#that gemma didn’t even know about his crimes

[rottengurlz]

Azur obsessing over marrying gemma just so he can destroy and break her for revenge because her father and other soldiers murdered and tortured his aunt but he just came to the realization that gemma is as much of a victim to her father as his family is since she literally had to save her family from all his extreme drinking, gambling debts and take care of everyone after their mom killed herself likely because of her father

[richincolor]

We've found quite a variety of books being released today. There is romance, fantasy, music, murder, and more in the pages of these books. What will you add to your TBR pile?

Wild Dreamers by Margarita Engle Atheneum Books for Young Readers

In this stirring young adult romance from award-winning author Margarita Engle, love and conservation intertwine as two teens fight to protect wildlife and heal from their troubled pasts.

Ana and her mother have been living out of their car ever since her militant father became one of the FBI’s most wanted. Leandro has struggled with debilitating anxiety since his family fled Cuba on a perilous raft.

One moonlit night, in a wilderness park in California, Ana and Leandro meet. Their connection is instant—a shared radiance that feels both scientific and magical. Then they discover they are not a huge mountain lion stalks through the trees, one of many wild animals whose habitat has been threatened by humans.

Determined to make a difference, Ana and Leandro start a rewilding club at their school, working with scientists to build wildlife crossings that can help mountain lions find one another. If pumas can find their way to a better tomorrow, surely Ana and Leandro can too.

Saint-Seducing Gold (Forge & Fracture Saga #2) by Brittany N. Williams Amulet Books

The second book in the stunning YA historical fantasy trilogy that New York Times bestselling author Ayana Gray called “nothing short of spectacular”

There’s danger in the court of James I. Magical metal-worker Joan Sands must reforge the Pact between humanity and the Fae to stop the looming war. As violence erupts across London and the murderous spymaster Robert Cecil closes in, the Fae queen Titanea coerces Joan into joining the royal court while holding her godfather prisoner in the infamous Tower of London. Now Joan will have to survive deadly machinations both magical and mortal all while balancing the magnetic pull of her two loves—Rose and Nick—before the world as she knows it is destroyed forever.

Off With Their Heads by Zoe Hana Mikuta Disney Hyperion

Fans of Chloe Gong and Judy I. Lin will devour this Korean-inspired Alice in Wonderland retelling about two very wicked girls, forever bonded by blood and betrayal . . .

In a world where Saints are monsters and Wonderland is the dark forest where they lurk, it’s been five years since young witches and lovers Caro Rabbit and Iccadora Alice Sickle were both sentenced to that forest for a crime they didn’t commit—and four years since they shattered one another’s hearts, each willing to sacrifice the other for a chance at freedom.

Now, Caro is a successful royal Saint-harvester, living the high life in the glittering capital and pretending not to know of the twisted monster experiments that her beloved Red Queen hides deep in the bowels of the palace. But for Icca, the memory of Caro’s betrayal has hardened her from timid girl to ruthless hunter. A hunter who will stop at nothing to exact her On Caro. On the queen. On the throne itself.

But there’s a secret about the Saints the Queen’s been guarding, and a volatile magic at play even more dangerous to Icca and Caro than they are to each other…

Lush, terrifying, and uncanny, Zoe Hana Mikuta—author of Gearbreakers and Godslayers —takes a delicate knife straight through the heart of this beloved surrealist fairytale.

Kill Her Twice by Stacey Lee G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers

Los Angeles, 1932: Lulu Wong, star of the silver screen and the pride of Chinatown, has a face known to practically anyone, especially to the Chow sisters—May, Gemma, and Peony—Lulu’s former classmates and neighbors. So the girls instantly know it’s Lulu whose body they discover one morning in an out-of-the-way stable, far from the Beverly Hills mansion where she moved once her fame skyrocketed.

The sisters suspect Lulu’s death is the result of foul play, but the LAPD—known for being corrupt to the core—doesn’t seem motivated to investigate. Even worse, there are signs that point to the possibility of a police cover-up, and powerful forces in the city want to frame the killing as evidence that Chinatown is a den of iniquity and crime, even more reason it should be demolished to make room for the construction of a new railway depot, Union Station.

Worried that neither the police nor the papers will treat a Chinese girl fairly—no matter how famous and wealthy—the sisters set out to solve their friend’s murder themselves, and maybe save their neighborhood in the bargain. But with Lulu’s killer still on the loose, the girls’ investigation just might put them square in the crosshairs of a coldblooded murderer.

Punk Rock Karaoke by Bianca Xunise Viking Books for Young Readers

When life gives you guitars, smash them!

School is out for summer and Ariel Grace Jones is determined to make it one for the books! Together with their bestie bandmates, Michele and Gael, Ariel believes they’re destined to break into the music industry and out of Chicago’s Southside by singing lead in their garage punk band, Baby Hares.

But before Baby Hares can officially get into the groove, the realities of post grad life start to weigh on this crew of misfits. Ari begins to worry that it’s time to pull the plug on their dreams of making it big.

Just when all hope feels lost, a fellow punk and local icon takes an interest in their talent. It seems like he might be the only one Ariel can rely on as frustrations between bandmates reach at an all-time high.

Punk Rock Karaoke is a coming-of-age tale that draws upon the explosive joy of the underground scene, while raising questions about authenticity, the importance of community and what it means to succeed on your own terms.

Song of the Six Realms by Judy I. Lin Feiwel & Friends

Xue, a talented young musician, has no past and probably no future. Orphaned at a young age, her kindly poet uncle took her in and arranged for an apprenticeship at one of the most esteemed entertainment houses in the kingdom. She doesn’t remember much from before entering the House of Flowing Water, and when her uncle is suddenly killed in a bandit attack, she is devastated to lose her last connection to a life outside of her indenture contract.

With no family and no patron, Xue is facing the possibility of a lifetime of servitude playing the qin for nobles that praise her talent with one breath and sneer at her lowly social status with the next. Then one night she is unexpectedly called to the garden to put on a private performance for the enigmatic Duke Meng. The young man is strangely kind and awkward for nobility, and surprises Xue further with an irresistible offer: serve as a musician in residence at his manor for one year, and he’ll set her free of her indenture.

But the Duke’s motives become increasingly more suspect when he and Xue barely survive an attack by a nightmarish monster, and when he whisks her away to his estate, she discovers he’s not just some country noble: He’s the Duke of Dreams, one of the divine rulers of the Celestial Realm. There she learns the Six Realms are on the brink of disaster, and incursions by demonic beasts are growing more frequent.

The Duke needs Xue’s help to unlock memories from her past that could hold the answers to how to stop the impending war… but first Xue will need to survive being the target of every monster and deity in the Six Realms.

Blood Justice (Blood Debts #2) by Terry J. Benton-Walker Tor Teen

Cristina and Clement Trudeau have conjured the impossible: justice.

They took back their family’s stolen throne to lead New Orleans’ magical community into the brighter future they all deserve.

But when Cris and Clem restored their family power, Valentina Savant lost everything. Her beloved grandparents are gone and her sovereignty has been revoked—she will never be Queen. Unless, of course, someone dethrones the Trudeaus again. And lucky for her, she’s not the only one trying to take them down.

Cris and Clem have enemies coming at them from all directions: Hateful anti-magic protesters sabotage their reign at every turn. A ruthless detective with a personal vendetta against magical crime is hot on their tail just as Cris has discovered her thirst for revenge. And a brutal god, hunting from the shadows, is summoned by the very power Clem needs to protect the boy he loves.

Cris’s hunger for vengeance and Clem’s desire for love could prove to be their family’s downfall, all while new murders, shocking disappearances, and impossible alliances are changing the game forever.

Welcome back to New Orleans, where gods walk among us and justice isn’t served, it’s taken.

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [11]

chapter eleven, act two: anobrain

masterlist

April 7th 2013

America is kind of borning.

They’d been touring for months, meeting boring people at even more boring places. 

Everything is the same, everyone feels entitled to correct you as if you’re not speaking the right language.

And if Tommie hears the question, ‘you live a whale?’ one more time, she’s going to commit a very violent crime.

But they’ve left America now, which they’re all a little glad about. Having a break back home for a couple weeks with their families before their next round of gigs.

Tommies in their apartment, alone with everyone else at their families homes.

George has gone on a weekend trip with his sisters, Ross has met up with his brother for the weekend, Matty’s with his father and Adam’s gone to his father’s side of the family.

He did invite Tommie but she felt a little awkward since she doesn’t really know them.

Not that she’s been completely alone, she spent a couple days with her aunt before she had to get back to work. So instead of staying in her house moping around in self-pity Tommie decided to mop around in self-pity in her own flat.

It’s time like these that she feels alone.

She’s surrounded by people, the most people she ever has been yet she feels completely alone.

She misses her mother a lot, and she debates flying out to France to see her grandparents for a couple days.

She misses her brother, who she had to leave behind when she left.

When she left things went bad quickly with her dad, and if she didn’t have Matty she’s sure she never would have had the courage to do it.

Her father had seen them driving out of the village and stopped them, trying to physically pull her from the car until Matty got out and shoved him away.

They could both smell the alcohol on his breath, he was drunk, and that’s what hurt the most. The fact that she knew he wouldn’t have cared if he was sober hurt more than him showing up drunk, again.

Matty had turned to her as they left, his hand on the gear stick moving to grip her own hand.

He said a few simple words that made her close her eyes and look away, ‘how long has he hit you for?’

She didn’t pretend like she didn’t know what he was talking about, and she didn't beat around the bush. She simply looked down and told him the truth. ‘All my life.’

She watched as he rubbed a hand across his jaw to hide the way he clenched it, only to regrip her hand and say, ‘you did the right thing.’

But now as she sits in her bedroom, staring at the only picture she has of her brother which is them side by side outside his mother’s house in matching WRU jerseys, she wonders if she did.

If she did do the right thing.

She left him behind.

Of course, she never would have if he wasn’t safe. But her father never hit him, in all his twelve years of life.

She just wasn’t good enough. He wanted a son, that’s why she pushed herself into football and boxing and other sports she hated.

She loved hockey in school but wouldn’t play, not when he said the sport was too ‘girlish’.

She pretended she didn’t like sitcoms, acted as if WWE was her favourite thing to watch just so they could spend time together. 

The truth was that she wasn’t a son, like he wanted, and she never would be.

That’s why she wasn’t safe.

But JJ Fern was a son, and for that her father wouldn’t harm a hair on his head.

She misses Millie.

Her childhood dog died just two years before she officially joined the band.

She misses her baby sister who is too young to even remember who she is now.

She misses her mother.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts she doesn’t hear the door go, or the distant shout of her name.

It’s not until she hears a soft ‘hey’ as the bed dips that she snaps out of it, looking over to the fluffy hair beside her.

“Roddy?” She places the picture face down beside her and turns to look at him, “Thought you were introducing your dad to Gemma again today.”

“No.” He purses his lips, “I broke up with her.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, “Thought we could go back to how it was, but we can’t.”

“It’s only been three months, Matty.”

He shrugs his shoulders, leaning his head on her shoulder, “I don’t know, I’ve been on tour, and I feel like nothings coming of it. Doesn’t matter,” He shrugs, “It’s over.”

“You okay?”

“It didn’t hurt,” He mutters, “Don’t feel like anything has changed. I’m more annoyed that she still has the book.”

It takes her a second to realise but when she does she clips the back of his head and he pulls away with a groan, “What was that for?”

“I said you could borrow it, that book is the start of this band.”

“We were a band-”

“You know what I mean.”

He mutters an apology, falling back to lie on her bed, “What are you doing here anyway? It's your birthday tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And you're travelling up in the morning?”

He shakes his head, “Not going up.”

“Why?”

He moves so he’s lying with his head beside her and wraps his arms around her waist, head awkwardly angled to lean on her thighs.

“Wanted to spend the day down here, with you.”

“Why?”

He huffs, “Don’t want one of Mum’s extravagant parties showing the world I’m getting old.”

She giggles, “You’re twenty four, Roddy.”

“Oh, God.” He groans loudly, burying his curly head into her stomach.

She laughs, holding his head to her, running her fingers through the back of his head, he turns so he’s lying sideways on the bed, legs hanging off the end with his head in her lap.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” She asks, “I’m not as good with things like that as you are, so you’ll have to guide me.”

He shrugs, “Been wanting to see that new film that came out few months ago, Inside Llewyn Davis? Wanna go?”

“Sure, is it still in the pictures?”

He shrugs, “One of my old school mates works in the local picture house, I’ll message him, see if he can do a special viewing just for us.”

“No,” She shakes her head, “I’ll message him, send me his number, I’ll sort it.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

April 8th 2013

Matty chuckles to himself, wrapped in hoodies and zip up jackets, sunglasses on his head, as he watches Tommie dig through her bag to get all the sweets she’d bought in Tesco beforehand.

“Why didn’t you just buy them here? Save time?”

“I ain’t paying that price for sweets when I can get ‘em cheaper with my club card.”

“Right,” He says, pursing his lips to hide his smile, “Sorry.”

She sits back opening them all and putting them in the cup holders so they can get to them better.

“Shh it’s starting.” He mutters and she rolls her eyes as if she had been talking.

She reaches over to push his glasses off his head and he smacks her hand away when they land on the bridge of his nose, making it difficult for him to see the screen.

“Stop it.” He mutters to her quietly.

She giggles but he grabs her hand, holding it in his lap as he pushes the glasses back on top of his head.

She grins to herself scooching over to be closer to him and resting her head on his shoulders, “What’s-”

He lifts his hand, covering her mouth as he shushes her once more.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Matty walks slowly beside her on solid ground, one hand in his pocket the other stretched out just behind her back as she walks along the flat rail, her arms stretched out to keep her balance.

“Don’t fall.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Why are we here again?” He questions, holding both hands out when she gets to the end of the rail, she grabs his hands using him to jump down on the floor then tugs him up the biggest ramp, gripping the edge so she can pull herself up and helping him when he loses his footing.

“Isn’t it my birthday?” He asks, “If I remember correctly it was you who said I could choose.”

She shrugs, “Fine, guess you don’t want the weed I stole from George’s stash.” She says holding the little baggie up between them and shaking it in his face.

He goes to grab it but she snatches it back, “Uh, uh.”

“Come on, you gonna take it away from me on my day?”

“No, I’m gonna roll one for you.”

He snorts and she shoves him in the side, “What? I’ve seen you guys do it loads, I can do it.”

“Okay.”

She side eyes him and he looks away trying not to laugh as he watches her struggle right away.

“Come here.” He says, feeling slightly bad.

He takes it from her, rolling one joint for them to share and pockets the rest, ignoring the look she sends his way.

He takes a lighter from his pocket but she quickly scrambles for her bag, “Wait, I have to give you your birthday present.”

She takes a small awfully wrapped box, he can tell she’d done it in a rush, then hands it over.

“Happy Birthday, Roddy.”

He unwraps it, the joint now tucked securely behind his ear, holding back his curly hair with it.

“What is it?”

“Just open it, god, you’re so impatient.” She laughs to herself watching carefully as his fingers rip open the paper.

He smiles to himself as he brings it out of the box, rubbing his thumb along the engraving of the zippo lighter.

‘You look so cool x’

He smiles, using the new lighter to light up the joint and puffs the smoke into her face once he’s done.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“Of course you do, I got it.” She grins, plucking the weed from his mouth.

Matty watches her carefully, as she places it between her lips and inhales, much better than her first time a few months ago.

He smiles, and when she turns to look at him, dimples showing, eyes slightly gazed over he lets his head fall to rest on her shoulder.

Satisfying his urge to kiss her with another long drag on the joint.

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart

@indierockgirrl

@sofaritsalrightt

@julezs-bl0g

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[toothpastecanyon]

Return, to the Scene of the Crime - Chapter 6

Playing human again, Alcor makes it longer than he usually does. He's in college now, juggling classes, family, a curious vampire, and a strange, increasingly sinister web of mysteries weaving themselves around him. Without his omniscience to guide the way, he'll have to work hard to get to the bottom of this before it spirals out of control.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

Glittery lipgloss? Check. Cute gift bag? Check. No bone fragments stuck in her tights? Double checked.

Mallory grinned at herself one more time in the rearview mirror, then grabbed the gift bag and got out of the hearse. People gave her odd looks in the parking lot, but you know what? Screw ‘em. She had an hour before her pickup, and by god, she was going to enjoy it.

Stepping into CFNLA campus, Mal instantly found herself blending in. It surprised her how weird it was to see so many young people in one place; they usually got a lot of older people at the funeral home, knock on wood. It was like a bizarro world to see whole groups of them hanging out on the grass, brushing past her on the path as they chatted with their friends, and that made her cringe.

Stars, she really had to get out more. Aaaand this wasn’t her college, so she was lost. “Excuse me,” She stopped a guy. “Do you know where the demonology building is?”

“Demonology?” He looked startled. “Are you one of the students?”

Suuure, she thought, that’s why I’m asking for directions. But she gave a smile instead. “Nope, just visiting one!”

“Oh… uh, it’s that way, I think?”

“Cool, thanks!” She watched him hurry away, laughing nervously with his friends, and her smile sharpened. Sheesh, she only asked where it was.

After walking past some buildings, the crowd thinned out, and Mal came to a single structure set apart from the rest of campus. There was a parking lot right next to it with a cop car… actually, there were also a lot of identical black cars with the extra bumper part on the front, and people in suits hanging around the entrance.

Mal stopped dead, her stomach twisting in on itself. Bad vibes. That whole place was screaming ‘do not approach’, and Mal was nothing if not a good listener.

She had just turned around when she heard a voice.

“Emmy!”

“Huh?” She glanced back. “Oh, Gemmy! There you are!”

Gemma was walking out of the demonology building, giving her a sunny wave. It still made Mal laugh that Gemma Gleeful, of all people, went into demonology. She was a real Elle Woods of the field, with platinum blonde hair, sparking sunglasses, and… a clear plastic backpack slung over her blue tube top.

“Aww man, it’s so good to see you!” Mal gave her a hug, then pulled back and snickered. “This the newest fashion, huh?”

“This thing?” Gemma followed her eyes to the backpack, and let out a loud groan. “It’s killing me, Emmy, it’s the only bag they let in the building! I carried all my stuff in for weeks, but I just had to cave.”

“Yeah, jeez, I didn’t realize how serious they are about security.” She nodded at the cops. “Is that normal?"

“It’s been normal.” Gemma leaned in close. “All the teachers are saying there’s been a massive spike in demonic energy this year, and they can’t figure out why!”

“Huh.”

She rolled her eyes. “And of course our class is the one getting the flack, even though I bet you it’s some, some… very not smart person in another program summoning a demon to cheat!” She pinched her nose. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be calling names. It just really gets me, you know? All the TAs talk about is how fun it was last year, but we have to lock up our textbooks and take our shoes off every time we leave the building!”

“No, no, that sounds really annoying.” Mal said. After a pause, she held up her gift bag. “Uh, I got something for you!”

“Oh, bless your heart, you shouldn’t have!” Gemma opened it up, and let out a squeal. “Eeeeee! Did you make these earrings? They look so pretty, Emmy!”

“Whoa!” Mal felt herself get wrapped in another hug, and chuckled. “Hey, of course! Thanks for meeting up on such short notice, I’ve really missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too! Hah, I thought you’d never come back from your fancy New Angeles university!”

Gemma gave her a playful nudge, and Mal tried to keep the grin on her face. “Heh, yeah, uh, me too… anyway, lunch?”

“Yes! Lunch is on me, and I won’t hear a word of argument about it! Come on, I can’t wait to hear everything about the city!”

Mal followed along, and they spent a nice lunch together. It was full of lies, of course - expansions of the short time she’d spent in New Angeles before the call, a tight nod and a smile when Gemma asked after her parents - but these days, Mal liked to think of that as practice.

When you had skeletons in your closet, it was good to keep those skills sharp, you know?

“Oh, man, what’s the time?” Mal checked her phone, and let out a sigh. “Sorry, Gemmy, I gotta go.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my folks let me borrow the hearse to drive into town, but they need it back at two.” “The hearse?” Gemma giggled. “You drove that here?”

“Yeah, you wanna see it?”

“You’re so funny.” Gemma shook her head, and looked at her own phone. “I probably have to go too, I’m afraid. Gotta get back to the airport.”

“The airport?” She watched Gemma mime slipping her shoes off, and snickered. “Back to the demonology building, huh? Well, don’t let me keep you!”

“It’s been so lovely to see you, Emmy,” Gemma gave her a big hug. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? You better give me a call when you get back to New Angeles!”

“I will.”

Mal waved as she walked out of the cafe; as soon as she rounded the corner, she broke into a little jog. She was really cutting it close for this pickup.

______________________________________________________________

The sun was going down as Dipper pulled up in front of an apartment building. It wasn’t the same complex as Marsh’s, but as he stared up at the building enshadowed by the sunset, the only thing he could think was here we go again.

He took a second to get out of the car. As soon as he did, a familiar figure seemed to pop up next to him.

“I was hoping you’d come around.”

“Wha-!” He jumped at the little red-robed figure of Lucy Ann. “When’d you get here?”

“What do you mean? I was with you the whole time.”

Then she flashed her sharpest grin, and Dipper groaned. “How…? You know what, whatever. Do you know what this is about?”

“Nah, I just know Marsh said there was some sort of anonymous tip. What’d she say on the call?”

“She said…” He started, paused, and flashed his own little smirk. “Well, you’ll have to find out, won’t you?”

“Hmm? Oh, being Mr Mysterious, are we?”

“No more than you.”

“Yeah, but I pull it off.” She trailed behind him as he started towards the stairs. “You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“Eh, you’ll find it out in a second anyways. Let’s say… this is a bit of payback for ditching me earlier.”

“Ditching you? Oh please, you were never gonna go do a stakeout on laundry. As soon as Marsh told me about this, I knew what we were doing tonight.” A pause as they came to the door; she crossed her arms. “But fair enough. I guess I will. You gonna knock or what?”

Dipper hesitated for a long moment in front of the door - oh, stars, did he really want to do this again? A demon in the university… if this was real, this was going to be even more dangerous than the jewelry store job. Mal could never find out he was doing this.

“Uh, hey,” said Lucy Ann, leaning in. “You know, we don’t have to-”

But then the door opened by itself. It was the woman from his class; she looked at him with wide eyes.

“You're here!” She said, then eyed Lucy Ann. “Is she…?”

“She's Lucy Ann, she's with me.”

“Good, good,” She held the door open wider. “Come in - sorry about the mess.”

Dipper stepped into the living room, which was much neater than his own space ever looked. The woman was picking some papers off of the coffee table; she gestured to the couch.

“You can, you can sit! Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?” She glanced at Lucy Ann. “Blood?”

Lucy Ann snorted, but quickly realised that wasn't a joke. “Shit, really? You look a bit too warm to have that stuff around.”

“I guessed you'd be coming too.”

“Well, thanks! I'll take that, then, uh…?”

“I’m Xiaofan.” Xiaofan opened the fridge. “Dipper?”

“Oh, no, I’m, I’m good.” He sat down, and dug in his bag for the notepad. “So, uh, you didn’t want to talk much on the phone-”

“Sorry about that, I’ve just - ever since this morning I’ve been freaking out.” She handed Lucy Ann a cup and came to sit on the floor. “I didn’t know who to go to.”

“Why not the police?”

“The police? No, no, if anyone gets word there’s a demon loose in the university, everyone involved is getting expelled!”

Behind her, Lucy Ann choked on her drink. Xiaofan didn’t notice; she was squeezing a piece of paper like a stress ball.

“Plus, I-I’m the only demonologist in our history class, who do you think they’ll blame for it? I could get arrested, they could cancel my visa… no, no, no. Look, you don’t have to help, but if you don’t, just… let me handle it, okay? Please don’t tell anyone, I’ll figure something out-”

“Demon?” Lucy Ann managed to cough out. Dipper leaned closer.

“Hey, we’re not going anywhere, okay? We’ll help.” He watched her shoulders come down a bit. “Just tell us what happened.”

“Um,” Lucy Ann cut in. “Hey, Dipper, demons, they’re… this is a bit of a step up from the jewelry job! Don’t you want to, uh, think about that first, maybe?”

He frowned. “I thought you wanted us to focus on real mysteries?”

“Ah, yeah, yeah… I said that. I just-”

“And she could get in huge trouble! She needs our help!”

“Yeah, but…”

“No, no, I understand. I’m asking a lot.” Xiaofan nodded at Lucy Ann. “But can… can I just say what happened? You don’t have to help, but I feel like I’m going to go crazy if I don’t talk this through with someone!”

“Of course,” Dipper said. Behind him, Lucy Ann opened her mouth, then shut it and gave a tight nod. Xiaofan let out a sigh.

“Thank you.” She said, paused, and then laid out a piece of paper on the table. “The college knows there’s been something going on for a while now. Look at this; there’s been a huge spike in local demonic energy since the start of this year.”

There was a graph on the paper, dating back thirty years. The line wobbled along the bottom of the chart for the first few years, then went up, then at the start of last year it skyrocketed. Dipper felt a pit in his stomach looking at it.

“Oh, jeez, that’s… not good.” He said, and she raised her eyebrows.

“It’s not. And they think it’s someone from demonology, so they’ve basically stopped teaching us until they find out where it’s coming from.” She made a face. “All we get are endless seminars about how the Isles have the strictest unlawful summoning laws in the world and we’ve got to ‘come forward’ if we’ve broken them, it’s - ugh, it’s so frustrating when you haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Yeah, I bet,” Dipper said, not noticing Lucy Ann’s stare straying to him. “So… wait, you said you think it’s someone in our class?”

“Currently, yes.”

“Currently?” He said, and watched her grimace. “What do you mean, currently?”

“I… I think it’s a bodysnatcher.” She poked at the graph again. “It, it doesn’t make sense, they're usually much weaker, but it’s the only explanation for what happened to me.”

“What happened to you…” Lucy Ann stepped closer. “You got possessed?”

She looked over her shoulder, like she was still worried someone was listening in. Then she nodded. “I-I don’t remember anything that happened yesterday. We had a history lesson Wednesday, and it’s like my brain just turned off after that.” With shaking hands, she took out her phone. “Next thing I know I’m walking in the same lecture hall, I-I check my phone and it’s Thursday. And there’s these strange pictures from yesterday, I didn’t take these!”

Laying her phone on the desk, Xiaofan started swiping through them. The first was a shot of Dipper from behind; he glanced up at her, and she could only shrug.

“I swear I didn't take these,” she repeated, and kept scrolling. “And then this dorm? This isn't my place.”

“Hey, that - that looks like my dorm!” Dipper stared at the picture with wide eyes. “Did it… follow me home?”

“Maybe it’s worried you’ve been investigating the supernatural?” Lucy Ann suggested, and Xiaofan frowned.

“Maybe… that's odd, though. Do you know this place?”

It was just a picture of somewhere in town, and Dipper shook his head.

“That's so strange,” He said, watching the pictures go by. “If it's a bodysnatcher, it wants to go to a populated area, I guess - no, hang on, it's gone back to the road. Where's it going? I don't-”

Then he stopped dead, his eyes wide, his breath caught. Xiaofan tried to keep scrolling, but he stopped her.

“Yeah, I don't know where this is,” She was saying, but her words were washing over him. “You're right, bodysnatchers usually go to cities when they get released into the physical world, but this looks like-”

“This is my house.”

“What?”

Dipper was staring right at the entrance to his family’s funeral home. “This is my house… I-I gotta make a call.”

Xiaofan protested, but he quickly stood up, dialed Mal, and hurried into another room. Lucy Ann was left standing there; she pushed the phone aside to look at the graph again.

The first spike? Twenty years ago. Her stomach churned at the sight - and then churned a little harder when she realised it was a printout of an email thread titled 'OPERATION CATCH THE CHEATER'. It looked like almost every first-year demonologist was copied in on it.

“Shit,” she said under her breath. “Shit, shit, shit."

So now, thanks to her, he was investigating himself. Great, fantastic.

Alcor was so going to kill her when this blew up.

[heronpoxed]

Everyone is on fire about Tara and that's deserved!!! The hate I see the most comes from the self-insert/fic crowd. And the arguments are how they would have been better old ladies and handled Gemma and "fixed" Jax. LMAO. Lol even. It's petty jealousy.

I think she was set up, as so many love interests are in crime shows (skyler from breaking bad), to be hated because while the viewer loves the aggression and the world building Tara pointed out how insane and dangerous it all was. Jax isn't so hot and cool anymore once the club and Gemma aren't praising him. Once Tara actually shines a light on how self absorbed and pointless the whole outlaw setup is. Selling guns and later drugs isn't a "mission", it's not being an outlaw. It's just crime for money without any redeeming qualities. As was the clubs behavior towards women and their own children, while yelling "family and brotherhood above all else".

Anyway. Tara was right. And I am very sorry she had to die for Jax to finally realize it. She really wanted the best for him and saw him as a good man.

I’ve only ever read one SOA fanfic that was written in 2013 which is more like a love letter to Tara and her & Jax’s teenage years than anything else (its rlly good. It’s called Beginnings if you’re interested in reading) so I have absolutely no idea what the SOA fic crowd is like lol.

You’re right about this too. Tara was set up but I’m connecting this one to misogyny too. If reasonable female characters weren’t notoriously hated - no matter which relatively older show we’re talking about - we wouldn’t be thinking that they were set up. Hope this makes sense. I get the attachment to the world-building because the setting and the world of the story is the first thing that a consumer sees. In the case of Sons of Anarchy though, it was clear from the very first episode that the current club life wasn’t a right way to live. That was the whole point of Jax finding John’s manuscript; that was what got Jax determined to get the club out of the gun running business right? But i guess the attachment to the world made everyone ignore the whole point of the show and ultimately hate Tara because she never let anyone forget that.

That’s one of the reasons why I don’t want a spin-off/sequel with Abel and Thomas (something that many fans want sm). Tara and Jax didn’t sacrifice everything - including their lives - for their sons’ well-being only for them to get back to SAMCRO. It would mean that all of their sacrifices were for nothing!

Good point on the club’s behavior towards women and their families. The way they are with women is absolutely horrible which makes no sense because all of them would go to war for their significant others but then treat them with sm disrespect at home? I guess that comes down to their ego and toxic masculinity.

Tig, Chibs, Opie, Bobby ALL OF THEM had children yet they never cared lmao. All Chibs could talk about during the entirety of s3 was ‘his girls’ yet he never mentioned either Fiona or Kerrianne in later seasons. As much as Tig loved his kids, his way of life got Dawn killed and he was so extremely devastated!! I can’t believe that after Dawn’s death he never for even a split second questioned his choices regarding his life and the club.

I also hated that Opie’s children gradually started disappearing. i feel like not giving him any storylines with his kids in later seasons dehumanized him in a way. But i’ll never be sure if it was intended that way or not.

All of this collectively comes down to inconsistent writing. To me at least. I don’t know why screenwriters are always adamant on leaving so many loose ends and not digging a bit deeper into stuff like this.

And to answer your last point. Obviously Tara was right and I’m sorry that it took me watching this show twice to realize it but in my defense, I was 15, stupid and didn’t speak good enough English :’)

[keyh0use]

Let’s talk about Juice please,they played my boy so badly i think everything w Juice started to go wrong because of his dad’s stuff and it turning out that it didn’t really matter made so sad cuz he didn’t know any better

juice is one of the saddest characters on the whole show and his ending was gut wrenching. but i also think what happened to him was fitting (excluding the tully stuff) given the crimes he committed, covering for gemma being the nail in the coffin. you're right he didn't know any better, his love and devotion and need to be in the club made him desperate to do anything to stay in it, even if it meant going against them

[yuyu-bi]

......where do i start.....

okay well first....this is the longest season finale ever? we kept thinking each episode was the last one but it wasn’t and we still have one more episode to go...ughhhh

gemma is the true antagonist called it bc she literally lets so much shit slide past her for the sake of keeping her family together and it kinda makes her seem like an magnet for destruction but when it’s actually bc she’s incredibly selfish and manipulative and honestly...good for her lmao even when everything is falling apart around her she somehow manages to keep everything together for the most part but not for the reasons people believe

wendy coming back and wanting to see abel is not and should not be the crime of the century i’m so sorry i do think she does have a right to at least see her son??? idk if she even wants to be involved in his life but she should at least see him? but they literally treat her like a pariah and tara literally had a mental breakdown when she talked to her for what reason??? bc she said she had a right to see her son even though tara calls him hers? no one made you take care of abel this isn’t like a ‘shameless’ situation where tara was left w abel to fend for the both of them?? you wanted to take care of him and even had a kid of your own w jax like??? and yeah tara jax AND GEMMA all deny her that which ik wont end well for her but what is the harm in letting her see the child she birthed? they act like she abandoned him purposefully but she literally went to rehab and cleaned up her like a hell of a lot better than the three of them combined she even said she probably is the most stable adult in abel’s life currently WHICH IS SO TRUE RN LMAOO this plot line is dumb and i hate it so much bc it’s actually ridiculous 

gemma giving the letters to jax bc she wants clay to die is so funny to me lmao bc why are you validating your son murdering his stepdad and then being shocked when he still wants to leave charming after doing so? it’s hard keeping track of what ppl know and what they dont know about what happened this season most of the mc dont know the gemma was beat up by clay they dont even know that piney’s dead and they sure as hell dont know that clay tried to kill tara bc of the letters she had they’re completely in the wind w some of this minus tig and opie like??? they dont even know about the letters and i doubt they will for a while

lmao also there was a scene w clay and unser where like i guess he knows that unser is in love w gemma or whatever and comments that this is probs the perfect opportunity to take gemma from him and whatever and unser has literally been calculating his downfall since lmao he even told opie that clay killed piney not even a minute after discovering his dad died like wtf??? even when clay got shot i was literally hoping for him to just like say smth about that to him but sadly unser is nicer of a character than i thought :( would have been good though pettiness on this show is abundant 

i love how he still does not know about tig and gemma lmaooo even left tig w gemma at some point before all this even happened idk idk idk 

clay and gemma man.....is so sad that i think they’re still the best couple on this show?? i doubt they’ll even be together after all this but i do think they did actually love each other as opposed to jax and tara (who is now weirdly asking people to validate their love of her??? yikes) but lmao that scene where gemma saw clay coming out of tara’s hospital room (!!!) and tells him that opie is looking for him bc of piney and then afterwards hold his face tells him she still loves him and kisses him??? pure gold my guys gemma is truly unhinged clay’s face said it all during that scene like wtf actually lmaoo especially since she wants him to die like??? and he doesnt even know that im dead she’s great 

the fbi stuff i dont care much for but i wonder why danny trejo said that otto didn’t rat out the club but he did do smth?? maybe it was just bobby idk but also juice :( hope he gets out of that situation 

tig also most likely set forward the plot line for the next season w killing that girl lmaooo this is bc no one tells him what’s going on and also he felt guilty for letting clay get shot by opie bc he loves and respects him :( that whole scene w them reminded me of christopher talking to tony while he was still in the coma from also getting shot lmao there’s more to it but yeah 

[lilicohirukoma]

YOU S4 EP2 LIVEBLOG

Here we go again

- I wouldn’t be too married to the idea its one of the new people here, could always be someone from your past (maybe the guy the Quinn’s send)

- Is this season gonna be Joe’s descend into madness/paranoia? I kinda dig that

- Oh wait an actual murder mystery party? Even more fun!

- But I still don’t get why they want him around so much, like he isnt rich so that can’t be a reason

- YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT ABOUT WHODUNNITS MR GOLDBERG

- But then why would she conviently leave a voice mail about him being dead right in front of you?

- Shit okay he made that deduction too I’m gonna go cry now

- Kate’s being sussed out so I feel like its def not her and she might even die

- Ah yes hello Nadia you still exist, how convenient you love the mystery genre

- WHY ARE YOU CALLING ABOUT THIS IN A PUBLIC AREA IDIOT???? GO HOME AND THEN CALL how has Joe never been caught oh my god

- Don’t like being stalked huh Joe

- Delete the app/destroy your phone, clearly they want a game and if you try to deny it they’ll have to make measures to keep you in it and through those measures you could get closer to their identity

- Lady Phoebe is giving me some Annika vibes I love it

- Now hold on a minute... Phoebe might be a bit more manipulative than she looks

- I know Ralph is Ralph Lauren but who tf is Tom

- Liking the Soo siblings a lot and I think one of them will survive, my bet’s on Sophie

- No Kate’s the red herring move on from her

- Louis XIV for Sun King w Dagger? Makes sense for the rich entitled assholes theme the show is going with (as usual)

- His detective superpower is probably gonna he the fact that he’s a serial killer and can thus think like a murdering stalker

- I feel like we are gonna get more crazy stuff from Gemma and Blessing, I think the characters have more to offer

- When charged with a DUI one moves to London and starts an elite club obviously

- WHAT DID I SAY SUN KING LOUIS XIV BABY, thank god he was one of my biggest history hyperfixations

- How much did they pay Adam’s actor for that scene I got to know

- Hmmm why did that lady want a picture of Joe

- EWWWWWW NFTS GET IT OUT OF MY FACE. Kill Simon for me please

- I dont think exposing a piss kink equals murder and framejob

- Wdym Roald Joe smells of New York, Virginia, Vermont and those kinda places

- Do love this snake skin suit Adam has going on

- Yeah I don’t think it’s him either, he’s weird but that isnt a crime

- Red paint meant to symbolize blood I see whats going on

- And ofc Simon immediatly makes performance art out of it

- Didn’t you literally say to stop helping people? Why are you helping Kate out again fool? (Yes its bc hes in love w her I know)

- He sells NFTs of course he stole the other art works

- Nah, he’s an asshole but too casual and laid back to kill someone, frame a person and then fuck around on text about it

- Simon’s gonna get killed I can feel it

- So Malcolm was missing a finger and Simon an ear, both of those had jewelry (a ring and an earring) on those parts so that might be something

- Rhys is getting more and more suspicious but that might also be on purpose

- Kate is just reserved man, not every good act should be for public display

- I love Nadia, if she dies I’m gonna be so mildly disappointed

- OH FUCK YES LETS GOOO GET HIS ASS

[hotdamnhunnam]

Meet the Fuck-Ups

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2 to the fic about your first time meeting Jax’s parents! In which dinner ends... and he takes you back to his place after... to treat you to the best sex ever 🔥

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, light choking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, dom!Jax Request: This anon request + follow-up + character pref poll

Word Count: ~2.9k

... Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]

Jax never thought it would be possible to love you more than he already did before tonight. Whenever he pictures a future, it’s you by his side. Amidst all of the mayhem and murder, your love is the one thing that feels pure, the one thing that’s right. The best damn thing to happen to him in his whole fucked up life.

From the day you first met, day he’ll never forget... Jax knew someday he wanted to make you his wife. Yet the thought of you meeting his sick twisted parents had him terrified. After spending time with his mean-spirited mom and his sleazebag stepdad for one night, he just figured that any sane woman would run off and hide. If she even managed to survive.

But the truth is that in your own way, you are just as insane as the whole Teller-Morrow clan. You’re here to stay. No amount of chaotic, toxic energy from his family will ever scare you off, or tear you away from the man that you love. Jax is your fucking man.

You’ll hold your own against Gemma and Clay, every damn day. Because you’re a strong woman. Proud to be just as fucked up as them. You’ll hold on to your man because you fucking can. And because of how much you love him.

After dinner tonight when you go home with Jax... he’ll make sure that you feel just how fucking fiercely and sincerely your man loves you back.

Thankfully, the rest of the dinner goes smoothly, after the corn on the cob joke that Clay had so playfully cracked. You carry on shooting the shit with his psychotic parents, as effortlessly as if they’re your best friends. Even crack a few more jokes at Jax’s expense.

Getting the Teller-Morrows to laugh is the best way to get on their good side, and you manage that with class all through the night. 

Gemma can clearly see how much you love her son, so she knows that the teasing is all in good fun. The night goes on, without any tension, without the table breaking into a fight. In Jax’s eyes that’s mostly thanks to you being an all-around lovable person, and handling everything just fucking right.

Yeah, he sure loves you more now than ever before. And he can’t wait to give you your well-earned reward: taking you home and making you cum, from the feel of him fucking you up like a damn dirty whore.

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

The lioness of Charming pulls her cub aside, before he heads out for the night. “Jackson—you hold on to this one, alright?”

Oh, she won’t have to tell him twice. The thought of losing you... he’d rather die. “Is this you saying you approve? Of the woman I love?” he asks, trying to spot the catch. To find the lies that lurk behind her dark treacherous eyes.

“What, are you surprised?” Gemma derisively replies. “Y/N’s a keeper. Wife material. I’ve never met a girl better prepared to spend her life beside a reaper.”

Wow. Though Jax already knew his parents loved you, still he didn’t think his mom would give her blessing so damn soon. Right fucking now. The queen mother recognizing a potential daughter-in-law as ‘wife material’ is a massive fucking deal. “For real?”

“Why are you acting as if it’s so unbelievable? This girl’s a goddamn treasure, and it’s obvious how much you love her, Jax. And she’s fucked up enough to love you back. She’s won your family over, clearly.”

Jax can tell. But still this out-of-character burst of positivity from his mother is too much to handle. Still he needs to be assured, as he takes in the words. “Really?”

Gemma rolls her eyes and glares at him as if his doubt is some offensive crime. Gestures for him to head outside. “You ask me one more time, I’ll change my mind just out of spite.”

Of course she would. She means that more than any normal person should. So Jax at last decides to leave, and let himself believe that she has nothing up her sleeve. That her impression of you really is that good.

You’re waiting for him on the back of his ride, as he joins you outside. His big beautiful smile is miles wide, blue eyes especially bright. “Baby, you were amazing tonight.”

With a shrug, playfully pretending that you don’t give a fuck, you lean in towards him as he kisses your forehead and claims a hug, tender and tight. “Was just being my crazy ass self. Guess it went over well?”

“They’re impressed as hell. Fucking adore you. Like I do,” he coos. “My mom even said you’re a girl to hold on to. She never says crap like that.”

“Damn, were all your exes really that bad...?”

Jax reacts with a laugh and a shake of his head, while he carefully fastens your helmet. “I guess it’s all relative, isn’t it? Darlin’, compared to you everyone’s shit.”

“Now are you pouring on compliments just to get in my pants...?” you provocatively taunt your man, as he gets in position and starts the ignition. “Who says I still wanna be your girlfriend now that I’ve met your parents?”

“You’re not even wearing pants, princess. You’re in a pretty little dress that gives me super easy access. Besides, you promised me you wouldn’t scare that easy,” Jax recalls what you’d said, when the evening had started. He knows you’re just teasing. He teases you right back which is only fair, really. “And if you are scared—I don’t care. ‘Cause I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

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

By the time you get home, you had fully expected Jax to fuck you up against the wall before you even reach the bedroom.

But instead your man stops for a second, just to sing your praises again. Gushing about how the way that you handled his parents tonight was pure fucking perfection. As much as you’re craving a wrecking, at the same time you’re a sucker for these soft moments of genuine emotional connection.

The two of you head to the bedroom together, taking your sweet time before indulging in a long night of pleasure. He holds you near, then pulls back to admire your face, pure adoration in his blue gaze, beaming ear to ear. “I still can’t believe you’re my girl. Swear I’m the luckiest guy ever.”

You can’t picture yourself ever being with anyone else. This man is your actual heaven, and you’d gladly follow him straight into hell. And so you tell him—the only thing to tell. “Well, I’m the luckiest and happiest girl in the world, to be yours, Mr. Jax Fucking Teller.”

The words couldn’t possibly be more sincere. You’re not scared, and you’re not going anywhere. With this love that you share, there is nothing to fear. You will always be right fucking here.

“So you’re really fucked up that badly...?” Jax asks playfully. “You still wanna be with me, even after meeting my fucked up family?”

Yes, you really do love him that madly. “Even more so. I was born to fit right in among the psycho Teller-Morrows.”

“Yeah, guess so. Although...” he finally wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close as primal lust begins to darken his adoring gaze, “... I’m gonna have to kill you if they start loving you more than me.”

“Oh, I thought they do already,” you respond confidently. Then lean to whisper in his ear all sensuous and slutty. “But you know... you can just punish me in bed if it’ll help you work through your jealousy.”

Now that has to be the cue... for him to go to town and make a nasty little slut of you. Obviously the only thing for him to do...

... but instead, he goes off track. Disengages from your embrace and saunters over toward the bed. What the fuck, Jax? That’s unexpected.

“Sure I could, and that sounds good—but I’m exhausted. Now that I know you’ll stick around I can just lie back and relax,” he sighs as he flops down onto his back. “Can finally stop trying so damn hard to impress you in the sack.”

Bites at his lower lip and glances up at you to see how you’ll react.

He looks fucking adorable like that. Especially because you know exactly where he’s going with this silly little act.

“Very funny, Jax,” you answer with an eye-roll, moving over toward the bed to deal his jean-clad thigh a smack. He’s pushing your buttons even if just the slightest bit, and the cheeky bastard loves it. “We both know you never had to ‘try’ at all, you cocky piece of shit.”

He smirks like the smug fucking asshole he is. “Yeah, I guess I’m a natural. But the truth is I’m actually thinking the opposite.”

Even though you know exactly what he means, you want your man to tell you outright—and to show you all night—with the massive meat he’s packing in his jeans. “Opposite of what...?”

And that’s just what he does. 

“Opposite of that bullshit I said. Now that I love you more than ever... it’s my life’s mission to fuck you even better,” he snarls. Pulls you down toward the bed, then swiftly shifts till he’s on top instead, your nice dress pressed beneath the leather of his kutte. Jax Teller’s body weight on top of you is hands down the best feeling in the world. “Make sure you’ll always be my dirty girl. My perfect little slut.”

Oh, hell yes. From his fiery fierceness, you can already tell that tonight’s sex is bound to be the fucking best. Until Jax keeps outdoing himself for the rest of the life that you’ll spend together. Constantly reaching new heights of pleasure.

You’re already a mess, as he strips off his kutte, then your dress. For the privilege of being his slut... you are so fucking blessed. Hell yes. Yes, sir. “Always and forever, Teller.”

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

The first few rounds of sex are the usual: sweet, slow, and so fucking beautiful. Though Jax is always controlling and rough—just the way that you love—on some level he’s always been soft. Hard of course where it counts, but some part of him seems to hold back when he’s dicking you down.

You have tried to drop hints that you want him to let loose and just go to town. To use you as his filthy whore plaything. But in all the months since you two started dating, he still hasn’t quite come around.

... until now.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he huffs out, cocky and proud, kissing your panting mouth, after you just came screaming explosively loud. It’s a wonder that you are still breathing somehow. “So dirty. You like this big cock fucking you like a whore? You think you can take more?”

Oh my God—how could you fucking not? This is what you live for...

“Like the way I destroy this tight pussy of yours?”

Sir, that is a rhetorical question. Your cock is perfection.

You know you should answer him out loud as he has demanded, but you’re still impaled on his throbbing erection, and can’t fucking stand it. Your senses are scattered and stranded. 

Yes, he is still erect even after a huge load of cum had just landed; after a good wrecking, Jax typically only takes ten to twelve seconds to get hard again.

The fact is established that he is a god among men.

“That what you want?” he taunts, and then—then he raises his hand toward your gasping throat all of a sudden. Applying just the right amount of pressure, the most perfect kind of pleasure. “Huh? That what you fucking want? Answer the damn question, you filthy little cunt.”

Oh my—no lie, those words combined with his fist clamped around your neck just made you cum, though your last climax wasn’t even fully done. Sweet Jesus Christ. Your pussy is completely numb. You’re pretty sure that it just died, thanks to Jax Teller breaking all the rules of orgasm.

He’s never been so goddamn dominant. So nasty, and it’s honestly just how you always have him in your deepest secret fantasies. It’s everything you want.

Jax loosens up his hand around your neck, enough for you to finally manage to respond. The only answer answer that a sex god should expect. “Fuck—yes, sir! Yes...!”

“Yes what,” he grunts, big dick still buried to the hilt inside your cunt. “Yes what, you dirty little slut?”

... but you already called him sir? How else does he want you to answer? Your weak voice chokes out in a clueless stammer, poor heart pounding like a hammer. “Y–yes, Master...?”

Then he snickers down at you because he is a wicked bastard. And you may have cum again just from the sound of his sadistic savage laughter. Did the cruel son of a bitch just bring his fingers to your clit, while his divine cock drives even deeper inside your dripping slit? You’re pretty sure your heart will jump straight from your chest if it starts thumping any faster...

“I wanna hear you say it, bitch,” he sneers, pressing his heated lips against your ear. Making your strangled breathing hitch, your soaking pussy throb and twitch. “Right from this pretty little mouth. Want you to beg for more. Admit... out loud... that you are nothing but my filthy fucking whore.”

Oh Godddd. By now your sanity is shot. And will not ever be restored.

Like, how the fuck does he expect you to form words? You can’t even form thoughts. Your cunt just burst. Everything hurts. His dark degrading dominance is just too fucking hot. You just cannot. He is the worst. The fucking worst...

“Want me to fuck the words right out of you?” he mocks, as he starts ravenously railing you with his enormous cock. “Of course you do.”

You’ve lost control over your body and your mind and he’s clearly loving the view. This is exactly the effect that hardcore filthy sex with Jax would have on you; he always knew. He’s wrecking you in just the way you always begged him to. After all that desperate begging, now he’s finally coming through.

And here you are basically cumming on a nonstop fucking loop. Like, what the actual... this can’t be natural... Jax’s ruthless cock won’t even give you half a second to regroup. His cock is such a fucking asshole.

That doesn’t make anatomical sense. Nothing does when you’re having an impossible out-of-pussy experience.

“You always begged for this, you kinky little bitch,” he taunts, one of his hands groping your tits, as he aggressively pounds into your aching cunt. Fucking ravages. Pushing you over the edge. You’re not going to make it. “Now fucking take it.”

Holy fucking shit. You are powerless to do anything else, as this man has you under his spell. Taking you to heaven on earth over and over again as he puts you through hell.

“But this time you don’t get to cum until you talk,” he orders, thrusting ever harder. “I’m gonna fuck the words out of this filthy mouth of yours. Tell me how much you love it, whore. Scream for me while you’re taking my cock.”

You’re in a state of total shock. So out of touch. But his threat hits like an attack, and so you manage words somehow, right now, but nothing much. “J-Jax—unghh, fuuuck...”

But that’s not good enough. His voice is hoarse and rough, and the sound gets you off, as he ramps up the pace of his thrusts, and rams into your cunt till it just about busts. “Use your fucking words, slut.”

The words that you string together are some senseless combination of I’m your filthy little whore and please more and oh fuck and I live for your cock and an endless supply of yes sir. You’ve never sounded like such an absolute idiot, you’re pretty sure. But at least you’ve attempted to follow his orders; you hope your attempt at obedience brought him some pleasure. Your purpose in life is to please and serve Jax Fucking Teller.

And the best fucking part, since you share the same heart... is the fact that his pleasure is yours.

By the time he treats you to the final climax of the night—his huge dick exploding in your pussy, so slick and juicy, clenching around him so tight, as his thick white cum fills your hole, flooding your insides, painting your walls, fucking you up so perfectly full... you are left seeing stars, lost in bliss, and don’t know who you are anymore. Other than that you’re his, and will be every day, all your life—hopefully someday as his loving wife—and always, forever, his filthy fucking whore.

Somehow you’re still alive as he holds you close, nuzzling your nose, softly kissing and cuddling you through the afterglow. Murmuring how much he loves you, though he knows you’re too mind-blown to tell him that you love him too. Just the beat of your heart makes it clear that it’s true.

That was the night you finally met Jax Teller’s fucked up family, for the first time ever. The night that ignited the spark that led to your man fucking you up savagely... just the way you had always craved so badly... every day for the rest of your lifetime together.

There is honestly no greater pleasure in life than to be loved and get fucked—no, fucked up—by Jax Fucking Teller.

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

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

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[princehairsupremacy]

Can you do one where y/n is innocent or idk 🥘

okay imma just select some of my prompts for this

37. "I don't think it'll fit."

44. "I've never done it before."

66. "I'm literally on my knees and you're asking me that?"

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Word Count: 1.8k

Word count: oral (f receiving), fingering, blowjob, vaginal sex

You pulled back when Harry grabbed your hips as you kissed, looking away from him to avoid his confused gaze. “What? What’s wrong? You do this every time but you never tell me why.” You looked back up at him with a guilty look and he raised his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.

“I’ve never done it before...” He gulped nervously but smiled at you, grabbing your hand and giving it a tight squeeze.

“That’s fine, nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not embarrassing to be a virgin, it’s normal.” 

“Harry, shut up! You’re embarrassing me.”

“I just said it’s not embarrassing.”

"It isn't helping!"

"I'm sorry, it's still not embarrassing though and I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything."

"No, no. I wanna do it. Like right now." Harry took a deep breath and stood up, moving to stand infront of where you sat on the couch. He started to move down to his knees and you watched, frozen.

"This alright?" You nodded and he leaned forward, you had a skirt on so it was easier for him. He moved your skirt up slightly and started to kiss your thighs, looking up at you and watching your face.

He started to move your skirt up more and you lifted your hips up, only letting go of the skirt when it bunched at your waist. "Weren't you meant to facetime Gemma today?"

He looked up at you with a flat expression. "I'm literally on my knees and you're asking me that? Please don't mention my sister right now." You apologised and he squeezed your thigh, dipping his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and starting to drag them off. You had to lift your hips again and it was a little annoying but it wasn't that big of a deal.

He slid his hands down your legs and moved them onto his shoulders. He gulped and looked up at you, he turned his head to the side and kissed and nipped at your thigh.

You watched him and tried to gulp up all your nerves, you weren't gonna back out. He looked up at you as he kissed your thigh, opening up his hand for you to hold.

You threaded your fingers in between his and squeezed his hand gently. He started move his kisses closer and closer to your pussy and didn't break eye contact, not even for one second.

He moved back and you leaned forward, wondering what the fuck he was doing. "Tell me how much you want it." Alright, that did something for you.

"Um. I really want it, I want it bad." You sounded a little unsure but he didn't heckle you about it because it was your first time. He leaned back in and looked up at you but you weren't looking at him so he gave your thigh a light smack.

You looked down at him and he smirked up at you, he definitely had a thing about eye contact. He stuck his tongue out and pressed it against your clit slightly, it was a weird sensation but you liked it.

He leaned further in and flicked his tongue lightly, just so you could get used to it before he really started. You placed your hand in his hair, bunching it in a fist and pulling slightly. He pulled back and you took your hand away, thinking he didn't like it.

"No, please keep doing that." You gaped at him a little then fisted his hair again, pulling it and making him whimper. "I like the pain." He leaned back in and moved his tongue faster, pressing it against your clit a little harder than before.

You pulled his hair again and he stopped for a second, closing his eyes and letting out a little moan. He looked back up at you again, leaning back in with the intent to do his best this time.

He moved his tongue quickly against your clit and let go of your hand, sticking two of his fingers out and pressing them into you. You accidentally pulled on his hair a little rougher than intended and he moaned against your clit, you bucked your hips up at the feel of the vibrations.

He started to move his fingers and scissored them a little, stretching you out and getting you ready for him. You threw your head back and he didn't like that becaause there was no eye contact anymore. He nibbled at your clit slightly so you would look at him again and it worked, he pulled back and raised his eyebrows at you. "Don't look away."

You nodded and he moved his tongue again, moving his fingers faster because now you were more stretched out for him. He angled his fingers up slightly and pressed against that pleasurable spongy spot inside you.

"Oh my god!" He watched intently as you moaned, your mouth parted open and your eyes wide as you kept looking into his eyes. He sucked on your clit gently and moved his fingers so he hit your g-spot everytime.

You pulled on his hair again, grabbing it at the roots and tugging up. He moaned again and you felt the vibrations even stronger because he had your clit between his lips. You pressed your thighs against his head at the intense pleasure and he moved his fingers faster, wanting you to get off.

You threw your head back and he couldn't stop himself to give you into trouble for it, he was having too much fun already, to stop it would basically be a crime. You called out his name multiple times and he rutted his hips forward, this was turning him on so much.

"Harry! Oh-" He could tell you were about to cum by the way you were clenching around his fingers and the way your hips were starting to spasm so uncontrollably that he had to hold them down.

He didn't stop when you came the first time and you moved both your hands to his hair, tugging on the strands of his hair helplessly. He moved his fingers faster and sucked your clit as harshly as he could without hurting you.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He only stopped when you came for the second time, satisfied with himself. You looked down at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them.

He stood up and you looked up at him, your hair was a little messed up and there was mascara on your eyes but he thought you looked fucking hot. He reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. Your eyes scanned all his tattoos, they were so pretty.

"Do you still think you're ready?" You didn't answer, instead leaning forward and unbuttoned his trousers, slowly dragging down the zip on them. He hooked his thumbs in the side of them and dragged them down slightly, you took a hold of them and helped him get them off the rest of the way.

You looked up at him and placed your hand on the bulge in his boxers. You squeezed his bulge slightly and he moved his hips forward, you hadn't done much yet but it was still doing a lot for him. "Take 'em off."

You placed your hands on his hips and dug his nails into his skin, his breath laboured, guess he really wasn't lying about liking pain. You moved his boxers down, moving back when there was nothing left to cover him. "I don't think it'll fit..."

He smiled and moved his hand to your cheek, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "You're just making my ego bigger by saying shit like that, darling."

He wasn't even fully hard yet and you were worried about it fitting, god you hoped it fucking fit. "I wanna help you out before you...put it in."

"Oh! That's fine, I'm definitely okay with that." 

"I don't know where to start."

"You haven't watched porn or anything?" You shook your head and bit your lip, you probably should have, it definitely would have helped right now.

"That's alright. You just need to get it wet." You had to think for a second before spitting onto his cock, he gasped and moved his hand to your hair.

"Well done, now just wrap your hand around-" You moved your hand to his cock and wrapped your fingers around it, he moved his hips forward and fisted your hair between his fingers.

"You're doing really fucking good. Just use your tongue now or move your hand." You decided to try and use both, moving your hand slowly and sticking your tongue out, touching his tip with your tongue lightly. "Alright, that definitely works..."

You wrapped your mouth around the tip and moved your tongue against his slit. He tugged your hair and threw his head back, closing his eyes and letting out a little low moan.

You moved both your hand to his thighs, grabbing onto them and starting to move your mouth down as far as you could. He grabbed onto the sides of your head and moved you off when you gagged. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I thought'd you like it?" He smiled and huffed, you weren't sure what you were doing but still wanted to do the best you could for him.

"I do but you don't have to do that for me. Just lie back, I'm ready anyway." He turned away and you grabbed his arm, thinking he was leaving you. "I need to get a condom." You left go of his arm and he walked to the bathroom, giggling at the sight of him walking butt-naked.

He looked back at you with a confused face. "You have a cute butt, Harry." He gave you a small smile and rolled his eyes, walking into the bathroom. You took your clothes off while he was in there, making sure you were ready for him coming back.

When he walked back out he had a condom on, he stood in front of you and gently grabbed your legs, lifting them to his waist and bending them at the knees. "I'll do my best to make it feel good, baby."

He grabbed himself and got in position, only pushing his tip in. You grabbed his arm tightly and he leaned down, wrapping his arms around you. "You'll be alright." He pushed in a little further and you moved your face into his neck, squeezing your eyes shut.

He moved a hand to the back of your head and cradled you in his arms, he pushed in further and you squeezed your arms around his waist. He kept going until his hips were pressed against the back of your thighs, stopping and letting you get used to the feel.

You moved your head back and looked up at him, you had tears on your cheeks and he wiped them away. "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, I knew it wasn't going to be like heaven my first time."

"I just don't like hurting you."

"Stop blaming yourself, this is common. Y'can move now, please just be gentle." He nodded and moved his hips back and forth very gently and slowly, smiling down at you.

[twerkinwithhazza]

Pumpkin Seeds

Author’s Note: UH OHHH BACK AGAIN. I’m back yall finally off hiatus all because my phone is broken LOL. Anywho tumblr is a totally different place and most of my mutuals are adulting now. I would love new tumblr friends and I’m gonna try to continue this writing stuff but I’m busy with adult things now lol and it really depends on if you guys like what you see. Please excuse my rustiness this my first imagine in years... literally. I’ll get better with time. This was also slightly edited but I know there bound to be some mistakes. Anyways watch the Golden music video for clear skin and I hope you guys enjoy!  I think it's so adorable that whoever requested this thought this request wouldn't speak to me lol ! It definitely did because this went from a blurb to a full blown imagine.

psst you can read my other work here!

Warnings: smut smut smut and more smut and possible shitty writing, dirty talk, light choking, and some cursing.

Glossary: (y/c/n)= your cousins name + (y/m/n)= your mothers name

Request: hi!!!! if you are wrtiting for Harry please can you do one where missus and Harry are at a family party and have a quickie in the bathroom? don’t worry if it’s not speaking to you lol xxx

Normally you and your husband loved spending time with your families. Harry was always playing a balancing act between filming music videos, doing interviews, writing sessions, and an occasional date night in the house that always involved a Postmates order from your favorite restaurants and the two of you binge-watching Netflix on shuffle. As much as the both of you enjoyed stuffing your face with poke bowls from Poke Papa and watching True Crime stories, it wasn’t exactly romantic or fulfilling for the both of you, just enough to hold you over until his schedule clears up. So when Harry finally got a weekend off, you guys were ecstatic! You spent the week cleaning the house and meal prepping so no Postmates would be needed and Harry used his free time in between interviews for shopping for special toys and pretty lingerie he wanted to see you model for him. Flirty text messages were sent back and forth during small work breaks about your plans for the weekend and now all the two of you had to do was make it Saturday.

You’re not gonna like this...

The 5 words that destroyed you and Harry’s weekend plans. Anne called while you were organizing your closet and announced that her and Gemma, along with your parents and favorite cousins were coming to town to spend time with the two of you. You tried to convince her that maybe a small dinner party at that new fancy restaurant downtown would be a perfect spot for a get together but she was adamant about coming over to cook the two of you a homecooked meal. Breaking the news to Harry was the worst part, he was clearly devastated (you swore you saw the man shed a few tears). Now here you were stuffing your mouth with Anne’s famous juicy cooked duck instead of your husband's juicy di...

“(Y/N) can you pass me the mashed potatoes”

Your dad’s strong yet muffled voice interrupted your train of thought and broke you out of your horny trance as he chowed down on his meal. Pushing the dish over in your dad's direction allowed you the chance to look around and take a glance at Harry who was making small talk with one of your favorite cousins. He was wearing a black button-down shirt, of course with a few buttons loose, and his cross necklace bounced on his chest as he laughed at your cousin's crazy work stories. You focused on his fingers, his infamous rings adorned his hands, you noted that they were slightly damp from eating and the condensation on his glass cup. As you were drinking in his appearance a small damp spot was forming in your panties but given that there were too many eyewitnesses including, yours and his parents so you chose to just clamp your thighs shut and stuff your mouth with more mashed potatoes. 

Harry deserved his credit as a husband. Despite his calm demeanor, he was very well aware of your little ordeal yet still managed to give interview advice to (y/c/n) and compliment your mom’s cocktail mix. He was quite amused by how increasingly frustrated you were becoming. He noted your concentrated face as you munched harshly on a string bean, hands clenching onto the fork for dear life. He decided to do a little temperature check to truly see how far gone you were.

“So what are we thinking for dessert pecan pie or crumble cake ?”, Harry questioned as he stuck his fork in his mouth, pulling it out again once all the gravy was licked clean. Your eyes finally met and you can tell that he was tossing the ball in your court, it was your job to show him how you wanted the game to be played.

“Mmm I don’t know I guess I’ll have some pecan pie but I really wish I had some pumpkin seeds”, you flatly said as you finished sipping your wine, maintaining full eye contact with him.

Pumpkin seeds. You and Harry were “outside of the box” thinkers, you had to be with his life as a celebrity not exactly pairing well with your shared sexual fantasies. You had code words to indicate to each other when you were craving the other one's touch, but you knew that using the same words around friends, family, and other public figures for too long would possibly cause some suspicion. So your code words changed with the seasons, literally. When the leaves started turning that classic golden yellow and auburn, your code words changed thus came the use of the word Pumpkin Seeds.

Gemma and your mom shared a glance, raising their eyebrows in collective confusion.

“Pumpkin seeds.. For dessert ?” Gemma finally burst out., both of your mothers soft laughter followed in the background.

“Heyyy” ,Harry pouted as he bopped Gemma on the nose with some gravy ,“ I have you know Pumpkin Seeds are one of our favorite midnight snacks”. 

“Gross“, Gemma stuck out her tongue and wiped her nose. You couldn't tell whether she was referring to the gravy on her nose, your choice of midnight snacks, Harry’s smug statement followed by a wink at you, or a combination of all three.

“Well we can be concerned with dessert once we break out the baby pictures, I’ve been dying to see the infamous skinny dipping picture (y/m/n) has been telling me about”. Anne clapped her hands together and hopped out of her seat heading to the kitchen. Your mother followed behind but not before instructing you to head up to the attic to retrieve the pictures. You glanced at Harry but he seemed occupied cleaning up the dinner plates with your dad. You let out a frustrated huff and made your way up to the attic to grab the photo albums. 

As you shuffled through old boxes holding Harry’s old tour outfits and your little knickknacks from your travels, you heard the attic door open.

“Pumpkin seeds huh?”, Harry lightly chuckled letting the attic door close and leaning against the door frame. 

You refused to make eye contact with him, continuing to shuffle through the bins locating a few photo albums as you went , “It was only a matter of time Harry and you know it. Our weekend got stolen and we haven’t... ya know in like two weeks. So, yes Harry I want some damn pumpkin seeds.”

You let out a huff. You didn’t mean to come off so sassy and aggressive but you were frustrated… sexually. Your cousin was getting more Harry time in the 3 hour family dinner than you had gotten in the past two weeks. You stacked the photo albums gently on top of each other and cradled them in your arms, finally turning to face your husband but you didn't have to look very far. Harry had closed that gap between the two of you, gripping your face and making you look up at him causing you to drop the albums in shock. 

“Well let’s get you your pumpkin seeds then”

That’s all it took and sparks turned into a flame, you and Harry’s bodies connected and a feverish makeout session broke out. You both were so hungry for each other after weeks of neglects and it just felt so damn good to finally connect. Harry’s wet kisses were making their way down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. You knew he was getting into it and normally you would be completely here for it if your kitchen wasn’t flooded with family members waiting to laugh at your baby pictures.

“Baby.. we… fuckkkkk”, You moaned out as Harry popped one of your nipples out of his mouth before moving to nip on the next one. “Baby we can’t your mom is downstairs… we have to go”, you finally let out and glanced down at your husband as pinched your nipples between his finger tips. “When has that ever stopped us”, he slyly laughs. In one swift motion, he turned you around pulling your back into his chest pulling down your skirt. You couldn’t even get words of protest out, Harry had his hands wrapped around your neck and was already freeing himself from his pants and boxers. He pulled your panties to the side and let out a hiss as he watched a string of your arousal stretch from your dripping flower to his fingers.

“Baby please just do something”, you huffed out a soft moan as you waited in anticipation. The grip around your throat tightened as he entered you, both of you letting out a sigh of relief. Harry completely bottomed out inside of you, touching that special spot that only he could. Your walls clenched around him, holding him in snug almost as if your pussy was begging him not to leave. Normally the two you were very vocal during sex from dirty talk to his loud moans and your even louder cries of pleasure. However you both knew that wasn’t possible right now and kept your moans down as much as you could. Harry was not making it easy though and the noise coming from the two of your bodies colliding were basty in the best ways possible. With every thrust of Harry’s hip you could hear your wetness coating Harry dick and as Harry picked up the speed his balls roughly tapped on your clit, only adding to your pleasure. You could barely form thoughts let alone sentence, Harry was literally fucking you silly and using your G-Spot as punching bag for his dick, The sounds and the pleasure were clearly getting to Harry as well, the grip he had on your hips grew tighter and his eyes were squeezed shut. 

“Bloody fucking hell you’re so tight around me, can’t even take it”, he groans and throws his head back as he roughly draws your hips into his. It didn’t even feel like it was possible but Harry picked up the speed of his thrust continuing the assault on your poor needy pussy even further. The pleasure was all too much and that oh so familiar feeling hit the pit of your stomach and you were starting to lose your composure. Your moans were getting increasingly louder and your grip on Harry was growing tighter. Harry knew his wife and he knew your dam was getting closer and closer to breaking and he was determined to get you there. He placed a hand over your mouth and moved his other hands down to your clit rubbing it in slow circles. “ Look at you” he cooed cockily, “Taking me so fucking well like a good girl should. Barely let out a scream ‘cus you don’t want your parents to hear how much of a cock whore you are”. He knew you wouldn’t last long with the way he was talking to you and he was absolutely correct because his words were driving you insane. As the pressure was continued building up in your stomach, you felt the telling twitch in Harry’s dick that let you know he was approaching his end too.

“Gonna give me what I want uh? Gonna cum all over my cock and let me cum in that tight little pussy of yours. You gotta hold it in.. don’t want to leave any drops for our guest to find huh? Gonna be a good girl and hold all my cum in you?”, Harry grunted into your ear as you whimpered against his hands. You were seeing stars and feeling butterflies in the pit of your stomach and you knew it was only a matter of time before you both came undone.” Oh baby”, you whined and your head fell down as the pressure from your stomach finally was released as your orgasm spilled out all over Harry’s dick and thighs. The gushing feeling from your orgasm and your weak whimpers and cries drove Harry overboard, burying his face in your neck and his roughly groaning as he released inside of you. The two of you stayed connected for a bit, thighs stuck together thanks to your shared orgasm with Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist supporting both of your weights up as you composed yourselves. When he finally pulled out of you, you kept every drop he gave you tucked inside your tight walls just as promised. 

“So those Pumpkin Seeds huh”

[astranva]

Heather.

Word Count: 2k

Category: Angst

Warning: Language? idk

Request: pls write an angst based on Heather by Conan gray i love ur writings sm

Summary: In which Harry is the Heather of his own story.

this won’t have a second part, let’s keep it sad 💀

thanks for requesting, anon! hope you like it and thank you sm🤍

// masterlist //

..

You were there for as long as Harry could remember, and that was so many years.

He was convinced that many scriptwriters and directors heard of your friendship’s story and that was how most rom-coms were made.

But the rom-coms had something that Harry was yet to have – the happy ending he kept wishing for.

It wasn’t your fault, really. Sure, you were a little oblivious but it was also a little unfair saying that was the only reason why Harry hadn’t gotten his happy ending because he knew that at the end of the day, it was him not making a move and admitting his feelings for you throughout all these years.

Harry remembered how for his 16th birthday, you had saved up to get him and yourself tickets to see Coldplay live.

He remembered how you cried as you hugged him after his X Factor audition as you all stood backstage.

He remembered how excited he was when he first introduced you to the rest of the boys when they were put in a band. Hell, you slept over with them at Robin’s for a couple of days.

He remembered how you flew out for the weekend when Zayn had left the band, knowing that Harry needed your presence.

He remembered how you were the first person he went to when he decided to make a debut solo record.

He remembered waking up to your singing in Jamaica, munching on honey toast as your face would light up the moment he came to view – “Good morning, H! I squeezed some fresh oranges for you.”

He also remembered how his face would heat up when he was just a kid whenever his family would mention that you and him were bound to end up together.

He remembered how his first heartbreak wasn’t from a relationship of his own, but it was when you got into one at 16. He hated it.

He remembered helping you with your dates, reacting to how you thought a new crush was, holding you as you cried.

Harry remembered how despite being in love with you since he was a teenager, he didn’t take a step towards having you more than a best friend.

And God, his journals were proof of that love; the love songs, all those ones about unrequited love, the short poems he wrote in the dead of the night.

He had cringed when he told you that he was seeing someone, only to have you become excited and genuinely happy for him.

If you could do it, why couldn’t he?

He was staying over at yours, a normal occurrence for when he was home. He could’ve as well just sold his house at that point.

“Have anything I can wear? This isn’t too comfortable.” He had asked you as the both of you lounged, watching a stand-up comedy.

“Yeah, just choose whatever you want.” You nonchalantly said, not caring if he went through your clothes – not like this was anything but normal for the both of you.

“Too lazy to move.” He mumbled, looking up at you from where he was; his head resting on your lap as you played with his hair.

The smile that came to your face was one Harry mirrored without knowing, staring at you as you continued to watch the show. “I’m not moving.” You stated.

He groaned, standing up, “Will you still play with my hair when I come back?”

At that, your eyes moved to him, “Yes, you baby.”

That was all the assurance he needed before he walked to your room and opened your wardrobe, going through your clothes without messing anything up; you liked your clothes neatly folded at all times.

Reaching one lilac sweater, Harry took it out before holding it over his upper body, finding that it would probably perfectly fit.

Taking off his own top and putting on yours, Harry’s breath instantly hitched in his throat, stomach tied up in knots.

It smelled like you.

It smelled like fresh vanilla detergent and the coconut scent he adored so much.

Running his hand slowly across his body, Harry turned to look at the mirror, eyes falling on the item that screamed your name louder than the beaded necklace you had made him months ago that decorated his neck – “Golden, because that’s what I think you are” you had said.

He gulped, fingertips grazing the material.

“Harry! You’re missing all the good bits!”

“Coming!” He shouted back, hoping you didn’t catch the crack in his voice.

After one final look, Harry had walked back to you, placing his head on your lap.

“Good choice.” You had commented softly.

“Yeah?” Harry almost whispered, “Feels comfortable. What material is that?”

“Just polyester,” you shrugged, “Hate how it looks better on you though.” You had joked, giving him a gentle tug to his hair.

Harry had giggled, closing his eyes as you scratched his scalp softly, “Thanks.”

After that day, it was like Harry claimed the sweater. He’d beeline to it the moment he stepped a foot in your house, frowning at you on some days when you told him that it was getting washed.

Days turned to weeks, and before Harry could do as much as blink, you were back from your work with a smile brighter than usual.

He was sitting on your couch that day, in the lilac sweater, a smile drawn to his face as soon as his saw yours, pausing the music that was playing from his laptop. “You look happy.”

And you were, because you had given his cheek a soundly smooch of greeting, unaware of Harry’s cheeks reddening.

You hummed with a nod, “I have a date tonight with, quite possibly, the cutest person I have ever met.”

He wasn’t expecting that.

Harry was not expecting that.

His smile faltered, only staring at you.

“They’re just,” you sighed, staring at the ceiling with a hand to your heart, “A dream, you know? Hey, wait! You know them!”

“I do?”

“Yeah,” you nodded eagerly, “Chelsea introduced them when we went to that pub 2 weeks ago, remember? Charlie?”

“Oh.”

And he did. He remembered how pretty Charlie was, how they seemed to keep conversations going and made sure everyone was listened to, how Charlie’s style stood out in the pub, how their jokes made everyone laugh – including him. He remembered how Charlie’s eyes lingered on you when you talked, how the both of you seemed dived into a conversation of common interests. He hated it.

Charlie really was a dream. Yeah, he hated that, too.

Harry had helped you decide on an outfit, his chest feeling as if it clenched around his heart to a point where his cage would combust.

He helped you with your hair, spraying the back of it for you because you had always complained about not reaching that part well.

Fuck, he even painted your nails that night – they were in lilac.

And he was there when Charlie picked you up, a genuine smile on their face that looked nothing like the petty one he wore.

“Do you need us to bring you anything, mate? We’re having Italian.” Charlie had offered.

Why did Charlie have to be kind and polite? What happened to the assholes they portrayed in rom-coms?

“No, thanks, Y/N made me lasagna earlier.” Harry had chuckled, watching you smile at the interaction.

“Go to sleep by 9, Mr.” You had joked as you left, Charlie’s hand on your back.

“You know it.” Harry had mumbled with a weak smile, giving you a nod.

By 7, Harry was almost sure he yanked all his hair out, despite the mirrors assuring him that he didn’t.

By 8, he tried to eat, but the nauseous feeling that ran through his body at the thought of you with someone else made him put the casserole back in the fridge.

By 9, Harry had called Mitch to break the news of your newest date, only to hang up so soon when Mitch was beginning to tell him how he still might have a chance.

By 10, he wrote a song. One full song.

By 11, he had the tune for it.

By 12, Harry watched you kiss someone who wasn’t him and he had no one to blame.

“How was it?” He managed to utter, watching you stand against the door with the widest smile.

“Perfect.”

That was the beginning of everything but what Harry wished upon a constellation for, because by the second month of you seeing Charlie, you had made it official.

Charlie was perfect in all aspects; hell, even Gemma liked them when she met them as the 4 of you had brunch one day.

But then Charlie was around your house more that Harry just wasn’t that comfortable to sleep over anymore.

He remembered how the three of you were watching a movie one night, Charlie having been wanting to get to know Harry more since he was “someone Y/N talks about and loves so much” – Charlie said that with no drop of pettiness, Harry wondered how they did it – when Harry just couldn’t take any more of you cuddling someone who wasn’t him and before you and Charlie could process it, Harry was out with an empty excuse – “I forgot my guitar at Mitch’s.”

His guitar was resting against the very couch he was sitting on.

But nothing prepared him for that one moment.

Charlie had invited him for the barbecue party they were hosting and if it weren’t for your puppy eyes, Harry would’ve been sulking in the comfort of his house and not in his car while he was on the way to oh-so-perfect Charlie’s.

He heard Lizzo playing the moment he got out of his car, and it was how he knew that it was your playlist playing.

He had brought cake with him, walking cautiously with the boxed dessert in his hands.

The door was opened, a few smiling people passing by him before he was met with yours, only as always, your face lit up once you saw him.

“You’re here!” You didn’t care that he was holding anything in his hands that restrained him from hugging you back because you threw your arms around him, leaving a kiss to his cheek, “Everyone’s been asking for you. Something about how it was weird seeing me without you.” You giggled.

“Partners in crime, eh?” He smiled at you, referring to the phrase you have been using with one another since school.

“You bet,” you wiggled your eyebrows, “Oh, shoot, sorry, didn’t notice you had this. Um, come, let’s put it in the kitchen.”

You were comfortable in Charlie’s house, Harry noticed. It was no surprise; he would’ve been more worried if you weren’t seen as you had been together for 6 months.

Placing the cake in the fridge, you and Harry then walked to where everyone was.

And that was when he saw it.

Charlie lied on a lounge chair, laughing and looking all attractive, in the very lilac, polyester sweater Harry had found comfort in.

He watched as you walked over, Charlie instantly putting a hand to your waist as they smiled up at you before you leaned down, pressing your lips against one another.

“Act natural, would you?” He heard Chelsea’s, a mutual friend, voice beside him.

“What?”

“If you can’t be happy for Y/N, try to act natural around them,” Chelsea sighed, her heart breaking for her friend as she looked at Harry who was yet to move his eyes from the couple, “Charlie’s great, you know?”

“Yeah,” he gave her a dry chuckle, “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why aren’t you happy that at least they’re not an asshole?”

“Just,” Harry looked at his friend, a defeated look on his face before the sound of you squealing gleefully grabbed his attention, watching as Charlie had their arms wrapped around you from behind, the both of you laughing as your friends all smiled in awe, “Just wish I were Charlie.”

[scribbuluswrites]

The Trouble

It’s Friday, and you know what that means... more story! I hope you guys had a wonderful week!

Kat took a quick shower and repacked her suitcase. After graduation, she’d packed up her apartment and stuffed everything she could fit into her car for a more permanent move to Bakersfield. 

The long drive back from Tacoma had been too much for a single shot, though, and she had decided to stop in at a hotel for the night. The trip felt twice as long without a companion along to keep her company.

She was about to head out of the parking lot when her phone started ringing. One of Happy’s numbers flashed on the screen.

“Hey,” Kat answered, caught between glad he was calling and curious about when they would be having their promised chat. 

“Where are you?” Happy’s voice was gruff. 

“Do you ever just say hi?” she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m about to head back to your mom’s. I stopped at a motel in Sacramento for some sleep.” 

“I’ll meet you outside Stockon on I-5 at the service station,” he said shortly, hanging up.

Kat stared at her phone for a minute. She was still a little surprised by how bossy he was, but she didn’t think it wise to pick a fight over it right now. She muttered a few choice words under her breath and set out for the freeway. 

Happy was waiting for her at the gas station on the side of the road like he’d said. Kat had barely pulled up beside him when he grumbled some terse directions to a garage in Charming. He didn’t even wait for a confirmation that she understood, just marching back to his bike and firing it up. 

Katarina was genuinely shocked that she managed to remember all of his directions and find Teller-Morrow. She turned into the yard, parking near a black Escalade. The gravel courtyard was packed with bikes, cars, and people. 

Happy was close behind her, and the few other men in kuttes backed off as soon as they saw Happy ride up. Kat could tell that they were wary of her until it looked like their brother had the situation handled. 

There was a puddle of dried blood on the ground and some singe marks in the dirt around it. She could see some crime scene tape fluttering from a post near the markings. Something had obviously happened here. 

She stood off to the side, trying to hide the sick feeling in her stomach. Happy was talking to a blond man she recognized from the party in Tacoma. The man gave her a once over before saying something else to Happy. Conversation over, Happy waved for her to follow him into the building. 

“Hap, what’s…” 

“Not now,” he whispered, shaking his head. “We’re on lockdown. Should just be a few days, but I need you to stay here.” 

Katarina had a dozen questions, but she kept them all to herself. She knew he wouldn’t give any answers anyway. Instead, she nodded. 

“Prospects will be staying here. If you need anything, just ask Gemma. She’s in charge here,” Happy told her, leading Kat over to an intimidating looking woman with big, curly hair and a fierce stare. “Katarina, this is Gemma.” 

“Happy’s got a secret lady?” she teased, giving Kat a warm smile. Kat spotted the very faint nervous expression in Happy’s eyes, but she knew no one else would ever be able to tell. 

“She just takes care of my mom,” he said flatly, not looking over at Kat. “She was driving through town so I asked her to come by.” 

Katarina stared at the side of his face, her stomach sinking at the way he introduced her. She hadn’t expected to be given any real title to him, but it still hurt to feel so dismissed. 

Gemma wasn’t the only one Happy introduced Kat to as nothing more than his mom’s caretaker. 

Gemma incorporated Katarina into the group in one smooth move. She had a special way of commanding the entire group, the croweaters flocking around her. This was the perfect picture of a biker queen. 

Katarina helped out with a few things, but Gemma was very careful to keep her separate from the hang-arounds. It was clear that no one really knew who she was or what her place here was, but Gemma wanted to be sure Kat seemed very off limits. 

Happy had never brought anyone into the clubhouse, ever. He had been adamant that Katarina was no more than his mom’s caretaker, but Gem knew he was lying. Either to them or just to himself. She also knew Happy had an explosive temper and wouldn’t hesitate to fuck up any of the Sons who took a swipe at Katarina. 

“So how long have you and the Tacoma Killer been a thing?” Gemma asked casually, sliding onto a barstool next to Kat. 

“Not a thing, but we’ve been vaguely friendly for about a year. I’ve been taking care of his mom for a few weeks now,” Katarina corrected, giving Gemma an easy grin. She knew the queen would like nothing more than some juicy gossip. Kat didn’t agree with Happy’s secrecy, but she wasn’t going to disrespect his wishes in front of anyone connected to his club. 

“I didn’t know Hap did friendly,” Gemma joked, tapping her glass to signal the croweater behind the bar for another drink. 

“Happy’s got his own version, I think,” Kat commented, nodding at the bartender as she refilled her mug of coffee. 

“Oh, Happy,” the croweater grinned indulgently, obviously lost in a memory. “We’ve got a pool going to see-”

Gemma cleared her throat and levelled the girl with a stare that shut her up mid sentence. To her credit, Kat didn’t even flinch. She liked to pretend that Happy wasn’t spending time on anyone else, but she knew that was definitely a fantasy. 

“Why don’t you spend more time pouring drinks and less time running your mouth?” Gemma chastised, her voice harsh. “Most of ‘em are so drug-addled they can’t even think about anything but cock,” she muttered, leaning towards Katarina. 

“That doesn’t change clubhouse to clubhouse,” Kat grumbled into her mug. She nearly cringed as Gemma gave her an even more appraising glance now. 

“Spend a lot of time in clubhouses?” 

“I had a group of friends at school who loved parties at the Tacoma clubhouse,” Katarina shrugged. “We went until they realised every one of them had hooked up with Juice,” she chuckled, hoping it would distract Gemma. 

“He is always the popular one,” the older woman replied with a knowing grin. 

A strange little man with wooden hands bustled in, providing a much needed distraction. He needed Gemma’s approval on some deliveries, and the biker queen patted Katarina on the shoulder as she left. 

Kat lasted a few more minutes before she rolled off the barstool. She wandered down the hallway in the clubhouse, finding a small room filled with weights and a freestanding training bag. It was a good way to get rid of her pent up frustration.  

It was more than 48 hours before the Sons came back to the clubhouse. Some of them were pretty beaten up. All of them looked miserable and worn down. 

Kat had seen Gemma and Tara leave with one of the prospects following along. They had gone out for more supplies, but neither of them had returned. The story was that Tara had gone back to her house. 

Happy hadn’t even glanced over at Kat since he had come back. He was a little scraped up, and he looked exhausted. As she watched each of the bikers greet someone, whether it be hang-around, old lady, or kids, she got just a little bit angrier. 

Kat only waited a few more minutes before giving up on him ever acknowledging her. She turned and disappeared down the hall, grabbing her bag out of the sleeping area. She slung it over her shoulder and turned to leave, nearly knocked back a pace as Happy loomed in the doorway. 

“Chucky said you’ve been hiding out,” he grumbled, tilting his head as Katarina’s pissed off expression didn’t budge. 

“I wasn’t really in the mood to make friends,” she said flatly, crossing her arms. 

Happy mimicked her posture, looking much more menacing than Kat could manage. To his annoyance, or enjoyment, he wasn’t sure which, Katarina didn’t look nervous. 

“Kat-” he started, snapping his mouth closed when she shook her head. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said simply. “I just spent two days listening to the croweaters gossip about all of you. Especially you,” Kat emphasized, her eyes widening at the memories of the way the women talked about Happy. “Apparently you’re not as generous as Juice or as much of a freak as Tig, but you’ve got the biggest cock.” She could feel the anger rising up as she remembered all of the things she’d heard. Happy’s jaw clenched as he tried not to snap at her. “On the bright side, I got the prospect’s phone number and two job offers to help out with other people’s aging parents.” 

“You’re fucking jealous of a croweater?” he ground out, his eyes hard. “Is that how you want me to treat you?” 

“No, Happy. I want you to…” Katarina trailed off, shocked to find herself close to tears. “I just want to matter,” she murmured, knowing it was a stupid thing to say. 

“If you didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be here.” Happy’s expression was still harsh, the frustration clear in his eyes. 

“I know, I just-”

“You obviously don’t,” Happy interrupted, taking a step closer. He grabbed her upper arms, holding her still. “You and me, they can’t know about that,” he said firmly, eyes searching hers. Kat started to question him, but he continued. “I gotta keep up appearances here or people start asking questions. I already told you we ain’t a couple.”

“You did,” Kat admitted, nodding. “It’s on me. I thought I could do this, but… I have to just be there for your mom. I can’t keep doing this whatever it is,” she finished, fingers toying with the smiley face charm she kept tucked into her shirt.

“I’m trying to figure out how to do this, Kat. Can you understand that?” he grumbled, eyes boring into hers.

“I want to, but...” she trailed off, eyes wide as she tried to see his point of view. Happy slid his hands up from her arms to cup her cheeks. 

“I’ve never let anyone else on the back of my bike. That’s gotta mean something,” he rasped, a ghost of a grin on his mouth. Kat put her hands over his, closing her eyes as Happy pressed his forehead against hers. “C’mon, freckles.” He breathed the words over her mouth, lips brushing hers. “I already told you I don’t want anyone else.” 

A noise outside interrupted their moment, and Happy let her go. The impassive expression was firmly back in place, but he reached for her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. 

“I’ve got to stay here for a bit longer, but once things are fixed, you and me will sneak off for a weekend alone,” he told her, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Kat replied, grinning at him. “I’d better get going if I want to make it back before dark.” 

Happy nodded and took the bag from her. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Tags: @gemini0410 @scuzmunkie @woahitslucyylu @chibsytelford @jitterbugs927 @yourwonkywriter @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @withmyteeth @est1887

[my-emotional-self]

Sinful Love - Chapter 1

Moodboard by the beautiful @princess-evans-addict​

Pairings: Prisoner!Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Steve has lots of naughty thoughts, talk of murder, blood

Summary:  Gemma, a quiet and meek crime writer from a small town in Massachusetts, interviews murderer Steve Rogers in prison for a memoir.  Will things go terribly wrong, or beautifully right?

Authors Note: Credit for this fanfic goes 100% to punk-in-docs as this is is based off her Prisoner!Kylo Ren “Sinnerman”.  You can find her on Tumblr at punk-in-docs or on A03 - Punk_in_Docs .  I HIGHLY suggest taking a look at her stories as she is a beautiful writer!!!

P.S.  I am currently NOT doing a tag list at the moment so I am sorry about that. 

 She was cold; that much was for sure.  Gemma bounced her leg up and down as she was sat in the cold metal chair, waiting for her name to be called.  Her emerald green eyes scanned her surroundings as she pulled her ratty old cardigan closer to her body.  

Her eyes landed on the sign in front of her: Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center. Yes, she was sitting in the waiting room of a prison.  

This was her job, as a crime writer with her publishing firm.  She didn’t mind it.  She loved hearing how inmates have turned their lives around for the better and she still even wrote to some of the inmates she had interviewed in the past.

Gemma Peterson was someone that people didn’t really give a second glance to; and she liked it that way. Ever since she was as young as she could remember, she was always told by her mother and grandmother what a dreamer she was; how her creativity would get her somewhere one day.  And yet here she was, sitting in a prison and waiting to interview a murderer.  

She really couldn’t complain however as she loved her job.  She knew she wanted to be a writer her whole life; that’s what she got for growing up in the smaller community a half hour away from Boston, Massachusetts. It was well known for its literary history.  

As she continued to wait, her right hand came up to grip the locket around her neck; closing her eyes and thinking of her grandmother and mother.  She had never known her father as he was never a part of her life. “Wish me luck today,” she spoke under her breath, knowing her grandma and mom were always with her.  Her mother unfortunately passed away before her 17th birthday: a horrible car accident took her away from you.  

Gemma’s mother was her world and was always there for her.  After her untimely death, her grandmother picked up the pieces and helped her get through everything.  

“Peterson!  You’re up!” Her thoughts were pulled from her when she heard her name being called.  Looking up, she saw a short and round man with sweat stains under his armpits waiting for her near a door.  She knew it was the resident Psychiatrist, Dr. Kauffman,  with whom she talked to on the phone earlier in the week.  

Quickly standing up, she gathered her satchel which held her notebook, along with the prison inmate file on Steve Rogers, and briskly walked over to the man.  

He looked her up and down then shook his head.  “They are going to eat you alive kid,” he spoke with a shake of his head before turning away from her and walking down the long and narrow hall.  

Gemma scrunched her brows and looked down at her outfit.  She made sure to dress accordingly with what the psychiatrist said. She was wearing a knee length black dress and a green cardigan to cover her exposed arms; her hair was neatly tucked back into a ponytail and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.  A pair of black converse on her feet.  But her eyes widened when she realized she put perfume on that morning.  Silently, she scolded herself as the man in front of her walked through another set of doors and took a sharp turn to the left.  

Taking deep breaths, Gemma kept up pace with the doctor in front of her as they now reached the official area where the inmates were locked up.  

“Hey sexy bitch!” A man growled from her right.  “Get your sexy ass over her and let me take a good look at you!”  

Glancing to her right, she saw a tall man, at least six foot five with his hands clenched around the steel bars; his smile wide, showing off his yellow teeth.  

There was a guard walking behind you and he took his baton, smacking it against the steel bars, effectively shutting the inmate up.

After a few more twists and turns, Dr. Kauffman leads Gemma into what looks like the visitor room. There are rows of metal tables and chairs; the tables having locks in the middle of them so the prisoners can be chained down with their handcuffs.  

“Take a seat,” Dr. Kauffman states as he points to one of the tables.  The room was large, but there was nobody else there.  It was cold, cooler than the previous room she was waiting in and it smelt musty.  

Dr. Kauffman took a seat at the opposite side of the table as her, clasping his hands together.  “Look, I know you’re here to interview Rogers, but don’t be surprised if you don’t get any information out of him,” he stated. Gemma furrowed her brows in curiosity to what he said.  “There have been dozens of interviewers here over the years and Rogers doesn’t particularly care to give any kind of information to them.”  He got up from his seat, placing his hands on the table and leaning towards her. “And just so you know, this is the first time he has seen a woman in three years.”

Gemma gulped, but her throat was so dry, it didn’t do anything.  Why was she so nervous all of a sudden?  This was her job; she’s interviewed hundreds of people over the last handful of years, but she had never been quite this nervous before.  

“Are you wearing perfume?” Dr. Kauffman asked as he stood away, folding his arms over his chest.

Gemma blushed, nodding her head.  “Sorry. It’s a habit.  I’ll remember for next time.  Promise.”

Dr. Kauffman walked towards the steel beamed doors where there were two prisons guards waiting.  

As Gemma waited for him to grab Steve Rogers, she placed her notebook and inmate file in front of her on the table.  Opening the file, she still couldn’t believe that there was no picture of the inmate. When she had asked her boss about it, he merely shrugged.  She had the file for almost a week and had memorized everything inside of it.  

She read over the questions she had written in front of her as she waiting; her hands palms starting to sweat as her heart began to beat rapidly inside of her chest; anxiety and fear creeping over her.  

“You need to behave yourself and be nice Rogers,” one of the guards spoke.  

Another voice broke through Gemma’s thoughts; one of the sexiest voices she had ever heard. Looking up from her papers in front of her, she saw a tall, well built man, clad in an orange jumpsuit, wrists and ankles locked together with cuffs, entering the expansive room.  

He scoffed at the guard, a sly smile on his face.  “I don’t play well with others and you know that.”

Her heart nearly dropped to her stomach at the sight of him.  He had to be close to six feet tall.  His hair was a dark blonde, almost brunette and was longer at the top of his head while the sides were shorter.  His hair was combed backwards and he had a thick yet trimmed beard resting on his face.

The guard brought him closer to Gemma, stopping just in front of her.  He pulled the chair out for Steve to sit in and cuffed him to the table.  

“We’ll be just outside the door, so no funny business Rogers,” the guard spoke, pulling at his cuffs to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.  

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve bit back sarcastically.  

It took a moment for Steve to look over at Gemma and when she did, she wanted to simultaneously shrink down in her seat from her glare, yet get lost in his eyes forever.  They were the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life and she was mesmerized by them.  

Steve cleared his throat, making Gemma startle in her seat.   She tore her gaze from his eyes and noticed he had tattoos peeking out of the neck of his jumpsuit.  As she trailed her view from his neck, she also realized he had more black ink sticking out of sleeves of his orange garb and to his hands; wondering if his entire body was covered in the ink.  

Steve couldn’t help but take notice of the smaller woman sitting in front of him.  She was a mousy little thing, yet he could tell she was curvy underneath that drab old cardigan she was wearing.  Fuck, Steve hadn’t seen a woman in over three years and he wasn’t disappointed in this little Kitten sitting here.  He couldn’t help but notice when he startled her earlier, scaring her; it made his dick throb.

She wet her lips, grasping her notebook in her hands and looking over her questions yet again.  

Steve began to feel his temper rise under his skin, waiting for this little Kitten to speak.  Hell, at this point, he was beginning to think she was a damn mute.  

Gemma took a sip of water from her water bottle that was stashed away in her satchel; getting comfortable in her chair.  “Umm, I just wanted to say thank you for agreeing to meet and speak with me Mr. Rogers,” she spoke, her voice awfully quiet.  

His eyes narrowed at her as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest.  “Yeah yeah.  Let’s just get this over with.  I’m missing my yard time today for some journalist here.”

Gemma shuffles anxiously in her chair.  “Well, I’m not a journalist Mr. Rogers.  My name is Gemma Peterson and I’m a writer actually.  I work for a small publishing firm and they are interested in your story as a lifer in this prison.  They are actually doing a series on inmates and their personal memoirs and it will be published into a book of….”

Steve scoffed, cutting you off.  “Writer or journalist, you’re all the same. There’s no difference,” he mutters under his breath.  His eyes glance down to the manila folder that held his inmate information.  “From the looks of it, you’ve already read everything about me so you should know how I feel about journalists hounding me for questions about my life before prison and now.”  His voice was warning, yet a deep purr.  He leaned against the table, closer to Gemma, eyes pinning under his dark gaze.  

There was something about the fear that was ignited in Gemma, which also turned her on.  His eyes were piercing deep into her soul, mesmerized, yet terrified at the same time.  

Steve fought the urge to moan at the way she bit her lower lip, as if to stop herself from trembling; his cock jumping for attention under his orange jumpsuit.  She was modest, submissive even and he had to stop thinking dark thoughts about his hand around her throat as he fucked her raw.  When he was told about this interview, he assumed it would have been a balding fat man, not a shapely appetizing young woman.  

He was leaned over the table, as close as he could possible lean and inhaled deeply.  His nostrils were met with the most wondrous smell; some sort of flower he couldn’t quite figure out, but he wanted more of it.  He thanked whatever higher power out there for her perfume, her scent; it was a good distraction for his shitty fucking life in prison.  

Gemma took a shuddering breath as Steve leaned closer to her over the table; her eyes on his large hands clasped together.  

“Well go on then.  Ask your damn questions,” Steve urged, a hint of playfulness in his warning tone, making Gemma’s mind swirl with confusion.

“Umm, what..what more can you tell me about your conviction and what was it like?” She slowly glances back up at Steve, immediately regretting it.  His jaw was tight, tense.  

“Lengthy and tedious,” came Steve’s stiff answer.  

“And what about the trial?” she asks softly.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he glances down at his file and back up to her.  “Read the damn file.  It’s all in there.”

Usually she is poised during interviews, but Steve is throwing her off track with his demeanor. “Alright then,” she speaks, shifting in her chair.  “How has it been adjusting to life here in prison?”

“Agonizing,” he replies; his face deadpanned.  

“Umm,” she stumbled as she fumbled through her notes.  She could feel her cheeks begin to redden with mortification at her loss of thought. This was definitely not going the way she imagined.  Sure, she had never interviewed a prisoner before, but she had seen numerous crime shows and interviews online with prisoners and they acted anything but like Steve.  Her throat was beginning to dry up and reached for her bottle of water, taking a quick swig.  Not only was his behavior throwing her off, but he stature in general was terrifying. Here she was, sitting not only in front of a murderer, but a big man in and of itself.  His biceps were trying to break free from his jumpsuit and she could tell he was ripped and muscular underneath.  

Her eyes trailed up to his face; the veins in his neck starting to pop out.  “What do you want me to say huh?” he growled through his teeth. “You want me to sit here and talk about and describe in detail what killing and hurting those men felt like huh? How good it felt when I plunged the knife into their stomachs and slashed their throats?  Or how I watched one of them die a slow and painful death after cutting his femoral artery?  People don’t realize just how much blood the human body can hold, but I sure do Kitten and it’s quite a fucking lot of blood,” he explained.  

Gemma wanted to flinch at the pet name he gave her, but she kept her cool as best she could. Instead, she looked at him with her big emerald green innocent and scared eyes.  

Steve nearly came in his jumpsuit at the terrified way she was looking at him.  Fuck he would give anything to snap these chains off him, bend her over the table and slam his dick into her pussy.  He knew, just by looking at her, what a tight little cunt she had; and he wanted it.  

“Is that what you want to hear Kitten?  I think deep down you want to hear that I enjoyed killing those men.  Fuck, I’m glad I did it.  And no, I wouldn’t take it back if I had the chance to.  Sure, I’m fucking pissed to be locked in this miserable God forsaken place like a caged animal.  Having to be told when I can eat, sleep and taking a goddamn piss. But it is what it is,” he stated, shrugging  as if it was nothing.  

Gemma could do nothing but stare back at him.  Steve studied her, knowing he was wrong.  No, she was too sweet, too pure.  She wasn’t hard hearted like him.  He watches as she nervously chews on her lower lip.  

“What do you miss most from outside of this place?”

The question made him cock his head to the side in curiosity.  This petite, shapely five foot four librarian looking woman just astonished the five foot eleven murderer.  

“What?” Steve asked.  

“What do you miss about-“

“I heard the fucking question Kitten,” he growled.  

This time when he called her Kitten, she didn’t want to flinch.  Instead, she felt an oddly exciting tingle go down her spine; her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink.  Steve knew exactly what his pet name did to her as he slyly smirked.  

Steve stayed silent, not knowing how to answer that question.  Nobody ever asked him that question before in interviews.  

She remained quiet as well, her eyes fidgeting with her pen.  She had been told time and time again to not give any personal information about herself, but she couldn’t help just speaking up.  “I’d miss baking.”  Her voice was the softest she had ever spoken; Steve barely heard her.  

Her eyes flick back up to Steve as he sits back in his chair, getting comfortable.  His slicked back hair was now in the light of one of the few windows in the room and even though he used only prison shampoo, it looked so soft; she wanted to run her fingers through it.  

Since Steve wasn’t saying anything, she figured she would continue speaking.  “My grandma left me her house in her will when she passed. It’s quite small.  Just a two bedroom two bathroom house.  But it has a porch with a porch swing in the front and is full of hand me downs and small knick-knacks.  It’s warm and cozy and clean, and all mine,” she speaks.  “It’s all I have.  I don’t have any family left.  My entire life exists in that small house.   I grew up there my entire life.  I remember planting some lilac bushes when I was younger.  I love it every spring when they bloom, even if it’s not for very long.  My grandma and I planted a garden in the front of the house.  I try to keep up with the garden, but that was my grandma’s thing.  Plants and flowers.  Luckily the garden we planted when I was younger, doesn’t take much to upkeep. But baking is my passion. Cookies, brownies, pies and cakes. I make a lot of cakes for special events in my town.”

She couldn’t help but glance up at Steve and she couldn’t tell if her mind was playing tricks on her or not, but it looked like he was smirking.  

“Coffee,” was all he said, making Gemma nod her head.  But then he continued.  “Italian coffee to be exact.  Nothing added to it, dark as the ink on my skin.  The shit coffee they serve in here tastes like dirt.”  Gemma couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, the sound going straight to Steve’s dick, making him inwardly groan.  

The two of them sat there quietly, staring at one another.  

“Time’s up,” came the voice of one of the guards.  Gemma turned and saw two guards entering the room.  They stopped in front of Steve and unshackled him from the table.  Roughly, they jerked his hands away from the table and she wondered if his wrists were sore or hurt as she noticed how his skin was raised and red near the cuffs.  

“Come and see me again Kitten,” Steve spoke with a slight upturned grin to his lips.  

Gemma watched as the guards took him from the room.  She had never felt this way before she did today; terrified and fearful, yet oddly excited to see him again.  She had not planned on coming back here again, but when he called her that pet name yet again, she had made up her mind to visit him next week.  

[all-things-fic]

Mistletoe Jam

A/N: Merry Christmas from me to you. I don’t where this came from, all I know is I lost a lot of sleep trying to get this finished last night. Hope you all enjoy and thanks to anyone who has ever read anything I’ve posted on here.

Title comes from a Luther Vandross song purely because I like these lyrics in particular - ‘Glad I got big feet cause they're so good for dancin'. Glad you got big legs cause they're so good when we're romancin'

Shoutout to @waitingfortwilight, @harryfeatgaga and @haute-romance-quotidienne for reading this here and there.

~*~

You closed your eyes and let the back of your head hit the headrest behind you in the passenger seat.

“Swear I’m going to change my name,” you muttered under your breath as you heard your son whine Mum for the fifth time in a row.

Harry chuckled in the driver's seat next to you, fore and middle finger resting against his lips as he leaned his elbow on the drivers side door. You were sat in standstill traffic, looking to exit the car park of Cheshire Oaks.

You had a death wish coming here on Christmas Eve but unfortunately in your mad dash attempt to get out of London, you’d left an entire sack of presents behind that were sat next to your tree that had been up for all of a week.

To say you weren’t looking forward to hoovering up after it when you returned to the big smoke in the new year would be an understatement.

However, the actual shopping itself hadn’t been too bad. You’d tag teamed. Harry took your eldest boy with him, leaving you to take your daughter into the one place you knew would keep her occupied: Pets at Home. You’d deal with the constant requests of getting a rabbit over the next 48 hours, if it meant she was quiet enough to allow Harry to grab whatever toy she had suddenly requested from Father Christmas since you’d arrived back up North. 

“Mum,” came the whine again, causing you to look around in your chair and see the culprit. Hidden behind a Barbie doll that had been completely stripped naked, baring a pair of cowboy boots, you found the inquisitive blue eyes of your son.

You spoke his name, watching the way he dropped the doll to show you his cheeky smile. “Can we stay up late and look for Santa?,” he asked, his head slightly tilting as he did so. He really was pulling out all the stops today.

Staying silent, you felt Harry’s gaze look at you from the corner of his eye before he looked up at his son through the rear view mirror. “Doesn’t work like that mate,” he started, causing your little boy to turn his gaze away from yours. “Need to go to sleep, or else he doesn’t show up. Good boys and girls sleep in their own beds,” you heard Harry pause to allow the latter part of his sentence to resonate, as much as it could with a toddler, before he continued anymore.

Staying silent you thought Harry was going to continue, however instead when your gaze moved to look at him, you saw the way he appeared to be holding back an expletive at how someone cut him up to get into a parking space that had become available while you sat in idle traffic.

“Dad’s right, baby,” you agreed, watching the way his face fell into a small frown. His mouth fell slightly agape, you cutting in before he could start to whine. “Hey, you know Father Christmas is watching you right now don’t you-“

His mouth shut as his bottom lip started to protrude, his face rolling to look out the window to his right like he was some moody singer filming a pensive part of an emotive music video. 

“He’s sulking now,” you muttered, turning back in your seat.

“Am not,” he shot back, your mutter obviously not low enough to go unnoticed. You knew it was wrong given he was probably far too over stimulated as it was, but you couldn’t quite help it.

From the corner of your vision your saw that he started to go stiff in his seat, stretched out and showcasing his frustration. Still idle in traffic, you watched Harry turn in his seat to turn his gaze on his son.

“Enough,” he spoke assertively, hand pressing against the taut legs of his son. “You’ve been good all morning,” he continued, seeing no change in his son's temper. 

“One,” he started, causing you to shift slightly in your seat. “Two,” you turned to look at him, seeing the way your little boy shifted, body relaxing. “Good boy, sit back nicely for Dad-“ he manoeuvred back in his drivers seats lowering his voice as he continued, “-so he can get off this bloody car park in one piece.”

***

Anne’s house just smelled like Christmas.

Of fresh baking and spiced Christmas candles. It was cosy too. The kind of warmth that enveloped you the minute you stepped foot into the hallway from the porch. 

She smiled a knowing smile when she saw your frazzled hair once you pulled off your winter hat and quickly took your hand, dragging you in the opposite direction that Harry had taken the kids.

“I have mulled wine,” she passed comment, turning to look at your face from over her shoulder. “No? How about a glass of prosecco?” 

“Isn’t it a bit early?” You said, eyes taking in the mountain of washing up in her sink, as you messed with the waistband of your jeans and sorted out your jumper. 

“Never, not when it’s Christmas,” she smiled. “Besides I think we’ll both need to be a little bit pissed to attack the mountain of washing up.”

Regardless of receiving an actual answer, she poured the prosecco for you, glass being handed over smoothly before she took to pouring her own. As her eyes lifted from the job, she noticed Harry in the kitchen doorway, removing his gloves and shoving them into the pocket of his black coat.

“Or we could get my lovely son to do it,” she let her gaze move over your shoulder as she sipped from her own delicate glass. 

“Barely got me coat off and you’re already giving me jobs,” he spoke deeply, leaning against the doorframe. Turning to look at him you noticed the way his eyes lovingly shone over at his mother, before they scanned the kitchen like it was some sort of crime scene.

He groaned as his eyes stilled on the sink, immediately catching on as to what was being asked of him. “I’ll do it under one condition,” his eyes cut to yours before moving back to his Mum’s. “You let me wear the gloves.”

Anne laughed, hand covering her mouth as she tried not to splutter her prosecco everywhere. “I have new ones,” she said, with glittery eyes. Before you could even catch onto the gloves and the meaning behind them, your mother-in-law had hidden herself away in the pantry.

Eyes fell to Harry as he placed himself next to you. He loved the confused but oh so intrigued look that you wore. “Just wait,” he hummed, hands pressing against the kitchen surface and nudging his head back to where his mother stood, wordlessly making you move your eyes towards the same direction.

“Managed to find these in the pound shop when I popped into town with Louise, they had others but you know how I am with my sparkle-“

Harry hummed, with his lips twitching into the boyish smile. “Come on,” he moved his hand in come hither motion. “Let me ‘ave at ‘em.”

Without another word Anne tossed the pair of gloves onto the kitchen work surface. Your eyes dropped to the item that clattered thanks to the gaudy diamond that sat - from what you could tell - super glued onto the middle finger of the latex gloves. 

“Pound shop upping its game with the introduction of an old Swarovski-esc cocktail ring, I see.”

You didn’t quite know what to say, as you watched your husband marvel with humour at the monstrosities that he seemed eager to don. 

“Where’s the washing up liquid then?” Harry said shaking off his coat and quickly taking to unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt and rolling them up to the crook of his elbow. “Dishes aren’t gonna do themselves.” 

The laughter of sheer delight that left Anne’s chest cause you to cut your eyes over to her. It was nice to see her in such a way, carefree and in awe of her baby over the silliest thing. You often wondered if the face she wore looking at both Gemma and Harry was an expression that flirted across your face over the littlest thing that your own son and daughter did. 

You eyes watched Harry as he snatched at the gloves, pulling the red latex over his hands and making them stretch against his ring-clad fingers.

“Wha’ size did you get these in,” he moaned around a husky laugh, his fingers clenching underneath the latex into a fist before expanding once more.

“Didn’t look, darling,” Anne nonchalantly replied, swiping up her phone and snapping a picture of Harry off-guard. He frowned lightly over at her, only for Anne to softly laugh. “Since I’m no longer needed here,” she continued, picking up the bottle from the middle of the kitchen island. “I have some gran-babies to cuddle and annoy since my children no longer enjoy my offers of affection.”

“No, we just enjoy your successful attempts at free labour more. Clearly,” Harry shook his soapy-sud hands out, flicking dishwater in the process.

“I’m letting you stay for free over the festive period and feeding you, ‘s the least you can do.”

He couldn’t argue with that one, his eyes falling to yours as you sipped your drink wearing a smile that was far more triumphant looking than it should be.

“Don’t know why you’ve got a face on you like tha’,” he started, grabbing at the tea towel next to him. “You’re drying.”

The very same tea towel came flying at you, your hand swiping to move your half filled glass to save a spillage and trying to defend yourself. 

You didn’t make any effort to move as Harry turned off the tap and got to making sure that all the pots, pans and plates were submerged underneath the surface.

The way his back looked underneath his shirt as he moved his hands around the sink was attractive. It sounded daft and if you weren’t coherent enough you’d blame the prosecco, but even the back of him glowed from happiness (and maybe an extra serving of dessert or two). 

Breaking the silence Harry said, “Need to up me ring game.”

You watched the way he shook out his hand, soapy suds once again flicking against the kitchen counter. “Old Mrs Claus, looking to play away.”

“What are you on about?” You said, leaning against the kitchen counter, hand reaching for the packet which had once held the washing up gloves. Eyes took in the label, flicking it over to read the product description to yourself. 

“Wearing her diamond on the incorrect finger, innit.”

“Probably got a thing for one of the elves. Husband’s let himself go a bit-“

“Santa or me?” He chuckled.

You smiled against the lip of your champagne flute, eyes moving upwards to see the profile of your husband’s face as he stopped all washing up to look at you. “All I’m saying is maybe only leave one mince pie out for Santa this year when you’re helping the kids set up the plate.”

“Look, Santa is a strapping lad,” he spoke with conviction. “He can’t help it, if Mrs Claus is a feeder.” 

“I am not a feeder, Harry,” you laughed, throwing the tea towel back at him. 

“Darling, I don’t know what kind of role play you’re into but maybe this is something we should pick up after we’ve put the kids to bed.” 

“Was just about to ask you the same thing,” you bit back, eyes once again dropping down the packaging that encased the gloves. “Glamourous red and pearly washing up gloves,” you cleared your throat, eye flickering up to see the way his face had pulled into a smile, as he added another plate to drying rack. 

“These fun and stylish gloves make even the dirtiest jobs look fabulous!”

“I can concur-“

Smiling, and hearing it lace your voice, you continued, “The pair of gloves are not only practical but they are complete with a fur lining, pearl bracelet-“

“To match my necklace-“

“-and a superbly sized diamond.”

“Superbly sized diamond, only the best for Mrs Claus.” 

“Funny Secret Santa gift for women-“

“And men-,” Harry interjected. 

“Both fun and practical for doing the dishes.”

He stayed silent at that one, you too remaining tight lipped waiting for him to say something. When you eyes slowly pulled away from the packet, you met his from across the kitchen island.

You noticed the way his forehead held a light perspiration and the front of his shirt was slightly wet from where he had been leaning a little too closely over the sink.

His hair fell against his forehead and into his eyes, that held an expression that made it so you felt like you couldn’t break your gaze. 

“You know what else rhymes with dishes? Missus.” 

The way his lips twitched as he spoke, the crinkles next to his eyes deepening. “Both fun and practical for doing the missus.”

“Harry,” you chastised him under your breath.

“Wha’,” he drawled, expression mischievous. “I’m telling Mum we’re keeping these.” 

“You do realise that Santa is watching,” you swiped your glass, downing the remainder of your prosecco.

“How’d you know he’s not into it?”

The competitive person in you wanted to counter his question with a question of your own, but instead you chose to give him something to really think about.

Slipping down from the breakfast bar stool, you turned to leave the room, stilling in the doorway.

“That makes two of us then.”

***

Somehow between 1pm and 8pm Harry had managed to remember he was a father of two rather than rampant teenager bringing his girlfriend home for their first Christmas together. 

He’d been the ever-doting Dad after he had left the kitchen, helping the kids put together and decorate the gingerbread house at Anne’s dining table, taking a danger nap with his little girl during an afternoon showing of Frozen on BBC One and cooking a Christmas Eve feast suitable for the whole family. 

Rather than fight against the family pyjamas, instead he lead the charge, helping to encourage the coercing of your son into his along the way. 

He got excited when you pulled out the hand crafted plate that said “Dear Santa” along the top and then “Love from,” followed by the names of your son and daughter along the bottom. 

There was no doubt about it, Harry was all in. 

With a carrot and mince pie now placed on the fireplace, Harry now sat with a sweaty child pressed into his side on Anne’s sofa, with Love Actually on the television going in one ear and out the other. 

Your son had put up a fight to sleep, like his earlier episode in the car let you know he would do. His little body bouncing around before creeping along the landing, only for Harry to peek up the stairs and tell him to come down.

He was a hard child to stay mad at, more so when he cuddled into your side to begin with until getting cosy next to his Dad. Part of you wondered if he was becoming under the weather, given the way his cheeks were rosy and his skin clammy.

“Probably this cheap polyester you’ve forced us into,” Harry playfully jibed, knowing just how mad you’d been when you read that the pyjamas you had bought off the internet under the illusion of being 100% cotton, were in fact only 80% cotton and 20% polyester. 

Your hand was held against his forehead as Harry stood with his limp and sleepy body in the middle of the living room. “He’s definitely coming down with something,” you worried your bottom lip.

Harry dropped his lips to his son's forehead, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper as he reassured you that he just needed to get some rest. 

Falling back into your space on the couch, you half listened as Harry left the room asking you to pause the film so he didn’t miss anything. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at how he and everyone else could by now recite Love Actually considering how it had become a classic for this time of year. 

“I’m just going to nip out and grab those presents from the boot of the car,” he said poking his head around the living room door upon his return. 

Lifting your head from the Radio Times magazine that you’d managed to swipe from Anne as she retired upstairs earlier for a bath and to get straight into bed, you nodded when you met his eyes.

“Want to crack open tha’ bottle of red when I come back?” He suggested, fiddling with the collar of his coat, car keys jingling in his hand. 

“Can’t get too pissed, still gotta wrap some presents-“

“I didn’t hear that,” he replied, shutting the door behind him before heading out to the drive to retrieve the purchases both he and you had made earlier.

In his absence, you took in the cosy living room that surrounded you and felt your body sink into the sofa as you relaxed. This was the least frantic you’d felt all day, regardless of the mountains of wrapping you still had to do.

Your children had been wiped when they finally fell asleep, which was always a win for any parent. It meant that they would probably give you the chance to sleep in a little later than usual for Christmas Day. There was nothing wrong with being hopeful that your gaze met 7am on the alarm clock rather than the usual 5am.

The presents that already sat underneath the tree, made your heart soar. Material things did not mean much at all, but there was no doubt it that every single person in this family - your family - was loved. 

Standing from your seat, you let your feet lead you along the carpet and out into the dimly lit hallway of Anne’s house. Pictures of Harry and Gemma, as children, littered the walls. Some of the frames and pictures replaced since you had first set foot in the family home, with images of your own children and Gemma’s too.

The strong sense of family always comforted you when you stayed at Anne’s. Took a gentle hold of your body and consumed you in the nicest way.

Both glasses and the bottle retrieved, you quickly shut the door of the living room to make sure that barely any of the heat from the roaring fire left the fairly sized and cosy space. 

Sitting on the edge of the couch, you quickly unscrewed the bottle of red and poured two reasonable sized glasses.

Leaving one atop of the coffee table, you plucked up the stem of your glass and sunk back into the cream couch. You knew you’d have to be extra careful as the night went on and more of the rich and acidic drink was consumed. 

The rustling of bags let you know that Harry had returned into the house from outside, with the door of the front room opening not long after. 

“Can feel the cold coming off you,” you commented as he set down the four bags he had retrieved. 

“Cars icing up,” he commented, tugging off his coat and throwing it into the spare armchair over the other side of the room. As he turned, he wore a warm smile once his eyes saw the way you were offering over a glass of wine.

Now stood from your seat, he padded his socked feet against the carpet over to you and gently peeled the stem from your grasp. Sipping the drink and keeping his eyes locked with yours, he noticed the way you dropped your stare to his lips as he licked away the lingering wine residue. 

His free hand cupped at the back of your forearm, cold fingers easy to feel through your thin pyjamas. He soothed his hand up the back of your arm, scooping you into him.

Looking down at you with his softened jawline, he hummed the first thoughts on his mind. “Not kissed you all day-“

And he hadn’t. Things had been manic and the day has mainly been about your children, and present swapping with friends. Outside of the other activities previously thought back on.

“Or night,” you mused in return.

He tutted, “Night’s’not over yet.”

Humming you tilted your head slightly when you felt his hand hit the back of your neck. You shivered from his cold touch as he mumbled his sorry’s against your lips.

With a soft shake of the head you dismissed him and welcomed his tender and gentle kiss. His lips puckered at yours and softly drew you into his every want and desire.

As he went to pull away you lured him back with a soft pull to his top lip, feeling him smile at how you didn’t want to break away. He happily obliged you, opening his mouth wider to devour you, enticed by your plusher figure against his and the warmth radiating off you.

“‘S all this,” he mumbled against your cheek, as he tried to calm his breathing and remember not to lose grip of his wine. 

“Jus’ showing you how much you mean to us-“

“Shouldn’t that be me to you,” he corrected. “Would be lost without you, Mommy.” 

Pulling back you looked at him, welcoming the soft peck he left on your lips as you stared at each other. A small laugh left him as he pressed a second and third peck to your lips in quick succession, “‘s not getting the wrapping done is it?”

“You started it,” you mumbled into your glass as he turned to stand behind you and grabbed for the bags. 

Before he got to them however he stalled all movement, looking at your profile with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll bloody well finish to an’ all, after we’ve done this wrapping.”

“Nothing sexier than a man who gets a job done and get its done proper.”

He laughed down his nose at that, before he groaned as he managed to get his body down to the floor.

“Don’t do things by halves, love. Should know that by now. Now, who’s present was the Barbie kitchen set?”

***

That’s how you spent the majority of the night, rummaging through the plastic bags and putting together two piles of presents for each of your children. 

Once it had been decided who was having what, you did your equal share of the wrapping. Harry actually better at wrapping than you were always led to believe by the man himself. You knew he often opted for the gift wrapping service at a Selfridges or a Harrod’s, but here he was slumming it like everyone else. 

“How’s it feel being like every other peasant and wrapping your own gifts?”

He chuckled, mouth closed as it held onto a piece of sticky tape that was going to be used after he’d neatened up the edges of the LOL drawing set that you’d bought for your little girl.

“Actually very rewarding,” he deadpanned, “‘s probably the wine tha’s making it less of a chore though. That and my incredibly easy on the eye wife cheering me on.”

He did find himself getting bored when he was three quarters of the way through however, finding ways to entertain himself like sticking one of the bows to his forehead to give himself to you as a present, which had you giggling over at him with bleary, wine eyes.

“You’re a daft sod,” you said pressing your outstretched foot into his thigh and enjoying the way he cupped the top of the same foot, keeping it close to him. 

You could tell he was getting restless when he started talking about all manner of different Christmas facts that he’d heard around the studio, or in meetings to break up long sessions of recording or tour logistics. 

“Did you know?” He started, “Paul McCartney earns £250,000 a year off his Christmas song, which is widely regarded as the worst song he ever recorded.”

“Obviously not by you,” you deadpanned, as you concentrated on trying to find the end of the sticky tape as it had stuck itself back together.

“I’ve probably helped up his royalties actually, d’ya think I could get a cut of that?” You laughed, looking up at him from the final present you were wrapping. “I’m serious, I’ll have a word with Sonny and see if he can mention it to his Uncle Paul.”

Rather than responding, you reached for the last of your wine and swallowed it in one gulp. Empty glass on the table, you looked over at your husband who wore a flushed face, either from the wine or the heat within the room. You did notice he had pushed the sleeves of his pyjamas top up into the crook of his elbow.

“Did you know,” he whimsically asked in a whisper.

“Probably not, Harry, but go on-“

“It’s well known that mistletoe is an aphrodisiac, a symbol of fertility,” Harry spoke with concentration as he looked down at the paper which housed the toys that he had done a mad dash to The Entertainer store for, once you daughter mentioned how she had changed her list to Father Christmas. This was his final gift to wrap. 

“You can forget it, Styles,” you bit back, watching the way he smirked around the cello tape that he was biting into, too lazy to reach across for the scissors at the end of his legs. Forever easily amused. “Already one too many in our house as it is.”

“Maybe I’ve asked Father Christmas for a new ‘un,” he patted at the present, looking up at you from under his brow.

“A new baby-“

“Yeah, that as well,” he rolled his lips into his mouth, clearly meaning a house. He frowned, “And wha’ do ya mean with this ‘one too many’? ‘S only two of them.” 

“Three.”

He shook his head, his face reminiscent of a child confused. Point proven. 

“Our two kids,” you paused, for dramatic effect. “And you. So, one too many.”

He was taken aback by your playful nature, a little bit lost for words at how brazenly you had dissed him. 

“Thought you liked ‘em young,” he retorted, hand curling around your calf and tugging you over to him. From the quickness of his movement, you squealed. The two of you shushing each other around soft laughter as your eyes faintly fell towards the television monitor that showed you your sleeping children from where you sat in his lap. 

“Dead to the world, both of ‘em,” he mumbled, breathing along your cheek as he noted the way your soft gaze lingered on your babies.

“Can’t wait to see their faces tomorrow,” you admitted, as his lips skimmed gently down your neck. 

“Need to finish off the magic,” he hummed. “Pass me the plate.”

Leaning over from in his lap, you gave Harry the ample opportunity to softly tap his hand against your pyjama-clad bottom. The sound your ears and his received was a dull thud that didn’t achieve what it intended.

Turning to look at him, his sheepish gaze made you aware that he too wasn’t satisfied from his actions. His eyes dropped down to the plate that you held tightly in your hands at the goodies he had laid out on the idea a mere four hours prior.

“You take the carrot,” he pushed it towards you, eyes meeting yours as they looked up.

“And here I was thinking you were the health conscious one-“

“I need stodge to soak up this,” he scooped up the pouring of whiskey. “‘M mixing drinks, so I’m gonna be a barrel of laughs when they jump on me at 5am as my wake up call.”

You softly laughed before you took a hefty bite out of the carrot and he out of the mince pie. With a gooey smile, you couldn’t stop your hands moving up to his lips and wiping away the crumbs from the pastry that sat on the corners of his mouth.

“Have the last bit,” he spoke once he has swallowed his food, offering the small amount of whiskey left in the tumbler glass to you. 

You sipped the drink that he gave to you and placed the empty glass down with a soft clunk to the plate. 

“Can make some magic of our own now,” he whispered in a light alcohol induced haze, satisfied. 

And under the soft lighting of the living room, who were you to refuse him.

His chuckle of disbelief at this words hit your lips with a warm breath, causing you to blush along with him. If he wasn’t kissing you in that moment, you knew that he would have said the words, “Can’t believe I’ve just said tha’.”

But you would believe it, because things like that were him to a T. 

He was that kind of person sometimes, hidden underneath the incredibly handsome features and put together looks: a geek. A loveable geek. 

A loveable geek who knew how to work his way around your body; your head falling back with the thought as he sucked at the middle of your neck. 

“No lovebites, baby,” you gasped, fingers woven into the hair at the back of his head. “We’re at your Mum’s,” you reminded him, feeling his tongue lave against the area he’d been particularly rough with. Like a cat licking at his wounds, tucking his tail between his legs at how he’d admitted defeat. 

His hands moved up the back of your shirt, raising the pyjama material as he went. Your arms lifted, helping him remove the item of clothing and enjoying the tickling feeling of your hair falling down the bare skin of your back.

Harry’s face went straight into the center of your boobs without much focus on where he’d thrown your discarded top in the living room. Mouth sucked with power on the inside of your chest, he was determined to leave a mark against your skin one way or another. 

His hands clawed at the elastic of your trousers, palming underneath them to feel your bare bum cheeks against his hands,helping to create a rocking motion of your crotch against his.

You mewled, in a breathy tone, “Take ‘em off.”

“‘S nice like this,” he coaxed, looking at your face with hooded eyes and enjoying your mirrored expression.

And he wasn’t lying. Been a while since you’d sat in his lap and found your release against him with your clothes still on. 

“It’s not enough,” you admitted, feeling your hips become slightly more frantic as you pressed back into his awaiting hands with a soft clap. 

“It’s enough for now,” he urged you to rock. “Relax on me, darling. We’ve got time.”

Languid kisses was nice. The friction of your clothes too, worked you up in a way that was way more than you would ever care to admit. Breathing growing heavier as Harry kept his lips to your chest and you fisted at his hair.

Tingles ran through you as you felt Harry growing harder through his trousers, rubbing against your center over and over. He twitched as his hand pulled you with more force against him, his hand slipping down lower to rest in-between your bum cheeks.

The way his fingers ghosted close to your center was enough to have you reaching around and pushing his hand down further. The suction sound his mouth made as it peeled away from your clammy skin, made you moan with a fallen head tilt. 

“Want my fingers that bad,” he whispered, feeling the pressure of your hand on top of his. “Tell me.”

“Please, put ‘em in,” you breathily asked. Your mouth fell agape as you felt the tips of his fingers rest against your wetness. You knew if you rocked back and he held you steady enough, they’d sink right in without any resistance.

“Gonna rub your clit for me while you take my fingers, eh?”

Your breathing was laboured as his fingers brushed at your aching, wet center. You were desperate from some kind of pressure, your center pulsing each time you felt the tips of his fingers get closer. 

“At this rate your gonna be all down your legs and mine,” he paused, enjoying the choked moan you released when he finally slipped his fingers inside your wet warmth. “Not even got started.” 

You hand was against your front and harshly rubbing at your sopping clit that had you softly swiping up and releasing enticing moans, causing Harry to throb. 

He softly shushed you as he pushed your fallen hair, slightly damp from sweat, out of your eyes. 

“No ones ever made me this wet,” you admitted in a whiny plea to him, scooping your arm around his neck to sit tighter onto his lap. 

His eyes dropped down to the way your hand moved over your center underneath your pyjamas trousers. “Hiding from me, darling,” he was obvious.

“I said take them off,” you hummed. “Thought you were a man, my man.”

Harry growled at your goad, fingers slipping without much care and wiping into the waistband of your trousers. He roughly pulled at your bottoms, his limbs and yours unattractively flaying but achieving the ultimate goal of getting naked. 

Bare bum now open to thick heat of the room, you enjoyed the way he tapped his fingers lightly against your left cheek, close to where your bum and thigh met.

“Harry,” you breathed, hips nudging forwards, enough to get his cock to press between your lips, just right. You rolled your hips over him slowly, your wetness enticing and teasing to his cock. Bliss was written across his face as he enjoyed your attentiveness to foreplay. 

“Gonna let me have you,” he stated, no question within his words. He felt the way you nodded against him, as you pressed your forehead to his. 

You gripped his shoulder as you rolled back again, feeling the way his tip slipped into your without much guidance other than the slight lift to your arse from Harry himself.

As you sank down on him, you felt the way his hand pressed to your lower back. Shaky exhales bounced against each other’s lips as you took him in, staying still and relishing in the way his cock felt inside of you.

Throbbing clit flush to his pelvis, you knew even the tiniest of motion would have you losing your mind. 

Wanting to keep him deep, you barely raised your hips more than halfway off him before you were taking him once more. He brushed against the soft spot inside you so wonderfully, that you were admitting your love for him in such a way that had him chuckling. 

“‘S my cock, not me, darling,” he teased. “I know, I know, baby.”

The pace you set was slow, languidly rolling your hips over his. He encouraged you, digging his fingers into your plush hips and throatily moaning as he watched you with lips parted and eyelids hooded. 

The wet kiss you shared with him, had you gripping at his jaw, feeling the way it expanded as he devoured you with his lips and tongue. It was dirty, a quick flick that had your chasing after him, suckling gently and wanting to be just as dirty in return.

You could hear how wet you were, your body wanting the man beneath you to know just much of mess you had made for him. How turned on he had managed to get you. 

He loved it. The sounds. The way he purposefully dragged at your wetness with his fingers over you clit. His roughs pants and throaty moans indicative of just how deeply pleasured he was.

“Hear tha’,” he rhetorically asked. “You’re all over my balls, doll. My thighs are covered.” 

“Oh god,” you gasped as your head fell back and exposed your throat to him, hips rocking and rubbing harshly against his. His hand moved from being cupped underneath your bouncing boobs and took to pressing gently against your throat. 

Somewhere in your mind you thought back to the latex, novelty washing up gloves earlier in the day and how they may feel against your skin, against your throat. It was something you knew you’d have to mention as you hips began to move with more force against him at the idea.

You knew he’d asked, he’d just time the question in the right moment. Probably say your name first to have you looking down at him glassy, fucked our vision.

As he groaned your name, your dropped you head down feeling the way your throat curved against his hand. “Wha’ you thinking ‘bout?”

His face was flushed out, hair sticking to his forehead and you were partly angry at how he’d somehow managed to keep his top on. 

“Need to try the gloves next time,” you confessed. “Want to, want to-“

He watched the way you face crumpled, slightly flushing at how you’d possibly found yourself a kink that was once before totally undiscovered to you. 

He pulled you down to him, “Would try anything wi’you in a heartbeat. So in love wi’you. Love you more when you let me feel you comin’ all over me.”

The two of your were flat against each other as you felt the way he lifted his hips upwards, the angle had him constantly stroking directly on your g spot. Your limbs felt like mush as your body began to shake of its own accord.

“Yea’ darlin’, just like that for me,” he coaxed, “All over me, giving it all to me.”

Your sweaty chest rubbed against the irritating fabric of his top, as you focused on the feel of your clit rolling against him and the feel of his cock tipping you over the edge with a satisfied moan that had you holding him deep inside.  

You fell limp against him, feeling the way his arms wrapped heavy against your clammy back. The only movement came from his hips as they lifted upwards and smacked against you.

His deep groan of your name as his orgasm overtook him, caused you to turn your face into his and leave a wet and heavy kiss to his dropped jaw. His grunts were heavy as they tapered out into soft and wet whimpers. 

Your skin was scorching against his, as you’d came down together next to the roaring fire beside you. The two of you basking the blissful aftermath. 

As you collapsed against him, Harry’s eyes looked up at the tree that he was now somehow partly under. Heaving chest and bleary eyes, he focused on the decorations above his head, as his hand ran soothingly down your clammy back.

With a scoffed chuckle, he caught your attention, enjoying the way you nosed along his neck, to being your lips up to the corner of his.

“What is it?” You asked gently against his lips. His smiled deepened. “What’s tickled you so much?”

Still wearing a blissful expression, he said deeply, “We’re under mistletoe.”

Frowning, you knocked you eyes upwards, spotting the mistletoe that sat tied to two or three baubles on the Christmas tree. 

“Gotta lay on one me, doll,” he cheekily caught your attention. “‘S the rules.”

And if it were the rules, who were you to break them.

[pickwickwampus]

The following is all spoilers for my fanfic. If I ever get around to writing the rest of it, then you'll spoil a lot of it for yourself by reading this.

from what I remember, the story leaves off with Mallory and her friends in the library, researching the Cracklewood Carver. They're too slow.

A few chapters ago, Mallory overheard the ghosts in the school saying:

"If the protections keep rotting—" "He believes it's dark magic, that the sacrifice is no longer necessary." "Preposterous! Dippet performed the sacrifice for many years, as did his predecessors, before him." Mallory and her friends stood frozen behind an ugly statue of a gargoyle, a statue which decided to move with a cringe-inducing grinding noise. Crap, she hoped no one heard that. "Indeed, yet it is what Albus believes." Except neither ghost looked over. The stone gargoyle finished scratching its arse, and went still. "Foolish. Darker things, beasts from beyond the—"

The ghosts in Hogwarts didn't start talking about the failing protections on the castle that week. They've been moaning about the failing protections for almost a year, since the last summoner of the Carver, Armando Dippet, died. The ghosts aren't allowed to directly tell anyone about the protections, but that doesn't prevent them from loudly talking about it where someone could overhear them.

And someone did overhear the ghosts, and figured out what they were talking about.

The protections around the castle were powered through the sacrifice of three children to the abomination Ithaqua, the beast Mallory & the Daily Prophet knows as "the Cracklewood Carver."

Previous headmasters made the sacrifice of three magical children every seven years to protect the school, but Dumbledore refused. Dumbledore also refused to go public with previous headmasters' crimes, or seek justice for the Carver's previous victims. Dumbledore wasn't interested in the ritual or what it summoned, or even the exact cost. He just understood that one of the rituals involved summoning an abomination and making a deal with it, and said, "no." He's meant to be a figure displaying cognitive dissonance and lazy thinking -- he'll paint large swaths of people with the same brush based on who their family is, and all that characterization is meant to paint him as someone who isn't even fundamentally well-meaning. He just likes to tell a story where he is, and refuses to self-reflect even up until it kills him.

For a while, the retired previous headmaster was doing the ritual without Dumbledore's permission or knowledge. But Dippet died that past February before the ritual could be completed, and now a new deal must be struck, and the ritual must be performed, otherwise Ithaqua will get its revenge on the castle and its inhabitants for breaking their bargain. (Alternatively, someone could kill Ithaqua, which is exactly what happens.) A Hogwarts student learned of the ritual and the consequences for not carrying it out, and sought to do the ritual, himself, believing Ithaqua was responsible for the visions his classmate Celeste was having of the school in smoking ruins. (Ithaqua wasn't the threat Celeste and the other seers saw.)

Few in the Wizarding World could harness the power of Divination, but all who could saw their impending doom. Hogwarts Castle was in grave danger. The portents were clear, both to the prophets and the cartomancers could see it. But the Ministry wasn't doing anything about it, claiming the diviners were all in league with Dumbledore. In this story, Voldemort stole the stone in Harry's first year, prompting Dumbledore to raise the alarm with Fudge several years early. Fudge reacted predictably, claiming Dumbledore was out for his job.

It terrified Terrence. Hogwarts was his home, a sanctuary that has stood for near a thousand years, and Celeste Avery said she saw a vision of it in ruins. And no one was doing anything about it.

If asked, Terrence would've told himself his motives were pure, to protect the school, but if he'd examined his feelings he would've realized he felt he couldn't leave the school behind. He wanted a tie to it, a means of being relevant to it, and on some level wanted recognition that he was necessary to the school.

The demon overpowered him. It preferred the deaths of wizard children liable to change the destiny of the magical world, but the wills of the previous summoners were too strong for it to get what it really wanted from them. That changed with Terrence Higgs. Ithaqua could see marks of fate around those three children — it wanted to destroy them and eat their potential. It wasn't attracted much to Rowle or Harper, but to Mallory, who drew the beast most of all, because of what she's willing to do.

The subtext around Mallory and her muggle parents is that they discovered the wizarding world, and immediately discovered that wizards had abrogated themselves of their duty to others. They had the cure to heart disease, could regrow organs and bones, prevent most kinds of illnesses, and yet muggles all around the world were still dying of those illnesses. "Secrecy" wasn't a good enough reason to them to allow the deaths of all those people. So Patricia, Tony, and Mallory agreed to use Hogwarts as a means of making potions available to muggles, Statute or no Statute.

That's a large part of why Mallory's afraid of people reading her mind, why she's tied her ability to be a "hero" to her access to the school. And that's the kind of plan Mallory thinks is a good idea when she's eleven. Within a year her plans will include the overthrow of the entire wizarding government and who knows what she'll be doing by the time she's 20.

So Ithaqua wants her dead. And Mallory's gift of revelation, the small part of herself that is actually a demon of revelation tied to the understanding of hidden things knows this, and is trying to tell her that:

A man formed out of wax loomed before her. She lit the wick and he burned with a Silver Flame. Pressure, like her ears were about to pop. Lipstick smeared across a girl's cheek. The taste of blood in her mouth. And now in her hands she wielded a blade of Silver Fire, and burned it burned it burned—

Things were going very badly for Higgs, who as rapidly deteriorating from the demon's deal. He kidnaps both Mallory and Harper, forcing them into a second confrontation with the beast. Gemma Farley, who had been independently investigating, is struck down trying to stop him. Mallory watches Gemma fall, and sees the girl's lipstick smeared across her face, like in her vision.

"Gemma?" Higgs choked, "how did you— you can't be here."

"Seriously?" she scoffed, "you seriously thought I wouldn't find out? I keep records, Terrence. A forged letter to the Headmaster. You made me help."

"For Hogwarts," he croaked, "for Hogwarts, if you knew you'd agree — you did agree —"

"Merlin, Terrence," Farley's face crumpled, "no, no — how could I agree? They're first years. I don't understand. This isn't about blood, I know you're not a blood purist," her mouth open, she shook her head, "I don't understand."

"The Dark Lord's back, you agreed. You heard what the ghosts said last year. Dumbledore wouldn't commit to the sacrifices needed to protect the castle. Three students to save hundreds, you know that makes sense."

She shook her head, "no."

And the last thing Mallory sees before she crosses through the fire is Farley's crumpled body, her cheek smeared with red lipstick.

(I didn't roll the dice yet on whether Gemma lives or dies.)

This time, the arena is a rapidly flooding basement in an abandoned house on the edge of the forbidden forest. Her wand is snapped, but that doesn't stop her.

Mallory asks him if he knows the unlocking spell. Harper says he can't accidentally-on-purpose do accidental magic.

"Yes you can," she says, annoyed that he was arguing this now, when it seemed self-evident that any witch or wizard could use magic without a wand.

"No, you can't. That's — just because you saw Dumbledore or some other wizard do it, doesn't mean you can— you're not bloody Merlin."

Mallory ignores him and keeps gathering what she needs, "I've done it before."

"No, you haven't. You've done it on accident, not on purpose — you need a wand. It's like Tonks, Hopkins, with the metamorphmagi. It's blood — you can't---"

"Yes, I can," she said, firmly.

He looks at her as though she's delusional, but she gets a flash of certainty, that he now believes she isn't a muggleborn at all, and finds herself off-balance and almost embarrassed for him, past the terror of the moment.

I ended up writing that she burns the lock off, or part of the door to get out, since the lock is magically locked and she can't do an unlocking spell.

When she can do it, it's like touching a live wire, almost. Half the time the feeling's so intense that she gets distracted and loses it. But when she doesn't lose her grip, the sensation feels a bit like ecstacy, like a synchronization up and through her body, sparking from the bottom of her spine to the crown of her head. And if she holds it there, makes a mental motion of clenching, but without pressure, then sometimes she can push it out through her hand. Right now, she was pushing out the concept of heat. Mallory felt quite familiar with fire, with hot objects and the way fire burned. She'd practiced this enough back in South Brent for her to expect this to work. It's easier here, she thinks. There's something in the air, a sick kind of pressure radiating cold, and the heat in her, an ever-burning brightness that she could never remember not feeling, lashed out in protest. This fire wanted out, and Mallory was more than happy to oblige it. [she heats up the metal of the handle until it's glowing red hot.] "Alright, now we just need to cool it off, but quickly." Harper just stared at her, eyes bugged out in stunned disbelief.

The kids escape as Higgs succumbs to the demon. Almost all of Blackthorn's devices fail, except for one:

And then something decidedly strange happened. The pocket mirror, so carelessly tossed into the muck, popped open. And like something out of the creepiest horror movies, a hand reached out of the mirror. Only it wasn't just a hand. The hand became an arm, then a torso, and then the towering figure of Professor Blackthorn, standing right on top of the tiny mirror.

Corvinus Blackthorn arrives with the sword, puts them in a circle of protection, and challenges the abomination.

She catches a glimpse of desiccated flesh and sharp, jagged bone through the trees. The space between the trees is narrow, light swallowed up by an oppressive, weighty darkness. A tail made of jagged broken bones lashes out, gouging blackthorn. Deep gouges in his chest and arm. Bones uneven and ugly, with rotting meat sloughing off with every movement.

Catches him across the chest and he slams into the trunk with all the grace of a ragdoll. Blackthorn is thrown, arm shattering and sword wrenched from his grip. Silver fire paints an arc where it fell, igniting pools of water and debris.

The circle was broken.

It floods the forest floor with ice water, and tries to mutilate Blackthorn, but it doesn't work because Blackthorn's body is made of clay, not flesh. Mallory picks up Blackthorn's sword, burning herself very badly, and enters a space between time where she can see it clearly, and strikes the monster down as it attempts to kill Blackthorn, then collapses. It's Mallory's strike that kills and damages the monster more so than Blackthorn's, for Blackthorn is more like the beast than Mallory.

I think I decided to have Narcissa's POV be the aftermath chapter, revealing that the aurors pursued Blackthorn to the forest, and suffered heavy losses. Their actions were why the abomination was so slow -- it's attention was split.

Tonks was injured badly, and Narcissa was secretly visiting Andromeda to offer hospital care and muse about the past:

"Is it dead?" Andy asked. Is Dora safe?

"I'm not sure," Narcissa wetted her lips, hesitating before she finally said, "Bella's old master was there. I think that's why they're holding their tongues. They'd have to reveal they let him back in the country." Andy almost flinched.

They never talked about Bella, never spoke about the third Black sister, not even in passing. The way Andy acted, it was though she wished to forget they even had an eldest sister, but Narcissa couldn't forget, not even if she wanted to. Bella was etched into her eyelids, carved into her flesh like a silver sickle-blade. Their sister, skin smeared with blood, coming home with gleaming eyes and a wicked sharp smile.

Andy used to smile to express comfort, joy, and wonder. But Bella's were a whole different matter.

Narcissa could make an entire catalog of Bella's smiles, and there'd still be more to file away. She had these sweet smiles, the sort she'd make when someone asked her a question they would regret ever asking. Then there were the moments she'd catch her sister reading some book on advanced meta-magical theory, taking notes in her scrawling script. Those smiles were relaxed and easy, like lounging in a chair warmed by the fire.

Most common, though, were the sharp and fleeting smiles of their youth. Mother never understood Bella. She couldn't understand Andy, either, but it was Bella she came down on the hardest. Bella, who had to be an example to her younger sisters, elegant and demur. Bella, who couldn't sit still for more than five minutes at a time, and was brighter than Andy and Narcissa put together.

She was gone, now. She'd been gone for years, found dead in her cell a week before Beltane, four years ago. But in truth, Narcissa knew she'd been gone for near a decade before she died. Bella's body just took its time catching up with her mind.

It was absurd how another person could become so necessary, like a part of yourself you didn't realize could go missing. She'd sometimes see some book on arithmancy and casually think to herself that Bella would enjoy it, only to remember that Bella was dead. Bella would never enjoy it, just like she'd never live to see Draco grow into an adult wizard or have her own children. It still felt like a bludger to the chest, even after all this time.

And once she started looking, Bella was everywhere. She found Bella in the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap muggle whiskey, found her in old records playing on the wireless, in powerful and complicated works of magic that she knew Bella would've found enthralling. Bella haunted her in the familiar scowl on that little girl's face, in the bright, quicksilver smile of her son. Narcissa saw the girl Bella used to be, before the Dark Lord twisted her into something ugly and seething.

No, neither she nor Andy could bear to speak of Bella, but their every interaction was defined by her absence.

Bella had blamed herself for Andy's departure, just as Andy blamed herself for Dora's decisions. In a sense, they were both a little right.

Bella was the one who introduced Andy to all that muggle nonsense. Cigarettes and the cinema, their teenage nights were spent drinking and partying. Bella, she knew, had drowned herself in booze and recreational potions to escape their family, escape the twists of her own mind, mutating all that was good and whole into sharp angles and magic. Andy, though, became enamoured by the muggles. It was their world that captured her imagination, and muggleness of any kind became the quickest way to provoke those warm summer-day smiles. The trifling distraction became her life. After Andy eloped, it seemed that Bella's smiles had vanished with her. Bella's mirror calls became flat and lifeless, the ever-present gleam in her eyes, gone. Even Blackthorn's antics weren't enough to move her to good humor.

But it was never Bella's fault, not really.

Yes, the subtext here is that Narcissa was infatuated with her sister, willing to excuse her violence, and that Mallory strongly resembles Bellatrix Black. The audience is supposed to be given the sense that this Bellatrix is a bit of a departure from canon Bellatrix.

(I wanted to write like, the most fucked up possible Family Black.)

Andromeda wants to be put in touch with Blackthorn, believing he will be able to heal here daughter, but Narcissa refuses, believing Blackthorn is a plague on their family.

After Hogwarts, Bella ended up turning down the Lestranges to earn her Mastery, studying under Professor Blackthorn, instead. But from what Narcissa understood through various mirror-calls throughout the years, most of this "studying" was really them jaunting around the globe. Narcissa remembered reading about him in the paper, once. The Floating City of Mojipar had fallen from the sky, hundreds dead. And at the center of it all was the necromancer, Corvinus Blackthorn. The picture had been haunting, a city crumbling, flames eating through homes as it hurtled toward the ground. The worst part was, she could so easily imagine Bella there. Bella, with her sharp grin and gleaming eyes, laughing amidst the chaos.

Narcissa is unable to stop Andromeda from leaving to visit him, and despairs about how she wishes she could freeze the memories of her sisters in amber. It's all supposed to be very creepy.

I was considering writing the battle also from Tonks' POV instead, which would've let me throw in a number of conflicts between Dumbledore and Blackthorn, but I ended up rolling those ideas into a later chapter.

the story picks up again with Mallory recovering in a house outside Koldovstoretz, a wizarding school in Russia with Blackthorn's former mentor, and old wizard named Yegor. She learns picking up the sword badly injured her, because it was a cursed sword. That combined with the oath she broke took a heavy toll, and most of this time she spends recovering in bed.

(I hadn't decided when Andromeda visits, but it was supposed to be mildly revealing.)

Bored, she starts rummaging through the room she's staying in, and discovers it contains Blackthorn's effects from when he was Yegor's apprentice, as well as several shoeboxes worth of letters between Bellatrix Black, Narcissa, Blackthorn, etc. Most of these conversations are one-sided, because Mallory only has the letters Bellatrix received, not the ones she sent, aside from a few Bellatrix sent Blackthorn. There are also pictures, and Mallory notices that she looks a lot like Bellatrix and Andromeda.

I wasn't sure how I was going to present the letters. Probably as stand-alones. My notes for the letters look like:

The first letter comes from Andromeda, who has recently learned that Bellatrix has run away rather than become the fiance of Lestrange. Her parents may have mailed her too, but it is likely Bellatrix burnt those letters. Andromeda may reference letters from her parents. Discusses how Bellatrix's leaving has been taken by the family. Mentions how badly Narcissa's taking it.

The year is 1974, and Bellatrix Black is 23 years old, a journeyman headed to Ugadou to finish her education. Andromeda is 21 years old, and has a one year old baby with Ted Tonks. Narcissa is 19, already married to Lucius Malfoy. Sirius is 15, in the throws of rebellion. He might've already run away. Regulus is 13, and entering his third year at Hogwarts. One letter should mention some kind of awkward romantic encounter between Corvinus and Bella.

1976 — Flight from Britain Andromeda asks Bellatrix, in an oblique way, for help going into hiding. For a while she's been fine, staying in MACUSA territory with Ted and the baby, believing themselves outside the reach of the family. But she's recently gotten a letter from Narcissa, who is concerned that the family Head (Arcturus Black III, Orion's father) is being radicalized further by Voldemort. And Narcissa heard a rumor that the family knows where she's hiding.

1977 — The Last Days A letter from Narcissa, it's only two words: "Please don't." A letter from her mother or an aunt, saying something like: You have my greatest sympathies and I fully understand your dedication to this wizard, but given the challenges that are now facing this family, you don't feel you have a responsibility to return home?

It's implied that something happened after that, since there are no more letters. Later it would be revealed that Bellatrix was goaded into visiting her family home, where she was captured and presented to Voldemort as a sacrifice. This did not go how the Black family expected it to.

At this point, the audience is supposed to have drawn the obvious conclusion that Mallory is Bellatrix's daughter, otherwise I wouldn't have spent so many pages fleshing out Bellatrix's character.

Mallory learns that Bellatrix ran away from home after she graduated Hogwarts to study higher magics. This plan would've failed, except Blackthorn took an interest in her and made her his apprentice. Bellatrix and Blackthorn were at one point in a serious relationship. Bellatrix was Blackthorn's former apprentice, and he entered into a relationship with her as her apprenticeship concluded.

Blackthorn and Bellatrix's relationship provides some context for why Blackthorn came to Hogwarts at all (when he learned that it was Mallory who was attacked,) and why he contrived to have her stay at his mentor's house. Mallory learns a bit about wandlore and her own ability at divination when Blackthorn helps her select a new wand. He gives her gifts and other things which Mallory finds vaguely suspicious — she's not sure if it's about Bellatrix, or if he's interested in her in particular, but his generosity and willingness to advise her has her concerned. He finds out she snooped and read the letters, and talks to her about how her gifts are hereditary and mark her out as a target.

That night, she hears Dumbledore arrive, and overhears a conversation that terrifies her.

She's not a distant relation of a squib of the Black family. Andromeda Black was approached a few nights after Voldemort's "death" by a haggard Bellatrix, carrying a baby. Bellatrix demanded Andromeda take the baby, keep it secret, that she had something she needed to do. Then she went and tortured the Longbottoms.

Andromeda took the baby to Dumbledore, believing it to be Voldemort's heir. Dumbledore also drew that conclusion, named the baby "Mallory," for "bad," and left her with a squib family (Mallory's dad Hopkins is the son of a squib related to the wizarding family Hopkins,) who couldn't have children. He intended to use her in the war when Voldemort came back, either as bait or as a weapon.

Mallory also learns she's discovered hints about her parentage before, and every time she figures it out, Dumbledore erases her memory. Blackthorn is furious, and says she ought to know the truth.

Blackthorn also insists that Bellatrix was a double-agent, a spy who'd been imperius'd by Voldemort but broke the spell and decided to get revenge by spying on him for Blackthorn. Mallory finds Blackthorn's claims somewhat contradictory and confusing, but is distracted by Dumbledore:

Dumbledore plans to erase her mind again, so she quickly writes down everything important in her notebook, with the hope that Dumbledore won't find out she did this in her mind, or the notebook itself.

Her memory is erased, her note is found, but she wrote it in hard pencil and a ghost of it remained on the paper behind it. Mallory's gift of revelation means that two days later, she notices a page has been torn out of her notebook, and that the imprints remain, and bothers to get back some of the message.

When Mallory returns to Hogwarts, she discovers from a letter from her parents that Danny is in a coma. And Snape takes her to detention for breaking the statute of secrecy. They obliviated Danny's memories of magic, and because magic was such a large part of his life, it erased almost all of his memories.

I was planning to write out an arc where we follow Danny from when he got Mallory's phone call, to him stealing and conning his way all the way to Scotland to save her. He manages to get to Dufftown, and finds an alarming military occupation in town, one that becomes relevant later when the audience learns that more muggleborn families are disappearing -- it's not Voldemort, but muggles preparing to go to war against wizarding kind.

Danny almost gets to the castle, but is turned back by the wards repeatedly until eventually he attracts the attention of a teacher who inexpertly obliviates him.

Mallory attempts to smuggle him healing potions, but she's too late. And she doesn't understand why obliviation killed him, when so many get obliviated every day, even large obliviations, and are fine.

She declares revenge, but most of all won't accept that he's dead. She tries to get in contact with Blackthorn again, saying she'll do anything, contact anyone (implicitly threatening to contact voldemort, since he apparently returned from death) if it means bringing him back.

Blackthorn agrees to help her. He says he knows how to return a soul from death, but doesn't have the objects he needs. That he's also trying to return someone from the dead. Mallory takes that to mean Bellatrix, though she's wrong. He's trying to bring back his daughter who he murdered (without knowing she was his daughter), accidentally setting a bloodline curse on himself. If he brings her back, he's free of the curse. He tells her that she needs to learn how to protect her mind first, from obliviation and from legilimancy. And once they do that, he will teach her and help her. He expresses interest in having her check in with him frequently, because he's worried she's going insane.

This works well with Mallory's existing goals of learning to protect her mind, so she agrees, though remains suspicious.

After several months, Mallory begins to suspect that he's not interested in her because of Bellatrix, or because he thinks she'll be as smart as Bellatrix, but that she's most likely his daughter, not Voldemort's.

"Why..." Mallory trailed off, "why didn't you take me in, after Bellatrix... after what happened." Moreover, she wanted to know why she hadn't been placed with someone she was related to, since wizards seemed to care about blood so much.

"I was out of the country," a pause, "after, you were six years old, raised by muggles — raised by a family that cared for you." Another pause, "Andromeda refused to keep you. Too much danger. The danger passed only two years after she gave you away. And everyone — Andromeda, Bellatrix, myself, none of us wanted to see you with Druella or Cygnus. Your grandparents. Your other aunt, Narcissa, she wasn't an option, either. No." Shakes his head.

"But not you. That's everyone else, not you."

"I am not a fit parent. I travel to dangerous places, put myself in peril. Less, now, but" he breathed a sigh out his nose, "I'd rather no one know who you are — someone would hurt you. Right now you can walk down the street, draw no stares or whispers. You have time to learn as you will, face few who would wish you ill."

She wasn't stupid. Mallory might not be a super-genius like Felix or (apparently) Bellatrix, but she was bright enough to make the obvious connection. There were holes in this theory. Bellatrix shipped Mallory off to Andromeda's, instead of Blackthorn's. He said he'd been off on a sabbatical, slaying demons or whatever, and was unreachable. But Mallory thought that seemed unlikely. Surely he would've kept his magic mirror on him. He managed to find time to call her when he was in the middle of Death Valley, after all, while he was hunting down some kind of crazed demon-summoning cult. He called to give her a lecture on doxies. There was no way he wouldn't answer the magic mirror for Bellatrix. Kind of blew a huge hole in the side of that ship, though it wasn't sunk just yet. There could be another explanation. Perhaps he couldn't pick up the mirror for some other reason he wasn't telling her. Maybe he'd been captured by the free goblin army, made to summon demons for their plot to overthrow all wizardry and bathe in the blood of their long-hated enemies. Or he could've spent those four years in a Solomonari dungeon before finally escaping. And then he finds out his kid already has a family, and that she's happy there, so he leaves Mallory alone.

...or maybe he was busy getting avada kedavra'd out of his body, necessitating a new one being built out of clay.

In other words, Bellatrix's mother kidnapped her and delivered her to Lord Voldemort to be murdered by Lord Voldemort because Bellatrix was planning on marrying Lord Voldemort's alter-ego.

And Bellatrix didn't actually know Voldemort was Blackthorn's alter ego. (The fic "Tom Riddle's Grand Adventure" was meant to explain how Tom became Corvinus. The short version is he ends up being run out of Wizarding Britain and ends up in Grindelwald's warzone until he stumbles into Yegor, who advises him against making more horcruxes, so instead of an incompetent insane Voldemort, you get a competent insane Voldemort who spends a significant portion of his time teaching defense against the dark arts at a russian magic school. Both are extremely evil. This was never a redemption story.) until that day.

Mallory also can't help but notice that he's not a good person. At first she wants to believe he is, because facing the reality that her birth parents are monsters seems overwhelming to her. So she spends time around him, around his associates, and the more she does the less she finds herself able to make excuses for him or for her birth mother. What they did doesn't make sense. And they say it'll make sense when she's older, but she realizes that all they're doing is trying to get her to sell out to their values and become like them. And she won't.

And this ties in strongly with the way the wizarding world treats family -- how the text of the HP books says "family isn't important" but the subtext all but screams that it does, and how so much HP fanfic follows suit. It always bugged me, so I decided to invert that. While the characters and in-game universe all explicitly believe it matters who your family is, over and over the old families get hoisted by their own petards. The very magic they think makes them superior royally fucks them over and over again. And Mallory's birth family acts to screw her over or hurt her, even when they're saying they intend to help. More importantly, she starts seeing how there are lines she doesn't want to cross, things she won't do for power or even Danny.

Mallory begins to hate the wizarding world with a vengeful passion. The teachers are corrupt, the adults have tremendous power but use it for selfish and stupid purposes, and their entire world seems hell-bent on becoming as authoritarian as possible. She decides to bring down the British Wizarding government. And when she discovers the others are just as bad or worse, they become targets as well.

Dumbledore eventually learns about Mallory's connection to Blackthorn and some of her plans, resulting in a renewed attempt to obliviate her. Mallory keeps her memories and flees, this time successfully, to her muggle parents. They board a plane and attempt to head to the US, where some relatives live. Once off the plane they're accosted by security. It turns out the muggle government knows Mallory's a witch, and is actively hunting down any muggleborn families to study them and then murder them, believing wizardkind to be a threat to their control. They've figured out a way to get around wizarding mindwipes using the power of being able to write things down on a computer and send files with that information to any location in the world, including locations the writer doesn't know, themselves.

Blackthorn comes to the rescue, though only as she's already escaping, having decided there is another government she must destroy, and that's around when Mallory learns he's Voldemort. She's repulsed and terrified for her parents, who she fears he'll kill. He assures her he won't. She realizes the only reason why she should believe him is that he is cursed to not completely fuck her over by a bloodline curse.

I had some text from these scenes but I lost some of the word docs in 2015 when I switched computers. It's laid out that he can't kill Mallory because their ancestor put a bloodline curse on the family that makes it suicide to kill or weaken your descendants. Most of his family went mad because they did lots of child abuse.

Mallory finds all of this disgusting. Like, his main motive for not murdering her parents is that he is restricted by a curse. He knows she'll grow up strong and take revenge on him if he kills her loved ones. She realizes she can never trust him, because he's doing "good" things for the wrong reasons. And she realizes that one day she'll have to destroy him.

She at various points confronts him about how he murdered people, about how he took on the role of Voldemort. He says things like, "Voldemort wasn't me, it was a mask" or "it was all for a greater purpose," but to Mallory, those are poor excuses. It's more or less meant to parody and mock a lot of stories that seriously use those excuses as a reason for the main character to get along with Voldemort.

Voldemort reveals that he'd planned for Dumbledore, but had hesitated with carrying out his plan -- he was going to pass off Blackthorn as Voldemort's distant cousin. That would explain Mallory's parseltongue (the lisp from chapter 1, how she has blanks and a headache after encountering salazar slytherin's portrait and snakes in the common room, etc are supposed to be after-effects of obliviation.) and Blackthorn-as-a-parent prevented Dumbledore from more memory wipes.

If he just took her to Koldovstoretz, Dumbledore would pursue her. And they couldn't keep her presence a secret forever. Mallory decides she wants to go back to Hogwarts anyway, because she doesn't want to be near him.

Mallory returns to Hogwarts, and desperately wishes the lie they were telling was true, that she really only was Voldemort's distant cousin and that Blackthorn really was a wizard on the side of making the world better. But he isn't, and she knows it. And she can't pretend they aren't her birth parents, because she has the same bloodline curses and problems they do. But she can take everything they know and use it to kill every abomination, every source of power for the old families, including her own. And that causes her to almost implode, because those sources of power are a part of her, and she spends a lot of time battling herself. The central question of this fight being how do you destroy something when part of you is that something? Not "how" as in "how could you?" but "how" as a technical question. The demons in her mind are all enemies, and she plays them off one another and tricks most of them into fighting one another. Except for the part of her that is the demon of revelation, which I didn't get around to figuring out how she'd destroy before I stopped working on this project.

Her demons were:

Yig ◆◆◆ A god of //Revelation//. Reveals itself as a great serpent of knowledge, promising communication and power for worship. Should you break a covenant with it, you will become deformed and snake-like, your wits addled and determination sapped. The gift of parseltongue comes at the cost of a loss in eloquence in human tongues. Words do not come to you easily. The power of parselmagic and the command of snakes becomes yours. Yig took special interest in the Gaunt family and cursed them to not betray their children, and no member of the family has failed to betray their children, so they are very cursed. **Enyo (Death) ◆◆◆** A god of //Domination //inherited from the **House of Peverell** before 1214//, //after the brothers tricked it. They gained the three Deathly Hallows, and later used the three Hallows in a ritual to take on a measure of the god's power, into themselves. While the brothers succeeded, they found that death and sorrow follows those who bear the mark of Enyo, no matter that they gained some authority over the magic of life and death. **Gath ◆◆** A greater demon of //Revelation, //inherited from **House of Gaunt** in the middle ages. The Keeper of the Secrets, The Guardian of the Knowledge, is a slimy shape-shifting mass, which can be summoned with mud and the blood of the invoker. When summoned will reveal much-needed information, but at a great cost. Another, lesser ritual was invoked by the **House of Gaunt,** many years ago. Gives the supplicant a talent for legilimency, to pry secrets from the minds of others, understanding. But in every generation, a member of the family must look into the mind of another, //know them,// and then sacrifice that person and their secrets to Volgna-Gath. If the chain breaks, the knowledge is used to hurt you: you see the least charitable thoughts about you when you look into another's mind. You're overwhelmed with sensation. **Golothess** A lesser demon of //Obliteration //inherited from the **Black** **family, **through **Ella Max** before 1829. A piece of the 10 pieces of Golothess was imbued into each bloodline. Of those lines, three have withered- Clagg, Muldoon, and Bragge, their pieces lost to the world forever. The lost shards weaken the overall power of the ritual. In battle, they are strengthened with confidence, boldness, and power. This effect is strengthened the more they are impaired by drink or other substances. The effect does stack. **Ngyr-Korath** A greater demon of //Obliteration, //inherited from the **Black family **through **Licorus Black** in the 1850's. The **Flint family** also made this pact, but effects from the same pact are not additive. A 20% luck to all actions in the name of chaos and destruction of intelligent life. She has an increased chance of dying young. If the Family refuses to sacrifice a human or other intelligent species once per year, they all become squibs. If the family doesn't remain extant, all with the blood become squibs. **Nyarlathotep** A lesser demon of //Liberation, //inherited through the **Bulstrode Family. **One in every generation of family blood shall have the power to shapeshift. One in every generation will go mad. The exact ritual is a closely guarded secret. Mallory, Draco, Millicent or Nymphadora will go insane. Nymphadora gained the power to shapeshift.

Those are the monsters Mallory must defeat within herself in order to be able to carry out her will.

Shortly after Mallory returns, Hogwarts gets bombed by the muggle military with Mallory and her classmates in it. This sparks a war. I didn't have a lot of the war written out, but the idea was to introduce in all the previous chapters most of the major factions that would be fighting. And they're all fighting each other while fighting the larger threat.

Then there are the threats from other wizarding communities that want to do war.

And there's a cosmic being encroaching on their reality, one that'll destroy muggle and wizarding civilization, and everyone is too busy killing each other to try to stop it. (A kind of written scream about how people won't work together that I didn't understand so well why that happened at the time.)

It all goes very badly.

...

They resurrect Danny and Lily Potter using the three Deathly Hallows. Mallory demands Blackthorn do this for her gratis. He does because he needs her help to be free of a bloodline curse, but the result is less than what she hoped for. Danny's spirit returns, and is put in a clay body, and will not age, much like Lily. He hopes that bringing them back will not only free him of the bloodline curse, but earn both Mallory and Harry's loyalty. It is not enough for either Mallory and Harry, because Blackthorn/Riddle's actions didn't just impact Mallory and Harry. And one of the arcs was going to be them teaming up to murder Tom/Blackthorn. I never got around to figuring out the third person they'd get to resurrect. I made the rule they were only able to resurrect three people. (Three Hallows, three casters, three people brought back from the dead; the ring to summon the soul, the cloak to hide them from death, and the wand to open a gate. Mostly to prevent it from raising the question, "why aren't wizards raising the dead left and right?")

The resurrection was to involve a an arc where they go and enter the realm of death together to bring back the souls of Lily and Danny. I had a few ideas -- one was a completely static world where all time was in form-shapes, the other was a whimsical-but-stereotypical eternal train station, and the third was a sewer that morphs you into deathly things the longer you stay in it. Never worked out which I was going to go with.

...

An important piece of lore in the story was that Mallory was cursed. A lot of descendants of "old families" are cursed. Every person with a gift for divination, or special power has gotten it from a deal their family made with a demon a long time ago. And that demon has cursed their entire line to have a power at a cost. This power is achieved by ripping out a piece of their soul and replacing it with a piece of the demon.

Mallory, due to the number of demons both sides of her family has made compacts with, has a soul that is mostly made out of demon parts. She is barely human, but decides to fight them anyway.

...

This story was specifically designed so that the setting and environment would be geared towards "the world is made up of domination and powerful families." Even magic is written as giving more power to authority. But my main characters reject all of it, and decide to destroy that power through whatever means necessary. But the main way I did this was tying any "family" power to the destruction of all sentient life. So choosing "family" always meant choosing the illusion of "family" for the price of killing everyone a bit, including that family. And that power systematically destroys every family who deals in it, revealing everyone who uses it as someone who doesn't love their families at all, doesn't love anyone.

Mallory doesn't find herself curious about the power "she is owed" by society, because she wants to destroy that society. She does not try to get its approval, or use that information to impress her classmates, nor does she see herself as a reformist or muggle apologist or pureblood apologist or whatever. If at some point the purebloods in the school were to find out her identity and try to make friends with her, she would've roundly rejected them. Her refrain that she would never be friends with these people in the beginning of the story is a decision she keeps throughout the whole story.

(The "exception" is Castor Avery, who betrays his family and joins her team.)

There are a lot of stories about how once someone finds out they're really a member of the Black family, or related to Voldemort, they become inherently aligned with them out of some sense that family trumps all, and in doing so end up becoming like the badguys themselves, though they make token attempts at resistance. This was not that story. Any time Mallory interacts with structures of power, she's gathering information on how to destroy them. She understands that the dark side will offer her gifts and comforts, and even save her friend Danny for the sake of buying her loyalty. She'll accept any gifts without explicit strings, and immediately use that gift or tool to subvert them with no guilt or second thoughts.

Often, those stories also identify the purebloods as literally more powerful than everyone else. And while this story has many characters buying into that frame of view, and the reality of the story buys into it, Mallory doesn't. And that makes them all a bit weaker. Her willingness to deep-down refuse to believe in their authority literally damages their authority, and their ability to do magic around her.

I wanted to show what it feels like for one to feel like the whole world is telling them they have to accept something sick as true, that they even half-believe its true, and then reject it anyway not because reality doesn't look that way, but because you've decided you're going to change it. I wanted to show that as possible.

That was the whole point of making magic such that "authority" makes your magic stronger. I intended to deconstruct the reactionary themes in HP that lead to so many reactionary fics. Mallory explicitly chooses her muggle family. Explicitly chooses to condemn both the wizarding governments and muggle governments. And no matter how hard Dumbledore and others anticipate that she'll become a dark witch, she refuses the path they attempt to pigeonhole her into.

A part of this is how her name is handled. Riddle and Black named her "Carina Rose" and Mallory never changes her name to reflect that. Throughout the whole story, she goes by Mallory Hopkins, and thinks of herself as Mallory Hopkins. When she learns her name was meant as a joke by Dumbledore, she starts thinking of herself as "Hopkins" more so than Mallory, because the Hopkins were the people she chose, and throughout the story she works to keep them safe and away from her birth family.

A major theme was going to be found family vs anticipated loyalty to hereditary family. Mallory's muggle parents were set up as (to Mallory) "good people," in contrast to her biological family, who were blatantly and obviously bad people, no matter how they tried to excuse their behavior with claims that it's "tradition," or that what they were doing was "necessary" for the "betterment of the world." Mallory's biological family was going to give her gifts, attention, etc., all in the hopes of converting her to their side. And the tension in these stories usually is that the main character is tempted, or becomes corrupted, or otherwise falls in with the bad people and starts making excuses for them.

My focus on identifying everything as "bullying" at the time was that this story was planned out in 2014, after I'd endured some pretty severe bullying. Writing this story was part therapy for me, to work out my feelings about feeling as helpless and angry as Mallory did. And to me it felt like the whole world was set up in such a way that the "authority" wins, and the only thing to do was to hide and plot. So I poured out my anger and disgust into this story, made it reflect the lack of care I saw in people.

I no longer think things are hopeless like that, so the world of Mallory is less appealing to me to write in.