#but yeah main point i love dark urge i sure fucking wish everyone else could love dark urge too

[orinthered]

it is a bit annoying how much content astarion gets with dark urge compared to literally every other companion. like yeah, i get budget/time constraints, but it's so obvious that astarion was larian's darling and while it's not exactly unwarranted (astarion is a great character, he's easily one of my favourite companions!) it's kind of sickening that astarion gets a whole conversation to talk you out of breaking up with him, reassuring the dark urge that they're not a monster and they're worthy of his love, whereas lae'zel and shadowheart are kinda just like "oh [default sad expression] okay"

to not even make the slightest mention of how wyll in particular was treated with regards to larian's writing (which again, i get — his rewrite was a slapdash addition to the game because he wasn't very popular in early access)

#i cant believe that the same guy who wrote LAE'ZEL also wrote wyll. like they're not even comparable #which is sad. i wish wyll had another year or two in the oven #or that they never rewrote him lol #but yeah main point i love dark urge i sure fucking wish everyone else could love dark urge too #.txt

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Monika/Reader piece for a lovely anonymous commissioner, with a few unfortunate implications coming towards the end. It was nice to write something a little different from my usual style, and I almost forgot how well this game was written... my adoration of Doki Doki Literature Club is rejuvenated, to say the least.

Word Count: 4.0k

TW: Implied Stalking, Physical Threats, and (Non-Graphic) Violence. 

It was a fixation. That was the best word to describe it.

A fixation.

In itself, the game hadn’t been anything special. Shocking, sure, absolutely horrifying at points, but you were seasoned veteran when it came to horror, a connoisseur of all things dark and demented. That was the downside when it came to warnings. All those labels and reviews were necessary, especially with how a game like Doki Doki Literature Club presented itself, but it kept you on the edge of your seat. If you’re waiting for something bad to happen, you’ll never be surprised when something bad does happen. Just disappointed that it didn’t turn out to be worse.

Either way, you played through the dating-simulator, blushing when Sayori confessed and jumping in your seat when Yuri’s obsession boiled over and having all the responses you were supposed to when unfortunate things happened to people who didn’t really exist. You were painfully precise about these things, never daring to veer off the trodden path, even in a game that couldn’t really be failed, and when it came time for your fun to end, you knew what you were supposed to do. You’d delete Monika’s file, restart the game, and watch things play out. That was it. Three easy steps. Three mindless steps.

Three steps you didn’t think you’d ever actually go through with.

You knew you wouldn’t as soon as you saw it. Monika, a character you hadn’t paid any mind to, sitting right in front of the screen, taking up your monitor in her over-done, oppressive glory, the mood only made more dramatic by just how late it’d gotten, how dark your room was by now. It was a picture, you knew that, something someone had drawn and edited into a game, and yet… it wasn’t, at the same time. There was a connection, as unprecedented as it was unearned. An attraction, albeit one you couldn’t name the source of. A fixation.

There was that word again. Fixation. An undeniable, unreasonable fixation.

Monika seemed to know as well as you. The fact that you’d been staring at the same frame for far too long probably helped her to reach that conclusion, pre-scripted or not.

"Hey, have you ever heard of the term 'yandere'?"

You had, in passing. You’d never paid too much attention to it, though, not enough to be able to pick the definition out.

“It's a personality type that means someone is so obsessed with you that they'll do absolutely anything to be with you. Usually to the point of craziness..."

The idea appealed to you, interested you. Lingering on it for a moment, you let yourself fall into the word. Yandere. You liked that. Yandere.

"A lot of people are actually into the yandere type, you know? I guess they really like the idea of someone being crazy obsessed with them. People are weird! I don't judge, though!"

Well… you wouldn’t want someone to be obsessed with you, you were sure. That seemed like too much attention. It’d take too much effort to keep them interested, and it’d probably be dangerous to entertain a stalker like that… Yeah, you were sure. You didn’t want anyone to be obsessed with you.

But, Monika didn’t exist. She wasn’t dangerous. She didn’t have anyone else to give attention to, and you wouldn’t have to worry about her judging your interests. Even if someone found out, you could just blame it one a glitchy file that won’t close. There wasn’t a risk.

“It's not like I could ever actually kill a person… Just the thought of it makes me shiver. But, come on… everyone's killed people in games before. Does that make you a psychopath? Of course not."

Right. It was just a game. Liking something fictional didn’t make you weird or perverted or… a Yandere for Yanderes, you supposed. It was a dirty little secret. A guilty pleasure. It was normal. Or, it wasn’t anymore abnormal that the disgusting investment a lot of people had in blood-splatter and gore, anyway.

“But if you do happen to be into the yandere type… I can try acting a little more creepy for you. Then again, there's already nowhere else for you to go, or anyone for me to get jealous over."

She didn’t have anyone else in that isolated, tiny world of hers. It would’ve been lonely, if she was real, and for whatever reason, your empathy found that fact too heart-breaking to ignore. And you didn’t really want her to ‘act more creepy’, she was fine as she was, so… that made it a little better, didn’t it? You might’ve just liked the companionship, how close she wanted to be to you. It was an artificial intimacy, and who wouldn’t like intimacy they didn’t have to return?

“Is this a Yandere girl's dream?"

If that's a Yandere’s dream, then your situation must be a Yandere-Lover’s dream. There was no harm, no foul, very low risk and a very high reward, even if it did come in the form of a one-sided, directionless conversation. You thought about finishing the game, speeding through the process and never bothering to think about Monika or Yanderes or Doki Doki Literature Club again.

You thought about it, rolling the idea over in your mind like an antique in need of inspection. You thought about it, scanning over Monika one more time, and turned your monitor off without closing the game. You’d decide tomorrow, before class, or when you got home. A few days of self-indulgence wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?

Least of all Monika.

Least of all you.

~

You didn’t close the game.

Not before you left, not after class, and certainly not that night, when the urge hit you to play though her dialogue until your eyes forced you to stop. You didn’t bother reading, the next morning, something you sorely came to regret as you sat in your first class of the day, little to do save for staring at the clock and wondering what you should do after school, despite already knowing what the outcome would most likely be. Your teacher was out, today, for the first time all year. She’d bragged that she never missed a day, but you didn’t care enough to raise anything more than a few curious questions. Concern was too much, considering how often accidents happen.

“Do you have a pen?”

A light voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you glanced towards the desk in front of yours, immediately meeting eyes with the girl seated there. You’d never noticed her before, not to any exceptional extent, brown hair and murky eyes making for an unremarkable combination. You simply nodded, reaching down and beginning to search through your bag, talking to fill the silence. “She didn’t leave work for us, right?” You asked, sticking your hand into a random pocket and coming up empty. It was weird, but you tried another. Monika always had a pen on her, it was part of her character design. “I think the assignment on the board was old… it was there yesterday, too.”

She chuckled, as if you’d made a joke. A funny one, judging by how long the noise lasted. “I know that, but…” She trailed off, just long enough to lean onto your desk, attempting to peer over it. “Clubs are demanding, aren’t they? I’m not even a council member, but Debate still has me doing more work than the President.” She let out a heavy sigh, as if the optional dedication had been forced onto her. “It’s all supposed to be extemporaneous -- unplanned, y’know? That’s what used to make it exciting. Everyone was speaking from the heart and everyone minded their own business. It was a competition, but it wasn’t personal.”

You hummed, lightly, closing that compartment and opening another. “And it is, now?”

“Oh, definitely.” There was a subtle emphasis on every other word, it seemed, a passion for nothing in particular breaching whatever she felt like talking about. You could see why she must’ve made a good speaker. “That’s what happens when you start thinking about things too much. They started announcing the topics ahead of time, then people started writing out their arguments, and now you can’t take a side without attacking the other.” There was a pause, a tap to her cheek. A moment to think. “You have to phrase it a certain way, or else it is personal. If you keep things objective, the other side will follow along. It’s amazing how suggestive people can be, when you make an effort to guide them.”

“I wish you would guide me in the direction of a fucking pen,” You mumbled, eliciting another giggle, the sound muffled by a palm over her mouth. “I’m sorry, it usually doesn’t take this long. It’s like they all just, I don’t know, phased out of existence or something.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The disregard came casually, without hesitation. You couldn’t help but wonder if she was as dedicated to her cause as she seemed. “Check the main pocket. You probably kept dropping them in the first place you saw without noticing.” You blinked, glancing up to frown at her, but she just shrugged. “A lot of people do it. If you haven’t caught on, I don’t have a whole much to do ‘cept watch them.”

You didn’t pry further. This was the first time you’d heard her voice, too, so it was fair to assume she wasn’t much of a socialite. “About your club,” You said, bringing the conversation back to a topic that didn’t have to do with how often she stared at your classmates. “Why don’t you quit? You don’t seem to like it very much.”

“Who knows?” She frowned, closing her eyes well she spoke. “I’d have to find another to join, and there’s no guarantee I won’t just keep running into the same problem over and over again. I think about making my own, sometimes, just because I’d be able to make rules against that kind of thing.”

Again, you brightened, and not only because your fingers found something tubular and plastic. “You want to start a club?”

“Yeah, but it’d have to be about something fun.” She rolled her wrist, not noticing when you held out a thoroughly abused pen. “Like, about music or art or…”

“Literature?” You suggested, eagerly.

She scowled, shaking her head, muttering something about her distaste. She said it’d been months since she read a book, years since she’d written something original. Even the idea was alien, to her.

And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be disheartened.

She’d taken the pen, after all.

~

“Whatcha starin’ at?”

Her tone was playful, posture following in suit, the girl rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited for you to snap out of your stupor. You hadn’t meant to zone out, to stare at the dense collection of apartments and condominiums in front of you, but there was just something so familiar about the collection, something you couldn’t put your finger on. But, a hand waving in front of your eyes brought your attention back to the real world, regardless of whether or not you wanted it too.

You were still getting used to having another person around, honestly. Your new friend took a shining to you quickly, settling to let you trail after her like a lost puppy whenever you didn’t have something better to do. She’d offered to show you a shortcut to your train-stop, today, but you were having your doubts about how well she knew the route. It felt like you’d been walking down this same road for ages, now. Like it was a loading screen you didn’t have the connection to overcome.

You took a step forward, standing a little straighter. Attempting to check if the buildings would still be there when you changed perspectives. “Has this neighborhood always been here?” You asked, tilting your head. Still there. “I don’t remember seeing it, until now.”

“As long as I’ve been alive,” She replied, not seeming to take you seriously. “Besides, how would you know? You lock yourself up whenever we’re not in class.”

You huffed, sending a quick glare in her direction, the diversion taking more effort than it should’ve. “I get out occasionally, I’ve just been--”

“Busy with a new game?” She rolled her eyes, setting a swift pace and signaling for you to follow. “It’s not a ‘new game’ if you’ve been working on it for the past two weeks. I’m going to come over and finish it for you myself, one day.”

You were tempted to interrupt her, to contradict her diagnosis, but… you had been playing through Monika’s dialogue for a while. There were so many options, so many routes and monologues, but you’d exhausted most of them. She didn’t hold the same… uniqueness she once did, for lack of a better way to put it. You certainly weren’t tired of playing yet, but you were starting to realize you would be, one day, possibly sooner than you’d anticipated. You’d need something new to focus on, something new to satisfy that itch in your chest, the one that seemed to form every time you were away from your computer for too long. You wondered if there was something similar - Yandere was a genre, technically. There had to be more content, even if you had to look for it.

You resolved to do a more in-depth search once you got home.

“...I’m working on it,” You mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek. Hesitantly, you scanned over her, speeding up to stay at her side as something caught our attention. “When did that start?”

She raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair self-consciously, already aware of what you were talking about. It was tied back, today, done up painfully tightly and secured with a white hair-band. Her hair was too short for it to come off as elegant or sophisticated, but the way it swung as she walked was cute, and the effort that’d been put into pinning each strand into submission was admirable. She caught onto your approval quickly, locking eyes with you as she spoke. “I’m trying to impress you, idiot.”  

You blinked. She blinked. You blushed, stuttering out something stupid, and she punched you in the side, laughing.

“I’m kidding, (Y/n), don’t freak out on me.” You tried, unsuccessfully, to do as she demanded, earning you another blow, this one coming in the form of an elbow thrown into your rib cage. “What? Can you only accept confessions from 2-D girls, now?”

“It’s just…” You shoved your hands in your pockets, attempting to hide your distress. “It’s just different. I wasn't expecting it!”

“Exactly, it’s different.” She smiled, throwing the offending pony-tail over her shoulder. “Little changes have been doing me a lot of good, lately.”

~

‘One day’ had come too soon.

You knew it would, eventually. You’d been expecting it, in fact. Back-ups had been prepared, a new game and an older series to watch and a few stories on the… riskier side, made by people with too much time and similar interests, and for all intents and purposes, you were ready. It was natural. People got tired of things, of characters and plots and seeing the same face every day, and you knew you would get tired of Monika too, eventually. She was wonderfully written, but no character could be entertaining for… how long had it been? A month? Two?

You needed to check the date more often. Time always seemed to get weird, slowing down and skipping ahead so awkwardly when you spent most of the day in front of a screen.

You guessed the date didn’t matter, though. You were still in the same position, either way, your head resting on one hand while the other laid over your mouse. You’d been staring down Monika’s character file for far too long, but not nearly long enough, at the same time.

It felt like this should be a bigger deal. Like there should be a ceremony, a commemoration, something to mark the occasion. Should you celebrate? Play a funeral dirge? Every action felt inappropriate, but none felt quite as inappropriate as not taking one at all. Absentmindedly, you quit the game, a reaction based on reflex alone. You had a few times, in the beginning, but you still checked Monika’s dialogue. A parting interaction, you rationalized. The final interaction.

"Okay. I'm just going to accept the fact that you need to quit the game once in a while. I'm starting to get used to it, anyway."

Oh, god, she sounded like a clingy girlfriend. You guessed that’s what she was, but she was never this… passive-aggressive.

"Besides, it makes me happy that you always come back..."

You perked up, at that, your favor easily swayed. Maybe you could wait one more day, just give this whole thing another shot--

“But I shouldn’t have to be happy when you come back.”

You hadn’t pressed anything, that time. She shouldn’t have been talking.

“I know you have your own life, and I know you need breaks, but… it’s a really horrible feeling. And since I try to make you feel the best you can feel, you should want to make me feel good, too!”

Except, you didn’t want to make her happy. She was a fictional character, one you didn’t want to be lectured by. Monika seemed to catch onto that as soon as you thought it, though.

“And since you have to want to make me happy… it must be a glitch in my character file. That makes sense. Whenever it happens, it almost feels like I've been killed or something."

It was meta, a little concerning, but your empathy had been all-but drained dry. It wasn’t like you’d felt bad for leaving Monika in the first place, honestly, but an appeal to that non-existent sympathy wouldn’t earn her many points.

"If you could figure out what's causing that, I'll love you forever~"

Yeah, right. Sure she would. Monika would absolutely love you, forever and always, to eternity and beyond. May death do you part.

You didn’t hesitate, this time, deleting her character file and exiting the game. 

You didn’t really feel like playing through the final scene. ~

How long it’d been since someone used this part of the school?

‘Empty’ didn’t quite cover the expanse of nothingness in front of you. The floor was tinted grey with scuff-marks and dirt, unused tables pushed against the walls and chairs that weren’t fit to be sat in stacked on top, forming barricades between shutter-covered windows and yourself. The door had stuck, despite the key in your hand, and everything seemed to make a truly awful creaking sound when touched. The only thing that looked new (relatively new, at least) was the teacher’s desk, dark faux-wood unscarred by whatever’d torn through the rest of the room. Even the lights seemed to feel the effect, dim and flickering, some already succumbing to the pure dullness that permeated the air. It was abandoned. Desolate.

More similar to another classroom you’d acquainted yourself with than you felt comfortable admitting.

“Some people say it’s haunted,” She started, closing the door behind her. You heard the ring of keys jingle, the lock sliding back into place, but you didn’t bother turning to face her. “A lot of people, actually. Rumor’s that a group of underclassmen girls used to sneak at night and do all sorts of satanic stuff. It’s why no one uses this building, anymore.”

“They have to be joking,” You countered, taking a step towards the teacher's desk. You ran a finger along the surface lazily, wiping the resulting dust build-up onto your shirt. “That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Someone probably just thought it’d make a good campfire story.”

She approached before replying, her bag having been discarded somewhere along the way. With silence as unusual as it was between the two of you, you couldn’t help but laugh, turning and getting ready to tease her for being scared or believing in something so supernatural. You opened your mouth, but the joke died and turned to ash on your tongue before it could make it past your teeth.

There she was, like you knew she’d be. Hair up, uniform perfect, and a bright smile pulling at the edges of her lips. As cheery as it ever was. As blinding as it ever was.

The carving knife in her hand almost rivaled its shine.

She took another step towards you, and you took one back, hitting the desk abruptly. “You’re acting like you’d know anything about the real-world, (Y/n).” She was giggling, again, flexing her grip on the knife’s hold. You considered attempting to run past her, making a break for it, but the key was still in her blazer’s pocket. You glanced down, searching for your phone, but its outline was gone and its weight was equally as absent.

Like it’d disappeared into thin air.

It hadn’t, though. Your aggressor laughed one more time, holding up the device in her free hand before dropping it to the floor and crushing it under her heel, the resulting crack sending a spike of something dark into your chest.

“You don’t know shit about the real world,” She said, waving the blade around haphazardly. Another step forward, this one all-but closing the distance between the two of you. “All you think about are… games and fake girls, never what’s right in front of you. We’ve known each other for four years, but I had to hospitalize someone before you’d do so much as look at me.”

Four years. Four years. You hadn’t noticed her before a few months ago. “Listen, I just didn’t think we were that close--”

“I know.” This time, the knife came down. It missed your side, but not enough to save your shirt, a tear forming and something crimson spreading outward from the small cut. The sting came a second later. You wanted to move, to scream, to run, but it was all you could do to remember to breathe as she went on. “You didn’t think we were close. You didn’t think I was worth getting close to. That’s why I started wearing this fucking costume.” She ran a hand through her pony-tail, fingers catching on her hair-tie. The band was practically ripped from her scalp, snapping before she discarded it. “I’m not even a brunette. I thought dying my hair might get your attention, and… it did. Of course it did.” She paused, shrugging, and you remembered how to inhale. “But, that doesn’t matter now.”

You relaxed, ever so slightly. “It doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t.” Her grin was back in a moment, your hopes dropping as soon as they’d arose. “Because the two of us are going to stay here until we know each other, or… until you know me. As well as I know you, at least. Then, we’re going to leave and I’m going to be your girlfriend. It’ll be so sweet, right?” The tension in her shoulder’s lessened, dissolving. But, that edge was still there, and you doubted it’d dissipate any time soon. “You probably don’t even know my name. I’ve never heard you use it before.”

Your eyes widened, the realization hitting you later than it should’ve. “Monika?”

“No, not Monika,” She answered, softly, her smile taking on a more disappointing note. She brandished her beloved knife, and your heart dropped into your stomach. “But, you don’t have to worry about getting it wrong. We’re going to work at it until you love me just as much as you love her.”

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompt #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere scenerio #yandere scenarios #commission #Commision #writing commission #yandere commission #yandere commision #writing comission #yandere comission #doki doki literature club #doki doki literature club imagines #yandere doki doki literature club #ddlc monika #yandere ddlc #yandere monika #monika x reader #yanderecore #yandere core

[quietlysatan]

An Invincible Summer - ShanaStoryteller, AO3

Link: Here!!

Rating: T for read the warnings, but don’t worry too much because of them

Favorite Quote(s): I legit wanna tattoo this next quote on me somewhere

"Oh, the things that can be accomplished through ignorance of their impossibility," 

And this Straight Up Fact

“There’s no such thing as cheating as long as you win,” Natsu says, and the brat’s not wrong.

This one’s just funny

“Chouza,” Inoichi forces himself to say evenly, “Your teachings produced Ebisu and goddamned Gai.”

“Genma’s pretty normal though,” Chouza sighs, “I never could get through to that boy.”

Gently Gai casually caring about Kakashi’s well-being is my entire reason for living, speaking of which if someone wants to come be my Gai that’d be really fucking nice because us Kakashi’s don’t do too well on our own

He hesitates, but says, "Not that I do not find your newfound mentorship to be a most youthful endeavor, but -"

"I don't know," Kakashi interrupts his friend, "I met her while she was taking her genin exam and she, I don't know, adopted me or something. She just keeps showing up."

Gai nods thoughtfully, "Stubbornness is a useful skill to have when trying to cultivate a friendship with you." Kakashi elbows the other man, but doesn't protest besides that. "She's a good cook."

And this one because I love it when people Get It, ya’know?

That's really why he won't say anything, why he won't reveal that the Kyuubi's container and the fourth Hokage's child is still alive: they already killed him once. Naruto and Shikamaru are the same age, they would have been in the same class, and the idea that anyone could want to harm his innocent, precious son makes his blood boil 

And this one, for accuracy

"This sounds like a most youthful endeavor. I will bring Anko! She will fan the flames of youth in our young Konoha blossom!"

Both Itachi and Kakashi look at Gai, horrified. "Please don't," Itachi says weakly, like he knows it'll fall on deaf ears but he has to try anyway.

"Don't worry," Gai attempts to assure them, going into his Good Guy pose, "They will produce youthful flames of feminine excellence!"

"They're going to burn down Konoha," Kakashi says flatly.

Gai's hair and teeth sparkle in the sunlight, and he doesn't attempt to deny it.

Another important one

"The world is a terrible place," she says, and she has to swallow before she speaks again, "and it's full of terrible people. But I don't have to be one of them." 

I love that Natsu-chan has great balance, this is my number one favorite character trope, and I wish more people would write it

She bends down to look at him upside down, and Itachi can feel that she's not using chakra to stick onto him, and sometimes her balance just isn't logical. 

I just love the idea of tiny genius Naruto, and I love that Natsu-chan is a seal master at like, fucking seven and a half lol

Itachi knows it's actually far more complicated than that, but just as he does not tell her minutia of the past shinobi wars in their history lessons, she does not overcomplicate her explanations of sealing. Usually he's grateful for that, but when she appears to break every known law to sealing and chakra, he's not.

"That's," he blinks and he's not going to tell her it's impossible because it clearly isn't, "new," he settles on.

A mood honestly

Inoichi now feels the urge to bang his head against the table top, because 'a huge pain' to Natsu is 'literally impossible' to everyone else.

Another mood honestly

Inoichi watches his former genin dig in with resignation. “When are you guys going to start picking up the tab? Feeding you all isn’t cheap you know.”

Hana swallows her mouthful, “Sensei, I am but a lone healer’s apprentice –“

“I have been a chunin less than a month,” Kabuto pouts, wounded, “and already you seek to profit-“

“Do you have any idea how much sealing paper and ink costs?” Natsu demands.

“Okay, okay,” Inoichi grumbles, but it’s not very effective considering he’s smiling, “I take it back, jeez.”

Okay so, since this is a 100k+ word fic, I’ve been doing this thing lately literally just now on this fic review where I only feature quotes from the first chapter (Depending on length.) but, I’m making an exception because I’ve never seen these three characters and my thoughts on them summed up so well by someone I don’t know which is to say anyone, no one I know cares about my interests really lol

"Maybe a little," he admits grudgingly, "Sakura's really smart, but she acts dumb for some reason. And her endurance is really bad. She probably would have been failed on that alone if she didn't have such good aim with shuriken. And Sasuke's good at like, everything, I still don't get why he didn't graduate earlier. He's just so-" Kiba rubs his hand over his face.

"So what?" Hana prompts, even though she's heard this particular complaint before.

"Sad," the genin sighs, "He's miserable all the time, and he works hard and if you yell at him for long enough he'll work with you, but - crap, I don't know. He's got this really great poker face so you think he's just a big jerk, but I can smell his emotions, the big idiot, and he's just this sad lonely kid who won't listen to anyone."

Hana hums, because if she opens her mouth she'll probably start cursing the Hokage and his dumb rules and his dumb ideas, and that is not the type of thing that leads to a long life.

Just one last quote because dudes, guys, pals, friends of mine it’s important and you should all stop and read it.

 “Thanks for being cool with – everything. I’m really happy you’re not mad at me for not being honest with you.”

“You are my friend,” Gaara says warmly, “and you have always been honest about that.”

Words & Chapter(s): 136,306 words of greatness, and 6 full chapters of nicely done completion

Summary: When Naruto is five, he's gutted by a drunken civilian and presumed dead.

Six months later a girl with ash pale hair and dark blue eyes enters the Academy. 

(Guys I swear on my cool as fuck username, and all around internet personality as practically satan and probably Lucifer and whatnot that nobody we like stays dead or severely injured)

Score: 13, this is one of my favorites for a reason, this is actually my second technically third time rereading this in as many weeks

Pairing(s): Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, background Haku/Zabuza, but don’t worry anything you’re thinking of is addressed quite nicely in the fic ultra background but still there’s a lot of relationships and I’m not going to tag them all

Warning(s): Naruto technically dies more than once because this is Naruto we’re talking about but they also technically don’t??? You gotta read it, but basically temporary character death, only the bad guys stay dead in this one.

Nobody knows that Naru-chan lived so there’s that angst for you, however, to be fair it’s not like this whole story is just characters mourning and crying and whatnot, at this point it’s mostly just passing thoughts and memories which, again, to be fair, does almost feel worse at times... Huh, regardless it’s not overly angsty

Kakashi is adopted whether he likes it or not by Natsu-chan, we love both of our emotionally fucked over fair-haired ninja in this house so you won’t have to worry about that sorta fic coming outta nowhere from me BTW... but anyways, Kakashi freaks out a bit, much like the abused dog he always reminds me of, but Natsu is the sweetest and most gentle, yet forceful person he could’ve possibly caught the attention of. (This is canon)

The Akatsuki are still bad, BUT ITACHI ISN’T technically SO WHO FUCKING CARES!!!! (The Massacre still happens tho...)

Mentions of The Flower District and what that implies, and also things a Kunoichi might definitely do

Oh my fucking god the Hyuga... Who would willingly do something so horrible as that? Of all the things... Warning for... The Hyuga branch family situation, it’s dealt with nearly as soon as we are informed but, gods, my blood ran cold, and my face whited out, my sister thought someone had died when she saw my face haha,,, who the fuck does this? And do they die? In canon I mean? I think I only watched up to the chunin exams or Pein’s attack, I can’t remember which tho...

Natsu cries because people are nice to her sometimes. And honestly that’s fair, I burst into to tears once because I imagined someone kissing my forehead softly so, Natsu is completely valid... Sidenote, I’m touch-starved and have no cure for this beyond younger siblings and my cat because I don’t have the ability to ask my mom for a hug without literally gross sobbing and I have A Thing about embarrassment sooooo... yeah if anyone has some therapy justu for me that’d be nice

Mentions of Gross Men that apparently want to have Natsu’s increasingly growing collection of the absolute most dangerous people she can befriend pay them a visit. And by that, I mean an old fuckwit has the gall to leer at a TEN-YEAR-OLD and a FUCKING THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD!!!!!! Ugh, I hate those kinds of pathetic worms.

On that note, there is technically underaged things going on, but they are also Ninja soooo???? They’ve killed people and are technically in their version of an army, and by the laws of their lands they’re all adults, actually I’m pretty sure by shinobi life expectancy Kakashi is middle-aged, Inoichi is a senior citizen, and Hiruzen is a walking corpse tbh

Alcoholism??? I don’t really think it is but I’m not sure, but some characters do drink often, and usually when stressed courtesy of Natsu and co. but still... I don’t actually know if it is because it doesn’t actually happen much, more like every few weeks/months

Mentions of past sexual assault, and attempted past sexual assault, neither happen in fic or to any of our main characters, the experiences are not graphic though they do talk about it in chapter five, it’s not to graphically described.

Also, a bunch of off-screen lemon

A Thing (That I copy-pasted from the author so that all of you will see it and not say a single word against it.): If you thought Natsu was too mature for her age - she has seen and been through some really horrible shit. But also: my cousin has, since he was like 4, hung out with kids that were about 4 years older than him because those were the kids that were in his neighborhood or whatever. Point being, even after he started school, his main group of friends was consistently older than him. He very quickly adapted to that, and to this day (he's 12) hangs out with that same group, and considers children his own age 'kids' because he adapted to the behavior of the group he was surrounded with. I hardly believe Natsu would be any different.

And also

4. Quick little note because some people mentioned liking my portrayal of the Sandaime. I base his decisions/motivations (and Itachi and Danzo's to a certain extent) around this quote by Clementine von Radics: "It is so hard to live half monster, to hurt everything you love by trying to protect it wrong."

Pros: Watching Natsu just casually disregard the idea of gender with little to no thought is the greatest thing anyone will ever experience beyond, I dunno, the party we’re all gonna collectively throw when soggy Cheeto dies (I still haven’t decided which song we should make chart number one when that happens)

Given that I’ve technically read this three times you should already know the writing is fucking amazing, like, whoa, mind blown type of amazing, like, wow, so good, I usually hate rereading something I’ve read before, and especially so soon after the fact but geez Louis is this fic amazing

Natsu is just as easy to fall in love with as Naruto, and they are still the same people with slightly different personalities as is to be realistically expected with a situation like Naru’s was.

Also, GENDERFLUID REPRESENTATION DONE FUCKING AMAZINGLY IS ALWAYS A PLUS!!!!!!! 

The author manages to convey a very realistic genderfluid character in an incredibly believable manner, while also still keeping Natsu/Naruto themself. They’re still the Naruto that we knew and loved, but they’re different too, as is to be expected. when Natsu is a girl no-one stumbles, she is a girl without a doubt, even the author doesn’t trip up on societal expectations, and when Naruto is a boy there is next to immediate acceptance of this fact with absolutely zero (0) Zero bullshit from transphobes, which, as a genderfluid person myself, is always fucking nice to see. You’ll have to read it to know more though.

Natsu running around creating seals is honestly the greatest thing ever, and the end scene with the village made me cry a lil bit, and dammit this fic is so fucking good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, there’s a scene, where Natsu heals Kakashi, and the way the author handled explaining the intimate not sexual relationship between two of my favorite characters ever is just, so subtly beautiful, the sibling-bond these two have is beautiful, and a part of me wants to cry sometimes when I read it, and usually do cry a little when I get to this scene, and only partially because of what happened directly before it.

I love the way everybody just gets up and moves past their trauma and just decides to politely ignore it, oh they still have it, they still deal with it, but they care, and they are careful about it, and even though it hurts them like a knife-wound to the kidney in slow-motion they still get back up and keep fucking going. That’s hella admirable and I can respect that, I can respect even more that they slowly but surely let themselves heal as time moves on. This fic is beautiful on so many different levels but it is this one perhaps, that is the most magnificent. Perhaps.

Sasuke is adorable and depressing and adorable and I love it. And Ino is still a bad bitch but she’s a kid so we only see it like a handful of times in the first two chapters. The Akimichi/Yamanaka/Nara are all great, and I occasionally pity Inionchicause like, he’s putting up with a well-informed seal genius that’s still hyper, a slightly frightening medic-kunoichi with giant dogs, another slightly more frightening medic-nin who isn’t the greatest fighter but damn can he be intimidating and also really good at pointing out “Certain Things” while judging you about them which, honestly, is my greatest pastime. Itachi is so sweet and then so tragic oh my gods, and Natsu never even considers giving up on him. Kakashi is so sweet, and he slowly becomes less of a beaten dog as time goes on and I just love all of these characters.

Except for Hiruzen. Well, no, I still love this particular incarnation of Hiruzen, for all that he’s got one hell of a pathetically small backbone, I get why he does shit. But that doesn’t make me happy. Still, he’s better than dumbledouchebag. Granted that’s not difficult, and you might have to actively put an effort in to be as bad as that guy, but still. Plus, his hearts in the right place, and he’s less about the greater good then... certain disgraces to teaching and being in charge of a large group of people... Hiruzen is actually kinda sweet and admits he has issues and actually has an excuse that’s understandable for the shit that he pulls which is great, if sadly uncommon.

Anyways, Sakura is terrifying, and I remembered why I had a crush on her. She’s so badass, also, she ends up Princess Mononoke basically which, honestly, is fucking great, and the best thing we could’ve asked for, I love all of these characters so much!!!

Aesthetic: It reminds me off beefy stew (We don’t eat beef, so we used vegan soy beef stuff instead, and it was just as good.) it reminds me of the warmth, and friendship, and home that I felt after my mom and I make dinner together with nothing but a little music on and jokes passing back and forth between us. It reminds me of scraping my knee and having my friends help me to their mom, it reminds me of loyalty and compassion. It reminds me of dancing outside at night, alone in the forest with nothing but the moon for company and wind for music. It reminds me of the first time I realized that I could love someone despite their gender and that I should despite mine. It reminds me of finely spun handmade lace, and all it’s delicate while also reminding me of the sturdiest of steels, it reminds me of so much. It reminds me of acceptance, and understanding, and so much more. If I were to say what food and drink it reminds me of, I’d say chicken noodle soup, and sweet lavender-lemon tea.

Music Aesthetic: So, I made a playlist while I was reading this the first time around, and instead of a gif or twenty like I would usually prefer to do I’m going to add that playlist. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbhXmTSBbAyjk0m1b4BZUp3t0RHL83LDK

But if I were to add a gif or two it’d be these

Because something about this fic reminds me of rainy days with tea and baggy clothes.

Every time Natsu/Naruto decided to fight ever, to be honest.

#sasunaru #naruto x sasuke #Sasuke x Naruto #Satan has great taste in: SasuNaru #kakairu #Satan has great taste in: KakaIru #long fic #Long Read #over 100k #Naruto #It's another Naruto one #sasuke #fem!naruto #sorta #genderfluid!naruto #give it a chance #trust me #fic rec

[todefine-istolimit]

It Don’t Run in Our Blood- Chapter 4

Au: royalty

Rating: Mature

Ships: royality, dukexiety, loceit

Warnings: major character death (but not really), sympathetic dark sides

Summary: Roman is a prince in love with Patton, a commoner. Remus is a knight who has fallen in love with his trusted servant Virgil. Logan is the royal adviser who’s Love was lost at sea (But he’s not really dead.  think princess bride here). Now the trouble is navigating laws, love, and social conventions, all while carrying around shiny swords! ((Title from Royals by Lorde))

If you prefer to read it on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602698/chapters/51510424

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: this is the epitome of fluff and angst, I’m almost sorry

They arrived at the small mansion in the woods that often served as a retreat for the royal family or their friends.

This was where Logan and Roman and Remus had first met. At the time Logan had been unaware of Roman and Remus being princes. He assumed they were at best they were the spoiled children of some nobleman and as such, had treated them in much the same way he treated the children of most noblemen, with disdain and annoyance.

They had taken a shine to his "abrasive" attitude and since then had considered him a good friend. Roman had even put in a good word for Logan when he was trying to get the job as the royal advisor.

They had spent their adolescence together in this house and spent many summer days accompanied by only maids and butlers as their respective parents had been too busy to join them. And today it was being used as a clandestine rendezvous point in which Roman could spend time with Patton without the prying eyes of the people or the council.

Remus and Virgil, quite ridiculously, hadn't spoken at all for the rest of the ride. This left Logan with another few hours to contemplate the fact that he would be spending the next three days playing the proverbial fifth wheel. There was a couple who was so hopelessly infatuated with each other that they shared a horse coming up, and another pair who were so clearly attracted to each other that they refused to talk to each other half the time and the other half they're insulting each other. 

“Oh, joy,” Logan thought with an eye roll. He pressed his eyeglasses further up the bridge of his nose.

This would be... unpleasant to say the least. 

Perhaps he could busy himself with some pointless activity such as looking for the rooms they had frequented as children. Yes, that would be a suitable activity until Remus and Virgil were ready to go hunting. There was always the room where he and the young princes had painted a mural of the stars. 

Logan remembered laying out where each star should be and designing a paint that shimmered to an accurate extent. The princes had done the painting as Logan was not a fan of staining his clothes.

As soon as they got the horses stabled Logan started to walk away to search for which of the many rooms it was in. There were many hallways it was easy to forget one’s way.

Virgil was the only one who noticed him go at first, "Uh sir, where are you going?"

Roman stuck out his lip in a half pout, “Hey yeah Lo, where are you going?"

"I was... merely hoping to find the mural we made," Logan said feeling as if he needed to explain further but couldn’t really. He just felt an ache in his chest he would prefer not to explore. It was much easier to blame it on the higher elevation of the mansion in comparison with the seaside palace. 

Roman frowned a moment, "Oh, okay... well... we'll see you?"

“Of course.”

~ sometime later~

Logan hovered outside the kitchen for a few moments. He smirked as he heard the others inside, cooking their own meal for once. 

Well, actually, he supposed, this was a common occurrence for Patton and Virgil and it did sound like the two of them had pretty soundly taken control of the kitchen.

"No, no Roman honey you need to keep stirring this while I add the sugar. Don't worry when it's done it will be as sweet as you!"

Roman groaned, "Patton if you don't stop saying cute things I will physically die."

"Sire, " Virgil said frustration leaking into his tone, "Stop kicking the oven, we have bread in there."

A clang rang out, then Remus’s voice, "Hmm how bout I stop when you stop calling me sire? We aren’t at the palace, this isn’t work. You can use my name. Call me Remus just once that's all I ask until we're having unleavened bread.”

“Sir, I really don't think that's a good idea I think we should maintain some professional distance.”

Remus pleaded, lovesickness plain in his voice, “Just one time is all I ask. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable I just wanted to hear you say my name one time. Alright, I do want you to feel uncomfortable, just a little, it would be funny, but that's not my main goal! Come on we've known each other for a year now and you still can't manage to call me by name when there are absolutely no consequences!”

Logan entered the kitchen then. He wanted to see what people's facial expressions were like. He could feel the tension through the door.

They all turned to look at him, Roman spoke boisterously, “There you are! We've been waiting for you! Well, we started cooking so I guess we weren't waiting technically but we were going to call you when we finish that you could eat with us!”

Logan blinked in surprise, “Thank you for preparing dinner I thought we were going to each prepare something for ourselves.”

“Don't be silly! We’re all here together, why not help each other out?” Patton said with a smile on his face. Logan understood why Roman liked Patton so much. He was kind even to people who didn’t truly need it. 

Logan, for example, had no reason to feel badly, he was rich, had friends, had a career he found fulfilling. He had no reason to feel empty and sad, not that he did, of course, but just as an example of a negative emotion. He had no need for Patton’s kindness and yet he gave it.

“Very well, thank you,” He spoke calmly despite the feeling that was still welling up inside his chest the feeling of simultaneously finally belonging and missing something important to you. He pushed it aside firmly as he did every day.

“Hey there, Lo, I’m trying to get Virgil to say my name. Could you tell him to do it? Maybe he'll listen to you.”

Logan exchanged glances with Virgil, Virgil’s eyes were pleading with him to let it drop.

Logan shrugged, “If he won't listen to a royal then who will he listen to?”

Virgil shot him a grateful glance and masked it quickly with a grin, “Sorry you're just going to have to bear my respect for a little longer, Sire.”

“Will you at least call me ‘idiot’ or something??” Remus begged.

“Brother dear, why are you so intent on being insulted or disrespected?” Roman asked strolling over and ruffling Remus’s hair. Remus smacked at the offending hand like an offended cat.

Logan sat down at the table to watch further exchanges such as this one it was all comfortable as if this was what they were always meant to do. The only thing distancing Logan from the other was the fact that he had no romantic interest here. Or anywhere for that matter. Logan had no one. He lost the only person he had ever felt that way for.

He resisted the urge to growl aloud at his looping thoughts.

Why was he thinking about that so much today?

Why couldn't he stop?

He needed to stop. 

It was time for him to help Roman get through this difficult conversation anyway. That was a good distraction, taking care of Roman always had been.

They all settled down to eat (the bread was not edible but everything else was fine) and once everyone was comfortable Logan spoke, "Roman I think it's time for you to tell Patton our idea.”

“Logan,” Roman growled warningly, fury in his eyes. Based on his reaction he likely had been stalling on telling Patton why they had all come out here.

“What kind of idea?” Patton asked cheerfully, looking from Roman to Logan to the others and back. His smile falling as he saw the serious looks on Roman and Logan’s faces.

“It is regarding your current relationship,” Logan answered.

Patton's eyebrows drew together, “Roman, what is he talking about?”

“I had hoped to wait until a more opportune time,” Roman responded pointedly through gritted teeth, glaring at Logan, “but I suppose now is as good a time as any.” 

He took a deep breath, “Patton you know I love you, but the council… it- it’s pressuring me to marry royalty and I'm afraid that if I don't give them what they wish they will take it out on you. That they will make sure that there's nothing standing in the way of a possible union between myself and the leader of another country.”

Patton looked hurt and confused, “What so we're just giving up? Roman that’s silly. We always knew that we had to be secret.” His hand had slid into his pocket and was clutching something there tensely.

“Prince Loudmouth didn’t seem to realize that,” Logan muttered. Remus giggled quietly next to him, the only one to hear what he said. They both knew Roman had a history of being bad at secret-keeping.

“I can’t let you risk getting hurt. I love you and so I must marry Prince Remington of Sobor.”

Patton’s face was full of shocked pain.

“Ohhh I liked him! He was my first kiss!” Remus exclaimed, breaking the tense quiet of the kitchen.

Roman shot him A Look.

"What?” Remus demanded, “It's not like I mentioned that time we fucked in his quarters after a treaty signing feast and I climbed out the window and fell into a thorn bush and walked with a limp for the next month because my legs were covered in cuts from the thorns."

They were all silent for a few moments, staring at Remus, but Virgil spoke first, "Sire, may I just respectfully say: what the fuck?"

Remus shrugged, "It was just a casual thing by the way. Not romantic, I'm single."

"O...kay?" Virgil said looking confused.

"Very smooth, " Roman rolled his eyes.

"Shut up!" Remus snapped, all pretense of nonchalance gone.

"I'm sorry Roman, but I need your attention, " Patton said, drawing all of their attention back to the matter at hand. Logan winced at the tears in the florist’s eyes.

"I'm sorry, that was a terrible place to stop speaking. All is not lost, my dearest, I had more to explain," Roman turned back to Patton, looking serious once more.

Logan rolled his eyes at the term of endearment, could they get anymore sickly sweet? Although Logan supposed he knew what they were feeling.

Stop. 

Stop thinking of that.

He refocused.

"Prince Remington is in a situation like us. There is a man he's dating and rumor has it he is not too thrilled about having to marry me. So, when I sail to Sobor in a week's time I shall propose a marriage of convenience. We get married legally, but we each allow the other to maintain a relationship with the people we love. It would be a marriage only in name, you would still own my heart."

Remus giggled, "Wow, that phrase evokes all sorts of imagery, doesn't it? Like Patton holding Roman’s still-bleeding heart while he writhes on the floor in pain."

Virgil frowned looked thoughtful, "That's literally what's happening right now, though. I mean Patton has a hold on his majesty's heart and has all the control while he sits there in agonizing over whether he'll say yes or if he takes his heart and stomps on it."

Roman looked a little sick.

"Oh stomp on it that's another fun image! Blood everywhere! And think of the-"

"Okay that is quite enough, " Logan said cutting off the train of thought because it seemed as if those two were the perfect storm for stirring up Roman's anxieties.

Patton cleared his throat. They all turned to look at him.

Patton was now on one knee in front of Roman's chair. Holding a small box, which was presumably what he had been clutching in his pocket.

"Patton???" Roman said looking from side to side.

"Uh I was planning on doing this while we were here this weekend but well things have changed and the schedule has moved up. Roman, I think the sound of you being my husband has a nice ring to it, " Patton opened the box revealing a thin silver ring.

"Pat-"

"I know that it wouldn't be legal, but since it's just about how we feel about each other, I'd like to marry you here, tonight."

"I'd love to!" Roman flung himself into Patton's arms, tackling him to the floor. 

They kissed for a few seconds before Roman broke away and said, "Wait tonight?!"

"I mean… yeah, if you're okay with it. We have our closest friends here. I mean, Virgil, I was going to ask you to be my best man anyway. You're like a brother to me."

Roman sat up, "No no, I’m okay with it! But I'm going to have to insist that we do this right. Remus come help me get ready I must look my best, you only get married once."

"Well two times I'm your case, " Remus pointed out with a smirk rising from the table.

"Virge, will you help me?" Patton asked turning to Virgil.

"Yeah, sure thing." 

"Logan, did you find the room with the stars?" Roman asked seeming simultaneously excited and stressed as he could only be when planning an event.

"Yes I did, " Logan said. It, thankfully, hadn’t been painted over in the intervening years. 

"Well, then that's where we'll do it! C’mon Lo I need your help too!"

Logan shook his head fondly but stood up. He reached down to give Patton some help up. He allowed everyone else to go ahead of them, leaving the kitchen.

"Well Patton, you'll be joining the royal family however unofficially it may be,” Logan didn’t release Patton’s hand yet

"Uh, I guess so?" Patton said looking nervous. This was the first time he and Logan had spoken alone outside of a professional setting.

"We’ve done business for a few years so I trust you. But it's necessary to tell you that while I am merely an advisor, my first duty is to protect the crown, and more importantly, to protect Roman. This includes threats to his emotional health. You understand?" Logan asked lacing his voice with all sorts of underlying threats.

Patton nodded solemnly, "Thank you. I wouldn't want you to do anything less."

Logan nodded and allowed a small smile, "Good answer. In that case, welcome to the family." 

~Two Hours Later~

Logan stood in front of the large window in the star room through which they could see the real stars. 

Two dozen candles outlined a path from the door to this makeshift marriage altar. Logan eyed the various fire hazards nervously, as did Virgil, but Patton, in his slightly worn dress clothes looked as if he was unaware of all of it.

Everything was in place, so Logan picked up the violin he had found in the music room and began playing the first romantic tune he could think of. It was soft and sweet and perfectly appropriate for a wedding. He quickly regretted it as he realized what song it was.

He had taught it to Logan and whenever Logan played it He would sing slow sad words in a language Logan never learned. 

Logan frustratedly pushed those thoughts from his mind as Roman appeared in the doorway wearing his finest attire. Remus trailed after him holding his cape out of the flames. Roman was bathed in golden light and was grinning happily. Logan was acutely aware of how this was a ridiculous amount of pageantry for so small a group, but it made Roman happy, so they were all willing to suffer through.

Roman arrived at the altar and Remus took his place beside him. Logan set aside the violin and spoke.

“We few gathered here tonight,” He began quietly because they were all standing very near each other, “Are gathered in the name of freedom. Here in this house we five are equal in station, in wealth, in worth. All that we have we share equally and every right we have, we have in equal measure. Which is why tonight Patton and Roman will be joined in marriage tonight.” 

Remus had helped him with the words. Although Logan had to remove several very graphic lines about how we all bleed the same blood.

 “Do you have vows or should I attempt to remember the traditional ones?”

“I have vows!” Patton said excitedly.

“Then go right ahead,” Logan gestured for him to speak.

“Roman, I can’t lie to you, I’ve had a crush on you since I was just a kid. You probably don’t remember it but there was this parade and you were riding through town and you road right past my father’s shop. And my dad had made four bouquets. One for each member of your family and sent me to keep up with the carriage to give you each one. Your mother and father thanked me and set them on the seat beside them, your brother grinned at me and ate a flower, which was… weird, but you just took them, thanked me, and kissed my hand. I thought I died.”

“I went back to Virgil and my dad and watched the rest of the parade with a big dopey grin on my face. Virgil picked on me for a week,” Patton chuckled, “I thought I was over it when I started bringing flowers to the palace. Then you strode into the dining room where I was arranging flowers, singing… I never had a chance. You’ve always been like a fresh breeze for me Roman. Refreshing even from far off."

Virgil definitely helped him with that last line. Patton was sweet but not much for metaphors.

Logan looked back at Roman and saw the prince was a mess of tears and running make up. Logan rolled his eyes fondly and passed him his handkerchief.

"Your majesty do you have anything to say?"

"Yes, I do!" Roman said dabbing at his tears.

He took a breath and began, clearly flustered, "Okay honestly I don't remember a single thing I was gonna say the was something about eyes like stars and whatever but honestly Patton you're just... you and that is so wonderful! Like... look at you! Goodness gracious I don't know why you looked twice at me."

Oh, dear Roman was getting teary again, but this time it was less happy, "I don't know why your willing to risk so much for us when you could have a good life with someone who could be married to you publicly and I'm so sorry that that isn't me but I am so glad you're willing to marry me and let me tell you if I ever get the chance I will rewrite any law I have to for you to be my husband legally."

Patton stepped forward and wrapped the sobbing Roman in a hug, "Baby, there is no need to get upset. I'm happy to be marrying you, even like this, I swear."

"It's not too late! Virgil and you can ride back to town, I'll send jewels to your family, you'd never have to work again and you can marry someone else and- and- you can be happy and I'll leave you alone and- if you ever need more money just send a note and I'll take care y- you, " Roman hiccuped. Patton shook his head and gave Logan a look like "Can you believe this idiot?"

"Roman you look at me right now, " Patton said firmly, Roman looked up. 

He was a mess make up ruined beyond recognition, face blotchy from his sudden breakdown. Logan exchanged a look with Virgil and Remus who both seemed to find this mildly amusing. Probably because they knew as well as Logan did that Patton would never take Roman up on that offer.

Patton held Roman's chin up so he couldn't look away, "Roman, I don't want your money, I don't want a life without you, and I don't want to marry anyone except you. You can't get rid of me that easily. Okay?"

Roman looked doubtful, "Are you sure?"

"Nope, I'm Patton, but I definitely want to marry you. Okay?" Patton grinned, making a joke.

Roman sniffled and smiled a little, "Okay."

"In uh that case you two can… kiss now?" Logan said uncertainly, glancing at Remus and Virgil. They nodded.

"Yes. Okay, go ahead and kiss now."

And they did.

"Great!" Remus said with a grin, "Now let's celebrate!"

Tag list: @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @melodiread @itismakyo @dabookwormcat @lo-ceit @gayformlessblob @ollyollyoxinfree @gay--insomniac

#royalty au #royality #dukexiety #loceit #sander sides #My writing

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Pink and Black Roses: A Watford Cove Wedding

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Light Angst

Word Count: 7764

Summary: Eleven years after they first met in Watford Cove, Simon and Baz are getting married. Based on "frightened kiss" request.

Read on AO3

AN: I’m still working on the knight and warlock fic, don’t worry, but this is already done and edited so I want to get it up cause I'm so excited to post it. It's the last request of the 2018 batch, and I thought we needed to go out with a bang. So here's a future fic sequel to Watford Cove! Enjoy :D

———————————————

Simon

“Is my hair alright?” I ask. Penny sighs as she’s adjusting my tie.

“Your hair looks fine, Simon,” she says.

“Is it really?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“But maybe-”

“Simon!” She steps around me, standing between the mirror and I. Her hands grip my shoulders hard. Not tight enough to hurt but enough to keep me steady. “Stop fussing, you’re fine. Not just your hair, you. Stop panicking. Nothing is going to go wrong. And even if something does, stay focused on the goal.”

I snort, a wholly undignified sound for a grown twenty eight year old man I’m told. Like I care. “You sound like Baz’s uni football coach.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m probably smarter.”

“You definitely are, Pen, always.”

She smiles smugly, nose up in the air. “Of course I am.” I chuckle and hold her forearms. A lot of my nerves are already melting away. I don’t know what I’d do without Penelope. “Now, your tie is far more straight than you are.” I snort again. “We should probably get out there with everyone else.”

“Agreed.”

“You’ve got everything, right? Vows, ring, big smile?”

I reach into my pink suit jacket, feeling a piece of paper and and cool metal on my finger tips. I grin wide, all the way to my ears. “Yeah, all good.”

Penelope nods once, then reaches down to firmly hold my hand. “Awesome. Then let’s go.”

We walk together, arms swinging slightly, out the door of the powder room towards the main entry. There’s two doors between us and the main room of the Watford Cove Event Hall. Baz is walking down the aisle first with his party so he’s on the other side. (I wish I could push the doors open and see him.) My party is here, milling about and getting ready. Agatha keeps shifting around her black flower crown with a small frown.

“It doesn’t feel right,” she grumbles.

I stroll up to her and put her crown centre. She turns to me, and immediately grins.

“There,” I say, “perfect.”

“Hey Simon, how are you doing?”

“Honestly? I’m freaking out. But I’m also happy.”

“You better be! I don’t want to be wearing this silly crown thing for nothing.”

I frown and put my hands on my hips. “It’s not silly, it’s cute.”

Her mouth quirks up, one hand on her pink skirt. “Yeah, I suppose it is, even if it’s a pain to wear.” She looks around at the room with a hint of awe. “This whole ceremony is beautiful, really. I’m happy to be a part of it.”

I grin in full force again. Agatha is really nice. We met in uni, sitting together in an intro art class. She noticed how terrified I was to share my work and helped me calm down. We started chatting, and immediately became friends. Penny quickly came to like her too, but Baz took a little longer. He was even a bit jealous because he thought she had a crush on me. Agatha quickly dispelled that notion by introducing us to her girlfriend. Baz felt like an idiot, and I showed immense restraint by only teasing him for a minute. Now we’re all close friends. Close enough that Agatha agreed to fly all the way from California to be a groom’s maid in my wedding.

“Thanks,” I say. “Glad you’re here too.” I look out at all three of them, dressed in pink and black, different parts of my heart. “Glad you’re all here.”

“I’m happy to be here!” Micah chimes in. “This is all so awesome. And I feel like a pinterest photo in this suit.” He spins around, pink jacket flapping about while his black rose boutonniere flys off. Penny sighs as she picks it up.

“Careful, love,” she says. “Black roses are expensive, you only get one of these.”

Micah leans forward and kisses the top of her head, just under her own black flower crown. There’s nothing but affection in his eyes. “Understood, dear.”

Damn, years later and they’re still so sweet. Penelope met Micah long before she met me, when he was an exchange student at Watford High in Year 10. Apparently their connection was instant. Pen was already talking about marriage in high school, and the two went through with it right after uni graduation. They’re very happy. I hope my marriage is as good as Penny and Micah’s. Though looking at mine and Baz’s relationship for the past eleven years, I’d say that’s pretty well guaranteed. We’ve been through a lot, yet we’re still together. Being married will be fucking incredible.

“Are we all ready?” Gran walks in, dressed like a fancy lady. She looks great in her pale pink skirt suit with her hair all done up like a duchess or something. She’s got a black rose boutonniere too. It’s apparently a wedding thing to have flowers everywhere. Not that I mind, I love flowers. Hence why I’m wearing some on my head.

“As long as I don’t sick up, then yeah,” I chuckle.

Gran sighs, shaking her head. “You’re not going to sick up, Simon. You always say you will and you don’t.”

“Agreed!” Penny oh so helpfully adds in. I glare over my shoulder, and she sticks her tongue out. We may be fully fledged adults, but in some ways, we’re very much still children.

“You’re going to be fine, darling.” Gran reaches up to adjust my crown. It’s the one I’ve had since I was seventeen. Gran bought it for me on my first day in Watford Cove. It’s just a little  line of pink rosebuds across the top of my head, simple but pretty. Gran said that the one time my Mum was able to phone her while with my Dad, she called me her rosebud boy. My Mum called me such sweet things, and didn’t even live long enough for me to remember them myself.

“You’re thinking about your Mum, aren’t you?” Gran whispers, snapping me out of it. She’s got a tiny, sad smile on her face. I nod slowly.

“Y-Yeah. Sorta wondering what she’d think and all. It’s inevitable, I guess.”

Gran nods. She moves both hands to my front, holding my jacket. Her smile is still small but very kind. “Well, I think I knew my own daughter pretty well, so I can tell you a few things for sure.” I can see the way her eyes are quivering. She’s trying to keep from crying. “My darling Lucy loved you before you were even born, Simon. So she would be incredibly happy that you have found true love. If she were here, she’d be walking you down the aisle instead of me.”

Fuck, that hits me right in the heart in the best way. I smile, a few tears falling down my cheeks. “Darn it, Gran,” I chuckle, “I didn’t want to start crying until the vows at least.”

“Sorry, love.” She wipes at my face with her silk handkerchief. “Don’t worry, you’ve still got enough tears in you for Basil.”

“Oh definitely. I’m going to be a fucking waterfall.”

“Language, love.”

“Sorry, Gran. I’m just nervous.”

She cups my cheek, running a thumb under my eye to catch a stray tear. “I know, darling, I know. Don’t worry, it will be great.” There’s a thumping on the door, making me jump and my breath catch. That’s our signal. Gran holds out her arm for me with a grin. “Showtime, Simon.”

I nod rapidly, and take her thin arm in mine. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Agatha, Micah, and Penny line up in front of us. Agatha knocks back, and the oak doors swing open. The three start slowly walking forward. I take a deep breath, and follow behind.

The Event Hall is insane. Despite being a small town, Watford Cove apparently expected to host huge galas or something, it’s enormous. The ceiling is high and curved, decorated with a fancy mosaic. The walls are intimidating dark wood with pretty carvings. Though they’re covered up with flower garlands right now. The rose garlands are alternating pink and black, like the rest of our decorations, because we’re cheesy and like to stick to our aesthetics. As Gran and I walk forward, everyone’s standing up from their benches. And I mean everyone. We ended up inviting a lot of people. My aunt and uncle, my cousins, Aunt Fiona, Mitali, Martin, Penny’s siblings, Baz’s siblings, his extended family, his uni friends, my uni friends, Mr. and Mrs. Wellbelove, even Ebb and her twin brother. I can feel all their eyes on me. I gulp down my nervous lump and try to keep smiling at them.

But when I look at the altar, well, I don’t have any trouble smiling at all.

He’s standing right there, right at the end of aisle, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear under a canopy of black and pink silk. His suit isn’t very traditional either. Malcolm nearly had a heart attack when Baz announced what he wanted to wear to the ceremony, but it looks amazing. A leather jacket pairs surprisingly well with a black button down and slacks. A pink rose is attached his lapel, same as Dev and Niall next to him, while Mordelia has a pink flower crown on her head. Baz’s hair is slicked back, but a few strands falling in front of his pretty face. I have to resist the urge to run up and tackle kiss him. This is supposed to be a serious event dammit. Even though I’m wearing a flower crown and he’s wearing a biker jacket.

Gran walks me to the steps and we stop. She kisses my cheek. I can feel a few saltwater drops hit my skin. I’m pretty sure a few are mine too. I hold her hand as I climb the white steps. Just as I reach the top, I turn back. Gran gives me one last big smile from below. I smile back, mouthing “thank you.” She nods once, and we let go.

But Baz is right there to catch my hand.

He pulls me the last step towards him. We stand facing each other, both hands together. I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning. My heart is about to burst out of my chest.

“Hi,” I whisper. It’s all I can manage. My brain is too overwhelmed to think of words.

“Hi,” he replies. “Glad you could make it.”

I chuckle. “Same to you.”

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Please be seated,” Mr. Kelly, our officiant says, loud enough that I know he means to shut us up. Baz gives me fake look of deference. It makes grin even harder. Christ, I really can’t stop grinning.

“Today,” he announces, “we are here to witness the union between two men I hope you all know.” A chuckle rumbles through the crowd. “And it will be my job to officiate the marriage between Simon Snow Salisbury and Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” I squeeze Baz’s hands. He squeezes back. “I’ve gotten to know these two wonderful men over the past few weeks. They’re very smart, very kind, and very much in love. They’re one of those rare, beautiful cases of finding true love at a young age. And it’s my honour today to help them celebrate their union and make it legally official. Now, I believe the grooms have their own vows prepared. Who would like to go first?”

Baz and I already decided who would go first. We both know I’ll be a complete mess after hearing Baz’s vows, so I need to go first. Baz and I (reluctantly) let our hands go. I take the folded note paper out of my suit pocket. My hands are shaking but I’m still able to read the words.

“Baz,” I start, “as you and everyone else knows, I’m not that great with words. So it took me awhile to figure out what to say. How can I just, summarise everything about you in words? We’ve been together for a very long time and I I know you better than anyone. So I know that you’re a lot Baz, and I mean that in a good way.”

“I hope so,” Baz says with a smirk. The crowd laughs with us.

“Don’t worry, I really do. You’ve always been a lot in a good way. I still remember the day we first met. You held your head high, like you could take on the world. I couldn’t look away, and I really haven’t stopped looking ever since, I guess. That was just the start though. I soon found out you were ‘a lot’ in other ways too. A lot charming, a lot funny, a lot kind, a lot of just everything good. You’re a really great person, Baz. You amaze me all the time. You’re the strongest, most astounding person I know. Being with you is always a new adventure. Sure, we’ve had our ups and down.” (We have small fights over dumb stuff but only a few big fights really, like our pre relationship fall out or brief break up after uni, aka the worst three months of my fucking life.)

“But ever since high school, I’ve always been happier with you. No one makes me feel like you do, even eleven years later. So, yeah, I don’t want to be with anyone else ever. I just want to marry you. And when we’re married, I promise to listen to your weird music, to repaint your nails when they’re chipped, to hold onto you tight and never let go, and just, y’know, love and care for you for the rest of our lives. I mean that with all my heart, because you’re the best thing in the world. That’s, uh, that’s it.”

I take a deep breath as I put the paper back in my pocket. Slowly, I look back up at Baz. He seems to be awestruck I think. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly, tears welling in his eyes, but also happy. He can’t be too surprised. He must know all this already. I’ve said this stuff before in in pieces at different times. Maybe hearing it all together and in public is weird. I reach out and squeeze his hand. He smiles and squeezes back.

“Dammit,” he chuckles, “I’m supposed to be coherent for this, love.”

I along with everyone else laughs. Baz takes his own deep breath, looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen him. Even as he pulls his own note paper out, he keeps holding my hand. I think he needs to. I don’t mind, I won’t let go.

“Dear Simon,” he says, “I’m writing this three days previous at my desk, trying to figure out what to say on our wedding day, You’re sleeping four feet away from me, curled up with our cat, drooling on your pillow.” I giggle and my face turns bright red. “I look at you and a small part of me is still astounded you want to be with me. You are bright everywhere I'm dark. For awhile I felt unworthy because you were so perfect. But I've learned you aren't this untouchable ray of sunshine. You're even better. You're a real person with problems and fears, who has come out of horrible things tougher but not jaded. And because we’re both messed up, we've learned to be messed up together. We keep each other sane. You're my boyfriend and my partner. l'm more grounded with you by my side. So I’ve realised perfect is too simple a word for you. You’re kind, caring, funny, strong, and incredible, Simon, and I'm amazed by you everyday too. I feel better with you, and I have almost since the day we met. As I write this now, watching you sleep in our bed, there are things I want to make sure you know at our wedding.”

He looks up at me, gazing right in my eye. It’s impossible for me to look away. “I promise to watch your stupid romcoms all the way to the end, to get you sour cherry scones when you’re sad, to support your art even if it means lugging around enormous canvases, and to always help you pick what pastel outfit you should wear. But most of all, I promise to be there for you, no matter what. You’re the love of my life, Simon Snow Salisbury. I already know we’re going to be together forever, but I can’t wait to be married to you as well.”

I sniffle without shame. How the fuck am I not supposed to cry after that? We agreed to both have promises in our vows, but that’s all I knew before today. I want to snog him right now, other people be damned. But Gran would be upset. So I settle for just squeezing his hand. Baz squeezes back, and after putting his paper away, he reaches up to carefully wipe at my eyes. I can’t wait to be married to him too.

“Very beautiful vows” Mr. Kelly says, and he sounds a little teary himself. “My words absolutely cannot follow up, but I’ll try.” Everyone laughs through their quiet crying. “Simon Snow Salisbury, do you wish to be bound in matrimony to this man, till death do you part?”

“I do,” I say without hesitation.

“And Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, do you wish to be bound in matrimony to this man, till death do you part?”

“I do,” he says immediately too.

“Perfect, good to hear. You may exchange the rings.”

Baz lets one of my hands drop and squeezes the other. “You go first, love.”

My throat is still too choked up to do anything but nod. I take the ring out of my pocket. Since our styles clash so much, Baz and I decided to get rings made in the same design but made from different materials. They’re both smooth on each side with braided metal in the middle. (I don’t know how it’s done, but it looks so cool.) Baz’s is black tungsten with a silver braid. It matches his leather jacket perfectly. I easily slip it over his long, bony finger.

“Now your turn,” I say.

Baz eagerly brings out my ring. It’s rose gold on the outside with a regular gold braid. Baz grins at me as he puts it on. The metal is cold right now. But I know eventually it will warm up, because I’m never taking off unless I really have to. And maybe I won’t even then.

“By the power vested in me by the Government of Great Britain,” Mr. Kelly says grandly, “I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

Mr. Kelly is barely done speaking before Baz and I are leaning forward. Baz cups my cheeks tenderly, I grip his forearms, and our mouths meet in a simple kiss. But it’s not simple. It’s our first kiss as husbands. And that makes it incredible. I’m so lost in the warm feeling of his lips I barely hear the applause and huge cheers from the crowd. We reluctantly part for politeness sake. Baz and I are both grinning and crying. We probably look ridiculous, but who the fuck cares? We’re allowed to look ridiculous right now.

“We’re married,” Baz whispers.

“We’re married,” I echo, equally shocked and so fucking happy.

Baz weaves our fingers together, then turns us to face the crowd. It’s quite a sight to see. All our family and friends, standing up, cheering for us with big smiles. My eyes meet Gran’s. Her smile is softer, and her claps aren’t as hard, but everything is said in the way she looks at me. Congratulations, she says with no words, I’m so proud of you.

I smile as wide as I can back at her.

Me and Baz step off the riser together. Baz raises our hands together, earning a particularly loud cheer from all our loved ones. The cool metal of Baz’s ring presses hard into my skin.

I’m so goddamn happy.

———————————————

Though it’s a bit tedious, taking the wedding photos is a lot of fun. The edge of the Wavering Wood is right near the hall. It’s a flat field with lots of beautiful trees and flowers in the background. The photographer is one of Baz’s many cousins, and he’s very good. He gets us to do many different poses. Some are serious, like looking at each other longingly under a willow tree branch, and some are funny, like Baz suddenly hoisting me up off my feet while I giggle in shock. I’m pretty sure I’m going to love all of them.

We take a lot of photos with our family and friends too. Gran, the Grimms, our wedding parties, some pictures separate and some together. I notice the that first Grimm photo is, well, a bit grim. I tell Baz to smile more, and he glares at first, but does. The others follow suit. They still look stiff, but it’s better. I’m more than pleased.

Baz is taking a picture with his siblings when my phone buzzes. I look down and don’t recognise the number. But Tibby, fellow community centre employee and indie artist, said she was getting a new number soon.

“Fuck, I have to go get this,” I grumble.

“Simon,” Baz groans, looking at me and probably ruining his photo. “C’mon.”

“It might be Tibby! She said she’d call me if our art got into the New Artist's show at Maureen Paley.” Baz still looks upset. I walk up and kiss his cheek, lightly touching his ring. “Two minutes, okay?”

Baz sighs with affectionate exasperation. “Fine, two minutes.”

I kiss his cheek again then dash off across the field. I answer the phone on the last ring. “Hey, Tibby. Did we get it? I’m a bit busy so can you-”

“Hello, Simon.”

I freeze. My blood runs ice cold. The ground is opening up underneath me, I swear. I can feel my muscles shaking so hard I nearly drop the phone. It takes a good few seconds for me to find my voice again.

“Hi, Dad,” I say shakily. “H-How did you get this number? I changed it last year.”

“You have an artist’s Facebook page, son. It was easy enough.”

Shit. I’m going to delete that the second I get home. “Oh, okay. Why are you calling?”

“I heard you were getting married today.”

“Oh,” I squeak. “Um, yeah, I am. Well, I did. But...how did you find out? You don’t follow me on social media, and we haven’t talked in awhile.” How could he know? He shouldn’t know. Fucking hell, he can’t  know.

“I met a member of the Grimm family at an education conference last year. We followed each other on Facebook. He just posted a picture from his cousin Basilton’s wedding, and imagine my surprise when I saw my own son kissing the groom. So, did my invitation get lost in the mail?”

I gulp down the lump that has suddenly formed in my throat. “It’s, uh, small. There aren’t a lot of people...”

“Not enough space for your own father?”

God, I forgot how quick he is. How easily he can turn the conversation back to his side. I pull at my hair almost painfully. “I-it’s just, Dad, I-”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself I’m not that weak kid he can pick on anymore. I’m twenty eight years old now, dammit. I have a life, a job, a wonderful husband, nothing he can take away. I don’t have to be scared anymore.

“Dad,” I say firmly, “you weren’t invited. Whatever bit of good relationship we had is long gone. You don’t approve of anything in my life. Not my profession, not my sexuality, not even my fashion sense. I wanted to enjoy my wedding day. Which meant you couldn’t be here.”

There’s a long pause. My heart beats faster with every passing second, but I did it. I stood up to him. After all these years, I can finally tell him off. At least a bit. But that’s more than ever before. I did it, I did it, I di-

“You insolent little brat, how dare you?” he growls. And all of my confidence blinks away in an instant. “After everything I’ve done for you. All I ever did was try to raise you to be better, but you spit in my face. You’re just bloody useless. You’re a complete idiot, a moron, a leech, Simon!”

He keeps going on, and all I can do is stand there. Just stand and listen to my father tear into me. I can’t move. I’m a kid all over again, listening as my father loudly berates me for whatever new screw up I had done. My whole body is shaking, tears streaming down my face, every muscle in my body shaking. I can’t even put down the fucking phone.

“I wish you were never born,” he yells. “You’ve never been anything but a disappointment, you stupid little f-”

The phone is suddenly ripped out of my hand. A familiar hand holds my shoulder. Baz stands in front of me. His face is completely impassive. I know that face, he’s in cold arsehole mode.

“Hello,” Baz says. “This is the man Simon just married. I’m here to tell you that as long as I’m around, you will not hurt him anymore. And you absolutely will not ruin his wedding day, understood? No,” he growls, cold cruelty turning into fury, “ you listen to me, you prick. The second I hang up I’m going to block this number. Don’t contact my husband ever again, or I’ll use all our family’s considerable wealth and influence to ruin your goddamn life. Goodbye.”

Baz hangs up and blocks the number, just like he said he would. Then he immediately wraps his arms around me. I sink into his embrace and bury my face in his shoulder, racked with full body sobs. Baz just keeps holding me.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s over. He won’t hurt you anymore. It’s alright, love.”

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I-I shouldn’t have answered, I’m-”

“None of that, love. It wasn’t your fault. You haven’t heard from him in six years, of course you wouldn’t think it was him.”

I sniffle very unattractively. “H-He saw a photo, of us, today. He asked why he wasn’t invited, and I told me the real reason, a-and he went off at me, and I-

“Shh, it’s alright, I heard. You stood up for yourself, you courageous fuck. I’m so goddamn proud of you.”

“You-You heard?”

“Yes. Well, the last part. I saw you go stiff and I got worried so I got closer, but I didn’t want to step in unless you needed me. I heard the of your amazing speech to him, and I thought everything would be alright. I was walking away when I heard you crying. I don’t know what he said, love, but I don’t care. Whatever it was, he will never talk to you like that again. I promise, okay?”

I nod against his shoulder. “O-Okay.”

We stand there for awhile, me gripping his suit and him stroking my hair. Baz keeps holding me up, like he always has for me, like I have for him too. Without a second thought, I tilt my head up to kiss him. It’s not hard or forceful, just firm. Baz kisses me back, swiping his thumb across my cheek and holding my waist. Our lips slowly slide together. Baz pulls me even closer. With every passing second of him kissing me, all my old fears melt away. They go back into the past where they belong. My father can’t hurt me anymore. He never will again, not as long as Baz is here. I’m glad Baz feels grounded with me. Because I absolutely feel grounded with him too.

We pull apart, even though I’d gladly kiss him forever. “Come on,” he whispers, “only a few more photos and we get to go to the reception.”

I nod, weaving my fingers with his. “Alright. Thank you.”

He places a last peck on my temple. “Anytime, love.”

We go back to the group. Gran notices my face immediately. She takes out her ever present handkerchief and dabs under my eyes and tells me to blow my nose with it. Penny squeezes my hand, Micah puts an arm around me, and Agatha gives me a sympathetic look. None of them why I was crying. I’m very grateful, because if I talk about it I’ll start crying again. I’ll tell them later though. They deserve to know.

The rest of the photos go off without a hitch. Well, not any big hitches. Micah gives me bunny ears in one photo, which makes Agatha snort and Penny roll her eyes with a smile. Dev, Niall, and Mordelia lift Baz up on his side, causing my lovely husband to let out a string of curses at them in both English and Greek. We get a final picture with all our family and friends, who are family too. Not my father, though. I don’t need him. These are the people I care about, and care about me in return, far more than he ever did.

———————————————

The reception is held in the Event Hall dining room. It’s covered in similar decorations, lots of pink and black everywhere. I love it. It's sort of how our flat is decorated, honestly. Our wedding parties sit at the head table, but we have to go “work the room” as Baz calls it.

“I want food,” I whine.

“We’ll get food soon, love,” Baz sighs. “We just have to go be nice to people.

“People are gross.”

Baz giggles, leaning against me. “That’s my line.”

I lean into him more. “We’re married, so what’s mine is yours now, remember?”

He giggles again. It’s a really pretty sound. “I suppose you have a point.”

I kiss him quickly, and we go off towards the tables. Everyone is very nice, congratulating us, wishing us a happy marriage. Ebb is weepy of course, saying how proud she is of me after all I went through, and I thank her for being here and always being my friend. I pick up my little cousin while Baz talks to one of his uncles, and she tries to take off my flower crown and rip my hair out. I don’t mind. She’s too adorable to stay mad at. Baz’s Aunt Fiona gives us both huge bear hugs and messes up our hair. We spent so much time with her during uni she’s pretty much become my aunt too. My art school friends ask if I’m going to make a wedding sketch series like I mentioned. One of Baz’s older relatives asks when we’re going to have a baby, because "the gays can do that now, right?" We get away from her quite quickly. It’s an enjoyable, slightly exhausting whirlwind.

Eventually, we finally get to sit and eat. I fall into my chair with a groan.

“Tired, Si?” Penelope asks with a smirk.

“Shut up,” I grumble.

“Now you know how I felt at my wedding, Si. Bloody exhausting affair, getting married.”

“Amen, Penny.”

The catering staff brings out the first course, French onion soup, and I immediately drink it down. Baz tells me to slow down but I’m so fucking hungry. I was so nervous this morning I barely ate. I wolf down the main course too. It’s chicken cordon bleu, Baz’s favourite. Honestly, it’s sort of become my favourite too. Some of his posh tastes have rubbed off on me in our eleven years, of course. Some of my tastes have rubbed off on him too. He really likes sour cherry scones now, which I find absolutely amazing.

Before the cake, our parents/caregivers go up and do speeches. Gran goes first. She talks about how glad she was to take care of, what a good person I am, and how elated she is that I’ve found happiness in art and with Baz. She says she looks forward to seeing more of the incredible things I do. I hug her fiercely, thanking her again for everything she’s given me. I can never thank her enough for that.

Mr. Grimm goes next. He’s stoic of course but very sweet, saying he’s glad Baz is happy with me. At the very end, he admits that he hasn’t always been the best father, but he’s very proud of the man Baz has become and Natasha would’ve been too. I grip Baz’s hand very tight at that. I can see him holding back a lot of tears. (Years of therapy has helped with a lot of his guilt over his mum’s death, but it’s still a hard subject.) Baz thanks his father, and even hugs him. Wow. That usually only happens at Christmas after a glass of wine.

Penny of course makes a speech too. She’s equal parts sarcastic and kind, saying how she really fucking hated people until she met me. That I'm a very good friend who she's glad she met. And even though she didn’t like Baz at first, she’s seen how happy he makes me, so she’ll let him stick around.

“It’s not like I’ll go anywhere she tells me to,” he mutters with a pleased smile. I sigh heavily. These two, my god, what am I going to do with them?

Dev and Niall make a speech together. They tell embarrassing stories about Baz from their childhood together, making Baz glare and flush. I try to stifle my laughter but it’s useless. They say I'm the best influence on Baz, and he's been far happier since almost the moment he met me, even before we were together. That's nice to hear. The pair congratulates us at the end, wishing us years of wedded bliss. And Baz does smile. So he’s not that mad, really.

“Time for cake?” I eagerly ask.

“Yes,” Baz says with a smile, “time for cake.”

The caterers roll in the huge three layer cake. Keeping with the theme, it’s black and pink with lots of flowers. They’re super realistic looking even though they’re made from sugar. I want to eat all of them. Baz and I cut it together to a round of polite applause. The cake is cherry red velvet. I didn’t know that flavour existed until we started look at different kinds of cakes. Baz and I agreed to it almost immediately. So of course I eat three slices.

“Simon, you’re going to be sick,” Agatha says.

“I’ll live,” I reply, waving my fork.

“Will you really?” Baz drawls sarcastically. “Because I am not dealing with cherry scented vomit. Again.”

My cheeks go bright red. “That was one time! How was I supposed to know cherry flavoured beer was a bad idea?!”

“Because the name itself sounds like regret,” Penelope oh so helpfully adds in.

“Exactly, Bunce.”

I stick out my tongue at both of them. “Like you’re one to talk,” I grumble, “you fell off your motorbike while trying to pop a wheelie on a hill.”

It’s Baz’s turn to look embarrassed, flush crawling up his pretty face. Dev, Niall, and Mordelia all start laughing at him. Not even Baz's glare shuts them up. “That was one time,” he grumbles.

I put my hand over his, spinning his ring around. “Yup. Aren’t we a pair, love?”

He chuckles and flips his hand over, lacing our fingers together. “That we are, darling, that we are.”

Once we’re done the cake, we’re told it’s time for our first dance. I’m a bit nervous because I’m a pretty terrible dancer. Baz and I have been practicing in preparation for today, but I’m still nervous. I hope I don’t fuck it up.

We stand in the middle of the dance floor. The room gets a bit dimmer, replaced with coloured lights, making everything a bit more quiet and romantic. Baz looks at me, half his face illuminated in silver and pink light. His smile is literally shining. As if he could get anymore dazzling. His arm wraps around my waist, I hold his leather clad shoulder, and our hands stick out together. His ring presses into my skin again. I like that, a lot.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No,” I chuckle, “but let’s do it.”

The music starts. It’s an acoustic version of one of Baz’s weird pop punk love songs. I like things soft and he likes things punk, it’s a happy middle ground, like the rest of our relationship. And we start dancing.

Honestly, it’s barely more than swaying. We move in a small circle on the smooth floor. But I don’t step his feet, which is a vast improvement from usual. There’s barely any room between us, just how I like it. The song floats through the air, surrounding us in it’s quiet melody and soft lyrics.

Suddenly, I’m 17 all over again, dancing with Baz in my room to Troye Sivan the night before he might’ve left. I was so terrified back then, desperate to keep Baz with me, and he was desperate to keep me too. That night was such a teen romance cliche, but I don’t regret it at all, and neither does Baz. Thankfully, we aren’t scared anymore. We’ve known for a long time that neither of us are going anywhere. And I’m reminded of that by the way he looks unflinchingly in the eye. I don’t look away either. I quickly realise there’s something I still haven’t said today.

“I love you,” I say, quietly, just as the song ends.

Baz’s grin gets even wider. He leans down, forehead pressed to mine. Everyone is cheering around us, but all I hear is his voice.

“I know,” he whispers, “I love you too.”

We keep our foreheads together for another moment. Unfortunately I can’t snog him silly right now. Maybe later. (Definitely later.) We bow to our adoring friends and family. They all look so happy. There’s barely a trace of Davy’s words left in my mind. He can’t ruin today. He can’t ruin anything anymore and never will again. My life is too strong to let him.

We invite everyone to come to the dance with us. The music picks up into one of my favourite pop tunes. I’m almost immediately jumping to the beat. My crown nearly flies off I’m so enthusiastic, making Baz snort with laughter. Soon everyone is dancing happily. Agatha is actually literally swing dancing with her girlfriend, laughing loudly. I dance with everyone I can. Swanning about with Gran, jumping with my groom’s maids and man, letting my little cousin stand on my feet. I see Baz doing similar things with his friends and family. He’s doing a sort of waltz with Daphne, and I’m chatting with my uncle. We smile at each other. It may just be my mind tricking me, but I swear my ring warms up a bit.

———————————————

“Have you got enough clothes?” Gran asks.

“Yes, Gran,” I reply.

“Toiletries?”

“Yes.”

“Food? You do get hungry-”

“Gran,” I hold both her hands firmly, “I’m fine. I’ve got everything we need, alright?”

She takes a deep breath, though her mouth is still a thin line. “I’m just unsure how you and Basil can fit all you need in that backpack.”

She indicates my camping bag, which is, in my opinion, quite large enough. “I promise you, Gran, it’s fine. Plus we’ve got Baz’s enormous tail bag too. You could fit a country in there.”

“No complaining about the tail bag when it’s going to hold all your snacks, Salisbury,” Baz says from where he’s sitting on his bike. He was talking to Dev and Niall, but he has damn super hearing, the wonderful bastard. I stick my tongue out at him.

I look back at Gran, who’s still nervous. I step closer. “We’ll be fine. If we don’t have something we need, we’ll just pick it up along the way.”

“Will you be safe though?”

“I’ve ridden on Baz’s motorcycle many times before and I’m still here.”

She frowns, obviously annoyed. “Not for three weeks straight across the UK and Ireland. What if it breaks down?”

“Baz just got a tune up, but if there are any problems, he'll fix them. He's got his toolkit in the infinite tail bag.”

"What about your jobs?"

"The community centre loves me. They were more than happy to give me a month off for my honeymoon. And Baz isn't teaching any summer courses this year so the university doesn't need him until late August."

"What if you get lost?"

"Baz has stuff memorized and we've got GPS, but," I pat my enormous bag, "I've also got a physical map in here with our route drawn out in case our phones die."

“Alright...”

She still looks very nervous, because of course she is. Gran shows her love by fussing. The day I moved to London she was a nervous mess. I wish she wouldn’t worry, but I appreciate her caring. I kiss her forehead.

“I’ll be alright, Gran,” I say. “We'll be back here having dinner with you and everyone else before you know it. Okay?” Watford Cove is our last stop before going back to London, of course. We’ll be having a big feast with both sides of the family. It’ll certainly be a good end to a long trip.

That makes some of the tension fall from her body. “Okay. Call me when you can?”

“Of course.” I look to my left, at Penny, Micah, and Agatha. “And you guys will keep the flat in order right? And make sure Cherry is good? He gets jumpy so you’ve got to play with him for a little while. And he needs two meals a day. And-”

“We know, Si,” Penny says, rolling her eyes.

“We’ve got your checklists,” Micah adds in.

“First week and a half will be mine and Felicia's job,” Agatha says, repeating what we agreed on. “Then we'll go back to California and I’ll hand off cat and house sitting duties to Penelope and Micah for the next week and a half.”

“And I’m taking yours and Basil’s suits home for safe keeping,” Gran says cheerily.

I grin. Of course I already knew all that, but it’s good to hear it again. “Awesome. We’ll call to check in, and call us if you need to.”

Penny waves dismissively. “Don’t call us, Si. Everything will be fine. Go enjoy your honeymoon. We’ll clean up the reception, hold onto your fancy clothes, and take care of your nightmare pet well, trust us.”

I pout. “Cherry isn’t a nightmare, just energetic.”

“Mhm, right.” She pushes lightly on my shoulders. “Now go have fun. And don’t crash into anything, please.”

“Don’t insult my driving, Bunce.” Baz calls back. “I’ve had a motorbike for over a decade and haven’t crashed once.”

“But you’ve almost crashed more times than I can remember.”

Baz glares harder. But he holds out his hand, and Penny takes it. They shake once. “See you in three weeks, Bunce,” he says with a small smile. “Thank you, for everything.”

She shakes back, smiling too. “You’re welcome. Now get on with your honeymoon.”

“Will do, if Simon can get going.” He raises his eyebrow at me. I huff, blowing hair from my eyes.

“Hold your horses, we’ve got time”

“It’s getting dark, love. And we should get to the first hotel soon if we want to stay on schedule.”

“There’s a schedule?” Agatha asks a bit astounded.

“Oh yeah,” I snort. “Baz has our road trip planned down to bathroom breaks. For a punk, he loves to be all structured and shit.”

Baz holds his nose up, looking extremely snooty. “I like to know where I’m going, sue me. And you liked the trip schedule when I showed it to you, so fuck off, love.”

“I don’t think marriage is going to change much for you too,” Penelope chuckles quietly.

“Yeah,” I sigh dreamily with a big grin, “I know.”

Even though he’s a prick (I adore him, but he is), Baz has a point. We need to get going. I hug Gran, Agatha, Penny, and Micah as tight as I can. Baz hugs Malcolm, Daphne, Dev, Niall, Mordelia, and his other siblings. They stand together in front of the Event Hall, the lights from the end of the reception still shining from the windows. I zip up my floral leather jacket (20th birthday present from Baz) all the way up, put on my riding gloves over my ring, and secure my pale blue helmet. Baz throws on his own jet black helmet. It has silver vines that I painted on. I’m very proud of it. I sit on the bike and wind my arms around his waist, like I have a hundred times before, and like I will a hundred times more.

Baz looks at me over his shoulder, a glint in his beautiful eyes and a playful smirk on on his mouth.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

I almost say, I’d go anywhere with you, but that feels just a bit too cheesy. Maybe I’ll say it later. For now, I just nod, and say, “yeah, let’s get going.”

His smiles wider, and puts a hand on his visor. “Allons-y,” he says.

He still says that all the time, eleven years after our first kiss. I’m reminded of that night every time he says it. And I love it.

“Allons-y,” I reply.

We flip down our visors, give one last wave to our loved ones, and drive off into the dying light of the late of the evening. Baz drives us through Main Street. I recognise the places. Ms. Pritchard’s Bakery, the drug store with my favourite nail varnish, the park where I asked Baz to be my boyfriend, the ice cream parlour we all went to after graduating high school and then later uni, and a familiar hill in the distance; Where Mt. Olympus is, where I first kissed Baz, and where he proposed to me last Christmas. The memories race through my mind as we race through the streets.

Baz takes us up a hill. I get a lovely view of the entire town. It looks beautiful at night, with lights like stars and the sparkling lake in the distance. I hold Baz even tighter. I’m so unbelievably grateful for what I found in Watford Cove.

———————————————

Awwwww totally cheesy, I know. They deserve cheesy goodness after all the shit they went through. And here's a little insight into their future lives: yes, Baz is a university professor, but he refuses to change his fashion sense. He teaches a first year English 101 course (his hell) and a third year queer literature course (his heaven). He's everyone's fave prof because of how badass and sarcastic he is. Simon works at a community center with little children while still doing art on the side. He loves making kids happy and tries to be the kind of person for them that Ebb was for him growing up. For art, he does showings at local galleries, sells prints at hipster markets, and posts stuff on his tumblr blog. Simon and Baz are obviously still pretty damn in love. They have a date night once a week, drive around London on Baz's motorbike all the time, love to snuggle on the couch together to watch TV, all while living in a pastel pink flat covered in punk posters along with their nightmare cat, Cherry. In summary, they're very happy.

Two other things: this is the design I based their rings off of, and this is the song they dance to. Y'all might recognise it as the song where the title for one of the chapters of Watford Cove came from :) It's one of my fave songs ever so I'm absolutely projecting lol.

Thanks for reading, hope you liked this glimpse into the future of my punk/pastel Simon and Baz. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Watford Cove has always been one of my faves so returning to that world was nice. So that's it for the requests. Black Swan will keep updating, I'm currently working on the warlock and knight fic and that will hopefully be finished in a couple weeks, baring any school or health complications, and I'll def be opening requests again in May. Thanks a million to those who requested stuff. And just as big a thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, and/or left kudos on the fics. It's been a blast. See you guys next time :)

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #agatha wellbelove #micah #ruth salisbury #watford cove #fluff #light angst #mysnowbazfic

[09yards]

chapter 5 - broken hearts club part two (days gone by - NCT)

Days Gone By masterlist | main masterlist

Broken Hearts Club part two

Me without you is like driving without the headlights

Me without you is like waking up without the sunrise

Never thought I could feel the way I do, but I’m not just me without you

  Mark really didn’t know how he ended up here. The clock to his left reads something past one-am, there’s an almost empty (but not quite) bottle of vodka clutched tightly in his hand as he’s singing at the top of his lungs to ‘breaking free’, a delightful quintet by himself, Renjun, Jaemin, Ten and Johnny. None of them able to be classed anywhere close to sober at this point and if his mum ever found out they would be in an indescribable amount of trouble. Mark’s small eighteenth get together had turned into a full-blown party where a solid ninety-eight percent of attendees were either drunk out of their mind, high off the ground or both. They would be so, so dead if this wasn’t fixed before their mum came home.

  But, as luck would have it (for Mark anyway) apparently the moment the music switches to a remotely sexy song, that’s the cue for his friends to start grinding on one another, as if Jaehyun and Doyoung having been missing for the last forty-five minutes wasn’t disgusting enough, their dancing was borderline pornographic and Mark was not in the mood. Especially not as he was feeling more single than ever, it was beginning to feel like all of his friends were coupled up – including Donghyuck who’d been dancing (luckily appropriately) with Heejin from is literature class, all night long. So, yes, Mark was feeling great. Hadn’t he been called back inside with the exact promise that this wouldn’t be happening? Mark was not having it tonight; he was very much ready to continue his drunken state and find someone to make out with himself.  His choice of the night, making it seem like he had multiple options besides the game of thrones superfan from his maths class which he isn’t sure how ended up here and the generally creepy boy who’d been harbouring some sort of crush (borderline obsession) with Mark since they’d met a few years ago and once again Mark had no idea how he ended up here, maybe it was because he doubled up as a pizza delivery guy and he just didn’t leave afterwards, who knows. Nonetheless, Jungwoo was in attendance due to being Marks old maths tutor just a couple of years ago who Mark happened to have developed a small, harmless crush on. Jungwoo was cute, he was kind and sweet and always looked out for Mark – sure Mark would never harbour any actual feelings for him but that wasn’t necessarily the point of tonight. Mark wanted distracting, no longer wanting to having to force his eyes away from watching Hyuck dance with Heejin and watching her look just about ready to kiss him, no Mark did not want to watch that. 

  Thus, his attention turned to Jungwoo, dancing, making out, continuing to drink with Jungwoo. His hands slipping under the elder’s shirt as they danced, Mark leading them out of the swarm of bodies up to his room. Heaving chests and heavy breathing filling the room as they kissed against Mark’s bed. Frantic movements, gasps of one another’s names as they moved against each other. Intoxicated by one another – getting lost in each other. Maybe it was the vodka and whatever other concoctions Mark had been consuming all night but this felt easy, it felt simple. No complicated love confessions, just a ‘hey, want to dance?’. Mark liked simple but simple did not like him, hence the I’m-in-love-with-my-best-friend-who-isn’t-gay. Not exactly the simplest of things. Yet Mark made do, kissing Jungwoo distracted him from Donghyuck. Distracted him from the way Hyuck’s eyes were lined with a smoky eyeshadow and made him look beautiful, or the way his hair was currently dyed blond and god Mark didn’t think he could get more ethereal yet here he was proven wrong again. Or the way that Hyuck smiled at Mark, particularly under the warm glow of the sunset as he’d arrived, the light bouncing off of Hyuck’s cheekbones and Mark having to hold back from the urge to reach out and kiss him, instead Hyuck wishing his ‘Markie’ a happy birthday with a quick, quaint kiss to the elder’s cheek – Mark felt like he fell in love all over again. He could practically feel his soulmate mark burning, how he longed for this to all be some childish prank and things would work out and him and Hyuck were really soulmates, not just some wild fantasy.

 “Mark,” a breathy moan, “we’re drunk, m-maybe we should slow down.”

 “Don’t worry Hyuck, it’s fine.” And well shit, that just happened.

  Jungwoo was quick to push Mark off of him (understandably so), muttering ‘I knew it’s’ and ‘I should’ve knowns’. Mark frantically apologising, attempting to defend himself until I simple, stern “Save it,” filled the room. Jungwoo left, grunting a “happy birthday” before slamming the door and maybe Jungwoo was right, Mark really should’ve known. Where did he think making out with a guy who clearly liked him but everyone (bar Donghyuck) could see the way Mark looked at Hyuck. Mark felt guilty, trying to force feelings and realising that he can’t do easy-breezy when he’s in love with someone else, he couldn’t keep kissing other people pretending that they were Hyuck.

 Apparently Satan was feeling awfully generous tonight because as there was knock at his bedroom door and Mark was hoping, or rather praying that it was Johnny or Renjun or Jaemin or anyone besides Donghyuck, Donghyuck’s head appeared around the door, his collarbones visible from the attractively loose white button up he was wearing drooping down against his shoulder, revealing more and more intoxicating sun-kissed skin. Mark whined internally, it was his birthday, can he not breathe for five minutes?

 “Hey, you alive in here Markie? I caught Jungwoo rushing out the door, when I asked him what was wrong, he called me a bitch and told me to ask you.” His voice lilting at the end, a half question, half statement.

 “Shit, sorry Hyuck, he got the wrong idea and we sort of ended things quickly – he didn’t give me a chance to explain.”

 “Ah, no worries, you know I’ve been called worse.”

 “Shouldn’t you be with Heejin?”

 “Lucas and Johnny are attempting to send everyone home; I think Injun and Jaemin are staying and taking one sofa and the same with Jaehyun and Doyoung.”

 “Didn’t feel like walking Heejin home?” Mark didn’t mean to sound so bitter; he just didn’t want to get caught up in Hyuck as he usually did. He refused to look at the younger, meaning Hyuck changing into Mark’s joggers and t-shirt went completely unnoticed – probably a good thing as Mark was feeling very weak and exposure to that kind of beauty is not good for his heart.

 “No. I wanted to come and cuddle my best friend on his birthday? Stop being so grumpy and shove over, I’ve missed my snuggles.”

 And so, Mark let him climb into bed, let Hyuck nestle his head in the dip between Mark’s shoulders, hands wrapping themselves around Mark’s bare torso. Thank the lord Mark was so drunk he was on the verge of passing out.

    The late morning sun always made things seem more beautiful to Mark. Slithers of light streaming through the cracks in the blinds always made everything seem hazy, softer and more delicate. Golden rays flickering across them, allowing Mark to register their changed position, now laying on his back with Hyuck curled into his side, looking tiny in the way he’s tucked himself underneath Mark’s shoulder. From this angle, Mark can see the way Hyuck’s long lashes cast shadows across his freckled cheeks, fluttering as Donghyuck slept.

He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage as Hyuck’s breath tickled against his exposed stomach. Mark’s hand running through his impossibly fluffy hair, the blond suited Donghyuck, he’d always admired his tendency to mix things up with his hair colour where Mark just stuck with black, albeit it was technically dyed to the inky jet black it was at the minute. Mark could stay here forever, his hands cascading through Hyuck’s hair, admiring Donghyuck’s beauty, makeup or bare faced, Hyuck was unique and just beautiful. His fullsun. He was cute when he slept too, all pouty lips and features softened.

 It still hurt, sure, how could it not?

 It was sweet, the way he felt in these moments but it was also dark and bitter. It made him feel whole, at home and warm inside but it broke his heart, physically pained him to know he was holding onto someone who wasn’t his. A bitter sweet love story. Mark let his eyes flicker shut, allowing sleep to consume him again, an escape from the real world.  

    “Hey, Mark? Are you awake? Get up you lazy arse!”

 “Go away, Renjun.”

 “It’s like two pm, isn’t your mum back this evening?”

 “Shit,” Mark sat up as quickly as he could without jostling Hyuck awake, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

     “Ah Mark, lovely for you to grace us with your presence, how’s the hangover?”

 “Jeez Jaehyun, do you have to speak so loudly?”

 “I’m literally speaking at a normal volume?”

 “Too loud. Shhh.”

 “Markie!” Mark hissed as Johnny’s voice radiated across the room, far, far, too loud for someone with a hangover, “aspirin and water for my baby’s first hangover,” Mark snorted at that, “okay, your first hangover that I’ve witnessed.”

 “So, Mark, what did I walk in on?”

 “What are you talking about Injun?”

 “You, shirtless, Donghyuck wearing your clothes, clinging to you like a koala bear? I smell boyfriends.”

 “How do you smell boyfr-“

 “Shut up Jaemin.”

 “The moment he heard Jungwoo had gone upstairs with you he said good night to Heejin you know? When he saw Jungwoo rushing out he looked about ready to kill him, what happened?”

 “Me and Jungwoo may or may not have been making out and then I may or may not have moaned Hyuck, very, very clearly. And, for fuck’s sake guys, we’re not dating.”

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I believe you,” Renjun’s attention quickly turned back to his phone when he didn’t get the answers he wanted, “oh shit.”

 “What now Injun?”

 “Mark you need to make sure Hyuck doesn’t look at his phone, that updates blog has posted that he’s gay – they say they were told so it was obviously Heejin and not being able to understand getting rejected. Oh my god, what if his parents find out?”

 “Mark? Mark! Mark, come back we need to talk about this!”

 He’d run back upstairs as fast as he could, there was no way Hyuck had slept through the commotion going on downstairs – no matter how hungover he was. Any minute now Hyuck would see the tweets, people commenting on how it was obvious, people commenting on who he thinks Hyuck’s dating. Most of them being Mark. Mark being gay wasn’t any kind of secret, everyone (generally speaking) knew that he was, he never hid it, he made out with boys at parties, he had multiple pride pins on is backpack and what-not, sure he wasn’t screaming it in the cafeteria like Ten used to, openly talking about how much he wanted ahem, body parts, of one’s older brother – yes, Mark will forever be scarred for life by Ten and his invertedness to socially inappropriate conversational topics.

 “Hyuck, you up?” Mark didn’t need to ask the question, he could see Hyuck sat up on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

 “Why do you look so panicked Mark? I’ve been on twitter and it’s whatever, if my parents see it I’ll just deny it, like always.”

 “They’ll really believe that you’re telling the truth?”

 “No, but they won’t know I’m telling a lie.”

 “Sorry? Did you just say you are, you know, that you are that?”

 “Don’t act like it’s so taboo Mark, besides I don’t want to discuss my sexuality with you. I better head off, mum’s been asking what time I’ll be home,” Hyuck got out of bed, picking up his own clothes but not removing Marks, grabbing one of Mark’s hoodies as he walked over, stopping just in front of him, “I hope you had a nice birthday, whatever happened with Jungwoo you can talk to me when you’re ready,” another gentle kiss to Mark’s cheek, “see you later Markie, I’ll text you.”

Mark was left blushing and well-and-truly flustered, the typical after effects of Donghyuck.

#mark lee #markhyuck #markhyuck fic #nct fic #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct

[wistfulcynic]

Another Brick In The Wall, Chapter 5

a/n: No secret quite yet, but more clues! Plus Brothers Jones and Emma. I have to give special thanks to @darkcolinodonorgasm for giving me a new perspective on Liam, who I’ve never particularly liked as a character. I hope you like him here! 

New, serious-this-time-summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with.

Rating: T+

Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Tags for: @jennjenn615 and @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter 5: 

It was astounding and rather disturbing to Killian how different his life at Storybrooke High became after Emma’s party. Where before he had been largely able to repel his classmates by hiding behind his laptop and headphones, turning Neal’s attempted frame job around on him seemed to have garnered Killian something of a reputation. Suddenly everyone was interested in knowing him better. People he didn’t think he’d ever even seen before were now greeting him by name in the halls, and the giggling girls who were so fascinated by hearing him pronounce simple words had unaccountably multiplied. He took to hiding out in a quiet corner of the library at lunchtime, just to get some peace. Fortunately the library was a bridge too far for most of his newfound fans, and only Emma managed to hunt him down there. 

He didn’t mind that so much. 

“I was worried people would be mad when Neal got suspended from the football team and blame you,” Emma confessed to him one Friday lunchtime in November, about three weeks after her party. “But it turns out everyone pretty much hated him and only put up with his crap because he won football games. And it helps that August has really come through. He’s a junior, and never had much chance to play until now because Neal hogged all the game time, but I really think he’s got more talent than Neal. He’s better at calling plays and doesn’t throw so many dumb interceptions because he’s trying to make a big play to make himself look good. And our running game has gotten way better because Neal always wanted to run passing plays, even on third and short yardage. It was seriously annoying sometimes.”

“Swan,” said Killian in exasperation, “You do know that I only understand about one out of every three of those words, and no one has yet been able satisfactorily to explain to me why a you call this game ‘football’ when only one player’s foot ever even touches the ball. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Emma laughed. “Sure. You doing anything this weekend?”

Killian flushed pink. “I’m going sailing with my brother, then we’re cooking dinner together.” 

“That sounds great,” said Emma, wondering why he looked so embarrassed. “Any special occasion?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “It’s my birthday,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. 

“What?!” 

“It’s my birthday, okay? Today, actually. But of course I have school and Liam has work, so we’re celebrating tomorrow.” He noted with alarm her wide eyes and excited face. “Emma, no,” he begged. “Please don’t make a big deal about this.”

“But it’s your birthday!” 

“And I just want it to be a low-key day, no big celebration, no stress.” 

She tried not to feel deflated. “Just you and your brother.” 

“Unless you’d care to come along?” Killian tried not to sound too hopeful, tried not to be too hopeful, though the idea of spending a whole Saturday with Emma, even with Liam along as well, was just about the best birthday gift he could imagine. 

“Could I?” asked Emma, not troubling to hide her own hopefulness. 

“Um, do you want to?”

“Well… yeah, actually. It sounds really fun. I haven’t been sailing in ages, and I’d kinda like to meet your brother. You talk about him so much I feel like I know him already.” 

“Funny, he says the same about you,” said Killian without thinking. 

“You talk to your brother about me?”

She had that look in her eyes again, the one she’d had at her party right before she kissed him. The one that said she wanted to kiss him again. The one that made him want to let her. Killian gave himself a mental slap. Damn it, no! “Well, you are basically my only friend, Swan, who else would I talk about?” he said, attempting to cover his slip. 

“Maybe I was your only friend, but you seem to have acquired quite a few little admirers lately.” She sounded disgruntled, and he felt absurdly pleased. 

“You’re still my only friend,” he assured her. “And I would be honoured to have you accompany Liam and me on my birthday sailing trip. And to dinner too, if you like.” 

“Didn’t you say you’re cooking together?” she said hesitantly. “I’m not much of a cook.” 

“No, nor I, but Liam is a master of the barbecue, so we’re going to do steaks.” 

“What, outside?” He nodded. “In November? In Maine?”

“We’re from England, love, if we let a little miserable weather deter us from barbecuing we’d never get steak.”

“All right,” she laughed. In that case, I’d love to.” 

His answering smile was radiant, sending the familiar butterflies dancing through her belly, this time in a sophisticated cha-cha-cha. She wanted to kiss him so badly when he looked like this that resisting the urge took a physical effort. 

“We’re scheduled to cast off at ten, so why don’t you meet us at the marina at nine forty-five?” he said. 

“Okay,” she agreed, just as the bell rang signalling the end of lunchtime. They gathered their things and walked to their history class together, not holding hands but both definitely thinking about it, wishing they could, their arms hanging loose at their sides, hands as close as they could get without actually touching. Upon arrival they went to their desks at opposite sides of the classroom, their history teacher having assigned seats at the beginning of the semester. Emma scowled slightly as she watched Killian take his seat between Aurora and Tina, two juniors who had always giggled to each other over him but whose flirting had reached new hights of coquetry In the weeks since the party. She watched as they peppered him with questions and he smiled and charmed them with his replies, and she couldn’t believe they didn’t see how tense he was beneath the charm and how he visibly relaxed when the teacher stood up and started the class, drawing their attention away from him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what time is your girlfriend getting here?” shouted Liam, loud enough to wake the dead. 

Killian sighed. He knew that Liam was just trying to lighten the mood with his teasing but really wished he wouldn’t. His brother knew perfectly well that Emma wasn’t Killian’s girlfriend. What he didn’t know is how the knowledge that she could be tormented Killian, and how any teasing on that point just drove the knife point deeper into his heart. Knowing that he could have her, her smiles and her kisses and her hand in his as they walked through the halls at school, that all that and more was within his reach if he could only forget about all the reasons why he couldn’t take it ate away at him. If he could just bring himself not to care about the consequences, to be a heartless bastard who didn’t give a damn about anyone else, then he could have what he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life. 

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he longed for Emma, he couldn’t do it. 

Liam was thrilled he’d made a friend, and that the friend was a girl. He thought it meant that Killian was forgetting, moving on, and that Emma actually becoming his girlfriend was only a matter of time. 

But Liam didn’t know the worst of it, the full weight of the burden Killian carried, bearing it alone because he didn’t dare share it. As much as he wished to tell Liam or Dr Hopper or Emma or anyone —really, anyone, as long as it wouldn’t be his alone to carry anymore— he was too scared of what they might do, of the potential consequences of people bumbling in trying to fix what they didn’t understand. He would fix it, when he got back to England. It had to be him. 

It had been four months. Another five to go. Nearly eight until the AP exam results would be released. Killian felt panic rising in him at the thought of that three month gap, but he swallowed it back. It would be okay. He forced himself to breathe deeply, calmly. It would be okay. He would fix it. 

Before he could answer Liam’s question, Emma’s yellow bug swung into a parking space right near where their boat was moored. She hopped out, smiling brightly, and Killian’s heart leapt and tumbled in his chest. She was so impossibly beautiful, he thought, so beautiful and bright and pure and good, and just everything he could ever wish for in a girl. Everything he could have had if he hadn’t made made such terrible mistakes, hadn’t completely fucked up his life before it had even really begun. But he pushed those thoughts away. She was here now, to celebrate his birthday with him, and he intended to enjoy what time he had with her. He grinned foolishly as she approached, keeping his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets to stop himself reaching for her. 

She was dressed in chinos and deck shoes and a bright red woollen coat, with a beanie on her head and a large scarf wrapped around her neck. She laughed. “It’s freaking freezing out here, Jones,” she said. “And it’ll be even colder on the water. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s not cold, Swan, it’s bracing,” he said firmly, and she laughed again. He was so caught up in the delightful sound of it that he didn’t notice Liam appearing at his elbow until his brother loudly cleared his throat. Killian glanced over, grimacing at Liam’s appraising look and raised eyebrow. 

“Um, Emma, this is my brother Liam,” he said grudgingly.  

“Mr Jones,” said Emma, flushing slightly and looking suddenly nervous. 

Liam’s smile widened. “Call me Liam, I beg you,” he said. “There must be no undue formality between the only two people in the world able to stomach the company of my little brother.” 

He elbowed Killian, who rolled his eyes. “Younger brother,” he muttered, not quite under his breath. 

Liam chuckled and gestured for Emma to follow him onto the boat. “So, Emma, what sort of sailing experience do you have?”

“Well, my dad has a boat.” 

“Ah, yes, Sheriff Swan. He’s been down here a few times.” 

“Yeah, when I was little we used to go sailing quite a lot, but for the past couple of years it seems like we never have the time.” 

“Your father mentioned you were busy with cheerleading and college applications.”

“Yeah, that’s mostly it.” 

“Where are you planning to study?”

“I’m hoping for Columbia, or else NYU or Boston University.” 

“Any ideas about your major?”

Killian scowled as his brother drew Emma away, busying her with pre-sailing tasks as they chatted. How the hell did Liam know so much about American universities all of a sudden, he wondered crossly. He’d only just learned what a major was himself. 

“I’d like to do psychology, maybe with a criminal justice minor. I’m thinking of being a forensic psychologist.” 

Killian’s scowl deepened. She’d never told him that. Of course, they’d never really discussed their plans for the future aside from his intention to return to England. Suddenly he felt desperately sad, realising that he’d likely never know if Emma achieved her goals. 

Though he had little doubt that she would. She was brilliant and determined, there wouldn’t be much she couldn’t do. If only he could be there to see her succeed. 

“Ahoy there, Killian, don’t just stand there like a lump!” shouted Liam. “Come and help us prepare to set sail. You check the sheets while Emma tells us what exactly a forensic psychologist does.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They sailed out to the edge of Storybrooke’s cape then around the harbour before heading back to their mooring. It was just as cold as Emma had feared, the icy wind whipping her hair into a frenzy and turning the tips of Killian’s ears so red that she worried he’d get frostbite. Pulling her beanie off her head, she thrust it at him. “Put this on,” she commanded. 

“What?”

“Put the hat on, idiot, before your ears fall off.” 

“And what about your ears, Swan?”

“I’ve got my scarf. See?” She wrapped the scarf over her head and around her neck, securing it underneath the collar of her coat. “It’s actually better like this because it holds my hair down. Now put on the damn hat.” 

“Such language, princess,” he teased, pulling the hat on over his ears, where it looked just ridiculously cute. “I’ve never heard you curse so fluently. Is it the influence of us rough seamen?” He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed, throwing back her head and shoving him playfully in the chest. 

Liam watched their byplay, not bothering to hide his delighted grin. It warmed his heart to see his brother smiling like that again, and after meeting Emma he had no qualms about encouraging their relationship. They were both so obviously smitten, the looks they gave each other so positively brimming with teenage angst and longing that Liam felt it could only be a matter of time before Killian finally gave in and asked her out properly. He had clung far longer than Liam had expected to this obligation he seemed to feel towards Milah Gold, but that was firmly in the past now, and Liam had no intention of letting his brother stumble down a similar path ever again. Killian was seeing Dr Hopper regularly and making good progress, according to the psychiatrist’s reports. He was getting good marks in school, seemed to enjoy playing his music again, and now he had a pretty girl his age who was clearly crazy about him. The tight knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in Liam’s chest the previous summer and had been his constant companion ever since eased slightly. The decision to move Killian to America despite his vehement protests had been the right one, Liam was more sure of that now than ever. His little brother was healing, slowly, but he would get there. Soon he would be his old self again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well past eleven when Emma finally dragged herself away from the Jones house after one of the single best days she could remember, sailing and grilling and eating steak and loaded baked potatoes and birthday cake until she couldn’t eat any more. Killian had played his guitar and Liam had sung along; even she had joined in after considerable coaxing and teasing from both of them. She didn’t think she’d ever laughed so hard in her life. Resolutely, she ignored the plaintive voice in her head urging her to stay just a few minutes longer, knowing that she needed time to drive slowly through the icy streets in order to make it home for her midnight curfew. 

Killian walked her to her car. “Thanks for coming today, Emma,” he said softly, taking the beanie from his pocket and pulling it down onto her head, letting his fingertips brush through her hair as he did. “It was the best birthday I’ve had in a while.” 

“I had a great time,” she replied. He dropped his hands from her hair but she caught them and placed them on her hips, stepping closer and leaning her head against his shoulder, smiling as she heard him catch his breath. She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding her own breath for an anxious few seconds until he finally pulled her close, his arms enclosing her tightly. Sighing, she melted into the hug. “Happy birthday, Killian,” she whispered.  

They stood like that for as long as Emma dared, until finally she knew she had to get going. As she started to pull back Killian’s arms tightened around her almost reflexively, as if not wishing to let her go. She looked up at him, their faces so close there was barely a breath between them, and willed him to kiss her. 

She knew it had to be his move. She’d made the last one, now it was up to him. 

He swayed towards her, his eyes fixed on her lips as his own parted slightly, and she fisted her hands in his coat, forcing herself to wait. She could almost feel the conflict within him as he struggled against his attraction to her, and against whatever he was holding inside that wouldn’t allow him to act on it. The tension stretched her nerves tight and the butterflies performed an energetic jitterbug in her belly until Killian seemed to pull himself out of a trance, blinking rapidly and shaking himself and then abruptly his arms were gone and he was stepping away. 

“Drive safely, love,” he said hoarsely. 

Emma hid her disappointment behind a bright smile. “See you at fencing club tomorrow?” she asked, her own voice lower than normal. 

“I’ll be there.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside the door of Dr Hopper’s office, Neal waited. This time of year darkness fell quite early in Maine, and the sun had long since set by the time the psychiatrist went home for the day, whistling as he went. The office door closed behind him with a decisive click and he followed an eager Pongo to the exit, not noticing the boy hidden in the deep shadows of the darkened hallway. 

Once he was sure he was alone Neal knelt in front of the door, withdrawing a set of lock picks from his pocket and quickly jimmying the door open. No security at all, he thought scornfully. You’d think the man guarding Storybrooke’s darkest secrets would have a sturdier lock. He hurried to the filing cabinet, picking that lock just as easily, and soon he had in his hands the thick manila file bearing the name of Killian Jones. Placing it on the coffee table, he made himself comfortable on the sofa and flipped the file open, illuminating its contents with the flashlight from his phone. 

Several minutes later he sat back, feeling gleeful and exhilarated, and thoroughly pleased with himself. This was fucking huge and with it he could annihilate Killian, not just at school but also with Emma. There was no way she would forgive him. Not a prissy little prude like her. Not for this. 

Grinning smugly, he snapped a few pictures with his phone then returned the file to the cabinet and locked everything behind him as he left. For the first time in his life, he couldn't wait to get back to school

(We’ll get the secret in the next chapter, I promise!)

#cs ff au #high school au #captain duckling #profdanglaisstuff #another brick in the wall

[writingwitchly]

Fate knows how to be cruel

JILY CHALLENGE | October 2018 | angst | @wizardingworldwaitforme vs. @lovesickjily​

@jilychallenge prompt: “I didn’t expect you to wait forever. I just hoped…” au where lily breaks up with james because he is being attacked for dating a muggleborn, they later meet at an order meeting during the war and he is engaged to someone else

Word count: 9.4k (yeah, i’m proud)

Warnings: A LOT OF SERIOUS SH*T, PLEASE BE READY. death, blood, angst, language, etc.

A/N: I. DON’T. KNOW. 

***

Her diminished pupils, flooded in the last half-hour, were now dryly scanning the broken reflection that defied her.

Her intense green eyes, usually praised as very attractive, had become two dark pits, surrounded by red, tense skin. From her mouth, reduced to a pale split line, the rests of her anguish were escaping under the form of convulsive sighing, of air that her lungs did not manage to catch. The red maine she had inherited from her mother was plastered on her wet forehead, rebelling itself on some places by sticking out in messy knots. Her grayish cheeks were the vision of sickness itself, a sickness that comes from deep down in the chest, that roots itself cruelly in the flesh of the heart.

The cracked mirror, result of a very violent waving of her wand, was hanging loosely on the wall, throwing disdainfully at her tired body this vision of herself she had never adopted before.

Some months ago, nobody would have believed it possible for one of Hogwarts’ most promising students, exemplar Gryffindor prefect and thrice alumnus of the year, to find herself in such a situation.

Still, there she was, choking on her pain, raging at herself and the world, back at her desk, and writing her name at the end of the letter. She was signing her death sentence with her favorite quill.

The paper was heavy in her hands. The inked words weighted like lead on her lungs. She whistled a faint sound, and felt the air moving in her back.

Sealing the envelope and tying it to the frail leg was too hard. She had to start over twice, and scratched her wrist in the process, opened a new wound on herself. One more she’d have to cure, but would have no force to.

Her walk to the window, with the owl perched on her shoulder, seemed longer than one’s walk through life. Her fingers mechanically thrust the window open, scaring the bird.

The world was cold, freezing. Her soul too.

The owl’s piercing look searched its owner’s, but she pointedly avoided it, gazing at the clouds. If she allowed herself a moment of doubt, she’d never do it. The burning flame of courage in her stomach was faltering every day more, since this bloody war had started.

Sometimes she wondered, how could she not, why she had been sorted in the house of the braves. She had nothing of a Gryffindor, after all. She was demonstrating to be a coward. She wasn’t even doing this in person.

The bird let out an irked hoot, and turned toward the outside. It waited a few more seconds, implying that this was the only moment for her to step back on her decision. She almost did.

When the pair of sandy wings became a barely visible point on the dark roof of the night, the moon alone heard the shattering of the girl’s soul, the signal that her pure existence, already filled with too many sharp despair, had been attacked one time too much.

As she felt that her life was over, as her knees buckled under the weight of her past and future, the wind and stars united to mourn her innocence, screaming her name

***

What a coward.

The headquarters were full.

There had been another Muggle attack recently.

The Order’s meeting were a drag. Most of all, if Slughorn had to add a motivational speech at the end. His voice, in the best of the cases, was a muffled buzz that invited to fall asleep on the spot. The rest of the times, it just made you want to drink death potion.

The dark corner at the far end of the room seemed to be a very good place for rummaging dusty thoughts from two years ago, oblivious of what happened in the world around.

Maybe this was where Mad Eye stored his negative energy, in case he ran out of it.

What a fucking coward.

But, to be honest, it was not the place’s fault if Lily was feeling downhearted. It had become a habit of hers, to constantly be in the doldrums. She had erased the words happy, fun, joy -- and any synonym -- from her daily life.

All that mattered was to fight.

Nothing else.

Still. What a coward had she been.

It had happened ages away, back when she still could manage to worry about what was going on in her chest, in that place that she could not bring herself to name now.

Not even the flickering light bulb on the decrepit roof distracted her from remembering everything clearly.

The facts, the tears, the pain.

The reason.

She felt the urge to fracture a couple of Death Eater’s bones, but all she could do was to keep ruminating.

After sending him the letter, she had tried to hate him. For who breaks up successfully with the person they love? This type of separation never lasts long, and she didn’t want that.

Fate is strong, but Lily’s character too.

She had slowly managed to erase him from her life, half by shutting herself to the world, half because of why she had shattered their link.

It had been the right decision to take. She needed protect their friends, their security, their future.

She’d thought that, yeah. That it was the best to do, for her and for

...him.

He crossed the entrance with that characteristic nonchalance of his, talking loudly, not giving a blatant damn that Slughorn was still halfway through his speech. Sirius and Peter were behind him, laughing without hiding it, their clothes and hair and faces as Lily remembered them from the last time she had seen them, on King’s Cross platform: messy, but communicating mischievousness and a great will to live.

Exactly what she lacked.

She was not the only one staring at the young men. Two or three attendees had swung round, wandering who was arming hell behind there, and were now nudging their neighbors, appalled looks on their faces.

Whispers of wonder and astonishment rapidly covered the boring speaker’s words.

“What, they’re back!”

“Look at their smiles! The mission was a success, it’s sure!”

“Finally! Dumbledore must have found a way.”

“May Merlin hear your words, Agatha.”

“Almost two years out of the country, poor lads.”

“Looks like Albania didn’t educate Black and Pettigrew better than England had.”

“But it surely did a great job with Potter.”

James’ hair, surprisingly, was not storm-like; his glasses were not dangerously hanging from its point of his nose, but had somehow settled up on its bridge. His shirt was carefully inserted in his pants, which had been ironed, so could impossibly be his. His face was scarred in some places, but it was easy to notice the presence of proper baths and skin care on his regular traits.

This could not be James Potter.

The most shocking part of his appearance, to Lily, were his shoelaces. Leather strings, tied properly.

Reluctantly, she was reminded of that chilly pre-Christmas exams time of her sixth year.

This was already a period of doubt in the wizarding world, and the Gryffindors had decided to strengthen the solidarity bond with Yule gift. It had been Mary’s idea to write the names on a piece of paper, introduce it in a bag, and make everyone secretly draw one out. To Lily’s despair, she had caught that one paper she dreaded, the only one she’d have died to avoid. At that time, Potter still was the biggest pain in the neck ever for Lily. At least, that’s what every student got to hear daily.

The day to leave Hogwarts for the end-of-year holidays arrived, bringing along the deadline for the present giving. 

As Remus told Lily later, James had found a  tiny pack on his bedroom table, which wore no name, no mark that could tell him who had been his secret Santa. But by gradually removing everyone else from his list -- “Oi Pads! Next time you give me socks, at least watch out for matching sizes!” “Marlene! Who’s the fucking idiot who told you I like ice tea?” --, the boy had reduced his possible suspects to only one person. 

He had looked for her morning long, but had resigned himself to open the gift alone on the train Platform, after his fruitless searching.

Still, lily had never been very far, just hiding well. From the corner where she was watching him, ashamed of what she had done, Lily had seen the pair of formless, ragged pieces of thin rope being taken out from the wrapping paper. She had gulped down hard, wishing he would just throw them under the locomotive, consider it a prank. She had wanted to scream at him that “See Potter, that’s how important you are to me,” even if she was not sure she really felt this way.

But something incredible had happened. James had called the other Marauders, had gestured something to them, pointing to his feet, his face flushed with excitement. Sirius had rolled his eyes, but Peter had patted him on the back gently, and had helped him to fix the strings on his shoes. The four of them had laughed, James more drunkenly than heartily, and he had then cried out to the crowd, “Look at this, Evans! Best gift I’ve ever received!”

Lily’s stomach had done a 360 degrees flip, and she had bit her lip, trying to force herself into believing that he was just joking.

“Never gonna see me without ‘em!”

And she had never.

Until now.

Her eyes unconsciously trailed up his figure, until they came to rest on his shining smile. Her look met his, and the smile disappeared.

An unpleasant heaviness tied her throat.

For the first time since she was 18, she realized that her strong will had failed. The last two years’ efforts had been completely useless.

And for the first time since she was 18, she felt a ray of hope warming her face

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

The world seemed to spin in slow motion when a blonde girl, whom Lily had never seen before, stepped in the room. Sirius greeted her, and James’ eyes abandoned Lily’s to settle on the newcomer.

His grin came back. He opened his arms to welcome her.

The redhead felt a pang between her ribs, in that place she hadn’t considered for months.

It had taken her only one second to feel her heart come alive for the first time in two years.

And one more to murder it all over again.

Leaving behind a crowd in growing agitation, Lily sped off down the hallway.

He didn’t follow her.

***

She had seen the message earlier in the afternoon.

Which, to be frank, had been a real luck: she wasn’t opening her post anymore. She barely even ate.

But receiving an envelope with the red Hogwarts’ crest at the age of twenty meant that something serious was going to happen.

So she had read, understood, and followed the instructions.

And now she found herself gazing at the dark walls of the Ministry of Magic, armed, and ready to fight.

Ready to- give everything.

Go big or go to the grave.

The call came from some hundred meters behind her. “Evans!”

Kingsley had always been a good speaker, with that loud voice of his. In the times when they still called each other by their first name, she imagined him to become a radio presenter. Instead, he wore the Auror’s colors now. And had been promoted as a secondary leader of the Order.

Still, maybe, after this fucking war…

“Are you going to daydream for long? You’re the last one.”

Lily shook her head to get out of her drowsiness, and sprinted toward her group leader. He looked at her with a critical frown. “You should gulp something down more often, Evans.”

And they were off toward the other end of the somber corridor.

“How many of them?”

“Our sentry counted twenty to the meeting this morning. Cobra confirmed the hour of the attack.” Cobra, their double agent. They only disposed of one, and hoped they were not infiltrated as well. “We secretly evacuated the employees and officers in the early afternoon.”

“How many of us?” She knew the answer. It was the same every time the whole squad was convocated. She just liked to have all the information confirmed.

“Eighteen.”

A mechanical nod of approval, but then- “Eighteen?”

“Eighteen,” repeated Kinsley’s strong voice. “Eighteen.”

Deep below his still tone, there was some embarrassment.

For fuck’s sake no. Not tonight.

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

She first saw Peter, a grimace of utter worry stamped on his face. He looked ready to die. Not by fighting, but of fright. He did not grin at her when their glances bumped, but lowered his head.

Sirius saw her, but acted as if not. Of the Marauders, he had always been the one who liked her less. He was still angry at her for deserting them, causing another anguish to their group of friends.

From the bottom of her heart resurfaced the desire that Remus had come back from his mission too. She was selfish, but she would have given anything to have him as the third add to the squad.

As she thought this, James’ face came into focus, ten steps away. Right where Kingsley was pointing.

“But-”

He glared at her. “The orders don’t come from me, Evans.”

She reluctantly wished him good luck, and headed towards her fight partner.

Standing next to him gave her goosebumps.

“Evans.”

Cold, indifferent greeting.

“Potter.”

Erased, bitter answer.

Lily felt James shifting his weight from foot to foot. Their breathing was distressed.

“Listen to me everyone!” The leader’s words echoed in the huge, nearly lifeless hall. “The orders for this mission are clear: protect the ministry at all cost. I don’t care how you do it: fight until you are not able to breathe anymore. Do not pay attention to the rest of the team, be the only one standing if it has to be this way. Reinforcements are planned to arrive.” He marked a pause, fixed each member of his group, each soul under his charge, knowing that he may never see them again. “And please, do your best to not fucking die.”

There was no clapping, no murmur of approval. You don’t acclaim what can be the most final goodbye.

“You wrote.”

The words slipped off her tongue in an unauthorized murmur. She mentally punched herself.

“You didn’t write back.”

She had sworn she wouldn’t.

All lights were off. The silence was sluggish. The air was suffocating.

It was not her first operation of defense, but a sense of uneasiness was crawling up Lily’s lungs. She never had to fight in almost complete darkness before. A good pair cooperation was going to be crucial.

Great, she’d probably die tonight.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t intend to say goodbye to life right today, Evans.” James’ voice was full of assurance. “So if you could please avoid to hit me square in the chest...”

He really thought that she hated him.

Everybody thought so.

That’s how she had made her letter sound.

A blonde silhouette hovered before her eyes for the fraction of a moment.

“Just fucking fight, you prat.”

And the conversation was over.

The first flash of electric green ripped the stillness seconds later, but the real shock shook them when somebody screamed.

At least two dozens of black draughts circled the members of the Order, and materialized in masked, caped shapes. The impact of red and blue lights was immediate, and chaos erupted.

Rolling down to the floor, Lily avoided a stupefy thrown her way, and poured all her rage in a bright orange spell. A strangled sound confirmed that she had hit her target.

“Expelliarmus!” shouted James from her side. He threw himself to the ground too, when his missed aim replicated. Lily saved him by conjuring a shielding charm, but couldn’t avoid the intense shot of purple that hit her in the ribs.

At first, nothing. Then, everything.

A snake of fire formed in her veins, consuming her skin. A searing blade was tearing her insides, her hands were attacked by invisible knives, her throat scratched by razors at each call for misericord. Her flaming hair cruelly danced around her, threatening to choke her already impossible breathing. Her bones were exploding, her mind was becoming something else. A burnt smell travelled in the atmosphere, her vision was masked by red sparks of suffering.

They always tell you horrific things about the cruciatus curse. They never approach the truth.

She could not think, nor react. She was a broken doll in some atrocious kid’s hands.

Her screams filled her attacker’s ears like a gong of victory. He savagely flicked his wand, enjoying the sight of the contorsionating girl.

He paid his barbarity too cheaply.

“Avada kedavra!”

Still harboring an ugly smirk, Adam Rosier became James Potter’s first victim, collapsing on the ground as the meaningless mass he was. The young wizard spat in the Death Eater’s direction, leaving for later his reaction to the shock of killing somebody.

He ducked a lost red flash, and ran to kneel down next to his partner’s motionless body. He prayed under his breath that she hadn’t died right here and now, before his eyes, because of him. His forehead was pale skin under a coat of sweat.

He grabbed her wrist, felt only a faint pulse, muttered a spell, prayed harder.

“Potter!” Kingsley’s voice was barely audible through the wall of imprecations and incantations, even though he was his closest ally. “Potter! What the hell! Get up and fight!”

No time to explain him about Lily, he would not have listened anyway. The orders were clear, and Kingsley was a man shaped by rules.

James sent him to hell, and took the girl in his arms, wrapped in occasional bursts of light.

He made it to the nearest hiding he could find, a wide crack in a wall, with a deep burn in the back and a bleeding eyebrow, but ignored them at his best. He carefully laid the witch on the fissured floor, waved his hands above her head, and breathed a couple of curing charms.

An explosion resounded, the ground quaked. Dust and little stones fell from the roof, hitting her face like solid rain drops.

“Please, Evans, don’t be a bitch and stay alive.”

He risked himself to shake her shoulder.

A groan escaped her throat, and James almost fainted of relief when her eyelids slowly raised.

“What the-” Her feverish eyes opened widely, and she sat up in a urge, releasing the content of her stomach on the concrete ground. Her face was the same color.

Another violent tremor shook the building, and the man had to force his throat shut.

When Lily’s retching came to an unsure end, her back found the floor as a support.

Her breath was heavy.

“Are you ok?”

Now, what a dumb question. Of course she was not.

She didn’t answer.

Lily had never imagined that she would meet James Potter again under these circumstances. It made the whole situation worse.

She had left him broken, two years ago. She had disappeared, leaving scars all over his soul. Yet, there he was, saving her life.

This was one of the things she had struggled the most to hate in him, when time had come to force herself out of their relationship. His unconditional kindness, his generous thoughtfulness. He was ready to believe in anybody’s redemption, providing excuses to the most irrational behaviors.

Through the blurry curtains of her pain, Lily distinguished his creased brow. Of course, he was preoccupied. He couldn’t hold any grudge, had to forgive everyone. Even when they killed him in the inside.

Why the fuck did he always have to be so- himself?

Lying, pale like a blanket, she wore that severe expression that implied she was on the edge of exploding.

A blonde face smiled at her. She blinked, and it was gone.

“Did you just call me a bitch, Potter.”

It was not a question, nor a joke to release the tension. He felt it.

“I just saved your life, Evans,” he defended himself.

“You are disobeying the orders.”

Their eyes met for the first time that night. It felt like a clash.

“So what, I should have left you at that monster’s mercy?”

“Exactly.”

James pushed his glasses up his nose with a raging gesture.

“You know what, Evans? I may actually consider you to be a bitch. And I surely have a hundred reasons to. Do you realize that it’s the first time we have a conversation since our- since our last day at Hogwarts?” There was badly disguised pain in his words. “Do you realize that, maybe, I have some questions?”

From the breach on the wall, some bits of the fight penetrated their safe place.

Lily stumbled up.

“Where do you think you’re going now?” James’ voice was irritated, but also preoccupied. He hadn’t brought her all the way here to see her fall again out there.

“Have you really not heard the bloody orders, Potter,” she answered, leaning on the wall to chase away her dizziness. “Get your scared ass in the tussle and fight.”

“But you can’t possibly think t-!” She was already out of reach of his words, moving toward the core of the collision. “Damn it, Lily!”

She heard him running toward the center of the mass a few seconds later.

“Confringo!” Her blue sparkle hit one of the enemies straight at the heart, and she stupefied another one shortly after avoiding his attack.

Feeling that agony inside her had heightened her expectations of sufferance, and she thought of nothing as she walked more dead than alive through the web of curses.

She was angry at the world, at James Potter, and at herself.

“Avada ke-”

Her words were cut off by the sudden disappearance of her target, leaving her baffled. She looked for another Death Eater to aim at, but could find none alive in sight.

She heard Kingsley’s confused imprecations, joined by Alice’s, and James’ sharp inhalations neax to her.

The temperature had dropped considerably.

“You have lost enough.” The treacherous voice snaked its way to her ears like a repulsive melody invading her mind. “If you give up now, you will be rewarded. Lord Voldemort is not insensible to courage.”

Several looks scanned the room, but the semi darkness prevented anybody from seeing farther than a few meters away.

A glacial laughter resounded in her head.

In prey of a terrible presentiment, Lily focused on counting the living people remaining in the hall, all members of the Order. One, two, five, ten, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Fifteen! Maybe she had just counted wrong. Again: one, five, ten, fifteen.

“You have until the count of three to surrender,” the voice explained, freezing her blood. “Or else you will all die.”

A bright light illuminated the air, forcing Lily to protect her eyes with her hand.

Her limbs stiffened.

Three bodies were suspended in the emptiness by a magical rope tied to their chest.

Three faces were decomposed in fear, bathed in this raw light.

Amanda, Drew, and Peter were hanging twenty meters above the ground.

Lily had found her three missing teammates. Panic was boiling between her temples.

Peter emitted a strangled squeal that shook her from her apathy. His eyes, out of their orbits, were fixing a point behind the group.

“Face me, members of Dumbledore’s army! See the traits of the man that will end your miserable existence if you don’t bend to him!”

When she swung round, a cry escaped her mouth.

The body was draped in black, floating in mid air. The face was thin, blueish, bore no nose. The fingers were long, bony, holding a menacing wand. The eyes were a snake’s, of an intense red.

The smile was sharp, victorious.

She was staring at the Dark Lord in person.

“I advise you to surrender,” The voice did not reach Lily through her ears. It came from between her ribs, from the center of her bones. “Now.”

Lily felt James’ body tensing centimeters away from hers, but the menace received no answer.

Despite the fear, the orders were clear.

“Good,” the Dark Lord’s voice echoed, with a cynical trace of amusement sketched in it. “So let the countdown begin. Nagini!”

Lily’s knees trembled.

Whatever Nagini was, it came slowly, imperceptibly, quietly, like death itself.

They didn’t see it, but they could feel its presence to their left, their right, everywhere. The creature’s aura trapped them, froze them. It was as if a spell had been casted on the room, preventing any movement. Any smell, any sound, had disappeared from the world.

The wizards couldn’t even hear their own shaky breath.

Time had stopped.

“One!”

A shout of despair recalled Lily’s attention on the point where the hostages were hanging.

Faster than a bolt, a long, scaled form had coiled down the first rope. Amanda’s face, which had been deformed in horror, was now still, her pupils vitreous. On her neck, a hideous mark was drawn in blood.

The aftermath of the cruciatus hit Lily hard in the stomach, and she felt like throwing up again.

Her arms couldn’t move, she was paralyzed.

“Two!”

She saw Drew’s last desperate look falter on his traits.

Heavy drops of cold sweat slided down her spine. She gathered all her forces, interrupting her breathing in the effort, weak from her injury.

Peter already looked dead to her.

She struggled to stretch her fingers.

“Th-”

“Confringo!” “Avada Kedavra!” “Petrificus totalus!” “Cruciatus!”

The four spells flew at the same time toward the voice.

Responding to their instincts, Lily, James, Sirius, and Alice had managed to break the inertia that was pinning them down, firing their shots with a propulsed rage.

It happened so fast.

Nobody could resist to four curses at once.

A ball of blinding light surrounded the Dark Lord, its powerful energy making everyone fall to their knees. The inhuman cry of destruction ripped the atmosphere, pierced their eardrums, reached their souls and tore them apart. A storm of black dust wrapped, asphyxiated them. There was coughing, an intense warmth, and the smell of rotten meat.

A skull formed in the air, laced by a snake. For a split second, it seemed to Lily that the skull looked at her with an intense rage.

She heard Peter’s screams, then fainted.

***

Lily wondered why everybody preferred life rather than death. At least, when you’re dead, you can’t wake up to a raw reality.

The first signal that she received from her body was a stabbing pain on her side. She stifled a cry with her pillow, which left a disagreeable smell of bleach on her face.

The sheets were white, that’s all she saw. Her eyes were too sensible to last more than a few seconds open.

Last time she had found herself in medical care, it had been because of a potions experiment gone wrong, in her seventh school year.

Right after waking up for good, she had been greeted by half a dozen of her friends, either sitting or standing, who had brought her sweets and kind notes.

Professors had passed by in the day, beaming at her and sharing their wishes of seeing her well soon.

Tucked under the soft sheets, she had thanked them all dearly.

The only thing to beckon now was the lonely grey chair that flanked her uncomfortable mattress.

She hated hospitals.

She tried to move her hands, but the effort caused a wave of protest in her stomach.

Her other, rapid sight of the world were two shadows on the white curtain that isolated her bed.

It took her a while to distinguish any sound.

“... serious state,” affirmed a high-pitched voice.

“How long do you think it will take?”

Dumbledore. This was Dumbledore’s serious tone.

“Probably days,” placidly answered the woman. “She was hit by a cruciatus, according to Shacklebolt. It didn’t last more than a dozen of seconds, but it was enough to make her lose her senses. And then, there was this explosion they all talk about. We can’t understand the magnitude of the force that hit them, nor how it possibly left her in such a drained state. She was two-thirds dead when they brought her here. Do you know anything more?”

The buzzing in her ears made it impossible for Lily to hear the warlock’s murmured answer.

“If you are right, I must act right now. Another healer will lead you to Pettigrew’s room. Black left yesterday, while Longbottom is still unconscious. Potter received a visit earlier in the morning. A young woman, to whom we gave exceptional allowance as she affirmed being his fiancee.”

A hurtful darkness engulfed Lily.

***

Everything was numb.

She was vaguely aware of the door of her room clicking open. A voice slinked in.

“I am not sure if she’s awaken yet, boy. And visits are not allowed, at this stage of the cure. You’ll have to come back in a few days, when she’ll feel better.”

It took some seconds for the words to sink in.

What?

No fucking way she was going to stay in this hell of a place for ‘a few days.’

“Hey!” She called.

Hurried steps came her way, the curtains were dragged open, and a grey beard bent over her face. The man’s pungent breath stung her nostrils.

He pulled back just in time to avoid her first retching wave.

The world was spinning, she couldn’t draw in any oxygen.

“Johnes!” The healer’s voice was as disagreeable as his smell. “Call Jenkins and Perks, she’s having another attack!”

The last thing Lily saw, as her unsteady gaze fell on the doorframe, before sinking back into oblivion, were squared glasses and ruffled hair.

***

This dance between life and death was the most exhausting thing that had ever happened to her.

Exhausting and deceiving: she always woke up.

The fissures under her eyelashes revealed the same depressing white light on the roof. She groaned, but was relieved that no twist of nausea manifested itself. Her tongue seemed glued to her palate, and her throat was as dry as a roasted nut.

Helping herself with her forearms, Lily sat up.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered. It somehow felt comforting to hear her own voice, even if it was cracked. “When was the last time I brushed my teeth.”

“Six days ago, I’d say.”

Her start was so violent that she almost rolled down to the floor.

“That is, assuming that you wash them regularly.”

The grey chair at her right was not empty anymore. James was sitting on it, his legs crossed.

Lily instinctively pulled the sheets up, to cover what the hospital’s blouse barely disguised. “What- How in the world did you get inside here?”

The man pointed a finger toward the door with a smirk, which, in other conditions, would have made her roll her eyes.

She scanned him. He looked much more like the James she had always known, with his hair all untidy and his crumpled shirt half-tuck in his pants.

Nostalgy almost made her smile, but she got the feeling that he wouldn’t have appreciated it.

“What do you want?”

His stare fled hers.

“Before your dear friend comes back to kick my butt out of here, you should see this.”

He handed her a copy of the Daily Prophet

The rugose paper was stained in multiple places, ripped in others, but it would have been difficult not to read the title that took the entire half of the first page, ‘The Dark Lord Defeated.’

Lily’s jaw dropped. “I swear, if this is one of your stupid pranks, I’ll-”

A spasm in the side cut her sentence.

“Calm down, Evans. We don’t want you to die after becoming a hero, do we? Dumbledore would kill me.”

His finger brushed the upper corner of the newspaper, invisibly highlighting some words and numbers. Swallowing with difficulty, Lily read the date of publication. It was from three days ago.

“So?”

“So it’s not a prank. But it’s useless. He’s still alive. Cobra confirmed it.”

Her shoulders dropped. Still-

“How can somebody resist to four attacks at the same time? He can’t possibly be alive!”

James brushed her comment away with a gesture of his head. “Have you seen him the other night, Evans? He already looked like a corpse. He masters some dark magic we don’t know about, not even Dumbledore. I doubt we achieved anything more than to anger him.”

It had been too good to be true. Though it didn’t feel like reality. More like a nightmare.

“We did more than that. We saved Pet-”

Her voice died in her throat.

They had saved Peter.

They had saved only Peter.

On her neck, a hideous mark was drawn in blood.

Amanda had always been nice to Lily, even if the latter didn’t seek people’s company. She had shared with her a part of her lunch for long, after a particularly hard week, when Lily’s hollow cheeks had become too evident.

The last look of despair faltered on his face.

Drew had always been an important moral support to the squad. Not the most brilliant bloke in the world, but his seriousness was a column to which many members had found support, including Lily.

They had been important, in their own way.

And now they were gone.

Lily’s shoulders slumped.

“I- there is something else- I have to tell you.” James’ pause was sad, warned her of the worse. “Dumbledore told me something about- the second hostage’s wife. She- she died yesterday. They did her possible to save her but h-”

He kept talking, but nothing reached her ears.

Lily had met Drew’s wife once. The Order had lost her as a member when she had lost her brother because of a mission. She was very reserved, pale like a chrysanthemum. Drew often compared her to a frail flower, but Lily had understood that she was ill.

They were a loyal couple, loved each other dearly.

In wedding vows, you promise to follow your other half everywhere, no matter what.

The poor woman had kept her promise.

The air burnt Lily’s throat. She didn’t want to breathe anymore.

James was still sitting next to her, and didn’t move as she buried her grief under a sea of tears.

She would have wanted him to hug her, to help her soothe the pain of mourning people she had barely known, but who had died in front of her.

‘Fiancee’ had said the healer to Dumbledore.

“Just leave, please.”

It costed her only a whisper, and she was alone again.

***

Lily filled her lungs with the sun’s air, relieved to inhale the dust of the streets. After ten days of undergoing all types of stupid tests in the hospital, she was finally physically out.

What she needed now was infinite sleep, and a ton of pain killers.

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

***

Things reached her through a haze.

The bed and the light were the same, just the curtains had changed. They were thicker.

It was a nightmare repeating itself.

Her head throbbed. Somebody must have hit her skull with a hammer.

The person standing right next to her, maybe.

“Good morning, Lily.” For a moment, she feared that the man would get too close. Then she noticed that his beard was clearer than the healer’s. “Can I have a second of your time?”

Her instinct advised her to send him to hell, her sore throat won the battle.

Dumbledore observed her like a little girl looks at an injured puppy. Something in his voice was wrong.

“Do you remember anything, Lily?”

Anything of what?

Shaking her head made her nerves go wild.

“You did it again.”

She did what now. End up in a bed that smelt of too much cleaning?

Yeah, she had noticed.

“You defeated Lord Voldemort a second time.”

And she passed out.

***

“Can somebody  tell me what the fuck he meant?” The only answer she got was the metallic noises of medical tools. “How in the world did I ended up in this disgusting place again? What’s going on?”

Being nice had been completely erased from her agenda.

The nurses who were taking her blood pressure sighed in frustration. “We have already told you, Ms. Evans. We can’t tell you anything. The Head Healer said-”

“Then call your damned Head Healer.”

The women left without taking their toolkit.

An eternity later, Grey Beard stepped in.

“Good afternoon Ms. E-”

“How did I fucking end up here?”

He seemed to hesitate.

“I have been instructed to not reveal any information, Ms. Evans, for the sake of your health. You will have to wait until you get the green light to leave.”

“As if,” she grunted. “Where is Dumbledore?”

The man hesitated. His inner voices were arguing over what to do, but promptly found an agreement.

He left the room, and didn’t come back for the next two days.

***

“I am not a doll!”

Her fist hit the table.

She was wild. A real storm.

The portraits on the walls were empty, their occupants having fled toward a better climate.

Behind his desk, Hogwarts’ Headmaster didn’t flinch.

“You left me rotting in that horrible hospital for ten more days.” Her tears were a free stream. “You came to give me an explanation when I could only think you were a vision.” A bubble burst in her chest. “And now you tell me that-”

Dumbledore sighed. “And now I tell you that the girl who was your best friend died in that mission you can’t even remember.” Lily pressed her hand to her mouth, bit her fingers with rage. “Ms. Mckinnon was one of our best members, Ms. Evans. She knew that this mission was highly dangerous. She accepted it. Do not blame yourself.”

It hurt.

It hurt because Marlene had been the first person Lily had met after her sister had called her a freak for the hundredth time, on King’s Cross station.

It hurt because Lily hadn’t spoken to Marlene after their last day at Hogwarts, for the same reason why she had broken up with James, for the same reason why she had refused to answer to Mary or Remus’s letter.

It hurt because Marlene had been the only one to accept her decision, to try to understand her, when she had left.

It hurt because, after that, she had seen her for the last time during a mission she didn’t remember, maybe told her something she didn’t recall, or perhaps ignored her like Sirius had done with her.

“Are there- Are there chances to recover my memory?”

At least she could grasp to that, but Dumbledore’s eyes were sorry.

“The shock of the impact, its magnitude, leaves us few hopes, Ms. Evans. We don’t know what would have happened if Longbottom hadn’t come to your rescue.” Lily shuddered. I wouldn’t be here. “But what you managed to do,” he adds in a comforting voice, “Is extraordinary. Ms. Mckinnon will not have died in vain.”

She could ask him again, but he didn’t seem incline to disclose some information. It didn’t belong to him, after all.

“So who could tell me what happened exactly that night?”

She needed to know from somebody who had been there.

She needed to know how it had happened.

“Four people were present beside you and Ms. Mckinnon. Black refuses to have any contact with anybody, Fortescue and Longbottom are still interned. The only one that will accept to help you is-”

She felt the answer before he could mention it.

Fate knows how to be cruel.

“James Potter.”

***

The doorbell rang.

It had cost her a herculean effort. She hoped that no blonde girl would open the door.

An eye appeared in the spy-hole, widened considerably, then vanished.

There was a second of doubt before the wooden panel swung on its hinges.

“Lily?”

Blimey, Euphemia Potter hadn’t changed a bit. Maybe she had a couple more wrinkles, but these are things you don’t notice in women like her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Potter. Is James here?”

Euphemia defied the girl with a stare. A mother never forgets the face of her son’s murderer.

“Please,” begged Lily. “It’s very important.”

The woman slowly nodded.

In the corridor, she didn’t offer her any tea or biscuits. Not even water. She pointed to the living room, then disappeared upstairs.

Lily crossed her legs, and patiently waited.

She didn’t hear James coming, and practically did not see him standing in the doorframe until he cleared his throat.

Again, that will to hug him, to forget everything in the security of his warm embrace.

“What do you want, Evans?”

She raised her eyes to his face. “What happened?”

He sat in the armchair that faced her, and did something that pushed her down the cliff.

He took her hands.

***

Marlene had infiltrated the Death Eaters’ meeting.

The Order needed information. They had provided her a backup squad, in case things would go wrong. Everything was under control until the Dark Lord had required the attendees to take off their masks.

He knew.

Marlene had looked at him straight in the eyes when he had raised his wand.

“You jumped forward from behind the double-wall.” James tried to hold his voice together, pressing his thumbs gently on her palms. “Marlene looked at you as if you were from another world. For the fraction of a second, her empty expression switched with the one she usually harbored at- at Hogwarts. She badly wanted to smile, but you were both about to die, so she didn’t. The effect of surprise you had caused vanished, and the shot was fired. Hit her square in the chest.” He badly represses a sob. “He dismissed the meeting, as if nothing had happened, while you were still gazing at Marlene’s body. He felt so- superior.”

Lily’s vision was blurry.

“He was aiming at you, smirking, when shock woke you up. You turned to face him, and screamed the curse. He underestimated you so much that he didn’t duck it on time, so he stumbled. Alice and Frank were quick with their spells, but he was quicker. Like last time, his dark image invaded the room, and he dissolved into thin air. You were the closest one, the energy trapped you.”

Her mind didn’t want to assimilate this as the truth, though she knew deep down that it was the correct version of facts.

It felt unreal, but what did not lately?

She was not even capable to accept pain and sadness anymore.

“Lily… We could have gone through this together…” In other times, embarrassment would have made him scratch his neck, but his fingers were warm on hers. His grip was firm. He wanted an answer. “Why did you do it?”

Did he honestly think that she could talk about this right now?

She wanted to cry, but her body was dry.

“You have a fiancee, James. I don’t think it really matters to you anymore.”

“Don’t use that accusative tone. It sounds as if you expected me to wait forever.”

“I didn’t expect you to wait forever. I just hoped…”

“You hoped! Be honest, Lily! I thought you loved me at least a fragment of how much I loved you, that would have been enough. The world as we knew it was breaking apart, we all needed some stable points, but you decided to destroy my strongest one!” He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him in the eyes. “Do you know how much our relationship meant to me? Did you realize that you’d leave me in pieces? Did you even care? It turned out you hated me!”

Two years of efforts.

Marlene had died not knowing that she loved her, perhaps even thinking the contrary.

“I didn’t!” Her shout made him recoil. “I loved you more than anything in the world, James! I- I wanted to save you! You, Peter, Remus, Sirius, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, and all the others! You were getting attacked for dating me! They fucking used the cruciatus on you, while we were still at school, bloody hell! You got tortured because of me!”

James was appalled. He raised, dropping her hands.

“Loving somebody means caring about their feelings, Lily. You hurt me more by leaving than these damned moron could have in hours of persecution! They came after me anyway! They still tried to kill me after you left! And guess what, I didn’t feel like surviving! I was dead in the inside! Was it not for the boys, I would be under six feet of dust right now!”

She stood up too, erecting herself so his nose faced her forehead.

Her eyes were losing their sparkle.

“You don’t hear yourself, James! War is not the right moment to attach your life to somebody else’s, most of all if that person is a principal aim! Look at what happened to Drew and his wife. He died, and she didn’t resist! I didn’t want that! I didn’t want you to suffer because of me!”

“It was harder to accept the fact that you were leaving without any apparent reason! Fuck, Lily! Try to be coherent!”

“You had friends then, but who knew if they’d still be living later! You got over it, you didn’t die of despair! You found l-”

She had to sit down, to cover her face with her hands.

All she had wanted was to protect him.

And now, he had a fiancee. Another person through which they could harm him.

He was making all her struggles meaningless.

He was making her jealous.

“You found love again.”

Fate knows how to be cruel.

***

Her apartment had never seemed as dim as when she stepped out of the chimney.

Even after opening the curtains -- she took them off, she had had enough of any kind of them -- the windows barely let a couple of light rays in. They needed some cleaning, but it seemed impossible to her that such a basic task still existed.

There was war going on. Her living room glass panels begged for some soap.

The two things did not get along at all.

Lily sank in her old sofa, sending a cloud of dust and ashes spiraling in the air. She took her wand out of her pocket, and examined it consciously. She was not sure to remember how to use it.

When you want to produce magic, you need to mean something.

She didn’t feel like she meant anything anymore.

Her gaze dropped to the floor, and this is when she noticed the envelope abandoned on the carpet.

***

Lily hesitated.

It was pure suicide.

“How many of us?”

Her favorite question to alleviate the pressure.

Though now, she really needed to know.

“Four.” It was a glacial answer. A frightened answer. “More would be too much, and less… pure craziness.”

This was already crazy. Marlene had tried. She had failed.

“Who else apart from us?”

“Frank,” Of course. “And James.”

Considering her luck in the last months, it didn’t even surprise her.

“I’m in.”

Their imperceptible nod was a silent promise .

Lily was about to leave her teammate’s flat when something clicked in her head.

“Does somebody officially know about this?”

Alice’s eyes scanned the redhead’s face, calculating the pros and cons of telling the truth.

“No.”

Nobody would come to their rescue. It was a secret against a safety.

They were disobeying the orders.

Their last drop of hope splashed on the floor.

***

Lily rubbed her hands together, then blew some hot air between her joined palms.

She was the first to arrive, for once. Hell, if she had to die, she had to do something extraordinary before.

There was a loud crack behind her, followed by another one. Without speaking a word in the silent night, Alice and Frank acknowledged her presence, then took different paths to their positions.

The woman waited for the last apparating sound to turn around.

The man wore a long coat and dark pants. His hair was combed, but he ruffled it. He probably wanted to die as himself.

“Good evening, Lily.”

“‘evening, Potter.”

She seemed unable to articulate anything more. But they didn’t have the whole night at disposition.

“You know, I meant it,” she said at last. He slightly raised a brow, observing her tense face from above his glasses. “When I said I loved you.” He looked away. She could see his perfect jawline contract as he clenched his teeth. “And as we’ll probably never see each other again…”

She stood on her toe tips, and lightly brushed his lips with hers.

Saying that it didn’t provoke any emotion in their chest would be a blatant lie.

But it didn’t feel the same anymore.

He had loved her, but she had hurt him. He had slowly mended his wounds, didn’t want to open them again.

Lily understood it, pain and remorse corroding her soul.

She left to take her position.

***

This time, it was over. They had finally done it.

He was gone. She believed it.

She wanted to believe it.

She hadn’t even ended up in that fucking hospital.

Maybe life was going to be good again.

She asked nothing more of it than to be acceptable.

So she had said yes to a couple of firewhiskey glasses. Which had turned into bottles.

The Daily Prophet’s title was its biggest in history: ‘The Dark Lord Defeated For Good: Four Heros To Thank.’

The journalist and editor must have been drunk.

In the pub, wizards and witches greeted her, thanked her, cried in front of her.

They were all drunk as well.

The music, the shouts, the people. It was all too much. She had retired in one of the bedrooms. To be alone with her thoughts drowned in alcohol.

It felt wrong to celebrate.

“Evans?” The slur was full of booze.

James was one of the other ‘heros,’ and understood as much as her how heavy this title was. They other two did too, but at least they could make out to forget.

He slowly came to sit next to her, on the mattress.

Chills ran down her spine.

“Nice party, huh?”

She didn’t answer. He was talking to her as if nothing had happened before the attack. Maybe he didn’t remember.

“Know what, Evans?” He took a sip from the bottle he had in hand. A long sip. “This whole story is bullshit. If four curses didn’t killed him the first time, I doubt that he got affected now. The man’s not over. He’s got like a thousand souls, I swear.”

This stupid theory, the stress, her hopelessness made her laugh nervously.

Granted, she had drunk one shot too much.

James had indeed forgotten all about her confession. He had blissfully forgotten everything about his life for this night. He deserved it.

The only thing he was conscious of was that, whatever the newspapers said, he had a bad presentment. And also that his leg brushed hers.

Meanwhile, Lily was getting hysterical. Her cackling irritated him, and he, pushed by the cruelty of oblivion, found no other way to shut her up than to press his lips to hers.

It was not a kiss like those they had shared in their youth. This one was furious, full of reproaches, aggressive. It was the result of tension, of an intense passion repressed for two years, moved by firewhiskey.

It was not sincere, it was desperate, crazy, drunk.

They were breathless, broken, intoxicated. They were lying on a bed, forgotten by everyone, in a room too far from reach.

The moon was full outside, treacherous, insatiable. The wolves hollowed in the woods, the empty souls trembled, the proud ones lost themselves.

Fate knows how to be cruel.

Lily and James were proud souls.

What should not have happened, happened.

***

“Don’t you fucking dare to kid me on this, Sirius.”

“I swear to you on Merlin’s left b-”

“How the bloody hell… What did he tell Katie?”

“The truth. The kid is his. Due in July.”

“Fuck.”

“I know. She slapped him round the face, didn’t want to see him for a week.”

“Did he-”

“They’re going to marry in June.”

“Lily and him?”

“Katie and him, Moony.”

“What?”

“Katie’s his fiancee. What happened with Lily was- an accident.”

“Are you fucking kidding me! I know he said he would never forgive her, but for Gryffindor’s hell of a hat… ”

“The girls are holding no excessive mortal grudge. Lily will settle in a calm neighborhood, she’ll have an old witch to help her with the baby.”

“At least that. The newspapers?”

“Those stupid blokes that call themselves journalists don’t say anything on the topic, too busy explaining why the Dark Lord is back after all. ”

“Hoping it’ll last, last thing we want is a scandal. But I guess the Ministry is covering them up. They still need them as a symbol.”

“Yeah. Defeated the Dark Lord thrice. But that bastard keeps coming back.”

“You know, it’s the first time I hear about Lily in two years.”

“I’m sorry, Moony.”

“Bloody fucking hell… Life’s a bitch.”

***

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...." 

***

She let him in.

James came once a month, when Katie allowed him to. His wife was sensible to Harry being the result of adults’ mistakes, just a kid.

A kid bound to die.

Lily’s hands trembled every time she opened the door. She feared to see her nightmare, the blueish face, red eyes, coming to kill her son.

But only James and Peter knew where to find her, so she tried to ignore her fears.

Happy chirping called her in the living room. James had brought chocolate frogs, and all kinds of soft sweets were lying on the floor.

Of course.

He had once bought his son a broomstick, when the Quidditch season had started.

He was a good father.

In her letter, the letter with which she had broken their relationship, a little more than three years ago, Lily had mentioned how things are bound to happen, and how James and her were not one of these things.

Now that she saw him play on the carpet with Harry, the possibility that she may had been wrong squeezed her heart.

But Fate knows how to be cruel.

It will never tell you what decision you have to take.

It will never allow you to step back.

It will never warn you of any danger.

As James stood to leave, half an hour later, in this chilly night dressed in the colors of autumn, Fate confirmed once more its superiority with a single, blood freezing sound.

Somebody knocked on the door.

#jilytober #Lily evans #james potter #hpwriters #hpwritersnet #jilychallenge #jily #***writing #au #angst #y'all I DIED #it's almost 10k and it was so hard to write #i wanted to say more but it didn't fit #i hate jilytober #i hate myself for writing that

[notsugarandspice]

Let’s Talk About Parks

Parks & Rec AU!

This one is mega fun to write. Thank you to wonderful Mal @sagansrecord (a fellow Parks & Rec enthusiast) for helping me with the choice of characters. I initially wrote it differently about a month ago, but I wasn’t happy with the personalities and decided to switch things around. 

(THIS FIC FEATURES ALL THE LOSERS AND SEVERAL STRANGER THINGS CHARACTERS. IT’S NOT CENTRAL TO ANY SHIPS, BUT THE MAIN ONES ARE GOING TO BE STANLON AND REDDIE)

Read it on AO3.

                                            CHAPTER 1: THE PIT

“Lucas, how many people are here exactly?"

"Obviously not enough to fill this auditorium. What were you thinking anyway?"

Mike couldn't believe that anyone showed up. It was his very first Community Outreach Public Forum. Sure, he has attended some before, but he was too young to lead one until now. Since he now had access to that responsibility, Mike was just grateful to have someone there with him. Willingly, or not.

He liked Lucas, he really did, but the guy could be a little... self-centered. And Mike thought he seemed too disinterested for someone who's working in a Parks and Recreation department. I mean, it's not fucking Washington, but it’s a government job nonetheless. Lucas should be grateful. Jim finally asked him to run the meeting, and whether Lucas liked it or not, he was going to help out.

Emerson Elementary School seemed larger when you had to speak in front of dozens of people. But it's all good. I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.

"Thank you so much for coming! What an amazing turnout," said Mike, speaking breathily but enthusiastically into the microphone. His old suit hugged the shoulders too tightly, and Mike instantly wished he was curled up in his office chair, doing the overnight paperwork.

Lucas was sitting on the chair next to him, slumped so much that his feet almost dangled off the stage.

"My name is-"

Mike didn't get to finish introducing himself because, all of a sudden, the lights went off and the auditorium turned pitch black apart from the light coming through the small window at the exit door. Without hesitation and before anyone had the chance to bolt, Mike nudged Lucas’ shoulder, and the other rolled his eyes in understanding.

They changed the location to a small classroom on the other side of the building, cramming a couple of dozen people in the small space. But Mike was content. I'm having my Outreach meeting, dammit.

"I'm Mike Hanlon, and with me is department member Lucas Sinclair,” said Mike and nudged the other in the arm. Lucas weakly waved and stayed slumped in his seat.

"We are here to answer all of your questions," said Mike enthusiastically, fidgeting his polished shoes on the floor from anticipation.

A grey-haired male stood up swiftly. "Well, it's a great day, because last month they put me in jail." The room grew dead silent, and everyone looked left and right. What the actual FUCK.

"That's right! The head of the police is a ninth degree asshat-"

It didn't end there.

"STOP THE GRAFFITI, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD-"

Mike sighed heavily. "Sir, I don't like obscenities in front of children either-"

"Look, I've got my three-year-old, and we're going through the park, and someone's like 'Hey, dick! Suck my cock!' and the other guy goes 'You suck my cock, you dickhead!"

Lucas’ stifled snickers were bouncing off the walls of the small room.

Michael, they just LOUDLY care about their community. In and out. In. And. Out.

"Alright, does anyone else who hasn't spoken yet want to voice their concern?" asked Mike, interrupting the ex-con who was about to start yapping again.

"I-I would!" exclaimed a handsome white male, standing up from the small chair. Mike nodded encouragingly.

"Hi. I'm... Um... I'm Ben Hanscom. Honestly, I don't care much for politics-" Loud clapping erupted throughout the room. Ben patiently waited for it to die down. "I'm here to talk about the abandoned lot on Sullivan Street."

Mike instantly piped up. "That sounds like a great idea!"

"Um, no. It's a problem. My boyfriend almost died there." Mike’s face instantly fell.

"There's a lot right next to my house. Someone dug it up for some new condos, went bankrupt, and now it's nothing but a giant pit that's been there for almost a year."

Mike nodded in understanding.

"My boyfriend, he's a musician, um, I support him, he fell in and broke both his legs."

“Ben, let me ask you something. This boyfriend of yours who fell into the pit, are you two serious? Like, do you live together or what's going on there?" asked Lucas suddenly and Mike had to fight an urge to strangle him.

"Um, yeah," answered Ben, thoroughly confused.

"I'm sure it's super tough on you. If you feel like you need to move on, I could give you my number and counsel you, you know, through these tough times."

Ben blinked for a couple of seconds and then continued. "Look, I complained about this pit countlessly, and nobody has done anything. YOU need to do something about it!" Another round of applause erupted in the room.

Mike felt his heart thundering wildly in his chest. "Okay. I will help you. I'll do it."

"Is that a promise?" asked Ben, folding his arms.

"Oh, it's a pinky promise. To all of you, that the ugly pit will become the most beautiful damn park in Indiana." Mike put on his most dashing smile, keeping eye contact with Ben’s bright green eyes.

"Babe, can you please clean up? Those people from the City Hall are coming over," said Ben, pointing at the mess on and around Richie's lap.

Richie handed him the empty beer bottle without looking, too occupied with the TV and an open Cheetos bag in his lap.

Ben went into the kitchen to make himself some coffee, but before he had a chance to press the button, a doorbell rang.

"DOORBELL!" Richie's scream rang through the room.

"For fuck's sake, Rich, I heard it."

Ben opened the door to reveal the attractive dark-skinned man again, in the company of two others. One man from last night who kept up the ridiculous flirting, and another, with some weird dark liner underneath, dressed in a cardigan and dark jeans, all grumpy attitude and disinterest.

"Hi, Ben! This is Lucas and Eddie. Eddie is our college intern. He's going to document our conversation if that's okay."

"Um, sure. Whatever you guys need. I'm just gonna grab my phone."

Ben went towards the bedroom, and Mike helped himself in, followed by Lucas and Eddie, both of them carrying solemn expressions on their faces.

"Whoa, this must be the man of the hour!” exclaimed Mike upon seeing a tall, dark-haired man sprawled on the couch, two casts resting on the coffee table.

"I'm Mike Hanlon, it's so nice to meet you." Mike extended his hand for the stranger to shake.

The man took one hand out of the top of the cast, wiped it on his shirt and extended it to Mike, smiling ear to ear. "Hi-ya. Me llamo Richie Rich. Could you pass me my itch stick?" asked the man, pointing towards the piece of wood trapped between beer bottles on the coffee table.

Mike blinked a couple of times. "Uh, sure." He reached out to the piece hesitantly and handed it to the man.

Richie started scratching underneath, making inappropriate moaning and groaning sounds. Eddie snorted loudly, coming further into the house, peeking over Mike’s shoulder.

When Ben came back, they all went outside, positioning themselves right next to the edge of the pit Richie fell in.

"That's the spot," said Ben, standing with hands on his hips, squinting through the morning sun.

"Damn," exhaled Mike. "This place has so much potential. I mean, imagine a swimming pool, a tennis court, basketball court, a Ferris wheel, bowling alley-"

"Um, this pit is not that fucking big, man,” said Ben raising his eyebrows.

Mike did a double back but quickly recovered. "Okay, Eddie, document this," said Mike walking towards the edge.

Eddie pulled out his phone and started filming, a playful smile on his face.

“What are you-“ Ben started but saw that the man has a hard hat on, and seemed to know what he’s doing. He folded the hands in front of himself and tried not to panic.

"In order to assess the damage done to the skinny one back there, I need to get straight into the belly of the beast," said Mike, crawling backwards towards the slope.

Lucas and Ben stared at him incredulously, and Eddie kept smiling mischievously.

"OH, FUCK!" Before Mike got a chance to slide down easily, he tumbled down the slope, arms flailing wildly and clothes filling with gravel and dirt.

Next thing he knows, Mike is sitting on the couch next to Richie who is too occupied playing video games to notice his awakening. Ben suddenly appears on the side handing him a bottle of water and some Advil. Mike lets his eyes rake over the man’s scrubs. Fuck, I forgot he's a nurse.

"Oh. Thank you," said Mike straightening a little and taking the bottle with pills.

"It's alright, don't worry about it. I do have a shift in twenty minutes though. Do you want me to drop you off on the way home?"

Mike lifted his head and turned around, seeing Eddie and Lucas laugh maniacally over something on Eddie's phone, glancing in his direction occasionally. Mike furrowed his brows and stood up slowly, grabbing onto the falling compress, no longer cold.

"Nah, it's alright. Those two will give me a ride. So, do you want to come to my office tomorrow to talk about this? I think we really do have a shot there."

"Yeah, okay. Um, we could try."

“Good.” Mike stretched his neck to the side, feeling the stiffness there. “Do you have something like a neck brace?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, one of those things you wear when you break a clavicle or something, like a cast for the neck?”

“Honestly, you didn’t break anything,” said Ben and walked towards the kitchen to grab his coffee to-go.

“Honestly, it fucking hurts,” muttered Mike and started carefully walking towards the front door.

“Is that a travel pillow around your neck?” asked Jim, looking at Mike with a blank expression.

“Okay, irrelevant. You’d understand if you’ve been down at the pit. Have you, Jim?”

“No, can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Well, I have.”

“When you fell in.”

“When I visited the place where Richard Tozier lost the function of both of his legs,” said Mike, putting several photographs of his unconscious body at the bottom of the pit in front of Hopper. “I want this subcommittee. You won’t find anyone else more devoted to this.”

Jim looked at the photos in mild amusement, folding his arms on the stomach.

“Michael, you know me well. Do you realize that I don’t want this department to build anything because the government is a big sham?”

Mike looked at his boss with eyes wide as saucers, mouth hanging open in shock.

“If I ever want to see this department privatized for the benefit of large corporations, I can’t have you planning something equally big.”

Mike closed his eyes for several seconds, regaining composure. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that. Can you promise to at least think about this?”

Jim looked at his employee with slight irritation but eventually sighed, leaning on the table. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Mike instantly beamed and bolted towards the door. “Leaving before you change your mind!”

“I didn’t say-“

“This mural is one of the more gruesome ones. It’s so bad that we have to put advertisement posters on top to make sure that children can visit,” said Mike, pointing at one of the largest murals in City Hall, coffee in hand.

“That sounds-“

“Awesome?” “-horrible,” said Ben, cringing at the painted blood that’s still visible from the corner of a rather small poster.

Mike whipped his head around when he heard the approaching clinking of male dressing shoes. Lucas was jogging towards them at a leisurely pace, a satisfied smile dancing around his features.

“Mike, you won’t believe it. Hop approved the committee!” Lucas clapped Mike on the back, and the other beamed at Ben, shaking his free hand in excitement.

“We should celebrate!” exclaimed Mike, dragging all of them back to the Parks and Recreation office.

It hadn’t even been an hour, and everyone was already tipsy from cheap champagne and full of sour cream and onion chips that Mike kept under his table for special occasions. He found himself chatting with Ben who enthusiastically sipped on the glass, more relaxed and open than Mike had ever seen him.

“Man, I’m barely in mid-thirties, and I already landed a subcommittee. I’m an unstoppable force of progress!”

“You know what, you’re like the first government person who makes me believe in democracy,” said Ben, slightly hiccuping from the bubbles.

“Yeah? Well, it’s a promise that this is getting done. We’re in America, baby! The land of cute guys and rapid growth.”

“And I promise to help get that godforsaken pit filled in, even if it takes a couple of months.”

“Whoo!” exclaimed Mike, clinking their plastic glasses and spilling some champagne into his lap. Neither of them noticed.

“Dude, Mike is the most ridiculous drunk you’ve ever seen.”

“How come?” asked Eddie, confidently pouring some champagne into his coffee cup.

“Every single time we have these gatherings, he gets hammered from zero to none liquor. He’s the biggest lightweight,” said Lucas and made his way back to Mike, pouring more champagne into his glass, gesturing for Eddie to look.

“Have you ever forced him to do something stupid?” asked Eddie when Lucas finally made his way back.

“Oh, this one time, a water delivery girl came by and I dared Mike to kiss her. It was hilarious, and he denies it to this day.”

Eddie snorted into the mug and nodded for more champagne.

Perma Tag: @happytozier  @studpuffin @j0ys @qwertykevin @its-stranger-than-you-think   @trippy-alexissss @letmybabyystayy @tinyarmedtrex @d-nbroughs (let me know if you want to be perma tagged or tagged in this specific fic! <3)

#reddie #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #ben hascom #my writing #parks and rec au #stanlon #lucas sinclair #jim hopper #stranger things crossover

[zigsexual]

Theoreticals; part 1 (maxwell x mc)

lol remember when i started this in july and am just now posting it? also remember when i said that i would post it yesterday ha ha ha lol anyway it’s too long for one post so imma break this shit down into PARTS!!! 

this is the final companion piece to hypotheticals and empiricals, and honestly if you haven’t read those then u probably should because this one has a lot of plot throwback and also tbh its like very divergent from the main storyline seeing as i started writing it in JULY

summary: the coronation is actually happening feat. private planes, maxwell as a baby????? an unfortunate run in with some potpourri, dancing, drake, and an uber driver

word count: 3700+

Riley paces across her room yet again, halfheartedly feigning an attempt to pack for the upcoming trip to the palace. Her suitcase, empty but for a single black camisole and jeans, is splayed out across her bed next to Maxwell, who is also splayed out across her bed.

“Do you think I should bring my boots?” She asks. “My other shoes have like, no tread, and all of the roads by the palace are old-ass rocks so tread is probably important. And what if it rains?”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to rain,” Maxwell replies, but she’s already tossed the boots in his direction.

“Okay, so if I bring the boots, I need boot socks,” Riley tugs open a dresser drawer, rifling through it. “Except I’m pretty sure I only have red boot socks, and that’s going to clash with all my outfits, so maybe I should just stick with a bootie? Except then the tread is an issue again.”

Maxwell laughs. “Riley, it’s two days.”

She whirls around, brandishing a boot sock. “Yeah, two days in the goddamn palace!”

He breaks his gaze from the ceiling to watch her as she makes another futile pass towards her closet, sitting up and leaning back on his hands. “You really want to keep pretending you’re going to finish this tonight?”

She sighs, dropping her things onto the floor. “It’s already too late to give up.”

“Few more hours won’t hurt.” He reaches over and closes the lid, then holds out his hand. “Come on, let’s go on a walk. You’re all strung out.”

She takes his hand, in spite of herself yet again. Everything about him, about this, is in spite of herself and her better judgment. But it’s midnight on the eve of what may be their last chance at anything, and she doesn’t care that much anymore.

It’s dark in the house, the sconces dimmed, and they walk through the second floor hallways like they have the entire place to themselves. Maxwell is still holding her hand, his other shoved into his pocket, watching the portraits on the walls as they pass.

“Is that you?” Riley asks, pointing at one of the frames. It’s a painting of a boy who couldn’t be more than eight years old, posed like the subject of a renaissance art piece and clearly none too pleased about it. He’s got the same soft brown hair and mischievous eyes as Maxwell, his face dusted with freckles and mouth pulled into a barely concealed pout.

“Oh my god,” Maxwell laughs. “Yeah. That’s… yeah.”

“You were cute.” Riley bumps her hip against his, grinning. He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, looking at the painting sheepishly.

“My parents, they were really into the ‘nobles’ thing,” he says, “You know, ridiculous estates and portrait painting and etiquette classes, all that. I mean, I guess you have to be when you are a noble. I mostly let Bertrand handle that stuff now.”

Riley holds out her free hand and traces the curve of his painted face, the rough brush strokes in sweeping lines under her fingertips. She smiles.

“Bertrand would kill me if he knew I was letting you touch the paintings,” Maxwell says.

“Bertrand would kill you if he knew you were letting me touch you.”

“Touché.”

She steps back from the portrait, squeezing Maxwell’s hand gently. “Your parents, what were they like?”

He doesn’t say anything at first, and she worries she’s treaded into inadmissible territory. She turns to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, you don’t have to—“

“No, Riley,” he smiles, but it’s sad. “It’s fine.”

He looks up at the painting for a long moment, and she wonders how much of that baby-faced boy is still a part of him. He still has those faded freckles across his cheeks, that air of something…. more, like he’s privy to a thousand secrets one could never hope to know. She suddenly wishes he were as much of an open book as he likes to say he is.

“My parents were… well, I guess they’re pretty self-explanatory.”

“What do you mean?”

He’s still got his eyes on the painting, but his jaw is set. “You’ve been in the study.”

“Duh.”

He breaks for a moment, to shoot her a smile, but then he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “So, that’s my dad.”

“The study?”

“Yeah.” He frowns. “We didn’t change anything in there after he died. It just… felt weird. And there’s already all these rooms in this place, it’s not like we needed another one. So now it’s just there, filled with polo trophies and fencing equipment and all that ‘nobles’ shit.”

“And Drake,” she adds, a tentative step towards levity. Maxwell pulls her closer, letting go of her hand so he can slip his arm around her waist. He doesn’t have to say it, but she knows he’s grateful for the reprieve.

“And Drake. Unfortunately.” He looks at her and smiles. “You would’ve liked my mom.”

“Yeah?” Riley smiles back.

“Yeah. Well, I know she would’ve liked you, anyway.”

They make their way down the rest of the hall, passing more portraits and art pieces and the occasional odd sculpture, everything in brocade like something out of her high school history books. She runs her fingers across gilded wallpaper and marble shelves, still marveling at the fact that this, somehow, has become her life.

“What’s New York like?” Maxwell asks her. “I mean, I know what the tourist parts are like, thanks to Liam, but what’s your part like?”

“My part?” She tilts her head. “Uh, not that great, honestly. My part is a shitty studio in Queens with an elevator that doesn’t work, a roach problem, and a toilet that only flushes half the time. I don’t even have a bedframe, I just sleep with my mattress on the floor, and sometimes if I’m lucky, there isn’t a drunk guy peeing on my stoop when I come home from the late shift.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Maxwell says, and the funny thing is that she can’t quite tell if he’s joking or not.

“Can I quote you on that? My landlord keeps asking me to leave him a Yelp review.”

Maxwell looks puzzled. “I thought… you didn’t have nobility in America?”

Riley shoots him a bemused look. “We don’t.”

“But then, why would you…?”

It takes her a moment, but then she shoves his shoulder and laughs. “Oh my god, wait, are you talking about my landlord? That’s the guy who owns the place I rent. It’s just like, a name for rental property owners. God, you’re such a one-percenter.”

“Shut up,” He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Things are different in Cordonia, okay?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know what a landlord is. I can’t believe you thought landlords are literal lords of the land.”

Maxwell makes a face at her, and she doesn’t even remotely try to stifle her giggles. “Excuse you, the only ‘landlords’ I know are literal lords of the land, so it was a logical conclusion.”

Riley taps him on the nose before turning away dramatically, hand on her heart. “Deepest apologies, Lord Beaumont. I would never disrespect your status or your land.”

“Hilarious.” He crosses his arms, but he’s smiling.

“Please accept this token of my atonement,” she continues, lifting some imaginary skirts so as to further sashay down the hall, “Imported from the duchy of Newest York, one hundred — no — one thousand of our finest Manhattan pigeons.”

Riley dips down in a ridiculously low curtsey, stumbling forward a bit and catching herself with a laugh. “Perchance would you like to visit with one of our most prestigious landlords? He is so terribly fond of — Max!”

She shrieks as he comes up behind her, arms around her waist, pulling her close and spinning her. She can feel the breath of his laughter against her neck, his whispered, “Shhh, you’ll wake everyone up,” and the way his fingers linger on her when he sets her down.

Riley, flushed, brushes her hair out of her face and adjusts her shirt. “You’re the worst.”

“I accept your pigeons,” Maxwell says with mock formality. “And I would love to meet your landlord.”

“Oh, you really shouldn’t, the pigeons are fucking gross.”

“Okay, pass on the pigeons then.”

“My landlord is gross too.”

He sighs. “You’re not making a great case here.”

Riley smiles, and compelled with a sudden irresistible urge to touch him, reaches out and runs her fingers along his jawline. She almost expects to feel the brushstrokes there too, a perfect likeness of his childhood painting, all grown up and still off-limits.

“You could come visit, if you want,” she says softly. “The mattress is a twin, but we can make it work.”

He kisses her, and she closes her eyes and lets herself believe for a moment that they’re not here, not in this ridiculous world full of princes and balls and family portraits, but somewhere else, somewhere loud and brash and filled with the scent of street food and smoke and dreams yet to be realized.

But of course, they aren’t.

“Come on,” he says, his voice gentle against the sudden sharpness of the moment. “Let’s go finish packing.”

They walk back to the room hand-in-hand, and Maxwell helps her fold things and find things and then sits on the suitcase so she can shove everything in properly and zipper it away. The sky stops getting darker and starts getting lighter, and the laughter between them grows less practiced and more delirious as they finish up.

She smiles when she steps out of her bathroom, face washed and hair up, to find him tucked in against her pillow, finally stolen into sleep by his own exhaustion. It’s a rare occasion to find Maxwell so utterly still, and she stands there for a second watching him.

She’s known for quite some time that she’s fucked. This whole situation: the competition, the prince, the stupid stupid boys. She’s just fucked, no way around it.

But as she lingers in the doorway, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, it occurs to her that she is now — for lack of a better term — royally fucked.

---

It’s as if she’s barely slept at all when she feels his hand on her shoulder. “Riley? Hey, time to get up.”

She burrows her face back towards her pillow, trying desperately to shut out the light filtering in through the curtains. Maxwell, however, refuses to be shut out.

“We’re leaving in an hour or so, if you want to get ready.” He sounds just as tired as she feels, and she realizes then that he’s most likely spent the entire night here, with her, probably shoved into the corner while she bundled herself in covers. The thought makes her sit up suddenly, blinking blearily into Maxwell’s face, only a few inches from hers.

“Oh,” he says. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says back.

They look at each other for a moment, Riley squinting up at him as she adjusts to the rush of sunlight. Under the sudden scrutiny of his gaze, she pulls the blankets up around her, a flush spreading into her cheeks as she realizes what she must look like: hair a tangled mess, sleep marks across her face, oversized t-shirt hanging in a particularly unflattering way.

“What’s the ‘Knicks’?” Maxwell asks.

“Hmm?” She quirks an eyebrow in confusion, and he nods at her shirt. She looks down. “Oh. Basketball team. They’re the… uh, the professional team for New York.”

“Do you like them?”

“I like their shirts.”

He laughs, turning away from her to slip down onto the floor. “Sometime, will you teach me what basketball is?”

“You guys don’t have basketball in Cordonia?” Riley lets the blankets fall back around her and pushes herself out of the bed with the intent to follow him, but the hardwood is like ice against her feet. She lingers near the familiar warmth of the covers while she watches him go.

“We don’t have a lot of stuff in Cordonia,” he answers. “Basketball, Disneyland, those breakfast things you like.”

“Pop-tarts?” Riley grins, crossing her arms. “Yeah, real bummer on that one.”

“Prom, Costco, monster trucks,” Maxwell continues, “And we’ve barely even got you for much longer, so.”

The words hit her harder than expected, and the smile drops from her face just as her arms fall to her sides. The chill of the floor spreads up from her feet, twisting its way through her body and settling in her heart.

Maxwell heads towards her suitcase. He lifts it down off the table, yanks the handle up until it clicks. “Come on, you gotta get dressed. I’ll take your bag out to the car.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “Will you come back?”

He turns his head, eyes ghosting over her face as she bites harder into her lip.

“Riley…” he says, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally.” She crosses her arms over her chest, pulling her shoulders up in what she hopes looks like a nonchalant shrug. “Just, big day, you know.”

“Understatement.” He smiles at her, and the sinking feeling subsides.

“What should I wear?” she asks, in a feeble attempt to keep him in the room a few moments longer.

“Definitely just that. The king and queen will be so impressed.”

“Shut up.” She sticks her tongue out, reaching back to pull the comforter up from the bed and around her shoulders before crossing toward the closet.

“No I’m serious, the press will not be able to stop talking about it. Bertrand will love that.”

She whacks him with the comforter as she passes. “You know what else Bertrand will love?”

“What?”

“You spending the night in my room.”

He laughs. “Okay, okay, point taken.” He turns to grab her suitcase, but not fast enough to keep her from noticing the blush rising in his cheeks. She laughs too, pulling open her closet door.

“Go get dressed,” he calls after her, “I’m actually taking your stuff out this time.”

“As you wish, Lord Beaumont.” She twirls around to drop in a curtsey, blowing him a kiss as he makes a face at her and heads out the door.

---

Riley wakes up to Maxwell once more, her face smashed in against his shoulder in the back of the car. She lifts her head, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, only to meet Bertrand’s disapproving ones.

“You have lines on your face,” he says disdainfully. “You look wretched.”

Riley sits up, rolling her neck and wincing. “Thanks, B. Are we at the airport?”

“Yeah,” Maxwell answers, seemingly unfazed by her using his arm for a pillow. She hopes she didn’t drool. “There’s coronation traffic, but that’s to be expected. We’ll be at the plane in five.”

Riley looks out the window, expecting to see the familiar bustle of brake lights and taxicabs that punctuate all her visits to JFK. However, all she finds is a great wide sea of black tarmac and planes.

She turns to Maxwell and Bertrand. “Wait, where are we?”

“The airport.”

“No, I — yeah, I know that. But where are the people?”

Maxwell looks confused. “…On the planes?”

“Don’t we, y’know, have to go through security and stuff? Or is that not a thing in Cordonia? Or like, don’t I need to show someone my passport and check my bag?” She nods her head in the direction of the trunk. “That thing is not gonna fit in an overhead compartment, I can already promise you that.”

The car slows to a stop and Maxwell laughs. “What? Riley, we’re broke, but we aren’t fly commercial broke.”

Riley says “Oh,” and then someone in a full suit and black sunglasses is opening her car door and saying, “Lady Riley, I’ll be taking your bags,” and she says “Oh,” and Maxwell says, “Thanks, they’re in the trunk.”

Riley whips her head around to face him, eyes wide. Maxwell shrugs. “Liam has a plane.”

Her eyes go even wider, and she pauses to make sure Bertrand is mostly out of earshot before whispering, “You didn’t think to tell me we’d be in an enclosed space with Liam for an extended period of time?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Well, the thought crossed my mind, but I was worried you’d try to cut your losses and run before we got here. And besides, he told me he wanted some time with you. To talk about something.”

Riley shoots him a pointed look before turning to slide out of the car. Talk to her about something! Great. What a mystery as to what it could possibly be.

The man in the suit, most likely a member of Liam’s security team, is already unloading their things from the trunk. She squints into the sunlight, eyes settling on the enormous white jet just a few hundred feet from their stop, its wings ringed with gold and an egregiously large Cordonian seal plastered along the side.

“Discreet,” Riley mutters, sighing as she heads off towards the staircase lowered down from the plane’s back entrance. She’s never boarded a plane like this before, not without hours of waiting and TSA screenings and watching as every other boarding group took their place ahead of her in line. The tiny staircase seems too easy, and the staff waiting at the bottom are too quick to offer her their arms as she climbs up into the ridiculous fixture of luxury.

As she makes her way inside, wandering slowly towards the aisle, she gawks at the interior: a scaled down recreation of the palace sitting areas, complete with ornate lamps and crystal stemware and what looks to be an entire grand piano off in the corner. Riley feels her stomach clench at the sight of it all, a reminder of how desperately she doesn’t belong in this world of opulence and glamour.

There’s a rustle of a curtain and footsteps behind her, and she turns, expecting to see Maxwell on his way in. She’s already whispering, “Max, I think I should—” before her eyes settle on the person who’s actually in front of her and she stops mid-sentence. “Oh, fuck.”

Drake looks her over and frowns.

“What are you doing here?!” she hisses, shoving him in the shoulder. “And why are you sneaking up on me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answers, leveled. “Pretty sure your boyfriend is still back at the car.”

Riley shakes her head, letting out an agonized sigh. “I am truly not in the mood for this, Drake.”

“Aldridge, you going soft? Can’t handle the banter anymore?”

“On Liam’s goddamn plane? Yeah, maybe it’s not the ideal choice of venue.” She crosses her arms, but her defense wavers. “Drake… you didn’t… I mean, you didn’t say anything, did you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Relax, I’m not that much of an asshole. Liam’s on a conference call in the diplomat suite anyway.”

“Diplomat suite?”

“It’s a big fucking plane.”

Riley lets her hands fall back to her sides, glancing around the room once more, eyes following the rows of soft leather seats.

“Well, thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs, looking everywhere but at her. “I know you’ll talk to him. You don’t need me to do it for you.”

She lets out a sigh. “Maxwell said he invited me on the plane so we could talk, so if you’re awaiting my downfall, it might come sooner than you think.”

“I’m not —” Drake looks taken aback, “Riley, come on, you know that’s not how I feel.”

She starts to say something in reply, but the sounds of footsteps coming up the staircase echo loudly into the cabin. Drake turns, and Riley feels her nervous tension ease. Maxwell is finally here, he’ll know how to handle Drake and she can just —

“Riley,” an all too familiar voice calls, “Is that you harping on and on in there?”

Riley grabs Drake’s arm, face twisted in horror, and mouths, Olivia? He nods, looking slightly pained, and then there she is at the landing — mouth twisted in distaste, red hair spilling out of a white fur hat, sheathed in some sort of emerald green evening coat that could probably cover Riley’s apartment rent for the next ten years.

Her mouth curls up into a smile when she sees them. “Oh lovely, I was right.”

She steps into the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood, and drapes her arm across Drake’s shoulder, leaning against him as she surveys Riley. “You do know we’re going to a coronation ball, right?”

“Wonderful to see you too, Olivia,” Riley replies with a grimace.

Olivia smiles again, straightening up and patting Drake dismissively on the back. “Hey Drake, will you be a dear and roll out the bar cart? I have a feeling we’re going to need some drinks.”

Drake rolls his eyes so hard it almost looks painful. “Sure Olivia, I will happily roll out the bar cart. For myself.”

As he turns and pushes past her, she frowns, watching him walk away with a hand on her hip. When he disappears through the cabin door, she looks back at Riley. “Is he always so pleasant?”

“Pretty much, yeah. You’d think you two would get along.”

Olivia arches an eyebrow. “Cute.”

She hears someone else coming up the stairs and prays it’s Maxwell this time. When she sees him step inside, she releases an audible sigh.

“Hey Riley, did Bertrand already come up here? I think he — oh.” His eyes fall on Olivia, who flutters her fingers in a wave. “Olivia?”

“And Drake.” Riley smiles through gritted teeth. “Isn’t it wonderful? Gang’s all here.”

Maxwell blinks. “Uh. Cool?”

Drake emerges from the door then, glass in hand, and stops short when he sees Maxwell. “Hey Max! Long time no see. Great talking with you in the study last night.”

Riley glares with the ferocity of a thousand suns. Maxwell blinks again. Olivia looks between all three of them and rolls her eyes. “You guys are so fucking weird.”

She turns toward the closest seat and settles in, draping her legs across the length of it so the red bottoms of her high heels are on full display. She pulls an eye mask out of her purse, tugging it over her head. “I’m going to take a Xanax and listen to Ryan’s Roses. Do not even think about speaking to me.”

“Trust me,” Riley says under her breath, “It was the least of our concerns.”

part two.

#the royal romance #mc x maxwell #maxwell x mc #trr fanfic #trr #my fic #its probably gonna be three parts total #i will try to get part two out asap #there's not a lot of fluffy shit in this one whoops sorry????? #part two makes up for it i promise #wait or maybe part three #jk i dont know my own story