story). Today was me scouting frames online for my kids' ballet recital pics. I was being a cheesy mom admiring with googly eyes, my children's photos until I was "mom mode no more" when the quads my not so little boy's ballet tights were showcasing caught my attention...and I went *😳* my boy's really starting to morph into pre-debut PJM (Jimin's thighs for President! woot! woot!😂)

It's been over a year since my children decided to "formally" learn ballet. My eldest would be considered late to the game at 16 as most ballerinas start tippy toeing garbed in pink tutus as early as three; she though, has always had an eye for the arts. As a little girl I remember her craning her neck to the other toddlers who were attending the ballet classes held on the second level of the local grocery we used to frequent in QC. She never really says anything, she just watches and stares at the cute girls her age in tutus with her big bright eyes; meanwhile the dense, sleep deprived, mother *c'est moi* never paid it much thought, my last braincells running on the remaining 10 mg of caffeine and whatever nicotine poison was still lingering in my bloodstream. A walking zombie on auto pilot trying to get my errands done so I can hit the sack, wake up to the moon and live life as part of the vampires toiling the night shifts. This was 2010.

Fast forward to the pandemic era when we all got sucked into the purple rabbit hole *another story for another day* and count 2 more years of my whole fam being fans of a particular kid from Busan, SoKor who studied Modern Dance in an Arts School (before an Army gets the wrong idea, we're OT7, just putting that out)  and you see me enrolling my children in their first ballet class.

I will spare you the details of how this debacle gave rise to the Kraken that, unbeknownst to la maman, actually lives inside my sweet, darling girl (segway...you know those moments when you look at your child and say, I can't see any of me in her *of which you're mighty glad* then BOOM! Yep there it is, that's definitely me right there. I had that scene play in front of me in 4HD...end of segway). Now despite being a bit relieved in discovering that she actually had this side - when the need calls for it - I knew the crowd that triggered it wasn't healthy for them anymore. I pulled them out of that place in a snap. It was just a summer thing after all, it was just me letting them dip their toes into ballet because we were PJM stans, it was ever really just that - haha! NOT! As I witnessed my daughter's demeanor turn a full 360° because some kids thought it was a good idea to mess with her brother...to which of course they were wrong. I thought that exiting them out of that cesspool was the "parent thing to do'' and that-that experience eventually pulled the lights out on their, "what I initially assumed only as", fangirling/boying fascination for ballet, but like those silly kids who ate the bars that were spat out my daughter's angry mouth for afternoon tea- of course I TOO WAS WRONG.

My then 12yr old son was crying his eyes out, feelings of disgust, betrayal, self-doubt, anger, self-doubt again doused him like an August monsoon, bouts of nausea and a slight fever followed thereafter. It was a sight any mother would demand someone's head for *ofc I'm being exaggeratedly dramatic but you get my point*. I could have *metaphorically* dragged someone by the hair for it, I knew I was entitled to that -we had receipts. But as much as I love my boy, he is THAT- a BOY, biologically assigned male at birth who'll soon turn into a MAN. He needed to learn from this, know how to profile people. Learn the consequences of being naive and gullible, understand the inevitable outcome of what you're getting yourself into. The little vixen was no Taylor Swift and my son is absolutefanfucktabously NOT her John Mayer. Society, however, in this province that is, wouldn't, even at this present day & age, agree with me.  Petite, pretty, doe-eyed, damsel type girls will always bag the biggest crowd. He needed to understand this, cuddling and soothing him would be second nature to any mother, but I would like to think I knew better. So that was that or so I thought. We can go back to baking giant cookies, mocking the diabetes curse that ran in our genes, but my son wanted to write a different ending to this chapter and start a new one. So with eyes puffy and tears endlessly falling; nose so red Rudolf would've been threatened, speech garbled from sobbing and the urge to not ingest his snot *graphic ain't I?* he let out a phrase that left me momentarily stunted. "But Mommy, I really wanna dance ballet". I was silent as my incoherent son tried to get his message to my skull. I watched his beautiful face being aggressively rubbed with the collar of his shirt by his own hands. Sounds reminiscent of trumpets being blown ensued right after and I thought to myself, "whoa 😧 the laundromat ladies has got work cut out for them" before I snapped out of my momentary Ally McBeal moment and reminded myself that I'm this human's mother.

And so after a financial debrief with the chief of command in my household a.k.a my husband, the hunt was on for a new ballet school that would be willing to take in my then 16 yr old princess and my 12 yr old snot factory of a son *oh shut up, we all have different love languages mine just happens to exclude being a mopey unfunny mother*. I swept through Metaverse overnight and by 9am-ish the next day, I was on the phone with the owner of the Aims Academy School for the Performing Arts formerly known as Arts in Motion Studio *all puns related to "the artist formerly known as Prince" intended tee-hee* with my V8 of a motor mouth ranting at the speed of light. The school's headmistress being the poor soul to become recipient of my motherly verbal diarrhea. A millenia and a half on my verbal rampage on mean girls, my take on the performing arts, my hope that they could consider taking in my 2 dorks and I'm purchasing a ballet barre online... just like that, my 12 yr old son is once again the only ballet student with a third leg in this new school - grateful for this new chapter in their lives.

Has it ever bothered him that he's the only student danseur in ballet school? nah...he was raised a feminist - and by that I don't mean Beyonce and her booty shaking to "Who Run the World? Girls!" I mean, being raised to respect the differences and contribution each biologically assigned sex contributes to humanity, did I phrase that out right? I am honestly too old to delve into the complexities of pronouns and the whole LGBTQrstuv you know the rest of the alphabet. My son understands and respects that you can embrace whatever pronoun you find fits you, yet equally respects that a pea sized pie hole can pop out a human head but the Jr nestled between his quads will never be able to. He understands that we, biologically assigned women at birth, cannot play the game of how many d*cks around a coffee mug can fill it up with pee in 30 secs *no you cannot unread that bwahaha evil laugh* My son understands that colors, fragrance, one's palate has no gender assignment, munching on siling labuyo does not make one MORE male, lmao. He loves playing war games on his pc but cosplays in a Japanese maid costume without a care in the world if some people raise their brows and think that's queer. Most importantly he knows the difference between a hobby and an art form, and that art is gender fluid.

My kids were unfortunately birthed in an obnoxiously patriarchal society that associates sh*t to being male or female. Society expects my daughter to be domesticated, she is, but equally so is my son. If you can't cook, don't eat, if you don't know how to wash your undergarments then by all means itch where it hurts the most. No one dares give an opinion on my son studying to be a danseur, either they actually funnily think it's just a hobby (believe me when I say what an insanely expensive hobby it is then for a middle class household) as I've caught conversations from older male figures subtly hinting at basketball and taekwondo... or they're very much aware that trying to meddle with how I raise my kids is a pretty bad idea, knowing that I am literally able to get away with murder haha.

Let me ramble on this just once...DANCING is NOT merely a HOBBY! PERFORMING ARTS is WHAT it reads as A-R-T! Ballet is not for wimps and girly soft boys, as is with any other artform - it's a DISCIPLINE; an utterly painful one at that. If anyone then, gets the slightest misogynistic itch to poke fun at my boy in tights- try standing on relevé with a steady bras bas for 20 secs then you can talk to me about how pain makes a man a "MAN"...*blows knuckles*.

Some misguided poor souls can cheat their way into academic high honors; some screwed up parents can kiss ass and/or payV the way for their children, but believe me no amount of ass-kissing skills or deep pockets can ever fool a room full of audience into knowing what talent or the absolute lack of it looks like on stage. Not everyone is born with it, and when you see it, you don't call it a "hobby", you call that talent, skills, what you're seeing is an execution of "Art".

The insatiable and savage thirst for raising ruthless fighting cocks for merciless cockpit battles is what I can call an example of a "hobby" - a gruesomely barbaric one at that but absurdly regarded as Ultra Male — not a skill, definitely not a talent and watching two rooster try to unalive each other will never be a form of Art. I object -  admiration for the showcase violence is not manly, on the contrary it defies all that nature intended the male species to be...the supposed caretaker and nurturer of all things created by the Almighty. 

My children were sadly born into a society that sees ART as a hobby and the belief that one's only gateway to a stable meal ticket is through the traditional academe. Where grades define them and their peers parents' brag about them like trophies with necks clad in metal you can't even pawn for a cent; and while me and the hubs have hardcoded the importance of school and the sometimes absurd rules of society to our kids' psyche - that a good college degree is still their gate pass to a stable future, we keep them grounded and sane by reiterating that reciting Newton's Law will not help you cook an egg. Life skills are just as important. Social skills, street smarts and most of all empathy, compassion, and kindness are what make you human. No, we are not the type of absurdly idealistic, incel, "stoned hippie-like" parents that teach our children to blame the gov't for our effed up lives or blind them with the idea that politics is divided into black & white. We don't romanticize poverty and tell our children that money isn't the most important thing in the world- eros LOVE is (oh cge shutamez, kumain ka ng pagmamahal tignan ko kung mabusog ka sa kaka-bebetaym haha). NO! we actually tell them that in the hierarchy of things to help you survive, it is next to oxygen. Money can be both a blessing and a curse, you need it but don't be obsessed with it. Recognize the power it holds, respect that to a certain degree but never be a slave to it. Be wary of how people act around money. Do not classify people according to their lack and excess of it, and equally stay away from those who would do just that to you. Work Hard/Play Hard. Be kind to yourself. Pat yourself on the back for a job well done. Recognize and humble yourselves when you realize you're at fault. Learn from mistakes and learn to forgive mistakes and never wallow in them. Try to always see the good in humans. In this cruel world, it will be the only thing that keeps you from being part of a herd made up of bad sheep that despite having a shepherd and being surrounded by a fence, still always think that everyone around them are predators (the disgusting mentality na kala mo laging iisahan, dadayain at lalamangan, these are the worst people to trust as you will never have theirs). Be careful of those who believe that in order to survive, the best mantra to live by was coined by Machiavelli. School, at some point, will teach you the idea of Utopia; tell you what it looks like, explain to you the do's and don'ts and make you think you're it's future hope as long as you keep the black from bleeding into the white. When you get out in the real world though you'll realize that Utopia is a unicorn. The great Kim Namjoon once said, "Life is a soup, and I'm a fork", my personal favorite is "Life isn't Burger King, you can't always have it your way."

In a year where people are still at odds as to whether the 1969 moon landing was real, the greatest mystery and challenge is still the perfect formula in raising Gen Z teens. I have yet to figure it out as well. I've once been called to speak on the topic of successful parenting and gladly indulged my audience with what maybe perceived as food for thought; when in truth my anxiety laced brain was just as clueless to what successful parenting really is. I guess people think having well mannered and well behaved kids qualifies me to hold a podium. In reality though; while I'm definitely accountable for their upbringing, I can't take any credit for the humans my children decide to become. They are their own person/s the moment they realize they have the ability to feed themselves with their own cooking that will not have them dying from food poisoning. 

And so with all these letters jumbled to become words, that become sentences and progressed into paragraphs of mundane thoughts that decided to fill insomnia nights instead of being sleep waste products called dreams; I spill my mind into writing, if you can even call this that. Whoever is reading this has been fooled into tagging along a rollercoaster mumble-jumble ride that started with my admittedly disgusting simp/thirst for Park Jimin's thighs, ballet, gender norms, society, and trying to be a passable parent to my teens...like how in the fowcking world did it jump from there to here? Insomnia indeed plays me like a plague. 

[pericinsi]

23 geliyor 1 saat sonra fln

Umarım uyuyarak girerim öncelikle.

23 bence benim senem olucak şuana kadar ki en verimli, en eglenceli senem olucağına inanıyorum. Çünkü yaşım bence en liseli olduğum yaş olucak 11. Sınıfı falan görücem bu senede, eşit agırlık sınıfı merak ediyorum nasıl geçiçek. Daha fazla kitap okurum diye düşünüyorum farklı tarzlara yelken açıcağım felsefe, mitoloji, fantastik kurgu, tarih, sanat belki biraz da dinler. Daha fazla bakımlı olucağım kesinlikle bu konudaki cahilliğimi atlatmak üzereyim. Kendime bakıcam, okuyacağım, izleyeceğim, araştıracağım, mutlu olmak için çabalayacagım, daha az buhranlara girmeye çalışıcagım. Umutsuzluğa tabikide kapılıcagım ama o dönem geçicek ve arkama baktığım zaman arkamda koca bir umutsuzluğun olduğunu görmek beni hoşnut etmicek. Her şeye rağmen mutlu olan insanlar var ve ben her şeye rağmen olmasada mutlu olan insanlardan olmak istiyorum. Biliyorum Ben, özgür olmak istiyorsun, sığamıyorsun, zorlanıyorsun ve artık bitsin istiyorsun ama bitiyor hani hiç ummadığın bir zamanda birşey oluyor en azından olması gerekiyor. Kimse anlamıyor ama anlayacak birileri var uzaklarda ve oraya gitmen için senin, seni anlamayanlara karşı onları anlıyormuşsun gibi davranman gerekiyor, tahammül etmen.

Neyse mutluyum şuanda ve ergenlik sorunlarımı açmaya gerek yok.

Şuan kısmetse olur devrindeyiz 16.bölüm fln oldu daha Tugçe gitti, Aybüke Tolga, Cansel Oğulcan, Yaren Erhan çift bide tabi herkesin best çifti Yeliz ve Erol berkcan güven beyzayla biz diyip sinirlendiriyormuş beyzayı _ al bu bilgiyi naparsan yap_ (popiler cümle!)

Okulda şuan bir hırsızlık dönemi var Nuh galiba ama kapatmayı düşünüyorum çünkü ugraşmak istemiyorum artık almıştır şeyini, şeyini işte anlarsin ya.

Sonracıgıma şu jbl 🎧 almak istiyom para biriktircem inş bu sene alırım

And this is New year Will be that so great I Will be happy and I hope Will ı speaking, writing and reading english

Ve umarım yanlış yaptığım yerleri gülerek yaa yanlış yazmış, ne demek istedin yani şimdi, o öyle mi yazılır gibisinden şeyler söylüyorsundur.

Buarada seneye sezinin yeni kitabı çıkıcak bence al ama sen bilirsin tabi onun yerine 101 Budizm'i ya da 101 Etik'i de alabilirsin

Kesinlikle ama kesinlikle tiyatroya gidiyorsun bak arkadaşım yok diyordun oyuzden gitmiyordun ama şimdi no no no eger bu sene bir kere bile tiyatroya gitmezsen herşey biter.

Sonra illegal hayatlara gidiyorsun itiraz istemiyorum ocakdaydı eger bunu aralıkta okuyorsan gittin dime?... bende öyle düşünmüştüm. Ve bu sene sinemaya bol bol gidiyorsun.

Neyse 42 geçiyor uyicam ve bir senedir uyuyam şeysi yapicam hani komik olmayanından

buarada umarım ajandayı kullanmışsındır kullancaksındır kullayaduruyorsundur kullanırsın kullan

[naturecpw]

The Family and Me by Defne Aruoba

It's been over a year since I first met the Ulas family. Now that I'm writing about "these extraordinary people"—as most scientists like to call them—I wish I had kept a journal last summer. But then again, who had the time? Along with the scientists, the film crew, and the local people who were helping us, I was working 14-hour days, dealing with a wide range of problems, obstacles, and intense emotions. I remember at first they felt "extraordinary" to me as well, but now they are my friends. Well, more than friends—friends usually don't change one as much. This experience has had such an enormous impact on how I think and feel about some of the most important issues in life, both in my personal life and in the life that exists on this planet in general.

The true nature of altruism I now know from firsthand experience that justice is, in fact, just a concept. Altruism is really not practiced as much as it could be. The Ulas families of this world can be helped and their situation improved with very little effort from the more fortunate. Moreover, everybody is aware of this. But somehow our daily lives don't allow us to remember and make room. We all feel the urge to give to others; even the most selfish person thinks about helping someone at some point. But then the phone rings or family or business matters intrude, and we are back in the little individual worlds we have created for ourselves. Those little worlds make us feel safe, as if we could never become ill, get old, or die. Especially in the more civilized parts of the world, the house, the money in the bank, the career, the fit body, the family, the lover make up the safety nets, the silk threads of our cocoons. This illusion of protection is at the root of our separation from the rest of life and, consequently, the cause of our misery.

“I didn’t want to be there as a ‘psychologist.’ I just wanted to be there for them.”

The remarkable thing about "altruism," which I discovered while I was spending time with the Ulas family, is that it is reciprocal. Altruism is not just about giving, or helping, or concern for the welfare of "others." It is also about opening yourself up to foreign territory and feeling that nothing/nobody is really "other" than you. It is about getting past the illusion of separation to a place of union, where it is no longer clear who is helping whom.

A feeling of protectiveness I have lived my whole life in two of the most hectic, cosmopolitan, ambitious cities in the world: Istanbul and New York City. Just going to the remote Turkish village where the Ulas family resides was a very unusual experience for me. I was the first one to arrive there, because the rest of the science and film crew were traveling in a different car. I approached the stairs that lead up to the family house dragging a suitcase full of old clothing I had brought for them. I had heard that these people were quite deprived, and I had seen an obscure one-minute video of one of the affected siblings. That was all. I didn't know what to expect—nobody did. As I went up the stairs, my initial feeling was one of fear. Fear of the unusual, and fear of my own boldness. It sounds like a contradiction, but that's how it was. I had no plans, no clue to what I was doing. At first the family members looked at me with questioning eyes. But as we started checking out the outfits, joking around with the girls, mostly with gestures, we all started to feel at ease and began having fun with one another. I was among friends, visiting them at their family house. These weren't scientific breakthroughs for me. They were Asiye, Miyase, Bayram, Cebrail, Hacer, Emos, Senem, Safiye, Huseyin, Gulin, Zeynep, and their parents. And from that point on my initial fear transformed into, and continues to be, a feeling of protectiveness towards these people. I knew within the first minutes of meeting the Ulas family that I didn't want to be there as a "psychologist." I just wanted to be there for them, in whatever capacity they needed me.

A father's concern My main motivation for joining the team of scientists and the film crew had always been "How can this international exposure help the affected members of the Ulas family, medically and/or in any other way possible?" For exposure they have been getting. Indeed, their discovery has caused a huge controversy in the scientific community. Over the past year I have watched each scientist approach the family with his or her own preoccupation, each wishing desperately that the results from the brain scans, neurological tests, DNA tests, and so on would prove his or her theory. I was asked, as a psychologist, to run some tests as well, in order to evaluate their level of intelligence; their cognitive, sensory, and motor skills; and their emotional, social, and behavioral adaptations. I did so, and the tests did reveal some important facts, but none that is conclusive.

“I don’t know what caused their disability. But I am positive that these people can be helped.”

The Ulas family remains a mystery to the scientific community, and the controversy surrounding them continues. Every once in a while, a new scientist appears in the village and offers a new treatment or asks for the father Resit's permission to do more testing. He doesn't say yes, and he doesn't say no. He is in complete surrender to what life brings. His only concern is the welfare of his disabled children after he dies. And he is right. These adult individuals are completely dependent, not because they lack the necessary skills to take care of their own basic needs, but because they haven't been rehabilitated.

Reaching out If nothing else, I want to emphasize as a psychologist that these people learn, which is the most important, perhaps the only necessary skill for improving their quality of life. I don't know what caused their disability. I don't know if we can ever really know for sure what causes any disability. But I am positive that these people can be helped. We have been able to help in some practical and therapeutic ways, but their physical and living conditions certainly require further improvement. For this, initially they need an occupational therapist who is willing to spend sufficient time in the village with them to teach them how to take care of themselves. Inspired by their last name "Ulas," which means "to reach" in English, I plan to establish a Ulas Foundation. My aim is to start with the affected Ulas individuals and then reach out to other families who are in need, in any kind of need. I am hoping that the Ulas Foundation will become, in its small way, a bridge of altruism that reaches across social boundaries, uniting the rich and the poor, the proactive and the submissive, the spiritual and the materialist, the educated and the uneducated, the doctor and the patient. In this way, the polarities of existence that we all experience inside and outside will merge into and nourish each other with their inherent wisdoms, reciprocally, without judgment.

"We all started to feel at ease and began having fun with one another," Defne Aruoba says of her first hours with the Ulas family. "I was among friends, visiting them at their family house."

Her initial trepidation quickly became a strong urge to protect the family, says Aruoba, here with two of the Ulas children.

Aruoba, pictured above with Hatice Ulas, the handwalkers' mother, plans to establish a foundation that she hopes will be "a bridge of altruism that reaches across social boundaries."

Defne Aruoba is a Turkish psychologist based in Istanbul and a doctoral candidate at the New School for Social Research in New York. She served as psychologist and interpreter during the filming of "Family That Walks on All Fours" in summer 2005.

Family That Walks on All Fours

The Genetic Factor

The Family and Me

Origins of Bipedalism

Compare the Skeletons

"We all started to feel at ease and began having fun with one another," Defne Aruoba says of her first hours with the Ulas family. "I was among friends, visiting them at their family house."

Her initial trepidation quickly became a strong urge to protect the family, says Aruoba, here with two of the Ulas children.

Aruoba, pictured above with Hatice Ulas, the handwalkers' mother, plans to establish a foundation that she hopes will be "a bridge of altruism that reaches across social boundaries."

[keepingupwithpotters]

If you’re taking prompts

“You’re really warm.” and

“Come back to bed. Please” for jily pls??

I am laughing at for jily like I'm capable of writing for anything else. I promise you, even if it is about two unrelated characters, I'll find a way to make it about jily

Also finally put the drabbles on ao3 as promised so you can read this there as well

Fretting over Lily Evans was nothing new for James, but this time might’ve put him to his early grave after all.

He touches her forehead discreetly, trying not to disturb her sleep. She went in and out of her slumber all night, giving him a scare half the time with her nonsensical mumblings. He doesn’t recall when exactly he fell asleep too, not long ago according to the rising sun, but that’s how he finds himself next to her now.

Blinking his eyes woozily, he gives himself permission for a moment of bliss before jumping into action, pretending they are lying side by side not because she is burning like a furnace, but like he always wakes up next to Lily, this hair tickling his shoulder not unusual.

He can only guess what prompted her to call him last night. A bitter part of him thinks it’s because she knew he would come running, no questions asked. It’s hard to ignore that part when that was exactly what he did, probably before he even hung up the phone. There is, of course, always the chance that it was the side effect of her running fever. One should not underestimate it, he learned that firsthand all through the night.

The pretense falls apart when he feels Lily’s skin, panic rising inside him all over again. He has spent the whole night trying to make sure her temperature didn’t pass 40 degrees, hand ready over his phone for the minute it did. It feels like it has risen again, her cheeks flaming bright to prove his insight right.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss my forehead?”

She startles him, with the question or her half open eyes smiling dozily at him, he doesn’t know.

“Why would I take advantage of the ill, Evans?”

Her smile gets softer, fonder. “That’s how my mom used to take my temperature.”

He’s never been able to say no to that smile.

She closes her eyes with the kiss, looking content and peaceful, not at all like the bedridden patient she is supposed to be. He lingers one second longer than necessary.

He has forgotten the purpose of the act until she looks at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

“You’re really warm.”

She doesn’t care for his furrowed brows or less than satisfactory explanation when she snuggles into him, purring, “Thank you, so are you.”

“That was not a compliment, Evans.” He tries to hide the fact his breath hitches when she burrows her face in his neck. “That means I am doing something very, very wrong. Are you sure you don’t want me to call anybody else?”

Her hold on him tightens even further if possible. She sounds like a petulant child when she whines her refusal. He can imagine, and feel, her pout.

He tries to untangle himself from her, but she looks so offended by his actions that he feels the need to explain himself. “I need to wet these rags again, and you need to eat some breakfast so you can take your antipyretics.”

She opens her mouth to say something, another refusal going by her displeased expression, but he jumps from the bed before she can tempt her more.

He goes to the bathroom first, thinking maybe some cool water would do him good too. She is already asleep by the time he comes back, hand reaching out to where he once laid on the bed. He places the damp clothes on her forehead with a grin, letting it take over his face while she is not able to see it. The pills he found when he rummaged through her medicine cabinet are put on her nightstand, waiting for his arrival with some food.

Preparing some eggs and toast helps him gather himself a little more, the habitual routine putting his brain on autopilot. The morning feels like something out of James’ dreams with Lily cuddling him in the bed and him making her breakfast, he finds it necessary to remind himself the true nature of the situation as he fills a glass of water for her.

She is awake when he enters the room, following his motions silently as he puts the plate on her side too. He is just about to sit on the chair by her bedside when she stops him with a hand on his arm.

“I promise I’ll eat something in a minute. Can you just… come back to bed? Please?”

His will already weakened since he woke up, he finds that it crumbles completely when he hears her voice so weak, tone so pleading. He lays down on his previous place without saying anything, her head finding his shoulder immediately.

A small hand traces patterns on his chest, nails tickling the heart underneath with every swoop. They could probably live in that relaxed bubble forever if the question nagging inside him just hadn’t popped out unexpectedly.

“Why did you call me yesterday, Lily?”

The finger drawing flowers, stars, and initials never stops its movement. “Because I had a high fever, and I didn’t want to go to the ER.”

“No. I mean, why did you call me?”

He holds his breath in anticipation of her answer, and she stills momentarily too before shaking out of her stupor. “I wanted to be with you.” Her voice sounds so small. “I always want to be with you, you know that.”

There is relief ballooning inside him with her words, mixed with something he dares not name. He hums softly as a response, neither denying nor confirming her assumption.

“We can stay in bed for one more minute, then I’m gonna make you eat that breakfast, Evans.”

“Two, because you just took advantage of a sick person’s honesty and I deserve it.”

“Deal.”

He’ll let her pretend like he won’t do anything she asks for. They both know it’s a lie anyway.

[clare-with-no-i]

rated T

COMING SOON: to an AO3 near you…

[maraudersftw]

You have to leave. Right now. From the prompt list if you are in the mood 🌸

Thank you so much, bby! Did a fifth-year Marauders + Jily drabble because those idiots have my whole heart. x

Stinksap

“Oh, bloody hell!”

“I’m gonna be sick!”

“Peter! Not on my bed!”

“Sorry!” came the groaning reply, followed instantly by a loud retch. “Padfoot’s already in the bathroom.”

“I don’t care!” James cried, watching in abject horror as his beloved Puddlemere spread was sullied under Peter’s hurled breakfast. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling bile rise up the back of his own throat dangerously. Quite unfortunately, the rest of the dormitory wasn’t much better off in terms of being a good landing space for his eyesight.

“I told you!” Remus moaned, voice muffled under the cover of his hands as they sat firmly over his nose and mouth. “I told you this was a terrible idea!”

“You should’ve told us harder,” James grimaced, trying to find a clean spot to stand in. It proved to be an entirely futile effort, however, given that almost every visible inch of space—including his clothes and sneakers—was slathered generously in bright, gross, fumingly green Stinksap.

Three potted Mimbulus mimbletonias sat in the middle of the dormitory floor, angrily squirting more of the substance in vehement protest.

“What are they still going on for?” Peter croaked, eyes watery and red as he emerged from his bout of vomiting. James pinched his nostrils shut as tightly as possible between his thumb and forefinger. “We’re already drenched in this awful stench, what more do they want?!”

James thought it was a very good question, and one that the plants needed to deliberate upon solemnly and as soon as possible.

He cursed the moment that they (Sirius) had the idea of experimenting with Stinksap to invent some potion to prank the Slytherins. James had been abhorrently easily swayed despite his incompetence in anything to do with a cauldron and patience. He knew they really ought to pay more heed to Remus’s advice in the future.

They’d live longer.

“Merlin, I cannot breathe,” Remus wheezed and dove over the side of his bed, having the good sense to transfigure a stray shoe into a bucket that was only slightly disfigured, before he retched into it, too. “Ugh,” he spat, “it still stinks like old, sweaty socks.”

James was about to unhelpfully inform him that it was probably just the Stinksap—though he dreaded opening his mouth and breathing in the smell again—when the bathroom door opened behind him, revealing a flush-faced Sirius.

He took in the scene with a blank look.

“Nope,” he shook his head, retreated into the bathroom, and closed the door again.

“Padfoot!”

“Not fair!”

As the fifth-year Gryffindor boys dormitory continued to ring with moans and groans of complaints, a rapid series of knocks sounded against their door.

“Remus?” called a familiar female voice from the other side, freezing the boys in their various states of distress. They exchanged comical looks of shocked silence. “Black? Potter? Pettigrew? Open the door!”

“Not happening, James,” Remus immediately hissed before James could even open his mouth. His eyes had narrowed into slits. “I told you this would be a disaster, and you and Sirius went ahead and did it anyway, and now I refuse to become the scapegoat. No chance.”

“Moony, please—” James almost sobbed. This was turning into his worst nightmare. “Come on, mate, not—not in front of her!”

“Exactly. Not in front of her. I want my dignity intact.”

James whirled around. “Peter—” But his pitiful plea was completely drowned out by the violent gagging Peter was enthusiastically engaging in.

James almost considered breaking down the bathroom door and forcing Sirius outside for his treacherous abandonment of the site of wreckage, but the knocking outside the dormitory grew more persistent, angrier.

“I swear to Merlin, you lot better open this door! I know you’re in there!”

Of course, she did, James thought morosely. If the noise hadn’t given them away, the stink certainly did.

Seeing no solution in sight, he trudged on towards the door himself, feeling confident that this was the most embarrassing moment of his fifteen years of life. Remus’s parting gaze was sympathetic, but not sympathetic enough, and only made him feel more miserable.

“Stand back, Evans,” he warned through the door, and waited for two seconds before quickly slipping outside onto the landing and shutting the door behind himself. Untainted air had never smelled sweeter before as he drew it into his lungs.

“Jesus, fuck, Potter, you stink!”

James winced, almost running his hand through his hair before realizing he was lavished in green goop. Lily Evans stood across from him, wisely as far away as her body would allow without having her topple down the stairs.

“Alright, Evans?” he tried, grinning. A drop of sap dripped from his hair and onto his glasses. Lily grimaced.

“Are you?” she asked, covering her nose. “What the bloody hell are you boys doing in there? Is that Bubotuber pus?”

“Stinksap,” he corrected.

She shook her head, bravely taking a step forward. “Move. I have to make sure you’re not damaging Hogwarts property.”

“No!” James yelped, thinking of the dormitory and the vomit and the plants and the half-blasted cauldron. He blanched. “Absolutely not. You have to leave. Right now.”

Lily scowled, though she didn’t move forward again. James supposed it had more to do with the fact that he had attached himself to the doorway like a sticky bug and she didn’t look too keen on touching him then—or ever, actually—than her sudden willingness to listen to him.

“And what if I say no?” she formed the question slowly.

“Then you will see things you definitely don’t want to.”

Her eyebrows twitched, though whether it was in amusement or terror, James couldn’t tell. Eventually, she sighed. “Just tell me no one’s dead and that you’ll have all this mess cleaned up and I’ll leave. I think you’ll not find it too hard to believe that I’m having difficulty breathing right now. The smell is wafting all the way down to the common room.”

“No one is dead and we’ll have this mess cleaned up,” James parroted quickly. Then, because he couldn’t resist, “though if you wanted to stop by our dormitory some other time, Evans, you know you’re always welcome to.”

She rolled her green eyes and James’s heart lurched. She was so pretty. “You’re insufferable, Potter. I truly don’t know why Remus hangs out with you lot willingly.”

“It’s because we’re so charming.”

Lily tilted her head, and it seemed like she couldn’t quite control her smirk as she let her gaze fly all over his current state. “Right. I’m sure that’s it.”

James flushed. He’d almost forgotten that he resembled a troll boogie right then. Getting away from there felt like a brilliant idea suddenly. “Well, Evans, it’s been a pleasure, as always—”

“Wish I could say the same.”

“Goodbye!”

“Potter, wait!” she called, and James immediately shut the door behind him again lest she notice how Peter lay groaning on the floor now. Thankfully, Lily only scrunched her nose in irritation. “I hope you remember Professor Sprout telling us that a ninety-minute shower helps remove the stench.”

He didn’t, actually, and his stomach tumbled a bit pathetically. “Er, right. Cheers, Evans.”

She almost smiled, lips twitching, but turned away before it could evolve into the proper thing. “Insufferable,” he heard her whisper, not entirely bitter this time.

When James entered the dormitory again with a dumb smile on his face, Sirius groaned loudly, watching him from the bathroom doorway. “You’re almost as nauseating as the bloody Mimbulus.”

[mppmaraudergirl]

30, 33 and 50 for the writer asks <33

Queen Senem <3!!

30) In contrast to 29 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

One of my own stories?? Yikes. That's like asking me to pick a least favorite child. I don't know... I guess All's Fair in Love and Waffles is probably my least favorite work I've done, and looking back I wish I would have executed it better. That's not to say I don't really appreciate all the positive feedback I've gotten on it, and I really did love it when I was writing it. But in retrospect, I think it could have been better.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

Oh man, there are so many supportive people in our little corner of the world/fandom and I feel so much love all the time. But I would say the biggest compliment I've received are from people saying they recommended my fic to someone else because they liked it so much. This happened with Potter Exposed a couple times that I know about and there is no better compliment to receive IMO. Or someone saying they read the whole fic in one sitting or one day etc, but as a mom I don't want to encourage anyone to binge read 110k in one sitting.

50) If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

I mean, I'm going to roll "pining" under the "angst" category and slam that button. Can't survive without pining (obviously). Fluff just doesn't come as natural to me tbh and I am not a smut writer (I am just way out of my element there).

[efkgirldetective]

12 and 22, lovely 🌷❤

no YOU’RE lovely!! 

12. how do you deal with self-doubts?

well first I wallow in it FOREVER & ALWAYS & then I become self-aware of the wallowing & have to step waaaaay back…I feel like with writing of any kind but especially fanfic, the opportunity to fixate & compare & feel not good enough is plentiful and always always readily available—I’m trying (& learning) to write for myself (by writing what I would want to read!) so that any self doubt that comes from being like “is this good enough? will other people like it?” can hopefully sort of melt away—because ultimately, if I like it & good about it then any other sort of support or enjoyment is just an absolute lucky thing that I can cherish! when I feel myself wallowing I really have to snap right out of it & remind myself that I write fic to feel good/have fun, not be constantly wondering if the writing is good enough—or if I’m good enough, for that matter! obviously this isn’t foolproof, I think any fight against doubt is imperfect & I’m constantly self-conscious & worried—BUTi continue to practice the anti-wallow, & that’s what works best for me :)

22. how many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

UMMMM AN EMBARRASSING AMOUNT!!! Usually it takes me a long while (few days at least) to arrive at a (shitty) *full* first draft—& after that, there is no telling how many dozens of micro drafts exist between the original and the final…I could obsess/edit forever, if I let myself! I hate that! But thank GOD for sweet Senem @keepingupwithpotters who is such a thoughtful/keen beta—I get too caught up on the prosody/language/diction sometimes, and completely neglect, like, the plot…so all said, I’m rarely ever fully satisfied with what I’ve had before posting, but I think the reality of art is it’s not perfect, it shouldn’t be perfect, and I will always, ALWAYS find myriad things I want to change after the fact of posting when I reread like a month later**

**many of which are “form” where it should be “from”

& now done is a terrifying word and something I STRUGGLE with intensely—but when I started writing fic again this summer my one steadfast goal was to finish all the projects I set out on, so I’m sticking to it! my next fun goal is finishing a project prior to posting…we’ll see how that goes…lol

[the-dream-team]

Hi! Once you get this you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly, then send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable) SPREAD POSITIVITY 💌😘 (But if you've received this before, or just don't feel like answering, no need to answer. I just want you to know I love you and appreciate you <3)

Senem! this is very sweet thanks for the ask! This is very out of my comfort zone but I’ll try my best hahaha

1. I like that I’m a storyteller! Writing hasn’t always been my medium of choice (I’ve also been making movies since I was a little kid) but I have lots of stories I want to tell and I like that

2. I have, like, really intense morals that I stand by, which makes me stubborn sometimes, but it’s important to me (and also a trait I share with James Potter, which I’ll take 😅)

3. I’m really good with animals! I can read them and earn their trust very easily

4. I’m a loyal friend and will literally go to war for my people >:)

5. I’m very chill when it comes to sharing my art because I genuinely think it’s just fun to make stuff and I like that I’m very fulfilled by just creating things and hanging in this community!

[la-petite-senem]

r u in luv?!

just because i write about sadness and love, doesnt mean that im very sad or brutally in love. I have a pretty nice life but everyone feels blue sometimes. And to put these emotion into words makes us feel free.

Senem Bozdag.

[mycoolideas]

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[keepingupwithpotters]

19. “Why did you wait until I moved on?”

You really chose violence with this one anon, and I respect that energy. Some James x OC at the beginning, but I guess that's to be expected for this prompt no? ��🙃

“–that’s when Hooch decided to blow the whistle, can you believe it?”

Shit, it was time for him to say something back, James realized too late.

“No way.” He tried to recall anything from the past 15 minutes.” You think she did it on purpose?”

His lucky remark earned him approximately ten more minutes as Elaine started to chatter excitedly about it.

It’s not like he wasn’t having any fun on this date, really, he was. He was just having a small concentration problem.

He gave himself permission to steal one more look to the table at the corner.

“–and I think she really has it out for me. But I guess you’re McGonagall’s favorite so you wouldn’t know, would you?”

He had no idea how the conversation came here from Quidditch. “Can you please repeat that again in Sirius’ vicinity too?” He needed to start paying more attention. “I think hearing it from someone other than me can finally make him accept the truth.”

Elaine’s eyes brightened instantly with the prospect, a giggle falling from her lips.

There. She was pretty, too.

Of course, James knew that when he accepted a date for the Hogsmeade weekend, he was just too busy spending the time in between comparing her, something he knew he ought not to do.

But now, sitting in a corner booth with seemingly no distractions, he could finally say that yes, she was pretty.

He tried to overcome the urge to correct that statement when he saw a flash of green eyes again. She truly wasn’t making his job easy.

“It’s probably because you’re the Gryffindor captain. I heard she was also a Quidditch fanatic back in the day herself.”

“She still is. You might want to try your chance next time by mentioning you have an upcoming match too”–not that he thought it would work–“as long as it’s not against Gryffindor.”

And they had a lot in common too, something he should be grateful for. They were both Quidditch players in their house teams, although she was a seeker, and they were both fans of Puddlemere. He racked his brains to find more common ground - something not Quidditch related. It was very hard to think when he could feel a pair of blazing eyes on him. He gave in to the temptation again.

“I don’t know how you do it James, managing both being the captain and the Head Boy.”

Was that firewhiskey in front of Lily at 2 bloody pm?

“Yeah, I have a pretty good team and an amazing Head Girl by my side thankfully.”

He saw the redheaded witch get up from her seat and walk towards the toilets.

“Hey, mind if I leave you alone for a moment to go to the loo?” He didn’t wait for an answer before adding, “And I’ll bring some fresh butterbeer on my way back.”

There was no time to spare a glance back to the confused girl as he followed Lily’s hurried steps.

He just managed to stop her with a hand on her arm before she opened the door. “What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” sputtered Lily, two bright spots on her cheeks betraying her feigned ignorance.

At least that’s what he thought before he remembered her new day drinking habits.

“I mean what are you doing here, at a table by yourself, drinking firewhiskey all alone?” and watching me, he’d wanted to add, but he didn’t think neither of them were ready for that to be said yet.

She visibly flinched before his eyes. “I didn’t know… I wouldn’t have come if I– “a shaky breath before finally whispering, “I thought you’d be at Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

But apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

“And what are you doing here?” she bit out. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now?”

The flush on her cheeks spread below her neck, a glint in her eye warning him on his answer, but she wasn’t the only person in this narrow corridor with anger simmering in their blood.

“You can’t just do this, Lily. Not when I– Why did you wait until I moved on?”

The minute he said it he wanted to take it back as he watched helplessly all the fire dying from the girl in front of her, what was once bright becoming dull with pain.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– “She looked lost for words as she struggled to croak out, “I’ll just… go now.”

Something finally snapped into action inside James when he saw her moving to do just that. He realized with a start he was still holding her arm, noticed by her as well when she couldn’t go more than a step away. He decided to take advantage of that to put both his hands on Lily’s shoulders, a move she seemed ready to object before he cut her off.

“Look, Lily.” He tightened his hold on her shoulders once to show her he wasn’t letting go. “I’m now gonna go to the bar to buy one more butterbeer and take that to my date. We’ll probably wait until she finishes her drink to leave, and after that I’ll walk her to her common room because, unfortunately, I have excellent manners.”

She looked willing to be anywhere but there, her eyes shifting all over the place with desperate need to flee.

He paid it no mind. “Then I’m gonna find you and ask you out for the next Hogsmeade weekend.” She finally stopped moving around, standing stock still between his arms. He took a deep breath to compose himself before continuing,“But for this to happen I need you to leave my line of vision before I give up on being a gentleman, okay?”

The light that went out before was back, burning stronger than ever in her eyes. “And if I said, ‘fuck being a gentleman’?”

His face twisted in pain, voice coming out hoarse when he answered, “My mother would be very disappointed in me, but I suppose I could make it work.”

“Go back to your date, James.” There was a smile on her face for the first time since he saw her in Three Broomsticks. “I’ll leave as soon as my drink is finished.”

He couldn’t imagine going back to speaking with Elaine now, under Lily’s watchful gaze, and he guessed she saw that in his face too when she felt the need to add, “I’ll sit on the other side of the table.”

He dragged his hands away from her shoulders slowly, stopping briefly to give her hands a squeeze. There was a lightness to his steps as he walked to the bar.

Euphemia Potter would better be fucking proud of him.

[keepingupwithpotters]

How about General 42: Are you flirting with me?

Thank you so much for the prompt Lauren <33 I've missed parties and flirting so much so I've decided to make that everybody's problem 🥰🥰

Lily can feel the music pulsing all over her as she stands in the middle of the common room. Her heartbeat still hasn’t calmed down after dancing for two hours straight and she swears it’s pounding in her chest simultaneously with the rhythm.

When she attempts to drink from the cup in her hand, which she miraculously still hasn’t spilled, she finds it empty. That explains the lack of clumsiness on her part, she thinks, or the fact that her whole body is throbbing like something red, raw, and alive.

The sweat is making frizzy curls stick to the skin around her neck, and it suddenly feels too hot among all these people she can hardly breathe. Escaping seems like a good idea now, to get away from this stifling air and maybe to get a drink for her parched throat.

It takes a moment for her to locate the makeshift bar but when she does, she finds herself buzzing for a whole different reason with a mouth drier than before.

It really is not fair on her addled brain for him to look this good.

She imagines herself now looking thirsty on another level, but she can’t find it within her to care as she drinks in James’ relaxed posture from afar. He is slouching against the table with a loose grip on his bottle and she admires the easy smile on his lips, so different from the intensity of it just mere hours ago. She notes with desperation he’d also changed from his Quidditch robes, which she can’t decide whether is better or worse.

His arm flexes under the t-shirt as he ruffles his hair.

Worse, then. Definitely worse.

She could try to reason with herself about how she was already going there anyway and how James has no effect on the speed of her steps. But she’s not fooling anyone, least of all herself, not with this much alcohol in her system and want in her blood.

“Now why are you not dancing at your own victory party, captain?”

He doesn’t look startled to see her beside him. “I think you’ve danced enough for both of us out there, Evans.

“I would’ve danced more if you were there with me too.”

The sad thing is, she doesn’t even get nervous about making these remarks anymore. The excitement to see whether he’d flirt back has faded away after her first few tries, his obliviousness to Lily’s all pitiful attempts now just a game for the girls to see how far she can take it.

“It’s not like I was miserable over here,” he chuckles. “I was just… enjoying the ambiance.”

“Is that what they call it now? Watching pretty girls dance from afar?” She adds a hair twirl for emphasis. Marlene would be proud of her.

He laughs wholeheartedly at this, a little too much if you ask her. She tries not to take offence.

“Guess I just needed a moment to take it all in. It’s the last year, y'know, trying to burn the good memories into my brain.”

She is certainly aware it’s the last year, thank you very much. The reminder prompts her to face him as she leans on the table like he does, debating whether a hair flip would be too much.

Ah, what the hell, she had passed too much two weeks ago.

“I’m sure we can make better memories than skulking in the corner of a crowded room and what? Drinking butterbeer?” She finds enough courage in herself to touch his arm as she adds the next part, “Well, no wonder you aren’t on the dance floor with me if that’s how you’re celebrating.”

“I think you have also drunk enough for both of us, Evans.”

“Nonsense.” She turns to face the various booze bottles and starts to add some firewhiskey in her cup to prove her point, a delayed mission on her part. “We wouldn’t be standing here talking if that was the case.”

Which is why she completely misses his face when he teasingly asks, “Are you flirting with me, Evans?”

She stops pouring the firewhiskey.

“What gave it away, Potter?”

The words alone could be considered a part of their usual bantering if it wasn’t for her deadpan voice. When she finally turns her head to gauge his reaction, she can see him trying to decide whether to laugh it off or panic as his joking question has now turned into something much more. She decides to press on.

“Was it the hair twirling? Cause I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing that for at least three weeks now.”

No answer. She isn’t sure he’s even breathing at the moment.

“No? Asking you to dance then? Something I’ve done at the last party too and got rejected again I must remind you.”

She knows it’s irrational for her to be angry at him about this, but it’s been too damn long, she has endured too much teasing, and she just wants to understand what has changed. James Potter stopped making sense to her a while ago.

“Guess not. Oh, it was touching you, right? Though, I’ve been doing that since almost the year’s started. Would be a real dark horse if that was the one.”

He gulps painfully, she really does feel sorry for him for a split second.

“It was probably the alcohol,” he chokes out at last.

“What? You only fancy me when I’m drunk or something, is that it?”

“Not– not your alcohol,” he stammers quickly. “My alcohol.”

Maybe Lily has drunk enough for the night. She definitely won’t admit he was right or that she can’t understand a word he’s saying though.

He apparently sees it anyway. “I don’t think I could accept you were flirting with me when I was sober, Evans. I still have a hard time believing it now.”

She gets a sudden calculating look in her eyes. “How far gone are you, Potter?”

“Alcohol-wise or you-wise?”

“Oh, now he flirts back,” she grumbles, the blush she feels rising in her cheeks ruining the disgruntled effect she’s going for. “How much of this will you be remembering tomorrow?”

“I don’t think I’ll be forgetting any of this till the day I die, Evans.”

“Good.” She stands up straight abruptly. “There is a chance I won’t have a clear memory of this moment.”

He wants to object to this vehemently, she can tell, but she doesn’t let him. “Knowing myself, I’ll probably be doing all of these in the foreseeable future too.”

“Which part,” he quips back.

“All of it. So you better get your act together.” She fixes some invisible wrinkles on her blouse before taking her cup back from the table. “I want you to bring your A game tomorrow.”

She leaves his side with a wink over her shoulder. She can’t wait to see the look on her friends’ face when she tells them her glaring success.

[keepingupwithpotters]

23-“Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?” For jily???

Hope you don't mind I used this prompt to write a second part to this one. There was a concerning amount of distress over it and I am nothing if not a compulsive people pleaser

Happy mf birthday to my bestie, my other brain cell @clare-with-no-i words cannot express how much I adore you. Hope you'll enjoy the custody of our shared brain cell for your birthday as a gift <333

He tried not to feel guilty about the loud noises his feet were making as he ran through empty hallways, an act that went against his every instinct as a Marauder. He just needed to remind himself that he was not hiding from an authority who’s about to catch him this time, rather running towards it actually.

In his haste he forgot to bring his cloak too, though what good it would do to him in this scenario was dubious. Maybe it could’ve helped with a sneak attack, but it wasn’t like they were expecting him now anyway. Occasional ghosts and portraits seeing a pair of feet run around in Hogwarts would be amusing perhaps, if he was in the mood for it.

He clutched the map in his hand tighter. He couldn’t dare to take another look at it in fear of losing time. When he first announced he was up to no good today, it was certainly not because it was a Thursday. Sirius had actually seen to that, making sure that the map was always in the hands of another Marauder every Thursday patrol, without asking for James’ input of course. Today was a fluke, his first one to be exact.

It wasn’t like he had been looking for a little dot named Lily Evans for his own selfish purposes, he was literally supposed to be up to no good before he got severely sidetracked. He winced remembering how he left the dorm quickly without giving an explanation to Peter, trying not to think about the telling off he would receive from Sirius when he got back from his detention.

Well, he could get something for Peter from the kitchens on his way back. As an apology, and a thank you.

Right now wasn’t the time for planning his return though, he first had to hurry up and reach them. When he finally turned the last corner, he had no expectations as to what he would see, only prepared to fire the first spell possible, taking his wand in his right hand.

As he took in the scene in front of him slowly, he realized that was not true, he had been expecting a fight. Certainly not… this.

His eyes passed over Cresswell quickly, cowering in a corner by himself and seemingly not moving a muscle as he stared ahead blankly. Anxiously searching for that flash of red, he finally found it when he turned his head a little to the right. Just not in the way he expected.

With the natural shock of seeing blood, he only lost a second before he ran to its direction. He felt his way around in the dark before remembering he was a wizard, doing a quick lumos to locate where the blood was coming from. The young face in front of him didn’t react to the light at all, laying dead still (not dead, not dead) in front of him. He saw his Hufflepuff tie, yellows darkening with blood, before he saw his wound. All the bleeding seemed to come from his head, his skin paling every second James left to go to waste. But healing spells weren’t his forte, they were Lily’s. He finally let his eyes find her, a coil releasing inside him with the permission.

The first thing he noticed were her hands; one of them fisted, the other one raised, still holding her wand, both shaking. He stood up to go by her side slowly, afraid to spook her out. When he was finally beside her, he saw her empty eyes were fixed on the bleeding boy. No, not empty – terrified, shaken, and devastated but not empty.

He stepped to come between her and the boy, desperate to cut across her line of vision to save her from some of that terror. “Hey, look at me. “He broadened his shoulders to block as much of that scene as possible. “Focus on me alright?”

His words appeared to have no effect on her from the way she was looking. He put his hands on her shoulders but couldn’t decide if shaking her to “snap out of it” would actually be beneficial before he realized where she was focusing on. Green gaze cut a straight line to his heart, he tried to slow it down for her sake.

Her frail hands found their way to his chest unsteadily, clasping firmly right above the beating. He let her clench the shirt between her fists, trying to encourage her to copy his breathing. When her eyes met his at last, it was his turn to lose his breath this time.

“James? What–what are you doing here?”

Her breathing still felt too shaky for him to relax, so he bent his knees to stare her directly in the eye instead. “Lily, I need you to breathe in and out at the same time as I do. You think you can manage that?”

Eyes widened slightly with a manic look, she nodded her head unsurely. Her inhales steadied comparably after a few tries, hands loosening slightly from their tight fists. Scared she would take them away, he put his own on top of hers, allowing her to ground herself as long as she liked.

“They have left.” Her voice trembled slightly. She didn’t continue until James squeezed her fists, once. “Just before you came. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I guess they thought you were a teacher.”

“Who has left?” he asked gently.

“The Slytherins. They were—” She finally seemed to remember what stood behind James. “Is he okay? I couldn’t break his fall in time. There were three of them and—”

“Did you try to take on three Slytherins on your own?” He tried not to grit his teeth, but it was hard, voice coming out clipped anyway.

“It’s not like I had any other choice. Cresswell was…” She trailed off, not sure how to finish her sentence. James knew exactly how he could finish it, but that might be his bitterness talking.

He couldn’t focus on how if he were the one with her tonight, he could’ve helped her. Lily needed his supportiveness now, not his ugly jealousy rearing its head.

“I think he has a severe head wound, but I didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. And he isn’t moving at all.”

Lily dropped her hands in a flash, running around him to go to the Hufflepuff’s side. Before he could mourn the loss of her, she had her hand under the boy’s nose, “Well, he’s still breathing.”

“Can you do anything about his injury?” He was crouching beside her now, watching her do some spells to check over the still body.

She looked pensive for a moment. “I could but if he lost consciousness there is a chance it might be something more serious.” The look she gave to James as she got up was urgent. “We should take him to Madam Pomfrey immediately.”

“I can help you with that.”

They both turned to the voice coming behind them, surprised that Cresswell was up and about. He was looking back at them sheepishly, neck flushing under their gazes.

“I think you’ve done enough help so far,” James sneered. He knew this was not the prefect’s fault per say, but the anger simmering behind his skin had not passed after hearing what Lily had to do alone, prompting one cutting remark from his lips.

He had been good so far, he deserved it.

“Why don’t you go back to your room, Dirk?” She sounded tired, and he immediately regretted his little moment of pettiness. “James and I will handle the rest of it from here.”

She turned her back to him without waiting to hear his retorts, starting to levitate the injured boy carefully. While James cleaned the blood on the floor, she waited. He tried to suppress the giddy feeling rising inside him at the act.

They started walking towards the hospital wing side by side, Lily surprising him by taking his hand. If it weren’t for the occasional blood dripping from the boy in the air, it could be considered romantic, like a midnight stroll in the castle.

They continued without speaking, until Lily finally broke the peaceful silence. “I think it was a bad idea.”

He desperately willed his heart to calm down. “What was, Lily?”

“Us not patrolling together and… other things. I may have made a mistake.”

His grasp on Lily’s hand tightened with the words. “Well, we still have time to fix it, don’t we?”

[keepingupwithpotters]

come swim in my ocean

For @efkgirldetective ‘s second week of summer of jily 🌊🌊🌊 with some minor wolfstar thrown in there

swimming with friends + today we're younger than we're ever gonna be (✨vibes✨)

Lily didn’t think they would actually do it.

Sure, it was a fun concept to joke about with your friends, but that’s all it was supposed to be — a dare everybody laughs at but does not try to execute.

She tries to gauge whether it’s too late to chicken out without losing her dignity. She can hear clothes hitting the sand as they’re thrown over carelessly between laughter.

Welp. No turning back now.

She realizes her mistake when she’s the only one left standing with clothes on.

“Well, c’mon Evans. This was your brilliant plan.”

“A plan that made me reevaluate all my previous assessments of you. Who knew Evans had it in her?” She can’t see his face in the dark, but she knows Sirius just winked at her.

She pathetically tries one more time to bring them back from this terrible decision. “You know, I’m starting to think this isn’t such a good idea after all.”

“Ah, come off it Lily,” Marlene yells from… somewhere. “What? You can talk the talk but won’t strip for the walk?”

“It’s not the skinny-dipping part that’s the problem,” she insists unconvincingly, “it’s the night part. The water is probably freezing right now.”

“I’m happy to do this with you again in the morning, Evans.” She tries to resist the usual urge of looking at James when he talks. “But if that’s your only excuse, the water is just fine.”

Peter helpfully flicks some water to Lily to prove James’ point.

Damn it. The water is actually rather nice.

Feeling ganged up on, she sighs deeply to show her displeasure with the turn of events, and starts to work on her clothes quickly. She won’t give them the satisfaction of turning her back while doing it though or acknowledge Mary’s loud whoop – which she shouted in the wrong direction.

Finally out of her last piece of clothing, she grabs the closest hand she can find, and tugs on it once before running into the water.

The loud splashing they make alerts the others to their new location. One by one they come into the sea, sometimes with shrieks and sometimes with swears.

Her companion laughs when the last two dark figures dip into the water as well, it was Remus after all, and turns to her general direction. “I gotta hand it to you, Lily. You’re really committed to cause maximum damage to James’ brain.”

Before Lily can answer him, they are interrupted by Sirius’ loud bellowing, “Wherefore art thou, Moony? Tell that red headed wench it’s not nice to steal my boyfriend for herself.”

“Tell it to the wench yourself,” Lily shouts back before realizing her mistake. Now located by the others, loud splashes fill her ear from everywhere as they all swim to their direction. She makes an honorable attempt to escape with Remus before giving up, not feeling ready for a swimming race with five people on their tail.

James and Sirius are the first ones to reach them, because of course they are, and she leaves Remus to his boyfriend before Sirius starts yelling more Shakespeare quotes. She is just about to swim towards Mary and Marlene to meet them halfway when a hand on her ankle stops her.

“You’re not cruel enough to leave me alone with them when they are naked, are you Evans?”

“Hate to break it to you but I’m very much naked as well, Potter,” she grins cheekily.

“Oh, believe me, I’m aware of that.”

She curses the new moon once more for although providing a very nice opportunity to look at the stars, doesn’t let her see James’ expression.

She can hear the girls catching up to them slowly with Peter not far behind. “Let me save you then, Potter. Are you up for a little swimming?”

Not waiting for his answer, which she can only guess is an enthusiastic nod, she starts to swim away from the upcoming party, knowing he’ll follow.

They are careful not to go deeper, only sideways, until they leave their friends’ earshot. With an unspoken agreement they stop, Lily finally allowing herself to gaze at the sky. She assumes that’s what James is doing too until he interrupts her thoughts.

“I’d hoped it would be brighter.”

She doesn’t answer him, her silence prompting James to explain himself. “The starlight, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, it's beautiful, but it’s not the scenery I want to be looking at right now.”

“Yeah, it’s jarring not to see your face when you’re speaking. Who knows how idiotic you actually look right now?”

James takes her right hand without speaking, bringing it to the edge of his brow. She doesn’t understand what he’s doing until he passes it over the slight lines of his forehead – he's letting her feel his facial expression.

Emboldened by his explicit permission, she lets her fingers rake through the hairs that have stuck on his forehead with water, combing them back with care. She follows the line of his brows, paying special attention to smooth the furrow in between. Her fingers fall dawn to his nose next, and it feels like his breathing had stopped a long time ago. She lovingly touches the cheekbones, wiping drops of water from them slowly. Careful not to skip a line, she trails the arch until she reaches his jaw, feeling it tense and ripple beneath her hand. When her thumb finally touches his lips, she finds them slightly open, just like how she envisioned, and she swears neither of them are breathing in that moment.

But Lily doesn’t want to stop there. She didn’t get James naked to touch his face. She lowers her hand.

If he had stopped breathing before, he certainly starts back when he gasps as her hand passes over his neck. She adds her other hand to grip both of his shoulders, their feet touching every once in a while as they try to stay afloat by just kicking them back and forward. That’s when she realizes James is not using his arms either, standing stock still, afraid to move.

Feeling bolder than ever, she glides her hand until she reaches his, placing it somewhere above her waist, sliding it upwards to encourage him. He practically chokes.

She goes back to outlining his collarbones with her fingers, feeling him shiver underneath her. Or is that her shivering when he slightly caresses the skin over her ribs? She doesn’t know where she ends and he starts under the water.

Which is why she doesn’t react immediately when she feels something touching her foot. A head emerges out of the sea, causing both of them to splash apart. She doesn’t see who it is, but the devilish voice tells her it’s Mary soon enough.

“Oi, lovebirds, pack it up. We’re going back to the house, and we’re leaving no man behind.”

More splashing comes behind Mary, causing all heads to turn that way. “Peter and I lost the water fight, pulling the metaphorical short stick in a sense.”

Peter finally reaches them, and they wait for him to stop his wheezing. “Sirius wanted me to tell you that he and Remus have dibs on the shower first because they are a superior couple who can keep it in their pants while swimming with friends.” An uncomfortable beat. “His words.”

They swim back to the shore soon after that, but she can still hear James grumbling about what pants as they make good use of their time waiting for their turn to shower.

[keepingupwithpotters]

“Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”

This is slightly longer than usual and it doesn't even have a happy ending, oops? I presume you knew what you were doing when you sent me an angsty prompt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And a happy birthday to @mppmaraudergirl !!! Hope you'll enjoy this unrequited pining dumpster fire queen :) I only wish it was set in 6th year to complete the set 🔥🗑❤️‍🔥

The dim light from the embers was trying to illuminate the Heads’ Office as he feasted his eyes on her. He thought about rekindling the fire to see her more clearly. Would she believe him if he said he was cold in April?

Just the fact they needed more light to see —her face in his case and the parchment in front of her for Lily’s— was enough proof that they’d been here for hours now, paying the price for not doing this in the last two weeks.

He tried not to think about why they were unable to do so, the first weeks of April a black blur in his mind he’d rather not visit.

Lily’s silhouette was a good distraction from his unwanted thoughts, he turned his focus back to it. He was just about to suggest adding more logs to the fireplace, weather be damned, when he realized Lily had been talking to him for a while now.

“—tried putting her with Bones last month but he said he will land himself in the hospital wing on patrol days if we ever pair them again, so we need a new partner for her.”

“How about Selwyn?”

“No, she's a half-blood, we can’t risk it.

“Fenwick?”

Lily looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fenwick could work.”

Happy that he had thwarted the danger, he went back to his favorite pastime.

“You know, this would finish a lot faster if you were helping me instead of gawking at me from afar.”

“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”

“You’re disturbing my concentration, Potter. Either close your eyes or come here.”

Never one to reject an offer like this, he hurried beside her. She had another thing coming if she actually expected this to stop him from drinking her in though. He could see the shadows of her eyelashes now.

“I can help you with that performance anxiety, Evans. I heard imagining me naked should do the trick.” He swallowed the words not that you’d have any problem with it back, afraid even this was pushing the limits.

“Thank you for that mental image.”

They were still pretending nothing had happened then. Fine by him.

She did look a little flustered though, he just hoped it wasn’t in anger. He decided not to risk it anymore, taking advantage of his new proximity to the redheaded witch to follow the freckles on her cheeks. Even he couldn’t fuck this up if he never opened his mouth, could he?

Guess not.

“C’mon Potter, work with me here.”

He’d be worried if he couldn’t hear the smile in her voice. “I am. I came over here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, to go over the patrol schedule with me,” the smile spread from her voice to her lips now, “not to continue your ogling beside my face now.”

He relented after that; still deathly afraid he could offend her unexpectedly. They went through the rest of the pairs slowly, easy laughter filling the air after a while. Lily was tapping the quill against her cheek, pondering about who to give Abbot as a partner, when he slipped up again.

It wasn’t his fault that the light hit her eyes just the right way when she was pursing her lips deep in thought. He was only human after all.

Still sprawled on her seat, it was proof of just how relaxed she was when she only laughed upon noticing, “Don’t look at me like that.”

A smart James, a James who wasn’t drunk on Lily’s laugh, would’ve never said what he said next.

“Like what?”

But he was far from that smart James now, the knowledge of what he probably looked like slipping through his foggy mind.

Her laughter hadn’t died fully yet when she said, “Like you still love me.”

Ah… Well, he brought that onto himself.

That was the hardest part about being friends with her probably. But it was okay, he had done worse things for Lily Evans than pretending he didn’t love her.

“You serenade your heart out to a girl one time…”

He didn’t bring up the other time the very same words were breathed tenderly in the dark. He wasn’t sure what was allowed yet, their newfound friendship still so fragile, so delicate.

When he realized he couldn’t have her in his life anymore unless he buried his feelings, that’s what he did, the opposite choice looking so unbearable that he hadn’t wasted a second thinking about it. So what if he sometimes felt like a tight fist was mangling his heart? He was listening to her laugh now, wasn’t he?

And he remembered what it was like, in that brief period, where he didn’t even have that in his life. Prefect meetings left abruptly, conversations ending quickly when he entered the room, gaze solely directed to people who could never appreciate them the way he would… He had been starved for her eyes, her voice, her touch. He thought he didn’t have her before, but there was never a time he didn’t have Lily Evans so completely than that damn week.

Which is why he fixed it, really, she left him no other choice. He promised her friendship, swore his feelings for her were gone, vowed to never try anything again. And as a reward, he got her back.

He kept all his promises so far, their past not-relationship (never a relationship) a taboo neither of them touched… until now. Once again Lily was steering the wheel and he was helpless but to follow her lead wherever she took him. Control had never been in his hands, and he was back to looking at her to figure out how he would be hurt next.

He wondered if this was a test when Lily looked satisfied with his answer. Was there a wrong answer to give here? Did he pass?

Lily stretched in her seat unaware of his musings, his wound still too fresh, he kept his eyes away from her this time. “I think we’re almost done here. Look it over one last time and we should be good to go.”

He took the parchment over from her distractedly, giving the schedule a lazy once-over when something caught his eye.

“You’ve put me with Remus.”

Her face stayed impassive but he could see she was fidgeting with her quill. “Uh, yes. Does that work for you?”

Suspicion arousing because of her skittish behavior, he turned his eyes to the schedule to locate her name.

There.

Lily Evans & Dirk Cresswell

“I thought you hated patrolling with Cresswell, isn’t that what you said before?”

She was unable to hide her apprehension now, her face flaming up rapidly before his eyes. “Not–not exactly.” She averted her eyes. “He asked to patrol with me at the last Slug meeting, said his current partner was causing some problems.”

He tried to relax his jaw, knowing it’d make everything worse for him if he proved her discomfort right.

“The schedule looks perfect, Evans. I think we can wrap it up for the night.”

Her relief choked up the room. “Yeah, let’s just close up the office and leave this bloody room at last.”

“Actually, you know what, why don’t you leave closing up to me?” He continued without paying attention to her halfhearted protests, “No, no, you earned it. Let me deal with the aftermath, it’s the least I can do.”

She gave him a relieved smile. “Thanks, Potter.” She was already halfway to the door when she said her goodnights.

He didn’t get up from his armchair right away, eyes stuck on the door she just left.

Pretending he didn’t love her may not be the worst thing he’d done for Lily Evans, but it was surely turning out to be the worst one for himself.