#apparently it’s ian’s birthday so let’s pretend that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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The Moment I Knew My Future Was Sweet

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

summary: spencer Reid plans a surprise birthday for his best friend/love of his life, Y/N. the one hang up though is that Ian, y/n’s boyfriend does not show up.

warnings: crying, kissing, love, another taylor swift inspired fic because she’s a lyrical genius and i’m obsessed...

word count: 4315

author’s note: i was listening to the moment i knew and was thinking that it would make a good fic!

masterlist: (click <-)

The Moment I Knew My Future Was Sweet

Spencer was completely lost looking for purple and white birthday party decorations. He’d searched at least three different stores for Y/N’s favorite shade of purple. Penelope had been helping him plan her surprise birthday party and it was Spencer’s job to get the decorations.

“Hey! Reid, look what I found,” Penelope shouted as she ran up the aisle to meet Spencer.

She was carrying what looked like colorful cardboard picture frames that had “Birthday Girl” and all sorts of Happy Birthday messages and funny sayings written on the edge.

“Don’t you think Y/N will just love these?” Garcia asked as she tossed them in the cart.

“Oh, I’m not really sure what those are but, I’m sure she’ll love it!” Spencer said.

“It’s for taking pictures,” Garcia explained. “You hold them up to your face and take cute photos”

Spencer nodded in understanding. Y/N loved to take pictures and even though Spencer would rather not be photographed, their smiling faces littered her Instagram page.

“Thanks for helping with this, Garcia. I really just want to make this special for her. Y/N is just so amazing,” Spencer stopped himself because out of the corner of his eye he noticed Penelope’s raised eyebrows. His cheeks turned slightly pink at her reaction.

“Come on, Spencer! You should just tell her that you love her,” Garcia said waving her hands in the air.

“She has a boyfriend, Garcia,” Spencer snapped.

“I know, but Spencer, who's the guy that’s planning her surprise party? Who’s the man that’s in every single selfie that she posts Instagram? Who’s the team member that she always rooms with?”

“Garcia, she’s with Ian. I’m not going to ruin our friendship by telling that I love her. She’s with Ian and I’m not a home wrecker”

“You just both deserve to be happy, Spencer. She loves you. I just know she does,” Garcia and Spencer walked over to the cashier to pay for the decoration.

“If she’s happy, then I can live with it. Even if it feels like it’s breaking me” Spencer said at the constant beeping from the register rung in his ears.

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“JJ, is that the food?” Garica called as she walked out of the kitchen into the small living room.

“Yes, Will’s coming in with the rest of the food from the car. Any word from Spence yet on where he and the birthday girl are?” JJ said as she placed down a tray of food onto the kitchen counter top.

“Spencer mentioned that he’s going to drive her over here. He should be getting there soon. She’s got no idea!” Garcia said excitedly.

“That’s sweet. What did Ian think of that?” JJ asked with a questioning tone.

Garcia threw her a look that caused JJ to raise her eyebrows.

“Spencer and Y/N are in love with each other. She won’t do anything because she feels like she’s with the kind of person that she deserves. Y/N is stuck in a loveless relationship because Spencer doesn’t think that she loves him. They love each other, Jayge,” Garcia said.

“And you aren’t the profiler,” JJ teased.

“I spend my days and nights with you all, it’s time that I picked up on all that profiler nonsense.” Garcia said, swatting JJ on the arm playfully.

“That or my obsession with period dramas. Jayge, the pinning is so strong with those too.”

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Spencer knocked on the door to Y/N apartment at 11:32 AM. The time was important because he calculated that it would take her 45 seconds to walk from her couch, look through the peephole, unlock the door and open the door. In those 45 seconds, it would turn 11:33 AM, which was the time that Y/N was born.

Sure enough, the door opened and Spencer was greeted by a smiling Y/N.

“Happy Birthday, Y/N. Happy Birthday!” Spencer yelled from across the doorway.

“Oh my god! Spencer, how, I can’t,” Y/N said looking quite startled.

Launching herself from the inside of her apartment, Y/N threw her arms around Spencer’s neck. He seemed to forget himself and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of her in his arms. Even though he was the one holding her, he never felt as safe as he did then in that moment.

“Thank you, Spencer. And you even came at the time I was born! Ah, what do I do to deserve you, Spencer. You’re-” Y/N starts.

“Hey, none of that. It’s your day. Your birthday, Y/N. Oh, I got you flowers. Um, but I think that we may have crushed them” Spencer said sheepishly.

Y/N looked at the purple and yellow flowers that Spencer held in her hand, along with a small package with purple wrapping and green ivy decorations.

“Oh, come inside, Spence and I’ll put those in water,” Y/N said, leading him in by the hand.

They walked into her kitchen and she reached to the third shelf of the cabinet and grabbed a vase. Spencer watched as she filled it with water and crushed up a baby aspirin to dissolve in the water. Y/N fluffed out the semi-crushed flowers with a small smile plastered to her face. She looked up at Spencer, who was a little embarrassed to be caught staring at her.

“I love them, Spencer. They are so beautiful,” Y/N said walking over to tug slightly on his jacket sleeve.

“I’m glad. Have you heard from your parents, or uh,” Spencer stops for a second, calculating if he should go down that road, “or Ian?”

“My mom called me, but no, I haven’t heard from Ian. He’s never been big on birthdays or holidays anyway, you know. He’s relaxed like that, I guess” Y/N reasons, more with herself than with Spencer, who just stares at her trying to figure out why in the world her boyfriend would not be here spending her birthday with her.

“Well, we have the whole day to ourselves, Y/N! We can go get brunch or take a walk in the park, anything you want to do, we’ll do it!” Spencer said, smiling at her.

“There’s any other way that I’d want to spend my birthday, than with you, Spencer.”

There it was again. A palatable tension in the air between the two of them. It wasn’t awkward, necessarily, just so apparent and thick that it could not possibly be ignored.

“I have something else for you,” Spencer started as he grabbed the package from the counter and handed it Y/N.

“Oh, Spence! You didn’t have to do that” Y/N said with an excited look on her face.

She opened the carefully wrapped package and tossed the paper on the flood with an eager grin on her face. Inside the small white box was a gold ring with intricately woven vines attached to a delicate chain link necklace. Y/N ran her fingers over the ring and necklace, almost like she couldn’t believe that it was real.

“Spence,” She started, but a small tear pooled in the corner of her eye and she tried to wipe it away with the hem of her cardigan.

“You really didn’t have to do this, I can’t even think of how you found this. It’s exactly like her’s! Oh, Spencer” Y/N said reaching forward to clasp her hands with his.

“Will you put it on for me,” She asked him, pulling her hair from her neck and moving closer to Spencer.

Spencer grabbed the necklace, a replica of her grandmother’s engagement ring, and tenderly latched the clasp. She felt her heart flutter slightly with the sensation of Spencer’s warm breath against her neck. His fingers burned against her skin as he moved her hair back from her shoulder to it’s familiar spot.

Spencer was very aware of the fact that if she’d lean back, her head would rest perfectly in the cook between his chin and neck. He’d feel her soft hair under his skin and be able to hold her close and safe. She moved much sooner than he’d like and faced him once again.

Y/N closed her eyes, just taking in the quiet moment between them. Spencer wished that he could reach out and put his hand to Y/N’s cheek. Maybe she’d melt into his touch. They could play pretend that, for even a moment that they aren’t just best friends, but maybe this is her engagement ring. It’s enough for him, for now at least. They just sit in silence, but he aches to rub thumb along her knuckles. Still, neither of them need to speak, the unsaid words are poetry in itself.

“Thank you, Spencer. This is so beautiful, I can’t even imagine the trouble it might have caused you.” You're worth it, Y/N, he wants to scream. You’re so worth it.

But instead, he just settles on giving her a small smile. Spencer will forever have to contend with his silence. He’ll resign himself to standing by her side and watching as she loves another man.

“Let’s go, Y/N starving”

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“I can’t believe I fought my wallet, Y/N! I’m so sorry that we have to go all the way back to my place,” Spencer feigned an apology and shot Y/N a side glance as he sped down the road towards his apartment.

“It’s okay, Spencer. You know that I wouldn’t mind paying for brunch, it’s not a big deal that-”

“No way, am I letting you buy brunch on your birthday, Y/N” Spencer said putting on the blinker as he pulled into his parking spot.

“Is that JJ’s car, Spence?” Y/N said as Spencer walked around to her side of the car to open the door for her.

“Yeah, her and the boys park here sometimes to go to the park down the street. Henry loves to feed the ducks,” Spencer said, not making eye contact with her.

“Look at me Spencer,” She said, reaching out to grab his sleeve. He kind of wished that her cold hand would slip into his and he’d be able to walk into her party in front of everyone she loves, holding his hand.

“Are you lying to me?” Y/N remarked playfully.

It took everything in Spencer’s being to look her straight in the eyes and tell her that he’s not lying. Especially when she’s looking in his eyes with that look on her face that just makes him want to scream that he loves her.

“Ha! Y/N, I’m completely offended that you’d suggest that I’m lying to you,” Spencer said as he walked up the stairs to his apartment.

“Hmm, I’m going to hold you to that, Mister”

“It’s Doctor for you, Y/N. Why don’t you just open the door?” Spencer said, handing her the keys to his apartment.

She gave him a suspicious look before she turned the key into the lock and stepped into Spencer’s apartment.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Penelope jumped out from her hiding spot behind Spencer’s sofa.

The rest of the guests all chorused many Happy Birthdays as Y/N looked around in shock. Derek and Emily stood up to give her a hug, as JJ and Will stood holding balloons with Henry and Michael.

“Oh my god! You guys! I can’t believe you all,” Y/N said jumping up to hug a beaming Penelope.

“It was all Spencer’s idea, Y/N” JJ mentioned giving her friend a big hug and a kiss on her cheek.

“Spence,” Y/N started as she looked up at her friend.

“You really didn’t have to do that! Thank you,” She finished almost shly.

“I wanted you to have the best birthday, Y/N. We’ve all had a rough year, you deserve it,” Spencer said to her. It was almost like they were the only two people in the room, he thinks. It’s like that a lot, whenever he’s in a room with Y/N. They can be in a pack stadium with screaming people, but the only person he’d be able to hear is her. The only person he’d want to pay attention is her.

“I know you don’t like hugs, Spence, but it’s my birthday and I don’t care!” She said launching herself into Spencer’s already open arms.

The pair hugged and Spencer forgot himself for a moment. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around the room as she laughed.

“Spencer!” She giggled. He put her down and looked at her smiling face.

“Thank you,” She said quietly, just to him.

“Of course, Y/N” He told her. Anything to make you laugh like that. Anything to allow me to hold you like that. Anything to make you happy.

He might have stared too long, because Derek camed and clapped him on the shoulder. It was a reminder that they were not the only people in the room.

“I’m going to go say hi to everyone,” she said before she left.

Spencer watched her leave and gave a longing stare in her wake. He felt Derek’s eyes on his face and couldn’t even bear to look him in the eyes. Besides Y/N, Derek knew Spencer more than most people. He’d be able to read his face, his feelings, and his love for Y/N in a moment. And that terrified Spencer.

“Penelope told me, you know.” Derek said, handing Spencer a mimosa.

“Hmm, did she know?” Spencer replied tight-lipped. He glanced over to where Y/N had walked over to, but he only saw Emily and Penelope talking with flutes in their hands.

“Also, Reid. That necklace she’s got on?” Derek questioned with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah. I got it for her. For her birthday. It’s a replica of her grandmother’s engagement ring” Spencer confessed.

Derek looked at Spencer in disbelief. He was in denial. They both were.

“You got a girl who’s got a boyfriend an engagement ring for her birthday?” Derek asked factiously.

“It’s a birthday present for my friend, Morgan.” Spencer said, taking a big gulp of his mimosa. The acid from the orange juice was unusually sour down his throat.

“Friends don’t get friends engagement rings, Reid.” Derek said before he left Spencer to ponder over this predicament.

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“Why don’t you let me or Derek call him, sweetie. I’m sure he just got stuck somewhere. Let me call him for you, please Y/N?” Penelope said calmly as she rubbed both of Y/N’s arms lovingly.

“Penny, he’s not going to come! He missed this on purpose. I’m so done with him-” Y/N said between sobs. Between the champagne and jello shots, she was not drunk but happily buzzed, that quickly turned into an emotional buzz.

“What do you want me to do, honey. Tell me and I’ll make it happen, okay. I’m so sorry, Y/N” Penelope told her, handing her a paper towel to wipe her tears.

“I just want to go home,” She cried.

“Will you get Spencer to take me home, he-” She got out before her shoulders were overtaken by sobs.

“He drove me here. And he won’t mind leaving, he hates parties. We were planning a sleepover anyway,” Y/N turning to hug Penelope.

“Hey, you don’t need that jerk anyway, Y/N,” Penelope said “I’m going to tell Spencer now, okay honey, I’ll be right back”

Y/N stared at the drink in her hand thinking about what should have happened. The pain of the moment was too pungent, so she settled on taking a swig of the rest of her drink. Those problems can wait till tomorrow, she thought.

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“Spencer! Reid, I need you over here,” Penelope called over to Spencer, who was entertaining the boys with a magic trick, much to their enjoyment.

“It’s Y/N. She’s heartbroken that Ian never showed up” Penelope said, filling Spencer in.

“That asshole!” Spencer whisper-yelled as Garcia led him to the kitchen.

“She just wants you to take her home,” Garcia said as they made their way to where Y/N was perched on the countertop.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, he doesn’t deserve you. You know that right?” Spencer said looking at her teary face and glazed eyes. She didn’t look like herself. She looked faraway and sad; he’d do anything to make her feel better.

“I just want to go home, Spencer, please. Just take me home,” Y/N said with fresh tears falling down her cheeks.

“Come on, Y/N” He said holding her hand as they walked out the door, down the stairs and into his car.

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Neither of them talked on the way home. Y/N looked out the window, just staring at the passerby in an almost wishlike state.

Spencer split his attention evenly to the road ahead and Y/N sitting next to him. Her head rested against the window and her feet were tucked under her legs in a crouched position. It was like she was trying to make herself look as small as she was feeling.

“We’re here, Y/N,” Spencer said softly.

“We’re home, Spence?” She asked, not even wanting to open her eyes yet.

“We’re home, Y/N.” He answered, putting a comfortable hand on her shoulder.

They walked upstairs to her apartment on the third floor just as quiet as their car ride was. She opened the door of her apartment and walked right into her bedroom.

“I’m just going to get changed, Spence” She said before shutting the door and shutting him out of her thoughts for a moment.

Not really sure what to do, Spencer sat on the couch. Was it really just a couple of hours ago that they sat here together? All of the sudden, Spencer heard what sounded like music coming from her bedroom. Spencer recognized that he wasn’t the best at modern popular culture, but Y/N choosing to play music at a time like this caught his profiler instincts.

And what’s a profiler without a genius tech expert, he thought as he dialed Garcia. Spencer placed his ear to the door and started to hear Y/N sob-ridden voice mix with an artist who he did not recognize.

“Garcia,” Spencer whispered.

“Oh Spencer! How is she doing,” Garcia asked. Spencer imagined that the whole party stood huddled in his cramped kitchen listening to every word.

“Ah, she’s singing?” Spencer said with a questioning tone.

“Oh, boy. Hold the phone so I can hear please, this is very important Reid,” Garcia ordered.

Spencer placed his flip phone so it’s speaker would pick up the sad notes echoing from the bedroom.

“Did you get that?” Spencer asked, returning the phone to his ear.

“She’s listening to her ‘cry her eyes out playlist’. This song is about a girl who’s boyfriend skipped out on her birthday party, so it’s hitting home right now, Spencer” Garcia explained.

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Spencer asked.

“That’s the beauty of Taylor Swift, my dear. She’s got a song for every emotion. So maybe you can convince her to listen to her “this makes me believe in love” playlist. And maybe you can tell her how you feel, you know that you love her? That has Taylor Swift written all over it G-man,” Garcia finishes.

“We’ll see about it, Penelope,” Spencer said, trying to figure out a plan to make Y/N feel better. He hung up on his friend and put his ear back at the door.

Spencer felt a little bit uncomfortable pressing his ear up to the door. It was like he was invading a very private moment. As he strained to hear the song playing in the bedroom, Spencer’s legs were rubbed against by a fluffy orange Maine Coon.

“Hey Mabel,” He said crouching down to pet the cat. “Our girl is really sad right now. You always make her feel better though, right May?” He said. Spencer thought that he really must be losing it if he’s having a conversation with her cat.

Suddenly, the music stopped and Spencer quieted himself to be able to hear what Y/N was doing behind the door. He heard her voice, maybe she was talking to her sister or Penelope. Spencer’s heart twinged with sadness that he wasn’t the one she went to when her heart was broken.

“Hey, Ian. We need to talk,” Her voice was muffled between the door. Spencer’s breath was coming heavier with the realization that she was talking with Ian. Ian her boyfriend.

He was not able to hear the other side of the conversation, not that he really cared what Ian said to defend himself. Spencer tried to make due by listening to Y/N’s quiet voice.

“Ian, you really hurt me-” She said, her voice getting high. Spencer knew that was a sign of Y/N getting ready to cry.

“No, you are going to listen to me. Then I am going to hang up and I’m going to toss all of your shit that you leave in my apartment in the trash!” she yelled on the phone.

“You really hurt me by not coming to my party, Ian. But what I realized, sitting here, that I don’t need you anymore. I feel like I’ve given this relationship everything I had. And you don’t even give me the time of day! Spencer was here for me today. He planned this! He was the one who want to make my day special and I love-”

Spencer, who was listening intently to the conversation behind the door, ran as far away from the door as he could. He did not just hear what he did, he tried to tell himself. She does not mean it. Ian will probably call her in the morning and she’ll forgive him. There’s no way that she means that she means that. The silence coming from her bedroom is only broken by her quiet sobs. Spencer was counting the seconds before he could barge into the bedroom and tell her that everything is going to be okay. If he was more like Derek, he’d open up that door and just hold her and tell her how much he loves her. But Spencer Reid is not like Derek Morgan, much to his disappointment.

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Y/N sat on the carpeted floor of her bedroom, mopping up her leaky eyes with an old t-shirt. The initial heartbreak from Ian not coming to her party was gone. It was a strange feeling, she almost felt light. Like breathing was a little easier or the world was a little clearer. The thing was, that if she thought about it, she really did not even miss him from her party. Spencer was the one who planned this, she thought. He was the one who gave her a thoughtful gift. He was the one she went to when she needed to go home. Spencer was the one.

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Spencer was broken from his internal thoughts when the door cracked open. Y/N eyes were puffy and red from crying. She made a motion to Spencer to come into her bedroom with her. Y/N led him over to the balcony window seat that overlooked the city street. It was still early in the evening, so the street was busy with passerby, bikers, and shoppers.

Spencer sat down tentatively next to Y/N, who made a movement to grab his hand. She intertwined her fingers with his and Spencer could not help but think of how warm her hands were in his cold ones. Or how her light blue nail polish reflected light.

“Spencer,” She said nervously. Y/N looked up at him with a shy look on her face.

“Do you love me, Spencer,” She asked him, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Of course I love you, Y/N. I love all of you guys. Penelope, Derek, JJ, Emily-” he said, regretting his answer almost immediately due to the look on her face.

“No, Spencer. I mean do you love me?” she asked, daring to make eye contact with him.

“I have loved you for years, Y/N.” Spencer answered. He lowered his gaze, fearful that maybe she would reject him, fearful that she’d think him loving her is a ridiculous notion, fearful that she’d realize that he’d never be the one for her.

“Spencer, you mean so much to me. And I think that today-” She started, putting her hand to his cheek in an affectionate manner.

“I think that today, I learned that you are always a constant in my life, you are always the person that I want to hold me when I cry. You are always the one who I want to make laugh. Spencer you are the one for me.” She professed.

Spencer sat there looking dumbfounded. Part of him wanted to believe her, believe that she could possibly love him like he loves her.

“I love you, Spencer. More than you can ever imagine.” She told him, dancing her fingers down his incredibly sharp jaw and down his neck.

Spencer, who seemed to come back to Earth, fixed Y/N’s necklace. He looked back at her, like it was the first time that he was actually seeing her.

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, Spencer kissed her forehead saying “when I look at you, Y/N, I see something that I never really thought I’d ever get. I see a future, a happy one. I love you so much, Y/N and-”

Spencer’s confession was cut off suddenly by a pair of soft lips pressing up to his. His shock wore off quickly as Y/N kissed the corners of his mouth, up his cheekbones, and all the way to his eyelids. Her overzealous affection caused Spencer to belt out a high pitched laugh. Kissing her tasted like the future. And the future had never tasted so sweet.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fics #spencer x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader

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hereforlou · 5 years ago

Note

23. Any pairing. Write one you love but don’t have much opportunity to write if you’d like!

23. “Just pretend to be my date.”

Harry was not used to being single. He’d had his first girlfriend in Year 4, and ever since then, he’d always had someone to hold hands with at recess, or snog behind the school in secondary, or go out clubbing with when he got old enough.

His friends teased him sometimes, because no matter where Harry went, he always seemed to run into people he’d dated at one point or another. At least it was hardly ever awkward - Harry could count his bad break-ups on the fingers of one hand, and bad was still a bit of an exaggeration. He was a very amiable person.

There was one break-up, though, one incident that still left a bitter taste in his mouth if he only thought of it. It’d happened years before, but it could still incense Harry like nothing else. He didn’t like to remember the events, but they’d been together two years (his longest relationship by far) and sometimes he was surprised at how a little thing like hearing a certain song, or smelling a certain scent would bring all the memories up to the surface in a rush.

It was nothing compared to, though, to how his entire body went cold when he happened to look up one day, and there he was, Ian, waiting to be seated at the same restaurant as Harry. He had his arm around another man and he looked just as handsome and arrogant as Harry remembered.

He whirled around, hoping he hadn’t been seen.

Harry was there alone. His friends had convinced him there was nothing wrong with going out to eat by himself. They had the insane theory that Harry only dated so much because he wanted people to do things with because he didn’t know how to keep himself company. Harry had wanted to prove them wrong, but he was not going to let Ian see him eat dinner alone at a restaurant while he was there on a date. The man had already humiliated Harry enough to last him a lifetime, he didn’t need this on top of it.

He started making his way towards the exit, keeping his head down. He’d had long hair when Ian and him were together, so maybe he’d manage to leave without being recognised.

He was halfway there when he heard his name being called somewhere behind him and he panicked, heart thudding in his chest. Fuck what his friends thought, this was not about not being able to be alone, it was about not giving Ian material. He looked around, frantically searching for help, when he locked eyes with a man coming in through the door. He seemed to be by himself, and that was all Harry needed.

He strode over, keeping eye contact and watching the guy’s face grow more confused the closer Harry got.

“Can I-”

“Please, play along,” Harry said softly, cutting the guy off.

“What?”

“Just,” Harry could feel Ian getting closer. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. “Just pretend to be my date. Please.”

The guy let out a startled laugh, his eyes crinkling up. But before he could reply, a hand landed on Harry’s shoulder.

Giving the guy one last pleading look, Harry turned around. Ian stood there, smiling the same smile he used to throw at Harry when he was about to say something Harry could never tell if it was an insult or just his brand of teasing.

“I thought it was you!” Ian said, and pulled Harry in for a hug. Harry gingerly patted his back. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you...well, what have you been up to?”

Harry forced out a smile, “I’m, um, on a date, actually.”

He felt a hand slipping into his and instinctively squeezed. Then the poor guy Harry had dragged into this leaned in and offered his free hand to Ian.

“I’m Louis,” he said. He sounded much more relaxed than Harry would have thought he would.

“Ian,” Ian shook Louis’ hand, giving him a very obvious once over. “First date?”

“Yeah, actually. Been begging him for a while, and he finally decided to give me a chance.” Louis smiled over at Harry and Harry looked at him properly for the first time. He was...quite good looking.

“Begging, really? Didn’t used to be that hard getting him to agree to anything, did it, Harry?”

“Um-”

“I think your table’s ready, mate,” Louis said, gesturing to where Ian’s date was trying to get his attention. Almost as fast as Ian had come, he was gone, sending one last look at them over his shoulder before following the hostess into the dinning room.

Harry’s shoulders finally unlocked.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Thank you for playing along.”

“That’s alright,” Louis replied. “I thought this only happened in films.”

“Yeah.” Harry still felt a little unsettled. The last person he’d thought he’d see tonight was Ian and his dumb face, and now he couldn’t even stay to eat.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Louis asked.

“Yeah, trying to be more independent or whatever. I’m helplessly co-dependent, apparently.”

“Who said that to you? That prick over there?”

Harry huffed out a laugh, “He is a prick.” He thought for a moment. “Are you here by yourself?”

“Nah, it’s a whole party for me. There.” He nodded towards a huge group of people crowded on one side of the waiting area, all of them looking at them. Harry felt his face burn. “It’s my sister’s birthday.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Harry said, and then realised he was still holding Louis’ hand, and he hastily let go. “This is so fucking embarrassing.” Harry would never be trying to do anything by himself ever again.

“I think it’s hilarious,” Louis said. “Are you staying?”

“Um, no, I don’t want him to see me sitting by myself after all this.”

“What do you mean by yourself? You’re meeting my entire family.”

“I am?”

“Harry, right?” Harry nodded. “You’re not sitting in a restaurant all by yourself, Harry. Independence is a bit overrated, anyway. The more the merrier, if you ask me.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“They won’t mind?”

“They’re always pestering me about dating more, they’ll be thrilled,” Louis said, took Harry’s hand again, and pulled him towards his family.

#i'm determined to make at least one of these smut*y #but it's not working #meme #tumblr fic #Anonymous

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years ago

Text

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 16 (Final)

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor. All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed. The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away. In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’. Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma! @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist | AO3

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Rose stared down at him, mouth hanging open as she tried to process the scene in front of her. This man, this wonderful, kind man she was in love with, was asking her to marry him.

She tried to say yes!, tried to make her mouth move, but nothing came out as reality all but came and smacked her in the face.

He wasn’t a man – he was a King. A king, with a country, one that was far from London and the only life she’d ever had. Far from her Mum, her friends, her business. I’d have to give up Matchmaking. Could she leave that? Could she be so selfish as to abandon her mother?

She was all Jackie had in the world, really, the only family left. Sure they had cousin Mo, and a small smattering of aunts and uncles, but it had been just the two of them almost Rose’s entire life.

Her mouth moved, no sound coming out, and the King’s happy expression was slowly fading to worry the longer she stayed silent. She wanted him, that was not in question, but could she make the sacrifices necessary?

And would his family, his people even accept her? It certainly seemed like the Princess did, given she’d fetched Rose from the station, but did that mean she really wanted her? Or was she just so desperate not to become queen that at this point anyone would do?

Tearing her eyes away from the King, she sought out the Princess and their aunt – and felt her heart stop.

Four women stood together, all smiling and waiting expectantly. Sarah Jane, in an elegant plum color, stood next to her niece, the Princess in emerald. On the other end was Mel, looking no different than when Rose had last seen her, in a lovely shade of mint that went perfectly with her hair.

But the fourth member, the one whose presence brought tears to Rose’s eyes, was none other than Jackie Tyler.

Mum?

Rose blinked rapidly, trying to clear away her tears, but her mother remained there, dressed in a delicate shade of pink and beaming more than the rest of them. She caught Rose’s eye and nodded, waving her hand in the universal come on! gesture, and Rose sniffled, fighting back a laugh.

Lowering her gaze back to the King, her doubts and fears melted away.

“Yes,” she whispered, and his face lit like the sun. “Yes,” she repeated, stronger this time, a smile growing across her face as she let out a happy giggle. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

“Oh thank God,” he whispered, surging up and wrapping his arms around her in a hug, cradling her tightly to him. “You were starting to scare me.”

“Sorry,” Rose replied in kind, tightening her own grip on him. “I was scaring myself for a second.”

They swayed in place, giggling together, for a long moment before-

“Give her the ring already!” the Princess shouted, and they broke apart, laughing.

“Right, the ring,” the King took only a small step back but it still felt like too far, Rose following him like a magnet and making him smile. “Hand, please.”

Rose presented it, pleased that despite the nerves and anticipation swirling through her, it stayed steady as he gently slid the ring on over her knuckles to settle at the base.

“Perfect fit,” he murmured, raising it to his mouth and pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, making her giggle once again from happiness.

“Yes, we are.”

Resting her hand against his chest the King held her gaze, wrapping his other arm around her waist and drawing her close. “May I kiss you?”

“Only if you promise to never stop,” she murmured, meeting him halfway.

It was a bit awkward, knowing their first proper kiss was happening in front of over a hundred people and their families to boot, but Rose was too damn happy to care. Little more than a gentle press of lips, she still ranked it as one of the best of her life, given they were too busy laughing to do it properly.

The King spun away from her then, keeping hold of her hand and showing her to their audience. “May I present your future Queen,” he announced, as if any doubts might exist, but the room burst into applause and cheers nevertheless.

Rose thought the smile might permanently freeze on her face, and was perfectly happy with the thought.

“May I have this dance?”

“Of course.”

He gestured for the band to start playing, and they started to waltz, though he held her quite a bit closer than was technically proper for the style.

“I’m so happy,” he whispered, raining kisses to the side of her head closest to his lips, apparently unable to stop kissing her now that he was allowed to.

“Me too.”

They stopped in the middle of the floor, heedless of the other dancers swirling around them, and kissed again.

Just because they could.

Eventually the heavy weight of their loved ones’ gaze forced them off the dancefloor, the King should I still call him ‘the King’? That sounds silly, doesn’t it? Ian? Ugh, that feels weird leading her to the table where their families were sitting, Sarah Jane and the Princess and her family next to Jackie and Mel.

“Hi, sweetheart!” her mother enthused, reaching for her, and Rose reluctantly stepped out of the King’s arms and right into her mother’s, as they held each other tight.

“Hi! What on Earth are you doing here?!”

Jackie jerked her head in Sarah Jane and the Princess’s direction. “They invited me! Mel’s idea of course.”

Rose’s spine stiffened, and she shifted to glare at her assistant. “You knew my Mum was here and let me leave?!”

“I didn’t know she was already here!” Mel protested. “I had suggested that since Saturday was your birthday that it might be nice to bring her out, but I thought she was coming Friday morning!”

Which meant that the Princess had decided to bring Jackie in early, and Rose turned a narrowed gaze on the woman. “When exactly did this-” she gestured to herself and the King, “become the plan?”

The Princess and her aunt exchanged looks, pretending to think. “Um… around… the third?” the redhead said sweetly, and Rose’s jaw dropped.

“That was our second day here!”

The two women shrugged in unison, fighting smiles. “When we saw how quickly, how easily you got under his skin, we opened ourselves to the possibility,” Sarah Jane said innocently. “We knew for sure though at the fundraiser – that it was mutual, I mean. You couldn’t take your eyes off each other.”

Rose huffed, crossing her arms and feeling played. “And you, missy, when exactly did you run me through the software as a potential match?”

Mel burst into laughter. “Soon as I had numbers to run. I just thought it’d be funny, didn’t realize you’d be so compatible.”

The King sighed beside her, wrapping an arm around Rose’s waist and pulling her into his side, where she went willingly, uncrossing her arms in favor of holding him. “So you just let us spend the last two weeks miserable instead of just telling us?”

“Telling you what?” his sister retorted. “You knew how you felt perfectly well, you were just too much of a coward to do anything about it. Then you refused to just ask her. Don’t blame this on us!”

“Ask me? Ask me what?” Rose asked, brow furrowed, before catching sight of her ring. “I mean, something beyond the obvious?”

The Princess and Sarah Jane both gave him a pointed look, making him groan and ruffle his hair.

“I may have been under the impression you were engaged,” he grumped, staring down at the floor. “I overheard you on Thursday, talking about planning a wedding.”

She burst into laughter, heart easing. “No! I was going to help my oldest friend plan his wedding – though I suppose I can’t now.” For a moment, she let herself mourn the life in London she would never return to, but only a moment – her future in Gallifrey was far too bright to be sorry for long. “That’s alright! I can always Skype in, if I’ve got the time.”

“He was devastated,” Sarah Jane said knowingly, smirking at her nephew. “Wouldn’t stop sulking.”

Rose smiled up at the King, squeezing his side. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Not your fault,” he muttered, “that’s what I get for eavesdropping and jumping to assumptions. I just… resigned myself. I didn’t think I had any right to try to tempt you away from him.”

“I would’ve gone willingly,” she promised, “even if we had still been together. I was in too deep with you.”

They kissed again, the table in front of them drawing out their awwww.

“Take a walk with me?” he whispered against her lips, and Rose nodded.

“I’d go anywhere with you.”

The ballroom hosting the engagement party was at the back of the castle, with doors that could open out onto the patio in nicer weather. Despite being late April it was still a touch too cool, but they were able to slip out through one of the doors, and suddenly, they were alone.

“Hello,” Rose laughed, as they laced their arms and meandered down the patio until they were past the ballroom.

“Hello.”

Once out of sight of his- of their guests and wasn’t that a thrill, to think they shared something- of course, now they shared an entire future – he tugged her to a stop, bringing her into his arms and nuzzling her nose with his.

“You’re warm,” Rose- his fiancée, and wasn’t that a trip? murmured, nestling closer, and he belatedly realized she was outside on a cold night in a strapless gown.

“Hold on.” Reluctantly stepping back he eased his jacket off, mindful of the medals and ribbons decorating it as he draped it around her shoulders. “Better?”

She hummed, burying her nose in the collar, and though he couldn’t see her mouth, knew she was smiling up at him. “Thanks.”

He tugged her back to him, cupping her chin and gently angling her head up for a kiss, one she gladly surged onto her toes to lean into, daring to let his tongue trace her plump lips, loving the little gasp she gave and darting inside.

But Rose, his love, was hardly a passive participant, and it was almost obscene, how much pleasure he was drawing from a simple meeting of mouths and tongues, how easy it was to lose himself in the taste of her, holding her tighter against him.

Eventually they pulled away, and he was gratified to see her panting as heavily as he was, eyes heavy with desire.

“That was nice,” she whispered, giving him a teasing smile, tongue peeking out between her teeth.

“If you like, we can spend the rest of our lives doing that,” he rasped, brushing a flyaway hair from her face mostly for the excuse to touch her.

Rose hummed, tapping her chin in mock thought. “Pretty sure I’ve already agreed to that.”

“I may need some convincing that this is real.” He sampled her lips again, unable to get over how right it all felt. “Seems legit.”

A shadow fell over her face, mood shifting to a more serious tone, and Ian sighed.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Are you sure?” she asked timidly, toying with a button on his dress shirt. “Not… not personally, I don’t think, but… me. As queen. D’you think I can do this?”

Ian laughed, tugging her closer still. “Of course. As does everyone else, or they wouldn’t have worked so hard to stop us from making a terrible mistake. We’ll teach you what you need to know. It’ll be fine. It might be hard sometimes, but we’ll get through. Together.”

“Together.” Rose fisted his tie, drawing his mouth down to hers for a long moment. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.” Her brow was still furrowed though, and he nuzzled her nose again. “What is it? You can say anything. There’s no question too dumb.”

She blinked up from beneath her lashes, looking impossibly young and innocent, and for just a moment he had doubts about dragging her into the chaos of monarchy, but forcefully pushed those feelings aside.

“What do I call you?”

Of all the things he’d been preparing himself for, that wasn’t one. “What?”

“What do I call you?” she repeated, staring at the knot of his tie. “The King? Your Majesty?”

“My name’s Ian,” he said blankly, wrinkling his nose at the thought. “You would use those when speaking about me, but when addressing me, Ian is fine. Though, for you, I think I’d be rather happy to answer to ‘Husband’.”

Rose let out a deep breath, shaking her head slightly before meeting his eye with a determined glint, her smile back. “Okay. We’ll figure it out. For tonight, let’s just celebrate!”

“Oh?” he teased, swaying her slightly to the distant strains of the band, unable to get over how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. “Are we celebrating?”

“Yep!” She popped the ‘p’, making him smile. “Cause guess what? We never have to go on any sort of blind date ever again.”

Ian burst into laughter, shaking his head.

“Now

that

is something worth celebrating!”

---

The End

...

For Now

---

Hello! Thank you for joining me on this lovely journey. I started writing it in late March, and it’s hard to believe that this particular story is over. @stupidsatsuma and I have poured many hours into this story, writing it, editing it, and just plotting! I’m very grateful to all of you who have read it.

But how can this be then end?! you cry. There’s so much more to the story!

Well, you’ll be pleased to know that we agree! While it’s still in the early stages, and a ways away, there will be (at least!) one full-length sequel. I won’t go into details at the moment, but I have reasonably-firm plans for the next story, and tentative ones for the third.

If you’re interested in seeing those when they’re ready to be shared, I recommend subscribing to the Queen of Hearts series on AO3 - once it’s ready, it will be posted both here and there.

Thank you!

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #12th Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU

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thosedamnsmoshkids · 5 years ago

Text

HI YALL

so i have a few unfinished works that probably won’t get finished, and i wanted to clean out my drafts and have one less thing to worry about, so imma post em here.

and hey! if you want to do a ‘finish the fic’ on any of them, do it and just tag me!

honey whiskey - shayne topp/josh scherer

“So it’s a party?” Shayne taps his fingers against the table absentmindedly.

“Kinda?” Ian sits across from him, completely melted into the olive-colored sofa that lines the far wall. He scrunches up his nose. “You’d have to ask Matt Raub, he knows better than I do.”

Shayne rolls his eyes, sitting back and letting his head fall back. “A party but it’s also a networking event, which normally just means it’ll be a bunch of people talking about work and eating bad food.”

“Mythical’s got good caterers,” Ian stops him short. “They’ve got a chef on site too, he’s usually the one that makes the monstrosities though, so…”

“So we’ll be fending for ourselves with a bunch of Mythical execs?”

“No,” Ian tips his head. “It’ll be talent too, Rhett and Link, you, Courtney and me, I think Monica and the editors are sticking around too.”

“And Damien just had to get sick right when I need to latch onto him during a party.”

“I thought it was Damien that was bad with parties?”

Shayne almost laughs. “We’re both bad at parties, it’s just, normally we stick together, and then it’s better.”

Ian shrugs, “you can stick with Court and me.”

Shayne really does laugh this time, full bellied to the point that it almost makes him double over. “You two are going to get distracted, independently, run off, and then meet me when the party’s over, that’s what you always do.”

Ian’s head jerks back, shaking slightly. “We don’t do that-”

“Noah’s birthday, the Dark premiere, Monica’s party,” he lifts his eyebrows as Ian sinks further into the sofa. “You want me to go on?”

“It’s one evening, you’ll be fine.” Ian straightens a little. “Besides, they’ve got some cool weird foods apparently, and it’d give you the chance to annoy Monica for a few hours.”

Shayne narrows his eyes, nodding slowly. “I would like that.”

Courtney pops her head in a few minutes later, back from her Sims shoot, and distracts him for a while with another video. He’s just moving through the motions for most of it, it’s something about dating, ‘their show’, they called it, when in reality, it was really Courtney’s baby. But something she says sticks with him.

“Life’s too short to stay at home and pretend the world’s on fire!” She throws her hands up a little, giggling in her seat as she throws a stray piece of hair over her shoulder. “Go out with that person, do that thing, and the world might still be on fire, but if you die in the flames, at least you died doing something.”

Shayne makes some sort of jest at her jokingly, and she laughs back at him.

The party starts promptly at five, and Shayne is rapid fire texting Damien as he clings to Courtney, until she inevitably disappears, and then to Ian, before he too, finds himself distracted, and leaves behind a nerve-wrecked Shayne. At some point, he finds Monica, talking to a tall woman with pretty red-blonde hair and a fresh-faced expression.

She introduces herself as Stevie, and Shayne returns a handshake and his name.

“Parties not really your thing?” She leans in, the smell of something sweet on her breath.

“Not always,” he shakes his head. Shayne lets himself relax a little as she grins.

“And I was told that you’re supposed to be the loud boisterous one.”

Monica elbows him in the side, grinning up at Stevie. “He’s normally a fucking annoyance, but his friends left him, so he’s latched on to me.”

This makes the woman laugh, and she steps back, raising an eyebrow. “We’re serving drinks over at the kitchen if you want something to take the edge off.” Stevie gestures to her cup. “Josh makes a mean Devil’s Piss.”

“A what.”

She shakes her head, eyes fixed on the cup before flicking back to him. “Honestly it’s something you can’t really explain.”

“But it’s good?”

“It’s something.”

Shayne nods, taking Stevie and Monica talking about their girlfriend and wife respectively, as a cue to leave. He heads towards the kitchen, not quite sure what he’s expecting to find, and more or less bracing himself for the awkward conversations to come.

There’s a cheering coming from the kitchen, and as he turns the corner, for once in his life, Shayne is left breathless.

A man stands over the countertop, surrounded by people, but he might as well have been standing on a stage, the lights all cued and prepped to shine on him until he glowed. His arm is arced over, whipping something up in a bowl as the others around him cheer him on.

The guy is tall, something Shayne likes, but not something he’d admit to anyone other than Courtney, or maybe Damien if he was drunk enough.

Hell, he hasn’t even been able to admit to himself that he likes guys in the first place.

And damn. He’s got a plain face at first glance, simple. But the sharp, clean movement of a jaw that leads to a pair of soft eyes, leaves Shayne speechless.

He moves to grab something, his arm looks like it could’ve been sculpted from clay, and then smoothed over again and again, until the muscles and sinew were perfectly folded beneath his skin.

The man lights something on fire before handing the glass of liquid to someone crowded around him. Everyone watches as they take a sip, their eyes squeezing together as their lips pucker.

Another bought of cheering erupts around him, and he watches with a slight smile as the people disperse, leaving him with his ingredients, and a formerly flaming pan.

He starts preparing another drink, and from the way his hands move, this time with less flourish than before, it’s clear that he’s finally taking the time to make something for himself. It’s still mesmerizing to watch him work, hands chopping and moving all in one motion.

At some point, he notices Shayne, standing off to the side, and he’s not sure if the man is infatuated with his cooking, or if it’s something more. He’s used to people watching him, but not like this.

He finds that there’s such a strange curiosity in the eyes of this odd man, and it keeps him from opening his mouth, and breaking the spell that he’s seemingly captured him in. The chef finishes the drink, not sure if he should turn away or finally speak.

He instead slides the drink across the table.

The man blinks, his eyes moving from the drink to the curve of a chest, and then up to finally make eye contact. The man opens his mouth, blinking dumbfoundedly before closing it and opening it again. “Shayne,” he holds out a hand.

“I’m not sure you want to shake my hand,” the man almost smiles. He holds up two hands covered in various liquids and powders. “But I’m Josh.”

“The chef yeah, Stevie talked about you.”

--- < / > ---

unnamed weshire - wes johnson/joshua ovenshire

---

When he shows up at Joven’s door, it’s clear it’s not the first time this has happened, and it’s also clear that Joven is not the first person Wes would’ve gone to. He tries not to take it as an insult, guiding a red-faced, tear-stained Wes into the cool darkness of his dorm.

He makes tea with his roommate’s tiny water heater, adding enough sugar to kill a small animal, grabbing the first-aid kit from the cupboard. Joven pushes the mug into Wes’s shaking fingers, trying to ignore the feeling that he gets when he folds Wes’s hands around the cup with his fingertips.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he’s said since he arrived, repeating it over and over again with intermittent uses of Joven’s name. He hushes Wes each time, trying to hammer it into his head that this isn’t his fucking fault. Kind to a fault.

He’s positioned himself in between Wes’s legs, something that would seem compromising from an outside perspective, but he feels Wes ease, and in response Joven doesn’t move an inch from where he’s kneeling. More afraid of how his heart will race coming in contact with the skin of Wes’s thigh than frightening the man with his movements.

Joven dabs at the cuts on his face and arms with a warm cloth, trying not to catch Wes’s eyes. Everytime he does, he hates himself just a little more. And it kills him that he doesn’t know why he does.

“I should’ve gone to Mari, or Sohinki or-” It’s the first words he’s said that’s not the droning apologies. “You shouldn’t have to clean me up after this.”

“Shut up,” Joven whispers. “You’re here, I don’t sleep. It’s fine.”

“And I’m sorry, your roommate”

“Out of town,” he interrupts quickly. “It’s why I was able to open the door at 2am anyway.”

“Sorry,” Wes murmurs.

“Don’t apologize.” His next words are barely audible. “Fucking asshole. It’s his fault that you-”

Wes catches Joven’s arm, his grip is like steel around Joven’s forearm. “He’s not,” his eyes are like fire, “you don’t understand.”

“You let him hurt you.”

“I didn’t let him-” Joven can feel Wes shaking, and it breaks something in him.

He guides his free hand along Wes’s shoulder, the way he remembered an old friend did when it got dark for him. “Hey, hey, let’s-” he moves head with the boy’s across from him to make sure his eyes can’t disappear again. “Let’s talk about something else. Did you watch that movie I gave you yet?”

Wes’s eyes grow soft as he swallows slowly. “Yeah, it was, funny.”

“Yeah?” Joven feels Wes release his arm, and he moves it along slowly, grabbing for bandaids. “Tell me what you liked best about it.”

“I liked a lot,” he whispers. “I liked-” His voice falters, and Joven can feel him shaking again. “Why did I even try-?”

“Wes if it hurts,” he holds the tips of Wes’s fingers, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no,” his fingers twist around Joven’s. Somehow without knowing, Joven knows he won’t let go this time. “Please, it’s better if I just get it out and then forget.”

“Okay,” Joven nods as he opens a bandaid. “Then tell me.”

“I just need you to promise you’ll just listen, okay?”

Joven barely nods before softly pressing a bandage on Wes’s cheek. “I’ll try my best.” He finds his fingertips brushing Wes’s collar as he searches for more cuts, and instead, finds aging hickeys pressed deep into his Wes’s neck.

“It was a normal night, I thought it was, and then, he came back to our apartment, and he was just, so mad.” Wes shakes his head. “I must’ve set him off, I don’t know, and we just, fought and fought, worse than we ever have before, and then he started…”

“And then you came here.” Joven finishes the sentence for Wes as his eyes grow misty.

“No,” he shakes his head again. “No. I told him it was over, that I wanted to end us, and then…” Wes’s chest is heaving. He looks up at Joven with eyes heavy with the threat of tears. “Do you have anything stronger than this?” Wes holds up the untouched tea in his hands.

“You want more sugar?” Joven raises an eyebrow.

“I know you have liquor hidden here somewhere.” Wes searches Joven’s eyes. “As much as Mari tells you to stop drinking.”

“We’ve all got our addictions, don’t we?” Joven pulls away, standing up to grab a mug out of the cabinet. He pulls the top off of the cookie jar, removing a small bottle of vodka from inside. Joven pours himself a glass before topping off Wes’s.

He sits on his bed next to Wes, hunched over his mug. The two of them drink in silence, the unbroken tension between them buzzing in the air.

“Why did you come to me?”

Wes doesn’t answer at first, and in the moment, Joven attributes his silence to Wes’s lightweight nature.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “Warm, nice, kind, despite how you might appear.”

Joven lets the words he’s been itching to say fall. “I’m the last person you think he’d go to try and find you, right?”

His lips are as soft as Joven expected them to be, puckered slightly so that he can feel the warmth beneath them. He tips his head down, finding his hands buried deep in Wes’s hair, thick and silver between his fingertips.

It feels wrong, but he’s too tired and too tipsy to care. Wes holds him like he might break, and if Joven were honest with himself, (a rare occurrence), he would feel the same way. His hands grow rough around Joven’s face, moving his lips down a trail from the corner of his mouth, to his cheek, and finally to the curve of his neck.

--- < / > ---

unfinished greek myth au! from the smosh writing week 2019

They say the gods are dead.

The old gods, the ones from the many, many, many stories told again and again, wrapped, packaged, and tightened up tight with new paper and pretty bows, but the same bare essentials. The old gods with powers that cracks the earth open to swallow sinners whole, the hands that lifted from the sea to snap ships in two, and the voices that spoke with such majesty that they burned the brain from the inside out. The old gods that were sung of in poetry and prose, and drawn and sculpted and painted until skin ran raw, and voices slowly dwindled into the crackle of distant thunder.

These gods are not dead. In fact, they meet for coffee every other Saturday at a tiny coffee bar on some small street of a somewhat large city. Hermes always chooses, and Apollo has stopped complaining, and all is right in the world.

Hermes has decided that this week their meeting will take place in a coffeeshop in downtown Madison. (Madison, Wisconsin to be precise, not to be confused with Madison, New Jersey, or even Madisön, Germany. There’s a very good reason Chicago, Nevada no longer exists.)

He arrives first, his feet carrying him nimbly, carried by a pair of black sneakers trim with small golden wing decals on either side. His lips run motor-mouthed to the barista as he lists off several extravagant coffee, tea, juice, and pastry orders for each of his friends to come.

“Name for the order?” The barista tips his head to the side just a little, and the god smiles.

“Noah,” his grin stretches warmly.

The god has chosen the body of a dirt-poor, dog-tired millennial to show as his face for the new era. It seems to make perfect sense, a god of messengers and travellers, and those left behind. His hair is sometimes colored, and for some reason his body clad in strange patterns and colors that even he, one who has seen much in his lifetime, still can’t quite understand.

He goes by Noah in his everyday. Noah the Uber driver, Noah the Postmates deliver, Noah, that kid from down the street. His face is accessible, approachable, friendly even. He’s always been the most agreeable out of all of his family, and even still, found himself appearing that way.

The barista scratches it down before handing it off to another employee. He leans a bit closer as he turns the monitor towards the god to sign. “Intern coffee run?” His face is sympathetic, and the god of travellers and mischief feels himself will good fortune towards the man.

“Something like that,” is his soft reply.

Noah sits along the windows in the front, watching traffic as it passes. Cars move cleanly, bikes in perfect tandem with pedestrians, who flit in perfect motions like spiraling schools of fish, always coming close to collision, by stepping away at just the right second.

Then there is a hush over the coffee shop, the soft, rustling of words being passed through lips, and spread through the room like wildfire. Noah is used to these silences, and without even so much as turning around, he could tell exactly which of his family had stepped into the room.

The words were light, and a rush of warmth flooded through the room, accompanied by the smell of rose and a hint of something sweeter.

Aphrodite, in all of her loveliness, had entered the building. Perfect skin, dark hair that fluttered and flowed across her body like raindrops trailing a window, and eyes that twinkled like starlight. Her lips twisted up as she searched the room, her eyebrows knitting slowly as she surveyed the eyes and the expressions that watched her, until she fell to the only one that managed to return her gaze with no lust in their eyes.

Her heels clicked the floor into submission, the bottom of her dress, white with small polka-dots arranged neatly in lines, fluttered about in an invisible wind. A bubblegum pink purse cinched over her shoulder, hanging down at a black belt that wrapped around her waist.

“Am I the first one here for once?” Her words are honey-sweet, layered with a warmth best described by the feeling of curling under a heavy blanket on a night where ice bit at the windows.

“Apparently,” he nods in return.

She sets her things down with a thump, moving with intentional grace into the seat. The goddess takes her phone from the purse, opening some colorful app that Noah never found the time to download. He watches as she snaps a few photos of herself, of the coffeeshop, of her shoes, and even one or two of him.

Her choice to live as an internet darling was something he found made his skin crawl. The thought of all of those eyes on him at once, the fact that he could never slip between the cracks and disappear, that his life would be documented like that forever and ever in such a horrible, vain way, he was not the sort of god who liked the attention like his siblings.

The goddess of love had chosen the face of a pretty young woman who shared nothing in common with him besides their age. Her name is Olivia Sui now, an emphasis on Sui. The times she’s tried to describe the importance of her last name to him had gone through one ear and out the other. It was something about ‘branding’, something he still didn’t quite entirely get the swing of.

“Please tell me you got my order right this time,” she flips through her phone. He peers over her screen, noting the several dating apps blowing up with notifications, and the folders upon folders of photo editing and video recording software.

“Vanilla frappuccino with one pump of rose sweetener and almond milk.”

“Good,” she nods.

Her phone disappears into her pocket as soon as the two both notice another hush that moves over the coffeeshop. Hermes feels not one, but two waves move across, both inherently similar to one another, and yet, as different as if they were standing at the edge of where the shadows meet light.

Artemis steps forward first, lean and lithe, but muscles ripple under the curving nature of an olive green muscle shirt. A bomber jacket is tied around her waist, shimmering with silver against dark black jeans, and boots that glow like tarnished metal. Honey brown hair flicks around her shoulders like the ears of a wary animal. Her eyes match her shirt in color, but they match her arms in their message. Wrapped around her chest, closed off, about as guarded as a person can get.

Apollo, on the other hand, brightens up the room as if he were glowing. Deep, toned skin, and a smile that could put anyone at ease. He was wearing some sort of hat, small dreads of black hair falling from beneath it, and some sort of clothing ensemble of red, orange, gold, and black that Hermes couldn’t quite tell went together. It was something off of the runway, and something that Hermes knew he’d never truly get.

--- < / > ---

barista damien & struggling actor courtney au - damien haas/courtney miller

It was nearly nine, and Courtney was in desperate need of a smoothie.

After her last work out, she deserved it, she really did. Two full hours of cardio and running on that damn treadmill. Her body was about to collapse, her hair was a twisting mess of sweat and salt, and she felt like her feet might give out on her if she didn’t sit down soon.

With her gym bag in one hand, and her headphones twisted around the other, Courtney pushed the door open to the mostly deserted cafe. It was always quiet here, the shop closed at ten, to try to catch the last stragglers from the movie theater across the street, or the gym rats like her, who were trying to get in a workout after an audition, or a long day of work, or maybe just treating themselves for going to lift some weights after sitting on their ass all day.

The lights were dimmed after sundown, to try and save power, she guessed, or possibly to save money for their corporate overlords, whatever ideology came first. It smelled like milk and fruit, and the occasional note of coffee, with an overwhelming hue of the humming metallic machines that did most of the work the cafe boasted was ‘handmade’.

Courtney hiked up her sweatpants, rubbing her nose on the back of her hand as she rounded to the counter. Her fingers were diving into her bag for her wallet before she could even look up to address her friendly neighborhood barista. She’d gotten to know the closing shift workers well. Courtney rarely did daytime workouts anymore, but that was for...other reasons. Ex-boyfriend reasons.

Today was Tuesday, and Olivia Sui, a somewhat bored, but overall cheerful almost-actor, always took the Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday closing shifts.

“Hey, Olivia.” Courtney tossed the ten dollar bill on the table with one hand, digging in her wallet for the exact change she was sure she’d had this morning. “I’ll take the usual.”

“Olivia?” Courtney felt herself freeze. She lifted her head to see a pair of wide amber eyes blinking back at her. Her eyes focused on the face, drawing outwards from those eyes, deep and brown in the dim lights. She caught a freckle on a cheek, and a thin layer of dark facial hair that spread around face’s lips, which drew back to reveal a bright smile. “I’m not Olivia, sorry to disappoint,” the words were half laughed and half spoken.

“You’re, um, you’re...you’re-”

“Not Olivia?” He laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the edges ever so slightly. “I’m the new hire, I think Olivia moved her shifts around. She was here earlier, if you’re looking for her.”

“Uh...no, just.” Courtney finally caught herself. She felt her brain return from the sudden stupor it had found itself in. “Sorry about that,” she eased herself into a smile. Courtney tucked a stray piece of hair behind her head. “I’m just used to seeing her here after my workouts.”

“Gym girl!” He snapped his fingers. “She told me to look out for you. You like...strawberry smoothies with a pinch of…” he narrowed his eyes. “Matcha powder?”

She blinked incredulously. “That’s my order, yeah. How did you remember that?”

“I’ve got a weird memory. Horrible for anything useful, but great for random stuff.” The barista smiled again. It was easy and kind, the sort of smile that you fell into like a mound of pillows. “I’ll get you your smoothie.”

She surprised at how intently she watched him work. Courtney had never watched Olivia make it before, but there was something about his hands. They moved like a conductor’s, swift and decisive, or long and drawn, as if he were moving his hands through water. He popped the top on the smoothie, handing her a straw in paper wrapping.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks,” her eyes flick to his name tag. “Damien.”

“Of course,” he smiled, his cheeks pushing up to make his eyes crinkle together. “You’re welcome…” She returned his expression. “Courtney.”

“Courtney.” She almost couldn’t look away from him as she grabs her change. “Please, come again.”

The words sounded like the rehearsed jargon of the company, but they felt genuine. “I will,” she grinned. “Definitely.”

>---♥--->

“Ms. Courtney, you’ve made your glorious return.” Damien leaned against the edge of the counter. He had that same easy smile as always.

“Seems I have.” She dug through her pocket to pull out her wallet and change. Courtney set it down on the table as she put her things back where they belonged. “At all busy tonight?”

Damien shook his head as he started on the smoothie. “Quiet. It’s nice. I like working this shift better.”

“I never asked, why do you work the night shift?”

“I work another job during the day, and I can only fit this in at night, but I need the cash so…”

“You suffer?”

“That’s LA for you.” He nodded to her as he measured out a teaspoon of the matcha powder. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Acting, movie business, that kind of stuff.”

He tipped his head back, nodding in that ‘oh, that makes sense’, sort of way. “Lots of people out here are like that. I’m friends with a lot of actor types, and only one ever made it anywhere with it, and he still works another job besides it.”

“That’s LA for you,” she repeated his sentiment. He grinned at the words.

Damien handed her the smoothie and he change. “Have a nice evening, Ms. Courtney.”

>---♥--->

When Courtney returned the next night, Olivia was again behind the counter.

“Hey there,” she smiled. “Good to see you. Strawberry smoothie, matcha?”

“Yep,” Courtney returned her expression. She paused for a second, considering her words. “I met the new guy, Damien?”

“You did?” Olivia grinned from ear to ear. “What did you think of him?”

“He knew my smoothie order.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you talk about me a lot or something?”

“I just went over the regulars, but he’s got a crack memory, apparently. He could remember everyone’s shift details to like, the minute.”

“But yeah, he’s cool.”

>---♥--->

“Just ask him out already jeezus.”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Of course it’s easy.” Shayne turned to face her from where they were walking along the strip of street by the gym, and cafe, she frequented. “You just say, hey, wanna grab coffee sometime, or something like that..” he paused. “I guess he works in a cafe, so maybe ask if he wants to get lunch sometime?”

“I’m not asking him out, Shayne.”

“Then you have to stop talking about him every damn hour.”

“I don't-”

“Don’t make me show you the notes sheet on my phone, because I will, Miller, don’t test me.”

“You’re over-exaggerating.”

“Am I?” He lifted his hands in exasperating. “When do I ever over-exaggerate. I neeeever over-exaggerate. It’s not like I act for a living or anything.”

“Shut up Shayne,” she slapped him in the chest.

“Now that hurt,” he pouted. “And please, please, just ask him out. Or I swear, I’ll do it for you.”

--- < / > ---

#cass clears out her drafts #my writing #fic #smosh fic

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shamelessly4shameless-blog · 7 years ago

Text

The Sand In Your Shoe. (1)

This is going to be an extended piece. It is set with total acceptance of the Shameless series so far, including Mickey escaping to Mexico and Ian choosing to stay behind, Mickey being a fugitive and all our feelings about that happening.

What I want to write is the story afterwards, the story that I would like to see and I hope some of you will enjoy it too. Thank you for reading and please do let me know your thoughts.

Thank you to everyone in this fandom who has made me so welcome, some of you have been here for years and I am incredibly new to the Shameless Universe and you have just been wonderful to me and my writing. It is greatly appreciated.

Ian flicks through the small clutch of envelopes and holds his breath just a little longer than is normal. It has been so long now that he doesn’t even have to pretend to himself, it has become a ritual like so many others, infinitely small in the scope of his life and easy to slip under the radar of consciousness because of it.

Finding only the hand-writing he was expecting, Ian begins to open his birthday cards. Half way through his twenties already. Ian shakes his head. Twenty-five and still alive. He feels almost proud of achieving that much on its own. He lines the birthday cards up on the kitchen table. His apartment is shabby but clean and Ian doesn’t want it to be more than that. Trevor took most of the soft furnishings with him when he left and Ian doesn’t mind that either. He actually prefers a minimalist way of living; it’s easier to keep track of everything, including his meds and moods.

He drinks his morning coffee, considers lighting a cigarette but he has been cutting back lately, and decides to save it for later when he goes over to the old house for lunch. Everyone will be smoking there and he’ll want to join in.

Ian washes up the dishes and checks his phone for texts, finds six of them, responds to each and then gets his running gear ready, lining it up with a slightly obsessive precision. That is another thing he doesn’t mind, being alone to indulge his whims without someone asking why he is doing them. He prefers it when people mind their own business and let him mind his.

His phone vibrates again and he smiles at the message on the screen. It’s from a guy he is fooling around with, sweet and a little dirty but short and to the point. Ian exhales gratefully; Jared seems to be fine with speaking his mind and just tends to blurt whatever he is thinking, which is fine with Ian. He also loves that despite being a rich, white boy from New York, Jared swears like a trucker and has the word ‘Fuck’ tattooed on his ribs. It’s a throwback from a horrible drunken frat party apparently but it makes Ian hot for a reason he can’t quite put his finger on. He chucks clean clothes and some shower stuff in his backpack so he can run to South Side and shower at Fiona’s place when he gets there.

On his run, he deliberately takes a longer route that takes him around some of his old haunts. Ian knows that they are mostly run down, shit holes of places but it’s his birthday and he can’t help feeling nostalgic. Ian’s doctor has said that if he starts to dwell for unusually long periods on uncomfortable thoughts or feelings, he should try to take a step back and figure out what is going on so he does not allow himself to do this kind of thing often. Impulse control is a big thing for Ian and he takes it very seriously.

So maybe the events that unfold are just because it is his birthday and he is indulging his romantic, old-soul, nature. Maybe it is because he had a couple of beers the night before and his meds are slightly off making him feel everything more sharply. Maybe it is just fate. Ultimately it doesn’t fucking matter. The events that unfold do so as they will and Ian will follow his instinct for as long as it will carry him and it will carry him a very long way indeed.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fanfiction #shameless imagine #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #Ian loves Mickey

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imagineclaireandjamie · 8 years ago

Note

For FMM- Jamie meets this guy named Murray, that comes from a Scottish family and for the story he tells Jamie he could be a descendant of Jenny and Ian.

Flood my Mornings: Hogmanay

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Flood my (Christmas) Mornings

December 31, 1950

“Is it ridiculous that I’m feeling nervous as a girl on the first day of school?” I asked, smoothing my coat with one hand and squeezing Bree’s hand with the other as we waited in the tidy hallway outside the MacAlister’s door.

“You’ve no reason, lass,” Jamie assured me. I knew he wanted to put his arm around my back, but his hands were full of whisky bottles and Bree’s diaper bag. He did manage to lean in and kiss my cheek. “They’ll take to ye just fine.”

This particular get-together was long overdue. I’d been delighted to learn about Jamie’s serendipitous meeting with the Irish hurling group, and the subsequent connection with the lone Scot, Charlie MacAlister. Though Jamie had gone several times since to join the game or else get a drink one-on-one with Charlie (apparently a chap after Jamie’s own heart in many ways), the several times we had tried to schedule a family dinner since Halloween, the fates had always seen fit to intervene, with holidays, birthdays, morning sickness, et cetera, et cetera.

Fitting, though, that at long last, we should be spending this thoroughly Scottish holiday with a thoroughly Scottish (well, Gaelic, collectively) family.

The door opened with a bang and a roar of “A GOOD NEW YEAR TO YE!!”

Even in the first five seconds of our acquaintance, Charlie MacAlister gave me so strong a recollection of a MacKenzie clansman, I felt like I’d been jolted back into Castle Leoch itself. Jocular, irreverent, fiercely protective and loyal to a fault, those men had alternately vexed and delighted and protected and astounded me with their vigor and kindness and overall enthusiasm for living, in all its forms.

Perhaps that’s why it didn’t perturb me in the slightest that Jamie’s friend’s choice greeting was to lift me clear off my feet in a massive rib-crushing hug; and even though it was the first time I was laying eyes on the man, I couldn’t help but laugh and hug him back , brimming with warmth and affection at once. “Well, hello to you too!” I felt Jamie relax behind me: I’d given my permission, so he would not come to my rescue. I thought I could actually sense him grinning.

“I’m so glad to finally meet ye, Claire!” Charlie boomed as he set me back on the ground, taking me in. “From the way Jamie speaks of ye—” His eyes suddenly lit up and he whipped them up to Jamie with a grin. “Why, ye wicked wee dog, Fraser: ye didna say!!” He threw his head back and roared with, “Meal a naidheachd to ye both!” He straightened to give me a wink. “When are ye due, then, lass?”

“CHARLIE!!!” barked a red-haired woman behind him, his wife, Saoirse.

“What? It’s—” Charlie spluttered and made vague gestures between himself and my notably curved belly. “I’m only—”

“You’re only about making a fool of yourself, Charlie Mac. Keep your mouth shut, if you please?” She gave me an apologetic look that was nonetheless warm and kind. “Please be accepting BOTH our apologies for that great gowl over there.” After greeting Jamie, she turned and swatted her husband hard on the shoulder, her eyes blazing as she said between clenched teeth. “Have you no control over that tongue??”

“I do—and ye tend to like my control of it, lass…” and he bent her head back to kiss her thoroughly. She tried to push him away but she couldn’t resist laughing as his hands roamed and she relented and kissed him back.

God, this. THIS I’d missed—to see another couple who loved our same kind of irreverence and warmth and informality. Husbands and wives in these times—at least in post-war America—tended to err on the side of reserve in public, bordering on primness. Even Tom and Marian, as dear as they both were to to us, weren’t free with public displays of affection toward each other. Jamie and I tended to act precisely the way we wished and damn whoever should judge us for it, but it was unbelievably refreshing to not be the only ones in the room who would not be scandalized by lewd jokes.

On top of that, “Pregnancy” was considered a rather rude word, in American culture at present. Considering the massive increase in childbearing after the war, this seemed an enormously ridiculous cultural hangup (“be fruitful and multiply, but pretend the penises and vaginas don’t exist”). Those in the family way —as I now found myself—were treated with a delicate, pointed kind of embarrassment, as if to say, ‘look what she’s been doing…Heavens, what if she actually enjoyed it??’

I was used to the taboo, of course, having experienced it with Bree, and seen it around me, since; but it was an unexpected kind of relief to have it be so singled out with such joy and goodwill by these new friends. In fact, I was grinning like a prize idiot as I assured them both, “It’s quite alright, really.” I felt a rush of joy and pride at finally being able to share our news. I felt Jamie’s hand resting on my back. “You’ve spotted it right: we are expecting!”

Charlie gave a crow of triumph “I thought you’d been a little shifty these last few months about ‘family’ and things happening next year! When will the wean be arriving, then??”

“Late July,” I said, “or it might be the first of August.”

Charlie stepped forward to clap both of us on the back, at which Saoirse looked absolutely mortified. I made a point of reassuring her when she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and offer her own comhghairdeas.

Jamie accepted the hearty congratulations, grinning like a fool himself, “Let’s keep it between us, aye? We havena told Brianna yet.” He nodded at the children, who were already playing on the living room floor. “Perhaps talk in a wee code if it should come up?”

Saoirse nodded agreement. “Wee Nolan has ears like a hare and a mouth like a magpie.” She gave a pointed roll of the eyes. “Wonder who he could possibly be getting it from…?”

It had all the same modern conveniences as our own house, the MacAlister’s little flat, but something about it—the spices, maybe?—or—no, that wasn’t it….Something about it just felt like Scotland. Like home.

If nothing else, I could see it in Jamie’s posture and manner. As for my own country of birth, I had rarely felt any great attachment to England that went beyond good tea and rolling hills. Home had been wherever I laid my head that night, and between Uncle Lamb, the war, and my experiences in the eighteenth century, I’d certainly spent more of my life amongst strangers than my own proper countrymen. But Jamie was Scotland, through and through, and even this small taste of it—Americanized and quasi-Irish as it might be—was enough to make him glow with an ease that filled my own heart in the seeing. He was happy with our life in Boston, I knew; blissful, even! To have our family together and safe was all he desired; but something about experiencing that deeper home-ness again was a restorative to his soul, and I thanked God for putting Charlie Mac in Jamie’s path. It was pure delight to see the two of them going on in rapid Gaelic, like brothers.

“They’re like two pups together, aren’t they?” Saoirse said fondly, echoing my silent thoughts as she took a seat beside me on the sofa.

“Indeed they are,” I laughed, looking at them through the dining room doorway.

Saoirse was as red-haired as Jamie, freckled and cheery-eyed. “Will you be speakin’ the Gaelidgh yourself, Claire?”

“Very little,” I attempted in that language, my accent horrendous but the words correct, I was fairly certain.

“Very well done,” she replied, laughing before switching back to English, her Irish accent broad and unashamed. “That’s about as much as I know of it, myself. My parents weren’t too keen on my marrying a Scot, but I’ve no regrets. Except maybe Charlie’s tendency to put his fool foot in his fool mouth.”

“It’s rather endearing, actually,” I assured her.

Despite herself, Saoirse grinned. “Damn me if it wasn’t one of the things that had me head-over-heels for the idiot.”

We laughed and settled deeper into the comfy couch, covered over with homey afghans. “So, Charlie tells me you and Jamie met in Scotland, originally? Did ye like it, there?”

“I did!” I paused just for a moment. “Well, to tell it true, a lot of sad things happened there…but we had some of our happiest days, as well,” I added, thinking of those days at Lallybroch before the war.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

I thought about that for a long while. “To visit, certainly. When Brianna and—” I gestured to the baby, “are old enough to see and hear the stories, I think.”

“You’d never think of moving back permanently? Seems to be a dream of Charlie’s—It’d surprise me if Jamie had no similar desire.”

We had indeed talked about it, and I knew Jamie’s very conflicted thoughts on the matter. “Part of him wishes for Scotland, yes—but it’s a Scotland that’s long-gone.”

That surprised her. “How so?”

“Jamie had…a lot of hard things happen to him there. He lost his family, and so doesn’t have anyone left.”

“Not a soul?”

“No one,“ I said, feeling the ache of it. I rubbed the baby absently. “So, he misses it, the land and its people and ways, but there isn’t anyone left in Scotland to make it home for him.”

“That’s very sad,” Saoirse murmured, sparing a glance toward the men in the dining room.

“It is. But you see, it’s easier to have our life in America: to keep Scotland in his mind the way it was, rather than feel the ache of it, seeing always what’s missing.”

“Aye, I understand….At least he has his lady—and his little ones.”

We shared a smile, and I wanted to ask her more about her own family, but just then the children descended, Bree, four-year-old Nolan, and little Will, just barely walking. No impromptu migration, this: the pack of them squealed in, chased by their fathers at their heels.

“You lot are no better than the children!” I laughed.

“Aye, maybe no’,” Jamie agreed, grinning, “But at least we’re old enough to drink, and they’re not.”

“I AM!” Nolan insisted. “I’m plenty grow’d up!”

“Oh, aye, to be sure,” Charlie said with a wink. “I forgot we had a grown wee mannie in our midst.” He went to the kitchen and returned with an armful of ginger ale bottles. “A man needs a stiff drink.” He cracked open a lid and handed the glass bottle to his son, who looked terribly important at acknowledgment of his maturity.

Bree was NOT intending to be overlooked. She put on her hips and insisted, “I’M mannie, TOO!” daring Charlie to say otherwise.

Nor did he, bless him. He already had a bottle ready for her. “Here ye go, wee mannie.”

Bree had never had soda pop before, and she recoiled in surprise at first taste of the bubbly treat, looking as thought she’d rather skip this novelty; but, a true Fraser, she would never admit defeat with Nolan so proudly enjoying his, and so she gamely drank, getting violent hiccups almost instantly.

“A Hogmanay toast?” Saoirse suggested, rising to her feet to pour some whisky. She offered one to me, but I accepted only a ginger ale. Many people drank alcohol regularly during pregnancy, I knew (as had I, in the past) but somehow now it made me feel ill to think of accidentally intoxicating the poor thing.

The toasts flew thick and fast. To our families! To the new year! To a better season on the pitch! To the whisky! And even—

“To our Bonnie Prince!” Charlie said, with an eye to Jamie, making a rude gesture toward the ceiling. “May he sleep wi’ spiders in his grave for the feckless wanker he was.”

“AAA-bloody-MEN!” I intoned with feeling.

“Aye,” Jamie said with a rueful nod as he drank, though he crossed himself.

He promptly choked as Bree squeaked out, “Whatssa WANE-gr?”

Before the rest of us could react, Nolan grinned fiendishly and started in with, “It means a–”

“That’s QUITE enough from you, a blalaich,” Saoirse said sharply. “And what would Great-Gran Murray say if she heard ye were knowing such a word??”

I shook with silent laughter along with Charlie, such that I almost didn’t hear Jamie’s quiet question:

“…Murray?”

My belly tightened and I whipped my eyes up to look at him. He’d schooled his face into a mask of control—a sure bellwether of the deep emotional turmoil within him.

Good Lord….

“My mother’s mam. They live together in Cambridge,” Charlie said blithely as he poured more whiskey all around. “The MacAlisters were none too pleased about my Da’s choice, but even they had to admit in the end what a fine woman she was. Strong and certain and wi’ a mouth on her that could wither fruit. Not one to charm royalty, she, but a damn formidable sort, Murrays.”

Formidable. Like Jenny.

“From, erm, which part of Scotland, is your mother’s family?” I asked casually.

“Roundabout Inverness, mostly.”

My heart quickened with excitement. Not far at all from Broch Morda. I was opening my mouth to ask more questions, to narrow and ascertain, but then I caught Jamie’s eye, his ever-so-slight shake of the head. I closed my mouth.

Later, after supper, while Charlie and Saoirse cleared the table (refusing our many offers of help), Jamie and I took the children into the sitting room again.

I took Jamie’s hand. “Why not, my love?” I asked gently.

He knew what I meant, but he didn’t answer right away, nor did he look me in the eye. He pulled me close and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“Does it—” I began tentatively, but he was already speaking.

“Tis enough to me,” he said, simply, “that they might be.”

And though it at first struck me as utterly ridiculous, not to wish to know for certain, I did come to understand what he meant, as the evening went on. To KNOW was so final. Jenny and Ian certainly had THOUSANDS of descendants, and even so, the chances that we’d encountered someone from their direct line was highly unlikely, or at the very least, very difficult to prove. To allow himself to believe–that was the gift, here.

And I could see it in his eyes, the soft contemplation of it, the sense of true brotherhood between he and Charlie now even deeper. The tenderness that radiated out from his face as he knelt to speak to little Will about a toy. I could almost see the thoughts rolling through him.

Might some scrap of this lad owe itself to Ian?

To Jenny?

To Ellen of Leoch or Black Brian Fraser?

Aye…it might.

“Bree, a leannan, do ye want to come sit wi’ Da?”

“No,” she said, shrugging back and rubbing her face, “I wan’ Mama.”

“Fair enough,” he laughed. “I would want your Mama, too.”

“Come here, baby,” I beckoned, groaning a bit as I gathered her up against my chest. “Oof, there’s my sweet girl.” I savored the feeling, as I always did, of holding Bree in my arms and the baby in my body. The sounds around us were muffled and distant as we settled into a warm heap of love.

The radio was switched on at 10:00, detailing the new year’s celebrations happening around the country. We’d arrived late in the evening, with the little ones having taken naps late in the day to stave off sleepiness, but the late hour was still wearing on them. Hot chocolate and slices of Black Bun cake at 11:00 were enough to rouse them temporarily, but it still took a great deal to get them all conscious for the big moment as we all got to our feet for the final seconds of 1950.

5…4…3…2…1!!!!

And as it always did, Auld lang syne began to play. It meant absolutely nothing to Jamie, of course. He had predated Robert Burns and his lyrics, and couldn’t have discerned the tune in any case, but he listened to the words with eager interest. Charlie was drowning out the radio with the traditional scots rendition, though I only knew the same anglicized version that was playing.

Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?

And for the first time in my life, with my children held close and Jamie’s arm around my back, the song gave me chills:

We two have run about the slopes,

and picked the daisies fine;

But we’ve wandered many a weary foot

since auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream,

from morning sun till dine

But seas between us broad have roared

since auld lang syne.

And both of us had tears running down our faces as we locked eyes. No, we wouldn’t ever forget the things of our past: neither the daisies of our life, nor the weary feet from the trampings of war, nor the roaring seas of tragedy that had indeed once swept us apart.

And there’s a hand my trusty friend!

And give me a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And as we moved toward the front door for the first-footing, I kissed my trusty friend, and didn’t need to see any dark stranger outside to know that 1951 would be the best year of our lives.

#Anonymous #;mod bonnie #Flood my mornings

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