#we’ve only got one jar left of what my mum had made and then i was scared id never know how she made it

[queenkevindays]

omg so i was panicking bc my mums recipe book was fading but she had started rewriting some of her recipes into a new book and it includes the recipe for a chutney she makes every ramadan

[natromanxoff]

I am sure many of you have already read this one but here are some parts from Ash Alexander’s Queen journey for those who haven’t!

“...At some point in early At some point in early 1983 on a visit to Jacky at the QFC, John Deacon wondered into the office. He came into the basement office and said hello as Jacky introduced me, sat down and spent a little time reading through press clippings. He could easily have slipped away back upstairs, but the fact that he stayed was a nice touch.

Another fan club letter arrived with good news. In Another fan club letter arrived with good news. In November 1983, fan club members were invited to help in a video for the new single 'Radio Ga Ga' at Shepperton Studios. Again, my Mum stepped up and drove me down for the day. I took the day off school and had just turned 14. We arrived at the studio and were ushered into a huge hanger where we were kitted out with white body suits and then sprayed with a light grey stripe on each arm - even now I’m not sure what the spray paint was for as you can’t see it in the video. When we had all been prepared, we were taken into an adjoining hanger and were greeted by the band and an initial play through of the song. The rest of the day was spent clapping as you’ll see in the video. I wound up in the front row, opposite Brian. If you look closely and you know what you’re looking for, you can see me!

In between takes, I approached John Deacon who was surprisingly on his own. I remember trying to remain calm as I approached him. I didn’t mention our brief meeting, I asked him how to get a job in recording studios and that I was interested in pursuing a career as a sound engineer. He was really helpful and took time to explain the usual route.

On 22, March 1984 at Limehouse Studios in London’s docklands, the video for ‘I Want To Break Free’ was filmed, again with the help of fan club members. I went along with my brother Andrew. The set was a big dark staircase that we all stood on. We were given black bodysuits this time that were sprouted with hello paint on the arms. We also wore a hard hat with a head lamp attached to it. The band were set in the middle of us all. After all the filming, we returned to the main building where we said hello to Roger. He’d come out to say thanks. Later, waiting for a cab down in reception, Freddie glided down the staircase and past us with his entourage. I remember wanting to get up and say thanks, but the opportunity was missed.

...20th April 1992. My friend Chesney Hawkes was managed by Trinifold. They also managed The Who. He invited me along to the Freddie Mercury Tribute gig at Wembley. Roger Daltry was appearing and Ches had a spare ticket. He only had one backstage pass though. This was overcome by him befriending the chap on the security door. Ches came out to meet me with his pass. He returned on his own and got in. I confidently flashed my pass and entered the Hard Rock tented area. Ches beckoned me over from the other side of the room. He was signing autographs for a lady, her two children and an older lady was with them. He introduce me to them saying I was a huge Queen fan. ‘This is Freddie’s mother' he whispered to me. I remember saying to her that I wish we’d met under different circumstances and how deeply sorry I was about her loss and how incredibly proud she should be. I often wonder about her.

...In Spring 1993, I was in front office. It was well after midnight and I’d left a s session for a little break. As usual, I took a look in the studio diary to see what was coming up. I flicked through the weeks and came upon an booking entry “Studio 3 - QUEEN” for 2 weeks that was pencilled in. There was no further info than that. I put my initials next to the booking thinking there would be a rational explanation as to what the booking really was. I soon found myself on a 2 week session with Queen.My diary from 1993 is lost, so I have only a mental note as to when & what songs were touched upon at this initial stage of 'Made In Heaven'. We started taking delivery of various multitrack tapes on varied formats. These were then transferred to digital 48 track tapes for future work. Roger & John were alone on these sessions as Brian was touring in Japan. I remember Roger being rather dismissive of Brian being unavailable, much like a brother sledging his sibling would do, with a slightly jealous edge but genuine at the same time.

...Over the 2 week session, Roger would suggest we went out for dinner. We had 3 or 4 meals out at a local Italian restaurant. Even now I laugh at jumping into the back of Roger’s Merc and the four of us driving down Abbey Road to the restaurant. It was owned by an Italian lady that would force you to smell her ‘wonderful mushrooms’ from a jar, which she made Roger do. On our initial meal she told Roger he looked familiar. ‘I know you’, she said. ‘Where have I seen you before?’ ‘Well, I’m in a band and we’ve been on TV before.’ Roger replied. John seemed calm with his lack of recognition. ‘What group do you play for?’ she asked. ‘I’m the drummer in a rock n roll band called Queen’ he replied. ‘No - I don’t hear of this band’ …We finished our food and the bill was called for. It showed up. John took it and asked Roger if he should use the Queen card to pay for it or his own card.

Roger’s drum kit arriving half way through the first week of sessions was a surprise for Noel Harris (the engineer) & me. We expected the sessions to be playing back tapes and working through the various formats to find possible material to be worked on at a later date. Noel was unfamiliar with the room in studio 3 and asked my opinion where to set the kit up and what microphones I would use. Eventually he left me to it. The kit was positioned and I mic’d it up that evening. John had his red Fender bass DI’d (no amp was used) and sat with us in the control room. I doubt these recordings made it through to the final mixes, it’s nice to think that they did.

...Tuesday 5th September

During the afternoon Brian’s guitar and a Vox AC30 appeared in the studio, brought in by Pete Malandrone. We were to do guitar overdubs on ‘You Don't Fool Me’. David asked me to put two Shure 421 microphones pointing into the back of the speaker cabinet. We did have two SM57’s on the front but these weren’t used in the recording.

I had to do a recall of the mix, which meant noting all of the studio outboard settings so we could get back to the mix and finish it off.

We had a technical problem with the Sony 3348 tape machine and eventually had it swapped for a new one. Brian clearly wasn’t aware we weren’t ready for him. I was half way through telling him and Jim Beach jumped in and finished off my explanation. Brian got really cross with him and slammed an empty coffee mug down on the studio table. Later Brian was so apologetic for his outburst. He must have told Jim he was sorry 4 times. As I type this I note it was Freddie’s birthday.

Brian slipped on his guitar that was linked to his amp with one lead. No pedals. His sound was instant and we were soon ready to record. He stood in front of the console in the control facing David & me.

Brian had an idea of what he wanted to play. The guitar riff had already been recorded. The solo guitar is what was added. Brian used a scrap of paper that he drew a map of dots on. Not like musical notation but his own short hand. It reminded me of being at the 'Radio Ga Ga' video shoot 13 years earlier. I was the same distance from Brian as I was then, but the scenario was beyond my imagination.

...Friday 8th September

Day Off - I may have met Pete Malandron at the Sun Inn in Barnes this afternoon. The QIFC was based round the corner at the time & Brian had a house there too, although I'm not sure he lived there at the time. I was with a friend and Pete joined us in the pub. He sat near the window and kept looking out of it. I asked what he was looking at and he replied "I always get worried when I'm out with Brian's guitar. It's in the boot of the car you see." He stayed for one drink and decided it was time to leave.

...One of the evenings of this second week, George Michael came to visit. There was a strong possibility that he would sing on one of the songs. Roger, John, Brian, David, George & I sat chatting in the control room. One of the conversations moved onto the Beatles and their current 'best of' release. I think Brian suggested that it was a bad idea releasing all their old material and I piped up that the fans would buy it regardless, much like the scenario Queen were about to face with the imminent release of the album. There was a deathly hush as I realised what I was saying. I wasn’t being at all derogatory. I was helped out of the hole I was digging by George who agreed with me and we moved on. No one actually spoke about doing a vocal. After George left the studio that evening, Roger was clear that he wasn’t keen on the idea.After looking through the Vintage Car garage across the road from the studio one afternoon, Roger saw a black Cadillack convertible that he quite liked. The following morning he came into the studio and said ‘Don’t tell Jim, but I bought the car.’ It was £80, 000.

Brian asked me if had been involved in the Abbey Road Sessions. Perhaps he’d seen my name on the tape boxes. I said that I was. Immediately he made a phone call. I didn’t hear all that he said, but I knew it was about a special thanks on the album credits. The following morning, after the artwork had been finalised, Roger came in and said ‘morning Aardvark’. Because the special thanks were alphabetic, I was on top of the list. It wasn’t until I bought a copy of the album and saw my name on it that I finally took on board that I had actually achieved one of my dreams.”

[velvetthunder1999]

All the time on Earth

Part 17 - Happy

Summary: You take George on a date where he tells you stories about his family and the first time he realized he loved you

Warnings: None, Fluff

Word count: 4.2K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

You were just writing the last words on your Transfiguration essay when Hermione who was sitting opposite you in an armchair by the fire exclaimed in an angry voice.

“I can’t believe they still doing this!”

You and Ron followed her gaze. She was staring at Fred, George and Lee, who were surrounded by a group of first-years, giving them candies for testing. You raised and eyebrow but didn’t say anything; you turned back to your homework, hoping you could finish it before Hermione erupts again.

“I told them yesterday I write to their mum if they don’t stop,” she said snarkily. Your eyes met Ron’s and both of you turned away very quickly. “You think it is all right, what they’re doing?”

You needed a second to realize that she was talking to you. You raised your head again towards the boys, then shrugged.

“They’re not doing anything illegal, Hermione,” you said casually. “I’ve checked the school rules.”

“What they’re doing is dangerous. And those are just kids!”

“It’s not dangerous,” you sat flatly. “They’ve tested everything on themselves, so have I. I know for a fact that Lee ate at least twelve of those candies since the week we’ve been here, and he appears to be just fine.”

“I still don’t like it,” she said. “It can cause serious harm.”

“No, it can’t.”

“At least you should be more responsible!”

“Hermione, you know about the sort-of-illegal business I’m running here, right?”

“I have a few words about that, too.”

“Great, hold that thought for a second, I’m trying to finish here.”

You leaned over your essay again, and Ron gave out a snorting laugh. He quickly stopped when Hermione looked at him.

“Will you tell them to stop, then?” she returned to you.

“I’m not their guardian, Hermione. Let them make some money, please.”

You folded your finished essay and looked towards the boys again. George apparently was eavesdropping because when you met his eyes across the room, he winked.

September’s first week was about to end and you already felt exhausted. You’ve written a bunch of essays to five different teacher, and that Umbridge woman was giving you pointless homeworks as well; copying pages out of her beloved book. You had a feeling that if this was what she called teaching, you won’t be quite satisfied this year.

As Saturday arrived, you felt like sleeping in, but you knew you had loads of things to attend to. You dressed quickly and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As you sat at the table, your eyes stuck on Ron’s sickly looking face.

“Are you all right, Ron?”

He just nodded. Ginny answered for him.

“He has his first training today as official Keeper.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” you said as George sat down next to you and Fred opposite you. “Well, good luck, Ron!”

He nodded in silence. George kissed you quickly on the cheek and reached for a toast.

“Good morning. Are you coming to watch the training session?” he asked, looking for the marmalade jar.

“Sorry, I can’t,” you said, handing it over to him. “I need to do a few things today.”

“On Saturday?” asked Fred in disbelief. “I cannot imagine the pain.”

When you finished eating, you joined the twins to walk with them till the quidditch pitch. Fred went ahead to the changing rooms but George stayed behind.

“You sure you can’t stay?” he reached for your hand. You smiled at him.

“Sorry. Really. I try to finish early.”

He made a sad pouty face.

“Fine. I show off some other time then.”

You giggled.

“That’s the spirit,” you saw Ron and Harry coming to the dressing room as well. You raised an eyebrow at George. “Be nice, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

He turned back to you with a small smile. You nodded and kissed him on the cheek.

“All right. I gotta go. Have fun!”

You waved and left him behind. You needed to hurry if you wanted to do everything you have planned.

——

After finishing the training and taking a shower, George was looking for you everywhere in the common room but you didn’t seem to show up. He joined Fred and Lee feeling rather disappointed; he hoped returning to school would let you spend more time together, since during the summer you had to sneak around for every private minute.

When the common room started to get empty he stood up, too, joining the crowd heading to have dinner, however, he was only walking on the marble stairs leading to the Entrance Hall when you appeared next to him, grinning.

“Hey there.”

“Hey! Where were you all day?”

“Oh, I needed to get ready,” you said, with a suspicious smile on your lips.

“Ready for what?”

“I’m going on a date.”

George’s heart gave a panicked throb and he stopped in his tracks in the middle of the stairs. A third-year boy walked right into him but he didn’t care.

“You — What?”

“Yeah, on a date,” you said shrugging. George felt his brain shutting down.

“With — Who?”

Your grin widened.

“My boyfriend.”

“Your…”

He was mumbling. He looked in your cheeky eyes. Why were you not concerned?! Why were you… you…

“For Merlin’s sake!” he exclaimed and you started to laugh. “Don’t ever do this to me again! You naughty little prat!”

You laughed and you hugged him. He felt his heart calming down.

“So what are you planning?”

“Come, you’ll see.”

You took his hand and lead him out in the park, leaving the crowd behind. George was gazing at your face in disbelief as he was still recovering from the extreme shock. You two passed the greenhouses and George realized that you were heading towards the quidditch pitch.

“I really made an effort, you see,” you said, while climbing the stairs to the rows where audiences sat during the matches. “Ta-da!”

George looked around and saw at once the packages prepared on the highest benches;  numerous kinds of sandwiches, butterbeer bottles by the dozen, his favorite Honeydukes candies, games from Zonko’s and Dr Filibuster's Fireworks lay around on a huge blanket.

“I felt like we couldn’t really hang out lately,” you said. “And you did this for me once so I guess I’m returning the favour.”

George felt that warm feeling in his chest, the one he only feels when he’s with you. He took your hand and sat comfortably onto the blanket next to you.

“Where did you get the butterbeers, though?” he asked.

“Why?”

“It wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Oh, I went through the tunnel,” you said, raising an eyebrow in doubt and opening a bottle. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about the tunnel.”

“Of course, I do, but I thought… You know what, I’m not even surprised. Cheers.”

He beamed and drank from his bottle, not taking his eyes off you. He was blown away.

“So how was quidditch practice today?” you asked, not realizing that he was gazing at you. George shook his head a little, forcing himself to create a sentence that actually makes sense.

“Oh, it was rubbish,” he said. “Ron accidentally threw the quaffle at Katie, and she had a nosebleed.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Fred gave her the wrong candy — that just made it worse. She had to go to the hospital wing.”

“But is she all right?”

“Yeah, she’s fine now,” he said reassuringly. “But training was still dreadful with Slytherin lurking around.”

Your face darkened.

“I’m guessing they were really interested in Ron’s capabilities.”

“Something like that,” George drank again. Even though his brother was a bit slow-paced sometimes, he wished the worst for everyone other than Fred and himself who dared to say a bad word about Ron.

“How was he?” you asked, concerned. “He almost fainted when I saw him this morning.”

George chuckled.

“You want the kind answer or the honest answer?”

You grimaced.

“The honest answer, kindly.”

“He’s… not the best. Not the worst, either. Harry says he’s got it, he’s just nervous.”

You nodded silently. George was smiling to himself.

“You never saw me flying, you know that?”

You snorted, chuckling.

“That’s not true. I saw you on matches loads of times.”

“Not like that,” George shook his head, beaming. “You know, since we are — cohabitants.”

“Cohabitants?!” you burst out laughing. “That sounded horrible!”

“Sorry, I meant since we have been dallying with each other.”

He was grinning like crazy at the sound of your laugh. You were incredibly loud and he loved it.

“Okay, just stop,” you said, still giggling. “So, since we’ve been living in sin, you mean…?”

George laughed and choked on his butterbeer. He felt like he was going to have a coughing fit.

“Are you okay?” you giggled. He nodded, then made a ‘hic’ sound and he started hiccoughing. You laughed again.

“Hey!” he said, trying his best to hold back the laughs and the chuckles. “Don’t laugh at —‘hic’.”

You were leaning back in laughter. He shook his head — ‘hic’ — and tried to come off it by holding his breath but — ‘hic’ — it wasn’t working. Every time you seemed to calm down, he chuckled again, making you laugh even more. If it meant seeing you like this, he was up for hiccoughing for the rest of his life.

“All right, all right,” you said after a long fit of giggles. “Try taking small sips and raise one arm above your head. That should do.”

“Is this like a muggle — ‘hic’ — solution?” he asked while waving around like a windmill.

“You don’t know this one?” you giggled watching him. “I’m starting to realise we have a lot of different life hacks.”

“Yeah?” he said then swallowed the rest of his butterbeer. The hiccoughs stopped. “Ah, that’s better.”

He reached for a few Filibuster's Fireworks and lit them with his wand. He threw them into the air, watching as they were flying all around five feet above your heads. You followed them with your eyes as well; in the setting sun your hair looked the same texture as honey. George smiled to himself. He suddenly wanted to share every thought that had ever crossed his mind with you.

“When we were children we believed that if you don’t fly your brooms regularly, they get bored and break out of the shed in the middle of the night. Attack you in your sleep.”

Your eyes widened as you giggled.

“What?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, beaming. “So Fred and I waited until everyone was asleep and snuck out to play quidditch in the dark.”

“I bet your parents loved it.”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled at the memory. “Dad had to sleep in our room for two weeks to make sure we stayed inside.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” he smirked.

“What?!”

He laughed.

“No — no, about four or five, I reckon. We were quite a handful.”

“You are quite a handful,” you said, shaking your head, smiling. “Tell me more.”

You were looking at him in such a tender way he could not help but smile. His heart was beating really fast again. He took your hand into his and continued.

“Let’s see… Did I tell you how I got my middle name?”

“No.”

“You know it’s Fabian, right? And Fred’s Gideon. They were brothers of mum. They both died in the war. I reckon she wanted to commemorate them somehow.”

You were looking at him with warmth in your eyes.

“That’s a really nice gesture of her.”

A sweet, sorrowful expression appeared on your face. George leaned closer, examining you.

“Did I make you sad?”

You shot a small smile at him.

“A little. But it’s okay. These are important things. We should not forget about telling them.”

George couldn’t help himself. He leaned and pressed a tender kiss on your cheek, then he just let himself get lost in your presence, taking you all in, with a smile hiding in the corner of his lips.

He felt so different when he was with you. So honest. So free. He knew he could tell you anything. Even the not-so-nice stuff. Even the sorrowful things. He knew you’d understand, just like you understood why he had told you this. He saw it in your eyes. He saw kindness and caring. And it made him feel a bit better. He had always thought his middle name carried a gloomy meaning. With you, it didn’t seem so gloomy anymore.

Merlin, he loved you so much.

“Tell me more,” you said, with that eager expression on your face. Like you’d give anything to hear him gabble his tatty stories.

“All right… Let’s see… Oh, here’s one. When we were little, Fred and I always pretended to be each other. Drove mum crazy, that one, ‘specially when we did something we were not supposed to.”

You chortled.

“And you left that habit behind, have you?”

“Er — sure,” he said, not very convincingly. Then he cackled. “Once we tried to confuse Snape, in first year. He ended up taking a hundred points from Gryffindor. Mm… Those were the days, I’m telling you.”

Your giggles returned and his heart was beating fast again.

“What are you on about?” you said. “You’re not even that identical.”

“Yes, we are!” he said in mock offense. “Loads can’t even tell half the time.”

“Come off it, it’s not that hard!”

“Why, how do you know you’re not sitting here with Fred right now?” he asked. “I might have been fooling you for a whole week.”

You snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can tell the two of you apart in an instant.”

“I’m sure sometimes you can’t, though,” he said teasingly. You furrowed your brows.

“That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, stop,” you said, scowling. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m just joking.”

“I know, but it’s important to me. You knowing… that I know. I want you to know… I always… I’m always certain.”

Your puzzled speech made him take your hand again. As he spoke, he was smiling mischievously, but he meant every word.

“I know you can tell us apart, love,” he smirked. “I know it since the Yule Ball.”

You turned to him in surprise.

“Really?”

“Mm…” he trailed off for a moment, reminiscing about that night, then continued. “Remember, you didn’t tell me who did you think I was. And we danced later and I wished you’d knew for real, but I wasn’t sure… And then you said ‘Good night, George’ and it was a really big deal for me.”

He hesitated. He felt himself blushing but he also wanted to tell you… He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly.

“I think that was it for me. When you said my name… I just somehow… knew.”

“Knew what?”

He didn’t answer, but looked at you with a you-know-what-I-mean face. You seemed to be blushing a bit, too. He found you beautiful.

“That’s…” you started. “Blimey.”

He chuckled.

“Sappy?”

You giggled as you leaned closer to him. You kissed him on the cheek, just as he had done a few minutes ago to you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yes, it is, but it’s okay. But, yeah, a bit sappy.”

“All right, then, tell me yours if you’re so witty,” he said playfully.

“Mine?” you said, thinking. You smiled to yourself. “I think when we went to Hogsmeade for the first time. And I refilled the butterbeer bottles with magic, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“And you said, you said this: ‘You really are something.’ And I was blown away, because I knew I wasn’t doing something nice, but… You seemed to understand. And I just… It felt so… right with you.”

You were captivating as you were sitting there, showering in the last orange beams of the sunset. George was not fond of showing off, let others see what you two have… He had always believed it to be a private thing. But as he saw the last people wandering around the quidditch pitch, way below where you were sitting, he almost felt like putting everything aside and just press kisses all over you right here, right now.

His rumbling stomach reminded him that you two skipped dinner, indeed. He looked down at the sandwiches you had brought and his chest felt warm again.

“Are these for us?”

“What do you think, ginger boy?” you handed him one from the pile. “Here, take it.”

He took a bite and his stomach immediately felt better. He wondered if he’d feel the same if anyone else but you’d had made the sandwiches.

“What’s yours?” he said, mumbling through the ham and tomato.

“Cheese. You wanna try it?”

“Yeah.”

You switched.

Above your heads the Filibuster’s Fireworks were throwing their last sparks around before their remainings fell at your feet. The quidditch pitch and the park was empty now, as curfew was coming. George’s mood sank a bit as he saw Hagrid’s empty hut in the distance; he just hoped that he’s all right, whatever mission Dumbledore had sent him on. Sitting here with you, eating sandwiches and drinking butterbeer made it hard to believe that somewhere out there the greatest dark wizard was planning to destroy their peaceful world. He wished he could stay in this moment with you forever.

“You wanna play a round of Exploding Snap before heading back?” he asked you.

“Sure!”

You opened a pack of Fizzing Whizbees while he shuffled the cards. You put a piece of candy in his mouth as well and he pressed a kiss on your fingers as a thank you.

By the time you finished playing it was already dark, only the moon was shining on the sky. George knew you felt the same — trying to stretch out this perfect day, before returning to reality. But soon you could do nothing about it. It was time to pack your stuff and head back to the castle.

“Are you cold?” George glanced at you as you shivered.

“A bit. I’m more creeped out by the forest. Look.”

You pointed at the treeline by the Forbidden Forest. George grinned.

“Ron said there are enormous Acromantulas there,” he said teasingly. He knew you hated spiders. “Bigger than a car, even.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” you shivered again. He laughed and put an arm around your shoulders.

“Wouldn’t it be nice, tough? A nice tour in the —”

“George!” you scolded him and ran a few feet ahead. “I leave you behind if you don’t behave!”

“I’d like to see you try,” he said, running after you. You shrieked as he almost caught you at the bottom of the stairs and giggled loudly when he embraced you in a tight hug in the Entrance Hall.

“George! Let me go!”

“I don’t think so, love,” he said, peppering you with kisses from behind.

“Let me go, I feel sick!”

George let go in panic at once. He reached for your face in concern.

“I’m so sorry, are you all right? Did I do something?”

“Hah!” you blew raspberries at his face and started laughing again as you ran up the marble staircase. George scowled in mock outrage.

“You’re making fun of my good heart, Y/N!” he shouted as he was running after you.

The two of you were chasing each other all the way on the corridors. You stopped in the middle of a hallway, waiting for him, playing with him, daring him to chase you again. You seemed to be trapped between a statue and the window; behind you the stairs had just moved away.

“Having some trouble?” George asked, smirking. His voice was echoing in the empty hallway.

“Oh, you wish!” you giggled and decided to jump to your left, at an arriving staircase. George followed and caught you for the second time, holding you close from behind.

“Don’t even dream about going free this time,” he murmured in your ears and he felt you shivering again.

“You overestimate yourself, Weasley,” you chuckled.

Somewhere in the distance a door was shut, but it was too far away for George to care. He only cared about you as you turned around in his arms, standing in the middle of the moving staircase. You casually put your arms around his neck. He loved when you did that.

“I wanna ask you something,” he said suddenly. You nodded.

“Ask.”

“It’s a serious question.”

“Okay, ask,” you smiled at him with anticipation.

George had no idea where this was coming from. He just wanted to know. He just wanted to be sure. He’s a declared sappy git already… so it didn’t really make a difference.

“Are you happy?”

He saw that the question took you by surprise. Somewhere above he could hear footsteps.

You nodded, smiling.

“Of course.”

He shook his head.

“No, witty… I mean seriously. Are you happy?”

You were looking deeply in his eyes. George knew you understood. He just hoped you say yes. Yes to being happy with him… just as happy he was with you.

Your smile faded a little as you were thinking… evaluating… George’s heart was beating nervously. You looked to his side, reminiscing about something that he couldn’t see, something only you could see, only you could remember… then you looked back at him, a piercing look in your eyes, and you said calmly with a returning smile:

“Yes. I am happy.”

George let out a deep sigh and grinned. His chest felt really, really hot. When you reached for his face, the touch of your fingertips left him feel dizzy.

“Are you happy?” you whispered. George didn’t even need to think about it.

“Yes, I am.”

“I am serious, too.”

“I am very happy,” he leaned closer to kiss you but you turned away.

“Don’t, I have a boyfriend!”

“Oh, all right then,” he let go of you and stood tall, making it impossible for you to reach him. “Is this all right?”

“Now, that I think about it…” you said with a cheeky grin. But he purposely stood even taller on his toes. He loved playing with you like this. His smile widened when you gently pulled his tie towards you.

“Now, now, what will your boyfriend say?”

“He can handle it.” George gave in and closed his eyes in pleasure as your lips touched his. He grabbed your robes and pulled you closer to him, taking in your wonderfull vanilla shampoo and tasting butterbeer on your tongue…

“Hem hem.”

George sprung aroung, hiding you behind his back in an instant. He knew this voice, this disturbing little sound, he knew whom it belonged to. He was right. On the top of the staircase was Professor Umbridge, staring at the two of you with a wide smile.

“Mr Weasley,” she said in a girlish voice. “Miss Y/L/N. Are you aware of how late it is?”

“No,” said George at once. Umbridge shook her head.

“When I ask you something Mr Weasley I expect you to answer with ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge’ or ‘No, Professor Umbridge’. Let’s try again. Are you aware of how late it is?”

“No… Professor Umbridge.”

“Come up here, please.”

She indicated next to her, and she herself stepped off the staircase, too. George looked at you and rolled his eyes; you smirked and took his hand. He knew detention was coming, he didn’t really care; he was rather annoyed that he has to spend his valuable time cleaning statues or writing some lines.

You walked up the staircase and stopped in front of Umbridge. George wondered wether she was twice as short as him. She shot an interested glance at his hand holding yours, but she did not comment on it.

“Now, I must inform you that breaking the school rules comes with consequences. Leaving your dormitories at night, way past curfew is one of the many things that are forbidden in this institution. I am expecting you on Monday at five o’clock in my office. Detention, it is.”

“For going on a walk?” you said irritatedly. Umbridge glanced at you holding hands again before she answered.

“Punishable behaviour should be punished, dear. Was I clear enough?”

“Yes…” you muttered. She raised an eyebrow. “Professor Umbridge.”

“Wonderful. Let’s hope we can break off these silly… habits,” she took one last glance at your hands. “To your dormitories, now. Off you go, please.”

You didn’t speak until you reached the Fat Lady, but when you stepped into the common room, both of you snorted with laughter.

“Punishable behaviour should be punished,” George said in a high pitched voice. “Honestly.”

“I hate that woman so much,” you said, rolling your eyes and giggling. “Detention! Seriously?! Like I had nothing better to do than writing some lines for her or something.”

“Exactly,” George said, pulling you closer to him again. “Come here, you.”

He pressed a kiss on the tip of your nose. You giggled. You were very giggly tonight.

“I had fun, you know,” he said.

“Yeah, me too,” you nodded before letting out a huge yawn.

“Maybe you should turn in.”

“Yeah, probably,” you said, rubbing your eyes. You curtseyed playfully. “Goodnight, Mr Weasley.”

George seriously considered saying ‘Goodnight, Mrs Weasley’ to you, but he decided he’d rather not freak you out. So he just said his usual ‘Sweet dreams’ and only turned away when you waved him goodbye and disappeared behind your dormitory door.

[angstyaches]

Ok so I freaking love belly rubs and now that we’ve seen Shayne receive a belly rub I want to see it reversed 😂 Charlie has an upset stomach for some reason and realizes that he just really needs to burp but he can’t and all day long the feeling just gets worse until he’s finally home and can lay down but still nothing will come up and when Shayne shows up and he lets him through the window he immediately knows something is wrong (p 1 of 2)

(P 2 of 2) somehow Charlie convinced him to help him by rubbing his stomach which of course helps and he burps into his fist a couple of times but it’s not releasing the pressure at all, actually it’s making him feel nauseous and before he knows it he suddenly vomits all over him and Shayne ( I know this doesn’t really fit with the plot you’ve got since the ending of the last fic with Shayne but i didn’t know how to make it fit 😂 you can ignore this prompt if ya want lol)

Milo, thank you, thank you, thank you. I had so much fun writing this. Baby’s first prompt.

Sorry if this is obnoxiously long; I have no idea how to judge length yet.

CW: vomiting

In the pub

Charlie had zoned out hours ago, upon realising that the three-year age gap between him and his oldest cousins meant a lot more when he was eighteen and they were fifteen. Whatever pop culture they were chatting about held no interest for him, and whatever gossip his parents, aunts, and uncles were engaging him would likely be just as boring.

He wished he could have gone and talked to Jonathan. He hadn’t seen his half-brother in months, yet he’d barely wanted to speak two words with Charlie all day. He’d brought two friends along, which Aunt Pauline had been annoyed about at the start of the day. She had gotten over it; Charlie, however, had not. The three of them had been skulking outdoors in the smoking area for hours.

Although, if he’d been given first pick, Charlie would have been chatting to been the pretty bartender with the gold lip ring. The guy looked run off his feet, yet had a smile for every one of Charlie’s relatives who had an order to bark at him, be it a chocolate-stained little cousin or his cane-wielding grandmother. He was so cute, but Charlie was too nervous to even look him in the eye. He also felt slightly… guilty, though he could think of no rational reason why he should feel guilty. He wasn’t spoken for by anyone; not even close. And that just made him sink further into his loneliness.

So, with no conversational opportunity, Charlie had occupied himself with the bar food that came out in waves. He didn’t often eat greasy food at home, and he ate exactly like a kid let loose in a store full of chicken goujons and potato wedges. His stomach started to feel kind of sloshy at one point, but that might have been from copious amounts of fizzy orange. More food would surely soak it up and settle everything down.

After the cute waiter dropped off a tray of drinks at the “adult” table, Charlie’s dad stood up and took a glass over to where Charlie was sitting.

“There you are, designated driver,” Trevor said. His cheeks were flushed red from drinking for pretty much the whole day.

“Thanks, Dad,” Charlie said, fidgeting with the keys in his hoodie pocket. “Can we go soon? I’m getting tired.”

“Of course. Last drink and we’ll hit the road,” Trevor winked, giving Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You really are a blessing, son.”

He couldn’t tell if the flutter in his chest was because of the waiter still, or because of what his dad had just said. It might also have been indigestion, though he wouldn’t think of that until a little later.

“Maybe go and say goodbye to Jonathan before we head off, yeah?”

“Alright, Dad.” A blessing, he thought as his father went back to the proper adult table and sat next to his wife. Their half-demon offspring is a blessing to them. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing, the other half wanted to weep. He hovered somewhere in between, smiling despite the tightness in his chest.

He guzzled a few mouthfuls of the fizzy drink, stealing his courage as he stood up and went to talk to Jonathan.

In the car

The drive home itself was exhausting. Charlie’s energy was already spent after a whole day of socialising. His stomach was making some awful sounds, though it felt lazy and sluggish inside him after being fed such little amounts so many times throughout the day. The flavour of the fizzy orange kept repeating on him too, and he vowed never to touch the stuff again. He glanced over to see that his dad had fallen asleep against the passenger door. In the rear-view mirror, he saw that his mum was snoring with her head thrown back.

Charlie swallowed harshly. It felt like some of the fizzy orange was sitting in his throat, blocking his airways a bit. Gripping the steering wheel tightly at ten and two, he tried to let some of the air up from his stomach, but the bubbles stayed exactly where they were, gurgling amongst the sickly combination of food in his belly.

He slid his right hand from two to twelve on the steering wheel, glancing once again to make sure his dad was still asleep; Trevor would definitely yell at him for having one hand off the wheel, but it was a straight, empty road, and Charlie was decidedly below the recommended speed.

Besides, he could probably pull up enough strength to telekinetically steer the car, if he had to. Having acceleratingly strong demonic powers had its unexpected quirks, after all.

Charlie rubbed a hand across his belly, realising that it was filling out his hoodie a lot more than it should have been. He stifled a whimper as he pushed on the swell, hoping to force up at least some of what was making his stomach feel so bad. It gurgled under his hand, the pain shifting slightly but not upwards. There was a slight rumble in his chest, a fizzing in the back of his throat, but nothing more.

He put his left hand back on the wheel and sighed, surviving on the fact that at least he’d be home and lying in bed without the hour.

Back home

“Night, Mum, night, Dad,” Charlie called dully down the hall, though they’d probably both passed out on their bed in the time it had taken him to brush his teeth. He’d hoped the minty flavour would have soothed the burning acidity, but it had just mixed sickly with the fizzy orange reflux. He could finally hunch over a bit and rub his belly with a little more force, now he was alone in his room.

He reached for his bedside lamp, when a tap on the window made him jump. He almost knocked his little brown stuffed bear from the nightstand, and he rushed to straighten him.

“Sorry, Vincent,” he whispered before approaching the window. Another tiny pebble hit the glass and Charlie groaned under his breath. Couldn’t that boy learn how to send a text?

Charlie cradled his belly as he spotted the dark-haired figure in the back yard. Usually, the sight of Shayne gave him a very light, pleasant feeling, but right now he felt the furthest from light he’d ever been. He sighed and directed his gaze towards the back door, focusing on undoing the lock before ducking back into the room.

He leaned against the windowsill, rubbing his belly desperately. It was definitely too much to ask, that all of the burps trapped inside him come up in the time it took Shayne to get inside, take off his ridiculous boots, and creep upstairs. All Charlie succeeded in bringing up were a couple of orangey splashes that burned his tongue.

“Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood,” he whispered as soon as Shayne let himself quietly into the room.

The dark-haired boy frowned as he closed the door. “Hmm?”

Charlie sighed and sat down on his bed. “I don’t care if it’s a voodoo doll or a silver stake or a monkey’s fucking paw. Can we do it another time?”

“Okay, first of all; hi,” Shayne muttered. “Second; how would any of those things be useful in exorcising or communicating with a demon? And third; where were you all?”

“My cousin’s christening,” Charlie said, slipping a hand into his hoodie pocket so he could keep some pressure on his stomach. “It went on kind of late.”

“You’re telling me?” Shayne began to pace evenly back and forth. “This place gives me shivers on a normal day. Ten times worse when it’s all dark and unoccupied.”

“Well, you could try not hanging around on other people’s property,” Charlie grumbled.

“I caught three demons in the back yard,” Shayne said. “Three demons that will never possess your parents, so you’re welcome.”

“So, you’ve got fucking warding jars on you?” Charlie whined. He knew he was feeling awful for a reason, but if those jars were close-by, they certainly wouldn’t be helping.

“’Course not, I left them at the far end of the garden,” Shayne hissed. “Okay, you’re sounding more like me than me tonight. What’s going on?”

Charlie swallowed and looked up at his friend. His belly was groaning, and he hoped he was the only one hearing it. He pulled his hand from his pocket and started holding it a bit more firmly, giving up the secrecy.

“I don’t feel so good,” he whined, sitting forward. “My tummy’s really sore.”

“Oh. Well, why haven’t you taken any of those tablets you always try to force on me?”

“Because I’ll be fine once I can burp, but so far, nothing wants to come up.” Charlie’s face burned at hearing himself give so much detail. He lowered his head as he leaned towards his knees, curling around the knot of pain.

He felt the mattress take Shayne’s weight, and then a hand prying his away from his stomach. He took a sharp breath and looked up.

“Are you going to rub my tummy?”

“You’ll never hear me say it in those words, but… yeah.” Shayne was still frowning, though Charlie recognised a slight blush in his cheeks. “Here, straighten up. Stop sitting like an idiot.”

“That’s mean,” Charlie whined, slowly released his vice-grip on his belly and straightening his back. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be really bad at – mmm.”

Shayne’s hand could almost have covered Charlie’s whole belly if it hadn’t been so bloated and tight. His stomach churned uneasily alongside the movement of Shayne’s fingers, until Charlie felt gas bubbles press up towards his chest. He felt himself groan without deciding he was going to.

Shayne held his breath, pausing the motion of his hand. “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

“No, no, don’t stop,” Charlie groaned. “Can you rub my back, too?”

As soon as Shayne pressed on Charlie’s stomach and ran a hand up his spine, Charlie felt the gas bubbles release, making a deep rumbling sound in his chest. He pressed a fist to his mouth and turned his head away from Shayne. The burp was so loud Charlie worried it would wake his parents, and lasted about four seconds.

“Holy shit,” Shayne whispered. “I think I felt the room shake.”

“Shut up,” Charlie groaned.

“Feel any better?”

“Not really.”

“I’m going to lift your jumper, okay?”

Charlie almost squeaked as Shayne slid his hand under his hoodie, rubbing at the straining skin of his belly. Charlie dug his nails into the duvet to keep himself from wriggling. His skin was starting to feel prickly and warm, but that could have just been because of what was happening. Shayne was here and touching him, and not just through his clothes. He had his hand on Charlie’s bare torso. He was in pain, but he should have been enjoying this at least a little.

A weak smile twitched across his mouth as he nudged his cheek experimentally against Shayne’s shoulder. When the dark-haired boy didn’t flinch in any major way, he let himself lean a little harder, hoping his heart wasn’t pounding as loudly as he thought it was.

“What did you do to it, anyway?” Shayne asked, and it took Charlie a second to realise he was talking about his stomach. His fingers kneaded gently across it

“I, um, just kept eating, I guess.” Charlie turned his head to let out another burp, though this one sounded like it was strangled on its way up from his stomach. “And my dad kept bringing me fizzy drinks. Designated driver, you know? Aw – fuck, Shayne.”

Charlie frowned and winced as his stomach suddenly lurched under the pressure of Shayne’s hand.

“Shit – what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie murmured, his cheeks suddenly tingling. A certain kind of panic began to ring in his ears. “Oh, god, I think I’m going to –”

He retched before fully realising it was happening, before he could do any kind of aiming or get his hands in front of his mouth. His hands did fly out, one landing on Shayne’s back, the other on his own knee. The majority of the thick, orange vomit landed down the front of Shayne’s jacket and t-shirt, the rest of it flicked across Shayne’s jeans and the duvet cover.

“Oh, my god, Shayne,” Charlie gasped. His hand was shaking as he brought it up to cover his mouth. Almost immediately, his head pitched forward again, another long gush of sticky orange liquid and chunks of bar food spraying over the sleeve of his hoodie as he tried to block it, but a lot still landed in Shayne’s lap.

Shayne sighed, though he really hoped Charlie didn’t hear it. He’d definitely take it the wrong way, thinking Shayne was sighing out of frustration when really, it was the only way he could release the intense sympathy he felt as the blonde boy clung to him and vomited. Shayne continued to rub Charlie’s back, though he wasn’t sure if it was helping or making things worse.

Charlie hiccuped into his sleeve, clearly forgetting that he’d just gotten sick all over it.

“Shayne,” he croaked, slowly lifting his gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Feeling any better?”

“Actually, yeah, I am.”

Shayne shrugged. “Then it’s fine. Jesus, if only exorcising you was so damn easy.”

[angelicdestieldemon]

Dream (Day 10 of Christmas)

Request: Sequel to Christmas Tree

SHIP: Barson

Requests are open for the next 15 days, I write for Barson, Bangan, Barisi and potentially other Rafael Barba ships (even other Raúl Esparza characters too), just talk to me on asks or private messages.

Sorry this is late, there were complications.

Olivia woke to an empty bed in the middle of the night, Rafael’s side of the bed cold, and she worries for a moment that it was all dream. Getting up she walks through the living room but it’s dark and empty, the only light coming from the two bedrooms down the hall. She checks on Noah, his night light casting the room in a soft glow, but he’s fast asleep. Olivia closes the door until it’s only just open and pads softly down to the final door.

Rafael is softly pacing the room, his closed eyes are tired, black circles underneath and his hair is a mess, but he looks so relaxed as he softly sings to the baby in his arms. Little Catalina – Cat, usually – is clutching his t-shirt as he rocks her back to sleep. The sight of them together warms Olivia to her core and makes her sigh in relief, it’s her night to get up for Cat, the two of them taking turns to make sure at least one of them gets a good night sleep each night, but Rafael must have left her to get some rest.

She won’t lie, Olivia was a little worried about how Rafael would cope with a new-born, having never had to manage with Noah when Olivia first brought him home. But he’s taken to it quite well, he always joked that his job didn’t allow for much sleep anyway. Watching him with her though is a sight she will never get sick of. During the pregnancy he would kiss her stomach and talk to their daughter about everything they were going to do together and how much she was loved, by her mama and Papi and her big brother. Rafael was always trying to make sure Noah was involved with his sister, from the minute they told Noah, Rafael made sure that the boy knew that just because they were having a baby it didn’t mean he would be loved any less.

Olivia watches as he gently lays her back down in her cot and turns to leave the room, spotting her in the doorway, a sleepy smile is on his face and he gently closes the door, taking her hand in his as he pulls her away to the living room, to make sure they don’t wake the sleeping baby.

“I thought it was my turn tonight,” Olivia says leading him back to their bedroom.

They climb back into bed, Olivia wrapping her arms around him, their foreheads pressed together on the pillow.

“You were but you looked so peaceful, I didn’t have the heart to wake you, besides I was already up,” he replies, his voice gravelly in a way Olivia always finds attractive.

“Getting soft in your old age,” she teases, one hand reaching up to run through his hair.

Rafael was becoming self-conscious about his hair and beard, they were becoming more and more silver, and although she liked the look, she could tell it bothered him. She feels him lean into the touch as her hand rests at the nape of his neck, her fingers playing with the short hairs there.

“I’m younger than you,” he quips back, but before she can reply he continues. “But you look far better than I do. Anyway, I don’t mind going soft, you are badass enough to be the scary one.”

Olivia kisses him softly, nipping his lip in response which makes him laugh quietly. When she first met him, Olivia thought Rafael would be like the other overconfident arrogant men she had met, reluctant to listen to a woman in-charge. And although he wasn’t perfect, it was never to do with her sex, and since they’ve been together, she had come to learn that he loves a woman taking charge of him. Their daughter already has him wrapped around her little finger and she doesn’t even know it yet.

Humming against his lips Olivia pulls him closer, lifting her leg to wrap around his hip, feeling the long line of his body pressed against her front, she can feel the heat he radiates, and she clings to him.

“Get some sleep, we’ve got work tomorrow,” she kisses him again, and he mumbles a good night against her lips, falling asleep rather quickly. The lines in his face smoothing out making him look younger if it weren’t for the grey in his hair and beard.

---

When Olivia wakes in the morning, Rafael is still sound asleep next to her, and checking the clock she can see he still has another half hour before he needs to get moving so she leaves him to get some rest.

Walking down the corridor she wakes Noah, rousing the boy with a kiss on the forehead and telling him to head to the kitchen for breakfast. Once she’s sure he’s getting up she leaves him to see if Cat is awake. The baby is sucking on the leg of her teddy bear when she sees her mama, reaching her little arms to be picked up. Liv lifts the baby hearing a little giggle when she does so.

“Good morning, sweet girl, did you wake Papi up last night?” Olivia talks to the girl, hearing little noises in response.

Noah is sitting at the counter when she enters the kitchen, she places the little girl in her highchair and as she turns to get the cereal for Noah, she hears him talking to his sister about the dream he had last night. Olivia smiles at the sound; she was worried how Noah would feel about having a little sister but it’s clear he loves her.

Olivia is in the middle of feeding Catalina when Rafael wanders into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in every direction, making Noah laugh. Instead of trying to fix it, he ruffles Noah’s hair and kisses him on the forehead.

“Mornin’ mijo,” his voice is still gravelly with sleep and Liv smiles at the sound.

“Morning Papi, I had a weird dream last night,” Noah says excitedly.

“What did you dream about, mijo?” He asks, kissing his daughter on the head and moving Olivia’s hair out the way to lay a chaste kiss on her neck. “Good morning, mi amor.”

Noah proceeded to tell Rafael all about his dream which included a fox and a dolphin becoming friends and taking Noah on a trip to the north pole to see Santa. Olivia finished feeding Catalina and lifted her out of her highchair to get her ready for the day. Unable to resist she ruffles Rafael’s hair making it even messier and he mock scowls at her before diverting his attention back to Noah.

She changes Cat into dungarees with little flowers on them and then preps a bag with everything the little girl will need for the day, it’s Rafael’s day with Cat so she leaves the bag next to his briefcase, so he doesn’t forget it. And then pops Catalina down onto her playmat while she gets herself ready for the day.

When she re-enters the kitchen, Rafael is washing up the dishes from breakfast and takes Noah down the hall to help him choose his outfit for the day, leaving Liv to sit with her daughter while she checks her phone for any messages or emails from last night.

Noah appears a few minutes later, in a polo-shirt and jeans and sits beside his mum, playing with his sister’s feet while she giggles away. Rafael is the last to come through, his hair is now immaculate, and he’s wearing a two-piece grey suit with a pink tie and striped suspenders.

When Cat sees him, she immediately reaches up and Rafael smiles, his nose crinkling as he picks her up and cuddles her to his chest, murmuring softly to her under his breath and kissing her on the temple.

“What time is everyone coming around tonight?” He asks Liv.

Instead of going to the NYPD Christmas Party Rafael and Liv decided to just host their own, less socialising with people they really don’t like. Instead, they would rather be surround by their closest friends and their families.

“I told them to get here for about seven,” Olivia stands up, telling Noah to grab his coat as Lucy is almost here to pick him up and leans in to give Rafael a kiss. “So, don’t be late.”

Rafael arrives at his office with Cat in his arms, even after months of bringing her in, he still gets the odd stares from co-workers. Most of them never thought they’d see the day he walked in with a baby or any child regardless of age. Carmen coos over the girl like the does every time she sees her, Cat returning the favour by trying to grasp Rafael’s assistant’s hair, luckily Carmen manages to avoid the girl’s grabby hands and boops her on the nose making her giggle.

“Anything for me this morning?” He asks, and Carmen shakes her head.

“Nothing so far, you have a meeting with Rita after lunch but nothing else today so far,” she answers, checking his daily planner and calendar.

“Thank you, Carmen,” he smiles, taking one of Cat’s hands to wave at the woman.

Rafael places his briefcase and Cat’s bag down by his desk before pulling out her play mat and toys and setting her down to play, he pulls out his laptop and turns his chair to face his daughter while he checks for anything of imminent importance before grabbing his tray of paperwork and getting to work.

---

The morning passes fairly quickly considering, Cat having a nap on Rafael’s chest while he reads through various case files and requests. Before long it’s lunch time and Carmen brings him a wrap from the deli down the street and once he’s finished eating he grabs the baby food they were currently introducing Catalina to, she’s taking to it quite well and he’s almost done when Rita Calhoun walks into the office without knocking.

“What is that?” She asks, staring at Rafael with a look of pure confusion.

“In some places, it’s called a baby,” he quips back, glancing to her before focusing on finishing the jar of baby food.

Rita glares at him before moving to sit down in one of the chairs in-front of his desk. “I can see that, but what are you doing with a baby, more important who’s is it and how much are they paying for you to look after it.”

Rafael smirks at Rita as he wipes down Cat’s face before she reaches up to wrap her little hands around his tie, luckily, she doesn’t immediately try to eat it, so he lets her play with it, while turning his attention to Rita.

“Rita, meet my daughter Catalina,” he says, savouring the look on Rita’s face.

“One-night stand gone wrong?” She mocks and Rafael glares at her, his face softening though as Cat pulls his tie, reaching one hand up he softly strokes a finger up and down her cheek making the girl smile. “Who did you knock up then?” Rita pushes and Rafael sighs, in all honestly, he had hope Rita would have heard through the gossip vine but he supposes it is better coming from him, given how long they have known each other.

“Olivia Benson,” he reveals, and regrets it instantly at the look of pure satisfaction on Rita’s face.

“I should have known, holy shi-”

“Language!” Rafael hisses, which only makes Rita laugh harder.

“Look at you, fatherhood suits you Rafael.” She teases and then her voice softens in a way it used to when they were still close at Harvard. “How long have you and Captain Benson been together then, I assume this isn’t a one-night accident?”

“Almost two years now,” he tells her. “Cat wasn’t planned, we didn’t think it was even a possibility but then… well you can see. She’s six months now, a little premature considering Liv’s age but healthy,” he concludes unable to resist breaking out a smile at his daughter.

Rita watches him with the baby, her hair the same colour Rafael’s used to be when he was younger, but the eyes are exactly the same, green in a way you only read about in books. Her friend looks happy, happier than he has looked in years, even with the grey showing through, she hasn’t seen him look so good since they first started out in the DA’s office together all those years ago.

“I’m happy for you,” she tells him in a moment of rare honesty, and he smiles in thanks.

After that they get on with their meeting, Cat lying happily on her father chests while he argues with Rita over a suitable plea deal. After than they afternoon flies, Cat having another nap before playing for a while and then it’s home time. He packs the mat and toys away, makes sure all the supplies are back in Cat’s bag and his briefcase has the files he needs before leaving the office, telling Carmen to head home once she’s finished what she’s doing.

---

The party goes well, Billie and Jesse play with Noah, Cat watches on from her father’s arms, Liv sitting by him with a glass of wine in her hand. Rafael is chatting with Sonny’s boyfriend Isaiah Holmes, about an old case that Isaiah was trying to get re-tried and Olivia moves over to sit with Amanda, Sonny and Fin talking in the kitchen.

“He’s come so far from holding Noah like bomb, I don’t think he’s had his hands off her since we arrived,” Amanda jokes, making Liv laugh.

“Sometimes I have to remind him she’s not going anywhere,” Olivia jokes in return. “I think sometimes he thinks this is all a dream he’s going to wake up from, hell sometimes so do I.” She pauses, watching Cat and Rafael and then turns her eyes to Noah grinning on the floor with Jesse playing games with Jesse’s Hot Wheels. “I never thought I would have Noah, never mind a baby. I woke up last night, it’s my night to get up when she cries. But Rafa wasn’t there, his side was cold, and I had a horrible feeling that maybe I had dreamed all of this up, that none of it was real,” She reveals, a feeling of relief having told someone.

Amanda nods her head in understanding. Then pinches her friend and boss on the wrist, “See you’re not dreaming.” She grins making Liv gently hit her arm in return but she’s smiling as well.

Sonny and Isaiah are the last to leave, Noah and Cat having been put to be a while ago, and Rafael is sliding into bed, Olivia not long behind him. Once she’s settled, Rafael pressed against her back, his arms around her, she hears him speak.

“Rita Calhoun came to my office today, she had no idea about Cat, you should have seen her face,” he laughs quietly against her neck, Olivia shaking with silent laughter as well.

“I would have loved to have seen that…” she replies. Debating on whether or not to tell him about last night she decided to share it anyway. “When I woke up last night, I had horrible feeling that this was all a dream. That we didn’t have Cat, and I didn’t have you,” she confides, turning in his arms to face him.

He has a soft look in his eyes as he pulls her closer.

“Mi Amor, I’ve told you before, I’m not going anywhere.” He kisses her and she smiles, wrapping her arms around him tighter, she can’t bring herself to let go.

[carriemaya]

COMING HOME — Healing from Housing Instability

CW: Childhood sexual abuse, parentification, slibling abuse, religious abuse, and PTSD.

INTERGENERATIONAL FAMILY TRAUMA

I grew up with a lot of material privilege: a beautiful home on 2 acres of property, cable TV, ducted heating/cooling, always had food on the table, and went to a private Christian school (even if it was through a bursary programme). I even had singing and piano lessons (and went to performing arts school with Zachary Ruane from Aunty Donna — true story!).

But there was a maelstrom of abuse going on behind closed doors.

What my five siblings and I experienced varied from child to child; a combination of sexual, physical, psychological, and spiritual abuse — from parent to child and sibling to sibling over the course of many years. While the onus for violence, volatility, and religious fundamentalism was on my parents, they were also the facilitators of beautiful moments of genuine care and joy — a toxic dynamic born of traumatised adults who find themselves the parents of little children whose entire world they’re responsible for.

And because our nervous systems remember things that we would choose to forgive and forget, it laid the rocky foundation for the early onset of a plethora of complex mental health issues that I still experience today.

And while my parents weren’t all bad or all good (as is the case with most people), the culture they created or allowed, made way for fractured relationships between my siblings and me — and unfortunately these sibling relationships became the catalyst for my personal ongoing housing instability and a deeper, more chronic experience of psychological damage that years of therapy, self-help books, and spiritual healing sessions haven’t been able to heal.

-

My siblings were traumatised by the person I was growing up. I was parentified from a young age and stepped into the mother role. At around 10 years old, my parents forced me to physically discipline my siblings. But I had the head and heart of a child which meant that I wielded power with all the wisdom and responsibility of, well, a child.

It caused lots of damage because I was the scary one in their eyes (not my parents) which set me up to be alienated from my siblings pretty much from the get go. I could be awful to them. But I also loved them and simultaneously felt responsible for protecting them against my parents. I look back at the moments born of these confusing dynamics and I can pinpoint them as the place in my life where my personality started to fragment.

When it came to trying to protect myself, my siblings, or to reason with my parents, I yelled. A lot. My voice was the only weapon I had to use against their size, age, fellow adult allies, and economic power.

I thought that by yelling I could get through to them — to help them wake them up and see how much their kids were suffering because of their behaviour. I didn’t learn until I was an adult that my brothers and sisters resented me for this as they wished I had just been quiet. The toxic culture in my family was normalised and my railing against it was seen as the cause of our household drama.

I was Crazy Carrie. The mentally ill one who yells a lot.

While experiencing abuse from my parents, I also abused my siblings.Thankfully, they weren’t subjected to the same kind of treatment I received from my parents as the eldest child. But unfortunately because of that, it meant they weren’t privy to the ways I was being tormented behind the scenes into becoming the kind of child I was. They remember me as an abuser. And why wouldn’t they? And as an adult with space and time between us, I can also accept that their feelings and opinions about me are valid.

But the thing that breaks my heart is that they don’t seem to remember the good things I tried to do for our family — or sacrifices I made. Like when I dropped out of high school in my final year to cook, clean, and be their emotional support because my father forced my mum to go work outside of the home full time. It was my dream to be the first person in our family to finish high school. B that honour went to my brother. I’m proud of him and glad he got to do it. Yet at the same time, it feels as though the things I tried to do right count for nothing.

And I guess that’s the complex nature of intergenerational family trauma.

Everyone’s a victim and no one comes out unscathed.

THE BEGINNING OF HOUSING INSECURITY

When I was 18, my father was eventually removed by The Department of Human Services.

And we turned to a church for hope and support. We were then exploited and abused for 6 years. You can listen to that story in full detail here.

[TLDL version: inappropriate touching of me and my siblings by church leadership, encircled by a group of church members in a prayer meeting and forced to take communion while crying and choking on breadsticks and cranberry juice, the pastor putting wedges in between children and their parents so she could be their mother).

My siblings and I had explosive relationships before going to the church. But after what we experienced at the hands of our former pastor, the dysfunction and dissension multiplied 50xfold. They became toxic and so did I. Our home, post-church, became a cocktail of trauma, brainwashing, and siblings hurting siblings.

Upon leaving that church, I became aware of how toxic I had been in so many ways. I started apologising to everyone in my family as soon as I became conscious of it. I still wanted to hold onto my faith and I wanted to process what we’d been through so that we could heal.

Unfortunately, the siblings I have had the most conflict with over the years — and I — had such deeply opposing perceptions about our behaviour toward each other.We all have contrasting feelings about who should be taking responsibility for what. Or what had transpired between us over the years and what hadn’t.

They told me that I was selfish for wanting to talk about what happened and that if I truly wanted to move on, I would just do it. I felt constantly shut down and dismissed by them — just as I had with my parents growing up when all I wanted to do was to connect by bringing things out in the open for two-way, exploratory conversation.

In conjunction with this, because of how much shame and self-hatred I had for the way I had been growing up (and who I’d become at church), I believed that even if I felt hurt by their behaviour now, that I should allow them to treat me however they want because maybe that’s what they need to do to heal.

But no matter how much I apologised or tried to change, it felt that they were committed to misunderstanding me because they wanted me to hurt as much as I’d hurt them. Which I understand because their pain and trauma needs a voice. And because I was the cause of so much of it, their frustration and anger landed squarely back on to me.

I guess they just didn’t realise how much I had been hurting, too.

This eventually led to me going into fawning mode. And I was eventually forced to leave home because of the bullying that I experienced at their hands. I felt really betrayed by my mum who allowed certain things to happen without standing up for me, a feeling which triggered painful emotions associated with the way she singled me out for abuse as a child.

When I finally left home, I told her that I wanted nothing more to do with her. And that if she ever wanted a relationship with me again she’d have to earn it.

Note: I’m sure you understand that I can’t share everything about my family in detail. This blog entry is actually a redraft of a much longer, much more explicit, piece that explains all the awful things I did to my siblings and all the awful things they’ve done to me. We’re all adults now. And at this stage we’ve all traumatised each other. It’s unfair. And it sucks for every single person involved.

When you are driven out of your housing by personal circumstances or through danger to your person, it’s a complete upheaval. Personally it was utterly jarring when my family situation led to me needing to leave before I was ready. Especially when it was catlysed by the dismissal of me and my survival needs in preference for another sibling who was causing literal damage to our house (among other things).

Once I’d moved out, I crashed. A sort of emotional paralysis took over.

And I’ve carried that paralysis and accompanying dissociation with me for the last 7 years. Every move bringing it to the surface and causing me to plummet into the self-hatred and fear associated with being driven out of my home in the first place.

Anyone who’s rented knows that good housing situations are the luck of the draw.

Throughout all the moves I’ve made in the last decade, some have been a dream: like Jake and Beth who were fellow live-in mentors to an at-risk young person for the Vista Lead Tenant Program where we had beautiful chats about faith, doubt, politics, and played Jackbox TV games. Like the international sharehouse where I learnt Farsi from Reza and Shohra — an Iranian immigrant couple who didn’t even have a mattress to sleep on but would invite me to eat almonds on the blanket they had laid out on their bedroom floor.

The majority of them, though, have been utter nightmares.

Like the one where I was being stalked by a neighbour in the unit behind mine. When I told her to back off, she retaliated by making a false report to the police — saying that she was fearful for the lives of her fiance, her pets, and herself. I was taken to court and the mediator saw through her straight away. Thankfully, he was incredible and encouraged me to file for a cross-order/ intervention order so that she didn’t just have one against me. Which would give me some measure of protection against her if she wanted to start making trouble for me. I agreed. That SAME day, she breached it and came right up to my bedroom window and started looking around my unit.

Another time, I moved in with a man whose Gumtree ad I responded to out of desperation for a place to stay. Then after a week, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to file for rental assistance from Centrelink because it would cut into his welfare benefits. I agreed because I needed a roof over my head. And it also didn’t take long to learn that he was an alcoholic who stayed up all night listening to the radio up to 11 and I found myself unable to sleep.

And finally, the nightmare of my most recent living situation up until two months ago. I lived next door to two meth addicts. Let’s call them Tarzan and Jane.

They were good enough neigbours until COVID-19 hit. I think it’s because they used to party at other peoples’ places before restrictions were implemented but couldn’t anymore.

The drugs, the psychosis, the cackling-witchy ramblings of Jane, and waking up to her yelling in the street early morning after early morning

One time, they had a 17-hour bender.

He groaned in this deep, demonic sounding voice for 40 minutes. She began to tell herself a story. At 4am, Tarzan stood at my bedroom wall shouting, “Fuck off, poofter” for 15 minutes. I dragged my mattress into the lounge and closed the door while they continued to party hard to loud music for a further 7 hours.

I spent most of 2020 sleeping in my living room because I was so scared. It triggered PTSD episodes for me on a daily basis.

Then Jane passed away from an overdose.

The woman from across the street (we’ll call her Julie), started coming over to visit Tarzan all the time. He started putting up a fence without permission from the landlord. I felt like reporting him at first, but decided to leave it alone.

And one of these days that she came over to visit Tarzan, I hear Julie start yelling about me through the wall. It wasn’t just about her being a bitch. She was another loud, rude, scary person disturbing my right to a peaceful home and I decided enough was enough.

I decided to confront them.

I grabbed my phone because I knew that if they reacted badly without video evidence of their actions towards me, nothing could be enforced by the authorities.

I’m glad I thought that far ahead because Julie physically assaulted me, snatched my phone away, and then smashed it on the ground. It turned out Tarzan had received a breach of lease notification from the real estate agency for the unapproved fence and thought I had reported him.

Because the attack was caught on camera, when the police arrived and saw the footage and damages, they arrested her and charged her with unlawful assault.there anymore. But that was it. I couldn’t stay there anymore.

The physical attack by my neighbor was just the beginning of a series of injuries that would also take their toll on my well being.

At the end of October last year, just after the assault, my friend Tash graciously offered her home to me while she and her husband lived in Melbourne short-term for his cancer treatment. In exchange for looking after her cats, I received rent-free, bill-free accommodation while I looked for a new place.

I needed a safe place to recover and roll out the first session of my online coaching programme Mother Mary Speaks, so I promptly moved into Tash’s and was able to run my first session.

One week passes, I’m working at my desk, and I get up to move around a bit because my legs have fallen asleep — my ankle crushes beneath me. I rolled it and couldn’t get up.

I ended up in hospital with ligament damage.

So there I was, living in interim housing, $300 in my savings, a cat in tow, unsure of how I’m going to afford a new place and whether I’ll be accepted by a real estate agency even if I can (because I am self-employed and don’t yet have a livable wage/ am still receiving Centrelink benefits). And now I can’t walk. Oh, and I’m running a 6-week programme where people need me to hold space for them.

And each day I’m without a home, I’m cripped more and more by PTSD associated with housing and family.

THE CONSEQUENCES OF CONSTANTLY MOVING FOR 7 YEARS

Moving is expensive.

Like really expensive.

Transporting furniture and possessions is really pricey if you hire a professional. And honestly I’ve never been able to afford it. Which has also been really hard as someone who doesn’t drive due to having seizures since she was in her teens.

The stress of having to coordinate help when your former pastor made you believe that anything you express needing help with makes you a selfish taker of resources — someone who is unworthy of their faith for not putting it in God’s hands only. The anxiety and shame from those past conversations and beliefs about myself are almost unbearable at times.

Then there’s the cost of bond and first month’s rent. And all the utility connection costs that can really add up depending on how old a property is or what kinds of outlets and wiring a place has installed.

During the last 7 years, I managed to support myself financially for nearly 2 whole years with a livable wage. Because the work was flexible and online, it meant that I could work around the PTSD episodes and manage the effects of my Borderline Personality Disorder (like chronic self-harm urges, sui* ideation, and anxiety/ depression). More recently in 2019, I was casually unemployed for about 5 months and then COVID-19 hit and the work fell through.

I have been building a business using my life experience, professional experience, spiritual gifts, and a combination of small wages and welfare payments.

So one doesn’t have much savings or proof of income in these situations. I’ve had to borrow money more times than I can count to make sure I have a roof over my head. And I’m one of the lucky ones who has someone to help me in these situations.

Then there’s the deep-seated uncertainty that comes with constant unwanted relocations. Each move has felt like a deeper, harder blow to the foundations of my stability.

I’ve tried everything to ground myself and make myself feel safe over the years — and thankfully I’ve found many tools to make life more bearable.

And while I’m able to cognitively understand that renting is the reality for so many of us (and that in this day and age, home ownership is a privilege that fewer and fewer people are able to afford), my body and all my emotions have been ever filled with anxious anticipation that life is just about to be pulled out from under me.

The same question arises with each new property, “ What if this was how it’s going to be for the rest of my life? And what if it’s going to continue happening in really dramatic ways like being assaulted or taken to court? What if my life is a never-ending cycle of mental illness, trauma, and housing crisis? Will I ever get a chance at stability? A chance to build something sustainable beyond survival?”

THE END OF HOUSING INSTABILITY

Years ago, when mum began making amends for the ways in which she didn’t come through for me when my siblings bullied me out of home, she apologised to me as much as was humanly possible.

And while the journey toward reconciliation was far from smooth sailing, each year has seen our relationship blossom and grow. She has spent the last 7 years since earning my trust back. She hasn’t just said sorry. She’s made recompense where possible.

She has helped me with transport, paying rent, bills, bonds, moving costs, and has been an incredible rock of strength when I’m experiencing extreme mental illness symptoms. No one understands me or holds space for me with the love and strength that my mama does.

I’m open with her about the fact that I’m writing this article. I’m a writer, I need speak my truth. And the cost-benefit analysis of sharing the story of our healed relationship comes out as a choice with lots of benefits. I also want to say that I don’t just forgive her. I adore her. She is actually my most favourite person in the world and I can’t imagine my life without her. She even told me last year that she has left her house to me in her will because she wants to make sure I’m taken care of when she’s gone.

I’ve come to learn the ways in which her life was shaped by family trauma and abuse. And how that flowed down into our family unit.

She’s had her world destroyed over and over again. And I couldn’t see that when I was younger because all I could think about was that I needed her — in the ways a young child needs their parent.

But as I’ve grown older, I look at her with so much gratitude and compassion.

Because being an adult is hard. And life is mostly hard. And being an adult, with trauma, when you have children must feel insurmountable. Yet she never gives up. She never stops. She keeps coming back to our relationship to be the mum I need.

And this is exactly what she did when I got ligament damage at Tash’s house.

She moved in with me and took care of me every day for two months. While also working during the day from the office (because of COVID-19). It’s been a beautiful time of bonding.

During this time, though, she’s watched me struggle immensely. Because of inaccessible housing opportunity after inaccessible housing opportunity. The houses that are affordable are high-risk for dangerous neighbours and my mental health couldn’t handle another attack. And even they are so expensive that I couldn’t rent them.

Then on top of this, the rental market in Gippsland isn’t what it used to be. People from Melbourne have fled here in droves to escape catching COVID-19. bUT Their relocating and renting out all the properties with their big city incomes means that there’s hardly anything here for the locals who fall within the lower socio-economic bracket.

Time to leave Tash’s home was coming to an end and I had nowhere to turn. I ultimately secured the last affordable caravan in Gippsland and was going to live on mum’s front lawn. But then one day, about two weeks ago, she comes back to Tash’s after being out for the night and says she has some news.

She tells me that she is giving me her house.

Yeah.

Not the house I lived in with her and my siblings 7 years ago. She’s since moved into a home that I’ve never lived in.

She’s been in Gippsland for over 30 years. She’s originally from Melbourne way, and she’d like to do a bit of a homecoming of her own. Because she loves all six of her children and can’t fix all our divided relationships, outside of her working hours, she wants to be a wandering mama.

She’s decided to keep one room in her house for when she lives with me, and then she’ll be renting a place with one of my sisters who has been needing to move to Melbourne for her job (as commuting so far was exhausting her). And I get to start decorating it exactly how I’d like as though I already own it.

It’s going to be my forever home. From now until I inherit it (which will hopefully not be for decades to come). And then from when I inherit it until I decide to sell it (or not).

I’m a little shocked. The symbolism of this beautiful, full-circle and healing gesture is not lost of me.

Thankfully my siblings are pretty high-functioning people who have material stability and are building the lives they want. And I’m really glad for them. Even if I don’t have relationships with most of them. I want to see them grow and prosper. And receiving this generous gift from my mum is her way of taking care of me and ensuring I keep growing and prospering, too.

It’s the proof I didn’t know I needed that I am as loved as my siblings.

HOUSING PRIVILEGE

Some of us choose the nomadic life.

Some of us buy or build our own homes.

Some of us are living from rental to rental knowing that we’ll never be able to break the cycle.

And even worse still are those of us who end up on the streets because they can’t afford any of the above.

I can’t speak for everyone, but experiencing both homelessness and unrelenting housing instability drove me to the brink of madness. That’s not an expression. I mean, as much as I’ve healed myself in so many ways over the years, I was starting to lose my mind after living through these consecutive housing traumas.

I don’t care what anyone says: people don’t need to just learn how to make their bodies their homes and learn to make themselves feel safe. That’s New Age bullshit. The reality is that just like children need shelter and stability from their parents when they’re growing up. All people need shelter and housing security that isn’t going to be taken from them. They need to know they are loved and safe, and having a home helps ensure that. There are only so many grounding techniques, meditations, and reframes that one can do before the instability of housing insecurity hits sends you spiraling mentally

Coping every now and then isn’t flourishing.

Never having a solid, unmoving homebase to trust in so that a person can build their life financially and relationally is common but not normal. Or healthy. Or okay.

I’m 32 now and I work hard on my mental health. I have taken radical self-responsibility for my life and the direction it’s going.

But no matter how hard I work or try, I can’t hustle my way out of complex mental health issues that affect my ability to work in a mainstream job (and thusly earn the money that I need to live a comfortable life). I’ll never stop trying to build a degree of wealth that can help me make ends meet. But I will NEVER AGAIN shame myself for not being able to pull myself up by my bootstraps and climb my way up the socio-economic ladder.

The capitalist narrative that we live in a meritocracy where all you have to do is work hard and you can get everything you want is a lie.

The capacity to work varies from person to person. And this isn’t just in relation to physical disability but disabling mental health experiences.

I’ve struggled for 7 year up until yesterday, and all of a sudden I’m someone with housing privilege. I didn’t earn this home. It was a gift from my mum.

But don’t I deserve it? Doesn’t everyone deserve this?

I say a hearty yes.

And yet, it feels bizarre because I don’t know myself as a person who isn’t struggling to survive.

I know it’s going to require a LOT of unpacking. My identity needs to evolve so that I can adapt to this move.

WHAT NOW?

My body still holds a lot of fear around what some of my family can do to me. And moving into this home feels a little bit scary because of it. I asked my mum if she’d agreed to signing a written agreement with me. Something to support my right to be in this home if toxic sibling relationships bleed over into my housing situation again. She is the best. I can’t celebrate her enough for going the extra mile here to prove that she loves me and wants what is best for me.

Because of the familiar instability story, I’m feeling scared to trust that I have a home or won’t be driven out of this house, too.

But I’m choosing to put faith in my mum now. And in the 50% possibility that this situation can work out really, really well.  

I get to return “home” and give myself the parenting I never had.

And I’m devoting 2021 to figuring out what this means. Integrating it and working through the painful associations with it.

Fulfilling little dreams like: the joy of being allowed to put pictures up on the wall, creating Pinterest boards for each of the rooms in my new home, watching Workaholics with the sibling I still have a relationship with, and feeling peace because I know my cat can call it his forever home, too.

Adapting to the fulfilment of bigger dreams like: freedom from  landlords and real estate agents, and knowing that I can finally put down roots.

Where the repeated upheaval of my life was a constant trigger related to feeling unloved by my siblings and mother, it’s being replaced with a  home that represents my mum’s love for me; a testament to relationships that are worth fighting for, parents who are people with their own stories and need a chance to be seen in their humanity, and children who never stop needing to know that they are loved.

Follow me on Instagram: @heycarriemaya

[detroitbydark]

Luck Be A Lady (H.O.)

Title: Luck Be A Lady

Summary: A complex history comes to a head for a mob doctor and the bosses number one enforcer.

Pairing: Mob!Haz/OC

Warnings: Aftermath of gun violence, mentions of injury/blood, simple medical procedures, cursing, Smut (very soft)

Word Count: 10,500

A/N: So this started as a plot bunny and it kind of got out of control. I thought about separating it into a few parts but I just couldn't find good points to do it. I hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I want to thank @aossi​  for her constant support and help when I got stuck and @tomsrebeleyebrow​ for creating a great mood board as well as being an excellent cheerleader.

“I need Doc, Tom…. Fuck” Harrison grits out the words as Harry presses down hard on the wound in his side, blood is already soaking through his shirt, staining the blue oxford crimson. The coppery tang of blood permeates the towncar. Tom looks back in the mirror and sees the pallor his top enforcers face has taken on, the way the tendons in his neck stick out starkly as he bites back the pain. He makes the call.

Doc never meant to get involved with the Holland family but she had student loans to pay off and a daughter to take care of. And no one said ‘no’ to Dom Holland.  She tried to keep work and her personal life separate but when she fell in love with Michael, one of Dom’s top men, she knew it would be impossible. The world wind romance and marriage that ensued cemented the fact the little Rosie was going to run in the same circles as the Holland Boys and the lone Osterfield son. 

It was with apprehension that Doc found herself bringing her only child to The Holland compound to be introduced to the rest of the family. The boys ranged from 5 to 10 and were a rambunctious bunch, Doc had stitched each of them up on more than one occasion. She’d just recently set little Harry’s broken arm. They were good boys though and looked after one another. It was her hope they’d look after her daughter as if she were one of their own too. 

“Rosie” she watches as her little girl, barely eight, stares at the boys rough housing in the garden. Trepidation is clear on her cherubic features. Her little round face was beginning to lean out and she was rapidly looking less like a little girl and more like a little lady. It all felt like it was moving to fast for her mother but children didn’t keep and she had to start preparing her for the path she’d set them on sooner as opposed to later.  Doe eyed Rosie watches with caution as the other kids wrestled and rolled around in the grass. 

“Why don’t you go play with the other children.”

“Those aren’t children. Those are boys.” 

Michael lays a hand on Doc’s arm as he  chuckles at his new daughter. She already had him wrapped around her little finger. His adoration for the precocious little girl was evident to anyone who saw them.

“Come on short stack.” He encourages, ruffling her dark braids, “Go play while the grown-ups talk.” 

Doc frowns as she watches her new husband slip their daughter a candy bar. Rosie smiles brightly and takes off out the door.

“Did you just bribe her with chocolate”

“Just greasing the wheels a bit. Never hurt anyone, Doc”

“Who are you?” A boy a head shorter than her asks as she skips up. His curly hair is an unruly mop on top of his head and his face is speckled with a thin dappling of freckles.

“That’s Doc’s Kid” another asserts as Rosie turns from one boy to the other. She stands straight and proud, like Michael taught her. The one talking vaguely resembles the first.

“My name is Rosie.” She says, popping a hand on her hip and glaring at the boy in front of her. “My Mum says it isn’t nice to interrupt a conversation.” The boy doesn’t acknowledge she’s said anything.

“I’m Tom.” He says after a minute of assessment, “those are my brothers” he says pointing to the curly boy and another who looks loads like him. “Harry and Sam, the little ones Paddy”

Looking around she spots a taller boy, blonde smiling behind Tom, “what about that one.” 

“I’m Harrison.” He introduces stepping forward. Tom grunts crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, we were getting ready to play some ball and we’ve already got teams made up so…”

Rosie feels her shoulders droop but she keeps her chin up. She knew what he was getting at. Turning back toward the house she sighs when she sees her Mum and Michael watching her from where they stood with the other adults. A hand on her shoulder startles her. 

“You can be on my team if ya want.” Harrison has his head dipped down to look in her eyes, gives her a reassuring smile. Rosie tries not to look too eager as she nods.

“I’ve got some chocolate. I could share with you if you want.” He cocks his head, his smile gets wider.

“My lucky day, I guess”

----

“Lil Doc.” 

Rosie’s eyes are barely open but the sound of Tom Holland’s commanding voice has her already moving from bed. She yelps as she stubs her toe on the nightstand. It throbs angrily.

“Fuck...Holland? It’s 2am”

“Yeah, and you’ve got work to do. One of our boys got popped. I’m sending Sam over to get you. He’ll be at your place in five. Be ready.”

Fuck. The line goes dead. She wanted to curse again. It’d been a while since she’d messed with gunshot wounds, at the very least since the first rotation through the emergency room. When Dom and Tom had come to her with the same offer they’d given her mother when she’d first fallen in with the Holland family she hadn’t hesitated to jump at the opportunity. Tuition covered in return for intermittent providing of services?  Yeah, there were worse things in the world.

Growing up under the umbrella of a well connected mob family left one accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Rosie wasn’t above admitting she liked some of the finer things life had to offer. She hadn’t wanted to be a starving med student, certainly hadn’t wanted to be a doctor with $200,000 of student loans hanging over her head. Working for the Hollands gave her a certain amount of freedom. She provided care at a local women's clinic four days a week. It was rewarding and she could focus on her patients and not the paltry salary they’d offered.

Of course, freedom only went so far. Like tonight. She was at the beck and call of the Holland’s. Twenty four hours a day. Seven days a week. Holidays. Weekends. She was just a phone call away.

She waits for Sam just outside her front door, ripped blue jeans, the first she’d found on her floor, and grey hoodie pulled over her head. The moon is bright in the sky and, though it was summer, a cool breeze blows down the lane. Fireflies flicker in the garden across the street.

-----

“I guess Rosie can be on my team.” Harrison shrugs and grunts as the girl in question punches him in the shoulder, “Not fair.” He admonished “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“That’ll teach you. I’m just as good as any of those other boys.” Rosie stares him down, her arms crossed over her chest. Harrison laughs at her sour expression. Her nose wrinkles in distaste. The other two teams of boys laugh from their positions on the patio. Sam and Paddy stand ready with their jar and Tom and Harry are ready with their own. 

“Enough.” Tom snaps, “You know the rules. Two points for each bee you catch-”

“Five points for the red arsed ones!” Harry adds.

Rosie rolls her eyes “This is the stupidest game I’ve ever heard of”

“No one said you had to play Lil Doc. You can go sit with your Mummy for all I care.” Tom throws out challenging.

Harrison glances from one to the other and sees the stubborn set of both of their jaws. Rosie fights him when he throws his arm over her shoulders. He thought she’d been stubborn when he’d met her, but the years had only made her more hard headed. At 11, she was formidable, not backing down from 13 year old Tom for any reason. Bosses son or not, if Rosie thought Tom was trying to get one over on her she was going to call him out. Guaranteed. It was Harrison’s job to keep them from coming to blows.

“Ah, get off it Holland. You're just afraid of my lucky charm here.”

“She isn’t lucky. She’s just a girl.” Harrison holds Rosie back before she can lunge at the oldest Holland heir.

“She’s my girl Holland and you better watch out.”

-----

Sam leans across the seat with a grim smile. He pushes the door open and Rosie quickly climbs in, slinging her pack on the floor. She was sure she’d have everything she needed when she got to the house but she believed in back up and contingencies.

“Do you know what I’m walking into?”

Sam is quiet, his eyes plastered on the road in front of him. “Sam?”

They take a corner faster than normal and Rosie braces herself against the door.

“Tom and the boys went out to have… a talk with some under bosses. Apparently there was less talking than previously anticipated.” His smile is grim, his tone dry.

“What am I looking at?”

“A couple grazes, probably some stitches” he pauses for a second. Sam had a shit poker face. He’d always been better at the behind the scenes workings of the family, never had the stomach for the some of the more...unpleasant business, but he had a brain for numbers and found ways to work magic with some creative accounting. “Someone took one to the gut.” 

Sam falls quiet again. 

Rosie pulls in a deep breath of air before attempting to relax back into the plush leather. She can feel her palms begin to sweat, can her her heartbeat thrumming  in her ears. Closing her eyes and pulling her legs up onto the seat, she tries to center herself. 

The ER rotations had been enjoyable. It was always something new, something different. It had forced her to stay sharp. Kept her on her toes. Rosie would be lying to say she hadn’t enjoyed a certain amount of adrenaline that went along with it, the ability to forget about everything that wasn’t the immediate task at hand. All of that was a lot easier to cop to when it wasn’t people you cared about at stake. While she’d only been back a few months after drowning herself in years of schooling, the boys would always be hers and she took her responsibility seriously. 

In school she’d never gone in by herself. There had always been a cadre of other doctors, residents, experienced nurses there to back you up if you needed it. She wasn’t going to have that and that thought scared her.

-----

“Come on Ro” Harrison hisses lowly, “move it or lose it.” 

Rosie’s converse slap the ground as she jogs to keep up with Harrison’s much longer strides. Water splashes as she missteps and her feet land in a puddle, soaking her shoes and socks in an instant.

“A little discretion, Princess” her companion jibes. The dirty look she sends him shuts him up.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing out here with you.” She growls as she catches up, pressing in close behind his back as the blend into the shadows. She can feel the vibrations of his quiet laugh.

“I needed a spotter and you’re looking for a rush. Getting bored in your ivory tower, Darling?”

“Fuck off, Haz. You could have called Tom.”

Harrison glances over his shoulder, boyish smile in a black hoodie. He winks at her.

“Toms not good luck.”

She’d known it was a bad idea when Harrison had called and said he needed her help with a project. There were loads of questions she should have asked. Why me? 

What’s the project? 

Am I going to be arrested?

If Doc knew how many times the “sweet Holland boys” had nearly gotten her tied up with the law or jumped by whomever they’d managed to piss off that week she was sure she’d never be allowed to leave the house ever again. 

She was partly to blame. She knew that. She needed what the boys offered, danger and excitement. It’s why she could never say no, even if she did make them work for it. She was happy to accept Tom’s bribes. She was easily swayed by Harrison’s bright blue eyes and smile that always promised trouble.

She skids to a stop behind him when he suddenly slows. Her eyes flash to his and she can see the way he’s staring at the BMW they’ve stopped in front of. He licks his lips and she squirms.

“Alright, ready for this?”

She can feel her eyes go wide with shock as he starts rummaging in his pocket, “Ready for what?”

“To steal the car?” He rolls his shoulders, shakes his hands out before flashing her a cocky smirk.

“Harrison, if you get me arrested Michael is going to kill you.”

“So you’re going to help me?” There’s underlying nerves in his voice. He tried so hard to be the big bad in training but she could still see that nervous fifteen year old boy peeking through. 

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

The boost went fine. It was what happened when her step father had found them later that wasn’t so fine.

Rosie watches in stunned silence, tears stinging at her cheeks as Michael lands another blow across Harrison’s face. Their joyride has been cut short but the arrival of her step father. Harrison tries to remember the way her hand felt in his as he drove. The confused smile she’d given him when he reached across the console and twined his fingers with hers. Best thirty minutes of his life.

“You think you’re a big man? You think your ready for this life” Michael snarls in the teens face. “Here are the fucking consequences for dragging my daughter into your fucking games.”

“Michael! Daddy, stop!” 

Harrison can hear Rosie’s shrill pleas. He’s pretty sure his nose is broken, knows his lip is split. there’s blood in his mouth too and he’s not sure anymore what came first. This hadn’t been part of the plan.

Michael spins on his daughter, “you’re not innocent in this. You’re gonna break your mother’s heart when she finds out.”

“She didn’t know…” Harrison manages to get out, spitting blood on the ground at his feet. Michael Doherty was a big man and Harrison has to fight the urge to cringe back when he turns back to him. He takes the punch to his gut the best he can, fighting back tears of his own as he tries desperately to suck in a breath of air.

“And why is that son?” He asks darkly before answering his own question. “Because she fucking trusts you. That’s why. She doesn’t ask you the right questions and your gonna get her killed dragging her into this shite. Does she even know whose car that was?”

Harrison’s eyes fall to his feet as he gasps for breath. He hadn’t thought about that. There were loads of things he hadn’t thought of. He’d just wanted to show off a little. Impress the girl he-

“Exactly, and when the Russians rolled up and caught you? Do you know what they would have done to her...fuck! Rosie get in the car.” He growls quietly, not turning back to his daughter. Harrison can make out her face over her father's shoulder. She shakes her head from side to side.

“But…”

“No ‘buts’, get your arse in the car.”

Harrison watches her red-rimmed eyes fall as she climbs in the passenger seat of the Doc’s Mercedes. She doesn’t look away from him. Michael comes close, fists his hands in the youths jacket. Harrison can feel his hot breath by his ear. Rosie’s hand presses on the glass as he sets his jaw, takes the punishment he’s earned.

“You know what the Russians would have done to her right in front of you?”

Harrison chokes back a wrecked sound “yes, sir.”

“They’d have made you watch. I can’t… fuck...You think of that, son. She’s not for you. Not now. Maybe never.”

-----

It seems that every light in the Manor is on as Sam comes to the stop outside the front door. Dom Holland is standing, waiting, with light spilling out around him. It’s strange to see him in night clothes, flannel pajamas and house slippers, instead of a three piece suit. Rosie offers a tired smile as he holds out his hand for her. He’d always be “Uncle Dom” to her but every now and then she’d see the boss underneath the jovial facade.while he was less present these days, passing off day to day handling of the families holdings to Tom, he was nowhere near a toothless tiger.  

His brow is set in a hard line as she gives him a firm shake.

“Doc, thanks for coming out” 

Neither of them acknowledge that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. “seems the boys got in a dust up tonight.”

“So it seems” 

Rosie follows the family Patriarch through the expansive foyer and deeper into the house. He wastes no time. There’s a briskness to his movements, not panicked but certainly hurried.

“Harry and Tom are gonna need some bandaging, maybe a stitch or two but you need to attend to Harrison first. Got him in the infirmary already.”

Rosie’s steps falter. 

“He got shot.” She states feeling a fresh wave of anxiety wash over her. 

“A few times, yeah.”

Dom had the forethought years ago, before Rosie’s Mother’s time, to have one room in the family home converted to a makeshift treatment room. It was impressive and, though it was small, it had everything a person could need to doctor a mobster or two. Or in this case just one.

Harry is the first to look up and greet her from his perch on the small rolling stool. His mouth is a grim line, his thin lips pressed so tightly together they nearly disappear. Rosie’s eyes don’t linger as she notes Tom on the other side of the exam table, his eye is swelling, already turning black. A laceration over his eye looks freshly cleansed with steri strips holding it together. Neither Holland is her concern now. It’s Harrison, skin so washed out and pale that he nearly disappears into the sterile white of the room, that has her nerves tingling. His eyes are shut and he makes no acknowledgement that anyone has come in.

“Out Tom. Not enough room for all of us.” She says softly already moving toward the small sink to scrub her hands “get some ice on your eye.”

Tom nods only hesitating to rest a hand on her shoulder for a split second. “You sure?” 

“I’ve got him” she says but she’s not sure if it’s to him or to prop up herself.

“Harry? How are you doing?” She glances over her shoulder at the younger Holland.

“I’ve… been better.” Harry’s retort is clipped, his voice strained. 

“Mind telling me what happened?”

“I’m right here, Princess. I can report all the gorey details” Harrison’s eyes flutter weakly for the first time since she’s entered the room. His voice sounds like shit, like he’d just gotten done gargling glass shards but his eyes find hers. Despite their glassy edge they hold all the warmth she grown to know over the years. 

Rosie dries her hands quickly before digging in a nearby cabinet. When she turns back her arms laden with supplies, IV kit, tubing, and bags of fluids. 

“I expect you can” she says with a huff, “Right now, I need you to shut up while I’m pulling bullets out of you” Her eyes don’t leave Harrison, watching his shallow breathing, silently counting each draw of air he takes. His eyes fall away from hers.  “Now, Harry, what happened.” She asks shooing him to the side and drawing a rolling  tray within reach.

Harry steps back, giving her room to work. Rosie’s eyes fall to the slowly spreading stain on his left forearm. It’s hardly noticeable through the black shirt he’s wearing but she knows she’s going to spend some quality time with him and a suture kit later.

“We went down to the club. Tom arranged a meet with Piotr. He brought some of his boys.”

Moving as he speaks Rosie uses shears to cut Harrison’s shirt open before getting a line of fluids going in his arm. He barely flinches as the catheter slips into his skin. It makes her frown, tough guy could take a punch but he hated needles on the best of days.

Leaning over Harrison to adjust the fluids Rosie notes a pile of blood-soaked gauze pads already staining the tiles. The worry she’s feeling matches what she see in Harry’s eyes when they meet. 

Harry goes on.

“A new sharking operation popped up the last quarter. We were supposed to be coming to some terms, figuring out how to get the little cunt running it to fuck off.  One second it was expensive vodka, toasting to new opportunities the next… all hell broke loose.”

“it was a fucking set up, is what it was.” Harrison’s voice is a mumble but the disgust in it is evident.

Rosie looks down at him. He looks up sullenly, a twinge of pain shooting across his face when she readjusts the pressure on his wound. A black mask is forming at the corners of his eyes, a knot in the bridge of his nose is prominent. 

“Your nose is broken” Not a question, but a statement.

“Thanks for noticing.” He moves gingerly, adjusting his body on the propped table. 

Rosie presses harder on his side and Harrison hisses “Hold still you div” she mutters darkly. Harrison swats weakly at her hands. She brushes it off easily.

Harry moves to the sink, begins to unbutton his sleeve and peel back the fabric. Rosie shakes her head.

“Careful” she warns “rinse it good, use the antiseptic wash. Wrap in some clean gauze.” she can feel Harrison’s eyes on her but she ignores the pull to look at him. “I’ll have a go at you after I'm done with this mess.”

“I’m right here” Harrison grunts. Rosie blows out a frustrated puff of air.

“Yes, a fact I’m very well aware of. Your bloods on my new trainers.”

“I’ll get you a new pair.” Rosie cocks a brow, “You’ll shut your mouth is what you’ll do.”

 Harry chuckles and Rosie's glare snaps to him “Got something to say? No?” her fatigue and irritation bleed together “Good, maybe you can tell me how the div got himself shot?”

“With a gun, Princess.” Harrison’s weak attempt at a smile looks pained. It softens something in her, takes the edge of her ire unexplainably.

“Shut up Harrison” she says tiredly. 

“I heard three shots” Harry explains, shoving his arm under a steady stream of water as he speaks. Rosie watches the stream run red as it falls to the drain. “It was close quarters. I didn’t even know what was going on until I saw him stepping in front of Tom. Maybe two took? One in the shoulder and that one.” Rosie’s  moves a hand to push back the remnants of Harrison’s shirt. She curses under her breath. She hadn’t even noticed the one to his right shoulder. 

“It went in and out.” Harry notes. “Two holes”

Two holes were better than one. It meant the bullet had gone in than out and she wouldn't need to go fishing for it. Unlike his side.

“Fuck it all Haz” she murmurs, rubbing a spot on her forehead.

“Don’t go getting emotional on me now Doc.” His words slur together gently, eyelids getting heavy again. Her heartbeats hard in her chest. 

“Nuh uh… keep those eyes open.” She empties a long pair of tweezers onto her table “I need you to tell me when it hurts.” Harrison groans. “News flash, everything fucking hurts.” 

Rosie gives him a hard look, peeling off her gloves she cups his cheek gently. New tactic. She can feel Harry’s eyes on them. Harrison’s head rolls into her hand. 

“Come on tough guy” she pitches her voice low as her thumb strokes his cheek, “Need you to do this for me. I’ll get you the good drugs. Just cooperate, yeah?” Harrison’s eyes rolls to her. He moves as if he’s drunk, the blood loss was not treating him well and Rosie really wanted to get him closed up before he lost much more. She drags her hand away, pulling on a new pair of gloves. Harrison winces when he hears the latex snap against her skin. “One condition” Rosie watches his eyes focus in on her movements, how he waits until she’s fully focused on him and not the task at hand. “Kiss me”

“Harrison…” she warns

“Kiss me or I’ll die.”

Harry chokes out a laugh and Rosie glares up at him from her seat.

“Don’t start with me. You’re not going to die.” she huffs

“....not if you kiss me, I won’t. Promise”

-----

Tom gives Harrison’s shoulders a squeeze, “You’ve got this, lad. No worries, yeah?”

The blonde shrugs him off, rolls his shoulders experimentally, loosening the tension building between them. He’d been training for this match for ages. He bounces on the balls of his feet, trying to calm the nerves surging through him. He had this, like Tom said. 

So why was his stomach in such knots? He vaguely hears a knock on the locker room door but instead chooses to work through some combinations, warming his muscles and ignoring the tension building within him.

He hisses his breath out through a combo. Jab. Jab. Uppercut. 

“Looking good tough guy.”

The grin that cuts across his face as he turns to find Rosie standing in his locker room door is radiant. He didn’t know if she’d come when he’d told her about it. Doc and Michael had sent the sixteen year old off to some fancy all girls school earlier in the year after one too many dust-ups that he and Tom may or may not have dragged her into. She hadn’t been around like any of the boys were used to. He’d missed her fiercely.

“You made it!”

 The other boys laugh as he takes two quick steps to the door and scoops her up, spins her in a big circle. He can feel her giggling and he doesn’t remember a time he’s ever been so chuffed to see someone. Her arms go around his neck as he sets her back down, they both stumble a little and laugh some more. Her soft hazel eyes look up at him, always an open book for him to read.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” The admission is soft, just for him.

“She skipped school” Sam interjects loudly and Rosie turns, flashing him an impressive scowl.

“Hush you…”

“Your parents are going to kill you” Harry laughs.

“More worried about what they’re going to do to us when they find out the reason, the Princess here dipped out” Tom flashes a shark like smile to Harrison. Yeah, Michael wasn’t going to be pleased but he’d taken his licks from the old man once before for. He’d do it again if he had to.

Rosie rolls her eyes, arching a brow in Tom’s direction. Her shoulder presses into Harrison’s chest, his arm resting gently at her waist. It feels...really nice.

“You leave my parents to me.” 

Tom laughs, as his eyes move from Rosie to Harrison and back. Harrison gives him a questioning look.

“Something funny, Thomas?” Rosie's hand goes to her hip as she pulls away from Harrison. It pops out to the side and he can’t help but remember the first time he’d met her as a little girl in the Holland’s garden.

Harrison watches the quirk of her lips as she shoots Tom a look. His heart does an unfamiliar flop.

Laughing through a small cough,  Tom says nothing, shakes his head. 

“You just here to distract our fighter or what?” Harry teases. Rosie puffs out a laugh.

“M’not a distraction. Just wanted to wish the tough-guy good luck.” 

He may be mistaken but Harrison swears he sees her cheeks going pink. It’s cute. She’s cute. He’s thought it before of course, he appreciated nice things but something about now… maybe it was the distance, not seeing her for months on end with only the occasional call, but it’s like his eyes have finally been opened to the fact that she wasn’t just a pesky little girl anymore, not just one of his best friends.

“So I suppose you wouldn’t be opposed to giving a lad a good luck kiss?”

The words have slipped from his mouth before he even has time to really think them over. Rosie’s eyes snap to him as the other boys laugh.

“Aww..Haz…” Harry chortles, “what about I lay one on you.”

Harrison’s eyes don’t leave Rosie, “wouldn't work mate, you’re not my good luck charm.”

He can hear the “oof” as Tom cuffs his brother, hears him whisper something about ‘love birds’ and ‘privacy’ as he drags Harry out, Sam following obediently behind him. The door closes softly and he’s still staring at her, watching her chewing her lower lip and looking up at him.

“So, Princess, what do you say? Good luck kiss for your favorite boxer?”

Rosie laughs, “I’m not good luck.”

“Kiss me and let's find out.” His voice dips low. He can hear the dull roar of the gathered crowd. “I bet you are.”

“Haz…”

“Ro…” his gloved hand bumps gently against her chin, tilting it up for him. “Scared?”

“Of you?” She breathes quietly, “never.”

She rises on her toes, hands falling flat against his chest, Harrison tilts his head down to meet her lips. It’s a soft kiss, just a quick gentle press but it is everything. Her eyes are closed when she pulls back and he takes a second to admire her, to commit her to memory. 

“Did that feel lucky?” She asks, eyes opening to meet his.

“Yeah” he mumbles “pretty sure it did.”

She frowns. Before he can ask her what’s wrong she leans up again, her lips pressing against his more firmly, more needy as he stumbles back. His arms wrap around her, holding her close while her mouth moves against his. She nips at his lower lip as she pulls away again. Harrison groans as his gloves slip over her unable to grip onto anything. All the nerves from earlier have disappeared as he looks down at the girl in his arms. 

“Do you feel more than ‘sure’ now?” She asks him sweetly. He huffs out a laugh.

“At least a third round KO.” Her lips quirk.

“Maybe another would make it a first round?”

“Ro-

“Harrison, you’re up mate” Tom’s head peeks around the door, studies the pair of them with a smirk.

“...we’re going to discuss this later, yeah?”

Her soft smile and nod is all the encouragement he needs.

Harrison knocks out his opponent at the end of the second. His father, Dom, and Michael meet him back at the locker room to congratulate him. Rosie doesn’t show.

-----

“Harry! Grab me the morphine! Hold his arm!”

Harry knocks over a bottle of saline in his rush to meet her demands 

“One thing at a fucking time!” he snaps.

Harrison was fighting her attempts to fish the bullet from his side. He wasn’t trying to be a shit about it (she was pretty sure) but he wasn’t thinking clearly either. Each time he jerked away the bullet wiggled from her grasp and more blood gushed from the wound. She was a mess. It was like a damn horror movie.

“Fuck it all, Harrison. Stop!” She growls. Harry fumbles to remove the cap from the needle. “Stab him in the fucking arm. Six centimeters below the shoulder” Harry hovers the needle over his mates deltoid as Rosie leans across Harrison’s lap, trying to keep his wrists pinned to the table. “Yes! There!”

The needle finds it mark and Harry pushes every last bit in. Rosie can feel a drop of sweat beading at her temple, a wisp of hair settles in it. She flips her head in an effort to get the stray strands away from her face. It doesn’t work.

 She waits. Counts in her head. 

Five minutes go by before Harrison begins to go slack and she can let loose. 

When she glances up he gives her a drugged grin.

“Pretty…” he mumbles. Rosie huffs.

“Fucking div…” she grumbles, pulling her hair back into a bun before putting on fresh gloves “think you can hold still now?”

“Anything for you…” he trails off sleepily. Rosie sits back down, prods at the oozing hole. Harrison barely twitches.

Harry has deep lines of exhaustion etched across his face. When she looks up she catches him slumped against the counter his head bobbing.

“Har? Can you get me a cup of tea, one for yourself too?”

Harry nods, he doesn’t ask for confirmation that she doesn’t need him like his brother had. His face shows relief to be away from the blood and the tension of the situation.

When he’s gone Rosie slumps back on the stool, sighs quietly. Harrison’s breathing has relaxed, his eyes shut.

“Hazza?”

“Yeah beautiful?” He cracks an eye as she lifts the tweezers again.

“M’gonna get this bullet out of you. I just need you to hold still” she explains softly “can you do that for me?” He nods lazily, glassy eyes watching her movements.

The tweezers slip into the rough edges of the wound. One gloved hand rests along his side, the muscles tense under her hand. Her movements are slow, steady.

“I gotcha tough-guy.” She murmurs as she continues to explore the wound. Her teeth press into her bottom lip as she concentrated on the task. She can feel the tweezers brush up against something. Harrison groans lowly, his face twisted in a grimace, a new stream of crimson runs down his abdomen, adding to the growing stains on his khaki trousers.

“I’ve almost got it…” she mumbles “I’ve almost got it...hold still.” He squirms under her hands. 

“Harrison I’ll give you a kiss if you hold still.” She promises, desperation edging her voice. She feels him freeze and the tweezers close around the bullet. 

His face goes slack as she pulls the ammo from him. They’re both breathing heavily as the bullet clanks in a pool of blood at his side. 

The patch job goes quickly after that. Rosie’s focus goes to flushing the wounds, suturing layers of flesh back together, taping down pressure dressings to both his side and his shoulder.

“You’re gonna have some new, pretty scars” she murmurs, smiling softly as she lays a final piece of tape. Harrison’s grin is lazy and drugged, he reaches weakly for her but his injured shoulder won’t allow it to raise like he wants. His brows knit and a frown crosses his face.

“Do I get my kiss now?”

She’s weary, bone deep, as the adrenaline from earlier dissipates. She slips her hand into his searching one.

“I suppose you deserve it” 

Leaning in she lets her lips brush against his cheek. His frown doesn’t fall away.

“Doesn’t count.” His left hand moves up, index finger graze across her lips and then moves to his own. “You can do better.”

“Yeah?” Her hand cups his cheek softly as she brings her face close to his. Her lips brush against his. Harrison makes a soft sound in his throat as he leans forward. “Relax Harrison…” she breathes the words against his mouth, pressing his chest until he’s relaxed back against the table. 

“It’s as good as good as I remember.” He mumbles.

-----

The party is In full swing. Rosie’s on her third pint...or maybe it was her fourth. Tom has lost count. He hasn’t let her glass empty, citing being a good host and definitely not the fact that he wanted to see her thoroughly hammered before the night was out. If she was blitzed enough maybe she could forget the melancholy she’s been toting around all night.

She's curled up by herself on the love seat by the billiards table. Harry and Sam are focused on the game at hand. Rosie would usually be taking the piss out of one of them or fussing at them for puffing on the Cuban cigars his father kept in the humidor. Not tonight. She’s quiet, an unusual occurrence for her. In the years Tom’s known her she’s always had something to say but tonight, not so much. 

Tom’s eyes follow her gaze to Harrison across the room. He’s set up shop with Rosie’s luscious blonde roommate, Julia, in one of the chunky armchairs near the french doors, her long legs are draped over the arm of the chair as she sits perched on Harrison's lap. 

The two had been seeing each other for a few months now. Rosie introduced them. She’d just finished her freshman year at school and the boys had thought a celebration was in order. Rosie had brought Julia along after she’d been stood up by a date. It had been a nice gesture on Rosie’s part. It had completely blown up in her face.

 Tom had watched that night, as the rounds progressed, how Harrison and Julia had gotten closer and closer. His hand moving from soft touches on her arm to cupping her ass as they danced. Rosie’s eyes had followed it all with a disconnected gaze. She joked it off as if it didn’t slice her to the core. 

“Boys will be boys” she’d groused to Harry with a flippant shrug and a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

At the end of the night when the pair had gotten a cab together, Harrison had  praised Rosie for being his lucky charm, winking at her while one arm was wrapped around Julia’s waist. 

Tom sniffed in distaste at the memory of the whole ordeal. He’d put off his own piece of tail that night, stuck her in a cab alone, to take care of his friend. He’d had to listen to Rosie cry softly in bed next to him while he stroked her hair and whispered soft words to her until she fell asleep.

 He had to pretend to believe her the next morning when she told him everything “was great”.

Julia laughs and Tom can see Rosie’s spine stiffen, her knuckles going white around her pint glass. 

It was ridiculous. All of it. Rosie and Harrison had been circling around one another since they were kids. It was plain as day to everyone around them. Maybe that’s why it had been such a shit show. 

Ro’s old man had felt that no guy was good enough for his princess and had made it very clear to Harrison about how he felt when he’d begun sniffing around in earnest. It had given the lad a bit of a complex. 

Tom watched as Harrison pushed himself. To get better grades, to be stronger, faster, smarter than the next guy in hopes that one day he would be the man Rosie deserved. It had gone on for too long. It had become almost pathological for Harrison. Nothing he ever did was good enough in his own eyes. So he settled for perfectly acceptable girls who weren’t who he really needed. Like Julia.

And Rosie… well Rosie’s problem had been that she hadn’t recognized Harrison until it was already too late. She’d been what his mum had called a ‘late bloomer’. Closer in age to Harry and Sam than Tom and Harrison, Rosie had always been one of the boys. When Harrison was realizing she was certainly different than his other mates she was still completely oblivious to his awkward attempts at flirting. If Tom was honest, the whole thing was a fucking train wreck to watch.

“Tommy?” Rosie’s sweet voice drags him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah, Ro?” He has no time to react as she flops down in his lap and he fumbles forward to keep his drink in hand, cursing lowly as drops of beer roll down his arm, soaking into the rolled cuffs of his shirt. “Fucking Christ...Jesus Rosie I-“ his voice cuts off when she looks at him her eyes brimming with tears.

“Can I leave now?” He glances at her empty glass, the lost look in her eyes that don’t fully focus on him. Maybe he’d been a little overzealous with the drinks. Rosie Doherty didn’t ask permission. It had always been something he admired about her. She didn’t cow down to him, the bosses son, like others did. The fact that she was now wasn’t good. He wraps his free arm around her. She was the closest thing he was ever going to have to a sister and he hated seeing her upset.

“You’ve only been here a few hours. Don’t you wanna play some pool with Sammy and me later?” 

She shakes her head, glancing over her shoulder. Tom’s eyes follow hers to where Harrison has his head buried in Julia’s neck. 

“Look up here princess.” He demands her attention quietly. She’s relaxes minutely as she lays her head on his shoulder and looks up at him. “I don’t wanna see you look over there one more time tonight. You’re better than that. I’m not putting you in a cab either. Your Father would skin me alive if let you out of this house by yourself, drunk as a skunk.”

Tom can’t help but chuckle at the pout she gives him, ruby red bottom lip jutting out. God, she could be such a mess after too many. Always cute though.

 “How about we have a sleepover? Like old times? I tuck you in my bed and I’ll make us pancakes in the morning?”

Rosie seems to think about it, her head begins to turn back toward Harrison when he barks out a laugh but Tom grips her jaw, turns it back. “Pancakes, Ro.”

“Pancakes.” She repeats, with a yawn, “pancakes are good.”

Tom grins down, patting her arm gently. “Atta girl, now let's get you up to bed.”

He happens to glance back at Harrison as he gets to the library door. He’s no longer focused on Julia, only on the way Tom’s hand rests low on Rosie’s back, guiding her along. If the set of Harrison’s jaw meant anything, he was sure to hear about this later.

-----

“How is he, Doc?” 

The question startles Rosie and she lets out a quiet gasp. The kitchen had been dark. She’d thought she’d been alone. Harry had never returned with her tea and she was dying for a drink. 

Tom sits in the breakfast nook surrounded by shadows. A tumbler in front of him undoubtedly holds the expensive scotch he always favored.

“Shit Tom...I’m gonna put a bell around your neck.” The young mob boss laughs.

“Sorry about that” He holds up a second tumbler and wiggles it, “You look like you could use a drink.”

Rosie chews at her lip for a moment. Tea was probably the smart bet but yeah, alcohol wasn’t always a bad idea either. “The good stuff?”

“Glenfiddich 21. Always.”

Rosie slips into a chair across from him as he pours a few fingers into the spare glass. “I’ve still got to get Harry taken care of.” she mumbles taking a mouthful the rich amber liquid. It’s smooth like she’s come to expect. It lingers long after she’s swallowed it down, the taste of oak and fruit lingering on her palate. 

“I sent him up to bed an hour ago” Tom holds a hand up before Rosie’s able to argue, “His arm will keep until the morning. He’s gone longer with worse. How’s Harrison?”

The enforcer was good. Sam had come to relieve her a while ago and help the drugged man to his own bed. “He’ll live this time, I suppose” She says taking another swallow. Tom reaches over and tops her off again. 

“What about you?” Even in the low light she can see the sharp line of his jaw, his concerned expression. Rosie huffs. Takes a breath. Her hand trembles as she sets the glass down.

“I’m good.” Tom’s jaw ticks. “Well, yeah, it was a bit much but it’s what I’ve been trained for” she goes on after a minute “I’m sure it’ll happen again. It’s the first but it’s not going to be the last i-”

“Ro, we’ve known each other for what? Coming on 20 years pretty quick if I remember correctly” he smirks “and I do remember correctly. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Her jaw clenches as she stubbornly refuses to respond. Tom takes it as a sign to continue.

“You know, at one time I thought ‘Hey, maybe Rosie girl and I could make a go of it. She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s brilliant. We’d make a smart partnership’ but I never did anything about you know why?” Rosie shakes her head quietly, lets her finger run around the rim of the tumbler but doesn’t move to take another drink. “You’re my family Rosie. I will love you till the end of time but I don’t love… never have loved you like he does.”

“Tom..”

“No, shut up, let me say my piece. I’ve spent too much time watching you two hurt one another and I’m done with it. Do you hear me?” he takes a long drink, emptying the glass before setting it down, running a hand through his short hair. “Everything he is. Everything he’s ever aspired to be is because of you. To be good enough for you. Do you realise that?”

Rosie sniffs, “I never needed him to be anything other than who he is. He’s never had to prove himself to me.”

“No? Did you tell him-”

“Did he tell me?” She throws the questions back, leaning forward. “And the string of women he paraded through. Julia? Claire? Tania? Did he really ‘love them’ too?

Tom laughs low, “Yeah the Julia thing, that was...something but then you stopped coming around. You were already off at your fancy school and then poof your were gone completely. Only time you showed your face was holidays. You didn’t see him trying to fill that gaping hole you left with those other girls. He never could figure out why they didn’t work” Tom reaches for the bottle and pours another drink. “I knew though…” He takes another sip, tipping his glass toward her “they weren’t you.”

-----

“You’re a motherfucker Holland. You know that right?”

Tom rolls his eyes to the ceiling. He was lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for it. Per the clock on the wall it was quarter twelve. He was surprised it took this long. Hands shove him from behind. He stumbles half a step before catching himself on the counter top. He spins to meet Harrison head on. Out of habit his hand lands on the holster at his shoulder. Harrison’s eyes flicker. “Watch yourself, Haz” Tom warns lowly, straightening and smoothing his jacket, covering the gun back up, “if there's something we need to discuss you come at me like a man and not some chicken shit cunt.” Harrison rolls his head, Tom can hear his neck crack as he does. 

“That’s rich coming from you. Going behind my back-”

Tom thumbs at his nose “Choose your next words wisely mate…”

“You and Rosie.” Harrison steps forward, in his space, but Tom doesn't back away. He turns his chin up, stares him dead in the eyes. Hands come up and shove the blonde back a step. He doesn’t give him time to right himself. “And if I wanted to bed her? Fuck her within an inch of her life, what claim do you have?” Uncertainty flashes through Harrison’s blue eyes. 

“None!” Tom barks, “You have fucking none, Haz! She’s not your girl and she’s not mine so get off my fucking case.” The confusion continues to shadow Harrison’s features.

“I saw you-” Tom is quick to interrupt him again, fuck him for questioning his intentions with their friend. 

“You saw me helping my very drunk, very sad friend to bed. It’s not the first time and as long as the two of you keep doing this dance...and mind you it’s getting fucking old, mate...around each other it probably won’t be the last.”

Harrison rubs roughly at the back of his neck. He pulls in a deep breath. His eyes focus on a point on the ceiling.

“I’m allowed to bring my girlfriend around.” his voice is dull, the fury draining, as he speaks. Tom knows why.

“Not if your trying to use her to get to Rosie, you’re not. That’s not fair to either of them.”

“Rosie doesn’t give a shit about what I do.” Tom laughs out loud, bitter and tired of the whole situation. 

“I’ve got a tear stained pillow that says otherwise.” 

-----

It takes a moment to realize where he is, waking from a black, dreamless sleep into an equally dark room. His shoulder throbs and his side aches and complains at each attempt he makes to adjust in bed. All in all, Harrison thinks it could be worse. He could have woken up dead.

He doesn’t remember getting to bed. He doesn’t remember much of anything accept Rosie’s soft voice and warm lips brushing against his own. It’s probably the remnants of a fever dream, to much narcotic and not enough blood, but it makes him feel slightly less awful about staining the back seat of Tom’s Audi.

Gingerly, he reaches for the lamp across the night stand, it’s slow going as his body protests the movement. He hisses in pain as he makes one final push and flips the switch. It’s not particularly bright, the warm glow only lighting a small block of the room and casting grotesque shadows over the rest. It is enough though to make out the form curled up asleep in the armchair across the room.

Her chin is tucked to her chest and the thin Afghan, usually relegated to decoration on the back of the chair, is wrapped around her shoulders. Her legs are invisible, pulled up so under the blanket. She looks soft, asleep like this.

It’s been too long since he’s seen her in anything more than an “official” setting, strolling through the house in business suits or a white lab coat left over from a shift at the clinic. He misses it. He misses her.  He misses the girl with the French braids rolling down her back, the girl who would help him plot mischief, the one who would fall asleep watching scary movies with the volume turned down low so their parents wouldn’t catch them. Mostly though, he misses seeing the woman she’s become. There were so many things he’d wanted to tell her for so long but never had the chance and now, she’s asleep a meter away and he can’t bear it. 

She adjusts in the chair, eyes fluttering open. Her stretching is cat like and elegant before relaxing back into the chair, resting her arms on her knees, her chin on her arms.

“You’re alive.” She mumbles, offering him a gentle smile. “Seems I’m still lucky.”

He laughs. “So it seems”. His smile fades as he watches her, watching him.

“You didn’t need to watch over me.”

“Tom insisted I stay.” She says cautiously. Harrison sees the way her eyes travel to the door.

“Did he say you had to stay in the uncomfortable straight back?”

“Harrison…”

He sighs, running his hand over his face. He feels gross where the thin sheen of sweat from the night has dried across his skin. “Rosie, why are you here?”

“Take your pills.” She encourages, ignoring his question as she motions to his night stand. He picks up the medicine cup.

“We need to talk about something… what are these?”

“The green ones are the Antibiotics. Pain pills are the others.”

Harrison pops the antibiotics into his mouth and drops the pain pills on the bedside table. He takes a long pull from the glass of tepid water sitting on the table. His mouth feels gummy and gross.

“I don’t want drugs.” He grumbles when she gives him a hard look. “I want to talk. Why are you here?” he repeats the earlier question. Rosie pauses, lays her cheek against her hands and looks away.

“I wanted to make sure you were ok, that you didn’t need anything…” she worries her lip between her teeth “I…. you scared me last night.”

“Well call me shocked. I didn’t think you still cared.” Maybe it was the injuries, the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the years of missing something he never got a chance to experience. Regardless, the words spill from his mouth with far more venom than he intended. Rosie flinches. When she looks back, he can see the weariness in her eyes. Not something born of fatigue from a poor night's sleep but something old and bone deep.

“I guess I deserved that.”

Harrison shakes his head. What was he doing? He stares down at his hands, there’s bruising along the knuckles of his right. Small cuts litter both. Scars from the life he’d chosen are immeasurable. “No, forget I said it. You don’t deserve that. You were focusing-“

“I was running Haz. Let’s be real.”

Harrison’s head snaps up. She’s giving him an unreadable look.

“For a long time I didn’t know what I wanted.” She laughs sadly, “and than I did and it was too late. So I pretended like it didn’t exist”

He can’t help the pained groan that escapes his gritted teeth and he tries to push himself to the edge of the bed. Rosie is already out of the chair and striding to him. “Damn it, stop moving” she snarls lowly “Christ, Haz. if you pop those stitches I’ll kill you myself.” He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so bad.

Rosie settles him back into bed, tutting and mumbling about stupid men and Harrison lets her. Her hands are warm against his bare chest and he basks in her attention. She pulls back for one moment and the next she’s pushing the cup of painkillers in his hand. He looks her dead in the eye as he throws it across the room. 

When Rosie tries to move away his hand grabs hers, pulls her down onto the bed. His grip tightens when she tries to get up.

“Look at me. Stop it.” He demands lowly. She turns her head, rolls her eyes. “This has gone on for too long and I’m done.” He watches her eyes widen. “I’m done wasting time and living like everything is ok.” He pulls in a shuddering breath. “This is how it’s gonna work, Princess; I’m going to talk and your going to listen and were going to clear the air of some shite that we should have taken care of ages ago. Understand?” She nods and Harrison is more than happy to accept that for the time being. Rosie turns toward him, one knee on the bed the other dangling casually off of it. Her hands rest in her lap but he can see the nervous way she wrings her fingers.

“Rosie Doherty, I have spent the better part of my life trying to be a man worthy of you-” She opens her mouth to say something and he presses the palm of his hand over it. He can feel her hot breath when she huffs. It brings a grin to his face. “I’m talking“ he chides as he draws back. 

“I’ve worked harder than any man in this organization. I’ve lost blood, sweat, and tears for the Holland’s but you know what? It was never really about them, it was about you. About being a man who could take care of you, protect you. And it’s never enough. I’m never going to be everything you deserve.” he runs his hand over his cheek, pulling at the soft skin. “But I can’t do it anymore, I-”

“Harrison, shut up.” her words are soft, almost a whisper. The bed dips at his hip as she moves closer. “I never asked you to be more. I didn’t need that. I don’t care about that. I just needed you.” Gently he brings his hand to her cheek, feels the warm life burning underneath his touch. She covers his with her own. “I didn’t understand what was happening. I was just a dumb kid. One day my best friend and I are talking about the upcoming match and binging horror movies and the next he’s opening doors, telling me how pretty I look. I wasn’t ready and then…”

She trails off. This was as much as he’d gotten out of her in years and he wasn’t about to see her stop now. He needed this. Even if only for closure on this chapter in his life. 

“And then…” he prompts. Rosie’s eyes shine, wet with unshed tears.

“And then I realized that I was in love with my best friend and by that time it was too late. You’d moved on to Julia and than after that everytime I saw you it was another girl and the time was never right to say anything because you were finally happy and who the fuck was I to ruin that?”

Harrison catches the tear that rolls down her cheek. 

“No tears. No for me. Not now.”  His hand slips around to the back of her head and pulls her forward. Chapped lips press against her forehead and Rosie moves closer, her body pressing against the side of his. 

“I wasn’t happy with Julia or...any of them. I was lying to myself. Pretending that eventually I’d find that one girl that was ‘it’ but I never did. I wanted to be loved, to be wanted but they were never enough.”

Rosie lays her head on his shoulder, he can feel warm wet tears against his cooled skin.  “Why not?”

“Because I already found her. I met her when I was ten years old. I’ve loved her since I was fifteen. She’s been the only woman I could ever see myself with and, yeah, there have been other girls” he looks down at Rosie. “But I’ve only ever loved you.”

The soft hazel eyes, the ones he’d seen in his dreams for longer than he could remember look up at him. 

“You mean that?”

The laugh comes out of him before he can hold it back. His thumb strokes along her jaw. “Come here”. He draws her in slowly, enjoying the way her eyes flutter shut the moment before his mouth presses to hers, the soft sigh over his lips as she opens for him and his tongue tastes her. And then something changes and the kiss melds from something soft to something more...more of everything.

Years of pent up frustration, of longing spill over and Rosie is pulling his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently, and his hands are pulling her across his lap. Her knees land on either side of his hips as he wraps his arms around her waist. He gasps out a breath as her knee bumps against his bandaged side and lightning shoots through him.

He has to hold her tight to stop her escape. 

“It’s ok...don’t move… just” he pants. “Give me a second.” Rosie watches quietly, concern obvious across her face as his pinched expression slowly eases. Her hands cup his jaw, thumbs gently coaxing the muscles to relax. 

“Harrison,” her voice is soft but sure “I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it sometimes. I’ve spent years throwing myself into anything I could to forget you but I don’t want to anymore. I can’t.” 

She’s like an angel perched over him, a fucking dream. 

“You saying your mine, Princess?” She presses her lips together, fighting a smile as she nods. Harrison buries his head in her neck, inhales the scent of her skin, lets his lips play over her pulse as she squirms. Everything suddenly feels light, like the weight of a thousand suns has been lifted off his shoulders. “Say it.” He demands. “Need to hear it.” 

“Harrison Osterfield, I’m yours.” She manages through a sea of giggles as he nips at a ticklish spot. Her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him back. The weariness is gone from her eyes as she kisses him. This Is what it felt like, he thinks, to have everything you’ve ever wanted.

Their kisses turn languid, exploring each other’s mouths, hands roving over each other’s bodies. Clothes get peeled away, tossed into a pile on the floor. His body hurts but he can’t stop himself from reaching between her legs and finding the slick of arousal glistening on her sex. Rosie’s hand slips between them and strokes him with slow even movements. The morning light begins to spill through the eastern window, casting her body in a soft, early morning glow.

She braces her hands against his chest when he positions himself between her legs. There’s no words, only the encouragement of her full lips against his as she sinks down onto him for the first time. He swallows down the soft moans she makes, his hands on her hips as she rocks slowly against him. Her eyes are clouded with lust and he knows, now that he’s had her, there is no going back. There’s no other woman that can make him feel the way Rosie does. There’s no other woman he can love like he loves her. He tries to show her, tries to meet each rock of her hips with a thrust of his own bit Rosie smiles softly.

“You’re on light duty.” She says softly, “let me take care of you, tough-guy” 

And so he does. 

His hands roam over her body, feel the swell of her hips and the nip of her waist. Her breasts fill the palms of his hands and she makes the most delicate, needy sounds when he rolls her dusky nipples between his fingers. Her body clutches him, grips him in velvet heat that has him whining sounds of his own long before he’s ready too.

“Rosie...I’m close” slips from his mouth and she nods her head and continues to grind her body down on his. She leans into him, her chest presses against his as her mouth sucks tiny marks into his good shoulder. Her words are mumbled against his skin.

“Me too”

His hands fall to her hips and pull her tight against him. It’s only another minute before her body stills and he feels her come apart around him, her body trembling against him. He follows close behind, her name on his lips.

The sun is bright now, filling the room with light. Rosie dozes across his chest as their heart rates slow. Soon it will be time for them to get up, to take their first steps into a new world. Together. Harrison smiles.

It must be his lucky day.

----------------

Tag: @aossi​ @the-southernbelle​ @tomsrebeleyebrow​ @hazmyheart​ @procrastinatingismybiggestflaw​ @zselenophile​ @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree​ @gl0rynglam​

[hphm-etched-engraved-everlasting]

5. Clara

Author’s Note/Table of Contents

He couldn't mean Merula, could he?

I took a glance at my sister as we left the Artefact Room together, her head bowed deep in thought with every step. None of what Ben said made any sense to either of us--at least, to me, it still seemed really far-fetched. How could he suddenly become invincible to everything that screamed terror? Did that really factor into what made a good protector, or was he being seriously reckless with his limits?

"Who's Sickleworth, again?" little Em asked me quietly, her sleeves no longer covering her nose. "Rakepick's Niffler?"

"Yes. An innocent agent in the story," I said. "Why he would let Sickleworth roam free again just as we've taken him back in, I wish I knew. I just hope he isn't still attached to Rakepick."

Little Em simply nodded as we stepped outside, and that was when I saw the blood on her sleeves--soaked up by the black fabric, but still visible with the huge dried stains.

"Yikes. Looks like they gave it to you hard," I murmured, pulling out my wand and tapping it smartly on the stains. "Tergeo."

And the spell quickly siphoned off the bloodstains, leaving the black robes good as new.

"You don't mind me being in Hufflepuff, right? That would mean we're in competition for the House Cup," little Em said quietly.

I shook my head. "No, of course not. All I care about is your safety, little Em. Just take care of yourself, and everything will be fine."

I just wished I could bring myself to believe that.

The two of us then entered the Training Grounds, where a lone witch was casting relentless spells at the training dummies. I could see the glint of rage flash in her violet eyes, her brown hair sticking up even wilder than before. For someone who had been a victim of the Cruciatus Curse--Rakepick’s above all others--I was surprised to see her standing at all, determined to fight back. Perhaps that was the Slytherin in her, or the Death Eater in her lineage. I wasn't sure. Either way, seeing her like this made me terrified of her all over again.

"And that's Merula," little Em noted with a nod. "Remind me to steer clear of her whenever she's around. She looks as bad as Eunice."

I nodded silently as I approached Merula first, signalling for Emily to wait while I talked with her. I could only imagine that Merula was still stingy with all the events from last year, but how bad would she take it? Was it as bad as Ben said?

"Ben said I would find you here trying to pulverise Training Dummies," I started cautiously.

Merula did not turn at the sound of my voice. She stiffened at the mention of 'Ben', however. "New Ben talks too much."

Fair enough. At least I was able to get a reaction out of her.

"His new...outlook will take some getting used to," I commented uneasily.

Now that made Merula whirl around to glare at me, though she spared no glance at my little sister. "Enough small talk," she barked. "What do you want?"

"I..." I faltered again at the glare she delivered now. It was like seeing the old bully Merula all over again, the one I had been so used to seeing in first year. "I want to help you, Merula. Ben seemed to think you needed it."

"Help? Help?" Merula's scowl deepened at the mention of that word. "Number one...Ben really needs to shut up. Number two...perhaps Ben only sent you to bother me so you'd stop bothering him." She shook her head and folded her arms in a manner almost similar to Rakepick. "So we're counting. Is there a Number three?"

"Come on, Merula," I said. "We haven't talked since you were recovering in the Hospital Wing after--"

"After my mentor and role model and blah blah blah blasted me with the Cruciatus Curse and left us for dead?" Merula scoffed, rolling her eyes. "And I suppose your little sister had heard the story, too?" she added, finally looking over at little Em who was just standing there, as still as a statue.

Of course I told my little sister. I told her everything--at least tried not to leave any crucial details out of the story. And Merula was crucial to the story, after all. Not that I'd tell her, though.

"I told you I didn't need you then, Lin. And I don't need you now," Merula said quietly. "You'll only get in the way. You and your sister."

"Get in the way of what?" I inquired.

"Why don't you blast some training dummies with me and I'll tell you?" Merula asked then, her eyes gleaming wickedly.

So I ushered little Em to the sidelines while Merula and I began to cast fierce spells at the Training Dummies. I wasn't sure what I was looking forward to hearing, but then when Merula told me of her thoughts, I felt my brain screech to a jarring halt. While I was thinking about the past, Merula was thinking about the future. While I was reminiscing over everything Rakepick had done with no intention of actually doing anything directly to her, Merula had been scheming a murder plan--to kill Patricia Rakepick, to annihilate her for everything she had done.

I would agree that what Rakepick did to us was unforgivable, but to perform something unforgivable against her in return? To any rational human being, it was unwise, but Merula was no rational human being. Her parents were both sent to Azkaban when she was little. She had looked up to Rakepick since her arrival at Hogwarts because she reminded her of herself, and everything she ever wanted to be. She was the mother figure she never had. When she turned her back on us, Merula got the worst of the impact, because the trust between them had completely shattered without a second thought--the pedestal she held Rakepick on gave way, and everything crumbled to dust.

Or rather, everything was obliterated to absolutely nothing.

I glanced from Little Em to Merula, from one with wide eyes in fear to the one who would deliver no more mercy. I knew she didn't want any of this to happen to her-- what drove her to make the worst out of it?

"Merula, I don't see how killing Rakepick will make things better," I finally said, rubbing my numb wand arm and putting my wand away in my robes. "Can't we just find her and stop her without actually killing her?"

"I know you want to stop her too, Lin. Besides, we're looking at a 'kill or be killed' situation," Merula reminded me angrily. "I know what side I want to be on."

Kill or be killed? Hunt or be hunted? It was like Merula had reverted to human's most primal instincts. She was relying too much on her anger to even think clearly. Now I saw what Ben was saying--she really had taken this for the worse. Not that I’d tell him, though.

"And then what?" I asked. "You want to end up in Azkaban after for murder?"

"If it's good enough for mum and dad," Merula responded.

"How could you even think like this? I hate seeing you like this," I remarked. "You're like First-Year Merula all over again...only with the volume turned up all the way. You're even scaring my little sister!"

"Oh, your baby sister can tremble all she wants," Merula scoffed again, rolling her eyes at little Em whose face was as white as a sheet of paper. "I don't intend to back down on my intentions until the deed is done."

"I mean, I get it. You want revenge. It's normal to want revenge after everything we witnessed--"

"Normal? Normal?" Now Merula was close to flaring in rage. "Nothing is normal for me anymore. I can't get up and go to class every day like a good little witch planning her career--not while Patricia Rakepick walks the earth. For a moment I actually thought you'd want to join me--after knowing of everything she ever did to your brother, I thought you'd want revenge, too!"

"Even if I did, the plan would not succeed. I know what it's like to act out of pure rage," I told her, trying to keep my voice even. "I don't see this vendetta of yours ending well."

Merula opened her mouth again, prepared to launch another verbal volley, when the sight of Penny made her falter, and she shook her head.

"Oh, perfect. Penny graces us with her presence," Merula drawled then.

Penny didn't seem fazed by Merula's words at first. She glanced at me, then Merula, then little Em who was close to collapsing at the knees. "So the three of you are out here alone in the dark casting spells?"

"Just me and Lin. Baby Lin had nothing to do with it," Merula corrected her with a roll of the eyes. "So you've come to judge us. Brilliant."

"What's going on?" Penny asked, a little shocked to see Merula talking like this. "Do you suddenly hate me?"

"Oh, I don't hate just you. You have perfect hair and all, but you're not that special."

Okay, now I knew when to step away from a poisonous snake if ever I saw one in the wild. I turned to Penny and sighed, shaking my head. "Ignore her, Penny. Merula's in a...mood."

"I was actually looking for you, Clara," Penny told me then. "I wanted to talk to you about...Beatrice."

"Beatrice? Beatrice Haywood, your sister?" little Em piped up then, and all eyes turned to her in surprise. Honestly, I was shocked she was still able to find her voice after hearing Merula badmouthing everything in her life and scaring her to wit’s end.

"Yes. She's a year older than you, little Em," Penny told her gently. "And I fear she's in big trouble."

"What now? Did she get herself stuck in another portrait?" Merula asked.

"No." Penny's voice sounded ominous and distant as she addressed us. "This may be even worse..."

[lolabean1998]

This Better Work Part 2

Sweet Pea X OC

Summery; Hey guys, not sure how well this is going to go but I originally put it on Wattpad so its way long, but hopefully its not horrendous. Let me know what you think! So, it follows the story line kind of, it’s not exact but I have tried and it follows my OC Ali as she navigates through the hell that is Riverdale. Whilst struggling with financial, social and romantic difficulties, she has the added pressure of keeping up with school work and bonus of being thrown into the frightening world of the criminal underground.

Side Note; None of the gifs or pictures I use are mine, I’m not talented or smart enough to even begin an attempt at making my own. Thank you to those who have such abilities and if you don’t want me using them then please let me know so I can remove them for you. 

Word Count; 5,235 (Give or Take)

"Get in, we're picking up Izzy and dearest Mummy Masters before going on a girls afternoon at the spa!" Cheryl called from the driveway. Ali had spent her day filing paperwork, signing forms and reorganizing the stock room for the thousandth time. Alongside fixing the mistakes the apprentices made. It was fair to say she was stress and drained. She needed this spa evening.

"Cheryl Bombshell Blossom I Love you to the moon and back!" Ali cheered leaping from her desk and bolting through the door, waving good bye to the apprentice at the desk behind hers as she dived in besides Cheryl. 

"I know, I love you too." Cheryl replied, with a proud grin as she sped down the road towards Ali's house. 

It was nothing big or fancy, nor was it you typical northside house. Ali lived in an old stone cottage with large vines crawling up the side, the garden was flooded with life. Plants springing from every corner, it was small but cosy. Ali loved living there. Even though it was in desperate need of maintenance, it still felt like home and her uncle came around whenever he got the chance, to fix things and help around the house. Cheryl thought Ali's home was just what it should be, a home. There were photos of family and friends plastering the walls and it always smelt like cookies and home baking. Ali darted inside to jump in the shower ready to scrub wash away as much of the dirt and grime as she could. 

"Cheryl! So lovely to see you! We've just made red velvet cupcakes, want one?" Ali's mum greeted Cheryl embracing her in a big mum hug. Cheryl couldn't help but feel at home here. 

"Yes please, Mrs. Masters that would be lovely." She teased, taking a perfectly baked and decorated cupcake from the tray in front of her. 

"Oh, stop it. I've told you, call me Rosie please! Mrs. Masters makes me sound old." Rosie laughed giving her an amused scowl and placing a comforting hand on Cheryl’s arm before heading into the living room to tell Izzy it was time to go. 

The girls spent the evening relaxing drinking wine (lemonade for Izzy) and gossiping. Ali told them about the rumours she'd heard from different customers throughout the day, whilst Izzy told them all about the latest boy trouble in her year. It was the perfect end to a very stressful day. 

"Ali wake up. Ali wake up!" Izzy cheered excitedly, bouncing on the bottom of Ali's Bed. She lifted her head marginally from her pillow to glance over at the clock beside the vase filled with her favourite flowers. 8am. Ali flopped her head back onto her soft, blue pillow groaning as she pulled the pale blue duvet covers over her head. 

"Izzy it's 8am on a Sunday. This is my one day off!" Ali groaned sleepily into her pillow.

"Exactly Ali! It's your day off and you promised to help me and Sam with our science project! Please Ali! I made you tea and pancakes. Well mum made them, but I helped." Izzy beamed, her sweet innocence overwhelming Ali forcing her to get up like some twisted Jedi mind trick. She couldn't say no to her little sister. Slowly, she climbed out of bed throwing on a pair of scruffy, black, skinny jeans and a grey tank top over her black sports bra, grabbing a faded grey hoodie and the pair of fluffy neon orange socks Izzy had found for her before hopping down stairs. 

"You look like shit Ali!" Rosie stated handing her a large mug of tea and a plate of pancakes and blueberries.

"Thanks mum, good morning to you too." Ali replied sarcastically, laughing at her mothers no messing, straight to the point comment. Rosie handed Izzy a hair brush so she could start brushing her sisters insanely long and messy hair whilst Ali wolfed down her plateful of pancakes. Throwing her socks on and glugging down her tea in seconds.

"There you go Ali, mum showed me how to plait so I did your hair like Lara Croft! She's a Bad ass too!" Izzy grinned jumping down from her stool and running over to the front door to grab her helmet and Ali's combat boots. 

"Looks like you're off then Ali!" Rosie smiled gesturing to Izzy who was desperately trying to do the laces on her own combat boots. Ali thought it was cute that Izzy looked up to her so much. She even dressed like her. Izzy wore a pair of grey jeans and black t-shirt, paired with a black hoodie with a bright orange zip and tassels. That explains the socks. Ali thought as she wandered over to help Izzy tie her navy-blue combat boots.

"Oh, and I said I'd help Hog Eye balance the books for the Wyrm tonight. You should pop by and say hello." Rosie called as they threw on their helmets and fingerless leather gloves.

"All over it! Love you Mum!" The sisters called back in chorus before disappearing out the door and racing to the old Harley Davidson tucked away in its own little shed. That was the first thing to go up when they moved in. Before unpacking or doing any of the other usual moving house things people do. The Masters family spent the day choosing the perfect spot to build a shed for the Harley. 

"Hold on tight Izzy!" Ali called once Izzy tapped her shoulder giving her the ok. The girls sped off down the road heading towards the Sunday morning market in Greendale so they could grab some water balloons and the ingredients for s’mores. Though it was far too cold for a water fight, the girls agreed it would be a good distraction and make warming up by the fire all the more fun. 

Ali quickly parked the bike next to a bunch of others. Safety in numbers and what have you. Before swinging Izzy onto her back and sprinting off into the crowd to grab the supplies. They were quick and efficient with Ali grabbing the stuff they needed whilst Izzy counted out the cash and paid. The girls were finished and back at the bike in less than an hour. Packing the stuff in the bags either side of the seats laughing about a grouchy raven-haired boy they had bumped into on their way round.

"Maybe he was having a bad day!" Izzy thought as she sat on the back of the bike sipping her hot chocolate and looking over at the various array of bikes.

"You think maybe we should've bought him a hot chocolate to cheer him up?" Ali asked her sister. She loved spending time with her. Listening to the innocent, unfiltered comments that she came out with.

"With extra whipped cream and marshmallows!" Izzy agreed thinking back to the scowl hidden beneath a few strands of raven black hair. "He was crazy tall as well. So its not like he’s grumpy 'cos he couldn't reach the cookie jar!"

"Yeah he's like goliaths angry love child." Ali chuckled before her eyes shot wide open as it suddenly dawned on her. She quickly began scanning through the array of bikes until her gaze settled on the bike she had spent the previous night fixing up. 

"No freaking way! Izzy get over her with your printy camera thingy ma jig." She instructed, ushering towards the Harley she had fixed up.

"You mean my polaroid, but I'll let it slide. Why? What's up buttercup?" Izzy skipped over to the bike, puzzled by what was going on. 

"Jump on and strike a pose we are leaving this kid some crazy selfies to cheer him up." Ali replied, the determination in her voice was overpowering. 

Izzy climbed up on the bike and the girls began taking selfie after selfie, making a little sign with a piece of scrap paper in Ali's pocket and a permanent marker, that read 'Don't worry, you'll find your smile!'. They left the pile of selfies on the seat wrapped in a pretty, floral paper bag with a pack of water balloons on top before setting off towards Sunnyside Trailer park. 

"Morning Momma Fogarty!" The girls called as they pulled up outside the Fogarty family trailer.

"Ah girls come in, come in. I must pop out for a bit but Sam's inside doing her homework and Fangs is asleep. Feel free to wake him up and get him doing some homework. He was out all-night last night with his boy scouts group doing god knows what!" She rambled, welcoming the girls in and making them a cup of tea each before scurrying out the door, waving a final goodbye. Her orange floral dress hugging her chubby curves.

"Well that was intense. You guys get started on your science project. I'm going to go and wake up sleeping beauty." Ali grinned wickedly, heading down to the small room at the end of the trailer, pausing before she knocked on the door. 

"He doesn't have a person in there with him, does he?" Ali asked giving the girls a concerned glance. The tanned girl shook her head giggling as Ali nodded taking a deep breath before swinging the door to Fangs room open and leaning casually against the door frame.

"MAA its Sunday!" Fangs groaned into his pillow, the light stretching through the doorway was the only source of light in his small, trailer house bedroom. The stench of whiskey and beer hung thickly in the stale air.

"What's up Buttercup, the sunlight hurt?" Ali sympathised sarcastically before sauntering over to the curtains and flinging them open. 

"Come on tequila worm, coffees on and we're making a science project. Oh, and Mama Fogarty wants your homework done. I'll help if you get up before Izzy's finished filling the bucket. You have ice, right?" Ali asked rather seriously before disappearing out the door and moving to hold the door to the bathroom open. 

Turning to her sister and mouthing "Glass of water" to her. Izzy jumped up excited to be helping and grabbed a large pint glass of water for Ali. 

The second Fangs heard the tap running he bolted out of bed in a blind panic. His eyes shooting wide with fear as he realized his big mistake when the sudden urge to vomit took control of his limbs and insides. He bolted out his bedroom to the bathroom. Ali stood by the door until Izzy handed her a glass of water. Laughing when Ali winked at her before moving to crouch beside Fangs rubbing his back and handing him the glass. 

"Ali should we get the Hangover cure ready?" Izzy asked poking her head round the door frame.

"Better had and whilst you're at it, grab Fangs some comfy clothes. He appears to have forgotten he’s in his underwear." Ali spoke quietly trying not to make Fangs feel worse than he already did. 

"You and flower had a drinking contest didn't you. You know the giant is the undefeated champion right." Ali chatted, rubbing his back until he had nothing left to bring up. Fangs sat back, resting his head against the wall behind him as he sipped the water.

"I swear to god I'm never falling for that trick again! That bastard nearly killed me, he better be just as bad as me right now." Fangs mumbled, his eyes closed to shield himself from the killer headache consuming him. 

"He crazy tall, with dark hair and a neck tattoo? Scowls a lot?" Ali asked although she already knew the answer. 

"Yeah, why?" Fangs asked curiously.

"We bumped into him this morning at the market. Besides holding a very angry scowl he seemed perfectly fine. What were your drinking last night anyway?" Ali asked handing him a damp cloth to wipe his face and a pair of sweat pants and white vest.

"Vodka and Silver tequila. Why?" Fangs replied slowly getting to his feet with the help of Ali.

"That’s why he's fine dummy." Ali rolled her eyes at the boys gullible attitude. 

"You were doing vodka and tequila shots. He was doing water shots. They look very similar and he probably paid the bartender off. Honestly Fogarty I thought you gangsters were supposed to be hip to these tricks." Ali tutted helping Fangs stand steady as he threw on the sweat pants. Heading into the kitchen, being greeted by Izzy and Sam who were holding a glass off peculiar, green juice.

"Here you go Fangs, we made it to make you feel better. Painkillers are on the side." Sam chirped happy to be included in the sobering up of her older brother. Scowling a little when he ruffled her short, dark chocolate hair in thanks.

"Down it in one Fangs, tastes like horse piss but it's good stuff trust me." Ali insisted, handing him the glass and painkillers.

"Had much experience with that have you Ali cat?" Fangs teased downing the drink and painkillers in one. Ali was right it tasted awful but after about half an hour Fangs was feel much better. 

They had just finished the last of Fangs' English homework and half of the paper mache moulds when there was a loud knock at the door. 

"It's open but we demand feeding upon entry!" Ali called, standing up and making her way to the door as it opened. Revealing a girl only a little bit taller than Ali, with incredible pink and brown hair.

"Hey Topaz, no Jug?" Ali asked letting her inside. The girl smiled dumping her bag on the kitchen side next to Fangs and pulling out her homework. 

"Heard there was a study group and since Bughead are studying together I figure I'd come and join you guys, hope that's ok." Toni asked turning to look at Ali who was smiling as always.

"Absolutely, Fangs was just about to start his trig homework." Ali chirped handing over a notebook full of scribbles. 

"These are my notes, they should help explain it. I'm going to help the girls design the motor for their moving solar system ok?" Toni and Fangs rolled their eyes nodding with an amused smirk.

"So, I saw Sweat Pea this morning. Looks like he got you again huh Fangs?" Toni teased reading through the notes Ali had given her.

"Sounds like he got had by the old water, Vodka trick." Ali chuckled.

"Can we mock me later please?" Fangs groaned resting his head on his book and closing his eyes.

"It's ok Fangs. At some point I'll challenge the grouch to a drinking contest. You can mock him then instead." Ali grinned winking at Izzy when her head flew up in excitement. Ali knew every trick in the book, her father had practically written it and taught her everything he knew. 

The group spent the rest of the morning chatting and working hard. Toni and Fangs finished their homework rather quickly and moved to help with the paper mache whilst Ali showed Izzy and Sam how to build the water powered motor. 

"Well guys I'd say its a good job done. Just leave it to dry and we can paint it tomorrow!" Ali declared cheerfully, standing back to admire their hard work. Her hands resting on her hips. 

"Ali, I'm hungry can we go to Pops now?" Izzy whined, her stomach growling as she spoke. 

"Ok Kiddo, grab your helmet. You guys coming? Foods on me." Ali offered looking at everyone's hungry faces as she snatched her helmet and keys.

"I've got my uncles truck for the day so I can give Fangs and Sam a lift. I don't think you should be driving just yet." Toni grinned dragging Fangs through the door with the assistance of Sam, who was pushing and shoving him from behind. 

"Race you there?" Ali called lifting Izzy onto the back ok her bike. Toni snorted at the offer shaking her head.

"Do I look stupid to you? There's no way I'd win against you on that beast!" She called jumping into her truck and waiting for Fangs to climb in after Sam. 

"Fair point. See you there!" Ali called before speeding away. Izzy clinging tightly to her sisters waist laughing as they hit a straight stretch of road perfect for reaching top speed. 

After enjoying a big lunch at Pops, Toni and Fangs took Sam back to the trailer before heading to the Wyrm to pick up Jughead and Sweet Pea. Whilst Ali and Izzy made their way to the quarry to start setting up. Izzy lit a fire in the large metal drum at the centre of several old sofas and huge log, whilst Ali filled up the water balloons, placing piles of them in strategic places around the fire pit. Her music played cheerfully in the background as the girls danced as they worked. 

They had just finished filling up the last of the balloons and were making sure the towels were safely tucked away by the bike, where they wouldn't get wet. When they heard the familiar grumble of Toni's truck. Ali and Izzy grabbed a water balloon each before standing side by side on one of the logs surrounding the fire. Water balloons safely hidden behind their backs.

Toni and Fangs made their way over to the girls, closely followed by an overly serious Jughead and Scowling Sweet Pea. Ali grinned at Fangs as he stopped on the log opposite her. Toni made her way over to stand by Ali and Izzy. Secretly accepting the water balloon Izzy handed her from behind, being careful not to let Fangs see. They then waited for the other 2 to join Fangs before Ali spoke.

"Hey Jug, Fangs, Flower." She acknowledged with a mischievous grin, putting Jughead on edge.

"I don't like that look. Fangs why is she looking at us like that!" He said nervously sceptical, flinching when Ali's eyebrow twitched daringly.

"In my defence Jones, I tried. I really did." Fangs defended, looking at his friend apologetically.

"Who is this Northsider and why is she here?" Sweet Pea questioned giving Ali a disgusted scowl making Toni chuckle a bit. His scowl was different from his usual northside hatred glare.

"I, my dear flower," Ali replied sweetly, stepping forward and tilting her head to the side innocently. Making Fangs and Jughead gulp. They didn't like where this was going. 

"I’m the girl that’s going to get You wet." She grinned sweetly, before launching a large water balloon at Sweet Pea's face and diving behind the log she had jumped off. His face fell in horror as the ice-cold water collided with his chiselled cheek bones.

"IT'S GIRLS V BOYS! THIS MEANS WAR!" Izzy and Toni screamed launching their water balloons at the guys before running to grab more ammunition and take cover.

"Winner is the team that stays driest. Game finishes when we run out of balloons!" Ali yelled throwing another balloon at Sweet Pea who was pissed and determined to get revenge on the Northsider that had the audacity to attack him like that. 

The game went on for a while, each team using different tactics. Whilst the boys went for the panicked maniac approach. The girls decided to trap them. Tricking the boys into a false sense of security with a few poorly aimed throws. Making the guys think they had the upper hand. Moving in to strike a tree they thought the girls had huddled behind only to find nothing but a large X on the ground.

"X MARKS THE SPOT DUMMIES" Ali called from above them. She had scurried up the tree carrying a bag full of water balloons with Izzy and Toni placed strategically behind the trees surrounding the mark waiting for the signal. The girls immediately opened fire on the guys as they stood defence less, hopelessly trying to fight back. But resistance was futile. Especially after Ali tipped the large bag of balloons over them from above. Soaking them from head to toe. 

"Told you I'd get you wet!" Ali teased, grinning smugly from the branch she was perched on.

"OK Ali. You win!" Jughead called trying to stifle a laugh. Ringing out his hat and shaking out the water from his hair. Ali grinned victoriously as she climbed back down the now very slippery tree trunk, her foot slipping at the last step sending her flying backwards. She had just enough time to throw her legs back, pushing her way through the damp air in a recovery back flip. Her feet landing solidly between Fangs and Jughead. After several seconds of laughing at Ali's near miss with the ground, the group made their way back over to the fire throwing a few more logs on to build up the flames. Laughing and joking about the battle they had just fought.

"It goes without saying, girls are definitely better than boys!" Toni stated handing out towels, making Izzy giggle. 

"Ali pulled a Lara Croft on them!" Izzy squeaked happily, holding her tummy as a giggle fit took a hold of her. Pushing her on her side almost making her fall off the log she was sat on. But just as she was about to roll off, a large hand grabbed her, pulling her back up to safety. Sweet Pea chuckled as he looked down at the little girl still curled up in a raging fit of gut busting laughter. Wrapping a large muscular arm around her to hold her steady.

After a few minutes of everyone laughing at Izzy's uncontrollable giggles, the group managed to calm down, as did Izzy's giggles. Though she still had the occasional chuckle slip through. Ali chuckled at her little sisters innocence as she went to grab the food she had bought earlier. Placing a box of goodies in front of the group.

"Told you she'd help you find your smile!" Izzy murmured looking up at Sweet Pea who had been watching Ali as the group laughed and chatted. A small grin tweaking at the corners of his chapped lips. 

"Shush you and grab me a s’more." He replied warmly. Sending Izzy over to grab them both a s’more and a sandwich each. Ali looked at the handfuls of food in Izzy's arms, moving her gaze to Sweet Pea who was sat beside Fangs. An Izzy sized gap between them.

"You slave driver! Did you just send poor, frozen little Izzy over to grab Your food?" Ali accused playfully, chuckling at Izzy when she nodded her head happily before shuffling back over to her cosy spot between the two gangsters.

"I'm helping, Ali!" Izzy defended with a proud grin as Fangs wrapped her back up in a large purple towel.

The group sat there until it was too dark and cold to stay any longer. They silently packed everything away before heading to the Whyte Wyrm. Izzy rode in the truck with Toni and Fangs so she wouldn't freeze to death on the back of Ali's bike. Forcing Sweet Pea to ride with Ali on her bike and Jughead, who refused to ride with Ali ever again, managed to squeeze inside Toni's truck after being dragged in by Izzy.

"Not too bad for Northsider's are they?" Jughead teased Sweet Pea as they followed her inside the dimly lit bar.

"They're ok I guess," He shrugged, not letting Jughead know he was right. 

"Izzy's funny, annoying but tolerable." He grumbled waving to the bar tender and ordering a round of beers for the guys.

"You're just upset 'cos the kids more perceptive than you are." Fangs interjected grabbing his beer and leaning against the bar. Smirking at his friend.

"Hey Hog-Eye, can you tell mum we're here and can we get 2 ginger beers please. Its a school night and Izzy's here." Ali greeted cheerfully, her smile brighter than ever as she accepted the drinks handed to her.

"Drinks on the house kid. You and your mum do enough for us and don't think I haven't noticed the discounts you've been giving the Serpents." Hog Eye insisted, waving away the money Ali had pulled out.

"Hey what about me?!" Izzy asked looking a little upset peering over the edge of the bar on her tiptoes.

"Sorry kiddo almost forgot about your handy work with a paint brush." Hog eye apologized leaning over to ruffle her hair a little.

"Come on Izzy, lets see if the guys are brave enough to play us at pool. Thanks Hog-Eye!" Ali smiled guiding her little sister towards the pool table on the other side of the room.

"Hey Fangs, make sure she stays out of trouble. You know what she's like." Hog-Eye ordered nodding his head towards Ali and Izzy who were setting up the pool table.

"Come on Sweet Pea. Lets show these Northsiders how to play properly." He nudged, before making his way over. "Fancy a game? Girls V Boys rematch?" He asked jumping on a nearby stool. 

"That's hardly fair Fangs." Ali answered grabbing a stick from the corner and handing it to Izzy.

"Worried you're going to lose? Don't worry we'll go easy on you Northsiders." Sweet Pea mocked folding his arms, a smug grin plastered on his face. Izzy and Fangs rolled their eyes at his arrogance as Ali stepped forwards, almost squaring up to the 6'3 giant in front of her.

"On the contrary my darling," Ali's voice sickeningly sweet as was the innocent expression that washed over her face. "It's hardly fair because Izzy has more talent in her little finger than you do in your entire body." Ali teased wiggling her little finger at him.

"Bring it Northsider. 50 bucks says me, and Fangs win." Sweet Pea challenged stepping closer and looking down at Ali who was considerably shorter than him.

"This is getting intense. You could cut the sexual tension in here with a knife." Izzy whispered to Fangs, kneeling up on her stool and leaning forwards to rest her elbows on the table as they watched.

"I know." Fangs agreed before whipping round in shock at Izzy's comment, 

"Isabelle Masters watch your language! You shouldn't know about things like that at your age!" He scolded, making Izzy scowl at him.

"Dude I'm 8 not 2!" Izzy scoffed sticking her tongue out at him making him laugh. 

"Oh god they're shaking hands, you two are in for it now she's got that look again." She warned sitting up as her sister approached.

"Boy scout over here put 50 bucks on them winning. Fancy earning 50 bucks Izzy?" Ali questioned sarcastically. Izzy grinned nodding her head, her blonde plait falling over her shoulder as she jumped down from stool dragging it into position to start the game. 

"Said Izzy could break. Give them a fair chance." Sweet Pea told Fangs as the little girl took her position. Fangs looked at his friend in horror.

"You suggested it or were coerced?" Fangs demanded under his breath making his friend look at him dumb founded.

"What’s the difference?" He shrugged just as Izzy took her shot sending the balls flying across the table potting a red ball and a yellow ball. "Actually, don't answer that." 

"Looks like you're stripes. Fitting really considering you're about to get whipped." Ali mocked watching as Izzy took her second shot moving a striped ball away from its original spot, making it difficult for the Boy's to pot anything.

"Games only just begun Ali Cat. Plenty of time to kick your ass." Fangs sneered back before taking his shot, hitting his target but missing the shot. Ali shook her head, pouting sarcastically at him as he hung his head down in annoyance, avoiding the smug twinkle growing in the oppositions eyes. 

"Maybe next time sugar plum." Ali teased moving round the table to stand next to Sweet Pea in the far corner. Bending over the table to line up her shot sticking her ass out a little more than necessary. Grazing the side of his thigh as she raised the end of her stick to take her shot. Making him suck in a sharp breath of air. Ali smirked taking her shot and potting another ball. Standing straight, she turned to look at Sweet Pea who was gripping the stick in his hands so tight, his knuckles were turning white. The muscles in his jaw showing through as he clenched his jaw even more. She fluttered her big blue eyes at him, placing a friendly hand on his biceps and smiling brightly.

"Sorry did I get you then?" She asked winking at him before moving round to take her second shot.

"Looks like the kids are playing nicely together." Jughead observed as he and Toni watched from the bar.

"Which kids are you watching?" Toni snorted giving him a concerned side eye glance. 

"From what I can see, this game is big ball of passive aggression. Looks like Pea's met his match too. If he grips that stick anymore, hes going to be replacing it." Toni commented looking over at Jughead.

"You think there's something there don't you." Jughead proposed looking at the glint in Toni's eyes.

"All I'm saying is that Northsider has managed to get away with a lot more than most." Toni responded taking a swig of her beer. "And they've only just met."

"Yeah because Izzy's here. Sweet Pea may be a hot head but he's not a monster. He wouldn't scare an innocent kid like Izzy." Jughead debated, pointing to Izzy and Sweet Pea who had just shared a high ten when she won the game potting the final ball. "See, I rest my case." 

"Ok Jughead 20 bucks says I'm right. If there isn't some obvious flirting between them, you win. If there is, you owe me 20 bucks and be my slave for a day of my choosing. Deal?" Toni offered turning to Jughead and holding out her hand for him to shake to seal the deal.

"Fine. But if I win, I want my 20 bucks and you're my slave for a day of MY choosing." Jughead bargained shaking Toni's hand in agreement.

"30 bucks says they remain completely oblivious to their feelings." Hog-Eye interjected, leaning beside Jughead cleaning a glass as he watched the group set up another match. This time Fangs and Ali versus Izzy and Sweet Pea.

"That's an obvious bet Hog-Eye. The question is for how long. My money says maximum 2 months. They're bound to notice eventually." Toni judges, looking over at Hog-Eye for his opinion.

"No way. Ali is the most oblivious person ever. I say Sweet Pea notices before she does, but it takes him at least 3 months before he does." Hog Eye predicts looking to Toni and holding his hand out to seal the deal. "What do you say?" 

"Alright Hog-Eye, you're on!" She agrees shaking hands with the older Serpent.

[littlejeanniebean]

Ep. 2 | The Marauders: Moonlighter Sessions

A/N: Wolfstar in the recording studio! I repeat, Wolfstar in the recording studio! Art by the lovely @arthurstrangerguy​ <3 

More Marauders in my masterlist! 

Ep. 1: Chase Her 

Read on AO3! 

- J xx

The studio they’d been practically living in for the past eight months had red velvet walls and a leather couch to match. It was dimly lit despite the mid-morning hour. 

James moved some pieces of paper with their song titles scribbled on them around their magnetic white board, “Right, so we have Chase Her, Seek You Out -”

“You can’t have those two next to each other,” Sirius and Remus, who were doing each other’s nails, said simultaneously.

“Desire’s Looking Glass is a good second track, I think,” said Peter, his fingers lightly skimming over the keys, “Shows we’ve got range.”

“Good, good,” James nodded, “I like Ordinary No. 4 but it doesn’t really fit anywhere…”

“Put Tapestry before it, after Seek You, but have Dragon Slayer between Desire and Seek You,” Remus tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“I like that,” Sirius seconded.

“Sticks and Swords before Dragon?” James proposed.

“Too much of a mood shift,” Sirius and Remus said. The latter added, “Put it after No. 4.”

“That leaves Frequent Flier, then Lucky Number 7 as the closer, which I like the sound of… I just feel like something’s missing between Desire and Dragon…” 

“I agree, ten would be nice, as nice could be, nicer than nine,” Peter crooned with his piano.

“Hey, Pete, could you play that again?” Remus closed his eyes and placed his hands on his knees. For a while, the room was filled only with the calming tinkle of keys. Finally, he said, “We need strings. Not too many. Just a cello.” 

“I’ll make a call,” Sirius went out into the hall.

“Tonks!” James cheered from behind the drum kit when he saw the pink-haired girl fifteen minutes later, lugging her cello case behind her with ease.

“Wotcher, lads!” the musician set down her instrument and tousled her page-boy cut so she actually cut a figure that mirrored the drummer. 

“How’s Andrea?” Peter set up the sheet music he had jotted down so far for her, “I saw the latest Bake-Off episode last night - that was brutal.”

“Oh, she’s got a comeback all planned,” Tonks grinned, setting her bow to the strings, “Mum is a force of nature.”

The low, earthy hum of the cello stunned them into silence. 

“Alright, Remy?” asked Sirius.

The pale boy’s blue eyes had watered and he blinked profusely, “Erm, yes, that was beautiful, Tonks.”

“Thank you,” she blushed, “Peter, if I may… improvise a bit?”

“By all means!” the chubby blond, who was a classical musician by training, nodded eagerly.

Tonks swooped her bow and brought them a crescendo, “Whew! Did you get that?” 

Remus had one headphone pressed to his ear and gave her a thumbs up, “Do you want to try layering some staccato over the runs?” 

“Yes!” she donned a pair of headphones, which looked too large for her petite head but only added to her cuteness.

Their usually shy bassist and mixer was overflowing with ideas and the song just kept building between himself, Tonks, and Peter. He caught Sirius’ eyes watching him with… pride? Love? Then, he did something he never had before: he sang solo.

The gift of your melody

How did I ever live

‘Til the day I heard it

The way you look and see

Into my very soul

Parts I’d rather let alone

His voice wasn’t strong like James’ or husky like Sirius’, or even smooth like Peter’s, but no lyric on their album until now sounded quite so raw and vulnerable.

The stars can try to burn me

All I feel is warm under your sun

You’re the only sign I see

All we have is suddenly enough

Remus seemed to realize he was singing out loud in front of an audience and ducked his head with pinked cheeks.

“Do you lot always write songs this fast?” Tonks looked between the band members in amazement.

“Hardly. It seems you’ve inspired ol’ Remy,” James’ chuckle was interrupted by the door slamming, leaving a vacant space where Sirius once stood.

“What’s gotten into him?” Peter reached into the biscuit jar. Music always made him hungry.

“It’s probably Walburga again,” James sighed, “She’s been texting - harassing - him to come back to the show, but now that he’s eighteen, she can’t bind him to his contract anymore.”

“I swear half the ratings are from his presence alone,” Tonks shook her head, “All the girls at school love him and ask me about him all the time.”

“But… he came out last season,” Remus puzzled.

“They’re convinced it was a stunt for the show,” she played with the silver charms on her bracelet, “or that he just wanted to twist Burga’s guts.” 

“That sounds like our Sirius,” James covered his lopsided grin with his hand.

Remus was silent and put away the nail polish tubes with an almost imperceptible sulk to his lanky stature.

Peter frowned and went off to find their friend. He stopped short at the sound of snuffles coming from the washroom. He sat on the floor beside the weeping boy and held his shaking shoulders.

“Never fall for a straight boy,” Sirius sniffed woefully.

The pianist pursed his lips, “He’s technically never said that he -”

“You saw him in there! He said more than he ever had to any of us! Tonks is a nice girl… I mean… she’s my niece so that’s going to be awkward… God, have you ever seen Remus open up like that to anyone?” he fisted the front of his Rolling Stones t-shirt in his veiny hands, “Her music spoke to him… or maybe we just haven’t been listening to him enough? I mean… I know I’m loud… Am I a terrible friend, Pete?” 

“No, you’re not! I think… if you like someone… you need to tell them. You and James both. There’s no romance in pining. It’s just a wretched feeling.”

“But I’m too late,” Sirius moped. 

They sat there awhile longer before Peter insisted that he’d feel better if he had some lunch. 

“Petey, do me a favour, take everyone out to eat… I just… I just want to be alone with Kitty for a bit,” Kitty was his electric guitar.

Peter wanted to scream, “He loves you too, alright?!” but this was something they had to talk out themselves, so all he said was, “Sure, whatever you need.”

Alone in the studio, Sirius played a few mournful notes before carressing the strings in a light strumming pattern, swirling up his feelings from where they slumbered within, until he couldn’t bear it anymore. He stood suddenly and hit the record button.

Let me be your moonlight, moonlighter love

Let me be your low-light, hold tighter love

Let me be your good time, feels righter love

Let me be your moonlight, moonlighter love

Kitty let out a few lingering wails at his command.

Remus was the first of the group to return and when he saw Sirius in the booth, he smiled so his dimples popped and put on the headphones so he could listen from the outside.

Let me be your moonlight, moonlighter love

Let me be your midnight, ghost-rider love

Let me be your closed-eyes, lonely-nighter love

Let me be your moonlight, moonlighter love

Remus seemed to be transfixed on the dark-haired crooner as the last electric hum left Kitty’s baby pink body.

“That’s all I got,” Sirius said finally. 

“Right, right…” he ended the recording, “D’y’mind if I layer that over what we made earlier?” the mixer asked softly, “I think that’s the sound we’re missing and it’s a beautiful chorus.”

“It doesn’t really go with that sun and warmth bit you had going, does it?”

Remus tilted his head like a wolf pup might, “The best love has a sense of duality and balance.” 

Sirius nodded and came out of the booth. He laid his head on his friend’s - for that was what they were, he thought, all they were - shoulder while the track was built. “You need to use more aloe vera.”

“Hmm?” 

“Scars on your chin from our little motorcycle accident,” a pang of guilt shot like a pinball around his chest cavity. He’d been the one driving.

“But I like them. It makes me edgy.”

“What?” Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

Remus blushed, “You and James - but you especially - are… tough lads, you know? And then there’s me… homely, gay band junkie -”

“Wait, say that again?” Sirius sat up so they were practically nose to nose.

“I’m a band junkie?” 

“No, before that!”

“I’m homely and gay?” 

“Yes!” Sirius cheered and then kissed him hard.

Remus’ initial confusion gave way to passion as he entangled his fingers in the other boy’s long locks.

“Mm!” Sirius only pulled away to say, “I’ve got the last chorus!”

Let me be your moonlight, moonlighter love

Let me be your take time, take higher love

Let me be your goodnight, sweet sigher love

Let me be your moonlight, moonlighter love

[bamby0304]

Apple of my Eye- Ch.12

Series Masterlist

Summary: When Sam and Dean were pulled back into their world, you were left behind. Stuck in the hustle bustle of Hollywood life, you have no choice but to play along, leaving almost all of your old life behind. Seven years later, when a rip in time and space opens up, you are finally able to go home… but you don’t go alone.

Warnings: Explicit language. Angst. But, like, for some reason it’s actually mostly fluff, which is gross.

Bamby

Following Dakota and Dean through the halls, walking beside Sam, you smiled happily at your daughter and her father. Your gaze focused on their hands, his large one engulfing her tiny one. There was just something about it, about them… it made your heartache in a good way.

Coming around the corner, you entered the war room and came to a stop.

Standing in the library, Jack beamed at the four of you as he gestured to the creation behind him. “Do you like it?”

The chairs to the back tables had been arranged in a way so that the blankets draped over them created a tent. Underneath were thicker blankets and pillows, all laid out to make the space more comfortable and inviting.

“We made a blanket fort!” Dakota exclaimed, tugging Dean closer. “Look!”

Dean chuckled lightly, grabbing and lifting her onto his hip as he strode over to the fort. “You did this all by yourself?”

“Jack helped,” she explained. “He was the one that moved the chairs. I wanted to throw the blankets over the table, but he made it better.”

Sam moved over to stand by his brother’s side. “It’s very cool.”

“Really? You like it?” Dakota had this excited but nervous energy about her. If the brothers liked it that would make her day, but if they didn’t it would break her heart.

“Really.” Sam nodded at her.

Keeping Dakota on his hip, Dean crouched down to get a better look. “You think we’ll all hit in there?”

“Maybe not you and Sammy. You’re both really big.”

“Yeah, we are.” Dean looked to her. “But maybe we can grab more blankets and Sam can lay out here? Pretend he’s looking up at the stars? Like he’s camping.”

“Ooh! That sounds fun. I’ve never been camping.”

Dean looked a little surprised as he stood again and turned to you. “She’s never been camping?”

“We lived in Vancouver for most of the year, and Texas in Winter… plus I was a single mother slash actress. It wasn’t exactly easy to do things we can do here,” you note.

He gave it a thought before shrugging. “Well, you’re here now, so we’re gonna go camping.”

“You hate camping,” Sam countered.

“Not with the right people.” Dean’s eyes settled on your daughter again. “And we’ve got the right people here.”

Dakota squealed. “We’re going camping?”

“Not now, sweetie.” You stepped up into the library. “Not in the fort and not outside. Not tonight. It’s too late for that.”

Her face turned down into a pout. “But Dean said-”

Cutting her off, Dean gave her a little nudge. “Listen to your mum, kiddo.”

Sighing, she nodded, giving in.

You couldn’t help but bend a little. “Okay, I tell you what. Tomorrow night we’ll all camp in here, if the brothers want to, and after we get everything done. Okay?”

“Yes!” Dakota wriggled out of Dean’s grip and landed on the ground before throwing her arms around your legs. “Thank you Mum!”

Smiling down at her, running your fingers through her hair, you looked up to the three waiting men. “Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Sam gave you that small sweet smile of his.

“I’ve never been camping, either. And I’ve never slept in a blanket fort.” Jack gave one of his quick and happy nods. “It should be fun.”

“Then it’s settled.” Dean clapped his hands together before scooping in to grab Dakota once more. She giggled as he adjusted his hold and flipped her so she was hanging upside down. “Bed time now, fun tomorrow.”

“Yay!”

Laughing and shaking your head, you watched as Dean started to leave the library, carrying your daughter just like that the whole time.

“You comin’, Mum?” Dakota called through her fit of giggles.

With a quick goodnight to Sam and Jack, you hurried along to catch up. When you eventually found Dean and Dakota again, they were almost at her bedroom.

Dean was fixing his hold on her, setting her back on his hip as she rambled on. Not one word fell on deaf ears. He listened to everything, and he took it all in like it was the most important news he’d ever heard.

She had him wrapped around his finger already.

As he took her into her room, you leaned against her door frame and watched. You wanted to see how this would play out.

“Okay, so, story or no story?” he asked as he stood her on her bed.

She stood there, bouncing a little as he grabbed her pyjamas. “Story.” She gave a short nod. “It’ll help me fall asleep, and then tomorrow will come faster, and then we can camp in the library.”

He chuckled, handing her the set of clothes he’d pulled out of the drawer. “Okay, story it is.” While she started to get dressed, he turned to grab a book. “And what are we reading tonight?”

Never would you have guessed that Dean would be like this. You knew he was paternal, you knew he raised Sam, you knew he loved kids, but you didn’t think he’d be the kind to sit awkwardly beside your daughter in bed, and read to her until she drifted off. Apparently he was that kind of guy, though, because most nights he was home that was exactly what he did.

Once Dakota was dressed and the book had been picked, she settled into bed and he plopped down right next to her. Angling the book so she could see the pages, he started to read.

He didn’t hold back on the enthusiasm. Every character had a different accent, he made the sounds, and looked down at Dakota with fear or excitement when it was warranted.

You stood there and watched the entire time, smiling at the two of them. When Dakota leaned her head against Dean’s arm, her eyes starting to drift, you noticed the way his words faltered a little. He didn’t make it to the end of the book before she was fast asleep, but he kept going, He always finished the book, every night.

Closing the book, he carefully slid off the bed and crept away. Placing the book back on the shelf carefully, he tiptoed over to the door and began to close it, leaving it a jar ever so slightly. When he was certain she was still asleep and wouldn’t wake, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“I could never take that away from the two of you,” you whispered, nodding to the door. He looked to you, a little confused. “She’s never had a dad, Dean. It’s always been her and me. You’ve always been about family. Having kids wa- no, it probably still is one of those wants you don’t openly admit to.”

His eyes dropped to the ground, giving you the indication you needed in order to know you were right.

“I spent seven years in that other world Dean, and I was pretty much all by myself. The people around me were strangers, they didn’t understand me. I had to learn how to survive, and I had to survive for her. So there was always a plan A, B, C… I had as many options as I needed. That’s what I’m doing here.”

Sighing, he looked up to meet your gaze again. “I get that, but… I know things always go bad for us. Everyone either leaves or gets hurt, and I don’t want either of those things. Not for her. Not for you.”

You tried to hide your shock, but his words throw you for a loop. Dean had made it clear that he wanted Dakota to stay, that he would do anything for her… but there hadn’t been much said in regards to you.

Oblivious to your surprise, he went on, “I’m gonna be honest, things aren’t great right now, and they’re not gonna get better for a while. I don’t want to scare you away, but I don’t want to lie to you.”

“I remember the life, Dean. I was a hunter long before you and I even met. None of that is easy to forget.”

“Things have gotten worse, Y/N.”

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but while I was gone… Cas released a bunch of black goo bastards, you went to purgatory, Sam hit a dog, you found the Bunker, and Sam went through a set of trails to close the gates of Hell.”

“How’d you-”

“I talked to Cas and Jack. Apparently your timeline doesn’t quite match up with the show I worked on, but it was still pretty close.” You shrugged. “In your timeline Abaddon got away and you had to use Crowley, and then everything went to shit. In the timeline I knew, you tried to cure Abaddon but it didn’t turn her human, just weakened her enough to kill her, and then you realised Sam would die if he actually finished the trial so you stopped.”

“So I didn’t become a demon?”

“Nope.”

“But we didn’t close Hell?”

“Nope.”

“Did Crowley get addicted to human blood?”

“Actually, Kevin turned him into a human as payback, and then Gadreel killed him.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’m still getting used to the differences…” your eyes dropped to the floor, “like Bobby being gone.”

It might’ve been a show, but working on Supernatural had been the only way you could really stay connected to your old life. To come back and find out everything you’d experienced- fake or not- was all fake, just added to the shock of everything.

You couldn’t just slid back into your life like you thought you could- though you never assumed it would be easy. No, instead you had to learn what happened to the real Sam and Dean, and figure out a way to adjust to how extreme their lives had become.

While you were aware of the fact things just got more and more difficult and weird, you hadn’t lived it. The brothers weren’t fighting a new monster every week anymore, they were saving the world over and over.

He watched you in amazement. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“So have you.”

“No, I mean… I always had Sam. You were alone.”

“I had Dakota,” you countered.

“It’s not the same,” he argued, shaking his head. “You had to raise her, protect her, provide for her. No one had your back. No one could pick up the slack if you couldn’t. Sammy and me, we’ve been through Hell and back over and over, but we always had each other to lean on when we needed. We had Cas, and Crowley, and other friends. Now we’ve got Jack. But it was always just you and her.”

You shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do? I was living the life of a stranger, surrounded by familiar faces that belonged to people I didn’t know. I tried letting them in… I tried letting Jensen in because I needed you, but he wasn’t you and that broke my heart. I tried letting Jared in, but wasn’t Sam. And trying to make new friends when you’ve got a crazy schedule like I did, and a kid? Forget about it.”

Stepping closer, he looked down at you with guilt and pity. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you assured me.

“We left you there.”

“Again, not your fault.”

He wasn’t letting it go, though. “We left you there for seven years. You were alone. You were pregnant. I left you and our daughter in a strange world, for seven years.”

“To be fair… she was only around for a little over six years,” you countered, trying to lighten the mood… it didn’t work.

Moving a little closer, he looked deep into your eyes. “This isn’t a joke, Y/N. My own daughter doesn’t know who I am, and you had to pretend to be someone else for years, all because I couldn’t find a way to bring you home.”

Home… fuck that word alone hit you hard. Your throat felt tight with emotion, your heart swelling at his sincerity. Dean Winchester, the hardened brother who shoots first and shared chick-flick-moments never, was standing in front of you with so much guilt in his eyes he was practically drowning.

Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

Frozen on the spot from shock, he stared down at you as you pulled back and looked up at him with wide frightened doe eyes. You hadn’t intended to kiss him, but the deed was done and now you were waiting for the backlash.

Before you knew what was happening, both has hands cradled your face as he leaned in to crash his lips against yours.

The kiss was deep and all consuming. It stole your breath and your heart. You melted against Dean, shedding layers of your wall until part of your old self began to show. A self that had once been completely infatuated with the man now holding you to him like he was scared you might disappear again.

Eventually you both needed to breath, and so the kiss was broken. Dean didn’t let you go, though, and you didn’t mind. Feeling the warmth of his hands, the roughness… it was grounding, There was no arguing the realness of the moment as long as you could feel him.

“I’ll do whatever it take to keep you both here, and to keep you both safe.”

“I know. I trust you.”

Bamby

[jayhartwinsterling]

Bandersnatch (Black Mirror) Megapost

Now loading... A *very* sizeable post with a lot to get through - here I am going to talk about the five “main” endings, the Easter eggs, why constructing a traditional flowchart for this game is technically a bit of a vain effort, how it’s probably best to link everything up in a guide - and the implications this story has regarding *us*.

Chapter 1: The Endings

So, we basically have five “main” endings. I say “main” because... well, we’ll get back to it on ending number five. 

Ending One Description: The first of which is what I call the “How It Was Meant To Go” - and getting this one is quite simple. All you need to do is accept the proposal Stefan’s given by the Boss to make Bandersnatch with a in-house team. Satpal shows up and then Colin tells Stefan as he’s leaving “Sorry mate, wrong path.” We then jump forward five months to find that Bandersnatch was rushed in production, cut down and done badly because of it being a team effort and it gets a 0/5 review.

We loop back around to that decision again but this time, Colin thinks he’s met Stefan before and Stefan knows the memory error with Colin’s game when it happens. And we come back to the decision. (Refusal again will give a similar scene btw where Stefan accepts and Colin tells him it was the wrong choice again - but Satpal doesn’t enter and we just... end. 

Ending One Analysis: So this first ending is rather simple. But the key to it for me lies rather simply in the fact that it can be done... without doing anything at all. If you left your remote/controller/mouse/finger wherever it is and don’t make any choices, this is where you end up. In essence, the universe just runs as it should and we don’t play god over Stefan’s life at all. I know it might be a little difficult to get what I’m on about here but consider that Stefan makes a remark to Dr. Haynes not too long after you take the refuse path, that he wanted to accept the offer and he doesn’t know what made him refuse. We did. This is more clearly pressed upon if you get to the point in your path where Stefan realises something is dictating his life and asks for a sign. We directly throw him a sign - if you’re super direct, that sign happens to be the most direct interaction we could possibly make with him. Telling him that he’s on Netflix in the 21st century for our entertainment and we’re controlling his life.

So, as I say, Ending One is where we don’t have an impact and thus things play out in the universe as they should. Bandersnatch is finished, it gets a 0/5 and Stefan resolves to try again. Ironically, if you just sit back and don’t take the option of making a choice (because, remember, us even making a choice is in itself a choice), though all the game does terribly - this is arguably the best outcome for Stefan. And all because we listened to the exact advice the trailer gave us with its music choice: “Relax. Don’t do it.”

Ending Two: If you go straight to Dr. Haynes (rather than going after Colin) and take your pills when you get home, you get what I call the “” ending. Stefan takes the pills, we jump forward five months to find that Bandersnatch got completed by Stefan but due to his pills, it comes across flat after the midway point and only gets a 2.5/5 rating.

Ending Two Analysis: Not a lot to say here - but it’s worth noting that the review dude on the TV mentions that if the creator had second chances, they should go back and do this game all over again but differently. Keep that in mind for later. It’s worth noting that if you take Stefan off the path that the universe was “meant” to take and then leave it to its own devices (and Stefan to his own choices) again, not making choices for him - then you’ll end up at this one. Almost as if the universe was trying to course correct itself...

Ending Three: “Stefan Jumps.” explanatory how we get here... We jump forward four months, and find that due to Stefan’s accidental death, the game seems to have been speedily finished by someone else.

Ending Three Analysis: We get no rating this time but TV review guy does say the game is bad. He also mentions that it seems abrupt, jarring, bleak, creepy... Almost a perfect way to describe the ending - since it then just ends.

Ending Four: “The P.A.C.S. Ending”. In this one, we unlock Stefan’s dad’s safe with the password “PAC” (obtained by crossing over paths from following Colin to visiting Dr. Haynes... we’ll come by to the implications of such things later.) and find to our surprise that Stefan’s entire life is part of a conspiratorial program, not only well documented but also manufactured with the trauma of his mother’s death being totally falsified. Dad wakes up, refuses to speak and in his rage, Stefan hits him with somethi--- Oh wait, it’s a dream. Just a dream... But then it goes off the rails, quickly plunging us into the choice where we give Stefan a sign that he’s being controlled. Instead of Netflix, we now have the choice of P.A.C.S. - taking that option leads Stefan to kill his dad with the ashtray in a rage about the apparent conspiracy. Stefan then picks up the phone to phone Dr. Haynes - and we have to enter her number. Entering it correctly means that Stefan outright says to Hayne’s receptionist that he’s killed his dad. As he’s burying his dad, we hear distinct sirens and then cut to a review of Bandersnatch. The game is given a 2/5 rating and we discover that Stefan has been charged with killing his dad and locked up in jail.

Ending Four Analysis: It’s safe to say that P.A.C.S. didn’t actually exist outside of Stefan’s head and it’s his life paralleling Jerome F Davies’ obsession with conspiracy theories and delusions. But... what nobody seems to be really talking about is - we did that. Again. Leaving aside all the choices up to and including the safe, we make the P.A.C.S. sign appear and fuel Stefan’s dream-induced paranoia. In this ending, we in a way become Stefan’s delusion. (Oh, and don’t be surprised if you didn’t get this ending with your choices, or only part of it - again we’re coming to all that...)

Ending Five: “Time Rewritten” - now I’ll be honest, I did all these endings in one straight through run. Which made for a REALLY messy time in both my head and the game. Particularly with Colin... But anyway, for this one, I had to make Stefan pick up the family photo after having followed Colin and heard him say that mirrors let you travel through time. Stefan then seems to head through a mirror in the bathroom back in time to when he was a kid. And discovers that his dad took the teddy away from Stefan and locked it away in his room. He wakes up, I take him through the Netflix sign again. [During this, I led into what I’ll be addressing in a minute as Ending Four-B.] And take Stefan back to the locked room, this time entering the password “TOY”. Stefan unlocks the safe and finds his teddy within... And then it takes an odd turn. Stefan turns to find a younger dad - and then suddenly he is a child again. The younger dad relents and lets young Stefan put the teddy back under his bed. After doing so, suddenly older Stefan is looking at young Stefan sleeping. We cut back to young Stefan on the day Mum leaves... This time, he finds the teddy but his Mum is still running late. She’s gonna have to catch the next train - the one that leads to her demise - and we have to make the decision for young Stefan on whether to go or not. Of course, yes is my choice here - for though it’s a tragedy, it’s the last of these paths to take - we get young Stefan and Mum on the train, cut to black, and then see that older Stefan has died in Dr. Haynes’ office. We then get shown a TV screen and the credits come rolling in, whether we like it or not. And there’s what seems almost a tune playing but we’ll get back to that because if you’re a ZX Spectrum fan like myself, you know where that’s headed.

Ending Five Analysis: Alright, now there’s debate to be had here. Did Stefan really walk through a mirror and change time, undoing his own existence in the present, rendering himself dead on the spot? Did he slip away into a divergent reality and leave his original one behind? Or did he, in reliving the trauma with Dr. Haynes, live too far into it and died? Well, my opinion is that the last of those three is true. (Although, this conclusion is a little shot in the foot for me personally because I never discussed the death of Stefan’s mum with Dr. Haynes ever. Unless you try to make the conclusion that the entirety of my personal run through this game even from Stefan getting up at the very start of it was all in his reliving). Time to come clean about something I’ve been hinting through this post. Delusions. Almost all of the endings involve delusions. But, you’ll have to wait until the end of this chapter before I bring all of that together.

Ending Four-B: “Cut!” - having taken Stefan down the Netflix path and into a fight with Dr. Haynes, I told him to jump through the window. He runs to the window but it doesn’t open - and then we hear something shout CUT! The view pulls out to reveal that Stefan is in a studio, and that - in a very meta move - all of this is just a production being made (for TV, for film... for Netflix?) and that trying to jump out of the window isn’t in the script. Stefan is then addressed as Mike and it seems to be the case that he has fallen a little too much into character. The studio assistant, worried with his insistence that he is Stefan, rushes off to find a medic. And that’s the end of that.

Ending Four-B Analysis: Firstly, I put this with Ending Four because it’s down a similar path, and once again we become Stefan... sorry, Mike’s delusion. And this led me to an interesting thought about this universe where we’ve taken control of a delusional actor - is the alternative for taking the Netflix sign, which is having the fight with Dr. Haynes (as “scripted”) and being dragged off just a part of this universe’s production? In that instance, is the delusional then our own that this world is a reality when - surprise, surprise, it’s a Netflix production (and presumably, in that universe, also a Black Mirror episode)? Secondly, as an aside, the only option presented to me after this ending for a rewind was “Get Rabbit From Dad”...

Well, there you go, five “main” endings (and a bit) and an awful lot for me to explain...

Except... Ending Six. What I Believe Is The True “Main” Ending.

So we lead Stefan back to the sign, give him the Diverging Paths sign (or call it Whitebear, if thus inclined.), make him kill Dad, and make him chop up the body. Then, the Boss and Colin discuss the fact that Stefan is late with his work - Colin convinces him to leave Stefan be for another day. And what happens here on, well, happens. It’s worth noting the reluctance and pain Stefan has carrying out the order we gave him to chop up his Dad. But then, it’s contrasted by the lack of emotion he shows in Dr. Haynes’ office. Perhaps he’s taken that JFD documentary to heart about believing that if all paths occur, and there is no free will - then why care? Why feel guilt on behalf of what seems to be destiny? And honestly, I can’t blame Stefan... Because he doesn’t have free will here, we’re throwing decisions at him and he’s along for the ride. We made him kill his dad. We made him chop him up. 

And herein lies our delusion. That in making these choices for him, we have a choice. Because we really don’t - we’re in a Bandersnatch of our own (if you’re a CYOA fan then you might’ve sensed this coming...) and honestly, we should’ve known from the start. We’re the ones that selected the option Black Mirror: Bandersnatch on Netflix and hit play, after all. Just as Stefan has pulled back from making an infinity of paths and left enough complexity to make it seem so. I mean, I’ll be blunt here even though I’ve yet to discuss it in depth in Chapter Two - technically, there is no way that any one human being is getting through every possible path/universe. To us, it may as well be infinite. And yet, it’s all just an illusion of free will.

Endings Two and Three all push us, the player, bluntly into going back into this warren of choices - to try again. Pushing us further on. Ending Four is more subtle, toying with us by giving us a tragic ending for Stefan so we feel inclined to go again and do better for him (and in my case, straight up offers up a path to Ending Five, and what seems a more hopeful ending until you get into it.) Ending One is even there if you decide to take the choice to not make any choices, to not interfere at all. Leaving the universe on course - but of course, this is our game and trap so it tells us not so subtly to try again as well.

And Ending Five leads us to ending with... A delusion. There’s the crux of the matter.

Ending One is our delusion that we can game the system by not getting involved.

Ending Two is Stefan’s (and our) delusion that if we play by the nicest choices and rules of life, it’s all going to turn out happily.

Ending Three is Stefan’s delusion (spurred on by the acid? by Colin’s way of thinking? by both?) that if infinite worlds are out there and free will is an illusion then what does it matter if he jumps?

Ending Four is where Stefan becomes delusional as a result of us and ends up locked up. We are the delusion. Four-B is where Stefan himself, as a person, is the delusion.

Ending Five is either the delusion of a man who relived his trauma too deeply or the delusion of us in thinking that when the paths were all clear and we had what seemed like a final end, that it would be happy. (Or none of the above, if you really want to go analysing this one differently.)

And Ending Six is our delusion. “And now, they’ve only got the illusion of free will but really, I decide the ending.”

In a few short seconds, we realise that we have been the Stefan of Charlie Brooker and co. - being led towards this ending that is out of our hands now. Despite all the paths and other endings you take, you’re likely to end up back here. 

And as Stefan says about how he thinks Bandersnatch led to a happy ending, and we see him in his room, with his computer - and walls covered in paths; trying to make sense of the maze he’s playing... well, I think you can piece together the parallels between him and us.

And then we’re landed with the fact that he’s kept his dad’s head. And the 5/5 review we’ve been looking for all game finally comes, but then it turns out even that comes at a price. We’ve driven Stefan insane, certainly - and we’ve tainted the happiness of a moment we were striving for. And there’s a final delusion for us - the delusion that whatever choices were out there for us to make, we could get an ending where everyone lives, Stefan is happy, the game gets 5/5 and all is well. But we can’t. No matter what Stefan does, he can’t divert from the path we choose and no matter what we do, we can’t divert from the path Charlie Brooker chose.

Colin’s daughter takes up the mantle of her father, inspired by having found Stefan’s work, just as Stefan was inspired by having found Jerome F Davies’. (She even has Jerome’s book as well!) And one more time, we fall into the meta hole as it’s revealed that she’s creating her game for TVs and smart devices under Netflix. Her game is the Bandersnatch we’re playing. 

As a parting shot, Charlie Brooker brings himself into the web the one we can without completely shattering what remains of the fourth wall. Pearl represents him, trapped in the same madness, trying to put this game together. We are given our final choice - and either way, it’s a moot choice. Both destroy Bandersnatch. Both cause the screen to cut out - did we just erase Bandersnatch? Does it matter, given that our choice or even abstaining meant nothing in the end?

And I suppose you have to feel sympathy for Charlie Brooker, because the pain Stefan felt and the pain we felt - he’s no stranger to it.

And we’re left with one question now that the game is gone: What about real life?

Chapter 2: Why A Flowchart Won’t Ever Cut It (Technically)

TO BE ADDED SOON

Chapter 3: So Many Easter Eggs

TO BE ADDED SOON

Chapter 4: The Best Way To Document Every Piece Of Bandersnatch

TO BE ADDED SOON

Chapter 5: Us

TO BE ADDED SOON

[strawberriestyles]

Part 4: Pentagram

(BANNER MADE BY MY TALENTED SWEETIE PIE @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which you’re persuaded to help a young witch named Harry.

Read previous parts here.

Word count: 5.1k+

Author’s note: HEY HI HELLO. There will be one more part and a short epilogue after this. WE’RE NEARING THE END. I’ve had and am still having so much fun with this series. Fantasy is my favorite thing to read, and to be able to blend that with fanfiction has been super cool and experimental. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG, LEAVE FEEDBACK. It’s super helpful to writers and can also aid in motivating them. Xx

“Hello, dove.”

When you glance up from your books, you’re unsurprised to find Harry standing at your table. You’ve been wondering when he would show up. But you start at his use of that pet name. He holds a steaming coffee in one hand and an entire meal in the other, and he doesn’t ask permission before he slips into the booth across from you, setting his refreshments down on the tabletop, laying the plate of food on top of your book.

“Had a lot o’ trouble finding yeh today."

“Why’s that?” you ask as you sift your way through the contents of the sandwich he’s placed before you.

“Dunno. Maybe whatever magic’s in your blood is sparkin’ up. Yeh’re gettin’ hard to trace.”

“You trace me?”

“Not with a spell or anythin’,” he says with a shake of his head. “Jus’ been pretty easy to kind o’ feel out your presence. Air feels weird around yeh.”

“Well, that makes me feel good about myself,” you mumble with a thick sigh. “Why did you buy me a panini? I’m not hungry. And how do you know that you picked something I like?”

“Well, I was guessing based on what I know about yeh, but yeh could have said thank you.” Harry sips his coffee and leans his head against the back of the booth. "Or yeh could at least not act rude about it. Just thought yeh could use a good meal right about now. Wha’s wrong?”

You sigh again and settle your chin into your palm, picking at the sandwich bread with your free fingers.

“I have all these midterms coming up. And they’re not for my major-required classes they’re just general classes that everyone needs to graduate. Which is stupid because why do I need to take a college-level math course as a Latin major? That makes no sense. Any career that I end up—“

“I get it,” Harry says with a soft chuckle. “But it might come in handy. I liked t’skip out on my Latin studies when I was younger, and look where that got me. I need a mortal t’help me perform fuckin’ spells.”

“Well, first of all, I’m not all mortal,” you tell him with a frown.

“Mortal enough,” he mutters, twirling his coffee cup to stir its contents. You ignore him for the time being.

“And second of all, that was rude of you. Are you upset that you need me? Because I can just stop helping you at any time.”

“No, Y/N, no.” Harry smiles that annoyingly amused smile of his. “Not upset that I need yeh t’help me with translations. Just upset that I can’ do ‘em myself. Makes my mum crazy proud o’ me, I’ll tell yeh that much. Eat your food, please.”

Despite your prior statement, you do find your stomach aching for the panini he’s ordered you. It’s nearing eight thirty in the campus library. The other students that have been working throughout the day have already trickled out in search of their own dinners or a Netflix recovery session from all the studying they’ve suffered through. You wish you could join them. The fluorescent lights above you haven’t helped to keep you peppy and motivated.

You cave and take a grateful bite.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him when you’ve finished chewing. “I actually haven’t eaten for about six hours. I’m just stressed out.”

“Well,” he says, leaning forward with a quirk to his lips, clearly smug, “tha's perfectly fine, because I think I have the perfect way to relieve your stress. Yeh ‘bout ready t’be done for the night?”

There are surely mountains of work for you left to do, preparations to make, papers to map out—but with your mouth full, you give him a desperate nod.

***

“Was that your first time on campus?” you ask.

Your voice quivers with a faint wariness. Nicks, for whatever strange reason, has decided that she doesn’t mind a close proximity to you. At least for today. She’s sitting on the arm of the couch, just a foot or so from your elbow. Granted, she’s not paying you much attention at all, but it’s a start.

“No.” Harry is laying down a large, thick black cloth. It’s stitched with a white design that only becomes clear as he pulls the fabric out flat—a pentagram. Like a satanic blanket. “I took a few classes a couple years ago. Just t’see what you mortals learn in your higher education.”

“Not a mortal,” you remind him. “Speaking of…”

As Harry skims a page full of his notes from the spell in his book, you remember the warning he gave you that first time you ever helped him. It’ll burn the eyes right outta your skull.

“Can I actually look in the book? If I’m not fully mortal, I mean.”

“No.”

You sigh and Harry begins to lay items out around the edges of the cloth, just outside of the pentagram’s circle. Closed jars and bottles, a bowl of ground up somethings that you’re not sure you want to ask about, something that looks like criss-crossed bones tied together with twine.

“What are we doing?” you ask. “I thought the spell wasn’t going to happen until tomorrow night.”

“’S not,” he says, sprinkling some red powder over the inside of the pentagram. When he stands up he hands you a different sheet of paper with his usual translations and begins to arrange the candles that the two of you made last week at the five points of the pentagram. “This is just a preparation.”

You frown as you lower your eyes to the Latin scribbled out in front of you. They’re odd commands about the arrangement of the items around the pentagram. You glance up at the cloth intermittently to second check Harry’s placements.

“Um,” you mutter after a few minutes, “this says something about a human fingernail.”

“Yeah. Where does it go?”

“Is there any point in me asking you where the human fingernail came from?”

“No.”

You shake your head as you point toward the pentagram. “It’s supposed to go where those bones are right now. And the bones are supposed to be two places counterclockwise.”

Harry rearranges his items while you scan over the rest of the Latin, right up until the words make you freeze. As he stands back up to survey his work, you toss the page to the other end of the couch.

“’S that it?” Harry asks when he turns around again. He travels back toward his shelves and pulls down the jar of Hellfire that the two of you prepared a few weeks ago, still burning dark and ominous, even with its lack of oxygen. He reaches his hand inside and scoops the flames out, kneeling down to light each of the candles and then returning the remainder of the fire to its glass jar and replacing it on the shelf where he found it. He glances up at you when you still haven’t answered him.

You nod your head, perhaps too vigorously, and he sits down beside you, his ringed fingers splayed out over your thigh.

“Harry, I…”

Your voice trails off as he settles his cheek into your shoulder, his lips prodding at the curve of your jaw. You let your eyes fall closed for only a short moment before throwing yourself onto your feet. At the sudden motion, Nicks hightails it from the room.

“What are you doing?” you demand, pressing your lips together as you stand before him.

“Says we’ve gotta fuck, righ’?” Harry asks. So nonchalant. "I may be shit at Latin, but I do know the word for orgasm.”

“Harry.” You let out a disbelieving, airy laugh and shake your head. "You’re just assuming I’ll have sex with you because some dusty book says so?”

“Well, I was hopin’ yeh’d want to.” He gives you that signature smug look that often makes your blood run with heat and his arms settle over the back of the couch. Then he raises an amused eyebrow. “Wha’? D’yeh want it t’be more romantic? I’ve already got candles lit and everythin’.”

“Those are ritual candles burning at the points of a pentagram, Harry.”

“Good observations.”

Your jaw tightens and you turn toward the door. “I’m leaving.”

“Y/N, stop.”

“No, you can’t just expect—"

“Please.” Harry’s footsteps follow you. He doesn’t touch you as you reach the door, but the tone of his voice makes you stop. You fiddle with the zipper of your jacket slung over your forearm. “I need your help. Can yeh help me?"

Your teeth close around your lower lip as you stare at the front door. Candlelight flickers against the walls, painting Harry’s shadow just beside yours. “How do I know this is what the book actually says and that you’re not just making it up?”

“I guess yeh’ll just have t’trust me,” Harry answers. You hear him lean against the wall. "Would it be so bad if I wasmakin’ it up? That I’d wanna have sex with yeh even if the book didn’ say so?”

Your eyes close. He has a point. Haven’t you been drawn to him from the beginning? Didn’t his kiss from last week leave you reeling for days afterward? What would be the harm, really?

When you turn around you’re still hesitant, but Harry stays where he is, his eyes steady as he watches you.

“You make me a little uneasy,” you whisper.

“‘M sorry.” Harry straightens up just by a little bit and smiles very softly. It’s not an expression that you’ve seen on him before. “Get that a lot, actually.”

“It’s not anything you do, really,” you assure him. “It’s just…”

“Yeah. The witch part.”

You bite at the corner of your mouth to keep your laugh at bay. When he smiles at you again, you close the few steps between you and rise up onto your toes, pressing a kiss to his lips with almost the same amount of confidence that he kissed you with last time.

“Yeh trust me?” Harry mutters when your mouths part for a short moment. You fall back on your heels and he looks at you, all hazy-eyed.

“Depends,” you reply. “Are you gonna slit my throat in the middle of this and make me a sacrifice to the devil?”

Harry chuckles to himself and grasps your hips. His fingers press into your skin and you drop your jacket as he pulls you sharply forward. “Not today, dove.”

You fold. Harry gathers you up in his arms and kisses you hard, hands roaming, lips feverish. You lower your fingers to the hem of his shirt and he lets you go only long enough to peel the layer away from his skin.

The trip back down the hall is a mess of clashing teeth, bruising lips, stumbling over each other’s feet. By the time the two of you reach the couch, you’re in your bra and underwear but Harry is somehow still wearing pants. You fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans as he leans against the arm of the sofa. He distracts you with wet kisses that trail down your jaw, fingertips that pluck at the straps of your bra. His pants pool at his feet and he wastes no time shedding his boxers right along with them.

It’s almost as though Harry can sense your persisting wariness as he kisses at the top of your chest and toys with the clasp of your bra. You see his free hand lift beside you and then lower, palm toward the floor, slowly, in time with the dimming of the candles lit around the living room. You sputter out a laugh that makes his teeth scrape against your sternum. Your bra falls to the floor beside his pants and boxers. He sits back on the couch’s arm, that smirk on his face, unashamed, waiting for you to slip out of your underwear.

“You swear this isn’t some weird sacrificial ceremony or something?” you ask him, thumbs poised in the sides of your panties. “You’re not gonna hurt me?”

“Not unless yeh want me to, dove.”

Harry grasps your wrists and pulls them toward your knees, dragging your underwear down with them. His eyes lick back up your body like flames until he’s focused on your face again, and you swear that for a moment they glow that electric blue. But then he’s standing straight again, hands hot against your bare waist, lips prodding at yours, and he’s walking backward with a confidence that you can feel in every step. He begins lowering himself to the ground, dragging you down on top of him, and it’s only when you break the kiss that you find the two of you are positioned in the center of the pentagram, surrounded by odd relics and candles, their wicks lit with Hellfire but their wax still unmelted.

Harry lays back on the blanket, his head positioned in the center of one of the pentagram’s triangular spokes. You’re perched on his hips, very aware of every bit of bare skin that touches him. His fingers curl around the thickest part of your thighs and he says nothing, only blinks lazily up at you.

You pull your lower lip between your teeth as you shift, reaching between you to wrap your fingers around his hard dick. You guide him to your entrance and all of your nerves diminish when he’s inside of you. His hands tighten on your flesh as you sit back. Slowly. Gently.

You settle your palms over his ribs, fingertips curling into the tattoo of a butterfly painted there. The light in the room flickers as you roll your hips to acquaint yourself with this experience—Harry sprawled out on the floor, his hair mussed from your hands as he draws his tongue in a stripe across his lip. You don’t know if it’s the pentagram or Harry or if it’s only your imagination, but your senses feel heightened. A brush of his thumb over the bend in your hip makes your entire body shiver. Like he knows exactly where to press. But it’s still all so foreign.

“Go ‘head, dove,” he whispers, as though he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He stretches out his neck and gives you that smug look—it’s the familiar in this uncharted territory that you needed. A touchstone. “Fuck me.”

Your fingers curl further until you can feel your nails digging into his skin. Harry only flutters his eyes closed. You lift your hips up, forward, feel his cock dragging against your walls, lower yourself back down. Harry lets out a huff of air. He pushes against your thighs, urging you on. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm once you ground yourself to the feeling of him inside of you, thick enough to make you ache. Your body works for you without the need for thought.

“More,” Harry mutters after a minute. It’s not gentle. It’s demanding. One of his hands drift up your stomach to spread across the area between your breasts. Your belly lurches as the fingers of his other hand grip into your waist with a bruising strength, and you whimper, picking up your pace.

“There yeh go,” he praises. He lifts his head up far enough to watch your hips meeting, to see the way your legs quiver. His hand sneaks back to grab at your ass. There’s no question to his movements, only a dauntless fluidity that makes a thin sheen of sweat collect at your hairline. He kneads your cheek and tips his head back against the pentagram. His own skin is growing slick beneath your hands. “Yeh’ve gotta come, dove. Can’ do that if yeh’re holdin’ back on me, yeah?”

Harry lapses back into silence as you find a beat in this candlelit room, quickened by the pressure of his fingers, by the draw of his unsteady breath, by the urgent pulse of his heart beneath your hands. Your knees are chafing against the cloth laid out under the two of you, but you don’t slow. Sweat trails along your scalp and into the tracks of your hair as you tilt your head back. You close your eyes and find the image of Harry’s face imprinted there, cut into slivers between the glint of regular candlelight and the shadow of Hellfire.

You’re jolted out of your own mind when Harry delivers a harsh smack to your ass. You can feel yourself tensing around his cock, even as he rubs soothingly at the sore area of your bum. You’ve stilled on top of him, your chest heaving, a guttural moan poised at your lips. It’s translated into a gasp as he flips the two of you around, settling your head gently within the pentagram where his was positioned. He’s slipped out of you and you don’t think going without food for a week could leave you feeling this empty.

“Let go for a second,” he whispers when you’ve latched onto his arms where they frame your head. “Wanna try somethin’.”

You loose your fingers from his biceps and settle back against the cloth beneath you as Harry reaches to the perimeter of the pentagram’s circle to grab a candle. The Hellfire burns steady and straight, unswayed by any air flow. The wax around the wick looks melted, liquid, but it doesn’t run down the sides. It’s unnerving. Especially when Harry leans back and tips the candle over your chest. Hot wax spills and stings the skin between your breasts. You gasp, pushing Harry’s hand and the candle away, stomach thrashing up against him, but he surrounds you like a cage.

“Hey, relax,” Harry says, settling his hips between yours at last. He leans down to kiss you for the first time since the two of you have entered the pentagram. His lips graze down your neck after leaving your lips, along your collarbone to your shoulder, a peck to the outside of your breast. He lets out an airy chuckle. “Yeh like it, don’ yeh?”

“What?” you mutter, tilting your head forward. The wax has hardened and begun to cool on your chest. He still holds the candle in his hand.

“Nipples are hard,” he observes, raising a brow. “Yeh like it. Hurts for just a second, yeah? A good pain?”

Your response is swallowed back down your throat as Harry tongues your hardened nipple, teeth grazing along your skin. The fingers of your right hand tangle up in his hair, yank at the roots as he sucks your nipple into his mouth. More hot candle wax spills across your skin, this time along your upper belly. You shy away from the quick sting but it only lasts for a moment and you find yourself moaning as the wax dribbles up the side of your body, heats your other breast. The flame of Hellfire still doesn’t sway. It also doesn’t burn up toward the ceiling as a regular flame would. It remains in line with the candle.

Harry sighs at the sound of your moan and hurries to return the candle to its place on the pentagram. He reaches down to stroke his cock once, twice, and then thrusts into you without a warning.

“Jesus,” you gasp out. It feels different when he’s the one moving. He takes no time to find a rhythm, just fucks into you with all of the force of his hips. Your ankles curl around the backs of his knees and the hand not buried in his hair grapples for a hold on his back.

“There’s no Jesus here,” Harry mutters, lowering his face into the crook of your neck. His teeth tease at your pulse. “Yeh feel like a fuckin’ goddess, though—fuck. Tha’s what I wanna feel.”

He moans when your walls clench around him. His thrusts drive deeper, arms trembling on either side of you. One hand lifts to lay across your side, over your ribs, and you can feel the dried wax there heating up, dripping down to pool beneath your back.

“Wanna fuck yeh harder,” Harry groans. “D’yeh want it harder? Can I fuck yeh harder?”

“Please,” you breathe out, “please.”

The air is forced from your lungs as Harry’s hips smack back into yours. Your body is tingling beneath the weight of him, thighs aching at the stretch of his hips between them. The skin behind your ear heats with pain as he sets his teeth into it. And he’s fucking you relentlessly, desperately, so urgently its making your mind grow fuzzy.

“I—” You can’t even finish your words. The pits of your stomach are coiling up like a spring. The fuzz in your mind is making your vision grow dark around the edges as you stare up at the wooden ceiling. All you can do is squeeze at Harry’s back, tighten your hand in his hair.

“Yes, fuck yes,” he grates out. The hand covered in melted wax snaps to the back of your thigh, angling your hips up and yanking you to meet his thrusts as he fights to finish himself off. “‘M gonna come.”

Your throat is thick with words that can’t escape as he fucks you over the edge. One hand falls to the blanket at your side and curls into the fabric. You let out only a strangled moan. Harry grunts as he feels you coming around him. He pulls his face out of your neck and props himself up on his arms, tipping his head back against his own shoulders until he’s jerking into you, swearing into the silence of the house. This time you’re positive that you see that blue glow around his irises before his eyes close. You shake while he empties himself inside of you and all at once the flames around the room are snuffed out.

Harry huffs out a breath of exhaustion and lowers himself back down on top of you, forehead smearing sweat along your shoulder. You can see almost nothing at all while you gasp for breath. Your body still buzzes in the darkness. You can smell the subtle sweetness of smoke from the extinguished candles.

There’s a pressing silence filled with nothing but heavy breathing. Harry’s become almost a dead weight on top of you. You can feel liquid leaking from you, his skin sticky where it meets yours. The knowledge somehow doesn’t worry you.

“Thank you, dove,” Harry whispers right into your ear. His lips plant a wet kiss to the edge of your shoulder, waxy hand thumbing at your hip.

The moon peeks out from behind a thick layer of gray clouds. It seeps through the grimy window above your heads, filters through the wisps of smoke that hang about the room, illuminate the drops of sweat that linger on Harry’s back. You close your eyes for a moment—only a moment—and when you open them there is a face at the edge of the pentagram, just beyond it. An entire body mere inches from your feet. His eyes are wide, still, staring down at the two of you, graying hair frazzled around the lines of his frozen face.

Air is drawn loudly into your lungs but then it traps itself. You can’t scream. You can’t exhale. Your body tenses, fingers pressing into Harry’s spine, his scalp. He feels the shift and lifts his head to look down at you. Blocking your view of the stranger. But you can still see him behind your eyelids as you blink.

“Wha’s wrong?” he asks when he sees the wild look in your eyes. His brows pull together, fingers smoothing up your jaw. “What?”

The face looms up again behind the mess of Harry’s hair, leaning over the two of you, its expression still frozen in place, and the air finally finds a way to escape your chest.

You scream, shoving at Harry’s body, scrambling out from under him. He doubles back for a moment before you reach the edge of the pentagram and he catches at your knee, pulling you back toward him. The cloth is pulled beneath you. Candles topple over and the twined bones are sent scattering across the wooden floor. “Stop—” You swipe at his hand and he catches your wrist too. “Stop, Y/N, stop!”

Your lungs are heaving as you struggle against his grip and spin your head to survey the room. It’s empty. There’s no one else here. Not even a suspicious shadow.

“I thought—” You stop struggling and shake your head. Your fingers are trembling. “There was a man standing right there,” you whisper to him, pointing to the spot just outside the circle. You sound crazy. At least you think you do for just a moment before you remember that Harry is a witch and the two of you just had sex inside of a pentagram, surrounded by candles burning with flames from Hell. You squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Okay, okay.” Harry shifts onto his knees and wraps his fingers around the back of your neck, nodding. “Okay. He’s gone now though, right?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I believe yeh. Why wouldn’ I?” Harry leans in to kiss your forehead. It’s so gentle, so sincere. You can feel your pulse beginning to slow when he pulls back and you tip your face into his chest. He slides his hand down your spine and rubs at your lower back, still slick with sweat.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’ be.” He pulls you away from his chest and kisses you with a slowness that you find gratefully comforting. “’S dark in here. How ‘bout we get some candles lit and get yeh cleaned up, yeah?”

You nod and let Harry help you up to your feet. He steps gingerly out of the pentagram and makes his way to the nearest candle, on the wall by the hall to the kitchen. His fingers close over the wick until it sparks to life and illuminates his flushed face. He gives you a soft smile and reaches for his boxers by the side of the couch.

“C’mon, dove,” he says once he has them pulled on, "I’ll make yeh some tea.”

***

“Yeh okay?” Harry asks as he comes back into the room. He’s carrying a hot mug of tea. You notice the way his hair is still standing up around the sides, where your fingers have left it tousled.

You give him a short nod and continue peeling at the dried black wax encasing your ribs, holding your shirt up with one hand. Harry sets the tea on the floor in front of the couch and then sits down, turning your body away from him. He picks at the wax on the back of your thigh, in the vague shape of his hand.

The room is much brighter around you. Harry has lit every candle in the vicinity that wasn’t meant for rituals and spells. But you still find yourself glancing cautiously into the corners every few minutes. You can still see that jarring face whenever you close your eyes.

“Hey.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, turning your attention to Harry when he’s finished ridding your thigh of wax. He shakes his head and helps you finish with the wax coating your side.

“No, yeh’re spooked. ’S okay.”

You chew on your lip. Harry finishes and brushes his thumb over your skin.

“Was that supposed to happen? Did you know that was going to happen?”

“What, the guy?” Harry asks. He allows his hand to fall to his lap as you take a step back from him and shakes his head. “No, I didn’ know that was gonna happen.”

“Well, do you know who it was?” You pull your shirt—Harry’s shirt—back down your abdomen to meet the line of your underwear.

“Think I might.” He says nothing more and you shake your head.

“You’re not gonna tell me? Really?”

“I can’ right now, dove. ‘M sorry.”

“No you’re not.” You let out a dry laugh and rub at your tired eyes. You know he’s not going to give you any more information. You’ve grown used to his secrets and mysteries. It’s really no use pushing. “Do you get spooked?” you ask him instead.

Harry sits back and lets out a soft sigh. “Not really. Not anymore, at least. Used to when I was a li’l bit younger.”

“Right.” You sit down beside Harry, close to his side. You hate to admit it but touching him really is comforting when you’re this shook up. His hand falls to your opposite arm and rubs gently at your skin. “You haven’t really told me about when you were younger. Do you have siblings?”

“Have an older sister.” He gives you a tight smile. "She’s a much better witch than me.”

“You always say things like that but I don’t think you’re bad at any of this.”

“Yeh should tell m’mum that.”

Something topples over onto the floor and you jump, hand finding Harry’s in your panic. When you turn your head, you find Nicks prowling around the edges of the pentagram, pawing at the items the two of you haven’t cleaned up yet. Harry chuckles quietly.

“Drink some tea, dove.”

You shake your head in an effort to clear it as you lean forward to grab the mug off of the ground. It’s warm and sweet-smelling as usual. For the first time since he’s begun brewing the tea for you, you sip it without hesitation. Harry kisses your temple.

“Do you not like your mom, then?” you ask, settling your cheek against his shoulder.

“Like her just fine. I just happen to disappoint her. Sucked at Latin because I thought it was borin’. Fucked up a bunch of spells. Tha’s part of the reason I moved across the fuckin’ Atlantic.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper out. You feel dizzy. Maybe it’s just everything that’s happened in the past few hours.

“’S okay. Pretty close to provin’ I’m not entirely useless. Thank yeh for that.”

Your vision suddenly blurs, so quick and so sudden that you have to close your eyes. The mug falls from your hands, crashing to the floor. Harry catches you as your body slumps forward.

“Shh, shh,” he hushes when you try to speak.

Your limbs all but melt as he lays you back on the couch. All of your senses begin to fade against your will, and you don’t even have enough energy to panic.

“‘M sorry, dove,” he mutters into your ear. “I really am. Hope yeh can forgive me.”

And then you’re pulled into unconsciousness.

Part 5: All Hallows’ Eve

[bluerighthand]

Growing Up A Shelby - Chapter 6: 1904, part 1

Summary: The Shelby’s have got a wedding to go to. Jane’s stressed, Arthur’s angry, Tommy can’t find any smart clothes and Pol just wants to get married in peace.

Notes: Hello! I’m not dead - I’ve just been 1) travelling, and 2) hiding in a deep pit of writing despair. Big hugs to the brilliant @weeo who gave me a massive boost of encouragement today <3 Also: just to make my chapter titles even more number-y and confusing, 1904 is split into two parts. This is part 1! Please prod me until I post part 2 - I need prodding 

Words: 4,809

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542805/chapters/44376328

(read Chapter One here)

Warnings: child abuse, blood, small mentions of homophobia

Turning over, Tommy groaned at the light streaming in through the window, throwing an arm sleepily across his eyes. He vaguely wondered why the curtains were open; Arthur never bothered with such things, but the thought drifted to the back of his mind, inevitably replaced by Freddie. Most thoughts were these days. They’d gone riding last night, racing up the hills of the pasture before returning to the river, splashing gleefully and dunking each other under the water to the sounds of complaining neighbours and faint police whistles. Tommy only regretted not being able to stay out later, having to creep home around midnight to be back in time for- oh shit.

Realisation hit, and Tommy’s eyes flew open. He was out of bed in an instant, glancing around the room in a panic. Arthur’s bed was empty. Had they left without him? Why didn’t anybody wake him? Head throbbing from standing up too quickly, Tommy rushed to the door, pulling it open and sagging in relief as voices drifted down the hallway.

Grabbing some socks as he went, Tommy found his siblings gathered by the stairs, all chattering excitedly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked accusingly, taking in Arthur’s smart, albeit moth-eaten suit, and combed hair. John was matching, though his shirt buttons were all done up wrong, and Ada was swishing the skirt of her purple bridesmaids dress. They fell silent as he spoke, his tone jarring the mood. 

“We thought you were already awake” shrugged John, Ada nodding in agreement.

 “Arthur?” said Tommy, his younger siblings taking the chance to escape his accusatory tone and hurrying down the stairs. Arthur hovered behind.

“You’re always telling me you don’t want my help” he said, slightly confused. The expression cleared from his face quickly, and he huffed an irritated sigh. “Just get ready”.

“Arthur-” Tommy started, but fell quiet as his brother ignored him, descending the stairs. Fine.

Tearing back to his room, Tommy ran a hand through his hair. Unlike the others, he hadn’t had the foresight to lay out his suit the night before. Or, more accurately, he’d missed his mother’s lecture about doing so. It became clear rather quickly that his smart clothes had either ceased to exist, or had been stuffed up in some draw to give to John. He went to his brother’s room, pulling open the dresser and rooting around for a suit. He found some grey trousers that looked like they might fit him, and a musty old jacket curled into a ball at the back of the drawer. Sneezing at the smell, Tommy flapped the offending garment about for a moment, trying to bring some life to it, but soon slumped in defeat. He couldn’t imagine the lecture he’d get from Polly if he wore that crumpled old thing to her wedding.

Pulling the trousers on, he peered down, relieved but slightly annoyed that they still fit him. Would he ever grow? Pol had promised him a growth spurt three years ago, and it was yet to arrive in any real force. Heading back into the hall, Tommy felt a sudden pang of sadness as he passed his aunt’s empty room, dark and vacant without the familiar furniture. The boxes had all been packed up in the past few days, shipped off to her and Eddie’s new house on the other side of town. Polly insisted it wouldn’t change a thing, that she’d be round all the time to see them, cook them dinner and read John and Ada a story, but Tommy wasn’t so sure. She was already spending less and less time there, and he saw the looks his new uncle gave her when she insisted on staying late.

Remembering his own lateness, he hurried downstairs in his night shirt and John’s trousers, the jacket trailing behind him. Ada was experimenting with their mother’s lipstick, laughing at the sight of her bright pink messy face in the mirror. Arthur scooped her off the stool she was balancing on, attempting to clean up her efforts as John fiddled with his shirt buttons, trying to align them correctly.

“Arthur, have you wrapped the present?” Jane called from the kitchen.

“John already did it” Arthur shouted back, grimacing at the shoddily wrapped package on the table. Tommy edged past them into the kitchen, avoiding Ada’s reaching pink hands.

Jane was slicing bread at the counter, and despite all the rush Tommy couldn’t stop himself from staring open mouthed at his mother. She was wearing a long navy dress, with little white flowers on the sleeves and her dark hair tied into a braid over her shoulder. The dab of blusher on her cheeks made her look healthier than Tommy had seen her in months, and he broke into a smile.

“Mama?”.

“Yes sweetheart?” she said distractedly, not looking up. He went closer, leaning in for a hug. The day was already so hectic Tommy couldn’t imagine what the actual wedding would be like. He just needed a moment. Jane stopped slicing, dropping the knife with a loud clatter as she looked at Tommy in horror.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” she cried. Tommy faltered, arms hanging awkwardly in front of him as his mother held him at arm’s length.

“I- ”.

“We have to leave in five minutes, what have you been doing all morning?”.

“Arthur didn’t wake me up” he protested, voice small. Arthur’s head appeared around the kitchen door.

“I did”.

“Liar” muttered Tommy. “You wanted me to be late”.

“What the fuck does that mean?”.

“Arthur” said Jane sharply. “Watch your language. Thomas, you’re fourteen now. If John and Ada managed to get dressed and ready on time there’s no excuses for you. You know what an important day it is, I need to be on my feet for hours. I expected you to be more helpful”. Tommy looked at the floor, ashamed. He hadn’t meant to let his mother down, or stay out so late the night before. But with the stupid beautiful summer night and stupid beautiful Freddie, time had run away with him. “What are you still doing here? Upstairs now”.

Tommy shoved past Arthur on his way out of the kitchen, their shoulder’s knocking together painfully. Following Tommy down the hall, Arthur gave him a hard push, Tommy barely catching himself on the bannisters and rounding on his brother.

“Why did you say you woke me up?” he demanded.

“I’m not getting into trouble because you stay out all hours of the night with him”. Tommy’s face became stony, and Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “I knew it. I’ve told you to stay away from him Tommy”. He hadn’t been sure then, not for certain, but Tommy’s expression had confirmed it. Anger ripped through him.

“It’s none of your fucking business what I-”

“That’s a bad word” Ada announced. She was peeking through the bannisters, watching the argument below. “Who was Tommy with?”.

“No one” said Arthur, harsher than he’d intended. Ada raised an eyebrow, a perfect miniature of her aunt, before deciding that John poking at the table with his pocket knife was more exciting than her brothers’ disagreement.

“John! Ada!” Jane called, emerging from the kitchen with the bread all sliced and buttered. “Come on, we’ve got to go-”. She stopped at the sight of her second son, still half-dressed and messy haired. “Tommy we don’t have time for this” she said, voice rising slightly in panic. “We can’t be late. Ada’s the bridesmaid for God’s sake”.

“It’s okay mum” said Arthur, taking the bread. Her hands were clammy and cold, too cold for a summer’s day. She pulled them away quickly.

“I’m going to see if your uncle’s arrived. Arthur, just help your brother will you? Fetch him a jacket or something. Honestly”.

“Go and get dressed” he hissed instead, shoving Tommy towards the stairs.

“But I can’t find any bloody clothes. Can you get me a jacket?”.

“You’re so helpless” said Arthur suddenly, the loud outburst taking both him and Tommy by surprise. “I try and help you with stuff, you know, the big things”. Tommy whipped around, relieved to find the hallway was still deserted. “-And you don’t want to hear it. I try and protect you out there” he gestured, pointing to the window and the city beyond. “And you always find ways to cause trouble. Always in the one place you shouldn’t be. I try and help with you and dad” said Arthur, almost shouting now, “and you continue to pick fights with him. You’ve told me you can handle all of that on your own. But you can’t get your own bloody jacket. And guess who’s in trouble for that, ey? Me”.

Arthur’s voice died away, an uncomfortable silence replacing it. Tommy didn’t speak, just stared. Arthur swallowed, hands twitching at his sides before he stormed through the open front door.

“No sign yet”, their mother was saying.

“Mum, Arthur won’t-” Tommy started.

“Tommy, I don’t want to hear it. Just put something on. I told you I need my strength, I can’t be going up and down the house to look for your clothes”. Another wave of guilt. Tommy fought the urge to cry as he was sent back up the stairs. It took him by surprise slightly; he wasn’t usually the first one in tears, but everyone seemed to be against him that morning. Arthur was angry with him, he’d upset his mother, Pol was moving out. Still, he supposed, it couldn’t get much worse.

 “When are we leaving?” groaned Ada, swinging her legs on the sofa. Jane, who couldn’t sit still, paced in front of the door, checking the ancient cracked clock on the mantelpiece.

“We should have left already” she sighed, trying not to panic. “Uncle Charlie’s going to pick us up in the cart, but God knows where he’s got to. John Shelby don’t even think about it”. John pouted, but snapped his pocket knife back into its holder, another leg of the table remaining unharmed for the time being. “And no, you’re not taking that to the wedding, give it to me”.

“Why’s he late?” said Ada.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon”. She wasn’t sure at all. Though she’d tried so hard to make the day perfect for her sister-in-law, it was all falling apart around her. Her hands were stayed from worrying at her dress by the familiar trundle of her brother’s cart down the lane. At that moment she could have sobbed in relief, and there was a general rise in spirits as the Shelby’s rushed for the door.  

“Where in God’s name have you been?!” Jane asked as Charlie pulled the cart up outside the house.

“I thought it was tomorrow” he huffed, hurrying to lift Ada up onto the back. “And then the invitation was right there on the table-”

“Tomorrow? Who has a wedding on a Monday you-”

“Yes okay, I know, I know” said Charlie, raising his hands in defence. “But I’m here now, and we’ve got plenty of time!”. Jane gave him a deadpan look. “Some time”, he amended sheepishly.

“Come on, quick quick” she called, gripping hold of the wooden posts.

“Careful mum” said Arthur, wincing as she struggled up onto the cart. She collapsed onto the bench gratefully, joints throbbing and knuckles white where she gripped her son’s hand. Charlie paused.

“Are you okay? Is it your hip again? Or your-”.

“It’s fine Charlie, just go. Quickly”.

“Go, go go!” cried John. It was always fun to ride in the cart, especially in the summer, the warm breeze dancing through their hair as the horse cantered down the lane. Jane allowed herself to relax slightly as they rounded the corner, looping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and admiring how grown up and handsome her two boys were looking in their smartest suits. Hang on a second-

“Stop, stop!” she cried. “Where’s Tommy?”. Arthur spun around.

“I thought he was-”

“Turn around!” Jane called, Charlie pulling the cart to a stop.

“Are we going to be late?” said Ada fearfully.

“No” Charlie insisted, craning his neck as if his missing nephew would appear at a different angle.

“He was right behind me” said Arthur, mystified. He must have stayed in the house. Bloody hell.

“Aunt Pol’s going to go mad” said John.

“Yes, that’s not particularly helpful darling” said Jane, hastily moving down to the end of the cart. Too hastily.

“Mum, don’t-” started Arthur, reaching out, but she was already dropping down onto the ground below.

 Panting, Tommy appeared around the corner. His stomach dropped as he saw his mother pushing herself up from the ground, crying out as she took a step. Charlie was there in an instant, grimacing before lifting her as best he could back onto the cart. The children watched mournfully as she cradled her ankle, their perfect day crashing around their ears.

“On you get, son” said Charlie gruffly, patting the wood. Tommy clambered on reluctantly, clipping the side in place but making no move to shuffle closer to the rest of his family. Met with several accusing stares he shifted in his seat, attempting to tug down the sleeves on his ill-fitting jacket. Forced to use the musty old thing found in John’s room, Tommy resigned himself for a day of tutting and probably a smack round the head when Polly saw what state he was in.

“Are you okay mum?” asked Arthur. Jane straightened up as best she could, smiling to cover the rush of nausea.

“I’m fine Artie. Just a little bruise”.

“Do we need to go to the hospital?” asked Ada.

“No” said Jane, before Charlie could have a say in the matter. “We’re going to go to this damn wedding, and we’re going to give your aunt the best day she’s ever had”.

 Through some miracle or another, they made just in time. Polly had chosen a grass clearing in the country for the wedding, near Eddie’s family home. Decorated with bunting hanging between wagons, it made for a beautiful setting in the warm morning light.

With the exception of Ada, the Shelby’s gathered at the front of the crowd, Charlie and Arthur supporting Jane between them. There was a throbbing in her ankle; sharp and insistent, and her knee joints were also protesting at all the movement, but despite this she was determined to see the day through. She couldn’t ruin it for Polly. Leaning on Arthur’s arm, she felt a sudden surge of pride at how strong he was, how much he’d grown in the past few years. He was seventeen now, almost a man. 

“Look at you” she said, managing to straighten his lapels one handed. “So handsome”.

“Mum” Arthur groaned, but was unable to help a smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” whispered Charlie. “You don’t need a doctor?”. The blusher on her cheeks masked how pale she’d become, but Charlie knew his sister well.

“I’m fine” she insisted. “Just…maybe fetch me a chair”. John ran off to complete this task, and Tommy busied himself by poking at the grass with his foot. He knew it was his fault his mother was injured. Everything seemed to be his fault today. But apologising in front of Arthur? He had to speak to his mum alone, she’d understand then, that he hadn’t meant it. Whatever the intent however, the action was still the same.

 Taking her brother’s hand, Polly stepped out of the cart onto the grass below with a smile, arranging her dress around her, heart warming as she saw the painted wagons and wildflowers in the field. Arthur Snr nodded to the driver, who trundled off back down the lane with a coin in his pocket. They had a while, twenty minutes or so, to appreciate the view, waiting for the rest of the guests to arrive. Polly watched the small figures in the valley below, and wondered which was Eddie. Her brother cleared his throat.

“Give us a spin then” he said. Polly was half expecting him to make some comment, some jibe, but so far none had come. She knew he didn’t entirely approve of the marriage - mainly because they hadn’t asked for his permission, but Jane had managed to talk him round. Soften him into acceptance, if not approval. After all, a steady job and a loving family to marry into was more stability than he’d ever had. Polly obliged his request, though couldn’t pretend she wasn’t enjoying herself as she spun around, dress fanning out. It had been their mother’s; high collared and lacy, hugging at the waist and trailing all the way down to her feet. A veil flowed behind her, clipping into her ornate bun and framing her face beautifully. Red lipstick completed the look, and she wore a bracelet of Jane’s around her wrist where the sleeves ended.

“Quite something you’ve grown up to be, ey?” said Arthur. Polly gave him a small smile, looking back to the valley quickly. Her fingers pressed against the palms of her hands, the big-day nerves she’d been supressing almost bubbling over at the sight of all the tables and chairs, people rushing about below them. “I know you think I wasn’t around much to look after you, Pollyanna”. She raised an eyebrow.

“I think?”. Arthur sighed.

“I might not have been at home, but I’ve always tried to do what’s best for you. Starting a business, sending money back-”.

“Arthur, don’t start” said Polly, grimacing. Despite insisting that she didn’t get nervous, a recap of her brother’s failed business ventures would surely push her over the edge.

“Polly- listen” he said, taking her hands. She swallowed, meeting his gaze. “I know I wasn’t around, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you”. Polly didn’t need the words; she wasn’t ten years old anymore wishing her big brother would come home, and couldn’t quite shake the lingering trepidation that Arthur was tricking her in some way. But she appreciated them nonetheless. 

It felt like a goodbye, and Polly beamed as she headed down the hill, dress flowing out behind her as she ran towards her new life.

 A dusky purple had spread over the sky, lanterns and candles lighting up the scene as people danced and weaved through the darkened field. No one had much to spare by way of money, but the tables were laden with an ample amount of food, including more cakes and confectionaries than the Shelby children had ever seen outside of a bakery. The music was lively, fiddles striking up a quick tune and people were soon gathering round to dance. In a quieter corner of the field, Polly plopped down beside her sister-in-law, letting out an exhausted laugh and taking in the night sky.

“Happy?” Jane asked. Her legs weren’t paining her as badly as she feared they would, but she thought it better to rest them. Tomorrow would likely be a different story.

“Happy” Polly confirmed. Jane gestured at her husband, who was currently holding two different bottles and trying to tell a complicated story of his own magnificence at the same time.

“I’m sorry about all the-”

“Stop” said Polly, grinning. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for”.

“But you’ve had a good day haven’t you? Was the dress okay? And your hair? You look so beautiful I can hardly take my eyes off you”. Polly laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Jane wasn’t done though. She worried too much, that was her problem. “And you like the decorations? And the music? What about the food? I was so worried about getting here on time I didn’t have time to think about anything else”.

“It’s all perfect, really” said Polly. “Thank you. For everything”. Jane gave her a fond smile, and Polly hugged her close.

“You better go” said Jane. “Ada’s got a stick and she’s heading for her brothers”.

“Oh God” said Polly, pressing a hasty kiss on Jane’s cheek in goodbye. Thankfully, she managed to catch Ada and wrestle the large branch from her niece before she could inflict any stick related injuries. By the time Eddie grabbed her hand and whisked her away to a quiet spot behind a wagon, she’d gotten three lectures in: one about cigarettes, one about their clothing and one about fighting. Tommy seemed to be the main culprit on all three counts, though his sister was a force to be reckoned with; especially when there were sticks involved.

“Eddie, what-” she cried, as the bright lights and crowd fell out of sight.

“I can’t wait any longer” whispered Eddie, grinning as he held her close. “Let’s just say fuck it all and go now”.

“We can’t just disappear” she laughed back, quieting as his mother passed by their hiding place.

“We can if nobody sees us” he countered, leaning in for a kiss. He had a point, thought Polly, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck. Her husband.

Yeah, she decided. Fuck it all.

 “Stop taking my fucking cigarettes” said Arthur, once their aunt had vanished. Tommy scowled at him.

“It wasn’t yours”. In actual fact, it was Arthur’s; he was the easiest to steal from, but he didn’t need to know that. Deciding he’d rather skulk around the edge of the reception than talk to anyone, Tommy slipped away from his siblings. He caught a glimpse of two figures in the distance, running up the hill, a veil flying behind one. That was that then. Pol was gone. It was hard not to feel morose and sorry for himself, with all the events of the day. Kicking viciously at another poor clump of grass, Tommy continued along the outskirts of the party, until an arm landed heavily around his shoulders, steering him towards the lights and music.

“Tommy!” his father exclaimed, voice loud and slightly slurred as he gripped his shoulder. “Come over here and have a wrestle with your old dad, ey?”. He smelled strongly of alcohol, and Tommy wrinkled his nose.

“Aunt Pol said no fighting”.

“Polly’s not here” Arthur countered, releasing him but stepping in front of Tommy deliberately when he tried to move to the side. “And you haven’t been down to the ring in a while. Why’s that then? Too busy-” he snorted “-picking fuckin’ daisies or whatever it is you do?”.

Avoiding you, Tommy thought, but said nothing. His mother always said his cleverness (or his smart mouth, as Polly called it) would get him killed. More than anything tonight he just wanted to be left alone. Arthur, clearly growing bored with his son’s lack of response, rolled up his sleeves.

“Come on” he goaded. Tommy watched his fists warily. When he was drunk, his father’s aim was usually off, but he hit harder. What few inhibitions he possessed were all washed away with drink, and he didn’t care who saw the bruises. Nobody would say anything.

Arthur lashed out, missing Tommy’s face by a few inches. Tommy took advantage, turning and sprinting towards the crowd, hoping to be swallowed up before his dad lunged again. He smacked into his brother’s chest, stumbling backwards and landing hard on the ground. Arthur Jnr let out a surprised yelp, and held out a hand to Tommy before recognition hit. Half retracting it, he shook his head.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“Arthur, it was an accident, I didn’t mean-” Tommy’s air was cut off as his father grabbed the back of his collar, wrenching him to his feet.

“You’re a fucking disgrace, you know that?”. Tommy grabbed at his throat, fingers tearing at the fabric choking him. “No son of mine runs away from a fight”. Tommy gritted his teeth. He was one to talk about running away. How many times had he abandoned them? A well placed kick to his father’s shin sent Tommy crashing to the ground again, spitting out a blade of grass as he scrambled backwards, Arthur towering over him.

“Get up. Fight like a man”.

People were stopping to watch now. The dancers were faltering and the violinist missed a few notes, drawing attention to the disturbance. Tommy caught sight of his mother just as his father’s boot came down on his nose, the crunch loud and sickening.

“Pathetic” said Arthur, spitting into Tommy’s hair before turning away. Tommy clutched at his nose, eyes squeezing shut as the shouting started. He could feel the crowd ebbing and flowing around him, but when Tommy opened his eyes again he found the masses had followed his parents a short distance away, screaming at each other on the hillside with Uncle Charlie between them.

One of the tables had been knocked over, old family crockery scattered across the grass. He was glad Polly wasn’t here to see it. Reaching up, Tommy almost gagged in revulsion as his fingers slid through his father’s spit, uselessly attempting to wipe it away. He swivelled to where his older brother had been, but Arthur was gone, leaving Tommy small and alone on the hillside. Hunching over, his blood dripped steadily onto the grass. Pathetic. There was a rustle beside him, and his little brother regarded him warily.

“Tommy?”.

“It’s late John” said Tommy, voice muffled. “You should be at home”.

“Nuh uh. Dad said I could stay”. He smiled proudly, but it faded as he remembered his question.

“Tommy, why didn’t you try?”.

“I did try” said Tommy, pushing himself off the ground and wiping his face, starting off down the slope.

“No you never” cried John, running after him. “Arthur says you do it on purpose”. Tommy stopped.

“Do what on purpose?”.

“Make dad angry. Then he hits you and then-” John frowned, trying to remember. “Then it makes dad look bad, ‘specially when you don’t try. But he’s not bad, not really. That’s what Arthur says”. Tommy pressed a hand to his face again, though it had less to do with stemming the blood and everything to do with the stinging in his eyes.

“Go home, John” he muttered, breaking into a run. Soon the shouting had faded away, but Tommy didn’t want to stop. He kept running, right across the field, and over the fence they’d been told not to go beyond. Instead of grass, Tommy trampled over growing vegetables heart racing when a light flicked on in the farmhouse. Vaulting over the next fence, his shoe caught on a nail. Ripping, the material fell away, lost somewhere to the lettuces below.

Tommy came to a clumsy stop, but a door had creaked open and the farmer was really coming now, so he left it. It was ancient anyway. Wouldn’t last till the winter. He slowed to a walk two fields over, a dark thicket of trees separating him from the dirt track that led to the city. It was hardly a forest, but Tommy supposed he could still get lost in there. It would be nice, that. Disappearing.

Leaning heavily against a trunk, Tommy slid down the rough bark until his knees hit the ground. The tears came easily, after such a long time keeping them at bay. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed at the base of the tree, head in his hands and shoulders wracked with sobs as the city lights flickered off in the distance.

Pathetic.

Something was poking into Tommy’s side, and he eventually shifted, pulling some folded paper from his inside jacket pocket. Opening the crumpled sheet, he found it to be some sort of shipping form. It was hard to read in the dark, but he squinted, making out an address at the bottom. Some place in Camden.

He almost tossed it aside then, let the chilly night breeze carry the meaningless paper across the hillside, but his fingers brushed over something. A hard indent of some letters, pressed through from the other side. Turning the paper over, a pencil scrawl stared back at him.

A. S.

Reaching into his trouser pocket, Tommy pulled out a penny. It wasn’t real of course, Arthur had made some for him a few years ago, out of thin scraps of wood he’d attempted to carve into circles. To pretend. Tommy still liked to fiddle with them, flick them into the air. He’d picked it up that morning, just out of habit, but now it would be useful.

It wasn’t weighted like a proper coin, but it still landed one side or the other. Heads or tails. Should he or shouldn’t he. Tommy’s gaze slid back to the address at the bottom of the page.

He balanced the coin on his thumb, heart thudding in his chest. Could he really do this?

Tommy took a deep breath, before flipping it high into the air.

Thank you for reading! I hope this come-back from the writing despair wasn't too terrible, and that you enjoyed! x

[tinkdw]

14x03 watching notes and mini meta

My feelings are summed up with this gif x:

So much good stuff, where to start?! Longer / specific meta’s to a topic are linked and underlined. Okay, let’s dive in :)

- Sam’s beard. This was too good I had to do a quick visual meta on it right after I watched it. Dean really loves scruff on men, has flirted with guys with scruff, literally told Cas he liked his peach fuzz, but on Sam? HELL NO thats my brother! Brilliant, funny, sibling jibing, cute and bi!Dean stuff Bobo, kudos.

- Dean’s repressing his memories and pretending he doesn’t remember just like Hell, a callback to season 4. While he’s got a different Supernatural scar (Michael wound v Cas’ handprint which is another Supernatural forced bond v chosen bond with Cas theme just as Amara was) and all the Dean / Michael parallels going on since season 4/5 pointed it out and Dean in the end bravely went against his duty and destiny to be true to himself instead of the Michael mirror he was supposed to be while now he’s being told/asked again “are you like Michael or are you your own person?” Next up: PROVE IT. Excellent.

- The perfunctory Jack hug v the Cas eye love making wow, I mean I speculated that we wouldn’t get a hug because thematically it made sense not to with the holding back and empty space theme between them so having a Jack hug but not a Cas one was so jarring and supposed to be. It was done so well to show how much deeper the feelings are between Dean and Cas without a hug. Wowzers. Dean is looking at Cas then Jack launches in to hug him which he accepts but then just continues to just keep staring at Cas. Those two can convey more with their eyes than most can do with their whole bodies, it was so intimate and so much while at the same time showing the whole empty space holding back thing we yelled about all of last year after the mirror opposite of Cas being restored to Dean, on top of the romantic music when the scene starts but crescendos like crazy as soon as Cas enters and ends when Dean walks out. Pfffft.

Kaia, Cas and Jack mirrors, Dean’s metaphorical “am I like Michael?” arc and all the rest under the cut.

- Kaia! My anon from last week was right kudos! I’ll admit to having been totally wrong about that link with the scar, this is cool! The symbolism of Michael, epitome of the metaphor of toxic masculinity and Dean’s hang ups being terrified of little queer girl Kaia is just... wowzers. So much symbolism there, meanwhile Dean is literally stuck in the middle being harmed both physically and emotionally by this tug of war. All we need is for Kaia to become textually good, be emancipated, to help Dean defeat Michael (come on, the symbolism of the two of them doing it together? With help from Dean’s family Cas, Sam and even maybe Jack?!) and we’re good to go on a Dean Sublimation Winchester to Dean Emancipation Winchester textual storyline. 

*grabby hands*

- Dean’s comment of “I didn’t mean to be a dick” while Jack’s all “everything is my responsibility” which is Dean’s MO makes me FEEL THINGS. 

- Dean is throwing himself into the case to avoid his feelings and left Cas behind with ease. IMO, totally metaphorical as well as useful for the plot. Leaving his feelings and things that make him emotional behind? Better leave Cas there then, can’t have Cas and all the feelings that go with him next to him just being Cas when he’s precisely trying to bury his feelings, running away from them. Sam then acknowledging that this is “kinda your thing” is great. Yes Sam.

- Note the different music between Cas and Dean and Sam and Dean’s “moments” >...>

- Jody loving Sams beard lol, I just... love this. Whatever meta wise, it’s gold :p

- SAM AND SERIAL KILLERS!!! Just before we get Dean and horror movies! Showing their different interests! Yasssssss :D :D :D :D :D THIS IS MY ENDING THE TOXIC CODEPENDENCY LETTING THEM BE THEIR OWN PEOPLE JAM!

- Jack was going to leave and now isn’t because he wants to help someone, he is truly a Winchester.

- IT’S MARKED GROSS STUFF. All the headcanons of Dean and Cas doing domestic shit around the bunker. Throw in Sam on occasion too where Sam and Cas both eye roll at Dean’s childish antics with indulgent smiles and you got me one happy headcanoning fangirl. Thanks Bobo :)

- One of my dads! *internal screaming*

- “My mum probably hates me cos I ran away” Sam mirror?! Jack mirror obviously, but hey everyone’s a TFW mirror. Everyone’s a mirror of someone who’s a mirror of someone these days. It’s hard to keep up.

- Dean’s barrelling ahead but Sam has actually done intel, he is the rightful leader here. Dean is an emotional liability. This is gonna rear it’s head.

- Ok but is the necklace clearly not cursed...

- “First love strikes quick and to lose it like that” - I mean!! 

A. Great that the GA get the textualisation that it was romantic that we’ve known since the ep aired, but great that it’s clearly canon now not just subtext. Though showing that clearly the subtext they did use (which was ALL DeanCas parallels) was supposed to show a romance story there >....>

B. Sam totally gets losing your first love to a Supernatural being and being set on revenge, throwing yourself into hunting to mask the pain. Jess rearing her head so late in the game is heartbreaking.

C. Insert matching gifs of Kaias death and Cas’s death too (which we paralleled to Sam x Jess and John x Mary at the time). Pffft. Then straight on to taking about Dean. More pffffft.

- Kaia was trying to stab Claire when they first met. Ok we get you want to write Destiel but openly queer Bobo, I love it, keep going.

- Jack losing someone and blaming himself while Cas looks like he is too. Jack is lamenting his powers... really to be a good Cas mirror he needs to find the solution here thanks to his mind and his human, powerless side to show this is just as powerful as having ‘powers’.- Oh look! He does ;) That’s not significant at all. Side eyes.- Cas is so proud :p

- Dean definitely seemed to have a Michael callback moment there. Excellent, I’ll be keeping a tabs in case it continues as per my spec that he will display Michael-esque behaviour over the season for plot and metaphorical reasons.

- Dean “I’m gonna do whatever it takes to defeat Michael” and going Michael on Kaia is an exact mirror of Nick murdering the neighbour in a fit of rage over “I’m gonna so whatever it takes to get revenge for my family”.

- Kaia / Bobo points it out that he’s like Michael okay lol hammer to the face but good that makes it simple :p

- Scared - “you always have been”. Flashback to Dean going nuts at Kaia and calling it what it is. Fear. No brainwashing, just Dean. As I said at the time >...> Of course it was all Dean and this is him too, it’s about how scared he is to be alone, to lose the people he loves, to feel unloved, unwanted, unuseful and all his hangups. This whole thing has been a giant neon sign pointing at Dean’s inner demons since day 1 and Bobo is clarifying for us just as Dabb clarified the Jack-Cas stuff earlier because of course it only makes sense to their character arc if they’re making their own decisions.

- God I love them.

- I’m already expecting stans to be mad that Kaia saved the 3 best hunters. *rolls eyes and moves* on ITS METAPHORICALLY SYMBOLIC and IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT.

- Jody feels like a John callback here about raising hunters and feeling like you’ve already lost before youve started whilst at the same time clearly is Bobo lamenting the loss of Wayward Sisters. Man... clutches heart strings.

- Cas “you made me so proud”. He’s so sweet and kind and argh. Proving that Jack is both hunter and angel. “Let’s go on a hunting trip” and Cas making soup?! End me! where’s the fan art?!!!!!

- Oh dear. Jack... Chekhov’s bloody cough.

- Dean actually opened up within one episode?! Wow. Character growth! He admits he was repressing and it was stupid. He admits he does remember some stuff as a clear mirror opposite to how long it took him to open up in season 4. He felt like he was drowning. Wow the depression metaphor. Now he feels responsible again. Sigh... a whole season of Dean pain. Well, we were prepared, let’s just tighten that seat belt.

- ALL THE HUGS FOR BOBO!!!

[reject-princess97]

Spencer Reid 2 (Part 1)

I awoke to a feeling of soft hands stroking from my cheek down my arm to my hand.

"Y/N baby, you gotta get up, we have work soon." Spencer whispered in my ear. I smiled up at him softly as I opened my eyes to see him smiling down at me.

"Morning wife." He smiled looked down at me.

"Morning husband." I grinned as I stretched my arms to the side of me.

"I've left you a towel and fresh underwear in the bathroom for after your shower. Your new cardigan, the one you bought in Vegas this weekend, is hung on the back of the door."  Spencer informed me as he handed me a glass of water.

"You're really getting off to a great start in our marriage huh?" I chuckled as I climbed out of bed ad drank the water.

"Well, we did only get married on Saturday. We've only been married 36 hours and I would hate for you to change your mind so soon after marrying me." He joked as he pulled out a clean sweater vest and tie.

"I would never leave you Dr Reid, my little heart couldn't take it." I played along as I walked over and pecked his cheek before walking to the bathroom to grab my shower.

My shower was peaceful, my thoughts consisted mostly of how on Thursday, I was just plain old Y/F/N Y/L/N, Spencer was my loving boyfriend who I worked with in the FBI. On Friday he proposed in Vegas, on a trip to see is mother. Then on Saturday, I we stood at an alter in a small 24 hour chapel in Vegas, in front of a wedding officiant, a few other couples waiting to marry and Spencer's mother, who was the reason we married so soon.

After my shower I dried my hair, pulled it into a high pony tail, I did my make up which looked as natural as possible except a little colour to on my lips, a bright red. I then changed into a pair of black skinny jeans, a white shirt and a black skinny tie. I then pulled on my red cardigan I had Spencer had set out for me. I slipped on my black converse and walked to the living room where I found Spencer making coffee.

"Spencer?" I called over to him as I grabbed my bag and slipped a couple files inside.

"Yes Wife." He grinned back over to me.

"Should I wear my glasses or contacts today?" I asked as I attached my gun to my belt and put my badge in my back pocket.

Spencer turned and walked over, passing me my coffee and kissing my head.

"Honestly babe, wear whatever you feel comfortable in, but I do love it when you wear your glasses." U chuckled as he grabbed his own bag.

"Glasses it is then." I smiled as I slid my glasses up my face and smiled at my grinning husband who watched. "Now, let's go." I ordered. I grabbed my bad and slung it over my shoulder and picked up my book.

"Come my little book worm." he joked as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door.

The drive to work was spent how it usually was, my reading my book out loud to Spencer who mouthed along with what I was saying. I had messed up a few times and this worried Spencer a little as I was usually an excellent reader. He placed his hand over my knee and I stopped.

"Are you OK?" he asked, taking his eyes off the road briefly to look at me.

"I'm fine Spence, just a little worried about how they team will react to our...weekend activities." I smiled at him as I placed the book on my lap.

"The team will be happy for us...well except maybe Garcia." He chuckled.

"Oh, yeah, she's gonna kill us." I predicted, my face serious except for the hint of a smile.

"Oh, yeah of course." He agreed as he pulled into the parking lot of our building and shutting off the car. "Listen, 38 hours of marriage, we had a good run, I love you and if there really is an after life, I'll see you around." He smirked.

"you joke about it know, but when she goes all psycho killer on us, I blame you." I told him as he turned to face me. He only chuckled as he lint over, kissed my lips and then climbed out of the car.

"OK, well, Dr Reid, are you ready to introduce the team to your wife?" I asked him as I walked around the car to meet him.

"Yes Mrs Reid, I am." He smiled, taking my hand and leading me into the elevator which will take us to the right floor.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, our wedding was so spare of the moment that we hadn't told our team, who are our very close friends and I was a little nervous about telling them, because what if they didn't understand and got upset. As we got closer my nerves got worse and Spencer knew it too.

"Hey, listen, if they get upset and angry then hey, who cares, as long as we're both happy." He smiled, tightening his grip on my hands a little before bringing our hands to his lips, placing a soft kiss. "We just go in there and act as if nothing is different, if and when somebody notices we'll explain." He offered and I nodded smiling up at him.

"You're so smart, who would have thought I'd marry someone so smart." I joked as we exited the elevator on to our floor.

"I did, now I have to go grab some more coffee, you want?" He asked as he held the door to the bull pen open.#

"No thank you, but some water would be great." I smiled, he nodded and made his way to the break room while I took his and my bag to our desks.

Once at my desk, I switched my computer on, took off my badge and gun and placed them in my top desk draw, then I pulled out a framed photo of the team and I, a small plush unicorn I had gotten from Henry on my last birthday and my very fuzzy purple pen, given to me by Penelope. I placed them all on my desk. I closed the top draw and pulled open the bottom draw and pulled out three jars, each filled with a different candy and my case files from a previous case i needed to finish.

"You know, that morning routine of yours is getting longer and longer." I girlish voice spoke, making me jump a little. I looked up to see Penelope Garcia, my quirky BFF.

"Penny G, my ever amazing queen of quirky, how was your weekend?" I asked as I finished placing my last few items out on my desk.

I listened as she went into a detailed account of her latest date, while I sorted my desk. I reached over and put my purple pen in the correct pen pot, the one closest to Penny. That was when she stopped mid sentence and gasped. I looked up to see what was wrong but her eyes were fixed on my hand in front of her, still holding the pen.

"Penny?" I asked as she grabbed my hand, making me drop my pen and pulled it closer to her face.

"What's this?" I asked as she pointed at my hand that held my beautiful silver diamond ring and a simple silver wedding band.

"A ring." I squeaked out.

"There's two rings on this finger." She pointed out and I nodded, suddenly shy

"I know."

"So that means...." She began but I interrupted her and nodded. "You got married?"

"Yeah"

"When?" She asked finally allowing my hand back.

"On Saturday, Spencer proposed and we figured why wait, we went to a chapel with his mum and we go married." I told her, my eyes fixed on her face, trying to gauge her reaction. To my surprise she let out a squeal and pulled me in to a hug.

"I can not believe this!" She squealed loudly.

"What can't we believe this morning baby girl?" The voice of Derek Morgan interrupted Penelope's squealing. He placed his things on his desk and wondered over.

"Well take a look at Y/N and see if you notice anything." She smiled pointing at me.

Morgan nodded and quickly turned his attention on me for what seemed like a while before he shrugged.

"I don't see anything different." He stated.

"What's going on?" I heard JJ ask as she appeared next to Penny.

"Something's up with Y/N and I have to figure out whats it is but I don't see anything different." Morgan explained a little stressed out with the situation. I looked over at JJ and smiled, making a point to straighten my tie with my left hand, JJ smiled and she too let out an excited squeal.

"No way!" She screeched.

"What way?" Morgan asked clearly confused.

"When?" JJ asked ignoring Morgan who continued watching.

"Saturday, but he asked me on Friday night at dinner with his mum." I grinned .

"Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on!" Morgan yelled clearly frustrated, as Spencer walked up behind me and placed a bottle of water on my desk and placed his hand on my shoulder.

I grabbed his hand with my left, making it very clear as I hinted to Morgan who's eyes widened as he FINALLY caught sight of the silver rings that sat on Spencer and I's hands.

"You guys got married?" He blurted out making everyone laugh.

"Woah, nothing gets passed you huh Morgan?" I teased as I shook my head.

"So, this happened this weekend?" He asked and I nodded, "So you guys just decided to get married?"

"Not exactly, Spencer Proposed on Friday at dinner and on Saturday we started talking and Spence said the wedding would have to be soon because he wanted his mum there and with her getting sicker we figured why wait..." I explained and Spencer picked up where I left off.

"We talked it over and decided we'd get married in Vegas. so we signed mum out of the hospital for a few hours and we drove to a small chapel and we said 'I do', now I get to spend my life with this amazing woman." Spencer smiled as he kissed the top of my head. "After we took mum out for dinner and the next morning we flew home." He finished.

"I'm really happy for you both, honestly, I am, I just wish we could have been there." JJ smiled as she hugged Spencer and I.

"Well, that's good because you can." Spencer grinned at out team who just looked at him like he was crazy.

"How, did you finally invent a time machine so we can all go back and pretty boy?" Morgan joked.

"No, we just figured, I still want the whole big white wedding with friends and family, so we married in Vegas with Spencer's mum and we're gonna do it all properly with all of you guys because who else would we want to celebrate this huge mile stone with." I told them and they all let out a cheer.

"And you want me to plan it...I'm on it!" PG interrupted making is all laugh.

"We wasn't gonna ask you that, but if you want to plan our wedding, you do you Penny G." I chuckled.

"Yassssss!" Penny cheered. Rossi and Hotch came wondering over, a little confused.

"So what's got Garcia all happy this morning?" Rossi asked as they reached us.

"Well, Y/N and Spence got married this weekend." JJ answered. Rossi let out a low chuckled and smiled over at Reid and I.

"Really?"

"Yeah, we sorta got married in Vegas." I smiled.

"Well congratulations my dear." Rossi grinned as he pulled me into a hug.

"Thanks Rossi."

"But, there going to do the whole 'big white wedding' with us and get this, I get to plan it." Garcia clapped happily as she kissed both Reid and I's cheek before she ran off.

"Well, that sound's great." Hotch added. “and congratulations you two." He smiled. "Now, everyone, get to work." He chuckled before walking off, Rossi following behind him.