#the only place you're getting White Arthur from is your own mind which is in fact how fanart works but like. There's Room For Examination.

[xsunnysucculentx]

meeting task 141

summary: you were transferred from your other task force to the 141 and meet the members. 

warnings: reader smokes, has piercings and tattoos  content warning: none

pronouns: she/her

a/n: this will be a multiple part story, maybe with some of your ideas ^^ english is not my first language, if you find any mistakes pls let me know!

disclaimer: i do not own call of duty or any of the mentioned characters

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ghost didn't know how you landed a place in the 141 task force. not that you weren't good. you were probably one of the best snipers he's encountered.

he didn't see you in action yet, but your killcount is speaking for you. his opinion tho, it was...purely based off appearance. you just didn't look like you'd belong here, your bubbly personality not matching the dark hues of the base and the men, who lived there. 

you weren't the only female member that got transferred from another location. but the only one who stood out to ghost. it wasn't every day that he met someone, who could withstand his gaze and not blurt their whole backstory out once he asked one simple question. you're still pretty mysterious, even after he made a background check, he couldn't find anything on your records. to the public, you were living in santa monica, had three children and a husband named arthur hales. you were a completely normal human being, working an office job before becoming a house wife. and no one would assume that someone like you, always smiling, always trying your best to get warmed up to the men in the past three days you've been here, wearing the light blue oversized hoodie and grey sweatpants were a killer. lost in his thoughts, ghost trailed his gaze through the cantine. you were talking to soap and gaz as you held your cup of tea between your hands. 

"so, we know that you're good at sniping. what about on the field. and experience?" soap asked, his scottish accent peaking through heavily. "actually yeah. i wasn't on the field often, but i know a trick or two when it comes to fighting." you gave a small smile and turned the white mug slightly. "how come you've been transferred here?" gaz asked, being the only one in the past days who's asked yet. you didn't mind the question, you had a long time to think about your answer after all. they didn't need to know the whole truth. not yet, at least. "my task force just got a few new recruits and everyone was occupied with two, except me. and since y'all needed backup, Lt. sent me here to help you from above" you left out the teeny tiny fact that you've known price for a long long time (since you were two, to be exact) and had quite the bond with him, which is why price told general shepherd he'd like to have you on his squad. "who said we needed backup?" soap sounded kinda offended. "giving some of us almost died last time we were out, it does sound like we needed backup." alejandro mentioned and shrugged. you were surprised how fast the men actually accepted you in their circle and how easy it was to communicate. there were no uncomfortable silences or inappropriate jokes, which were almost always there with your other team, and you actually felt quite comfortable here. the only one who hasn't spoken more than two words (which were a simple 'good morning') with you, was ghost. you felt his gaze lingering on your back and you asked yourself why he didn't join the table. maybe he was cautious of you? or in general just a little socially awkward? you didn't know and quite frankly didnt care a lot, there's always that one person in the team. you let your snake bite piercing graze against the back of your teeth and enjoy the silent moment. "whats this?" soap pointed to your left wrist, where your tattoo peeked through. "an angel number. stands for protection and the right path." you explained and looked down at the three small numbers on your wrist. you got it done a few years ago after joining the military, you didnt believe in a "higher power" or anything like that, you just kept remembering your mother, who always said that 4 was your lucky number. you've always been protected in your life, she said. ghost started getting closer to the table, not wanting to come of as weird or anything, and sat down next to alejandro, who was sitting opposite of you. "look who joined us, if it isnt the most handsome man!" soap smiled and put his arms slightly up. you looked at ghost, his dark eyes shooting a quick glance in your direction and looking at soap after that. it was the first time you could really look at him, giving that he either wasn't there or hiding somewhere in the shadows. he had a black balaclava with a skull print on and a black t-shirt. you were wondering why he wore the balaclava inside. it looked very cool (and kinda intimidating), but it left you asking yourself if it was because of you. maybe he had some trust issues and wanted to conceal his identity. 

"i didn't catch your name yet" ghost looked at you. god damn. his voice was deeper than expected. or.. you didnt really know what you were expecting, but definitely not a british accent. "oh, i was called flower. but my Lt. said i had to change my before going out in the field to eliminate any connections to the other task force, im kinda nameless now" you knew you couldn't really pick your own call sign, which would leave you with something like newbie for a couple of days (or weeks, or how ever long it took until you'd figure out your name) ghost gave you a short nod, understanding that you didnt want to say your real name. you didn't know his after all, that only seemed fair. in fact, you didnt know any of the guys names except for alejandro. you made a mental note, you'd remind yourself some day to ask for their real names, maybe it was just too early for that.

"newbie!" yup, it was like you've expected. soaps voice echoed through the gym and you pulled out your headphones. you were mid rep and raised an eyebrow at his call for you. behind him was ghost in a tank top and some black sweatpants. gah damn his arms were big. "yeah?" you asked and pulled off your gym gloves and took your water bottle. you were still in a hoodie and sweatpants, not wanting to show your body because of some.. events that happened back at your old base.

"we wanted to ask if you'd be down for a smoke? well, if you smoke at all" soap started but looked at the bar bell on the floor. "but you probably wanna finish training, right?"

"oh no i was on my last rep for today anyway, soo yeah sure." you gave them a quick smile and turned around, unscrewing the bar bell and putting the black heavy plates where you got them from. soap nudged ghost slightly, pointing at the weights and gave an admiring nod after counting the weight in total. you were strong, no questions asked, but you were also kinda.. he didn't know.. short ? or it just seemed like it, because all of them were tall and you just stood out because you were a lot of inches smaller.

you noticed the look and quickly gathered your stuff, phone, headphones and your water bottle. you'd be passing the sleeping quarters anyways, so you didn't have to ask the men to lend you a cig.

"i just need to get my cigarettes out of the room, i'll be right back" you gave the little announcement and quickly disappeared behind the door, after unlocking it with your card.

"do you think she was deadlifting or squatting with that weight?" soap crossed his arms and looked at ghost.

"dunno. but she sure as hell is strong" he admitted and earned a chuckle from soap.

"gave you a little competition aye?"

while they we're talking, you were on the search for your coolest lighter (a black clipper with a white ace of spades and blood spluttered on it). 'that'll do' you thought, pulling a light pink zippo out of your bag. it had flowers on it and a small engraving, which said 'you're the prettiest flower'. you smiled down at it, memories of your little sister gifting it to after you've been away on a mission for several months flooded your mind. it's already been years in which you haven't seen her, the zippo was a nice reminder that she'd always be waiting for you to come back.

you opened the door to your room and let out a sigh, putting the cigarettes and zippo in the pocket of your hoodie. the men looked down at you and you put your arm out, as a gesture of saying 'lead the way'.

soap and ghost were talking (well, it was mostly soap telling ghost some gossip and ghost giving a hum in response) and you listened to their conversation on the way to the smoking area. it was in the back of the base, some benches and tables scattered here and there. it wasn't very cold outside, the spring air filling your lungs and you took a deep breath in. birds were flying over your head, the trees started to blossom and you were genuinely happy that winter was over and it'd be summer soon.

you sat down at a round table, ghost opposite of you and soap between you and him. you pulled your sealed cigarette package out and removed the plastic wrap.

"didn't think you were a marlboro typa gal" soap mentioned and you flicked against the bottom of the package. "whats that for?"

"the highest cigarette, that comes out, is my lucky cigarette. im smoking it last one, and always wish something." you explained your little ritual and put the cigarette upside down back in the package before offering the two of them one. you put one between your lips and pulled out the lighter.

"we were the ones asking you to come out and now we're smoking your cigarettes" soap commented and you passed the lighter to him.

"pff dont worry about it, i'm not greedy" you smiled and inhaled the smoke. ghost took the lighter and inspected it for a quick second. it was kinda cute, seeing the all so serious man holding a pink lighter. he gave it back and turned around, leaning on his elbows on the table.

you didn't even question it, he didn't want you (or anyone) to see his face and smoking meant pulling his mask over his lips.

"so" you started as you tapped the ash off. "how long have you two known each other?"

"way too long" ghost answered almost immediately and you looked at soap, who just nodded.

"i've seen this man almost die more often than i saw me mum" soap took a deep inhale and blew the smoke out. "anyway, why did you join the military?"

"eh, thats a story for another day" you winked and soap mouthed a 'got it' and stared off into distance.

"we gotta start thinking about a name for you" soap mentioned and you quickly nodded.

"i dont wanna be called newbie again" you kinda whined and put your head onto your free hand. "it took sooo impossibly long to get my other team to pick a name because nothing really fit and 'wasn't screaming me'" you quoted your friend and soap smiled a little.

"well we have to see you in action and pick out a name then huh?"

and just like that, a new era in your life began.

[fanficfish]

i'm working on a fic so i hope y'all don't mind if i cracktype my nation headcanons and thoughts. I'm sure they're not original but i haven't seen them yet soooooooooo (rhen again i only really come on here to shitpost random things and like nordic five stuff)

also theres def some things i got from reading stuff but it's all scattered around idk where so kudos to everyone that had posts that gave me ideas

Okay so my thoights are that in the hetaliaverse it's an open secret. Like moat of them won't really go out blaring about it but they'll answer if you ask. Like France, he'll just kinda hang out in his place and be another friendly guy, but if you come up to him and ask if he's France he'll say yes. A few countries with more questionable populations will keep it more on the down low for security and then there's America, Poland, and Canada, who don't give a ahit and run active YouTube and Twitch channels and and quite happy to hang out with the modern day crowd sure why not.

most people don't really know though, like if you know who to look for you can find America's youtube feed but if he goes drinking with the boys he'll probably just call himself Alfred sk it's less weird.

Most of them have some kind of governmwnt job because it's the 21st century and it's too troublesome to explain things sometimes. Especially for younger looking nations, like Hong Kong and Latvia and Iceland, who have all at one point or another had to explain that they aren't homeless minors. And especially Latvia, kid's tiny lol. Arthur (and Sweden) had to explain a few memorable times to CPS that no, Ladonia and Sealand do not need to go to school. A good few nations have just given up and have all the documents ready in a pile when someone comes knocking because some new neighbor gave them a tip about unsupervised children or "shady activity".

also, Amwrica really doesn't want to have to keep explaining all the stat3: and territories under him sometimes.

anyways so yeah human names are mosstly rhe countries picking something to go by, usually their governmeent knows but it's more just to keep it easy at Starbucks. With each other they'll use country names, unlesss they're mad in which case UNITED FUCKING STATES OF FUCKING AMERICA YOU BETTEE SIT YOUR ASS DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT YOUNG MAN-

i like that headcanon, i know i got that one from a post somewhere. Also got the one about bcountries being able to go into a kind of second "world" where things are a bit closer, so for example America could just open a door into Canada's house and take a quick boat ride to get to England's. And then to get into the regular world they have other doorways, like America can jump states by going into different doors and popping out in the state capital of choice in his office or whatever. And then a select few, like Cuba, can just

teleport. Hop, if you will. It's a selwct ability. Whole different bag of worms.

also theres stares, regions, and provinces, but not anything less then that. We don't need LA as a personification. One florida is enough. Especially the US, since each state is it's own mini country technically.

anyways yeah. Tldr most people think of the nations like myths, a bit like say hearing "my great great great great granddad was the assistant to George Washington" or something, but a bit more tangible.

unless you're norway and switzerland in whoch case you won't be actually meeting anyone you will be sitting at home or in a forest ifnoeing everyone and everything that isn't part of youe inner circle.

Oh and i love that idea that citizens of a country can kinda sense their country and vice versa but won't really realize who they met unless they figure it out they'll just get a vague "you're familiar", and countries will know because well. Country.

edit 1: i forgot to add some countries probably take less interest in their goveernemtn happenings. Like Iceland is more invocled with his tourism, like that boy has one goal in Paint it White and that's to get tourists. But then you have America who's kinda just there, probably lets democracy do its thing and just hangs outt and just does stuff relating to personifications. And heaven knows Estonia's too busy blogging to do much. ThereMs some logistics to nations and international relations but whatever not my thought process today lol

idk i'll add more if i think of it

[notmuchtoconceal]

Is it a needy parasite to be living with your dad? Or is even more of a needy parasite to be a free and independent "LGBTABC123 drone" who rebelled against the cisgender mandate that largely shapes life for 99% of people on earth?

Or is it even moremore of a needy parasite to need the normalizing comfort of cisgender norms so badly -- while these norms find themselves performing themselves on top of you like an enchanted male dress has a good time rollicking about upon a white worm, one who's just a component in a machine designed long before the machine designed him, a component so easily made into a tool for his masters -- that he goes the extra mile and demonizes queer gender rebels to obtain a sort of 'extra credit' for being a good boy who respects his designers? Especially if the typical parasite, like all the cis and non-cis gay boys he finds himself typically self-superior to, truly craves only the best facsimiles of real straight men -- the men he'll never be -- just like a Christian can only crave those who come closest to God, being that God himself is designated as "available, but truly unavailable for the likes of you, being that you're not on the same level..."

Or is it even moremoremore of a needy parasite to want to be signing up for a Mars mission to infect a fresh planet with carboncopy humans and a nonculture that revolves around conforming to the external gender patterns normie parents had in mind for the likes of you long before they had even successfully taught you to dress and comport yourself in a gender normative way for them?

Do you think Hitler talked about needy parasites, or was that more of a Stephen Hawking-spawned idea? Was it discovered by Arthur Eddington, perhaps?

Has a semi-intelligent person ever ranted about needy parasites, or is it just the dumbest, most sheltered, tedious and repetitive fuckwits on earth who tend to truly to flush marginalized people down toilets?

How many times do you have to say the same thing before you actually fully believe it enough to lay it to rest? When you finally lay to rest your denunciations against the needy parasites, and just fully bask in and internalize your own self-seen Greatness, perhaps then you can hasten to the point where you move more gracefully and naturally in the direction you're headed -- the direct of a tool of purely unwitting service to his designmasters. Feels like the current juncture comes across like a clueless, disgraceful tool that's still convincing itself that it's been, being, and progressing as a very good boy for chiseling properly -- properly in the manner it was 'naturally' intended to chisel. True to 'itself'. In other words, the product of a meme of a meme of a meme rooted in conservatism and gender performing itself in a conservatively sound manner on top of the tool.

At this molasses rate, it will be a long time before the "pick me girl" denunciations are laid to rest and the tool can chisel gracefully.

After all, no natural male who's actually mastered just living for itself in the greedy way that is said to be its due, right and natural... no such male ever circles back to chide gender rebels in such a resentful, tiresome way.

So glad you're free and independent, bro. Glad you've gotten closer with your dad, too. It can be rough when you're surrounded by and forced to reply upon those who lack understanding.

You can use your freedom and independence to make the world a better place for those brave souls unafraid to live as their authentic selves. As I'm sure you know well, authenticity is authenticity, and even if rebellion can be commodified and repackaged and sold back to you, it sounds like you're keen enough to avoid falling into that trap.

Still obsessed with Elon, huh? Never change, man.

You are, of course, in error in thinking I'm demonizing gender rebels. Your errors are kneejerk reactions which invite projections, though from how it sounds, you're definitely getting better at this.

I used to feel sorry for how much pain you were in, but you're such a tough cookie, you don't need my pity, however you may crumble.

I suspect you may be in too much pain to sympathize with those who truly think differently from you, for it seems you struggle to comprehend anyone can be a man and not fit inside the same mold.

I think a lot of gay men who hate their own masculinity also feel alienated from their femininity, and you're correct in implying this is a direct consequence of the systemic biases they grew up with.

Gender experimentation is a must for everyone, and a healthy degree of androgyny a state of completion.

Ultimately, its up to each individual to decide their own ratios.

You have far too much integrity to play wordgames to hide your defensiveness behind the uses and abuses of ideology.

You're hardcore. Solid. The envy of the world, my friend.

Wishing you the best, in love, career and in family.

God knows I'm gettin what I'm due. ;)

[thedreadvampy]

it's so weird to me that I keep seeing art in which characters played by Kofi (one of the two people of colour in the Mechanisms lineup) are the only characters portrayed as white?

this isn't, by the way, intended to draw any broader conclusions or imply that I'm reading in ignorance or malice. it's just a coincidence that I'm aware is probably largely based on the fact that both Arthur and Thor appear in a lot of media, almost always as blonde white men.

but it's very striking to me how many pieces of fanart for HNOC I've seen where Arthur is literally the only white person (which like. not trying to step out of my lane at all here but I do think that probably has some unintended implications). and I've also seen a lot of fanart where Thor is white and blonde and very on the Chris Hemsworth vibes.

(I haven't noticed it as much with UDaD but tbh I know Kofi sees Herakles as white (he says he thinks of him as Irish-American) so it probably wouldn't ping for me the way it does with Thor and Arthur)

[opie-nixx]

Glad to have you back! (CHAP. 13)

The sun beaming through the broken windows surrounding our room in Shady Belle didn't really wake us up. Arthur and I have been awake for a while. His gruff voice being anything but soothing for sleep. More like wanting to stay awake just to hear him talk. How he confided with me made my heart swell with glee. To have a deeper conversation than just small talk or sex was refreshing. It let me know he was generally interested beyond what we have previously been doing. Which I'm not complaining at all.

Arthur: "I figured we could go out once Jack is back."

Y/n: "Yeah that sounds fine." I crawl out of his grasp and stand up to put on my clothes, Arthur follows suit. Clipping on my gunbelt and sliding my boots on I begin to make my way down the stairs that is until the sound of crying in the room next to us.

'Abigail.' My chest throbs as I can't even begin to imagine what she's feeling. I take a deep breath before opening the door to where Karen and Abigail were.

Karen: "It's gonna be okay." She says as she rubs her back. Abigail stops crying before looking at me.

Abigail: "You were with my son...With Jack when they took him...Why didn't you do anything?"

Y/n: "Abigail, I tried. They knocked me out when I was fighting back...I would never not try to protect him." I say sympathetically.  She nods as she continues to sob. I try to put my hand on her shoulder but I think otherwise and retract my arm. I take a deep breath and walk out. Arthur staying right on my heel.

Arthur: "It ain't your fault."

Y/n: "Sure don't feel like it...Let's just get him back." I say as I push open the big white doors to the house. I see Dutch and John over by the horses having a micro aggressive argument.  They both pause once they see us walk up.

Dutch: "Y/n, do you have any idea where to find our friend Bronte?"

Y/n: "Yeah." I say as I throw the reins over to my horse and climb into my saddle. Dutch and Arthur doing the same.

John: "Can you promise me that Jack is safe?" John says as he walks over to my horse looking directly into my eyes. I do the only thing that comes to mind for a promise. I throw out my pinky.

Y/n: "I can pinky promise and if I'm wrong we can chop it off." I say as I hold it out, John does a double take before intertwining his with mine before he mounts up on his horse. I kick off on my horse to Saint Denis.

Arthur: "So how do you know about this Angelo Bronte?" He asks in a snarky tone.

Y/n: "Don't get your panties in a wad, now. He's got a bit of a name for himself where I come from is all. Italian mafia gang leader."

Dutch: "So we should be expecting guards?"

Y/n: "Lots!" I chuckle.

Y/n: "I know this is already such a shitty situation, but he's gonna want somethin in return for giving you back your son." I say glancing back at John.

John: "What could he possibly want?!"

Y/n: "Small job. I don't know specifically, but it''s nothing big or horrible."

Arthur: "Keep your cool, Marston. Just listen to Y/n."

Y/n: "Darlin, I know you're tryin to help but that is so much easier said than done. He'll be better once he see's him."

John: "Thank you."

We hitch out horses at the park right outside of Bronte's mansion. My eye's scan the house admiring how much bigger it is on the outside. Arthur's hand grasp mine as he offers a worried glance. I squeeze his hand in return as reassurance.

Dutch: "This the place?" Dutch asks glancing at me and then the mansion. I nod.

Y/n: "Yeah, but uh.. I'mma let you handle this 1. Just be civilized." Dutch chuckles.

Dutch: "Of course." Dutch leads us to the front gate where a guard stands watch.

Dutch: "Excuse me, sir. We have an appointment to see Mr. Bronte."

Guard: "Who are you?" Dutch reaches through the gate and grabs the man's tie, pulling the guy closer causing him to smash his face against the gate bars and taking his revolver.

Dutch: " You get your boss down here and now, so we can talk about this like gentlemen. Run along now, boy." He says letting of the guards tie and putting his own gun to his head making the guard drop to his knee's. The guard gets up and runs inside.

John: "Is that the Dutch charm I heard so much about?"

Dutch: "Don't worry I got this." With that statement several guards rush outside with guns on us as 1 of them open's the door. Arthur gives my hand 1 final squeeze before holding his hands up. As do we all. We each trail behind Dutch keeping our hands up.

Dutch: "Don't worry, boys, we come in peace. We just need straighten a couple of things out with your boss."

Walking into the beautifully furnished mansion was something more breathtaking in person than it was behind a screen. Once we're lead inside the living room we take in the appearance of several mafia guards and Angelo Bronte himself who seemed to be smug reading a book. They begin speaking to each other in Italian. I can't help but to let my eye's wander as they talk amongst themselves.

Dutch: "Why did you take his son? We ain't got no problems with you, sir... nor you with us... but if you wanna start one... there is gonna be a lot of folks dead in this room before it's done." That's when the guards raise there guns a bit more and Dutch, John and Arthur ready there own. Arthur keep's 1 hand on his revolver and uses his other to pull me behind him. I glance at him while taking in how much tension and hostility there was.

Bronte: "So, you walk into my city... stinking of shit and looking like this... and you come into my house, before you have a bath... and you tell me how to act? You ask me to show compassion? Have I not shown you almost infinite compassion already... by simply allowing you to breathe in my presence?"

Dutch: "Indeed you have. Now... we are simple country folk. All we have is each other... and you have gone, and you have took his son... over some dispute with some inbred ex-slavers. It ain't got nothing to do with anyone of us." He moves and sits on the couch across from Angelo.

Bronte: "You had nothing to do with destroying the liquor business?!"

Dutch: "We was innocent bystanders... and that which we weren't innocent of, well we... we most surely were ignorant of."

Bronte: "You, you, you twist words... you lie shamelessly... you think you are better than everyone else..." He speaks in Italian before bursting out with laughter and introducing himself. His men lowers there guns as they begin to pour drinks. Angelo shakes hands with all of us as Dutch introduces us. Angelo shakes my hand a bit longer before moving to John. My skin crawls as I internally gag, but I flash my best fake smile and shake his hand. We all take a seat on his couch across from him as his guard gives us drinks. I sit in between Arthur and John.

Dutch: "So, can my friend have his son?"

Bronte: "Of course, of course. But... should I be out of pocket over a misunderstanding? Of course I know you would not want that..."

With that John's hand begin's to ball to the point of where his knuckles turn white. I place my hand over his snapping him out of whatever he was thinking about in his head. He looks at me before looking down at his hands, I offer a reassuring grin before turning my attention back to Bronte.. His face dusting into a light pink before clearing his throat and taking a small breath.

Dutch: "No."

Bronte: "No, no, no, so, how about this? You perform a simple job for me... and you get your son back."

Arthur: "What is it?"

Bronte: "A couple of people have taken to grave robbing in the cemetery."

Dutch: "That is a fine place for it, the best."

Bronte: "I love this guy, I love you. See they've taken, not only to desecrating the dead... but they've done so without paying a tribute to the living. Thing is, they see my men, of course, they run a mile. So maybe you 3 head off... and you, Mr. Van der Linde... Why, you tell me more about my manners." He laughs. I let go of John's hands as we all stand up to take our leave. I feel eye's on me making me internally shrink. John and Arthur must've noticed how uncomfortable I was since they followed close behind me.

Bronte: "She is very beautiful." I hear him say as we round the corner out the door. Walking past the front gate and on our way to the horse's I take a long sigh.

John: "God damn animals."

Arthur: "You okay?" He asks lightly tugging my shirt. I nod as I adjust my reins.

Y/n: "Men just suck."

Arthur: "I know." He says rubbing my back. I glance over to the men at the gate watching us profusely before putting my foot in the stirrups. Arthur grits his teeth before yanking me down and giving me a kiss. I was a bit startled from the sudden boldness. I place my hand on his shoulders as I shut my eye's. We hear the guards groan and some foot steps fade away. I pull away and jump up into my saddle. Arthur has a cocky grin on his face before mounting his own horse.

John: "I never want to experience that again."

Arthur: "Shut up, Marston." I begin to lead them to the cemetery.

 Y/n: "John, you did so well holdin your tongue. I'm so proud of you." I say looking back at him.

John: "Do you trust one word that comes out of that bastard's mouth? We don't even know where Jack is."

Arthur: "Listen, we found Bronte, we got in there... Dutch is with him now. All things considered, it could've gone a lot worse."

John: "That poor kid. I ain't been a good father to him. I hope... he's okay."

Arthur: "He'll be fine. I figure... the Braithwaites were going to hold Jack ransom, for all the money we cost 'em. They must have sent him here so we couldn't get to him. But... Bronte knows by now there's no Braithwaites left to pay him. Jack ain't much use to him anymore. Let's just get this done... and let Dutch handle the rest."

Once we reach the cemetery we dismount and hitch. We notice a few mourning people and some graves that were already destroyed and looted.  I slipped off from Arthur and John without them noticing and begin to look in all the area's I searched when I played. Keeping my ear's peeled for any noises. Suddenly, I feel my legs get kicked out from under me and my face meets the ground. I let out a small yipe as I hear John and Arthur kick down a door. I see someone try and run past me, I waste no time in grabbing there own leg and yanking it as hard as I can causing that person to eat dirt. I take out my knife and crawl over the person. They try to push me off, so I take my knife and stab it into the side of there neck. Blood oozing out of the wound and onto my knife. I hear gunshots break out and quickly stand up and run towards the source. I sheathe my knife as I jump over a body. I suddenly feel someone wrap an arm around me as I get yanked and my back meets a mausoleum slab..Hard. I let out a raspy cough as I hear a gun cock. I immediately look towards the the source of the noise and see a man holding a gun up to me. Wasting no time I lift my leg as quick as I can and hit him straight in the nuts. He falls to his knees grabbing his nuts. That's when I see a bullet go straight through his skull. A gasp escapes me as I look towards the source. Arthur holding his own revolver as his eyes flash with worry.

Y/n: "I'm good!"

John: "Nice shootin Arthur! Y/n, remind me not to get on your bad side." He chuckles out. I jog over to them as we continue to look for the stash. We make our way to where they started shooting from and grab a medium sized bag. Law enforcement hot on our tail.

Y/n: "That was quick."

John: "Think it was a setup?"

Arthur: "No, there was a shootout in a graveyard and we're in the city. Of course it's gonna draw attention." We all duck behind grave slabs and follow Arthur out the way the cops came in without raising any suspicion.

Arriving back at the mansion we see Dutch and Jack at the front gate with Bronte and his men. I stay mounted as Arthur and John slide down to greet Jack and hand over the bag. I can't deny how wholesome it was to see Jack run into John's arm's. Once they make there exit Jack was quick to run up to me and my horse.

Jack: "Is your head okay?" He asks pointing to his own head.

Y/n: "I sure am, sweetpea." I say offering a big smile. John comes up behind him and picks him up before mounting his own horse. Arthur comes over to me and puts his hand on my thigh giving it a small squeeze while looking at the few guards watching us from the gate. That squeeze sent thousands of volts through me as my pussy became a bit wet. I shake my head and chuckle.

Y/n: "Get on your horse. I wanna go home."

Dutch: "As do I. Let's get this boy home to his mother." Arthur mounts his own horse and matches his horse's pace to mine, keeping close to where his hand can rest on the small of my back as we trot off giving the guards a smug look.

Y/n: "You're no better than a child." I laugh.

Arthur: "Whatever." He says.

The ride was wholesome and kind of heart wrenching listening to John and Jack talk. You can tell John was getting irked by Jack calling Bronte 'Papa Bronte'. Arthur and I exchanged glances when John corrected Jack. Either way it brought a smile to my face watching the 2 interact. Dutch fills us in about a Gala with the Mayor and how we should attend.

Dutch: "I think it's quite dire we let Y/n attend. He seems very smitten with her."

Y/n: "I'll go, but the feeling isn't mutual."

John: "It was more painful to watch how they eyed you like you were a piece of meat."

Y/n: "Try being the piece of meat." 

Dutch: "I am truly sorry, but you will have us to protect you should any issue arise."

Once we arrive back to camp, Dutch calls for Abigail and Jack could barely contain his excitement as he slides out of John's grasp and run into his mother's arms. She seemed a lot more calm and even let a few happy tears slip.

Abigail: "Thank you, Dutch, Arthur and Y/n." She says as she stands and walks off with Jack to greet him with the rest of the gang members.

Abigail: "I got my son back!" The camp wastes no time in breaking out the whiskey and cheer. John turns to us.

John: "I-I don't know how to thank you but-"

Arthur: "I understand. Go be with your family." Arthur says as he shoo's him off. Dutch bids us a night and thanks us, taking his leave. Arthur pulls out a pack of smokes offering me 1. I take 1 and sigh as he strikes a match and lights his. I lean over and light mine taking a deep puff.

Y/n: "Thank you..for earlier. I appreciated that." Arthur takes a small puff before replying.

Arthur: "Of course. I didn't want my girl all uncomfortable now." He says blowing smoke and throwing an arm over my shoulder. We begin to make our way over to the whiskey crate and grab a bottle for ourselves before joining the happy crowd.  Arthur takes a seat on the edge of a log and pulls me into his lap. Javier begins to sing in spanish and everyone only sings to the only english part we all know. With each swig it got harder and harder to keep up with the lyrics. The swampy muggy air got more delightful with each joke that was told. It was something to see how everyone interacted with eachother.

'I wouldn't trade this feeling for the world.' I smile to myself as I finish the bottle. My eyes wander around camp as I see Abigail taking Jack upstairs to bed as I took cautious steps over to the whiskey crate grabbing another bottle. That's when I hear steps behind me.

Arthur: "We should get you to bed." He says with a small chuckle. I slowly turn around as I was struggling to open the bottle.

Y/n: "You should go to bed." I slur out. I give up trying to open the cork with my hands and move onto biting it off. Which works as Arthur just watches me with a big smile on his face. I spit out the cork and begin to chug.

Arthur: "I'll come to bed with you." He says setting his own bottle down.

Y/n: "You got yourself a deal, Mr. Morgan." I slur out. As he places his hands on my hips that same wetness from earlier begin's to pool between my leg's again. I giggle to myself.

Arthur: "Whatchu gigglin about now?" He asks as we reach the door to our bedroom. Once he makes it in the door I spin on my heel and push him against the wall. Some dry wall falling as a result from his body thudding against it. He's taken a bit back before looking at me with wide eyes. I press my lips against his as I start to undo his buttons. He pulls away and gently grabs my hands.

Arthur: "You're not yourself right now. Why don't we do this another time?" He asks ever so politely. I take a deep breath and a hard blink before looking at him.

Y/n: "I am more than sober enough to want to have sex with you right now." I say calmly and this time without 1 slur or hiccup. He releases his grasp on my hands and as he gently grabs my face. His touch sending waves through my body, my stomach doing somersaults as his tongue explores my own alcohol riddled cavern. I lace my hands back on his chest as I begin to undo his shirt again. He moves his hands to my gunbelt and unclips it. A loud 'clink' emitting from it, never breaking the kiss, but just deepening it. My hands begin to wander further down as I rub over his hardened cock earning a grunt. He pulls away as he strips me of my lower half and has me position myself on all 4's on the bed. I hear his own gunbelt drop to the floor. He takes a few steps towards me and plants kisses along my back, his hands sliding up and down my sides until resting on my hips.

Arthur: "Your skin is so soft.." He whispers as he presses his dick against my ass. A small moan escapes me as I feel myself drip with anticipation, he wastes no time in taking that as his chance to push his whole cock all the way inside me until his balls are flush against me, I take a sharp breath as my pussy isn't used to his size yet.

Arthur: "You must really enjoy this." I can hear the cocky grin just based off his tone.

Y/n: "Shut up, Arthur." I snap. He tightly grabs my hips and works small circles where his thumbs were placed. He slowly begins to buck his hips letting me get used to his speed. Each thrust sliding in and out easier than the last. My slick thickly coating him. I bury my face into the mattress keeping my back arched for him;  my hand clasped over my mouth to contain the moans that I didn't want to escape me. He must've noticed as his thrusts picked up speed and slammed into me harder. My mind goes hazy from his actions. I feel his grasp on my hips release as he moves 1 hand to gently grab my hair and the other 1 to smack my ass. I yipe as I hear him grunt from the pleasure he was getting. He pulls me until my head is resting against his shoulder, never breaking his pace in his thrusts. His beard tickles my neck as he plants kisses and sucks at the skin that I'm sure left some marks.

Arthur: "I want everyone to hear how I make you moan." His whispers tickling my ear. I drop my hands and let his words completely take over me. Every sound that escaped me seemed to amplify with his thrusts. I barely even notice how a knot began unform in the pit of my stomach as juices spray from me. That doesn't stop Arthur from thrusting, as he practically bounced off my ass sending a hard slap against it.

Arthur: "You're such a good girl." He moans out as it seemed to be his turn to cum. He tightens his grasp on my hair and his other hand begins to rub my clit before resting his head in the crook of my neck. A string of curses escaping him before he pulls out and finishes on my back. He releases his grip on me as he struggles to catch his breath. I let out a a few pants as I sprawl out on the bed. My pussy throbbing from my release. He pushes me over making room for himself before pulling me into his arms.

Y/n: "You're a good man, Arthur."

Arthur: "Oh, I'm sure." He chuckles, earning a small slap on his leg from me.

Y/n: "Not because of that, you ass." I laugh.

[rogue-durin-16]

HIS WARM EYES

Summary: Some members of the Order are reticent about letting in a Lestrange, specially after Snape's betrayal. Whilst taking Harry to the the burrow, an ambush has place. Everything points to Y/n, right?

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin!Lestrange!Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

George Weasley: @meph1stophelian

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @skarlettmikaelson

Warnings: blood, injuries, death

A/N: OH MY GOD THIS IS SO LONG AND BAD— I AM GENUINELY SORRY BUT I HAD TO

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Lestrange wasn't a good name.

It wasn't a good name in the streets, nor in close-doors, let alone amongst The Order.

That's why I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that they had accepted me— well, maybe 'accepted' was a strong word; they had let me in, reticent, weary, but still they had done it. Plus, after Snape's betrayal and Dumbledore's death, no one would think there was a vacant for a Slytherin and a Lestrange.

It wasn't until I found myself exiting the abandoned Grimauld's Place along with the rest of the volunteers to go to Privet Drive, that it dawned on me; they were short on people.

They were so short on people that the Order would have to swallow my name, my family and my House.

That didn't mean they would quiet down their opinions about me being there.

"I'm gonna say it." Fred announced, taking a spot in the living room's corner while Shacklebolt, Arthur and Lupin searched the place.

"Again?" Fleur groaned.

Fred had already spoken his mind about my presence before we reached Potter's house.

His and George's shocked looks had been on me since the very first moment I had walked into the old Black's home, which was understandable; last time they saw me I was joking about joining the death eaters.

Although the shock on their faces had been accompanied by very different emotions on each.

Fred's held reticence. During our school years, he had never liked me; I would dare to say he was scared of me, even.

George's gaze, on the other hand, held hope —maybe even excitement— which was comforting.

In our first year, I had managed to draw George's interest, and for three years he was adamant about Slytherins not being 'all that bad'.

George's friendship was the thread I was hanging on; he was the only thing stopping from taking the easy way and live up to my name.

The thread was cut after he asked his mother to bring me over during Christmas, which ended up in her forbidding him to talk to me. He, being George Weasley, ignored his mom's pleads and twin's scolding and still tried his best to stay close to me, so I did what was right and, at the end of our fifth year, I cut ties with him.

It hurt more than I would dare to admit.

After our drifting apart, I was forced to completely rely on Slytherins. And you see, Slytherins, as 11 year-old George would say, aren't all that bad, but the ones my name attracted were.

They were bad sort —the worst—, and keeping that company around after our sixth year wasn't the best record to have, but Merlin's sake, I was there, I had volunteered— people change.

"Son." His father warned Fred, well aware this wasn't the time, though he obviously wanted to side with him. "Don't start again."

"Someone has yet to tell me why is she here?"

"She has a name." I hissed, unable to stop myself.

"Which is why you shouldn't be here, Lestrange." The name rolled out of his tongue like poison. "She's not one to trust."

"Oi, she's willing to risk her life, isn't she?" George's words seemed to be meant to calm his twin's temper, though his warm eyes did land on mines with a reassuring look.

"Yeah but for whom?" I tried to stay quiet as Moody had asked me too, but Fred was making it quite difficult. "If something goes wrong—"

"Weasley!" Mad-eye's tone was dry as he bursted into the room. "Are you questioning my judgment?" Fred scoffed, but stayed quiet.

"If we're throwing in the surnames, you're gonna wanna know her mum's my auntie." Tonks spoke, folding her arms.

"But you're a Hufflepuff." He was quick to respond, giving me a disgusted look. "She's a Serpent."

"And you're still a mouthful, aren't you?!" I snapped, stepping forward, though Tonks gave me a lazy tug before I could get to Fred.

"Wanna fight, Lestrange?" He had taken a couple of steps in my direction already when George yanked his twins arm.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He yelled, giving his brother a push. "She's here for Harry! She's helping! What else do you want?!"

"Oh my gosh, Georgie— get over your teen crush already, she's not on our team!" George's knuckles went visibly white, unlike his cheeks, which turned red.

"Are you done making a scene? The three of you." Bill questioned in a calm tone, resting against the window's bench. "I don't fancy the idea either, but we need help, Fred, so shut your mouth because we have things to do."

"Pity, I was enjoying the teen drama." Moody teased before grabbing his flask and the ones who would take the Polyjuice potion moved to stand in line.

"Y/n." George's hand brushed my hand, drawing my attention to him as we stood besides one another. "I'm glad you're here." He whispered with a side smile.

"Missed me much?" I couldn't help but grin back, bumping his arm with mine. I stole a proper look at him and thought I might as well ask before the mission. "So... Teen crush huh?" I wiggled my eyebrows at him, though I could feel my own face flushing.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't fancy George —could someone blame me?—, and the idea of those feelings not being unrequited was very appealing.

He only threw his head back and looked away, the half smile growing wider and more bashful. "We'll talk about it at the Burrow." He assured me, taking the flask with his right hand and squeezing mine with his left.

"If we don't die before that." I was joking, but fear was shaking me to the core.

"We won't." He looked at the potion disgusted and gave me a peeked at me saying, "You have to hear me embarrass myself first." And with a wink, he drank the potion and passed it to me.

Gosh, I couldn't get over the mission to hear him 'embarrass' himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

The first five minutes were calm, despite all of us being on edge. We kept checking on each other, dreading if we lost sight of someone, that someone would banish.

The storm came when we had to dive into the dark clouds.

Funnily enough, I did think it was a literal storm before entering; oh, what I would have given for it to be a literal storm.

Black, cloaked intruders flew among us, making us divide in the pairs we had been assigned to.

Lupin started casting protegos and hexes to everyone that got too close while I tried to take down as many enemies as possible.

A couple of yelled warnings were heard when both Moody and the real Harry had entered the ambush.

"WATCH OUT!" Tonks screamed, flying past me with Ron at her tail. "REMUS!" She made a signal to her husband "ESCORT!" I got the hint; we were supposed to clear Moody's and Y/n's way so it would confuse our attackers while Tonks and Shacklebolt made sure to get Harry out of there.

"ON MY LEFT!" Lupin shouted over the chaos, changing to my right for me to be by Y/n's side.

"WE'RE FUCKED!" She yelled dropping her flight to dodge an Avada Kedavra.

"WE'LL MANAGE!" I automatically dropped my flight with hers too, which was a bad decision, since we had gotten rid of the protection provided by Lupin, Mad-eye and Bill and Fleur.

Soon enough three death eaters came flying towards us.

"STUPEFY!" another Harry with the voice of Fred passed by us, closely followed by my dad.

"GO BACK UP!" Y/n was quicker than me following my father's instructions; when I did though, I realised the little formation we had going on was gone.

Suddenly, all we could hear were screams; it felt as if someone was missing but I blamed it on everyone flying around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Tonks almost crashed against me on her way down; Ron was nowhere near me, nor Lupin.

We were outnumbered, and instead of moving forward, we were stuck in the grey clouds, trying not to die.

It took me a hot second, a crash against a death eater and a couple of hexes to get to Lupin, and even when I did, it was a hard task to keep track of him.

I had just taken out someone in my way when I caught a glimpse of something my eyes refused to believe.

Snape.

Our bloody professor was trying to kill us.

I felt the need to laugh at the situation.

"GEORGE!" It was Y/n's voice snapping me out of it, although her actions shocked me even more.

Y/n casted a spell on me, pushing my broomstick to the left and consequently making me crash against Lupin and lose balance.

Then something happened, something my mind didn't quite process.

At first it felt like a slap, but the pain stung my side as if someone had sliced me with a blade.

I didn't hear my own cry, nor Lupin's desperate 'help'; I didn't feel his hands struggling to take a firm hold of me, nor my own shakily reaching to my side, searching for an injury I didn't want to find.

A second after that, everything was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

FRED'S P. O. V.

As soon as my father and I apparated in the fields of our home, I ran into the house. For some unexplainable reason, it felt as if something wasn't right.

A couple of steps into the house were enough for that 'something' to strike me. George had been laid on the settee, barely conscious; blood was covering the side of his face, neck and left shoulder, making his hair and clothes stick to his skin.

I was left speechless at the sight, my eyes welling up while I dragged my feet towards my twin.

"Mad-Eye is dead." Bill's words, despite sounding far away, made the gears in my head turn.

Lupin was quicker than me, though, "I told you we couldn't trust a Lestrange!"

"Remus! we don't know—" Tonks tried to calm him down, just to be cut off by Bill.

"Mad-Eye and Lestrange traveled between us and" he gestured at our wounded brother, "Remus and George." His jaw twitching let me know that he was desperately trying to stay calm. "Mad-Eye is dead and my brother just lost an ear, who is it if not bloody Lestrange, Dora?"

"Bill..." Fleur held onto her fiance's arm in an attempt to ground him.

"Did you see her disapparating?" Tonks's point was logical and hopeful.

George would have sided with her.

My eyes fixed on my wounded twin again. He was as pale as a corpse now, and the absence of his ear was way more noticeable now that my mother had begun to remove the blood.

George would have sided with Tonks because he wanted to trust Y/n, and he couldn't even speak because of that same reason.

Since everyone was arguing, they missed the flash of someone apparating near the front door.

I didn't.

Before I knew it, I was running outside with my wand in hand, Lupin and Bill following me instantly when they realised what I had just seen.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Y/n's wand flew to my hand even before I could properly see her.

My rushed march came to a halt when I was a couple of feet away from her, making Bill bump into me; she was as pale as George, maybe more.

She took a seemingly calm, deep breath before attempting to walk.

Luckily, I saw the pools of blood on her shirt and stepped to reach her before she could touch the ground.

"Oh my..." Lupin covered his mouth with both his hands and Bill stood frozen at the sight of the girl in my arms. "MOLLY!!" my old professor yelled at the top of his lungs, going as livid as me.

We shouldn't talk on impulse, I told myself, rushing into the kitchen with Y/n in my arms. A series of gasps and regretful whispers broke the silence while I laid her on the dining table.

"Y/n?" George's trembling voice was heartbreaking, and, as my dad forced him to stay on the couch, I prayed the girl in my arms would survive.

"Oh Lord..." My mother muttered, examining her. It wasn't only her shirt stained with blood; her left leg and arm were too. "Oh dear..."

"She took the blow." Lupin ran his hands through his hair, understandably stressed. After a couple of seconds, her turned to my dad and commanded, "Get him up. Quick— go get him up." His eyes stared right into my soul and I dreaded the worst, but still obeyed and helped my dad drag George to the dining table.

I heard Lupin telling Bill something about Sectumsempra, and my heart sunk.

She took the blow.

"No..." George's murmur was close to a cry, but it was enough for Y/n's eyes to snap open.

"George." tears were effortlessly streaming down her cheeks at the sight of him. "You're... A-alive..."

"Please stay" My brother fell on his knees, reaching for Y/n's bloody hand with his own. We all looked away to give them some kind of intimacy, except from my mother, who was still trying to fix the poor girl.

I heard them both whispering sweet nothings with shattered voices until only one of them died out. I looked over to Tonks, whose eyes were gleaming with tears, and then to Lupin.

I couldn't bring myself to look at George.

After a moment of intense sobbing, my dad managed to pull my twin away from the corpse, and we carried him back to the settee.

I stayed with him the night, holding his hand and assuring him it was not his fault, but I knew my words would have little effect on his state; after all, he had been in love with Y/n for years.

All those years he had spent trying to convince all of us that Y/n was a good person, that we should give her a chance; all those years begging our mother to bring her over because she wanted to see our home.

Now her body was lying on our kitchen and I knew none of us would forgive ourselves for misjudging her.

READER'S P. O. V.

"Nervous?" A tall, redheaded kid appeared besides me; I supposed he didn't know my name by the warmth and curiosity with which his eyes stared at me.

"Aren't we all?" I replied with an anxious laugh.

He seemed to think for a moment before nodding. "Fair point, though I'll probably go into Gryffindor." He assured me with a proud smile, causing my head to cast down. "What is it?"

"Oh nothing," I shrugged, aware I would not be able to befriend that sweet boy with warm eyes. "I think I'll be sorted into Slytherin."

"Nonsense!" His intentions had been obviously to reassure me, but when he realised his response only made it worse, he added. "It'd be wicked to have a Slytherin friend, though." My eyes widened at his words; did he just— "I'm George, by the way."

"I'm Y/n."

"That's a very pretty name." Professor Mcgonagall led us into the Great Hall, and before I knew what was happening, George's hand was holding mine. "It'll be fine."

The lighting of the Castle changed once the Great Hall's doors opened; a bright, white light seemed to be coming out of it.

"Wait!" My hand gripped George's before he could leave my side. "Can you hold my hand? I-I'm scared." My voice no longer sounded like a 11 year old.

For some reason I didn't comprehend, my eyes were watery, making the view in front of me blurry.

"Don't be scared, darling." When I turned to George, I didn't see a kid; it was him, in the expensive suit I had seen him mere hours ago. "I'm here."

I just nodded and, swallowing my fear, took a step ahead, and then another one, and another, until I reached the Great Hall.

[liptonsbabe]

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! reader

Chapter 1,

Chapter 2,

Chapter 3,

Chapter 4,

Chapter 5, 

Chapter 6

Summary: The Weasley family have traditions about marriage and Bill has to respect them if he truly wants the reader become his wife. In the attempt to respect his family wishes the weasleys have to visit reader’s grandparent Tim Grant who has a lot of things to say

Word count: 5K TOO LONG I’M SO SORRY

Warnings: none(?

A/N: Hey! part 6 of this thing. I’m so sorry to update this late but it was a complicated chapter and the longest so far. I’ll try to make small chapters from now on and the wedding is aproching, you guys!! i’m sooo excited to publish that part but we have to wait a little more for that.

So, as i’ve said in the last chapter, i changed some things from de canon like Bill being attacked by Grayback and such. it’s just for the plot of this series ok? hope you don’t mind guys.

Anyways, like always, english not my mother language so pls let me know if somethings wrong. Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Your life is not enough

You needed a couple of weeks to fully recover, even if it meant having Bill on your back every hour and taking you away from your duties with the Order. The mission that Remus Lupin gave you had to wait until further notice, all for William's excessive concern about your wounds

The task of keeping you away was complicated, more so when the Death Eater attacks had gained strength that no one expected. The members of the order spent twenty-four hours a day on watch with no time for breaks, even Bill went three days without sleep until you, still recovering , left the room and dragged him back with you regardless of his constant complaining. Molly supported you in the decision - thank god - telling her son not to worry that the rest of the Order would keep their eyes fully opened and he could rest comfortably next to you

The drastic change in Mrs. Weasley's behavior confused you because there was no reason for it, but the relief helped make your recovery quicker and less painful. The healer who  you the morning after the accident with the Death Eaters took too long to close the wound as it was a curse wound and it needed a counter spell to heal properly, but not having one, he used other tactics and Dittany to help it heal. However, the help had come too late, and the scar was a throbbing fact that stung terribly when you made the slightest move. The healer said the burning and discomfort would go away with time, but the redness would stay forever. You thought that would be the last of your problems until you got your first glimpse of the result of the attack.

It was a disastrous thing, but it could have been much worse. You sighed as you looked at your disheveled image in the bathroom mirror. You had just taken a shower and Bill was still dressing in the bedroom. You took off the robe Ginny had given you a night before, watching the scar glisten across the valley of your breasts ending above your ribs. You sighed again, if you didn't consider yourself pretty before, at that moment you felt awful.

A new figure appeared in the reflection accompanied by a bright smile. William wore his white shirt tucked into his pants, his bow tie dangling from his collar and his suspenders placed perfectly flush against his shoulders. You smiled, looking at him through the mirror.

“Getting used to your dazzling new short hair?” You asked as you noticed Bill's nervous hand run over his head for the fifth time after the shower. Bill groaned, burying his face in your neck.

“I hate this style”

“And why did you cut it off, then?”

“Mom made me," he stated, tightening his hands around your waist, "She wants me to make a good impression, and for once I wanted to please her in something”

“Wow, your mom wanting to impress my family? That's new”

“Well, not every day you get to visit Lord Voldemort's brother," you gave him a bad look, smacking his hand, "Too soon for a joke, sorry”

You shook your head, escaping from Bill's embrace putting perfume behind your ear, on your wrists and neck. You gasped when a small drop of perfume touched your wound, reddening it. Your eyes lost in the scar again, knowing that even if your dress managed to cover most of it, the initial edges would be exposed like the body of a worm crawling through your clothes. Bill discovered your discontent. He hugged you again, running his fingertips over your sore skin as he kissed your bare shoulder. Maybe you couldn't see it, but for Bill you were perfect. Not just for the way you looked, but  the beautiful heart that, even if he didn't deserve it, you had given him without any qualms. You deserved to be appreciated by the rest of the world, not just by him.

“I love you. You know that, don't you?”

“Even with the scar?”

“With the scar even more. It shows how brave you are and you should be proud of it. You saved Mad-Eye”

“The others will see it”

“It's their problem, not yours. You're still the most beautiful woman in this world.

You smiled, stroking the short hair of the man behind you.

“Not as much as that”

“You're right. I stand corrected. You are the most beautiful woman in both worlds”

“William...”

“I'll help you get dressed," he said, noticing that you were blushing up to your ears. William smiled without understanding why a sweet comment could make you blush, but not the fact that he was looking at you naked from the waist up. He picked up the dress hanging on the dresser reaching over to help it over your head pulling it down gently so as not to hurt you. Then, he zipped up your back leaving a wet kiss on your neck.

Bill's false calm didn't go unnoticed by you. As you smoothed the folds of your dress you noticed the trembling in his hands and the way his feet drummed on the floor. He was playing with the zipper of your dress pulling it up and down, trying to calm his nerves

“Bill, it's not necessary to do this”

“It is!” He replied looking up. You turned to him, crossing your arms around his neck, "I want to respect the traditions, to do things right. I want to show everyone that we mean business. It's just that...”

“My grandfather scares you?”

“What? No” You raised an eyebrow “Okay, maybe a little”

“You don't need to talk to him. He'll understand”

“I want to”

You gave in to Bill's pout. A few days ago, just after he asked you to marry him, Arthur Weasley spoke to his son asking him how he would go about keeping the traditions of the family. Bill didn't seem to understand what he was referring to when his father explained that the Weasleys used to always, always, visit the bride's parents' home right after the engagement to ask for their approval. Offerings were usually brought in a show of respect and the parents in question would respond by offering dinner for the guests. Bill's eyes widened, was that a real tradition?, he didn't know, “why didn't you ever tell me about it!” he questioned his father in a shout. Arthur knew about his son's untimely ignorance, returning the accusation, “Would that have made any difference on your desire to have her as your wife?” Bill didn't have to think too hard. “Of course not!” he shouted and his father laughed, patting him on the shoulder. His son was brave and would have asked for his bride's hand even from Voldemort himself. Bill was lucky tho cause he only had to talk to the old alchemist Tim Grant.

Your grandfather was the only one in the family who seemed to be neutral in the war caused by his brother, but above all he was the person who loved you most as you had both been banished from the Grants for standing up for your own convictions. Maybe Tim wasn’t an active member of either side, however, the blood connection with his brother Tom Riddle sent shivers down the spines of those around him. The man isolated himself in the Galapagos islands dangerously close to a volcano, where he was sure his brother wouldn’t dare to look for him. The Weasleys, hearing the story from your lips didn’t understand why.

You used a portkey to get to your grandfather's house. Arthur had communicated with Tim hours earlier and the two of them managed to establish a connection undetected for the ministry thanks to  the old Grant's powerful magic and his skills as an alchemist.  You couldn't hide your excitement at seeing your grandfather again, which encouraged Bill's eagerness to formally introduce himself to his next.... grandfather-in-law?

“Well then, but you don't have to worry. Grandpa is a very understanding man”

“Yeah, I'm sure he is”

“Bill Weasley, who knew talking to an old man would make you so nervous?”

“Very funny” he rolled his eyes, gluing his forehead to yours “I just want him to like me, (Y/N)”

“He likes everyone”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“It will when you talk to him and see there's nothing to be afraid of” You stood on your tiptoes cause even with your high heels you couldn't reach his height. You kissed his cheek, snatching a warm smile from him “He's not like the rest of my family”

“I didn't mean to imply that, I'm sorry”

“It's all right, I know you didn't mean it. Now let's go downstairs, your mother must be going crazy”

“As if she wasn't already”

You slapped his arm as you descended the stairs. You didn't want Molly to hear them and relive her recently dissipated discontent with you

The rest of the family were already near the portkey with their arms full of baskets with offerings for your grandpa and the twins carrying some strange ornaments. Bill's sister Ginny greeted you with a smile, handing one of the baskets to her older brother. Molly and Arthur approached their children, both hanging on the opposite arm dressed in their best sunday clothes to make a good impression. You smiled without waiting for Bill's mother to smile back.

After the accident at Little Whinging Molly's rudeness disappeared. Not that she accepted you with open arms, but she stopped making bad comments and avoided looking at you in a bad way. Bill didn't know what Mad-Eye said to his mother that night when he told everyone how you had saved him knowing how much he owed you, but Bill didn't understand the size of the changing till he saw his mother offer you a piece of litchi pie the night after the attack when you were recovering from the wound. It was not that big of a deal really, but it had left you with a permanent smile on your face.

It was Molly herself who had taken the initiative to encourage Bill to fulfill the family tradition. If a Grant was going to come into their home as their son's wife then she should do it the way they knew. Her first piece of advice to her son was cutting his hair to a normal length. Bill was horrified by his mother's words cause he knew she was taking advantage of the moment to make him suffer with his precious mane. He did it anyway, because there wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for you

It was a drastic change, but it was worth it. Molly saw your eyes sparkle at the sight of her son so changed, with his hair cut short and his beard shaved. Your fingers danced over his face appreciating the effort Molly, not yet convinced of your influence at home, had made for you. Molly stifled a smile, unaware even to herself, that you were slowly beginning to win her heart.

You touched the shuttle at the same time falling precipitously in the sand and Harry helped you up  with a smile. Then you walked straight appearing in front of a huge house that was sheltered by the foothills of the bubbling volcano on the other side of the island. The twins, like the rest of the family, let out an exclamation of astonishment as Ron, harried by the huge spiders hovering in the sand, ran for the door.

The smell of freshly cooked food escaped through the cracks in the door before it was opened. The twins' eyes widened as they recognized the delicious smell of cooked prawns and coconut sauce wafting over their heads. You knocked on the door three times, then stopped and resumed the knocking four more times. The Weasleys watched you, did you have a special code to communicate with each other?

"Come in" You gave way to them closing the door behind you and sealing it with an unknown spell. Bill waited for you at the threshold as his family was already making their way to the table where a very well dressed Tim Grant was waiting for them sitting in the main chair. Bill looked at him from his position, shaking “We still have time to run away” you joked “If you're not ready...”

“I am," he said confidently.

“Okay”

You both walked toward the dining room. Tim was greeting the rest of the family enthusiastically. Bill sighed. At least Tim seemed to get along with his parents, so that was good. They all filled a seat, with Tim occupying the head and Arthur the opposite end; Molly sat on Tim's right side and you sat on Mr. Weasley's right side. The twins, Ron, Harry and Ginny took the middle seats leaving Bill the only vacant spot on Tim's left side. Bill took a breath before taking the seat and receiving a curious look from the man.

“Ah, how wonderful is to have more people to fill the empty spaces! A table this big doesn't serve any purpose unless it's fully occupied, does it? That's what I always say!”

“Don't you usually get many visitors?” asked Molly, breaking the ice. Bill felt sweat trickle down his back. Tim guffawed, patting the back of Molly's hand on the table.

“I’m afraid so. I think that is cause I'm the only one crazy enough to live near an active volcano and my family's fame doesn't help me much either, I'm generally a lonely man. Most of the time it's frustrating, but I can deal with it. You are a big family from i can see, are they all yours, Arthur?”

“Only the redheads," he replied. You recognized in his tone of voice a slight pride “The other one is...”

“Harry Potter” Tim Grant's eyes sparkled with recognition. He looked at Harry with a smile, bowing his head to him in respect. Harry did the same “I know him. He's the guy who's been giving my brother headaches”

Tim's laughter echoed through the house being followed by the twins and you cleared your throat to get his attention. Tim spotted you from across the table waving his hand dismissively.

“Grandpa, please”

“A little joke to lighten the mood, my dear, oh, are these for me?” he questioned, bringing closer the baskets offered by the Weasleys resting on the table. Bill's basket was in front of him waiting to be properly delivered, so he stood up and did as he should. Tim Grant gladly received it, complimenting the selection they had made “What a cute boy, did you see him, dear,? he's gone red!”

You let out a chuckle, nodding at your grandfather's words. Bill's face was flushed as he returned to his spot and looked down at his hands. Tim guffawed again and banged the table.

“I appreciate the gifts, Arthur, I've never been part of a tradition like this before”

“It was important for my son and the rest of us to do it, to introduce ourselves properly”

“Sure! It's what a family with honor does. I'm not surprised. No, not at all. The Weasleys were in the book of the sacred twenty-eight for a long time until they were struck off the list. Tell me, that was quite a blow, wasn't it?”

“Not so much, my family has never cared about that sort of thing”

“Of course! It never did, I could see it up close. Did you know I was friends with your grandmother, Lysandra Yaxley?”

Arthur's eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Really. My family also once belonged to the most important pureblood families until I was born, of course. Lysandra and I became friends because her family also got kicked off the list when Cedrella, your mother, married your father Septimus Weasley. Even your grandfather Arcturus was removed from the Black family tree which was an embarrassment for him being that the ancestral Black family is too proud and such. Anyway, that's part of life, right? Creating new families, bringing people together...”

“Was your family always purebloods?” Fred asked. Tim shook his head

“It was. As I mentioned, before I made my appearance in this world”

“Why?”

Tim was suddenly silent. You scanned your grandfather's face waiting for an answer. Dinner plates flew in from the kitchen and positioned themselves at each guest's place setting while a huge chocolate fountain was set up in the center accompanied by a plate overflowing with assorted fruit. The baskets took a turn and took a place on your grandpa's shelves. Tim sighed, looking at the Weasleys asking to begin dinner.

“I’m the son of a witch, but not of a pure blood wizard”

“Don't you and Lord Voldemort share the same father?”

“Harry...”

”It's all right, Molly, I can answer that” Tim rubbed his chin, thinking “I understand your concern boy, being hide here doesn't make me ignorant to what's going on out there and I know better than anyone what you're going through. You need weapons against my brother and you do well. Tom is a big threat, a very big threat indeed. You're right, Tom and I don't share a father, but that doesn't make him any less my brother.

“I think we're straying from the subject that brought us here” mentioned Arthur feeling a sudden warmth. You supported him, but Tim continued to speak

“I was the son of Merope Gaunt and Aleister Grant. My father was a famous son, grandson and great-grandson of brilliant alchemists, and unsurprisingly he was one himself. Merope Gaunt was...  a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin and a Parselmouth. She had a brother named Morfin and my grandfather was Sorvolo Gaunt. My parents met when the Gaunts had just moved to Little Hangleton after their exile and needed a place to stay. They became the owners of a squalor ridden shack on the edge of town and well, my father was a young alchemist who lived near the Gaunt abode”

You sipped from your wine glass as you listened to your grandfather speak. Never, even with the rest of the family, had he ever struck such a chord as he was doing with the Weasleys. The truth was that you didn't understand why he was telling them all that, however, you weren’t interested in interrupting the story as you knew your grandfather had a purpose with him.

“Those of us who are dedicated to alchemy have never enjoyed an enviable reputation because our transmutation abilities are mostly underestimated by the things that magic in general can produce and it makes a science like alchemy reserved for muggles in their attempt to approach the power that the wizards possess. Personally I think there is something right about that, precisely cause the transmutation in the Muggle world is divided into subjects they taught in schools like chemistry or physics, but alchemy goes beyond that, it’s a connection between the wizard and the spirituality that each one possesses...” the man's gaze was lost in a place at the table, pausing the story. Harry settled back on the seat waiting for him to continue “But it's very difficult to erase the deep-rooted ideas about it, so the best is ignore that and continue doing what we believe is right. Anyway, ah! I got off topic, didn't I? Okay, okay, well my parents ended up meeting and my father fell in love with my mother as fast as my socks get cold at night, but that infatuation wasn’t well regarded by my uncle and even less by my grandfather, of course, for the fame of the alchemists at the time”

“So what happened?” you asked. Tim smiled at you, taking a bite of the rye bread on his plate.

“My mother was treated worse than a house- elf by her father and Morfin, so she decided to run away with my father to France where he had several alchemist friends who could protect them. The Gaunts might have been exiled, but they were still dangerous and to be honest I think my father was terribly afraid of uncle Morfin. They eventually made it to France, but they encountered an infamous muggle who tried to hurt my mother”

Everyone stopped eating to pay attention to Tim as he drank his third glass of wine. You thought that your grandfather wouldn't even be able to stand up by the end of the night.

“He was known as Gilles De Rais. He was a sadistic muggle who tried to become a wizard even though he wasn't born a wizard and used my father to tell him secrets of alchemy. One night they were having a conversation when my father revealed him that there were certain amounts of gold in people's bodies. Gold is a very valuable component, as you already know, so the man's greed didn’t take long to show itself and he questioned my dad how it could be obtained. My father told him that the only way to obtain the gold was by draining the blood and dividing it with a very complicated procedure, however, the gold of an ordinary adult was quite scarce. The real wealth was in the blood of children of no more than ten years old because they possessed a great amount of gold and other components that could be transmuted into riches. The muggle did so, and when he learned that my mother was a real witch, he wanted to know if golden blood ran through her veins, which would make him richer than he already was. My father refused, and decided to leave the place before he hurt us, because they knew she was already pregnant. The muggle went mad and unleashed in him a fury that spread throughout France”

The Weasley twins chorused an astonished murmur as the others moved up to the table so as not to miss a word of the story. You sent a glance at Bill as he hadn't stopped sweating and going over his words all evening.

"They wanted to go back to Little Hangleton but my uncle and grandfather were still in a rage waiting to see them arrive, so my father sent my mother alone while he found another place to stay as he could not expose her to the cold streets of France while on standby, so they had no choice but to leave her with her family avoiding revealing my existence to them. Uncle Morfin didn’t want my mother back, but my grandfather convinced him because they needed someone to take care of the house and their needs. Time passed, my father didn’t come back and I was born in the garden of the house while my mother watered the plants”

“My birth was a surprise to everyone because my mother knew how to hide me well until my father's arrival but, as that didn't happen, I couldn't stand it any longer and made my triumphant appearance on my grandfather's favorite bushes. Uncle Morfin was furious and even tried to get rid of me immediately, but my mother clung to me like a lioness.

“Really?”

“Really," he replied with a broad smile, "I think a part of her was still holding on to my father showing up at some point and getting us out of there, but again that didn't happen. Mom had to endure her brother and father's abuse for me and that's a debt I can never repay”

The whole table fell silent, thinking. Dinner continued as a heavy thunderstorm rumbled overhead, accompanying old Tim Grant's story as if it were yesterday. The man paused to eat and the others did the same with no desire to miss a word. Harry's eyes sparkled in wonder and Mr. Weasley's strong hand on yours helped to soothe your fervent anguish.

“I guess that's what mothers do, isn't it? Anyway, the years passed and I had to live under uncle Morfin's shadow and at the mercy of his growing wrath. When I turned five I started helping the market men with their chores in exchange for a couple of pounds which we had to exchange later for galleons and sickles to survive for two weeks. Mom helped bring money into the house, but it wasn't enough. Then, at seven, the Dream Messengers showed up one night telling me I was required to study at the Uagadou magical college in Africa so I couldn't refuse”

“Wait, Uagadou takes students from the age of seven?”

“Oh I see," the man settled back in his chair, wiping the corners of his lips with a napkin as he stared at Ron, "I forgot that the rest of the magical schools aren't very well known around here, are they? Well, yes, some schools take in very young students as is the case with Uagadou or the Japanese school. It depends a lot on the traditions in each region i guess, because in the African school they select only descendants of alchemists or who have had at least someone  in their bloodline whose spirituality helped them to become one. It wasn't all as easy as that, of course, because each student had to pass a test before having a permanent stay, but....

“What kind of test?” Harry questioned when dinner was over and they start dessert. The twins were the first to help themselves a piece of fruit, playing with the chocolate fountain in the center of the table.

“One that only wizards with alchemist ancestry could pass, Mr. Potter. I passed the test so I had no choice but to move to the castle immediately. I didn't want to leave my mother alone, but she convinced me to do it. Going to Uagadou was a great opportunity for me and for her cause it meant I could follow in my father's footsteps” Tim's face suddenly darkened as he pushed away the overflowing plate of fruit Molly offered him. He folded his hands on the table and thought for a long moment. The twins continued to play with the chocolate fountain but a fierce look from their mother made them stop. Then Tim Grant sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow with the handkerchief on his coat “I regret that decision to this day. I could have gone to Hogwarts like any other wizard, but I suppose my ambition got the better of me. Maybe... if I hadn't left Little Hangleton she never would have met Tom Riddle”

You tensed as you felt the pressure of Mr. Weasley's hand on yours a little too tightly. One glance at the others was enough to understand the dread the name struck their nerves. You even caught a glimpse of the hiss on Molly's lips and saw the sting in Harry's scar. Tim let out a chuckle, taking another drink from his wine glass.

“My brother’s father. I didn't hear from him until a couple of years later, when my mother wrote to me saying that uncle Morfin was in Azkaban and that my grandfather had died. She didn't give me many details, however, she did very vaguely mention the presence of a muggle who was quite striking to her. For better or worse, my mother was already forgetting my father, believing that he had abandoned her or, at worst, that he had dropped dead somewhere in France. I didn't believe the same, but it was logical that she got tired of waiting. I would never have grown tired, at least not having loved the way they did”

Your gaze rolled to meet Bill's eyes as he looked back at you. He smiled at you, causing you to blush. Then you both looked back at your grandpa who was sipping a new glass of wine.

“It was a couple more years before I stopped hearing from my family. Mom never wrote again and with uncle Morfin in Azkaban there was nothing that could be done. When I was eleven i returned to Little Hangleton only to find that my mother had married Tom Riddle, got pregnant and he had thrown her out on the street like a dog. She was left with nothing, unable to return to her father’s old house, and was forced to wander in the streets for months, until one rainy december night she went into labor in the middle of an alley. I helped her as much as I could, dragged her to the door of an orphanage where my mother no longer even had the strength to save the three of us. She had her wand in her hand, but she never used it. She gave up in front of me, the baby was born and asked me to name him after his father. She put him in my arms, the door of the orphanage opened, but mother had already died”

“Grandpa-”

“As you can understand, it's kind of hard for me to remember all that," Tim Grant's reddened eyes closed, choking back tears, "I was just a little kid taking care of a baby and I didn't do my best job of raising him. I was upset with my mother for a long time after she died, but I don't judge her now. After living an almost totally miserable life, my mother had no hope and not enough courage to make her want to keep trying, even for the sake of her newborn son. That decision had a considerably negative impact on Tom's psyche as he was growing up I suppose cause I had to go back to school and I couldn't take him with me, I would have! Of course I would have. I tried, but Tom wasn’t descended from any alchemist and there was nothing I could do about that. I tried, Merlin knows I did. I felt the need to leave him in that orphanage. I visited him whenever I could. For a year I went back and forth from continent to continent to see him, but that wasn't enough for Tom to grow up feeling loved. Orphanage life is hard, dear friends, we shouldn’t judge others too harshly, much less a lonely mother” Tim Grant's irritated eyes were fixed on Harry, reflecting deep pain “She was weakened by her long suffering and she never had Lily Evans’ courage. Everyone sacrifices for those they love in different ways, and my mother did it in her own way”

“Why didn't you ever talk about this?” you asked from across the table. Everyone looked at you “when dad asked you so-”

“Your father didn't need any more reasons to support Tom's follies” Tim shook his head “My brother is a very convincing person not only with his family members but with anyone who gets in the way of his plans. He has a very affiliated serpentine tongue, he inherited the gift of gab from our ancestors and your father grew up under his influence”

“We're very sorry for what you had to go through, Tim, but there's nothing that can be done about you-know-who and all that's left for us to do is to fight him”

“I understand, Arthur, but that doesn't stop me from blame myself. I did what I could, but an eleven-year-old can't take the place of his parents. When I graduated from school and wanted to take care of him Tom was already at Hogwarts and completely disappeared from everyone's eye," he lamented, scrunching his eyelids together, "That was the last time I saw him as the real Tom and not the ghastly grayish mass he is now”

The twins and Ron laughed at the comment and were immediately silenced by their father. Tim scrunched up his eyes, took a breath and let out a laugh looking around the room.

“Well, enough whining, that's not what you guys are here for, is it?” Bill, that had kept silent, denied when the man turned to see him, "What's done is done, and lamenting won't do any good, but I hope that what I've just told you will help you to see Tom's human side if he still has it, which I doubt it very much”

“Thank you, sir”

“You're welcome, Harry, dear, well? What was you wanted to tell me, my boy?”

Tim Grant turned his full body towards Bill, almost climbing up on the table fixing his huge opaque eyes on Bill's. Bill held his gaze noticing that the man was drunk since the beginning of the evening. He looked to you for help, but you were too busy watching Mrs. Weasley's reaction to hearing the reason for your visit.

“Come on, boy, don't be shy”

“I... well, I wanted to-”

“Oh, Arthur, your son is so cute!” he shouted as he squeezed Bill's cheeks. His brothers and Harry laughed and even Molly hid a mischievous smile by putting a piece of apricot in her mouth “Poor frightened boy. But, come on! I'm not going to make it harder for you, I know you're here to ask for my granddaughter's hand in marriage, aren't you?”

“Yes, that's right, sir”

“Well, that's a great gesture of you, but this is a job for (Y/N)’s parents”

“It is, but you understand that under such circumstances we couldn't pay a courtesy visit to the Death Eaters," Arthur interjected with an amused smile.

“Indeed”

“So...”.

“So..." repeated Tim. You sighed, "You love my granddaughter?

“Yes, sir”

“How much?”

“A lot”

“Are you going to protect her, take care of her, and love her?”

“With my life, sir”

“Your life is not enough for me, William” Tim smiled at him, tapping Bill's chin with one of his fingers “My granddaughter is still a Grant, descended from very powerful wizards. My hand will not tremble to revenge the suffering you put her through, am i being clear?”

“Y-yes, sir. Crystal clear”

“Good boy," he replied, patting his cheek. Then he turned to Molly, took her hand and kissed the back of it, giving her a beautiful smile. The woman blushed, but it didn't last long because the man turned to her husband and bowed his head in respect. Arthur pressed your hand on the table and also kissed the back of your hand, making a promise “Well, then. Arthur, your son has my blessing to marry my granddaughter”

Mr. Weasley raised his glass, offering it to Tim.

“Thank you, Tim. We promise to take care for (Y/N) as a member of our family”

“I hope so." The man rested his chin on his hands, watching the huge smile form on your lips and kissing Arthur's cheek. He turned to Molly lightly patting her shoulder offering her a sweet roll which she accepted with a giggle “It's nice to see you accepting my (Y/N) so well” Molly wrinkled her nose “Since who she is and coming from a family as complicated as ours...it was hard for me to believe that someone from the outside could fall in love with her someday. I always knew my little girl was different from everyone” Tim's brown irises clouded over. Molly fell silent “You could put her in a basket of rotten apples and she'd make them blossom, so I'm glad to hear you've taken her in as one of yours. Being a Grant is a very complicated task, i never had a problem with people speaking shit about me, i was never ashamed to be recognized as Lord Voldemort's brother, but my yoke should not fall on my granddaughter” Molly Weasley listened carefully “I have always been a faithful supporter of being judged individually and not by the others actions, that would be like punishing children for their parents mistakes, wouldn't it? That wouldn't be fair and it wouldn't make us any less guilty than my brother, isn't that what he’s doing? Punishing Muggle-born wizards just because they weren't born under Merlin's blessing? I like you, Molly, I know you understand.

A pain in her chest made her look down, embarrassed. But then Tim lifted her chin at just the right moment for her to catch the moment her son rose from his place to walk over to you and lock you in a breath-stealing hug. Arthur was at your side watching you and then his attention focused on his wife giving her a beaming smile, the kind she hadn't seen in a long time. Even the rest of their children had joined in the celebration and Harry rose to congratulate you while you and Bill happily sealed your engagement with a kiss. Tim moved Molly's chin towards him, their gazes colliding.

“Yes," Molly whispered, "I understand.

“Good” Tim let out a laugh, pulling away from Molly to toast. The woman watched you as she smiled thinly ”Then my story was useful somehow”

Tag list:

@purple-vodka-99

@vampirestrawberries​

@accio-remus-lupin

@pennyllanne

[ilove-cedricdiggory]

You would be okay (Fallen Pt. 2)

Draco x Reader

Request - Yes? kinda? you guys wanted a part 2!

Summary - You tried the unspeakable and were left with this aftermath. Part one here!

Trigger Warning - Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, cursing, it's kinda lengthy. I hope you enjoy!

All that's left is a last embrace.

All that's left is a whisper to say.

Hearts broken,

tears spilled,

frantic moves,

for all that was left was a final exhale.

You expected white, or maybe black even? But all you saw was the yellow of a light. That's a good sign, right?

Go into the light.

But, the light doesn't come with a tight embrace, does it?

For the last of something shouldn't come with another. A last breath shouldn't be met with another inhale, filling your lungs with a type of pain that wasn't physical. A type of pain that filled your head with the doubt of no other.

You failed.

Failed to die, how can someone be that stupid?

"No." You croaked out, feeling the pressure on your body tighten. "No, I'm not alive. No." You opened your eyes, the unshed tears already in the place of your eyelids.

"Honey, clear the room." The soft, warm voice of the mother you dreamed of filled your ears. "Molly, no." You cried, looking up at her. She held your body tightly, her arms circled around you as she held the life of you, afraid to let go.

The tears fell quickly down your cheeks, sobs falling from your mouth. "Sweet girl, it's okay." She whispered, pressing you closer to her. You're unaware of how you long you sobbed, how long she sat there with you, softly pressing her palm down the smoothness of your hair, but your sobs lulled you back to sleep with the hatred of yourself filling your being once more.

One week

You felt like you were a toddler again, for a pair of eyes was always set on you. They didn't look at you with pity, they didn't look at you with disgust, they didn't look at you with doubtfulness. For they looked at you with a love you didn't even understand. A love that had your heart breaking worse than what Draco could ever cause.

You still weren't sure how you survived, how you possibly could have jumped from the astronomy tower and lived to tell the tale, but none of the Weasley's would tell you.

"It doesn't matter dear." Whispered Molly when you woke up the next morning, full of questions.

"What do you think about these?" Fred and George switched up the topic, showing you a prototype that was supposed to shoot multicolored glitter into the room you tossed it into.

"Sorry, y/n, I'm reading." Hermione excused, sticking her nose further into her book, avoiding your eyes with every cost.

Three Weeks

With each day, you ate more. With each second, you smiled brighter. With each look, you felt safer.

You weren't on watch like you had been, everyone seeing the slow progress you were making. You still had unanswered questions, but they sat at the back of your mind, until a bad day.

A day that had you tumbling down the steep stairs of progress, a day that had you quivering in fear of your own self. A day that started with a specific blonde.

You had assumed he was at the Malfoy Manner, you had assumed he thought you were dead. But, when you opened the door to your apartment, Hermione and Ginny standing beside you, he stood from your couch, eyes set on you.

"You're okay." He whispered, his eyes as broken as yours.

"Shit." Ginny looked at the Slytherin and quickly stepped in front of you. "Why the fuck are you here?" Hermione asked, pulling you back behind her.

"Look, I just - I had to make sure she was okay. I haven't left for weeks, I've slept on the couch to make sure I'd see you when you walked in. I - after I saved you, I saw the Weasleys running to you, I was too afraid they'd kill me themselves, so I ran off." He said, stepping closer to you. "Wait - you're the one who saved her?" Ginny asked, looking at the boy. "I uh, I levitated her - like Dumbledore did to Harry at the quidditch game year three. As soon as the owl flew in with a letter in your handwriting to me, after that fight, I knew what you were doing."

Ginny took one more step towards the boy before hugging him, her arms around his neck. "Thank you."

You and Hermione stood in awe. Ginny Weasley, the Ginny Weasley, was hugging Draco. They had all learned to tolerate the man, especially after the two of you got together, but the only person you ever saw try to hug Draco, was Molly.

"But, how did you know where I was? I wrote that at the end of the letter so I could - well, so I could die." You whispered, moving to sit on the couch

Hermione moved to sir next to you, taking the seat Draco might have taken, placing her hand on yours. "Y/n, we don't have to do this. We just came for some clothes." You shook your head, meeting Draco's red eyes.

"I found the letters, about 4 months ago. I had gone into the owl room to feed her the two days you were gone and I saw it with my name. I pulled it out and read it - I didn't know what to do. We had been doing well, you were happy, we had plans with the Weasley's, which I knew for a fact you wouldn't cancel, I just decided to watch you for the next few weeks, make sure you were okay. I knew that you were depressed a while ago, but we had been working on it.

You had been getting out of bed a bit easier, you were baking and singing, I figured you were okay. I know your depression comes and goes, but you were really doing good, so I didn't bring it up." He sat in your love seat, his head in his hands. "I was such an idiot for not bringing it up, I knew better than that. Even if you were doing good, you still wrote them, which meant you were suicidal before then. I'm just a plain dick for saying what I said to you then too. I - I can't believe that I did, you trusted me with your insecurities, with your darkest thoughts, and I used then to crush you." His voice was soft, tears falling from his eyes.

"Hey, Mione, let's go pack up some stuff for Y/n, I think they should talk."

Two months

You were okay.

It was still hard sometimes, but you were okay. You had moved back in to your home, finding a new routine for you. Someone of the Weasley house always popped in on you once a week and Molly set in a Sunday Dinner policy that you could not miss.

You were okay.

You still had dark thoughts, but who didn't? You still had rough days, but who didn't? The only thing you didn't have, was him.

After the day he told you how he saved you, he left. He excused himself when the girls came back, and he left. You were expecting to see him, to hear from him, but nothing. Now, your heart broke a little bit when you woke up and his side was empty, when you woke up and his coffee cup was gone, when you woke up and his designated seat stayed empty.

But, he wasn't going to kill you again.

You washed dishes, you baked cookies (and owled them to the Weasley's), and you went to work.

You were okay.

The day was long, almost as hard as it used to be, but you could do it. People came and went, your mood stayed stable, and your mind stayed blank from all thoughts that could break you.

You were okay.

Right at clock out, you stepped out of the store and - no one.

You walked down the street and - no one.

You stepped into the bakery the two of you got breakfast from that morning and - oh? maybe? the blonde hair, the same height? Nope, bakers son.

A simple hot chocolate, not wanting to be up for hours more, and you were headed home. The muggle tv was set up, courteously done by Harry and Arthur. The hours passed by, your own platter of cookies gone, but, you ate. Comedy movies watched, an episode of How I Met Your Mother finished, but you were then met with a stupid romance movie.

Your eyes watered as you stood, walking to the fridge to find - no ice cream? Really? You bought 4 pints of it the last time you saw it, it was just so hard to find in stores.

You glanced down at your clothes and shrugged, disapparating into the streets outside of the grocery store before walking in and straight to the frozen section. "Stupid freaking ice cream just had to be ate by me. Why can't they make self filling ice cream? I'd pay any damn price for that." You mumbled, the house shoes dragging along as you walked.

"Where is it?" You asked yourself, glancing in each of the doors before bumping into a cart. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry." You spoke, looking up to meet them.

"Narcissa?" You asked, your eyes furrowing. You glanced into her basket to see nothing but ice cream, the very ice cream you were here for. "Uh, that's a lot of ice cream." You said, biting your lip sadly.

"Draco sent me for them, I don't eat ice cream." She laughed, smiling at the girl. "You okay?" She asked softly, meeting your eyes. You had a problem with Lucius, yes, but Narcissa was so lovely - especially after the war. "I'm okay." You spoke, nodding once.

"You know, I said that a lot too, so I get it." You bit your lip, nodding once. "Oh, well, they don't have what I'm here for, so I'll be going." She nodded, you turning around before hurrying out of the store.

You were okay.

You popped back into your home, taking a deep breath. You sat in the room, shutting off the TV before laying back. An hour later, you were met with the pecking of the door, sighing as you grabbed a few knuts for the owl and walked to the door, swinging it open.

"Draco?" You breathed out, looking at the man. "Owl?" you asked, looking down at the owl in his arms.

"I uh, I figured I'd bring you these." He held up the ice cream pints his mother bought, smiling softly. "I was gonna owl them, but I had to see you, I'm sorry." He spoke, and you stepped aside to let the boy in.

After they were all safely placed in the freezer, he turned to you. "Y/n, I'm so so so sorry. I can't just apologise my way back into your life and I know that, but I'd do anything to see you. I was such an absolute idiot and I will do anything I can do to fix it, fix us." He spoke, his eyes meeting yours.

You nodded softly, taking a deep breath.

You were okay.

You were okay.

You were okay.

You weren't okay.

"I've missed you do much." you cried, flopping onto the couch. "And I hate myself for that because you did this, you did it. But you're the only one I could ever trust to really fix me again. But I can't trust you to not break me again." Your sobs filled the air, Draco rushing to hold you once again.

"I'm so sorry, y/n." he whispered, kissing your head softly.

You stayed in his arms until your sobs lulled to an end, looking up at him. "We have to restart." You whispered, looking into his beautiful eyes. "Not just pick up where we left off, restart." He nodded, his eyes bright with hope.

"Well then, y/n, can I take you out on a ice cream date?" He asked softly, pushing your hair back. "I dunno, I've got all the ice cream I can take, this really great guy bought it for me." You spoke, smiling at him.

"Yeah, but you look like a soft serve kinda girl."

You were going to be okay.

~~~

Tag List - @m3ssytrash @drawwithaarya @memorable-fics @gdee703

If you'd like to be on my tag list permanently or for a specific Character, pm me

[belamourelysianlimerence]

The Date part 2

Arthur Fleck x Reader part 1 here

Saturday came and you both relaxed in your own homes from work. When night pulled over the sky, or around 7pm. You got a call.

'Hello?'

'H-hi. It's me.'

'Hello, Arthur.'

'Can.. can I pick you up around eight?'

'...I can meet you out front around eight.'

'Right. Right, sorry. S'been a while. Um.. yeah. That would be great. Okay.'

'Okay. I'll see you at eight.'

'Mhmm, bye.'

'Bye.'

Around 7:30 you started to get ready, and by 8, you were exiting the elevator to meet Arthur at the front of the building. You caught him slicking his hair back before he jumped to look up at you and smile. He was very handsome. The contrast of his white shirt, and the deep wine red of his vest and pants complimented how pale he was compared to his hair.

His blue green eyes slid over you, and his smile became softer, as if he was lost in thought.

You walked up to him, while he remained in place, only moving his gaze to follow you as you got closer.

You stared at each other for a minute or so before either of you spoke.

"Hello, Arthur."

He shook his head swiftly.

"Uh.. hi. Sorry. Hi. Hello, how are you?"

You giggled at his shyness.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"M'fine. Listen.. uh.. I have to be back by ten..... I have to make dinner for my mother. She can't do it herself."

"That's completely fine." You smiled. "I like that you're attentive."

His smile stretched up his cheeks. "Thank you. Thank you. Yeah.. not a lot of people... understand that." He parted his mouth, and looked off in thought.

"Which place?"

His eyes snapped back to you. "Huh?"

"Which coffee place? There are several."

"Oh. The one on Jerome Avenue? It's right by the pharmacy.."

"It's also within walking distance."

He subtly fiddled with his wrist cuff.

"I hope you don't mind... I don't have a car."

You shook your head with a smile. Perhaps he just truly didn't notice these things. You walk home yourself.

"Neither do I. Let's go."

It took him a moment to register what you said before you took his arm in yours and almost drug him onto the sidewalk.

You took your time getting there, exchanging small talk. Like you were both saving the conversation for when you were seated. You pointed out things from other shops to each other, window shopping and such.

Reaching the donut shop, Arthur dove first to the door to open it for you.

You smiled, and thanked him before entering.

The brightness of the cheap lights made you squint a little, and the smell of stale coffee stunk up the place. You crinkled your nose behind your appreciative smile. Both of you walked up to the counter. You ordered something a little fancier than him, and you paid for yours after putting up a gentle fight about going dutch. You made your own money, you didn't mind paying for yourself. You weren't rich by any means, but you could tell Arthur must be struggling just by his weight. And though he seemed like he wanted to be very chivalrous to you, you knew he could be that way without cash. Hobos are more charming than filthy rich men. You giggled at the thought.

You took your donuts and coffee, and moved to a booth. You sliced off half of your whip cream and put it on his coffee, to which he chuckled.

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to. You're too sweet to just have black coffee."

He chuckled again.

You talked about family, what little of it either of you had. Things you liked to do for fun, favorite moments of your lives, biggest regrets. You both remained silent after that last bit.

"Y/n... there's something I need to tell you before...before you realize you need to run away from me." He giggled while looking at the floor.

"What's that?"

"Um.. I h-have a condition... a laughing condition. I laugh at inappropriate times... sometimes.. and it's not that I find something funny.. I just... can't help it..."

He stares at your styrophome coffee cup, his muscles tensed. His stomach twists and he can feel the ache to laugh even now, like a cough he can't hold in.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

He furrowed his brows at you. "You... believe me?"

"Oh, yes! I have no reason not to believe you."

"Oh... good." He paused for a moment. "Do you take medication?"

"What??" You laughed.

"Uh.. n-no. I'm sorry, I..." He trailed off the urge overwhelmed him like a wave, and he covered his mouth to muffle the small giggles he let jump out of him.

You watched with slight concern as he would glance at you, only to laugh more aggressively.

He took a breath, and excused himself before walking out the door to stand on the street. He felt so dumb. What kind of question was that to ask??

The bell of the door rang behind him, and he heard your shoes against the pavement.

Next thing he knew, your arms were wrapped around him from behind, and he could feel your head resting against his back. He didn't know what to do, he just continued laughing, and you continued to hold onto him until he finally stopped.

He turned to look at you, a confused expression splayed across his features. "Wh-why did you do that?" He coughed.

"Because you needed it."

"I'm sorry." His voice strained.

"No, don't be. Your question was surprising, not rude." Giving him a soft smile, you pulled him back into the shop.

Everyone inside watched you, and you personally were aware of their eyes, but did your best to ignore them.

Arthur sat back in his booth and took a sip of his coffee. 'That was nice she did that... everyone's watching you... the cream, that was nice.'

He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

You helped ease him back into conversation. Genuine laughs were shared and sweet glances across the table were made.

After about am hour, maybe two, you both decided to head back to the apartment building.

You wrapped your arm in his, and he couldn't help but feel he was a protector. You both rode in the elevator together, but when it was time to part, Arthur stopped you.

"Do you wanna... come in? I wouldn't mind, and you could meet my mother..... if you wanted to, of course."

"Maybe next time."

He looked pleasantly shocked. "Next time?"

"Yes, Arthur. There will be a next time, if you want one."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Oh, very much."

"Okay then. You got my number." You smirked at him and winked before turning the corner. "Goodnight, Arthur." You chuckled to yourself about this sweet boy.

In the hall, that boy stood. Softly swaying side to side. His feet ached, but the excitement that was building in him wouldn't let him leave until he heard your door click shut.

He hissed a loud "Yes!" His smile was so big and bright, if anyone opened their doors, they'd think he was just told he won. But, only he knew what the prize was. He spun on his heel and dreamily waltzed his way back to his apartment. Humming a tune the entire time. Before closing the door behind him, if you listened closely, you could make out just a few words as he finally sung allowed...

"Just like me, they long to be close to you....."

{To Be Continued}

[starkzam]

I have a prompt, if you're interested: "Completely ordinary" Metropolis reporter Clark Kent is in Fawcett to do more research on a recent Superman & Captain Marvel team up to fight Dr. Sivana that took place in Fawcett. He runs in to an amnesiac orphan who can only remember his name: Billy. He ends up taking in Billy & is trying to be a good parent. Unrelated, the Justice League is scouring Fawcett for Marvel, as he went missing after he was shot with a mysterious ray gun that Sivana had built.

OH, MY GODS. THIS. THIS IS EXACTLY MY CUP OF TEA RIGHT HERE. Something that feels somewhat convoluted with hijinks and identity porn thrown in there--

YESSSSS I LOVE THIS IDEA. I also love that it’s reminiscent of the Shazam/Superman movie.... :3

Might post a longer vers. on my Ao3 But for now...

Clark thumped the pen between his fingers rhythmically on the table in front of him, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. 

After practically begging Perry White to let him do a story on Superman and Captain Marvel’s fight against Dr. Sivanna in Fawcett, he’d come to the quaint town, checked in to a hotel, and set to work.

It’s just too bad he’d come up with nothing so far.

Not the story, no, that was going just fine- he had more than enough information, as well as witness accounts and data (not that Perry needed to know that just yet). 

No, what Clark was struggling with was something else entirely. The reason he’d begged Perry to assign him this story in the first place, allowing him to focus his attention on Fawcett City- that was what was giving him trouble.

Captain Marvel was missing.

The battle that he and the Captain had partnered on had gone somewhat smoothly, all things considered-- Sivana was a cackling lunatic that easily slid into the classic ‘mad scientist’ archetype, and had built some kind of death ray or something. 

To be honest, Clark hadn’t really been paying attention to what the man was saying, especially since half of the things that came out of his mouth made no sense to him and sounded more like an inside joke between the bald man and Captain Marvel.

Not to mention he’d been busy trying to fight off a giant, mutated octopus- which, really, gave him so many questions. Where had he been keeping this? How was it just fine to walk-or, uh, suction-cup around the city? Why did it spit acid of all things?

The reporter rubbed a spot just below his shoulder at the thought, wincing in pain as his fingers grazed sensitive skin. That acid had hurt. He really wished Arthur had been with them, it would have made things much easier- but the truth of the matter was that he hadn't been, and the creature had found Superman a wonderful target.

Regardless, while he was busy with Octo-zilla, Captain Marvel had taken on the mad scientist. Sivana had set up shop atop a radio tower, cackling and ranting on about something or other before taking aim at Captain Marvel when the man cracked a joke about his plan. 

The demigod had redirected a lightning bolt from the sky towards the ray-gun and destroyed it- but not before Sivana was able to shoot him, launching him backward through the sky and sailing through the air as his lightning blew up Sivana's device. 

Superman had managed to get the mutated calamari to submit after while and had detained Sivana quickly there-after- but Captain Marvel never returned. 

At first, Clark thought the man would catch up with him at the Watchtower when he went in to give a report. When Captain Marvel never showed, he got worried. Bruce told him to give the guy a day or two, so he did- no word ever came. 

The Justice League held a meeting, hoping the man would show and explain what had happened to him.

Captain Marvel hadn’t shown up.

To quell the worry running through his teammates’ heads, Clark had volunteered himself to look for the demigod- he'd wanted to help clean up from the battle anyways, and trying to find their missing demigod would help to silence the worry in his own mind as well.

So now, here he was, in Fawcett City as Clark Kent, trying to find his missing teammate.

The raven-haired reporter sighed, rubbing the skin between his eyebrows in frustration as he continued to thump his pen against the table. The diner was small, plain and quiet, run by an old woman and her daughter- the coffee was fresh and warm, and the people were nice. 

Clark had always preferred mom-and-pop places like this to chain-brand places- there was a certain personal touch to a diner like this.

"Need a refill, sir?" a voice asked, pulling the man from his thoughts and causing him to glance up at the woman holding a coffee pot out for him. The daughter, he thought off-handedly, blinking at the soft curls in her hair that reminded her of Lois when she got dolled up.

"Oh, uh, yes, please. Thank you," he said, sliding his half-empty mug toward the woman with a small smile.

She poured the dark liquid into his mug and he gave her a smile, lifting it to his mouth before sudden movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He furrowed his brow, glancing out the large window of the diner as a small boy with a mop of black hair ran past him, eyes wide and full of fear as he stumbled over his own feet, crashing onto the sidewalk.

Clark furrowed his brow at the boy, tensing and standing up as the boy clambered clumsily to his feet, ignoring the scrapes on his skin and continuing to run like his life depended on it. 

A few moments later, a pair of teenagers came running past the window. 

Clark didn't need to see anymore- he could tell when someone was in danger. He shuffled out of the booth, slipping a couple of dollars from his wallet before pocketing it, his note pad, and his pen, grabbing his jacket, and taking off out of the diner.

He ran in the direction the children had gone, eyes sharp, and looking for any sign of danger. He didn't slow down until he heard soft, almost inaudible sobs coming from an alley. Clark slowed to a walk, glancing around to see if anyone else was in the area before ducking into the alley. 

He moved slowly, vision suddenly cutting through the various objects in the alleyway- he saw through dumpsters and abandoned boxes, large, plastic trashcans and- 

A small bit of movement caught his eye from the opposite side of a dumpster. He saw a small skeleton sitting on the ground, legs pulled up to its chest, and shaking like a leaf. Clark's hand curled into a fist at the sight of a fractured rib. The Kryptonian closed his eyes and shook the X-Ray vision away, blinking and crouching down slightly as he walked. 

"Hello...?" he said slowly, hearing the small figure's heart skip a beat.  

Clark came a bit closer, leaning forward to look around the dumpster. The small boy with a mop of black hair he'd seen before sat on the ground in front of him, trembling against the wall and staring up at him with terrified, icy blue eyes. "Are you okay, son?" Clark asked gently, putting his hands out placatingly and crouching down further. He made no move to get closer to the boy, and the child just stared at him silently. 

"Do you need help?"

The boy just continued to water at him with wide eyes and a fear that he'd be attacked- or worse. Clark let out a short breath, looking around the alley. They were the only ones there- those teenagers must have taken off after hurting the boy. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked gently, even though he knew the answer. 

The boy reacted to that, bringing his knees in a little closer and hugging himself- something that made him wince in pain. "Careful-" Clark said, reaching out a hand. "Don't- don't hurt yourself worse."

"Look, i'm not gonna hurt you, I promise," the Kryptonian said slowly, scooting a bit closer to the boy. "My name's Clark. Can you speak?" 

The boy nodded slowly. 

Good- good. So he wasn't mute, just scared.

"Can you tell me your name?" 

The small raven stared at him for a moment before chewing on his bottom lip- an action that, surprisingly, felt familiar to the Man of Steel. He furrowed his brow slightly at the thought but shoved it away. This kid was more important right now. 

"...Billy." 

"Okay...well it's nice to meet you, Billy. Do you have a last name to go with that?" he asked. Maybe Bruce could look the kid up and he could get him home to his parents. When the boy began to tear up, Clark felt like he'd said something wrong somehow.

Billy was shaking his head, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. 

"You- you don't have a last name?" Clark asked in confusion.

"I- I don' remember..." the boy mumbled, tears falling down his cheeks. 

Clark felt a cold chill go up his spine. Amnesia. That in itself would be trouble enough, but this was a kid with amnesia- it made things much harder. It had to be retrograde since the boy couldn't remember his last name- he'd have to get him to Bruce so he could run a facial scan. 

"Well, Billy..." he said, coming a bit closer. "Do you mind if I take you to get help? You're hurt, and I wanna help you- but I can't if you don't let me," he said, holding out a hand to the boy. "Will you let me help you?" he asked, looking into the child's icy blue eyes. 

Billy stared at the man's hand, and Clark could almost see the cogs spinning in his mind. He furrowed his brow, meeting Clark's gaze before letting out a shaky breath and nodding. "O-okay," he said, reaching a hand out to grab the reporter's.

Clark gave the boy a soft smile, coming closer to lift the boy into his arms. Billy was tense at first, but he slowly settled into the man’s arms. “Okay, I think I have a friend that can help us with your injury,” he said, glancing towards the entrance of the alley.

Things just got a tad bit more complicated.

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter nine ; with heat & wet skin.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta. 

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, implied nsfw, drinking, mentions + drug use

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

MASON was quick on his feet when he was given the slightly odd request Teresa had asked him to do last minute. It had nothing to do with the gallery or with separation of last minute business meetings to be scheduled in the margins of the diary. It was just that he had to safely track down a dangerous man. Luca Changretta was still in England, hot-headed with a plan.

Teresa loved fur shawls. Though she detested how the cheap ones she could afford wore out from time to time, from the "fur" falling out like leaves from a tree in autumn, or even its colour turning from new to depressed (and even she grew so envious over the women who wore the luxurious, expensive ones at parties). Tommy Shelby never bothered with buying her what she wanted, which she was fine with, but one man with the Italian genes spoiled her with one that she kept in her closet. A grey-ish white. Teresa often takes one look at it, before sliding it over to reach the silky see-through shawl when she is simply relaxing in her home. At parties she debated even thinking of taking it out, but then there was the other shawl that was made of black fur, and it closed together with a silver clip to keep her shoulders warm.

The fur shawl was just like the painting she avoids at her own work. Both were so beautiful and timeless, both sharing personal meaning. But tonight, it finally saw light from staying in the wardrobe closet for too long. Teresa held it out in front of her, then clutched it in her arms.

The bar was built together with grey walls, none sound-proof. On the other side you could hear the jazz band playing music for the party, or footsteps from the owner or a bartender heading out back for more stocking of gin. If you were on that side, you'd hear the giant doors spring open from the doorman that allowed Teresa to enter inside. The man at the counter watched as her dress fell all the way down to her heels, not too long so she wouldn't trip. Her hair was in its curls once more, and wrapped around like comfort was the fur.

She reached a booth and set her purse on the table. "White wine."

"Ma'am-" the server goes.

"A man will be joining me very soon." Teresa made a smile, as the unescorted woman if Luca were to not show up. Had she imagined if Luca burned the invitation letter she mailed to his hotel, or simply tossed it away, in future to be used as scratch paper, or even as a roll up (if Luca is one of the many people that did snow), she may have just wasted her time getting dolled up just to not be served at her booth.

"Last time I met up with a woman at a bar, she proposed a deal, and lied straight to my face."

She shot her head up.

Those eyes.

Looks like her night wasn't going to waste after all. "Are you talking about Polly?" She watches as Luca Changretta helps himself on the other side of the booth, the same server coming over to Teresa with her white wine.

Teresa waited while staring down at Luca's own glass being poured with four fingers of whiskey. Luca glanced at Teresa's outfit, not answering her question. "You're wearing the shawl I got you? I can't believe you still have it."

"What, like I got rid of it? Why would I give it to someone else who would treat it like a rag?"

"Hm." Luca took a sip. "So, why did you summon me here? Actually, I know the answer to that one. You're a businesswoman, as we both know. You invited me here to propose some kind of deal, eh? Like I got the time to spare one more fucking thing before I go do what I came to England to do?"

"I know about the vendetta, Luca." Teresa began. "And I know the deal you made with Polly, which was a lie, by the way. I know about that. What I also know is that you don't just plan on crushing the Peaky Blinders. You have more on your mind. You're so greedy that you would want to overthrow Alfie Solomons as well. If he were to betray Tommy with the deal you made with Mr. Solomons, you know you and your men would come after him as well and take over his business."

Luca nodded. "I had a feeling you knew. I had a feeling Tommy Shelby brought you back to Birmingham, no?"

"I know your patience is wearing thin, and you're done giving people more time. But then there's me."

"Right, forgive me," Luca places a hand on his chest. "Why not talk about the royalty in front of me as well? What could she possibly request for this time?"

"I wanna know why I was never sent a Black Hand."

Luca laughs, trailing his fingers around the rim of his glass. Whatever Teresa said or did, she definitely wasn't laughing. Nothing seemed funny to her on her end. She did, however, miss that laugh of his. It was more of a chuckle, but she loved it like it was honey in hot tea. "Let me tell you something. It's best to stay out of this, right? Since you resigned, messing with us is like throwing stones at the devil."

"I'll play in the snow with the devil to prove you wrong."

Luca scoffs harshly. "So you're one of those people that snorts white lines just to feel good?"

"That was just my own figure of speech, Luca. I don't do Tokyo," Teresa replied. She cringed at the habit Arthur and Michael carelessly picked up on. "It's everyone's thing now, but not mine."

"That makes two of us." He took another sip. "I'm doing you a favour here, Miss Griffith. Stay out of this and do your own thing."

"There's no need for you to call me that," she comments.

"Why the hell not? Formalities are a thing of the past now?"

"You're talking to me as if we just met. We had something together."

"Yeah, had."

Teresa gave a glare, grabbing her wine. Luca smirks. "All right. Whatever you say. Jesus, kid. You're so fuckin' difficult."

"Kid," she scoffs at his remark. "And Ada Thorne is on your list and she doesn't get her hands covered in blood. So why wasn't I included?"

"You feel left out?" Luca snickered.

"I just wanna know why. I know damn well you haven't forgotten about me. Even if what we had to you was just for pleasure, you found out that I was once a Peaky Blinder."

Luca stares. "You wanted out because you felt like it would devour you forever, so I respected your wishes. You told me why you threw in the towel. And I know you're not a Shelby, you don't wanna be a Shelby."

The server comes up to them. "Sir? Ma'am? Would any of you like to hear the specials tonight?"

"No, thank you." Teresa smiles.

"More whiskey," Luca says. "And for the lady, she'll have more wine." Teresa raised her brows. She didn't mind more wine, would she care so much about knowing her limit before it was time to wince at the tab?

"I forgot you love whiskey," Teresa points out.

"Italian whiskey," Luca made a hand gesture. "As I was saying... have you thought long and hard about this, as to why I'm here? As to why I want Tommy Shelby dead, how I now want everyone dead?"

"Your father." There was a pause between the two. The jazz band transitioned their music to a much slower song this time, and it started easing the nerves in both the former couple's systems despite the volume of alcohol consumed. "Arthur Shelby killed your father. John Shelby killed your brother Angel."

"If things didn't happen the way it did, my men and I would be cozying up in New York counting stacks by stacks."

"And I wouldn't be seeing you here," Teresa added. "Almost ever again," Teresa thanks the server for the excess wine refilling in her glass, then Luca's. "Now can we talk about the giant elephant in the room?"

Luca furrows his brows.

"I know why you left, Luca. I know it's been five years, but you really just packed up and left. I've never seen you so frantic until that day when you were running to the train." Not even an eye bat. "I grew miserable ever since."

"Can I say this?" Luca leaned forward, placing the cuffs of his tailored suit that it laid flat on the tablecloth. "Whatever emotion you saw in my eyes on that day, whatever it was, it was for the sake of being alive for my family. Someone's gotta help keep the business up and runnin'. None of it works if I'm not there."

Teresa stares at Luca. This man wasn't wrong. It wasn't like he was running everything in his family all on his own. His father led the family in Birmingham that Angel was a part of, even his mother lived with them, but what makes New York so important and comforting to Luca must have felt like a whole outlet of anything he ever accomplishes, how many Tommy guns he can hold and keep in his home like picture frames, how many men he has to hire from Sicily and America just to help kill one family. All of that was justified when he boarded that train to the Liverpool docks.

"Oh," Teresa straightened her back. "So much for being the big, bad capo."

"Be careful," Luca warned, pointing a finger at her. "Don't question a gangster's honour."

"You know I crack jokes here and there," Teresa's lips curled into a smirk as it reached the rim of her glass.

"So do I," said Luca.

She looked down at his hands that rested on the table. His experienced, non-scrawny hands that had a black hand tattooed on his wrist, one with a crown, and maybe some other new ones Luca got over time. She used to kiss all of them, even the one on his neck that was a cross. His right hand was wrapped with big, gold rings on two fingers, except he only kept his ring finger free of anything, that was something she wanted to bring up. "You got all those rings on your fingers but not a wedding ring.

"Not like you got one on yours, either. Unless you took it off before coming here," Luca jokes.

She shakes her head. "I've been too busy to fall in love with another soul. But you? You didn't tie the knot with Viviana back in New York?"

Luca scowled, knowing Teresa hadn't forgotten about that woman as he did. "No. I still see her occasionally."

"Yet you haven't done anything with her? Never bothered to find anyone to satisfy your mother?"

"My mother says any woman from New York or even from the old country would do."

"What did you say, after?"

"Mamma, you're killin' me.'" Teresa had to chuckle at that, Luca smiled at her. He then looked around the bar, seeing how more of the guests had gotten up to dance with their dates as the jazz music cranked up their higher tunes like a machine. "Don't tell me we're gonna be sitting here all fuckin' night. You wanna dance, Miss Tour Guide?"

The nickname he gave to her the first time. Did he really sit in front of her and tell her he couldn't remember everything they had, then? "I'm a little rusty," Teresa declines.

'We gotta stretch our legs somehow. I ain't even see your whole getup for the night."

Teresa had no problem getting up from the booth. She stepped out so that her heels were shown as well, and she placed the fur shawl down on her seat so her shoulders were out. The dress wasn't purchased by Luca, but by her, and she felt like a Grand Princess, like a little girl playing with their mother's dresses and makeup. She was never too insecure about her looks since it never bothered her, but she felt beautiful, and she wondered if Luca will still ever see her as beautiful whether or not she is clothed in front of him.

Luca kept on staring. "Then perhaps we can head somewhere else," he suggests. "Somewhere we're both quite familiar with."

How and why didn't matter, the young man who looked to be around Arthur Shelby's age paid no second thought to his surroundings as he aggressively snuffed the thick lines of cocaine that formed on the ledge up his nostril. He begins wiping away any excess off his face, exiting the balcony seats just as the Italian mobster escorts Teresa inside the dark theatre to their respected spots.

"You're a lover of theatre," Teresa spoke quietly as the show resumed to its first act.

"If you dress like one, you are one." Luca hooked his leg over the other, folding his hands on his lap.

It was silent, not the awkward or tense silence, but silent to respect and see the performance. Silence or absolute noise, the stage was the latter. The good kind of noise. The skimpy dancers twirled with batons, the man and woman playing the perky main lovers belted the note they must have spent days and nights rehearsing over and over.

Luca knew there would be performances every night back in New York City. There was always something to do and somewhere to go, otherwise you'd be glued to your chairs at home.

The show was about to end, and Luca, for the first time in God's glorious mysterious time, took Teresa by the hand and curled them together on his lap, his eyes were fixated to theatricality in front of the hundreds of people.

Teresa reacts, slowly looking down. It was nearly dark, but she could feel the giant, lumpy rings from his fingers bump into hers. He always held her hand during a show, and would only let go to join the applause when a number came to its big finish, or when the grand finale brought hypnotic joy and bliss in each audience member's senses like himself that he just had to give the standing ovation.

But just as the audience erupted in deafening applause, cheers and whistles, Luca and Teresa remained the only two members seated, their hands still holding.

HIS hotel room was neat and tidy before he left, now the sheets on the giant bed wrinkled like aged skin when Luca held Teresa down to remove her stockings. She missed his touch. The feeling of being pinned on a bed as he dominated over her, practically tearing what she wore for the occasion just to see her underneath as a sight for his sore eyes, it was definitely there, and her heart pounded.

"Luca," she breathed out a moan. He kissed her softly, now only responding with pacing movements, from positioning her to grabbing the protection from the nightstand drawers. Though he was careful with the dress and fur shawl that was set on the office desk he sat in earlier, within seconds her brassiere was tossed on the floor. With the help from Teresa, she managed to undress Luca from head to toe by just sitting up, and he was now unclothed from the fresh tailored suit his uncle made back in Mott Street.

They kissed again, and Luca went in.

+ me writing "smut": 🧿👄🧿 but ooooo shiiiit their “business” meeting was quite a night lol.

[cowboahhoe]

The Viper - Arthur Morgan x Reader

A quick imagine, could do more parts if you want?

Warnings: mention of abuse

Summary: upon fleeing an abusive relationship, the reader finds themselves being chased by lawmen, bounty hunters and a few members of the Van Der Linde Gang after a night in Valentine.

(gif credits to whoever owns it)

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The last few months had been far less than ideal for you. You were on the run from the law, just you and your horse Nellie. You hadn't ever foreseen your life going this way - you had always been for all intents and purposes a good girl. That was until you had met your first husband, Blake. Your birth father had decided that money meant a lot more to him than his only daughters life, so he had sold you to the highest bidder which seemed like an outdated and abusive practice; even in 1899. Blake had money in oil, and used you as arm candy but had no real love or respect for you. You were nothing more than a maid, house wife, punching bag and toy for his sexual pleasures for far too long. One fateful night your fuse had been lit, and you fought back. A shroud of red flooded your body as you pointed his own pistol between his eyes - finally feeling power against the vile man who had held you captive for a year, and you felt no remorse in applying pressure to the trigger.

The next few moments went by in a blur, you had packed a bag with all the money yourself and Blake had around - alongside necessities such as food, and weapons. After packing your loyal horse, you had faded into the night. Leaving Saint Denis, heading west. You knew there would be repercussions for your actions but there was no way to tell just how intense the manhunt would be for you, nor how large the price on your head would be for one small murder. $500 for your return to Saint Denis alive meant that you'd come across your fair share of bounty hunters in your time living off the land; you quickly realised you could only trust yourself, and your horse. This brings us to your lonely (but free) present day.

You sit in the saloon in Valentine nursing a whisky, your third of the evening. You'd been in an around the Valentine area for a few days and knew it was only a matter of time before you had to move along and set up somewhere else. Perhaps Rhodes? Although you quickly shake the thought from your mind - that may just be too close to the scene of the crime. Just as you suckle the final dregs from your glass, you spot a curious group of men walking into the saloon. You daren't take your eyes off of them, memorising every feature behind every person in the group, you want to be able to recall their identities should you need to 'silence' them. One man wore a black hat, black hair slicked with pomade and nearly down to his shoulders. He wore a black coat, and a black vest with a red breast pocket. This man seemed to have an unmatched charisma; this much you could tell simply from the way he stood. This wasn't an innocent man. Then again, who is? Next to him, a slightly smaller, scrawnier gent. With grey hair, and wearing a blue vest this man seemed to have kinder eyes, which may just be part of his play. Finally, a rugged man wearing a black hat, detailed with brown rope - you noted the bullet hole in the rim of the hat. He wore a tattered, dirty blue working shirt, and wore worn black trousers with cotton suspenders tying it all together. Although, with this man you struggle to focus so much on the clothes that cover his broad frame and pay particular attention to his features. Sandy brown hair, a messy - somewhat scratchy looking beard. The beard had a few holes in, which seemed to be due to the placement of some scars; the most prominent of which was on his chin. Then there came those eyes. Even from across the saloon you could tell they were bright blue with a twinge of green. The handsome man simply dipped on his beard whilst the other two men spoke quietly to the group, he didn't seem like the leader of the trio by any means, but it didn't seem that was important.

Just then, blue eyes looks at you and makes eye contact while taking another swig from his beer. For a moment, you're worried he may have recognised you but that fear quickly diminishes when he simply nods his head your way and turns his attention back to his friends. With new found courage, you move toward the bar. Intent on ordering a new beverage when you hear the black haired man pull something from his satchel, and start speaking to the man with grey hair in a hushed tone.

"Hosea, I told you. She's the viper, the one they want in Saint Denis... our boy John was right. We hand her in, it's a good honest days work" the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, as you realise your time in Valentine is over - that and you need to play the next few minutes very wisely.

"I don't know Dutch, doesn't it seem unfair we're using a woman's bounty to help us flee our own misfortunes with the law?" Scrawny replies, suddenly he has become your favourite of the bunch. Blue eyes doesn't chime in at all, but you can feel his eyes on you as you stand at the bar, awaiting a cue to either whip out your pistol or flee the scene.

Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you decide the best solution is to try and slip away whilst the group argue about your fate. You know that they're outlaws, and if there are three outlaws coming after you... then you probably don't stand much of a chance. You make a beeline for the entrance, and whistle for your horse as soon as you reach the open air feeling the eyes of Dutch, Hosea and blue eyes on you as you make your exit. The unmistakable shuffle of boots accompany your exit, and you know that the men are right on your tail - the discussion of your fate seemed to be silence by your exit and only one objective remained. Get her.

You hop on the back of your horse, Nellie. She's an Arabian White and so you prayed that whatever horses this band of thieves had were slower than your girl. In seconds, you were off. You had made a instant decision to head in the direction of Emerald Ranch, hoping to lose them on the way then loop back round and head west toward Strawberry - although admittedly tactic wasn't at the forefront of your mind. Fight or flight had well and truly kicked in and you knew you needed to get away, far away. The thunderous chorus of hooves colliding with the hard ground rung through the night as the three horses chased your dear girl a cross the plains of the heartlands. Admittedly, you should have gone up through Cumberland forest as there was more cover to hide and slip away undetected. Though you had come across bounty hunters, and lawmen you had never come across a group of outlaws intent on handing you in and so the city girl who lived within you shook in her boots, and used instinct and not her brain when plotting which escape route to take.

"We just wanna talk miss" Dutch called in the dark.

"Like fuck you do Mister, I heard y'all talking about taking ma bounty" you curse back; relying a lot on your horses innate sense of direction to guide you through the hills and trying to guide her to help you both disappear. One of the men take a shot at the floor near your horse, probably trying to spook her but being that your horse is tough as nails she barely bats an eyelid.

"C'mon miss we really don't wanna hurt ya" an unfamiliar voice shouts. You realise this must be the man with blue eyes, his rough voice matches his rugged appearance well - although you don't have much time to think about the dreamy mans voice as you hear the whirl of a lasso from behind you.

You duck, and make unpredictable movements on Nellie in order to avoid the grip of the rope around your body. You feel silent panicked tears roll down your cheeks as you realise your luck had run out; not knowing your fate with these three outlaws. Just then, the rope whips itself around you and you're pulled from your seat and thrown against the floor. Your head collided with a rock, making you see stars as your horse comes to a stop and stands beside you as if waiting for you to get back up. She doesn't realise this is likely your final ride. The three men come to a stop, and blue eyes hog ties you with the lasso before turning you onto your back.

All three men stood over you, as you shook and tears leaked from your eyes.

"take me then, I don't regret what I did to him. He deserved it more than anyone I have ever known" I spit with venom.

"My dear, did the countless bounty hunters, lawmen and innocent folk who got in your way deserve the same end?" Dutch replies. Bending his knees to move closer to your face so he is crouched over you as you lay on the dirt staring up at the night sky.

"If someone tried to have you swing for self defence and would you roll over and let them take you? Or would you fight?" You respond. Looking the man right in the eyes. Giving him the coldest look you can muster up while your cheeks are stained with tears. Dutch chuckles, looking up at Hosea and Blue eyes with a jovial expression.

"Darlin' im gonna give you a choice. You can go to Saint Denis and swing, or... you can come join us. We're a group of misfits and outcasts and we're always in need of more guns. You'd have to earn your keep, of course but from what I've heard you've had no issue wrangling an income for yourself."

"Dutch is that really wise? We have plenty of people to feed we could just let the poor lady go?" Blue eyes replies to Dutch. Causing him to whip his head up.

"Enough, Arthur! She can help in ways most of those women back at camp won't, besides - If she outstays her welcome we could always take her on a trip to Saint Denis." He smiles down at you while making his threat.

"I'll go with you." You reply begrudgingly. Whenever you can make it happen, you'll escape their camp. But for now this beats swinging.

"Well then, Arthur would you be so kind as to place this fine lady on the back of your horse?" Dutch says, walking over to his own beautiful steed.

"I have a horse of my own I can ride!" You shout back to him as Arthur removes me from the floor and places you face down on his horse.

"I know, but I don't want to risk you cutting off before meeting everyone and seeing how we do things. I happen to think you'll like it once you're not all tied up" he laughs. Arthur makes sure you're well seated before getting on his horse and coaxing it into moving to follow Dutch and Hosea. You whistle for your own horse who follows behind, with all your belongings.

"I'm sorry about this miss, uh, miss..." Arthur begins. Making it clear he knows you as only your pseudonym of 'the viper'.

"Y/N, just call me Y/N Viper" you respond, already out of breath from the movement of the horse pressing up against your chest and stomach. Compressing you're ability to breathe.

"well miss Viper, we have quite a ride ahead" Arthur replies, you huff in response and Arthur chuckles. Kicking the horse into moving a bit faster so as to catch up with Dutch and Hosea. You glance back at your beautiful horse and watch as loyally follows behind you.

Rolling your eyes, you exhale again.

This is going to be a long night.

________________________

Needless to say I hope you liked this? Can do additional parts if you want, or I mean if you have any ideas please feel free to let me know. I'm not sure how tumblr works so idk comment or message any ideas or recommendations or anything if you feel like it.

ALSO do let me know if you think this is trash because I’d rather know I just was having a touch of fun writing a little bit this evening. I’m also pregnant and my brain is completely useless so I really appreciate feedback 💖

Thanks so much 💖

[floralelu]

Le Fleuriste Episode IV:

WARNINGS: NONE :))

Summary: Lucas hangs out with Eliott despite him trying to suppress his feelings, but will his feelings actually be reciprocated?

Word Count: 3,570

[A/N]: Hello!! We are so excited for you to read this chapter!! We just wanted to say that we would love to hear from you so send us questions or comments!! We will be checking our inbox and responding!!

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Lucas woke up the next morning with the sun in his eyes. He knew it was late morning because of the lack of noise in the apartment. All of the guys must’ve gone to work already, but Lucas didn’t mind. It meant he had the morning to himself.

Lucas checked his phone and was greeted with an Instagram notification.

1 Message from plantjunkieeli

Lucas welcomed the surprise message from Eliott. Even though Lucas knew deep down that this boy was probably straight and had other girls in his DM’s, it still thrilled him the fact that Eliott would text him.

plantjunkieeli: hey, lu <3 i’m sorry for what happened last night. i have a surprise for you tonight in paris, i’ll pick you up at 19:00 pm. can’t wait to see you :)

Lucas clutched his phone to his chest. His heart ached for this boy, but he had to realize that with heartache came heartbreak and he was scared to experience the feeling, especially for the first time.

But that didn’t matter. He was hanging out with his friend, Eliott. His friend. That’s it.

lucallemant: sounds good and me too <3

Lucas glanced at the time at the top of his screen. It was already 14:43 am. He only had a little over 4 hours to prepare for his “date”. Lucas slowly got up, still sluggish from the night before, and went out to the balcony.

It was a clear day, the sky was bright blue and people were scattered among the cobblestone streets before him. Lucas enjoyed it when the sun was out like this, he loved feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin.

Lucas wondered what Eliott would surprise him with. In a perfect world, Lucas would be greeted with a bouquet of flowers, it didn’t matter what kind as long as Eliott picked them out. Then Eliott would ask him the words. Will you be my boyfriend?

But Lucas knew that was too much to ask, if only he lived in a fantasy. Lucas knew his expectations couldn’t and would never be met.

Lucas soon left the balcony and went to Yann’s room. Yann and Lucas shared a closet since Yann already had a room to himself and had the space to accommodate Lucas’s wardrobe, which was larger than you might think.

Lucas went to the closet and opened it, he looked at the selections of clothes in front of him. Lucas wanted to wear something nice for Eliott, even though he knew he had no choice with him, he still wanted to look decent for him.

The only thing was that Lucas didn’t have many nice clothes. He had a couple of decent pairs of jeans and a few nicer shirts that he could wear, but the rest of his nice clothes were either too small for him or he sold it so he could have some extra cash on hand. Lucas finally settled on a pair of black jeans and a grey hoodie that had “ROMANCE” written across the chest. Lucas might as well wear his greatest wish across his body for Eliott, maybe he would take the hint then.

Lucas took a shower, washing the night before off of his body. It felt like all of Lucas’s thoughts from the previous night were washing down the drain. When he got out of the shower he felt renewed. He was excited to see Eliott.

Lucas slipped the hoodie over his head and felt something in the front pocket. He reached his hand in and was greeted with a picture. He took the picture out of his pocket and studied it.

Lucas could barely recognize what he was looking at. It was Lucas and his once manageable family. Lucas was a baby in the photo, he was seated in a highchair with a cake on the plastic tray in front of him. The cake was shaped into number 1 and was covered in bright blue frosting. His mom was on the right side of the photo next to Lucas, kissing his cheek. His dad was on the left next to Lucas, he was holding bunny ears behind Lucas’s head.

Lucas remembered grabbing this picture off of the pinboard on the wall above his desk as he was packing all of his things from his old room. He remembered his mom trying to talk him out of leaving. He had already been crashing at the gang’s place for a few days before he returned to his home and gathering his things in order to move in with them permanently

———————————————————————

“Lucas, you don’t have to do this. We’ll make it through this,” Lucas’s mom pleaded. “Please, Lu. You’re not ready to move out.”

“Mom, I am. You know I am. I’ve been ready since you and dad started fighting. I need to be away from it.”

“But what about me, huh?” His mother raised his voice at him. “Imagine what I’m going through! Dealing with my husband leaving and now my son.”

Lucas turned around and placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders.

“Mom, I promise to come to visit and call you as much as I can. But you have to keep in mind that I can’t be here. It’s not good for my mind.”

His mother nodded and hugged him tightly.

Lucas went back to the closet, picture in hand and reached up on the top shelf for his duffle bag. The duffle bag was filled with personal things to Lucas such as books, sheets of music he liked playing on the piano, and other things like his laptop and his chargers. Lucas placed the photo deep at the bottom of the bag, hoping to never see it again.

———————————————————————

“Lucas! You have a date?!” Basile shouted.

“This is great news! I’m tired of seeing you mope around all the time, Lu. Maybe this boy can bring some happiness into your life,” Arthur pointed out.

“It’s not a date. Just two friends hanging out,” Lucas commented.

“Yeah, sure. Friends,” Yann stated, making air quotes.

“With the way that boy flirts, I won’t be surprised if Lucas comes home with a boyfriend tonight,” Arthur remarked.

Eliott would be here any time now. Lucas was terribly nervous. He was terrified of the possibilities of what the night would bring. Could he get back his friend-zoned image and catch Eliott’s eye?

Lucas had his Instagram open, awaiting Eliott’s message of arrival.

plantjunkielei: i’m here :)

“I gotta go,” Lucas said as he placed his phone in his back pocket. “Wish me luck.”

“I bet he won’t be a virgin by the end of the night,” Yann mumbled to Basile and Arthur.

Lucas rolled his eyes and laughed.

Lucas headed down the stairs of the apartment building and headed towards the street. He was met with a truck that had the front of an old Volkswagen bus and had what seemed like a place for storage in the back. It was quite cute, it was the most Eliott vehicle Lucas had ever seen.

Eliott rolled down the window and Lucas’ gaze met Eliott’s eyes.

“You coming?” Eliott asked, flashing his brilliant smile that made Lucas melt.

Lucas nodded his head and hopped into the passenger side of the vehicle.

“For you, good sir,” Eliott laughed and handed Lucas a small bouquet of white daisies. Eliott plucked one of the flowers out of the bouquet. Lucas’ skin sparked at the contact of Eliott’s hand grazing his cheek and his temple as he placed the flower in his hair. “You look absolutely precious,” Eliott said, admiring his handiwork.

Lucas blushed hard and turned away from Eliott until he calmed down.

“So is this the flower that I remind you of?” Lucas asked as they headed down the street.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m testing out some different options,” Eliott said, glancing at Lucas multiple times while he drove on the road. “I still need to need to weigh my options, see what best fits you.” Lucas smiled.

“So where are you taking me in Paris?” Lucas asked as they headed out of Annecy.

“I can’t spoil the surprise,” Eliott remarked. “Besides, what’s the fun in ruining surprises?”

Lucas played with the bouquet of flowers in his lap, playing with their pedals and their leaves. He found that it calmed his nerves.

“Don’t you think I should have a right to know where we’re going?” Lucas asked. “You could still be a murderer, it’s especially suspicious how far away you’re taking me.”

“Oh come on!” Eliott exclaimed. “You still think I’m a murderer?”

“Not exactly,” Lucas said.

“Well, what do you think of me, Lucas?”

“Beautiful, I think you're beautiful,” Lucas wanted to say.

“I think you’re talented. People like you are hard to come by. You run your own flower shop and you’re so young. I could never do that,” Lucas told Eliott. “You impress me.”

Lucas met Eliott’s eyes, only a quick glance before Eliott turned back to the road, but Eliott’s eyes sparkled. Lucas turned away before he could blush any harder.

“And I think you’re beautiful,” Lucas whispered.

“What?” Eliott said.

“Nothing,” Lucas turned back to him. “What do you think of me?”

“I think you’re someone who doesn’t let people in easily. You’re a very reserved and quiet person. You have a lot of underlying issues that you keep hidden,” Eliott continued. “I want to be let in, Lucas.”

Wow. He was reading Lucas like a book. It was true, Lucas didn’t let people in very easily. The gang was a group of people he had grown up with, there were no barriers there, but with others, it was harder. Most of his friends were girls, which Lucas realized he could trust women easier than men. Most of Lucas’ friends knew his dad had left, but they didn’t know why. No one knew the full story because it was too hard to tell and Lucas didn’t want to see the other person’s reaction. Lucas knew he didn’t trust men as easy because of his dad and what he grew up with.

Lucas didn’t understand why Eliott wanted in. Who would want to befriend a guy with abandonment and daddy issues? Could Eliott handle hearing about Lucas’ past?

“I’d like to know more about you first, Eliott,” Lucas said. “I need to know if I can let you in.” Eliott smiled.

“Alright, then. My name is Eliott Demaury. I’m 26 years old. I was born in Paris, France.” Eliott said. “That enough?”

Lucas shook his head.

“Dig deep, tell me something no one else really knows about.”

Eliott sighed.

“Well, I just started back working at Barney’s this year. I used to work there all the time growing up, it was my home. I would burn through gas money just trying to go visit and work there every weekend,” Eliott told Lucas. “I loved seeing visitors come in and their faces light up with smiles just because of some fucking flowers. I mean, who doesn’t love flowers?” Eliott laughed.

“My grandpa and I ran that shop, it was something we were both passionate about,” Eliott said, his eyes lit up talking about it. “I went to my grandpa about everything, girl troubles, family issues, drama with my friends, he was there for everything, Lu. He was one of the only people who listened to me. Then, he got sick. My mom made us move to Annecy so that we could take care of him in his final days.” Eliott was tearing up at the thought. “I couldn’t bear it, seeing him in the hospital bed. I held his hand till his final breath and then I got angry. I was yelling and cursing, nurses eventually pulled me out of the room and calmed me down.

“At his funeral, I didn’t cry. I was tired of crying. I moved back to Paris because I couldn’t bear being in Annecy anymore. I didn’t go to the shop for years after he died, not until this spring. Luckily, Mrs. Lawerence hired my friend Idriss to manage the shop until I felt well enough to return.” Eliott continued. “It’s still hard sometimes, grieving him. But I’m getting better and that’s what matters.”

Lucas nodded. He was shocked to hear such a sad past come from the mouth of this boy who is upbeat. He didn’t know what to think.

He turned to Eliott as Eliott wiped the tears from his eyes. Lucas smiled at him.

“But you made it through it,” Lucas said. “I’m proud of you for that.”

The rest of the drive was filled with jokes and laughter. Even though it was a bit of a drive, Lucas felt like it went by quickly with Eliott. Lucas loved how easy going it was to talk to Eliott and to be around him. He enjoyed his company and Lucas prayed Eliott enjoyed his.

———————————————————————

Paris was a place Lucas had only been a few times, mostly for holidays or weddings. He never got to understand the love and the romance behind the city. He was someone who had been surrounded by the mountains his whole life. To be honest, Lucas was excited for someone to take him back to Paris again. Lucas hoped Eliott had some late-night sightseeing in store.

They pulled into the parking lot of Jardin des Plantes. Lucas had never been to the gardens before in Paris. Lucas hopped out of the car, following Eliott who had a picnic basket and a blanket tucked in his arms. Lucas was excited until he realized that the gardens would be closed.

“Eliott, why are we here? It’s definitely closed.”

Eliott smiled and flashed a set of keys.

“You have keys to this?” Lucas gestured to the massive gates in front of them. “May I ask how you obtained these keys, murderer?”

Eliott laughed.

“Yes, I just killed one of the bodyguards and stole these keys from his dead body.” Lucas rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, I used to work here when I moved back to Paris after my grandpa died, and when I decided to quit, I may not have returned my set of keys.”

“Eliott!” Lucas shouted. “We could get caught!”

“Shush,” Eliott whispered. “If we keep quiet we’ll be fine.”

Eliott unlocked the gate and let Lucas in first before following him in. Lucas started to relax when he saw that no one was around. Maybe they won’t get caught after all. Eliott locked the gate behind him.

The moon was full and bright enough that it illuminated the ground below them. Eliott led him to a courtyard that had a stone pathway that was outlined with flowers. The courtyard was at the base of a hill, and at the top of the hill was a large grand building that looked like it could be built for French royalty.

As Lucas admired the scenery around him, Eliott was spreading out the blanket and placed the picnic basket on the ground. He opened the basket and fished out a few candles and a box of matches. He lit the candles one by one and placed them around the blanket, illuminating the beautiful spread. Eliott had packed sandwiches, crackers, different kinds of cheeses and fruit. Lucas’ mouth watered at the sight. Finally, Eliott pulled out a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“What’s that building on the hill?” Lucas asked.

“That’s the Gallery of Evolution. Beautiful, right? It was designed by Louis-Jules André in 1889.” Eliott said, admiring the building with Lucas.

Lucas nodded and turned back to the spread before him.

“Eliott, this looks amazing. Did you make all of this?” Lucas asked.

“Are you kidding?” Eliott laughed. “Mrs. Lawerence made it, she’s good with details like these. After all, I wanted this night to be perfect.”

Lucas smiled and butterflies rose and fluttered in his stomach. He wished he could kiss Eliott now. He wanted to kiss him for eternity.

Eliott popped and poured the champagne into the glasses. They clinked glasses and sipped the champagne.

“Now,” Eliott started, pulling out a joint and lighting it. “Will you let me in?”

Lucas avoided Eliott’s eyes. Lucas didn’t know if he could do it, tell him his sob story of a past. What if Eliott didn’t want someone like Lucas in his life? It seemed like Eliott already had too much on his plate, with his grandfather’s death and taking over the shop again. Lucas sighed and began.

“My dad left my mom and me about a year ago. He would constantly abuse and yell at my mother and me. My mom was always having to hide bruises from her co-workers and family. My mom is schizophrenic, and my dad couldn’t deal with it anymore.” Lucas took another sip of champagne. “I couldn’t deal with it either. That night, I ran away to my friends’ apartment. They took me in with no questions asked and I’m really grateful for that, but sometimes I feel like a burden to them. When I arrived there, all I did was sleep, I couldn’t handle being awake. My mom kept calling me for the few days I was there and I wouldn’t pick up.” Lucas was beginning to cry.

“When I went back home to get my things, my mom begged me to stay with her. I couldn’t do it. I needed to get out, I was too old to live in my mom’s house anyway, you know? We eventually figured things out, I told her I would call her and visit her and I have been. It’s getting better.” Lucas said as a tear fell down his cheek. “But I miss those happier memories with my father. I miss when he was a good dad and didn’t abuse my mom or me. I have fucking abandonment issues and I’m so fucked up because of him.”

“Oh, Lu,” Eliott said as he pulled Lucas in for a hug. “I’m so sorry, you never deserved anything like that.”

Eliott pulled away and placed his hands on Lucas’ cheeks and started into his eyes. Lucas could feel his skin ignite under Eliott’s palms. Eliott took his thumbs and brushed them across Lucas’ cheeks, wiping the tears away.

Lucas calmed down as they dined on the sandwiches and other goods. They chatted a bit here and there but they mostly looked at each other, long glances being shared between them.

“Come with me, I want to show you something,” Eliott said, standing up and offering his hand to Lucas. Lucas nodded and grabbed Eliott’s hand.

Eliott guided Lucas further down a path that branched from the courtyard. It led to a large building made of glass that almost looked like a bubble. Eliott pulled out his set of keys again and unlocked the door.

Lucas was welcomed by a variety of tropical plants and trees, creating a jungle landscape. Lucas could even hear a waterfall running in the background. Little ponds of water covered in lily pads surrounded the path that leads throughout the building, eventually circling out to the entrance again. One of the glass panes was open, displaying the moon brightly in the sky and casting an enchanting glow on the water and the beautiful plants around them. Eliott took Lucas’ hand and led them around the path, even though it was dark, it was obvious Eliott had been here many times. Eliott led them to a spot where the trees and plants weren’t as dense and you could see one of the ponds of water clearly, you could even spot some of the koi fish circling the pond. Eliott turned and grabbed both of Lucas’ hands and stroked his knuckles with his thumbs.

“So, what do you think of me now?” Eliott asked, once again flashing his bright smile.

“I think you’re someone who doesn’t even realize how strong they actually are. You’re talented and independent. You’re someone others can count on, including me. I don’t deserve someone like you. I’m not enough for you.” Lucas felt the same feeling he felt when he last realized he didn’t deserve Eliott.

“You have the same look you did when you left my apartment,” Eliott frowned. “What makes you think you’re not enough for me?”

“Are you kidding?” Lucas started. “I’m falling for a fucking straight guy!”

Lucas tried to pull his hands out Eliott’s grasp, but Eliott tightened his hold.

“Lucas, I love people. I don’t love any specific gender or anything. I love who I love. I like you, Lucas,” Lucas wasn’t looking at Eliott, he couldn’t. Eliott lifted Lucas’ chin in order for him to meet his gaze. “Lu, I really like you, and I mean that.” Eliott readjusted the white daisy in Lucas’ hair. “You’re more than enough for me.”

Eliott wiped a tear that escaped onto Lucas’ cheek. They stared at each other for a minute, their faces inching closer and closer. Lucas could feel Eliott’s breath across his lips. Eliott brought his left hand to hold Lucas’ cheek while the other held Lucas’ hand, and with that Eliott kissed him.

Lucas felt the feeling deep in his belly, a whole migration of butterflies traveling across his body. Lucas got the wish written on his chest in the most beautiful place he’s ever been with anyone.

They were here together, kissing in their bubble, in their world, in their universe.

[elusive---ivory]

Circus Act - 2

Woop woop, part 2. I've been extremely exhausted but here we are.

Part 1

Part 2

Ps: Shout out to my girl, @gloomyladyy for drawing Sandy for me. She looks stunning 💕💕

Soon, it was Monday. Arthur had spent most of the weekend, hanging out with his mother, and writing subtle notes in his journal.

As Arthur got to work, he was greeted with those kind eyes he met last Thursday.

Sandy was setting up her locker, which just so happened to be right next to Arthur's.

"Hey Art, how are you?" Sandy greeted Arthur with a smile. She seemed to have lots of makeup on, and judging by her right eyelid, it was to hide something.

Arthur smiled back, opening his locker. "Good morning, Sandy."

"Morning, Artie. Ms. Cheekbones." Randall walked into the room, making an annoying appearance.

Sandy ignored Randall, pushing past him before walking into a changing room of some sort.

Randall scoffed. "What's her deal?"

Arthur shrugged.

Randall walked over to Arthur, opening up his locker.

"I heard about the other day. Kids are fucking savages." Randall commented.

Arthur sighed, fidgeting with his shoes. "They were just kids. Just leave it be."

"That kind of thinking, they'll just walk all over ya." Randall handed Arthur a brown paper bag.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, opening the bag.

Inside the bag was a gun and about 19 bullets.

Arthur scoffed, thinking it was some sort of prank. When he looked up at Randall, he could see that he was serious.

"Randall, I'm not supposed to have a gun." Arthur hushed, gritting his teeth.

"Relax, Art. You can pay me back. You're my boy. Besides chicks love guns." Randall walked away, pointing at the changing room.

Arthur hid the gun in his bag, and went back to lacing his enormous clown shoes, and promptly placing the shoes directly on his feet. Afterward, Arthur sat at the vanity, painting his face, putting on the mask of his clown persona, Carnival.

Sandy walked out of the changing room, decked in clown gear. Her dress seemed to consist of a red, white, and black color scheme, topped with a silly little hat on her black hair. The makeup she had on seemed to go with her own scheme.

Arthur's jaw laid slightly adjacent as he locked eyes on Sandy's outfit. He was barely finished with his makeup, and she was already dressed.

Sandy walked over to the vanity. "I love your makeup, Arthur. The shades of blue really contrasts with the red."

Arthur blinked for a second. "Thank you. I like your makeup, too."

Those emerald eyes hit her again. Despite feeling anxious from being around all sorts if guys, Sandy felt some comfort around Arthur. He was charming and during. Almost like Dennis, when she first met him. She smile faded.

Sandy cleared her throat. "Anyway, Hoyt wanted to tell you that you should come with me to that old folks home. He says that you could show me the ropes."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah. I could do that."

The old folks home was just down a few blocks from the studio.

"Good afternoon, elders. We have some exciting company today. Meet Ms. Cello, and Carnival." The director of the home introduced Sandy and Arthur, as they got into place.

Sandy got into center. She walked over to what looked to be a very old looking gramophone, and placed a record. The record played Somewhere Over The Rainbow from the Wizard of Oz. The old people in the lounge room seemed to smile as Sandy began to dance around them. She did magic tricks, and pulled a handkerchief out of her tiny hat.

Arthur stood in the back, amazed. Sandy was fantastic, wowing the crowd with her tricks. Arthur couldn't compete with that. When it was his turn, Arthur froze up.

He felt a repressed laugh crawled up in the back of his throat. Suddenly, the laughter erupted from Arthur.

The elderly didn't seem amused. Some of the elders were confused or concerned about the man laughing in front of them.

Sandy was also concerned. She had never heard this kind of laughter come from Arthur before. Sandy grabbed Arthur to the side.

Arthur was hunched over, trying to repress his laughter with his hand.

"Arthur? Are you ok?" Sandy asked, placing a hand on his head.

Arthur looked away from her. He was already embarrassed enough.

"Arthur, it's ok. What's wrong?" Sandy tried comforting Arthur, but the home director had kicked them out.

Afterwards, Arthur's laughter subsided and seemed to be more calm. The walk back to Haha's was quiet.

"I have a condition." Arthur broke the silence after a while.

Sandy looked over at him. "Oh, what kind of condition?"

"It's called the pseudobulbar affect. I was diagnosed with it when I was young." Arthur sighed, looking at the ground.

"That's some heavy stuff, Arthur." Sandy walked back over to Arthur.

"You probably don't want to be around me anymore." Arthur's thick eyebrows furrowed. He looked up at Sandy like a hurt puppy.

"Are you joking? Of course, I want to be around you. You're the only guy I can actually talk to." Sandy smiled.

Arthur's face lit up. He seemed surprised at her answer. Arthur was so used to rejection, and Sandy didn't seem to mind him at all. It was such a relief to meet someone kind and considerate.

"Hey, how about, after work, I treat you to a drink or something?" Sandy asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, that would be great."

His usual coworkers never invited him to anything. He was always casted out of their social group. Even with people like Randall and Gary, he felt invisible. It wasn't until Sandy came that someone actually saw him.

Sandy smiled, grabbing onto his arm. "Well, then come on, silly."

An old joint called Martha's was a place where Sandy's cousin, Deliah, worked. Sandy would go every Monday to get discounted drinks from her cousin.

"Sandy!" Dee exclaimed, giving her a tight hug. "Ooh, and who's this?"

Sandy laughed at Dee's suggestive comment. It was nice seeing her out of rehab. Dee had a long history with ketamine. Sandy was proud to see her every Monday working to better herself.

"This is Arthur. My coworker. Arthur, this is my cousin, Dee." Sandy said.

Arthur hesitantly shook Dee's hand.

Arthur looked around at all the people in the bar. Everyone in the bar made him incredibly nervous. He clinged onto Sandy's arm as they walked over towards a booth.

"So, how long have you been working for Hoyt?" Sandy asked, sitting next to Arthur on the velvet booth.

Arthur thought for a second. "A few months. My social worker recommended me the job."

"That's good. You know, my boyfriend tried to convince me not to get the job. He said 'think about how it'd look on him.'" Sandy sneered.

Arthur raised his eyebrow. "Boyfriend? You've never mentioned him before."

"There's a reason for that. He's a dick." Sandy rolled her eyes thinking about Dennis.

Arthur looked down at his drink, barely even taking a sip.

Sandy opened up a pack of cigarettes, and placed one to her lips.

Arthur studied the cigarette pressed against her lips. How she inhaled the smoke, and then letting it out in the air. Sandy seemed peaceful and content. Arthur noticed in the strobe lights of the bar that Sandy had a nasty bruise on her face. From her cheek, all the way up to her eyelid.

Sandy felt Arthur staring at her.

"What happened to your face?" Arthur asked.

Sandy gulped. "I ran into a door." She lied.

Arthur glared. He didn't like liars. Just before Arthur said anything else. Dee walked up to the booth with Dennis.

"Sandy, I'm so sorry. I tried to stop him. I told him that you weren't here." Dee apologized, profusely.

"It's fine, Dee." Sandy distinguished her cigarette, throwing it on the ground. "I have to go, Arthur. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

Arthur could tell that she didn't want to leave. Dennis walked up to the booth, grabbing Sandy's arm.

"Go wait in the car, kitten." Dennis growled.

Sandy nodded, turning her head away from Arthur.

"Listen here, buddy. If I ever see you hanging around my girlfriend, again. I'll fucking kill you." Dennis grabbed Arthur by the shirt and threw him on the table. "Understand?"

Arthur nodded. As Dennis walked off, Arthur had the urge to grab the gun from out of his bag.

'She deserves better.' Arthur thought. 'Who does he think he is?'

Taglist: @gloomyladyy @memory-mortis @jokerflecker @joker-flecked-me @princessgeekface

(If you'd like to be tagged, message me/send an ask!! I'm always happy to add people)

The Woman In Velvet Series

[welllpthisishappening]

Idk if you're taking prompts, but if you ever feel compelled: the Blue Line cast reacting to Gritty.

Ok, ok, so you are either a genius or a mind-reader or possibly both because several months ago when Gritty was introduced to the world, I texted @optomisticgirl​ and I was like...I’m going to write about Gritty. And because she is lovely, she encouraged said writing. Only I am woefully bad at posting things in a timely fashion, so it’s just kind of languished in my docs. Until now! 

So here is approximately 6K worth of very tired new-mom Emma, supportive friends, a road trip in Philadelphia and this very specific goal. Also, if you guys have not encountered Gritty yet, let me introduce you:

LOOK AT HIS EYES! WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE. Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam.

“Ok, so, according to your list, we’ve only got the jerseys and the sticks left. Are they all game-worn though? That’s not...that’s not on the list.”Emma made a noise, not sure if it was an agreement or a disagreement or just the general sound of complete and utter exhaustion. She was having a difficult time keeping her head up. And her eyes open. Her eyes actually felt like they were falling down her face.

She was, at least, seventy-seven percent positive that wasn’t supposed to happen.

And, really, in the grand scheme of parenthood and the actual action of parenting in the middle of a season and a second-straight Cup defense, Emma knew a distinct lack of sleep was, more or less, part of the deal.

She also didn’t care.

Because her eyes seemed to have a distinct weight to them and Matt kept crying at regular twenty-minute intervals that appeared to be getting worse the longer they were stuck in Emma’s office. They were still stuck in Emma’s office.

“Em,” Mary Margaret muttered, voice quiet and cautious and that was probably because Emma hadn’t ever stopped making that noise.

She was just kind of grunting at this point.

She had no idea what to do to get her kid to stop crying. It had gotten worse since the game started.

“Are we losing?” Emma asked suddenly, and Mary Margaret’s eyes widened slightly. That was probably because they weren’t weighed down. Metaphorically, or whatever. Emma was far too tired to worry about the metaphors of it.

“No, no, I mean...not winning either, but I don’t think Arthur’s broken that many white boards. So, you know, grand scheme.”Emma made a different noise. She hoped it sounded more like a laugh than it felt. It kind of hurt, like it was lingering in the back of her throat or trying to scratch its way out and none of these things seemed particularly healthy.

“Grand scheme,” she echoed, eyes flitting towards the TV screen in the corner of her office.

They’d done road trips throughout the season – and none of them were particularly easy, but Emma was fairly certain she was still holding on to the majority of her sanity. She was at least confident her eyes weren’t actively trying to fall out of her face.

And she had help, a small army of people and in-laws who were more than happy to pick Matt up or bring Matt somewhere and Emma was fairly sure Merida was still reporting on her eating habits to Killian. It wasn’t easy, but it was ok, and Matt’s eyes seemed to actually light up every single time Killian came home which, in turn, did something incredibly specific to Emma’s entire soul.

This road trip, however, seemed intent on slowly, but surely killing her.

There were teething issues and sleeping issues and the kid seemed determined to to pull himself everywhere – knocking over everything in sight like some kind of six-month-old masquerading as Godzilla. He was still working on sitting up, but Emma had to admit even the attempt was impressive and Killian was convinced their son’s diction meant he was some kind of inevitable genius.

That genius kept him up and babbling for hours at a time.

Emma had no idea if the pile of jerseys behind her was game worn.

“If I fall asleep right here, right now, in front of you, is that going to super weird you out?” Emma asked, gaze flashing towards Mary Margaret. She shook her head.

“I’ve definitely seen you sleep in weirder places.”“Ah, yeah, that’s probably true.”

“That one time, senior year, when David had four finals in one day and you had that ridiculous...what was it...French?”Emma nodded. “French II. Because I needed a language requirement and they wouldn’t take my sports management electives instead.” “God, your dean was the worst.” “That’s an incredibly scathing insult, Reese’s.” “There are children present.” Emma’s laugh was weak at best and drifting dangerously close to depressing, eyelashes fluttering despite the sounds coming from her kid and the hockey game. “I think we’re starting to deal with some object permanence actually. He’s like...aware that I’m not going to disappear if I move away.” “He’s a genius, obviously.” “You and Killian should start some kind of campaign.” “Don’t actually suggest that around him,” Mary Margaret grinned, and she was already starting a new list. “He’d go on the record or shout it from center ice or something.” Emma hummed, not quite able to make any other noise when her heart was so busy doing whatever in her chest, but Mary Margaret was absolutely right and Killian would probably call Dorothy and get some kind of special edition of Sports Illustrated printed. And, honestly, she didn’t mean for the sigh to just fall out of her the way it did, but she’d apparently lost complete control of everything and she needed to find Kristoff.

He had to know about the jerseys.

“Hey, hey,” Mary Margaret said quickly, reaching out and tugging the pen Emma forgot she was holding out of her hand. “What’s going on with you? You know you look kind of pale.”“That’s not really the best way to start this.” “How much sleep would you say you’ve gotten on average in the last week?” “I don’t want to tell you that.” “Why?” Emma lifted her head, slowly and a little repentantly, which didn’t really make any sense because Mary Margaret was not her mother. She was the mother and she was, approximately, eighty-two percent positive she was messing it up.

Matt wouldn’t stop babbling and crying and Emma’s arms felt like they were going to fall off. It was because she kept having to pick him up. So he didn’t knock over merch for whatever Garden of Dreams event they were planning for.

She genuinely could not remember the name of the event.

“You could come back home with us,” Mary Margaret suggested. She’d never let go of Emma’s hand. “We’ve got that pop-up thing and--”“--David’s got to work tomorrow, Reese’s. You’ve got to work tomorrow. The kid wakes up, like, several times a night to scream at the moon or something.” “Did you just suggest your own kid was a werewolf?” “At this point I really don’t know.”

Mary Margaret scoffed and her smile felt a little placating, but Emma was so tired and so sure she was ruining everything that she almost didn’t care. She wanted to be placated. She wanted this road trip to be over.

She desperately wanted to find a children’s medicine that made sure her kid didn’t suffer in agony so he could, eventually, eat solid foods.

“You also have to work tomorrow,” Mary Margaret pointed out. “Just, you know...if we’re covering all our bases.”“You’re mixing up sports references.” “Playing a good shift? Does that even make sense?” Emma shrugged. “That question is way too in-depth for the amount of consistent sleep I’ve been getting. How important do you think it is to get to REM?”

“Incredibly.”“Yeah?” “Yeah,” Mary Margaret nodded. “So, uh, I’m going to say something, ok? And I want you to bite your actual tongue if you have to so you don’t interrupt me because I know you’re going to try and interrupt me.” “That’s actually kind of scathing, Reese’s.” “That’s an interruption.”

Emma mimed zipping her mouth shut, staring at Mary Margaret with something she hoped was as much sarcasm as one expression could contain, but she figured she kind of missed her mark when she had to lean back and move Matt in the swing they’d put him in once the game started.

He would have tried to walk into the TV otherwise, Emma was certain. Object permanence or something. And possibly how much he wanted to see his dad.

She absolutely hated road trips now.

“Alright,” Mary Margaret starts, nodding again like she’s psyching herself up for this particular brand of hope speech. “I know you were off after Matt was born and that was good and, you know, medically necessary, but have you considered...maybe using some of your personal days for stuff like this?”The silence in the room wasn’t really silent – Matt was still babbling and Emma could make out the dim sounds of the puck hitting the boards in Philadelphia and the commentary in the background. She blinked, licking her lips and she wasn’t exactly comfortable, one of her hands still twisted with Mary Margaret’s, while the other tried to move Matt in some kind of consistent rhythm. The babbling was quickly turning to something that sounded like the tell-tale sounds of a complete and utter meltdown.

Emma briefly considered joining him.

“Thoughts?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma tilted her head. “That doesn’t count as an interruption?”“I actually expected the sarcasm completely, so I’m not even turned off by that at all.” “What are you then?” “Worried about you and your distinct lack of REM sleep. And whatever horrible, no good, very bad things your mind is making you think because of that lack of REM.” Eventually, Emma was sure, Mary Margaret would stop being so impossibly good at reading her or knowing her or, possibly, just sharing a few of the same brain wavelengths. She hoped not.

Because those wavelengths made sure Mary Margaret stayed in the office that night – not bothering to ask, just sitting on the ground and tugging Emma’s list out of her hand with a practiced familiarity that defied decades.

“You should take this show on the road,” Emma muttered, working a quiet laugh and knowing smile out of Mary Margaret. “I bet you could make millions.”“Who would you get to babysit all the time, then?” “You don’t have to do that.” Mary Margaret squeezed her hand. “I want to. A whole line of people want to. Several professional hockey players are beating down metaphorical doors to want to.” “I’m not sure that last sentence made much sense,” Emma laughed, and it was still a little shaky and questionably watery, vision swimming a bit in front of her, but she took a deep breath and that felt like a step in the right direction.

“And I’m not sure you’re qualified to discuss sentence structure.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Honestly though,” Mary Margaret continued. “You don’t have to be some kind of superhero. I know you could be and usually are because, well--”“--You going to get sappy on me, Reese’s?” “Yes, don’t interrupt. I know you were worried about all of this and it happened suddenly and without much planning, and that’s not really your game, but…” She took a deep breath, shoulders heaving with the force of it and Emma didn’t think she imagined the slightly glossy look to her eyes. “You are doing an incredible job, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, no hint of anything except absolute and complete honesty in her voice. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.” “Was that last part a compliment?” “Of the highest order. Because you’re doing it all. That’s kind of where I'm going with this. I know you’re worried. But the crying is normal and the lack of sleep is normal and you could probably call the pediatrician about the teething thing if it’s freaking you out.” Emma let out a breath she didn’t realize she was hoarding, only slightly stunned by the mind reading going on in her office. Matt threw something. The game on TV got louder.

“I just…” Emma muttered, twisting her lips when the words got caught in the back of her throat. With the emotion. There was too much emotion. She was a mess.

“I know you do,” Mary Margaret promised. At some point she’d laced her fingers through Emma’s, thumb tapping just above the relatively-new laces sitting on her left wrist again. “Everyone does. And you are. The crying jags aside, that is the happiest and most loved kid in the entire National Hockey League.”“That’s definitely the marker we were going for.” Mary Margaret scoffed, shifting closer to Emma so she could wipe away a tear she hadn’t noticed either. “Don’t lie to my face like that, it’s not cool.”

Emma nodded, tugging her lips behind her teeth and trying to remember what any semblance of confidence looked like. Matt quieted for a moment, the sounds turning a bit closer to whimpers and that was, somehow, even worse. It made Emma’s body tense and her spine seemed to audibly snap back into place when she jerked around, eyebrows pulled low as her lungs desperately tried to get oxygen back to her brain.

“I know we’re not really doing that whole pronunciation thing yet, kid,” Emma said, pulling out of Mary Margaret’s and tugging Matt against her chest before she could remember all the reasons the websites told her she shouldn't. “But it’d be really great if we could fine tune what, exactly, has got you freaking out so much. Dad’s going to be home tonight.”

It didn’t work.

The sounds were still there – sinking into Emma’s skin and that same soul that never quite knew what to do with the idea that this was her life. She bobbed on her feet, rocking back and forth and trying to find a comfortable way to hold Matt and work her phone out of her back pocket at the same time.

That didn’t work either.

She was going to scream.

Or cry.

Or fall on the floor and sleep for several days.

Matt squirmed against her, tiny hands gripping her shirt and for a kid who seemed particularly interested with the National Hockey League he had a pretty good right kick, a move he appeared intent on perfecting by landing it in Emma’s liver.

“What if we just walked to Philadelphia?” she asked, directing the question more to Mary Margaret than Matt.

Mary Margaret smiled. “I don’t know if that entirely efficient. They’re already at the second intermission anyway and--”She didn’t finish the sentence, footsteps coming down the hall and a noise that might have been genuine laughter and not just exhaustion-induced insanity and Matt nearly flew out of Emma’s arms as soon as Ruby rounded the corner of the open doorway.

She was holding takeout bags. So was Henry. She’d brought Henry with her.

“Hey mini-Jones,” Ruby said, hardly breaking stride as she walked towards him. “You causing problems up here? We could hear you as soon as we got off the elevator.”“Not as soon as we got off the elevator,” Henry objected. “It took us at least a few steps before we heard him. Impressive lungs though.” Emma groaned. “You guys are all throwing out really horrible compliments.” “Aw, c’mon,” Mary Margaret sighed. She hadn’t gotten off the ground. “My compliment was good! And genuine!”

“Also,” Ruby added, moving some of the bags so she had a free hand to tug on the back of Matt’s onesie. “She managed to surreptitiously text me when it was becoming more and more obvious you guys were never getting out of here, so not only do I come with a plethora of promises that you’re the best mom this side of the Mississippi, but I’ve also got just a questionable amount of fried food to back up those claims.”“Do those go hand in hand?” Henry asked. He had to move a few piles of paper on Emma’s desk to find any open space, but there really was a ton of food and he kept smiling and maybe the Rangers would score in the third period.

That was almost optimistic.

Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know and I don't care. Emma’s too tired to be worried about my sentence structure anyway.”

“These are not the compliments I was promised,” Emma said, but she was tired and practically overflowing with sentimental thoughts and deep-rooted parental desires and maybe she’d take tomorrow off.

Merida probably knew what the event was called anyway.

“The compliment is that you’re some kind of super mom who’s really worried about totally normal teething schedules. Also you and Cap need to coordinate your worry a little better because Scarlet said--”“I’m sorry, are you gossiping about mine and Killian’s parenting with Scarlet?” Ruby didn’t quite glare, but it was almost like a scowl and Henry did try to turn his laugh into some other kind of noise. Mary Margaret was never going to get off the floor. “Give me a little credit, Em,” Ruby sighed. “Did you see the way Cap skated in Carolina?” “I watch the games, Ruby.” “Exactly. So we all know that no one in the Jones household is sleeping and you’re both absurd parents--”

“--In a way that is actually a compliment,” Henry added, flashing a smile when Emma’s eyes darted his direction.

“Again, exactly,” Ruby muttered. “But Cap could barely stay on the ice for more than thirty seconds and then they had the off day and now Arthur's breaking whiteboards in Philly and you have no idea what your event is called.”Emma blinked. “How do you know that?” “About the shifts or...because that’s kind of just basic math.” “That’s not really Emma’s strong suit either,” Mary Margaret muttered, shrugging when Emma gaped at her. “French II and that intro to stats we took sophomore year. Your academic downfall.”

“I passed both of those classes,” Emma said, and Henry wasn’t even trying to mask his laugh anymore.

“Ehh…”Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t really have a leg to stand on and she needed both of them if she was going to make sure the kid her in arms stayed there. “Is Scarlet worried about Killian’s sleeping habits? Is that what’s happening?” “Robin too,” Henry said, answering a question that wasn’t entirely directed at him. “He said Killian’s trying to murder mattresses.” “That’s impressive,” Ruby muttered. Emma didn’t object when she pulled Matt out of her hands, thankful for the lack of weight on her forearms and the no-longer present threat to a variety of internal organs. “The road trips are going to be garbage from here on out, Em,” she continued. “But we’re all still here and Cap’s destroying hotel furniture because he wants to be home that much and you’re way more organized than you honestly have any right to be and Mer said the jerseys were game-worn. Obviously.” “She didn’t say that second part,” Henry added.

Ruby waved a dismissive hand through the air. “That’s neither here nor there. So, we’ve brought the food, the third period’s about to start. Direct us, o fearless community relations leader. What has to be organized?”They weren’t quite a well-oiled machine – Matt was far too loud and squirmy for that and Emma’s legs didn’t entirely appreciate when she leapt up with five minutes left in the game, but she had some kind of sixth sense, or so Ruby proclaimed, and she might have actually fist pumped when Killian pulled his stick back.

It wasn’t the best shot in the world. It wasn’t even the best shot he’d taken all season. But it was a shot and there was a bit of power on it and her soul did something absurd again.

Mary Margaret’s breath caught. Loudly.

The Philadelphia defense hadn’t stood a chance, not really, and Killian hadn’t been sleeping much either, even when he was home, not really, but he still moved up the ice with a speed that was as ridiculous as attractive and Emma had clearly lost her mind. She wasn’t supposed to be attracted to an attribute of her husband’s game.

Her mind, however, did not care.

Her mind was moving as quickly as he was, a streak of blue up the ice and it was actually some kind of miracle the Philadelphia defender didn’t trip over his own skates. Robin’s pass slide between a pair of orange jerseys and around a stick that wasn’t entirely on the ice, the puck landing in front of Killian and he didn’t slow down when he pulled back. His hips barely moved, like he wasn’t even trying, and Henry mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like did that even go in behind Emma.

She nodded.

And the light went off.

She wasn’t sure what noise she made, but Killian spun around, back colliding with the nearest board in the Wells Fargo Center as his arm wrapped around Robin’s shoulders. They did something stupid, a shake of their heads and smiles obvious as the camera zoomed in and--

“Oh, they planned that,” Emma muttered, Ruby’s quiet hum of confusion barely audible when Matt started to make noise again. “They planned that,” she repeated. “The whole play. Did you see that? Robin didn’t even look up. He knew Killian was going to be there.”Emma turned back towards Henry, the smile on his face turning a little smug and a little knowing. “What do you know?” “That Robin was annoyed Killian was trying to pummel hotel mattresses into submission and demanded they discuss some kind of breakout on the power play if they were both going to get negative amounts of sleep.” “That last one verbatim?” He nodded. “It wasn’t a power play though.” “Guess Killian’s just that fast.” “Maybe he could walk back here,” Mary Margaret mumbled, and Matt was logging some pretty good mileage as he moved from person to person in an office filled with now-organized merch.

“I wouldn’t put it past him, actually.”Emma hummed or laughed or dissolved into those emotions that had been tugging at the back of her mind for the majority of the night, and she was almost confident they’d be able to get out of the Garden without anymore issues or concerns regarding her ability to parent, but that lasted less than a full second and the scream that came a few feet away echoed in between her ears.

That wasn’t biologically possible either.

“Oh my God,” she sighed, visibly deflating at Mary Margaret’s wide eyes and Ruby’s not-so-quiet gasp. Emma was going to comp the car she called. She was going to call out the next day. “What is happening here?”

She reached forward, pulling Matt back and wincing at several well-placed kicks. “What are we doing, kid? Did you not just see Dad score? That was a good goal! We’re probably going to win now. Aren’t we cool with winning?”“Ma ma ma ma ma maaaaaaaaa.”

The word got less and less pronounced the more Matt kept repeating it, twisting and turning and yanking on the ends of Emma’s hair and the front of her shirt. His legs flailed and his head dropped back and she was absolutely going to have the most impressive forearm muscles of anyone on the entire island of Manhattan.

“You know, I thought we were almost drifting close to actually falling asleep,” Ruby mused, trying without much success to rest her hand on Matt’s back. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”“Welcome to my world,” Emma mumbled. She shifted her weight between her feet, trying to work back towards the swing and the teething ring that was probably just lukewarm plastic at this point and they’d been doing so well. The road trip was going to end on a high note and she was going to be some kind of mother of the year with a husband whose speed on ice should probably get studied at some point.

That was such a weird sentence.

She was so goddamn tired.

And she didn’t know what to do next.

Emma muttered a string of increasingly absurd nonsense, trying to smile and not burst into tears, but that was proving more and more difficult and she was dimly aware of laughter coming from the TV.

“Oh shit,” Henry whispered, clicking his teeth when Mary Margaret made some kind of reproachful noise. “No, no, no, just...ok, don’t tell Gina I said that, but, listen, Emma, turn around. Don’t let Mattie look at the TV.”That was not the string of words she expected. At all.

“What?”“Where’s your remote?” “What?” Henry growled, his whole head rolling in frustration, and that wasn’t right either. There were takeout containers everywhere. One of them crunched under his feet when he moved, darting towards the TV with his hand already out and Emma was worried he was going to punch through the actual screen.

And that was when she saw it.

“What the hell is that thing?” Emma demanded, gesturing wildly towards the ice in Philadelphia and the furry, orange monstrosity shooting t-shirts out of an air-powered gun. “Oh my God, why are his eyes moving like that?”She expected Ruby to laugh even less than she expected Henry to swear. Maybe she’d just walk home. Screw the car. “Gritty?” Ruby asked, and Emma could not come up with a single word to respond to that.

The stupid thing was trying to dance on the ice. Matt cried louder.

“What is a Gritty?” Emma shouted, Henry still making ridiculous noises because her TV was state of the art or something and there were no buttons on the actual thing. “Ok, ok, Mattie, Mattie, we’ve got to breathe kid, the absolutely terrifying monster is not going to come out of the TV and attack us.”

“Should we be referring to him as a monster?” Mary Margaret asked. She grabbed the jersey on top of the closest pile, throwing it over the TV screen and it didn’t really cover everything, but it was at least a start and Emma was kind of terrified of Gritty.

Whatever that actually was.

“He’s a mascot,” Ruby reasoned. “I mean...we’ve all seen mascots before, right?”Emma shook her head, disbelief in her gaze. “We don’t have a mascot. Oh my God, Reese’s, do you think he was crying about this asshole the whole game?”

“I think that seems entirely possible,” Mary Margaret said, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.

“This is not funny!”

“I mean…”“It’s not!”

“It’s a little funny,” Henry admitted. He was still trying to find the remote, but the game was almost over and Emma figured even terrifying, demon mascots had to get off the ice when there was a faceoff to take. “How have you never seen Gritty before, he was like...a cultural phenomenon.”“Can we please stop referring to him by his name? That is a man in a suit. An absolutely terrifying, shouldn’t exist suit.” “He’s been around for months, Em,” Ruby said. “All season. Oh.” “Oh. Oh, what?” “And you were worried you weren’t super Mom.” Emma didn’t respond immediately, but she tilted her head and tried not to covet that title too much. She wondered how quickly the entire New York Rangers could get out of Philadelphia. “Where are you going with this?” “They announced the mascot right before the start of the regular season,” Ruby grinned. “Henry’s right. He was all over the news and late night and social media because, you know--” “--He’s terrifying?”

“It’s the eyes, I think. If he didn’t have googly eyes, it wouldn’t be an issue.”“What does this have to do with my parenting skills?” “More like you becoming a parent,” Mary Margaret corrected. “I think you were a little preoccupied with, you know, giving birth to be worried about Philadelphia mascots that never should have existed.” “Wow, that’s harsh, M’s,” Henry muttered, still kind of laughing and he grinned when Emma’s head snapped his direction. “But also true.” “See,” Ruby crowed. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Em. If anything, you’re saving mini-Jones’ mental stability from the get because you made sure he wasn’t aware of a world where Gritty existed. And you totally went into complete Mom mode as soon as Henry said.” Emma wasn’t sure she was actually capable of blushing at this point – her capillaries or whatever were probably too exhausted, but she had never been very good at science either and Matt had finally stopped crying.

Mary Margaret’s eyes were distinctly glossy again.

“It’s ok,” Emma whispered, tightening her hold on Matt slightly and he didn’t squirm at all. He might have burrowed further into her chest. “You’re ok, I promise.”

And she didn’t walk back uptown, both Mary Margaret and Ruby scandalized at even the notion. She sat in the back of a town car instead, a sleeping baby next to her, a quiet that, somehow, made it easier to breathe. Mary Margaret helped her carry everything upstairs.

Emma didn’t plan on falling asleep, but her eyes had other ideas and she didn’t hear the lock click back in place, startling on the couch when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

He grinned at her.

“Hey,” Killian muttered, crouching in front of her and brushing the hair away from her eyes. “You can’t possibly be comfortable.”“I don’t know that I could actually move, honestly.” “I’m not sure that’s much better.” “Nice shot.” “It was an experiment.” “Yeah, I figured,” Emma said, and she appreciated whatever his eyebrows did at that. “Please, Locksley didn’t even lift his head up. Did you have to come up with some kind of signal, or how did it work, exactly?” “Do the years of experience not count?” Emma made a contrary noise, twisting despite the protests from several dozen muscles and Killian, tugging lightly on the loose tie still around his neck. His grin got bigger. “We counted. Scarlet was supposed to pass out of the zone and I had six seconds to get up the ice. Locksley had four to get to the other faceoff circle.” “I wasn’t aware Scarlet was part of the plan.”

Killian hummed, a quick brush of lips over her forehead and it was an impressive exercise in balance. “We had some time to kill.”“So I heard.” “Henry?” “Maybe you’re the genius.” “Ah, that just means it’s genetic,” Killian said. His fingers clearly had minds of their own, drifting over Emma’s neck and her shoulder and the bit of skin where her shirt had twisted underneath her. “You didn’t have to try and wait up for me, love.” “Try being the operative word.” “I appreciate the effort.” “You’ve got to sleep more on the road.”

“You’ve got to sleep more all the time.”She clicked her tongue, scrunching her nose and Killian’s capillaries clearly weren’t too exhausted to blush – particularly on the tips of his ears. “Ruby or Reese’s?” “Both. And David. They’re worried about you.”

“It was just a shitty road trip,” Emma whispered, not trusting herself to do anymore. Plus the sleeping kid a few feet away. Especially the sleeping kid a few feet away. “Did you hear about the mascot incident?”Killian blinked. And blinked again. “What?” “There is apparently some kind of actual monster masquerading as a mascot in Philadelphia and our kid is fundamentally terrified. Screamed every single time they showed him on the broadcast. Apparently.” “Apparently?” “I didn’t realize until the third period.” Emma’s nose was going to get stuck that way. Her sigh sounded impossibly pathetic when it fell out of her, throat tightening against the wad of everything stuck in the back of it and Killian really could not have been comfortable. He didn’t move. “We can’t fix everything, Swan,” he said softly, fingers still tracing absent minded patterns on any bit of skin he could find. “I don’t think there’s a clause for mascots anywhere.” “And you’ve read enough websites. You’d totally have found it.” “So would you, love.” “I’m so tired.” It wasn’t an admission, not really. Everyone knew. Strangers on the street knew. Gritty probably knew. God, she hoped Gritty didn’t know. But it kind of felt like one anyway, and she really could not cope with the realization that it only took Killian six seconds to get up an entire NHL-size hockey rink.

And she hadn’t really considered the fact that he hadn’t kissed her yet, but the move still caught Emma by surprise, quick and somewhere dangerously close to bruising and they were both slightly codependant disasters who just wanted to give their kid the world – particularly one without horrifying and badly named mascots.

“So we should probably get you off the couch,” Killian said, standing back up and Emma didn’t take his hand so much as she threw her palm against his. He laughed under his breath. “Move the kid? Don’t move the kid?”“Move the kid,” she groaned. “He’s bound to wake up soon anyway, I think he’s preprogrammed to know when you get home.” Killian’s ears got redder. And that was worse than recorded speed on the ice.

He brushed his lips over her cheek, moving across the living room and Matt didn’t wake up immediately, but he twisted and made a few pointed noises, Killian only wincing slightly when he bobbed on his feet to try and quiet him. “The workout after the workout,” Emma muttered, a hand on his shoulder and body against his back, and she swore she heard him smile.

“Ah, this is better.”“A line.” “A first line, actually. That’s got a very impressive plus-minus rating in the last few games.” “Are we acknowledging that stat?” “When it benefits me.” Emma laughed, pressing her face into the fabric underneath her cheek and if she was going to keep making sweeping assumptions regarding Killian, then she was positive she felt some of his muscles loosen underneath her. “Parents of the year,” she mumbled.

“I bet we could organize some charity event to practice slapshots at Gritty’s face.”“That’s violent.” “In defense of a kid, Swan.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Emma agreed, and there were feeding schedules and equipment to move, but sleep was almost there and it was always easier when she and Killian were in the same bed. “C’mon, if we don’t move, I’m going to fall on top of you.” “Not the worst thing in the world.” “That was another line.” “Yeah, it was,” Killian said, an easy nod and smile and they both slept through their alarms the next morning.

And Gritty never really went away, a lesson Emma wasn’t entirely sure she appreciated, but was sure the world thought was important – something about confronting fears and our own childhood worries and the ability to overcome both. The mascot was still there, orange with far too much fur and those goddamn googly eyes, terrifying Matthew Jones for the majority of his childhood and road trips he and his, eventual, younger sister got to go on.

The mascot was still there, shooting t-shirts into a screaming crowd at Wells Fargo, nearly two decades later and Emma hadn’t considered the implications of that when she put on a different jersey with the same name and number as it always was. At least she hadn’t until Henry chuckled lightly next to her, elbowing something that might have been her spleen to get her attention.

“Did you tell Rol?” she asked, glancing towards the grown man with his own kids who was doing a pretty good job of being super dad too. “Mattie’ll be mad if Rol’s got something else to trash talk tonight.” Henry shook his head. “Who do you think I am, Emma?” “Someone who knows about a professional hockey player’s deep-rooted mascot fears.” “You’re making assumptions. And, no, I never told Rol. It’s Matt’s first game in Philadelphia. I’m excited for him. I’m not a jerk.” “But?” “How do you know there was a but?”

Emma pulled her eyes away from the ice, nerves churning and pulse beating loudly in her veins and she’d been far too concerned about Matt playing in Philadelphia for the first time and playing against Roland, but Henry just smiled at her. The kid standing at his feet tugged on his jersey. A Locksley jersey. Always now.

“But,” Henry echoed. “We did discuss some quick exit options out of the arena if he’s suddenly attacked by Gritty.”

Her laugh jumped out of her, entirely impossible and far too loud to be acceptable and Emma didn’t think before flinging her arms around Henry and hugging him as tightly as she could. He hugged her back.

“I doubt the mascot will attack,” Henry muttered. “But now, at least, we’re prepared.”“Exactly.” The mascot didn’t come back onto the ice in the first period, but Matthew Jones, making his Philadelphia debut against the guy who helped him practice the wristshot he was quickly becoming known for, made it up the ice in seven seconds flat, the puck on his stick and the light going off almost as soon as he pulled back to shoot.

Emma jumped and Henry jumped and Killian might have hit the window of the suite, pride practically radiating off him. “We’ll get that time down, Swan,” he promised. “Five by the end of the regular season.”

“Parents of the year,” Mary Margaret said, a twenty painted on both of her cheeks that were quickly getting smuged by the tears in her eyes. “With some headlines to prove it.”

Emma didn’t answer – absolutely could not answer while her kid was still celebrating – but she nodded and Killian tugged her against his side, a kiss to her temple and the belief that they’d done something good.

[dorotheajanegilmore]

Closer to you - Chris Evans

CHAPTER TWO

Dinner that night was lovely. Mom made my favourite meal, chicken casserole and it was so flipping good. You know when you don't have a certain food in a while and you grave it so much and then you finally have it and it's so satisfying? That's this. This chicken casserole.

I sat beside Lucy and Joe on the left couch whole mom, dad and Leo day on the right couch. Alex sat on the floor and worked through some receipts for his and my dads garage.

Dad and Alex are mechanics and own their own garage in town. Alex skipped out on college, he's been working on bikes and cars since he could walk and so my dad decided to go into business with him a year or two ago.

My mother is an interior decorator and artist. You'll either find her in paint stores or furniture stores and then you'll see her in her paint splashed dungarees, holding  four books of paint swatches and fabric samples.

My sister Lucy is a nurse and works at the local hospital. Her husband Leo is a high school teacher who teaches french, which comes in handy when I want to talk to him and Lucy in private in front of family members. And Joe, well Joe's 6 so he's whatever he wants to be.

Holly is a therapist in the city, she has her own office and clients and is a full on boss lady. Her boyfriend Penn is an attorney at a big firm a few blocks away from her office.

Teegan also works in the city, as a freelance photographer. Her photos have been featured in big magazines and she's working on her own exhibit at a small museum right now.

Chloe is a fashion designer who's trying to get her boss to take a look at her sketch book, however it's kind of a Devil Wears Prada situation and her boss is ignorant unless she wants coffee or an Advil. Chloe's boyfriend Jonas is a builder and works around the city doing various things.

It's hard to believe we've all got grown up jobs. Even though my next birthday I turn *cough* thirty *cough* I still feel like a fifteen year old high school student with pink streaks in my hair and working Saturday's at the Dairy Queen.

As we all crowded around the tv in the living room, the fireplace crackling in the background, watching Home Alone, the door bell rang.

My mother was busy creating interior designs on her iPad, my dad was captures by the booby traps set by young Kevin McAllister and my sister gave me a sharp elbow, telling me I had to go. With a roll of my eyes I let my fluffy socks hit the hard wood floors.

I stepped out into the hall and closed the living room door behind me not to let all the heat out of the front door. I pressed my hands to the solid wood door and peered up through the peep hole. As soon as I saw who it was I stepped back down in panic. It was the hot guy from next door. I had just washed all of my makeup off in the shower! My hair was a wet scraggly mess and my pyjamas had Rudolph on them.

Not wanting to leave him I the cold I sighed and twisted the key in the lock. I pulled the door back and acted surprise. "Hi."

"Hi, uh Alessia right?" He asked, pointing at me casually, while holding a small shoe box that had been decorated with Christmas paper.

I nodded and pointed back. "Lisa's son right?"

"Chris." He shrugged and chuckled.

"Nice to meet you properly, Chris." I said and he nodded.

"And you. Uh I just found the box my grandma left you and thought I should bring it over." He held it out to me and I took it.

"Thank you. Do you know what's in here?" I wondered out loud.

Chris shrugged. "No, Nana never said. It's intriguing though."

"Well would you like to come in and go through it with me?" I offered.

"Oh I wouldn't want to intrude." He shook his head politely.

"It wouldn't be intruding, it's me inviting."

"Well..." He stepped back and glanced over at his house before nodding. "Sure, it would be nice."

I stepped back and pulled the door open for him to come in. His sneakers left snow on the welcome mat and he hung his jacket up on the hook.

I closed the door and gestured to the door beside the living room door. He went first and stepped into Joe's playroom. We walked through the playroom until we got to the study. A small room at the back of the house that was lined with bookshelves that were full of the classics. Apart from one wall which left room in the middle for a fireplace and a tv. The fireplace was fake, we could t risk all of these books being caught ablaze. It was just cosy.

A large grey couch was placed in the middle of the room, filled with blankets and comfy plump pillows. A small bar cart  was at the back of the room with sachets of hot chocolate, teabags, various mugs and a tea kettle. My dads hot chocolate station. This room was the epitome of cosy.

"Wow, this is the most homely cosy room I have ever been in." Chris chuckled as he sat at the far end of the couch, his eyes frantically searching the room in wonder and awe.

"Yeah, my dad designed it when I was 12. I was the most anxious kid you'd ever meet. It really helped me."

"You struggled with anxiety?" Chris asked, taking interest in me.

I nodded, feeling strangely comfortable with him. "I had knee surgery when I was young so I took quite some time away from school. I spent six months in the house so when I finally went back to mainstream school and going back to stores and being around strangers and crowds, it hit me hard." I sat down on the couch, leaving a comfortable metre.

"I couldn't even imagine. You're really strong for going through that so young." Chris put a comforting hand on my shoulder absentmindedly. When he realised he had touched me he tended up and awkwardly removed his hand. "Sorry about that."

I shrugged. "It's fine, thank you for trying to comfort me. I appreciate it. Now, let's get into this shall we."

He nodded and I began to pick the edge of the brown tape sealing the two sides of the box. With a great pull the tape lifted and the two sides opened. I placed the box between us and pulled the sides back.

"Oh my god." I giggled as I saw the familiar white paper. "Cheryl always has this fancy paper on her kitchen counter-"

Chris nodded like an excited child, his cheeks becoming flushed. "Yes, for her recipes!"

We each took a sheet and read over them. "I must've asked a good thirty times for her blueberry pie recipe."

"Looks like the nagging was worth it." He chuckled as he pulled out a chunk of paper. He flipped through and nodded. "Yep. All of Nana's recipes. You lucky cookie."

"Well now I have to go to the store don't I." My smile was wild as I remembered all of the hours I spent baking with sweet Cheryl.

"Why's that?" Chris wondered out loud.

"I need baking supplies. Tomorrow's gonna be a busy one."

Chris shook his head and placed the recipes on the couch. "Not to be invasive but would you mind if I joined? I could test all the goods, you know make sure they're up to standard." He nodded, pretending to be serious.

"Are you kidding? If you want the food you have to help." I told him and he nodded, throwing his hands up dramatically.

"Hey I wouldn't mind that."

"Alright then." I nodded.

We continued through box, pulling out photos and little things I had left like a bracelet I had taken off before a baking session and my scarf I had forgotten.

"Would you mind if I kept this?" Chris asked from behind me as I slid the recipes into a plastic pocket I had gotten from one of the drawers.

Without turning back to see what he meant I furrowed my brows and buttoned the pocket. "My scarf? Sure, if that's what you're in to."

"Funny." He chuckled. "I meant one of these photos. I know you're in it so if you'd feel uncomfortable or course tell me to piss off but, I've never seen my Grandma so happy."

I turned around to glance at the photo and ended up stopping. The photo Chris wanted was of me holding a baking tray will Cheryl added some last minute sprinkles to the batter. Her eyes were sparkling and her mouth was open as she laughed fiercely at something I had said. It made me miss her and our baking sessions so much.

I wiped a tear and nodded. "Of course, yeh, take it." I said quickly before my voice began to shake.

"Aww Alessia." Chris rushed to his feet as he saw me cry. His thinking was just to comfort me, he didn't care that we had only just met. He pulled me into a hug and his hand rubbed my back.

I hugged back momentarily before remembering that this guy was a stranger. I quickly put my hands on his muscular arms and pulled back. "I'm sorry. She was your grandmother, I have no right to cry over this."

"What? Of course you do." Chris shook his head and defended my emotional outburst. "You grew up next to her. You spent hours with her. Hours that me and my family really appreciate. When she lost Arthur, my grandfather, she was so lonely and me and my siblings couldn't come back and forth as much as we would have liked. From the photos, I can tell she loved every minute with you. You were like a granddaughter to her."

"Thanks Chris." I said with tear filled eyes.

His kind blue eyes looked down at me and he nodded with a small smile. As we looked at each other in silence, another tear fell from my eye, one that had been on the edge for a while. His hand came traveled up and his thumb gently wiped the heat from my cheek.

Before things could get awkward I looked down and then back up at him. I stepped back and put a hand in my hoodie pocket. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course. What time did you wanna get started?" Great, the subject had been easily changed and we could move on.

"Uh I need to go to the store so maybe like 10-11am?"

"You want to sleep in don't you?" He smirked at me and I nodded with a shrug.

"Yeah well it's been a long drive from New York and I'm tired from...all of the emotion. So yeah, I'm sleeping in."

He chuckled and I reached for the door. I pulled it back to see my mother standing with her fist in the air, obviously about to knock.

"Mom?"

"Oh, hi honey. Uh, Chris?" My mother's eyes shot to his direction and she sent him passive aggressive daggers.

"Yes Mrs Perri?"

"You're girlfriend-" my mom emphasised the word "girlfriend" and I quietly giggled and nodded. Of course he had a girlfriend? Why wouldn't Mr Handsome McPerfect have a girlfriend? "-called and said that dinner's ready."

Chris nodded. "Great, thanks Mrs Perri."

My Mom nodded and turned to walk away, sending me a sorry look. When she closed the had gone down the hall and I heard the living room door close I looked over at Chris.

He was twiddling his thumbs, looking at me to judge my reaction. I gave him a friendly smile and pulled the door back. "So I'll see you tomorrow right?" Pretending I wasn't disappointed. But what did I expect? That he liked me? No way, we're friends. I just met the guy, he's my baking partner. Nothing more.

"Right, yes." He looked and sounded so relieved.

Previously (chapter one)

Next (chapter three)