#now to scrape this mess off my face oh my god idk how im going to wear this for hours

[aliosne]

It’s comin together!!!

[offtopicoverload]

Get Lucky

so i totally forgot about this request from @renluthor for like. two months, terribly sorry, but i finally finished it lmao. bit different than what we had discussed, but i had a lot of fun with it and think it turned out decent enough, hope you enjoy it also idk how to tag on ao3, i hope this works fine

M Rating (still suck at rating, there's drinking and kissing so)

Zoey x MC (Bea)

~1700 words (still pretty short since i cant seem to get my word count up rn but im also not that fussed)

Read on Ao3

-

Bea Hughes stands in the middle of Belvoire’s quad on her first day at the school, staring down a snarling beast, some bitch named Poppy that’s really starting to get on her nerves. “You know what, Poppy?” she snarks, “I’m really going to enjoy tearing you down. Something tells me nobody likes you half as much as you like yourself.” She pauses, glancing around before her gaze lands on some frat bro, “Michael, how often does Poppy call you an idiot?”

He frowns, face downcast, “Every day. My therapist says it isn’t good to surround myself with people who bring me down, but my parents are friends with Poppy’s and -”

“Oh my god, nobody asked to be invited to your pity party, Michael!” Poppy shouts, effectively cutting him off with a stamp of her foot.

Bea’s scowl grows, “You know what nobody asked to be invited to? Poppy’s Daily Bitch-Fest. Death by migraine would be more pleasant.”

“Oh, you haven’t even seen Poppy’s Daily Bitch-Fest,” her eyes narrow at Bea dangerously, “But if you’d like a demonstration, by all means, be my guest of -”

“Hey Bea! Look at the time, we gotta go!” Someone takes hold of Bea’s wrist, tugging her along and away from the crowd, from Michael, and from Poppy and her glare. She’s pulled into a sprint across the lawn, running wildly until they’re inside a dorm and standing before some door.

“Wish the circumstances were different, but welcome to the Winfrey dorm complex, aka your new home!” The girl lets Bea’s wrist drop back to her side, gesturing widely with one hand as she fumbles to unlock the door with the other.

She finally succeeds, throwing the door open and ushering Bea inside, the door slamming shut behind them. Bea’s eyes immediately rove over the expensive decor and nice furniture of the huge dorm she’s somehow stumbled upon.

The girl collapses on a couch, kicking her feet up as she looks over to Bea, “So, you got out of that one alive. Barely,” she adds under her breath. “How are you feeling?”

Bea follows suit, slumping down on the opposite side, toying with the hem of her shirt distractedly. “Honestly, you’re gorgeous,” she shrugs, watching the fabric slide between her fingertips. She freezes, slowly glancing to Zoey, “...is what I was thinking, but did I just say it out loud?”

A laugh bursts from Zoey, her head falling back, “You did, and you’re absolutely, positively right. Not to mention easy on the eyes yourself,” she grins, winking at Bea, before sticking her hand out. “I’m Zoey Wade, your roomie,” she shakes Bea’s hand when their palms meet, “This right here is our dorm. Your room’s on the left, mine’s on the right.”

“Okay,” Bea responds abruptly, sinking into the cushions and crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Okay,” she repeats.

Zoey glances over to her, “Are you okay?”

Bea’s eyes flicker to her dark ones, “Yes. Yes, because I got lucky on the roommate front,” she smiles, albeit somewhat forced.

“That you did,” Zoey smiles right back. “In fact, I know the perfect place to get you off campus until the hype dies down.” she jumps to her feet, crossing to the front door before Bea can even react.

She scrambles to her feet, nearly tripping on the corner of the coffee table, “Wait!” Zoey spins as she swings the door open, winking before disappearing down the corner, Bea nearly sprinting to catch up.

---

An hour later, Bea and Zoey are sitting in a dim corner of a Soho speakeasy, soft music and conversation buzzing in the background. Half-drunk Manhattans sit before them, their own voices adding to the soft din of chatter flowing in the space.

“How’d you find this place?” Bea inquires curiously, her eyes scanning the building and its patrons. It’s cozy and warm, the inviting atmosphere a sharp contrast to Belvoire’s intimidating one.

“Connections,” Zoey’s shoulders rise in a nonchalant shrug, unbothered as she scrolls her phone.

“Whose?”

Zoey looks up from her phone, gaze meeting Bea’s as she smirks, “Can’t spill all my secrets on the first day, babe.”

“Why not?” Bea challenges, one eyebrow quirked.

Zoey’s phone is set face down on the table as she looks at Bea mysteriously, smiling secretively, “As sweet as you are, I always need a few cards up my sleeve.”

“How many you got?”

“I’ll never tell,” she winks, in what Bea is quickly learning to be her default.

“I thought the whole point of coming here was to learn more about each other, roomie,” Bea counters pointedly.

Zoey shakes her head, leaning back against the booth, “The point of coming here is avoiding the campus harpy that goes by the name of Poppy.”

“So you don’t want to get to know me? Or let me get to know you?”

“Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll tell you something.”

Bea just her bottom lip out in a pout, her eyes wide and innocent as she blinks up at Zoey. She only smiles coyly in return, drinking her cocktail as Bea deflates, sighing and slumping backwards.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Zoey hums from the back of her throat.

Bea grins before schooling her expression into something flirtatious, “I’m hoping I’ll get luckier.”

Zoey laughs at that, just as loud and unrestrained as back in their dorm, “Nice try. At least buy me a drink first.”

“I’ll buy you the whole bar, how about that?”

“I’ll take another Manhattan for now,” Zoey laughs, sinking back into the booth as Bea jumps up, weaving through the speakeasy’s crowd to get back to the bar.

She returns a few minutes later, wiggling the drinks in her hands enticingly with a wide grin on her lips. She slides back into her seat, sipping her own bright coloured cocktail as she looks to Zoey.

“So what made you want to come to Belvoire? Long way from home, right?” Zoey plays with her drink, scraping a cherry off a toothpick with her front teeth.

Bea shrugs, “It’s a good school, and I thought it’d be fun to try something new… But now I’m mixed up in petty drama,” a sigh shifts her shoulders, Zoey stilling her absentminded fidgeting.

“Petty drama, maybe, but you’re making a name for yourself,” she nudges Bea with her elbow. “That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

“So you don’t think I’m totally screwed?”

“Hmm,” one carefully manicured nail taps Zoey’s chin. “I give it ten to one odds,” she finally decides, smiling sweetly across the table.

Bea frowns, a dent forming between her brows as the girl across from her’s smile grows in amusement, “Those aren’t good odds.”

“But there’s still a chance. Look, I know I don’t know you very well, but you seem like the type to pull it off.”

“Seems like you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“And what if I was?”

“I guess I’d wonder if there was a reason for it.”

“Can’t a cute girl be reason enough?”

Bea lets her gaze rake over Zoey suggestively, “I suppose so.”

“See? You’re smart, you’ll be fine,” she encourages. “Probably.”

“Ugh,” with a groan, Bea’s head falls forward, forehead crashing against the table.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Zoey chastises above her, “No moping.”

Bea turns, her cheek pressing into the wood, “What else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re going to dance,” Zoey announces, standing with her palms flat on the tabletop. She cocks her head at Bea expectantly, sauntering out to the dancefloor when Bea takes the hint, popping up and chasing behind her.

The dance floor's more crowded than anywhere else, couples and friend groups moving in unison to the beat thundering through the air. Zoey whirls around, dancing to the peppy song currently playing until Bea’s joined her, swinging her hips and throwing her arms about carelessly.

The song’s change, the crowd moves as one, and the pair spin and jump and whirl, Zoey taking Bea’s hands and twirling her until she’s laughing and dizzy. Time ticks past until they’re both breathless and sweaty, leaning against one another for support.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” Zoey chuckles, her breath brushing Bea’s cheek, goosebumps breaking across her skin.

A grin breaks Bea’s lips too, relaxed and somewhat tired, “Right back atcha.”

Zoey throws her arm over Bea’s shoulders, fingers knitting behind her neck as she looks down at the shorter girl, her messy hair and gleaming eyes, her smudged lipstick and shining teeth. One hand retracts, the pad of her thumb swiping lightly beneath Bea’s lips, cleaning up the mess on her skin.

Bea’s breath hitches, her eyes widening in the dim lighting of the speakeasy, glued to Zoey’s dark ones as they shift over parted lips. “Hey, Bea?” she whispers, thumb still ghosting over Bea’s skin.

“Yeah?” she whispers back, the exhale skimming Zoey’s skin now.

“Are you still trying to get lucky?”

“God yes,” she groans.

Zoey bends down, letting her lips softly graze Bea’s, just barely making contact. Smudged lips chase hers, Zoey smiling before Bea’s palms are on her cheeks, tugging her downwards, her own thumbs brushing along high cheekbones.

Zoey’s hands find her hips, pulling her closer until they’re bodies fit together, only heat between them under the lights. Zoey nips at Bea’s bottom lip, the shorter girl gasping against her lips, Zoey’s tongue slipping past them.

Time ticks past, the mass of people surrounding them lost in a haze, heat the only thing discernible. The break apart after a short moment, unconsciously swaying to the music together, getting caught up in the rhythm, sucked into the thudding bass.

“We should probably head back to campus,” Zoey murmurs after another song fades out.

Bea’s head lolls to the taller girl’s shoulder, a groan spilling from her throat, “Mm, do we have to?”

A familiar chuckle explodes from Zoey’s chest, “Yeah, maybe you’ll find a four-leaf clover along the way. Get even luckier.”

Bea pulls back, her eyes eager as they meet Zoey’s and the remaining laughter in them. “Okay, let’s go!” she grabs Zoey’s hand on her hip, tugging her through the crowd and out the door, pulling her along this time. Her laughter rings behind Bea as she barrels down the street, New York’s lights illuminating her way.

[zigsexual]

Theoreticals; part 3 (maxwell x mc)

part one. part two.

asdkfjals guys i finally DID IT it only took me a damn year but this is it, the final piece of the hypotheticals verse! love u all for continuing to bother me about this until it was finally finished,, idk what else to say i dont wanna ramble but im proud for my babies that they made it this far, fuckin hooray

note: this is the final companion piece to hypotheticals and empiricals, and honestly if you haven’t read those then u probably should because this one has a lot of plot throwback and also tbh its like very divergent from the main storyline seeing as i started writing it in 2017

summary: the coronation is actually happening feat. private planes, maxwell as a baby????? an unfortunate run in with some potpourri, dancing, drake, and an uber driver

word count: 5800+

Well.

Riley takes a deep breath, attempting to calm the absolute whirlwind of thoughts in her head that are, at any moment, threatening to become a hurricane. She can’t take the waterworks again, not when she’s finally stopped crying. She turns slightly to catch herself in the mirror, rubbing at the last smears of mascara with her thumb. The girl who looks back reminds her far too much of the girl who used to stare out from the curve of a freshly washed spoon in a New York bar. A reflection of another time; a defeated time.

She rolls her shoulders back. Today is not the day for defeat. At least, not yet.

When she emerges back out into the hallway, she’s relieved to find it near deserted but for a few of the king’s guard. One of them spots her and turns to the others, whispering something. She raises her hand in a brief wave, quickening her pace back towards the ballroom. Now is not the time to be intercepted and interrogated about her whereabouts.

She rounds the corner too quickly, head turned back to be sure none of the guards are still watching her, and nearly collides with Liam, who is also taking his corners too fast.

“Lady Riley!” he says, catching her by the shoulders before she can fully crash into him. His eyes, surprised and earnest, wash over her in such a way that she can feel herself beginning to blush.

“Hey,” she replies, mouth quirked up in a sheepish half-smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He laughs, dropping his hands back to his sides. Riley can’t quite meet his gaze; the full measure of him is just so… well, there was a reason she had decided to come to Cordonia in the first place. Liam is still Liam, still resplendent with that aura of dignity he carries so easily, still with that face like her teenage daydreams.

And now, this. This utter mess she’s made with his heart. No, there are too many reasons to keep her eyes downcast, fingers toying with the satin of her gown.

Liam’s voice drops lower. “I’ve actually been meaning to speak to you, if you have a moment?”

“For you?” Riley shrugs. “Of course.”

“There’s a family garden out back,” he holds out his arm, and she takes it, hesitantly. “The guests aren’t allowed out there, so we won’t be interrupted.”

She smiles, but it comes off more pained than pleased. “Oh, I mean there’s no need to, ah… we can just talk here, if you want?”

“I think it’d be better to have some privacy,” Liam says, and the air of finality to his statement pulls Riley reluctantly along with him.

The ‘family garden,’ another one of Liam’s modest descriptors, turns out to be a sprawling thing almost double the size of the palace itself, adorned at every turn with manicured greenery and delicately arranged flowers. Even the cobblestone paths seem somewhat luxurious, which is a relief to Riley as it means Liam won’t fault her for looking everywhere but at him.

“I’m glad you came here,” he says. “It’s been a joy getting to know you, and seeing you defy the odds against you. You have a very particular kind of strength about you that I admire.”

“Thank you,” Riley says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sure you must have some idea of what I wish to speak with you about.” His brow furrows, and he looks off towards the lights of the palace. “I hope… I hope this doesn’t come as a surprise.”

Riley turns, finally, to look at him, her heart pounding in her chest, “Liam, I —”

“I can’t marry you.”

Riley’s mouth falls open. “Hold on, what?”

“Oh —” Liam looks taken aback. “Did I misjudge?”

“Misjudge?” Riley stops walking, dropping his arm so she can stand in front of him, staring. “Misjudge what?”

“You,” Liam says gently, his eyes sweeping across her face, “Your heart.”

“My…” Riley reaches up and presses her hand to her mouth. “Oh.”

Oh.

“I thought as much,” Liam sighs. “I know I’ve been quite open about my affection for you, and I worried you might feel… obligated? Perhaps that’s too strong a word, but it troubles me to think that you might not be living the life you want. With the person you want to live it with.”

Riley feels her heart in her throat. She presses her hand harder against her lips.

“I suppose I wanted the chance to tell you all this before the official announcement to the court. I wanted you to know that your presence here has never been anything but a gift, and I’ve never expected anything in return.”

She nods.

“All that to say… I’m not going to ask you to marry me tonight. Or any night, for that matter. I didn’t want you to spend the whole ball fretting over the possibility of it, when you could just be enjoying yourself.”

She nods again, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The breezes rustles against them, the gentle scrape of leaves echoing in the wind.

Liam laughs softly, “It’s funny, Drake had always mentioned that you —”

“Oh my god,” Riley squeaks, voice sharp with panic, “No, Liam, oh my god. It’s not Drake. I’m not — we’re not — I would never—”

Liam laughs even more at her response, stunning her into silence. “Riley, I know. It’s my job to be aware of what happens in my court.”

“Oh.” Riley hates herself. “Uh, just wanted to… y’know, clarify that.”

“He does have a fondness for you, though,” Liam muses.

“He told you?”

“Well, not in so many words. I asked him once what he thought of you, and he said you were ‘almost passable,’ so I drew my own conclusions.”

“Wow,” Riley crosses her arms across her chest. “High praise from Drake.”

“The highest.”

“Can we… uh,” Riley nods towards a nearby stone bench, nestled amongst the rosebushes. “Can we sit down? Sorry, this is just…”

“A lot?”

“A lot.”

They both sit, Riley sweeping her skirts underneath her to allow Liam more space. There’s a fountain not far off, reflecting the lights from the party beyond, although the splashes of water are the only sounds of civilization she can hear.

“I’ve wanted to tell you,” Riley says nervously, “I kept trying to find the right time, but you know how that is. It doesn’t exist, not really.”

“You don’t have to apologize, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he reassures her, “I understand.”

“I know, but that almost makes it worse. You’re too good. I’m such a shitshow.”

He laughs. “On the contrary, you’re the only thing about this ball that isn’t.”

Riley hesitates. “Not to be weird or anything, but can I… can I ask who told you?”

“About you and Maxwell?”

Hearing Liam actually say his name sends a rush of something through her. It’s as if he’s made it real, now; as if something about him knowing has elevated the quiet nothingness of their relationship into a profound and essential Thing.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

Liam looks pensive. “No one told me. I mean, not exactly. It’s just that I’ve known everyone here all my life, and when you’re around someone for that long you notice when things… change.” He glances at her with a smile. “You’ve been a catalyst for a lot of that, here.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I wasn’t entirely sure at first, it was just a hunch. But you know how Maxwell is: never stops talking, terrible at lying, loyal to a fault. He’s always been at the center of things. And then you came along, and…”

Liam turns to her, his expression thoughtful. “He was so guarded about you. So careful. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Maxwell be careful about anything in his life.”

“He’s careful about the important things,” Riley says softly.

“He used to spend hours talking you up to me, working on distractions so you and I could be alone together. He wanted you to succeed in all of this, that much was evident. And it was gradual, the way he stopped bringing you up, the shorter and shorter conversations, but of course I noticed. He wanted you to succeed… and then he wanted you.”

Liam sighs, the quietest moment of weakness slipping out. “I guess I didn’t realize as quickly that you wanted him too.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” Riley swings her legs under the bench, shivering slightly as a breeze brushes her bare shoulders. “Trust me, when I decided to come to a tiny foreign country to compete for a chance to be royalty, this is the last outcome I expected.”

Liam laughs. “It is rather ridiculous, I suppose.”

“Will you be alright, though?” Riley glances up at him, worried. “Madeleine told me there’s this law or something, that you have to get married to be on the throne?”

“Oh, that.” He waves a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t actually matter, I can change it after the coronation. It’s not as if we have any alternate governing body. This is an absolute monarchy; I can basically do whatever I want. Honestly, it’s a little strange we haven’t had some sort of democratic revolution yet.”

“Not on your first year agenda?”

“Not yet, no.” He smiles at her, and the sadness in his eyes has almost faded out. “Riley… I hope that you won’t find it awkward to be at court after this. I don’t have many friends, and although I know it may not have been my initial intention, I should hope to remain friends with you.”

“Oh, Liam,” Riley bumps her shoulder against his, “Of course. And I’m not just saying that because you’re about to be king of an absolute monarchy and can basically do whatever you want.”

He laughs again, standing up from the bench and brushing off his jacket before reaching out a hand to help her up. She’s only slightly unsteady on her heels until her feet catch purchase in the cobblestones, and she rests a hand on Liam’s arm to regain her balance.

His eyes meet hers, only inches away, and she feels that gentle tug in her chest again. In another life, maybe; in another timeline, she could be his queen.

But not this one.

They walk back to the palace in silence, Liam with his hands in his pockets, surveying the grounds. Now he is the one desperate not to meet her eyes, though she doesn’t blame him. Even though Liam tries to be the picture of strength, of nobility, he’s only human.

His lips brush across her cheek for the briefest moment when they part at the door. “You don’t have to stay,” he tells her, and she reaches out and squeezes his hand.

He’s swallowed up into the palace before she can think of anything real to say back. And she knows it’s not goodbye, not really – but it certainly is an ending.

She closes her eyes, breathing in deeply. The emotional turmoil of this night (of the last few days, really) has been weighing far too heavily on her soul. Liam’s blessing seems to have unlocked something in her, released the dam on her heart and flooded her body with feeling.

When she opens her eyes, she knows exactly what needs to be done.

The ballroom is still teeming with people, although many have begun edging towards the bar. A quick glance around the room doesn’t return any hits, and Riley frowns, wondering where to look next. As Liam mentioned, Maxwell is usually at the center of everything, and she can’t imagine what’s more central than this.

She catches Drake still pouting near the hors d’oeuvres, her skirts bunched in one hand as she tries her best to run towards him in those damn stiletto heels. He looks over at her when the frantic click of her shoes gets close, then crosses his arms and watches her approach, amused.

“You’re such a dick,” Riley says, bracing herself on the wall so she doesn’t trip. “It’s not easy to get around in these things, you know. You could’ve moved.”

“Why move when you’re already en route?”

“Dick.” She pauses to take in a deep breath, embarrassed at how winded her wobbly half-jog has made her. Maybe she needs to take Maxwell up on that offer to accompany his morning runs, although the thought of him seeing her like this is mortifying.

“Do you know where Maxwell went?” she asks, straightening up and rolling her shoulders back, hoping good posture will eliminate the residual humiliation. “He was in here last I saw him, but then I got, uh — otherwise detained.”

Drake sighs. “You’re a piece of work, Aldridge.”

“Oh, fuck you. I should’ve just asked Hana.” Riley looks out at the room, running a quick sweep before turning back to Drake. “Um, where’s Hana?”

“Seriously?”

“Look Drake, you’re not my ideal conversation partner right now either.”

He laughs sardonically, but there’s a hint of affection in his eyes. Drake can talk all the shit he wants, but she knows she’s his weak spot. Well, her and Liam. And whiskey.

“I haven’t been keeping tabs on Hana,” he says, “But Maxwell went looking for you a while ago, so he’s probably lost. Good luck with that.”

Riley makes a frustrated sound. “Do you have your phone? I should just call him.”

Drake reaches into his pocket and hands her something that may have possibly been a phone, once, but now resembles a sort of conceptual idea of a phone as designed by a seven-year-old fresh into the twenty-first century.

Riley stares at it. “Drake, what the fuck is this? What am I supposed to do with this? Oh my god, is that an antenna?”

“Yeah,” he frowns, seemingly unaware of her horror at this technological trashcan. “I don’t get great reception at the palace. It helps if you pull it out.”

Riley groans. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Okay, nevermind — how do you text someone on this thing? You’ve got Max’s number, right?”

“I don’t have texting.”

Riley blinks. “Sorry, repeat?”

He shrugs. “It’s a waste of money. I mean, why text someone when you can just talk to them?”

“What in god’s name­ —” Riley barely stifles an angry shriek. “Drake, you’re useless. Why the fuck didn’t I pick a dress with pockets? I’m going to go find him myself; take your stupid prehistoric waste of plastic.” She shoves the offending object back into his hands before turning her back and starting off towards the very door she had just entered.

Figures.

“Sometimes you can get service on the third-floor balcony?” Drake offers. Riley lets out a final disgusted sigh before quickening her pace. The sooner she is away from this dude, the better.

It’s a much overdue blessing that when she pushes open the ballroom door, she nearly runs into Maxwell. Just the sight of him is enough to make her stumble forward, her shoe catching the marble with an ill-placed step.

He grabs her shoulders to catch her, visibly flustered. “Riley?! Oh, thank god. Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere, I even asked Bastien, but no one knew where you were, no one had even seen you in ages, and I thought —”

Riley takes his face in her hands and kisses him quiet, her lips curling in a smile against his, giddy and breathless and warm. She doesn’t pull back until she absolutely has to — until laughter spills out of her lungs and she can’t keep the grin away any longer.

She beams up at his bewilderment. “Oh Max, you have no idea how good it is to see you.”

“I — uh,” he blinks, mouth turning up in a confused smile. “Thanks? Or, um, you too?”

“Let’s go,” she says, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone, “Let’s just leave.”

“What?”

“Right now, let’s just —” she tilts her head towards the end of the hallway, “We can just run away, before anyone says anything.”

“Riley,” his brings a hand off her shoulder to curl his fingers gently around her wrist, just as her fingers thread into his hair. “What are you talking about?”

But the question is already answered as she brings her lips back to his, stepping closer and wrapping her free arm around his neck. His hands find her waist and she falls into him, clutching at his shirt as she opens her mouth against his, and suddenly everything is a blur of soft and hard and need and want and more than anything, hope.

She leans into his touch, eyes closed, head swirling with every wasted moment that has led to this. It’s like a dream: the sense of detachment she feels as they pull each other closer, the heady drunkenness of her hands as she struggles to find a hold on his shoulder. They’re breathing too loud, touching too soft, loving too hard.

She lets out a shuddery sigh and feels him rest his forehead against hers.

“Riley...” he says, voice soft. She can feel his eyelashes brush against her cheek, and her fingers dig in against his back, trying in vain to grasp at the strings of their ephemeral moment and keep it from drifting away.

They look at each other, inches apart.

“I want to run away with you,” she tells him, “Right now. I want to run away with you and I want you to say yes.”

“Where would we go?”

“I don’t know — anywhere. McDonalds, for all I care. I just want to say fuck it to all this courtly shit and nobility and be with you. Like, properly with you.”

“Properly?”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “You’re my best friend, you know?”

Maxwell takes her hands in his, and he’s looking at her so intensely she feels the blush pool hot in her cheeks. “You’re mine too.”

She dips her head, hoping to hide the burning spreading through her face. “I’m always yours.”

He smiles.

“What,” bellows a new voice, echoing down the hallway with footsteps far too angry for a ball, “in the crown’s name —”

They both turn, hands still clasped between them, and Riley whispers, “Fuck.”

Bertrand looks equal parts flabbergasted and livid, his expression twitching between the two as if he can’t quite make up his mind which is more applicable. He is walking much too quickly, the furrow in his brow getting more defined by the second, and Riley grips Maxwell’s hand tighter while also fearing slightly for his life.

“Did I just — did you just —” he comes to a halt in front of them, out of breath for more reasons than one and seemingly unable to string together a coherent sentence. “Have either of you ever — did you even once consider —”

“Down to run away whenever you are,” Maxwell says under his breath.

“Have the both of you lost your damn minds?!” Bertrand throws his hands up, eyes wild. “All of the work, all of the time and moneythat we have spent, ensuring that this occasion would be one of restorative glory for our household — and the entire time the two of you have been sneaking around… fraternizing?”

“How long have you been standing there?” Riley asks tentatively. “Because technically we were friendzoning each other at the end.”

He gives her a look so withering that she takes a hasty step behind Maxwell.

“You should both be grateful that I am the one who ran in on this abhorrent exchange instead of someone who might have let it slip to the Prince, or else this—” he gestures sharply at the door of the ballroom, “would be over.”

“Oh, um,” Riley says, “Well, about that.”

“Bertrand,” Maxwell starts, “Look, you have to give us a second to —”

Riley raises her voice. “Liam knows.”

“What?” Bertrand hisses, at the same time Maxwell looks down at her in shock, “You told him?”

“I didn’t tell him,” she answers Maxwell, meeting his eyes and trying to pretend it’s just the two of them. “Or, well, I did tell him, eventually. But he already knew. He said he guessed.”

“He guessed?” Bertrand is losing his mind. “How long has this been going on for? Has the entire palace been in on this ridiculous affair?!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Riley takes a deep breath, turning back to face him. “Liam knows, and he’s not going to marry me, and I’m not going to be queen.”

“There’s still time,” Bertrand says desperately, “Maybe if you talk to him, if you just explain the situation, perhaps he would be willing to overlook the indiscretion?”

“Oh my god, this is not an ‘indiscretion,’” Maxwell says, a sharpness in his tone that Riley hasn’t heard before. “You have to stop treating Riley like some tool to get back in the court’s good graces. It’s nobody’s fault but yours that things ended up this way, and you can’t expect anyone but yourself to clean up the mess you made.”

Bertrand scoffs. “What are you insinuating, that our current state of affairs is my fault?”

“Yes.” Maxwell’s resolve doesn’t waver, but Riley can feel his fingers tighten in hers. “And you know exactly what I’m talking about, unless you conveniently forgot the last girl you tried to send packing?”

Riley glances between the two of them, confused. Clearly there are a lot more secrets in this family than anticipated. Who needs to keep up with the Kardashians when you have the Cordonian nobility?

“This… this is absurd,” Bertrand sputters, clearly taken aback by Maxwell’s unexpected turn on the offensive. “Both of you are coming with me, and we’re going to fix this. We’ll set things straight; we have to. Perhaps Prince Liam misunderstood, he’ll be gracious, he —”

“I said, it doesn’t matter!” Riley shouts, startling the both of them. “Maxwell and I are in love, and we’re running away together, okay?!”

Bertrand blinks.

“But not like, far,” Maxwell interjects quietly, “I mean, we’ll be back.”

Bertrand rubs his temples, visibly distressed. “I absolutely cannot condone this. Will you not stop?”

Riley loops her arm in Maxwell’s, pulling him closer. “No?”

“You could at least be definitive.” Bertrand sighs. “Perhaps I should have expected this from both of you, since you seem entirely incapable of doing what I ask. Why not go full speed in the completely opposite direction?”

“Good idea,” Maxwell says, squeezing Riley’s hand. She looks up at him, raising an eyebrow, and he raises one back, and then before she even has a chance to squeeze his hand back in confirmation, they take off towards the other end of the hall.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Bertrand yells from behind them.

Riley can’t help the rush of giggles that break free from her at his voice, the sound punctuated by the echoes of her and Maxwell’s footfalls in the vast hallway. “Running away together!” she calls out in response, not looking back.

She almost trips as she steadies her hurried steps on her toes (these ridiculous shoes much louder and higher than they need to be) before the two of them barrel into a side door and stumble out onto the garden.

Riley is breathless, hopping on one foot as she undoes the clasp on her heels, kicking the shoes off with a deft shake of each ankle, then running out towards the lawn to grab them. Maxwell follows her, laughing too, and she holds up the shoes in one hand like a prize.

“We did it,” she grins, “We even beat Bertrand. That’s final boss type stuff right there.”

“Sorry about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to go off at him.”

Riley tilts her head, tracing a finger down his arm. “I don’t know, it was kinda hot.”

Maxwell laughs so hard at this that she smacks him with a shoe. “Shut up! It kinda was!”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind next time I fight with my brother. Real romantic stuff right there.”

“You’re the worst,” Riley wrinkles her nose at him, but can’t quite suppress her smile. “What’s his deal anyway? I can’t possibly piss him off that much, right?”

“He’s not good at emotions. Or like, relationships. He’s got — um, girl trouble.”

Riley barks out a laugh. “With who?”

“You’d be surprised.”

He slings an arm around her shoulders, and she wraps hers around his back, shoes still dangling from her other hand, and the two of them set off across the damp grass of the palace lawn. They don’t really have a destination, now that the running is over, but that’s okay.

“Oh! I’ve been meaning to tell you all night,” Riley says, feet sinking into the earth with each step. “I think Olivia is into Drake.”

“Olivia? Olivia Nevrakis?”

“Yes, oh my god, right? She said the weirdest thing to me in the bathroom.”

“How weird?”

“Like, ‘I want to fuck Drake’ weird.”

“No.”

“I’m serious!”

“That’s simultaneously the worst and best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re welcome.”

Riley feels her feet hit the cool cobblestones of the main walkway, the lights of the city edging up over the hedges beyond. She pauses, her heartbeat loud in her chest, a sounding drum for the bridge in their lopsided melody. Maxwell halts along with her, his eyes falling on hers in a question.

“Let’s steal a car,” she says.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Well — I mean, first of all you’d have to find a car to steal, and then you’d have to know how to steal it, and then there’s the matter of the King’s Guard.” Maxwell is rubbing gentle circles against her shoulder blade with his thumb. Riley’s not even sure if he’s aware he’s doing it, but her heart swells. “So like, once you get past all of that stuff. Sure.”

“Doesn’t Liam have like a hundred cars or something? What’s the point of being royal if you don’t have a hundred cars?”

“What’s the point indeed.”

“And the second part — we can just google that.” She frowns. “Wait, shit. I don’t have my phone. Do you have yours?”

“Yeah, but service is notoriously terrible at the palace.”

“Again, what is the fucking point of being royal.”

“Pretty much nothing when you put it that way.”

She sighs, letting her head fall against his shoulder, shoes swinging from tired fingers. “What if we just call an Uber and go home?”

“What’s… Uber?”

Riley jerks her head back up, suddenly too exhausted for this. “No, do nottell me that Cordonia doesn’t have Uber. I will personally march back into that goddamn ballroom and scream in Liam’s face until he calls the fucking CEO himself and gets that shit set up, I’m not even kidding, I am dead serious—”

Maxwell is laughing, eyes alight with that all too familiar mischief, and she feels herself slump back against him. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Of course we have Uber,” He’s got his phone out in his free hand, the glow of the screen illuminating his smile. “You’re too easy, you know that?”

“I’m not easy,” Riley grumbles against his shoulder. He kisses the top of her head.

“Whatever you say.”

Their driver looks thoroughly unimpressed upon arrival, despite the resplendent glamour of the palace behind them. As Maxwell opens the door for Riley, the driver gives her a look through the open window.

“No shoes, no shirt, no service.”

Riley holds up her heels, now dangling from a single finger. “Shoes.” She nods towards Maxwell, who’s trying not to laugh at her. “Shirt.”

“Well, I’m charging extra if you make a mess,” the man grumbles, turning back towards the road. Riley drops down into the backseat in a huff.

“You know he’s like, basically a Duke?” she says loudly, leaning forward and making eye contact in the rear-view mirror. Maxwell slides in on his side and pulls her back, and she scrunches up her face, but leans in against his shoulder anyway. “What? You are.”

“Bertrand’s the Duke, not me. It’s much less impressive with the qualifier.” The driver has fully tuned them out at this point, and Riley closes her eyes, reaching down to fold Maxwell’s hand in hers as he shuts his door.

“Okay, but what if some terrible accident befalls Bertrand?”

“Title goes to his heir.”

Riley laughs. “What heir?”

“Um — I mean like, hypothetically, if he had a child with a secret fling who consequently went into hiding somewhere like, I don’t know, France or whatever. Then, y’know — heir.”

“Sounds juicy,” Riley murmurs. “We can only dream of Bertrand leading such a dramatic lifestyle.”

“Mhmm.” Maxwell sighs. “More like a nightmare.”

The further they get from the palace, the more Riley feels the tension of the coronation night slipping away from her. It’s a welcome relief, a lightness in her shoulders and in her heart that she hasn’t felt in weeks. Maxwell is warm against her side, and she can feel her eyelids getting heavier as the streetlights become fewer and far-between.

“Max?” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

He turns to look at her, and she blinks up at him from her spot nestled into his side, hoping he understands exactly what she means.

She’s half asleep when they finally pull in at the Beaumont estate, her shoes still loosely clutched in one hand as she emerges, bleary-eyed, from the car. Maxwell is a few steps away, fiddling with the payment on his phone, and she watches him illuminated in the glow of the screen.

He looks up finally, catching her staring. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…” she sucks in a deep breath, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m glad this is happening. You and me.”

“Yeah,” He offers her his arm and she takes it, the two of them heading up the walkway to the entrance. “’We’re in love and we’re running away together,’ right?”

“That was — look, it was thematically appropriate phrasing at the time, okay?”

He slips his hand into hers, fingers falling into place like they were always meant to. “You would be a terrible poker player Riley.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The door opens before they’ve even made it up the stairs, one of the staff members emerging from behind with a demure bow. Maxwell pauses in a brief moment of panic, watching as her eyes flick between their clasped hands and Riley’s disheveled appearance.

“Lord Beaumont, Lady Aldridge,” she says carefully, “We didn’t expect you back this early. Everyone’s been following the coronation proceedings on television.” Her tone is pointed as she raises one deliberate eyebrow. “Very interesting waiting to see which of his suitors the prince will choose.”

Riley feels the heat in her face, but Maxwell is moving again, pulling her after him, taking the stairs two at a time.

“That’s great, that’s wonderful,” He’s talking even faster than he’s walking, striding past the judgmental gaze with each word. “Then you’ll know the whole thing was terribly stuffy. Huge bore. Not our kind of scene at all, old nobles and all that. Figured we would just get the highlights later, leave the ceremony to Bertrand.”

The woman shuts the entrance doors behind them, the air of propriety still heavy around her even as Maxwell practically drags Riley down the hallway and out of her presence. “My apologies sir, the Duke informed us that you wouldn’t be back for several days, otherwise I would have prepared —”

“Don’t worry about it!” Maxwell chimes back, already halfway through another doorway as Riley hurries after him. “I’ll let you know if I need anything!”

Riley kicks the door shut behind them, sinking down into a nearby couch and dropping her shoes on the side table. “Jesus,” she says dryly, “Suddenly I’m thankful for my common upbringing.”

“It’s not the worst thing she’s caught me doing, that’s for sure,” Maxwell runs a hand through his hair. “But given the circumstances… I guess it ranks.”

“Ooo, storytime?”

Maxwell drops down next to her on the couch, wrapping an arm around the back so his fingertips brush her shoulder. “Only if you’re lucky.”

She kisses his cheek. “I’m always lucky. What room is this?”

“It’s a parlor room,” He answers. “No one should come in here — at least, none of the staff.” He glances over, sheepish. “Or Drake.”

Riley laughs, but it turns into a yawn midway through. “You and your staff… sir.”

“Lady.”

She grins, reaching up to brush the hair off his forehead, fingers lingering along the side of his face. “Is she going to tell on us?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He catches her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. “This is some prime gossip; I imagine she’s already sent out a news bulletin.”

“I can see the headline,” Riley yawns again, leaning into his side. “’Desperate Love Affair Exposed: King’s Former Suitor Caught Barefoot with Almost-Duke.’”

He makes a face. “Don’t focus on the barefoot, that makes it sound foot fetish-y.”

“Hmm, okay… ‘Waitress Gets Biggest Tip of Her Life’?”

“God, Riley, seriously?”

Riley closes her eyes, her laughter just barely audible. “S’like a bad porno.”

“There’s your headline,” Maxwell says.

She blinks one eye open, blearily looking up at him. “I can’t believe the one time we’re actually alone… and all I wanna do is sleep with you.”

A pause, then she adds, “Like, the sleeping kind.”

He laughs, eyes bright. “I gathered.”

“But the other kind too,” She sighs, tucking her feet up. “Gonna jump you in the morning, okay?”

“Mmhm,” he replies, resting his head on hers as she nestles in against him, “And we can get brunch.”

“Waffles.”

“Belgian waffles.”

“And mimosas.”

“And pineapple.”

In a moment of clarity, she sits up, touching his shoulder until he looks back at her, their faces a breath apart.

“Hey,” she says, voice suddenly low, “I don’t wanna make this weird, or weirder than it already is, but I just need you to know —“

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “You don’t have to say it. We have time. We’ll have so much time to say it.”

She lets out a breath of nervous air. “Do you think… do you think we’re gonna be good? I mean, with everything going on and all this stuff… do you think there’s a happy ending for us?”

He kisses her forehead, pulls her closer in to his side. “Why would you want an ending?”

Her heart swells with something deep and gentle, a touch not unlike the drowsy tug of sleep already pulling her from reality. And maybe that’s what this is — a break, a piece of time pulled separate from the rest. A little moment all their own.

She closes her eyes, already halfway to a dream.

[og-doubletrouble-kinnie]

Marx Mem

Aighty this is long and it gets a bit dark I guess? Idk its a panic attack mem so.. Warned ig

After a really bad day at the news station (Katie and other various bosses being total fucking dicks. Writing 3 whole news reports in a single day AND Having to take care of food stuffs for the day cause our intern fucking d ied or something) I stumbled home fucking exhausted.

Pretty much the moment I get inside my apartment bastard speaks up "I can't believe you're tired. You barely did anything today."

I tilt my head back and forth and in a mocking tone I talk back "oh sure writing three full length news stories in a single day while making sure the staff is fed and keeping Katie off my damn back is nothing. Su r e"

I pull my gloves off, untie my bowtie and pull off my jacket as I head to the bathroom. Just wanna shower and pass the fuck out, I don't care that it's like 5pm, I deserve a damn nap. I realize I'm far to exausted to stay awake for an entire shower so I just opt for cleaning my face and hoping I dont just conk out on my bathroom floor.

I stand infront of the sink and just space out staring at the faucet for at least a minute. When I snap back to reality I look to my mirror- Surprised to see my actual reflection for a moment before bastard pops up. "Katie was right you know. You're such a slacker~ And you don't write nearly enough stories for her! The head anchor. Sure Tom is nicer to you but he shouldn't be doing the most talking! Keep the camera on Katie, Marx!! You're a man of taste, you know that everyone just tunes in for Katies chest- Hell thats why you tune in. 'Course you already know everything she's gonna say. Unless she throws your script away, like she really should every time cause you write utter filth. I'm surprised she even tries to read the mess you give her each day."

I honestly just stare tiredly into the mirror as he goes on and on, nodding occasionally cause I'm tired enough to believe him. His words blur out at this point and I manage to splash my face with water before tiredly making the stupidest comment I could possibly make while bastard is really active, "God I wish Angel and Bee were here-"

And bastard laughs at me. "Now why could you possibly want that???"

"Oh I dunno maybe it's cause I'm exhausted and curling up with my hoard seems really fucking nice, you pathetic piece of shit."

"Ah yeah I'm the 'piece of shit' have ya seen yourself lately?"

"Oh I'd love to but you seem to always take my reflections place."

"Oh wow Marxy has a bite now, huh?"

I glare into the mirror "Don't call me that."

"Why? Cause your precious little Angel gave it to ya? C'mon Marxy lighten up, it's not like I'm real."

I roll my eyes. Again with the "not real" thing, huh? Okay yeah sure. "Yeah, them being here would be great... I'd love to ignore you for the night." I turn from the mirror, ready to go sleep but-

He seems to not like when I want to ignore him... Cause- well thats when he brings out the big guns "What makes you think they want to be here?"

I freeze... He usually doesn't get to me like this... But ya know- I'm exhausted.. And hearing that one sentence makes my mind swarm with all the things Angel and Bee could be saying about me- about how much they could hate me... I can't shake it away with logic cause it practically doesnt exist in this moment. I turn back to the mirror. "I- I don't-"

"Exactly. There's no reason for either of them to want to be around you."

"Y- yeah-" I nod slowly and lean against the wall, glancing at the mirror for a moment before looking to the floor.

"I mean, just look at you! You're pathetic!"

I listen and look back to the mirror, my reflection is back. My eye bags are huge, my hairs a mess (more so than usual), he's right. I look pathetic... Of course I do. I always do... I slide down the wall, mostly due to my legs being to tired to hold me up, but also cause it's where I belong. The floor is the proper home for someone who looks like such trash.

"Do you really think they care about you? Oh sure Angel's stopped taking blood but who's to say thats his choice? He probably stopped cause Charlies buckling down on his drug problems~ If thats the case, then why would he bother to still have sex with you? Maybe you've somehow convinced him you're the only one he should be with? How cruel... Why should you hold him back? Why even bother talking to him when you're so controlling and possessive??"

I bring my knees closer to my chest, instinctively curling up to try and block him out. I try to mumble a stop but only manage a small squeak. I feel my claws digging into my arms but dont do anything to stop it.

"Oh and Dont even get me started on Bee! You're clearly manipulating him too! Why else would he call you "boss"? Why else would he do nearly anything you ask of him? Oh sure he could easily take you down if he found a problem with you, but what if you're all he has? He puts up with your constant abuse because he thinks he can't get anyone else? Do you really think he wants to put up with you? That either of them do?"

I shake my head. I dont know if I'm answering him if trying to refuse it.

"Just look at what happened with Baxter. How long until you somehow corrupt them aswell?"

"B-"

"Pfft- Surely you didnt think Baxters actions were his own?? My my, Marx I knew you were stupid but I didnt realize it was that bad. You obviously made Baxter feel inferior, even you knew that. But you never dealt with it. You let it fester and grow. I bet you just loved watching Baxter hate himself all because of you? Don't try to deny me, Marxy. I know it all, its so incredibly obvious I'm surprised nobodies figured it out yet... Then again, if you cant even figure this out about yourself, then maybe your friends have the intelligence of rocks!"

Now I feel a few tears run down my cheeks and go to wipe them- But.. Well I suppose I've broken skin on my arms cause I just smear blood on my face.

"Oh nice job you fucking idiot. What are people gonna say when they see those scars? They'll think you're some kind of edgy teenager. Then again- you might aswell be. Constantly wanting the attention of others."

I shake my head harder, hands moving from my arms to my head "n-no... It- it was an accident-"

"Awe... But that doesn't matter Marx! The point is that you did it in the first place!"

I whimper and shake- pulling my hair hard enough that I feel I should be pulling out hairs.

I hear the faintest door in the distance- due to how muffled it sounds I assume it's a neighbors door...

Bastard.. Thankfully quiets down for a moment- I manage to move my hands back to my arms- I can't loosen their grip... But scraped up arms are easier to deal with than a scraped up head.

Then Angel comes in- "Ma- Oh my god- Bee! Bee I found him-!" Angel crouches down beside me and very carefully grabs my hands, and pulls them from my arms. "Marx wh- What happened?"

I hear bastard laugh from the mirror "You can't tell him. He won't believe you."

"I-"

Bee comes in- Fast. "Boss?!" I assume Angels tone must've scared him- and well. He scares me- I jump, grabbing my arms again and my wings pop up.

Angel grumbles "Damnit- Bee ya scared 'im-"

I scoot away before Angel can try to pry my hands free again-

"Mar-?"

"N-no no- you're- You're not supposed to be here-"

Bee crouches down by Angel, "Boss what're ya talkin 'bout?"

"Oh you're finally pushing them away now?" I glance at the mirror- bastard is just eating this up.

My hands get tighter as my eyes dart back to Angel and Bee. I stare like a deer in headlights- expecting them to.. I dont know- do.. Something...

Angel turns to Bee "Bee see if you can find some bandages- I'll... Try and calm him back down..."

Bee nods, gives me a sad/worried look then gets up and leaves the room. Angel shuffles over to me, and I instinctively push myself farther into the corner.

"Marx I'm not gonna hurt you- it's alright..."

"He's talking to you like youre an animal. He sees you as dangerous. He has every right to. You could attack at any moment."

"Sh- s hut up-"

Angel tilts his head "Wh-?"

"Awe look how cute, he thinks you're talking to him."

"Shut up"

"Mar-" He looks concerned... Possibly scared..

"You're scaring him~ Of course you are... You probably scare him often.."

I shoot up, yelling toward the mirror "I said shUT UP!!!" I hear a loud thud and suddenly my hand hurts- I punched my wall...

Theres a small crash in the kitchen and Bee comes running in, holding a roll of bandages- I look down to Angel- And yeah.. He looks scared- So does Bee- I drop my hand from the wall and back away the few inches I can without stumbling into my bath-

"C-can't... Can't you hear it" I try not to physically cringe at how... Pathetic I sound

I hear bastard laugh, and Bee and Angel exchange a confused look.

"Hear... What, Boss?"

"I- it. The voice. I- I can't- I can't be the only one-" One hand goes back to my hair.

"Oh you sad, sad man..."

Angel gets up and comes over to me- Grabbing the hand in my hair and pulling it down before I can start pulling. "Marxy.... Hun- Are you alright...?" He lowers me onto the side of the tub.

I stare at the floor, squinting slightly "I-... I don't???"

Angel gestures at Bee, he steps over, handing Angel the bandage roll then sitting next to me. He puts a hand on my back, rubbing small circles.

"Let me see your arms, Marxy-"

With the extra exhaustion from the panic attack I just tiredly listen to him, flopping my arms on my lap- my wings vanishing. Angel starts wrapping them up. I feel myself yawn, and I lean on Bee, he moves from rubbing my back to putting his two arms on that side around me. I feel myself starting to doze off- but I'm still jumping awake each time.

When Angel finishes wrapping my arms, he picks me up and heads for the bed. I glare at the bandages, My tired dragon brain doesn't like them... So I bite at them- Or at least I try but Angel baps my nose. "Don't you even try, Mister."

I tiredly whine and grumble, flopping into Angels chest. "B u t.... I dont-"

"I dont care if ya don't like 'em, you need to heal and bitin your bandages aint gonna help."

Angel sets me down on the bed and I pbbthh at him. Him and Bee climb in on either side of me and I yawn again.

"Sounds like ya need to sleep, Boss-"

"Mmrmm..." I roll over and face Bee, "No shit... Katie n the others worked me like a dog t'day..." I shove my face into the Matress

"Don't they overwork you every day?"

"Ye s it was just worse this time"

I feel Bee pat my back a few times, and Angel cuddles up to my side and starts talkin, "Well we wanted to go to the bar- But a nap sounds pretty nice instead..."

Bee hums in agreement- he doesn't lay down though... Just stays sitting next to me and keeps a hand on my back.

There's a few moments of silence, but I eventually pass out.