Aisling Walsh.

As I sit amongst piles of wrapping paper stacked miles high, I try not to completely combust. The three kids running rabid around me put me on the edge even further, rattling my nerves and making me want to burn the whole house down.

"Move Aisling!" My little sister, Róisín, shrieks. I wonder how she reaches that kind of pitch without shredding her vocal cords.

"Go around me?" I suggest as if it's obvious, because it is.

"Mam!" She wails at the top of her lungs, ready to burst into floods of tears.

"Just walk around her, pet. Remember why Mam told you guys you need to be nice to your sister?" My Father intervenes with a teasing smirk.

"The menstruation?" Seamus pipes up, crossing his arms and nodding knowingly in a way no seven year old has any business doing. 

"Yeah, bud." Dad ruffles his head of hair. "Let your sister off with being moody. She can't help it." 

"I'm not even on my period." I growl, pushing to my feet and starting to gather up the wrapping paper, knowing for certain nobody else will do it.

My heavily pregnant mother waddles in with a tray of drinks, taking off the two cups of tea and passing one to my father whilst cradling the other in her hands.

"Thanks for offering me a cup, Mam." I joke dryly. "You don't like tea, do you love?" She laughs, placing three glasses of milk on my siblings brand new play table in little plastic tea cups. 

"I do. The coffee machine at work's banjaxed so I have to drink tea. It's quite good." I reply, shoving the paper in a bin bag and tossing it aside for later.

"You like coffee?" Dad raises a brow. "I've liked coffee since I was twelve, Da." I sigh impatiently.

Mam passes me a glass, I eye the contents despite already knowing what's inside of it. Milk, just like the kids. 

My parents had me when they were both fourteen in secondary school. So now I'm stuck with three, going on four, much younger whiny siblings. Meaning I'm effectively being treated like an infant along with them because it's easier for them.

"I'm not drinking milk, Mother." I glare at her. "Right well get yourself something then. How am I to know you like tea and coffee now but not milk." She tuts, waving me off.

I pass the plastic teacup to my youngest and favourite sibling, I have no guilt saying or showing that. Because quite frankly Saoirse is the only one who doesn't annoy the living shit out of me. 

Seamus is 7, making him the oldest after me. He acts all smart and better than everyone. I mean he constantly tries to correct me, even though I know I'm right, but my parents make me tell him he's right so I don't 'knock his confidence'. He's a walking pile of shite.

Róisín is probably the worst. She's 5 and utterly infuriating. She has hourly temper tantrums about everything. And she acts out when she doesn't get what she wants. She frequently pulls chunks of my hair out, draws on me in my sleep, wrecks my room and steals my makeup. I know I'm 17 and really have no business arguing with a 5 year old, but if I could kick her so hard she flew across the whole world and landed in the Atlantic ocean, I bloody well would.

Saoirse is the only one I tolerate. She's 4 and she's an angel. She's shy, but also adorably kind and cute when she wants to be. I often read her picture books but change random words to 'poo' because it makes the kid fall over giggling. She's irresistibly cute with curly brown hair and big green eyes.

My parents are both 31, with a 17 year old daughter. Which served for an utterly ridiculously in detail sex talk at the age of 7 for me. I mean seeing the way I've been raised, I wouldn't dream of having a child that young. I don't know if I'll even want kids, because these shit stains have put me off for life. 

It's something I never tell people at school. They know I have much younger siblings, but they all seem to assume it's because my parents had me at a normal time and then the others when they got old. 

I don't think my parents are entirely bad parents or anything, I just think they're more suitable parents for children. And that's not to say they were any good when I was a child. The way I was raised was as more of a younger sibling to them than anything. 

It's like if I were out of the picture they'd make a pretty happy family. I guess they just never really knew what to do with me, when they had a newborn baby on one arm and a 10 year old on the other. So that just resulted in me being treated as one of them. They sort of realised that back when they were teenagers they didn't raise me how they should've so they just.. started again I suppose?

But even as a 17 year old, with a part time job as a nurse and a long list of football achievements, I'm still being given milk in plastic teacups. 

"I'm working tomorrow." I tell my parents in reminder as I gather up the gift bag of the gifts I received this year. Money from my Grandparents. Chocolate from my Aunt's and Uncles. An Irish football team strip from my Great Grandmother. A hand crafted macaroni and glitter glue necklace from all three of my siblings. And makeup from my parents.

Christmas is great, because I get cash from most people who don't know what to give me, and the important things from my Great Grandfather. He used to play football back in the day, so he actually knows the things I want. Dad used to play rugby, so he falls short every year and settles for letting Mam buy me tat. 

"You can't work tomorrow. It's St Stephen's day." Seamus interjects. "People don't just stop dying for the holidays, kid." I tut unsympathetically.

"Don't say the d word!" Mam yelps. "Dick? I didn't say dick?" I furrow my brows. "Language!" Dad jumps in too.

"What d word? Dick? Damn? Dumb?" I gesture for her to tell me. Instead she rushes over to the kids plastic table and attempts to cover all their ears at once.

"Dying!" She mouths over to me dramatically. "Death is a simple part of life, Mother. I'm afraid if your children don't learn what it is, they'll live a very sheltered life." I lecture, taking a sip of her tea, to which Dad swats my hand away.

"Enough. I'm calling the priest, you're not working in that hospital anymore if this is the way you're going to start thinking." Mam scolds theatrically, waving her arms around like a headless chicken.

"You're calling the priest on me? I assumed we'd been banned from the church given the amount of times we've been." I scoff, putting her tea down and tightening my dressing gown.

"You're pushing it." Dad points at me warningly. I raise my hands in surrender.

"If you're working tomorrow you'll have to be in bed early." Mam scolds, folding up one of Róisín new dresses up and subsequently tossing it in a basket to take upstairs later.

"With pleasure." I grin unpleasantly. Christmas dinner is always interesting. I'm shoved into the kids table with my siblings and cousins despite being nearly a legal adult. It always ends in a fight between my aunts and Mother. It seems to just stretch on that little bit too long every year. And my relatives always know just what to say to piss me off.

"Right, it's all hands on deck today, Pet. Da and I will be cooking our contribution to the pot luck, so I'll need you to deal with getting the kiddies ready." Mam tells me sternly, a sympathetic frown on her unwavering face as if she simply has no other choice but to force me into helping.

"I can't. I agreed to meet up with a friend." I lie with a lack of sympathy, popping a sweet in my mouth subtly. "What friend wants to meet up on Christmas?" Dad scoffs, instantly sniffing my lies out like a dog.

"Joey Lynch. It's his birthday." I justify smugly, folding my arms proudly.

"Right, fine. But the Lynch's have kids, so take your siblings and they can play together." Mam decides, happier than she was before I introduced the prospect of leaving. I translate it roughly in my head, 'get the fuck out of my hair so I don't have to deal with my own kids'.

"No can do. Joey specifically said no kids allowed." I say innocently, slipping my dressing gown off and beginning to replace it with a thick winter jacket.

"Even more reason for them to go. No daughter of mine will be shagging anyone for a Christmas or birthday gift. No September babies!" Dad calls out, shuffling to the kids and scooping them up in his arms.

"Get dressed." He mutters to them, sending the three of them up the dampened staircase. 

"Da, they can't come. And I won't be shagging Joey Lynch! I think Molloy would actually kill me with her bare bloody hands if I did." I guffaw, but regardless of my pleas, Mam and Dad are already starting out in the kitchen with their tiramisu, neglecting us.

"For fucks sake." I grumble, slipping in my earphones and hitting play on my iPod. Avril Lavigne begins singing at an ungodly volume in my poor ears.

Truth be told, I wanted no more than an excuse to leave the house for a while and escape the responsibilities. I don't even talk to Joey Lynch much, he's a year older and we only talk in passing, he lives a few houses down. But he's a good alibi when I want time alone because we're cool enough for him to cover for me. I don't think it fazes him even remotely, lying to adults.

But with my siblings here, I'll not get to have my usual walk alone, I'll no doubt end up doing whatever they want.

Just as predicted, less than ten minutes into my walk, Seamus is tugging at my coat. 

"You okay bud?" I force a smile on my face, slipping out my earbud to hear his small voice. It's Christmas, Aisling. Don't be a grinch.

"Can we go to the park?" He grins up at me like a little angel. 

"Tell you what, if you can walk all the way up the big hill without complaining, I'll let you stop in at the park." I challenge, knowing deep down the task is impossible for these three, but taking it to my advantage that they'll try.

"The big hill?" He gapes with a sad glimmer in his eyes like I just crushed his little heart. "Well the good park's on the other side of town isn't it? So if you want to go, we'll need to get up the hill." I remind him sympathetically.

Ballylaggin isn't that bad, but compared to Tommen, it's hell. We have a school that's a total shit show, a police station thats overused as fuck with the amount of crime going on, and a few shitty shops and businesses. We don't even have our own hospital, hence why I have to work in Tommen Hospital just outside of town. 

The four of us make a start up the hill, I'm surprised when they actually make it 75% of the way up before someone starts crying.

"It's okay, Róisín. Don't cry. We'll just head back." I comfort my crying sister. Her little lip wobbles and she drops to a heap on the ground, wailing loudly. 

"Fucks sake." I growl, reaching down to help her up. She slaps my hand away, so I settle for picking her up instead. To my surprise — though nothing is truly surprising with this child — she chomps down on my wrist, clamping her teeth down and refusing to let go.

"What the fuck!" I yelp, snatching my arm away whilst simultaneously ripping out her two front baby teeth. In all fairness, they were both already wobbly.

Róisín starts screaming hysterically, cradling her mouth. "Shite.. sorry Ró.." I say with genuine sympathy, kneeling down to her level and attempting to inspect her mouth.

She slaps me. Partially deserved. And then she starts attempting to claw my eyes out.

"Right!" I yell, grabbing her two wrists tight and holding her still. At this point, people are starting to stare, pointing at me shamefully.

"I will help you, but if you don't stop screaming and hitting I'll leave you to bleed out on the street!" I scold, getting some judgy glares from Mother's passing by. The thought of bleeding out, naturally makes her sob more. Yeah I would definitely be a bad Mum.

"It's alright. Just open your mouth." I hush gently. She scowls at me but eventually opens her mouth.

"Open wide." I order gently, using the training I've had so far as a student nurse to assess the situation. I made it very clear to my boss I would never be a paediatrician, so I've never been trained on kids oral health, but I know the basics from textbooks.

"It's not bleeding, so it should be fine. It hurts now but it'll go away, I promise." I smile gently at her, wiping the tears from her soft cheeks.

"You want a hug to make you feel better?" I ask, she shakes her head no. "Not from you." She growls. I sigh and step back, allowing Seamus and Saoirse to fall into her arms and cuddle her. 

I check my iPod with a sigh. I'm on the 5th song, which means we've been out for 20 minutes already.

I look up at my surroundings, seeing lots of families walking by and shaking their heads, assuming I'm their Mother. 

My eyes meet my friend Declan Shay, marching down the street with his expensive earphones snuggled in his ears. 

"New earphones for Christmas?" I call across the road to him. He looks up confused and then his eyes find me and he grins, pulling out an ear and crossing over to greet me.

"Merry Christmas." He smiles down at me, "You too." I reply, accepting his brief hug. 

Declan's elder brother Michael is engaged to my Auntie Orla. So we're pretty good friends, and his brother is set to become my uncle. But Declan comes from Tommen, so he's rich as fuck.

"Fucking hell." He suppresses a laugh, staring down at my sobbing siblings. Brilliant, all three are crying now.

"Just kill me at this point." I beg. He laughs harder, patting my shoulder.

"Alright Róisín?" He looks down to the dramatic toddler, who immediately bounces to her feet and smiles up at him, minus her two front teeth.

"Dec!" She shrieks, jumping into his arms. "She's being mean." My sister points to me with rage. I don't even argue, knowing it would end in me punching a five year old. That's one of the things I've never done and will never do.

"Where you guys heading?" He directs towards me, standing up with my sister on his hip. How can my friend with no siblings, be better with kids than I am?

"The park." I scowl. And then Declan sets off up the hill, Róisín in his arms, flipping me off over his shoulder.

Saoirse and Seamus look up to me with big sad eyes, looking utterly defeated. I sigh, letting Seamus jump on my back and scooping up Saoirse in my arms to carry them both the rest of the way up the walk.

By the time we make it to the park, I'm coated in a thick layer of sweat, plopping the kids on the ground and dropping down onto a park bench to keep watch over them.

"Sorry about this." I tell Declan sympathetically. "Not a problem, Ais." He shrugs, starting to walk back in the direction he was heading originally.

After an hour of playing, I return home with the kids, only to be absolutely screamed at by my Mother and Father for 'ruining Róisín's teeth'.

Christmas dinner is as awful as ever. I thankfully snag a seat between Auntie Orla and Declan. The three of us judge everyone else at the table. There's 18 people here total this year.

Mam and Dad argue with Auntie Pat and Uncle Oliver about their teen pregnancy. It's been an ongoing argument since the year I was born, the taunting of their irresponsibility. My parents were 14, but Uncle Oliver was 10, which lead to him waiting until marriage. 

The only reason I've not been booted to the kids table this year is because Declan is here. I'm a month younger than him and his parents would never let him sit at the kids table.

My three siblings and two cousins are fighting at the kids table about who got the best teacher for the year. 

Grandma and Grandpa Walsh are begrudgingly glaring at Declan and Michael Shay's parents, judging every word they speak in their talk of travels. Their parents are the same age as my Grandparents, which is a little weird to think about. Maura Smith and Walter Shay have been married for over twenty years, yet they still use their own surnames. It was something about both of them wanting to carry their families name to their death. I really respect Maura for standing her ground instead of letting him win. But since they did it, it's what my Aunt Orla and Michael have decided to do. Michael Shay and Orla Walsh, set to be married in a few months.

The happy couple in question are bickering about wedding things. I'm slightly convinced Orla doesn't even want to marry him with how much shit she talks about him. She's one of my best friends, being only 6 years older than me, so I hear all her rants and rambles.

My Great Grandfather is talking Declan and I through a football game he won back in his prime. I feel like I'm actually there, watching from the stands. I always feel that way when Gramps tells a story. Declan plays rugby, so I'm guessing he's just nodding along to be polite, whereas I listen to every detail, grinning wide as he depicts his winning goal.

By the end of the night, everyone's tipsy except Declan, the kids, Grandma Emma and I. Grandma hasn't drunk once since her brother died at 20 in a drink driving accident. She's still sensitive when we drink too much around her, so nobody drinks more than they should, staying the happy medium between sober and drunk.

I have to tuck my siblings in at night because the second we get home my parents are flopping back on the couch atop one another and falling asleep. I make sure to slip five quid under Róisín's pillow and take her two teeth.

I get to bed fairly late, utterly shattered by the long day. In contrast to my plans of being in bed early for work tomorrow, I end up the last out of anyone to get to sleep.

A/N:

It kills me that this fic will never take off because Boys of Tommen is a fairly niche serious on here. But this is more of a passion project rather than a fic made for popularity. I absolutely love Johnny, and all the characters. I've fallen so in love with this fic, and I hope you will too. But for now, thanks for reading, hole you enejoy.