#i think he’d get stressed and overwhelmed by how much bobby has to do and how many people rely on bobby’s leadership

[softestepilogue]

buck is nowhere near being ready to be captain in any way shape or form. he definitely still has a lot of growing and experiencing and maturing (professionally) to do. it would be interesting to see future cap hen mentoring buck so one day he’d be ready to be interim captain and then eventually captain of his own firehouse.

[usermoreid]

what would the unsub maeve story line be like? talk about it!

god im so happy you asked me this. it got so long so it's under a cut but im akfhdh i love unsub maeve arc

okay so she reaches out to spencer because she's been looking for a way to get to the team for a while now, and spencer posting to forums about his migraines was the perfect opportunity. she starts slow - introduces herself as a geneticist, asks to see the brain scans. spencer's so desperate for help he doesn't even ask for credentials, he just sends them to her. what's the worst that can happen, right??

she says she has some ideas, but she needs to talk to him; she needs to get a feel for what sort of lifestyle he's living so that she can figure out the best way to work with it. spencer's immediately overjoyed - someone has an idea of how to help him?? wonderful!! exactly what he needed!! so they start writing letters. she asks about any trauma he's been through in the past. he thinks it's to see if there could be any psychological or physical underlying issues. it's actually so that she can use it against him if need be.

talking about these things just feels so good to him - he's never been able to be so open with someone. but it's for medical purposes, he reasons, meaning that it's not like he's actually talking about it. and then they start talking on the phone. she suggests some vitamins - things she knows won't actually help him with his migraines but also won't hurt. during these phone calls, he pretty much starts using her as a therapist of sorts. and then he learns that she really is incredibly smart and wow she's so funny and oh my god she let's him ramble on and on to his heart's content and oh she's literally perfect.

his headaches become a little less severe. he pins it on the vitamins and the changes in diet and the exercises that she has him doing. he's not necessarily wrong, it is making him healthier. but it's actually due to the decrease in stress. he's not bottling up his emotions anymore. it took a little bit of time but he reaches a point where if he has a difficult case, he picks up the phone and calls maeve, whose credentials he still never asked for because why would he ask for proof when he's literally evidence of her capability himself??

this goes on for a while. spencer partially does actually develop feelings for her, but he mostly just starts associating the lack of pain with her, along with the relief that comes with it. he doesn't realise. she does. it's going exactly to plan.

she tells him about her stalker; says that he's the reason they can't meet; says that it's far too dangerous to get spencer's team involved because i don't want to hurt you and spencer believes it all. why wouldn't he?? he certainly has no reason to believe that they actually can't meet because her plan isn't ready yet, or that the team can't get involved because they'll see beyond the veil that spencer's insecurities have casted and immediately spot the red flags. no, she has no reason to lie to him, why would he ever doubt her?? he loves her, she helps him. and she loves him too, she said so herself. she wouldn't lie to him.

and then one day she gets kidnapped. there's a voice saying zugzwang and she can't answer the phone and oh my god he's going to have to tell the team. so he does. he musters up all the courage he doesn't have and stumbles marches his way into hotch's office, trying to project an air of confidence that's greatly diminished by the overwhelming anxiety coming off of him in waves and he tells his boss everything, from their first meeting to their last conversation.

hotch is skeptical, spencer can tell, but they go through with it anyway. they treat it like a regular case. they think it's the ex-fiance and oh god why didn't she say she was engaged and then they think it's the guy's new girlfriend and they've found where they are, they've figured it out let's go get her!!

and when he gets there he's told to blindfold himself and he does and then he's strapped to a chair and he needs to see her and he finally does and—

i told you we were going to make blindfolds fun again, he hears.

she's standing alone. two bodies in the back - bobby and diane. she had to kill them. bobby was going to expose who she really is and why she really had to disappear from her academic circles and maeve couldn't have people finding out that she was forced to leave after stalking someone to the point of almost getting a restraining order, not after she fought so hard to keep it quiet. and diane - ugh, diane - who stole her boyfriend and wore her clothes without even knowing they were hers. they both had to go.

he stares in shock. he doesn't understand. he came here to save her why is she free why is she stood in front of two dead bodies why is he strapped down to a chair what's happening??

she tells him. she tells him that the bau ruined her life. she tells him that they killed her parents - her real parents, the ones that weren't related to her by blood but through love, the ones who took her in when she was a child who ran away from home. they were serial killers, sure, but they loved her and she loved them. but then the bau came along and ruined their big finale. they didn't get the chance to blow up the people they were meant to, so they blew themselves up. suicide, it technically was. maeve calls it murder. the bau murdered them.

she takes spencer's gun from his hip and fires a shot into the wall, knowing that the team would come running. spencer can't tell them not to, they wouldn't hear him in time. they pile in, seeing maeve holding a detonator in one hand and the gun in the other and they realise, only moments after spencer, that she's rigged the place to blow.

she makes them all put their weapons down and throw them over, as she holds the gun to spencer's head. once the weapons have been dealt with, she throws the one she's holding over with the others and waves the detonator higher, making sure everyone can see it. she tells them that her cells have been dying ever since she returned to her birth parents, never having told them where she was for months and they didn't care enough to ask, because that was the moment she decided she was going to kill herself. she said it happened to her parents too - spontaneous cell death, she called it.

then derek lunges forward. it has such a small chance of working, but it's either this or they all blow up. either way, there's a strong chance they won't make it out. may as well give anything a shot.

he gets the detonator out of her hand by some miraculous luck but before anybody has time to celebrate, she grabs a gun out of the pile and points it to her own head whilst derek's is next to it. if the bullet gets shot, it would kill them both.

it doesn't get shot. spencer's gun does. the one he hides in his ankle holster. the one he grabbed as hotch untied him during the chaos. the one he never told her about because it was such a subconscious act that he never even thought to mention it. he's grateful that he didn't, but not until later. no, right then he doesn't feel anything as his bullet rips through the skull of the woman he loves. or as the gun clatters noisily yet silently to the floor. or as his knees give in and he falls down, staring at the blood pooling from the face he'd never seen in person. she was as beautiful as he had thought. the most beautiful girl in the world. and he had killed her.

[todaysgenderistherevengecrew]

Through a Fog

Authors Note: This is a fic based on how sometimes minor things upset me on bad ADHD days when I’m overwhelmed (also what they do at the end is totally Alex trying to get Reggie to stim even if neither of them actually know that’s what they’re doing) @random-nerd-3 asked to be tagged when this was done!

Fic:

It’s just a bad day. Reggie can feel it under his skin when he wakes up, his whole face is buzzing and when he gets downstairs the silence is stifling in the way he knows mean his parents just finished a fight and are still in the after phase where they aren’t talking. He’d woken up late and can’t stand being in the house longer than necessary so he walks out without eating breakfast.

He gets to school and realizes he left his math homework in his room so he has to sit through a lecture on how he could be so smart if he just applied himself. He doesn’t know how to communicate to his teacher that he is applying himself he’s trying so hard he doesn’t want to forget this stuff he just does. She threatens to call his parents but he manages to talk her down with a promise to never do it again they both know he won’t keep.

By the time lunch comes around he is practically vibrating. He feels like his head is full of cotton and any time he tries to focus his mind wanders and his vision swims out. He hates days like this, hates that he’s broken in a way no one else seems to be. Then when he gets to the lunch room, he remembers he was out of lunch money and hadn’t had time to ask his parents for more. In his rush to get out the door this morning he had forgot to bring anything so when he slumps into the bench where he eats lunch with Alex, Bobby and Luke have different period, he’s exhausted. Alex seems to be fine keeping up the conversation and Reggie is thankful for that. He already has to spend the entirety of lunch psyching himself to have to focus in the rest of his classes and he knows having to keep up a conversation would make that harder than it already was.

The second half of the day goes somehow worse the first half. He gets to gym it’s tennis which he is awful at and he doesn’t even get why they have to learn it. It also does nothing to calm the buzzing under his skin that physical activity normally does. He goes from gym to English where they are supposed to be reading Macbeth and writing an analysis of the effect the witches have on Macbeth’s fate but he can barely focus enough to read the page let alone process any of what is being said or write a paper on it. By the bell rings he gives it up as a lost cause and shoves the book into his bag.

Finally, he is released from school and he’s so glad to get to go to practice. Playing always makes him feel better, the ability to get lost in the feeling in his chest as the bass reverberates or the way the strings feel under his hands always calms him. He meets Luke, Bobby, and Alex at one of the benches outside. Luke and Bobby are talking up in front but Alex hangs back.

“hey man,” Alex says, softly bumping their shoulders, “You okay? You seem a little off today. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Reggie says with a nod, “I’m just,” he pauses, “Spacey I guess is the best word to describe it.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine once practice starts.” Alex nods. “I understand. I’m here if you wanna talk though.”

“I know,” Reggie says, giving him a small smile that seems to make him feel a little better.

When they get to practice is when everything really goes to shit. All because he can’t tune his guitar right. He thinks he has it but it sounds off when they start playing.

“Wait sorry,” Reggie says, “I think somethings wrong with my guitar it sounds weird?”

“Just try tuning it again,” Luke says, “Maybe we distracted you while you were tuning so you just didn’t notice.”

Reggie nods and makes some adjustments and when its where he thinks its good, he says, “okay that should be better.”

They start to play again but it still sounds wrong. “Wait I’m sorry,” He mutters, stopping play, “It still sounds wrong.” And against everything he can feel frustrated tears swell in his eyes and god why is he so upset.

“Reggie your guitar sounds fine,” Luke says and Reggie can hear the agitation creeping into his voice but it just sounds wrong and he needs it to sound okay.

“I’m sorry,” He say’s his voice cracking. He starts to tune his guitar again with a frantic kind of urgency. He vaguely notices Alex get up from his drum set and circle to the table in front of Reggie to pick up a glass of water.

“Reggie man it’s fine,” Luke snaps.

Reggie doesn’t respond just tries to fix it faster but now he’s messing up and Luke is upset and his vision is blurring. This is such a stupid thing to cry over why is he crying over it?

“Reggie are you crying?” Alex asks and his voice is so soft but all Reggie can hear is anger, that sounds so much like his dad, and so he panics.

“No,” He snaps, turning away and frantically scrubbing his face.

“Reggie what’s wrong?” Alex says stepping into his line of sight again.

“Nothing. ‘m fine,” He insists but his whole body feels hot and he knows his face is flush.

“Reggie did something happen with your parents,” Bobby whispers from beside him.

“Nothing happened! Nothings wrong!” Reggie snaps stepping back.

“Okay,” Bobby says, putting his hands up and taking a step back to give Reggie space.

“It’s stupid I’m being stupid. Let’s just go back to practice,” He snaps.

“Okay,” Luke says, nodding, “Let’s just get back to practice.”

They start and Reggie’s guitar still sounds bad and he doesn’t know what to do. He tries to keep playing but he feels like his skin crawling and he can hear it how can’t they hear it he’s going to scream he hates it why is no one else saying anything. “Jesus!” Reggie yells, “Can you not hear that?”

“Your guitar is fine!” Luke snaps.

“It sounds bad! Something is wrong,” Reggie’s voice cracks, “I can’t tune it right. Why can’t I tune it right?”

“Reggie really it sounds fine to us,” Alex says, “Are you sure something isn’t wrong?”

“I said everything was fine!” He yells, ripping off his guitar and storming out of the garage. The minute he’s out of the garage he begins to pace. He just feels so restless. He is buzzing and no amount of pacing is making it go away. He doesn’t know how long he does that before Alex comes out.

“Hey man,” Alex says.

“Hey. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean nothings wrong and that’s worse. I shouldn’t have snapped and I’m so so sorry,” Reggie says, pausing his pacing but now that he’s been in movement, he’s unable to stop so he bounces on his toes.

“It’s okay,” Alex says, “We all have bad days. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“You were just trying to help,” Reggie says, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair.

“Hey so sometimes when I get anxious, I do this thing,” Alex says, eyes flicking to where Reggie has begun to pick his nails. “It helps me if you wanna try it.”

“Yeah sure,” Reggie says, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Okay,” Alex says, nodding, “Just do what I do.” When Reggie nods Alex starts jumping up and down and shaking his hands.

“What are you doing?” Reggie says, “I’m not doing that.”

“Come on Reginald,” Alex says, bouncing over and grabbing him as he jumps.

Reggie scoffs and rolls his eyes but grabs Alex’s arms and starts bouncing with him.

“Great!” Alex says, “Now shake!” he starts aggressively head banging and waving his arms.

Reggie laughs and copies him. When they finally stop, they’re light headed, laughing, and practically leaning on each other to remain standing. They stumble to sit on the step outside the garage. Reggie is surprised to find that the edge is gone. He still feels a little foggy but his skin no longer feels like it’s buzzing and he doesn’t feel like he’s seconds from snapping at the nearest thing to inconvenience him.

“Thanks man,” Reggie says, “that really helped.” He wraps his arm around Alex’s shoulder.

“Any time,” Alex says leaning his head on Reggie’s, “I’m just glad I could help.”

“Is Luke mad?” Reggie asks.

“Luke is being Luke,” Alex says, “Don’t worry about him.”

“It stresses him out when we can’t practice enough,” Reggie says.

“Yeah but you’re more important than practice,” Alex says.

Reggie rolls his eyes and shoves Alex’s head. “I know but we should probably go back in there.”

“Ready when you are,” Alex says, jumping up and holding his arm out to pull Reggie up.

“Let’s go,” he says, pulling open the doors to the garage.

[deuchess]

What do you think are the love languages for the different LIs from S2? (Sorry if you’ve already done this, it’s difficult to find stuff on mobile)

sorry this took so long and thank you for asking!

Marisol: Acts of Service

this one i feel like makes sense considering how much she struggles with being open and vulnerable with her feelings. AND with taking that big step of finally getting with mc. she finds it very meaningful when mc does something for her - she’s expressed several times how much law school has been stressing her out, and it’s not difficult to imagine her struggling to get things outside of work done. if mc decided to help her out, that would just mean the world to her. we also see her attempting to make breakfast for Gary back on day 3, which shows that she finds doing favours for others special.

Noah: Quality Time

Noah just screams quality time to me, because of course it does. getting to spend time with the people he cares about means everything to him, especially when he gets those one to one moments. that’s perhaps why it’s so goddamn to get a moment alone with him on his route and why, when him and mc finally manage to get in some alone time, Noah always seems really happy. i also believe that he’d got a distaste for distractions like texts, phone calls and etc when he’s hanging out with mc. he’d like for them to focus on eachother rather than something else. everything he wants is for those damn stars he talked about to align and give him and mc a few precious moments together. thats truly all he wants, them to spend time with eachother.

Gary: Physical Touch

he’s always asking for a kiss or a cuddle on his route because that’s his way of getting reassurance that you’re still into him. he’s not the best with words so turning to expressing his love physically is a lot easier to him. he might feel a little unloved without physical contact, so make sure to give this big log a hug.

Rocco: Words of affirmation

i’m not as sure of this one as i am with the others, but i think it fits him. he’s secretly a very insecure person, seeking attention from all the girls when he felt as though he was forgotten about. i dont think people tell him often enough that they appreciate him, something he honestly needs someone to tell him.

in uni he was very secluded and ended up dropping out, he was worried about other people’s opinion of him and of that life changing decision he made. there were no one who told him that it was fine, and he yearned for someone to affirm him that it was going to be okay - that he wasn’t a failure.

hope this makes sense, i just see it meaning a lot for him to have someone express their liking of him, seeing as he’s a bit scared to ask for that type of reassurance.

Ibrahim: Words of Affirmation

poor sweet lad has a bit of a hard time with his words at times. there’s a few times i can remember mc having to reassure him that, he is good at this, he is capable of that and that he is good enough. there were a lot of times where he was feeling insecure, but was immediately becoming less so at the cause of mc’s words.

he was always seeking her opinion and was worried of what she might think of him. her expressing interest and affection for him with words mean the world to him because he himself has a problem doing just that. with him feeling insecure, it helps a lot to get reassurance in this way <3

Bobby: Physical Touch

words can be difficult at times so he often relies on actions instead. we see a lot of moments in the game where Bobby expresses emotions via body languages and such, rather than with words. example: booping mc’s nose when he was feeling overwhelmed with feelings.

i just think it fits Bobby to be physically affectionate rather than to express his love with words.

Henrik: Words of Affirmation

this one just makes a lot of sense given how openly Henrik likes to express his thoughts and feelings regarding just about everything. think about the amount of times he’s randomly given mc a compliment, telling her how she’s attractive or smart or amazing. Henrik is obviously a very blunt person who tells it like it is, so if he tells someone they’re amazing it’s because he truly believes it - and he wants them to know it too. i think with Henrik it’s important that he has someone who can also express their feelings, someone who is willing to toss him a praise or two once in a while, so he’ll be reassured that they feel as strongly for him as he does for them.

Lucas: Quality Time

i was thinking about receiving gifts for him at first, but i think getting to spend one on one time with mc is more meaningful to him. in his opinion, there’s nothing more important than him and mc, so them being together is what’s the most important to him. he absolutely loves taking mc out on dates

Elisa: Recieving Gifts

this one is pretty obvious i’d say. it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s materialistic, even though she might be a little bit hehe. it just means that a meaningful or thoughtful gift from someone makes her feel loved and appreciated. it’s also a way she feels comfortable with expressing affection too. taking her girl out for shopping or bringing her on a trip are both good examples of something Elisa would do for her girl. and if mc were to spoil Elisa by taking her out on a fancy and maybe a little expensive date, she might just melt on the spot. love costs doesn’t it? ;)

Carl: Acts of Service

like with Marisol he’s rather busy with work. having his girl do simple gestures or favors for him make him feel special and loved. i think Carl would fit better with someone who’s got, maybe not the same, but a similar love language to him. it might be difficult for him to show love the way mc wants if she has physical touch as her love language - seeing as that’s not something he initiates a lot. he does like his space at times after all so that might not be the best match for him. i can see him instead becoming really proud of himself if he takes the time to do something for mc while she’s away. her doing cleaning up his kitchen, making his bed, cooking dinner or any other gesture like that means more for him than she‘ll ever know.

[saltnhalo]

So idk if you’re still doin one work prompts and all but if you are: professor

Dean doesn’t know what to expect, when he finally goes to college.

As an older student, he already feels way out of his league, and it’s taken years of convincing from Sam and his friends to even start applying, let alone getting accepted and actually attending. And yet, here he is, sitting in his bedroom the night before classes begin and trying not to have a freaking panic attack.

He’s thirty years old, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be getting this anxious about college. He’s been successfully co-running a business with Bobby for over ten years now—something that is no easy feat—so if eighteen-year-olds can handle the stress of college, then so can he.

But that reasoning still doesn’t seem to help.

So instead, Dean is doing everything that he can to prepare for tomorrow. He knows his classes, his books, has read through past syllabi and even managed to find some old exams online. Currently, he’s looking up every single one of his professors on the different rating websites that he hadn’t known existed until Sam had asked whether his professors were notoriously hard-marking, or more easygoing.

Total hardass.

Easy assignments, basically gives you free marks.

Plays favorites.

Cute af.

The last professor makes Dean pause. Professor Novak has more ratings than any other professor Dean has checked out tonight, all of them good and few of them about his actual syllabus or teaching style. Instead, almost every single review is some variation of comment on his looks.

Makes it so hard to focus in class!

Totally. Bangable.

Hands down the hottest professor at KU.

After a little while, it makes Dean a little bit annoyed. He’d come here looking for information he could actually use to prepare himself for classes, and instead, the reviews have provided him with no help at all. All it’s told him is that college students are a bunch of sexually frustrated young adults—there’s no way any professor can be that hot.

Grumbling to himself, Dean closes his laptop, and goes back to poring over his timetable.

~

Dean’s heart is in his goddamn throat as he makes his way through the campus buildings to his first lecture hall. It feels like everyone here is so much younger than him, and he’s sure that he sticks out like a sore thumb. If he can make it through his first day without making an idiot of himself, then that’ll be a win in his books.

It’s only natural, then, that he runs headfirst into someone as soon as he steps foot inside the building.

They bounce off each other, Dean stumbling back a step into the group of students who’d been trying to come in the door after him and who give him mildly irritated looks. Fuck, he thinks, I’m already screwing things up. The least he can do is check that the person he bumped into is okay.

It’s not hard to figure out who that is—the guy is collecting his satchel from the ground where it had fallen, brushing himself off, and then he straightens up and looks at Dean with impossibly blue eyes, and Dean swears his heart stops.

The guy is maybe a few years older than him, dressed in a pair of neatly-pressed slacks and a charcoal vest that hugs his body perfectly. Even without the dress sense, though, the guy’s eyes and sex hair are captivating, and any hope Dean had of eloquence dies in that moment.

Instead, all he can get out is, “Shit, I’m so sorry!”

The guy stares at him for a long moment, eyes wide as he pauses halfway through tidying himself up, and then he smiles at Dean. Fuck, if he hadn’t been attractive before…

“No harm done,” he says, and his voice is a low rumble that immediately has Dean’s imagination running off on wild and dirty tangents. “Are you okay? You looked like you were in a hurry.”

Ask him for help and risk further embarrassment, or shrink into the floor and struggle to find his classroom on his own?

It’s probably not a good idea to show up last and flustered to his first class on his first day.

“I’m actually looking for my class,” Dean tells him. “I’ve got Intro to Physics with Professor Novak? And I have no idea where I’m going, this shit is so overwhelming, man.”

The man’s gaze doesn’t waver from Dean’s face, but his lips quirk up into a smile, and there’s a hint of something almost akin to surprise in his expression. “I’m heading that way, as it turns out,” he tells Dean. “I can show you the way.”

And so they fall into step together, and Dean tries to figure out exactly what to say to one of the most attractive guys he’s seen in a long fucking time. “I’m Dean, by the way,” he eventually says, as they make their way along the corridors. “Dean Winchester.”

“Cas,” the guy says, that smile widening and a spark in his eye that suggests he knows something Dean doesn’t. He doesn’t elaborate.

It’s only a minute before they stop outside a door, letting a handful of other students go in before them. “Well, here we are,” Cas says. “Good luck with your semester, Dean.”

It’s clear that that’s the end of their not-so-conversation, and Dean is desperate to get his number, desperate to see him again, but in the split second he has to make his decision, he wusses out. “Thanks, Cas,” he says with what he hopes is a convincing grin. “Will I see you around?”

Castiel doesn’t reply—just smiles that knowing smile, gives him a wink, and pushes open the door ahead of Dean.

He must be another student, Dean thinks excitedly, following him in. Maybe there’s hope for them after all, considering how Cas seems to be at least a little bit into him.

As he steps into the lecture theatre, though, Cas doesn’t go up into the seats like the other students. Instead, he makes his way towards the desk at the front of the room, drops his satchel onto it, then continues on to the whiteboard.

Castiel Novak, he writes in elegant script, and Dean’s stomach sinks. He can only stand there and stare as Cas—no, Professor Novak—turns to face his students. “Welcome, everyone,” he says, his voice resonating throughout the hall. “Please take your seats. You may refer to me as Professor Novak, or Castiel, if I like you.”

Castiel. But he’d introduced himself to Dean as ‘Cas.’

Maybe there’s a tiny spark of hope after all.

Dean rushes to find a seat, aware of Cas’s eyes on him as the rest of the class settles. “I hope most of you are here because you are interested in the discipline of physics,” Castiel says drily, “and not because of what you’ve read on ‘Rate My Professor.’ Regardless, I do hope you enjoy my class.”

And as Dean settles in for his first lecture and tries not to freak out about the unexpected turn his first day at college has taken, he realizes he was wrong about one thing.

Castiel Novak is definitely hot enough to have earned his positive reviews.

[bittysvalentines]

the other kind of upper crust

From: @whoacanada To: @ackermom

Summary: When the Zimmermann family throws a surprise engagement party, Eric finds himself overwhelmed by the guest list and thoroughly out of his depth. Jack takes the time to remind him he's right where he deserves to be.

Tags: Zimbits, Future Fic, light angst Happy Valentine's Day, ackermom! This is a concept I've been playing around with forever and I hope you love it because you might be seeing more of the party at a later date ;)

Not twenty four hours ago, Eric had been lounging in front of a fire in the den of the Zimmermann family lodge, getting drunk on Perrier-Jouët and watching the snow fall as he cuddled with his newly minted fiancé. 

Now, Eric is navigating the same, now crowded room to snag a glass of champagne from one waiter and some kind of crab cake from another as he slowly realizes the annual Zimmermann Boxing Day celebration has become an impromptu engagement party.

“So you’re the little spitfire that dragged Jackie out of his shell? Congratulations!”

For the nine-billionth time this evening, Eric does not know who he’s speaking to and has to formally introduce himself.

“So it would seem! Eric Bittle, and you are?”

“Mark.” The man takes his hand, gives it a hard shake, and Eric is at a loss because he’s been given no last name. Again. Jesus. “You have a few? Tell me about Samwell, Bobby’s been talking that school up and down forever, you must have been a hell of a Captain to get those boys to a championship, especially without Jack, how the hell haven’t you been scouted?”

Southern hospitality will always reign supreme in Eric’s life, but he finds it difficult not to be overly candid as he’s already answered the same line of questioning with at least six retired pros. 

“If I had to guess, it’d be the whole gay thing,” Eric taps his glass against Mark’s and winks, earning a boisterous laugh that seems to summon Eric’s soon-to-be father-in-law. Bob comes into view wearing a surprisingly elegant blue velvet suit jacket and a pair of light-up reindeer antlers that nearly take a tumble when he grabs Mark round the middle and gives him a good shake.

"This where you've been keeping Eric? Let the boy mingle, you old goat, it’s his party!”  

“Which was news to me,” Eric laughs, hoping the stress he hears in his tone is only in his head. Regardless, Eric takes the opening and slips away, past another throng of well wishers, an actress he’s definitely seen on Netflix, and someone he really hopes isn’t Celiné Dion. He’d been expecting hockey legends — of which, yes, there are many — but the ratio of rich and famous is far more skewed than he’d been expecting if the pile of gifts near the bar is anything to go by.  

Eric downs his champagne and slips out onto the patio to catch his breath, refusing to think about the optics of abandoning his own soiréee as he drops onto a bench overlooking the wooded backside of the property. 

Eric can see the moon through the clouds and the snow flurries, watches the light distort through the vapor of his breath.  He should probably go back inside and mingle, he’s starting to lose feeling in his fingers, but for the first time all evening, he’s enjoying himself. Someone opens the door behind him, spilling music and merriment out onto the porch and reminding Eric he really should go back in and enjoy his own party.

“There you are. What, you hiding?”

“Yes, I am.” Eric brushes some snow off the bench and waits for Jack to settles in, immediately leaning into the space Jack makes when he rests his arm over Eric's shoulders. Jack offers his mug, curls of steam warming Eric’s face as he takes a sip, detecting more than just spices and apple. “Did you spike this?" 

"There might be some Crown in there. You feeling any better?"

"I'm in a tuxedo, surrounded by our loved ones and their famous friends, and your parents just gave me this," Eric shoots his cuff to reveal the gleaming silver watch. "I’m bona fide, Sugar. Top shelf, grade-A Zimmermann approved.”

Jack whistles, taking Eric's wrist gently to inspect it closer, brushing a thumb along the bezel, angling the face so the small silver moon beneath the hands catches the light. It’s a beautiful piece, the nicest thing Eric’s ever owned, and what can only be the start of a lifetime of extravagant gifts from his wealthy in-laws.

“Papa had a whole speech planned. I told him you needed a break. Also didn’t want his proposal to be nicer than mine. You feel how heavy that is?”

Eric bounces his wrist as Jack watches, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

“It’s steel.” 

“It’s not steel.”

Oh, and isn't that just a lovely thought; receiving a gift that triples Eric's net worth in front of a sea of his betters on a night that’s already a panic-inducing celebration of Eric’s ability to weasel into the upper crust.

"Your mom filled me in on the championship tradition.” Eric rubs a hand over his chest, trying to ease the twinge of discomfort. "On the one hand, flattered, on the other, horribly embarrassed I'm not keeping myself together near as well as I’d hoped.”

“While it’s a relief not to be the one melting down in public, the good news is that people think you’re overwhelmed with joy.” Jack’s tone is just shy of apologetic. “Which is also what I was hoping, given the alternative is you’re freaking out because my parents went all out on an engagement party.”

“You told me this was a Christmas party,” Eric presses his face to Jack's chest, wishing he could drag himself out of his own head long enough to enjoy what has otherwise been a red letter evening. 

“Boxing Day.” Jack corrects softly. “And it was supposed to be an intimate, pleasant surprise. Imagine my surprise at how badly we stressed you out. What is going on? You're usually so good with social stuff, and you’ve been looking forward to the non-engagement version of tonight for weeks.”

“Just unearthing some self-worth issues, you know how it is; get confronted with the realities of marrying into your famous boyfriend’s wealthy family and start to question your place in the world.” 

“Is this about the watch. We can pretend it’s not platinum.”

Eric tries to play off the concern, but he's gotten something across, as Jack's hand comes to rest on the back of Eric's neck, fingers gently massaging muscles he hadn't realized were tense. He wants to cry. He just might. 

"Lucky for you avoidance is where I shine," Jack gives Eric's knee a little shake, dropping his fingers a touch to tickle the underside of his leg. “What do you say we get some of this negative energy out. Go hide in the rink out back.“

“Still amazes me you have a rink here.”

“What, that doesn’t strike you as being on brand?”

Eric twists away to only give Jack more access to his ticklish spots. Jack is chanting 'skate, skate, skate' under his breath with an earnestness that forces a smile to Eric's lips. 

"How is the solution to everything skating? Oh, my Lord, fine. Fine! Maybe it won't hurt to get a lap in."

Jack stands, stretching his arms high in celebration, making his suit jacket look two sizes too small before dropping them down again around Eric and hugging him tightly. "Lapin," Jack consoles, taking care to pepper kisses along Eric's hairline without mussing his coif. “I’ll get you something warm. You head to the shed. We'll call it checking practice."

"They'll think you're talking about sex,” Eric chides at Jack’s retreating back.

"Good thing we’re engaged, then, eh?"

Eric brushes the snowflakes from his slacks and follows the lighted path, staying on the shoveled walk but still managing to get snow in his dress shoes; knocking his foot against the mat, he notices a small plaque on the door, engraved 'Jack Laurent's Glacière - Est. 2009'. Eric scratches away a bit of frost to reveal 'Sin-Bin’ scrawled below the epitaph in Jack's familiar handwriting.

"Oh, hell's bells.” Eric breathes, putting together why the Zimmermanns would have gone to so much trouble to build a rink behind their winter home in 2009. As Eric gets the door open, he realizes it isn’t a ramshackle covered backyard pond, the ‘shed’ is a fully built private rink with boards, glass, and even a zamboni in the back corner. 

And Eric’s insecurity is back in force. 

He’s examining the ‘snack bar’, consisting of a small popcorn maker, a mini fridge, and a microwave, when Jack returns with a thermos shoved under one arm, two pairs of skates draped over his shoulder, one hockey, one figure — two of Eric’s many gifts from the Zimmerparents over the last few days.

“Hey. Feel like explaining why your vacation home has a nicer rink in it than the one I grew up training in?” Eric gestures around the rink at large wooden beams, the boards, the glass ceiling, a sanctuary built just for Jack. “Seeing as your name is on it.”

“Ha, well you get cool presents when you almost die and your parents think you’re suicidal.” Jack looks up and around, like he might find something new to inspect. “Was nice to get out of the city after rehab. I think we spent like eight months up here?”

Eric’s known Jack long enough now to recognize when he’s covering up his own pain, and this is not that. He’s genuinely joking.

“I’m really glad you didn’t die,” Eric offers, unsure of what else to say.

“Hey, no way, me too.” Jack smiles. “We have so much in common, maybe we should get married or something.”

Beside the door rests a rack of hockey sticks and shelf holding at least six pairs of skates in various states of disrepair. Jack brushes his fingers over a particularly ratty set of Bauer Supremes with ‘JZ’ in faded sharpie on the heel, nods, and grabs the pair.

“There’s no way those will still fit you,” Eric chides, lifting his own skates, the hockey set, from Jack’s shoulder to start loosening the laces. “But I really want to see you try.”

“Oh, they’ll fit. I was here before you got up this morning. I put new blades on every year and I’ll wear these until they fall apart.”

There’s a pleasant silence as they both sit to gear up, a far cry from the revelry a few short meters away. 

“I’m terrified you’re going to wake up one day and realize you’ve made a mistake choosing me,” Eric relents, keeping pace. “What do I bring to the table? I can cook, sure, but I have a worthless degree, I’m unemployed, one day I’ll probably look like my father —”

"We aren't our hobbies, Bits." Jack pulls a hard stop to kick up some ice shavings before doubling back and doing the same on the opposite side of the rink, scarring the ice. "Or our jobs. You aren't your culinary skills, and I'm not defined by hockey. We're just guys who love each other, who are going to get married, and despite current concerns, are very excited about the prospect. Also, not to make it weird, your father isn’t a hideous guy. I’ve met your family, you’ve got good genes.”

“Well, your dad is hot, too, I guess,” Eric sighs, spinning in a lazy circle.

“Thank you, I’ll pass that along he’ll be thrilled you think so.”

Jack pulls to a stop, his black slacks covered in bits of ice, suit jacket abandoned, showing off the white dress shirt straining around his midseason bulk; a pair of black suspenders working overtime to keep his ass looking as spectacular as Eric has ever seen it. 

"Bitty. Bits. Eric." Jack tugs off his gloves so he can take Eric's hands into his own. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Fuck, I loved you so much it circled around to hate and then back to love again."

"It's weird you'd mention that, like, right now," Eric's unable to keep himself from interrupting, and Jack's cheeks go pink from something other than cold. “While I'm already at critical emotional overload.”

“I love you. My parents love you. My parents’ friends love you. My teammates love you. You are very, very lovable.”

“Jack, I’m really not.” Eric’s voice wavers, but not because he’s lying. “And one day you’re going to figure it out and leave me.”

"Listen to me, Bits. I don’t know what you need to hear to make this okay, but there is no end date on us. No shoe to drop, no morning where we wake up and think about what could have been. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You can be scared," Jack circles around Eric, reaching for his hand. "Just, please, don't be scared of me.” 

Eric finds himself squished against Jack’s chest, inhaling his partner’s familiar sweaty musk and the remnants of a cologne he probably borrowed from Bob. He wants this so badly, and he wants it forever.

“I can be a little scared, though?” Eric asks. “Just a tiny bit. For perspective.”

“Of course. Fuck, I’m a lot scared right now.” 

“I love you, Jack.” Eric whispers, hiding his face. “I do. I’m sorry.”

“But, I don’t have any problem being scared of the future, as long as we’re freaked out together. Let’s be scared of real things. Like climate change. Baking using salt instead of sugar. Bears. The list goes on.”

“Keep talking about scary things,” Eric slides back, tugging Jack with him as he slips into an easy rhythm around the rink. “Keep talking. Make me feel better.”

Jack’s smile is broad and goofy, not his polished media smirk, the one he saves just for Eric. On the list of romantic gestures in their relationship, this one doesn’t rank very high at all, but it might be the most appreciated. 

“I can do that, bud. As long as you need.” 

[wowweeharrystyles]

Part 1 | Kindness & The Perfect Fit | 9.2k words

‘Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she��d fall in love on top of it all.

A/N: So here’s part 1 of Sequins & Zippers. A MASSIVE shoutout to @niallhoranapologist​. If it weren’t for Gwen I probably wouldn’t have continued to work on this story. Thanks for always helping me brainstorm ideas, listen to me talk about these fictional characters all the time & for continuously supporting my writing. you da best. 

“Ugg, this is useless,” Aurora groans as she throws the t shirt she had in hand across the room. Aurora has been attempting to pack her suitcase for hours now. “How the hell am I supposed to pack 4 months worth of clothes in a single suitcase?” she whispers in defeat to herself.

“Rory? Everything alright?” Aurora’s mother calls from the other room. Rory is the nickname her mom gave her when she was only a baby. Her mother walks into her room and sees the frustrated look on her daughter’s face. 

“25 countries? The weather is gonna be different in every freaking country,” Rory lets out a frustrated sigh, falling onto her bed. “I can barely pack properly for a weekend trip.” 

“Hey, you’re thinking too hard and overwhelming yourself,” her mother says softly as she sits on the bed next to her. She places a hand on her shoulder, “Let me help. We’ll figure it out.” 

Aurora is currently trying to pack for her new job. After the craziest year she’s ever had, packed with graduating college, moving to London to work with one of the most well-known stylists in the fashion industry and having the time of her life doing what she loves most, she was offered a career-altering job for the next 4 months. Never did Aurora think she would be sitting in her room back home in a small suburb of New York surrounded by cardboard boxes labeled with things like: “NYC Apartment - kitchen,” “London - winter clothes,” “School things,” “London Flat - bedding,” “I have no idea, from london.” Organized Chaos explained her life best right now. 

“Rory, sweetie, where’s your list?” her mother asks, looking around to locate the papers she’s been carrying around for the past week that’s covered in scribbled notes, lists upon lists and small sketches here and there. “Should’ve really been keeping that stuff in a journal or something.” She finds the papers scattered on Aurora’s desk and a few laid on top of boxes. “Probably wouldn’t be so overwhelmed if you could be a little bit more organized,” her mother sighs gathering the papers into a stack, tapping the bottom edges on the desk to line them up. “You’re normally so much more organized,” her mother continues before pressing a kiss to Aurora’s hair. 

“It’s a lot, Mom. I don’t know where to start.” She stands up from her bed and grabs her phone as it dings, indicating she’s received an email. “Finally!” she exclaims with a sigh of relief. “Harry’s just sent me my official itinerary and all of my flight info.”

“Harry Styles himself emailed you your travel plans?” her mother asks in disbelief. 

“No, mom, Lambert. Harry Lambert, my boss.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” she laughs lightly, “How many mix ups has there been with that name?” 

Aurora’s new job is ‘Head of Wardrobe’ for Harry Styles’ Arena World Tour. In all honesty, she has no idea how she got here. Well she does, but it still doesn’t feel real. Lambert’s original hire for the tour ended up needing to stay in London to help him with his styling work there and she was next in line, but she still isn’t too sure how she got this lucky. The past year happened so fast and it was one opportunity after another that landed her here. She’s barely had a moment to breathe after the holidays and some small jobs here and there to keep her busy. Last January, just over a year ago, Aurora traveled to London for a six week menswear design course at Central Saint Martins for some extra credits before her final semester of college. During this course, she was lucky enough to met Harry Lambert. After he saw her collection of work from the past few years, what her thesis plans were and what she had been working on during the CSM course he kept her information on file for the future. When Aurora left london at the end of the course she had no idea if she would ever hear from Harry Lambert again, but around mid march she received an email from him about an internship position he needed to fill and thought she would be perfect for. Starting the internship in NYC before she even graduated, May was a whirlwind and was the perfect indication on how the rest of her year would be. She moved to London in June and was put to work without a second to spare. 

“Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do,” Aurora’s mother starts before launching into a detailed plan on how they’re both gonna tackle packing up Aurora’s life for the next 4 months on the road, traveling. They’ve got barely 3 days until her flight leaves for London.

Nearly 4 hours later and they’ve organized Aurora’s room. Unpacking the appropriate boxes, written a new packing list, and they’ve also written a shopping list. They’ve got organized piles surrounding them. Again, Organized Chaos best describes Aurora’s life, always. 

“Oh, what about that long pleated skirt you made last year? The emerald green one? You definitely need to take that.” Aurora’s eyes lit up at the idea. She loved that skirt, it was versatile enough that she could pair with heels or sneakers. Versatile pieces were key to packing she found out quickly. Her mom reaches into her closet and searches for it. “Probably at the back, haven’t worn it in awhile,” she motions towards her closet while sorting through the box of her bags, making decisions on which ones she’ll need with her. 

“Oh gosh, Rory, look what I found,” her mom emerges from the closet with a handful of rolled up posters. 

Aurora goes bright red knowing exactly what is on those posters. “Oh no. I kept those?” her mom sets them down on the floor but keeps one to unroll. Once the tape is off and her mom has got it flat, she turns it around to face Aurora. It’s a large poster of One Direction from a TigerBeat magazine. Aurora drops her face into her hands. 

“Remember when you couldn’t see a bit of the wall cause of these posters? If I remember right, you liked that blonde one yeah?” her mom laughs, rolling the poster back up. “Maybe you should take one with you and have Harry sign it? He’d get a kick out of it, I’m sure.” 

“Mom!” Aurora whines. “This is my job, my career. I have to be nothing but professional.” 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a joke or two. Gotta have fun still and honestly, he’d probably think it’s cute.” 

“Mom, it’s embarrassing and I’m gonna be working with him and his team for the next 4 months.” Her mother can see the panic on her face. “I cannot just show up with a One Direction poster.” 

“Ror, I’m just having a bit of fun with you. You need to relax or you’ll just be frustrated and stressed the entire time.” She sets the posters aside and goes to join Aurora on the floor. Placing a hand on her cheek, “Baby girl, my baby girl, promise me you’ll have some fun? This is a chance of a lifetime and I know you’ll work your butt off and do your job perfectly, but you need to enjoy it too. Okay?” Aurora nods slowly. She knows her mother is right, she always is. 

“Okay,” she says softly giving her mom a weary smile. 

“You’ll be okay, I know you will,” her mom says before leaning in and hugging her daughter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Aurora and her mother continue bustling around her room until the sun sets. By the time there is no daylight left there are 2 large suitcases completely full, all organized and packed with Aurora’s belongings. They spend the next hour packing up Aurora’s rolling caboodle. The large, rollable, sturdy set of drawers and compartments is from Aurora’s days as a competition dancer. It used to carry her stage makeup, extra pairs of tights, accessories and an emergency sewing kit. It was always covered in glitter and there were bobby pins in every nook and cranny, a few stray sets of false eyelashes too. But for the past 4 years, she’s used it for all things sewing and design. She never went to class or the design studio without it. Aurora and her mom empty the drawers and reorganize the contents. They make another list of things they need to pick up at the local sewing store the next day. Aurora pulls out her old sketchbooks and sets them to the side and adds a new clean book to the now empty drawer along with her cases of Micron pens, drawing pencils and prisma coloured pencils. 

Aurora continues to organize each little compartment as her mother prints out small labels and adds them to the section dividers. Aurora loves to be overly organized and have everything in its place. It keeps her calm and stops her from getting overwhelmed in stressful situations. There’s nothing she hates more than being backstage at a fashion show and needing a simple needle and thread to fix a small seam quickly and having to dig through the drawers to find what she needs. Backstage life, anywhere, fashion shows, dance competitions, or even a world tour, can be stressful if you’re not prepared properly. 

“Oh, keep the box of sequins and swarovski crystals in there. I actually might need them.” Aurora finishes the sentence with a giggle as she’s setting her scissors in their respective home. 

“Really?” her mom laughs too. 

“Yeah, some of the looks for this tour are actually pretty sparkly. You never would’ve thought. I actually might have to bedazzle a few things on the road.” 

“You’re home!” her mother sing-songs. They both laugh again thinking about the countless hours they spent bedazzling dance costumes with 100’s of crystals. 

After saying goodbye to her parents through a continuous flow of tears, Aurora got on an 8 hour flight. She kept herself busy on the flight to occupy her mind and stop her from overthinking or panicking about the next 4 months ahead of her. She landed in London on the 3rd of March, just a few days till she’d be back at this exact airport with the same luggage plus a few crates labeled ‘Wardrobe’ that she’d also have to care for. She made her way to the Air B’N’B that had been set up for her for the next few days and headed straight to bed. One thing Aurora, jokingly, prides herself on is the ability to sleep anywhere at anytime. 

When the morning rolls around and her alarm wakes her, she’s preparing herself a cup of coffee when her phone rings. She notices Lambert’s ID on the screen. She answers and they exchange good mornings before he asks her about her travels from the day before. 

“Okay, so, I’m sending a car to where you’re staying in about an hour to bring you to the arena.”

“Arena? I thought we were meeting at your studio?” 

“Oh no, change of plans, sorry should have mentioned that in an email. Harry is in full rehearsal mode and everything for the tour is at the mock stage space at Wembley Arena. They’ve just finished the final tech rehearsals and Harry will be there today to start running the show,” Lambert continues. The new knowledge of Harry Styles being there on her first day makes Aurora jittery, small butterflies erupting in her stomach. She’s met Harry before. They’re friendly, but she was only just Lambert’s shadow anytime they were together. He was sweet and kind, just as everyone always says, but she was still a tad nervous. She will be with him almost everyday, on her own, without Lambert there to be a buffer. Aurora tended to be a nervous person, especially if she doesn’t know someone all that well. She can keep her nerves at bay and save a proper panic for after the situation ends most times, which is the best she can do right now. It’s something she’s working on. It’s what she hates most about herself, not being able to keep her nerves in check. 

“Oh yeah, makes sense,” Aurora responds, surprisingly with no jitters evident in her voice. 

“Great, I can have the run of show lookbook all put together for you when you arrive and we’ll go through it and make notes.” “Do you mind if I actually set it up when I get there? I would feel much better and more settled doing it myself as we do a walkthrough of the wardrobe.” 

“Of course, Aurora, whatever you think will work best for you.” 

She thanks him and they end the phone call after confirming the time and car that will be picking her up. She finishes off her coffee and heads to the living room where she left her suitcases last night. One of the large suitcases was lying on the ground, opened, exactly where Aurora left it last night. She ruffles through the contents of her suitcase, moving around different packing cubes until she finds the cube that contains her favourite black jeans. She locates a creme hooded knit sweater and some clean undergarments. She pops into the shower and continues to bustle around the small flat getting ready. At some point she turns on some music to distract her mind. There’s an airy feeling in the flat, the sun shining in london for a change and it calms Aurora down despite the nerves running through her veins. Aurora checks her watch, 10 minutes until her car is due to pick her up. She slides on her all white leather court sneakers and laces them up, tucking in the excess laces for a clean finish. She grabs her black bomber jacket and slips her arms in, then pulls out the hood from her sweater so it lays comfortably on the outside of the jacket’s collar. She takes a quick look in the full body mirror that leans up against the white brick wall across from the large, unmade bed. She’s reminded by the reflection in her mirror to text her mother and thank her for convincing her to pack her favourite clothes instead of all her fancy stuff. She looks put together but is still extremely comfortable, prepared for anything today has to offer her. 

There’s a short honk from the street in front of the building. Aurora grabs her rolling caboodle and her purse before rushing out the door to meet the driver. 

20 minutes later she finds herself stepping out of the car and thanking the driver for holding the door. He grabs her caboodle from the trunk and hands it to Aurora and wishing her well and to have a nice day. Harry Lambert greets her at the door giving her a big hug and exclaiming about how excited he is to have her there. He takes her an office where the tour manager, Michael is set up. The office is busy with several people working at desks on laptops and people taking phone calls. Lambert introduces Aurora to the team and gets her set up with her tour pass and all the nitty gritty stuff. Within half an hour she’s all set for tour and has her new lanyard tied to her on a belt loop. They walk through the never ending halls plastered with signs that state ���Treat People With Kindness” and Aurora smiles everytime she sees another. Lambert points out different places, important notes posted on bulletin boards and casually introduces her to people as they quickly pass. 

Everyone seems to be on a mission, darting in and out of rooms and talking on headsets. It’s a busy atmosphere but nobody seems stressed or upset. Aurora appreciates the hustle that everyone seems to have. There’s smiles and high fives passed between crew members and coffees getting pass along. Lambert points out where Harry’ band’s dressing room is and then Harry’s as well. Harry’s reads “Hershel” on the sign that sticks out from the wall. 

“Hershel?” Lambert chuckles when he sees the confused look on her face. 

“Yeah, Jeff, his manager, you’ve met him, calls him Hershel 95% of the time.” She nods along with a smile. After making their way through a few more halls they reach a larger dressing room. “Okay, so here’s our space for the week.” Aurora rolls her caboodle and sets it against the wall near the door for now and sets her purse down on an empty space on the counter that lines one of the shorter walls. On the wall directly across from the doorway there are 3 large black cases that stand about 6 feet tall, opened and filled with garment bags. 

“Is everything here already?” Aurora makes her way towards the case farthest left. 

“Hopefully!” Lambert picks up a large binder that’s sitting on the table across from a small leather couch. “That’s where we’re starting. Checking through each night’s look and making sure it’s all here.” She takes the binder that Lambert has handed her and opens it up to the first page.” 

“Oh wow. I almost forgot how beautiful these suits are.” Towards the end of her internship in London, Lambert let her help him pick some options for the tour. She thumbs through the book quickly to get a glimpse of the beautiful designer suits. She notices quite a few of her favourites made the cut. The 2 of them sit down and devise a plan to best get through this large task of double checking the 60 looks in front of them. They’re about ¾ the way through around 1pm when they mutually decide to take a break and grab some lunch before they power through the rest of the wardrobe. After meeting more members of the crew and grabbing another cup of coffee, Lambert and Aurora make their way back to their dressing room. 

“Hey, let’s go take a look at the stage,” Lambert said as he made a sharp turn in the opposite direction of the room they’ve been working in. “I haven’t seen the final setup yet.” 

“Oh, I’d love that!” Aurora’s face lights up at the idea. They enter from the back of the stage. The stage itself is fully constructed but the light trees are currently hanging low to the ground and crew members are working carefully to change the direction, colour or size of each bulb. Lambert excuses himself as he takes a call, telling Aurora he’ll meet her back in the dressing room in 15 minutes. Aurora continues the theme from today and introduces herself to the stage crew. “Mind if I check out the stage?” she asks Jack, one of the crew members who introduced himself as the Stage Manager. 

“Go ahead, just keep an eye out, we haven’t cleaned up much.” She nods and smiles while walking up the metal steps at the side of the stage. She takes careful steps as she steps to center stage. She looks out into the empty arena. The lights are low and the noise from the powertools is echoing through the arena. 

Though there isn’t any music, the stage lights aren’t shining, and she isn’t in one of her rhinestoned costumes, she still feels at home standing center stage. The nerves she’s been holding on to all morning wash away as she takes a deep breath. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment and she remembers the last time she performed on a stage like this one. It was her senior year of high school at nationals in New York City. It was her farewell to her dance career. A smile starts to grow on her face, the nerves from this morning, the the whole trip to get here, completely washed away now. 

“Oi!” a voice booms through the air, making Aurora jump and she searches for where it came from. She turns around, her hair following her as she turns. Her hair continues to follow her movement, falling in front of her face a bit but she can still make out the face the voice comes from. “What’re you doing on my stage?” She’s met with a smiley, broad shouldered Harry Styles. He’s got his hands in the pockets of the tartan trousers he’s wearing. The strong feeling of embarrassment brings heat to her cheeks as she looks down at the black and white vans he’s sporting. 

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I-,” she starts rambling apologies. She watches his vans take a few steps closer to her. Aurora’s fumbling with her hands, a nervous tick of hers. “-I was told, told, I could, could, check out the stage,” she’s stuttering over her words and pointing in the direction of Jack. She finally stops talking when she meets Harry’s eyes. He’s still beaming and her stomach drops at the fact that he’s enjoying this situation. His confidence paints an incredible stark difference from her mumbling nervousness. Her brain is a bit fuzzy right now but that doesn’t stop her from noticing the way his eyes sparkle. 

“I’m only joking, love” he says as he pulls his hands out of his pockets with a chuckle. “The stage suits you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Aurora offers again. “I’m-” She’s reaching her hand out when he cuts off her introduction.

“Love, we’ve met. How could I forget you, Aurora.” She’s startled a bit when her name comes out of his mouth. “Ya fixed the hole in my pink jacket, remember?” He’s stepping closer to her and before she’s able to process what’s happening he’s wrapped his arms around her torso, his tattooed arm rubbing her back briefly before pulling away. 

A small laugh leaves her mouth, “I remember, didn’t think you would is all.” Her voice is soft and trails off towards the end of her sentence. 

“Not got much a reputation then if I’ve got people that work with me thinking I’ll forget them.” He lets out a soft chuckle and his smile elicits a dimple on his cheek. 

“No, no, you’ve got a much better reputation than that, promise. You must meet a lot of people day to day is all.” Aurora is calming down, now, realizing that there is no reason for her to be so nervous around him. She’s interacted with him before, this shouldn’t be so jarring to her. Though this time is different. She wouldn’t be working behind Lambert or running errands. She’ll be with Harry just about everyday and she terrified she’ll never be comfortable, always anxiety ridden. Although his life is much different from hers, she’ll be getting a real taste of it and they’re close in age. They’re bound to find something in common. Right?. There’s a bit of silence before Aurora speaks up. “Well, your suits aren’t gonna organize themselves. I better go find Lambert.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t let me stop you from your work.” Aurora nods. She excuses herself as she makes a comment about how she thinks the stage looks great so far. Just after she’s walked past him she feels him grab her hand. “I’m excited to have ya on tour with us, love. Happy to have you making sure I sparkle just right on this stage.” He’s let go of her hand and presents his arms out to the sides as he mentions the stage. 

She’s beaming back at him. “Packed extra rhinestones just for you.” She’s almost skipping down the stairs after that. A weight of relief falling from her shoulders in a light sigh.  First, interaction with Harry? Check. She finds her way back to the room she’d been working in all morning. She settles down on the couch again, pulling the large binder into her lap. She jots down a few notes and adds to the ever growing list of things that need to be done. She stands up and walks over to one of the open wardrobe cases. She’s sliding hangers across the rack before she gets to the next look. Aurora takes the hanger off the rack. The sleek black hanger is labeled Yves Saint Laurent and an emerald green sequined button down shirt hangs off of it. There’s a pair of black straight leg trousers folded over the hanger as well. Aurora carries the ensemble across the room and hangs it on one of the vanity bulbs that sticks out from the light bulb framed mirror. She fixes the collar so it’s sitting straight. She takes a step back with one hand on her hip and another on her chin. 

“What’re you thinking?” Lambert asks when he sees Aurora’s furrowed brow. She hums, still processing her thoughts. 

“You know Michael Jackson’s black sequin jacket? The one he wore when he did the moonwalk for the first time?” He nods, following along. “Think we could play with that idea. What if Harry wore this open, with the Calvin tank?” In the small section of a wardrobe they’ve already gone through is a slew of clothing articles that will be used for multiple shows. The Calvin tank she’s referencing is one that will be, in Aurora’s opinion, an iconic, staple for the entire tour. It’s a simple white ribbed tank but on the left side, “Treat People With Kindness” is embroidered in black. “It’d be closer to Michael’s ‘Billie Jean’ performance in Munich that same year, but it’s the iconic sequin jacket that will sell it.”  

“You really know your stuff huh?” Lambert chuckles, impressed by her knowledge and the way her brain works. Lambert walks away and grabs the tank from the rack and brings it back to Aurora. 

A smile creeps onto Aurora’s face. “My mom loves Michael Jackson. Loves him like everyone loves Harry. I grew up dancing around the house to his music.” She takes the tank from Lambert after he slides it off the hanger. She’s quick to unbutton the YSL shirt in excitement but does it as carefully as possible. She hangs the tank under the shirt, turning it into a overshirt now. The smile on her face is growing. She’s in her element, doing exactly what she’s always wanted to do. Lambert places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. A silent approval. Aurora walks back to the table and writes down their decision for this look in the notebook she’s been working with. They go through a few more suits and make a note that they’ll need an extra white button down from Gucci. Lambert is sending Aurora there sometime this week to pick a few more things up that are getting finished and some extra shoes for Harry as well. Lambert says Harry likes to wear his shoes to dust and that Aurora will have to make sure he doesn’t go on stage with holes in his shoes cause he will, especially his rainbow loafers.  They finish going through the rest of the suits before calling it a day. Lambert fills her in on the next few day’s timeline to prepare her for the week. Aurora leaves the arena feeling like her heart could burst. She couldn’t have imagined a better first day at her new job. Aurora heads to bed early, after she orders a Domino’s Pizza, to rest up for the days ahead and beat the jet lag that’s bound to hit her in the next few days. 

When she gets to Wembley the next morning, Aurora grabs a coffee from craft services and says hello to a few people she recognizes from yesterday. She’s thankful that everyone has a lot to get done and people are jutting off to their own areas to get to work. Aurora would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge that she’s a bit overwhelmed by all of the new faces. She knows faces will become familiar as time goes on but right now she’s content with her coffee and knowing that she’s walking to a room to work on her own for awhile. 

When she finds herself in the familiar green room she sets herself up for the day. Aurora pulls her laptop out of her leather bag and presses play on her current spotify playlist. She likes working alone, but not in silence. After collecting her notebook from yesterday and the envelope of images that Lambert left for her she sits down and starts putting together the final look book for tour. She’s organizing the book by tour dates, making a section for each city. 

“Basel, Switzerland” is written on the top of the 1st page in bold all capital letters. Aurora tapes an image of the black glittered Gucci suit that Harry will wear for the opening night of his world tour. She copies any notes she made about this look from yesterday onto the space underneath the photo. After she’s finished the page for Switzerland she goes to the large cases and pulls the black glittered Gucci suit to the empty rolling rack that she set up yesterday. Each of the traveling cases will need to be organized by date to make traveling and set up easier throughout the tour. She continues this process for the next 2 hours. Once her coffee is empty at the end of the 2 hours she has almost 6 cities complete. Aurora takes her empty coffee cup as a sign for her to take a break. Before leaving the room to get more coffee she checks her phone. There’s a few notifications, emails from lists she keeps forgetting to unsubscribe to and a string of texts from her mother. She laughs at the first text - “I know you’re probably fine, but you’re in a different country and I need to hear your voice to make sure you’re still alive and it’s not some kidnapper texting me back” - then another text about 20 mins after that one reads “I love you, I know you’re busy, but please call me” and the last one delivered just a few minutes ago, “I’m your mother, it’s my job to worry.” Aurora shakes her head and feels a bit guilty because she hasn’t texted her mom as much as she probably should have and before knocking out last night she texted her back apologizing for not calling after her first day and that she was just too exhausted. 

Her mom doesn’t answer and is greeted with an automatic voicemail greeting, “Classic,” she chuckles as she hangs up without leaving a message. She shakes her head, standing in the doorway as she sends off a text saying she’s taking a break and to call her back, adding a “I’m good, everything’s amazing! Just calling to chat” as she always does so her mother doesn’t worry any more than she is. As she finishes the texts she mumbled a bit to herself about how her mother is always worrying but never picks up her dang phone. It isn’t until a familiar voice rings through the hallway that she realises she was mumbling quite clearly. 

“Sorry, everything alright, love?” Harry’s distinct voice travels closer to her as she looks up from her phone to him. She’s made her way into the arena hallway completely now. There’s a small furrow in his brow but a slight grin on his face. 

“Ah yeah, didn’t realise I was talking out loud.” She holds her phone up, “You know mothers, always worrying but never actually answering their phone when you call.” Harry laughs, his shoulders shaking. “She sent me this string of texts about being worried and 2 minutes later doesn’t pick up when I call her.” She sighs before sliding her phone into the pocket of the track jacket she’s got on today. 

“My mum does the same. Always saying we don’t talk enough or that she misses me and when I do get the chance she’ll text me back saying she’s out with friends drinking wine or s’thing like that.” Aurora laughs along with him. When she takes a proper look at him she notices he’s wearing black adidas joggers today with a white t shirt and a black nike jacket. 

“Looks like we both had the same idea when we got ready this morning,” she continues to laugh while gesturing between to two of them. They’re dressed almost identical right down to the white sneakers. Aurora’s got on her favourite black lululemon leggings instead of joggers but her tshirt and track jacket look just the same as Harry’s. Harry takes a good look at what he’s got on and back to Aurora and his eyes begin to crinkle and his nose scrunches up before he’s laughing. The laugh is almost a giggle and Aurora has to hold back from flashing him the most endearing smile. 

“Guess it’s a good thing that my Head of Wardrobe and I match. Must mean I’ve got the right person taking care of my clothing then.” He swings his arm around her shoulder before asking if she’s got a minute to grab a snack. 

“Probably should eat and I definitely need some more coffee,” she replies with a smile and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket not knowing what to do with them. There’s something about Harry, it’s that thing that people always talk about, his ease around everyone, the way he makes you feel like you’ve known each other forever. His kind demeanor relaxes Aurora and she’s sure this is how he makes everyone feel. Harry starts to go on about different things that are happening around the arena as they walk to the green room, pointing out different people and what they’re working on. Harry doesn’t know this, but the more Aurora knows about her surroundings and the things people are doing, the more comfortable she feels. Aurora likes knowing what’s going on. She knows it’s got something to do with wanting control over as much as she can but she also knows that there is so much going on that she can’t control anything and she especially knows that it isn’t her job. But knowing is good for her. Just as they turn the corner to the green room her phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and “Mother” with a pink heart is flashing on her screen. She shows the phone to Harry and she slides out from under his arm. “Rain check on the snacks?” she offers him before answering the call. She smiles as he shoots her a grin and voices an ‘of course’ before he turns around and goes back the way they had came. She questions his actions for a moment before saying hello to her mother. 

Aurora pulls out her notebook while she’s in the car the next morning to review what she needs to get done today. Written in red, at the top of the page under today’s date is: final fitting with Harry @ 12pm. She’s excited to get some of the newer pieces on him and finally have all the looks together. She’s nervous too. Lambert won’t be there again today or barely at all the rest of the week, her part time buffer ripped away sooner than expected. She knows there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just Harry. ‘Just Harry,’ she continues to mumble under her breath. 

“Miss Del Gatto, we’ve arrived,” Steven, her driver, who she’s come accustomed to after the past few rides, announces. Aurora looks out the window and sees the Gucci store front. 

“Thanks, Steven. I’ll only be a few minutes.” She smiles at him before stepping out of the car. She got dressed this morning in slightly more put together outfit that she had on yesterday, knowing she had to stop into a few stores on her way in to pick up some pieces that were still missing. Her black chunky heeled leather boots make a clacking sound as she walks towards the entrance. Before she can even reach for the door, she’s welcomed by a man in an all black suit that is welcoming her into the store. 

“Welcome to Gucci.” His voice is deep but bright and welcoming, she thanks him with a smile. 

Once she’s a few more steps into the door she adjusts the small gold airplane necklace that is sitting on the outside of her black turtleneck before speaking up. “I’m here to pick up some shoes for Harry,” she rattles out. A questioned look appears on the man’s face. “Harry Lambert and Styles.” She clarifies. 

“Aurora Del Gatto, yes?” another woman’s voice speaks up from across the store. 

“Uh, y-yes,” she stammers while turning towards the women. 

“I’m Lauren. Nice to meet you, Aurora. Harry told me to be expecting you this morning.” Aurora shakes Lauren’s hand with a smile. Lauren looks like a seasoned pro, her black suit fits her perfectly and her greying hair is pulled up into an elegant low bun. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” she says motioning towards the plush dark purple couches. “Would you like any water or coffee, dear?” 

“Oh, I’m alright actually, thank you.” 

“I’ll be right back with everything.” Aurora nods in acknowledgement while sitting down on the couch. She slides off the lightweight, long, camel coloured coat she’s wearing and drapes it over the couch next to her. She checks her watch to make sure she’s good on time. She’s got to stop at Calvin Klein as well before heading to arena to prep for Harry’s fitting. It’s just gone on 10am, she’s got plenty of time but still anxious at the thought of arriving just before the fitting, not getting a chance to set up. She’s brought back from her thoughts when Lauren returns with 3 shoe boxes in her arms and a garment bag.

“I think there are only 2 pairs of shoes I’m supposed to be picking up,” Aurora questions, “the rainbow loafers and the Spring 18 leather boots.” Lauren’s face lights up in a smile. 

“Yes, those are both here and there’s a pair of sneakers here for you as well.” Aurora’s face reflects exactly what is going through her mind: surprise, shock, and other emotions she couldn’t put words to. Her jaw has dropped and her eyes are wide. “Harry called last night and wanted us to fit you into some Ace Sneakers for the tour.” 

“Lambert said that?” Aurora is confused, giddy and nervous, always nervous. She doesn’t even know how to accept a gift like this. She’d also be lying if she hadn’t been looking at these sneakers forever. 

“No, dear, Harry Styles.” Aurora is beyond caught off guard at this point. 

“I’m sorry, I think there must be a mistake. There’s no reason for Harry to be giving me anything.”

“He specifically called these in for you. I don’t know the details, he just wanted to make sure you walked out with the perfect fit.” She set 2 of the boxes down on a glass table and brought over the 3rd box. “I grabbed the 7.5, I’m normally pretty good at guessing.” 

“Well, you would be right.” Aurora laughs nervously. She slides off her boots in order to avoid the overwhelming thoughts in her head. She’s afraid if she doesn’t keep moving she might go into shock. She’s trying on the sneakers before she speaks up again, “Uhm,” Aurora starts to speak, “Does Harry, uh, do this often? I-I mean, uh call in for gifts?” 

“I wouldn’t say often, but I’ve fulfilled a few of his gifting requests over the past few years. Just a handful though. There really hasn’t been many, if I’m honest.” 

Aurora smiles to herself. She’s still confused about it all but still that same familiar feeling rushes through her when she’s reminded of Harry’s incredible kind demeanor. And before she knew it, she's walking out of Gucci with a smile on her face, a tingle in her fingers, a garment bag and not 2 but 3 boxes of shoes.

She’s setting up one last suit on the tall silver rolling rack before she checks her watch. 11:59. She made great time getting to Wembley after grabbing the pink plaid jacket and custom boots from Calvin Klein. There’s a light knock on the slightly ajar door seconds later. 

“‘Ello, love,” Harry’s voice booms through the small, concrete walled room. Aurora turns towards the door. “All ready!” He exclaims as he makes his way towards her. 

“Hi Harry,” Aurora responds before Harry has a hand at her waist and is placing a light kiss on the top of her cheek. 

“How’s your morning been?” He’s now made his way to the rolling rack she had just filled. 

“Good,” she wants to ask him about the shoes but she doesn’t know how to bring it up. “I did uh- I, I-”

“Can I try this one on?” Harry interrupts, suddenly distracted by the garments he hasn’t seen yet. She’s grabbing her book from the table across the room when she hears the sound of hangers hitting the floor. “Oooff,” there’s a chuckle that follows. “That one’s a bit slippery.” 

“Oh gosh, yeah I need to add some hanger loops to that one,” Aurora sets her book down and rushes over to pick up the fallen garments and hangers. Harry utters a few sorry’s before stepping away. She swears she hears him mumble about being in the way. Once she’s got the fallen garments gathered on the crook of her arm, she grabs a hanger adorn in the pink plaid Calvin suit. “That’s what you get for being so nosy,” she quips at him and hands him the suit. His jaw drops slightly but before he can say a thing Aurora’s speaking again, “Try this one on first, please.” Aurora lingers on the please and shoots him a sweet smile. “There’s a small room through there you can change in.” She turns around after motioning towards the door and sees that Harry already has his trousers down to his ankles. “Orrrr you can change right there.” 

“Oh, don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, darling,” he responds as you quickly turn away, sliding the plaid trousers all the way up and buttoning them just as fast.

“Oh no, you’re fine, don’t wanna be rude is all.” Aurora is flipping through her book finding the section for Stockholm. “The black ribbed tank was on the hanger with the jacket, yeah?” She asks as she skims over the page in front of her. He hums back letting her know it’s there. Aurora lifts up her coffee cup from earlier this morning to her lips, turning around to find Harry fully dressed in the Calvin Klein suit she picked up this morning. She frowns realising there’s no coffee left in her cup. 

“What?” Harry asks, his brows knitted together in concern after seeing the frown on her face. “Does it look that bad?” He’s messing with the way he’s tucked the shirt into the waistband of the trousers. 

Aurora giggles at his frantic hands. “Harry, nothing could look bad on you.” She shakes the empty cup in front of him. “I’m out of coffee.” 

“Well, that frown was badly timed. I’ve got a brand new suit on and that’s the first reaction I get?’ 

“Oh you’ll be fine, rockstar. Plenty of ego pumping in the near future,” Aurora quips backs at him as she makes a circle around him. “They did great with this one,” she’s pulling at the shoulders of the jacket so it sits just right on his broad frame. “How do the trousers feel?” She asks as she smooths down the fabric of the sleeves before rounding back to face Harry straight on. 

“The trousers? Yeah they feel good. Fit perfect, I think.” He’s pulled up the bottom of the jacket and is twisting his hips round. “Wha’ d’ya think?” 

“I think Calvin Klein knows exactly what he’s doing,” she says with a smirk. “Okay, that one’s all set, go ahead and put this one on now.” She hands him another pink jacket, this one velvet with embellishments and it has a Gucci tag on it rather than Calvin Klein. She hands him black trousers with a gold trim as well. “You’ll wear this with a button down but just try with the tank. I just need to make sure all the alterations were done properly.” 

“Did you stop at Gucci this morning? Lambert mentioned you were going,” he asks while handing her the plaid suit he just took off. Aurora busies herself with hanging them up. 

“Yeah. Got your loafers and boots. I also-”

“Oh nooooo, Aurora,” Harry’s voice is panicky. 

“Wha-,” is all she gets out before she sees and hears the beads rolling on the floor. “Ahhh I had a feeling that was going to happen. And THIS is why we try things on 100 times. Wouldn’t want you unraveling on stage.” She runs over to her kit that stands in the corner.

“I’m sorry, not sure what I did,” Harry’s face shows worry like he’s done something wrong. 

“Hun, you didn’t do anything, promise. I think it might have been from the alterations.” Aurora is tying a knot in a piece of thread before walking over to him. “I’m just gonna close this strand up while it’s on you and I’ll re embellish it later.” The piece that’s come undone is on the right shoulder. She slides her hand under the jacket to find the back of the spot she needs to fix. Her hand brushes the skin of his shoulder, reminding her he’s only wear the tank underneath and he flinches. “Sorry, my hands are probably cold. This will only take a second.” 

“S’alright, love.” There’s silence while she focuses on the work in front of her. Once she’s finished she carefully slips a small pair of gold scissors underneath the jacket and cuts the thread and needle she had been working with loose, detaching herself from Harry’s shoulder. “That was quick,” Harry says with a tone of surprise and Aurora thinks she can hear a little bit of disappointment as well. Aurora shrugs her shoulders in response. 

“Could you put on the black version of that jacket for me?” Aurora asks as she grabs a spool of black thread. “Think we might have the same problem with that one too.” She slides the needle she’s threaded with black thread onto the cuff of her sweater so she doesn’t lose it. She helps Harry into the black jacket and hangs up the one he just had on. 

“Aannddd there it is,” Harry says with chuckle as a strand of beads comes loose on his right sleeve. Aurora gets to work on the one on his sleeve as 2 more make themselves known on his back. “So you got my boots and loafers this morning? Up to anything else before I came in and ruined all the garments?” Aurora laughs and moves to his back to take care of the broken pieces there. 

“Uhm picked up that Calvin jacket and your custom boots. Let me tell you, those boots are glorious. The glossed leather with the steel tip will look incredible with your suits. ”

“Oh can I see them when we’re done?”

“‘Course you can!” There’s some silence between them again as she concentrates on the job in front of her. She catches a glimpse of the white gucci bags that are sitting by one of the wardrobe cases and it’s like those new sneakers are burning a hole in her head. It clicks in her head now that he’s been directing the conversation this way trying to get it out of her. “Hey Harry,” she’s met with a hum, “can I ask you about something?” She continues to work on the jacket, keeping her hands busy. She’s thankful that the strand she’s working on is on his back so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with him. 

“‘Course, Aurora.” 

“Uhm, at Gucci this morning, they uh, they fitted me for sneakers,” Harry hums in response, “and um, I-I, um, that was very kind of you.” She’s stuttering through her words. It wasn’t until now that she got a tinge of nervousness. “Y-you didn’t need to do that. Really.” 

“Aurora, I wanted to. And I thought you deserved some new shoes.” She can’t see his face but she can hear the smile that’s formed on his face. “We’ve got a few countries to trek around the next few months.” 

Moments later she’s finished repairing what she can and she’s sliding Harry’s jacket off his shoulders. “Thank you, Harry,” she says finally after the black jacket is hung back on its Gucci hanger on the rolling rack near them. “Seriously, too kind.” 

“No such thing as too kind, Ror,” he quips back and before she can comment on the nickname, he’s talking again. “Now what else do you need me to try on?” 

The afternoon goes by quickly and Harry is patient with her. He stands up straight in each new piece and asks questions about different things she’s making notes of or checking off of her thousands of lists. She checks her watch quickly as she’s making one last note. 

“How is it 3 o’clock already?” Aurora stammers out. “Sorry to take your entire afternoon from you.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Ror.” Harry’s pulling down the hem of his white tshirt he walked in wearing earlier today, “Nice to spend some time with ya and seems like you’ve been able to check a lot off your list.” 

“You probably have a list a mile long of things that need to be done this week too, though,” she rebuttals. “Or do you have someone to take care of those things for you?” she jokes. 

“Oh yeah, don’t remember their name, but I just tell them everything I need done and they do it for me.” The look on Aurora’s face is utter disgust, unable to politely react because she wasn’t expecting that answer.  There was no hint of sarcasm in Harry’s voice. Harry’s face is still and he’s silent for a moment before his nose scrunches up and a giggle erupted from his mouth. “Ror, I’m totally kidding.” He’s placed a hand on her shoulder now, rubbing his thumb soothingly. 

“Harry,” she’s giggling along now too, “you had me for a second.” 

Harry thanks her for her work and the time spent together today and leaves only after giving her a hug and a short kiss on her cheek. 

The next few days are spent hand stitching gold and silver beads onto those 2 Gucci jackets, labeling every single piece of the wardrobe and then organizing the giant crates for the travel managers to take and get ready to fly. She walks through all of the wardrobes multiple time and completes fittings with all of Harry’s band members as well. Brief 1 hour time frames are scheduled with each of them, Clare, Sarah, Adam and Mitch. Lambert pops in to make sure the final fittings went well and pays complements to Aurora’s new sneakers she’s sporting with a knowing look on his face. 

There’s one day left till the first tour stop and the arena is just about empty. The stage is packed up, the wardrobe crates have been taken from Aurora and the number of people in the arena is starting to dwindle down. Since everything is already loaded on a truck making its way to the airport Aurora didn’t have much to do today but she kept herself busy at the apartment she’s been at all week for the majority of the morning. She’s repacked multiple times getting everything to fit perfectly, almost committing the perfect folding techniques and order of adding things to her suitcase to memory. Everyone is to arrive at the airport early the next morning but Harry has arranged for a group lunch at the arena for one last collective meeting before the tour starts.

Aurora arrives a few minutes early to the lunch and says hello to a few crew members she’s gotten to know. Lambert is there too - seems that Harry has invited anyone who has helped with the prep of the tour regardless if they’re coming along or not. She also meets a few more new faces like Ayae, Harry’s hair and makeup stylist. She’s new to the tour group and hasn’t been needed for prep so this his her 1st time meeting a lot of the crew too. She sits down with Aurora and Lambert at a table and is engaging in a conversation about this and that when Harry comes up to the table with Jeff. Jeff is a familiar face to Aurora even though she has only interacted with him a few times.  Jeff always seems to be everywhere - Aurora always makes mental acknowledgment about how he is consistently working on something but always is seemingly available to everyone. 

Alicia, a woman probably in her late 30’s, is following Harry and Jeff with a grey rolling cart like you would see in an old cafeteria and it’s filled with large cardboard boxes. Aurora has met Alicia and remembers Lambert introducing her as the Tour Merchandise Manager. 

“Aurora, Ayae, Harry, great to see all of you! Doing alright, I assume?” Jeff asks while rounding the cart and reaching a hand in the box. 

“Got some tour sweatshirts for everyone, treat people with kindness and all that,” Harry adds in, running a hand through his hair. It isn’t until now that Aurora notices the length of his hair. It’s not as short as it was when she first met him but it’s nowhere near the length she remembers him having while still in One Direction. There is one curl that won’t stay back no matter how many times he runs his hand through it to push it back. The lone curl falls against his forehead one last time before he gives up. 

“Oh, very humble of you, Harry,” Ayae says with a chuckle while examining the sweatshirt Alicia had just given her.

It’s a plain black Champion hoodie with 2 small pieces of embroidery, 1 on the left of the chest and the other on the inside of the right arm. Ayae is referring to the large embroidered “Harry” on the chest. Underneath his name is ‘World Tour 2018’. Hah. He’s gotta love this shit. His name written on everything. Clothing, signs, his name is branded everywhere. 

“Heyyyyy,” Harry’s voice is slightly whiny, both of his eyes scrunch up and his brows furrow. The ‘hey’ turns into a giggle and they all laugh along with him. Harry then hands Aurora her sweatshirt. “Here ya go, Ror.” She thanks him softly after taking it from him. 

Post lunch, Harry, Jeff and a few others talk about how excited they are and how successful the prep went all week. The Head Travel Manager, Daniel, reminds everyone to double check their itinerary when they get home tonight and to double, triple, quadruple check they’ve packed everything. Harry yells something about making sure everyone’s got their passport cause “long story short” he forgot his once and it was not a day full of kindness. The large group chuckles at his little antidote before the room begins to clear out and everyone heads home to get ready to travel the next day. 

Thanks for reading !!! Feedback & comments are always welcome !!! 

[bisexualbuck]

That Which We Carry

Day Five of the Evan Buckley Week 2020! The prompt was “You're a good liar” + comfort

Summary: Bobby stops in his tracks.

Buck is sitting on the ground, next to his own car, his keys and phone forgotten next to him. His breathing is loud and short and he has his head in his hands so that his face is hidden.

He’s having a panic attack.

[Read on AO3]

(Full text under read more)

Their shift has been over for almost an hour, but Bobby has taken the time to finish up some paperwork before heading up home.

He says goodbye to the relief crew and jogs down the stairs. This is one of those rare occasions where he can go home at a normal hour, and even better, Athena has a day off today that she has spent with Harry and May.

Bobby finds himself humming an upbeat song he’s been hearing on the radio. The sun is shining and there’s just enough of a breeze to make the temperature bearable.

He notices that Buck has left his car in the parking lot, but thinks nothing of it. The kid does spend an awful lot of time with the Diaz boys, Eddie and Buck probably left together. Bobby smiles, he does not know who they think they’re fooling.

Everyone knows they are closer than friends. If they are not together yet, it won’t be long before they are. He is thrilled for them, they truly deserve that happiness.

Bobby stops in his tracks.

Buck is sitting on the ground, next to his own car, his keys and phone forgotten next to him. His breathing is loud and short and he has his head in his hands so that his face is hidden.

He’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, Buckaroo,” he calls, softly so as not to startle him.

Buck flinches anyway. His breathing, already worrying, only gets more erratic. He jumps up and almost stumbles in his precipitation to get away, to try to hide his panic.

“Bobby,” he breathes out, a harsh and broken sound. “This – I’m – ”

Bobby puts his hands up and, slowly, gets closer to him, though he makes sure that he lets enough space not to make him feel crowded.

“It’s all okay, Buck. You just need to breathe, okay? Focus on my breathing.”

Buck nods, his eyes are wide and scared and fixed on his captain. Bobby takes one long deep breath in, and one long breath out, in, out, in out, until Buck’s breathing calms down, returns to normal. Neither move, the echos of Buck's breathing still resonating in Bobby's ears.

He watches in morbid fascination as Buck puts the pieces of his mask together. Before him, Buck smooths his face into a neutral expression, leaving no trace of his earlier panic. Soon enough, he flashes his captain a beaming smile that does not quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay, Bobby. Thank you.”

“You’re a good liar,” Bobby realizes with a terrible pang.

And it’s true. Bobby would not have been able to guess Buck was having a full-fleshed panic attack just minutes prior if he hadn’t witnessed it in the first place.

That is a worrying thought because Buck is always wearing his heart on his sleeve, of that they have all been so sure. How many times did he hide how much he’d been suffering? Did Buck ever have a panic attack at the station and no one had any idea?

Shame and concern rise up Bobby’s throat, almost chocking him.

“I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I am worried though. Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing, okay. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if if caused you to have a panic attack in the station’s parking lot." His voice is too sharp and Buck takes a step back. Bobby takes a deep breath and, gentler, asks, "Is is because of a call?”

Bobby tries to think of anything that could have triggered Buck, but he can’t think of anything. They did not have any wild calls at all today and Buck hadn’t looked put out at all. Though he has just learned that maybe it doesn’t mean much. Buck has just shown he is quite apt at hiding his pain.

“Bobby,” Buck says, and the facade crumbles, just a little. “I don’t think I can. Not yet anyway.”

With a soft smile, Bobby simply puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder. Their eyes meet and Bobby hopes that the younger man can read what he can’t say out loud – the love, respect and admiration he caries for this kid. That having a panic attack does not change that, nothing ever could.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll be there when you’re ready.”

The mask shatters.

Buck’s face falls. A sob bursts out of him, and he crumbles onto himself like a puppet whose strings have been snapped.

Bobby does not dare to hold him, afraid he is still reeling from his panic attack and the touch will only send him again. Instead, he keeps his hand on Buck’s shoulder, his grip firm, and Buck puts his own hand on Bobby’s, holding onto it like a lost man at sea holding onto a raft.

The parking lot is still empty when Buck calms down. He avoids his gaze but Bobby wishes he would look at him, he wants him to see that he is no judging him, that he is not disappointed or anything that must be going through Buck’s mind.

They sit down on the ground, only then letting go of each other.

They don’t speak for a moment. Bobby is lost – should he say something? If so, what could he even say?

Buck makes the decision for him.

“My mom called me,” he says.

He’s playing with his hands, a nervous habit that Bobby has noticed him doing from time to time.

“We’re not close – my parents and I. Maddie isn’t close to them either, but it’s always been different.”

He pauses, Bobby does not press. Buck has never been so open about his past and Bobby isn’t about to rush him and risk him closing off again.

“Our parents, they’re the type of people who had kids, not because they wanted to, but because it was the next logical step. They met, they got married, so they had to have kids, right. That’s how the story goes. It’s what’s expected.”

The way he stresses on the word “expected” has Bobby frowning.

“So they had Maddie, and they were done. One kid was more than enough. They were never affectionate with her, but they never loved me. You know there’s an age difference between me and Maddie, it’s because I wasn’t planned. I wasn’t wanted. They told me that many times growing up.”

He sounds so bitter, yet so resigned, and Bobby feels hot red anger burn through his whole body and he struggles to quiet it down.

“They were never cruel or violent. They were just absent.”

He laughs – sharp, no trace of humor in it.

“So today my mom calls me – ‘cause what if people ask about us right? She has to know what we’re doing. So she calls sometimes, and we fight as always. In her head, she has this idea of the perfect family that we ought to be but we just aren’t.”

He stops, bites his bottom lip down so hard Bobby is afraid it’s going to draw blood.

“Buck,” he says, softly, but Buck only shuts his eyes close, a sorrow so deep etched on his face that Bobby is overwhelmed with the need to smooth it down, any way that he can.

“She said that she didn’t know why she couldn’t ever love me but, in moments like those, where we fight, she’s glad she never tried harder.”

Bobby has never been a violent man but if he had Buck’s parents in front of him, he is not sure he would be able to restrain himself. Two emotions battle in Bobby’s heart – anger, at Buck’s mom for being so cruel, and compassion for Buck who never deserved to be treated like that.

Compassion wins out.

That’s what Buck needs right now, support and love.

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

Buck does not seem to hear him, too deep he is in his own heartache.

“What does that say about who I am if my own parents couldn’t even give a damn about me? How can I expect anyone else to?”

“This doesn’t say anything about you,” Bobby says, firm but gentle. “It’s on them. I can’t tell you why they treated you the way they did, but it was never your fault. And you have people who care about you. You have the 118, you have Maddie, and Eddie and Christopher. Lots of people love you, Buckaroo.”

Buck wipes at his eyes, “Right. Yeah, I know.”

He looks unconvinced still.

“You don’t need them,” Bobby continues, hoping to reach, to convince him of his own worth. “It’s their loss that they’re not in your life. You and Maddie have become great people, and if they can’t see that, it’s on them.”

Bobby hates seeing Buck so small, so broken. Buck takes so much space with his big heart and his big smile. It’s so unlike him to hold himself like he is trying to disappear, and Bobby’s heart breaks at the sight.

“It’s dumb,” Buck says, shameful. “I’m used to it, I’m over it. Sometimes it still creeps up on me, but don’t worry. I’ll be good as rain in no time.”

“It’s okay to not be okay.” He pause but Bobby forces himself to continue, Buck needs to hear it even if it’s hard for him to say. “You’re not alone, you’ve got us. You’ve got me. Son.”

Buck finally turns to him again. His eyes search Bobby’s, and he must find what he is looking for because he smiles, small but moved.

“Thank you, Bobby.”

“Athena and I have the kids tonight. I was going to make some Cajun chicken. You want to come with?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to intrude in on a family night.”

“Buck, I am asking for a family night.”

Tears threaten to spill again from Buck’s eyes but he manages to hold them back.

“Okay,” he says, voice heavy with emotion. “I’ll be there.”

Neither of them are quite saying the words but both are hearing them anyway. Bobby loves Buck like a son, and he thinks Buck might just love him like a dad. Whatever it is, they don’t need to voice it, to put a word on it. They can be their own definition of family.

“Athena will be glad to see you, the kids too. They look up to you.”

“Not sure that’s such a good idea,” Buck jokes but Bobby reads an underlying sense of doubt.

“Buck, come on. We both know that’s not true.”

“Please, no more heartfelt comment. I think I’ve cried enough for today.”

Bobby shakes his head, amused. He gets up, offering his hand to Buck who takes it with a grin.

“I won’t say anything about this to Athena if you don’t want me to.”

“No, I – ” Buck sighs. “I don’t want you to keep secret from her. As I said, it’s fine. I don’t talk about it because it’s not very riveting but I don’t care. I’m used to it. It’s been like that my whole life.”

Once again, Bobby wishes he could have some words with Buck’s parents, but he buries the thought down to, instead, give a quick hug to the man he sees as a son.

.

As soon as Buck arrives at the Grant household, Athena draws him into her arms without even saying a word.

Although he is much taller than her, he feels protected and small in her embrace.

She catches his face when they let go. He isn’t even sure she notices that her thumb is caressing his cheek in a soothing maternal gesture. Her gaze is solemn but kind.

“They do not deserve you, Buckaroo.”

For what feels like the millionth time today, Buck feels overwhelmed and on the verge of crying. She must see it because she gives his cheeks a little squeeze.

“You are a good man with a good heart and you are always welcome here.”

“Athena,” he stars but his voice breaks.

She brings him down to press a soft kiss against his forehead. He wonders if that’s what a mother is supposed to do but, for once, the thought does not bring him pain, only curiosity – as if, maybe, now, he will get a chance to find out too.

“Go on, now,” she shoos him away, gently. “I know Henry’s been wanting to show you his latest game.”

“Thank you, Athena,” he says. “For everything.”

“Anytime.”

He catches Bobby smiling at him too, and Buck finally feels the anguish he has been carrying out all day gets lighter, less suffocating.

It’s not gone yet and maybe it never will be, not fully. But it’s getting better.

He is getting better.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

is something burning?

Prompt: fire, heat exhaustion

Whumpee: Eddie Diaz

Fandom: 911

hey whats up!! hope u like this fic! 

It’s been a long day, and they’re only ten hours into their shift. Call after call, fire after fire. As soon as they’re back to the station, the alarm is ringing again. They’re all handling it in various ways, from Chim’s griping to Buck’s staring wistfully out the window of the truck as they rush to yet another accident. Eddie, though, feels he’s handling it far worse than the others.

Not because he’s being especially irritable about it, or snapping at anyone, or having any kind of emotional reaction to the seemingly neverending calls. He just feels bad. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he felt feverish, but that wasn’t quite right. He’s sweaty, yes, weirdly thirsty, and tired, but he doesn’t feel sick. Just...bad.

He wonders, briefly, as they’re climbing into the truck to go to their second structure fire of the day, if it’s because of the heat. But he looks around at everyone else, and they all seem fine. Maybe a little tired and grumpy, but none of them look like how he feels. There’s no point in bringing it up, then, he figures. He’s not sick and they’re not feeling it. He can just ignore this, anyway. It’s not that bad, and he’s still got a lot of work ahead of him. He pushes the bad feeling to the side.

They arrive at the fire a minute later, and it’s a big one. Normally, they’d all be a little more excited about such a fire, but the stress of the day has worn on them, so that they all just do their jobs, with little conversation passing between them, something which suits Eddie just fine. He’s too tired to focus on anything but doing what he needs to do. 

The fire is in a small, one-story home, something which Eddie is deeply grateful for. No ladders to climb this time. The family that lives there is gathered safely outside, but looking considerably distressed. 

“You have to go in there and get Benny!” a little boy says to Eddie, running up to him as he’s pulling equipment off the truck.

“Who’s Benny?” Eddie asks, alarmed. There shouldn’t have been anyone still inside. 

“He’s our dog, he was hiding under the couch and we couldn’t get him out!” the boy responds tearfully. “Dad was going to go back to get him, but it was too hot. You have to save him!”

“I will,” Eddie promises, and hurries to relay this information to Bobby, who tells him to get the dog as quickly as he can so they can start with the hoses.

As Eddie enters the burning house, he feels briefly faint, stumbling over his feet for a second. As soon as the smoke engulfs him, though, the feeling fades, and everything unimportant goes away. 

He locates the dog quickly enough. He’s shivering and a little dusty, but seems otherwise unharmed. Eddie picks him up and carries him outside, setting him onto the grass and watching with a smile as he goes running up to the little boy.

He starts walking back to his team to help them extinguish the fire, but he doesn’t make it more than three steps before that faint feeling comes back, and his head starts to spin. A wave of nausea hits him all of a sudden, and he scrabbles to get his mask off. The second it’s away from his face, he turns to the side, thinking he’s going to be sick, but instead the faintness increases tenfold, the world spins rapidly around him, and he collapses to his knees on the grass, not unconscious but not fully present, shivering and sweating at the same time.

And then, there’s a cold hand on the back of his neck, and he flinches away from it, then leans back into it, not sure if he’s hot or cold. He hears voices talking above him, hears water being pumped from the hoses, but all of it blurs together so that he can’t pick out anything distinct. His head is spinning. He thinks he’d be lying on the ground if it weren’t for the hand on his neck and the other one on his chest, holding him up. 

Suddenly, the hand on his neck is moving, and then he feels someone undoing the zipper of his turnout coat and pulling it off of him. The first gust of hot air that hits his chest feels like the best thing in the world, and then the hand is back on the back of his neck, this time pressing something much cooler and much more wet into his skin. It drips down his back and makes him shudder, but whoever is holding it there doesn’t move it. 

He’s not sure of how long he stays like that, half out of it, with someone - multiple someones? - keeping him from collapsing, cooling him down. Eventually, though, his hearing clears up, and then Buck is talking to him, and Eddie thinks that he would really like to respond, but he is far too tired to even open his mouth.

Buck asks if he feels up to moving, and he shakes his head, wincing when it brings a brief wave of dizziness with it. 

“Can you drink some water, at least?” Buck asks, and Eddie nods, feeling suddenly as though he’s never been this thirsty in his life. 

Then there is a cool bottle being pressed into his hands, and he drinks half of it at record speed, only stopping when he nearly chokes. Someone takes the bottle from him, then, and presses another cool cloth to his forehead. He leans unconsciously into the touch, no longer shivering at the cold. 

Buck is speaking to him again, about nothing in particular, and he listens, slowly but surely feeling some of his strength come back, feeling some of the overwhelming heat leave his body. Finally, after what might be minutes but might just as easily be hours, he feels well enough to stand on shaky legs, nearly falling right back to his knees until Buck’s arm wraps around his shoulders. He leans heavily on the other man as they start walking - where to, he can’t tell. 

They stop after what feels like a mile, and then Buck is gently pushing him down onto something, and he recognizes, through his now mostly-cleared-up but still unfocused vision, that he’s in the back of the ambulance. He feels Buck sit down next to him, far enough away that none of his body heat is affecting Eddie, and then he feels someone else - Hen, he knows, instinctively - touch his forehead, and his cheeks, and his neck, and so on. She asks him how he’s feeling as she hands him another bottle of water, warning him to take it slow this time. 

He tells her he feels okay in between sips, which isn’t completely true considering he still feels like shit, but he certainly feels better than he had before, at any rate. 

“What happened?” he thinks to ask. 

“You almost passed out from heat exhaustion is what happened,” Buck says from next to him, sounding angry.

“Oh,” Eddie says, eloquently. 

Hen sighs. “Why didn’t you tell us, Eddie?” she asks. “You must’ve felt it coming on.”

Eddie shrugs halfheartedly. “Didn’t seem like a big deal. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” 

Buck scoffs. “Really, Eddie? You didn’t think heat exhaustion was a big deal? People die from that.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters. “I really didn’t think anything was wrong. Not seriously, anyway. Didn’t feel sick. Just kinda bad.”

Now it’s Buck’s turn to sigh, his voice softening from that angry-yet-concerned tone. “Eds, you gotta tell us stuff like that. Even if you don’t think it’s important.”

“I’ll try,” Eddie says, knowing that he probably won’t. He’s just not that kind of person. He never has been. He keeps his problems to himself.

And then those problems overwhelm you, says a voice in the back of his head that he hates because he knows it’s right. 

He is spared the pain of having to think on that particular subject anymore by Buck’s hand coming to rest on his back, a presence that feels blissfully neither warm nor cold. 

“We’re a team, Eddie,” he says, like a promise. “We’re always here for you. You just have to let us be.”

Thanks so much for reading this!!!!!! I hope u enjoyed and sorry for any errors, i didnt edit alot bc i gotta go watch the amazing race bc its finally back on!!! idk if any of u like it but i’ve been watching it w my family for as long as i can remember lol

[lilulo-12fanfiction]

In My Time of Dying-4

Here is the next chapter! From here I will deviate more from Cannon now that there is a foundation built. As always your re-blogs, comments and likes are SO appreciated. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to this or any of my other tag lists.

IMTOD Masterlist and Horrible Summary can be found here

SPN Tag List: @deans-baby-momma @fandom-princess-forevermore @magssteenkamp @blancastans @jn-wolf

SPN Masterlist

Ali had herself locked up in the room she claimed as hers at Bobby’s house. She had intended to stay outside the door and stay with Sam, but she couldn’t. The hateful things he said to her, his hallucinations. his fighting with Dean. She just wanted her brother back. She never regretted recruiting Sam to help her and Dean find John Winchester until now. Maybe if they had left him alone he’d be married and happy.

“You’ve been awfully quiet up here.” Bobby’s voice cut through her thoughts. ”Not like you to not have an opinion. I’ve heard you give your brothers hell over much less.” Ali shrugged. ”C’mon downstairs girl. Your brother has done something epically stupid.” Ali let Bobby lead her downstairs. 

After 20 minutes of arguing, Ali and Dean were on the road to find Sam. Ali had a migraine between the stress and irritation. They were on their way to  Cold Springs

“We gonna talk about it?” Dean’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“About what Dean? We all agree that we need to get Sam back. And don’t even start about me not being involved. I’m just as much a part of this as you and Sam. I’m not inept. You used to trust me on hunts.”

“No Al, that’s not what I meant. Are we going to talk about whatever was going on with you and Cas?” Ali snapped her head to the side and stared at Dean.

“There was nothing going on between me and Cas.” Dean exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at his sister.

“I’m not oblivious. I saw how you looked at him and how he looked at you. I just don’t think he understood that he was looking at you like that. He showed up in your dream, I mean he stalked your dreams. You were blindly faithful in whatever he said. You let him in. You haven’t let anyone close to you in a long time.”

“Yeah and that was a mistake. He can’t be trusted. I really don’t want to talk about this.” Dean signed, visibly frustrated.

“You’re supposed to be the one that is good with their emotions. But I get it and I know this thing with Sammy is killing you. But you can talk to me, about anything. Even if it pisses me off, I got you. You’re my baby sister and you’ve had my back longer than anyone. I got yours.” Ali blinked back tears, resolute in that she was done letting the situation at hand overwhelm her.

“I know. I just can’t let myself feel this right now. I might not be able to bounce back. I need to keep my shit together. Especially since you gave yourself over to Zachariah.”

“Al, it’s going to be okay and for the record, I still trust you. You’re a freaking bad ass. I’m just scared that I’m going to lose you and Sammy. And he’s off the rails. I can still keep you safe. I’m sorry if I made you feel differently.”

“Thanks Dean.” Ali looked at her brother and gave him a genuine smile. Whatever happened, they’d get Sam back and stop Lucifer rising. Ali snuck into the Honeymoon Suit after Sam exited the room. Ruby was sitting on the bed. Ali gripped the Angel blade she had gotten from Cas after Uriel died. He didn’t want her unprotected. Then he turned back into a mindless douche. Ali was looking forward to taking her pent up aggression out on Ruby.

“They sent in the B team?” Ruby laughed when she saw Ali standing in front of her.

“Funny. But I think you forget that while Sam was living the life at Stanford I was honing my skills with my brother. Dean is the best hunter I’ve ever seen. Better than my father, that’s saying something. He taught me everything I know.” Ruby’s eyes widened when she saw the Angel blade in Ali’s hand.

“Did you whore yourself out to Castiel to get that?”

“I think we both know the only whore here is you. You somehow got your hooks into my brother. I’m removing them, tonight.” With that, Ali connected her right fist with Ruby’s face, and it felt good. Before Ruby could retaliate, Dean was in the room. The plan had been for him to watch for Sam and for her to take out Ruby, but Dean couldn’t hold himself back. He couldn’t take the chance of Ruby harming his baby sister. He shoved Ali out of the way before going after Ruby. Ali stifled her irritation, knowing Dean meant well. Ali grabbed Ruby from behind to give Dean the advantage; before Dean could take Ruby out once and for all,  Sam was back and throwing Dean off of Ruby.

“Well, it must've been some party you two had going, considering how hard you tried to keep us from crashing it. Well, solid try, but here I am.” Watching Dean and Sam on opposite sides was something Ali never thought she would see, sure they had their fair share of disagreements, but nothing like this.

“Dean, I'm glad you're here. Look. Let's just talk about this.”

Dean crossed his arms in defiance. ”Soon as she's dead, we can talk all you want.”

“Ruby, get out of here.” Sam was attempting to hold off Dean. As Ali moved to stop Ruby, she flung her across the room and her skull made a sickening crack as Ruby rushed out of the room. Sam made no attempt to reprimand Ruby for hurting his twin. 

Dean was raging. “I can’t believe you just let that happen. She's poison, Sam.” Dean rushes over to Ali to see if she was okay. Breathing but unconscious, Dean decided to wait to move her, hoping to get through to his brother first.

 ”Look what she did to you. I mean, she up and vanishes weeks at a time, leaves you cracking out for another hit”

Sam looked over at Ali with a trace of regret before responding to Dean. “She was looking for Lilith.“

Dean scoffed at his brother for what seemed to be the millionth time since he’d returned from Hell.  “That is French for manipulating your ass ten ways from Sunday.“

“You're wrong, Dean.”

“Sam, you're lying to yourself. I just want you to be okay. You would do the Same for me. You know you would.” 

Sam was hoping to appeal to Dean. “Just listen for a second. We got a lead on a demon close to Lilith. Come with us, Dean. We'll do this together.“

“That sounds great. As long as it's you, Ali and me. Demon bitch is a deal breaker. You kiss her goodbye, we can go right now.”

“I can't. Dean, I need her to help me kill Lilith. I know you can't wrap your head around it, but maybe one day you'll understand. I'm the only one who can do this. And Ali is a liability. She’s not up for this.”

Dean felt his rage building again. “Ali isn’t a liability. It’s her loyalty to you that is throwing her game off. She’s so afraid of loosing you again” But no, you're not the one who's gonna do this.”

“No, Ali is loyal to you. She hasn’t given a damn about me since she chose to keep hunting. and that's right, I forgot. The angels think it's you.”

“You don't think I can?” It was Sam’s turn to scoff. 

“No. You can't. You're not strong enough. I'm being practical here. I'm doing what needs to be done.”

“Yeah? You're not gonna do a single damn thing.”

“Stop bossing me around, Dean. Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, trust me.”

“No. You don't know what you're doing, Sam.”

“Yes, I do. Dean.”

“Then that's worse. Sam” 

“Why?”

“Because Sam.it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means-“ Ali groaned and opened her eyes. Dean and Sam were so focused on each other they didn’t notice she was coming to. She honestly wished she hadn’t woken up for what Dean was about to say.  “It means you're a monster.” It was a rare thing to see Dean cry. He didn’t even try to hide the tear that fell down his face. Ali cried out when Sam punched Dean in the face. She tried to stand up and stop them from fighting but a wave of nausea kept her where she was when Ruby knocked her out. 

“Sammy STOP“ Ali screamed as Sam pinned Dean down and choked him. Sam seemed slightly startled at the desperation and fear in Ali’s voice. He quickly turned his attention back to Dean, his words dripping with venom.

“You don't know me. You never did. And you never will.”  Ali was on her feet, albeit wobbly. She grabbed Sam’s hand as he tried to walk out. Dean spoke before Ali could.

“You walk out that door, don't you ever come back.” Sam turned from Dean and looked his sister in her pleading eyes.

“Sam...Sammy please. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry Ali.” Sam slowly pulled his hand from hers and walked out the door. Dean had moved to stand next to her to help keep her up right. She let out an anguished filled wail at the abandonment by her twin. Dean wrapped his arms around her and held her as she fell apart. His hand cupped the back of her head, It was the way her John had always hugged her, making her feel safe and protected. She felt anything but. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Ali had barely said two words on the drive back to Bobby’s. Dean was checking over the back of her head. She had a fierce headache from Ruby tossing her head first into a wall. Bobby was getting increasingly fed up with the pair of siblings. 

“Dean? Dean! You listen to a word I said?”

“Yeah, I heard you. I'm not calling him. And Ali sure as hell isn’t calling him. We’re lucky she didn’t crack her head open. He stood there and let Ruby hurt her.” Ali sniffed. “Don't make me get my gun, boy.”

“Bobby...you didn’t see him. You didn’t see how he put his hands on Dean. I’m done.” Ali wrapped her arms around herself and stood to look out the window, ignoring the arguing between Dean and Bobby. If Bobby wanted to get Sam back so badly, he could go after him. She had been so hopeful when she and Dean had picked Sam up when they went looking for John. But they had just fallen further apart. Ali’s ears piqued when she heard Bobby start screaming.

”You stupid, stupid son of a bitch! Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Make you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!”

”I told him, "you walk out that door, don't come back" and he walked out anyway! That was his choice!”

”You sound like a whiny brat. No, you sound like your dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward. He’d  rather push Sam away than reach out to him. Well, that don't strike me as brave. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favor. Don't be him.”

Before she knew what hit her, she was in a different room. The walls were painted white with gold trim and accents, and a marble table stood in the center. Dean and Bobby were gone, but she wasn't alone. There stood an older man, balding and smug looking.

”Its nice to finally meet you. I must say, Castiel tried his damndest to keep us apart.”

“So you’re Zachariah.” Ali eyed the angel. “Well, I expected more” He walked over to Ali, smiling like a snake.

“So this is the infamous Ali. I guess we’re both disappointed, I expected much more from the one we chose to protect than an attitude problem.” 

”I’m a Winchester. An attitude problem auto downloads at birth. You chose to protect me to make sure the demons didn't get what they wanted, not because you wanted to save me. Why am I here? Where is Dean?”

“You are a variable we can’t control. You’re much more powerful than you know. All the seals have fallen. Except one. Lilith has to break it. She's the only one who can. Tomorrow night -- midnight. Then your brother can begin his work. Your ensured safety will guarantee his cooperation. You’ll see him soon enough.” 

“Wait- his work starts AFTER Lilith breaks the final seal? Why would you? Oh my God, you want her to break the seal. You want the apocalypse...just like Uriel. You’re going to serve my brother l, my brothers up to Lucifer?!”

“Relax Alianna. Dean will end the apocalypse and end Lucifer.” Before Ali could ask him anything else he was gone and she was trapped. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t mention Sam’s survival. She frantically looked around the room desperate for an escape route to save her brothers so she did the only thing she could think of, she cried out for Castiel. It wasn’t long before he appeared.

“Cas please. Please take me to Sam. I have to stop him. He’s going to die. Please.” Cas blinked. 

“I can’t. Ali...this has been foretold.” She shoved him hard.

“No, don’t you dare give me that. There’s more to you than doing what you’re told. Than towing the company line. You know this is wrong. Sam isn’t the only one that will die. Innocent people will die, who knows how many. Cas I know you were having doubts before. Would God want this? What he created to die if it doesn’t need to? Cas look at me.” He didn’t want to. He could feel his resolve waning, but he had to look in her eyes. He was met with not only anguish for her brother, but for the idea of anyone that would be hurt. She took his hands, lacing her fingers with his. As he looked into her eyes he knew he couldn't deny her. She and Dean were his Achilles heel, he knew he felt something deeply for them both, but it was Ali’s tearful, yet hopeful eyes that got him. Despite everything he had said and done she still believed in him. In that moment despite it all he still has her trust and loyalty. 

“Cas you wanted to protect me from this. But help me protect everyone else. I don’t know why I am so special. But I cannot stay in this room while innocent people are dying. While my brother is dying.” Cas tilted his head slightly to the side as he placed his hand on the side of Ali’s face.

“I promise when this is over to tell you everything” She closed her eyes as she felt goosebumps cover her skin. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Dean staring in confusion. 

“Oh thank God you’re okay.” Ali pulled away from Cas and ran to hug her brother.

“We have to be quick...Zachariah will be back soon” Ali watched as Cas started drawing the sigil. He was almost done when Ali felt the hair on the back of her neck stand.

“Castiel! Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?” Before Zachariah could blink, Castiel finishes drawing and slammed  his hand in the center of the sigil. In a violent flash of white light, Zachariah vanished.

“He won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now.” Cas looked to Dean and Ali. Dean looked down at his sister where he kept a protective arm around her “Where is he?”

“I don't know. But I know who does. We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith.”

“But Lilith's gonna break the final seal.” Ali looked at Castiel as she put the final puzzle piece together in her head.

“Lilith IS the final seal. She dies, the end begins.”

Before they could think, Cas had transported them to Chuck Shurley’s living room. They had rightfully startled him as he was on the phone.

“Wait. T-t-this isn't supposed to happen...No, lady, this is definitely supposed to happen, but I just got to call you back. What are you doing here?!” Chuck looked at the three of them, and then his eyes zeroed in on Ali. She didn't understand why he felt the need to stare the way she did. It made her uncomfortable. Apparently he found something about her interesting.

"Chuck...we need your help. We need to get to Sam. Where is he? Please" Without breaking any eye contact with Ali Chuck sighed. Dean looked over at his sister. She has gotten through to Cas and be was certain Chuck would do as she asked. Dean could understand. He found it near impossible to deny his sister anything.

"He's at St. Mary's" Dean scrunched his face up.

"St. Mary's? What is that, a convent?" 

"Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story" Castiel stepped in between Dean and Ali. "Yeah, well...We're making it up as we go." Ali jumped as Chuck's computer screen began to flicker and a rumbling noise began to roll through. Dean was shielding his eyes from the blinding white light. But Ali, for the first time, kept her eyes open, remembering that she could look at the angels without damage. The light was beautiful. It danced across the room. She felt herself getting lost in it, but Chuck’s voice pulled her from herself.

  “Aw, man! Not again! No!” Castiel put his hand on the side of Ali’s face. The endearing look in his eyes ran a chill down her spine. The last thing Ali heard was Cas telling her and Dean to stop Sam before the two of them were zapped to the convent.

“I will never get used to that.” Dean shook off the weirdness he felt. “C’mon Al, we gotta find Sammy.” 

Ali followed Dean through the corridors listening for Sam. When they came upon a set of shut doors, they could hear the commotion behind it. Everything seemed to be happening in flashes. Dean yelling for Sam. Sam yelling for Dean. After what seemed like forever, the door finally opened. Ali froze as she saw the strange shape Lilith’s blood had taken. She looked over at her twin in horror realizing that he had killed her. The sound around her was muted as she felt a pulsating pain in her skull. She watched as Sam held Ruby so Dean could kill her with the demon knife, which told Ali that Ruby knew Lilith would lead to Lucifer’s release, though the regret in Sam’s eyes when they walked in told her the same. Sam was repeating how sorry he was as he stumbled over to Ali. The 3 siblings tried to shield their eyes from the bright light shooting from the center of Lilith’s blood. Ali held onto Sam as the convent began to shake.

“He’s coming.” Ali’s voice came out in a cry. Whatever was running through her veins was telling her to get out of there. 

“We have to get out of here.” Dean was trying to pull his siblings out of the convent as they were snapped from the building.

[queensgaybeach1d]

Hello angel. I just wanted to say that after the article... I'm kinda confused about Larry... Larry has been my one true belief for years now. In fact... Louis and Harry are the ones who made me comfortable enough with my sexuality to come out. But... Harry speaks about his ex girlfriend and.... idk I don't want to... disrespect him or invalidate him (though I know that my judgement means absolutely nothing to him. Why should it?) By insisting that Larry is real when rn it just seems like it's..

2: ... so far from the truth. I'm in a weird head space right now.. god they should have clarified it. If it wasn't real, they should have just said so! Fuck. Okay. That came out wrong. I understand that they owe us nothing, they have no obligations towards us. That's alright. That's how it should be. I'm rambling dumb shit right now. Idk. It doesn't seem like he's very into one person? He just seems to be out there enjoying the company of beautiful people, being lovely, and living his best life?

3: once again, I just don't want to assume anything about what his life is like cuz it's none of my business. I just.. don't know. I'm overwhelmed with something I'm unable to put into words right now. I think I'll take a break from the fandom. I'm exhausted. Everything is a mindfuck. It's not, if you just believe everything you're SUPPOSED to believe. But... I can't? I don't know. Saying that Larry isn't real feels strange cuz what if it is? Saying that it is feels strange cuz what if it's not?

4: Talking about Larry in general feels stupid.. cuz he contains multitudes. And... man I don't know. I'm feeling very very weird right now. The story of his ex gf with the slippers fucked me up and broke my heart somehow? Goddamn I am pathetic L O L. I'll just excuse myself now. Lmao if he saw this whole rant, he'd probably laugh and think I'm pathetic. But hey! Where's the lie.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi my beloved,

First, it truly warms my old heart that 1D made you feel comfortable with your sexuality and coming out. It is such a big step for a person to do so and you did it!! Congrats and it is amazing, you should be so proud of yourself!

Love, the whole interview had one purpose: feeding Harry’s het fandom. They want to make it seem like he‘hates’ 1D and loves to be the sexualised rock N roll icon. I made a post about Hamille and a small debunk:

 https://queensgaybeach1d.tumblr.com/post/187308257569/hey-love-how-are-you-doing-just-curious-because

and 

I absolutely think Harry think about what his fans have to say. He does not take the hate comment to heart and he should not ever do that. Harry does listen to the people who truly care about him and are nice. 

Louis and Harry would have told us if it was not real. It is a simple ‘’NO’’ something Louis and Harry can both do when they deny being engaged to someone or when they deny a relationship. It’s easy, and if it ‘bothers’ them so much why not deny it. Then everyone will stop, perhaps they should stop getting matching tattoos, write obvious songs about each other and give each other heart eyes each time. Maybe they should even try to bring each other up in interviews a bit more, since it seems like they are hiding. You are right when you say they do not owe us anything, but they out themselves and that is why we are here, love. 

I think when you say that Harry does not seem like a person who is in love with one person, you are mistaking him. Do not worry, I think people mistake Harry’s kindness for flirting. When he smiles, he gets dimples and he stares into your eyes with his green ones. People easily mistake that for flirting. Harry is a joyful, happy, quirky and energetic person with everyone who he is comfortable with. For example; James Cordon, Mabel, Mitch, Millie Bobbie Browns mother, Niall Horan, Nick Grimshaw and the Dunkrik cast. He acts very different when it comes to Louis. Harry jokes around with people and you might think that is flirting too, but it is not, love. Harry acts like that with everyone he is comfortable with. He clearly acts different when it comes to Louis. Louis makes him feel all mushy and soft inside. He stares at him and needs to touch him anytime. He is jealous, overprotective and real flirty to Louis. As for him being happy outside 1D, he is that way. He is always bubbly, and sweet. 

Honey, because you are a larrie does absolutely NOT mean that you are SUPPOSED to believe everything most Larries think. As long as you do not buys the stunts or believe one of them fell in love with their beard etc, you’re okay. For example, I believe they took multiple breaks (not an official break up) and got together again. I also believe Louis is super comfortable with his sexuality, whereas a lot of people think he is the one who is scared. You should believe in Larrie, but do not be someone you are actually not. Then, it will go wrong. It looks like you are stuck somewhere in the middle, if there is any way I can help you with that, do not hesitate to tell me ;)

You are not pathetic, love. The slipper story is just like Haylor and their paper airplane necklace. They use it to show it as a sign of their fake relationship. That is how they make fans believe they are real. They always make sure everyone sees it, it is for publicity. They put it in a place in which you can see it. 

Oh, and Harry is not someone to laugh at people is he? ;)

If you feel like you need to take a break from this fandom, go ahead we will wait for you and it is okay. You do not need to get stressed for something like this. You can always ask me questions and other larries. Do not exhaust yourself because of this. Relax, take some time off and do not let it get toxic. Thank you so much for your question, love. It was amazing to talk to you, I mean it!! X

[espship18]

Kpop ship for honeykosmos

Hello everyone and after nearly what has felt like eternity, a very stressful work week, and one gray hair later, I have a ship ready for you (: this ship is for @honeykosmos . This ship was fun, so let’s get into it~

Based off of your request, I learned these things about you: 

You’re 5′1 with chubs with dark hair, dark eyes, and glasses

You have the ISFJ personality and you’re a virgo

You’re playful and a jokster

You also have a laid back personality

You’re intelligent, sarcastic, funny, loyal, and puts others before you awe

Interests/hobbies: music, books, and art, video games

Likes/loves: friends, food, sleep same, autumn sAmE, hoodies SAME, traveling, and long car rides 

And in your request, you asked to be shipped with BTS, EXO, Got7, and iKon. Let’s ship, shall we? 

BTS: Jin 

Okay so the best way I want to describe you two are as smol beans who I love very much. Right off the bat, I can see your and Jin’s chemistry bouncing off of each other beautifully. Although you’re shy for the most part, I can see you and Jin clicking nicely, and it would not take long at all for the stars to fall into place and you two to fall in love. Jin has that natural homey/welcoming personality, very very nice factor in the equation. Moving along, just putting this out here, you are treated like a queen- Jin will go above and beyond for you. The amount of respect, love, and happiness Jin would give you can be overwhelming to some depending on the person, but all in all, you love the amount of attention you get from Jin, and Jin helps you feel good about yourself- and there is nothing wrong with that. Jin is also our body positive king, so like, you best believe any insecurities(if you have any of course) will diminish because of your lovely broad ass shouldered king Seokjin. I also feel like Jin would even try to push you out of your fashion comfort zone sometimes. Just enough to where he can see you try something new(see, he cares!). When it comes to interests- I see you and Jin having your own interests you’re into separately, but there are also interests that you two have where you could do said interests together. You’re both very chill in retrospect, and you seem very adaptable. And the simple fact that you two love being together is the bow on top for anything you do. Overall, you and Jin are like ying and yang- balance. And when it comes to public statements/appearances, omg you two are knock outs! EVERYONE lives for the height difference, and everyone also LIVES for Jin’s mannerisms when he’s with you in public. When you’re not in the public eye and Jin gets to relax with you at home, you two have so much fun. Your girlfriend card comes into play here and you get to pamper him. Whether it’s setting up board games to play, taking naps, playing video games, or cooking, omg cooking is such a staple with you two, you two have the time of your life, and it only makes Jin fall in love with you more. Ugh, the more I write, the more balance I see. OMG LISTEN, it would be SO CUTE if you and Jin were ying and yang for Halloween!!! And lastly, PDA with Jin is so sweet! Jin holding your hands always and rubbing and kissing your knuckles. So many forehead kisses, Jin being needy for your love and affection, a whiny bub concept is everything when it comes to Jin. And you normally give in to his requests bc you love your bub and are more than happy to give him all the love in the world.

EXO: Kyungsoo 

Okay so, we’re lowering the quirkiness meter a little, but we’re still keeping a lot of fluff, and we’re still gonna have fun. Shy but protective Kyungsoo is the warrior of choice for this ship btw. I think it would be really cute if you and Kyungsoo met in a coffee shop. Soo would be on a lunch break or something and he would be at his table reading a book. You of course would be getting your regular, and as you were looking around, you would notice the cover of the book, as you had finished the book recently. You were very happy with the book, it was overall an interesting book, and you would’ve loved to talk about the book with someone. As you were waiting for your drink and pastry, you looked over at Soo and made a statement about one of the main characters. It would definitely catch Soo off guard, but as you two talked more, Kyungsoo would invite you to sit with him and you two would talk for a long time together. As your relationship would soar, the first few months would be soft and subtle. You two would take things slow and easy, mostly enjoying each others company. You and Kyungsoo would also be in denial of your feelings for one another. It wouldn’t be until you were with Soo and his fellow group mates at dinner when some of them would be like ‘what’s up with you two??’. Of course your love would blossom further and you’d finally call yourselves an item. I wish I had visuals to see what you two would look like together. As I mentioned with Jin, the height difference. It wouldn’t even matter that Kyungsoo is 5′8(172cm), there is still such a cute height difference that I LOVE. Your relationship would be so cute. You both are very chill, but you’re also still flirty and playful. Tbh, I think Kyungsoo would be the biggest flirt. His form of flirting would be a cute little banter and teasing- I like that concept. You two would also do everything together. I also want to made a point that you two would have a cute little habit of trying to put one over the other. Of course you worry about him because of his job, but he worries about you and your health bc he wants to make sure his love it always healthy, and you two would end up in a cycle of love and lowkey become each others care takers. You would also be Kyungsoo’s security blanket btw. Real quick, I think it would be super cute if Kyungsoo would pre-plan dates. He’d always want to show how much he loves you. You also accompany him to concerts and his drama premieres BC OMG THOSE VISUALS. Lastly, Soo would be clingy with PDA. He likes keeping you around him with his hands holding something- helps him feel secure knowing you are safe with him. 

Got7: Youngjae

Okay so I am trying to get as much versatility in this ship as I can, so here we have our hyper bean who is your hype man. Youngjae would be that type of guy that is the biggest and most loving sweetheart, and he makes your heart flutter and your cheeks go red. Omg listen, I think it would be so cute if you two met over Youngjae’s infectious laughter. You each would be with your respective parties and you would hear Youngjae’s angel laugh from the bottom of the aisle. JB and the rest of Youngjae’s buddies would apologize for his loudness, but, the stars in space align, you say all the right things, and you leave that store with Youngjae’s number in your pocket. I can see you and Youngjae being very spontaneous when you would first get together. You two would be very entranced with each other, you’d love to be together and talk, so you two would go out all the time- rarely turning down the offer. And even before you two were officially an item, I can see Youngjae being protective and caring over you. And even after you two were an item, I believe that Youngjae would keep that ideology. The concept is sort of old school- the guy taking care of the girl, but I think it works. Youngjae can easily get the boyfriend of the year award with the way he treats you. Youngjae can remember just about anything you say or want, he pays attention to where he can tell how you’re feeling by the tone in your voice, he knows how to listen to you, and he also knows what you love and what you don’t love. He’s just overall an amazing boyfriend(in my professional opinion) and he will always take the opportunity to tell you how much he loves you. And, because I love spreading body positivity, Youngjae is also one of our body positive bubs. The things that this boy is able to say sometimes really throws you for a loop, and you would think of things you never thought before. You would always feel empowered when you were with Youngjae- bottom line. Also, I can only imagine how many of your hoodies you own from Youngjae. Youngjae is a literal teddy bear, so just imagine all the warm hoodies you’d have in your closet- and how many of said hoodies Youngjae would have to steal back. PDA is very sweet as well! Youngjae’s PDA would be so playful and sweet. He would love hand holding, and there would be a lot of times where he would spin you around and then pull you close to him and give you a big bear hug and kisses on your cheeks, forehead, and of course the lips. Back hugs are also a staple in your relationship as well!

iKon: Bobby

Oki doki~ So, I was stuck between two members, but I have a good feeling about you and Bobby. In my opinion, I feel like yours and Bobby’s aesthetics and personalities merge well together and you’d be one of the chilliest couples ever. And don’t even get me started on being one of the most loving couples ever. We have all seen the way Bobby loves on Hanbin in the past, so just imagine how much love Bobby would give you- you’re going to be loved for forever and more. When it comes to your relationship, I like to think that you two would bounce off of each other, similar to you and Jin, but you’re even more playful that any of your other sips mentioned. The teasing and sarcasm is so real and so present here, like, sometimes if you’re around new people, people will listen to you two playfully bicker and think ‘omg why are they fighting?’ You two would also like to banter around with people who would try to invade your privacy or tell you how to run your relationship. There’s so much sass. And there’s enough sass to where you’re actively in the cute little roast sessions that the Bobby and the rest of iKon does. Your chemistry with them works perfectly. But overall, Bobby is very vocal over his love for you, so he would have different ways of telling you how much he loves you. Moving right along, I want to touch on something that is melting my heart. I think it would be SO AMAZING if Bobby had the old-school mannerisms when it came to being a boyfriend. Holding the door open for you, giving you his jacket if you’re cold, kiss your knuckles, calling you ‘doll’ or ‘honey’, he would do it all. There is honestly nothing more attractive than a man with respect and omg girl you are getting yourself a good one! I also like to think about Bobby taking over for date nights. Dinner dates are always on the menu(HAH). He would like for you to get dressed up, which he would also take you on shopping trips so you can get you cute things to wear. He just loves seeing how you light up when you get all glam. He loves seeing you with your head held high and feeling great about yourself. A lot of your dates end with a walk along the river or a lake. If you’re wearing heels that night, Bobby would hold your heels in one hand and hold your hand in the other hand SOMEONE STOP ME I’M CRYING. And of course, the obligatory snuggles and slow dancing when you get home. PDA is so touchy touchy. Bobby is not afraid to grab your hip to keep you close to him- he’s very clingy. He loves showcasing your shortness to his tallness, and last but not least, he has the softest lips, for the softest and most sweetest kisses you’ll ever get!

~STA

[xwriting-ikon-stuffx]

Bobby Bulletpoint | as a dad

Request: Bobby as a dad (with a baby girl plz]

Word count: 595

Warnings: absolute fluff

in the first weeks/months he’d be so scared

like he’s afraid to hurt her or do anything wrong

asks for your help all the time

is scared she’s sick whenever she slightly sneezes or coughs

needs a looooot of reassurance from you

scared of changing nappies

but he’d get comfortable over time

from that point he looks after her whenever he can

tells you to take a break & rest

he’s so relaxed and chilled around her, would never rush anything

he’d be so soft and cuddly

would barely ever let her leave his hug, always carries her around in his arms

he’d love the way her eyes stare at him whenever he’s bottle-feeding her

spends hours on the sofa with her, just cuddling and talking to her (even though she can’t answer yet)

„You‘re my everything.“ „You‘ll be the prettiest girl ever, you know that?“

loves when she falls asleep on him/in his arms

loves to shop clothes for her

he‘d put her into brand sneakers from day 1

sings her to sleep with lullabies or just hums

basically goes crazy whenever she’s lying on her back and moves her legs and arms around when music is on

he smiles when she holds onto his pinky finger when she starts walking

takes photos of every important moment and of every birthday and puts them into an album, always writing a short sentence about the moment

he’d absolutely try to raise her to be a dancer (fight me on this)

would be relieved when he found out that she prefers hip hop and pop

[even tho he’d support her too if she chose ballet or something else]

he’d love to help you organise her birthday parties 

he would be so much fun on her birthdays, playing games and taking them to indoor playgrounds and later bowling centers

all her friends think he’s the coolest dad 

supportive and proud af

would try to bring her and pick her up from every dance lesson to see how she’s doing

loves how she always shows him what they learnt that lesson („wow, you‘re even better than me!“)

though his working scedule is overwhelming, he’d always make sure to be at every competition and championship

would wear clothing that’s matching her formations one

is so close to the dance teachers and formation that he’s basically a co-teacher

he would sit front row and record it

would cheer the loudest

he’d watch her every move and would go crazy if she nailed something she struggled with (see gif)

has a water bottle and snack ready for when she leaves the stage

showering her in compliments and tells her how amazing she was and how even if she made mistakes, that’s perfectly fine („it‘s okay to make mistakes, don’t stress over it, beautiful“)

would be sooo proud no matter what place they get 

he’d invite everyone to your place for ice cream afterwards

as she grows into her early teenage years he’d still be close to her even though she’s trying to distance herself from the two of you a little

she would tell him anything, their bond is basically like they’re best friends

tries to make every of her wishes come true, not spoiling her tho

he’d tell her how beautiful and perfect she is all the time

would allow her to dye her hair (would prob dye his too in the same color)

he would always allow huge sleepovers at your place even though you weren’t sure about allowing it

gets a projector ready for their movies

plays old wii games like just dance and wii sports with them for fun

would give them some money to get snacks and would order pizza

“don’t tell mum” - “i heard you.” - “oh.”

overall he’d just be sooooo soft and fun omg can he be my kids dad

[suckerfordeansfreckles]

A Match made in Heaven 10

You can start reading from the beginning here, find part 9 here or read this fic on AO3.)

Getting dressed for their first actual date isn’t nearly as stressful as it was the last time. Dean’s a little sad that his baby brother is at Bobby’s and can’t consult him on his choices, but Sam would probably only make him nervous, so he supposes it’s good just how it is. He picks a pair of jeans that nicely hug his ass, a simple t-shirt, a red flannel, and is ready to go. Well, after meticulously preparing everything else for their date.

He texted Cas this morning that he’d by at his place around 5 p.m., but didn’t give him any further instructions other than “this isn’t gonna be anything fancy, so dress casual”.

When Dean picks Cas up, he‘s greeted with a soft smile and is immediately overwhelmed with the warmth that blooms in his heart when he realizes that this gentle smile is just for him.

They drive in comfortable silence that is only broken when Dean steers the car off the street and onto a small country road that is framed by trees.

“Are you taking me deep into the woods to murder me? How romantic,“ Cas turns towards him and sends him a cheeky grin.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Dean snorts, focussing on the bumpy road in front of them. It’s still sunny outside, but the trees cast long shadows over the road.

When they finally come to a halt, it’s next to a small clearing. While Dean grabs some things from the trunk of his car, Cas already steps into the clearing. “You like it?”

“This is beautiful, Dean,” Cas breathes, spinning around and taking in soft sunlight, colourful flowers and the chirping of birds perched in the crowns of the trees around them.

“I’m glad! I made some food,” Dean says, smiling up at Cas while he spreads a blanket on the grass. There’s a bag behind him, filled to the brink with tupperware boxes, bottles and glasses. “Come on, take a seat.”

It turns out Dean brought way too much food; bread and sandwiches, jelly, cheese, cut vegetables and fruit, some cookies and even another blueberry pie for Cas, which he earns an enthusiastic kiss for. They end up eating until their stomachs hurt, feeding each other in between giggle-fits.

When they start putting the food away afterwards, the sky starts to darken and Dean thinks he couldn’t have planned this whole evening better. He gets up to carry the bag to the car and Cas moves to follow him and starts to say, “That was a beautiful evening, Dean, and-”

“Wait, wait, wait! We’re not done,” he smirks, turning back to Cas with his arms full of blankets and pillows. “This is gonna be the most cliché date you’ve ever been on, so we’re gonna do some stargazing. I’m not even ashamed to admit that I read like ten “What to do on the perfect date with your loved one”-type of articles before planning this, I’m that gone on you.”

He blushes a little when he says this, but it’s all forgotten when Cas tackles him to the ground and kisses him like he’s starving, not caring about the blankets and pillows wedged between them. He kisses him like he’s been holding back for hours — and, who knows, maybe he has been. Dean sure knows he has.

“You’re perfect, I don’t think I deserve you,” Cas smiles against his mouth and dips back in for another taste of Dean.

“Stop it and let me put down the pillows, you sap. It’ll get cold soon, and I can’t have you catch a cold because I can’t take care of you properly.”

They settle in between the pillows, covered by too many blankets, and just hold onto each other. Cas starts showing Dean the constellations he can spot, and Dean tells Cas about the old Greek myths he’s read about them when he was younger.

After a while, Cas turns towards him, one hand resting firmly on Dean’s chest. “What now? After this date?”

“I’m ready. I’m ready to tell everyone, though I think Sammy and Claire already know. I’m ready to make this official. I’m falling for you, and I don’t want to have to hold back,” Dean says, and he doesn’t even blush this time. This is serious, he is serious about Cas and his feelings for him.

“Me too, Dean,” Cas breathes, and moves to straddle him. He leans down for a soft kiss and grins. “We’re going to do this.”

“Yes, we so are.”

                                               The end.... (I guess?)

We finally made it to the end, thank you so much to everyone who stuck around and read this mess! I hope you enjoyed it <3

Tag list: @planetahmane @justyourordinaryfangirl @casgirlat221b@castielinparadise@trxye-sxvxn @bslove17 @dellez @runtosleepdreamer @iamyouknow-yours@destielhoneybee @breathingdestiel @wellofwoes @xxgoldensnowflake @dshelley@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @elaspn @originalobjecttheorist@mishapocalypse-must-return @unknownanonymousgirl @ancient-celestial-being-of-chaos@weirdoblogger69@ligasar @twofacemoon @kathrinerose @spn-destiel-enthusiast 

If you want to be added to (or removed from) the tag list, just let me know with a short message or a comment! :)

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/where-is-the-outrage-for-us/

"Where is the outrage for us?"

MARLBOROUGH, Mass. (AP) — The moms meet in a parking lot overlooking the little white funeral home and watch the mourners drifting toward the chapel doors — a familiar scene, beginning again.

Cheryl Juaire taps nervously on her steering wheel.

“Are we ready?” she asks the two other mothers leaning into the window of her SUV.

The wake starting inside is for a stranger, another young man consumed by the great American plague. These women drove nearly two hours to shepherd his mother into their club, its thousands of members all bound by the same hell: They are parents of the dead from addiction, tasked with the unnatural act of burying their children at a rate unprecedented in modern American history.

“I’m going to stay in the car,” one mother says. “I just can’t go in.”

“I get it,” Cheryl assures her.

Cheryl, the leader of this unhappy welcoming committee, fishes a sympathy card out of her purse. She bought some in bulk not long ago and was stunned to find this was the last one left.

Each card equals another set of parents, their lives clawed apart by the opioid epidemic. Many are broke from paying for treatment or raising their grandchildren at retirement age. Some have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.

The chaos of addiction consumed their lives. Then the chaos ended with a funeral, and the quiet proved far worse.

Cheryl reads newspapers hunting for obituaries and searches social media for the newly bereaved, to invite them into the fold. You are not alone in guilt and grief and regret and rage, she needs them all to know. It has become her own kind of addiction, a habit to quiet the demons.

Her son, Corey Merrill, overdosed on heroin at 23 years old in 2011, just as the crisis was turning into catastrophe. She had thought using drugs was a failure of morality and gumption. Back then much of America thought the same — that addiction was merely a bad choice.

So, no, she had told Corey, he couldn’t stay with her because she hadn’t raised him that way, and he’d slept instead on a park bench.

Then he died alone, and she slowly arrived at the sickening realization that addiction is a disease she hadn’t understood, and because she hadn’t understood it, she couldn’t save him. She didn’t even know he needed saving.

Now this is her penance: wake after wake, mother after mother, trying to spare them the solitary torment that almost killed her.

Cheryl straightens the gold cross around her neck, smooths her bob, freshly dyed chestnut brown to hide hints of gray, and climbs out of the car.

“That mom gave birth to that child,” she says. “When those doors close today, and they put her son in the ground, it’s not the end for her. It’s just the beginning.”

___

Earlier in the week, four bereaved mothers who make up the board of Cheryl’s nonprofit met poolside at one of their homes on a suburban cul-de-sac in Wrentham. A white sign was staked out front in the grass, with #2069 printed in black. That’s the number of people opioids killed in Massachusetts in just one year, one state’s slice of the more than 400,000 who have died in the U.S. since the epidemic began in 1999.

Overdoses now kill more each year than guns or breast cancer or AIDS at its peak. They kill more than the entire Vietnam War. They kill nearly 200 people a day on average, the equivalent of a 9/11 every few weeks. “One analogy that can sometimes get people’s attention is that it’s like an airplane full of commuters crashing every single day,” one mother offered as the group struggled to somehow depict the magnitude of their mission.

And yet it feels to these mothers that the world is getting tired of hearing about all their dead kids.

They led a campaign of thousands across America to send President Donald Trump photos of their children, all mailed last Feb. 10 to reach him by Valentine’s Day. They expected the president to say, or tweet, that he heard them and would do something. They expected media coverage from coast to coast — that people would look into their children’s eyes and be so enraged they’d march in the streets.

But there were no marches for them. That Valentine’s Day, 17 people were gunned down at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Florida, consuming political and public attention. Cheryl grieves for the parents who lost a child there. But she did the math, and that many people will die from drugs by the time this three-hour board meeting concludes.

“Where is the outrage for us?” she asks. “Our kids are still dying, and the only thing I can do is try to pick up the pieces for the moms once they do.”

Her organization’s official name is “Team Sharing.” But she usually just says: “My Moms.”

When she started this group on Facebook three years ago there were only seven members, all mothers near her home in Marlborough, Massachusetts. Then another parent joined and another, as overdoses became the leading cause of death for young Americans, dragging down the nation’s overall life expectancy three years in a row for the first time in a century.

Now Cheryl, 60, begins each day at dawn in her recliner, before her part-time job as a receptionist at a church, studying a 25-page document, single-spaced, that lists the hundreds of Team Sharing members and details about their children. Some on her list have lost two children to drugs. One lost three. One lost four.

On a recent Sunday afternoon, Cheryl got a call from a mother who had already buried one addicted son, and she was screaming, incomprehensible. Cheryl sped to her house to find that her second son had overdosed in a bedroom upstairs. The paramedics were still there, and Cheryl held this mother as they carried his body out into the coroner’s truck.

Many parents of the dead try to channel their grief into change. The nation knows how to fix this, they insist; all that’s missing is the will. “Let the junkies die,” they’ve heard people say, even though the American Medical Association, the American Society of Addiction Medicine and the surgeon general all define addiction as a chronic brain disease that is, like some cancers and diabetes, fueled by a mix of genetics, behaviors and environment. The surgeon general notes that unlike those with cancer or diabetes, only about 10 percent of those with addiction get effective treatment.

This coalition of mothers believes the epidemic is unfolding much like AIDS did, with a society indifferent toward people believed to have brought their deaths upon themselves. That disease killed unabated by the thousands until masses started protesting.

So these parents testify before Congress, tell their stories in school gymnasiums and cry on local television news. They proselytize at rallies, warning that any family could be next, and see crowds filled with people who’ve already learned that the hard way. Cheryl led a picket outside Purdue Pharma, whose mass marketing of the powerful painkiller OxyContin helped unleash the crisis.

“What more do we have to do?” she wonders.

Cheryl doesn’t like to talk about politics. Both Republicans and Democrats have failed to stop this, she says. She voted for Trump, who declared a public health emergency in 2017, and remains hopeful that he’ll keep his promise to end the scourge.

Last year, Congress passed a legislative package designed to combat the crisis and appropriated $8.5 billion, a figure experts say is a welcome step but far short of the sustained funding required to build the necessary treatment infrastructure. During the AIDS crisis, the federal government increased funding by tens of billions, says Keith Humphreys, a Stanford University professor and drug policy expert. “The opioid epidemic is as serious as that one and will require similar resources.”

It overwhelms Cheryl to think of all the things the nation needs to do to solve this, and so she tries to focus on what she knows.

She knows parents with no money left to bury their children; the ashes sit in cardboard boxes. So the first agenda item at her board meeting this week is to decide how much to donate for headstones and urns. Her board members grimace.

There’s Cindy Wyman, who used to knock on drug dealers’ doors carrying a picture of her daughter. And Lynn Wencus, whose son emptied her bank account and pawned her wedding ring and still she borrowed against her 401(k) to pay for treatment. She once drove him to buy heroin because he was desperate to get into a detox facility that would only take patients with drugs in their system. She sat next to him as he shot up, holding overdose reversal medication and weeping.

“That’s what we were willing to do to save our kids,” Lynn says. “And even at that, it wasn’t enough.”

They dreaded the phone call for years. For Cheryl, it came in the middle of the night, from her oldest son, Bobby, a police officer.

“Mom, Corey’s dead,” he said. Cheryl felt her knees buckle.

That call is her marker in time: There was her normal life before it and her life now, which includes an unwanted expertise in burying young Americans.

Maybe, she suggests to the board, they should give parents $500 to help bury their first child and $1,000 for their second?

Lynn rubs her temples and groans. “Second child,” she repeats. “Oh God.”

“I know,” Cheryl says. And then, before she could stop it, her mind wandered down into the basement of a funeral home and she was shopping for caskets seven years ago. On that worst day of her life, her oldest son, the officer, collapsed weeping. Her middle son, Sean, was still addicted to the “happy pills” Corey had introduced him to. And Cheryl felt helpless to fix any of it.

She had stood at her son’s wake, shaking hands, smiling awkwardly — unaware that the fog would lift and the reality would crush her until she wished she would die, too.

__

When Corey was born, Cheryl had pulled his bassinet next to her bed and slept with her hand on his back, counting his heartbeats. She’d had her first two sons young, but Corey was planned. She always feared she would lose him.

“I just felt life was never going to be good for me,” she says. “And then something so good came along.”

Corey’s father left when the boy was 5, and for a few years it was just Cheryl and her sons. Corey slept in her bed every night. Four years later, she met Peter Juaire, a firefighter, and was smitten.

With a new husband there were new rules to follow; Corey was a jokester, always playing pranks, and didn’t like rules. He had been a Boy Scout and Little Leaguer, then he dropped out of high school and it all spiraled quickly. Cheryl saw him for the first time in shackles when he was arrested on a drug charge at 18. “That’s my baby,” she wailed, and the guards had to hold her up. Then he was in and out of detoxes and jails and called her sometimes to say he had nowhere to go.

Peter, a recovering alcoholic who got sober 31 years ago, thought Corey had to hit bottom, so Cheryl told Corey he couldn’t stay with them. Now when she envisions her son sometimes, he’s sleeping on a bench.

“Do you ever regret it?” she asked her husband once. No, he responded. Not that part. But he had made other mistakes long before, when Corey was young, and they didn’t get along.

Corey eventually went to rehab and moved into a sober living house, and Cheryl thought the nightmare was behind them — until the call came.

At first, she found herself going to the cemetery alone to lie down on his grave. She liked to imagine his bones and worried she was going insane.

She constructed a shrine by her front door, with piles of things she found and thought Corey had sent as signs: feathers, flowers, quarters.

She obsessed over whether he’d died believing he disappointed her and prayed he might come to her in a dream. He did once; she was washing dishes and turned from the sink and there he was, smiling, his baby daughter on his hip. Then “poof, he was gone,” and she feared that her sadness scared him away.

She wasn’t suicidal, exactly; she just didn’t want to live. She started drinking. She walked out onto the porch drunk one night and looked up at the stars and was overcome with guilt for seeing such beauty when her son would never see another sky. She collapsed to the ground and laid there begging God to kill her, until her husband came out, picked her up and put her in bed.

“I was watching her go away from me,” remembers Peter. “The road she was going on, I didn’t see us lasting.”

She heard from friends less and less until she stopped hearing from them at all. Years passed in isolation, until an invitation arrived to a dinner party with seven mothers whose children all died from overdoses. They sat talking for hours and confessed: They had felt compelled to sleep on their children’s graves, collected feathers they thought were sent from heaven, and begged God to kill them, too.

Cheryl went home that night and soon started her group.

“You’re not insane,” the moms tell each other.

Some tattoo their children’s ashes into their flesh. Some see mediums to try to connect with them. They share pictures of the sky and swear they see their children’s faces in the clouds.

Many worry people will forget their children or prefer to pretend they never existed, so Cheryl begins each morning acknowledging the parents whose kids were born that day, and the ones who died on it. She feels their rhythms: The first year is numbness, the second pure hell. She can tell which moms have been drinking, which have stopped leaving the house. “She’s a hard one,” she’ll say, making a mental note to keep a close watch.

She does this from the moment she wakes up until she falls asleep, sometimes phone in hand. Her husband tells her he’s worried it consumes her, but she shrugs and smiles at him.

Staying busy with other mothers means she doesn’t have to think about what she didn’t do for her own son.

___

All of that is what brought Cheryl to the little white funeral home in New Hampshire, a state with the nation’s fifth-highest rate of overdose deaths.

She had called in the troops: Cyndi Wood and Kay Scarpone, mothers of Marines who came home from the service changed men. All three women grew up in the same town, but they were never friends until heroin claimed their sons and lashed them together.

“All these beautiful lives,” moans Cyndi, who decides she can’t bear another wake and retreats back to the car. She pulls out a picture of her 20-year-old son Brandon, his cheeks rosy and his shirt collared. She was at the cemetery placing flowers on his grave recently and met another mother, visiting her son who had died of cancer. The woman asked Cyndi how her son died, and before she thought about it she blurted out, “An accident.” The instinct surprised her, like she’d absorbed the world’s stigma that being the mother of a drug addict is better kept a shameful secret.

“You feel alone when you lose a child like this,” she says.

Cheryl draws close to Kay as they walk together into the chapel, and she drops the sympathy card in a basket. She avoids settling her eyes on the photos of the person this young man had been or his wide-eyed child or the mourners shaking their heads because it didn’t have to end this way. The dam had broken at a recent funeral, and Cheryl had left the chapel sobbing.

“Break down later,” she tells herself, because she is supposed to be the strong one to show that life can exist after this.

Little is known about the long-term psychological implications for the hundreds of thousands of mothers and fathers who have buried their children since the opioid epidemic began. Grassroots organizations for these families are sporadic, funded mostly by bake sales and 5k races and spread out in pockets of the country at random, usually where someone like Cheryl lost a child and decided to start one.

The Partnership for Drug-Free Kids last year tried to drum up support on Capitol Hill for $10 million to establish a family support program so parents would not have to navigate the misery of addiction and death alone, says Marcia Lee Taylor, the organization’s chief policy officer. It got no traction.

“Who is saving us?” Cheryl wonders. “Nobody.”

Inside the little chapel, she folds her arms around this grieving mother. There is an electricity between women who’ve lost their children that no one else can feel, Cheryl swears, like they can sense each other in crowds.

“I shouldn’t be burying my son,” the woman says.

“You are not alone. We lost our kids, too,” Cheryl tells her, and the mother nods.

“We’re not going to have anyone left,” she says.

___

On the drive back home, Cheryl marvels at the sunny sky. Beautiful, she says. Maybe it’s a gift from Corey. Then she checks her phone and frowns. She was hoping for a message from another mother who recently lost her child. A mutual friend had asked Cheryl to call her, and she’s fretting now because she hasn’t heard back.

Two years ago, a member of her group told her about a mother who had just lost a son. Cheryl considered cold-calling her but didn’t want to intrude. The woman killed herself two days later, on her son’s birthday.

Regret tormented Cheryl — “What if I had called her first? Would that have made a difference?” — so she put the questions to her group on their Facebook page. They told her not to feel responsible; some told her she had saved their lives. “I know how this woman was feeling,” wrote one mother who had lost two children. “We don’t want to be on this journey.” A few months later, that mother killed herself, too.

These are the stakes for Cheryl, the keeper of so many parents’ grief. As she left the funeral home, dozens of them were starting to gather at a group member’s lake house for a potluck like any other, except the cars outside had bumper stickers or license plates commemorating lives cut short: “Jenn 29,” ″Joey 22.” And nametags read: “Debbie, Jay’s mom,” ″Lois, Robbie’s mom.”

Team Sharing’s annual party is one of Cheryl’s favorite days of the year. But to get there, she has to drive past the apartment building where her son died.

The first time she’d absentmindedly followed the GPS and suddenly there it was. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” she thought, and then: “Oh God, if only I’d understood. Why didn’t I spend more time with him? Ask him what was going on in his mind? Why? Why? Why?”

Now, as she passes the building again, she can’t resist the urge to pull into the parking lot. There’s the dumpster where Peter had hastily thrown the bedsheets before he let her go inside. A second-story window leads to the bedroom where Cheryl had curled on a bare mattress, imagining the imprint of Corey’s body. She remembers there were needles everywhere, even though she’d always thought he was scared of needles.

“When I’m sitting here and I’m all alone and I’m looking up at it, I don’t want to know, but I do want to know, but I don’t want to know what his last thoughts were. Was he in pain? Did he feel it? Did he know he was dying? Did he call my name?” she asks.

Most of the time, with the help of her moms, she manages not to think about it. And she has reasons to be hopeful.

Last May, personalized letters began arriving in her members’ mailboxes from the White House; they take that as a sign that the president was moved by all their Valentines. Her middle son, Sean, is in recovery and helps others struggling to get clean. Bobby, the officer, found a letter Corey had sent him and got his signature tattooed on his arm; the permanence helped him find peace.

Corey’s daughter, 4 months old when he died, is 8 and has her father’s green eyes. Cheryl takes her to the cemetery on his birthdays, sets up a little table, and they sing and eat cake. And her marriage survived. Peter accepts the shrine by the front door and her need to spend all day on the phone, talking to her moms.

She shakes her head to dislodge the tears. “OK,” she says. “I get to go to a party.”

In the SUV with a bumper sticker of her son’s name, Cheryl heads for the lake house. As she scribbles on her nametag, “Cheryl, Corey’s mom,” and stamps it to her heart, another mother steps out to take a phone call.

Three years ago, when a nurse at the hospital told this woman her son was dead from an overdose, she’d begged her to rip out her heart and give it to him. Now, her other son was on the phone, out of his mind. He just relapsed, he tells her, and he worries he won’t make it this time.

The mother tells a friend to thank Cheryl, and she quietly slips away.

___

Click here for more on Juaire’s group, Team Sharing, and here for additional resources on addiction and recovery. Go to this Q&A to learn more about the toll of the opioid crisis in America and the government’s response. For more in AP’s Left Behind series, see: https://apnews.com/TheLeftBehind

___

AP National Writer Claire Galofaro has reported for years on the opioid crisis across America. Follow her on Twitter at @clairegalofaro or reach her at cgalofaro@ap.org

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[drscottmallory-blog]

Meltdown | Self-Para | April 2nd (feat. Mallory Family + Gina)

The day had finally come, Miles’ sixth birthday party. What little free time he had in the month of March was spent preparing for this day. He bought balloons, streamers, and plenty of food, not to mention the traditional ice cream cake from Baskin-Robbins. Scott’s parents and siblings had all come to town for the celebration. Jonah had invited two of his friends over and a few neighborhood kids and parents showed up as well, but nobody from Miles’ class was able to attend due to how far away they all lived; despite this, the house was still packed. 

“Miles, what do you say?” asked Scott after his youngest boy finished opening his gifts. 

“Thank you!” Miles responded loudly as he hugged a teddy bear dressed as Batman to his chest. “Now can we have cake?”

“In a minute, bud... ” Scott’s parents were quietly chatting in the back of the room, looking concerned, which raised some questions in his mind. He made his way over to them and asked, “Is everything alright, guys?”

“Oh we’re fine, honey,” replied Jennifer, flashing Scott an unconvincing smile. “We’re just... a little worried.”

Scott raised a brow. “Worried about what, Mom?”

Winston chimed in, “This party began three hours ago and Gina’s not here. Have you heard anything from her at all?” 

“Umm, she texted that she was stuck in traffic, but that was about an hour ago...” Scott frowned. He had barely thought about his ex-wife until his father brought it up. Neither Jonah nor Miles bothered to ask about her, despite the fact that they hadn’t seen her in person in nearly two years. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon...”

And as if she sensed she was being talked about, Gina knocked on the door. The noise caused Bobby (the golden retriever) to start barking vigorously; Bobby hated the sound of knocking. Scott opened the door and Gina waltzed in without even acknowledging him. 

“Jonah! Miles! Mommy’s here!” she announced, putting a gift bag on the carpet and stretching, waiting for her two boys to come rushing towards her, which neither of them did.

Scott cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hello to you too, Gina.” He picked up the blue bag off the floor so Bobby wouldn’t pee on it. “You’re three hours late.”

“Well sorry I can’t control time, Scott. My flight got delayed by an hour, and the traffic on the way here was horrendous. You don’t even want to know how much my Uber cost.” 

She was right, in a way; he really didn’t care how much it cost. “Jonah’s upstairs with his friends, and Miles... he’s probably in the kitchen. He really wants his ice cream cake.” 

“Well I want him to open my present first.” Gina grabbed her made her way to the kitchen, casually glancing around at the other party guests, but not paying much mind to them. 

Scott’s brother, Jesse, rushed over to Scott as soon as he noticed Gina’s presence. “Well isn’t she just a ray of fucking sunshine today,” Jesse snidely commented.

“Traffic’s stressful, Jess. She probably just needs a minute to cool off.” Scott didn’t want to comment 

“Boy she was treating you like you were a fuckin’ coat rack.” Jesse sipped his glass of wine, trying to get a look at what was going on in the kitchen. “Are you really gonna let her come into your home and talk to you like that?”

“She’s Jonah and Miles’ mother. She has every right to celebrate their birthdays with them.”

“Well where was she for the last two?”

“Jesse. Don’t.” Scott growled at his brother, who responded by taking a few steps back. 

As Jesse was readying to retort, however, a shrill scream filled the air. Suddenly, the whole house was dead silent except for the chatter on the second floor. Scott ran into the kitchen to see what was happening, with Jesse following behind slowly, as to not spill his drink. Winston and Jennifer both came onto the scene as well, their parental instincts kicking in. The source of the screaming, of course, was Miles. 

Miles continuously wailed as he fidgeted around, trying to remove his arm from the wall that he’d punched a hole through. Scott pulled the boy’s arm free and tried to console him, but he continued to scream and began punching Scott’s shoulder. This wasn’t anything new in the Mallory household, so he took the blows, barely flinching. 

Winston immediately turned to Gina, sensing that she had something to do with this. “What the hell did you do?”

“What did I do? He started charging at me like we were in a goddamn bullfighting ring!” Gina tried to catch her breath, the situation overwhelming her. “He was saying I wasn’t his mom, that his mom lived in Scott’s cellphone--”

“Well maybe if you were actually there for your children he wouldn’t be having this confusion!” Winston Mallory wasn’t one to show anger very often, but this outburst had everyone in the vicinity nervous.

“I gave birth to him, he should know who I am!”

Jennifer wasn’t usually one for confrontation, but when it came to her kids and grandkids, her maternal instinct took over. “Gina, Scott raised him, you didn’t. You haven’t come to visit in two years!”

Gina scoffed at her former mother-in-law. “You know, some of us have to work for a living.”

The older male blinked at her. “You want to talk about work? I am a neurosurgeon. I spend hours upon hours operating on people’s brains to save their lives. Scott? He’s working two jobs to support Jonah and Miles, working at a hospital and a children’s group home. And my wife? She’s giving homes to kids who don’t have them, nurture to kids without parents. You just sell condos and beach houses. You may work for a living, but you don’t do anything that matters.” 

Scott picked up Miles-- who was still hitting Scott, but had stopped yelling-- and looked over at his former wife. “I’m sorry but I think it would be best if you left, Gina.”

Although she turned to leave, she said, “They’re my kids too, Scott! And I’m not leaving this town until I get to spend some time with them,” before running through the backdoor.  

While Scott brought Miles to his room to give him a safe, quiet space to calm down, and so that his hand wound could be assessed, the elder couple and their adopted son ushered the other guests out of the house. Jonah and his friends, along with the youngest Mallory sibling, eventually came downstairs and had to be filled in on what had happened while they were playing with magnets. Needless to say, this was not how Scott had wanted this party to go.