#the boy next door - penelope ward

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

The Feeling Is Mutual | | Part 2 | | Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

PART 1

Summary; You’re both profilers, analysing behaviour and making connections. So why is it so hard to read each other?

Includes; injury to main characters, talk of injury, talk of violence, talk of unsub and weapons, talk of being drugged, sickening amount of fluff, mutual masturbation, (MINORS DNI 18+)talk of sex, dirty talk, no dynamic!, and a bit more fluff :)

Word count; 3.6K

Plans had changed and you were not happy about it. The pattern in victimology had shown that the unsub targeted men who were uncomfortable in social settings. Vulnerable type. Derek, being the giant intimidating boulder of a man he was, wouldn’t have attracted the unsub.

So they were sending in Spencer. Everybody including you knew he would fit the description required for this unsub; but the thought of him being touched or hurt or flirted with by somebody that wasn’t you brought a nauseating heavy feeling in your stomach.

“What’s wrong? You’ve had a permanent frown on your face since we started this morning.”

Spencer could feel the mood thickening in the air of the hotel room as he turned to face you.

He was trying to straighten his tie, completely oblivious to the way you stared at him with a mix you could only describe as anger-lust-fear. You didn’t want to even think about how he would react to you telling him the real reason you were upset so you just sighed and shook your head.

“I just hate last minute changes. I thought we were gonna hang back, let Derek do his ‘thing’ and she’d walk out gripping his unnaturally large bicep.” You twiddled with your fingers as you mumbled an excuse to get Spencer off your back.

“What’s wrong with her walking out on my unnaturally small bicep?” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood. You rolled your eyes, forcing them away from staring at his arms and imagining yourself gripping them in a different situation.

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

It was nauseating. The way her fingernails slowly dragged along his forearm, and slipped a little underneath the rolled sleeve. Her stupid voice pitching higher to seem more cute and innocent. He really did fit the part, swallowing thickly and stumbling over his words when she leaned forward a little and exposed her chest a little more.

“Have you ever felt like your body was on fire?” she asked, face now mere inches away from his. Spencer looked over at the security camera that he knew could see them both.

“That’s it. That’s the line. Stand by Y/N, Morgan.” Hotch warned, watching the footage over the nervous shoulders of Garcia.

A young tech student from a local college had been extremely fortunate in escaping the unsub the early hours of this morning. He’d shakily mumbled about her saying about being on fire and then chugging back a pint of straight gin. He asked if she needed help and she’d told him her car was outside if he wouldn’t mind helping her get home.

But as he went to open the driver side door to get in, he noticed her giggling to herself and a gun sitting on her lap. So he ran.

Hotch was worried that his escape would either mess up the trap tonight, or completely change her M.O and she would devolve, leaving you all at another starting point. But luckily for you all, she only had one technique, and was set on using it; so here you all were.

As you stood with your back against the wall, you peeked your head ever so slightly around the bar doors; the small circular window showing the back of her head and Spencer in full view.

“God, she’s making me feel sick. Why is she so touchy? I thought she would’ve dragged him out of here by now.” Whispering with a malicious tone to your voice, Derek chucked quietly at your rage.

“Jealous? Pretty Boy’s getting some attention from a serial killer and you’re jealous?”

“I’m not jealous Morgan. I’m disgusted.” sighing, you rolled your eyes.

“Y/N you know it’s my job. I’m not stupid. Anyone can see you’re completely and utterly-“

“Shut up.”

“Y/N you can change the subject all you like, everybody kno-“

“Derek, they’re gone.”

You had no visual. You couldn’t see her, nor Spencer. Not even an inch of her hair flicking into a different direction, not even a corner of Spencer’s jacket.

“Hotch?” Morgan spoke with a warning inflection into his smart watch.

Scanning the footage for where they could’ve possibly gone, Hotch hurriedly put on his Kevlar and gun before jumping out to head round the back of the bar.

“Guys, I have a visual on Reid. He’s out cold up on the V.I.P balcony. I can’t seem to find-”

Peeking again through the bar window, you didn’t have time to register what Penelope was saying nor what was happening before you felt a dull pain throb through your face. Stumbling backwards and trying to keep your balance, you noticed a warm and fuzzy feeling buzzing across your body before everything went black.

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

“Can you just shut up and pass me a spoon? I’m not kidding anymore.”

“Get it yourself. You don’t wanna listen to me, why should I listen to you?”

“You’re an asshole Derek. Just so you know. I’ve eaten Jello with a straw before, and I’ll do it again.”

“Boys, will you shut up, her eyes just moved.”

Muffled voices stirred you to consciousness as you struggled to open your eyes. Immediately sending a sharp pain to your head, the lights felt like lasers as you tried to make sense of where you were.

“Jesus H Christ, why are the lights so damn bright?”

“There she is. Good morning pretty girl.” The sweet sounds of Miss Garcia swam through your ears, and her perfume overwhelmed your senses as she leant down to kiss your cheek. “I bought you a cupcake, and I’ve made sure these two don’t touch it.”

Squinting at the two men sitting on the empty hospital bed next to yours, you laughed at the two of them. They were acting like children.

Derek had a plastic spoon in his hand, holding and waving it as far away from Spencer as he possibly could. Spencer sat cross legged, arms folded but with a sealed cup of orange jello in one hand; tutting at Derek with disappointment.

“Would anybody like to update and inform me on why on earth Penelope is babysitting us in a hospital ward?” you asked, attempting to sit up a little bit, and groaning out at how much your body ached.

Spencer almost stood up when you grimaced in pain, but stayed seated as not to look too bothered.

“We caught the unsub,” Derek began to explain, Penelope giggling when you did a silent ‘yay’ and mini jazz hands, “but she roofied Reid, which was new and discovered his badge in his jacket.” He looked over at Reid with a sarcastic look, to which he was met with shrugged shoulders and Spencer digging into his jello.

“As she came back down the stairs to make her escape, she noticed you and Derek arguing or whatever that was outside the bar doors, and snuck into the crowd to watch you. When you tried to find her, I just saw her coming towards the doors but she moved hella fast.” Penelope explained, sipping from a bright pink tumbler.

“She kicked the door that you were stood behind, and then basically jumped you until you were unconscious, but didn’t quite realise I was there. So I got her. Pretty Boy here woke up a few hours ago just hungry.”

Spencer looked up at Derek and smiled, letting everyone know he was too invested in the jello to retaliate to his sarcasm. He glimpsed over at you and smiled in a different way, which Penelope caught on to immediately.

“Anyway! The doctor said you have a lot of bruised ribs but other than that you are good to go home today! Did you want me to stay over at yours? I can bring more cupcakes?” She asked sweetly, passing you the sprinkle covered cupcake and unwrapping it for you.

She was the equivalent of a big sister and a mom to you; always looking out for you, making sure you’d eaten but also joining in on gossip and hosting alcoholic themed sleepovers. She knew about yours and Spencer’s hookups, after the one time you were accidentally too loud in the hotel room next to hers.

You’d been sat on a swivel chair in her office, begging and pleading and bribing with sweet treats and baked goods for her not to tell a soul and as far as you were aware, she stuck to her promise. With a dramatic mime of locking her lips shut, she had grabbed a croissant from your hands and turned back to her computer.

“I could - sorry - I could stay over if you’d prefer Y/N? I know we’ve got a few episodes of Black Mirror to catch up on?” Spencer jumped at the chance to interrupt, correcting himself as his volume came out louder than planned.

Nodding quickly with a huge beaming smile and a mouth full of cupcake, you could feel yourself internally healing already.

“I’d like that. If that’s okay Pen? I’ve tried to explain to him that you can’t ‘catch up’ on Black Mirror but he won’t have it.” You carried on enjoying the sugary treat, as Spencer carried on eating his; ignoring the blatant smirks being swapped between Derek and Penelope.

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

As far as you were concerned the past weekend had gone way too quickly. Coming home from hospital on Thursday evening, Spencer had stayed over and still hadn’t left.

It was just about Sunday morning, and you’d both passed out after playing cards until 3am. He’d kept you so busy and your brain occupied you’d barely had time to think about your body aching and healing. He made you laugh so hard at times you were tempted to call the emergency room back to see if they could check you in again.

You guys hadn’t kissed or barely touched except to cuddle on the couch; even then Spencer was hesitant because he was convinced he’d do more damage. But it wasn’t the aches and pains that was getting to you. It was the way you felt starved of touch and affection.

Usually you both would be particularly in the mood, would call one another up and you’d both satiate each other’s needs before maybe having a cuddle and leaving.

In all fairness, the last time you felt him was only yesterday morning when he came to give you some tea in bed. He’d sat beside you - very gently - drinking his own sugar and coffee; hand holding onto your thigh and stroking lightly. It was all too sweet. Sweeter than the concoction he made to drink every morning.

But now you’d woken up only a few hours after going to sleep, the room still a shade of blue and gray. Sunrise was on its way, but night was still present, no birdsong could be heard; but the soft hums of Spencer Reid sleeping filled the air.

You knew that Hotch had given the both of you time off, you had nowhere to be for 2 more days. You wanted oh so desperately to shake him awake, jump his bones and go several rounds until you were due in, but not only could your body not physically take it; your heart couldn’t either.

Something felt different. Unrecognised, the feeling of wanting something else flooded your thoughts. Did you want to be fucked? Did you want to lay in Spencer’s arms for the entire day and be held? Or did you want both?

The way he’d smiled over at you when you woke up in hospital made you feel like you’d driven over a speed bump, your tummy swirling around and doing backflips. How he’d stayed with you after, how he’d looked after you and listened to you this whole time.

Unbeknownst to you however, while you were deep in thought about whatever this weird feeling was; Spencer had blinked his eyes open, rested his head in one of his hands and was watching you.

“What’re you thinking about?”

You jumped, grimacing as you stretched out a rib that you definitely shouldn’t have stretched out. “I’m currently thinking about how much that hurt, how much I hate you and how much I’m going to regret being awake later.”

Spencer laughed, a slight husk from tiredness layered into it. He brought his opposite hand up and stroked up and down your spine, noticing how goosebumps formed underneath his fingertips.

“You cold?”

“No.”

“Come here.”

Slowly laying back down, you groaned out in a mixture of uncomfortableness and relief as you got back into the warm spot next to Reid. Looking over at him made you feel giddy, the way you would feel getting ready for a date or a big event. You were nervous. But why?

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours Y/N?” he asked sweetly, fingers coming up to stroke your cheek. He quickly withdrew them and cleared his throat, laying back down completely parallel beside you.

“Spencer, are you tired right now?”

“No. Are you?” He shuffled onto his side again.

“No. Quite the opposite.” with slight struggle, you mirrored his position, laying on your side and looking into his eyes with a lazy smile.

“Y/N, I can’t, you’re struggling to even lay down let alone-“

“No Spencer, I’m not hinting at sex. Although the millisecond I can, I will.” you laughed out, edging slightly closer to him. His breath hitched, and he shuffled awkwardly.

“What do you want?”

“I want to feel good Spence,”

“I thought you just said-“

“I want to feel good. So, I’m going to make myself feel good.” Your voice dropped a little, hoping that Spencer would catch on to what you were implying. Sometimes he could catch your drift, other times you would have to spell it out for him. Luckily for you, it was the former.

He nodded, waiting for you to make the next move. Watching you with intent, he began taking in each tiny detail of you.

The way you kept your eyes on his but let your hand trail down your body. The sigh of relief and arousal as you shuffled a little closer to him again, before laying on your back slowly and getting ready and comfortable. You let out a deep exhale while trailing your other hand over your chest, squeezing ever so lightly.

“Fuck Y/N. You’re really gonna do it? What if you hurt, the doctor recommended not strain-“

“Spencer, stop. I know my limits. I also know that if I don’t make myself cum soon I might actually spontaneously combust.”

He chuckled at your silliness, before remembering something. “There’s actually been less than 150 cases of spontaneous combustion recorded in almost 2000 years, so I doubt that your heightened state of arousal could cause you-“

“Spencer Reid, if you don’t shut up and kiss me right now I will make sure I’m the 150th case.”

He giggled and leant down to your lips, holding your face with one hand and holding himself up with the other arm. Pressing gently against your lips as if you were made of glass, he smiled against you; letting out a small moan as you reached up and pulled him closer into the kiss.

Your fingers circling over your clit through your panties caused you to wind your hips up against your hand gently, remembering not to overdo it. Moaning out quietly as you applied more pressure, Spencer pulled back to watch you.

“You look so beautiful Y/N.” He whispered, eyes darting between your face concentrated with pleasure and your hands roaming around your body.

He could feel himself growing and stiffening underneath his pyjama pants when you whimpered in response, and he bucked instinctively as the material grew tighter.

“Do you wanna touch yourself too Spence?” you mumbled out, movements staying the same speed but your head turning to watch him,“Touch yourself with me, feel what I’m feeling.”

“Yes, please.” Spencer laid down beside you again, his arm touching yours. Gripping himself through his pants he hissed out at the sudden contact.

Leaning your head against his shoulder, you watched to see what his next move would be; waiting to mirror him. He caught on to you copying his movements as he slipped his hands underneath his pants, a mix of a chuckle and a moan falling from his lips as you did the same.

“God this is so sexy..” Spencer moaned out louder this time, as he grasped his cock fully in his palm. Mimicking his actions, you also became a little louder; the feeling of skin touching skin becoming more and more intense.

“Tell me something Spence.” you spoke breathily, fingers applying more pressure to your clit and switching to dip inside yourself.

Curling his wrist with every sharp tug and squeezing the head of his cock every time he reached the top, all he could do was try to take deep breaths where he held them for so long.

“I thought about you. When she flirted with me.”

You wanted to pause, wondering why he brought up an unsub in the middle of such an intimate moment. But his next words only brought you closer to your brink.

“When I looked over her shoulder and saw you watching, saw the anger in your eyes. You looked so fucking mad baby. I couldn’t figure out why, but I liked it. When she touched me, I wished it was your hands. I thought about you the whole time, fuck.” Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, trying to not look at you in order to keep calm and patient with his orgasm.

“Yeah? Wished it was me leaning over you like that?” You could barely string a sentence together with how good you felt, your thighs clenching together around your wrist, your hips bucking up as much as your body allowed them to.

“Mhmm. Thought about taking you home, bending you over my couch with your uniform still on.”

“Fuck Spence. She made me so jealous, I wanted to go in there and rip her off of you. Would’ve made you mine right there at the bar.”

He hissed and groaned out, speeding up even more, matching the pace you had set yourself; aiming to finish with you.

“Fuck. I’m all yours Y/N, this cock is all fucking yours.” He was so close, throbbing and thrusting into his fist, pulling his head back so he could watch your face.

Hearing him say he was yours dragged you to the edge of your orgasm, thighs beginning to shake a little. Your wrist was growing tired but you refused to stop, too caught up in the gradually increasing pleasure.

“I’m so close honey, please,” you pulled your gaze away from where he stroked himself to meet his eyes, wanting to watch his face as he toppled over the edge too, “please tell me I can come, I wanna come for you.”

You grew needy, ignoring the ache in your torso as you writhed against your fingers, your head falling back as you felt the waves coming. Spencer watched as you slowly began to fall and crash into it.

Tugging at himself with the same speed as you, he quickly moved onto his side a little to watch you better. Pressing his lips to your neck, he bit down gently before whispering the words you needed.

“Let it go for me Y/N, you can come. Come for me,” As you slipped under the waves and felt like you were drowning in the numb yet intense pulsation, Spencer coaxed you through it as he too got carried away by his own throbbing, “that’s it baby, fuck I’m coming, oh my go-, ah fuck it feels so good.”

Spencer became quickly overwhelmed by his orgasm, rolling onto his back again as he carried on spilling onto his stomach. Continuing to slowly rub yourself, you came down from your crescendo and watched as he worked himself through his.

“Fuck Spencer, there’s so much.” Leaving little kisses along his shoulder, you giggled sweetly as he tensed with the aftershocks and tried to catch his breath. He grinned with a post-orgasm smile and turned his head to nestle against the top of yours.

“Are you okay?” Spencer murmured into your hair, leaving a little kiss on the crown of your head. Simply nodding against his shoulder, you attempted to shuffle closer but forgot how tense your body had been in its peak.

“Fuck. Can you help me?” Giggling and wincing at the same time as an attempt to sit up. Spencer laughed at you sweetly, sitting himself up quickly and snaking an arm underneath your back.

Pulling you up smoothly, he left a light kiss against your temple before slipping his other arm underneath your legs and hoisting you up.

“Wait, where are we going?” You whined out, wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders. He walked the two of you into the en-suite and set you down gently on the counter.

“I am going to get us cleaned up,” he smiled at you before getting a washcloth ready, “and then we’re going to talk about us.”

He began to wipe the washcloth across his chest and his stomach, looking up curiously when you asked, “Us?”

“Wait. What you said about- when you said that thing about making me yours? Did I completely misread that? Because I feel- I thought it was obvious that I felt-“ He stumbled, self consciousness creeping in slowly as he realised he may have taken it too far.

But you smiled softly, grabbing the cloth from his hands and pulling him to rest between your legs. At least he’d cleared the air for you. You didn’t feel remotely nervous anymore.

Cupping his face in your hands and stroking along his jaw with each thumb, you pulled him in for a delicate kiss. Grinning against his lips, he returned the motion and kissed you once more.

“The feeling is mutual, Spencer.”

[multifandomfanfiction]

Beauty and the Genius Chapter 1

TITLE: Beauty and the Genius Chapter 1 PAIRING: Spencer/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: 1/? SUMMARY: When David Rossi joins the team, so does his daughter Gwendolyn. But what happens when she and the resident genius start developing feelings for each other? How will it affect Rossi and Reid’s team dynamic?

[A/N - Updates to this will be sporadic because I’m only working on this until the inspiration hits me again for my Doctor Who fic. So we’ll see what happens with this.]

“Guys, he’s here!” Spencer said.

The new agent entered the BAU led by Strauss. A small brunette young woman followed after them.

“But who’s the girl?” Morgan asked, as Spencer took off his mask.

Spencer’s eyes met hers and she gave him a small smile. Spencer offered her a shy smile back as his cheeks turned pink.

Strauss, Rossi, and the girl made their way up to Hotch’s office. Strauss knocked on the open door. “Agent Hotchner,” she said, “I’m sure you remember…”

“Dave.” Hotch smiled and approached the older Italian man.

“How are you, Aaron?”

“I’m good. I’m great.”

The two men embraced.

“I would say so. You remember my daughter, Gwen?”

Gwen smiled. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Hotchner.”

“Oh, please. Call me Hotch,” he told her. He turned back to Rossi. “Saw you on TV last week. Can’t believe you want to come back here.”

The two men looked at Strauss.

“Well I’ll let the two of you catch up. If you need anything, I’m in my office.”

“Thanks,” Hotch said and Strauss left. “So how long has it been?”

“Dinner, almost three years. But the last time I was in the BAU, you were sharing a desk with two other agents in that god-awful bunker we were in.”

“I remember.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Well there’s one just like this next door if you’re interested.”

A blonde woman entered the office. “I’m ready to give the briefing.”

“Agent Jareau, this is SSA David Rossi and his daughter Gwen,” Hotch introduced.

The blonde shook Rossi’s hand. “Hi. Everyone calls me JJ. It is such an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Thank you. And what’s your function here?” Rossi asked.

“I’m the communications coordinator and liaison. Pretty much the go-between for the team and the rest of the world,” JJ explained, “So I’ll gather everyone.”

“We’ll be right there. Oh and JJ?”

“Yes sir?”

“Could you introduce Gwen to Penelope? Penelope will be helping her get settled in.”

JJ nodded. JJ shook Rossi’s hand again. “It is so nice to have you here, sir.”

“Great,” Rossi said.

Before Gwen left with JJ, she looked at her father who nodded. Gwen nodded back and followed JJ out.

JJ led her into a dark room. “Penelope…” JJ said.

Penelope stood up and immediately hugged Gwen. “You must be my new ward!”

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Penelope, when you’re ready we’ll be in the conference room.”

“Sure thing Jayje!”

JJ left the room and Penelope stepped back to get a good look at Gwen. “Oh! My name’s Penelope Garcia, but you can call me anything you want Sugarplum!”

Penelope was a bubbly blonde with a pink streak in her hair. Her glasses were brightly colored, along with her entire outfit.

“Gwendolyn Rossi, but please call me Gwen,” Gwen told her.

“Rossi? As in Rossi Rossi?”

“Uh…yeah. He’s my dad.”

“You mean he’s your…”

Gwendolyn hushed her. “Please. Please don’t say anything to the rest of the team.”

“Woah. Of course I won’t say anything. It’s not something you should feel ashamed about or anything. It happens all the time.”

“I know…it’s just…it’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t fret mon ami. Now, I have to deliver this file to the team, which means I get to introduce you.” Penelope looped her arm in Gwen’s and they made their way up to the conference room. Penelope opened the door and found a bloody face looking back at her. Penelope immediately threw the file up to block her face. “Oh my god! What is that?”

Instead of being disgusted like Penelope, Gwen walked over to the table and picked up one of the pictures. “Interesting. Looks like a scalpel or something was used. There’s no way this could’ve been done by animals or anything.”

Everyone was looking at her.

“Um, hi,” Gwen said.

“Beauty and brains. Looks like you might have some competition, Pretty Boy,” Morgan quipped.

“Technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, this is SSA David Rossi,” Hotch introduced.

“Is it gone, JJ?” Penelope asked.

JJ hit a button on her remote and it disappeared.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re safe.” Penelope lowered the file. “Ok. Just to…um…Carrolton, Texas has nearly 117,000 residents. A diverse population with a…” She handed the file to Hotch. “It’s all in there. I’m sorry.” She turned to Rossi and shook his hand. “Very happy to meet you, sir. I’ll be in my office.”

Hotch cleared his throat and Gwen looked up from the picture. “Oh, sorry.” She put it down in front of the guy from the bullpen.

“Sugar cookies,” he muttered.

Gwen blushed and stood up.

“I’m so sorry! It’s just I smelled your perfume and…” he rambled.

Gwen giggled and said, “It’s okay. It’s my favorite. My dad bought it for me.”

Penelope grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the room. “Sorry. We’ll just…” Penelope shut the door and squealed. “Oh my god! You were totally flirting with Spencer!”

“I was not! I was just being nice.”

In the conference room, Rossi said, “She’s different.”

Hotch playfully shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“Okay, is someone gonna explain to me who the girl is?” Morgan asked.

“Gwendolyn Rossi,” Hotch said.

“Wait. Rossi?” Emily asked, looking at the man.

“My daughter,” Rossi said, his eyes on Spencer.

Oh god, Spencer wanted to die. Not only had he embarrassed himself in front of a pretty girl, but it just HAD to be his new co-worker’s daughter.

“She comes to use with a very different set of knowledge and skills,” Hotch said.

“What kind of knowledge?” Spencer asked.

“What kind of skills?” Morgan asked.

“In addition to being well trained in every firearm the FBI has license to use, she has extensive knowledge of the occult,” Hotch explained.

Morgan’s eyebrows nearly shot off his face. “The occult? Since when does the FBI investigate the occult?”

“We don’t…officially. She’s here in a consultant position.”

“If you can’t beat ‘em, hire ‘em,” Spencer said.

“And Strauss approved this?” Morgan asked. It sounded like nepotism to him.

To Spencer, she sounded like even more of a dream come true. She probably loved Halloween as much as he did.

Penelope helped Gwen get situated at her desk. It wasn’t quite in the bullpen, like the rest of the profilers, but off to the side. As Gwen was getting settled, a shadow appeared over her. She looked up and saw Spencer. “Oh, hey Spencer.”

“You…you know my name?” he asked.

Gwen laughed. “Penelope explained who everyone was.”

“Oh yeah. Right. Um, I was wondering if…”

“If…?”

Spencer took a deep breath and tried again. “Hotch said you study the occult.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Is Halloween your favorite holiday?”

Gwen nodded. “Yeah. I love Halloween, although I prefer to celebrate it in its ancient form of Samhain.”

Spencer could feel his heart beating hard in his chest.

“Hey, maybe we could get together after this case is over and talk about it. Maybe get a drink.”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, clutching the strap on his bag for dear life. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay. Then I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Spencer turned around, his cheeks burning. He couldn’t wait to get home from this case.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Onereyofstarlight

to @godsliltippy

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Jelly smears onto her arm where Gordon grabs her and a ball of wrapping paper and tape is thrust into her hands.

“’t’s for you,” he says, eyes alight as she holds the pink package away from her body. 

Penelope stares at him and looks over to her father. Years of etiquette, engrained into her by nurses, nannies and governesses, never prepared her for the clumsy friendship of a five-year-old boy who showed all his teeth when he smiled.

No-one would know if she didn’t thank him. Just the two of them, and she doubts he would even notice. 

Her mother would notice. Her dead mother’s presence was everywhere, lurking in the corners of every room and watching Penelope’s every move. Her mother would tell someone and they would tell her father.

Nothing escapes Lord Creighton-Ward, especially not in his own house.

She nods slowly instead, allowing a thin smile to spread across her face. 

“Thank you, Gordon.”

There’s dirt on his nose. Her smile falters.

But Gordon is five and starry eyed and in love with the pretty girl who came to play school with his brothers and doesn’t see the lie in her eyes. 

He runs back to his mother, heedless of the way Penelope’s eyes follow him.

“Wot’s tha’ milady?”

“Nothing, Parker.”

She means it too.

The gift is never opened, discarded among the steamers and half-eaten plates of food.

Gordon never notices.

***

The next year, he gives her nothing but a cold stare.

***

Time passes and she’s no longer a haughty girl of seven, sulking in the back room of a boring Christmas Eve party, and he’s no longer the kid who follows his brothers like a lost puppy. He bounds first into every room, demanding attention and she can hardly stop herself from giving it to him. 

“Hey,” says John, looking slightly affronted at the way her eyes have slipped away from him once again. “You listening to me?”

“Yes.”

She’s lying, and she’s gotten good at that, but John still knows her tells, still knows her.

“Sure.”

It’s hard to hear him over the bright spark of laughter on the other side of the room. Gordon is surrounded, entertaining the small children stuck in the same position she was exactly twelve years ago.

A nudge pulls her from her thoughts and John nods in his direction.

“Talk to him.”

Penelope says nothing and he reads her silence as easily as his mathematical proofs. His mouth twists as he watches her, biting back platitudes that she can’t stand to hear.

“He got you a gift,” John says quietly. His eyes never leave her and she wishes desperately that she could leave. “He spent hours thinking about it, didn’t shut up about it since he drew your–”

“Don’t tell me that.”

His hands rise, open and honest and the words fall heavy between them.

She’d never been more pathetically grateful than when Gordon pulled her name for the annual Christmas round robin. She doesn’t need John to point it out to her.

There’s a dry lump in her throat and it tastes like pity.

Penelope knows she’s being a terrible host, but she allows the silence to stretch between them.

“Do you want another drink?”

She shakes her head, looking very carefully into the flickering flames. 

John sighs and collects her glass from the mantle all the same. 

“I’ll be back.”

She watches John as he strides across the dance floor, half convinced he’s about to spill the beans to Gordon, but he barely gives him a second glance. Instead, a few short words and a pointed look in her direction sends Virgil her way.

“Penelope, you’re looking wonderful.”

“What did John tell you?”

He grins and offers her his hand.

“Just thought you might appreciate a dance. Take your mind off matters.”

“He told you?”

“Never, our Johnny is a gentleman first. And a dancer last.”

On tiptoes, she spies John over his brother’s shoulder and glares at him as he ducks out of the room.

“One dance then, Mr Tracy.”

“Lady Creighton-Ward.”

In truth, Virgil is a wonderful dancer. They move like starlings in the dusk, mesmerising and perfectly choreographed as the music swells in a familiar beat. It’s easy and joyful, allowing herself to move without thinking while Virgil mutters terribly judgemental comments about the more stuck-up members of her peers.

“Stop it, Virgil,” she whispers, fighting a smile. “It’s not funny.”

He laughs and they dance, allowing the music and conversation to direct their pace and as the song swells, he twirls her, throwing her into a spin with laughter erupting from her lips, and yet it’s Gordon who catches her.

The sound dies and blood rushes to her cheeks. She drops his hand and stares, lips parted, eyes wide.

It’s embarrassing, really.

Virgil has made himself scarce, but her eyes are trained on Gordon alone. In his hands, he holds a present, its yellow bow flopping over like her father’s dog after a long walk, and he smiles, crooked and sweet in its uncertainty.

She can’t bring herself to breathe. His smile falters as his face flushes and he drops his eyes. They stand together and their eyes don’t meet. In one stilted motion, he presses the small box into her palm and turns away. 

Their hands never touch, but the gift is still warm. She traces the yellow ribbon as she watches him go.

“Thank you,” she calls out with a rush of courage. 

He glances back over his shoulder and shrugs, his smile brilliant between flaming cheeks.

“Welcome, Pen. Happy Christmas.”

And it is. 

Later that night, she stares at the neatly wrapped box and turns it over in her hands. She should open it, she knows, but she remembers John telling her how Gordon had agonised over this. He deserves more than a bleary thank you note tainted by exhausted emotion.

She puts the gift aside, ready for Christmas morning when she can take her time.

She wakes up and it’s Christmas Day.

It’s Christmas Day and her father dies.

***

She packs her childhood away and smiles with all the gracious manner he’d always expected of her. People stream through the house; some she hasn’t seen for years and some she’d seen only yesterday. Their comfort is as empty as the house she grew up in.

“We can’t put this off any longer, Penelope.”

Her aunt’s quiet voice breaks through the haze of grief and exhaustion.

“Not yet,” she whispers, watching the door.

“Not even Jeff Tracy can change an international flight plan midcourse. By the time they land, refuel and deal with the bureaucrats in order to get back here, I need to be gone. And you need to be with me.”

She exhales shakily, fighting the tears and tightness in her chest.

“Let me get my things.”

Great Aunt Sylvia nods and Penelope stands. It’s short work but she allows herself to hesitate. She knows what she’s getting into, and there won’t be time for sentimentality in her future. She looks down at the little box she’d placed on her bedside table. She should leave it behind along with her regrets. 

She pulls on the ribbon. It’s an impulse and a foolish one, and she can’t stop herself until she holds the gift unwrapped in her hands.

A laugh bubbles out of her, genuine and surprising in the dullness of the day. A pair of door knockers, moulded into the familiar shape of Sherbet, lay gleaming in the tissue paper. 

It’s ridiculous and perfect and she can’t help but love it.

“Penelope, dear? No time for dilly-dalliances.”

“I’ll be right down, Aunt Sylvia.”

Penelope collects her things, still biting back a smile. She’ll have them installed while she’s away.

***

Penelope trains in espionage. Gordon joins the military.

She completes her apprenticeship and Jeff Tracy offers her a position. He doesn’t return.

His father dies. She listens, numb, as Scott tries to get through to his superiors. No amount of money or connections will allow Gordon to resurface from his position of deep cover.

Unease settles over the family and no-one asks her to leave the island. So, she stays. She programs her favourite meals into the kitchen computer, hands tools to Brains and tells Parker to look after Mrs Tracy. Her employer is dead, but she’s not sure where else she should be.

Alan follows her around. Virgil sleeps. She doesn’t know what Scott and John are doing, locked away in the study.

Eventually, Gordon comes back. He’s lost his healthy tan and the bags under his eyes look like storm clouds. Still, he laughs as he swings Alan around in a hug, and drags Virgil out of his room, and needles at his other two brothers until they finally tell him the plan moving forward.

International Rescue will continue and Penelope no longer feels like a stranger on the island. The black despair begins to peel back and she can feel the hope and determination they all share.

It’s a gift.

***

He’s bashful.

He’s infuriating.

He’s scared.

He’s ecstatic.

He’s lost.

He’s safe.

His father is alive.

His father is alive and he’s looking at her, joy in his eyes and determination behind his smile.

He slips beneath the cool armour she forged in the wake of her father’s funeral with a kiss.

There’s no time to talk until there is.

He walks his grandmother’s son across the room and turns to her.

He reaches out and she meets him there.

*** 

It’s a fragile thing between them, still nebulous and undefined. Her breath catches as he slides an arm around her waist and tucks himself against her skin. Great Aunt Sylvia would never approve of such a blatant display. Parker certainly doesn’t. 

It’s vulnerable and honest, and so very Gordon, and she tenses as his family’s eyes land on them, bracing herself for the scrutiny to which she’s opening herself. He tugs her close, careless and unrepentant beneath the gentle ribbing and wolf whistles. She can hear the distinct bleep of money being transferred between bank accounts and shoots a glare in Virgil’s direction. 

It turns out that no-one finds them very interesting, hardly saying a word and playing with each other’s hands.

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, until it spreads into a smile of her own beneath him. Her eyes flutter closed and she moves to clutch at the hand that cups her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, mouth against her skin. “Happy Birthday.”

She pulls away and stares. 

“I thought you said we would exchange gifts on Christmas. I haven’t wrapped yours yet, you should have told me and–”

“Pen,” he interrupts, laughing a little. “I said ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s not Christmas time just yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shrugs as he reaches behind him with a sheepish grin.

“Well, it’s just I know how it is, being born near a holiday. Gotta imagine being born the day before Christmas lends itself to that combined present crap far too easily for people.” He glances down at the parcel, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know you said you didn’t want a fuss, but I wanted you to know I was thinking of you today.”

She loves him. The thought is no longer new or surprising but for the first time she embraces it and allows it to warm her heart instead of squirrelling the idea away in a fit of shame. He thought of her and she loves him and she doesn’t care about presents, not really, but no one had ever thought of her like he does.  

He hands her a brightly wrapped parcel and she can’t help the dopey smile that grows as she holds it in her hands.

“Thank you, Gordon,” she says, still staring in delight.

“Well, there’s more where that came from.” It’s a self-conscious laugh, tinged with uncertainty and he can’t help himself and the question spills forth. “You like it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” she says with a laugh of her own. “But I already love it.” 

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but she knows how to fix that these days. Leaning forward, she kisses him herself, paying no mind to the rest of the family. 

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

[daydreamingatnight209]

Okay, here is part 2! I’ve decided that that I am going to do a part 3 but I haven’t started writing it yet - I’ve not had the best day today but I promise I’ll start it soon!

Hope you all like it, feedback is always welcome ✨💞

“Let’s have a baby” Part 2

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings - angst, mentions of kidnapping, fluff 💕

——————————

You weren’t sure how long you were out but when you finally regained consciousness you saw that you were in a dimly lit motel room, your hands bound to a hard, plastic chair. An unknown women sat across the room on the rusty bed.

You hands went to check your baby but then realised that you couldn’t.

The women saw your actions and rolled her eyes.

“Your baby is fine. I’m under strict instructions not up harm you.... unless necessary. So I’d suggest you sit their and behave” she finishes smugly.

You swallow, but did your best not show fear. Your baby had already been put under stress and you didn’t want to add to that.

Meanwhile, Spencer was still stuck at the correctional facility with the infamous Catherine Adams.

It had been 6 hours since your abduction and he was doing his best not to let it get to him. He was failing.

“I’m going to ask you again, where is Y/N?”

Cat continued to play the situation, she flat out refused to give Spencer anything. Making lies up along the way. It was her own form of twisted entertainment.

“Tell me the truth” he seethed.

Cat just meets his eye with that very same smirk she used every time he had to deal with her.

He couldn’t take it anymore, after everything she had done to him this takes the cake. He’d rather go through prison again then have you in this situation right now.

He slammed his hands down on the table, causing the women to jump. It was barely noticeable but he saw it.

“Tell me the truth!” Spencer raged, removing the obstacle that stood between them, with such force that it cracked the side wall.

Spencer lunges forward towards Cat who’s instinctively stands.

“Spence no!” JJ yells, pulling him back.

“She’s not worth it” she whispers but he couldn’t hear her.

He had to remove himself from this situation.

He rushes out into a spare room, roughly removing his tie that suddenly seemed to cut off his circulation.

It takes him a moment to control himself and tame his emotions enough to be able to go in there.

Time ticks on and the chances of finding you were falling rapidly, but Spencer refused to give up.

Eventually Cat slipped up and accidentally revealed the information he needed. Spencer had managed to get under her skin and out play her yet again.

————————

You don’t think you’d ever been so relieved when the BAU and SWAT barged through your capture room, taking the door off it’s hinges.

Your relief was short lived however, as you felt the cold barrel of a 44. at the side of your head.

You felt dizzy and your vision become blurred.

You couldn’t hear the words that was coming from both parties. You were more concerned at the tightening of your stomach. You had a feeling it wasn’t Braxton–Hicks this time.

“Spence? Spencer!” You call out in terror.

No, no, no the baby wasn’t due for another two weeks!

Your terror was enough to distract your captor and the arrest was clean. Spencer was immediately by your side, support your body weight as you slump against him. Another wave of pressure passes... and then your water broke.

“Spencer, this can’t be happening! I’m not due yet!”

He did his best to calm you, glad to have medics already available on site.

“Our baby wants to say hello, my love. Come on let’s go”

You time your contractions in the ride to the hospital as they begin to become more intense.

You felt sorry for Spencer who’s hand you gripped all the way there. He didn’t seem to mind, as he mumbled supportive terms in your ear while running his hand though your hair.

Eventually you had gotten all set up on the maternity ward but you still wasn’t dilated enough for an epidural so you had to sit and endure the pain the early stage of labour had to offer.

You were covered in sweat and on the verge of crying. You moan as more pain rises to the surface. You grab Spencer’s hand once more and begin to do your best to get though it.

“It hurts, spence it hurts!” You groan, your head flopping back onto the bed rest in protest.

“I know honey I know”

You didn’t mean to snap but you emotions where all over the place. You’d, just survived a kidnapping and now your in labour 2 weeks before your due date.

“No Spencer I don’t think you do, last time I checked this baby is coming out of me not you” you growled.

Night enters and you do your best to sleep but you just couldn’t. You knew the pain was only going to get worse.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore, I can’t do this spence!” You cry.

“Hey, hey, hey baby girl it’s okay, it’s okay. Come on you got this, deep breaths” he soothes. He hated seeing you in pain but you were doing amazing.

He slides onto the edge of the hospital bed and puts his hand on the bump.

“Come on, now little one, lets help mummy”

You wanted to smile at the sweet interaction but you couldn’t.

All you could focus on was the excruciating pain coursing though your body.

Around 2am you were finally prepared to have the epidural and boy did it help, especially as soon it was time to push.

After a few more hours of what felt like pure torture your little bundle of joy was welcomed into the world. You looked over at your boyfriend and apologised profusely, scared that you may of broken his hand, during the ordeal. He just kisses your forehead and the midwife allows him to cut the cord.

“It’s a boy” she informs you, which makes you to cry with happiness.

Your had a baby boy and he was healthy, despite the last 24 hours.

The small human lay on your chest, settling easily, as you lay watching, completely exhausted.

—————————

The next morning, the team came to visit you and to see your son.

Penelope gushed over how adorable he was and how she had dibs on being godmother. She was delighted to find out that she had already been chosen. A surprise visit from Derek Morgan also happened and it was revealed that Spencer had chosen him to be the godfather.

You did your best to stay awake but the lack of sleep over the last few days was making it extremely difficult. You knew you should try to rest but you didn’t want to take your sights off your baby boy. You hadn’t even decided on a name yet, although you had a few strong contenders.

Spencer could tell you needed sleep. After shooing everyone away he ordered you to sleep. He took the boy and cradles him, to ensure he would still stay asleep.

“Oliver, I want to call him Ollie” you mumble before finally losing the battle to stay awake and your eye finally slid shut.

Oliver Lucas Reid.

Oliver for beauty and dignity and Lucas for being the new light in your lives.

While you were asleep the midwife did her rounds and checked up on everything. Spencer put his finger to his lips, indicating that you were resting as he held the baby. The midwife, nodded and smiled at the new family, being walking out of the room again.

Spencer couldn’t help but look at you and his son in awe. He couldn’t believe it. He was a father and he vowed to do right by you and his boy.

Tag List - @purple-scarf-mistress @ladydansblanche @crazyforsstuff @theamuz @emygirl @thatsonezesty13 @aperrywilliams

[thecrownnet]

See the main list of BAFTA TV award winners below

Leading Actress Michaela Coel, I May Destroy You – WINNER Letitia Wright, Small Axe Billie Piper, I Hate Suzie Daisy Edgar-Jones, Normal People Hayley Squires, Adult Material Jodie Comer, Killing Eve

Leading Actor Paul Mescal, Normal People – WINNER John Boyega, Small Axe Josh O’Connor, The Crown Paapa Essiedu, I May Destroy You Shaun Parkes, Small Axe Waleed Zuaiter, Baghdad Central

Drama Series Save Me Too – WINNER Gangs Of London I Hate Suzie The Crown

Single Drama Sitting In Limbo – WINNER Anthony Bbw (On The Edge) The Windermere Children

Comedy Entertainment Programme The Big Narstie Show – WINNER Charlie Brooker’s Antiviral Wipe Rob & Romesh Vs The Ranganation Production

Live Event Springwatch 2020 – WINNER Life Drawing Live! The Royal British Legion Festival Of Remembrance The Third Day: Autumn

Virgin Media’s Must-See Moment (as voted for by the public): Britain’s Got Talent: Diversity perform a routine inspired by the events of 2020 – WINNER Bridgerton: Penelope is revealed as Lady Whistledown EastEnders: Gary kills Chantelle Gogglebox: Reactions to Boris Johnson’s press conference Nigella’s Cook, Eat, Repeat: Mee-cro-wah-vay The Mandalorian: Luke Skywalker arrives

Mini-Series I May Destroy You – WINNER Adult Material Normal People Small Axe

Reality & Constructed Factual The School That Tried To End Racism – WINNER Masterchef: The Professionals Race Across The World The Write Offs

Female Performance In A Comedy Programme Aimee Lou Wood, Sex Education – WINNER Daisy Haggard, Breeders Daisy May Cooper, This Country Emma Mackey Sex Education Gbemisola Ikumelo, Famalam Mae Martin, Feel Good Male Performance In A Comedy Programme Charlie Cooper, This Country – WINNER Guz Khan, Man Like Mobeen Joseph Gilgun, Brassic Ncuti Gatwa, Sex Education Paul Ritter, Friday Night Dinner Reece Shearsmith, Inside No.9

Supporting Actor Malachi Kirby, Small Axe – WINNER Kunal Nayyar, Criminal: UK Michael Sheen, Quiz Micheal Ward, Small Axe Rupert Everett, Adult Material Tobias Menzies, The Crown

Supporting Actress Rakie Ayola, Anthony – WINNER Helena Bonham Carter, The Crown Leila Farzad, I Hate Suzie Siena Kelly, Adult Material Sophie Okonedo, Criminal: Uk Weruche Opia, I May Destroy You

Scripted Comedy Inside No. 9 – WINNER Ghosts Man Like Mobeen This Country

International Welcome To Chechnya: The Gay Purge (Storyville) – WINNER Little America Lovecraft Country Unorthodox

Single Documentary Locked In: Breaking The Silence (Storyville) – WINNER American Murder: The Family Next Door Anton Ferdinand: Football, Racism & Me Surviving Covid

BAFTA TV Craft Awards (ceremony held May 24)

Emerging Talent: Fiction Georgi Banks-Davies (Director), I Hate Suzie – WINNER Harry Tulley (Dubbing Mixer), Anthony Stephen S. Thompson (Writer), Sitting in Limbo William Stefan Smith (Director), On the Edge: BBW

Emerging Talent: Factual Marian Mohamed (Director) Defending Digga D – WINNER Ashley Francis-Roy (Shooting Producer/Director) Damilola: The Boy Next Door& The Real Eastenders Jessica Kelly (Director) The Schools that Chain Boys & Silicon Valley’s Online Slave Market Kandise Abiola (Producer) Terms & Conditions: A UK Drill Story

Costume Design Jacqueline Durran, Small Axe – WINNER Rosa Dias, Sex Education James Keast, Belgravia Amy Roberts, The Crown

Director: Factual Teresa Griffiths, Lee Miller – A Life on the Front Line – WINNER Xavier Alford, Locked in: Breaking the Silence (Storyville) James Bluemel, Once Upon a Time in Iraq Deeyah Khan, America’s War on Abortion (Exposure)

Director: Fiction Michaela Coel, Sam Miller, I May Destroy You – WINNER Lenny Abrahamson, Normal People Benjamin Caron, The Crown (episode 3) Steve McQueen, Small Axe

Editing: Fiction Editing Team, I May Destroy You – WINNER Chris Dickens, Steve McQueen, Small Axe Nathan Nugent, Normal People (episode 5) Pia Di Ciaula, Quiz

Make Up & Hair Design Jojo Williams, Small Axe – WINNER Bethany Swan, I May Destroy You Cate Hall, The Crown Louise Coles, Sarah Nuth, Lorraine Glynn, Erin Ayanian, The Great

Original Music Harry Escott, Roadkill – WINNER Cristobal Tapia De Veer, The Third Day (Episode 3) Scott Salinas, Baghdad Central Martin Phipps, The Crown

Photography & Lighting Shabier Kirchner, Small Axe – WINNER Ed Rutherford, Little Birds Rob Hardy, Devs Suzie Lavelle, Normal People

Production Design Helen Scott, Small Axe – WINNER Joel Collins, His Dark Materials Matt Gant, Megan Bosaw, Gangs Of London Samantha Harley, Alexandra Slade, Sex Education

Scripted Casting Gary Davy, Small Axe – WINNER Kate Rhodes James, Baghdad Central Lauren Evans, Sex Education Shaheen Baig, The Third Day

Sound: Fiction Jon Thomas, Gareth Bull, James Ridgway, Dillon Bennett, Eilam Hoffman, His Dark Materials (Episode 7) – WINNER Niall O’sullivan, Steve Fanagan, Niall Brady, Normal People Paul Cotterell, James Harrison, Ronald Bailey, Small Axe Sound Team, The Crown

Special, Visual & Graphic Effects Russell Dodgson, James Whitlam, Jean-Clement Soret, Robert Harrington, Dan May, Brian Fisher, His Dark Materials – WINNER Ben Turner, Reece Ewing, Chris Reynolds, Asa Shoul, Framestore, Untold Studios, The Crown Michael Illingworth, Oliver Milburn, Danny Hargreaves, Oliver Ogneux, Laura Usaite, Pedrom Dadgostar, War Of The Worlds Milk Visual Effects, Dneg Tv, Freefolk, Goodbye Kansas Studios, Greg Fisher, Dave Houghton, Cursed

Writer: Comedy Sophie Willan, Alma’s Not Normal – WINNER Charlie Brooker, Charlie Brooker’s Antiviral Wipe Daisy May Cooper, Charlie Cooper, This Country Writing Team, Ghosts

Writer: Drama Michaela Coel, I May Destroy You – WINNER Alastair Siddons, Steve Mcqueen, Small Axe Lucy Kirkwood, Adult Material Lucy Prebble, I Hate Suzie

[jenma2ca]

My Dream-

Granger

A TV Series about Hermione Granger at

Clifden Institute of Magic

Because Witches & Wizards who want to specialize need to study for an additional 3-4 years of study, preferably at an Institute of Magic. Duh!

Background-

IMs (Institutes of Magic) came into formation around the year 800. There had always been specialized organizations/program/academies for high levels of Magic. They usually took less than a handful of students each year. Around 800AD the area now know as Nairobi, Kenya had more than 20 of these academies. They joined together and the first IM was founded. IMs were few and small for many years. In the 1800s they continued to grown in enrollment and prestige. This was continued into the 1900s when these IMs became funded by magical governments offering exceptional witches and Wizards the chance to study advanced magics for free. Although specialized academies still exist throughout the world, there are only 25 Official IMs Globally. Although there have been rumors for years about secret IMs for high level dangerous or experimental Magic, none have been confirmed.

Clifden IM , in County Leitrim Ireland, was founded in the year 1050 by Merlin and Morgana High Wizard and Witch of Camelot. The IM itself is invisible to muggles. Only once in the early 1800s did a muggle once view Clifden. He believed it to be the gateway to another universe or perhaps Heaven. He went insane looking for it and eventually recreated the castle from what he remembered . The real Clifden Institute is 1000 times larger and more grand than the muggle replica castle. It is said to be one of the most expansive and beautiful Magical institutes on earth. While it is far from being the oldest, it is considered an elite school competing with Bayou IM in New Orleans, Louisiana USA, Nairobi IM, and Scholomance IM in Transylvania, Romania. (Rumored to be run by the devil to ward off Muggle, but actually run by Magical Creatures -Vampires-Werewolves-Giants-etc who were originally not allowed in traditional IMs, and still face discrimination in employment, the school's speciality is The Dark Arts)

The Show-

Hermione is awarded a special entry into a top level DADA program due to her fighting Voldemort. It’s her secondary field. Her Primary study is Comparative Magical Politics & Wizarding Relations . Hermione is beginning to think about a career in government. Normally student decide these things their final year of Hogwarts, but Hermione missed that year due to her Horcrux search. After graduating in 1999, she continued onto Clifden Institute of Magic.

Ron mises her. He supports her though. Time are hard with the distance. He’s undergoing intense training with Harry and of focused on work, but misses her a lot. Jealousy may occurs and they may go their separate ways for a while, but they always come back to each other. (It’s a TV series, we need the Drama!!)

Hermione & friends dealing with their PTSD of being children of war.

Hermione & her BFFs Ginny, Kellah, Angie, Ali, and Chelsea (aka Chelsea Cho-Chang, because “Cho” liked Quidditch but didn’t loved it and wants to leave her jock friends attitude, and childhood nickname in the past) hanging out, practicing magic on levels they didn’t know existed, dating. It’s PG-13 so nothing to out there, we want teens to see a beautiful intelligent Black leader in Hermione as she growns up, so it will be darker with more adult themes, but still PG-13.

Hermione Roomies/Friends/Classmates/Emenies

Apartmentmates- Parvarti & Padma Patil, Kellah Williams. Ginny Weasley (first woman in the family to go to a IM, her mom is very proud)

Next door student apartments

-Percy Weasley & Penelope Clearwater. Percy worked the ministry taking corospondance classes in Comparative Magical Politics & Wizarding (Hermione's same field) at the ministry’s Intern program, as they were funded by his intern job. After the battle at Hogwarts Percy needed a change, and after a breakdown he decided to quit his job and become a full time student. He is now a third year student and Hermiones’s SA (Sorcerers Apprentice/ AKA TA). He currently lives with his girlfriend Penny.

- Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnigan. Neville Longbottom. Ibrahim “Ibi” Bem. Emmanuel “Manny”Bem (who BTW- parents were Voldy supporters even though their mom’s big bro, AKA Uncle Kingsley fought him at Hogwarts. Their parents were killed a few weeks after the battle of Hogwarts and now the boys are being raised by their Uncle the new Minister of magic. They aren’t handeling all their new found “fame” too well.

- Angelina “Angie” Johnson. Alicia “Ali” Spinnet. Two of Hermiones closest friends.

- Hannah Abbot. Susan “Susie” Bones. Marietta “Mari” Edgecombe. Chelsea Cho Chang.

-Justin Finch Fletchley. Ernie Macmillan. Zachariah “Zach” Smith. Michael Corner

-Off Campus Student Mansion. Cuz you know these girls pulled some strings, pooled their money and bought the nicest place in Clifden.

-Pansy Parkinson. Mafalda “Mal” Weasley. Flora Carrie. Hesita “Hess” Carrow. Daphnee & Astoria “Tori” Greengrass.

-Draco Malloy. Blaise Zambini. Joshua “Pike”.

Off campus apartments ( non students)

Lee Jordan. With occasional long visits from his BFF George Weasley who really wants to hang out with Angie.

“Friends/Frenemies” who drop by for a few episodes throughout the series

(these people don’t go to Clifden as Students but still can come by

“ Katie”Bell. Leanne. Oliver Wood. Cormac McLaggen. “Romi” Vane. Dennis Creavy. Luna Lovegood. “Greg” Goyle. “Millie” Bullstrode. Adrian Pucey. Chase Vasiey. Marcus Flint. “Theo” Nott. Miles Bletchley. Graham Montague. Graham Pritchard. Malcom Braddock. Gemma Farley. Cassius “Cass” Warrington. Harry Potter. “Ron”/“Charlie”/“Bill” & Flure Weasley/ . (Some deep cuts here- if you know you know)

Also let’s be honest, HP was pretty white. Black Hermione being roommates with The Patil sisters, & Kellah, and BFFs with Angie, Ali, Dean, Lee, the Bem Bros, & Chelsea would be pretty cool. They have to kick Blaise’s Anti-muggle ass though.

Ps 19 years ago, Snape one got stupid potion drunk after he ran into a Lily-Lookalike visiting London from Canada. He saw her again that night, and being that she had just had a bad breakup and he looked like her goth musician boyfriend, well... lets just say, Draco is going to have surprise roommate who just graduated from Ilvermorny and reminds him very very much of an old teacher, with Lilly’s eyes of course 😋

[fallenfurther]

Reflections of a Lady

Post Series 1 Episode 10: Tunnels of Time. My husband and I are still watching these in order from time to time, with enough space between to allow me to wrote. I’m not sure it I like the way I ended this one but I can imagine Penelope spending the trip home reelecting. Enjoy!

*******

She sat back as FAB 1 rose into the air and headed for home. It'd been quite the day and her mind couldn't help but drift over its events. Gordon's appearance had been a surprise. Parker had quite the nerve inviting one of the boys along without telling her, she would make him pay for that at a later date. Next time she took Sherbet for a walk in the rain she would instruct him to bathe the muddy dog. The smile crossed her lips at the way Parker would hold Bertie at arms length, keeping the mucky pup as far away from himself as possible.

Not that Penelope minded the Tracy boys company, she just didn't like Parker thinking she needed them. She was perfectly capable of many tasks, and this meant to have been one of the least dangerous ones. Just a simple review and monitoring of an archaeological site. Nothing too strenuous. Not that it turned out that way. Her simple surveillance mission had turned into the most dangerous escape room challenge. She hated how she had ended up needing rescuing. She was part of International Rescue, she shouldn't need to be rescued. But then Gordon had been in the same situation, needing a rescue from his older brothers and it didn't bother him. Not that much ever seemed to bother the loudest of the Tracy boys.

Their moment on the solid gold statue came to mind, and Penelope sat back and let her eyes rest on the sky as the scene played in her mind. She'd been so close to Gordon. He'd taken her hand. Her heart had skipped a beat. They had been face to face and ever so close. He'd removed her hat and she was sure he was going to say it. Then Virgil arrived and the moment was over. She'd always know he'd had a crush on her, the signs were just too obvious, and she was trained in the art of information collection. An agent of International Rescue needed to know how to read people and Gordon Tracy wore his heart in his sleeve, most of the time. Penelope had seen the hidden nervous glances, noted his attempts to peacock in her presence. If that wasn't enough, Parker's attitude towards Gordon's advances was anything but subtle to Penelope. By now she knew both men extremely well.

It was Gordon's final response that had set her on edge. The way he’d stammered, something she'd never heard the confident Olympian do, even in front of the largest crowd or the most important people. Yet what he stammered was just as surprising as the fact that he had. He'd thought they would never work. Penelope's hands twisted in her lap as she thought it over. Gordon wasn't her usual type and he certainly didn't fit the English Lady persona she played, but maybe that's why she'd never shot him down. She knew how he felt and she could easily nip it in the bud, but she never had. There was a charm to Gordon that intrigued Penelope. He made pleasant company. Considering the two-faced aristocrats she often had to socialise with, Gordon was a breath of fresh air. Sea air with a hint of the exotic in it.

Penelope sighed. There were times when she felt like she lived in a different world to the Tracy brothers. Kayo understood. She lived in a different world even to Penelope, though their world's crossed at various points. But the Tracy's were heros. They saved the day, and while she helped them in that purpose, she went about it in a very different manner. She was an agent, with a cover story to keep people from guessing her real motive. Like the other secret International Rescue agents her cover was real. She was an English Lady with influence in various industries and endeavoured to use it for good. She believed she was one of the few that had such influence, with other agents being people who understood their area, location and community, and who would hear things through the grapevine and relay back if necessary. She had influence and status. Her mother and father had known Jefferson and Lucile Tracy on a personal level.

Her father had been their friend. She had grown up knowing about the Tracy boys. Had met them when they were young, noisy and not interested in girls. They were almost family to her. She'd watched them all grow up as they had her. Gordon had watched her grow up. How much attention he'd paid, she didn't know, but it was still a factor. He knew her in a way her aristocrat friends couldn't. She'd let her hair down a few times around Gordon and his brothers, and she had always been rewarded by their response. Scott was great. Tall, handsome and a born leader. Virgil wasn't her type, and John, although her age and a great friend, was quiet and could never cope with her lifestyle. Gordon was almost the opposite. Loud, funny and had little care for how the media saw him. He still had that Tracy determination, the one that had made him stand out from his high achieving brothers and gotten him a gold medal at the Olympics. He was strong in his own way. It's one of the things that stood out to Penelope. Gordon entranced Penelope, taunting her, tempting her to dig deeper and find out more. She'd always held back. Stayed reserved. Like the Lady she was. But she was losing her resolve. The temptation was sometimes just too much. She tried to hide that she wanted to know more, to spend more time with Gordon Tracy. There were times when her mind drifted to him, but she'd learnt. Penelope Creighton-Ward had learnt control and self-restraint. She knew what the world could say about the pairing. Could see possible headlines in the papers and the slander in social media. International Rescue needed her to portray the right image, the one the world wanted to see. It helped them. It helped to save lives. Yet part of her wanted more. Was she ready to give into it? Was she ready to give Gordon Tracy a chance?

The gentle bump of FAB 1 hitting the driveway brought Penelope out of her ponderings. Had she really spent the whole flight thinking about Gordon? Parker pulled up and opened her door, allowing her to step out.

"Thank you, Parker."

She was welcomed back by Sherbet, who pawed at her legs. Picking him up she put the thoughts to the back of her mind, knowing full well she would be reviewing them as she got ready for bed that night.

"Did you miss me?" She asked, giving her furry friend a good scratch. A small yap brought a smile to her face. Right now she had other things she needed to do, like write up her report for the World Heritage Society about the day's events and Professor Harold’s conduct. She had a duty to protect the world’s historical artefacts for future generations, and Lady Penelope took her duty seriously.

[inhanf-archived]

Alarmed

Square Filled: hurt/comfort  @cmbingo​

Warnings: Main character injury, driving while panicking, questionable parking ethics.

Prompt: ”Ok don’t be alarmed, but I may or may not have just been shot.”

Length: 970-ish

Authors Note: This is one of the first pieces I’ve ever published, please be kind! If I’ve left out any tags or warnings or other writer etiquettes please let me know. I also suck at naming things, my sincerest apologies for this.

AO3

The gentle buzzing of your phone against the coffee table dragged you from the light sleep you had fallen into unintentionally. Blinking and rubbing sleep from your eyes you swipe across the screen showing your girlfriends smiling face, the carefree photo from Rossi’s wedding triggering a small smile from your own lips.

‘Hey Em, you leaving the office?’ It was gone 9pm, but dating the BAU unit chief meant late nights even when her team was in town. ‘Hi Y/N, it’s Spencer.’. You sat bolt upright on the couch, the throw you’d been cosy under falling to the floor. ‘What’s happened?’ ‘No it’s ok, Emily is ok, she’s here with me.’ Emily’s voice is audible in the background asking for her phone. The panic in your tone must have carried, that or Spencers face had given away your reaction. There’s a moment of garbled conversation between Emily and Spencer and another voice before you hear Em’s best reassuring tone telling someone to give her a minute. ‘Hey baby, ok, don’t be alarmed but I may or may not have just been shot’ She must have heard the hitched sob you tried to strangle because she quickly promised that she was ok and that she would be home soon. Before you could respond a doctor had demanded she end the call. Not that you even registered the doctor speaking, at that point you were shoving your feet into your boots and grabbing your keys from the hall table.

You bounce into the driver’s seat of your hybrid, turning the key and slamming the door behind you as a call comes through the Bluetooth. ‘Hey Y/N, it’s Spencer again’ ‘I’m in the car Reid, which hospital?’ ‘She says she’s fine, she asked me to call you instead of you…’ ‘Which. Hospital. Reid.’ Your tone is low and the threat it implies is evidently enough as Spencer mutters the name to you and says he’ll keep her there till you arrive. Hitting the end call button on your steering wheel you pull out of the apartment car park like a person possessed, drowning the images of an injured Emily with an internal debate on drive times at this hour.

Mercifully you make it to the hospital accident-free and haphazardly pull in next to the ambulance bay. Spotting Spencer Reid standing by the ER door you mentally thanked the childhood obsession with magic tricks that had caused you two to bond the first time Emily had brought you to dinner at Rossi’s. Besides Em herself, the boy genius knew how you operated better than anyone else. As if by telepathy he started towards you, shouting the name of the ward as soon as you jumped from the car, sliding into the driver’s seat to park it somewhere it wouldn’t be towed while you run through the sliding doors into the hospital. Reading your expression a nurse gives you clear instructions to the side ward Emily is in and you call your thanks back to her, shouldering open swinging doors and vanishing down the indicated corridor within seconds. You didn’t stop until you reached her room, conveniently marked by JJ, Luke and Penelope all standing outside.

The three agents waste no time or words, ushering you into the room where you stand, and wheeze breathlessly to the attending doctor that you’re her partner before he can ask you to leave, your eyes never once straying from the woman you love, a bemused smirk on her face as she sits on the side of the bed, holding a bloodied gauze to her upper arm. Seizing the moment while you catch your breath Emily smiles affectionately at you. ‘If you’d listened to poor Spencer instead of growling at him you’d have known it was only a graze pet.’ You give her your best glower which is instantly washed away by Emily wincing as the doctor removes the gauze and begins to stitch the small wound. Using her good arm she catches your hand and pulls you close, whispering that she’s ok while rubbing her thumb reassuringly over your knuckles. You cup her cheek gently and rest your forehead against hers, allowing the tears to fall. The doctor finishes up, placing an adhesive bandage over the few stitches, and mentions something about going to finish the paperwork at the nurses’ station, the two women not really listening to him.

Pulling you into her arms as best she can Emily holds you until the silent sobs of relief ease. ‘This job may be more stressful on you than me Y/N’ she says gently, brushing the last few tears from your cheek. You chuckle and kiss her softly, running your fingers into her silky hair. ‘I agree entirely but it’s what I get for marrying a badass FBI agent. You’d think I’d be used to it after four years.’ ‘Actually, studies have shown that the hormonal changes in the final months of pregnancy can exacerbate emotional responses in expectant mothers so it wouldn’t matter if you’d been together longer, you’d probably still react the same way.’ You both smile and you turn to let Spencer into your hug. He perches lightly beside Emily, his hand going straight to your protruding stomach. ‘How is she doing?’ He asks concernedly, snaking his other arm around Emily’s waist. ‘Baby genius is doing fine’ you reassure them both, shifting Spencer’s hand higher so he can feel the kicks that got stronger as soon as your daughter had heard the voices of her other parents. ‘Great, well let’s all get home before the OBGYN team finds us, I don’t think they’ll thank me for dragging you here from bed rest.’ Emily grimaced making you smile and the three of you made your way out of the ER, paperwork and the rest of the BAU family in tow.

[need-a-new-hobby]

The Reckoner

Hotch watched the young boy on the swing set, swinging with a force that could take him to the stars. He was his mother’s son, absolutely, with short blond hair and blue eyes. But he desperately wanted his family back, practically ignoring the agent from Protective Custody with the US Marshals, simply asking how they were.

“He's real smart. Had us in tears. Great kid.”

“And Haley?”

“To be honest, we're moving them to a halfway house.” Hotch’s eyebrows formed a question but he answered it. “Haley made a number of phone calls to her mother. It's all good, but to be safe, we have to move them.” Hotch nodded, thanking him. The Marshal, Sam, left the little office and Hotch wished his son a happy birthday, wherever he was.

^-^

“Just stop being stubborn and go home, Spence.” Piper was exasperated with his obstinacy, watching him sink into a chair as she dropped her go-bag in the corner. “You’re being pigheaded.”

“Okay, that’s hurtful.” Piper narrowed her eyes at him as she sunk into her chair and she closed her eyes.

“Remind me to never drink alcohol again.” Spencer chuckled as she drank her tea.

“Only if you start listening to me.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming—” Rossi interrupted them.

“Hey, lovebirds, you seen Hotch?” Piper pointed to the tall suited man in the cabin watching the rain pour through the window. She watched him trudge across the corridor.

“He doesn’t look cheerful,” Spencer pointed out, but Piper shrugged.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. You know, sunshine is the most intimately tied to mood. Sunlight has repeatedly been found to boost positive moods, dampen negative moods and diminish tiredness.”

“Yeah, that study in Minnesota, right?”

“No, the French one.” Piper chuckled then winced. “Why does breathing hurt?”

Meanwhile, Dave stepped into Aaron’s cabin, knocking on the glass door. Hotch stepped away from the glass as his colleague approached. “A case just came in.”

“I'll be right there.”

“Actually, I need to talk to you. It's in Commack, Long Island.”

“That's your home-town,” Hotch recalled.

“Yeah. And if it's okay, I'd rather stay behind.”

“Why?”

“It was a different life, one I left 30 years ago. I'm in no hurry to go back.”

“Well... Any other day, I'd say stay, but I just became aware of this.” Hotch showed Rossi a medical chart and the latter simply scoffed before leaving for the conference room. Predictably, Piper was sitting between Spencer and Emily while Penelope observed from a corner. Hotch took his seat adjacent to Emily, opposite Derek while Rossi poured himself a cup of coffee, listening to JJ present the case. Ben Vanderwaal was killed in Long Island, his arm sawed off, with no kind of incriminating evidence. His wife, Heather Vanderwaal was still missing but presumed dead. But prior to these murders, they learned, were the murders of Rita Haslat and Bill Levington.

“8 months ago, she went missing from her home in New Jersey. 4 weeks later, she was found in a trash bin.”

“She went from that to this in under 3 weeks? She's totally emaciated.” Piper’s question was quietly laced with disbelief.

“Ligature marks on her wrists and ankles indicate she was constrained,” Emily pointed out.

“One in the heart, one in the head— same as Vanderwaal. Sounds more like an execution,” Derek added, drawing on his expertise. “Question is, why cut off Vanderwaal's hands post-mortem?” Derek looked to Piper.

“Well, it’s definitely not ritual. There’s no pattern there. It seems more like a punishment. Death by sawing was a method of execution reportedly used in different parts of the world, specifically medieval Europe.”

“Under medieval law,” Spencer explained, “dismembering the hand was punishment for larceny. What about the third victim?”

“Bill Levington,” JJ announced. “His appearance was certainly altered.”

“I’ll say. His genitals were missing,” Emily said, raising an eyebrow at Derek.

“Though the method of mutilation is different in each crime, clearly there's a signature. The question is, what?”

“Technically, there’s a distinct difference between— never mind,” Piper said, getting up as she caught sight of Rossi’s do-i-care-face.

“Wheels up in 20.” Hotch tossed a file towards Spencer.

“What’s this?”

“You told me you were cleared to travel. You lied.” Piper laughed, shrugging at Spencer’s face.

“Naughty boy,” Emily teased.

“Uh, no, I didn't. I am a doctor, so technically, I wasn't a lie.”

“Really? What was it, then?” Garcia asked him.

“Um...second opinion.”

“Hmm. You're my bitch now.” Piper made sure he got up okay before leaving to grab her go-bag. She sighed at the mess on her desk, telling Emily to go on and wait by the car while she cleaned up. In the rare quiet of the bullpen, Piper looked around to see Spencer making his way over.

“Hey, promise me you’ll be safe.” Piper plopped a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Only if you take care of yourself.” Spencer sighed. “I’ll be back before you know it. Trust me.”

“Can I at least drop you to the car?” Spencer pouted.

“Ever the gentleman but you really wanna trudge back up here?”

“Hey, I’m not gonna see you for days. It’ll be worth it.”

“Fine.” Piper beamed as they got into the elevator, Spencer leaning against the wall. It was just the two of them. And Anderson. But he got off on the 5th floor. Finally, alone if only for a moment, Spencer slid his thumb across her jaw before leaning in to meet her lips. She smiled into his mouth as she grabbed at his cardigan. His lips were warm and soft as they trailed across her jawline to her ear.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered before pulling away. Piper grabbed her bag, using her thumb to swipe the balm that smudged around the outline of her lips away just before the doors opened. Spencer waved before pressing the button for the 7th floor. Piper dumped her bag into the SUV and slipped in next to Emily.

“Let’s go.”

^-^

Hotch ran through a summary of the case as Derek looked at the photos. “There’s no consistent MO.”

“Maybe he’s exploring his options,” Emily suggested. “What works for him and what doesn’t.”

“I’ve never heard of dismemberment being sexually stimulating,” Rossi scoffed.

“I’ve heard of worse kinks,” Emily sighed, and Piper squeezed her shoulder.

“Dismemberment and mutilation resemble ancient forms of punishment,” Piper murmured. “Medieval European law dictated the punishment for larceny was extra work and fines or the hands of the guilty were cut off.” Derek looked up at Piper.

“You think this is meant to be a civil service murder?”

“I just think we need to look into their backgrounds.”

“The other question is why take Heather Vanderwaal, instead of killing her?”

“Maybe she interrupted him, but she wasn’t part of the plan,” Rossi suggested. “If these are civil service murders, maybe she was innocent.” Piper nodded slowly from her seat.

“The only thing concrete is the M.O., which depicts an efficient no-nonsense murderer,” Derek noted.

“Well, then we need to figure out what each act of mutilation means to the unsub.”

“Or to the victim,” Rossi added. Hotch directed Emily to go to the Vanderwaal crime scene with him when they hit the tarmac, dismissing Piper to continue working on victimology at the precinct and checking backgrounds while Dave and Morgan would see the ME.

Emily noted there were no signs of forced entry as Hotch answered Piper’s call before asking the detective where the daughter was and learning that she moved to live with her real father. Ben and Heather Vanderwaal had only been married a couple of years. Meanwhile, Emily walked through the scene, putting herself in Heather’s shoes. She imagined coming home rather late, dropping her shopping bags, her cell phone, and her keys, but not her coat. She turned on the lights, but they didn't work, because the phone and the electricity were cut. Emily looked up and through the hallway. Something in that room had attracted her attention. She walked into the bedroom, looking over the mess of blood spatter on the floor. Except it had marks going through, 3 lines moving forward in a straight line.

“Marks in the blood look like a camera tripod,” she murmured to Hotch and the detective behind them who looked confused by this inference. Either that or disturbed, she noted.

“Serial killers, especially sexual sadists, often document their kill,” Hotch explained. “But sexual sadists usually torture their victims while they're still alive.” Emily’s cell buzzed and she went to answer it.

“Okay, thanks JJ. Stay on hold for a sec, I’ll ask Hotch.” Emily placed her hand on the receiver before updating Hotch. “Heather Vanderwaal was just found wandering the streets half hour ago. She's at Brookside General.”

“Tell Bishop to get there immediately. A killer this sophisticated doesn't leave a living witness without a reason.”

^-^

Piper murmured a thanks to the nurse as she walked into the ward, surveying Mrs Vanderwaal on the bed, her blonde hair carefully laid around to frame her face. She took a seat and introduced herself, recognising the unmistakable differences between her picture and how she looked now, her usually hazel eyes hidden under swollen eyelids. Before she asked anything else, Piper asked her how she was feeling, receiving a short bark in return. “I have some questions about what happened if you’d like to go through last night.” The woman nodded curtly, and Piper continued. “I’d like you to close your eyes and focus on my voice,” Piper asked, holding her hand softly. She’d gotten better at hypnotherapy after the incident in Las Vegas with Spencer. “It was dark, and you’d come home from shopping. You dumped your bags and tried turning on the lights.”

“They didn’t work,” Heather murmured.

“What did you do next?” Heather gripped Piper’s hand. This part she did not miss. “It’s okay. I’m right here.” Piper rubbed circles around her hand with a thumb and her grip relaxed.

“There was a light. A flash. I opened the door, and Ben was there, tied to a chair. I think he was dead. There was another flash. It blinded me for a moment.”

“Okay, so you turned the knob, opening the door. You see Ben tied to a chair. Did he attack you?” Heather nodded slowly. “Okay. You’re lying on the floor. It’s cold against your face. What do you hear?”

“Sawing. He’s cutting off his hand. No! Ben!” Heather’s eye flew open as she shrieked.

“Relax, you’re safe. He can’t hurt you. I’m right here.” Piper rubbed her arm. “Just relax, okay.” Piper stayed for a few minutes, until she was calm, before her cell buzzed. Piper couldn’t help smiling. Spencer. “Just give me a minute.” She walked over to the corner out of earshot before answering.

“Hey. This isn’t Garcia.”

“I know, feels weird for me too. Anyway, I may have found something.”

“We! We may have found something.” Piper’s stomach held in a laugh at Garcia’s outburst.

“Guys, there’s an injured lady right in front of me. Don’t you dare make me laugh right now. What’d you find out?”

“I can't tell you her favourite Beatle, but I can tell you she was living la vida unhappy,” Garcia spoke through the receiver.

“Her ex-husband took her daughter Allison out of school mid-term,” Spencer interjected. After that, Heather cut a check for $5,000 To a place called Lewis, Bell, & Peters 6 days ago.”

“Law firm?”

“Family law,” Garcia clarified.

“Thanks guys.” Piper returned to her seat. “Mrs. Vanderwaal... At mid-term you moved your daughter out of school?”

“Yes, I did.”

“After that, you filed for divorce from Ben. Why was that?”

“A few months ago, I found a picture of Allison on Ben's phone. She was naked.”

“Where was it taken?”

“I couldn't tell.”

“Did you confront him?”

“Yes. he claimed that Allison sent it to him by mistake. She meant to send it to another student at her school. It's called sexting.”

“What did Allison say?”

“She said Ben took it, but she— she lies. Allison, she's a liar. She caused us a lot of trouble; you know?”

“She wasn't lying about this, though, was she?” Heather closed her eye, shaking her head slowly. “Thank you for all your help. We’ll find him, Heather.” Piper left and updated Hotch as she took the elevator down to her loaned bike. Hotch directed for her to see Allison with JJ and the ladies left immediately.

“Have you handled sexual assault cases before?” JJ asked Piper as she unhooked her leg from around the bike as they stopped outside the house in San Diego

“A few when I was based in Massachusetts as a state psychiatrist.” Piper unstrapped her helmet as she spoke. “Since I started with child psychology, a lot of my first state-assigned patients were kids.”

“So, you have a strategy?”

“I didn’t bring my doll if that’s what you mean. I’m gonna have to talk to her alone.”

“So, I’ll distract the father?”

“Yep, just keep him occupied,” she said to the blonde agent as they rang the doorbell. “By the way, I like the bangs. They suit you.”

“Oh, thanks. And I though the doll was a TV thing.”

“TV isn’t all wrong. They’re only for under-10-year olds,” Piper smiled as she and JJ flashed their badges to the father. JJ took him into another room with minimal drama while Piper took a seat next to Allison. While they talked, Dave and Derek updated Hotch about the medical examination. Rossi explained how the dismemberment wasn’t surgical while Derek grinned at Spencer’s disappointed expression upon learning Piper wasn’t there.

“Ballistics can't match the bullets to a gun. There were no rifling marks on the bullet either.”

“And without the barrel being rifled, the bullets would have very little velocity,” Derek continued. “This guy's using a zip gun. Now, if you know what you're doing, a piece of plumbing or a kid's bicycle pump can be turned into a gun.”

“One in the heart, one in the head. Untraceable, expandable bullets tell me without question, all of these kills were strictly business.”

“A hitman?” Hotch seemed to mull it over. “What about the post-mortem mutilation?”

“A contract sometimes includes extras.”

“So, the camera isn’t for sexual gratification, it's for proof of death. We could be looking for two people.” Hotch looked over as JJ and Piper entered the room, a helmet tucked under her arm.

“We may have something. Ben Vanderwaal sexually abused his stepdaughter,” JJ revealed.

“Her therapist didn’t question it,” Piper said. “She wasn’t lying. Police were told but…”

“Allison wanted nothing to do with it. Case closed,” JJ continued.

“Just like the 380,000 cases of child abuse reported in this country each year. Less than one percent gets to trial,” Piper scoffed. “Makes you wanna even the odds.” Piper dropped the helmet on the ground before excusing herself. Hotch nodded at Derek to follow and check-up while Rossi said he could hit up some old contacts.

Derek found her slumped on a bench, tapping her sneakered heel on the concrete. He handed her a coffee which she accepted silently. He didn’t press the issue, just updated her on Rossi’s plan and sat there for a few minutes. “You know, when I started out as a psychiatrist, I thought I’d make a difference.” She scoffed, swirling her coffee before swallowing a mouthful. “But the more cases closed, the more came in. It was never ending.”

“You telling me you never had a good day?”

“That seems to be the problem doesn’t it? Cause those days are the best.” She shook her head. “But they’re rare. Every time I listened to a child vividly recount the abuse done at the hands of someone that they're supposed to trust... It's all I can do not to break down. It makes you lose faith in humanity.” He watched a small smile grow on her.

“But?” He pressed her.

“But some days it strengthens it. Some kids, they’re so resilient. Somehow they become stronger from it.” Derek smiled softly at her spreading grin. “They grow up to become leaders and scientists and artists and these beautiful human beings. That’s why I kept at it.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well, I was still getting my PhDs. Went from child to clinical, then abnormal.” She hesitated, taking in a deep breath. “The more I received, the more patients I received. Soon enough, I’d get patients from children to schizophrenics. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t doing enough.”

“Piper, you did everything you could.” Derek placed an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her into a hug.

“Yeah, but something kept nagging me. I thought, what if I could stop it before it could become that serious?”

“Pipes, that’s impossible.”

“I didn’t mean curing it, silly. I meant that the earlier you catch signs of a major illness growing, the higher the chances of being able live with it better. And with my experience, I could do it. So as soon as I got my PhD in counselling, I moved bases. Started my own clinic with a little sofa and everything. Did that gig for about a year.”

“But?”

“Like I said when we met, there’s too much stigma. They’d come in with little things. Migraines, insomnia but as soon as we started getting into the deeper things, they’d bail, you know. Or worse they’d pretend to get better, but when I’d check with them, they’d slip back into their symptoms and they’d get worse. I wasn’t helping at all. That’s when your team found me in Texas.”

“And are you doing enough?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, combing a hand through her hair as she stared at her cup. “I just know I have to be here.”

“Yeah, well right now, you’re not.” Piper looked at him. “You’re moping on a bench with a cold cup of coffee.” Piper grinned before she shoved him, getting up. As she walked away, he tackled her. She felt his arms grip around her waist and shrieked as Derek lifted her, carrying her into the precinct, setting her down in front of a laughing Emily. “Where’s Hotch?”

“Went to grab lunch. Hope you all like bagel sandwiches,” she grinned at Piper who threw paper balls at Derek. “We’re going through backgrounds once he gets back.”

^-^

Rossi pulled the SUV up to the pub and walked in through the familiar doors from his childhood. He walked in, file in hand, to see a bald Irishman watching football turn around, his voice gruff. “We don't open till 5:30.”

“I'm looking for the owner of that coat.”

“Is that right?” Knowing what would come next, he raised his arms, allowing the man to pat him down and pull out a gun. “Not with that, you won’t.” His accent was thick, and the man Dave was looking for silently approached from behind.  “You're either a dead man or a cop. which one is it?”

“Right now, I'm just an old friend.”

“You lost that right when you became a fed.” The voice came from behind him.

“Ray.”

“David.” The man motioned for him to take a seat by the bar. “I thought you’d retired. Writing books and all.”

“What can I say? Some habits die old,” he said, staring pointedly at the crossword sitting on the bar.

“Some habits are hard to break. I try this damn puzzle every morning. Never gets any easier.” Ray passed the newspaper to Rossi before pouring two glasses of whiskey.

“Crater Creator. You know, I know a kid who can solve this whole thing in 5 minutes.”

“Must be smarter than both of us. So, what’s it been, 30 years?”

“33,” Rossi nodded.

“You know, I thought I’d at least see you at Emma’s funeral.”

“I um… I need to ask you a favour.”

“She loved you almost as much as you loved her. Hey, ambition's a bitch, ain't it?”

“I'm not here to talk about Emma.”

“What are you here to talk about?”

“You've read the news?” Ray scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“You think I got something to do with that? You should stick to writing books.”

“This guy is real specific. He uses a zip gun and then throws in extras.”

“For a smart guy, your coming back here was a real dumb move.”

“Not as dumb as the one that Sean made. He's on trial for the transportation of weapons, no doubt for you. And what about the Rico beef hanging over your head? You help me, and you'll be assisting a federal investigation.” Ray chuckled.

“And what exactly is that gonna do for my reputation?”

“If you don't, you may not have one to protect. Our organized crime unit is very close to shutting you down permanently.”

“Keep talking.” While Rossi disclosed the case details to his old friend, Spencer and Penelope detailed their victim’s backgrounds.

“Bill Levington was involved in a serial rape case, all involving minors, and it never went to trial.” Spencer’s mouth was drawn in a line as Garcia spoke, interrupting so he’d still have something to say.

“Rita Haslat, a former social worker, attained said former status when she was fired from the DCFs for gross negligence. In one of her cases, a 7-year-old boy starved to death.”

“Which explains why Haslat was so emaciated when she was found,” Piper continued. “If all the victims were indicated in crimes against children, then we've found a connection.”

“One of the unsubs has access to the crimes of the victims and probably works in the justice system,” Emily surmised.

“All right, well, we know what the victims have in common,” Hotch said. “We just need to find out who they have in common.”

“Wait, this social worker and the suspected rape case,” Derek interjected. “Those were matters of record. Ben Vanderwaal's relationship with his stepdaughter is not.” Piper sighed, rubbing her temple.

“The therapist,” she sighed. “I should’ve seen this coming. Jerry Sorum. Allison told him everything.”

“Do you think he could have done this?” Hotch said grimly as Derek and the detective left to bring the man in.

“N—No. JJ and I talked to him.” Piper shook her head in disbelief. “God knows therapists don’t have the money to order a hit man.”

“We’ll get Derek to talk to him anyway,” Hotch ordered. “Emily, tell Rossi what we’ve found. And ask him what the hell is taking so long.” Hotch walked away.

“He’s pissed.”

“It’s Jack’s fourth birthday,” Piper murmured as she sorted the mess, answering her own cell while Emily made her call. “Dr Bishop.”

“Nope. I’m Reid remember?” Piper chuckled. “Hey, you know it’s not your fault about Sorum.”

“I guess. I just didn’t think he’d be the bad guy here.”

“I dunno. Garcia pulled a background check on him, he seems pretty clean to me, sorry, us.”

“Oh, yeah. You two have been going at it since I left you two. What’s it like being Garcia’s uh…”

“Bitch? Not fun. She won’t let me play with her toys.” Piper laughed.

“Sounds weird when you swear.”

“It does? Huh.”

“Sure. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you get mad.” She heard him chuckle over the phone. “Hey, listen. I’ve got to go. If Hotch sees me talking about something other than work, I’m toast.”

“Bishop! Reid have something for us?” Hotch announced as he walked back in.

“Speak of the devil. I’ll talk to you later.” Piper slipped the cell in her pocket. “Not much. Just that Sorum’s background looked clean to them. We still have to present the profile too.”

“Yeah, Rossi’s had a breakthrough with his contacts. One of them knows the hit man. Street name Bosola.”

“From the play?” Hotch blinked. “That Jacobean tragedy, right?”

“Uh…yeah. Anyway, he’s holding a meeting for us at midnight. We have 7 hours to prep.”

^-^

Piper stood on the roof of the pub, alone with the wind whipping her hair, the only light being the neon sign. She saw Prentiss and Morgan discreetly walk to the back entrance and Rossi in the SUV out front with Hotch. A dark sedan was parked out front for counter surveillance, looking out for Foyet and she was getting sick of waiting. The pub was large enough for her to stand without it being too noticeable, but soon enough she was sitting, leaning against a small platform jutting upwards. Usually she’d have someone to talk to, but with Spencer back with Garcia, that was impossible. She was about to doze off until she saw a flash. “Anyone see that?” she hissed into her mic. She saw the light again and started running down the steps, pulling out her gun. She saw the hooded figure run out the exit and she fired, her bullet lodging in the door. “Damn,” she sighed before sprinting after him. She wrenched open the door, running into Derek and Emily.

“What happened?”

“Did you see him?” Piper all but yelled at the two of them. They turned, staring into the darkness. “He’s gone. Finnegan’s dead.” She let them in with Hotch and Rossi storming in from the other end. Emily dialled Garcia, asking her to trace Finnegan’s calls, while Rossi stared at the slumped body of his old friend, blood oozing from a small wound in his neck.

“This whole place is swarming with cops. We had the streets, the building, even the damn roof covered. How the hell did he get through us?” Anger was emanating from Rossi.

“Garcia traced his cell, made one call to a prepaid at 4:38 pm, and one to you at 11.”

“We gave Bosola 7 hours to prepare,” Hotch murmured. “I think he was here before we arrived.”

“And he heard Ray call me,” Rossi continued before sighing. “This is all my fault. Now he knows we're onto him.”

“He's not the only one. Whoever he works for does, too,” Emily added. “Piper, you saw him, right?”

“Barely. He was wearing a hood and my shot went into the wall.” Piper rubbed her face.

“Let’s get some sleep. We’ll deliver the profile tomorrow morning.”

^-^

Piper dropped her bag in her meagre room, ignoring her urge to grab the small bottles of alcohol from the mini-bar. She dropped the bike keys on a nearby table along with her gun, badge and wallet before answering her cell. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Pipes. How are you feeling?” She felt her tension melt away at the smooth sound of Spencer’s voice.

“Exhausted. You?”

“Garcia just dropped me off. I’m on my couch. Dunno what to do with myself.” Piper smiled softly as she balanced the cell between her shoulder and cheek to take off her boots.

“You should read something.”

“Any recommendations?”

“Try Shakespeare. Merchant of Venice.” She heard him hum in agreement. “Listen, thank you.”

“For what?”

“I dunno. Calling? Being you? Take your pick.” She heard silence on the other end.

“Get some sleep, Piper.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna be weird delivering the profile without you tomorrow.”

“You’ll be great. Trust me.”

“Always.” Her voice hitched in her throat. “Goodnight Spence.”

“Night, Pipes.” The line disconnected and Piper felt more alone than ever.

^-^

“Each mutilation represents the crimes the unsubs believe these 3 individuals committed,” Piper started and a young woman with a pale green turtleneck asked her to clarify ‘unsubs.’ “Unknown subjects. 2. Both male.”

“Unsub "A" we're calling the planner. He works in the criminal justice system. We're looking at both defence and prosecution attorneys, judges, and even cops,” Hotch continued, passing on to Prentiss.

“We believe that the planner has experienced a devastating personal tragedy of some sort. And because of the sophisticated nature of the scenario, we believe unsub "A" is in his late 50s or 60s.”

“The planner likely met unsub "b", the enforcer, within the court system,” Rossi added. “He's been hired to carry out justice. Now, this type of justice does not come cheap. So, the planner has access to substantial cash.”

“Absolutely no attempt was made to hide the mutilation. This suggests the planner either doesn't care what we find, or he wants us to find it,” Derek elaborated.

“Now, the enforcer, on the other hand, has no such intentions. He should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Thank you,” Hotch finished, allowing the detective to dismiss the group. Rossi moved over to their monitor with Piper as Garcia and Spencer popped up on screen.

“I've concentrated on the last 3 cases. They've left the freshest e-prints.”

“Great,” Rossi remarked as Piper leaned over his chair.

“Not really. Over 100,000 cases pass through Long Island Court,” Spencer added.

“Well, who had eyes on those files?”

“Literally hundreds and hundreds of people,” Garcia spoke.

“Try focusing on the enforcer. Mob-related murder trials on long island the last 10 years. We're looking for a hitman.”

“Hey, there are 93 mob trials in the last 10 years.”

“Put aside any trials that resulted in a conviction. Focus on mistrials and arraignments,” Piper suggested.  

“Uh, 19.”

“Were any of those on trial suspected of being hitmen or enforcers?” Piper saw Reid move to answer Rossi, but Garcia interrupted him, and he just glared at her.

“This totally slipped the net. Tony Mecacci--his case was judged a mistrial but check out his suspected victim. .22 calibre, right?”

“Bull's-eye. Cross-match our profile of the planner against all those connected with this trial.”

“Let's see--prosecuting lawyer Garrett Daniels, Judge Boyd Schuller, criminal defence lawyer Paul—"

“Hold on. Did you say Judge Schuller?” Piper looked down at Rossi who clearly recognised the name. Garcia sent them a picture of the judge.

“What's wrong? Do you know him?” Hearing the commotion, the rest of the team surrounded them.

“No. but I knew his wife. 2 years ago, she was driving home from work and she was killed by a drunk driver.”

“That could be the tragedy.”

“She was the love of his life, that's for sure.” Garcia’s voice came through the monitor.

“12 months ago, Judge Schuller took a leave of absence due to health issues. He was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He has 6 months to live. And that's when the killing started.”

“He’s got to be the planner. Fits the profile. And Tony Mecacci is most likely Bosola the enforcer.”

“Uh, he went off the grid after his last trial,” Spencer spoke.

“JJ, put out a state-wide APB and release Mecacci's photo to the media,” Hotch directed.

“Judge Schuller's a highly-respected man,” the detective reasoned with them. “We can't just walk in there and accuse him of serial murder.”

“Then I'll go to the attorney general and petition the chief justice if I have to.”

“Or maybe not,” Rossi added, staring pointedly at the real-life replica of the photo on the screen walked in.

“I believe you're looking for me,” the older man said, just loud enough for them to hear and Derek took the man into an interrogation room politely.

“Well, he’s dramatic.”

“He chats with a hitman named after a character in a Jacobean tragedy. His life sounds dramatic,” Piper scoffed.

“Piper, we’re literally FBI agents,” Emily laughed, stopping as she caught Hotch’s grim expression before he left to watch the interrogation. “Sometimes I feel like he glares at us as though we’re Foyet,” she murmured to Piper as they followed.

“If we were Foyet, he’d be doing more than just glare.” The group gathered in the interrogation room to watch Dave and Derek interrogate the judge.

“When you walked in here, you said, ‘I believe you're looking for me’,” Derek started.

“And I was right.”

“Your timing was impeccable. But how could you know that?”

“I knew it wouldn't take you long to find me. Not after what I've left behind.”

“So, you don't deny any of this?”

“Why would I?”

“What you see as a crime, I see as justice.”

“Ray Finnegan was a friend of mine,” Rossi stated firmly.

“Ray Finnegan was a criminal. You should choose your friends more wisely.”

“It must have really thrown you when Ray showed up at Emma's funeral.”

“How do you know about my wife?”

“You have absolutely no idea who I am, do you?”

On the other side of the glass, Hotch dismissed JJ and Emily to have Garcia hack into Schuller's files and track his financial records before everything got shut down and find out if his office made any calls respectively. Except the detective had already done the last task, reporting that he told them they were looking for 2 people. “He has to know we’re onto him,” Hotch told Piper. “Why would he show up otherwise?”

“Maybe he came to stall until Bosola can kill his last victim.”

“Last?”

“Well, we profiled him as a planner, and we know he only has 6 months to live.”

“So, he has a back-up plan.” They resumed watching the interrogation.

“Could we just get on with what I came here for?” He was irritated.

“She was born Emma Louise Taylor, 4th of July 1958.”

“You could get that from anywhere.” He was in disbelief.

“When she was 6, her dad John brought home a black and white homeless kitten.”

“If she knew you... Emma would have told me.” He was in shock.

“She named it Oscar, after Oscar Wilde. And of all Oscar Wilde's work, she loved ‘An Ideal Husband’ the most.”

“I don't know how you know all of this about Emma or what you hope to achieve, but we're done. You know the charges. Charge me.” He was in denial.

“Is that what started all this insanity-- Emma's death?”

“What started all of this was the 35 years I had to sit and watch as the system I swore an oath to protect failed the very people our justice system was meant to protect.” He was angry.

“I wonder what Emma would make of all this.”

“Every single person on that list deserves justice, and it's justice they managed to evade.” He was fuming.

“So... You do have a list.”

“I'm finished talking.” And now he was repentant. Not for the crimes. For coming to the precinct in the first place. For refusing a lawyer.

Piper couldn’t help smiling from the other side of the glass. “You have to admit, he’s good.” Hotch looked at Piper questioningly. “Rossi. I was obviously talking about Rossi.” He kept glaring and Piper nodded, leaving as her mouth drew into a line. Instead, she joined Emily who was conversing with Emily about financial traffic.

“Okay, Bosola didn't come cheap, so Judge Schuller had to have made some pretty substantial transactions.”

“Got wire transfers to a Cayman Island bank and that's where the trace ends.”

“How many, how much?”

“June, he debits numerations of $9, 999 every few days, total of 4, he takes a break for a few weeks until he makes his final transaction for the same magic number.”

“Anything less than $10,000 keeps the IRS off your trail,” Spencer explained.

“I know that, too,” Garcia exclaimed.

“So, the final payment must be for proof of death. That makes $50,000 the price of a kill.”

“He did that 3 times over a period of 12 months, but 2 days ago, he raided his account for $100,000 all in one hit. He also closed all his accounts and handed his entire estate over to a victims support group.”

“Someone who isn't suffering from too many brainiacs in the high-tech kitchen just bounced us out.”

“Good job. If our calculations are correct, there are 2 more names on that list.” Piper nodded, running to tell Hotch and Derek.

“There are. ‘Every single person on that list deserves justice’,” Hotch quoted. “He said deserves, not deserved. Now look,” he pointed to the man on the other side of the glass. “Right there. he looked at his watch for the second time. Whatever he's waiting for is about to happen.” Piper nodded

“I think I know who it might be.” Hotch looked at Piper, as if for the first time. “Look, this guy is all about poetic justice. For heaven’s sake, he walked in like this is an 80s mobster movie and said, ‘I think you’re looking for me’.”

“So?”

“So, he’s a full tilt diva with terminal cancer and 6 months to live. He will not go out quietly. He’s gonna go with a bang. Maybe even literally.” They stared at her. “Look, Rossi’s entire interrogation strategy hinges on Emma being more important than his value of justice. If we use that same logic against him, we’ve got 2 more victims, the last one probably being himself because of his cancer and before him, the driver that killed Emma.” Derek nodded to Hotch and left with Piper to check him out while Hotch resumed watching the interrogation. Garcia found the home and work address of Dan Patton. While Emily went to check the workplace, Derek and Piper took Dan Patton’s address.

Piper skidded to a stop behind Derek’s SUV on her bike, ripping her helmet off as they saw the first flash. Determined not to let him get away a second time, Derek and Piper sprinted for the door before he slammed his shoulder into the door, and they raised their guns to Bosola and he raised his hand, letting the zip gun fall to the floor. “Play’s over Bosola,” Piper said as she holstered her gun and Derek moved to handcuff him. Piper called Hotch to update him as she stood over the bleeding corpse of Dan Patton. “I’m sorry,” she whispered before following Derek outside. Derek pushed him into the SUV, taking him into custody, while Piper rode ahead.

Hotch and Rossi sat in the empty interrogation room while Boyd Schuller was taken away. Hotch watched his oldest friend look at Emma in Boyd’s pendant. “She was special to you,” he prompted.

“I was just thinking... When I first met Emma, I knew I would love her for the rest of my life. We were 12 years old. She always said we were doomed to be star-crossed lovers, destined to wonder what might have been. I never slept with her you know. That wasn't true what I said to Schuller. That was just to get under his skin, knock him off his game.”

“I understand.”

“I should have married her, though. When I left the marines, I was recruited by the bureau, spent a few years on the streets, got involved with starting the BAU. And before I knew it, a lifetime had gone by.”

“I hear you.”

“I missed a life with Emma because I became obsessed with the chase. With the hunt.”

“Dave, he's threatening my family.”

“And we'll get Foyet, Aaron.”

“Then what's your point?”

“You have a family. When all this is over, what are you gonna do to make sure you're not a lonely guy wondering why you let the purest thing in your life get away?”

The jet ride was one of the brighter ones than they’d had in the past month. With Spencer not there to constantly win, JJ and Emily played cards while Derek chilled, listening to his very, very loud music. Piper was in her favourite spot, curled up on the couch reading a translation of War and Peace. Meanwhile, Hotch replayed the video of his son swinging in a park as Rossi’s heart broke seeing his friend like this. He’d promised that they’d get Foyet, but with him in the wind, who knew?

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 8

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Read On Ao3

Val stood as she saw Lucy approaching, unfolding her arms as she reached out to her friend. As part of their basic training for IR full EMT training was a key module. It wasn’t often that Val had to use the knowledge but when she did it never failed to scare her that it was all that could stand between life and death. 

When it was someone within their immediate circle, it scared her even more. 

“Hugh and Sylvia are on their way.” She murmured as Lucy pulled back from her, “Penelope rang her father as soon as we had them.”

She didn’t blame the young woman, seeing two close friends stabbed was enough to make anyone want the familiarity of their father.

Lucy nodded, glancing around the hospital hallway, “Where are they?”

“Both Tanusha and Kyrano are in surgery. Penny is in the bathroom getting washed and I imagine calming herself down.” 

The young blonde had been the face of composure when she had arrived, but Val knew the girl well, had spent christmases and birthdays and summer holidays with her for plenty of years. She knew when the composure was simply a mask though, could see the cracks running underneath the facade that perhaps only a few others would. 

“She took it hard?” Lucy frowned, “This won’t have been their fault.”

“I doubt it,” Val agreed quietly, “She’ll just be frustrated, I don’t think they’ve had a mission yet turn quite so sour.”

Lucy nodded in understanding, her face twisting as she blinked hard, “I told her I thought Kyrano was going to do something dangerous.”

Val wanted to ask Lucy what the hell she was thinking. Kyrano was an experienced man in his field. Kayo and Penelope barely had ten years of real experience between them. Not that she didn’t see the other woman’s point. Both knew what had happened after the death of Kayo’s mother, both could imagine how far Kyrano would go to protect his daughter and those he held dear. 

Even if it meant losing them in the process. 

“We can’t let him slip back to where he was after Onaha died,” She murmured softly, “We’d lose him for good this time.”

Lucy pursed her lips, “He blames himself because of the tie to Gaat. It was him that did this, to his own brother Val. What would he do to Tanusha if he got near her?”

Resting her hands on her shoulders, Val looked Lucy in the eye, “We won’t let that happen. I’ll make sure of it.”

Lucy ran her hand though her hair as she glanced around the space again with a sigh, “I need to sort security, get a team in here.”

“Already sorted it sis,” Lee’s voice called from behind Val, “Got his best people flying in from New York tonight. They’ll be here in a matter of hours.”

“Best team?” Val raised an eyebrow as she turned to him, glancing to Penelope at his side, “Who’d you figure that was then?”

Penelope shrugged as she looked between them, “Kyrano is like family, he’d only let his top people escort any of you, Tia, Jude and Pedro.”

She had to admit she probably wasn’t wrong. The trio were usually assigned to the boys when required, it only made sense that they would be the best to protect Kyrano and his daughter. 

“Thanks Lee, Penny,” Lucy smiled briefly towards them, eyes tired as she glanced to Val, “You two should get back. The boys are flying out later so we’ll be crowded enough then.”

Val raised an eyebrow, unconvinced that that was the real issue going on. 

“Lee fly home, I’ll follow on once the boys are here.”

“Val--” Lucy went to protest, only to be cut off by her brother.

“I’m with Val here Luce, Hugh’s going to have some choice words when he gets here, I think you’ll need all the back up you can get.”

It wasn’t the reason Val had been thinking of, she was more concerned about what Kyrano was going to say about being tailed by his own daughter. Lucy was under stress as it was, trying to find her new normal with the boys. She worried that knowing it was her suggestion for Kayo to follow her father could be the final straw. 

“Are you waiting for Ms and Mister Kyrano?” An older woman in dark green scrubs approached them.

Val turned and nodded, gesturing to Lucy, “This is Ms Kyrano’s godmother.”

Stepping back she watched as Lucy shook the doctors hand. Lee quietly stepped up next to her nodding towards the exit, making his intention to slip away clear. She nodded, only half paying attention to him as she listened to the doctors update. 

Something in her chest loosened as the doctor confirmed both were stable, that Kayo was recovering from her surgery and would be free for visitors soon. 

“I’m afraid I can’t say more about Kyrano’s condition as I have not attended to him myself. I have been assured though that you will receive an update as soon as he is in recovery.”

The comment put her less at ease, for all they said he was stable, it seemed hard to believe until he was out of surgery. Val knew all too well what could go wrong behind the closed doors of an operating theatre. Perhaps it was simply being in the hallway of a trauma ward that had her quite so on edge. 

“So we can see Tanusha now?” Lucy asked, “Is she awake?”

The doctor turned, gesturing down the hallway, “Right this way.”

Val didn’t hesitate in following Lucy to the quiet side room, secluded, private, everything that the security specialist would approve of.

Kayo was sat up in the bed, pale, and clearly not quite with it as her eyes rested half shut and her head leant back into the pillows. 

“Hey,” Lucy murmured, “How’re you doing Tan?”

Val paused in the doorway, hand resting on Penelope’s shoulder to stop her from rushing forward as Kayo looked to Lucy. She looked down to the younger woman, eyebrow raised, “You okay Pen?”

She nodded, lips pursed as she sighed, “Yeah. Just… I don’t know.”

Squeezing her shoulder, Val nodded silently, “First time it’s come this close for you?”

The young woman nodded again, her voice barely a whisper as she nodded, “Yeah.”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders Val swallowed, remembering well the feeling of coming quite so close to losing someone on a mission. 

“Pen?” Kayo whispered, “You ‘kay?”

Val released the shoulder she had been holding, letting Penny step forward into the room to take Kayo’s hand.

“Have you seen yourself in the last hour?” Penny teased as Val followed her further into the room. 

Kayo snorted, her lips curling up briefly, “Tis but a flesh wound M’lady.”

“Don’t belittle it Kay,” Val shook her head, “Wear your scars with pride.”

She ignored Lucy’s snort from where she sat by Kayo’s head, knowing exactly what it meant. 

The saying had come from her after all. 

“Is Dad…” She sighed, eyes darting around the room, landing back on Lucy. 

“He’s still in surgery Tan,” Lucy murmured, “They’ll let us know once he’s out.”

Green eyes jumped to Penelope, Kayo licked her lips as she swallowed, nodding slightly towards Lucy as she watched the blonde. She knew the gesture, had used it in one of her and Lucy’s many private conversations. 

“Tell them,” She whispered, still watching Penny.

There was a hesitation in Penny’s eyes as she held Kay’s gaze and Val wondered just what had gone on before she had arrived on the scene with Lee. 

“It was a set up for Kyrano.” Penny murmured, “We watched him walk right into it and let it happen, like he wasn’t expecting it. If we hadn't been there to follow…” She trailed off, letting the possibilities of what could have happened hang in the air. 

“Tried to kill him,” Kayo breathed, “So we intercepted.”

Penny looked between them, china blue eyes wide and young, “We think he had a plan, and perhaps we got in the way.”

Lucy was quick to shake her head before Val could speak, “Regardless, you saved his life. That’s worth more than any plan right now.”

Kayo sniffed as she shook her head, “He’s going to be mad at me.”

Val frowned, stepping forward to touch Kay’s leg, “What makes you think that?”

Her eyes were watering as she looked to her, lips pursed tightly as she shook her head again, clearly trying to blink away the tears that had formed. A glance to Lucy confirmed that she also hadn’t expected tears from the young woman, anger at herself was more Kayo’s thing. Val wasn’t sure she had seen her cry since her mother’s death, even then it had been brief and behind closed doors. 

“I screwed up.” She whispered, eyes distant, “He taught me everything I know, and I still screwed it all up.”

A glance to the array of instruments at her side, confirmed what Val had suspected. Kayo would never make the admission that she screwed up outloud, but it seemed that the drugs in her system had lowered her defences. 

“Kay,” Penny protested softly, “You did everything by the book, and then more. I was there, I saw everything. You didn’t screw up.”

Lucy was standing over her, one hand reaching up to brush through Kayo’s dark hair, eyes watching her carefully.

“You’re tired Tan,” She murmured, “It’s been a crazy day. Why don’t you go to sleep and I’ll wake you up when your Dad’s out of theatre?”

Everything on Kayo’s face was screwed up, trying to hide the emotion she had let slip even as she nodded quickly. 

“You go to sleep.” Lucy repeated softly, “It’s alright now.”

A few more moments of quiet murmurings and stroking her hair was enough to settle the young woman as her features slackened and settled. 

Looking to Lucy, Val shook her head, the two girls in the room were still so young. Much like Lucy’s boys they had gone through far too much in their short lives, both losing their mothers, both going weeks without seeing their fathers, both thrust into a world of espionage and secrets. They both claimed they loved their lives, Val had seen the way their faces lit up when offered a task utilising their skills, but she knew that neither knew anything any different. It was what their fathers did, and it was what they had blindly followed them into. 

“Mrs Tracy?” A doctor stepped through the door, followed closely by Parker, “Mr Kyrano is asking after you. He’s just next door.”

“I’ll stay with her.” Penelope offered quietly.

“H’and I’ll stay with M’Lady.” Parker added, “You ladies see to Mister Kyrano, h’and make sure he’s alright.”

Lucy nodded, pulling away from Kayo as she straightened, “Thank you Parker.”

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

So as many of you know I adore @dancingwdinosaurs art. I’ve always loved an artwork of Penny and Baz and that particular one was updated this week. I couldn't hold back from writing a one-shot fic about the moment pictured in the art. Here it is, with thanks to @dancingwdinosaurs for the inspiration! Find the image I’m referencing here: https://dancingwdinosaurs.tumblr.com/image/187031713840

Lean On Me

Penelope

Today’s not been a good day. We were at the inquiry for hours and Simon’s been a jittery mess since. The sofa’s currently vibrating from the way his leg’s bouncing, and he’s chewing at his fingernails again. He’s going to make them bleed if he doesn’t stop.

That’s going to be a problem.

We both had to answer questions today. I thought I could keep them from harping on Simon, I really did. I was the one who used the spell, after all. I didn’t know what Simon was going to say, I didn’t realize the Mage was such a colossal prick that there was nothing that could stop him from continuing to hurt Simon.

It’s not like we haven’t been through this before. The facts aren’t going to change.

I suppose they didn’t originally intend to grill us quite that hard, but it felt particularly harsh today. Dr. Wellbelove made them stop at one point, when Simon was stammering and sweating, and I swear if he still had magic he’d have blown the roof off the place. I kept waiting for his edges to blur, for that red tinge and to smell the smoke of him.

It never came, of course, and it made me feel a bit sick to know it never will again.

My dad thinks there’s a chance, a chance the magic might creep back to the surface again—not as powerful as it was (it could never be like that again, thank Merlin)—but he thinks that the holes will fill up too. And Simon has kind of a magic shaped hole in him now, doesn’t he?

I mean, I know the Humdrum was the Simon shaped hole in the fabric of magic, but that doesn’t mean Simon can’t function like the holes too. I don’t think Simon’s Normal. I think it’s rubbish when people assume he is, just because magicians don’t give up their children.

I assumed it once myself, but I know Simon better now. I don’t think anyone non-magical could have ever held so much power. I think Simon’s parents must have been Mages—one of them at least—but something happened.

Something bad. Something so bad that they couldn’t keep him, couldn’t tell anyone.

Maybe they tried to leave the World of Mages, like my mum’s friend Lucy. Left their wands behind and disappeared into the Normal world.

A motor vehicle accident. A robbery gone bad. A vampire attack. Goblins. Something they couldn’t fix or escape or heal without magic.

Or maybe it was simpler than that. A liaison with a Normal. An unexpected pregnancy. Magical power that skipped a generation.

I don’t know.

I’ve come up with all sorts of scenarios in my head, but none of them manage to ring true. I can’t explain why I’m sure Simon was never really Normal. I just know it, deep inside.

It was Baz’s father who finally made them stop for good today. He’s there every time, sitting next to Dr. Wellbelove, all cool and collected. Can’t ever tell what he’s thinking. He’s so like Baz, putting on that inscrutable mask all the time.

He let it fall today, though. Merlin, I thought he was going to flay that man questioning us with his eyes. Malcolm Grimm stood up right in the middle of the interrogation, when Simon was practically incoherent, and barked “That’s quite enough, Reginald. This is an inquiry, not a trial. Let the boy have some peace and be done for the day.”

I don’t think even Reginald had it in him to argue, not with the glares he was getting from Mr. Grimm. Dr. Wellbelove chimed in again and they finally let us go.

Baz would have skipped school to be there today. I know he would have. He told me so last weekend.

It might have helped Simon, to have Baz there. Having Baz around always helps Simon. It grounds him in a way that I can’t. Even if he doesn’t do much more than hold Baz’s hand or lean against him, I know it helps. He’s not as skittish when Baz is around. He still doesn’t say much, but his eyes don’t look quite as haunted.

I know Baz has tried to come before, but Mum told me weeks ago that Mr. Grimm had given her clearance to spell the gates so Baz couldn’t sneak out. He seems thinks Baz might go off, if he’s forced to watch the proceedings.

He might have today.

I wonder if Mr. Grimm just doesn’t want the Coven members getting too close a look at Baz.

I know his fangs pop when he gets upset or emotional. They’d have popped today. I was about ready to bite someone by the end.

I texted Baz while we were driving home, told him that it might not be a good day to come, but I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will keep him from driving here to see Simon.

I just know it breaks his heart to see Simon like this.

It breaks my heart.

But I think it’s harder for him, on these bad days, when he can’t lift Simon’s spirits at all. When he tries his hardest to be soft, to be kind, and gets no response.

I’m still getting used to the idea of Baz Pitch being soft, mind you. But I’ve gotten to know Baz this year. First with all the research on the Watford Tragedy last term and then that horrible Christmas Day. And after.

And every weekend since.

He’s here every Friday night, without fail. There’s no place for him to sleep, but he stays anyway, curled up on the floor next to the bed, or on the living room sofa with Simon in his arms.

Or on my bed with Simon. I let him start doing that about a month ago. I felt bad for him, on the hard floor (even though he spelled it soft, the posh twit), shivering under mounds of blankets. I knew he’d rather be snuggled up with Simon.

And that Simon needed him close too.

Morgana knows, it’s a challenge sleeping in the same bed with Simon and those blasted dragon wings. The two of them manage somehow, better than I do. Simon’s wings just curve around Baz, in a way he doesn’t manage with anyone else. They fit together, the barmy gits, like two pieces of a puzzle.

It’s not the first time I’ve slept in the bathtub, so I manage alright. I’ve got a spell to make it cozy. “Snug as a bug in a rug” gets it all warm and soft.

I wouldn’t sleep in a bathtub for just anyone. I’d do it for Simon.

And I’d do it for Baz. I’ve gotten used to having him around. I think I look forward to his visits almost as much as Simon.

Well, maybe not quite as much as Simon.

Baz is brilliant. I mean, I knew that from Watford, but he’s smart and funny, with such an incisive and wry sense of humor.

I didn’t know that.

It’s nice having someone who shares a keen interest in obscure linguistic conundrums. And can knowledgeably debate about Magickal Politics.

And knows about the influence of The Lord of the Rings on Led Zeppelin.  

I never expected to actually like Baz Pitch.

I’ve not told anyone this, but I’m concerned about Baz.

About him getting his schoolwork done when he’s on his mobile with Simon every night, talking to him until Simon falls asleep.

About him being here every weekend, the hours of driving back and forth, in all sorts of weather.

About the silences and thousand-yard stares he gets from Simon when he does come.

We’re all fretting about Simon, but I don’t know if anyone’s worrying about Baz.

Other than Mr. Grimm, that is. I know that’s why he won’t let Baz come to the inquiry sessions. He knows he’s shouldering a lot as it is.

I check the clock just as the doorbell rings. Simon’s leg stutters to a stop and his tail starts lashing around instead.

I was thinking Baz was due soon. He’s here earlier than I expected, which means he’s spelled his way through traffic, besotted fool that he is.

“I’ll get it,” I shout. Not that anyone else is paying much attention. Mum and Dad are in the attic. They’re always in the attic on weekends it seems, poring over the maps and data points Dad’s compiled.

My siblings are probably just lying about in their rooms. Typical.

Even though I’m sure Simon knows it’s Baz, he doesn’t answer the door. He never does. I don’t know if it’s because it’s not his house and he’s worried about being the one inviting Baz in.

Not that it’s an issue—I invited Baz in the first time and he’s good now, no need to ask again. Mum’s adjusted the wards on the house to accommodate.

He’s on the doorstep waiting for me, his satchel over his shoulder. “Bunce.”

“Baz. Come in. Simon’s in the den.”

He steps in the door but he’s hesitant this time, eyes darting around. “I know you said not to come tonight, but . . .”

It’s not often Baz Pitch is at a loss for words. “But you couldn’t stay away, yes I know.” I bump his shoulder. “Come along, I’m sure Simon can’t wait to see you.”

His demeanor doesn’t change. He’s still hovering by the door, fingers tightly curled around the handle of his bag.

“Baz?”

I take a moment to get a good look at him. He’s pale, but no more than usual, actually a little better if I’m going to be honest. Must have fed before he came.

Smart move. There’s not much to be had in Hounslow other than household pets and the occasional squirrel. There’s the Urban Farm in Feltham, but that’s a bit chancy—there’re pigs and sheep and goats and whatnot there—more like pets than livestock so someone would certainly notice if one was suddenly gone.

“You drove all the way out here to see him. Come on.” I tug on his sleeve but he’s still not moving.

“I heard it was rough today.”

“I told you it was when I texted you. It’s alright. We’ve managed before, we’ll manage again.”

“Father said it was bad.”

Oh.

I suppose it makes sense that Baz’s father would give him an update, since he’s there every time.

“It’s alright. Dr. Wellbelove gave us a break and your dad made them stop this afternoon. I’m sure he told you?”

“He told me.”

“So what are you waiting for, you git? Simon’s liable to knock the room to bits with his wings if we leave him waiting too long.” I step closer to Baz, put a hand on his forearm. “He knows you’re coming. He’s probably getting all worked up about why you’ve not made an appearance yet.”

Baz is staring at the floor now. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

I roll my eyes. “Why would you say that? You know you help.”More than I do, I think again.

“I’m not so sure.” His knuckles are bone white, he’s gripping the handle so hard. His other hand is jammed in his pocket, but I can see the outline of a fist through the fabric of his coat.

Always complaining he’s cold but won’t ever wear a coat that actually keeps him warm.

“Baz, what’s going on?”

He closes his eyes and breathes in. I can barely hear him when he speaks again. “He’s not getting better, Penny. It’s been months and I’m trying so hard, but I’m not reaching him.” He bites his lip. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You just need to be there. Nothing calms him like you do, Baz. He’s been clinging to you for dear life since this all started. You’re the only thing that brings him back, bit by bit.”

He shakes his head, the great thumping git. These two are going to be the death of me, honestly. “I’m going back to the den and you’re coming with me.” I hook my arm around his and drag him down the hall.

Simon, as expected, is all thrashing agitation. His tail’s thumping on the sofa, his face is flushed and I know he knocked over my books with his wings because they’re all out of order now. His eyes widen at the sight of Baz and if anything, his tail gets even wilder.

“Look what I found on our doorstep.” I don’t even have to give Baz a shove to get him moving.  

Once he catches sight of Simon he drops his bag to the floor and crosses the room to sit at his side, swiping Simon’s curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Hello, love.”

I swear I never get tired of seeing this. Baz Pitch being a tender, attentive boyfriend. It’s bizarre and endearing at the same time.

Simon melts into Baz’s side. Literally. He’s pressed against him, his head on Baz’s shoulder, fingers clutching for a grip on Baz’s hand, his one wing curving around Baz’s back in a weird, bony embrace.

Idiots, the both of them.

I let them be, go fuss around in the kitchen, making a pretense of scrounging up some snacks.

It’s hours later and we’re all slumped on the sofa, the closing credits of “Four Weddings and A Funeral” scrolling past. I’ve watched so many Hugh Grant films with these two. I swear Baz has a thing for Hugh Grant. I had no idea he was so into rom-coms, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

He’s proving to be quite a romantic sap.

At the moment Baz is curled up with Simon, running his fingers through Simon’s hair and bending down to press soft kisses to the top of his head every so often when he thinks I’m not watching them.

I’m watching them. I’ve seen this movie so many times I can recite the dialogue in my head. I think there must be something in it that could work for a spell, but I just can’t make myself put in the effort right now. I never had my chance to come up with one at Watford—I left before ours were due to be tested.

Now my focus is too scattered to come up with anything worthwhile, what with this stupid inquiry taking up so much of my time.  

And taking care of Simon.

I dart a glance at the boys again. Simon’s sitting up now, yawning and stretching.

“Call it a night then?” I say.

Simon nods. “Shower first, I think, for me.”

He’s taken to showering at night, since he’s been with us. Morning was his usual routine at Watford, but there are far too many people in this house and not enough bathrooms. It’s a problem.

Simon squeezes Baz’s hand one more time before he gets up and wanders down the hall.

I shift closer to Baz, scooting over the still-warm cushions Simon had so recently occupied. “Hey.”

He studies me from his corner of the sofa, eyes half lidded, arms crossed over his chest. I scoot closer and wind my arm in his again, leaning in, ignoring the way he twitches when I do.  I just hold his arm more tightly. “You alright, Baz?”

“I’m fine, Bunce. It’s Simon you should be worried about.”

“I do worry about Simon. I feel like that’s become my full-time job.” I nudge his shoulder. “But right now, I’m more worried about you.” My voice drops as I meet his eyes. “Who’s looking after you, Baz?”

He scoffs and for a moment the old Baz is back. “Mind your business, you meddlesome wench. I’m fine.”

“You most certainly are not. You’re thinner, for one. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes which makes me think you’re not sleeping well.” I squeeze his arm. “You look like you did when you first came back to school after the numpty incident.”

He glares at me. “We don’t talk about the numpty incident.”

I groan. “Fine. But you still look like hell and it’s not like you to be so hesitant to come in the house. You would have steamrolled over me that first time, if I hadn’t let you in. I practically had to beg you to cross the threshold tonight.” He’s not meeting my eyes now. “What’s going on, Baz?”

It takes him a minute of resolutely glaring at the carpet before he sighs and slumps back into the cushions. “I just feel so useless at Watford. I can’t help Simon from there and I’m not sure I help him when I’m here either.” He closes his eyes. “I don’t think it’s easy for him to separate me out from all that happened, I’m tied into it. If I hadn’t forced him into a truce, if I hadn’t made him help me find out about my mother . . .”

“You can stop right there, Baz Pitch. You never forced Simon to do anything. No one ever did, except for the Mage. He never would have agreed to that truce if he didn’t want to do it. You know that. Stop telling yourself any different.” I haven’t had a chance for a good rant in a while, so I keep going. “You think you aren’t helping? Simon wouldn’t get to sleep if it wasn’t for your calls every night. You spend hours listening to him breathe, just to get him to settle. Hours you could be spending on so many other things. He lives for the weekends. Literally. He starts watching the clock once it gets past four in the afternoon. He knows you’re always here by seven and it takes all his self-control to not flap those dratted dragon wings of his and upset the furniture. You make the difference, Baz. You, not me. I just make sure he’s fed. And I don’t even manage that half as well as you do.”

I slump back against the cushions next to him and take his hand. Baz’s fingers are cool as I slide my warm ones between his. “Trust me. You’re the one thing he relies on, to get him through all of this.”

I turn my head to look at him. Baz’s eyes are still closed and if I didn’t know better I’d swear there was a bit of moisture in the corners. I squeeze his hand. “I truly am worried about you now. You’re never at a loss for words.”

He opens his eyes to glare at me, looking down his nose in that way he has. “I’m not at a loss for words, Bunce. I’m choosing to ignore you.”

That just makes me snort. “Rubbish.”

He closes his eyes once more but his head’s tilted towards me this time and he grips my hand a bit more tightly. “I’m not going to say this again, and I’ll deny it if you dare tell anyone, but your concern is appreciated, Penelope.”

I tilt my head towards his, until a stray strand of his hair grazes my forehead. He never slicks it back anymore. I know why. I consider saying something about it, but I stop myself.

We’ve never had a moment like this and I don’t want to spoil it. We worked together to figure out the mystery of Natasha Pitch’s death and we need to work together in regard to Simon.

Baz sits up a moment later, head tilted towards the hallway. “Simon should be back in a moment.” Blasted vampire senses. I’d not heard the water shut off.

I let go of his hand and we both stand up, a little awkward after our moment of companionship.

“Thank you, Bunce.” “You’re welcome, Baz. Just remember that we’re in this together, for Simon.” I pause for a breath and then add what I now know is true. “And for each other.”

He’s off a moment later, when Simon sheepishly peeks into the room.

I decide to take the sofa for the night. They need this time together and even if it’s lumpy, it’s still better than a bathtub. Even a spelled one.

It’s a bit of a surprise when Baz pads into the den a few moments later. “You not going to bed yet, Bunce?”

I make a show of yawning. “Think I’ll just stay here for the night. Too tired to move.”

He raises that eyebrow of his.

I shrug. “I’m fine here, Baz. Get on back to Simon now.”

He leaves, but he’s back a moment later with a blanket. “You’ll need this.” He drapes it over me.

“You’ll freeze in there without it.”

There’s that Baz smirk. “There’s a whole pile of them on the floor and Simon’s like a personal space heater. You know that.”

“Not as well as you do. Now shove off and snuggle with your boyfriend and let me have a moment’s peace.”

I pull the blanket up to my chin and close my eyes.

The sunlight slanting in through the window is what wakes me the next morning. There’s a clatter of plates in the kitchen. I stumble down the hall to the bathroom to wash the sleep from my eyes and then I shuffle into the kitchen.

Baz is seated at the counter watching Simon fry up bacon and eggs.

He looks so content, just gazing at Simon, that unexpected smile on his face.

They both look brighter this morning.

I can’t help myself. I come up behind Baz and throw my arms around his neck, resting my chin on his shoulder. I can smell the cedar and bergamot, feel the chill of his skin. He tenses for just an instant and then lets himself lean back into me.

Simon’s staring at us, eyes wide, spatula in midair as he blinks in surprise.

“What’re you doing, Pen?”

“Giving Baz a morning hug.”

“Since when do you hug Baz?” I can hear the bacon sizzling. It’s going to be burnt to a crisp if he doesn’t attend to it soon.

“Since I decided I can manage one more friend.” I close my eyes and pull Baz close. “I’m making an exception for you, Pitch.”

He huffs at me. “I am exceptional, Bunce. It’s taken you long enough to notice.”

Simon snorts as I open my eyes and step away to take the empty seat next to Baz. “Don’t burn breakfast again, Simon, please.”

[who-is-this-nerd]

To Belong Somewhere

Chapter 1: The Heir Of Slytherin Ruins Harry’s Holidays

Most people consider the Christmas and New Year holidays to be the best, most joyful time of year. But the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn’t consider himself most people.

His parents had been murdered when he was barely a year old, and ever since he’d been living with his rich, spoiled relatives, The Dursleys-Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and their son, Dudley. They treated him like a servant. Or, worse than a servant-like a house elf, punishments included. If a job wasn’t done according to their idea of perfect, he was beaten senseless. If he got better marks than his cousin at school, he was thrown into his tiny cupboard, and forgotten as he bled half to death. In fact, If weren’t for his accidental magic, he supposed he would have died ages ago.

It was for this reason that Harry James Potter hated the holidays. Spending his entire childhood confined to the Dursley’s abuse-with exception of the hours of the day spent at Primary school, where he was bullied by all of the other kids who were scared of Dudley and his gang-ruined his entire outlook on anything that was supposed to be joyful and fun.

And then things changed for the better on his 11th birthday last year when a giant of a man with wild, curly brown hair and the tangled mess of a beard knocked down the front door. He could not believe it when he learned he was a Wizard, and on top of all that, he got to escape from the Dursleys for ten whole months out of the year!

His first year at the magic school he’d been invited to-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-had been the best year of his entire life. He got to eat three full meals a day (at his relatives he was constantly denied meals), he got to learn without having to worry about being punished if he was better than Dudley (since of course, his cousin wasn’t a Wizard), and best of all, he made friends!

Not only that, but he recieved Christmas gifts from said friends at the Holiday the previous year. That Christmas had been the best of his life. He’d even been able to buy presents for those friends, which left him ecstatic beyond measure.

Now it was his second year, and the Holidays were fast approaching. As grim as things had been, with random students and even a ghost being Petrified, and everyone thinking he was the “Heir of Slytherin”, he was sure nothing could cheer him up more than a Christmas at the Hogwarts castle. Everything about it was glorious, from the inch of snow that always dusted the grounds on the first of December, to the beautiful holiday decorations that coated the school inside and out.

For the first time since the moment he’d won the House Cup for Gryffindor last year, he felt excited. Today, the school would be decked out in Christmas trees, holly wreaths, mistletoe, and they even had Menorahs set out for the jewish students who celebrate Hanakkah.

“Morning, Harry!” His best friend Ron Weasley said on that Thursday morning as Harry entered the Gryffindor common room from his dorm.

“Hey Ron! Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked ask they climbed through the Portrait hole and made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

“You didn’t hear?-Oh, wait,” He spoke quickly, realizing before Harry could answer. “You were in detention with Lockhart when it happened yesterday. Malfoy hexed her and she ended up needing to go to the Hospital wing.”

Harry winced. “He must have done something bad for her to have to stay there overnight.”

“Yeah. Bloody git.”

“I’m glad he’ll be going home for the holidays next week so I won’t have deal with him over Christmas.”

“And his goons will be gone too!” Ron fist pumped in the air.

“So I take it that means you’re not going home this year?”

“Nope. Mum and Dad are visiting Charlie in Romania again.”

Harry was going to respond, but he got distracted by the loud, excited chatter-no doubt about the upcoming holidays-that suddenly came from the Great Hall before them. The two boys made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Neville, Dean, and Seamus, and across from Fred, George, their best mate, Lee Jordan, and Ginny.

“Ello Harry! Ickle Ronniekins.” George nodded his head once as he spoke to each boy.

“Shut up! You know I don’t like that nickname.”

The twins laughed.

George looked like he was about to speak, but then Professor Dumbledore stood up, and immediatley the Hall fell silent.

“Good morning to all!” He said in a cheerful

voice. “I admire each of you for for your bright spirits and positive attitude during this bleak and trying period! Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are halfway through their growing periods and we will be able to revive those who have been Petrified in a matter of months.”

Many of the subdued faces in the crowd brightend momentarily at his words.

“However,” He began, and it suddenly seemed as if the entire room was holding in one collective breath. “Due to the events that have transpired here at Hogwarts and have only seemed to have gotten worse in recent weeks, we as a staff feel as though it is for the best that all students go back to their homes for Christmas.”

Many different reactions played across the Great Hall at this news, creating utter chaos: some students cried out in voices that spewed utter nonsense, others widened their eyes. The Hufflepuffs (who were religously loyal to the school and always stayed over the Holidays) screamed their refusal to leave. The sports fanatic kids, like Wood, screamed, “First you cancel Quidditch, and now this?!” Harry saw a familliar young first year at the end of the table across from Ginny, repeatedly blinking her eyes open and shut, open and shut, and covered her ears as the noise level in the room grew steadly more deafening with each passing moment. As for Harry himself, he widened his eyes and paled considerably.

“Harry?!” Ron asked in alarm. “You okay? You’re white as a sheet!”

“Yeah...” Harry looked down. “Yeah, I-I’m fine.”

Ron schruntinized Harry as if he wasn’t so sure, but turned back to the old Headmaster as older wizard spoke again.

“We wish to take all caution that is necessary in protecting you, and because no learning is done during the holidays, we feel that this is how we must currently proceed. All parents have been informed of this. The Hogwarts train will be here on Monday morning to take you home.”

With that, he sat down.

It was at that moment, of course, that Hermione Granger flew into the Great Hall. Random heads looked up as the doors opened, but when they saw who it was they looked back down to their food, still protesting against going home for the holidays loudly.

“Madame Pomfrey just released me.” She said breathlessly when she found Harry and Ron. Then, hearing the vile protests and wails, she asked, “What did I miss?”

Harry and Ron took turns explaining, and at the end she immediately took a sheaf of parchment and a quill out of her bag, pushing away the plate in front of her.

“I know Professor Dumbledore said he wrote all the parents, but I want to write my parents with the news just in case he accidentally missed them.” She answered at the boys’ stares, not looking up.

A moment later, food appeared, and hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall simultaneously. Distracted by letters from home or copies of that day’s Daily Prophet, the witches and wizards around the Great Hall slowly abandoned their cries about the holidays.

“Errol!” Ron cried out disgustedly, pulling four letters amd an old owl out of a bowl of porriage that sat in the center of the table.

“Who’s the letter from?”

“From Mum. She’s sent some for all of us, look...l Ron said, tossing two of the letters to Fred and George and one to Ginny, and held up another that said “Percy Weasley” in elegant cursive. “Where’s Percy?”

“Ickle Percy’s talking to Penelope Clearwater.” Fred snickered, taking the letter and passing it up to Percy, who was two seats away with the witch in question.

“He fancies her.” the other twin added, also sniggering.

Ron turned just a bit red turned to the letter from his mum.

A chime overhead sounded as Ron finished the letter, signalling that it was time for classes.

“Let’s go, we don’t want to be late for Professor Lockhart!” Hermione exclaimed, nearly knocking Ron from his seat as she rose too fast.

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes.

“It’s So obviosu that you fancy him, Hermione.”

She turned red. “Do not!” She criend defensivley.

Ron looked down at the books in her arms. “Then why are there little hearts by his name?”

She and Harry looked down at the books. Indeed, there were tiny hand-drawn pink hearts at the beginnings and ends of his name.

Her face went as pink as the hearts.

“Becasue-because...oh forget it, I’ll see you two in there!”

She ran away, and Harry and Ron laughed.

By the time they set themselves up in the Defense classroom, Hermione had stopped blushing, but still refused to talk to either of them.

“So Harry,” Ron began, “Looks like I’m going to Romania for Christmas. You’re invited too, of course, if you want to come.”

He opened his mouth intending to say yes, but then paused as a dark thought struck him.

“What if Voldemort finds me in Romania? Then Ron and his family-they’d all be in danger!” He thought.

“No, that’s okay.”

“But you hate living with those muggles!” Ron protested.

“Yeah, but Voldemort’s after me, remember? All of you guys would be in danger if he found me there.”

“If. Harry, that’s a BIG if.”

“I’m not willing to risk it, Ron.” He turned to Hermione on his other side, who had been listening quietly to the conversation. “I’m not changing my mind, so don’t try to talk me out of it. Besides, the Blood Wards at the Dursley’s that Dumbledore keeps talking about would keep me safe, remember?

Hermione, who decided they were worth speasking to again, opened her mouth to speak but closed it at Harry’s words as the rest of their class entered the room.

“Fine.” Ron muttered finally, and Lockhart entered the classroom moments later, ending their conversation once and for all.

The next day, the Golden Trio were headed to their last class of that week, and Harry was not looking forward to it. Potions was never fun, but adding the Slytherins and a Professor who loathed him to the mix and instead of being merely bad, it was terrible. He quietly sat down in a seat in the back row in the middle of Ron and Hermione.

“Mate, you okay? You haven’t spoken hardly at all since Dumbledore’s announcement this morning.”

“Yeah, I’m great.” He said tiredly.

Ron gave him a calculating look, but Snape swept into the room before he could say anything.

“WEASLEY! Five points from Gryffindor! Eyes to the front when I am in the classroom.”

Ron complied. “Git.” the redhead muttered

Snape tapped his wand to a chalkboard next to him.

“The instructions are on the board. You may begin.”

Potions went by agonizingly slow.

Still, thought Harry, he’d prefer to be here than the Dursleys. Having to spend a Christmas at the place he had never in his albeit short life considered home upset him. Until this morning, he believed he’d never have to spend a Christmas at the Dursley’s again. Now, all he had to look forward to for Christmas was a possibility of beatings and slaving Christmas day away over the stove.

A loud BOOM filled the room then, causing Harry to be pulled out of his thoughts to look for the source of the noise. His eyes landed on fellow Gryffindor Neville Longbottom’s cauldron, which was now melted, and both the pieces of the cauldron and Neville himself were covered in green goo.

“Idiot child!” Snape exclaimed, striding over. “Do you not know how to do ANYTHING?!” The unfinished green potion and liqified bits of the cauldron dissapeared from before the now trembling Gryffindor. “ZERO! Pack up and get out of my site!”

The young boy didn’t need to be told twice. He was packed up and out of the room faster than you could say quidditch.

Harry watched as the angry Potions Master stormed back to his seat.

Once class had finally ended-the way it usually did, with Snape declaring that Ron’s potion was “abysmal, as always”, informing Harry that he had gotten barely higher than a D (Dreadful) that day, and ignoring Hermione’s as always perfect potion-the three of them were among the first to leave the freezing and depressing classroom.

“What a git.” Ron grumbled. “Never catches his precious Slytherins doing anything wrong, but if anyone outside of his precious Snakes even look in the wrong direction, he’ll take away points!”

“Ron, calm down. The Slytherins didn’t even do anything today.”

“I doubt that’s true, Hermione. I wouldn’t put it past Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle or any of those other b-“

“Language, Ron!” Hermione warned.

-brats to have planted something in Neville’s cauldron!”

Harry laughed. “Even with Neville being as accident prone as he is? Come off it, mate.“

-

For the first time in a long time, he actually slept all night. Unfortunetly, that night was filled with nightmares, which consisted of Malfoy being his usual bully self, Uncle Vernon whipping him with a belt, Aunt Petunia verbally abusing him, and Dudley’s gang chasing him. The next morning, he somehow woke up more tired than he’d been the day before.

That saturday morning was spent doing homework by the Gryffindor fireplace and talking about the upcoming holidays with his friends. He didn’t mention the Dursleys, or why he was scared to go back. As long as Ron didn’t pester him into going with him instead of staying with his muggle relatives, he’d be fine.

“...Dumbledore’s annoucement yesterday at breakfast.” Hermione was saying, drawing Harry from his thoughts. “It will be quite lovely to see my parents again, of course, but I’ll miss you two quite terribly. I can’t believe they’re closing the school for the Holidays. You don’t think they’ll close it permanently because of people being Petrified, do you?”

“I hope not.” Harry muttered, so quiet that his friends only just barely heard him.

He imagined having to tell the Dursleys that the school

was closed permanently, and that he was back to staying there year-round. Yeah, he’d get a real good welcome home if that were to happen, he thought sarcastically, frowning.

“I wonder how we’d be able to continue learning magic, though, if that were to happen?” Ron pondered aloud.

“They might end up sending us to other Wizarding schools around the world, if that were to happen, of course.” Hermione answered absently as she worked on her Potions essay.

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, like my relatives would pay for an out of the country flight there and back every year.”

“Aren’t they, like...rich?” Hermione asked, genuinely confused.

He cursed silently. Of course Hermione would see through his words right away and be nosy about it. He’d have to be careful what he said for now on. “Well...yeah, but Dudley’s-my cousin’s-school tuition is apparentley extremely expensive. And you know how expensive flights are.” He shrugged, hoping it looked nonchalant and praying that his little white lies worked. He didn’t want to tell his friends the truth. It was too dark and he didn’t want to burden them.

Hermione studied him for what seemed like hours before speaking again. “I guess that makes sense.”

A brief silence passed between them before she broke it again only moments later. “I remember you saying that your relatives don’t like you, Harry-“

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Harry muttered, too low for Hermione to hear.

“-and I know what you said about not wanting to us in danger, but...honestly Harry, I don’t care about that. Anyway, I wanted to offer-you’re welcome to come stay with me and my parents over the holidays.”

Ron smiled at Hermione, while Harry grimanced, and then masked it with a smile.

They were only trying to help, Harry reminded himself.

“Thanks, Hermione. But like I said before, I’m not willing to risk putting any of you in danger. I can’t afford to lose you guys, especially not to Volemort,” At the name, Ron whimpered but Harry ignored it, “and I’m not about to put you in harm’s way with me right there.”

“Okay, mate, but remember that you always have a place with us.” Ron sighed, and then they went back to their work in silence.

[tothemattresses]

2020 Reading Challenge - Audiobooks Edition

I'm the type of person that needs to be listening to something while getting ready. It lightens the mood, sets a tone for the day, and provides a distraction from more serious thoughts. 

In high school, it was my gigantic CD player being lugged into the bathroom, playing the latest top 40 hits. In college, it was my laptop and the 300 plus songs downloaded on iTunes. Then came podcasts on my phone, ranging from Doug Loves Movies to NPR Politics. But now here we are in 2020: And it's all about audiobooks.  The obsession began in 2017 with my newly granted public library card and the Overdrive app, offering numerous audio books to check out. Then came the Audible subscription, where I have a constant on/off relationship, taking advantage of any deal they throw my way. But with a subscription comes a collection, and mine only grew more and more over time.  So, let's add them to the 2020 reading challenge! 

Starting today, for one year, no more audiobooks can be purchased. For this challenge, I can only listen to the ones I already have in my collection or ones I can check out from the library. Once completed, a review will be posted, along with total listening time and any other pertinent information.

Here's the full list of the current collection:

1. The Deal: Arranged Book One - Stella Gray

2. A Song for You: My Life with Whitney Houston - Robyn Crawford

3. The Player - Claire Contreras

4. Buried Deep - Margot Hunt

5. The Christmas Pact - Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward

6. Shockaholic - Carrie Fisher

7. Lies - Kyle Scott

8. She Said - Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey

9. The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress - Victoria Alezander

10. Reflected in You - Sylvia Day

11. The Paper Swan - Leylah Attar

12. The Bride Test - Helen Hoang

13. The Princess Diarist - Carrie Fisher

14. Royally Bad - Nora Flite

15. The Home Front – Audible Original

16. The Sisters – Dervla McTiernan

17. Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Start-Up – John Carreyrou

18. Filthy Beautiful Lies – Kendall Ryan

19. Wanderlust – Lauren Blakely

20. The Darkwater Bride – Marty Ross

21. Elizabeth II: Life of a Monarch – Ruth Cowen

22. Killer by Nature – Jan Smith

23. Columbine – Dave Cullen

24. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich – William L. Shirer

25. Unf*ck Yourself – Gary John Bishop

26. The Demon Next Door – Bryan Burrough

27. A Mind of Her Own – Paula McClain

28. Becoming – Michelle Obama

29. How to Win Friends and Influence People – Dale Carnegie

30. A Discovery of Witches – Deborah Harkness

31. Roomies – Christina Lauren

32. Girl, Wash Your Face – Rachel Hollis

33. Have a Nice Day – Billy Crystal and Quinton Peeples

34. Stephen Fry’s Victorian Secrets – Nick Baker and John Woolf

35. In Pieces – Sally Field

36. Hi Bob! – Bob Newhart

37. The Queen: Aretha Franklin – Mikal Gilmore

38. Girls & Boys – Dennis Kelly

39. Outlander: Book One – Diana Gabaldon

40. American Pharaoh – Joe Drape

41. Mean Streak – Sandra Brown

42. Emma – Jane Austen

Happy Reading (and Listening)!

[jfpisadearqueerdeer]

Dancing On Our Own, Part 2 | A Perciver Fic

Fifth Year

“Hey, Perce.”

Percy looked up to see Oliver looking at him nervously. They hadn’t seen each other on the train, as Percy was wrapped up in prefect duties. And now, Oliver looked as if he wasn’t sure if he could sit next to Percy in The Great Hall. Percy scooched over, and Oliver smiled softly, and took a seat.

“I heard you made Quidditch captain, Oliver.”

Percy wished it wasn’t like this, but ever since last year when he realized that Oliver had probably been thinking about a girl in the showers before hanging out with him, they were both suddenly very nervous around each other. Oliver confirmed the statement with a nod and then spoke once again.

“And you, prefect.”

Percy nodded in reply politely. He hated not knowing what to say to his best friend. For the last four years, they had been able to talk about anything and everything. Well that wasn’t exactly true. Percy had been hiding his true feelings since third year. He thought that might like-like Oliver. Actually, no, he didn’t think. He knew. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Oliver talking again.

“I know you’re a prefect now, Perce, but do you think, maybe, we could, um, have our own little celebration tonight?”

Percy blushed at the words, but he nodded anyways. He would do anything to be on good terms with Oliver again. And anyways, he had never applied the rules to him and Oliver. It was different with them. It wasn’t like they were doing any actual harm with the rules they broke. And he was sure that it was going to be the same way tonight.

“Of course, Ollie.”

***

When both he and Oliver had gotten to the dormitory, Oliver led him to his bed, and searched his bag for something. Percy wasn’t sure what Oliver was about to pull out, but he was really nervous. He was even more nervous when Oliver was done searching and realized that his best friend had a bottle of fire whiskey in his hand. He had never drunk alcohol before, and Oliver must have known this, going by his next words (and the fact that they had been friends for four years).

“Don’t be nervous, Perce. I’ll be here.”

Percy timidly took the bottle out of Oliver’s hands. He wasn’t sure how to go about this. Oliver was staring at him intently, daring him to drink. One look in his friend’s eyes was all it took for him to open the bottle and take a large swig. Maybe this, of all things, would encourage him to make a move. But drinking so much at once was a mistake, as he started coughing right away, causing Oliver to take the bottle away from him.

“I wasn’t finished.”

Percy knew he shouldn’t have put so much anger behind those words, but it was just him and Oliver now, and that meant he could stop pretending that everything was fine. Oliver didn’t look hurt though, taking the words as a challenge instead. He drank out of the bottle like one would drink water, with casual sips, but still drinking a lot at the same time.

“Little sips, Perce. Little sips.”

Percy snatched the bottle back, mimicking Oliver’s actions. The alcohol stung his throat, but after a few minutes, he stopped feeling much at all. And, suddenly, he got what a drunk person would believe was a “good idea” but unintoxicated people would think of as a little bit stupid.

“What if we play a game?”

“What kind of game?”

“The kind of game where we find new ways to kiss/touch each other every time one of us takes a drink. That is, if you’re not scared.”

Percy watched as Oliver took out another bottle of fire whiskey, and smiled victoriously. He knew Oliver would never pass up a challenge like this, even if he was straight. There was no way Oliver would ever let Percy call him scared. He took a small swig out of the new bottle, raising his eyes in Oliver’s direction, challenging him to start out their little game.

“You really want to do this, Perce? Want your first kiss to be with your bent best friend?”

Percy was shocked at the taunting slash confession, but he didn’t let it show, just nodding, waiting for his kiss. Oliver turned towards Percy, pulling the red-haired boy into his lap, resting his hands on the small of his best friend’s back. He grazed his lips over Percy’s in an agonizingly sweet way, but pulled back after barely a second. He had to leave room to grow after all.

“That was barely a kiss.”

Percy knew he shouldn’t be complaining that Oliver kissed him at all, but he wanted more. He passed the bottle to Oliver anyways, and watched as his friend took a large gulp and grinned at him prettily. Deciding he should tease Oliver as well, he took hold of his friend’s hands and kissed each one of Oliver’s long, thin fingers. Oliver shivered beneath him.

“If you’re going to make me hard Perce, I hope you plan on fixing the problem.”

Percy abandoned their little game after only two turns, setting the bottle aside and pinning Oliver to the bed. He left a trail of wet kisses on Oliver’s skin, starting out just below his ear, quickly pecking him on the nose, skipping over his mouth, and ended with a very wet, suggestive kiss on the most sensitive part of Oliver’s neck.

“Oh, Oliver, you really think I would start something without finishing it?”

And, suddenly, he was nervous again. He had never even kissed someone before tonight, how was he to know what to do next? Oliver must have sensed his anxiety, as he had suddenly sat up, grabbing Percy’s hand. He timidly kissed Percy full on the lips, awkwardly melding their lips together, moving not quite in-sync. It was perfectly imperfect.

“When it comes to us, you have a habit of leaving me… let’s say, unsatisfied. We never did finish our dance last year. And we haven’t danced since either.”

Percy shot a look at him, but then stood up, pulling the other boy up with him. He placed Oliver’s and his hands in position, just as Oliver had the time before, and started out a slow dance. Oliver smiled at him, partly with happiness, and partly with drunkenness. They were a mess of gangly limbs and intoxicated actions, but in both the boy’s minds, never had a moment been so beautiful, especially once they had started singing the familiar words of their song.

“I think we're alone now,

There doesn't seem to be anyone around

I think we're alone now,

The beating of our hearts is the only sound”

They woke up the next morning, passed out the floor, fully clothed, with a bottle of fire whiskey just a few feet away. It was truly a shame that neither of them could remember past opening that first bottle.

Sixth Year

“Perce, let me in!”

Oliver had been stuck in the hall for the past ten minutes, begging Percy to let him into the abandoned classroom, which was warded heavily with locking charms. He had disappeared after lunch, and when Oliver asked around, a Ravenclaw in their year said that they had seen him going into this classroom. He knew that the Ravenclaw could have been lying, though as distraught as they seemed to be, he highly doubted it.

“Percival Weasley, if you do not let me in, I will write your mother!”

The door opened suddenly, and Oliver stumbled slash fell through the threshold. He looked up to see Percy almost carelessly flicking his wand towards the door, effectively shutting it. He looked, well, he looked like an utter mess. Tears stained his cheeks, his hair looked as if he had been trying to pull it out, and his normally pale skin was red and patchy, signs that Percy had been scratching, like he always did when he was upset.

“You’re not going to write her anything.”

Percy’s voice was bitter with a tinge of something else. Perhaps regret, or anger, or… depression. That had to be it. Percy was only like this when he went down one of his depressive spirals. The question was, what had sent him down the spiral? Oliver walked over to his best friend, and even when the other boy turned away, he didn’t give up. He grabbed Percy’s hand and forced him to sit down on one of the many tables. He pulled a chair over and examined Percy’s skin, looking for injuries.

“Percy. You can’t do this to yourself. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Oliver watched as his friend shook his head, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. As he cast a healing spell of Percy’s scratched raw arms, he asked what was wrong again. Percy still refused to answer. Oliver cast a repairing on Percy’s ripped robe, and a cleaning charm on a mysterious stain on Percy’s white shirt, asking once again what was wrong, his tone more serious and forceful now. And Percy finally gave in.

“If you really want to know… I’ve been so stressed out lately. It’s stressful enough having to keep all my siblings in check, then there’s this chamber of secrets shit, and now… Penelope was petrified, Ollie. And, for some reason, I feel like it’s all my fault.”

Penelope was one of Percy’s only other friends. At least, Oliver hoped they were only friends. He shook his head inwardly, he shouldn’t be thinking like that when something so serious was happening. He set his wand down, taking Percy’s hands in his, and did the only thing he could think of. He pulled Percy off the table, gently dragging him to a part of the room that was emptier than the rest. And he started dancing.

“It isn’t your fault, Perce. Don’t hurt yourself this way. Please.”

Oliver stepped closer to Percy, pulling his best friend flush against his body. He whispered the lyrics of their song in Percy’s ear, swaying along with the words. He was so lost in the moment that he almost didn’t hear Percy’s next words. But when he did, it was brilliant.

“I really want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me.”

It. Was. Bloody. Brilliant. Percy smashed his lips into Oliver’s, not roughly, but not gently either. It was both a new and strangely familiar sensation, leaving Oliver to wonder why exactly it felt familiar. To his knowledge, this was his first kiss ever, so why didn’t it feel like a first kiss? He abandoned all thoughts when he felt Percy push him into one of the tables, practically snogging him now. It was… Passionate. Bruising. Arousing, to say the least. But it ended much to quickly for Oliver’s taste, that is, until he saw, well, more like heard, the reason that Percy pulled away.

“Oh. OH. Um, I was just looking for you, Percy. Wanted to tell you something. It can wait. I’m, um, just going to leave now.”

Oliver groaned, knowing whose voice that was. Ginny Weasley. His eyes flicked towards Percy’s, who was now even more anxious than before. Percy looked at Ginny, who was now running away, and then looked back at Oliver, who motioned for him to just go. Percy chased after his little sister, yelling.

“Ginny. Wait! Come back!”

***

Percy found Oliver later that day, still in the same room. Oliver looked at him tiredly, wondering if Percy regretted what they had done earlier that day. He was sitting on the floor, and Percy joined him after a moment. They sat there in silence for a long time, until Percy reached for Oliver’s hand.

“I’ve liked you for a few years now, you know.”

Oliver expected to be shocked, but he wasn’t. He supposed that some part of him had always known that Percy liked him too. It was just that the other part of him was afraid that he might be wrong. Oliver looked at Percy nervously, his best friend’s blue eyes shining hopefully. He cupped Percy’s face with his free hand, kissing him tentatively.

“I bet I’ve liked you longer, Perce.”

Oliver mumbled these words against Percy’s lips, and he could feel the other boy smiling against his. Suddenly, he was pinned to the ground, and Percy was straddling his hips, kissing him fervently. Oliver couldn’t believe what was happening. Percy was kissing every inch of Oliver’s skin that he could find. It was more than disappointing when he pulled away. But then it wasn’t.

“So… what are we now? Boyfriends?”

Oliver smiled up at the other boy, and it barely took him a second to respond.

“Yes. YES. A thousand times yes!”

Seventh Year

Percy had been dating Oliver for nearly a year now. Their relationship was semi-public knowledge, but they weren’t very into PDA. Yes, queer relationships were more accepted in the wizarding world than the muggle world, but some people still saw it as taboo. So, they settled for pecks on the cheek and holding hands in public, but snogged the life out of each other once they were alone. And, one of these alone times, was Percy’s happiest memory.

“Puddlemere United recruited me!”

When Percy first heard these words, his heart dropped. Quidditch players spent lots of time training, and barely had enough time to sleep, let alone have private lives. What if they had to break up because of this? But inwardly, he shook his head at himself, reminding him that he should be happy for his boyfriend. No matter what.

“Congragulations, Ollie!”

They were in the Gryffindor common room, which wasn’t entirely deserted, but it was empty enough. Oliver flicked his wand towards the record player, and it started playing their song. Percy took Oliver’s hands, spinning him around, singing along with the music, which to be honest, got him a few glares, but he didn’t care. He was so happy that it didn’t matter what his peers thought of him anymore.

“Perce. I have a question for you.”

When the song ended and they had collapsed onto the sofa together, Oliver said this, looking nervous. Percy’s heart sped up. He had no idea what to expect. So, he simply motioned for Oliver to continue and prepared himself for the worst.

“Well, it’s just, as a player, I’ve got to live in Puddlemere, that way it’ll be easier to get to training. And, well, I was hoping, that since I’m getting an apartment out there, maybe you would like to come live with me?”

Oliver rushed through the last part of the question so fast, that it took Percy a minute to understand. But once he figured out what Oliver asked, it hit him: he would be living with his boyfriend. Sure, he and Oliver had been living together for the past seven years, but this was different. This was deliberately renting an apartment for them to share. And he knew what his answer was immediately.

“Yes, Ollie, I’ll live with you. Forever.”

[darley1101]

Uncommon Part 2: Unplanned Doesn’t Mean Unwanted

Prompt Request: 'I'm pregnant' and 'You'd be a great dad' for Drake x Olivia (The Royal Romance)

Requested by: @bobasheebaby

Rating: Tentatively teen, as it does contain hints of adult themes

Trigger Warning: Brief mention of abortion and teenage girl nastiness.

A/N This is part 2 of my Drake x Olivia mini series. It fulfills a request made by my friend @bobasheebaby and propels this story forward. I hope you guys enjoy! If you are new to the story catch up HERE

Perma-tag: @debramcg1106 @josieschoices @boneandfur    @speedyoperarascalparty @christopher-powell @tmarie82 @blackcatkita    @mfackenthal @hamulau @endlessly-searching-for-you @umccall71 @damienazariostan @drakelover78 @penguininapinktuxedo @eileendannie @kingliamthirst @stopforamoment @writtenbycandy @lizeboredom @alicars @choiceslife @leelee10898 @choicesfannatalie @liamxs-world @umccall71 @lizeboredom @eileendannie @katurrade @hellospunkiebrewster

Story tag: @lodberg @purplegreyshrimp @tornbetween2loves 

Uncommon Part 2/4

Unplanned Doesn't Mean Unwanted

The steady ticking of the antique gold clock on the fireplace mantel, mixed with Penelope's hyena-like giggling and Kiara's annoying French prattle, was enough to drive Olivia Nevrakis mad. On a good day, she wore a frosty smile and made passive aggressive quips at their expense. Today was not a good day. For the umpteenth time she had woken up to a room that wouldn't stop spinning and a rebellious stomach. The first time it had happened, she blamed it on too much chocolate and not enough sleep after Riley and Hana guilt tripped her into hot cocoa and all night wedding planning. The second and third times it happened, she'd made a quick trip to and from Lythikos, so she had assumed it was travel exhaustion and not eating properly. That morning she had run out of excuses. She'd gone to bed on time, eaten properly, hadn't traveled any further than the palace gardens, and her queasy stomach prevented her from drinking anything stronger than fruit infused water. There were only two plausible explanations. Either she had some sort of weird life sucking disease or she was pregnant. So, she did what any self respecting lady in her situation would do: she bribed a servant into buying a pregnancy test. The little purple and white plastic stick instantly killed all hopes of a life sucking disease. Before she could process anything, Riley had shown up, with Hana in tow, so the trio could walk down to afternoon tea with the Queen Mother.

“I don't understand why she's giggling, nobody said anything remotely humorous,” she heard Hana whispering to Riley. It was on the tip of Olivia's tongue to say that some women thought acting like a brainless twit who giggled all the time was the way to attract a man but she couldn't work up the energy. Her focus was on the plastic stick hidden in her make up bag. An old, familiar tightening in her chest set in. It was like she was sixteen all over again. At sixteen, she had been so desperate for love she'd believed every pretty lie a visiting diplomat's son had thrown her way. Her aunt had called her a fool, and rightly so. Once the boy had his fun, he lost interest. Olivia had been so heart broken she'd actually turned to her aunt for guidance. Her aunt's idea of 'help' had been a trip to a spa in Switzerland. The rumors that circulated while they were gone were the stuff of every teenage girls nightmare. The vast majority of them had started with Drake's sister. Savannah had been the one to start the pregnancy rumors, as well as the one where Olivia's trip to Switzerland had been for an abortion. Olivia still hadn't forgiven her for that.  

“It's Penelope, what do you expect,” Riley murmured back, the smile never leaving her pink glossed lips. It was a trick Olivia herself had taught her. A lady could get away with saying anything they pleased so long as they did it with a smile on their face. Wanted to mock someones atrocious outfit? Tell them how hideous they looked with a smile and every laughed at your 'teasing.' Sleeping with your best friend while leading on a King and his best friend? Keep a smile while saying love got the best of you and all was forgiven. “She laughs at everything.”

“You're right,” Hana sighed before, in sync with the other ladies, she took a sip from the delicate, gold rimmed cup in her right hand. “Sometimes though,” she leaned closer to Olivia and Riley, “I want to tell her that she's the only one who thinks her poodle stories are cute. Is that mean? It's mean isn't it?”

“If you ever work up the nerve to tell her that poodles suck make sure you do it with a smile,” Olivia suggested, forcing herself to take another sip.

“A smile and a smack across her smug little face,” Riley muttered, her blue eyes narrowing. Ah yes, there was no love lost between Riley and the poodle loving airhead from Portavira. Olivia was almost impressed by Penelope's little role in Riley's scandal. The water works and pleas for forgiveness had ruined any chance for that. The temptation to tell Penelope that if she was going to be a shark, she needed to be a shark, not turn into a guppy at the last minute. Whatever. It made no never mind to Olivia. She could care less what Penelope did or didn't do. Seeing the disdain on Riley's face whenever the other woman came around was another matter. It was only a matter of time before Cordonia's newest Duchess lost her cool and went for Penelope's jugular.

“Oh no! I could never tell her that,” Hana gasped, her almond shaped eyes widening. She hadn't said she wouldn't slap the chit, Olivia noted with amusement. For the next two hours, Olivia sipped lukewarm orange pekoe tea and nibbled cucumber sandwiches while pretending to be interested in the mundane conversations going on around her, most of which were about whatever charities were the most popular. The only interesting bits were when Hana or Riley would whisper some passive aggressive remark about one of the other ladies; usually Penelope or Kiara, with the occasional jab at Madeleine's expense. Normally, Olivia would interject herself into the conversation again but at the moment she didn't trust herself to speak again. The more she spoke, the greater the risk she would crack and unburden herself, and that just wouldn't do. Oh Riley would be understanding and Hana would be supportive, but Olivia wasn't ready for that. She still had to face Drake. And Drake deserved to know before anyone else.

Finally, she thought when the Queen Mother announced that she would be retiring to her rooms and the ladies were free to go or mingle at their leisure. Ignoring Riley and Hana's protests, Olivia chose the former. She needed to think, to sort out what she was going to do. First step, remembering that she wasn't some scared teenager or without means to support a child on her own. Second step, accepting that Drake might not be very pleased with the outcome of their one night stand. On more than one occasion she'd wanted to tell him where he could stick his looks of disgust. Nobody had forced him to have sex with her and, other than one attempt to talk to him about their lack of protection that had resulted in him walking off before she could speak, Olivia had kept her word on it being a one time occurrence with no strings attached. She pinched the bridge of her nose, grimacing at the thought of telling him about the predicament she was in. This isn't just your problem, she reminded herself as she walked back to her room. It's his problem too. And, damn it, he can help deal with the consequences.

Her fingers shook as she removed the pregnancy test from her make up bag. The two lines were still there. If anything, they had become more pronounced. There was no denying it. She was pregnant. Letting out a string of curses she chunked her make up bag at her bedroom door. Cosmetics scattered across the rug, her favorite tube of lipstick rolling under the wardrobe. Her vision blurred for a moment as tears threatened to well. In true Nevrakis fashion, she concentrated on warding them off before reaching for her phone. You can do this, Olivia, she told herself as she pulled up Drake's contact information. Before she lost her nerve, she sent him a text asking him to meet her by the fountain in the maze. She waited several minutes, her heart pounding, and then tossed her phone aside when no response came. Screw him, she thought, dropping to her hands and knees on the rug, determined to retrieve her favorite lipstick. She could do this on her own. It would cause a bit of a scandal at first but eventually someone would do something more shocking than having a baby out of wedlock with the King's best friend.. Her fingers barely brushed the tube when there was sharp knock on her door. “Be right there,” she called. It was probably Riley and Hana. The pair just wouldn't leave her alone. She scowled when her door opened, ready to give them a piece of her mind. “Do you mind?”

“This isn't the maze,” Drake's voice filled her room and sent a ripple of apprehension through her. He couldn't respond to a text, but he could show up uninvited to her room. Unbelievable.

Wrapping her fingers around the tube of lipstick, Olivia pulled her arm out from under the wardrobe and tried to rise to her feet with as much dignity as possible. “I don't keep appointments with people who aren't courteous enough to confirm,” she retorted coolly. Her gaze darted to the bed, where the positive test still lay out in plain sight. Shit! Maybe, if she was quick enough, she could reach it before he seen it. Or maybe not, she grimaced, watching the blood drain from his face, his eyes visibly fixated on the test.

“Something you want to tell me?” Drake asked, his voice hoarse.

Olivia let out a resigned sigh, her fingers nervously plucking at the lemon colored fabric of her skirt. “I'm pregnant.” Saying the words out loud felt a bit like the first drop on a roller coaster. Her stomach flipped. Her heart raced. And she anxiously waited for what was, inevitably, about to come next. Minutes ticked by, neither of them speaking. She let out another sigh. “You're not going to ask if I'm certain or...” she hesitated, “if you're the father?” She wouldn't blame him if he did. While she knew that she didn't sleep around, Drake didn't.

A thunderous look crossed Drake's handsome features. “I'm not that big of an asshole Olivia and we weren't exactly careful.”

“It could be wrong.” Walking over to the bed, she picked up the test, her eyes fixed on those two damning lines. “They're not always right.”  Even as the words left her mouth, Olivia knew the test wasn't wrong. She had all the symptoms. Missed period. Morning sickness. Tender breasts. Exhausted all the time. The test just put it all into perspective.

“Most of the time they are.” Drake scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor before darting back up to her face. “So...now what? Are we keeping it?”

“I'm keeping the baby, yes,” she said coolly, raising her chin a notch. “Whether or not you choose to be in their life is entirely up to you.” If he walked away, it would be his loss, Olivia told herself. She couldn't see Drake doing that though. He wasn't the sort to walk away from an obligation. Did she want her child viewed as an obligation though? Her aunt had always viewed her that way, an obligation she had to bear, and she'd had no qualms about reminding Olivia of that every single chance she got. Would Drake be that way? And what happened when he met someone and fell in love? Would his future wife accept a child that wasn't her own?

“Of course I'm going to be in their life,” Drake snapped, prowling to and fro in front of her wardrobe. He reached up, ran his fingers through his hair, and let out a curse. “It won't be easy for you, you know that right?” He shot her a hard look. “The ladies are going to make your life miserable. Not just because you're having a baby before marriage but because its my kid. You sure you want that, Olivia?”

“Do you think I give two fucks what those stuck up bitches think?” Olivia curled her lips in disdain. The only 'ladies' she had any use for were Riley and Hana, which was probably why Riley kept insisting they were friends. As for the rest of them, well, they could all take a flying leap off a cliff as far as Olivia was concerned. The whole lot of them were useless, simpering fools that sat around waiting for some man to decide they would make a worthwhile wife. Olivia waited for no one. She could, would, and had saved herself. She would raise her son or daughter to have that same mentality. They would be a Nevrakis, the next Duke or Duchess of Lythikos, after all.

“No,” Drake chuckled, “not really.” He let out another sigh and dropped into the winged back chair near the fireplace, a serious look stiffening his features. “So...how are we going to do this?”

Olivia bit her lower lip, uncertain how to answer. She furrowed her brow, paced a bit, and then sat on the edge of her bed, facing Drake. “By 'this' you mean co-parenting, correct?” Drake gave her a curt nod. “Right. Well, I'm not sure.” There were so many things to consider. His life was in the Capitol, while hers was in Lythikos. And, as the next Nevrakis heir, there was the matter of their last name. Olivia knew Drake well enough to know he was going to blow a gasket when he heard that they child would have to bear the Nevrakis last name, not Walker. They could hyphenate it the way her parents  had, but she wasn't certain even that would appease Drake.

“You're not sure,” Drake repeatedly slowly, his eyes narrowing. “If you think you're going to cut me from this baby's life-”

“If I had planned on cutting you from this child's life, I wouldn't have told you I was pregnant to begin with,” Olivia interrupted, her voice laced with the annoyance that was starting to course through her veins. She could feel the vein in her left temple starting to tick. She'd known Drake was a stubborn ass but this was ridiculous.“Is this how things are going to be for the next eighteen years?”

A dark glare filled Drake's eyes, his jaw clenched. “If by 'things' you mean me standing up for my rights as a father, then yeah, this is how things are going to be.”

Closing her eyes, Olivia forced herself to take several deep, cleansing breathes. Out with the toxic, murderous thoughts starting to form in her mind. In with peace, calm, and understanding for the frustrating man that had fathered her child. Her hazel eyes snapped open. Who the hell was she trying to kid? Peace, calm, and understanding were not natural to her. Nor was the surly look on Drake's face inspiring those auras. “I'm getting really tired of the defensive attitude Drake. I don't deserve it nor do I appreciate it. I understand that this situation isn't ideal but taking your frustrations out on me isn't going to solve anything.” She paused, letting out another huff of air. “If all you're to do is twist my words and make accusations based on your fear instead of fact, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I don't need, nor do I want, the stress of arguing with you over moot points.”

Drake let out a long, weary sigh, one of his large hands reaching  up to push a chunk of dark hair off his face. “You're right,” he admitted. “Just try to see things from my point of view. We're not in a relationship and as a noble, you hold all the cards. There's also the fact that we can barely stand each other.”

“There you go making assumptions again,” Olivia shook her head. This was not going to work. She'd been a fool to think she could have a logical discussion with Drake. He could never look past her title, could never let go of the grudge he had against nobility. “You're the one whose always made it perfectly clear that I wasn't worthy of your time.” And there was also the issue of the rumors his sister had started when they were teenagers.

“You sure about that,” Drake challenged. “I seem to recall several occasions where Savannah and I were intentionally excluded from parties hosted at your estate.”

“Do you really want to go there Drake?” Ice dripped from Olivia's voice. “You know exactly why your sister was no longer welcome.” Even now she heard the occasional whisper about the Duchess of Lythikos and the child she'd supposedly aborted at the age of sixteen. Every time she heard it, it was all Olivia could do to keep quiet. With every fiber of her being she wanted to scream that throwing her virginity away on some asshole and then taking a small vacation with her aunt because she was heartbroken didn't mean she'd been pregnant or had an abortion. None of that had any place in the discussion she was trying to have with Drake though. Her focus needed to remain on the very real pregnancy she was dealing with. That they were dealing with.. “Look, I don't want to fight about this. As I said before, I understand this isn't ideal and that you might not be happy with the situation. I just want us to do what's best for this child.”

“That's all I want as well.” Drake rose from the chair, a lock of his dark hair flopping over one eye. The urge to reach out and brush it back was equal parts annoying and confusing. “I guess there's only one thing to do.”

“Is this the part where you try to act all noble and ask me to marry you?” The words left Olivia's mouth before she could stop them. Heat rose in her cheeks, staining the ivory skin a brilliant strawberry. What had she been thinking? Of course Drake wasn't going to propose. By his own admission he could barely stand to be around her. Well, at least when he was sober and clothed. There was also the little issue of him still not believing that his sister had spread those rumors about her years ago.

“No,” chuckled Drake, an amused look shining in his dark eyes. “This is the part where I ask you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Some of the tightness in her chest started to ease. He hadn't taken offense to her slip of tongue and he looked more at ease.

“Yes. Dinner. You know, that meal you eat in the evening.” This was a side of Drake that Olivia was semi-familiar with; she'd seen him banter with Hana and Riley plenty but never experienced it herself. Unless she counted hostile exchanges where one of them stormed off.  

“I know what dinner is, Drake. I'm just surprised you're asking.” Surprised. Shocked. Uncertain how to respond. It would help to know what sort of dinner invitation he was issuing. Was it a sit down to discuss their child's future? Was him being hungry and just not wanting to eat alone? Or...her pulse skipped a beat...was he asking her to dinner?

“People need to see us together,” he explained. “I don't want them knowing this baby was the result of a one night stand. Life's going to be hard enough for this kid...a commoner for a dad...a duchess for a mom...the least we can do is pretend we have something going on.”

The disappoint that filled Olivia wasn't something she wanted to explore. Drake had the right of it. Life for this child would not be easy. And as much as she didn't care what people said about her, she didn't want rumors tainting her child. The fact that Drake had thought of that and figured out a solution made her realize that he was already invested in their child. “You're going to be a great dad,” she said softly.

Surprise flickered across Drake's face. “Really?” Olivia nodded. A wide grin broke out across Drake's face. “It means a lot that you think that. I...I think you're going to be a great mom.”

“Of course I am,” Olivia quipped. Silently, she prayed that her uncertainty wasn't present in her voice. For all her bravado, the idea of motherhood scared the hell out of her. She had no memories of her own mother and her aunt hadn't been very maternal. What if she screwed up? What if the child hated her and loved Drake more? So many fears. So many things that could go wrong. Thank God she had eight months to plan. In the meantime, she needed to focus on these pretend dinner dates Drake was proposing.