#100sitt1

It’s not natural, being shut up all day inside a castle. People were meant to spend their time outdoors, to be one with nature, and, sometimes, the Hogwarts life takes its toll on River. Sometimes, on those days, he’ll quietly slip out of the castle and make his way down to the lake. It’s a good place for watching the sunrise and remembering that his grams is somewhere in Ireland watching the same one. 

River has to laugh when he sees the sporting goods store in Diagon Alley. For all his grandmother and the adults in his coven have said about the broomsticks being an addition from popular culture, it appears they were wrong: magic folk really do ride on brooms, unlike their magickal counterparts.

Carsan is thirteen the summer he drags everything from his bedroom out into the pool house in the back yard. His parents are out - again - and have been since he got home from school a week ago. The main house is too big for one person - there’s too much space, and the emptiness and quiet make it feel even lonelier, and Carsan can’t do it. The loft is smaller; still spacious enough to live comfortably, but the space is easier to fill. It doesn’t take much to make it look lived in, and, after two long days of redecorating, Carsan breathes a sigh of relief. It’s still lonely, but it’s a start.

She doesn’t notice she’s late until two months go by and Fancy realizes she hasn’t had her period at all. There’s always too much else going on to count the days, and she’s never really been great at keeping track, anyway. She freaks out when she realizes it; thinks about the party she went to three weeks ago where she drank herself under the table, and thinks about how she’s been taking unnecessary risks in duelling club, trying to show up all the smug Slytherins. She drops to her knees in the shower, the contents of her stomach pushing their way up and out of her mouth as she realizes why she’s started putting on weight, why she’s been so hungry. There are tears mixing with the shower-water on her face as she heaves, one hand resting delicately on her stomach. The one comfort sitting in the back of her mind is that the father can only be Cam, the only person she’d ever even want to have a family with, but even that knowledge can’t settle her nerves entirely. He’s going to hate her.

tw: child abuse, blood

Maddie doesn't know what it feels like to be burnt alive, but he thinks "like it's on fire" is still a suitable description of the way his back hurts even as the cold water coming from the showerhead hits it. Perhaps it hurts all the more because of the water, but it's a necessary evil, and he watches as the water pooling around the drain slowly fades from red, to pink, to almost-clear. He lays on his stomach when he finally crawls into bed, and shivers from the cold. He won't risk staining a shirt or his sheets, and so he'll just have to put up with the cold until he's certain that the breaks in his skin have scabbed over.

tw: subspace, subdrop

He doesn’t quite know how to describe the feeling he gets when he’s failed one of his doms. It’s a bit like going under, except it’s darker, and colder, and it feels more like falling than flying. It’s awful, and Ephram doesn’t like it, but it’s hard to come back up. The worst part is how he knows he doesn’t deserve to come back up, because he wasn’t good enough; he’s been a bad sub, and this is his penance, but it’s too much. It’s not a nice punishment. He thinks maybe that’s why he’s been a perfectionist his whole life through, because he doesn’t want this feeling to spread into the rest of his life. He remembers once when it did, when he was just a child and had broken a lamp while playing inside, and he remembers how awful it had felt and how hard he had cried, even when his parents tried to tell him that they weren’t angry. He had known that they must have been disappointed, even if they weren’t saying it - the lamp had belonged to his great-grandmother, and he knew his mother loved it. He still remembers how he promised himself that he would never disappoint anyone like that again, and the realization that he’s broken that promise only makes him sink harder into the cold darkness of his drop.

tw: breathplay

Ephram had worried that it would get easier; that the more frequently he was choked, the easier it would become to hold his breath and wait it out. He was wrong, and he’s glad. It still goes to his head when he feels someone wrapping their hands around his neck, and he can still feel the fog rolling into his mind when he’s got someone’s cock down his throat and fingers pinching his nose shut, and it’s good. It’s so good. He’s so relieved every time the edges of his vision start to go black, and he feels like he could take flight at any moment. Someday, he thinks, someday someone will actually give him his wings.

Lottie doesn’t think she’s a cold person, she just doesn’t care so much about other people’s problems. Well, that’s not entirely true. She doesn’t care so much about the emotional ramifications of their problems, but she certainly enjoys the gossip surrounding them, and she especially enjoys exacerbating that gossip. If people are going to go around whining and airing their drama, why shouldn’t she twist it around to suit her own whims? Her daddy always did tell her to capitalize on every opportunity that comes her way, and there’s no reason for that to be any different with gossip.