#the only thing which kills me more than death is evans sister angst

[james-sunshine-potter]

When Petunia was young, she’d dress up as a witch for Halloween every single year. Without a fail, she’d dress up as a witch. It was her favourite thing to dress up as. 

She only stopped when Lily went off to Hogwarts. Suddenly, she lost the love for it.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Broken Mirror: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

"When a good man is hurt, all who would be called good must suffer with him." - Euripides

Thinking about going on a date with Spencer is way different than actually doing it. Gideon got you two the good seats even if it is a first come first serve. However, you made sure to arrive early enough to get a seat by the exit so you didn't have to waste time just sitting around while everyone else leaves. Gideon picked a good day as well since they were playing a two special horror movies, Psycho and The Shining. Spencer hadn’t seen either of them, but you have and you knew you would have a good time.

“Okay, I got literally every sweet thing they had,” you announced, climbing into the bed of your truck. Spencer didn’t have a car since he preferred to take public transportation to work. Sometimes you would be his ride if he asked for it, so it was natural that you two take your car. It was better anyway since you had a 4x4 off road truck with a comfortable bed if you laid down blankets and pillows, which you did. Spencer leaned on the back of the truck as you sat next to him, handing him the candy he requested.

“I didn’t know you liked sweet stuff.”

“Sweetheart, my whole life revolves around sugar,” you chuckled, pausing when you realize what you just said. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For calling you sweetheart. It just came out,” you chuckled nervously.

“It’s okay. I like it,” he smiled.

“Great, okay,” you immediately felt better.

“So, what do we do here?”

“You’ve never been to a drive-in theater before?”

“Never.”

“Well, some people stay inside the car with the windows rolled down, but that’s only if they have a bench for a seat so they can sit really close to each other. I don’t have that so I chose the bed. We can sit anywhere we want,” you began to demonstrate by moving all around the trunk to show him before settling right… next… to… him, “even here.” You go to move, but he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“You can stay here if you want.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” you cleared your throat, trying to get the awkwardness out of the way. It was clear Spencer didn’t do this too often which was fine, but you wanted to move past the awkward phase.

“Aren’t these movies two hours long each?”

“Yeah, or more, which I don’t know why Gideon thought getting us tickets for this day was a smart idea. He knows I fall asleep during movies all the time.”

“How do you know Gideon?” he asked. Your intentions were to lean against the car, but you shifted too much and ended up against his side, which he didn’t seem to care. Opening the bag of candy you got, you popped one in your mouth and chewed.

“He was the lead agent on my case,” you finished once you swallowed.

“What do you mean?”

“My sister was murdered by her boss since he kept harassing her at work and she would always deny him. He was the one who helped me through losing her. I mean, she wasn’t my blood sister since my parents were fostering a bunch of kids, but she was my sister. The man killed himself before Gideon and his team could get to him, but at least we know he did it. He had the whole plan and more laid out at his apartment.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” he said quietly.

“You couldn’t have. It’s fine. The more I talk about it, the less it hurts. I was the one who led Gideon to his apartment since I saw the whole thing after it happened. After that, Gideon and I stayed in touch and would occasionally ask me for help on cases. It’s why he wanted me to join the BAU.”

“That must have been so difficult.”

“It was, but I’m glad I have it. I get to help a lot of people because of it,” you grinned. The first movie started playing, and you and Spencer got comfortable enough to sit through four and a half hours of both movies.

“Did you know due to how repressed Americans were in the 1950s, Psycho is actually the first American film to show a toilet on screen. Consequently, it’s the first American film in which we hear the toilet flush,” you informed him.

“I didn’t know that, no,” he chuckled. 

Halfway through the movie, Spencer began to feel your weight getting heavier as you gave up holding yourself up as to not crush him. He looked over at you to see your eyes closed and your mouth parted. He didn’t want to move for fear of waking you, but he couldn’t help but give a smile at your state.

Walking into work the next day, you couldn’t help but recall the events of yours and Spencer’s date. You did fall asleep halfway in the first movie, and you didn't know why he didn’t wake you since it was supposed to be a date. Nonetheless, when it was all over, you two got some ice cream which was way better. Gideon did a good job sparking up the flame between you and Spencer, but it was now up to you two to keep it lit.

“You fell asleep?” JJ laughed as you, her, and Penelope walked down the hallway to the bullpen. 

Of course, you told your two best friends what happened on the date. You three were getting closer which is why you thought it would be good to engage in some healthy gossip.

“Yes, I did. I always do. But Spencer and I went out for ice cream afterwards which was way better,” you chuckled.

“Did he kiss you?” Penelope asked with a grin.

“No, he didn’t. Well, not on the lips. He did kiss me on my cheek, but it’s a first date and I don’t even know if it’ll happen again. I mean, he hasn’t really talked about it. We haven’t had time to really talk about what this might mean. I can tell he’s nervous and tense which can either mean he’s trying to find a reason to let me down gently, or he likes me but won’t do anything about it,” you explained as you walked into the bullpen.

Spencer was on the other end of it talking with Derek, and when you two made eye contact, you gave him a small wave. He stiffly waved back, and you looked away with a sigh.

“His emotional state is all over the place, but I don’t know what it means,” you shrugged.

“Reid, Morgan, Y/L/N,” Hotch announced when he and Elle exited his office, “document's up on the screen regarding the kidnapping of Trish Davenport.”

“That’s my cue,” Penelope left the group.

“Keep me updated,” JJ whispered.

“Have you read them yet?” Spencer asked as you three walked up the stairs to follow the duo.

“Yeah, I got a copy from the document examiner.”

“What does it say?” you wondered.

“That we've got until 8:00 tonight,” he sighed, closing the door once everyone was inside the briefing room. The note that was left for Evan Davenport, the father of the kidnapped girl, was up on the screen.

“You will follow instructions carefully. You will do this to ensure the safety of your daughter. You will wait for the call. You will answer the call at 8:00 P.M. You will write down the instructions and follow them to the letter,” Spencer read it word for word.

“That gives us less than 9 hours to get to Connecticut, work up victimology on Trish Davenport, and prepare her father for the ransom drop.”

“How do we know the letter is real?” you asked.

“The handwriting is a match for Trish's,” he explained as he showed it. “He dictated it to her, and they found saline on the paper.”

“Her tears,” Gideon muttered.

“He never says ‘I’. He doesn't say, ‘I will call’. He says, ‘you will answer the call’. He's distancing himself from the kidnapping. If he said ‘I’, he'd be taking responsibility for it,” Derek noted.

“There's also another missing element. No mention of the police.”

“Ransom notes almost always forbid police involvement,” Elle stated.

“So, is he expecting law enforcement to get involved?” you wondered.

“Well, if he's expecting us, let's not disappoint him,” Gideon smiled.

“Is everyone familiar with the father?” Hotch asked as he passed out the case files while the plane was in the air.

“Evan Davenport, U.S. Attorney, executive assistant southern district, New York, widower. He assigned U.S. Marshals three times in the past ten years due to death threats,” Spencer spit out the facts.

"Is the protective detail still current?” Derek inquired.

“Around the clock, but Trish declined protection when she turned eighteen.”

“But why kill the boyfriend?” you asked, crossing your legs in your seat.

“Well, if I'm gonna kidnap someone I know, I have to take out whoever's with them. It says here she's got a sister,” Derek stated.

“Cheryl.”

“Any problems? Were they close?”

“Yeah, they’re identical twins,” you showed everyone the picture of both sisters side by side. “Which makes me think was Trish the target or was Cheryl?”

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[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

 (Wednesday, 11:00 am)

  Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

���Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

[aprilsrant]

Be brave, little wizard.

PAIRING: Neville Longbottom x Aunt!Reader (platonic, of course) | Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) and Alice have been best friends since they were kids, way before Hogwarts. After everythin that happened to her and Frank, (Y/N) is the one that takes care of Neville.

WORD COUNT: 2,9k

WARNINGS: pretty sad, angst, character death, change of canon (big detail but i think it was necessary), mentions of Neville’s parents being tortured, reader kills someone, ups. If there are more and there aren’t here, please tell me.

A/N: This took me ages to even start and I’m really sorry, but now that’s here I feel so proud of it. This has to be the fic of my own that I love the most even if I broke my own heart while writing it. The end is kind of rush because it was almost 3am, sorry.

English is not my first language.

MASTERLIST | WORK IN PROGRESS.

Gif below is not mine.

One could never find Alice Fortescue and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) far away from one another, one of them would always follow the other. Both girls became joined by the hip after a particularly hot day in July when (Y/N) and her family visited the Ice Cream Parlour on Diagon Alley, owned by Alice’s uncle, Florean. 

After that, Alice and (Y/N) did everything together meaning it wasn’t a surprise to anyone that their friendship only grew stronger on their days at Hogwarts. They had their fair share of fights of course, people always do, whether the matter is relevant or silly, but they knew better: arguments happen and proving your point might be important, but friendships hold more value than being right. 

Although the Wizarding World was turning more dark and dangerous with every passing second because of Voldemort’s hunger for power and his ruthless Death Eaters hunting down muggleborns and what they liked to call blood traitors, Alice and (Y/N) still tried to find joy and happiness in the littlest of things, exciting over Alice and Frank’s wedding, daydreaming about the day they could get a proper and big ceremony, instead of a small gathering with the closest of friends and family members. 

On July, 30th of 1980, (Y/N) understood what Alice was to her. The girl with the plump, always happy looking face was, not only her closest confidant, but her sister as well. They may not have been related by blood, yet they loved each other like family. Thick as thieves, as the muggles would say.

(Y/N) had barely sat in the brown, ugly chair beside her best friend’s hospital bed, with her newborn boy asleep and unaware of the silent tears running through both of the girl’s cheeks, when Alice confided. 

“We want you to be Neville’s Godmother.”

Her eyes stopped looking at the baby boy tucked in her arms to glance towards Alice’s direction, who was now being hugged from behind by Frank, both of them with large grins on their faces and reassuring expressions.

“M-Me?”

“Well, of course you, (Y/N)!,” exclaimed Frank before letting go of Alice for a second and getting shushed by both of them to keep him from disturbing Neville, “you are practically Alice’s sister after so many years of friendship,” he continued, now in a more quiet voice.

“He’s right, you are my sister and I can’t think of anyone else being better than you as his godmother.”

Several hours later, Harry Potter, son of Lily Evans and James Potter, was born. (Y/N) had gone to their room a day after to deliver her congratulations along with the ones from Alice and Frank, encountering Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew hunched down over the crib in which Harry was sleeping peacefully, staring at his small frame and his tiny chest barely rising with every breath. 

None of them imagined how fast things could change for the worse. 

(Y/N) knew Alice’s choice of career was dangerous, being an Auror was never an easy task but with Death Eaters and Voldemort bringing chaos and destruction to their world, the job was even harder. Still, she never thought she would be escorted to St. Mungo’s after receiving the news that her best friend, her sister, and her husband had been tortured by a group of blood supremacists seeking for their Master, not after also learning about the Potter’s deaths and how they’d been betrayed.  

A healer explained to her what had happened to them, but she didn’t care, she didn’t want to listen; she didn’t have the strength for it. She could only sit beside Alice and grab her hand, and cry and beg someone, anyone, to bring her back. 

“Alice, please, I need you, please,” (Y/N) repeated between sobs, almost like a mantra, ”Neville needs you, he is your son and- and he needs his mother, please, Alice. You can’t leave us.”

During her fourth day in the hospital, which she would only leave to eat and shower because of Augusta Longbottom’s insistence, a diveleshed Remus Lupin walked through the doors of the Janus Thickey Ward. He sat down beside (Y/N) and neither of them talked for a long time, until Remus decided he needed to say something.

“I don’t have much to say, (Y/N), but I know how close you were and I’m so sorry,” the boy whispered while reaching to grab her hand in an attempt to comfort her.

“I’m sorry too, Remus,” she whispered back, biting her lip and trying to not cry again,” neither of them deserved this.”

Neither did us, the pair thought.

“Where is Harry?,” (Y/N) asked him, suddenly remembering that the Potters had left a child too, “is he staying with you?”

“N-No, no. He is with Lily’s sister,” Remus answered after swallowing harshly, “what about Neville?”

“Augusta, Frank’s mum, will take care of him.” (Y/N) glanced over the old woman sitting beside her son while her grandchild rested on his crib. “I’ve been thinking about asking her if I can move in with them, I- I don’t feel like being alone right now.”

“You are always welcomed to visit me,” he assured in a low voice, as if he wasn’t sure of how she would react, “I know we weren’t the closest of friends back in Hogwarts, but- but you can count with me, we can count with each other.”

The sixteen year old (Y/N) would have been a stuttering mess if Remus Lupin had said that to her back in their sixth year at Hogwarts. Alice would have laughed at her embarrassed expression, joked about her sweaty hands and insisted that the Gryffindor returned her feelings, to which she would refuse to accept.

Now her best friend was in the hospital, a place she could never leave, her husband in the same condition and their son would have to grow up without his parents. She would have the chance to watch Neville first steps, to hear his first words, to celebrate the arrival of his Hogwarts letter at the age of eleven, to compliment his achievements, to just be there for him every time he’ll need it. It wasn’t fair and she would give her soul in an instant to anyone that claimed they could bring Alice and Frank back, even if it meant not seeing them again.

Taking care of Neville was easier than (Y/N) had expected. He’d only cry if he was hungry or if his diapers needed change, and for moments the woman wished for him to be more like the kind of babies who won’t let you sit down and relax, so then she wouldn’t have to force herself to block the blinding rage, the never ending desire for vengeance and, the worst of all, the guilt sinking down in her stomach and numbing her mind every single time Neville would look at her and smile, or whenever a giggle would escape his mouth after watching (Y/N) conjure tiny, golden lights with her wand. 

The first time Neville properly talked, which meant he didn’t just babble like he usually did, (Y/N) swallowed all of her tears in front of Augusta and only let them out behind her room’s closed door after dinner. That same night, she sent a message through her Patronus to Remus, asking if she could Apparate in his flat right away. When she received an affirmative answer, she didn’t waste any time, quickly informing Augusta where she was going in case of an emergency.

The minute she was in front of his door, she’d started to regret her decision. What was she thinking? They weren’t particularly close, they would see each other from time to time since he would visit Neville once or twice every two weeks and he would go with her to see Alice and Frank, but never really talked about the important things, just making light conversation and asking each other how they were doing, both of them knowing that neither would answer the question truthfully.

After coming to the conclusion that she needed to do this, needed someone to confide in, (Y/N) raised her fist and knocked on the door two times, waited, and knocked again —his idea so they could know it was the other behind the door—. 

On the other side of the threshold was Remus Lupin with his wand pointed towards her.

“Bowtruckle,” she said confidently, although her hand was clutching tightly around her wand.

“Thunderbird.”

She loathed the idea of having safe words, but he had insisted on it because of the few Death Eaters still on the run and causing havoc. Even if she’ll never mention it to him, the second the word she had picked up for him to say left his mouth, tranquility invaded her system, calming down most of her fears. 

“We could have chosen better words,” (Y/N) commented while she entered his apartment, which looked like he had tried to tidy everything up before her arrival but had failed miserably. The space was small, not a problem since he lived alone, but that meant you could see all of the rooms. There were mugs on every surface, clothes thrown over the sofa and a bin filled to the top with chocolate wrappers. 

“The whole place is a mess, I’m sorry,” he rushed to say while flicking his wand and enchanted the cups to clean themselves, different items of clothes, mostly sweaters, flew across the flat and ended up in the laundry basket, “I-I wasn’t expecting you to come today.”

“It’s good, Remus, I don’t mind,” (Y/N) assured, following him and sitting down on the maroon sofa that occupied pretty much all of the living room, “I should be the one apologising for showing up with such short notice and at this hour, but I… I guess I needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh, okay. Did something happen? Is Neville alright?”

“Yes, yes, he’s fine, brilliant actually,” she answered quickly to not worry him,” the thing is, he said his first word today and, and, well, he called me mum.”

“And now you feel guilty,” Remus assumed. (Y/N) had filled with tears once more, blurring her sight and dripping down her cheeks. When she started to sob, shaking her shoulders while her hands tried to muffle the sounds, Remus understood it wasn’t just guilt, but the grief she hadn’t let herself experience. Pulling her closer to him, Remus rested his chin on top of her head while his arms embraced her figure.

“I- I don’t know what to do, Remus,” she whimpered, “I’m not, I’m not trying to replace her, I swear.” Her hands found his old, forest green sweater, fingers clutching desperately to the fabric while her cries increased. “I could never replace her.”

“You are not replacing Alice, (Y/N),” he denied. His fingertips rubbing her arm tenderly, knowing nothing would be enough to comfort but still trying, just for her to know he was there. “You’re doing your best and there’s nothing wrong with Neville seeing you as a mother figure.”

“I don’t want him to,” the words left her mouth in a whisper, as if she was scared of what Remus would think of her for saying them out loud, for crossing her mind, “I shouldn’t be his mother figure because she should be here. She should be the one to feed him, to play with him, to get to know him and- and she is not, she is not here, Remus.”

Neville is four years old when he asks his Auntie (Y/N), because yes, he understands that she is not her mother, about the middle size portrait hung in the living room. The little boy doesn’t recognise the man nor the woman carrying a baby painted in it, for they don’t like his aunt, or granny or Remus, (Y/N)’s friend who always gives him chocolate when Augusta is not in the room.

(Y/N)’s heart beats loudly after hearing her godson’s question, the tightness in her chest making her feel trapped. Sitting down Neville beside her on the sofa, she glanced down to the boy, who was the spitting image of Alice.

“The people in the picture are your parents, Nev,” (Y/N) began in a soft tone, her fingers playing tenderly with the curls of his brown hair, “and the baby the woman, your mother, is carrying is you of course.”

“Why aren’t they here?,” he asked after climbing and settling on her lap, his head raised to look at his aunt.

“Because they- they need to be in another place.”

“Will they- will they come back, auntie?”

“I don’t know, Nev,” she lied while hugging him and planting a delicate kiss on one of his round cheeks, the lump on her throat growing. 

She’d hoped he didn’t ask more questions or else she’ll have to explain the tears. He didn’t.

(Y/N) wouldn’t dare to say that the pain and the guilt abandoned her completely, but with each passing year things got just a little bit easier and her heart less heavy. 

The first time Neville visited his parents wasn’t so terrible as she had imagined. (Y/N) had put him aside before entering the doors leading to the Janus Thickey Ward and explained, one more time, the situation to him, making sure he was ready.

“You need to be brave, little wizard. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

Neville was nine years old when Alice gave him a gum wrapper, something that quickly became a “tradition” between the two of them, mother and son. She would never recover and she would never watch Neville grow up and become a man, but such simple gesture showed him consistency and, most importantly, that Alice’s love for him could never be taken away from her. 

People would pity the death most of the time, (Y/N) had been guilty of it, but after everything that had happened she realized it was so much worse for those left behind. You are expected to overcome your grief and move on with your life, but the void and the mark someone is capable of leaving in you never goes away and it’s the reason why it hurts so much to lose them.

Although (Y/N) hadn’t been alone, Augusta and Neville would never understand her pain and she’d never understand theirs for they were very different. Therefore, Remus Lupin became her rock in the darkest times and she became his, confiding in each other during their most vulnerable moments. 

They would spend entire days together, playing with Neville and telling him stories of their years at Hogwarts; drinking tea near the fireplace during winter while discussing books, politics, muggle movies or whatever topic they could think of; celebrating birthdays just for the sake of Neville, who loved the cake and giving presents. It was clear that falling in love with Remus hadn’t been much difficult for her, it was, instead, getting him to open up and let her in his life in a whole new way. 

(Y/N) respected his decision, it was better to have Remus as a close friend and companion than not have him at all. She would stay with him on the days near the full moon —he told her after quite a few shots of Firewhisky and she admitted she’d been suspecting for a long time now—, look after his wounds and sleep on his sofa, because she could never take his bed in those nights (especially the rough ones). 

On May 2nd, he left her behind.

However, she had barely escaped the claws of death, her only thought being Neville and how she needed to stay alive for him. 

Bellatrix Lestrange was the last Death Eater standing, the mad woman fighting Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger in the middle of the Great Hall, while Harry Potter faced Voldemort all by himself.

(Y/N) didn’t know how or from where she had gathered the strength to send all of the three girls behind her with a swift motion of her wand, but seeing Lestrange, one of the Death Eaters responsible for her best friend’s fate, shouting the Killing Curse to the Weasley girl had ignited the fire she’d tried so long to extinguish. Perhaps because Ginny reminded her of Lily for a second, or because she was tired of watching innocent people die around her.

She was now standing a couple of metres away from Bellatrix, the one that’d tortured her sister into insanity, taking away all of her life. But (Y/N) wouldn’t become one of her victims, she wouldn’t be a name on a list and she wouldn’t let Bellatrix take another person from Neville’s life.

It hadn’t been easy and she should have felt sick of it, but the lifeless body of Bellatrix Lestrange and the roars of people all over the place, brought her a bittersweet feeling of satisfaction. 

Sitting down beside Neville after the final battle finished, she threw one of her arms around his shoulders and kissed his forehead, silently thanking whoever had watched over him. 

“Earlier, I saw you on the Courtyard defending a group of students from the Dementors,” he began, “and your Patronus was so, so extraordinary. What did you think of, aunt?”

(Y/N) allowed herself to smile softly.

“I thought of the day you were born, of course.”

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[shiteatinggrin]

Hi, so this is my contribution to my first jilytober, I wrote some canon fic, it is kinda sad so I guess you could call this angst? I don’t know, I’m not that good at categorizing fic. Anyways, here is a love letter to James Potter from Lily Evans because he just died under her eyes. Wrote this fast, so I can’t vouch for the quality of this. This is almost 3k of Lily being a sap, so enjoy! Find it here on Ao3.

Bastard with a shit eating grin

Do you remember our first kiss? I can still feel the cold air of winter seeping through the walls of Greenhouse Number Three and you and I laughing together. It was not an unusual thing anymore, but some people could have been surprised, because we had had some big feuds over the years, the Dormitories Dashing and Destroying Disagreement, the Inflating Inner Ear Incident, the Flying Fiona Fight and the Severus Snape Saga consisting of the big highlights. However frustrating it was, we always had fun together, didn’t we?

Now we were falling in love dutifully without realising we had always been meant for each other in some way. I was all colors: glorious red hair, pink cheeks, pale green eyes and horrendously yellow socks. You were all teeth: shining smiles, arrogant smirking, belly-laughing in a silent room or grinding them in concentration for the task you were committing to (hyper-focusing on) at the moment.

‘Oi, Evans, can I copy your homework?’ You would say that practically every day.

‘How about a please, Potter? Might do you some good.’ You watched me smear some soil on my neck when I scratched it and said nothing. I discovered it in Transfiguration two hours later. Crazy how we can only remember the smallest details years later and the big things just go right over our heads. I could only ever remember the small details with you, because whatever we said to each other was never important, only the talking to you part was.

‘Oh Lily, dearest flower to my heart that I worship beyond any rainbow, might I please please please see your diligently done homework so that I can rewrite it because, being the idiot that I am, I was off gallivanting with Sirius yesterday instead of being a good student.’ You added pouts and made doe eyes for good measure as if I wouldn’t already have grabbed the moon from the sky’s grubby hands every night if you had asked it.

I would stifle a smile and put some piece of parchment in your extended hand without even looking, sometimes it was the homework if I was feeling generous, if I were more in a creative mood I might give you a stupid doodle or some kind of letter that would say something like: ‘Dear Prongs, you are an asshat. Looking forward to our rounds tonight so I can kick your ass in Gobstones. Now listen to Sprout, will you? Lily’ with a stupid heart over the i that basically meant PS: I love you. Finally, I’d say something like:

‘I would have laughed, but your head might inflate so much you’d have neck pain for a week.’

You let yourself smile then and continued to jest me, hoping to wrench a smile out of the beast (you always did it literally two minutes later, it is funny how easy it is to win when you give yourself such small tasks).

But that day, amazingly, we broke out of our routine.

At night we would always hang out together in the common room with our friends and slowly the people would fizzle out, having gone up to their dormitories and I would stay on the couch with the urge to kiss you with some dumb excuse not to leave on the tip of my tongue. I painted my nails or read some book or talked to you extensively about something I’d learned recently and you would listen with concentrated eyes and a much too easy smile.

Then you would start talking and when you started some story it would never finish, even now you can’t even recall something as simple as Harry’s first smile without going on for five full minutes without stopping. In these nights I would try to look like I wasn’t paying too much attention to you, like I was detached from everything pertaining to your person, but being young and in love doesn’t exactly give you the best skills in subtlety and so you would ask me if I was paying attention and I would blush and you would make some quip about redheads and their skins and everything would go back to normal.

And out of the blue, when I was talking about getting some sugar quills next time we were in Hogsmeade and how difficult the Ancient Runes paper was, you kissed me. Your hands flew to my hair and mine to cup your face and you pressed your body hard against mine. I’d never seen you so hungry for anything before, it seemed like you had been starving for a thousand years before our lips found each other. I had kissed three boys before you, and none of them could compare to the feeling of ecstasy of your mouth against mine. No one will ever compare to James Potter, right? That’s what you used to say in fourth year when you made a particular lucky goal in Quidditch or when you caught the Snitch in mid-air even though you were a Chaser and we were in Potions classf. Is it weird that I miss that?

I don’t think there ever was a time when I didn’t love you, all electric hair and much too quick brain and hundred stupid nicknames that didn’t mean anything unless you explained them in excruciating detail and you would smile too much and talk too loud and walk too fast and I wouldn’t feel so out of place with you because I did the exact same things. Petunia was always prim and proper and I always tried to be like her and please everyone but you taught me how to be myself and how to blossom into my personality without even knowing it. With you I’ve never been too much, I was always just enough.

Everything always came so easy to you, and I’ve always hated you for it. Now I think that I can’t appreciate enough how you could always share that with everyone around you, that incredible luck that could get you out of the worst of predicaments. I guess it all caught up to us today, but I don’t mind now. I’ll love you forever, come what may.

My heart is full of wanted posters of you: dead or alive.

I can’t remember the first time I’ve really noticed you, because you were always in the periphery, doing stupid things and getting in trouble and beaming for no reason at all and the memory of your presence was impossible to shake, but I still remember the first time we really became friends. We were fifteen by the lake and my best friend betrayed me under the glistening sun, the following day I had the worst grade in Transfiguration I’d ever gotten. You found me crying by a window on the fifth floor and apologized a hundred times (which I couldn’t have cared less at the moment), but you still went and talked to McGonagall and she agreed to let me retake the test in the afternoon and offered me a biscuit.

In seventh year, a girl told me that she was so jealous of the fact that I was the only one that could make James Potter change and mature. As if your life revolved around me. I thought of your sick father and the fact that Sirius had appeared on your front door one day and never left your house and with a twinge in my heart thought of the war coming and I couldn’t believe my ears. With all this going on, and she still thought you’d only change for a girl?

I’m not proud of this, but I might have shouted at her and maybe, perhaps I was the one that sent a silencing charm her way, but who could really tell? Not her, because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

I wonder if I ever told you that. Probably, because you know everything interesting there is to know about me. You even know the most boring facts about me, because they amuse you just the same. You know I like peonies the best in spite of my name and that my first kiss was with Snape when I was eight, you know that I wiped my mouth right after and didn’t know yet what love was. You know that my favourite band is Hate Potion and that my guilty pleasure is Celestina Warbeck. You know that I wanted to name our son Harry because of a muggle TV show I used to watch with Petunia when I was seven on Saturday mornings and that when I fight my favorite charm is Expelliarmus. You were at my side when I killed my first (and last) Death Eater and that I cried for a week afterward. You comforted me for five hours when Marlene and her entire family were massacred in their own home, the same one where I had spent a good chunk of my summers to avoid Petunia. You know that I only ever paint my toenails blue and that my favorite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. You know all about my relationship with my sister and how she used to be my best friend and that we used to dance in bathing suits around the sprinkler and fake being witches to make potions out of mud and flowers and how she never forgave when this dream became true for me but not for her. You know all about my failed relationships, with Tuney, Sev and my ex-boyfriend who left me because he didn’t want to be associated with a muggleborn. You know I’m absolute shite at drawing and that I can’t dance to save my life and you laugh at me when I’m drunk and try to follow Peter’s choreography to some dumb song I don’t know. Last year, you helped paint flowers all over my bookcase because I wanted it to be unique and just mine.

When Harry was born, you refused to sleep for two days because he was so cute when he slept against your chest, but you finally fell asleep while cutting onions for dinner and I had to intervene.

One of my favourite things about you is that I have never seen anyone so full of life. You smile like nothing has ever gone wrong in your entire life and you are more loyal than any Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen, you would die for any of us in a heartbeat and we would do the same for you anytime. My love for you is so big I wonder how it even fits in our little house in Godric’s Hollow. You painted our walls burnt orange because you said it reminded you of my hair and I wonder if it is weird to fall in love with you even more over some colour choices. You complete me because as much as you are a complete idiot, you still recommend the best books and are smart enough to plan the best pranks, but too smug to make anyone else take the blame. You had always been my favourite person in the whole universe until Harry arrived, but he is so much like you that it is like meeting you at a much earlier age. He has the same laugh as you, you know?

I cannot believe how brave you are, because traditional courage requires you to go into battle and protect everyone you love like a lioness does her cubs, but you have found the energy to keep going even trapped in this house with an infant without being able to help your friends outside. You go everyday against your most basic instincts and you manage to have so much fun with us, but I see the tired bags under your eyes and the fact that you lose your train of thoughts sometimes and I know that you’re thinking about the war and the security of the boys, I know they are your family and it would kill you if one of them ever fell into battle, yet you never complain, yet you never lose hope. I love you so much my feeble heart can’t contain it all. My love for you is as inevitable as the blue of the sky, as the oxygen in our lungs, as the passage of time, I love you so much that when I see you it is like coming home, your wild hair and round glasses and mischievous eyes and soft voice and much too long limbs and wide chest and calloused hands and smile like an answer to all my problems.

No one has ever made me feel as secure as you and now I know I have to be strong for you, because you are the one that’s fallen, like a marionnette whose strings were cut. The coffee stain on the right arm of your shirt is the last thing I will see of you, or maybe it is a bit of your wild inky hair. I will never be able to look at the night sky the same.

I can hear him in the stairs, and all I can think about is you and Harry this morning, my two favourite people in the world, sat on the carpet and puffs of colour coming out of your wand, your laugh coming out of his mouth, one single tooth poking out, little chubby legs shaking from laughter, the wand you stupidly left on the carpet (the wand you didn’t care wasn’t in your hands because you didn’t care if you died, you just wanted us to live). Your last gift to me was the most precious of all: you gave me the time to say goodbye to Harry.

‘Mama loves you. Dada loves you, Harry.’ That is the only thing I find to say, because it is true and my heart is breaking, I can hear it thundering, collapsing like a dying star, you are dead, I will die, Harry has to live. I cannot withstand the thought.

I have never loved anyone better than the two of you. Apparently I never will, but at least I have known real love, the one that comes from daily life, that never dies because it is kept alive by stupid little things that make us who we are. Crazy how we only remember the little things and the big ones just go right over our heads.

I will remember the smallest things about you, like the little scar in your left eyebrow, the weird placement of your thumb on your wand, the feel of your skin against mine and the way it tanned in the summer while mine just became redder and redder, the sound of your laugh when Sirius said something funny and the way you always pushed your glasses up your nose with your middle finger, the way you sit in any chair like it’s a throne, the way you answered questions in class without raising your hand, the way you held a book open when you were reading it, your last day where you wanted to make pasta and I wanted steak, the way you would mess with your hair not because you thought it would make you look like you just stepped off your broom, but because you were nervous or restless. On your good days it would stand flatter on your head and I had to pass my hand through it because otherwise it just didn’t feel like you. You laughed too much when Sirius decided to read Crime and Punishment to Harry as a bedtime story and your son wouldn’t go to sleep. You would tell him stories of your childhood disguised as muggle magical adventures and I became a knight, Sirius a prince and Snape a dragon. You would call my cat Fiona the ginger cat, as if Fiona wasn’t enough and she needed an extra title. I guess she was royalty after all. You always tried to make me believe that she loved you more than me, even though I’d had her since I was eleven and you once made her fly across the common room just to annoy me.

Do you remember this morning? The last time you ever kissed me? You made me eggs and tea for breakfast and sang some Beatle song for me in the most off-key voice. You stole the bacon from my plate, laughing from across the dinner table. I was so happy because you were in a good mood today, you didn’t seem to feel so trapped and it was Halloween and you were trying to convince me to dress Harry up as a muggle magician, which I thought was the worst joke you’d ever made. You kissed me on the mouth and we settled on a pumpkin costume. Your lips tasted of stolen bacon and orange juice (you’ve never been much of a morning tea person).

I have never loved anyone better, and apparently I never will.

The house is so silent now that you are gone. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths. Harry seems to think this is some kind of game. He is all that we have left now. All that will ever be left of us. To love is to create, right? We have created the most beautiful person in the world, it should be the only thing that counts.

I love you. I could try to make this poetic, the love thing, but I think the most poetic way it can be is on its own. I don’t know any words more powerful than I love you. I love you and you are dead. I love you and I will die soon. I love our son and he will live. Life is as simple as that. I love you and soon we’ll be together again. Miss you already.

[holylulusworld]

No one gets to see my weak side

Request: Would you please write for Bucky & reader, wherein he's in love with Natasha but is forced to marry reader, he's never home ignores her even when she tries hard. She even must work as a waitress for money, one-night Brock tries to rape her, Steve arrives just in time and saves her. They become good friends. It's on you if you want her to stay with Bucky or get married to Steve. It could be an au where they are not Avengers.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Mobster!Reader, Mobster!Steve x Mobster!Reader

Warnings: angst, feisty reader, language, smut, unprotected sex, polyamory, betrayal

Consolation Bride Masterlist

Three months later…

“Just like that, taking me so good, doll.” Steve bites your neck as his hands hold yours pinned to the bed. “I love fucking you in the morning after you wake up.”

Purring against your throat the tall mobster drive into you with full force, enjoying you cry out with every thrust.

“Fuck, Stevie.” Sweat is dripping down your back and you hear Steve pant heavily on top of you, but you don’t care at all.

Everyone passing your bedroom by will know you are fucking your husband’s best friend and you care even less as Steve brings you to the edge of an orgasm in no time.

“Let go, Baby. Come all over me and cry out my name…” Steve slams into you, stilling as he can feel your pussy contort around him. “I love the way you moan my name…”

Laughing you enjoy the way Steve kisses you after the rough sex. He was more than needy after not seeing you for over four weeks but now he’s gentle, caring and you lean into his touch.

“Steve, hmm…feels good. We need to talk about something.” Steve shifts his weight off you, gently pulling and you roll onto your back, grabbing the blanket to cover your sweaty body. “I think we have a problem.”

“Is it Bucky? Does he want us to stop rolling in the hay?” Smirking Steve watches you snuggle into his chest. 

“I think Bucky finally accepted I want you too, Steve. I’m concerned about someone I thought I can trust but lately, I got the feeling, she’s playing me.” Sitting up you wrap your arms around your body, loving Steve gently kisses your shoulder.

“Who is playing you, Y/N? I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember the girls we saved? Especially Gamora and her sister?” Steve nods, now listening closely as you keep on talking.

“I thought I found a friend, Steve. After I lost Wanda…” Sniffling you wipe a few tears away. “Wanda was my only friend and losing her was hard. It felt as if I lost a sister. Gamora, she needed my help and over the last months we became friends.” Slamming your fist into the mattress you laugh about your stupidity.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Baby.” Steve’s hands slide over your back, gently caressing your skin to calm you.

“Bucky will hate me for sure, if not at least laugh about me…” Sighing you turn around to crawl onto Steve’s lap, resting your head against his shoulder. “I told her about Brock, how Bucky treated me, Steve…”

“I get it, Y/N.” Rubbing your back your lover listens to your silent sobs.

“I thought I can trust her, Stevie. She got abused and treated badly by men, I experienced Brock and James's rejection. I wanted someone to talk to and it felt good to tell someone else than you or Bucky.” Falling silent you look up at Steve.

“That’s no crime, Y/N. I assume there’s more?” Cocking a brow Steve waits for you to tell him what’s bugging you.

“The problem is Steve, I let Thor run a background check about the club, the girls and all. Every girl has a sob story. Abuse, kidnapping, some were victims of human trafficking…” Grabbing your phone from the nightstand you show Steve the files.

“Gamora has one too…no problem.” Steve swipes through the documents, not knowing why you believe your friend could be a traitor.

“Steve, look at her life. Every girl has months or even years in which they disappeared. Gamora is different. We have information for all her years in life, that’s fishy. Even I disappeared for a few months after my mom’s death.” Steve looks at your data once again, wrinkling his forehead.

“Shit, you think she’s a fed?” 

“I think so, Steve. Lately, she started asking me questions about you, Bucky and Tony. Before she was just listening or telling me stuff about her life, what happened in that club, but I talked to the other girls. Gamora arrived a few weeks before we burned the club down.” 

Blanket wrapped around your body you get off the bed to walk toward the showers. “I’ll have a shower and then we should talk to Thor and Bucky, maybe even call Tony. If the feds are after us, they need to know, and I’ll have to play Gamora.”

----

“That’s not funny.” Bucky paces around the room, blinking a few times to let your information sink in. “You told her about me and our marriage?”

“I needed a friend and…” Jumping up you point toward Bucky. “I missed Wanda, okay. We always talked about everything going on and now I have no one left.”

Balling his leather-gloved hands into fists Bucky rolls his shoulders. His eyes darken as he can see the hurting all over your face. “She betrayed you, Y/N. I’ll kill her.”

“NO!” Walking toward your husband you move your hands over his black leather jacket, feeling the rough fabric. “If we kill her, the feds will know we are behind her death, Bucky. We need to be smart.”

“Y/N is right. As much as I want to kill that bitch, we need to be careful. After the disaster with your arm and all…” Steve leans against your desk, sighing as Bucky looks at his friend, murder in his eyes.

“She hurt my wife and betrayed her. I don’t care…” Your lips silence Bucky and you fist his jacket to not let him protest.

“Bucky calm down. I’m angry too, disappointed, to say the least, but Gamora got nothing to use against us. I only told her about your infidelity and that someone attacked me one night. I lied and said he escaped.”

“Good. We need to make sure she believes that all is under control and we do not know she’s a fucking traitor.” Bucky’s hands cover yours, squeezing them tightly as you nod, blinking the tears away.

“We should feed her with false information. Maybe let her know some unimportant facts about our business. Nothing she can use against Steve, and us. We should inform Tony too. He’s mostly busy with his technique crap, still, his business ain’t that legal.” Bucky wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back as Steve did before.

“I’ll do anything to bring her down. She faked to be my friend, betrayed me after I was close to show her my weak side. I will not let her get away with that.” Bucky laughs into your neck, kissing it softly.

“Okay. We need to find something to make her believe you are a reliable source for information about our business. If she believes her source died she might strike. Steve and I need time to talk to Tony.” 

“Do you want to do it in Chicago style?” Smirking Bucky nods. 

“I’ll talk to Tony and make sure he will fake some nice information about our new favorite federal agent. After we are done with her she’ll need to find a new job. Maybe she can dance for us…” Laughing you walk back toward your desk, sitting onto your chair you dial Gamora’s number.

“Hey, Gam. How about we have a lady’s night tomorrow night? Steve and Bucky have better things to do so I’ll be free.” You lie while Steve dials Tony’s number to make sure the genius among the mobsters will be able to create a construct of lies to bring Gamora down…

----

“So…Tony faked transactions to her bank account. Faked pictures of her with Brock’s best buddies. We will bring her down in no time. Tomorrow you’ll give her the false information and her boss will not be amused if the mission fails.”

Smirking Bucky massages your shoulders, groaning as you moan when he presses his thumbs into your muscles.

“Did you ever dream of being someone else?” Closing your eyes, you feel Bucky’s lips travel along your shoulder, nipping at your skin as his hands raise your butt to press into you. “God, James…”

“I only dream of you and feeling you around me…” Sliding slowly in and out of you Bucky moans into your neck. “If you want to run away with me…”

“I think it’s too late…fuck…harder…for running away, Bucky.” Your hands fist the cushions as Bucky starts to slam into you. “Before we could’ve…”

“We still can just drop everything and run.” His hands cover yours, gripping them tightly as he angles his cock to hit your sweet spot. “That’s it, Baby. Come for me…”

“Bucky…” Your voice hoarse, desperate you cry out his name, hating you can’t stay away from James. “I want to bring her down and run my father’s business…”

“You sure…?” Nodding you fall onto the pillow just taking his hard thrusts to feel him fill you moments later.

“I am sure, Bucky. Not as someone forced me, not out of responsibility. I want to do it as this is the life I choose…”

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[someplace-that-is-else]

‘The Art of the Reboot: Why I like Roswell: New Mexico’

In a word: Ugh.

 It was like everywhere I turned, there they were. Remakes. Reboots. Reimaginings.

 Hollywood just could not let it go. I got it. Nostalgia could be a hell of a drug. However…was nothing sacred. Nostalgia was that for a reason. A nice memory from when you were a kid. That time when things were simpler. It was fun. It was vivid with delights. So no one wants such a thing tainted.

 “So when are you watching it?”

 What was the show this time? Charmed. After such a success with superhero shows, The CW was branching out into reboots of old TV shows like Roswell and Charmed. Charmed was a show about three sisters who were part of a long line of witches. It ran on the defunct WB network from 1998-2006 and starred Shannen Doherty, Holly Marie Combs, Alyssa Milano, and (later on) Rose McGowan. All actresses that I liked.

 Great memories were attached to that show. My sister, brother, mother, me, and my nieces and nephew could be counted on to be around the television watching it. I still remembered how my sister loved how fierce the Halliwell sisters dressed. And who did not want to have Prue’s power to move things with your mind…or Piper’s power to freeze…or angst over Phoebe getting a love life. Yeah, good times.

 “I don’t know,” I replied to the question. “I don’t even really want to watch it. Maybe a hatewatch.”

 Hatewatch. When you watched a show because you disliked it so much that you sat there and nitpicked it to death. Something I felt that I would do to Charmed. I just did not see a reason to bring it back.

 That was the same way I felt about the news of Roswell, New Mexico. Old School Roswell was on the WB (and later on UPN) as well, running from 1999 to 2002. I was a late starter to it, drawn in by the potential sci-fi, but who didn’t love the relationship between main alien Max and human teenager Liz or the sparring between alien Michael and feisty Maria? Yeah, I admit that I was curious to see how it would do. I did not have much faith in it. Perhaps just another hate-watch.

 I was wrong. 

 So What Makes It Work: Plot and Character on Roswell New Mexico

 What makes a good reboot?

 Well for one, it could not be a retrace of what came before. Been there, done that. Have the T-shirt. Who would want to see that AGAIN when you already did it? Also like a sequel to a successful movie, most times one cannot beat out the original.

 For another, a good reboot also respected what came before as well as attempted to do something new with the source material which began as a book series by Melinda Metz. A good reboot was a balancing act, a case for nostalgia while being fresh.

 And coming away from the first season of Roswell, New Mexico…it was.

 Old School Roswell was about the idea that aliens were among us and trying to fit in while they explored their origins. They were always in fear of being discovered. At the same time, they could not help, but feel ‘other.’ Into this main alien Max Evans and human Liz Parker fell in love.

 New School Roswell was respectful to that with a twist…Max and Liz (as well as their friends) were all aged up a decade into adulthood versus the high school years of the original. And just like Old School Max pined for Liz, this version of Max had pined for Liz since they were kids. Both Lizs discovered the truth about Max and aliens after being healed by Max. 

Another change that Roswell, New Mexico made…Liz taking back her name. Ortecho. In the books, Liz was of Mexican descent. In the WB/UPN show, Liz was played more like the typical smart teenager. In the reboot, the show never shied away from the fact Liz was of Mexican descent. It explored that fact and how it impacted her in the United States now. Given current events, that made Liz’s family life…her world…EXTREMELY relevant. And most importantly relatable.

 Max feeling his otherness. Liz feeling her otherness. Quite a match. That wrote itself. And the closer they got to each other, the more they (and the viewers) learned about them.

 Anyone who knew me or read my books (https://www.amazon.com/LaTorre-Mays/e/B00E0LUID4) knew that I loved duality. Quite a few characters on Roswell, New Mexico had that. Kyle had gone from typical jock hothead to compassionate doctor. Alien Michael liked to be bad cowboy playboy with the swagger to match to heart on his sleeves guy who loved one guy when he was not projecting an image. Even memories of Liz remembering her sister Rosa (something else different from the WB Roswell) revealed there was more to her sister than meets the eye.

 Speaking of Rosa, the reboot kept something else that the original show had. Mystery mixed with some sci-fi and romance was the plot of the original show. Who was the fourth alien? Why were Max, Michael, and Isobel brought here? What had happened on their old planet? Who were the Skins?

 Roswell, New Mexico continued that plot tradition, but again did its own thing. The Season 1 mystery had to do with the events surrounding Rosa’s death. Was it an accident? If it was not (spoiler alert…it wasn’t) what happened? Who killed Rosa and why? On top of that…who was Rosa really? Good girl? Bad girl with toxic baggage? A misunderstood girl with a bag of secrets not her own? Not only that who was the murderer? The mystery surrounding her death built over Season 1’s 13 episodes. Even better, just when you thought you knew something, something else was revealed or was turned what was known on its ear. Like an onion, a fan pulled back its surface only to find more surface. Layers. Season 2 took the mystery idea a step farther by having Max, Isobel, and Michael dive into their alien origins, specifically what had happened to their parents and how that involved human ally (and one of Michael’s love interest) Alex’s family the Manes. That mystery as well, while slower than Season 1’s plot arc, revealed itself to also be an onion. Again…Layers.

 But speaking of Alex, there was another thing Roswell, New Mexico also pulled out some originality on, but honored the original series.

 The relationships.

 What Keeps It Working: Relationships on Roswell, New Mexico

 So what were you? A Stargrazer? Or maybe a Dreamer? Perhaps you were more for M&M aka Candy?

 Old Roswell had its shippers before anyone knew what a shipper was. Shipper = people who loved a couple, worshipped them, and lived for every moment between those characters. Whether you loved the destiny pairing of Max/Liz, the Bickerson-ness of Maria/Michael, or the ‘opposite attracts’ aspect of Isobel/Alex, there were quite a few to choose from. And those could help in the case of bad writing, something that people debatably said about Season 2 and definitely said about Season 3.

 And what ships they were. Even the reboot series did the now famous scene (also in the book as well) of Liz being shot and Max healing her. The scene of her pointing up to the scene after Max explained where he was from. The various scenes of Maria and Michael arguing, but that fire always bringing them together whether it was him watching her dance at the start of Season 2 or them dancing at the senior prom after a misunderstanding. Or who could forget the time when Alex stripped at Isobel’s birthday party to impress the popular girl…and of course the comedy that ensued?

 In a word…relatable.

 On Roswell, New Mexico….well, the saying was true. The more things change…

 And boy did it change! By aging up the characters, the show stepped away from the old typical high school dramas. Good news with the change? It allowed for deeper subject matter and relevant subject matter for today’s work. Illegal immigrants. Bisexuality. Identity.

 But again…not too different. Hehe!!! The Liz of the Roswell Reboot was the child of illegal immigrants. That opened up for a new audience to see a whole different culture. It also showed the problems with being one. Meanwhile, the Max of the Roswell reboot was a sheriff with a darker edge to him. A Liz who constantly proving that she could save herself. A Max who may be a savior, but was not above being a little more selfish. Watching the two of them come together slowly was interesting to watch and reminiscent of old school Max and Liz. More so since this Max also had a crush on Liz.

  Not only did they have their differences to deal with, but a mystery involving the death of Rosa which of course involved the aliens somehow. The who, what, why of the death was the driving force of the first season, but Max and Liz (ship name Echo) was the heart of it. And in Season Two, the drama for their relationship was wisely focused on them. If the drama for the relationship in the first season was external, season two focused on how their differences could be a problem and thus, internal.

 Speaking of identity, one cannot talk about Roswell, New Mexico without talking about Michael Guerin…and Alex.

 While Isobel dealt with some identity issues that touched on assault, abortion, and self-exploration, Michael was in a league of his own. While Michael in the old Roswell was a hothead with not much drive searching for his place in the world, Michael of Roswell, New Mexico…was actually the same. However, part of the reason Michael did not have a drive was that he was busy playing cover-up behind Rosa’s death with Max and Isobel. And the other reason became very clear when he laid eyes on Alex Manes after years. Lost love was usually that way.

 Yes. On the new reboot, Michael and Alex had a lost love from when they were teenagers. And seeing each other again brought that all back. Shame since Alex’s father was anti-alien and homophobic. So viewers got to watch them deal with their issues. From how tragic things ended when they were kids. From dealing with the issues of the closeted lover. Add on the alien issues and the Rosa mystery, and you had a couple named Malex that had a lot of past and present issues to deal with.

 Enter…Maria.

 Just like the old series, Michael and Maria had a sparring partner relationship. One thing led to another and during a break from Alex, Michael and Maria hooked up. So a chemistry filled triangle began. And Michael found himself asking what was more important…the past or the present?

 And all of the relationships kept people tuning in. Not to mention the alien hijinks. I was happy to see that while the writers were very good at plotting out a mystery with twists, turns, and flashbacks, the writers knew what made old Roswell an enduring show. The relationships like Max and Liz and Michael and Alex…and Michael and Maria. The writers knew about the search for self when a person knew they were different. They knew none of it would mean anything if the characters were not relatable. And at the same time, they threw curveballs to keep this version of Roswell fresh and original while still honoring what made old Roswell Roswell.

 And knowing that meant they got the art of the reboot.

 And I…couldn’t wait to see what they did next.

   #reboots #art #roswell #roswellnewmexico #cw #upn #wb #charmed #echo #malex #candy #stargrazer #dreamer #melindametz #max #liz #rosa #shannendoherty #alyssamilano #hollymariecombs #rosemcgowan #michael #maria #nostaglia #characters #plotting #childrenof #respect #originality #refresh #remake

[peaky-shelby]

Back to you [4]

“Thunderstorms in spring„

Pairing: oc x Halstead bothers

Previous: prologue, episode one, episode two

Series summary: an old friend comes back and is need for help from the Halstead brother’s. Will this story end in heartbreak or a win?

Episode summary: Loralai talks to jay about the case and she and will are back to their old ways.

Words: 1745

Warngings: lots of angst this time, angry will

Author’s note: quite ironically this page is only the calm before the real storm. Some big revelations happening in the next chapter woohoo!! Please keep commenting and sending feedback it’s the only way I’m motivated to keep writing and it helps a lot. Thank you!! (+) quick dedication to @peachlle for reading and commenting, you are amazing♥️ I hope you’ll enjoy!!

Jay entered the hospital with a file in his hands. Turns out Ruzek had managed to shoot and kill one of the three guys that had attacked them earlier in the day and that was their only lead. They followed it but nothing good came out except a few random names and a photograph. He was hoping Loralai would have more to tell now that she was awake.

He stopped his pace when he heard loud voices coming from Loralai’s room, he took a peek and saw Will standing next her, shaking his head. His was very familiar with this picture of the two of them.

“This isn’t a joke Loralai!” Shouted Will. Jay felt like he was taken back to Will’s old apartment, listening to them fighting on their bedroom while he was in the living room, trying to ignore them.

“Isn’t it?” She asked, her voice loud and clear “because it feels like we’re back in time! It’s always the same fight with you Will, the same dialogue! You haven’t even changed your lines!”

“My lines? What about your ways Lor? How many times do you have to get hit to realize that you gotta stop—“

“IT’S MY JOB!” She shouted back.

“Your job is to write not to dodge bullets and pray that you’ll survive!”

“I don’t care wether I’ll survive or not!” She spat “even if I die, at least I’m dying for a reason! People will hear the stories that matter—“

“And what about the people that love you?” He asked, cutting her off before she could say anything else “what about your parents? Your sister? Me? Jay who saw you bleeding out in his hands? You die and then what happens to us? You really think it’s gonna be that easy for us to let go?”

Loralai scoffed “it didn’t seem like it was that hard for you to let me go three years ago.” She looked away “which reminds me. You are not even my boyfriend and I’m not your girlfriend so why the hell are we even fighting about this?”

Will didn’t answer to that, even Jay could feel how much it must have hurt him when she said those words. It was a cruel reminder but the truth. Will didn’t need to listen to anymore if it and as he stepped out of the room and turned the other way he bumped into Jay. He held him still.

“You ok Bud?” He asked but all Will could do was move his head. There was so much anger in his eyes, Jay expected to see smoke coming out of his ears. He looked down, rubbing his face, there were so many things he wanted to say but couldn’t so instead he settled of the typical “I have to go.”

Jay watched him leave without stopping him and then looked at the door to Loralai’s room. He fixed his jacket, like he was about to get in a ring and took a moment from himself to gather all the strength he could before he stepped inside. It was weird to see her again, awake. She was staring at the ceiling, biting her lip and scratching the sheets with her nails like she always did when she was angry. Ah, the details.

“Hello Sherlock.” He said, getting her attention. Her face light up immediately when she saw him, like she had been expecting him. She reached for him with her arms and jay walked quickly to her, wrapping his hands gently around her. He was so happy to see her safe and healthy. “How you feeling?” He asked, pulling away just enough to look at her.

“Better now that I don’t have your brother yelling at me.”

“he’s just worried about you a lot and you don’t make it easy for him—“

“That’s bullshit Jay! How many times a day do you have a gun pointed at your head? Why doesn’t he give you that speech of love and death— he thinks because I’m a woman I can’t take care of myself.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Loralai! He texts me everyday to make sure I’m ok, he’s as worried for me as he is for you the only difference is I’ve been trained to dodge the bullets! You barely know how to hold a gun!”

Loralai didn’t say anything and before she could come up with a smart reply jay left the file he was holding on the bed and pulled out one of the photographs. “Have you ever seen this guy before?”

Loralai accepted the change in subject and took a moment for herself to think. “No.”

“Ruzek shot him while he was running away. He’s the only one we got from the car. We have no other leads so I was hoping you’d tell me more.” He sat down on the chair next to her bed, waiting to hear her story.

She sighed, looking at the ceiling “one month ago there was a fire at the Heathwood’s family house do you remember?”

“Yes it was an accident—

“Except it wasn’t.” She said confidently. “My editor asked me to write a piece on it and Michael Heathwood who had magically survived. It was a Miracle, the kind of shit that people love to read. But when I met with him...”

“You knew there was something wrong” he finished her sentence and bowed his head “why didn’t you go to the police?”

“The police were on it Jay! They porpusly looked the other way. If I went he would find out! So I did it myself. I looked as deep as I could. His wife, Alicia Stewart, died only one month before the explosion from a car accident and When the house exploded his father in law, Stefan Stewart and his mother in law, Carla Stewart were the only ones that died.”

“You saying he wanted to kill that family?”

“im saying there are far too many coincidences Jay!” She cleared her throat “so I might have illegally checked his bank accounts.” Jay raised his eyebrows and stood still across from her. He didn’t approve at all of what she had told him “I didn’t find anything which was even weirder”

“And I don’t suppose you gave up from then on...”

“I spied on him, searched everything I had on him and you wanna know something funny? Michael heathwood didn’t even exist two years ago!”

“Wait wait—“ He raised his hands, signaling her to slow down. “What?”

“His real name is Peter Evans! He’s a con artist! He tricks rich families, kills them, takes their money, saves it under a different name and runs.”

Jay stood up, pacing the room until he balanced himself on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything that she had told him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you! Make sure that this..” He pointed at her wounds “wouldn’t happen!”

“I had to get enough evidence first. Create the story. If he realized I was on to him he’d disappear in thin air”

He stood straight again, crossing his arms “And Where is your evidence?”

“In the flash drive I gave you!”

Jay didn’t answer, he narrowed his eyes looking at her confused. “What flash drive?”

“In the car!” She insisted “I gave you a USB! Did you lose it?”

Jay hid his face in his palms “it must have fallen on the car.” He said, trying to reassure himself that the information was safe. He looked back at Loralai reaching for her hand and giving it a light squeeze “we’ll find it.” He told her. She held his hand before he could slip it away and he looked in her eyes, his heart beating a little faster. It was the bruise right under her eye that made his body shiver, he couldn’t stand seeing her like this.

“I owe you an apology...” she whispered, completely changing the subject. He tried to fake a smile as if he didn’t understand.

“For getting shot at?”

“Jay—“

“Don’t.” He warned “Not now. We’ll talk when all this is over.” He brought her hand up to his lips and gave it a light kiss before exiting the room. On his way out he caught Will behind the reception, making some notes but he decided not to bother him. Will saw him too from the corner of his eye but he was still angry from before to have any conversation with any body.

When he finished writing his notes he looked towards Loralai’s room. She had her eyes closed and she looked like she was about to fall asleep, god knows she needed that rest. He sat down on a chair, watching her sleep. He couldn’t go home and he couldn’t go in her room after their argument so this was the best way to check up on her and make sure she’d be ok. After a while he started to fall asleep himself. The position of his neck was so uncomfortable that kept waking him up and annoying him. When he opened his eyes again because of the pain he saw Loralai moving nervously on her bed. Turning her head right and left and whimpering. He jumped of his chair and rushed to her side.

First thing he did was check her wounds but he saw nothing alarming. When his hand touched her skin, her eyes shot open and she grabbed for his wrist. She looked so terrified to him, so broken, nothing like the confident girl he was used to having around. All the time he knew her there was always one thing she couldn’t battle and that was her nightmares.

He made sure to look calm and not scare her anymore than she already was. “Hey hey it’s ok. It’s just me. Lor?” He held her hand softly, stroking her fingers until she broke down into tears. This was the first time he had seen her cry today, all it took was a nightmare. He sat next to her on the bed, pulling her swiftly in his arms to warm her. He caressed her back and kissed her forehead, whispering sweet words in her hair, his breath falling on her like a veil of safety. She snuggled closer while he spoke, reassuring her that it would be alright.

He always thought of her like a thunderstorm in spring. It didn’t rain a lot but when it did... it was hell.

[benrockford-blog]

is that CHRIS EVANS in woodridge? my mistake, it was just BENJAMIN ROCKFORD, who is THIRTY-ONE years old and is an ACTOR / MUSICIAN. HE has been living in woodridge for TWO YEARS. some say HE can be CHARMING & INTELLIGENT but also can be FLIRTATIOUS & RECKLESS. ( filling ann-kathrin’s wanted connection. )

hello hello kfjhdfg i’m caitlyn my timezone is cst, i’m 23 and honestly…. i’m such an angst / pain heaux ?? i’m so hype to bring ya’ll this burnt ass cupcake / trash bucket. i’ve got some stats / mini bio n things like that under the cut and some basic af connections for him up right HERE. i’m probably sleeping right now as i was silly and stayed up all night BUT if you’d like to plot w benjamin, please feel free to im me or like this bc i need all the plots?? like?? all of them ??

BIOGRAPHY.

( trigger warnings: mentions of death, alcohol and drugs. )

ben was born and raised in la & happened to be the oldest of the three children his parents had.

his parents were pretty well known actors in their prime and because of it they weren’t at home a lot of the time.

but because of their passion for their work, benjamin was okay with them not being there that often and took care of his younger siblings whenever he needed to.

which wasn’t all that often because the rockford family had plenty of money for babysitters & nannies, meaning ben was able to slip off and get into a bunch of trouble.

which benjamin seemed to be extremely good at, getting sent home from elementary school all too often for causing some sort of chaos in the classrooms or halls.

but even though he was a troublemaker, he took after his parents and began acting at a very young age, getting his first gig at the age of 7.

which meant the spotlight that was on him just caused him to become extremely selfish and bratty.

his parents, of course, were upset with him and decided to enroll ben into a very, very prestigious school that had no tolerance for bad behavior, hoping that would calm ben’s reckless and troublemaker ways down some.

which it did, for a while. but not because of the school. ben started to act right just so that his parents weren’t disappointed or upset with him, not because the school ‘forced’ him to be that way.

because ben, ben was not the type to be forced into anything and people who came around him realized that fairly quick, knowing that he hated to be bossed around.

and people made sure they didn’t boss ben around because the few who had regretted that choice very quick. and it stayed that way all throughout the rest of elementary school and the first year of middle school.

but there was this new kid who came into town and decided that benjamin would be the perfect target for him to bully.

what this new kid didn’t know is that benjamin could and would end up knocking the bully on his ass in front of everyone, causing ben and the bully to both be expelled from the school.

this infuriated ben’s parents, causing his father to chew him out for days, causing ben to want to get out of the house & away from his parents.

so that’s what he did, he started sneaking out of his window at night, meeting up with a few of his friends from school.

they never really did much, walking around la, enjoying the weather.. sometimes they’d stop for ice-cream or something like that, but things changed once ben and his group of friends found some kids their age that went to a different school.

these kids were polar opposites of ben and his friends, constantly sneaking out, causing absolute chaos wherever they went and because of ben’s mischievous personality, he instantly became entranced with this group of people and found himself hanging out with them more often than not.

those kids ended up taking benjamin to a party that one of their older brothers was having and that’s where benjamin had his first taste of alcohol, something that would eventually become a huge part of his life.

the rest of his middle school years involved him trying to keep his grades up and put up a front that he was becoming the “good” kid they ‘raised’ him to be all while sneaking out at night to go to numerous parties and such.

but even though he loved going to those parties, he knew he needed to keep his grades up, knew that they were extremely important in the long run.

and he kept that mindset all throughout high school as well, busting his ass at school during the day and slipping out of the house to party at night.

however, he was a teenager, which meant he sure as hell lived like one. going to party after party, hooking up with whoever he felt like, trying any and every drug that was offered to him because the people who he hung out with made it seem so normal, like all of that was okay.

benjamin, though, got tired of the double lifestyle pretty quickly. trying to keep up with his acting career, high school and partying became too much and he knew he was worn far too thin for his age.

not to mention the fact that because of his fatigue from trying to do keep up with everything, his body started to crave certain drugs or alcohol, almost as if it needed those things to survive.. something that didn’t sit comfortably with ben. something he knew his parents would flip out about if they ever found out what he’d been into.

but things changed for the worse, in ways ben never imagined they could. he was at his best friends graduation party when he got a phone call from the los angeles hospital. his parents had been in a fatal wreck on their way home from a movie set and because he’d recently turned 18, his siblings were now his responsibility.

the news killed him, made him want to fall back into a reckless lifestyle, one that would probably end up killing him too. but he knew he couldn’t. his siblings didn’t deserve to loose someone and and he knew for a fact his parents would be so disappointed in him if he picked that lifestyle back up.

so, in the blink of an eye, he dropped all the ‘friends’ in his life that led him to believe that drinking and partying every single night was the normal and made sure he graduated high school with flying colors so that he could focus on his acting career.

one which was started to gain more and more momentum as he’d landed three huge movies in less than two months and his agent was trying to get him to star in a tv show as well.

which he did, causing him to have to go back to juggling his career, his family and his social life.. but it was all worth it to him. the fame that he’d gotten in such little time was something that intoxicated him in far worse ways than any drug he’d ever tried.

but deep down, he knew he wasn’t completely happy, he’d lost his parents.. nothing could ever replace them. not fame, not money, not sex… nothing.

and so he began writing down his feelings, letting everything he’d had on his chest flow onto sheets of paper and eventually turned them into songs.

he wasn’t a singer, that much everyone knew, but he could play guitar and piano and once his agent found that out, he found yet another way to wear benjamin thin. a record label, one that had the best singers who could take his music and make number one hits out it.

three movies, one tv show and constant trips to and from a recording studio meant that benjamin’s duty to his siblings began to dissipate day after day until he came back to his penthouse to see a note from his sister. they’d left, packed up and gone in the middle of the day because they were tired of living in ben’s shadow.

yet another blow to an already broken and worn down young man.

another blow that he couldn’t handle, another thing that let him back to alcohol and drugs. anything to numb himself from the world for a brief moment. anything to make him forget about everything.

but he couldn’t do that for long as he had press conferences, photoshoots and everything else that came along with fame to go to, but that didn’t matter to him.. and so he started going to said events drunk or high, making a fool of himself where so many people were able to see it.

and things stayed that way for a while, his agent getting onto him daily that he needed to straighten his act up or he wouldn’t have anyone wanting him for a damn thing.

ben knew that wasn’t true, though. he was one of the best up-and-coming actors and everyone in the damn business wanted a piece of benjamin rockford. information like that made his ego inflate ten times too big.

so he continued to be known as “the wild card” or “the party boy” to the media, eating up every single good and bad comment that was made about him because at the end of the day, he was still making money and being able to numb himself whenever he pleased and that’s all that mattered to him.

until he got cast in a 'chick flick’ of sorts, something he’d never done before. he was an action kinda guy, that’s what people hired him for, but not this time.. and it threw ben for a loop.

so much so he had to take a leave from the tv show he was on to be able to focus for this movie, to be able to give it everything he had, just like he did with every other role he was ever cast in.

and then he met his co-star. she was an up-and-coming actress, not unlike him.. but god, she was so humble.. so kind and so generous that it made ben fall head over heels for her faster than he could have ever imagined.

he wasn’t known for that, he was known for hooking up with a new person every night of the week, not falling for one single person and wanting to be with said person for the long run.

to ben’s surprise, though, she fell for him too.. and she changed him. she retaught him how to be the kind, caring, loving person he used to be before his parents died and he knew he’d do anything in the world for her. even if the press thought they were far too young to be talking about love like they were.

maybe they were right, maybe twenty one was too young to get engaged, and considering they’d only been dating for six months… but they didn’t care. young love would prevail, or so they thought.

the engagement only lasted three months, called off because she fell in love with one of their co-stars and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

another blow to his heart, another thing that caused him to spiral back towards that lifestyle that’d end up killing him, but god, he needed to be numb if he was going to have to be around the two any time they were at work. it was either that or the other guy end up with a black eye and some broken bones.. but ben knew it couldn’t go there.. that he couldn’t afford that.. so he went back to drinking and drugs to numb himself.

but the media had grown tired of “the party boy” title that benjamin had made for himself, the articles about him growing far more hateful day after day until one day benjamin snapped on a reporter that tried to ask him if he had anything to do with his siblings dipping out of la like they did.

one little mistake caught on camera was enough to cause the jobs to come to a halt, leaving benjamin lost and confused.

that was until his agent told him that maybe a 'vacation’ of sorts would do benjamin some good, handing him the tickets to a town he’d visited a few times for press conferences and conventions where he was promoting the movies he stared in.

ben thought it was a joke at first, rolling his eyes and batting the tickets way from him as if they were laced with poison. but it wasn’t a joke and after a few weeks of thinking about it, benjamin decided that maybe, just maybe his agent was right. he needed a break, from everything. and a small town like that seemed like the perfect place to get said break.

so he packed up his things and he was off, hoping that maybe he’d find some balanced lifestyle in woodridge, hell, he didn’t know what he was looking for in all honesty. all he knew was that it was a fresh start. a way to make a name for himself that wasn’t “the party boy”.

PERSONALITY.

hides behind a wall of sarcasm, cockiness, anger and lust.

doesn’t really care to get to know people and had a tendency to push people away before they get too close to him.

wears glasses to read and mess w computers, but hates them a lot and probably won’t wear them if people are around.

loves suits & everything expensive.. will probably look like he just came out of a photoshoot like 8 times outta 10 ??

however, he rocks jeans, v-necks, shorts, sweats, leather jackets and anything that makes him look like your typical fuckboi jock?? it’s kinda his aesthetic.

has a motorcycle and it’s his baby.. has a car too but only uses it when the weather is too cold for him to ride.

highkey still a hotmess on the inside.

loves halloween so much?? even though it’s his birthday?? he gets so hype for that holiday it’s unreal.

fluent in a lot of languages, picked them up so that he didn’t need translators at conventions & press related things.

lowkey worried that people in woodridge will figure out that he’s not the asshole role that he plays on a daily basis and is actually a very hurt person bc if people started realizing that, he’d have to start feeling again and tbh, he don’t wanna do that.

is the biggest flirt you will ever meet?? like boy chill the hell out ??

will try to get everyone to go to bars n parties with him because that’s his life in a nutshell.

hella nerd on the inside though like owns so many comic books, loves to play video games, read books, write songs & all that jazz.

is a musician but pretends he doesn’t know why people think that because playing instruments for him means remembering his parents and sad times because that’s all he’s ever written music for.

super, super intelligent. had he not gone into acting, he’d probably be working for nasa or something idk.

every once in a while he’ll fall back into that drinking pattern and start drinking too heavily, but will cover it up so frickin quick if people start to catch on.

he cares… god he cares so much about people and the world but he pretends to hate everything because it’s easier than letting people in.

full of horrible and cheesy pick up lines and jokes and frequently texts people said pick up lines and jokes.

owns a book that is full of nothing but blank pages and keeps it on his coffee table because he 'relates’ to it.

is still a highkey hoe but he keeps it on the dl now because he’s trying to clean up his image so that one day he can move back to la and start working again.

speaking of….. might be a highkey dom yikes

super into fitness as it’s a way to keep him away from drinking every evening.

fell in love with boxing and can be seen at the gym almost every night.. also has bruised knuckles 24/7 because of it as it’s a way to take out his aggression and feelings out on a punching bag instead of letting people see that broken side of him.

actually super kind and caring once you’re able to see get past his wall.

is one of those people who’s instagram feed is nothing but pictures of his dogs and food.

will also talk about his dogs more often than he talks about his life.

highkey into cuddling and all the cute shit like that but would literally never tell a soul because then they’d see that he isn’t such a hardass.

is a burnt cupcake who has really good intentions but has horrible execution skills.

loves his job more so than he could ever tell anyone and will gush about all of the awesome opportunities he’s been able to have being in the acting business.

STATISTICS.

full name: benjamin rhys rockford.

nickname(s): ben, benji.

age: thirty-one.

date of birth: october 31st.

zodiac sign: scorpio.

place of birth: los angeles, california.

gender: cis-male.

sexual orientation: bisexual.

romantic orientation: bisexual.

religion: n/a.

occupation: actor / musician.

language(s) spoken: english, french, spanish, welsh, russian, korean, japanese, italian, romanian, greek, gaelic and bulgarian.

accent: american.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: chris evans.

hair color: blonde / brown.

eye color: blue.

height: 6′ 1″.

weight: 225 lbs.

build: athletic.

PERSONALITY / TRAITS.

label: the facade.

positive traits: charming, intelligent, adventurous, lighthearted.

negative traits: flirtatious, reckless, sarcastic, closed off.

fears: acrophobia & claustrophobia.

hobbies: playing video games, reading books / comics, boxing, pool, going to sports events, soccer, football, going to the gym, playing guitar, playing piano, cooking, hiking, camping, fishing, golf.

quirks: belives in karma, fights for animal rights, fights for gender equality, fights for human rights, fights for marriage equality, wears mismatched socks ( sometimes ), counts stairs, plays with fire, plays a musical instrument, boxes, enjoys nature, tells the truth / can be brutally honest, uses bad puns whenever possible.

likes: rain, thunderstorms, cars, shoes, boxing, sports, nighttime, fall, traveling, swimming, cooking, art, astronomy, greek history, food, animals, cuddling, movie marathons, comic books.

dislikes: seafood, heat, bad traffic, being bossed around, bullies.

FAMILY.

father: james elliot rockford. ( deceased. )

mother: lucille rose williams-rockford. ( deceased. )

sibling(s): a younger sister & younger brother. ( living. )

pet(s): two siberian huskies named balto and steele.

financial status: upper class.

TESTS.

myers-briggs: estp-a

enneagram: type 8 ( the challenger. )

temperament: choleric.

hogwarts house: slytherin / ravenclaw.