#London wasn't too shabby

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

it would be nice to return to the Netherlands sometime

[witchxxjpg]

lestappen hogwarts au dedicated to my harry potter marathon (1k words)

+ seeker Charles and chaser Max (definitely not dating you know👀)

(i know that the age gaps are incorrect and that 11 years-old Max never raced international but for the sake of this au i change these things))

******

Max sat in his compartment alone.

When he looked outside all he could see was children and their parents running around Platform 3/4 with huge trolleys filled with bags and suitcases. But Max himself had only a mediocre case with shabby textbooks and some clothes to wear during his first school year.

Honestly speaking, he didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to stand out, even though he was well aware that he wasn't quite like all the others.

When he passed by the other compartments, all the children were chatting and, Max guessed, they were just happy to see or meet each other, while some of the older students were discussing their summer breaks.

Max didn't know anyone here. He didn't even have anyone to say goodbye to.

His mother was too busy in Belgium to fly just for him to London. And his father was still furious at him for the decision to take a year off karting to study in this school for wizards. He had just dropped him off three hour ago near King's Cross Station and left without any goodbye.

Standing on the platform, Max'd thought about what to do.

After a failure of trying to ask an officer about platform 3/4 that was written on his boarding ticket Max'd sat on a nearby bench, hopping that soon he'd see someone who looked like a wizard.

And he was lucky enough that after only an hour of waiting he saw a girl, pulling a trolley of suitcases and a cage with a huge brown owl.

When Max had visited Diagon Alley last week with a big disheveled guy named Hagrid to buy all the necessary equipment for his first year, he'd been told that he's allowed to have a pet like a cat or an owl in Hogwarts. But his father didn't even want to give him money to purchase a wand, so Max knew better than to ask for an animal, even though he really wanted to have a cat.

He got into the train well earlier than all the other students, because almost all sofas were empty. He took one of the farthest compartments and put his case on the bench near him. He was too short to throw it on the top shelf and he didn't know any lifting charms. Then started looking at other wizards.

After an hour of observing the almost empty platform, Max finally started seeing more people.

They were all different: some of them wearing usual clothes, that Max's seen people in, while some others were in ridiculous outfits that he decided was sort of wizard style.

But there were a lot of children, of course. Most of them were in the same usual clothes. However, Max was relieved to see that others wore black robes that Max himself was dressed it.

Later he noticed that some of the robes of other students were with colorful elements, unlike his own that was fully grey.

The departure time of the Hogwarts Express was close, so Max sat there and waited, listening to dulled noises on the platform.

Until the door of his compartment was wide open.

"Hey, sorry, all the others are full," said a young boy, who looked around Max's age. "Do you mind if we sit with you?"

Max didn't mind at all, so he shaked his head and offered the seats.

Behind the boy who asked were two older guys who entered the room.

"Need help with your luggage?" asked one of them, pointing at Max's miserable suitcase, and Max, nodding, pointed out in his head that they're not from England, judging from the accent of these two of them.

While he put Max's case on the top shelf, the other one asked, seeing his stiffness, "First time, right?"

Max smiled awkwardly and nodded.

"Don't worry, we don't bite," cheered up the guy who helped with the luggage, chuckling.

"But Charlie can, though!" said the other, ruffling the hair of the younger boy who entered first and laughing.

Max assumed that they were all brothers, considering how well they knew each other.

The younger boy, Charlie, looked scandalous, "Hey, it only happened once!" pointing at the guy who accused him. "And you totally deserved that!"

"Okay," chuckled again the older guy. "We'll go buy us some food".

"Yeah, let the kids bond together," said the other when they exited the compartment, still giggling.

As soon as they left the younger guy jumped on the seat, opposite Max, with a huge smile and stretched out his right hand, "Hello, I'm Charles".

Shaking Charles' hand, Max mumbled, "I'm Max".

"Oh, by the way, that were Jules and Lorenzo," said Charles, pointing at the direction where the older boys had left. "They can be very annoying, I know. But still cool".

Max hesitated, "Are they your brothers?"

"Lo is," Charles smiled. "Jules is my godfather, but he's more like a brother. Do you have siblings?"

With that question Max realized that he actually missed Vic. He last saw her two months ago, while video chatting with their mother. He hoped he'd be able to go visit them on winter holidays.

"Yes, I have a sister," Max mentioned. "But she lives with my mother, and I live with my father".

He saw that Charles liked talking. "Oh, are you parents wizards?"

"No, they are both -" Max remembered that Hagrid had called them somehow, people who can't do magic. But he didn't remember. "Well, you know, not wizards".

"Muggles?" helped Charles. "That's so cool! Mine are from Monaco. Both wizards, but it's a boring story".

That explained the accent, even though Max'd thought they were French.

Max thought if he could share more about himself, "Oh, I raced in Monaco once", he said before realizing that maybe wizards didn't even know what karting was.

Until he saw how Charles' eyes went comically wide.

"Really?!" he jumped off the seat opposite Max and sat right near him. "You do karting? I also do karting. Not like anything professional but we do it every holiday".

Time passed and Max didn't even realize that. Soon returned Lorenzo and Jules with their hands full of sweets and chocolatebars. That's when Max tried his first chocolate frog and got his first card.

Then when Charles was very emotional to discuss Max's karting championships with his brothers, deep red Max was awkward to hear all this excitement (he'd never admit that he liked it). And he didn't know what to say when the older guys invited him to Monaco for winter holidays to show off the skills.

During boat trip to Hogwars Max listened to Charles speaking about four houses and how he was sure he would be in Gryffindor, because all his family was Gryffindor. Max decided that he also wanted to be brave and be in Gryffindor.

Of course, they didn't get to the same house, none of them didn't even get to the house that they'd wanted, but it wouldn't stop them from becoming best friends and probably something more.

But that's a story for later.

Now Max was just excited for his first year in the magic world.

[whorediaries-09]

pick your poison, babe;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- suggestive content, fluff. a/n- imgonnagetyouback stans rise for the national anthem.

little train.

'you're blushing,' he says. the woman sitting across him laughs, making no effort to hide the obvious effect he has on her. fluttering her eyelashes at him, she runs her tongue across the row of her front teeth,

'yeah so?' she leans forward, 'haven't seen anyone fall for your charm before you?' he tilts his head back, black inky strands glowing in the dim light of the pub. the bark like laughter emits from his lips, reaching your ears like a melodious tune.

it's a wonder really, how he hasn't spotted you yet. you're not sitting much far away from sirius' little 'date'-which you'd been informed of by james. lily had informed you that it was nothing but a ploy to make you jealous.

two could play the game, you'd thought as you turned up at the pub. if you knew sirius black any better, you were sure he wouldn't choose such a shabby place for a date for a woman he actually fancied. that also confirmed your suspicions of this whole set up being just a ploy.

'let me take you home,' he said. the woman leaned closer to him, mouthing a 'sure'. he was being so bubbly. you wanted nothing more but to punch away his piously fake chivalrous acts. you wiped your greasy fingers on your lilac short skirt which fitted you like skin.

god damn it, the place didn't even have fucking tissues.

you decided you'd enough. throwing in a few notes to pay off the bill and the tips, you snuck out the pub. you searched for the pocket knife you kept in your purse; london could get dangerous at night, plan ready and steady to be put in action.

you found his motorbike standing at the pavement, so innocently. you smirked to yourself, knife digging into the tires, letting out the air.

sirius had done his research. he knew the price going in.

*-

'i'll tell you one thing, honey. i can tell if somebody still wants me.' you said, brushing off his efforts to flirt with you. of course you knew he wanted you. but the game was not finished. not yet, anyways. he pouted.

'i know you punctured my motorbike that night, sweetheart,' he said, casually, as if not noticing the momentary freezing of your body or your parting lips before you put on your nonchalant facade.

'i'll make sure to smash up your bike next time,' you replied, with equal mirth, even though you couldn't really escape the heat that crawled beneath your cheeks. he chuckled, the smoke billowing out his mouth. his free hand crawled to your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. he leaned closer, eyes on the book on your lap. lips brushing against your ear, he whispered,

'and i'll make you think twice about it.'

and god forbid you found yourself hanging by the thread of your sanity. your stomach jolted with butterflies as he moved away, taking another drag.

turning you to ashes.

he threw the burnt end on the ground, crushing it with his boot.

'i know what i want, sweetheart. and trust me,' he breathed, getting up and standing up in front of you, finger under your jaw. 'you'll find you were never not mine.'

you smirked, raising an eyebrow.

'or maybe i'll just flip the script. take the upper hand. might just love you till the end, or leave you like a dumb house party,'

he coyly smiled.

there was danger in the heat of your touch. but god forbid he'd be lying if he hadn't already picked the heated posion.

*-

'i've got someone,' you said, blowing a raspberry at his very poor and lame attempt at impressing you. it wasn't true, of course. but he didn't need to know that. he rolled his eyes.

'say you got somebody and i'll say i got someone too. what's the point of lying to each other?'

'you're not gonna leave are you?' you asked, feigning annoyance, pulling away your feet from him, as he'd been painting your nails.

'nope. even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you,'

'you're so annoying,' you pushed your head into the soft pillow. he chuckled.

'you're a bad liar,'

you grumbled. there wasn't actually any game either of you were playing. all the both of you were doing was trying to escape from each others feelings. like a trap, to see who'd fall into it first.

the pieces were broken, but the both of you wanted to play the game.

*-

'sirius orion black!' your scream was loud, paired with the loud crash of his door. you were usually very careful when it came to rented apartments, but sirius had taken it too far this time. he had no business fucking up your date-

you slammed against his form, fresh out the shower. your cheeks instantly reddened, realizing the situation you were in. you'd just walked into sirius fresh out the shower. yet your anger overpowered any other emotion of embarrassment, so you lashed out, not really caring about the ink on his bare chest, his toned body, the white towel wrapped low and loose around his thin and narrow hips and the pellets of water flowing down his porcelain skin...

'you're staring and screaming.'

'i'm not!'

'keep telling yourself that.'

'you-shut up! you ruined my date. i was looking forward it to it-'

any further words were silenced by the harsh planting of his lips falling on yours, hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you towards his wet body, pushing you towards his bedroom.

'all you do is fucking talk, god sweetheart,' he grumbled, pushing you on the bed.

'i don't-'

'see, you're doing it again.' he said, knitting his eyebrows. 'we don't have to play this game, you know? the pieces are already broken.'

of course you knew it. you heard the whispers in his eyes. he made you think twice. and of course you knew you he was never not yours.

'come here,' you ordered. he smiled wolfishly, pushing your further on the mattress, lips hot on your warm skin. he kissed soft and slow along the line of your blouse, undoing the buttons with his teeth.

'you still going to smash up my bike, sweetheart?' he asked. you laughed, breathlessly.

'whether i'm going to be your wife or smash up your bike, i haven't decided yet,'

**********************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

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[thewomaninlilywhite]

Broadway Flea Market 2023

Final result: I spent $57 total

note: I'm currently trying to weed out my collection a bit, so if there are any playbills you're on the hunt for from recent years (say, past 10ish?) feel free to ask me if I have it -- pricing is donation-based, but appreciated as I cover all shipping costs out of pocket <3 *the findings listed below are Not For Sale*

Raffle Tickets: 2 tickets to Aladdin 2 tickets to Friends, the parody musical 2 tickets to Titanique much more successful at the TDF table than in years past; I will have a fun time at any of these shows. Originally got tickets for Jaja's African Hairbraiding, which upon further research sounds like it could be an interesting/enjoyable play; but I offered them back because I'm kinda in London the date the tickets were for; and the lovely lady gave me another set (wound up being the aladdin ones) to replace them, which i was Not Expecting at All, I just didn't want the tickets to go to waste! <333

Vinyls: The Pirates of Penzance Film Soundtrack The HMS Pinafore* Cats OLC (the superior recording, in my opinion) Follies OBC Gigi Film Soundtrack Candide (1982) *Pinafore is supposed to be a multi-disk set but it only came with one, which I'm a bit miffed about because they were still selling it at the same price as other stand-alones; but considering how much records usually cost $25 for 6 isn't too shabby

Playbills: The Woman in White OBC (did NOT think I would actually find this, have been on the hunt for years !!) Dracula (wasn't even looking for it, but I had to nab it) Assassins 2004* Lestat* Othello (1982 bway revival with some GOATS in the cast) The Scarlet Pimpernel (I might own one already, I wasn't sure; but it was $1 so I figured why not) Brigadoon (Encores! Revival because come ON) The Frogs OBC KPOP the musical (because I was sad I didn't get to see it) *since Chris Peluso just passed away, I really wanted to get a playbill with him in it (if you didn't know, I saw him as Glyde in the Woman in White revival in 2018) -- and I accidentally found two, so that made me really happy <3

All in all I was very satisfied with my haul, and proud of myself for staying well within my $100 budget yay!

[drrutherford]

He could count the number of times Cecelia Hathaway had texted him on one hand.

The Hathaways, the Berkeleys, the Rutherfords — although there was a near-inevitable mingling of such Vieux Riche when social function and opportunity called in London, this did not often extend to any real intimacy beyond the brief and superficial greetings snapped by the ever-eager paparazzi that trailed their pursuits. Of course, there were always the exceptions. Damon had been friends and business partners with Edward Hathaway. He himself had been best friends with Spencer and Nora Berkeley.

But the rule remained. And apart from such exceptions, the families tended to keep to their molds; holding on to past rivalries and petty offenses in that way the upper class often did, when they had too much time and money and not enough places to invest it.

Which begged the question — what on God's green earth did Cecelia Hathaway want, texting him out of the blue like that?

Fleetingly, maybe even pathetically, he wondered whether this was her making good on her promise to help him back into Spencer's good graces. But it'd been a year and a half since that friendship had splintered, and no one – not Yvonne, not Cassandra, not even Adriana – had been able to talk him back to his senses. And so he'd moved on.

... Or else told himself he had.

And maybe that was for the best, Gideon reasoned as he entered the shabby little bar and looked around for her. The last thing he needed was to be in a Hathaway's debt.

He found her with little difficulty, and after exchanging customary pleasantries, the surgeon addressed the elephant in the room. "What—..." Oh no. He cleared his throat, gesturing to her crop top while trying hard to get rid of the amusement in his voice. It didn't work. "What are you wearing?"

It wasn't that a mid-life crisis looked particularly bad on Cecelia, but between an invitation to a dive bar in Haringey and the creased crop top she was sporting, the surgeon was beginning to wonder whether a brief delirium screen wouldn't be remiss.

'I hope you're an IPA, man.'

Bemused, Gideon reached for the beer. He was an 'everything' man after a long day of work followed by a cryptic text from Lady Vixen herself, but knew better than to put it that way. "IPA's fine... Does Adam know you're here??"

@drrutherford Event: A favour Dated: 19th of March, 2024 Location: Some complete dive of a place, Hackney

She was going to need a Tetanus shot. "Oh, hi. Yes.. a table--" No? She watched as the man gave her a bit of side-eye before walking back over to his group of friends. Okay, so he wasn't a waiter and this was one of those sit down wherever the heck you want kind of bars. Right-o. Here goes. The blonde, currently supporting one of her daughter's crop tops (assimilate or they'll eat you alive, Hathaway), made her way to the back of the bar, and situated herself in front of a small candle and plastic menu. Heavens! What the hell was a deep fried Snickers!? No, no she'd stick to beer tonight. Yes, beer. Believe it or not, Cece (at least back in her College days) used to be a regular at places just like this back in the States. Of course it had been years since she'd brought a glass without a stem to her mouth in public, but whatever.. she'd rather do that than risk the chance of one of her friend's seeing her with Gideon Rutherford.

Truth be told, if she hadn't been on her own personal penitence journey, she probably wouldn't have sent a text to a number she still wasn't quite sure why she hadn't deleted yet. Not that she held any animosity for the man who didn't seem to carry a piece of clothing outside of the navy, olive, grey rainbow. It was just Rutherford wasn't a name she wanted too many dealings with. Of course, she did know Gideon. They were, uh? Acquaintances? Yeah, that was a name that could work. It wasn't like she was stretching out her hand to just any old Rutherford. Plus this wasn't really about Gideon, but his child. Save the Children and all that jazz.

She took up her hand bag, getting ready to pay the barkeep who'd place the pint in front her (one for Gideon too), but he waved her away. Oh, a tab... how homey. Taking a sip she savoured the taste of hops, before she settled her cold glass back down on the table and started to sway softly to the music. This wasn't too bad. There was even a row of pool tables just a few feet away. She'd always been good at pool. Something about posture, delicate precision and uh, ruthless ambition, yes that was it. Lifting her head at the sight of Gideon's ruffled hair (God did he really not own a single hair brush?), Cece waved him over to her table, "I hope you're an IPA, man."

[lollypopsx]

Boyfriend!Harry - Ever Since New York

Please like if it’s not too shabby, reblog for anyone who you think may enjoy and follow if you want to read more! I love you all! Be safe and be kind x

Warning: Angsty, Swearing, talking about heavy periods and blood, mean/grumpy Harry:(

3.6k words

Part 2 - Master list

—————————

Touring with Harry really did have it's moments. One minute everything was your life's dream, and others it would just be a beautiful nightmare. This very rarely happened, but today, you were in the storm of that beautiful nightmare.

The two of you had been together since you were 15. You thought once he left for X-Factor, you'd just become a distant memory for him. But without fail, he came back to you every time. One Direction's first world tour, you were waiting back in the small town of Holmes Chapel. That was the toughest, it was new to you both, and you were convinced that when he travelled the world, he would find the new love of his life. He came straight back home to you. Before their second world tour, you and Harry had moved into a two bedroom apartment in London. You had a job in a local theatre, as a backstage manager. You didn't need a job, and Harry wanted you to stay safe at home, not wanting you to stress because he re-assured you every penny he had was yours too. And even though you appreciated that, you wanted to do your own little thing, besides, something had to get you through Harry being away for so long. Even though that tour was just as strenuous for your relationship as the first, he came straight back home to you.

Harry had managed to convince you to come to the next world tour, travelling with them (It didn't take much convincing at all to be fair!) and you never toured without him after that. Touring with One Direction was an incredible experience, and you really had made 4 other friends for life. Harry's solo tours, although very different, you felt more included than ever. You all were one very big family. You both went home together after every tour.

You understood that Harry had a stressful job, and while others may not agree, you knew it was stressful. The constant travelling, the late nights, the constant errands. Soundcheck, rehearsals, show, adrenaline, exhaustion, headache. That seemed the be how every performance was for you, and you weren't even the one of stage! But it was so worth it, and while you really did love seeing your man put his heart out for his fans every single night, you were starting to feel like he had nothing left for you.

You had woke up together in a beautiful hotel room, overlooking the arena and the city. He had covered you in kisses and held you every second he could. He was set to perform his first night in Maddison Square Garden for Love On Tour. New York was a city you'd always dreamed of visiting, and you craved going back every time.

You had gone out and spent the morning wandering around the city, Harry wasn't usually able to join you when you went exploring in the mornings because he would for sure get mobbed. And you had to take two security guards with you, as well as have your most basic features covered up. It was always better to be safe than sorry. Unfortunately, your tourist-y morning was cut short when you were having unbelievable stomach cramps.

Harry, the band and the crew had been in the arena since lunchtime and you weren't aiming to get back until 3pm, so when you came back three hours earlier than planned, something was wrong.

You rushed straight into Harrys dressing room and into the toilet while he was busy. "Fuck...how is this still happening?!" You whimper. You had bled through your jeans again, this was quite unusual for you, what was more unusual was that this had been going on for two weeks. You decided it was easier to just shower first and then find something else to wear. As you rinsed your body with your hair up in a bun, you couldn't help but whimper at the constant cramping of your uterus.

You had asked Harry to bring you a change of clothes to the arena for when you came back. As you wrapped a white towel around you (big mistake!), you went to the sofa and rummaged through his bags, frowning as you couldn't find one single item of your own clothing "Oh Harry" You whine and grab your phone, trying to call him, but it just rang and rang. You sigh and phone Jeff, praying he answers.

"Y/N? Everything ok? Everyone said they saw you come back early?" Jeff answers and you sigh in relief

"I-I'm fine...is Harry there?"

"Yeah he is, do you want me to send him to you?"

"Y-yes please" You were starting to shiver, being only wrapped in a towel. A few minutes later the door burst open and you jumped out your skin, you were sat on the sofa waiting and Harry usually always knocked before he came in.

"What do you want Y/N? I'm busy" He sighs, with a hint of annoyance. You couldn't help but be quite taken back by his sudden attitude, he was smiley and loving this morning before he left.

"Sorry I just...where's my clothes?" You frown softly.

"Dumped in the corner where you took them off" He shrugs and points.

"No Harry...the clean ones I asked you to bring..." You roll your eyes because he had forgotten.

"Well what's wrong with putting them back on..." He snaps, his voice sharp and stiff.

"I can't! I-"

"Y/N I don't have any fucking time for this! I'm busy, and I can't help it if you aren't getting the attention you want!" His words race in your mind. As much as you wanted to cry your eyes out, his words hit and made you snap back.

"What the fuck…I'm not an attention whore!" You laugh angrily

"Huh really? Fucking acting like it! Who else would call me here and just so happen to be naked under a towel!"

You felt like he had verbally slapped you in the face. "Just get changed and come and be sociable for fucking once" He spat as he left and slammed the door shut behind him.

In your years of being together, never had he been like this. As far as you were aware, there was no reason for it either. As soon as the door shut, you felt the tears spill from your eyes as you lay on the sofa, holding the towel tightly around you and whimpering softly.

You were freezing and after 10 minutes of calming yourself down, you get your phone, and dial the next person, who you was sure would be in a much nicer mood

"Hello?" A chirpy voice answered,

"Hey Sarah, it's Y/N...I'm sorry to phone...but do you have any spare pads or tampons on you?" You sniffle. "Yeah sure, there's a box full in the girls dressing room. Come and help yourself" She smiles through the phone.

"Actually I...erm do you think someone can bring them to Harry's dressing room" You mutter, slightly embarrassed, even though you had no reason to be.

"Oh sure of course, one minute...Mitch can you hold the baby for a minute please, I'll be back....Y/N I'll be two minutes" She smiles and hangs up.

You took your jeans and began to rinse the stained crotch area in the sink, scrubbing at it with your hand, and many many baby wipes to attempt to get the stain out. Within minutes, a gentle hand knocked on the door and you open it, relieved to see Sarah. You let her in with a sigh of relief "Thank you so much...I owe you" You smile appreciatively, although the sadness behind your eyes didn't go unnoticed.

You head back to the sink and keep scrubbing "Jesus Y/N what happened?!" Sarah looked shocked at you.

"O-oh nothing...I just-"

"Y/N...your towel is covered babe" She frowns

"Oh fuck...no...no not again!" You whimper, noticing the large red patch on the back, praying the tears wouldn't erupt this time.

"Let me go get Harry and find the spare clothes...Your jeans are ruined and-"

"No!....He didn't bring them and he doesn't care. Leave him out of this" You mutter. You felt guilt spread through your veins "I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to...I just. He already screamed at me once...I'm not facing it again" You sniffle, you couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

"Sweetie...come and sit and talk to me" She offers and smile, taking the jeans from you, the stain had spread and smudged much larger. She sat you down and wrapped an arm around you while you explained the whole situation, the cramping and heavy periods for two weeks, your accident in the city, and every word that came out of Harry's mouth.

"...What an arrogant son of a bitch" She mutters and shakes her head. “I’m sorry he was like that to you babe...I don’t know what’s going on” She frowns and pulls you close to her chest. You sniffle softly and wipe your cheeks “It’s not your fault” You whisper. 

“Right, let’s get you cleaned up, and you can borrow some of my clothes. Then you can come and chill with us okay?” She smiles and puts your jeans in the bin. 

“Oh no its fine, they’re yours...” 

“When you reach motherhood, you’ll always have two spare pairs of clothes because children love to vomit...I learnt that the hard way” She chuckles. “I’ll be two minutes” You nod and smile. Heading into the bathroom and cleaning yourself up as much as possible with fresh sanitary products and Sarah brings you a pair of her joggers and a new and clean TPWK Merch Hoodie. “Here” 

“You’re an angel, thank you” You smile sadly and get changed in front of her, you were close with all the girls and changing in front of each other wasn’t anything ususual.

You headed to the whole bands area to chill, you had no idea where Harry was off to. You hadn’t seen him since he screamed at you. “Come and lay in here, and take these” Mitch smiles, handing you a bottle of water and some tablets. You thank him quietly and lay on one of the four sofas they had.

“You gonna have a cuddle with your god mummy...gonna cheer her up?” Sarah coos at her beautiful boy. You smile through the cramps and put your arms out to him “Hello gorgeous” you whisper to him and rest him against your chest, he was sucking on his dummy tiredly and you held him lovingly as you rested your eyes shut for a moment, not to sleep, just to relax.

You cradled your godson in your arms sweetly, as you sit up slightly and you hear Harry’s footsteps down the hallway, while everyone had conversations amongst themselves. “Where is she?!” Harry groaned from outside the door. “She’s with the band, and the baby is sleeping. Keep your voice down Harry and sort your attitude out” You hear Jeff warning quietly as the door opens. You could usually pin point some reason why Harry would be upset today, but you really had no clue.

“Y/N can we talk?” Harry mutters...maybe he felt guilty and wanted to apologise, you hoped. You nod softly “One sec” you whisper and get up, wincing softly and you gently lay the baby down in his travel cot.

You head into the hallway with Harry and wait for him to start talking.

“Well...?” He prompts, an eyebrow raised and tapping his foot against the floor.

“Well what?...” You mirror his raised brow.

“Unbelievable..I give you a chance to apologise for your behaviour earlier and you sit and be cocky. If I’d have known taking you on tours would turn you into a brat I’d never of let you come!” Harry raised his voice slightly. Oh...wow. not the conversation you thought you’d have.

“I beg your pardon?!..my behaviour?!...What the hell is wrong with you today! You was showering me with love all morning until we got here...What the hell has happened?!” Your voice was leveling his, anger and emotion rising through your body. You were sure the band could hear all this.

“I’m fed up of you moping around like you aren’t getting enough attention. You’ve changed the last two weeks...who is he Y/N?!” Harry shouts

You were angry and beyond confused. “Who is who?! What do you mean...Harry are you accusing me of cheating?” You ask in disbelief.

“Well it sure fucking seems that way! You’ve been off for two weeks and you seemed pretty eager to turn me down since then...” His face was red, and you couldn’t believe he actually thought you’d ever want anyone else.

“I haven’t been fucking cheating Harry!” You scream in his face as you felt the tears spike and fall at your cheeks “I’ve been bleeding heavy for two weeks and cramping so much and I’m scared because I don’t understand why! You would know that if you bothered listening to me! How dare you fucking you speak to me like that!” 

You thought...well, hoped, that his anger may soften and he would realise how stupid 

“So get a fucking doctors appointment. No need to be fucking dramatic. Fuck this” He mutters and storms off to his dressing room. You felt the tears fall quickly. That was the last straw. You’d never felt so distanced from Harry. He was always so gentle and caring. The most loving boy and man you had known. Maybe now his true colours were showing.

“How dare you Harry...don’t you ever...ever speak to me like that! It may well be the last thing you ever do!” You shout as you sob quietly and rush into the band’s room to get your things. “Y/N?” Sarah frowns softly.

“I-I need to go...” Was all you managed before you rushed off. MSG was like a maze backstage. You were panicking and you just wanted to be alone where no one could find you. You found a small dressing room completely away from the others. You take your phone and diall your friend in London, waiting 4 rings to hear an answer.

“H-Hi...I’m coming home. Can you get me from the airport? I’m booking the next flight I can” You whisper quietly, you hung up the phone as soon as you heard the word yes. You didn’t want to answer questions.

You had none of your luggage. It was all either on the tour bus or in the hotel with Harry. But luckily, you had your bag with you, which always had a charger, your purse, passport and some extra bits.

Hours passed, you managed somehow to sneak out the venue with no one noticing. It broke your heart to leave, but you had to. You caught a taxi straight to the airport without being seen either, and got on the plane asap. You texted your friend your flight number and turned your phone off as quickly as possible. You rested your eyes for a while, but your mind was racing with feelings, pain and confusion. You was never someone who would just get up and go all of a sudden, so this was very out of the ordinary. 

Everyone knew you were very prepared and organised, so when everyone was piling themselves onto the tour bus after another amazing show, it wasn’t long before the concern grew.

“Where is she?! Have you checked in the arena?” Harry panicked. What the fuck had he done.

“we’ve looked everywhere in there Harry, but no one saw her leave” Jeff frowns, “I’ll call the hotel and see if she went back there” He sighs. The tension in the bus was so thick it could be cut with a knife. His mind was running a million miles an hour. “What if she went for a walk and got hurt o-or...or mugged or taken!” He panicked, his chest heavy at the thought. Regret and sadness filling his eyes.

“Sarah she must have told you...” Harry pleads. Sarah was in no way happy with how Harry had treated you, but she was still his friend, and she was just as concerned for your safety.

“I’m sorry H...If I knew it would be like this I’d of stopped her leaving the room...I just assumed she’d go to the bus. She can’t of gone far, her stuff is still here, but she took her phone” She rocks her baby gently.

‘Don’t you ever...ever speak to me like that! It may well be the last thing you ever do’. Your words ran circles in Harry’s head.

—————————

Once you had landed, you waiting at the pickup area for your best friend, sunglasses and a hat were all you managed to grab to attempt a cover up.  

She pulls up and looks at you with a sad smile “Hello stranger��

“...Hi Y/B/F/N...” You whisper, the moment she opened her arms, you fell into them...falling to pieces. “I-I think i-it’s...o-over” you choke through your sobs.

“Oh babe...” she frowns and holds you tightly, “lets get you home” she whispers and helps you in the car.

You turned on your phone as you headed home with a sigh. Your phone was blowing up with texts, missed calls and voicemails from Harry, Sarah, Mitch, and Jeff, as well as the other band members.

17 Unread Text Messages

49 Missed calls

6 Voice Mails

3 Message From Sarah:

  Hey babe, I don’t know where you’ve gone but the shows about to start. Come and watch. Love you x

Y/N please tell us where you are. We aren’t leaving without you x

Harry’s really worried. We all are. Call us! x

5 Messages from Harry:

We need to talk.

We’re waiting to go. Hurry up.

Y/N! Why is your phone off? Stop playing games

I’m sorry baby. Please phone me. I’m scared x

I love you so much, please answer someone xx

3 Voice Mails. All from Harry.

10:42pm “Y/N What are you playing at? We’re waiting for you so we can go. I’m not having this argument just hurry up and get on the bloody bus.”

10:59pm: “Look...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way, and I had no right to speak to you like that. Can you just come back to the bus please. I need to know you’re safe. If you’re lost in the arena phone me, or whoever...I get I’m the last person you want to talk to right now but please...we’re worried....I love you” You could hear his voice beginning to crack at the end.

11:17pm “Baby please...please pick up. I’m so scared. Everyone’s looking everywhere and I...I’m terrified. I don’t want to lose you and god if anything has happened to you right now I will never forgive myself. Baby I’m begging you to come back. wherever you are. I’m not mad, please come back t’me” He begs through sobs.

You felt the guilt from leaving, causing a nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t think they’d be worried. In fact, you forgot you were all travelling on the busses tonight. You thought they’d be in the hotels again so you didn’t think they’d notice. Your thoughts were interrupted with the vibrations and a photo of you and Harry on your screen. As angry as you were at him, and broken you felt from his words, you hated the idea of worrying people.

You answer hesitantly, hearing Harry’s surprise as you answer “Y/N? A-are you there? Are you okay? Where are you...I’m coming to get you!” He sobs in relief, although he hadn’t even heard your voice yet.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes “...I’m home” you whisper, feeling the lump in your throat.

“W-what? You’re home? Y/N that’s not funny I...you can’t be that far. Are you at the airport? I’m coming to get you” He whimpers, his regret obvious in his voice. Everyone’s head snapped up at the mention of airport.

“I already landed Harry...” You whisper, almost silently.

“W-why...why would you leave? Please...please come back” He begs through tears. 

“...Get a fucking doctors appointment I suppose” You mutter, there was so much you wanted to say. But it couldn’t come out. “I’m sorry for leaving. Should have said” 

Your words were heavy to him. “I-I’m so sorry...I...” He was quite speechless. He knew you’d never leave his side if you could help it. So this was when he knew he royally fucked up. “I love you so much...please don’t leave me” He begs.

“I-I’m...I just need some rest. I can’t be getting in your way too much”

“Baby please, I never meant any of that? Are you home yet? How did you get back? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine H...” You sniffle “Y/B/F/N picked me up, we’ve just parked up home. We will speak in a day or so. Get to Florida safely. Let me know when you land there. I love you. Get some sleep” You let out a quiet sob and hang up.

You just wanted to sleep off this nightmare.

As you arrived home, you thanked your friend who offered to stay with you, but you really just wanted to be alone for a while to think, and you promised to text her when you woke.

You strolled inside after pressing in the codes for the key box and house alarms. You quickly changed your clothes and sniffle as you dive into the cold lonely bed. Everything was dark and quiet, as you closed your eyes to drift off.

You were woken by loud knocking on the door. You glance at the clock 11am...I guess you really needed the rest. You groan as you throw yourself out of bed, your cramps pinching sharply.

You sigh as you open the door tiredly, rubbing your eyes.

He didn’t fly to Florida...He came straight back home to you.

—————————

Tag List: @harryhoney-bee - @sunandherflores - @sad-capuccino - @beachwood-cafe

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: A Wild Woman 1/1

Title: A Wild Woman

Summary: By Victorian Standards, you are considered the dreaded Wild Woman! Your aunt and uncle threaten to disown you and turn you out into the streets unless you agree to a little re-education on how to be a proper lady.

Rating: Mature, fluff, Soft Dom Sherlock!Henry, sex, unconventional

Pairing: Sherlock x YOU

Note: This was inspired by  "A wild woman brought up a wild child. We'll make her acceptable for society." from the EH trailer.

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Your Aunt and Uncle had had enough of you. They were fed up with your lack of female decorum and your absolute insistence to star gaze, associate with male aeronauts and start fires from chemistry experiments gone awry. But you couldn't help yourself. After the scandal of the woman who attempted to join the Chemistry Society a few years back, you had been forever changed. Women could do anything and you were intent on grabbing that elusive gold ring. If that meant attending boisterous underground resistance meetings, or not wearing your corset, then so be it.

Unfortunately, your family did not see it that way. To them, you were a wild woman who had no place in decent Victorian society.

One gloomy autumn evening, when your uncle returned from the gentleman's club, he sat both you and your aunt down at the dining room table for a talk.

Your uncle then gave you a choice.

Well, it was a choice between scylla and charybdis, but a choice nonetheless.

You were either to be turned out into the street to fend for yourself, with no money and no prospects and definitely no husband, or you were to travel to London to be kept, re-educated and made acceptable to be returned to society by a pair of reputable brothers who promised to produce reputable ladies.

What could you do, but agree to the latter, as the former was a nightmare you never wanted to experience.

So you made the long involuntary train-trek cross country to London.

The man who met you at the train station was tall, and slim with a well-manicured moustache that curled up at the ends in the most fashionable way. When he reached for your single suitcase and turned to walk away, you followed without protest.

**

Baker Street was a short narrow avenue that seemed unnecessarily busy for so early in the morning, and when the Hansom slowed, your companion opened the door and hopped out. He offered his gloved hand, which you took and followed him to the ground.

The cab rode off and gently taking you by the arm, the man guided you across the road. He walked up the steps to a dark painted door with the numbers 221b etched on a half-moon of glass above it.  He led you inside and up the stairs to a room at the end of a long corridor.

It was a well-appointed room. Against the wall was a large bed with a patchwork cover flanked by two low dark wood tables upon which sat twin lamps with beaded green lampshades. To the left, a tall window brought in the hazy morning light and illuminating the small writing desk beneath it.  There was also a large wardrobe stood in one corner opposite a bookshelf which was crammed with books.

'Your room, for the duration of your stay. I expect that it will be maintained without clutter.'

He then looked at you and slowly perused your form. You felt scandalised! No man had ever dared make his inspection of your body so plain before. Scandalised, yes, but a slow simmer of heat in your belly belied your inner outrage.

He humphed, and his  eyes moved to meet yours again.

'Sloppy,' he said. 'That you expect to be taken seriously, dressed like this is insulting.'

You opened your mouth and he lifted his brows, waiting for you to speak.

'I expect, sir, for you to watch your tongue when addressing me.'

He laughed quietly.

'My brother will be home shortly,' he said ignoring your protest. 'I believe you will be spending the evening in his company. Granted, he is less strict than I am, so don't get used to his...'

The man pinwheeled his hand in the air as if searching for the most appropriate word, but the opening and then the closing of the front door distracted him.

'Ah,' he murmured. 'He's come home early. Please wash thoroughly and change your clothes. I expect that you have something better than this?'

You narrowed your eyes.

'I will give you one hour and then come downstairs and into the study for inspection. The study is to the right at the bottom of the stairs. Have you... questions?'

'Do you intend to stand here and watch me wash and dress?'

He smiled and wordlessly turned to leave you to your task.

'We'll break you of that attitude,' he promised and closed the door behind him.

You wavered on your feet and collapsed on the fainting couch at the foot of the bed. You were breathless, excited, astounded that you were aroused by the man's quiet dominance.

'This is ridiculous girl!' you chided yourself aloud. 'This whole thing is ridiculous.'

But at least you were in London. You had promised your aunt and uncle that you would be 're-educated' and that you were going to come home the niece they always wanted so that you could be married off to the local farmer's son. What they didn't know, was that you were going to use the little stipend they'd provided and run away into the arms of the big city.

In the meantime, this was what you needed to do to get to where you needed to go.

You got up, stripped out of your travel clothes and inspected the pitcher and basin on the wash stand in the corner. There was water in the pitcher and a clean cloth hanging on the railing. There was also a lump of lanolin soap sitting on the side of the basin and you went about washing the dirt from your travels off of your skin. You didn't bother with a corset, or your stockings. You merely shrugged into your chemise, dress and shoes and went down to the study.

You stood at the closed door, humming with excitement and terror. What if this brother was a hunchback, with a mutilated face and was only gentle because his looks terrified everyone. What if he was old and decrepit and smelled of liniment! You wrinkled your nose at the thought and opened the door.

The study was beautiful, quiet and a fire burned in the small hearth. The walls were covered with dark tapestries and old maps. Books and newspapers were stacked everywhere, but it did not appear to be done in a chaotic manner. There was an order to this room and your heart clenched when your eyes fell on the man who was rising from the high wing-backed chair.

If Gods walked the earth, on a regular basis, you would not have been surprised by his appearance. He too was tall, like his brother, broad across the chest with a narrow waist and sturdy thighs.  He was in his shirtsleeves with a high starched white collar and dark brown tweed waistcoat and matching dress trousers.

And the curls. Oh the soft mass of chocolatey brown curls were stylish and clipped short and nicely complimented his handsome chiselled face.

'Turn around, please,' he said, his voice all honey and milk and you obeyed immediately.

'Face me again.'

You did so and he approached, hands clasped behind his back. He shook his head.

'You know this is unacceptable, don't you.'

It wasn't a question.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, you thought. You had practised on the long train ride to London. You knew exactly how you were going to respond and exactly what you were going to say. But your mind had gone blank and only silence came out of your sweet quivering mouth.

You lowered your gaze.

His dark shoes were buttoned neatly and had been shined carefully. He was obviously a man who cared about his appearance.

'I expect things from you, when you're under my roof. This shabbiness and unruly nature will not be permitted and if you continue to pursue these avenues, you will be...'

He trailed off, and began to walk in a slow circle around you, prowling, like a sleek beast and you couldn't help feeling helpless.

Like you were prey.

He stopped after one revolution and stood at your back. He was so close that the heat and scent of him engulfed you. You closed your eyes, and sweat broke out across your upper lip and brow.

He 'humphed', sounding just like his brother and stuck a finger against your side. You didn't dare squirm away from his examination and you held yourself taut.

'No corset,' he said, finding you soft and unrestrained beneath your clothes. 'And I wager, no stockings or combinations.'

You were silent and it seemed that the very silence was a living creature, pricking your skin.

'Answer me.'

'No, none of that.'

He took in a long breath and let it out slowly.

'Upstairs, now. Gather your undergarments and bring them here.'

You turned so fast that you nearly banged into him. But you managed to scurry round him, and dart up the stairs as fast as your legs beneath your full skirts would carry you. You blindly grabbed everything that you had and nearly tumbled back down the stairs in your haste to please this man, this stranger, who within moments of meeting him made you want to drop to your knees and worship his masculinity.

He was still standing in the same place where you left him, back straight, head up, elegant hands clasped behind his back.

Out of breath, you stood before him, arms full of undergarments and he smiled. That smile took your breath away. He directed you to dump your clothes on the nearby desk.

'Now,' he began, scholarly. 'The makings of a society appropriate lady, begins at her skin. Do you understand?'

You swallowed hard and nodded.

'Good. Now, remove your clothing. We have to start from the skin.'

There was heat in his voice, filled with a demand that brooked no argument, and with trembling hands, you unbuttoned your waistcoat, unpinned your skirt and shrugged out of your rough collared shirt until you stood there bare beneath your chemise.

You worked your hands together in front of you feeling damp between your legs and ready to show him everything that was private about you.You unlaced the chemise at the collar and let it fall.

He looked at you for a long time, appreciating you, drinking you in and he was very obviously pleased with you.

He pointed to the combinations lying in a heap on the desk.

'Combinations.'

Your combinations were in two pieces so you stepped into the split bottoms and pulled on the top.

'Now corset.'

You went back to the table. You had two corsets, and you looked to him for his opinion.

'Blue,' he said. 'It laces in the back.'

Normally, as you dressed yourself, your corsets (when you wore them) laced in the front. But this one, he chose purposefully. He wanted to have control over dressing you.

The blue one was already partially laced so all you had to do was pull it over your head and hold it in place. You turned your back to him and waited. He began to slowly tighten your laces, starting from the top and working his way down, one after the other after the other he pulled the narrow fabric through the eyelets closing the boned corset around you, trussing you like a tart and stealing your breath.

The corset was tight, but not overly so, just enough to make you realise that you liked it. He tied the remainder of the cord round your waist and tucked in the excess.

'Will you take it off me when it's time?' you breathed, lightheaded with arousal.

And he hummed a soft response.

Then followed your simple cream and blue coloured dress, which you stepped into with his help. It buttoned up the back and he took his time doing so.

After what seemed an eternity, he stepped away from you and mourning the loss of his heat, you watched him walk to the chair, turn and sit down.

'Come here, and bring your stockings and ribbon.'

Like a puppy, you followed and stood at his knee.

He took the stockings and thin blue ribbons and laid them across his lap.

'Right foot,' he murmured and patted the spot on his thigh where he wanted you to put it. 'Balance yourself on the chair if needed.'

You put a hand on the top of the wing back and sighed softly when he rolled up the first stocking and slid it on your foot and up your leg. You bit your lip, but you couldn't look away from the deft fingers that trailed fire along your skin. He tied the ribbon just below your knee and folded the top of the stocking over it.

'Left.'

You switched legs and he repeated the process, only this time after he had tied the ribbon and folded the stocking down, he held your calf with both hands and looked up at you.

'Now you are finished. Is there anything that I did that you did not understand?'

You shook your head, not trusting your voice to come out as anything but a squeak. He nodded to acknowledge your answer, paused, and then slid one hand up your calf, to your thigh and over the material of your combinations to where they split to reveal your tender sex. He lightly brushed his fingertips over your naked mound and you made a noise that was quite unbecoming of a society lady. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you did the only thing you ever wanted to do the moment you laid eyes on him; you widened your legs.

'I prefer an unruly woman,' he said, sliding one finger into your slick wet cunt. 'I think they have spirit.'

Whining, you grabbed onto the other side of the chair and leaned on it for support. He stroked your clit slowly, carefully, pushing back the swollen little hood and pinched it between his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut and stars burst against the darkness. You were going to scream if he continued.

'Please,' you whispered, jerking your hips forward, encouraging his further exploration. 'Please... just please!'

He slid his fingers out of you and with his eyes still on your, he put those same fingers into his mouth.

A cry of frustration escaped you. You hiked your skirts and climbed onto his lap, giving him just enough room to unbutton the opening of his trousers and draw out his leaking cock. You took him in hand and he grabbed your hips and pressed back into the chair as you positioned yourself enough to sink slowly down onto him.

You leaned back into his hands, tipping your chin up and moaning loudly, voluptuously, clenching tightly around him, circling your hips to feel all of him filling you completely. He groaned quietly, much more subdued, but no less aroused and he looked up just as you looked down at him. You grabbed his exquisite face between your hands and kissed him, lapping eagerly into his delectable mouth, letting your body rise and fall as your cunt greedily devoured him.

You pushed your fingers into his soft curls, and held his head up, kissing and biting at his plush lips, riding him slowly at first, and then faster as the crescendo of desire and lust and pleasure crested then exploded inside you. Every part of you clamped down hard on him and you rocked and back and forth, milking the shuddering orgasm out of him.

It took a moment before the two of you finally relaxed from your shared high. Still holding his face, you kissed his cheeks and his forehead and his lips over and over until his softening cock slipped out of you. You sat back on his thighs and imagined his cum leaking out of you and onto your combinations.  You giggled at the dirty thought.

'I'm Sherlock,' he said after a long silence, looking up to meet your gaze.

'I'm... smitten,' you answered.

Maybe a little re-education wasn't such a bad thing.

-End

I hope you enjoyed it. Please like, share comment reblog all that good stuff. :)

[averydeadpoet]

River - Post wizarding-war!Remus x Reader

Warning: Grammatical mistakes, Angst (but with a happy ending?), me and my awful writing skills.

Word count: 2k-ish

A/N: So, this is the first one-shot I’ve ever written, so it’s to say that I’m pretty insecure about posting it. But for those who like it, I am more than willing to take requests and such. Also, this song was totally inspired by the best christmas song ever written, aka River by Joni Mitchell.

———————————————————————

Christmas meant alot of things for different people.

For some it meant hope, hope for renewal and prosperity. For others it meant quality time with family, friends, or even a lover. For some it was the expectation of a new romance. But for Remus Lupin, this year, it meant none of the above.

For him, it was just a brief and cruel reminder that he was alone in the world. He had no family, no friends, no lover... nobody.

It's been a year since October 31 of 1981, the end of the war, the day where he lost everything he ever knew and loved. His friends, his rock. They have won the war, but what did it cost them? That was a question he tried not to ask himself. The world was finally at peace and people could finally leave their house's without feeling a knot at their stomach and the fear of never going back. No more massive murders, or Death Earters flying around.

Although Remus couldn't help but think if it was really worth it, he knew it was but he couldn't help.

During his teenage years he adored Christmas. The fairy lights, the food he used to help his mother, Hope, prepare, the joyful christmas carols, and his favorite of all, choosing and decorating the pine tree with his parents.

However, now a days it all made him feel a void in his soul. Neither the fairy lights or the song brought him joy. He even tried to see the pine trees or look for new christmas vinil records, but it remember of the nights he spent with his parents choosing the perfect tree, or to the songs he used to rock to with the Marauders and Lily in the common room while they decorated a small tree. It all went back to the feeling of emptiness. What was the point of being happy if he had no one to share those moments with?

In this day and age, it was almost Christmas Eve—two days to it to be exact—, and Remus found himself in his small flat, grumbling as another Christmas' A Cappellas, stopped by his house for the fourth time today trying to sing songs about joy and peace,—songs which he wasn't looking forward to listen to.

"Tomorrow is going to get worst." complained the scarred brunette when closing the door impatiently.

His house was a mess. There were dishes begging to be washed, dusty furnitures who needed to be clean, because, Merlin knows how he haven't had an allergic attack by now, and a pile of clothing waiting to be washed for months now. But Remus was worst then his house. He had dark circles under his eyes that were deeper than the ones he used to have in his Hogwarts days, he had bruises of the last full moon— which were poorly cleaned and patched, his beard was enormous and his hair was way too shabby and tangled that even he couldn't remember when he last combed it.

He went straight to his kitchen in order to find some chocolate. It was a vicious cycle. Sadness, pitty, anger, chocolate, and sometimes, liquor. Although for his disappointment his stack of chocolate was no longer there—he ate it all. Which meant only one thing, he would have to buy more and face the joyfull energy of christmas.

He grabbed a coat a pulled it over his old but comfy, sweater.

When he opened the door to the hall, the cold air and the faint smell of what seemed to be gingerbread cookies, hit his face. Perhaps, if he felt this some years ago he would have probably smiled dumbly and breathed "I love Christmas" to his friends causing them to laugh at him, but who would he tell this to now?

The streets of London weren't as cheerful as the Hogwarts grounds were, for a matter of fact. During the holidays the Hogwarts was covered with the white snow and the happiness could be sensed from miles away. London wasn't exactly the opposite. It had his own charm, but with way less snow and magic than he would like.

He continued his path trying to ignore everyone and everything, only focusing to pass through the croud of desperate people who forgot to buy presents, to get to the small store he usually went when he needed to buy something.

Entering the store, that was surprisingly empty considering the time of the year, he looked for the chocolate. When he found it, he went to a the only cashier there, a young moody cashier who was talking to a guy with round glasses and messy hair, the boy remembered him of James, the cashier had some tattoos that remembered him of Sirius'. The pain and anger hit him again. He felt the urge to cry.

"Just buy the chocolate and get out." he said to himself and took a deep breath. And so he did it.

Leaving the store he no longer cared about the croud, he only had one thing is his mind; he will never go back to this store ever again.

He entered in an empty alley, distracted by his thoughts. He haven't noticed someone walking in the same direction as him. Before he could be aware of the person, he crashed into her, making both of them and the bag with the chocolate fall.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry, sir." started a familiar voice, "I wasn't looking where I was going—"

"It's alright..." said the boy trying to recognize the voice in his tired state.

"Here, let me, hmm," she extended her hand for him after she kneeled to ground and grabbed his bag and gave it to him. He stood up and looked her up and down, just to stop at her eyes. Those eyes. Those eyes, where he would recognize anywhere. Those eyes, that followed him everywhere. Those eyes, that the mere thought and hope of seeing them again were probably the only thing that kept him sane since the end of the war.

"Remus...?" whispered the girl uncertain.

Y/N L/N. That was her name. Y/N was a fellow Hufflepuff that the poor boy crushed during all his Hogwarts days. They never dated since Remus was too afraid to ruin their so called friendship. He always admired her from afar though, which resulted in an astronomical amount of teasing from the marauders. She was sweet, comprehensive, caring, delicate, smart, funny, brave, charming—Remus liked to think of her as an angel. During her fifth-year, Y/N and Remus even create a small book club, since they shared their devotion and admiration for books— especially classic muggle ones. After Hogwarts, she eventually entered to the order, and that was when she knew about his "condition". After these day she waited for him after every full moon to comfort him and patch his wounds. And that was when Remus finally accepted the fact. He was in love with her, he always have been. Y/N and Remus were inseparable, sure she didn't knew he was in love with her but truth be told, she was in love with boy since her third year. And the marauders knew about that. Oh, they knew. And when they finally convinced Remus to ask her out on a date she was called to a extremely dangerous mission in possibly one of the most dangerous buildings in Great Britain during the war, the Malfoy Manor. He waited days, weeks, months, but the thing was, she never came back. And now there she was, looking at him with those mesmerizing eyes.

"Y/N?" he questioned, more to himself than to her.

"That's me." smiled the girl shyly.

"I thought you were dead?" he started worried.

"I-" he interrupted her.

"Where have you been? The war have been over for nearly a year!" his expression that once was worried now carried a serious and mad expression, "James, Lily, and Peter were murdered, did you know that?" he said like it was something comical, which certainly wasn't, "Oh, and it was Sirius' fault and now he is in Azkaban! Did you know that?"

"Rem, I'm sorry, I—"

"No! You have no right to be sorry! While you were in... Merlin knows where, I was here, alone. Do you know how that feels like?" she opens her mouth but he interrupted her again "No, you don't." his lips started to tremble as tears started to spill from the corner of his eyes, "I lost Peter, James, Lily, and Sirius all in one night and even before that, you made believe I lost you. I just needed somebody Y/

N!" cried the werewolf, "Someone to hear me, a shoulder to cry on. But until now, everyone I could think off was dead." he finished as he collapsed into her embrace and she held him tight as he sobbed on the crook of her neck inhaling the scent homely and calming he missed soo much.

"Rem, I'm genuinely sorry you had to go through this alone but i'm here now and i'm not going anywhere. So how about we go home and I'll explain everything?" she asked, and he nods, slowly lifting his head.

The walk to his house was silent, almost awkward. When arriving there, he unlocked the door, a nodded for her, sinalizing for her to walk in. She glanced the messed house. She felt bad for taking this long to come back, but she didn't really had a choice.

"I know, it's compact, but it's the closer of what I can call home."

She nodded as she waltzed around the house.

"I would ask you if you would like tea, but I don't really have—" he said, his voice husky.

"Don't bother." she responded and smiled simply at him.

She observed the piles of clothing, the thick

dust on the top of some shelves and furnitures. But in the middle of all this mess, what caught her attention was a shelve with a hundreds of pictures and old polaroides. She strolled all the way to the shelve and looked at it. Pictures of him and the Marauders, of what looked like the first year, after a quidditch match. One of James' and Lily's wedding where he was hugging Lily tightly while Sirius hugged James with tears in his eyes—he would deny if you asked him. Another where him and Sirius were studying for their N.E.W.T.. And the one that caught most her attention, one of when she and Remus were reading a book under a tree near the Black Lake. She lifted her hand as her fingers softly ghosted the photograph, as the memories of that day flooded back...

It was mid-autumn, Y/N's favorite season, it was not as sunny and hot, as summer, nor as dry and cold as winter.

They had just started a new book for their book club, Romeo and Juliet.

Remus adored those afternoons where he could just hear her voice and perform different book's scenes—particularly the dramatic ones, where he could scream the lines from the top of his lungs, as the girl near him giggled.

"Hmm, hear me out." started the girl as she plopped some the chocolate into her mouth and licked her fingers, "Mercutio is in love with Benvolio."

"How come you got to that conclusion?" he chuckled.

"Rem, look at them! They are totally in love, utterly head over heels for each other, you can't tell me otherwise." she stated, as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"If you say so..." he said cheekily.

"Remember what I told you, if the couple I ship don't end up together-"

""It's because the author was wrong, not me,"" He completed with a girlish voice and a mock expression, "I know, I know, you are never wrong." he smiled softly.

"Now back to the book!" demanded the girl jokingly. He cleared his throat and sighed dramatically.

"This love that thou hast shown

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs..."

"Y/N, where were you?" his voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Where they sent me, The Malfoy Manor." she said, not daring to look at him, fearing she would breakdown.

"B-but you were supposed to come back a week later?" he stuttered walking up to her, "And some members even sneaked into the manor to look for you, but you weren't there..."

"They kept me in bondage in one of attics of the house. I tried to escape, believe me, but their security was so cautious that I don't even know how I got in, in first place. Fortunately, two months ago they decided that since they lost the war, I was no longer useful. Don't ask me why they haven't killed me, I have no idea" she said as tears started to accumulate on the corner of her eyes.

"Did they..."

"Tortured me? A bit, but nothing that I couldn't handle. Most of the times asking about where the headquarter was, but mostly about James' and Lily's location." she turned to look at him. He looked sorrowful, she noticed this, "I got some scars though, now we can match." she said trying to lighten up the mood— it didn't. His fingers tangled in his messy locks as he breathed out heavely.

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have let you go to this stupid mission."

"This had nothing to do with you, nor was anything you could do against it. I volunteered to it." she said, as she took his hands in her's and interlocked them. "How about that? I stay here and help you by cleaning this chaos and you go get some sleep, something it looks like you haven't done in a long time. You look like death Mr. Lupin." she joked with a sad smile.

"So do you, Ms. L/N." he joked back, with the same smile,"Therefore, I can't possibly let you clean this all alone. It wouldn't be fair. Let me help." he said stubbornly giving her the best puppy dog eyes.

"Okay, okay. You can wash the dishes and the clothes." she gave in and he smiled proudly, "But that's just because I know i'll never hear the end of this."

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 28

The boys are back... (High School Musical, probably)

THE ROAD SO FAR

Docked and Loaded

Alexander "Alex" Collins

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow Scotland

Alex loved the idea of sleeping beside his significant other. It felt great to be loved, especially after all those months when he couldn't stop thinking of her. 

Yet today was different, he woke up alone. He turned to the bathroom door to check whether Samantha took a shower, but it was too quiet. So he decided to put on his grey tank top and sweatpants to go look for her.

He pulled the door open to see Samantha carrying a tray containing two meals, one was a fluffy pancake with maple syrup and the other one was a meaty sandwich.

"Hey, you. Good Morning." She greeted, her voice was always angelic in Alex's ears.

"There you are…" he sighed as he stepped back, letting her in.

"I was only gone for a few minutes. You don't have to worry that much." She grinned, guiding Alex back to the bed, teasingly pushing him as he plopped on the soft mattress bouncing as he slowly backwards crawled until his back hit the headboard.

"I'm just not used to waking up without you in my arms." he grinned as Samantha placed the tray on his lap, grabbing a slice of the sandwich and pointed it at his mouth.

"I thought the pancake was mine." Alex said, looking puzzled.

"No, that's mine. What you're supposed to be eating is this very healthy, dietician prescribed meal." She emphasized. Alex frowned. 

"I want the pancake." he complained playfully. 

"Too much sugar is bad for you." she teased as Alex finally surrendered and opened his mouth wide. He wasn't a huge fan of the wheat bread. 

"Say, aside from Alex. Did you use any other names while undercover?" Samantha slowly plopped herself beside him, locking her hands against his and leaned on his strong biceps.

"Oh hmmm.." he hummed, softly chewing and finishing his sandwich.

"I had a few… like James, Chad, Mike or Michael…" he said.

"Okay. Which was the most sophisticated?" Samantha asked. Alex looked at her in the eyes and saw that she was really interested in his answer.

"Nathaniel." he chuckled and Samantha looked confused.

"What's funny?" 

"I don't strike as a 'Nathaniel'. I just used it once." Alex defended despite not being attacked.

"Now that you say it… yeah." she laughed as soon as she realized the content of his words.

"What's the funniest? And why?" her eyes sparkled, or has it always been that way then he looked at her eyes. Alex never knew, but he liked it.

"Ummm.. I once went by 'Ray'. It's funny because… it just is. It's too short and I often mistake someone thinking that they're calling me. It has a lot of rhymes you know…" he answered, her eyes never left her stare.

"Ray's a nice name." Samantha mused, this actually made Alex a little curious.

"You're making me jealous over my previous name." He sneered playfully.

"Oh don't be. Alex is a very perfect name. It sounds... handsome." she said, making Alex smile in excitement. This was it. He was truly madly and deeply in love with this woman.

Alex leaned for a kiss to which Samantha eagerly accepted, but as soon as their hands started to roam around, a knock on the door was heard.

"Oi, Alex! Price wants us for a briefing." Soap's muffled voice roared from behind the door.

"I'm coming!" Alex shouted as she gave Samantha one quick kiss before leaving the bed.

Alex felt underdressed for the briefing as Roach and Soap were wearing collared shirts. So he hid behind them and listened eagerly to Captain Price.

"Alright boys, Laswell left us a gift. There's a port near the English Channel, where a lot of cargo ships are suspected to be operating under Shadow Company's name, and it might lead us to Shepherd. 

The plan is simple. Sneak in, gather everything we can using our cameras and sneak out. This place will be swarming with hostiles and all we have are pistols with few ammo. Soap, you take care of our ride and comms. Alex and Roach, you're with me." They all nodded in agreement.

"There are about approximately three ships and the Shadow Company shipment is mixed along with civilian cargo. We have to be there before 3 am tomorrow as it's scheduled to be unloaded that day." Price sprawled printout of the cargo's travel ticket along with other solid intel.

It was official. They're back in the grid, a wave of excitement and fear overwhelmed the former CIA. Excited because they're one step closer to ending this thing and scared because he knew Samantha's going to worry about him.

Port of Dover, London UK

1734HOURS

They were too early for the transfer but as they say, "The early bird gets the worm." The team positioned themselves on a rooftop of a nearby building, Price scanning the area with binoculars.

"Three huge cargo ships and one party packed cruise ship." he muttered. The rest of the team sat patiently waiting for the perfect opening.

"Hm. This is odd." Price added, noticing the convoy of expensive cars slowly parking themselves near the ship.

"It is. There's a party here tonight… and it says here SC Security Services was hired as the events' security team." Gary added, scrolling through his phone.

"SC. Shadow Company. Sneaky Bastards are using the party to cover their real agenda!" Soap pieced the puzzle together.

"And we're here to stop em on their bloody tracks." Price nodded and resumed scanning.

"How are we going to get in?" Alex asked as trucks of Shadow Company troops flooded the area. It looked like they had good reason to swarm the place. It was a sneaky yet effective tactic.

"I got one ticket." Gary raised a QR code from his phone. Price looked at the black and white blotches of squares in question.

"What's that supposed to do?" Price asked.

"It's a digital pass. The DJ performing tonight is a good ol' friend of mine." he said. 

"It's going to be a semi-formal party with a masquerade theme."  He continued, scrolling through the e-invite.

"Then you're going in there. See what's up. These cargo ships may just be decoys. We take one ship each. Always stay on comms. Once Roach successfully gets in, he'll find a shortcut from the inside." Price planned and everyone had no objections. 

"Wait. Maxine told me that she brought something useful." he scoured the contents of the duffle bag.

"Is it food?" Soap asked innocently as everyone looked at him.

"Bingo. Three Shadow Company Uniforms from Russia." Gary grinned and everyone looked delighted.

"Guess we're taking the easy way in." Price muttered as they put their plan to action.

Roach stopped at a local thrift shop for his attire. He wore an awkwardly tight tuxedo with rubber duck printed tie and a magenta masquerade mask. It wasn't too shabby and it did the job, as the rest of the group were already inside the premises.

"Stay on comms, Roach. Keep us posted." Price muttered as the team split to each of their ships. Walking casually like regular guards, except they didn't have guns.

"Aye aye, Captain." Roach muttered as slow booming could be heard from the distance. He was approaching the party.

Alex's ship was the farthest from the cruise ship but that didn't mean it was the least guarded. For a party, the place was overcrowded with security. Alex confidently nodded at every 'ally' he passed along the way, overhearing conversations of a supply drop around 3 am tomorrow, confirming Laswell's speculations.

"Hey!" Someone called from behind and Alex turned cautiously.

"You left your rifle at the office?" he asked and Alex nodded. The man pointed to the cargo ship and it gave Alex the free ticket to investigate it. He was lucky enough for an easy pass.

The cargo ship was indeed large, he didn't know where to start, but as soon as he claimed his issued rifle, he immediately looked for the ship's logs.

"I'm in. Got myself a gun." Alex reported.

"Good. I'm also in. Trying not to get tempted by the buffet." Gary replied.

"They're looking suspiciously at my haircut." Soap muttered, frustrated.

"My ship's empty, but I could feel footsteps. I'm being followed." Price warned. 

"Mine's full of stuff. It's impossible to look through these without a shipment log." Alex sighed, opening another door that contained useless stuff.

At the last door of the hallway, Alex heard a bizarre noise, he carefully crouched and checked on the room. A Shadow Company guard was snoring loudly, a computer monitor showing a live feed of the rooms in front of him.

"Ahem! Sir, you are needed on the cruise ship!" Alex roared, surprising the sleeping guard as he quickly got up to his bearings and exited the room. 

"Alright guys. I got eyes on the whole thing." He told comms while scanning the thick book of the ship's cargo.

"Good one." Gary said.

"Finally, these muppets stopped talking about my hair. I'm Oscar Mike." Soap muttered while Price's end remained quiet.

"Just what is Shepherd up to…" Alex mused, fingers scrolling through the ship log. He doesn't have all night but he's doing his best to look for it under pressure.

Next Chapter : Docked and Loaded - Part 2

Notification Squad my Beloved

@enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

[docholligay]

Pharmercy, time between first and second OW. They can't spend it together this year because of work or some other reason. Maybe Angela wasn't too bothered by it until she talked to Winston or Lena. I would love a more melancholy feel to it, but you do what you want.

HI DO YOU WANT MORE THAN 2,000 WORDS ABOUT PHARAH AND MERCY’S FIRST VALENTINE’S YOU SURE DO. If you’re unfamiliar with my OW universe, it’s all here.  I may add this in, I may not, WE SHALL SEE

Mercy had spent a good many of her Valentine’s Days alone, and it had never much mattered. She was too busy for relationships, always too young for anyone in her classes to take notice of her, and spent so much time learning the in and outs of the human body when she was young that she did not quite begin to notice that she needed some instruction in human social skills until she was in her twenties, possessed of great empathy but little practical knowledge, feeling awkward and odd among her peers.

And so it should not have bothered her, who dated so little, to spend Valentine’s Day alone. It was no different from any other. And yet, as she crossed Harvard Yard, fresh from a special lecture, the red brick of the buildings seemed to reflect every beating cartoon heart she had seen on the cards lining the drugstore where she got her shampoo. She noticed every student’s hard that was clasped in another’s, noticed their smiles and giggles and the words that passed between them, even the most common of them peppered with the special lilt of a word from a lover’s lips.

And in instead of bringing her joy, it brought her an empty ache.

Because she was lying, of course, and this Valentine’s was very different from any other before it.

This Valentine’s Day, she was missing Fareeha Amari.

She chided herself. She was lucky, blessed even, to have a woman like Pharah in her life, someone who was handsome and intelligent and gallant, who listened so closely and carefully when Mercy talked that Mercy swore she was taking notes, who brought her flowers and held her coat over Mercy’s head in the rain, the kind of woman Mercy had never assumed was even real, but laid next to her in her tiny Cambridge apartment whenever Tracer flew over.

She hadn’t had the courage to tell Pharah she had given Tracer a not-insignificant amount of money for fuel.

“I am knowing that you do not have so much money, Lena, and I thought–”

Tracer waggled her eyebrows. “It me you’re so anxious to see then, love? Missing me something terrible, you are, can’t ‘ave anything to do with–”

Mercy blushed and shoved the check at her and mumbled uncomfortably, turning away from Tracer.

Tracer’s face softened. ‘I’s only ‘aving a go, Ang, you know ‘ow I am. I’ll say nothing more about it.”

And, to Tracer’s credit, she had not. Oh, Mercy was certain she’d told Winston the day it happened–Mercy wasn’t even sure she was capable of keeping a secret from him, but Winston was very kind, and would never mention such a thing.

With all these blessings in her life: A job where she was respected, a girlfriend who loved her, a rekindled relationship with her friends, it seemed very petty and selfish indeed to be sad that Pharah couldn’t be here.

And she had wanted to be, hadn’t she? Mercy considered as she sat on the train. Yes, she had to work for Helix, and she had been so apologetic, and besides any of that, Tracer wasn’t making a trip, so Pharah would have had to buy her own plane ticket, and that would have been very silly for one insignificant day on the calendar that said nothing about their love. She had told Pharah it meant nothing, that she would see her soon, and she understood how important Helix’s work was.

But it would have been their first, and Mercy looked over at the couple across from her, canoodling, and wished that she was here, wishing she could take Pharah to the restaurant she’d been saving for this day, the fine food and romantic low light.

She got off the train and wandered back to her apartment, stopping at her favorite Chinese place along the way for a giant carton of noodles and a bottle of wine, procured at the liquor store, trying to ignore the red cellophane wrapping of the champagne bottles.

Mercy had spent the bulk of her life alone, and yet she had rarely ever felt as lonely as she did right in this moment. Loneliness, she thought, was not so much in being alone but in knowing the shape of the hole inside you, and not being able to fill it.

She unlocked the small door at the back of the house, divided into an apartment  long ago. She had never thought of her apartment as sad, though it was a small afterthought to the rest of the house–one tiny bedroom, a scattered closet here and there, a little alcove that functioned as a kitchen, inasmuch as Mercy ever needed one. Windows that skirted the line of legality brought faint strains of rapidly fading light into the living room, with her mismatched furniture all purchased from Craigslist the week she moved in looking shabby in the long grey shadows.

Mercy shook her head. She was being childish. She was a grown woman, a doctor, a professor at Harvard Medical, for God’s sake, and here she was, pining over her girlfriend because of some words on a calendar. If she was lonely, she should do something to make herself less lonely. Mercy determined her own future, didn’t she? Winston would be alone, too, with Tracer not visiting, and maybe she would take her bottle of wine and her noodles and head over there, or they could order a pizza. She had a fascinating new journal to show him, and she had an idea for an article for them to collaborate on, the biological and technological effects of being unpinned from time. They’d have to ask Tracer’s permission, of course, there would be no way of keeping her anonymous, but Tracer was generally very good-natured about her condition–Yes, Mercy thought, I’ll do that.

She dialed Winston on the video phone, looking at the cool grey of the wait screen, the alert ringing again and again, until Winston’s face popped onscreen.

“Hello, this is Dr. Winston–”

“Winston! I think we are both fin–”

“I will be in London, England, from February 12th to February–”

Mercy shut off the phone. Of course he was in London. If Tracer didn’t come to him, he would go to her.

But if Helix had to work, why is Lena not working? Maybe it’s just that Fareeha was not interested in coming to be with you. That’s all.

The thought haunted Mercy. Maybe Pharah was tired of her, maybe she was tired of the distance, maybe being with Mercy was just too much work. Pharah was so wonderful, Mercy could only imagine that it would be nothing for her to find someone else, someone beautiful and witty and not the kind of person who sat alone in her apartment with a book and a box of noodles.

She changed in the living room, not even caring that she was just tossing her clothes to the side, and threw on her slouchy t-shirt from her staff orientation and a pair of flannel pants, sweeping her hair into a messy topknot as she plopped into her favorite chair, worn and ugly and terribly comfortable.

Pharah didn’t want to spend it with her. Why would she, Pharah was so collected and together and Valentine’s Day was so silly and so fake and Pharah was beyond all of that. It was foolish of her to have been dreaming of a candlelit dinner, of flowers and a box of chocolates and all those trappings that Pharah would have been much too practical for.

She burned with shame, remembering the flowery and goopy card she had sent Pharah, imagining how childish she would find it, how she would look at the scarf Mercy had knit while watching a lecture series from Zurich and wonder if she were dating a 12 year old.

“ANG!” Tracer’s voice burst through the living room as the video phone lit up, “ANGIIIIEEEEEEEE ZIEGLEEERRRRR!”

Tracer must be having a very festive Valentine’s Day.

She thought about rejecting the call, about sticking to her noodles and her book.

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, LOVE!”

“Lena, you don’t know that.” Winston’s measured rumbling softness came over the speaker.

“I do, though. Where the bloody ‘ell else would she be, WIn, she doesn’t properly go anywh–oh God she can ‘ear me, I LOVE YOU ANG!”

Mercy laughed, in spite of herself, and for a moment she felt the gloom lift as she hit the accept button across the room.

Tracer scowled at Winston. “I TOLD you,” she grinned brightly and waved, nearly knocking over her drink in the process. “Hi Ang!!! ‘Appy Valentine’s Day!” She gave Winston a hug, and Mercy felt the sad melancholy of loneliness return.

Tracer and Winston would never, as long as the other was alive, truly know what it was to be lonely. They would always love each other, they would always have each other, they would always have a Valentine, even if it was a Palentine.

They would never know what it was to be her. She was lucky enough they thought to call.

Tracer rubbed the corduroy of her pants and smiled happily. “Been out and about tonight, a bit, though all we ended up coming ‘ome with was each other,” she laughed brightly and ran her hand through her hair, rocking back on the edge of the couch a little too far, Winston placing a hand behind her back and pushing her up, “Think I’m a bit pissed, truth be known.”

Winston chuckled. “It’s a possibility.”

Tracer laughed again, barreling into Winston’s shoulder and bouncing back just as quickly, delighted with the mere fact of her own existence in this moment.

It would be catching, if it didn’t remind Mercy of how quiet and still her own apartment was.

“Any’ow, just wanted to say, ‘ello, and wish you well, didn’t mean to bother you, I mean, I did, I rang you, but only for a bit, I don’t think that’s too much–”

“Lena.” Winston shook his head.

“Wait,” Mercy looked at the two of them, “Lena, if you would not mind…”

Tracer’s face grew serious. “What is it, love?”

“Why did you not have to work? For Helix? Fareeha…” She shrugged.

Tracer jumped forward, nearly shoving the camera in the process. “Oh Ang, I don’t properly work for ‘elix, I’m a…consultant, rather, is all, you must ‘ave a bit of faith in Fareeha, she’s a commander and all that, she gets all the bleeding knobs in ‘er office morning, noon and night, doesn’t she? Don’t feel as if, you know in fact—” she considered a moment. “Trust ‘er, is all. We ought to be off, Ang. Don’t fret about it.”

Mercy nodded. “Of course. Happy Valentine’s Day, to you both.”

They waved her goodbye, and the room was quiet once more, filled with the sounds of nothing and no one, and Mercy popped open the bottle of wine, pouring it into a mug declaring her to be ‘#1 Doctor’ and sipping it as her perched in her chair. She wasn’t even interested in the noodles anymore.Tracer was many things, but she was not given to lie, and if she thought Pharah was trustworthy on this, she must reasonably believe it was true.

But Tracer also had a tendency to believe the best of people, even if it wasn’t quite deserved.

She barely read her book, sitting and thinking and trying not to think, and she wasn’t sure how long it had been when the video phone rang again.

Pharah.

A sudden panic ran through her, as she looked down at her sloppy t-shirt, that she had also managed to get a spot of red wine on, and felt up at the unkempt topknot on her head. She thought about dashing to the bedroom, putting on something more attractive, but then she would miss Pharah’s call. She froze in panic, not knowing what to do, until, quite against her own will, she hit the accept button.

“Angela.” Pharah sat at a table, candles lit in front of her, a linen cloth and a bouquet out in front of her, and there was a knock at the door.

“I–”

“No, please. Go answer.” She motioned gently.

Mercy got up and walked to the door, not knowing what to expect, only to find a man holding a bag out in front of him.

“Dr. Angela Ziegler?” He looked at her as if he didn’t quite believe it.

She nodded wordlessly, and he put the bag into her hands. “It’s paid for. You have a nice night, ma’am.”

She closed the door behind her, and went back into the living room where Pharah waited on the screen. Mercy allowed herself a moment to really look at her. It must be 3 am in Egypt, but her hair was smooth and styled, a blue suit jacket on over a black button up shirt, looking for all the world as if she was not as tired as she must be.

And wearing Mercy’s handknit scarf. 

Pharah nodded. “I hope you will excuse the presumption of ordering for you.” She fiddled with the napkin in her lap. “I wished for this to be a surprise. I wished–I wished to have dinner, with you, for Valentine’s Day.”

Mercy took the meal out of the bag, a lovely pasta dish very much like the things Mercy ordered every time they went out together, because of course she knew. Of course she paid attention.

She wiped a tear from her eye. “I am sorry I look such–”

“You are beautiful as you are. You are,” she nodded, looking at Mercy, “Always beautiful.”

“Fareeha…”

“I will give you a better Valentine’s, someday. This is my promise to you.” 

Mercy shook her head. “This is the best Valentine’s I will have ever had.” She gave a tearful laugh. “I have been wanting to tell you the silliest story, about Tracer, and how she is able to be coming over so often. You will laugh at me.” 

Pharah leaned in, listening intently, and Mercy felt the ghosts of loneliness dissipate into the night, the light of a streetlight piercing through the dark. 

[xtruss]

WITH QUEEN ELIZABETH'S ROYAL FAMILY ROCKED BY SCANDAL, PRINCE CHARLES BECOMES THE POWER BEHIND THE THRONE

By Diane Clehane, December 21, 2019

The latest British royal drama has more plot twists than the juiciest episode of The Crown, the hit Netflix series chronicling the life of Queen Elizabeth II. Only this real-life saga might more aptly be called As the Crown Turns, with a cast of characters and story developments to rival the most compelling soap opera.

There's Andrew, the queen's second son, embroiled in a sex scandal involving underage girls and an accused human trafficker who died in prison—you know, the prince who recently gave an interview on British television trying, and spectacularly failing, to repair his damaged reputation. There's his older brother, Charles, heir to the throne, reportedly wielding his influence behind the scenes to oust his disgraced sibling from royal duties and consolidate power for himself and his sons. Also in the cast: the Duke of Sussex, aka Harry, who has been bickering with his older brother, William. With his American bride, Meghan, Harry has also publicly railed against the emotional hardship of royal life while traveling by private jet and running up big home renovation bills.

Then there's the queen herself, Britain's longest-serving monarch, an aging matriarch whose grasp on the reins of her family appear to be slipping amid questions about how much longer she'll reign after more than 65 years on the throne.

With the family rocked by scandal and feuds, the 93-year-old queen is finally starting to cede power to the next generation. Is it time for Prince Charles & Co. to take charge at last?

With the family rocked by scandal and feuds, the 93-year-old queen is finally starting to cede power to the next generation. Is it time for Prince Charles & Co. to take charge at last?

For the royal family and the British people, the coming of a new year and new decade are coinciding with what's shaping up as a new era for the House of Windsor. The mounting tensions within the family and ongoing scandals have raised questions about whether the queen is, in fact, still the head of "the firm," as the royals refer to the family business in private. The big question: Has the time finally come for Prince Charles, at age 71, to stop waiting in the wings and take charge?

"There is a sense that she's lost control within the family, between Andrew's disastrous interview and the ongoing drama with Harry and Meghan," one palace insider told Newsweek. "The queen has been deeply disappointed by their behavior. As future king, it's been up to Charles to put a stop to the chaos."

This is certainly not the first time the question of Elizabeth, who is 93, giving up the throne has come up. Ever since 2017, when her husband, Prince Philip, retired from public life at age 95, there have been rumors that she would step down when she reached the same age. She has already been delegating some high-level decision-making to Charles, scaling back her public appearances and passing on her patronages of various charities to other members of the royal family for several years.

Still, while the role is largely ceremonial, the queen retains a full schedule—she had 238 engagements last year and served as a patron to hundreds of charities: not too shabby for a nonagenarian. And, despite the rumors, it is unlikely she will step down anytime soon. British historian and author Robert Lacey, who serves as a consultant to Netflix's The Crown, told Newsweek, "I don't believe the queen has any wish to retire, nor to appoint anyone who might infringe on her powers, if she can avoid it."

Britain's Queen Elizabeth II (L) sits with Britain's Prince Charles, Prince of Wales (R) on the Sovereign's throne to deliver the Queen's Speech at the State Opening of Parliament in the Houses of Parliament in London on October 14, 2019.

But the controversy swirling around Andrew in particular has renewed speculation about a changing of the guard, giving Charles a more prominent role and seeming to accelerate a shift in power. What does the future hold for the British monarchy? The queen's adherence to a "never complain, never explain" royal code makes it impossible to know her plans with certainty, but her responses to the latest family drama provide some telling clues.

The Royal Fallout

It was clear that swift action was needed in the wake of Andrew's BBC interview, in which he fumbled through an explanation of his relationship with convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, denied having sex with then-17-year-old Virginia Roberts (now Giuffre) at Epstein's London home and expressed no sympathy for Epstein's alleged victims. A YouGov poll taken after the program aired in November found that 51 percent of the British public did not believe his explanations and that another 43 percent weren't sure. Even worse, nearly half felt that the way Andrew responded to the allegations had damaged the monarchy.

It didn't help Andrew's cause within the family that negotiations for the interview went on for over a year, reportedly without consulting the queen's senior advisers. Although Elizabeth gave her permission for the interview, she reportedly wasn't informed that it would focus solely on the prince's ties to Epstein or that it would be filmed at Buckingham Palace. "It gave the appearance that the entire thing had been sanctioned by the queen, but that was not the case," a palace source told Newsweek. "The optics said one thing, but the truth was something else entirely."

It wasn't the first time that Andrew had negotiated his own TV deal. When his youngest daughter, Eugenie, got married in 2018, the same year as Harry and Meghan, the prince reportedly wanted her wedding to be treated with equal pomp and circumstance. That included having the nuptials televised. When the BBC declined, Andrew arranged for limited coverage by ITV instead. Security for the wedding, which included about 850 guests, cost British taxpayers over £2 million, or roughly $2.5 million.

Maternal feelings for Andrew (who is believed to be the queen's favorite son) did not prevent her from acting decisively after the interview about Epstein aired—reportedly on the recommendation of Charles, with input from his son Prince William. The upshot: Andrew "stepped down" from his official duties (not his decision, insiders say), losing the taxpayer-funded £250,000 (about $325,000) he made as a working royal. His office at Buckingham Palace was shuttered.

Prince Andrew, The Duke of York, pictured in London on March 7, 2011. He dismissed all allegations of wrongdoing in connection with links to disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein in a Saturday-night interview with BBC News.

He won't have to worry about making a living, though. According to CNN, most of his income was funded by the queen's Duchy of Lancaster, a private estate of commercial, agricultural and residential properties that last year brought in $28 million.

Likely of greater concern to Andrew: the scandal's impact on Eugenie, 29, and her sister Beatrice, 31. The prince has long felt his daughters, who are "blood princesses," were overlooked within the royal family and has lobbied to get them higher-profile roles. Now, the opposite is likely to happen. Particularly problematic for Eugenie is her role as co-founder of the Anti-Slavery Collective, a charity that works to eradicate—oh, the irony—sex trafficking, as well as slavery, around the globe. As royal biographer Ingrid Seward said recently on Good Morning Britain, "We all feel very sorry for Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie." Beatrice recently became engaged, and her 2020 wedding will likely be a smaller affair than her sister's extravaganza and private—which won't require massive security, making it cheaper for taxpayers.

A Changing of the Guard?

Deciding on the best course of action for his scandal-ridden brother has not been the only topic of discussion for Charles and his parents lately. When he recently met with Prince Philip at the family's estate at Sandringham, father and son were reported to have talked about the queen's "retirement" in the next 18 months. In this scenario, Charles would assume a prince regent role, which would allow him to officially take over family affairs and day-to-day royal business. "This is something Charles has been wanting for some time, but the queen has resisted," explained a royal insider.

"If Charles had been regent in November," explained Lacey, "it would have been his job to check out the interview plans, and he would almost certainly have blocked them."

It's Reigning Men

The appointment of a regent, though, happens only under very specific circumstances—say, when a monarch becomes incapacitated—and is not something the queen is legally empowered to do but instead falls to Parliament. Still, even without a formal transfer of power, there is little doubt that there's been a changing of the guard. Speaking to CTV News, royal expert Richard Berthelsen said the response to the crisis surrounding Andrew "has exposed the reality many of us have been saying for some time, that [Charles], the Prince of Wales, is fundamentally running the family now."

The role that Charles played in effectively ending his brother's royal career has strengthened his public position as chief decision-maker. It also raises questions about his plans for when he officially becomes king. Among his top priorities, experts say, will be to cut the list of working royals to a core group consisting of his wife, Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, and his sons, William and Harry, and their families.

The streamlining has already begun. "Many of Prince Charles' paring-downs have come to pass, most notably with the disappearance of all the cousins and aunts from the balcony [of Buckingham Palace during official engagements]," said Lacey. "It's difficult to see how the current working family can be pared down any further with [Charles' other siblings] Princess Anne and Prince Edward carrying out a full roster of duties."

Challenges for the Monarchy

But the monarchy's survival, should Charles become king, will take more than removing superfluous relatives from the taxpayers' tab. The British public's enduring admiration for Elizabeth, the most popular royal, has been the most critical factor in the current support for the monarchy—72 percent view her favorably, according to a YouGov poll this summer. Only 48 percent feel the same way about Charles.

She has been considered a fairly inscrutable public figure for much of her reign, yet those closest to the queen say privately she has a good sense of humor and dotes on her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who call her Gan Gan. She eats cereal out of a Tupperware container every morning and enjoys her cocktails—up to four a day, reportedly, including a gin and Dubonnet on the rocks with a slice of lemon before lunch and a glass of champagne before bed.

The official christening photo of young Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor, a.k.a. Harry and Meghan’s son.

Humanizing details, for sure. But despite the public's affection for the reigning royal, the monarchy as a British institution also represents privilege and inherited wealth at a time of financial uncertainty and jitters over Brexit, and a growing segment of the population believes those things are out of step with the ideals of meritocracy and equality. Should Charles take the crown, he will have to prove the monarchy is still relevant at a time of tremendous upheaval, without the queen's same reservoir of goodwill. Still, his reputation has come a long way from the days when his imploding marriage to Diana played out in the British tabloids' daily headlines.

Charles's sons, William, 37, and Harry, 35, have a critical role to play as well. The once-close siblings are estranged these days, a rift that supposedly started a couple of years ago when William questioned whether Harry was moving too quickly in his relationship with Meghan and if she could adjust to royal life. Harry reportedly considered that attitude "unsupportive." But recent developments suggest that, perhaps, William's concern was not entirely unfounded.

Once viewed favorably as a modernizing and positive force for change, Harry and Meghan now seem to be a lightning rod for controversy, with rising disapproval among the British over the couple's perceived spendthrift ways and their complaints about the fishbowl life of a royal. Renovations on Frogmore Cottage, their 10-bedroom home near Windsor Castle, cost taxpayers about $3 million and included construction of a yoga studio for Meghan, a devotee of the practice.

Meanwhile, in an ITV documentary in October, Harry noted the toll that royal life has taken on his emotional health, revealing that he relives the tragic circumstances of his mother's death every time he is faced with a wall of flashbulbs. "With the role, with the job and pressures that come with that—I get reminded of the bad stuff," he said. Meghan, for her part, decried the family's "stiff upper lip" ethos as "destructive."

The queen has reportedly charged Charles with brokering a peace between the brothers. "The queen knows that both William and Harry represent the modernization of the family which ensures its survival," said an insider. "The estrangement between the brothers has to end because a united front is critical for the future."

While Harry and Meghan have gone off the grid for "much-needed family time" during the holidays, William and his wife, Kate, have taken responsibility for shoring up the family brand with a highly successful tour of Pakistan and a recent joint television appearance on a Christmas special hosted by British television personality Mary Berry. "William and Kate along with their adorable children are the greatest assets the monarchy has right now," another palace insider told Newsweek. "There's no drama, they're both charming, and their children are darling and well behaved. That's what the public wants from the royals—a happy family scenario that makes people feel good about the future."

Perhaps that's why the queen decided it was time for the couple's two oldest children, Prince George, 6, and Princess Charlotte, 4, to make their first public appearance with the family on the traditional and much-photographed walk from the family estate at Sandringham to St. Mary Magdalene Church on Christmas morning this year. "The queen wanted the emphasis to be on the next generation of royals this Christmas and remind people that through it all, the monarchy will survive," the insider said.

Lacey believes it will. "I am quite sure that prince George will become king one day," he said. "The 'de-royaling' of Andrew was a tragedy, but it is a reminder of how the survival of a constitutional monarchy depends on its respect and compliance with the values of the society it seeks to represent."

Diane Clehane, who has been covering royalty for more than 20 years, is a best-selling author of five books including Diana: The Secrets of Her Style and Imagining Diana, a novel that envisions what would have happened if the princess had survived the 1997 crash in Paris.

— Newsweek