#more than you probably were expecting molly!

[maybebabyplease]

lol I love these questions — 32!!

molly!!!! ask and you shall receive :)

32. What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

the waffle house in amarillo, texas. i grew up in the south and started eating waffle house basically at birth (and probably before -- i'm sure my mom was eating waho while she was pregnant with me) and i literally. did not know that waffle house could taste bad. like i thought that wasn't possible. it's fucking WAFFLE HOUSE, for chrissakes. but the food there was nasty, the waffle house ladies were mean, and we had to cut off a piece of my car in the parking lot (which is not really the waffle house's fault but i do blame the rest of amarillo, texas for their shit roads). if i never go back to amarillo it'll be too soon!

let's get personal

[januaryembrs]

THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

previous chpt | next chapter

‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,

she say I’m not your punching bag,’

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart. 

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all. 

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar. 

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night. 

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her. 

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down. 

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit. 

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy. 

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil. 

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,” 

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow. 

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

-

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye. 

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,” 

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.” 

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff. 

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat. 

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him. 

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.” 

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close. 

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges. 

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,” 

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire. 

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,” 

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” 

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?” 

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,” 

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers. 

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway. 

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself. 

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,” 

And he believed her with everything in him. 

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself. 

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right? 

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on. 

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass. 

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it. 

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge. 

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either. 

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first. 

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour. 

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt. 

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue. 

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days. 

They had found Doyle. 

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips. 

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in. 

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor. 

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck. 

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice. 

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours. 

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours. 

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open. 

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,” 

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle. 

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even. 

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded. 

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment. 

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup. 

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away. 

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself. 

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach. 

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure. 

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye. 

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.  

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed. 

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had. 

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,” 

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution. 

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt. 

“Don’t do this, kid,” 

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand. 

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him. 

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor. 

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell. 

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

-

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight. 

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run. 

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way. 

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her. 

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth. 

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,” 

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief. 

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her. 

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror. 

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying. 

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all. 

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark. 

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock. 

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly. 

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth. 

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her. 

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong. 

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself. 

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well. 

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze. 

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her. 

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself. 

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her. 

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder. 

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy. 

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time. 

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod. 

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest. 

Bugsy was laughing. 

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged. 

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in. 

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called. 

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle. 

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her. 

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step. 

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat. 

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp. 

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust. 

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell. 

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice. 

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?” 

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

 “No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,” 

 “She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them. 

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either. 

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,” 

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that. 

She wouldn’t tell her anything. 

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown. 

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive. 

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for. 

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors. 

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him. 

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash. 

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them. 

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her. 

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity. 

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back. 

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word. 

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place. 

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness. 

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either. 

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods. 

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine. 

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on. 

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,” 

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips. 

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close. 

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever. 

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too. 

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her. 

-

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush. 

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off. 

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’. 

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way. 

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face. 

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought. 

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day. 

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful. 

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years. 

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of. 

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy. 

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,” 

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,” 

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone. 

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard. 

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer. 

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do. 

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene. 

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government. 

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another. 

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily. 

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed. 

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo. 

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment. 

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face. 

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag. 

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in. 

“Why not?” 

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas. 

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay. 

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face. 

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members. 

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze. 

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds. 

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes. 

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,” 

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her. 

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did. 

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands. 

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly. 

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else. 

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund. 

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out. 

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness. 

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that. 

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him. 

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket. 

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress. 

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight. 

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off. 

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends. 

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills. 

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did. 

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection. 

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket. 

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,” 

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief. 

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips. 

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done. 

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike. 

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively. 

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room. 

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed. 

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw. 

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,” 

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there. 

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,” 

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba. 

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him. 

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else. 

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time. 

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win. 

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub. 

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway. 

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt. 

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple. 

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture. 

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door. 

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,” 

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age. 

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him. 

They moved in tandem, just like they always had. 

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance. 

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,” 

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,” 

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team. 

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product. 

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter. 

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up. 

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile. 

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in. 

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more. 

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,” 

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then. 

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision. 

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards.  Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door. 

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him. 

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house. 

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening. 

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run. 

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better. 

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling. 

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks. 

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart. 

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold. 

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat. 

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over. 

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact. 

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure. 

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.” 

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice. 

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight. 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning. 

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later. 

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,” 

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door. 

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress. 

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night. 

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t. 

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen. 

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face. 

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,” 

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless. 

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her. 

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,” 

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay. 

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her. 

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,” 

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest. 

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts. 

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest. 

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head. 

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?” 

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next. 

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes. 

If Emily hadn’t been there. 

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer. 

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred. 

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,” 

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together. 

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot. 

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice. 

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?” 

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform. 

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it. 

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women. 

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,” 

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip. 

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry. 

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules. 

He hated girl rules. He never understood them. 

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows. 

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone. 

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes. 

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart. 

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?” 

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words. 

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot. 

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her. 

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up. 

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?” 

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning. 

He sighed, hard. 

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face. 

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today. 

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?” 

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second. 

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance. 

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye. 

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,” 

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene. 

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest. 

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach. 

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby. 

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building. 

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,” 

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement. 

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready. 

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units. 

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away. 

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse. 

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily. 

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well. 

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together. 

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?” 

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers. 

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows. 

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life. 

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer. 

This was going to be a long day. 

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest. 

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage. 

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre. 

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all. 

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?” 

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information. 

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite. 

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen. 

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.  

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty. 

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-” 

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her. 

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves. 

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were. 

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken. 

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together. 

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit. 

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never. 

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance. 

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her. 

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves. 

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up. 

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies. 

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest. 

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not. 

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too. 

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”  

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,” 

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together. 

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore. 

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?” 

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her. 

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug. 

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another. 

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again. 

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death. 

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed. 

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street. 

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation. 

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources. 

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.” 

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless. 

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did. 

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it. 

-

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side. 

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers. 

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter. 

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?” 

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was. 

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere. 

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing. 

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now. 

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears. 

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?” 

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers. 

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them. 

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!” 

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover. 

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would. 

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him. 

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards. 

And Bugsy went down with it. 

Taglist:

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[emeritusemeritus]

Beloved, Besotted, Betrothed. [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: Beloved, Besotted, Betrothed.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: {DH1} set during Bill and Fleur’s wedding. No mentions of War or Voldy.

Summary: Weddings always bring out the best in people, but you hadn’t expected it to bring out something else entirely within Fred.

Warnings: SMUT. P in v sex, oral sex both male and female receiving, Role-play, illusions to choking, Fred has a wife kink? Innocence kink. Strong cursing. Mentions that reader has curves and large breasts. Established relationship. Talk of marriage.

"Oh Molly you look beautiful," you say as you step into the kitchen, seeing your boyfriend's mum all dolled up ready for her eldest son's wedding. You had been upstairs getting ready with the bride and the rest of the bridesmaids, finishing your hair and makeup when you remembered that Fleur's fascinator was still in the box on the kitchen table.

The men had been tasked with setting up the marquee outside and had been essentially banished from the house as the women got ready, with strict warnings from Molly to not mess about, those warnings no doubt pointedly aimed at Fred and George.

"Oh thank you dear," she says blushing as she fusses with a piece of her hair, flustered by the compliment.

She was wearing a long green and turquoise patterned dress with flowing sleeves, a little satin waistband and a ruffled pattern on her right shoulder that resembled a flower. Her signature red hair had been curled with one section pinned back and decorated with a beautiful antique hair brooch and her makeup complimented her look perfectly.

"It's so nice to be all dressed up," she giggles as she waved her wand slightly, the plates of food on the counter becoming magically wrapped by a covering to keep the food fresh. You smile at her, nodding your head to agree as you spot the box from the table, choosing to spend a little time with Molly before retreating back upstairs.

"I wish it were you and Fred getting married today," she says with a sigh, looking out the window towards the Weasley men, and Harry, who are all trying to erect the tent. Your chest swells as you spot Fred looking so handsome in his suit, minus the blazer jacket, his golden waistcoat glimmering in the sun as he concentrates on the spot he's lifting with his wand.

"Molly," you playfully scold, knowing exactly what she meant by that. She gives you a little look where she pretends to be contrite for just a moment before scrunching her nose up and shrugging.

Fleur was not her first choice of daughter in law as she'd admitted to you more than once that she found her bossy and rude and had questioned the longevity of their relationship as she believed they were rushing into things, that the physical attraction between them was the most prominent reason why they were together.

Truthfully, you quite liked Fleur. She could be a little off handed with some of her comments, a little too quick to say what she thought rather than consider the effect of her words but you always thought it could be because of her having to mentally translate before speaking English. You couldn't deny that she had not made clever moves to try and impress Mr and Mrs Weasley and had inadvertently criticised their home, the family and Molly's favourite singer, Celestina Warbeck, all in the same sentence. If you hadn't been so protective of the Weasley family, you'd probably had actually found it impressive that she'd managed to offend nearly everyone in the household in less than two minutes.

You'd met during your sixth year at Hogwarts when the triwizard tournament had taken place and had become good friends with her and two of her Beauxton schoolmates Colette and Clemence, both of whom were also bridesmaids.

"I'm just saying," Molly says with a little knowing smirk. "I can't wait to have you as my daughter."

"Then you'll have to talk to your son," you quipped, casting one last look back outside to where the men were still trying to get the tent up straight, seeing even from afar that Fred's tongue had slipped out to rest in his bottom lip, something he did when he was concentrating hard.

"Believe me I will," she says with a smile, reaching out to pat your shoulder before walking over to the sink to busy herself.

You grab the box with Fleur's fascinator in and return back upstairs to finish getting the bride ready. Once Fleur was ready, you quickly changed into your bridesmaid's dress, each of you helping zip the others up before smoothing out your curled hair in front of the mirror.

The dress was a beautiful grey silk with a blue undertone that clung to every one of your curves, perfectly tailored to your body. Each dress was just slightly different but all had the same structure and little cape over the shoulders that was reminiscent of their Beauxbaton school uniform, a little ode to their magical roots.

"Fred will die when he sees you in that," Colette says as she appears behind you in the mirror, a smile tugging at her glossy lips as she looks at you. Her accent never failed to make you smile, hearing her try to pronounce 'Fred' in such a thick, French accent was always a little humorous to you.

"Oh hush," you say, casting one last glance at your body, smoothing out any lines in the silk.

You had to admit that you did feel incredibly sexy in the dress, though it was still modest in principle, it definitely showcased your features splendidly. Your breasts were considerably fuller than the other girls who all had slim figures and small breasts whereas you had a more hourglass figure that was openly showcased in the dress, something you knew Fred would enjoy greatly. You'd had to make adjustments to the cups of the dress multiple times in fittings as your breasts didn't fit in the same style as the others and so with a little ingenuity from the tailors, they'd adapted your dress to hold your chest a little better.

You checked the time and saw that there was still half an hour to go before the ceremony was due to begin and so you began to clear away the makeup and beauty stuff that littered the room.

Fleur's mother knocked on the door a little while later and you decided to leave them for a private moment, just Fleur, Gabrielle and their mother.

You passed Ginny as you walked down the stairs, seeing her eyebrows shoot up as she looked at you. Ginny had not been a bridesmaid, on account of her dislike for the bride. Bill hadn't been offended and truthfully neither had Fleur but you still felt a bit of guilt at being a bridesmaid at her own brothers wedding when she wasn't.

"Has Fred seen you yet?" She asks, walking in her dressing gown towards her room.

"No? Hello by the way," you replied, a little confused by her smirk but instead of replying she simply giggled and slipped through the door of her bedroom.

You hadn't expected to see anyone except Molly downstairs, knowing that the boys had been banished, but when you reached the kitchen it wasn't Molly that you saw leaning against the counter. Fred.

He was facing away from you, reading the paper from what you could see, his hip resting on the counter as he leaned down, looking devastatingly handsome, even from behind.

"What do you think?" You asked quietly, creeping into the kitchen. You didn't miss his little jump of surprise, which made you bite back a smile as he turned towards you, smirking already as it he was already planning a snarky reply.

The second he turned and saw you, his mouth opened on its own accord, jaw dropping, seeing him freeze as he openly gawked at you. You had to bite back a laugh at his reaction, seeing that it was even better than you'd hoped.

"I," he began to say before clearing his throat, his fingers doing an involuntary dance at his sides as his eyes take over you, before fixing his gaze to your breasts. "I think it's illegal to look hotter than the bride on her wedding day."

You laugh and watch as he seems to bounce back to usual, though his gaze linger a little longer on your curves before he reaches out to you. You place your hand in his and he pulls you gently towards him, delicately placing his arms around you as to not crease your dress.

"Ah, lipstick," you say, pulling away from him as he tries to kiss you, making him frown and pout at your denial of a kiss. "I promise you can mess it up after the ceremony." His eyes a little as he shoots a wicked smirk at you, his hands wandering over the soft fabric of your dress, running his hands over the curve of your waist.

"You look so beautiful," he says, smiling down at you. Even with your heels, he still towers over you with his height.

"And you look very handsome," you replied, reaching up to push his hair back from his face as you smile at each other.

"Well don't you look nice," George says, interrupting your moment, walking in with his bandage wrapped tightly around his head.

You turn and smile at him as Fred grumbles under his breath for his twin ruining the moment.

"How are you feeling Georgie?" You ask, looking at him with concern, even though it had been nearly five days since he received the unfortunate curse, you were still worried about his pain levels and him in general.

"Stable enough to walk down the aisle with you," he winks, earning another grumble from Fred. He'd been overwhelmingly annoyed at not being able to walk with you down the aisle even though he was also a groomsman but Molly had insisted on the fact, knowing it was both tradition and superstition that unmarried couples should never walk down the aisle together. Fred had instead been paired with Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister, whilst you were paired with George, a rather unfair deal he had stated.

"I better get back," you said, your gaze flickering to the stairs, knowing that you needed to get Fleur ready for the ceremony.

"I love you," Fred says, a surprisingly sentimental tone to his voice that made you pause, his hand now holding yours as he looks at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"I love you more," you say teasingly, slowly pulling away from him as you climb the stairs once more to help the bride.

The ceremony was beautiful and the newlyweds looked utterly joyful and in love, with smiles all around. You could feel Fred's eyes on you at multiple times during the ceremony and each time without fail he would either wink at you or smile sarcastically sweetly, trying to break up the formality of the situation.

At the reception, you'd been carrying out your role as bridesmaid flawlessly, helping with gifts, chatting to guests and even helping Fleur go to the toilet in her elaborate, poofy dress. When you returned to the marquee, you could see Fred and Molly chatting in the corner and so you took a seat next to George at the table, resting your head on his shoulder as the early morning and demand of the day began catching up with you.

"Tired, maid of the bride?" George joked as he shifted down a little in his seat so that you would be able to rest your head on his shoulder without straining. You simply nodded in reply, closing your eyes for just a moment before opening them and looking around the room at everyone you loved, all of whom enjoying themselves.

"Mind if I steal my girl?" A familiar voice asks from behind you and you can't help but smile as you lift your head from George's shoulder and look up to find Fred with his hand outstretched, ready to steal you away. You place your hand in his and he leads you to the dance floor as a slow song begins to play.

"This is familiar, eh princess?" He smirks, taking your waist in his other hand as he pulls you close. "I thought nothing would ever top your Yule ball dress but you always manage to surprise me." You smile up at him and can't help but study his gorgeous features, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world in that moment. Memories of the Yule ball danced in your mind, Fred's long hair, your glittering dress and the fun you had that night making a smile erupt on your face.

"You know, when we get married I hope there's none of this crap," he says, looking around at the slightly overdone decorations, curtesy of Fleur's imagination and her father's wallet.

"When?" You asked, a little teasing smile tugging at your lips, "that's a little presumptuous don't you think Weasley?" He smirks, spinning you gently in his arms before pulling you back into his chest, holding you even closer.

"Princess I've been calling you my future wife since the moment we first met, ask George," he chuckles slightly, still rocking you in his arms. "There's no one else I would ever want to call my wife."

You smiled up at him and reached up to press a kiss to his lips in the middle of the dance floor, not caring once bit about the mass of people around you. He kisses you back immediately, also unfazed by the people around you as you sink completely into the moment, just the feel of Fred around you and the sound of the music in the background.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look?" He says dreamily, his hand stroking the spot on your waist where it resides.

"Not in the last hour," you tease with a smile.

"Then I must apologise, a woman as beautiful as you deserves to be told constantly."

"I think you're drunk," you say with a blush at his words and he chuckles whilst shaking his head.

"Just in love," he replies giving you a look of utter adoration that takes your breath away.

You dance for a little while with Fred before George steals you away for a dance, then Bill and then Arthur. You laugh as Arthur twirls you around, seeing Fred doing the same to Ginny not too far away from you. You'd never felt more loved and included than you did in that moment, feeling like a Weasley already. Fred eventually steals you back from his dad as a more rambunctious song comes on and you dance wildly around the dance floor between both the twins, no longer caring about holding your composure or ruining your dress as you fling your arms about, jumping around with the younger guests.

You couldn't help but tease Fred as the night carries on, dancing a little more provocatively as the upbeat music continues, swinging your hips as you dance. You lightly grind against him acting as if it was an accident at first but he soon realises exactly what you're doing, his hands coming up to grip your hips hard as he stands behind you and leans down to talk in your ear so you'd hear him over the music.

"I know what you're doing princess," he says breathily in your ear, pressing his crotch tightly to your backside. Apparently your little deviant plan was working as you felt his semi-excited member pressed against you which made you smirk.

You soon around and Fred immediately places his arms around you, caging you into his body.

"Want to sneak away?" You said quietly with a little devilish smirk as you flirt with him, "you know, I won't be able to get out of this dress all by myself."

"Let's go princess," he says with a little smirk, patting your bum twice before taking your hand and leading you out of the tent back towards the house. You looked around you, checking that no one was watching but it all truthfulness you couldn't care less.

The house was still deserted when you entered, with all the other family members and guests still partying outside. Fred stopped at the base of the stairs as you began to bunch up the bottom of your dress to climb the mountain of stairs and suddenly lurched at you, picking you up bridal style earning a little surprised squeak from you and a chuckle from him.

He attempted to kiss you whilst you were in his arms and ascending the stairs but you quickly put an end to it, knowing that he'd most likely bang your head on one of the many wooden banisters or worse due to being distracted. As soon as you stepped through the door to his and George's room, he slammed the door shut with his leg, still carrying you as he went to throw you on the bed, briefly muttering a silencing charm before he turns his attention back to you. He wasted no time and crawled on top of you, pausing only briefly to take in the sight of you all dressed up and sprawled out on his bed before he captured you in a delicious kiss.

The kiss deepened immediately with Fred's tongue swiping at your lip, his hands already running over your curves, teasing both himself and you as he puts off touching you in the places you desperately want him to. His kisses begin to extend down your neck, towards your collarbones as you heave out a calming breath, already feeling wonderfully overwhelmed by the sensations. He kisses over your clothes breasts and a flick switches in you, needing to feel his lips everywhere without obstruction. He apparently feels exactly the same and begins fumbling at the little zipper on the side of the dress.

You untie the little cape and let that open wide, waiting for Fred to do the last little clasp which you knew he'd enjoy. You reach for his hand and pull it towards the little clasp in between your breasts which he opens in no time, watching as your naked breasts spill out of the dress, not having been able to wear a bra all day. He curses under his breath as he looks at your bare breasts and you take the time to slide the rest of the fabric down your torso so that you're left in just your lace panties.

"Godric you're beautiful," he says more to himself than anything as he looks over your body before his gaze flicks up to you and he smiles before diving it for another kiss. His hand that he isn't bearing weight on comes up to massage and toy with your breasts and you can't help but run your fingers through his hair, trying to get his mouth where you want it. He senses what you want and immediately begins feasting on your tits, licking and sucking as your sensitive nipples which had you gasping and writhing almost immediately.

You begin pulling as his collar, desperate to get him naked too as you push him, flipping him over so that he was lay flat on the bed. You crawl to straddle him and you don't miss the glimmer in his eyes as your almost naked body climbs over his, breasts swaying as you begin to suck at his neck, making him moan.

You pop open the buttons on his collar, pulling off his tie and open up each individual button, placing a kiss on the newly exposed skin as you make your way down his torso, thankful that he'd taken off his jacket and waistcoat earlier in the night. You almost ripped the shirt off him as soon as the last button was done and you ran your fingers over his gorgeous chest and shoulders, running down his stomach until you reached his little happy trail.

You moved down on the bed so that you were face to face with his crotch and began opening the fastenings of his trousers, pulling them over his hips and down his legs, leaving him in just his boxers, the outline of his impressive length clearly visible. You placed a kiss to his cock through his underwear and heard him groan, knowing he was watching your every move.

You looked up at him and saw his intense gaze, making you smirk as you tugged at the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down, his excited length springing out and falling onto his lower belly as you tug away the underwear, discarding them across the room. The sight of him bare before you, his perfect cock already hard and leaking was enough to make your mouth water and you couldn't help but lean down and press a few fluttering kisses along his length, feeling it twitch against your lips in excitement.

Maintaining eye contact with Fred, you gave him your sexiest look and leant down further to take his cock into your mouth, licking all the way around the sensitive tip as you tasted him. He groaned and shoved his head back against the bed at the sensation as you took more and more of him into your mouth, running your tongue along the veined underside of his cock to extend his pleasure. As you began to bob slowly on his cock, you were rewarded with loud groans and curses of your name from Fred, his cock only hardening further in your mouth.

"Godric princess, your mouth is fucking perfect," he groans in bliss.

Your hand came up to support your ministrations as you began to pump the few inches you weren't sucking, running your hands over his balls and giving them a very gentle tug like he liked, all of which making him writhe and groan.

"Princess, get up here," he says, suddenly reaching his hand out for you. You kisses his tip one last time before crawling up his body, his hands immediately reaching for you as he pulls you into him, one hand cupping your jaw as he pulls you in for a sinful kiss.

"Merlin," he says, pulling away as he runs a hand over his face, "you have no idea what these little white panties are doing to me."

"Do they make me look innocent?" You ask with a little smile, kissing down his jaw, eliciting another breathy moan from Fred.

"Yeah, but it's like you're the bride, making me lose it picturing it being our wedding night," he admits, his hands gripping you tighter in his hold, one large hand cupping and massaging your bum covered by the white lace. Your eyes widen a little in surprise, though he doesn't see, as you take in his words.

"That get you going big boy?" You ask breathily in his ear, still nibbling at his jaw as your hands explore his chest, briefly catching his nipples as you roam. "Picturing me as your bride? You like the idea of fucking your new wife?" He curses and moans, hips surging at your words, answering your question.

"Fuck baby," he whines as your hand wraps around his cock and begins slowly pumping him, your thumb catching the beads of precum and rubbing it into his soft tip.

"Maybe you like the idea of ripping off my sweet, appropriate little wedding dress and seeing exactly what's underneath."

He moans louder than you remembering ever being as your speed increases, your words having an evident affect on him.

"Or is it that everyone would know how good you're fucking your new wife, that everyone would know that I belong to you?" His hips start to stutter and you know he won't last much longer, the mixture of your hand on his cock and the words in his ear almost too much for him as he nods along with you, whining and groaning.

"Mrs Fred Weasley does sound good don't you think?" You ask him with a little smug smile at how he curses, hands scrambling to touch your tits as you pump him. "Y/n Weasley, Fred's wife." He's so close you can almost taste it, knowing he's just need a little nudge with the game you were playing.

"You wanna pretend it's our wedding night? I'll let you do anything you want to me husband, let you fuck everything that's yours."

He moans loudly as his hips stutter, your hand working his quickly as your other hand cups his balls as he erupts, ropes of cum spurting from his cock and landing on his stomach as you pump him through his orgasm, not stopping until his body stops twitching. He's breathless as he comes down from his high, chest heaving as a look of bliss falls over his face.

"Merlin," he says, finally opening his eyes to look at you, seeing your wicked little smirk. "Fuck that was hot." You smile as you reach down to grab his shirt from the floor, wiping his pleasure from his abdomen before throwing it back down onto the floor.

"Now, I think it's time I looked after my bride don't you think?" He says with a wicked grin, hands already pawing at you as he cups your jaw, pulling you into another kiss, his other hand creeping over your curves as he suddenly pushes you down onto the bed. His mouth wastes no time in pleasing you, immediately latching back into your breasts as he goes all out, grabbing, toying and sucking your breasts, never leaving the other one left out.

His fingers begin to drift down your body and tease your inner thighs as your legs part in anticipation, your arousal dripping from you at this point. When Fred's fingers finally slip between your legs and he feels the abundant wetness of your panties he curses again, latching onto your nipple and giving a harsh suck making you gasp.

"Mrs Weasley, so wet for me," he says with a smirk, slipping one finger inside your panties and into your waiting hole. You moan out at the sensation, feeling his thumb come up to toy with your aching clit and you can't help but roll your hips, unable to keep still as his fingers work you perfectly. "So good baby, so fucking perfect."

"Freddie," you keen as he adds a second finger, adjusting his angle so that he can press up against your gspot, making you writhe against him. The panties restrict his movements but it doesn't seem to faze him, working his magic on you.

He suddenly pulls his hand from you, making you whine but he quickly grabs and spins you on the bed so that you're on your hands and knees, his ability to manhandle you so effortlessly only furthering your arousal.

He moved to stand behind you, pulling you towards the edge of the bed as his fingers toy with the white lace panties you're still wearing. His hands hook into the waistband and you feel him rip off your panties, pulling them right down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to him. You gasp as the cool air hits your sensitive pussy lips and within seconds his mouth is on you, feasting deliciously on your dripping cunt.

"Freddie!" You moan, pushing your hips back as his tongue slips between your lips, lapping as your clit before slipping into your little hole. His entire face is pressed against your pussy and you can hardly contain your moans as you feel his mouth playing you like an instrument. His tongue circles your clit before he sucks on it in little bursts, making your hips writhe against his face. He alternates between sucking and licking, covering himself in your arousal before he suddenly pulls open your ass and really dives into your pussy, locking his lips around your clit and sucking, tongue circling the little bud.

"Fred!" You shout as you cum, hips rolling over his face as he laps at you over and over in just the right spot, letting you ride out your pleasure.

Your orgasm has done nothing to calm your arousal, if anything it's only spurred on a further need for Fred as you turn and drag him down onto the bed with you, kissing him feverishly as you feel the signs of his arousal renewed against your leg.

"Freddie, fuck your wife," you say, dragging a breathy moan and a curse from his lips as your hands reach out for him in anyway you can get him, hips raising up in desperation.

"I've got you sweetheart," he reassures you as he kisses you one last time before reaching down to kiss your nipples, hands lifting your legs, seeing you beautifully exposed before him. "My perfect girl, so fucking hot."

"Yeah you got a hot little wife Freddie?" You tease, knowing that your words would only fuel his fire.

"The fucking hottest," he growls, pumping his cock twice before positioning himself right at your entrance.

"Give it to me good Freddie, only you can fuck your wife so good like this."

He curses and grabs hold of his cock, tossing your legs into his shoulders as you feel him slowly sink into you, stretching you out as he gets deeper and deeper. You both moan in unison as he moves his hips, hitting all the right spots inside you before he begins to pick up his pace, big hands holding your thighs tightly. He watches as your breasts begin to bounce in time with his thrusts and you can't help but raise your arms up to grab hold of the metal headboard so you can get leverage to raise your hips in time with his, letting the last inch of his sink into you.

"Yeah you like that sweetheart? Your husband fucking you good? Fuck you are so tight," he says, eyes flicking between your breasts and watching his cock disappear into your pussy.

"So good Freddie," you moan out, arching your back as he pounds into you. "Only you can fuck me this good." You right hand slips off the bed frame and you start to circle your clit for a little extra pleasure until Fred notices and bats your hand away.

"Dirty girl, your husband not taking care of you good enough? Is my big cock not enough for you?" He teases.

You begin to whimper in reply, "no it is, so good baby."

He immediately pulls out of you and flips you over like it's nothing, pulling your hips up slightly before he slams back into you. He takes no prisoners with his thrusting as you feel his balls slapping against you, his left hand gripping your hip so hard it'll almost certainly leave a bruise. His right hand snakes around your hip abs begins toying with your clit deliciously and you can't help but rock your hips, your insides clenching around Fred's thick length as you cry out.

"Oh Freddie!" You cry out, feeling thoroughly fucked as he slams into you. "You're so deep!"

"Come on my little perfect wife, I want you to cum all over your husbands cock," he says, leaning down and changing the angle slightly so that he rubs against your gspot making a silent scream erupt from you. The hand that was holding your hip suddenly shifts and he wraps it around your throat as he fucks into you with abandon, his hips stuttering just enough that you know he's close. His hand doesn't squeeze nor put any pressure on but just feeling his long fingers wrapped around your throat whilst he plays with your clit and pounds into you is enough to send you hurling towards your end.

"Freddie Freddie Freddie!" You chant as you cum, nails clawing into the bedsheets as you feel the white hot pleasure erupt within you, your hips rolling back onto his cock as he pounds you even harder, no doubt feeling your walls squeezing him. He suddenly lets go of your throat and scrambles to grab hold of your hips as he slams his length into you once more and holds you tightly to him, buried entirely in you as he cums. You can feel his cock twitching inside you as he shoots his load as deep in you as he can, groaning and cursing behind you as your name falls from his lips.

After a few moments, he pulls out and watches as his cum begins to dribble out of you, cursing once again at the sight. You feel him shift and he presses a kiss to your back before carefully shifting you so that you were lying on the bed as he slips in next to you, instinctively reaching to pull you into his side.

You lean up and kiss him as his arms snake around you, one hand resting gently over your breast, thumb idly passing over your nipple.

"I love you so much sweetheart," he says, pulling off your lips but never really moving away as he kisses you again.

"I love you Freddie," you say, pouring as much love as you can into your words.

"Gonna marry you one day princess," he mumbles and you can suddenly hear the tiredness in his voice.

"If you're gonna fuck me like that again, I'd marry you right now," you said breathlessly, entwining your fingers with his.

He chuckles, squeezing your hand in his as his eyes close, "give me 10."

"I want to be your wife one day," you say quietly a few moments later, no longer teasing. You feel Fred's eyes open and he looks at you with a look you can't place.

"Sweetheart, nothing would make me happier than you being my wife, but stop talking about it before I get hard again."

[calaisreno]

Sixth Sense

885 Words / Prompt: Intuition

Molly notices. 

She’s not really a friend of John’s. They're friendly, but she never has much to say to him. He’s kind to her, and probably aware of how she felt about Sherlock. 

As one of the few who knows Sherlock is alive, she has a terrible advantage over John Watson. Not the one she used to wish for. 

They met in her lab, when Mike Stamford came looking for Sherlock, to introduce him to John. Well, nobody introduced her. Sherlock was fixated on her lipstick for some reason. She remembers John’s eyes on her, then turning to focus on Sherlock. That was the day she finally figured out that Sherlock wasn’t interested in her. In time, her crushing disappointment was lessened by the realisation that he was gay. It wouldn’t have mattered what shade of lipstick she wore or however many coffees she brought him; he would never look at her the way he looked at John.

At first she thought John was straight. After her blunder with Jim from IT (who turned out to be not only gay, but also a criminal) she consulted her friend Jasper, another gay man. “How can you tell?”

Asking this, she wasn’t thinking about Sherlock, or even Jim. What she was wondering about was John, who sometimes looked at Sherlock as if he’d hung the moon, but still dated ridiculous women. 

Of course men have different taste in women, just as women prefer certain types of men. She was attracted to men like Sherlock— tall, pale, Byronic hair, blindingly intelligent. Men who entered rooms with a swirl, who spoke with voices that made her shiver. They were hard to find, and to expect such a man also to be kind, romantic, and not gay was apparently too much. 

John dated women who were a bit out of reach. Taller women, confident women, the kind who didn’t need the right lipstick to be noticed. The kind who didn’t own three cats and spend the holidays with their ageing mother. These unobtainable women never lasted more than two dates. And he never seemed to mind.

John is not Molly’s type. She appreciates his abilities as a doctor. He has the right manner with Sherlock, a bit snarky, but not mean. He’s not tall, not gracefully slender. He has a temper. He’s blond and a bit sweary, good-looking in an average way, an ordinary bloke who goes out for pints with people like Greg Lestrade and Mike Stamford. 

She’d barely noticed him that day in the lab. He’s a man who doesn’t stand out, who completely disappears in the shadow of a man like Sherlock.

John and she are that awkward thing: friends of friends. He would never introduce her as, my friend, Molly. It would be Sherlock’s friend, Molly. If he asked a favour of her, she would do it because Sherlock would appreciate it, not because she feels any obligation to John.

She doesn’t hate him, or wish anything bad on him. She might have felt jealous for a few days, simply because Sherlock never forgets John the way he forgets about her the minute she’s out of his sight. 

She noticed him watching John, usually when he wasn’t looking. He looked sad. And she thought, I know what that feels like.

The memory of that look weighs on her, weeks after Sherlock’s funeral. A hard day, that was, sitting in a pew trying to fake sadness as she watched others grieve.

As she watched John grieve. 

What does it mean that John Watson looks like he’s lost everything? She sees him at the hospital sometimes, his hooded gaze avoiding the eyes of others, his psychosomatic limp making him wince with pain. 

She can’t say what it is that tells her. Maybe she’s just practiced for so long on other men that she’s developed a sixth sense about it. 

John loved Sherlock— not just as a friend. And he’s probably just now realising that. She supposes that quite a few men dismiss those feelings of attraction. Jasper says, all men are gay, potentially. It’s just easier to stay in the closet.

There are various reasons for that, and she doesn’t want to speculate what John’s are, but she observes his grief, and knows regret is a large part of that. 

Sherlock will be back, someday. He wasn’t very clear about when. Six months, maybe a year. But she thinks he’s being optimistic; he wants to come home to John, not leave him to grieve for years. 

And by the time he does make it back, John will have found another woman. Blonde and pretty. Nothing like the dark beauties he used to date. But still, clever like Sherlock, a bit imperious and demanding. He will look at her the way Sherlock always looked at him, when he didn’t notice. 

She could tell him. There’s only her promise to stop her from doing that. Could John keep the secret? Sherlock told her not knowing will keep him alive, that knowing would put him in danger.

She’s not in danger. Nobody thinks she mattered that much to Sherlock. Her feigned grief is taken as real, but everybody knows she’ll get over it. Just a crush.

As for John Watson, this might just kill him. 

That’s a problem she could solve. 

[ktempestbradford]

Lactation Influencers... Are Y'all Okay?

I dislike clickbait headlines as much as the next Gen Xer, but that does not make me immune to them. Thus, when I saw this headline...

Cookbook author speaks out following controversy over lactation cookies ad

...I had so many questions that demanded answers. I had to click.

Friends, I was not prepared for the journey I was about to embark on.

Before I even got to the first line of the article, this assaulted my eyes:

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that.

From the article:

Molly Baz is speaking out following controversy over a Times Square billboard featuring the pregnant cookbook author promoting lactation cookies. ... Brex, the company that sponsored Swehl's billboard, told ABC News the ad was removed following a message from Clear Channel, which owns the digital billboard. According to Brex, Clear Channel said the image depicted was "flagged for review."

Okay, but... lactation cookies?

According to Baz, the concept was meant to "empower" pregnant women and the cookies in the ad are marketed to help postpartum moms produce nutrient-dense breast milk.

*looks it up*

Y'all. They're called "BIG TITTY COOKIES"

I'll give you a minute to breathe through it.

Eye-rolling aside, this isn't the worst product I've ever heard of and, hey, maybe the cookies are good.

So why did Clear Channel want the ad gone? The answer to that isn't straightforward for a couple of reasons.

They did not remove the ad or even ask it to be removed from their billboard.

Molly Baz decided to use this opportunity tragedy to raise her profile as a lactation influencer the alarm about how men are misogynist (????).

"It's super disheartening and infuriating to me that my, kind of, first public foray into being a public mother was one that was deemed inappropriate," Baz said. Said Baz, "From my perspective, the imagery that we put together was no different from any of the other ads that are in Times Square." "[T]ake one look at the landscape of other billboards in times square and i think you'll see the irony. bring on the lingerie so long as it satiates the male gaze," Baz wrote...

I feel I can confidently say that I'm not being sex negative when I retort: MA'AM, what?

"There's a bit of a history of, I will say, a double standard that when bodies, specifically breasts are shown when it comes to selling lingerie, let's say, that's more acceptable but when it's something having to do with prenatal wellness or postnatal care, nursing, that tends to get flagged and we see a little bit of backlash," [Zoe Ruderman, a chief content officer for Adweek], added.

I know this is true in general, but in this case, is that what's really going on? After all, Clear Channel didn't even take the ad down permanently, and the marketing company provided an alternate ad without even being asked. One has to wonder if this is a manufactured controversy.

I say that even though I know full well that there is a double standard when it comes to women's bodies and whose gaze is being catered to and when it comes to lactating mothers, lactation, and women's health. That said, there's no way this image wasn't chosen for its Male Gaze Worthiness.

It's not the amount of exposed flesh, which isn't any worse than any lingerie or bikini ad. It is that this woman is holding cookies up to her breasts next to text that says "Just add milk" and the name of a website/company that is probably well-known to people who are or want to be pregnant and little known outside of that. If I were in Times Square, looked up, and saw that? I'd assume it's an ad for a sex fetish bakery.

In all honesty, the thing I assumed was controversial (before clicking) was that someone had posted an ad for cookies made using human breast milk. That would have made somewhat more sense as a controversy.

There's no way everyone involved in "concepting" this campaign (yes, they used concept as a verb in their official statement) didn't know this was a possible reaction or outcome. They appear to have expected it. Which is why they immediately had another ad to replace it and some very RAH RAH WOMEN! Down with the Patriarchy! social media posts likely on deck. That's real feminist of you, becky.

The disingenuousness of it all bothers me the most. Just because the social justice issue they're highlighting is real doesn't mean they are somehow champions of the cause because they dared to show a pregnant belly on a billboard. If anyone complained, I doubt their complaint was based on a prejudice against lactating mothers or that lactation was hinted at.

[heavenlymorals]

How a Modern Perspective Skews Historical Characters: A Mini Rant on the Hatred of Female Characters in RDR2

This isn't that organized cuz it's more a rant than a retrospective but fuck it it's my blog, I do what I want-

There are so many people who have actual hatred, not criticisms, for Abigail, Molly, Grimshaw, Mary, and other female characters in the Red Dead universe.

And honestly? I find it very interesting. Sure, men will probably always find a reason to hate a female character, but what I find interesting is how many women also hate these wonderfully crafted characters.

It could be so many reasons as to why this may be the case but honestly? I think it's because people forget that they CANNOT analyze this game authentically through the modern lens of morals and behaviors. This game takes place in 1899 America. Let me say it again. This game takes place in 1899 America.

One more time, just for good measure- this game takes place in FUCKING 1899 America. Women had to be dependent on men because otherwise? They'll either be in poverty, exploited, killed, or all three. There was also the honor system. When had to be the moral high ground for their family so them messing up has consequences on their fathers, mothers, siblings, cousins, and anyone connected to their family name.

Abigail getting pissy at John for getting in trouble all the time? If course it'd feel annoying if you're looking at it through the modern perspective but when you don't, it's a woman telling her man to act like a man and be careful because if he doesn't, she and her son will be destitute and destroyed.

Mary not getting with Arthur but using him? What's the likely hood that the law would bother to help Mary when the two people she needs help with are her father and brother- two grown men who can make their own choices that she literally can do nothing about because as a woman, it wasn't her place to dictate what they do. Arthur was her only option. "Girl, what her family thinks doesn't matter, she still should've gotten with him" girl no, because it's much harder and difficult than that- it's like tearing away an entire identity that you depend on to fucking survive.

"but what about Sadie? She was also living during this time period and she isn't drowned by societal expectations-"

Seriously. Do some research, read a book, expand your knowledge of gender roles and what that entails for people because it explains so many things about these characters in such a human way. They aren't "bitches", they are women of their time and people have to understand that.

No. Sadie isn't a part of this discussion because though she is a fun character and an amazing character, she is a mishmash of historical women who did masculine things to survive at one point but then went back to traditional roles, even if they did occasionally go back to to those old activities for sport sometimes, like Anne Oakley or Calamity Jane. Sadie's entire character is basically "but what if they didn't and committed to the nontraditional lifestyle". There are many inconsistencies that Rockstar did regarding the time period that they established earlier to accommodate Sadie's character better. Sadie is a great character but she doesn't belong in this discussion.

Edit: Ok, since this was a rant, as mentioned previously, I was a bit too rushed with the Sadie aspect of this post and ignored some crucial details. I'm not gonna change the post besides just this though. @hillbillyhipster84 made some great points that Sadie was a reference to Appalachian women and real outlaw women who did run and were accomplices in men's crimes, that I was too ignorant to mention prior beforehand because I didn't do much research. I still don't believe that People should use Sadie to bash the other women though, because those women mentioned above were not the status quo and thus were more trivialized because of it.

So many cultures still operate like this too so if anything, you're just learning something new about another culture.

But I swear, anytime someone talks shit about these characters, y'all got me looking like this-

[schrodingerscougar]

The Heartbreak Prince (Alex Keller x f!reader)

Note: Okay, Chad Michael Collins is 44, so if we say Alex is 35-45, and you read this like the reader is in her early 20s, there might be a small reference to what you might consider grooming if you squint. In my head, Alex is 35 and the reader is around 30, but who am I to tell you how old she is?

Be a good girl for me.

Alex always took it on himself to keep you in line when you were ready to do something stupid or reckless. He had been like that since you were a kid, although the way he warned you changed drastically as you grew older.

Your brother didn't notice, or rather didn't want to notice, but his best friend was always extremely flirty with you. He touched your body every chance he got, placed soft kisses on your head, or simply gave you a ride home after a night out and spent the whole trip trying to make you smile and laugh.

Tonight he said these words when an ex of his showed up in the bar where you were drinking with your friends. You had never understood what he liked about her, the stereotypical dumb blonde who always tried to sound smart, but usually ended up saying something stupid. Alex deserved better, you were sure of that, and you hoped he knew it too.

“I always see your friends here, but you're never with them,” she complained with a pout she probably expected to look cute on her.

It wasn't cute. At all. And from the look on Alex’s face, you could tell he thought the same. His blue eyes were focused on the woman in front of him, and you could see his jaw tighten as he considered what to say. Their relationship got a nasty end, with a certain incident that divided your little group.

He traveled a lot because of his job–whatever it truly was, he never told you–but that relationship ended because she kissed some random guy at a party. Molly said it was an accident, then the story changed and she tried to turn herself into the victim by saying she felt neglected.

“What can I do for you?” Alex asked her eventually, his voice perfectly neutral as if he was talking to a stranger.

You didn't look at them, instead you focused on the screen of your phone and only listened to the conversation. That was more than enough for you, the least you wanted was witnessing a car crash. Because you knew the girl would throw a fit, either blaming Alex again or begging him to take her back.

She didn't respond right away and you heard a gasp leave her lips. Normally you would've assumed she was thinking about what to say, but knowing her, you quickly dismissed the idea. As if. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep a smile from appearing on your face, you opened a messaging app and began to send Alex some memes.

His phone beeped in front of him and he took a quick look at the screen. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as he turned it upside down and placed it on the table with a smirk. Then you felt his foot bump into your leg, and soon he spread his legs wide enough to be able to press his thigh to yours.

“What are you doing?” you wrote him as if he would answer now.

But to your surprise he picked up his phone and typed a short response. “Watch this.”

So you did as you were told and turned your head to face him. The corner of Alex's mouth turned upwards before he reached out to take your hand, long fingers lacing with yours as if this had been a common occurrence. Your breath caught in your throat which didn't seem to bother him. In fact, this only made him more determined to make it look like you were dating.

“Are you joking?” Molly asked hysterically, causing your friends to grab their drinks and walk away. “I always hated the way this snake tried to get your attention, even when we were dating.”

Alex rolled his eyes at this. “I don't know what gave you the idea, it was the other way around,” he told her cheekily, then leaned over to place a kiss on your head.

And you were sitting there, being dragged into a fight you didn't want to be a part of. While you tried to pay attention to anything but that conversation, the gears in your brain began to turn. The other way around? You had always assumed it was meaningless flirting from his part. But maybe he was only saying this to annoy Molly.

“I love it when you're such a good girl for me,” he whispered in your ear to bring you back to reality, and his lips touched your skin to make your brain short-circuit.

Only now that you looked up did you notice that Molly had left without a word, leaving you there alone. “Alex, what the hell?” you demanded as you moved a little away from him.

“What?” he asked innocently as he took a sip of his beer. You punched his upper arm with an angry look on your face. “Come on, you can't say this wasn't a long time coming.”

“Nothing happened.”

Alex let out a laugh before he put a finger under your chin to make you look at him. “Which is a shame.”

Before you could say anything, he leaned forward to kiss you, his lips gently moving in perfect sync with yours. Damn it, you didn't even realize you kissed him back. But it felt good, so good that you didn't want it to end. Maybe he was right. Maybe this really was a long time coming.

[softrozene]

Reacting to Dutch Wanting a Night with Their Girl

Anonymous requested: Okay, so, I’ve had this in my head for a while. Dutch is a gross old guy who likes pretty young ladies, right? Well, Arthur/John/Javier has this real cute and super affectionate little thing on his arm. What? They’re married/engaged/dating? No, it’s fine. He taught that boy how to read! Giving up his girl for a night isn’t that big of a deal, he’s sure asking them in the middle of camp will go well. 

rdr2 masterlist

ALJSFDASKL This is so long omg. Let me know if you wanted something specific or anything- Wasn’t too sure if it was a request but I had to give my input. This is how I thought they would react and lmao this was super fun. 

Originally published on January 5, 2021

Arthur, Javier, John x Female Reader

Warnings: Dutch is super gross in this - We don’t stan, we do stan the three who stick up for their girl, Dutch is vulgar - I really did Dutch dirty in this but it was bound to happen eventually.

Words: ~900

Okay, one thing they all share in common is if it were you saying that Dutch said something to you, they would all be hesitant. Like “Nah, he didn’t mean it that way” or “Are you sure he said that?” or “I’ll go talk to him”- Then they end up doubting you as Dutch lies his way out of it (Yes, they would sadly be the dudes that apologizes for their friend’s behavior too)

They are hesitant only because Dutch did offer them a chance as part of the family in the gang- He did give them a decent chance at life and as anon said- Taught them to read and write. They see him as someone they owe a great lot to- so if you suddenly talk bad about him, they will want to defend him, or he will point the blame at you

In other words, their loyalty to Dutch will for sure make them not believe you at first

However- If they witness it that is an entirely different story:

Charles wasn’t asked for, but I will say since he is not that close with Dutch other than respecting him for being treated well in the gang, he will straight-up knock out Dutch the second he hears anything vulgar- Or whether you inform him. You matter more than the gang and he will defend you

 Arthur Morgan-

You have been skittish lately. That does not sit well with Arthur since you are only skittish with Dutch around- He thinks it is just because you are shy and nothing else until-

Dutch- Sweet, old, crazy Dutch comes up to the both of you, more so looking at Arthur in an expecting way and asks for a night with you- With others as witnesses nonetheless?

All of you would be stunned-

Dutch has a fucking serious tone- Arthur will be frozen then just stare at him for the longest time

“Dutch- You drunk?”

“What? Son, I would never- I was simply asking a hypothetical ‘what if’ question since you have such a divine being hanging on your arm all the time. You can’t deny the chemistry we have when we look- Hey now, don’t give me that look, Son. You know I would only ask if it would benefit you-“

He would keep saying creepy things along those lines and Arthur just snaps

Either by straight-up punching him in the face- Tackling him- Anything, no one can pry him off of Dutch until he good and satisfied that this once honorable man he looked up to will never gaze upon you again in that creepy face

He loses all respect for Dutch and Dutch’s confidence with how he thought he could get Arthur’s girl for a night

Everyone is wary and on edge, but it is for the better

Molly probably opens up her eyes

 John Marston-

Dutch does not even have to say anything- John notices the looks he has been giving you and he does not like it one bit

Dutch would not go to him first- Instead, John would confront him in the middle of the camp and be like “You serious right now Dutch? Eyeing my woman when I am right here, and Molly is over there?”

Dutch will respond: “I ain’t touching- I am just looking.” Or “Can you blame me? Look at her.”

“That is low- Even for you Dutch”

If Dutch even tries to defend himself, be fancy with his words, or place the blame on you- You can bet John will not hold back- The boys will have to pry him off Dutch (after letting John get a few hits in because Dutch ain’t as sly as he thinks he is)

This really is one of the worse things John has seen and he won’t stand with it (depending on how much he cares about you tbh) Like if he sees you as his wife you bet, he is ready to ditch the gang again but with you this time

We’re pretending Abigail and Jack are in a healthy place- Not this universe lamflasd

 Javier Escuella-

I really hate to say this guys but the way Javier reacts depends on what chapter you are in- In the gang.

Before Chapter 5+6 he would react on your behalf-

“Dutch- Did you really ask if you can borrow mi amor?”

He is pissed- He is beyond livid, he will try to be calm and collected but that will not last long and he will act on your behalf demanding Dutch respects you

If this happens after 5 and during 6- He will really think about it

He already betrayed Arthur and John, the gang is falling apart, all he has is Dutch and you- So he will really consider it (but I doubt he would let Dutch go through with it)

After Chapter 6 though- He will not hesitate to cut a bitch Dutch

He realized that he really lost the family that had his back, and it is all because of Micah and Dutch so if Dutch has the gall to ask him after everything you all went through- It is on- He will fight for your honor and he will apologize constantly afterward for helping to ruin the family you both loved and shared

[keirawantstocry]

that one time tubbo called pac a dilf 😵‍💫

okay wait…

young teacher tubbo and dilf pac comes to collect his son from class…..tubbos got such a crush on him and maybe he asks pac to stay back to talk about richas’s behaviour but it turns into something else….

you've come to the right person (guy who is obsessed with pacbo)

Tubbo wasn't quite sure how he ended up with this job. He had never in any of his years considered being a teacher of any sort. But after he adopted his daughter, he needed a second job. Mechanics weren't paying him enough. Luckily there was a daycare nearby that was hiring. It was a more difficult process than he had expected, much like the adoption. But he got it. 

His daughter stayed with her “other father”. Tom's name was always said in a sigh like that. They were young and stupid and drunk and Tubbo didn't know what he was doing when he signed the stupid paper that Tommy had slid him across the dirty bar table. 

Tommy, and unfortunately Molly, found it hilarious. They both insisted on watching Sunny while he was at work. Thankfully Sunny loved them. Tommy would do her hair in braids. It was something they did when they were younger. Tubbo remembered sitting in fields with Tommy's older cousin braiding his long hair. 

As soon as Tommy saw Sunny's thick 3C curls, he stayed up two nights in a row researching and watching video after video of how to do cornrows and other braids in her hair. 

Molly often sent him videos while he was at work on Sunny prattling on while Tommy listened intently, braiding her hair as best he could. As much as Tubbo joked about divorce and threatened, he was glad to have two people he loved watching his child and caring for them so well. 

He closed his laptop with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He was the last one there, his co worker had to leave because she had to pick up her own child but they needed someone to watch the singular child whose parents were incredibly late. 

Opening his eyes, Tubbo stared down the young boy in front of him. 

He was a Latino boy, probably around 7 or 8 with an oversized yellow jersey that he wore every single day. He was staring at Tubbo with large brown eyes. It was almost unnerving but he was a cute, decently well mannered child. 

Tubbo remembered the day he joined the daycare. A man with shoulder length brown hair and a singular white streak through it brought him in and explained how the boy had been born without part of his leg but was still very capable of movement with the prosthetic his Pai had made him. 

The owner of the daycare had nodded, assuring the man over and over that his child would be well cared for and that they would make sure the other children didn't say anything nasty as children tended to do. 

Richas, Tubbo remembered, as he continued to stare down the boy. His name was Richas. 

“Hello,” he said. 

The boy grinned. “Ola!” 

Tubbo laughed at his enthusiasm before picking up his phone to attempt to call the boy's parents once again. It rang and rang, like it had three times before click. 

“Holy shit, we are so sorry. Our schedule got all mixed up and we didn't know who was supposed to pick him up today. Fuck!” 

“Hey, hey,” Tubbo said calmly. “It's okay. I'm here with him. Get here whenever you can.” 

The voice on the phone that Tubbo didn't recognize took a few deep breaths. “Sim, sim, of course. Peqi is on his way already. He should be there any minute.” 

Tubbo smiled at Richas who bounced up and down excitedly, trying to climb up the front of the desk to reach the phone. “Sounds good, Mr…?” 

The voice laughed. “Just call me Mike yeah?” 

Richas made the saddest noise possible and Tubbo's heart melted. “Wait, before you go, I think he wants to talk to you.” 

He removed the phone from the side of his ear and carefully handed it to the boy who cradled it with both hands and held it up to his mouth. “OI, PAI.” 

Mike's voice came through quietly. “Oi, Richas. Você está sendo bom?” 

“Sim, sim,” the boy sang happily. “Eu sou bom.” 

“Bom menino. Pai Pac will be there soon okay?” 

“Okay, okay.” 

“Eu te amo.” 

“Eu também te amo.” 

The phone clicked, ending the call and Richas handed it back to Tubbo with a smile. Not even five seconds after the phone was back in his hand, the door slammed open. Standing in the now open doorway was a frazzled and incredibly attractive man. 

Richas ran over, bounding easily into his arms. 

“Richarlyson!” the man cooed, swinging him back and forth in his arms. He met Tubbo's eyes over his son's head. ‘Thank you’ he mouthed. 

Tubbo was almost too stunned to nod but he managed to as Richas's father slowly lowered him to the ground to step over to Tubbo. 

“I have to sign him out, yes?” 

Tubbo nodded, still speechless. He cleared his throat and slid the sign-out sheet across the desk. “Yeah, uh, yeah.” 

The man, Pac, from the signs of his scribbled signature, smiled blindingly at him, his son clinging to his leg. 

Tubbo noticed at that moment that Pac had a near identical prosthetic to his son. “You match,” he said before mentally slapping himself. You don't just fucking point out a man's prosthetic, no fucking wonder you're still married to Tommy. 

But Pac just laughed softly. “We do,” he said softly, rubbing the top of Richas's head. “He is very clearly my son.” 

“Are you his biological father?” Tubbo asked. Holy fucking shit, shut up you fucking idiot. He is so tired of you already, why are you asking so many questions? 

Pac just laughed softly again and the twist in Tubbo's chest felt like falling off a cliff. “Sim, yes, I am. I was the one who gave birth to him.” 

Tubbo stopped himself from asking any questions about that. He knew better than that at least. “That's really cool.” He tried a smile and felt so awkward. 

“Thank you,” Pac said. “And thank you for watching him past time. I know you probably have places to be.” 

Tubbo brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Oh don't worry about it. My daughter is more than happy to spend more of their time with her ‘other father’.” Out of instinct, he raised his hands and made quotation marks with his hands. 

Pac raised an eyebrow curiously. 

Tubbo flushed. “A, uh, friend of mine. We got drunk married and now my daughter considers him her other father.”

Pac laughed. “No spouse of your own then? One that you're in love with anyway?” 

Tubbo flushed darker. “Ah, no. Just my husband and his girlfriend.” 

“Mmm,” Pac said, leaning over on the desk. “Good to know.” 

Tubbo froze in his spot as Pac's eyes, big and brown just like his son's, stared into his soul. He gulped before clearing his throat. “Yeah, uhmm, yeah.” The heat of his face was nearly unbearable. 

Richas gently smacked his dad on the leg. “Oi, stop that.” 

Pac leaned back, holding his hands up with an innocent expression. “What?? What?” 

The little boy glared at him with no heat. “Pai Mike told you to stop that.” 

“Well, Mikey isn't here right now is he? And he also has no control over my life.” Pac turned back to Tubbo and grabbed the pen again. He motioned towards Tubbo's arm which he held out willingly. 

Quickly the man scribbled a number onto his arm, his grip strong and warm. Tubbo felt dizzy. 

Pac dropped the pen with a smile and a wink before grabbing his son's hand. “Call me yeah?” 

Tubbo stared in disbelief, red as a beet. “...yeah,” he said softly as Pav happily bounded out the door, his son berating him in Portuguese. 

“Tommy,” he said softly when he got home, holding up his arm. “I think I got hit on.”

[shelbgrey]

Say Something... (Draco Malfoy)

Paring: Draco malfoy X Weasley!Reader

Summary: Ron Weasley's twin sister gets torchored by death eaters and her boyfriend Draco struggles to get her to talk while also helping her family take care of her.

Potter MasterList

Everything hurt....

You were covered in bruises and burns. Though it felt like half of your brain was no longer working as you felt yourself becoming more and more numb, you reckoned you were gonna survive, at least with a dozen or so scars. You winced feeling every bone in your body ache and burn.

Your throat burned and felt like sandpaper. Unknowingly your blood stained hands rubbed your throat. The dry and scratchy feeling isn't what hurt though. You sighed feeling the emptiness of your neck. The death eaters had taken the ring you wore on a Chang on your neck. That should be the least of your problems right? But it was the ring Draco gave you. It was a reminder of what or who you were protecting.

His broken voice filed through your fried brain... At least you think it's his. Your heart clinched at the sound of his voice but your brain seemed to not process it.

“this is my mess... I can't let you do this”

“the spell is already done, Draco. I’m your secret keeper. Besides, I don’t need you to let me do anything.” 

“You could die! You realize that? You could get tortured! You know what happened to the Longbottoms!” 

He felt small and useless that day. He knew he couldn't stop you... What killed him was he knew he couldn't protect you. For a moment Draco  thought that there was no one in the world who would dare challenge you on this or that no Death Eater would ever go near you with the intent to torture. He knew no one would be able to convince you other wise.

Not even your brothers...

“please don't do this...” he said feeling weak.

Your feet crunched on the wet grass, and the cold only served to soothe your suffering for a few more moments as you walked to the door of the burrow you called home. In the distance you could hear Ron and Draco arguing. That was nothing new, the two had never and probably never will get along.

It took a while but your Family did welcome Draco into the family with open arms. He felt safer in the burrow than he did in his own home. The twins and excepted it first and tried their best to be friends to Draco and soon the three became closer than you expected. And of course your mother Molly treated him like one of her own which overwhelmed Draco at first but he grew to appreciate and love it.

Vaguely, you heard George defuse the squabbling boys, asking if anyone heard that. Through your dark clouded mind you knew that if didn't speak something bad would happen. If you did speak the same outcome might happen. I tried to call out to the voices but nothing came out. If you didn’t say you were there and that it was all still safe they might finish what the Death Eaters started.

The idea of that seemed to be too much, and before you knew it you felt your leg give out underneath you as you stepped forward, and the ground rushed up to meet you as your vision went black.

The arguing stopped, you knew that much. You could hear a familiar voice call out your name on the distance. A door open and slammed shut. The force made you jolt in fear but your body didn't move. Your fried brain had been wired to tell your body it's time for more pain.

You wanted to flinch and protect your body but you felt too weak to move.

“Y/n!”

the harshness of an unforgiving curse wasn't shot through your vains. Nor was the harshness of a fist. What was felt was gentle hands cradling you to his chest. It felt like Ron... You think. Your brain didn't seem to have it on file but something was telling you it was your over protective twin brother.

He looked down and spoke softly. “hey, what happened? Who did this?” Ron looked up and saw the the rest of the residents of the burrow file out. Fred stopped in shock seeing his little sister all beaten up. George left his twin and raced over to the youngest pair of twins.

Ron looked up to the group with tears flooding is eyes. “who did This! What's wrong with her!” he shouted. The other stood there speechless.

After cooling off and his brain was thinking rationally he walked outside to see what the commotion was about. Draco's chest tightened at the sight that was before him. His Love all bloddy and hurt in her brother's sobbing arms.

“no!” he shouted and ran to her. He fell to his knees in front of Ron who was still holding her. Draco wasn't one to cry in front of people who wasn't you but he didn't care at this point. He sob and tried to take you but Ron wasn't having it. Not thinking straight enough to agrue with your brother he stared at the wet grass and punched it with anger. The fist being used only made him angrier. It was the fist that was attached to the arm that once held his death eater mark. It was gone after a painful process that you were against. The scar that remained only reminded him you were in this situation because you were protecting him.

Your father tired to take you inside but Ron flintched away. It was the first time ever anyone saw Ron shout at your father. “don't touch her”

Draco didn't even try. He knew Ron blamed him and he wouldn't be surprised if the the whole family did. Your mother tried to reason with Ron but he just protectevly picked you up and kept everyone away as he took you inside. Everyone quickly followed...

Except the numb Slytherin who was on his knees Sobbing. Your mother who so desperately wanted to a follow and care for her daughter stayed behind. She knew Ron would probably hex the next person who came near you. She also knew her son well enough to know he was waiting for it to be Draco.

“I'm so sorry” Draco sobbed out to the red-head mother. “I never wanted her to do this for me... I'm sorry” Mrs. Weasley knelt down next to him and hugged him trying to calm him down.

“its not your fault” she spoke softly.

It's not your fault

But in his mind he knew it was...

You could not think. You could not feel. It was not until a few moments later when you felt your body gently senk into a familiar couch. The old creaky couch never felt so good. someone with vaguely familiar feeling hands was kneeling next to you, pulling you up to sit and pressing a glass of water to your lips that you finally began to feel everything rushing back.

It hurt...

Everything hurt so much...

Draco watched silently next to the door frame in the kitchen. He kept his distance as he watched your brothers take care of you. He felt relieved Ginny was out With Harry not wanting the young girl to see her sister in pain. Feeling he over stepped his leave and the tension was an unwelcoming feeling that told him he should leave but the sight of you made him plant his root right where he was.

If no one would let him near you he'd watch you like a hawk from a far making sure no one hurt you.

It was all too much. you could see the familiar red-head boys in front of you, your poor brother George with just one ear. Ron sat next to you with tears in his eyes saying things that you could hardly make yourself hear. You saw everyone except one... You didn't move but your E/c eyes scanned around the room for the Blond Slytherin you swor to protect.

Your mother followed your eyes and she just knew what you wanted. Your crying brothers isn't what you need. She walked over to Draco who had his head down and was hiding behind the blond hairs that fell over his eyes. She placed her hand over his shoulder to get his attention. He looked at her with red puffy eyes.

“she needs you right now”

Draco gulped and knelt down front of the couch you were laying on. Ron gave him a death glare and opened his mouth to say something but your father put his hand on Ron's shoulder stopping him.

Draco gently took your hand and kissed it softly as he whispered. You knew he was asking what happened, hoping you would say it was nothing while Ron seemed much less optimistic. He was fuled with rage.

You wanted to say something but you couldn't.

It was all too much... And you were scared.

Your shaking hand could hardly hold on to Draco's pale one. His other one moved to hold that weight of your cut up and bruised hand.

You took in one long breath, and released it. There was a part of you saying to keep fighting. That you’d come this far. That talking couldn’t be that hard! You’d gotten tortured for information and fought off a pair of Death Eaters for Christ's sake! Talking to your boyfriend and your brothers would be easy.

Saying all of that was right.... Right?

It would be kinder to your brothers...

It would be better for Draco..

But it hurts.. So, so much.

The pain wouldn't leave. Feeling every ache, every burn, and cut made you feel vulnerable and useless... You didn't want to talk or even think.. Everything felt muffled and faded.

You layed there wondering if you should force yourself to snap out of it before you decided that it simply was going to hurt too much right now to do that. To talk. To relive it all. You looked up at Draco and the sounds you were hearing didn’t seem to match up with how his lips were moving. He seemed frantic. He looked so scared that it was just one more jab to your stomach. 

You closed your bruised eyes not wanting to see Draco so distraught. No, you didn't want to feel anything anymore.

Draco nor your brothers knew what to do. Ron found you passed out in the yard after a heated argument between Ron and Draco. There was large gashes in your shirt that showed a wounds on your chest and sides that while obviously not lethal, seemed to be pouring out a lot of blood. 

There was bruises and burns all round your neck and arms.

There was a long cut on down your left eye that made Bill's stomach turn.

“Y/n? I need you to talk to me. What happened? Are you alright?” Draco tried his best to seem calm, and to speak in a soothing manner but even he could hear the fear in his own voice. “please,Darling.” 

He was vaguely aware of Fred and George on the other side of you, making quick work of your wounds. One of the benefits of being a children of Molly Weasley meant that they both had quite a bit of experience with healing spells. Not as much as their mum’s, but more than enough to pull you through. 

“y/n..” a small voice suddenly appeared. They all looked up aside from you and saw Ginny covered her mouth and tears fell fast. Harry stood there speechless as he tried to comfort Ginny. Your mother quickly moved away and tried to move Ginny and Harry upstairs. Ginny tried to fight to see you but she gave up breaking in Harry's arms.

“Love?” Draco's throat felt tight, as he watched your eyes glaze over-you were still looking in his direction, seemingly at his face, but Draco got the sense that you were no longer really seeing. 

Ron moved to her line of sight with a defeated look “Tell me what happened.” you didn't answer and your eyes trailed back to Draco.

he smoothed out your hair, pressing a kiss to the matted, bloody mess. Eyes squeezed tight he waited with baited breath for you to speak until he felt your father squeeze his shoulder. 

“What happened?” Draco knew of course. It was quite obvious what had happened to you, but that didn’t keep him from wanting to deny what was obvious. He looked up at your father with tears.

George looked at your boyfriend sadly. “She was tortured, and now we’re going to patch her up.” he could already hear Draco about to wonder aloud if you’d turn out like the Longbottom’s, and quickly nipped that in the bud. “Let’s get her cleaned up and into bed. She’ll feel better then, and maybe she’ll start talking.”

That seemed to give both Draco and Ron a spark of hope. Wrapping one arm around your shoulders, and slipping another under your knees, Draco lifted you up and carried you towards the bathroom. Ron tried to follow but your father stopped him and your mother went.

--------( ....... )--------

You hadn’t talked since you've been home. It had been ten and a half days, and you showed no more sign of speaking than you did on that first night. 

Your wounds had been mended or were healing, all going well. Draco dutifully changed your bandages twice a day, and helped clean you off at night. He made sure you ate thrice a day, drank plenty of water, and stayed close to you the entire time. 

Draco constantly spoke to you.

It's the most you've ever heard him talk in the burrow. He was always afraid he'd over step and he was always afraid he'd say the wrong thing. if you were in a different situation you'd be proud of him.

Draco would talk About anything that came to his mind. The boy was quickly becoming used to saying whatever his first thought was that came to him. Fred and George noted rather sadly that their sister's boyfriend's thoughts seemed to be running in sad circles as the days added up. 

Draco didn't give up on you though.

It reminded George a lot of when you were a child and you would talk to the stuffed Dragon Charlie got you. In his mind he could almost hear what the response would have been. 

“how are you feeling, Love?”

Silence

You were gazing at something on the far shelf in your room- Draco followed your line of sight and it landed on a medium sized Green dragon plushy. He pointed at it but you didn't saying, just kept staring at it thinking about.

Draco got up from his spot next to you and retrieved the stuffed dragon. “is this what you want?” you didn't respond but squeezed it tightly as soon as he placed it in your hands. You held it to your chest and hid your face in like a small child would when they were scard.

It felt comforting to hold it again. You haven't slept with since 3rd year but it was always special to you because Charlie gave it to you.

Charlie... He probably doesn't even know what's happening at home.

Draco looked down at the dragon and slightly smiled as he fiddled with the soft wign. “remember the voice I made up for him in 2nd year? I'd always annoy you with it but deep down I knew you thought it was funny”

You didn't respond only held the dragon tighter. Draco sighed and pulled you into his lap, and could almost feel you wrapping your arms around him and hiding your face in the neck like always... But you felt like a raggdoll. You kept your arms around the stuffed dragon but you mechanically rested the side of your head to his chest.

“please talk to me” Draco whispered. He even thought about making the dumb stuffed dragon talk like he did when you were younger. But he didn't want to treat you like a child.

“please...” His voice cracked, as he began to shake. It was starting to get hard to remember how your voice sounded, something that shook him to his core. 

“Say something... I-I’ll give you anything you want just say something.” he said more desperately.

More since filled the room. Dead quiet.

“just talk... Please...let me hear your voice”

He sounded horribly pathetic, he knew that, and he didn’t care. If it meant you’d start talking again he’d fall on his knees in front of anyone. If it meant you came back he would do whatever was requested of him. 

Fred and George came up from the basement and stared sadly at their little sister and her boyfriend. “Draco, when was the last time you got any sleep?” George asked.

Draco didn't awnser and kept his eyes on you and only you. “Malfoy, why don't you get some sleep” Fred added.

The twins' suggestion was met with a immediate shake of Draco’s head. “I’m not leaving her.” 

“You’re not leaving. You’ll be going to bed. I can get Y/N’s dinner ready and Mum will help her get changed. You need to sleep, Mate.” George noted, that your eyes slowly seemed to be coming into focus instead of gazing far away you finally looked as if you were noticing things in the room. 

He wondered, for a moment, and he didn't make any indication he was gonna move. Fred let out a long breath. 

“Go to bed.” George said as him and fred walked over to Draco and very gently, removed you from his lap. “we'll take care of her.”

George held your hand as You teetered between the realms of seeing and unseeing. Understanding and not knowing. Everything seemed to be muffled. You weren’t entirely sure who you were anymore. 

“y/n, Darling?” Draco said softly. You looked at the ground not saying anything. Like I said you weren't entirely sure who you were anymore but you knew one thing...

Your name...

Draco was about to leave but you mindlessly followed. He stopped and you looked up at him. one of the first responses you’d been able to give in a long time. He felt a bit of hope in his chest. All you knew was it was his bed time.

You didn't speak but handed him the stuffed Dragon and shuffled back to the twins. He looked down at it button eyes as his chest tightened. George took your hand and tried to led you into the kitchen but you didn't move to far. Fred stayed behind with draco.

Fred patted his friend's shoulder. “See? She heard you. Go to bed. She’s getting better day by day.” Draco silently nodded and walked upstairs with the dragon still in his hands.

You followed Draco with your eyes, brow crinkling as things began to fit more together. There was a gentle tug on your hand and you looked to see George smiling at you a bit knowingly. “Let’s get you some tea, alright? I’ll fix dinner.”

“come on sis” Fred added following his siblings into the kitchen.

--------( ....... )--------

Draco silently walked up the stairs in to the room he always slept in when he stayed over.

“how she doing?” Ron's voice said making him look up. The Slytherin shrugged fiddling with the Dragon. Ron looked down at it as well felling his chest tighten. With Ron and you being twins that dragon was just as much part of his childhood as it was yours.

“haven't seen him in a while” Ron said referring the the toy. Draco shrugged. “she was staring at it this morning... I thought she'd want it... Then she gave to me when George told me to go to bed”

Ron sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets while leaning on the wall. “I'm sorry for being so awful to you”

Draco looked up at the red-head. He let out a depressing chuckel. “I would be nice to me either... And I deserve it” Draco tried to finish his trip to his(your) bed but Ron stopped him again.

“you've changed” That made Draco stop and turn back to Ron. “she saw the good in you... And I just held a grudge... I was so bloody pissed when you started dating her and I couldn't let myself see you weren't that bad”

Draco nodded and gave him a genuine smile. “no harm done Mate” he held out his hand to Ron. Your twin slightly smiled and shook your boyfriends hand. Ron awkwardly nodded. “I'll just let you get back to it” Ron walked passed Draco and down the stairs.

Ron walked into the kitchen to see his twin and the older set of twins. For the first time ever Ron felt sick to his stomach and had no appetite. He just silently sat down next to you as George set a cup of tea in front of the both of you.

The tea burned your tongue when you sipped on it and almost as quickly as you pulled a face George set a glass of ice water in front of you for you to sip on. Ron set the hot mug away from you a bit and whispered.

“let it cool down a bit”

You stared at the steam floating above the hot mug as your tongue burned. It felt like there was going to be a blister there. 

Even though it was more pain.... At least You were starting to feel, again. 

You looked at Ron with doe eyes but he wouldn't look back. He sadly looked at his mug and kept quiet. He was your Twin, why wasn't he looking at you...

After quite some time of not knowing or understanding much you were able to start fitting things together. 

You were Y/n Weasley...

You'd been torched and Draco and your brothers were talking care of you.

You looked up and stared at George and Fred's backs as they stood at the counter. You thought about how Draco had, For a number of days, been asking you to talk to him and was becoming increasingly more hopeless and weary. 

“is Draco gonna be okay?”

Y

our voice was shot. Your vocal chords were still terrible from so much screaming but you’d spoken, and The boys had heard you clear as day. 

Ron had spit out his tea in surprise and the George dropped a plate on the floor.

George turned to you. the boy you knew as quite goofy and rather cocky, with tears in his eyes. There was a rather grateful smile on his face. Fred closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Ron on the other hand hugged you tightly and let out a sob of relief.

“He’ll be just fine.” George smiled.

It was only after feeding you, and extracting a few more words from you that Ron took you upstairs. Asking you to talk only seemed to make you more quiet, and the boys were quick to note that. Ron led you to your room, and gave you a grin, “Why don’t you get ready for bed, and I’ll send in Draco to help you with your bandages. Is that okay?” 

He took a nod gladly. it was a large improvement from this morning, and closed your door so that you might have some privacy. 

“Draco” Ron swung the door open and Draco looked at Ron with a bit of confusion. He set up from the bed and tossed the stuffed dragon he'd been staring at instead of sleeping to the side.

“what wrong? Everything okay?”

“she talking” Ron said softly.

He was up like a lightning bolt. “What?” 

“She’s talking. Not a lot.. but a bit. Asked me if you were alright. Asked the twins how the joke shop was doing. Said thank you for dinner.” 

“why didn't you say anything?” Draco said brushing past the red-head and towards your room. He stared at the closed door for a few long moments before finally knocking. 

“come in” he heard softly. He let out a sigh of relief. Thanking Goddrick he could hear your angelic voice again.

He quickly grabbed the door knob to support his weight for just a bit as his knees tried to buckle underneath him from relief. 

Tears were all ready falling...

Draco was a fearsome sight indeed, when he entered your room. His eyes had heavy purple bags underneath him. He looked thinner than you remembered. His blond hair was longer and not fixed to perfection like always.

His hands were shaking along with his shoulders and all together he looked so fragile right then... lot like a porcelain doll. Something that could be easily smashed to bits. 

You were sitting on your bed, fingertips running over the textured of the sleeve of the sweater your mother made you.  “Are you alright Dray?” 

Slowly, he approached you... like he was scared you would dissapear. When he finally got to the edge of the bed where your legs dangled off, he got on his knees and wrapped his arms around your waist. His ear was pressed against your ribcage and one of your hands rested on his arm while the other played with his platinum Blond hair.

“Darling...” he cried.

He held you tighter as you hid your face in his hair. “are you okay Dray?”

Draco nodded and held you closer and allowed himself to break into sobs as relief flooded him. “I'm okay Love... We're okay”

Yes... They would be okay

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐲𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

10 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the same boys who shared a dormitory are now raising little humans. 

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading! 

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ              

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

・The Nurturing Dad™

・Always makes sure the baby has everything it wants and needs (always goes over the top.)

    “Harry she already has everything. Just sit down!” 

“But maybe she wants more binkies? Or another teddy? Babies love teddies-” 

・Because he was given very little in his childhood, Harry unconsciously experiences that type of love through his daughter

・You had to point it out to him a few days before her first birthday. Harry was going OVERBOARD. 

   “She won’t remember Harry, it’s okay.”

“I don’t care if she doesn’t remember. She deserves it anyway.”

・He hates hearing her cry. The Dursleys used to let him cry and cry when he was younger. So his baby self realised no one was coming when he cried - so he stopped

・So, he never wants that to happen to his baby girl. 

・Bought her a broom for her third birthday. It was only a toy one, barely hovering more than four feet in the air. But your little one loved it

・Molly and Arthur are referred to as Nanny and Poppy. Harry’s smile was ear to ear when Molly told him they wanted to be called that

    “You’re our son, Harry.” 

・Harry gets up in the middle of the night to check on her. He just loves looking at her in the doorway

𝐑𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

・The Interactive Dad™

・The first time you got pregnant, you were only expecting ONE baby. But lo-and-behold, two heartbeats were found on the monitor. 

・Ron nearly fainted

・Molly cried when you told her the news

・Ginny was ecstatic! So eager to be an Aunt. George was a bit hesitant, as well as distant when you told him. He didn’t want to be around the babies because he thought he’d give them some sort of darkness. 

・But as soon as they were born, George was in love with them and with being an Uncle.

・When you were in the hospital bed, exhausted but content, the Weasley’s found their way to your suite and Ginny was holding balloons

・ Molly cried again

・They two babies, a girl and a boy, had freckles but only one had red hair

・When George sat down and was given both babies to hold, you could see the change in him. 

     “He...he looks like Fred.” 

“We know. His names Fred, and the other is Georgina.” 

・During the birth, Ron was there the whole time. From beginning to end. He told you to squeeze his hand as much as you needed to

・Is a stay-at-home dad. When you go to work, Ron has the twins strapped to his front and back. 

      “Look who’s home!” He calls from the kitchen. The place is pretty messy, but he’s started on dinner. 

・The twins wear the beanies, scarves and jumpers that Nana Molly has knitted for them

・Georgina has a thing with biting though, and the first time she bit Ron he was ... kinda impressed

    “Honey at least we know she can defend herself-”

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦

・The Thoughtful & Affectionate Dad™

・His child is the light of his life. You couldn’t find a better father. 

・He’s patient, caring, level-headed and loving. 

・Makes the baby’s food, does bath time and changes nappies (probably changed more than you have. He always says “You carried him for nine months, ripped parts of yourself to birth him. The least I can do is change his nappies.) 

・He remembers your little boy’s favourite toy, colour, food and place. 

・Neville has a hard time leaving your son with anyone, or going somewhere else without him. He constantly sends messages and writes down detailed instructions on how to look after your baby

・Takes as many photos of your son as possible. Has a whole book of them already 

・Neville also shows anyone/everyone the photo he keeps in his pocket of you two. It’s of the first Christmas you had in your own home with your firstborn

・Isn’t afraid of showing your son affection. He’ll pepper kisses all over his face and it makes him giggle (the baby, well, Neville as well...)

・LOVES reading bedtime stories 

𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧

・The Providing Dad™

・You’re either a working mum or stay at home mum. Seamus is out during the week, working for the ministry

・He felt really bad in the beginning because your son wouldn’t recognise him. The hours were long, especially because the ministry was working overtime, trying to get the Wizarding World back into shape

・But with consistency, and patience, Seamus bonded with his son so strongly

・Seamus makes everyone feel safe at home. He locks all the doors and windows, and can be relied on for backup whenever it’s wanted 

・Did your son inherit the blowing things up gene? To your utter dismay. Yes. 

・Was a bit defensive when your son liked ‘girly’ things, but you explained gender norms and expression. When he saw how much your son found joy in dressing up or playing with dolls, he came round

・You dress your son in matching outfits with Seamus. You do it without telling him and see how long it takes for him to notice (he hasn’t noticed yet)

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬

・The Cool Dad™

・Everyone wants to come around to your house because Dean is so friendly

・Dean actually loves going shopping for your daughter. He loves the little outfits, the pink onesies and tutus with matching fairy wings. 

・He’s great with sleepovers. They drive you insane, but he handles chaos so easily

・You asked him about it one day. 

   “How do you handle it, Dean? They’re so loud when they’re together! There’s so much mess too. God, I don’t want to ruin their fun but it’s driving me crazy!” 

       “I know, it’s okay sweetheart. I guess it doesn’t bother me because it doesn’t matter. And the mess, the noise, it’s all caused because they’re having fun.” 

  “You have a point. But you keep your calm with everything!” 

         “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. The battle at Hogwarts changed me. Life is so fragile. Anything can mean nothing and everything - you just have to decide what’s important and what isn’t.”

・Uses your daughter to flirt with you. He’ll send her in with a bunch of roses and says “these are from daddy” but she gets bored with it and drops them on the floor 

・DEFINITELY plays dress up and has a favourite princess crown

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Always There - Chapter Six: S.Snape

Summary: Y/N Potter was left with a baby to care for after her brother and sister-in-law were murdered by Voldemort. One person was there for her, a person she didn’t expect but soon became her comfort person, Severus Snape. During Harry’s third year at Hogwarts and her third year as Herbology professor, a few old friends come around again. Y/N has to handle the feelings of these old friends being around again as well as handle her feelings for a certain potions master all while she tries to hide these things from her godson.

Series Masterlist

My full Masterlist

Pairings: Severus Snape x Female Professor Reader, Potter!Reader x friend!Remus

Chapter Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader(No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, Harry growing up in a loving home, Happy Snape, sappy Snape

Series Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader (No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, OOC Snape, Harry grows up in a loving environment, mentions of death and murder, poorly written angst, Remus is a shitty friend, poorly written pining,

Please let me know how I can improve my writing and being more inclusive to POC as I am whiter than white. Please also let me know if I have to add more to the warnings! My messages are open as well as my asks!

I am starting a taglist so leave either a comment or something in my asks if you would like to be tagged in any of my works or just this series!

Author's Note: I am going through a bit of a writers block at the moment so please bare with me. If anyone has any ideas they can give me I will gladly take some to see if I can get over this writers block.

Please let me know how I can improve or if you find any errors! Correct me, don't be afraid to! I want to improve my writing and become a better writer so any feedback or advise is welcomed!

Word Count: 1698

My asks are open for questions, suggestions and feedback!

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

not my gif

not my gif

It was barely 2 hours after Severus had left the Burrow, Y/N sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea that had gone cold, Molly beside her in quiet comfort. All of the kids had gone off to bed not long ago, however, Harry had stayed beside his aunt, falling asleep at the table, leaning onto her shoulder. 

A flutter had come through an open window, a letter being dropped in front of her, the barn owl landing right in front of her letter. She gave the bird a gentle pat before grabbing the letter and opening it.

“Whose it from?” Molly asked.

“It’s from Albus, he needs me at Hogwarts tonight if possible,”  She replied, “That man is so vague.” She handed Molly the letter.

Dear Miss Potter,

You are needed at Hogwarts as soon as possible, tonight preferably. Severus is safe and well. 

With Pleasure,

Albus Dumbledore

“I’m assuming you’re going tonight then?”

“Probably, I can’t not go. I’m sorry you’ve had Harry most of the Summer, I promise you I will take Ron, the twins and Ginny next summer.”

“Don’t worry about it dear, Harry is an absolute joy to have around. He’s so helpful, you’ve done a great job,” Molly praised. It brought tears to her eyes and before she knew it she was crying. “Oh, my dear, what’s got you upset?”

“I don’t know, I’ve just never been told I’ve done a great job raising Harry. I miss James so much and I look at Harry and all I see is him and then I’m reminded that he’s not James and that James is dead and I have no family left other than Harry,” She vented as tears clouded her vision. 

“You have us and you have Severus. I can only imagine the pain you feel everyday, especially looking at your brother’s clone everyday. It’s uncanny really,” The Weasley Matriarch told the other woman, her voice trailed off in wonder causing Y/N to let out a watery laugh. The movement of her shoulders had caused Harry to wake up from the movement.

“Aunt Y/N? Are you okay?” He asked sleepily.

“Yes, my love, I’m okay. I have to go to Hogwarts tonight. I’m gonna put you to bed like old times and then I’m going,” She explained to her sleepy nephew.

“Can I stay on the couch, Mrs. Weasley? I don’t feel like walking upstairs,” Harry asked Molly who agreed with a chuckle. 

The two women lead the boy to the sofa, Molly excusing herself to let the Potter’s have a moment alone. Y/N took the blanket that was hanging on the back of the sofa and covered the boy with it, once he was covered, her hand went to his hair and played with the long stands. “You need a haircut, bub,” She pointed out, “Are you comfy? Need another blanket?”

“I’m okay, can you stay until I fall asleep? I feel safe when you’re here,” the boy admitted.

“I won’t move until I know you’re asleep, I promise.” And she kept her promise, she sat on that floor until she knew Harry was asleep, she knew he was asleep only because his nose twitched quite a bit and he would occasionally say something in Parseltongue. She stayed there for a few more minutes before planting a kiss on the boy’s head, making sure he was covered with the blanket and with that she set off for the kitchen where Molly was still sitting waiting for her return. “I’ll send you an owl in a few days, thank you again Molly, really. I appreciate you willingly taking Harry for the summer 2 years in a row,” Y/N said to the woman. Molly got up off her chair and pulled the lone Potter into a tight, motherly hug. 

“Don’t thank me, as I said, the boy is a pleasure. Stay safe, my dear. Harry is in good hands here.” The woman nodded at the Weasley before reluctantly ending the hug and walking out of the door. She knew if she had looked back, she would have stayed but she was needed back at Hogwarts. She apparated just outside of Hogwarts and began her walk to the castle, taking in the forest around her as she did. As she approached the gate to Hogwarts, she was greeted with a familiar face.

“Minnie! How was your summer?” Y/N asked the woman excitedly.

“Hello Y/N! My summer was well, how was yours? Anything new happen? Anything official?” Minerva teased the woman as they walked closer to the castle.

“Oh ha ha. It was the same as always pretty much. Sev and I did things we always did together. Harry spent the summer between Sirius and the Weasleys,” She explained.

“That’s no fun, you seriously didn’t go on any dates? Nothing is official? I need to tell Severus to wise up and get to it!”

“We went on a couple dates, nothing big, just trying different tea shops and going to greenhouses and apothecaries. We are official, as soon as summer began Severus wanted to make our relationship official, we just aren’t putting a label on it. I love him, he loves me and Harry and that's all that matters,” Y/N elaborated as they walked through the doors of the castle. 

“Gossiping as always Minerva?” A masculine voice interrupted, “I never thought you would have dragged Y/N into this. And my love, I can’t believe you fell into her trap!”

“Oh quit it, we were just catching up and if I remember correctly, you were a big gossip this summer,” Y/N teased the man before her, Severus giving her a pointed look.

“I didn’t gossip this summer, I merely told you about information I had overheard around the school.”

“That is gossip, honey. But nice try getting out of that one. Now excuse me, I need to see the headmaster.” Before she could walk away, a hand grabbed her wrist firmly but not rough, pulling her body into another. 

“Not without a proper greeting my love. I’ve been deprived, I’m like a man starved for you.”

“That is my que to leave, have a nice night you two,” Minerva excused herself, walking away from the pair. The couple shrugged and greeted each other with a loving kiss, Severus’ hand caressing her cheek in a featherlike touch, Y/N’s hands looped around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. Once pulling away, they went about like nothing had happened, Y/N making her way to Dumbledore’s office and Severus making his way to the dungeons.

It was a long walk but she had finally made it to the headmaster’s office, letting herself in and walking towards the desk in the back of the room. She greeted Fawkes with a gentle pet under the wing as she waited for the man who had sent her an owl. “Miss Potter, what a surprise seeing you here,” A voice startled her, the very same voice that used to torment her in her days at Hogwarts. It sent a chill down her spine as she turned around to meet the eye of the man she had dreaded seeing whenever he was at the castle.

“Mr. Malfoy, hope all is well,” She said politely. Lucius went to say something but the door to the office had opened before he could speak. The professors and the Minister of Magic filing in, Dumbledore trailing behind them. She sent a look of question to her partner, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Seeing as we are all here, we can start discussing what I called you all here for. Mr. Malfoy, what do I owe the pleasure?” Dumbledore spoke, his voice curious as to the extra person in the room.

“I was hoping to discuss my son’s grades from last term. He received a P Herbology and received an A in Potions when I know he should have gotten an O,” Lucius ranted to the man, giving a pointed look at the Herbology professor.

“He received a P in my class because he never tried, he fooled around with his friends instead. His essays were always half-assed as were all of his homework assignments, every plant of mine that boy touched ended up dying. He received the grade he deserved,” Y/N defended her grading.

“I agree that he should have gotten an O, however, Professor Potter has a point, he tends to play pranks during class time and his essays are either fantastic or they are terrible. He may have done better if he would behave,” Severus added.

“I think my son failed this class because Miss Potter dislikes me and my family. She doesn’t like the fact that her brother and I never got along so she is taking it out on my son!” Lucius accused.

“Excuse me! Your son is not you, however he inherited your awful attitude as well as the need for everything revolving around you and nothing else! How dare you!”

“Mr. Malfoy, you have made a mistake, a large mistake. I don’t appreciate what you are accusing my professor of doing. You may leave,” Dumbledore dismissed the man who was awestruck. 

Severus gave her a look, making sure she was okay and when she nodded he felt like he could relax a bit. Even though he was able to relax slightly, he was still worried that Lucius would make a bigger deal out of it even though his accusations were false. Once Malfoy had left, Dumbledore had broken the news to all of the professors. The Triwizard tournament would be held at Hogwarts that year, the ladies of Beauxbatons and the gentlemen from Durmstrang would be joining them that year. He had also told them that there was an age minimum this year, that no student under the age of 16 would not be able to put their name into the goblet. 

Y/N felt like something was going to go wrong during this tournament, she didn’t know why she felt this way but she did. Something was off, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

taglist (if your user is crossed out it means I can't tag you)

@acupnoodle @chxelsxaa @fluffyrat365 @fanficwriter5 @atanukileaf @v3lv3tvampir3 @jspidey5 @mija-novella

[kiddbegins]

Admitting - Brian Zvonecek

requested: yes

word count: 949

warnings: fluff that is literally it

a/n: okay but i love him?

Masterlist?

“Did you really come all the way here to say that?”

You and Brian had a good relationship. There was mutual trust and respect. It was probably the best relationship you’d ever been in. Being coworkers definitely helped, seeing his face after running through flames for someone always helped bring you back down to earth.

Both of you found utter and true comfort in the arms of one another. You felt true love. And honestly that was a bit scary for you. Love was a fickle thing. Always so complicated and needy. The only love you ever received had been provisional, strings attached in one way or another.

But with Brian it was unconditional. He cared about you and didn’t ask for anything because of it. He didn’t expect you to make him dinner, to let him stay over your house if he had nowhere to sleep, didn’t expect you to help with bills or any of that. He liked you and would even in the darkest of times.

And you loved him. But getting yourself to tell him? That was an entirely different level. Though you were determined. Ready to let go of all your past embarrassments, and trust that the pre-relationships you had both with him and other people had plenty, and just let him know how much you adored him.

So you stopped nervously pacing your apartment, pulled a coat on and drove to his place. It was only a few blocks away but with each turn it felt like your stomach was flipping and actively trying to pull you back in the other direction.

Even as you parked right outside, breathing out softly when you saw that his car was in fact outside and he wasn’t actually at Molly’s for a shift you had somehow forgotten about. “Alright, you can do this.” Some mental hype for yourself as you got out of the car, stalking up his front steps.

Hopefully Cruz wasn’t the one to answer or you’d probably feel yourself go all shades of red. The entire spectrum even. With one hand behind your back with fingers tightly crossed, the other went to the door, knocking a swift, melodic three times.

Thankfully it was the handsome mustached man that answered, his eyebrows pulling together as soon as he saw you, “Y/n? What are you doing here? I didn’t miss a text did I?” He instantly questioned, the two of you knowing it were best to text if you were visiting, just to clear your anxieties of him seeing your house in a not so put together state.

“No, no uh,” Your mind ran blank, the stare up at Brian showing exactly that. “The weather’s uh, weather’s been nice today yeah?” That was… not what you were planning on saying and your eyes fell shut as you let out a sigh.

Brian cocked an eyebrow up, his head tilting alongside it. “Did you come all the way over here just to say that?” He asked with a faint chuckle. Obviously he assumed you hadn’t but honestly, what else was he meant to believe right then?

A faint smile grew on your face as you finally looked back at him with a shake of the head, “No, god no. Okay this is, this is not going how I wanted it to jesus christ.” You ran a hand through your hair, “I actually had something important to tell you.” A nervous laugh as Brian’s eyes lit up.

There was now a smile that was just wider than yours on his face, the dimples on his cheeks prominently on display which, as always, make your heart race, “Okay, okay, go on then my love,” He hummed, the russian slipping right off his tongue.

Before you continued he stepped out onto the stoop, closing the door behind him. Cruz was just in the living room and Brian wasn’t entirely sure you’d care if he heard. “Uh,” Your cheeks were probably as red as the pajama pants the man had on but you didn’t even care, gazing up at him. “I love you.”

Your lip was instantly pulled between your teeth as Brian’s mouth dropped, more so in shock that you’d traveled across the city (ten streets) just to say that to him. “Like, a lot. Honestly, Bri, I mean, I love you so much, I couldn’t even wait til we had breakfast tomorrow to tell you.” You added on quickly, your chest lifting now that you’d actually gotten your feelings out.

Without any warning he cupped the sides of your face, pulling you into a kiss that you honestly couldn’t even begin to describe. The faint brush of his mustache on your face and the way he was so firmly yet gently holding you just made everything feel like a whirlwind. 

The only reason he pulled back was the lack of oxygen between you to, the small gap that was made seconds later had you practically gasping for air as your hands gripped at his elbows. “I take it you feel the same way?” You giggled faintly, eyes darting across his face.

“Mhm, I love you too. And I would bet, even more.”

“Oh we are not doing this right now Brian Zvonecek.” You squinted your eyes before lifting onto your toes for another quick kiss. “Because I would win,” You muttered into his ear before pulling back, sliding your hands down his forearms before clasping your hands together.

It was his turn now to go red, shaking his head, “Only because I’d let you.” He shot a wink at you, a smile permanently on his face along with yours. “You wanna come in and watch the rest of this movie with Cruz, Sylvie and me?” 

“I’d love to.”

for @winchesterszvonecek aka bff

should i make an otis like... tag list even if i don't plan on taking requests for him from like. the general public?

[baronessvonglitter]

if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 1 | "Late Night"

Dave York x f!reader

As a nanny for the York family, you develop a crush on the head of the household, Dave York. What starts out as a simple, innocent crush grows to an urgent and violent love.

Word count: 684 (basically an intro)

Summary: you stumble across the object of your recent affections during a restless late night

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, masturbation, sexual fantasy, sexual frustration, having a complicated crush on your boss, reader has no physical description, no use of y/n

Author's Note: this was inspired by "Late for Valentine's" by @absurdthirst which forever changed my brain chemistry (and is one of the first smut fics I ever read on AO3) and can be found here.

On your back, legs parted wide, your breath quavers and hitches. You grab roughly onto Dave's hair as he uses his skilled lips and tongue on you. You don't even have to tell him how you like it - he automatically knows, and you shiver with delight when his deep, husky voice gives you encouragement.

"That's it, baby.. you like that?.. come for me, beautiful.."

"Oh god!" you whisper as you feel your orgasm in the very pit of your belly. Shamelessly you fuck his face.

And then it's gone. Your vibrator has died and your very hot (albeit brief) fantasy is over. "Damn it!" you curse, wanting to throw the useless toy at the wall, but you'd probably wake Carol, who only went to bed a short time ago. Still horny and so close to your precipice, you attempt to make yourself come using just your fingers, but it's not the same, and produces only a half-hearted quiet moan when you finish.

After cleaning up you try to get some sleep. Dave is expected back tomorrow evening from his business trip, and you're just as excited as Carol to have him back. You've been working for the York family for almost six months. You like the gig, you love the girls, Molly and Alice, and you get along well with Mrs. York, who you've come to be close enough with to call her Carol.

It's Mr. York, however, who's a different story. He's friendly, polite, and pleasant to be around, of course. You've been drawn to him for awhile.. but to be professional you've never shown your feelings nor made a move. That's just not your style. But as you've come to study him you've found there may be more to him than he's willing to show. The mystery of him is part of what makes him so alluring to you.

If he ever found out you were just masturbating while fantasizing about him going down on you, you'd probably die of embarrassment.

Too frustrated to sleep, you start downstairs for a glass of water (and some fresh batteries). As you descend steps you hear the front door open, just loud enough to catch your attention and you freeze in your tracks. Someone comes into the foyer and starts up the stairs. You can't move.

There, halfway up the staircase, Dave crosses your path. He looks tired, but there's a light in his eyes as soon as he sees you. "Hey," he says softly, smiling. "What are you still doing up?"

"Just getting some water," you answer, hoping he can't see you blushing in the semi-darkness. You're still in your Henley shirt and plaid pajama shorts. "I'm glad you're home.."

"Thank you. It's good to be home." His voice is warm, and he sounds genuinely pleased to be back. You can only imagine the toll his work takes on him.

"Please, Mr. York, go get some sleep." You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, letting him decipher how friendly or flirtatious he wants it to be.

Could it be your wishful imagination, or do you see a little flush across his cheeks? "I will. Good night," he replies quietly and passes you to to up to his and Carol's room.

You watch him until he closes the door behind him. Your heart is still thudding from your unexpected interaction with him, and too late you wonder if he could smell your desire on you, if the wet stain on your panties somehow brought your scent to him in some primal, caveman-like way.

After your drink of water, and with fresh new batteries in hand, you head upstairs, passing slowly by Dave and Carol's room. Part of you expected/dreaded that he would have been greeted by his wife with a welcome home fuck. But all seems quiet within. You would have listened, as you have many times before. But you're glad, in a strange way, not to have to hear it tonight.

"Round two," you smirk to yourself as you go back to your room to change out the batteries in your toy.

[thecavernsabove]

okay now i just want to talk about my expectations versus why i have ended up liking certain characters because i am just so intrigued by everything these people and characters do. for bells hells, i went into it knowing i would love ashton because they are the reason I started watching, i didn't think i would really latch onto any other character, apart from maybe fearne because she's a satyr and i am particularly partial to satyrs, and imogen because i mean it's laura bailey!

but what actually happened, is that yes i did get super attached to ashton of course i did, but my top three quickly became ashton, orym and laudna (and as someone who started being able to watch live at the split you can imagine how devastated i was). and recently chetney is really creeping up there. i do love all the characters dearly though.

ashton just reminds me of myself so much, apart from the fact that they are much braver than i could ever be, and blunter too. i wish i could be them and also see all my faults in them. its a lot.

orym was my first introduction to liam o'brien and his devastating little guys (more on caleb later), and just his backstory and the way he deals with people intrigues me so much and i want to see him happy so bad.

laudna oh laudna. marisha ray you have ruined me. even going into this with my minimal knowledge of the briarwoods, her backstory reveal was so intense and it hurt. also, creepy unnerving girlies stick together! she's iconic.

chetney is so wild to me i love him so much. he is so intensely gender as well i love him so much. i love gruff and grumpy characters that are actually nice once you are more friendly with them.

imogen. i will say it took a little bit for her to grow on me but i do love her. i think the bassuras dusk stuff really helped me like her more. also her immense power and lightning scars are pretty cool if you ask me.

fearne. i love how sweet she is and the stuff like being bad at lying and also just stealing little things here and there was really fun. but what made me like her more was when she got more serious and i didn't expect that (foreshadowing for later!)

fcg. now, i still have, mixed? feelings for fcg. in a sense of i dont hate the character but i think the character arc is not something im too interested in, but i do still like them. the stuff with frida was very nice, and i do like the bits that they do - but i think there still feels like there is something missing for me somewhat.

now, with the mighty nein, i had an inkling on who i would like. i thought caleb certainly because we seem very similar, molly maybe because i liked ashton so hey i might like this taliesin character too! and that was it really. going into it though, because i had seen so much of jester (talking about her and cosplays mostly) i thought that she would be probably my least favourite because her personality didn't seem to really gel with what i usually like in characters. but here i am, on the other side with my favs being caleb, fjord, and jester! it was so much watching everything for the first time, even with knowing the big spoilers and then looking at more minor spoilers so i knew somewhat what would happen - but i do that with a lot of things, its different knowing what happens versus actually watching and experiencing what is happening.

caleb. caleb widogast is such an intense character and i loved every minute i spent with him. i spent so much time checking when i would finally see the nein sided tower of his and watching liam describe everything for an hour was so incredible i was in awe. i truely love that dirt wizard so much.

fjord was a truly unexpected character for me to fall for. the first time i realized that i was going to love him though was when they were in the one politicians house early in the campaign and he held his sword to caleb to make sure he wasn't fucking with them. then seeing his growth, the accent change, and just his whole deal i was enraptured. i do miss the southern eldritch blast though.

jester oh my goodness did she creep up on me. i think her initial cuteness that i had experienced throughout just existing on the internet put me off for some reason but i don't know why. however i did quickly fall in love with her, when she had one of her more sinister/serious moments early on. i don't remember what it was but i remember thinking oh. /oh./ okay. i love her. and then her relationship with her mama, and artie, gosh i just loved watching laura bailey do literally anything. the cupcake bit! also the sprinkle bit is quite funny. i also just love doing her voice when im talking to myself. she is also the reason that i take a decent amount of damage spells with my current cleric.

beau. i think i thought that i would have liked her more than i did (don't get me wrong i liked her a lot but she is not in my top three), but she is incredible. as a fellow monk pc i do love going the extra mile with those stunning strikes, and also seeing her relationship with yasha blossom was so lovely. and her bro relationships with fjord and caleb were also some of my favourites.

yasha. after starting with campaign three, it was really hard to not see ashley all the time and i remember having to look on the wiki while watching to check when she would come back every time she left. i think i really started to like her more after her she got taken, and went through that big arc, and we were around her more often. i loved watching her dreams. i loved watching her so much.

veth was so unexpected are you kidding me?? i will say i have yet to have a sam character be in my top three but god he knows how to throw an emotional punch and i love that kind of stuff. i love her relationship with caleb, the detective agency, the chaos crew. i love her arc of getting herself back, of seeing her family again. ough. im a big lover of families.

caduceus. goodness gracious me what a character. i just absolutely loved the aesthetic and caduceus's whole relationship to how he approaches death. he is also the reason i started playing a grave cleric in a newer campaign. but truly, has made me think differently about death - which was especially needed for me this year.

mollymauk. i knew he was dead. i knew he would die. but that didn't make me any less upset when it happened! i think about him often, what could have been. especially since i was so sure he took the wrong amount of damage in that fight and should not have quite have been knocked out at that time. but his whole maximallist aesthetic is something i very much enjoy, and i love the through line of his cards with jester.

wow okay this has gotten to be very long but i need to get my thoughts about everyone out somewhere!! if you've read this far im so sorry this is so much of my own ramblings.

[heavenlymorals]

The Camp Girls: A Pedestal of Morality

Warning: This post contains the exploration of period-typical attitudes that can border on sexism, as well as spoilers for RDR2.

RDR2 is a game, that for the most part, values its historical setting in the sense that the setting actually matters to the story and the characters. The characters are not only reacting to the historical attitudes, but they are a part of it as well. Of course, Red Dead 2 is a bit more tame in some aspects of 1899 America, especially compared to RDR1, which makes SURE to remind you of the prejudices of 1911 America.

For this post, however, I want to talk about more domestic attitudes that were a part of the gang- to be more specific, I want to talk about the Cult of Domesticity or the Cult of Womanhood and how that idea relates back to Dutch's gang.

The Cult of Domesticity or the Cult of Womanhood was an idea that was popularized in the 19th century by the Victorian middle class that spread to America and explained, encouraged, and pushed specific gender roles and cultural ideas to the masses. As the name probably explained, this idea was pushed onto mainly women. There were two main aspects of it- the private sphere and the harbinger of morality.

The Private Sphere had everything to do with a woman's role in the house- hence the private sphere. The Private Sphere had everything to do with housekeeping, childrearing, being a good host, and overall creating a safe haven for the men in their lives. While the men had to deal with the public sphere, which was business, work, protection, etc., women took charge of the private sphere.

The morality aspect of it is about how women were expected to bring morals to the house. Men were expected to hold women in high regard and women provided sectors of emotional safety and humanity to men, as well as providing children with a moral code and instill them with manners.

This excerpt from usahistory.org explains it better than I can: "A TRUE MAN was concerned about success and moving up the social ladder. He was aggressive, competitive, and rational, and channeled all of his time and energy into his work. A TRUE WOMAN, on the other hand, was virtuous. Her four chief characteristics were piety, purity, submissiveness, and domesticity. She was the great civilizer who created order in the home in return for her husband's protection, financial security, and social status."

Of course, men perpetuated this idea, but a lot of women also supported this model of living, believing it to be the way it should be. Writers like Sarah Hale published magazines that explained what should be the behaviors of a proper lady. Women's magazines like Godey's Lady's Book sold 150,000 copies in a year. Catherine Beecher was an advocate for bringing the women's sphere to the classroom in order to instill a proper moral code into their students.

But why does this matter? I mean, the camp girls aren't exactly the moral standard of womanhood in the 1800s. Mary Beth is a thief. Karen is a scam artist. Tilly ran with gangs and murdered a man. Abigail was an ex-prostitute and a thief. Grimshaw was probably all of those things combined at one point or another.

Well, you could argue that because they live unconventional lives, morality was a bit greyer, but overall, the women of the camp still, in one way or another, adhered to this idea regarding the cult of domesticity.

The private sphere and the public sphere definitely existed in the gang, which is why there were so few missions with the camp girls. The girls were mostly resigned to the "house" or to the camp. They worked to make the camp a livable place for the men who gave them protection and financial security.

It is a common sight seeing Tilly washing clothes, or Mary Beth and Karen sewing something, or Abigail wiping down tables, same as Grimshaw. There are all very domestic roles- while in camp, the women are almost always working, except for Molly and Sadie, while the men are almost always lounging around- typical of the 1800s home.

The girls mention this as well through interactions.

Tilly mentions how much she hates washing and mending the men's laundry and how she wishes the men could do their own laundry.

Karen tells Grimshaw to shut up because Grimshaw isn't the one feeding her, so she won't take her bullying.

Abigail screams how the men aren't being men because they couldn't protect Jack from being kidnapped. She also critiques Dutch's philosophy because it doesn't feed them.

Mary Beth is yelled at for not working in the camp as she should by Grimshaw.

There are more examples of this, but we will be here all day if I have to go through all of them.

Grimshaw is kinda obvious. The girls have to work to please this fierce dragon, who is always working. Arthur mentions in the entering Valentine mission whether or not Miss Grimshaw could spare them, showing how the general priority of the girls in the camp is domestic work.

We also know that the girls doing men's work is generally rare due to this one interaction with Karen- "Not so long ago, I was a damsel in distress. Now they got me protecting the men."

The now implies that this isn't a normal routine and that protecting the men is not something that she usually has to do.

So that was just the domestic aspect of it, but there is also the morality part of it.

I think the biggest representation of this is the mini-therapy sessions with the girls, telling you to be better and offering advice to what might make Arthur a better man, with Arthur being more comfortable opening up to them BECAUSE they are women and because he expects their morality to keep them from using such information to hurt him, which is something he has to be careful with when it comes to the men in the camp. But there are more representations of this.

There is Abigail begging John to put his old ways behind and to be a better man, a real man. There is Hosea speaking about Bessie, talking about how while she is in heaven, he will be looking up at her from hell, implying that Bessie had the moral compass that Hosea did not (the interaction also probably destroys the fandom's interpretation of Bessie and Annabelle being very active members in the gang, when that is most likely not the case). Even Mary, though not a camp girl, still acts like a moral harbinger to Arthur, telling him to be a better man and stop being an outlaw.

John has a line in Undead Nightmare that is a complete reference to this thought process: "Abigail, teach the boy right from wrong."

So what am I getting at here? What is the point of all of this? It seems like I am just going off on old historical attitudes, but what does this ultimately mean?

What it means is that Dutch allows women into the gang in order to dignify his ambitions.

Dutch likes to differentiate himself from the other gangs that still roamed in America. While the other gangs stole and robbed for fortune, Dutch robbed for his romantic ideals and to be a western Robinhood. While the other gangs had many men, Dutch had a few strong men whom he knew personally and trusted. While the other gangs targeted innocents, Dutch's gang targeted only those whom they saw as committing the sin of avarice.

Dutch wants to see himself as morally superior to other gangs and other criminals, so what better way to do it than allowing women into the gang? Women who suffered great misfortune in their life and had no other place to go. With women being a pedestal of morality back in that time, Dutch having women in his camp as a way to differentiate himself from other gangs- a way to show people that he is better than them.

Every other gang encountered in the game has no women.

"We are what we are. A bunch of desperados on the run. But with the women, a change of clothes, we're a choir, or a gang of pilgrims, or something."

See, that one line from Guarma from Dutch basically explains the whole concept. Without the women, they are desperate criminals, clinging onto nothing, but with the women, they become virtuous by association. But someone like Micah doesn't care about this virtue or morality because he explains that he would rather just be a criminal and run with a few strong men, which is what he does in the end.

The concept of the private sphere and the public sphere of the camp can also show that Dutch wants to dignify his gang by giving it a sense of civilization to make it truly like a home or family.

What an interesting idea, don't you think?