#night swan is a bad mum

[the-triggered-lizard]

You may take away everything you've given me, but my hollow body will remain standing and not bow down to your power.

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[lovelytsunoda]

santa stole my girlfriend // callum ilott

summary: his childhood best friend is back home for the holidays. they've always been close, and so many people have assumed they were a couple. but they're not. they were only ever just friends. so why does callum hate her new boyfriend so much?

pairing: callum ilott x female! reader

warnings: cheating (but we're gonna overlook it because it means callum gets a happy ending), the fact that the boyfriend's name is topper should be warning enough. implied smut, forced proximity, a couple top gun references because who would i be if i didn't?

CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. CHRISTMAS MORNING

she was too warm, it was the first thing she noticed. but the sheets that were wound so tightly around her body weren’t made of soft warm flannel.

they were cotton.

they weren’t her sheets. this couldn’t be her bed.

she pinched the bridge if her nose, listening for the telltale hum of the radiator in her childhood bedroom. but she couldn’t find it.

this wasn’t her room.

her head was throbbing, the way it only ever did when she’d had vodka. the roof of her mouth felt like cotton, and her limbs felt heavy.

the sleeve of a long shirt was pulled over her hand when she sat up, head in her hands, the pudge of her stomach pressing against the sheet that was tightly wound around her.

the shirt smelled odd. almost like cologne.

and it wasn’t the cologne that topper wore, and this was not toppers shirt.

she cursed, the mere motion making her head scream in pain as she clutched her temples, nails digging into her skin. she didn’t know where she was, but her legs ached the way they did after she and topper spent a day in the sheets.

oh god.

had she cheated on her doting boyfriend?

she was such an awful person.

he was going to leave her.

her life was over, she had just ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her.

she turned her head, and when she saw the body lying next to her, her morning bleariness ebbed away, and she remembered what she’d done the night before. how transformative the night had been.

she had slept with callum ilott, his porcelain skin shining under the morning light as he fingers caressed his spine. she’d wanted to sleep with him since she was seventeen and he was eighteen.

the timing had never been right, they had always ever just been friends.

until Christmas Eve, 2023.

CAMBRIDGE ENGLAND. CHRISTMAS EVE, 20 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED.

only douchebags choose to be known by the name ‘topper’. or at least, that was what callum thought as he watched topper and y/n in her family’s kitchen, giggling to each other and exchanging soft kisses over a plate of raw gingerbread.

its not that topper was a bad guy. he treated her well, and was a genuinely decent guy for a man that wore polo shirts and bvlgari cologne. oh, and did callum mention that he worked at the london stock exchange? well, he should have, because topper couldn’t go 24 hours without mentioning it.

by all accounts, he was a lovely guy. but there was a bad feeling in callum’s gut whenever he saw the two of them together.

which was odd, because he hasn’t wanted to kiss y/n y/l/n since he was fifteen.

“callum, can you get the case of sparkling water from the cold room? top and I have to help mum in the kitchen.” y/n’s voice was like a swan song as she smiled at callum.

they had grown up with each other, the two youngest kids on the block (at least, until you hit the three month olds, who all seemed to have been scarily born around he same time) and they seemed to have been drawn to each other. awkwardly enough, a skinny, socially awkward gp3 driving callum had been her first kiss when they were in secondary school.

“yeah, no worries. do you want me to check for cranberry sauce while I’m down there? I know your grandmother can’t eat Christmas dinner without them.”

“yes, please!” she gushed, shooing topper out of the way so she could wrestle the oven open. “I almost forgot, and you know what nan’s like. if I have to run and get some, I’d rather it be now than on Christmas Day.”

callum politely excuses himself from the marble kitchen, fucking into the hallway and down the large spiral staircase to the basement. the cold room was exactly as it sounded: a cold concrete room lined in metal shelves. a glorified pantry, and not quite a fridge.

he slipped into the adidas flip flops that had been left in front of the doorway, pulling the chain in the middle of the ceiling to turn in the singular light bulb.

he hated himself.

why couldn’t he just be happy for her?

why did he find himself awake at night thinking about how perfect her thighs looked in those tight flared jeans she wore out in Indiana when she came to watch him run the 500. or the surge of something in his heart when she’d pretended to be his girlfriend so that santino would leave her alone.

why did he get hot and bothered thinking about her laugh when he was taking a cold shower?

she was happy with topper for god’s sake, and he should be happy for her.

because they were friends.

“fuck!”

what was he doing? he should be happy for her.

so why wasn't he? and thats how he found himself reaching for the case of sparkling water, before he took the last remaining can of cranberry suace and hiding it inside a cardboard box full of granola bars.

he had no idea why he did it, to be fair.

back in the kitchen, he put the case of water on the island, waving y/n over. "hey, there's no cranberry sauce downstairs. i can run out and get some, if you want."

y/n sighed, clearly annoyed. "shit, yeah. can i come with? i need to get out of this fucking house before i lose my mind, and the weather outside is terrible, i can't let you drive in it alone."

"will topper be fine here alone?" callum raised an eyebrow. "it's unlike you to leave someone else in charge of christmas cookies."

"oh, shut up! my dad's in the garage, topper can call for help if he needs it. he's a grown man.'

"great!" callum chirped, reaching for his car keys. "let's take my car. the g-wagon has better snow clearance than your kia."

"um, my kia soul is a great fucking car, thank you very much!"

CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. CHRISTMAS MORNING

it felt so wrong to feel so content, in bed with her best friend. topper must have called her so many times last night, so why did she never answer him?

oh yeah, because she was too busy crying callum's name as he made her see stars. she settled back into the bed, burrowing under the covers and resting her cold nose on his shoulder. callum's angel eyes fluttered open, his nimble fingers coming to caress her skin.

"you're real." he mumbled, eyes still half shut. "you're actually here, last night actually happened."

despite it all, she felt a wave of calmness wash over her as she linked her hand with callum's, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"that it did. if the ache between my thighs is any indication." her voice was raspy and dry, not sexy like his was.

"how much do you remember."

uh, wow. where to start? she remembered callum's lips on her throat, his warm fingers on her breasts. the way she screamed his name as she clenched around him, his lips meeting hers in a sloppy kiss, her fingernails scarping the muscles on and around his shoulder blades.

"all the best parts." she settled with, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"so you don't remember top gunning me in the bar?"

she closed her eyes, trying to hide her face as she remembered what she did. "oh god, i was hoping you'd say that was a bad dream!"

callum laughed, sending her stomach into a spiral. "you kidding? i thought it was sexy."

CAMBRIDGE ENGLAND. CHRISTMAS EVE, 15 HOURS BEFORE THE INCIDENT THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED.

the g-wagon might have had good snow clearance, but neither of them counted on the blizzard that they'd run into after they left the cambridge morrisons, the expensive car getting buried snugly under a snowdrift.

"we were inside for half a bloody hour!" she whined. it was supposed to be quickly in and out, and then back to the house. but of course, trying to buy cranberry sauce on christmas eve was damn near impossible, and they'd had to try multiple grocers before the morrisons finally had two cans left.

"i'm sure it will let up." callum tried to soothe her, resisting the urge to run a hand up and down her back.

only topper was allowed to do that now.

there was a pub across the street, and they did the only thing that made sense at the time, ducking in for a drink. the bar was packed, and patrons were being advised to book room upstairs in the bed and breakfast since the storm was just supposed to get worse.

"and we were all dreaming of a white christmas." the barmaid scoffed, setting the drinks down in front of them. "we've got plenty of room if you need it. i doubt that g-wagon of yours is going anywhere any time soon."

the pub was a cozy place, very old-fashioned with a grand wooden piano in the corner and floral wallpaper above the wainscotting. a flat screen above the slow-burning fireplace played a rerun of the previous champion's league season, assuming that most patrons had been too drunk to remember the original game, or realize that the game was a replay.

a group of middle age drunkards who were likely divorced and only had each other to spend christmas with (harsh, callum knows) sat around the piano as the middle one slammed his fingers down on the keys, the entire group belting out 'great balls of fire'.

"oh god." she sighed. "i fucking loved that movie."

"past tense?" callum raised an eyebrow "please, we all know 'top gun' is still your favourite."

"topper won't watch it with me." she sighed, taking a sip of her drink. "he gets self conscious during the volleyball scene. or any of the shower scenes."

"now that's just stupid." now, with half a drink in his veins, something in callum's brain told him now was the time to be brutally honest with his best friend. how badly could it go? "what, is he jealous to tom cruise or something?"

she laughed, running a hand through his hair. "worse. val kilmer. as if i'd leave topper for tom fucking kazansky or something. top is such a sweetie, and he makes me feel so calm. but sometimes he really gets on my fucking nerves."

callum chuckled, tapping his fingers against his pint glass "but you don't even like guys like iceman. you go for the golden retrievers. like goose."

"shut up." she laughed. "top knows he's not super built in the chest and it makes him self conscious, so when he sees me drooling over val kilmer's abs, it gives him a complex. but even val kilmer doesn't look like val kilmer any more. thats just how life geos."

"you know val kilmer had throat cancer, right?"

"that's not the point here, callum." she shook her head. "you know the scene where meg ryan throws herself at anthony edwards and proclaims to the world 'goose you big stud, take me to bed or leave me forever'? i tried that on topper and he looked at me like i'd grown a second head!"

and now, despite his best efforts, all he could picture in his head was his best friend in black lingerie, reciting that every same top gun line while she held on to the lapels of his shirt. although, this was less goose and carol and more kelly mcgillis and tom cruise. yeah, you know the scene.

he was going to hell, and he couldn't even find the energy to be upset about it.

the men at the piano were still singing, launching into the song a second time as if they hadn't already played it twice. against her better judgment, y/n found herself singing along, belting out the words as if it was second nature.

and despite his own good judgment, callum was so taken by the sight that he couldn't resist dragging her to her feet, throwing an arm around her shoulder as they both sang the chorus.

"goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"

it was like something in the air had shifted when she looked over at callum, a twinkle in her eyes as she bit her tongue, appreciating the way he filled out his black cable knit, dark jeans hugging his lower half.

god, she'd wanted this forever.

she'll never know why she did it, digging her fingers into his sweater and tilting her head to look up at him, the words on the tip of her tongue.

"callum, you big stud. take me to bed or lose me forever."

and he did, scooping her up in his arms, and checking three or four times to make sure she was really sober enough to want this. and once she confirmed that the one vodka she'd downed wasn't enough to make her do anything stupid (well, more stupid than cheating on her boyfriend) and that she still had the proper capacity to consent, and thought callum had about being a gentleman and offering to sleep on the floor was out the window.

CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. CHRISTMAS MORNING

they lay in silence, thinking about everything that had happened the night before, watching the small motes of dust fall from the ceiling fan, lit up by the light shining through the lace curtains.

the scary thing was that she didn't feel any regret. and she knew that was wrong, because she had literally just cheated on topper with the man she'd been in love with since she was sixteen and knew what love was.

yeah, she felt guilty about hurting topper, because he was such a good man, but he wasn't the man for her. callum was.

"where do we go from here?" she heard her voice crack, and prayed that callum couldn't hear the tremble in her words.

"hey, hey, look at me." callum soothed, rubbing circles on the inside of her wrist. "i know you must be thinking that you're an awful person. but matters of the heart are fucked, trust me, i know firsthand. and if we hadn't been so pigheaded, maybe you never even would have met topper, and we would have been together already. but i promise you, we can sort this out."

"what do i tell top?"

"we can figure that out later. but right now? we're going to dig my truck out of the snow, drive home, and make cranberry sauce for your nan."

she leaned over, kissing him softly, the ends of her mouth curving up into a smile. "i don't know what i'd do without you, callum. i need you."

"i know, sweetheart. i need you too, that's why i stuck around, innit?"

"shut up." she giggled, gently hitting his chest. "otherwise i might take you to bed again."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @httpiastri @thatsdemko @libraryofloveletters @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck

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[amberthefantasy]

Starlight

Chapter One: Forks

I was tired, I’d spent the entire night packing for the move to Forks, after spending months procrastinating it. In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, the small town of Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It was to this small town that me and my older sister Bella would be moving to to live with our father, Charlie. We hadn’t been there for three years, after Bella had refused to keep going to Forks during the summer and requested that our father come to us in California and then Arizona. 

Now, Bella and I had decided to move there for the sake of our mother, something Bella wasn’t very pleased with but I found fine. I loved my mother, I really did, but Renée could be… erratic and childlike in a way that I found annoying. “Bella,” our Mum said to my sister, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving forward to board the plane waiting for us. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to go,” my sister lied, she’d always been a bad liar, though our mother never seemed to notice, “we both do.” That was true, I did want to go, I liked Forks. Rainy weather had always been my favourite, the heat of Arizona was stifling and I missed my father. 

“Tell Charlie I said hi.”

“We will.”

“I’ll see you both soon,” Renée insisted, taking my hand in her own as well, “you can come home whenever you want-I’ll come right back as soon as you need me.”

But we could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

“Don’t worry about us,” I urged, “it’ll be great. I love you, Mum.”

She smiled sadly and hugged us both tightly for a minute, then we got on the plane, and she was gone.

Bella and I sat in silence for most of the four-hour flight to Seattle, and for the hour-long flight to Port Angeles on a much smaller plane. Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo, a book I’d read twice before and enjoyed every time, was gripped tightly in my hand during the entire flight, Bella had Wuthering Heights in hers and we left each other to our respective books. 

When we landed in Port Angeles, Dad was waiting for us by the exit gate. “Dad!” I called, rushing over to give him a hug. 

He let out a loud chuckle and hugged me tightly, “Hey Lizzie, how is my little duck?”

“Good now I’m out of the heat and back near the rain,” I smiled.

Dad laughed and ruffled my hair before turning to Bella, “it’s good to see you, Bells.” She stumbled slightly and he reached out to steady her. “You haven’t changed much. How’s Renée?”

“Mum’s fine. It’s good to see you too, Dad.”

We walked out into the rain that sprinkled down from the clouds that sat above Port Angeles. Dad led us to his cruiser. This was expected, Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. It was part of the reason Bella had insisted on buying a car, she didn’t want to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. I was the opposite, I loved driving around with Dad, people got out of the way. 

I slipped into the back of the car as Dad and Bella strapped themselves into the front. “I found a good car for you, really cheap,” Dad announced as he twisted the key in the ignition.

“What kind of car?” Bella asked. I shimmied down in the seat and pulled my book back out, I was almost finished and couldn't stop now.

Every now and then I glanced up and out the window, Washington really was a beautiful place. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. It was gorgeous, god had I missed this. 

Eventually, just as I finished up my book, we made it to dad’s. He still lived in the small, three-bedroom house that he’d bought just after I was born. Those were the last days of his marriage to Mum, the few months after my birth that they’d lived in this house together. The yard in front of the small white house was tidier than the last time we’d been here three years ago, Dad must’ve had time off to clean it up. “Hey Dad, can you help me with my bags, I brought more than Bella,” I asked as we reached the trunk where we’d thrown our bags. 

“Sure thing Liz,” Dad said, leaning over to grab a couple of my bags.

Luckily, Bella had brought so few bags that it took only one trip to take all our things into the house. I got the smallest bedroom, it used to be an office but Dad had changed it into a third bedroom for me when I grew too old to share a room with my older sister. It was basically the same as it had been since I was four, lilac walls with silver stars painted near the ceiling, and matching silver lace curtains on the windows. Charlie had bought a small wooden desk and put it in the corner, upon which sat a small second-hand computer. There was one small full bathroom at the top of the stairs, which we would have to share, but there was a small room with a toilet and sink downstairs, so hopefully we wouldn’t have too many issues.

Dad left me to get settled, it was one of the great things about him, he didn’t hover. Unlike our mother, who was constantly hovering and fretting over us. I had a moment to simply look out the window into the forest behind our house, just as pretty as the rest of the scenery in Forks. It would be nice to sit in the window seat and read next to this view. Sighing, I began to sort through my clothes and thought over what was coming tomorrow morning. Forks High School has a total of only three hundred and fifty-seven— now fifty-nine— students; there was more than that in my sophomore class back in Arizona. All of the kids here had grown up together- their grandparents had been toddlers together- me and Bella would be the new weird city kids… not fun. 

I paused in front of the full-length mirror on the front of my wardrobe. I looked terrible, that was the only way to describe it, there were bags under my eyes and my dark hair looked messy and unkempt. Had I even bothered to brush it before we left? I didn’t remember. Once again I heaved a sigh and exited my room to head to Bella’s. She was standing near her own window, staring down at the street. “Hey Bells,” I said as I flung my arm over her shoulder. My slightly tanned skin contrasted against her paler tone. She’d taken after our father in that regard, the paler skin in comparison to our mothers and mine. 

“Hey Lizzie, all settled in?” Bella asked, turning her face to look at me.

“Yep, but we do need to go shopping,” I smirked as Bella’s face dropped, “and no, you can’t get out of it.”She grumbled to herself but nodded.

The sound of a car pulling up and doors opening made me and Bella glance back down at the road. Someone was getting out of a pale red truck below us. “Well, let’s go see who that is,” I said, dragging Bella along with me as I went outside.

---

Outside two new people stood besides Dad. Both had dark tanned skin and long black hair. The older, who I presumed was the father of the second, was seated in a wheelchair. “Bella, Lizzie, you remember Billy Black?” Dad asked, pointing to the man who was sitting in a wheelchair beside him.

“Yeah, you’re looking good,” Bella said with a smile.

“Well, I’m still dancing,” Billy smiled, reaching out to shake both of our hands, “I’m glad you two are finally here, Charlie hasn’t shut up about it since you told him you were coming.”

Dad rolled his eyes, “alright keep exaggerating I’ll roll you into the mud.”

“Or I’ll ram you in the ankles,” Billy laughed as he began to push himself towards Dad and the two started to play fight. Children.

The younger one, who looked like he might be my age now I could see him clearly, walked closer to us. “Hi umm, I’m Jacob,” he said.

“Yeah, no I… I remember you,” I said as the memories began to come back, “we uh, we used to make mudpies when we were little, remember Bells?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Bella nodded, “are they always like this?”

“It’s getting worse with old age,” Jacob joked and I let out a soft chuckle.

“So what do ya think?” Dad asked as he walked back over and placed his hand on the truck beside us.

“What?” Bella asked.

“Your homecoming present.”

“This is the car?” Bella asked, excitement lighting up her eyes for the first time since we left the house.

“Just bought it off Billy here,” Dad said, Billy muttered an agreement.

“I totally rebuilt the engine,” Jacob added. 

Bella let out a small laugh, “Come on. Oh my gosh. This is perfect, are you joking?” She opened the driver’s side door as Jacob walked around to access the other side.

“So…” I turned to Dad, “do I get a homecoming present too?”

“Of course, it just hasn’t arrived yet,” Dad said, putting his hand on my shoulder, “you’ll have to wait a little longer my little duck.” I pouted but nodded.

---

“Hurry up Lizzie, we’ll be late,” Bella called. I threw the jacket I’d picked out to wear that day, a simple black leather jacket, over the pale blue shirt I was wearing and hurried down the stairs. Bella was already standing at the door, with an annoyed expression on her face. I muttered an apology as we left the house and got into her new car.

Finding the school wasn’t difficult, the sign labelling it as ‘Forks High School’ told Bella exactly where to stop. At first glance it was not obvious it was a school. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-coloured bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs that it was hard to see the size at first. Finally, a school without fences and security guards. Bella parked in front of the building marked FRONT OFFICE saying that we should get directions instead of driving around in the rain like idiots.

The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large pots that brought the green from outside in. The room was cut in half by a large counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly-coloured flyers taped to its front. There were three seats behind the counter, one of which had a red-headed woman sitting in it. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“We’re the Swans,” Bella informed her and recognition instantly lit up her eyes.

“Of course,” she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. “I have your schedules right here, and maps of the school,” she brought several sheets to the counter to show us.

She went through Bella’s classes first, highlighting as she went, then she turned to me. Talking me through my classes and highlighting the best path to each one. Finally she handed Bella and I slips to have each teacher sign, which we were to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled and wished us well. Bella drove us around to the real parking place and we separated to head to our classes. 

My first class was science, which I found easy enough. The teacher was a middle-aged dark-skinned woman who smiled when I handed her the slip, “welcome to Forks Ms. Swan.”

I smiled and said thanks before she directed me to an empty seat near the back of the class. A few moments before the bell rang to signify the start of class another girl entered the room and sat in the seat next to me. “Hi!” she greeted with a smile that lit up her green eyes, “I’m Sophie, you’re Elizabeth Swan right?”

“Lizzie,” I corrected, “I prefer Lizzie.”

“Cool-” Sophie went to keep talking but the teacher, who I remembered was called Ms. Taupe, started speaking. It was all pretty simple stuff that I’d already learnt in Arizona earlier in the year, so I allowed myself to zone out and begin the plan the rest of my day.

Eventually, when the bell rang and I began to pack up Sophie spoke again. “So, what class is next?”

“Uh…” I looked down at the list in front of me, “English, with Mr. Mason, building 3.”

“Me too! I’ll show you the way,” Sophie smiled and took my arm to lead me out. Okay, she was… friendly. As we walked I noticed that everyone was watching me, Bella was gonna hate this. She always hated when people paid attention to her, it wasn’t my favourite thing ever but I thought that she might have had more of a mental issue with it than I did. 

“So, why’d you move to Forks?” Sophie asked after a moment of walking in silence.

“My mum remarried and wanted to go on the road with her new husband, Bella and I thought she’d prefer to not have to worry about us,” I replied.

“Bella… that’s your older sister right?”

“Yeah, she’s a junior.”

“My brother’s a junior too! His name is Eric. Well, here we are,” Sophie opened the door and let me walk in first. This teacher, a tall, balding man, also smiled when I handed him my sleep and introduced himself before signalling for me to take a seat. Again this class was simple and full of information I already knew. He talked about Shakespeare’s ‘The Merchant of Venice’, a book that Bella had made me read already. I looked at the reading list the teacher had given me, I hadn’t read them all but I knew that Bella had and she must have copies already. I already recognized some of the faces from the previous class and when this one ended and Sophie, who had again offered to show me to the next class, led me to Government with Mr. Jefferson I recognized even more faces.

It seemed that Sophie and I shared an almost exact schedule because she also had American History with me and had a muttered conversation about teachers and other students during the teacher's long speech. We walked to the cafeteria together for lunch too and, when we both leant forward to pick up a book she dropped, I noticed that our hair was a similar dark shade. 

When we reached the cafeteria I spotted Bella sitting at a table surrounded by people I didn’t know. When she spotted me her eyes instantly lit up and her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Hey Bells, how’s your day been?” I asked once I slipped into an empty chair next to her.

“Good, uhh… this is my sister Lizzie,” she introduced me to her… friends. 

“Hi Lizzie, I’m Angela,” one of the girls introduced herself, she was more tanned than me and had long pale brown hair that flowed down her back. I waved and she started to introduce the rest of the people at the table. There was Jessica, a girl with shoulder-length brown hair, who smiled when Angela said her name. Mike, a boy with blonde hair who was already staring starry-eyed at Bella, and another boy who was staring at Bella that Angela introduced as Eric. “Eric?” I asked, “Sophie’s brother?”

“You know Sophie?” Eric asked.

“We have class together-” I began, before I was interrupted by Sophie herself dropping down in a seat beside her brother and shoving his shoulder which caused him to start complaining. 

“Who are they?” Bella’s voice cut through the siblings bickering.

I looked up to see who she was talking about and as soon as my eyes landed on them my head began to ache. Not now. I didn’t need one of my migraines to start now. I hadn’t had issues with headaches for months and now it was starting again. I managed to blink through the pain and look at the people Bella had asked about.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where we sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren’t talking but just sitting without eating, looking away from each other, away from the other students, away from everything but not towards anything in particular as far as I could tell. They didn’t look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big- muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy bronze-coloured hair. He was more boyish than the others, looking more like a student than the others. The two girls looked like almost opposites. There was a blonde one who seemed to be tall, her hair was golden, gently waving down her back. The short girl was pixielike, thin, with small features. Her hair was deep black, short and pointing in every direction.

“That’s Alice, Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. They’re Doctor and Mrs. Cullen’s foster kids,” Jessica said under her breath.

“They’re very… nice looking,” Bella said, seeming to struggle with a description.

“Yes!” Jessica agreed with a giggle, “they’re all together though- Emmett and Rosalie, Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together,” her voice was shocked and somewhat disgusted but I couldn’t fault her for it. That was odd.

“They’re a bit old for foster kids,” I cut in.

“They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She’s their aunt or something like that, a young one too”

“It’s really kinda nice, for them to take care of so many kids if they’re so young,” I said, tuning Jessica out as she replied with an affirmative and then began talking with Bella about when the Cullens moved here. One of them, the lanky one, had glanced at us and then quickly looked away but he looked back every now and then as I watched them. After a few minutes of Bella and Jessica talking and me watching, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful- even the big brawny one. It was kind of unsettling to watch. I watched them leave and stayed thinking about them until the bell rang for class.

Starlight masterlist / post masterlist

[theautisticbarbie]

A Bird of Praise

Act I

Chapter II: Familiar but Alien

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Word count: 2,882

This is a longer one but the plot thickens! Side note, thesee credit videos are a great way to know who appears in the chapter.

Warnings for this chapter: seizures, implied medical trauma (boy Tara does not want to go to the hospital), school bullies, eugenics (a bully loudly suggests Tara should be euthanised), parental emotional abuse (Tara’s mum SUCKS), insomnia, canon character deaths (Barb’s death plus Benny’s death which was a murder staged to look like a suicide so warning for that)

Sam and Gabby being the most wholesome couple ever is literally getting me through this.

Chapter summary: Will is missing and Tara’s life almost instantaneously starts to unravel in the most horrific way, forcing her to use psychic powers that she had long ago vowed to abandon.

Tara’s suspicions were confirmed in the worst possible way when she decided, instead of going home to go to Castle Byers to see if there was a chance he might be there and she was just being paranoid.

Tara felt mildly dizzy throughout her walk there and simply attributed it to being tired from the panic brought on by her nocturnal spook and the fact that between the school and the fortress, it was, admittedly, a bit of a trek.

By the time Tara got to the fort, she was absolutely winded. “Will?” she asked, peering inside.

No dice.

Tara was startled by the sudden hand on her shoulder.

“Jonathan,” she sighed in relief. “You frightened me.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, probably more interrogatively than he intended.

“This is gonna sound so crazy!” Tara blurted out, flustered. “But I had a dream last night that something bad happened to Will and I just wanted to see if he was okay.”

“You didn’t hear?” Jonathan asked.

“Hear what?”

“Will is missing! We’ve been all over trying to find him!”

“You were supposed to pick him up!” Joyce called, her tone accusatory as she bee lined towards the small brunette.

“I went to pick him up!” Tara blurted out defensively. “When I got to the house, Mrs. Wheeler said he already left!”

Joyce sighed and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, honey. This isn’t your fault.”

Tara pushed her glasses up wiped the tears from her face. “He never told Mrs. Wheeler that I was supposed to pick him up.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Jonathan sighed.

“Do you think Mike, Lucas and Dustin knew? That he was planning to sneak his own way back home?” Tara asked.

“What happened in your dream?” Jonathan asked, in an offer to change the subject and perhaps grasp at straws as to where Will could be.

“You really wanna know?”

“It might help us find him.”

Tara took a deep breath. “It’s kinda complicated. It involves Swan Lake. Do you know about that?”

“Not really. I’ve heard of it, but I’m not too familiar with the actual story.”

“It’s about a princess who gets turned into a swan by an evil warlock. In my dream, I was the princess. When I was about to be turned into the swan, I saw Will. Rothbart, the warlock, dragged him away into some awful dark dimension.”

Tara looked around. “It was… familiar, but alien.”

“That narrows it down,” Jonathan quipped sarcastically.

Tara let out an exasperated sigh. “What I mean is what it looked exactly like this, but darker… and more eerie… and empty…”

Tara shook her head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m not making any sense.”

Suddenly her head started to pound. She grimaced and put hands to either side of her temple.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Are you okay?” Jonathan asked, placing hands on her shoulders.

Tara was so stunned by the sudden onset that she couldn’t communicate that she was having a really bad migraine.

Jonathan sat her down on a tree stump. “What’s wrong?”

“Migraine,” Tara was finally able to blurt out.

“Hang on, honey! I think I have some aspirin in my purse,” Joyce said rifling through it.

Things took a turn for active panic when Tara fell over and started convulsing.

Joyce and Jonathan panicked, having absolutely no idea what to do in this situation.

Thankfully, the seizure was brief. When she came to her senses, Joyce sat her up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… yeah…” Tara responded, dazed.

“Maybe we should take you to the hospital,” Joyce offered.

Tara violently shook her head. “I’ll be okay,” she slurred slightly. “Can I trouble you for a ride home?”

“Of course, honey!”

Tara crawled into bed the second she got through the door only bothering to kick off her boots when Daniel hassled her about tracking mud in the house.

For once, her dreams didn’t involve Swan Lake at any capacity. But they DID involve this strange place that was in the very last dream she had. The dream was absolutely flooded with Will’s screams and cries for help. It was overwhelming. She would do anything to make it stop.

As though it were a gift and a curse, Tara was jolted awake with a start when the phone rang.

“Newman residence,” Tara answered groggily.

“Tara, what the hell did you do?”

“Mom, I can explain!”

“You’d better start! I just got off the phone with Joyce and you know what she told me? Will is missing and the entire town is panicked over it! It’s all over the goddamn news all the way here in Florida!”

“Mom, I—“

“You had one job! All you had to do was pick him up and drop him off back home! It is so simple! Anyone with half a brain could manage it!”

“I went to pick him up! He was gone when I got there! He lied and—“

“I don’t want to hear your excuses! A child is missing! I know they’re planning a search party, so if I were you, I would get off my lazy butt and go join it!”

Click.

Tara sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Times like this made it feel like her mother didn’t care about her side of the story and just wanted to yell at her no matter what she said.

When she trotted downstairs, she was met with her older cousin, Gabriella “Gabby” Maldonado and her boyfriend, Samuel “Sam” Ortega.

“Gabby! Sam! What brings you here at this time of night all the way from Illinois?”

“We’re here to help look for Will,” Gabby said, pulling her little cousin into a hug.

“How did this happen? I swear I went to go pick him up and—“

“Hey, hey,” Sam said with a practically soul crushing bear hug. “Look at me. Nobody is mad at you. The important thing is that we’re gonna find Will, and we’re gonna find him in one piece, yeah?”

Tara wiped the tears from her face and slipped on her boots.

“Hey, nice threads!” Sam commented, gesturing at Daniel’s raglan that had “Hellfire Club” on it.

“Thanks. Club tee. From school.”

“Right on! I’ll drive!”

“You always wanna drive!” Gabby playfully retorted.

“I enjoy it and I’m good at it! I’m driving! Case closed.”

The search party was pretty big. Practically everyone and their mother was there.

“See look at how many people came. We’re bound to find him!” Sam said, brimming with optimism.

“I hope so,” Tara said, a trail of dread in her voice.

“Aren’t you like always the biggest optimist in the room?” Daniel asked. “We’ll find him. Don’t be a pussy.”

“Uncle Eugene?” Gabby called out.

“Dad!” Tara ran up and hugged him.

“I figured I would make the drive down from Indianapolis and pitch in.”

“Pitch in?” Daniel asked, flabbergasted. “Fuck you! It’s not a picnic or a barbecue! Will is missing! He could be hurt, lost, scared or hungry!”

“Daniel!” Gabby quipped with clenched teeth, gesturing to Tara who was already very upset.

Her mind went blank, her breathing quickened and vision went blurry.

“Tara, it’s okay,” Gabby said gently rubbing her back. “We’ll find him.”

It was too much, Tara bolted off in an effort to relieve some of the panic she was

experiencing.

Her surroundings changed in an instant. Fluorescent lights overhead. The humming of machinery. Electric crackling.

“Tara? It’s 2 am! What are you doing out of bed?”

Down the hall, Tara looked over to see Dr. McFarlane addressing her.

Once again, Tara bolted off.

“Tara!”

Tara continued to run until a hand on her shoulder stopped her, bringing her back to the present.

She looked over and saw Gabby as the one who pursued her followed by Sam, Daniel and Eugene.

Once Tara came to her senses, she realised that not only was it raining, but she was absolutely soaked.

“It’s getting dangerous,” Eugene finally said. “We should go home and continue the search tomorrow.”

“Will is still out there!” Tara protested. “I’m not stopping until I find him!”

“Tara, it is pissing cats and dogs right now! Have some sense! Nobody is gonna find Will like this!” Daniel barked.

“He could freeze to death!”

“You think he doesn’t know how to find shelter? Come on, Tara! You said it yourself. Those kids are smarter than most kids their age. We have to go. We’ll find him tomorrow. I promise.”

“Come on,” Eugene offered. “I’ll give you both a ride back.”

“We’re good, thanks,” Daniel said, protectively grabbing his sister and ushering her to Sam’s 1980 Ford Bronco.

Once they got back to the house, it was decided that Gabby and Sam would sleep in Daniel’s room and that he would sleep on the couch, seeing as how during the duration of Tara’s extended stay in the hospital, her shared room with Daniel had basically become his room and upon her return, it was decided that the guest room would be her new room.

Once Tara got to sleep, she was met with the exact same nightmares from her afternoon nap. Will screaming and crying for help, this dark new dimension and her not having even the faintest clue where the screaming is coming from. After about 4 instances of that, she decided to call it quits and just stay up until it was time to head to school. She looked at the clock. 3:57 am.

She let out a sigh and headed to the kitchen for a midnight snack. She noticed her brother had vacated his spot on the couch, peered outside and saw him outside on the back patio having a smoke. A habit Tara infers that he must have picked up while she was at the hospital. At least he didn’t do it terribly often.

Back to the fridge, Tara decided to fashion herself a pizza bagel before heading back upstairs to pop in her beta tape of Lesley Ann Warren’s Cinderella to calm her nerves.

After watching the film from start to finish, she looked at the clock. 6:03 am. She decided to get dressed and read until the school bus got there.

School, by the way, was absolutely dreadful. Tara definitely paid the price for choosing to stay up. She was sluggish all day, spacing out and didn’t even notice when she was being called on.

Once it got to be lunch time, Tara picked a completely unoccupied table and sat down. As she opened her lunch pail, she noticed snide giggling and turned her attention to see Kenzie Michaels of the cheer squad with her cheer and basketball cohorts, the only other two she could vaguely recognise were Chrissy Cunningham (and only because of her brother’s bizarre obsession with her) and Jason Carver (because he was Chrissy’s boyfriend).

“Honestly, people like that should be euthanised! Who expects to live off of other people’s charity forever?” Kenzie remarked.

Jason busted out laughing.

It hurt. Tara knew that it was her that they were waxing on so disparagingly about but she never had the courage to say anything. She looked at her lunch pail. Her vision blurred.

The fluorescent lights buzzed.

“You have to act normal.”

Tara looked up. There she was. Back at the hospital cafeteria.

Across from her was a blonde boy who looked just a bit older than her.

“No matter what you do, you can’t give them any indication that you’re onto them. You trust me, right?”

Tara was snapped out of her flashback when a lunchbox landed on the table.

“Don’t listen to them.”

“Barb?”

“They’re just jealous because you have the balls to play by your own rules and they don’t,” Barb quipped.

“Barb, can I ask you a personal question?”

“What’s up?”

“Does… does Nancy hate me?”

Barb DEFINITELY hesitated. Nobody would possibly miss that. “No! No! Of course not!”

“I feel like she doesn’t really wanna be my friend anymore.”

“Nah! She’s just got a lot on her plate. Don’t worry about it.”

Tara looked down at her pail.

“Come on! You haven’t even touched your lunch yet!”

Tara hesitantly picked up a strawberry and began munching on it.

“I heard you’re doing The Snow Queen instead of The Nutcracker this year.”

“Yeah!” Tara said, happy to change the subject.

“Did you audition for principal?”

“I… I can’t…”

“Tara! You, out of everyone on the team are the most qualified to dance principal!”

“Ms. McIntyre would never trust me with a lead role.”

“How do you know if you don’t audition for one?”

“Well, I guess I can give it a shot in the spring show.”

“There you go! So we all know the story of The Nutcracker, but what’s The Snow Queen about? What’s her deal, huh?”

“It’s about two childhood friends named Kai and Gerda. You see, there’s these trolls that have a mirror to a dimension that’s just like ours except dark and twisted. One day, Kai finds the mirror and falls into the Mirror Realm and Gerda has to go in after him to save him. When she finally finds him in the Snow Queen’s lair, his heart has been frozen and he’s near death, but she cries over him, breaking the Snow Queen’s evil spell and bringing him back to the land of the living!”

“Wow! That’s certainly a wild ride! And who do you play in all of this?”

“A background troll,” Tara responded sheepishly.

“Well, I am looking forward to seeing it regardless!”

Once school let out, Tara was surprised to see Sam and Gabby in the parking lot.

“Hey, kiddo!” Sam greeted. “I was thinking we could wait for your brother grab some food before resuming our search!”

The drive to Benny’s Burgers was full of Sam being his usual goofball self and Gabby supporting him for trying his best to lighten the mood.

Once they pulled up and got out of Sam’s car, Sam reached into his glove compartment.

“You three go on! I’ll be there in just a sec!”

Sam pulled out a small black box containing an engagement ring.

“Perfect.”

Unfortunately his moment of triumph was cut off by a blood curdling scream, immediately jolting him into its direction.

“Call the police!” Gabby cried, rushing out of the diner.

“What happened?”

Sam looked inside to see Benny dead on the table from a gunshot to the head while holding a pistol.

Sam was the first one to break the silence when they got home. “I vote we should take a break from looking for Will today and let the police handle it.”

“What? No!” Tara protested.

“It’s for the best,” Gabby said trying to calm her down.

“No, it’s not! We can’t take days off! Something awful could have happened to him! Some sicko could be holding him for ransom!”

“All the better reason to let the police have this one,” Sam added in.

Furious, Tara went up to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Tara’s nightmares were once again filled with Will’s screams and cries for help. But this time, another lair of sinister horror was tacked on when she heard what she distinctively recognised as Barb’s voice.

“Nancy! Nancy!” It called out.

“Barb!” Tara called back. “Barb can you hear me?”

“Nancy!”

Tara rushed as quickly as she could to the cries. The last thing she heard was Barb’s screams which were suddenly silenced with a loud crunch. By the time Tara got there, all she could see was a puddle of blood where Barb used to be. In the distance, though, she could still hear Will cry and plead for help. It was all too overwhelming and she ended up screaming herself awake.

Sam, Gabby and Daniel rushed into her room with a start. There she was on the bed, all of the stress on her face.

“What happened?” Gabby asked.

“It was Will… I heard him screaming for help just like last night… But then tonight… I also heard Barb… she was screaming just like Will… but then it just went silent… and I saw was blood…”

Tara put her face in her hands and cried. Sam gently rubbed her back. “It’s okay, Tara. It was just a dream. Tomorrow morning, you’ll see Barb on the bus and you’ll have a good laughs about this.”

Once everyone went back to sleep, Tara zoned out again.

There she was. Back on her hospital bed, eavesdropping on a conversation.

“The medications aren’t working, Dr. Owens! She’s no closer to controlling it than when we first started.”

“We’ll give the physical therapy another shot! Hell, let’s give Neurofeedback a try! We can’t just give up on her, Dr. McFarlane! She’s 14!”

“She’s dangerous, is what she is!”

“She’s trying her best! Does that count for nothing?”

“Oh, well I guess when she does something absolutely catastrophic, we can at least take solace in the fact that she did so unknowingly!”

Tara sighed, bringing herself back to the present. She stood up, went to the bathroom, grabbed her noise-cancelling earmuffs and closed the door. With the lights out and her earmuffs on, she laid on the linoleum floor in total darkness and silence. This time, she was going to take matters into her own hands.

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Then you were gone - Emmett Cullen X reader

-Very angsty, mentions of attempted suicide- The night we met was paying by Lord Huron when I wrote this

It was all her fault. Bella fucking Swan.

Your eyes were full of tears as you sped down the highway, your seatbelt hanging loosely by your door. You were numb, partly because of the half empty bottle of vodka that lay beside you.

Drama seemed to follow her everywhere, Bella. Life wasn’t supposed to be normal considering you were both humans living amongst vampires, but you didn’t realise it would be this hard.

They’d left. Gone without a trace. You didn’t think it could be true. You thought Emmett was just extra sweet last night, he could be, even with that big, strong exterior. He was saying goodbye.

Thinking about it made you choke, a sob caught in your throat. The bottle of vodka burned as you pressed it to your lips. You could hardly see; you just wanted the pain to go away.

You laughed at something Jessica said. Being the new girl, you didn’t think you’d make friends so quickly, but you weren’t the only new girl. That made things easier. Your gaze was averted from the bubbly brunet sitting Infront of you.

“Who are they?” You found yourself starring at pale gods and goddesses as they floated through the frosted glass doors of the cafeteria. Jessica started to explain, you were somewhere else entirely though when she was talking, like an outer body experience. You heard muffled words next to you, names rolled off Jessica’s tongue.

Alice… Jasper... Rosalie... Edward……. Emmett. Emmett Cullen.

Time seemed to stop as you watched him walk with so much confidence. The fact that he was carrying a bag of eggs was completely lost on you. He invaded your senses and for a moment you could have sworn it was only the two of you in the whole world. Nothing else seemed to matter. His head swivelled, searching for something, then he found you.

Something in the back of your mind told you to pull over. Your blurry journey had taken you to the cliffs near the beach. The wind whistled through you ears as you left your car, the engine still running. With your bottle of vodka clutched in your hand you walked dangerously close to the edge. The waves below crashed against the rocks with ferocity, the water mirroring your inner turmoil.

It was okay for Bella. She had her stupid pack. You scoffed, fucking Jacob, he was blind, she didn’t like him, she was using him as a crutch... a crutch that was working.

You had nothing and no one. Your mum was too busy working to notice the shift in you mental wellbeing and your dad was long gone. Since you were young it had been up to you. Rely on yourself because you couldn’t rely on anyone else until Emmett came along. The good ones always left.

You threw your now empty bottle of vodka against a nearby rock and let out a pained scream, not caring about the small shards that came back to nick the skin on your face and arms. The pain was a welcome friend, it wouldn’t dull the pain in your heart.

Your boots toyed with the loose rocks at the cliffs edge, kicking them down into the frothy sea below. Off the edge and gone.

You removed your glasses. You removed your shoes. You removed the necklace Emmett had given you for your birthday. You removed your phone and your card wallet from your back pocket and put it all neatly next to the glass covered rock.

“Y/N, you’ll be paired with Emmett.” You looked over at the bulky, grimacing guy. God, was I really that bad? Ever since the day in the cafeteria, he’d acted weird every time he saw you. Turns out fate was a cruel mistress and now you were design partners. You would have preferred to do the project alone, one, you love art, so you were looking forward to the challenge set by the teacher, two, you didn’t want to be a burden. The way that he looked at you was... pained?

It wasn’t until you’d been partnered together for a few weeks that he’d spoken to you properly, no grunts of an answer, full blown conversation and from there your relationship blossomed.

Finding out he was a vampire, he’d saved you from falling down the stairs at school, your arms full of textbooks. If he hadn’t sped to the bottom and caught you, it would have been fatal, but ever since, he’s been there to catch you when you fell.

“Carlisle, Esme, this is Y/N” His parents, or adoptive parents even, smiled at you with great pearly whites. Nervous was an understatement however it didn’t take long to fit in as part of the Cullen household. It helped there was another human, Bella. You spoke and would say you were friends, but you knew how it was, she was wrapped up in Edward as much as you were wrapped up in Emmett. Even Rosalie grew to like you, she was horrible to you at first for stealing her mate. Turns out, they weren’t true mates. Hers had been killed years ago so she understood the feeling of having a mate and didn’t want to stand in Emmett’s way, it didn’t hurt her any less, but with time she became nicer to you and understood, there was no fighting fate.

You thought about the first date, the first time he held your hand or became possessive when another guy looked in your direction, the first time he kissed you or held you in his arms while you slept.

Your heart had broken the day he left. You’d been in disbelief surly it was just a sick joke, something you’d scold him for later, but you realised it wasn’t a sick joke. He had abandoned you. Another sob ripped from your chest. The wind whipped through your hair.

You closed your eyes and pictured him in your mind. Your handsome, strong, icy vampire with a heart of gold and eyes for only you.

Your foot hovered in thin air. A car’s tires screeched behind you and doors slammed. Somewhere in the distance you heard a muffled yell. Emmett… your mind playing tricks.

You stepped off the edge. Your heart feeling lighter as gravity allowed you to soar through the air and towards your watery grave.

[btslx13]

Today I decided to share songs that mean a lot to me, some because I listened to them while reading my favorite books, others because were the ones that I listened to while making up fake scenarios, and others simply because they give me goosebumps ♡

✦ Love Story : Sarah Cothran

✦ This Town : Micky

✦ Another Love : Tom Odell

✦ Power : Isak Danielson

✦ Runaway - Piano Rendition : The Blue Notes

✦ Inception - Time - Orchestra Version : Hans Zimmer

✦ Ghost Of You : 5 Seconds of Summer

✦ Experience : Ludovico Einaudi

✦ Primavera : Ludovico Einaudi

✦ Wildest Dreams : Taylor Swift

✦ Artemis : Stephen Rezza

✦ Breath of Life : Florence + The Machine

✦ Warriors : League of Legends, 2WEI, Edda Hayes

✦ Half a man : Dean Lewis

✦ Run Boy Run : Woodkid

✦ The Untold : Secession Studios

✦ Can't Help Falling In Love - Dark : Tommee Profitt, Brooke

✦ Carol Of The Bells : Lindsey Stirling

✦ Smells Like Teen Spirit : Malia J

✦ Sober II ( Melodrama ) : Lorde

✦ Angel By The Wings : Sia

✦ Test drive - How to train your dragon : John Powell

✦ Mum : Luke Hemmings

✦ Kingdom dance - Tangled : Alan Menken

✦ Je te pardonne: GIMS, Sia

✦ Don't Blame Me : Taylor Swift

✦ Khalessi : Ramin Djawadi

✦ Eleanor Rigby : Cody Fry

✦ I Am The Antichrist To You : Kishi Bashi

✦ As The World Caves In : Sarah Cothran

✦ No Time To Die : Billie Eilish

✦ Cornfield chase : Hans Zimmer

✦ First Love : BTS

✦ Euphoria : BTS

✦ Black Swan : BTS

✦ ON : BTS

✦ Tear : BTS

✦ Outro - Wings : BTS

✦ Dis-ease : BTS

✦ Can You Feel My Heart : Bring Me The Horizon

✦ House of Memories: Panic At The Disco

✦ Lovely : Lauren Babic, Seraphim

✦ So Ist Es Immer : Hiroyuki Sawano

✦ What's Up Danger : Blackway, Black Caviar

✦ Hot Girl Bummer : Our Last Night

✦ Angel's Like You : Miley Cyrus

✦ Happier Than Ever : Billie Eilish

✦ Fix You : Coldplay

✦ 120 : Bad Bunny

[dancingaliensfics]

♡My Prison Pen Pal♡

Helmut Zemo x reader

Word count: 1,802

Warnings: swearing, mentions of prison and crimes and slight angst to do with his family

A/N: its finally here! I havent writen a fic in a long time so hopefully you guys like this! I tried to avoid using idioms and things like that but message me if you need anything explained or reworded as I know most people aren't native English speakers

@sorcerersofnyc

♡♡♡

His first letter came during the series finale of your favourite show. A rather inconvenient moment, you thought, so it stayed on the welcome mat until you passed through the hall on your way to bed. Picking it up, you figured you'd skim the first few lines then finish it and write a reply before work. Instead, you found yourself writing and rewriting a reply through the night. Somehow this man had managed to enthrall you with only a letter. Maybe it was the way he wrote as if he was some elegant poet whose sonnets would one day be hailed as classics. How he managed to be open and expressive, exuding a welcoming aura, and yet still seeming mysterious. Or perhaps it was simply fated by the stars that Helmut Zemo would capture your heart.

You waited anxiously for his second letter to arrive. After sending the first, you hadn't cared whether you got a response, the whole thing seemed like a bad idea to you. But your mother was insistent that you needed to meet new people and this way you wouldn't need to worry about awkward face to face conversations. Sending the first letter felt like any other chore you do in the day, done with much effort and resignment but forgotten within minutes. But the second? It felt like the most important thing you'd done in a long time. You'd even bought a first class stamp (not that it makes a difference).

You wanted to know more about this intriguing man. No, supervillain. Charged with international terrorism. Jesus christ what the fuck was wrong with you? Were you really falling in love with a supervillain after one letter? But he didn't seem evil to you. He wrote eloquently, somehow his simple and brief description of his day (he'd started reading a new psychology book, you'd have to send him some recommendations) sounded fascinating in his words.

Over time, you started to notice small things about Helmut. The way he crossed his t's, how he signed his name, but mainly that there was a romanticism to his writing. From the way he described his home, his wife, his son to his recipes for Sokovian dishes with small notes and doodles (your favourite was his shepherd's pie recipe where he helpfully noted his mother's assertion that you should always add more than you think you need). It was becoming clear to you that he wasn't the stoic and vengeful baron you expected but rather a soft, lonely and endearingly weird man who you couldn't imagine plotting to destroy the Avengers. Whilst it was his mystery that first captivated you, it was his sweet and sometimes awkward personality that convinced you to keep writing.

It took a while for Helmut to tell you about his family. You had heard on the news back when he first arrested about his motive, so you were interested to hear his perspective on his crimes. But that wasn't what you got. Instead, he told you about when he and his father used to play football when he was young and how they would play a match every time he visited, with Helmut playing against his father and son, who always wanted to play with grandfather. He told you of the songs his wife used to sing, how her voice was always loud and shaky and after years of singing somewhere over the rainbow she would still forget the lyrics and invent her own. He told you how his son was the best pianist he had ever heard. How he could play the greatest rendition of amazing grace and that he had just learnt the theme from swan lake. That he had been excited to practice it on his grandfathers grand piano the day Ultron attacked.

There was something so human about this man. His love for his family, his loss and grief, his plan to avenge his family, it was all so tragic and yet here he was sending you drawings of the flowers from his garden growing up. You wanted to hug him and yet sometimes you felt he wouldn't need it, wouldn't want it. You were wrong.

Helmut Zemo missed his family. He told you so in one of his most recent letters. He missed holding his son, brushing his wife's hair, going for long drives, waking up at 2am to comfort his son, early morning trips to the shops, cleaning up after dinner, helping with homework. Everything he listed seemed so trivial, so meaningless in the grand scheme of life and yet the memories meant so much to him.

You realised then you had never pitied him before. Not that he wasn't deserving of it, just that he didn't seem to need it. But overtime you realised that what Helmut had really needed wasn't revenge or to make a world free from superhumans, it was someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Someone who would understand his pain and not judge it. Perhaps, you thought to yourself, you could be that person.

Fuck.

You couldn't think of how to cope with this. No one you knew had ever mentioned falling in love with a criminal through letters. And as hard as you tried you hadn't been able to find a single romcom with this plot line. You couldn't tell him. You imagined with his seemingly fragile state of mind receiving from basically a stranger professing their love would at best cause him to ghost you. Especially after he confided in you, shared his thoughts and memories.

So instead you continued as normal. You sent him pressed flowers and pictures of your favourite places. Eventually, he asked what looked like, and you spent an hour trying to decide whether you should send a picture of yourself or to just vaguely describe your features. After deciding to send a picture of yourself on holiday a few months before the blip, you found yourself wondering what he'd do with it. Would he throw it away as soon as he got the letter or would he keep it, tuck it away in some book to look at whilst thinking of you?

You also found yourself wondering what he looked like in the real world. You had found pictures of him online, but they didn't feel real. He was never rarely happy. The pictures pre Ultron were clearly taken by paparazzi, so you weren't surprised he rarely looked anything other than annoyed. There were a few though, ones with his wife and son, where he clearly hadn't noticed, and some from when he was much younger and seemed to enjoy the attention. Then were those taken after his arrest.

And so you continued to wonder he looked like. How he looked in the morning, with flowers in his hair or in summer with the sun lighting his face. You wondered what his hair looked like wet, if he ever scrunched his nose in disgust. You wondered what his smile was like.

Over time, you told him more about yourself. The stress of returning home after the blip to no job, no house and your friends 5 years older. Your ex was married with kids and your sister had moved abroad. It was as if you blinked and your whole life had changed. You mentioned how it was your mum who had suggested getting a pen pal, so you could talk to someone new, who was living a different life to you, although she had meant someone in a different country not jail. Since coming back you'd been isolated and stressed with starting a new job, recovering lost information and personal belongings and moving house, so you had thought it might be good to speak to someone who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you. You told Helmut how it had been good, how writing to him had helped you, how he had helped you more than he could ever know.

No, that sounded creepy. How you appreciated his letters.

Too formal. How you hadn't expected to become his friend, but you were glad to be able to say you were.

Helmut was comforting. You knew in your head that your meeting on Friday was nothing to worry about but seeing him say it felt so reassuring. Each one of his letters made you feel relaxed, feel safe. You wanted to make him feel the same. So, as a way to repay his kindness you had told him that no matter what happened, he could always trust you. And it was true. You couldn't imagine a world where you wouldn't do anything for Helmut and although you knew he would never need it, you still wanted him to know you would always care about him, even if no one else did.

Writing to him had become as easy as talking to someone you'd known all your life. You had fallen into an easy routine, you knew when to expect his letters and you knew when you'd send a reply. The routine felt so natural that you even knew what the envelope would look like, always the same off-white with a square edged flap. The address was always the same too. Except on his last letter. Which was strange.

At first, you thought Helmut had been moved to a different prison but after frantically typing the address into Google Maps you realised it was not a prison. Fuck you had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a prison. It also wasn't in Germany.

You sat still, staring at the unopened letter for a few minutes.

You looked up at the door. You thought you heard someone knock. The post had already come and you weren't expecting people. Hell, there wasn't anyone other than your parents who would visit anyway and they would have called first. Now you were sat still, staring at the front door.

"I know you're in there, the lights are on."

It was as if you were a marionette, being moved by some strange force that was slowly pulling you out of your seat and towards the door. You didn't even register that you moved until you felt the door handle on your fingertips. The cold metal caused you to stop, as if broken out of a trance. There was a sudden realisation that if you opened the door your life would never be the same. It was sickening, a mixture of dread and excitement; it reminded you of the moment before a roller coaster drops. You repeated that thought in your head. "Your life would never be the same". Your life hadn't been the same in almost a year. What would be the harm in one more big change. So you did it. You opened the door.

His smile was beautiful.

[ncghtshifts]

serves up. my second child on a silver platter. not as lovable bt thts ok........ lets all put on our horse blinders...........

◜     *     :     drew     starkey     .     demiman     &     they/he     .     pink     in     the     night     by     mitski     .     ━━     the     legend     surrounding     london’s     l’academiae     furorum     would     not     be     complete     without     ZEPHYR     CASIMIR     MONTANA     FOGELMAN     .     the     academy's     TWENTY     -     SEVEN     year     old     GUEST     ARTIST     has     been     with     furore     for     FIVE     MONTHS     ,     oft     described     as     VERBOSE     ,     VAINGLORIOUS     ,     IMPRUDENT     ,     BEGUILING     &     has     proved     utterly     indispensable     to     the     company.     in     passing     ,     they’ve     come     to     be     associated     with     CIGARETTES     YOU     SHOULDN'T     BE     SMOKING     ,     A     COCKTAIL     OF     BODY     SPRAYS     AND     COLOGNES     STOLEN     FROM     STRANGERS     -     WHOEVER     CAUGHT     YOUR     ATTENTION     THESE     LAST     FEW     DAYS     &     the     product     of     three     overbearing     parents     ,     as     spoiled     as     they     come     and     not     afraid     to     show     it     .     running     into     rehearsal     late     for     the     third     time     that     week     ,     lipstick     mark     staining     the     collar     of     your     shirt     -     effortless     in     everything     you     do     .     you     truly     believe     you     are     the     best     and     everyone     around     will     know     it     if     you     have     anything     to     do     with     it     .    whether     this     will     be     their     final     curtain     call     is     anyone's     guess     &     the     company’s     worst     nightmare  .

background

if u asked monty’s dads if they were psychics they wld say yes bc they cldnt imagine picking a better surrogate to carry monty, their birth mum was still a HUGE part of their life growing up n the family always did everything together - they each chose one of their names if the absolute absurdity of it wasn’t obvious

born in brisbane, australia, monty grew up WILDLY spoiled, got only the best dance teachers and was a part of the best ballet academy in australia

there was a lot of expectation put onto them, not that their parents weren’t rly supportive and loving bt its very . jackson from sex education feeling where if they wanted to spend a night to themselves their parents wld b like . :) i dont hear ur toes breaking, silly!!!!!!!!!!

eventually the pressure caught up to them when they become a principal dancer - cue natalie portman in black swan except naur nowhere near that bad ofc but they definitely got no sleep and their body was falling apart with the amount of work they were putting into it without fueling it properly

it just ended with a heated argument that monty attempted to turn violent but they literally just collapsed in on themselves and woke up 2 days later after finally catching up on all the sleep they’d been missing for eons to hear that they were demoted in the academy

ofc their dads paid off all directors involved to keep the whole incident quiet and monty immediately applied for guest artist positions to escape the australian academy (did not name it. n i shant. i am not creative enough fr tht)

after a few years monty got offers instead of applying themselves but they’re always paranoid that their past will catch up to them

details

this is monty’s 2nd season as a guest artist w the academy :yum:

still practices far too much to b considered healthy bt away from gazing eyes - has THE WORST attitude to them where they act like they’re jst naturally the best to get into the heads of other dancers when they’re just as bad

just has the most lackadaisical attitude to them, doesn’t want anyone to think they’re taking this too seriously

claims they can ‘see auras’ so they know who is and isn’t worth their time

mean to be mean but also if they like u will go above and beyond as a friend

believes if they were to b monogamous someone would b missing out. jst thinks the world of themselves frankly.

so so so dramatic

sleeps around fr funsies bt they also have. certain taste. will sneer at someone they don’t deem worthy of their time LKSHDGHSDGKLDG

connections

since they’ve been here a few months already n its their second season coming back to furorum perhaps friends from before??

bt also . ppl they have rubbed the wrong way on purpose or not

someone they used to date n broke their heart.............. side eyes them

or opposite someone they caught feelings fr n now? they avoid said person like the plague. literally pretend said ex isnt talking to them right in front of them

hook ups/dates gone wrong/etc.............

wtvr ur vibing with!!!!

[swanlake1998]

Article: Julie Felix: the brilliant Black ballerina who was forced to leave Britain

Date: March 3, 2021

By: Steve Rose

(CW: racism, anti black racism, police brutality, violence, murder mention)

She was told there was no room for a ‘brown swan’ in the London Festival Ballet, so she went to the US. There she found enormous success, dancing for everyone from Michael Jackson to Prince

The turning point in Julie Felix’s career came in 1975. A student at Rambert ballet school in London, she was selected to dance in Rudolf Nureyev’s production of Sleeping Beauty with the London Festival Ballet (now the English National Ballet). Nureyev was the god of British ballet – and he lived up to his reputation on the first day of rehearsal, Felix recalls. “He was late, but everybody said he was always late. All of a sudden, the doors flew open and in he came. He was well renowned for these big boots he used to wear, and a big fur coat. He took the coat off like a matador and threw it so it slid across the dance studio floor. Everybody jumped up and stood to attention. He was there for probably about half an hour.” At the time, 17-year-old Felix was awestruck. In hindsight, half a century later, she is less impressed: “Talk about unprofessional.”

In the fairytale version of Felix’s life, having acquitted herself on stage with Nureyev, she would have joined the London Festival Ballet and become the first Black British dancer to begin her ascent through the ranks of a British ballet company. Instead, she was told she was a “lovely dancer”, but was not going to be given a contract, “because of the colour of my skin. I would mess up the line of the corps de ballet, because you can’t have a whole row of white swans and then there’s a brown one at the end.”

Felix was stunned: “It hit me like a thunderbolt.” Her mother was white British and her father African-Caribbean, from Saint Lucia. She had never thought of the refined world of ballet as being what we might now describe as institutionally racist. “It sounds ridiculous, but because I didn’t experience any racial issues or difficulties before that, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with the colour of my skin. I thought that I was talented and that would be enough.”

Having grown up in Ealing, west London, in the 60s, Felix certainly knew about racial difference. She rarely saw any faces that were not white in the neighbourhood or at school, she says. After her parents had met on a bench in Hyde Park, her mother’s family disapproved. “They said: ‘If you marry that man, we’re going to disown you.’ And my mum just said: ‘Well, fair enough, I still want to marry him.’”

Her father, who worked as a foreman at the Hoover factory, was quite the charmer, says Felix. “He was the proudest man. He would paint the front door a different colour every year. He was always up the ladder washing his windows. He would grow fruits and vegetables in the back garden. But I would say my dad had a big chip on his shoulder.”

She describes how he would dress like a dandy, in 40s suits and spats, even if he was just going to do the shopping. “He would always berate the grocers and say: ‘You’re picking the bruised fruit and vegetables because I’m Black. You think I can’t see this?’” She laughs. “Why would you move somewhere if you’re going to spend your life being concerned about the way other people look at you and your colour?”

There was an incident when she was eight or nine, when her father returned from work very late, his shirt ripped and covered in blood. A colleague had attacked him outside the factory gates with a meat cleaver on a chain. “He didn’t like, one, the way my dad spoke to him and, two, because my dad was Black,” she says.

Culturally, the Felix household was “100% British”, she says. She had no connection to her Saint Lucian family, although she would see her British grandparents in Essex regularly (relations had thawed when Felix’s elder sister and she were born). Musically, her father liked American crooners such as Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole; her mother preferred classical music and had once aspired to be an opera singer. “So, when it came to my wanting to dance, there was a local ballet school around the corner in Ealing that I would go to, and Mum said: ‘Well, as long as you keep working hard and you’re enjoying it, I will fund it for you.’ She wasn’t a pushy, stereotypical ballet mother, but she knew that I loved it. And because she’d been stopped doing what she wanted to do, she was there 100% for me.” When she passed the audition for the Rambert, her parents could not afford the fees; Felix won a grant from the Inner London Education Authority, which paid 75%.

Felix says no one is “born to dance”, but, as a student, her passion for ballet was boundless. “I can remember the feeling of waking up in the morning, earlier than I needed to, getting on the underground and going into Notting Hill Gate, where the school was. I was the first one in the door. The cleaner was still there.

“I could not get enough of it. My friend and me would stretch and practise our fouettés in the lunch break. We’d be the last ones out of the building. Get back on the train, go home. My feet would be bleeding. I’d have blisters all over my toes. And I didn’t care. I just knew this was what was required. I soaked my feet in salt water, dabbed surgical spirit on them to get the skin to heal and get them dried out so that I could get up the next morning and get on that train again.”

After all her dedication, being rejected for her colour was devastating. “It didn’t last long, mind you,” she says. “Part of my personality is: sink or swim. And I thought: ‘I am not going to sink here.’ So I just flipped it around and just said: ‘Watch me. I’m going to show you I can do it.’”

She didn’t have to wait too long. The previous summer, the Dance Theatre of Harlem (DTH) had come to perform in London. This was a pioneering Black ballet company founded in 1969 by Arthur Mitchell, the first top-flight Black dancer in US ballet. While they were in town, Felix went along, auditioned for Mitchell and was immediately offered a contract. She declined. When her teacher at Rambert found out, “she absolutely hit the roof”, Felix recalls. “She said: ‘You can’t pick and choose. You’ve been offered a job!’” Fortunately, the DTH returned to London a few months after her Nureyev experience. Felix auditioned and was offered a job a second time. She did not turn it down.

This time, Felix’s skin colour was to her advantage, although working with an all-Black company in the US was a curious reversal: “I’d gone from all of my ballet training, and growing up not really being aware of anything to do with Black people, to going to New York and there’s no white people.” Before relocating to New York, Felix had never had a passport, left the UK or flown in an aeroplane.

“Within two weeks of being there, Arthur Mitchell said to me: ‘We’ve got to knock the British out of you.’ And I took umbrage, because I’m really proud of being British,” Felix says. In retrospect, she knows what he meant: “It was the wishy-washy way I approached my technique and my ballet training. But it wasn’t just about that; it was everything that Arthur Mitchell taught and portrayed and wanted us to portray within our work. He wanted to show that Black people really can do this.”

DTH’s sense of purpose aligned with Felix’s own. She stayed with the company for 10 years, earning her place as a soloist and touring the US and beyond (including a satisfying return to the Royal Opera House). Life in the US put British racism into perspective, says Felix. In her first week in New York, she witnessed a young Black man being shot dead in the street by two white police officers for shoplifting. A touring performance in Mississippi in 1978 had to be cancelled because the Ku Klux Klan staged a protest outside the theatre, in white hoods, burning cross and all. “No words can describe that feeling,” she says.

There were more good times than bad, though. Felix shared the stage with, and danced for, luminaries from Ronald Reagan to her hero, Luciano Pavarotti. She danced with Lionel Richie to All Night Long at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics closing ceremony; visitors to her shows included Michael Jackson and Prince. Jackson wanted to cast the dancers in his ill-fated Peter Pan movie, she says. He came to a matinee in Pasadena, California, supposedly incognito, but in full Jackson regalia: black sunglasses, Jheri curl and military-style outfit, with a complement of bodyguards. “I was annoyed, because I was there to deliver the performance, but you had all these girls screaming in the audience,” says Felix. “Anyway, after it finished, he came backstage and said to us, very, very quietly: ‘I really enjoyed your performance. I just think you’re fantastic.’ What a humble man.”

A year later, Prince came to a show, by coincidence at the same theatre. He was similarly “incognito”, in a sequined, hooded purple cape. He never took the hood down. “At the end of the performance, he got back in his limo and left and didn’t say thank you, hello, anything. Really quite rude.”

By 1986, aged 30, Felix was beginning to feel the physical toll of ballet life. She also missed home. She returned to the UK and became a teacher and remedial coach for Sadler’s Wells Royal Ballet, first in London, then in Birmingham, where the company relocated when it became Birmingham Royal Ballet, in 1990. She married and had three daughters (none of whom followed in their mother’s footsteps).

She then became head of dance at a local school. Now it was her turn to “knock the British out” of her students. “They don’t seem to know how to really push themselves,” she says. “Ballet is really painful. If you don’t feel that, then you’re not doing it properly.” Ballet has also always required a highly specific form of physicality, Felix points out. “It needs very arched feet, it requires good natural rotation of your hip sockets, a slender body, long, lithe muscles, long neck, small head.” Regardless of talent or musicality, she says, dancers who do not conform to this body type will struggle. Perhaps it is this inherent discrimination that has made other forms of prejudice easier to disguise.

British ballet has made some progress since the 70s, but it could do more. Birmingham Royal Ballet, for example, had a successful workshop programme with local schools, whose pupils were often from Black, Asian or minority ethnic backgrounds, but such programmes seem to have “fizzled out” as a result of local authority budget cuts, Felix says. On the other hand, there are institutions such as Ballet Black, which advocates for diversity in professional ballet. At the time of its founding in 2001, there were still no women of colour performing in any British company. The Royal Ballet recruited its first Black, British-born male dancer, Solomon Golding, only in 2013.

Felix is not convinced British ballet has turned the corner: “I still believe that we’ve got ballet companies who will take a few people of colour just to be politically correct.” However, she was heartened by the appointment of the Cuban-British dancer Carlos Acosta as director of Birmingham Royal Ballet in 2020, although the pandemic has so far curtailed its activities. While all British arts are vulnerable at the moment, ballet – with its high demands for time, labour, space and personnel – is especially so. Now based in Cornwall, Felix has made do teaching over Zoom for the past year. She is not complaining: “It really is a lovely place to be locked down.”

Felix’s skin colour began as a factor that counted against her, but it became an animating force in her career and led to a wealth of experiences and successes she might otherwise not have had. With that satisfaction, the anger she feels for her 17-year-old self being told her brownness would “mess up the line” has mellowed a little. “Their choice of not accepting me enabled me to find something within myself that I probably would never have known was there,” she says. “And then to open up this whole world for me. So I can say that hatred was turned to gratitude.”

[let-it-raines]

There is something inexplicable about thunderstorms that calm him.

Maybe it is the sound of heavy raindrops hitting against the metal roof on the house or against the window panes. Maybe it is the flashes of lightning that brighten the darkened sky or the rolls of thunder that echo and create a natural symphony that is felt down in his very soul. When nestled at home and when the storm isn’t frighteningly bad, he enjoys sitting in his bedroom with the curtains pulled back and the blinds raised, simply watching and enjoying how still everything else seems while nature erupts in anger and sadness and all of the emotions in between.

Beyond that, the rain is often perfect napping weather, and really, what more can a man ask for than a Saturday afternoon storm that will ease him into a much-needed sleep?

The kitchen light above him flickers ever so slightly, and Killian stands from his stool where he was reading a novel to walk to the other side of the granite countertop to turn on the coffee maker. He can feel sleep dragging at the corner of his eyes, and while he would like the nap he was just thinking of, coffee is calling his name more right now. As it percolates, he thumbs through his phone, checking his emails. It’s a bloody Saturday. Why the hell is he being forwarded emails for a client that is not his? William has got to stop doing this. His clients are not Killian’s, and Killian doesn’t work on weekends unless absolutely necessary.

“If you pinch those brows any tighter, you’re going to get wrinkles, Jones.”

“You say that like I don’t already have wrinkles, love.”

Emma shrugs and walks further into the kitchen, moving around him to open the fridge. She’s in a pair of her small, black running shorts and a t-shirt he believes they got from a concert they went to on their first anniversary. It’s faded and stretched out, and it could not be more well-loved. Her own brows pinch as she looks inside the fridge, but he dares not make a quip about her getting wrinkles. “Do we not have cheese?”

“If you didn’t buy it, we don’t have it.”

“Well, damn.” She slams the door closed, and he sees that even without the cheese she was looking for, she’s come out with a yogurt. “I swear I put it on the shopping list. Did you not see that?”

“It’s was your week to do the grocery run.”

“It was not.”

“It most definitely was.”

Emma groans and rips open the yogurt before grabbing a spoon out of the drawer to eat it with. “I may be remembering something about it being my week, but I’ve obviously screwed the pooch on that. I’ll go tomorrow…wait, tomorrow is Sunday, which means it’s your week so – ”

The coffee maker beeps behind him, and he turns to pour himself some into a mug. “We could always try something revolutionary like going together.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t be getting all crazy like that.”

“I’ll try to hold it in. You want a cup?”

“That’s like asking if I want my lungs to still be able to get air. Of course I want some.”

Killian nods and grabs another mug out of the cabinet for Emma’s coffee. He walks toward the fridge for her creamer, pouring it in until the coffee is nearly white itself, and then he hands it to her as she sits on the edge of the counter. She nods her head in thanks, and all he can really think about is how her coffee is not going to mix well with her yogurt.

Emma has never cared about things like that, though.

“Remind me that I need to get tampons when we go to the store tomorrow.”

“Why do you always say for me to remind you instead of putting a reminder on your phone?”

“Because you’re more efficient than a reminder on my phone.”

Another roll of thunder cracks outside, the house shaking the slightest bit, and Killian decides to take his cup and walk into the living room, settling down on the couch with the curtains open so he can watch the storm while Netflix plays on the television. He’s got absolutely no clue what it’s on. Emma must have started some new show, and he’s sure he will somehow get sucked into it the more she watches it. That’s what always happens, even if he misses a few episodes and Emma has to give him a verbal run-through because she can’t be arsed to go back to the episodes he hasn’t seen.

Emma follows him into the living room, her coffee cup in hand, and she settles down on the other side of the couch, pulling the soft knit blanket from the corner to wrap it around herself as she watches the TV.

The afternoon passes slowly, neither of them bothering to do much of anything. At one point, Liam calls, and Killian chats with him for awhile, Emma adding in her own few words, but other than that, the two of them do nothing but watch television – he now knows that it is Poldark and Emma fancies the actor in the show – and eat the leftover Chinese food they ordered for dinner Thursday night.

“This is not going to go well,” Killian points out as Poldark lies to his business partner, a string of lies that are obviously adding up to a dramatic season finale.

“Hush. Don’t ruin it.”

“How am I ruining it? I feel like anybody with eyes would bloody know that it’s not going to go well.”

“Yeah, but – ”

And then there’s an elongated beep as the power gets out and the room goes nearly black with the overhead lights going out and the television glow no longer illuminating the room.

“Well shit.”

“Maybe it’ll come back on soon. Sometimes it flickers.”

“Yeah,” Emma mumbles, tossing the blanket off of her, “maybe. But maybe – ” there’s another crash of thunder and lightning, and Emma jumps – “maybe it’s a bad thunderstorm, and I’m about to get sweaty as hell because we don’t have air-conditioning. Plus, I really need to see what happens in my show.”

“Do you want me to call the power company and see if it’s a neighborhood shortage?”

“No, no. I’ll just wait it out.”

When the waiting ends up being an hour, Killian ends up calling. It is indeed a neighborhood power shortage, and they’re sending a truck as soon as they can. The storm is apparently bad enough that they’re backed up all across the city, so Killian takes that as them not having any power until the morning at the earliest. So he goes to the storage closet and pulls out a myriad of tea candles and the lighter before illuminating the kitchen and the living room with candles and a few battery-powered lanterns. There’s nothing he can do about the heat, however, since he cannot open any windows without letting the storm inside, so he strips off his t-shirt, folding it and putting it over the back of the couch until he goes upstairs to put it in the hamper.

He sees Emma eyeing him now. She’s not very subtle about it with the way she’s biting her bottom lip, and he has to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat.

“You’re totally using the lack of air-conditioning as a reason to go shirtless,” she laughs.

“This is my home. I theoretically pay half the bills. I can walk around whenever I want without a shirt.”

“Eh, I feel like there are definitely some exceptions to that.”

Killian smiles and shrugs before reaching into the pocket of his joggers for his phone. He thumbs through the apps until he gets to his Spotify, hits one of his playlists, and the soothing sound of Bing Crosby plays through the speakers. Emma always groans when he plays older, softer music, but deep down, he knows that she likes it.

Holding out his hand, Killian stretches his lips into a wide smile while Emma eyes him from the couch.

“What are you doing?” she laughs.

“We have to pass the time. I’m asking you to dance with me.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she says, even as she leans forward.

“You like dancing, Swan,” he insists, “especially when you have a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

With a shake of her head, Emma reaches her hand out until it’s firmly grasped in his and he’s pulling her off the couch. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands on her waist. Occasionally, he’ll take her hand in his and twirl her out and then bring her back in, making her tilt her head back with laughter until he can capture that laughter with his mouth, kissing her until both of them are left wanting for breath.

“We should do this when the kids are home,” Emma murmurs into his shoulder where her head is now resting, cheek soft as ever against his skin. “I think it would really gross them out.”

“What? Their father without a shirt and their mum in nothing but her knickers? I don’t know why that would scar them at all? They seem to always love any public displays of affection that we show.”

“I’m not in my knickers,” she teases.

“But you could be,” Killian automatically bites back, and he can feel Emma’s smile in his skin.

“Last week Liam asked me if I could stop kissing you at his games.”

“Did he really?”

“Mhm. He said some of his teammates were, and I’m just quoting him here ‘obsessing over how hot is mom is.’ I swear he nearly threw up when he had to say it.”

Killian chuckles and runs his hand up the smooth skin of Emma’s back before moving his fingers in soothing circles, the ones he knows that she likes. “I mean, I personally think that you are the most attractive woman on the planet, but if my teammates were talking about my mum, I’d be disgusted too. For a myriad of reasons.”

“You have teammates?”

“I’m hypothetically pretending I’m fourteen and in Liam’s position.”

“Ah,” Emma sighs. “Well, yeah, it’s really kind of creepy, but we apparently have to make ourselves unattractive and stand six feet away from each other at his baseball games.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Shut up.” She pulls back from his shoulder so he can see the bright, beautiful green eyes that he fell in love with eighteen years ago. “I say that we sneak behind the bleachers and make out. You know, embarrass him even more.”

“That’s evil, love.”

“Yeah, well, one day he’ll be in the same position of embarrassing his kids. I think it’s a right of passage. He and Amelia will understand one day.”

“I hope so.” Emma presses up on her toes a glides her lips over his, soft and sweet, a contrast to the heat that is beginning to burn in his belly. “But for now, maybe we give them a pass some days and keep to embarrassing them at home.”

“I like that idea.”

Killian kisses Emma until he knows that she’s dizzy, heat burning in both of their bellies and gooseflesh rising on his skin, and while earlier, he was exhausted and all he wanted to do was take a nap, now all he can do is think about laying his wife down on the sofa and kissing every inch of her skin with rain pounding down around them and sweat slicking against his back. The house is sweltering, the summer heat and humidity seeping through its very bones, but he and Emma have no issue with it as Killian’s tongue runs along her inner thigh and then closer to the center still.

When they were younger, this was a constant, insatiable thing. Their nights and mornings and weekends would be filled with this, with not being able to get enough of each other in between living life, and while there are times when Killian misses that, he knows that his life is so much more full now. And, really, he can never get enough of Emma, even if that means something a little different now.

He has been with her for nearly twenty years, and he has seen several different versions of her. From closed off and hurting to open and loving, from a fearless woman who would do anything she wanted to a fearful mother who wasn’t sure if she could be a mother at the same time that he wasn’t sure that he could be a father, hurts and scars terrifying them and holding them still in the moment of life when two lines showed up. And the fear has never really changed, but much like Emma, it’s developed and twisted and become adaptable to their lives now. Growing with her has been his greatest honor, and Killian would not change it for the world.

Emma is who she was always meant to be, and it’s a beauty of a sight to behold.

Emma gasps as her hips buck up, and he presses his arm down across her stomach to hold her still against the cushions. She curses like a sailor then, and he smiles into her before continuing to give her the pleasure she so deserves. It goes on like that for what feels both like ages and not enough time, the heat continuing to accumulate and the thunder consistently rolling, and when Killian slides into Emma in warm stretch of heat, he doesn’t focus on any of the world around them.

He only focuses on her and the smile on her face and the way that she makes a joke that has his stomach aching in a whole new way.

It’s slow and lazy, and they could spend the rest of the evening like this if they wanted to, but there are such things as aching backs and tired bodies, so eventually they do find themselves curled on the couch, breaths heavy and bodies exhausted, and the two of them really should shower. This lack of air-conditioning is a killer.

“If I melt into the couch right now, can you clean me up before the kids get home from my parents’ tomorrow?”

Killian chuckles into Emma’s back and presses his lips there. “Of course. Though, I think if we wanted to scar them, this would be the ultimate way.”

Emma snickers and rolls away from him, standing from the couch and reaching down to grab her t-shirt to pull it back on. It immediately clings to her skin with sweat, and she groans, her lips downturned before they tick up into a smirk. “Do you want to go take a shower and then go to bed? I think if we hurry, we can fall asleep before ten.”

“Sounds like the dream, love.”

Everything with her is.

[writings-of-dumpy]

George Weasley AU: Cedric’s Sister

A/N: THIS IS THE GOD DAMN MAGNA CARTA. This mother fucker is 19k words, so strap in, bitches.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, major character death, and smut at the end.

Summary: George Weasley is not honest with his feelings for his longtime friend Claire Diggory, but the challenges they face at the end of their schooling pushes them to be closer than ever.

Fred and George were always flirts. With almost every girl they knew, it was a constant game of flirting for them. They came by it so naturally, but reserved the sweeter pet names for their closest friend, Claire Diggory. Only a year younger than her brother, Claire fell into Ravenclaw house the same year Fred and George were placed in Gryffindor. Their fathers had gotten along wonderfully over Arthur Weasley's time at the Ministry, so Fred and George were fast friends with both Diggory children, but were especially close to the youngest who was just their age, Claire.

“Good morning, petal,” Fred greeted her every morning with a wink. It never failed to make her blush, which George found incredibly cute.

“Good morning you bozos,” she greeted. They alternated which table they'd have breakfast at because it was only required to sit with your house on the first and last meals at Hogwarts. Most of the Great hall was a mix of colored ties and robes as well as the few seventh years who wore casual clothes to breakfast because their mornings were clear.

“Here comes the post,” George noticed as owls flew over their heads. A large package landed in front of Ron, who looked stunned.

“Mum and dad sent me something!” he said excitedly.

“Oh no,” Fred teased and the trio looked toward the younger Weasley. Ron opened up the package and his face soon turned horrified.

“They're not for Ginny, they're for you!” Hermione mused after a few moments of teasing from Harry. The twins laughed at their brother's bewildered face. “Dress robes!”

“Dress robes? For what?!” Ron asked.

“The Yule Ball of course,” Cho Chang said from the other side of George. “Come on Claire, Flitwick's expecting us.”

“Of course. Can't let my dance partner Thomas down, now can I,” Claire said sarcastically and shared a look with Fred and George. “I'll see you guys in potions.”

“Yeah, see you...” George said and waved as she and Cho walked out of the Hall. “Dance partner?”

“Attention all of Gryffindor house. A mandatory house meeting will be held in the adjacent classroom to your left in fifteen minutes. All Gryffindor students must attend this meeting or will face severe consequences,” McGonagall's voice rang out. Fred and George looked at each other in confusion.

“Must be pretty serious for the whole house to need to attend,” George surmised. He soon realized that McGonagall valued the reputation of Gryffindor higher than her competitiveness during quidditch.  

After the dance lesson concluded, Fred and George headed to potions class.

“That was a terrible waste of time, but I'm so glad she picked Ron to dance with her,” Fred chuckled as they walked toward the dungeons.

“Oh I wish I had a camera!” George said.

“Hi guys,” Claire said with a smile as she met up with them in the hall.

“Hello, petal. How was your dance lesson?” Fred asked. “Were you a swan?”

Claire laughed and shook her head. “Far from it. Thomas was ever so kind when I stepped on his toes so many times, though.”

George smiled and thought about how adorable she must have been.

“So, I suppose we'd better scout some dates out, eh?” Fred suggested.

“Yeah, I just hope nobody asks me before I can ask them, it'd be really embarrassing for a girl to ask me,” George said nonchalantly.

“Why's that?” Claire asked. George shrugged.

“Call it toxic masculinity,” he said. Claire smiled and nodded her head.

The air around the students in the month leading up to the Yule Ball was becoming increasingly frantic, but Claire wasn't worried. If someone wanted to go with her, they'd ask. She was perfectly happy going alone. Well, not perfectly. She very much wanted George to ask her, but she'd never let on about it.

“So, here's all the ingredients we need for this potion, right?” George said and set down the armful of various bottles and boxes on the desk.

“I think so,” Claire said after looking at the items. They had been paired for their potions project and had spent the afternoon together in the library getting their assigned potion ready for presentation tomorrow.

“Are you alright? You haven't said much,” George said after a beat. Claire looked up from stirring the potion in the cauldron and furrowed her brows at him.

“Yeah, I'm alright. Suppose I'm just worried is all,” Claire said with a shrug.

George leaned on his elbows and peered at her from across the table. His eyes shone of mischief and concern. “About what, flower?”

Claire smiled at the name. “About Cedric. The FIRST task was to fight a dragon... Who knows what the second task will be.”

“I'm sure he'll be alright. He's smart and strong. Not as smart as you, though, darling,” George said with a wink. Claire blushed slightly. George often said things like this and it gave Claire hope that maybe he on some level returned her feelings, but she wouldn't act on them... Not before she knew he felt the same. George was a dear friend and she needed him in her life one way or another.

About two weeks before the ball, study hall was well underway for the whole school. Cho and Claire sat next to each other at the Ravenclaw table, but Claire could very clearly see Fred and George who were sat opposite them at the Gryffindor table. Each time Claire looked up, Fred or George sent her a small wink and Claire shook her head with a smile. At this point she had finished almost all of her notes that Snape had assigned, so she was stalling and waiting until her best friends were done so they could all walk together. Claire noticed that George's face fell after a moment and he chewed his lip. He and Fred shared a look and Fred gestured towards Claire. Claire was confused but starting to get nervous. Why were they talking about her? George then shot Ron a piece of paper. Ron was bad at whispering, so Claire could hear everything.

“Who'll you go with, then?” Ron said. George smirked and wadded up a piece of paper, then threw it at Angelina to get her attention. She looked slightly annoyed, but then George gestured dancing and then pointed to himself while asking her to the ball silently. She looked flustered and then said yes, of course, and George smiled proudly. Claire watched and felt her stomach drop. Fred looked impressed and Claire felt like she was going to cry. George looked up and made eye contact with her, so she quickly pushed her heartbreak down and smiled at him with a thumbs up. He had a neutral expression and smiled back at her.

“Would you like to come to the dress shop with me, Fleur and Hermione tomorrow night? I'm sure they won't mind the company,” Cho asked after seeing Claire's face fall once George had looked away.

“I'd love that, thank you,” Claire said, grateful for such an observant friend. She felt tears threaten to well up and fall from her face and the aching in her chest grew worse. “I'm gonna go...”

Cho gave her a sympathetic look and gently patted Claire's shoulder. Claire got up and turned her notebook into Snape, who gave a curt look and snatched the book from her. She didn't dare look at Fred or George even though she was sure they were confused since they had all agreed to meet up afterward. She walked out of the Hall using all of her strength to fight back the tears and sobs that were threatening to escape her throat. She was so focused on getting back to Ravenclaw commonroom without being seen that she wasn't watching where she was going and bumped into someone.

“I'm so sorry, I—oh, hey Cedric,” she said relaxing when she didn't have to apologize to a potentially rude stranger. She was impressed that her words weren't whimpers, but she assumed the momentary adrenaline rush helped her sobs subside.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You seem... flustered.”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. Just a busy week,” Claire lied to her brother.

“Those Weasley boys aren't giving you any trouble are they?” he said with a smile. “I heard George was going to ask you to the ball.”

Claire let out a small laugh and blinked tears away as she was reminded of her most recent heartbreak. “Well that rumor was false because he asked Angelina Johnson... Just now.” Cedric's face fell.

“I'll kick his ass,” Cedric said and started toward the Hall. Claire gripped his arm.

“No, Cedric! No, it's fine. It's not like we ever talked about it, it's fine,” Claire pleaded. Cedric calmed himself and patted her on the back.

“Well, I'm glad I ran into you. Would you be willing to give this to Cho for me? Like, leave it on her pillow?” he asked and handed Claire a card. She let out a breath and smiled.

“Sure, I will creepily put this on my friend's pillow,” Claire said slowly and took the card.

“You're the best,” Cedric said and gently touched the tip of Claire's nose which caused Claire to roll her eyes.

~*~

“So... Angelina, huh?” Fred asked George after study hall concluded. “Thought for sure you would have asked Claire by now.”

George felt slightly guilty and swallowed thickly. “No, um... I wanted to ask Angelina.”

“Well you won't mind if I ask Claire then, would you? Make a show of it?” Fred said with a sly smirk.

“You're not serious,” George asked with a lower tone. George had never been honest about his feelings for Claire and never admitted them even to himself, but this made his blood run cold in jealousy. He never considered Fred maybe felt the same way he did about Claire, and he felt like a knife was plunged into his stomach.

“I definitely am serious. So I'll take her to the ball. I mean since you have no romantic interest in her,” Fred said with a sly smile.

George swallowed, then clenched and unclenched his jaw. He stuffed his feelings down as he always did and didn't dare give Fred the satisfaction. “I, um... Yeah, okay. Show her a bloody good time. Shag her for all I care!” George began to walk away in embarrassment and heartbreak. He did it to himself, of course, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

“Oh, you'd be so mad if I did,” Fred chortled.  

“Nope! Very happy for both of you!” George shouted with a wave behind him with his back turned as he climbed the stairs leaving Fred laughing maniacally.

~*~

The following morning, Claire came down to have breakfast and found a red enveloped howler note  placed where she usually sat at the Ravenclaw table. She wasn't in the mood to be yelled at after yesterday's events that left her in her dorm crying for the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening.

“Go on, open it!” Cho encouraged with a smile. Claire bit her lip and gently opened the red envelope. A musical melody played for a few seconds and the howler transformed into a rose. Claire had never seen such a clever way to make a howler.

“My dearest Claire, would you please do me the honor of attending the Yule Ball with me as your very romantic date? I promise to be a perfect gentleman the entire night. Love, Fred Weasley,” the howler said in Fred's voice as loud as the Great Hall would allow. “PS, turn around.”

Claire, shocked, turned around and saw Fred stood there with his longer hair flowing and a rose extended to her. He wore a hopeful and innocent smile on his face: a look Claire hadn't seen often on Fred. Remembering the promise she made to move on from her deep-seated feelings for George, she laughed and took the rose from him with a nod.

“Yes, I would love to,” Claire accepted with a slightly embarrassed smile.

Fred held his fist up in the air and they went to sit at the Gryffindor table next to George and Angelina. Fred beamed proudly and allowed Claire to sit before he did and sat close to her. Claire smiled and blushed at their proximity.

“How exciting!” Angelina gushed and smiled brightly at Claire. George's face was unreadable and Claire felt slightly guilty for playing into the show that Fred put on, but then remembered that George was the one who didn't ask her, and she didn't owe him anything. She decided last night after her heart was broken that she would stop pursuing him—he clearly didn't want her. Fred, however, seemed to show at least a little bit of interest. She hadn't thought of Fred that way, but maybe he was lurking under her nose this whole time. She smelled the rose he had given her and looked up at him with a smile. He winked at her and took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

That night, Claire, Cho, Hermione, and Fleur were all trying on dresses for the Yule ball at a shop in Hogsmeade. Fleur had helped each of them (especially Hermione) pick out a dress that best suited them and Claire couldn't lie, the pick she had for her was stunning. A floor-length navy blue a-line dress with silver jewels along the neckline and straps and a blue shift overlay made her look incredible. She felt confident and beautiful in the dress and stepped out to show her friends, who were also changed into their potential gowns.

“So, wait... I thought you fancied George? Forgive me if I'm overstepping, Claire,” Hermione asked once they had all seen each other and gushed about how lovely they all looked.

“It's okay. I mean... It's clear that George doesn't have those feelings for me and I'd rather be with someone who wants to be with me, you know? Fred is a bolder choice, but he knows me well and we get along great. And it seems like he might actually feel something more than friendship towards me.. Who knows? Maybe I'll start to feel the same,” Claire answered.

Cho nodded. “I know what you mean, but don't settle. It'll never make you happy.”

Claire smiled at her friend and nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

The night of the Yule Ball, Claire felt incredibly nervous. She and Cho walked out of Ravenclaw commonrrom, then followed the mass of students dressed to the nines towards the Great Hall. She and Fred had agreed to meet in the foyer and she had hoped she wasn't waiting too long for him or vice versa. Once they reached the last staircase to the Great Hall, Claire spotted two tall gingers standing off to the side in front of the doors to the Great Hall. She made eye contact with George, whose face fell in awe. She blushed at his gaze and admired how nice he looked in his dress robes. Claire smiled and waved at him shyly, then looked at Fred, who then trotted up the stairs to meet her. Fred also looked handsome and she noticed that the twins were wearing matching robes.

“My lady,” he said and offered his arm to her. She giggled and took it with a bright smile.

“Thank you, Fred,” she said. She still felt George's eyes on her as they proceeded into the Great Hall. Claire looked up at the decorations in wonder.

“It's so beautiful in here,” she said.

“Doesn't hold a candle to you tonight, darling,” Fred said with a sly smirk.

“I see I get full-on charmer Fred tonight,” Claire laughed.

Fred winked at her. “Couldn't pass that one up, petal.”

Claire stole a glance at George and saw his jaw tensed and his eyes cast down. She wondered why he looked so upset. Maybe these sorts of gatherings made him uncomfortable? She hoped he'd be able to have fun anyway. They stood off to the side as the champions and their dates entered the Great Hall and walked onto the dance floor. Claire waved to her brother and Cho, who both sent her beaming smiles. The music began to play and Claire watched as the champions waltzed for a few bars, then Dumbledore led McGonagall out onto the floor, quickly followed by a very eager Neville Longbottom and Fred's sister Ginny.

“Aw, Ginny's got a date,” Claire said to Fred.

“Yeah, I'll let him live,” Fred began after a huff.

“For tonight,” George completed. Claire laughed and shook her head at their protectiveness.

Fred stood closer to Claire and bowed slightly. “May I have this dance, petal?”

Claire bit her lip in embarrassment and blushed. She placed her hand in his and let him lead her to the dance floor. They joined the group and Claire did her best not to step on Fred's toes, but when he put her back down from the lift they were taught, her toes came into contact with his briefly.

“I'm so sorry,” she muttered through laughter. Fred laughed with her and shrugged.

“It's fine, darling,” he said. When the music became more raucous, so did their dancing. At one point Fred and George switched partners and Claire felt sick with butterflies when George took her hand and spun her around a couple times. She felt dizzy but not from the spins and she felt George hold her close to him as they danced. He smiled widely at her as they swayed to the music and Claire couldn't help but smile back.  

“You do look beautiful tonight, doll,” George complimented with an almost sad tone.

“Thank you. You're very handsome,” Claire responded. George's cheeks went pink. Claire smiled and they danced for another moment before Fred pulled Claire back to him.

Fred was a very exuberant dancer and Claire tried her best to keep up, but found herself mostly watching him and him twirling her a few times. During a break that the band was taking, Fred gently gripped her hand and pulled her off the dance floor to a table.

“I'm going to get drinks,” Fred said.

“Yeah, I'm so parched. Want one, George?” Angelina said and fanned herself.

“Um, yeah, thanks. We'll hold the table,” George said with a smile. After a small pause, Claire decided to cut the tension and speak up.

“Are you having a good time?” she asked.

“Yeah, lovely time. It's a good night. You?” he asked.

“I'm having a great time! Everything is so fun in here,” Claire gushed. George looked as though he was hanging on her every word.

“You really do look incredible tonight, dove,” he said after a beat.

Claire blushed. “Thank you.”

“Alright, a punch for the lady,” Fred said as he returned to the table. The four of them sat down and the music started up again. The refreshment table cleared out as many of the students that were there went to dance more.

Claire drank the blue liquid down slowly and admired how fruity it tasted. She looked between Fred and George for a moment and suspected they may have put something in it to liven the night up, but then remembered that they'd probably get expelled for a prank that dangerous.

“You two didn't put anything in this, did you?” Angelina asked after taking a sip.

“Too late now. The whole school will be in love with us by morning,” George quipped with a sly smile and gave Fred a high five. Angelina's face dropped.

“They're not serious,” Claire explained with a slight shake of her head and eyes rolled.

Angelina looked slightly worried and looked between them. “How do you tell..?”

Claire shrugged and smiled at her best friends. She finished her punch and placed the cup on the table once more. When Fred finished his, a slow song began to play and he looked at Claire with a large smile.

“Care for a dance, my dearest?” Fred asked and offered his hand to her. Claire blushed and took it. As they made their way to the dace floor, Claire felt George's eyes on the two of them. Fred smoothed his hands around her waist and pulled her close to him and Claire draped her arms around his neck. The two had hugged before, but only briefly. This was the closest Claire had been to Fred ever, she thought. It was nice. He felt sturdy supporting her, and he was warm and soft to the touch. His arms were solid around her but not overbearing and she rested her head on his chest as they swayed back and forth. She thought about when George had held her earlier this evening and did her best to not compare the two. She enjoyed being in Fred's arms like this, but something about the way George's hands felt on her was more intimate and deliberate. Very briefly, she looked over and saw George looking in their direction. His face was unreadable and Claire surmised that he and Fred were having some sort of nonverbal conversation. Claire felt the softness of Fred's lips on her head and her stomach flipped. George cast his gaze down and looked away as Fred's lips kissed Claire's head once more. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, his lips, and it did make her nervous, but mostly because nobody had ever been this close with her before. She had a very brief affair with a boy named Frank last year, but that was no more than a peck or two here and there for the month they were seeing each other. Claire's cheeks went hot and she looked up at Fred.

“What was that for?” she asked in a soft voice. Fred shrugged.

“Just felt the urge. You're alright with that?” he asked earnestly.

Claire nodded and curled her lips upward slightly. “I liked it.”

Fred's cheeks turned slightly pink and for a moment Claire grinned with pride. As the night wound down, Claire and Fred decided to retire. She looked around for George to bid him good night, but didn't see him or Angelina anywhere. The thought of George with her alone somewhere sat in her mind like a moment-ruining goblin, but she was pulled from her bad feelings when she and Fred reached the Ravenclaw commonroom.

“I had a wonderful time with you tonight, petal,” Fred said as they faced each other. Claire hadn't noticed until now, but their hands had been interlocked the entire walk from the Great Hall to Ravenclaw tower. She smiled at his hands holding hers and then looked up at him.

“I did too, Fred. Thank you for a magical evening,” she said. Fred tucked his lip between his teeth and pulled her in for a hug good night. She gently embraced him and his strong arms encased around her with his hand supporting the back of her head. When they pulled away, their cheeks brushed together, which sent a jolt of nerves down Claire's spine. Neither Fred nor Claire pulled farther back. A beat fell between them before Fred's voice spoke barely above a whisper.

“I guess we should snog now,” he said. Claire's cheeks were lit aflame and she nodded, now curious about how Fred's lips would feel against her own. Fred's lips connected with hers and the sparks that Claire expected to feel fell short. She didn't feel any emotion in their kiss, it was merely two sets of lips moving together. It wasn't unpleasant, though, and Claire thought it was actually quite nice. Fred was a damn good kisser, but without any emotion fueling it, Claire didn't feel much.

Their lips parted and their grip on each other loosened. They were both flustered and let out a few nervous laughs before Claire said good night and entered the commonroom.

~*~

George didn't know why, but he felt a pull to Ravenclaw tower. He felt guilty for not saying good night to Claire, but Angelina seemed tired and he wanted to be a good date for her. He walked her to the commonroom and bid her good night and told her he was going to find Fred. She smiled and waved at him and now here George stood in the corridor before Ravenclaw commonroom. He saw Fred and Claire at the entryway sharing a hug and before he could greet them, Fred's lips were attached to hers. George had never wanted to punch his twin so much. Jealousy and pain filled him to the brim as he watched them share the moment. He felt like his world was crumbling and he refused to understand why. The entire evening his eyes kept wandering in a longing gaze towards Claire, who mostly wore a brilliant smile tonight, and that made this interaction between her and Fred all the worse for him.

“What are you playing at? You don't fancy her, do you?” George challenged Fred after Claire was behind the door.

Fred turned and looked at him, then wiped his lower lip clean of her lip balm color. “I could be in love with her for all you know.”

George took a step back and his face furrowed and he felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. “You're in love with her?”

Fred rolled his eyes and looked slightly angry. “No, you idiot. YOU are, but you're too bloody blind to see it.”

George frowned and they walked back to Gryffindor tower in silence. Fred didn't know what he was talking about, George was only interested in friendship with Claire George told himself over and over. It didn't matter that she was the object of his thoughts nearly all the time, and it didn't matter that he ached to be the one kissing her just then, no. He was just tired, that's all. He'd feel better in the morning...

~*~

“Hey you,” Fred greeted Claire one morning.

“Good morning to you too. Where's George?” she asked, thinking it unusual that Fred approached her alone.

“He'll be along. I wanted to ask you something,” Fred said. Claire motioned for him to continue with a nod of her head. He continued, “Would you go on a date with me to The Three Broomsticks tonight? Seven o'clock sound good?”

Claire's heart flipped in her chest. Her mouth hung slightly agape in shock as it had been a few weeks since their kiss and Fred hadn't made much in terms of moves toward a relationship. Claire supposed that this was his move and agreed.

“Um, yeah, sounds lovely,” she said with a  smile. Fred beamed and squeezed her hand, then sat down across the table from her as George joined them for breakfast. Claire smiled at George and he smiled back. Things had been pretty normal since the Yule Ball except Claire had expected her feelings for George to go away by now. She had hoped that going on a date with Fred would set her mind straight, but she also feared that she was in for more hurt.  

That evening, Claire walked into the courtyard before the entrance to Hogsmeade and found Fred standing there waiting for her. He smiled when he saw her and offered his arm to her and they made their way into the village.

“Are you excited about St. Patrick's day?” she asked him as she took note of the shamrock decorations and remembering his affiliation with the Irish quidditch team.

“Oh yeah. Georgie and I've got a few good pranks up our sleeves,” he winked. “None aimed at you, of course, petal.”

Claire laughed. “Thank goodness.”

They arrived at the pub and Fred pulled out Claire's chair for her before sitting down across from her. He smiled and ordered two butterbeers to start as the waiter handed the menus out. Their evening was filled with jokes, laughter, and an all around good time. Much like their time at the Yule Ball, Fred was an absolute gentleman.

“We have fun together, don't we?” Fred asked.

Claire smiled and nodded. “I think so, yeah.”

“Do you trust me?” Fred asked in a more serious tone as they walked back into the courtyard. Claire looked at him quizzically.

“Of course I do, Fred,” she said.

Fred nodded and looked to be in thought for a moment. He then turned to face her head on and took her hands in his.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. Claire looked at him suspiciously, but after a moment she let her eyes close. She wondered what Fred was up to. The silence of the courtyard weighed heavy on her in that moment and she wondered if maybe Fred had left. Suddenly, though, she felt a familiar pair of lips on hers. Fred kissed her with a bit more fire than their first time, but Claire felt the same. She tried, she really did... but Fred didn't spark any feelings in her. Claire pulled away from him and cast hear head down.

“We're better as friends aren't we?” Fred asked. “I mean don't get me wrong, you're one hell of a snog, but...”

“No magic in it,” Claire said. Fred smiled and nodded.

“Well at least it's mutual and now that we've gotten it out of the way we can move on,” Claire shrugged and they walked back to the corridors inside the castle.

Fred chuckled. “George is a lucky man.”

Claire stopped dead in her tracks, then looked at Fred, who stopped a few paces ahead of her.

“Why would you say that?” she asked innocently. Fred rolled his eyes.

“I know how you feel about him and how he feels about you, it's obvious,” Fred shrugged. Claire tilted her head away from him and looked at him through a side-swept view.

“So what, you just went out with me to make him jealous?” Claire asked with a soft and slightly broken voice.

Fred's eyes went wide and he closed the space between them. “No, no... Make no mistake, I wanted to take you out because I had a crush on you. Seems George and I have similar taste.”

Claire relaxed a bit and Fred continued, “But... There's nothing but a cherished friendship between us. You're honestly more like a sister to me now. But George... his feelings are much deeper. He'll come around.”

~*~

On the day of the second task, Fred and George were too busy collecting bets to notice Claire's complete absence from breakfast and lunch. George had wondered for a brief moment where Claire was between both meals, but after he and Fred got into their zone at the docks as students headed to the second task in the mid afternoon, he had forgotten that this morning was unlike the others he'd had.

“Hey, where's Claire?” Cho asked from behind them once the stands were full and the task was about to begin.

Fred and George shared a look, then turned back to Cho.

“She's not with you?” Fred asked. Cho shook her head. George had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Is she up there next to Cedric?” George asked in hope.

Cho shook her head once again. “I was just there, no sign of her. Cedric's worried sick... She never came back to the dorm last night either.”

George felt similarly. If she wasn't here and she wasn't near Cedric, where could she have gone? Before George could think too much, the cannon fired and the champions were off. He, Fred, and Cho decided to spread out and look more thoroughly for Claire while they waited for the champions to resurface. George searched the stands for almost thirty minutes before he circled back to where he was standing before. He met up with Fred and Cho and neither of them had found her.

“There's no way she wouldn't come to support her brother,” George concluded aloud. His heart sank into his stomach and he searched his thoughts for a way to find Claire.

Just then, two heads breached the water. The three of them were stood close enough to the jumping off point that George could clearly see that Cedric had resurfaced and won the task. The crowd cheered as Cedric swam to the docks with a huge winning smile on his face. George was pushed closer to the edge than he'd like, but then he saw the other person that had surfaced: Claire. Something wasn't right, though. Unlike Cedric, she hadn't moved. In fact, George couldn't see any sign of life from her. He panicked when he saw her floating and nothing being done about it, and without another thought, he rid himself of his jacket and plunged into the ice cold water.

“George, no!” he heard Fred yell as he leapt in, but George didn't care. He needed to make sure that Claire was okay. Every force in the universe was screaming at him to dive in and pull her to safety. He didn't have to swim very far to reach Claire's floating form and for that he was grateful. The icy waves that splashed on him and surrounded him were none other than wholly brutal. He understood Fleur stopping prematurely in her task and he wondered how Cedric had stayed down there for so long, then panicked more at the prospect of Claire being down there for even longer. He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her to the ladder where Cedric helped her limp body back onto dry land.

Cedric appeared to be in a state of composed panic as he looked to Dumbledore and Barty Crouch, who were standing behind him with worried expressions.

“Is this part of the task?! I need to know NOW,” Cedric demanded of them. George made quick work of checking to make sure Claire was still alive. She had taught them this skill set in their fourth year when the threat of coming upon a poor soul who'd been petrified was high: how to check for a pulse and breathing. Luckily George was able to find both of these, but he was sure they were weaker than they were supposed to be. His hands didn't feel the warmth of her skin like he expected—she was practically frozen. George felt a blanket placed around his shoulders, but he immediately wrapped Claire up in it.

“No, the task is over for you, she should be conscious,” Barty blubbered.

“It seems the unpetrification spell wasn't as powerful for her. Miss Granger came out just fine,” Dumbledore observed and looked over to where Viktor Krum had just rescued Hermione from the depths.

“To hell with this, I'm taking her to the infirmary,” George said and scooped her up in his arms. He hadn't felt the additional blankets that were placed over his shoulders and only noticed them when he lifted her and they fell. He hurried to a boat and ignored Cedric's complaints as the judges held him in place to accept the results of the task. Fred and George boarded a boat as fast as they could to the shore and George did his best to keep Claire from getting colder. He looked down at her face as the boat floated across the lake at a seemingly agonizingly slow pace. Her lips were a blue tint and she looked pale. Her eyes were shut and if George hadn't known better, he'd say she was sleeping peacefully. His heart was beating out of his chest with adrenaline, but that didn't stop it from swelling with worry for the girl he held so close in his arms.

When they arrived at the shore, they made a mad dash for the hospital wing of the castle. George was careful not to jostle Claire too much, and he doesn't think he's ever run faster in his life. If he weren't so cold from his dip in the lake, he probably would be sweating bullets. They reached the wing and burst through the doors.

“Madam Pomfrey!” George bellowed. She poked her head out from behind a curtain and George saw her eyes grow wide. She silently directed him to place Claire on a large and empty hospital bed in the corner of the room.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It was the second task. She was in the Black Lake for Cedric and Dumbledore mentioned a petrification spell,” George said and reluctantly placed her on the bed. Madam Pomfrey's eyes squinted and she looked between George and Claire. She placed a hand on Claire's cheek and nodded. She muttered something and waved her wand above where Claire was lain before her and various numbers appeared in translucent blue letters for Madam Pomfrey to read. Pomfrey then nodded and the letters floated above them and mostly out of sight.

“We need dry clothes. For both of you,” Pomfrey said.

“I'll go get some,” Fred said and ran out of the room toward Gryffindor tower.

“Thank you for volunteering to keep her warm, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said with a gesture to George's wet clothes and hair, then began riffling through the cabinets above and beside Claire's bed.

“Pardon?” George asked.

Madam Pomfrey pulled out a small brown cup that looked like it had been in a furnace several minutes too long. She poured a black liquid into it from an equally charred bottle, then handed it to George.

“The best way to cure hypothermic shock is with body heat. Drink this, it'll prevent you from getting to Ms. Diggory's state. In other circumstances—were she conscious—I would give her some of this, too, but since you also require heat support, why not kill two birds with one stone, eh? Go on, drink up,” Madam Pomfrey said and gestured for George to drink the contents of the cup.

His stomach flipped and he looked at Claire, then drank the cup down. It felt like lava going down his throat, but the burning subsided almost as quickly as it arrived. Shortly thereafter, he felt a warmth radiating from his stomach that spread throughout his whole body. It was slow, but noticeable.

“Okay, I've got some clothes. Sorry, George, she's going to borrow a couple things,” Fred said as he reentered the infirmary.

“Excellent. Garmentus replaccus,” Madam Pomfrey said and waved her wand over the new clothes. In an instant, George felt dryer and was wearing the t-shirt Fred was previously holding as well as a pair of sweatpants he had picked. Fred looked confused as he held not only George's wet clothes, but Claire's as well.

“Good, now get under that blanket and hold her tight. Get comfortable, looks like you're in for a long night,” she instructed. George's eyes went wide.

“Uh... um...” George stammered. “The night?”

“Yes. I'm assuming you want to help her?” Madam Pomfrey said. George nodded, and without another word, he cautiously crawled under the blanket and held Claire in his arms. It was a nice feeling and one he didn't know he needed until now. His arms looped around her shoulders and the other around her middle. He looked down and noticed Fred had pulled out an older quidditch jersey that Claire was now wearing. George smiled to himself at the sight of her in his clothes. He liked it and thought maybe she could keep the jersey. Fred's expression went from worried to slightly smug as Madam Pomfrey walked away.

“Need anything?” Fred asked with a smirk. George brushed it off.

“Well dinner would be nice,” George said and adjusted himself so that he and Claire were cocooned together in the puffy blanket. Fred chuckled.

“You know, we can take turns cuddling her,” Fred said with a shrug.

George's head snapped up to look at Fred. “What?”

Fred laughed and rolled his eyes as he turned to leave. “You're impossible, Georgie. I'll get you something from the Great Hall.”

“Is she here? Is she okay?” George heard Cedric's voice say from the other end of the long room.

“She's stable. Mr. Weasley kindly volunteered to watch over her and keep her warm,” Madam Pomfrey said calmly. “I have her monitored and will keep her here tonight until she wakes up.”

“Can I please see her?” Cedric begged. George heard Madam Pomfrey sigh and then a pair of footsteps grew closer until Cedric and Madam Pomfrey appeared into George's vision. Cedric's eyes widened and he rushed to Claire's side.

“Has she woken up? Has she said anything?” he asked George.

George shook his head apologetically.

“She probably won't wake up for a long time,” Madam Pomfrey said. “The Black Lake is usually cold, but this time of year it's a good day when it isn't frosted over. She's lucky to be alive.”

After a moment, Cedric spoke lowly, “She was down there all day...”

George's breath was caught in his throat. The severity of what had happened to Claire had dawned on him like a tsunami. The entire time that she had been missing—from last night through most of the day—she had been petrified in the bottom of the Black Lake. Madam Pomfrey's words rang out in his mind and he instinctively pulled her closer to him.

“She could have died,” George said mostly to himself.

Cedric bit his lip. “I know... I saw her and swam as fast as I could to get her.”

“Why didn't you make sure she was okay before heading to the docks? I jumped in and got her, Cedric,” George said with a slightly accusatory tone.

“And I can never thank you enough for that. I assumed that the magic to petrify her had been done in the lake, so once she breached the surface, the spell would break, like most magic under water. I was wrong... Look, I know how you feel about her, and I want you to know that I think you're a good match for her, especially since you're willing to risk your life like that,” Cedric said.

George felt flustered. “No, I... We're just friends. She'd do the same for me.”

“Exactly. Just don't break her heart, okay?” Cedric said. George shook his head and wondered why Cedric felt the need to say this to him. Had Claire told him something? George wondered if maybe Claire... No. You're just friends, George thought purposefully.

“Alright I got some soup and mashed potatoes with a couple rolls and for dessert some cherry pie,” Fred said as he entered from the other side of the dividing curtain. Once he looked up, he saw Cedric and his face fell. “Oh, sorry... I didn't know you were here, otherwise I'd bring you some too.”

Cedric smiled and shook his head as he stood up. “That's okay. I should probably head to dinner anyway—Cho's probably worried.”

“Alright, well, see you then,” George said. “We'll let you know when she wakes up.”

“Thanks,” Cedric said with a smile and then left.

It wasn't until Fred left that evening (more like kicked out as he would have stayed all night had it not been for Pomfrey's insistence) that George felt a cramp in his side. He looked down at Claire, whose face was now only dimly lit by the small amount of blue light from the numbers above her and the moon shining through the window. She looked slightly better and her lips were only a fair shade of purple now. He placed a hand on her cheek and it was significantly warmer than a few hours ago, and for that he was grateful. Careful not to pull the blanket from her, he turned to his side and pulled her with him. With her pressed against him and his arm around her waist, he looked at her face once more before drifting to sleep.

His dreams were full of her—her laugh, her smile, her eyes, everything—and he wasn't upset by it. He enjoyed seeing her laugh at his jokes and wave at him from across the Great Hall. He imagined her in places she hadn't been in a long time like his house during the summer and Christmas, then longed for those visits to be real. In his dream, he could hold her when he wanted and moments before he woke up, his lips were locked with hers in a passionate action. His heartbeat quickened and he felt his pulse in his throat. His chest heaved to accommodate the wave of breathlessness he felt and as he traced small circles on her back, and he knew what had become of him. He couldn't deny it any longer, and no matter how hard he tried to push his feelings for her down, they would always come back tenfold. He remembered the night he found her and Fred together and he filled with jealousy and regret. He wanted that to be him. Dumbledore had mentioned that a treasure was stolen from the champions to retrieve yesterday, and George couldn't think of a better way to describe Claire to him.

George felt Claire shift next to him and rest her head on his chest. He let out a breath and pulled her closer to him. He looked out the window and noticed that dawn was approaching. The peacefulness of the morning made him smile and he looked down at Claire, who made a soft groaning sound.

“Claire?” he said with his voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him.

“George? What happened?” she asked in a weak voice. George smiled widely and hugged her close to him.

“I'm so glad you're okay... You were petrified for the second task. They had you at the bottom of the Black Lake... He saved you, but the spell malfunctioned and you went into hypothermia...” George said and then released her from his embrace to look at her face.

“Oh... how did you get here, then..?” Claire asked.

“I um... I jumped in to help. You weren't moving, so I went in...” George admitted sheepishly.

Claire's expression changed to slightly shocked but thankful. “Wow... Thank you, George...”

“I couldn't just let you float there and have all the fun, you know,” George said with a smirk and wink.

Claire let out a weak laugh, then asked, “What time is it?”

George bit his lip and looked around for a clock. He craned his neck and looked at the large one above their heads, then read to her, “It's about a quarter after six in the morning. Breakfast should be appearing soon, you must be starving.”

Claire nodded. “Yeah...”

George nodded and tore himself from her. “I'll go get you something to eat and send Pomfrey here to make sure you're okay...”

Claire nodded and started to sit up. George didn't want to leave her, but he knew she couldn't make the walk on her own. He hurried to Madam Pomfrey's office to find her already wide awake and making notes.

“Um, Madam Pomfrey? Claire's awake.. I'm going to go get her something to eat,” George said. She nodded and smiled at him, then headed in Claire's direction.

George made his way to the Great Hall and was among the first of the students to arrive. He didn't think he'd ever been in the Hall that early, but he didn't mind if it was for Claire. He picked out a few pasties for her as well as some oatmeal and apple juice. He brought the plate carefully back to the infirmary where he saw that the numbers had disappeared from above Claire's bed and she was sitting up completely. She smiled weakly when she saw him and he hurried to place the tray before her.

“Did you get anything?” she asked him. George nodded and held up a breakfast sandwich full of egg, bacon, and cheese.

Claire smiled and started to nibble a few pasties and drink her juice. George found himself staring at her while he ate and found that the intensity of his feelings hadn't died down. Every move she made had him swirling with intense and deep care for her. He wasn't sure he hated it, either.

~*~

In the brief month between the second and third task, Claire noticed George being much more attentive to her. She wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid something would happen to her again, but she wasn't entirely mad at it either. At every opportunity, he would give her a small touch of his hand on hers or a hug to hold her close for a moment. It was nice, and no matter how hard she tried to forget her feelings for George, she couldn't. They plagued her day and night and knowing that he didn't feel the same made her feel even worse. Cho had told her to just enjoy the time she has with George and eventually she'd find someone else, and Claire tried, but it was challenging to say the least. Especially when her mind brought her back to the morning she woke up in his clothes (that he let her keep) and he was cuddled against her. She remembered the sleepy and worried look on his face as she opened her eyes and how warm and comfortable he felt against her. It was a beautiful memory and one that she cherished.

On the day of the third task, Claire's father came to support Cedric and the three of them were beneath the bleachers waiting for Dumbledore to lead them out and greet the crowd.

“Are you feeling okay?” Claire asked Cedric.

“Nervous, but ready. I'm just glad this one doesn't put you in any danger,” he said with a slightly apologetic look. Claire shook her head.

“It's alright, Cedric. What's important is that you focus so you can make it out of this tournament,” she told him and gently patted his back.

“And win! Win, my boy, I know you can!” their father boasted emphatically.  Cedric looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded.

Claire heard the fanfare begin and Dumbledore ushered the Diggorys to enter the arena. Claire and Cedric walked beside each other and Amos led them with a big wave to the crowd. He presented his son to them and reveled in their cheers. Claire smiled and followed Cedric to his spot at the entrance to the maze. Dumbledore began to speak and Amos held Cedric's arm high in the air (much to Cedric's embarrassment) when it was mentioned that Cedric held first place. Claire scanned the crowd and found Fred and George sat in the second row from the front with a space between them that she assumed was for her. She made eye contact with both of them and waved.

“Good luck, son,” Amos said with a proud smile and hugged Cedric.

“Good luck, Cedric! Be safe in there,” Claire advised. Cedric hugged her close and they separated as the cannon fired. Once Cedric entered the maze, he took off in a slightly quicker pace than walking and the trees closed around him so that he was out of sight. Claire and Amos headed back to the stands where he took his seat toward the back and Claire found Fred and George.

“Thanks for saving me a seat,” she said to them.

“Of course! Wouldn't want to wait with anyone else,” Fred teased. George nodded in agreement.

The crowd clapped and cheered as Krum entered the maze next. A few minutes later, Fleur had entered. Claire took a deep breath and sighed. There was nothing to do now but wait. She vaguely heard her father boast about how Cedric would be coming out with cup in hand in relatively short order so nobody get too comfortable.

“Impressed with your brother, he is,” Fred said.

Claire hummed and nodded. “Always has been.”

“You're just as amazing as Cedric, you know. Probably even more,” George said and gripped Claire's hand that sat in her lap. She smiled at him and Fred who agreed. She didn't make a move to pull her hand away from George's and he didn't either. She enjoyed the feeling of his fingers twiddling and playing with hers as they waited well past dusk. The three were involved in a competitive game of eye spy before red sparks were seen in the sky high above the maze. Claire's attention was drawn to the rusting of the bushes and trees as the maze rolled Fleur out onto the ground. After a beat, she stood up and dusted herself off as a few girls from Beauxbatons helped her up. She looked rough and beaten down in her jumpsuit, and Claire hoped Cedric was faring a bit better.

“Wow... she looks rough,” Fred said. George nodded. Claire didn't realize it, but she was holding George's hand a little bit tighter now. She felt him place his other hand on hers in reassurance. About a half an hour later, Viktor Krum was ejected from the maze. He appeared to be unconscious, but alive, and woke up after about five minutes. Claire bit her lip and looked for any sign of Cedric. This meant that he and Harry were the only ones left, right? Either way Hogwarts won the tournament, but who exactly would earn the title was to be determined.

“They have to be getting close,” Fred concluded. Claire nodded.

It was quiet for a while, then suddenly a whooshing sound was heard and Harry appeared with the cup in hand. Fanfare played as the crowd stood and clapped, and Claire ran to greet her brother, but as she got closer she heard Harry's sobs and Cedric was unmoving.

Dumbledore was first to get to Harry, who refused to let go of Cedric. Claire pushed past the judges, needing to see her brother. She could hear Harry's sobs, but a ringing in her ears began as her face fell upon seeing Cedric up close. His face was expressionless and his eyes that once shone in happiness were void of light and life. Claire sunk to her knees next to Cedric and she felt a wave of shock stem from her chest and throughout her body. She placed a hand gently on his chest and her eyes welled up with tears. She was barely aware of her surroundings as time had seemed to stop. She wasn't sure what had happened, but she was pulled from her trance of grief by her father's howls and cries. She looked at him for comfort and did her best to console him, but he would have none of it. He was caught up in his despair just as she was.

Claire felt a gentle hand around her shoulder and she looked to see George with a sorrowful look on his face. His brown eyes were swimming with tears that threatened to fall and he knelt down with Claire. She leaned onto him and sobbed into his chest. She wasn't one for crying in public or letting her feelings be known always, but right now she was overwhelmed with grief and didn't care. George held her close and whispered his condolences and comforting words.

The following morning, an assembly was called for the entirety of the school. The candles were dim and black curtains hung from the ceiling of the Great Hall. The teachers and students sat on the benches that faced Dumbledore, who was sitting in his own solitary chair before them behind his podium. Claire and George sat near the front and George had noticed that Claire's eyes were puffy, bloodshot, and slightly sunken in. He wondered if she had slept at all last night. He looked over to Cho, who looked only slightly better, but not by much.

After everyone had settled into the uncomfortable and somber aura of the room, Dumbledore began to speak from his chair. “Today we acknowledge a really terrible loss,” he began. “Cedric Diggory was, as you all know, exceptionally hard working, infinitely fair mind, and most importantly a fierce, fierce friend. Now I think, therefore, you have a right to know exactly how he died.” He got up from his chair and stood at the podium where he rested his hands. He spoke louder, “You see, Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”

Claire inhaled sharply at the mention of You-Know-Who's name. Until now, George had no idea how Cedric had died, and he was sure that Claire didn't either. He hadn't dared ask her if she knew and he didn't want to pry, but she seemed just as surprised as he was. George reached a comforting hand out to her and she gripped his fingers in hers as Dumbledore continued to speak.

“The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this, but not to do so I think would be an insult to his memory,” Dumbledore announced. Claire looked up and then over at Harry, who was sat not far from them. George saw Harry make eye contact with her and nodded apologetically. Their silent conversation went unnoticed for the most part and Dumbledore finished his speech emphasizing what Cedric valued most: friendship and family. George couldn't think of a time that Claire wasn't crying during the speech.

When the students were dismissed, Fred and George followed Claire in her pursuit of Harry. She found him walking with Ron and Hermione in a relatively empty corridor.

“Harry?” she asked in a small but strong voice.

He turned around and his face turned from relaxed to a mix of skepticism, sorrow, and discomfort. “You're Claire, right?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, I just... I have to tell you that I don't blame you and I wanted to thank you for bringing him back. You must have gone through really awful things, and I'm just... Thank you,” Claire said with a broken voice. Harry's face relaxed once more and he nodded, then stepped forward to speak.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he said. Claire nodded in appreciation.

“Why don't you come stay with us for the summer?” Fred suggested. “For a little while anyway.”

“You mean it?” Claire asked through tears.

“Of course, darling. Don't want you to be alone and mum loves it when you visit,” George said.

Claire considered for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, I will. Thanks, guys.”

George was overjoyed that she would be staying with them over the summer. It was their first summer that they could use magic at their leisure and they were developing all sorts of prank treats and sweets. George was counting down the days until Claire came to stay with them. She wanted to be with her parents for a couple weeks after Cedric's funeral, then she would come stay with the Weasleys. Fred was excited, too, George could tell. They both made sure that Claire would have enough room with them and placed a soft mattress between their beds for her. There was only a small gap between the mattresses, but they hoped she didn't mind.

“Everything ready? She'll be here any minute now,” George asked Fred, who was packing the basket for the picnic they were taking her on.

Fred nodded. “Yep. All packed. Blanket, waters, sandwiches, crisps, strawberries, champagne, sex toys, lube...”

“FRED!” George gasped. Fred laughed maniacally.

“Only kidding. But we do have butterbeer,” Fred said with a smile.

“Her favorite,” they said in unison.

Timed perfectly, there was a knock at the door. George felt nervous. He had seen her a month and a half ago and they had been friends for their whole lives, but something about Claire staying with them for an extended period of time made him nervous and excited.

Fred opened the door and there stood Claire with her trunk in hand and a small smile on her face.

“Hi boys,” she greeted. Fred and George rushed and hugged her tight to them. After everything she had been through, George wanted to welcome her in the happiest way he could. He knew Fred felt the same and they both squeezed her for a moment, then let her go.

“Safe travels?” Fred asked. “Allow me to take your trunk.”

“Yeah, apparating is pretty intense, but I got the hang of it I think. I've still got all of me, right?” Claire asked and let Fred set her trunk inside.

“Hmm, now that you mention it, you are missing something,” George smirked at her. Claire's face fell in confusion. Both George and Fred leaned in and kissed either side of her face quickly, which sent her lips upward. George felt butterflies at the contact, but made it seem as platonic as possible.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “You cut your hair.”

George blushed. “Yeah, do you like it?”

Claire smiled and nodded. “You look very handsome.”

They helped her get settled into their room and she greeted the entire family including Hermione, who was visiting.

“Now I'm sure the boys told you that we're going to Grimmauld Place tomorrow, yes?” Molly said casually.

Fred and George looked at each other in panic, then back at Claire and Molly.

“Oh, yeah. I don't mind as long as you guys don't,” she said without skipping a beat.

“We're always happy to have you, dear,” Molly said with a smile and patted Claire's cheek. As she walked away, Claire looked at the twins with an accusatory and baffled expression.

“We forgot to tell you,” Fred said.

“But we do have a surprise for you. Are you hungry?” George asked trying to lighten the mood and maybe make up for their mistake.

Claire smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Excellent!” George said and directed her to follow them into the back yard, and then out onto a small meadow by the lake.

“It's beautiful here,” Claire commented.

George smiled. “I'm glad you like it. Now, surprise! We made you a picnic!”

Fred and George magically set up the blanket and food with a wave of their wands and the three of them sat down. George handed Claire a butterbeer and her eyes lit up.

“My favorite!” she said, excited. She opened the bottle and started to drink it with a soft smile on her face. “Thank you guys...”

They enjoyed the sunshine and their meal and George was anxious to ask her how she was doing and how her parents were, but decided against the notion until she brought it up. He did his best to try and cheer her up at any sign of sadness and made her laugh as best he could. Soon enough, the time came for them to go to bed as they had to be up relatively early in the morning to travel to the Black residence.

“I usually go for a stroll before bed, so...” Claire said hesitantly.

“I'll go with you, no worries,” George volunteered immediately. George saw Fred smiling out of the corner of his eye. Claire's face softened and she smiled appreciatively.

“Thank you... I found it helps with... well,” Claire said and shrugged. George didn't press her and nodded in understanding. They walked out of the house and George led her to the pathway around the lake that they had. They walked in comfortable silence for a while before Claire spoke up.

“Thank you for having me this summer. It's not been easy at home,” she said. His heart fell hearing this. George nodded and gave her a gentle look to hide his growing concern.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked her.

“It's just... Dad never really paid much attention to me, and now that Ced's gone... It's silly, I just feel sometimes like I'm unwanted and like I'm not cared about,” Claire confessed as they walked. George's heart nearly broke hearing that.

“Well I care very deeply for you,” George said without thinking. He didn't make any attempt to clarify what he had meant and decided to let Claire interpret it how she needed to. He couldn't imagine the pain of losing one of his siblings, so he needed to be extra gentle with her. Claire looked up at him with wide and glassy eyes.

“I care about you too, George. You're my best friend,” she said. George's panic subsided and was replaced with a the icy sting of rejection. She didn't mean it, of course, it's very easy to misinterpret caring about someone, and that's exactly what Claire had done. George wanted to correct her and confess everything he'd been feeling, but after careful consideration, he decided against it. After all... how could she feel the same?

~*~

The arrival at Hogwarts for her seventh year made Claire extremely uncomfortable. The last time she had been at the school, everyone was giving her looks of pity and it made her feel unpleasant to say the least.

“It's alright, we're here with you,” George said with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, we'll even pose as Ravenclaws. Dye our hair brown and be the Yelsaw twins,” Fred said with a laugh.

Claire laughed and shook her head. “No, it's okay. Thank you, though.” She made her way with the twins to the Great Hall and sat next to Cho, who looked happy to see her. They had only shared a few letters over the summer, and the last time they were face to face was at Cedric's funeral.

“Hi, Cho, how are you?” Claire asked. Cho opened her arms for a hug and Claire accepted with a smile.

“I'm okay. Hard being here, but we'll manage. Good summer otherwise. You?” she said with a sigh.

“As good as it could have been,” Claire said. “Spent the last half with Fred and George and you know how they are: always making jokes, so...”

“Are you and George...?” Cho asked expectantly with a sly and slightly suggestive smile.

Claire shook her head. “Just friends...”

Cho nodded and then turned to watch the sorting ceremony. Claire thought about George (as she often did) and her heart sank. Over the summer they had both been alone several times and Claire wanted to scream at him how much she felt for him, but she held back when she remembered Cho's advice that she'd find someone different after George's rejection of her. She and the twins shared almost all of their classes, so at least she wasn't alone the whole time. That became especially helpful when Defense Against the Dark Arts came about and Umbridge started talking about Cedric.

“Now children, it has come to my attention that the rumor floating about the school is that a certain defeated dark wizard is once again lurking in the shadows and is responsible for the tragic death of Miss Diggory's brother. This is a severely misguided lie,” she said in a sickeningly sweet and high-pitched voice. Claire's blood boiled. She knew the truth—Harry's eyes were enough to tell her the horrors he had seen that night and his regret for Cedric's death.

“How do you suppose my brother died, then? If you have answers, I'd love to hear them,” Claire said holding back tears.

“Claire, no,” Fred whispered. Umbridge took a deep breath and ignored her question, then went about sending the books to each student's desk. Claire scoffed and shook her head.

“This is bullshit,” the three of them whispered in unison. Claire stifled a laugh under her breath.

By the day of the first Quidditch match was upon them, Umbridge had already sunk her stupid heels into the curriculum. It was annoying and boring to learn defense against the dark arts this year, but Claire had always enjoyed seeing Fred and George play quidditch, so she looked forward to this afternoon. She went to every one of their practices and matches and cheered for them even if they were playing against Ravenclaw. This match was against Slytherin and it was an especially complex game. In the end, Harry caught the snitch after a face-off with Draco. Claire ran down to congratulate the twins as she always did along with other close friends and significant others of the team and she found them both sweaty and joyful.

“Congratulations!” she cheered and hugged Fred first.

“Thank you, petal,” Fred said and wrapped an arm around her briefly.

“Our little good luck charm you are,” George said and hugged her for slightly longer with both arms secured around her waist. The mood was quickly soured by Draco Malfoy's derogatory words that Claire could hear from a few feet away.

“Although you probably don't remember what your mum's house smelled like so even the Weasley's hovel—” Draco began, but was interrupted by a few Quidditch team members holding Fred back from wailing on Draco. George started to charge the blonde and Claire could only hold him back so much. George angry was not something Claire saw often, but when she did it was never a pretty sight. Claire and Harry did their best to hold George back, but as Draco continued to insult him, George became impossible to contain and Harry was even persuaded into beating the Slytherin seeker to a bloody pulp. Draco didn't fight back much—coward, Claire thought—but managed to get a few good hits in, mostly on George, who was much more aggressive than Harry was.

“Fuck you, Draco! You and your whole bigoted family can kiss my ass and die in a hellfire,” George roared. “Keep my family's name out of your shit mouth, asshole!”

“Impedimento!” Claire heard Madam Hooch bellow above the bone-crunching punches and kicks Harry and George delivered onto Draco.

George and Harry flew backward and Claire came to their side. George's lip was swollen and bleeding and Claire could tell a bruise to his jaw and eye were forming. He stood up from the blast with his jaw clenched and Fred managed to get away from Angelina's hold to stand next to Claire.

“All of you to your Head of House's offices! NOW!” Hooch ordered sternly.

Claire waited patiently outside McGonagall's office with Fred for Harry and George to emerge. Claire was worried about George's head injuries more than anything. He had detention before, many times. After a few more minutes, the door opened and out came George and Harry looking dissatisfied, but calmer.

“Well?” Fred asked.

“Detention tomorrow night with her,” Harry mumbled. “Both of us.”

“Well it's better than expulsion,” Claire said. George nodded and looked up to display a growing purple bruise around his left eye. She reached her hand up and gently placed her fingers on his jaw. He leaned into her touch slightly and his face softened.

“Yeah, it just sucks that Malfoy's probably getting off with nothing when he's been spewing this shit for ages,” George said.  Claire nodded.

The first few months of the year were tough, but Fred and George made life a bit more bearable for Claire. She was often the test subject for flavors of sweets as she refused to be made ill and George told her he wouldn't allow it anyway. He'd become very protective of her, and Claire would be lying if she said it didn't make her feel special. When word got to Claire about a meeting to discuss a real Defense Against the Dark Arts class, she let Cho in on the secret.

“Thursday at The Hog's Head. Three o'clock. Don't tell anyone you don't trust,” Claire said to her. Cho smiled and nodded with excitement.

That Thursday, Fred, George, and Claire headed to The Hog's Head on a cold day. She quickly realized why this was the meeting place: it was cold and damp and completely empty. The room soon filled with students from all four houses, but mostly Gryffindors were entering the bare pub. Once the clock showed five past three, Hermione stood up to speak.

“Harry could tell us more about how Diggory got killed,” a Gryffindor boy said from next to where Ginny sat. Claire could sense George's frustration and he gripped her hand nd was ready to stand up to confront the boy when Harry stood instead.

“I'm not going to talk about Cedric, so if that's why you're here, you might as well clear out now,” Harry said insistently with a small look toward Claire.

“Is it true you can produce a Patronus Charm?” Claire asked loud enough for the room to hear, remembering a rumor she had heard in her fifth year. She wanted the subject off of her dead brother, but also wanted tot ell Harry that she believed in him and wanted to learn from him, not just reminisce about what was probably a highly traumatic night for him—Claire knew it was for her at least.

Ron sent her a small smile and George's hand squeezed hers gently.

“Yes,” Hermione spoke up. “I've seen it.”

“Blimey, Harry! I didn't know you could do that,” Dean Thomas spoke up from the other side of the room. Neville then spoke about the Basilisk Harry slayed in his second year to save Ginny, and Ron chimed in saying Harry fended off hundreds of Dementors. Hermione closed out the discussion with another confirmation that Harry fought Voldemort in the flesh, which sent a jolt through Claire. She could only imagine how Cedric must have been feeling. She never asked Harry what his last words were or what exactly happened, and she probably never would. She must have spaced out during Harry's speech because she was soon pulled from her seat with the help of George's hand and stood in a line to sign up to be a part of what Harry was affectionately calling Dumbledore's Army. Claire didn't understand why Harry looked up to Dumbledore so much. He was a great wizard, sure... but his manipulative behavior toward Harry made her question the Headmaster's motives.

“Over the next few days, we should each try to find a place to practice, alright?” Harry said to the small group that had stayed with Harry.

“On it. See you later, Harry!” Fred said as he, George, and Claire went to test more product.

“Hey, Claire...” Harry called after her. Claire was surprised and looked at him.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Can I have a word with you..?” he asked. Claire felt George and Fred inch closer to her. Harry paid them no mind, though.

“Um, sure. Is everything okay?” she asked him. He swallowed hard.

“I-I know I said I wasn't going to talk about Cedric, but if you ever do... I think you'd be the only person I'll talk about it with. You've got a right to know what happened to your brother,” Harry said with a look of sincerity.

Claire was touched by the notion and opportunity that Harry extended to her. She nodded at him and smiled faintly. “Whenever you're okay telling me, of course I want to know.”

Harry looked slightly relieved and then his face turned more serious. “He was braver than I could have ever been. He was ready to fight, but never got the chance... Voldemort was quick, I don't even think Cedric knew what was happening. And when our wands—mine and Voldemort's—connected, Cedric asked me to bring his body back to you, specifically. He said 'take my body back to Claire and tell her I love her'.”

Claire felt her tears begin again and she heard the sorrow in Harry's voice. She put and hand on his shoulder and nodded. “Thank you, Harry.”

~*~

George was awoken in a start by Professor McGonagall. He was dreaming peacefully about an afternoon over the summer he had with Claire and was very displeased to be woken up. He knew something must have been terribly wrong, however.

“George, Fred, wake up. Your father's been attacked. You and your siblings will be going to St. Mungo's by portkey,” she instructed. George's adrenaline rushed through him and he and Fred shared a frantic look. They grabbed their robes and hurried with McGonagall towards Gryffindor commonrrom where Ginny was waiting anxiously.

“What about Claire? She's just as much his child as we are,” Fred said as they headed down the stairs out of the boy's dormitory.

“I took the liberty of having Professor Flitwick alert Miss Diggory. She will be joining you in the Headmaster's office,” McGonagall said.

“Thank goodness,” Ginny sighed and the four of them hurried along the corridors. Fred and George shared a worried look as they entered the extravagant office. George noticed Harry and Ginny share a small look and as much as George wanted to smirk, he was preoccupied with worrying about his dad and looking for Claire's face. He found it sat in a large armchair across the room. She and Ron were already in the office and appeared to be listening to Dumbledore, who appeared to have just been speaking to them. George didn't think he'll ever get used to how Claire looked after just sleeping. He remembered the first night she spent at the Burrow and how soft she looked under the covers in the bed next to his. He probably spent a solid five minutes just looking at her before he pulled himself away to get ready. It was a stark contrast to the last time he had seen her wake up after she had been frozen nearly to death. Even after waking up, she had looked exhausted. Today she looked worried, but still held a slight tender restfulness about her that made his stomach flip.

“Good, you're all here. This way,” Dumbledore said. He ushered them all to gather around an old and tattered top hat. George stood next to Claire, whose eyes still appeared puffy from sleep and she wore George's old quidditch sweatshirt that he had allowed her to keep. He smiled to himself and they all took a hand on the portkey. After a bit of dizzying travel, they landed in front of St. Mungo's hospital. They were greeted by a nurse with her hair pulled up in a tight and neat bun.

“You must be the Weasleys. Your mother is already inside. Follow me,” she said in a sweet but stern voice. They followed her into the building and up several floors, then turned toward one that said “Intensive Care” and George's stomach dropped. His dad must have been hurt badly to need intensive care... He felt Claire's hand grip his and he looked to her as they walked. She offered a reassuring smile and he was grateful for the contact.

“My babies,” George's mum gushed as they all entered the empty waiting room. She gave each of them a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“How's dad?” Fred asked.

She shrugged with a teary expression. “No news yet, but he'll be glad you're all here.”

“What happened?” Claire asked. George slipped his hand back into hers, which she accepted and gripped onto him gently.

“A snake, they think...” Molly responded.

Ron looked slightly uncomfortable and spoke up once the nurse had left, “Harry had a dream... It was You-Know-Who's snake... Sounded brutal,” Ron said.

George's grip tightened on Claire and she stepped closer to him. The group fell silent and Molly nodded, then took a seat.

“Do you need anything, mum? Water, food?” Fred asked.

“I'm fine, dear... Good thing Harry thought to tell someone,” she said. George and Claire took a seat across from her with their hands still joined. Fred sat on the other side of Claire, who offered her hand to him and he took it with a small smile. George felt a twinge of jealously, but noted that Claire's holing of his hand was different than how she held Fred's. He felt a bit better when he noticed that Claire's fingers were locked with George's but not with Fred's. He thought the gesture more intimate with him, but still wanted to pull Fred's touch away.

It was probably close to an hour before they were allowed to see Arthur. They filed in one by one and saw him heavily bandaged and looking worse for wear. George's heart beat faster and he was grateful to Harry for alerting to possible danger. He was sure Harry may have felt silly being worried over a dream, but he was grateful.

“How are you feeling, dad?” Ginny asked with a soft voice. George, Claire and Fred stood off to the side with hands still joined.

“Much better now... the doctor said that there wasn't any venom, so that's good,” Arthur said.

“Just big teeth, then,” Fred mused. Arthur smiled and nodded at his son.

“I'm glad you're all here,” he said and smiled. “I'm alright, though. Don't want you guys away from Hogwarts for too long.”

George nodded and they each took turns giving Arthur a hug. He watched Claire give his dad a tender embrace and he saw Arthur whisper something to her. She nodded and all but Molly left the room. George felt the rest of the night go by in a blur. He was utterly exhausted the following morning and he noticed that Fred, Claire, Ron, Harry, and Ginny seemed to be equally as tired. This was only the beginning, though, and the danger of what they were going to have to face loomed above them all. George couldn't help but become even more protective of Claire after that. The threat of someone he loves being torn from him was mounting and he practiced hard in each DA meeting to do his best to prevent that from happening.

~*~

The next time George saw his father, it was Christmas Day. He, his siblings, Harry, Hermione, and Claire had all gathered at Grimmauld Place for the holiday along with the other Order members. Arthur looked better, but still horribly bruised and still had a few staples on various cuts. After dinner, George overheard a discussion Harry and Remus were having by the fireplace, about Snape's involvement in the Order. George tended to agree with Harry, but decided to not get involved, but instead give Claire her Christmas present. He wanted to give it to her when they were alone, just the two of them, because what he had chosen for her was extremely sentimental. He knew her year had been harder than most and it killed him to watch her face the picture of Cedric every day in the Room of Requirement's mirror. He hadn't even told Fred about his plan to give her such a heartfelt present, which was rare.

“Claire?” George said as he approached her. She was sat in a small alcove in the windowsill on the landing between the first and second floors. There was no one else in sight, and George seized the opportunity.

Claire looked up from her book and smiled. “Hi, George.”

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. Claire smiled and shook her head, then beckoned him to sit next to her. The sill was spacious enough for both of them, so he sat down next to her and pulled out a small red wrapped box.

“What might that be?” she asked him.

George's cheeks heated up. “It's a present. Your present. From me.”

Claire looked at him in awe and slight shock. “You already got me something, Georgie...” she said gesturing to the book she was reading.

George nodded, but handed the package to her anyway. “I know, I know... That was from both me and Fred... This one's from just me, though.”

“You didn't have to do that, George. That's so sweet,” she said and began to unwrap the paper.

“Nonsense. I wanted to, dove,” he said in a soft voice. Inside the wrapping was a small box and George's heart quickened as she got closer to revealing what he had gotten for her. She flipped open the box and her mouth dropped open. She looked up at George in shock.

“George, this is... this is too much,” she said and shook her head. George smiled knowing that she would say that. He shook his head.

“Open it,” he said. She looked at him quizzically and then pulled out the small heart-shaped silver pendant. The design was simple and delicate with a small diamond in the center, and the locket opened up to reveal a picture of the two of them. It was a picture Fred had insisted on taking during their picnic over the summer, and George was glad he did.

Claire's eyes welled up at seeing the two of them laugh up at the camera inside the locket. She looked up at George as she held it in her hands. George gestured for her to hand him the locket and she gingerly passed it to him. She turned her back to him and pulled her hair to the side to allow him to see better, then he gently placed the necklace around her neck and clasped it in the back. Once he rested it back against her skin, she turned to him with a grateful expression. Their faces were much closer now, and neither of them made a move away.

“Do you like it?” he asked lowly.

“I'll never take it off... I feel bad, I don't have anything to give you...” she said.

George chuckled and shook his head. “You give me everything.”

Claire's face softened and dropped in slight shock when she realized what George possibly meant when he said that. George's cheeks turned pink and hot. His heart was pounding with their unspoken words and they got closer, both feeling the undeniable pull toward each other. George gently placed a hand on her cheek and smoothed the skin with his thumb. His gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips that he desperately wanted to feel on his. He felt Claire start to lean in slowly and he copied her speed not wanting to push too much. He could feel his heart beating in his ears as his eyes fluttered shut and his lips landed on Claire's gently. George's heart soared and he felt like fireworks had been set aflame in his chest. George's hand reached up and he held her cheek gingerly as their lips moved together. Her lips molded against his perfectly and in that action George knew that they were made for each other. Their kiss was short and left George wanting more, but he hadn't expressed his feelings for her precisely so he couldn't be sure she felt the same. After all, she had kissed Fred before. Claire's face looked flustered and she looked like she was maybe about to apologize, but George never wanted her to apologize for kissing him.

“There you two are! Dessert is just about ready, and Mum's got crackers for all of us!” Ron said from the bottom of the stairs just as George was going to tell Claire exactly how he felt without the need for her to infer: an action he had been craving for an excessively long time. George let out a short breath of mild irritation.

“You absolute moron,” Fred scolded their younger brother from behind him as the pair of them walked toward the kitchen. Claire laughed nervously and pulled away from George while tucking a stubborn piece of hair behind her ear. George mimicked her laughter and internally cursed Ron for ruining their moment. After trying a few more times to move the strand of hair, George reached his hand out and moved it for her gently.

Claire looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

George smiled and then heard the crack of the toys and cheers from the kitchen. He licked his lips and smiled at her apologetically.

“We should head in,” Claire said and started to get up.

“Yeah... yeah, we should,” George said and stood up with her.

~*~

“Fantastic, Ginny!” Harry applauded as the room erupted in various enchantments. Ginny had made a full-bodied patronus in the shape of a horse. It pranced around her protectively. Claire watched in awe and then thought of the happiest memory she could think of. She remembered going to a muggle theme park in her youth and did exactly as Harry instructed.

“Expecto patronum!” Claire said and out from her wand flew silver ribbons, but no patronus.

“The happiest memory you can think of. It has to be the happiest because just happy won't be enough,” Harry instructed. “You can even make it up, if it evokes a strong enough feeling, it will work.”

Claire nodded and she took a deep breath. She glanced across the way to see Fred and George grinning happily with their identical bird patronuses. Claire became acutely aware of the metal locket that had been around her neck since Christmas. She thought about that day and how she and George had kissed and didn't let any doubts stop her. She remembered how she felt opening the locket and seeing the image of her and George smiling and laughing with his arm around her, and the feeling of his lips on hers. They hadn't spoken of the kiss since it happened, and it almost felt like a dream, but she didn't care. Even if George meant the kiss in a totally platonic way, it was a memory that Claire cherished.

“Expecto patronum,” she said. In almost an instant, a silver dolphin shot out of her wand and swam around her in happiness. She smiled at it and it danced in the air above her.

“Incredible, Claire!” she heard George say as he approached her. The dolphin dissipated and George lifted her up around her waist and spun her slightly.

Claire laughed and hugged him back, “George, put me down!”

Their laughter was broken by a loud thumping from the entrance to the Room of Requirement. The room fell silent and the patronuses disappeared. Another thump and the room shook. Nigel, a small Gryffindor, went to investigate. Harry quickly pulled him away, and then the wall exploded inward. The group scattered across the room and Claire felt George pull her to the wall and cover her with his body. Once the dust settled, in marched Umbridge followed by a few Slytherins wearing Inquisitor Squad badges.

“You could have killed someone, are you joking?!” Claire yelled at the teacher, whose face was almost as pink as her blouse.

“Detention! All of you! Tomorrow evening from five to seven in the Great Hall! Potter, I knew you were behind this, come with me now!” she shrieked through the room.

The room emptied quickly and Claire, Fred, and George all headed toward the corridors leading to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tower. Claire was enraged. She wanted to hex Umbridge with any number of spells that she'd learned and kick her a fw times for good measure.

“It's just detention, Claire. Fred and I have had it loads of times, it's no big deal,” George said in a calming manner. Claire sensed that he could feel her rage welling up.

“It's not just detention, George! She's ruining the school! She and her bureaucratic bimbos at the ministry have to stick their noses in everything and deny the truth! It's infuriating! They aren't helping, they're actively hurting people this way and they're too proud to admit it! Cedric died for NOTHING! And the worst part is that dad doesn't even care about me. Every letter is all about how honorable and fantastic Cedric was an how much he misses him,” Claire screamed at him, then sunk to her knees in tears. “He didn't even notice I wasn't there for Christmas.”

“Oh, Claire...” George said in a small voice.

She couldn't remember a time when she'd felt so helpless, and it had been a long time since she'd had a good cry. Fred and George sat down with her on either side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into one of them and felt the other move with her. She looked up and saw George's kind eyes and concerned expression and his arms were holding her close.

“He didn't die for nothing, love. Harry's alive, and the Order's eventually going to put their faith in him. He'll be avenged, my dear. I know it hurts now, but... It'll be okay,” he said.

“Yeah, and in the meantime we're here. And we care about you a great deal. Hell, you're practically the Weasley triplet! I know this past year's been so hard on you, but don't ever think that Cedric's death was inconsequential or that you aren't loved,” Fred added. After a moment, Claire's tears stopped and she nodded.

“Thanks, guys,” she said. She felt them both give her a kiss on each cheek briefly, but her focus was on George's lips and the tingling sensation his kiss had left.

~*~

The following day, Fred, George, Claire, and the rest of Dumbledore's Army met in the Great Hall at exactly five o'clock. Word had gotten out that Umbridge would be taking over the school as of today because Dumbledore was being investigated. George feared the worst for the school now that she was going to be in charge of it.

“You will all write lines. Exactly what is on the board. 'I shall not disobey.' Begin,” Umbridge instructed in a disgustingly chipper voice. George picked up the provided quill and rolled his eyes as he began writing. It wasn't until he was about four lines in that his hand started to sting. He looked to see what was causing the pain and his eyes went wide. There, in his own handwriting, were the words 'I shall not disobey' carved into his skin. He looked over to Claire and saw her rub her hand in pain and George filled with anger. He was going to get Umbridge for this. Thoughts ranged from puking pastilles to stabbings as the two hours wore on. By the end of it, he figured out an incredible plan. Not only would he be getting back at her, he would be leaving Hogwarts. He and Fred were ready to start their business in Diagon Alley, so there wasn't anything keeping them there. His hand was nearly numb at the end of the two hours. The students stood up and not a word was said amongst them as they exited the Hall. George waited for Fred and they walked out together and met Claire outside the hall, who looked like she was about to burst.

“Let me see, darling,” George asked and Claire held out her bloodied hand to him. George inspected it and his heart swelled. “Come on, let's clean us all up.”

They all went into the abandoned bathroom that Myrtle haunted and washed their hands. The three of them were just about the only ones that used the bathroom, and George briefly wondered how Myrtle would feel about having the bathroom entirely to herself again.

“I've got a plan,” George said with a smile.

“A plan?” Claire asked as she dried her hand and held pressure on the wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

Fred looked at his brother. “For what?”

“We're getting out of here, and we're getting revenge at the same time,” George said. “Think about it: we're all done here. Nothing is keeping us. Fred, we've already got the shop picked out, we just have to set it up. And Claire, your magical creature knowledge will be a huge asset for the puffs. Come on, think about it,” George pleaded. Claire and Fred shared a look, then looked back at George.

“Well, I'm in,” Fred said.

“I never thought about what I'd do after Hogwarts. May as well jump in with you two,” Claire joked and George was overjoyed.

~*~

“You're staying here, I'm not having it,” George said to Claire.

“No, I'm going and you can deal,” she argued back.

“I need you here, okay?” he said.

“Why? What good am I here?” Claire protested. They've had this conversation before, but tonight was the real deal. They were moving Harry tonight and George agreed to take polyjuice potion and impersonate Harry for the flight from the Dursley's house to the Burrow. Claire wanted to go as well to help the team out, but George would absolutely not let her. It was too dangerous and he couldn't risk losing her.

“You're SAFE here, that's what matters,” George said and gripped her shoulders and peered into her eyes. He looked into her eyes and saw unwavering determination. “I need you safe, okay? I can't keep you safe when you're flying in the sky.”

Claire looked at him and they made eye contact for a long moment. George's frantic expression and desperate tone in his voice were accented by his hand softly resting on the side of Claire's face with his thumb resting on her jaw.

“George, I'm going. I need you safe, too,” Claire decided. George shook his head in frustration.

“PLEASE stay here... For my sanity, please,” George begged.

“My own sanity is at stake if I don't go with you. I can help,” she said and followed George downstairs where the rest of the moving party was.  

“George, let's go,” Bill's voice said. “You'll both be fine, and we could use the extra hands.”

Claire smirked, satisfied with her victory and George looked downright angry with his brother.  They mounted their brooms and sped off. Just as George was about to turn away, she gently held his face and planted a deep kiss to his cheek, just beside the corner of his lips. George looked back at her with a dazed expression that still held a bit of frustration, but he ceded and mounted his broom with Lupin nonetheless.

The sky battle was chaos. Curses, counters, jinxes, and stuns were flying everywhere. Claire did her best to stay above the group to fend off attackers from above, but she was soon forced into the thick of it. She lost count of how many flashes of green and red she dodged, and made sure that she defended herself. She sent a few Death Eaters plummeting from the sky, but didn't have time to deal with her emotional repercussions; it was a battle after all.

“Apparate!” she heard Lupin scream. The Death Eaters' actions became erratic and without another word, she apparated back to the Burrow. She appeared to have been the first to arrive and rushed inside to make sure.

“Ginny!” she said as she entered and saw the younger girl sitting on the long and expansive couch they had.

She smiled when she saw Claire and ran to hug her. Claire was surprised, but hugged her back.  

A few minutes later, a loud crash and splash was heard from outside. Ginny sprinted to the door and flung it open. Claire followed closely behind her as they raced out the door to see who had arrived.

“Harry!” Ginny said with a sigh of relief. She and Harry met partway to the Burrow's door and shared a few words that Claire didn't hear. She was searching the skies for any sign of Fred and George. She let Hagrid and Molly pass her and head into the house when a loud pop was heard from a few feet away from Harry and Ginny.

Lupin had just arrived and he was helping someone to walk. As the polyjuice potion wore off and they grew closer, Claire saw George's nearly unconscious face with blood dripping from the left side of his head. Her adrenaline kicked in and she made way for George to be placed on the couch Ginny had been occupying. She ran to the bathroom and grabbed any sort of bandage material she could then rushed back out to see George sprawled out on the couch. His legs dangled limply on the cushions with one partly off and touching the floor. His left side was up and his ear appeared to be hemorrhaging blood. Claire did her best to quiet the panic that was growing in her and rushed to his side next to Fred.

“Saint-like... I'm holy. Get it, Fred?” George said weakly.

“Of all the ear-related humor in the world and you go with 'I'm holy'... Pathetic,” Fred joked.

“Reckon I'm still better looking than you,” George teased. Claire knelt down next to Fred, who looked happy to see her, and started cleaning George's ear.

“Claire...” George said breathlessly. He gently placed a hand on her cheek as she cleaned the fresh and dried blood from his ear with a relieved smile. Once she was sure the ear had stopped bleeding actively, she cleaned the dried and darkened blood from his hand gently.

“Mad-Eye's dead,” Bill said as he entered the room. George's face fell and Claire bit back tears and focused on George's bandages. She wasn't sure when or how it had happened, but suddenly she was the only one in the room with George as she bandaged his ear. She noticed his expression become sadder the longer she worked.

“You okay?” she asked him warily.

He looked at her with an unreadable expression. “I'm alive.”

Claire let out a breath and nodded, then finished his bandage in silence. She could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't meet them or she'd start to cry. She removed her hands from his face, and George examined her features with furrowed brows and his gaze landed on a spot above her eyes. He lifted his hand and gently touched the spot his eyes had found. Claire winced when she felt a sharp stinging and burning sensation. George immediately withdrew his hand and shook his head.

“I knew you shouldn't have come. Why didn't you stay here?!” he said appearing to be enraged.

“Do you know how many spells I deflected up there so that Ron and Hermione wouldn't be hit by them?! That's why,” Claire shot back. “Why are you so angry?”

“I'm not angry, I'm frustrated,” George grumbled. “I lost an ear tonight, and Moody, the finest auror of the age, died. Do you know how easily that could have been you?!”

“Of course I do! I'm lucky it wasn't and I'm glad you only lost an ear rather than your life,” Claire responded with tears in her eyes and finally met his. “You didn't answer me, though: why are you frustrated?”

“Because you didn't stay safe! Because I couldn't keep you from coming on this venture, which doesn't bode well for the next one and I need you to stay safe. It's maddening how worried I was for you up there, Claire!” George said.

“Why does that matter?! You went!” Claire retorted and gestured to him briefly.

“Because I'm in love with you! I know you don't feel that way about me, but that's why I need you safe and out of harm's way, okay?! I'm ridiculously and hopelessly in love with you!” George confessed as he advanced toward her and gripped her shoulders with their eyes locked together.

Claire was silent for a moment as she took in George's confession. George's face looked on the verge of tears and he went to walk out of the room. Claire quickly reached out and gripped his hand to keep him from leaving and he looked down at her with a pained expression.

“You're everything to me,” she whispered. George's eyes met hers and the distance between them was quickly closed when Claire leaned up and kissed him feverishly. She felt this kiss much different from the last that they'd shared in that their lips were completely merged together as George's hand snaked around her waist. His other hand landed on her jaw, then moved to cup the back of her head and he pressed further into her. Claire felt slightly dizzy, so she broke away from George's mouth to catch her breath. He remained close to her and their foreheads rested against each other.

“We never did talk about that last time,” George said with a grin.

“I suppose we probably should now that it's happened twice,” Claire suggested.

“It's simple: I love you. I did then, and I do now,” George said after a deep breath.

Claire's heart jumped and she smiled with red hot cheeks. She could barely speak, but managed to whisper out, “I love you.”

George's jaw clenched and unclenched, then his face softened into a smile. He leaned in once more and their lips melted together gently but purposefully. Claire pressed herself against George and he pulled her close so there was nearly no space between them. Claire's heart swelled in her chest and she let go of any inhibition about her feelings for George. All this time, he had felt the same for her and her biggest fear was that he didn't. George's lips parted slightly and Claire felt the wetness of his tongue graze her lips to beg for more. She obliged and as their kiss deepened, George's grip on her became impossibly close and strong.

“Will you have me? Tonight, and always?” he asked in a breathless whisper when they finally broke their lips apart. “I have to know before we...”

“Yes,” was all Claire could say. She felt like she was flying in the best way possible as they let their passions act for them. She had only seen George shirtless a few times, mostly in the summer when they went swimming and once when he had just woken up and they crossed paths in the hallway at Grimmauld Place, but Claire's stomach knotted and she felt herself biting her lip and burning to touch his bare chest. He smiled and placed her hand over his chest and she felt his quick and strong heartbeat.

George made quick work of undressing them both, but still took the time to admire Claire. She felt vulnerable under his gaze, but once his lips were on her, the anxiety was replaced with security and bliss. He kissed all down her chest, and left a few red and purple spots on her stomach and breasts. His hands moved over her skin with grace and tenderness as though if he squeezed too hard she'd shatter below him. Claire's lips found his once again and she went to gently press him down against the couch, but George switched their position and her back was against the cushions.

“George, you're hurt...” Claire protested. George shook his head.

“I don't care,” he said and kissed her neck and nipped at her earlobe playfully. Claire uncontrollably let out a small whine and gripped onto George with her nails in his back.

“Oh...” he moaned from his throat and gently sunk his teeth into her shoulder. A shock went through Claire and she repeated her action. George let out a sound Claire had only heard from animals and he looked at her with a mischievous smile and a dark look in his eye with lust-blown pupils.

“My love, you're heading down a dangerous path,” he warned and leaned down to smirk against her ear. Claire smiled and shrugged.

“Maybe I want to,” she said into his. She felt him smile against her and he spread her legs and seated himself between them. Claire bit her lip and George slid himself into her after a nod from both of them.  Claire felt him stretch her out and her head fell back in pleasure.

“George,” she gasped with a dry throat. She felt him completely sheath himself within her and he let out short pants as they settled for a moment.

“Fuck,” George swore under his breath and began to pulse himself in and out of her. Claire's hands found George's neck and she pulled him down to meet her mouth with his. Their kiss was rough and passionate and Claire met his thrusts with her own. Her fingers snaked along his neck and knotted in his short hair. Instinctively, she gripped hard and tugged. George's reaction was one she hadn't expected. He moaned out into her mouth and copied her actions and grabbed a fistful of Claire's hair. With a sharp tug, Claire's neck was exposed to him completely and her back was arched, which sent her body mostly limp with pleasure. She moaned out and she could feel George smirk against the skin of her chest.

“I tried to warn you, darling,” he said. Claire couldn't speak as George's tongue laved over the skin of her breasts, then down her stomach. He slipped out of her, which caused Claire to whine in protest, but his lips then found their spot between her legs. Claire looked down at him and did her best to keep her thigh from hitting his fresh wound. George hungrily dove into her and Claire could feel herself starting to come undone. His tongue danced over her clitoris expertly as if this were the thousandth time he'd done this on her.

“George, please don't stop,” Claire begged. George continued and soon Claire's vision went blurry and her release took over her. She shook and moaned his name as if her life depended on it. George's lips left her for a moment and was replaced with vigorous thrusting in and out of her. He leaned his chest against hers and kissed her. She could taste herself on him for a moment, but his lips then moved to whisper praises and calls of her name. Suddenly, he pulled out of her and his seed spilled into his shirt that he had grabbed.

George helped Claire get dressed and they walked hand-in-hand up to Fred and George's room in the Burrow. They hadn't stayed there since Christmas with all three of them sharing a flat above the shop, but it was nice to spend time in a familiar setting. Claire noticed Fred fast asleep in his bed and while all three mattresses were nearly touching, George must not have thought Claire's bed was close enough. In a swift move, he pushed his mattress into hers and pulled her down to cuddle with him. George laid on his back and Claire put her head on his chest and the blankets wrapped around them snugly.

“I love you,” George told Claire as she let her eyes flutter closed against him.

She hummed in response and pulled herself closer to him before falling asleep.

~*~

George woke up the following morning and found his arms and legs tangled around Claire's sleeping form. His heart jumped and his skin tingled at the memory of the sex they'd had last night. They didn't define their relationship last night, but George figured he could do that t a later time. They were in the throes of their passion last night and George held the memory safe in a mental treasure chest.

“How are you feeling?” Fred asked. He was already standing and half-naked, getting ready for the day.

“I'm excellent,” George said and smiled down at Claire.

“Did you two have fun last night?” Fred asked suggestively and winked. George's face got hot and he kissed Claire's head.

“That is private,” George responded. Fred scoffed.

“About time,” Fred said. “Better start planning your wedding soon.”

George carefully got up and rolled his eyes. As he stood up, he noticed the bloody bandage on the side of his head had shifted in the night and now laid on the pillow he used. Fred grimaced at the wound.

“Ouch...” Fred commented. “Does it hurt?”

George shrugged. “A little... I'll bandage it. Anyone else up yet?”

“Mum, but I think she's been too focused on breakfast to wake anyone else up,” Fred said and buttoned his vest.

“I'm awake,” Claire said from behind George. His heart skipped a beat and he turned to see her sitting up slowly. He smiled and walked over to her side.

“Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?” George asked.

“Yeah, really well,” she said and rubbed her eyes.

“Big surprise,” Fred muttered, and George threw a pillow at him.

Before long, George found himself dressed for the wedding with Claire bandaging his ear once more in the bathroom. They were mostly silent until George found the courage to ask her the question that had been burning inside him all morning.

“Do you regret it?” he asked her once she had finished.

Claire raised a brow at him. “The bandage?”

“No.. no... last night. With me,” George clarified with a blush.

Claire's cheeks turned pink. “Um... no.. not at all. Do you...?”

“Not in the slightest. In fact, I wouldn't mind if we did that more regularly,” George said and cupped her hands in his. “Exclusively...”

Claire held his hands softly and smiled up at him. George's eyes met her and he felt like he could fly without a broom when she nodded her head. He felt like kissing her. He often felt like kissing her, but restrained himself, but now he didn't. He cupped her cheek and kissed her lips gently. He was thrilled to bits to be hers and to know that she's his.

“Ahem,” he heard a familiar throat clear. They broke away and saw Ron standing in the hallway. George's face got hot and he could see a small blush on Claire's cheeks. They exited the bathroom and before George had a moment to think, he was thrust into various tasks to help get the wedding and reception area ready for guests to arrive. He snuck glances and longing gazes and Claire all day, but it wasn't until the first dance of the evening that he could get alone time with her.

“May I have this dance?” he asked her with an outstretched hand. Claire smiled and took the floor with him. He smoothed his hand around her waist and then intertwined their fingers and held their hands to his chest. He wanted her close to him, as close as she'd let him get.

“Hm, reminds me of the Yule Ball,” Claire said after a few moments of swaying to the slow music.

George chuckled. “I suppose I should have asked you to that one.”

“I would have said yes,” Claire said. George tried not to think too hard about how foolish he had been and all the time they could have had together. Instead, he remembered that she had agreed to be his and only his and smiled.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I love you,” Claire echoed.

George smiled and leaned down, then planted his lips on hers in a sweet and passionate kiss.

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 10)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hi everybody! I am so excited to FINALLY be back with a new chapter of a fic that so many of you have fallen in love with. This response has been truly unprecedented in my writing experience. I have had lots of fics that many of you rooted for and supported me in, and I am always so grateful for that, but having a hiatus from writing this story showed me just how invested so many of you are. This is a great feeling as a writer, and that excitement you all have is the only reason I have been able to write more of this fic. My ability to write at my usual pace has been tested this fall, and there’s been some ups and downs in my attempts to reengage, but I love this story and I am so excited to share the rest of it with you all. I hope you will all like this new installment, I thank you again for continuing this with me, and I cannot wait to hear what you think!

“Mmmm, this smells delicious,” Henry said, hovering over the skillet not for the first time this evening, and breathing in the pasta sauce Killian had been working on the past half hour. To the boy’s credit, it did smell absolutely wonderful, a comforting classic anyone would love, and which the three of them had earned, after a day of unexpected meetings and introductions. This pasta was a traditional Montennaran recipe, not far off from a classic Sicilian pomodoro, but with the benefit of a few of this country’s specialties. It was a favorite of his personally, and one of the few meals he’d learned to cook well during his time in the service.

“Seriously. Who knew you could cook like this?” Emma said, still stunned at the display before them. She must have assumed from pizza night and the slow cooking speed of their first date  that he was fully a novice, and he was in many ways. But he did have a few small tricks up his sleeves, and one was this sauce, which was easy to make as long as he had the right ingredients. It was quick, but precise, and it gave off the perception that he had mastered something difficult, even though that wasn’t true.

“This dish is a special one for me and for my unit. This is the spread each of us waited for during deployments. You crave so many things when you’re without them for so long, but this meal symbolized something else. The moment we’d touch down on Montennaran soil, this is the first thing we would eat. It represents safety just as much as it does a good meal.”

“You always had this?” Henry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “No matter what time?”

“Breakfast, lunch, or dinner. This was it,” Killian said, smiling at the memory of early morning pasta meals that he’d enjoyed more than most other moments in his time at sea. Those were the times when they all felt at peace again, and where they allowed themselves to breathe and heal no matter what dark moments had been withstood. “We took turns preparing it, tired as we’d all be from the tour and the travel, but the pressure was on. The last thing you want to do is disappoint newly anchored sailors. It’s a mistake that may just be your last.”

“No kidding,” Henry said, surprised but taking the words at face value. “It sounds so cool though. Being in the Navy, I mean. You meet all those people, people who are your family too even if you’re not related.”

“Aye, lad, they are my family. Always will be.”

“I can’t wait to meet them someday,” Henry said eagerly. Killian noticed Emma tense a bit but she didn’t need to worry. It was always his intention to introduce them all, because it was his plan to keep Emma and Henry with him forever. “Will it be like today do you think?”

“That depends on how you think today went.”

Killian’s quip earned a laugh from Henry and a soft smile from Emma. He was teasing as if the afternoon had been anything but excellent, when of course that was not the case. Despite the unexpected nature of it all, his family had been on their best behavior and they’d all immediately loved Emma and her boy. He knew in his heart they would, but it took a lot of pressure off and hopefully would help ease some of Emma’s worries about where this was going and if his family would approve.

“Today was totally awesome!” Henry said. “Everyone was so nice and cool. But Gran was definitely my favorite.”

“For now maybe,” Killian said, knowing full well what the draw of his Gran was and how her energy and feistiness made her infinitely lovable. “But give it time. My Mum and Liam both have a few more tricks up their sleeves.”

“What did you think of today, Mom?” Henry asked, and Killian was intrigued to know her thoughts. He doubted that Emma would go very deep with her assessment, but she was always honest with her son, of that Killian was totally assured.

“It was… easy,” Emma confessed, smiling at the memories of the day. “I never expected to feel so welcomed right away, but everyone was so normal, it was nice.”

“Normal is pushing it a bit, love. My grandmother’s revelations alone somewhat undermine my family’s classification as something so benign.”

“Maybe,” Emma said with a shrug. “But the families I’ve seen all have some kind of well-meaning meddling, don’t they? Hers just has a bit more royal flare.”

“Oh, Gran’s got flare all right. No doubt about that,” Henry said cheekily as he took the dishes and silverware from Emma and headed to the dining room to set the table.

It wasn’t a statement the boy had meant to be impactful, but it hit Killian right in the heart. That was another special moment from today. There was no formality with his family and Henry and Emma, and he had witnessed the moment his grandmother insisted that Henry call her Gran as well. To have Henry accept that so quickly was a blessing, and another bright spot in what had been a beautiful day.

“And what about you?” Emma asked him when they were alone. “How did you think today went?”

Instinctively Killian turned off the burner, knowing the food was ready to serve but not wanting it to be ruined. He wiped his hands clean of any rogue tomato and then he pulled Emma straight into his arms in one fluid motion. Without pause, he pressed a kiss to her lips that was meant to be soft and nonintrusive in case Henry returned, but quickly morphed to something heated when Emma clutched at his shirt and arched in closer. By the time they pulled apart, he almost forgot the question, but Emma’s curious green eyes prompted him to reassure her of the truth.

“Today was one of the best days I’ve ever known, love. The most important people in my world came together, and if my instincts are correct, it’s gone just about as perfectly as it could. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that…”

“Sounds like there’s a ‘but’ hanging in that statement,” she said, running her fingers across his cheek as she looked at him, searching for answers. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just that I -,”

“Okay, table’s set!” Henry said, barreling back into the kitchen and prompting Killian to step back from Emma but to keep his hand in hers.

Emma and Killian exchanged a look that silently said they would pick up this conversation again later, but Killian squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a calming and comforting gesture. The hanging words he’d yet to say were hardly bad ones, he just had to admit that as beautiful as today was he wanted so much more. He’d never have enough days like this one for his liking. He would always want more, no matter what came, and that was what he’d have to ask her for if not today then someday very soon.

Dinner proceeded without a hitch, and not only was his cooking a success, but the meal was fun and lively. Henry made for so much conversation, and his thoughts on the day were long and varied. He was so full of excitement and energy that it was contagious, and Killian learned more from both the boy and his mother about what they’d taken from meeting his family. They all talked about the center too, about Marco and Marie and Cecelia, and then at length about Anna and especially Elsa.

“Do you think anything will come from it?” Emma asked Killian at one point, after they’d already dissected how undeniable the moment was between Emma’s friend and Killian’s brother.

“Oh for sure,” Henry said before Killian could respond. Both Emma and Killian laughed at his confidence.

“You seem rather certain, lad.”

“Well it’s pretty obvious. I mean he looks at Elsa the way you look at Mom. They’re totally gonna get together. It was love at first sight. Just like with you two.”

“Henry,” Emma said, chastising him somewhat but in a measured way.

“What?”

“Well not for nothing, but you didn’t even see Killian and I meet how could you know it was…”

“Love at first sight?” Killian offered, grinning at her, knowing in his heart that was exactly what they’d felt the moment they laid eyes on each other.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Henry said, rolling his eyes in a move Killian rarely ever saw, but which looked exactly like his mother when she was exasperated. He nearly choked on his water, but he powered through, biting back a laugh at Emma’s shocked face. “It was totally love. You came home extra happy and you had a dreamy look on your face all the time when Killian started volunteering. And since then you’ve been kinda… what does Mrs. H call it again? Oh right, scatterbrained. Love can do that, you know. I asked Gran about it today and she said it’s a telltale sign.”

“You asked her that?” Emma asked, shocked and maybe just a little bit mortified as Henry nodded like it was no big deal.

“Yup. She knows everything. She said that’s what happens when you’re old, and since Mrs. H says that too I think it’s probably true. Come to think of it, they’d be great friends don’t you think?”

“Mrs. H and Queen Eleanor?” Emma asked, as if the thought of their neighbor and Killian’s grandmother being ‘friends’ was too much to handle. “Well I mean, now that you mention it, there are a few similarities there.”

“Totally. And if Mrs. H was here she’d agree with me about Liam and Elsa. It’s totally love, and that’s awesome. Queen Elsa. It has a nice ring to it. Like she was meant to be a royal.”

Killian didn’t think Elsa was the only one with a name suited for royalty. In his estimation Princess Emma and even Prince Henry were rather fitting as well, but he bit that statement back, not wanting to overwhelm Emma or bring something up in front of Henry that she wasn’t ready for. Instead he steered the conversation in other directions, enjoying himself thoroughly as they all enjoyed dessert together that Emma had put together before watching a movie the three of them. It was a totally natural thing, and at more than one point Killian thought that they really looked like a family. It filled his heart with hope, and he wished one day he could officially claim both of them as his. But tonight, he’d just enjoy how good it felt to be with two such special people who seemed to see something in him too.

“Okay, kid, it’s about that time. It’s late already, so PJs and then you can read two chapters and then that’s all she wrote. You got me?”

“Sure, Mom. But can I read to Killian tonight? I’m at a great part in the story. The pirates are about to board the ship.”

“Um, I’m not – I mean, if you want?” Emma asked deferring to him though she was obviously flustered.

“Sounds good to me,” Killian said prompting relief in Emma and a sound of excitement from Henry.

Henry hurried to get himself ready for bed, and just as he’d promised, he proceeded to read Killian two chapters of his current book. The title was one Killian recognized from his youth, but he was impressed that a ten year old had such command of the story. Henry was a good reader but also theatrical, keeping Killian’s attention all the while. Only when he closed the book did Killian leave the swashbuckling alternative universe the story took place in.

“Quite the tale there, lad. You’ll have to keep me apprised of what happens next.”

“No need, I’ll save it until you come back again,” Henry said easily, gesturing to his bookcase which was full of books in so many shades and shapes. “I’ve got tons of them to read.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Killian said truthfully standing back up and heading towards the door. “Well thanks again for the story, Henry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Killian,” Henry said, letting out a yawn and settling into bed. “Love you.”

The words placed a direct hit on Killian’s heart, and he was unsure if Henry had meant to say it or if sleep was getting the better of him, but Killian could only go on instinct. He answered honestly, telling the boy he loved him too and seeing him smile and settle to sleep before slipping into the hall and walking right into Emma who had tears in her eyes.

“Emma?” he asked, mindful to keep his voice more a whisper than something that could wake up Henry. “Is everything all right?”

“He said he loves you,” Emma whispered, and Killian nodded, brushing her tears away as he held her close.

“He did, love, and it made me feel ten feet tall.”

“Because you love him too,” she whispered, awed at that as if were some kind of stunning revelation and not a given fact of life.

“Of course I do. He’s an amazing boy, and his mother… well she’s the beating of my heart. How could I do anything but love him when he’s a piece of you, Emma?”

“What were you going to say earlier?” Emma asked, abruptly pulling them back to that moment in the kitchen. He debated holding back, but he decided ultimately it was better to put all of his cards on the table. Transparency was key if they had any shot of making this work.

“I was going to say that you, Emma Swan, are the reason. You’re my reason for everything, this impossible gift I never saw coming, and I’m lost in you. I see this perfect moment and forever when I look in your eyes, I see a life I’m desperate to pursue and real hope for the future. I still can’t believe that you’ve chosen me and that I’m standing here with you at all, and a day as good as this one only reminds me that I’ll always have this want - this need - for you. I love you, Emma, irrefutably, incandescently. In a forever and so much longer kind of way.”

“I love you too. Just as much,” Emma said, her voice stronger this time though her tears still came. They appeared to be the product of joy instead of sadness, but they still clutched at his chest like a vice. The only antidote was pulling Emma somewhere private, in this case her bedroom, and confirming he was right.

Once the door was closed behind them, locking them into a sound tight suite on the other end of Emma’s temporary home, their actions blended together. He didn’t lead the way, but moved with Emma, a dance that felt so much more practiced than it was. Emma pulled him for steamy kisses, and he savored her taste on his tongue as he held her close and moved her back towards the bed in her room. The lights were dimmed, but washed the room in a warmth he felt upon his skin. He was burning up from the closeness and the promise of what was to come, but the only thing he could think was that he needed more.

In the back of his mind, Killian also realized that this moment needed quiet. With Henry in the house, they didn’t have the freedom he might yearn for, but no matter. He had the love of the most incredible woman and she’d accepted his love in return. That needed celebration and merited some long-desired reveling. He wanted to show her how he felt, and though he’d finally said the words and attempted to make her understand, the feelings he had went so much deeper. Looking in her eyes right now, he could tell she felt just as much, but the time for waiting and wondering was over. They had put the truth between them and now it was time to truly immerse themselves in it.

Instinct and hunger soon took over for Killian, melding with the love he felt and the softer feelings in his heart in a wickedly wonderful way. He wanted Emma bared to him as soon as could be, spread out on the sheets of this bed and ready for his taking. They’d been flirting with the pleasures they could have for a while now, and they’d been intimate before, but this was different. This was a first in many ways, and Killian was intent on having this moment be one they wouldn’t rush, and that they’d remember for the rest of their lives.

A primal voice in his brain urged him to take her fast and hard, to make a claim they’d both feel branded by, but Killian anchored himself to an idea of something slower and more sensual. He knew taking his time would prove so much more gratifying, and he wanted to make this as good for his Swan as it could possibly be. He helped Emma out of clothes, noticing the tremble of her hands as he did. She was buzzing with excitement and electricity, but she matched his pace, understanding that if they drove each other crazy for just a little longer it would be sublime.

He was entranced by her entirely, and as her clothes from the day fell away, revealing two extremely unexpected scraps of red lace underneath, he couldn’t help but groan. No woman had a right to be so lovely, to claw at him so surely, and to set him alight in this way, but God did he love it. Emma was impossible, but somehow she was real. He felt her responsiveness to him and tracked the way that she noticed how his appreciative gaze moved up her body. A flush spread across her creamy skin, but she stood there, proud and sure as her hands moved across his body, removing his clothes as he’d done hers.

“I didn’t know that I could want this much,” she whispered, the honey-laced tone of her voice a sweet melody to his ears. “I need you, Killian. I love you.”

“Fuck me,” he grumbled, surprising her by taking her in his arms and lowering her to the bed. She let out a gasp before giving into laughter, her eyes bright and sparkling in the lamp light.

“Believe me, I’m trying,” she quipped, but her feistiness faded somewhat as he shed the rest of his clothes. Now her attention had switched, she was watching him steadily, and unconsciously licked her lips. That was it. His patience broke and he was on her, hands roaming, mouth teasing, and hellbent on more.

“Much as I might love that idea, Swan, tonight isn’t about fucking. Tonight I make love to the woman of my dreams. Tonight I show you my heart in full. It’s so much more than sex.”

“I know,” Emma whispered, running her hands along his cheek. “So show me.”

Bound by her request, Killian set out to do just that. It began with roaming hands and removing the last two scraps of red that shielded her from him. Once she was bare, he let himself explore and learn every spot and lick and nip that made her breathless. He traced the sensitive places on her body that made her hum in pleasure, and cherished each freckle on her skin that had come from the summer sun. He riled her up with his hands and his mouth until she was pleading for release, and then he gave it to her, touching her tender flesh and prompting a thready moan from her lips.

“Killian.” Emma’s croon was ragged and gorgeous, making him harder than he ever thought possible.  The sound of her desire reached within his soul and engulfed him completely. Unable to resist, he felt himself growing addicted, unsure if he could ever stop. He needed her sighs like he needed to breath, and he purposefully pulled as many sounds of pleasure from her as he could.

There was nothing like Emma lost in lust. She’d never been more beautiful and he didn’t know how that was possible. As his thumb swirled against her clit and his fingers filled her, she gave more away, revealing herself and her needs in ways that made him dizzy. Every response set Killian aflame, and every breathy sigh and plea for more was a sign he intended to follow until he’d led her right over the edge and she shattered beneath him.

“You destroy me, love,” he found himself saying as he looked down at her and brushed some strands of her curled blonde hair out of her eyes. “Destroy me and make me into so much more. I’m in awe of you.”

In the face of her release, and the sincere words that he meant completely, Emma blushed again but smiled. Her expression was one he’d only ever seen her share with him, and it made him feel indestructible. He’d never met a person with more impact on his soul, and he’d never met a woman who so effortlessly created hope and good in his heart. Emma Swan was everything a man could ever want made real, and Killian still couldn’t comprehend how he was lucky enough to be here.

“I can’t imagine this is real,” Emma said, her words still dazed, but happy and content. “But I know it is. I know you are. I’m in this, Killian. I’ve never been more in.”

“Thank God for that, love,” Killian said with a grin and one more kiss before he trailed lower.

With careful attentions designed for maximum pleasure, Killian hit each peak point on her body, bestowing licks and nips that made her jump and mewl. By the time he’d reached her inner thighs, she was breathing heavy, anticipation clear as day. Killian looked up to her now emerald colored eyes as his hands held her steady, needing to know that this was what she wanted and what he saw was irrefutable. Emma was just as desirous for this as he was, and Killian was never so glad for anything in his life.

When his tongue met her sex, he tasted her need for him. Her body writhed beneath him, but he held her still, knowing she needed this from him now. She was wound up tight, the desire twisting around inside her and making her try to break away, but he built it up wanting to give her something she’d never get enough of. With slow, languid licks, he built the moment for him and her. The higher she climbed, the more crazed he himself became, but he waited until she shattered again to take his own pleasure. Once she had, though, all bets were off.

Their coming together was sensational serenity, walking the line between hard and gentle, tender and heated. Further and further they moved towards bliss, but time was off its normal tracks and their minds were filled with only this glorious moment. Soon enough, and yet not soon enough at all, they met that magic, crashing into climax. Minutes later they remained, both spent and breathing heavy, glowing from the aftermath and intertwined together, two bodies hell bent on never being parted. Killian found himself speechless in the aftermath, though his hands drew unknown figures on her skin. He had to touch her, had to hold her, even though he had just felt heaven itself. Truth be told, Killian was totally complete, and more invigorated than ever. Life had never felt more perfect and nothing had ever made more sense.

These revelations were all thanks to Emma. She was the one who made him believe love could be honest and true. She showed him depths he’d never dreamed of, and right now, as the swift and gentle tug of sleep came beckoning, she was a vision. Smiling at him, holding him close and whispering a promise he almost couldn’t bear.

“Forever, Killian,” she breathed, cuddling towards his chest after pressing one last kiss upon his skin. “That’s how long I know I’ll love you.”

“Forever, Emma,” he replied, though he knew even now she may already have succumbed to slumber. “Forever and whatever exists beyond.”

……………

Sneaking back into the castle now was a stark contrast to the many mornings he’d snuck out for a bit of space. Killian couldn’t resist smiling at how much things had changed since that time, and on those days when he walked out in the hills to watch the sunrise. However, unlike those other mornings, Killian knew the moment he walked through the great oak doors that he was not the only one up at this God forsaken hour. Call it instinct or intuition, but Killian could sense uneasiness in the palace, and as he moved up the corridor and saw light emanating from one of Liam’s studies, his hunch was proven right.  

With measured steps he approached the open door. It remained ajar, a beacon to anyone who may pass by that his brother was here but still approachable. What Killian saw when he walked to the doorway, however, was the undeniable truth that Liam was not well, and that he likely had no idea the door was open. He’d been up all night, burning the midnight oil, and studying files and photos strewn about his desk.

“For your information, you’re about…” Killian’s words trailed off as he checked the clock on the mantel to clarify the time, “twenty-two and a half minutes from being discovered by Francine or Claudette. Give or take or minute or so.”

The mention of two of the maids on the morning shift in the palace seemed to ground Liam into the reality of this moment and the predawn light outside. He looked up at Killian and then out the antique windows which offered a familiar view of the palace grounds, now bathed in the early morning sunshine. Liam let out a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair that had already been mussed with some frequency. There was no way his brother had slept this evening. He was wild and unkempt, and so far from his state of normal it was fascinating to see.

“Any other day and I’d be focused on your early morning return,” Liam mused, offering something like a smile. It surprised Killian, given how infrequent smiles had become for his brother, but before he could mention it, Liam looked back to the papers and the books strewn about the mahogany desk. Killian wasn’t sure what he expected, but these archives of the family’s public events was not it. His curiosity grew, and he urged his brother to explain himself.

“But it’s not so ordinary, is it?”

“No, she isn’t,” Liam whispered, slipping up and referring to the woman who had turned his head completely, instead of the morning itself. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“No one ever does,” Killian quipped. “Gran will be the first to tell you that to love is to surrender. Planning has no place in affairs of the heart.”

“That old bird is too crafty,” Liam said shaking his head as Killian’s brow furrowed in confusion. “All these years of talk, throwing opinions here there and everywhere. She never met a moment where words failed her and she never lets a day slip past where she doesn’t share her every whim. But I’ve always written it off as her opinion or some grandiose turn of phrase that sounds ripped from a book of clichés rather than something rooted in truth.”

“The worst are the riddles. The woman loves a riddle,” Killian added and Liam groaned, a sound of actual pain that Killian felt, despite its humor.

“I hate the bloody things. The flowery words, the abstract philosophies. It’s all just meaningless. Or so I thought. A whole life spent listening to this woman, and I never took much of it seriously. To be sure there were some times when she offered sage counsel, but I found it unlikely that she was actually providing me with answers to anything really sentimental. Half the time she’s as vague as can be. I wrote off nearly all her musings for the better part of my life.”

“Yet here we are,” Killian said evenly and Liam nodded.

“Aye, here we are.”

Liam stood from his chair and walked towards the windows. Killian watched as his brother’s arms crossed over his chest, his gaze turned out to the world, looking but not really seeing. He was lost in his own thoughts, struggling to give voice to them, and so Killian was patient. There was no use dragging Liam to conversation. His brother was guarded and grappling for control. Only when he was ready, would the truth come out. A few minutes later, after a prolonged bit of silence, they finally did.  

“I’ve long put off the inevitable, brother. Royal expectation demands that I choose a bride, but for years I’ve hesitated, unwilling to commit to any kind of match. The press has questioned my delay for ages, but that talk is mostly harmless. Still, I have always known that would change. A day would come when talk became more, and I needed to settle, to choose duty over heart.”

“You’ve said as much before, brother, but nothing in the law says that you have to forsake your heart for the sake of the country. A love match is allowed. You know this.”

“Aye, I do, but I never entertained the premise, not really. After our parents’ fiasco of a marriage, I ruled it out entirely. My best hope was for what had existed before, something arranged where, if I was lucky, love may bloom. Look at Gran and Grandad. It was love, absolutely, but it was also a merger. There was very little choice involved at all, just logic and good reasoning. At least in those situations you know what you’re getting into. There’s a safety in settling for that which is known. But fuck if I want that anymore. Truth be told the thought makes me sick, and I barely spoke to her.”

“To Elsa, you mean?” Killian prodded and Liam’s eyes brightened as he nodded.

“How can she move me like this already? One day in her presence and I hardly know myself. One day and I know that everything I thought would happen will never come to pass. I’ll never be the man that settles, not when I know she’s out there. I can’t describe it except to say that I have to know her, have to pursue this, have to hope she’ll give me a chance. I’ve never felt this out of my depths. I saw her and the rest of the world just ceased to matter. I wasn’t the King, or a ruler, or a politician. I had no duty and no course. I was just a man, and she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, plain and simple. I know it’s mad, but damn if it’s not true.”

“If it’s mad, you’re in good company. That’s exactly how I felt the first time I saw Emma.”

“That’s reassuring, and yet… it’s the strangest thing, I swear I looked at Elsa and I was halfway in a memory. I was a boy again, but the details were hazy. It just felt familiar, like we’ve met before. My heart had skipped that particular beat. My gut had felt that strongly. Now though I’m lost. I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s more than what it is. Maybe I missed something, but how could anyone ever miss her?”

“Ah that explains these books,” Killian said gesturing to everything here. “But let me guess, no sign of her in these.”

“None. But the feeling still lingers. It’s like I dreamed her up. The recognition is strong, but just barely out of grasp. God, listen to me. I’ve become an absolute melt.”

Killian couldn’t help but laugh at the slang of their youth. Their boarding schools had been filled with Brits and other Europeans, and to be a melt was to be a sop, a sap, someone who had given in to their most romantic feelings.

“Maybe, but if that’s true, God knows I’m happy for it.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am. I’ve always wanted more for you, Liam. You shouldn’t aim for mere contentment, or to just be comforted by honor and duty. The goal is to be genuinely, honestly happy, and this morning, despite the anxiety of newness, I see the start of something in you. Something good.”

“I fear I’ve been too hard on you, Killian,” Liam said, his voice softer and his tone sincere. “Not lately I mean, and hopefully you’ve noticed the shift over the past few weeks, but in the beginning, I didn’t see how you could feel so much. I asked a lot of you, with the parade and royal obligations, and I didn’t realize what the risk was. Slowly I’ve grown to understand that the changes in you I have seen can only be attributed to love. You are happy and it is clear for the world to see. I’ve respected that, but now to know it’s more than hypothetical, I just think it bears repeating. To lose this feeling…” Liam brushed his hand against his heart absentmindedly, as if his chest ached from some physical pain. “Anyway, I hate that I forced that choice upon you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s forgiven, brother. Well, it will be, if you grant me one wish.”

“Anything.”

“I’d like your blessing, and not a royal one, not a King’s well wishes. Just you, as my brother, backing me when I ask Emma to be my wife.”

The look of surprise on Liam’s face quickly morphed into a grin. There was his brother of old, the one who had existed before royal training. He was truly happy and a bit mischievous as well. The two of them had long been told they shared that smile, but coming from Liam, it felt like a most precious gift.

“You plan to ask her already?”

“Already?” Killian laughed. “It feels like I’ve been waiting forever. But I suppose you’re right. It is fast.”

“Fast seems to run in this family,” Liam said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have said that before yesterday, but as it stands, I understand. You have my backing, Killian. Emma is right for you, and if she’ll have you, we’d be lucky to have her.”

Liam came around the table, hugging Killian and showing him the depth of his joy. It was genuine, this support from his brother, and it made a world of difference. No matter what, Killian would ask Emma to be his wife, but knowing that his family felt as good about this as he did settled something in him. Now all he had to do was find the perfect moment. It was hard to be patient, especially when they’d admitted how they felt, and when he knew his feelings for Emma would only ever grow, but he’d find away. More than anything he wanted Emma to have a perfect moment, one they could build their future on forever more.

“And what of you and Elsa? Where do you go from here?”

“The only way I can go,” Liam said, resuming his assured control even though he was at the precipice of something totally foreign to him. “Towards her.”

“Good man. Trust in that feeling. It’s yet to steer me wrong.”

The two of them would have no doubt shared more, but at that moment, the voices of the morning staff could be heard down the hall. Their privacy had expired, the day had dawned, and reality beckoned, yet Killian knew even without proof, that things would work out. For now, there was a tremendous amount of hope for both him and Liam, hope that had been missing for many many years. Things may still be a bit uncertain, hearts needed to be won and vows needed to be made, but in his soul, Killian knew it would all work out. For Gran was usually right in the end, and he and Liam would both certainly surrender to love. Killian, for his part, already had, and honestly, it was the best damn thing he’d ever done. Soon, though, he would need to do more, to take the steps he so badly wanted with Emma, and to build a life with her and Henry worthy of them both. It was a mission he felt down to his bones, and one he simply would not fail. He’d find a way to their happily ever after, whatever it may look like, and the excitement of that would keep him going as long as it took.

Post-Note: So there we have it – a new chapter of this story, and the setup for the next chapter which will have more of the Elsa/Anna backstory for you all. From there we get to move towards my typical happily ever after recipe, a proposal, a wedding, and the joyful thereafter.  I think there’s going to be about 4 more installments left total (though one of those will be an epilogue and it may be quite a while before I am ready to publish that). But I promise to do my best to update more frequently than I have been. I have had so many of you sending love and wishes for faster updates, and those requests have not fallen on deaf ears. In fact, every comment and message makes writing that much easier, and I am so grateful for the overwhelming support. I promise I am doing my best to get you all this story, and just hope it’ll live up to everyone’s excited expectations. Either way, I thank you all so much for reading, and I wish you all well and healthy in this time. Sending you all the best!

[schnoogles]

a Sansa never forgets written for the @jonsa-halloween event! Day 5: Ghost(s)/Clothes Read on Ao3

Sansa told Jon her costume part was going to be spicy. She did not disappoint. (idk i played fast and loose with the prompt today, but Ghost was mentioned and costumes are a kind of clothes??)

Jon was looking at his watch again. They should have left fifteen minutes ago if they wanted to make it to her parents’ charity Halloween ball in time. Tugging at his collar one more time, he sighed. Leave it to Sansa to pick such an uncomfortable costume. He supposed he did look good as a ringmaster though. Sansa had wanted them to go with a circus theme for this year’s event and he won’t lie, he’s excited to see what she’s chosen for herself. After last year’s spectacular theme of the ballet, where she dressed as a very sensual Black Swan, he was rather keen on seeing her in another similar costume. Maybe they’d win the costume contest again, she did say he’d absolutely love it. 

“Love, are you ready yet? We’re going to be late!” Jon shouted down the hallway.

“Sorry! It took a while putting Ghost in his costume, you know how he hates wearing clothes.”

Ghost? Why does he need a costume? Jon was really confused now. “Oh, is he coming with?”

“Yeah, sorry! Rickon said Lady’s been real sad lately, I think seeing Ghost will help.” 

Jon sighed in understanding. Their apartment currently only allowed for one pet, so Sansa had to leave Lady at her parents until they were able to buy a house of their own. Ned and Cat offered to help them out with buying a new house, but Sansa refused. 

Before Jon could ask what Ghost was wearing, the dog trotted out to the living room. And he was wearing the cutest ghost costume. He laughed, because Ghost looked like he thought the costume was the exact opposite of cute. Jon took a few photos before Sansa called out to him.

“Okay I’m ready!”

“Perfect!” He went to grab his car keys but immediately stopped and turned around at what she said next.

“Are you ready for the spiciest costume of the night?”

Jon gulped. Maybe being a little late to the party wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Slowly but surely, his gorgeous fiancée strutted out in a costume that Jon just couldn’t believe.

She was an elephant. 

Sansa proceeded to vogue in several poses that normally would have been very alluring to Jon if she wasn’t, you know, covered head to toe in an elephant costume.

Jon and Ghost tilted their head to the right.

“What do you think?” Sansa smirked.

“Oh- um.” Jon nodded. “I think it’s- …wow?”

She pouted at him. “You don’t like it?” Ghost whined and laid down while covering his face with his paws. “Oh no, even Ghostie doesn’t like it!”

“No no! I do! It’s uhh… you’ll definitely be warm tonight?”

“I guess,” Sansa looked guiltily at their dog, “But should I change? If Ghost really is afraid of me?”

“Nah, I think he’s just confused. Probably wondering why you’re dressed like that is all.” Jon reassured her, “Besides, we’ve no time for a costume change, we should head out.”

Sansa was doing her best to hold down her smile. “Alright then, ready to go?” 

“Yes ma’am.” He opened the door and let her out first. It wasn’t like Jon wanted her to wear something revealing. He just wasn’t expecting… that. Watching her walk towards their car was hilarious though. Her tail swishing to and fro as Ghost continued to shy away from her.

–

The Halloween Ball was a success and Jon couldn’t stop smiling the entire time. Catelyn said they’d probably raised more money than even last year and really, that’s what’s most important: the money raised for the local children’s hospital and schools. Winning the costume party for the second year in row had nothing to do with his smile. 

Truth be told, Jon had no idea how they won. Their costumes weren’t as elaborate as they were last year and honestly, a lot of people gave Sansa weird looks for her choice. She didn’t seem to care though. If anything, she seemed to be having the time of her life. Jon would occasionally catch her in fits of laughter while they were mingling with other people. At one point, she wasn’t even making a sound, she was just shaking with the look of pure mirth in her eyes. When Jon gave her a questioning look, she only laughed harder. He wondered if she had too much to drink because her costume was funny, but it wasn’t that funny. 

–

Once they were home and dressed in bed, Jon couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Alright honey, spill. What was up with tonight’s costume?”

She turned over to him and then busted out laughing.

“Okay…” Seeing Jon’s look of confusion only made her laugh harder. Her laughter was contagious though and he started as well. Still, Jon’s chuckling had nothing on Sansa, who was now laughing so hard she was wheezing. “Love, now you’ve got to tell me what’s so funny.”

With tears in her eyes, Sansa finally calmed down enough to answer him. “Do you remember? Do you remember how last summer, there was that event at the new zoo?”

“Yes,” Jon replied slowly, “The first opening, right? Where people were putting bids on which part of the zoo they wanted a dedication on?”

“Yeah that one. We raised tons of money for all the animals there.”

“Yeah. Still a weird way to raise money in my opinion.”

“Fair. Anyways, don’t you remember what happened with the elephants?”

It took Jon a moment before he snorted. “Oh my god yes. They couldn’t have elephants because of something or other and Cersei Lannister threw a damn fit.”

Sansa was giggling again. “She did.”

“Yeah it was kind of embarrassing. I remember everyone thought it was the funniest thing for her to be mad over. But wait, didn’t Cat say last week that she had some connection over in Essos that said they need a home for a few of their elephants?”

“Mhmmm.” Sansa nodded, grin still on her face.

Jon could see the points being made, but he still couldn’t make the connection. “Babe you gotta walk me through this.”

“So since my mum was the one who got the elephants for the zoo, the board decided to dedicate their sanctuary after her. You saw the fit Cersei threw when we didn’t even have elephants, can you imagine what she was like when she found out that we do and she didn’t even get to be part of the board meeting that made the decision on the naming?”

It clicked. “The same board who decides the winner of the costume contest?” Jon gave her a knowing look. 

“Yessir!” She looked very pleased with herself right now.

“And I’m guessing that the board understood your costume reference.” 

“Oh they fucking loved it. Everyone I talked to had a laugh.”

Jon looked down amusedly at Sansa. “So was the costume all an elaborate plan to make fun of Cersei or to win the contest?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Neither, I just wanted to see you wearing the clothes of a ringmaster.”

He kissed her. “Liar.”

[terreisa]

Love Down the Line: Chapter 5

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn't really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma's teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn't come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, AO3

~*CS*~

Cincinnati, May 12th

“Emma, sweetheart, how’s the tour?  Are the fans nice?  Have you been able to go sightseeing anywhere?”

“Are you getting enough sleep?  You didn’t on the last one and you were basically a zombie when you got back.  Did you pack that melatonin I dropped off?  What about your meals?  You’ve been eating something green everyday right?”

Emma rolled her eyes at Mary Margaret and David’s unending questions.  While they’d never formally adopted her they were as close to having parents as she was ever going to get.  She absolutely loved them but sometimes they drove her nuts with their worrying.

“The tour is going pretty good and the fans are great as always.  No sightseeing since this is the first day of rest we’ve gotten so far and I don’t really feel like leaving the room.  I packed the melatonin and I’m getting as much sleep as I can and I’ve eaten green things.  Sour apple rings count right?”  She stifled a laugh at David’s spluttering and Mary Margaret’s attempts to calm him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.  Tink’s been on a health kick lately and has been making us drink these smoothie things with more vegetable juices and leafy greens than frozen fruit and Killian refuses to eat fast food so we’ve been stopping at actual restaurants or he’ll cook for us on the bus.”

At the mention of his name Killian popped his head through the doorway that connected their rooms.  One of the greatest perks of having him on the tour was no longer having to share one room with both Ruby and Tink while Will got an entire room to himself.  Of course Will hadn’t been as enthused about having to share for once.

“Need something, Swan?”

“Oh, that’s very thoughtful of him.  You have been trying to be friendly with him, haven’t you?  I know you were hesitant at first but Ruby has nothing but nice things to say about him and he’s been through some tough times.”

“What’s he been cooking?  And what kinds of restaurants?  Some of those places can be just as bad as fast food and he might not know it.”

Emma was extremely glad that it was only Mary Margaret and David that were on speaker.  Though she wouldn’t have put it past Killian to have heard everything they said with the way they were just shy of yelling into their phone to make sure she heard them.  As it was he could probably tell they were talking about him from the heat she could feel in her cheeks and ears.  She waved him off from her spot on the bed, turning slightly so he could see the phone she was holding.  His eyebrows shot up before silently apologizing and ducking back into his room.

“You guys really need to chill out.  Everything’s going great, Mary Margaret, and it’s early enough that we’re still getting along.  And please stop analyzing what I’ve been eating, David, you’re a sheriff not a nutritionist.”

They both hemmed and hawed but it had been that way since she’d started going further than fifty miles outside of Storybrooke to play her music.  At first it had been annoying and unwelcome until she’d realized that that’s what people did when they cared about someone.  The Nolans were second to none when it came to worrying and being overprotective out of love.

“Then, as a sheriff, is he being respectful?  And I don’t just mean with you and Tink.  He’s not trashing hotel rooms or causing disturbances in the cities you’ve been playing at has he?  I’ve read about some of the trouble he’s gotten into-”

“David, you didn’t!”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Online, stuff online!” David corrected impatiently. “I’m not going to illegally pull a file on someone, no matter how much I want to.”

“So you’d rather rely on gossip sites?” Emma hissed lowly, not wanting Killian to overhear any part of her conversation at the moment. “I thought we’d agreed to not look at those after that one article made you both join Twitter just to berate the author and the site.”

“Hey, now, I got rid of it after that,” Mary Margaret said defensively, “I’m only on Instagram now.”

“I only promised to not look at stuff about you,” David grumbled. “A man with a very public history of causing trouble joins the band on only the good word of one person?  I have the right to be concerned.”

She bit back her sigh of frustration.  As much as she didn’t like David’s attitude she couldn’t help but understand, seeing as she’d felt almost exactly the same way in the beginning.

“Yeah, you do, but I’m not too worried about it and you shouldn’t be either.  You should be more worried about what Ruby’s going to do to you when I tell her you don’t trust her.”

Their twin gasps had her grinning.

“That’s cold, kiddo,” David grumbled.

“Just like your lasagne will be once word gets to Granny,” she said, snickering. “Look, everything’s going great and will keep going great unless you keep sending bad vibes my way.”

“Bad vibes?” Mary Margaret asked with a smile Emma could hear in her voice.

“Yup, the baddest of vibes, ones where I end up with laryngitis or the bus gets a flat in the middle of nowhere or my guitarist breaks their hand and can’t go on tour.  Oh wait, that’s already happened.”

Killian took up space in the doorway once again, his eyebrows high on his forehead.  She shook her head at his unasked question but didn’t shoo him away again. 

“According to Ruby it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her and that it could be the best thing to happen to you.  She has been very forthcoming about what Killian going on tour with you might end up becoming,” Mary Margaret said smugly.

“Wait, what do you mean?”  David asked confused as Emma scrambled to end that conversation before it started.

“Would you look at the time?  I gotta go!”

“Emma, sweetheart-”

“I’ll call you guys in a few days.  Love ya, bye!” With a huff she ended the call and dropped her phone onto the mattress, knowing she’d only postponed the inevitable gossip session Mary Margaret wanted to have with her.  She looked at Killian, who was still lurking in the doorway, “Yeah?”

“Not to be nosey-”

“But you’re going to be anyway,” she groaned, “You heard your name and you’re curious.”

He chuckled and strode into her room, settling himself on Tink’s bed, leaning back against the headboard, “You would be too.  Especially when you have a tenuous hold on a gig and the person who decides your fate has mentioned your name and then not long after is discussing ‘bad vibes’.”

“You think too highly of yourself,” she said dismissively. “I was talking to Mary Margaret and David about how terrible your cooking is and that it’s been giving my stomach bad vibes.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Swan,” he said with a shake of his head, “If I recall correctly you had three servings of last night’s fare.”

She rolled her eyes, “Just replenishing the reserves I used up during the show, Jones.  The stir fry wasn’t that special.”

“I see,” he said seriously, rubbing his hand thoughtfully over his chin, “I guess I’ll strike it from future meal options, wouldn’t want you to have to force yourself to eat it before complaining about it to others.”

“That’s not-” she huffed, knowing he’d called her bluff, “Whatever, you know it was great.  That’s what I was telling them.  David was all upset that I might not be eating what he considers a balanced diet.”

He chuckled, “And the bad vibes?”

“They worry too much and I basically told them they’d be jinxing me if they kept it up.  I don’t think Mary Margaret believed me and I know neither of them will relax until the tour’s over,” she sighed, flopping back onto the mattress and staring at the ceiling.

“Is this the same David that inspired you to learn guitar?” Killian asked casually but she could hear the hesitant caution in his tone.

“Yeah, him and Mary Margaret, his wife, kinda latched on and never let go, not even when-” she paused, still unwilling to share her whole messed up story with him, “things got really rough for me.  They’re pretty much my parents in every way without actually being my parents, including getting all up in my business and then nagging me about what they find.  You know how it is.”

“I wouldn’t, actually,” Killian said softly.  She sat up on her elbows and he gave her a self-deprecating shrug, “Mum died when I was eight and my father left when I was ten.  Spent a few years living with a distant cousin until things got straightened out.”

She blinked at him in shock.  Not once, in any interview or magazine profile had that part of his childhood been discussed.  They had only ever mentioned where he’d gone to school before he’d dropped out when the Realm of Jewels started getting big.  At the time, when she’d been devouring every piece of media she could when it came to her favorite band, she hadn’t paid attention to that lack of detail.  It hadn’t mattered then and while it still made no difference to her it did go a long way in explaining why she felt like she had known him for years instead of weeks.

“You, uh, got adopted then?” She asked hesitantly as she sat up, needing to know if he’d had the same heartaches as her or if he’d been one of the lucky ones.

“Er, not as such, no-” he looked up at the ceiling, his Adam's apple bobbing as his hand rubbed at the back of his neck, “First my brother was granted civil rights for adolescents, essentially cleaving himself out from under the burden of our father.  Once he proved he could support not only himself but me as well he became my legal guardian.  He had just had his seventeenth birthday the week before.”

“Seventeen?” she breathed, “And you were fourteen.”

His head snapped back down, his eyes wide and his voice a little unsteady, “You really must have been quite the fan if you still remember that bit of trivia.”

“Maybe I was,” she said softly.  She dropped her gaze to where her hands were balled up into tight fists in her lap, “Must have been nice.  Living with someone that actually wanted you.”

“It was but then there were times where it wasn’t,” he gave a deep sigh and when she looked up he was staring down at his own hands as they played with denim over his knees. “Liam had been my hero my entire life just being my older brother.  When he became my guardian I felt as though I had to push myself into perfection to live up to what I thought he expected of me.  I’d already started drinking by that point but it didn’t truly become a problem until I was sixteen.

“I knew Liam was disappointed but he had no idea how to help me and I’m not even sure I would have accepted it had he offered.  Instead he proposed a compromise of allowing me to play with his newly formed band if I curtailed my drinking substantially.  It worked, for a while at least.  I’d been playing for quite some time on my own but with the camaraderie of the band and the discovery of actually enjoying writing songs I found an outlet for all the feelings that I’d been trying to drown with the drink.  For the first time since Liam had assumed my guardianship I felt as though he was my brother again, not just my beleaguered caretaker.”

Emma wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.  She didn’t want to inadvertently come across as judgmental by commenting about his drinking but she would have given anything for some relative to have saved her from any one of her foster homes and done whatever they’d ask in gratitude.  Though, when she thought about it, Mary Margaret and David were practically the next best thing and she’d given them plenty of teenage attitude at the time.  Especially when it came to the year she would give anything to forget.

“Did he throw a fit when you decided to quit school for the band?” She asked, hoping to steer the both of them into less painful and mine filled waters.

He looked up with a small grin, “It was his bloody idea.  Liam didn’t want to leave me to my own destructive devices and since the band had been steadily building momentum he was loath to relegate shows to only weekends and holidays while I was in my final year.  He put it up to a vote with the others and they agreed.  And since I didn’t have a licence yet and therefore couldn’t do my share of the driving I spent my time on the road reading anything and everything I could get my hands on.  I’m fairly certain I got a better education that way than I would have otherwise.”

“So is that why you guys were the Jolly Rogers first?  A bunch of pirates driving all over England to pillage seedy pubs for fame and fortune?”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, his grin widening.

She grinned back, feeling somewhat proud that she’d been able to somewhat keep herself from completely depressing him with her curiosity.  As much as she’d obsessed over him when she was younger she was surprised by how much she actually didn’t know about him, even though she’d just berated David for taking gossip as truth.  There was a part of her that itched to know more about him, the real person and not the persona she and millions of fans thought they knew.  Their little chats on the bus and in the small bits of down time just weren’t enough and suddenly she had an idea on how to fix that.

“Alright, where to Jones?”

“Er, what?” He asked, his confusion at her non sequitur furrowing his brow.

“I’ve never been to this city before and I know you have so you are now my de facto pirate tour guide.”

“Swan,” he sighed, though his smile was growing by the second, “I’ve only been here twice and both times I only had a few hours to explore, which back then was usually as many bars as I could get to before sound check.  I’m probably the last person that should be leading you around this fair metropolis.”

“Too bad-” she jumped up off the bed and began looking for the shoes she’d kicked off as soon as they’d walked through the door earlier that morning, “Google ‘things to do in Cincinnati’ and pretend that you know what you’re talking about.  Then I’ll pretend to be impressed like every other time you think you’re being all too cool for school and worldly.”

“Too cool for school?” Killian repeated incredulously. “What are you, twelve?”

“Twenty-eight,” she said absently, grinning triumphantly as she extricated one shoe from under the desk and spotted the toe of the other poking out from under the bed Killian was sitting on.

“Twenty-eight and apparently have no idea how to stroke a man’s ego so he’ll want to do ridiculous favors for you,” he muttered.

She looked up at him sharply and got an eyebrow wiggle in return.  With a huff she sat back on her bed to slip on her shoe, “I don’t need to stroke a man’s anything to get him to do stuff for me.”

“Oh, really?” He asked incredulously. “And what pray tell do you do?”

Gladly rising to the challenge she straightened from her bent position she subtly arched her back and blinked owlishly at him, nearly grinning in triumph at the way his mouth parted slightly and he sucked in a breath.  She did let a small smile grace her lips as she pointed to the shoe under the bed.

“Can you grab that for me first?”

He nodded, a little slack-jawed, and as soon as he bent over the side of the bed she relaxed her posture.  When he came up with the shoe she was waiting with her hand out, her brow raised and a shit-eating grin all in place.  At his look of indignation she kind of wished she’d had her phone ready to get a picture of it.

“That’s- that’s bloody manipulation, that is!” He spluttered, slapping her shoe into her palm.

“Ooo, someone’s got their panties in a twist.  All I did was ask you to get me my shoe,” she said innocently, putting the shoe on. “Come on Tour Guide, show me the good stuff.”

“Unbelievable,” he growled, but he was shaking his head and smiling.  He stood and moved back to his own room, shouting through the open door, “I expect you to pay for whatever unique culinary delight we’ll inevitably be trying.  Fool me once, Swan.”

“Shame on you,” she cheerfully called back.

Making sure she had her phone and room key she shot off a text to everyone who needed to know where they were going.  It was a request from Regina that she had chafed at and ignored at first, until she began being recognized in the streets and the paparazzi had started following her around.  After one incident that had had her holed up in the backroom of a used bookstore with a dead phone, no one’s number memorized and a show that had been only a couple of hours away Regina had put it in her tour contract that she had to be in contact at all times.  She still chafed at practically being under her manager’s watchful eye like a toddler but she and Regina both agreed that it was better than being saddled with a handler instead.  At her insistence Ruby, Tink and Will were also in the group text so Regina wouldn’t try to hound them about her whereabouts thinking they could be hiding her.

Her phone chimed as she debated whether or not to put on a sweatshirt or her leather jacket.

Rub a dub: you know you could leave me out of this now right?

and ease up on the guilt trip I’m taking you on?  no way! She responded, deciding on the sweatshirt and tying it around her waist.

Rub a dub: jokes on you, girly, i’ve got a front row seat

to what? She sent, suspicious and wary about what Ruby could mean.

Rub a dub: if you’re asking you’re not ready to know yet.

Emma glared at her phone for a moment before sending multiple texts demanding Ruby to explain herself that all went unanswered.  She growled in frustration and turned to glare at Killian who was once more leaning on the door jamb, chuckling.

“Ruby’s being an ass,” she gave as an explanation, shoving her phone in her back pocket.  Then she got a good look at what Killian was wearing, “Is that a Reds hat?  I thought you didn’t know the city that well.  Why do you have a hat for their team?”

“Oh, you’re a big baseball fan then?” He asked, clearly surprised.

“David is, I’m more of a fan of the way the pants fit.  Plus the Reds had that jersey with no sleeves last year.  Arms like those tend to stick out in a girl’s memory,” she said dreamily, remembering just how well the players wore those particular jerseys.  Then she mentally shook herself and nodded at the hat, “You didn’t answer my question.”

His lips quirked in amusement, lightly touching the hat’s bill and then the sunglasses that she hadn’t noticed hanging from his shirt collar, “I’ve found that it’s the easiest way to blend into the crowd.  When we were at the height of… everything it was hard to even step out of the hotel without getting mobbed.  Liam discovered, quite by accident mind you, that people didn’t expect to see us dressing ourselves down and to be fans of the local sports teams.  Unfortunately it means I have a wide array of ball caps that one would consider quite a collection if they weren’t solely for a practical use.  If I had a choice I would have donned the hat from Pittsburgh but I’m not quite sure what rivalries are predominant in this city and I’d prefer not to be verbally insulted over the wrong choice.”

Emma gave a surprised laugh.  Just minutes before they’d been having a somber conversation that could have dragged the rest of the day down.  Instead they were joking around about baseball and overzealous fans.

“Should I put on some super elaborate disguise too?” She looked up at him with a teasing grin. “I could get a wig or maybe some of those glasses with the fake nose and mustache attached.”

Killian snorted, “As entertaining as that would be I think you’ll be fine, love, as long as you don’t wear the red leather.”

Feeling offended for half a second she begrudgingly agreed with him.  Her red leather jacket was her signature look, she’d worn it for all three of her album covers and went out on stage wearing it for the first half of the show.  It was as much a look as it was a kind of armor, one she’d been wearing for much longer than she’d been famous for it.  Having Killian tell her not to wear it, no matter how practical the advice was or that she’d already decided on a sweatshirt, had her suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Do you… um, do you have a hat I could borrow?”

He looked at her for a moment before nodding and moving back into his room.  She followed, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep from hugging her middle to keep herself steady.

As much as the room was identical to hers and Tink’s, the boys’ room looked like a tornado had run through half of it.  There were clothes strewn across the far, unmade bed, a rifled through duffle bag under the window, and a tray of mostly-eaten room service food on the desk.  In sharp contrast the closer bed was tidily made, a small orderly stack of books and notebooks on the bedside table closest to it.  Killian was sorting through one of the drawers of the bureau near the foot of it.

“We’re staying for one night and you put your stuff in the drawers?” She asked incredulously, moving closer to his nightstand to see what books he was reading.

“If it makes any difference-” she looked over at him and saw that he had the bill of a red hat clenched tightly in his hand as his gaze darted between the nightstand and her, “I only unpacked enough for the two days we’re here.  Er, looking for something, Swan?” 

“Just wanted to see what you were reading,” she said cautiously.  Feeling that she’d accidentally hit on yet another touchy subject she stepped back and waved her hand towards the bureau, “But that’s not important, you really took the time to unpack stuff for only two damn days?  Do you also set all your stuff out on the bathroom counter with a ruler to make sure it’s all lined up perfectly?”

“Do you want to stand here nit picking my travel habits or do you want to go explore the city?” Killian asked pointedly, stepping forward and holding the hat out to her though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Fine, let’s go-” she grinned, grabbing the hat.  Catching sight of the logo on the front she held it up with a sigh, “Really?  Red Sox?  Is it because I’m from Maine?”

“Would you rather wear the Yankees cap?” He challenged.

She shuddered, adjusting the snaps so it’d fit, “Never.  David would kill me if I was photographed in it and I’d never be allowed to step foot in Storybrooke again.”

“Do you have a preference then?” He looked back at the drawer, “As I said I have quite the array.”

“This is fine,” she said, trying to sound like it was a burden when she really didn’t care.  Grinning she put on the hat, pulling her ponytail through the opening in the back.  When she looked at Killian for approval he was watching her with a half grin on his face, “What?  Did I somehow put it on wrong?”

“Nothing of the sort, Swan,” he said softly.  Then his grin widened “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, pirate guide.”

What followed was a day unlike any Emma had ever had on a tour before.  They roamed the streets of the city with Killian making up facts about the various things they saw and their history as she egged him on, resulting in ridiculous stories that had her laughing until she was crying.  To her delight they ended their excursion sitting in the upper tier at a Reds game, thoroughly enjoying themselves as just two faces in the crowd.  Though, when it came time for the kiss cam she found she was surprisingly disappointed that the camera hadn’t been trained on them.  It wasn’t until they’d returned to the hotel and spent an hour moving back and forth between each other’s rooms before parting ways for the night that she figured out what Ruby had meant about having a front row seat.

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Five

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Still haven’t settled on a more fitting title than ‘Mark Needs A Hug’ (though my brain keeps coming up with The Shining/Hotel California references) but he does get several of those in this chapter if that helps? 😉 Part Six should be up soon as well! 🥰 

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

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

Mark wakes to find his face half-smushed against his pillow, limbs heavy and sluggish from sleep as his mind clings to the last remnants of a pleasant dream.

An aura of peace lingers like a warm flame as he recalls the circumstances of his fantasy. He’d been sitting on the floor of a modest living room, clad in pyjamas that were too small for his rapidly growing limbs; too entranced by the shiny electric guitar in his hands to make note of his surroundings. It was the exact model he’d been begging for on a daily basis since spotting it in the window of a music store, and had no doubt been living in his parents’ closet for months as they coyly teased him in the run-up to Christmas. Music was playing from a battered old CD player residing on a stacked bookshelf, and he strummed along despite not having the faintest clue how to play a single chord.  

His lack of experience couldn’t have mattered less. Nothing could have broken his contentment in that moment. Not even his mum asking him to “turn the music down, love” so he could pay heed to his other presents had disturbed him from his trance, and Mark had awoken with a pervading sense of peace as the unmistakable melody of The Strokes’ ‘Last Nite’ wormed its way into his brain.

It was one of those dreams that feels more like a long-lost memory than a fiction. One of those subconscious reminders of a simpler past that manages to elicit a smile even when the world at large is falling to pieces. Mark knows this cannot be the case here. He has too many memories of partying his way through the seventies to reconcile those experiences with the notion of being a teenager at the height of The Strokes’ popularity. And yet, the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia is one he appreciates all the same, enough that the thought of waking sends a sharp ache through his heart.

Seeing no obvious reason as to why he shouldn’t slip back into restful slumber, he lets his eyes flutter shut and sighs as he feels his limbs go pliant once more. He can almost taste the sweet embrace of sleep, only for it to be yanked from him once again with a brutal shove. A low whine escapes his throat as a persistent intruder nudges his shoulder, and he swipes a vicious arm in their direction in a wordless protest. His efforts are ultimately feeble, not to mention futile. The nudging continues, now accompanied by the constant repetition of his name, and when his tormenter gives no indication of surrender, Mark is forced to abandon his state of bliss and re-enter the realm of the living.  

He squints, bleary-eyed, at the formless blob hovering over him as he lifts his head from the pillow, flattened hair clinging to one cheek as his brain swims in the wake of his rude awakening. It occurs to him that doesn’t remember how he got here. Judging by his position he must have collapsed face-first at some point in the night - still fully-clothed if the wrinkled cotton of his shirt is any indication - but all memories leading up to that point are absent. He only vaguely recalls receiving a call from Murphy in the evening and senses that it must have dragged on far longer than usual, but he would not be able to describe how the call ended even with a gun to his head. Not that it particularly matters. He’s only grateful for the fact that Murphy must have taken pity on him at some point and let him surrender to his all-consuming weariness.

His vision finally clears following several exaggerated blinks, rendering him somewhat relieved when the humanoid blob morphs into the fretful form of Nick. The man is dressed remarkably casually for someone who likes performing in three-piece suits, and his shoulder-length hair hangs lazily around his face. It takes Mark far too long to realise that Nick’s informal apparel is no doubt related to the fact that he has inadvertently given him several days off from his day-job.

“Hey,” Mark croaks, cringing at how utterly wrecked he sounds as he settles his aching back against the wooden headboard.

“Hey yourself,” Nick replies with a breathy chuckle which does little to mask the concern etched on his face. His outstretched hand is still resting on Mark’s shoulder, as though he suspects he’ll drift off into the abyss again if he dares let go. “I were startin’ to think you were out for the count.”

Mark frowns at that, casting his eye to the bedside table in an instinctive search for his phone, only to find that it isn’t there. He spots it lying neglected on the desk by his computer, too far away to bother checking the time. The room is illuminated by a soft yellow glow as the hanging lights do their best impression of the afternoon sun, and beyond the circular window he can see that the spotlights have bathed the hotel in blinding gold.  

“How long’ve I been asleep?” he asks, rubbing the lingering exhaustion from his eyes and groaning as every movement sends a dull ache shooting through his muscles. No doubt the question will be impossible to answer, given that even he doesn’t know when he slipped into unconsciousness, but Nick may be able to give an indication of how badly he’s overslept at least.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Nick admits with a shrug, before lifting himself from his crouched position and coming to rest on the edge of the bed, his hand finally leaving Mark’s shoulder. “Jamie came by to check on you about eight hours ago, then Matt popped round at lunch. Doesn’t look like you’ve moved much in the meantime.”

Mark frowns. It isn’t like him to sleep so heavily. Usually a single nudge is enough to have him wide awake and alert. He shivers as he envisions two of his best friends waltzing into his suite without him having any recollection of their presence or even of his sleep being disturbed. He trusts Jamie and Matt implicitly of course, but the notion that he has been so dead to the world makes him feel too vulnerable for comfort. Anyone could have swanned in, and by the sounds of it he wouldn’t have so much as shifted in his sleep.

“How’d you get in?” he asks, trying not to sound suspicious and doing a terrible job of it. He tears his eyes away from Nick’s face in shame and decides that tugging on the duvet will be a better use of his time. The fact that he’d awoken with it wrapped snugly around him strikes him as odd. He doubts he’d had the mental faculties to pull it around himself last night. A bittersweet smile tugs at his lips as he pictures Jamie giving up on his efforts to wake him and proceeding to tuck him in instead; the mental image filling him with a strange sense of longing.

When he braves a glance at Nick’s face, he feels fierce heat return to his cheeks as he takes in the man’s confused - almost hurt – frown, and he inwardly scolds himself for planting that expression there.

“You gave us all keys on our first day, remember?” Nick reminds him, extending a hand into the pocket of his jeans and revealing the offending object, complete with shiny silver keyring in the shape of a bass guitar.

“Oh, right,” Mark says lamely, eyes glued to the set of keys as though seeing them for the first time.  

Of course he remembers giving the lads keys to his room. He has copies of all of theirs too, set aside for emergencies. He remembers the painstaking effort it had taken to pick out individualised keyrings, and the delight that lit up his friends’ faces when they received them all those years ago. It just strikes him as odd that the keys have barely seen any use in all that time. They don’t tend to hang out in each other’s suites anymore now that the lads have families of their own, and barring one miserable fortnight where Mark had been holed up with the flu, he’s rarely been in such a state that he’s needed someone to keep a constant vigil over him. If his friends have been driven to this level of fretting, he must truly look horrendous.

When Mark doesn’t say anything else, Nick shoves the set of keys back in his pocket before lifting himself to his feet. Anxiety tugs at Mark’s heart as he half-expects his friend to leave him alone, but it quickly turns to relief when Nick makes his way over to the coffee-machine instead. Good coffee seems like an excellent idea given that for all the sleep he’s had, he still feels utterly bone-weary. At a guess he must have been out for upwards of sixteen hours, yet every muscle fibre in his body is telling him that he won’t be fully sated until he’s been comatose for a week. At least.  

He groans as he sits up straighter, shoving the duvet away from him in the process, and he’s forced to bring a hand to his forehead as a persistent throb settles behind his eyes.  

“Bad hangover?” Nick asks from his perch by the kitchen counter, the coffee-machine giving off a low rumble as it brings the water to boil. Mark can’t help but laugh at the assumption; it’s certainly a fair guess.

“Surprisingly no,” he admits, lowering his hand and pointedly ignoring the way one of Nick’s eyebrows quirks upwards in subtle disbelief. “Haven’t had a drink in four days, believe it or not.”

“Coulda fooled me!” Nick scoffs, and despite the lightness in his tone, Mark can’t help but flinch. His discomfort must not be very subtle, for Nick’s smile drops instantly and he directs his gaze to the floor as though silently ashamed. “Sorry. It’s just... We’ve been worried about you. Me and the lads. It’s not like you to cancel shows without running it by us first, and whenever one of us tries to check if you’re okay, there’s no answer.”

Nick’s tone isn’t accusatory in the slightest, but Mark still wonders if the guilt unleashed by his words will swallow him whole. It’s true. He hasn’t said a word to his friends since he abandoned them after their last show, and even before that he’d been aloof and stuck inside his own head. He’d cancelled all of their upcoming performances without even notifying his bandmates first; no doubt they’d turned up to rehearsals only to be chased away in bewildered confusion by the orchestra’s conductor. And while Mark has barely checked his phone over the past few days, he has noticed several missed calls and unread texts which hadn’t struck him as particularly urgent at the time.  

The others have no idea what’s got him so wound up. They don’t know about Matthew, or the armed guards who came after him, or the cupboard with the flashing red lights in the impossible corridor. For all his thoughts of calling Jamie in the hope that he’ll somehow rationalise those events with logical ease, Mark has neglected that opportunity at every turn.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, unable to bring his gaze to meet Nick’s for fear the shame will kill him. His voice sounds impossibly small and he feels completely unsure of himself in a way that he never has before. Even the self-consciousness that characterised his youth cannot compete with the crushing uncertainty which consumes him now. “Truth be told, I haven’t really been feeling like meself these past few days. Probably needed some sleep if I’m being honest.”

“Well, you certainly got some of that,” Nick jokes with a fond smile, and a surprised laugh breaks free from Mark’s chest as he shrugs in wordless agreement.  

The coffee-machine finally halts its racket and Nick sets about preparing them both a simple Americano, having correctly assessed that anything more complicated would likely not be tolerated in Mark’s current state. Mark swings his legs over the side of the bed and briefly closes his eyes as a new wave of pain racks his skull, but he greets Nick with a smile when he settles beside him, gratefully accepting the proffered steaming mug in both hands.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, cradling their mugs and blowing off steam before taking careful sips. Mark’s eyes close in satisfaction at the first taste of coffee – prepared just the way he likes it – and while he doubts it’ll achieve the impossible task of revitalising him, he feels a little more human with every sip.

When his mug is half-empty, Nick takes it upon himself to break the silence with a gentle, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Mark admits with a sigh, unable to tell whether he’s being entirely truthful. Telling the whole story is out of the question. He has little desire to leave Nick questioning his sanity, and he doubts he’d be able to explain everything that happened that night in sufficient detail even if he prepared a script beforehand.  

Nick isn’t going to let him get away with saying nothing though, judging by the bemused expression on his face.  

“Fine. I met someone the other night and he just... freaked me out a little,” Mark attempts eventually. That part is true at the very least. “Haven’t been able to get him out of me head since.”

It’s a lame explanation and he knows it. Even if that wasn’t already obvious, the way Nick’s brow furrows in confusion hammers the point home with all the subtlety of a brick smashing through a car windscreen.

“Did you and he...” Nick starts, before thinking better of it as his face becomes alight with flame.

“What?” Mark asks, only for the insinuation to become clear as day with the spreading blush across Nick’s cheeks. “Oh no, definitely not. It weren’t like that.”

No doubt his current state of mind would be less confusing if he and Matthew had simply stumbled into a drunken mistake, but the man’s looming influence isn’t driven by any romantic inclinations. It strikes Mark as odd how easily Nick had accepted the possibility, though he can’t say he minds. He’d almost prefer the prospect of his aloofness being driven entirely by shallow ‘guy problems’. At least there are plenty of words in the English language to describe dilemmas of the heart. In contrast, the explanation “A stranger presented a rather compelling argument for our existence being nothing more than an elaborate, pointless lie before disappearing into a cupboard which no longer exists” is a little less run-of-the-mill, and that’s before you throw in the notion of a boss who may or may not be the mastermind behind the whole sorry affair.  

Huh. Somehow in the midst of his exhaustion, he’d forgotten about Murphy and the smug satisfaction plastered all over his face towards the end of their call.

“Well, whatever happened, he’s clearly left you in a bit of a state,” Nick remarks, oblivious to the turmoil raging within Mark’s head. His voice cuts through the noise and serves as an anchor, returning him to the present, and he can’t quite hide his relief as his mind quietens. “Do you want one of us to have a word with him? Give him a warning shot, perhaps? Matt’s taken up boxing, I’m sure he’d be all for it.”

“Absolutely not!” Mark retorts with a burst of shocked laughter, before descending into a fit of hysterical giggles as Nick indulges in a victorious grin. It doesn’t take long for Nick’s laughter to accompany his own. The prospect of his bandmates collectively ganging up on an unsuspecting Matthew is so ridiculous that the absurdity of it lightens his heart. Though he’s not sure how to explain that if they’re going to beat anyone up, he’d much rather they go after Murphy instead.

“You wouldn’t get the chance anyway. He’s already gone,” Mark clarifies once their laughter has settled. He neglects to mention the unusual circumstances surrounding Matt’s disappearance, settling instead for polishing off his cooling mug of coffee. “And honestly, it weren’t like that. He was a nice guy, all things considered. Just a bit strange. He had a way of getting inside your head and I don’t think he realised he was doing it. Besides, all of this is my fault. I shouldn’t ‘ave let him get to me like that.”

“Right,” Nick says sceptically, no doubt still hoping for something or someone to blame for Mark’s recent state. Mark can sympathise. He imagines he too would be frustrated if he were forced to bear witness to one of his bandmate’s private struggles only to be offered no obvious means of fixing the problem.  

“Seriously Nick, I’m okay,” he insists, turning his body to face his friend head-on and suddenly feeling more sober than he has in days. “Or I will be soon enough. I just... I needed some space. Have done for a long time if I’m being honest. I reckon the other night were just the breaking point.”

He aims for flippancy, but watching Nick’s face fall is enough to inform him that he’s missed the target by a country mile. Concern darkens his friend’s kind eyes and sends guilt coiling in the pit of Mark’s stomach. He’d give everything to wash away Nicks worry; to convince him that he isn’t worth the anxiety his friends are wasting on him. He feels responsible enough for dragging them to this blasted rock in the first place, away from their homes and families and ambitions. Lumping further pain upon their shoulders is simply unforgivable.

“You could have just told us that, you know,” Nick says after a while, not unkindly, and Mark feels his heart ache. He does know. No doubt all three of his bandmates would have leapt at the chance to hijack Murphy on the phone and bully him into offering Mark some time off, but he’d never wanted it to come to that. The running of the hotel and the responsibilities associated with it are his to bear alone. The band is a separate entity entirely - something pure and liberating amongst the daily deluge – and dragging his friends into his messes has never been his intention. Not that his efforts have come to much in the end.  

“I’d miss a million shows if it meant you were okay,” Nick adds when Mark doesn’t say anything, twisting the knife deeper without intending to. “I’m pretty sure the others would do the same.”

Moisture gathers at the corner of Mark’s eyes but he furiously blinks it away. His face is sticky enough with dried tear-tracks, though he can’t remember where they came from for the life of him. Heaving a sigh, he tears his gaze from Nick’s face and rests his head on the man’s shoulder, closing his eyes in quiet contentment. Nick’s frame stiffens for only a moment, before he wraps an arm around Mark’s shoulder and gives him a gentle squeeze.  

This is okay, Mark thinks to himself. Despite the madness of the week, it finally feels as though the lost, fragmented pieces of his identity are coalescing into a coherent whole once again.

“I love you all,” he says without a hint of reservation. “You do know that, right?”

“I dunno,” Nick retorts with a gentle shrug, careful not to shift Mark’s head from its perch. Mark doesn’t need to look at him to sense the gentle, teasing smile on his friend’s face. “You’re usually shitfaced when you say it so I’ve always been doubtful.”

Nick gets a light punch to the side as punishment for his jest, and he laughs before pressing a soft kiss to Mark’s temple.

“We love you too, you daft pillock,” he says, sincerity dripping from his tone like syrup. He hugs Mark closer as though frightened that he’ll slip away if he loosens his hold, and the hand perched on his shoulder starts tracing a path down to his elbow before creeping back up. The action is so soothing that the effects of the coffee instantly vanish, and Mark thinks he could easily drift off again. He wonders if doing so will take him back to that peaceful dream, with the guitar in his hands and a loving family within reach.

They stay like that for a little while; Mark on the cusp of a peaceful doze and Nick doing very little to dissuade him from slipping away. There’s still an unmistakable sense of unease clogging the air – a sense of foreboding that has burrowed its way into every corner of the hotel since Matthew’s disappearance - but Nick’s presence keeps it at bay like a shield warding off demons. No doubt that protection will vanish in the same instant Nick elects to leave, and Mark will be left to fend for himself against unseen monsters lurking in the dark, but for now he can’t remember the last time he was so content.  

He almost finds himself lost in the dream again – can feel the sensation of rough guitar strings dancing beneath his fingertips – but he’s pulled away at the last second by the buzzing of a phone. It isn’t his, though even if it was he wouldn’t be inclined to check it. Nick pulls his own device from his pocket and replies to the message as subtly as he can, but the damage has already been done. Mark opens his eyes and makes note of the softer light outside as the spotlights dim to a soft orange glow in an attempt to simulate an evening sunset. Deciding that he’s wasted enough of the day as it is, he finally lifts his head and stretches his weary limbs with a groan.

“You know what you should do?” Nick says, pocketing his phone and taking advantage of his newfound freedom to rise to his feet, giving the impression of towering over Mark even more so than usual.  

When Mark’s only response is a half-hearted shrug, he goes on: “You should get yourself out of those clothes and go hop in the shower while I make you a very late breakfast. No, I don’t want to hear any complaints, Turner; you reek and something tells me you haven’t eaten a proper meal in days, so I’m not giving you a choice. You’re going to eat what I make you, then you’re going to get dressed up nice, and then we’re gonna meet the lads at the bar so we can all get properly wankered. Sound like a plan?”

Well, that solves the mystery of the buzzing phone. No doubt one of the others has noticed Nick’s extended absence and is attempting to rescue him, all while trying to put a stop to Mark’s reclusive act in the process. It’s ingenious really, and he can’t fault their line of thinking. Part of him can’t help but be wary of returning to the bar given his last visit is what reduced his mind to a frazzled mess in the first place, but knowing the others will be with him lifts his trepidation somewhat. And now that he dwells on it, Nick’s other suggestions don’t sound half bad either. He can’t remember the last time he ate, and a low growl emanating from his stomach implies that his body isn’t best pleased about his neglectfulness. He can’t even recall when he last changed his clothes with any certainty, let alone took a shower. Perhaps some food and a wash will make him feel alive again, or at the very least make a start to the process of resurrecting him from his zombified state.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a genius?” Mark asks, grinning without restraint as Nick releases a bashful laugh topped off with a modest shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s a burden I must bear,” he concedes, his expression settling into one of fondness before his parental instincts take over. “Seriously though. Shower. Now. The more time you waste, the less time we have to get shitfaced.”

Mark doesn’t need to be told twice.  

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

The calm before the colossal, world-ending storm lasts all of two hours. Two hours in which Mark manages to wash the sweat and tears from his face under a piping hot shower, before adorning the most casual t-shirt and jeans combo he can find at the bottom of his drawers. Two hours in which Nick thrusts a hastily prepared cheese and ham sarnie into his hands – mocked up from what little food he has in the fridge – and insists that he eats every bite with crossed arms and lips pressed into a stern line. Two hours in which they eventually make their way to the ballroom to meet Jamie and Matt at the bar, where Mark is greeted with a crushing hug from Jamie and an enthusiastic “Welcome back to the land of the living!” from Matt. The latter tops off his greeting with a firm embrace of his own, before ordering the first round of beers with renewed vigour.  

For those blissful two hours, Mark feels as though life is finally returning to normal. The burden of responsibility is temporarily lifted from his shoulders, and he lets himself laugh at his friends’ lame jokes as he downs the first pint and swiftly follows it with another. They must resemble a bunch of teenage holidaymakers who have accidentally stumbled into a high-end establishment – their casual attire clashing with the sharp suits and stylish frocks of the waltzing guests – but Mark couldn’t care less.  

At one point Jamie turns to him with an unvoiced question resting in gentle blue eyes. Palpable concern radiates from him like heat and for a moment the scrutiny is unbearable, but when Mark responds with a genuine smile, Jamie’s worry melts away in a heartbeat as he follows it up with one of his own. A light buzz takes hold after the third pint and Mark’s aware that he’s done little more than smile like a fool all evening, but he cannot bring himself to care. Those two hours are the happiest he can remember experiencing in a long time. A tiny microcosm of perfection that he wishes he could live within forever.

And then the world shudders.

It begins subtly enough. Little more than a low rumble permeating through the air, barely resonating over Nick and Jamie’s spat as they intensely debate over which of them looks better with long hair. Mark is the only one who takes notice as the rumbling begins to rise in volume; brows furrowing as narrowed eyes scan the ballroom in search of the culprit. Nobody else appears to be alarmed. The guests are mostly in the process of getting royally drunk over a dinner of roast beef or venison, and the waiters continue about their business without a trace of panic.  

Only, the sound doesn’t abate with time. With great effort, Mark tries to drown out the surrounding ruckus and closes his eyes to focus solely on the new disturbance. The groan sounds like it’s coming from far away – like a distant car-crash or fireworks display – but the harder he listens, the more it feels like the rumble is creeping towards him from beneath the earth.

“Can you hear that?” he says to no-one in particular, having to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony of violins and chatter and clinking glasses. Three pairs of eyes turn in his direction – the petty argument momentarily forgotten – but as they listen intently, Mark sees only a growing sense of cluelessness clouding over their features.

“Hear what?” Jamie asks eventually, which strikes Mark as odd, for that persistent groaning has now become so loud that he can practically feel it hammering against his skull.

He draws his gaze to the half-empty pint resting on a coaster before him and watches with detached curiosity as ripples spread across its golden surface. It isn’t just his glass either; the same effect is visible across the entire countertop. It’s little surprise when the faint clattering of glasses joins the growing commotion. Mark looks up towards the bar and sees unopened bottles trembling against each other on the shelves, vibrating in time with the ground which has started to shift uncontrollably. A bottle of scotch topples to the floor with a mighty crash but no-one pays it any heed, and it is soon followed by several priceless bottles of champagne, drenching the floor with booze and fragmented glass.

The low rumble graduates to a deafening roar as the room begins to shudder relentlessly, and Mark lets out a sharp cry before shielding his ears and pulling his head towards his chest. Logic screams at him to get out - to take his friends and run to safety - but whether by fear or something deeper than that, he finds himself immobilised on his chair. It strikes him as odd that nobody else appears to be panicking. The air is alive with the clatter of shattering glass, the rattle of the looming chandelier, the roar of the moon’s underbelly as she protests against those who have desecrated her surface... but not a single scream. No frantic activity or barked orders from level-headed security guards. Not even the chatter which overwhelmed the hall only moments before remains. The room is filled with hundreds of people and yet, as the world trembles around them, they are all as silent as the grave.

Mark included.  

It occurs to him that he hasn’t taken a breath since the ground began to shake and his chest burns in protest, but even the simple act of gulping in air feels like a complex task. He clenches his eyes shut as his heart begins to roar in his ears, but doing so offers little relief. If anything, the sudden blackness makes the situation worse. Imagination runs wild; he pictures cracks snaking up the walls and the floor giving way to the rocky depths below. Envisions ivy crawling through those very same cracks and burying the entire building until it resembles an abandoned ruin on Earth. Envisions the curved ceiling giving way and burying him alive beneath several layers of marble and plaster.

He still can’t tell what’s causing the floor to shake with such ferocity. Can the moon experience earthquakes? The thought is so ridiculous that he finds himself giggling hysterically, but what is the alternative? Unless his perception of time has been drastically altered, the quake has gone on far too long to be secondary to an explosion, and the space station is too far away for any launches to be felt as anything more than a minor shudder.

Hours seem to pass. His skull whines in protest as he presses his hands even tighter against his ears, and a single tear spills from the corner of one eye from the effort it takes to keep them clenched shut. His jaw aches as the shudders grind his teeth together and he can feel acid rise in his throat, his gut protesting against a cruel wave of fear. Everyone else remains eerily silent, even his friends who surely wouldn’t have left without him. He knows he could always open his eyes to check on them, but a burst of terror as he comprehends what he’ll find stops him in his tracks. Instead, he simply remains sitting there, curled up like a frightened child, as his surroundings continue to shatter around him.

And then, without warning, the world becomes a brilliant white behind his eyelids and everything stops. The cacophony reaches its abrupt coda as all sound is sucked through a vacuum. Only his shuddering breaths remain, followed by a desperate sob. The whiteness refuses to abate, and for a moment it occurs to him that he may well be dead. That he might be nothing more than a shattered bag of bones, crushed among the ruins of the very hotel he built from scratch. There’d be a certain poetry in that, he thinks, though the persistent cramping of his muscles and the burning in his chest implies that he hasn’t ascended to ghostly status just yet.

It’s impossible to tell if hours or mere seconds pass. The world is so still, so silent, that time loses all meaning and Mark can feel his mind begin to empty, as though the featureless light is consuming him whole. When small details finally do make a reappearance, they do so slowly. He becomes aware of his elbows digging into the hard oak surface of the bar counter. A glass clinks somewhere off in the distance. He becomes painfully aware of the cool sweat on his brow, and his inability to take in a deep breath without his chest hitching with choked hiccoughs.

The silence is finally broken by a single unprovoked chuckle, followed by a muted wave of laughter echoing across the walls. With the flick of an unseen switch, the usual chatter flares up once more and the violins resume their task of reciting an old Tchaikovsky piece, seemingly unaffected by what has just transpired. With a considerable degree of trepidation, Mark tears his hands away from his head and opens his eyes to face a complete wall of booze with no missing bottles in sight. No glass fragments or wet stains litter the floor. No cracks creep up the walls; no ivy sprouts from the ground. The ceiling above remains stubbornly unmarked, and the chandelier glitters as immaculately as it had on the day it was installed. Casting a glance over the assorted faces around him reveals only unaffected smiles, with no trace of fear or even the slightest acknowledgement of the quake that rocked the ballroom only moments before.  

Even drawing his attention to his friends brings little clarity. Rather than looking as shellshocked as Mark himself, Nick and Jamie have settled for resuming their debate – this time arguing over who looks best in a ponytail – while Matt grumbles something about not being able to grow his hair without sprouting an afro.

The world has elected to carry on as normal, and yet Mark can’t shake the feeling that everything has irrevocably changed. That the very foundations of the ground he walks on are set to crumble at any moment, taking him down in the process.

It’s impossible to keep his breathing under control, and a weak sob rips from his throat as air escapes in frantic gasps. The sound draws Jamie’s attention back to him, and his eyes widen with fear as he extends a hand to rest on Mark’s shoulder with a careful, “Hey, what’s going on?”

The contact doesn’t help in the slightest. Mark tries to answer but his throat seals shut, turning his words into a low whine, and he settles for shaking his head instead. He needs to get out of here. There isn’t enough oxygen in the ballroom and he can feel the weight of the gathering crowd suffocating him, and before he can think twice, he stumbles to his feet and pushes away from the bar. 

That turns out to be a terrible decision. The sudden change in posture has his stomach dropping, and his vision narrows to a fine tunnel before blurring altogether. No doubt the only reason he doesn’t collapse to the floor is because of the hands which appear out of nowhere, holding him upright as his ears drown out a puzzled, “Easy!” followed by a shaky, “Let’s sit you back down mate”. His friends may as well be faceless for all the attention his broken mind grants them.  

It feels like his frayed nerves are dangling by a thread; the cool blades of a scissor resting barely a hairs-breadth away, threatening to sever his sanity with an unfeeling snap.

And then the dam breaks.

The buried chest keeping his memories concealed behind a rusted padlock bursts open. Assorted moments in time spill forth from the wreckage, drowning him beneath their weight like the horrors trapped within Pandora’s Box. Only instead of horrors, his mind is suddenly overcome by melancholic nostalgia and untouchable bittersweet memories.

He remembers sitting by the piano as an eight-year-old boy, trying in earnest to play the tunes his dad loved to listen to on his record-player. He remembers sitting in class, drawing his eyes away from the window in silent awe as the profound beauty of John Cooper Clarke’s writing set up camp in his heart. He remembers listening to The Strokes’ debut album with Jamie and Matt before begging his mum for a guitar, followed by the sheer contentment that consumed him as he strummed his new love by the light of a Christmas tree. He remembers countless shows - from shy appearances in small clubs to major headlining slots at massive festivals - and the thrill of terror and excitement that thrummed through his veins before each one. He remembers all of his loves and all of his heartbreak; remembers how the latter had always been overcome by a pervading sense of joy, as he dwelled on how lucky he was to do what he loved with his best friends by his side.

And he remembers the hotel. Remembers excitedly developing the concept and expanding the world and the characters within it. Remembers crafting the model by hand, carving his creation out of cardboard and wiling away the hours as it slowly came together. Remembers the rush of pride when the model was finally complete. Only he had never intended the hotel to be a real place, and he certainly had no inclination to run it.  

Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino was always intended to be the setting of an album and nothing more. The fact that he’s currently confined within its walls is nothing short of impossible.

He doesn’t acknowledge that his vision has faded to black until colour slowly creeps back from the fringes. A persistent burn lingers in his chest and it occurs to him that he should probably breathe, but doing so only encourages another sob as hot tears spill down his cheeks. He lets himself be manhandled onto a chair without protest, his limbs reduced to jelly, and even when his eyes offer a glimpse of his worried friends gathered around him, all he can focus on is a section of wall directly ahead. A voice breaks through the roar of blood pounding in his head – a panicked “C’mon Mark, you’re scaring me now!” - but he cannot identify its owner, nor can he bring himself to look at his friends closely enough to see whose lips are moving.

A further memory spills forth from the unlocked chest, prompted by the frantic hands holding him in place. The setting appears to be Bonfire Night, judging by the ecstatic burst of colours lighting up the darkening sky and the acrid smoke wafting from the fire in the local park. They’re gathered in one of the lad’s gardens with a stolen pack of fireworks; far too young to be playing with them on their own, but too swept up in the rebelliousness of it all to care about the inherent risk. Jamie and Matt are chasing him around the garden with sparklers in their hands, mindful of the unlit fireworks planted on the grassy lawn, but his younger self decides to push his luck and edges just a little too close. He doesn’t realise his mistake until he trips and falls, taking his sparkler down with him and inadvertently lighting a fuse.  

He clearly recalls the rush of panic and the realisation that he is far too close. All he can do is stare in wide-eyed terror as heat dances along the fuse, threatening to release the firework at any moment and send white-hot sparks of flame in his direction. Before he can brace himself for the exquisite pain however, two pairs of hands grasp his arms and yank him roughly to his feet, dragging him as far back as he can possibly go until he slams against a solid wall. Mere milliseconds later, a burst of sparks erupt from the ground and a high whistle shoots into the air, followed by a stunning explosion of scattered reds and golds.  

They remain frozen for what feels like an eternity, until the panicked silence is broken by a high-pitched “Fuck!” on Matt’s part and the release of hysterical laughter on Jamie’s. All he can remember doing himself is staring up at the sky – eyes fixed on the lingering embers of the firework that nearly melted his face off – and noting at the back of his mind that neither Matt nor Jamie have released their crushing hold on him. No doubt they were experiencing the same aftershocks of terror that were gripping his tiny frame.

Eventually Jamie had let go, and he remembers his ten-year-old friend stepping forwards, donned in a navy-blue tracksuit, before turning to the others with a crooked smile and a shaky declaration of, “That were a close one, weren’t it Al?”  

A similar form of fearful desperation clings to Jamie now, as he crouches by his side. There’s no relief in his friend’s features this time, only panic and an unmistakable sense of frustration borne of cluelessness. It occurs to him that his inhalations are still coming thick and fast and his head is swimming as he sways in his chair and yet, paradoxically, his mind feels infinitely clearer than it has in years.

“Mark?” Jamie asks cautiously, bringing a warm hand to his cheek in an attempt to anchor him. “Wanna tell us what’s goin’ on?”

The utterance of that name sends a flinch shooting through his body, and before he can even think, a hand shoots out and grabs Jamie by the wrist. The man stills, blue eyes widening as they draw level with a determined gaze, and though he can sense Matt and Nick edging closer, he doesn’t dare break eye contact as he utters his next words.

“Alex,” he hisses, chest heaving with the effort required to voice that old, familiar name. “My name is Alex.”

[gutsymmetry]

@hartened

        It’s over 100°F. Raine doesn’t want to look at the world outside the windows, the city with the miserable brilliance of the desert sun sharpening every line into a blade. If she pokes her nose out to the pool deck she can almost feel her sweat boil off and the sunburn start. She’s going to stay inside in the air-conditioning and eat all the wine gummies Susan Hart, her boss, hides in her bedside table, and not do anything else--not even rifle for incriminating material in drawers or the locked Macbook. She doesn’t care. On days like this, there’s nothing to be done; that’s why desert cities come alive only at night.

         Precious has other ideas. Precious always has other ideas. Precious barks for half an hour at the door when she’s already had her walk, then, when her request is not granted, pisses on the floor for Raine to clean. She trots gaily off from one scene of chaos to the next: finds one of Susan’s silk robes, drags it from the enormous bathroom to the lounge and shreds it, between her paws and her cunning little teeth, into tiny pieces, where the evidence will be impossible to hide. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she gets her evil snout on one of the glossy coffee table books and begins chewing away; Raine finds her on the doggy bed gnawing meditatively on the corner of the Degas catalogue.

         “You’re evil,” she says wonderingly. “Just like your mum, aren’t you? Evil little thing. Come here, you.” She pulls the book away. Precious shows her teeth, growls, ears flipping back. It’s a ridiculous sight on a dog groomed to look like a teddy bear. Raine picks her up. “You’re all show. Look at that. Go on, bite me. You won’t, will you? ‘Cos what you want is the attention, like.” She puts Precious under her arm in the way she’s been told a thousand times not to do. “Look at this mess... Christ, your mum’ll have a fit. Maybe have me over her knee. And that won’t be so bad, ah--ha.”

         Because, of course, as Raine turns around to assess the bits of chewed paper and the tattered robe on the carpet, there’s Susan, so untouched by the heat of the day, it’s like she’s swanned out of a fashion advertisement--bag on her arm, sunglasses pushed up, her blonde hair, her red nails. Raine swallows. Precious starts thrashing at once.

         “Alright, alright,” Raine says, playing it very cool, “you’ll scratch me to death. Here. There’s your mum. Go on.” She puts Precious back down. The dog leaps merrily past the wreckage it’s made to greet its mother.