#first off i’m sorry that you lost your dad i cannot imagine the pain :(

[doyouknowhoyouare]

.

[endversewinchester]

Well I’m having a horrible day am I not. There’s a lot in the last two chapters of OotP so let’s break it down.

Cannot imagine how much pain Lupin is in right now. And yet his first concern is Harry. Keeping Harry safe. Comforting him. He is a great dad too and this made me tear up reading again.

Like?? How would I not tear up??

Again. Lupin trying to be there for Harry when he too is grieving heavily and completely disoriented is so sad but beautiful at the same time. We saw him and Sirius coparenting a lot in this book and now that it’s only him… he’s holding it so well.

This was me as a kid watching this happen on screen for the first time.

The writing on the death scene itself wasn’t the best but the aftermath is surely heart wrenching. And Phineas. F-off.

No no no we’re not doing this. Sirius wouldn’t want you doing this. It’s ok you didn’t ask. Your world turned upside down so fast and you were just a kid.

This he has every right in the world to feel. It’s a deep and dark topic. Him sinking low enough that he doesn’t even want to be alive, but I do not blame him. He lost “the only family he has left” as he says and it isn’t even the first time. I’m so sorry, Harry. So sorry.

This was beautiful. Made me want to sob along with Harry. But beautiful.

See, here’s my problem with Dumbledore. Most of the fandom and especially the marauders fandom seem to be under the impression that he’s evil and he makes bad things happen on purpose. While I will admit he is very calculating, I don’t think every single action of his is deliberate. Otherwise he wouldn’t need Harry, he would beat Voldemort on intelligence alone.

Do I think he fucked up? Absolutely. He is telling Harry what we know. That keeping someone with Sirius’ personality locked up for a long time is a horrible idea, and that those people eventually snap. Great, but what other choice did he have? “Get Sirius a trial” he lost every single one of his power positions in the ministry in this book, and eventually was a wanted man himself.

But even before that, we saw their conversation at Hogwarts at the end of 4. Cornelius Fudge was not interested in doing what was right. He was interested in doing what was easy and would maintain his power and privilege. He would never give Sirius a trial because “Dumbledore said so”.

With that, his only option to keep Sirius safe and alive (because again, if he was caught he was to be executed, not sent back to jail) was locking him up somewhere else. Did it have to be Grimmauld? Not really. But it was Sirius himself that offered his family’s house for the Order, so I think this is way more complicated than we all like to admit.

[ladykailolu]

You know, I thought I should expand more on the scene where M&M punches Gyro after theirs argument and what happens after

Neither G nor J know about her r*pe trauma, they know that she’s lived a rough life, but not about that specifically

After Johnny sees what happens he glared at Gyro before crawling over to M&M while insisting that they apologize to each other. Saying what she did was crazy, but he was being an asshole

But M&M isn’t having it

(even though she does feel kind of bad, she isn’t about to be chastised by Johnny when he doesn’t even know why she did it. And at this point she doesn’t trust either of them to tell them)

So she storms off, grabs her stuff, and goes to her horse and ditches them.

Johnny’s just sitting around and Slow Dancer is too far away so all he can do is watch while yelling at her to stop

Meanwhile Gyro isn’t doing anything cause he’s too bitter and upset to care

They stay split for a while till we come up to the Civil War arc,

Aka the moment when everyone gets to vomit their trauma on each other (you know where this is going)

M&M happens to be there and gets to relive moments she’s been sexual harassed and that one time she was full on assaulted.

(I can’t recall if characters are able to see or sense what people are experiencing, but they way she’s crying and yelling kind of gives it away too)

When all that’s done, they find her sitting by herself.

They try and reach out to her, only for her to turn around with her tear-stained crying face.

Gyro and Johnny start trying to talk to her and resolve what happened before, going

“I-we didn’t know that you had experience with that stuff”

“I wish I’d known about grabbing your arm like that, I wouldn’t have done it”

“I’m sorry”

They’re tryna talk to her but it doesn’t last long as M&M has a breakdown

She just starts borderline ugly crying, and starts sobbing out that she’s sorry she almost shot them and that she’s sorry.

[my poor baby is so lonely and sad, truth be told she really didn’t wanna lose her only friends]

Johnny and Gyro don’t know what to do as she’s just sobbing.

Where do you think it should go from there

So it's kinda like how Johnny sees hallucinations of his dad, M&M sees it of one of those assholes whole put his hands on her and idk maybe abused her. Oh boy. That is one of the most HORRIFYING things that I have thought of in a bit of a long while. Because I can just imagine this like shadowy figure resembling the guy as M&M remembers him appearing from nowhere with his hands eemrging from the floor, bending at the wrist to catch her ankles and pull her closer. And she letds it happen, not because she wants to but because she's literally paralyzed with fear. LITERALLY PARALYZED WITH FEAR! She can't move at all, and she can hardly breathe. She wishes that she was anywhere, ANYWEHRRE else than right there, right then.

She would be the most mentally fucked up than either Gyro or Johnny. And she cries, heart pounding, feeling like it's gonna rip from her chest. She's shaking and sobbing, a real wreck in front of them, even when Civil War has been defeated and it was all over. She cannot control it. All she sees is that man and fear. His hands feel like searing hot iron bars against her skin, his breath burned her like scalding steam, and she lost the strength to fight.

Neither Gyro nor Johnny would ever, EVER know what it was like to be powerless. To be at the mercy of a madman. To feel like nothing when he attacks your most sensitive parts. Her male companions would never know that pain.

Indeed, they don't. They even know it. Gyro is a doctor but this is the first time that he doesn't know how to help a person who is clearly in pain. He can sow together any wound, he thinks and puffs out his chest as he strokes his own ego, but to sow back a mind wounded together, it is Beyond Him, sadly. He wished he knew how to sew, mend, and heal a broken mind.

Johnny is a little more sympathetic, but he had assumed M&M was crying so much and reacting so much because she had lost her parents. He didn't know that it was about something much darker.

I assume that M&M forgives them and they forgive her, and all is well in the kingdom. She wants to remain friends with them, and that is, sadly, all that she has in this life besides Rum Cake (at this point, before she has her Reesey-Piecey). It is this moment where they come together and they learn about each other. Where they feel comfortable with each other. Where their friendship blooms into an unyielding trust and love. Arguably, they remain greater friends afterwards than before. At least, I like to think that.

How long is it that they're apart? Maybe like three weeks or so? Because I was wondering if M&M could run into some further trouble, get a little roughed up, and provoke her old male companions' concerns when they see her scars or bruises.

[study-coffee-chicago]

Seasons of Med: Season 5 & Seasons of PD: Season 7: Necrotizing Fasciitis Scare (A Halstead Brothers + Halstead Sister! Imagine)

Your age: 18

Jay's age: 32

Will's age: 34

"I am going to get you to understand football at this game come hell or high water," Jay told you as you said that you really didn't understand anything about football while Kevin tried to hook up the tv. Kelly threw Jay the football and Jay caught it.

"Hell or high water, huh?" you asked. "Did you just turn southern? Isn't that a southern phrase?"

"I can say whatever I want, thank you were much. Now catch." He threw you the football and you caught it easily.

"Kelly, I can't promise this is gonna be a good throw, so be ready to move," you told him as you threw the football to him. He had to jump to the left and jump high to catch it.

"Y/N, you suck at this," he laughed.

"I know."

"Jay, teach your sister how to throw a football, will you?"

He threw the ball back to Jay.

All of you were currently at Soldier Field to watch the Bears' game on a Friday afternoon. Will was originally going to go with Jay and you were going to study for your biology class, even though it was summer. You had decided to take a summer biology class so then you wouldn't have to deal with it during the fall and winter semesters when you'd be drowning in homework with other classes...and you figured you could do this one in the summer because you had heard horror stories of how hard this specific professor at CCU was. Luckily for you, Will was a doctor and could help you understand those damn diagrams that always gave you trouble.

Anyway, Will was going to come, but he got put on the schedule last minute, so Jay dragged you here even though you didn't know the slightest bit about football. Hell, you didn't even have any Bears gear to wear! Jay had given you one of his hats to wear with the promise that he'd get it back.

"Y/N!" Hailey yelled to you. "Wanna run to Mama Garcia's food truck with me?"

"Yes!" you exclaimed.

"Hailey," Jay whined. "I was just about to teach her how to throw a football."

"Halstead, if she doesn't know yet, I'm sure you can wait a few minutes. Now, I need my Spanish-speaking Halstead to come with me."

You had taken AP Spanish last year and had gotten a good enough grade on the AP exam to give you twelve college credits. This was partly thanks to Mama Garcia. You had been studying in her restaurant one night when you asked her a question about a tense. She explained it and then said that if you ever wanted to practice speaking Spanish and make some money at the same time, that you could work or her under the table. You took her up on that offer and your Spanish improved immensely.

Once you got up to the window of the food truck, you ordered a big batch of tamales in Spanish and then translated how much it was to Hailey. Then, you and Hailey went back to Jay and the rest of all your brother's first responder friends.

Kelly was yelling at Stella, Hailey, and you not to break into the tamales before the burgers were done, but you all didn't listen and each grabbed one out of the box.

You were in the middle of eating yours when you heard a scream.

You went towards the scream along with Jay, Natalie, and Kelly, but Jay made sure you stayed behind him. But, this didn't block your entire view, though.

You looked down at this man's leg. It was red and it looked like there was a giant gash on his shin with puss, blood, and flesh coming out. Things were moving underneath the skin. He was seizing and he kept saying BRT.

It was all too much. You took the Bears hat off.

"Y/N, I need you to get away from this. Whatever this guy has, I don't want you to--"

Jay didn't even finish his sentence before you vomited into that he had let you use, using it as a makeshift bowl for your puke.

He gently grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side after you finished emptying that tamale you had started eating into his hat.

"You done? You good?" Jay asked.

You coughed and then wiped your mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry about your hat. I just- I don't like blood and that was nasty."

"I know. I think everyone's going to Med, so we'll run to the bathroom so we can throw away my hat now and you can rinse out your mouth. I think I have gum in my truck."

"Okay. Be glad I had the smart idea to puke into that hat, though. Or else it probably would've gone on you."

"Yeah, but I lost a nice hat in the process," Jay said as he rolled his eyes and you two made your way towards the bathrooms.

***

"It's necrotizing fasciitis," Will said. Everyone looked at him with a blank expression.

"Flesh-eating bacteria," you supplied.

"Wow, where'd you learn that, Short Stack?" Will asked.

"Can you not call me that? I'm eighteen! And, I learned it by watching Untold Stories of the ER."

"Junior doctor on our hands I think, Jay. And, you're still shorter than me and Jay so I can call you that, thank you very much."

"After her puking just at the sight of that, yeah, no way she's becoming a doctor," Jay said. "Anyway, the victim?"

"Right, sorry. Your victim had necrotizing fasciitis, more commonly known as, as Y/N said, flesh-eating bacteria. And, don't worry, it's not contagious. Only about four in a million people get it each year," Will explained.

"So, how do you get nec..." Kelly trailed off, not knowing the correct pronunciation.

"Necrotizing fasciitis. It enters through a break in the skin and just destroys the tissue under the epidermis. It--"

"The epidermis is the first layer of the skin," you said, reciting something you had learned in your biology class.

"Yes, it's the first layer of skin. But, as I was saying, it would really help us treat this guy if we knew who he was," Will finished after your interruption.

"I can't open a case file without a crime," Jay started, "but I'll see if I can run prints and check traffic cam footage. Maybe make out some sort of ID."

After a few minutes, everyone's panic had died down and you and Kelly were sitting down next to each other. He was trying to explain football to you even though you really couldn't care less. Meanwhile, Jay was about to make a phone call when Will motioned him over.

"Yeah?" Jay asked.

"You or Y/N have any contact with the victim? And, if you did, do you or her have any breaks in the skin?" Will asked, clearly worried about his younger siblings.

"No, we didn't have any contact. Just had Y/N puke in my hat I let her borrow," Jay answered.

"Okay, good. But, as I said, necrotizing fasciitis is rare, so you two should be fine. I gotta get back, but call if you find out anything on the victim."

"Will do. Remember to wear your gloves." Will rolled his eyes. "What? You just said it enters through breaks in the skin."

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

"One of my many talents."

***

"Hey, I'm leaving," Jay told you around noon the next day, poking his head into your bedroom while you stared at your lab lectures, trying to remember all the diagrams and pictures you'd need to help you identify body parts on your next lab practical.

"Okay, I'm going to the lab around 2:00 to study. That way I can actually see that stuff as I'll see it on the lab practical," you told him, not even looking up from your notes.

"Okay, be safe." He picked up Beary, who was leaning up against a pillow next to you, in a graduation gown and cap outfit. "Beary, can you make sure she takes breaks?" Then, his voice changed into his baby voice, what he always pretended was Beary's voice. "Oh, yes, Jay. I'll make sure she takes breaks while you're gone."

You laughed and reached out and took Beary from him. "Get outta here, you goon."

"Love you, too!" Jay called as he left your room.

You fixed Beary's cap and set him down, remembering when you got the outfit for him as you stared at diagrams.

"You ready, graduate?" Jay asked as he knocked on your door.

"Jay, I swear to God if you call me graduate one more time..." you said as you opened the door.

"You'll what?" he taunted.

"You know what, I don't know, but you won't like it. Are my bobbi pins noticeable?" you asked, referring to the bobbi pins you had pinned down to keep your blue graduation cap in place.

"Nope. You're good. Ready?"

"Ready."

You walked into the kitchen, to be met with Will. And behind him on the kitchen table was a vase of blue and white flowers, which were your school colors, and Beary leaning up against said flowers, wearing a blue graduation cap and gown. Just like you.

You laughed. "I cannot believe you guys."

"Hey," Will started, "Beary got a little backpack on your first day of kindergarten. Only fair that he gets a cap and gown on your graduation."

"Did you use the gift card from Mom?" you asked, referring to the one you had found in the letters to each of you that Will had found when you were cleaning out your dad's house after he died.

"We did," Jay confirmed. "Now, I need you to hold Beary in one hand and hold this picture." He handed you a photo of you with your little backpack on and Beary with his that your mom had taken of you on the front porch on your first day of kindergarten, right before Jay had surprised you by coming home from deployment early.

"Why do I need both?" you asked curiously.

"I saw this thing on Pinterest--"

"Wait!" Will exclaimed. "You have a Pinterest?"

"No," Jay scoffed. "But Hailey does. And she sent me a picture of something she thought you should do for your graduation pictures. You hold up a picture of you on your first day of school when you were little while you're wearing your cap and gown and then I take a picture of you. Since Beary was in that picture, I thought he could be in this one, too."

You grabbed Beary and allowed him to take the pictures. Now it was time to tell the news to your mom and dad.

***

"You won't believe what Will and Jay decided they just needed to get me," you said as you stood in front of your parents' headstone with Beary hidden behind your back. Will and Jay were over by a big tree talking amongst themselves so you could have some privacy. You pulled Beary from behind your back. "They got me a cap and gown for him because they said it was only fair because Beary got a backpack on my first day of school. And, since it's my last day of school, he should get a cap and gown, too.

"Also, which one of you called Will and Jay graduate all day on the day of their graduation? Because Jay won't stop calling me that and it's kinda getting on my nerves. Pretty sure it was you, Mom."

You sighed. "I wish you guys were here. Jay told me all about how you made him a special breakfast when he graduated and then went out for lunch before the actual graduation because the senior all-nighter was after. I don't know where we're going for our senior all-nighter, but I hope it's not boring. I've heard that a few years ago, some kids said theirs was super boring. I really don't want that. But, I'm glad that I could convince Will and Jay not to be chaperones for whatever my senior all-nighter is. I love them and all, but they can be a bit too overprotective at times.

"God, you guys should be here. Dad, I know you weren't the best, but you were trying. And, I'm sure if Mom was here, she'd make sure you behaved, because Mom would say it was a big day and that you couldn't be arguing with Jay." You laughed. "I can only imagine what it would look like with Jay on one side of you, Mom, and Dad on the other and you scolding both of them for fighting. Then, they'd both probably sit back and cross their arms. And, because of this, you'd probably say that I'm your favorite child."

"Alright," Jay laughed as he and Will made their way back to you. "I think it's time to go. We don't want to miss your graduation."

"You know none of us really care about the ceremony, right?" you asked, blinking back tears so that you wouldn't mess up your makeup.

"We know. It's mostly for the parents...or in your case, brothers," Will said.

You pulled out four flowers, two blue and two white, which you had taken from the bouquet that Will had placed on the kitchen table back at home, from the pockets in your dress underneath your graduation gown. "Give me one more minute."

You placed two flowers, one of each color, on top of your Mom's name and your Dad's name on the headstone. "I thought you two should have some, too. They're my school colors." You wiped your eyes as you felt a few tears prick them. "Remember to clap for me from heaven when I walk across that stage, okay?"

You took a deep shaky breath and turned back around. Will wrapped an arm around you as the three of you walked back to Jay's truck. Beary hung from your hand. In three hours, you'll have graduated high school.

You were taken out of your thoughts by your phone ringing. It was the coffee shop you worked at. And, no, it was not the one in your apartment building. But, Jay and other members of Intelligence did sometimes come in there to pick up coffee for them and the rest of the unit. This was only because they knew they'd get the friends and family discount since you worked there. But, they usually tipped you well, so you didn't mind.

Your manager asked you to come into work because someone couldn't come in. As much as you needed to study for your biology lab practical, you needed money for college more. And, you could always go to the lab tomorrow to practice for your lab practical. You also had Will. What good was having a doctor in the family if not to help you with your science homework? So, you decided to pick up the extra shift making coffee.

***

"Voight," Hank Voight said as he answered his phone.

"Hank, it's Wallace Boden. I need you to come down to the CCU science lab right now."

"Why?"

"Because Severide just told me that the victim at Soldier Field yesterday kept chanting BRT. This place is owned by BRT Labs. And, there was a fire set."

"You're thinking arson? You know we don't investigate that, Wallace."

"I know. Office of Fire Investigation is already on it."

"But, you think that the victim yesterday and the fire today could be connected?" Voight asked.

"I think it's highly possible. All I ask is that you come down here, maybe take a look inside, do some interviews, stuff you normally would do."

"Alright. I'll grab Halstead and Upton and we'll head down there."

"Thank you."

Voight hung up his phone and turned to his team, all of whom were knee-deep in paperwork after taking off yesterday to see the Bears game...which they didn't even get to see in the end. "Chief Boden needs some of us down at the CCU lab. There could be a connection--"

"Did you say the CCU lab?" Jay asked, standing up from his chair.

"Yes, Halstead, Upton, you're with me. The rest of you, stay here. We'll let you know if we need you or you need to look up information here." Voight looked to Jay who looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Halstead, we're going."

"Y/N's at the lab."

"It's Saturday," Hailey pointed out. "There's no classes on Saturdays."

"She said she was going there to study for a test. Oh, God. What if--"

"Jay," Hailey said as she walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "You just need to call or text her on the way there. She'll be okay. C'mon, let's go."

"Atwater, come with me," Voight said. "Just in case Jay's gotta go."

***

You finally took your fifteen-minute break after being swamped for a good half hour straight. Who knew so many people wanted coffee at four in the afternoon? The first thing you saw were seven missed calls and texts in all caps. They were all from Jay.

"What the hell?" you muttered as you pressed Jay's contact and brought your phone to your ear. He picked up on the first ring. "Why are you--"

"Where are you? The firefighters said they haven't seen you come out yet," he rushed out.

"I'm at work. What firefighters? What are you talking about, Jay?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows together.

"You're at work?" Jay asked. "I thought you were going to school to study?"

"I was. But, then my manager called me in. Why? What happened?"

Jay felt so much relief wash over him that he almost fell over in the grass on the CCU campus. "There was a fire in the lab."

"What? Are my friends okay? Did anyone die?" you rushed out. They weren't totally your friends, more your classmates, but you figured that was the easiest thing to call them.

"As far as I know, there weren't any fatalities."

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, okay, good."

"Just do me a favor: next time your plans change, text me."

"I can't promise I can remember that."

"Figures. But, I gotta go. Stay safe."

***

"Son of a bitch!" Jay yelled and threw his phone on the couch just as you entered your apartment after finishing your closing shift at the coffee shop.

"What?" you asked as you shut the door and then set your keys down and took off your hat.

"Hailey's in quarantine," he told you. "And it's all my fault."

"What? It's your fault? How'd it even happen? Why are people being quarantined?"

"Turns out that necro thing isn't as rare as Will told us."

"Jay, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Uh, there were a bunch of people at an apartment building who got the disease, so Will and others are there looking for a thing that somebody says they saw spraying the building. Could've been this exterminator person was trying to poison people in the building," Jay told you. "And now everyone in the building is quarantined at Med."

"And Hailey was in the apartment building...?" you asked, not knowing what this had to do with Hailey.

"I had her go to a house to talk to someone who was in the lab the same time as the victim. She, uh, the girl Hailey was talking to, fell over and she had the infection and Hailey touched her.

"Hailey had a hangnail or something—at least, that's the info that Will got from Natalie, and Will passed it on to me—so now she's in quarantine at Med. If I wouldn't have told her to go check out the lead, then maybe she wouldn't be in quarantine right now."

"Jay," you started, "you can't blame yourself. If it wasn't Hailey, it would've been you. Then you'd be quarantining at Med right now. And if it wasn't you or Hailey, it would've been someone else from Intelligence and then they'd be in quarantine right now."

"How did you get so mature?"

"Trauma."

Jay's expression immediately changed. "What? Y/N, if you need someone to talk to, I can get you that."

You laughed. "Jay, chill. It's a psych major joke...even though I know I really shouldn't be joking about trauma no matter what."

"Okay, good. Do you want to watch a movie?"

"I mean, I guess. What are we watching? And, I'm gonna make popcorn, too."

"Okay. We can watch anything but Contagion," Jay told you.

"What's Contagion?"

"It's about this virus that breaks out all over a city...much like what's happening now."

"Oooh, now I want to watch it."

"I knew I shouldn't have said anything."

***

"Hello?" you said into the phone the next afternoon when Mama Garcia called you. Jay was out working the case, Will was trying to find a cure for this bacterial strain, and Hailey was out of quarantine because she was cleared by Natalie. So, Jay wasn't blaming himself anymore.

You quickly spoke Spanish with Mama Garcia and she asked if you could come in because they got a huge catering order last minute and she needed someone to man the cash register while she helped in the back making the order. You agreed and made your way to Mama Garcia's.

***

You were busy working the cash register and speaking Spanish with the friendly customers when you started hearing yelling outside, something about MS-13. You excused yourself and made your way to the back where Mama Garcia was working on tamales.

"They're saying something about MS-13 out there," you told her in Spanish.

"I'm going to need you to say that in English, chica," she told you. "I think you said it wrong because you just mentioned MS-13," she said as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"No, they're saying crazy stuff," you began. "They're chanting that you're part of MS-13. You can't hear it?"

"It's loud back here. Maybe I'll hear it if I go to the front."

She came to the front with you where some customers were leaving the building through the side entrance to get away from the mob. There weren't any customers left in the little restaurant anymore.

"Dios mio," she whispered.

There had to have been at least two dozen or more people outside all yelling and saying that she was to blame for the bacteria. Some even held signs. Some had guns or sharp objects.

You pulled out your phone. "I'm calling--"

You stopped when you heard a crash. You barely had time to register what was happening as the Molotov cocktail flew through the window and shattered everywhere, lighting the place on fire and sending shards of glass everywhere, some ending up lodged in your leg as you screamed in fear and pain.

***

The men and women of Firehouse 51 got a call of a public disturbance at Mama Garcia's. As they pulled up, they saw the Molotov cocktail fly right through the front window towards you and Mama Garcia. Casey started barking out orders and everyone sprang into action.

You were inside and the smoke was getting thicker. Whatever they made this out of actually worked. You pulled your shirt up to your nose and mouth to try and stop inhaling it, but it didn't work very well.

You had been in front of Mama Garcia at the time it was thrown through the window, so you took most of the glass shards. This caused you so much pain that it was hard for you to move through the kitchen and to the door to get out.

"Fire department! Call out!" you heard Stella yell as you kept trying to walk toward the back door.

"Here!" you yelled.

"Fire department! Call out!"

"Back here! Help! Help!"

You heard heavy footsteps coming toward you and then you saw a firefighter and you felt a hand wrap around you.

"Hang on. You're gonna get out of here." Stella. "Casey," she said into her radio. "I need some help in here. Female victim, trouble walking, in the back in what looks like the kitchen."

"Copy. Coming in, Kidd."

About thirty seconds later you were picked up and told to close your eyes. You did, and it was only when you finally got outside, did Truck 81 realize who they had rescued.

***

Will was currently working in the lab trying to find an antidote to this terrible outbreak. But, something about Dr. Seldon was suspicious. He wasn't a detective like his younger brother,  but he still trusted his gut.

Dr. Seldon hadn't noticed that Will was still in the lab when he started pouring chemicals into the samples. Now Will knew something was most definitely wrong.

"What are you doing?" he asked loudly, startling Dr. Seldon.

"Oh, these are contaminated samples," he answered easily like he had rehearsed what he was going to say.

Will pointed directly at him. "No. You know what? You need to stay right here."

Then, Seldon threw a punch and Will caught it easily. But, then Seldon hit him again in the stomach. In the split second that Will was doubled over, Seldon picked up a microscope and cold-cocked Will right over the head, causing him to fall to the ground as everything went black and he clutched his bleeding head.

***

Hailey was now back in the bullpen after being quarantined because she got checked out and everything was fine. She had to tell Jay to stop apologizing and that it wasn't his fault he had gotten into that mess.

"That's a blue hat, right before 2:00," Ruzek said as he looked at the security footage.

"Wait, I know this guy," Jay started. "He works at the CCU lab." His eyes widened as he realized what was going on. "He's with Will. We gotta go now!"

As Jay was sprinting out of the bullpen, his phone started ringing.

"Man, your phone!" Adam yelled.

"Just let it go to voice-mail!" Jay yelled as he ran down the stairs, not knowing that it was Casey calling him to let him know that they had pulled you out of a fire and you were currently being treated at Med.

***

You rubbed your eyes as you woke up a few hours later. You didn't know if it was the meds the nurse gave you to knock you out so she could pull the shards of glass out of your body or if it was from a combination of smoke inhalation and tiredness. Whatever the reason, you were awake now.

You turned to see your brothers and were very confused to see that Will was holding an ice pack to his head and Jay looked like he had gotten new stitches in his forearm.

"The hell--" You roughly cleared your throat. "The hell happened to you two?"

"We found the guy," Jay told you. "But, not before he cold-cocked Will over the head with a microscope."

"Who was he?" you asked.

"A professor at CCU. Dr. Seldon."

"I've heard of him. I think he only teaches graduate classes though, so I'd never end up being in one of his classes anyway. I'm assuming he's not teaching anymore?"

"Not a chance in hell," Jay confirmed. "If he wants to teach, he can teach all the other prisoners at Stateville."

"What happened to your arm?"

"Oh, you know him," Will began. "He's always putting other people's safety in front of his own like the idiot he is." Jay thought about smacking his older brother upside the head but decided against it only because he had just been hit in the head. "He decided that he'd rather be infected with the bacteria instead of the people in a conference room where Seldon was. So, he cut himself."

"You what? Do you have the bacteria?" you asked as your eyes widened in fear.

"No, I don't. Hailey shot in there to distract him and then I disarmed him. Will came in with the antidote anyway, but luckily we didn't need to use it."

"If Hailey got paid overtime every time she saved your ass, she'd never have to work again."

"Tell me about it," Jay agreed.

"Now, what happened to you?" Will asked. "Casey told us you were at Mama Garcia's?"

"Yeah, she called and asked me to run the front since she needed to be in the back to help work on a catering order. I went in and an hour later, there were all these protesters outside calling her a member of MS-13 and saying she started the outbreak."

"How?" Jay wondered. "Mama Garcia's like the sweetest lady alive."

"I don't know. Because people online are crazy? And then someone threw a flaming bottle of something through the window."

"And that's how the glass got in your leg?" Will asked. You nodded. "Well, the good news is that Maggie told me the damage was artificial. The reason you passed out was because of smoke inhalation. They gave you some oxygen and you're good to go once you're ready."

"Then why don't I have one of those nose thingies in?" you asked.

"A nasal cannula?" Will chuckled. You nodded. "It's because you slept long enough with it on that your oxygen is back up. And, the paramedics gave you oxygen, too. That's why you don't need it. Your levels are back to normal."

"Oh. Okay."

"You want your discharge paperwork?" Will asked.

"Yeah, Jay's gotta fill it out."

"Nope. You are not a minor anymore. So, you get to fill out your own paperwork."

You groaned as he handed you the clipboard with the paperwork on it. Now you knew why both Jay and Will hated paperwork so much. There was so much even for one little thing!

"You know, I think since you've achieved frequent flyer status at Med," Will began, "that Beary needs a hospital gown, too."

"No! Don't you dare!"

"Just write it down and give it to her for Christmas," Jay joked. But honestly, when it came to that bear and presents, you never knew if either of them was joking or not.

Everything seemed back to normal at that moment: Jay and Will joking about your Build-A-Bear, you and Jay constantly being in the hospital for whatever reason and life. Life was back to normal after this crazy weekend that had everyone in Chicago on edge and you couldn't be happier.

A/N: Idk how I feel about this one. There was so much going on in that crossover, that it was hard for me to figure out what I wanted to focus on...so, it turned into a shorter imagine. Anyway, thank you guys so, so much for reading! I also start my new job tomorrow, so updates might be a little less frequent (one or two a week, depending on how long the imagines are and how much I have to work). Anyway, please like/reblog and comment and tell me what you think! As always, if you want to be added to my taglist, just tell me and I’ll add you!

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e @i-like-sparkly-things @herecomesthewriterwitch @liampayne88

[docholligay]

Tracer/Emily “on a scar”

Talk about stuff I've meant to write for ages, this moment is finally out in the world. ANYWAY THANK YOU 1600ish words, all of my OW universe is here.

Tracer kissed her shoulder.

It should have felt good. She wanted it to feel good. She was incredibly attracted to Tracer, who had been a perfect lady over the past few weeks. Tracer, who was handsome and charming and gallant, who had treated her to dinner and walks in the park and made her laugh with all her stories, brought her flowers and told her she looked wonderful in purple, who had never invited herself up even though her eyes clearly wanted to be invited up.

But instead, there was a sort of deep grim that lapped at the corner of her mind. Emily was not good with women. She wasn’t good with anyone really, over the age of six, she thought, quiet and shy and awkward, the way she’s been all of her life. She wanted this, and she was afraid of it. She was not a casual person. Sometimes she wished she were.

The hard part, for Emily, was knowing when to tell someone. When she had been younger, it had been easy to blame her being trans for every ounce of hesitation she felt in a public setting, for every stumble through a conversation, and every bad date where her calls were never returned. It some ways, it had made things easier, to know that there was an immutable reason for such things, but life is rarely so kind, and she had met so many other women like her who glittered and had full dance cards, who lived life loudly.

So her own hated timidness had to, at least in some capacity, be an organic consequence of being Emily McNair, rather than anything else. It was disappointing.

But because she was Emily McNair, and because she had no idea of what it meant to be casual, and because she, like the silly fool that she was, was dangerously close to being truly in love with Tracer, she had to tell her. She wanted to tell her. Because if she was going to love Tracer, she had to know that Tracer could love all of her, even her history.

She tried not to expect too much of people in that vein.

“Em?” Tracer pulled away from her, ‘Can’t ‘elp but notice you don’t seem particularly engaged. You,” she seemed disappointed, “you not want to?”

“Oh, Lena, I do, but it’s only..” She tucked her hair behind her ear, “I have to speak to you, first.”

Her eyes darted around the room. “What ‘ave I done? Or not done?”

“No, no, of course no. It’s only me.”

“Alright. All ears.”

Emily was sure there had to be a perfect way of doing this, but over the twenty odd years of her life, she had never quite found it. Words were, most people would agree, not Emily’s strong suit, and generally she was as content to listen to others talk as they were. The handful of times she had gotten far enough to want to tell someone, it had never come out the way she’d imagined, and as Tracer looked at her, she realized that new and better speech she kept planning wasn’t going to reveal itself this time either.

“I’m trans. I just--thought you should know, before.” She swallowed and looked off to the side, waiting.

Tracer rocked back on her heels and looked at Emily.

“Is that all? Doesn’t matter, I don’t care about that,” she stopped for a moment, “Sorry. You know,” she tilted her head quickly and leaned forward, trying to put herself back into Emily’s gaze, “it’s just now occurred to me why me Dad put it that way when I told ‘im I was gay, can’t really think of a better way to say it--suppose it didn’t urt that ‘e wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by the news--but wasn’t helpful to me then either.” She took Emily’s hand. “Thank you for telling me. I feel all the same about you as I did. I think you are absolutely beautiful, and I cannot believe me luck, sitting on the sofa with you. You ‘ave no reason to be shy with me. Still buzzing about being invited up, love.”

Emily let her shoulders relax a little. “I’m shy with everyone.”

“I ‘ope sincerely that it’s not that people ‘ave been cruel to you.”

“Not, I think I’m just a bit awkward, I mean,” Emily shook her head. “Most people haven’t known since I left school. But I don’t much,” she fiddled with the strap of her dress, “you know, see women.”

Tracer smiled. “Right. Let me show you something.”

She slipped her shirt off under her CA with a speed and grace Emily would not have guessed was possible, leaving only her CA and a sports bra. The first thing she noticed were the bright toucans on Tracer’s bra. The second thing she noticed was that Tracer was as spectacularly toned as she might have guessed given her quick strength, and she blushed.

The third thing she noticed were two deep and heavily puckered scars, right at the edge of her rib cage. Her eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth, without thinking, and then immediately realized Tracer must be seeing her, after being so kind to Emily, showing shock, and she might think it was disgust--

But Tracer gave that loud peal of a laugh that Emily loved so much. “I know! Terrible, innit? Man shot me.” She scowled a moment. “Thought ‘e was me friend, once upon a time, but ‘e did disabuse me of that notion, as Fareeha put it, you know, love, for all the times she pretends she doesn’t understand a bloody thing I’m saying she manages to put up quite the English vocabulary when it suits her, right? Right, absolute tosh--listen to me waffling on, me Dad always said I could talk for England--what I mean is, love, you ain’t the only one with a thing or two unusual. Say nothing about the machinery. I’m loads of things to get used to, right? So you and I are of a kind. Me more than you, even, ‘ave no doubt you look better with your clothes off than me, if you don’t mind me saying so, right? So you never need be shy with me, for I’ll always do me best. I ‘ave no doubt that I will say or do something unbelievably bloody stupid, and when that happens, I want you to say, ‘Lena, you bloody stupid cunt,” Emily laughed and shook her head, “--No love, I’m being very serious just now--Lena, don’t do that” and then I won’t.”

Emily looked at her. Tracer’s eyes were bright and sparkling, but full of sincerity. Even now, she had that little resting smile on her face that Emily had come to realize just sat there, as unhappiness did on others. There was something about Tracer that drew Emily in, that made her feel safe, and suddenly it felt true, that someone like Tracer could not mind. Suddenly it seemed silly to Emily that anyone had ever minded at all. She had so many explanations planned out, ways to make it okay for Tracer and assure her that there wasn’t much different about Emily, but it all seemed completely unnecessary in the moment.

She had been honest, when she said she didn’t care.

Emily reached her hand out and brushed her fingertips against the deep crater on Tracer’s stomach, and Tracer did not flinch away from her touch, even for a moment.

“It must have hurt terribly.”

Tracer shook her head. “You know, actually, I lost a great deal of blood very quickly, which doesn’t necessarily recommend itself but I will say made the pain a bit of a non-issue.” She laughed again. “Honestly, Winston’s more traumatized by it than I am, I only remember little bits of the thing. Lost some of me liver though, and I am sore about that, as I make quite a bit of use of it,” she looked down, “ as you can see by the fact that I lack a bit in the definition department.”

“You’re very handsome, Lena.” Emily said, still looking at the scar, unable to look Tracer in the eye when she said it.

“Well, you’re kind to say so.” Tracer put her hand on top of Emily’s. “I still am keen to root about the cabbages, so to speak, and I want you to know I won’t be put off so easily in future,” she grinned, “but if you’d rather not tonight, I understand that, as well.”

“Oh, but I don’t want you to go!”

Tracer took Emily by the shoulders. “I can stay then, love. ‘Appy to ‘ear it. Can stay all night, if you like. But we don’t ‘ave to do nothing.”

Emily leaned forward and put her head on Tracer’s shoulder, letting herself fall into her embrace. Tracer kissed her forehead.

“We can stay just like this, love.”

I love you, she wanted to say, I love you, and I feel excited and happy and utterly terrified at the fact. But, she reasoned, she had tripped over her own tongue enough for one evening, and in this moment, she thought she would have plenty of other chances. Tracer would stay. She kissed Tracer’s cheek and settled into her arms as Tracer laid back against the couch.

“You know, the scars aren’t even the worst of it, with me. ‘Ardware neither.”

“Oh?”

“Right, there’s the entirety of me personality to deal with, as well. Messy. Can’t pay attention to save me own life, sometimes quite literally, depending on who you ask. Touch of P--well, honestly, just ask Fareeha, when you meet her, she’s got a list of me negative qualities, I think. Probably alphabetized. Maybe categorical.”

Emily felt herself melt into Tracer and allowed herself the joy of a laugh.

The cool wind of October shook the trees outside, and litter blew along the street next to her shabby little London flat, and Emily had never been happier.

[xoxo-nikki-xoxo]

Heart throbbier pt.1

Stefan Salvatore X Female reader

Requested by: Anonymous.

“can you write a Stefan Salvatore smut, where the reader is Klaus' adopted human daughter and everyone is downstairs and Stefan is fucking y/n, and since Stefan has a daddy kink, he hits a spot inside her, which makes her scream 'daddy!' then Klaus runs up to her room bashing the door open and finds Stefan in there and then it’s all Stefan and y/n vs the Mikaelsons since they don't like Stefan.”

Word Count: 2.4 K

Authors note I had a lot of fun writing his pt.1! I really enjoyed this prompt so much I’m going to write a pt.2 in Stefan’s point of view. I hope you guys enjoy is as much as I do! Also, as a side note I think this is one of the longest imagines I have ever posted. Sorry not sorry!

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Standing on your balcony you realized just how much of a beautiful night it was in New Orleans. The sounds of music and people talking downstairs echoed throughout the compound. But you could not bring yourself to attend the party your family was hosting tonight. All you could think about was you long distance boyfriend, Stefan Salvatore. It has been about half a year sense you father uprooted you again to move back to New Orleans.

Ever sense you started to walk, your life was a constant move. Your father, Klaus Mikaelson, constantly kept on your toes growing up. When you moved to Mystic falls, he had promised you a home there. That you could finally settle down, go to public school and be a normal human teenager. That changed though once you met a Stefan. It got worse when over time though, Klaus could never live a peaceful life. Wither he was trying to sire hybrids, dealing with his daggered siblings, or your “Favorite” when he tortured some of you newly found friends (Mystic falls gang) you had made at high school.

Sense Klaus had caught wind about Hayley and the baby you’ve been here ever sense. Sadly, though your father is not impressed with Stefan and you dating. In the words of your great father, he had exiled Stefan from ever stepping a foot onto New Orleans soil. If he had it, his way Stefan probably could never come to Louisiana.

Sighing you looked up at the sky watching as the stars twinkle. Maybe Stefan was watching the stars where he was at. You missed him so much the long distance was killing you. Even worse with an unaccepting family.

“You know, you look prettier when you smile” It was a voice you recognized oh so well.

Looking down a smile broke out on your face “What are you doing here? Stefan my da- “You whispered/yell at him.

“I’m here to see you. I thought tonight would be the perfect night to come visit you. You said it yourself, your family is distracted right now with the party they are throwing. *Jumps onto the balcony with you* They wont even know I was here. Ill be gone before the party ends” Stefan says smiling his hand goes to your cheek “Six months have been way to long” He says before kissing you.

“We’re going to get caught Stefan...” You whispered wrapping your arms around his neck.

“They won’t, the party so loud I bet no vampire or hybrid will be able to hear up here” he told you watching your eyes sparkle as you gaze up at him.

“I can’t believe you’re here” You whispered to him.  You needed this. Him being here its what you needed. The distance, and stress was killing you inside.

“of course, I am” He whispered to you. He moved his hand to you cheek to cup it. “I missed touching your skin so much. I can’t put to words how much I missed you. Damon was begging me to shut up about you” His chuckle echoing throughout your ears.

“Oh my god, Damon! I miss everyone so much. Especially Caroline, did I tell you she writes letters to me keeping me “up to data” with the drama” You smile taking his hand from your cheek guiding him into your room.

“I’m not surprised, she fought hard trying to get your father to let you stay with her. “He comments, his eyes though focused on looking around your room. Artwork hung on your walls, pictures of family and your friends from Mystic falls.

“I never thought you would have kept this picture” he says grabbing the picture of him and you kissing during Christmas.

“of course, I did its one of my favorites on this wall” You commented wrapping your arms around him.” I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact you are here…even though you shouldn’t. I just have a bad feeling something terrible is going to happen Stefan” You said laying your head on his arm.

Smiling he wrapped his arms around you “Nothings going to happen, the only thing that will happen is me kissing my girlfriend” he says kissing you again. But this time the kiss has more need in it. You missed each other in more than one way. He was your first, ever sense that day you’ve both been addicted to each other.

One thing led to another and you ended up on your bed. Your hips straddling Stefan kissing him. Both of you topless as you were getting lost in each other euphoria’s. His hands were rested on your hips helping you as you grinded yourself down on him. Removing your hands from him you reach back taking your bra off letting your breast free.

A low groan can be heard coming from Stefan’s throat. “Fuck y/n” he moaned again opening his eyes to flip you over, so he was in the middle of your legs now. He had sat up starting to remove the remainder of both of your cloths. Then here you both where staring into each other’s eyes as his manhood was lined up to your perky hole.

“please Ste- “

“that’s not my name baby girl.”

“Daddy please…. I need you so badly” you whined spreading your legs further apart for him.

“your wish is my command my princess” he says and with that he plunges himself inside of you without a warning.

You missed all the feeling you were feeling right now. You could only do so much with only your fingers. But this was pure heaven the way he worked on you he knew everything. And with how good this felt you could tell he missed you just as much, or maybe even more.

“I missed this pussy so fucking much. I’m never going to leave you again you hear me. I’m going to find a way to rescue you from your family” He moans to you as his thrusts pick up some pace.

“AHHH DADDY don’t stop!” You moan out loudly, the sound of the bed banging against the wall echoing all the way down to the party, but you didn’t care anymore. All you could think about was Stefan and how he was making you feel. He was everywhere, his kiss traveling all around your body. The way his hips rammed into yours it was addicting like ecstasy.

“I’m close daddy” You moaned out pulling at the dirty blonde’s hair.

“Then cum with me baby” He whispered into your ear. He was throbbing inside you. As soon as your walls started to clench around him that when both of you cumed.

Panting you laid down on the bed covering up with a thin sheet as Stefan stood up putting his boxers on.

“Y/N?!” You could hear your father. Your worst nightmare was about to come true.

“Stefan you have to- “You tried to warn but it was to late. Your door flew off the hinges revealing your father, uncles, and aunt.

“Klaus wait I can explain” Stefan says trying to calm him down before everything escalates.

“well, surprising to see you here Stefan?” Klaus began. It was all a blur from there. Klaus had Stefan up against the wall, his forearm on his neck pushing him into the wall while holding his arm behind his back. Elijah was next to him.

“Dad don’t!” You yelled wrapping the sheet around your body as you stood up.

“Why should I? You blatantly disrespect me and your whole family! And as for Stefan he is good as dead Y/N! I have told you countless times that Stefan Salvatore is no good for you!” he yelled putting more pressure on to his neck.

“I should bring him downstairs and execute him in front of everyone. Make a display of what happens when people don’t take my threats seriously” Klaus spat out wrapping his forearm around Stefan’s neck to move him now so you can see him.

“Elijah please! Don’t let him do this to me!” You begged standing up trying to reason with him to convince Klaus to reconsider. But Rebekah held you back standing in your way of Stefan. Stefan was trying to wrestle his way out of Klaus hold, but sadly the hybrid was stronger.

“You know the consequence of your actions y/n, and the turmoil that him and his friends have caused this family. You’re lucky that he was still alive after the things he pulled. I have to agree with Niklaus on this “Elijah said not daring to look you into your eyes though.

“Well, we better get going so we are not holding the party up” Klaus says.

“Rebekah pleaseee… Don’t let him do this to me. You of all people should understand the pain and torture of having them kill someone you love. Please, don’t let them put me through the same pain. I cannot deal with the thought of him being dead because he loves the wrong girl… Please Rebekah save him for me” You pleaded grabbing ahold of your aunts arm as tears streamed down your face. You needed to save Stefan, he needed to be alive. Your words clicked inside of Rebekah’s head. She always says that girls need to stick together. Plus, you were right, she couldn’t let her baby niece feel the same pain her brothers had inflicted on her so many times throughout the thousand years they have been alive. Looking into her sweet nieces eyes she let you go turning to face her brothers.

With that she looked at Elijah first snaping his neck so he would be out of the situation. She could only deal with one brother at a time.

“What have you done Rebekah” Klaus spoke in a state of disbelief at her snaping Elijah’s neck.

“Nik! You can’t do this to her! Take it from the girl that loves to easily, Y/N will resent you for the rest of her human life if you kill Stefan. There has to be another way you can punish both without just murdering him!” Rebekah says standing in front of Klaus as he read his sister.

“what are they going to say if I don’t kill him. *gestures to the party going on downstairs*He blatantly chose not to listen to me when I said to stay away from my daughter” Klaus argues looking at Rebekah.

“Who cares what those people think Klaus! We are talking about your daughter boyfriend. You are the king of New Orléans! But you kill Stefan now you will lose your daughter with him. Shell hate and resent you” Rebekah yells out to him as she threw her hands up in the air. Klaus looked at you then, the tears that streamed down your face. Your heart racing, your body shaking at how scared you were. You feared Klaus in that moment, and that’s what broke him.

“Fine you win this one Rebekah. I will spare his life for Y/N. But I only have one condition” Klaus says still holding onto Stefan preventing him from moving.

“Y/N I love you” Stefan mouthed to you as he tried to break free of Klaus’s hold one more time.

“Anything if it keeps this pour girl from witnessing what I have far too many times” Rebekah says.

Klaus nodded his head, ramming Stefan into the wall again. His hand grabbing onto Stefan’s face the other on his chest to keep him still. Staring into Stefan’s eyes he said “You will forget about ever loving my daughter. You will only know her as Klaus Mikaelson daughter and with that you know not to come near her. All the feeling of love and happiness with her you will now know as unpleasant and awkwardness. You will understand that you will never be enough for her. You don’t deserve her and never will. You will remember nothing about her whereabouts since she left. And when you return home you will tell everyone that you came to speek to me about past issues. But when it comes to y/n you said hi to her and that was it. You will return home and never look back.” Klaus says letting his face go as the compulsion takes control.

“Father no!” You yelled; Rebekah had to hold you again.

“Now my old friend, what do you think about my daughter” Klaus asks looking at him.

“She is a nice person, but she’s Klaus’s daughter.” He says with a hint of distaste in his voice.

“very good, now leave my house the way you came” Klaus says pointing to the balcony. Stefan nodded his head putting his shirt and shoes back on before he disappeared off the balcony.

“How could you?” You asked looking at Klaus as you were hysterical. “You might as well have killed him making him forget about me!” You screamed as the tears kept flowing down your face.

“Ill talk to you tomorrow morning. Better get some rest angel” Klaus says helping Elijah out of the room as he regained his composure.

Once your father and uncle left the room Rebekah had let you go. It pained her to see you so upset. You got dressed again once everything settled down. But you were numb inside.

“Ill stay with you for the rest of the night Y/N if you want. I don’t want to leave you alone while you are in this state” Rebekah says sitting down on the bed next to you as you just stared off into the balcony blankly.

“Do as you please… I just want this day to be over” You mumbled turning your back on her as you laid down curled up with a pillow that Stefan gave you.

“Well than, Im going to take that as an invitation to spend the night with you” Rebekah said moving closer to you. You turned to face her then wrapping your arms around her to cry into her shoulder.

“There there… we will fix this one way or the other” Rebekah whispered to you as she consulted you the rest of the night intel you had fallen asleep.

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[the-shield-of-infinity-writing]

A better world for us

I feel like a lot of people forget that the twins are teens so could you do a pietro x reader where during the events of AoU reader discovers she’s pregnant (teen pregnancy) and Pietro is the dad. Like I can imagine him being all worried about reader and Clint catching him talking to her belly while they’re waiting for help in the sky. Let’s say he lives in this version instead of dying. Please?--Anonymous

Request: Anonymous

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this took as long as it did! I genuinely have no excuse, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless worked super hard on it! Might be a tad different than what was requested! Thank you! Be warned there are mentions of abuse in the beginning!

(Y/N) never expected to be dragged into the world of Superheroes who fight for the peace of the Earth. That all changed when she was forcefully taken out of her home by an elite organization known as Hydra. They had experimented on her until she had the power to shapeshift into any animal whether they were extinct or not.

Through Hydra, she met a set of twins from a very young age. They grew close to each other, but it seemed that even (Y/N) couldn’t help herself from falling for the cocky runner. Wanda always made fun of her for even thinking that her brother was good looking let alone good enough to be an actual partner in a relationship.

It wasn’t until one night, Hydra had taken a beating to the poor teenager after she refused to perform in front of top-level clientele. They had broken her nose and busted up some of her ribs as punishment for her insubordination. She had been sobbing, trying to fix herself up enough that it wouldn’t worry Wanda or Pietro, but the door to her room opened.

“(Y/N), are you here?” The thick, deep accent spoke softly as she jolted from her place on the floor.

The jerk made her pull too hard on the stitching to pop out at a few places. She cursed softly as she squinted, trying to use the light of the moon in order to accomplish her goal. She looked up in time to see him staring down at her in shock.

“It’s not as bad as you think.” She assured quietly before suddenly her trembling hands slowly enveloped in his.

“Let me take care of it.” He whispered as she blinked back the tears of anger, hurt, and frustration. She nods gently before handing him the needle that she had been using as he looks around for the first aid. “No pain medicine?” He asked as she shook her head.

Pietro cursed softly before looking at her, running a hand over her sweat-soaked skin which made her offer a tight smile in return. His eyes were burning with anger, but the moment he looked down to her wounds that shifted to hurt. He slowly got to work as she grunted and dug her teeth into her lower lips scraping against the cut there in order to stop the sounds from escaping.

“I’m almost done.” He assured quietly, causing her to nod quickly. “I’m sorry.” He spoke finally after he cleaned up the dried blood from her body with a wet cloth.

“For… For what?” She slurred quietly.

“For not being there… For… For not helping sooner.” He whispered, looking conflicted as she swallowed softly.

It took everything in her not to reach forward and wipe the crease in his brow when she finally realized something. She wasn’t just crushing on him anymore… She was full-blown in love with the man before her as she opened her mouth. Yet, no words would escape her throat as it tightened from fear, or maybe it was because of how much pain she was in.

Pietro looked up to her, noticing the look in her eyes as his own irises dilated before he set down the bloody cloth. His hands slowly took her face into the palms, watching as she shivered from the warmth that flooded into her skin at the touch.

Everything felt tense for a moment, neither spoke in fear of breaking the bubble that had covered the two. It was Pietro who made the first move as he gently leaned forward, giving her time to back away if she wanted to. However, she didn’t move, she didn’t move because she didn’t want to and soon she felt his lips slowly brush over hers as she parted her mouth in shock.

Suddenly, they were kissing. It wasn’t the best kiss, mostly because neither one had any experience to help them guide the kiss. Nonetheless, the kiss in their minds was more than perfect enough.

The cut in her lip stung, but she couldn’t pull herself away from him before breathing became a necessity for them. They slowly pressed their foreheads together as warm breaths fanned across the other’s face while they just stared at each other.

“Pietro.” (Y/N) whispered pulling him into another kiss and soon clothing hit the floor as their night was lost in passion.

A few months had passed and not a lot had happened, it is true that the two began to date, but they were teenagers after all. They fumbled around in the shadows with heavy pettings that normally got them scolded by Wanda who was going to kill both of them if she saw her brother’s ass one more time.

Then the Ultron happened.

Wanda blindly trusted Ultron as did Pietro, but (Y/N) on the other hand, felt like something had been wrong. She didn’t understand what it was about him that made it difficult to like him, until Wanda unlocked his mind and saw what his true motive was.

Now, they were playing on the side that they believed to be the enemy. Pietro didn’t like it. He was a little angry to be honest, (Y/N) noticed it and pulled him to the side.

“Hey, talk to me.” She whispered softly, glancing to the Avengers who were making a plan to stop Ultron with Vision on their side.

“I don’t like this. I hate that Wanda just trusts this Vision so easily. First Strucker, then Ultron, are they next? Will we ever get to live a normal life?” He demanded as her eyes softened.

“We will, but we need to help stop Ultron first. He’s a bigger threat to this world then the Avengers are. Right now, they are our only ticket to having any sort of freedom. Listen, how about when this is all over, we go somewhere. Just you, me, and Wanda. Like we always planned to do. No more fighting, no more of this destruction.” She promised, cupping his face.

Pietro’s eyes fluttered as he leaned his head into her touch. His hand slowly slid up and took it into his own before placing a kiss onto her palm. He knew that what she was saying was the truth, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. His eyes fluttered open as their piercing gaze locked onto hers.

“Alright, let us get this over with. Then we are moving into the mountains or a state that is quiet.” He mumbles as a smile blooms across her mouth.

“That is my beloved.” She leans up and presses her lips against his own.

He immediately jerked her body flushed against his own before deepening the kiss. They slowly pull away, foreheads resting together. Pietro swallowed with a nod before pulling away as he looked towards the others who were still discussing plans to stop Ultron.

“We can do this, my love.” (Y/N) whispered to him as he nodded.

“Promise me, if things get bad… if they seem dire--I want you to get out of there. Do not worry about me. Just get out of there. You are more important to me.” He whispered, taking her hand as she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I cannot promise you that. If things become dire, then we die together.” She spoke sternly as Pietro’s face twisted in slight anger before he huffs.

“Why can’t you just listen to me just this once?” He asked.

“Because, if I started doing that then we would both be screwed.” She smirks softly. “You and Wanda are my family, my only family. I cannot be without you.” She explains. “See it from my perspective. Would you do as I asked if I were to say the same thing?” She tilted her head.

“Alright, touché.” He mumbles.

“Okay, everyone, let’s rest. Tomorrow we are stopping Ultron.” Tony explains, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention.

Wanda stuck to Vision’s side like glue, so Pietro pulled (Y/N) off with him towards one of the spare bedrooms that Tony offered out to them. He laid her out onto the bed as (Y/N) smiled up to him, in the lighting of the moon, she looked absolutely gorgeous. He fell asleep to the soft sounds of her breathing against his neck.

A loud explosion knocked Pietro out of his daydreaming stupor.

He glanced up to see (Y/N) holding a huge piece of debris from him and Hawkeye. Her body had hardened like steel as she forced the piece of cement out of the way. She panted harshly, looking more exhausted for wear considering how long they have been battling.

Pietro started towards her, just in time as one of Ultron’s clones blasted the area she had just been. He noticed how her skin slowly drained itself of any color, causing him to curse softly before rushing her over to safety.

“(Y/N), what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He asked, looking over her body for some kind of bleeding wound. “Is it because of your powers? You haven’t used them in a while.” He explains.

“No, I--” She jerked forward before vomiting up whatever they had eaten last night, causing Pietro to move more out of shock than anything.

“Did you get hit in the stomach?” He asked worriedly before looking up to see Wanda rushing over to them.

“What’s going on?” She frowns, glancing at (Y/N) who was gagging heavily.

“She’s hurt, but I don’t know what happened.” Pietro explains when Wanda leans down and places her hands onto (Y/N)’s forehead. She looked inside to see what happened before she felt another energy pulling at her powers, causing her to gasp. “What! What’s wrong?” Pietro asked as Wanda’s wide eyes locked onto (Y/N)’s stomach.

“You--She is… She is carrying a child. I can feel it.” She whispered softly as Pietro and (Y/N) both looked up to Wanda in disbelief.

“Wha--What?” (Y/N) stuttered out, feeling like she was going to vomit now for a different reason.

“You are pregnant. When I looked into your head, I felt something pulling at me. I could feel the heat bloom from your stomach. It is a baby.” She explains, placing a hand onto her stomach as (Y/N) looked to Pietro.

“What--What do we do?” (Y/N) asked.

“Well you are definitely not fighting anymore. Wanda, stay with her. I have to end this now.” Pietro stood up before (Y/N) surged her hand out and took his own.

“Pietro, wait! Don’t go! I can’t--You can’t die!” She exclaims, looking distraught.

“I have to go, and I will not die… It sounds like I have three people I need to protect.” He offers his signature smirk before he was gone.

“Pietro!!” (Y/N) screams before Wanda pulls her back from the havoc that was outside the crumbling door. She buried her face into Wanda’s jacket before sobbing as she placed a hand onto her stomach. This was too much to handle at once.

It was finally over, (Y/N) had been taken by Hawkeye so Wanda could help fight the others. She held her breath since she hadn’t heard from either of them as they were boarding onto the Quinjet.

“Where is Pietro and Wanda?” (Y/N) demanded, storming over to Vision who looked to her.

“They are behind you.” Vision assures, gesturing behind her as she turned just in time to see Pietro and Wanda stepping onto the jet.

Tears flooded down (Y/N)’s face as she rushed over, hugging Wanda before turning her attention towards her lover. She held him tightly as he smiled, holding her back before he moved them so the others could get on board as well.

“Pietro Maximoff, if you do something so stupid again, I swear to every god that exists, you won’t be able to outrun my wrath.” She growled softly.

“Noted.” He chuckles before kissing her passionately before sitting down onto the floor. He pulled her into his lap, rubbing up and down her back. “You know, we should talk about this,” He places his hand onto her stomach. “I think this is rather important, but later. Right now, I am just thankful that we are all alive.” He whispered.

“I’m scared.” She whispered softly as he looked up to her with a confused face for a moment. “What if I’m not a good mom. I mean… Pietro, we’re practically kids.” She whispered with a wobbling lower lip.

“That may be true, my darling. However, I think we will do just fine. And we have Wanda to help us out. Whatever happens. I’m with you all the way.” He smiles before it falters for a moment. “Do you--Do you want to keep the baby?” He asked, scared she would say no, but knowing that this was her body, her choice.

“Of course I do, I’m just… really scared.” She whispered before laughing in tears. “We’re going to have a baby.” She gasps.

“We are.” He whispered before she laid down and fell asleep from exhaustion. Pietro watched her for a moment before running his fingers through her hair as his eyes slowly fell onto her stomach. “Hello my little gem. This is your daddy speaking, and I just wanted to let you know that I love you so much already. Even if you are this tiny little thing that doesn’t have a heartbeat yet.” He whispered. “I hope I can be a good dad for you.” He whispered softly.

“You will be.” A rough voice assured as Pietro’s eyes snapped up to see Hawkeye grinning down at him. “Because you’ve got us to help out when you need it.” He assures before Pietro looks down to (Y/N) once again before he smiles.

“It seems our family just got a little bigger.” He chuckles to (Y/N)’s stomach before pulling (Y/N) into his arms and his eyes fluttered shut. He was just glad that they were no longer being held captive by anyone, they were free to live their lives for the first time in what seemed like forever.

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[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 24

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: none

A/N: i took three weeks to post, i am very sorry but i’ll now be posting the holiday chapters i was supposed to but i got lost in eating mince pies. hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

   - Bucky, what are you doing? - Y/N smirked as she returned from set, still dressed in a scandalous dress covered by a beige rain coat. Small droplets of water covered the beige waterproof fabric which rolled onto the ground as she made her way further into the small flat. 

Bucky was sat in bed, looking at a pile of clothing thrown next to an open old military green rucksack by his feet. A few worn out brown leathered tags we attached to one of the handles and had she been wearing her glasses, she could’ve probably guessed what it was written on them. The brown haired man rose his head at the mention of his name, eyes widening at what she was wearing. He was used to seeing her in tight, revealing dresses but this dress was something else and he wondered how she could walk with such a skin tight garment. 

    - I’m just deciding what to pack. - he shrugged, trying to forget about the dress his girlfriend was wearing. 

   - Just pack warm. - she sat next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder, an immediate smile extending in her limps. - Mum said it might snow. Can you imagine, a white Christmas?

   - Did they give you a bad time on set?

A bad time? A bad time was an understatement. She had gotten an earful from everyone who passed by her that day from her manager to her personal assistant to even Mr. Hayworth who just screamed about how stupid she was. Even half the cast was upset, not enjoying the publicity it would bring to the movie and while she would normally end up crying in her trailer, Chuck ensured to follow her around to make sure she was alright. Yet, none of it matter. It was the last day of shooting before she got to go home to her parents and forget about the mess she had willingly created. It was only a day before she could spend the holidays with someone who chose her and kept choosing her for the first time. It really didn’t matter if she had a bad time, things were starting to look up for her. 

    - Other than the stripper dress? Not as bad. - she giggled. Bucky looked at her, trying to peak through the coat. - I was thinking ... maybe we should have a nice long bath together? I’ll light some candles, get some nice wine from the shop down the street.

    - You little vixen, I still have to go see my sister. If I take a bath with you I will end up staying much more time than I should. - Bucky kissed the side of her face. - Did you wear that dress just to tempt me?

    - I would never. It is not my fault you cannot control yourself. 

    - That dress is staying until I come back, though.

    - I want to come. - she got up from the bed, pulling the dress from her body and grabbing her white jumper and pair of jeans from the wardrobe. - You’re meeting my family, it’s only fair I meet yours.

    - I’ve told you already, princess. We don’t wanna poke the media, they’ll bite us back with no mercy. I don’t want people hurting you because of me.

    - You can’t sneak me into a care home? My, my, Mr. Barnes, I thought you could get anyone into anywhere. Your CV said so.

   - Are you doubting my abilities, princess? - he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closing to him before starting to tickle her sides. - It’ll be boring to you, my princess. Just stay here, put back that tight little dress and I’ll make it worth your time.

   - No way. I’m meeting your sister. 

   - No baby pictures, Y/N. 

   - I would never. - she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hard felt yet soft kiss. - Only childhood stories. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, handing her the jacket and hat as they made their way onto a taxi. Bucky visited his sister a lot but he’d never mentioned Y/N. Not that he didn’t want to, of course he did. In all honesty, he could speak about his girl for as long as someone allowed him. However, Y/N was still a public personality and he wouldn’t want to let something out that she wasn’t comfortable with people knowing. Besides, he knew how much his sister still adored to gossip and he wouldn’t want to possibly hurt Y/N or be the cause. 

She, on the other hand, was excited. She knew Steve and Steve was the oldest of Bucky’s friends but she never thought she would get to meet someone from his family or that he’d even want to introduce her to someone from his family. After all, he was a war hero and Y/N was an actress from a small town in London who everyone seemed to despise at the moment.

The man drove them up to small complex building of what seemed to be newly built flats. Bucky was the first one off the taxi, running up to her side so he could open the door. It always left her feeling like a school girl; the pageantry, it is. She never believed she would find someone and the fact someone rushed to go and open the door for her and held his hand out.

    - Anything you’d like to confess before I ask your sister? - Y/N teased, hugging him side eyes as he led her to the entrance.

    - Do not believe what she says, I did not date too many girls.

    - Steve disagrees with that.

    - How would you know what Steve agrees or disagrees with? 

    - I called him to wish him happy holidays.

    - I didn’t know you and Steve were friendly.

    - Don’t be jealous, love. I’m not stealing your best friend. - Y/N pinched his cheek playfully as the two of them stopped in front of a wooden door with the number 35 in gold numbers pinned to it.

Bucky knocked on the door, announcing himself before holding Y/N once again close to him. He went through his mind, wondering if there was anything Rebecca could tell which would upset her. Sure, he used to be a bit of a womaniser in his youth but Y/N knew that. He hadn’t gotten anyone pregnant, he hadn’t proposed and ran off, he was off the hook. Still, he didn’t like the idea of Becca telling Y/N about his past quests.

Y/N waited patiently until someone held the door. The first thing she noticed were her eyes, the same as Bucky’s and she could recognise them anywhere. The woman had perfectly styled grey hair and a smile on her lips as she recognised her brother.

    - Who is this lovely girl, Buck? You didn’t tell me you’d bring company, I would’ve gotten some biscuits. 

   - This is Y/N, she’s my girlfriend. 

   - Steve told me you were seeing someone, I just didn’t think she’d be this pretty. Come in, come in. - Becca grabbed Y/N away from Bucky leading her to the living room. - What you wanted is in the bedroom, Buck.

   - Behave. - Bucky told his sister before he went into the bedroom to look for what he had come in from. 

   - I have some photos I think you’d love to see, darlin’. - she pointed the couch for Y/N to sit in before waddling to the big mahogany bookcase. She had a huge collection of books from old classics to new contemporary masterpieces which Y/N would love to read someday. The house itself was cozy, way more comfortable than other care homes she’d seen but she guessed Bucky would’ve only allowed for the best for his little sister. - It’s been ages since I’ve seen one of Bucky’s girlfriends. Not that he used to bring them home, but I used to sneak in and take a peak. You’re definitely the prettiest of all of them. 

   - Thank you. - Y/N couldn’t help but feel her cheeks heat up.

   - Ah, there it is. - she dropped a photo album on Y/N’s lap. - My father gave my mother a photo camera and she went crazy with it. Too many photos. However, when Bucky was born, it was a special occasion. Dad used to say she wanted a professional photo taken with her Jamie. 

She pointed at a photo of an woman probably in her early 20s holding a baby wrapped in several blankets, accompanied by a man who Bucky resembled very much. Her fingers traced the face of the baby, a little smile forming on her lips. It was nice to see him like that, normal. No mentions of the Winter Soldier, no pain, none of her constant drama due to her profession.

   - He was the eldest of four and despite what my mother would say, he was always the favourite. The only boy. He got away with whatever he wanted.

   - Bucky has three siblings?

   - Three sisters. Some of them didn’t survive. It was war. - her voice softened with sadness as she turned the page for a photo that Y/N wasn’t expecting to see. The same woman from before, his mother, was hugging a shirtless Bucky who had some boxing gloves on. Her face contorted into curiosity as Bucky exited the room and leaned against the couch, standing next to the two women.

  - What are you two ladies looking at? - Bucky kissed Y/N’s head, putting his hand on her shoulder. 

  - I think Y/N is very curious about your welterweight boxing past.

  - You did boxing?

  - Princess, I was a three-time YMCA Welterweight boxing champion. - Bucky closed the album before any of the photos of him with some of the ladies he used to hang around with showed up. - Becca, we should get going. We have an early flight tomorrow. 

  - You need to bring her more often. - Rebecca got up from the couch to accompany them to the door. - Did you find what you were looking for?

  - Yes, Beccs. Thank you so much for keeping it all these years.

  - Pretty sure mum would come back to haunt me if I hadn’t. Have fun meeting the parents. - she kissed Bucky’s cheek allowing for the two of them to leave. Bucky immediately wrapped his chunky knitted scarf, something his grandma had knitted for him ages ago, around Y/N’s neck, pulling her to his side.

He couldn’t truly remember a time where he was this happy, so full of need to continue living. She really brought him to this sort of weird normality where his past didn’t seem to affect him or at least not as strongly as it usually did. The two walked into grey skies, it was probably going to rain but none of them cared, walking side by side like those couples on Christmas songs. 

   - A boxing champion? 

   - Knock it off, princess. - Bucky helped her into the taxi, telling the driver his address before fastening his seat belt. - It was a long time ago.

   - Do you miss her? - she questioned, leaning her head against his shoulder, watching the horizons run through in blurs. - Your mother. Rebecca said you were the favourite.

   - Rebecca is always saying that. - he scoffed. - I do miss her. She was a swell lady, always caring about us, not complaining whenever she had to travel around because of my father. She was the best mother someone could’ve asked for. She would’ve liked you.

   - You think so?

   - I know so. Dad would’ve liked you too so would aunt Ida. Of course there’s still my nephews and nieces and their kids, but they don’t really want to speak with me ... - she didn’t need to ask why, she could see it in his eyes why and it made her sad. It made her sad to think of his family not wanting to be with him, specially during the holidays. - But I’ve had Rebecca and Steve for all these years. They’re my family and now I have you.

    - Well, I can’t promise my family will like you but they’ll definitely found the fact I have a boyfriend amusing. 

   - You mean to tell me I don’t have any ex boyfriends I’ll have to fight once we get to London?

   - That’s just unfair, Bucky. You’re a three-time boxing champion. 

   - You’ll never let that one go will you?

   - Nope. Dating a three-time boxing champion is a new identity I can get used to. 

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

I Want It Back

CW: References to negative stimming resulting in self-injury, description of injuries, brief reference to past noncon, trauma response, traumatic memory recovery, internalized guilt, victim-blaming, and ableism, grief, PTSD

Found Out, Akio, Chris Sees, and Tell Me Everything.

“Will you talk to me, today?” They crouch in front of him, their hair limp and badly in need of a wash, settling along the back of their neck, hanging lank over their forehead. They take his hands in theirs, rubbing at the cold, long fingers to warm them, the pale of his skin against their own deep warm brown.

He rocks, forward and back, but he doesn’t look at them. His eyes are focused off to the side, one something they can’t see, something entirely inside his own mind. 

They wait, but nothing changes.

“Okay, so no words, yet.” Laken tries for a smile, soft and loving, but it gets no reaction. “That’s okay, Chris. That’s okay. You don’t have to speak before you’re ready.”

Jake managed to even out his hair, using a tiny pair of scissors from his shaving kit to get everything about the same length, and it’s shorter than Laken has ever seen it, shorter than they ever imagined it would be. Clipped close to his scalp, only the occasional visible hint of the blue they’ve always known him with, the coppery strawberry blond makes him seem even paler, makes his green eyes more intense and saturated, fades out his eyebrows almost entirely. 

He looks alien, here, curled up in the corner of his room at Jake’s house in Jake’s big shirt and loose, long pajama pants. Without his compression shirt his arms and his neck are so bare, so vulnerable. 

Like this - lit dimly in ways that seem to bring out a glimmer from beneath his skin - Chris is an unearthly, almost eerily pretty thing, human only in the barest outline of his form, in the bandages affixed over his forehead, his neck, one on his cheek. The other scratches weren’t deep enough to need covering but they’re still red, darker and bruising, healing so slowly and standing out even more than his freckles.

Laken thinks, with a sickening twist inside of them, that they are seeing what the people who hurt him saw, once. 

A broken, beaten, frightened boy, locked up so he had no way to escape, not even from himself. They are seeing what was molded into whatever he was when he was found. They are seeing what Jake recognizes from back then, and what sets the lines of his face deeper, harsher, with an anger he doesn’t dare express where Chris can see him.

Jake is at some other safehouse right now, talking to someone else, getting all his rage out while Laken, Kauri, and Antoni take turns making sure Chris isn’t going to hurt himself again. It feels strange, surreal, a sort of at-home suicide watch only Chris isn’t trying to do that, he’s just… lost, deep inside himself, in the cycle of crying and screaming and rocking married with long periods of near perfect stillness and silence. 

The light is not total, Antoni had told them earlier, strange and enigmatic, with his own sad soft smile. They cannot truly erase us. We are only pushed beneath our surfaces.

He'll cycle for a while, Kauri had said, and he's easier for them to talk to, really. When it comes back, you either push it back down like I do, or you don't. He's not. So it's… gonna hurt. 

What's going to hurt?

Knowing. Kauri's smile had weakened, then. Knowing that they tore you apart and told you that you wanted it that way. Knowing that it wasn't always like that, and knowing that it didn't ever have to be, except for bad fucking luck.

Laken doesn't understand, not really, but they're here for him, and it's all they know how to do. 

He needs someone to put their hands between his head and the wall, to get his feather into his mouth, get his fingers on the stimming bracelets on his wrist, at last resort to give him a pillow so he can get the motions out without causing himself any physical damage. They can do that.

Laken hasn’t slept in two days, except sometimes dozing on Chris's bed, and Chris hasn’t spoken in that long except to tell them to leave, that he’s too difficult, there’s too much pain in him that Laken didn’t sign up for, and they don’t know how to tell him that they’re not scared of his pain, they’re scared of losing the chance to help him carry it.

He’s barely recognizable as the brightly shining smiling boy they met on their first day at college, but he’s still their Chris, their sunshine, their light and life and love. Going through hard shit is what you do, sometimes, and they can carry him, for a while, but he has to let them.

He has to believe that he deserves their love. 

How do you tell someone they deserve to be loved when their mind is screaming at them, louder than you could ever speak, that they are too broken, too used up, too far gone?

“Baby, I still love you,” They whisper, and lean forward, resting their temple against his. He makes a low, soft sound, wordless, but he leans into the touch. His fingers are slowly warming under theirs. “I do. You can’t make me stop loving you, nothing that happened to you is too much for me to love who you are.”

His feet lift and drop, tap on the ground. His head tilts to one side and then the other, but the hair that he used to like feeling rest against his cheekbones is gone, and there’s nothing to feel. The empty spaces in his ears where his piercings go seem strangely haunting, to Laken, now. 

Places where Chris made himself look how he wanted, removed. The hair he painstakingly dyed, gone. Giving himself back over to whatever is in his head telling him that it’s not his decision to make. 

“I’m sorry it happened this way,” They whisper to him, keeping their voice low. A bird calls outside the window, a plaintive mourning dove, coo-coo, coo, coo. “I am so, so sorry. I know that it’s hurting you, and-”

“Go, go, go away,” He says, voice flat, and their heart cracks open, spills out sadness in a waterfall, but Laken knows what it means to push down grief in their own way. They’ve seen their mother bury her parents with stoic compassion for her children’s grief even while never really showing her own. They don’t let anything out but the same love that’s been written across them from the beginning. 

He's not trying to hurt them. He's trying to hurt himself, first, before anyone else can do it again. 

He rocks, and they shift back to give him even more space for it. Despite his words, though, his hands still hold theirs, tightly, refuse to let go. He’s lying, Laken thinks, and there’s hope there. He's a terrible liar, he doesn't know how to make his body tell the same lies his mouth does.

He doesn’t really want them to go. He can say the words to shove them away but he can’t stop holding on.

“Chris-”

“You, you, you can, there’s-... there’s other people, easier, easier people than, than, than than… than-than-than, than-... silence is better than stammering-”

“No it’s not fucking not, Chris.” Laken’s voice is a firm and certain hiss, and they duck their head, catching his eyes. “It’s not. I’d rather listen to your stammer for the rest of my life than live one more day with you silent when you don’t want to be. Listen to me, okay? Please. Please listen. I don��t care about easier people.” Laken sighs, rubbing his knuckles with their thumbs, but his eyes are moving over their face, more focused than they’ve been since Jake led him out of the bathroom. “Okay? You keep saying that, that I deserve someone easier, but I don’t want anyone easier. I have my shit, too, that I carry everywhere with me.”

“Not, not, not-not like this.” His eyes are so huge, so wide, so very, very green. Glimmering with the tears he can’t stop crying, shimmering wet marks down his face over the scratches he made on himself. Making himself ugly, Jake had explained, but Chris doesn’t look ugly to Laken. 

He just looks like the same beautiful man they love, but drowning.

“No,” Laken admits, pulling his hands to their mouth, kissing lightly at his fingernails, one by one. Some of them cracked and broke while he was scratching himself, and the rough edges pull at Laken’s lips, catch on chapped places. He watches them move, his eyes finally, finally focused on them, for the first time since he saw the video. His fingers twitch, a little, against Laken’s kiss. “Not like that, no. But Chris, what you went through doesn’t make you less, baby. It just makes you stronger for surviving it.”

He shakes his head, but his hands are tightening on theirs again, refusing to let go. It’s a lifeline, a rope they can throw him, something maybe he’ll grab and let them pull him up with. Please let me help you, please want to breathe air, please let us pull you up above the water.

“I-I’ve been… taken so, so, so many times, b-by so many people, handlers, and I-I-... I didn’t, didn’t remember, and I did, but I didn’t, and I do, now, and…” Chris rocks forward one more time, his forehead landing on Laken’s shoulder, and they take the hint to slide their arms around him, hand moving up through the soft shorn hair along the nape of his neck. “I, I, I had a mom, Laken."

Laken has heard bits and pieces from Jake, now - heard what Ben has found in his own searching and his conversation with the Akio guy and his mom - but they hold still, and they’re quiet, letting his hands move over them, the familiar welcome taps of his fingers over the curve of their shoulders, down their sides, to their back where he likes to tap them the most. It’s a good sign, they think, that he’s tapping. Tapping is his good stim, his comfort stim, that means he’s coming out of himself a little, if he’s not hiding it. “Yeah,” They say softly. “I, um. Ben and I were looking for some stuff, and we found-... what we think is a news article about it?”

He nods into their shoulder, nuzzling against the crook of their neck. “I, I had a dad, and a, a, a a-a-a mom, and they-they died, b-because I moved when I was, was supposed to, to, um, to, to stay still-”

“No,” Laken protests, but he shakes his head, and they go quiet again.

“And, and, and I did gymnastics and went to, to-to-to state and re, regionals once and I was… I was, was, was okay. I think. I had had had friends. I had, had real friends. I think I, I was a good person, until I-... until I moved, and they d-died… my, my, my dad liked dinosaurs.”

“So do you,” Laken says, gently, and they feel his lips move, the hint of a smile, an attempt at one. 

“Mmhmm. He, he, he had dinosaurs he kept from, um, from when he was a kid and g-... gave them to, to to me. When, when I was six I had a-a racecar bed we got secondhand from, from, from my mom's friend and, and, and my dad bought those, um, Hot Wheels cars. We-we watched the Tour de France on, on, on TV every year. My, my mom took me everywhere. I, I remember holding her hand in, in in in parking lots. We, we, we did everything together. She, she, she said, she said… said said, y-you and me, Tris, we, we, we can do the hard shit, together.”

“Sounds like a badass mom.” Laken speaks against a closing throat, the flush of their skin, tears threatening in their eyes, too. They move back to finally sit on the floor, and Chris moves with them, keeping himself pressed against their warmth, their solidity, their beating heart, their life.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, and there’s so many layers of pain in that single simple word. “They, they, they took… they took my mom and dad a, away from, from from-from me. Out of, of my head. They, they took them and I… I didn’t-... I knew I lost, lost something, but it was like I could, um, could see the shape of them in the-the light but I couldn’t have their faces any, any… more. And I, I, I see them… now. I see-... but, but, but I have to see it all. I can't see only, only them. I, I ,I… see the bad stuff, too." His breath catches, and when he whimpers Laken is already tightening their arms around him, anticipating the sound, the shiver through his body, the grief that rocks through him like a wave crashing against a fragile shore. 

Grief is love with no place to go. When their abuela died, Laken’s mom had said that to them once or twice when they were angry-crying all over the house. They hadn’t really understood it, then, but they got it now - Chris’s whole body vibrated with the force of grief that had been pushed down, sublimated, forcibly given no firm subject to focus it on, but the love had never been gone - and neither had the grief at the loss.

Only simmering, under whatever they’d done to remove him from himself, tension building all unknowing, a volcano beneath the placid sunny surface waiting to erupt. 

“I know, know, know she loved me and I know how sh-she died and I know that it was, was my Sir who hurt me, me, me me me first, and I know how, how how how… how he, he, he hurt me, and… I can’t, can’t, can’t make it be different things. It’s… all… all one awful everything. I can’t remember one, one, one thing at a time, I keep getting-... too, too, too much.” Laken’s thumb moves over his soft short hair, rubs the wrong way to feel its slight resistance to their touch. “It’s, it’s, it’s all one hurt and it’s so-so-so… so so so, so big.”

“You don’t have to carry that hurt all by yourself, baby,” Laken murmurs. “We’ll carry it with you. Your brothers, and me. Ben wants to help. We’ll carry your hurt with you, and maybe it’s not so heavy if you share it with us?”

He shakes his head, rocking again, but it’s the gentle low rocking he does to calm himself, not the out-of-control rocking where he could hurt himself without help, so Laken just holds him and lets him rock. Short hair and scratches and pain and all, he’s still their sunshine boy.

He’s just… he just needs help to find the sun again.

“We found one of your friends,” Laken tries, and Chris goes still, then rocks again. They let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding when they feel him gripping onto his feather on his own, rubbing at the ridges of the vanes in the silicone. Controlling himself, redirecting himself, it’s all important, it’s all more ways he can throw his hand out to grab the lifeline they are desperately trying to throw him. “Akio Nakamura.”

Chris nods, in rhythm with his rocking, and whispers, “Ah, Aki. We, we, we, in the video-... we did a bunch of, of, of those. We, we did-... he, he, he was better than me, he was going to, to, to be professional, I just-... my, my, my dad thought I’d go to the Ol, Olympics but I just wanted to be moving.”

“He really misses you,” Laken says, and feels Chris pull back and away, raising his head to look at them. There’s an expression of uncertain confusion on his face, disbelief. He can’t imagine anyone wanting to remember him, they think, and that hurts. He can feel grief like a knife inside him remembering his parents, but he doesn’t think anyone ever felt that for him.

“He, he does?”

“Yeah. Ben, um… Ben went to meet with him and I guess his mom. He… he wants to see you, Chris. He misses you. Do… you want to see him?”

Chris is silent, watching them, and in the dimness of a room where they don’t dare turn on any lights, his pale skin seems to give off its own light, and underneath it all their sunshine boy is still there. Hurting, and scared, and sad, but he’s there.

“You don’t have to,” Laken says gently. “You don’t, I promise.” They take his hands again, move them to their own stomach, press his fingers there to encourage him to tap, to feel the certainty of  a warmth that isn’t going anywhere. “But he wants to. He missed you, he and his mom. They want to see that you’re okay.”

For the first time in three days, Chris smiles. It’s faint, and weak, but it’s there. “I’m, I’m, I’m not okay, though.”

“They want to see you anyway,” Laken repeats, softly. “Ben says this Akio guy was… was really broken up about not knowing you’ve been here all along. I won’t pressure you. No one will. But if you think you can… there are people who remember you, Chris, people who missed you.”

Chris swallows, nodding more to himself than to them. "People who, who, who missed Tristan Higgs."

"Tristan Higgs is you, Chris. You're the same person he was. You're both."

There’s a long pause, and Laken sees dust motes catching the light, and thinks to themself that Chris can stare at dust motes for hours on what he calls bad brain days, lost in the way he says they sparkle in sunlight. 

“Do, do do… do you think… do they know where, where, where my, my parents are?”

Laken nods, slowly. “I’m sure they do.”

He pushes himself back into the corner, but the distance isn’t there this time, and Laken feels like this isn’t retreating, but simply finding somewhere secure to think it through. “I, I, I hope I was a good, good person when I was, was Tristan. I hope I, I was… good. Like, like a nice person."

“I’m sure you were. You’ve never been anything but good, Chris. Nobody made you that way. That’s just who you are. Nothing that's ever happened to you has been able to change that."

His eyes flicker to theirs and then away, but something has shifted in his expression. Determined, not distant. A firmer set to his jaw, a flintier look in his eyes. “I, I, I remember Aki. But, but I can’t… remember him without remembering, um, without, without the guns and, and, and blood, and my Sir, and s-signing, and-... and… all, all of it. I want-... I want to, to, to have the good things all on their, their own.” 

“Give it time,” Laken says, wishing they knew that for sure, wishing they weren’t just bullshitting their way through this, wishing they knew anything about the trauma that Chris has survived. Wishing they could be anything more than just a partner, arms to hold him, a heart to love him. “It’s new, still. Give it time.”

Chris slumps back against the wall. “May, maybe. My, my, my aunt… gave me away. Because I, I, I was too hard when I was, was sad. For them. My, my, my aunt-... they, they told me when I signed, they, they said-... I remember it. I remember asking for, for, for help…” He looks down at his hands, opening them, staring at his palms. “I was, was too hard when I-I was hurting. Too, too, too angry, too bad, too much. She she said-”

“Fuck her. No, you weren’t.” Laken holds their own hands out - and this time he reaches for them on his own. They sit there, holding hands in the dark of his room. The only light comes from the sun cutting through the blinds. “You were a kid missing his parents, and if she wasn’t up to the job of being a halfway decent human being, there were other people who could have stepped up. Listen to me. You’re hurting right now, and not a single person who loves you thinks it’s too hard or too much to help you. You’re not too hard, it’s not too much, you’re our Chris and we love you. Nobody’s walking away from you now.”

He swallows, watching them.

“Chris.” Laken squeezes his hands, just a little. “We're all here. We're not going to leave you alone to hurt, you have people who will hold you through it. I love you."

He manages, one more time, the slightest smile for them. “I, I, I love you, too. I… I want you, you, you here. Please… please, please don’t-... don’t leave me.”

“Never.” They kiss his hands again, and this time he presses his knuckles into their lips, chases the reassurance in the sensation, the gentle platonic affection. “Everyone’s here for you, Chris.”

“I, I, I just want-... want someone to love me, even-... even like this,” Chris whispers, his head tilted back against the wall. Laken grabs onto the smile he still has, and holds on tight. “Even when when when I’m too hard, when, when it’s too much. Love me even when when when it hurts."

“I do, Chris. I love you, like this, like before, like any way that you are, I love you.”

They kiss every cracked fingernail, every bruised or bloodied knuckle, as they speak. He watches them, and they can feel inside themself that he’s ready to be pulled up out of himself, that for the moment he’s ready to grab the lifeline.

And the next time he drowns, they’ll be there with another one.

“I’m not leaving you, Chris.”

“Pl-please-”

“Not ever. No matter what happened or who hurt you, I’m not leaving you.”

There’s a silence, and he nudges himself back against them, eyes closed, and softly - slowly - he hums, tuneless and toneless, and Laken lets out a deep sigh of relief. Self-soothing, comforting sounds, but ones he can’t always make when he’s scared, sounds he hasn’t made in two days now. They sit with him, holding him, feeling the comfortable movements of his body trying to put itself at rest, the gentle taps, the vibration of his hum, the slight rock of him against them. 

Finally, he says, softly, “Do, do, do-do-do you remember Oliver, Oliver Branch?”

“Who?” Laken blinks, turning to look down at him, so fucking young even though he’s three years older than they are. “Wait, the, um, the… the, shit, the Governor who was on trial for trying to sell a Senate seat, right? And then he died?”

“Um. Yes.” Chris tucks his head against them, and they shiver at the brush of his soft hair over their jaw. 

“Yeah, kind of. We went to see him my freshman year, he used to host all these field trips for high schools…”

Chris swallows - the sound is audible - and then whispers, “I, I, I remember.”

“Did you go on one?”

Chris breathes, in and out, slow but not quite steady. They can feel the warmth of his breath against their skin. They run their hands over his bare arms, his arms that are never bare except when he’s sleeping, skin that feels raw, exposed, covered in scratches from his own fingernails. “I was… there.”

Laken blinks, caught off-guard, confused. They rub their thumb over the ball of his wrist, feel him shaking against them. “What?”

“Un, under his desk.” Chris swallows, eyes shut tight. “He, he, he kept me under his-his desk when the, the kids came to see him. Or, or in the hall, or… on the bed…”

“Chris, what are you-... are you saying-”

“I was-... his.” Chris licks his lips, and Laken stays very still, afraid if they move he’ll flee back to his corner, hide under the bed, disappear like dew in the sun. “The Governor’s… pet. For-... he, he, he used me for-”

“Jesus.”  Laken’s stomach flips, a drop down to their knees and back again.

“When, when you came to-to-to see…”

“Chris-... no-”

“When you came… I was, was probably… un-under his, his, his-his… his desk. He drugged-... drugged me, to, to to to to-to keep me quiet.”

Laken thinks about Chris, having a headache after a long study session, nerving himself up to take nothing more than a couple of Tylenol, the way he always hesitates before he takes his ADHD meds in the morning. Something clicks into place.

Chris’s hands twist into the fabric of their shirt, and his face reddens, fading out the freckles over the flush. The white bandage over one cheekbone suddenly seems too white, garish. “Some, sometimes he would have me-... or, he would, um, hide me. Down, down, down the hall. On his bed. Waiting for him to, to, to come back and-”

“Jesus Christ,” Laken whispers. “Jesus fucking Christ. So that night you got all fucked up because it’d been a year since your-... you called him your Sir-… died... you were talking about Governor Branch?”

He’s quiet again, for a long time. Then, as if confessing a sin, he whispers, full of shame, “Yes.”

Laken needs very badly to go throw up all the anger and disgust and loathing they feel, and worse than that – the guilt that they were maybe a few feet way and never knew there was someone who needed help. They couldn’t have known, and yet Laken felt some sense that they should have, that they should have had some sense that something was wrong, and… they didn’t.

They need to throw up, but Chris needs them to stay right here. That, they can sense – that if they walk away from him, he won’t understand that they are not disgusted with him. “Does Jake-”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Chris.” They kiss into his hair, feel the warmth of his scalp underneath. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. Te quiero, cariño. So much. I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too,” Chris murmurs, and they hold while he rocks, gently, into their solidity. “I’m, I’m, I’m… I’m-I’m sorry, too. I… I didn’t know how to, to, to… be anything but good. They, they took everything else away from me, Laken.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“They took m-my parents, and, and, and my friends, and my… my fight… away.” Chris sniffs. “They took eh-everything and, and, and it-… it-it hurts, but… but it’s coming back. It’s, it’s… it’s, it’s, it’s coming back. I, I, I want to-to-to see Akio.”

“I’ll text Ben,” Laken whispers, feeling a twinge of something like fear at the sudden burst of strength in Chris’s soft, sweet, sad voice. Not fear of him, exactly, but fear… for him. For his heart, and his head, and everything he was tearing down inside it.

And what all that darkness and weight would do to his solid, determined sunshine.

“They, they, they took my, my, my-my-my mom and dad, and, and… and Aki, and everything, and… I, I, I…” He looks up at them, then, and his eyes are bright and so, so very green, and brilliant with all the pain and courage inside him. “I want it all back.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

I’d put a crown at your feet... (Part I)

For the dearest @marilynmonroefanfics​ 💝👄

Hope you’ll like the story.

TW: mentions of smut

June 1972. Castle of Balmoral.

Walking through the Scottish lands, Philip Mountbatten, Duke of Edinburgh, was in a foul mood. 

He felt like his life was falling apart for two years. Or maybe for more years? 

He did not remember when it went sour, but for sure, he knew that his life was a complete mess.

First of all, his marriage was falling apart: he and Elizabeth grew distant from each other. Farewell, the sweet romance of the beginning! Even the birth of Edward, their last child, did not manage to patch things up between them.

Secondly, his “dear” wife did not show any maternal love for their children. She cast Charles, Anne, Andrew, and Edward away, often scolding them for their mistakes and barely complimenting their efforts or successes. 

Philip had to admit that he was not really present for his children, but he was not at ease with them. Moreover, Elizabeth took perverse pleasure remembering his royal duties.

But the final straw was when he discovered that his spouse enjoyed the company of other men, to say the least.

Amazing! And he was the one the press accused of being a cheating husband! It is a topsy-turvy world!

As he was brooding over the disaster of his personal life, he did not hear the sound of a four-wheel-drive coming near to him until a familiar voice called him:

"Hello there, dear brother-in-law!"

He turned around and saw Margaret at the wheel of her vehicle, a slight smile on her face.

"What are you doing here?"

"Invading Scotland! Seriously, I'm escaping from my sister's boring sycophants! They were wasting my day!"

Philip smirked: his sister-in-law was the best person to understand how he felt in this oppressive world. Even if they did not have the same character, Philip and Margaret managed to get along. Especially since they had to tolerate Elizabeth's obnoxious behavior for some years.

"If you talk about the Daniels and the Furlingtons, you took the best decision! I would do the same!"

"Is it not what you're currently doing? Escaping from my dear sister at long strides?"

The prince shrugged.

"Maybe..."

"I see... Fancy a ride?"

"Is it risky?" joked Philip.

"Oh, don't be such a coward! Get in the car!"

"How could I refuse such a lovely request?" said her brother-in-law with irony as he climbed in the car!

Soon after, they were driving into the Scottish countryside, enjoying the view at every turn. Philip admitted that his legs needed some rest after his long walk.

After half an hour of driving, Margaret stopped the car, and they appreciated the point of view.

"Well, I have to tell: you are an excellent driver!"

"Oh, I had a good teacher! Dad and I used to drive there when I was younger!"

She sadly smiled.

"I remember his laugh... He told me how bold I was!"

"I wish I could have those kinds of memories with my own father!" answered Philip.

"Sure, you were not lucky!"

Both stayed silent, watching the calm landscape until Margaret spoke again.

"If Dad were among us, he would never let Elizabeth behaving that way with you or the children!"

"You're probably right. Unfortunately, I don't know what your mother thinks about it!"

"Don't worry about that! She often criticizes Lizzie for her lack of maternal love! She said that the monarch of Great Britain should never forget both their royal obligations and their parental duties!"

"Regrettably, your sister does not really care about it!"

Margaret scoffed.

"You bet she did not listen! My dear sister repeats that her children are more a burden than a blessing!"

She turned towards Philip.

"Speaking of that, make some effort, damn it! It looks like you're trying to avoid them at any cost! Don't you love your children?"

This question hit Philip like a punch!

"What are you talking about? Of course, I love my children!"

"Then, act like it! They are craving affection, and they cannot count on their mother for that! They need their father, and if you don't do anything to rectify the situation, you will regret it!"

The Duke of Edinburgh sighed.

"I know that it's not an excuse, but nobody taught me how to be a father. I tried my best, but I only witness the disaster I've created!"

"Don't be so pessimistic, or you're going to make me depressed! Sincerely, between you and my sister, you are the better parent! You just have to improve it, and it's not too late!"

She frowned.

"But I can't even believe Lizzie dared cheat on you with this jackass!"

"You know the name of her lover?"

"The most recent one? Of course, I know his name... and you know him too!"

"Who is it?"

"You won't like it... But it's Roger Acherville, one of your squires!"

Enraged, Philip struck the dashboard.

"DAMN IT! THIS RASCAL BOWED AND SCRAPED IN FRONT OF ME, BUT SHARED MY WIFE'S BED!"

Margaret bit her lip: she wished she never had to tell that news to her brother-in-law, but she must tell him the truth, even if it hurts like hell!

"I'm sorry, Philip. I'd prefer never tell you this..."

He interrupted her.

"No, you were right. You did well to tell me who my wife is cheating on me with right now!"

Philip was upset. How could Elizabeth do such a thing to him, after all they have been through together?

"But now I don't know what to do ..."

He turned to Margaret and saw that she was wearing a big, mischievous smile.

The kind of smile that announced that she had an idea behind her head and that didn't promise well.

"What are you going to tell me again as a twisted idea?"

"You know the law of retaliation: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth..."

"I know this motto, indeed. And then?"

"Well, what I mean is... I allow you to get your own back on my sister!"

Philip opened his eyes wide: he thought he hallucinated? Did Margaret just authorize him to cheat on Elizabeth? 

Years ago, she would have torn his eyes out if he ever imagines that possibility!

But now, the circumstances were different, and she was his best ally in Buckingham Palace.

Moreover, the idea of finding solace in someone else's arms was not unpleasant... 

He nodded.

"Alright! You convinced me!"

"Really?"

"Yes! After all, why my dear wife should be the one having fun?"

"That's the spirit, dear in-law! Before you start finding a lover, do you know what would make me happy?"

"What?"

"Shave that goddamn beard! You look like a caveman!"

The prince consort laughed: he almost forgot his bushy beard!

"What is the problem with that? It looks nice to me! People would think that I am an explorer! Or a Viking: after all, I am a Danish prince! Or maybe Socrates, as I am a Greek Prince too!"

"Of course, and I look like the lost twin of Marilyn Monroe!" she taunted the Duke while playfully punching him on the shoulder.

The two royals laughed and spoke for a long time, far from their daily issues. After all, this day was the beginning of a new journey for Philip Mountbatten...

Two months later. August 1972

Philip adjusted his bow tie: he hoped he wasn't doing anything stupid by accepting Margaret's invitation to one of her parties. She had promised him that he would not be bored and that he might find the perfect person.

He sighed: he knew he was running a risk looking for a mistress. 

If ever the press caught him in the arms of a woman, his reputation was gone! And his wife would not hesitate to put him down!

Straightening his chest, he gave a satisfied smile and got ready to join his sister-in-law when his son Andrew entered the room:

"Good evening, father ... Oh, you are very elegant!"

"Thanks, Andrew."

"Are you going out tonight?"

"Indeed, yes. I'm accompanying your Aunt Margaret to one of her parties. According to her, I am the guest of honor."

The 12-year-old boy nodded.

"Does ... Mother approve of this?"

"I have to. At least, your father will stop my sister from doing something stupid!" answered a familiar voice.

With these words, Queen Elizabeth entered the room. Dressed in a pearl gray satin dress, she had put on her most exquisite jewelry. She looked stern, almost disdainful. 

"Good evening, mother. You are beautiful tonight!"

The queen ignored the compliment and turned to her husband.

"Can I count on you so that Margaret doesn't end up dead drunk in another man's bed?"

"I'll do my best ... And you, what have you planned tonight?"

"I'm attending a reception at the Indian Embassy. As for Mother, she spends the evening with her lady-in-waiting, and Edward stays with them."

"And what about Charles and Anne?"

"I have no idea, and I don't want to know!"

Philip raised his eyebrows.

"I thought every parent should be worried about their children's nighttime activities!"

She replied in an annoyed tone.

"Oh, don't say such nonsense! They are old enough to fend for themselves! Besides, I have other priorities!"

She glanced at the clock that sat quietly in the back of the room.

"If you have nothing else to tell me, I'll leave you! I have to go to the embassy! Have a good evening!"

She turned on her heels and took off at a brisk pace, leaving her husband and son alone.

The Duke saw the sad look on Andrew's face and felt pain for him: how many times has he witnessed his wife ignore their children's words?

He tried to cheer his son up:

"Come on, it's nothing. I'm sure your compliment made your mother happy!"

Andrew replied:

"Don't bother too much about it, father. She does not care what I tell her. And she does the same to Charles, Anne, and even Edward!"

The young boy turned his gaze to his father:

"Even you, she snubs you all the time!"

"Well ... let's say that between adults, things can get more complicated!"

"Well, that doesn't make you want to be an adult!"

Philip laughed at the clear opinion of his third child.

"Don't worry, it won't be like this all the time! I'm sure you'll find someone you get along with!"

"I hope so too..."

Changing the subject, Philip asked:

"So what about you? What are you doing tonight?"

"I'm staying with Grandma and Edward. At least, I am sure to have a good evening!"

"I think so too. Well, I have to leave you: if I arrive late, your aunt might strangle me!"

"What are you waiting for? Go ahead!"

"I'm going! See you tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow, father!"

Philip kissed his son on the forehead before heading outside the palace, where a limousine awaited him.

He got into the back of the vehicle and ordered his driver:

"We can go, Henry! Let's go to Princess Margaret's residence!"

"Right away, Your Highness!"

And the vehicle set off, taking the prince to the place of the party.

A few minutes later, he arrived outside Kensington Palace, where several luxury cars were already parked in the driveway.

With a steady step, he entered the house where a butler greeted him with deference:

"Welcome to Kensington Palace, Your Royal Highness."

"Thank you. Could you tell the Princess that I have arrived?"

"She's in the main living room, Your Highness. If you please follow me, sir ..."

The Duke of Edinburgh followed the servant into a large room with dancing music and laughter.

Philip spotted Margaret, in her best dress, chatting happily with her guests.

The butler walked up to his employer and announced:

"Lady Snowden, His Royal Highness Duke Philip of Edinburgh has arrived."

"Perfect! He's coming at the right time! Thanks, Howard!" Margaret exclaimed before going to greet her brother-in-law.

"Good evening, Philip. I see you dressed up… But you still haven't shaved your goddamn beard! What did I tell you?"

“This must be my rebellious side…” smirked Philip.

This remark amused the princess, who grinned.

"You got the point!"

She took his wrist.

"Come on! I have some lovely people to introduce you to!"

And so Philip became acquainted with singers, actors, dancers, musicians, artists, and other socialites of good English society.

Suddenly, he noticed the presence of a young man who was talking to some artists.

Although he tried to stay focused on the conversation, he found it difficult to take his eyes off this mysterious young man.

The latter had dark skin, raven hair, and intense ebony eyes. Dressed in an elegant black suit, he was rather slender and had elegant hands.

Philip saw that he was wearing light makeup that showed off his face. 

Margaret saw that her brother-in-law seemed hypnotized by the young man. She smiled:

"Tell me, Philip, would you like me to do the introductions with that handsome brunette over there?"

"What? Come on, Margaret, you don't have to ..."

"No way! Follow me!"

Letting out a long sigh, the Duke followed the Princess, who addressed her guests:

"So, are you having fun?"

"Absolutely, Maggie! This night is awesome!"

"I am delighted about it!"

She turned to the man who accompanied the mysterious young man.

"Jonathan, you nasty little secretive! You did not present me this delicious young person who accompanies you!"

"Where are my good manners? Margaret, Prince Philip, let me introduce you to Piero De Angelis! He is a model of your husband Anthony!"

"I should have guessed! Anthony has always had an eye for beauty!"

The British princess turned to the man named Piero.

"And you, my dear, how do you like this evening? Are you having fun, I hope?"

"Oh yes, Your Highness. I'm having a great evening!"

The prince noticed that he had a voice that was soft enough for a man.

"I am delighted about it!" smiled Margaret, who nudged Philip lightly.

The latter, having understood the message, cleared his throat before asking:

"Like that, your name is Piero? Like the character from commedia dell'arte?"

"Not quite, but I admit it sounds like it! My name is spelled P-I-E-R-O, while the character is spelled P-I-E-R-R-O-T. That is all the difference!"

"I see ... When you take a closer look, you look a bit like him!"

"Oh, really? Do I look melancholic?"

"No, but your makeup is as subtle as his!"

His sister-in-law slapped her forehead: she feared Philip might bring out one of his sharp sense of humor. His jokes tend to upset those involved. 

However, she did not expect Piero to respond maliciously:

"Beware, Your Highness: appearances are often deceptive. For example, when I look at you, I can say that it must be several centuries since you last saw a shaving foam!"

This gibe amused Margaret, who gave a fit of laughter, while the other guests gasped in horror: how dared this young commoner speaking to the prince consort with such poor manners?

As for Philip, he was taken aback: no one ever ventured to respond to one of his jokes. But he had to say: Piero had some spirit, and he liked that!

He laughed:

"Well played! I appreciate people with some character!"

Philip offered his hand to the young man:

"I know when I lost the game."

Smiling, the young Mister De Angelis shook hands with the prince:

"It was an honor verbally sparring with a member of the Royal family!"

At the second their hands touched, Philip felt like electricity went all over his body. He thought it has been years since he underwent such emotion... 

As for Piero, he was mesmerized: he always found Prince Philip attractive when he saw him on official pictures, but now, the young man could affirm that the prince consort was handsome, to say the least. 

The young man also observed that Philip's piercing eyes hid something else, but he could not tell what: sadness? Or melancholy? Hope? 

Yet, he was sure that the Duke of Edinburgh was not as happy as he seemed.

When they stopped shaking hands, Piero bowed respectfully before Philip:

"It was a pleasure speaking with you, sir."

"The pleasure was mine, Signore De Angelis."

Amused, the young man slightly bowed his head before he turned his heels and walked away.

Philip smirked: this young Piero was the most interesting man he ever met so far.

He glanced at Margaret, who smirked slightly. Looks like she had something in her mind...

"What?"

"Nothing... I just confirm that you find your match!" she muttered as she sipped her glass of Martini.

Rolling his eyes, Philip answered:

"Please, do not make overly ambitious plans!"

"What? Do not give me that stern look!"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Philip glanced at the young man with a sly smile on his face: he had the feeling that Piero would have an intriguing role in the future...

Two weeks later, at Kensington Palace.

In the main living room of the palace, Philip and Margaret talked about many gossips and their respective marriages.

"I'm glad to hear that you and Anthony are on better terms!"

"Yes. I would not lie, it was struggling. But, in the end, it is worth fighting for!"

The prince nodded before sighing:

"I really hoped that things would get better between Elizabeth and me. Unfortunately, I have to certify that it only worsens! She avoids me most of the time, and I am sure she pretends to have different appointments to be with this Acherville!"

His sister-in-law puts a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"I am sincerely sorry for this, Philip."

"Thank you, Margaret. But, my hardship only strengthens my desire to see someone else... Someone who can love me for who I am!"

An impish smile came across Margaret's face.

"A little bird tells me that you have a specific young man in your mind, am I right?"

The Duke of Edinburgh raised his hands in defeat.

"There's no fooling you!"

The princess squealed in delight.

"I knew it! I saw this little sparkle in your eyes that says a lot about your feelings!"

"Wait a minute... Are not you upset by the fact that I may be romantically involved with a man?" 

She shrugged.

"As if I care! Choose whoever you want to sleep with, as long as it gets on Lizzie's nerves!"

"I recognize your open-minded character!" chuckled Philip.

"Indeed."

"Speaking of him, what can you tell me about this Piero De Angelis?"

"Are you reading on my mind? I was about to tell you what I know so far!"

"Go ahead!"

She cleared her throat and answered:

"Well, I asked my best friend, Lady Anne Tennant, to give me some pieces of information about him. According to her, he was born in a middle-class family who fled Italy during World War Two. Loving parents, close relationships with his siblings. A nice life, to sum up. 

He is six years older than Charles. She also told me that he graduated from Oxford, but he prefers modeling. He sometimes worked as a tutor for children of noble families. I approve of his model career: he has such good looks! It would be a shame not to take advantage of it!"

"Sure... What about his temperament? His hobbies?"

"As far as I know, he is an artist: he loves drawing, sculpting, dancing, taking artistic pictures, painting, acting, and singing! A perfect artist, I tell you. Those who know him say that he is patient, charming, cultivated, smart, polite, and humble... He has some humor, but you have already noticed it. Ah, I almost forgot! He has some... unusual tastes!"

Philip raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't imagine something scandalous! It's just that he loves good fashion, jewels, and perfumes."

"He has a fondness for feminine things..."

"Exactly. Is it not a problem?"

"Oh, I would handle... At least, I'll have someone to give those kinds of presents!"

"That's the Philip I know! I might add that he currently lives in the area of Westbourne, in the neighborhood of Notting Hill... which is not far from here!"

"You planned everything, did not you?"

"I learn to anticipate, dear in-law! He lives in a small house, so you won't be disturbed by potential housemates."

Philip smiled before saying:

"Alright. So, am I supposed to go there, and ask him out?"

Her grin confused the prince consort.

"Oh, dear... That won't be necessary!"

As Philip was about to ask what she meant, a butler appeared:

"Your Highness, Mister De Angelis is here. Shall I let him in?"

"Perfect, just in time! Let him in, Howard!"

The prince could not believe his ears:

"You invite him?"

"Of course, dear in-law! Like this, you would get to know each other better!"

At the same time, Piero entered the room, escorted by the butler. Margaret gave her warmest smile towards the young man:

"Piero, caro mio! What a pleasure to see you! How are you since the last time?"

"I am fine, thank you. I did not expect an invitation from you..."

He noticed the presence of Philip and bowed:

"Your Highness..."

"Mister De Angelis..."

Suddenly, Margaret stood up from her place and said:

"Well, you know what? I'll pop over Lady Anne and picking some pastries, while you two have a nice little conversation. I would not be too long..."

"What? But..." started Philip.

"No protest in my house! Alright, see you later!"

She turned her heels and walked out of the palace, followed by her butler.

The two men stood silent, looking at each other. Piero broke the silence as he tried a joke:

"I see that you finally shaved your beard..."

The prince chuckled:

"Yes, indeed. As you can see, my interview with the shaving foam went well."

"I hope my joke didn't offend you."

"Absolutely not. I'm fond of that kind of blunt humor, and I was pretty happy to find someone to share it with!"

"You see me honored, Your Highness."

Philip shook his head negatively.

"No formalities with me: we are not at Buckingham Palace! You can call me Philip!"

Piero was surprised by this inquiry but didn't really pay attention:

"However you like, Philip. In that case, you can call me Piero. Or Peter, if you prefer."

"Understood, Piero."

The young man asked:

"Did your wife ask you to shave?"

Piero regretted asking that question because he saw a glimmer of sadness in the Duke's eyes.

The latter sighed:

"No, I was the one who took that initiative. And to be honest, my wife doesn't really care about my hair choices. In fact, she doesn't really care about me at all!"

This revelation surprised Piero: he did not expect Prince Philip to make such a confession to him about his married life!

"You ... are you arguing?"

"If only that was all that! But unfortunately, there is also indifference, contempt, and estrangement!"

"I am sincerely sorry for you, Your Highness. But you know, all may not be lost: things will surely work out ..."

Philip laughed bitterly:

"How I would like to be as optimistic as you! But when the person you love goes to seek passion elsewhere, you no longer have any illusions!"

"Indeed, seen from that angle, it is a bad start to save a marriage ... But why are you telling me all this? You do not have to tell me these things."

With these words, the prince approached the young artist and replied:

“That's right, I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it. But I've been looking for someone for so long who could listen to me and understand me. I'm tired of feeling isolated… Nonetheless, ever since I met you, Piero, it's like the light has returned to my life. Yes, I know we barely got to know each other, but I've always trusted my instincts when it comes to people I meet, and I've been right every time. "

Piero began to understand where the duke was going and panicked:

"Huh? Oh no! No, no, no, and three times no!"

"What do you mean?" Philip asked, confused.

"I can see exactly what you want to ask, and I refuse! I don't want to be a simple consolation prize! I saw what it was like to be the lover of a king or a prince, and it doesn't make you want to be one! "

He continued in a calm tone:

"I have no doubt that you are a handsome man with many qualities, but I cannot accept being just a passing lover until the day you reconcile with the queen. I do not like the idea of being a simple shoulder to cry on that you give up as soon as everything is better. "

Philip was speechless: he expected everything but that! However, he should have waited a bit before declaring his love. But the tension in his relationship was so unbearable that he despaired finding someone he could love unconditionally.

And this young Piero was the person he needed ... he still had to accept!

Philip dropped to his knees in front of the young man, and took his hands between his while looking at him with pleading eyes:

"I swear Piero: if you were to become my lover, it's because I feel like no love exists anymore between Elizabeth and me. I suffered from abandonment when I was just a child, and I know only too well the harm it does. I would never do this to a person who is dear to me..."

"But get up, damn it! If we were seen like that ..." Piero stammered, panicked.

"I don't care! I know you are suspicious of beautiful promises, but I swear to you that I will never disappoint you. You will always be showered with gifts ..."

"Hang on! I'm not a materialist!"

"I know, I know ... I will make sure to spend time with you, I will call you regularly ... I will be the most devoted lover that can exist!"

The young man laughs lightly:

"Please, it feels like a Barbara Cartland novel!"

"Thank you for this unflattering comparison!" grumbled the prince, who smiled.

Philip stood up and asked:

"What are you going to decide?"

Piero bit his lip: to tell the truth, he was torn between two feelings. On the one hand, he was scared to become the lover of the Duke of Edinburgh. He did not want to betray the Queen and being the next prey of the press!

But on the other side, he had to admit that he was always fascinated by Prince Philip and his magnetic charm. And then there was this vulnerability in this man that the young man found irresistible.

After a few minutes of thought, he replied:

"I admit that this somewhat surprising declaration of love took me by surprise. And even if I do not want to be an accomplice in adultery, I want to give you a chance!"

Reassured, Philip dared to kiss the young man's tanned forehead and replied:

"I promise you won't regret it! How much time do I have ahead of me?"

"Two months. I think that will give me time to see if I can give it a go or not."

"And that will be more than enough to convince you!" Philip laughed.

10 months later. May 1973

The spring sun sneaked through the curtains, caressing Piero's sleepy face.

The latter woke up slowly and opened his eyes, a smile on his face.

He turned and fondly looked at his sleeping lover. 

The young man smiled when he saw Philip so appeased: he was happy to have accepted the prince consort's proposal.

At the same time, the latter succeeded in his probationary period: he was a considerate, loving, affectionate, and caring boyfriend. 

Piero had never had so many presents in his life: the number of beautiful clothes that filled his wardrobe was impressive. And what about the magnificent jewelry that Philip brought back from his official trips?

All this had convinced the young man to become Prince Philip's lover, but also his confidant: it was to him that the Duke of Edinburgh told of his marital misfortunes and his doubts about his ability to be a good father for their children. And Piero felt privileged to be one of the few to know Philip's emotional wounds.

But what made their relationship so intense was when they had sex. Although the prince was a middle-aged man, he was an experienced and vigorous lover. The first time they had sex, they took their time to get to know each other's bodies better and to have fun.

The other times, the antics were more intense, even passionate ... as was the case last night, when they "celebrated" Philip's return from an official trip to America.

He remembered the feel of Philip's rough yet gentle hands on his body, their bodies moving against each other, their cries of pleasure filling the air... It was a pleasant experience, even if it was the umpteenth time they made love.

Of course, the two lovers would like to see each other more often, but they had to be discreet so as not to attract the attention of the media, let alone that of the Queen.

But hey, that didn't bother Piero who was delighted not to become the new darling of London.

Suddenly he felt Philip stretch and wake up. The prince turned to his lover and smiled at him:

"Hello, mein Liebe. You are very early."

"To believe that I took your bad habit!" the young man smiled.

"But it's not a bad habit to be early in the morning. On the contrary, it gives me more time to enjoy your presence ..." the duke replied before kissing his lover.

"Speaking of having time to spare, wasn't it today that you promised Charles to have lunch with him?"

"Damn, I almost forgot!" Philip exclaimed, hopping out of bed before rushing into the bathroom.

"What a scatterbrain!" Piero laughed while getting dressed.

"I heard you!"

"That was the goal, amore!" replied the young man, teasingly.

5 minutes later, the Duke comes out of the bathroom, ready to return to his obligations.

"Am I presentable?"

"Honestly, you are still handsome!"

Smiling, Philip kissed his lover's cheek:

"I'll call you tonight, I promise."

"I will wait impatiently for your call ... Come on, go join your son!"

"I'm going right now. See you tonight!"

"See you tonight!"

As the Duke left the house, Peter lay still on his bed, a thoughtful smile on his lips.

He was glad that the relationship between Philip and his children had improved, especially thanks to his advice.

Piero had relied on his life with his parents and siblings to empower his lover to be a more present father to his children.

Speaking of which, Piero would love to meet his lover's offspring: seeing how Philip talks about it, they must be very nice young people.

He would love to talk about the arts with Charles, who seemed to be very passionate about it. 

He would also appreciate being able to walk with Anne and talk about lots of things or reassure her about her future as a young bride. 

He would love to give fashion advice to Andrew who was already paying attention to his appearance when he was only 13 years old.

 And he would be happy to spend time with Edward, the youngest of the siblings. 

This boy worried his father a lot because he was silent and always seemed sad...

Suddenly the phone rang, interrupting Piero's thoughts. 

He picked up the phone:

"Hello?"

"**Dear Piero, how are you?**"

"Oh, hello, Margaret. I'm fine, thank you. How about you?"

"**Oh, it's okay. As much as I wish I hadn't had tea with Sally Frodenborough! This woman is so boring, I thought I was going to fall asleep!**"

The young man laughed.

"Now do you understand why I politely decline her invitations for tea?"

"**You'll tell me so much ... But let's forget about it! Tell me instead about your relationship with my esteemed brother-in-law! How is it going?**"

"It's a fairy tale, I can't say better!"

Piero knew he owed it all to Margaret: she was the one who introduced them at that party at Kensington Palace. Since then, she had become an ally and a friend of the couple and did not hesitate to invite them to her home so that they could meet again.

All this with the benevolent complicity of her husband, Anthony.

Over time, the princess and the young artist became good friends, and she often invited Piero to have tea at her place.

"**Glad to hear that, darling. Besides, I have to say that your relationship is very positive for Philip. He is happier, more serene, and closer to his children. You did a great job!**"

"I only encouraged him, he did the rest!"

"**Don't be so modest! However, I think my sister is suspecting something!**"

Hearing this, Piero felt a chill run through his spine: if the queen ever learned that her husband was cheating on her with a simple artist, he feared the worst!

"When you say she suspects something, do you mean she suspects Philip of adultery?"

"**No, I wouldn't go that far. But she can see the change in Philip's mood and she knows it's not her responsibility. She's not really trying to find out, but let's be careful!**"

"You're right ... But, I admit that there are times I wish I could spend more time with Philip. I understand he's doing his best without raising suspicion, but ..."

"**I see what you mean, and I understand you ... Oh wait: I just got an idea!**"

"Again? But it never stops"

"**My dad always said I was the most imaginative of the family. Okay, here's what we could do...**"

A week later, at Buckingham Palace.

In one of the palace rooms, Queen Elizabeth was having tea with her mother, Queen Mum.

"But what is Margaret doing? She should have been here since 10 minutes ago!" the sovereign said impatiently.

"Don't be so harsh on your sister, Lilibeth. I've heard that traffic in London is a bit chaotic right now. If so, she got stuck in a traffic jam."

"Maybe ..." Elizabeth replied.

Suddenly a servant entered the room and announced:

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret, your Majesty!"

"Finally, here she is! Let her in, thank you!"

The servant shifted and let Margaret in, accompanied by a dark, smartly dressed young man.

"Hello, my dear sister! Hello, mom! Sorry for the inconvenience, but there was an accident near Piccadilly Circus which disrupted all traffic. I thought we would never get there!"

"You see, Elizabeth: I was right ..."

"Indeed, mum. But tell me, Margaret, who is this man with you?"

"I was just going to explain it to you: you see, I thought back to your history of tutoring for Andrew and Edward. And it turns out that this young man, Piero De Angelis, worked as a tutor in very good families. Here, I have some letters of recommendation from them. " she said, handing out a few missives.

Elizabeth took the letters and read them in silence. After reading it, she said:

"My word, your former employers are heap praise on you, Mr. De Angelis. They compliment your pedagogy, your intellect, as well as your patience with children."

She gave a slight smile.

"Since my sister seems to find you suitable for her nephews, I think we can take you on for a trial period."

Piero respectfully bowed while giving the monarch a hand kiss.

"It would be a great honor for me to serve you, Your Majesty!"

"This young man looks very pleasant to me. In my opinion, your sons will be in good hands!" said the Queen Mother, amused.

"Thank you for placing your trust in me, Your Excellency!" Piero replied, giving a slight bow.

At the same time, the door opened and Philip entered the room.

"Ah, Philip: at the right time! I present to you Andrew and Edward's new tutor."

Seeing who it was, Philip thought he was having a heart attack: but what was Piero doing here? It was too risky!

When he saw Margaret by his side, it didn't take long for him to realize that she had yet come up with a completely crazy idea.

Straightening up slightly, he cleared his throat and politely said:

"Welcome, sir ..."

"My name is Piero De Angelis, Your Highness. It is a huge honor to meet you in person!"

The duke refrained from smiling: he had forgotten that his lover was an excellent actor. And he had just proven his talent in front of everyone!

"And how did he convince you to hire him?"

"He was warmly recommended to me by several high society families. All were satisfied with the work of Mr. De Angelis. It seemed logical to me to have a competent person to supervise the education of your youngest sons."

"Sounds perfectly fine to me!" replied the prince consort.

Satisfied with her husband's response, the Queen said:

"Perfect. Then maybe you could introduce Mister De Angelis to his future students?"

"But of course. If you will follow me, sir ..."

And as they were about to leave, Margaret followed on their heels:

"I'm going with them, just to make sure Philip would not terrorize the poor schoolmaster!"

"Hey, I am not a monster!" scoffed Philip.

The three left the room. The duke waited to be far from his wife to scolding his lover and his sister-in-law.

"What's got into you? Did you ever think about the risk of being caught?"

"Oh, don't be such a coward! I thought you would be pleased to have your lovebird here!" whispered Margaret.

"And I thought it would be easier for you if I work here. You won't have to find excuses to see me... Besides, I wanted to meet your children."

The prince consort raised an eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me: I wanted to meet your children. You talked about them since we started dating, that I aspired to know them better."

Philip pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed: it would be a miracle if Margaret and Piero did not drive him crazy. But, at least, he would manage to spend quality time with his sweetheart. So, why not take the risk?

"Fine, you convinced me. But, we have to intensify our discretion. Otherwise, we will be doomed!"

"I'll be careful, don't worry!" promised Piero as he gently held his lover's hand.

"Aw, you are so cute!" mockingly cooed Margaret.

"Please, Maggie: stop killing the mood!" grumbled the prince consort, rolling his eyes.

4 months later. August 1973.

"How do you find my drawing, Piero?"

"Let me look at it... Oh, it's beautiful! You have some talent, Edward!"

The young boy happily giggled: he really appreciated his new tutor. Unlike his predecessor, Piero was kind, patient, funny, and really interesting. Thanks to him, the little prince quickly understood his lesson by heart, and his grades improved. The same evolution can be noticed for Andrew: the teenager preferred learning with Piero to listening to his teachers at school.

"You think I am talented?"

"Absolutely! And for who you draw this?"

"For Anne! It would be her present for her wedding!"

"That's absolutely sweet, Edward. I am sure that she would love it!"

Speaking of the princess, she entered the room.

"Good afternoon, Mister De Angelis! Hello, Eddie!"

"Hi, Annie!"

"Good afternoon, Your Highness. How are you today?"

"Fine, thanks. I just come back from a horse-riding session with Mark!"

"Oh, lovely. How it went?"

"It went nice until it started raining. But we finished fast, so I would not soil the clean wooden floors of Buckingham Palace!" snickered Anne.

"Annie! Look what I've drawn for you!" cheerfully exclaimed Edward as he handed his drawing to his sister.

"Oh, thank you: I love it! I will show it to Mark: he would be impressed!"

"Can I draw something for him?"

"Why don't you ask him when he will come back?"

"Alright, I will wait!"

At the same time, Andrew entered the room, dressed in a nice suit.

"Good grief! I thought Mr. Brownsfield would never let us go!"

"Watch your language, young man! If your mother hears you, you will end up being lectured for hours!" gently advised Piero.

"I know, I know... But I am so relieved to be here!"

"I have noticed!"

Anne lightly cleared her throat.

"Piero, can we talk... in private with Andrew and you?"

"Of course! Edward, could you go with your grandmother? I have to discuss some important topics with your siblings."

"Are we finishing the lesson?"

"Yes, indeed. You can go!"

"Alright!" nodded the young boy as he exited the salon.

Soon as Edward left, the young man asked:

"What do you want to talk about, Anne?"

The princess sighed before answering:

"Well, it's about Charles... He is not well."

"Do you mean he is ill?"

"Depressed would be more accurate!"

"Oh, dear! And what depress him?"

Andrew explained:

"Well, his ex-girlfriend got married in July! And he did not really cope with their separation, months ago!"

Piero nodded: he knew that Charles was heart-broken since Camilla Shand, his former sweetheart, ended their love story last year. But he did not expect to be downcast to this point.

"And do you want me... to have a conversation with him?"

"Anne and I thought it would be helpful. After all, you are close to his age!"

"Mark tried to cheer his mood, but it did not work well!"

"Mh, I see... Fine, I will see what I can do!"

The two princes seemed relieved.

"Thank you for your help, Piero."

"That's what I am supposed to do. Where is he?"

"In the gardens. He needed some air..."

Thanking Anne and Andrew, Piero walked downstairs to the gardens where he found Charles, wandering like a lost soul.

"Charles?"

The Crown Prince looked at the schoolmaster and the latter saw deep grief in his eyes.

Slightly sighing, Piero kindly asked:

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I... I don't know."

"As you want. Perhaps it would take a weight off your mind..."

The prince breathed before asking:

"Could you walk with me... please?"

"Sure, of course."

The young man joined Charles, and they started walking through the gardens.

"I don't know how it happened... I should have known that she favored that Parker-Bowles over me! But I still clung to the last straw of hope until I heard of their engagement!"

"I'm sorry for your heartbreak, Charles. But that was another life lesson, even though it hurts..."

The Prince of Wales sadly sighed.

"And as if it was not painful enough, Mother still pressures me to find a suitable bride... Even Father worried about it!"

"You are only 25 years old: you will find her, I feel it!"

"If only my dear parents were as optimistic as you, Piero. But no, they repeated all day long that Father married Mother when he was my age, and I'm exhausted hearing it all the time!"

"What does your grandmother think about it?"

"She says that I should not hurry to find my future wife, because a hasty marriage would inevitably end in a disaster!"

Piero nodded.

"Your grandmother is right, Charles: if you only follow what your duties command, you will bitterly regret your decision for the rest of your life. Of course, you have to find your future Queen, but you must love her as much as she loves you!"

He saw tears forming in Charles's eyes.

"I know but... I feel like everything I do is not enough for my parents. Am I just a good for nothing?"

Instinctively, the young artist knew that he would break the etiquette... but who cares? So, he did hug Charles in a comforting embrace, gently stroking his back.

"It's okay, Charles. I am here."

The prince did not cry, but he felt relieved that someone finally comforted him, so he hugged back Piero.

"I know this is not very formal, but I thought it would help you!"

"To hell with formality! I needed someone listening to me..."

They stopped the hug and Charles stated:

"I understand why Andrew and Edward appreciated you, Mister De Angelis: your patience and your kindness are helpful for the four of us!"

Piero shrugged.

"I just... do what I think is the best for everyone!"

"And I am glad that someone like you ensures our well-being..."

The young man smiled.

"You have no idea how much I am honored to have your trust, Charles. Listen: I will talk with your parents about it, and we will sort it out!"

"Thank you, Piero."

Unbeknownst to the two men, Philip was looking at them from the window of his office. The Duke of Edinburgh smiled while seeing his lover bonding with his son: indeed, he was happy that his four children appreciated Piero. Even though neither of them is ready to tell the princes the truth about their relationship: they have to wait...

In the evening...

"Do you want your son going bonkers? Stop pressuring him about his love life!"

"But he is still unmarried! At his age..."

"Yes, yes, I know the story: at his age, you were already married to Elizabeth!"

Philip pinched the bridge of his nose: Piero and he argued about Charles's single status. His beloved artist thought that his eldest son would go down into depression because of the familial pressure.

"Piero, I understand your concern about Charles, but he knows his duties..."

"Oh, please: don't start lecturing me about duties! If you were that meticulous about duties, you would never choose to cheat on your wife!"

"Don't muddle up things, would you? She started the war!"

"Don't change the subject, would you? We are talking about your son, in case you forget it!"

Piero sighed.

"Charles believed that he felt like a failure towards you. And he can't count on his mother to dismiss his fears! For God's sake, be more supportive of your son!"

"But..."

"No buts! You have to admit that your eldest son is not your carbon copy!"

"I admitted it! But people start talking: he is unmarried, had no official girlfriends, and he prefers attending parties! Rumors are spreading all around the kingdom."

His lover gave him a dark look and said with a cold tone:

"Let me ask you this simple question, Philip of Edinburgh: what matters the most for you? The public image or the well-being of your son?"

Philip stayed silent, much to Piero's displeasure:

"Fine, I see... You know what? You have all night to think about it."

He turned his heels and walked away.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Did you really think I will spend the rest of the night with someone who does not listen to my advice? I really want to help you, Philip, and especially because I love you. But if you don't pull your weight, there is nothing more I can do. Good night!"

As he watched his lover walking away from him, the prince stood, desperate and worried. He messed up everything with his children, and now he messed up his love affair!

Philip sighed: why everything was so complicated? But, he had to acknowledge that Piero was right: he went back to his wrong habits, once again. 

And if he wanted to save what mattered the most to him, Philip had no other choice: he had to repair his faults...

14th November 1973.

The Westminster Abbey bells happily rang in the air. Indeed, the United Kingdom celebrated the wedding of Princess Anne and Captain Mark Phillips. A joyous day for the kingdom, and also for the royal family... Well, almost for Philip. Of course, he was so proud to walk his daughter down the aisle: what kind of father would not be happy for his child on this special day?

But what saddened the prince consort was that Piero barely talked to him since their argument about Charles. He could not blame him: the young man cared more about Charles, Anne, Andrew, and Edward than their own mother. 

As he watched his lovely Anne and Mark exchanging their vows, the prince spotted Piero, sitting near the Duchess of Gloucester. 

He knew that his wife allowed the presence of the young man at the ceremony to look after Edward, who was the page boy of his sister.

Piero was dashing in his pearl-grey suit, his white gloves, and his perfectly combed dark hair. Philip never ceased to be amazed by the angelic beauty of his lover. If only they did not argue 4 months ago, the prince would have already told the young artist how amazing he was.

But the young man was not inclined to speak with him yet, and this situation saddened Philip. 

Meanwhile, Margaret saw the two lovers with a sad smile: she hoped that this argument between Piero and Philip would not last long, as she feared it would break her brother-in-law's heart. She knew that the young Mister De Angelis was the only one for Philip, and she could not let this match made in heaven falling apart. 

Margaret smiled as she got another idea: the wedding reception will be the perfect occasion for a reconciliation...

Soon as they reached Buckingham Palace for the wedding lunch, Margaret whispered to Philip:

"Please, I know that you suffer, but talk to him!"

"I want to, but every time I look in his eyes... I only see anger and sadness. And I am the one who upset him!"

She gently patted his shoulder.

"You know what? Weddings are the best occasion to prove our love... or heal a relationship."

She winked before walking away, congratulating the newlyweds. As he thought about Maggie's musings, Philip smirked: after all, he learned to never give up what he held dear. And he would never give up on Piero... 

Later that day, as the guests were too busy dancing, gossiping, or enjoying food, the prince slipped away from the crowd and wandered in the corridors when he spotted Piero in a room, retouching his make-up. 

Smiling, Philip entered and said:

"Oh, dear: you do not need to change anything. You are already beautiful!"

Startled, the young artist stammered:

"What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, I think.

Piero raised an eyebrow: 

"Really? About what?"

Philip closed the door behind him before answering:

"We need to talk about us. It feels like years since I hold you in my arms..."

"And why you do not hold me in your arms, precisely?"

The prince sighed.

"Because of my stubbornness, we are apart. And I regret it every second since that night. You were right from the beginning, Piero: what is the purpose of your help if I did not listen to your advice? I should have known that you're the right person since you only wanted the best for me. My words might sound hollow, but I will be grateful to you for being here when I felt alone!"

The young man sighed before looking at his royal lover with a sheepish smile:

"I had to confess: at first, I did not speak to you because I wanted to be sure you learned your lesson. But then... I took pleasure letting you stew for a moment."

Philip was shocked.

"Are you bloody kidding me?"

"Not at all. Besides... I already forgive you, my stubborn Viking!"

The prince smirked:

"And they said Arlequin is the trickster in chief... Looks like they underestimated Pierrot!"

"And you love it!"

"Oh yes!"

Piero laughed wholeheartedly. Then, he stated:

"So, you said that you missed the sensation of holding me..."

He opened his arms:

"Why don't we make up for lost time?"

Philip did not need to be asked twice and rushed into his arms, kissing him feverishly. Their hands rediscovered their bodies, every touch drawing breathed moans of pleasure from the two lovers.

"I love you, Piero."

"Ti amo, Philip."

And while the kingdom celebrated the wedding, the prince and the artist rejoiced in their reunion. 

June 1975. Balmoral Castle.

The summer went well for the royal family, and everyone appreciated the peacefulness of the Scottish countryside. For Piero, it was like discovering another place. He was amazed by the soft colors of the countryside and the calm surroundings, far from the lively Londonian life. 

To be honest, he did not expect the Queen to invite him to spend some days at Balmoral, but apparently, Edward insisted, and she accepted. How could he refuse the opportunity to be closer to his dear Philip? 

However, they both tried to be careful as he did not want to be caught by Elizabeth or the Queen Mother. 

But everything changed one day, as Elizabeth left with some of her friends for a horse-riding stroll with some of her friends, and her dear Mister Acherville.

It did not bother Philip, as he took advantage of her absence to spend some time with his dear artist. Once his wife went away, he looked for Piero until he found him in the gallery room, looking at the different pictures hanging on the walls.

Coming near to him, the prince gently held the young man from behind and said:

"Are you judging the quality of the paintings?"

"Well, I have to be honest that the painters were talented. Your wife should add your own paintings!"

"Seriously? She said it would look out of place... Besides, you are far more talented than me!"

Piero chuckled:

"You flatterer!"

"It is the truth! You're my perfect little Da Vinci!"

The young man turned around and put his arms around Philip's neck:

"And you're my handsome Saint John the Baptist with a mischievous smile!"

"You like my mischievous part of me!"

"No, I don't like it... I adore it!" chuckled Piero before kissing his lover.

Amused, the prince answered the kiss with the same passion... until they heard a collective gasp of shock!

They turned around and saw Charles, Anne, Mark, Andrew, and Edward who stood near the door, astounded and silent.

Horrified, Philip stammered:

"I... I can explain everything..."

"You better explain, yes!" said Anne with a cold tone.

Mark closed the door behind them, preventing any gossiping from the staff.

"Now that we are alone, can you explain what happens?"

"This scene does not really need an explanation..." smirked Charles.

Ashamed, the prince started to explain:

"I guess that we do not have the choice. As you have noticed, your mother and I do not have a good relationship for some years. I thought that it would improve, but she decided to spend some time with another man. I was so desperate, and I neglected you - and I am sorry for that. And then, your aunt Margaret introduced me to Piero..."

"Auntie Maggie and her plans!" snickered Andrew.

"You got the point, Andrew. And so, at the very moment I knew Piero, I felt like something changed... To be honest, I felt that I fell in love again. I would be forever grateful to Piero for everything he did for me."

"Was it your idea to hire him as Andrew and Edward's tutor?" asked Charles.

"No, it was again Margaret's idea. And I saw how you felt better since he spends time with all of you!"

"Do you plan to tell us the truth one day?" asked Andrew.

"We aspired to, but I do not want you to see me as an intruder in your family. But I can assure you that I deeply love your father as he loves me!" explained Piero.

The five young people looked at each other before Edward answered:

"You know, Mister Piero, I don't mind if you are in love with Papa. Besides, you love all of us more than Mum does. So, I am happy to have you here with us!"

"He is right: at least, you listen to us and you try to encourage us, unlike Mother!" added Andrew.

"I do not really care about my parents' affairs, as we all know that their marriage is doomed. But now, let's be honest, Piero: you made him happy, and it matters the most for us!" stated Charles with a genuine smile.

"I have to confess that this is quite unusual... But, my dear Anne has a high opinion of you, Mister De Angelis, and so am I. Don't worry, we won't tell anyone about your affair!" smiled Mark.

"You see, Father, we all support you, and we are happy to have Piero with us at Buckingham Palace. So, there is no need to worry." grinned Anne.

The two lovers sighed with relief: at least, they accepted their relationship. 

"Thank you very much!" breathed Philip with a slight smile.

"You're welcome, Father. But, the next time you want to show Piero your affection... Try being discreet!" laughed Andrew.

"He takes that from you, dear!" chuckled Piero.

"I guess so..." sighed Philip, even if he could not help smiling.

It looked like, after all, that they gained new allies... 

27 August 1979.

In his house, Piero was dozing on his couch, reading a collection of poetry works by Oscar Wilde while he listened to some trendy music on the radio.

Suddenly, he heard the voice of a journalist interrupting the music:

"Ladies and gentleman, we interrupt our program as dreadful news has just been released by Buckingham Palace: today, Lord Louis Mountbatten, Admiral of the Fleet and former Viceroy of India, has been killed by a bomb planted aboard his fishing boat while he was spending his holiday with his family in his summer home in Mullaghmore, in the north-west of Ireland. 

We deplored also the tragic loss of his grandson Nicholas Knatchbull and Paul Maxwell, a young local crew member. The remaining people present on the boat when the attack happened, suffered from serious injuries and were transported to the closest hospital..."

Piero dropped his book, troubled: it could not be! He rushed to his phone and dialed Philip's number. After a few seconds, he heard his lover's voice:

"**Hello?**"

"Philip, it's me! I have just heard about your uncle! Is that true?"

The slight sobbing on the other side of the phone answered his question:

"**They... They murdered him, Piero! They killed him! And they took his grandson's life! How dared they?**"

"I am terribly sorry for your loss, my love. I know how much he was a loved one to you..."

After all, Louis Mountbatten was not only the uncle of Philip: he was his paternal figure, a role model he praised so many times. Piero could not imagine how his lover suffered from this tragic loss.

"My condolences, amore mio. You are in my prayers, you and your family. I hope that the injured will recover soon."

"I hope so... Thank you for your call."

"You're welcome. How are the children?"

"Charles is deeply upset, Anne is crying, Andrew cannot believe it, and Edward tried to cope with this tragedy."

"I imagine... Don't hesitate to comfort them."

"I will... I am sorry, but I have to quit: Elizabeth required my help to organize the funeral. I'll call you later."

"Don't worry, it's fine. See you later, my love."

"See you later, angelo mio!"

As he hung up, Piero felt bad for Philip: his lover endured so many hardships in his life that the young man wondered if he can handle this new tragedy... 

5th September 1979.

Sitting in his living-room, Peter watched the funeral of Louis Mountbatten on television. He watched the royal family, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and her husband Denis, and some major figures of the kingdom attending the obsequies, all dressed in black and showing a sad expression on their faces. 

The young man wished he could attend the funeral, just to be here for Philip and comforting him. But it was the mourning of a family, and he did not belong to this family...

Later that day, he heard a knock on his door.

"I don't remember to entertain someone today..." muttered Piero as he opened the door.

Much to his surprise, Philip stood there.

"Philip? But what are you doing here?"

"I needed to see you... Because I have something to tell you. May I come in?"

"Of course!"

The young man stepped aside and let the prince enter the house. Then, he closed the door behind him and asked:

"Do you want something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

"Alright. May I know what are doing here?"

He noticed that Philip held a large box under his arm.

"Hm, what is this?"

The duke sighed before explaining:

"Since the murder of my uncle, I thought about everything that happened in my life, both good and bad memories. And then, I thought about us, and I realize how important you are to me since we started our relationship. I wish I had met you sooner, but there we are. This tragedy casts light on the most significant person in my life: you."

He opened the box, revealing a golden crown before he put the ornament at Piero's feet. Then, he gets on one knee and said:

"You deserve everything, Piero. And moreover, you would be a wonderful consort. That's why I wanted to put a crown at your feet..."

"Wait for a second: it looks like a proposal... But you are already married!"

"I know, I know. I cannot divorce Elizabeth, and I think you understand that. But it is my way to say that I will belong to you, and you only for the rest of my life. And I wanted to know if you feel the same..."

Piero nervously chuckled.

"Oh Lord, that was unexpected!"

He kneeled near Philip and replied:

"I won't ask you to nullify your marriage, because I know what are the consequences. But I am moved by your gesture, and if you want to know, I will never look at someone else the way I am looking at you. I love you, Philip Mountbatten, and it won't change..."

"I love you too, Piero De Angelis." smiled Philip, relieved, before he kissed Piero.

As they tightly held each other, the two lovers felt like the sadness was less oppressive. They had the impression that nothing could tear them apart and they will surpass everything together.

October 1979.

"So, tell me more about this charming girl. What is her name, already?"

"Her name is Diana. Diana Spencer."

"What a lovely name! Is she the daughter of Count John Spencer?"

"Exactly."

Walking through the halls of Buckingham Palace, Charles and Piero were talking about the Crown Prince's new girlfriend, the young Diana Spencer.

"I know that you're dating her for perhaps one month, but how is your relationship?"

"Quite good, to be honest. She is calm, smiling, quite smart... Of course, she had different hobbies than mine but... I guess it's alright."

"I would like to meet her. I can invite both of you to my place if you want."

"It would be a pleasure."

A servant arrived.

"Mister De Angelis."

"Yes?"

"Her Majesty The Queen requires your presence in her office. If you please follow me..."

Piero was intrigued: why would the Queen want to see him?

"Alright, I arrive. See you later, your Highness."

"See you later, Mister De Angelis."

Piero followed the servant until they arrived in front of the door. The man knocked at the door before he announced:

"Mister De Angelis, Your Majesty."

"Perfect, George. Good afternoon, Mister De Angelis."

"Your Majesty," replied Piero.

The servant left the room. 

The young man politely said:

"Your Majesty, I renew my condolences after the tragic loss of Lord Mountbatten... I shall say that I share your pain."

The Queen answered in a neutral tone:

"Thank you for your consideration, Mister De Angelis. However, the pain is not the only thing we share..."

Puzzled, Piero asked:

"May I know what are you talking about?"

She looked at him with contempt:

"Don't you dare think I am a fool, Mister De Angelis? I have learned that you have an affair with my husband!"

Piero stared in amazement: how could she know about it? He was sure none of the children told their mother, neither Margaret nor Philip. So, it must be a servant...

"I am astounded by such accusations, Your Majesty. Your husband and I have only cordial relationships, and that's all!"

"Stop spreading your lies. I know that you are the mysterious person my husband comes to see almost every day."

She came closer to him and snarled:

"I gave you my trust, I even left my children with you, and this is how you thanked me?"

Usually, the young artist would have lowered his head and being ashamed. But this time, he stared defiantly at her and said with a cold tone: 

"Maybe I would be the rudest man in your kingdom, Your Majesty, but I can't stand such hypocrisy. Especially when it comes from someone who hurt her children and cheated on her devoted husband..."

"How dare you?!"

"I can ask you the same. You did not expect that I knew your dirty little secrets, am I right? After all, your lover was not really careful: he put his latest love letter in my office. What a big mistake!"

He restrained himself from smiling as he saw Elizabeth grew pale.

"But, I am a gentleman: I won't tell the media about your romance if you let us alone. Otherwise, the entire Commonwealth will hear about his adulterous Queen..."

"You have some nerve to threaten me as you do, Mister De Angelis..."

"I don't threaten, I warn: this is all the difference. After all, you would not have hesitated to destroy my life. Let's say that we are on equal terms for now..."

Suddenly, Philip and Margaret burst through the door.

"Ah, right in time, Philip. I have just tell Mister De Angelis that I knew about your affair."

As Philip was shocked, Margaret raised an eyebrow.

"And then? It's not like Philip was the only guilty!"

"You were supposed to support me, not to defy me!" snapped Elizabeth.

"How am I supposed to do that, as you enjoy belittle all your family members - it is a miracle that Mother is the only exception. And you deserve what happened..."

"Should I understand that you are behind this?"

"Absolutely, and I won't regret anything I did! And I am so glad that Philip has someone who did what you are supposed to do!"

The Queen fumed as she understood that her sister and her husband joined forces against her.

Philip added:

"You see, Elizabeth: you throw me away, but I won't running after you anymore. I finally find love again, and if you dare to mess up everything, I would not mind telling your friends about your relationship with Acherville."

Seething, Elizabeth raised her head in an arrogant gesture and declared:

"That is not going to happen for long, Philip. You know where your place is, and you will give this entertainer up!"

"I don't think so, dear wife. I am not the one who gives up so easily..."

He smirked.

"Now that you know everything, shall we leave you?"

"You're dismissed. Now, go!" she replied with a short tone.

The trio left the room, a relieved smile on their faces. However, they won't drop their guard, as they knew how embittered Elizabeth can be.

But it looked like she lost the war. Now, it was Philip and Piero's turn to conquer Buckingham Palace... 

To be continued...

N.B: This request is written like an AU and changed many things from the characters to the events. 

Please be kind and comprehensive and don’t snap about it!

Anyway, I hope you liked the story and I am waiting for your requests.

See you soon! 😘😷😍🥰💖

[queenxxxsupreme]

Heartbreak and Heroics

A/N: This is the product of a conversation or two that I’ve had with @thatfluffybabyduck and let me just tell you. I love it. Thank you so much babe for all the amazing conversations we have!! Just a little reminder that if you want to be on any of my taglists, the link is here. Here is my masterlist if you want anymore dad!witchers content. And requests are open!

Warnings: none that I know of, there’s heartbreak, angsty teenage shit, protective!dad!Geralt, protective!uncle!witchers and feral!uncle!bard.

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Nothing breaks the White Wolf’s heart more than witnessing his daughter go through her first heartbreak.

***

The door to the house slammed shut. 

You lifted your head, expecting to scold Lambert or Geralt for slamming the door. Instead, you found your daughter unlacing her boots. 

“Lana, don’t slam that door. I get on your father and uncle all the time about it.” You looked back down to the book in your hands. 

“Boys are stupid.” She muttered, ripping off her boot and throwing it towards the door. 

“What’s with the bad attitude, kid?” Lambert asked. He sat at the table with Eskel, Geralt, and Jaskier, quietly carrying a conversation.

“Because boys are stupid and I hate them!” Lana raised her voice, though the anger quickly fizzled into sadness. 

You could see the tears in her eyes and hear her voice catch in her throat. 

She stomped all the way to her room, closing the door roughly behind herself.

“What was that about?” Eskel asked, brows drawn together in concern.

You looked to your husband to gauge his reaction. Geralt was looking down the hall, his broad shoulders rigid with worry. 

“I’ll go check on her.” You quietly told the witchers and bard. 

Your book was left on the counter and you padded across the room and down the hall. You stopped just outside of Lana’s room to knock softly on the door. 

“Love? It’s me.”

“Go away!” 

Your chest tightened hearing her distressed voice. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, Lana, love?”

“Leave me alone!”

A hand on your arm made you jump. You hadn’t heard Geralt get up from the table and follow you down the hall.

“What do you think has happened?” He quietly asked you, fearing that the thoughts that clouded his mind were too dark to be true. 

“I’m not sure.” You shook your head, taking his hand from your arm to hold him. You turned your head back to Lana’s door. “She sounds really upset.”

“She’s crying.” He frowned. He let out a breath through his nose and knocked on the door. “Little dove? We’re all worried about you.”

There was silence.

Geralt stepped towards you, his arms wrapping around you to give you a hug you needed. You tucked your face into his chest. 

“I’ll get her to talk.” He quietly promised you, kissing the top of your head. You squeezed him then retreated to the main room. 

Geralt watched you go, gold eyes following your every move. Once you were seated at the table where he had previously been, he looked back to Lana’s door. He knocked twice more. 

“Please, little dove. Open the door.”

“No, daddy.” Her voice was muffled as if she was stuffing her face into pillows. “Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until you tell me what is wrong.” He moved to lean his head against the door, closing his eyes as he sent a prayer to the gods that everything would be okay. “Come on, sweet girl. Open up, please. I’m worried about you.”

There were a few moments of silence and then there was movement. The door opened and Geralt looked down at his daughter. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and flushed red to match her watery eyes. 

The witcher had never seen his little girl look so sad and the sight broke his heart.

“Can I come in?” He asked her, his gravelly voice soft and gentle. 

She nodded and went back to her bed, curling up into a ball on the mattress. 

Geralt pushed the door shut behind himself then went to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Little dove, what happened?” He reached out to place his hand upon her shoulder.

“I don’t want to talk.” She whispered, shaking her head. 

“Do you want me to hold you?” Geralt offered. 

A heartbeat passed and then she was crawling into his lap. His arms engulfed her, promising to always protect her from the cruelty from the outside world. She tucked her head beneath his chin, fingers gripping his tunic. He could feel her heart racing so fast and hear every breath that caught in her throat. Her tears were warm and damp as they stained his shirt. 

Geralt rested his chin upon her head, eyes closing as he tightened his grip on his daughter. 

Minutes passed before her heart calmed down. Once it was back to a steady pace, Geralt decided to try to see what it was that had upset her so greatly.

“What happened, little dove? What’s got you crying so much?”

“I-I saw Halden kissing another girl.” Her voice was muffled but it was easy to understand her. 

It took a few moments for Geralt to remember who Halden was. He was a boy that Lana was courting. The two had only been talking for a few weeks but Geralt knew how much she adored him. 

“I’m so sorry, little dove.” Geralt gently brushed his hand over her hair. 

“I just- I really liked him, daddy. He was always so sweet and so nice. But I guess I-I just am not good enough for him.”

“Don’t ever say that Lana.” Geralt pulled away from her, taking her head away from his chest. He held two fingers underneath her chin, making the young girl look up at him. “You are brilliant and you’re beautiful. You are good enough. It’s him that isn’t. He isn’t worth your tears, little dove.”

“But I-I liked- Daddy, I really liked him.” A sob broke up her words. She reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. 

“I know you did, my love.” Geralt’s heart broke at the sight of Lana’s eyes red and filled with tears, her cheeks flushed and her bottom lip quivering. “But believe me when I tell you that you deserve better. You deserve more than anything he has to offer.”

Lana nodded her head, eyes flickering down to the medallion hanging on his chest. The silver color was a stark contrast to his white top. Geralt almost smiled a little. You always looked down at his medallion when you were thinking too.

“Daddy?” Her brows drew together softly. She looked up at him through wet lashes. “Why didn’t he want me?”

Geralt had felt pain before. He’d survived the life and body altering trials. He had nearly died on more than one occasion. He had lost those close to him. But seeing his little girl look up at him with saddened eyes and such a heartbroken look, he swore he’d never felt anything similar to the pain he felt then and there.

He was helpless. There was nothing he could do to take her pain away, to ease her suffering, to hide her from the cruel boy who betrayed her trust.

“Because he didn’t see how lucky he was to have you.” Geralt pulled her back into his arms, holding her a little tighter than what was probably necessary. If only he could keep her there forever in the safety of his arms. “He wouldn’t know something good if it hit him in his damned face.”

A few minutes passed as Geralt held Lana, listening to her sniffles and little cries as he rubbed her back and kissed her head. 

Then, there was a knock on the door. Geralt lifted his head, ready to fight whoever would dare to interrupt the moment between him and his daughter. 

The door opened and Jaskier poked his head inside. Lana lifted her head from Geralt’s chest and wiped her tears. 

“Hello, love.” He smiled at her, then his eyes flickered back to Geralt. “Y/N sent me in. Just wanted me to make sure everything was okay.”

“Hi, Uncle Jaskier.” Lana sniffled, shifting around in Geralt’s lap a little bit. 

“Why are you crying, dear heart?” Jaskier stepped into the room, placing his lute against the side of the bed. 

“Why don’t you talk to him while I go…. go see your mother?” Geralt suggested, rubbing Lana’s side. 

She nodded and climbed off of his lap, wrapping her arms around herself as she sat on the bed on her knees. 

Geralt and Jaskier shared a small look before Geralt left the room, closing the door behind himself. 

In the hallway right outside of Lana’s room were Eskel and Lambert. Both leaned against either side of the hall. Eskel had his arms crossed and Lambert’s hands were stuffed into his pockets. You stood at the end of the hallway, your arms crossed but one hand to your lips. 

When you saw your husband, you moved towards him. 

He was stiff and tense, his jaw locked and his eyes darkened as his eyes passed over you.

“Geralt-,” You tried to stop him but he moved past you, heading straight for the front door. “Geralt!”

“Not now, Y/N.”

“No, you aren’t leaving this house until you’ve calmed down.” You put your hand on his arm, stopping him. 

He turned to face you, running his hand over his face. 

“That bastard- He kissed another girl.”

“I know. Eskel told me everything.” You spoke quietly. 

The quiet witcher had told you what Lana was upset about the second she told Geralt. His enhanced hearing allowed him to hear through the walls of your home. 

“I am angry too, but you cannot act out on your anger, Geralt.” You brought your hand up to his chest. “If you do, you will lose me and Lana. Harming a child for being stupid will only hurt us in the long run.”

“She’s in there crying over him, Y/N!” Geralt raised his voice just slightly. 

“I know, and I want nothing more than to make him regret ever thinking about hurting her. But imagine how Lana would feel knowing her father was hanged because of her heartbreak.” You searched his eyes. 

You knew very well that if any harm came to the boy, your husband would be killed for it. The town hated him as it was. They just wanted an excuse to get rid of him and they’d gladly use Halden to get what they wanted. 

“Go sit in the kitchen. Calm down. Collect yourself.” You brushed your fingers across his jaw. “I want to go see her.”

Geralt grunted but did as you told, moving towards the kitchen. 

As you passed Lambert and Eskel, you stopped. 

“Don’t let him leave this house. If he tries, do whatever is needed to make him stop.” You met Eskel’s gaze. He nodded and continued down the hall. 

For once, Lambert was silent. He followed his brother, shaking his head. He wanted to beat up the little twerp who messed with his niece, but he didn’t want Geralt to get into trouble for any of it. He’d find another way to get his revenge. 

You knocked lightly on the door and then opened it. 

Jaskier sat on Lana’s bed with his arms around her. She was next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He had been humming quietly to her, wanting to get her mind off of her troubles. 

When Lana’s eyes found you, her face crinkled up as a new wave of tears came forth in her eyes. She climbed out of the bed and threw herself into your arms. Your arms wrapped around her torso, holding her close and rubbing her back. 

“My sweet girl.” You murmured, kissing the top of her head. 

She buried her nose in your hair, squeezing you tightly. 

“I don’t know what to do, mom.” She cried, shaking her head as best as she could. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“I will tell you what to do, love.” You released her from your grasp but still held her hand, guiding her over to her bed. She sat between you and Jaskier. While you held her hand, Jaskier put his arm around her shoulders. “I know you really liked Halden, Lana. But he is the worst kind of boy you could possibly come across. He’s charming and nice on the surface, but beneath those pretty eyes and that charming smile, he’s ugly. Kissing another when you two are courting is completely unacceptable. That kind of boy isn’t the kind you waste your precious tears on, my sweet girl.” 

You wiped her cheeks. 

“You are far too brilliant and beautiful and kind hearted to ever cry over someone like that, Lana.” Jaskier assured her. She smiled just a little. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this, dear heart, but unfortunately, this is something that everyone goes through.”

“Did you?” Lana crinkled her brows together. Jaskier nodded his head. Then your daughter turned her head to look at you. 

“Oh, it happened to me a handful of times.” You sighed. “It hurt each and every time, but I reminded myself that I would find the one when the time was right. And that’s when your father came into the picture. The rest is history.”

Lana looked down at her hands. 

“I just…. I don’t understand. He said he liked me. He said I was…. He said I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.”

“While he is an absolute ass, I am very positive he was telling the truth when he said you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.” Jaskier told her. She smiled shyly.

“Why don’t we go get some tea?” You suggested, squeezing her hand. 

She nodded and followed you out of the room. 

In the kitchen, Lana sat down at the table with Jaskier on one side of her. Geralt was no longer at the table but instead stood near the fireplace, eyes focused downwards on to the flames. 

As you passed him to retrieve the tea kettle, you place your hand on the small of his back. He turned his head to look at you.

“All will be okay, love.” You assured him quietly, knowing that look on his face. “She isn’t physically hurt or in danger.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know.” You held the hot kettle in one hand and used your other to rub your husband’s arm. “But that just means there is nothing you can do to help her. This is something she has to do on her own.”

He grunted, unhappy with your words and how true they were. 

You went back to the table to begin making tea. 

Geralt’s eats picked up on something. It was a heartbeat and footsteps approaching the front door of his home. He knew that heartbeat. He’d heard it once or twice. It was Halden. 

Lambert noticed the way Geralt tensed up and started to move towards the door. He rubbed his hands together and stood to his feet. 

“Let the fun begin.”

You looked up upon hearing the young witcher. You saw Geralt moving towards the door, his hands in fists by his sides. 

“Jaskier, could you please?” You gestured to the kettle. He nodded and took your place while you went to your husband. 

Just as you were reaching him, he opened the front door. 

“Good evening, sir.” Hayden spoke. He stood about a foot shorter than Geralt and lankier than anyone Geralt had ever seen. His shaggy blonde hair was swept out of his eyes. 

You slipped between Geralt’s large frame and the door, knowing it was best to be in front of Geralt rather than behind him. 

“Geralt.” You warned him, looking up at your witcher. His eyes were dark and set on the young boy behind you. “Eskel-,”

“I’m fine.” Geralt spoke through his teeth. He didn’t mean to direct his anger towards you. 

You caught sight of Eskel lingering just behind the White Wolf. 

You turned your attention back to Halden. 

“Is Lana home? We had plans to meet up in town but she never showed.”

Geralt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This prick- after kissing another girl -was wanting to hang out with his daughter? 

What bothered the witcher the most was this boy’s boldness. He was looking Geralt in the eyes as if he did nothing wrong. 

Geralt’s jaw is clenched together so tightly he thinks he might break his teeth. But his teeth are of little concern at the moment. 

“Hello, Halden.” You greeted him. You knew if your husband spoke, the very fragile environment would shatter and he might attack. “I’m afraid Lana’s feeling a little under the weather right now. She was upset about something. Do you know what it is that could’ve upset her?”

Halden crinkled his brows together and glanced down, thinking hard about the answer to that. 

“No, ma’am. Not that I know of.”

You let out a soft sigh through your nose, crossing your arms. You heard what sounded like a growl come from your husband’s chest. 

In the house, Jaskier had been listening to the whole thing from the kitchen. With the door being open, it was hard not to hear. 

“Is this little bastard really playing stupid?” The bard looked from Lambert to Eskel and then to his niece. She was still at the table, her head hung and lip quivering as she tried to hold back the tears. 

Jaskier started to move towards the door, ready to start the very fight you were preventing. Eskel stopped Jaskier, stepping in front of him. 

“Eskel, come on! Just let me-,”

“No, Jaskier. This is for Geralt and Y/N to handle.”

You looked over your shoulder, peering into the house to see what the commotion was. 

“Shut the door, Geralt.” You quietly directed him. 

He did as you told, stepping completely out of the house. 

“What did you do to my daughter?” The witcher asked, his low and deep voice threatening. His lip curled into a snarl as he glared down at the child before him. 

He knew what had happened but he wanted Halden to come clean, to admit to what he did wrong. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir-,”

“Like hell you do!” Geralt stepped forward but you were there to stop him. 

The door behind Geralt opened and your daughter slipped past him. You could see the fire in her gaze, the anger raging within her. 

You grabbed her arm before she could get too close to Halden. 

“You were kissing Maria!” Lana shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I saw you by the lake with her! You had your hands on her, Halden!”

“When?”

“Earlier today!” Lana’s voice cracked and she quit trying to pull away from you. You refused to let her go, fearing she’d be unpredictable like her father when she was angry. “I-I saw you, Halden! I saw you.”

The boy shrugged his shoulders, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

“I mean, it’s not like we were that serious anyways.”

Lana brought her hand up to cover her mouth, shaking her head. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve being such an ass in front of us.” You snapped, anger seeping into your veins. 

“I didn’t think she’d be serious about it!”

“You told me-You told me that I was important to you!” Lana cried. 

“And who was the foolish one for thinking that?” Halden tilted his head to the side a little. “I mean, look at you. You aren’t even that pretty.”

You stepped forward but Geralt had his hand on your arm, keeping you from getting close to the child. 

“Y/N, take Lana inside.” Geralt said, urging you to move back to him. 

With your jaw locked, you turned your head to look at your daughter. Her hand was over her mouth as she was crying once again. 

You went to her side, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her into the house. 

Once the door closed, Geralt grabbed Halden’s shoulder and practically threw him into the front door. 

Halden opened his mouth to say something but Geralt stepped closer to him, putting his hulking body within inches of the teenager’s. The witcher leaned down, hands clenched in fists at his sides to keep from harming the boy. 

“You are so very lucky, boy.” He spoke through his teeth, darkened yellow eyes glaring down at him. “If it weren’t for Lana and Y/N, you’d be a rotting corpse in the river right now.”

Halden swallowed hard, fear finding its home in his bones. 

“If I so much as catch your scent anywhere near her or if I learn that you’ve even laid your eyes upon my daughter, I will show you just why they call my kind beasts.” Geralt wanted nothing more than to make this boy’s life hell, but he wasn’t willing to risk the livelihood of his wife and daughter. “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

Halden was hastily moving around Geralt and sprinting down the street. 

The witcher ran a hand over his face, taking a few deep breaths to collect himself. When he was sure he had his anger in control, he moved into the house. 

“Could always let me and Jaskier go give him a little scare.” Lambert muttered from where he stood near the door. 

Geralt shook his head, eyes flickering around the room until he found you. You sat at the table with Lana. She was between you and Jaskier. She leaned against your shoulder, her eyes closed and her hair mostly in her face. Jaskier held her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles as he hummed to her. 

Your eyes found your husband. You crinkled your brows together just slightly, questioning him if everything was okay. He nodded and moved to your side. He leaned down to kiss your cheek and rub your shoulder. Then he moved to his daughter next. He kissed the top of her head. 

“I love you, little dove.” He murmured against her head. 

“Love you too, daddy.”

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If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[jfcspencer]

WHO: spencer stone & journey smith. ( @journey-j-smith​ ) WHERE: the hospital & the smith household. TRIGGER WARNINGS: miscarriage. mention of miscarriage. 

JOURNEY.

Journey had bothered Spencer with probably over two dozen links to houses to check out over the past two weeks. They had a growing family that needed a house. When he finally agreed to go see some of them she also booked an appointment to go get an ultrasound sound to surprise him with. Her brother took the kids the night before so all she had to was get up and go in the morning. But one she woke up something just didn’t feel right. At first she pushed it off to morning sickness mixed with the excitement of going house hunting. But once she went to the bathroom and saw blood in the toilet she panicked. Rushing right off to the doctors who probably took pity on her since she was at the office the minute they opened in tears. To be honest, Journey already knew what happened. This wasn’t the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last. She turned numb to the words. The “I’m sorry.” “You did nothing wrong.” They were words she head before from doctors. The numbness stayed with her till she got home. Standing it the quiet empty house before she dropped to her knees and sobbed only a few steps into the house. It was like all the happiness she had just got ripped away. How could she face Spencer and tell him this? That she failed…

SPENCER.

out of all of the things in the world, being a father was something that wasn’t on his list at all but then lyric happened and his whole idea and world had completely changed for the better. he loved being a dad, he loved his life. he found journey and his outlook on love changed once more, he believed in it again. he loved her so much and couldn’t wait to start this whole new life with her and their children. all of them and the more that they would have in the future. so when morning had rolled around and he decided to drop on by to bring journey some food and talk over the houses she had sent him and which ones they really should look at the most. he slipped on his clothes, grabbed his car keys and was out. but not before stopping by to grab some fast food breakfast for the two of them and the kids. when spencer got the house, he got up to the front and was about to knock until he heard something. “jo?” he called out before opening the front door and seeing the woman on the floor. “jo, babe?” his voice started to panic as he rushed over to wrap his arms around her and drop the food and drinks onto the floor. his arms wrapped around her, bringing her closer. “shhh, i’m here.”’

JOURNEY.

Feeling his arm wrap her up just made her cry more. Because she felt safe and worse at the same time. She would always safe in his arms no matter what but how could she tell him? Journey curled into him, making herself as small as she could as she gripped onto his shirt as tightly as she could. “I…I’m s-sorry.” She hiccuped through her sobs

SPENCER.

spencer’s arms wrapped around journey, his hands finding their way to her back to rub and soothe her softly. “it’s okay, it’s okay,” he kept repeating in a whisper while he fully sat down onto the floor and let journey grip into his shirt and said she was sorry. “why are you sorry my love?” he asked her in a quiet tone as he kept rubbing her back.

JOURNEY.

Her breath shook as she truthfully tried to collect herself but she only took in quick short breaths. “B-b-because…” she pulled back a bit to look at him a bit. Use her sleeves to dry her face to no avail. The tears just kept rolling down her face. “I-I…failed.” The blonde sniffled. Squeeze her eyes tightly and hid her face in her hands again. She took his breath quickly and let them out slow still trying to calm herself down. Journey met his eyes for a moment and shooter her head. “I….I lost it…” she said as her bottle lip trembled. I’m so s-sorry. I-I ruined everything.”

SPENCER.

spencer just stood there, his own heart was breaking as he just watched her and felt her cry against his chest. she was in pain and there was nothing he could do about it but just hold her. hearing her words, he froze a bit while the words slowly left her lips. he was dumb but he wasn’t that dumb, he understood what she was saying. the baby they were going to have was gone. he couldn’t imagine the pain that was running through journey, he didn’t have time to grieve. he just had to be there for her. a woman’s body was way more important than his. “it’s not your fault,” he told her, his hands pulling her closer to him.

JOURNEY.

She crumbled into a ball when he pulled her in again. Sobbing. The women got as close as she could to him in her ball. She knew he had to hurt too but he stood strong. Probably for her own sake. “B-but it is.” Jo got out between her sobs. “I f-failed…a-as a mo-ther.”

SPENCER.

spencer wanted to cry himself but he couldn’t do that right now. journey was hurting way more than he could ever imagined. all he could do was hold her right and whisper the words that it was okay, everything was going to be okay. he shook his head down at her. “you didn’t fail, my love. this isn’t your fault at all. you’re an amazing mother,” he hummed, his hands still rubbing her back gently. “you couldn’t have done anything, my love. i’m sorry,” he whispered out, kissing her temple.

JOURNEY.

The blonde’s body shook as she took in a big breath. She pulled back to try and dry her face. Using her sleeves as she spoke. “But I have.” Journey sniffled with a hiccup. “I messed up our plans. I messed up our little family…”Journey shook her head. Letting her breath shake again. Calming down enough to talk without hiccups in between her words

SPENCER.

the man slightly pulled away to look down at the crying blonde in his arms. he watched as she used her sleeves to dry her eyes but he reached up and wiped them with his thumbs. "my love, you did nothing wrong. you didn't mess up anything of any sorts. i'll still move in with you, i still want to marry you one day." he told her truthfully. "these things are just apart of life. something that we cannot control and it's out of our power. jo, this hurts, i know but my love, do not blame yourself." he said in a soft tone.

JOURNEY.

As he spoke, the man slowly started to calm down a little more. Sniffling, and tears still rolling down her face, she looked over at him with a slightly shocked look on her face. “You…..you do?” Her voice broke a bit. “Your not mad?” Journey looked over at him with her big now blood shot eyes what just wouldn’t stop filling up with tears

SPENCER.

spencer smiled softly down at journey before placing a kiss on her forehead. "of course, i do. i love you and there isn't anything i wouldn't do for you. besides building stuff because i'm dumb," he lightly chuckled, trying to get her to smile a bit. he shook his head at her. "baby, i could never be mad at you because of something that is out of our control. i love you, always," he said, rocking her slightly in his lap.

JOURNEY.

Journey calmed down more and more at his words.  She was in so much pain but she also had so much fear in her stomach that was disappearing more and more. She had nothing to fear with him. She was so safe that she didn’t know what to do with it. In the past she felt like she was walking on eggshells. “I was alway told it was my fault….” She said softly looking at her hand sniffling. “I’ve had other three miscarriages….I-I should have told you.” Journey breath shook as she dried her face. “It’s……it’s hard for me to get pregnant….”

SPENCER.

the man lightly shook his head down at her. "baby, this is completely not your fault at all. this is just simply something that is out of our control and all we can do is just grief together," he told her, fully sitting down on the floor and kept his arms wrapped around her. hearing her words, he was a bit stunned but he would understand why she never told him about it. miscarriages are not talked about, they were like taboo to talk about. "you don't have to tell me anything that you don't feel comfortable telling me, jo." he replied back to her, offering her a small smile. "and that's okay, jo. i'm here and i'm not going anywhere."

JOURNEY.

Journey took in a deep shakey breath nodding her head silently. “No….I’m completely comfortable around you. I’ll tell you anything but when do you tell someone that?” She sniffled and wiped away her tears that were slowly down. Her cheeks red and raw from how much she as pushing them away. “I know your not….and….you don’t know how great it is to know that…..”

SPENCER.

spencer's hands kept at work, he wanted to let journey know that he wasn't going to run for the hills or stop loving her. it was impossible for him to fall out of love with the blonde in his arms. he could only shrug his shoulders. "anytime that you wanted, you never have to hold back with me," promised the man, kissing her forehead gently. he offered her a small smile, resting his chin on the top of her head, bringing her close to him and hummed out. "i love you."

JOURNEY.

She nestled into him. She still hurt inside, the pain was still there, but in his arms it all hurt less. And she knew she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t going through this alone. “I love you more.” She said softly wrapping his arms around his tightly. “You’re allowed to hurt too…” she said softly.  Spencer was being so strong for both of them right now and while she appreciated it. He didn’t have to hold up that front forever.

SPENCER.

the man listened to her words and she was right, he was allowed to hurt and grieve with her as well but right now she was hurting more than he could ever imagine. he would have his time but he just wanted to hold journey while she grieved. he nodded his head, rocking her back and forth. "i know," he whispered out gently. his heart did hurt, it felt heavy and he hasn't felt this type of pain before. spencer always tend to hide his emotions and it's what he was best at. he used to fight with his ex's and he would just replace his hurt with anger. this time was different, he was in pain but he kept his chin on top of journey's head and kept rubbing her back gently.

JOURNEY.

They were simple words and he stayed strong. Which in a way, surprised her. Spencer was a laid back goofy guy and that’s what made her fall from him but seeing him like this just showed that there was more to him that anyone could ever see. She stayed quiet for a moment just letting him rock her. She was out of tears to cry at this moment. There would be more but at the moment she ran dry. She took in another breath, more steady then the last and she sung softly. “Lovin' somebody more than my own breath. Knowin' that I'm right where he belongs, oh…Bein' home in the arms of my best friend, where the light always stays on. That's where I feel strong….”

SPENCER.

spencer didn't like to show his emotions that much, he liked it that way but he knew he could be himself with journey but he didn't want to add onto her emotions. he couldn't do that to her, not tonight or at all. he could only sit there on the floor with her and rock her gently. he stood quiet while listening to their breathing in the large hallway they sat down on. he smiled softly, hearing her singing while he kept rubbing her back. "i could listen to you sing all day and night long," he cooed out gently. he pulled back gently, bringing up one of his hands to brush away some of her hair from her face.

JOURNEY.

They could probably stay wrapped up in each other for hours on the floor. She smiled softly at his words before got sitting up and looked at him as he brushed some blonde strands out of her face. She gently traced her fingers over his jawline. “Don’t be keeping’ ya self lock up, ya hear? It ain’t good for here.” She poked his chest. “Or here.” She said poking his head in the middle of his forehead. The women was gonna drop it there, she just needed him to know that it was okay to let go whenever he was ready. Journey was getting used to people getting ripped away from her. It’s sad but true. The babies she lost, her husband….it was becoming a normal. Still hurt, no less then the last loss but she was afraid of who would be ripped away next.

SPENCER.

the man watched as journey sat up and he could just see the tears stains on her pink cheeks, the sight of them alone felt like a punch to the heart. he didn't cause them but he never wanted to see her cry like this. a small grin formed on her lips at the touch of journey's fingers tracing along his jawline. her single touch was enough to make him feel better. "i promise," he chuckled out softly, looking up at her finger when she poked him in the forehead. "c'mon, let's go clean your face," he hummed out, getting up from the floor before reaching down to pick her up off the floor then bent down to sweep her off of her feet, bridal style and carried her up the nearest bathroom downstairs.

JOURNEY.

As long a ya promise.” She said softly. The women was going to get up on her own but she quickly found herself in the arms of her boyfriend. Being carried through the house. With a sigh she leaned into him with arm wrapped around his neck. She was drained. Of her energy, her emotions. Everything was just spent. She’d probably be a mess of tears again because how couldn’t she be? But right now she hit the numb point. The moment In grieving we’re your okay but in a moment you could collapse again.

SPENCER.

spencer nodded his head at his girlfriend. “i promise ya,” he kissed her nose lightly. he made sure that she was safe and secure in his arms before he found their way to the bathroom. “i have a better idea,” he hummed walking out and going up the stairs to her bedroom. “let’s just lay down.” he told her, setting her down on the bed. he didn’t know if she was going to start crying again and he wanted to make sure that she was comfortable than on the floor like earlier. spencer kicked off his shoes before sliding in next to her. again, his tattooed arm wrapped around her bringing her close.

JOURNEY.

A small and faint giggle escaped her lips when he suddenly changed his thoughts and went the other direction. She sat on the bed in her small ball before being taken back into his arms once more. She found happiness here in the darkness. Journey pulled up the blankets over them. If they we’re gonna be  in bed might as well be completely comfortable.  She looked up at him. Fingers gently trancing his jawline

SPENCER.

the man could only smile as he listen to her small and faint giggle. in a moment of darkness, she was his light.  the man got a nearby blanket and placed it around them before he brought her closer to him. he looked down at her while she traced his jawline. “i love you,” he hummed softly. “i’m always going to love you.”

JOURNEY. 

She smiled. “I know ya ain’t religious, but I think God put y’all in my life because he knew I needed you.” Journey said softly watching his face. “I don’t think I can put into works how much I love you….”

SPENCER.

spencer softly smiled down at his girlfriend while his hands started to gently rub her back like he was doing before on the floor. he listened to her words and leaned back to fully look down at her face. "you know me too well but i would have to agree with you," he hummed back to her, leaning down to press a kiss against her cheeks gently. "words cannot describe how much i love you so much," he replied back to her and kept rubbing her back gently. "get some rest, my love. you need it."

JOURNEY.

The women hummed softly as she tucked her hands under her. “I think I can only rest with you around.” She snuggled into Spencer more. There was little room left between them as she left her eyes close. Resting into the other.

SPENCER.

he heard her words and pressed another kiss to her forehead. it was nice to know that at the end of the day that journey was able to relax and be herself around him. he could be that around her and it was one of the many things that he completely loved about her. his large hands just kept rubbing her back gently, he could feel the tiredness taking over him as well. the spot they laid in together felt very comfortable that his own eyes closed, his hands kept moving slow and slower until they came to a stop.

[fuckingthefictional]

sorry to bother but i have a request, could you write a peter parker! x reader, with the reader being the protégé or adopted daughter of the strange doctor? I searched a lot but I didn't find

Must be magic.

Peter Parker x Strange!Reader

Requested: Yes by @celenajulie

A/N: hope you enjoy this! I tried my best- and there will be a part 2 out soon, where Y/N introduces Peter to her dad, stay safe out there! Xx

Y/N never knew her birth parents, she had only been a mere few hours old when she had been left outside of a New York orphanage.

The owners took her in, fed her and let her grow. She was a generally happy baby.

Until one day, a few months later, Y/N took a turn for the worst. She was no longer that happy girl with the gummy smile, she wasn’t herself.

She slept more, she cried more, she vomited more despite eating less and she didn’t interact with the social workers at the house like she used to. She just wasn’t herself.

Soon they found out why. Y/N had a brain tumour, the doctors called it pineoblastoma.

It was rare, it was aggressive and it was killing the young infant- causing her to waste away.

There were several options, the majority of which were expensive and risky. The staff at the orphanage were considering placing Y/N into the care of a hospice.

After all, time was limited and their options were coming to dead ends. What else could they do? They needed a miracle, a doctor something magical if Y/N was to survive and thrive again.

-

Christine Palmer loved her job, she loved the idea of caring and helping those who needed her support.

It didn’t matter what age, gender, sexuality or race someone was- she tried 110% to help them to the best of her ability.

Some said that she cared too much, Christine opted towards the fact that compassion was key in the medical industry. And anyone who lacked it, wasn’t cut out for this line of work.

Compassion was what lead Christine to Y/N.

God- she could still remember the first time she’d met the tiny girl.

It had been in the early hours of the morning, the rain had been hammering down for hours and all had been relatively quiet in ER.

Christine remembered going to the vending machine in the waiting room on her break, in hopes to get a snack.

What she hadn’t expected was to become involved in a small dispute. There had been a small altercation that she had decided to step in between.

It seemed to of been between one of the ladies at the front desk and a tall, slender woman- who Christine had at first assumed to be a wife or parent of a patient.

It wasn’t until the young woman inquired why the argument had begun that she finally understood and jumped into action.

“It’s one of the children that I care for, Y/N- last month we were here and she was diagnosed with a brain tumour, we’ve been getting treatment but she’s taken a turn for the worse.”

It was almost immediately that Nurse Palmer jumped into action and called for support on her pager.

It took mere seconds for a doctor to come forward with the required equipment and a portable bassinet to wheel the baby away in.

But there was a nagging feeling in the back of Christine's head, she needed to call him. Just to be sure, to get support and a second opinion.

Without a second thought, she picked her phone from her scrub pocket and pressed the dial button, it rang for a second before a voice chimed through the other side.

“Christine it’s two in the morning.”

“You owe me that favour- come to the hospital now, I need support on a patient’s case.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Okay.” She paused, licking her lips. “And Stephen- thank you.”

-

It had been an ongoing gag between Stephen and Christine that he owed her a favour.

Ever since the incident in med school, Stephen vowed to give his friend one favour- whenever she needed it, whatever it was- he would be there.

That was why he was getting dressed into his scrubs at 2:30 in the morning (when his next shift didn’t start for another day) in order to help Christine with whatever it was she needed.

When Stephen arrived at the hospital he rushed to where Christine said to meet, Paediatric intensive care unit.

He strolled in, finding Christine sat on a chair next to a tiny infant, no less than a few months old, who was covered in fresh wires.

“She has pineoblastoma.” She explained softly, “You’re the only one I know who can operate and get positive results on this sort of thing.”

Stephen nodded, formulating a plan in his head as he read the baby’s case file.

The poor child had been through a lot in her first few months of life it seemed.

And the doctor didn’t know it yet - but he would soon become her proper family, and give her the life she deserved.

-

It was weird being the daughter of a master of the mystic realm. Like really weird. Nothing was ever ‘normal’ in her life.

Travelling to the grocery store? Her dad would simply use his sling ring.

Wouldn’t get out of bed? The cloak of levitation would drag her out if her dad willed it.

Wanted a slice of pizza? Sure- Wong would just conjure one up.

She lived in the New York Sanctum Sanctorum for crying out loud that didn’t exactly scream normal!

The only thing that may have been normal was her school life, Midtown school of science was perfect for Y/N.

She took after her father on that, she was smart and bright and loved to learn.

In fact, there had been many occasions growing up that she had been caught under the covers, flashlight in hand, reading her dad's old medical school textbooks.

But just because she was bright, didn’t mean that she made friends easily. Being smart often meant she was teased by her peers- it didn’t help that her last name was Strange either.

She had some friends on the debate team (MJ being one of them) and she talked to Peter and Ned too sometimes.

But half the time Y/N avoided it, after all, she’d rather not listen to her long term crush go on and on about how he loved the most popular girl in school.

It was painful- that stuff hurt. And every time she thought she’d taken a step forwards toward him he’d take three more back.

“Miss Strange?”

Y/N focused back in on the whiteboard, in front of which stood the extremely unimpressed bio teacher.

“Pardon?”

“The answer Miss Strange?” The teacher turned around, marker poised ready to write down her answer on the board for the class to see.

Thankfully MJ was up to date and mouthed the question number across the room. Looking down at the sheet in front of her she found the relevant question.

‘Name an example of a gene pool.’

“A population with a known proportion of A, B and O blood groups would be an example of a relevant gene pool.”

The teacher looked unimpressed at the fact that Y/N had been ‘listening’, “That is correct.” He cleared his throat, “Now before this lesson ends, I will be handing out these assignment sheets that are to be used for your upcoming projects- yes, you will be doing them with your lab partner. No-you cannot switch.”

Fuck that meant Peter was going to be Y/N’s partner. Double fuck. That meant spending time alone with him.

While Y/N pondered in her doom, the lunch bell rang and everyone moved around her as they packed up and left the classroom.

“Hey erm Y/N?”

The teenager’s head snapped up, only to come face to face with Peter.

“Peter!” She yelped, “Hi.”

The boy laughed breathily, “Hi, listen since we’re buddy’s on this project i was wondering when you were next free- Y’know to do the project?”

Y/N tucked some stray hairs behind her ears, “Oh I’m free whenever,” she ripped the corner of one of her pages off and scribbled down her number, “This is my number in case you need to call me.”

“Cool,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I should get going- it was nice talking.”

“Yeah of course,” she nodded happily, “I’ll see you later.”

Mere minutes later there was a beep coming from Y/N’s pocket, she fished around in her pocket in an attempt to find her phone.

‘Hey this is peter, are you free to make a start on the project afterschool?’

She typed a quick response back, ‘Sure, where were you thinking?’

‘The library is probably most convenient right?’

‘Okay cool, I’ll see you later.’

By the end of the day, Y/N found herself practically bouncing at the idea of spending time with Peter alone.

She’d managed to snag a table and the required textbooks that they’d need. But minutes turned into hours and there was no sight of the boy that Y/N was falling for.

He’d stood her up.

Or at least that’s what Y/N had initially thought. but as the clock struck half-past five, she was aware that it was time she made her way home.

Despite his no show, the bright girl was almost entirely finished with the first half of the project.

She was in the process of exiting the library’s doors when she heard the familiar laugh paired with a high pitched giggle.

“Seriously though- Thanks for helping me with Chem.” The female voice countered, “I’d be lost without you.”

Y/N was flat backed to the cool, red bricks that made up the library building. Listening in to what was being said.

“No problem Liz,” Peter laughed nervously, Y/N could almost imagine the awkward neck rub that he did whenever he laughed like that, “I really enjoyed it- I-I’m glad I could help.”

So it was Liz that Peter stood her up with. Ouch- that stung.

The sorcerer's daughter felt tears drip down her cheeks, she sniffled quietly and kicked off the wall brushing past Peter and Liz briskly.

But all she could hear was Peter’s voice calling behind her. Shouting desperately for her to stop and let him explain.

But she did what she knew best, she went home to her family.

-

The next few days fell victim to the onslaught of messages that Peter sent to Y/N via text.

Even the sounds of her phone buzzing were beginning to set Y/N on edge. Especially since she knew that the notification coming through would be from Peter, begging to let him ‘explain.’

But once more in true Strange fashion, Y/N worked and worked and worked. Until the bio project was finished- almost four weeks in advance.

The way she saw it was that If the work had been completed, then there was no real to hang out with Peter ever again.

He, however, didn’t seem to have the same idea. As 3 weeks later on Monday, Peter had resorted to cornering the girl in the school's supply closet.

He didn’t want to do it, but Y/N gave him no choice. Peter had to explain himself.

“Peter- what the hell?” Y/N yelped, she was beyond pissed at this point.

“You haven’t been returning my texts and calls,” he shrugged, “I need to explain myself.”

“Like hell you do.” She spat, “Look it doesn’t matter, I’ve finished the damn project- we don’t need to see each other again.”

Peter looked shocked and there was hurt in his eyes, “Y/N...”

“What do you want me to say, Peter? That I’m not hurt?” She pursed her lips to stop the tears from leaking, “You left me for hours in the library all while you were having fun with Liz- how is that fair?”

“Please don’t cry,” He whispered, pulling her into his body in an embrace, “I can’t stand it when you cry.”

“You left me alone Peter!” She fought against his embrace, “Like everyone in my life!”

Peter held Y/N against him, rubbing her back and shushing her. Trying anything to bring her calm.

“I got nervous.”

Y/N lifted her head, “What?”

“I got nervous- I’ve- I’ve liked you for forever y’know. I was outside the library for 10 minutes willing myself to go in.” He laughed softly, “But every time I saw you sat there- I just froze.”

The young girl looked up in shock, “But-But Liz?”

“I was about to get reprimanded for loitering, she got me out of the situation. I was going to call you but my phone died.”

Y/N didn’t realise how close together they were until their foreheads touched and their noses bumped.

It felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest. It was ironic really because when they finally met in a kiss it felt like all time had stopped.

She could feel every touch on her cheeks, his hair and how it ran through her fingers, how minty he smelt. Everything stood still and for a few moments, you had everything you’d ever wanted in the palm of your hand.

What Y/N had failed to notice was the glowing golden portal that had appeared in the supply closet- even worse the thoroughly unimpressed man standing through it.

“Y/N Strange you are so dead!”

“Shit!”

[panda-noosh]

the missing part {George Weasley x Reader}

Words: 10.5k

Summary: The trio becomes a pair.

Genre: angst

Warnings: mentions of death - grief - this is also a platonic fic so if you’re looking for some good good romance, you might not wanna waste your time with this one. 

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - THIS IS A SAD ONE BOYOS 

----

You receive the news shortly after everything happens.

   The change to the wizarding world is a physical one. Wizards all over the globe can feel the difference, even though they weren't at the scene, even though news has yet to break of the details describing what really happened that evening in Hogwarts. People are cheering and screaming victory in the streets, because everyone just knows. Everyone is breathing normally again. Everyone is safe.

  It's excitement that claws at you first and foremost, because you're stuck in that head space where nothing feels wrong. Voldemort is dead – you know it, the world knows it, everyone is okay. You celebrate with a glass of wine, too absorbed in this massive victory to think of the sacrifices that must have happened to make it happen. For tonight, all you want is a chance to bask in a freedom you have not felt nor experienced in many, many years.

  But the euphoria can't last forever. One problem has been taken care of, and now there is room for more to trickle in.

  You receive the letter the next day. You wake up from a wine-induced sleep to the sound of the owls beak tapping against your window; you retrieve the letter with a hopeful mind and trembling fingers, because it has been so long since you've received a letter that isn't a warning of the Ministry getting closer to your home, or a newspaper reporting news you do not want to hear, news so false and manufactured it made you start buying The Quibbler just for a real taste of what was happening in the outside world.

    You open the letter at your kitchen table, and this is something you will always, always remember, a moment that will forever be locked in your brain due to the trauma – genuine trauma – it swept upon you. Over a glass of milk and a bowl of cereal, you read the words Fred is dead, scribbled in the handwriting of Molly Weasley.

  You read it over and over again, just to make sure your mind is not playing tricks on you – you would be less surprised if you suddenly found out your months of isolation had made you gone insane, because it seems most impossible that Fred Weasley is no longer alive, no longer with you, no longer laughing and smiling and brightening up a room with his twin brother at his side.

   Through your heartbreak, this thought leads you to the even more heartbreaking thought of the twin that is still doing all those things – George. How his world must have shifted, how he must be feeling. You remember sitting beside him back at Hogwarts, listening to him and Fred speak at the exact same time – back then it felt so weird, and you'd cringe and tell them to stop; now, however, you can barely stomach the idea of not hearing their synchronised sentences.

  You write back, asking Molly if there's anything you can do, sending your condolences without making it obvious you are completely and utterly crushed. She replies shortly, saying she wants you there for the funeral, George wants you there for the funeral, Fred would want you there for the funeral.

  And you don't want to go. Call it selfish,cowardly, but you don't want to. Standing beside his casket, surrounded by his family and friends, will make it real. When you're huddled in your home, away from it all, it's easy enough to pretend Fred is sat at The Burrow, celebrating the same victory as the rest of the wizarding world, the victory he played a part in.

  Nonetheless, you arrive at The Burrow the very next day.

   Molly opens the door before you've knocked, having clearly heard the faint pop of you Apparating in her front garden. A gnome runs right for your knees, but Molly shoves it away with her foot before dragging you into a bear-like hug; you can see she's been crying furiously, her eyes swollen, her face having aged a number of years in the space of a day. Her hug, though, is just as you've always remembered it, arms tight around your neck, body swaying slightly from side to side as she whispers unintelligible things in your ear.

  She pulls away and holds you at arms length; you can't imagine what she must be seeing. That young wizard she used to babysit is gone now, replaced by someone harder, someone more refined and experienced. She's not the only one who has aged a great number of years in such a short space of time.

  “How are you?” is the first thing you can manage to say.

  And already the tears are flooding her eyes again, like the question has triggered some memory she cannot fight off. Her lower lip trembles, and she humours you with a small nod before she wraps her beefy arm around your shoulders and guides you into the warmth of a home that should not be able to hold so many people but does so anyway.

  There they are – the Weasleys, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, all stood in the kitchen. They're chatting, but the conversation is hushed and it ends as soon as you make an appearance. Harry is the first to stand, offering you his hand for a handshake he is too young for; you roll your eyes and tug him into a hug. He grunts against you, but you don't even care – it has been two years since you laid eyes on the Boy Who Lived, and a handshake will simply not cut it.

    “You made it,” Hermione says, approaching you once Harry has stumbled off. She wraps her arms gently around your waist. “How was the trip?”

  “Easy enough,” you reply, lips pressed into her hair.

  “Where have you been all this time?” Bill asks.

  Still holding Hermione close, afraid of letting go lest she takes your composure with her, you say, “I've been hiding. Just a flat in Hogsmeade; a pure-blood owns it. He let a bunch of us Muggle-borns stay with him until it all died down.” You glance at Harry. “You feeling alright?”

  He nods. “Just. . . Still tired, I guess.”

  You can understand that; though you know the newspapers will never do the scene justice, you were able to gather the basic jidst of the events that took place in Hogwarts only a few days prior – the deaths, the injuries, the horrors so many young kids have seen and will now never be able to erase from their memories.

  “Well,” Molly exhales shakily. “I'll get the kettle on. Y/N, you must be starving. How does a bit of stew sound?”

  You nod, giving Molly a grateful smile before your mind zones back in on where you are, what you're here for. Instinctively you search the room for any sign of your best friend – the one that's left – and it's not exactly a surprise when you see he is not there. The rest of the Weasleys are – even Percy, who sits in the corner with his legs folded over one another, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a cup of coffee in his hands. He looks up at the feel of your eyes burning into him, surprising you by nodding towards the back door.

  You raise your brows, but follow him out nonetheless. Percy and you never truly got on – he was Fred and George's bossy older brother, and that was always what you left it as. Whenever he decided to abandon the Weasley name for the sake of his precious minister, you lost what little respect you had for him.

  Now, however, it's difficult to keep that attitude up; the other Weasleys all look exhausted, but Percy looks a little ill, stumbling over the final step the two of you descend. You grab his elbow before he can fall, and he shakes you off in his attempts to pretend he hadn't nearly fallen face first onto the concrete.

  He turns to look at you when you're a decent enough distance from the house. “I wasn't sure if you were going to be here.”

  “Of course I was going to be here,” you reply, startled by the croak in his voice, as if he hasn't spoken to anyone in weeks. “He was my best friend, Perce.”

  “I know. I know he was, but – just – with everything that happened. Mum wasn't even going to send you an owl. She was just going to let you enjoy the celebrations with everyone else. It was Dad who had to step in and tell her you had a right to know.”

  Your stomach flips. “Well I'm glad she told me. I'm – I'm glad I can be here.”

  Percy nods, looking off into the distance. “Has anyone told you what happened?”

  “No. I'm not going to make you relive it if-”

   “I was there when it happened. I watched the curse hit him.” His voice breaks, and that drives it home for you; Percy Weasley, usually so composed and professional, is struggling to form a sentence right now. He can't even bring himself to look in your direction.

  You step forward and touch his elbow, as if that will cure anything, take away his pain. His eyes close at the feel of your fingers.

  “I'm so sorry,” you mumble.

  “Yeah,” he replies shakily. “I got the bastard who did it, though.”

  You force a smile. “Good.”

     “And you know what the most fucked up part of it is?” He opens his eyes and looks at you. “My first thought wasn't even Oh God, my brothers dead. It was Oh God, George is going to be heartbroken.”

  Your lower lip trembles before you can stop it, before his words have even properly processed; it's heartbreaking to hear something like that, a blow to the gut you were not prepared for.

  Percy laughs, cold and dead. “Can you believe that?”

  “Yes,” you choke out. “Yes, I can. Where is George?”

  “In his room. He didn't want to see you yet.”

  It doesn't even hurt your feelings. You completely understand, considering you're not entirely ready to see him just yet, either.

  You glance over at the front door; everyone is beginning to gather round the kitchen table. Arthur pops his head in the window and beckons for you and Percy to hurry up; you give him a thumbs up before whirling back to Percy and grabbing his hand. He starts, eyes widening, but you hurry on before he can say anything.

  “What happened to him, Perce? What happened to Fred?”

  Percy pauses. “He was dead before he even hit the floor, Y/N. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

   You inhale shakily; you cannot cry, not right now, not whenever dinner is being served and his family has pulled themselves together. Percy pulls you into a tight hug when he sees the struggle for peace on your face; you asked for that detail to see if it would help, to see if stripping the mystery from the equation would help you heal a bit quicker, but it doesn't. Now all you can imagine as you walk back into The Burrow, tucked under Percy's arm, is that curse blasting Fred's chest cavity apart, his forever smile fading away for good.

  ---

  The next morning arrives, and you are still yet to see George.

  Molly apologises a grand number of times for his absence, but you brush it off every single time – you understand. He's healing. He's suffering, trying to process this just as much as you are. Seeing you after so long apart will only bring back fresh memories, and you don't want to be the reason behind his breakdown.

  So you keep your distance, helping Molly and Ginny with breakfast before heading out into the garden to help Ron and Charlie clean up bits of shrapnel that had been left behind from Bill and Fleur's wedding, shrapnel they weren't able to clean up with everything going on.

  Charlie keeps the conversation up, forever the chatterbox. Ron humours his older brother with little bits of laughter sprinkled in here and there, but it's obvious he wants nothing more than to just sit in silence for a little while.

    As the morning rolls into the afternoon and jobs become scarce, you find yourself walking around the garden on your own. Once upon a time, this used to be the playground for you, Fred and George – three best friends who had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, an entire summer on their hands. Your parents never outwardly disowned you after you received your letter to Hogwarts, but they were always weary of you afterwards, as if expecting you to snap at any given moment. Their fear gave you an excuse to spend the two months of summer holidays at the Weasley's house, where you, Fred and George would play Quidditch for hours on end, hiding from Molly when you could just tell she wanted you to do a job for her.

   The memories come back to you in waves, and it hurts, but you force yourself through it, because you'd much rather remember the good times spent with Fred than sit and concentrate on the fact there will no longer be any more of those good times.

   You arrive at the tiny square of grass you used to use as a make-shift Quidditch pitch; George would haul the bins over and enchant them to float high enough in the air that you could trick yourselves into believing they really were Quidditch goal posts. You would always be Seeker, because you were good at that, and Fred and George would play against each other with the Quaffle, yelling insults that had Molly emerging from the house, threateningly waving a wooden spoon in their direction. You could never hear what she was saying from so high up, but maybe that was for the best.

  You place your hand on the fence, gazing out at the square, so unused and untouched. A gnome scatters across the centre of it and dives into a hole on the other side; you don't even try and grab it.

  The sound of footsteps makes you freeze; after months of being in hiding, any noise you cannot immediately identify has you on edge, though this is something you're trying desperately to combat; Voldemort is dead now – he doesn't have to control your life any more.

  “Mum told me you were walking about on your own, you little loner.”

  George's voice is like a song. Your favourite song. A song you haven't heard in years, but one you love no less than when you heard it every single day.

  You glance at him over your shoulder; he's still in his pyjamas, red hair stuck on end, lips chapped and cheeks sunken. His skin looks pale – paler than it usually does – but he's still smiling when his eyes meet yours. You know it's not real, but you appreciate his attempts nonetheless.

  “Yeah,” you reply. “I was just getting a bit of fresh air.”

  “Nothing fresh about the air around here.”

  “It's better than being inside.”

  George shrugs. “I didn't get the memo.”

  You hollow out your cheeks, turning back to the field. “Harry told me about your ear.”

  “Oh, did he? Did he happen to find it lying about somewhere, 'cause if so, I'd love to have it back.”

  “He said you lost it. It got blown off or something.”

  George hums. You can see his knuckles tightening on the fence, and you silently wonder if you've perhaps said too much; maybe he doesn't want to talk about that time.

  “It was Snape,” George says at last. “Knocked me out cold, so I don't remember too much. Not like I really need to – I've got all the evidence I need of it happening right here.” He turns his head, showing off the hole where his ear used to be. It looks clean, unbandaged, not very painful if his jokes and snide grin are anything to go off.

  Nonetheless, your heart skips at the sight of it; yet another moment where George needed your help and you weren't there to offer it.

  “Bloody hell, Georgie,” you whisper. “How many girls did you manage to bag with an injury like that?”

  George scoffs. “Not many, I'm afraid. Bit of a waste, I think.”

  “Definitely.”

  It's quiet for a moment. The wind whistles, and the birds chirp, and there's a gnome cursing beneath the dirt, but all you can focus on is the heavy presence of George standing beside you.

  Maybe it's not even George's presence you're focusing on. Maybe it's Fred's, because you know he's there. He's always there, making sure you and George don't step out of line or embarrass him, because now it's the job of his two closest confidants to carry on his legacy – Fred Weasley would want to keep an eye on that.

   “How are you feeling, Georgie?” you whisper, the silence suddenly too much when you think of Fred standing within it. It would never be silent if he was really here. Never. “How are you really feeling?”

  George takes a moment to answer. You glance over to see him nibbling his bottom lip, brown eyes trained on a spot in the garden where yet another gnome has just emerged and is scarping across the field to freedom. “I don't know.” He looks at you. He's taller now, so he has to look down. “What about you?”

  You shrug. “I've – I've definitely been better.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Percy hugged me.”

  “He hasn't been taking it well.”

  “I can't really blame him, poor git.”

  George chuckles; it's not a noise George usually makes, but you don't question it, knowing he isn't really himself right now.

  “The funeral's tomorrow,” he says after yet another pause. “I don't know how any of us are going to do it with dignity.”

  “Dignity isn't important at a funeral.”

  “You know full well Fred would take the mick out of us all if we showed up to his funeral sobbing our eyes out.”

  Your lips twitch, the first signs of a true smile you have worn in weeks. “I suppose so. But he's going to have to get over it, isn't he?”

  George chuckles. “You tell him, Y/N. You tell him.”

  You and George hang around the makeshift Quidditch pitch for only a few more minutes before you start back towards The Burrow; although neither of you want to acknowledge it, you have to get ready for the funeral tomorrow. Things have to be put in place for the small number of visitors who are due to arrive tomorrow morning – Fred, McGonagall, Oliver Wood, some other members of the old Quidditch team. Over the hill, you can see Molly already stressing out over everything that has to be put in place, and your heart aches for her.

  “She never slows down, your Mum,” you say before you can stop yourself.

  George hums, a fragile attempt at agreement. “Keeping busy helps take her mind off things, I think. It's when she stops that it all crashes down on her.”

  “Will she be okay tomorrow?”

  “No.”

   You're glad he isn't lying. At this moment in time, you can almost pretend it was all a dream; opening the letter, reading the news, having to come to terms with it all. None of it will truly be real until you've looked down and seen Fred's body for yourself, and maybe that's why you're dreading it so much. It's not the idea of seeing him – god, what you wouldn't give to see his smiling face one last time. It's the idea of no longer having that excuse. Once you've laid eyes on his body, any denial you have of his death will just be pitied.

  You and George head into the house and go your separate ways. You head into the bedroom you're sharing with Ginny and Hermione whilst George goes back to his own room; you don't think Molly bunked him up with anyone, considering the circumstances, and the thought of him sitting in Fred and George's room on his own makes your heart ache. You have half a mind to turn and go after him, but your plans are foiled when Ginny emerges from the bedroom and smiles warmly at you, despite the puffiness around her eyes.

  “Hey,” you say. “You alright?”

  “I was just coming to find you,” she replies. “Can we talk?”

  Anxiety prickles at your skin, but you nod and follow her into the bedroom anyway. Hermione is nowhere to be seen, though her funeral clothes have already been folded and stacked upon her camp bed, along with a packet of tissues and her wand.

  Ginny takes a seat on the end of her bed. You stand by the door, nervously biting your lip as you realise this is the first time you and Ginny have been alone since everything happened. You haven't had a proper chance to sit down with the youngest Weasley and ask her how she is truly feeling.

  Keeping her eyes on her freckled hands, she says, “Were you talking to George?”

  You tilt your head. “Y-yes. He came down to the Quidditch pitch – oh, uh – the fields, sorry, just to talk.”

  Ginny sighs, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes. She's clearly exhausted, no longer even trying to hide it. You have the urge to reach out and hug her, just as you would have done when she was younger, but Ginny has been through so much in the two years since you last seen her; she might not appreciate a hug any more, so you keep your distance.

  “And has he gone back to his room now?” she asks.

  “I think so. I think he's getting ready for. . . you know. . . tomorrow.”

  “He's not handling this well, Y/N.” She drops her hands into her lap, shaking her head grimly. “I know none of us are, but I've never seen George acting like this. The only person he's properly spoken to in three days is you.”

  Your heart lurches. “He's grieving, Ginny.”

  “We all are! We've all had to grieve before this, too.” She hollows out her cheeks, and it's only then do you spot the tears making their way to the surface of her eyes. “The Weasleys grieve together – that's how we've always done it. We're a family.”

  Something inside of you snaps. You dart forward, sitting down beside her and tugging her into your chest. It is there, wrapped tightly in your arms, that she finally lets go, sobbing into your collarbone with a ferocity you've never seen from her – not once. Not even when she used to take a tantrum every time one of her brothers got to go to Hogwarts and she didn't, not even when her cat passed away, not even when she was possessed by Lord Voldemort himself.

  She clings onto your jacket, trying to speak but being unable to do so past the sobs. You grip her tighter, stroking your hands through her red hair that hasn't been brushed in days. There are things to say, procedures to take when this kind of thing happens, but nothing you have been taught to say comes to the surface; she's heartbroken, utterly heartbroken, and you know why. Just because you're not sobbing doesn't mean you don't feel the same way.

  “Make sure George is okay,” she chokes out. “Please make sure I don't lose him, too.”

  You close your eyes, tears slipping from your eyes. “I will, mate. I'll – I'll try my best.”

  ---

  Everyone is here.

  You greet them all, because that's what is expected of you. They give you hugs and kisses on the cheek, because that's what is expected of them. Nobody wants to acknowledge the fact that nobody truly wants to be here; to the untrained eye, this gathering of black-clad wizards could very well be some kind of high school reunion.

  But it's not.

  A high school reunion would hold the air of memories, people rekindling, saying hello after a long time apart. This event holds the air of denial, sadness, saying goodbye to someone taken too soon.

  All morning you are busy taking over the jobs of Mr and Mrs Weasley; both of them are too shaky to function, though Molly tries her damned hardest to get out of her chair and do something. She ends up tipping a cup of coffee over poor Harry, and so you and the Weasley kids take over. This means you have barely any time to find George.

  He's not around. Ron told you he's still hiding in his room, not wanting to show his face until the very last minute.

  “You should go and talk to him,” says Ron, voice wobbling with the effort to keep the tears at bay. “He won't let anyone else in. Mum's tried, Dad's tried, I've given it a go.”

  You flick your wand, sending a chair across the grass where it lines up with the rest of them. “What makes you think I'll be any different?”

  “He likes talking to you. He only came out of his and Fred's-” Ron's eyes slip closed. He takes a deep breath before starting again. “He only came out of his room yesterday because he heard you arrived.”

  You bite your lip, flicking a glance back towards the house; his curtains are still shut. He might still be asleep and nobody would even know.

  You sigh, handing Ron the stack of napkins you were given. “I'll go see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Y/N.”

  You nod and duck into the house, giving Oliver Wood a watery smile which he returns as best he can, hands trembling around a glass of pumpkin juice. You march upstairs before anyone else can see you, heading directly for the room at the end of the hallway.

  The glittering sign is still nailed to the door: Fred and George's Room. KEEP OUT!

  You wonder how long it will take for George to take that down – if he ever will.

  You knock softly and take a step back, folding your hands in front of you. For just a second, there is no answer, not even a call of Who's there? And you force yourself to step forward and knock again, a bit harder this time, lest he didn't hear you.

  Again, there is no response.

  Heart hammering, you do the last thing you can think of – you tap three times, pause, and then tap again. It's the secret knock the twins used to do on your door when they wanted you to come out with them past curfew, how you would know they were up to no good.

  There is a moments hesitation, and then, “Y/N?”

  You press your forehead against the door, relief flooding you. “Yes. It's me. Are you okay? Can I come in?”

  You pull away from the door just as it opens and George pokes his head out; his hair is still a mess, but he's wearing something other than pyjamas at least. His outfit consists of a white shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers, a black blazer hanging over one shoulder. Fred would be laughing if he could see him now.

  George gives you a tiny smile before moving out the way, offering you access. You hesitate, and George notices.

  “I know,” he mumbles. “You don't have to if you're not ready.”

  But he's been forced to sleep in this room since everything happened. He's had to endure that pain, so you will too. You brace yourself before stepping in, trying desperately to ignore the flip of your stomach, the sudden fight or flight response that is attacking your system at the sight of it all.

  The room has barely changed since the last time you stayed here nearly three summers ago. Two beds pressed against either wall, one perfectly made, the other slept in. Posters hang upon the walls of different Quidditch teams you remember they used to be mad over, and thrown in the midst of them all is a new poster you have never seen before – a poster dedicated to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

  “Mum made his bed the day we got back.” George's voice is fragile. You glance at him; he's still stood by the door, hands pushed into his pockets as he watches you wade around the room. “Fred never made his bed when he woke up, so she always used to do it for him.”

  You nod, remembering those summer mornings when all you could hear was Molly telling Fred off for – yet again – not making his bed.

  “Old habits die hard, huh?” you reply, and George hums his agreement. “Ron sent me up here to make sure you were ready.”

  George scoffs. His bed springs protest when he leaps onto his mattress. “You can go back down there and tell Ron to have a little patience. I'm fragile today.”

  “You are a little late, Georgie. Worryingly late; I thought you'd gone back to sleep.”

  George rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. You stand over his bed, arms folded over your chest. “I'd love to, but I'm afraid I have my brothers funeral to attend today.”

  You bite your lip. “You know, George...” And this is it. The sentence has started, and George's eyes have snapped to meet your own, waiting for you to finish whatever you have to say. “We're all grieving. A lot. A whole lot. But locking yourself away like this isn't going to help anything. It's not going to make anything easier. Not for you or anybody downstairs right now.”

  George stares at you, waiting for the punchline.

  “I'm serious.”

  He lifts his eyes back to the ceiling, wearing a frown you have not seen him wear in the many years you have known him. Your heart picks up, panic spiking at the idea of upsetting him; he's not going to listen to you, that much is clear. He hasn't listened to anybody else when being told the same thing, so why should you be any different?

  “Look, okay,” you hasten to add, “we'll go down there together, alright? You and me. You don't have to do this on your own.”

   “I don't want to go at all. I don't want to see him like that.”

  You sit down on the corner of his bed and grab his hand, pulling it onto your knee. The tears slip from the corners of his eyes, which he squeezes closed in an instant.

  “I know,” you mumble. “I don't, either. Nobody does. But once we've got this funeral out of the way, you're free to mourn however you want. It's over then; Fred will be peaceful, and we can . . . we can move on. We can try and move on. That's what he'd want us to do.”

  George's shoulders jerk, a silent sob. Tears of your own flood your eyes. You grab his shoulders and pull him up, pulling him into a hug that reminds you so much of last night, the exact same scene but a different Weasley sibling. You just want to comfort them all; you want to round up each and every one of them and pull them into this embrace, let them know it will all be okay and you will not leave them to suffer on their own, not like last time. You will be there for all of them through everything if they'll let you.

  George's arms wrap around your middle. He rests his head on your shoulder, stifling his sobs as best he can; he's better at it than Ginny, who all but wailed into your collarbone yesterday evening. George doesn't want to be seen like this, but it's clear he can't hold back any more.

  “It's okay,” you whisper. “It'll be fine. We'll go downstairs together.”

  He nods, pulling away slowly. He bites his lip, glances at your shoulder and says, “I got tears on your shirt.”

  You shake your head, brushing his hair out of his face with trembling hands. “Don't worry about it. Fred would say it adds flare.”

  “He would,” George chokes out. “He really would.”

  And so, the two of you stand and head towards the door, hand-in-hand. George hesitates before shutting his bedroom door behind him, and you pretend not to see the way he gently runs his fingers over Fred's name engraved in the metal sign.

  You walk downstairs slowly. Heads start turning when you appear in the doorway of the kitchen, George all-but cowering behind you, his hand still in your own. You run your thumb along his knuckles, giving his awaiting family members a smile despite their eyes all being trained on George.

  Molly is the first one to run forward. A cry escapes her lips, and you have only seconds to jump out of the way before she barrels through the doorway and into George's arms; George grunts, stumbling before he catches his balance and hugs his mother back with just as much enthusiasm as she is showing. You slowly remove yourself from the scene, letting the rest of the Weasley family file in to mimic their mothers actions.

  “So you did it,” Harry says when you find yourself standing at the back of the room with him. “You got him to come downstairs.”

  “He just needed some coaxing,” you reply, wiping your eyes. “Is Fred here?”

  “Kingsley's just brought his body back.” Harry nods out the window, but you don't follow his gesture because you know exactly what is going to be there; the back garden, chairs all lined up, Fred's casket set up at last. You can only imagine that is the reason the Weasley family is stood inside – they don't want to be around it any longer than they have to be.

  But they cannot hold off forever. Arthur and Molly head out first, Arthur with his arm around Percy's shoulders, Molly holding Ginny's hand. Together, the Weasleys take their seats at the very front of the garden, each sobbing quietly into handkerchiefs and sleeves and partners' shoulders. You, Harry and Hermione take the seats directly behind them whilst everyone else files in behind you.

  And you see him up there, eyes closed, hair styled, suit perfectly pressed. His hands have been folded on his chest, and his wand has been tucked into his fingers. Standing beside his casket is a picture of him and George – because there is not a picture in existence where the two of them are on their own, not one – and Fred is pulling a funny face whilst George looks off into the distance, oblivious to the photo being taken.

  It hurts. It hurts worse than you ever imagined it would, but you can't bring yourself to cry – not whenever his body is right there in front of you. Fred used to chastise you every time he saw you cry, swat you over the shoulder, make some wise-crack comment along the lines of, “What do you have to cry about? You have me!”

  You always did have him. You always will have him, as long as you keep his memory alive.

  Kingsley says a few words, kind words that speak of Fred's bravery and his knowledge and how he did not die in vain. They sound so official coming from him now that he's the temporary Minister of Magic, but you know for a fact Fred would have appreciated it, scripted or not. Oliver Wood says some things, and Molly and Arthur try their hardest to get some words out about their son, but it doesn't go to plan and they end up just sitting down, passing the baton onto Percy who makes a big, emotional speech about how he and Fred didn't always get along, and how he's glad they managed to find peace with each other during those last few hours of complete turmoil within the Hogwarts castle.

  George doesn't make a speech. Neither do you.

  The funeral ends with the burning of the body. Kingsley waves his wand and the white curtains fall from nowhere, closing around the casket, and soon, the only thing you can see is the smoke billowing from the top of them. The air suddenly erupts with the smell of black current – one of Fred's favourite scents – and people are standing, giving each other hugs, crying.

  You and George stay seated, him directly in front of you. You don't tap his shoulder, don't move, don't say anything at all – you just watch his shoulders rise and fall as he tries desperately to keep his breathing slow and steady. He's staring at his brothers casket like he can't quite believe it's there, and you don't blame him, because you're feeling the same way.

  How can a ten minute ceremony be enough to celebrate the life of someone like Fred Weasley? How can a few words passed between people who knew him be enough to remember the wonders he discovered, the joy and laughter he brought upon so, so many lives? It doesn't seem possible. It's ludicrous, completely unfair, and suddenly the sadness you have felt since hearing the news is morphing into anger, and you have the urge to just scream, to just let your lungs rip in half with the fury that rushes through you at a million miles per hour.

  But in real life, you're rooted to your seat, fingers curling against the back of George's chair, staring at the smoke rising high, high, higher into the air, disappearing amongst the clouds – Fred's final resting place.

  George stands up.

  It's so abrupt. It takes you a second to even comprehend what he is doing as his chair tips back against your knees, only failing to fall due to you still being seated behind it. Your head snaps up, mouth opening to call him back, but you don't get a chance to say anything before Angelina Johnson is grabbing you and pulling you to your feet, into an embrace you were not prepared for in the slightest.

  “Oh, Y/N, I knew you'd be here! I knew you'd make it! Fred would have been so happy to see you and George back together again!”  You laugh awkwardly, watching George march up to The Burrow over her shoulder.

  ----

  George doesn't make an appearance for the rest of the day.

  The guests Disapparate, giving the Weasleys some much needed time and space after the exhausting day they have just performed. You, Harry and Hermione head up to bed for the same reason, crowding in Harry and Ron's room for a few hours before you and Hermione excuse yourselves for the night.

  Hermione is asleep in minutes, and you can't really blame her. Not only has that girl gone to hell and back these past few days, she's also had to deal with the additional baggage of death. She has fought absolute monsters, seen things no person of her age should ever see, had to think quicker than anyone just to stay alive – and now that it's over, she's been given the additional task of mourning people she loves.

  You, however, struggle to close your eyes without the thoughts flooding your mind, making you restless. You keep remembering his body, the tip of his nose peaking out from the casket, the smoke that billowed, the smell of black current that was surely conjured to hide the smell of Fred's burning flesh; god, you want to throw up. You feel ill, and angry, and you want to punch something so, so desperately.

  Back in your school days, George taught you how to use Quidditch as a way to get your anger out; he and Fred had been the best Beaters the Gryffindor had ever seen, and they claim it was solely because they got themselves riled up before a game. They would make themselves so angry that the idea of volleying a heavy ball at someone was all that could calm them down again.

  That's what you need right now; a good game of Quidditch, a Bludger to just annihilate someone. But you have none of that; all you have right now is your pillow, which you shove your fist into multiple times over now with no results. Your stomach still feels tight, and tears are still threatening to reach the surface, and you're beginning to lose hope that you'll ever feel calm and collected ever again.

  The clock has struck four am when you finally give up trying to sleep. You slip your feet into a pair of carpet slippers – courtesy of Hermione – and head downstairs, pulling a dressing gown on as you do so. The kitchen is barren, the sun just starting to peak over the green hills surrounding the cosy cottage. From the window you can see a garden gnome furiously kick a wicket chair before howling in pain and bouncing back into the floor to go and huff on its own.

  You head outside. The fresh air feels nice on your skin – cold, but it's enough to bring you back to reality a little bit. You walk across the garden, and before you know why, you're sitting down in the very same chair you sat in whilst watching people talk about your dead best friend, like you want to relive that moment all over again.

  But this time you're on your own. It's just you and the chairs, and the odd garden gnome that sprints across the grass, sees you and then sprints in the other direction. You fold your legs over one another, stare at the space Fred's casket once stood, and then you start speaking.

  “Miss you, buddy.” It starts as a whisper, hoarse and fragile. “Thank you, for everything. Fighting for the sake of the world – you're braver than me. I couldn't have done it. I was – I was hiding away in my flat, pretending nothing was happening, convincing myself you two weren't stupid enough to get yourself into any danger.” You close your eyes, tilting your head back, talking directly to him now. “Nothing feels right any more, Fred. The world isn't meant to be without a Fred Weasley. George isn't meant to be without a Fred Weasley. God, I'm not meant to be without a Fred Weasley.”

  The tears start trickling, running quickly down your cheeks and disappearing within the corners of your mouth.

  “I'll make sure he's okay, Freddie,” you whisper. “George, I mean. We'll keep each other sane, I promise. You can watch over us and – and make sure w-we keep each other in ch-check. I won't let him out of my sight ever again.”

  “Y/N?”

  Your head snaps up, eyes opening. Standing in the pink light of the slowly rising sun is George Weasley, wand in hand, still dressed in the very same clothes he was wearing earlier. His tie has been pulled loose from its knot and is now cascading messily down his middle, a few of his buttons undone, his hair back to being a disgruntled mess.

  You stand up. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “You sound like Filch.” He tilts his head to the side, just enough to let you see the bags under his eyes. “What are you doing?”

   You awkwardly kick at the ground. “Nothing.”

  “Mhm.” George walks over, examining each of the chairs as he does so. “You were talking to him, weren't you?”

  You don't reply; he knows. You don't feel a need to confirm it for him, not when he probably heard every single thing you said.

  “I can't do it,” he continues. “It feels weird not having him say the exact same thing as me. My voice isn't meant to be on its own.”

  “Yeah,” you croak out. “I noticed that, too.”

  “I'll get past it,” he mumbles. “I just. . . I just wanted everyone to leave today, you know? I didn't want all these people in my house, staring at my brothers dead body, crying over him like that. This was supposed to be a family event.”

  A tinge of guilt stamps an imprint into your heart. “Right. Should Harry, Hermione and I have left?”

  George purses his lips. “You guys are family – it's everyone else I was a bit iffy with.”

  And maybe it's the anger from earlier that boils over now. Maybe it's the reminder that George left – halfway through his brothers funeral, he got up and left his family, his grieving family, to deal with everything. You know he's upset, heartbroken, downright traumatised, but so is everyone else. Nobody is taking this lightly. Nobody was here today just for the sake of it.

  You curl your hands into fists. “George, you're being really selfish right now.”

  His head snaps up. “What?”

  “How can you sit there and say you wish those people who came today had just stayed home? Do you think they wanted to be in this situation any more than you did? God, You-Know-Who was killed a few days ago – people want to be out celebrating their freedom, not going to the funeral of one of their friends. None of this is easy on anyone, so it's really bloody ungrateful of you to say they should have just stayed home, because I'm almost positive that's what most of them wanted to be doing in the first place!”

   George's eyes cloud over. “Fred wouldn't have wanted the Ministry taking over his funeral.”

  “Kingsley knew Fred just as well as I did!”

  “No he didn't! You and Fred were best friends – Kingsley was part of the Order. That's how he knew Fred – through business! That isn't a bloody friendship!”

  “So, what? Kingsley should have just moved on, walked away whenever he looked down and saw Fred's body that day in the castle, huh? Because god forbid somebody grieve if they don't know someone for more than seven years!”

  George throws his hands in the air, face beaming red. “You're putting words in my mouth now, you are. You know that's not what I meant-”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe you should learn how to word things better, because at the minute you're sounding like an absolute arse!”

  George opens his mouth to respond, but you're crying. You're crying, and you can't stop it, and you don't want him to see you like this. You dart off before he can get the words out, cracking your shoulder against his before picking up your pace to a run, darting back towards the house. Behind you, George calls your name, but you don't listen. You shove past Charlie, who stands in the kitchen door with a mug of coffee, and head directly to your room, not wanting to talk to anyone.

  ---

  Charlie comes to visit you a few hours later.

  It's eight o'clock now; Hermione has risen, said good morning and headed off to help Mrs Weasley make breakfast. You stayed huddled under the covers, using the excuse of exhaustion as a way to get her to leave without worrying too much; as soon as she was gone, you had pulled yourself from your bed and headed to the window, where you have been for a while now, dreading the moment you will have to go downstairs and face George again.

  Charlie knocks softly on your door before letting himself in. He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants this morning along with an oversized jacket. His skin has been paler since he came home from Romania, since his little brother died, since it felt as if his world was falling apart. This morning, he looks a bit better, as if the relief of having finally set Fred free was a weight from his shoulders.

  “Morning,” he says. “You alright?”

  “Yeah, I'm fine. You?”

  He closes the door and walks to your side, placing his head against the wall as he, too, takes to gazing out the window. “I'm good. Better than I was yesterday. Worse than I'll probably be tomorrow.”

  “What a Charlie way to answer that question.”

  He smiles before nudging your arm. “You gonna talk to me about what happened this morning?”

  You purse your lips and look away. Charlie gazes at you, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you don't really know what he wants to hear – that you're sorry? That you were tired and heartbroken and it just kind of happened all at once, a jumbled mess you couldn't quite keep track of?

  That's not what it was at all. It was the truth spilling from your lips, though you will admit you now wish you could have executed it with a little bit more sympathy. George, the man who has been your best friend for so many years, didn't deserve that kind of treatment – not after everything. Not when there's still so much more to come.

  Charlie sighs, folding his muscled arms across his chest. “You know George loves you, right?”

  “And I love him.”

  Charlie pauses, contemplative. “I just – I don't know what you two were arguing about, but I think it would be a real shame for George to lose two loved ones, which is what is going to happen if you don't talk to each other. Do you want to cut ties with him?”

  Your head snaps up. “No! No, of course not. Look, Charlie, the argument wasn't even that serious. We just-”

  “If it wasn't that serious, then why did George punch a whole in the dry wall when I tried to ask him what happened?”

  You pause, mouth running dry. Charlie raises a brow, leaning against the wall. Your voice is quiet when you say, “He did what?”

  “He punched a hole in the wall. Tried to punch me, too.” He sighs. “Obviously, a scrawny little git like him compared to me didn't get very far, but it was the intent that shocked me; George hasn't got a violent bone in his body. Not a properly violent one, anyway – a few dangerous pranks here and there, but he would never want to genuinely fight someone. I think this whole thing is getting to him – and bad. The only time he's been calm is when you've been in his bloody eyeline.”

  “He tried punching you?”

  Charlie waves a dismissive hand. “That isn't the part of that speech I wanted you to pick up on.”

 You close your eyes, pressing your head against the window. “I lost my temper, started an argument with him for no reason. I should have realised he's not in the right head space – he isn't talking right, Charlie. He isn't himself.”

  “Well, no, I wouldn't say he is.” Charlie leans forward. “But right now, the only person getting through to him is you. How I see it, you're the only person who's going to drag him through this before he hurts himself or somebody else.”

   “That's a lot of pressure, Charlie.”

  ��Has it been difficult talking to him since you got here?”

  “No.”

 “Then you're fine. Just keep doing what you're doing.” Charlie stands up straight, brushing his hands down his jacket as he does so. “Mum said breakfast is gonna be ready in a few minutes if you're feeling hungry. If not, don't tell her that or she'll be up here in two seconds flat with the thermometer out; she did it to Ron a few days ago, gave him a right telling off when it turned out he just wanted to stay in bed for a bit longer.”

  You nod, giving him a warm, grateful smile as he walks out of the room.

  You give his words thorough thought; though your brain is no less exhausted, and your heart no less broken, you can see where you went wrong now better than you would have been able to at four this morning; Charlie has helped you realise that perhaps everyone needs to be a bit patient with each other right now, needs to learn how to put themselves in other people's shoes.

  You get changed and head downstairs. Sure enough, breakfast is already being served, and everyone besides George is already sitting round the table. You take a seat next to Hermione and tuck in, trying to regain some energy sapped due to your lack of sleep.

  Once breakfast is finished, you head straight to George's room. Charlie gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up when he turns away from the washing up basin and sees you heading upstairs; you give him a smile, though a nervous one.

  You have to do this now. You have to talk to him, tell him you're sorry, explain yourself a bit better than you did earlier, and if you don't do it now, you're going to back out and you won't ever do it. And so, you reach his door and do the secret knock that granted you access yesterday, and you wait.

  There's a shuffling on the other side, followed shortly by George's soft voice calling, “What?”

  “Hey, mate. Can I come in and talk to you for a minute?” You wince at how formal you sound – this is George you're speaking to, your best mate, the person you've grown up with. “Please?”

  “You're just gonna tell me off again, aren't you?”

  “No, George, don't be daft. Open the bloody door, or-”

  “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” The door opens, revealing the exhausted looking George. He isn't smiling, but instead keeps his eyes narrowed when he looks at you. “Do you wanna come in, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don't ask for much, do you?” He rolls his eyes and steps out of the way, granting you access to the room that still sends eerie chills racing along your arms, because Fred is no longer occupying it, too.

  You push these thoughts from your brain and enter, immediately spinning around with your arms folded. “Our argument was stupid.”

  George falters, one hand still secure round the doorknob. “Come again?”

  “Everything I said to you was stupid, and said in a fit of blind rage. I didn't mean it. Not really.”

  “Right...”

 “So, yeah.” You nod, glance around the room once before saying, “That's all I wanted to say.”

  “Is it now?”

  “Yes. I'll see you at lunch if you fancy coming down for a bit of food. If not, I'll – uh – see you when I-” You try to step around him, but he's quicker, blocking the door. You bite your lip. “George-”

  “Nothing you said earlier was wrong, you know.”

   You lift your eyes, and the tension in the room suddenly becomes a physical thing. He's staring down at you, that exhausted look in his eyes that he's worn for weeks pushed to the forefront. His lips are still chapped, and his knuckles are white around the handle of the door. You want to push his hair out of his face, but you're scared he'll push you away or cringe from your touch if you even try.

  “I was being a selfish little git when I walked off, and I should have been – should have been thankful to have so many people come out to send Fred off. He would have liked that, I think, having a crowd around him.”

  You laugh softly. “He always did enjoy the attention; you both did.”

 “Oi.” He nudges your shoulder. “You were part of our group, you know. You liked the attention just as much as we did.”

  And he isn't wrong. So many pranks, so many years of getting into trouble, so many years filled with laughter. When it felt like the world was falling apart, when your parents stopped talking to you, stopped asking you to come home for Christmas, stopped sending you owls – it was Fred and George who reminded you that you didn't need anyone. You were perfect on your own.

  “I agree that our argument was stupid,” he says softly. “But you were right.”

  “I shouldn't have made you feel bad-”

  “You could never make me feel bad. Not with a voice like that.”

  You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder. He laughs, stumbling back into the door. You realise with a jolt that this is the first time you've heard him laugh since you arrived at The Burrow, and it seems as if George is realising this too. His smile fades uncertainly, as if he's not allowed to let himself laugh, not allowed to let himself smile when Fred isn't around to join in.

  You tilt your head to the side. “Well that's a step in the right direction.”

  He closes his eyes. “I haven't had the chance to tell you how happy I am that you're here.”

   “Of course I'm here. I would never miss-”

  “No, I know.” He opens his eyes and shrugs. “I'm glad you're here to – like – mourn Fred and all that, but I'm glad you're here for me. Most people would have given up on me by now. Nobody would have bothered putting me in my place.”

  You shudder, can hardly help it when you're hearing him speak like this; it's so weird, so not what you're used to, but it hits a nerve nonetheless. You have the sudden urge to throw your arms around him, to pull him in for a hug that means more than just It's going to be okay.

  “I'm a complete state when you are here, but I wouldn't even function if you weren't,” he continues, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Everyone's told you that already, though, haven't they?”

  You bite your lip to suppress the giggle. “I've heard I've been a good helping hand.”

  George rolls his eyes. “Don't let it go to your head. No one likes an arrogant bastard.”

  Your grin breaks to the surface before you can stop it. It feels weird upon your face after spending so long believing you would never smile again, and yet with George stood in front of you, it couldn't make more sense. You're brought back to your Hogwarts days, when this very smile would never leave your face, was a permanent fixture to your expression. And it doesn't feel like you're back there – it will never feel like that again, not with Fred missing – but it's a start. It's the first step back into the normal world.

  Looking up at George's smile now makes you feel like you're walking back into it, slowly, with George by your side.

  ----

  “So what's the point of all this then?” you ask, struggling to fight your way through the crowd of screaming school kids.

  George moves with such grace, not even pausing when a group of kids nearly bowl him over in their struggle to reach the Pigmy Puff pens on the other side of the shop. He's grinning from ear to ear as he walks, his fancy, dragon skin blazer billowing out around him.

  “This, my dear Y/N, is what Fred and I have built from the ground up – and we're about to take it to the next level.”

   You raise a brow at his back. “Oh?”

  “Oh, indeed!” He hurries up a flight of winding stairs and stops at the top. He spins and smiles at you, pulling a sheet of paper from his blazer pocket with that dramatic flair you love so much. “Have a read of this and tell me how proud you are of me, right now. Quickly!”

  You roll your eyes, snatching the parchment and unrolling it. At the very top are the words Dear Mr and Mr Weasley, followed by the announcement that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will be opening a shop in multiple areas around England and Northern Ireland.

  Your eyes widen, snapping back up to George who is staring at you fixedly, waiting for your reaction. You don't even have words. All you can do is stare at him, jaw open, hands beginning to tremble.

  George glances at your shaking hands and laughs, rushing down the steps towards you. He snatches the parchment back and bundles you in his arms, laughing brightly into your hair.

  “Don't show too much excitement, Y/N, we're in public!”

   “George Weasley, you brilliant old git!” You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your head in his chest, and together, the two of you laugh – you just laugh, unable to fully process that this tiny little business Fred and George have always dreamed about will finally be taking off, dotting itself around the globe for wizards everywhere to enjoy.

  You pull away from the celebration and yank the parchment back, giving it yet another read. “Mr and Mr Weasley – you and Fred?”

  “Of course,” George confirms. “I sent the request letter in using both of our names – it didn't feel right just signing it with my name and my name only. Fred would kill me if I did that.”

  “Aye, it's better not to take the risk. I'm still convinced he's punishing me for ordering that BBQ base pizza the other night.”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  You reread the contract over and over again, grin getting wider every single time. It gets to the point where George groans and has to pry it from your hands, getting tired of watching you read the same sentence over and over again.

  You look at him and shake your head. “It's so cool that I'm able to say my best friend is a businessman. A real life businessman.”

  George cocks a brow. “You're gonna use me to make yourself look good, are you?”

  “You still owe me for that time I got you out of detention with Umbridge – it's the least you can do.”

  George laughs, bundling you in his arms again. “Just remember to mention Fred when you're giving us the good reviews – he'd appreciate it.”

   And you know, somewhere out there, Fred is nodding, saying, “You've done a brilliant job, Georgie.”

[chocoholicannanymous]

Free Kurt - Isabelle style (Glee)

This is part of the Free Kurt event, where different fic writers all present a take on how the proposal from 501 could have ended better for Kurt by use of one character. I decides on Isabelle Wright, and here you have 2020 (fittingly) words of “Free Kurt - Isabelle style”.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except an overactive imagination and way too many plotbunnies.

“Getting a choice means you gotta make one. Relax. Hear what the guy has to say. All you gotta do is say yes, no or maybe.”

“Is there another option?”

~*~*~*~

Kurt turns towards Dalton, steeling himself to go inside and meet Blaine. To start a new phase of his life - their lives. And then his phone rings.

“That can wait, can’t it, buddy?”

“I just need to check, oh, I have to take this. I’m sure it won’t take long. Just…” He walks a bit, not wanting his dad to hear if this is one of those calls.

“Isabelle! Is there something wrong?”

“No, no! Well, a little, but! You're just the guy to fix that. I remember right that you were flying back today, right? Would you be amenable to show up at Vogue, paid time, and help out at a party? Chase was supposed to be there and write about the outfits, but Marcel is in the hospital so Chase has to cover for him.”

“I...don't know if I'll be able to make it in time.”

“Traffic? I'll send a car for you, obviously, and pick an outfit from the vault.”

“I'm sorry, I mean I'm not sure if I'm going to make my flight.”

And he isn't. It hasn't hit him until now – how? why? – that even though he left with plenty of time to get to the airport and through security it might not be enough to also get through the proposal. He'd thought so, before, but really when he actually thinks about it? That would depend on Blaine being brief. Oh, and letting Kurt leave after. Is he going to want me to do that? Or is he expecting us to do something together?

Surely Blaine must have planned for Kurt making his flight though? Or made other arrangements? I'm already checked in though, I did that yesterday. So clearly no one's changed my flight.

“Kurt? Is something wrong? Are you... Are you not at the airport? Did something happen with your dad?”

Isabelle's voice is rising, worried, and he takes a second to feel cherished by that while hurrying to calm her down.

“Oh no, he's fine. Just, I'm not at the airport. There was a detour. I... I'm at a surprise proposal.”

“Really? Whose?”

Blaine's. “Mine.”

“Wait, what? Didn't you go down alone? Oh, did blond and cute go with you after all?”

“No, Adam is... We're over.”

“You broke up? You left here 10 days ago, dating Adam , and now you’re telling me that not only did you break up with him in that time, but also you started dating someone new? And you’re being proposed to? Am I hearing this right?

“What happened, Kurt?”

“I couldn’t commit to Adam. He offered to come with me, you know that, but I turned him down. That was pretty telling, that I didn’t want him to come with me. If it’d been serious, if I’d been willing to commit to him, well… I wouldn’t have said no then, would I? If I didn’t want him here with me during this, if I didn’t want him to come with and meet my family and friends, then clearly I wasn’t that invested.

“Better to break it off then.”

It had hurt, sure, because he’d really enjoyed being with Adam, but once it’d been pointed out to him…

“Okay, say I buy that - and we’re talking more about that when you come back, mister, don’t you doubt it! - what about this new relationship? How can you be ready to commit to someone else this soon?”

“I never had a problem committing to Blaine.”

There’s silence at the other end, enough that Kurt starts questioning if the call’s been disconnected.

“Isabelle?”

“You…” Her voice does a funny thing, and she starts over again. “You’re back with him?”

When he confirms it Isabelle starts talking fast, clearly not willing to let him say anything else.

“Blaine. Cheated on you after 2 weeks, Blaine. Blamed you for it, Blaine. Almost got you in trouble at work, Blaine. Made you feel like shit for months, Blaine. You’re back with him. And he’s proposing? You got back together, what, five minutes ago?”

Yesterday, Kurt thinks. We got back together yesterday. He doesn’t say that though.

“We were together for a year and a half. It’s not like he’s some stranger. This is, I always saw us ending up here. This was my dream, Isabelle, for so long.”

“”Before, and I cannot stress this enough, he cheated on you. How can you be sure he won’t do that again? After all, you’re coming back to New York. He’s going to be in Lima, still in school. That didn’t work so well last time.

“As you said, you didn’t have a problem committing to him. He on the other hand...”

It stings, to hear Isabelle reference such a painful experience so casually. Kurt swallows it down though, arguing back. “It’ll be different this time. He promised he’d never hurt me like that again. And he signed Oprah’s non-cheating contract.”

Except he hadn’t, not yet, but he’d promised to do it and surely that has to mean something?

“The fact that a non-cheating contract even entered the picture isn’t exactly the strong argument you seem to think. At least not in his favor.

“Kurt, honey, I'm saying this from a place of love. Have you completely lost your mind?”

And that, that hurts. He’s not crazy. This is the right thing to do. Everyone else thinks so, so why can’t Isabelle see it?

“Now, I’m not going to tell you that you can’t date someone, or get engaged, or hell, even married - though I do hope he doesn’t have an officiant standing by - but what’s the hurry? Why does he have to propose now?”

And well, Kurt doesn’t have an answer to that - and he’s searched, having asked himself the same question.

“He’s just, he’s always been excitable. Besides, seize the moment, you know? You never know what happens.”

He can’t be sure, but it sounds like Isabelle is muttering something about finding him a therapist. Surely not though?

“And I, Isabelle, it took me forever to find Blaine. What if I never meet anyone else who makes me feel the way he does?” Kurt politely ignores the hrumpf on the other end.

“Honey, you’re young. So, so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. And if it doesn’t happen? I am more than twice your age.” And wow, things has to be really serious if Isabelle is admitting to that. “I’m single. I’ve never been married, or engaged. I don’t have kids. By now, I’m pretty sure neither of that will change.

“Does that make me - or my life - worth any less?”

“No! Of course it doesn't. Just... It’s not what I want for me,” Kurt adds in a low voice.

“And that’s okay. As I said, you’re young. You have time to get to where you want to be. It doesn’t have to be a race. Not everyone find their place - or their person - at 20. That you would walk through life and never meet anyone else who could love you, and appreciate you? That’s impossible.”

Kurt feels the word sink into him, and before he can think twice he whispers “dad said I looked like he was driving me to my execution”.

“Wait, what? Look, I know that as your boss I don’t have the right to tell you what to do with your private life, but I’d like to think that I’m a little more than just your employer. So please, listen. Don’t be in such a hurry to do this. Not after just a few days. Not if you’re unsure enough that you look like that. Please. Come back to New York. Take some time to think. To just date again and adjust to how you’ve changed. Because that’s going to change how you are together as well.

“Put yourself first.”

Put himself first? Kurt isn’t even sure how to do that. It means disappointing his dad. Disappointing Blaine. He...doesn’t have a great track record with that.

But that’s his answer right there, isn’t it? He isn’t thinking that what’s right for him is to walk inside and let Blaine propose. He’s thinking about walking away.

“I’ll call you when I’m back in New York, okay? Bye Isabelle. And...thanks for listening.”

He walks back to the car and his dad, who’s looking kind of worried.

“That took a bit longer than I thought. Everything okay?”

“Yes, I think it is.” In the corner of his eye Kurt spots people spying from Dalton’s balcony and the door, looking restless. Apparently he’s not following the script.

“So, ehm, can you just drive me to the airport like we agreed?”

Burt Hummel looks like a stranded fish, and under other circumstances Kurt is sure he'd find it amusing. Now, not so much.

“What? What about-”

“I decided that I did have another option, one that doesn’t mean listening to Blaine. I’m not ready to say yes to what he wants to ask me, and I want to leave.”

“What about Blaine? Are you really going to leave him hanging like this?”

And ouch, that might be justified, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to hear it from his dad. Isn’t my dad supposed to back me? Where was this attitude when it was Finn? And right, he’d forgotten for a bit, the memories swept away in his dad’s pushy encouragment. Burt had hated Finn’s engagement to Rachel, not to mention the wedding-that-wasn’t.

“Good to know whose side you're on.”

They stare at each other. Kurt has folded so many times in similar situations, but this time he’s going to stand by his decision.

“I gotta say, buddy, this isn't like you.”

“Well, maybe my usual habit of doing not what I want but what I think the people around me want isn't working for me any longer.”

Which is true, and how could I have let myself almost be backed in a corner like that? but his dad takes it badly.

“This is… This is because of whoever called you right now, isn’t it? Why are you allowing her to change your mind like this? Not five minutes ago you were going to at least hear Blaine out. Who's this Isabelle to tell you not to?”

“Apparently the only person in all of this who’s on my side.”

“Hey! That's not fair!”

“Not fair? Life’s not fair! And you know what, something else that’s not fair? Dad, you told me you thought I looked like you were driving me to my execution. We both knew it was a proposal, yet that's how you thought I looked. And somehow that didn't make you question anything? I couldn't tell you if I was okay or not. Again, you didn't question it. I asked you if there was another option to answering him! Again, you just told me to go ahead. To listen to what Blaine had to say.

“Isabelle didn't tell me what to do, she told me to listen to myself! She reminded me that I do have options. I'm the one choosing which one to take, and that's going to the airport and then back home.

“Now, are you going to drive me?”

Kurt waits for an answer. Once he finds himself beginning to count seconds he gives up. He walks over to the car, grabs his bags, tells his dad he'll call once he lands and starts walking. His blood is pounding in his ears, to the point where it’s all he hears, and he just. Keeps. Walking. Reaching the end of the driveway makes it feel better, but not safe, not yet. He takes the first corner, twists through the sidestreets with hurried steps, looking for a place to hide and make a call.

Ten minutes later he’s in the back of a cab, heading towards the airport, with his phone turned off and his heart in his throat, feeling utterly, heartbreakingly relieved.

~The End ~

[dsoe-masteroftheheavenlyyard]

Chapter 4–The Heroes; Scene 4

master of the heavenly yard pages 79-89

Eventually everyone had opened their eyes, and were all gathered around Arth in the Hall of Mirrors.

They all wound up discussing what they would do now.

“—I think we ought to keep watch here,” Prime Minister Minis declared openly, his expression reserved. “At this point in time we are outnumbered by our enemy. And when the main unit is added on to it—Not to mention, they are people from a time period much later than ours, and obviously they are highly skilled with weapons. By contrast, there are…many people here who know nothing of combat. We have no hope of victory.”

“Even so, that doesn’t mean we can just leave the princess in danger, yannow!”

The one who countered him there was Chartette, who had been a maid attendant on the princess.

“But she’s not necessarily in danger, is she?” said Retasan Fortress’ commander Lily as she walked forward.

“Obviously she is, yannow!”

“But Riliane has died and become a soul just like the rest of us. It’s not like they can do anything further to her now, right?”

“—I’m not so sure.” The person who interjected there was the head maid, and also one of the Three Heroes, Mariam. “Those men outside must know that too. And yet the fact that they’re chasing the princess despite that…Perhaps they know some method to kill souls further, or even have them erased.”

“Does such a method exist, Mariam?” asked Riliane’s mother, Queen Anne.

“I don’t know…But there was once someone who had the ability to freely transfer souls. If that person were involved—”

“Who—do you mean?”

“…Abyss I.R. The woman who killed my parents and raised me to be an assassin.”

The moment that name left Mariam’s lips, a commotion began among several people.

“You’re the adopted daughter of Abyss I.R. …This is first I’m hearing of it.” Germaine didn’t hide her surprise.

“Yes. This is the first time I’ve told that to anyone—Or rather, I myself had lost my memories of it before. How ironic that I finally remember now after becoming a spirit. …Well, that aside. Whatever the case, though she may be a disembodied soul we can’t definitively say that she’s safe.”

“To put it another way,” For the first time Arth, who had been quietly listening to everyone else’s opinions, opened his mouth. “If we were to face off against those others…there’s a non-zero chance that we will be erased ourselves.”

An unpleasant silence fell over the room.

“…Can I say one thing?” cut in a bespectacled man with his hand raised.

“And you are?” Arth asked his name.

“This is our first time meeting, Your Majesty. I am the merchant, Keel Freezis.”

“I see. …So then, do you have a suggestion?”

“The weapons that the troops outside carry—Judging by appearance, I would think those are guns. As Prime Minister Minis just said, they are most likely much more powerful than the matchlock weapons we are more familiar with.”

“That seems certain, assuming that the flow of time is consistent with advancements in technology.”

“Right. But, as they are also spirits like us, then it follows that those weapons are illusions borne out of their imagination. Just like this palace, and the clothes we’re all wearing. So then—what if we also created guns like the ones they’re carrying with our ‘imagination’? If we do, we’ll be on even ground in the way of weapons, at least.”

“Hmm…Good point.”

But someone appeared who went against Keel’s view.

“I think that might be tricky, Papa.”

Unexpectedly enough, it was Keel’s own daughter, the novelist Yukina.

“Why is that, Yukina?”

“It’s true that we souls are able to create things that used to exist on the ground world by using our imaginations. But…after doing some experimenting, it seems there are limits to it.”

“Limits?”

“Yeah. It’s simple. The things we can create—are only that which the soul in question had knowledge and experience with when they were alive. For example…I’ll show you right now—Hah!”

The moment Yukina called out, she was holding a rifle in her hand.

It was exactly like those of the Tasan army soldiers in design.

“And now, with this gun…Miss Lily, could you go stand at that wall over there?”

“…? Sure, like this?”

Immediately after Lily went to stand at the wall at Yukina’s instruction—

“--!? Ow!”

--Yukina aimed the gun at her and fired.

“…As you can see, while in appearance it may resemble a modern weapon, its power is only that of the matchlock variety from our time. So it doesn’t have much point to—”

“Just wait one second, Yukina! Why did you fire it at me!?” Lily yelled at Yukina, clutching her abdomen with both hands.

“Oh, well I just, I figured you were the most sturdy out of everyone here…”

“There are plenty of other tough guys around here! And ya didn’t need to shoot at anyone in the first place!”

There was a murmur of laughter among those watching the two argue.

…But it quickly came to a stop.

Ultimately, they still hadn’t come to a resolution.

“…”

It seemed that Arth was thinking about something as he remained silent—

Eventually he spoke out to the crowd, appearing to have made up his mind, “As you can expect—I cannot leave my daughter in danger. I intend to do battle to stop those soldiers. …The kingdom of Lucifenia is no more, and we are little more than lifeless souls. There are many among you who once served Lucifenia—who served directly under me—but there is no need to observe that any longer. I wish only for those who…want to protect Riliane to fight alongside me.”

Everyone listened to Arth speak in silence.

But…no one immediately raised their hand at his suggestion.

“My King. I’m sorry, but…I dunno if you understand our feelings here.”

A large, one-eyed man took a step forward from among the assembled crowd.

“York…It’s been a while.”

“--! You remember a lowly soldier like me?”

“How could I forget? You sustained that wound on your eye protecting me.”

“There was that. But that’s a thing of the past now. Yes, the long ago past…My king, we have--grown too used to peace. We died and went to heaven, and in that garden of Champs-Élysées we have led lives without strife. Though you ask us to fight again, this late in our existence…I just can’t get on board.”

“…I do understand. It’s true there is something about that place that puts one’s heart at ease. It felt very comfortable for me as well.”

“That ain’t all. Well, it might be a bit off for me to say despite coming to this banquet all nonchalantly like this, but…You know what your daughter did, don’t you? For the people of Lucifenia, Riliane was nothing less…than a ‘Daughter of Evil’. I haven’t got the heart to hate her after so long…but I also can’t bring myself to wanna fight on behalf of that princess if it means puttin’ myself in danger. And I wager that’s true of everyone else here.”

“…”

Arth knew that York didn’t say those things out of any malice.

He had done nothing more than air his honest opinion after thinking on the matter himself.

“Does this mean my daughter’s…Riliane’s sins are unforgiveable, after all?”

“Those men outside called the princess a ‘criminal’, didn’t they? You might not wanna hear it, but maybe they’re right—”

At that moment, Germaine—who had been listening in from behind—whispered:

.

“Her sins can never be forgiven—Is that truly so?”

.

York turned around.

“Germaine…”

“Riliane did commit sins. But—she was also given an equivalent ‘punishment’.”

“You mean that she was beheaded on the guillotine?”

“…Yes.”

“Germaine…You think that I don’t know?”

“Huh?”

“—We executed a fake. Someone else was executed standing in for the princess.”

“Yes…So you knew.”

“The revolution had succeeded, and for a time peace had come to Lucifenia. That fact alone was enough for me, so I never spoke out about it.”

Just as York said, the person who was executed in the town square after the revolution was not Riliane, but her brother Allen.

“True, she survived after the revolution…But, York. ‘Punishment’ doesn’t just refer to dying for what you’ve done. Rather, sometimes living on is more painful than death.”

“…”

“I won’t ask you to understand. …I’m sure everyone else has their own thoughts on it. But I, at the very least—I don’t think we can just abandon Riliane.”

Germaine drew her sword, and held it aloft before Arth.

“Your Majesty. I, Germaine Avadonia…Do hereby vow to offer my sword for the princess of Lucifenia, Riliane.”

Amidst the crowd’s murmurs, Arth said to Germaine with a resolute expression, “…Thank you, Germaine.”

--There was someone who stood apart from the crowd, watching this sight with a wine bottle in hand.

He threw the bottle in his hand to the floor, gently lifted his hands, and started slowly clapping.

Clap, clap, clap.

“—That was wonderful. What a heroic young lady. Wish I could see her father’s face right now. …I bet he’s quite handsome, and the best swordsman in the world, besides.”

Germaine, and everyone else, turned to look at him.

“…Dad…”

The swordsman clad in red armor, Leonhart Avadonia, walked forward until eventually he stood by his daughter.

“That’s right, Arth. Lucifenia’s legendary king, and the leader of the Revolutionary army. Add on to that the red lion knight, the strongest of the Three Heroes. With the three of us, I’m sure we’ll manage somehow against an army that size.”

“Leon—”

“Oh, but it’s not just three of you, is it?”

Queen Anne, who had been silent all this time at Arth’s side.

She slowly stood before Leonhart.

“Naturally, We’re coming along too.”

She took her folding fan in hand and raised it above Germaine’s sword.

“Sigh…Good grief, I guess there’s no helping it.” As Mariam sighed, at some point her maid outfit changed to her battle uniform. “Though I’d be more reassured if Elluka were here…Honestly, I wonder where she’s loitering around now.”

As she grumbled to herself, she held her knife toward the king.

“W-waaaait a minute!” Chartette cried as she dashed up to Arth and the others, carrying a sword so enormous that it was completely at odds for a maid to be wielding it. “I was planning to help from the beginning, yannow! I just—got caught up in the mood around here!”

“Chartette…We’re grateful to you, but could you put down that gargantuan sword? It’s poking into my shoulder.”

“Ah…Sorry, Mister Leon.”

After that, several other people there began to step forward in twos and threes.

Some were in high spirits, and some were hesitant—but they vowed to join in the fight.

.

--Watching all of this, Keel murmured, “I wonder if they were moved by Germaine’s words, or if they’ve simply been swept up in mob mentality…Well now, what’s wrong?”

As he spoke, he glanced over at Yukina to his right.      

…Even just looking at her from the side, he could see that the eyes of his beloved daughter were openly shining.

“Such a dramatic development…I have no choice but to join in too!”

The moment she said that, she sprinted up to the king and the others, carrying her notebook in hand.

“…Oh dear. I guess I can’t just run off on my own now.”

As Keel stared on in bafflement, a hand fell on his left shoulder.

“Keel, you oughtta stay here. You’ll just get in the way.”

“What an unkind remark—Kyle. They need to have at least one person who’s got brains, don’t they? …Even you, albeit fairly skilled yourself, are far from the level of the Three Heroes. Would you fair alright?”

“Ha—”

The blue-haired man gave a bold smile.

“What’s this? You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“Yukina gave me a good idea earlier. I guarantee it. We—will win this fight.”

“A guarantee from the king of Marlon, huh? How dependable.”

The two of them faced each other, and then, both smiling, walked up to the front as well.

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