#together where martha (or anyone else) calls him the FUCK out on this. and ten would need to suffer narrative consequences of doing smth

[hewhofightsbythesword]

scotch or irish? tommy shelby x reader

warning/s: underage drinking, swearing, violence, and slight smut

 inspired by disco pigs (2001) 

A/N: I was really high when I came up this idea. Even wrote it while I was high, but I couldn’t find it the next mirning. Wasn’t sure if I really wrote it or if it was a dream. Either way, it’s here lol After like two weeks. Sowwyy 

Tommy and y/n. y/n and Tommy. For as long as the pair can remember, that’s the way it has always been. Born only a few months apart, the two created an instant bond so strong that Aunt Polly said it would transcend through many lifetimes. And of course, Aunt Polly was never wrong in the matters of the heart. This was a friendship full of heart, romantic and platonic love for there was not one without the rest. Tommy’s mother would say to Polly, “That boy... it’s his cleverness that’ll kill him.” Martha found herself confiding in her more, so she continued, “As long as Tommy and y/n have each other... I am not worried.” And everyone knew. Everyone except Tommy and y/n.

The two had very similar minds. What one was thinking, the other was already mentally processing and vice versa. It would be almost adorable if it wasn’t so weird, as Arthur Sr. would call it. It was only weird because they were so smart. Against everybody else (even Polly at times, although she would never admit it), they were always two steps ahead.

From a young age the two understood their natural connection. For example, at the age of seven, Tommy and y/n planned to swear a vow of silence together that was planned to last a total of ten days. At first, y/n was met with slight worry from Tommy.

“We need code names! What should I call you if I need you?”

“You won’t have to need me, silly. That’s the whole point! I will already know, and so will you.” The logic was missing. They were both aware of this but none cared.

The goal was set for ten days. Not a single word was uttered between the kids or anyone else for that matter, aggravating the living hell out of those around them, especially Arthur who would’ve done anything to be a part of the joke. However, by day five, y/n broke the vow, rushing her feet as fast as they allowed a few houses down on Watery Lane.

That day she had heard a few of the older Lee boys, around Arthur’s age, speaking down on the Gypsy Shelby’s. y/n just had to tell Tommy or she was sure she would burst. It was also on day five Tommy came to two realizations: (1) He too would break their vow of silence. There was nothing worth doing if it meant he couldn’t do it with the person who understood him the most. (2) Tommy decided that same day that y/n, in her own right, was a Shelby too.

“Shelby,” he whispers to himself, only for him to hear.

At age 15, y/n was able to convince Tommy to steal a bottle of whiskey from the local pub. Her little hands shoved a piece of a paper with instructions in his direction. “Meet me here,” was all she told him with big eyes before he could even get a word in, running back to whatever held her short attention span. Unfolding the paper, Tommy could see a drawn out map of where to find the only girl who could keep young Tommy on his toes.

If anyone asked him, he would tell them all this was something he had to do. Many nights Arthur and Tommy had to go in all hours of the night looking for their father in pubs. One night in a drunken haze, Arthur Sr. takes his second born by the shoulders, causing him to be dragged onto the floor next to his father. He takes his boy by the face, shaking it a few times to show how serious he was trying to be.

“A man is meant to provide, always. Be a man, Thomas.”

y/n asked and Tommy planned to provide.

Seeing the large “X” marking the destination, it matched the location right before Tommy’s eyes. It was a beautiful far away, empty place from Watery Lane with lots of surrounding nature. It had just finished raining. y/n always did like the way the rain made the earth smell.

She notices her friend right away and runs up to him. y/n takes him by the hand. “I found my favorite tree here. Come on,” she says very nonchalantly.

Tommy shakes his head behind her. “Of course you did, Shelby. Of course you did.”

y/n often thought the world moved too slow for her liking. She always liked to be out and about. Always wild, never to be tamed. She figures that’s why she likes the Shelby’s so much. She was blessed to find a family early in her life that matched her soul. Except, she knows why she likes Tommy so much. He liked to be wild too. He moved just as fast as y/n, and he thought just as fast as her. So there was no doubt in her mind once she tasked her best friend with the alcohol that he'd deliver.

“I just took the first one I saw and ran like hell.” He presents y/n the bottle.

“Scotch whiskey,” y/n reads the label out loud before opening it. Tommy at this point began to see the trouble that she carried within her starting to stir. Confirming this intuitive feeling, y/n goes to make a quick toast like the kind she has seen her father make with Tommy’s. “To your Aunt Pol who would kill you if she ever knew, Thomas Shelby,” she groans out as she takes the first large swing with the most confidence. Even from when they were children, Tommy always wondered how so much confidence could fit in such a small body.

He takes the bottle from her to mimic her actions. “To my Aunt Polly who will find out by the week’s end.” They both laugh before Tommy takes his sip, but when he does, he takes it differently than y/n. “What the fuck, y/n. How can you even drink that shit?” He spits and coughs as he attempts to recover.

“What? I like it.” She shrugs while going for another.

At age 18, Tommy realized he loved y/n. By the time Tommy turned eighteen, it came to no surprise to anyone that he was already turning out to be a ladies man. Girls turning into young women were quick to notice his dark hair and hypnotic blue eyes. He was different than any of the factory worker boys that took after their fathers. He was ambitious. He wanted more to life than what dirty old Birmingham could offer, and the young women knew this so in some way, it even made it seem okay that his last name was Shelby. Almost as if Tommy was being pardoned for being a Shelby. And he hated that feeling.

y/n never made Tommy feel that way. She was always the first and the last one to defend her friend since birth. Crowned by Tommy all those years ago, she was Shelby. What else could have made her break her vow with Tommy all those years ago? Tommy didn’t realize exactly what he was realizing at the time. How could he? They were kids being kids. He couldn’t have known it was loyalty. If it wasn’t clear to Tommy then, it was now.

“You need to get out of here. Go get Arthur and John. This is no place for a woman,” Tommy warns y/n one night out, sensing trouble.

The two found themselves cornered by a group of boys around their age. The Peaky Blinders were gaining respect, notoriety, and fear from those around them. Things were changing for the Shelby’s, but not everyone agreed. Most certainly not the three boys looking for a fight. “Run!”

“No!” She hisses back. She tightens her fist and holds them up.

“There is no fucking way I’m letting you do this.”

“Either I leave to get the boys and we come back to your half-dead body, if we’re lucky or I stay and fight and we may actually win this.” Truth be told, y/n wished she could listen to Tommy and go get his brothers. But more than the fear she felt for herself, it was tenfold for Tommy.

“Damn you, Shelby.” he tells her as the fight breaks out.

No words were exchanged on the walk to The Garrison. It seemed like all of the day’s events were forcing Tommy to think about the vow they made when they were seven. Only this time, Tommy could see the logic she proposed. He did know what she was thinking because he was so sure she was thinking the same as him.

“Whiskey, Harry,” was all Tommy said, not bothering to spare the man a glance. y/n goes to sit at a table like they always do but was stopped by Tommy. He latches onto her hand, careful with the cuts and bruises that were beginning to form. “No,” he tells her, “We’ll be in the snug.” And no one protested. They may have wanted to but at the sight of blood on their clothes and on his razor blade, no one dared to speak out against the Blinder.

Not long after Harry delivers two glasses of whiskey through the snug’s window. “Give the toast, Shelby,” he gives the cup to y/n.

Her eyes never leave his. Even with exhaustion hijacking them, y/n could not name a more beautiful sight. “To you, Tommy. To the best and worst pal in the world.”

In his state of shock, Tommy failed to clink their glasses together, so y/n did it. The sound pulls him out of his own swirling thoughts, and they down their drink in an instant. Like the siamese twins they are, a look of disgust and twinge of horror overtake their faces.

“Scotch.”

“Irish.”

They both spit out like venom but were quick to laugh it off. “You gave me the wrong cup, Thomas!”

“Hey, come on now. I’m still Tommy. I’m just a bloody idiot for not knowing the difference.”

Only a few moments later, the laughing winds down a bit. The atmosphere still remains light only to be shattered. “Why don’t you love me?” He blurts out to y/n. “Like the way I love you?”

y/n’s content smile never falters. “I believe you have been too busy to notice me, Tommy. I’ve been right here. Because if you would have just asked, I would’ve said I loved you too. And I do... love you too.”

He smiles at her. “The best and worst pal in the world.”

y/n could feel her heart begin to hammer against her chest. She no longer felt like she was sitting down but floating. With the adrenaline from the fight gone, she should have been able to feel her wounds mark their place on her skin. But that’s not true. All she could feel was a warm, tight feeling in her chest. The boy she loved, loved her back. And no amount of irish whiskey could ever compare.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

Tommy’s eyes searched y/n’s for any trace of hesitance or fraud but found none. All he could see were the eyes of the girl he loved the most. And most importantly, the girl loved him back.

He stands up to speak to Harry through the snug’s window and comes back shortly after. “Come here, Shelby.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss the only girl in all of Small Heath that I love.” At that, y/n had no protests.

Their kiss was nothing less of what the two expected. It wasn't awkward. Nerve wracking, sure, but not awkward. Many nights y/n dreamt about this very moment. She dreamt how Tommy’s lips would feel against hers. She often wondered what kind of lover he was. And now she knows, leaving her with no more thoughts to wonder about.

She is the first one to pull away. “I have loved you since we were seven and you called me “Shelby” for the first time.” She places desperate kisses onto his lips, cheeks, and neck. Anywhere they would fall, really, leaving traces of pure love behind.

Tommy feels like he is starting to lose control once her pillow soft lips attack his neck. “Tell me again, y/n. Let me hear you.”

“I love you,” She reminds him in between her kisses.

“Shelby... if you keep doing that, I’m not sure how much gentleman will be left in me.”

She looks up from the spot on his neck she was loving on, having found his sweet spot. “This one? Right here?” She asks, feigning innocence as she lightly bites down. When she hears his soft moan, her tongue laps at the spot relieving it only to finish off with a few kisses.

Before the last one can even land, Tommy’s hand finds her neck to take control once more. He doesn’t squeeze nor does he have a rough hold. He merely wraps his fingers around the neck he will one day dress in the biggest jewels. Tommy guides y/n to the edge of the table and pushes her to lay on it.

“Here, Tommy?” She giggles watching her best friends crawl on top of her

He shushes her with more wet kisses. “No one will come in. It’s just me and you.” His hands caress, squeeze, and tease whatever he can.

“It’s yours, Tommy, my heart. It’s all yours.”

He wraps his hand under her hair that was sprawled over the table into a makeshift ponytail. “Mine,” he proves when he finally feels all of her. His eyes never hers, wanting to sear the memory of the exact moment she became his. Pain overtakes her face but her hands on his lower back right above his ass lets him know she was okay. After a while, y/n signals Tommy to start moving once more and pain starts to transform into a pleasure y/n never thought was possible.

All the sounds the two were making were sure to be drowned out by the ruckus made by the drunk men just outside the snug. Tommy was sure to tell Harry that no one else was allowed in under any circumstances. In his moment of euphoria, Tommy was ready to wet his razor blade for the second time that night should anyone dare barge in and take a look at what belonged to him.

This wasn’t Tommy’s first time but it was the first time he realized all what sex could be. All the men in his life were wrong. He was wrong. It didn’t have to be all what they said it should. All he ever needed was y/n. Now that he had her, he had no intention of ever letting go.

Basking in the momentary afterglow of his best orgasm, he says, “You know what, Shelby? I don’t think I mind scotch whiskey all that much anymore,” his thumb traces y/n lower lip, even getting it slightly moist, “Not when the taste comes from your lips. My lips.”

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (5/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

ao3 : beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-/-

Emma likes seafood.

She likes seafood, but she mostly eats like a ten-year-old boy. Apparently, there’s a little place near her house called Granny’s where she devours grilled cheese and onion rings like arteries aren’t a thing. It makes him laugh when she tells him because she eats how he’s always dreamed of eating. The only time he ever gets the chance is when he’s with his nieces and they convince him to get them food Elsa and Liam never let them get.

She also likes 80’s music, has been working at the Blue Dog for over half a decade, prefers her kickboxing classes to cycling ones, and her favorite color is blue.

That last one was a bit of a throwaway question, but he asked it anyway. Then, of course, he made sure to let her know that his eyes were blue. He got an eye roll and a ‘shut up’ for that before she started rolling her hips again. It was damn distracting, but he didn’t stop laughing at how frustrated she was that he wasted his one personal question a day on that.

One personal question a day.

It’s childish, but he thinks it works. It keeps the line between them defined. He knows what this is, has done it enough times before to not be blind to it. They’re both visitors in each other’s lives. They have expiration dates, and when there’s an expiration date, there’s no harm in spending time together.

There’s no commitment, so there’s no hurt.

He’s not an expert on Emma Swan, no matter how much she fascinates him, but he gets the feeling she’s avoiding relationships just as much as he is. There is a past hurt there, a damned painful one, and if anyone gets that, it’s him.

But he doesn’t ask about that in his one question a day. He asks for her favorite color and food and if she’d rather hike uphill for 10 miles or swim for 20.

For the record, she’d rather hike because she could sit down and eat along the way.

“Would you look at that?” Emma says as she runs her hands under the water of the sink at the bar. “You, sitting at this bar, again.”

He slices his salmon with his knife and grins. “I tried that Granny’s place, but the food had too much grease. Met a rather charming waitress, though.”

“Let me guess. Red streak in her hair, boobs on full display, argued with the owner the entire time?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because that’s Ruby, my best friend.”

“Is she now?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Is that your personal question of the day?”

“Nope,” he says, taking a bite of his food. “I’m saving that for a later time.”

“A later time,” Emma repeats, like she’s considering the words. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the bar. “What makes you think you’re going to be seeing me at a later time? This isn’t enough for you?”

He looks around them and leans closer to her. “Too many clothes.”

Emma laughs, legitimately, and that feels surprisingly good. “I’m literally in a tank top and shorts. That’s about as dressed down as you can get.”

“I was talking about myself, actually. There are too many clothes on me, but it’s nice to know you think so highly of yourself.”

That gets him another laugh and a shake of her head, and he likes that too. He may have no real inclination to become overly attached to her, but he can at least admit to himself that he enjoys her company.

“Shut up.” Someone calls Emma’s name from across the restaurant, and she holds her arm up, putting up one finger. “I get off at The Oaks at eleven. I’ll drop by your place if I’m not too tired.”

“Why the hell are you working there so much?”

“I like the money. And, Jones, that counts as your personal question of the day. I’ll see you later...maybe.”

She grins and winks before walking away, and he swears she puts a little extra sway in her hips. Killian shakes his head as he feels his own smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What a bloody woman,” he whispers to himself before spearing another piece of his salmon.

-/-

“Right there,” she moans. “Like, seriously, right there. Don’t fucking change anything.”

Kilian smiles against her, but he’s quick to return to what he was doing. Emma’s legs tighten over his shoulders, her hands yank at the sheets, and as much as he is throbbing right now, it’s bloody glorious to have her like this. The filter is gone, so too are the reservations, and he gets a bit of satisfaction knowing this is him doing this to her.

His only skills aren’t on the football pitch after all.

He is definitely a bastard for thinking that right now, but he’s never claimed to be otherwise.

“Fuck,” Emma huffs after she comes down from her high. Her legs shiver over his shoulder, thighs tightening so all the sounds fade for a moment, but then her legs fall and all sounds come back in screaming color. “What did I do to deserve that so early in the morning?”

“It’s ten, love.”

“Yeah, that’s early on my day off.”

Killian laughs and kisses the inside of Emma’s thigh before making his way up her body, planting a final one underneath her collarbone before he collapses on his side of the bed and pulls the sheets above his waist.

“It’s not early for the rest of the world.” He smiles, which she doesn’t appreciate, and she sinks further into the bed, yanking the covers over her. He can still see her flushed cheeks and the slightest content smile on her face. “You should try it sometime. See the sunrise, dodge early morning joggers, eat breakfast at a normal time.”

“Trust me, I’m usually up early enough to want to drive into the early morning joggers while I have a Pop Tart hanging out of my mouth. My summer schedule is just...it’s different than usual.”

He has questions about that. It’s something she’s alluded to before, but he doesn’t know if she’ll count that as his question of a day.

He’s thirty-five years old, and he doesn’t know if he can ask the woman he’s sleeping with more than one question about her life. He knows he’s fucked up a lot, but this seems to be the culmination of several screw ups in his own life.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on that. Well, no, he has all the time in the world, but lately, the boredom has dissipated, the loneliness too.

Lately, he’s got a damn good distraction, and he’s not about to fuck that up.

Emma flips over on her side, her hair a wild, curly mess. She used his pool last night and didn’t wash her hair after. It’s made it even crazier than usual. He thinks he likes it. Makes her seem less reserved.

His phone rings on his bedside table, and he leans over to pick it up.

“Hello, darling.” Emma’s brow raises, but he ignores her. “How are you?”

“Good,” Elsa says. “We’re all good. The girls are in the garden right now, running around and getting all their energy out. I haven’t heard from you in a few days.”

“I’ve been...busy.”

Emma’s hand finds his thigh, and his leg jumps before steadying. She is not about to do what he thinks she’s about to do. Bloody hell.

“Busy?” Elsa asks, as Emma’s hand walks a little closer to his groin. “Doing what? Have you made friends?”

“Why do you always ask me that like I’m a child?”

“Because you’re basically my baby brother.” Killian laughs and then hisses as Emma’s hand wraps around him. She smirks, obviously satisfied with herself, and he knows she’s doing it for the reaction above anything else.

Tease.

He doesn’t mind.

Except this is a poor idea.

“I believe I’m actually older than you.”

“Semantics.”

He laughs again, and Emma’s hand starts working a little more. Fuck. He needs her to stop, and even though she’s doing delicious things to him, she is looking away, acting as bored as can be. And maybe she is, but then he sees one corner of her mouth tick up.

“Mum, is that Killian?” he hears Ally ask, echoed by a squeal from Sophia, who is obviously having the time of her life. There’s a bit of a shuffle, some muted voices, and then his niece’s voice comes through. “When are you coming home?”

“Hello, Ally,” he says, his voice going high when Emma moves her thumb. “How is one of my favorite nieces doing?”

Emma immediately stops and yanks her hand away, practically falling off the bed. She catches herself and kicks up, moving the comforter up and nearly pulling it off him.

“What the actual fuck?” she whispers hisses, slapping him.

He ignores her as Ally asks again when he’s coming home.

“At the end of September, sweetheart,” he promises. “I’ll come home, and then I am going to kiss you right on the cheek.”

“Ew,” she complains, and he can imagine her nose scrunching.

“I also might give you a present.”

“I like that better.”

“Good. I thought you would.” he watches Emma get up and pull a t-shirt out of a drawer. It’s an old Man. United shirt, and he pretends that doesn’t do a damn thing to him, especially since she was just working him up a minute ago. “Listen, Ally, darling, will you hand the phone to your mum? I - ”

“Sophia, that is my hat! Do not wear it!”

And then the line goes dead, and he wonders how long it’ll be before Elsa gets back to her phone and calls him back.

“You let me do that to you while you were on the phone with your niece?” Emma mumbles, pulling the shirt down then pulling her hair into a mess of a knot on the top of her head. He’s not sure if she’s annoyed or amused. “I hate you.”

“Technically, at first it was my sister-in-law,” he corrects, tapping his head.

“That doesn’t make it any better.” Emma gets back in the bed, pulling the comforter all the way up to her chin, and then she shuffles a little further into the bed before sitting up against the headboard and groaning into her hands. “I am mortified.”

“I did stop you when Ally took the phone,” he points out before pulling at the arm of her shirt. “Nice shirt.”

Killian stands from the bed and walks toward his bathroom, grabbing his briefs along the way. “It’s comfortable,” Emma says. “Is this the team you played for?”

Killian stops, the tile cool against his feet, and then keeps moving, leaving the door cracked as he gets half dressed and starts brushing his teeth. As good as it was a few minutes ago, the mood is gone.

Especially now.

How the hell does she know he used to play football? And how long has she known that? Is that why...no, that couldn’t be why, but he knows that’s why a lot of women have.

“A long time ago,” he says, spitting out toothpaste. “I was with Chelsea when I retired.”

“Is that another team?”

“Uh, yeah,” he laughs, continuing to brush his teeth but sticking his head out of his bathroom door. “You didn’t know that?”

Emma shrugs as she types on her phone. “I don’t know anything about soccer. I only know you played because Ruby internet stalked you a few weeks ago and showed me your Instagram. I literally thought you were just one of those adults who is really into his hobbies.”

Killian nearly lets out a sigh, but he stops himself and turns back around to the sink to spit again before rinsing his brush. He looks up at the mirror. His hair is disheveled, there are lines around his eyes and on his forehead, and his stubble is growing to the point where a beard is beginning to form. He’ll shave later.

So Emma doesn’t know anything about football then. Or him, for that matter. He’s not sure he entirely believes her, that she didn’t look up any more about him, and he doesn’t like that uncertainty. Usually, when he meets someone, they have the upper hand and know the surface layer of all the dirty details of his life.

They usually don’t care to find out the real stories. Not that most of them redeem him in any way.

“Not a hobby,” he says, taming his hair with his hands. “It was a damn good job.” He leaves the bathroom and leans against the doorframe. “You ever play?”

She laughs and puts her phone down. “No.”

“Not even as a kid? Come on. I hear every lass in America plays as a kid.”

“Is that your question of the day?”

Damn. “No.” Killian walks toward the bed and puts his hands on either side of Emma’s head on the headboard, leaning in close. He sees her chest rise, and he smirks. “My question is to ask you to stay in bed with me all day. What do you say, Swan?”

She sits up, and her lips lightly brush against his mouth when she talks. “You should have asked me about the soccer because I was already planning on staying here the entire day.”

“Really now?”

“If we can get crepes delivered from this place that’s, like, ten minutes from here.”

Killian kisses her, long and slow until there’s heat simmering low in his belly. “As you wish.”

-/-

Emma doesn’t come over every night. Nor does he go to her place. But it seems that way as July rolls by, full of hot days that seem to linger forever. Killian finds himself busy during the days. Emma usually has work early in the mornings, so if she’s staying over, she leaves before eight. He doesn’t know how she has time to breathe working at both the Tavern and The Oaks, but she makes it work. When she leaves, he gets up and uses the gym in the basement of the house, going through his tried and true routines before he laces up his trainers and either runs on the beach or on the sidewalks through his little area of the vineyard. He finds the sidewalks are better for his knees, so he tends to stick with that and leaves walking on the beach for his afternoon phone calls with Elsa and the girls or Ariel and Eric.

It’s a routine, one that changes during the day, but for the first time since he got here, he doesn’t hate every damn day. He doesn’t spend his time actively having to try not drink or thinking about Liam or football. He practically buys out a local bookstore and goes through the novels faster than he has in years. He visits different restaurants, museums, goes along with some tourist activities he finds online, and he explores any shop that strikes his fancy.

And while his routine changes, there is one constant: he eats a meal at the Blue Dog Tavern.

At first, he thought Emma would kick him out for it, but now, she often comes and sits with him for a few minutes or sends him a drink from her office. He always sits in Ashley’s section and lets her talk about her growing belly even if he knows little about pregnancy, and he spends at least an hour eating and watching all the people around him.

It’s a hell of a lot better than the twenty-four-hour diners with sticky floors and bad coffee.

Killian shoves his keys in his pocket and pushes open the door to the Blue Dog. Marina greets him, telling him to seat himself anywhere in Ashely’s section, so he goes to his favorite booth and settles down. He can’t see the television from it, so it’s the perfect spot to completely escape from the world with no risk of his past showing up right before his eyes.

He may be feeling better, may be able to have a drink or too at night without wanting to have five more, but he knows he’s possibly only one bad day from it all coming undone, the thread unraveling faster than he can wind it back up.

“Tea or coffee today, Killian?” Ashley asks, notepad in hand.

“Tea, I think, but not the blasted stuff you gave me last time.”

She laughs and writes down his drink order. “Do you know what you want to eat already or should I come back?”

He hands her the menu. “The daily special and a side salad.”

“Perfect. I’ll be back with that as soon as possible.”

“No need to rush,” he says, smiling. “Is - ”

“She’s filling out orders for next week, but I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Ashley winks before walking away, and Killian wonders what the hell everyone in this restaurant thinks of him and Emma. It must be peculiar, but if he’s picked up anything from Emma, it’s that she likely doesn’t share much about her personal life with her employees. She surely won’t tell him that he’s the man she’s sleeping with for the summer, but they might pick up on that on their own.

The food here is good, but it’s not every day good.

He’s finished his salad and half of his sandwich when she comes out from the back. Today, she’s already in the black dress she wears to The Oaks, and her hair is pushed back into a ponytail. She looks exhausted, and unfortunately, the reason has nothing to do with him.

“I only have a second to say hi,” she says, sliding into the booth and grabbing a roll from the basket, breaking off a piece and popping it into her mouth. “We are having an issue with our fish orders, and it’s an absolute nightmare.”

“That sounds like I won’t be ordering any fish this week.”

Emma takes another bite of her bread. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Do you want to come to my place tonight? I’m off at ten.”

“Sure.” He picks at the bread on his sandwich. “Though, the last time I was at your place, that damn crab pillow ended up in the bed, and I didn’t appreciate that.”

Her nose scrunches with her laugh. “I hate that thing too, but Ariel loves it.”

“You live in that house the entire year. Why don’t you redecorate it for your taste?”

Her shoulders tense, and she stops chewing before slowly starting again. He already knows this is going to be his personal question of the day. Sometimes she forgets about it and lets the conversation flow freely, but when he hits a nerve, she’s more on her guard.

He gets it. He can be the same way.

“Personal question,” she says, and he knows her better than he should. “And I’ve redone my bedroom and little bits in the kitchen and living room, but I don’t know. I guess I keep it how the Fishers have it because it’s their home. There are memories there, and I don’t want to take any of those away for when I do eventually get another place. It’s....it’s good to have a family home with memories.”

Killian arches his brow, but Emma looks away, picking at the roll again. He never really had a family home, not after his mum died and his dad became obsessed with using Killian’s football skills for his own fortune, but he likes that sentiment.

A family home with memories. Good ones. That would be the dream.

“What about you?” she asks, changing the subject before he can press further. “Aren’t you excited to get back to your place where all the stuff is yours? You’re living in a place that’s not your own, so I’m sure you’re ready to get back to your family.”

She doesn’t mean anything by it, but her words cut. He’s here because he lost the one person in his family who he was closest to, but he doesn’t want to talk about that, not now. This is supposed to be a good time. It isn’t supposed to be about dark histories.

“I’m enjoying my time here,” he answers honestly. “There’s this woman who is an absolute spitfire, and she’s been occupying most of my time. I’ve been, well, metaphorically tied up in bed too much to think of returning home.”

“Ha, ha,” she monotones with a roll of her eyes. “That’s not what I - ”

“Hi!”

They both turn, and Emma’s friend Mary Margaret is standing there, bouncing back and forth on her toes. “Hi, Marg,” Emma says. “You’re early.”

“I know. I got finished tutoring early, so I thought I’d drop by. I didn’t know you’d have...other company.”

“Nice to see you again,” Killian says, nodding at Mary Margaret.

“Yeah, nice to see you.” Mary Margaret seems hesitant, like she didn’t meet him weeks ago at dinner, and he wonders just how much she knows about his arrangement with Emma. From what he’s learned, they seem close, but he also knows Ruby is Emma’s more...accepting friend. “How are you?”

“I’m good, love. Just badgering Emma at work. I’m surprised she hasn’t kicked me out yet.”

“Annoy me a little too much, and I will.” Her ankle hooks with his under the table, and Killian bites his lip to keep from smiling too much. “So, what’s up, Marg? Why’d you want to drop by? Have you heard of this thing called phones?”

Mary Margaret chuckles before sliding into the booth next to Emma. Emma’s ankle unhooks from his, and he tucks his feet under the booth. “So, you know how David wants to have that big barbecue for all of our friends and neighbors?”

“Yeah, you guys do it every year because you’re insane.”

“Anyway,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, “we were wondering if we could get the Blue Dog to cater some of the sides. I know you guys don’t cater, but we could pay extra. Please.”

“You do know there are restaurants who do cater who could handle this?”

“Yes, but we love the food here. Killian gets it, right?”

“Uh, yes,” he mumbles, not sure what he’s supposed to say. From Emma’s death glare, he knows he’s chosen incorrectly. Bloody hell. “I love it.”

“Exactly,” Mary Margaret says. “We’ll pay extra. Promise. In tips so the staff can get it instead of the owners.”

Emma sighs and sinks into the booth, crossing her arms over her chest. “I need to know the order at least two weeks ahead of time, and it’s going to take me some time to figure out how much you guys need to pay.”

“Ahhhh, perfect!” Mary Margaret hugs Emma before sliding out of the booth. “You’re the best! I can’t wait to call David! Oh, and Killian, you should come too. It’s on August 14th. We’d love to have you there.”

Killian scratches his ear and nods, flashing her a tight smile. He doesn’t think Emma would welcome him at a party full of her friends, so he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable no matter how nice it might be to be in a large group of people.

“He’ll be there,” Emma says, surprising him, and he feels her toe tap his shin. “If he can make it, of course. You know, he has a very busy social calendar.”

“I wonder why that is, darling.” He winks, making Emma smile, and he taps his toes into hers right back. “I’ve heard you keep pretty busy as well.”

Emma’s mouth gapes before closing, and her green eyes widen, lashes nearly hitting against her brows. “Ass.”

“Well, I know you like - ”

“Okay.” Mary Margaret claps her hands together. “I’ve got to go. Emma, I’ll send you the menu after I talk to David tonight. And Killian, we really would love to have you there.”

“I’ll see,” he says as he fights to keep from smiling too widely. “May I recommend the cheddar bites for the menu. They’ll kill you, but you’ll enjoy it.”

“I have never once seen you get the cheddar bites,” Emma scoffs.

He leans over the table, pressing his chin in his hand and smirking the way he knows she likes. She tells him he’s obnoxious when he does it, but sometimes he can see past that hard shell exterior. “I’m full of surprises, darling.”

“That you are, Jones. That you are.”

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion​ @dramioneswan​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight

[goldandbluesmiles]

Protective

Summary: Bruce is protective Alpha, especially when it comes to his children.

Notes: Some discriminatory language.

Ao3

XXX

The gala was in full swing when Jason spotted the baby bat. He nudged Tim who was beside him, shoving a pastry in his mouth.

"Hey, Timmy," he said to the younger boy, "What do you think's happenin' over there?"

Tim followed his gaze, took in Damian's rigid posture, the cruel smirks on the two boys that looked his age, and the weirdly smug glee on a boy who looked about ten.

"Doesn't look too good," said Tim

"Nope," said Jason, "Should we...?"

"Any other time, I would have just let him deal with it but this is the Martha Wayne Foundation Gala,"

It was the one gala that they attended no matter what. All anger, fights and problems were put aside to come to help support their dad on his mother's birthday. There was also an unofficial rule among the bat kids that no one would cause any havoc during the gala and they would intervene if they saw something brewing.

And by the scowl on Damian's face, something was definitely brewing. The young Omega looked seconds away from punching someone.

"Yeah, let's go," said Jason

Both Alphas weaved their way through the crowd toward their younger brother. As they got closer, Jason started to hear what the other boys were saying and it made his blood boil in anger.

"Go back...'" "Your kind-" "Tainted,"

Jason was ready to march over and teach the little brats a lesson when he noticed another body moving toward the youngest Wayne.

Apparently Bruce Wayne had noticed his youngest son's plight because of course, he had. And it was good because this place did not need Jason to go around shaking little kids, no matter how much they deserved it. Bruce would handle this much better.

"Well, hello there young gentlemen," he said in a pleasant tone, the cold fury in his eyes only visible to people that really knew him.

From across the room, Jason saw Dick start to make his way to them. Cass and Steph had also detangled themselves from the dance floor. Duke was already standing at his left. Everyone else ignored their little gathering. If there was one thing the Waynes were good at, it was blending.

"Hello Mr. Wayne," said one of the older boys, looking just a little scared. Good.

"And your names," asked Bruce.

"I'm William," said the older redhead and then pointed to the younger boy, "This is my brother, Harris,"

"William and Harris," said Bruce, "The Livingston boys,"

"Yes, sir,"

"And you, son?" said Bruce, making Damian tense. He relaxed once Bruce moved his hand to his shoulder.

"Jared Lucky, Mr. Wayne,"

"Alright, Jared," said Bruce, tone still biting, "I'm guessing all your parents are here tonight?"

The boys nodded.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," said Bruce, "Jared and Harris are going to stand right here. William, you are going to go get both your parents and bring them here,"

The little brat nodded and quickly took off.

"Father?" murmured Damian, looking up at him with a questioning look. Jason took a quick look at his siblings and saw that all of them, except Dick, looking varying degrees of confused. Even Cass.

Taking in their reactions, Jason realized that none of them had ever seen Bruce in his protective Alpha mode before. Sure they had all seen Batman but not Bruce.

Jason had been the target of many cruel taunts once when he had joined Gotham's 'high' society. And he knew from stories that while Dick had charmed everybody with his personality and smile, that had still been whispers of gypsy and uncivilized. Bruce had shut all of them down with a vicious look and cruel smile. The rest of them had probably never needed it. Tim was a born elite. No one would ever say anything about Cass. Stephanie held her head high and dared anyone to come close enough to speak. Duke was relatively new.

None of them had seen Papa Bruce protecting his pups, which meant that they were in a for a treat tonight.

Damian was still waiting for an answer when two couple showed up with a flustered looking William. The red-headed woman instantly took her boys in her arms, glaring at Bruce. The Luckys just looked really confused.

"Bruce," said Mr. Lucky, "What is going on here? Did the boys get into a scuffle or something?"

"Or something," said Bruce, "Boys, why don't you repeat for your parents what you were saying to Damian here,"

"But-"

"Repeat it," this time the words came out sharper, making a few heads turn their way. Jason sent them a few glares, making them turn right back around.

"Boys," said Mrs. Lucky, "Explain yourselves,"

William and Jared quietly repeated the things that had been said, making Jason tremble with anger. Around him, the rest of his family was in similar states.

Worst of all was Damian, head bowed with shame as if he was the one who had done something wrong.

God, these boys were lucky Jason had a little more control now. Otherwise, they would be getting good talking to at the least.

"God, Bruce," said Mr. Lucky, "I am so sorry. We will definitely be talking to Jared once we get home,"

"This is our fault," said Mrs. Lucky, "He said he wanted to experience boarding at Gotham Academy and we figured it wouldn't be a problem. I have to admit, since then we haven't really monitored the content he takes in,"

"Which will be fixed," said Mr. Lucky, "You have my word, Bruce,"

"I would hope so, Sean," said Bruce

That started a whole other round of apologies and promises. Jason looked at them carefully, looking for any indication that these people were insincere or were talking out of their ass to keep Bruce happy. He found nothing. Thye seemed to mean it.

The Livingstons were another story though. The guy was impassive, wearing his businessman's face while his wife was openly glaring at them.

Once the Luckys finally stopped, Bruce turned toward the other couple.

"And what about Mr. and Mrs. Livingston," said Bruce, "Anything to say about your boys' behaviour?"

The guys cleared his throat but the lady beat him to it.

"I don't see the problem with my boys expressing themselves," she said, tone haughty

God, what a bitch.

"Excuse me," said Bruce, "Expressing themselves? There is expressing yourself and then there is discriminatory language, not to mention verbal assault,"

"Now. Now, Bruce," said the man, "Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

The complete and utter fury on Bruce's face was a thing to behold. The Lucky family took a step back and the two brothers looked ready to piss themselves. Even Mr. Lviningston looked like he was regretting his decision to be here.

The only one still glaring was Mrs. Livingston or as Jason would call her from now, She-devil.

"Overreacting? Overreacting?" hissed Bruce, "Your sons used derogatory language to talk to mine and you think I'm overreacting,"

"Some terms fit," said the She-devil, "Especially for a...brood like yours,"

Bruce tightened his hold on Damian's shoulder and took a step forward, "Listen here, Susan,"

"Sasha," she muttered

"Susan, Sasha, fucking Sally," said Bruce, "I don't care! The only reason, the only reason I am not making a goddamn sacrificial spectacle of you in front of this whole room is that it has become obvious to me that these boys have some very poor role models, and given their age, should be given a chance to rectify their mistakes and humiliating them in front of a room full of people will not do that,"

"Because let's be honest here, with today's school curriculum and resources available it is obvious where these boys learned language like this. I would hate to think what you would say to my son -to my children- given the opportunity to be honest without consequences,"

Both boys were now looking at their parents with confused eyes.

"Now, do me a favour and leave this place,"

Sasha went to say something else but Harris tugged at her dress, "Mom let's go,"

"Don't talk out of line, Harris,"

The boy flinched. Beside him, Jason felt Tim tense. He as starting to hate this woman more by the second.

"We will take our leave," said Mr. Livingston

"Please do," said Bruce, tone rivalling the Arctic winds, "And consider yourselves disinvited from any event that has even a small part of the Waynes in it,"

That was basically 99.9% of Gotham City.

The family four left, quickly being swallowed up by the crowd.

"Well, no more sleepovers at their house," muttered Sean, and then turned toward Bruce, "You know some of us to send our boys to the dormitories despite living in the city. William and Jared roomed together and when Jared started having sleepovers with them, Carrie and I were happy. He gets lonely at home, you know. Obviously we didn't realize the differences in values, we'll definitely make sure to talk to Jared,"

"We're so sorry, Damian," said Carrie, lowering herself a little so she could look him in the eye, "You didn't deserve that,"

Damian nodded.

"I'm also going to look into the Livingstons a little more closely," said Sean, "There was something not right about the way Sasha spoke to her youngest,"

"Hmm," said Bruce, "I think we've all had enough excitement for the night,"

The Luckys obviously saw the dismissal and left without saying much more.

As soon as they were gone, Bruce led them to the back balcony, rarely used by anyone and completely deserted. Once they were there, he picked up Damian and held him close, gently cooing at him and scenting him.

It was proof of how emotionally taxing the whole thing had been that Damina didn't even fight it a little, just melted into his father's arms.

"Listen to me, Damian," said Bruce, gently stroking his hair, "Nobody gets to talk to you like that, nobody,"

Damian nodded against Bruce's shoulder.

"Nobody gets to talk to anyone of you like that," said Bruce, looking at each one of them in the eye. They all nodded too.

"Now I have to stay here for the speeches but you are all welcome to go back in," said Bruce, "Damian, do you want to go with Dick?"

"Yes, Father," mumbled Damian

Dick gently took their brother and held him close, similar to how Bruce had been holding him.

"Let's go, guys," said Dick

"I should be inside in an hour," said Bruce

They all nodded at him and quickly made their way to the exit. Jason thanked whatever deity was out there, that the Gala was always held in the manor. They all gathered just outside the door and for a second just looked at each other.

Stephanie was the first to crack, a few chuckles escaping her. Cass smiled next and Tim let out a giggle. Them suddenly they were all laughing, except for Damian who had a sleepy smile on his face.

"Holy shit," said Stephanie, "Holy shit. Forget Batman. Bruce Wayne is fucking terrifying,"

"Did you see the guy's face?" said Duke

"Susan can go die though," said Stephanie

"Sasha," said Tim, copying her haughty tone

"Susan, Sasha, fucking Sally," said Jason and they burst into laughter again.

"God, I've never seen him like that," said Tim as they started to make their way into the family room.

"He used to do it a lot when we were kids," said Dick, gesturing to Jason, "And it surprised people a lot more then. He's changed his public act a lot over the years but back then- imagine twenty-two years old Brucie Wayne, playboy extraordinaire instantly switching to Bruce Wayne, Protective Alpha dad. It was amazing to watch,"

"Yeah," said Jason, getting a little lost in his memories, "I remember this one time he told someone and, I quote, "this boy has more class in his pinky finger than you have in your whole body, Jennifer,"

"Jennifer?" asked Tim

"Her actual name was Jenna,"

Duke snorted, "Of course it was,"

"Guys shhh," said Dick out of nowhere

"What," whispered Stephanie

"I think he's asleep,"

Jason looked at Damian a little closely and sure enough, the little boy was curled up in Dick's lap, fast asleep.

"Aww," said Cass, "Poor little brother,"

"Yeah," said Steph, "All jokes aside, he really doesn't deserve that shit,"

"Good thing we got Bruce, right?" said Duke, looking at them

"Right," Jason found himself saying. His siblings gave him weird looks but he just smiled. Just because Red Hood and Batman didn't agree on some things didn't mean Jason had forgotten what it had felt like to have Bruce's protection, to be held close like he was something precious.

It was really something.

Slowly they all started to make their way out of the room and upstairs to change. Jason went with Dick to help put Damian to bed without waking him up. Once they were done, Dick gave him a quick pat on the back and headed toward his room. Jason went to the room he stayed in when he was at the manor and changed quickly. Instead of going to bed, he headed down to the kitchen and waited. Half an hour later, Bruce walked in, already having changed into sweats and a t-shirt.

"Oh, hey Jason," said Bruce, "What are you still doing up?"

Jason started to think of a lie but then decided against it.

"Waiting for you,"

Bruce smiled, "Come on,"

Together they took out some leftover cake from the fridge and headed toward the sitting room. Bruce took a seat at the love seat and Jason joined him.

"Any particular reason you were waiting for me?"

"Feeling nostalgic, I guess," said Jason, "We used to sit here whenever we came back from a shitty gala or event,"

"I remember. You would wait for me in the kitchen and then we would get whatever we could find from the fridge and eat in here,"

"Yeah," said Jason, "It always felt great, you know. Having you in my corner. I'm glad that other kids get it too now,"

"Jason," said Bruce, putting his plate down, "You still have it. I know we're not the most conventional pack but I am this pack's Alpha and you are a part of it. As such you will always have me in your corner. Even if you don't like thinking of me as your father, I am you Alpha,"

Jason opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Instead, he just lowered his gaze, a sudden pressure building behind his eyes.

Jesus, he would never get over how small Bruce could make him feel.

"Oh, Jaybird," murmured Bruce, taking away his plate and pulling him into his arms, "My little pup,"

"Not a pup," he sniffed, tucking his face close to Bruce's neck and breathing in his scent of burnt cinnamon mixed with sage.

"Still my pup," said Bruce, "And I'm sorry,"

"For what?"

"Forever letting you think you didn't have me in the same capacity as you used to. I should have made it clear as soon as we agreed to clear the air. You always had me, Jaylad,"

Jason smiled and curled closer, "Love you, Dad,"

He felt Bruce's smile at his temple.

"I love you too, Jay,"

[cultofbeatles]

beginners guide to the beatles

 made one of these a long time ago but i'm surprised by how short it was. so here we go again. doing it right this time lol. 

pov: you told a bad joke and now the beatles are judging you. 

john winston lennon. later in his life known as john winston ono lennon. 

born on october 9, 1940 

i believe in astrology bc how does john just happen to be a libra 

when john was four he started living with his aunt mimi who acted more as his mother figure 

his mother, julia, remarried and would visit him quite a bit.

it was julia who taught john how to play banjo and piano. and she bought his first guitar.

they both had a deep love for music and rock n roll 

he never really thought of her as his mother but more as a cool friend i suppose 

aunt mimi was more rough on him and did the disciplining 

his father was never really present growing up and his uncle passed away when he was young 

he thought he was a curse for the men in his family 

he had five half siblings. two of them, julia and jacqueline, he was pretty close to. the other three he barely knew. 

fashion icon.

hated school but loved art 

very early on he was insecure with himself 

teachers always shit on him and said he would go nowhere in life 

he met paul at a church fete on july 6, 1957 

paul taught him how to play guitar properly.

once told paul that he didnt know how paul carried on after his mother died bc he just didn't think he could do it 

john’s mother died from being hit by an off duty policemen. john was seventeen at the time. 

 he took her death really hard and became a bit of a recluse. 

first serious relationship was with cynthia (we stan her) 

once cynthia cut her hair short and he didn't talk to her for two days. 

hate men. kill all men. 

when he asked her to dance at a party she turned him down saying that she was engaged, and so he said “well i didn't ask you to fucking marry me, did i?” 

slapped her once bc he was drunk and another boy was talking to her.

only time her hit her.

read cynthia’s books about john pls. i beg. 

once a psychic told him that he would be shot in the states.

founder of the beatles and also came up with the name.

instruments he could play: guitar, harmonica, rhythm guitar, banjo, keyboard, piano, saxophone, bass guitar, and a little drums. 

main songwriter in the beatles along with paul.

was more open minded to change in the beatles music. 

was insecure in his relationship with paul after a while bc he thought he only needed him for songwriting. 

would bitch about paul all day long but the second anyone else said something about him he’d be on their ass. 

had a lot of issues and needed a good hug. 

suffered from eating disorders, drug addictions, depression, insecurities, and questioned his sexuality bc of the time. 

was super open minded and ahead of his time in many instances. 

once he was called “the fat beatle” and after that he stopped eating as much.

truly loved his first son, julian lennon, and would buy him presents all the time bc he was excited to see him play with them.

“your famous ex husband”

he enjoyed playing monopoly. 

he once claimed that he saw a ufo.

he had written three books but he always wanted to write a children's book.

 the last song he ever performed in front of a live audience was “i saw her standing there.” with elton john.

he was afraid of the dark. 

found out later in his life that he was dyslexic. 

was also legally blind without glasses.

never could catch a break huh.

said that his best lyric ever was “all you need is love” i agree.

the first time yoko and john met was not at her art exhibit but actually when she approached him about giving away songs for free.

wanted to write a musical with paul. 

once a friend dared him to masturbate ten times in one day and he managed to do it nine times.

would hold circle jerks with paul and a few other friends. 

just dudes being dudes. 

went on a holiday with brian epstein, who was gay, and told some people afterward that they did certain sexual things. but we will never know for sure.

yoko says that john was bisexual.

once in an interview he said that he would of married a rich man or woman if he wasn't in the beatles. 

hated his voice on records. would always ask for effects on his voice for final recordings. 

made a film with yoko where it was just his penis going from flaccid to erect for fifteen minutes in slow motion. 

only beatle not to of become a vegetarian while he was alive. 

murdered on december 8, 1980.

gave his autograph earlier in the day to the man who would murder him.

died at the age of 40.

“all my loving” was played while he was at the hospital.

and its spooky bc a lot of times in interviews he would say “when i'm 40..” 

and it’s sad bc he was finally becoming who he truly wanted to be. 

honorable john moments that i love:

“thanks for the purpler hearts” he says while receiving the silver heart 

“you are the first person from liverpool that i've ever seen” “great”

eric lennon on my mind today 

this come together performance where he messed up the lyrics lol

that interview where paul was sick and john keep checking on him 

john lennon speaking nothing but facts 

when he said that he could see the beatles going separate ways but that they'd always come back together.

SHUT UP 

“shut up while he’s talking..”

this interview breaks my heart sometimes 

and this interview is great as well 

sir james paul mccartney 

born on june 18, 1942

if you ever have spare time just check out this man’s natal chart. 

idk how he’s still alive with his chart tbh. 

he has a younger brother named mike and a step sister named ruth. 

his dad thought he was the ugliest baby he’d ever seen when he was born. 

when he was young paul would kill frogs in a way to prepare himself for the war if he ever was drafted. 

the first instrument he ever learned to play was the trumpet.

I don't even want to list every instrument this man can play but trust me when I say it’s a lot.

but for the beatles he mainly did bass, vocals, and piano. sometimes playing the guitar and the drums.

the beatles was just paul moving really, really fast. 

he lost his mother when he was 14 due to surgery for breast cancer.

never really learned how to cope well with loss of a loved one tbh. 

had the cutest chubby cheeks as a kid tbh 

met john and was accepted into his band 

sometimes they'd ditch school together and either work on music or would visit art galleries.

went to paris with john and john bought him all the banana milkshakes that he wanted.

connected over their love and admiration for music, and bc they had both lost their mothers. 

had a girlfriend’s mom who he would make comb his leg hairs. 

was an ass to his first girlfriend.

kill all men again. 

almost had to marry his girlfriend dot bc she was pregnant, but she ended up losing the baby.

was the one who introduced george harrison to john.

practically despised pete best and stuart stutcliffe bc they were bringing the group down. 

got arrested along with pete best bc they lit a condom on fire in hamburg.

still felt awful and a little guilty when stuart died suddenly. 

main force behind the beatles imo. 

without him we’d have not as much beatles music as we do. 

was dating jane asher throughout majority of the sixties. 

when they first met they talked about syrup and paul fell in love.

they broke things off after she walked in on him sleeping with another woman though.

directed magical mystery tour and it was amazing and I don't care what anyone says ok?

when john divorced cynthia he was the only one not scared of john and went against his wishes of not speaking to cynthia.

was a little controlling at times. 

has a good heart though. 

mal evans had to drive him home once after a beatles sessions bc he was crying so hard. 

was talking about getting the band back to touring when john said he was leaving the group. 

everyone kind of turned against him when the beatles were breaking up and i hate it.

he just wanted what was best for the band.

married linda and had a nice little farm. 

we love that story.

linda i'm free thursday if you want to hang out pls.

started up the whole “no meat monday” thing where you don't eat monday on mondays

food meat. not the other kind of meat.

children: james mccartney, stella mccartney, heather mccartney, mary mccartney, and beatrice mccartney. 

rip martha. 

WINGS!! 

he lost linda in 1998 due to cancer.

 cried for a whole year bc of it.

still has dreams about john and says they're nice.

wrote a sad song about john called “here today.”

really loved john. like..he truly, genuinely did. 

want someone to love me like paul does john. 

“think of me every now and then old friend.”

honorable paul moments:

his story about george’s dad 

“john? he was beautiful. very beautiful.”

humpty dumpty rap 

another story about him and george.

his google search video that I watch every week 

this 

george harrison 

born: February 24, 1943 

or at least we think 

bc he use to say that his birthday was february 25, but later started saying it february 24. 

why can't we change our birthdays its not like we picked it 

he was the youngest child.

baby of the family and of the beatles awwww

two older brothers named harry and peter. one older sister named louise.

when george’s mom was pregnant with him she’d play sitar music.

his mom was super supportive of his career choice 

when he was 16 he worked as an electricians apprentice.

his dad kind of hoped he would start a family business out of it.

george said nah

would ride the bus opposite way of his house just to spend time with paul 

headbutted a kid bc he didn't think they were worthy of paul’s friendship 

was brought into the band bc of paul insisting to john 

would follow john around like a lost puppy when he first met him 

once had an eight hour erection. don't ask me how idk he said it.

was 17 when he lost his virginity and the other band members were in the room watching and cheered him when he finished 

most sex craved beatle tbh 

once walked into a girls dressing room and asked if they could stand there so he could masturbate 

he was the first beatle to go to america 

got a black eye for defending ringo once 

would make john and paul take turns sharing rooms with ringo when he first joined the band so that he felt more welcomed 

when ringo left during the white album and then came back george decorated the studio with flowers for him 

during the beatles first recording session he told george martin that he didn't like his tie

became a vegetarian at 22 

favorite candy was jelly beans and purple was his favorite color 

used the phrase “grotty” in the hard days night movie, hated it, but everyone else picked up on the slang 

met his first wife, pattie boyd, on the set of a hard days night 

was turned down by her at first 

they married in 1966

wouldn't let her do modeling stuff and was kind of an ass 

a stylish couple but not the best image for a healthy relationship 

got into eastern religion around 1965 

during the Hamburg days he would eat chicken on stage 

had an affair with ringo’s first wife maureen 

got a divorce from pattie in 1977

in 1978 he married olivia who he stayed with until his death and had one son with. dhani.

was the first beatle to hit a number one single and album. 

was buddies with led zeppelin

inspired their “rain song” 

smashed a piece of cake on john bonham’s head and then was thrown into the pool by him 

he financed and produced films. had a production company.

tom petty said that george never shut up once you started talking to him 

but he was often referred to as “the quiet beatle”

formed another band called the traveling wilburys

he’d answer questions online in the 2000′s and it’s the cutest thing ever and his answers break my heart too.

“what do you miss most about john lennon?” “john lennon.”

in 1999 a schizophrenic person broke into his house and stabbed him 40 times 

thank god olivia was there bc she was the only braincell in the room 

had to get a part of his lung taken out 

died november 29, 2001 from lung cancer 

ashes were scattered into the ganges river 

honorable george moments:

this interview he did with ringo 

“i'm sad bc i can't play guitars with john anymore. but i did that...i know we’ll meet again some day.”

when he invented reaction videos 

“the wind was blowing.” “..blowing my girl?”

“what kind of girl do you like?” “john’s wife.”

sir richard starkey aka ringo starr 

born on july 7, 1940 

oldest member in the group 

has no siblings 

naturally was left handed but his grandma thought it was bad luck so he writes right handed, and plays drums with a right handed kit 

but does everything else left handed

when he was 6 he fell into a two month coma 

was a very sick child 

when he was 13 he was in the hosiptal for tuberculosis and formed a hospital band 

grew up poor 

loves and looked up to his stepfather a lot 

his step father bought him his first drum kit in 1957

wasn't that great in school bc he missed so much of it from being so sick 

he worked for a britain railway for a while 

also served drinks on a day boat for a job 

loves dancing 

Rory storm and the hurricanes 

got his nickname from all the rings he would wear

replaced pete best as the beatles drummer 

dealt with people hating him for a bit bc they liked pete more 

had to style his hair in a bowl cut to be in the band and i'm still mad at them for making him do that shit 

ringo i'm so sorry 

george martin didn't really like his drumming and had a session drummer come in for the first album 

in 1964 he had tonsillitis, pharyngitis, and high fever all at once and had to be in the hospital for a bit.

was worried the beatles would replace him for good 

he’s a cancer don't worry

was the first beatle to try weed 

drummers always go first huh 

married his first wife, maureen, in 1965 

she kissed paul, ringo, and george.

what a champ

honeymoon was ruined by reporters 

was really insecure in his relationship and needed a lot of reassurance 

had a great relationship with pretty much all the beatles 

but a great one with john 

john felt his most relaxed when he was with ringo

was once in a movie with roger daltrey 

divorced maureen in 1975 

his wife now is barbara bach who he married in 1981 

had alcohol problems 

once gotten so drunk that he beat barbara so badly that he thought he killed her 

put himself into rehab after that 

barbara lowkey looks like jan from the office 

children: zak, lee, and jason

zak is the drummer for the band the who 

peace and love 

but don't send me fan mail anymore 

peace and love 

ringo starr and the allstar band (starting 1981)

was the narrator for thomas the tank engine 

will play at paul’s concerts sometimes now for fun 

mad bc he came on stage during paul’s last concert show and it was on my birthday and I couldn't go to it 

honorable ringo moments:

“do you want me to come with you?”

stupid barbara walters 

talking about paul 

giving us a little dance 

[glitterslag]

Marsh Fever | Ben Hardy!Walter Hartright x reader |

Summary: For the entirety of your short marriage, Walter’s mind has been elsewhere. Tonight, you are determined to change that. 

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: language, bad smut (oral, unprotected sex, spanking with a belt), period typical attitudes towards sex, slight angst? Me trying to sound Victorian and failing 

A/N: It’s been a while since I wrote Walter and I missed him so I did this instead of answering out the tens of requests I have, you’re welcome xx P.S. its reader insert but there’s a teeny description of her face. Ignore it if you want. 

It was one of the rare evenings when Walter had not retired to his study as soon as the dinner was eaten. He sat across from you now, appearing rather stern in the firelight as he looked down at his book, his tall armchair casting a very long shadow up the wall. It had been dark since 4 o’clock.

He pinched at the bridge of his nose. Your husband was not old, but his eyesight was in decline. Unbeknownst to him, his obstinate refusal to wear spectacles only endeared him to you all the more, even if it did render him with the most terrible reading headaches.

Not expecting him to join you, you had been darning an old pair of bloomers when he had entered the room. You stuffed them hurriedly down into the side of the chair, busying yourself, instead, with your sewing hoop. Thankfully, Walter seemed not to notice anything amiss. To have your husband catch you mending holes in your tattered old undergarments would be an embarrassing affair to say the least.

Once in a while, ash would spew out from the fireplace and skitter onto the bare floorboards. That was the only sound to break the silence – that and the wind howling down the chimney, causing the flames to flicker and send shadows dancing across Walter’s face.

He still made you nervous. Every so often, your eyes would catch across the room and you’d feel it, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach. Lately, his gaze had been falling onto you more and more often.

“Talk to me, won’t you?” You spoke in a wavering voice; quite sure he would reject you.

“In a moment, dear.”

He didn’t even look up from the page.

You hated when he would call you that. Dear.

‘Dear’ was for weary mothers and overworked fathers. For old, married couples between whom passion no longer remains. You’d been married to Walter for six weeks.

You knew he didn’t love you when you were married. Why would he, you had reasoned. But there was something else, you saw that now, something other than plain unfamiliarity that kept him so distant from you. You were not stupid. But it still stung like chilblains every time he would retire to his study after dinner rather than spend time with you. Every time he’d look out of the window and his eyes would glaze over, and you knew he was thinking of her.

The other woman.

You didn’t know who she was, but you were willing to bet she was as fair as the moon, with cornflower blue eyes and flaxen hair and that she was deliciously, painfully plump. Healthy. 

Not like you. Thin as a rail, your complexion dark and marred with freckles.

You would never look like Her. This phantom of a woman who had haunted you from the cradle.

You had never looked at anyone else in all of your young life. There had been a neighbour boy, once, when you were ten, who would watch you bathing through the gap in the stone wall of the courtyard, but apart from that, he was it. Walter was all of it. And even though you hadn’t been in love with him when you were married either, you had made your mother a promise. A promise that you would try.

And you could try. It wasn’t as if Walter was ugly. You felt sure that you could love him, wholly, if only he would meet you half way.

“Read to me, then?” You asked him, voice hopeful. He looked a little surprised, but he obliged.

“Certainly.”

He held the book aloft and you contained a giggle. Poetry. Something you had very little education in, although you wanted to learn. He licked the tip of his finger before leafing through the pages, searching for the perfect place to start.

He cleared his throat.

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made       The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,       This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes, Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,                Which better far were mute.         For lo! the New-moon winter-bright…

You glanced through the archway and into the kitchen at Martha - Walter had employed a maid after you and he were married – who sat rapt in the high-backed wooden chair. She seemed rather enchanted with the entertainment, having abandoned her own sewing in favour of listening to Walter read. You caught her attention, and, using the clairvoyant form of silent communication all women possess, let her know that she ought to retire.  She gave you a long, knowing look as she gathered up her things, before hurrying into the scullery.

O Lady! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does Nature live: Ours is her wedding garment, ours her shroud!         And would we aught behold, of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,         Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud                Enveloping the Earth—

Your stocking feet on the floorboards meant that you hardly made a sound as you crept over to him. Absorbed in the poem, he seemed barely to notice as you perched yourself above him on the arm of the chair, leaning down onto him in a play at seeing the book better. He never paused as he showed you with his finger which line he was reading, so that you could follow along. His shoulder was warm against your bare arm from the fire. Your heart was beating fast.

Your mother would be displeased with you for going without slippers indoors. Walter never cared much about that – he had never cared much for any household etiquette, or indeed anything at all. But not for long. He may have been apathetic towards you, towards the marriage, but he could not ignore his human desire. You had noticed the looks he had been giving you of late, and you were determined that this should not be bound for ruin.

Preparing the dinner that evening, you and Martha had schemed as she’d slipped you a few sips of Walter’s brandy. You had decided that tonight was the night. You were going to be bold.

Breath held, you slid off the chair arm and into his lap. He let out a pleased hum, transferring the book into one hand as he shifted to put an arm about your waist. He continued to read.

Slowly, you began to seduce your husband.

Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Save to the pure, and in their purest hour, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower, Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power, Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower         A new Earth and new Heaven, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud—

He didn’t notice at first. Your burying into him, into his neck, your arms coming to rest around him, one hand pressed against his chest. He thought you were trying to see better, moving the book closer to your face and you almost laughed. What would Walter say if he knew you had no interest in the poem? That you couldn’t even make sense of it, such was your desire for him. Clouding your mind.

Eyes trained on the page, you rubbed your hand across his chest, exposed where he had loosened his shirt throughout the day. His skin was hot and damp. Absentmindedly, you toyed with one of the buttons, letting your finger tip trace all around it before you very deliberately reached to unfasten it.

And there it was. That hitch in his breath. The falter in his words as he finally noticed what you were doing.

Still he carried on. You almost lost your resolve, and had you not suddenly felt the beginnings of his erection stirring against your hip, you would have given up completely and retired to bed.

“What are you up to?”

His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it. You looked up at him with wide eyes, frightened by his tone and his stern expression, until you realised that his eyes were filled with an inexplicable mirth. He was laughing at you.

“Nothing.” You said in faux innocence, your hand all the time dipping lower into his shirt, until you could feel the taut muscle of his abdomen.

He smirked down at you.

There was no mistaking his need for you now. You could feel it hard against your leg. 

Of course, this would not be the first time you had lain together. But it would be the first time you had ever done anything to him with passion. You had always held yourself back before – fearful he would think you a whore, and at the same time terrified of not satisfying him, of him seeking affairs. You knew your friends’ husbands did it. You had not thought Walter capable, despite his indifference toward you, but Constance had said something to you at the market the other day which had you wondering whether his needs were met. Usually, when he would fuck you, he would turn his face away so that he didn’t have to look you in the eye. But tonight… No. There was something about tonight. You wanted him. You were absolutely aching for him. You would make sure you left him satisfied. And you were going to make sure his gaze never left your face.

***

Everything was hot and wet as your lips collided with his, and you sighed into his mouth in desperate relief. You felt his tongue poke out to lick a line across your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open and let him in.

“Have you been drinking my brandy?” He murmured, and you felt his mouth curl up into a grin, hot sweet breath tickling your face. You realised he could taste it on your lips.

“No.” You lied.

You were panting like a dog in the heat. The once welcome warmth of the fire was now torturous, and you longed for Walter to strip you of your cumbersome layers. His face was flushed and rosy, trained on your chest as it rose and fell in your tight corset. His eyes were bright as if he had been struck with marsh fever. You felt sure yours looked the same.

“Walter.” You mumbled as you pressed your lips to his neck.

“Hm?”

He had teased your hair from its loose knot and was now running his hands through it, head tipped back to let you suck and bite at the column of his throat.

“Take off my dress.”

His hands stilled in your hair. You pulled back to meet his eye. You didn’t flinch.

***

“All of London will hear what we are up to.”  He said with a hint of amusement, as he tossed you face first onto the bed and you let out a loud squeal.

“Let them hear.” You said, turning your head over your shoulder to look back at him, standing unfastening his belt. “Maybe they will talk about us.”

You were naked in front of him, a trail of your clothes left strewn across the parlour floor for Martha to find in the morning. Just the thought of it - the thought of her knowing you had been too eager to wait, made you tingle all over.

Walter’s eyes darkened.

“Wanton woman.” He said with a wicked grin, crawling onto the bed to hover over you, so that his mouth was on your ear. “Do I have to spank you?”

It sent a shiver down your spine. You could hear the metallic sound of his unbuckled belt clinking as he moved, and all of the hairs stood up on the back of your neck.

“Yes.” You whispered.

He hadn’t quite been expecting that.

The leather strap came down on the globe of your arse with a sharp thwack and you cried out, though not entirely in pain. It was agony for a split second, and then the sting afterwards, along with the soothing touch of Walter’s palm, was quite pleasant. As the belt came down on you again and again you swapped your cries of surprise for breathy, whimpering moans and your husband tutted in mock disapproval.

“Oh my.” 

His voice was dark and dangerous as he dipped his hand between your thighs to coat himself in you as you squirmed. His touch was overdue, and your hips chased after his hand, but he only held his fingers out for you to inspect. Glistening.

He got up suddenly and you whined, rolling onto your back to watch him as he walked over to the smaller fireplace in his bedroom. Your backside stung where you rested on it. The sweat from before had cooled on your skin. You shivered.

“You are perverse, my dear.” He said, back to you as he stooped to light the fire. This time, when he called you that, it felt different.

You settled into the pillows and waited for him. The fire roared to life, lighting up his blonde hair in a blaze. He was angelic. The very picture of innocence. You couldn’t help but smirk.

He turned back to you and returned your expression, but there was something new in his eyes. More than lust. There was a softness there, a fondness.  It made your heart race quicker than it had all night.

He stripped himself of his shirt quickly, the thin, white material gone translucent with his sweat. He tossed it over the chair and then he was coming towards you, grabbing you by the ankle and pulling you towards the edge of the bed.

“Come here, you naughty slut.”

It was fond, teasing, and you were trying to decide whether to laugh or to be outraged when he sunk to his knees and placed his mouth over your cunt.

“Oh!”

***

He had brought you to orgasm before, but never like this. The others, they had almost been bittersweet. Never intentional on his part, side effects of his own need. This was different. This was all for you. The shock of the touch of his tongue to your heat was still new by the time you felt that familiar-yet-unfamiliar sensation, and you’d barely had time to wonder where he had learnt to do such a thing before you were sent crashing over the edge with a scream.

He didn’t stop. 

He seemed hell-bent on licking all of the juice from you, as if you were the sweetest fruit he had ever tasted. As if, were you to get any juicier, you would surely burst. You tasted it when he came up afterwards to kiss you.

Kisses between the two of you were normally stiff, closed-mouthed affairs, but this was evidently a night of firsts. His kisses were long and wet and languid, much like the ones had been against your core.

He took his britches off. His erection – maintained this entire time – finally springing free. Red and leaking against his stomach.

Walter hovered over you, his big hands flat on either side of your head. His eyes searched your face, and upon finding nothing but eagerness there, he gave you one more chaste kiss before thrusting into you slowly.

***

It was over quickly after that, not that you minded. Not before he’d brought you over the edge once more, shaking and shivering under him. You didn’t think that there was any more pleasure left to feel, but there it was, different in its way. A blunter, deeper feeling.

It was the first time you didn’t feel as though you were merely going through the motions. Fulfilling your marital duties. You were there, present in the moment, and so was he. And he never looked away from you the entire time.

And when he collapsed beside you, naked limbs entangling and chests rising and falling in tandem, you looked in his eyes and you knew. 

He wasn’t thinking about her anymore. 

[tenrose]

Doctor Who Tag Game

Tagged by: @sopheirion​ thank you!!!

Favourite Doctor: Ten, ten and always Ten. I just love David’s portrayal’s of the Doctor more than I can say. I love the good, and I love the bad. I love when he’s being an idiot, when he’s flirtatious as hell with Rose (omg the memories) like you two get a room, when he finally snaps, when he’s a dumb oblivious as fuck and you want to smack cause he’s being an asshole, I love when he’s heartbroken. The faces David pulls are the best thing in the world. Like his ‘I don’t want to go’ ARE YOU KIDDING ME DAVID??? And the whole Doomsday episode, his blank face against the wall omg I’m gonna cry right now. And when this bitch has the audacity to disappear before saying it aaaaahhhh. But also the way he talk quickly and absolute nonsense. His ‘er’. When he’s being silly as hell with Donna, those were the good times. When he’s angry yelling, but also when he’s cold angry in the end of The Family of Blood. When he realize things and make the ‘oh i’m so stupid thing’ but also when he’s realizing sad thing like with the end of Donna. Bitch when he cries under the rain like some edgy boy, I cry too. His smile when things are getting exciting, but also the smile going into his eyes that is just for Rose and only Rose Tyler The various face he makes with Donna, all  the non verbal communication. Also when Martha decides to leave and you can see that he’s (too late) proud of her, and after that when he sees her again he’s being honest with her..The way he pronounces certain words if that makes sense???? Also David’s whole acting in Midnight, that was insane on so many levels. And least but not last : his iconic hair. I don’t think I need to tell more. And aside from that, I love all his season’s arcs, all his companions are my top three favourites. And of course, my close second favourite is Nine, cause without Nine, Ten wouldn’t be the Doctor he was.

Favourite Master: tbh I’m not that much into the Master, but I guess it’s Simm!Master cause I love his arcs. But I also love Missy as a character (not sure about her arcs though)

Favourite Sonic: I love both Nine/Ten’s sonic and Eleven’s sonic. 

Favourite Companion: aaaaahhhh not this question lmao. So I can’t really choose between Rose and Donna. I just love them both too much. So I’m not even a hardcore shipper of anyything by tumblr’s standards at least lmao, but the Doctor and Rose (both Nine and Ten) as been the first fictional couple I deeply rooted for (like I’ve enjoyed a lot of other ships before but never as harder and deeply) and that I still root for after all these years (in fact Clexa is the only other one that goes that hard, but everything else is just phases, they come and they go but they never stay). I love the tragedy of them, bitch who am I kidding, I love it that much cause it’s a tragedy lmao. I just love how they both make each other better, but also how they flirt like dumbass teens, how they communicate, how they cry for each other. BUT, and it’s very important, I love Rose for herself. She’s not just interesting because of the Doctor. She’s so relatable for instance? Like she’s not from a wealthy family, she clearly doesn’t give two fuck about fashion (or was it 2005 who was like this?), she’s not too smart, too pretty (ok she’s definitely is for me), too much of anything, she’s average. And I love this a freaking lot you can’t imagine. She has flaws, and yes that’s exactly what we want in a character. Yes she has moments when she’s being selfish (but who doesn’t? especially when in love), and yet she has some of the most beautiful selfless moments,sacrificing herlself in Doomsday is the best cause she was literally gonna end up in the void but she didn’t hesitated for one second. Also when she’s showing empathy for other people, she’s being caring and understanding. And she doesn’t take anyone’s else bullshit, she call them out, and that include the Doctor first. Just because she loves him doesn’t mean it’s gonna stop her from telling him to stop being a punk ass bitch. Also she evolved so much between s2 and s4, and I don’t think it’s character inconsistency, it’s just that it happened off screen. BY THE WAY I WOULD VERY MUCH A SPIN OFF ABOUT ROSE TYLER HOPPING WORLDS THANK YOU VERY MUCH @BBC!!! 

Now Donna? Where do I start? She’s also average, and also very relatable. In fact, personnally I think she’s the most relatable for me. Using humour, snark and sass to hide 10 thousands insecurities? Yes that’s the most relatable thing ever. Donna is the funniest character but she’s also the one who has the saddest ending in my opinion. Cause she grow up, she sees the world, and she understand that she is THE shit, she matters, she is important, and then she forgets all about it. That’s so cruel, and heartbreaking and angering, cause she deserved everyfuckingthing, she deserved the world. And her departure hit me so fucking hard. She’s going back to her life, thinking she would be not enough, I can feel that so deeply. Aaaahhh I’m hurting myself writing this. But she’s so amazing, she’s smart, thinking out of the box really make her so great, and she’s the one who take the least shit about anything. She stands up, yells, makes a scene, but she get straight to the point. Also she’s not the young and conventionally attractive companion and she knows that. And she’s so funny and sassy, and close to the Doctor. I mean she’s the Doctor Donna for a reason, she’s like a human version of the Doctor, with the sass, the babbling, the clumsiness. God I love Donna so much, I wish I had so much more of her. Also she has absolutely zero romantic feelings for the Doctor and the fact that they are the bitchy bffs of the universe is the best. 

Favourite Story: I love a lot of stories, but my favourite is The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End no doubt. The story is a perfect mix of happiness, having every RTD’s characters together, all my fave working together is the absolute best, and of sadness, the departure of Donna (I won’t re talk about it ok) and Ten letting Rose go AGAIN. And the fact that there’s everyone he loves in these episode but then he ends up all on his own. God why do I love being hurt so much??? And the Daleks are also my favourite villains (it’s just such DW bullshit as a villain tbh lmfao) so I have everything I want. Generally speaking I love RTD’s arcs, cause the sign are here the whole seasons (Bad Wolf, vote Saxon, the bees disappearing and she’s coming back) but it’s not a ‘HEY LOOK THERE’S SOMETHING FISHY TO SEE HERE HEYYYY’ or ‘WE ARE STARTING THE SEASON WITH ONE QUESTION, ONE PLOT POINT AND THAT’S WHAT YOU’LL WANT TO BE RESOLVED BY THE END OF THE SEASON’,  it’s subtle, it’s casual mention, and it’s when you’re in the last three episode that you’re starting to realize something is wrong...That’s one of my favourite type of writing ever (that’s probably why I love Sanderson’s books too). It’s not some mystery to solve, cause there weren’t any mystery to solve, because me, a dumbass viewer, weren’t even paying attention at first. But it’s here, it fills the plot. And when you see it you’re like ‘of course’. It’s not forced on me if I can say it like this. It allows me to see other stuffs. It’s not attention seeking I guess? But yes the end of s4 is my favourite story, all is in place. All characters do what they do best. There’s laugh and there’s tears, and I love it.

Favourite Soundtrack: everything Murray Gold has been doing for the show is pure gold and I think that’s a thing the whole fandom can agree upon. My artist of the decade according to Spotify is him, and considering I haven’t listened daily to his songs (except for some still regularly) I think that say a lot about how much I used to love both his music and the show at some point. My favourite of his are Doomsday’s Theme ofc, Love Across the Distant Stars, I am the Doctor, Rose’s Theme, Amy’s Theme, Clara’s Theme, Vale and cry. All of them. And that include the one soundtracks for episodes I don’t even like lmao.  

Dream Actor for next Doctor: I don’t know, why not John Boyega? He deserves to be the main character and be treated well, of a sci-fi show. 

Dream Composer: Murray Gold come back to me. Or I would love a glimpse of what Lorne Balfe could do.

Dream Story: Something that involves seeing Rose and Tentoo, and Martha as the Earth counselor, with Thirteen still having feelings for Rose. And Rose too.  But the plot? Idk lmao. However the end would be sad cause Thirteen would have to see Rose and Tentoo coming back to their world, and I would cry. Also Thirteen would aknowledge Martha as the smarter companion the Doctor had ever had lmao.

A Companion You’d like to see back:  Martha, but like not as a companion cause she made it clear that she would not come back, and that wouldn’t be fitting her character if she changed her mind. But she could always be accidentally stuck in the TARDIS, I mean it happened once. But really I would just love to have her coming to the rescue when shit on Earth goes too far and the Doctor needs help of a specialist. That’s Martha you need Doctor.

An Enemy/Alien/Creature you’d like to see again: I’m always here to see the daleks. 

If you could travel with one of the Doctors, which Doctor and why?: Ten? Because he’s my fave, but also Thirteen because I’m gay and I would like to take my chance lmao

[odderancyart]

A Yellow Sky

Chapter 1

Next

So... I wrote a Hamilton Foster Care AU because of Reasons. I guess I might as well share it here

AO3

Ten foster homes in three years. Alexander Hamilton is chronically unable to just shut up and do what he's supposed to, even when he's trying, which has certainly had consequences for him in his short life. The Washingtons are his best shot, his caseworker keeps telling him, but Alexander is a realist. They'll realize how annoying he is, hate how much smarter than them he is, and after a couple weeks they'll send him away.

But it's nice there, he finds. Far too nice. Almost like the calm before the storm.

***

Alexander leaned his head against the cool car window, his hands tightly knitted together in his lap. Outside, fields and meadows rolled by. A little while ago, they’d left New York City for the first time since he came to the mainland, and it felt strange to leave the cityscape behind. He’d never seen anything like this before. Back on Nevis, and then St. Croix, the ocean reached farther than anyone could see, and palm trees cropped up everywhere. Vast stretches of golden wheat was a new view.

The sun beamed on the clear-blue sky, oblivious to the sixteen-year-old's quiet distress. To the knot in his stomach. Of course it was. Why would anyone - much less the sun - care about him? An immigrant, bastard, son of a- Alexander cut himself off right there. Those words had been repeated at him so many times, and most of it was true. But his mother wasn’t a whore, and he refused to let anyone call her that. His father, now that was an asshole, but she... Kind brown eyes, black hair falling down her face as she stroked his deathly pale cheek. “Vivre, mon Alexander,” she’d murmured before coughing again. Live, my Alexander. “Become something great. You're so smart. It's your destiny.” By the morning, she was dead, and his own sickness had begun to recede.

He closed his eyes. That was the reason he was once again leaving, once again going to a new foster home where he’d undoubtedly wouldn’t stay for more than a few weeks, or months if he was lucky. His foster parents’ son had called him a whoreson and he’d punched him in the face. Had earned him quite the punishment, and then he’d been sent on his way, called difficult and violent.

Watching the fields buzz by dispassionately, he squeezed the pen in his hand hard. It was calming. No matter what anyone did to him, he’d always have his words.

No matter what the new family did. Without question they’d seem nice at first, and then they’d find out what an annoying brat he was and they’d make him regret it. Eventually he’d end up somewhere else, and the cycle would repeat.

In the back of his mind, he wondered what James was doing right now. His older brother, named after their deadbeat father, who had just turned eighteen as their cousin fucking killed himself, leaving them to fend for themselves. With no job – only an apprenticeship – he hadn’t been deemed capable of raising his younger brother at St. Croix and Alexander had been sent to the mainland after the hurricane. To New York City.

“-Xander. Alexander,” his caseworker, Mr. André, snapped, glancing back from the driver’s seat. “Are you listening to me?”

Alexander flinched, sitting straight and nodding quickly. “Yessir. S-sorry.”

“As I was saying-” He sounded annoyed, and it was hard not to flinch again. “-this is your best shot. Your one shot. You’ve been jumping homes for three years now. Ten homes, Alexander. In three years.”

Nodding, Alexander stared into his lap. Of course he knew that. “Yessir,” he whispered.

“The Washingtons are influential people, Alexander.” His voice softened marginally. Mr André sure liked to use his name a lot. Seemed to think it gave more weight to what he was saying. It was stupid – not that he’d ever voice that opinion, of course. Making enemies with his caseworker was the last thing Alexander wanted. “And they’re good people. This is the best chance you’ll get, and it was extremely kind of them to agree to take someone with your track record in. Don’t screw up.”

“Yessir,” he said for a third time. He’d learnt his lesson by now. Don’t open your big fucking mouth. Talk only when spoken to. Don’t ask for anything. Never say ‘no’.

And never let them know you’re ten times smarter than they’ll ever be. People don’t like that. They’ll make you suffer for humiliating them. Particularly adults don’t like becoming unable to come up with anything to answer a fourteen-year-old immigrant. The corner of his mouth almost quirked upwards. Would have if he hadn’t still been able to remember the pain coming after those stunned faces.

“Good.” A sigh. The car stopped. “We’re here.”

Without looking, Alexander slid out of the car, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he went to the trunk to grab the gym bag in which he kept his meagre belongings. Enough clothing for a week, a few books, his notebooks, a lot of pencils, and that expensive fountain pen he’d saved for two years to be able to buy and which now was one of his most precious belongings. And the two things he treasured the most: a photo album from his childhood in the Caribbean, and the few letters he’d received from James.

“Take a look at your new home,” Mr. André prompted, and he automatically obeyed even as he almost scoffed. Home. Yeah, right. He looked up.

His bag fell to the ground with a thump.

Holy shit.

The house was gigantic, white with a red roof and at least two floors. Alexander couldn’t quite make out if there was a third or if it was an attic up there. A fucking tower stuck up in the middle of it. The car stood on a gigantic gravel circle surrounding a circle of green grass, and a lush garden stuck out from behind the building, and there was a lake.

This was his new foster home? Someone who lived like this wanted to take in a poor bastard from the middle of nowhere? Why?

Mr André let out a short laugh at Alexander’s open mouth and wide eyes. “Come on, Alexander. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Jerking back into reality, he grabbed his back quickly, following up to the brown double-doors. “Yessir.”

He swallowed as Mr André knocked hard on the door, forgetting to breathe for a moment as he waited to see his new foster parents. His heart pounded in his chest as he heard footsteps from inside.

The door slid open almost soundlessly, revealing a bald, middle-aged man. A quiet gasp of horror escaped Alexander. He was the biggest man he’d ever seen, with broad shoulders and a serious face. He swallowed, ducking his head to hide the fear in his brown eyes. If that was his new foster father, he could hurt him badly if he wanted to.

“Mr Washington,” Mr André said pleasantly, confirming his fears. Fuck. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Mr André, I assume,” Mr Washington replied, his voice one of someone who was used to being obeyed. “And this must be Alexander.”

Swallowing again, he forced himself to look up and nod slightly. “Yessir. Alexander Hamilton.” He blinked in surprise as his new foster father smiled warmly at him.

“Welcome to your new home. Come in. My wife is in the library, she’ll join us in a moment.”

Library. Alexander’s eyes snapped up to Mr Washington’s face, and he straightened without meaning to. They had a library? He was just about to shake his head to dispel his excitement as Mr Washington looked at him. Even if they did, there was no way they’d let him in there, was there?

“Do you like to read, Alexander?”

Biting his tongue, he nodded weakly. Hoping the other wasn’t insulted by his interest. “I do, sir.”

To his relief, Mr Washington only smiled wider. “Good. You’re welcome to read anything in there. Just be careful, some of the books are quite old. Quite a few first-editions too.”

Alexander couldn’t hide is shock, outright staring at him. “You’ll let me-?” He cut himself off quickly, freezing mid-step where he’d begun to make his way inside. “I- I’m sorry, sir,” he quickly mumbled. His stupid mouth, questioning things. Questioning something good. He gritted his teeth. Undoubtedly, he'd revoke the library privileges now, before he’d even had the chance to see it. Somehow, that felt worse than the beating he’d surely get for talking out of turn as soon as Mr André left.

Mr Washington raised an eyebrow, and Alexander swore at himself. For a moment, it seemed like he would say something but then he simply gestured for them to follow, calling out “Martha! They’re here!”

They were seated in a leather couch in the most luxurious living room he had ever seen in his life. If living room was even the correct word. Maybe parlour would fit better. The walls were covered in turquoise wallpaper, with oil paintings hanging on them. He recognized the coffee table as mahogany, and the back wall was dominated by a fireplace taller than him.

Smiling at him, Mr Washington gestured toward one of the paintings, the one hanging over the fireplace. Alexander recognized Mr Washington. He had his arm around a woman who must be his new foster mother. Then there were two other adults – a man and a woman – and a young boy. “You’ll meet Gilbert tonight. He’s our adoptive son, and your age. A few months younger, if I remember your birthday correctly. The other two are Martha’s - my wife’s - children from her first marriage. They have both moved back to Virginia, though.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, sir?” Alexander wasn’t sure what kind of response he was looking for. Mr André gave him a pointed glare, and he shrank in on himself.

Mr Washington only laughed softly, however. “Don’t be. They’re happy and that’s all a parent could ask for.”

He nodded quickly, averting his eyes. Focused on his breathing. The man, his new foster father, sounded trustworthy. Kind. But they always did. They always sounded like they wanted him there, like they wanted him to be family, but they never did. He hadn’t had a family since his mother died, not even his brother. It had been the same after that, and they’d grown more and more distant.

No, they’d keep the act up, especially as long as his caseworker stayed, and then they’d make sure he never forgot that he didn’t belong, that he was here on their mercy and that they could get rid of him whenever they wished. Or do whatever they wanted to him: no one gave a damn about yet another orphan lost in the foster system, especially not an immigrant. Even if the Virgin Islands actually were part of the US, but no one seemed to care about that.

Oh, Mr André actually had pulled him out of one of those foster homes himself after a teacher called CPS when the violence became too evident, but that was one time. One. Hardly something to cheer for.

Footsteps came from one of the arches leading into another hallway, and Alexander glanced up just in time to see a tall woman with her hair in cornrows and cornrows in a bun enter the room. Mr Washington lit up at the sight of her.

“Hello,” she said, voice light and sweet. “I’m Martha Washington.” She held out her hand first to Mr André who stood up and shook it, and then to Alexander. He quickly rose as well before shaking it weakly. A flush rose to his cheeks. Pathetic. He was perfectly capable of a strong, business-like handshake, but it wasn’t a good idea to show off to his new foster parents. Not to anyone who had power over him.

“Mrs Washington, a pleasure,” Mr André replied. “This is Alexander. We’re very grateful you were willing to take him in. Aren’t we, Alexander?”

He nodded, staring at the ground. “Yes, sir, we are. Thank you, ma’am.” The words tasted bad in his mouth. Gratitude. They always expected it, no matter how shitty they treated him. He glanced up at Mr Washington. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh you don’t need to be,” Mrs Washington was quick to say, causing Alexander to frown in confusion. “It’s our pleasure. We’re delighted to have Alexander in our home, and Gilbert is already so excited over having a brother his own age.”

“I already have a brother,” Alexander muttered, before stiffening. Stupid. His heart stopped, and he stared up at his foster parents in fear. “I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to talk back I’m-” He cut himself off. They’d hate if he rambled. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Mrs Washington tilted her head, watching him in...  was that concern? No of course it wasn’t, why would she be concerned about him? It was just annoyance disguised as it because Mr André still was here. Alexander already feared the moment when he’d leave.

“Why are you sorry, dear?”

“I didn’t mean to speak back,” he repeated, hating how weak he sounded. How weak he was. And hating that he hadn’t even been here ten minutes and he’d already fucked up.

The Washingtons exchanged a gaze.

“Don’t be, son,” Mr Washington finally said. Alexander flinched at that word. Son. “You’ve done nothing wrong. A brother, you say?” He merely sounded curious, but Alexander ducked his head anyway, nodding jerkily. Would they get mad he had a family outside of them? Even if he hadn’t seen him since he left the Caribbean?

“An older brother,” he finally replied softly. “James. He's still on St. Croix.”

“How come you’re not together?” Mrs Washington asked. “If you’re comfortable with me asking.”

He really wasn’t. Not at all. “He was just eighteen when our cousin... died. Our guardian.” His voice was almost inaudible. “Couldn’t take care of me, too old for the system. So he stayed, and I was sent to New York after the hurricane.” It had been so exciting, too, even with the scars watching his home being ruined left him with. He was going to move to the greatest city in the world. There had been no future for him at St. Croix.

Still wasn’t.

Smiling at him, Mr Washington nodded. “If you want to call him, the phone is yours. Don’t worry about long-distance fees, we can afford it.” He stood up, looking to Mr André. “Should we get the paperwork done?”

The other two adults agreed, leaving him behind to go sign the documents in Mr Washington’s study. Alexander curled up on the couch, careful not to let his dirty sneakers touch the leather. His blue second-hand Converse were so worn down he could almost feel the ground through the soles, and they were squeezing his toes. Half-turning, he looked back at the portrait. The fact that they had an oil-painting of their family was just... insane. People still did that?

He rolled his eyes. Rich people still did that. Because of course they did. The boy – they'd said he was his age – seemed to be about thirteen there, lanky and a little disproportionate, but already handsome. His thick, curly hair was in a bun on top of his head and he had a cocky sort of smile. Like someone who knew how good and smart they were.

Alexander remembered when he used to smile like that in public. He’d stopped sometime in his second year of foster families, he thought, though it was hard to keep track. Might’ve been a longer time ago.

Anxiety coiled in his stomach as he thought of meeting his new foster brother. Would he like him? Would he be like his last, a spoiled brat who thought he could treat Alexander like a slave? With riches like these, it didn’t seem unlikely. After all, Alexander himself was a nobody. Illegitimate, a deadbeat father, a deceased mother. Poorer than a church rat. His most expensive belonging was that fountain pen, which had cost him two hundred dollars. It was so smooth to write with it, and he adored it. Nothing else he owned cost more than twenty – his phone, that is. An old Nokia on which he could do nothing but text and call people, given to him by an old foster family. He was happy just to have it. James had called him on it on his sixteenth birthday a couple months ago. It was the last time they spoke.

Soon, the adults returned, and Mr André ruffled his hair, which he had tied up in a fashionably messy bun, and smiled at him. “Be good now, Alexander.”

“I will, sir,” he replied quietly.

With a nod, Mr André bid his goodbyes and left, leaving him alone with the Washingtons.

As soon as the door closed, Alexander braced himself, ready in case they’d decide to punish him for his rudeness already.

“So, Alexander,” Mrs Washington began, and he looked up at her, accidentally meeting her gaze. He held it defiantly for a moment before looking away, his heart fluttering anxiously. Damn him for being unable to learn his place. To his shock, there was not a hint of anger on her face. She just kept smiling. “Would you like a tour of the house right now, or do you want to go straight to your room? If you want to unpack and get some rest before dinner. Gilbert will be home by then, and he can be pretty intense.”

Unsure what the right answer was, he looked back to her, now careful not to look her in the eyes. There was no indication of which she wanted, so he carefully said, “Can we go to my room, ma’am? If that’s okay.”

She nodded, and he exhaled, relieved relief. Thank fuck, it had been the right one. “Of course. George, take his bag.”

“No!” His heart went up into his throat, and he stood up in alarm, his eyes wide as Mr Washington reached for the black gym bag. Were they- They wouldn’t take his things, would they?

Stopping mid-movement, Mr Washington stared at him in bewilderment before slowly straightening again, not grabbing the bag.

The relief was overpowering, and Alexander didn’t even care if they hit him for having the guts to act out like that, he jerked the bag toward himself, pressing it to his chest.

“Alright…” Mrs Washington blinked. “You can carry it yourself if you wish to, of course. Your room is on the second floor, next to Gilbert’s.”

What kind of name was Gilbert, anyway? Alexander wondered as he nodded again. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

His new foster parents led him out the room, up a dark-brown wooden staircase covered by a white carpet. Seemed like a stupid colour to make a carpet in his opinion. Especially one in the fucking entrance hall, where people would come inside from the garden. The walls were covered in art, and looking down at himself, at his worn black jeans, dark-blue t-shirt and flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he felt incredibly out of place. Alexander glanced up at them nervously. What was he even doing here? This wasn’t the kind of place he belonged in. Not yet, at least. One day, though. That was the thought that kept him going. One day.

“There is Gilbert’s room,” Mrs Washington told him, pointing at one door. For some reason, the French flag had been painted on top of the panel door.

Catching him staring, Mr Washington chuckled. “Gilbert is from France. His parents were close friends of ours and wished for us to receive guardianship of him if something happened to them.”

“That’s very nice of you, sir,” Alexander replied quietly, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. At least it had granted him some peace to know they had an adoptive son already. But if they’d adopted him because they knew his parents, it was a completely different thing.

Then, Mrs Washington opened the door next to Gilbert’s. “And this is yours. It’s a bit sparse right now, since we didn’t know what you’d like to furnish it with, but I’m sure we’ll fix that in no time.”

Alexander’s mouth fell open as he stepped inside. “This- This is all mine?” His voice sounded strangled as he stared at the room- at his room, at least for now. His throat felt thick all of the sudden.

“All yours, son,” Mr Washington confirmed.

It was so big. A twin-sized bed with a teal duvet stood by the wall, and the window had a window-seat, and there was a fancy writing desk with a real office chair that actually looked comfortable. There even was an armchair in one of the corners. “Th- thank you,” he whispered, hardly getting the words out. “Thank you so much, sir.”

Mr Washington smiled, and patted his shoulder. Alexander couldn’t help his violent flinch but was proud of himself that he hadn’t ducked away, at least. The hand was quickly removed.

“We’ll call you down for dinner in an hour.” Mrs Washington stepped out again, her husband following. “Gilbert will probably be home just before that. You can stay here, or explore the house. Do you want the door closed or open?”

Once again, he didn’t know the correct answer. Alexander chewed at his lower lip, then shrugged lightly. He wanted it closed. But he didn’t know what they wanted it to be. With a nod and another slight smile, Mrs Washington left it half-open as they left.

He listened to their steps disappear downstairs before he relaxed, throwing his bag on the bed and jumping up on it. The soft mattress bounced as he moved, and he couldn’t help the small noise of excitement he made. He’d forgotten what a comfortable bed felt like, if he ever had known. Compared to this, his bed home at Nevis had been a rock.

When he was certain they weren’t coming back, he started picking up his belongings. The books and notebooks came first, and then the photo album. He’d find somewhere to hide them soon, somewhere the Washingtons wouldn’t look if they searched his room. Then, carefully, he picked up the black folder in which he kept his brother’s letters to him, swallowing down the thickness in his throat.

He pulled up one of them, reading the first lines.

Alexander,

I’m happy to hear you’re doing well in America, and that you’re going to a better school than the one here.

Counting the times he’d debated with himself to call his brother and beg him to get him home to the Caribbean, to adopt him as his only relative alive – except for their father, wherever the hell he was. He’d almost done it one time last January after a bad beating for sneaking down to the kitchen to steal food. Especially during the horrible New York-winters. He never stopped being hungry during those months, and he never got enough food even during the summers. Alexander couldn’t count the times he’d gone to bed a frozen winter night sobbing for the tropical weather of the West Indies. Away from this frozen Hell. But eventually, he always talked himself out of it.

James and St. Croix were poor. He didn’t want to be a burden. They’d hardly spoken for over two years, and didn’t know each other anymore.

And in two years he would’ve aged out of the system. He’d finally be able to build himself a future, to go to a great college on full scholarship, become someone. A lawyer or politician, maybe. At St. Croix, he wouldn’t have a future. Certainly not one that would mark his name down in history. And that was what he wanted. What kept Alexander going.

A legacy.

Even if he had to survive two more years of foster care to get there, he would. He’d show them what Alexander Hamilton was capable of. That he was smarter than any of them, better than any of them. He’d be remembered by history while their petty little names disappeared forever as soon as their grandchildren were dead.

The corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. It was small, but it was there, and he glanced toward the door. The Washingtons could do their worst.

He’d show them all.

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

Ghost of you, 17/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 17/?.

Pairings: Human!Nine x Rose; Human!Ten x Jack; Clara Oswald x Olivia Baxter (OC).

Synopsis: “Be thou spirit of health, or goblin damn’d, Bring thee air from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com’st in such questionable shape That I will speak to thee.”

A/N: I've started writing this fiction last year after I had a particularly weird dream (as usual) and after I wrote the prologue, I've put it aside to work on other stuff. I've gone back to it not so long ago and decided that it would be the fiction I would post next, after not posting anything for a while. I must have watched I am legend and Game of thrones way too much to come out with something like this but I hope you will like it. I am not a scientist, nor did I have a particular knowledge of sciences. I do my researches on the internet like everyone to make sure everything is as close to the reality as possible. I have a literature degree only. Writing is what I do and it makes me explore next fields, and learn new things.

“Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you? / Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. / If charnel houses and our graves must send / Those that we bury back, our monuments / Shall be the maws of kites.” - Macbeth, Shakespeare.

CHAPTER 17:

Eleventh day of October. Day 1755 since the infection. Jack Harkness video log. Our researches are finally leading us somewhere. We have all this different information scattered and we’re trying to make them fit together like pieces of a huge puzzle. The noctiagus isn’t a simple deadly virus like the pest or the cholera. Unfortunately. We have the necessary weapons against those. The noctiagus is more like a cancer. A corrupted cell corrupting everything around it until the body gives in. It seems like nothing since we can’t cure most of the cancers yet but knowing how the virus works is a huge step still. We can adapt our researches to it. That’s what we’ve done already. The doctor Clara Oswald and myself are currently trying to find a way to fix the DNA and stop it from changing to the contact of those corrupted cells. This would be a great improvement for the sick people. And for our friend. The doctor Martha Jones helped us synthesising this sort of temporary cure. It has the form of a tiny pill that can be swallowed with a bit of water. Nothing too complicated. Except we’re afraid of testing it. Our only living subject is Maxence and the latest report on his health isn’t great. Testing it on him can be too dangerous. I don’t want him to suffer more than he does at the moment. And none of us wants him to… we want him to hold on. It wouldn’t be fair if he was dying now. The thought of Maxence dying forced Jack to stop speaking for a moment. He didn’t turn off the recording. He just needed a moment to breathe deeply and pull himself back together. He looked down, moved away, took deep breaths. Maxence being infected was a hard blow on him but there still was that hope to save him. Maxence fighting the virus had been a good thing at first but now… he was dying and Jack couldn’t handle that. He was putting his brave face on when he had to face everyone but deep down… deep down, he wished for this nightmare to be over. With all the geniuses gathered in this place, how could this cure still be unreachable? Jack ended up turning off the recording. This entry to the video log was over. He couldn’t say more. There wasn’t anything more to say anyway. The main information was inside. He sent the video to their common server. He didn’t mind what would be murmured behind his back for being so emotional. They could say whatever they wanted. They could even go to hell. His friend was dying for fuck’s sake! His best friend, the man who saved him from the consequences of after war. It couldn’t end like that. It couldn’t end before Jack found a way to thank him for this. He let himself fall on his desk chair and rubbed his face. It was hard to focus and worry at the same time. He hated this situation as much as everyone else in this building except for Colin. Colin who couldn’t harm anyone anymore thanks to Tegan. “Last time I’ve seen you looking so defeated, you were refusing my job offer.” For a second, Jack thought he was hallucinating, that the lack of sleep had finally gotten to him, but his brain was telling him that Maxence was speaking to him. He raised his head. His boss was sat on the chair on the other side of the desk, his legs crossed, and was observing him. Jack was a former soldier. Consequently, he knew that hallucinations came to him in his moments of weakness and guilt. The guilt to still be alive, the guilt not to have been able to save the men and women and children around him, the guilt to have killed in order to survive. Right now, he was feeling guilty for not working faster, for not finding a concrete answer, for not being able to save his friend and he was beyond exhaustion. All he needed was damn good news and days of sleep. Which he wasn’t gonna get this time again. He was clever enough to ignore the image of his boss. Last time he had spoken with an hallucination, he was in the psychiatric unit of a military hospital. Weeks after he was sent back home, he had lost his mind. He had broken down and his boyfriend at the time had had to have him locked up for his own sake. They had broken up because of that decision but Jack now had forgiven him. It had been the best decision at the time and he couldn’t see it. After that, he had gone back to his first love: sciences. That’s how he had met Maxence, how he had arrived here today. “Good thing I’ve insisted.” “What are you here for this time?” The words had blurted out of his mouth before he could hold them back. He stared at his boss straight in the eyes and folded his arms on his chest. He was aware that he was talking to someone that wasn’t there but it was too tempting to answer, to have a proper response to his questions. However, this time, Maxence remained silent and his image flickered. He looked at his hand that was almost translucent and frowned. A usual reaction when something wasn’t going the way he thought it would. “I came to say goodbye, Jack.” The former captain felt his heart furiously beating against his ribcage as if it was gonna come out of his body at any time. It was painful but the physical pain was nothing compared to the psychological one these words caused in him. ‘I came to say goodbye’ could only mean one thing and Jack didn’t like the meaning of it. He didn’t wait for the next sentence this fake Maxence could say. He jumped to his feet and rushed out of his office. He ran to the underground part of the lab, to the place his painful heart and the stabbing alarm resounding through all the building was leading him: where everyone was gathered to watch the worst happening under their eyes…

x

Tegan had thought that now that he had figured out who was behind this worldwide mess, things would be easier. He just needed to transfer the information to his team and they would be able to work harder on the noctiagus. With a copy of all the researches done by Myrtle Appleton that he had found in Colin’s computer, they had everything in hand. They couldn’t fail now. He was done typing the mail. The attached documents were done charging in the mail. He clicked on the ‘send’ button, closed the messaging service window and moved from his chair to his couch. He barely had his eyes closed for a bit of rest that he was getting a call on his phone. He groaned, pressed a pillow on his face and tried to ignore the call. How was Maxence doing this job? Worse, how was Harvey dealing with this whole building so well? The phone stopped ringing and he felt guilty for being so relieved. What he wanted was just a little bit of rest. Like the rest of his team, he was way beyond the exhaustion. They were all holding on to the nerves to find that cure and it wasn’t a good thing. Saving Maxence was becoming very urgent – more urgent with every minute – but working in these conditions was pushing them to make mistakes. Or to miss someone who was sabotaging their researches. Tegan was still feeling like an incompetent idiot for almost killing his boss. His boss… The words felt strange now that he was the boss and Maxence was a simple patient in his special unit. A patient with very worrying scans. The virus was winning but Maxence refused to let go. This was killing him, and Tegan wondered if the mistake he had made hadn’t sped up the process. His phone rang again and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It could be important. It could be a life or death question. It could also be nothing. There were still blokes who thought that they were funny by calling people and scaring them. The communication means were almost all down. The CRCD had its own aerials that were giving the whole building a constant access to internet and phone lines. It was a real blessing in times like this. They were rarely getting calls from the exterior but it sometimes happened, especially through radio frequencies. Usually, they were coming from survivors that were looking for loved ones or for help. Everything was written down in a notebook and transferred to the appropriate security services. The normal police had long lost this battle and Tegan ignored if the messages they were transferring were helpful to the persons who launched them. He finally picked up his phone on the third attempt of his caller to reach him and mumbled something in the speaker. He hoped that it was for something important because he wouldn’t move from this couch if this was just for a fight that had occurred somewhere in the building. It was up to the security to deal with that. He had had enough to do with Colin already. The news he was given was far more interesting though. He sat up quickly. “Say that again.” The man on the other side of the line repeated his words. “Let her in. Lock her in a crate and take her to one of the sterile rooms.” He ended the call and pushed the pillow away. He also pushed the fatigue away. It wasn’t time to sleep. Not anymore. Myrtle Appleton had decided to come into his realm and it was his duty to go and welcome her in person. She was infected but, unlike Maxence, she had all her abilities. It was another sort of sick person and he was willing to work on this. He would take care of her case personally. Scans, blood tests, saliva tests. Everything that would enable him to find the answers they were all craving for. If he hadn’t lost his trust in Adam, he would have taken him as his assistant. He would have learnt a lot but he had chosen Colin and Colin had ruined him. Now, Adam had been transferred to a lesser job and he had been advised to shut up about Maxence’s case or worse could still happen to him. Being fired, having this behaviour mentioned in his file and he was done in the job. He stopped by the lockers room and pulled on a hazmat suit. He wouldn’t lose any time. He would start working as soon as he got there. He was closing the door of his locker when he heard someone behind him. He jumped and turned around to find no one. Once again, he called himself an idiot for being so easily scared of a small noise, for being paranoid. “I’ve always known you would make a great boss for them all. You just needed someone believing in you and the necessary push.” This time again, Tegan jumped and turned back around. A pale image of Maxence was leaning against the lockers and looking at him. He had that smile a father would have after his kid told him about an achievement they would have done. Tegan was a scientist and didn’t believe in spectres. So, he just rubbed his eyes to get rid of their fatigue and passed through the ghost as if it wasn’t there. When it appeared again before him, he thought that maybe some help for this new case would be needed because he was really tired. “Be thou spirit of health, or goblin damn’d, Bring thee air from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com’st in such questionable shape That I will speak to thee.” Tegan was quoting Hamlet in the beginning of the Shakespearean play when the young prince faced the spectre of his father for the very first time. His own ghost, the ghost of his mentor, seemed amused by the reference. If Tegan had believed in supernatural stuff, he would have been terrified by this. He had read enough Shakespeare to know what spectres could push you to do in their names, or just because they were the manifestation of a deep guilt. The Macbeths once experienced it and it led them to madness and death. “I am thy mentor’s spirit, Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confin’d to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg’d away – Are you a man?” “Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil.” From Hamlet to Macbeth, there was only one verse and they had crossed the line. Tegan thought that he might have fallen asleep in the end. This was too unreal for his liking. He had no time for such fantasy. He needed to wake up and quickly! “I’ve got no time for this.” “I’m proud of you, T. Keep up the good work.” “What?” The image faltered and, with a bright smile, it disappeared and Tegan was left alone in the corridor he had stopped in. For a couple seconds, he remained still, unable to move or think. Until the alarm went off. An alarm that made his blood speed up in his veins and fear crush his heart. He completely forgot about Myrtle Appleton, about her researches, about everything that wasn’t Maxence and he ran, ran like crazy toward the current disaster of the building.

x

Amy was standing in front of the wall of pictures. She was still in Maxence and Rose’s room but she was alone now. Rose had thought that taking a shower would do her a world of good after this failed nap – for her at least – and she had left Amy to observe her surroundings. The therapist wouldn’t say no to a shower. After such a deep sleep, she felt rested but she needed to refresh herself and to change clothes to feel even better. Rose had allowed her to have that shower here when she would be done and she would also lend her some clothes. It felt weird to Amy to have a friend willing to do so much for her. From what she could see on this wall, Rose was quite the popular girl. Her childhood might not have been one of the best but she had managed to beat fate and to build herself this life she could be proud of. These pictures were showing the story of Maxence and Rose’s life. It almost looked like a fairy tale to Amy. There was so much love between those two human beings that she was almost jealous. Her husband never loved her the way Maxence loved Rose. He never did any of the things Maxence had done for her. The scientist seemed like the perfect man that every woman was dreaming of. He wasn’t as handsome or sexy as those photoshopped playboys you could find in magazines but he had something. Charisma. Gentleness. Intelligence. A rare combination in a man. Rose had found the rare gem and everyone could be jealous about it. She hadn’t let the opportunity disappear thankfully. She had grabbed it and kept it and her knight in shining armour was now the damsel in distress. Funny how things could change quickly. Her eyes stared at another picture. A friends’ picture that looked almost like a family picture. Taken around Christmas time. Maxence and Rose were gathered with Allegro, Jack, Tegan, Clara and Olivia around a small barbecue on the balcony of some flat. Maxence was roasting some chestnuts on the fire. Amy regretted not having friends like this to share such a moment. Her last Christmas… When was it already? What had she done? Probably gotten drunk and been sick for the next few days. She used to love this celebration so much before. She was always overexcited when Christmas time was rolling around. But with William’s death… “It was our last Christmas.” Amy jumped. She hadn’t heard Rose coming out of the bathroom. She turned to face her. Her brown hair that she was usually colouring into blonde or red were falling on her shoulders, wet. She had pulled on clean clothes but hadn’t finished with her hair yet. That was why she had a towel around her shoulders so it wouldn’t soak her T-shirt. “Sorry. Thought you’ve heard me.” “It’s okay. I’ve got lost in your story.” “Almost a fairy tale.” “Definitely a fairy tale.” Rose sighed and sat on the bed. She used the towel on her shoulders to dry her hair the best she could without using a hairdryer. She would just do a quick ponytail. No need to do anything fancy for work. She needed to go back to Maxence. She needed to find this cure. “You can use the bathroom. I’m done with it.” She grabbed the brush on her bedside table and started brushing her hair slowly. She would dye it in any colour Maxence would like to if she managed to save him. If it was the contrary… She would certainly die. She wouldn’t have the strength to keep going. Amy didn’t move. Not yet. Her eyes were still on the pictures. She wished she had such a wall, such memories. It was never too late to start. Maybe when the virus would only be a bad memory. Maybe Rose would take her in that sweet band of friends. She turned around when she heard Rose gasp and drop her brush. Her face had gone pale and her eyes were wide open. She was staring at something beside Amy. The therapist looked at the wall but couldn’t see what was scaring her patient so much. “What do you see?” “Not in the mood for therapy,” retorted Rose. She suddenly was up. She walked to the spot right next to Amy and raised her hand much to the therapist’s astonishment because she couldn’t see what Rose was seeing: the pale figure of her husband standing there with an apologetic look. He avoided her touch. “I’m just an image,” he declared sadly. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks silently as her hand fell back by her side. She never saw a ghost before but she knew how to tell that what was before her was real. His voice was distant, almost like an echo of lost words, and he was so pale she could see the wall and the pictures through him. As if he was nothing but a veil before her eyes. “Rose?” hesitantly called out Amy. “Why?” The question came out of her trembling lips. She had read enough books and myths to know that ghosts only appeared to the persons they loved. They were coming to say goodbye. A one last goodbye. There were people down there. They could save him before she even left this room. What were they doing? “I’ve never been that strong. My brain went through a lot when I was a boy. It couldn’t handle the virus any longer.” “You can’t…” Rose couldn’t form full sentences and Amy was watching her patient talk with a wall. Her attitude was clear enough: she was seeing her husband. It was her exhaustion and her anxiety playing tricks to her, making her hallucinate. She put her hand on her shoulder but Rose shrugged it off. She had no time to waste. Once again, she tried to touch Maxence. His image flickered and almost disappeared. She swallowed a sob. “I’m sorry, I wish our song wasn’t ending this way.” “I…” “I love you, Rose. In this life and all the others if they ever exist. Be strong for me, my love. Find this cure. Become the hero I’ve always known you were.” He bent over and she closed her eyes, thinking she would feel the ghost of his lips pressed against hers but there was nothing and when she opened her eyes, he was gone. She could have collapsed and cried but she swallowed the sobs again and rushed out of the room. She didn’t want this to end like this. Amy would have followed her if she hadn’t been facing the very same spectre Rose had been talking to. She opened her mouth but considering that he was barely visible now, that the image was fading away, she wouldn’t have time to say anything before he disappeared. He had one last thing to say and it was for her. “Take care of her for me. She’s the best woman you’ll ever meet.” “I will,” Amy promised. The next words he pronounced struck her. They were like a stab in her heart but in the good way. If a stab could be good in any way. ‘William wants you to know that he misses you and he’s happy you’re making friends again.’ Was he…? Her son… Was he around like Maxence? Could he see her and watch over her? She wanted to ask but Maxence was already gone and, the weight of these new words on her heart, she followed Rose’s path.

x

Liv was in Allegro’s cage when the alarm went off. Both of them raised their heads. Liv rushed to the interactive wall and checked Maxence’s vital signs. They were almost inexistent. She glanced at Allegro and mouthed a sorry before she rushed out of this cage to go to the other one. She dragged Maxence away from the broken bowl and spilled food and turned him on his side. The fall hadn’t hurt him badly but it was clearly not the matter now. She didn’t have time to lose. His heart was giving up because his brain was suffering from a severe pressure. The reason was unknown at the moment but they would find it later. Right pupil blown, cerebral fluid flowing through his nose. How had they missed the signs? They should have seen it long before this happen. She ran to the airlock and grabbed the medical bag she left there earlier. It would be very needed. She hurried back into the cage and knelt down beside him. She pulled out disinfectant and cleaned the area she was gonna work on. She hated this. She wasn’t a neurologist but she knew the process. She took the medical portable drill and cleaned it off quickly. Then, she pulled on latex gloves above the gloves of her suit and took a deep breath. Three fingers above the ear, two on the side of the blown pupil. A quick vertical cut. Ignore the blood. Place the drill in the middle of the cut. Drill a first hole. Behind the hairline, a bit off the midline. Second hole. Drill around the hole. Remove as much blood as possible. It was the process but she didn’t know what to do anymore now that the holes were pierced, now that the brain pressure was relieved. Tegan would know. That was his specialty. And she was just a simple doctor. Her eyes were clouded with tears as she was taking off as much blood as possible with gauze. Maybe a derivation would have been the best way but she hadn’t had time to do things properly. She was trembling. The life of her friend was between her hands and she was lost. “You can’t leave, Max. Not now, not when we’re so close. You gotta hold on. For Rose, for me. What will happen to us if you die?” She sniffled. Her tears were flowing. She didn’t hold them back anymore. “Rose will survive. She’s strong, she can do it but me? I need you. I need my friend. I need the man who saved my life and got in troubles for helping me. I need the man who gave me a second chance, the man who healed me with his kind words and hugs and support. I need to hear you tell bad jokes and I’ll laugh along even if it’s not funny. I need to see your smile again to think that the world is a good place. I need your presence to stop thinking that I’m unworthy, to think that I have my spot in this world. I need you to keep me above the water because I can’t do this without you, Max. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about dying and you’ve just come around and get this out of my head? Do you know how many times I’ve told myself that I couldn’t disappoint you after all you’ve done for me? Now is not the time, Max. This is not your time. I won’t let you.” She wiped away her tears. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t see a thing because of them. She was still cleaning that blood. There was too much, way too much and she was afraid that she might have done wrong. What if she had killed him instead of saving him? Rose would kill her this time. She would be so angry and devastated that she would kill her for ruining her husband’s last chance. “Please,” she begged. “Please, don’t die on me now.” Maxence had come to her too but she wasn’t seeing him. He was standing beside her, beside his wrecked body and was sadly looking at the scene, at his friend. She couldn’t see him because he was too translucent, couldn’t hear him because he was too weak but he was there. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you’re stronger than you think you are, Olivia.” He was the only one able to use her full name, a name she hated for reasons only Rose and him knew now. “I believe you will go on with your life without me. And it’s gonna be fantastic.” He gave a small sad smile at the scene. He wished she could have heard him. He wished she could see how strong she was. He had been their cornerstone for so long and now, they were gonna have to learn how to live without him. It would be hard at first, but with time, it would be okay. He would find a way to stay around them, when he would be less tired. He closed his eyes. Now was his time to go…

To be continued...

Ghost of you © | 2017 - 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

×××

In the next chapter:

She could hear his voice now but she didn’t react to it. It was her grief speaking. Just a memory in a spectral form. It was no way to remember this fantastic man. She preferred keeping the precious memories of him smiling and laughing, the priceless image of the man who took her out of the orphanage when she was sixteen, the picture of him bruised after he got involved in a fight with his biological father who was responsible for her rape, for her miscarriage and her now inability to carry children. She remembered the many nights spent on the phone with him because she couldn’t sleep without nightmares, the many times he came over so she wouldn’t be alone and do something she would regret later.

×××

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English version:

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[itsawritblr]

People have gone insane.

This year a friend’s daughter, who I’ll call S., worked at the Sweet Martha’s Cookies stand at the Minnesota State Fair (they sell buckets of chocolate chip cookies).  I’ve gone to the fair regularly for 12 years and I’ve never seen any violence or bad behavior.  But this year people went fucking apeshit, thankfully not while my friends and I were there.  We went during the week and early in the morning, just as the fair opened.  There are lots of families with young kids and older people then.

The nights and weekends toward the end of the fair were the worst.  My friend told me what happened to her daughter:

“S. had such a scary night at Sweet Martha's. They actually closed even before the Midway incident that shut down the entire Fair (someone was shot). Tremendous crowds, bad tempers, fist fights in line, and final straw was when someone yelled at and threw an alcoholic drink in the one of the server's faces, a sweet, young high school girl who was, understandably, very upset. The managers at Sweet Martha's shut it down at that point and they had to shelter in place until it settled down. Due to high police presence because of the shooting on the Midway it was difficult to pick her up afterward.

“S. went back Sunday night and it was much better. However, the lack of control that some people exhibit now is just mind boggling. Who thinks that taking your anger out on a 15/16 year old kid by doing something like that is acceptable behavior!?? It is just cookies for goodness sakes and the kids working there have no control over the crowds or whatever else was bothering him.  I commended the Sweet Martha's managers for handling the situation as promptly as they could, keeping their employees safe inside, then escorting them in groups to where they needed to be when given the all clear.”

It’s a goddamn state fair.  Can’t people curb their assholery so everyone can have fun eating fair food, going on rides, watching performances, and looking at giant vegetables??  Why the fuck would you sneak a goddamn gun into a fair?  Why the hell would you think you’d need one??

And now fistfights and abuse are regular things.  There’s lots of alcohol available at the fair, but I’ve never seen anyone drunk or obnoxious because of it.

What I love about the fair is it’s literally tens of thousands of people from all walks of life, rural and urban, all religious and political -- and non-religious -- beliefs, getting together and leaving each other alone.  People will wear shirts and carry bags that have slogans that express where they stand politically, but no one gets in their faces about it.  There’s this unspoken agreement that the fair is a place to leave all that shit behind and just enjoy yourself.

This year, somehow, that disappeared.  The growing violence in my city, and most cities, has seeped into the fair.  So has the intolerance.  Most of it is from teenage and college-age kids, who seem to believe the rudeness and aggression they spew on the Internet is acceptable in public.

I know two people who’ve worked at the fair for years who are leery about returning next year because they’ve seen or experienced violence for the first time.

[willgayers]

reddie under the mistletoe!!

here ya go!

“So… what are you doing tonight?”

“I don’t know. Just hanging out with mom, I guess.”

Beverly and Eddie were walking through an aisle at the mall, a Christmas pop-up store one.

“With your mom?” Beverly raised her brows as her eyes widened slightly. “Are you serious? Eddie, it’s Christmas Eve! You’re gonna have to hang out with her tomorrow. Today is technically your last night of freedom!”

Eddie snorted as he graced his fingers over random objects, not really looking for anything.

“I don’t know, Bevvie. Are you doing something tonight, then?” He asked.

“Well, Richie and I were thinking that maybe we could all do a little Christmas hangout thingy.” Beverly shrugged.

“But Stanley’s Jewish,” Eddie said, turning his gaze to Beverly now.

Beverly sighed, glancing away.

“Yes… Richie uh, Richie wants to call it Chrismukkah.” She said, and Eddie snorted, amused.

“A what?”

“A Chrismukkah,” Beverly said. “Christmas and Hanukkah.”

“That’s kinda clever,” Eddie smirked a little.

“So are you coming?” Beverly asked, excited. They hadn’t noticed the aisle had ended, so they accidentally almost walked towards an older lady.

“Sorry,” Eddie rushed to say, but the woman just rolled her eyes with a scoff before she walked away.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Eddie mumbled.

“That’s how you’re gonna end up if you don’t come tonight,” Beverly said. “Lonely and bitter. And annoyed over nothing.” She shot the lady a scowl.

Eddie let out a laugh as they turned around the corner to shuffle on another aisle.

“Why? You’re all gonna abandon me if I don’t come tonight?” He asked Beverly.

“Possibly,” Beverly said. “I mean, all of us except Richie.”

Eddie went bright red, and he had to turn his head away, pretending he was looking at some handicraft Santa.

“Why wouldn’t Richie?” He asked. He’d been in love with Richie ever since forever, but he’d never talked about his feelings. I mean, come on; Richie was a ladies man. He’d never really had girlfriends though, which Eddie found kind of weird, taking there were literal lines of girls who wanted to date him. Maybe Richie was just picky.

He thought Beverly didn’t notice the redness on his face, but she did.

“Because Richie can’t afford to lose a friend. He’s too annoying to make friends with anyone outside the group.” Beverly just shrugged. Of course she saw the reaction from Eddie; but she wasn’t gonna be a bitch about it. She knew Eddie liked Richie. She’d noticed it every single time Richie made a joke, how Eddie would quietly chuckle. How when Richie said something actually smart, Eddie looked at him with the literal definition of star-eyes. And finally, the look on Eddie’s face when the “hottest girl” in class, Jennifer Kettles came to ask Richie on a date. But as Richie’s best friend, Beverly also knew that Richie had the hots for Eddie — he held the doors open for Eddie and Eddie only, he practically every time asked Eddie’s opinion on something the losers were discussing, he literally called him cute right to his face every now and then… Who wouldn’t know it? Well, everyone except Eddie, apparently. 

“Right,” Eddie said, for some reason feeling disappointment burn in the pit of his stomach. Of course that’s only why. 

“So— you coming?” Beverly asked, tilting her head lightly. Eddie turned back around from the handicraft Santas.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, faking her a tiny smile.

—–—

He didn’t think about it.

In all honesty? He didn’t even want to go. Lately his feelings for Richie had grown over to the maximum, to the point where it almost physically hurt to be around him and not kiss him or touch him constantly. Christmas break would be awesome for that; he wouldn’t have to see Richie.

Or so he thought.

Eddie was lying on his bed, reading a comic, when suddenly he heard someone speak from downstairs.

“Well, a very merry Christmas Eve to you, Mrs. Kaspbrak!”

Eddie’s eyes widened.

“What do you want, Richard?” Said Sonia’s bored, or if you may, done, tone.

“Is Eddie home?”

Kaspbrak dropped the comic and jumped down from his bed, rushing downstairs.

“He’s not going out.”

“Why not?”

“Heyyyyy,” Eddie rushed to say from the stairs, seeing his mother stand on the doorway in front of Richie.

Richie, who had his curly hair stuffed under a dark blue beanie, some of it shoving out anyway. He was wearing a black jacket and a grey scarf around his neck, his glasses lightly fumed up and Eddie almost needed his inhaler from the cuteness.

And then there was that god-damn smile.  

“Hey!” Richie happily said.

“I can take it from here,” Eddie said to his mom as he arrived at the doorway, glancing at Richie before turning his gaze back to his mom. “Thanks, ma.”

Sonia looked at Eddie for a moment quietly, before she gave Richie one more judging look.

“Fine,” she then muttered and walked away.

Eddie stared after her until she’d disappeared in the kitchen.

“What’s up?” He then asked as he turned back to Richie.

“Why aren’t you dressed up?” Richie asked, gesturing towards Eddie’s small frame that was clothed in a pair of black sweatpants and a oversized grey sweater.

Eddie glanced at his clothes as well.

“Uh… why would I be? It’s the holidays,” He let out an awkward chuckle.

“Because Chrismukkah starts in five hours.” Richie said.

“Right,” Eddie said. “But I’m not coming.”

Richie looked at Eddie, blinking a couple of times.

What did he mean he wasn’t gonna come?! How else would Richie be able to give him his present?! How else would Richie be able to spend time with him?!

“Why?” Tozier just asked.

“I promised mom we’re gonna decorate the tree tonight,” Eddie said.

“Tonight? Oh, come on Eds! You’re gonna have plenty of time to decorate it later.” Richie said.

“Later? Richie, tomorrow’s Christmas.” Eddie frowned.

“Well it’s not my fault you haven’t decorated the tree yet. I mean, come on, Kaspbrak. What are you, Grinch?” 

Eddie snorted in amusement.

“Mom only got it today,” He said. "Where is this Chrismukkah even happening?”

“At the swimming hall.” Richie shrugged.

Ah. Their regular hangout place. The abandoned swimming hall at the outlines of the city.

“And everyone else is coming?” Eddie asked, biting on his lip gently. Richie tried to shrug off the thoughts this caused him.

“Yeah,” he just said.

Eddie kept on biting down to his lip, thinking; before he gave in with a tiny chuckle. He could decorate the tree once he got home.

“Okay, fine.”

Richie started to smile wide.

“Yeah?!”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded.

“Oh, great!” Richie said, clapping his hands together once. “Great great great!”

Then he started to walk away from Eddie’s yard.

“Well, see you tonight then, Spaghetti!”

Eddie rolled his eyes amusedly.

“See ya,” he said, watching as Richie turned to the yard, and gave Eddie one last wave. Eddie waved back, and then closed the door.

“You going somewhere tonight?” Sonia appeared from behind the corner like she’d been listening to every word. Well, she probably had.

“It’s this Chrismukkah thing.” Eddie shrugged, glancing away.

Sonia frowned.

“A what?”

“Christmas and Hanukkah,” Eddie said.

His mother looked at him for a moment, before dryly mumbling;

“…Right.”

“…can I… can I go?” Eddie asked, knowing that if his mother would say no now, he’d just have to sneak out.

“Well you’ve already decided to go, haven’t you?” Sonia asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Was this a trick question?

Eddie just nodded, and Sonia glared at him for a moment.

“No drinking and you’ll be back home by nine.”

“By nine?” Eddie asked. “Come on, mom— it starts at eight!”

Sonia scowled at her son again.

“Fine. Ten.”

Eddie fought the urge to roll his eyes. Two hours. Wow.

“Clear?” Sonia asked.

“Yes, mom…” Eddie mumbled, and Sonia nodded.

“Great.”

Eddie just nodded and walked back upstairs, now daring to roll his eyes.

—–—

Richie hadn’t told any of the losers about his little trip to Eddie’s place to make sure he really was coming, but Beverly especially had noticed Richie’s rather over-excited mode, and how he’d been jumping from one corner of the pool to another, hanging up Christmas decorations and a string of letters that said “Happy Hanukkah!”

"Have you got the ham?” Richie asked, and Beverly nodded.

“Plastic plates?”

Nod.

“Tiny doughnuts?”

Nod.

“Wine-”

“Richie, I’ve got everything we wrote to the list,” Beverly said, and Richie just nodded; before he gasped so fast Beverly flinched a little.

“I almost forgot! And people are gonna be here soon!” He blurted out as he rushed to a white bag at the other corner of the pool.

“Richie, people are our friends.” Beverly noted. “Five of them. You’re not exactly throwing the—”

But as she saw the look on Richie’s face, she cut it, and started to smile.

“Sorry. You’re right. Great you remembered before they got here.” She said.

Richie had started to get an interest of organizing “events” lately; whether it was a group sleepover, a horror movie marathon on Halloween or a brunch with weird things — but in every occasion Richie was very proud of himself, and it made all the other losers happy.

Richie smiled wide at Beverly before he grabbed the bag and walked back over to Bevvie.

“What’s in the bag, Tozier?”

They turned their gazes to the left, seeing Stan and Bill walk towards them.

“Hey guys,” Richie said as the two looked around.  

“W-wow,” Bill said.

“I know right?” Richie smirked.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Rich?” Stanley asked, and for a moment Richie’s smirk faded away; did he do something wrong? Was Stan not impressed? Richie just wanted to be fair to him too!

“This is awesome,” Stanley then let out a laugh, and now Richie was smiling at him.

“Thank you,” he said.

Literally a few seconds after, Ben and Mike walked in, a whistle leaving Mike’s lips.

“Nice, Richie,” He commented. “You really are a Martha Stewart inside.”

Ben jumped straight down, making his way to Beverly and mumbling a soft “Hey”, before kissing her.

“Love what you’ve done with the place, Rich.” Ben said and Richie was so smitten as everyone seemed to admire his decorations.

The only one missing now was Eddie; he was running late, due to he had no idea what to wear. He’d switched shirts like five times — he didn’t even know himself why, but he found himself looking at his reflection from different angles until he just groaned and pulled on a dark purple Christmas sweater.

He was just about to step out of his room, when he turned to look at the night table next to his bed; and leaned closer to grab something wrapped in red paper from the first drawer. Then he rushed out.

—–—

At the swimming hall the other losers were already chit-chatting and eating the appetizers — some pigs in blankets.

“Is Eddie coming?” Stanley asked at one point.

“Yeah,” Richie said. “I mean; at least that’s what he told me.”

“He told you he was coming?” Beverly asked, a little offended. “To me he said he wasn’t sure.”

Everyone exchanged looks and Richie tried to look past them; even though he knew exactly what the others meant by their tiny smirks.

“Hey Bevvie can you pass me that ketchup?” Mike asked, and just as Beverly handed it, someone’s voice echoed from further.

“Sorry I’m late!”

They all turned their heads, seeing Eddie rush from the doors. A smile spread across Richie’s face immediately; which of course didn’t go unnoticed by Stan, who nudged Ben’s side with a wiggle of his brows. Ben just amusedly rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Richie said as Eddie jumped down to the pool, Tozier’s voice softer than he’d intended to— but shit, did Eddie look cute in that sweater.

Eddie took notice of the tone of his voice, making his cheeks heat up but he brushed it off with a tiny smile. He didn’t mean it like that, Eddie.

“Hey,” he said, making his way over to the rest of them. He sat down next to Richie, who couldn’t stop staring at Eddie; but as Eddie turned his head to glance back at him, Richie cleared his throat and turned his head away.

“So—!” He started. “Now that you’re all finally here—”

He grabbed the white bag from the floor.

“These are some little gifts I’ve made you all.”

“You made gifts?” Ben asked. “I didn’t know we were supposed to bring gifts?”

Ben glanced around the other losers, starting to panic a little; did he forget something?

“No, no, you weren’t supposed to,” Richie said. “I just wanted to make y'all a little something.”

“Richie, if we would’ve known—” Beverly started, making eye contact with the other losers.

“Seriously guys! It’s okay,” Richie chuckled. “Now—”

He pulled out something that looked like a Santa hat at first; but then it looked like a Kippah.

“What… is that?” Stanley tilted his head lightly, in curiosity.

“It’s a Santippah!” Richie announced proudly. “A Santa hat Kippah!”

“That’s the cutest thing ever!” Beverly blurted out, leaning to grab the one Richie was holding. She placed it on top of her head and smiled at Ben who chuckled.

Richie started handing them out for all of them, as they all placed it on top of their heads with smiles on their faces.

Stanley especially was smiling; the fact Richie had really done something like this, even if it was a little weird — it meant a lot.

Richie handed Eddie one last, and watched as the brunette placed it on top of his head.

“How do I look?” He smirked at Richie.

Adorable. Cute. Perfect.

“You look great,” Richie just smiled, making Eddie’s stomach fill with butterflies as he had to glance away. 

“Where’s y-your hat, Rich?” Bill asked.

“Santippah, babe. It’s called a Santippah.” Stan corrected.

“Sorry. S-Santippah.” Bill nodded.

“Yeah, where’s yours?” Eddie asked, leaning to grab the last one from the bag.

“Chill, I just haven’t had the time to put it on yet,” Richie laughed, and Eddie pulled it out, grabbing the empty bag from Richie’s hands and tossing it away.

Richie was about to take the Santippah from Eddie, but he raised it away; he wanted to put it on Richie’s head. Once again, all the other losers glanced at each other remarkably. Richie swallowed as he blushed a little.

Eddie smirked as he adjusted the hat on Richie’s raven hair, and then smiled at the boy.

“There.” He said.

“How do I look?” Richie asked.

“Very handsome.” Eddie smiled, and the look in his eyes made Richie’s heart flutter in his chest.

God, he was so in love with this boy; how did Eddie not see it? They sat there, staring into each other’s eyes, like this moment with Santippah’s had just changed something between them, making them completely forget about all the other losers.

His gaze turned to Eddie’s hair, especially the stray that had escaped, probably in process of the Santippah being adjusted.

“Wait, your hair is…”

He leaned to pull the stray behind Eddie’s ear. Eddie’s, whose breath nearly hitched in his throat.

There was another long gaze exchanged, when suddenly someone cleared their throat.

That someone being Stanley.  

“I am starving!” He said. “Lets eat.”

“Right,” Eddie blurted out, blushing immediately.

“Yes, food,” Richie said, turning his head away.

Beverly smirked at Ben; they’d planned something for later tonight.

They had a great time; the food was really good, they talked about funny things that had happened a year ago in December, discussed the upcoming year in school… until it was nine forty-five pm.

“Oh shit, guys— I gotta go,” Eddie spoke, and the laughter faded.

“What, already?” Richie asked immediately, disappointment filling his guts.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. “Mom.”

They all made a quiet “aaaaah”, understanding.

“Well let me uh— let me walk you to the door,” Richie said.

Eddie looked at him for a moment before nodding.

“Okay, sure,” he said.  

He did still have his present to give.  

“Okay— I’ll be right back guys,” Richie said.

“Okeydokey,” Beverly said, leaning to take some more ham. She seemed weirdly cheery, but Richie and Eddie just decided to shrug it off.

“Well— merry Christmas guys,” Eddie said. “And uh, happy Hanukkah.”

Stanley nodded with a smile.  

“Merry Christmas Eddie,” they all said in choir.

Richie and Eddie then climbed up from the pool and started to waddle away.

“You had fun?” Richie asked, and they glanced at each other as they walked on the dimly blue-lit (from Richie’s Christmas lights) hallway.

“Yeah,” Eddie smiled. “You did a great job.”

Richie smiled back at him.

“Thanks,” he said.

Then they stepped outside, where it had started to softly snow.

“Looks pretty,” Eddie said.

“Yeah,” Richie agreed.

Then they turned to look at each other again.

“I uh… I got you something,” Eddie said, and Richie’s eyes widened a little.

“You… did?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, opening his fanny-pack and taking the present out.

“I don’t know if you have it already, but…”

Richie smiled as he grabbed the wrapped present. He opened it, and gasped. It was a Nirvana cassette.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I mean… I only have the record.”

Eddie glanced away. Shit. He’d thought he’d been clever and got him something he didn’t have yet.  

“But I mean—! I can’t listen to a record in the car, for example. Thank you, Eds. I appreciate this,” Richie said, and now Eddie smiled at him.

“Yeah, it’s… yeah.” He just shrugged.

Richie looked at him for a moment, before he licked his lips and then spoke.

“I got something for you too,” he said.

Eddie raised his brows.

“You did?” Eddie asked, surprised.

Richie nodded, reaching for his flannel pocket. He handed Eddie a poorly wrapped present, that made Eddie smile. Richie was adorable.

Eddie opened the present, and smiled wide.

“You made this?” He asked.

It was a black bracelet with beads that all had one letter of Eddie’s name in them. Well, actually it spelled E D S.

“Yeah,” Richie shrugged, immediately regretting the decision; what was he even thinking?! That he’d be cute—? Oh my God, Richie, what are you- twelve?!

“It’s very cute. Thank you.” Eddie said.

“You think?” Richie asked, starting to smile again.

Eddie nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. Richie blushed a little, glancing away. 

“Can you tie it?”

Richie turned his gaze back to Eddie, who was looking at him. Richie just nodded, grabbing the bracelet from Eddie who held his hand out. Richie pulled his sweater sleeve up, before closing the thing around his much more tinier, tanned wrist. He swallowed, not really remembering to let go; but then he did, before he nervously (at the touch of their skin), lifted his gaze up to Eddie again.

“There,” He said.

They stood there for a moment, and then Eddie turned his gaze upwards where the snow was coming from, only to have his lips parting lightly.

“What?” Richie asked.

Eddie glanced at him and pointed upwards. Richie turned his gaze upwards too, blushing even more now.

“O-oh,” he uttered out, the both of them looking at the mistletoe.

“Should we, uh…” Eddie started, clearing his throat.

“Well I mean— we don’t, we don’t have to-” Richie started, and a little disappointed, Eddie turned his gaze away.

“But I mean if you want to,” Richie blurted out, clearly seeing the change in Eddie’s mood. Eddie turned his gaze back to Richie.

“Because I… I would. Want to,” Richie spoke, his throat suddenly feeling dry.

Eddie didn’t say anything; he felt like his whole body was noodle right now. Richie wanted to kiss him?

He was quiet for so long Richie started to regret saying anything at all.

“I’m sorry, I—” he started to speak, but Eddie stepped closer so Richie went quiet.

“You… you wanna…?” Richie started to ask carefully, and Eddie nodded with a tiny smile.

Richie had kissed a few people before; not exactly romantically, but he had. Meanwhile this was Eddie’s first kiss, so he had no idea what to do.  

Richie realized this, so he started to lean closer slowly, both of their hearts beating so fast in their chests it felt like they were gonna burst out.

Eddie was nervous, his palms were sweaty and he kept on licking his lips; until Richie finally closed the gap between them and their lips collided.

Eddie sighed to the kiss — Richie was good.

Tozier was enjoying himself as well; Eddie’s lips were soft and tasted like peppermint.

Beep beep! 

Richie flinched at the sound, pulling away. Eddie glanced at the clock on his wrist and sighed; 10.00 PM.  

“I—”

“You gotta-”

“Go,” Eddie said. “Yeah.”

Richie nodded.

They stood in silence for a moment, not exactly sure how to act.

“Merry, uh… Merry Christmas,” Richie said, and Eddie smiled lightly.

“Yeah. Merry Christmas Richie,” he said.

Richie just nodded, turning around and starting to walk back in.

You’re an idiot you’re an idiot you’re an idiot, he thought to himself.

Why’d you have to kiss Eddie?! It was just a stupid mistletoe! Eddie probably only did it because it’s a thing— not because he’d really want to kiss you!

“Richie, wait—”

Tozier turner around on the hallway, just in time as Eddie now practically threw himself at the taller boy, grabbing his face and pressing his lips to Richie’s. For a moment Richie was confused and taken by surprise, but soon he melted to the kiss, gently grabbing Eddie from the waist; and just as the kiss was getting good, Eddie pulled away.

“Now I can go,” He breathed out, and Richie was smiling from ear to ear.

“Bye,” he said, and Eddie smiled back as he started to rush away.

“Bye.” Richie said, holding his hand up in a wave. “Wait!”

Eddie turned around. “Yeah?”

“Can I… I mean, do you wanna, like… hang out, tomorrow, or something? Like later.” Richie babbled out.

Eddie smiled wide.

“Sure. I’ll call you.” He said, and Richie smiled back, before he nodded.

“Okay.”

“Maybe we can re-match that,” Eddie said, and Richie’s eyes widened. He could’ve passed out at the thought of how many times they could kiss.

But he forced himself to just give Eddie another nod, who then smiled once more before he then rushed away.

Richie watched as the brunette hurried back outside, before he turned around and made his way back to the pool where all the losers were laughing and talking loudly.

Richie walked back over to them, sitting next to them around the fire, still a stupid goofy grin on his face.

Best, Christmas Eve, ever.

@superbyersbros@xbell22@donthateonk8@stenbroughbros@reddiebrekmyheart@itsgreywaterrichie@donvex@blueeyespurpleskies@ageorgymi@oh-youre-the-worst @eddiekaaspbraak @whipashwhipash@rissyq @richietoaster@edskasqbrak@urtury@bukiminajimu@kcutieeesblog@stansmansuris@adorefack@reddieaddict@icyeyes102@denbroughbill@graveyardshipper@taletellingsir@anxiety-freak-yuuri@rheddie@queertrashmouth@richiefreakingtozier@castletozier@tohzier@80soleff@lonewolfhard@low-key-dying@sad-synth @richietoaster@badboyharrington@beepbeep-losers @temptedtozier @kaspbraccs @kylieee827-blog @sad-synth @low-key-dying @officiallyreddie @reddietofall @stanleyboii @eternitynurarms@remushlupin@turtleneckrichie @rosegoldrichie @80srichie @asteroidbill@lonewolfhard@trashmouthgazebos@littlepointman@finnhardwolf @allison0609@fabulousprinceali  @tatiscribbles @s-s-georgie @coralinejones @richiestoziiers@tatiscribbles @bellsd129

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Whole (Part 2) - brood au

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Dick Grayson, all the kiddos Pairing: implied/past/future superbat Summary: Despite his kids’ claim, Clark didn’t make all these photo albums just for himself. A/N: Equally as bad as the first part I guess. Conner is also in this album, I just didn’t mention any specific ones. Jon’s gonna take over this reunion at one point. And despite his ridiculousness, Bruce absolutely loves him already. The ending is probably a little too figurative, but it’s basically Clark thinking ‘oh man, I want to spend all this alone time with Bruce.’ but then also: ‘God I fucking love these kids so much, and I love these little moments of spending time with just them just as much as I want to spend time with Bruce.’

Part 1.

Other Brood AU things.

~~

It was like herding sheep, getting everyone back inside. The kids could barely let go of Bruce, and Dick was already off, chatting Bruce’s ear off before he could properly climb the porch steps.

They piled into the living room, Lois motioning to the sofa, offering it to Bruce. Bruce nodded silently and took it. His children began to swarm around him, Cass and Tim on one side, Damian tight to the other. Jason was going to sit next to him, but Jon beat him to the spot, curling his legs up and leaning against Damian like a scared puppy. Jason just snorted, ruffled Jon’s hair, and sat on the arm of the couch next to him.

Lois took the other chair, Conner mimicking Jason’s position on its arm. Dick and Clark remained standing.

“Do you want any photo albums, Bruce?” Lois asked, trying to cover a laugh. “Clark loves to document. Especially milestones.”

“I think there’s a whole album for each of us about losing our teeth.” Jason added quietly, smirking. Clark returned the grin.

“I just…wanted to make sure Bruce didn’t miss anything.” Clark mumbled sheepishly.

“For Jon and Conner too?” Dick teased.

“…Well, Batman does like to be informed.” Clark laughed. “…I do have some, if you want, though.”

“…Sure.” Bruce hummed. “I’d love to see some.”

Clark nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat, and silently moved up the stairs towards his bedroom. Heard Dick take over the conversation, asking Bruce about his ride here, what city he came from, if he’d seen Alfred yet.

So far, so good.

But still, ever the dad, he worried, even his small distance away. Were Bruce’s kids coping okay? Was this too much? Should he have reintroduced them one by one? And what about his own children? Conner isn’t feeling left out, is he? And Jon? Just…Jon?

As he reached under the bed for the box, he thought about maybe worst of all – his own heart. It was thrown back into the emotions of ten years ago. And he realized, more than his worry for the kids, more than his worry about how today would go, he was worried about the realization that had been smacking him in the face every second since he’d set eyes on Bruce getting out of that car.

He was still in love.

Hell, he was still head over heels. And now really wasn’t the time to be focusing on that, was it?

It needed to be about the kids. He needed to focus on the kids.

He sighed and shook his head, grabbing as many photo albums as he could carry. Made sure they were all about Bruce’s kids, though brought one down for Jon and Conner each, in case Bruce wanted to see them. Would look at them himself, if not.

He hadn’t just made these things for Bruce after all. He wanted to relive his own kids’ lives too.

Things were still calm when he went downstairs. Dick was still in charge of the conversation, still rattling on. Bruce was listening intently, matching soft smiles on both his and Lois’s faces. Jon was still as close to Damian as possible, but Jason had somehow convinced him to now lean back, against his knee. His eyes were darting between Dick and Bruce, and he was still clearly on edge, though the fact that Damian was letting him hold his hand seemed to be helping.

Dick just kept talking, even as they became aware of Clark’s return. Clark didn’t interrupt him, just carefully set the stack of books on the coffee table, handing Bruce the one on top – the one his mother Martha had made, when they all believed this custody agreement was temporary. Before Conner and Jon, for the most part.

The book was ragged and old-looking. Not because of Clark’s frequent looks through it, but because of the kids themselves. Damian looked at it a lot, when he was missing his father, or his older siblings as they went off into the real world. Jason looked at it when he was starting to feel like he didn’t belong. Cass liked to go through it with Jon, who found such a simple joy in seeing his family before he existed.

“Ho, boy.” Dick commented, as Bruce took the volume, staring almost nervously at the front cover – a picture of Clark sleeping on the floor surrounded by all five of Bruce’s kids, then babies and barely above his hip. “Good luck, Bruce.”

Bruce smiled and opened the front cover almost eagerly. Tim and Damian immediately leaned over his arms to look themselves.

Jason snorted in amusement.

The first page, and the few after, as Bruce learned, was the kids’ first day on the farm. Or rather, their first day with Grandma Martha. She was in each picture, holding Damian, wiping Jason’s face, carrying Cassandra on her back, holding Tim on her hip between her and her husband. Dozing with Dick on the sofa, and then dancing with him in front of the barn right below that.

The next page was groupings. Tim on Dick’s back. Jason holding Damian, the two with matching pouting faces. Cassandra and Damian both napping on Clark’s lap. Dick and the dog, Tim sitting on a cow, Dick climbing the barn rafters, Damian petting a horse from Grandpa Jonathan’s arms.

There was one of Dick holding Damian, squishing their noses together. But in the background, almost too blurry to be seen, was Jason. He was crying, hands balled into tight fists, held at the corner of his eyes. Clark was kneeling in front of him. Trying to calm him down, soothe him any way he could.

Bruce silently wondered why he was crying. If anyone would remember.

Though if he were honest with himself, he already knew.

“What was it like?” Bruce found himself asking. “Growing up here?”

“Quiet. Good. Nice.” Dick answered. Despite being asked to the room it was most likely aimed at him. “Different from Gotham for sure.”

“Clark actually made us do stuff.” Jason grumbled, but it was almost fond. “I spent the first year here asking why we couldn’t call Alfred to milk the cows.”

“You tried to teach Damian ‘Where’s Alfred?’ as one of his first sentences when you were mad at me.” Clark reminded, a nostalgic smile appearing on his face too. “Right behind ‘Clark is stupid.’”

“To be fair, you were being stupid.” Jason countered, pointing thoughtfully at Clark. “So, I mean, it’s not like I was trying to teach the kid how to lie.”

“Still just as bad.” Clark laughed. “I’m glad Damian decided to find his life influencers elsewhere.”

“He didn’t, quite.” Dick added. “He’s totally the one who taught Damian how to swear.”

“Jon too, apparently.” Lois chimed in pointedly. Both Jason and Clark looked at her, and she shrugged. “He had a…slip-up, a few weeks ago. And immediately claimed ‘Jason says it all the time!’ as little brothers do.”

Jason glanced down at the boy leaning against him. Jon smiled nervously, then tried to hide against Damian, even as Jason wrapped his arms around him and began to mess up his hair once more.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Jon whined, pulling against Damian’s sleeve to save him. Damian ignored him, still looking into the photo album. “I didn’t want to lie!”

“No, you wanted to save your own little butt.” Jason cackled teasingly. He released Jon slightly, then looked back to Lois and Clark. “But see? Never taught either of them how to lie.”

“And we’re very proud.” Lois laughed. Clark smiled too, but kept his eyes on Bruce. Did it bother him, the easy relationships his kids had with not only him, but Lois? If it did, he didn’t give anything away, just quietly listening, quietly smiling, while turning pages in the book.

Damian suddenly lashed out, pointing at a picture. “That was when I started getting my teeth.” He explained.

“Oh yeah?” Bruce grinned instantly. Glanced at him, then pointed to a handwritten scribble beneath it. “And what’s this note down here about?”

“For which album the rest our dental milestones are in.” Tim smirked. Bruce looked at him now. “We’re serious, Bruce – Clark documented everything.”

“I’m glad.” Bruce laughed, then raised his gaze, absolute mirth in his eyes. “I just hope he was as thorough in his journalism.”

“Well, I still have a job, so I hope so.” Clark joked.

“Clark taught all of us to be that thorough, in everything we do.” Dick hummed. “Taught us even to be detectives just like you, Bruce.”

Bruce’s smile faded a little. “I…heard.” He muttered. Glanced up at his oldest. “…Nightwing, huh?”

“Can’t be Robin forever.” Dick countered. “And Clark isn’t the only hero dad who inspired us, B.”

“I’m Robin now.” Damian quipped.

“Will be, eventually.” Jason added quickly, even as Tim opened his mouth indignantly. “Timbo is now. And Conner is Superboy. You and Jon are still too young, squirt.”

Bruce glanced at Clark for clarification. “I benched Dick after you left them with me, for safety. But then when it was clear you weren’t coming back…well, you know as well as I do how hard it is to keep Dick in one place. And once they saw big brother doing it…”

“Not to mention when Conner came along with his own abilities.” Lois hummed. “But don’t worry, Bruce.  Robin always went out with Superman.”

“Still does.” Clark said sternly. “And on the rare chances he doesn’t…I listen.”

“One of the downsides of having Superman as a dad.” Tim sighed dramatically. “He can hear me anywhere in the world.”

“But we can’t complain too much.” Dick smiled. He suddenly glanced protectively up at Jason, and Jason instantly looked down at Damian and Jon, fussing with their shirts. “Some of us would be dead if it wasn’t for that.”

Bruce didn’t ask. Just made a mental note to ask Clark later, when they were alone. If they were alone. Just another question to the list of a million.

Still, he could sense this taking a dark turn, so returned to his original query. “Isn’t Nightwing a Kryptonian legend, though?”

Dick snorted. “I’m not old enough to be Batman yet!”

“Damian went as Batman for Halloween a few years ago.” Cassandra added quietly.

“I was five! That’s more than a few years ago!” Damian argued haughtily. “Besides, Tim went as Batman for Halloween once too.”

“You all did.” Clark smiled. “At some point. Except maybe Dick. He just chaperoned your trick-or-treating and stole all your candy as payment.”

Bruce pointed to a page, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. “I can see that, here.”

“That’s a perk of being a big brother.” Dick grinned, waving it off. He glanced back at Bruce, who was turning another page in the book. “Whatcha got now, B?”

Bruce had a small smile on his face. Emotion in his face and a near-tears mist in his eyes.

“If I’m correct,” Bruce tilted his head. Damian and Tim looked up at him, even as he glanced over at Jon. “The birth of your youngest.”

Jon’s face exploded in a blush, even as Jason dragged him back against his leg and kissed his hair.

“Oh boy, what a day.” Lois chuckled, fanning herself in memory. “Dick snuck into the delivery room when he heard crying.”

“I see that, too.” Bruce laughed, pointing to another photo. “Hopefully he let the two of you hold Jon first.”

“Barely.” Clark snorted. “He also left the other kids in the waiting room alone. Damian ended up in the nursery screaming because thought the nurses stole his little brother, as he wasn’t there yet.”

“Oh my god.” Bruce kept laughing. The chuckles grew louder and louder, and Bruce eventually had to cover his face, the amused tears slowly starting to leak out. “I am…so sorry.”

“It was…something else.” Lois admitted fondly. “Wouldn’t want it any other way, though.”

And even when Bruce lowered his hand, Clark could see the tears still flowing. Still amused, still happy, but…quickly turning into something else. A sorrow of being left behind. A sorrow of missing out. A sorrow the kids definitely didn’t need to see, not right now.

Bruce always kept his emotions hidden. Was always pretty good at controlling them. But it was no surprise that his threshold here, today, might’ve been a little thin.  That he might’ve reached emotional exhaustion a little quicker than normal.

Clark silently tapped Lois’s shoulder, and waved a lowered hand at Dick. He got the memo.

“Bruce, are you staying the night? You’re going to need a room to stay in.” Dick asked, already pushing off against the wall he’d been leaning against. “Damian, Jon, Jay. With me. We gotta get the rooms set up.”

Damian groaned, and kicked his feet in a small tantrum as he reluctantly left his father’s side at the request of his brother. Jon followed sheepishly after.

“And I’m no housewife – I’m going to need help in the kitchen getting all the food out and set up. I’m sure you’re starving, Bruce.” Lois stood. “So the last three of you, with me.”

Conner scoffed in amusement as he disappeared into the kitchen first. Tim and Cassandra followed silently behind. Lois winked at Clark as she took up the rear.

Bruce kept looking at the book, flipping through the last few pages, smiling every so often, even though he continued to cry. When he reached the back cover, he sighed, staring at it as he ran his hand down it. “…Thanks, Clark.”

“I know how you are about emotions. I know how that’s not the first thing you want your kids to see.”

“I mean.” Bruce started, looking up. His eyes were still pouring those silent tears. “…For everything.”

Clark smiled, heart fluttering, just a little. “We can talk about all that later. For now, this is probably the only moment they’ll be separated so you might want to make it count.”

Bruce smiled, running his fingers along the edge of his eyes. “Yeah, I will. I just.” Another sigh. “Can you give me a minute?”

“Whatever you need. I’ll go help them in the kitchen.” Clark nodded, backing up a little. “And Lois and Dick understand, so, you know. If you need more time or whatever, just let them know, and they’ll help you out.”

“…You turned him into an outstanding young man.” Bruce smiled weakly, leaning forward to put the photo album on the table. “All of them, really.”

“No, you did, Bruce.” Clark promised. “I just tried to clean up the rough edges.”

He left it at that, spinning away into the kitchen. He kept his eye on him, though, and his ear. Kept peeking into the living room when he felt he needed to, listened to his heartbeat when he didn’t. After he had cleared his face of tears, Bruce had picked up another photo album. And another, and after that – another.

And suddenly, Clark had a vision. He couldn’t wait until everything died down. Until the kids went to bed, or went out or just left them in peace. So he could go sit on the couch with Bruce, and go through those albums together. Talk about the things the kids wouldn’t want to, like why Dick looked at Jason when talking about almost dying, or what Bruce was actually doing during those ten years.

He couldn’t wait.

But then – Damian and Jon came stumbling down the stairs. Jon flopped onto the sofa on Bruce’s right, and Damian retook his perch on Bruce’s left. Bruce smiled, and answered all of the questions thrown his way, laughing when Jon admitted they snuck away from the older two. Let Damian take control of the book he was looking at, watching fondly as he flipped the pages to the ones he wanted.

Just a dad and two of his boys.

(In your dreams, Clark.)

He smiled as he turned back into the kitchen, and continued to help Cassandra and Conner set the table. Just a dad and two of his kids too.

(Because sometimes dreams do come true, right?)

…Maybe he could wait a little while longer after all.

[overcaffeinated-creative]

What would be the ultimate happy endings for your OCs?

Gonna start with this can get really long depending on who I use and which verse. So, in my desperate attempts to keep everything short (it’s probably going to fail) I’m sticking to my Main Verse and about ten of my characters. Rest assured all of them want better lives for the Clones and deeply dislike the Empire. However, how their individual character arcs would have played out changes the prominence of certain things in her mind.  

First off, Lumi wants the Jedi Order to still be a thing and for Order 66 to have never happened. Her and Mace would’ve parted on much better terms than the strife of their last few months followed by his death. She so desperately wants closure with him after everything that happened. In the end she’s still the little youngling he helped learn to control such an overwhelming gift. As much strife as the Clone Wars brought, she would not begrudge the Clones their chances to live and thrive. Because they came into the Galaxy as unique lives and deserve ever chance to live and experience life to its fullest. However, when the War was over (with a much better ending) she would still elect to leave. Her calling is somewhere else, with something better. She’d still end up with Fenn because there’s some things the Galaxy wants to happen. Same as she would still train Hera because that’s her little sister now. She’d probably live out her days in the Mandalore Sector with her friends and family, helping teach Force Sensitives (Solus absolutely refused to let the Jedi Order touch) and flying and maintain starfighters.

Solus wants a united Mandalore with a more peaceful transfer of power back to the people who are unashamed of their heritage. No part of her wants to be Manda’lor but she does want to serve next to them (and she knows exactly why she can’t be), as an adviser and sometimes spy. She wants to live on Krownest in her ancestral home, wear her armor, and help her people flourish and thrive again. She’d end up adopting any Clone (or anyone really) who wished become Mandalorian and needed a home. Krownest is difficult planet but her people are tougher. Solus also desperately wants to get married and raise warriors with her spouses. Once she really got to know Ahsoka she knew they were always meant to be. Them and their third form a merry little Triad where everyone feels safe and loved. Her leaving of the Order would’ve been mutually agreed upon thing, and while she does believe Mandalorians have no place among the current Jedi, she does keep contact with her Master Kit. It is also a no-brainer that she wants Lumi and Jazari by her side because they’re a set.

Following her best friends’ lead I believe Jazari would end leaving the Order as well. There’s a lot of reform that needs to happen there and she is not volunteering for the monumental task alone. There would be a lot of free travel between Mandalore (I see her thriving in Keldabe among the ancient and modern, bustling, shifting, thriving city) and her home city of Jedha. She finally opens her happy little sex shop, making her own wares for sell and offering information sessions and donating to charities. She works to limit the various slave rings plaguing the planets bet it funneling money into groups that help or taking more direct action, aided by her teammates, in directly stopping problems. 

Two parts domestic fantasy and one part power fantasy Kamelia wants it all. She makes it to the rank of Master within the Order, at an impressive age, and then retires to return to either rural Corellia or a nice mid-rim planet. She opens a clinic but still has time to be wonderful homemaker. Definitely gets married to a man (imagine women’s magazine cover Hugh Jackman meets like a beloved firefighter/EMT who climbs trees to rescue Tooka and thinks she’s the absolutely hottest, most wholesome thing to ever walk) and has two children, spaced really far apart so she doesn’t have to worry about playing favorites, and gets to be the unholy product of Florence Nightingale and Martha Stewart. There’s not task too big or small for her and everyone has wonderful things to say about her. Finally, she gets to claim some kind of victory of Lumi, Solus, and Jazari who were nothing but wash outs in the end. They failed at being Jedi but she got to rise, then surpass, every dream she had.

Erkan stays within the Jedi Order and lives. That’s a very important thing. He also does the shocking thing of helping to reform the Order to the best of his abilities. Throughout the lead up to the war and the after effects he was able to see both the best and worst of the Temple. Despite, lacking the political savvy starting out (which he wants to pick up) he works to return them to their roots of helping people without the Senate holding their strings. He wants to open more Temples across the Galaxy and move them further out again. No longer would the Jedi spend the bulk of their time in the Temples when not on missions but they would be out and about and fully learning about the Galaxy. He wants their range to expand further than Republic allied worlds because the Force is for everyone. He doesn’t like the exclusivity that they have now, this kind of uppity feeling that the Force is only for those lucky enough to be born free. He also wants to see the rules for attachment reevaluated because relationships are the corner stone of civilizations. There’s not reason to forbid them in a sense because some people can’t separate love and compassion from possession. Those people would have that problem anyway and they might even be able to work through it if they felt comfortable in coming forward.  He becomes the regular Qui-Gon Jinn sauntering around the Galaxy and helping he considered he could’ve became moments before dying.

Jai and Harti share a joint dream because their dream is to be together. Their family is reunited, like the people, and they finally get to settle down. For decades they have fought and now it is time to grow old together in a happily married bliss. They’ve got their beloved Solus back, along with the little gaggle of rebels Harti picked up and Solus’ constant companions. Jai not only lived but so did Jango. He’s protecting Jango for Jaster and watching Boba grow next to Solus. Harti complains they’re all trying to eat him out of house and home when his living room plays host to a verifiable horde of hunters. But, he absolutely loves it. Everything feels like a community and a family again. People are happy, Ursa doesn’t look so tense and alone, and frankly watching Solus play with Tristan and Sabine gives him hopes for great-grandchildren. Jai adopts a literal horde of Clones too. They’re his boys because he trained them and Krownest gets a population spike.

Commander Mav, rarely mentioned but important, would live in his best ending. His brothers are free and he finally gets to choose what he does with his life. That being said, he would 100% still end on Krownest with Solus after some soul searching on his own. He still trains because he likes being able to protect people but that’s not his main focus anymore. The Republic wanted him to be a soldier but that’s not who he is. Now he has so much freedom. He studies various things and picks up a knack for writing novels and art appreciating and cooking. He gets to be Solus’ friend and equal in the eyes of everyone, beyond just her and their group. I could see him taking up helping raise a bunch of the small clones and strongly advocating giving them the serum to slow their aging so they get to have proper childhoods.

Bounty hunting, like the Original, ends up calling to Alpha ARC Tranyc when the war is over. He didn’t much like serving the Republic as a soldier but he does like using his training. Bounty Hunting seems like a nice compromise in still getting to use his skills but living on his own terms. He doesn’t settle into Mandalore but does the occasional breeze by to annoy the fuck out of Mav and try and rope Solus into shenanigans. He succeeds a lot. She makes a great get away/pick up pilot or extra gun. But, he does comm Mav a lot because he likes the overly polite bastard despite his assertion that he’s an asshole loner. They probably talk nearly every day. Even in his happiest world he doesn’t admit feels more for Mav and Solus than her really should. They weren’t supposed to get hot but here they are. 

Iviin has the same dream of a united Mandalore as the rest of the Mandalorians. He doesn’t want to see Death Watch, Shadow Collective, or anyone else ruling. Jaster’s line needs to continue. He never had to become Manda’lor because they still had Jango. There was no need for him to take on that role in his life and it means he gets to serve under a Fett Manda’lor. He happily works from Concord Dawn, and Keldabe or Krownest on occasion, and has Solus as his partner. She’s the pilot of the duo and his sniper when need be. He’s also happy to have Solus’ little Force Sensitive crew running around with them. Call him crazy but he thinks Jazari and Lumi are fun. 

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Moffat Era Rewatch: The Rings of Akhaten

The Doctor takes Clara to the  Rings of Akhaten where an ancient evil is about to wake up...

Warning:Spoilers Sweetie 

To this day I cannot spell Akhaten without Googling it first.

This is probably the most sinister anyone has ever been reading the Beano.   

The Balled of Dave Oswald and Ellie Ravenwood. 

Baby Clara is so cute. 

He gets hit and goes right into Venusian Akido mode. 

Here’s Clara graduating from uni for those who question how she went from volunteer nanny to schoolteacher. 

Country to popular opinion, Akhaten is a planet, not a sun. The Doctor even points at it and calls it a planet. 

The show has gone full Guillermo del Toro or as full Guillermo del Toro  as you can go on a BBC budget. So many wonderful aliens creatures. Don’t you just wish the show had the money to be like this more often? The plot may be a little run of the mill, but on a design level this episode is on fire. 

“I came here a long time ago with my granddaughter.” The Doctor never talks about his past, except for random moments like this where he obviously like to freak people out. 

A world where sentimental value has actual value. Christ, the Trumps would be all beggars here because they don’t have a sentimental bone in their bodies 

This episode mirror the Doctor’s first trip with Amy in ‘The Beast Below’, but does so in ways that highlights how very different Amy and Clara are from each other. Where Amy was somewhat indifferent to a child in distress (no doubt the result of her own troubled upbringing), Clara really goes out of her way to help Merry and make sure she is okay.

“Can you pretend like I'm totally a space alien and explain?” I adore that Clara knows she’s the alien in this situation. 

Murray Gold really knocked it out of the park with this one. 

“Listen. There's one thing you need to know about travelling with me. Well, one thing apart from the blue box and the two hearts. We don't walk away.”

You’ve got more than just the sonic, Doctor.  

I know he gets it back, but it is a little selfish of him to make Clara give up her mother’s ring when could’ve given up Amy’s glasses. 

“Oh, that's interesting. A frequency modulated acoustic lock. The key changes ten million zillion squillion times a second.” "Can you open it?” "Technically, no. In reality, also no, but still, let's give it a stab.” *Runs into door* Honestly, how has he lived this long?

“Did you just lock us in with the soul eating monster?” "Yep.”

So did this guy commit suicide or teleport to his local and wait for the whole thing to blow over? 

“Hey, do you mind if I tell you a story? One you might not have heard. All the elements in your body were forged many, many millions of years ago, in the heart of a far away star that exploded and died. That explosion scattered those elements across the desolations of deep space. After so, so many millions of years, these elements came together to form new stars and new planets. And on and on it went. The elements came together and burst apart, forming shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings. Until eventually, they came together to make you. You are unique in the universe. There is only one Merry Gejelh. And there will never be another. Getting rid of that existence isn't a sacrifice. It is a waste.” Still one of my favourite Doctor speeches. 

I love it when he crosses both his hearts.  

“I'm armed. With a screwdriver.” Careful, lads, or he might just put up some shelves. 

“Oh, the Lake District's lovely. Let's definitely go there. We can eat scones. They do great scones in 1927.” He goes from “That’s a crazy idea” to “That’s the best idea ever” in record time. 

This is such a classic Doctor Who shot. A lone figure standing against a planet sized monster. 

“Can you hear them? All these people who've lived in terror of you and your judgement? All these people whose ancestors devoted themselves, sacrificed themselves, to you. Can you hear them singing? Oh, you like to thing you're a god. But you're not a god. You're just a parasite eaten out with jealousy and envy and longing for the lives of others. You feed on them. On the memory of love and loss and birth and death and joy and sorrow. So, come on, then. Take mine. Take my memories. But I hope you've got a big appetite, because I have lived a long life and I have seen a few things. I walked away from the last Great Time War. I marked the passing of the Time Lords. I saw the birth of the universe and I watched as time ran out, moment by moment, until nothing remained. No time. No space. Just me. I walked in universes where the laws of physics were devised by the mind of a mad man. I've watched universes freeze and creations burn. I've seen things you wouldn't believe. I have lost things you will never understand. And I know things. Secrets that must never be told. Knowledge that must never be spoken. Knowledge that will make parasite gods blaze. So come on, then. Take it! Take it all, baby! Have it! You have it all!” Let’s have a round of applause for Matt Smith, everyone. 

Continuing with ‘The Beast Below’ parallels, this is another story where the Doctor fails and it is left to the companion to step in and save the day. This, incidentally, has pissed off a lot people who feel that this should’ve been the Doctor’s moment and Clara ruined it. To these people I say fuck off and get over the fact that the Doctor isn’t the only one who gets to be the hero.  

"Still hungry? Well, I brought something for you. This. The most important leaf in human history. The most important leaf in human history. It's full of stories, full of history. And full of a future that never got lived. Days that should have been that never were. Passed on to me. This leaf isn't just the past, it's a whole future that never happened. There are billions and millions of unlived days for every day we live. An infinity. All the days that never came. And these are all my mum's.” 

I’m amazed how many people completely misunderstand what Clara does here, even with the Doctor spelling it out for everyone. 

Okay, forget what I side earlier, this is the more iconic Doctor Who shot, the Doctor and companion, two heroes standing side by side as they save the universe from unimaginable evil. 

“Well, whoever she was, I'm not her, okay? If you want me to travel with you, that's fine. But as me. I'm not a bargain basement stand-in for someone else. I'm not going to compete with a ghost.” Things you wish Martha had said. 

This is one of those episodes that lazy Guardian writers like to regularly hold up as one of the complete disasters of this era, but they are wrong. While no masterpiece, 'The Rings of Akhaten’ is a good Doctor Who story that is lucky enough to be blessed with some of Clara and the Eleventh Doctor’s best moments.   

Next Time: Cold War

[peaky-yamyam]

The Only One - John Shelby

I know requests are busy, but would you mind doing an imagine with John being there for you after you breakup with your boyfriend. John had been begging you for ages to breakup with him because he was horrible to you (not abusive).

I decided to set this in an AU without Martha, because childhood sweetheart John/reader is my jam right now  👌

Things have been rocky for a while between myself and Walter, in fact I can barely remember a time when I was happy with him; any fond memories slowly extinguished by the arguments and accusations until the tiny flicker of anything good had finally burnt out. But the routine and my naïveté, coupled with the coos of ‘hasn't she done well, snagging herself someone respectable at barely seventeen years old’ from my mother had shielded me from the gravity of the situation.

It was that realisation which has given me the gumption to end things.

I had hoped it would be a easy break, that he’d be mature enough to accept the termination of our relationship with dignity, but that was an hour ago and he's barely stopped screaming long enough to take a breath.

“Two years I’ve wasted on you! I knew you were just a silly little girl! And to think I asked you to marry me!”

I scoff at the thought; a lifetime with a man I can barely tolerate.

“Is that funny to you? That I loved you enough to want to spend the rest of my life with you? You of all people!”

“You’ve never loved me! I don't think you even like me, I've always just been an opportunity for you, a way to get my dad on side to help out with whatever ‘business venture’ you'd cooked up!”

I hadn't realised I'd believed that until I'd screamed it in his face.

“Has John Shelby had anything to do with this?” he asks, his expression as if the whole thing makes sense to him now, that I couldn’t possibly have come this conclusion myself - of course it had to be prompted by someone else.

“No! I've made this decision myself, I'm sick of it all,” I shout, grabbing my coat. “This is over.”

“Good luck finding anyone else to have you!” he calls as I open the front door.

I choose not to answer, but his remark cuts deep and I can't stop myself from crying, the strength I'd used to keep the tears back for the past hour destroyed by his parting words. I hover for a second in the doorway, remembering that I had a reason for all this, but unsure whether they were enough.

At the muffled sound of a glass shattering against a wall inside though, my confidence in my decision swells and I set off - head down to hide my tears - towards my house.

I’m so focused on keeping my feet moving one in front of the other, the long walk allowing my thoughts to engulf me, that I charge straight into John Shelby.

He catches my shoulders and spins me to keep me upright.

“Woah, you that eager to see me?” he says with a chuckle, but his jovial tone does nothing to help my resolve and I crumple into tears, using his body to prop myself up. “Shit, what the fuck’s happened?”

I manage to choke out a muffled “Walter” through my sobs and John steadies me on my feet so he can look me over.

“What’s he done? I swear if he’s hit you I’ll fuckin’ kill him!”

“No-”

“Has he… did he force you-”

“No! John-” I take a deep breath and allow him to finish his once over, “-it’s over. I finished things.”

John relaxes and wraps me in a tight hug.

“Well thank fuck for that, gotta say, it’s long overdue. I’ve been telling you for-”

I cut him off with a fresh batch of tears that cascade down my cheeks despite my best efforts to keep composed.

“Hey hey hey,” he coos, placing his hands either side of my face, his thumbs wiping my cheeks clean. “Less of that. You did the right thing, you can't spend your life with someone who don't treat you right.”

“He never hit me, he would never-” Another bubble of tears cuts me off and John takes my hand softly in his, directing me down the alley next to us, providing a smidgen of privacy.

“Just because he didn't hit you doesn't give him a free pass to be horrible to you. You deserve to be with someone who treats you properly, makes you feel good, treats you to things. You deserve to be with someone who loves you…”

“I think that's more than anyone can hope for, John you don't get it, you’re a bloke, the world’s different for you. Walter had good prospects, I’d have had a comfortable life with him, more than comfortable. Our kids would-” I don't know whether it's the panic of losing a decent future or the thought of possible having kids with Walter that steals my breath, but I find myself struggling to fill my lungs, rapid intakes of air failing to calm me.

“Woah woah woah, calm down. Come here,” John says wrapping his arms around me again.

We stand in silence for what seems like an age, with John stroking my hair and swaying slightly. Without effort on my part I begin to calm down and nuzzle a little closer to John. In the whole time I’ve known him, his smell has never been something I can describe, no notes of anything particular other than the recent addition of cigar smoke, just John, but it always makes me feel better.

“I've messed up,” I mumble against his chest.

“No you haven’t. You did the right thing.”

“Who’s going to have me now? We were engaged for eighteen months, no one is going to believe that I'm still… You know…”

“Oh for fucks sake,” he says, pulling back to look at me but keeping his hands on my waist. “Who gives a shit if you slept with your fiance?”

“Everyone!” I shout back, my volume surprising me a little. I glance around to make sure no one's around before I continue. “I know the world's changing, but not that bloody much.”

John smiles and shakes his head.

“You've been hanging round with the middle class too much. When you find someone who actually loves you, it won't matter if you've-”

“I haven't,” I interrupt.

“I know that. But it won't matter because they'll see that you're more than that. They'll see that you're clever, and funny, and kind, and determined and fucking stunning, and nothing else will matter but making you happy!”

For the first time ever, John Shelby looks sheepish and in the silence that follows his outburst, his hands flit about himself; running over his lips, adjusting his hat and tie until they settle behind his back.

“John…”

“Look I'm not going to pretend that I'm not fucking over the moon that you've ended things, I've been trying to split you up from the start because I love you. I've loved you since you told me to fuck off when you were walking back from school and you were this high-” he gestures to just above his knee, “-and I wish I could be all gentlemanly and just wish you happiness and the best even if it's not with me, but I can't. Because I promise I’d do everything to make you happier than anyone else could, and I'd work till it killed me to make sure you had the best.”

“John-”

“You can tell me to fuck off but that's what started all this in the first pla-”

I cut him off with a kiss, his words finally organising my jumbled thoughts and making everything clear to me; I love John Shelby, and I have done for a very long time. I kick myself for never acknowledging it, for dismissing my feelings for him as just being ‘good friends’, but as his hands tangle in my hair and he presses his body against mine, I realise that John is all I've ever wanted.

“I love you too,” I say against his lips.

He grins and rests his forehead against mine.

“I know you're all big on the waiting till marriage stuff, but my house is just over the road and there's no one in.”

I slap his chest playfully and push him off me.

“Oi, i’ll take it back,” I joke, “we need to go slow with this, give everything with Walter chance to calm down before we make anything official. Is that okay? I know you think the whole ‘reputation’ thing is stupid, but-”

“Give me some credit love, I know it's important to you. I've waited over ten years for this, I’m sure waiting a few more months won't kill me.” He gives me a lopsided grin and pops a toothpick in his mouth. “Want me to walk you home?”

“Best not.”

“Well, you know where to find me when you're ready.” He pauses for second and fiddles with the toothpick in his mouth. “You know, in all the times I've ran this conversation round my head, I never thought you'd feel the same.”

“Well I do, and I feel like an idiot for not realising it sooner. How could it ever have been anyone other than you?”

John kisses my cheek and directs me out of the alley.

“Get home, tell everyone what's happened-” he catches me cringing at the thought of telling my parents about the cancelled engagement, and takes my hands, “- the sooner they all know, the sooner it'll all die down and then we can be together properly.” He hangs back in the shadow of the alley and leans against the wall, grin spread wide on his face. “I fuckin’ love you so much.”

[for-narry]

On its Way to Sunrise

Summary: Niall Horan is a single father who works at a shitty gas station and Harry’s the cute professor who comes in for coffee.

Chapter 4/?

_

By the time Niall gets home, all the energy from this morning was long gone. His head was banging from lack of sleep and his skin was prickling from the nervous feelings he got when riding on the bus. On the bus ride home, Niall was stuck between a sleepy teenager, an old woman with too much red lipstick that glared at him every time the bus came to a sudden halt, and behind him a middle aged man whose stomach grazed on Niall’s back and breath stunk even from a meter away.

To say the least, Niall felt shitty.

The walk down the corridor to his apartment door felt endless, Niall felt beat down and all he wanted to do was get inside and sleep. His pillow and sheets were calling him in a sweet symphony that resonated in echoes in his mind and the pounding headache only quickened his pace, the promise of a deep sleep was as an enticing thought that he could not resist. Niall wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was a tiny bit glad Eoghan was in school right now, because if he hadn’t, his attention would go completely to his son and any hopes for some shut eye were gone.

Just before he could insert the keys to the slot, (the lock was fucked so it took him more than three tries just to get the key in, much to his chagrin), Niall was startled by a brazen voice calling to him.

“Oh Niall!” Mrs. Martha called to him from down the hall. She was dressed in bright clothes that hurt Niall’s eyes if he stared for too long. Her hair was in trapped under a satin cloth that matched the bright colors from her clothes.

She was barefoot, but smiling nonetheless.

Think happy thoughts Niall, he said to himself, you’ll be in bed soon enough, no need to get cross. Mentally scolding himself for his irritation, he turned to Mrs. Martha and faked a smile that he guaranteed looked more like a grimace. “Good morning,” He said, “how are you?” he asked quietly. The pounding in his head hadn’t let up for a moment, and her brazen attitude was not helping at all.

“Never mind that, I was hoping I could see you.” She said, waving her hands up in the air before continuing to say, “First I wanted to make sure that you still needed me to watch over Eoghan tonight?” and all traces of irritation left, how could Niall be annoyed at the woman who takes care of his child, even at the most oddest of times, and not once complains or asks to be paid.

Resisting the urge to thank her over and over for always watching over Eoghan when he’s away, Niall nodded his head and rushed to say, “Oh, yes, please. If you don’t have any plans or anything. I know you can be a busy woman, I wouldn’t mind if you had other plans, I could just call a babysitter and--”

Interrupting his rambling, Mrs. Martha laughed and waved away his worries (his thoughts had been running a mile a minute trying to think of anyone he could possibly call that would be willing to take care of Eoghan for the night. He’d come up empty handed) and with enthusiasm said, “Niall you and I both know that I have nothing to do at all. I don’t mind, I know you work constantly. Anyways that’s not what I came to talk to you about, you see, I am part of a book club. A few of my friends and I gather at the little venue down the street and chat about books, it’s the only old lady cliche I let myself have, but I was wondering if I could take Eoghan with me? The girls always bring their grandchildren and since Eoghan is around their age, I think it’d be a great thing for him to interact with other kids his age.”

This early in the morning, Niall’s sleep induced brain was slow to process everything. After taking a too long minute to understand what she was saying he responded, “Oh! Oh, sure, that’s--that’s great. Actually. Yeah, definitely!”

Mrs. Martha clapped once, too loud, “I’m sure he’ll love it. It’ll be good for him to be out and about instead of just watching the tele inside… You know what? The meeting starts around six, why don’t you come over with me, you’ll meet some of my friends, oh, and my grandson! I almost forgot, he comes on Mondays as well, you’ll love him. He’s a charming boy, takes after me of course!” She said boastful.

Nodding his head again (Niall was starting to feel like a bobblehead from all the nodding he’s been doing) and saying, “Yeah, I can do that. You said it’s down the street, right?”

“Yes! At the venue where the retirement homes’ host the weekly adventurous game of Bingo, we’re allowed to use it. I’ll shoot over here ten minutes before six and we’ll walk over there together, how’s that sound?” She asked.

“Perfect.”

Niall had fallen asleep the second his head had hit the pillow, with no hesitation he’d knocked out on his thin and flimsy pillow and delved into a dreamful sleep that soothed his mind. Waking up, his body was covered in sweat, his shirt sticking to his damp body and jeans pressing onto his skin uncomfortably. Nevertheless, Niall just pushed the covers from off his body and stretched around in bed, blinking awake and willing his eyes to adjust to the bright sun rays of the afternoon light; in his head, he thanked his blackout curtains, they were inexpensive and shabby yet worked wonders for days like these.

Rolling in his bed for a few minutes, allowing for his body and mind to wake up as well, Niall got up from bed and looked around the room for his phone. He remembered throwing it over his shoulder after he felt it poking at his thigh uncomfortably when he was getting to bed. After a moment of squinting at the ground he found the cracked and small phone by his shoes, the screen lighting up as he approached it.

He sighed in relief after seeing the time on the phone, he’d already been late at dropping off Eoghan in the morning, he didn’t want to be late at picking him up either. Niall knew it was more of a coincidence than anything else that Harry had been there that morning but he couldn’t help from feeling lucky because he’d avoided the common scolding that Eoghan’s teacher loved to give him, which originated from that first day which Niall and Eoghan had first been late to.

Readying himself to leave, Niall pulled off his damp shirt and replaced it with a dryer one and managed to place his shoes on all in one motion. Years of rushing to get to places on time, Niall had mastered the art of getting dressed in under a minute. Sure, it wasn’t something to be proud of, but it certainly came in handy for moments like this.

The sleep had done him well, no longer did his head throb from a headache, and his mind felt clear like the morning sky of a sunny day.

On his way out of the house, Niall grabbed a banana from the bowl and a little pack of string cheese for Eoghan knowing that the seven year old was sure to be hungry.

By the time he had arrived at the school, the teachers and students were all lined up outside of the school on the small field. He could easily spot Miss Evans, there she was standing stock straight with her greying hair pulled back into an impeccable bun. Unlike the other teachers who outwardly showed their emotions, or at least feigned seeming so happy, Miss Evans stood in front of her students with not a even a ghost of a smile. Her lips were pulled back in a straight line.

Niall really couldn’t understand how his son had been so unlucky to be placed in a classroom with this old grumpy woman (ignoring the fact that Niall had applied Eoghan into school much later than recommended and the only classroom with room to fit his son in was with the phenomenal Miss Evans). Walking towards the line, Niall grinned and waved back to his son who was standing just behind Miss Evans, he was grinning up at his Papa with enthusiasm. (Eoghan’s brown hair was in a shaggy mess on top of his head and he would push it away from his face so he could see his Papa clearly).

Warmth and an emotion akin to joyness spread around Niall’s body, seeing his son so happy to see him only reminded him that nothing would ever compare to fatherhood.

Niall approached Miss Evans, “Good afternoon, Miss Evans,” he said with a smile, he was trying to be nice and hoped that she’d forgotten their initial interaction from this morning, “was Eoghan good this day?” he asked and like expected, Miss Evans only lifted and eyebrow at him, no twitch of the face at all.

Behind her, Eoghan was picking up his book bag from off the ground whilst simultaneously trying to put on his coat, “He was all right, I do recommend you go over a few readings with him, surprisingly he’s very good at math but struggling with reading.” she said before completely turning her back on Niall and saying to Eoghan, “Don’t forget to do your homework.” Eoghan nodded his head then started walking to his Papa.

When he reached Niall, Eoghan lept at him and grabbed onto him, “Hi Papa!” he said into his Papa shirt, “I missed you!” he added.

Hugging him back Niall said, “Me too bud! Here, let me take your bag.” untangling himself from Eoghan, Niall took his book bag and watched the seven year old adjust his coat.

Walking alongside each other, Niall listened intently as Eoghan began his routinely recounting of the day's’ events. Flapping his hands around, Eoghan talked animatedly while avoiding bumping into the other kids who were running and playing around chasing each other.

“And then Miss Evans gave me a gold star! All because I did the problem correctly! Look Papa! See, I put it on my hand.” He said and thrusting his small fist up so Niall could see, and true to his word, there on his fist was a small golden star.

“Wow,” Niall crowded, “that’s great, O!”

Smiling at the ground, Eoghan revelled in his father’s praise.

By the time they had reached the bus stop, Niall had heard a detailed recounting of Eoghan’s day, starting from the morning’s reading to what he had for lunch. In a lapse moment of silence Niall looked at Eoghan and said, “Hey, O, you know I’ll be working tonight, right?”

Eoghan looked up from where he was ripping off another piece of string from the cheese Niall had brought from home, “Yeah, Papa, I know. Do you think Mrs. Martha will bring Mars again? I want to pet her again, she was so nice when I pet her yesterday.” he said and then put the cheese in his mouth.

“About that, Mrs. Marth has invited us to go with her to her book club meeting, they talk about books there, she said there will be other kids.” Niall said.

Before responding, the bus arrived and Eoghan entered with Niall trailing behind him. The seven year old quickly found a seat and sat himself there, patting the empty seat beside him for Papa to sit next to him. Looking at Eoghan expectantly, the seven year old said, “I don’t like reading Papa.”

Chuckling, Niall said, “No bud, you won’t be reading, don’t worry. You’ll be playing with the other kids there. Doesn’t that sound fun? It’ll be more fun than being at home watching TV by yourself.” he ruffled Eoghan’s hair.

Sighing to himself, Eoghan said, “Okay, I’ll go,” he contemplated for a moment before asking, “will you be there?”

Nodding his head, Niall responded with, “Yeah I’ll be there. Only for a bit though, I still have to go to work.”

“Okay, as long as you’re there for a bit.”

“‘Course bud.”

Niall spends ten minutes staring into Eoghan’s drawers and closet, wondering if a clip on tie for Eoghan would be too much for a book club meeting. The said seven year old was on his bed reading a book that Miss Evans had assigned for the week. Giving up, Niall settled on a grey shirt with minimal prints and a pair of jeans. Turning to Eoghan, Niall said, “Come on, O, time to get ready. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Happily giving up his reading, Eoghan got up from his bed and grabbed the clothes Niall had picked out for him. “Why do I have to change again Papa?” He asked as he started changing, he struggled a bit with taking off his shirt but Niall knew it would be futile to help him out (because I’m a big boy now, Papa, I don’t need your help).

Shrugging Niall picked himself up and dusted himself off, he hadn’t worn anything special, knowing that he’d be going to work straight from the book club meeting, he was dressed in his uniform black shirt (he’d bought at some clothes store because their boss didn’t care about uniformed shirts) and black jeans.

Ignoring Eoghan’s question, Niall grabbed O’s favorite pair of shoes to keep him content and from complaining once again. He helped the seven year old put on his shoes but let him tie his own shoes.

They were all dressed and ready by five thirty, much to Niall’s surprise, “Papa, I’m thirsty can I go get something to drink before we leave?” Eoghan asked his Papa as he exited his room. He kicked his football down the hall and sniggered as Niall pretended to have missed the ball when he tried kicking it.

“Yeah! Go ahead, just don’t get yourself dirty!”

It had been awhile since they both went to some place that required some sense of… Socializing. So really, Niall was a bit nervous, although, he tried to remind himself that if these people are anything like Mrs. Martha, there was no need to be nervous.

Eoghan returned to the living room where Niall was turning off the TV, with a juice box in hand. Slurping it for a good minute, the seven year old watched his Papa cleanup around the room, picking up stray clothes and toys that had made their ways out of their respective places. After a moment of Eoghan slurping and Niall mindlessly cleaning to keep his nerves at bay, the knocking sound from the front door resonated.

“Got it!” Eoghan said as he abandoned his juice box in favor of opening the door. Sighing, Niall picked up the juice box and made a mental note to remind Eoghan to pick up after himself.

Making his way to the front door, Niall grabbed both their coats and Eoghan’s bag that was full of some snacks and a book (he had to be prepared). Mrs. Martha was talking to Eoghan cheerfully, “You’ll have so much fun, while I get stuck talking about boring old books.” he laughed at Mrs. Martha expression.

Noticing Niall’s arrival, Mrs. Martha clapped her hands and said, “Alrighty, let’s get going!” and grabbed Eoghan’s hand, pulling him out of the apartment.

The trip to the building was full of Mrs. Martha and Eoghan’s loud chatter, Niall was next to them with an amused expression on his face. He kept a firm grasp on Eoghan’s hand because the seven year old could not keep still, not even when they were crossing the street.

The walk over was quick and refreshing, whilst, Mrs. Martha entertained Eoghan with mindless chatter, Niall calmed himself down from all nerves. By the time they made it to their destination, Niall was calm and mentally prepared for any interaction that could possibly occur.

Mrs. Martha leads them inside the building and down the stairs to a room full of people and chairs being occupied. The room was large enough to fit to large tables in them and still have space for a circle of chairs in the center. The kids were sitting by a table full of books and crayons, whilst the other table was full of snacks, of course, and sitting in the center were a group of women. “Come on guys, let’s introduce you to a few people,” Mrs. Martha said, before leading them over to where a group of older women were sat.

Beside him, Eoghan let go of Niall’s hand and began to remove his jacket, “It’s getting hot in here Papa.” he said. Niall took his jacket and followed the older woman who was already sat with the rest of the group, she waved them over.

“Niall, meet my friends…” Mrs. Martha motioned to each person of the group, listing off names that Niall had, unfortunately, already forgotten.

Waving back to the small group, Niall awkwardly mumbled a hello before lightly nudging Eoghan to do the same and dissimilar to his Papa, Eoghan vehemently waved and said, “Hello! My names Eoghan.” just like that, the group of women were putty in his small hands.

Cooing at Eoghan’s attitude a few mentioned just how “sweet” and “a lovely boy” he was. Niall chuckled and agreed, “Yeah. Yeah, he’s a really good kid.” he said fondly, ruffling Eoghan’s already messy hair. He made a mental note to schedule them both for a haircut, because they were in desperate need for new dos.

The group continued to flaunt over Eoghan and Mrs. Martha took measure into her own hands, pulling Niall out of his state of fondness she said, “Now I have someone special for you to meet Niall, my grandson has just arrived. Eoghan why don’t you come with, you can meet some really cool kids!” The group of women all groaned as Mrs. Martha led them both away from the group.

Still holding onto Niall’s shoulder she said quietly to him, “Eoghan’s going to be a heartbreaker, I tell ya.” chuckling at her comment, Niall pulled at Eoghan’s hand and grinned at him. He was quite proud of his son, even if he was seven years old and barely spelling words correctly.

Mrs. Martha led them to where a group of kids, all ranging from different ages, were hanging out.

“Eoghan,” Mrs. Martha pointed at the group, “why don’t you introduce yourself. I think you’ll like them a lot.” she said. Niall turned to Eoghan, who without hesitation removed his hand from his Papa’s firm grasp. Any doubts that Eoghan would have a hard time socializing were thrown out the window with the seven year olds’ actions. Eoghan walked up to the group and with a smile introduced himself.

Niall watched on for a moment as the kid’s welcomed Eoghan with open arms, a pair of twins took a particular liking to him, asking him if he wanted to paint with them.

“A natural socializer,” Mrs. Martha commented, “well now you won’t have to worry.” she added as an afterthought, smirking at Niall who only shook his head in response, he didn’t mind being wrong for once. Niall placed Eoghan’s book bag next to him before softly tapping his leg.

Mrs. Martha took him away from the kids and led him towards the table full of snacks that was on the other side of the room. “I’ll introduce you to my grandson,” She said, a grin making its way to her face, and just for a second Niall feared her intentions.

Looking at her worriedly, Niall asked, “You’re not trying to set me up or anything, right--”

Cut off, Mrs. Martha shushed him before giving him a big push towards the table. Stumbling at his feet, Niall was tripped onto the back of Mrs. Martha nameless grandson. His body collided with a solid back who in turn was shoved into the table of snacks.

Grunting, Niall stood back and began to apologize--

“Niall?”

And there in all his mysterious glory was a grinning Harry Styles.

Of course.

Of course Mrs. Martha grandson was the tall and handsome Harry Styles.

Stepping in just as Niall began to stumble over his words, his cheeks flaming red from bumping into Harry, Martha clapped her hands once and loudly said, “Well look at that! You two already know each other! No need for me to even introduce myself.” she bound over to them and looked at both of them with an evil glint in her eyes.

Chuckling at his grandmother, Harry shook his head and said, “You can say that.” never taking his eyes off of Niall, who was still recovering from the shove just moments ago.

Mrs. Martha stared at the two quietly for a second before saying, “Aha! Won’t you look at that, Julia is calling me over. Why don’t you two stay and chat for a bit, before the meeting starts of course.” she quickly turned around, clearly intending to ignore any other comments from them.

Niall cursed her for, quite literarily, shoving him into an uncomfortable situation.

“Well, hello.” Niall said, staring back at the intense green orbs that hadn’t looked anywhere else but at him.

“Hi.” He answered back with a goofy smile.

“You know,” Harry started, stepping closer to Niall, “We’ve been meeting like this quite a bit, i’m beginning to think you’re stalking me Niall.”

Scoffing in return, Niall rolled his eyes and said, “If anyone is stalking, it’s you mister. You’re the one who came to my job and somehow magically turned up at my son’s school. Not to mention you were at the market I shop at. Are you hiding something Styles? Are you stalking him?” Niall questioned him, feigning an American accent.

Throwing his head back in shock, Harry laughed out loud, causing a few heads to turn (including a, still, smirking Mrs. Martha who winked at Niall). “You caught me! I was definitely stalking you, finding out which milk type you buy was all part of my plan to get you to notice me.” He said still laughing.

“I knew it!” Niall exclaimed, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach that irrupted from hearing Harry’s loud laugh.

“Yes, I even convinced that old lady to pretend to be my old grandmother!” He played along, after a moment he added, “On a serious note, we do happen to have a lot in common.”

Biting back a smile, Niall said, “What gave that away? Was it the milk cap?”

“We drink the same milk type, we’re practically meant to be!” Harry exclaimed, pushing out his hands in front of him for added effect.

“It’s a small world.” Niall commented.

Smiling at each other, they stayed quiet until Mrs. Martha came barging in, placing her hands on either shoulders, “Well boys, seems like you’re enjoying this chit chat but I must bring it to an end. Niall we’re about to start the meeting and I think you should get going.”

Seemingly jostled out of his reverie, Niall pulled his phone from out of his pocket to check the time and just like suspected he was already running late.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. I should go.”

About to say his farewells to the both of them, Harry stopped him and asked, “Why don’t I drop you off?” placing his hand around Niall’s arm.

Looking at him expectantly, Niall began to shake his head, “No it’s alright, it’s a ways away, wouldn’t want you driving all that way--”

Cutting him off Harry said, “It’s okay, I should get going as well. I have a night class to teach and the station is on my way anyways. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.” he reassured him.

Mrs. Martha looked at Niall and quietly encouraged him to accept, sighing, Niall nodded and agreed, “Let me just go say goodbye to Eoghan and we could get going.” he said. Harry smiled at him and slowly took his hand away.

“Alright, I’ll get my coat and meet you outside.”

Niall and Harry part ways, he begins to make his way to where Eoghan is painting with the twin. “Hey bud,” Niall says quietly, getting the attention of Eoghan, “hey, I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back to wake you up tomorrow morning, all right O?”

Nodding his head, Eoghan got up from his seat and went to hug Niall, “Goodnight Papa.”

Hugging him back, Niall softly said, “‘Night O.”

Niall leaves the room after saying his farewell to the rest of the group (Mrs. Martha had winked at him when she said her goodbyes).

Reaching the outside, Niall found Harry pacing the front of the building, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, “Sorry for making you wait.” he said, causing Harry to jump a bit.

“No need to apologize! Um, my car is parked just around the corner, we can uh… We can just walk there.” Harry said quietly. Gesturing to the corner, they began to walk towards the corner.

They stepped alongside each other in peaceful quietness, the only sounds were coming from cars driving nearby. Niall inhaled the fresh air and let himself settle down in his bones.

“Hey,” Harry said, interrupting the silence, “Your son, how old is he?” he asked, turning to look at Niall with genuine curiosity.

Surprised by the question, Niall answered quickly, “He’s seven, actually, his name is Eoghan.”

Harry nodded his head and looked down for a moment before smiling at Niall and saying, “He looks just like you.” his words were muffled by the collar of his jacket, but Niall could hear him loud and clear.

Thanking the dim and shabby lights for hiding his blush, Niall cleared his throat before saying, “Thanks…?”

“He clearly got his good looks from his father.” Harry commented before coming to a stop in front of a shiny black SUV. “Here it is,” He said, “just hop on.” he added as he unlocked the car.

Going to open the door, Harry intercepted him and opened the car door for Niall and cheekily said, “For you my dear Sir.”

Rolling his eyes Niall quietly thanked him before settling in and letting Harry close the door behind him. After a brief moment, Harry entered the car and put the keys into the ignition, “Heat?” he asked.

Shaking his head no, Niall said, “No thanks, the heat will only make me sick.” he couldn’t stand being inside a heated car, feeling the room to be too small.

“Okay.” Harry said.

They sat there in silence as Harry pulled out of the parking spot.

Following a period of silence where Niall focused his gaze towards the window, watching the buildings pass by with quickness and speed that a normal bus drive could not compare to, Harry asked, “So… How do you know my grandmother, Martha I mean?”

“We live in the same building… She also takes care of Eoghan sometimes. She’s been very good to us, from the moment we moved in.” Niall responded quietly, eyeing Harry through the corner of his eye.

Chuckling in his seat, Harry shook his head and with a tone of fake incredulity said, “‘Martha’ and ‘good’ in the same sentence?! I never thought I’d live to hear that!”

“She’s a doll, huh?”

The ride to the bus station was much quicker by car than in bus, Niall dutifully noted as he checked his phone for the time. They were about ten minutes from the station and for the first time in awhile, Niall believed he’d make it to work on time.

Suppressing a smile, Niall turned to Harry, “So, Harry… You said you had a class to teach, which one?” he asked.

Harry, with unmasked surprise, stared at Niall with wide eyes and curled the corner of his lips in a small smile, “You seem in a better mood. Anyways, truthfully, I lied. I don’t have a class right now. Okay. Don’t look at me like that! I knew you wouldn’t have agreed to me dropping you off if I didn’t have to be there… So, I lied.” he said, his smile had quickly turned to a smirk.

Glaring at Harry from his seat, Niall crossed his arms, but before he could say something Harry interrupted him, “But hey! Hey! I do have to go back to the university to pick up some work I left, so in a way you’re helping me out. If it weren’t for you I’d probably have to grade all those papers tomorrow morning…. Hmmm… You’re a lifesaver Horan. Think of all that sleep you’re saving me with this trip.” he said cheekily. Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, Harry winked at Niall before throwing his head back in laughter

All Niall could do was bite back a smile and pretend he wasn’t totally enjoying the ride.

_

wow, I'm so sorry for the late update. I rewrote this chapter quite a few times before I settled on this one. even then I'm not content. I hope you did enjoy it, and as always; feedback is very much appreciated. xx (just a reminder, this story can be viewed on ao3 as well!)

[melchixr]

You’re the One That I Want (PT. 1 (maybe))

Anon Said:  Yooooo can you write a grease au for hernst with ernst as sandy and hanschen as danny i will love you forever

So i didn’t QUITE do a grease au but it was highly inspired by grease and I love it! I really wanna write more and more which will hopefully be posted sooner or later. 

Words: 2081

“Oh no it’s completely different,” Ernst explained as he walked down the halls of the main building. He looked over at the shorter boy who had given him the tour around yesterday and decided to meet him at the entrance of the school today. “But I mean….yesterday wasn’t all that bad so I think it’ll be fine.”

Moritz nodded, snapping the large pink bubble he had blown. “I get it, Ernie. Must be rough moving to a new school.”

“Well, at least everyone else is starting off a new school year too!” Ernst cooed before taking a quick right turn and  opening up his bright blue locker. “I actually really like my classes. Mrs. Johnson is really funn-”

The sharp sound of a locker a few feet away slamming closed collected both boys attention. They looked over their shoulders to see, from across the hall, two boys grappling at each other and laughing loudly. A boy with a shock of bright blond hair had another boy in a headlock, tugging and ruffling the boy’s well groomed, put together brunette hair. They both yelled and hooted as many students looked on.

“Oh my gosh!” Ernst cried out, eyes glued to the two teenagers. “Is anyone gonna stop them.”

“Oh don’t bother!” The short haired girl standing next to  them sighed. Ernst looked over his shoulder to see the slim, pale girl with a head of pretty red curls.  “They’re like this every day. No need to get too worked up.”

The blond boy tossed the brunette aside, his hair sticking out at all angles now. He laughed and laughed, fixing his own immaculate hair and the collar to his leather jacket. The other boy stumbled to his feet and tried to fix himself as the hall started to move around them again and things went back to normal. Ernst didn’t take his eyes off of them, specifically the tiny smirk on the blond boys face as he took of running down the hall with the other chasing after him. They disappeared around the corner, almost knocking over some kids hanging up a Chess Club poster as they moved.

“I’m Ilse,” The girl’s voice and outreached hand shook Ernst from his thoughts on the boy and tugged him back to the real world.

“Oh...yeah….I’m uh…Ernst…”

“You’re new right?” Ilse asked, shaking Ernst’s hand with a raised, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. When Ernst replied with a timid nod, she went on. “The best of luck to yeah. This place is a  living hell. Don’t let any of it get to you.”

Ernst simply nodded again, eyes moving to where he last saw the two boys booking down the hall. “So uh...who was that?”

“I just told you that. But you were too busy drooling over ‘em,” Ilse chuckled before nodding. “But I’ll repeat myself, they’re Melchior Gabor and Hanschen Rilow.”

“Which one’s which?”

“Melchi is the hot on and Hanschen is the blond.” Ernst nodded to himself as Ilse continued on and the three began to walk down the hall once more. “They’re trash, Ernst. They slum around town with their loud friends in their hot cars and act like they can get any girl they want.”

Moritz scoffed, “And they very well could.”

Ilse laughed to herself, tossing her thin jacket over her shoulder. Only a moment later, the bell rang and most of the people in the halls began to skitter in and out and around to get to their classes. “Oh, I gotta go to Physics. See you both around!”

As Ilse slinked away, confidence exuding from her as she moved. After Moritz reminded Ernst in which direction the art classroom was, he also ushered away down to English.

Ernst’s only problem at his old school was he was chronically late almost every morning. He desperately wanted to change it by charging down the hall as fast as possible without looking like a freak.

That was when he rounded the corner and found himself falling straight on his face after tripping over something in the way.

As he hit the ground he felt the thin metal holding together his glasses break and felt his morning become ruined. His arm hurt like a bitch, caught underneath him as well as his chest which was now pressed to the hard, cold floor.

After letting out a soft groan of pain, he heard a voice standing above him mutter. “Oh shit…” Ernst rolled over onto his back in the now almost empty hallway to see a blur of black, white, and golden yellow. The voice was a boy’s, deep and slow and concentrated. “Oh your glasses broke.”

“Yeah, what’s the big idea!” Ernst gasped as he sat up, dusting off his light yellow sweater. “Geez….You’re gonna make me late to class now.”

Suddenly, an extended hand entered Ernst’s focused view. “Oh, God, man. I’m so sorry! I didn’t think you would fall.”

Ernst took the strange hand and felt himself be pulled but with ease by the other boy. “Well what did you think would happen?”

Now that the boy was closer, (and a few inches shorter than him) Ernst could now see it was Hanschen, the boy Ilse told him about. He wondered why he had stopped chasing his friend to wait around the corner for someone to trip.  And he was successful, that was obvious as Hanschen picked up a piece of snapped wire with a shattered glass lens.

“Oh….whoa….it’s really broken…” Hanschen muttered under his breath before looking up a Ernst, who glared back at him. “I’m so sorry.”

Ernst took the cracked glass and stuffed it into the pocket of his pants. “Thanks a lot,” He sighed as he rushed away, the last bell going off as he went.

---

Upbeat, swaying, rock music played as Hanschen entered, properly flanked on either side by Melchi, Otto, and Georg. All of which laughed and joked to one another. Instead of joining their jokes, he looked around the cramped diner with the sort of light blue aura. The sun had already gone down so the room was lit by neon and fluorescent light. People, mostly teenagers, grouped around tables and booths.

“Whaddya looking at, Hansi?” Otto snickered, trying to track Hanschen’s icy gaze. It lead him to a corner booth with a group of teens sitting around and enjoying shakes. They wore pastel sweaters and skirts, smiling to one another, probably talking over their week and sharing a basket of fries. “Who are they?”

Hanschen shrugged, his eyes locked on the brunette boy with taped together glasses and sipping his strawberry shake. “No one.”

“Oh look, Max is already here!” Melchior cut in before Otto could ask more. He pointed to the ginger boy sitting at a table with a handful of girls already around him. He took the lead on going to the table, shouting a greeting out to Max who smirked back.  They left Hanschen standing in the entrance, cold blue eyes trailing around the room and always landing on the corner booth.

There was a sort of shine in the boy’s green eyes. Something that read joy and carefree and made Hanschen’s heart feel like it was beating ten times faster. He laughed at something Ilse Neumann, who sat across from him, and the light, happy noise floated through the air.

Before he knew it, Hanschen was walking over to the booth, causing the conversation there to die out as all of them looked up at the blond boy. Ernst, who sat on the end of the vinyl seat took a final long sip of his shake and looked up from over the top of his glasses. “Oh,” He broke the silence with a sigh. “Can we help you?”

Hanschen looked over the small group of people he sorta knew. None of them seemed to be in the same social circle as Hanschen. Moritz Stiefel he recognized from lighting his hair on fire in freshman biology. Ilse he recognized from seeing her and her girl gang roam the drive-in. The other two, Martha and Wendla, were both part of her little pack. And they all seemed to half know Hanschen in the same way. So they didn’t speak.

But Ernst did.

“Nah, no one can, pal,” Hanschen replied with a sneer. Everyone at the table seemed unphased, except Ernst. He stared up at Hanschen in shock. This boy smirking down at him was nothing like the boy who was fumbling with his glasses a few days ago. “You free for a minute?”

Ernst looked over his shoulder to Moritz, who looked like he was about to open his mouth and tell Hanschen to fuck himself. Before he could, Ernst stood. “I guess.”

The shorter boy nodded, leading the other across the diner and out into the parking lot as Ernst cast a sad look over to his friends and Hanschen’s friends called to him asking why he’s leaving.

The parking lot was empty besides a few kids sitting in their car smoking a joint and two girls gossiping about them about four cars away. The night was warm, September breeze flowing through Ernst’s gentle waves. Hanschen decided to stop a few feet from the door and pull a cigarette from the inside pocket of his well fitting black leather jacket.

His silent companion looked on as Hanschen searched his pockets desperately for a lighter he seemed to misplace. For a moment, he looked over to Ernst with the stick of nicotine still between his teeth. “Hey, you got a light?” There was a second pause before he answered the question for himself. “Oh, no, of course you don’t.”

Ernst scoffed. “Who says I don’t?”

“Do you?” Hanschen said with a raised eyebrow before Ernst shook his head in a defeated way. “That’s what I thought….” The blond rolled his eyes and searched his pockets a bit longer before giving up and keeping the unlit cigarette in his, mouth. “Anyway, I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Ernst Robel, I’m new,” He spoke, still surprised at the drastic difference from the flustered and stressed boy he sort of met  in the hallway.

“Again, that’s what I thought,” As he spoke, he held out a hand to Ernst. “I’m Hanschen by the way-”

Ernst chuckled, sticking his hand out to push Hanschen’s aside. He noticed the light purple bruises on his knuckles. “I know who you are. You were running around the halls on Tuesday and knocked over the lower field parking lot with your car this morning. Besides every other girl has a crush on you or your friends.”

“Or boy,” Hanschen added with a chuckle. When Ernst looked at him to tell if he was joking, he just shrugged. It was as if Hanschen expected Ernst to be shocked or offended. But instead, Ernst shoved his hand into his front pocket, eyes case to the ground, and pulled out a slim silver zippo lighter.

“My big brother smokes. Here.”

Hanschen took the lighter, snapping the fire to life for a few moments before taking a long drag of the cigarette. “Thanks, Ernie.”

Ernst’s eyes sprung back to life, skirting from the cigarette between his fingers to his big, cold eyes. His bright pink lips were twisted up into an almost permanent grin. “What did you just uh….” He nervously pushed his glasses higher onto his nose. “What did you just call me?”

“Ernie,” He replied happily and began to saunter to his Cadillac. “Care to go for a joyride?”

Ernst stopped in front of the parking space as Hanschen wandered to the driver’s side. “Won’t your uh...friends be confused.”

“They all saw us leave together and they all know I think you’re pretty good lookin’ so….”

Ernst was almost taken aback. He stared at Hanschen in opened mouth shock as the blond wandered to the passenger side and opened the door for Ernst. “It’s okay,” He purred slowly and gestured to into the seat that looked very promising to Ernst. “I promise I don’t kiss on a first date,” Ernst took a sigh and stepped closer to the car before Hanschen continued under his breath. “Unless you ask…”

“Are you gonna break my glasses ever more?” Ernst asked and looked at Hanschen’s pale pink blush through a half-tape obscured gaze.

“Jesus, you’re never gonna let that go!” The shorter boy smiled, almost looking like the flustered boy Ernst met in the hallway.