#my brain is convinced that nothing will fix me except laying down forever

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

Me when I’m not tired: wow I feel good and normal

Me when I’m tired: I’m tired I’ve always been tired and I will be tired forever. where is my blankie. I’m eepy.

[littlemisspascal]

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: plot plot plot, mild descriptions of violence, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, sloooooooooooooow burn – seriously, we’re just getting started so it’s gonna be a bit before feelings are involved, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: The plan right now is for there to be 3 parts of Chapter 1. Tumblr isn’t doing a good job notifying my taglist, so I apologize if I bother anyone reblogging this a few times trying to get it to work. Thank you everyone out there for each like, comment, ask and reblog! The support means the world to me 🥰

Part 1 Part 3

Cross-posted on AO3

The village is a small community with less than a hundred citizens living there total, yet it is visible from miles away due to the bright paints used to decorate the houses. Murals depicting the village’s history and its residents adorn every house with details added by each new generation so that no one is ever forgotten. Back when visitors would pass through, they would always compliment the village’s beauty, but there is nothing beautiful at all about the electric fence the Imps erected shortly after seizing control, emitting shocks harsh enough to kill.

Originally the stormtroopers said it was to protect the village from threats, but nobody believed the lie. The only threat to the community was the Empire. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, now they like to remind everyone the whole village is their prisoner, usually by a show of violence so unbelievably malicious it stuns everyone into compliance.

There are some horrors time will never erase from your mind.

Juni trees grow beside the fence outside the perimeter, the only species of tree amongst the shrubbery and turu-grass, and they are tall enough for their thick orange branches to extend over the uppermost wire. In the mornings, Ahsoka climbs out your bedroom window, slides down the sloped roof of the house and leaps onto a nearby branch. You follow after her, trusting that she won’t let you fall when you stretch out your hand for her to catch you and lift you up using a bit of Force to give you a boost. The two of you sneak back inside the village using the same tree, only instead of leaping at the house, you drop the short fall onto the ground beneath. Five years and the stormtroopers haven’t caught onto your trick yet. 

Except now the tree isn’t an option. Not when you both are half-carrying, half-dragging two-hundred pounds of flesh and metal. 

Hiding behind a clump of coyal bushes, you and Ahsoka scout the entrance booth where a pair of stormtroopers dressed in their characteristic white armor stand guard, holding blaster rifles. There are others on patrol, walking along the fence and checking its integrity, gradually stepping further and further out of view, but they will be back eventually. Your window of opportunity is limited. 

You adjust the warrior’s arm over your shoulders, quietly groaning when your muscles protest the heaviness. “What are we going to do? Stormies might share one brain cell, but they’re definitely going to notice this heap of metal we’re carrying. And as soon as they find out we don’t have passes, they’re going to start shooting.”

Passes are only given to a handful of the community’s traders each week. It is a three day ride on a repulsorlift speeder to the capital where they have a short span of time to sell their goods and then return home within the week with essential supplies. To ensure no one tries to run away, the Imps set up strict rules. If the traders are late, even if only by a few minutes or due to reasons outside their control, the rest of the villagers pay the price. Usually the punishment is a public beating, but sometimes the stormtroopers get creative and tie their chosen victims to a pole overnight by their head-tails. 

Nobody, not even the younglings, sleep those nights.

“We’ll be fine,” Ahsoka answers, firm and confident, gaze fixed upon the gate. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got an idea.”

She doesn’t spare you a second to protest, stepping out into the open and forcing you to follow or else drop the warrior’s body. 

The stormtroopers spot the three of you immediately, relaxed postures stiffening with alarm, and you have to remind yourself over and over to breathe, to not let them see any hint of the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin.

“Hold it right there!” One of the stormtroopers orders when the distance between you and them has shortened to a mere three feet. You freeze at once, heart pounding as fast as a thimiar’s seconds away from being eaten. A quick glance at Ahsoka reveals no fear in her expression. She stares at them indifferently, as if she is about to talk about the weather. 

“Explain yourselves.” It is not a request.

You squirm, nearly knocking your head against the warrior’s bowed head, on the verge of losing your composure, when you notice Ahsoka lifting her arm.

“You will let us pass,” she says, adopting a suggestive tone while waving her hand in front of their visors.

They respond in unison, seemingly entranced. “We will let you pass.”

You bite your lip as you and Ahsoka pass between the stormtroopers and through the gate, not wanting to break the spell by letting loose the barrage of questions forming on your tongue. What your sister had done was as amazing as it was frightening. She had manipulated them with such confident ease you are certain this isn’t the first time she has performed the trick on someone. 

“When did Aunt Shaak teach you that?” 

“She didn’t,” Ahsoka replies lowly, casting a quick glance around. “I taught myself.”

Your skin prickles as you also become aware of the increasing number of eyes staring at you. With the sun fully awake and bringing morning light with it, several villagers are carrying on with their daily routines outside of their homes. Most of them seem a mixture of confused and concerned about the stranger, but you spy the Elders looking displeased by the new addition amongst their ranks. 

You are not looking forward to being inevitably summoned and interrogated by them.

“How?” you ask, copying her hushed cadence. Then, a pulse of panic blooms in your chest. “Have you ever—?”

“No, I haven’t messed with your mind before. Never even considered it,” Ahsoka interrupts, sensing your worries. “I don’t practice often, but when I do it’s just harmless little suggestions. Like convincing Huno to give the younglings an extra sugar biscuit when he has some to spare or persuading Jaelee to go to bed early when I know she’s been overworking herself. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure the trick would work on those bucket heads since I’ve never tried it on two minds at once before. Lucky us, right?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Is she being serious right now? They would be dead right now if her gamble hadn’t paid off.

Ahsoka pretends not to hear you, nodding her head towards the blue-painted house up ahead. “C’mon, Maar probably already knows we’re coming.”

Maar Vashee has been the village’s healer for a little over fifty years. The purple-skinned Togruta helped deliver you and Ahsoka, and was considered by your mother when she was still living to be a dear friend. Her connection to the Force is especially sensitive due to her intricate relationship with the flora of the planet, using various herbs and plants to create remedies, and as such she developed a type of sixth sense where she instinctively knows when her skills are needed.

Entering her home that doubles as her clinic, you find Maar had indeed anticipated your arrival and set up a cot to place the warrior upon. Once he is laid down, you roll your aching shoulders, biting back a wince as the movement irritates the headache lingering at the back of your head. 

The warrior hadn’t made one noise the entirety of the trip bringing him here. Even now as he rests on the cot, his breaths are so quiet you would fear he wasn’t breathing at all if not for his chest moving. You touch his hand impulsively, laying yours over his gloved one. There is no response, not a twitch or spasm.

A sharp gasp of surprise has you whirling around, eyes landing upon Maar standing in the doorway between the clinic and her living quarters. She clutches a glass jar of spotted red herbs labeled nysillin against her chest, staring at the warrior like she is looking at a ghost. 

“Maar,” Ahsoka calls out softly, coming to stand by your side. A long moment of silence passes before the older Togruta manages to drag her gaze away to focus on you and Ahsoka, green eyes a bit too wide-eyed and haunted. Your sister’s gentle tone remains when she inquires, “What’s wrong? Do you...do you know him?”

Maar chokes out a brittle noise sounding like a cross between a dry laugh and a derisive scoff. “Personally? No.” She moves closer to the cot, the white circular markings around her eyes softening with what you confusingly identify as sympathy. “I’ve heard stories of his kind though. Years ago, many considered the Mandalorians the only ones capable of defeating the Imperials.”

“Holy frak,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

As a youngling, your mother used to tell you stories about the fiercest fighters in the galaxy known as Mandalorians. They lived on Mandalore and had a special connection with their weapons, a bond nobody else could understand or mimic, trained to handle guns and knives as soon as they could walk. They defended the galaxy from unlawful rulers and the threat of enslavement, unafraid to spill blood when they knew peace would follow. Your mother told you they never lost a battle. Defeat was a word unknown to them.

At least until—

“Mandalorians were wiped out during the Decimation of Alderaan,” Ahsoka interrupts your thoughts, voice pitched high with disbelief. “And the few who lived were hunted down shortly after. The Imps made sure there weren’t any left to challenge them.”

As if triggered, you recall a detail from your brain glitch, a thought that had crossed your mind when you were flying through the storm. You had been looking for Aldera, the capital of Alderaan. 

It’s just a coincidence, you think. But a voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your Aunt Shaak counters, there are no coincidences. 

And as much as you loathe admitting it, that voice is right. Having the image of a mudhorn slip into your brain shortly before you find a warrior—no, a karking Mandalorian of all people—with the same creature on his armor? It is too precise to be a coincidence. Your paths were meant to cross each other.

If only you had the slightest clue as to why.

Maar sets the jar down on a nearby table, then picks up the Mandalorian’s wrist to check his pulse. “That is what we all thought,” she agrees after a minute of counting has passed, dropping his hand. “His armor is characteristic of their kind. Nothing in the galaxy is as strong or valuable as their beskar. Let’s pray to Ai our beliefs about the Mandalorians’ extinction are mistaken,” she nods towards the unconscious warrior, “especially for his sake.”

Realization creates a sickening pit in your stomach. 

Regardless of the status of his kind, when he wakes up his whole world is going to be flipped upside down.

__

Three hours later, not much has changed except the room is brighter, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window, and smells sweet due to the bowl of herbs Maar left simmering on the table near the Mandalorian’s head, explaining the aroma will cure him of his hibernation sickness as he breathes it in.

“He’ll wake up when the marg sabls open tomorrow,” Maar told you with a gesture towards the potted red-and-pink flowers in the windowsill. They grow all over Shili, popular because they open their petals in a sunburst shape every morning. 

Ahsoka comes and goes, blessedly not criticizing your decision to sit at the warrior’s bedside when you have a list of chores to complete—doubled now that you lost your bet with Ahsoka earlier. She intercepts curious younglings hoping to sneak a glimpse of the Mandalorian whose presence has become known throughout the village. Nothing stays a secret long in the community. Gossip spreads as quickly as colds and takes twice as long to get over. 

If the stormtroopers catch on, the consequences will be disastrous. For once, Ahsoka shares your fears, admitting she isn’t capable of tricking a whole platoon. 

“The Elders aren’t happy,” Ahsoka says in-between sips of bone broth. “They think it’s too dangerous having him here.”

You swallow your mouthful, shaking your head. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Averting your gaze towards your lap, you scratch at an imaginary stain on your leggings. “Just a feeling I have.”

Ahsoka leans forward in her seat, pointing an accusing finger at you, causing your head to jerk back up. “The Force connected with you again, didn’t it? I knew you were acting weird before we found him.” She frowns, hurt flickering in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never wanted to be special, Ahsoka,” you reply honestly. “I never wished or prayed to have visions, to have these random details pop into my head, to feel others’ emotions so strongly it’s like I’m trapped inside their bodies. There is nothing cool or entertaining about it. It’s…” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, forcing you to take a pause. You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“I had no idea you were struggling so much,” your sister murmurs, voice soft with contrition.

“How could you when I didn’t even want myself to acknowledge that I was?” you counter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as the truth sinks in. “I tried to ignore it all as best as I could. If not for meeting our friend over here,” you tilt your head in the Mandalorian’s direction, “I’d probably still be in denial. But I can’t ignore the Force this time. Not when the message is this important.”

“What is it?”

“We were meant to find him. To bring him back with us. I think—I believe he’s important. Remember what Maar said? About how people used to believe Mandalorians would beat the Empire?”

Ahsoka’s brow furrows incredulously. “You really think one warrior can defeat Emperor Gideon’s army? The rebels have been trying for years and the Emperor is always one step ahead.”

You can’t help deflating a bit, shoulders slumping. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Have you considered an alternative reason why he’s important?” she asks. When you don’t answer right away, she takes it as a cue to continue, “Maybe you’re right and he is going to change the galaxy for the better. But he could also be a warning. The Imps wiped out his kind, what if they plan to do the same to us?”

Your lips part to respond, only to close again wordlessly. You thought by accepting your brain glitches as messages from the Force they would become clearer, easier to understand. A lantern guiding you through this maze of darkness epitomizing your life.

But you have never felt more lost.

__

Falling asleep is a mistake. 

You didn’t know this when you rejected Maar’s suggestion to head home and sleep in your comfortable bed instead of curling up on her spare cot that squeaks whenever you move. The prideful side of you believed it was best if you were the first face the Mandalorian saw when he woke up because he would remember you and the promise you swore. He would trust you to explain everything to him.

Within a second of waking up, you realize how naive you were to think you had even a shred of influence over him. 

The sound of something shattering has you nearly tumbling off the side of the cot, jerking awake with a sudden burst of fear. You blink rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep from your vision, struggling to make sense of what you are seeing.

Pieces of Maar’s ceramic bowl litter the floor along with bits of charcoal and ash. Ahsoka and the Mandalorian stand on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down, poised to fight. The Mandalorian has a vibroblade clenched in his hand, while your sister crouches low, fists raised. You know Ahsoka can hold her own in a fight, even without the advantage of a weapon, but fear winds its way down your spine, cold and slimy, when you can’t help but notice how small she looks compared to him. Not only because he is a few inches taller, but because he also exudes an undeniable aura of intimidation: his unwavering silence, the skilled manner he wields his knife, even the sharp gleam of his beskar pieces reflecting the pale morning light has your chest tightening with dread.

The clinic’s lights flick on right as Maar announces her presence by cocking a blaster pistol. It is the Mandalorian’s own weapon, removed from his holster when Maar examined him earlier. “Alright,” she says to the room at large as she fully enters, dressed in her sleeping robe. “Let’s all settle down. Blood isn’t an easy stain to clean and I’d prefer it if none was spilt.”

You see the moment the Mandalorian decides to comply, shoulders loosening beneath the pauldrons and stance shifting from defensive to neutral, as he processes he doesn’t need to fight his way out of here. The vibroblade is sheathed within his right boot in one fluid motion and it is startling, truly, how quick he transforms from a dangerous threat to a potentially dangerous threat. 

Ahsoka is reluctant to yield, staring him up and down for a drawn out moment that does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Only when Maar pointedly clears her throat does your sister finally obey, straightening to full height with a hand propped on her hip, the picture perfect image of nonchalance. In another life she would have made a fantastic actress in a holovid drama.

“That’s better.” Maar nods, satisfied. “Now why don’t we—”

The Mandalorian moves so quickly that you jerk in anticipation of attack, eyes widening to the size of moons as you watch the pistol fly out of Maar’s hand and straight into his outstretched one. Your lungs seize up, a single thought flashing through your mind. This is it, the moment we all die. 

Except instead of shooting, he re-engages the safety mechanism and promptly holsters the gun at his side where it belonged. Without saying anything.

Ahsoka’s slack-jawed expression would have been comical if it hadn’t matched your own stunned face. Even Maar, who has witnessed over fifty years worth of shocking spectacles, looks awed by the unexpected display. 

You recover first, somehow managing to piece together the right words to ask a coherent question. “Are you a Jedi?”

It is only because you are staring directly at him that you notice the virtually imperceptible tilting of his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers bluntly, oblivious to how your heart skips a beat. “Weapons are part of my religion. It’s important to earn their trust.” He addresses Maar then, adding, “Especially if they’re stolen from us.”

His baritone voice has changed from when he spoke on the ship. Without the exhaustion wrapped around his vocal chords you are able to hear his normal timbre. Due to the modulator in his helmet, it has a husky quality, an intriguing mix of smoke and honey. But that is not what has your montrals prickling and your spine straightening. 

“I disarm all my patients,” Maar replies, back to being her cool, calm, and collected self. “I would have given it back—”

“How old are you?” 

You don’t realize you have spoken until two pairs of eyes and an expressionless visor look at you. 

The Mandalorian’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides once, twice. “Nineteen,” he answers after a few seconds of lapsing silence.

“Oh Ai,” Maar murmurs, vocalizing your own thoughts.

All this time you have been thinking of the Mandalorian as a man beneath the amor. A hardened and seasoned fighter who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. But the reality is he is only two years older than you. Standing right on that thin, blurry line between being seen as a teenager and being considered an adult. 

“Who are you?” the Mandalorian asks, glancing first at you then your sister and back to Maar. Frustration and wariness blend together, sharpening his voice. “Why am I here? What happened?”

Ahsoka meets your eye with a question in her gaze, one you don’t have the answer for: where do we even begin?

Series Taglist: @pedro4ever​

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan @vintagesaph @sylphene @over300books @chibi-yuki @theocatkov @oh-no-a-whovian @absurdthirst​ @freeshavocadoooo @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @lin-djarin​ @happiestsparkleofall @randomness501 @gallowsjoker​ @coaaster @captain-jebi @leilei-draws @disgruntledspacedad​ @melobee @stilllivindue2spite @pointy-sharp @artsymaddie @waywardmando @thisshipwillsail316 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @grogusmum @asta-lily  @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @sherala007​ @mejswho​ @uncle-kenobi​​

[n0wornever]

One Chance - Luke Patterson x Reader

Can you do a Luke x reader fic where Julie, Alex and Reggie all convince y/n to go on a date with Luke and maybe it’s to the beach or stargazing?

Circa 1995

Y/N sat at her desk, tapping her pencil against the hard wood. She peered over at the clock, seeing 2 p.m. in bright red blinking back at her. Another afternoon wasted on homework. Her disgruntled monologue was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” She shouted.

Her eyes landed on a talk blonde and beaming brunette entering her room. Their eyes fell toward the flowers on her desk, and back to her face. She sighed, knowing exactly what they came here to talk to her about.

“Y/N, he’s been pacing in the garage for the past few hours...you could at least give him an answer.” Alex said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked closer toward her.

She bit down on her bottom lip. It had been hours ago but her brain had been racing so much since he showed up on her porch with daisies, it felt like she hadn’t had a second to properly process his request.

Luke had never been shy about his feelings toward her, but she had always thought that he would never act upon them. “He’s a flirt” she said to her friends when they questioned why the two weren’t an item yet, “he rarely means it.”

However, that August afternoon, it appears that she had been wrong. Luke rang her doorbell and she opened the door to his bright smile. Her eyes fell to his shaking hand that held a bouquet of flowers. She met his eyes again with a raised eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe.

“What gives, Patterson. What are you apologizing for this time?”

He rolled his eyes, pushing the flowers out to in her direction. She grabbed them carefully, keeping her eyes narrowed at him as she clutched the stems in her hands.

“No apologies, I’m here to....formally...” He took a deep breath, biting down on his lower lip “Ask you out on a date?”

Both of her eyebrows were raised at this point, eyes gaping at the soft red that fell on the boy’s cheeks. Luke’s flirting always seemed harmless, but the way his green eyes softened as he spoke today brought a pinch to her chest that she was unfamiliar with. He seemed honestly nervous as he let his eyes fall to his feet in her silence.

“Luke, I-. Can I think about it for a bit? I’m just... a little confused I just.”

Luke met her eyes again as he started to talk again.

“Take all the time you need,”  He said, taking a step back. “But know that this isn’t a joke, prank, dare or whatever you think it may be. I- I’m laying it all out here, Y/N.” His hands stretched out in distress. “Just...let me know.”

She watched as he turned his back toward her and walked toward his beat-up truck. She stayed on the porch as he drove away, clutching the white flowers to her chest as her gaze followed the blue truck down her street.

She was at a loss in that moment. Confused, nervous and anxious all bottled up into a frustrating cocktail of emotions. She finally closed the door and leaned against it, sighing. Luke was sweet, funny and attractive, she couldn’t lie about any of that. But ever since she had her heart broken over a year ago by her first boyfriend, she hadn’t had the heart to move forward.

Luke felt like danger and passion and romance, all wrapped up in a beautiful bow, but Jake felt like that too at the beginning of their relationship. She walked over to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and grabbing an empty vase. She placed the flowers inside, walking over to the sink to fill the pitcher with water. As she walked up to her room, she thought about what a date with Luke would be like. Would she be at ease with him? Would she immediately destroy any chance they had on previous fears bubbling to the surface? The possibility made her want to stay at arm’s length from the boy forever.

Y/N shook her head at her friends who stared at her with wide eyes. Her teeth found her lip, nipping away at the skin. Their eyes grilled her with the only question she refused to answer. Her eyes moved toward the floor as she clasped her hands in her lap. Shortly, a hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up to Alex’s blue eyes.

“Y/N, it’s okay to put yourself out there.”

Reggie appeared on the other side of her, placing his hand opposite Alex’s. He gave her a warm smile, nodding along to his bandmate’s sentiment.

“He’s right, you deserve to be happy...and I’ve seen how you are around Luke. I haven’t seen you smile like that in awhile...”

Y/N squinted her eyes, trying to ignore the oncoming tears. She knew that she had to move past heartbreak and let herself feel again, but that process seemed so much easier left in her head, not actively acted upon.

“Guys, I....I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’ve been hurt, Y/N. It’s okay to be anxious about dating again,” Alex replied, squeezing her shoulder. “But I know as soon as you get yourself back out there, that anxiety will melt away in time.”

“You also have to remember who was there through your breakup...” Reggie reminded her.

Luke sat up with her all night as she cried and spiraled through the same three confusing trains of thought the night that Jake broke up with her. The two had only been friends for a few weeks at the time, but Luke was the first to offer a box of tissues and an unlimited amount of time on his shoulder to cry. A small smile ghosted across her face at the memory of his hand wiping away her tears from her cheek.

“Yeah, I know.”

She released her hands, letting them sit on her thighs. Alex winked at her, patting her back before walking toward her door.

“Just... put him out of his misery so we can stop hearing about how you ‘haven’t called’ or ‘hate him forever’ please?” The blonde joked, overexaggerating the air quotes.

She giggled, nodding at them both as they disappeared out the door. She fell back onto her chair, chewing on her pencil as she stared at her yellow phone on the edge of her desk. She studied it for a moment before picking up the receiver. She started to type a number, before pressing her finger down on the base to end the call. She sighed, typing the full number out this time and moving the speaker to her ear.

The phone rang a few times before it picked up. She heard a soft panting before his voice rang through the phone.

“Patterson household, Luke speaking.”

Her grin grew with his formality. “Mr. Patterson, it’s Y/N, have time to chat?”

His giggle was picked up by the speaker before he spoke again “Of course, always have time for you.”

She was happy he couldn’t see how red he made her cheeks at that moment. She let the chord wind around her finger as she started to speak again.

“I wanted to follow up on a request you had earlier today...”

He stayed silent on his end, causing her heart rate to spike. Had he already forgotten? Alex and Reggie said he’d been waiting for her response, but maybe they had overexaggerated his actual interest?

“Thank god.” He finally said, she could hear his dimpled smile through the phone.

“I was wondering...” She started, swallowing the lump in her throat. “If the offer still stands?”

He went quiet again and Y/N was left listening to the thumping in her chest. She wasn’t used to this anymore, the anxiety and nerves that came with firsts. She focused on the corner of her room as she waited for his response.

“...Are you saying that it’s a yes? Because if so, definitely.” Luke said in a rush. “But if you’re going to say no again, I’m going to say no, the offer never even existed.”

She giggled, hearing a relaxed breath on his end from her response. She leaned forward, placing her elbow on the desk and pressing her face onto her hand.

“I wanted to say... “ She blinked back the nerves a few times. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Luke.”

“Nothing has ever sounded so beautiful in my entire life,” He said cooly. Except for maybe your voice in general.”

“You’re a cheeseball, Patterson.”

“Yeah, a cheeseball who has a date with a beautiful girl secured, I’m okay with that.”

The laughter that fell from of her lips was out of her control at this point, her face hurting from smiling so much.

“Pick you up at 7?”

“Sounds great.”

She set the phone back down on it face and ran a hand through her hair. She stared at her closet in dismay. What the heck was she going to wear for this first date?

She stood up, opening the doors to her racks of clothing. She pulled out flannels, dresses and t-shirts, but nothing felt right. Her eyes landed on a familiar logo and she grabbed the shirt immediately. It was an old Sunset Curve shirt that Luke had made for her to wear to their show. She squeezed the soft fabric between her fingers before setting it down on her bed. She pulled out a pair of ripped skinny jeans and smiling down at her creation.

She sat in the mirror, applying lipstick as the doorbell rang. She blotted her lips quickly before rushing down the stairs. She opened the door to a waiting Luke, hands tied behind his back and a smug grin on his lips. He looked down at her shirt and back up to her eyes.

“Nice choice, but it won’t earn you brownie points,” He shot a wink in her direction.

“Like I need them?”

He suppressed a giggle as he nodded at her response. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. He led her to his truck, grabbing her hand in his. As the approached the vehicle, Luke opened the passenger side door, letting go of her hand as she slid in. As he moved into the driver’s side, she eyed the basket beneath her.

“So, where are we going?”

He smiled, keeping his eyes fixed on her garage in front of his truck. His hand came up to rest behind her head as he pulled back onto the street, zooming forward. As they passed streetlights and stop signs, she tried to take in any clues she could, but she came up empty. Her mind was left wandering until a specific exit sign came into view.

“Are we going to the beach?”

He didn’t respond, but the small smile that played at his lips gave her everything that she needed to know. She grinned, watching the cars go by out the window as the drove down the highway.

As the pulled into their parking spot, Y/N eyed the mostly empty sand. It was dusk and most families had headed home for the night. She had never seen this place so silent. She opened her door to double-check the view she took in. No screaming, just the sound of waves crashing onto the shore. Luke unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out of the car. He walked over to her side, holding out his hands to guide her out.  She let go of his hands to shut the door behind her.

He clutched her hand again as he led her down to the shoreline. He grabbed the blanket from inside the basket and spread it out in front of them. He sat down first, patting a open spot next to him. She fell down next to him, taking a deep breath of the salty air as she settled in. He grabbed two glasses out of the wicker basket and a bottle of wine.

“Your mom is going to kill you,” She said nervously, but a smile was plastered on her face.

“She has so many, she won’t miss it.”

He opened the bottle and poured a glass, handing it over to her. He poured one for himself before placing the cap on and setting the bottle aside. He rose his glass in her direction, and hers met his in the middle, clinking them together. She let her gaze fall on the water as she took a sip, the liquid immediately warming her insides.

“So, why the beach?” She asked, guiding her eyes back to his face.

That wide smile placed itself on his face again as he took a large sip from his glass before responding.

“You remember that night I brought you here?”

She sighed, remembering that Luke had sped to her house the night of the breakup. He wouldn’t let her sit in her room anymore, practically forcing her out of her bed and into his car. He drove straight to this spot that night, holding her under the full moon.

“Yeah, not my brightest shining moment,” She admitted, taking another gulp of the red wine.

He shook his head “You were just fine. I just remembered how upset you were that night,” His voice faltered at the end of the sentence. “I-I just wanted to bring you back here so you could have happier memories of this place.”

She couldn’t even hide the blush that ran across her face in that moment. Her heart raced as Luke’s gaze zeroed in on hers. She had no words to describe how the scene around her fell away as she looked into his green eyes. She bit down on her bottom lip as she smiled at him.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” She said quietly, watching as his cheeks turned pink in the lowlight.

She set her glass down carefully before moving over to his side of the blanket. She hovered over him for a moment, hearing a slight gasp fall from his lips. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” She whispered.

He nodded, eyes falling across her face. Before she knew it, Luke was lifting himself up to meet her, pressing his lips onto hers softly. It lasted not even a second, but the moment his lips left hers, she immediately missed them. She let her eyes flutter open before falling back to her spot on the sand.

The two sat a quiet, bashful mess as they watched each other in silence, the water wrapping around them.

.

.

.

Tag list: @xplrreylo @lovesanimals , @anythingandeverythingfandom , @crybabyddl , @oswin05 , @themaddies-obx , @lukeys-giggle , @bumbleberry-pie @kiss-themoongoodbye  @marinettepotterandplagg , @lolychu , @bathtimejish , @dasexydevitt13 @musicconversedance , @txrii  @bestdressedandstressed @daisiesforlacey  @epikskool  @bookfrog247 @carleywhittaker @princessvader15 @rudysbay @spooky-season-bitch  @kcd15  @meangirlsx @itz-jas @parkeret @writerinlearning @calamitykaty ​ @dani27297 @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall​

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Forty-Four) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of PTSD... I think that’s it???

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 9228

Timeline: Three months after part forty-three.

“Holden, if it’s a boy,” I offered. “Holden Hotchner.”

Hotch and I had been brainstorming baby names for the past couple of weeks. I was due soon, and we were practically racing against the clock to figure everything out. Hotch had practice with Jack; he knew what he was doing when it came down to naming, putting the nursery together, buying all the toys, diapers, medicines, clothes, and so on. He was being a total rockstar with how hands-on he was with prepping the house and helping me around while still balancing work.

We had decided that we didn’t need the home office at the end of the hall shortly after I left work for maternity leave. We knew that we couldn’t keep the cradle in our room all the time, and the baby would eventually need their own room, so the office had to go. We moved Jack into that room so that the baby’s nursery could be closer to us. With Jack’s nightmares nearly gone entirely, he wasn’t coming to our room as often in the middle of the night, which meant that he could afford to be just another room further from us, whereas the nursery needed to be close by.

Jack was excited to decorate his new room. He worked with Hotch to paint it a forest green color, and they put soccer stuff up everywhere. Hotch painted a soccer ball over the light switch next to the door, Jack put up posters of his favorite players, and I put all of Jack’s trophies and ribbons on a shelf next to his desk under the window. Jack put his cleats and favorite soccer ball on display, Hotch bought him a new soccer themed bed comforter, and I prayed that Jack wouldn’t start kicking the ball against the walls when he got bored. That wasn’t likely, however, because Morgan, in all his genius, had the bright idea to paint a soccer goal onto the wall… He was practically daring Jack to break my wall. I tried warning them against it, but no one was listening to me. Morgan wanted to help out, and painting that damn soccer net was somehow “helping”. I was going to send him the bill to fix the wall soon.

As for the nursery, Hotch was insistent on painting it blue, because he was convinced that it was a boy, and there was no changing his mind. I had to remind him about a thousand times that there was a reason we decided to not know the baby’s gender ahead of time, and that meant no painting the walls blue or pink. We decided fairly early on that we wanted it to be a surprise. The doctors kept asking if we were sure, or if we wanted someone to know so that they could buy clothes for the baby or paint the room themselves or just tell our friends and family; but we were adamant about no one knowing. This was the first good thing to have happened in a very long time, and we wanted to share this happiness and excitement with the team. No matter how much Morgan would insist that it was killing him to not know, we knew that they were just as excited as us to learn if it was a boy or a girl only after I would give birth. But Hotch still had to be reminded that even though he thought they were a boy and I thought they were a girl, we couldn’t paint the damn nursery blue.

He ended up painting it a light grey that made the room look bigger than it actually was. He bolted these wood shelves to the walls and stacked diapers and clothes on them. All of the toys we bought and had been gifted over the past couple of months went in a wicker basket that he slid into a two-by-two dark grey cubby organizer. He hung up pictures all over the room of us, Jack, the team, and even Haley. Hotch wanted to make sure that, no matter what, no matter where we were in the world, however long we would be gone for, whatever we were doing, however old the baby was, they would know that they had a whole village of people out there who loved them more than anything and would do anything to protect them. Our family was much bigger than just the four of us. There was a team of six FBI agents out there who would die for our baby, and Hotch wanted to make sure that everyone knew it. Nothing bad was ever going to happen to us again. Ever. The pictures on the walls were a constant reminder of that.

Hotch’s hand slowly rubbed circles on my stomach as we laid down in bed, trying to fall asleep, to no avail. It was uncomfortable for me to sleep nowadays, and Hotch could hardly close his eyes because he didn’t want to let go of me or lose sight of me. So, we spent most of our nights just laying like that, cuddled up against one another as we talked about work, Jack’s school or soccer, or the baby. We had started by talking about how Morgan kept trying to send us baby names throughout the day via text, as if we hadn’t already been thinking of some ourselves. He was going to be the worst uncle, I swear. He was going to be so… overbearing.

“What about Emily, if it’s a girl?” I asked.

Hotch tensed and stopped moving his hand on my stomach. I knew that it was still a sensitive topic for all of us. Most of us hadn’t really come to terms with what happened— Morgan and Reid most of all. But it was something that I had been thinking about for a while. Since Emily died, there was this… hole or darkness in the team, in our family. We all missed her, and we were all too scared to let go of her. We didn’t want to admit that she was gone, that she was never coming back. Something that had crossed my mind one night while Hotch was away on a case was how much she did for me. We weren’t as close as I was with Morgan, of course, but she was the only other one of the team that I spent the majority of my time with. When I wasn’t with Morgan, I was with Emily. She had my back countless times, and my biggest regret was not being able to have hers in the end.

I wanted Emily to be remembered somehow. I wanted her memory to be a big part of our lives because Emily was that important. She deserved to be a happy memory, not a dark hole that was silently killing our team. We needed good news, we needed something bright and happy— not to replace her, but to honor her. She always looked after me when she didn’t have to, especially since I was cold towards her at first because I felt like she had stolen Elle away from me— even though that obviously wasn't the case. But most importantly was that she had Hotch's back. They were close. Really close. When Strauss wanted her to help take Hotch down, Emily tried to quit rather than betray him. After Foyet stabbed him, she stayed with me at the hospital to make sure that we were both okay, and she helped Hotch by listening to him after Haley was killed and he couldn’t talk to me. Emily was always there, and she was supposed to be there forever… but fate hated us, it seemed, and she was stolen away from us. Emily Prentiss deserved to live on through something good that came out of this mess.

“Why don’t you keep looking for some other girl names,” Hotch recommended before carefully sliding out of bed.

My brows furrowed while I watched him grab his robe and leave the bedroom. What the hell was that about? I thought he would like the idea. I thought he would want to honor Emily, too. Was I missing something? Maybe he wasn’t as over Emily’s death as I thought...

----

In the morning, Hotch drove me to work for the first time in two months. Since Emily died, I had worked another few cases in the office before I finally gave in to Hotch’s wish for me to stay at home. The stress and depression was getting to me, which was making the pregnancy hard for me, so I just couldn’t find the will or energy to keep profiling. In fact, most days it was was hard to get out of bed at all. But that was why we were headed to Quantico on a random Tuesday morning.

Hotch and done grief evaluations with everyone on the team thus far, except for me. Since I was clearly not okay, and Strauss still needed a report on me, we had to go into the office to do an official evaluation. I disliked the idea. I disliked that my husband was going to be sitting across from me, taking notes on my responses to his questions about how I was doing since Emily died. And if I wasn’t honest, he would know. That was the worst part. He always fucking knew when I was lying, so I had to tell the truth, which was that I was miserable.

That was how I ended up sitting on the couch in his office, though, watching and waiting while he scribbled things down in my file. And then he said, “Why did you immediately think about naming our daughter after her?”

“What?” I questioned, baffled.

“The two of you weren’t necessarily the closest—”

“Maybe Strauss should do my evaluation instead.” I reached for my purse so that I could head down to her office.

“I’m sorry—” Hotch insisted, holding his hand out to stop me. I froze. “I’m sorry. Just… Sit down and give me another chance.”

I stared at him, trying to get a read on the situation. If I were to sit back down, was he just going to ask that question again? It wasn’t that I minded the question itself, but the fact that I hated that it was the first thing he had the audacity to say to me during our evaluation—after dodging talking to me about it last night, I might add. I was understandably upset that he chose now, of all times, to discuss it again.

I sat back down cautiously. “Okay.” When I got comfortable on the cushions again, I cleared my throat so that I could say, “Emily and I weren’t as close as we should have been. I’ll be the first to admit that. But the two of us still came to work every day, and we put our brains together to help solve the cases, and I knew that I could trust her to have my back every time we were out in the field together.” I glanced down at my fidgeting fingers. “She was as much my family as anyone else. She was smart, loyal, and even funny at times. She loved us, and she died protecting us. I want our baby to know that she’s named after one of the bravest women I’ve ever known. Is that a crime?”

“We don’t even know if it’s a girl.”

“But I want it to be now… Because… Because I want there to be an innocent, happy reminder of Emily to bring joy to people whenever they get sad about missing her.”

“So, you’re doing it for other people.”

“No!” I insisted quickly. “I just feel like I owe it to her. And… because I blame myself,” I admitted quietly.

“Why is that?”

“Because I should have been there, Aaron. I should have gone in and helped her. I should have found Doyle. I should have saved her—I should have loved her more…”

“You didn’t know. None of us did.”

I wiped away a sniffle with the back of my hand. “It’s my fault for not doing more.”

“You’re pregnant, Y/N. You wouldn’t’ve been able to do anything.”

“But I could have tried!” I exclaimed angrily. He wasn’t hearing me. He didn’t understand what it felt like to know that I was sitting at home while Emily was running away, I was stuck on a plane when she was being tortured by Doyle, and…. and all I could do was watch as Morgan and Hotch held her as she died. He didn’t understand that feeling of helplessness. “Why don’t you ever cry about it?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Why don’t you cry? We’ve all cried since losing her… But not you. I don’t understand. You loved her, Aaron. I know you still do. We all do. So, how can you go every day without breaking down? How can you hold me every night as I sob and not shed a tear? What’s going on with you?”

He looked down at his notes as he swallowed hard, thinking about what he wanted to say; but nothing came. He only shrugged. I shook my head and scoffed. Out of everyone in the world, I should have been the one person that he could open up to, yet he was closing himself off to me. Again. That was what he did every time something in our lives went downhill. Sending Haley and Jack into WITSEC was a prime example of that. Foyet had taken everything from us, and instead of turning to me for comfort, Aaron shut down and ignored me, which created a crack in our relationship. But we had moved on from that, I thought. With wedding rings on our fingers and a baby on the way, he should have known that I wasn’t going to be scared off by him being honest with me. Was he angry? Was he sad? Impartial? Relieved? I didn’t fucking know! It was so aggravating that I couldn’t get a read on my own husband so that I could help him through all of this.

“This isn’t my evaluation, Y/N,” he answered quietly.

I shook my head. “And who is it that will be evaluating you, Aaron? Anyone?”

He didn’t respond to my question. Instead, he dodged with, “I think that’s everything I need to know. You should head home and get some rest.”

Honestly, I wasn’t looking to pick a fight with him about this any longer because I knew it was futile; but I didn’t want to be there any longer, either. So, I gave in. I agreed to ending my evaluation there, as short as it was, and heading home for the rest of the day. I picked up my purse again, lifted the strap over my shoulder, then quietly headed out of his office, closing the door behind me slow enough for me to gauge the atmosphere of the bullpen. It was so quiet without Emily. She wasn’t much of a talker, but Morgan was, and he brought her out of his shell. Normally, he would say something snarky, catching mine or Emily’s attention, giving us cause to poke back at him—or if he was picking on Reid, we would help. Emily would always laugh when that happened. Her smile used to light up the whole room, and that was just another thing about her that I always took for granted. That was one more tiny detail about her that I would have to miss for the rest of my life.

“Trouble’s coming through,” Morgan warned playfully, holding his hand out to help me walk down the ramp. I chuckled at him and accepted his polite gesture. “How are you feelin’, bubble?”

I squinted at him. “Ha. Ha.”

He chuckled back at me. “Seriously, how’s my future niece or nephew?”

“She’s doing fine,” I answered with a smile, running my hands over my stomach. Morgan froze, giving me cause for pause. “What?” Did I have something on my face? Was Hotch glowering at us from his office? “Morgan?”

“You said ‘she’—”

“–No, I didn’t—”

“—How do you know?” he questioned eagerly, practically jumping on his toes because he couldn’t contain his excitement. “Did you ask to know even though you and Hotch agreed not to? I promise, my lips are sealed!”

I hit his shoulder to get him to calm down. “Shush!”

“Tell me!”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a feeling. What do you want from me?”

He smiled and hugged me quickly, but still carefully. “A girl!” he cheered in my ear. “I knew it. Yes, yes, yes!” He pulled away from me long enough to a little dance in a circle.

“Smooth. Not noticeable at all.”

“I’m sorry, sunshine, but this is the greatest news I’ve had in a very long time. Let me have this.”

He was right. Since losing Emily, good news was hard to come by, and it just seemed like nothing could lighten up the office anymore. I couldn’t fault Morgan for being over the moon excited about a feeling I had. I didn’t even know if it was a girl for sure, but there was something since Emily’s death—some voice in the back of my mind that was telling me that she did what she did so that we could raise a perfect baby girl in this world. People always theorize that people leave our world in order to make room for someone new. Maybe Emily was just making room for our baby. I wished that it could have been anyone else besides her that made that sacrifice, but we didn’t get to make decisions about life or death at the end of the day, and that was the sad truth about our job.

----

Jessica had just gotten back to the house after dropping Jack off at school. She had come back to check on me one last time before heading out for work, which she didn’t need to do because I was going to be alright. I knew I was big at nearly nine months pregnant, but everyone was treating me like I was immobile. In a few days’ time, Hotch and I were going to head to the hospital to have the baby, as scheduled, and until then, I was ordered by the doctors and Hotch to stay in bed. So, Jessica checking on me felt… unnecessary.

In hindsight, though, it was a miracle she got back in time. Just as I was insisting that I would be alright on my own for a few hours until Hotch could come visit during lunch, my water broke. We hadn’t anticipated this happening. I mean, we thought about it, but the doctors thought that our “appointment” to have the baby would beat any natural occurrence. So, Jessica and I were obviously caught off guard when it happened. Hotch and I didn’t have a bag packed yet, and we didn’t have a plan for this. Jessica and I just had to wing it.

While I called Hotch, Jessica ran around to just grab an old go-bag of mine and stuff some baby stuff in it for the hospital. Hotch sounded breathless as he told me that he was on his way and started running through the office to get to his car. I could hear Morgan on the other end of the call ask him if everything was alright, and all Hotch could say was: “It’s happening!” Then, suddenly, the whole team sounded like they were running around to hurry to the hospital, too. If I weren’t freaking out, I would’ve laughed at them.

When we got to the hospital, the doctors and nurses raced around to help me. It took about twenty minutes after getting into a room for Hotch to show up. He ran into the room and stood right by my side the entire time. He held my hand, brushed my hair with his fingers, and kissed my forehead, cheeks, and lips as much as he could to distract me. The comforting part was hearing him tell me that he loved me over and over again. Him just being there on time was everything I hoped for. We were lucky that he was in town, and that he was close enough to get there to be by my side for every second of it. I loved him, and I knew that I couldn’t do it without him.

And then we heard that first cry. Hotch laughed happily before kissing my forehead and squeezing my hand. I sighed with relief when it was over. A smile finally appeared on my face once our baby was in my arms, pressed against my chest. It was a girl. Some part of me always knew that it would be, but finally holding her in my arms, seeing her face, even as she cried… It was the greatest feeling in the world. And Hotch was so happy, too. He was still laughing quietly while kissing me again and again. He was beside himself. I was, too. Cradling her in my arms, leaning into Hotch’s touch, crying as I finally got to relax somewhat… I was happy. She was finally there. She was finally with us.

“Hi, Emily,” I whispered to her. I hadn’t even realized what I said until I felt how tense Hotch was against my side. I looked up at him to see that he was staring at our daughter, his smile somewhat disappearing. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he said to me. “Don’t be.” He reached down and wiggled his finger playfully in her face as she started to calm down. “Emily.”

It felt so right to name her Emily. After we first talked about it and Hotch told me no, I dropped the idea entirely, but once it slipped, we just knew that it was the only thing that felt perfect. It was meant to be. I loved Emily Prentiss the same way I loved Derek Morgan. They were both my partners in the field— and… she was… she was one of the greatest friends I ever had. I had to do something for her. I had to have a part of her with me now that she was gone. Our beautiful, perfect, sweet daughter deserved her name. She deserved to carry on the legacy of one of the greatest women I ever knew. Our daughter… Our little Emily… I loved her infinitely.

“She’s perfect,” Hotch whispered. “You’re both perfect.”

When Hotch took her in his arms so that the nurses could check on me, she slowly stopped crying. I looked up shortly to see that he was shuffling back and forth on his feet while bouncing her in his arms lightly. She was falling asleep— as if she hadn’t had all the time in the world to rest. I smiled. I couldn’t stop thinking to myself that she was perfect. She was perfect. Perfect. Absolutely, without a doubt, no questions asked… perfect. And she was ours. We did that. We loved each other endlessly, and from that, we got her. How could anyone ever possibly argue that she was anything less than perfect?

Later, once they checked on her to make sure she was healthy, and I had some time to rest and recuperate, I asked Hotch if I could see her again. She was in a small cradle on wheels next to him, and he couldn’t seem to leave her alone, even as she tried to sleep, and he was trying to keep an eye on me. The nurses told us that she was a perfectly healthy baby. Perfect. Because she was okay, they could leave her in the room with us for a little longer. But I wanted to hold her. I wanted her in my arms, and I never wanted to let go. So, Hotch cooed her back to sleep as she fussed when he picked her up and handed her to me. And then I asked if Jessica had picked up Jack from school yet.

Another slow smile appeared on Hotch’s face. “I’ll go get him.” He ran to the door and into the hallway, quickly retreating before he could spend another second away from me and the baby. “I love you so much.” He was right back by my side as the door opened again.

I peeked around Hotch’s shoulder to see Jessica ushering Jack into the room. Hotch pressed a finger to his lips to tell them to be quiet since she was sleeping, so Jack and Jessica cautiously approached. Hotch picked up Jack and put him on his hip. He was so big now— it was crazy to think that once upon a time, he was the same size as our baby Emily. I wished I could’ve been there to see baby Jack. He was already my precious little man, but he was probably the cutest baby— well, second cutest now. No one could ever beat my perfect Emily.

Jack stretched his arm out to poke her cheek, but Hotch pulled him away. He warned Jack that he needed to be careful. Jack dropped his hand, then craned his neck to get a better look at her. When she hiccupped in my arms, Jack jumped slightly. Hotch and I chuckled.

“What’s her name?” he asked me.

I looked at Hotch first, looking for a reassurance that he was really fine with this. If he had originally just got caught up in the moment and since decided that he didn’t want to name her Emily, then I wouldn’t’ve blamed him. But he nodded and smiled… So, I told Jack the truth.

“Like Aunt Emily?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Hotch answered, wiping some mud off his chin from recess. “Just like Aunt Emily.”

“She’s cute.”

I laughed. “She is, isn’t she.”

“When do I get to play with her?”

“Not for a bit, little man.” I reached up to pinch his nose. “She has to rest.”

“And so does Y/N,” Hotch added, adjusting Jack on his hip with a groan. “Do you wanna do your homework here or at home?”

“Can we get McDonalds for dinner if I do it here?” Jack asked.

“No—”

“Aaron,” I squinted at him. I was still the cool parent— the good cop— so, of course, I was going to let Jack get something like McDonalds if he really wanted it. I was in a great mood. I would’ve told him he could get a freakin’ ice cream cone taller than him if he even asked. “You do all of your homework, and you can get McDonalds.”

“Can I go with Uncle Rossi?”

I laughed internally. I would have loved to see the look on Rossi’s face when Jack would inevitably go up to him and ask: “Can you take me to McDonalds?” I was pretty sure Rossi would have a full-on heart attack. Rossi, the self-proclaimed culinary master, probably never even glanced at a McDonalds. That was why telling Jack “yes, you can go with Uncle Rossi” was so funny to me. Also, the look on Hotch’s face was priceless. It was like he wanted to argue with me, but how could he when I literally just gave him the greatest gift of his life? He’d have a lot of thanking to do over the next eighteen years.

And then there was a knock at the door. We all turned to see who it was. JJ peeked her head in while keeping the door as closed as she possibly could. “Sorry, I don’t think I can hold Morgan back any longer. He’s getting antsy.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine, JJ. You can send them all in.”

“Y/N, are you up for that?” Hotch asked worriedly.

I nodded and shushed Emily as she started fussing in my arms again. With all of the excitement going on, she was waking up. Now that the team was trying to get into the room, probably all of them excited to get their chance to hold her, there was no way she’d keep her eyes closed much longer. My only hope was that she wouldn’t start crying or get hungry again.

JJ opened the door wide, and suddenly everyone was pouring in. Morgan was the first one inside. He was practically running towards my hospital bed, a grin growing on his face the closer he got. And then he came to a sudden halt before he could crash into me.

“Lemme see, lemme see,” he said eagerly, holding his arms out already.

“Calm down, Mr. Impatient,” I said. When he didn’t move, I passed Emily to him. “Careful—” I warned as she left my arms.

I knew that she was safe with him, but I was already worried. I spent the last nine months with her; even a few seconds without her felt unbearable. I wanted her with me all the time. I felt like I was the only one in the world who could truly protect her, though I knew that wasn’t true. There was a full room of people standing around me that would protect her with their lives. We all felt the same way when Henry was born. I knew that if anything happened to that baby boy, I’d risk my own life to help him— because that was what family did for each other. Seeing the whole team there, smiling at me, Hotch, and baby Emily… I knew that she would always be safe.

“Well, hello, there, precious,” Morgan said to her. She was awake now, and I could see how he was taking in every detail of her. “Hotch, she has your eyes.”

I snickered and reached up to brush Hotch’s hair back. He looked like a mess. I mean, we both did, understandably; but he hardly ever looked disheveled in front of other people. I bet if he knew that his hair was sticking out in all the wrong places, he would’ve been furious. But Morgan was right. She had his eyes. His perfect, dark, chocolaty brown eyes. They were so big, so full of life and curiosity whenever she was awake long enough for me to stare into them. She had Emily’s name, Hotch’s eyes, and she came from me. She was perfect. I could say it all day, every day. She. Was. Perfect.

“I wanna see her,” Garcia told him, approaching his side. She gasped, “Oh, heavens me… Look how cute she is!”

“Hey,” he hissed at her, “she’s trying to sleep.”

“But look at her—”

“Would the two of you stop fighting,” Rossi interrupted, stepping between them. “It’s my turn.” He was practically prying her out of Morgan’s arms just for his chance to hold her. “Morgan’s right, Aaron, she has your eyes… And she has your nose, Y/N.”

Great. I got the nose. Fingers crossed she’d at least end up with my hair. That was a nicer bragging piece than nose.

“What’s her name?” JJ asked, glancing over Rossi’s shoulder to get a look at her.

Hotch and I exchanged a stare. Telling Jack and Jessica was one thing, but telling the team was entirely different. For some reason, the prospect scared me. I was excited to tell them, don’t get me wrong; but I was somewhat terrified that they wouldn’t understand or accept. But as Emily Prentiss once told me: Screw them. If they didn’t like it, screw them. This was my family, my daughter, and the team would get over it if they didn’t like it. I liked it— I loved it; and I loved my daughter. I wasn’t going to change my mind.

“Emily Scarlet Hotchner.”

The whole atmosphere of the room changed. They were all already smiling before I told them, but once it dawned on them that we had named our daughter Emily, their smiles practically doubled. The room brightened, and it was like Emily—the real Emily Prentiss—was out there, watching us, and she was smiling, too. It was moments like these when I remembered Elle’s stories about loved ones turning into stars. I knew that Emily was out there. I knew that she was proud of us, and she was excited that we named our daughter after her. I missed her dearly… I missed her more than anyone could possibly know… But seeing how the room lightened up as our little ray of sunshine started giggling in Rossi’s arms, I knew that everything was going to be okay.

“May I?” I heard Reid ask shyly from the back of the group. Everyone split apart and turned to face him. Rossi nodded. “Thanks.” Reid smiled and carefully took Emily in his arms. And then I heard him let out a quiet sob. He was still smiling, but a tear was slowly sliding down his cheek. “Emily…”

Everyone knew how close Prentiss and Reid were. Morgan and I were close because he was the first person to get to know me when I joined the team, and from there we became partners in the field, and we practically spent every second of every day working and teasing each other. Rossi and Hotch were close because they were old friends who understood the pressures of the job and all of the politics that came with it. They were the best of friends because they were perhaps the only people who could understand the kind of stress they were both under. And they were also the two profilers with the most experience on the team. In the field, that made them valuable. Out of the field, it made them the best of friends. With Reid, he lost practically everyone that meant something to him. First, he was close with Elle, but… She left, and no one was really sure why. So, Reid leaned on Gideon. They were as tight as could be because of their father/son dynamic. Gideon challenged Reid’s intellect, and he was the only one who could actually beat Reid at chess. But then Gideon left, too. Reid only had JJ and Prentiss left. JJ was the one constant in his life, but then she got busy with her family. Prentiss was the only other person Reid had to turn to. She was the only one who hadn’t paired up with someone on the team—and that had a lot to do with the fact that she closed herself off from all of us in order to protect herself. But somehow, she opened up to him. She recognized that he needed someone in his life who would always be there. He needed something more than the big brother attitude Morgan gave him. He needed more than the push back that I supplied. He needed more than the smile that had been slowly fading from Hotch’s face since Haley’s death. Prentiss was there. She could give him that— she did give him that. Then, like everyone else he ever relied on in his life, she was gone.

We all missed Prentiss. We all wished that she could still be with us; that she could be standing next to Reid and Morgan as she smiled and begged to hold my daughter. Whenever I dreamed of this, I imagined Prentiss being there. Her absence was noticeable, and it was painful, but knowing that there was a new Emily there to bring us sunshine even in the darkest of times… I think it broke Reid in a good way.

He and I were never close. We didn’t hate each other, of course, but we didn’t click like I did with Morgan or he did with the rest of the team. It just came down to the fact that we spent most of our time doing wildly different things. He would stay in the offices to build the profiles during cases, meanwhile I’d be out in the field with Morgan trying to connect all of the dots. There just wasn’t much time for me to sit down with Spencer Reid and get to know him. That was no one’s fault. We both recognized that we loved each other, and that we were still family, but we were like those two estranged cousins who didn’t know what to say at family reunions. But the one thing that we did connect through was our heartbreak over Prentiss.

It was a silent thing between us. I would catch him crying in the bathroom on the jet or staring at the wall while whispering her name under his breath or staring at her desk in the bullpen when he was supposed to be doing work. Yet, I never said anything. He caught me doing all the same things, too, when I was still working. Yet, he never said anything either. We were both suffering, and we were doing it alone. We understood that about each other.

But now that he was there, holding baby Emily in his arms, whispering her name over and over again with a hint of hope and love in his voice, I knew that things were going to be okay. I knew that he’d slowly stop crying in the bathroom on the jet because now he’d have a ray of sunshine in his life to remind him of the good that was still in the world. I knew that because he was crying while standing there and holding her in his arms, and yet all he could do was keep smiling and laughing. Hope. Sunshine. Perfection. That was what she was. That was who she was always going to be.

“We’ll, um, let you rest,” Rossi said to me quietly. He patted Spencer’s shoulder before leading the rest of the team out.

“Wait, Morgan—” I stopped him. I looked at Jessica, “Do you mind getting Jack started on his homework?”

She caught the hint quickly. “Sure.” After Hotch let Jack down, Jessica took his hand and started walking out with him.

Reid looked up from Emily to glance at me. “I’ll go, too.” He stepped forward and leaned down slightly to give her back to me. “Could I…” He cleared his throat as he stood tall. “Could I come back later?”

I smiled at him. “Of course.”

He tucked his hair back. “Thanks.”

When Reid left the room, he closed the door behind him. Finally, it was just me, Hotch, Morgan, and Emily.

“We wanted to ask you something kind of important,” I said to Morgan as Hotch leaned down and kissed my temple, still petting my hair soothingly. “You should probably sit down first.”

He did so. “The answer is: no, I will not babysit on Fridays or Saturdays,” Morgan playfully responded before I could even ask him what it really was that Hotch and I had been considering.

I chuckled and hit his arm gently, careful not to move too fast to wake up Emily. Morgan threw his hands up in surrender. My eyes shifted from Morgan to Hotch quickly, a silent question to say: “Are you sure about this?” Hotch nodded and kissed me again. I turned back to Morgan, adjusting Emily in my arms as she started to hiccup again. 

“We’ve been talking about it for a bit now, and we were just wondering if you would like to be her godfather.”

Morgan’s eyes shot wide. He looked between me and Hotch for more answers, or maybe to see if this was all a joke or prank and he was just missing the punchline. There wasn’t any joke, though. We wanted Morgan to be the godfather of our daughter. He was my closest friend, and he always took care of us. I knew that if anything were to happen to me or Hotch, I could trust that Morgan would always be there and he would protect our family with his life. That was how good of a man Derek Morgan was. He saw the value in other people’s happiness and safety, and he made sure that everyone around him was wearing the brightest smile imaginable because that was how he knew he was making a difference. I wanted our child to grow up with Uncle Morgan around. I wanted him to bring a smile to Emily’s face whenever she would start running around the house and he’d go to chase her. I wanted him to bring a smile to her face when he would show up to school events when she got older. I wanted her to know that he was a huge part of my life, and that I wouldn’t trade him for the world. Derek Morgan was the kindest, bravest, and, frankly, sassiest soul I knew. There was no one better for this job than him.

“You don’t have to answer now, if you want to think about—” Hotch began but was cut off by Morgan.

“Of course, I’ll be her godfather.”

I smiled at him. “Really?”

“Yes!” He was a little too loud, making Emily squirm in my arms before I started bouncing her back to sleep. “Sorry,” he whispered, chuckling quietly. He leaned forward in his seat, pressing his chest against the side of the bed, reaching out so that he could grab onto one of Emily’s tiny hands with his index finger and thumb. “I’m going to spoil her.”

I laughed at him. Him and everyone else, it seemed, including me and Hotch.

----

When the doctors released me from the hospital, Morgan was there to help get us settled back in the house, though we really didn’t need him to be there. While Hotch was worried about me, Morgan was worried about Emily. It was the funniest thing. In the car, Morgan was holding Emily in the backseat, still cooing and baby-talking with her as she giggled and wiggled in his arms. Hotch had one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding mine on the arm rest between us, his thumb rubbing slow circles over my knuckles. Then, when we got home, I took Emily while Morgan and Hotch grabbed the carrier, diapers, food, and all the other bags we had brought with us to the hospital and carried them inside. It was a relief to be home finally. I liked sitting on my own couch, even though Hotch was trying to pull me upstairs to the bed since I was on “bed rest”, according to the doctors. But I was fine where I was. If I went upstairs, I knew that I would inevitably fall asleep, but I didn’t want to yet. I just wanted to hold my daughter in my arms.

Finally, though, about two hours later, after Hotch went to pick up Jack from Jessica’s house, and Morgan left to go take care of Clooney, I headed upstairs. Hotch had put the nursery together, of course, but it seemed that he had put a cradle in our bedroom just in case. Honestly, I was grateful. I wasn’t ready to part from her just yet. And… to be fair, I was sure that she wasn’t ready to part from me yet either, so having a cradle in our room made it easy whenever she would start to cry or scream. It made life easy. Before laying down, I set Emily in the cradle, then just simply… plopped down.

Hotch chuckled at me as he laid down next to me. “You’re gonna get sick of this bed eventually.”

“You’re insane if you think that I’m actually staying here for the next few weeks,” I told him while laying on my side, my back to him.

“And you’re insane if you think I’m not going to make you.”

“Try me.”

“I’ll tie you to the bed.”

“Mhm, sure. Your empty threats mean nothing to me, love of my life.”

Hotch laughed and kissed my cheek. “Mmm, and you, love of my life, are going to stay here and rest until you are all better because you did your job of bringing our perfect daughter into the world, and now it’s my turn to do my job. Got it?”

“I’ll fight you on it when I wake up…” I answered tiredly. He kissed my cheek again before relaxing behind me, wrapping his arms around me so that he could make sure that I was safe and peaceful with him.

I fell asleep almost immediately. Without anyone coming and going, trying to visit me and Emily, I could finally just relax and focus on healing. Hotch was holding me, Emily was asleep, Jack was in his room playing games, and I was absolutely content. Nothing could bother me. I hadn’t even noticed when Hotch slid out of bed because Emily was fussing. I was in the middle of dreaming about Prentiss finding out that we named our daughter after her when it happened, I think. But I only woke up an hour later, and it was natural. No jumping up to calm Emily down, no waking up suddenly when there was a knock at the door from a visitor, and no worries about work and the team.

When I happened to notice that Hotch was gone, that was when I sat up in order to get a good look at the room. He had closed the drapes to make sure it was dark for me, and the door was locked to make sure that Jack couldn’t disturb me, and Emily was gone from her crib. I cocked a brow. Had he taken her to her nursery? Did she get hungry, so he made his way downstairs with her to heat up some breastmilk? I didn’t understand.

I rolled out of bed, then opened the door so that I could go check the nursery and Jack’s room first. Nothing. Both were empty. Confusion struck me, so I turned to make my way downstairs, and what I found made my heart swell. I could see the back of Hotch’s head as he was sitting on the couch, looking down at something. When I moved closer, I saw Emily in his arms, sucking on a bottle. I smiled.

“You are always so hungry,” he said quietly to her. “I can tell that you’re already going to be a handful for me and your mom.” She reached up for his face, to which he leaned down and kissed her itty-bitty fingers. “Especially if Uncle Morgan’s always around…” he chuckled. “He’s a troublemaker, and so is Mom, so… you’ll grow up to be a lil’ trickster, too, I’m sure.”

I shuffled closer. “You okay in here?” I asked, leaning in to kiss the top of his head.

He craned his neck after I moved away to get a good look at me. “Yeah. She started crying, which I figured was because she was just hungry. I didn’t want her to wake you up, so I brought her down here, and we’ve just been hanging out.” He looked at her again. She reached up to touch him again as he pulled the bottle away because she needed to breathe. “Jack’s outside playing soccer.”

I nodded as I sat down beside him. “How long has he been out there?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Are you worried?”

“No. I think he’s just bored.”

I ran my hand through his hair. “We can’t let him feel neglected. We have to really keep an eye on him.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to feed her while you go play with him?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I want you to just have a break for a little longer.”

I rested my head on his shoulder. “This is perfect.”

“I know.”

And that was how the next few days went. Every time Emily started crying, I made a move to help her, but Hotch insisted that I just stay in bed and rest. Arguing with him was futile. At one point, I tried getting smart by offering to take turns looking after her—and Hotch gave in at first. I managed to get to her once in order to coo her back to sleep, but after that, Hotch just kept beating me to it.

Not to mention, Hotch had decided after bringing me and the baby home that he was going to take time off of work in order to look after us. He was so overdramatic. I didn’t need a babysitter. Yeah, I was tired, but I could look after my daughter during the day while he was supposed to be gone at work. But he was adamant.

Finally, when I started feeling suffocated in our bedroom—and in the house, in general—I asked Hotch if we could visit the team at the office. He tried lying that they were gone on a case, but Morgan via text disproved that. Sucker. He really had no choice but to take me in. Honestly. If he didn’t drive me there, I was going to do it myself one way or another; and he knew it. So, we swaddled the baby in a blanket, put a beanie on her head, made sure we had a full bag of toys, pacifiers, diapers, and food. She fell asleep in the carrier before we even made it to the car. Babies. She was lucky I loved her, otherwise I would’ve been furious about the fact that she could cry and scream, ruining mine and Hotch’s whole day, then just fall back asleep like nothing happened.

When we arrived at Quantico, I unbuckled my seat and beat Hotch to the carrier, reaching to pick Emily up out of it instead of schlepping the whole thing with us through security. On our way in, we ran into Anderson. I stopped and smiled at him. He stopped, too, and he turned with a bright face that welcomed the newest member of the BAU family. As she started fussing in my arms, Anderson approached to come say hi.

“Look at her,” he said, wiggling his finger in her face playfully. “What’s her name?”

“Emily,” I answered.

He looked up at me with the same wide, yet still shocked smile that everyone had when I told them that news. He smiled back down at her. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re feeling alright and everything?”

“As well as I can be,” I responded through an exhausted chuckle. “The plan is to get back to work as soon as possible, though.”

He stood up tall and switched the files in his left hand to his right hand. “That’s good. We miss seeing you around the office.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Anderson.” I started walking towards the front door that Hotch was holding open.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he called to me while backpedaling into the parking lot. “I’ll see you around.” He waved to us before turning to head to his car.

Hotch led me through the lobby and security, stopping long enough for the guards we knew to say hi to me and the baby while congratulating us. It was so… weird to have people coming up and congratulating us for something that was just a little piece of each of us. I mean, no one patted us on the back for the first part, which was the sex. In fact, most people seemed to forget that was how this happened in the first place. To each their own, I supposed, though.

In the elevator, Hotch rested his hand on the small of my back, tucking me against his side so that he could kiss my temple. He was never, ever this handsy at work. At least, not in this way. There were moments of weakness with the two of us, like the jet ride that I would never forget on the way to St. Louis three years ago; as well as when he held my hand under the roundtable just a few months ago as we sat around worrying about Prentiss. I pushed off the thought.

As the doors to the elevator opened, Hotch and I stepped out onto the sixth floor, immediately being greeted by Rossi, Reid, and JJ who had been waiting around for us. Hotch must have let Dave know that we were on our way. Within an instant, Reid stepped forward and asked if he could hold her, just as he had always raced to volunteer for. Spencer was twenty-seven already, and it seemed sometimes like life was passing by him even though he didn’t want it to, even though he would have been the best partner for someone and an even better father. There was something about watching him with Emily that reminded me just how much I wanted to see him succeed in life. Out of everyone on the team, Reid was the one person besides Morgan who was constantly asking to hold Emily or see pictures of her from Hotch because he just couldn’t get enough of her. I knew in that moment that he was going to be the best father one day.

Suddenly, the glass doors of the BAU opened, revealing Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia who had just become aware of mine and Emily’s presence in the lobby that they had not been made aware of sooner. I could see the hurt on Morgan’s face from across the room. Despite that, however, I smirked at him and took Emily back from Reid carefully because I knew what was coming.

“Everyone, move!” Morgan exclaimed, pushing through the crowd. “I want to see my goddaughter.”

I chuckled and already started holding her out so that Morgan could take her when he was finally standing in front of me. His tunnel vision was focused solely on her as he smiled and cradled her in his arms. He cooed and used his baby-talk voice to tease her. While he wiggled his finger in her face to see her struggle to grab it with her tiny hands, Garcia leaned over his shoulder to watch.

“How are you feeling?” JJ asked me.

“Tired,” I admitted with an exhausted laugh. She nodded knowingly. “Hotch has been good, though,” I complimented, reaching out to run my hands through his hair. He blushed at me while wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close. “He’s probably more tired than I am.”

He nodded. “Probably. But it’s worth it.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek.

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” Garcia teased giddily.

Hotch and I chuckled.

“So, I get her on weekends, right?” Morgan teased.

I furrowed my brows. “I don’t recall making any kind of custody agreement.”

“Sundays?” he bargained.

“Sunday afternoons.”

Morgan smiled down at baby Emily. “I’ll take what I can get.” He gave her a light eskimo kiss, their noses touching as they both giggled. “I love you.” Garcia scoffed and hit Morgan’s arm. Morgan looked at her with wide eyes. “Baby girl, you know you’re my forever love, but… look at her.”

Garcia wiggled her finger in Emily’s face, too. “You’re right.”

“I love you,” Hotch whispered directly into my ear, just barely loud enough for me to hear.

I turned my face to look at him with a smile that was so thankful for everything he had been doing for me and our baby over the past few days. “I love you, too.” I leaned up on my toes and kissed him.

----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @desperately-bisexual​  @sunshinepower17​ @weexinling​ @pettttyyyc​ @Braty-angel

[kyloswarstars]

The Shelby Family Teleported Through Time • Part 1

„To the Invasion of the Roman Empire“

Peaky Blinders • Series AU • Shelby!Reader

It seemed like all of your siblings barely had any time left for the family. You wanted to fix it all up and get back to what the Shelby siblings once were. At the Lee’s campsite you are gifted an ‚enchanted amber‘, along with the promise that it would help you get closer to your siblings again. Never did you think it would teleport you into another time: being faced by more problems than before.

Words • 4.3k

A/N • I’m excited to share this with you! Lemme know what you think about it! 🌚 and thanks to my bf and beta @buried-in-books​.

TSFTTT • masterlist

/////

Life was good. Most of the times at least. 

Life was good, when you were allowed to move in with John and Esme in their house on the countryside. You were able to have fun times with the kids, or help out with chores, or watch them while Esme and John needed some time to themselves. They annoyed you with their screaming in the mornings, but at least they were a reliable alarm clock so you could do your favorite thing at John’s: go feed the chicken and collect the eggs.

Life was good, when Finn arrived there for the weekends and you could go on your little adventures into the woods. As kids, you went treasure hunting for everything the forest provided. Twigs you used as swords. Leaves you later pressed between book pages. But your favorite treasure? Stones. There had been times back in Small Heath, whenever you picked up a stone and put it in your pockets, other kids would make fun of it. Finn had always been there to pick up another stone and throw it at the bullies. You weren’t little kids anymore, so your strolls to the forest were accompanied by a bottle of whiskey, Isiah and a lot of foolish ideas.

Life was good, when you were not only with Finn but all of your siblings. And that was the problem. Lately, none of them had really the time to actually be with the family.

You sat on the steps of Zilpha’s caravan. Esme had brought you with her to the Lee’s campsite and was currently talking to her mother. Zilpha was supposed to tell Esme more about the baby growing in her belly. You looked at them, grinning at each other and then erupting into a loud chat again. It made you smile.

You liked it here like always, but you’d rather go and sit in the woods with Finn and get drunk right now. This morning, the idea of spending the day with the Lee’s seemed like the highlight of your week. Now, you couldn’t keep yourself from brooding over the situation with your siblings again, and it made you… sad. And it wasn’t even Friday, so Finn wouldn’t even come out of town. Great.

„Don’t you want to join us?“ Zilpha was walking up to you and stopped before she took the steps into her caravan.

You shook your head with a smile.

She didn’t hesitate and sat down next to you, her eyebrows pulled together. „What’s wrong, my child?“

„I…“ Life was not always good. Since living with John and his family it had gotten a lot easier for you, your temper being at a low level and your mood pretty static, though with some exceptions, but you knew how to handle them by now. You just couldn’t get your mind off of the fact that your siblings were drifting away from you and you didn’t know how to stop it. „Do you know when your family doesn’t feel like your family anymore?“

„Yes, my dear.“

„Everyone is heading into different directions, which isn’t automatically a bad thing, but sometimes I feel like they don’t care as much for our family anymore. It’s always been us six – and I want that sibling bond back we once shared.“ 

Zilpha looked like she was thinking intensely about possible solutions to your problem. „What about sitting down with them and talk about it?“

„They are Shelby’s,“ you started and, despite it actually being pretty sad, it somehow made you laugh. „If I were able to sit them down all at once, they wouldn’t listen. Not to me.“

Again, her face scrunched in until a faint smile came to her lips. „Wait a second.“ She got up and disappeared into her caravan. You heard some drawers being opened and closed again. Zilpha walked down the steps with her fist closed around something. When she sat down next to you again, she reached out for your hand and placed something in it. With her hand above it, preventing you from seeing it yet, her smile got even wider. „Maybe this will help you to bring your siblings closer together.“

She pushed your hand back to you and removed her hands. A big, odd-shaped amber was laying in the palm of your hand. It was set in a thick golden frame, attached to a necklace. You held it up between your fingers. The amber itself sparkled already but when the sunlight hit it, you noticed all the little gold particles enclosed. 

„It’s an enchanted amber. When your thoughts, about the things you want to change, are strong enough, you’ll get a chance to change them.“

It wasn’t like you didn’t believe in cards or curses – but how could this little stone, combined with some wishful thinking, be able to fix your family issues?

With a thankful smile you handed it back to Esme’s mother. „I can’t take it.“ Besides the fact that you couldn’t believe a stone could solve a problem other than scaring away some bullies when it’s thrown at them, the stone seemed far too valuable. 

„It’s a wandering stone, Y/N. It’s meant to help those who need it.“ She opened the necklace, put it around your neck and closed it there. „Trust me, it’s not meant to lay in one of my drawers forever.“

Her words felt warm. And they didn’t leave much room for protest. She wouldn’t take it back. After all those years and the many weekends spent with the Lee’s, Zilpha felt like an aunt just as much as Polly was. Both were very stubborn women.

/////

The amber didn’t leave your neck anymore. Not even when you went to bed. Zilpha’s words faded but the beauty of the stone stayed as the weeks went on. Stones.

Finn had noticed it. He thought you had a secret admirer and almost asked Isiah if it was him – which would’ve been bloody awkward. He didn’t, though. When you told him about how you got it, he pushed you to try it but you didn’t do it. It just seemed too far out of the possible area of supernatural things that could happen. Nothing could make the Shelby siblings get closer to each other again, other than themselves.

One day, though, you were back in Small Heath – John had asked if you wanted to come along when he sensed you were not doing too well. Your mood had dropped within the last days and this time you weren’t really able to handle it.

You had put the kettle on and waited for the water to boil. Finn was sitting with Ada at the kitchen table. She visited from London and you were happy John was able to convince you to come with him.

„Y/N!“ Ada was waving for your attention. You had stared at the cups in front of her and Finn on the table. Loosening your glance from it, you looked at your sister. „Do you wanna come down to London with me?“

Your first thought to her question was: Did Finn spill your private shite and now she asked out of pity?

„Um–“ The kettle started to whistle and allowed you to be able to escape the question. You brew the tea and sat down with the pot.

„So do you? I would love to have you. And Karl as well, I’m sure of that!“ She squeezed your hand over the table and you noticed Finn trying to not meet with your eyes. He did tell her. Nevertheless, Ada’s smile and her warm hand made the initial feeling of pity vanish.

Before you could answer, Arthur and John burst into the kitchen, followed by Tommy. John was, for whatever reason, carrying a rifle and Arthur tried to grab it from him. The boys were so loud, you couldn’t understand the words Ada was directing at you. She then shouted at them to be quiet.

„Don’t shut us up when we have to solve who’s gonna get that gun.“ Arthur seemed a little abrasive.

„It’s mine, Arthur.“ John’s grip around the riffle was tight.

Tommy tried to defuse the situation but it didn’t really work out. Instead, he let himself get dragged into the fight. Ada repeatedly shouted at them to behave and Finn was chewing on some biscuits while watching the fight unfold.

Their voices triggered your brain to be flooded with all the thoughts that had kept following you through the last couple of months. They would never just be okay with each other. Every time you were all together, a simple discussion would turn into a fight and leave everyone frustrated.

Your fingers played with the amber around your neck. It had become a habit. The surface of it was the perfect level of smoothness for your thoughts to run a little slower when you brushed over it.

As the loud voices kept bickering with each other, your hand closed into a fist around the amber. You wanted them to be decent for once. You wanted to have a good time with your siblings without it breaking into a scuffle. The fingers around the amber were slowly starting to hurt but you couldn’t loosen the grip. You wanted your siblings to become siblings again which cared about each other and stuck together when times were hard – not drifting apart and leave everyone to their own fate.

You wanted your family.

But what happened next was far from everything you ever wanted. 

Your surroundings began to blur, your head became dizzy with the strongest headache you had ever felt. Your stomach twisted, as if you’d have to throw up any second. The moment you bent forward to vomit, you didn’t look down at the kitchen floor like it should’ve been – you looked down onto grass. And fell face forward down to it when the chair, you were sitting on, vanished into thin air.

You noticed several thuds around you. Pushing yourself from the grass, you sat up and saw your siblings doing the same.

Green was everywhere around you. It spread as far as you could see with your still-blurry eyes. Small hills were surrounding you with some lonely trees and a lot of tall bushes that were plastered in large groups like they were discussing something. You swore to yourself that a few seconds ago you had been sitting in the kitchen at Watery Lane. This is a dream, you tried to convince yourself.

The puzzled, deeply confused looks of your siblings, taking in the surroundings, made you question if you had gone insane. Were you actually in a ward and having a really lively episode of hallucinations?

„Shite what did just happen?“ John was getting up on his feet, the rifle tightly in his grip. He was frantically circling around himself.

Arthur pushed his hair back and stood next to him. „I swear to fucking hell if one of ya’ knocked us out and drove us to the countryside, thinking this would be a good prank, I’ll kill ya’!“ His eyes widened as he turned to John. „John Boy was that you? Because I wanted that rifle?“

„I swear I didn’t do shite,“ he defended himself instantly.

You slowly rose to your feet, the rest of your siblings doing the same. They seemed too realistic to be imagined. Right?

Tommy was silently observing the green around you. He didn’t respond when Arthur accused John on pulling a prank again and asked for Tom’s backup. For a second Tommy was looking at you. His glance stopped at the hand you had still wrapped around the amber.

The amber.

„Fuck.“ You gasped and shut your eyes. It’s an enchanted amber. When your thoughts, about the things you want to change, are strong enough, you’ll get a chance to change them. This was supposed to be the chance? Sitting in the kitchen and being ripped out of it the next second, landing on a hill? This little stone couldn’t possibly do stuff like this. Things like this shouldn’t work. But it did. Didn’t it?

„I think I’m responsible for us being here,“ you blurted out. Removing your eyes from the stone in your hand, you found your siblings turning towards you. Five death stares were burning holes into your body.

„What the heck did you do?“ John walked over and hovered in front of you. He probably didn’t mean it, but his furious question scared you a little.

„However you did it bring us back,“ Arthur insisted and perfectly adapted John’s face.

Ada and Finn didn’t say anything since you landed on this grassland. Just like Tom. They were just as confused as John and Arthur. Just like you.

„Guys.“ Finn dragged the word for at least three seconds. With a hand above his eyes he stared into the distance. He lifted his arm to point at what he had found on a remote hill. „What is this?“

Tommy was shoving himself to the front of the pile your siblings and you had built. His eyes weren’t the best anymore, you knew that, but his glasses couldn’t help him right now because they were only for reading. „John, give me the rifle.“

„It’s mine,“ he tried to keep it, only to flinch at Tommy’s sudden outburst.

„Give me the fucking gun!“ Grabbing it from John, he placed the gun against his shoulder to look through the scope. Like your other siblings, you tried to make out what those tiny dots were that were coming closer pretty fast. A bad feeling grew in your stomach.

„Hide in those bushes,“ Tommy nervously ordered while turning around and pointing to a gathering of bushes a few feet away. He wasn’t one to easily lose his composure. That was why right now, sensing the slight touch of horror radiating off of him, everyone obeyed.

When you turned, your siblings where almost all hidden in the bushes, only noticeable by loud bickering. You followed them in, Tommy after you. Whoever was coming, Tom thought it would be better if they didn’t see you. That thought was making you anxious. Only some thorns cutting your cheek, when you kneeled down next to Finn, abled you to pull out of the anxiety creeping up on you.

Ada fought with John because he sat on her feet, Arthur was acting like a wasp was circling him because the thorns were all over him. Tommy ssssshhhed everyone.

Through the leaves you saw the dots coming closer. And as they got closer, you realised they were people – not wild horses which you would’ve preferred. Red and silver were dominating their appearances. Feet stomped down on the ground simultaneously.

„This is–,“ Tommy started.

John interrupted: „THE FUCKING CAVALRY.“

„Why do they look straight out of a history book?“ Ada.

„Because they–“

This time Arthur cut Tom off. „Because they are stupid idiots with tin helmets doing God knows what. Did we miss a fucking second war?“

„No, they–“

Finn was ignoring Tommy as well. „I think they don’t look like idiots in particular.“

„Yeah because ya’ know best how idiots look like, eh?“ Arthur retaliated. Finn slapped his arm for it.

„Will you ever shut up?“ You had enough of them not paying attention to Tommy because this feeling in your stomach told you Tom knew who those people were.

Everyone’s eyes were focused on them when they reached your bushes and passed without noticing the Shelby family cowering in them. „This,“ Tommy started once more in the quietest of whispers you had ever heard from him, „is a fucking cohort belonging to the Roman Empire.“

The Roman Empire. This answer was even more unsettling than your wildest guesses would’ve been. The Roman Empire – wasn’t that a thing around the time they said Jesus Christ was born? Around the time…

You gasped for air again and turned to Tommy with the widest eyes you ever felt having.

He only stared back at you.

„Y/N, tell me what that thing around your neck is.“ As a Roman cohort was still passing these bushes, Tommy came a little closer. His voice didn’t seem reproachful. He just wanted to figure out what was going on.

As soon as you had entered the bushes, your hand had grabbed around the amber again. You removed your fingers from it and saw Tom reaching out for it, holding it up to see it properly. „Y/N?“

„I… I… it’s–“ You snapped it out of his grip and closed your fist around it again. Some tears were welling up as you let your head hang low. It was your fault. You didn’t believe the amber was actually enchanted and now your were hiding from a fucking Roman cohort. „Zilpha gave it to me. Said it’s… enchanted.“

„What does that mean?“ John’s voice whisper-called-out and was immediately ssssshhhed by Tommy. He sat next to you and you waited for a reaction to your words but he only nodded.

Everyone stayed quiet until the Roman soldiers disappeared in the far distance again. They left a tramped down path behind. When Tommy finally allowed to leave the bushes, everyone sighed due to the stiffness in the muscles.

You strolled over to the path the cohort had been marching on. There wasn’t really a sun in the sky you could watch set, but the clouds were slowly turning darker. For how long were you sitting between those thorns? Shaking arms and legs to get rid of the tiredness in it, you saw Tommy coming over to you from the corner of your eye.

„Come on, Y/N. John and Finn are searching for some wood so we can light a fire.“ If it wasn’t for this weird situation you would’ve appreciated a Shelby bonfire. „Come, eh? We have to talk about this all.“

You dreaded going over to them. You were responsible for this mess – whatever this was you had done. They would punish you, you could feel it, when all you wanted was to be closer with your siblings again.

To your surprise the first thing Finn did, when he threw some twigs and branches he had collected to ground, was give you a hug. He stayed at your side when the questions began. They were hailing down at you, demanding an explanation.

„Wait. So, ya’ saying this stone got us here? Didn’t do a prank?“ Arthur wanted to make sure he didn’t have to kill his youngest sister, you, for pulling some shenanigans on them.

„Of course I didn’t do a prank like this.“ It was hard being the center of attention in a Shelby altercation. You’d rather stay on the sidelines – attention had never been your thing. „Even though you all would’ve deserved one,“ you muttered under your breath and noticed Finn chuckling.

John was occupied with getting a fire started with his matches, but he still furiously shouted over the complete grassland. A little louder and the stupid Roman cohort would come back and throw some spears at you. Or drag your asses to Rome and throw you in the Colosseum. „Tell us again what happened.“

„She gave the amber to me,“ you repeated. „She said it has to wander and help those that need the chance for a change.“

„What change did you want a chance at?“ Ada asked. She wasn’t furious like Arthur or John, just still confused.

„Fix the broken relationships with my siblings.“ This time you didn’t shy away. You stared back at your siblings and saw their faces become softer, a little guilty maybe as well.

„An enchanted amber,“ Tommy repeated, laughing in realisation at the words.

„A cursed one you mean, Tom.“ John succeeded at making a fire and pushed himself off the ground. A little less fuming, he looked at you. „Why would you even accept a cursed stone from Esme’s damn mother?“

You shrugged.

„I think enough blaming is done, eh?“ Tommy was waving you over to sit down with him, gesturing the others to join the fire as well. As absurd as this situation was, you were extremely glad Tom wasn’t as mad as your two other eldest brothers. It would’ve been hell if he went shouting at you as well.

He was a problem solver, a person that knew what was going on before everyone else did, he was the head of this family.

„What exactly did you do in the kitchen before we landed here?“

„I wanted us to be what we once were.“

„When Zilpha said you have to think about what you want the most, maybe try and get into that feeling you had in the kitchen?“ Ada took the spot next to you and warmed her hands at the fire.

„Okay.“ You closed your eyes, the hand still clenched around the amber on your neck. The thing you wanted most right now was to go home. And for your siblings not to be mad at you anymore. Some dinner would be nice as well. You tried to focus on that overwhelming feeling of loneliness even though you had been with your siblings back in the kitchen.

Nothing changed when you opened your eyes again. That dizziness and the twist in your stomach was missing. You remained sitting on the grass with the night turning the sky dark.

„It’s not working.“

„Try harder,“ John demanded.

„I did!“

„No you didn’t.“

You got up to your feet and let go off the stone, throwing your hands in the air. „What the bloody hell do I know how this works.“ Your patience was wearing thin. There was a lot you could take before you flipped but you had a certain point, just like everyone else, when enough was enough.

They grew silent. Finn tried to ease the situation with the question as to where you even were.

„The fucking middle of nowhere,“ John cried out and let himself fall backwards to the grass.

Tom tugged at your sleeve and pulled you down again. He cleared his throat. „Actually, I think it’s the question of when are we.“

It took a good minute until everyone comprehended Tommy’s words. Everyone turned at him, including you.

When. Of course. But also: WHAT? The spinning wheel of thoughts about how this stone was able to do supernatural things was taking up speed in your head again. Voices erupted into a discussion. They demanded explanations and Tom was there to provide them. His brain was filled with a lot of stuff that came to your rescue, which you would've never needed if it wasn’t for the amber. The Roman Empire invaded Britain in the 1st century. Given the fact that the moment you sat in the kitchen was in the 1920s, you must’ve traveled almost two-thousand years back in time if you thought about it logically. Practically, you were fighting to get back a steady breathing rhythm because this… no.

You stared into the fire. „I teleported us through time.“

The raging voices died down.

Finn’s hand on your shoulder stroked you reassuringly. „You couldn’t know what would happen.“

John was the first one to join Finn’s statement. „Yeah, I’m sorry… for what I said. You just can’t trust Zilpha. It’s not your fault.“

„What are we going to do now?“ Ada, sitting between Finn and you, looked at Tommy.

„We’ll catch some sleep. Tomorrow we have to search for a village and adapt to… here.“ He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

„The cigarettes!“ Arthur jumped up and fumbled through all of his pockets. „If we’re stuck here we have to make them last as long as possible.“ He infected John with the same concern about running out of cigarettes if you weren’t able to bring them back home soon. They spent a good while counting what they had left and rationed them.

You had to figure out a way to repeat what you had done in the kitchen and bring your asses home. If only for the fact that your brothers could smoke.

/////

Arthur and John competed for the loudest snore. Tommy was sitting patrol. Finn was curled up in a ball like always and Ada mumbled in her sleep next to you. You were watching the sun slowly rising from behind the horizon.

You hadn’t been able to sleep a single minute that night. For a while you had stared up at the sky. The stars had been way brighter than you ever saw them. Like a million tiny light bulbs and Finn was flicking the switch on and off for half of them, making them dance in your vision.

The amber was always in your hand, being played with and then held tight in your fist again. It was comforting to know it was in your hand when it had gained such a fundamental importance this night. If you dropped it, lost it, there would be no way you would ever return to your own time.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to know your siblings all safe and sound, in their beds and this all being nothing but a dream. You wanted to return this stone to Zilpha which would be the first stone ever you got rid of.

You wanted your siblings to be real siblings again. 

Suddenly that twist in your stomach reappeared. That thudding headache almost made you throw up again.

A second later it was bright daylight and you found yourself laying on soil. In front of you were two groups of people running up to each other. They were yielding swords and shouted battlecry’s. What the fuck did you do now?

[banalbones]

The Petite Prince: Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Princes Don’t Need Help

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8

SideStory

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil is spending time with said child, and said child likes Logan’s Crofter’s.

Words: 2179

Ships: Familial everything, except roceit. Eventual familial roceit

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2 @fanforeveruniverse @i-cant-find-a-good-username

_________________________

Virgil was content.

After hours, hours of searching for the precious little bean, here he was in the emo’s arms.

Finally.

The small royal giggled as Virgil made a silly face at him.

Scary reputation? Who’s she.

The baby reached up and tugged at the anxious side’s hair, marvelling at the pretty purple color, pulling at his own chocolate curls in comparison.

“Woah!”

Virgil felt his heart melt as the petite prince tugged his hair again, happily beaming and showing off his gap tooth.

He knew that the others were watching the exchange, but, for the first time in his ‘life’, didn’t even care.

Then Roman’s face scrunched up in concentration, and he let go of the emo’s hair.

“Liv’ roo!”

Virgil smiled softly.

“The living room?”

“Liv’ roo!”

So. Cute.

___________________________

Okay can I just interrupt for a second?

You already have, but go on.

Why do you all keep emphasizing how cute he was?

Because I was absolutely adorable.

Because he was absolutely adorable.

…

Fair enough.

___________________________

Patton was still chatting with Logan, about brownies and endorphins and all the like, but he still felt sad.

Patton was the literal dad of the group, and yet when one of his kiddos turned into a literal kiddo, he could do nothing about it. Well, for now at least.

Logan had told him that Roman had most likely felt extremely overwhelmed, causing him to regress further, and therefore should not be exposed to one of the main reasons he had felt overwhelmed by for a bit.

The logical side had faltered near the end, which the moral side took as a good sign.

Maybe he doesn’t think I’m too big a ‘main reason’.

Patton held on to this hope.

Because any hope, no matter how trivial, was hope.

____________________________

Remus really hadn’t wanted to give his little bro over to Virgie, and was considering to just, well to just not, but the look that Nerdy Wolverine had given him had convinced him of doing otherwise.

Whatever. I guess they still think I want to kill my brother.

Which he didn’t.

But again, whatever.

The Duke ignored the sting that the thought had left.

Whatever.

____________________________

Back in the living room, Roman was grinning wider than ever.

It was working! There was waaaay less sad, and even better than that, he had helped.

Ooh, look at the pretty lights! And the pur-pur hair! Wait, he had already seen the pur-pur hair. It was still pretty though!

The room was being decorated with nice bright colors and fairy lights. Big him (and Little him) loved those!

“So. What d’ya wanna do?”

Roman turned and looked at Virgil, a tad confused, before shrugging.

“You choo!”

Big me never got to choose. Wow! Fluffy blankets!

The little prince missed the shocked face Virgil had worn at his response, and his confused face before that.

“Disney?”

“Yeah!”

_________________________

Why had the bean looked so confused when I had asked him what he wanted to do?

That was a question that would surely echo throughout Virgil’s mind for the rest of the movie marathon, and most likely after it as well.

Looking to the adorable little royal, Virgil smiled an anxious smile.

I hope he’s okay.

Virgil looked at the wide green eyes, engrossed in whatever the Disney movie at the moment was. He was so small, but that was to be expected of a now fifteen month old baby.

The paper crown slipped down over the prince’s eyes, blocking his view of the film. He huffed and pushed it back up with his tiny hands.

“Need a little help there?”

Vigil was still smiling as the bean harrumphed, rather dramatically.

“No.”

“You sure about that? The crown keeps falling.”

“No.” he retorted, stubborn as ever.

The crown fell again.

This time tears filled the prince’s eyes and he pouted angrily.

“Stay!”

Virgil reached over to fix it, only to have his hand swatted away.

“No! Prin’s don’ nee ‘elp!”

Princes don’t need help? Well that doesn’t seem… healthy. What if the bean isn’t healthy?! Well, its obvious he’s not- he is regressed, but what if- I should probably try to stay calm. For his sake.

It was funny, the literal embodiment of anxiety trying to be calm.

The crown fell again and tears rolled down the youth’s cheeks.

Virgil wrapped his arms around the bean, attempting to comfort him. He did want to find out what the small royal had meant, but he couldn’t bear seeing an upset little royal.

The bean must not be sad!

And so Virgil kept hugging the little prince, trying to ignore the phrase.

Princes don’t need help!

Great, two things that would probably haunt him forever.

_________________________

Roman dried his eyes in VeeVee shirt, already regretting the tears.

He was supposed to make them happy!

Sad=bad!

And so, the petite prince took a deep breath, and cuddled closer to Virgil.

_________________________

Both boys had forgotten about their movie marathon by now, content to just cuddle there forever, but then the baby prince had an idea, an idea that would hopefully make VeeVee happy.

The hoodie itself was reeeeeally nice and soft and fluffy and warm, and the prince wasn’t even wearing it!

If it was that nice on the outside, what it be like on the inside?

And so Roman had two options.

Option one: snuggled inside the jacket against Virgil’s chest,

Or

Option two: snuggled in the hood.

It was a very hard choice to make, but the small royal eventually clambered to the top of the emo’s head, getting ready to drop down into the soft embrace of fabric.

Virgil was extremely confused throughout the whole of it.

Roman giggled, and then he was laying in the warm, warm hood.

Oh look! Pur-pur hair!

And so the prince was cosy and the emo was amused.

“Adorable.”

_________________________

Logan walked into the kitchen the next morning, ready to enjoy his sweet, sweet Crofter’s, when a giggly Roman and a smiling Virgil entered the room.

Now, this would not have struck Logan as odd if it weren’t for the fact that the tiny prince was sitting in the anxious side’s hood, his little arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck.

Logan.exe is experiencing a malfunction. Overload of cuteness has temporarily shut down subject’s brain.

Now, Logan wasn’t a robot, or anything of the sort. He was a metaphysical human being. But in that moment he just ‘couldn’t’.

This is odd, I’ve seen and identified the child as ‘cute’ before. Why am I so overwhelmed by the cuteness now?

Virgil must’ve noticed Logan’s mini meltdown, as he snorted and said “You good there teach?”

“How is he so adorable?”

Virgil was about to respond but got interrupted by the little prince.

“Mama!”

Logan.exe is experiencing a malfunction. Overload of cuteness has temporarily shut down subject’s brain.

Twice in a minute. That was most certainly not normal.

But it wasn’t necessarily bad, either.

________________________

Roman, even as a baby, loved attention, and teasing people. So when he noticed he had a chance to get attention and mess with Mama, of course he would do it.

His spot in Virgil’s hood was very comfortable though.

It could wait until after breakfast.

The little prince hugged Virgil’s neck tighter, and pointed at the jar of Crofter’s next to Logan.

Well, he could still mess with Logan from up here.

________________________

You were literally fifteen months old, and yet you still felt the need to be annoying?

Hey! I didn’t want to be annoying, I just wanted to mess with you.

Sure.

And also eat your Crofter’s.

As you would usually say, heathen.

________________________

“You shouldn’t be eating this. Too much sugar could be detrimental for your teeth.”

Logan, in the end, gave in to the whims of the adorable little child and let him eat the jam.

…

Logan and Virgil were mostly silent throughout the meal, happy to listen to the small royal’s babbling.

And then there was a tug.

The left brain boys had completely forgotten about Thomas.

Virgil looked to the logical side, panic evident in his expression.

“What the fuck do we do?”

Logan had on a similar expression.

“The more pertinent question is do we tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“About Roman. He doesn’t know that sides regress.”

“He doesn’t!?”

“No.”

“How come I thought he did?”

“You were usually the regressed side.”

“That doesn’t mean anythi-”

Another tug.

Roman let out a whimper.

One of them had to go, but the other had to stay with the prince.

“Roman can’t sink down, he isn’t touching the floor.”

“Guys!”

They heard Thomas’s voice this time.

And so, in a heat of the moment decision, Virgil gently but quickly lifted the bean out of his hood, handed him to Logan, and sank down.

“I’ll come up with an excuse!”

_________________________

Logan sighed, and looked to the petite prince now in his arms.

“No he won’t.”

The scaled-down side nodded his head in agreement.

Logan smiled at him and with a quick flick of the wrist, summoned a book.

It was a small picture book with a few words littered throughout.

The nerd knew that normal fifteen month olds would not be able to read at all, but they weren’t exactly real, and so didn’t follow the ‘natural process’ of aging accurately.

Roman squealed as the book landed in front of him, a golden light illuminating his tiny features.

Wait a… gold light? Where is that coming from?

Very odd.

A few moments later the princely side, after being few pages in, started humming.

And then there were birds.

And rabbits.

And squirrels.

And deer.

Where are all of these coming from? Should I be concerned?

Logan stared incredulously at the child, who didn’t seem to notice his new company.

Curious.

…

And then the humming stopped.

Logan, who had summoned his own book to read, looked up to see a frown on the youthful side’s face as he seemingly struggled to read a word.

“Do you require any assistance?”

The royal shook his head fiercely.

“No! Prin’s don’ nee ‘elp!”

Oh. Oh dear.

“Why not?” Logan decided to say, in a deliberately soft voice.

“B-b-bi’ me!”

Big him?

Logan was tempted to get another side’s help, but decided against it.

He could help the child himself.

“You should never be ashamed of needing help, Roman. Everyone needs it sometimes, even me.”

Roman looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

“Rea’y?”

Logan smiled.

“Yes, your highness, it is true.”

The miniscule royal frowned.

“Bi’ me ner g’elp…”

Logan was having a tough time translating.

“Big you never wanted to get help?”

The prince shook his head.

“Go’ elp.”

“Big you never got help?”

Roman nodded.

Did he not?

“How come?”

“Asd, bu no.”

“He asked but no?”

The royal nodded again.

That is quite concerning.

“No’n elp ‘im, so no nee’ elp!”

Logan really needed a dictionary.

“No one helped him, so ‘no need help’?”

“Ee d-d’ided no nee’ elp.”

“He decided he didn’t need help?”

“Ya!”

Well.

Logan definitely needed to have a long, possibly uncomfortable discussion with the rest of the sides.

As Virgil would so eloquently put it, ‘We fucked up.”

_______________________

In Remus’s room, the day before…

Remus had joined the conversation with Logan and Patton after Virgil and his RoBro left.

He had also found out everything that had happened.

And he was not happy.

_______________________

Janus was happy.

Very happy, in fact.

The slimy snek boy knew it had literally been a day since it happened, but still.

He had gotten accepted!

He had revealed his name!

And it was great. Extremely freeing to know that he finally had nothing more to fear.

Except Roman. Except Virgil.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

He was Denial after all.

No one has spoken to you since then. Not even Patton.

He pushed those away too.

Happy. Happy. Happy.

You were too harsh.

He forced out a smirk and ignored it.

All he did was call your name stupid.

Happy. Happy.

He didn’t even mean it. You know when people are lying, and he was.

Happy.

He didn’t mean it, but you did.

Jesus Christ Superstar!

All Janus wanted was to be happy and feel nice feelings after being accepted!

These thoughts were pushing through an indestructible wall of denial, something only Remus could d-

Remus.

You and I are going to have a problem.

____________________

In Remus’s room, the day before…

Patton had been happy to chat with Remus as well as Logan, (or so he told himself) and so when the Duke had asked what had happened with him and Roman, he had been fine with telling him.

Well, would have been.

Logan had interjected before the moral side had had a chance to open his mouth, and Patton inwardly shrugged and listened.

It seemed so much worse when you put it like that.

And so when he had seen Remus’s stormy expression, he had been worried.

Well, shit.

______________________

Thank you for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

Another competitor has joined the arena!

Also before you say (if anyone was going to say anything) ‘oh my god! Patton swore!’ I personally do hc Patton as someone who swears. Not like ‘oh god’ or anything like that, but since Thomas swears, I think all of the sides do.

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 35

PART 1 / PART 2

Chapter 22 / Chapter 23 / Chapter 24 / Chapter 25 / Chapter 26 / Chapter 27 / Chapter 28 / Chapter 29/ Chapter 30 / Chapter 31 / Chapter 32 / Chapter 33 / Chapter 34

Read on on AO3

A few days rest, fluids to rehydrate, and a session of blood filtering to be on the safe side had set Scott right. Yet it hadn’t been enough to convince the three medics on the island that he was fit for duty. 

Another week of down time was driving him insane. 

Another week of looking at paperwork and agreements for the business he still wasn’t sure he completely understood. John was trying his best to help, but his brother's time was taken up by diverting and running rescues, a job that Scott was suddenly grateful he had taken on. It gave him eyes on his two remaining brothers out in the field, a chance to know their exact status and position. 

It wasn’t stalking he had told Gordon, simply a safety measure. 

It was something he was considering broaching as protocol with the IR Board. 

Except, Mom was showing more signs of waking up. Scott hadn’t been there himself but Hugh had sworn she had opened her eyes, and since then Virgil had said he had felt her squeeze his hand. 

It didn’t feel right to change things if Mom was going to come back soon. 

He wasn’t sure he was ready to hand back the reins though. Not when they’d all fallen into such a happy rhythm, not when he was now used to leading and his brothers being led, not when he felt like he’d been doing the job of commander forever and it was simply second nature. 

How could he both love and hate a job at the same time?

“Scott, have you heard from Kayo recently?” Ridley broke into his thoughts, appearing above the lounge. 

He looked up from the desk, sitting straighter with a frown, “I spoke to her just before take off, why?”

Nothing had seemed untoward. Kayo had been missing her own ship and had moaned about having to put up with creepy businessmen used to getting their own way when flying commercial. It was nothing Scott hadn’t expected.

“London air traffic lost contact with the Fireflash not long after takeoff.” John appeared alongside Ridley, “We can’t raise Kayo on comms and the plane isn’t appearing on any radars.”

His mind went instantly to another ship that had vanished off of any and all radars. A ship they had thought had disappeared for good but was potentially somewhere in deep, deep space. 

“Sabotage?” He asked, looking between the two holograms, “Gaat?”

John shrugged, “Could be. Do we call Kyrano in?”

The father was only upstairs, having a few hours to himself before he flew out to Sydney to meet his daughter. Scott knew they had to tell him, he would want to know, want to be involved. 

“Fill him in.” Scott nodded to John. 

“Do not worry, I’ve heard all I need Scott.”

He turned at the voice of the older man, pursing his lips as he nodded to him, “We need to launch.”

“Virgil and Gordon are on their way up,” Ridley filled them in, “Val is rerouting from LA.”

It was hard not to pout at the thought of his aunt flying his ship. 

“I shall take Thunderbird Shadow, Thunderbird Five sent predicted coordinates for Fireflash.”

“F.A.B.” John nodded as Kyrano took the seat for his daughter’s Thunderbird. Scott didn’t need to say more as he pressed the button to deploy the chute, sending Kyrano down into the belly of their home.

“Scott?” Virgil announced his and Gordon’s arrival, “Ridley said that Kay’s flight had vanished?”

Jerking his head towards Two’s chute, Scott took a breath, not sure when Virgil had taken to shortening their sisters nickname. 

“We’ll fill you in en-route.”

Virgil shot off without further question, leaving Gordon watching Scott with wide eyes. Spreading his hands he raised an eyebrow in question.

“We can’t lose her too.”

He didn’t disagree, “Go. We’ll find her.”

***

She had to be grateful for the small things. At least she had managed to unmask the ship and her brothers were on their way.  At least she had managed to land a good few hits on Gaat. At least her father had turned up before Gaat could get away. 

The conversation had been terse, both men holding on to so much hatred and anger for so many things. 

“You’re lucky he turned up Tanusha,” Gaat grinned, backed into a corner but still watching them, still all too satisfied, “Someone capable of landing this plane, it’s just a shame you don’t have any landing gear, or fuel.”

The words were designed to sting, she knew he was simply trying to get to her in the only way he knew how. Even if the man that had spoken was someone she hated, somehow it still hurt.

“Tanusha get to the cockpit,” Her father ordered, eyes fixed on his half-brother. 

She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t trust her Uncle enough to leave. 

“Kayo.” Her father snapped, “The people on this plane need you.”

“Her?” Gaat scoffed. 

Determination set in. She had to prove him wrong. 

Fuel was leaking, the plane dropping. There wasn’t time to waste arguing. She just had to prove herself, prove to Gaat that she was every bit as capable as anyone else. 

She could only thank whatever deity that was listening that there was a landing strip close enough. It was almost too convenient for her liking. Was it another part of Gaat’s plan? Were they all walking into some sort of trap?

Her focus should have been on the landing, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to what was taking her father so long. Worst case scenarios came to mind, decompression, Gaat turning out the stronger of the two men, heavy cargo being flung about and causing more damage. 

They had only a single wheel deployed and a belly full of fuel. Gaat had been right; she couldn’t land, not even with her abilities as a pilot. 

Suggestions of pods rigged to act as landing gear, shot down by Brains insisting the plane was too heavy and would crush them. Their only hope was to manually deploy the landing gear manually, but there was nobody else around to pilot, her father still hadn’t appeared. 

Virgil was frantic over the comm but she had to ignore it. Had to ignore the guilt and fear that was gnawing, had to push down the thoughts of what happened next if they didn’t find a solution and fast. 

“How much too heavy, Brains?” Ridley was asking, virtually her whole extended family on the comm. 

His answer was missed, blocked out by Scott’s exclamation of the escape pod being ejected, its occupant unclear. 

The fuel was gone, only enough left to line herself back up with the landing strip and pray for the best. There wasn’t time to think about her father, no matter how much she wished she could run and find him, make sure he was safe. 

Thunderbird Shadow was still docked to Fireflash, an escape for her and only her that Virgil and Scott were insisting she took. That wasn’t what International Rescue did though, she knew she couldn’t take the easy way out, not with a plane full of passengers. 

“We can use the Pods and Thunderbird Two, that should hold enough weight off to allow the pods to not be crushed.” Val stated, cutting Kayo off as she opened her mouth to begin goodbyes. 

It was a long shot. She wasn’t sure if she breathed at all in the moments that followed, the fastest deployment of the two pods she thought she had ever seen as the runway came back into view. 

“Hold on Kay,” Virgil bit out as the cables attached to the hull of her ship with four metallic thuds. 

She felt the jolt as he pulled back, Thunderbird Two taking some of the weight, holding her back from the landing that would have killed her. There was little more for her to do, other than go through the motions she knew by heart to get the plane down. 

Another lurch as contact was made with the pods, a low rumble through the whole ship and a surge of power from Thunderbird Two holding on tight. 

She didn’t quite believe it had worked until the scenery around her stopped scrolling past. Engines powered down, the grapples disengaged, they’d done it. Fireflash had landed. 

Up and out of the pilot's seat before she’d even thought about it properly, Kayo found herself moving through the cabin, returning to the cargo hold. She needed her father. 

“Papa?” She gasped as she reached the bottom of the steps, spotting his figure sprawled near to where the escape pod had been. 

He groaned, shifting where he lay, twisting on to his back as she reached him. She could see he was hurt, a deep cut in his hairline still oozing blood. Being her father though, she expected the smile he gave her, trying to reassure that all was well even as a hand went to his side. 

“You’re hurt.” She murmured, peeling his collar from his neck and wincing at the red welt there. Anger bubbled at the recognition of what it must have been from, she had seen the device in her uncle’s hand spark. 

“I will murder Gaat.”

 He tutted as he reached out to her, a frown on his face, “‘nusha, you will leave that to me.”

She might have argued, might have insisted that she could take him on simply with the anger that was coursing through her veins. Except there was fear in her father's eyes, concern that maybe she would actually seek out the man that was their only living flesh and blood. They had lost her mother to the man, and for that neither had ever forgiven him. She refused to lose her father to him also.

The thought hit her like a tonne of bricks, as her father shook his head, begged her to promise not to go after him

Her father couldn’t lose her to him either.

“Kay!” Virgil broke the tableau as he jogged down the steps to crouch at her side, “Are you alright?”

His hand went to the graze on her arm, that she had stopped noticing as soon as it had happened. One of the crates brushing past her with its sharp edges during her fight with Gaat. She could feel his eyes scanning her, looking for anything that he needed to be more concerned about, even as she shook her head. 

“I’m fine Virgil,” She murmured, forcing a smile as she touched his arm, “It’s my father I’m worried about.”

She was all too aware of him watching them both, eyes no doubt seeing much more than their words let on. Her father always saw more than she wanted him to. 

And as naturally as any father, he waved his hand, “A mild concussion and a small electrical burn, I doubt I will die.”

Virgil still had his eyes on her, frowning deeply, “You both almost did. If Aunt Val hadn't--”

“He is right ‘nusha.” Her father raised an eyebrow, “We came too close today.”

The anger boiled again in her chest, they didn’t need to remind her. She had known exactly how close it had been, she had watched as the ground came up before the plan too fast and too close. If she had been more careful, if she’d have fought more cautiously they never would have damaged the controls, if she hadn’t have started throwing around cargo they never would have damaged the fuel line. 

Lashing out was the worst possible thing she could do, and there was no bedroom for her to run away to. 

But there was Thunderbird Shadow. 

She could--

“Kay,” Virgil’s hand on her shoulder stopped her before she could stand, “It’s okay.”

Except it wasn’t okay. Her uncle had tried to kill her and her father. He had failed that time, but what was to stop him from trying again? How would she manage to stop him next time? What if she couldn’t?

She had almost died and had never even had her chance to say so much. What about Virgil? Did he realise how badly she had fallen for him? What would he have done if the worst had happened?

None of it was okay. 

She couldn’t cry in front of him. 

“I need to go.” She whispered, screwing her eyes shut for fear of her tears showing. 

“I’m sure you could catch a lift with Thunderbird One.” Her father suggested, voice making it sound more like an order than an offer. She wasn’t allowed to fly Shadow home, her father knew her too well, knew the chances of her going AWOL.

It was better than hanging around and fighting her tears though, she told herself, and she could talk to Val. She would understand. 

“We’ll see you at home.” Virgil murmured, eyes still full of concern as she stood without another word and left, doing the best she could to leave the memory of her uncle in the gut of the plane.

[girls-scenarios]

List 1, Prompt 6. Red Velvets Irene(A), Reader(B). She accidentally makes you float.

Red Velvet’s Irene / Halloween Prompts

6. Person A accidentally charms Person B and now had to figure out how to reverse the spell

Admin Kiwi

Irene had been a witch for twenty-eight whole years. Her entire life had been spent learning to control and use her powers. She hadn’t made a mistake since she was a high school student trying to dye her own hair. And yet there she was at twenty-eight, stuck in an unbelievable situation.

Was this because it was Halloween? Was this what she got for bringing a friend she secretly liked back to her place? Did the universe just hate her?

“Um,” you squeaked, flailing as your face came close to the ceiling. Your eyes were comically wide, and you looked like you were contemplating your reality. Which you probably were, considering that you were now floating in her living room because she’d accidentally muttered the wrong spell while making sure her makeup still looked good. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t panic,” she said, panicking herself, her heartbeat picking up as she racked her brain for possible solutions. She’d somehow mixed up the spell for levitation with the spell she usually used to make her blush brighter, and she had no idea how to reverse this. “But, uh, you might be stuck up there for a bit.”

“How is this happening?” Your voice was airy, and she watched as you pinched your arm. Yeah, you were definitely in shock. But this was kind of your fault anyway. She’d been so nervous and aware of your presence that she hadn’t been paying attention, and now she was stuck in this situation.

“Long story short, I’m a witch and I just messed up and I don’t know how to get you down.”

“You’re a witch? Wait, magic is real?”

“Yes and yes. Any more questions?”

“So many. Am I dreaming?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Oh.” You looked faint, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. If you fainted, she might be able to fix this and convince you it was all a dream.

“No, I shouldn’t be wishing for them to faint.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” She put her hands on her head, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to think. What could she even do? She had a spell book, somewhere, but that would take forever. Google? But that probably wouldn’t work. Actually, it wouldn’t. What was she even thinking? She could call her mom. But then she’d get scolded and she didn’t want that. Letting out a sigh, she shook her head. “I’m going to look for my spell book, try to take deep breaths and relax!”

“That’s gonna take a lot,” you said, but she was already running towards her bedroom, cursing herself internally. Now, if she could just find that stupid book….

Thankfully, it was where everything that goes missing ends up: under the bed. After dusting it off, she ran back into the living room, where you’d somehow managed to get the hang of floating and were now sprawled out like you were just laying on the floor. Except you were feet away from the ground and hanging mid-air.

“You know, this is kind of comfortable.”

“Stay with me, (Y/N)!” She ran over to your side and grabbed your arm, pulling you down until you were floating in front of her. Raising your eyebrows, you looked down at the book.

“What’s that?”

“My spell book. I haven’t used it in ages because I should know my spells by now, but apparently I mess things up when I get nervous.”

“Wait, you were nervous? Why?”

“Anyway!” She flipped through the pages until she landed on the one she wanted: levitation. “Great, there’s a reverse code. I can get you down from there now.”

“It’s really not that bad, once you get used to it.” You shrugged when she looked at you weirdly. “What? Once I got over the fact that someone I know is a witch and that magic was real, it was kind of cool.”

“I’m going to undo the spell before you start going crazy.”

“I’m being for real!”

She tugged you over to the couch, making sure you were situated over it correctly before clearing her throat. She couldn’t mess this up. Taking a deep breath, she muttered the spell, and immediately, you flopped down onto the couch, letting out a little squeak.

“Is…. Is that it?”

“That’s it,” she said, closing her book and slumping onto the couch beside you as she let out a sigh of relief. “You’re no longer enchanted. I fixed it.”

“Great. Cool. Awesome.” You patted the couch. “I’ll never take gravity for granted again.”

Your words made her laugh. “Sorry about all that.”

“No, it’s cool! I mean, my mind is blown, but it’s cool! Hey, do you have a pointy hat?”

“No.”

“Do you ride a broom?”

“I mean, I could if I wanted to, but why would I do that?”

“They do it in Harry Potter!”

“Real life isn’t a Harry Potter movie,” she said, shaking her head, amused. “I get around by walking and driving like everyone else. Except I charm the bus seats clean.”

“That’s a good idea, actually.” You paused for a moment. “Do witches have to wear, like, robes and stuff? I mean, all the witches on TV and stuff wear certain clothes.”

“Alright.” Irene pulled out her wand, which she always kept shrank down in her pocket, just in case. “Twenty questions is over. I’m going to have to erase your memory now.”

“Wait!” You threw up your hands and she stalled, eyebrows raised. “Do you have to?”

“I’m supposed to.”

“I don’t want my memories erased,” you said, reaching over to grab one of her hands, and she could feel her face heating up. Oh right. She’d brought you over in hopes that she’d be able to confess. She’d almost forgotten. “I felt like I was finally getting closer to you.”

“W-what does that mean?”

“I mean.” You rubbed the back of your neck. “I want to know all about you, Irene. I think you’re really pretty and cool, and finding out you’re a witch only makes me want to get closer to you more.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah. I like you, Irene. I understand if you have to erase my memories to adhere to a code or whatever.” You gave her a sad smile, and she almost melted right then and there. “But I want you to know that I’m not scared of you. And I don’t want to forget.”

She bit her lip and looked down at her wand. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to let anyone other than serious partners and very close friends in on her secret. But with the way things were going…. She could ignore those rules for now.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Please.”

“I don’t want you to forget either.”

[bi-writes]

remember me (ii) — tom holland

just for tonight → remember me

not my gif

category: highly-requested extension summary: “Having some part of him, having some memory of him, would be better than not having him at all.” warnings: mature language, lots of angst, fluff, heartache (im a monster, im sorry)

masterlist

You didn’t hate anybody. You couldn’t. Your heart was too big to hate anyone, too heavy to ever waste the energy on an individual. But that didn’t mean you didn’t hate other things.

You hated dinner. When you would sit by yourself at your kitchen counter, eating leftovers from the day before, wondering how long the silence would continue. You hated late nights. When you would lay in bed staring at the ceiling, in a bed much too big, wondering why it was so cold. You hated yourself; you felt it the most when you laid down in the foyer of your apartment months ago in tears, your head in your hands as you asked yourself why you fell in love.

If you ever told your story, you knew they would tell you that you were stupid. That you were in love with someone that was in love with you, that you wanted someone that wanted you, that you were someone’s first phone call and last thought. They would tell you that you shouldn’t complain. But then you would have to remind them that you weren’t in love with just anyone; you were in love with an actor, with a celebrity, with not just a someone but a somebody.

You were in love with someone that was always halfway across the world. You were in love with someone that was always awake when you were asleep, asleep when you were awake, living life while you were only starting yours, becoming a star while you stayed in the audience. 

It was only a matter of time before the tension between you and him bubbled to the surface. And neither of you had expected it to go so terribly, utterly, horribly wrong.

youre avoiding me.

You blinked, reading over the jumble of numbers that you recognized much too quickly to your liking.

you changed your number. i think you are.

Your heart swelled. 

i wont stop calling. might as well just reply to me now. 

You shoved your phone to the end of the table. It slid against the wood, stopping just before the edge. Just like your breath, much like your sanity.

fuck, please talk to me. if you dont want to talk about it, fine. but tell me youre okay. just tell me youre okay.

You were not okay. You would not lie; not anymore. 

You hadn’t worn those heels in forever. You stuck them in the back of your closet. You never wanted to see them again. You never wanted to be reminded of him again. That beautiful satin dress was in a box, somewhere above your head, hidden between old dance costumes and musical trophies. You never wanted to be reminded of him again.

You were looking at those heels again. Not in your hands, not in your feet, but on your computer screen. Sitting at your desk, the clock counting down the minutes until you were able to leave, you were scrolling through news sites when your eye caught those familiar heels. When you scrolled back up the page, your breath was hitched in your throat. 

It was a picture of you and him at the event he had invited you to; in the satin dress and heels, his arm around you, his eyes not on the cameras but on you. You were looking straight ahead, your smile a lovely one, but he was simply looking at you. 

“These are for you,” a voice said behind you. You were about to swivel in your chair before an array of colors were placed in front of you. A bouquet of beautiful, lively red roses sat on your desk now. A few of your coworkers were peeking over your shoulder, their faces curious as your skin turned a darker color in embarrassment. You slipped the note off the bouquet, opening the card.

please talk to me. even if all you have to say is “i hate you.”

You were watching TV when your phone began ringing. The same crime show you loved to watch, the same detectives you’d come to adore, a different story to get you entranced and interested and shocked all in a single hour. When you had finally looked at your phone, you realized your phone hadn’t been ringing at all; it was your notifications.

You blinked a few times as your phone continued to vibrate and sound in your hands. You opened it quickly, only to be welcomed with a single picture on social media. You, your hair lovely just above your shoulders, your smile on display, and Tom, his lips on your cheek and his curls in every direction. You didn’t even remember taking the picture, but just the moment itself he had captured made tears well up in your eyes.

Sometimes it didn’t matter what you and Tom were. Sometimes putting a label on something so pure was just so difficult. Sometimes it was easier just for you to be you, for Tom to be Tom, and for time just to be still. It’s what made pictures of you and him, photos of moments captured like the one he posted, so incredibly special. It was easy to be together for just a second.

You didn’t even realize your hands were shaking until you found it difficult to read the caption. When you finally calmed your senses, you let out a struggled breath as you read it.

such a long way from home

His words would haunt you for the rest of your life. The clock moved, the days grew longer, the nights became restless, and his words were dragging on in your head as clear as the night he said them to you.

“If I give you tonight, darling, you’ll want tomorrow.”

Did he not understand that you didn’t give a damn? Did he not understand that it didn’t matter how long you would have him? Did he not understand that you just wanted to be in love, for however long he would allow you to be?

You had to realize that Tom did want to give you it all. He wanted nothing more than to hold you up high and give you the absolute world. He wanted nothing more than to give you everything you desired. 

But when someone gives a gift, they don’t expect to receive it back. When someone gives you flowers, they expect you to admire them, put them in a vase on your desk. When someone gives you a new jacket, they expect you to wear it. When someone gives you precious jewels, you show them off, hold them close to your heart, appreciate them.

When someone gives you a gift, they don’t expect to get it back.

Tom was too afraid to give you his heart. Because when morning came, when the sunlight came through and put a light on you more beautiful than any studio light ever could, he would have to take it back. He would have to take it back, he would have to leave, and to dangle something so precious in front of your eyes would be betrayal in his own. 

You would have to convince him that even one night of him would be enough. Having some part of him, having some memory of him, would be better than not having him at all. 

You were wearing the satin dress again. You fixed it so it was a shorter length, appropriate for the night scene you were about to encounter. You clutched a small handbag and your dignity. You were prepared to lose it tonight; you were prepared to lose everything for what you wanted.

You were the only thing on his mind when he noticed you. He thought the familiar figure of you was just his thoughts coming to life, the alcohol having too much effect on his brain. But no, you were real, and you were still so beautiful. He almost couldn’t breathe when he noticed the dress you were wearing. He had missed it so dearly.

Tom was not the only man that noticed your aura. As soon as you sat yourself at the bar, your dress had scored you a few free drinks. You had a smile on your face; a knowing smile as you declined them all, except from the man on the other side of the counter. Except from the man who had his hands too tightly wound on his glass, expect from the man who had stolen your heart a long time ago. A free drink was long overdue.

“Am I seeing things?” Tom said softly. His best friend, Harrison, turned his head from the conversation he was having. 

“What are you goin’ on about?”

“She’s...she’s here,” Tom breathed, swallowing hard as he watched your drink being passed to you. “God, s-she...she looks fucking unbelievable.”

Harrison followed Tom’s gaze until his eyes fell on you. When he noticed you sipping by yourself, his expression softened. 

“Mate, I...I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but we talked about this,” he reminded him. Tom shrugged his shoulders, as if he was oblivious. He certainly was; his gaze never left you. “You said it was over. You said...you said that this was over. That you weren’t being fair to her, that...that it was over.”

“Well, that was before she fucking showed up here,” Tom struggled to speak. He was remembering the last night he had left you. When it took every ounce of strength he had to leave you crying at your doorstep, when it took every piece of sanity he had to not give into his desires and just kiss you.

Your figure gave him every flashback of nostalgia, every memory of you going through him. It reminded him why he fell in love in the first place. It reminded him how dangerous you really were to his heart.

He would not come up to you for the rest of the night. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, if it was guilt, if it was just the sight of you that kept him from moving from his spot. You came alone, but you were never alone. Many came to speak to you, many came to offer to refill your glass, and you always politely said no. There was only one person you came to speak to, only one person that could fill your glass permanently. He was staring at you, but he wasn’t moving.

Neither of you were ready to break your pride. Neither of you were truly ready to let go of what little ego you had left and just speak to one another. It was many rounds later, many shots downed, before you figured it was time to go. In your head, it was Tom that had rejected you, and there was no need to pursue him any longer.

Every since that special night, you and him had grown apart. Partly from the sting of rejection, partly because you and him were on two different paths of life. You, wanting to stay grounded where you were to become successful. Him, never being home for long before he was in the sky again. As Tom watched you leave, he realized that it might’ve been his last chance to truly speak to you. 

The mere thought had him running with his tab still open. 

You were just to the end of the block when you heard your name being called. You took a last look at your feet before stopping your walk, turning. Tom was jogging to your spot on the sidewalk. He swallowed hard as he neared you. Seeing you up close already had his heart beating quicker than normal.

“(y/n), I...”

You blinked a few times absentmindedly, taking a deep breath. You gave him a tightlipped smile. 

“H-Hi, Tom,” you said softly. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, biting his lip as you noticed him look you up and down. You smiled sheepishly at the ground. You knew the dress would have an effect on him, but now he was making you feel giddy all over again. “Remember me?”

“O-Of course I remember you, darling,” he breathed, shoving his hands into his pockets. You looked up at him, finally meeting his eyes. He was looking at you with some sort of guilt, and you hated seeing him so discontent. You hated being so discontent. “You...you haven’t been returning my calls, I...”

“Yeah, I...” You started, squeezing your eyes shut. “I just...I didn’t really know what to say to you, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, please...please don’t apologize,” Tom laughed nervously. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, reaching out and pulling you into his chest. You breathed a sigh of relief you didn’t realize you needed to let go of. Just the whiff of his homelike scent had you breathing softer, calmer. “You don’t know how much I miss you.”

“I know, I saw your post,” you giggled. “And the flowers. They were beautiful.”

“O-Oh, I almost forgot about those,” Tom replied, smiling as you pulled away from his arms. He led you to the edge of the street, where an empty bench was almost waiting for the both of you to sit. “I...I just didn’t want to lose one of my good friends over something so sudden.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, a sour expression threatening to cross your features. Tom let out a sigh. There was a comfortable silence that you knew would not last for long. Everything would have to come out tonight. All your concerns, every doubt, all your feelings, would have to be spread out on the table tonight. It couldn’t wait any longer.

“Tom...we haven’t talked in a long while,” you began. “Which is kind of my fault, but...I-I gotta be honest, it’s not the first time we’ve gone so long without talking.”

“Yeah, yeah...I know.”

“Tom, I...” You took a deep breath, looking up from your hands. As soon as you moved, Tom tilted his head so he could meet your eyes. “I love you.”

He swallowed hard again. He wondered if it was the vocalization of your feelings that made him feel lighthearted or if it was the alcohol.

“I love you, Tom, and I’m not—I’m not sorry.”

His expression hardened. He moved one of his hands towards you, taking it in his and squeezing it softly. 

“I don’t want to have this conversation again,” Tom admitted. His voice was low and gentle, shaking almost. You intertwined your fingers, rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand. You were on the verge of crying, so you sucked in a labored breath as you studied your hands.

“Tom, I’ve waited for you,” your voice was shaking nervously, angrily, “I-I’ve waited for you for so fucking long. I-I can’t stand these stupid games that we play with each other.”

“These aren’t games, this is...our life.”

“No, they’re fucking games,” you disagreed, your voice becoming harsher by the second. Tom looked away from you, to the street. “They’re games that you play with me, and I can’t take it anymore. You ask me out, you show me a good time, you play with me, and then you leave.”

“You’re my best friend, (y/n),” he argued. “O-Of course I’m going to take you to events with me when I can. I-I want to share my life with you, I want to take you with me.”

“You drag me around with you, like I’m your...something,” you explained. “You show me off, like I’m something more to you, and then you just...go.”

Tom pulled your hand into his lap, licking his lips as he stroked your skin soft. He brought it up, kissing it before meeting your eyes. At this, your tears came down your face slow. Not crying, not sobbing, just watching him with a sadness and a heaviness that you were afraid of. 

“All I asked for was one night, Tom,” you breathed, sniffling. “J-Just one. I just wanted you for one night, b-but that was too much. I-It was too much...too much of me to ask of you.”

Tom reached over with his free hand, swiping his thumb across your cheeks to wipe away your tears. As soon as he cleared you of your cries, there were more. Too many for him to collect on one finger, and eventually he resorted to holding your face soft in his palms. You leaned into him, trying to hide the disappointment written everywhere on you.

Tom gazed at you with a sorry he could never say. He looked at you with a love he knew he could never give you. He stared at you with every promise he could never keep, with every ounce of pity he always had within him. His pride and joy in the palm of his hand, and he knew he could never have her. 

Neither him nor you would admit the heaviness of your hearts. With the way things were going, both of you knew this might be the last time you saw each other. You were trying to make something of yourself, and Tom was always doing something bigger and better each day. You were taking the stairs, and he was riding the elevator. You would never reach the top at the same time.

“You’re just going to leave again, aren’t you?” You whimpered. Tom struggled to maintain his composure as you continued to cry. You let them fall gently, reaching his palm slowly. Tom nodded his head reluctantly.

“’s not because I want to, you know that,” he tried. You shook your head, not wanting to hear any excuses or reasons or explanations. It was plain and simple to you; Tom would never be near you for too long, he would always be going. 

“C-Can you promise me something?” You asked. Tom swallowed, biting his lip nervously. He didn’t want to make you promises anymore. He didn’t want to assure you of a request that would never be fulfilled.

“What is it?”

“If you’re going to leave,” you whispered, opening your eyes. You made sure your eyes were on his. There was a brokenness in his irises that you hadn’t really seen before. “I-If you’re going to leave...p-please, Tommy...please don’t come back.”

Tom cupped the back of your neck, pulling you close. Before you could say anything, he was kissing you. You wanted to pull away and argue, but it was the most enticing feeling in the world. Your heart was swelling with something beautiful, and you were falling into something deep. You wanted to say you were falling into oblivion, into obscurity, into something with more depth than the dark. You wanted to say that, but the gravity of it all too overwhelming to measure in words.

You whimpered as he dragged you closer, his hand leaving yours so he could put it around your waist. Your hand slid up to grasp onto the fabric of his shirt, your heart so heavy it felt as if it would drop right into your stomach. You parted your lips for air, and Tom simply tilted his head to kiss you deeper. 

His kisses were the sweetest. As the moments passed, you were losing yourself in simply him. You could only focus on the grip he had around your waist, his breath that lingered on yours, his lips that were beginning to swell as he kissed you with a gentleness you couldn’t describe. He was holding you so delicately, loving you with a warmth you knew you would never forget.

You pulled away slowly, reluctantly, hesitantly. Your eyes were still closed. Tom rested his forehead against yours, his breath almost sporadic as he licked the wetness of his lips. He wanted to remember exactly how you tasted, exactly how you looked. It was too perfect not to commit to memory.

“I will always love you, darling,” Tom whispered. His voice was breaking as he spoke, and you let out the quietest sob. Tom held you closer. He broke his own rule by giving you a kiss, but he knew he couldn’t help himself any longer. “I will always love you...so much.”

Tom moved so he could cup both your cheeks in his hands. You reached up to place both your hands over his, kissing his palms as he looked down at you in every way you wanted him to.

“Can we just sit here a little longer?” You sniffled, closing your eyes as more tears gathered in his palms. Tom leaned forward to kiss you again.

“Until the sun comes up, darling.”

You smiled to yourself a little. Because finally, for once, he was letting you have him for the night. He was giving you his heart for a few hours, just to take it back again when he would leave. You let yourself sink into the blissfulness of it all, even knowing how much it would hurt to never feel it again.

Having some part of him, having some memory of him, would be better than not having him at all.

You knew you would savor every passing minute of the night. You knew you would memorize the number of stars in the sky, the colors of the cars parked in front of you, the name of the last drink he bought you. You knew you would remember exactly what he was wearing, exactly what you were wearing, how familiar he smelled, how wonderful his kisses had truly been. You would not forget a single detail.

“How will you remember me, love?”

You leaned into him, your eyes still shut.

“Like you are right now,” you breathed, smiling. Tom nuzzled his nose against yours, letting out a defeated sigh. “Someday, I’ll say I fell in love with someone. Someone that I couldn’t have. Someone that couldn’t have me.”

He laughed a little, kissing you again. You let him swallow your words, drink in your appearance so he could play this movie on repeat for the rest of his life. You hoped he would. 

“And I’ll remember you,” he whispered, “just like you are right now. And one day, darling, I will say that I fell in love with someone. Someone that...deserved more. Someone that deserved the absolute world from me. And I will tell them that my biggest fucking regret in life was never giving it to her.”

You let out a breath, wanting to cry again. Tom hushed you quickly. He kissed you soft, so lovingly you thought your heart might wither from the weakness inside of you. You whimpered as he whispered, “I love you,” between breaths, “I’ll miss you,” before kisses, “always you,” between tears.

“I promise that it’s always been you. It just can’t be.”

And just as he pulled away, the sun came up.

taglist: @tohollandback @lukescool @aussie-mantle @laughingismydrug @royal1958 @curiouspeterparker @spidey-schxyler @kingstomholland @the-crime-fighting-spider @positivethoughtsforever @wowspideyholland @queensholland @wtfholland

tagging those who commented: @djpaige13paige @spiderllandtrash @jamiemac26 @loverholland @thingsienjoylookingat @panicatttckiss @ashleykh

[dirtyfilthy]

Pack the bong with fireworks, blow your face away

Generally speaking, my mind expands to fill all the drugs available. Ah, but not you ketamine, my wretched little red headed step child. You can go live with your mother, and  I don’t want to hear from you until the next court appointed visitation.

Unfortunately for me the same wasn’t true for the gram of amphetamine that was burning a hole in my pocket, then my nostril. And so of course I had try using it rectally, and man….. I was waaaaay too high. Like: compulsively jacking off for twelve hours / avoiding saying anything at mandatory zoom meetings while keeping my camera turned off / dodging colleague & co-worker / feeling like a fried egg in a “this is your brain on drugs” advertisement / scorchingly, motherfuckingly HIGH.

Jesus Christ, I knew boofing it avoided first-pass metabolism, I just didn’t think it would make such a big difference.

One interesting side effect of this was I went a full 14 hours without dosing any opium. In the ordinary course of things, while I wouldn’t be in the full pits of withdrawals after 14 hours, I would most definitely be feeling out of sorts. Instead, didn’t even fucking notice.

Figured “why look a meth horse in the mouth?” and used the opportunity to cut my dose for today by 25%. This is whole idea of the ketamine, so I can stop using opium as an anti-depressant. Cos I know the roller-coaster always twists the same way. Kicking ain’t that difficult. It’s what inevitably happens afterwards. the punch-in-the-guts of existential loneliness,  then, a quantum koan.

Student says to the Master: “Master, I feel absolutely unlovable at the very atomic core of my being. What can I do?”

Master says to Student: “All matter is an illusion. Consider, there are no atoms. In reality you are unlovable at the level of quantum foam, in reality, you are an indivisible,  unlovable one-ness with no beginning or end.... Now go and start making me my dinner you worthless sack of shit and for goddsake stop fucking moping for a minute.”  

Upon hearing this, suddenly the Student was / was not enlightened.

I have this dry wry internal voice telling me (like a crypt door creaking open):  “go ahead kid, admit it, nothing is ever going to change so you may as well go throw yourself over your balcony. Aw kid, whattsamatta? — are you scared of heights? Well then, in that case, as your lawyer I recommend that you order a gram of heroin on the dark web and then just down the whole lot. That’s right. Everything at once, at the same time, in one go. It’s easy: all you need to do is push the boat out from the pier a little bit— & from that point on, it’s smooth sailing”

He looks at me, grinning madly. I’m beginning to think it’s the only expression he knows how to make.

“No need to turn off the lights when you leave, kid. These are the kind of candles that will snuff out themselves”

Fuck off death breath, you plastic old carnival skeleton.. Not yet. NOT YET. You’re trying to cash out insurance policies for psychic real estate you simply don’t hold the deeds for. “Nice place you got here” — I can hear you chuckling as you light a cigarette, then hold up the still flaming match at eye height afterwards — “be a real shame if it all burned down, folks can get so careless”

I say: shut your goddamn mouth, skull features! Before I turn you into some kind of smoking accessory & start packing weed into your empty eye sockets. Before I donate you to some kind of charity for needy goth kids, or worse, slip you in a Halloween store sale, sometime after October.

Who cares for you? You’re nothing but a pack of cards.

& you’re nothing but a pile of old bones. I’ve seen you at the cross roads when I went there to meet the Devil, came to do a little horse trading, and maybe swap myself a tall tale for some old soul or two; So I know that you know at least how to whistle to the one single note of your own leitmotif: , & hell, you may even know how to dance to it— especially when that old gallows wind from the West comes calling. 

You don’t like dancing. —I get it! You are lazy, and everything aches when you move.. But when that cold old wind comes calling, all groaning  and moaning like a dead man with insomnia seeing yet another unwelcome morning sunrise,   - a dead man who can’t seem to get any of the forty winks he feels that are owed to him, because he hasn’t slept for an entire century,  and so he groans with all the horrible weight of those endless years of bad debit & compound bitterness (you see: he was promised “a well earned rest”, it would be “like sleep” they said,  you’re going to get “a good long sleep, sweet sleep without dreams”, but now everything just feels a constant, crushing nightmare & however much he tosses and turns and rots in his coffin he still remains conscious, & sleep never seems to come). 

So when the wind runs up, coming at a full gallop with a groan rising in the back of its’ throat like a hurricane of pain, it’s hooves striking lightning,  the tongue of the storm cracking and crackling and attacking at random, like the snap of some terrible whip laying about itself with absolutely no regard for friend or foe or favourite, spitting out curses in ancient Enochian, the teeth of the ocean gurning and chewing on the lips of the shoreline -- this being no lovers kiss, not gentle at all but gleeful, with a kind of savage cannibalism, just straight up biting out whole bloody chunks of the cheeks of the beach and casually peeling open the hulls of great sailing ships like the shells of so many pistachos, when that very wind starts to shake your gibbet like a rattle and then begins to play xylophone with your rib bones

Dance! dance! dance me a pretty jig, oh my darling!

But I know this truth too: that old show tune you like to sing does not exactly ring melodious to living ear-drums. The song of Death is just so completely, utterly, monstrously monotonous.. Plainly, considered simply as a song to tap your toes to, it basically totally sucks. To those of us with ears to hear, Death sounds a lot like the village idiot, just mindlessly humming the same single, boring, utterly unremarkable note, over and over to Himself, in no particular time signature, forever to eternity. But the great tragedy of Death is that he honestly thinks he can sing real sweetly.  Utilising those far better acoustics that always seem to exist within the walls of our own heads, Death believes he sounds like the mythical siren, luring us out on to the ocean, only to dash ourselves onto the rocks in search of his irresistible music. But the truth is, we just want that fucking humming to stop, and we’re willing to risk a shipwreck to get it over with.

He also thinks that thing he does with his jaws is a smile.

You see: we are still things with skin, and so we haven’t forgotten yet that to smile & smile genuinely involves the involuntary movement of muscles, it also  invokes a certain twinkling in the corner of the eye, with a judicious pinch of pixie dust (this, despite being a completely imaginary ingredient,  is, none-the-less, entirely indispensable for proper operation).

A real smile is something you can’t fake. It mints it’s own certificate of authenticity, emits it’s own hologram,, and any attempt at counterfeit is immediately obvious.  Sadly, a fake is simply tasteless. A fake smile is not worth even the cheap vinyl skin it’s printed on. A fake smile belongs inside the pocket hell dimension of the “merely bad”, that mediocre & boring category of the not-even-kitsch, a generic garbage pile of cheap plastic crap far too dull to be commented on except in the aggregate. “Take this… and bury it.”

Compare and contrast. A real smile has the kind of articulation that requires REAL animation, rather than just animatronics. You cannot describe a smile as a series of steps to be followed. It’s instinctive, not instructive. It is Art without artifice . .   This is not the image of a fire,  but a real actual fire,  that is really here: burning in a cabin, with a real heat in it, that throws up sparks on occasion, it sends soot up the chimney that will definitely blacken your hands if you touch it. This is  kind of fire that you can come right in if you want and sleep next to and you’ll stay nice & warm & toasty… Here, let me open the door for you.  This is not  “"Ceci n'est pas une pipe” but a pipe you can really blow smoke rings out of, It’s a fact, not a facsimile.  

In comparison, the fixed, empty grin of the skeleton isn’t convincing anyone.

It certainly isn’t convincing me.

SO NOT YET. I swear to you I will NOT go down without a knife fight. Oh trust me, I will crochet my counter-argument in a fine stiletto needlepoint: I will pound my reply into your rib-cage like Martin-Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the false church door  

I REFUTE IT THUS:

[readbookywooks]

Hermione's Secret

"Shocking business... shocking... miracle none of them died... never heard the like... by thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape..." "Thank you, Minister." "Order of Merlin, Second Class, I'd say. First Class, if I can wangle it!" "Thank you very much indeed, Minister." "Nasty cut you've got there... Black's work, I suppose?" "As a matter of fact, it was Potter, Weasley, and Granger, Minister..." "No!" "Black had bewitched them, I saw it immediately. A Confundus Charm, to judge by their behavior. They seemed to think there was a possibility he was innocent. They weren't responsible for their actions. On the other hand, their interference might have permitted Black to escape... They obviously thought they were going to catch Black single-handed. They've got away with a great deal before now... I'm afraid it's given them a rather high opinion of themselves... and of course Potter has always been allowed an extraordinary amount of license by the headmaster --" "Ah, well, Snape... Harry Potter, you know... we've all got a bit of a blind spot where he's concerned." "And yet -- is it good for him to be given so much special treatment? Personally, I try and treat him like any other student. And any other student would be suspended -- at the very least -- for leading his friends into such danger. Consider, Minister -- against all school rules -- after all the precautions put in place for his protection -- out-of-bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer -- and I have reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally too --" "Well, well... we shall see, Snape, we shall see... The boy has undoubtedly been foolish...." Harry lay listening with his eyes tight shut. He felt very groggy. The words he was hearing seemed to be traveling very slowly from his ears to his brain, so that it was difficult to understand.... His limbs felt like lead; his eyelids too heavy to lift.... He wanted to lie here, on this comfortable bed, forever.... "What amazes me most is the behavior of the Dementors... you've really no idea what made them retreat, Snape?" "No, Minister... by the time I had come 'round they were heading back to their positions at the entrances...." "Extraordinary. And yet Black, and Harry, and the girl --" "All unconscious by the time I reached them. I bound and gagged Black, naturally, conjured stretchers, and brought them all straight back to the castle." There was a pause. Harry's brain seemed to be moving a little faster, and as it did, a gnawing sensation grew in the pit of his stomach.... He opened his eyes. Everything was slightly blurred. Somebody had removed his glasses. He was lying in the dark hospital wing. At the very end of the ward, he could make out Madam Pomfrey with her back to him, bending over a bed. Harry squinted. Ron's red hair was visible beneath Madam Pomfrey's arm. Harry moved his head over on the pillow. In the bed to his right lay Hermione. Moonlight was falling across her bed. Her eyes were open too. She looked petrified, and when she saw that Harry was awake, pressed a finger to her lips, then pointed to the hospital wing door. It was ajar, and the voices of Cornelius Fudge and Snape were coming through it from the corridor outside. Madam Pomfrey now came walking briskly up the dark ward to Harry's bed. He turned to took at her. She was carrying the largest block of chocolate he had ever seen in his life. It looked like a small boulder. "Ah, you're awake!" she said briskly. She placed the chocolate on Harry's bedside table and began breaking it apart with a small hammer. "How's Ron?" said Harry and Hermione together. "He'll live," said Madam Pomfrey grimly. "As for you two, you'll be staying here until I'm satisfied you're -- Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Harry was sitting up, putting his glasses back on, and picking up his wand. "I need to see the headmaster," he said. "Potter," said Madam Pomfrey soothingly, "it's all right. They've got Black. He's locked away upstairs. The Dementors will be performing the kiss any moment now --" "WHAT?" Harry jumped up out of bed; Hermione had done the same. But his shout had been heard in the corridor outside; next second, Cornelius Fudge and Snape had entered the ward. "Harry, Harry, what's this?" said Fudge, looking agitated. "You should be in bed -- has he had any chocolate?" he asked Madam Pomfrey anxiously. "Minister, listen!" Harry said. "Sirius Black's innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own death! We saw him tonight! You can't let the Dementors do that thing to Sirius, he's --" But Fudge was shaking his head with a small smile on his face. "Harry, Harry, you're very confused, you've been through a dreadful ordeal, lie back down, now, we've got everything under control..." "YOU HAVEN'T!" Harry yelled. "YOU'VE GOT THE WRONG MAN!" "Minister, listen, please," Hermione said; she had hurried to Harry's side and was gazing imploringly into Fudge's face. "I saw him too. It was Ron's rat, he's an Animagus, Pettigrew, I mean, and --" "You see, Minister?" said Snape. "Confunded, both of them... Black's done a very good job on them...." "WE'RE NOT CONFUNDED!" Harry roared. "Minister! Professor!" said Madam Pomfrey angrily. "I must insist that you leave. Potter is my patient, and he should not be distressed!" "I'm not distressed, I'm trying to tell them what happened!" Harry said furiously. "If they'd just listen --" But Madam Pomfrey suddenly stuffed a large chunk of chocolate into Harry"s mouth; he choked, and she seized the opportunity to force him back onto the bed. "Now, please, Minister, these children need care. Please leave." The door opened again. It was Dumbledore. Harry swallowed his mouthful of chocolate with great difficulty and got up again. "Professor Dumbledore, Sirius Black --" "For heaven's sake!" said Madam Pomfrey hysterically. "Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist --" "My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger," said Dumbledore calmly. "I have just been talking to Sirius Black --" "I suppose he's told you the same fairy tale he's planted in Potter's mind?" spat Snape. "Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive --" "That, indeed, is Black's story," said Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon spectacles. "And does my evidence count for nothing?" snarled Snape. "Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds." "That was because you were knocked out, Professor!" said Hermione earnestly. "You didn't arrive in time to hear." "Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" "Now, Snape," said Fudge, startled, "the young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make allowances --" "I would like to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," said Dumbledore abruptly. "Cornelius, Severus, Poppy -- please leave us." "Headmaster!" sputtered Madam Pomfrey. "They need treatment, they need rest --" "This cannot wait," said Dumbledore. "I must insist." Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and strode away into her office at the end of the ward, slamming the door behind her. Fudge consulted the large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat. "The Dementors should have arrived by now," he said. "I'll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I'll see you upstairs." He crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn't moved. "You surely don't believe a word of Black's story?" Snape whispered, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore's face. "I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," Dumbledore repeated. Snape took a step toward Dumbledore. "Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen," he breathed. "You haven't forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven't forgotten that he once tried to kill me?" "My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. Snape turned on his heel and marched through the door Fudge was still holding. It closed behind them, and Dumbledore turned to Harry and Hermione. They both burst into speech at the same time. "Professor, Black's telling the truth -- we saw Pettigrew -- he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf --" "-- he's a rat --" "-- Pettigrew's front paw, I mean, finger, he cut it off --" "-- Pettigrew attacked Ron, it wasn't Sirius --" But Dumbledore held up his hand to stem the flood of explanations. "It is your turn to listen, and I beg you will not interrupt me, because there is very little time," he said quietly. "There is not a shred of proof to support Black's story, except your word -- and the word of two thirteen-year-old wizards will not convince anybody. A street full of eyewitnesses swore they saw Sirius murder Pettigrew. I myself gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper." "Professor Lupin can tell you --" Harry said, unable to stop himself "Professor Lupin is currently deep in the forest, unable to tell anyone anything. By the time he is human again, it will be too late, Sirius will be worse than dead. I might add that werewolves are so mistrusted by most of our kind that his support will count for very little and the fact that he and Sirius are old friends --" "But --" "Listen to me, Harry. It is too late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape's version of events is far more convincing than yours." "He hates Sirius," Hermione said desperately. "All because of some stupid trick Sirius played on him --" "Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. The attack on the Fat Lady -- entering Gryffindor Tower with a knife -- without Pettigrew, alive or dead, we have no chance of overturning Sirius's sentence." "But you believe us." "Yes, I do," said Dumbledore quietly. "But I have no power to make other men see the truth, or to overrule the Minister of Magic...." Harry stared up into the grave face and felt as though the ground beneath him were falling sharply away. He had grown used to the idea that Dumbledore could solve anything. He had expected Dumbledore to pull some amazing solution out of the air. But no ... their last hope was gone. "What we need," said Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes moved from Harry to Hermione, "is more time." "But --" Hermione began. And then her eyes became very round. "OH!" "Now, pay attention," said Dumbledore, speaking very low, and very clearly. "Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick's office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, both of you: you must not be seen. Miss Granger, you know the law -- you know what is at stake...You -- must -- not -- be --seen." Harry didn't have a clue what was going on. Dumbledore had turned on his heel and looked back as he reached the door. "I am going to lock you in. It is --" he consulted his watch, "five minutes to midnight. Miss Granger, three turns should do it. Good luck." "Good luck?" Harry repeated as the door closed behind Dumbledore. "Three turns? What's he talking about? What are we supposed to do?" But Hermione was fumbling with the neck of her robes, pulling from beneath them a very long, very fine gold chain. "Harry, come here," she said urgently. "Quick!" Harry moved toward her, completely bewildered. She was holding the chain out. He saw a tiny, sparkling hourglass hanging from it. "Here --" She had thrown the chain around his neck too. "Ready?" she said breathlessly. "What are we doing?" Harry said, completely lost. Hermione turned the hourglass over three times. The dark ward dissolved. Harry had the sensation that he was flying very fast, backward. A blur of colors and shapes rushed past him, his ears were pounding, he tried to yell but couldn't hear his own voice -- And then he felt solid ground beneath his feet, and everything came into focus again -- He was standing next to Hermione in the deserted entrance hall and a stream of golden sunlight was falling across the paved floor from the open front doors. He looked wildly around at Hermione, the chain of the hourglass cutting into his neck. "Hermione, what --?" "In here!" Hermione seized Harry's arm and dragged him across the hall to the door of a broom closet; she opened it, pushed him inside among the buckets and mops, then slammed the door behind them. "What -- how -- Hermione, what happened?" "We've gone back in time," Hermione whispered, lifting the chain off Harry's neck in the darkness. "Three hours back..." Harry found his own leg and gave it a very hard pinch. It hurt a lot, which seemed to rule out the possibility that he was having a very bizarre dream. "But --" "Shh! Listen! Someone's coming! I think -- I think it might be us!' Hermione had her ear pressed against the cupboard door. "Footsteps across the hall... yes, I think it's us going down to Hagrid's!" "Are you telling me," Harry whispered, "that we're here in this cupboard and we're out there too?" "Yes," said Hermione, her ear still glued to the cupboard door. "I'm sure it's us. It doesn't sound like more than three people... and we're walking slowly because we're under the Invisibility Cloak -- " She broke off, still listening intently. "We've gone down the front steps...." Hermione sat down on an upturned bucket, looking desperately anxious, but Harry wanted a few questions answered. "Where did you get that hourglass thing?" "It's called a Time-Turner," Hermione whispered, "and I got it from Professor McGonagall on our first day back. I've been using it all year to get to all my lessons. Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone. She had to write all sorts of letters to the Ministry of Magic so I could have one. She had to tell them that I was a model student, and that I'd never, ever use it for anything except my studies... I've been turning it back so I could do hours over again, that's how I've been doing several lessons at once, see? But... "Harry, I don't understand what Dumbledore wants us to do. Why did he tell us to go back three hours? How's that going to help Sirius?" Harry stared at her shadowy face. "There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change," he said slowly. "What happened? We were walking down to Hagrid's three hours ago...." "This is three hours ago, and we are walking down to Hagrid's," said Hermione. "We just heard ourselves leaving...." Harry frowned; he felt as though he were screwing up his whole brain in concentration. "Dumbledore just said -- just said we could save more than one innocent life..." And then it hit him. "Hermione, we're going to save Buckbeak!" "But -- how will that help Sirius?" "Dumbledore said -- he just told us where the window is -- the window of Flitwick's office! Where they've got Sirius locked up! We've got to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius! Sirius can escape on Buckbeak -- they can escape together!" From what Harry could see of Hermione's face, she looked terrified. "If we manage that without being seen, it'll be a miracle!" "Well, we've got to try, haven't we?" said Harry. He stood up andvpressed his ear against the door. "Doesn't sound like anyone's there... Come on, let's go." Harry pushed open the closet door. The entrance hall was deserted. As quietly and quickly as they could, they darted out of the closet and down the stone steps. The shadows were already lengthening, the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest gilded once more with gold. "If anyone's looking out of the window --" Hermione squeaked, looking up at the castle behind them. "We'll run for it," said Harry determinedly. "Straight into the forest, all right? We'll have to hide behind a tree or something and keep a lookout --" "Okay, but we'll go around by the greenhouses!' said Hermione breathlessly. "We need to keep out of sight of Hagrid's front door, or we'll see us! We must be nearly at Hagrid's by now!" Still working out what she meant, Harry set off at a sprint, Hermione behind him. They tore across the vegetable gardens to the greenhouses, paused for a moment behind them, then set off again, fast as they could, skirting around the Whomping Willow, tearing toward the shelter of the forest.... Safe in the shadows of the trees, Harry turned around; seconds later, Hermione arrived beside him, panting. "Right," she gasped. "We need to sneak over to Hagrid's.... Keep out of sight, Harry...." They made their way silently through the trees, keeping to the very edge of the forest. Then, as they glimpsed the front of Hagrid's house, they heard a knock upon his door. They moved quickly behind a wide oak trunk and peered out from either side. Hagrid had appeared in his doorway, shaking and white, looking around to see who had knocked. And Harry heard his own voice. "It's us. We're wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off." "Yeh shouldn've come!" Hagrid whispered. He stood back, then shut the door quickly. "This is the weirdest thing we've ever done," Harry said fervently. "Let's move along a bit," Hermione whispered. "We need to get nearer to Buckbeak!" They crept through the trees until they saw the nervous Hippogriff, tethered to the fence around Hagrid's pumpkin patch. "Now?" Harry whispered. "No!" said Hermione. "If we steal him now, those Committee people will think Hagrid set him free! We've got to wait until they've seen he's tied outside!" "That's going to give us about sixty seconds," said Harry. This was starting to seem impossible. At that moment, there was a crash of breaking china from inside Hagrid's cabin. "That's Hagrid breaking the milk jug," Hermione whispered. "I'm going to find Scabbers in a moment --" Sure enough, a few minutes later, they heard Hermione's shriek of surprise. "Hermione," said Harry suddenly, "what if we -- we just run in there and grab Pettigrew --" "No!" said Hermione in a terrified whisper. "Don't you understand? We're breaking one of the most important wizarding laws! Nobody's supposed to change time, nobody! You heard Dumbledore, if we're seen --" "We'd only be seen by ourselves and Hagrid!" "Harry, what do you think you'd do if you saw yourself bursting into Hagrid's house?" said Hermione. "I'd -- I'd think I'd gone mad," said Harry, "or I'd think there was some Dark Magic going on --" "Exactly! You wouldn't understand, you might even attack yourself! Don't you see? Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time... Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!" "Okay!" said Harry. "It was just an idea, I just thought --" But Hermione nudged him and pointed toward the castle. Harry moved his head a few inches to get a clear view of the distant front doors. Dumbledore, Fudge, the old Committee member, and Macnair the executioner were coming down the steps. "We're about to come out!" Hermione breathed. And sure enough, moments later, Hagrid's back door opened, and Harry saw himself, Ron, and Hermione walking out of it with Hagrid. It was, without a doubt, the strangest sensation of his life, standing behind the tree, and watching himself in the pumpkin patch. "It's Okay, Beaky, it's okay..." Hagrid said to Buckbeak. Then he turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Go on. Get goin'." "Hagrid, we can't --" "We'll tell them what really happened --" "They can't kill him --" "Go! It's bad enough without you lot in trouble an' all!" Harry watched the Hermione in the pumpkin patch throw the Invisibility Cloak over him and Ron. "Go quick. Don' listen...." There was a knock on Hagrid's front door. The execution party had arrived. Hagrid turned, around and headed back into his cabin, leaving the back door ajar. Harry watched the grass flatten in patches all around the cabin and heard three pairs of feet retreating. He, Ron, and Hermione had gone... but the Harry and Hermione hidden in the trees could now hear what was happening inside the cabin through the back door. "Where is the beast?" came the cold voice of Macnair. "Out -- outside," Hagrid croaked. Harry pulled his head out of sight as Macnair's face appeared at Hagrid's window, staring out at Buckbeak. Then they heard Fudge. "We -- er -- have to read you the official notice of execution, Hagrid. I'll make it quick. And then you and Macnair need to sign it. Macnair, You're supposed to listen too, that's procedure --" Macnair's face vanished from the window. It was now or never. "Wait here," Harry whispered to Hermione. "I'll do it." As Fudge's voice started again, Harry darted out from behind his tree, vaulted the fence into the pumpkin patch, and approached Buckbeak. "It is the decision of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures that the Hippogriff Buckbeak, hereafter called the condemned, shall he executed on the sixth of June at sundown --" Careful not to blink, Harry stared up into Buckbeak's fierce orange eyes once more and bowed. Buckbeak sank to his scaly knees and then stood up again. Harry began to fumble with the knot of rope tying Buckbeak to the fence. "... sentenced to execution by beheading, to be carried out by the Committee's appointed executioner, Walden Macnair..." "Come on, Buckbeak," Harry murmured, "come on, we're going to help you. Quietly... quietly..." "... as witnessed below. Hagrid, you sign here..." Harry threw all his weight onto the rope, but Buckbeak had dug in his front feet. "Well, let's get this over with," said the reedy voice of the Committee member from inside Hagrid's cabin. "Hagrid, perhaps it will be better if you stay inside --" "No, I -- I wan' ter be with him.... I don' wan' him ter be alone --" Footsteps echoed from within the cabin. "Buckbeak, move!" Harry hissed. Harry tugged harder on the rope around Buckbeak's neck. The Hippogriff began to walk, rustling its wings irritably. They were still ten feet away from the forest, in plain view of Hagrid's back door. "One moment, please, Macnair," came Dumbledore's voice. "You need to sign too." The footsteps stopped. Harry heaved on the rope. Buckbeak snapped his beak and walked a little faster. Hermione's white face was sticking out from behind a tree. "Harry, hurry!" she mouthed. Harry could still hear Dumbledore's voice talking from within the cabin. He gave the rope another wrench. Buckbeak broke into a grudging trot. They had reached the trees.... "Quick! Quick!" Hermione moaned, darting out from behind her tree, seizing the rope too and adding her weight to make Buckbeak move faster. Harry looked over his shoulder; they were now blocked from sight; they couldn't see Hagrid's garden at all. "Stop!" he whispered to Hermione. "They might hear us." Hagrid's back door had opened with a bang. Harry, Hermione, and Buckbeak stood quite still; even the Hippogriff seemed to be listening intently. Silence... then -- "Where is it?" said the reedy voice of the Committee member. "Where is the beast?" "It was tied here!" said the executioner furiously. "I saw it! Just here!" "How extraordinary," said Dumbledore. There was a note of amusement in his voice. "Beaky!" said Hagrid huskily. There was a swishing noise, and the thud of an axe. The executioner seemed to have swung it into the fence in anger. And then came the howling, and this time they could hear Hagrid's words through his sobs. "Gone! Gone! Bless his little beak, he's gone! Musta pulled himself free! Beaky, yeh clever boy!" Buckbeak started to strain against the rope, trying to get back to Hagrid. Harry and Hermione tightened their grip and dug their heels into the forest floor to stop him. "Someone untied him!" the executioner was snarling. "We should search the grounds, the forest." "Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief will have led him away on foot?" said Dumbledore, still sounding amused. "Search the skies, if you will.... Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy." "O' -- o' course, Professor," said Hagrid, who sounded weak with happiness. "Come in, come in...." Harry and Hermione listened closely. They heard footsteps, the soft cursing of the executioner, the snap of the door, and then silence once more. "Now what?" whispered Harry, looking around. "We'll have to hide in here," said Hermione, who looked very shaken. "We need to wait until they've gone back to the castle. Then we wait until it's safe to fly Buckbeak up to Sirius's window. He won't be there for another couple of hours.... Oh, this is going to be difficult...." She looked nervously over her shoulder into the depths of the forest. The sun was setting now. "We're going to have to move," said Harry, thinking hard. "We've got to be able to see the Whomping Willow, or we won't know what's going on." "Okay," said Hermione, getting a firmer grip on Buckbeak's rope. "But we've got to keep out of sight, Harry, remember...." They moved around the edge of the forest, darkness falling thickly around them, until they were hidden behind a clump of trees through which they could make out the Willow. "There's Ron!" said Harry suddenly. A dark figure was sprinting across the lawn and its shout echoed through the still night air. "Get away from him -- get away -- Scabbers, come here --" And then they saw two more figures materialize out of nowhere. Harry watched himself and Hermione chasing afte r Ron. Then he saw Ron dive. "Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat --" "There's Sirius!" said Harry. The great shape of the dog had bounded out from the roots of the Willow. They saw him bowl Harry over, then seize on.... "Looks even worse from here, doesn't it?" said Harry, watching the dog pulling Ron into the roots. "Ouch -- look, I just got walloped by the tree -- and so did you -- this is weird¨C" The Whomping Willow was creaking and lashing out with its lower branches; they could see themselves darting here and there, trying to reach the trunk. And then the tree froze. "That was Crookshanks pressing the knot," said Hermione. "And there we go..." Harry muttered. "We're in." The moment they disappeared, the tree began to move again. Seconds later, they heard footsteps quite close by. Dumbledore, Macnair, Fudge, and the old Committee member were making their way up to the castle. "Right after we'd gone down into the passage!" said Hermione. "If only Dumbledore had come with us..." "Macnair and Fudge would've come too," said Harry bitterly. "I bet you anything Fudge would've told Macnair to murder Sirius on the spot...." They watched the four men climb the castle steps and disappear from view. For a few minutes the scene was deserted. Then -- "Here comes Lupin!" said Harry as they saw another figure sprinting down the stone steps and halting toward the Willow. Harry looked up at the sky. Clouds were obscuring the moon completely. They watched Lupin seize a broken branch from the ground and prod the knot on the trunk. The tree stopped fighting, and Lupin, too, disappeared into the gap in its roots. "If he'd only grabbed the cloak," said Harry. "It's just lying there...." He turned to Hermione. "If I just dashed out now and grabbed it, Snape'd never be able to get it and --" "Harry, we mustn't be seen!" "How can you stand this?" he asked Hermione fiercely. "Just standing here and watching it happen?" He hesitated. "I'm going to grab the cloak!" "Harry, no!" Hermione seized the back of Harry's robes not a moment too soon. Just then, they heard a burst of song. It was Hagrid, making his way up to the castle, singing at the top of his voice, and weaving slightly as he walked. A large bottle was swinging from his hands. "See?" Hermione whispered. "See what would have happened? We've got to keep out of sight! No, Buckbeak!" The Hippogriff was making frantic attempts to get to Hagrid again; Harry seized his rope too, straining to hold Buckbeak back. They watched Hagrid meander tipsily up to the castle. He was gone. Buckbeak stopped fighting to get away. His head drooped sadly. Barely two minutes later, the castle doors flew open yet again, and Snape came charging out of them, running toward the Willow. Harry's fists clenched as they watched Snape skid to a halt next to the tree, looking around. He grabbed the cloak and held it up. "Get your filthy hands off it," Harry snarled under his breath. "Shh!" Snape seized the branch Lupin had used to freeze the tree, prodded the knot, and vanished from view as he put on the cloak. "So that's it," said Hermione quietly. "We're all down there... and now we've just got to wait until we come back up again...." She took the end of Buckbeak's rope and tied it securely around the nearest tree, then sat down on the dry ground, arms around her knees. "Harry, there's something I don't understand.... Why didn't the Dementors get Sirius? I remember them coming, and then I think I passed out... there were so many of them...." Harry sat down too. He explained what he'd seen; how, as the nearest Dementor had lowered its mouth to Harry's, a large silver something had come galloping across the lake and forced the Dementors to retreat. Hermione's mouth was slightly open by the time Harry had finished. "But what was it?" "There's only one thing it could have been, to make the Dementors go," said Harry. "A real Patronus. A powerful one." "But who conjured it?" Harry didn't say anything. He was thinking back to the person he'd seen on the other bank of the lake. He knew who he thought it had been... but how could it have been? "Didn't you see what they looked like?" said Hermione eagerly. "Was it one of the teachers?" "No," said Harry. "He wasn't a teacher." "But it must have been a really powerful wizard, to drive all those Dementors away... If the Patronus was shining so brightly, didn't it light him up? Couldn't you see --?" "Yeah, I saw him," said Harry slowly. "But... maybe I imagined it... I wasn't thinking straight... I passed out right afterward...." "Who did you think it was?" "I think --" Harry swallowed, knowing how strange this was going to sound. "I think it was my dad." Harry glanced up at Hermione and saw that her mouth was fully open now. She was gazing at him with a mixture of alarm and pity. "Harry, your dad's -- well -- dead," she said quietly. "I know that," said Harry quickly. "You think you saw his ghost?" "I don't know... no... he looked solid...." "But then --" "Maybe I was seeing things," said Harry. "But... from what I could see... it looked like him.... I've got photos of him...." Hermione was still looking at him as though worried about his sanity. "I know it sounds crazy," said Harry flatly. He turned to took at Buckbeak, who was digging his beak into the ground, apparently searching for worms. But he wasn't really watching Buckbeak. He was thinking about his father and about his father's three oldest friends... Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.... Had all four of them been out on the grounds tonight? Wormtail had reappeared this evening when everyone had thought he was dead... Was it so impossible his father had done the same? Had he been seeing things across the take? The figure had been too far away to see distinctly... yet he had felt sure, for a moment, before he'd lost consciousness.... The leaves overhead rustled faintly in the breeze. The moon drifted in and out of sight behind the shifting clouds. Hermione sat with her face turned toward the Willow, waiting. And then, at last, after over an hour... "Here we come!" Hermione whispered. She and Harry got to their feet. Buckbeak raised his head. They saw Lupin, Ron, and Pettigrew clambering awkwardly out of the hole in the roots. Then came Hermione... then the unconscious Snape, drifting weirdly upward. Next came Harry and Black. They all began to walk toward the castle. Harry's heart was starting to beat very fast. He glanced up at the sky. Any moment now, that cloud was going to move aside and show the moon... "Harry," Hermione muttered as though she knew exactly what he was thinking, "we've got to stay put. We mustn't be seen. There's nothing we can do...." "So we're just going to let Pettigrew escape all over again..." said Harry quietly. "How do you expect to find a rat in the dark?" snapped Hermione. "There's nothing we can do! We came back to help Sirius; we're not supposed to be doing anything else!" "All right!" The moon slid out from behind its cloud. They saw the tiny figures across the grounds stop. Then they saw movement -- "There goes Lupin," Hermione whispered. "He's transforming." "Hermione!" said Harry suddenly. "We've got to move!" "We mustn't, I keep telling you --" "Not to interfere! Lupin's going to run into the forest, right at us!" Hermione gasped. "Quick!" she moaned, dashing to untie Buckbeak. "Quick! Where are we going to go? Where are we going to hide? The Dementors will be coming any moment --" "Back to Hagrid's!" Harry said. "It's empty now -- come on!" They ran as fast as they could, Buckbeak cantering along behind them. They could hear the werewolf howling behind them.... The cabin was in sight; Harry skidded to the door, wrenched it open, and Hermione and Buckbeak flashed past him; Harry threw himself in after them and bolted the door. Fang the boarhound barked loudly. "Shh, Fang, it's us!" said Hermione, hurrying over and scratching his ears to quieten him. "That was really close!" she said to Harry. "Yeah..." Harry was looking out of the window. It was much harder to see what was going on from here. Buckbeak seemed very happy to find himself back inside Hagrid's house. He lay down in front of the fire, folded his wings contentedly, and seemed ready for a good nap. "I think I'd better go outside again, you know," said Harry slowly. "I can't see what's going on -- we won't know when it's time --" Hermione looked up. Her expression was suspicious. "I'm not going to try and interfere," said Harry quickly. "But if we don't see what's going on, how're we going to know when it's time to rescue Sirius?" "Well... okay, then... I'll wait here with Buckbeak... but Harry, be careful -- there's a werewolf out there -- and the Dementors." Harry stepped outside again and edged around the cabin. He could hear yelping in the distance. That meant the Dementors were closing in on Sirius.... He and Hermione would be running to him any moment.... Harry stared out toward the lake, his heart doing a kind of drumroll in his chest.... Whoever had sent that Patronus would be appearing at any moment.... For a fraction of a second he stood, irresolute, in front of Hagrid's door. You must not be seen. But he didn't want to be seen. He wanted to do the seeing.... He had to know... And there were the Dementors. They were emerging out of the darkness from every direction, gliding around the edges of the lake.... They were moving away from where Harry stood, to the opposite bank.... He wouldn't have to get near them.... Harry began to run. He had no thought in his head except his father... If it was him... if it really was him... he had to know, had to find out.... The lake was coming nearer and nearer, but there was no sign of anybody. On the opposite bank, he could see tiny glimmers of silver -- his own attempts at a Patronus -- There was a bush at the very edge of the water. Harry threw himself behind it, peering desperately through the leaves. On the opposite bank, the glimmers of silver were suddenly extinguished. A terrified excitement shot through him -- any moment now -- "Come on!" he muttered, staring about. "Where are you? Dad, come on --" But no one came. Harry raised his head to look at the circle of Dementors across the lake. One of them was lowering its hood. It was time for the rescuer to appear -- but no one was coming to help this time -- And then it hit him -- he understood. He hadn't seen his father he had seen himself -- Harry flung himself out from behind the bush and pulled out his wand. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! " he yelled. And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. He screwed up his eyes, trying to see what it was. It looked like a horse. It was galloping silently away from him, across the black surface of the lake. He saw it lower its head and charge at the swarming Dementors.... Now it was galloping around and around the black shapes on the ground, and the Dementors were falling back, scattering, retreating into the darkness.... They were gone. The Patronus turned. It was cantering back toward Harry across the still surface of the water. It wasn't a horse. It wasn't a unicorn, either. It was a stag. It was shining brightly as the moon above ... it was coming back to him.... It stopped on the bank. Its hooves made no mark on the soft ground as it stared at Harry with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its antlered head. And Harry realized... "Prongs," he whispered. But as his trembling fingertips stretched toward the creature, it vanished. Harry stood there, hand still outstretched. Then, with a great leap of his heart, he heard hooves behind him. He whirled around and saw Hermione dashing toward him, dragging Buckbeak behind her. "What did you do?" she said fiercely. "You said you were only going to keep a lookout!" "I just saved all our lives..." said Harry. "Get behind here behind this bush -- I'll explain." Hermione listened to what had just happened with her mouth open yet again. "Did anyone see you?" "Yes, haven't you been listening? I saw me but I thought I was my dad! It's okay!" "Harry, I can't believe it... You conjured up a Patronus that drove away all those Dementors! That's very, very advanced magic." "I knew I could do it this time," said Harry, "because I'd already done it... Does that make sense?" "I don't know -- Harry, look at Snape!" Together they peered around the bush at the other bank. Snape had regained consciousness. He was conjuring stretchers and lifting the limp forms of Harry, Hermione, and Black onto them. A fourth stretcher, no doubt bearing Ron, was already floating at his side. Then, wand held out in front of him, he moved them away toward the castle. "Right, it's nearly time," said Hermione tensely, looking at her watch. "We've got about forty-five minutes until Dumbledore locks the door to the hospital wing. We've got to rescue Sirius and get back into the ward before anybody realizes we're missing...." They waited, watching the moving clouds reflected in the lake, while the bush next to them whispered in the breeze. Buckbeak, bored, was ferreting for worms again. "Do you reckon he's up there yet?" said Harry, checking his watch. He looked up at the castle and began counting the windows to the right of the West Tower. "Look!" Hermione whispered. "Who's that? Someone's coming back out of the castle!" Harry stared through the darkness. The man was hurrying across the grounds, toward one of the entrances. Something shiny glinted in his belt. "Macnair!" said Harry. "The executioner! He's gone to get the Dementors! This is it, Hermione --" Hermione put her hands on Buckbeak's back and Harry gave her a leg up. Then he placed his foot on one of the lower branches of the bush and climbed up in front of her. He pulled Buckbeak's rope back over his neck and tied it to the other side of his collar like reins. "Ready?" he whispered to Hermione. "You'd better hold on to me --" He nudged Buckbeak's sides with his heels. Buckbeak soared straight into the dark air. Harry gripped his flanks with his knees, feeling the great wings rising powerfully beneath them. Hermione was holding Harry very tight around the waist; he could hear her muttering, "Oh, no -- I don't like this oh, I really don't like this --" Harry urged Buckbeak forward. They were gliding quietly toward the upper floors of the castle.... Harry pulled hard on the left-hand side of the rope, and Buckbeak turned. Harry was trying to count the windows flashing past -- "Whoa!" he said, pulling backward as hard as he could. Buckbeak slowed down and they found themselves at a stop, unless you counted the fact that they kept rising up and down several feet as the Hippogriff beat his wings to remain airborne. "He's there!" Harry said, spotting Sirius as they rose up beside the window. He reached out, and as Buckbeak's wings fell, was able to tap sharply on the glass. Black looked up. Harry saw his jaw drop. He leapt from his chair, hurried to the window and tried to open it, but it was locked. "Stand back!" Hermione called to him, and she took out her wand, still gripping the back of Harry's robes with her left hand. "Alohomora!" The window sprang open. "How -- how --?" said Black weakly, staring at the Hippogriff. "Get on -- there's not much time," said Harry, gripping Buckbeak firmly on either side of his sleek neck to hold him steady. "You've got to get out of here -the Dementors are coming -- Macnair's gone to get them." Black placed a hand on either side of the window frame and heaved his head and shoulders out of it. It was very lucky he was so thin. In seconds, he had managed to fling one leg over Buckbeak's back and pull himself onto the Hippogriff behind Hermione. "Okay, Buckbeak, up!" said Harry, shaking the rope. "Up to the tower -- come on." The Hippogriff gave one sweep of its mighty wings and they were soaring upward again, high as the top of the West Tower. Buckbeak landed with a clatter on the battlements, and Harry and Hermione slid off him at once. "Sirius, you'd better go, quick," Harry panted. "They'll reach Flitwick's office any moment, they'll find out you're gone." Buckbeak pawed the ground, tossing his sharp head. "What happened to the other boy? Ron?" croaked Sirius. "He's going to be okay. He's still out of it, but Madam Pomfrey says she'll be able to make him better. Quick -- go --" But Black was still staring down at Harry. "How can I ever thank --" "GO!" Harry and Hermione shouted together. Black wheeled Buckbeak around, facing the open sky. "We'll see each other again," he said. "You are -- truly your father's son, Harry..." He squeezed Buckbeak's sides with his heels. Harry and Hermione jumped back as the enormous wings rose once more... The Hippogriff took off into the air... He and his rider became smaller and smaller as Harry gazed after them... then a cloud drifted across the moon.... They were gone.