#For context the entire town knows me as Jules

[hiddenbysuccubi]

Seamus (out of the blue): Right, Jules? Me: .... right? Seamus: I'm gonna start calling you Jules. Can I call you Jules? Me: ... yes you can call me Jules.

[xxblackballoonxx]

Electric: Chapter 7

Modern John Shelby AU

This fic is being posted simultaneously on FanFiction.net and Ao3. Classy smut warning beginning with Chapter 5.

Chapter 6 J&Gem Chats 6 J&Gem Chats 7 Chapter 8

Electric

Chapter 7: Minor Chords

Gemma stood outside Julia’s front door, takeaway bag in hand. John had gone home early afternoon, after spending the morning together. Mostly in bed. Gemma could still feel the imprint of his hands on her skin, his lips on hers. The way his eyes burned into her, looking down, the feel of his weight above.  

“Gemma! Come in.” Julia exclaimed as she opened the door and broke Gemma out of her haze.

She followed Julia into the lounge, placing the takeaway bag on the table. Julia took her jacket and then looked at her expectantly.

“So what was the rush, everything alright?” Julia asked worriedly.

Ever since Gemma had moved to Birmingham, they’d been meeting up every other week or so for drinks or dinner, and they had another dinner on the books in just a few days. Gemma had called Julia a few hours earlier, asking to come over.

“I have something to tell you, nothing bad, promise. I just need to tell someone who would actually get it.” Gemma replied.

“What’s going on?” Julia asked as she unpacked the takeaway containers.

“You know how last week, I went to see Coventry? I met someone at the show.” 

“That’s great! Tell me about him.” Julia said, digging into her dinner.

“That’s the thing … Jules, it’s John Shelby.” Gemma said slowly, watching for the reaction she knew was to come.

Julia dropped the fork into the container and set it down, a shocked look on her face.

“John. Shelby. As in, John Shelby of the Peaky fucking Blinders?!” Julia shrieked making Gemma laugh.

“Yes, the one and only. Turns out, he owns The Garrison, and happened to be bartending that night.” 

“Holy fuck. My sister would freak if she heard this, she loved them back in the day. Tell me everything.” Julia said excitedly. 

Gemma filled her in on what happened since, leaving out the finer details of the tragedy the family had suffered. She couldn’t believe it had only been a little over a week since she’d met John, it seemed like so much longer.

“You’re here, what, 3 months? And you’re dating John Shelby. I’ve lived here my entire life and I can’t even find one decent guy. You have to tell me how he is in bed.” 

“Jules!” Gemma replied in mock horror.

“Oh come on, the man is gorgeous. He just spent two nights at your place. Please tell me the sex is incredible, because I need to live vicariously through you.” Julia replied, hands on her hips, expecting a response.

“Honestly? Best ever. I have never liked someone this much, and never this fast. It feels crazy but not?” 

Julia shrieked again and Gemma couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s excitement. It was nice to have someone to talk to who actually understood what dating John Shelby meant. She had told a couple of friends back home in the US, but they didn’t know the context.

“The other thing is … I want to hear their records. I asked John and he was ok with me listening to them, since I know everything that happened now. Figured we could pull up the archive files at the label?” Gemma asked.

“I can do better than that, girlie. I’ve got the original CDs, hold on.” Julia replied.

After a few minutes of sifting through a near bursting cabinet of CDs and records, Julia pulled out two cases and handed them to Gemma. She flipped the first one over to see the back cover artwork, and found herself looking at a young John with Tommy and Arthur.  

“He’s so cute in this, and has only gotten better looking with time.” Gemma said dreamily.

Julia smiled and put the first album in her CD player as the two sat back and listened.

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

John sat in the back booth of The Yard with Finn and Arthur, for their standing Sunday dinner.  Any Shelby in town on Sundays was welcome to attend, but these days it was usually just the three of them and Uncle Charlie.

“So where is the lovely Gemma tonight?” Arthur asked as they all sipped from their pints.

“She’s having dinner with a friend. To ah, listen to the Blinders records, actually.” John responded.

“You’ve told her then.” Arthur responded, brow raised.

“Yesterday, yeah. I know it seems really early, but I haven’t felt like this since … “John trailed off.

“Well, I really like her.” Finn commented, trying to steer the conversation away from John’s grief.

“Me too. You tell Tommy?” Arthur replied.

“Not yet … Ada knows 'cause she figured something was up. I need a little more time before I tell Tommy. I don’t want to wreck this if he starts meddling.” John said.

“You know it will be worse if he finds out on his own, you should tell him soon.”  Uncle Charlie added in as he took a seat at the edge of the booth.

“I know. I want things to be a little more established between me and Gemma. Trying to ease her into the Shelby family.” John said, laughing a bit.

“Invite her for dinner tomorrow, John.” Finn suggested.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I know you’d love that and I would, too. I’ll be sure to find a reason to go out so you two can be alone.” Finn joked as John’s face went red.

John pulled out his phone and messaged Gemma.

Gemma grinned as she messaged with John, while the final track on the first album finished.

“I can’t believe how good they are.” Gemma said as Julia got up to switch over to the second Peaky Blinders album.

“I know, it was shocking enough when they went on hiatus, but for it be 10 years now? Crazy. And such a tragedy, what happened in that accident. My sister was devastated about the band breaking up, and she knew both Greta and Martha a bit from going to shows. The news hit hard here.” 

Julia looked over at Gemma’s phone, catching a glimpse of the conversation.

“Well look at that. Not only do you have John Shelby on his knees, you’ve got Finn Shelby right behind him.”

“Jules! Finn’s barely 18! He’s a sweet kid, and a great musician from what I saw, but no! No no.” Gemma said while laughing.

“Well, you’ll have to report back to me about this double Shelby dinner. I need details. All of them.”

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

The following evening, Gemma met John outside her building. He kissed her and then slung her overnight bag over his shoulder before taking her hand.

“How are you, love?” He asked as they headed in the direction of the Shelby house.

“Best part of my day so far. How was your day?” Gemma said smiling.

“Eh, the usual Monday at The Garrison, a bunch of old men and no pretty girls.” John replied, winking at her.

“So I’m just here for my looks? I see how it is.” Gemma joked and knocked his hip with hers.

“Oh you’re here for it all, darlin’. ” John responded confidently and it made her feel warm inside.

“You’re very old school, J, and I’m into it. Carrying my bag, walking on the outer part of the sidewalk, picking me up. It’s cute. And hot. Not many men like you today, Mr. Shelby.” Gemma commented and watched John smile in response.

“Well thank you, Ms. O’Neill. All in a day’s work, so you’ll sleep with me later.” He said raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Gemma burst out laughing and John could feel his heart healing just at the sound of her happiness. 

It was a short 15 minute walk from Gemma’s flat to the Shelby house. John opened the door for her, guiding her inside with his hand at her lower back.

“Finn? Haven’t set anything on fire, right?” John shouted.

Finn came out from the kitchen with an annoyed look on his face.

“I will have you know, Gemma, that I’m a really good cook and I haven’t set the stove on fire in at least 5 years.” Finn replied smugly.

“Well that’s good to hear, Finn. What are you two cooking anyway?” Gemma said as John led her into the kitchen.

Finn picked up a cookbook that was laying on the counter and showed her the open page.

“This looks really good, and really involved. How’d you two get so good at cooking?” 

“We started cooking a lot when I was younger, when it was just me and John mostly. We’d pick out a couple of recipes a week to make. We both ended up really enjoying it.” Finn responded.

Gemma looked up at John, who put a hand on his brother’s head and rubbed it affectionately.  She could see a glint of sadness in his eyes, but Finn’s grin back at John was so profoundly lovable. It was obvious the two were very close.

John was slumped on the couch one Tuesday afternoon. He’d done everything he could to avoid drinking that day, but wasn’t good for much else. He heard the front door open and Finn came running into the room, launching himself on top of John.

“Hey, mate. How was school?” John asked as he hugged Finn before the younger boy sat up next to him.

“It was boring. Mrs. Changretta gave us too much homework and I have to read a whole book this week!” Finn pouted.

“A whole book? You better start on that tonight little buddy.”

“I’m hungry, John. What are we having for dinner?”

John groaned internally. He had meant to do a food shop that day but it had slipped his mind somewhere between eating breakfast and the hours spent on the sofa.  

“How about some takeaway? And I’ll go to the store tomorrow?” 

“I’m tired of takeaway. Can’t you cook something?”

John pulled himself up into a sitting position and put an arm around Finn, who leaned into him.

“How about we get a takeaway tonight, and then after supper we pull out some of Mum’s cookbooks and pick out something to make? I’ll get all the ingredients tomorrow and we’ll make it together, promise.”

Finn nodded and reached over to hug John. It pained him so much sometimes, to see his little brother without a mother.  He knew he was doing far better for Finn than their father, but he was no substitute for their mother.

“John?” Finn asked in a small voice.

“Yeah, mate?” 

“Are you sad because you miss Martha and the baby?”

“Yeah.” John said after a moment, trying to compose himself. 

“I miss her too. And Ada and Tommy and Arthur.” Finn replied and hugged John tighter.

“I know, bud. But we’ll see Ada, Tommy, and Arthur this weekend, yeah?”

With Ada at university, Tommy lost in his own grief, and Arthur drinking away survivor’s guilt, John had somehow become the most stable presence in Finn’s life. And Finn would realize as he got older just how much he had helped John through the worst time in his life.

John worked on the finishing touches of the meal while he sent Finn and Gemma to set the table in the other room. Gemma set down plates at each place setting, while Finn followed her with silverware.

“I know it’s early days, but you make John really happy. He said he’s told you everything?” Finn said quietly, smiling at Gemma.

“He did. He makes me happy, too. I’ve never felt like this.” Gemma commented back, keeping her voice low.

“Ask him to play for you. He needs it. He still has a small studio upstairs.” Finn responded.

Gemma nodded and looked up to see John carrying in a serving platter.

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

Shortly after dinner, Finn carried the plates into the kitchen and announced he was going out with some friends. John and Gemma said goodbye, both smiling at how obvious Finn was being, and how endearing it was.

“We can clean up later. Why don’t I give you a tour?” John said, taking Gemma’s hand.

He showed her around the first two floors of the house, and then led her up to the third floor.

“Ada’s redone most of the house by now, there’s just one room and a bathroom up here to do up. This is my room over here.”

John opened the door to his bedroom and led Gemma inside. It suited him perfectly, muted blues and mid tone wood, a window overlooking the street below, a small ensuite bathroom. John walked towards the bed and sat down, looking up at Gemma. His hands ran up to her hips and she leaned down to kiss him.

John lay back and pulled Gemma on top of him, wrapping his hand in her hair as the kiss deepened. She kissed his cheek and then moved her lips to his neck, working her way down to the skin showing through his unbuttoned collar.

“There’s something I want you to know.” He whispered.

“What’s that, babe?” She responded as she worked her way back to the spot behind his ear, that she already knew drove him crazy.

“No other girl has been in this bed or this room in ten years.” He admitted, watching as she looked up in surprise.

“I just … never wanted to bring someone here who wasn’t the one. You know?” He continued, slipping his hand under her shirt, needing to touch her.

“I understand, J.” Gemma replied softly, holding his face gently.

He closed his eyes and felt her kiss him again, her hair swinging down around his face, her fingers against his neck. And he was glad that she would be the first to sleep in his bed in a very long time.

“Hey, John?”

“Yeah?” He said, opening his eyes.

“Would you play for me?”

He thought for a moment, as she waited patiently, sitting up with her legs still straddling his. It had also been a long time since a girl he felt something for had asked him that.  

“Sure. Come with me.”

John led Gemma back down to the second floor, to the one door they hadn’t gone into. Inside was a small studio, immaculate, with several guitars and a keyboard lining one wall, posters of the Peaky Blinders on another.  He motioned for her to sit on the small corner sofa, and then pulled a guitar out from the rack nearby.

John sat on a stool in front of her, tuning the guitar a bit, and started to play. Gemma was mesmerized, watching his forearm as he strummed, his fingers moving across the frets. It was a haunting melody, mostly minor chords, and she could feel everything that he was trying to express.  

John looked up at Gemma watching him, and it gave him the confidence to do something he hadn’t done in front of anyone else in years. Sing. He closed his eyes for the rest of the song, focusing on the words and melody. 

“John Shelby. You didn’t tell me you could sing like THAT.” Gemma said, shocked. She’d heard his voice in backing vocals on the records, but this was a very pleasant surprise.

He shrugged with a small smile on his face, and went into another song, feeling inspired.

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

“I didn’t think you could get any hotter, but listening to you sing and watching you play, I wanted to jump you right there.” Gemma murmured into his ear as they made out, half dressed on his bed.

“And to think, all I did was serve you a Coke and you were hooked.” He responded, smirking against her collarbone as she laughed.

John unhooked her bra and rolled over so that she was beneath him. He worked his way slowly down to her underwear, and dragged them down her legs before removing his own boxers. He kissed up her thigh, pushing her legs open further, as she gripped his hair.  

He slid his tongue into her wet center, and sucked gently. Her fingers tightened against his scalp, and after a minute she pulled him up. He had noticed this their first night together. Coming back to that later, he thought to himself, and worked his way back up to her breasts before sliding into her.

John pushed himself in completely and gripped Gemma’s hand beside her head. Gemma sighed his name into his neck, she didn’t think she’d ever get over how incredible it felt to stretch around him. He moved slowly, drawing out each stroke as much as possible, running his lips across Gemma’s skin. She dug her nails into his shoulders as he built up the pleasure she was feeling. 

Gemma wrapped her legs around his back, and he slid in even deeper, earning a sharp inhale as John moaned loudly. He could feel her breath pattern change and the sounds she was making were going to send him over the edge.

“Come with me, love.” He said in a low voice in her ear.

He moved faster and harder as Gemma held the back of his neck tightly, looking into his eyes. Her head rolled back and her back arched as she felt her orgasm rip through her. John couldn’t take his eyes off her as he released into her, saying her name with every pulse.

Later, as she slept curled into him in one his t-shirts, he knew he’d made the right choice in never inviting random girls home. He only ever wanted Gemma in his bed now.

[that-scouse-wizard]

Sightseeing Part Two

`A/N: Welcome to part two of Sightseeing, hope you guys enjoy my interpretation of Liverpool’s wizarding community. All I’ll say for the moment... Scouse Elves.

Also, just a couple of Face Claims for some OCs who are going to appear in this:

Thomas Tremblay Thornwood III A.K.A Old Tom: Mark Addy (also voice claim).

Marcus Jacques: Daniel John-Jules. Voice Claim: Levi Roots.

MC friends: Judith Harris @judediangelo75

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

Judith let out a startled yelp that turned to shrieks as she and David dropped onto an almost-vertical slope, sliding down it and beginning to quickly pick up speed. It was made of a smooth, black marble laced with white lines, bright lights intermittently illuminating the passage. 

Judith however couldn’t have given less of a damn about how it looked in that moment. There was nothing to hold onto except David’s hand, tightening her grip with what felt like near bone-crushing strength. Her friend was the only familiar thing on the slide and she wasn’t about to let him go. 

Although in contrast to her, David was having the time of his life, laughing like a madman. All Judith could do was pause her screaming briefly as she gave him an incredulous look, at least he wasn’t worried. The slope was rapidly becoming less steep, eventually curving until it plateaued. The remaining momentum the two friends had still moved them forward to the end of a short tunnel heading towards a warm, orange glow.

Slowing, then eventually stopping, the two found themselves in a fairly busy pub. Red brick pillars held the building up. The flagstones of the floor were a deeper red, cut into hexagonal shapes and lined black. The tables were fairly small, pushed up against the walls of the pub to make a clear pathway through the building, each one accommodating two to four stools. Lanterns lit with candles, some on the table others levitated around in a fixed pattern illuminated the establishment, giving it a homely feel despite the simplicity.

A long, mahogany bar was being tended to by an unshaven, portly man. His receding black hair was flecked with grey, his stubble already having turned the same colour. 

Behind the bar was lined with various drinks on shelves, most notably though was a pair of broomsticks crossed over one another. Two flags were hung either side of the X-shape. One, like the flagstones, was red with the side profile of a lion in mid-roar painted in black. The other was a smart, marine blue with a white eagle painted on it, also from a side profile with the eagle looking to be in mid-strike as if getting ready to attack its prey. The two symbols were positioned to be facing each other as if their respective mascots were about to do battle.

Quidditch teams clearly, though Judith didn’t recognise them at all. 

David got up, Judith followed, her hand still firmly clasped in his as he guided off the black marble platform they found themselves on. Any interest other patrons had of the new arrivals quickly dwindled. Judith looked around taking in the sight, it was certainly very... red. Finally letting go of David’s hand, she balled it into a fist and promptly punched him in the arm.

“Ow! Judith what was that for?” David yelped, though both the grin and the laugh that accompanied his question made it clear he knew exactly why he’d received it.

“For taking me on that.” Judith hissed, gesturing to the exit of the slide.

David shrugged, “I said ‘brace yourself’.” He responded cheekily.

Judith looked thoroughly unimpressed, “What part of ‘brace yourself’ means ‘I’m going to put you on a bloody death trap?’”

A raucous laugh was what she got in response, though it didn’t come from David. The bartender seemed to be enjoying the show, “Friend of yours, David?” He asked with a chuckle, his accent making it known he was from Yorkshire.

 “She is,” David confirmed, sounding quite proud of the fact, “This is Judith, a friend of mine from Hogwarts. Judith, this is Tom, he runs the pub.”

The old man beamed at the introduction, “Thomas Tremblay Thornwood III, most people just call me Old Tom. Welcome to The Purple Griffin. Is it your first time visiting Under Mersey, Judith?” He asked kindly.

“Yes.” Judith answered quietly, giving a nod. The bartender seemed nice, if a little loud.

“Thought so,” He smirked, “Now, important question, Red or Blue?” He asked, slightly louder, a few patrons and even David looked to Judith expectantly.

“Um...” Judith mumbled, a bit confused as to what the question meant. They were both colours she wore and liked though she supposed did prefer red..., “Red.” She answered, the reaction from everyone who was bothered to listen was immediate.

“We’ve got another Lion’s fan lads!” Tom declared, causing those who had taken an interest to either cheer, others let out groans of disapproval. 

David was one of those who was pleased with her answer, giving her a slap on the back, “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

“Can you at least tell me what choice I made?” Judith asked, really needing some context.

“Liverpool Lions, Everton Eagles,” David said pointing at the red and blue flag respectively, “Both are Liverpool teams and frequently top contenders in the Amateur Division of the British and Irish Quidditch League. They’re fierce rivals with most other teams, but it’s at their worst with each other.” That explained it, Judith only knew of the twelve teams that were considered professional.

“And you support the Lions?” Judith asked, 

“That’s right, had to go with the Reds all the way.” David grinned. 

“Ah.” Judith nodded knowingly, her friend supported Liverpool Football Club, so she supposed it made sense he would be a fan of their Quidditch equivalent.

“In fact...” David began as he started rummaging through the pouch of coins his mother had given him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Taking out six sickles before putting the silver coins on the bar and sliding them over to Tom, “Give us the Lion’s Summertime Specials.” Tom took the silvers with a conspiring grin.

“Take away?” The bartender asked, receiving a nod from David. At that prompt, Tom produced two cold bottles of butterbeer, causing Judith to give both of them a questioning look.

“I thought butterbeer was worth two sickles each?” She asked.

“Not the way Tom does them, watch.” David stated, now Judith was curious. Tom took out two large cups, emptying the contents of the bottles into them before calling out.

“Crocky! I need two pomegranates, and a mortar and pestle.”

“On it Tom!” A high-pitched scouse accent called back. It wasn’t long before the odd assortment of items was floated into the bar from the back area of the pub, guided by a house elf dressed in a starch-white chef’s outfit. His big, grey eyes only glancing at David and Judith briefly.

Judith’s eyes widened at that, the only house elves she had met were treated poorly at best, like slaves at worst. They would never refer to their master so casually, it was unheard of. The fact that this house elf had a healthy, lean build compared to the thin, frail frames of most other elves was another indicator something odd was going on. That wasn’t even mentioning how well-dressed the elf was. Perhaps David would know.

“Thank you.” Tom said to Crocky as he began deseeding the pomegranates, emptying the seeds into the mortar and starting to grind them up. The house elf disappeared back into the kitchens.

Judith watched the sight, curious as to see just what Tom was doing. It took a moment but Tom’s strong arms eventually ground down the seeds into a fine pulp. Mixing the juice into the butterbeer with a wooden stirrer briefly dyed the drink an orange colour. It didn’t last long as the mixture fizzed from the stirring, a scarlet hue quickly overtaking the contents of the cup, causing the foam on top to turn a light pink. 

“Go on then, drink up.” Tom said, looking ready to receive their verdict.

Judith took her cup, intrigued at the idea of a fruity-tasting butterbeer, Briefly knocking her cup against David’s one before taking a sip. It still had a sweet taste to it but lessened from the sour edge of the pomegranate juice. Yet the extra flavour wasn’t overwhelming, in fact it was quite refreshing, more so an ordinary butterbeer.

“It’s nice,” Judith responded positively.

“Good as always Tom.” David said, nodding in agreement.

“Glad I haven’t lost my touch.” The bartender grinned. The deep, rhythmic tolling of a bell from outside suddenly cut in, ringing twelve times before it was silenced, “Sounds like lunch time, you could always have some pub grub but I reckon that you’ll want to show your friend around Under Mersey won’t you, David?”

“That’s right.” David said.

“Well, off with you both then,” He said, making a shooing motion with his hand, “Just remember our motto.”

“Do us harm and we bring the weight of the Mersey down on your head.” David echoed with a grin.

“Exactly. Enjoy your time out there you two.” With that statement from the bartender, the two friends stepped out into the streets of Under Mersey.

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

Judith was impressed, Under Mersey was definitely not like Diagon Alley. It wasn’t just a single alley. This place was an entire town, quite literally under the noses of muggles. 

Yet despite it being underground in a cavern that must have taken years to carve out, yet strangely, it felt no different to how it had been on the surface. It was warm with just the faintest hint of a sea breeze. A huge enchanted lantern acted like a miniature sun, moving slowly in tandem with the time displayed on a prominent clock tower on the southern end of the town. An illusory sky was even being maintained to mirror the weather on the surface.

The streets were a mix of cobblestone and pavements. Most buildings had chimneys that stretched far upwards, acting as support to the ceiling above. Four pillars at the four corners of the town also seemed to assist in holding up the ceiling, yet unlike the chimneys, they didn’t appear to be directly attached to any other building. It was certainly a feat of architecture that wizards had even managed to do this.

It wasn’t simply dull and lifeless though, Judith saw more than a few colourful plants growing either in planters on the streets or accommodated on outside window sills of buildings.

Luckily, David was willing to explain everything to her.

“Basically, we’re right under the River Mersey that runs by Liverpool. Vents on the ceiling and the chimneys are enchanted at either end to filter the air through. It’s why we’re able to breathe, and why the entire place isn’t flooded. The Pillars are where the town gets its water supply from. Pipes run underneath the streets to get it to the buildings. Not bad that it’s still around, seeing as construction began in 1801 and finished in 1823.”

Judith gave an impressed whistle. Whoever had come up with this, and even spent more than two decades seeing it through to completion must have had both ambition and patience.

“So what’s the deal with Old Tom and... Crocky was it?” Judith asked after having a sip from her butterbeer. They had left the building behind as they walked, though it could be easily found again, no other building had the same lavender hue as the brickwork the pub was made out of. Still, she was curious of the relationship between Tom and his house elf.

“That’s right,” David confirmed, “Far as I know, Old Tom is a squib, born to a pure-blood family. Don’t know when he and Crocky met but apparently, Tom gave him that chef’s uniform, Crocky just stuck around as an employee.”

“Really?” Judith asked in surprise. If any owner actually gave their house elf a piece of clothing, chances are they would take it and run. It spoke volumes of Crocky’s loyalty if he truly cared for the person who was apparently his ex-master.

“Yeah, I’ve been around them outside of working hours, the two of them act like best mates. Some even say Under Mersey is actually run by house elves.” Judith looked confused at the last part of David’s statement, causing him to elaborate, “The lantern, the ‘sky’, even the charms on the vents and chimneys? All of it is managed and maintained by house elves. The wizards and witches bring in business and live here. Some are even in charge of overseeing maintenance but ultimately it’s the elves who stop the place from bein’ destroyed.”

“Wow.” Judith said, marvelling at the sights again. She had a respect for the house-elves, putting up with so much. Quite literally holding this place together was just another feat that only cemented that sentiment.

Judith would have loved to explore the town a bit more but for the moment she was starting to feel a bit peckish...

“How about we go get some food?” David said.

Judith grinned at her friend practically reading her mind, “Sounds good, let’s go!” With that prompt, David guided Judith closer to the centre of the town.

This part of Under Mersey was by far the most active and Judith could see why, it seemed to be where most of the town’s shops were located. A wandmaker, a book shop, and practically every other kind of shop a wizard or witch could need. 

A stone fountain was the centrepiece for the town square. Two cormorants that towered over people, being at least eight feet tall. They faced away from each other, one looking west, the other looking east, the tips of their outstretched wings almost touching. A sprig of seaweed was clasped in their beaks.

However, both friends wanted to follow their stomachs at the moment and they certainly had options...

Looking one way, Judith could see that an odd assortment of restaurants had been packed into a single long street, thronging with people eager for lunch.. Chinese, Indian, Turkish. Spanish, Greek, French. Those were just some of the ones Judith noted. 

Yet despite the range of mouth-watering scents. the tempting food on display and even the occasional encouragement from a place’s owner, there was just one that really caught Judith’s eye.

A lot smaller when compared to the other restaurants, hanging above its doors was a string of flags. One of which was had three stripes blue on both sides, gold in the middle, with the head of a black trident in its centre.

That was the flag of Barbados, accompanied by flags of the other Caribbean islands. Above them was the name of the restaurant, only confirming Judith’s suspicions, Jacques’ Caribbean Cuisine. Judith knew exactly where she wanted to go, making a b-line for the restaurant as David followed close behind.

“Welcome,” A friendly tone was the first thing the pair of friends heard. Greeting them was a somewhat tall, lean and dark-skinned man. He was balding with a greying goatee, the hair he had left turning the same colour. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood despite his restaurant being empty in such a rush, “What can I interest you kids in today?”

Judith perked up at the man’s accent, it was similar to her Barbadian one, he definitely wasn’t British, “Where are you from?” Judith asked the man excitedly.

A bit confused at his question not being answered, the man responded, “Jamaica, and yourself?”

“I’m from Barbados.” She answered proudly, the man’s eyes went wide at that.

“Really? Girl if I was born a few decades later, you and me would have practically been neighbours!” He said enthusiastically, Judith grinned at, “And you boy?”

“Local.” David answered proudly, gesturing above..

“Ah, good, I like Liverpool. Think it’s a good city.” He said in approval, “Marcus Jacques, I came over here on request of the Ministry about thirty years ago. I was about twenty then, I’m fifty now.”

“Wait, I think I’ve heard of you,” David said in realisation. Judith looked at her friend curiously, “You started all of well... that outside.”

Marcus took on a smug expression at that, “Right you are, I got shipped up here by the Ministry, I was asked to come over after that war the muggles had in the fourties and decided the food this side of  the wizarding world could do with a bit more variety. Now don’t get me wrong, British food can be nice. Crocky at the Purple Griffin makes a great shepherd’s pie but I needed something to remind me of home. A couple more people got interested in the idea and we thought it would be nice to set up in the local community.” The man let out a chuckle, clearly reminiscing. David and Judith listening intently for him to continue, there was always a ‘but’ in these situations.

“See, a few in the local Ministry at the time were quite insular about new things coming in, they kicked up a fuss. We kicked up a bigger one and what you see outside is the result of the wizarding community here using the cultures right on their doorstep not too much differently to how the muggle side does. Anyway, enough of an old man’s ramblings, how about I give the two of you a taste of the Caribbean?”

“Yes please!” Judith said, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, “Do you serve brown stew chicken?” 

“’Do I serve brown stew chicken?’“ Marcus echoed back in a playfully sarcastic manner, “Of course I do, I’ll get right on it.” Yet he didn’t ask David what he wanted, “For you boy, I’ve got something special. Call it a Caribbean twist on something considered British.” 

Judith looked eager as she took a seat while David shrugged in acceptance. The owner leaving the two friends alone as he set to work in the kitchen.

“So, what do you think of your first time in Liverpool?” David asked eagerly as he sat across from his friend. 

“It’s... nice, I’ve had fun so far,” Judith answered honestly, “Though, can I ask something?”

“Yeah go on Judith.” 

“Can we plan these holidays in advance next time?” David looked perplexed at the question, “Please, David.” She quietly begged.

Though he was still a bit confused, David knew Judith wouldn’t just ask him a question like that out of the blue. He was sure she had a good reason, “Of course  we can Judith, whatever you want.”

Judith looked immensely grateful for his positive response, “Thank you David. You know, one of these days, I’ll have to take you to Barbados. It’s a beautiful country, white sandy beaches, lush greenery, the sea shining like sapphire.” She stated, clearly proud of her homeland.

David gave her a smile, “I’d like that, and now that you’ve described it for me, I’ll have to go.”

“To our future holidays?” Judith asked, raising up the half-full cup of butterbeer. 

David raised own, though his was almost empty, “To Liverpool, Lancaster and Barbados... one of those destinations is not like the other two.” He finished with a chuckle. Judith had to laugh as they knocked the cups together. From there on, the two settled into a content silence, it wasn’t long before Marcus came by with their food.

“Hope you kids enjoy.” He said, placing their meals and cutlery in front of them. 

Judith’s was several pieces of chicken covered in a rich, brown gravy that contained pieces of carrot and onion. Served with fluffy, white rice that soaked up any of the gravy was in contact with. 

David’s was comparatively simpler. It looked like fish and chips, strangely, the fish was in pieces. The batter looked crispy and light but was flecked with spots of red. The accompaniments... looked like very thick-cut chips but they just... weren’t.

“Saltfish fritters, and boiled and fried breadfruit.” Marcus confirmed.

Judith had already begun tucking in to her food, clearly enjoying it, “Mmm.” She managed to hum to satisfaction through a mouthful of food, giving a thumbs up.

David cut a small piece off the fish with a particularly prominent red fleck. It was nice, the batter was crispy, the fish soft with a distinct taste of salt. Then... hot... it was spicy. David began panting like a dog as he felt his nose starting to run.

“Oh no... I think he bit into a piece of scotch bonnet.” Marcus realised, “Hang on, I’ll get you some yoghurt.” It would be the only thing that could relieve the spiciness.

While Marcus sped into the kitchen again, Judith couldn’t help but laugh a bit at her friends misfortune, “David you’re a beater, and you can’t handle a bit of spice?” She chuckled, David couldn’t even muster a retort, just glare, causing Judith to let out another laugh, “Hey this is what you get for surprising me with how you got us here.” 

[catgirlthecrazy]

Muse and Knight

Warning: this fanfic contains major spoilers through Tiamat’s Wrath.

AO3

Summary: The transition from uneasy allies to family doesn’t happen in a single moment. Not even a dramatic one. It’s a slow change, like a sunset. You can’t see it happening, just see the results when it’s already happened.

Holden and Clarissa’s relationship, through the years.

The coffee machine was broken. Again. Holden pressed his forehead into the cool brushed steel surface of the machine. “I don’t ask for much. Really, I don’t. Is this so unreasonable?” The red text of the error message shown even through his closed eyelids. It seemed almost irritated at him for expecting it to perform the function that was the entire purpose of its existence.

The galley door slid open. “Oh,” a soft voice said. Clarissa hovered at the galley door. 

“Hey,” he said. “You’re up.”

Clarissa seemed to teeter on the edge of leaving. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake." 

Holden shrugged. "Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d start shift early. Or, I was going to."  He gestured helplessly at the red error message. Holden’s head already ached in anticipation of caffeine withdrawal.

Clarissa frowned and crossed the galley, inspecting the error message. "It’s not working?” She power-cycled the coffee maker and hit the brew button again.

“Already tried that,” Holden said. As if agreeing, the machine buzzed angrily and spat out the same error message as before. 

“Hmm. Let me take a look.” Clarissa left, and returned with a bag of tools and parts. A minute later she had the machine on the floor, back panel removed and parts exposed to the open air. Not for the first time, Holden was struck by a sudden sense of surreality. Just a handful of years ago, this woman had tried to destroy him and everyone he loved. He could still remember the murderous rage she’d inspired in him. Now she was fixing his coffeemaker, and he was weirdly ok with that.

He’d like to say that the assault on the slow zone had been the tipping point. The moment when she’d moved in his mind from “person who’d tried to kill him” to “part of his crew.” But these sorts of things never worked like that. It was like a sunrise: you couldn’t see the sky turning from black to blue while it was ongoing. You could only notice the results after they’d already happened.

“Ha!” Clarissa pulled out something metallic and charred, with little dangling wires like tentacles. “Power leads burnt out.”

“Is that hard to fix?" 

"No, this part swaps out pretty easy.” She opened a utility organizer labeled Replacement Parts: Galley in neat handwriting that definitely wasn’t Amos’. She pulled out the pristine twin of the burnt out part and wired it into the machine. She put the machine back together, and ran diagnostics. This time the message was a happy green. She made a little animal noise of satisfaction. “There, all fixed.”

Holden clapped her on the shoulder. “You are my favorite person in the solar system.” He turned to the machine and started a new brew. “You want me to make some for you?” When she didn’t answer, he turned to look at her. 

There was an odd expression on Clarissa’s face, one his caffeine-deprived mind couldn’t quite decipher. “I… yes, I would love that,” she said.

Weeks later, Holden would learn that Clarissa actually hated coffee. That morning, though, she drank the whole cup.

***

Pátria was a big colony. To Holden, a child of cramped and crowded Earth, that still felt a little strange. Pátria only had a few settlements, and only one that could rate the label ‘city’- barely. But by the fledgling standards of extra-solar colonies, it was a metropolis. It had paved roads and a sewage system and real buildings not made from scrap and mud. And it had recreational swimmers.

The day was uncomfortably hot, the kind of hot that made his shirt damp. A few families with young children were splashing in the local lake on the outskirts of the town. A floating platform had been set up in a deeper part of the lake. One adolescent took a running leap off and cannonballed into the lake, splashing his friends and prompting screams and shouts. A few nearby waterbirds croaked their annoyance and flew off. Holden found himself grinning. 

“People do this for fun ?” Bobbie’s voice was acrid with disgust and amusement.

“What, swim? It’s not that uncommon on Earth,” he said.

“Those birds have been pooping in there. And the fish. And whatever the hell kind of microbes they’ve got.”

Holden shrugged. “That’s true on Earth too. People still swim in ponds and lakes there. Remind me to tell you about some of my family’s trips to Flathead Lake.”

She shot him a look. “Yeah, and that's also disgusting. But at least Earth lakes have our flavor of shit and microbes in it. This will have alien shit and microbes in it. Who knows what that does?”

Holden opened his mouth to answer, but Clarissa beat him to it. “They test the water regularly here. It’s not safe to drink without treatment, but you can swim in it just fine. So long as you don’t swallow too much, anyway.” She was taking off her shoes and rolling up her jumpsuit pantlegs as she talked. “I looked it up before we landed.” She set her shoes aside, socks neatly tucked in, and walked purposefully towards the water. It took Holden a second to understand why. Then he grinned and shucked off his own shoes.

Bobbie groaned. “If your feet melt into green slime, don’t come complaining to me,” she called.

They both ignored her. Clarissa was already up to her ankles by the time Holden reached the water. Her face was turned up to the sun like a flower, her expression pure bliss. 

“I don’t think I’ve been anywhere near a real lake since I was a kid,” Holden said. The water was delightfully cold. The soft wet sand slid comfortably between his toes. 

“Last time I was near a lake was when me and Amos were trying to get off Earth. Not much time for swimming then.”

“And before that?”

“Probably the same lake, the last time I summered there with my parents. We used to go there every other year. It was… nice.” She had the same distant tone she got, discussing her old life. He’d never pressed her much about it. So Holden changed the subject. 

“I forgot how good cold water feels on a hot day,” he said. He crouched down and started splashing water on his face, careful to keep his mouth closed as he did so.

Clarissa was digging out handfuls of sand out of the lake bottom and watching them flow through her fingers underwater. “I know. I almost want to just dunk myself in and float for a while." 

"But?”

“But I don’t fancy walking around in a soaking wet jumpsuit the rest of the day.”

“Those colonists got their swimsuits from somewhere. We’ve got a few hours. We could go get some. Have some shore leave on the beach.

"You think anyone else will be interested?” Her tone was amused. Holden glanced behind him. Bobbie was still shaking her head at the whole affair in amused disgust. Amos was staring at them with the blank non-comprehension of someone watching a foreign religious ritual. Alex and Naomi were back on the Roci, but he suspected their reaction would be much the same as Bobbie’s. Lake swimming wasn’t something people did outside of Earth- or it hadn’t been until now. And Baltimore didn’t have any bodies of water a sane person would want to swim in. It occurred to Holden that, though Clarissa wasn’t the only other Earther on the crew, she was probably the only one who shared any of his fondness for the place.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Do we need anyone else?”

She smiled. “I guess we don’t.”

By the time they were done at the lake, the day was nearly gone. The two of them walked back to the Roci’s landing pad, chatting animatedly, beneath a sky transitioning from blue to azure to black.

***

When you lived day in and day out with the same people on a small ship, a certain level telepathy emerged. From the tone of Naomi’s humming, or the way Bobbie took a ladder, or the rhythm of Alex’s fingers on the controls, Holden could take a barometer reading of each of his crew. So when Holden saw Clarissa sitting in the galley, gripping her mug of tea in a very particular way, he knew something was very wrong. Unfortunately, the telepathy didn’t tell him why.

To buy himself time, he started making coffee. Holden knew so much detail about his crew personal and work lives that, whatever their mood was, he usually had plenty of context to guess what the cause was. He didn’t know of anything in Clarissa’s life that could be behind her anxious mood. She hadn’t had any fights with the other crew that he knew of. There weren’t any looming mechanical problems or existential threats. He wondered how to go about asking what was bothering her.

Holden sat down at the table across from her. “What’s bothering you?”

Her eyes focused on him, like she’d only just noticed he was there. Then she laughed. “Always the direct approach.”

He grinned and shrugged. “I’m not very good at this.”

She grinned back for a moment. Then it faded. “I got a message from my sister.”

Two thoughts collided in Holden’s head: I thought your sister was dead slammed into I hope she’s doing well and jumbled together in his mind. Just barely, he stopped himself from blurting I hope she’s dead out loud. He knew Clarissa had siblings besides Julie. She never talked about her birth family except in the past tense, so it was easy to forget that most of them were still alive.

“Not good news, I take it?”

“My father is dead.”

The news was like a dropped tool in an empty cargo hold. Her father. Jules-Pierre Mao. The man who had probably held the record for bloodiest hands in the solar system until Marco Inaros came along to steal the title. It was hard for Holden to think of the arrogant man he’d encountered on Luna so many years ago as related to the tired looking mechanic in front of him. The Venn Diagram between the two had so little overlap these days that they were nearly separate circles in his mind. “Um. Wow.” He took a long pull from his coffee. He couldn’t make this about his own feelings right now. “How are you feeling right now?”

She didn’t answer for a long moment, but Holden chose to wait and sip his coffee. He didn’t have to wait long. “When I was young, he defined my life. Father was like a gravity well. So much revolved around him, and you couldn’t pass near him without accounting for how he’d alter your trajectory. Now he’s gone, and it’s hardly worth a story on the news feeds.” She smiled wryly. “He would have hated that.”

Holden frowned into his coffee. “You know, now that you mention it, that’s kind of weird. I mean, yeah, it’s been a while since he was in the news, but he was kind of a big deal back in the day. I’m surprised I haven’t heard more about this.”

“I’m not. He was held in Mossoró when the rocks fell. They were hit bad by tsunamis. They couldn’t find most of the bodies. It’s only now that the courts have made it official.” Clarissa’s voice was so flat, like she was reading off a list. 

“So you’ve known this was coming.” Holden wondered if that was the reason for her mood. He could remember one of his grandmothers, who’d been gravely ill for so long before she died that he’d felt more relief at her passing than loss. And with that relief, guilt.

“I suppose I did.” Clarissa cocked her head in bemusement. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. You’re the one who put him in prison.” There was no hint of reproach in her voice. Almost, they could have been talking about a famous football player whose career Holden hadn’t kept up with.

Holden shrugged. “Honestly, I kind of stopped giving a fuck about him once he was in prison. So long as he couldn’t start wars, I didn’t really care.” Holden winced. “I uh, may not be the most comforting person to talk to about this.”

Clarissa just smiled at him. “I think he’d hate that even more than the lack of news coverage.”

Holden wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. “So… You sound pretty calm about this. But I can tell something’s bugging you. Anything you want to talk about?”

Clarissa frowned into her mug. “When I got the message that he was dead, my first thought was 'good.’ I don’t like that.”

Holden took a long sip from his coffee to buy himself time. “No love lost between you two, then?”

“I don’t feel anything about him. No love, no hate. I’m just very, very glad that he’s gone forever now. And I don’t like that I feel that way. I didn’t think I was that kind of person anymore.”

“I mean, to be fair, it makes me a little happy to know he’s gone for good.” Clarissa looked up at him sharply, and he shrugged. “It probably doesn’t speak well of me as a person. But I think it’s just part of being human.”

“Maybe.” She stared at her drink. “I still feel like I’ve failed somehow.”

Holden strongly disagreed. But he knew by now that she didn’t really want him to prove her wrong. Just listen while she worked through it on her own.

And the truth was, Holden could sympathize with her sorrow, but he couldn’t entirely empathize with it. Mao was her father. He understood intellectually why parent-child relationships could fall apart so completely and irreparably that she could react this way. He could agree entirely with the reasons why. He knew that the only right you had with anyone in life was the right to walk away. But he couldn’t really feel it. He had always gotten on well with his own parents. It was hard to imagine anything different.

He took her hand. “Well, for what it’s worth, I like the person you are now,” he said.

“And who do you think that person is?”

“The person who fixes things. The person who won’t let so much as a squeaking hinge stick around for long. The person who builds things.”

She didn’t answer him. She just smiled a small smile. They sat together in companiable silence for a long time. 

***

When his interrogators told him about the body on Medina, Holden thought they were lying. Surely, it was a tactic to make him admit something. Surely, the photos and autopsy reports were fake. Surely, they couldn’t have found Clarissa Mao, shot twice amidst a half dozen dead Laconian soldiers. When Holden finally let himself believe them, he waited for them to tell him who else in his family had died. Months, then years passed, and the news never came.

He couldn’t grieve. He couldn’t afford to. If the Laconians knew just how deep a weakness it was, if they understood that she was more to him that a mere crewmate, they’d never stop hammering away at it. So he threw all his efforts into diverting them. He opened up as much as he could on the alien threat. The Tempest anomaly. The Ilus artifact. Elvi Okoye.

When he finally got free, he was too preoccupied to think much about older pain. The flight to the gate, Bobbie’s death, Amos’ strange resurrection: all of these overwhelmed his attention like a well lit room overwhelms a single candle. When the grief reminded him of its presence, it wasn’t how he expected it.

The cabin door squeaked. It was such a soft little sound, it took Holden weeks to notice it. He was so wrapped up in the joy of being back on the Roci, of not being on Laconia, that most other things were background noise. But as time went by, as they passed through the Laconia gate, through the slow zone and into the Gossner system, Holden noticed the small rattling whine of a mechanism not quite in alignment.

“It’s just a squeak.” Naomi shrugged with her hands when he mentioned it to her. “I can have Amos put it on the to-do list, but I guarantee you he’s got a couple dozen other items on it already. This might never make it to the top.”

“I know it’s pretty minor in the grand scheme of things,” Holden said. Experimentally he cycled the door a couple more times to see if the noise was consistent. “I just can’t remember the last time a squeak stuck around this long." 

He meant to sound casual. Evidently he failed, because Naomi’s expression softened. "I miss her too.”

Holden sagged a little, like a spring losing tension. “I wanted to believe it was a bad dream. Or a lie to make me admit something. The Laconians sprang it on me suddenly. I think they were trying to surprise me into letting something slip.” He could still remember the feeling like a dunk in ice. Like a confirmation of his worst nightmares. 

“Did they tell you how it happened?”

“Some. 'Likely involved in terrorist activities’ was I think how they put it.”

“She saved my life. She saved the whole underground.” And Naomi told him the story of the jailbreak, the traitor, and Clarissa’s last stand. 

Holden couldn’t speak. In broad strokes, what Naomi told him wasn’t far off from what he’d already guessed. But he hadn’t fully appreciated just how much he owed to Clarissa’s sacrifice. Naomi’s life was one item at the top of a very long list.

Naomi pulled him into a hug, and Holden broke. His body shook with the quiet sobs that he’d never allowed himself on Laconia. She murmured soothing words whose content mattered less than their tone. He could feel some of her tears wet on his forehead. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that. He had the raw sense of having burned a deep infection out of a wound.

“I’ve got a few spare hours,” Naomi said. “I could grab some tools. We could fix it together." 

"That,” Holden said, voice still ragged, “would be great.”