#misc:drabbles

[royofthegreengrass-blog]

“I’m pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant.” -- Rodelaide

It is Christmas holiday. Roy feels like this is not the time he should be sitting outside a locked door to the toilet trying to apologise for another misplaced comment. Yet here he’s sat on the cold hardwood floor of his flat, trying to get Addie to open up. Only half the tree in the front room is decorated and he’s about ready to stick a wad of tinsel in his mouth to stop himself from ever upsetting the woman again.

“Come on, Ads. I swear I meant nothing by it! I’m sorry, I’m bloody sorry and I’ll say it till my teeth fall out!” Roy knocks his head gently against the closed door as if he can knock some sense into himself by doing so.

He’d only said: Should you be wearing that while decorating a Christmas tree? And Roy will go to his death claiming he hadn’t meant to judge her attire, only to encourage Addie to wear a little less. The thought of skimpily enjoying tree decorating had crossed his mind and he’d been foolish enough to make a sideways comment without clarifying himself first.

Hearing a few sniffles and shuffling around from within, Roy tilts his head up to the door knob. Maybe Addie finally hears him and will come out to talk. Or just cuddle. Cuddling solves everything. That and a nice warm cuppa.

“You don’t even need to wear yourself out decorating. I’ll do the rest while you relax and watch me bullocks it all to hell just for your entertainment,” Roy cajoles. Not that he’d ever bullox up decorating for Christmas. It’s the only other holiday next to Halloween that he will never stop being excited to decorate and festoon his life with.

The door swings open without warning and Roy falls back onto the floor, unprepared for the sudden loss of his support. Blinking up at Addie who stands over him with an unreadable look in her expression, Roy frowns. “I really am sorry, Adelaide.”

The woman’s dark ringlets bob as she shakes her head, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Goodness, he hadn’t thought he’d done quite the damage with his words. With a scuffled hurry, Roy pulls himself to his feet and rests his hands on his girlfriend’s shoulders. Truly his partner now after weeks of debating and huffing. “Ad--”

“It’s not you--I’m just--” Adelaide quickly rubs at her eyes trying to dispel the threat of more tears. “Merlin, Roy! I’m pregnant.”

The man blinks. A second passes. Then another. “I think I should have just stayed lying on the floor for that.”

“Yeah, perhaps you should have,” Addie replies with a hiccuping watery laugh. “Are you--what are you thinking?”

With a slow-spreading smile, Roy answers, “I’m thinking we’re going to have Florence and Marcus beat for cutest baby. And that I need to watch my mouth a helluva lot more now.”

Addie looks ready to make a reply but Roy doesn’t give her the chance. Pulling her into him, the man captures her lips in a thrilling kiss that evokes all the messy excited and terrified feelings he has at the thought of having a child. A kiss to express his love for Addie that only grows by the day and will blossom tenfold for her and the little life she now carries.

[moodyvigilance]

McMoody #27

“I’m pregnant.”

Alastor can’t say for certain how long he’s been with Minerva now. It isn’t that he doesn’t care about the length of their relationship but because they’ve always been part of the other’s life. Would he consider the first time they kissed the starting date? Or the first time they met in the Gryffindor common room? Or that day they–the list goes on and on. So no, Alastor doesn’t fret that too much. It’s natural to find himself scrubbing at the dishes, soap bubbles clinging up to his elbows. He’d promised he’d do them by hand. Minerva has a thing about how clean things are and swears that spells don’t get the job done properly.

“Catch her!”

The man doesn’t have to ask what the called command meant. A moment after he’s been told, Alastor’s arms are dry enough to scoop the crawl-master Annabelle as she tries to wiz past the kitchen. He still holds a damp bowl in one hand as he tucks the girl into his hip and she gurgles into his face. “Oh yea’ y’ think y’ can get ‘way frum y’mum, eh?”

Instead of answering properly, the near two year old slaps a hand to his cheek and begins a chorus of bababababa. Alastor tries to snap at her fingers, making her pull her fingers back with a shrill squeal as he cries indignantly, “I ain’t bad. Yer th’ bad one. Shoulda never taught y’ t’ crawl.”

“It’s a natural part of child development, Alastor.” He just nearly refrains from sticking his tongue out at the woman who appears at his other elbow. Barely. But he doesn’t have time to form a better response.

“After all, you’ll have to deal with the crawling stage again soon. Seeing as I’m pregnant.”

Alastor swears the bowl in his left hand was too slick with water to keep a hold on. Really. So it has nothing to do with the succinct pronouncement of a second pregnancy that causes the bowl to fall from his fingers and crash with a loud shatter on the tiled kitchen floor. It slipped, is all. But it’s not Minerva he looks at as the bowl explodes into a million porcelain pieces. His little belle still doesn’t like loud sounds and his gaze holds on hers as she stop squirming and making noises, blinking as if she’s trying to decide what to do with the sudden crash. It’s when her little nose scrunches up and her lips curl at the corners that Alastor immediately begins to bounce where he stands and begins anew the bababa chorus back at her.

Minerva lets out a small chuckle as she rests her hand at his back and breathes into his ear. “You’ll do just fine, Alastor.”

Then she turns back to head down the hall and, with a rekindled Annabelle babbling her song at him and slapping his stubbled cheek, Alastor calls back, “O’ course I bloody will! Moody’s do mightae fine a’ everyt’in’!”

“Language,” is all he gets in return as she disappears into their bedroom to get herself dressed for the morning. And Alastor is left standing there with his cheek starting to smart and the thought in his head: Pregnant. Merlin’s beard I go’ m’very own baby comin’.

[moodyvigilance]

McMoody - 35

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

Alastor will curse everything for the next week if someone doesn’t remove the item of clothing right this instant.

“Excuse me?”

Jaws clenched, face flaming red, Alastor feels ready to burst. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“Bu’ daddy looks so pretty!”

Minerva glances down at the dirty blonde head stood next to them both and then back up to the irate man. “Yes Alastor, you look positively radiant.”

Alastor’s glare could cow Voldemort himself but the woman remains unfazed, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes as she eyes him. He tells himself he will not start shouting. It would frighten Annabelle and it really isn’t anyone’s fault. Except his own.

“It’s cuttin’ me circulation.” If anyone considered his words too closely, they might say the intimidating Head Auror Moody was whining. “I ain’t wearin’ it t’ work.”

Annabelle frowns and Minerva won’t have any of that so instead she turns and rummages around in the trunk. Alastor hopes it’s a pair of scissors or a flamethrower. He had half a mind to send the four year old out of the room and burn it off himself. What Minerva pulls out instead makes the angry red blotches drain swiftly from his face.

“Pikcha, pikcha!” Annabelle hops up and down at the sight of the camera equipment.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Alastor mutters.

Minerva can’t quite put on her reprimanding face as she admonishes, “Language. Do this and then I’ll oblige in removing it for you before you absolutely have to leave for work.”

Her words brook no argument and at least it will be far better than having to wear it into the Ministry. He lets out a heavy sigh and does as he’s directed.

As of that day, a framed wizarding photo sits on Minerva McGonagall’s nightside table. In it, her second husband Alastor A. Moody stands with her daughter Annabelle in his arms. The girl’s fingers reach out and press into the corners of his lips, tugging them up into a comical misshapen toothy grin. Her silent giggles light up her face as the only father she’s ever known shifts uncomfortably in a bright pink tutu that gives off little glittery sparkles with every agitated shift of his hips.

If the photo’s existence gets wielded against the man to get him to scrub the dishes by hand or attend a school function with his wife against his wishes, it’s of little consequence. Families are funny like that.

[royofthegreengrass-blog]

“I wish I could hate you.”

“I wish I could hate you.” - Rodelaide

She’s so adorable when she sleeps.

Too bad.

A firm pointer finger jabs itself into Adelaide’s side. She squirms away and Roy takes a moment to wait and see if she does anything else. Nothing. So his errant finger jabs again, this time a little harder. Again, her body squirms away and a muffled stop can be heard from the mound of pillows. He waits a moment more and is graced with a command: “Go back to sleep, Roy.”

Crouched on his side of the bed on his knees, grinning wide, Roy leans over Addie further and this time, he reaches out with both hands. His fingers find her ribs and wiggle firmly against her. The reaction is immediate and rather rewarding. She squeals, her body flailing in every direction to try shaking his tormenting tickle off but he keeps his hold, continues the onslaught until a pillow connects with the side of his face and he falls back laughing heartily.

“Roy I swear!”

“You’re awake, finally!” he cries as he sits back up. “You snore.”

He receives an indignant cry and another pillow to the face. “I do not!”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Roy just picks up the tossed pillows and drops them at the top of the bed where they should be.

Addie huffs, arms crossed over her chest as she glares. “I wish I could hate you.”

Holding up a finger and aiming it as if to attack her stomach this time, Roy intones, “But you doooon’t. I’m too pretty to hate.”

“I don’t know about that,” she shoots back, holding a pillow up like a shield.

He grabs at his chest and cries out, “You wound me! And you don’t even know what today is!”

Addie rolls her eyes and Roy feels more than sees it. Then she’s pushing herself out of bed and padding toward the bathroom before she throws over her shoulder, “Of course I know what today is. It’s the day you entered the world and decided you were going to grow up just so you could interrupt my sleep.”

“My birthday!” Roy cries back as he bounds off the bed. He rushes to the door just as Addie passes through it. “Hey, wait for me. I want to join you in the shower--it’s my birthday so I get whatever I want.”

“You’re just a spoiled brat.”

“You love it.”

Roy chases after her as they both tumble into a shower and she repeats, just for the sake of it. “I still wish I could hate you, you know.”

“Too bad. Now you’re stuck with me.”

[royofthegreengrass-blog]

“I almost lost you.”

“I almost lost you.” - Rodelaide

Peeling his eyes open feels like a near impossible thing. A feat that nearly does him in. But he does open them and finds himself staring out at a small room. Drab. Not his flat. In a bed that isn’t his own. And what the devil is that infernal beeping noise? Roy tries to turn his head but finds the motion impeded by something clasped around his neck. But his gaze shifts ever so slowly and he takes in the sight of a slumbering face, hair askew but lovely as ever.

Licking at his chapped lips and moving his hand with great effort, he presses his hand atop her own and breathes out in a rasp, “Hey.”

The touch or the sound of his voice--he can’t be sure which one did the trick--pulls Adelaide from her sleep and she blinks rapidly as she lifts her head.

“Roy?” she breathes. “Y-You’re awake?”

“Guess so.” Dammit why is talking so difficult?

Immediately, he sees tears glitter against her lashes and begin to slide down her beautiful cheeks. “Merlin--I almost lost you, Roy.”

He feels guilt seize him. He doesn’t like the thought that the tears were his fault. Especially when he can’t remember--but then it hits him. The damn Order mission. He and Marcus had been trying to gather intel but they’d been spotted. Roy can’t believe his own stupidity. What’s more, he remembers now why he must be in St Mungo’s. Not from spell damage from the death eaters. No, he fell from his damn broom, of all things.

A flash draws his gaze and his attention back to Addie. As she wipes the tears from her face, the light reflects off the inlaid diamonds on the ring she wears.

An engagement ring.

Roy remembers that clearly.

Fucking hell. Here he is, plastered everywhere because of a mission he hadn’t even felt was safe enough and he could have died. Leaving Addie without ever getting to marry her, without having the future he often envisioned. Roy curses himself for being a fool.

“I’m--I’m sorry, Addie,” he gets out. He opens his mouth to say more but she cuts him off.

“Don’t, Roy.” She lifts herself from where she’d been sitting and he has a feeling she’d occupied that seat for quite some time. Resting her lips against his, ever so gently, she kisses him and he feels as if he could do anything if she’d just keep doing just that. “You don’t have to say anything. Not right now.”

“Okay.” She leans back. Roy wishes he could just pull her into the bed, hold her close, and promise that he won’t go anywhere. But he’s too injured still and everything hurts too much.

Addie turns toward the door as she says, “I’ll go get, Marcus.”

“Wait.” A coughing fit takes him after trying to raise his voice but thankfully Addie stops and turns, moving back over to him to give him a drink of water through a straw. When he can speak, he asks, “Can you do me one favour?”

“Anything.”

“Scratch my toe for me--please?”

That gets a laugh out of her. Roy grins. He likes to hear her laugh. “You’re pitiful, Royden Greengrass. You’re lucky I really like you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[moodyvigilance]

McMoody #11 pweez!

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

The world was a blanket of glittering white stuff. It had crept in silently in the night and Alastor stands at the kitchen window with a cup of tea warming between his hands as he considers how deep it must be. He really should take the other tea cup up to Minerva. She’s come down any minute now wondering what he was up to. After all he’d been the one to insist she have a lie-in after the false contractions she’d had the previous night.

So tea.

But snow.

The idea forms in his mind as he turns away from the window and a wicked little grin perches on his lips as he sets his own cup down next to the other one, both trailing curtails of steam that entwine themselves. Opening the back door, Alastor stoops down and drags his palm into the freezing water matter before returning to grab the two cups and balance them in his free hand up the flight of stairs down the hall to where his lovely wife is.

“Tea fer y’, hot an’ ready t’ scare off th’ chill.”

Standing in the doorway, he stops until she turns over to face him. The look on her face when she spies the round ball of snow in his hand is comical. Alastor reminds himself to save it to play back later when he’s been relegated to Minerva’s furious silence. It will pay dearly but it’s worth it just for that expression.

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

The ball flies and smacks the woman in the chest, the bits of scattered snow slipping down the front of her nightgown. Alastor can’t stop the bellows of laughter that burst free of him. She looks like a miffed cat, soaking with the wetness of melted snow and shivering slightly as the chill of the stuff seeps into her skin. Of course he doesn’t forget the tea and quickly crosses the room to set her’s at her bedside, made just to her liking already. “Love y’,” he offers with a swift kiss to her forehead before backing out of range. Cat or human, her nails are sharp and he won’t be caught by them.

“Alastor!”

Her cry follows after him as he takes his cup of tea and scampers out of the room.

“Y’knae bein’ angrae ain’t no good fer the babe,” he calls back before making a quick escape down the stairs to nurse his cuppa in the den. If she doesn’t try to pay him back with silence, she will surely find a way to get him drowning in snow later on. Transfigurations master are always like that. Sometimes he feels it was dangerous to marry an animagus skilled at transfiguration but he gets by.

[manamongwolves-blog]

your drabble was amzingggy ou should write more!!!!!

Thank you! I'm very glad you liked it and took the time to let me know :)I will try to do that. :)

[manamongwolves-blog]

Drabble prompts

Hey guys, I'm working on your prompts and I hope I will finish everything this week, I'm just having a hard time writing right now. But I already started and I won't forget about it. Stay tuned and don't run away, I'll try to make it worth the wait.