#except I read somewhere a dentist can see EVERYTHING you get up to and

[peachdues]

Tell me to schedule a fucking dentist appointment oh my god please I don’t wanna go but I must I am overdue!!!!!!!!!!

Bestie I also need to go to the dentist, let’s schedule together!! Mutual oral hygiene!!!

[shiftylookingcrow]

A (not comprehensive) List of Little Self Care Things I Do When Everything Feels Like Too Much:

Bathing

Wash just your body, or just your hair. You may not be completely clean, but you ARE cleaner

Still feels like too much? No problem!

Take off any jewelry from your hands/wrists and wash your hands up to your elbows, just taking your time

Then wash your arm pits and groin, those are the stinkiest parts of the body

If you're feeling up to it, wash your face too

Once you're done washing, take your favorite body lotion and massage it in anywhere you washed

Shaving

Shaving takes time and patience (especially if you prefer to be mostly hairless), but you don't have to go through the whole process every time

Wanna wear that cute tank top/crop top but don't feel comfortable with how hairy your pits are today?

JUST shave your arm pits then

Wanna wear shorts/capries/a skirt, but feel your legs are too fuzzy?

Where on your legs do the cuffs/hem sit? JUST shave from there down

Facial hair looking kinda scruffy? Got an electric shaver? It won't give you as close a shave as a razor, but it'll help neaten you up a bit

After any shaving, get back in there with your lotion and work it in well

Laundry

Don't have the energy to drag that big basket you've been avoiding down to the washing machine? Out of clothes but need something to wear tomorrow?

Wash ONLY what you'll need for the next 1 or 2 days. A smaller load means less to put away after

Need a bra/binder/mask/etc for tomorrow? Wash ONE, then hang it to dry with a fan blowing on it.

The air movement will help it dry faster, and while it may not be 100% dry by morning, it should be dry enough to wear comfortably

This can be done for underwear and socks as well

Dental

Mouth feeling like sandpaper, but you still can't find it in you to go through the whole tooth care routine?

JUST brush your teeth before bed. You can floss in the morning

No energy to get in there and really scrub like your dentist told you to? Even just a quick scrub is better than nothing

You know those little Gum brand toothpick things? With runber bristles on them? They can't replace proper flossing, but the CAN at least get the worst of the gunk from between your teeth

Food

Hungry but can't bring yourself to put together a whole meal? That's okay!

Get all the fixings for a sandwich (bread, spreads, cheese, meat, etc), put them on a plate and eat that. You're still eating a sandwich, it's just not an assembled sandwich

Want a smoothy, but don't want to fuss with the blender? Put it all together as a yogurt bowl instead

Want a salad? Grab a couple lettuce leaves, a stick of celery, half a tomato, or whatever else you'd have in there, and toss it on a plate. Grab some dressing (or not) and you've got a personal size veggie platter

Cut an orange in half and eat the pulp out with a spoon

Cut an apple in half, and eat JUST one half. You can save the other half for later, or eat it right after the first if you feel up to it

Cutting a banana in half and squeezing out the fruit means you don't have to worry about those gross stringy bits

Simple Smoothie Recipe:

1 banana

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp honey/sugar

Milk (dairy, soy, almond, whichever)

Berries, yogurt, chocolate chips, jam (optional)

Directions

Put all ingredients except milk in a blender (or 4 cup measure if using a hand mixer)

Pour in milk until ingredients are ALMOST covered. There should be about 1 inch/2.5 cm of solid ingredients visible

Blender/mix for 30-60 seconds, or until desired consistency. Pour into your favorite glass, or drink straight from the container

Simple baked potato:

Clean a medium to large potato and use a fork to stab holes down the sides and at each end. Depending on the size, you should have stab your potato somewhere around 9-12 times.

Place the potato in the microwave just off of center, one end facing the center of the spinning plate

Microwave for 15 minutes, flipping the potato end for end after every 5 minutes

Put the potato on a plate with some sour cream or ranch dressing, and dip it like a big ol' french fry

House Cleaning

Feel like there's too many dishes? Pick ONE place setting (bowl, plate, knife, fork, spoon, cup), and ONE pot/pan, and clean those. Do the same at the end of each meal, and while it might take a while, you'll eventually get things down to a manageable level

Dust bunnies breeding in the corners? Pick ONE room or hallway every couple days and just clean there. ONE clean room is better than NO clean rooms

Your room is so messy you don't know where to start? Every time you enter your room, put ONE thing back where it belongs. Every time you leave your room, take one thing that doesn't belong out with you and put it where it belongs.

Sink looking kind of gross? Give it a quick wipe down the next time you wash your hands

Toilet needs a clean? Pick a part (lid, seat, back or bowl) and just clean that bit. Even if you're just wiping some of the dust off the back.

Scum ring building up in the shower/bathtub? Give it a quick scrub next time you bathe. Maybe you don't get the whole thing, but you DID make a start.

Fitness

No energy for a full walk? If you can, walk around your house/apartment building. You might not have gone far, but you were UP and you were OUTSIDE.

Can't get out for whatever reason? Are there stairs in your house? In your apartment building? If you can, walk up and down those a few times.

Not really able to do stairs? Do some simple stretches instead.

Reach down and try to touch your toes, holding for 20 seconds. Reach up over your head as high as you can, holding for 20 seconds. Repeat 5 times

Sitting in a chair, reach your right hand across your body and over your left shoulder and try to grab the back of the chair without lifting your butt. Hold for 20 seconds. Do the same with your left arm, holding for 20 seconds. Repeat 5 times

Standing, or sitting on a chair, gently pull your head towards your shoulder (right hand, right shoulder; left hand, left shoulder), reaching the other hand down towards the ground. Hold for 20 seconds, then gently push your head upright again (lifting your head with just your neck muscles can cause them to seize after a stretch). Repeat 5 times

Miscellaneous

Need to trim your nails, but don't feel like sitting through both hands? Pick one finger on each hand, and just trim that nail. Do another nail on each hand tomorrow, and another the day after that. You don't have to do them all at once

Having trouble remembering to drink enough water? Find a water bottle/mug/glass that you like and try to keep it near you as much as possible. I find actually having a bottle with me helps me remember to keep sipping.

Still having trouble with your water intake? Fruit and veggies (specifically like apples, oranges, tomatoes, bell peppers and avocados to name a few) have high water content and can help keep you hydrated

Even if you can't get to sleep, lieing in bed with your eyes closed is more restful than trying to wear yourself out by reading or something

Alternatively, doing some mild stretches, or a few sit ups/push ups/jumping jacks can help wear you out without engaging your brain too much

You are aloud to say "no". You don't even need to give a reason. If everything feels like too much, taking on more responsibility will only make it worse, which will only make your output poorer as a result.

A reminder that this is by no means a complete list, just some things I've found helpful in my journey through adhd, depression, and anxiety. Not all tasks need to be done all at once. Maybe you can't do much, but that doesn't invalidate the some you did. Just because you take longer to do a task doesn't mean your bad at it, or that it isn't worth doing. You'll get there when you get there.

Please feel free to add to this post, I'd love to see what self care tricks other people are using!

[sequinsmile-x]

Competition

He never thought he'd have to battle for her affection with anyone, let alone a cat.

-x-

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: a tiny bit of cursing, so much fluff you might sue me to pay for your dentist bills

Read over on A03, or below the cut.

Let me know what you think!

Aaron had never been a fan of cats. He’d never really seen the appeal of a pet in general, having not grown up with them, let alone one that would occasionally seem uninterested in your mere existence.

His first interaction with Sergio is when he cat-sits for Penelope one weekend when she's away and Emily is in Paris, dead to everyone except him and JJ. He tries to get out of it, but he’d never truly been able to say no to the technical analyst and no one else was available. A small part of his brain tells him that he owes it to Emily too, that he’s the one who signed her life away, so the very least he owes her is to feed the cat she loved so much.

He lets himself into Penelope’s apartment, immediately feeling out of place in his dark suit amongst all the bright colours. Sergio is easy to spot, lazing on a blanket that sticks out as much as the black cat does on the couch. It was a more muted colour than he would expect from Penelope, and he realises he recognises it from Emily’s apartment. That it must have made its way over here with Sergio, a small piece of home to help him settle in.

The idea of it makes Aaron’s heart twist in his chest and he breathes through it, closing the door behind him as he takes a step towards the couch. The cat immediately stands up, looking spooked as he hears the door shut.

“Hey Segio,” Aaron says, “it’s ok.” He approaches the cat slowly, his hand out in front of him so the animal can smell it, checking him out. Aaron feels a weird sense of satisfaction when Sergio headbutts his hand, leaning into him for some head scratches, immediately seeking out his friendship. “Let’s get you fed buddy.”

He follows Penelope’s instructions, which were longer than any he’d ever left a babysitter for Jack, to the letter. Trying not to grimace as he puts out the disgusting looking food and cleans the litter.

Once he’s done everything he takes a seat on the couch again, watching as the feline eats his food like he’s never been fed in his life. Sergio meanders over to him when he’s done, jumping onto the couch next to him, rubbing into his side in a way that Aaron knows will leave fur on his suit. He gently scratches behind the cat's ears.

“You aren’t too bad for a cat I guess.” He says as Sergio climbs into his lap, meowing as if he was responding. Aaron sighs as he continues to stroke down the cat's back, unable to hold back a smile as he settles into his lap. “Do you miss your mom?” He asks out of nowhere, not even sure why he was speaking. “I do.” He swallows at the unexpected emotion, his throat clogging with it. “She’ll be back soon.”

He goes to Pakistan not too long after that, finding himself unable to be somewhere she wasn’t, and not willing to confront himself over what that meant. ____

The next time he sees Sergio is the morning after his first night with Emily. Aaron wakes up in her bed, Emily wrapped up in his arms, their legs tangled together and her back against his chest. He smiles and presses a kiss into the top of her head, making her grumble something under her breath, still mostly asleep.

“Sleep, Em. I’ll go make some breakfast.” He says against her skin, the hand he has on her hip tightening slightly.

“No food.” She mumbles, turning her head just enough to press her lips to his, the kiss lost as they both smile.

“Then I’ll order in.” He replies, kissing her properly before he gets out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants from the go-bag he’d brought up from his car.

He wanders into the kitchen, running his hand through his messy hair, looking for a menu for her local breakfast place, when he spots Sergio. He’s sitting on the dining table, looking at him with a look that Aaron would call curious.

“Hey buddy,” he says approaching the cat, scratching his head, “remember me?”

“I didn’t realise you’d met before.”

He turns to see Emily standing behind him, wearing only his shirt from the night before with a few buttons done up. The sleeves were well past her hands and her hair was a mess, left to dry overnight after their joint shower.

She’d never looked more beautiful.

“I thought I told you to sleep some more.” He said as she approaches him, his hands finding their place on her hips.

“Well,” she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, stepping on her tiptoes to kiss him, “my bed was suddenly very cold.” She kisses him again and he pulls her closer, his hands moving to her lower back. She pulls back from the kiss and runs her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “So, when did you meet the other man in my life?” She asks, tilting her head towards Sergio with a smile on her face.

“I…I looked after him once when Penelope was out of town.” He says, averting his gaze from hers as if it was something to be embarrassed about.

Emily grabs his chin and makes him look at her, affection for him written all over her face. “What?”

“She needed someone to check in on him. Everyone else was busy so I volunteered.” He says, smiling at her. “It was the least I could do.”

She hears what he hasn’t said, his continued belief, no matter what she tried to tell him, that he’d ruined her life hanging in the air between them. She doesn’t want to get into that now, doesn’t want to ruin this gentle morning between them, the first of what she knows will be countless mornings, so she smiles at him instead.

“You’re sweet.” She says, kissing him and pulling him closer.

“Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold.” He replies and she laughs, kissing him more fiercely, her hands holding him in place. He gets lost in it, his hands trailing under the shirt she’s wearing, and all previous thoughts of getting them breakfast disappear.

Until he feels claws in his back.

He pulls away from Emily and exclaims in pain, turning around to see Sergio much closer than he had been before, their previous friendship apparently now null and void.

“Sergio.” Emily says, discipline in her tone as she picks up the cat and puts him on the floor. She rounds Aaron, looking at his back and wincing. “I’m sorry. We should probably get that cleaned.”

She leads him to her bathroom, and Aaron swears he sees Sergio smile at him.

____

He knows it's ridiculous, but sometimes Aaron feels like he’s competing with Sergio. The small cat always seeming to know exactly when to interrupt them, collecting their would be intimate moments like a magpie.

They move in together. Finding a house big enough for them and Jack, a nice bay window out front that Emily comments Sergio would love. A spare room that makes them both smile at each other when the realtor says it would make a lovely nursery.

Emily kisses him in their new living room as they wait for the van with their belongings to arrive.

“I love you.” She says, her smile as bright as he’d ever seen it, the keys to the front door, their front door, still dangling from her fingers.

“I love you too.” He replies, his hand firm at her lower back. “So much.”

“You guys are gross.”

They turn to see Jack sitting on the floor, his face scrunched up as he looks at them. Sergio is on his lap, the carrier they had brought him into the house in now open.

“Sergio thinks so too.” Jack continues, scratching at the cats back.

“Is that right?” Emily says, her voice light as she moves away from Aaron towards the little boy. Sergio immediately leaps out of Jack’s lap, walks past Aaron without even looking at him and meows at Emily’s feet, purring as she picks him up. “Let’s go sort out your litter tray.” She says as she kisses the top of his head, disappearing into the house, leaving father and son alone.

“Dad?”

“Yes Jack?”

“Does Sergio hate you?”

Aaron is sure he knows the answer to that, but he isn’t about to admit it to his son.

____

The first time they argue about Sergio is just days before their wedding.

They walk into the house, exhausted from the case they had just returned from, and Aaron can’t help but sigh as the door clicks shut behind them.

“You go to bed, love.” Emily says gently, wrapping her arms around him from behind, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “I’ll put everything away and come up.”

He turns in her embrace and puts his arm around her, his chin resting on top of her head as she settles against him.

“At least we’re wheels down until after the wedding now.” He says, tiredness making his voice ragged.

She hums into his chest. “3 more days.”

He pulls back and presses a kiss against her forehead. “I can’t wait to marry you, Emily.”

“I can’t wait to marry you either.” She kisses him gently before extracting herself from his grasp. “Now, go to bed. Before you fall asleep standing up.”

He turns and starts to walk away, laughing as she swats at his ass as he does so. He yawns as he makes it up the stairs, grateful that Jack was with Jessica for the night, leaving him some time to spend with his fiancee in the few days they had left before she became his wife.

His exhaustion leaves him the second he walks into their bedroom, the door slightly ajar and his wedding suit, that had been hanging neatly on the closet door, was on the floor. The shirt and jacket were shredded, pieces all over the place, and the tie was nowhere to be seen.

“What the fuck?” He exclaims loudly, his hands on his hips as he takes in the scene in front of him.

“Aaron?” Emily calls from downstairs, and he hears her moving up the stairs quickly as she talks. “Is everything ok?” She walks in, her hand on his arm as she makes it to his side. “Shit.”

He turns to look at her. “Your cat has ruined my suit.”

“My cat?” She asks, her hackles immediately rising as she takes her hand off of him, crossing her arms across her chest. “Our cat.”

Aaron scoffs. “Shitting in my shoes before we had to leave for a case at 2am was one thing, but this is ridiculous, Emily.”

“Aaron,” she replies, trying to keep her cool, “he’s not going to have done it on purpose.”

“Are you sure about that?” He asks, incredulously. “Because I don’t see your wedding dress in tatters on the floor. And I bet Jack’s suit is still in one piece.”

“So you think Sergio hates you?” She retorts, her hands on her hips. “That’s insane.”

“Emily, I know he hates me.”

“He’s a cat.”

“Who hates me.”

She stares at him for a moment before an adoring smile breaks out on her face. “Baby,” she says softly, placing her hands on his waist, “I love you.”

He sighs. “I know, I love you too. That's why…” He drifts off, not really sure how to say what he wants to say.

“That’s why you put up with a cat that shits in your shoes and destroys your clothes.” She finishes for him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He says, his arms coming to wrap around her, hands settling on her back. “It’s not your fault.” He sighs. “Now I have 3 days to find another wedding suit. And a tie that matches the colour theme. Garcia was very specific.”

Emily laughs and kisses him, her hands on his neck. She pulls back and runs her thumbs over his jawline.

“You know,” she says, biting her lip as she looks him up and down, “you could just wear one of your work suits.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

“Really.” She confirms, her hands trailing down to the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. “It’s what you were wearing when I fell in love with you. It seems fitting you should wear one when we promise to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He leans down and kisses her, not sure what he could say in response. “I’m not that tired anymore.”

“Me neither.” She says, laughing in shock when he picks her up, her warning that he’ll hurt his back dying on her lips as he kisses her again, leading them the short distance to their bed.

The following morning Aaron finds the remains of his tie in Sergio’s bed, and he can’t bring himself to care.

____

It feels like it becomes a battle of wills as time goes on. Fighting for dominance with a goddamn cat to be his wife’s favourite.

She knows, because of course she does, and does nothing except smile at his antics as he feeds Sergio fresh tuna, trying to gain favour from the cat who still seemed to deem his presence as a nuisance.

He’s tired, exhaustion he feels far too old for seeping through his bones, but he doesn’t care. Happiness outweighing all of it. Aaron yawns as he walks out of the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes as if it could wipe the sleepiness away, like it could make up for all the lost sleep from the last week of his life.

“Sergio!” Emily’s voice exclaims, and Aaron walks quickly towards the living room. “Stop it.”

The cat runs past him, his claws tapping against the hardwood floor as he disappears.

“Everything ok, Em?” Aaron says as he walks into the room. He finds her standing, their newborn baby cradled to her chest, the little boy crying.

“You’re ok sweet boy.” Emily soothes, rocking back and forth slightly and pressing a kiss to the baby’s head as she turns to her husband. “Sergio ruined his favourite blanket.” She says, tears in her eyes that he doesn’t expect, and does not acknowledge, knowing it’s not worth it. His eyes fall to the torn up blanket on the couch, one he recognises as something Penelope had made.

“Sweetheart,” Aaron says gently, moving over to gather her into his arms, “he’s 5 days old. He doesn’t have the cognitive ability to have a favourite blanket.”

“Aaron.” She says through her teeth.

“It will be fine, love.” He assures her, kissing the top of their son's head, the baby whining. “That’s his hungry cry.”

“It’s so unbelievably attractive to me that you know that.” She says, smiling at him, her annoyance already forgotten.

“Noted.” He replies, stamping a kiss to her lips. “Now, you go up and feed him,” he says, before indicating to the mess in the living room, “I’ll sort everything down here.”

“Ok,” She nods, “thank you.”

He watches with a content smile on his face as she walks away, delicately taking the stairs as she whispers things for only their son to hear.

He cleans up quickly, wanting nothing more than to join his wife and his youngest son. He makes his way upstairs once he’s done, shreds of a blanket he knows Penelope will ask about in the trash, and he stops just short of the nursery. Sergio is sitting on the floor, staring up at him with his head tilted.

“What?” He asks, as if the cat would respond. Sergio meows at him and Aaron leans down to pick him up, somewhat surprised when he snuggles into his chest, purring at his affection. Aaron looks into the nursery and smiles at what he sees.

Emily is sitting in the rocking chair, staring down at the baby as he nurses, smiling contently. She is humming softly, a tune he can’t hear from outside of the room, and running fingers over the infant's forehead.

Sergio mewls in his arms and he looks down, smiling as he scratches at the cat's ears.

“I know buddy, I think we both lost.”

Aaron can’t even bring himself to be mad about it.

[divinefireangel]

They Just Don't Know You

Soft Yandere! Seo Moon-Jo x F! Reader

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. If this piece of fan fiction is offensive to any celebrity, fandom or culture please let me know so I can take it down. Also note that this is my version of a character or celeb, which will vary from person to person.

Author's Note: A 2nd longer fic for our lovely cannibalistic psychopath. I hate that I'm attracted to him. Someone please be my therapist. Or psychiatrist. Honestly doesn't matter. My brain is fucked anyway.

Copyright: Please note that this is my work and if you want to publish this on any other platform, take my permission before doing so. Taking an author's work and posting it somewhere else without any intimation is just disrespectful. I readily welcome suggestions and criticisms. That being said, Happy reading! 🤍

Warnings: 16+ and written for female reader, but all can read. (nothing specified with respect to appearance, etc of reader). Except that I've mentioned reader is short, cuz LDW is tall 🥰. There is a brief mention of sex, but no actual smut. Reader kinda highkey hates on her parents and younger sister. Read it to know. Age gap between reader and Moon-Jo. Slight obsessive thoughts. Manipulative words. I tried to put plot twist in the end, probably you won't notice it 💀. Please please tell me if I need to add more warnings. Do not read if you start to feel uncomfortable. I apologize in advance 🥺

❗❗PLEASE READ WARNINGS ❗❗

Pre-Requisite / Summary: Just a fic based on the song They Just Don't Know You by Little Mix. After watching Strangers from hell I related this song to him for some reason. Reader and Moon-Jo are in an established relationship. And reader's loved ones don't approve.

2.3k ish words My longest fic till date 🥳

" You know that he's too old for you. You can settle for younger, much younger guys for your age sweetheart. If you can't find anyone eligible enough, we will find one for you. And you don't even know if he has intentions of marrying you. What if all he wants is just a fling or some time pass relationship. Hmm? What are you going to do then? "

Sipping her tea silently, Y/N sat next to her dad on the porch swing, listening to all the criticisms he had about Moon-Jo. All his words did was boil her blood. But what could she do when they don't walk in her shoes? They don't know how safe and content she feels when he kisses her like she's the only girl for him in the entire universe. And no point in explaining that to her father anyway. She's tried. And failed. Multiple times.

"Are you done with your tea?" She asks her dad, in desperate attempt to try and get away from him and his words because she knows, and even he knows that it's going to end up in a fight if they continue to speak on the same topic.

Humming yes, he hands her his tea cup which she takes to the kitchen so she can help her mom with dinner. Placing them in the sink upon entering the kitchen, Y/N drags her palms down her face in frustration.

" I could hear what he said you know. Your dad. He's not wrong. Seo Moon-Jo seems like he'll break your heart in three. And we're only looking out for you Y/N. You don't have to go through heartbreak when you can very well avoid it." Her mom finished slowly.

" Why. Why is it so difficult for you to accept the fact that I'm actually in a happy relationship for once in my life. So what if he's much older than I am? He's a dentist. A doctor. A very good profession and he's known and well respected in his neighbourhood too. " Y/N said loud enough for her dad also to hear.

Huffing in annoyance she left the kitchen to go upstairs to her room. Or rather the room she shares with her sister. Of course the door is wide open. The younger rascal is always here for the drama.

Ever since Y/N came out to her family about her relationship with Moon-Jo, her sister has become the favourite child, for obvious reasons. And now eavesdropping with the door wide open? That's a new low. But what else can Y/N expect from such a low life who is literally thriving off her own sister's pain and suffering.

When entering the room, Y/N realizes how big a mistake it was to visit her family. And she did not need such snark from a younger, less experienced child.

"Are you that blinded by " Love " that you don't even see how weird his hair is? A man who isn't an idol or actor doesn't need such long hair. He's clearly a fuckboy. Or man whore. Whichever is right. " She said with disgust.

'She's just jealous. She's just a jealous bitch. They all are.' Y/N thinks to herself.

" At least one of us gets laid regularly. And just so you know, it's absolutely heavenly when he makes me cum over and over on his fingers and his dick-" Y/N said as her tone slowly got lower and darker and her emotion angrier.

Screaming and covering her ears, the younger girl ran downstairs to her mother, no doubt to tattle on her older sister. Rolling her eyes, Y/N started packing her things, all of them, in a bag she took down from the top shelf of the wardrobe.

It's really difficult to leave one's family, but it is clearly getting more and more tiresome to love them nowadays. If it's so wrong to date him, why does Y/N herself not see it? She's a logical and smart young lady. Does her family hate that man so much that they don't even want her to be happy? No matter who she's with. And is it so bad to date a man who's older? Richer? And cares more about her than all of her family members combined?

Wiping the fallen tear stains from her cheek, she just thinks to herself ' They just don't know him. They just don't know him like I do. '

Sending a text to her lover, saying that she misses him and that she's coming back home sooner than planned, Y/N carries her bag through the front door, her parents and sister ignoring her as she leaves and walks out that door one final time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once reaching their shared apartment, Y/N collapsed into her lover's arms the moment he opens the door, crying her eyes out. Seeing his lover in turmoil, shedding a tear or two of his own, Moon-Jo carries her to the living room couch to cradle her like a child who needs attention.

" They- They said -"

" Shh my darling. I know. " Moon-Jo said, shushing his girlfriend and giving her a shoulder to cry on. Once she's calmed a little, her sobs turning to sniffs, she lifts her head to meet his gaze.

Seeing her sad, tear stained eyes always upset him. More than anything in the world. Running his long slender fingers across her cheeks and jaw, he removes her hair from her ponytail with his free hand and rests it on her thigh.

" Tell me. Please tell me that you won't break my heart like them. That you won't try to tear my world apart like them. " Y/N looked desperately at him, wanting so badly to know that he's not just using her.

Those words, that slipped out her mouth, shocked Moon-Jo, to say the least. What did he do wrong? What did her family fill her head with?

Tilting his head to a little, he looks into her red eyes, trying to read her mind for a moment, all the while she just looked at him with the same desperate expression.

"Please tell me that you will be there when I need you the most. " Y/N whispered so softly, she herself barely heard it. But the end of the sentence, she started crying all over again.

Taking her head to his neck, he stroked her hair and her sides, trying to calm her down.

" Darling. I promise with my everything, that I will never leave you, I will never ever let you go. That I will do anything, anything necessary to prove my love to you. "

"No, oh dear no. That's not, you don't have- have to do anything at all to make me believe you love me. I'm sorry I asked such a stupid question. " She sobbed out.

Shushing her softly again, he rocks their bodies back and forth, till she's calmed and fallen asleep there, in his arms. Knowing that his arms are her only safe place for her from now on, he takes her delicate figure to the bedroom.

Placing her on her side of the bed, he lays down on his. Staring at her stunning face, he feather touches her face with his fingertips, memorizing every curve, every little detail on her, like a sculptor admiring his work and giving it the finishing touches.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

" So, I did a little digging on your sugar daddy. "

" Why?! And he's not my sugar daddy. " Y/N said in disbelief. No. Not her dear best friend too.

" I know you said not to and I'm sorry. But I am worried about you. He made you leave your family Y/N. " They stated with worry and sympathy.

" No. He didn't make me leave them. I left them by choice. They don't see him like I do. And clearly, they hate that I'm happy with him. " Y/N finished as they sat down at the lunch table.

" Y/N..... "

" What? Even you don't want me to be happy? " She questioned her friend in disbelief. Laughing sarcastically Y/N shook her head.

" I've heard rumours! Okay? He was in the orphanage that had that severe fire explosion. And most of the culprits from that incident are MIA. What if he's one of the people who caused it?! " They said in a whisper, worried that the neighbouring people can hear their conversation.

" Do you really think that? All of that is just a rumour. And he's told me about it. He's told me everything. Unlike my parents who so desperately tried to tie me down to an arranged marriage. "

" He's not good for you. I know you deserve better. Okay he may make happy and all but what if he leaves? What if he just uses you and drops you like you were nothing? We're just trying to make sure you don't get hurt Y/N. Physically and emotionally. " They finished.

" This, all what you said, is cheap talk. But it'll eventually wear down because when we get married and have kids and all that in the future, you're all going to look like fools. And I will proudly say ' I told you so '. "

" If that's the case then I am the happiest person for you. Hopefully I won't have to be the one to say ' I told you so'. "

" Wow. I, just- hah. Wow. Just wow. " She paused.

" You know, I really hoped you would be more supportive or at least tolerant enough to have patience and support me with my decision for my love. " Y/N said loud enough for eavesdroppers to hear audibly.

Of all the people she would have to drop, never even in her nightmares had she fathomed that her best friend would be one.

Getting up from the table, she picks up her bag and leaves without another word, and goes to the only place that has love for her and that accepts her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Reaching home, Y/N notices the place empty. Maybe he's at the clinic?

Shrugging off her bag and jacket she sits on the couch for a moment, before her restlessness takes over and she begins pacing in the living room.

Why are people being like this? Do they hate her so much? They barely know him. Why are they treating and accusing him to be such a criminal! He's not. He takes care of Y/N so much. He loves her so much. He provides for her. He's affectionate with her, more than he's told he thought capable. He's become her ride or die. And she, his.

They don't know him like I do. They will never love me like he does.

They don't know about the love they have. The just see what they want to see. Bloody society dictating whom to love and whom to not. Is it so hard to see the love they have for each other? Can't they just let it be. They don't know the turmoil she's gone through recently; they don't know how well he's taken care of her, kept her happy and same enough to not let her intrusive thoughts get the best of her.

Her thoughts interrupted by the door clicking open. Smiling, Moon-Jo enters with a box, surely containing sweets from her favourite bakery. How can you not love someone so considerate, who does things for you without even having to ask.

Seeing the sad look upon his lover's face, Moon-Jo's smile fades into a frown.

" What's wrong my dear? "

Smiling sadly Y/N just shakes her head, conveying that she doesn't want to talk about it.

Placing the box of sweets on the coffee table, the two hug each other, feeling of comfort taking over them both. She can just stay here, forever, in his arms till the world ends.

" Babe. What's wrong? You can tell me anything. Anything at all. I'll take care of the problem. " Delicately Moon-Jo cradles Y/N's head in his palms, making her face up to him, their height difference evident.

Sighing, she moves to sit on the couch, motioning him to do the same. " It's just people. And what they say. My family was one thing, but my best friend, the person I chose as my family " Pausing Y/N breathers the tears back in, " They were doubtful of you today. How can I live knowing that no one will approve of us? " Y/N questioned looking at him.

" Does their opinion really matter that much? So much so that you are skeptical of my affection to you? " Coldly, he moved back from his seat on the couch.

" No! No. Gosh that is not what I mean. Not at all. I love you and I know that you love me. So much. So much so I would die for you. But there are other people whom I care about. Who's opinions matter to me. And I don't want to let them go. As happy as I am with you, I need them too. They give me joy in a different way, that is important. "

" Do I not make you happy? Are you not content with the love I give you? Is it not enough? " He asks carefully.

" That's not what I meant! You love me more than anyone I've known. "

"Then what's the problem? You don't need those people who don't love you. You have me. You will have me forever and ever. I will never leave you. And you will never leave me either. We'll be with each other till the end of the world darling. "

Nodding with a small smile you looked down at your feet.

Unhappy with your action, Moon-Jo pulls your face up by your chin to look at him with such force, it scared you a little, making your heart skip a beat in fear.

" Do you not love me, babe? " He asked tilting his head to a side, his expression mildly offended.

" I do! I love you. So much. " You finished with a soft tone, cupping his face with your hands.

Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, Moon-Jo leaned down to capture your lips with his. Reacting immediately, you kissed him with as much energy and sincerity you could muster, as you head filled with thoughts of doubt.

Had your parents been right? Had for friend been right? Had they all been right all along and you too blind to see?

No. It can't be. He loves you. He's said that so many times. And you love him.

You love him.

You.

Love.

Him.

...

Do you love him, or have you been illusioned into loving him?

[captain--sif]

Salt on my shores

Words: 1.5k Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Additional Tags: Christmas, Advent Calendar, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Cookies, Established Relationship, Banter, Marriage Proposal, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Romantic Fluff Summary:

Chris makes holiday decorations for their home. Domestic Buddie fluff ensues.

Buddie Advent 2020, Prompt: Homemade Holiday Decorations

Read on AO3, on wattpad or below. Edit: added the cut now for better readability, now that tumblr isn’t being a dick anymore.

The door to their house clicks closed as Buck carries the groceries through the corridor into the kitchen. Eddie is standing at the stove, cooking, and looks up when Buck slides up to him, the two of them sharing a quick kiss to say hello.

“I brought bell pepper,” Buck says, getting two of them out of the grocery bags and putting it down on the countertop next to Eddie.

“Thank you” Eddie replies, rifling through their cutlery drawer in search of a good knife.

“They had a sale on the cereals you and Chris eat so I got a few more packages” Buck continues, putting them away “I also bought some gingerbread cookies for Chris to take to school and for us to take to the station. I thought it might be nice.” He looks up to see Eddie smiling at him while chopping the bell pepper.

“Don’t chop off your finger,” he directs Eddie’s way “you still need them.”

Eddie laughs and turns back to the countertop, his knife making a noise when it lands on the wooden cutting board.

“I got everything on our list besides vanilla sugar, so I had to get vanillin sugar,” Buck winces before shrugging “But it should be alright. I don’t think we’ve ever used real vanilla sugar before. We’ll survive one more time without.”

“The recipe explicitly calls for vanilla sugar.”

“They all do” Buck cries out, good-naturedly rolling his eyes at Eddie. “You can always subtract it with vanillin sugar. And it’s cheaper.”

“But not when vanilla is in the name of the pastry” Eddie interjects.

Buck sighs. “Well, I got you your vanilla beans.”

Eddie turns back around to look at Buck and leans forward to drop another kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

Buck grins. “You’re welcome.” Over Eddie’s shoulder he perceives what looks like colorful Christmas cookies cooling out on a baking tray.

“Oh, did Christopher make these with his friend earlier?” he asks, reaching out to grab one and pop it into his mouth.

“Don’t eat it!” Eddie rushes toward him, his voice going into a higher pitch.

Buck lowers his hand that’s holding the cookie, suspiciously inspecting the white-ish grainy dough and the stark red and green icing.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Are they poisonous?”

“They’re decorations” Eddie informs him “they aren’t meant to be eaten.”

Buck furrows his brows. “They made cookies? That are not to be eaten? But supposed to serve as decorations?” He laughs. “You don’t think Chris will actually stick to that. A few days and they’ll all be gone. He won’t even notice that I ate one of them.”

Amusement takes over Eddie’s face. “Well, you can try, but you’re seriously gonna regret eating it. It’s salt dough.”

“What the fuck is salt dough?” Buck grimaces. “Doesn’t sound very tasty.”

Eddie laughs as Buck puts the cookie back on the tray. “It’s not. Apparently, it’s some kind of self-made modeling dough. Good for kids because it’s not toxic.”

“Except for the whole salt thing.”

“Still not healthy to eat” Eddie agrees “but I’m not sure you can bite through it anyway. The finished cookies are pretty hard.”

“You want me to prove that I can?” Buck teases.

“Please don’t. We can’t afford the dentist’s bill.”

Buck laughs, then steps closer to the tray, taking in the different cookies lying around. He recognizes some shapes of their own cookie cutters, as well as some new ones, likely belonging to Christopher’s friend. What he thought to be icing when he picked it up earlier, turns out to be some kind of glazing the children painted the cookies with.

“They really don’t look too bad.” He praises.

Eddie nods, leaning back against the counter he was previously cutting bell pepper on. “We could put some ribbons through them and hang them on the tree.”

“Sounds good.”

  So that's what they do, the three of them, sitting in their living room, the salt dough cookies and multiple rolls of colorful bands that Eddie went out to buy explicitly for this occasion all strewn between them, and each of them a painted cookie in hand, fiddling one end of the fabric through the hole to tie it around the other once it pushed through. Slightly off to the side stand three cups of hot cocoa and somewhere between all the ruffles and rolls, there's also a box with edible Christmas cookies. That last one was Buck's idea ("Would be fitting, don't you think?") that Eddie was vehemently against because he already saw this afternoon ending with someone chipping his tooth off after biting into the wrong cookies. He fears that might as well be him.

All that to say: Buck knows the cookies that should be hanging on their Christmas tree. He's seen them all, on the first tray, in the box they kept them in after, on the table when they were tying the ribbons. He's seen them enough times around the house to know how many there are or at least how many there should be .

So when Buck comes home one evening, a few days later, and catches sight of the decorated fir tree in their living room, he can't help but notice that there are more salt dough figurines than there should be if Eddie and Chris had put up all the ones they prepared earlier.

Not by a lot, subtle enough not to be excessive, but enough not to fool Buck.

Curiosity piqued, he approaches the tree, lifting up the designs unfamiliar to him. They're innocuous enough: some hearts, some stars, some snowflakes and Christmas trees, not too different from the ones Chris had made with his friend.

But then Buck's eyes and hands land upon a ring of some kind. Most of it is painted yellow (Buck assumes it's meant to represent gold, and he admits it looks close enough) but there's a small tint of blue towards the other side of the ring, the one that was facing towards the stem of the tree initially. Buck's breath catches in his throat.

His mind occupied, Buck only realizes Eddie has slipped into the room once he clicks the terrace door close behind him. He jumps a little at the sound, causing Eddie to laugh and tease him about it.

“What’s got you so jumpy today?” Eddie slides up next to Buck, leaning in for a kiss but stopping in his tracks once he realizes what it is that Buck’s holding. Then he laughs. “I thought I would have a little more time until you found it.”

A grin spreads on Buck’s face, his eyes lifting to Eddie’s, with a mischievous glint in his eyes but the ring still spinning between his fingers.

“Really, Eddie?” he asks “the next time you don’t want me to find something maybe don’t hide it in plain sight, oh wait, I think hiding might be a bit too strong of a word.”

Eddie huffs. “It was meant for you to find. But I thought it would take you a little longer. Guess you know me too well.” Buck winks at him in response. “I guess that’s why I hung it up in the first place.”

“Is that so?” Buck says, too smug for Eddie to believe the faux innocence put into that phrasing.

“I think I changed my mind,” Eddie says, turning around, but they both know he doesn’t mean it.

So when Buck grabs him, turns him around, and pulls him closer, he leans in for a kiss.

“I wanna hear it,” Buck says, not letting him go, a soft look in his eyes that don’t leave Eddie’s face.

“You wanna hear what?”

Buck huffs a laugh. “The speech you have prepared.”

Eddie crinkles his eyes. “Why do you think there’s a speech?”

“You expect me to say yes without a speech?” Buck lifts his eyebrows accusingly, before lifting the ring next to them. “And to a ring made out of salt dough?”

Eddie laughs. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t say yes if I presented you with a paper ring.”

“But only because I love you.”

“Well, everything else would be kind of embarrassing now.”

Buck laughs, leaning his forehead against Eddie’s for a second before asking again. “So I don’t get a speech?”

“It’s symbolic,” Eddie explains after an affected sigh. “The ring. We can’t wear rings at work anyway and I knew you’d scold me for picking up extra shifts just to buy an engagement ring you’ll hardly wear and because I couldn’t wait for you to do it instead and you seem to have become quite the fan of salt dough decorations, so I thought why not. We’ll get real rings for our wedding anyway and this is… something personal.”

“That’s cute,” Buck admits, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Eddie’s lips. “And my answer is yes, obviously.”

Eddie drags Buck even closer and deepens the kiss.

Also find this on AO3 or wattpad.

[planetsam]

Love your Walt adopts Michael fic!! Any chance we might see more of it beyond the 2nd chapter? Maybe some more if the early days where Michael is learning to trust Walt? 

The silence is so thick Walt thinks he can hear his own hair grow.

“Well what’d you do before?” He asks, “when you went to those other schools?”

Michael looks down and pushes around his cereal. Walt gets the feeling that he isn’t going to like the answer. Not that he has a whole lot of faith in the system, but Michael seems determined to show him how god awful it really is. The kid has medical records, he’s seen them. But he doesn’t believe for a second they’re accurate.

“Sometimes my foster’s would forge them,” he says, “I’d usually just piss the doctor off enough that they’d sign them so I would go away,” he shrugs, “or I’d forge them.”

“You’re forging documents?” Walt repeats incredulously.

Michael bristles and puffs up. Walt takes another drink of his coffee. Dealing with an alien is hard, dealing with an orphan is hard. Dealing with Michael’s prepubescent hormones makes him want to throw himself out of the window. Walt doesn’t think he could have gotten him at a worse time if he’d actively been trying for it. He can’t quite figure out if there’s a specific thing that sets him off or if it’s just everything. It seems to be the later.

“My species matures faster,” Michael says.

“I didn’t realize you were such an expert,” he says.

Michael’s glare almost makes him regret saying it. But he’s done stupider things to scarier people. Michael might be telekinetic and he may owe the boy something he can never repay, but Michael’s still a punk kid. Walt’s read enough parenting books to know you can’t just give kids whatever they want. You gotta discipline them. But not like the disciplining his old man used to do. Walt refuses to be that kind of person. The disciplining was kind where you said you were disappointed in them and they shaped up because that was supposed to be worse than being mad. Walt doesn’t believe it works on anything except tv but he’s got a preteen alien sitting at his kitchen counter so he’s going to try.

“So you’ve never been to a doctor?” He says. Michael shakes his head, “dentist? Any medical professional?”

“Of course not, I’d be in a lab somewhere if I did.”

“How do you know that?”

Michael stares at him. Walt knows he’s full of shit, that he’s the farthest thing from an expert on aliens despite being one. The old guilt churns through him. He got time with Miss Nora, time that Michael needed more than him. He ran away as a kid but he was able to find out about his own body. What he could and couldn’t do. Aside from being able to move things with his mind, he’s not sure Michael knows anything. Michael pushes his cereal around as Walt waits for his answer.

“May I be excused?” Michael asks in a weird impression of an obedient child. Walt chokes on his coffee.

“What? No,” he sputters, “where’d you learn manners?”

“Two families ago,” Michael says. Fucking smartass.

“And how do you know you can’t go to the doctor?” Walt asks.

Michael says nothing.

Walt can see where this is going a mile away. More than a mile if he’s being honest. He doesn’t need two eyes to see that Michael looks like a scared kid with a secret. God knows he used to see the look on his own face enough to recognize it, even if it’s been a damn long time since he saw it. Dropping it isn’t going to help either, he’s a bad sell on a good day in the parenthood department. He’s surprised he got approved at all after the way the social worker looked at the junkyard.

“Did one of the others tell you that?” He ventures.

Michael freezes and the look on his face shifts to horror. How the hell this kid is going to keep being an alien a secret is beyond Walt. They’re going to need a lot of rules. He’d say that he’s surprised Michael has kept it a secret this long, but the exorcism would say otherwise. Before Michael can sputter another lie or choke on his cereal or something, Walt decides to put him out of his misery.

“Your mom led me to the eggs,” he says, “I know there were three of you.”

“We were found by the side of the road,” Michael says, shifting from horrified to angry.

“I was younger than you when I found the eggs,” Walt says, “you ready to take care of three kids?”

Michael has the grace to look down, shake his head and mutter an apology. It doesn’t make Walt feel much better but right now he’s the adult. He doesn’t need anyone to hold his hand of absolve him of his sins. Especially not when it comes to the aliens. Michael shifts his weight and licks his bottom lip before looking up at him carefully. Walt can’t imagine the war going on in Michael’s head. Or, actually, he can. He doesn’t know where he comes out in all of this or why the hell Michael should trust him.

“Max can heal,” he says, “humans and us. He knows we’re different.”

Walt nods, he guesses it was too much to hope that something in this would be easy. He sighs and picks up the paper. The idea of Michael having to forge documents is not one he wants to entertain. He almost signs the damn thing himself. But Michael is a kid, if for some reason they get caught he can blame any number of things. If Walt gets caught, Michael goes to someone else. When he looks up at Michael, the boy is watching him intently. Walt slides the paper over to him. Michael goes for it eagerly and Walt puts his hand over it.

“You tell me when you do this kind of thing,” he says, “you shouldn’t be doing it at all but we don’t have a choice. The way I see it, here’s the safest place for you right now. But there’s gonna be a lot of lying involved so we gotta be honest with each other. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah,” Michael says and Walt believes him. He watches as Michael hunches over and gets to work, “I gotta do this for Max and Iz too,” he says and glances upwards.

Belatedly Walt realizes he’s asking for permission.

“Whatever you gotta do,” he says.

A few days later when Michael asks to go on a camping trip with them, Walt agrees and ignores the stupid feeling in his gut. He makes sure Michael has the phone number to the cell he’s got on him, then he makes sure he can recite it from memory. It’s just supposed to be one night and Walt tells himself that they are human enough that nothing terrible is going to happen. But when the damn phone shows a number he doesn’t recognize, he realizes how stupid the reassurances have been.

“You okay?” He asks instantly. There’s silence, in the background he thinks he can hear someone crying, “Michael,” he says, “remember what we talked about?”

“I need you to come pick us up,” Michael says finally, “I—“ he hesitates.

“Am sorry to wake me up?” Walt says, already pulling on his boots, “don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” Michael says.

He gives where they are and Walt hauls ass to the location. Michael is standing near the road looking anxiously out. A ways back Walt can see Max and Isobel huddled together. It’s odd to see them all together. He hasn’t since the group home. Michael is skittish but stubborn as he gets out. Walt looks him up and down.

“You hurt?” Michael shakes his head and Walt exhales, “you need my help?”

“We took care of it,” Michael says, “we just need a ride,” he licks his bottom lip, “please.”

Walt wants to demand answers to what it is and what they took care of, but he can see the desperation on Michael’s face. It’s almost as heartbreaking as him asking for help with a please or the look on the twins behind him. Walt reasons that what was done here is done, there’s no fixing it. So he motions them into the car. The three of them nearly collapse with relief and Walt wonders if this is the first time that they’ve gotten help from an adult. He helps them pile their stuff into his truck and watches as Max helps Isobel in and scrambles after her.

“Are they hurt?” He asks Michael when they close the door.

“Not physically,” Michael says.

“I guess that’s the important part right now,” Walt says, “get in.”

Michael scrambles in and he gets in after him. No-one speaks, the only sound is Isobel’s heavy breathing which echoes loudly in the car. Michael reaches over and turns on the radio, finding something that covers up the sound. Walt watches the three of them move seamlessly, taking care of one another in little ways that seem almost instinctual. Hell, maybe they are. What the hell does he know about families and how they take care of each other? No-one says anything as they drive. Walt gets off the main way and drives to a quieter place and pulls over, killing the engine.

“I know you all want to go home,” he says, “but your parents are going to want to know why.”

“Don’t you?” Max asks. There’s a quiet authority in his voice that’s damn unnerving.

“Course I do,” Walt says, “but I want you all safe more than that.”

“I killed someone.”

Walt whips around. Max meets his eyes but there’s no defiance in his. It’s that same authority. He killed someone and he knows why he did it. That’s damn powerful stuff. Walt feels sick at the sight of it. That’s not an expression anyone should wear, but especially not a kid. Isobel lets out a shuddering breath that gives away exactly why Max feels so justified. He’s almost afraid to look at Michael but he forces himself to do it anyway. Michael’s head hangs and the guilt rolls off him in almost palpable waves. When he raises his eyes to Walt’s, they’re bright. But he swallows and forces the emotions back.

“I buried him,” Michael says.

Walt hates the relief he feels.

“Deep?” He asks, “shallow graves—“

“He’s buried deeply,” Michael cuts in.

Walt almost tells him to not interrupt and then stops. That isn’t something important right now. He looks between the three of them and sighs. It’s not important but he’s getting the feeling that this is their life. He’d better get used to it.

“Don’t interrupt,” Walt says. Michael raises his eyebrows, “I’m not putting your manners on hold until weird shit stops happening, I’ll be old and grey if we wait that long.”

“You’re already grey,” Michael points out.

“Grey-er,” Walt corrects, “the way I see it I can take you all home or I can take you all nearby and give you a night to sort out your feelings. It’s not a lot but—“

“Nearby,” Isobel croaks.

Both the boys nod and the decision is made. Walt puts the car in gear and takes them nearby where he found them. When he goes to get their tent and gear out, none of them look thrilled at the prospect. He doesn’t blame them.

“Get your sleeping bags out,” he says, “you can camp out in the back,” Max and Isobel trade looks.

“What?” Michael says, “he knows what we are, I don’t think Max wetting the bed is gonna upset him.”

Max lets out an indignant squawk and suddenly they’re teenagers again. Or two of them are. Isobel still smiles though which is a lot better than the look she was wearing a few minutes ago. The three of them clamber into the back. It’s not the first night that Walt’s spent in his car, but it definitely wasn’t on his plans for the night. Still it’s kind of nice to hear the three of them talking in the back of the truck. The world’s going to be a mess in the daylight, but he hopes that one night of feeling safe will mean something. Somehow. He closes his eyes and opens them and it’s somehow daylight and the three of them are standing there.

“Here,” Michael says, handing him a paper cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” he takes it, looks at the time and swears, “lets get you back before your parents freak out,” they all climb in, “happy birthday,” he adds.

He drops them off and drives him and Michael home.

“Come here,” he says before Michael can get in the house. He leads him to another part of the junkyard and opens up the hatch, “I found this when I bought the place,” he says. Michael looks nervous and Walt rolls his eyes, “you think if I wanted to hurt you I wouldn’t have done it last night?”

That makes sense to Michael and he shrugs, following Walt down the ladder. Walt’s done his best to clean out the dust and get some damn lights going, but it hasn’t been the easiest job to finish Michael’s back. He supposes that the work’ll go faster if it’s the two of them. Michael looks around the space slowly, taking in the white board and couch Walt has down there.

“I figured you might need your own space, when things get crazy. Or you need to do your alien thing,” Walt says, “it’s deep enough you shouldn’t disturb anything up there.”

“This is mine?” Michael repeats.

“I know it’s not much but I figured—“

He’s not expecting Michael to throw himself at him or squeeze the daylights out of him. It’s an objectively awful hug. Awful enough to make Walt’s good eye tear up and his throat tighten. But only because it’s a damn shame no-one taught the boy to hug properly, not because the kid’s hugging him at all. He claps him back on the shoulder which is what you’re supposed to do. He thinks. Hell do either of them have any business hugging?

“Happy Birthday,” he says.

“Thank you.”

[jay-and-dean]

I don’t need you  Chapter 1 : Damsel in distress.

Dean x reader

Summary : She’s a warrior, she’s a loner. Nothing can stop her, nothing ever had. She doesn’t need Dean, does she ?

This is a request by @magssteenkamp​ that I decided to turn to a serie :

“Okay, how about a Dean x Reader that is a tomboy badass Hunter think Selene from Underworld without being a vampire. That has Dean off his game because she’s not someone he can save she’s not the damsel in distress. She could have become a hunter because vampires, killed her family and now she gets a little scary when she’s up against them fluttering Dean and turning him on… Of course, smut must be in this story you write it so well. Now, go make Dean sweat, every time he sees her drinking whiskey neat like it’s nothing. Can’t wait to see what you come up with.” 

Serie Warnings : Swearing (duh). Mention of death. Smut, probably all kind from rough to fluffy, I’ll precise in the chapters if there are specific warnings. Fluff. Angst of course.

Words : 3.2k

Note :  I have no idea how many chapters it will be yet because I have 2 possible endings in mind. One version is like 3 chapters, the other is like 10 chapters, haha. I guess it depends if you guys like it. 

I’ll try to stick to the 3k rule, like for Rescue You

If everything goes as planned, you’ll get one chapter every wednesday. 

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

_________________

Dean’s Pov

City isn’t my favorite playground. I’m used to shitty little motels in shitty little towns. I’m used to silence and forests, at least for hunts.

And above all, I’m used to night being night. Those lights are killing me and I can’t get rest.

My hand on my stomach, watching the ceiling, I try to ignore the woman screaming lame pornographic sounds in the room above us. Judging by how much she fakes it, I think the guy with her is really not good.

Will those sirens stop at some point ?

Even if we hunted in big cities before, we rarely had to stay in the center of it for long. I miss the bunker, I miss home, and I miss baby. Parking her here is nearly impossible, and pretty dangerous for her, so we left her alone and we take the damn bus.

I hate the bus. Obviously.

This hunt is a mess. And as everything in this city, it’s too big. For four weeks now, we have been following a lead and it just feels like it’s never ending.

Is it possible that vampires are organized in an authentic mafia here ?

How Sam and I are supposed to fight it ? Those fuckers recruit and abduct young people… Two hundred and sixty eight teens have been declared missing in what, three or four months ? Even Sam is out of his depth.

The woman stops screaming and I close my eyes in relief. I try to think of the last time I had fun with a woman, a few weeks ago… Now it feels like ages.

Sam is sleeping and I just wish I could do the same, but this stupid window has no curtain, and it’s bright like the middle of the afternoon out there.

We found a hunter bar, finally, and asked for help. We need someone who knows this place. But the bar was mostly empty, and that doesn’t look good. I remember the barman’s face when we asked for some name, a phone number, anything… for someone that could help us. He chuckled, and sais he knew someone, the best ; he said we could find that hunter at some subway station tomorrow night.

So we wait.

*******

           Freaking subway. Dark and smelly. Sam is leaning on the tiles, waiting for someone to show. I don’t even dare touching those walls, hands in the pockets of my jeans, I look at the steam coming out of my mouth, my head low in my shoulders, trying to ignore the cold.

“This is stupid” I sigh. “We don’t even have a name, a description, anything.”

“The barman said we’ll know Dean, be patient” my brother mumbles, looking at every person passing by like a weirdo.

“Patient ! One hour, Sammy ! And this music !”

A group of young people are listening to very shitty music there, laughing like hyenas, and I am about to lose it.

           Suddenly, their behavior change, and they start to whistle, pointing at a young lady coming down the stairs. She’s wearing a long coat with a large hood on her head, hiding most of her face, and she’s looking for something in her purse, cursing and hurrying, clearly late to go somewhere.

           When she barely watch where she goes and almost miss the last step, my back straightens. She looks clumsy and really not careful, I’m afraid the little morons will bother her.

“Hey kitten !” they call her. “Kitty kitty kitty…”

I look at Sam and he gets ready to fight.

Fucking city.

“Hey ! Leave her alone !” I say and the boys laugh at me, grabbing the woman by the arm.

           We were here for vampires, but a damsel in distress needs us, so Sam and I start to walk toward the young people. The music is loud, some electro shit, and I can’t wait to break their speaker.

           When the boys who had grabbed the woman’s arm tugs at it, she suddenly turns on herself in one smooth but swift movement, leaving him with just the coat in his hand.

           This goes so fast I’m barely registering what’s happening. The lady is wearing clothes that makes my brain go blank for a second : very skinny jeans with freaking thigh holsters holding guns, and a tight black corset.

           Who is that woman ?

           Grabbing her coat with snake speed, she throws it at the boy’s head and hit his knee so hard it bends in the wrong way.

           Sam stops walking, frozen in place. And I bet he’s like me… asking himself who needs help after all.

           She grabs a gun at her thigh and shoots one of the boys right in the head, the silencer barely preventing the echo making us all jump in surprise.

“Wh-…” I start but the young men shows their teeth and I realize they have been the vampire all along.

One of them manage to hit her face, and before Sam or I can move, she hits him back, making him stumble back. He has no time to move before she reaches the thin machete she was hiding in her back and makes his head roll on the floor, falling on the railroad.

           With a few more quick an expert movements, she kills all of them, except a coward, who tries running for his life in our direction, the exit direction.

           I stop him with my fist in his stomach and he falls on the floor.

“Wait !” the woman says. “Leave him alive.”

She walks toward us, her hips swaying and blood all over her perfect cleavage. I’m fascinated, and I must admit to myself, even if I wouldn’t say it out loud, even to Sam : a little horny… What the fuck is happening here ?

She squats and grabs his dirty hair to make him look up at her.

“I will need to talk to your boss” she says.

“He will tear you to pieces, bitch !”

She punches him.

“We’ll see, bitch” she answers and the boy starts to whine, now looking mostly pathetic.

“Please, don’t kill me, I can give you money, I… I can give you eternal life… Or drugs ? You want drugs ?”

She sighs.

“Let be clear, Jimmy…” she says and his eyes widen.

“How do you know my name !”

“I know everything about you little shit, and about your nest… About Holloway. Now where can I find him ?” she states, hitting the vampire’s head on the floor.

“If I tell you…” he answers in a pitiful whine. “He will find me, he will kill me.”

She points the bloody machete on his neck, and starts to dig it slowly in his skin, making him cry out in pain.

“The club !” he screams. “The H club ! I-it is his club, but you won’t be able to enter ! Only vampires can enter !”

“Only vampires ?” she smirks, making my blood run both cold and boiling at how fierce she looks. “Good, Jimmy, you just earn a day of life. Get up, little shit. You follow me without saying a word, and you might live a little more.”

She gets up and harshly tie his arms behind his back.

“Winchesters ?” she asks, and it takes a few seconds before Sam and I answer, still stunned by how impressive she is.

“Y-yeah…” I stammer.

“Winchesters… Seriously…” the vampire sighs, but we all ignore him.

“Joe said you were looking for me” she looks behind her at the mess of corpses and blood. “You still want to help with this ?”

Sam nods, I’m too caught up in her aura.

“Okay, hold this fucker while I burn this mess.”

           And she does ! With a flask from her purse, she stands before the bodies and say some incantation before she puts a few drops of that weird golden liquid on the corpses. The second she does, body after body –or body parts-, they turn to ashes suddenly, leaving no sign of the slaughter that happened here.

           She grabs her heavy coat and dusts it.

“Y-you sure know how to get rid of a body !” Sam says, his eyes widened.

We totally need that.

“Yeah, so don’t piss me off” she gives us a corner, grabbing Jimmy by the arm to walk to the exit, putting her coat back on.

           Sam and I look at each other in disbelief, before we follow her like puppies, reaching the street. We jog to join her and I search her face before I speak.

“We never told the barman who we were, how do you know ?” I ask following her quick steps.

“I’m not reckless, Dean” she says. “And I’m not stupid. When he described the two men looking for me, I thought most hunters would have given up, so with the grumpy, flannel, big guys especially the one with longer hair description, I checked the city cameras for a 67 Impala, and I was right.”

“You’re good” Sam states, impressed.

“I heard you’re too” she chuckles, her smile knocking my heart out.

Reader’s Pov

           “Taxi !” I call with my free hand in the air and the car stops.

“You’re going to take the… vampire… in a cab ?” Sam worries, his voice low, like someone was paying attention to us, but no one is.

“Well, I have to bring him home” I just say.

What can I had, honestly, walking the streets with monsters at my arm has become a habit of mine.

           When we sit on the backseat, I get my gun and dig it in Jimmy’s ribs through my coat, until I hear him whine in pain. I keep my eyes on him, threatening eyes.

           Jimmy Jimmy… I looked for you everywhere for a few months. And I’m not disappointed in you. Son of a middle class dentist, afraid of death since childhood, seen a shrink for four years because of that, hypochondriac, anxious… Turned into a vampire at seventeen in 1984, the perfect cure of this fear of dying : immortality.

I knew how bad you wanted to live little shit, I knew I could get you to talk. Anything but dying right ? Because, as you  told Dr Stenvens in 1980 : “Dying is forever.”

*******

           “Welcome to my place” I say, opening the creaking door of my apartment.

I know they will probably pity me, I heard they live in a gorgeous military base or whatever, but I love my home.

           I had to kill to get this big apartment, literally kill. Monsters of course, but still. It’s a little dilapidated and the lights go off each time the train passes near, but I have big windows, and almost no rats.

           I push the empty bottle of whiskey with my feet and grab the chair to put Jimmy on it, and tie him tight.

           The hunter brothers enter and I must say I’m a little impressed to have them here, even if I will never admit it.

“Beer ?” I offer and they nod, looking at my psycho walls, as I call them : covered in photos and notes, pieces of journals and red lines of felt pen everywhere on it.

Of course I have everything in my laptop, but this helps to think. And as no one but Joe comes to my place, I don’t really care how creepy it looks.

“You’re a psycho !” Jimmy says and I chuckle.

Yeah… Like I said, psycho walls.

“You’re… organized” Sam says and I turn to look at him. Jesus, that man is tall !

“So you were working the young vampires nest case ?” I ask, handing them the bottles, but they don’t move, frowning in Jimmy’s direction. “You can sit, the little shit isn’t going anywhere, this creaky wooden chair is warded.”

“Ward-… Okay” Dean stammers, sitting on the couch.

           It’s really weird, meeting people you know somehow. Those guys are legends, and there are even books about them, books I each read a few times, learning a lot about hunting, but mostly learning about them. About Dean’s fear of failing his family, about Sam’s need to fail them to survive.

           There was a time I used to cling to those books at night, trying to imagine they were real, and they could protect me… Until I found out they were but I was the only one that was going to take care of me.

I can’t deny I used to have a teen crush on Dean, when those silly things still interested me. He was the big-hearted bad boy my 14 years old self needed to survive the street.

Then nothing. The books stopped, I was worried the story just ended like that. And I had to move on from it, someone stealing my all stuffs, including the books, made it quicker than I thought.

Of course, I heard the stories later… Things about Purgatory, about Dean being a Demon, then not, about their mother being back at all… But it’s not the same, and I always wondered what my childhood heroes had become, What they looked like now….

“Who are you ?” Dean finally says with a voice so low I can’t help but bite my cheek a little, to avoid smiling like teen-me would have.

I’m not a teen anymore, and I don’t need heroes to help me through the night.

“Y/n” I say. “I’m on this case too.”

“You’re a hunter ?” Sam asks and I search his face, looking for the hint of hope you can find on a rebel’s eyes, but it’s gone. What happened to you ?

“I’m hungry !” Jimmy whines and I ignore him.

“Not really…” I sigh, sipping at my beer. “I mean, yes, but, I have only been working one case, so…”

“This case” Dean states, nodding for himself with a glance at the walls.

“Yeah… This case. Holloway is not easy to get, and the more I get close, the more he widens his army, so the… the missing, they’re a little on me.”

“No, no they’re not” Sam says right away with those kind eyes, just like I always imagined it.

But he won’t get this idea out of my head easily. Joe says it too, that it’s not on me. And, I know, I mean, I know that the killings are not originally on me… But this has become a war, and wars makes victims.

“Anyway, I can’t stop now” I sigh, getting up to wash my hands, I just noticed how bloody they were.

           The truth is, I never could stop. From day one. The day those vamps tracked us after school, and took Amy and Beth, the day I managed to escape and talked to my parents. My friends were found a few days later, beaten, drained of blood, in a ditch somewhere. We were only thirteen, they were my best friends, and we had so much plans for the future…

           I gave too much information, on the boys’ look, on what they were saying, wearing, and my parents supported me when cops wanted to close the file. I know now that this network have some cops with them.

           So they killed them, my parents. That one night, they killed everybody and tried to kill me too, but Holloway wanted me for himself. That’s his big move : killing little girls, pretty teens, I can’t even imagine what he does to them…

But on the way to my death, I escaped again. At this instant was already too late, I far too far gone in Hell… Too late for normal, too late for letting go.

“What is your plan ?” Sam asks a little lower, like he was afraid of what Jimmy could hear.

“I go to this club” I state, coming back to sit opposite of them.

“Hellooo ! I’m still hungry !” the little shit whines making all three of us roll our eyes without answering.

“They only let vampires in” Dean frowns, sitting on the verge of the couch to search my face.

I didn’t imagined him exactly like that when I read the books. His hair are darker, his jaw is sharper, his eyes are not this ridiculous mint green, but a profound summer forest color. He must be what ? Forty now ?  

“I’ll be one” I shrug.

“What !” the brothers gasp in sync.

“Not forever, don’t worry. I have the cure, and we will need the blood of the vampire that turned me, good thing he’s tied up in my apartment” I give them a corner smile.

“No way !” Dean grunts. “That’s insane.”

“Well, Winchester, I’ll do it with or without you…”

Dean’s Pov

           This woman has lost her mind. A sharp mind, yes, but she lost it. I stare at her and can’t find an ounce of fear on her pretty bloody face.

“I have been there, sweetheart, it’s really not a sinecure !”

The second I say it, I regret using this nickname. She will crush me for sure.

           But she doesn’t. She smiles a little again, that confident corner smile of hers, the only thing that keeps my mind away from that freaking corset, and the blood stains on her cleavage.

           I have never met a girl like her, Hell, I have never met somebody like her, man or woman ! And behind those fierce eyes, I guess she must have suffered all kinds of Hell to be so strong today.

“Let’s say you let the vampire turn you” Sam whispers, glancing at Jimmy. “What makes you think you won’t feed on blood ? It’s a thirst you may not be able to resist. A-and… Once in the club, what then ?”

She looks down, resting her elbows on her knees.

“Then I find Holloway, kill him, and burn them all to the ground” she states absent-mindedly, putting her hand on her purse next to her.

           That’s when I understand. This is not just a case, this could be a suicide mission, she doesn’t really care.

I do. I have no idea why I care so much, but I do.

“Please listen…” the vampire-douche starts but we all answer in sync.

“Shut up Jimmy !”

She chuckles lightly at our perfectly synchronized annoyance.

I’m mesmerized, a need burning my veins from the inside, something new. This is not desire like I have felt with pretty women before, this is not curiosity or interest… This is fascination. I want everything : to know her, see her, unravel her, touch her, hear her, taste her…

“Let us help” I say a little too seriously and too low, making her search my eyes with a frown.

“If you want to help, help” she finally states. “But this is my case, my rules, my way. If you intend to give me orders or talk me out of it, just go back to Kansas. I don’t need you.”

______________________

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[hillnerd]

Waking Up - Chapter 3

Rating M      A03   ff.net   [previous chapter]  [start at the beginning] chapter length: 14,438 Huge thanks to @abradystrix��@amysthefardareismai for wonderful beta-ing- truly y’all are the best. And thank you to the people who have read this, and especially those who reviewed- I appreciate you so very much.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: NSFW scene, cursing, depresssed/anxious thinking, talk about eating & weight gain/loss, PTSD,  brief mentions of substance abuse

CHAPTER 3- logistics

A breeze was gently rustling the trees and the dappled midmorning light shone merrily through the bedroom window. Hermione inwardly cursed. There was something appalling about a lovely day when her mood was bleak and her whole body felt stiff. Hermione rubbed at her neck and cringed as a beam of sunlight hit her right in the eye.

She’d put off planning to retrieve her parents for three weeks, but she couldn’t in good conscience keep it up. She had to accomplish something, even if it was only a tiny milestone. She’d set herself up in her camp bed, a number of papers around her as she scribbled maths and tried to mark out a plan.

Portkey. Taxi. Hotel. Food. Yellow pages. Government records. Private investigator.

Before the hunt for Horcruxes she’d envisioned immediately flying to her parents and undoing the memory modifications she’d placed on them. The three of them would fall into a heap crying over each other and all would be well.

Now she could no longer fool herself into believing such idealistic outcomes. The reality was too grim. 

She’d purposefully made it difficult for anyone magical to find her parents, but now she had no clue where in Australia they’d gone or how she’d retrieve them. At the time she didn’t want to know their location; what she didn’t know couldn’t be tortured out of her, but this left the task of hunting them down as daunting as the Horcrux hunt. She’d made her parents untraceable by owl, ‘Point Me’ and a variety of other locating spells and potions.

She’d need to use Muggle means: searching travel documents and yellow pages for dentist offices, possibly making inquiries with the government to find them. She might need to use a private eye. None of that would be easy to access, especially all the way in Australia.

What’s more - it would cost money; money that Hermione did not have. Her parents had loads of money put aside for her education, but all of it was in her parents’ name — so it was all somewhere in Australia with them.  

She only had fifty pounds and a pile of books to her name, not enough to buy proper groceries for the Weasley family, let alone fly herself across the world to search for her parents. Portkey fare, hotel, food… It was all going to cost so much. How would she possibly manage this? Get a job to save up the money to travel there? Who would hire someone who didn’t even have N.E.W.T.s, or a diploma (Muggle or otherwise.) She could forge a Muggle one, but it felt wrong somehow to pretend she had an education she hadn’t earned. Perhaps she could camp instead of stay in a hotel? The thought of camping again made her hands begin to shake. No. She’d have to save for a hotel.

The only equity she had was their family home. There was no way she could liquidate that asset and turn it into cash. She could perhaps rent the house out, now that the war was over— but that would waste precious time to try to find a trustworthy tenant. And who would want a suburban house for only a few weeks? The more she thought on it, the more outlandish her ideas became:

Sell all the things she owned? Ask Harry for a loan? Sell her story to the Prophet for money?

Her mind trickled like treacle. All her pointed motivation and smarts she’d had in spades before the war felt scooped clean out of her, as sure as Ron’s splinched shoulder. She’d become blightedly useless.

Others were working to re-establish the government, or rebuild Hogwarts, or volunteering to help orphans. Ron was stepping in to take care of his mother and the household. Everyone else was able to find a way to be of use, with perhaps the exception of George — but he had a real excuse didn’t he? He was in deep mourning. 

What was Hermione mourning? Sure, she’d lost friends and people she cared about, but that wasn’t the same. She had no excuse to be so tired all the time, her brain so sluggish and unresponsive. Even with the locket around her neck she’d been brighter than this, had more fight and more solutions than this. Her presence at the Burrow was so pointless.

She only had a few months to find her parents, and was wasting what time she had left.

McGonagall, now headmistress of Hogwarts, had written to say she and the boys were welcome to finish their final year there. For a moment she had been pleased. She’d be able to have a full and proper education after all! She had something she could work on! But it wasn’t for months, and now it narrowed her timeline. 

She had a proverbial ticking clock, and what was she doing? She was contributing nothing, comforting no one, napping multiple times a day, leeching off the Weasleys, burdening them with her despondent moods; all when she should already be in Australia fixing the problems she’d caused!

In disgust, she shoved the papers to the ground, put a silencing spell on herself and laid down to nap. She’d almost nodded off when she was awoken with a knock and the sound of someone saying her name.

She gave a start to see Harry standing in the doorway looking at her expectantly. 

“Sorry,” he said with a forced smile. “I knocked, but you didn’t respond.”

Hermione moved her lips to answer him but no sound came out. Damn, she’d forgotten about her silencing charms. With a wave of her wand the spell was broken.

“I’m fine, thank you. Is breakfast ready?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her and carefully sat himself on Ginny’s bed. He was looking pink-cheeked and his hair was even more of a mess than usual, no doubt Ginny’s doing. The carefree appearance was a stark contrast to the look of concern on his face.

“Why did you have a silencing spell on yourself?” 

“It’s nothing, Harry,” she primly answered, leaning down to gather the parchment from the ground. She tapped the sides of the parchment against her thigh to evenly align them. The last thing she wanted was him seeing how disparate her notes were.

Harry continued to stare at her, discernment wrinkling his brow. “Does Ron know about this?”

“About what?” she snapped, holding the papers close to her chest.

“That you’re putting silencing spells on yourself when you sleep.”

“It’s only temporary.” She stopped her tidying. “No one else needs to know about it.”

Harry made a face at that and his gaze became even more grim. 

“You shouldn’t keep this from him. He’ll find out eventually.” She gave a deep huff at his presumption. “Why are you doing it anyways?”

“It’s not that hard to figure out,” Hermione bit out, putting her papers on the bedside table and making her bed, spending far more time than necessary giving it hospital corners so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye.

“So are you… yelling from nightmares or something?”

Hermione looked at her hands spread across the corner of the bed. “Yes, something like that…”

“Have you tried dreamless sleep potion?” 

“You can get addicted to it far too easily.”

“Yeah, well… it works doesn’t it?”

Hermione turned to look Harry over. He didn’t have the deep bags under his eyes that she or Ron had, and was refusing to look her in the eye. 

“You’re not taking it every night are you? You’re not supposed to take it for more than three days in a row!” she admonished. “After three days you’re supposed to stop taking it or there’s a rebound effect and your dreams could become even more vivid, but you also have trouble falling asleep without it! That’s how you get addicted. You can take the potion again, but you have to—”

“Skip it for five days between. Yeah I know. I take cold medicine on the other nights.”

“Harry, you shouldn’t be self medicating like that.”

He gave one of his piercing glowers and rose from the bed. Now she’d done it. When he was feeling harangued and defensive he always obstinately lowered his head and glared from under his eyebrows. He had no idea how very intimidating that look could be.

“You really think it’s better to suffer through? To use a silencing charm so no one hears you?” 

She ignored his jab and forged ahead. “Different potions combined could be dangerous.” 

“I keep seeing all of you dead,” Harry quietly snarled. “Every single one of you. Or the snake attacking us, or Voldemort killing me, or you at the Manor getting tortured to madness, or Ginny getting killed by Bellatrix, or Ron splinched and bleeding to death.”

Hermione’s chin began to wobble.

“It doesn’t do any good to see it again and again!” he continued, voice suddenly escalating in volume. “It’s hard enough to ignore it all when I’m awake. There’s no fucking way I’m going to willfully think about the bleeding war when I’m sleeping! I’m tired of waking up feeling like I just survived a battle, or lost someone again! I- I just need to sleep... We went months without sleeping proper, and I’m fucking tired of it.”

Hermione felt tell-tale stinging in her eyes and she blinked furiously at them.

“I’m following the instructions for the potions! I don’t mix it with alcohol or other potions. I’m not stupid!”

“I never said you were!” she gasped.

“Well then maybe try not talking to me like I am. Should I be putting a silencing charm on myself like you do? Nap all day, scream all night? How’s that working out, Hermione?” 

Hermione shook her head and the tears finally fell down her cheeks. She hated it when he talked to her like that. She’d never done well when people gave her a dressing down, especially when she was just trying to help. He was right, though. Nothing was working out. She didn’t know what she was doing. Everything was so impossible now that she’d never sort it out. She swiped at her lashes.

Harry gave a sigh; one she’d heard from him use thousands of times. 

“Look,” he said in a much more gentle tone. “I’ll be extra careful. And— and I’ll try to wean myself off it all over the next month or so, okay?”

Hermione gave a stiff nod.

“I just came to let you know breakfast is on soon. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said putting a tentative hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she said roughly wiping at her eyes, shrugging off his hand. She didn’t care how upset he was, there was no call for him to jump on her like that. “But Harry… I meant it. I’d rather you not tell Ron about the silencing charm.”

Harry’s look of gentle concern seemed to harden.

“I don’t like lying to him.”

“I’m not asking you to lie, I’m just asking you not to go and tell him about this one thing.”

“If he asks, I’m telling him,” he stubbornly answered, a defiant tilt to his head making her want to smack him.

“I know you prefer Ron to me, but are you really incapable of keeping ONE secret for me?” 

Harry gave a hurt look. “That’s not fair.”

“Well it’s not fair how your first concern wasn’t how I was doing, but rather if I’d told RON about this!”  Hermione bit out, all patience gone. “For you he’ll always come first, and I understand that. I really do. I know I’m not the ‘fun friend’ or the one that makes you feel good. I know I’m the nag—”

“You’re not,” he feebly replied. They both knew that wasn’t true. 

“I am. I know I am sometimes, but I was trying to help and you leapt down my throat for it!”

“I’m sorry for that...” he said, a look of true contrition on his face. 

“It’s fine,” she sighed, though she didn’t feel it. She didn’t have it in her to try and keep up a fight with Harry. He had very few coping skills for his anger and trauma and they’d never gotten on very well when she was concerned about his well being. “But please — don’t say anything about the silencing charms to Ron? I didn’t want anyone to know, Harry, but I especially don’t want Ron getting worried about this. He has so much on his plate, and I just… Please.”

Harry quietly looked away, seemingly wrestling with it, before he finally nodded. Hermione’s whole body sagged with relief. She looked longingly to the camp bed she’d just made. How easy it would be to curl up on it and nap the rest of the day. 

“What’s all this?” Harry asked, picking up her parchments from the side table.

“Nothing! It’s just scribblings!” she cried out, clawing the parchment right out of his hand.

He looked unconvinced. It was a pathetic excuse. She wasn’t even sure why she didn’t want anyone to know about her flimsy Australia plans. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have a clue on how to undo all the wrongs she had done. 

If Ron had seen the papers he’d keep pushing her to tell him what was on the parchment, but Harry was never very relentless when it came to Hermione’s personal life. He never inquired about her mad schedules in third year, S.P.E.W., who she wrote to, or anything much about her life outside of Hogwarts. 

Harry cared about her of course —  the two of them loved one another very deeply and would do anything to protect one another —  but there often was a lack of curiosity about her life from him. At times this would sting — she invested so much time and energy fretting over Harry and he put in a tenth the effort for her — but it also could prove rather convenient to have a friend who let you have your privacy. She could go about her business and not be questioned or stopped. It was much like with her parents. She had so much freedom to do what she liked without any interference, and definitely took advantage of it at every turn. 

That was what was different about Ron. He was the one person who had absolute interest in her — not her brain, not her achievements, and not what she could do for him— her. 

Ron knew just about everything about her, and paid her so much attention. It was like that even in their first year. Ron she could gab with for hours about everything in the world, and he’d avidly listen to her like no one ever had before. He genuinely cared about every little thing in her life. She’d go off about something, but instead of tuning her out how everyone else did, Ron sat and listened, engaged, argued, asked questions, added his thoughts on it, would have a real conversation with her. 

When she was secretive he’d interfere with her plans, grill her to know what she was up to, and try to get into her head to follow her line of thinking. She’d never had anyone show her that much personal attention. It was so refreshing, was it any wonder she housed a soft spot for the lanky redhead?

As much as Harry ignored Hermione at times, he loved a good mystery. He stood frowning down at her papers a moment too long.

“Let’s get some breakfast,” said Hermione, hoping to distract Harry. Food didn’t work. He was starting to riffle through the papers! “Did Ron cook it this morning?”

She knew Ron was one topic that could thoroughly distract Harry.

“No, he didn’t,” said Harry looking at her, lowering the papers to his side. Yep, mentioning Ron worked every time. “Mrs Weasley cooked everything so I’m sure it’s a particularly good meal.”

“I’m sure that’ll be a relief for Ron,” said Hermione, going into the hallway. She could just sprinkle Ron’s name around like catnip for Crookshanks, coaxing him towards her and away from the papers. “Though I’m surprised he didn’t help her. He’s been doing that every morning.”

She had to suppress a triumphant grin when he set the papers down and followed her into the hallway.

“He’s not up yet.”

She looked at him with surprise. Ron had been up before everyone for weeks, always helping with breakfast and other chores around the house. Why would he suddenly be sleeping in? Even at Shell Cottage he’d been up before most of them. Had something happened in the night to exhaust him? Had he taken a potion to force himself to sleep? Was he avoiding her and her dark moods?

“He’s still sleeping?” she asked, hands nervously clutching her middle. It was a testament to how close they’d grown over the last year, because Harry eyed her hands and expression before giving a sympathetic smile. 

“Hermione, it’s a good thing he’s sleeping in.” 

She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, unconvinced. 

“You know as well as I how little he’s been sleeping,” he continued. “He hasn’t slept in like this for almost a year.”

“Exactly! Why would that suddenly change?” She cringed at the hysterical edge already in her voice.

“Maybe some things are getting back to normal,” he said, giving her a small pat on the shoulder.

Hermione bit her lip and glanced up the stairs. Nothing had just ‘gone back to normal’ recently, and she didn’t see how Harry could be so nonchalant about it. 

“Maybe I should wake him…”

“His mum asked me and Ginny not to. He’ll be grateful for the kip,” he said, poking her down the stairs.

“I should just check on him.”

“I already did. He was tucked up and snoring away minutes ago. He’s fine.”

Knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her continued worrying over something so trivial, she went to the living room to feed Crookshanks. The moment the cat’s kibble hit the bowl he padded over from behind a couch and wound his way around her legs.

She’d missed her wonderful cat when they’d been on the Horcrux Hunt, and he seemed to have missed her just as vehemently when they were finally reunited. That day he’d yowled and thrown himself at her stomach so hard she would have fallen over if Ron hadn’t caught her from behind. Pig had similarly cheeped and hooted for Ron, excitedly flying around his head until Ron snatched him from the air and petted the owl’s little puffed up chest. Harry’s face had fallen ever so slightly as he watched their reunions and looked away. Ron had caught her eye and the two of them did their best to keep the affection with their pets away from Harry a bit. He’d been devastated upon losing Hedwig. It wasn’t the same as all the people they’d lost, of course, but neither of them wanted to rub it in. 

Crookshanks’s joy upon her return was short lived. After an hour or so of meowing and purring the cat’s resentment at being left for months came to the surface. He ignored Hermione, not deigning to so much as look at her for three days. He’d thankfully forgiven her since then.

“Well, at least one of my ginger boys is up.” She laughed as the large cat continued to purr and nearly tripped her with his vehement headbutts to her ankles. She gave his head a scratch before returning to the kitchen, feeling somewhat calmer. 

Harry was putting glasses out on the table, Mrs Weasley was slicing tomatoes and tending to the streaky bacon, and Ginny stood at the stove looking a touch cross. She was flipping over eggs and cursing as yolk after yolk broke in the pan.

“I can do that,” Harry murmured, but Mrs Weasley answered for Ginny.

“She has to learn some time. She can’t keep leaving all the cooking to me or you boys.”

Ginny gave a crow of triumph as one egg’s yolk stayed intact, giving Hermione a grin. 

“Ron coming down?” Ginny asked as she plated the deflated eggs.

“He’s still having a lie in, it seems…”

“And I don’t want you waking him,” said Mrs Weasley, giving a wave of her wand that filled the pitcher with pumpkin juice. “He’s barely sleeping, poor thing, and I’m glad for him to finally get some real rest!”

Wishing to help, but knowing she would be just as hopeless as Ginny at flipping eggs, Hermione began distractedly putting out plates and silverware for the table, as Harry took platters to the table.

Mr Weasley had already gone to work early that morning, and without Ron breakfast was a rather quiet affair. 

Hermione half heartedly picked at her food. Her persistently tiny appetite hadn’t waxed over the weeks at the Burrow, much to Ron’s chagrin. She’d narrow her eyes in resentment every time he prodded her to eat a few more bites. He wasn’t here now, though. She had to admit she missed his prodding as she silently stared at her plate. Everyone had finished their eating well ahead of her, but she was still wrestling with her first egg and piece of toast.

“I was thinking,” said Ginny as she leaned across the table to a third helping of streaky bacon. “We should go out today.”

Hermione shuddered at the thought of leaving the Burrow.

“Go out?” Harry repeated, taking his and Ginny’s plates to the sink, where Mrs Weasley was doing the washing. 

“Yes, out!” Ginny cried, giving a large grin.

“But we were just at Hogwarts yesterday…” Harry had a perplexed look on his face.

“I mean doing something that isn’t rebuilding after the war or chores. Anything. The village. Luna’s place. Quidditch. Diagon Alley— “

“You are not going to Diagon Alley, young lady!” Mrs Weasley interjected as she scrubbed a pan. Ginny bristled and flushed. “They’ve yet to round up all the criminals from this war, and not weeks ago Diagon Alley was a den of destruction and desperate destitutes.”

“Say that three times fast,” Ginny murmured under her breath, too low for her mum to hear. Harry and Hermione barely hid their smiles.

“Plus, you’re not seventeen yet!”

“Fine, Mum. No Diagon Alley,” she said in a congenial tone, belied by the angry set of her jaw. Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder. 

“So, besides the ‘din of D’s,’” she said with an agitated look towards her mother’s back, “where would you like to go?”

“I dunno… Whatever you like is fine,” Harry said with an aimless shrug. He looked as keen to go out as Hermione did.

“I say Luna’s then,” she said with an excited grin. “What about you Hermione?”

Hermione forced herself to smile and feign excitement. “Maybe the village? I’ve never been before. Ron mentioned the pub he’d call me from and a paper shop as well.”

“Well, they don’t have much as far as quills go, but you might find something you like there!” Ginny said, looking positively jovial.

“Maybe we should wait and see what Ron wants to do,” said Hermione, giving a look up the stairs.

“I won’t be surprised if he chooses to stay close to home,” said Ginny before adding sotto voce, “I think he worries about leaving Mum alone in the house for long. He’s not left the house except to check on George, and he’s been doing a lot around here, hasn’t he?”

“He has, yeah…” said Harry looking at his hands. “We’ll leave it to him then.” 

Harry’s mouth tightened further and guilt was working its way onto his face. Ginny put a hand over his and gave it a squeeze. A loving look passed between them and Harry leaned in to kiss Ginny’s temple, prompting Hermione to look away.  

She and Ron hadn’t quite figured out how to have little moments like that in front of others. After the ‘getting caught snogging by his mother’ debacle they’d been less inclined to touch one another, even innocently, around others. She couldn’t figure out why it was so hard; After all, the first time she snogged Ron they’d done it right in front of Harry! There was no reason they couldn’t be just as demonstrably in love with one another as Harry and Ginny! Well… maybe that was the problem. 

Hermione certainly loved Ron, but wasn’t as certain he felt the same way. In every action she felt cherished… but he hadn’t said he loved her. Not truly. He’d said ‘I love you’ once in passing their sixth year while he was still dating Lavender. She’d replayed the moment in her mind for weeks, but there had been no repeat performance in real life. 

She’d nearly said ‘I love you’ to him a few times, but always caught herself at the last moment. 

The previous week his Mum had been crying because George had patently refused to come home. As his mother cried, Ron took over the half made meal. He’d overcooked the chicken a bit, and the gravy he’d attempted was watery, but he’d somehow managed to finish the meal in time for the family who came for dinner— all of them save George. 

Afterwards they’d gone to the apple orchard and he sat beside Hermione stroking her hair, fretting about the meal and his mother. She looked at him from under her lashes, and a bit of sun hit his hair so perfectly it almost seemed to glow as if he were the source of the light, and not the setting sun behind him. He squinted with worry, and the words ‘I love you’ rang in her head so loudly she could barely keep them from spilling forth. 

She wasn’t entirely certain what kept her from saying it. It was hard to imagine Ron rejecting her or reacting strangely to the revelation. He was so loving and patient with her, prodding her to eat food and checking in with her if she looked the least bit upset… But then Ron did that with everyone. That was just his way. He doted on Harry, his mother, and his siblings just as much as he did Hermione. 

The passionate kisses they’d shared a few times left her breathless and in no doubt that he was attracted to her, but attraction was a very far distance from romantic love, was it not? He’d been able to snog Lavender for months while not showing particular regard for her romantically. 

There were so many passionate and loving moments between them that seemed they HAD to be based in love. But a war, and all those adrenaline filled flashes of tension… Maybe it was just shared trauma they were mistaking for something more. Perhaps he was just mixing up the deep platonic love he felt for Hermione for romantic love, and hormones were making up the rest of the difference. 

Everything felt so dissonant and uncertain, she didn’t want to deny herself the comfort of Ron by throwing in a declaration of love before she knew he felt the same way. There didn’t seem to be a mature rational way of discussing it with him to collect more intel, not that she could think of anyway. It felt every bit as daunting as breaking into the Ministry or Gringotts. 

It was like one of those trust fall exercises her parents had to do at a work retreat. You had to fall backwards with your eyes closed and have faith everyone would catch you. She trusted Ron with her life, but wasn’t sure she could trust she’d fall back into his arms shouting ‘I love you’ and come out unscathed. 

Hermione pushed her plate away, feeling too wane to eat more. The three of them helped Mrs Weasley clean up the kitchen, after which the matron claimed she had a headache and went to rest in her bedroom. They then shuffled about waiting for Ron, playing uninteresting games of chess, throwing a marble around for Crookshanks, and generally feeling a malaise only a Ronless few hours could create. When he still hadn’t made an appearance Hermione finally broke.

“I’m going to go get him.”

“How about I see if he’s still sleeping,” said Harry in an annoyingly calm tone. The glare she was about to give him lost its potency when she saw he looked every bit as impatient to get Ron as she. 

“You two are a real mess when he’s gone,” Ginny commented fondly, finding a brush and sitting down with Crookshanks.

Harry and Hermione shared a glance that was more loaded than Ginny could know. They’d never told her about the time Ron had left the Horcrux hunt. In fact they’d never even discussed it with one another or Ron. 

“Right, well, he’s just upstairs,” said Harry with a pointed look at Hermione before ascending the stairs. Ron hadn’t left them again. He was just sleeping in! The sudden feeling of panic and abandonment were completely unfounded. How ridiculous she was. 

Ginny gave her a consoling look. Hermione managed a halfhearted shrug and sat with a groan beside her. She would brush her cat and try to suppress the growing unease.

A few minutes passed before Harry made his way downstairs, a tired looking Ron in tow. It took everything in her to not launch herself at him, whether to kiss him or demand answers she wasn’t sure. 

“Ron says we should do quidditch today,” said Harry, sitting beside Ginny.

“I told him you were too lazy to walk over to Luna’s or the village!” said Ginny with a teasing smile, pushing a covered plate towards him that housed some breakfast.

Ron made a face and stiffly took a seat at the table, barely sparing Hermione a glance. Had she done something? Why wouldn’t he look at her?

“I’m never going to go to that house,” said Ron, tearing into the plate of food. 

“But we’d get to see Luna!” 

“Luna’s great,” he said before pointing a fork at Ginny, “but I’m not going to go over there.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not having glumpy tea with her lousy dad skulking about,” he said with a snort. “Don’t forget, the man tried to hand us over to Death Eaters.”

“Well he was in an impossible situation…” Hermione offered. Ron rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t impossible. You don’t turn people over to Death Eaters,” Ron said simply, taking a bite of sausage. Hermione wanted to argue the finer points of it, and could see the other two didn’t agree with Ron’s assessment either. Ron looked between them all before giving a sigh. “Look, if that old bleeder ever shows a whiff of remorse for it, I’ll be happy to let bygones be… but he could have gotten us all killed, so I’m not going to go over there and play polite waiting for an apology.”

“Fair enough,” Harry cut in before anyone could argue the point further. Ginny began to describe the progress made on the Lovegood’s home repairs, but Hermione only half listened. Instead she concentrated on Ron. Despite the extra sleep he was excessively pale, his freckles standing out like cinnamon on top of cream. The shadows under his eyes were pronounced, and he was unshaved. 

Ron swallowed a mouthful of eggs before finally speaking to Hermione.

“Did you get enough to eat at breakfast?” he asked in an undertone. 

Her stomach felt very full after her egg and toast, but she knew that wouldn’t be considered ‘eating enough’ for Ron. She hesitated to answer. He didn’t look her way, instead he sawed a piece of toast in two and began to spread egg on it, before cutting up some sausage and making a nice little half sandwich. She assumed he was back to ignoring her, and gave a start when he spoke again.

“Try and eat this?”

The half sandwich had been wrapped in a napkin and slid across the table to her. She took it, though she had no intention of eating it. If it weren’t a sandwich she’d press it in a journal, chalking it up to another sign that he cared about her, even when he was looking poorly.

“Well, let’s play some quidditch!” Ginny said with a broad smile. Hermione shook her head at how the girl could be so lighthearted after everything. She envied her, really. Harry was brooding and hurting after the war, and there was Ginny being light and warm for him, prompting smiles out of him, making him go out and do something fun. Hermione didn’t know how to do the same for Ron. She didn’t want to go out. She didn’t know how to tempt him into something that would lighten the load. 

“Where’s Mum at? Does she need us to do anything before we go?” Ron asked, looking about.

“She went up to take a nap,” said Ginny, her tone gentler than it had been the whole morning. Ron quietly nodded and a sort of understanding seemed to pass between them because he suddenly put on a grin almost as broad as Ginny’s. Hermione could tell it was forced. His eyes didn’t crinkle up in that inviting way they did when he was genuinely happy, and his smile was always slightly lopsided when he was in genuine amusement, a hint of a dimple creasing his right cheek. 

“Alright, get ready for me to kick your arse, Gin,” he crowed, throwing his sister wildly off balance with a hip check, before darting out the door.

“Fat chance! I’m going to throw a quaffle right through your teeth!” she cackled, chasing after him.

Harry smiled at Hermione before chasing after the two siblings. He had a spring in his step she hadn’t seen in well over a year, really. Weasleys had that effect on people. Even Ron’s forced smile could make Hermione feel lighter. She knew something was off with him, but with the sun shining across his hair as he laughed, she could pretend he was alright for the time being. She was a bit irked, though, that he’d barely interacted with her except to criticize how little she’d eaten. 

Having no urge to be on a broomstick, she darted up the stairs to get her notes regarding her parents, as well as some books she’d pretend she was reading, should someone wonder what she was doing. When she approached the quidditch field the other three were in the air tossing the quaffle about, large grins on all of their flushed faces. It was rare she wished she was good at flying, but when she saw how carefree they all looked she couldn’t help the feeling of jealousy prickle at her. How could they all be so filled with happiness and able to just enjoy things again? She transfigured a clump of dead leaves into a blanket and sat herself next to an apple tree, taking her books and parchment out from her book bag. 

As they played, darting through the air with practiced ease, she scribbled away at her papers trying to come up with a cohesive plan to get her parents back. After well over an hour the best she could manage was ‘find a Muggle library to do some research.’ She’d listed off a number of topics to research when she got there, as well as possible contacts she could use when a shadow fell over her.

She looked up to see Ron, ruddy from exertion and the sun on his ginger complexion. There was a good bit of sweat staining its way through his thin t-shirt. Him all sweaty and panting should have been mildly disgusting, but her mind was more agreeably occupied by how the shirt clung to him, and emphasized how much broader his chest and shoulders had become. She let out a sharp breath as he lifted the shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. Did he have any idea what he did to her? She was on edge enough! She didn’t need him enticing her to jump him and snog his face off in front of Harry and Ginny.

“We’re packing it in,” he said with a guileless smile at her. No, she was fairly certain he had no idea she wanted to tear his shirt off of him. He inspected the ground below him for pebbles and twigs before he placed his broom then sat to her left with a groan. This gave her just enough time to quickly stow her parchment in a book. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked, eyes trailing over the wet hair at the nape of his neck, just teasing the top of his collar.

“Probably would have if Ginny wasn’t flying like a bloody Hungarian horntail. She was going all out. My fingers are still numb from it!” he laughed holding up one of his large long-fingered hands. “I don’t think I have the same callouses as I did last time we scrimmaged either.”

“Hmmm…” said Hermione putting her much smaller hand in his. She loved his hands. They were always so expressive, warm and strong. She took her other hand and gently inspected his fingers. There still remained a few swirling silvery scars from when the brains had attacked him in fifth year, and a few short scars on his hands he’d picked up over the years. She hoped none of them were from the time she’d attacked him with birds in a jealous rage. Her fingers ghosted over the ruddy knuckles, down the long digits, to his too-short fingernails, finally stopping at his calloused thumb and finger tips. “They’re definitely rougher than mine.”

“Ah, well let’s take a look,” he said, bringing her hand under his nose for a closer inspection. She felt a thrill building within her as he glided a finger down a line on her palm, and hoped he didn’t mind the ink stains. “Hmm… According to my deep knowledge of palmistry this line right here indicates that you read and write too much for your own good…” 

His finger went further down her hand trailing along the inside of her wrist so gently a pleasurable shudder passed through her. “And this line means you’re highly passionate about house elves.”

“Oh it does not!” she laughed in mock indignation.

“Excuuuse me. Between the two of us, who dropped out of divination, and who took it for three years?” 

“You failed to get an O in it, if I recall.”

“That was due to the bias of the geezer testing me, and not because of my excellent palmistry skills,” he said with a sardonic twinkle in his eyes. “Do you want me to continue?”

She nodded her acquiescence, and his finger went back to her palm. 

“Let’s see now… strong double head-line means you’re highly intelligent and kind. But it’s straight so you’re stubborn as all hell…”

A snort escaped her mouth. 

“These short little lines on your lifeline show you’ve had some times of danger, but it seems to be nice and trouble free further down and these little lines along your wrist mean you’re gonna be prosperous— Looks like you can retire well then! And then your love line…” His voice tapered off.

“What about my love line?” She didn’t look at her palm as his finger caressed her. She studied his freckled face, which was quickly turning a deep shade of crimson.

“Erm, it’s… it’s good,” he stammered. “It’s— the little swoopy bit here ends on the mount of… Neptune? No, Jupiter! That means you’re honest and- and love deeply…”

“Does it say anything about if I’ll be loved as well?”

“You’re loved,” he said with certainty. He nodded his head and poked the side of her hand. “Got a strong marriage line and everything! I remember all the girls giggling over that one in divination.”

“Oh…” Disappointment bloomed within her. For a bit she thought he’d been trying to tell her something. He’d just been remembering old divination rubbish. 

“To sum up, you’ve got a case of reader’s hands,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips for a short kiss. “All except your thumb and index finger, that are calloused from gripping quills too tight.”

“Hmm…”

“So what were you up to while I got my arse kicked round the pitch?” he said with a nod at the book beside her.

“Looking at some of the rune translations I did on the Horcrux hunt,” she lied, quickly pushing her book with the Australia plans away from her.

“Why would you be doing that?” 

She should have known better than to bring them out with Ron around. He’d winkle the truth out of her rather quickly if she let him.

“Well…” she scrambled, “I wanted to see if I did them right, now that I have a clear head and time.”

“I guess…” he said, looking at her sceptically. “You doing alright?”

“I have a bit of a headache,” she lied again. Well it wasn’t a complete lie, but once you’d had a headache for two months straight you stopped counting it as something significant.

“I can get you some potion for that, if you like,” he said, searching her face. “Or maybe some water? How about I get you some water and a good size lunch. You didn’t eat much at breakfast and— ”

“Yes, you’ve said,” she snapped, before grabbing the rest of her items, haphazardly holding them in her arms. To avoid his eye she stared down at the blanket. She hadn’t done the best job transfiguring it, for it was already losing its shape along the edges and turning a mottled brown color. From the corner of her eyes she could see him rising from the ground. Shoulders tense, his body squared itself at her. That stance always portended an argument, but was cut off by Ginny calling to him.

“I’m going to make lunch! Can you help Harry put away the brooms?”

“Sorted!” he called back, before looking at Hermione. He lowered his head, blue eyes piercing her like a hot iron. “What’s going on? You’re acting off.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to be bothered about food and treated like a child!”

His coppery eyebrows shot up. “What?” 

“Oh don’t look so surprised! You’ve been on me every day about food and I’m quite sick of it.”

“That’s only because you’re so thin! You’ve probably lost two stone or more over the last year, and you weren’t carrying around much extra to begin with.”

“You think I don’t know that? I don’t need you badgering and prodding me about it constantly, Ron!”

“Well that’s a bit hypocritical,” he said with a churlish look. “You’ve badgered and nagged about plenty of things over the years, many a lot less important than—” His words halted and he let out a deep sigh. 

“You know what? I don’t have the energy for all this,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Sleeping in all morning and playing games really took it out of you, did it?” she bit out. She knew she sounded petulant. She knew she had aimed an unfair dig, but she didn’t much care in the moment. 

His jaw clenched and he loomed over her, tall as an oak tree. Hermione stood her ground, lifting her chin to glare back at him. He looked as if he had a retort, but bit it back. He took a deep breath before saying anything.

“I know something’s off with you, and when you’re ready to tell me what it is, I’ll listen,” he said, his voice so low it was barely a breath, “but I won’t take shit I don’t deserve. And I don’t care if it drives you mad, I’m going to nag and poke and make you eat some goddamned food. If I have to get a funnel and force feed you like a sick chicken every day, I will.”

She gasped as his audacity. “How dare you talk to —” 

“No! I’m done with, with whatever this was!” he said with a dismissive gesture at her before grabbing his broom and storming towards the broom shed. She couldn’t help the bit of panic skittering up her spine as he walked away from her, but calmed as she saw him make a beeline for Harry, broom in hand. He wasn’t apparating away. There weren’t wards keeping him from her. He wasn’t captured and there wasn’t a locket. It was just her he wanted to be rid of...

Books and papers held tightly to her chest, she marched towards the house. She let out a frustrated yell and tried to kick a stick in anger. She spectacularly missed and ended up dropping everything in her hands, the breeze blowing her few notes away from her.

“Oh bloody brilliant!” she cursed under breath, chasing them down. Far too late in the pursuit she realized she’d dropped her wand by her books, and going back to get it might make her lose her notes for good. One piece of paper was thankfully stopped by a bit of overgrown grass, but the other kept blowing away, just out of reach every time she stooped to pick it up. The parchment finally hooked itself on the bottommost branch of an overgrown shrub. She was crawling on her stomach to get the errant paper when she heard Harry and Ron nearby. Not wanting to see Ron as she was still quite peeved, she stayed low in the shrubbery.

“ — right? I really think she could go professional,” Harry was saying as they put away the brooms.

“Yeah. If we could get Gin on the Cannons then they might do well next year.”

“Given the Harpies poster in her room, I’d say that’s an uphill battle.”

“Yeah, well, most things are an uphill battle with the women in my life,” Ron said with a rueful chuckle.

Hermione rolled her eyes, stretching her arm out towards her parchment. Fingers almost touched the edge of the paper. She finally yanked it towards her and scooted out from the shrub when there was a gust of wind. The shed door shut with a great slam making her jump.

In seconds an ear splitting explosion thrashed her eardrums. Dust and wood flew in every direction. Her ears rang as she struggled to make sense of what had happened.

Where the door to the shed used to be there was now a splintered mass of wood falling to the ground. Wood dust and particles of debris were still settling in the air. Ron was coughing and turned away from the mess while Harry stood stock still, wand pointed at the shed. His eyes were wide and fearsome, focusing on where the door stood, holding on by one lone warped hinge. She’d only seen Harry look this way during a battle. 

“Harry? You alright?” Ron wheezed, giving a cough and waving at the cloud of dust around his face. 

Harry didn’t respond. His look was wild and senseless, not acknowledging Ron’s presence at all. If she had her wand she would have frozen Harry in place. Why had she left her wand behind the one time she needed it? She wanted to cry out to Ron to step away from him, but her voice caught in her throat. All that came out was a squeek.

“Mate?”

Harry’s blank eyes finally turned to Ron, and if she thought the feral look on his face was bad, she was ill prepared for the sight of his face beginning to crumple. He looked so close to tears she could barely stand it. 

“You’re - you’re alright,” Ron murmured, slowly standing beside Harry, approaching him like a wounded animal. He didn’t touch Harry, but stood rather close. 

Harry shook his head and just stood, trying to calm his breathing, hands shaking and wand gripped so hard it looked as if he’d snap it.

Ron finally put a hand on their friend’s arm, but Harry flinched away.

“I just… I - I need a moment… I just… I need…” he looks hopelessly about, taking deep gulps of air.

Ron nodded, backing away only a few paces. Harry removed his glasses to shakily wipe at his eyes while Ron checked on the shed. She could see him keeping an eye on Harry the whole time, even as he secured the brooms and repaired the door. It looked nearly as it had before, though the middle section of the wood now had a subtle warp to it.

“It’s all fixed, Harry.”

That seemed to snap Harry’s attention to the present. He looked away from Ron for one final wipe of his eyes.

“The fuck… the fuck is wrong with me… What the hell?” he said, not allowing himself to fully cry. Ron winced.

“We’re all a bit jumpy after everything.”

“No… not like that… I… I could have hurt you!” Harry almost wailed.

“I’d’ve blocked you just fine,’ Ron said with a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Hermione didn’t like that one bit. Could Ron honestly stand much of a chance against Harry’s fast reflexes? The thought of Harry inflicting that spell on Ron instead of the shed made her want to cry as badly as Harry’s tear filled gaze. “You weren’t really aiming at me, though, were you? Just the door that slammed, right?”

“I just… I just did it on instinct… I didn’t even hesitate…” Harry shook his head. “God, what if someone had been there? Ginny or Hermione...”

Ron’s appeared torn. She could tell he was just as concerned as Harry about it. How could he not be? 

“But no one was there,” Ron said reassuringly. “After the last year, it’d be weird if you weren’t fast on the draw now.”

“I could’ve killed you.” Harry’s hand shakily threaded through his hair. “I’m not safe to be around…” 

“Well, what’s new? Undesirable Number One and all that,” Ron snorted. Harry looked pained and Ron quickly sobbered his expression. “‘Ok, so… Not your best moment, this, but we can work on it, can’t we? Maybe try next time to just... not do a spell first thing. If you have to point your wand, do it. I do it too— but no spells until you have a chance to give it a proper look, eh?”

Harry mutely nodded and gave a great sniff.

“Want some tea?”

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug, which meant he’d accept the tea and company without complaint. The two went to the house and she saw Ron put an arm around his mate, giving him one of those manly one armed squeezes she’d seen them do. Harry didn’t shrug it off. 

Hermione sat on the ground, clutching the papers to her chest, for how long she didn’t know. She felt thoroughly ashamed for how terse she’d been with him. Earlier he’d called her a hypocrite, and he’d been very right about it.

The way she’d been so combative with Ron when he was just trying to help her was exactly what she’d censured Harry for earlier that morning. He was so kind and thoughtful and she threw it back in his face. Her vicious words made it that much worse when she knew very well what all Ron was dealing with… It was a wonder he put up with her at all. How long would he be able to? Would any of them?

Her hands fumbled as she wiped the dirt off her clothes. She slowly ambled to the rest of her things, a terrible numbness leaking into her limbs and mind with every movement. Book bag properly packed, she made her way to the house. 

Harry was sitting outside with some tea and, slouched low in the wooden chair with long legs fully extended in front of him, was Ron. To anyone that didn’t know Ron well, they’d say he was just a nonchalant teenager, the way he almost lazily drooped off the chair. He even had a bit of a smirk as he chatted at Harry. But she could see the little things that gave away how very tense he was. The set of his mouth was thinner than usual, his shoulders were tensed, his wand was right at his fingertips, and his eyes were worriedly tracing over Harry, studying him like a chess board.  

He’d always had the ability to unflinchingly offer friendship, irreverence and comfort, and it never failed to warm her all over. It was probably what most made her love him. She loved everything about him, truth be told. She imagined she always had. It was hard to keep from shouting it across the garden.

As she approached Harry stared down at his tea, but looked markedly better than he had. Ron glanced up at her with a questioning look on his face, smirk fading to something more serious.

“Ron… Could I talk with you a moment?”

He gave a glance to Harry who waved him off. “‘M fine.”

“Yeah, we can talk,” Ron said with a wary nod, putting aside his cup by the chair. He silently followed Hermione across the yard to behind the back of his father’s shed. It was cool and shaded by a few trees and bushes, affording them privacy. She put up most of the charms she had during the horcrux hunt and dropped her book bag to the ground. 

With little warning she pounced upon him, her arms around his neck, bringing him low enough for their lips to meet. At first he was so stunned he did little but stand there, arms hovering over her waist, but after her tongue worked its way into his mouth he suddenly pulled away.

“What’s going on? You were yelling at me not ten minutes ago and—”

“And now I’m kissing you,” she said before impatiently pulling him down to her lips.

“But why—?” 

“Because you’re you,” she murmured impatiently, nipping his bottom lip to encourage him to continue. 

Whatever doubts he had seemed quashed, for he promptly took control of their kiss. An arm swept around her, embracing her tightly against his strong form. His other hand traced its way through her hair. For a moment she worried at how frizzy it must have been, but as his touch lowered to her neck making her body buzz she found she didn’t care about her hair in the least.

A raw heat coursed through her as the kisses grew in intensity. The smell of fresh grass, sweat, and his hair was filling her senses. Her legs felt wobbly as his hands brushed against her flesh. The hand on her back drifted a bit up her top, making her let out a gasp.

Forcing herself to take a breath, she gently pushed him back from her. His hold on her quickly went slack, and his brows wrinkled with concern.

“Too much? Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I just was thinking we should get more comfortable. Maybe - maybe lying down?” she said, struggling to add a notion of calmness into her tone. Flushed and lips slightly swollen he blinked at her.

“Er, yeah,” he hoarsely responded after a few moments. “Yeah, sure."

With a few quick spells her book bag had turned into a blanket on the ground and began to seat herself. Yes, this looked like a comfortable enough spot to lie down. They’d never lain together as they kissed, and her stomach was anxiously flipping over it. She wasn’t worried about their intimacy increasing —  no, she was really rather excited for that — she wasn’t sure her skills would be up to the task. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, how to position herself, and certainly didn’t know how Ron wanted to be touched and caressed. 

She knew about the machinations of coitus from books and a rather prolonged talk with her mother, complete with charts, but what about everything else leading up to that? Almost everything surrounding romantic physical intimacy she picked up from erroneous sources. Movies, tawdry romance novels of her mothers that she had scanned through, and random comments from other students made up the majority of her knowledge, if it could even be called that. There didn’t seem to be researched text books that taught you how to touch and kiss properly. If there were such a book, she was fairly certain Ron had read it.

The way Ron kissed and touched her… He seemed to know exactly what to do every time. Was it from all his practice with Lavender? That thought was rather souring. Well, practice made perfect then, because it all felt perfect to her.

Ron lowered himself to the ground, a bit more awkwardly than she as he was all long limbs. Nerves shot through her as she tried to decide how to approach him now that they were both on the blanket. Should she just lie down immediately? Pounce him again? All she knew was if they didn’t continue soon she might go mad.

She was jarred from her fretting by Ron playfully bumping his shoulder against hers. He gave her a boyish smile that calmed her a bit. His hand rested beside hers, but he made no move to touch her. He just stared at her with that easy crooked smile. His slight dimple in his right cheek twitched, and she quickly put a hand to cup it. She grazed her fingers across the rough copper hairs on his face. Dappled light hit across his stubble, highlighting different shades of amber and saffron. She was suddenly acutely aware of how he was very much becoming a man. 

She leaned in and the passion of earlier was immediately ignited, making all her worries vanish. He bent his head to kiss her, and it seared through her. The kiss went on for a long while, her palms slowly moved down his chest, and his hands similarly wandered. Somehow she ended up on her side, leg twining around his. His hand that had been at her back slid down until it rested on her buttocks giving them a firm squeeze and they both moaned in unison. Puffs of laughter began to break their kiss, and they both giddily smiled at one another.

“Well, I guess we both liked that, then” she breathlessly panted.

“Fuck yeah,” he grinned, pulling her close again, briefly seizing an earlobe between his teeth. His mouth travelled down her neck finding the spot that always made her turn boneless, gasping and frantic for more touches. 

“And...” he said, punctuating each move down the column of her neck with a kiss, “I guess...” Kiss. “You like…” Kiss. “That?”

She nodded her head and muffled a moan, pulling her leaping curls aside so he could thoroughly kiss and suck along her neck. 

Her hips rolled against his, and he grunted into her ear, hips automatically mimicking her motion. She was shocked to feel the hardness between his legs pressing into her thigh. He seemed to realize this too because he turned his face away just a bit and gave an unintelligible swear. He began to let go of her, apologizing.

Hermione pulled him tightly against her again, her hips twitching against his. “I like it.”

He let out a deep hoarse “fuuuck” that rumbled through her chest. Their kisses became frantic, and she let out a pleased whimper as his hand went up her shirt, cupped her breast and thumbed the nipple. One of her hands weaved its way through his ginger locks, the other danced down the front of his chest to the edge of his shirt, feeling the wiry hairs just disappearing down his waistband.

She’d never been drunk before, but she now knew what intoxication felt like. Her mind was buzzing yet full at the same time. There was nothing but the blaring thoughts of Ron’s hands pressing solidly into her curves. His mouth perfectly molded against hers. His tongue made wicked thoughts and flames flow down her body. 

“Fuck… ‘Mione…” He gave a hiss and thrust against her, hand delightfully clasping her breast.

Their movements seemed to be hurtling towards something Hermione couldn’t quite place, and her thighs squeezed around his as her center found an even more pleasurable angle to grind against him. 

“Yesss,” she choked out. She pushed her hips more forcefully against him, seam of her jeans rubbing up and down his hardness with complete abandon.

She was dancing closer and closer to the edge, his solid form overwhelming her, the different sensations filling her with a hot lust she’d never experienced before. The jolts fired between her legs built higher and higher. She arched tightly against him, hardly able to breath. 

And then she was cuming, suddenly and so forcefully she let out a loud wailing cry. 

Her muscles twitched and trembled as she stilled against him, feeling awfully close to fainting. Ron gave a few last thrusts of his hips, giving a deep lust-filled moan before similarly seizing, clutching her close to him. They both went boneless, collapsing into each other, left as nothing but a panting tumble of limbs. 

They spent a few hazy minutes holding one another, her head nuzzled into his chest. After a time one of Ron’s hands caressed her hair, attempting to smooth the curls back behind her ear. Wild and a bit sticky with sweat, it clung around his fingers. He made several failed attempts to disentangle himself, without also smothering Hermione’s face in curls.

“It’s like bloody Devil’s Snare,” he chuckled. “Should I light a fire?”

Hermione normally would have blushed pink over a tease about her wild hair, but her mind felt blissfully warm and blank for the first time in weeks.

“I’ve got it,” she lazily smiled back, pushing back all her hair behind her head.

He kissed her sticky forehead and broadly grinned before squinting down their bodies and showing a look of mild distaste. “Ah... where’s my wand?”

She looked down and saw a spreading dark patch on his jeans and one a bit further down his leg. Hermione felt her face crimson as she realized the second stain on his jeans was from her. They sheepishly rolled apart and sat up to get their wands and say a few spells, before turning back to look at one another.

“That was...” he said with a breathless grin.

“Really nice,” Hermione finished. She knew she must have a foolishly besotted look on her face. 

“Really fucking hot.” Ron nodded, ducking his head to kiss her lips as she furrowed her brows at his language. She couldn’t keep her scowl up, and pulled back grinning. 

“It was, wasn’t it?” she laughed. He smiled down at her and one of his hands stroked up and down her upper arm. 

Had she ever felt so care free? 

A sudden pop of nearby Apparition startled them from their reverie, immediately popping the elation she’d felt bubbling through her. It burnt away like morning mist.

Ron was on his feet, a furrowed scowl on his face, turning him from affable lover to menacing warrior in seconds. Hermione quickly joined him, tightly gripping her wand at her side. Whoever it was did not take any care to tread softly. The sound of heavy footfalls came their way, and Hermione exhaled a breath when she saw who was walking towards the house.

“Oh! It’s George!” she said in relief, letting her wand arm go lax at her side. She turned to Ron, expecting to see relief flooding his face. His wayward brother had finally returned home!

She never expected to see a brooding worried expression. 

Ron silently paced forward before he remembered himself, looking back at her. 

“Can you conjure a mirror or something for us? We need to get sorted and back to the house,” he said, brows crinkling even further as he squinted at brother. George had slowed his pace and stood stock still, watching the house.

Hermione silently conjured a mirror for them. Preoccupied by the sudden shift in Ron’s mood she barely took the time to glance at herself as he quickly straightened his clothes and made sure to spell away the telltale signs of a heated snogging session. She finally took the time to sort her own appearance out when she realized she had stubble burns along her face and neck, along with a love bite at her jugular. She quickly covered those up with some glamours, willing herself to remember to use a tincture for them once she got in the house.

Her hair was a lost cause of snarled knots, so she put it into a large bun at the top of her head. The mirror faded out of existence just as she put the final touch on her hair. Ron undid the security spells around them, while Hermione transfigured the blanket back into a book bag. 

“Do I look alright?” she asked, wanting to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything that could give away their previous activities. 

“Sure,” he said with a cursory glance before striding towards George, shoulders tense.

Nothing could account for his sober response to his brother returning, at least as far as Hermione could figure. 

“Oi! George,” Ron called out. 

George gave a start and turned around. Hermione gasped at his appearance. He was unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes, and his skin, normally a bit ruddy, was a sickly pale. He looked as if he’d been hunting Horcruxes.

“Where’d you two come from?” George asked, voice sounding a touch hoarse. Both Ron and Hermione began to color. He squinted at them before his mouth twitched. “Oh I see!”

“We were just at the broom shed,” Hermione protested.

“Yeah, our brooms are notorious for leaving love bites,” George teased, pointing to where Hermione’s neck met her shoulder.

“Ron! I asked you if I looked alright!” she squealed, conjuring another mirror. 

“Don’t worry. If he’s leaving marks like that on your neck, he probably thinks you look alright,” George said with a low laugh. Hermione glanced at Ron and expected to see him churlishly bristling at his brother’s tease.

Instead he looked at the house and bit his lip. “Hermione, could you go on to the house?”

George’s expression quickly turned grim. 

“I… ” she hesitated, unsurely looking between them. Ron looked down at her, for no more than a second, but his intense blue gaze immediately convinced her to comply. “Of course. Should I tell them George is here?”

“Not yet,” Ron answered for the pair of them, crossing his arms to regard his brother. Silence stretched between them, barbed and filled with import Hermione had no access to. She was terribly curious to know what was happening in this hidden exchange, but quickly realized nothing would be said as long as she stood there.

With some nonsensical excuse she trotted to the house. Inside the kitchen she found Ginny at the counter, letting out a laugh and leaning her head backwards to look at Harry whose arms were wrapped around her waist. A half sliced tomato lay forgotten on the cutting board.

She gave an awkward throat clearing to alert them to her presence. They didn’t immediately leap apart, but Harry rather slowly extricated himself from Ginny. Hermione shuffled through the door up to the loo to properly get rid of the love bites and stubble burn Ron had left her with. When she was sure there were no marks left untended, she scampered into Ginny’s room to peer down into the Weasley’s back yard. She could just make out George and Ron’s red hair through the branches of a tree, but frustratingly that’s all she could see. She felt a touch guilty for trying to spy on them, but that was only because Ron was acting so cagey! Something was going on between the two brothers, and she was determined to find out what.

Returning to the kitchen she found Ginny and Harry had finished slicing produce and set out ingredients for everyone to assemble their own sandwiches.

Ron stumped into the room a moment later, but George was nowhere to be seen. Hermione shot him a questioning look. He shook his head before ushering her into the living room and leaning into her, his mouth almost touching her ear.

“He’s still dithering outside.”

“What did you two talk about?” 

“Nothing much,” he said with a shrug. “Mostly checking that he was alright…”

Somehow that didn’t seem like the whole truth. She searched his face, the way he tried to school it to a calm expression, the small downturn of his mouth, and the slight flush across his freckles. He must have caught the argument in her eyes, because he quickly cut her off.

“I can’t force him to come in, and I don’t want to set up Mum and Ginny for disappointment if he bails, so I’m not saying anything, and neither are you.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she assured him, trying not to prickle at his commanding tone. 

“Ron, Hermione, we have owls!” Harry called out to them.

“Be right there,” Ron answered, his serious expression robotically flickering into a smile before he entered the kitchen. “Fare looks good. Thanks, Gin.”

Hermione felt a chill settle around her. When had he become so good at putting on smiles that didn’t meet his eyes?

A handsome horned owl with a Ministry of Magic crest around its neck sat perched on the kitchen windowsill, looking about the room in a terribly imperious way. Harry and Ginny stood next to the bird.

“Aren’t you a proud one,” said Ginny, stroking the bird on its feathered chest before feeding it an owl treat.

Hermione primly seated herself at the worn kitchen table, expecting Ron to take a seat beside her. Instead he took a moment to get her a glass of water and an apple. He placed them in front of her with a pointed look. She ignored his gaze and fixed her sights on the owl at the window.

“You should wait until you’ve taken the letter before you fatten them up,” said Harry, though he seemed just as eager to pet the pretty thing, looking at the bird in a longing sort of way. Moments like this made Hermione’s heart clench at how he’d lost his Hedwig. “Don’t want it flying off before we take the letters.”

The owl gave Harry a sharp peck on the finger, as if offended he’d impugn its honor in such a way. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean it,” Harry said with a bowed head before removing three indentically sealed letters and bringing them to the table and handing one each to Ron and Hermione. With the owl gone, Ginny went to retrieve Mrs Weasley for lunch. 

Harry had a grim look on his face, but quickly cracked his letter open, hesitating in reading it as he waited for Ron and Hermione to open theirs as well. Ron pursed his lips at his unopened letter and tapped it on the table, glancing to Hermione then back to the parchment.

A wild thought rushed through Hermione’s head. What if the Ministry was going to bring them before the Wizengamot for crimes during the war? They’d broken into the Ministry, Gringotts... Harry even did an Unforgivable there!

Hermione’s hands shook as she inspected the crisp envelope, and for an awful moment she thought she might faint. The parchment was of the finest quality Hermione had ever seen, thick and flecked with little pieces of silvery material woven into the paper. The seal on it was dark purple and had the Ministry of Magic crest pressed into it, making for an intimidating sight.

“Real official, innit?” Ron said into her ear. Hermione nodded back, hesitating before breaking the seal. They each turned to their letters.

To Miss Hermione Granger,

In the name of the Ministry of Magic, the Minister of Magic takes pleasure in presenting the Order of Merlin, First Class to you. 

“What?” Hermione gave a yelp, knocking over her glass of water that pooled across the table. 

“What is it?” asked Mrs Weasley from the stairs, Ginny rushing past her to Harry’s side and reading the letter with wide eyes. 

“Does yours say this too?” Hermione asked Ron, shoving her letter at him. He scanned over it and nodded. 

“Harry?” Hermione asked, cheeks flushed, handing her letter over to him. Harry nodded as well. She grabbed it back and voraciously continued reading.

This is to award your extraordinary heroism in the Battle of Hogwarts, and other aid you rendered to the war effort. You have distinguished yourself with conspicuous bravery, valor and intrepidity, at great risk to your own life, going above and beyond any wizard or witch’s duty during the last war. Your actions reflect the highest traditions and tenets of wizardom, and for all this we thank you.

We will be holding a ceremony in August to formally present you with your Order of Merlin, should you choose to accept it.

The Ministry also wants to extend an opportunity for someone of your caliber to continue such works as we rebuild our community. We are offering you the position of Deputy Auror, to begin as soon as you are able. After our abbreviated training of several months, you would be promoted to full Auror. Attached are forms detailing this position, and a meeting must be scheduled for the final papers to be signed, should you agree to accept the position.

The Ministry commends you for all your service, and waits for your reply,

Thank you,

Kingsley Shacklebolt Minister of Magic 

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” asked Mrs Weasley, marching over to them arms akimbo.

“They’ve been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class,” Ginny said, breathlessly looking between them all, just as flabbergasted as they were.

“What?” Mrs Weasley cried out, grabbing for a letter to read as well. As her eyes got to the bottom of the page she gave a horrid yowl before hugging Ron and crying. “Ohh Ron… I can’t believe— I mean... We all knew Harry would, but… Oh Ronnie!”

Ron silently patted his mother’s shoulder, still in his place staring at the paper with wide eyes.

“Let me see it?” Mrs Weasley asked her son, and he dazedly handed it over. “Order of Merlin! And… Kingsley wants you to become an Auror? But you haven’t even graduated from Hogwarts yet!”

Ron, uncharacteristically quiet, gave a shrug and looked to Hermione and Harry. 

“And we didn’t even have to take our NEWTs,” Harry replied, giving Ron a conspiratorial grin.

“Makes it pretty clear how desperate the Ministry must be for recruits to ask me to join them,” Ron said in a low voice, barely audible as he shook his head. Hermione knew this was a perfect moment to intervene and stop him from his self deprecation, but found herself unable to form the words needed to boost him. Luckily his mother stepped in.

“Oh of course they’d want you, Ron! You’ve an Order of Merlin!” Mrs Weasley proclaimed, clutching Ron to her breast again, great fat tears forming in her eyes. “You all were so brave… ”

“Is everything alright?” they heard from the kitchen door. 

There stood George. His shadowed and sunken eyes darted around his childhood home with a strange caginess. He hadn’t set foot at the Burrow since well before the war ended, and didn’t particularly look like he wanted to be there now.

Mrs Weasley, thoroughly overwhelmed by the sight of him on top of all the Ministry news, broke into wet sobs that were even louder than before. She bustled across the room to give George a crushing hug he perfunctorily returned. 

“These three just got Order of Merlin, First Class, and have been invited to join the Aurors, no NEWTs required,” Ginny reported as she went up to hug George as well. 

“Oh is that all? Nothing impressive like landing yourselves on the Chocolate Frog cards?” George said with a dry smile, slowly extracting himself from his mother’s grasp. “Got any food?”

“Ginny set out some sandwich fixings. Here, I’ll make you one” Ron said, getting up from the table.

“See, Ickle Ronniekins making me a sandwich— definitely a more impressive feat than medals and dream careers,” George said, slumping to the kitchen table and sitting beside Hermione. He smelled a bit of sweat and stale drink. She had to wonder how he’d been spending the past weeks. 

“I’m so happy to have you home! I was beginning to think you’d never come back,” Mrs Weasley bemoaned, bustling the kitchen to get some tea going.

“Well… I’m back,” George said, resting his elbows on the table, looking every inch as weary as Hermione felt. “At least for a bit… Might need to take this lot out to celebrate Ron’s sandwich skills later tonight. Big deal, that.”

“It’s nice to have something to celebrate, for once,” Harry said with a nod. “What are you thinking?”

“I dunno, maybe hit the pub in the village,” George said with a shrug. 

“No, not the village,” Ron said with a strange amount of firmness, thrusting a full plate of sandwiches in front of George, then another in front of Hermione. His expression had turned grim, and his mouth had become a firm straight line. Hermione stared at him as George, Ginny and Harry speculated over where to spend their evening. Where everyone else was happy to come up with ideas, Ron had grown completely silent. No one else seemed to have noticed the change in Ron’s demeanor, though.

“I’m a bit nervous about Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade— we wouldn’t have much privacy,” Harry noted. 

“Harry’d probably be swarmed with people,” said Ginny.

“I know a Muggle club we could hit up,” said George lowly, so his mother couldn’t hear over her ministrations with the kettle. “We’d need to make you all some Muggle I.D.s, but I can manage that easy enough.”

“I’ve never been to a Muggle club! Do I have to dress up?” asked Ginny, eyes bright.

“A bit, yeah— I bet Hermione can help you with that.”

“I’ve never been to a club either!” Hermione let out, feeling nervous at the prospect of it. The most she'd seen of clubs was quickly and nervously walking by them in London. It didn’t seem a good fit for her.

“Well then Angelina can help,” George said, making sure his mother wasn’t able to hear. “How ‘bout we meet at my hotel after dinner here. Round eight thirty? Gives the girls a chance to dress up a bit, and us lads a chance to pre-drink a bit before we leave.”

Ron had little enthusiasm on his face, but seeing George, Ginny and Harry’s attitude about it, gave a nod. Hermione nodded along, standing from the table. She went to the kitchen door and gave Ron a tilt of her head so he’d follow. He quickly took up with her, but not before grabbing a few sandwiches in a clean dish cloth.

“You don’t look too keen on going to a club,” said Hermione as they went out.

“I’m not. You don’t seem too keen on it either, though.”

“No… It sounds exhausting. We wouldn’t even leave properly until nine or later. Plus who wants to be scantily clad in an ill-lit place with banging music and alcohol?”

 A small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Scantily clad?”

“The ‘dress code’ for women is a bit underdressed in clubs for my liking. Always something low cut, or short and strappy. Lots of skin.”

“Hmmm if you’re there, I think a Muggle club might not be so bad,” he said, eyeing her body up and down.

“Well, Muggle clubs are very different from any of the pubs or parties you’ve been to, unless you’ve secretly gone to, I don’t know, a Wizard rave of some sort.”

“I’ve seen lots of wizards raving about lots of things the past few years. No idea what that has to do with Muggle clubs.”

“A ‘rave’ is a wild sort of dance party,” she explained. “Politicians were even speaking out against them a few years ago. It’s just not a natural fit for someone like me.”

“We don’t have to go, if you don’t want to, but at the same time,” said Ron, taking her hand to draw her close, chuckling a bit. “I wouldn’t mind getting to see you adhering to the Muggle club dress code.”

She smiled at his cheek, a blush warming her face as his hands encircled her waist.

“Well… it might be fun to celebrate a bit. We’ve not had much chance to celebrate this year.”

“Order of Merlin! Blimey… It feels a bit unreal… You don’t suppose George is pranking me?”

“Of course not!” she laughed.

“Awfully coincidental timing… We get the letters, seconds later there’s George... This is the kind of shit prank I can see him pulling for his big debut back at the Burrow.”

Hermione’s face sobered a bit. 

“I don’t think we’ll see him debuting any pranks soon… He looked so tired, and —” she bit her lip, not wanting to alarm him, but also knowing it was best to talk honestly about it. “Ron, I think he has been drinking today. I could smell it on him…”

Ron nodded and his hold on her slackened by a margin. “The last time I visited him he was deep in a bottle… We didn’t get too deep into it. I don’t want to push him too hard about it right now.”

“Well won’t a club be a rather bad environment for him?”

“I’d rather he be drunk with company than without.”

“I suppose… Well, maybe we should do this, if not to have fun, then just to watch out for George.”

Ron kissed the top of her head. “Always a thoughtful one, you.”

She hummed at his attention.

“So… The Aurors…” Ron said with a nervous swallow.

“Oh that!” Hermione said with a snort.

“Yeah… What are your thoughts on it?” he said, gently pulling himself from her grasp.

“A few years ago I might have been flattered at being asked, but I think they have a lot of nerve asking us to go straight into anything like that, given the year we’ve had! And we haven’t even finished our education!”

“So you don’t want to be an Auror?”

“Of course not! I’d rather, I don’t know, scrape barnacles off of dragons. Plus they must know our whole class has been invited back to Hogwarts,” she said with a small scoff. “Honestly, I don’t know how they can expect anyone in their right mind to take such an offer.”

Ron grimaced as he scratched at his jaw, hairs rasping against his fingers with every movement. 

“Yeah, probably have to be rather mental…” he said, going a bit pale as his mouth turned down.

“Oh no…” Hermione said with a sudden realization. “You don’t think Harry will take that offer, do you?” 

His eyebrows rose. “Yeah, he will.”

“Of course he would! He’s just the sort of brave stubborn person to do it, isn’t he? We’ll just have to convince him not to!” she said, about to march back into the house, but Ron caught her arm. 

“Hermione… He’s going to join the Aurors. There’s nothing that’ll stop him.”

“Well not with that attitude!”

“You saw him in there, he was smiling and happy about it.”

“I don’t care if he’s over the moon about it! It’s dangerous, and we’ve been through enough! He can’t just go and throw his life away—”

“How would being an Auror be throwing his life away?” Ron asked, giving a penetrating look. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. “It’s a good career.”

“Of course it is, but it’s dangerous! He could get hurt! Especially without all the training!”

“Well… Let’s look at what training he’s already gotten,” he hoarsely began. “He’s quick on his feet. He’s fairly athletic. He’s trained for years for this really… Giant spiders, tons of duels, battles and snatchers. Was on the quidditch team—”

“Oh what does that have to do with it!” she irritatedly asked.

“There are missions that require flying skills, and it shows he can work with a team,” Ron rattled off in a low voice. “Plus he doesn’t have slow reflexes and has the ability to keep his head about him in battles ok enough… Yeah he could be an alright Auror, even without a seventh year under his belt. He wouldn’t be throwing his life away. And Kingsley says he’s good enough. He’d know that, wouldn’t he?”

“I think you’re painting an overly rosy picture.”

“Well, he’s signing up no matter if he’d be shit or not,” Ron growled in protest, looking oddly heated about it. “So it’s best to just support him. It’s his choice, after all.”

Hermione crossed her arms and shook her head, thinking of Harry’s rattled response just earlier that day. He was in no fit condition to see action again. She would have argued this to Ron, but he didn’t know she’d seen it, and didn’t feel like confessing she’d been spying on them.

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it… But you’ll have to accept it,” Ron said evenly, though his eyes looked anguished. “You will, won’t you?”

She let out a huff. “I… I will once he’s in the Aurors, but until then, I make no promises.”

“It’s something he has to do,” he said, staring right through her. She’d never seen him so adamant about anything for Harry before. His eyes traced over her face, searching for something. “You can understand that, right?”

“Fine, Ron, I can understand it!” she said with a small eye roll before smiling at him. “Harry’s lucky to have you defend his ridiculous choices.”

He gave a shrug, staring at the ground, looking rather glum.

“Ron, Hermione, dears, come and get some lunch!” Mrs Weasley called from the house.

“No escaping food in the Weasley house,” Hermione murmured, putting a hand into Ron’s that seemed to startle him from his reverie.

“Er right… Better get inside and down a few sandwiches… Need the energy for later tonight,” he said, still looking every inch of him miserable.

“You alright?”

“Just hungry,” he said with a smile. This one didn’t reach his eyes either.

_____________________________________________________ Author’s note: Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it please reblog or review! :D I can’t emphasize how much they motivate me to write more! :D

[cynicalrainbows]

The Next Best Thing Chapter 20

She hasn’t been stood out in the hall all that long, but when she gets back under the covers, she starts to shiver and then she can’t stop. She’s shaking so hard, she wonders if she’s really sick- maybe she’s caught The Flu or one of the scary diseases that they have in books, Scarlet Fever or Galloping Consumption. The thought makes her hopeful for a moment- because surely Catalina won’t make her leave if she’s really properly ill? But then, she wonders, what if she DOES? That would be even worse- to be ill and to not even be at home, like when she was little and didn’t feel well at Rainbow Camp and still had to stay all night because the leader said it was Just Homesickness. Except that the Just Homesickness turned out to be chickenpox. (She hopes this doesn’t turn out to be chickenpox.)

Eventually, the shaking stops and the bed feels cozier but it’s still hard to get comfy. 

The new knowledge lies heavy on her like a weight and she can’t stop wondering what’s going to happen.

Is she going to have to leave first thing in the morning? Or later? Will she be allowed to pack- and if she is, will she be allowed to take the books that Catalina brought her, the toys and clothes and shoes….or will she have to leave them behind, so Catalina can get rid of them or take them back to the shop? 

(Will she have to leave Little Women behind, half unread?)

Maybe though she’ll just keep them, and give them to another little girl- a nicer, quieter, better goddaughter, who never slams doors or complains or argues or forgets things and who always, always, always tells the truth.

She thinks about this little girl folding over the pages in her books and wearing her beautiful new otter pajamas and making bracelets with her new Rainbow Loom and feels sick.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever fall asleep- her bed is very empty without Tarkar and her pillow is uncomfortably damp and cold under her cheek- but she does, somehow.

She wakes up in the quiet grey light of the very early morning with her heart pounding from a dream of being held under the water at the swimming pool as punishment for not being able to swim- and she’s JUST about to go and take refuge in Catalina’s bed when she remembers.

Catalina doesn’t want her any more.

And this is her last day.

This might be the last morning she ever has in her room- No. Not her room. Not her room anymore.

Catalina smiles at her the next morning when she comes into the kitchen already up and dressed and it’s horrible, having to see how happy the prospect of getting rid of Cathy is making her.

‘You’re up early mija- I was just about to come and wake you.’

She can hardly bear to look at Catalina at all- she just shrugs when Catalina asks if she slept well.

(Catalina also very gently asks if she should put a load of laundry on this morning, which is just a bit strange because Catalina never usually asks her opinion on whether or not chore-things need to done, apart from when she asks things like whether Cathy’s bedroom needs to be tidied up, which isn’t really a question at all because the answer- no matter what Cathy says to the contrary- is always yes. So she shakes her head and Catalina nods and says ok.

And then that’s apparently the end of the conversation because Catalina goes and starts making coffee and it’s all very confusing.)

The very worst thing about the morning is the way that Catalina still hasn’t really told her that she’s leaving yet. It makes her think that maybe Catalina doesn’t even want to bother with saying goodbye at all, and maybe someone else is just going to pick her up from school.

(And if that happens, who will pack her things? Or does she have to leave EVERYTHING behind? Surely Catalina won’t make her leave without even a toothbrush?)

She’s anxious enough about it that she decides to pack Tarkar in her bookbag so that no matter what happens to her, she won’t have to leave him behind…..but Catalina sees her trying to fit him in and takes him away, gently but firmly.

‘You can’t take toys to school mija, you know that. He’s still damp anyway.’

It’s true- but she’d rather a not-quite-dry-yet otter than none at all. (Still, she HOPES this means she’ll be coming home- or to what will soon be her old home, she supposes- after school. She can get Tarkar then.)

It’s still frustrating that Catalina hasn’t TOLD her anything though- she picks at her cereal, waiting for the announcement that she’s sure is coming but there’s nothing, just a reminder to eat up quickly and put her shoes on.

Eventually, she manages to screw up all her courage as they’re getting into the car and asks Catalina if she wants to talk to her.

Catalina looks confused for a second and then her face clears- she obviously realises that Cathy heard her the night before, maybe she even planned it to save them an awkward conversation and spoke extra loudly on purpose?

‘We’ll talk once you’re back from school mija- I think that would be for the best.’ She fastens her belt and adjusts her seat angle. ‘You shouldn’t worry about it though, ok? It will all be alright.’

After a moment, she realises Catalina is waiting for her to say something- although she isn’t sure what (to agree that she’s ok with leaving? To apologise and beg to stay?), so she says nothing, just stares at the half-peeled off sticker on the corner of the windscreen until Catalina sighs and turns on the ignition.

Of course it will all be alright for Catalina once she’s gone, she knows that already….but she wishes she could ask what's going to happen to her without the words sticking in her throat like they are now. Where will she go? Will she even be in the same school….or is she going to be sent somewhere else entirely? It’s not as if she has any other family to go to- she overheard enough conversations about how Catalina was ‘all that was left’ to know that. But where does that leave her?

She wonders if she’ll go to a Home- the sort with a Capital H- like in Tracy Beaker and have to learn to be noisy and shouty like those children are on TV. Or maybe she’ll go to an Orphanage (like in Annie, where she’ll have to scrub floors and wash clothes) or even somewhere like in Oliver Twist (where you have to eat gruel and wear rags)?

 (Catalina told her there are no such things any more, but Catalina doesn’t know everything and what if this is like the time that Catalina said that definitely nobody would notice if she parked on a double yellow line for five minutes while she ran into the post office, but they did notice and then Catalina had gotten a ticket and then gotten very annoyed?)

What if she ends up going to a place like that? She tries to remind herself that really, Oliver and Annie were ok (even if they were 9 and 10 rather than 7) and so maybe she’ll be ok too?

But then she thinks about how even Oliver and Annie- despite all the horrible things that came first- ended up getting adopted by nice, kind rich people and didn’t have to stay in the scary places forever. She wishes there was a film about the other children in the orphanages- the ones who ended up there because they got to live with the nice, kind person first and then ruined it. She wishes she could know that those children would be ok.

She walks into school with the hoards of happy, wanted children and feels lonelier than ever.

*

It’s hard to focus on school- or on anything- when she’s got something so scary looming over her. Anne has to dig her hard with her pointy elbow to make her reply when her name is called for registration. 

Her eyes blur too much to read the words on the projector during assembly and a teacher from one of the older classes directs a glare at her when she notices Cathy isn’t singing. She doesn’t want to get into trouble so she tries mouthing words- any words, nonsense words- instead but then it feels like she’s just making faces so she stops….and thankfully, the song ends before she can be properly told off over it.

She doesn’t put up her hand once during Numeracy and Literacy Hour; Stephen Gardener answers a hard question after she is called upon and gets her answer wrong, and he smirks at her from across the classroom. She doesn’t even care.

(Well. Not VERY much anyway.)

Then her teacher calls her over to her desk when the bell goes for morning playtime.

She thinks at first she’s just going to be reprimanded for daydreaming (and maybe for copying Anne’s sums, if she’s really unlucky, since she’d just not been able to make the numbers work when she tried it herself)....but her teacher looks much more serious than that sort of telling-off would warrant, and when she asks Cathy to sit down, she knows it’s going to be bad.

She wonders then if maybe THIS is it, if she’s going to be taken to her new home during breaktime, like when people are allowed to leave early to go to the dentists.

Instead though, the teacher says that she wants to have a Little Chat. About dinner money. And truthfulness.

Cathy squirms in her chair while the teacher talks about the Importance of Honesty.

‘-and it was such a disappointment to me, dear, as well as to your godmother, because as I said to her, I’ve always said that you’re one of the children who can really be trusted and relied upon…’

It’s awful, the way that consequences unravel like this, slowly and first and then quicker and quicker.

‘You know you can always tell me anything Cathy, but you must see that lying about something that serious…..well, it makes things very hard on me, because what if another child tells me the same thing tomorrow and I didn’t believe him because I was wondering if he might be lying?’

She can’t even look her teacher in the eye, she’s so ashamed- she stares at the clock over the blackboard instead, and watches the hands tick round, but they keep blurring together.

The thought of someone else going hungry and maybe never ever being believed all because of her is too awful to think about, and it makes her wonder if maybe Catalina is right to send her away, if she’s hurting people she hasn’t even met yet, all without meaning to.

‘-and so very unfair for your poor godmother. Imagine how you would feel if she told me something about you that wasn’t true?’

She can’t imagine Catalina doing something like that- that's the sort of thing that she and Anne might do to one another when they’re fighting (like when Anne told the teacher that Cathy had made a face at her when she must have known really that she was just yawning) but it’s not something for grownups to do themselves. She can imagine it would be horrible though- she feels bad enough being told off for something that she knows she definitely DID do.

No wonder Catalina wants to get rid of her.

She almost asks her teacher if maybe SHE knows where she’s going to be sent….but before she can, teacher says that she can run along now.

So she does.

*

She gets out into the playground late and makes it to where Anna and Anne are standing with some other girls just in time to hear Anne say something about ‘winning the swimming race’.

‘You didn’t win!’ The words come out quickly, without her even thinking about them, and Anne scowls at her.

‘I NEARLY won.’ She carries on with what she was saying- about how she’s going to practise opening her eyes under water until it doesn’t hurt so that she won’t even need goggles- but she turns a tiny bit away from Cathy as she does.

It stings, more than it usually would- she can’t bear the thought that she’s turning everyone against her, even Anne- and she wishes she could take the words back. She tries to look like she’s extra interested in what Anne is saying but it’s hard to care about swimming or anything else right now.

‘You wouldn’t know who won anyway-’ Jayne Rochford turns on Cathy, breaking her out of her regret. ‘You were all the way over on the other side of the pool. In the shallow end.’

(She says it the way Cathy imagines you’d tell someone you saw them playing inside a dustbin.)

She’s trying and failing to think of a good response- she WAS in the shallow end, after all- when Kat goes on to say it’s because she can’t swim, just in case the others haven’t quite got it yet, and she has to clench her fists hard to stop herself from yanking one of Kat’s stupid plaits.

‘But I can-’

‘No you can’t-’

‘She CAN swim.’ Anne interrupts before Cathy can say anything, and it’s heartening, even if she says it without a lot of enthusiasm. ‘I’ve seen her.’

‘Then why was she in the shallow end?’

‘Because the swimming teacher made her!’ Anne sounds exasperated that everyone seems more interested in Cathy’s swimming abilities, or lack of, than in her plans for learning to see underwater.

‘Well I think-’

‘No one cares what you think!’ Anne throws up her hands in an excellent imitation of her mother and it’s a relief that even when Anne is a bit annoyed, she’ll always be MORE annoyed at Jayne.

(Anne has still not forgiven Jayne for telling their class that her Mummy thought that Anne’s big brother George was secretly in PRISON rather than in London. Anne had hit Jayne and made her nose bleed and Mary had had to come into school to collect her early and, Anne said, complained all the way home that the phone had rung JUST as she’d finally gotten Baby Catherine down for a nap.)

 Jayne scowls at her, then turns on her heel and stamps off to where the big girls are braiding scoubidous, turning back a couple of times to make sure they all see her going.

Once she’s gone, Anna adds that it’s stupid to make fun of someone just because they can’t swim, and anyway, she bets Jayne can’t do a handstand, even if she CAN swim.

Being able to do a handstand is, it turns out, something Anna is VERY good at, and the conversation drifts away from swimming to everyone trying to do handstands on the grass and arguing about how long their legs stayed upright for.

(Cathy is grateful for the defence. Even though she still sort of wants to insist to everyone that she CAN. And even though she thinks that perhaps a little tiny bit of Anna sticking up for her was just because she wanted to show off about being able to do a handstand.)

Still, she’s grateful Anna is her friend now.

(She’s going to miss her a lot when she has to leave.)

*

The clock ticks away the minutes and hours of the afternoon and she feels wound tight with anxiety the whole time. When the bell rings for the end of school, she almost jumps out of her chair she’s so on edge.

Anne looks at her oddly.

‘Are you ok?’

She nods. Anne doesn’t look as if she believes her.

Catalina is standing alone outside the classroom, waiting to collect her- on time, for once- and she wonders how relieved Catalina is that she’ll never have to make the drive, leave work early, and wait in the drafty school hall not talking to anyone ever again.

Her teacher comes over and Catalina asks for A Quick Word and Cathy wonders what she could possibly have done to end up in trouble since she’s barely said a word...and then she realises that they must be talking about how it’s her last day and not to expect her tomorrow and how Anna can change desks now and have Cathy’s old spot next to Anne rather than sitting her herself.

 (She’s a little bit sad when her teacher says goodbye to her so casually as they leave. It seems that no one will miss her at all.)

Jane is at the flat when they arrive home and she smiles at Cathy like she’s really pleased to see her, tells her how much Anne loved her birthday present, and says how glad she is that they all had a nice time at the sleepover. 

She asks if Cathy liked the birthday cake that Anne saved for her.

Birthdays and sleepovers and the (only very slightly nibbled) piece of cake all feel a very, very long way away to her now, even though it was less than a week ago.

She can’t smile and answer Jane’s questions politely- she’s too anxious- so she just nods and looks at her feet.

(When she thinks Cathy can’t hear, Catalina murmurs to Jane sotto voce that she must just be feeling a bit shy today what with everything going on, and Jane nods.

Cathy hates that they’re talking about her, but she also has a sudden wild urge to cling to Jane’s skirt and beg Jane to let her stay with her so that she doesn’t have to go to an Orphanage. She knows Jane has a spare room, and she wouldn’t take up much space and she hasn’t felt hungry all day so she probably won’t eat much either and then she can still see Anne sometimes….

But she stops herself, and screws her hands into fists. Of course she can’t stay with Jane- Jane can’t even look after Anne and Kitty all the time, so it’s not like she’d be able to look after Cathy. And besides, Jane is nice to her because she’s Anne friend, but it’s not like she cares about Cathy like she does Anne and Kitty. 

Then it occurs to her that since Jane and Catalina are friends too, and that since Jane is here now, that Jane must know what’s going on, that Catalina is tired of her and sending her away. Maybe she’s even here specially to help Catalina break the news.

She doesn’t quite have the courage to actually turn away while Jane is still talking to her, but she keeps her eyes on the carpet and eventually Jane stops saying things that require a response.

Good. She’s a traitor anyway.

*

The social worker smiles a saccharine smile at Cathy when she arrives, and walks around for a bit, saying how lovely things are and admiring the drawings on the fridge and asking questions about them in the way that grownups do when they’re trying to show you how interested they are.

She says that Cathy is excellent at drawing bears and Cathy can’t even be bothered to say that they’re really otters. It doesn’t matter anyway, but Catalina interrupts the woman after a moment to explain what they’re really meant to be. She even smiles at Cathy as she says it, as if Cathy should be grateful, as if she isn’t sending her away, and suddenly Cathy is furious with her.

How can she act so NORMAL? How can she not even care?

She scowls and says that maybe they ARE bears really and that Catalina doesn’t know EVERYTHING. Catalina flushes and starts to tell her rather sharply not to be so rude….and then stops herself, glancing anxiously at the social worker as if she’s said something wrong.

The social worker keeps smiling as if everything is normal and says that whatever they are, they’re lovely and anyway, maybe Cathy would like to go and play now while she talks to Catalina? 

She wouldn’t like that at all, but she goes anyway.

Jane asks if she’d like some company- and Catalina shoots Jane a panicked, pleading look, like Kitty when she gets dropped off at Reception and wants Jane to stay- and Cathy doesn’t even reply, she just leaves.

She doesn’t play though.

She needs to pack.

The only- the only good thing about today is that Tarkar is finally dry and she packs him first in her suitcase. Then her fluffy diary, and her favourite Barbie dolls and her pen that can write in different colours. 

She hesitates over her books- she still isn’t sure whether she’d be allowed to take them with her, and she doesn’t think she can bear packing them and having to unpack them again. (She’s already done that once, and she’s sure that this time, there won’t be a nice Catalina person to replace all the books she’s left behind.)

She’s folding her tshirts when there’s a knock on the door and Catalina pokes her head in.

‘Mija, can you come and-’ she stops ‘What are you doing?’

‘Packing.’ Surely she’s allowed to take SOME things with her? But Catalina’s face is white, like she’s seen something horrible.

She turns on her heel and walks quickly down the corridor, and after a moment Cathy can hear the rise and fall of voices: Catalina sounds upset and she wonders if she’s in trouble for trying to pack things that she isn’t meant to take?

The unfairness of it is too much for her and she upends her suitcase furiously- why is it that grownups can take whatever they want- always, and again and again?

They took her parents, her house, the furniture and the garden. They took her books, the toys that were too big to pack- and now they’re taking everything else, things that she actually owns herself and it’s so unfair, she hate it, she HATES it-

The anger bubbles up; the social worker comes in just as she throws the suitcase at the door- she has to step back to keep from getting hit.

‘Goodness!’

Cathy freezes, wondering if she’s going to get into trouble- maybe the social worker will think she’s REALLY bad now and decide she needs to go to a special home for Bad Girls?

But she doesn’t look angry- the shock clears from her face and she just looks concerned….and then she pastes on a smile.

She smiles- not like everything is normal, but like someone who is determined to smile no matter what- and looks around the room, turning her head this way and that as if she’s at a museum.

(She doesn’t say anything about the clothes lying scattered and half unfolded, or the fact that Cathy has just thrown a suitcase at her.)

‘What a beautiful bedroom!’

Cathy doesn’t reply- it’s not like it will be her bedroom for much longer.

‘And what lovely toys you have- and my! What a lot of books- you must like reading a lot!’

Cathy wants to ask if she remembers taking the stacks of books out of her suitcase and replacing them with boring t shirts and school dresses, if she remembers telling her off for packing books rather than clothes in the first place.

 (She thinks that someone who makes you leave books behind shouldn’t be allowed to sound happy about reading ever again) 

Still, she doesn’t say anything, even though the social worker is looking at her expectantly.

Eventually, after an awkward pause, the woman lets some of the smile leak away (which is good- her face must be aching by now) and she perches herself on Cathy’s desk chair.

‘I think we should have a little chat, dear.’

(She’s always hated being called dear. Dear is for birthday cards and thank you cards and postcards; dear is meant to be written down, not said out loud.)

Reluctantly, Cathy sits down on the edge of her bed. She grips the duvet tighter than tight between two fingers where the social worker can’t see.

‘I’ve heard there’s been a little bit of trouble here, hm?’

She nods.

‘How about you tell me all about it?’

She doesn’t feel like reliving it all so she says ‘Catalina can tell you.’

‘I’d rather hear it from you dear.’

The woman’s smile is implacable and it’s obvious she won’t be put off so she gives in and recounts everything as truthfully as she can, wondering as she does whether this is just a test of some sort.

She tells her about being late waking up, the cheque, not having her swimming things, not wanting to get into trouble, and how things sort of spiralled with her meaning for them to.

She waits, at the end, for the social worker to tell her how well (or how badly) she did, whether or not she left anything out, whether or not she passed the test…..but instead she just nods.

‘And what would YOU like to happen next? If you could choose?’

This means she’s being given some choice over where they send her- but since the social worker doesn’t actually tell her what the options are, she wonders if maybe this also is a test. 

Maybe it’s a test of whether or not she’s going to be greedy and asks for too much- like when you visit a house and get told to help yourself to biscuits but then they make you put the third one back because Two Is Quite Enough, Young Lady.

So she settles for ‘I’d like to live with someone nice. Not in a Home.’ (She tries to make the Capital H clear so that the woman doesn’t just think she means a normal home.)

‘Oh-’ There’s a flicker of surprise on the woman’s face before it’s smoothed over. ‘So you’d like to live somewhere else?’

She knows this is one of those questions grown ups ask you when they already know the answer and are just checking to make sure that you do too- like ‘You’re getting ready for bed, aren’t you?’ or ‘You’re going to pick up those crayons before they get broken, right?’

‘Yes.’

(She doesn’t know why this makes the social worker look so sad- after all, she got the answer right, didn’t she?)

And then the social worker says that they should talk about this All Together.

*

She follows the woman out into the living room, with Tarkar in her arms just in case the social worker tries the same trick on him that she did on Cathy’s books.

(She decides that if she does, she’s going to be like Kitty and bite her hand, even if she’s much, much bigger and more grown up than Kitty is.)

Catalina is sitting up very straight and still on the sofa, but when Cathy comes in, she gets up quickly and goes to kneel in front of her. She takes both of Cathy’s hands in her own (Tarkar crushed awkwardly between them) and Cathy realises that this is the goodbye she’s been waiting for.

 It makes her feel the tiniest bit better that Catalina is obviously so sad to see her going, and she thinks about how she needs to remember all of this because when she’s grown up, it’ll be the last memory she has of Catalina.

There’s a yawning, gaping sadness inside her, waiting to open up.

‘Mija-’ Catalina is blinking a bit too much. ‘I am so sorry. I’m sorry for- for everything- I never should have gotten so angry with you, I shouldn’t have said those things.’ She snatches a gulp of air- her words tumble over one another. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted, I shouldn’t have-’ Her voice dies away and her hands squeeze Cathy’s even tighter.

Cathy’s throat aches so much she can hardly talk but she manages to talk, just about.

 ‘I’m sorry too.’ It’s not a lie- she IS sorry, sorry that she lied at all and sorry that it’s the thing that must have made Catalina begin to not-want her in the first place. It’s very faint but Catalina hears her; she nods.

‘I know, mija. I know. You know I didn’t mean what I said?’ Her eyes are pleading, her mouth is trying to smile; Cathy supposes she wants to finish everything off on a clean slate. ‘I didn’t mean it, I was just- tired and upset and- I promise I would never, ever try and take Maria’s place.’

No chance of that now she is sending Cathy away, so she just nods.

Catalina’s smile wavers and she hesitates.

Cathy waits for her to finish but she doesn’t say anything else, so she figures this must be the end of everything.

‘Catalina-’

‘Yes querida?’

It’s hard to ask but she feels like she has to, she has to KNOW.

‘Am I going to live somewhere….very far away?’

Catalina drops her hands abruptly.

‘What?’ She looks horrified. ‘Oh mija- I know you’re upset with me, I know that, I do and I understand but must you really?’

She’s so confused- why is Catalina looking at her like that, what has she said wrong? Why is she looking so shocked? Nothing makes SENSE anymore-

‘What?’

‘Please Cathy, I couldn’t- I can’t bear the idea of losing you, not after this, not now-’ Tears are sliding down Catalina’s cheeks and she brushes them roughly away with her fingertips and keeps talking. ‘If Maria knew that you- that I-’ It’s as if she can’t even say it- although what it is, Cathy has no idea. ‘Please, can’t we give this another try? I love you mija, so very much, I-’ 

She presses the back of her hand against her mouth, like she’s in pain, and Cathy’s head is whirling, why is Catalina talking as if this is her choice, as if this is something SHE wanted? Why is she making it Cathy’s decision, why is she twisting things around after the phonecall, why-

Nothing makes sense, she’s not sure of anything anymore, and she can’t work things out in her own head either because of the weight of everyone’s eyes upon her as they all wait for her to respond, to see what she’s going to say, but how can she respond, she doesn’t know what the right answer is- is it a test or a trick or something else?

She opens her mouth- because everyone is looking at her so expectantly- but instead of words, she bursts into tears.

(It’s probably a good thing. If she’s crying, she can’t say the wrong thing and make everything worse.)

Still, it’s also embarrassing to be crying with an audience- she tries to stop and just ends up gulping and hiccuping through the tears. Catalina reaches for her and she flinches away instinctively- and the hurt on Catalina’s face just makes her cry harder.

 The social worker tries to put an arm around her and she pushes her away- she definitely doesn’t want this strange woman’s cold comfort, the woman who took away her books and her home. 

She’d like to hide in her bedroom so she can try and get things straight in her head and work out just what is going in- but as she turns to flee, she runs straight into Jane.

‘Easy there, sweetheart-’

At least Jane doesn’t try to touch her- she just presses a wad of Kleenex into her hands and steps back so Cathy can scrub her face and nose herself.

‘Mija, what’s the matter-’

‘Would you like to tell us what’s wrong Catherine?’

‘It’s CATHY’ She snaps it, and then wonders if that’s going to count against her too; she sniffles, humiliated and uncomfortable, and Jane looks down at her sympathetically.

‘Let’s go and wash your poor face, hm? And maybe Catalina could put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea when we’re back?’ It’s said very gently but firmly too- it’s not a suggestion. 

Still, it’s sort of nice that at least one person still seems like they know what they’re doing, so she follows Jane out of the room while Catalina goes to the kitchen, and when Jane offers her hand, she takes it.

It’s cool and soft- smaller than Catalina’s and Jane isn’t wearing any rings but it’s still nice.

The living room isn’t noisy, but the bathroom still feels like a haven of peace: no one is watching her or trying to tell her things or saying things that confuse everything.

Jane sits her down on the edge of the bath, then runs cool water over a flannel and hands it to her.

‘Here, sweetheart.’

The cold feels nice on her hot cheeks and stinging eyes.

Jane waits quietly until she’s finished pressing every last scrap of coolness to her face and the flannel is warm and not as nice feeling again, and then she sits down next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. 

Cathy finds she’s leaning into her- she doesn’t want to really (Jane is still a traitor after all, even if she DID give her some tissues) but it’s too hard not to. 

‘Better?’

She nods.

‘It’s been a hard day for you, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes. It’s been HORRIBLE. And yesterday too.’

Jane tightens her arm around her.

‘I don’t want to tell you what to do or how to feel sweetheart- we all have rights to how we feel, and it’s not my place to interfere. But I do care about you- and Catalina. I want you both to be happy.’

Cathy nods- she understands. Jane is going to explain to her how her moving away is all for the best and she’s going to have to pretend to agree because Jane was nice and gave her a flannel.

‘Did you know I used to be a social worker?’

This isn’t what she was expecting to hear at all. She shakes her head slowly, she isn’t sure where this is going. It’s hard to imagine Jane in the place of her own social worker- she wonders if Jane made many little girls get rid of their books.

‘Were you? Did you like it?’

‘Yes, I did. Very much.’ Jane looks a bit far away for a moment and then comes back hurriedly. 

‘Why did you stop?’

‘Other things were more important.’

‘How long ago did you stop?’

‘About three years ago….’ She pauses then continues. ‘Anyway, I worked with lots of families- all sorts. And I’ve seen all the- all the trouble that families can give one another.’

Cathy nods again. She can see where this is going.

‘I’ve had lots of children have to leave home and live somewhere else and-’

Cathy waits for Jane to tell her that it’s really all alright, that it happens a lot and she just needs to be brave or something like that. Instead though, Jane just shakes her head and seems to wilt a little on the edge of the tub.

‘Well, everyone wants the children to be happy in their new homes but it can be very...difficult to get used to a new place and new people. Did it feel strange when you first came here?’

She nods- she can remember those first bewildering days, before Catalina’s flat had settled down into familiar shapes, when she got the doors in the hallway confused and felt afraid that she was putting things out of place every time she moved.

‘So- yes. Living with new people can be very, very difficult, even when everybody wants what’s best- and especially when you don’t know them. It can be hard- very hard, sometimes.’ Jane is choosing her words carefully. ‘Now we all understand things have been hard for you here too- that things have gotten a little unsettled lately, haven’t they?’

‘Yes….’ She wonders how much Jane knows about everything- she wonders if Jane thinks she’s a liar too: she’d ask but she’s having to focus too hard to make sense of what Jane is saying. Why is she making leaving sound so scary, why isn’t she doing the grownup thing of telling Cathy it will all be Fine even when it isn’t?

 It reminds her of when Anne had to go to the dentist and she’d gotten into trouble for telling her how much it hurt when they prodded and poked your teeth (even though it HAD hurt, a bit, when she’d gone the week before and so she hadn’t been exaggerating THAT much).

 But Jane is a grownup and grownups aren’t meant to try to scare you and-

‘-know things have been difficult, but sweetheart-’ Jane is looking at her very intently. ‘Catalina loves you so much, she only lost her temper because she was upset and she feels terribly that she scared you so much… The thought of losing you is really scary for her and I know she’d miss you so much if you went somewhere else, as would I. And Anne and your other friends. Your teacher too.’ Jane takes a deep breath. ‘Please Cathy, won’t you give it another try? I truly do think you’ll be better off here than in a foster home…’

Her mouth is dry, she feels sick with how upside down everything is. Has Catalina told Jane it’s her idea? But why-

Jane is looking at her, so patient and so hopeful. It’s somehow not as hard as having Catalina look at her.

‘But I-’ Her voice is croaky. ‘I HAVE to go-’

‘Why, sweetheart?’

‘Catalina doesn’t want me anymore.’

She’s said it out loud and it’s both a relief and exquisitely painful at the same time. It’s a relief because saying it out loud means it isn’t a secret, but also telling someone else makes it feel real, even though she knows Jane knows already.

Jane doesn’t LOOK as if she knows already though- her eyebrows knit in confusion.

‘Why do you think that, sweetheart?’

‘I heard her-’ She sucks in a little breath of air through her tight throat. ‘She said she didn’t want me ever and that she wanted me to go away-’

Jane looks even more confused. ‘She told you that she didn’t want you?’

She’s about to nod and then remembers that this is how it all started, not choosing her words carefully enough. So she shakes her head. ‘I heard her say it.’

‘To who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Was it at school?’

‘It was on the phone.’

‘Catalina told someone that she didn’t want you over the phone- and you overheard-’

Cathy nods.

‘When was this darling?’

‘Last night.’

‘Do you remember when?’

She shakes her head. ‘It was after bedtime.’

Jane’s face is scrunched up like she’s trying to sort things out in her own mind, she looks as confused as Cathy feels….and then it’s as if something falls into place and her eyes open up wide and she starts shaking her head frantically.

‘Oh no, Cathy, no, no-’

‘I DID!’ She can’t bear to be disbelieved when she’s telling the truth this time. ‘I did, I did honestly, I swear-’

‘No, no-’ Jane looks even more urgent. ‘No, I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean I didn’t believe you, I just- I think you misunderstood what you were hearing...Oh god, what a mess...’ She looks terribly sad. ‘Did you really think Catalina wanted to give you up?’

‘Yes.’ She doesn’t understand why this bothers Jane so much- of course she thought it, she still DOES think it-

‘Come on-’ Jane stands up and holds out her hand again, and Cathy takes it automatically. ‘I think we should explain things to you. Properly.’

*

It’s easier back in the livingroom because although things are still confusing, it’s a bit less scary when she’s holding onto Jane’s hand. And because with Jane talking, no one is looking at her as much.

‘-and so she called me just to ask if I’d come and give some moral support because she was feeling a bit anxious about the visit today-’ Jane finishes. ‘It was never you she was talking about.’

‘Ay dios mio, no!’ Catalina breaks in fervently. ‘Not you, querida, never ever you!’ She glances at the social worker, looking incredibly guilty and more than a little embarrassed. ‘I was- I’m so sorry, I really am but I was so anxious and tired and-’

 She takes a breath. ‘It was her- you- who I was saying I didn’t want to come, not you mija, not for a second. I have never not wanted you, never-’ She breaks off and turns uncomfortably to the social worker. ‘Of course- I do, I really do understand why these visits need to take place and i want you to understand that I am entirely happy to cooperate and work with you as much as I possibly can, I was just feeling very overwhelmed and-’

 The social worker gives an awkward little nod and then coughs.

‘Of course. Ah- please don’t mention it…’ She half laughs, although nothing funny has been said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time someone has said that about me, believe me-’

Catalina smiles awkwardly, and turns back to Cathy quickly. ‘So you see querida, it was all just a big misunderstanding, and if I’d had any idea that you’d overheard or that that was what you were thinking…’ She shakes her head. ‘Oh mija, I can’t imagine how you must have felt!’

Cathy swallows hard, it’s all so much to take in, like the world has been tipping up and down and now she can’t tell if things are upside down or not because everything is changing so quickly. ‘So….you don’t want to send me away?’

‘No! Not for a moment mija, not for a second- I have always, always wanted you, and I’d certainly never send you away!’

She does sound as if she means it.

‘And you weren’t ever going to send me away?’

‘Never.’

‘And-’ This is the hardest one but she has to ask. ‘Are you still cross that I lied?’

‘Oh mija…’ Catalina shakes her head. ‘I still wish that you hadn’t done it- but it was a mistake. And we all make mistakes sometimes.’

‘But are you?’

‘No. Now all I’m really feeling is sorry that you had to go through such a horrible couple of days- it must have been very frightening.’

Funny that thinking about it is almost as bad experiencing it- remembering it is like she’s seeing it all from the outside, like she’s watching herself hear the phonecall and everything else, and she’s sad for herself, for the past her that has been trying so hard to be brave.

She can feel the tears welling up again- funny, that she’s been able to keep herself normal all day when she’s believed everything to be terrible but now she knows it’s ok, she can’t.

‘It was, I thought that-’ She sniffs and wishes she still had the tissues from earlier.

‘Mi vida-’ Catalina kneels in front of her and opens up her arms- it feels so strange, after everything, because for the last couple of days, Catalina has felt like a stranger but now she’s her again but she hasn’t forgotten the stranger with Catalina’s face that shouted and snapped, or the other Catalina, who maybe existed just in her head, who wanted to give her away and looked forward to it…

So she hesitates for a second. Just for a second though, and then she can’t hold herself back anymore because really, what she wants more than anything is for things to be back to normal, for Catalina to hug her again and make everything ok.

Then she’s being scooped up and held tightly and it’s such a relief after the horrible loneliness of the last few days that she’s crying again, even harder than before, and gripping onto Catalina so tightly that she’s sure she’ll leave bruises.

She can’t make herself let go but it’s ok- Catalina is holding onto her just as tightly, after all.

(And she’s not the only one crying.)

*

Even when everything has calmed down, she still can’t really let go of Catalina- she’s scared that if she does, somehow everything will go back to being scary and confusing and lonely again. She holds tight to Catalina’s hand, as if she’s Kitty’s age, as she shows the social worker around the flat and talks about things like work-life balance and school support. 

(At one point, Jane gets up and says she should let them get on with it and Catalina shoots her a very pleading look and Jane ends up sitting back down and pouring herself another cup of tea.) She even grips onto the hem of Catalina’s shirt when they see the social worker and Jane off at the front door and Catalina needs her hands back again.

Jane tells Cathy that she’s sorry she’s had to deal with so much but that she’s sure things will be better now that everything is sorted out, and that if Cathy ever wants to talk to her about anything at all, she will always be happy to listen.

She nods. (Maybe Jane isn’t ONLY nice to her because she’s Anne’s friend after all.)

Catalina hugs Jane warmly and says that she owes her a thousand favours and that Jane must be sure to come to her the minute she needs anything at all, that she’s a wonderful friend who Catalina will never be able to thank enough for helping sort all of this out.

(The social worker just gets a polite handshake and an embarrassed smile from Catalina, and a mumbled ‘goodbye’ from Cathy. But to her credit, she doesn’t seem to take it personally. She says she’ll ‘check in again soon’ and Cathy hopes that ‘soon’ means ‘months and months.’ She can tell from Catalina’s face that she’s hoping something similar.)

Then the door shuts and it’s just the two of them- odd, after everything, and even a little bit scary.

There’s a second of silence, of total stillness, of two people trying to scramble to untangle the confusion of the past few days...and then Catalina scoops Cathy into her arms again, lifting her right off her feet and picking her up as if she’s no bigger than Kitty.

‘Oh mija-’ Cathy wonders if Catalina is going to apologise to her again (she hopes she doesn’t- she’s said sorry at least a hundred times already, maybe a thousand, and she knows it will just make them both cry again and she’s cried enough for one day) but Catalina doesn’t, she stops herself with what looks like effort.

Catalina carries her back into the livingroom and sits down; Cathy wriggles into a comfortable position in her lap and looks up at her when Catalina takes a deep breath.

‘Mija- do you think we could maybe start again?’ Catalina is looking at her very seriously, almost like she’s talking to another grownup. ‘Could we start fresh tomorrow- forgive each other and begin again? I think we could both do better.’

‘Okay.’ Starting fresh sounds like a good idea- not being in trouble, not being cross. Still, she wants to say it one more time. ‘I’m sorry I lied.’

Catalina nods seriously. ‘Thank you, mija. And I’m sorry that I forgot your swimming things, I know you must have been very disappointed.’

Cathy hasn’t even been thinking about swimming- it feels like a long time ago. She shrugs. It probably doesn’t even matter any more.

‘It occurred to me…’ Catalina shifts her slightly and clears her throat. ‘I never even asked about how your first school swimming lesson went mija. And I did mean to.’

(She knows that this is true- Catalina had said more than once that she was looking forward to hearing all about it.)

‘That’s ok.’

‘I’d still like to hear about it. If you’re not too tired, that is….’

And with that, everything somehow starts to slide back into how it used to be- back into being able to tell Catalina everything, back into Catalina WANTING to hear everything…

‘Well first of all, I had to sit with Stephen on the coach-’

Catalina gasps, a real not-pretend gasp of horror.

‘But he’s that horrible boy that tortures insects!’

And Cathy knows everything is going to be ok.

[szopenhauer]

Has anybody ever told you that you’re too young to be in love? from what I remember that could happen

Did you learn anything from the last BIG mistake you made? no comment...

Do you have a favorite brand of shoes?   nah

Do you like rollercoasters with big drops? I don’t do rollercoasters 

Do you have any inside jokes with your parents? yes

Did you ever want a pony for a gift as a kid? nope

Do you know who your mom’s favorite singer is?   she doesn’t really have one because she doesn’t listen to music tbh except what I blast 

Have you ever gone to a school that made you wear uniforms?   middle school

Have you ever tried to surf? nooo

Do you want to learn? absolutely not

Did you pick out the furniture in your bedroom? I wish...

Yes or no: Apple pie? yes

Yes or no: Candy apples?   no

Are you a heavy sleeper?   not anymore

Honestly, have you ever re-gifted something? What was it? plenty of stuff

How many months away is your birthday? 1-2

Is the closet in your bedroom a walk-in closet? I’d love to have one like this :3

Do you enjoy cooking? I do not

Which one of your family members do you wish you could see more often? grandma... and aunt Alice

Have you ever (accidentally or not) set off a car alarm? just by walking by 

Do you call it sitting “criss-cross” or “Indian-style”? criss-cross is less offensive

Do you have dimples when you smile?   I do indeed

Do you find graveyards scary? Jack kinda does

Have you ever carved anything into a tree? don’t do that :(

Do you give or get advice more often? give

If you have caffeine late in the day, does it cause you to struggle with your sleep? no idea, I don’t drink coffee

If you have a pet, have they ever embarrassed you in public or in front of friends or family members? What happened? sigh...

Do you leave the house every single day? almost

Would you rather spend the day at the beach, or a day in the snow in the mountains? beach

Do you prefer tops that are plain, or ones with patterns/logos/slogans? plain are lame

Do you enjoy buying gifts for other people, or do you never know what to buy them? it’s complicated

What book do you wish they’d make into a film or TV series? few of my favorites 

Do you prefer zip-up or overheard hoodies? overheard, I hate zippers in clothes

When was the last time you stayed overnight away from home? Was this with friends, family or in a hotel somewhere? What was the occasion? recently, my partner[s] apartment, no occasion

Would you ever be interested in seeing a live magic show? I already did but I don’t remember anything 

What’s your favourite period to learn about in history? What got you interested in this particular era? I liked interesting facts no matter of the period, I hated dates and names

Do you still use or carry cash, or do you pay for everything via card? cash forever

Are there any TV shows that remind you of your grandparents for some reason? Moda na sukces głównie

Do you know how to tie a tie without looking it up? Did you have tie in school (uniform)? maybe, we didn’t

Do you prefer having carpets or hardwood floors? hardwood

When was the last time you took a bath? Is this something you do often or do you prefer taking showers? last night and gonna have one now

What’s your opinion on clothes for dogs? If you have a dog, have you ever bought any clothing items for them? cute but my dog doesn’t wear any

What will you be doing once you finish this survey? What were you doing before you started taking it? I will go to sleep, I’m also playing Choices 

When was the last time you played a game of Monopoly? Did you play until the end or did everyone get fed up and start arguing? this year, we don’t argue about it which is weird because we often argue in general

Do you have anything fun or exciting planned for tomorrow? I hope I will meet with Slytherin system

Don’t you love it when you meet a dog or cat and they instantly love you, especially when the owner says “they normally hate strangers!”? awww sounds like Nat don’t ya think? :P

Would you rather do a wordsearch or a crossword? Word Search but sudoku is cooler

Do you prefer multi coloured or plain white fairy lights? good question

Do you have a favourite TV detective (eg. Sherlock, Poirot)?  Poirot <3  and Don Matteo

Do you hear any animals right now? not even kotszop 

Is your trashcan full? it’s small so it’s almost always full

Are you hungry? am not

Is it rainy where you’re at right now? not tonight

Is your dishwasher full? we don’t own a dishwasher

Do you like to wear gloves? not really

Are you wearing anything pink right now? nothing

What is the creepiest bug you’ve ever saw? maggots are

Do you chew on your lip? might

Are you afraid of needles? I’m not

Do you like Batman? mhm

Can you see a star shape in the room you are in? I can

Do you use hand sanitizer? obvi

Are you in any kind of club or group that is trying to save animals? I’ve been signing petitions 

Where were you two hours after you got up, and what were you doing there? dentist...

Have you ever played fetch with a dog? it didn’t listen XD

Do you use Netflix? if I only had an account...

Do you play games on your computer? when I’m in the mood

Did you have anything bad happen to you today? ...

Do you use the term “lol” if you don’t have anything to say? not when I have nothing to say wtf

Should you be sleeping right now instead of taking this survey? yup :x

Do you currently have any blemishes on your face? yep

Do you use smileys often in text convos? maybe

Would you ever consider being a cannibal? hell no

Did you forget something important in the past week? yeah

Are the floors in your house creaky? there are creaky places and I love it

Do you fear death? sorta

Is your mouth dry? it’s complicated

Do you have any scars from an animal? weirdly no

When was the last time it snowed where you live? Do you like snowy weather or is it just a pain? this week, it’s pain!

9 - When was the last time you got off work early? What was the reason? I don’t have a job

What time did you wake up this morning? Did you get out of bed right away? 8 and had to

Do you ever watch movies or TV shows that require you to read subtitles? why not?

When was the last time you had a haircut? When was the last time you dyed your hair (if you ever have)? Nat is gonna kill me for this bangs, I dyed my hair over 5 years ago

Do you prefer wearing tight-fitting or loose-fitting clothes? loose

What was the last piece of good news you received? Was it expected? pfft

What time of year do you start listening to Christmas music? after Halloween

Are there any names you can think of that just go well together? where should I start...

Do you enjoy museums? whatever

Do you have a username you use for everything? Or does it change each site? it changes but not for EACH

Do you have any disorders or disabilities? what I DON’T have...

Do you ever watch How To videos? in my whole life like a few

Did you have a tree house when you were a kid? If so, did you ever fall from it? I wanted to but never did

Do you enjoy designing things? Anything? I sure do

Do you know what a raincheck at stores is? I know

Can you learn the lyrics of a song by ear, or do you have to search them up? I never remember even the titles...

Do you like the name Amy? Amy Anya :(

Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? Are you close to that person at all? I called my dad but he couldn’t talk so... he’s my friend

Do you enjoy watching bloopers or outtakes from TV shows?  could

Have you ever dreamed of owning your own shop? What kind of thing would you like to sell? antiques and such

Are you a twin? If not, would you ever want to be a twin? If you are a twin, do you ever wish you weren’t? ;)

Would you ever want to go and visit the moon? it’s bought by Tom Cruise, no thx

Does anything on your body hurt or ache right now? shut up...

When was the last time you struggled to get to sleep? Was there was a specific reason for that? constantly

When was the last time you had a cold? With everything going on in the news, did you worry that it was COVID? my dad had a cold

Do you think people should have to pass a test in order to own pets? it’s not the worst idea

When was the last time you fell asleep/had a nap during the day? Is this something that happens often? it happens very rarely

so how are you today? bad

have you ever been to London? in the past life lmfao

do you enjoy going to the library? heh...

what’s the last movie you watched? we rewatched Asterix and Obelix 

[oforamuse]

told you that i missed you

'you and mickey are getting married!?'

or, the one where fiona had to find about ian's engagement through lip.

a missing phone call set somewhere between 10x11 and 10x12

ao3

Ian’s mid-limp towards the fridge when his phone rings in his pocket, and without bothering to check the caller ID, Mickey said he’d call him later when he’d left earlier, he answers and brings the device up to his ear.

‘You and Mickey are getting married!? ’

Ah fuck.  

He should’ve expected this.

‘Hey Fiona…’ Ian trails off, knowing where this conversation is most likely headed. He makes a mental checklist to prepare himself for the showdown that’s about to take place with his older sister, she’s never taken to being left out of things very lightly - which in her defense, didn’t happen very often given her being the head of the household for all of his life.

‘Don’t hey Fiona me, Ian Gallagher’ She practically spits out, dragging the emphasis on their second name with a clear underlying message of are you fucking kidding me, ‘Were you planning on telling me this anytime soon or was I supposed to find out you two were husbands at Thanksgiving or some shit?’

He pictures her fondly, hand on hip and the other one waving about, failing wildly to get her frustrated point across. It’s an image he saw so often throughout his childhood it’s almost comforting, warming.  

‘You planning on being home for Thanksgiving?’ Ian chimes back, hoping to buy himself some time to gather his thoughts, though he immediately knows she won’t take the bait as soon it falls out of his mouth.

‘Don’t change the subject, Ian’ It’s the same tone of voice she used throughout their childhood, the go brush your teeth it’s gone midnight or carl put that hammer down right now before you hurt someone, and for a moment he feels 12 years old and scolded.

The words hang there and he can feel her glare down the phone, like a laser beam marking his pale skin, it’s always felt that way. The classic 100% Fiona Gallagher certified ‘I’m unimpressed’ look, a look he’s definitely been on the receiving end of far too many times to count growing up.

‘I was- listen, it’s been a little crazy here recently, I was going to tell you. It just...slipped my mind I guess’ Ian defends himself quickly, juggling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he attempts to clear the kitchen table from this morning’s wedding planning session with Mick and Sandy. They left after a long conversation about the perfect table cloths, table cloths, to go to the tux shop downtown. He didn’t know there were so many different kinds of things to be thrown, music to be played, or chairs to choose from. It’s been overwhelming to say the least, and deep down still pretty scary, there’s a small nagging part of him worried that this might be a mistake but it’s rightfully overruled by the much bigger and louder part of him saying it will be worth it. Seeing Mickey happy, being happy himself, knowing they can finally just be happy together, will be worth it. Worth any amount of meetings over chairs, or flowers or whatever, he doesn’t really understand it, but he’ll do it.

It isn’t the marriage part, really, that freaks him out - he doesn’t think so at least. He knows he wants to marry Mickey, he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with him. That’s never been the question, even when they were countries apart or failing to see other people, it was always there in the back of his mind for his future, the ideal. He’s nervous to take that final big leap, to solidify their relationship in front of the world and the law, like actual adults do. He’s seen so many marriages go wrong and it aches to think that they could end up like a statistic, after everything they’ve been through, they could end up just being part of a percentage of divorcees.

But, also, after everything they’ve been through, they may just be strong enough to beat the odds. He doesn’t really know the statistics for gay marriages anyway, specifically for guys, he assumes they must be slightly better, happier or some shit.

If they can make it through homophobic murderous dads, prison sentences and annoying twinks, they can make it through this.

His mind falls back to Fiona on the other end, her constant stream of failed relationships, marriages and almost marriages that littered his adolescent years. A lump forms heavily in his throat and he tries to swallow it back down, he never thought he’d be the first Gallagher kid to get properly hitched, and hitched successfully, because Fiona and Gus do not count.

‘Really Fiona, it’s been crazy here’ He tries again,

He’s not making some dumb excuse, with the last month of being broken up (but so not broken up) then going to engaged to wedding planning all within a few days, calling his older sister wasn’t top of his list.

Perhaps it should’ve been, he thinks, and Ian can’t help it but his stomach rocks with a wave of guilt, crashing onto his mental beach. It sits there, sickeningly. Fiona used to know everything, be part of everything that was happening with the family, now she’s hundreds of miles away and worlds apart.

He knows it was a big deal for Fiona to move away from Chicago, away from them and everything she’s ever known, but that was her choice, he reasons, her choice to be a phone call away rather than just a bedroom. He doesn’t blame her though.

‘So I had to find out from Lip? And only, might I add, because he mentioned how you and Mickey were looking at flowers downtown so obviously I asked him why on earth you would need ‘em and turns out you guys are getting fucking hitched!’

He dumps their coffee mugs in the sink and watches the brown liquid swirl away before he resigns and moves his phone up to his ear.

‘I know I should’ve told you.’ He whispers, turning to lean against the counter top, wishing he didn’t feel so weird about talking about marriage with his older sister, ‘I just, I-I didn’t know how. It’s a really fucking long story, Fiona, and you’re not here…’

The guilt comes rushing back, like a wave crashing onto Ian’s shore. He grips the phone tightly.

Fiona sighs down the phone, and she goes silent, he pictures her running her hands through her hair like she often does when she’s exasperated or worried. His chest warms at the thought, he misses her, he really does.

There’s another beat.

‘I guess I should say congratulations?’ She says breaking the silence, almost posing it as a question. He can hear the hint of humour in her voice, playing it off as both a joke and a genuinely sincere statement.

‘Thanks’ Ian laughs lightly, quietly feeling relieved that she isn’t more upset.

The wave of guilt pulls back into the ocean.

His eyes flicker over to the fridge door opposite, where there’s still an old post-it note of Fiona’s reading ‘Liam. Dentist 12:20’ stuck above the handle. Her presence is everywhere in the house, it’s in the foundations, the walls and the floorboards. It’s her house more so than anyone else’s, a hell of a lot more than it ever was Frank’s, or Monica’s for that matter. Still, it stings to know that she isn’t here, physically.

That she wasn’t here when he got out.

‘How did it happen?’ She asks, her habit for gossip overriding her need to hang onto the sentimentalities.

‘How did what happen?’

‘You know, the engagement, who asked who and all that crap. Not sure how it works when it’s just two guys.’ She snorts, and Ian rolls his eyes fondly, taking comfort in knowing it was meant harmlessly.

‘Pretty much the same way as everything goes with Mick, fighting and making up. Except this time with added engagement’ The bad joke hangs for a moment before he hears Fiona bark out a laugh down the other end, he breathes out, relieved.

He knows his and Mickey’s relationship can be volatile, especially physically. They’re tough, their hearts are tough. How can they not be when they’ve grown up in this shithole, surrounded by violence and poverty all their lives, only to top it off with a light dusting of homophobic and or, alcoholic, parents. They’re a product of their environment, that’s for sure, and it works for them.

‘Not that I’m surprised or nothing, but you guys really got into a fight and then engaged? Sounds like you two’

He winces knowing that Fiona hasn’t always had the best opinion of Mickey or their relationship, but he can’t really blame her given that he kept her out of the most of it in the past. It’s always been easier keeping her, and Lip to be frank, at arm’s length when it comes to Mickey, especially in the last few years. Especially after almost dropping everything and running off with him to Mexico. He was close, he was so close.

He’s quietly hoping the distance between his two worlds will finally change once they officially become family.

‘Nah, I beat down Mick’s date and then, I asked him to marry me.’ He smirks at the memory, sure it was childish to have gone after Byron the way he did but the guy had been pissing Ian the fuck off and he was so fucking bored of playing games with Mick. Plus, no one gets to talk shit about his guy.

‘Mickey’s date?’ She asks, her voice distorted with confusion and rightfully so. She’s missed a lot in the last few weeks, heck, Ian’s been having trouble keeping up with it all and he’s here. He can’t even remember the last time he spoke to Fiona longer than a few minutes except down the tinny prison phone - they must’ve talked when he got out of prison, right?

It dawns on him quickly that he doesn’t think they’ve had a proper conversation since he got out of prison, weeks ago. It sits in his stomach, distastefully. That’s the longest they’ve gone without proper communication since he ran away when he was 16.

‘It’s a long story Fiona’ He sighs, throwing a glance over to the stairs, wishing she’d walk down them this moment, ruffle his hair like she used to then crack open a beer with him.

‘When’s the ceremony?’

‘We’re thinking the next few weeks maybe, Mickey’s really getting into the wedding planning.’

‘Mickey Milkovich is enjoying planning a wedding? That I would like to see!’ She laughs, ‘but jeeze, a few weeks? That’s pretty soon, why rush?’

‘Terry Milkovich paid us a visit cause he’s mad as shit. Shoutin’ the street down and pulling out his gun. It upset Mick so he’s taken to use the wedding as a chance to torture him, I guess he’s hoping he drops dead from his gay son being happy or some shit.’ Ian explains, his hands gesturing in ways that Fiona can’t obviously see. God, Ian should’ve killed the bastard back when they were kids because they deserve a break. Realistically, he knows he couldn’t do it, but fuck, he wishes Terry had gotten stabbed or something in prison the first few times round, it would’ve saved everyone a lot of grief. Himself included.

‘No chance i’ll be able to make it then, I guess…’ Fiona says sadly, though Ian can tell there’s a small attempt to hide the tinge in her voice. She sniffles and the guilt threatens to crash back.

‘I guess not’

Ian thumbs at his engagement ring whilst the two of them hang onto the silence, unsure of where to move forward from here.

‘You happy?’

‘Yeah, yeah I am’ Ian affirms, and he is, he’s really fucking happy. He didn’t think he’d ever get to have this, especially not with Mickey.

‘You gonna be Mr Milkovich?’

‘Fuck off’

‘You guys talked about it?’ She asks, and he can tell this one is a genuine question, whether or not Ian is going to shed the Gallagher name once and for all.

‘Nah, I figured we’ll get round to it after the gold chiavari chairs or something’

‘The gold what?’

‘Don’t ask’ he begs, he’s heard enough about chairs and all that for a lifetime.

‘I’m happy for you’ She says after a few moments, and his heart warms. He imagines her throwing her arms around his shoulders and bringing him in for a tight hug, locked and safe.

‘I wish you could come.’ He whispers, his eyes stinging, his thumb rubbing at his band. He does, he really wishes his big sister could be there to see him and Mickey beat all the odds.

‘I know’ Her voice cracks ever so slightly and Ian aches at the thought of being the one who caused it, ‘I’m sorry I’m not gonna be there’.

‘Not your fault’ Ian sighs, and it isn’t. She needed to get out.

‘Yeah’ She sniffs and Ian has to bring his free hand up to wipe his damp eyes, ‘I want pictures’

‘I’ll have Debs send you some’ Ian says wetly, he’s pretty certain Mickey has even organised a photographer. There’s some rustling on the other end and he can hear someone call out Fiona’s name in the background, it’s muffled but distinct.

‘Ah shit, I’ve got to go.’ She groans, and Ian figures it’s probably for the best. Someone’s bound to be home soon and he knows there will be a lot of questions if he’s found all teary eyed in the kitchen.

‘Okay’ It’s all he can manage.

‘I love you, and I’m happy for you.’ She says, ‘Tell Mickey I’m happy for him too’

‘I will.’ He replies, ‘I love you’

There’s a shuffle, then the line clicks and goes dead.

He hangs against the counter, cradling the phone in both hands, cradling the connection with his sister. He realises she didn’t even ask him anything about prison, or the fact Mickey’s out too. He wonders how much his other siblings talk to her, does Lip keep up with her regularly? It’s hard to imagine with him having to balance everything with Fred.

His phone chimes, he glances down.

3:39pm: MICKEY

‘picked out the tuxes. gonna look so fuckin good.’

God, if fifteen year old Ian Gallagher could see him now. He shoots off a reply.

3:40pm:

‘can’t wait’

And he can’t.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #279

“she could kill you with a wink of her eye.”

Have you ever met a guy for coffee? No, I don’t like coffee. Do you feed your leftovers to your dogs? I don’t currently have any dogs, but when I did, it was very rare and (almost) only if he wasn’t begging for it. The only exception was chicken nuggets; Teddy loved him some chicken nuggets, holy shit. That and peanut butter he would always get so excited about. What tricks does your pet do? Neither my cat nor obviously my snake know any tricks. Do you believe in psychics? No. When you hear the name “Ginger” what do you think of? Jason’s fatass beagle. I wonder how she is a lot, she was a darling. What is the worst damage that your car has seen? N/A What was the last thing that annoyed you? Probably my chronic boredom. :’) How would your parents react if you got pregnant (or got someone pregnant)? Both would be extremely confused seeing as I’m not with a guy and absolutely do not want kids. Have you ever had a fight with your boyfriend/girlfriend’s mom or dad? Nope. Are you afraid of frogs? No, they’re Good. How would you react if a complete stranger complimented you? It depends on the compliment and how it’s delivered. If you sound genuine and it’s not creepy, it’s honestly really flattering and sweet, though I get really shy. Who was the last person to make you cry? Myself, technically, thinking too much about he who I shouldn’t, y’know. Do you have Facebook? I do. How would you react if you found out your crush had a terminal disease? God, I don’t want to think about this. I’d be absolutely crushed. Do you eat applesauce? I don’t go out of my way to get some, but sure, I like applesauce. What was the last pill you took for? It was one of my mood stabilizers. Are you in the hospital a lot? No, thankfully. What is your dentist’s first name, if you know it? I have no clue. Have you ever walked on the beach at night? Yes. Does your mother have any sisters? One. Do you read poetry/make it? I don’t really read it anymore, but once in five blue moons I’ll write one if I’m really inspired. Have you ever had braces? Yes, for way too long because we couldn’t afford to take them off. I think it’s why one of my bottom front teeth is angled back a bit. Your parents split; would you want to live with your mom or dad? My parents are divorced and I live(d) with my mom. Ever told your parents you were going somewhere but went somewhere else? To Mom, yes. My sisters and I were going to visit Dad and it was just easier back then to make something else up. Are you afraid of lifts? Elevators? Yes. Not terribly, but I’m not a fan. Who did you last talk to in person? Is that person attractive? My “other mom” Tobey; she brought me some groceries while Mom’s away. She’s Mom’s age though so no, I’m not attracted to her. She’s like family. Have you ever had a deep, personal conversation with a stranger? I mean, isn’t that therapy at first? lmao Let’s talk about the person you had your first kiss with. Do you still talk to that person? If so, do you still like them? Would you kiss them again? No; no, I like his memory; I fucking hope not. How many times have you cried over the person you love/like? A couple times. When was the last time you wanted to cry, but didn’t, because you didn’t want to show that you were upset? Why? I’m really not sure. What are three things that are guaranteed to make you smile, or put you in a good mood? Going on a car ride with me in shotgun to blare my music; seeing Mark laugh oh my FUCKING god; and seeing meerkats being cute. What is something in your life that you feel hopeful about right now? Nothing. What was the last thing you worried about that turned out better than expected? My first teletherapy appointment. What is a meal you eat extremely often? Or do your meals & food choices vary a lot? Chicken of some sort is very, very common. What was the last thing you changed your mind about? Ummm… good question. I know I have done this recently, I just can’t remember it… Who tends to show up in your dreams? Do you ever wonder if you appear in anyone else’s dreams? Jason is practically a staple. Mom is there a lot. And sure, doesn’t everyone? Instead of flat earth, what do you think of the simulated earth theory, that we’re basically all just a giant computer program or virtual reality? I think it’s possible, there really is some convincing evidence, but I lean more towards not believing it. What worries you most about your future? What the fuck I’m doing with my life. What is something you do to feel better when you’re scared? Deep breathing. Who do you feel you can count on the most in life? Is there anyone you wish you could count on more? Mom, and sure. When was the last time you shared a secret with someone, and how did they react? I’m not sure. Are you more likely to give advice or to ask for it? Give. What is the strangest book you have ever read? How did you find out about it? OH MY GOD, SUDDEN MEMORY. There was this book we read in elementary school about this kid who made everything he touched turn to chocolate and it was fuckin wild. Do you prefer to watch movies or tv alone or with other people? Is there anything you refuse to watch alone? Oh, absolutely with someone. Y’all know I don’t enjoy TV that much anyway. What was the subject of the last video you watched? I’m watching the VOD on-and-off of a WoW streamer I like. Who taught you the most valuable lesson in life and what was that lesson? Jason. Don’t let anyone but yourself become your main source of happiness and worth. Have you got perfect vision? Hell no. I’ve got glasses for a good reason. What colour is the door to your house? White. Would you prefer a pet rat, mouse, snake, lizard or spider? Snake. <3 Are you a good liar (tell the truth this time)? Yes. Do you like the smell of a barbecue or bonfire? Yeah, even though I hate barbecue itself. Do you think rainbows are pretty or overrated? Who the fuck thinks they’re “overrated”??? Rainbows are gorgeous. I think we can all agree on that. Are you more skeptical or gullible? Skeptical. How often do you drink sodas or fizzy drinks? LOLOL I DO NOT WANT TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION. Has anyone ever called you apathetic or unemotional? Considering I’m the polar opposite, no. Prefer being in control in a team environment, helping out, or taking orders? Help out. Do you like carrot cake? GIRL yes. Do you view animals as being just as important as people? Why or why not? Yes, because we have no greater right than them to be here. Hell, they’re probably more deserving with humanity’s selfishness. I’m aware as a meat eater there’s some hypocrisy here, buuut still in my heart I see them as just as valuable. What made you stop talking to the last person you cut out of your life? She made an absolutely infuriating, false assumption of my mother. Is there a situation or person you haven’t been able to get over/forgive? I’ve forgiven him. Forgetting’s a different story. What are you like during arguments? Regardless of the topic or severity, I will absolutely be fumbling over my words, stuttering, and find eye contact difficult. It’s definitely not rare that I’ll be crying. Where do you like to be kissed? WELL this depends on the mood y’know. What is more difficult for you, looking into someone’s eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someone’s eyes when they are telling you how they feel? I dunno, both can be very hard. Think of the last time you were REALLY angry. WHY were you angry? Do you still feel the same way? It’s petty and I’d rather not give it the time of day. But I still am kind of angry, though I shouldn’t be. There is a fire in the back of the plane. You have enough time to make ONE phone call. Who do you call? What do you tell them? Why is this so oddly specific lol. But anyway, Mom, and that I love her. Would you rather be hurt by the one you trust the most or the one you love the most? The one I trust the most. Think of the last person who you know that died. You have the chance to give them one hour of life back, but you have to give up one year of yours. Do you do it? Why or why not? No, because she was miserable. When was the last time you told someone HONESTLY how you felt regardless of how difficult it was for you to say? Who was it? What did you have to tell the person? I don’t know. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? Why would it be hard to lose? Sara. Her friendship means a fucking lot to me. Excluding romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them. Who were they to you? Yesterday to my mom. Are you old fashioned? HA, definitely not. Have you ever gone up to a car thinking it was yours and tried to get in it? Oh my god yes. What’s your most irrational fear? There are plenty of them that I have. Whale sharks lmao. Musicals: yay or nay? I can’t help it, they’re always cheesy to me. Do you play the games on MySpace/Facebook? No. When was the last time you were sunburnt? A few years ago when I went to the beach with Colleen and her fam. It was actually to the point of being sun poisoning. No words for how painful that shit was. How many times have you re-pierced a piercing yourself? Never have, never would. I’m trusting a professional with that. What’s your favorite band? Ozzy Osbourne, of course. :’) How often do you pray? Never. Have you ever hugged someone for over a minute? Yeah. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collarbone? I already have one but am getting it covered with something else eventually. It just doesn’t really apply to me. Do you wake up cranky? Not usually; I’m usually in my best mood in the morning. Are you an official couple with the last person you kissed? No. Who was the last person to hold your hand? I don’t recall. What do you miss most about your ex? Define which ex. Are you attracted to the last person that kissed you? Yeah. Do you and your last ex hate each other? We’re best friends lmao. Have you ever regretted kissing someone? Yes. Are you faster at text messaging or typing on the computer? Absolutely typing on the computer. I make typos while texting too much. Has anybody ever told somebody one of your secrets? Probably. Have you ever kissed anybody who had a mustache? Yes If you were famous do you think you could handle the popularity? Nooooo no no. Have your parents ever told you about their love lives, and any previous relationships they had before they met? I’ve heard small stories about past relationships. Do you know anyone that’s gotten an abortion before? Yes. Have you ever been arrested? No. Who’s the last person that gave you roses? Tyler. Who’s the last guy you texted? My dad. What about the last girl? Sara. When was your first real relationship? From age 15 to 19-ish. Have you ever cried over an ex? I have PTSD stemming from one of them so guess lmao. Do you ever think about your ex and cry? ^ Have you ever cussed someone out? I remember one occasion at my sister’s stupid fucking ex. What’s the most trouble you’ve ever gotten in with your parents? Hm, not sure. Is there something really bad that you’ve done, that only YOU know about? No. Do you have a lot of secrets? Not really. Have you ever made out with someone who was just a friend? No. Have you ever told someone’s deep, dark secret? No. “Your secret it safe with me” is something I’m hardcore about. Have you ever pushed someone into a pool? I don’t think so, no. Do you have a super-secret hiding place and what’s in it? No. Have you ever you shop lifted? No. What state (or country) do you live in? North Carolina. Are you listening to music right now? Yes; 3TEETH's cover of "Pumped Up Kicks." I have fallen in LOVE with them. What is your newest favorite website? I don’t think I’ve really had a “new” favorite website in like eons. Do you have embarrassing memories of stupid things you've done? You have no fucking idea. I still remember things that embarrassed me in pre-k. What was the last thing you cooked on the stove? Scrambled eggs, I’m sure. What color Christmas tree do you want when you have a house someday? BLACK. BLACK WITH FAUX SNOW. How fucking gorgeous would that be??? Have you ever had to use an epi pen? No. Do you know the names of 3 of your neighbors? No. I only know the name of one. What was the last thing you cooked that you burnt or cooked for too long? I’m unsure. If you could have a car in any color, which color would you choose? ANY color? Pink. What was the last grocery store you shopped at? Walmart. What was the last type of milk you drank? 2%. Do you plan to vote in the next election? Yes. I believe silence speaks for the evil in situations like this, and I’m done doing that. Thooouuugh I gotta educate myself on the candidates… What was the last act of creativity you displayed? Writing. What is the last thing you charged? My laptop. Who was the last person to upload a picture with you in it? I don’t know, been a long time. Do you like peas? NOOOOOOOOO. It’s funny, according to Mom, I loooved peas as a baby, but now I’m just like… can’t relate. Do you ever wear sleep masks when you sleep or shower caps when you shower? No. Which friend are you most similar to? Sara and I are very similar. Your ex calls wanting to hang out. What do you say? Well Sara is many states away so like,,,, we can’t unless I wanna buy a plane ticket lmao. If it was Jason, I pretty much know I’d say yes like a fucking idiot. If it was Girt, it’d be a yeah, we haven’t hung out in forever. Do you have alcohol in your house? No. Have you or anyone you know been to rehab? I’m sure someone has. Have you ever swung on a tire swing? I think I have at least once. What’s a discontinued product you wish they still made? Damn, I know there are some, but they’re not coming to me. Have you ever been involved in Facebook drama? Yes. Actually told a motherfucker off a few days back that claimed there was “something wrong” with Breonna Taylor and her death was justifiable. I. Went. The fuck. Off. Then everyone joined in. :D Do you have anything against women who choose to be stay-at-home-mothers? No?????? The fuck?????????? Have you ever kissed someone with a beard? Not a lengthy one. What gaming consoles do you own? PS2, Wii, GameBoy Advance, Nintendo DS Lite, my laptop, and uhhh I think that’s it. Have you ever been so sick you had to be taken to the hospital? Well, mentally sick. Do you know any lesbian couples? Yes. Did your parents monitor your internet usage when you were a teen? Yes. Well, Mom did. Is there anything in the USB key slots in your computer/laptop? Yes, the thing that communicates with my wireless mouse. What advertisements are on your screen at the moment? None. Was there ever a time when you felt absolutely terrified? If so, why? I can’t describe how terrified I was the night of the breakup. It felt so unreal, and I was so certain my life was over. Then there was an occasion where my dad picked my sister and me up from school and he was in an AWFUL mood; he was speeding like a motherfucker and running red lights. I absolutely thought a we were going to get in a wreck or die. Then I have anxiety and have experienced panic attacks, so… guess lmao. Who’s one person who changed how you viewed something? One of the most profound in my life is actually Rhett and Link as well as Hannah Hart. When I started watching GMM, I was actually still homophobic, but gradually I started to ship the fuck out of those angel boys despite it. I started questioning my viewpoint, and finally, on their podcast where Hannah was the guest, telling her personal LGBT story, it just clicked how disgustingly wrong I was. When was the last time you went to a bar? I’ve never been to one. Why did you last see the doctor? I’m going to assume you mean a doctor for physical reasons, in which case I went in to talk about if I qualified for a sleep study regarding my nightmares, only to be told that because my actual doctor was absent, she could do nothing. Sooo Mom and I walked in pretty much just to pay someone to say “wait.” How do you spend the majority of your free time? Something on the computer, I’m sure. Lately, what I’ve been doing most is playing WoW while watching/listening to something. List the cards in your wallet. I don’t care enough to look. Not a lot. What was the last thing to inspire you? Ummm idk. How has COVID affected you? It really hasn’t, other than giving me anxiety regarding my mom as she is in the “of most concern” demographic, if you will. We don’t know if her cancer is gone yet due to the whole emergency trip to NY. But yeah, I personally leave the house like… never, so my daily life hasn’t really had any deviations. What is a comfort show of yours? Hm. I share enough that I’m not a TV person, so I don’t really seek out a show when I need comfort. But I guess if I was sitting there with the remote and I was really down, I’d be happy to find That ‘70s Show. Do you think we were put on this earth for a reason? As I believe *some* sort of greater intelligence is responsible for the universe, I like to think so. But if not, make your own reason. What is something you have done this year you’re proud of? I’ve been home alone for over a month now and am somehow doing okay, taking care of the house and myself. Animal Crossing , yay or nay? I’ve never played it. Not of my interest in games. Do you think breaks are toxic in a relationship? “Breaks” are bullshit. You’re either together or you’re not.

[writerrain]

I have to ask, why is Gary the Slytherin and Nora the Hufflepuff? Do you have more?

Thank you for asking! 

First of all, I want to apologize, because I think I take this kind of thing too seriously and I’m going to write quite a lot.

[After finishing this post I realized that I almost wrote an essay and it was probably better to hide it under a Keep reading]

Gary

So, one of the most underrated traits Gary shows is his ambition. The most recent example is how bummed he was when he noticed that Zari, who had just joined the Bureau, was his superior: his smile and his general demanor display a certain degree of envy, proof of his ambition. I think that this trait was revealed mostly at the beginning of season 3, when he was almost competent. One time, if I’m not mistaken, he phoned a colleague who had got a promotion or something to congratulate them and then, after he had hung up, he had said something along the lines of “I’m coming for you”, which demonstrates how he wants to rise up the ranks. One of the most prominent traits of Slytherins is being ambitious/power-hungry, and even if Gary doesn’t show this trait too often, it’s still one of his characteristics.

Another detail that shows his to ambition may also be seen in his dnd gaming. His character (hence who he wants to be, in a way) is a warlock. I have sporadically played dnd, so I don’t know too much about classes, so I am going to use the information found on this page for reference. Warlocks get their powers “through pacts made with mysterious beings of supernatural power” (which shows to what extent they would go for power); another quote that I think might be useful to understand this desire for more knowledge and power (and a Ravenclaw would seek knowledge rather than power) is “warlocks are driven by an insatiable need for knowledge and power, which compels them into their pacts and shapes their lives. This thirst drives warlocks into their pacts and shapes their later careers as well.” I think that the choice Gary made (which could be completelly coincidental, I don’t think that the writers went this deep, they probably just wanted to make him look geeky and make him love John on sight) is relevant to this argument.

 Another Slytherin aspect that has to be taken into account is loyalty. Slytherins are not, per se, extremely loyal (this is a more Hufflepuff trait, which I think it’s why Gary would appear more like a Hufflepuff). Their loyalty is more linked to usefullness, but if we think about how many powerful Slytherin families followed Voldemort despite everything we have to admit that there is some sort of loyalty there, despite their ambition; otherwise, an ambitious group of people would have never followed just one guy for such a long time, but someone would have tried to overthrow him (which is also why I think that making all the Slytherins follow blindly Voldemort is bullshit because their main trait is ambition, not blind submission, but this is an argument between me an JKR). So, Slytherin has to be linked to a “selective loyalty” of some sorts, and I think that Gary displays also this quality. He is loyal to most of the characters we know and love, but as soon as Zari in The Getaway tells him that Hank is possibly compromised, he jumps on the conspiracy theory boat and works against his temporary boss, whithout even asking Zari for proof. This shows this sort of “selective loyalty” I’m talking about: Hank has done nothing to get Gary’s respect (hell, he probably didn’t even know his name), so there was no reason to be loyal to him. I don’t think he would have betrayed Ava as easily, because Gary is loyal to a selected group of people, and she is definitely the person Gary trusts the most except maybe John, but after the unicorn thing I don’t know.

Nora

Now, Nora’s case is trickier. However, she doesn’t fit the Slytherin type, in my opinion, because she lacks ambition. She didn’t want Mallus because her ambition was to destroy the world, she wanted Mallus because her dad’s ambition was to destroy the world, and she was loyal to him. Blindly loyal. She starts to question his actions only after getting to know Ray. If we compare this to how quick Gary questions his loyalty to the Bureau in The Getaway, we see how their faith in their superiors/parents differ, and I think this, more than other trait, show why they belong to the “unexpected” house.

The downside of loyalty is being easily walked over by others. Nora is indeed walked over by the person she loves the most, her father, the moment she accepts to carry a freaking time demon for him. And it’s clear that Damien doesn’t consider her as an equal, at least at first, as shown in No Country for Old Dads. The fact that she gives herself away like that also demonstrates selflessness and helpfullness, other traits that can be associated with Hufflepuffs, who are always ready to help. Furthermore, when talking about the warlocks in Gary’s paragraph, it was said that warlocks seek “knowledge and power” and hence they make pacts with supernatural beings/demons, but Nora wasn’t really seeking knowledge, nor power. She can use magic even without Mallus, and while she is in prison she reads Mick’s books, which I’m pretty sure are more entertaining than pools of knowledge (which also excludes the Ravenclaw option; not all bookworms are Ravenclaw).

It is also important to note that we get to see Nora as a child, which is a kind of representation that Gary lacks (on the Arrowverse Wikia page we can read this, however: “When Gary was a kid, he used to tell his friends that his dad was an orthodontist, thinking it sounded much cooler than a dentist”, from I, Ava, and to me this is a Very Slytherin move). Child Nora, on the Arrowverse Wiki, is described as “kind, caring, polite and innocent", and if she hadn’t been possessed (thank you, Damien) and hence influenced by a demon (and her father) she could have grown to be a more stereotypical Hufflepuff. Her father’s influence is strong, yet we cannot say that she is entirely evil, and she has good intentions most of the times. I think that her only ambition, recently, is being good, which sounds pretty Hufflepuff to me.

Furthermore, I think that if Nora was a Slytherin, she would take any chance to freedom she can get. Yet, she becomes friends with Mona and Ava, the people in charge of her confinement, and she never uses them to get out of her cell. Hell, she goes back after Gary frees her! And she tells Gary (a guy she barely knows) to be safe when she realizes there’s a powerful demon around! And the only thing that makes her strong enough to get out of her cell is Hank’s death! She wants to check on the person who kept her prisoner and didn’t even consider her as a human being (while Ava, at least, had a different attitude towards her at the end of Tender is the Nate) just out of her own kindness. If that is not a caring Hufflepuff I don’t know what it is! Maybe a Gryffindor, but definitely not a Slytherin.

Long story short, these are the main reasons why I think these two characters belong to the aforementioned houses. These are definitely debeatable opinions, and if anyone wants to argue with me I’m more than happy to do it! The best thing about sorting, I think, is that it shows how characters are perceived differently by people in the same fandom, who consume the same kind of content; we all see different nuances, and getting to know other’s opinions, I think, is a way to get to know the character better, from points of view that weren’t considered before.

And to answer to your last question (if this is what you were asking): yes, of course I have more sorting opinions. I think that somewhere on my laptop there’s a word document entirely devoted to observations on different characters and Hogwarts houses, and I think I have written something about Legends, at least until season 2.

[moonbeambucky]

The Price of Gold (Part 12)

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 4500 Warnings: mention of cancer, angst, fluff, smut (NSFW 18+)

Summary: As a sports journalist you’ve traveled the world interviewing famous athletes. You’ve loved your job up until you find out your next article is on the last person in the world you ever wanted to talk to, Lance Tucker.

A/N: This doesn’t follow The Bronze canon though some film details are mixed with real world events. Written for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction Dragon’s 3k Follower Creative Content Challenge. My prompt was “I can’t be in love with you!” gif source (x)

PART 11 | THE PRICE OF GOLD MASTERLIST

Lance’s tears drenched your neck and you held him tighter as your mind was thinking the worst. He broke away from you to grab a tissue from the bathroom, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose before he sat on the bed. He looked so small, hunched over with his head hanging low.

He explained that the cancer is spreading to other parts of his mother’s brain. Walking in front of him you ran your fingers through his hair gently and felt him ease into your touch.

Lance looked up at you with sad, tear filled eyes, “I don’t want to lose her,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his face against your stomach.

You held him close, rubbing his back not quite knowing what to say. At some point you ended up laying beside him on the bed as he clung to your body, eventually falling asleep out of pure exhaustion.

Once again you found yourself waking up together, this time with Lance apologizing for disturbing your sleep last night though you insisted he didn’t trouble you. Lance needed some fresh air, stepping out on the balcony he leaned against the railing, breathing in the scent of fresh cut grass. You came out beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Lance straightened up, allowing you to slip your arm around his waist and lean your head against him. “What are you going to do now?” you asked.

“They mentioned hospice care but I know she doesn’t want that, she wants to be at home.” You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together as you gave him a look of solidarity. “Plus there’s no telling when.”

Lance always knew that treatment would only prolong Dorothy’s life but it was never a cure. With the cancer spreading it could be days or weeks or a month or two if they were lucky.

Rubbing your thumb against his you asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I’m gonna get Nadia so we can bring her home. After she’s settled maybe I can see you?” he asked, putting his sneakers back on.

You asked again if he was sure, you wanted to help him anyway you could and staying here made you feel a little useless.

“She’s not in the best head space. I think the less stimulation right now the better.” He said, giving you sad smile. You understood, he wanted Dorothy to be comfortable.

“But I’m glad you’re here,” he added, kissing you softly before leaving.

Your stomach was rumbling so you quickly threw on a bra and a baggy shirt, leaving your pj’s on and made your way down to the breakfast area. Thankfully it wasn’t very crowded and most of the people sitting there were occupied by the TV. You filled your plate with some toast, grabbing a small packet of butter and a mini muffin. After pouring batter into the waffle maker you sipped on your coffee as you waited for it to cook.

You had a view of the front desk from your table and watched as people were towing luggage in hand to check out. You recognized the family that you sat beside in this very dining area over a week ago during your first encounter with Lance. My how things have changed.

Since you were going to be alone today you decided to grab your bikini and sit poolside. You had intended to do this on your birthday but Lance’s surprise had changed your plans. Back upstairs you ensured the side strings were securely fastened on your purple bikini and threw on a loose cover up dress.

Laying a towel against plastic lounge chair you sat back and relaxed. It was nice to take in this moment. New York was always go, go, go! From the people to the work, it was a constant rush. Laying down with the sun warming your skin and music in your ears you were finally able to just do nothing. It made you think about the last time you took a real vacation. You’ve been to amazing places because of work but to go somewhere and do something for yourself was something you really needed to do again, hopefully sooner than later.

It was still early in the afternoon when Lance texted to let you know that he was on his way back. Putting your cover up back on you gathered your things and went back upstairs to wait for Lance. Soon after he was at your door and you wrapped your arms around him for a much needed hug.

“How is she?”

Lance sighed, “Better, for now.”

After his stressful morning he could use a break, and eyeing you up and down was the perfect distraction from his thoughts. “And what are you wearing?” he said, twirling you around, eyes widening at the deep v opening in the back that exposed the ties of your bikini top. He bit his lip, “I like it.”

Your cheeks grew warmer and you looked away from him, “I was down by the pool when you called.”

“You went to this pool but not mine?” he feigned hurt, “Oh no, we have to fix that. Come on.” Lance took your arm and began to walk you towards the door.

“Wait, wait!” you laughed. Lance seemed like himself again but you were still concerned for him. “Are you sure you want to…” You didn’t quite finish your sentence, unsure of what you would have asked him– Have fun? Pretend your mom isn’t dying?

He answered as if he could read your mind, “Trust me, Y/N, with you is exactly where I need to be right now.”

His eyes pleaded with you and you understood. After a long day in the hospital, with uncertainty around the corner Lance deserved a moment to enjoy himself.

You packed a change of clothes and headed out with Lance to his house. Neither of you had eaten lunch yet. Lance had been too preoccupied this morning so you stood in his kitchen, working in tandem to make a salad. You were rinsing the kale, blueberries and raspberries as Lance took out precooked quinoa, feta cheese and began slicing an avocado. You mixed the ingredients together in a large bowl and Lance added slice almonds on top.

“Can’t forget the nuts,” he said with a suggestive smirk on his face that had you bursting out with laughter.

“Oh my god you’re such a child!” you joked, playfully shoving his arm.

Lance topped off the salad with a lemon poppy seed dressing and you mixed everything together before dividing the contents into smaller bowls. You sat at a table on the veranda talking about the grand opening in two days.

“I’m definitely excited. I have to order banners with the USAG logo on it now that I’m on board with them again, I just didn’t have the time with everything going on.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help? I know your mom has Nadia but maybe a familiar face would be nice?” you suggested.

Lance chewed his forkful, shaking his head. He was worried, Dorothy’s mind was still fragile and he didn’t want anything to push her over the edge. You didn’t push the issue anymore, respecting his wishes. When the bowls were empty Lance got up, pressing his lips to yours for a quick kiss saying he would be right back, and taking them into the kitchen.

His phone buzzed on the table and you glanced over, checking the notification incase it was Nadia or something related to Dorothy. The moment you saw a different woman’s name your heart sank. Since you’ve been down here the only text you’ve received from a guy was an automated message from your dentist’s office, and while Dr. David was cute he was also married.

You and Lance were growing closer as you reconnected but to be fair nothing was official, and despite all of the texts you hadn’t actually seen Lance respond to these women, not in front of you at least. It still hurt though, and you really wanted to throw his phone in the pool out of spite but maybe there was another way you could get your frustration out…

Walking towards his pool you stared at the pristine water and upon hearing Lance walking back outside you lifted your cover up dress over your head and tossed it aside. Lance held his breath staring at you from behind, biting his lip as he took in your form.

“Jesus,” he said under his breath. Walking next to you, his eyes were bulging as he caught a glimpse of your front, staring at your breasts in the bikini top and wondering what he’s done to deserve such a beautiful sight.

“Reminds me of my parent’s pool,” you said, staring straight at the water, though you could feel Lance’s gaze on you. “Except theirs didn’t have a crack in it like yours.”

“Huh?” Lance was pulled away from his sinful thoughts and back to reality. “Where?”

You pointed towards the bottom of the far side of the pool, “Don’t you see?”

Lance squinted, leaning forward to follow the direction of where you pointed. He suddenly felt two palms against his back that propelled him forward and into the pool. Lance wiped the water from his eyes, standing up in disbelief that you pushed him, in his clothes, into the pool!

Your laughter floated through the air as you saw his shocked expression, which only made you laugh even harder.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, “My sneakers feel so weird,” he chuckled, the hem of his shirt floating on the surface of the water.

Walking through the water closer towards you Lance laid his arms against the edge of the pool, resting his chin upon them and smirking at you.

You squatted down, giggling at him, “I can’t believe you fell for that!”

You smiled widely at Lance watching a bead of water trail down his cheek and onto his soaked arm and what looked to be an expensive watch.

“Oh shit! Your watch!” you exclaimed, your mouth covering your face as you felt terrible at the thought of ruining it. The white band stood out against his tanned skin and how you didn’t notice it before is beyond you.

Lance stood up again, looking down at his wrist he pressed his lips together with concern, letting you continue to apologize knowing full well the watch was waterproof.

“Hmmm I’m not sure if it still works. Do you know what time it is?” he raised his brow looking up at you.

Your own phone was beside his on the table and before you could get up to check Lance’s hand clasped around your wrist, and with a determined look in his eyes he said, “It’s payback time!”

With that, he pulled you into the water, laughing hysterically that you were caught off guard. It wasn’t as satisfying considering you were already wearing the appropriate attire but still, he surprised you.

Rising up above the water you wiped your face, laughing and double checking that everything was still covered by your bikini. Lance took notice too, his eyes were drawn to your hardened nipples through the fabric. You took deeper breaths watching as he stared at you. It felt familiar and yet you were scared; if you let go of the past with Lance Tucker then what would that mean? A future?

Doing the only rational thing you could you splashed him to break the tension. It wasn’t the same as when you were kids, the former skinny beanpole was now a tall and muscular man who was able to create much stronger splashes in his retaliation.

Holding your hands up you yelled, “Okay, okay! I give up! Truce?” you innocently asked.

Lance agreed but with all your might you whipped up the water throwing it in his face and swam away to the other side of the pool. Lance followed behind you, awkwardly kicking as his sneakers begun to weigh him down. He swam up beside you, caging you in his arms at the edge of the pool.

“You thought I wouldn’t follow you?” A quick chuckle fell from his lips, the blue of his eyes retreated and you were trapped under his sinful gaze. “I’m not scared of the deep end anymore sweetheart.”

Your heart was fluttering wildly as you heard it beating in your ear. Being trapped between Lance’s arms and hard body made you feel warm all over. You were in the deep end now in more ways than one and it was time to sink or swim.

Pushing your head forward you captured Lance’s lips in a searing kiss, pressing yourself closer to his shirt covered chest and wrapping your arms around his neck. Opening your mouth you deepened the kiss and Lance matched you with equal fervor, your tongues reuniting with each other after being apart for so long.

Lance let one hand go to wrap around your body, wanting to keep you close and never let go. He swallowed every moan that fell from your lips, wanting to swim in a sea filled with sounds of your bliss. You pulled away for air, smiling as Lance kept stealing small kisses from you.

Motioning with your head to follow you Lance swam to the stairs, feeling the heaviness of his saturated clothing weighing him down as he climbed out. You were toweling off your body, bending over to dry your legs and giving Lance a perfect view of your ass. He took a deep breath as he felt a twitch in his pants, the soaking wet pants he was about to take off and he really did not want anything to pop up and make you uncomfortable.

You laid down on his extra wide chaise, adjusting a pillow under your head as you waited for him to come over. You heard the squelching of his sneakers before he was even near you. Lance had slipped out of them, feeling the relief of no longer being suctioned into his shoes. His socks were drenched and smelly so he laid them out to dry far away from you.

His white t-shirt clung to the cuts of his muscles but you eyes were fixed while watching every muscle flex as he pulled himself out of the saturated shirt. His firm body was on display and you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth watching him. Unbuttoning his jeans Lance stepped out of them, revealing his black boxer briefs that showed off a prominent package.

Lance ran a towel along his body, soaking up as much water as he could before laying beside you, both of you letting the warm sun do the rest of the drying. Trees provided a barrier between him and his neighbors so it was quiet and serene. Being together again was nice. It was comforting to lace your fingers together or steal a kiss before you turned onto your stomach, being with Lance felt like home.

When you finally sat up you moved your neck from side to side, groaning a little at the stretch.

“Still sore?” Lanced asked and you confirmed. “I owe that massage, ya know.”

You sat cross legged in front of Lance, making sure your hair was out of the way. His thumbs rubbed small circles upwards on the side of your neck, sweeping down your shoulders. He increased pressure with each pass but kept his touch firm but light, wanting to warm up the muscles before working out the tension.

Lance was well acquainted with the physical form, sometimes having to step in and help a gymnast work through a knot before a competition. Tight muscles were inevitable when you pushed your body as physically as gymnasts do, you on the other hand just hold your tension in your neck and back. When you’re not travelling you’re either sitting at a desk or on your couch with your laptop, with terrible posture as you write your articles, breaking only for coffee refills.

Lance made painful noises as he felt the large balls of tension that pulled at your muscle fibers.

“When was the last time you had a massage?” he asked, as he was adding more pressure to his kneading motions.

“Uhhh….”

Your lack of a real answer spoke more words than you could say. Now that you’re thinking about it you rarely had time to treat yourself to anything. Having your dream job meant sacrificing a lot. Between days at the office and travelling the little time that you had for yourself was filled with menial tasks like laundry and cleaning, and since New York was so expensive you were not able to afford the things you wanted like massages and facials.

Lance’s skilled fingers continued to work your muscles and soon you were melting into his touch, forgetting to curb your moaning because everything felt so damn good! A satisfied smile spread across Lance’s face, he was not only helping you but making you feel good and that’s all he’s ever wanted to do.

“That good, huh?” he chuckled.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you. Turning your head back to face him you smiled shyly when you caught a glimpse at his smirk. Lance leaned in to press a sweet kiss to your lips before continuing to work on a particularly tight spot on your back. Satisfied hums continued to leave your mouth as you became putty in his hands.

Your head lolled to the side as Lance began to work both hands on your shoulder though he was becoming distracted. It was hard not to notice the way you reacted to his touch, watching your chest swell when he worked on a particularly tight spot and then release with a breathy moan.

The column of your neck was calling to him, like a siren singing out to a sailor and he was ready and willing to crash. Licking his lips he leaned in placing a gentle kiss at the top of your neck. Caught off guard by his actions you held your breath as Lance continued to slowly kiss his way down. When he reached the spot where your neck and collar met he licked his lips, sucking on your skin and making you gasp. He soothed the area with his tongue, kissing down further until he was at the curve of your shoulder, placing one last kiss before pulling away.

“Was that good?” he nervously asked.

“Real good,” you affirmed.

Lance’s hands began to rub up your back and down your shoulders, stopping himself to plant kisses at the back of your neck, grazing his nose along your skin. You were squirming with delight, feeding your body to his hungry mouth. His hands began to roam, caressing up and down your arms and wrapping around your waist.

Whether Lance had inched closer to you or you had moved towards him you couldn’t say, all you knew is that you were now flush against his chest feeling his firm arousal pressing against you. He continued his assault on your neck, the wetness left by his tongue matching that in your warm center.

His hands grazed your sides, gently rubbing up and down, getting closer to the curve of your breasts with each pass. Heat began to radiate from your core as delicate fingers slipped beneath your bikini top. Lance traced your hardened peaks before cupping your breasts and you gasped. Kneading them with his hands he nipped at your neckline and you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your head turned back to kiss him, letting your tongue slip past his lips while rocking your hips against him. Lance moved with you, deepening the kiss and pinching your nipple harder. His touch became too much and not enough at the same time.

You broke your connection briefly, turning around to face him before your lips were together again, tongues dancing with each other, teeth clashing together. You were both hungry with need, starving and yearning for desire and as you felt his hardened arousal pressed against you your thighs clenched together to quell the hot burning of your core. Your eyes were dark and filled with determination; you needed Lance Tucker like you needed air to breathe.

Lance’s hands were wrapped around you, pulling you as close to him as possible, worried that if he let go you’d be gone, that this was a dream. When he felt your hands cup his bulge he gasped. Fuck. FUCK! This is real! His moan is swallowed by your lips and Lance is smiling through his kiss, in absolute disbelief that his dream was coming true.

Pushing against his chest Lance laid back, slowly palming his aching cock tenting though the material. He looked perfect, biting his bottom lip as he stared at you lustfully. As much as you wanted to draw this out you couldn’t wait any longer. Your hands went down to the hem of his briefs to tug them down. Lance lifted his hips, bringing them down his legs and kicking them off.

You felt your heart pounding, hearing the steady beat like a drum in your ear. You could almost feel the drool slipping out of your mouth as you stared at his impressive size, something you hadn’t forgotten, now accentuated by the ribbon tattoo. You were never an athlete but right now you were going for the gold.

Your hands wrapped around his length, pumping him as your tongue teased his balls, sucking them into your mouth and growing wetter at the moans that fell from his lips. Your tongue ran along the thick vein of his cock, teasing him before swallowing him, humming in delight as you bobbed up and down. Lance caught your gaze, watching himself disappear into your sinful mouth.

“Oh, fuck Y/N, just like that.”

Heat was building steadily inside of him as Lance began to lose himself to a pleasure he never imagined feeling again, not with you. He tried to control himself but it was becoming too much to handle and Lance was certainly not ready for this to be over before it began.

“C’mere,” he said through a ragged breath, and you bit your lip, legs straddling him. You moved your hips, teasing his cock though you were really only torturing yourself, feeling your wetness grow. Your hands quickly undid the straps of your top exposing your breasts and Lance smiled as they bounced above him. His tongue came out to swipe at his lips, reaching out to grab them but them but you brought his hands to your hips instead, guiding his fingers down to the strings that held your bikini bottom together.

The blue of his eyes were replaced by dark, ravenous rings, his chest breathing heavily as he pulled one string until it was taut, undoing the knot. He undid the other side, agonizingly slow as you mewled above him.

“Fuck, Lance, I need you!” you whined, begging for him.

Finally, as he removed the loosened fabric you adjusted yourself, rubbing your wetness on his length and slowly sank down on his cock; your breath stilling as you felt the stretch of him fill you completely. Lance’s eyes shut tight as he moaned, struggling not to blow his load immediately because of the incredible way you felt around him, as if you were made for each other, like a lock and key coming together to unlock a gateway of never ending pleasure.

Bracing your hands on his firm chest you began to rock your hips, your head rolling back as you were overcome with the blissful sensations. With the sun’s glow casting around your body you looked heavenly, but the sounds falling from your lips were pure sin. Lance’s hands made their way to your breasts, grabbing them as you rode him with all your might.

You locked eyes with Lance, moaning and panting above him as your hips swiveled in a desperate need for more friction. Lance dropped his hand down rubbing your clit with his thumb as you cried out, bringing you closer to the edge. 

Lance felt the way your walls began to clench around him. Fuck, he thought, between the beautiful way you looked taking your pleasure from him to the incredible way you felt around his cock he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, the tightening in his balls proving him right.

His stomach muscles tensed as he sat up wrapping his arms around you bringing your sweat covered chests closer together. Your movements slowed as his lips found yours desperately, moaning when he trailed wet kisses down your neck until he reached your breasts, taking them into his mouth and flicking his tongue around your nipples.

When he felt your hips begin to rock again he knew he couldn’t deny you of your release. Carefully he cradled you against him as he turned to lay you on your back. Bracing himself above you he entered you again and began to thrust into your heat. Lifting your leg up around him he reached your sweet spot, quickly bringing you to the edge.

“Oh, fff, Lance… I’m gonna…” you began to cry out as your walls fluttered around him, your fingers digging into his biceps as waves of pleasure washed over you.

He held out for as long as he could but feeling the way you came around him set Lance off. With a strangled moan he pulled out, emptying himself on to your stomach.

Lance hovered above you panting, his cheeks flushed with color. He smiled widely seeing your spent face coming down from the heavenly journey you took together. You looked so fucking beautiful. Lance captured your lips in for a languid kiss, resting his sweaty forehead against yours, wanting to stay pressed against you, being connected for as long as he could.

His softened dick twitched against you, reminding him of the mess he painted on your stomach. Regretfully he got up, grabbing the nearest towel to clean you up, sharing an awkward smile as you watched him. Throwing it off to the side, he laid back down pulling you beside him and wrapping an arm around you to keep you close. You were hot and sticky from the sun and the sex but they way Lance held you made any discomfort fade away.

You laid together trying to catch your breath basking in the aftermath of what transpired. You smiled when you felt his lips kiss the top of your head, hearing him hum with delight as his arms squeezed you closer.

When your heart rate steadied your mind had finally broken free of the lust driven cage you locked it away in making you realize what just happened, you had sex with Lance Tucker. Your mind was now screaming at you. What have you done?!

PART 13

[redditnosleep]

Life 2.0

by TobiasWade

I was 16 when I saw the first crack: a jagged line, about four feet long but less than an inch wide. I found it by the sidewalk behind my house. Not on the sidewalk. The crack was in the air, visible from every direction as I circled around it. Harmlessly suspended, and nothing more.

I couldn't touch it. My hands passed through as though it wasn't there, although my hand was white and numb with cold by the time it reached the other side. I wouldn't even walk close to it. Something about the emptiness just rubbed me the wrong way. I've walked around caves, stared down holes, even used a telescope to look at the space between stars - this wasn't like that. It felt less like something was missing and more like something extra that shouldn't be there.

My family moved shortly after-that, and I guess I forgot all about it for awhile. Time moved steadily forward, except maybe for a few months after college when it stopped to let me admire my future wife. She had the kind of smile that hinted at a secret, and if I had a guess, I'd say it was the secret to being happy. I would have given anything to explore every hidden crevice of her mind, knowing her as she knew herself until one day we could start making new secrets of our own.

It was about a week after we met at work when we both had to stay late to clean up after an office party. I asked her to come sit on the roof and look at the sky with me. There we were: side-by-side, the space between our hands burning like fire, the shape of her mouth illuminated with the backdrop of endless stars, gleaming like millions of envious eyes wishing they could sit where I was sitting now.

I didn't know anything could make me feel so weak. My legs were trembling, and I remember having to keep switching positions so she wouldn't notice. I didn't trust the words in my mouth or the thoughts in my brain, or any other part of me which was blurred out of existence to make room for my appreciation of everything that she was.

That's when I saw the crack again, and I was reminded how powerful weakness could be. It was larger now, running along the side of an external AC unit. Not quite alongside - if I really looked I could see the empty air between the metal box and the crack. I could just make out the little streaks of light where the surrounding stars bled their light into the hole to be lost forever: a cookie-cutter gap in reality that the world had forgotten to fill in.

"You can leave whenever you want," she'd said.

I guess she noticed that I was distracted. I shook my head, prompting her fingers to trace their way up my hand. I turned to her and her breath warmed against my mouth, and suddenly that was the only thing in the world. Six months and we were engaged, another year and we were married. Neither of us stayed long at that office, and I never went back up to that roof. The crack didn't matter. Bad dreams can't hurt you once you've woken up, and beside her grace, I was awake for the very first time.

Things went well for us, but we were so in love that I don't think we would have noticed if they hadn't. I got an investment banking job and climbed the corporate ladder. I started seeing more cracks, but no-one else seemed to notice so I didn't mention them either. Sometimes they'd align perfectly to an existing object, but I could feel their emptiness pulling at me and I knew what they really were. There was a big one above the conference table at work, but I had a future here and wouldn't let something like that get in the way of my success. My diligence paid off when my boss finally told me that he was getting older and wanted me as partner for the firm. He was standing right on the other side of the crack when he said it, so it was difficult to maintain eye contact with him.

"Unless that isn't something you want," he'd said, misreading my silence. "Of course you can leave whenever you want."

The same words, but I hadn't recognized the significance yet. I just smiled and shook his hand, careful to reach underneath the crack hanging between us. It was another dream come true, and I was king of the world. My wife and I moved into a big house and we had a baby girl together. I watched her grow, and watched the cracks grow with her. Hairline fractures splintered the sky and mapped their web throughout the air. I had to be careful where I was walking. There would be a dozen of them in my path within any given day.

I passed through a big one once in my car. I was changing lanes and didn't notice in time. The crack went straight through my windshield without disturbing the glass, passing through my heart and out the other side. Cold doesn't begin to describe it. The line erased my body as it passed through me, displacing skin and organs, leaving a sucking vacuous wound for the briefest instant before it was gone. I lurched at the wheel and spun off the road into the guard rail. My hands kept racing over my chest, fists pounding against solid skin to reassure myself that I was whole.

I started working from home after that. There's a bathroom that doesn't have any cracks in it, and I spend most of my time in there. I've seen my wife and daughter walk straight through them without the slightest notice. I can't explain to them what I see and feel because I know they'll think I'm crazy. And maybe I am, but that doesn't change anything. I'll sit in here for hours at a time, working on my laptop or reading a book, loathe to leave where I might stumble through what isn't there. My wife begged me to leave, and sometimes I'd open the door just to walk around the house or sit with her in the living room, but I couldn't go outside anymore. There were too many of them - more everyday it seemed like.

The world around me had shattered, and I was the only one to notice. I know it hurt her, but in time my wife accepted that this is how life was going to be. She made the best of it, always inviting friends or family here and making excuses when I was expected somewhere. She took cooking classes and learned how to make all my favorite meals, even getting a small table and television installed in the bathroom I was confined in.

My daughter was a different story. Eight years old now, and no amount of explaining could make her understand how much I loved her, even if I wasn't always there. I didn't know how embarrassed she was of me until a teacher called to let me know she'd been telling all her friends that I was dead. I made an effort to sit with her in the kitchen to ask why she'd do that, but all she'd said is that "I might as well be."

And she was right.

I wasn't taking care of my family anymore. They had enough money put away that they didn't need me to work. I was just a burden, and just like the cracks, I was growing bigger everyday. Some nights I wouldn't leave the bathroom to go to bed, and I could hear my wife crying through the wall between us. I tried pushing myself harder, willing myself through the emptiness - it wasn't any good. They cut through me like a knife, froze me to my core, shredding bone and sinew and stitching me back together so seamlessly that there was nothing but the memory of that pain to remind me of my torment.

I was ready for this to be over. I just didn't know it until I heard the words out of my daughter's mouth as she pressed against the other side of the bathroom door.

"You can leave whenever you want."

"Yes," I told her. "I'm ready."

"All you've got to do is throw yourself into a big one," she said. "You'll be out."

She knew about them? I jumped up and flung open the door. She wasn't there. I raced down the hall, shouting her name, forcing myself through each searing darkness that severed my mind and body, heart and soul. There she was, standing outside next to the biggest abyss I had ever seen. A wall of darkness, ten feet across and ripping through the air above like a skyscraper. I could feel the call of that emptiness, whispering to me, beckoning me, a promise of freedom and release that a lifetime of memories could not dissuade.

"Just do it already. You've been here long enough," she said.

But I was afraid. Even this far away from the blackness, I could remember how those dark talons would feel as they rend my body. Would there be anything left of me to come out the other side? It was big enough that I didn't have to come out at all. I could step in and be gone. It's what my daughter wanted. So did my wife, if only she had the courage to admit it. And maybe it's what I wanted to, but on my knees before all of creation and its antithesis, I was afraid.

"It's easy. Just follow me." I tried to stop her. Air dragging through my lungs, feet stumbling and twisting beneath me, lunging desperate grab - I tried to stop her from entering that blackness. But she was gone, and there was no choice but to follow. Into the looming void I plunged, screaming without sound, bleeding without wounds - disintegrating into nothing -

And then I opened my eyes. I was reclining in a padded chair like they have at the dentist office. Three men were standing over me. A plethora of beeping machines, IV lines, and heart-rate monitors cluttered the room to either side.

"Well?" one of the men asked. "How was it?"

"You were out for almost an hour."

I couldn't answer. There was nothing left of me to answer.

"We kept sending signals telling you it was okay to leave," another man said. "Didn't you get them?"

I closed my eyes and took a long breath. Life 2.0 still has some bugs, but they told me they figured out how to fix most of the cracks if I wanted to go again. It's going to be ready for the market soon, they said. People are going to love it, they said.

"Did you notice anything else that needs fixing?" they asked me.

"Just in this world," I replied.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I finally wrapped up most of the damage from 2020.  Among all the pain and suffering I had to deal with from all sides, the financials were the most ambiguous.  I read all these thinks pieces about the lasting damage it has done to the American economy.  And then there’s the situations I find myself in that I am left to embrace alone.  The reality is that most people seem to think there’s nothing wrong with me.  Kind of like when I go to the dentist year after year and nobody ever says anything about fixing a crooked tooth.  They floss around it.   I feel them flossing around it.   I apparently wear the defects so well that they become me.  Whatever chunk was taken out of my life still keeps biting.  There are no shortage of victims in this day and age.  I’ve often had to read into the fact that nobody wants me to identify that way.  For some reason based on what people think they know about me there’s a judgement placed without my knowing it’s due process.  I’m laughably somewhere in the middle of everything through survival.  Getting into arguments online or in the street to prove points for yourself is a losing battle.  I have to realize the mindfuck of it all either way.  I’m constantly playing damage control in a world that shoots itself in the foot to feel alive.  If I look back at how long I’ve survived on this planet, I can admit to myself I’ve seen worse outcomes.  To think a year ago, I was in a stable job with a stable amount of debt I couldn’t quite escape the gravity from.  It was always me alone grinding to try and do that.  And to this day how many ever stories you’ve heard about me across the world don’t really pay the bills or encourage people to treat me like a human being.  I deal with people following me around and trying to communicate in ways I never consented to daily.  Everybody’s vampiric instinct for some sort of intelligent connection is at my footstep every ten feet when I go out for groceries.  People overstep the boundaries so much I’ve had to rewrite them for myself for protection.  Now I’m boxed into cheap rent with no guarantees and everybody’s opinion about me on eleven.  It’s the type of shit that would make anyone go nuts.  Let alone everyone struggling for pieces of your power so they can have the upper hand in terms of social dominance.  I get it.  Almost too much.  I live in a city where egos flare up every day.  There’s no shortage of people spray painting gang symbols in pink all over my alley because somebody made the mistake of getting it fucking twisted.  I have to walk through that aftermath and know it all.  That everything I say or do is watched, taken out of context, manipulated to start shit because somebody feels some type of way about shit they do not know the repercussions of.  People get shot in my city every day.  I walk alone.  Sometimes I take the bus when somebody is up in my face with something to prove on an abandoned street.  My imperfections of which there are many aren’t ever going to save me.  My brain does.  And of the most sexy things in this world beyond my greying hair, my coffee stained imperfect dentistry or my pockmarked skin, I am human too.  I live in a country where everyone envy’s the ability to speak freely without being taken to the stake for it.  That’s always been a lie.  I live that lie and dodge it every day.  And there are no real door prizes for second place in that battle except dwindling health care benefits and a lump sum pension.

On the other hand, through all this I continue to make magic happen.  I’m sure people can romanticize how it feels.  There are times when it feels like I’m worth it.  Everybody wants to roast you out here to feel better about themselves.  I’d rather have girls show off their makeup tutorials in safety around me than deal with your petty online hierarchies.  And this is what happens on a very hyperlocal level.  People out here know what I’m about for better or for worse.  It’s called the internet.  People all over the world seem to have an opinion about what makes me tick after I’ve spent over three years writing my heart and soul in three paragraphs on the internet.  And yet I’m still the enemy.  I’m still someone you don’t quite trust.  Someone you more than often throw under the bus because I can take it.  Or there’s something I haven’t been through yet that makes me less threatening.  To break me first so you can control me.  And yet here I am out here with the remote control to my own life boarded into a fiscal cage.  I’ve gone from worrying about money to worrying about when to switch to single payer healthcare.  I’ve gone from holding down the fort to wanting to pack up my cat and  leave completely.  And I will have nothing holding me back.  No hurt feelings.  No vampiric lust for revenge or closure.  No desire to be understood or seen.  People abuse me every day in public and online as their own personal punching bag because they don’t have the strength or the will to practice on the real enemy.  The same enemy I’ve been fighting up close and persona for years.  Does this make me a beast?  Yes.  It makes me far more powerful than anybody would ever know.  And yet I know the reality.  I’ve lived it in my own city for years.  People do not want people to be strong without some sort of failsafe device.  Some secret way to cancel their mutant powers.  Some word or phrase to break them when they fear the freedom and power running through their veins.  Most of the time when that happens I’m paying my bills on time while holding back endless waves of childhood trauma living and growing up weak, smart, and awkward in America.  And here I am still awkwardly unaccepted unless I submit.  Unless I show some sort of weakness I haven’t already conquered.  I’m defective just like you.  But somehow it’s inconvenient for you to approach the reasons you can’t see that.  You’d rather lump me in with everyone else and throw your shot.  You take the hail mary play I’ve seen time and time again from people who secretly are uncomfortable with me winning.  You try to make your bluff at the poken table and I have the winning hand.  Soon I just realize it’s not worth my time playing.  I find another table to saunter off to that doesn’t reward on house rules.  And here I am out here again winning in spite of all the shit you people constantly talk on your secret club house forums.  You might even take away bits and pieces of my own arguments over the years and use them against me.  And where do you end up?  In the same pitiful and tired argument over and over again.  Nobody is going to lift you up from the graves being built around you other than you.  This is what I have learned and have to process every day.  The last eleven months have been barren at best.  And yet I have no hope of it getting any better.  I’m hurt,  A pain that I’ve been able to manage by removing myself from culture that pokes and prods the scars.  Like they’re doing you a favor while they watch you sink.  Throwing rocks at the body floating down the river.  Me playing dead long enough to run away.

If you want me to be honest, it pisses me off how worthless it is to argue anymore.  To jump into this week’s political thought piece.  To argue what a bunch of rich people vote on and why.  To feel like you are part of any sort of people’s revolution that literally plays a ranking game in terms of suffering.  America is good at valuing things.  We take it to the extreme and drown everyone out in the process.  The whole world is learning from us.  And yet America and Americans are a diverse bunch.  About the only thing I can tell you about America that is working right now is the IRS.  That and my bank investigating just how many times I’ve been a target of fraud..  You’d think after all these words typed out into the internet that someone would realize I’m just as much of a victim as some people.  Maybe not in the same way.  But people would rather nitpick and point the finger to divert the attention from themselves.  And the eye of fucking Sauron is always on me.  Not you.  You do not understand the weight of that statement that I live with everyday.  Everyone has a fucking problem with me now.  I have to walk through that brutal street catwalk every day in a city that would rather shoot you than discuss it’s feeling about the situation.  And yet I’m supposed to feel sorry for everyone first.  I’m supposed to watch my tongue for the secret internet and cultural police that control who wins and who loses.  Did I forget to mention I live in America?  The country everyone lauds as being the freest place in the universe.  I’ll give you a hint.  It is.  I fucking live it.  I talk and write about it too.  And my voice is heard around the fucking planet without anybody having the least respect for how it plays out in my life.  I could have died many times over because somebody had to use my life to prove a point.  And it’s collapsed into a void in which I am trapped while everyone continues to throw stones.  Everyone except the people I love.  And the people that love me back.  I’m being real with you.  I stick my neck out every waking moment to live the life I believe is real.  And there are no guarantees.  No expectations.  No hope or clearly worded rules or communication on how to progress.  And week after week. Tooth after chipped and crooked tooth I speak my mind.  I walk with accountability while people stare at the fucking ground.  I live in a loneliness so deep and intense that ghosts still speak volumes.  Things will never be forgotten no matter how silent I become.  And yet people talk over it like I’m already dead.  They stop at nothing to invade my life and defile every chance for me to not fade away.  What in these three paragraphs to you defines me as the enemy?  Because I have more power to make my dreams come true?  Do you want to put yourself into the hell of walking in my shoes?  Do you want to wander these streets without a weapon other than your kindness and patience?  Do you lie awake at night thinking you will die alone without anyone having the reading comprehension to know what it is you are going through.  I will answer this for you.  No you don’t.  Because you will see the exact hell that I know very well.  No one saves you in this life but you.  No one will pick you up out of the hole other than you.  Nobody will tell you when you look in the mirror alone that you are beautiful other than you.  To live with that knowledge and to take it out on other people is fucked.  To judge other people you don’t even know who exhaust themselves to explain is a losing battle for attention.  You should already know the simple fucking answer.  Because I’m worth it.  And I’m sick of beating myself up for people who think they are the only ones in pain.  I’m dying here.  Mostly from lack of open space and personal freedoms.  Sounds like any other country you know other than America.  Home of the free.  I’m going to go exercise my freedoms on these weights.  Because gravity holds pity on noone.  And it’s easier to fall than to rise.  That takes works regardless of how you were born into this world.  Let’s stop fighting each other and pay more attention to the planet.  You’ve already caused enough damage biting off more than you can chew. <3 Tim