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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 3 years ago

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“Deserved” Pt 1

Perspective - 2nd person

When - Quarry, right after you and Amy dry off following The Chicken Swim, until the following day when Ed gets beaten up; episodes “Guts” and “Tell it to the Frogs.” To read more belonging to the Slowpoke Series, here’s the Masterlist.

Relationships - you and the gang! It’s all the gang, and of course, Dary-bear

Genre - (?), but it follows the quarry camp’s events of episodes “Guts” and “Tell it to the Frogs.” Rick comes back!

Pronouns - not technically mentioned in this one. Also note that being Shane’s sibling in this series is not one of full blood relation, so visually you should look however you want (which is preferably however you yourself look, without any alteration. So long as you’re healthy, you’re fine how you are - and don’t you forget it)

TWs - mentions of an abuser (spousal/parental), and language. But luckily, the kids weren’t around so you don’t need to pay the quarter fine for the vulgarities

“But w-what’s he gonna do to Carol and Sophia now?” you sob.

“Well, to be honest,” Dale answers, “Nothing, not for a while. And until then, well...who can say? But there’s always a way out; there is always something that can be done to make a situation better.”

You’re sitting on the floor of his RV bawling your eyes out and trying to calm down. Your hands hurt. And your shoulders feel sore. And you have a bruise forming on your jaw.

You tried to beat up Ed Pelletier.

“But I would venture that he will certainly think twice about doing anything so long as you and Shane are a part of this camp,” Dale adds. He’s crouched beside you, sitting on the edge of the window seat.

You feel a fresh shower of tears stream out as your lip wobbles and you cough out “Fuck, we’re both such hot-headed idiots!” You reach for another napkin from the pile that Dale had in lieu of tissues.

“Maybe you and your brother both have that tendency, yes,” he considered. “But that doesn’t discredit that what you did came from a good place. As...I’m going to say as ‘impulsive’ as it may have been, the only thought on your mind, at least from what I imagine, was that Ed had hurt his wife, had been hurting his wife and maybe his child for far too long, and would do it again – but that maybe you jumping in would stop him from doing so.”

“B-but I know that doing shit like that usually results in the victims g-getting hurt even worse because the abuser sees it as a threat or somethin’ and gets mad!” you cry, voice getting progressively more full and shaky until it culminates in a heaving sob that makes you gag.

Dale doesn’t say anything back to you just yet, he only pats your shoulder. It seems that he’s decided to let you simply cry it out for a while in the quiet of his RV.

After a minute or so, you’re able to speak again, and you question him more. “Are you lyin’ that Shane was already on his way before I jumped in?”

“I have no reason to lie to you, and wouldn’t insult you by doing so besides. As for your brother, he had this,” he shakes his head, “I saw him from atop the RV, and he had a very unhappy look on his face before the fight even broke out. I’m not certain why, but he looked very...riled.”

“Did he say anything?”

“There was no time. He wasn’t close enough, and then, that’s when Ed hit Carol. Shane began bolting down that hill like a man with a chip on his shoulder. Before your own altercation took place, kiddo. When you did enter the equation, however, it only made him sprint faster, and I’m certain hit a lot harder.”

“Ed deserved it,” you mutter.

“Yes, I believe you’re right. In a way, hurting someone who hurts others is certainly seen as justice.”

“So you don’t think he deserved it.”

Next to Dale, you felt almost criminal. He was just so...good. No wonder he and Teddy and Glenn got along so well. Yeah, you were the praying type, and while definitely not naive, you were inexperienced about most things. You hadn’t even gotten properly drunk before, even after you’d turned 21 a few years ago.

But before someone so thoroughly attuned to their moral compass and consistent with it, you felt like some moody child. So damned hotheaded!

Even though you were certain that Ed deserved what he got and worse, Dale’s unshakable conscience was admirable. You hope to have that one day, that awareness and control and forethought. That patient kindness.

Sighing, Dale gently responds “I never quite said that, honey.”

Upon seeing your expression, he further explains his reply. He opens his mouth, but closes it, and considers again. Then, carefully, he finds his words: “I suppose that ‘deserve’ isn’t what worries me.”

“What d’you mean by that? Like mob justice?”

“Like mob violence, yes.” His brows are low and he is frowning. “When...things fall apart – when civilization goes through times of turmoil,” he clarifies, “Even if not through any malice or desire for power or even revenge, people end up sacrificing their humanity out of what’s often very reasonable fear.”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

He puts his hand back on your shoulder. “But other than worry for you getting injured, what you did doesn’t scare me.”

“Not yet at least, I hope,” you halfheartedly joke. You know that thing, where you joke to get an uncomfortable truth out? That’s what that was.

From the corner of your vision you can see that Dale shakes his head. He rubs your shoulder a few times and sighs.

“Because I know your heart, kiddo,” is all he says back. And that’s enough for you. If only you didn’t have to eventually leave the RV and face everyone other than Dale, right?

Your thoughts then drift to your brother. “What about Shane?” you ask him. “Are you worried about him?”

Dale clasps his hands and thinks about what to say. “Your brother is under a different sort of stress, since he’s sort of taken up leadership. And I don’t know him as well as I know you,” he trails off.

“Come on, Dale. You told me you’d be honest.”

He takes off his hat to fan himself with it. “What do you think about what I said?” he turns it around.

“About Shane, or?”

“About all of it,” he puts to you.

You chew your bottom lip. There wasn’t anything that you outright disagreed with about Dale said. People had already started to forget their humanity and do horrible things, and it didn’t even take long after the outbreaks. Heck, even a power outage in the before-times could cause chaos.

And as for your brother, you saw what was happening to him. It saddened and worried you. Plus, what Amy told you about Shane had said yesterday had been shocking – but you realized that it didn’t shock you as much as you wished, and that was worse.

When a radio call came from T-Dog about the danger they were in, your brother had said that they couldn’t risk going to help them. To rescue them.

If you’d been on that run, he would’ve dropped everything to go find you, and you knew it. He’d been taking risks and sacrificing for you and Lori and Carl ever since the bad things started. And you could only imagine what might’ve gone through his head as he came to that decision – to not risk any more of the group to rescue the others in Atlanta because he understood that it was objectively the safest choice.

But to know that he’d so quickly not placed that same value on other’s loved ones out of pure pragmatism, and so very quickly, was difficult. People would remember that.

And holy Moses, yesterday was wild. You were on that hunt with Daryl, carefully and silently tracking your way through the woods, when suddenly you heard a car alarm (??) getting louder and louder.

“The fuck is that racket?” he spat.

“Shit, that’s gonna draw the dead towards it!”

“And scare all the damned food away!” he erupted, managing to somehow keep it quiet.

“Daryl? I gotta go back, we gotta go back,” you stuttered. “I gotta make sure Carl is okay and -”

“Shh, keep quiet!” he hissed.

You flinched, but then grew angry. That dick was such a loudmouthed ass. You were being quiet!

“Don’t be gettin’ all huffy with me cause you’re mad the deer might get spooked, not when our people might could be in trouble back there!”

Thankfully, you managed to keep yourself from spewing out the insulting name you wanted to call him. For now.

“Fine, bitch. Go,” he scoffed at you. “Try not to get lost or bit on the way back.”

That was where you lost it. “Who you callin’ bitch, you little fucker?” To hell with the high ground; screw this son-of-a-white-trash-bitch for calling you a bitch! Who the hell did he think he was?

“You better watch your mouth,” he rasped at you.

“Yeah, you best watch yours, sunshine,” you snarled back. You were leaving. Fuck this dick. You tried not to crack too many twigs as you walked away and hoped that he wouldn’t mutter anything beneath his breath, because oh my gosh if he did, you didn’t even kn –

“Just – hey, be careful!” he called. “Don’t, you know, be all loud and shit on the way back.”

You slow down and exhale. Inhale. “Yeah, I’ll be careful. Same, um, same to you.” You start walking again.

“And m’sorry.” Oh. An apology? Well good. That was...very good. Very good of him indeed. You stopped moving altogether.

“Me too,” you admitted, mumbling. Why did you always need to boil over so quickly? You know that Daryl was a firebrand, too, and yet you’d barely tried to keep your cool when he started running his mouth off.

You then remembered something, and pulled the yellow camo walkie-talkie out of your back pocket. “Here. I almost forgot to let you borrow it. It’s the extra walkie. Radio the camp if you run into trouble or need help, yeah? It’s already on the frequency, just switch it on.”

“Hm?” He walked over and took the little walkie. “Hm. Where’d this thing come from?”

“I’d found these for Amy’s birthday, it came in a three-pack. She opened ‘em up earlier today. And guess what? They’re rainproof,” you announced, pretending to be highly impressed. You pulled out your green one and waved it a little. “This one’s mine.”

Was he about to laugh? “What, y’all got like a babysitter’s club or somethin’?”

“Oh, you a fan of the books, or did you want to paint nails with us?” you asked him, mouth twisted. He just squints at you and snorts in almost a friendly way.

Happily, you can’t hear the car anymore. “Well, the alarm stopped, so that’s prolly a good sign.”

“Nah, go on back, check to make sure all’s good,” he says. You can hear the apology in his voice. With an air of sarcasm, he adds “You can just take over water duty or some other fun shit, right?”

“Right.”

And with that, you each started your separate ways.

“Be careful, don’t die, don’t get bit,” you tossed over your shoulder, not thinking much of it.

“Hey, um,” he called back. “I ain’t sure how the range is on this thing, so radio me soon as you get back, alright?”

You were curious as to why he would care, but hey, why would you complain about that? Granted, maybe he was only worried about the fallout from Shane if you got hurt, but whatever; it was a good idea.

“I can do that. And hey, if you stay out late, check in every so often, too, yeah?”

And with that, you’d finally parted.

You made your way back to the campsite, radioed Daryl a quick “Made it,” and duly noted the orangey-red sports car that hadn’t been parked there before.

“Good” was radioed back to you, and you saw that Shane was waving you over. When you got close, you grew nervous. He was looking both pale and teary and happy (?) and somehow sad at the same time.

What was going on? Did something go down in Atlanta?

“Shane, what happened?”

“I have no idea.” Really, his expression was very...you couldn’t place it. Happy and shocked and ashamed maybe?

“What do you mean?”

Your brother didn’t explain. He might not have been able to. He simply inclined his head over to the fire where Lori and Carl and...what?

You weren’t sure who you were looking at and you also forgot to blink.

There was a new person.

But he looked very much like someone who was no longer alive. You’d known that man your whole life, you loved him so much, but he was, he was dead. He was shot, was in a coma, then died.

Oh no, were you asleep? Were you about to wake up and realize it was all a dream and burst into angry tears like you'd done so many times after you’d dreamt that your dead loved ones were still alive?

He even had the uniform on, it can’t have been him.

You must have been asleep. Heck, you even started to wonder if you were seeing a ghost, he was so realistic.

But then Carl just about skipped over to you and wrapped his arm around your middle saying, “He came back!” as “he” stood up to walk over and greet you.

Lori was behind him, looking more relieved than you’d seen her since the outbreaks began. You returned Carl’s hug but kept staring like a deer in headlights at that man.

Then he said your name. It even sounded like his voice.

“H-hi Ricky,” you scarcely believed was coming out of your mouth.

You’d been there that day, when Shane was trying to rescue him from the hospital after the medevac transports didn’t show. You’d been in the driver’s seat, actually, waiting to speed away as soon as your brother put Rick into the backseat.

But instead he’d stumbled out alone, full-on crying, and stammered that when the hospital’s power went out and the machine to which Rick had been hooked up stopped working, he didn’t feel a pulse.

“It’s good to see you in one piece,” Rick chuckled at you. His eyes were glistening and red-rimmed.

You remember sputtering out a confused laugh of sorts and looking at your brother. In an attempt to not burst into tears, once you’d gotten your bearings (somewhat) you asked Shane, “Sh-should I say it, or?”

His brows raised as he rubbed his forefinger and thumb on the bridge of his nose.

“After the scare he gave us, he deserves it,” Shane murmured, his eyes getting red now, too.

“What’s that then?” Rick asked, squinting and giving you both a playful smile as he wiped his eyes.

“I’m guessin’ it smelled like more bacon than usual,” Shane said for you, giving you a look.

“So who else w-would it have been?” you finished, tears clouding your vision, throat tightening, lips wobbling.

Lori, tears filled to the brim, too, coughed out a laugh as she started to cry. Carl looked up at Shane confused and said that he didn’t get it.

“Lore, he’s even in the outfit! Ricky, did you change out of the hospital gown right into your dang uniform?” you laughed, as tears finally fell from your eyes. Even Shane snorted at that.

“You know that man Merle called me somethin’ along the lines of ‘piggly wiggly,’ too,” Rick hinted, eyebrows lifted but eyes smiling even as he was teary.

When he next pulled you into an tight embrace, and you began to sob.

Then Lori wrapped an arm around you as you squeezed him to make sure he was real.

After using no fewer than four tissues, you joined them back around the fireside with the rest of the group.

In the before-times, Rick had been right there with you, going along with the jokes ever since you’d made your first police-related jab and held your breath to gauge his reaction. Your dad, Shane’s stepdad technically, had joined the police force later in life. He made cop jokes like there was no tomorrow.

The rest of that night, you couldn’t shake off the happy daze. Rick was alive! Your brother was alive!

Apparently, the group who went to Atlanta had almost not stayed that way. They all shared stories about what happened.

Jacqui laughed about how her knowledge of the city’s zoning and building history had almost come in handy. Andrea and Glenn ranted about the way they’d spotted Rick and how Glenn insisted on helping out, then how much trouble they feared he was going to be (all in good fun. But you could tell that it was another one of those situations where people were using humor to get out an uncomfortable truth).

Then Rick shared about what happened to him, how he was helped, and how he ended up here. He kept thanking your brother, but Shane stayed quiet, barely nodding in acknowledgment.

T-Dog stayed oddly quiet, too, and sat in silence next to Jacqui when he wasn’t speaking softly to her and Dale about whatever was troubling him. You sat next to him to keep him company for a while. He asked that you pray for Merle, of all people. You didn’t ask why, you just nodded and said you would.

At least Merle wasn’t there to make it worse, you guessed. You were surprised that he hadn’t come to grab food, though. Speaking of Merle, his brother radioed back “Found a tree with a huntin’ blind, gonna stay the night.” Sleep overnight in a hunting chair?

That was some damned dedication, if you said so yourself. Risky though.

“Be careful, man. Don’t get eaten by nothin’, radio if you get trouble,” you quickly reply.

“I’ma shut off the walkie for the night, conserve the battery. G’night.” Okay, fair play.

Amy gave you a curious look and you explained that you’d lent him the third walkie. “So maybe you can chat with him when he turns his radio back on, huh Amy?” you winked, making Andrea’s face twist in disgust and panic until Amy saw, burst out laughing, and put her fears to rest.

And then Ed tossed a very large piece of wood onto his fire.

Really, it’s like he was begging for the camp to be found, especially the way he literally tossed it on, making embers spew everywhere.

Shane got that incredulous look in his eyes that you knew well and asked “Hey Ed, you wanna rethink that log?” Translation “Is your empty head shoved so far up your lazy ass that you’d risk everyone here?”

Ed settled himself back into his chair. “It’s cold, man.”

Ah, and there went your blood pressure, pricking up the by millisecond. And if the expression on Shane’s face was any indication, you were in good company. He shared a look with you, but kept his cool (pun intended), however, as he mildly replied “Cold doesn’t change the rules, does it?” Then he repeated the rule: “Keep our fires low; just embers, so we can’t be seen from a distance, right?”

“I said it’s cold,” was Ed’s reply almost instantly, as if he were only waiting for your brother to stop talking so that he could repeat it. “You should mind your own business for once.”

The only thing that kept you from reacting was that Dale caught your eyes and shook his head as if in solidarity. Shane got up calmly, walked over, and said something quietly to Ed. As he did, you noticed your brother’s fingers twitching.

Ed then ordered Carol to “Go on,” and she stood up and took the log out herself. Shane stamped it with his boot to help her, then bent down and smiled at Carol and Sophia and must’ve exchanged pleasantries or something.

You knew that Carol reminded him of your mom. She reminded you of your mom, too, even though she was decades younger. Shane had also seen a lot of domestic cases as a cop, and those had always weighed on him. He’d probably be half in love with Carol if it wasn’t for whatever you suspected he started to feel for Lori.

So you decided to get up and sit with them, even if it meant being in the same space as Ed. Carol kindly asked you about your day and you three chatted.

T-Dog soon walked past you looking glum, so you’d bid him a “Goodnight, Teddy!” He put his hand on your shoulder in thanks and continued to his cot.

Then much later, after most everyone else had gone to bed and you were ready to crash in your tent, Shane asked if you would stay up with him. And he wasn’t the sort to ask that for no reason, so you did.

He quietly poked at the fire. You repeated “Rick’s alive,” under your breath in disbelief. He echoed it, that happy/ashamed/shocked look still fixed on his face.

Eventually you and he and exchanged some minor small talk and banter, but nothing of real substance. Which was okay, but...

“Might could you and Lori have been startin’ to have feelings for each other?” you gently asked him.

He froze for a split-second. That meant ‘yes.’ Then that ashamed look took over and he nodded and seemed to huff. “You might could say that.”

“What’s that mean?” You knew your brother, but didn’t want to think that he would have started anything at the physical level with his best friend’s widow only a couple months after Rick had died. Um, was thought to have died, at least. Thank you, thank you, Rick’s alive!

“It ain’t a big deal. I deserved it anyways,” Shane attempted. And before you could say anything else in regard to his very interesting choice of word, he firmly stated “My brother is back. Our brother. I’d failed him twice over, but now he’s alive again, so.”

“I don’t appreciate that tone,” you start off. But to keep things light, you make a face when you tell him “And besides, you didn’t fail him twice over, dramatic loser.” You still wanted to talk more about his use of ‘deserved,’ but it was better to let sleeping dogs lie for the evening.

Shane knew that he had been rude, but was grateful that you were being patient with him. The corners of his mouth betrayed a smile when he grumbled “Don’t get all huffy with me, annoyin’ weirdo.”

That made you remember earlier. “So, I had a, um, a spat with Daryl earlier, said that exact thing to him. Called him ‘sunshine,’ too.”

Shane got a kick out of that. “Just be careful when you’re out there with him, he’s a...hot-head.”

Smirking, you quipped “Pot calling the kettle black, ain’t we?”

“Yeah, look who’s talkin’,” he chimed back.

You elbowed him for that, then asked “Wanna listen to my mp3? I charged it in the RV a few days ago.”

“Won’t say no to that.” Smiling, he elbowed you back. “You cool with me blastin’ all the Zeppelin you got?”

“Deal.”

You each wore one earbud and rocked out in silence for a while. You ended up leaving your music player with him so you could go to bed (or go to sleeping bag, technically) and Shane said that he was going to keep watch overnight.

It rained.

Which meant that your brother and Daryl were both getting soaked. You tried out your walkie to see if Daryl had his on or not. Because he was high up in a hunting chair in a rainstorm at night, that was a little worrisome.

“You should be sleeping,” came Amy’s voice through the radio, quiet. “Though now I know I forgot to turn my walkie off before bed.”

“Bug Daryl into responding with me, he’s still out there.”

“Daryl,” she sing-songed, still very quiet.

“Hey Daryl, answer please!”

“Mr. Dixon, are you there?” You also heard Andrea in the background that time when Amy said that.

“Dary-bear. Radio back and we’ll stop.” Oh, you were gonna use ‘Dary-bear’ again, tell you what.

“Hey,” came Andrea's voice. “So your asshole of a brother propositioned me about ‘bumping uglies’ in front of everyone, then called me a ‘rug muncher’ in just about the same breath.”

“Andrea, he did what?” you choke.

“All while handcuffed on the roof.”

“Handcuffed on the what?”

“You didn’t hear that conversation around the fire?” Amy asked you, voice high, as her sister also input that, “He deserved it.”

There was that word again. ‘Deserved.’

“That must’ve been when I was talking to Carol and Sophia,” you tell them. Because you would’ve remembered overhearing that. Handcuffed to a roof? Holy Moses.

“We’ll wait to tell you in the morning, okay kiddo?” That was Dale that time. So you’d just about awakened the whole RV.

Andrea added “At least you know his walkie is definitely off, he would’ve replied after I insulted his brother.”

“Hey, are you keeping dry in your tent?” Amy checked.

“Very, I’m at no risk of melting,” you joke. “I was just worried Daryl might if he got wet.”

“He’ll be alright,” Amy giggled back. You couldn’t help but overhear her sister in the background muttering that, “Hopefully he won’t multiply like a gremlin.”

The next morning, as soon as you’d slumped out of your tent, peed, and mixed a cup of instant coffee, Glenn dragged you over to check out the Chevy he’d used to draw walkers away from the group (and then had proceeded to speed off on a joy ride back to camp).

In his defense, it was a nice car. And he’d offered to take you for a spin in it. That made your pulse get louder and your walls snap up, but you tried to ignore that and lower them again.

“Can’t believe you didn’t shut off the alarm before comin’ all the way back, buttface,” you chided him. “Me and Daryl got into a hissy fit cause of that.”

“Well, he’s gonna have another when he gets back.”

“How come?”

Glenn froze. “Weren’t you there last night?”

“Well yeah, but I was talking with Carol – Glenn, what happened?” You still hadn’t seen the other Dixon, and if Daryl was gonna freak out about something, it was gonna be about his brother. “Was it somethin’ with Merle? I know he was handcuffed, but why ain’t I seen him around?”

From there, Glenn next dragged you over to T-Dog and you found out about what happened with the hoard, the handcuffs, and the key that slipped away, and the fact that T-Dog chained the door so Merle would stand a chance.

Daryl was gonna go apeshit.

177 notes · View notes

swinterr · 4 years ago

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fic rec vii ♡

hi!

this is a another new set of fic rec and i’ll probably do a compilation of genre (?) just like the first ones.

read and support the fic and authors here: the fic rec ♡

made some changes like tidying up a bit and adding summary, for those that doesn’t have any summary i’ll try my best to add my own summary (it will probably be shit tho, i ain’t making a smut summary guys, i’m not confident in my describing a fic ability but i’ll try my best. if its in italic it means i made the summary hehez ) if the summary is shit, i made it okay.

a for angst

f for fluff

s for smut

// for series or list

kpop oc/s

1. jane by @baejiyeonz

2. bee by @purpleyellow

3. lian by @nct-lian

4. taehui by @jeontaehui

nct

sungchan

1. [10:47 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

haechan

1. [5:21] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

2. you’re warm by @dreamystuffers | f

- a drunk hyuck can only mean a clingy hyuck.

3. you’re short too by @pastelsicheng | f

- 5 times hyuck teases u for ur height.

4. no title by @heychan | s

- dirty thought cockwarming haechan and johnny comes in to the room while you are trying to hide it but haechan doesn’t care.

5. wishes by @lucaswithnoshirt | a f

- standing on stage is everything you’ve dreamed of. except in the time it’s taken you to get there, you’ve been dreaming about other things, too.

jaehyun

1. moving in: the series by @jaehyun-ified | f

- after agreeing to move-in with jaehyun, you decided to curate a little series on your channel to both give in to your viewer’s request to have jaehyun frequently on your contents and to document your moving in process with the love of you life.

2. [8:14 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

3. boyfriend by @simpsiren | a

- a relationship with jaehyun wasn’t always perfect. there wasn’t a definite label on it, which only sent the relationship down a complicated pathway as we tried to find the meaning of our love once again.

4. best part by @okayoongii | f

- don’t know how to describe this tho, just read it. also 10/10

5. can i help you? by @sugarjaee | f s

- when working an extra long shift at work, your boyfriend surprises you with a visit.

6. stages of love by @biletdoux | a f s

- a playlist for the trials and tribulations of a beating heart.

7. [9:04 am] by @jeongvision | // f

- domestic fluffy blurb. 10/10!!

8. suds by @kim-taehung | s

- first person to move does the dishes for a week. nothing is off-limits.

9. promise by @bvbyxuxi | f a

- jaehyun has loved you since you were both kids, things were going well until he messed everything up; meeting again as young adults, he refuses to let you go again but would you give him another chance?

mark

1. one minus on plus one by @wonjaekook | f a

- in all of the years you’ve known jungwoo, you should have figured out to not take his words at face value because, though you haven’t even met, mark lee seems to hate your guts.

2. [12:03] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

3. pretty boy by @epinebleue | f a

- fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, the reader is two years older than mark, jaehyun makes an appearance as the reader’s fuck buddy, use of alcohol and drugs (marijuana), mentions of violence (mark punches someone), smut (protected sex, inexperienced!mark, dry humping).

4. camera flash by @morkleemelon | f

- mark taking a picture but forgot to remove flash waking up oc, pretty fluffy and cute! 10/10!!!

5. retrouvailles by @kireimarkeu | f

- counting down the days until you finally see your long-distance boyfriend.

jungwoo

1. [1:14 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

johnny

1. man-icure by @haejunehui | f

- based on jcc ep. 26

taeyong

1. reverb by @lovingonrepeat | s

- taeyong + studio sex.

2. unspoken by @bvbyxuxi | f s

- you had never thought to see taeyong again after your one night stand with him until this year where he takes you by surprise; turns out he wasn’t the guy you sought him out to be after all.

ten

1. [2:32 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

lucas

1. [4:31 pm] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

2. king of hearts by @raibebe | f s a

- a little bit of everything, a chef’s kiss.

yuta

1. [5:51 pm ] by @dont-look-down-on-me | f

- based on the nct relay cam.

doyoung

1. redamancy by @heavenlyhaechan | f

- this is just so fluffy! i wished to be doyong gf please.

2. fools together by @yongiefilms | f

- two fools in love with each other?

3. acedia by @jaeminscoffee | f

- a day in the life of yours and doyoung's love life.

4. our little secret by @haejunehui | f

- read to know their little secret. hehe.

5. caught red handed by @hannie-dul-set | f

- all you wanted to do was take a picture of the handsome law student during your train ride home. you did not expect things to end up like this.

jeno

1. i see red by @0097linersb | s

- pure filth 🥵10/10 tho.

2. addiction by @love-mi | s f

- you and jeno keep your relationship a secret to avoid backlash from your companies and fans; but keeping himself away only makes him want you more.

3. surprise visit by @nakamotonudes | f s

- you hadn’t seen your boyfriend for over a month because of his hectic schedule so when he suddenly shows up at your place one night for a surprise visit, you both have to make every second worth it.

bts

jungkook

1. the pitter-patter of the heart by @koorara | f s a //

- pieces of newlywed domestic moments with jungkook, your husband. the young film and literature lecturer and his wife, you, who works as a journalist of a web magazine. both of you managing the career, the time for each other and the new house. not to forget, chip, the cat that has been with you for years.

2. please love me by @ahundredtimesover | // f s a

- as the only unmarried jeon and kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. but despite developing an affection for jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. you’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

3. first love, last love by @floralseokjin | f s //

- a collection of drabbles following the longterm relationship between jungkook and you...

4. second chances by @parkhabits | a s

- work. one of the most important things to him. It kept him company at night, it was all he thought about, all he put his attention to. his work had become the mistress within your marriage. years after you left him you’re back with only one goal in mind. get him to sign the damn divorce papers. yet you should’ve known that your husband wouldn’t let you go that easily.

5. crush by @jungxk | f s

- jungkook woke up with amnesia (?) he totally forgets that he has a wife and child. and he totally has a huge crush on his wife.

6. bare necessities by @gguksgalaxy | f s a

- when you ask your boyfriend for a relaxing vacation you don’t exactly expect him to take you to disneyland out of all places. luckily, jungkook knows just how to get you to relax — being needy is definitely not the way. or is it…

7. krampus for christmas by @ddaenysus | f

- when your daughter overhears your nightly activities close to christmas, jungkook takes it upon himself to convince her it was the sounds of the legendary demon goat.

8. a date with destiny by @imjustfanfictrash | f s

- you are a boss lady in the tech industry traveling to world for work. he is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

9. stranded by @gguksgalaxy | f s a

- jungkook’s offer to help you study for your exam is unwelcome. his entire presence is unwelcome. you don’t want help from the guy who passes all his classes without even trying. it’s annoying — he is annoying. from the way he grins whenever he catches you staring at him, to the way his eyes shine whenever he smiles at you. oh, and let’s not forget the way his tattoos shift when he stretches or the way his jawline sharpens when he’s focused. nope, you definitely can’t stand him.

10. sprout by @v-hope | f

- after a nice evening out with your friends, you find yourself coming home to your sleeping toddler and the new hairstyle she had tried on your husband.

11. friday nights and take-out by @ahundredtimesover | // f s a

- you meet pop star/idol jeon jungkook at the café, you get close, and as hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. but you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

12. jealousy by @ephemeralkookie | f s a

- jungkook’s closest friend, namjoon is getting married and he invited you three to his wedding. the only unexpected thing was jisoo, his ex, and we’ll just say that you were not too happy to see her flirting with your boyfriend right under your nose

13. a quarter past us by @jjiimin | f a

- when you break up with him out of fear of losing your freedom in university, he finds himself showing you why leaving him isn’t the answer.

14. pretty boy by @angelguk | // f s a

- alternatively known as the jock!jk universe drabbles in vague chronological order.

15. summer solstice by @boulevardk | s

- down on your luck and desperate for a successful harvest, you pray to the gods. you figure no one in heaven was listening to your prayers when nothing happens immediately. but one fateful night, your prayers are answered. are you willing to pay the price? the sacrifice might not be what you were expecting….

16. lilac wisteria by @blushoseoks | f a

- over the years, things change - but the one constant is your love for lilac wisterias.…okay, maybe jungkook’s been there too.or, alternatively:the first time jeon jungkook says that he is going to marry you, you are five years old sitting underneath a large wisteria tree.

17. obsessed with your ass by @kooklovesu | f s

- jungkook has an obsession with your body he cant get enough of praising you. he wasn’t comfy showing the world his affection towards you in public because he’s a private guy, but when he finally did, good luck.

18. from home by @gyukult | // f s a

- jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class?

19. black card by @minsprings | // f s

- black card fic and drabbles, also a chef’s kiss.

20. oh my god, they were (quarantined) roommates by @ot7always | f s

- what do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with jeon jungkook - s tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? fuck him, you guess.

21. let the games begin by @venusiangguk | s

- just another fic where oc rides jk in his gaming chair pls still read it tho lmao its hot i promise

22. the probability of us by @jiminrings | f s

- jungkook’s the son of the university’s president, y/n’s cardigan is everyone’s favorite, and adjacent walls mean shared victories.

23. open when by @iluv-hobi | f

- jungkook likes to write letters to you, especially ones with purposes, like “open when ___”. one day, on a particularly bad day, you open, “open when you’ve had a shitty day”.

24. good day by @ilikemesometaetaes | f s

- his motive was made quite clear once he called you out of work. he just wanted to spend a nice day with his girlfriend. is that too much to ask for?

25. calculated by @whatifyoulivelikethat | // s

- some people would call you far too serious. some would call you stuck-up. and some would call you a bitch. but to freshman jeon jungkook, you’re the head calculus I TA noona – and he’s determined to fuck you.

26. brat taming by @sugasbabiie | s a f

- jungkook has been your roommate for almost a year. since the day he moved in he has acted like nothing but a spoiled little brat who is used to getting anything and anyone he wants. he eats your food, he doesn’t clean, he’s loud, oh and now he has colored his hair the exact shade of blonde as you. He’ll do anything to get under your skin. you’ve had enough of his filthy mouth and his fuckboy ways. it’s time to tame that bratty little roommate of yours. think you can handle it?

27. sugarplum energy by @bymoonchild | f s a

- you know no bounds nor depth with jungkook. while your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on soundcloud. all’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. or, jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

28. ancient history by @moononthejoon | a s f

- there is no way to deny that you and jungkook have chemistry. the two of you used to be a couple, after all. what happens when after a not-so-amicable breakup the two of you are cast as opposite leads of a movie?

29. that’s not daddy by @nochuobsessed | f

- jungkook comes home with a new hair color and his sons can’t tell if he’s appa or not. pretty cute! 10/10

30. no title by @himbojk | s

- jk got a blowie from his oc while on a zoom class meeting, like cam on with a whole set up but his oc under the table sucking the life out of him while he sits and tries to take notes .

31. dilf jk by @himbojk | // s f

- dilf jk drabbles.

32. no title by @himbojk | s

- blond jk with full tattoo sleeve who looks like the baddest boy but is actually baby and just wants a handie in the library while studying with his oc because she aspires to have those high grades.

33. no title by @noteguk | s

- bf!jungkook going down on the reader while they watch anime.

34. silent treatment by @blu-joons | f

- baby kook asking daddy kook to say sorry to mommy. 10/10 too!

35. getting railed by @dearlytea | s

- getting dicked by your boyfriend during a train ride.

36. the view by @koyamuses | s

- jungkook knows exactly what turns you on; every kink, every dirty fantasy that’s buried deep within your mind. he knows exactly how to make you beg for it.

37. let’s play: dirty by @jungkxook | f s

- on today’s stream, watch as the king of gaming jeon jungkook gets totally pwned by some newbie player on overwatch (he swears he was stream sniped)! to make matters worse, he can’t seem to focus anymore when you’re in the room but he promises that’s not because he’s in love with you or anything. use code ‘jungkook’ on any game purchase through steam at checkout for 25% off so that jungkook has something to feel better about! iloveyou btw!

38. more dilf!jk by @cutechim | s

- oc thirsting over jk, talk about finances, jungwoo is an innocent cock-block as infants are, disrespect towards a major film franchise.

39. you are inherently beautiful by @ggukachuwu | f a

- when y/n and jungkook accidentally reveal their relationship to the public because she walked in on him doing a vlive and now netizens and kmedia are tearing apart her appearance because y/n is chubby from struggling with pcos. jungkook takes it upon himself to cheer her up because he absolutely adores her.

40. morning with jk by @min-arya | f

- jungkook drabble of him catching his s/o admiring him in the morning with soft sleepy cuddles.

41. even a forest fire dies out by @9uk | a s

- it became from “grab a coffee with me?” to “why should I grab a coffee with you?” too fast for your liking. you had thought the both of you were so in love with each other—only to realise it was only you who had fallen into this trap of feelings. and as for jungkook, he might have just been as confused as you are.

42. all that we had by @starlightauroras-writes | a s

- four years, two months and five days ago, you lost the love of your life with no explanation. living with a failed marriage at such a young age without knowing why was impossibly hard, and when you’re invited to your high school reunion, knowing he would be there, you really don’t want to go. what happens when you do leaves you questioning fate.

43. aquarium by @whatifyoulivelikethat | // a

- life after jeon jungkook was grey. you had to find your own color, grow your own rainbow. but what would surprise you the most is the appearance of white cosmos, seven of them clutched tightly in kim taehyung’s hand.

44. contentment by @btsqualityy | f s

- oc’s using jk’s card to buy rug and the rest is history. 10/10!!

45. heartbreaker with a heart of gold by @filmflowersbangtan | a s

- love this!!! you know i love me some angst! 10/10!!!!!

46. the ikea test by @mercurygguk | f

- you and jeongguk face the IKEA test. successfully? sure!

47. before you universe by @ephemeralkookie | // a f s

- jungkook has taken a huge place in your life after he tattooed you, and you can’t even picture how life was before him. he has always been there for you since day one. but how will things change after you find out you’re pregnant?

48. christmas cream(pie) by @smoochkooks | s f

- a day before christmas dinner with your boyfriend’s parents, you discover another alternative way to use the chocolate cream you’re making. jungkook is more than willing to indulge in your little fantasy.

49. last minute by @moononthejoon | f s

- christmas day had gone by, and now you were back home after holidays with your family. your friends had agreed to have a late christmas party, but as always, you and jungkook procrastinated gift buying.

50. you go in knowing bros together by @blu-joons | f

- a cute fluffy knowing at knowing bros moment.

51. no title by @v-hope | f

- the way y/n would react when someone else flirts with jk and how he’d handle the situation.

52. hair dye by @mercurygguk | f s

- jungkook got his hair dyed while at work. you lose your mind the moment he steps through the door.

53. stay gold by @yeojaa | s

- blond!jk being a good boy?

54. crystal snow by @honeyj00ns | f

- when you join Jungkook and the rest of the guys for some fun in the snow, he can’t help but feel jealous.

55. 6:21 am by @sincerelyourfangirl | f

- in which he makes your morning extra special.

56. plan b by @btsracket | s

- dressing room quickie, unprotected sex request, use of Plan b pill

57. possession by @bngtanah | s

- jungkook is your boyfriend, sometimes you have to remind him what that means.

58. puffs and touches by @mintseesaw | f s

- “Stop doing that with your face, someone else is going to snatch you up”

59. the quiet things by @btsracket | s

- sleeping bag sex.

60. good boy by @ephemeralkookie | s

- secret, read to find out AHAHAHHA.

61. make it right by @jungkxook | a s

- you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because it’s been almost a year since you broke up with him. worst part of it all is that you know he’s still in love with you too

62. it takes two by @junghelioseok | s

- struggling with the idea of your ex-boyfriend moving on, you enlist the help of your quiet roommate in a scheme that quickly spirals out of control.

jimin

1. picking petals by @cutechim | s

- you asked for a baby, so a baby is what you’re going to get.

taehyung

1. daddy by @btsracket | f s

- there’s only one choice when this happens on a date out.

2. love me or we both go down by @gukyi | f s a

- after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

3. saudade by @jiminssthetic | a s f

- a demanding idol lifestyle was something taehyung and yourself were all too familiar with. it wasn’t so hard when considering your unconditional love for one another, but lately, taehyung wasn’t the same anymore; and you decide it’s time to find out why.

4. ineffable by @99liners | f

- boyfriend taehyung takes care of his sick s/o.

5. tease by @caiuscassiuss | s

- you knew you were hot. you saw how the guys looked at you, how their eyes were drawn to a tight t-shirt or short skirt. and maybe this would fail epically—crash and burn like a failed experiment—but you wanted to get under kim taehyung’s skin the only way you knew how.

6. aquarium by @whatifyoulivelikethat | // a

got7

yugyeom

1. yugyeom as you boyfriend by @sunshinekookie | f

- i need more yugyeom fics in my life.

astro

eunwoo

1. rainy say saviour by @imsarahbum | f a

- upon seeing you getting bullied after school for being short, dongmin can’t help but step in and defend you - despite both of you not really knowing anything about each other.

anyway, thank you again for the writers please take care and be safe!

please free to recommend your favorite fic that i haven’t feature yet.

if the links won’t work and i labelled some fics wrong please let me know and i’ll try to fix it as soon as possible!

support the fic and the writers!

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obi-wkenobi · 3 years ago

Note

an obikin fic in which Obi is pining (and is hopelessly in love) with Anakin from afar but he thinks he is too old and that Anakin deserves only the best but Obi has his happy ending

Hi anon, thanks for this! I hope the below fic is something you had in mind. 😊

Anakin was next on the Council’s agenda, and from the hastily written report they had received hours before, the meeting was unlikely to be a quick one. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, what with Anakin mostly touring the outer rim and himself left on Coruscant. It wouldn’t do well for the other Council members to know, but Obi-Wan had missed him. He missed them. The Team.

And if Obi-Wan missed Anakin more than was entirely appropriate, then only he would ever know. There was no need to embarrass himself after all.

Sweat and dust darkened Anakin’s robes as he walked into the chamber, his curls plastered to the back of his neck and usually golden skin a chestnut brown. Tivol was a hot world, Obi-Wan recalled dumbly, with scorching heat that rivaled Tatooine’s, and Force, if possible, it had made Anakin even more beautiful.

The sight of him hit Obi-Wan hard, both by the frantic thud of his old heart and the deep and low drum below his belt, sparking adrenaline in his veins like the crackle of an electroblade. He shook his head, urgently trying to gather his wits after having them knocked out of him due to the simple sight of his former Padawan.

“Masters,” Anakin said, bowing respectfully and casting them a small smile, his eyes lingering on Obi-Wan.

“Knight Skywalker,” Master Windu said, “the Council is glad that you have returned, your report was most...brief in its detailing about your success on Tivol.”

Anakin flushed, the red tint wonderfully darkening his cheeks even more. “My apologies, I was too engaged with the mission whilst there and only remembered the report on my way back.”

Oh, Anakin, he thought fondly, chucking his erstwhile Padawan an exasperated look and privately delighting in watching Anakin squirm as a result.

Master Windu leaned forward, disappointment written plainly on his face. “You forgot?!”

Anakin’s face went from endearingly embarrassed to outright irate, turning a telltale purple as his anger grew. That wasn’t what Obi-Wan wanted to see. Anakin had had a difficult few weeks, he didn’t deserve to be reprimanded so soon upon his return.

“No harm has come from it, surely, Master?” Obi-Wan interrupted softly, stubbornly keeping his composure as Master Windu’s deep brown eyes settled upon him rigidly. “Anakin can add to the report today if necessary.”

A few seats down from him, a baritone chuckle sounded. “Knight Skywalker, your former Master has come to your defence once again. He does that quite a bit you know,” Master Plo observed.

Obi-Wan spluttered, indignant. “I do not.”

“Don’t you?” Master Windu asked, an eyebrow arched knowingly.

Now it was his turn to blush, except when he did so his face turned awfully red and splotchy. Charming on someone as lively and youthful as Anakin, but utterly demoralising on an older man like him.

Anakin peered at him with an odd intrigue in his sharp blue eyes. “Do you?”

“I-I…” he fumbled, victim to a verbal ineptitude that he very rarely experienced.

Apparently, Anakin found that amusing. Those enigmatic eyes shined with mirth and a mischievous smile settled on his face, no doubt delighting in the flustering of his usually impervious former Master.

“Perhaps I am guilty of doing so on occasion,” Obi-Wan admitted reluctantly.

It was worth it. Anakin ducked his head shyly, coyly looking at Obi-Wan from beneath long, golden lashes. They stared at one another intensely for what felt like an infinite moment. Each agonising second made him hot all over, heat making his vision hazy, and he fought every instinct telling him to go to Anakin. To pull him into his arms and to bite at that full bottom lip.

But he wouldn’t. Anakin didn’t want him like that, why would he? There were others who could give him what Obi-Wan could not. Younger, better, people who were able to give him everything that he deserved.

“Perhaps you can tell me about those occasions over dinner?”

What?—

Obi-Wan’s wandering gaze snapped back to Anakin’s face. Embarrassment had returned, but there was also the familiar hardness of determination. Had Anakin really just said that? Was Anakin flirting with him? Right here, in the Council chamber—

“Force help me,” Master Windu suddenly muttered. “Can we please get back to the mission report?”

Obi-Wan slowly turned to look at him, face beet red and mortified by what had just transpired. He rubbed a grounding hand through his coarse beard. “Of course, Master.”

Throughout the remainder of the meeting, Obi-Wan kept his eyes firmly planted anywhere but on Anakin, convinced that should their gazes meet then he would do something horribly inappropriate. Just when exactly had he become this man? Wildly passionate and besotted with a man who could enchant him with his insufferable teasing and his loud, booming laugh.

Oh, how Obi-Wan ached to hear that laugh. It had been too long since he had enjoyed the thrill of Anakin’s company.

By the time the Council adjourned for the day, Obi-Wan had mostly been able to purposefully forget what had occurred hours earlier. So sure that he had misinterpreted Anakin’s request, and certain it was only a result of his own hopeless longing, Anakin wanting him in return never being a possible explanation.

“It’s about time.”

Frowning, Obi-Wan finished standing from his Council chair and turned to Master Plo. “Excuse me?”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure, but he thought the Jedi Master was grinning beneath his mask. “I said it’s about time. That doesn’t mean I want to hear about all the sordid details in the morning though, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan gaped at him. Sordid details? About what? “I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Master.”

Yes, Obi-Wan thought, the Jedi Master was definitely smiling, he could see the recognisable creases by his eyes now.

His gleeful reply also gave him away, “Go and get him, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan stared after him as he walked away. Go and get him, Obi-Wan repeated to himself as he made his way to his quarters. What in the galaxy did that mean? Today had been one of the strangest in recent memory. Force, what was he even going to say when he next saw Anakin?

His quarters should have been dark when he entered, but they weren’t, something was...flickering?

What in the Force—

The room was lit by a slew of candles placed around the dining room, light blinking alongside the subtle shifts in the air. The room looked remarkably serene, the candles backlit by Coruscant’s sunset providing hues of a dusty orange-pink. On the table was some food, steam rising from plates, and a bottle of red wine placed in the middle.

Alderaanian wine—Obi-Wan’s favourite.

“Hello there, Master.”

Obi-Wan swivelled to look at Anakin, the alluring lines of his body resting deliberately casually against the kitchen counter, surveying Obi-Wan with a nervous, but amused smile tilted on his lips.

“Hello, Anakin,” he croaked. “What’s all this?”

“Dinner,” Anakin said, grinning when Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I can see that,” he retorted, voice dry and fond. “Why is there dinner, and err—” he blushed furiously, hoping that the darkness hid it, “candles.”

“Because I said that we should have dinner together.”

Obi-Wan tugged at his beard, thinking. “No, you asked if we could.”

Anakin sighed, naked, frustrated affection sitting on his face. “Details, Master.”

Obi-Wan hummed and continued stroking his beard, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. He observed the situation again, considering the impossible...Anakin was not known for subtlety, perhaps...Anakin wanted him? Maybe Anakin was trying to tell him something.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. “Anakin—”

Before he could say more, Anakin smiled at him, almost shyly, before walking up to him, and then...then—

Anakin’s lips were on his. They fit together as he had always imagined they would, their lips slanting together and meeting with an intoxicating heat. Obi-Wan wound one hand to cup his head, fingers threading through dishevelled locks, the other hand falling to his lower back, pulling him close. Their lips parted at the instinctive pressure, their tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. Anakin moaned obscenely, the sound more erotic than his wildest dreams.

Eventually, Obi-Wan gathered enough awareness to break the kiss with a wet sound. “Anakin—what?”

“Master,” Anakin panted, the honorific making Obi-Wan groan indecently, “I can’t believe how oblivious you are.”

Obi-Wan scoffed. “I resent that—”

Anakin laughed and kissed the underside of his jaw. “It’s true.”

“I just…” he murmured against bitten lips, “I never thought you would be interested in an old man like me.”

Anakin’s brows furrowed. “You’re not old.”

“I’m sixteen years your senior, Anakin.”

“So? That doesn’t bother me, I’ll want you even when you’re actually old.”

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan sighed, gently biting at the hollow of Anakin’s throat. “You might not feel that way when you’re older and you meet someo—”

Anakin jerked his head back up and kissed him again, desperate and deep. “No,” he stressed, “I want you, I’ve wanted you for years, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows jumped at that. Years? His observation skills clearly needed improving.

“Do you believe me?” Anakin asked, pulling back to look at him.

Futilely, he looked for any indication of deception. It was pointless, want and need sat as clear as day on Anakin’s face.

“I do.”

Anakin surged against him, pressing their mouths together once more, and the both of them smiled in delight as their dinner lay forgotten.

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obikin #my writing #asks #anon

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high-functioning-lokipath · 3 years ago

Text

The Servant - Loki x Reader - Words: 4,568

A/N: Sorry for the late posting today, I had some personal issues this morning so I haven't really been online. Hope you enjoy it! 💜💚

You were orphaned at a young age, never even knowing your parents. The only thing you did know about them was on your 1,000th birthday you would receive a gift from them. Something they had planned to give you even before you had been born.

Growing up was, of course, difficult but thankfully, by your 800th birthday, you'd climbed the social ladder enough to be accepted as a servant in the palace. Surprisingly enough, after almost 50 years of working there, you still had not met the royal family. You chalked it up to working mostly night shifts and didn't give it much thought.

On the morning of your 850th birthday, having had the previous night off, you had planned on sleeping in some and then making the most of your day. However, you were quite rudely woken by 2 young maids, who you were somewhat friends with, rushing into your bedroom.

"Y/N!" They exclaimed. "Get up quickly! The queen has requested to speak with you!" You blinked a few times, not believing what they'd said.

"Did I get full last night and forget about it?" You muttered. They pulled you out of bed and selected your best dress from your closet. "What does she want to see me for?" You asked as they helped you dress. Suddenly you were feeling quite nervous and very sick to your stomach.

"We can't tell you," The one girl, Alexandria, said. "But I promise you it's all good things. You'll be very happy!" The other girl, Hildegard, didn't say anything but smiled knowingly.

Before you knew it, you were being shoved through a set of doors and staring at a table full of the most delicious breakfast foods you had seen. "Good morning," A voice greeted. You looked up at the speaker and realized Queen Frigga had been sitting at the table all along.

"Oh! My queen!" You gasped, curtsying quickly. "My apologies! I didn't-"

"Do not fret, Y/N," She smiled kindly. "Please, sit with me and eat. I'm sure you're hungry."

"I-" You paused, smiling gratefully. "I am actually. Thank you." You sat down and served yourself a small amount, not wanting to appear greedy. The Queen was surprisingly easy to talk to, asking about how various things in the palace were doing while in turn she allowed you to ask different questions about palace life. You found yourself smiling and laughing with her as you both ate.

"Do you know why I called you here this morning?" She asked.

"Not the foggiest," You admitted, shaking your head. "This is quite nice, of course, but I am a bit curious."

"Today is your 850th birthday, is it not?" You nodded quickly. The Queen took a sip from her glass, before continuing. "One of my sons is in need of a new servant. The previous one just got married to a young man from Alfheim."

"How nice for her," You smiled. Your brain, however, caught up with what Frigga was implying. "Wait. You mean you want me to be a servant to the princes?"

"Not the princes, dear girl. A personal servant to one. They each have a personal servant to care for their daily needs. You are not only qualified in skill and ability, but also in age. We never assign maids that are too young to the princes. They can be," She paused, chuckling quietly. "They can be a lot to handle. However, I think you will be just fine." You were speechless, staring at the Queen in shock.

"I-yes! Of course, your majesty. I would be honored."

I have not told you which prince you will be working for," She said, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise at your immediate acceptance.

"Does it matter?" You asked. "It is an honor no matter to be working for your family directly." Frigga nodded approvingly and smiled.

"Then you will not care when I say the position is working for my son Loki?"

"My Queen, as I said before, it would be an honor. I have never heard any ill spoken of you or your sons. So why should I care who I am to be serving?"

"Your attitude and innocence will either lead to your success or your quick demise. I wish you all the best. Now come, I will show you to your new quarters."

You and Loki became fast friends. He treated you more as a peer than as a servant, especially since you came to find out the two of you were the same age. You were surprised at how easygoing the young prince was. Working directly with the royal family, you did start to hear palace gossip about them and you were disheartened to find most of it was about Loki.

One day, when you'd finished with the daily chores you had in Loki's room, which was more like an apartment, Loki walked in and flopped down on the freshly made bed.

"Loki!" You screeched. "I just made that!" You ran over, trying to stretch the quilt where he was not laying at least. Loki smirked at you and your eyes widened. "No, no, no! Loki! I know that look! What are you up to-eeee!" You squealed as he pulled you onto the bed, officially messing up all the sheets. You both laid there for a while, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company. "Why are you back so early?" You finally ask.

"Thor was feeling sick today and-" He paused, looking away sadly. "The others had better things to do."

"They didn't want to fight with you?" You asked. He shook his head and you scoffed. "You are a far better warrior than all of them combined. They should consider it an honor to fight you."

"Y/N, love, you are too kind. But-" He was interrupted by someone opening the door.

"Prince Loki, your mother requests your presence," A young girl said. One of Frigga's maids you recognized.

"Of course," He sighed. "My apologies for messing up the bed," He said, turning back to you.

"It's alright, Lo-Prince Loki," You replied. It was sometimes difficult to remember to add the honorifics on his name after becoming such close friends. But the girl was watching and you didn't want to appear disrespectful.

It took about 2 weeks for you to finally figure out what was going on. Ever since that day in Loki's room, the other servants, with the exception of your friends Alexandria and Hildegard, had avoided you like the plague. But today it all came out. You were in the laundry about to fold the clothes Loki had asked you to wash when you heard two maids talking a few tables away. One was Frigga's maid and they were obviously unaware of your presence in the room.

"They were in bed together!" She whispered scandalously.

"No!" The other gasped. "Tell me more!"

"The sheets were quite a mess. You could tell there had been quite a bit of," She paused briefly, smirking. "Activity." The two of them laughed quietly. "And that isn't even the worst! She almost called him by his name without a title! And he even called her ‘love’!"

"Oh my!" The girl gasped. "I suppose it makes sense. She is Prince Loki's personal servant. And I suppose she should serve him personally," She winked. "Although I do not understand why he would be interested in a thing like her?"

"A whore does not have to be pretty to be talented," Frigga's maid replied. The other girl hummed in agreement.

Hot tears fell down your cheeks. You bit back a sob and hurriedly gathered Loki's clothes in a basket. You ran out of the room and straight to Loki's quarters. As much as you wanted to hide away you had to finish your chores but you couldn't stay there. When you reached his room you placed the basket on the bed as it was the best spot to use like a table. Looking at the bed though, you burst into tears, falling to your knees beside the bed.

"Norns! I've never wanted to stab someone so much!" Loki yelled, bursting into the room. You gasped, standing up quickly, trying to dry your tears.

"What happened?" You asked, turning away from him so he couldn't see your face and trying to keep your voice even.

"Odin! Blasted Odin! He dared to imply that-argh! That man, he dares to call himself a king much less a father-" Loki yelled. He was so angry he couldn't even finish a sentence. You patiently listened, trying to finish folding his clothes.

"What did he say?" You asked quietly.

"He implied things," Loki said vaguely. "About my behavior."

"Has he not done so before?" You asked, slightly confused as to what made him so upset today. Loki shook his head.

"Not like this. He-" Loki winced slightly, hesitant to explain. "He wasn't just talking about me in this instance."

"Ah," You said. "So who's honor has you so upset? Lady Sif's perhaps?"

"Why would I be upset over her?" He exclaimed, finally looking up at you. Rushing over to you he grabbed your hands, pulling you closer to him. "Darling! What happened? Why are you crying?" You pulled away quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Please don't call me that!" You cried. "I-I'm sorry, Lo-Prince Loki. I am not feeling too well. Could I be excused to my quarters? I will send someone to finish with your laundry." Loki nodded slowly, very confused, and you ran off.

As you ran down the hallway, you collided with someone and you both fell down. "Y/N! Where's the fire?" Alexandria laughed as she got up. She reached to help you and saw your tears. "Who hurt you?" She asked.

"I'm just not feeling well," You lied.

"That is a pitiful excuse. What is wrong?" She ordered. As you walked to your room with her, you explained everything. "Oh honey! I'm so sorry that happened! You stay here. I'll send Hildegard to bring you some food and I'll go take care of Loki's laundry. Ok?" You nodded sadly and laid down as Alexandria hurried out. A few hours later, after you forced down part of the dinner Hildegard had brought you, there was a light knock at your door.

"Come in," You said, voice hoarse from crying. Slowly your door opened and a raven-haired man peeked in.

"Y/N?" Loki said, stepping in carefully. "How are you doing?" You wanted to scream at him for coming. You wanted to tell him to leave. But you were tired.

"Sadly, I am alive." Loki chuckled lightly and sat on the edge of your bed.

"For that I am very much glad," He smiled, resting a hand on your arm. "Alexandria told me what happened." You stiffened at his comment, every worst possible scenario rushing through your mind. "That's actually what Odin was speaking of earlier. He said that I was of age now and, well, he said there would be no consequences if I chose to find, how did he put it? Comfort? In one of my maids?"

"I see," You said slowly. "That-that makes sense," You continued, sitting up in bed, hands in your lap. "After all you are the prince and you have more important things to worry about than where to sate your needs." You looked away, nervous at what his reaction would be. You would be lying if you said you didn't want to be with him. But you definitely didn't want to be an object. Something he simply used and then ignored when it was no longer needed.

"Oh my dear friend," Loki sighed. "Do you truly think so little of yourself? Why do you think I was so upset earlier? After my meeting with Odin?" He brushed the stray strands of hair out of her face, ones that had fallen out of place while she slept. Turning her head towards him he smiled at her, eyes brimming with tears. "You are far too precious to be treated like that. I would never want to treat anyone so,” He crinkled his nose, searching for the right word. “So insignificant.”

"I appreciate that, Loki," You replied, blushing slightly. "But that doesn't change what they think. I'm so sorry. It's not your fault. Perhaps I should go away. At least I wouldn't hear any of the rumors they have to tell."

"No! Please don't go!" He immediately said, reaching out to hold onto you as if you'd take off right then. Running one hand through his hair he sighed. "Perhaps this isn't a good time to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You asked, reaching out to touch his hand but hesitated slightly, nervous as to how he would react. Loki stared at you, watching your movement. He took you hand in his and chuckled dryly.

"I care for you deeply, Y/N. You're my closest friend but," He paused. "But I wish for more. I love you. Very much. If you don't feel the same way I understand. If you want a transfer or want to leave I can have that arra-"

"No!" You yelled, interrupting him. "No! I don't want to go! I-" You gasped. "I love you too!" You laughed happily. "I just never thought you'd feel the same way!" Loki grinned, hugging you tightly.

"I promise to love you till the end of time," He whispered. Stroking your tear-stained cheek gently with his thumb he smiled sadly. "I know things will not be easy for you with the other servants. And I will try my best to make things right. But please come to me, darling. I never want to see you suffering alone."

"Okay," You said, smiling gratefully. He leaned forward and kissed you softly, chastely.

"If I am going to court you, we're going to do this right," He said. "I shall speak with the Allfather and Allmother today."

To your great happiness, they allowed Loki to court you. However, to your surprise, they never agreed when he asked to marry you. 1 year turned into 10. 10 into 100. Soon you had found yourself having courted Loki for over 200 years. They had gone by in the blink of an eye it seemed and, though you both wished to marry, you were happy as long as you were by each other's side. Loki had asked for your hand so many times that Frigga and Odin began to answer him before he even asked. He never stopped asking though.

One day, as you neared your 1,000th birthday, you woke in the middle of the night to a loud clatter in the hallway followed by a curse. You giggled, recognizing Loki's voice, and ran to open the door.

"Loki!" You whisper-yelled. "What are you doing? It's 3am!"

"Y/N!" He exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I simply knocked over a-"

"Loki, it's ok," You chuckled. However, you noticed he was unusually quiet and wouldn't look at you. "Loki? Is something wrong?" He slowly looked at you, a cool expression taking over his face.

"I was leaving you a note on the door. You'll have a new assignment in the morning."

"Oh! Loki! Did they finally say yes?" You asked excitedly, running towards him. He quickly backed away from you, shaking his head vigorously.

"No," He said. "I-I think it best we don't see each other any more. Therefore I asked for a change in your assignment."

"I don't believe you," You replied. Loki's expression contorted into one of anger.

"If you don't believe me then go read the note I left you! After all this time you don't even trust me?" He yelled.

"Loki!" You hissed, grabbing his arm before he could back away. "I trust you with my life. Don't make this into that argument. We've been over it already. I meant I don't believe what you're saying. I don't think you truly wish our relationship to end. I think someone or something has gotten to you or threatened you and I think you're trying to 'make it easier on me' by making me hate you before you go. Well guess what? It's not going to work. We promised each other to be in love till the end of time and I, for one, am keeping my end of the bargain so if you don't get in here, sit down, and explain to me what's going on I'll go to Frigga myself and ask her."

"Okay," Loki agreed, suddenly looking tired and defeated. Following you into your room he sat on the edge of your bed, fidgeting with his hands. "Your birthday is coming up," He said.

"Yes, it is," You replied, sitting next to him. "What does that matter?"

"Recently, my mother told me that your parents left you a gift for your 1,000th birthday." You nodded, wondering where he was going with this. "I am," He paused. "Familiar with a custom of certain families, usually ones of higher ranking, that they give their daughters a husband on her 1,000ths birthday. And-" He took a shaky breath, looking away. "I fear that is why we've never been allowed to marry. I think Mother knows what your gift is."

"Oh," You said. "I-I never thought of that. I never dreamt-" You started to cry, suddenly afraid of being taken away from the love of your life. Loki pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead softly. No more words were exchanged. Loki and you eventually fell asleep reclined on your bed, you cradled protectively in his arms.

The day finally came. You were 1,000 years old by Asgardian terms and you were terrified. One of Odin's servants came to you with a request for your presence at breakfast and an excuse from all your duties that day. You bit your lip nervously. Not having to work today meant you had no real excuse to see Loki before breakfast. You hoped he would be there at least.

"Good morning, Y/N," Frigga smiled as you walked into the dining room. You curtsied and forced a smile back.

"Your highness," You greeted. Odin walked in the room and nodded at you before taking his seat at the head of the table. You curtsied again and then heard Thor coming in with his usual ruckus. Turning around you saw Thor physically dragging Loki into the dining room. The latter quickly walked in on his own when he saw you already there.

"Y/N!" Loki exclaimed, running up to you and hugging you tightly. You giggled and hugged him back. Odin cleared his throat pointedly and the two of you quickly pulled away. Frigga shot her husband a glare and then smiled softly at you and Loki. You all sat down, you and Frigga on one side, the two Odinsons on the other side, and Odin at the head, while the servants brought out the food. You tried to help them but Frigga tapped your arm and motioned for you to sit.

"You're a guest today, my dear girl," She said. You nodded, feeling awful for not helping. Eventually, the meal was finished, though you ate very little, and Odin stood up.

"Today is a special day," He boomed, smiling at you. "I will skip over a long and flowery speech since I care for those very little and I'm sure you are anxiously awaiting your gift." You looked away, a bit embarrassed that it was so obvious. "Do not be upset," He chuckled. "There is nothing wrong with your excitement." You looked up at him again and smiled slightly. Loki was right all these years, it was odd to see Odin happy. Somehow his cheerful attitude doubled your nerves.

"Are you ok, brother?" Thor whispered to Loki on the other side of the table.

"I'll be fine," Loki snapped. He shot an apologetic look at Thor and nodded. "Just worried," He added. Thor nodded and patted his brother's shoulder firmly.

"This paper, a letter," Odin said. "Was written to you, Y/N, by your parents shortly after your birth. As you can see, it is sealed with my seal and has not been opened. I, myself, as well as the Queen were present at it's writing." He broke open the seal and started reading.

"Our dearest Y/N, our love, our daughter,

You may not get to see it until much later, but to us, your parents, your eyes hold a bright future. You've yet to say a single word but you've got us wrapped around your little finger. We can't wait to see what a beautiful woman you'll become. We have lain a path for you before birth and now that you're here, it is time to take your first steps in this new and exciting world. No matter what, you will always have our love and support whenever your life shall lead you. Whether we're far or near, we will always be there with you, every step of the way.

As we said, we have something planned for you. Something that will allow you to fulfill your greatest dreams and something that we hope will give you all the happiness in the world.

Many moons ago, your father saved a man's life in battle. The man promised to repay that debt. It was agreed that our families would be joined by the future marriage of our children. The man later had a son, and we, of course, had you."

At this point, hot tears were streaming down your face. As happy as you were to hear how much your parents cared for you. You now knew Loki's fears were correct. This was why you'd never been allowed to marry him. Each word suddenly became as a stab to your heart. Loki, for his part, was not faring any better as he listened.

"That man was our wonderful King, Odin. We hope you, our lovely Y/N, find all the joys you could ever hope for in your marriage to his son.

We want you to know how much we love you and we wish you all the happiness possible as long as you live.

Your parents ~"

Loki's chair screeched as he stood abruptly. Your head snapped up to look at him but he was already storming through the dining room doors.

"Father?" Thor said uneasily, looking quickly between Odin, you and the door through which Loki had left. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Well, my son," Odin said with a wide smile. "It means that Y/N has been promised to-"

"No!" You exclaimed, standing up. "Thor," You said, looking at him. "I love you like a brother. You'll be a fine husband one day but I'd rather die before I marry you." Turning to Odin you saw a frown painting his face. "Throw me in the dungeons, kill me, whatever you wish, but I will not marry Thor. I love Loki and I could never hurt him in such a way."

"My child-" Odin started to say but you ignored him, running out of the room. "Guard!" Odin yelled, calling for one to go after you.

"Husband," Frigga said softly. "Let her be for now. Perhaps there can be a solution." Odin reluctantly agreed and Frigga sat beside him to reason with him. Thor quietly slipped out, feeling rather awkward.

He wandered out to a secluded part of the gardens, a spot he knew Loki loved to hide in. He smiled sadly when he found you curled up in Loki's arms at the base of a willow tree. "I won't do it," You sobbed, gripping his shirt tightly as you cried into it.

"You have to," Loki said, running his hands soothingly over your back. Although his was just as upset, he was trying to be strong for you. "It's been decided," He whispered. "At least you'll be safe and cared for. Thor may be my oaf of a brother but he'll treat you well."

"No I won't," Thor said walking up. "Well, not that I would-" He sighed frustratedly. "I mean that I won't take her." Loki looked up at his brother in surprise.

"Brother, what-"

"Loki," Thor said, sitting down beside his brother. "She refused me already," He chuckled. "Father was not happy but I believe Mother is trying to change his mind." He clapped Loki's shoulder and smiled. "She's yours. I would never dare take that away from you." The three of you sat in silence for some time before Frigga came and found you.

"My children, please come back to the dining hall. I have spoken with Odin and we've made a decision." Reluctantly you followed Frigga, holding tightly to Loki's hand.

As you walked into the dining room, Odin stood up and smiled at you. It was a forced smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Y/N, you have refused to marry Thor, correct?" You nodded immediately. "And Thor, you have refused to marry Y/N?"

"I cannot take her away from my brother, from their happiness." Odin nodded thoughtfully.

"Well then, here is my decision," Odin said. Frigga cleared her throat pointedly, shooting him another glare. "Our decision," He corrected. "This letter was written a few months after you were born, Y/N. Although we'd made the agreement before your birth, it did not go into effect until it was written." He sighed loudly and looked back at the paper. "And by this time Loki was already in our lives." Loki looked at you hopefully, squeezing your hand lightly. "And the letter does not specify which son you are promised to. So it is my great pleasure," He said somewhat sarcastically. "To give you to my son Loki as a bride. Will that be acceptable?"

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "Yes! Oh thank you!" You were nearly screaming in excitement. Loki was frozen in surprise, having never expected his father to give in to their wishes.

"Really?" He asked in almost a whisper. Frigga nodded at him and hugged her son. "Thank you!" He said. Turning to you he smiled widely, hugging you tightly and spinning you around. You laughed as he spun you, happy beyond your wildest dreams.

"Oh Loki!" You cried as he put you down. "I love you so much!" He grinned, kissing you earnestly.

"I love you too, my queen," He smiled. You blushed brightly, looking away.

"Enjoy your day together," Frigga said. "Tomorrow we can make the announcement and start making plans." You both nodded and hurried off to the gardens again, this time much happier.

"And to think all this started because your previous servant got married suddenly," You mused as you walked through the gardens arm in arm.

"Oh it wasn't sudden at all," He said. You stopped in your tracks, staring at him in surprise. "We'd been planning for her departure for some time. I had seen you working and quite liked you but you weren't old enough to be a servant of the royal family yet." Your eyes widened with every word. "I made mother wait to find me a replacement until you had your birthday."

"You chose me?" You gasped. He smiled, turning to face you and brushing a few stray hairs away from your face.

"I will always choose you," He said, smiling widely. "For all time."

"Always."

Loki

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beautifulletdownfics · 4 years ago

Text

Nothing To Him - A Harry Styles One Shot

Harry Styles is a liar.

He lied your whole relationship.

He promised to love you forever and then he walked away.

A lovers to nothing break up fic feat. blisters, heartache & two sides to one story.

Word count: 15k (Sorry! You’re going to want to open this little pal in a browser window probably. Eek)

Story Playlist:

The First Lie: Damn This Love - Thirsty Merc The Second Lie: Do You Remember - Jarryd James The Third Lie: Nebraska - Oh Wonder The Fourth Lie: I Saw You - Jon Bryant The Fifth Lie: Here We Go - Emily Hearn The Sixth Lie: Crying Dancing - Nina Nesbitt , NOTD

MY MASTERLIST.

The first lie was that you were different.

Harry felt different with you.

You just slipped into his routine and his life. You didn't buy into the spectacle of it all. You told him on your first date that you didn't play games, and that it wasn't often you connected with someone on an intellectual or emotional level. Harry sat there and listened to the woman across from him say she didn't expect to finish the date still attracted to him.

And he fucking loved it.

The next morning he called you at quarter past eight, because he figured you either started work at eight-thirty or nine o'clock, so he'd catch you on your commute or just before you walked into the office. You answered your phone like you would a business call. He teased you for it, but really he was just glad you answered at all. It felt like getting test results telling Harry he was in the clear.

The truth was when Harry first met you at the birthday party the night before he'd been angling towards you being a hookup. He saw you across the bar as soon as he arrived, gaze zeroing in on your legs in That Dress, his ears leaning to the sound of your laugh pulling eyes from around the room. Harry wanted you, and he'd been through a bit of a dry spell. You radiated the kind of energy Harry could get drunk on, the sort of body he wanted to lose himself in for a night.

It was almost an hour before he managed to edge into the same circle of bodies as you. You knew the birthday girl the same way he did; through work. Harry caught early on that you didn't still work for his record label, but did a few years before and stayed in touch with everyone. You seemed like the kind of person who collected people, who everyone wanted to keep in touch with. Harry just wanted to touch you.

Two tequilas in he got you to himself.

You were good at flirting, which excited Harry initially. You had a quip for everything or an interesting addition to each story he told. You were well-read and well-travelled, and you weren't hesitant in showing Harry that you had opinions and ideas of your own. Over the years he'd become good at getting people to talk, good at asking questions that make someone share themselves because the alternative—Harry sharing himself—wasn't something he could do. But something about you and the way you framed questions made Harry feel like it was safe to share a little more, you'd disarmed him quietly, and by the time he noticed Harry didn't feel the need to protect himself anymore.

"That's bullshit," you'd told him when he said he wasn't all that into contemporary fiction. You hated the artsy elites who listed off the Hemingway's and the Kerouac's and the Vonnegut's as though the only literature worth mentioning came from lifetimes ago. Your hair swished back and forth at your cheeks as you shook your head emphatically, "You're being lazy. Imagine saying the same about modern music."

Harry's lips ticked up into a smile, and he raised his eyebrow in concession, "That would be bullshit," he agreed, thinking of the album he'd just released and how he wanted to know if you'd listened to any of his stuff. (Very quickly he decided he probably didn't want to know because it stuck Harry the answer would be no.) His eyes couldn't pull away from watching your lips as you spoke, admiring the shade of lipstick you wore.

"Right," you continued, "Modern fiction teaches me about myself, about my life. It gives words to what my friends and I are experiencing. The classics are amazing—don't get me wrong—but I don't see myself in them."

"Seems like your criteria stem from narcissism," Harry was sure he had you there. He grinned at you happily.

"Exactly," you agreed without hesitation, "Maybe 'Hills Like White Elephants' is genius, and as a woman, I should be grateful to Hemmingway for horrifying his audience in 1927 with a normalised view of abortion but … I don't think he wrote that for me. He was challenging ideas then. I feel more connection and loyalty to an Instagram poet who's painting the world that actually matters to me, the world I'm trying to survive now."

Harry hums into his drink and says nothing. He expects you to back away a little, or ask him some question that watered-down your view and opened up the table to his. But you don't. You let your view sit on the slice of the bar between you and don't apologise for it.

"There's a reason artists burst out of every generation," you add, sitting forward on your stool. "If the classics were the perfect form, the perfect commentary of humanity, then there'd be no need for anyone after them to bother trying to put the world and life into words, or pictures, or music. You can't just dismiss a generation of voices because some smelly, old, white, university hasn't decided to name a building after them yet. I don't think being published as a little orange Penguin Classic is the singular hallmark to good literature."

He didn't entirely agree with you, (he thought it was vital to learn from the past, thought those great authors you reeled off and dismissed set the benchmark artists today should aspire to) but Harry liked hearing your thoughts and seeing the passion burst out of you. He liked seeing how you didn't second guess yourself or try to soften your opinion by asking for his. You just said what you thought, and that was always one of his favourite characteristics in a person.

That night you met him, you were the designated driver for a few of your friends. He should have noticed the way you switched to pineapple juice after you finished your first drink, but he was too busy trying not to look at the curve of your thigh when you crossed one leg over the other. Trying to ignore the smell of your perfume or how you kept licking your lips and he wanted to taste them, desperately. Harry didn't like to say anything when he offered to buy you another gin and dry. Still, when it eventually came out in conversation—that you were strictly only having one tonight—he felt his excitement deflate. His warm buzz suddenly felt pervy and presumptuous.

"Well, that's bloody annoying, isn't it?"

His response surprised you, "Me getting my friends home alive?"

With his hand comfortably resting over your knee, Harry shook his head, "I was hoping to go home with you."

"Oh."

You blinked at him, not having expected him to be so bold. You didn't hate it though, you felt the twinge of realising you were going to miss something that could have been good. Could have been great, probably. The last time you had sex had been … sad. And disappointing. Still, you hadn't come out to meet anyone tonight, why the sudden rush of despondency? These were old work colleagues you rarely saw, and you figured it would be a night of catching up before six months of not seeing each other because life got in the way.

Then Harry asked for your number. Asked if you'd go out with him the next night. He didn't beat around the bush with it, he wanted to see you again and told you so. The way you said you would filled him with relief but also fear. Harry knew he'd need to really deliver with you, he couldn't half-arse it. He was terrified he'd overshoot it and lose the change to be someone who impressed you.

He settled on a Sunday evening picnic where the two of you ate takeaway on a beach towel at the top of a park halfway between your houses. Something told Harry you would be happier with him underplaying the date than you would be getting taken to an expensive, showy restaurant. You wore jean shorts and a long sleeve jumper which churned his body more deeply than the dress with the split from the night before. He was hooked.

"Do you not like olives?" Harry asked, sucking the oil off his fingers after just depositing one into his mouth. You instantly loved the way the inflection of his words rose at the end of his sentences, and you'd mock him for it your whole relationship.

You looked at the plastic container sitting between you, you'd been picking at the cheese and crackers, the antipasto was not your thing, "They don't seem like something humans should eat … Salty and rubbery with a tiny stone on the inside? No, thanks."

A laugh burst out of Harry's mouth as he picked up another green olive, "More for me then."

"I'm happy about the rosemary in these though," you held up a cracker before digging it into the hummus, a plastic-stemmed wine glass with a dry rose in your free hand, "You got the fancy ones."

"Only the best," Harry returned with a smile and then went on trying to playfully wedge more information from you about the secret poetry Instagram he was convinced you had. He was already feeling buzzed from the wine, but more from the way you kept looking at him and he couldn't catch a hint of you being anything other than yourself.

You didn't go home together that night either, despite The Kiss at the end next to his car. Despite Harry's hands on the back of your thighs as things got heated. The way the tips of his fingers feathered against the elastic of your knickers, just slipping under before pulling away. Your chests heaving together in a rhythm you'd never found with anyone else.

He felt like he had just auditioned for a part he wasn't sure yet that you were going to give him. Wine always heightened his anxiety, so Harry also wanted to appear controlled and measured. He wanted to be as thoughtful as you were. As connected to himself as you were to all your wonderful opinions and facts. There was some part of him that feared taking you home too soon might risk that being the only night Harry got. So he pulled away, kissed your cheek and promised to call you later on.

Somewhere along the line, Harry decided he wanted more than a little bit. He was greedy. Harry wanted the whole pie all to himself.

That was a theme, him wanting more. Even now, months since you've seen or heard from him. Harry always knew how to get you to take that one step out of your comfort zone, take that little bit extra risk. Letting go of him in one way felt like small release valve finally letting go. A tiny bit of your safety net tucking closer around you. A little quiet moment to take stock and check every part of you was still connected, still there. A deep breath in. A short pause of calming silence. Like getting your heart back … But then finding it didn't fit in your chest the same way anymore.

So you found it particularly cruel to have received a follow-up email from his assistant this week, checking to see if you were able to attend his show tonight.

The show that six months ago Harry drew you a mock ticket for and hand-delivered to you sitting outside in his garden with a tea and a biscuit. Even then, even as his girlfriend, you'd feigned not knowing if you could say whether you would attend. Now it felt foreboding, the way you'd pulled your features together thoughtfully and told Harry you'd have to see closer to the date. You waited just long enough for him to switch over into thinking you were serious before you laughed and told him of course and where else would I be?

Where else would I be, was right, in a sense. Because this is still your city, and you're here tonight. It's not his anymore. He moved soon after you broke up … Relocated to one of his—what was it you used to mockingly call them?—" location" homes. Houses you never saw in person. Places he never took you. Either Italy or France. Somewhere he could hide, be creative, recenter himself. All three of those things filled you with dread for different reasons.

Were you really going to go tonight though? Walk in through the front door of the venue with a ticket and barcode on your phone, sit in a crowd and listen to Harry for two hours? Look at him from across the room and just take it on the chin?

It certainly seemed you were dressed for it. And you were out of the house with time to get there. Would you get off the train at the stop though? Would you walk down the street with the bright sign his name lit up? Would Harry even know if you didn't go?

Part of you wonders if his assistant didn't mean to email you. Maybe she forgot you were no longer in Harry's life? Perhaps it was a scheduled email she forgot to stop? Probably it was Harry just being fucking nice, and polite, and worrying about how you'd feel if you were uninvited. Or if he didn't check in on you while he was here.

You accepted the reminder too easily and scolded yourself for it. His team was expecting you. Harry was expecting you. And now, sitting on the train and counting down the stops you felt caught. Felt like he had you again, even if it was just winning whatever tonight was.

Harry did always enjoy the chase. Admitted it himself, admitted to loving the beginning of meeting someone. Loving the audition process, the figuring each other out, the get. The Catch.

You wonder now if it was the chase he liked back then. Was it a thrill having you make him feel as though he had something to prove? Or was it Harry experiencing for the first time not having the upper hand, not having even the tiniest amount of weight around who he was count for anything. Now it felt like Harry was nothing but upper hand.

Whatever it was—the Chase, or your endless facts, pancakes on a Sunday morning—the part of Harry's lie about you being different that hurts the most is the way you bought into it so proudly. Wore it later as his girlfriend like a badge of honour. As though it signalled to others you'd been hard-won, and Harry was lucky to have you.

Different turned out to be such a dirty word.

Different turned out to mean nothing. To get you nowhere.

All different got you was Nothing To Him.

The second lie was that he saw a future with you.

Harry didn't shy away from talking about it. He made plans for you both.

Sometimes it was in the moments right before you both fell asleep at night, or in the final seconds before the kettle finished boiling. Always in some small window where his mind drifted and sat comfortably stagnant when all there was to think about was the next holiday you'd take together. Or what breed of dog you might have one day. Whether you wanted your kids to be close together in age or have larger age gaps between them. What you thought about silent retreats in Thailand.

He stored your answers away in the file full of you in his head or added them to the note on his phone with ideas for gifts for people or things going on in their lives he wanted to remember.

"My family have always had cats," he told you one night, fingers drawing circles around your bare kneecap, your naked thigh resting across his stomach, "When I'm settled I'd want to get a few of my own."

It was one of those hot summer nights no position felt comfortable for sleep, you raised your arms up over your head and stretched out further on the mattress, fingers dangling off the edge of the bed to feel the cold stream from the air conditioning unit above, "I don't trust cats. Isn't there something about them being evolutionarily build to hunt their owner?"

Harry turned his head to face you, "A fact for everything," he recited fondly, his common quip for your always having an answer for everything, "I'll let the cats hunt me, you'll be spared."

"As long as I can name them," you murmured, your eyes finally closing.

Close to three months later, an hour into unsuccessfully putting together a flat-pack shelving unit in Harry's garage, you heavily plopped yourself down on the concrete floor and hailed defeat. You tossed the small, silver Allen key onto the floor in Harry's direction and rested your chin in your palm.

A few minutes of watching his embittered attempts passed before he spoke.

"Hey Sulky, I can feel you looking at me," Harry was frowning at the short piece of timber in his hand, he was holding it next to what was supposed to be the base of the structure. This was your second attempt at pulling apart the shelves and starting again while you cursed the entire Swedish furniture empire. You were enjoying seeing Harry's stubborn frustration immensely.

He could be such a man sometimes.

"Yeah, 'cause you're hot," you said, mocking him dreamily.

"Ha ha," he drawled, rolling his shoulders back to try to regain his focus.

When he paused a moment later and looked up at you, his arms dropped as his brow softened and he let out a breath.

You grinned at him, "I'm pretty cute too, right?"

"All this shit is going to end up living on the ground because you're sabotaged the assembly!" He gestured wildly at the tools and spare paint colours for the house lying around you. His bike parts and the weird assortment of garden tools Harry collected were leaning against the wall waiting to be put on their new home as well, the shelf neither you nor Harry were skilled enough to put together.

"Baby," you began, but Harry waved you off, and you saw genuine frustration start to emerge on his face, "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry," you stressed, "Are you sure we're looking at this thing from the right way around? Maybe the designer meant for it to be wonky?"

He rolled his eyes at you. As if the mere thought anyone would design anything to look like the mess currently on the floor was purely preposterous—his temper for small frustrations on full display.

"Don't be rude!" You admonished, "It's a fucking shelf, we can do this, Harry."

It took you another hour and a half, but when it was done, Harry draped his arm around your shoulders, kissed you on the head and told you that you were the person he wanted by his side of all his future crisis. Someone to say to him, whatever the challenge was, it wasn't beyond him, wasn't something he couldn't handle or wasn't capable of.

You felt like you were floating that night.

It was one of those few times you could see your imprint on his life. See some evidence of it. There were shelves in his garage only there because you told him he needed storage there, and then you pushed him to keep trying assembling them. It was some proof you'd been in his life. An impression of your influence. A memory that would hover in his garage forever.

Two days after putting the shelves together, you and Harry had an argument about the plastic tubs he went off on his own to buy for all the loose bits and pieces he wanted to go on the shelves. You were annoyed he didn't purchase wooden ones, and he couldn't understand why it mattered that they were white plastic which would apparently be impossible to keep clean.

It's a garage, he thought, who's cleaning their garage?

And because arguments always dredge up things that they aren't supposed to, you made a jab about your relationship being secret.

You said something like, If I'd been able to come with you, we wouldn't be having this row!

Harry knew what you really meant straight away. You'd been together for more than nine months at that point, and nobody knew about it: nobody but your families and very very closest friends. There were no photos of Harry having lunch with you at a cafe, or of you walking a few steps behind him at the shops. Nobody had snuck a picture of you backstage at a show of his. He'd never appeared on your social media, even by suggestion, and Harry had never taken the risk including you on any private Instagram Stories.

Those photographs didn't exist, because those circumstances never had. There wasn't even a celebrity paper trail linking you to knowing Harry, let alone dating him. Harry didn't dedicate performances to you, or even to an unnamed significant other. You never got a song or an album dedication. Harry was so adamant on nobody getting wind of the relationship that sometimes it felt like … Like he enjoyed the sneaking around. The having a secret. (Later on, when you reflected on the relationship once it was over, you really weren't sure how there'd never been even one instance of you being seen coming or going from Harry's house. Hindsight made that feel suss to you.)

Most of the time you liked it, though, liked not having any fuss or interruption to your life but sometimes—a lot of the time—it felt like something silently eroding you from the inside—a silent acid eating your spirit.

But you'd never tell Harry that. Then anyway. Now … You're not sure what you'd tell him now.

The truth was a lot of the time you weren't sure how you'd managed to keep it going so long. Part of it was obvious, maybe, like not being in public together. But still, surely after being together months and having arguments about shelves you could afford a platonic appearing coffee trip or going for a run at the same time, together?

Instead, you'd gear up and run in opposite directions down his street. Or Harry would stay in the car while you went in for the coffee. You'd sit in a nosebleed seat if you went to a show, sneaking through some fire exit and into the main hallways of a venue with the public to get to it. You looked like a sad woman attending a gig on your own, not the girlfriend of the star.

Nobody would know you even knew the man up on stage. That you had something in the slow cooker at home for you both to eat when you got home, or that he'd stolen a tube of your favourite lip balm and had it in his blazer pocket for his set. Nobody would guess you made him late for the soundcheck with just a smile and the undoing of a zip.

Seeing him tonight would be just like it always was, you and Harry from across the room. But then not like always, because Harry wouldn't see you tonight. You wouldn't have the taste of a good luck kiss on your lips. Or the sound of Harry's warm-up in your ears. Yours was always an invisible connection that was kept invisible by design, and now being broken up, it looked no different than together. Not really.

Tonight though it would only be you seeing Harry. Like you see him on late-night talk show promotions and billboards. Like the times you get into an Uber, and his song is playing. How strange it feels, to have your heart crack in your chest again while also lifting somehow. Singing along with a song about you. Or hearing his laugh or even just Harry speaking, and being able to picture the exact expression that would go along with it.

Every raised inflection. Ever breathy giggle. Every brow crease at a thought that Harry was chasing or somehow unable to articulate. All of those turning into you picturing what he looked like every time he knew he was disappointing you. Every whined sorry and all the instances of him loving on you to move your mind away from his deficiencies.

"What's the plan for Y/N?"

If your relationship with Harry was a t-shirt, that would be the slogan across the chest. Those would be the words under the cartoon impression of you banging your head against a wall Harry's standing on the other side of.

How will Y/N get in? Who's staying behind with Y/N? Where will I meet up with Y/N?

There was always a question. Always a plan for you and it was decidedly separate to the plan for Harry. His team organised a second car or an earlier flight for you. A back entrance or some other smokescreen to keep you concealed. In the beginning, it felt like a kindness, but in the end, you were embarrassed by it. The bother, the way what started as a careful consideration for your wellbeing turned into something rotten that painted you a different colour to Harry and his public inner circle, the circle you were never invited or initiated into.

It was exhausting. But Harry assured you it was for the best.

You wonder what the future he saw for you really was though. How much further did Harry see a life like that going? A life with you perpetually operating under cover of darkness. A life of you decidedly not existing. Not really.

So when he said he saw a future with you, you're really not sure what Harry meant.

Did he mean one day he saw himself lifting the veil and telling the world he had a Someone? Or did he mean that he saw himself forever hiding you, forever living that lie?

Maybe he actually saw nothing.

Sometimes you could be convinced the fact Harry hid you was an action pointing to a more profound truth.

That the future he saw was an imagined indulgence; a convenience, and a comfortable lie. Comforting on a temporary level, like bowling alley bumper rails or the plastic covering on a new watch face. The fake sense of security—of protection, of immaculacy—was just that, artificial and temporary. It ceased to exist the minute you plucked the corner and pulled back the protective layer. Crashed as soon as the bumpers were flipped down.

You were a secret only Harry had any power over. He led from the front because you didn't know there was any other option. And in letting yourself be that, you made yourself easily dispensable.

Disposable. Replaceable. Erasable.

Which is precisely what happened when he left.

Harry left, and the You of the two of you ended. But more than any other relationship ever could, the silence that followed felt deadly. It wasn't just a relationship that once was, it was a relationship that never was. A year of your life made no imprint on his. Nobody looking at him could know there was anything—anybody—missing, and maybe that was the whole point.

Maybe that was the design of it.

The third lie was that you could tell him anything.

Harry's golden rule always was honest communication.

There's no such thing as an overshare, he'd say when you naturally hesitated.

He was all about that. All about hearing what was worrying you, or the mundane things that were going on in your world. Sometimes you felt like maybe it was an act because nobody had ever found your family, or your friends, or your life in general as interesting as Harry seemed to. He was always telling you he loved hearing the funny text conversations going on, or who was having a row and why, or what each of your friends was stressed about in their jobs or relationships or themselves. And Harry always said he loved hearing it from you the most.

(Now, that struck you as a strange thing to say. Where else would he hear anything about you? Harry was the only line connecting you back to him. You didn't have mutual friends or people who'd known you both before you dated each other. There was nobody for Harry to hear anything from. It's not like your friends were going to reach out to him with gossip about you. Not like how you could sneak a look at update accounts or read about his performance online while he was away.)

Still, you loved the stories he told from the road, ate them up. The missing coffee mugs where everyone got their caffeine fix served in wine glasses and lemonade tumblers for almost two whole weeks. And then the tour t-shirts accidentally ordered in bulk in children's sizes that Harry hand-delivered them to a local children's charity. The crumbs of gossip Harry picked up about who in his team was sweet on who (he loved a setup, loved watching crushes silently and awkwardly orbit around each other).

Your secrets were safe with him, he promised. He wouldn't ever judge you. Wouldn't dismiss your feelings or what kept you awake at night next to him. So you did it. You believed him. And you slowly drained everything inside of you into him. Harry got all your stories, even the ones you vowed to leave exactly where they sat in your past. Even the ones you felt like might kill you to dredge back up. The ones that made you look like a shitty friend or sister or daughter. He got them all.

And even now, he's still got them.

"What's the biggest lie you ever told?" He asked you one night in his kitchen, both of you elbow deep in making dinner. Harry rolled out the lines of gnocchi and cut the inch long pieces while you pressed them over a fork to decoratively indent them. (Although Harry likes to tell you how when he was in Italy he learned in patterns weren't just aesthetic—it was all about soaking up more of the sauce, For the sauce, of course! He'd sing out in an Italian accent, proud of himself.) "Like, a proper lie," he clarified, "Not like how you told my mum you didn't take sugar in your tea when you first met her."

You hinged your knee out to attack his calf for the teasing comment but then rolled your lips together in thought, "I lied to my parents a lot growing up," you told him honestly. "I think about eighty per cent of the time I wasn't where I told them I was. Definitely wasn't with who I said I was with."

Harry shook his head as he rolled out the next lump of dough, "No, I mean like … Like a lie."

A moment passed as you thought more deeply about the question, travelled around your memories until you landed somewhere suitable, "I lied to my boyfriend at university," you begin. "A pretty bad one, I guess."

"And the lie was …" Harry prompts.

"I told him I was a virgin before him."

Harry eyes raised, and then he nodded, accepting it, "I think that's probably a common one, really."

"I thought he'd like me more if I said it," I admitted quietly, pausing the work with your hands. "Wasn't too proud of losing my virginity in a tent in the sixth form … And I mean, at that age you just so desperately want to be the version of you that you think the people around you will like the most. A whole group of us went camping at someone's grandparent's farm during the summer holidays. Not sure how our parents let us, to be honest. Anyway, I had awful, painful, embarrassing sex in a tent with a guy named … Dylan Fraiser."

You were surprised by how long the name took to come to you. Years ago, that was such a defining event in your life. Now it hardly mattered at all anymore.

Progress, you thought.

"A tent," Harry winced.

"Really came back to bite me in the arse when my uni boyfriend went on to tell a group of his mates he was my first and—

—Tent Guy was one of them?" Harry guessed. Correctly.

"Yep. Small towns are a curse."

"I promise never to have sex with you in a tent," Harry teased, grinning at you over his wine glass and then leaning over to kiss your temple. He looked down at the line of gnocchi pieces you'd made together proudly, "We're alright at this."

"Hmmm," you hummed, now lost in the past, "I told that uni boyfriend him I loved him … I didn't though," you say without thinking, shrugging as the words came out, "I thought he was boring. But it was cool to have a boyfriend, so I didn't break up with him … Guess I've told more whoppers than I thought."

Harry gives you an understanding look, "I've said I love you to protect someone's feelings too. Thought it might come a little later, that I was just not feeling it as quickly as them."

It should have made you question whether Harry meant I love you with you. But it didn't. He was speaking in the past tense, and you were imaging that version of him being younger than the almost thirty-year-old you were dating. Now though … You wonder what love meant to Harry when you were together. Whether your wires were crossed by different definitions. Even now, you couldn't vilify him. Not completely. He was too thoughtful in general, there'd be a reason for it. There always was with Harry.

"What's your biggest lie?" You turned the exercise back on him, smiling as he refilled your wine glass and skipped a few songs on the playlist. These were your favourite moments with Harry. The end of the day, where you were the only thing on his to-do list. There wasn't a lingering work call, or a meeting to prepare for, an email to reply to. Harry was just finishing his day with dinner and some time at home. With you.

Harry gave you a withering look, "I think you know already."

"I don't," you said because you really didn't, "What was it?"

"There's no way I'll ever do anything else with The Band," he said tonelessly as he turned to rinse his hands in the sink, unable to look at you while he said it. And even then, Harry didn't admit to the lie. Didn't name it. He just said what the truth was instead.

"Why wouldn't you?" You asked, instead of what you were sure Harry thought you'd ask.

You weren't interested in why he told that particular lie though, the answer to that was pretty apparent to you: he cared about his fans—they all did—and didn't want to disappoint them. And they probably hadn't been able to deal with thinking about the ripples ending it completely, right off the bat, would have caused. Saying you were taking a break was a much nicer way to let a world of fans down. An easier pill to swallow than 'We're done' straight off the bat.

You gave Harry time to respond. He fiddled with the gnocchi pieces in front of him, waiting for the water to boil in the pot behind you both, "Not sure, really."

He was lying now, and you could tell. He was ashamed of the truth.

"You're not sure?"

"I just wouldn't, there's no one reason. No big thing. It's not like I hate them all or anything, I just …"

There was one big thing, though. And it was typical Harry to not be able to name it. He was always so in denial about his own arrogance, about what it was that drove him. Harry thought he was above them. His success since The Band far outweighed anything any of the others had done. Going back to that would be diminishing for Harry's career. Wouldn't help him any. He was stronger on his own, more successful. More widely appreciated. That chapter of his life was done, it had been a stepping stone—yes, a life-defining one—but Harry had moved to bigger and brighter stages on his own.

"It's not what you think," he told you lowly when you didn't ask anything further.

It was so typical of Harry to not see the forest for the trees. To not see how he, yet again, was blurring and confusing the lines between a business decision and an emotional, personal one. He was speaking about The Band emotionally, but his reason for distancing himself from it was all to do with business.

"It's not?" You asked plainly.

"I don't think I'm better than them or some shit," Harry said, "I just … That part of me is done. I'm not who I was back then, and I don't want to go back to that person."

"You also wouldn't get anything out of it," you prod, knowing that you shouldn't have. But it was true. So much of Harry's life was a business decision. Everything was so carefully done, so deliberately set into place by him and his team that results and his successes were almost guaranteed.

At the time, you didn't understand how he couldn't see it. Or you couldn't believe that he didn't. He was so calculating, and he hated you telling him so. But he was. He liked to say he wasn't defined by his job, but Harry's whole life was defined by his career, by the who he was.

He loved to spout off his public shit about staying grounded and having a life away from being Harry Styles ™, but he didn't let anyone see even a skerrick that life. The only thing Harry ever let be projected about him was his job, that was all was ever on the table for discussion. And so it was hardly surprising that became who he was away from the cameras and lights as well.

Hiding you was a business decision, you figured out in the aftermath of The End. It was his way of keeping the narrative about his music and career on track. As soon as there was a You, Harry's private life would distract from his real focus and goal, his career. And you mean, it's not like it didn't work for him. Because here you were, standing outside in the chilly night looking at his name up in lights.

Harry's name always looked so good up on billboards and the fronts of stadiums. You always used to tell him even the letters of his name were visually pleasing, they looked good together, like they fit. So you stand on the street across the road from tonight's venue and take it in—HARRY STYLES, SOLD OUT—for several minutes.

You don't know that you're ready for this. Seeing him. You've so perfectly avoided it until now. Until you felt like there was a promise you made lifetimes ago you now can't break. Even if you felt like he'd broken a thousand promises between the two points in time.

Where else would I be? you'd said when he first drew that stupid mock ticket.

Where else, indeed.

You scuttle across the street and sneak between people to get yourself in through the doors. Dodging lenders selling merchandise and ticket holders excitedly covering their painstakingly planned outfits with t-shirts Harry—aided by his perfectionism, you were sure— probably spent months deciding on.

The barcode won't scan though. And the usher at the door doesn't appreciate you pulling your phone back and trying to adjust the backlight, as though that will help the loud, angry sound his scanner is making each time he aims it at the email on your screen. He eventually reads part of your email and then tells you that you need to stand off to the side, barks something gruffly into his walkie talkie and dismisses you in favour of getting through the backlog of people behind you. You're filled with a white-hot embarrassment as you shuffle over and stand under a neon EXIT sign. A moment later you step forward and ask him to try again, but that doesn't get you anywhere different, and you think you're going to get in some kind of trouble when he insists Just stand back over there for a moment.

Your feet have already started hurting in your too-tight boots when finally the wall behind you opens up, and you very quickly come face to face with Harry's assistant.

"Y/N," she smiles, "I thought I said in the email to call me when you got here?"

You're dumbstruck, you didn't read the email, not properly. "I … I …"

"It's good to see you again," her smile hasn't moved, and it's genuine. She reaches one hand out towards you and deposits a VIP lanyard around your neck, "Follow me."

You get halfway down the emergency exit, and she sidesteps a security guard through a doorway, leading you into the veins of the backstage area where there's a familiar buzz of busy people you'd not realised you missed being around until now. Your heart is racing because you weren't prepared for this. You'd been deliberately dragging your feet getting here, and you've arrived barely fifteen minutes before Harry's due to go on stage. She's walked you right to the side of the stage where there's a curtain just to your left and scaffolding all around. You can hear the audience, and you know that one step through that curtain will take you to the pit side of the stage, where you'd seen Harry's family stand during shows before.

"He wanted to say hi beforehand but," his assistant looks at her watch, "But it's a touch too close now so are you okay if I leave you here for just a second? I'll be back in …" her eyes go back to her wrist, "Probably about twenty-five?"

"That's fine," you nod dumbly. "Are you sure this okay?"

You're looking around wondering if this is where Harry meant you to be. Really, you're sure this isn't where he intended you to watch his show at all. A few people are milling around but nobody you recognise, and you figure the majority of them are probably venue employees. Harry and his band would only walk through here at the very last second. He didn't like standing around beforehand with anyone who wouldn't be on stage with him. Harry got in his zone and needed to stay there.

When you look back at his assistant she's giving you a look you don't want to read too deeply, but it almost looks like pity, "Of course," she tells you, "I'll be back by the end of the first song."

"I might go stand through here now," you point to the curtain, preferring the thought of standing in the dark by yourself than waiting for Harry to walk straight past you during his thirty-second countdown. "Is that okay?"

You get a nod, and she tells you to grab a drink off the table behind you. Leaving you with your heart rattling and the heaviest lanyard you've ever worn burning through your shirt to your chest.

Finding a spot to watch the show was easy. You picked the furthest side of the pit, under the concrete overhand of the seats above, and stand in the shadows, only half the stage in your line of sight. It felt like a little cave almost, and you lean your back against the cold concrete and tap your boots together on the ground below you.

The area starts filling around you as members of Harry's team finish their part in preparing him for the show. There are a few women wearing belts with makeup brushes and combs peaking out of them, and two familiar faces from Harry's executive team. They don't see you, though, and you're glad. You watch the roadies' torches flash on the dark stage as they neaten up leads and manoeuvre over amp boxes double-checking the guitars are in the right order for the sets.

There's a movement in your periphery that draws your attention back, the group of people who joined you in the pit all gravitating towards something back at the curtain. And it's not until one of them steps to the side that you see the floating head that's poking through the dark material.

Harry.

He's staring right at you: no expression on his face, just his searching, green eyes that stop when they see you standing in the dark as far from him as you can possibly be. He takes half a step forward, and the shoulder of an expensive suit peeks out. You hear in your head echos of a moment in Harry's living room unpacking a delivery from Gucci, the way you nearly choked on your tea at the cost of a tailored trouser and his half frustrated dismissal, 'It's nothing, that's standard for me.' You felt small at that moment, thinking about how one of Harry's suits could pay for your education for a year, and that would be nothing for him.

You feel small now too. This isn't the space you're supposed to occupy.

The shadow of a frown barely cross his features, but then Harry tries to pull his dimples up to give you a small smile. But it's testing, it's not a confident smile or one he looks sure he's giving. Like he's smiling at someone he's not sure will smile back.

There's no way I'll ever do anything else with the band, he'd said.

But that wasn't the biggest lie he'd told, just the most public, the widest.

His deepest, biggest lie was you.

The fourth lie was that he loved you.

Harry was the one to say it first.

It came out like a compliment. A response to a fact of yours he'd particularly liked. A sort of well done, that was a good one.

It was nearly two months since you'd met, and what started as three or four dates a week morphed into you staying at Harry's house most nights. You spending your weekends off work trailing around after him on his errands or to work things, or hanging out alone at his place until he returned from them. A couple of times, you went to the same exercise class, which involved the two of you going separately and not interacting at all. Still, you'd peek at him from across the room and have to hold your giggles for later when Harry spent the hour concentrating beyond anything you'd ever seen just to stay in the seat of the spin bike.

Saturdays and Sundays he started taking off too though, around a month into dating you. No more 6am weekend PT sessions or midday conference calls with creative teams. The only work Harry allowed himself to do on weekends was housework. Laundry. Food prep. Touching base with his mum.

"Did you know blueberries are actually false berries?"

"No, I did not know blueberries are actually false berries," Harry parroted back to you. You catch the half rolling of his eyes at you where you're sitting up in your favourite spot on the bench next to the hob, peering at him keeping careful watch over breakfast: blueberry pancakes. He was wearing just his pants, chest bare and cool in the autumn morning air. You were rugged up in leggings and a sweater, unsure how he could stand being in such a state of undress.

"It's true," you reaffirmed your tidbit, popping a false berry into your mouth while Harry—with far too much concentration for the job at hand—dropped the small round berries on top of the batter sizzling in the pan. "Berries by definition are fleshy, pulpy ovary fruits that have their seeds embedded on the outside. Blueberry seeds are on the inside. So they aren't really berries."

"Ovary fruits?" He questioned, with a look of mild distaste.

Your shoulders dropped as you realised Harry knew less than you thought he did, "All fruit are ovaries, Harry. Think about it."

He does for a moment, and you can practically see the cogs turning. Harry thinking about how fruit grows on their plants and bushes and shrubs. The fact of what an ovary is when it comes to basic anatomy. And when he comes to the full circle of it, he groans, "That is so weird."

"I think it's cool," you grinned. "Like a little bit cannibalistic in a way."

He barked out a laugh at that, "I don't think that's what it is."

"Well, maybe not technically," you conceded, "But it's something … Really makes you rethink eating eggs."

"Oh my god," Harry was truly laughing then, "Stop, please."

"Sorry," you peeped with a cringed look, tossing back half a handful of the small, round fruit in front of you.

He was shaking his head at you, laughter bubbling out between his perfectly straight teeth, and then it just slipped out, "Fuck, I love you."

The words didn't bump over any hesitation. I love you, Harry said.

Your stomach dropped instantly, but the fond happiness dancing across Harry's face didn't go anywhere. He didn't look back at the pancakes or to where your hands were wringing together on your lap. Harry held your gaze and didn't dodge away from what he said at all. Like he knew you'd need a moment with it, that you weren't expecting him to just come out with that.

"I love you," he repeated after a moment, smiling when he saw your lips start to turn up, "I mean it."

Hearing him yell the same words through the microphone from stage sizzles your heart a little, like the pancakes that day crackled in the pan as Harry pushed himself into you on the kitchen floor. You remember the feeling of his hands under your clothes, your leggings barely halfway down your thighs before he was claiming you in a wave of lust, pushed by the new, invisible force in your relationship—love.

The floor under you now vibrates as everyone gets to their feet to join Harry dancing through his first song. You stare at him, daring him to look over at you but knowing he won't. The longer you stand there, the more you thaw out to it, the more you find yourself with a smile on your face and a slight sway to your hips. His music is fun and familiar and feels like clicking into place.

It's mesmerising. He's mesmerising.

You don't like admitting you'd forgotten how good at this he was. He has the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Even his crew around you are grinning ear to ear and singing along. Sharing private jokes between them and cutting dance moves in small groups as they watch the show. It's fun. And it reminds you that so much of your relationship with Harry was like that. That there were countless nights spent dancing in the living room or screaming at laptop screens doing board game nights with his family.

You'd forgotten that you could laugh so hard your belly hurt and that Harry was one of the few people who'd ever been able to get you to that point of joy. Watching him throw joy off the stage now at thousands of people was reminding you how very good Harry was—used to be—at making you feel like the only person in the world to him.

"Babe," his giggles filtered down the hallway and into the bathroom where you were plucking your eyebrows, "Babe! Come … Come see this."

You rolled your eyes as you put the tweezers down and padded into his living room, not at all surprised to see Harry pretzeled on his yoga mat in a fit of laughter. He did this a lot, called you away from a task or from work for something hilarious that ninety-nine per cent of the time wasn't hilarious at all. You'd end up snorting out laughter of your own though, at him.

Now, Harry had one of his feet hooked behind his neck while the other was prostrate on the floor behind him.

"You're doing great, baby," you condescended lightly, tilting your head to the side and frowning at his position. It looked awful and not at all calming, let alone comfortable. He wasn't a very good advertisement for yoga at all.

"They say this one's great for—great for," he giggled too much to get the words out, his arms holding his torso back so his legs would do what he wanted them to, he took a deep breath, "It's meant to be the yoga colonic."

Harry was heaving with laughter as he finally got it out, his position faltered, and you watched as his limbs all fell back to the mat as he leant forward cackling. You were grinning too, amused by how amused he was.

"Been feeling backed up, have you?" You asked him, crossing your arms as you hitch one hip out.

He rolled over on his back and wheezed out the final string of laughter, one hand holding his lower tummy as if it ached from the whole spectacle, as his other hand reached out for your ankle, "Come down here with me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to be unhappy to be dragged down on top of him, your hips resting on his thighs as your chin propped up on your hands at his chest, "It's very entertaining how entertaining you find yourself," you mused.

Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and then settled his hands on your back, breathing in the pleasant weight of you there, "I just—I was thinking about what they think the yoga colonic is going to do." His giggles started again, "Imagine being in a class and it literally working? Everyone just—everyone just shits themselves!"

You can feel his laugher, his bones pushing yours up as his whole body fills with his happiness. The stream of tears coming from the corners of his eyes start again as he squeezed his eyes shut while the sound of Harry's deep, uninhibited laughter filled the whole house again.

The memory brings back a smile, like so many with Harry do.

But there's still the Too Fresh Sting of your final moments with him, your last moments with him. You've not seen him since that evening months ago where you both yapped at each other things that couldn't be unsaid, unhappinesses that couldn't be reverted or unadmitted. It wasn't like the fights you had about Harry's casualised view of money and how he'd drop thousands of pounds on seemingly nothing without thinking how small it could make you feel. Or the times you'd snap in frustration when Harry tuned out of you complaining about an issue with your friends he deemed as superfluous or rooted in something silly or not as essential as the Important Thing He Was Planning. He could be so dismissive when he didn't think something mattered highly enough on his scale of measuring things.

The Harry dancing around on stage in front of you wasn't the man who said you were independent like it was a dirty word. Yelled across the kitchen that it was too easy for the two of you to be apart, you didn't miss him enough. The man who told you he didn't feel like you needed him, thought you were always standing with one foot out the door the whole time you were together. And you can remember being flabbergasted (still are, really) by what he was saying because it just wasn't true at all. You? Too independent? You spent every night at his house, and were at Harry's beck and call the whole relationship. And you can hear all the times you said 'what would I do without you?' when he talked you off a ledge or had answers to questions you believed to be unanswerable.

You can see how it was another classic example of Harry telling a non-truth to cover up what was really there. To distract from his own shortcomings. He accused you of what he was feeling, of his flaws. Making them your problem meant he didn't have to be vulnerable. Didn't have to take a risk his business manager hadn't guaranteed. Didn't have to gamble on your future together.

In the relationship, he always had the upper hand. And maybe you did have one foot out the door emotionally, but that was only because you had to. Harry never invited you in with him completely. You were always on the outer. After nearly a year of dating you were still The Girlfriend He Didn't Have.

But I fucking love you, he'd said when he sensed where that night was going. Like Harry had a list of grievances, and it wasn't until he got to the end of reading them out to you that he realised where it landed him. He told you he loved you as though it would erase all the things about you he seemed to dislike so much. Things about yourself you apparently couldn't see.

Hindsight has taught you that if anyone was too independent, or hesitant to commit fully in that relationship, it was Harry.

Halfway through his set, Harry's assistant comes over to check on you, and you end up chatting for a few minutes about how you've been. She speaks to you like there was some club you were a member of and she missed your meetings. Although neither of you references the breakup, or acknowledge in another life you had a lot more to do with each other, the unspoken things weigh on your chest. You find yourself wiping away a quiet tear when she walks back over to the main group watching Harry.

Of course, that's when he teeters over to your side of the stage and looks straight at you. His expression falls instantly, and you're sure that he only meant to glance at you in passing, but what he sees has him doing a double-take and fixing his gaze on you for two lines of the song he's midway through. He tugs on the collar of his shirt and Harry's eyes are desperately trying to read what you're thinking, just like that day he told you he loved you at the end of the breakup, as though you'd forget everything that came before it.

You stick your thumb out to him and give him your best fake smile. Like he might be led to believe you were crying about something else. As if you hadn't just pulled his attention from a room full of people who'd paid for his attention tonight. At that moment you think the fact there's a secret love and life between you must be too obvious to everyone else. There's a connection, something whirls around the room between you and it feels threatening and perilous to how you've been trained to think things have to be.

You wait until Harry turns and goes the other way across the stage before you push off from the wall and walk out.

At first, love was an encouragement between you. It was approval, a showing of appreciation. Love was a promise that was just for the two of you. A declaration that validated everything you were doing together. Love was a feeling that proved what every action meant.

Then, love was a bandaid, was a line used in desperation to fix something unfixable, and you walk the world with skun knees now because of it. Love was never just love. It was used to fix the wrong things.

And in the end, nothing healed at all.

The fifth lie was that he'd always fight for you.

Harry promised you that the two of you would make it work.

You'd make up after every argument, big or small. The little ones that were those tiny bickerings in the car which somehow roared into yelling matches. Or when one person's grumpiness from the day leaked into your evening together. You always expected his call or the long sigh that would precede his apology. You never got halfway home to your house if you left his after a row. He'd call and beg for you to come back, that nothing was worth you physically leaving being near him. You left knowing before the night was done the two of you would reconcile.

Until it was That Fight you were leaving after. The one that began The End.

It started because Harry was overseas for a few weeks. While he was away, you suggested the two of you going on a holiday together during the summer. An anniversary trip. From the other side of the world, it was easy enough for Harry to worm his way of out of it. He went off on a tangent about there being no holidays (rest) for the wicked and then got you talking about something else until you forgot how you'd been sold on the idea of lying on a beach with him for a week.

When Harry got home, you had it stored in an unhappy little pocket in your mind. Top of the agenda for when he returned.

"Can we talk about the holiday thing again?" You asked his first night home.

He sighed against you, his body gearing up for a reunion that didn't involve speaking, lips attached to your neck while his hands danced around the band of your bra, "Do we have to right now?"

"Well," your instinct was to back away from the tension rising between you, "I'd like to."

Harry pushed his hair up off his face and briefly looked at the ceiling, "I don't see how we can, babe. It's too hard, logistically. Just take a week off work and stay with me here."

"I already stay here," you counter, "I'm talking about a holiday somewhere. A beach. Or a ski resort. Something fun and different."

"Those places are all busy," Harry complained, his hands off you. He started to pack the dishwasher from dinner.

"I just want to go away with you, do something normal, you know?"

He clipped the side of the sink with a dinner plate and swore angrily under his breath, "Fuck."

"Don't get angry."

"I'm not fucking angry," he growled, tossing your forks into the plastic crate, "I just fucking got home, and you're straight into this. No 'I missed you so much' or 'It's so great to see you'… Just straight into going on a holiday as if I have endless time to mess about."

"What do you mean? We've just eaten dinner together, you told me all about your trip. I said I was happy to have you home!"

"Yeah, well, feels like you just don't give a fuck that I'm back."

You frowned at him starting to get annoyed yourself, "I cried on our FaceTime call on the weekend because I missed you! You have a lobotomy since then?"

"Don't yell," Harry instructed quietly like he was chastising a child for not controlling themselves.

"What's this about, Harry?" You asked. "Why is it such a crime for me to want to go away with my boyfriend?"

He sighed again, "It's not."

"Right," you crossed your arms over your chest and wondered how many times he could wipe down the chopping board.

Probably one more time.

"So …"

"So what?" Harry repeated, "What do you want from me?"

His words and their harshness shocked you, and that was the exact moment you started worrying this was going to turn into Something Else. Not just a Normal Fight.

"I want you to tell me why you're so annoyed by this?"

It would have been so easy for you to break down and scream about how insane it was that you were talking about celebrating your first anniversary with him and the relationship was still a secret. How badly you wanted to throw that out there, but there was a wise fear in you which said that would be a death wish. (That fact haunts you today, how you knew he'd never step out with you. There wasn't any hope in you or promise from him it wouldn't always be that way. You knew your place and where the boundary line was, don't push past this point. And you always behaved. Never peeped out of your box.)

"It's like you don't even need me," Harry said bitterly, "You're so fucking independent. What's the point?"

"What are you talking about?" You gushed, nearly swallowing your tongue when he turned back to look at you for the first time.

"You don't need me," he accused, "You've always got one foot out the door."

"I don't," came your defence, but you both knew it was the truth. You were halfway out the door because you hadn't been invited all the way in yet.

"You don't want this life with me," Harry shook his head, "You've never been happy where we are. Relationships don't work that way, you can't just keep demanding the same thing hoping you'll wear me down. That's not fair."

Tears shake out of your eyes slowly as your body catches up with what he's saying, "Harry."

"It's not fair!" He repeated loudly. "You can't keep on about it."

About what? You want to ask him because you hadn't mentioned a holiday until the week before. That's not what he was really angry about. He was talking about The Secret. And his guilt was showing. His anger was misdirected, aimed at the wrong thing. He muttered something to himself you didn't hear.

"I didn't hear that."

"I said," Harry looked up at you, and when your eyes clicked together you saw surprise rise and then quickly disappear as if he hadn't expected to see you there. "I said, I don't think we can keep doing this."

"You don't think we can keep doing this?" You repeated it because the words hardly sounded like English the first time you heard them.

I don't think we can keep doing this.

Harry stood across from you with no expression on his face. And it took a few moments for him to own up to what he said, but he does. He nods his head once, awkwardly, and then nods again.

"We can't keep doing this," he tells you, sounding defeated, and then his voice rises again—in pitch, not in volume—"But I fucking love you!"

But I fucking love you.

As if that was enough.

It was days of you expecting a call, and a make up that never came. Expecting the fight for your relationship Harry promised you he'd always put up. You wanted him to prove that you were someone he couldn't do without. You hated the thought of him walking around his house and not feeling the absence of you as some impossible weight he couldn't bear.

"Y/N!" Your name sounds out behind you, but you keep walking, an instantaneous decision that pretending not to hear her might work.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

Harry's assistant keeps chasing you down the hall she initially led you through, calling your name and eventually getting you to stop and turn around because, well, you can't keep pretending she's not there forever.

"I'm just finding a loo," you lie.

"There's one this way," she points over her shoulder, in the direction you both came from, "Harry said if you tried to leave I had to go with you, which, for my own dignity I'd really prefer not to have to do."

You find yourself scoffing, "Who said he's in charge of how long I stay?"

Her expression softens somewhat, "He just wants to see you after."

How dare he think he can control this still, you think.

You know she's not the person to be frustrated with. You should be frustrated with yourself first, for coming, and then with Harry for deciding he could orchestrate this … This whatever it was. Still, you find yourself biting out your reply, "He saw me from stage," you tell her bitterly.

"And he'll have seen that you're not there anymore," she replies patiently,, "It'll throw off his focus if he's worried you've gone home halfway through."

You fall into step beside her but can't give him the win, "Quite frankly, it's not my concern or responsibility anymore if his focus is thrown or not."

She wordlessly points out where the bathrooms are just in front of you. You're trying not to make eye contact with anyone who's in these backstage hallways. They feel like ghosts from a life that's not yours anymore.

The first time you met any of Harry's People you'd felt absolutely mortified. The whole thing felt awkward to you, meeting assistants and managers and creative directors. Putting faces and humans to jobs done for Harry. He was a lot of people's boss, and it made you uncomfortable because you'd not seen that side to him before. You knew things like how hot he liked his showers and what yogurt he liked on his muesli in the morning.

That first—and only—step into his professional world, was in a venue just like this one where Harry was filming a music video for a few days. The stage was set up like it was for live a show, and you overheard someone saying setting up for a shoot was more involved than for an actual performance. Harry wanted you to see what this part of his world looked like and despite them not fitting in either of the Friends or Family categories you'd laid out for People Allowed To Know About You, his "Team" were people Harry felt safe introducing to you. (NDAs were a powerful thing) He led you through the hallways by the hand and stuck his head into every room with a cheery, 'Hullo, just bringing Y/N around to meet everyone.'

You remember one person declaring they were happy to be meeting you. Harry was too young to be married to his job, they said with a relieved tone, That it was good he'd found his Someone. Harry beamed at that, looking down at you as if thinking, Yeah, I have found my Someone.

Now you stand back in the pit side of stage, and Harry looks down at you with a hesitation that makes you more uncomfortable than when you were watching him film that music video. His assistant has brought you back to where his team are standing, and you feel more than one set of eyes take stock of you returning, a shared glance between a manager and the girl shadowing you. A wide-eyed exchange that says, That was the last thing we needed. When Harry comes to the side of stage between songs, he's hunting for a bottle of water, but you can see he's come to that side because his eyes are focused on hunting for you.

When he sees you've returned, he slowly takes a sip of water, eyes not leaving yours. You feel like he's admonishing you in his head, seeing how weak you were, that you ran away after a little eye contact. There's a distaste there, you think, and as he's putting the cap back on the bottle, Harry opens his mouth like he's going to try to say something to you, but he stops. He frowns at his hands as he puts the bottle down and then turns away, bringing the microphone back up to his lips and slipping back into entertainer mode.

"In a lot of ways, I hate this next song," he starts slowly, speaking over the band as they begin to slow down the tempo of the night. A smoke machine whirls to life and pumps out a few big clouds, shrouding the stage behind Harry. "I really hate it."

He pauses. And your insides freeze in your chest. You're hanging off his every word, just like every other body in the room. Harry stands right on the front of the stage, toes almost touching the drop off. He's looking out at the audience and lets the microphone hang at his side. Makes no move to keep talking. Was he looking for someone out there, or was he running over what he was about to say in his head? Rehearsing it, making sure it was exactly what needed to be said.

Where you used to see thoughtfulness you now see calculation.

Give nothing away. Sell only the product. Push the song. Let people come to their own conclusions.

"This is a song about," he says carefully, a crack to his voice that sends adrenaline shooting straight down your legs, "About regretting that you've hurt someone. And about the helplessness of wishing you could make them forget what you said, but … Knowing you can't take it back."

You watched Harry trail around to the upright piano on stage and sit himself down on the stool. He stares at his hands hovering over the keys for a moment too long, but you're sure Harry's audience would let him take a hundred more. You see what perhaps they don't—the hesitation. You'd witnessed it enough to spot it, even across the stage in the dark from thirty feet away.

He's not sure about playing the song.

You think about contacting him by telepathy. Saying, I'll leave so you can go back to your show. You don't have to pretend I'm not here, I'll just go. Like I wanted to. Like I tried to.

But he plays it.

You've not heard it before, but the rest of the room has, and they sing along with him. You hear a couple of thousand people sing with your ex-boyfriend about him regretting the way he treated you. And you're almost able to talk yourself out of believing it's about you, you can nearly reason with yourself that it's kind of vague. Other than naming the cafe he'd sat in the car park of a hundred times waiting for you to return with a takeaway, it could be about anyone, really.

But he sings out a line and looks straight at you, and his eyes say it's yours. The song. The apology that's not been said yet.

I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.

His voice cracks again as he sings it. And the hurt part of you says it's just a vocal technique Harry's trained to call on at any time. It doesn't speak to anything other than a creative choice on his part. But the vulnerability is hard to ignore, the low hanging, remorseful unease in the room. He fumbles a string of notes on the piano as he sings and you're hit by the overwhelming need to make him stop.

Witnessing whatever he's currently feeling with this song is more uncomfortable than you've ever been, and a switch in you to protect him flicks on. You look around at his assistant, his manager, trying to see if there's even a hint of anyone else feeling like this moment needs an intervention, needs to be stopped.

The song ends. And you're glad.

Harry takes a few moments on stage to get ready with a guitar for the next song. He doesn't come over to your side of the stage for a drink, or to ask the roadies for anything. Instead, he flies straight into the next section of the set. Seemingly recovered from the heavy moment you felt as though you nearly drowned in. He'd never sung about you before.

Nothing remotely personal about your relationship ever left Harry's house.

And you find yourself wishing it would all just go back there.

The sixth lie was that he wouldn't break your heart.

Harry did though.

He broke your whole life.

So when he comes off stage at the end of his gig, there's little in you that wants to hang around. As soon as the lights go down and you see Harry's silhouette cross the back of the stage and hop down the stairs to the floor, your gut churns, and you wish you were one of the people in the rest of the venue. The ones now turning and slowly filing out of the building. Going back to their lives peacefully.

Instead, you're ushered behind the curtain again, into the small area that's immediately buzzing with life. You watch Harry as if he's moving in slow motion though. As soon as his boots hit the concrete floor somebody is tugging the suit jacket from his shoulders and swapping it for a grey hand towel that he uses to wipe down his face. His hand pushes his hair up over his head as he smiles at a handful of people, and then his eyes find yours. The smile drops, and he takes a steadying breath in.

"Y/N," he says loudly. Straight. Without expression. It's a statement, but also you sense a question there too. As if you might not turn out to be the person who was standing there. He holds your gaze over and through the people walking around and in front of him. He's handed a bottle of water and offered a second one which he takes, "Y/N," he says again, pulling his head back to beckon you over.

You roll your lips together when you've made it to the vacant space in front of him. Harry passes you the extra water bottle and cracks the lid off the one he keeps for himself. You grip yours with both hands but don't make any move to open it. Standing in front of him didn’t feel like you thought it would. It’s less of a kick I in the gut, and more a reinforcing of things that you’d figured out since being without him.

"Hi," he says hesitantly, briefly looking at someone behind your left shoulder. Then, you feel his eyes back on your face.

You speak to his forehead, not ready to have things inside you unlocked by eye contact, "Hello."

"This way," Harry says after a moment, running the towel down his sweaty face again.

He leads you down a hallway, wiping his face on the towel two more times as he walks. Harry continuously looks over his shoulder at you to make sure you're still following him, as if there was somewhere for you to hide in the concrete hallway. When he gets to his dressing room door, he kicks it open and holds his arm out to let you in first. The room smells like his cologne, a whiff of his final moments before going out on stage and a time portal back to mornings you'd spritz it on yourself before leaving the house, it was your scent then too. There was a small sofa and table, a long mirrored table with his laptop open next to a stack of papers, his screen saver bouncing back and white photos across the locked screen. His overnight bag and its contents were sprawled out over the floor in the corner next to where you can see his phone charging.

"You look good," is the first thing he says to you. Trying to pull your attention probably. Maybe hoping to get on the front foot charming you. You could tell him he looked good as well, particularly in the cream suit they had him in tonight, but you were sure there were no shortage of people who already had.

"Your show was good," you deflect away from the personal, eyes tracing the bottles in the corner of the table, "Great setlist."

"Needs a shakeup, if we're honest. Getting stale," Harry shrugs, and you see it in the mirrored wall. He's still standing by the closed door, watching you walk into the centre of the room and take stock of what's around you. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

Harry coughs uncomfortably, "Thanks for coming, wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either."

You sense Harry realising this conversation was going to be exactly as difficult as feared it might be, he nods his head and moves over to the sofa but doesn't sit down, "Did you want a seat?"

"I'll sit here," you perch yourself on the chair in front of his laptop, crossing one leg over the other and hitching your elbow at the back so you're facing Harry. Keeping the room between you.

Harry sits on the arm of the small, burgundy sofa, and tosses the towel onto the seat next to him, "Looked like you were a little upset there for a moment."

"My boots are new," you quip, kicking your top foot out towards him, "Blisters."

He sighs again, and you start to feel chastised, but there's a more substantial part of you that stubbornly bunkers on down to playing this role, taking power when you'd never had it with Harry before. He knew it wasn’t blisters that had emotion welling up in you during his set. But just the same it wasn’t his place anymore to be privy to your feelings. And you weren’t going to let him gallantly try to take it. You weren’t old friends who could pick up where you left off. You were broken lovers.

"I just thought we could do with talking," Harry says finally.

"You could have uninvited me, you know, I assumed—Well, it's not like I've been expecting to still attend any of your shows the last six months. This one didn't have to be different."

He almost looks hurt, "You live here."

"How was Italy, Harry?” you turn the conversation around abruptly because you didn't like where it was going, and he was starting to frustrate you. You didn’t need him pointing out you lived in this city alone now since he left. As if you didn’t know.

Where watching him on stage hit you with longing and heartbreak, memories you found yourself irrevocably attached to, being in the same room as him now is only making you see the real Harry. The one who's so good at rearranging the energy in the room to make you feel you need to give more of yourself. The one who's an expert at asking a leading question and relying on the other person to be vulnerable first, lead the charge out the gates.

The man who lied to hide you every day for nearly a year, even when it was hurting you more than protecting you. The hurt from him was worse than the invasion of your privacy would have be. The distrust you felt didn't counteract the security you were still afforded by anonymity. The way you felt you still had something to prove—something to earn from him—and that you just needed to earn the right to your place in Harry's life.

"I've missed you," he said finally, "Just …"

"You've been lonely?" You raise your eyebrows at him.

"What?" Harry's defences click into place, "No, it's not that—obviously yes, I've been lonely—but also I just—I miss you."

You start nodding, and your gaze drifts around the room, "Yeah, I … What exactly do you miss, Harry? Because—I mean, it was kind of shit, don't you think?"

"Shit?" he looks horrified, "What was shit?"

"Harry," you say simply, telling him to cut the bullshit with your expression. "Come on."

"I loved you," he declares loudly, proudly, “We had a great time together. I don't think it was kind of shit at all."

That's when you feel tears come to your eyes. Of course he didn't think it was shit. He still didn't see where the problem was. Couldn't see it. He would go right back to That Fight and keep going the way you had been if he could. Harry would keep living that life with you, he would have kept on going the same way. You'd still be the secret. A fight about a holiday would have resolved itself with compromise and make-up sex, and you would have gone right back to sneaking out of venues and pretending not to know him in crowded rooms.

Your lips turn up in a smile of sorts as your tears beg to fall but don't, "You haven't changed," you state with a small, incredulous laugh, "You've not figured it out. Nothing's changed," you repeat, shaking your head.

Harry's confusion is plain, and if he thought your tears were because you miss him there's something like a flicker of doubt, as if he's reading what's in front of him again and maybe getting a different story.

"You can't have a life with someone who doesn't want anyone to know you're in their life," you state simply.

And that was it, really. That was the nuts and bolts of it.

The secrecy eroded any meaning your relationship with Harry had. The doubt that cast. The burden on you to continually prove yourself, to audition for the role every day only to never graduate from understudy.

You watch Harry's throat constrict tightly as he thinks about the words that come from his mouth, "I loved you," he repeats, "I didn't want anything outside of us to fuck us up."

"You can't control the world that way, Harry," you're observing him carefully, "You definitely can't control people that way. I get why we started that way, but a year in, Harry? A year."

He looks at his feet, and it's the first bit of remorse you've ever seen him show over it.

"I know you loved me," you keep going, "But you can't use that as some bandaid for the lying, for the hurt that was. You can't erase the consequences because you thought you were protecting me or us or yourself. The truth doesn't cancel out the hurt of the lie."

Harry's still starring at his boots, "You could have said something."

You blink once.

"Fuck you," bursts out before you can stop it, and Harry's eyes snap up to yours, you laugh at his nerve and rise to your feet, "Fuck you, Harry. I couldn't have. I felt like I had to earn it. Like maybe I was one gold star away from getting there. And then when I did push it, you ended it."

"That's not—

"—It is," you insist, shaking your head at him, "You put all your insecurities and shortcomings on me and then had the nerve to tell me you loved me as if I was the defective cog in the wheel. As if you saying you loved me put all the onus on me spoiling it."

"I'm a private person—

You put your hand up to silence him, turning on your heel to face Harry as your pacing halts, "Stop. I don't … I don't care," you breathe out simply, "I really don't. Our relationship wasn't The One. It's one we'll both learn from for the ones that are coming. I hope you learn from it," you add quietly, "Because I have."

"Y/N," Harry says your name like it's an idea he's unsure of.

"That song wasn't about me, was it?" You ask because on stage he said it was about regretting hurting someone and there's been no hint of a 'sorry' from Harry since.

His brow creased, "It is. I am. I wanted you to hear me play it tonight. It's for you."

You smile, the idea that you've grown beyond this situation blooming inside you, "You've not said it."

"What?"

"You haven't said you're sorry," your head shakes again, a fresh wave of your new perfume—the one that's just yours—filling your nose, "You've said you missed me. And that I look good, but you've not said you're sorry. You can put an apology into the song on stage, but you can't admit you were wrong to the person you wrote the song about."

His shoulders sink, just the slightest amount, and you know that you've seen enough. You've said enough. He's not going to have an epiphany on this, not in this conversation with you. You've gone as far as you can with this. As far as you're willing to.

"I'm going to go," you take a step forward, "Thanks for the song, your voice sounded really nice on it."

And you walk passed him with just a final wave and the slightest touch to his shoulder. He doesn't move from his seated position, but his neck cranes and he watches you leave. Eyes hunting your back for answers, like the manuscript for what just happened might show up there. But it doesn't, and you slip out the door, the clip from your shoes fading from his hearing quicker than he wanted it to.

Your insides are shaking by the time you make it out onto the street. No part of you wants to turn back and look up at his name in lights again. You're done with seeing the best of everything in him. Harry's one of the shitty boyfriends you'll tell someone about one day in the future, and they'll call him a dickhead with anger dripping from their tongue, promising to never treat you the same way.

And they won't.

You'll both have bumped and bruised your way into each other's lives, and there'll be a satisfying click with them there wasn't with anyone else. You'll have journeyed through all the maybes and not-quites, and you'll land in that forever place with the person who wears the badge of Yours with a fervour nobody before them has.

And Harry … You'll go and be Nothing to Him.

My inbox is here

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kookicat · 4 years ago

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The Macaron Job

I'm a damned idiot, Eliot thinks and scowls at the sheeting rain outside the kitchen window. It's a horrible damp day, the sort that turns his hair into a curly mess that defies even the hottest flat iron, and he's making macarons. They're never going to dry, he thinks and pokes the closest one with a clean fingertip, scowl deepening as the mix sticks to his skin.

It wasn't like there were a million other, more rainy day compatible things he could have made. Like brown butter and oatmeal cookies. Or madeleines. Or lemon and poppy seed muffins, with a lemon glaze, sweet and sharp. Or an apple pie, rich and golden and spiked with cinnamon. Or even sugar cookies.

But Parker had asked for French macarons, and he's never been able to say no to the women, especially when Sophie gets in on the act. So he's stuck in the kitchen, babysitting a sheet pan of macarons that are stubbornly refusing to form any sort of skin. They're never going to work, he thinks and sighs, pulling out the ingredients to make a batch of sugar cookies, just in case, letting his hands fall into the familiar actions while his mind wanders, pondering what else he wants to add to his newly established kitchen garden.

It's another part of himself that he's reclaimed, once he'd committed to the team, and it had taken him a while to get comfortable with his hands in the dirt again, but damn, it was nice to replace the old blood on his hands with warm, fragrant soil, capable of giving life rather than taking it. Parker had caught on first, bugging him with questions about what the plants did until he got his first harvest of peas and squash and carrots and tomatoes, turning them into something they could eat, remembering exactly how at peace he'd felt, sitting down at the table to eat a meal he'd produced in more ways than one.

He glances at the tray of macarons again, feeling irritation niggle at him when they still aren't set. The sugar cookie dough forms a neat ball under his hands and he shapes it into a log, wrapping it in plastic and slipping it in the fridge to chill, trying to ignore the urge to glare at the macarons. Like that'll make them set faster, he thinks and has to laugh at himself, just a little. Truth be told, there's not many other places he'd rather be on a rainy day than his kitchen, even if he is stuck with the least rainy day friendly bake ever.

Quiet footsteps head towards the kitchen and he keeps his back to the door, deliberately, ignoring the prickle between his shoulders that he still can't quite shake. He trusts them with his life and his soul and his sanity, but bone deep instincts aren't so easy to turn off. "They're not done yet," he says when the steps transfer from wood to the tile floor in the kitchen, knowing as good as he was, he wouldn't have heard her if she didn't want him to, because the woman was like a damn cat, all liquid grace and soft steps.

"They didn't take this long last time," she complains, boosting herself onto the counter and reaching around him to steal a crumb of sugar cookie dough from the big copper mixing bowl.

Eliot tucks a curly strand of hair behind his ear and glances at the window, where the rain has become even worse, pouring down in a way that makes him wonder idly if they need to start building an arc. Hardison would hate that, he thinks, all those animals to manage and manages not to grin too widely. "Last time it wasn't pouring with rain," he says, and lifts an eyebrow at her when she frowns.

She sneaks another scrap of cookie dough, chewing thoughtfully. "That makes a difference?"

"Sure." He crosses his arms, resisting the urge to poke the damned macarons again, and leans back against the cabinet. "It's baking, Parker. Everything makes a difference." There's a thread of wry, amused annoyance in his voice. Sometimes the strict measurements, the recipes that have to be followed to the letter, the exacting nature of baking are exactly what he needs, letting him lose himself in the details, pushing back the memories for just a little while longer. It's almost like meditation, steps he knows like the notes of an old, familiar song. And sometimes, he wants the opposite, wants to grab ingredients by instinct to create something entirely new, something fresh and exciting and his in a way that baking never quite captures.

"How do you know when they're ready?" she leans over, bumping shoulders with him, close enough that her hair brushes his cheek, nibbling on the last scrap of dough.

"You're going to get a stomach ache," he mutters absently, tapping the closest macaron round with his pointer finger. "They're ready for baking when they don't stick to your fingers."

It doesn't, to his surprise, and he lifts the tray, sliding it into the pre-heated oven. There's dark chocolate ganache chilling in the fridge and he pulls the bowl out, setting it on the counter to warm, pretending not to see Parker steal a spoonful as he turns away to stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. He turns back and has to smother a grin, because she has chocolate on her cheek and an overly innocent expression on her face.

"Is that nice?" he asks, biting the inside of his lip to keep a straight face.

She blinks at him, idly swinging her legs, taking care not to thump her boots into the cupboard door. "I don't know what you mean!" she says and he laughs, tossing a dish towel at her.

"You have ganache on your face," he says and she swipes it away.

The timer beeps and he silences it, turning the sheet pan around in the oven so everything bakes evenly. He grabs a piping bag and gives the ganache a stir, handing the spoon to Parker while he fills the bag. The kitchen smells safe, like good vanilla and sugar and chocolate and combined with the pouring rain it's making him feel relaxed, tranquil, almost sleepy in a way that's rare for him. He leans against the counter again, letting the comfortable silence stretch its legs, half an eye on the window, watching the water run down the glass.

"You could have said no, you know," Parker says suddenly, softly and he grunts as he ponders his answer.

"I know," he starts, and shrugs. "I didn't want to say no."

"Oh," she says, frowning like she's missed something and normally, he wouldn't have the words to explain it to her, but it's different somehow, in the warm kitchen and he shifts his weight a little, glancing at the timer before he starts talking.

"I wanted to," he shrugs, "For a long time, all I did was destroy stuff. People, mostly." The words sting more than he expects coming out and he pauses, clearing his throat, taking the time to figure out what he wants to say next. "I was finding my way back from that when we did that first job, but I still had a ways to go. Creating rather than destroying helps." The words are sticking in his brain and he scratches his jaw, meeting her eyes, seeing understanding there, feeling the echo of another conversation like this. "You never expect me to give more than I can." He lifts a hand, gestures vaguely at the kitchen. "This, I can give. So, yes, I could have said no, but I didn't want to." The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile. "Even if you did ask for macarons on the worst possible day to make them."

"You like them too," she protests, knowing that she's not the only one in the room with a sweet tooth. Eliot just hides his better, but she's never seen him turn down a donut yet.

"I do," he agrees easily and shoves his hair back again. The humidity means it wants to fall in his face and his last two hair ties had mysteriously vanished. I'd order more, if I didn't think a quick sweep of the brew pub would turn up a dozen, he thinks. With three of them using them, the damn things seem to grow legs.

"Here," Parker says and offers him a hair tie.

He takes it, pretty sure it had started out life as one of his to begin with and puts his hair up, washing his hands just as the timer starts to beep. He turns off the tap and dries his hands as Parker silences the alarm, grabbing a dry dish towel before he pulls the sheet pan out of the oven.

They're not his best batch ever - some are more oval than round, and he's enough of a perfectionist to find that annoying, but they smell great and he sets the sheet pan down on the cooling rack.

"How soon can we eat them?" Parker asks and he swats her hand away as she reaches for one.

"They're hot," he says absently, before he remembers that he's talking to Parker and she seems to spend a quarter of her life in places where anyone else would find the heat unbearable. "Let them cool, or they'll break when you move them," he adds. "It shouldn't take long."

The kitchen is cool and he knows from experience that the macarons will be cold enough to handle pretty quickly. He just needs to distract Parker until that point.

"There's sugar cookie dough in the fridge. We can shape those while these cool," he suggests and she brightens.

"Can we make dinosaurs?" she asks, seeming to bounce on the spot without actually moving.

"No," he says, because sugar cookies should be round and he's pretty sure the dinosaur cutters found a new home, far away from his kitchen.

She frowns. "Animals then."

He pulls the dough out of the fridge and sets it next to the ganache while he preps another sheet pan. "No," he says, because he's fairly sure the animal cutters went to live on the same farm as the dinosaurs. "Rounds are fine."

"You're no fun," she grumps and frowns at him, seeing the quirk in his lip that means he's secretly amused and not buying her act at all.

"I made you two types of cookie," he protests, and reaches into the cupboard on the wall, pulling out a new blend of sprinkles. They're less lurid than her usual pick, but they're also dyed with natural extracts and not chemicals he can't pronounce and so he figures it's a decent trade off.

"Ooh, sprinkles!" Parker says, grinning at him. "Sprinkles are fun."

He cuts the log of cookie dough into neat, even slices and arranges them on the tray, reaching over to turn the oven up, wondering what to defrost for dinner. It's just him and Parker, for a change, because Nate and Sophie have a table booked at a fancy new restaurant and Hardison is at some game thing with his friends. Eliot doesn't rate the new restaurant - the menu is overly complicated, and he knows enough about Hardison's game nights to know he'll come home stuffed with enough cheap pizza, orange soda and gummy frogs to fuel a small army for a week. Parker would be quite happy with a bowl of whatever luridly coloured cereal she'd latched onto for the week, but Eliot is craving something rich and warming and comforting, because the weather shows no sign of improving. There's a ragu sauce in the freezer and he pulls it out, setting it aside to defrost, knowing there's fresh pasta in the fridge and homemade dinner rolls in the bread bin.

Parker is rifling in the drawer next to her knees and pulls out a star shaped cutter. "Stars?" she says and waves it at him.

"Fine," he says, and rolls his eyes. "Make half of them stars."

She hops down and crosses to the sink to wash her hands, humming happily as she desecrates half of his perfectly round cookies. He sighs and presses the scraps together, wrapping them in plastic and dumping them in the fridge for later. The cookies will be a little tough, but that's nothing a glass of milk can't solve.

The oven beeps to let him know it's reached temp, and he slides the cookie pan in, checking the macarons and finding them nicely cool. "You wanna fill these?" he asks as he gathers the stuff he needs for a simple glaze for the sugar cookies. "Just don't eat all of them," he warns as she takes the piping bag from his hands.

It's the sort of kitchen task she's good at, hands that can crack a safe in seconds graceful as she works the piping bag. Piping makes his hands and wrists ache - he's broken too much stuff for there not to be consequences- so he's glad she took to it so readily.

They work in comfortable silence as he sets the ragu sauce in a pan over a low flame to defrost and adds pasta to a second pan- fettuccine, not the one of the random bags of shaped pasta that keep appearing in his kitchen. He'd opened the cupboard and found pasta pandas a few weeks ago and wondered seriously if he'd taken one too many blows to the skull before Hardison claimed them.

The glaze for the cookies comes together easily under his hands and he pours it into another piping bag to keep it from setting while they wait for the cookies to bake. There's lemon juice in it, to offset the sweetness of the cookies and for some reason, the combination reminds him of the team, all distinctive parts that come together to be better than they ever could be alone.

He has nothing else to do for the moment and so turns to watch Parker as she finishes off the last few macarons, piping a neat dot of ganache on one before adding a second on top. There's a new smear of chocolate over her top lip and he reckons more than one has made its way into her stomach.

There's an odd macaron left and she offers it to him. "They're really good," she says, around the bite in her mouth. "Is there a secret ingredient? What is it?"

Love, he thinks and takes the macaron, knowing he's smiling again. "Now that would be telling," he says instead.

#leverage #eliot spencer #fanfic #parker #Fluff #Eliot bakes #Domestic!Eliot #Yes I know the formatting is off but it's 3am and I'll fix it tomorrow

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angelmush · 3 years ago

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someone asked 4 my eggs benedict recipe so im gna write it out 4 u!

eggs benedict w thick cut ham

so i’ll preface this by saying i was making this on my birthday 4 my whole family + we wanted leftovers, so this probably made around 8 servings! feel free 2 decrease that lol.

first i filled up a big pot of water and set it up to simmer on the stove. i used 8 eggs for this step, and cracked them one by one into an empty bowl. one by one i slipped each egg into the pot of water, swirling GENTLY with a large slotted spoon to make sure they cook evenly. i cooked them about 4 minutes until they were setting but still runny. i gingerly transferred them to a paper towel to dry off until the rest of the components were completed.

then i made the hollandaise sauce! i started by heating 2.5 sticks of unsalted butter in a saucepan on low heat. i set aside about a quarter cup of melted butter and transfered the rest to a liquid measuring cup. i blended 3 egg yolks and 3 tbps lemon juice in a blender. w the blender still running, i streamed in the butter in the liquid measuring cup slowly until sauce was thick and light yellow. i added salt to taste + a generous shake of cayenne pepper (u can also thin it out w water or lemon juice at this point if ur sauce is 2 thick). adjust 4 seasoning + make sure the salt, fat, + acidity r balanced. add more of anything that feels lacking, the sauce is the most important part!

i sliced 8 english muffins and arranged them on baking sheets. i preheated the oven to 450 degrees and brushed them w the remaining melted butter. i toasted them until golden brown (around 5 minutes). also now is the time to heat up ur protein of choice! for this i used some leftover ham we had in the fridge from a dinner and sliced it really thick and heated it up in a skillet. but canadian bacon is delicious, regular bacon is delicious, lox (unheated lol) is delicious. use what u have!

i placed my protein on the bottom of my toasted english muffin. then i placed the poached eggs on top of tha. i cracked some salt + pepper on the eggs, spooned sauce over the top, + topped w fresh herbs of ur choice (i had parsely in the fridge but i feel like chives would be the move here)!

enjoy!

#recipe #eggs benedict #recovery

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years ago

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Sub Rosa [101]

101. including bellamy (the epilogue)

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 18.6k

Warnings: angst, death, anxiety, pregnancy/birth (and maybe it's not the most factual but so what), lots of fluff and happiness, mentions of blood, smut, nausea and puking, language.

Summary: the last update of sub rosa takes you through some moments of your life with bellamy after you reject transcendence.

a/n: this is it you guys! see the end for my final sub rosa author’s note!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

24 hours after Transcendence

You stand at the door of the bunker, staring into the darkness, trying to talk yourself into going inside.

But you can't bring yourself to do it, because that makes all of this real, and you don't want to accept that.

As you try to psych yourself up, you feel a hand slip into your own, and you turn to face Bellamy, a sympathetic smile on his face. “You don't have to go in. Murphy and I can get it done without you.”

You shake your head, thankful for the offer, but well aware that you can't accept it. “No, I need to do this. Gabriel deserves to have a proper burial. We couldn't do it for Diyoza or Kane or my mother, so I need this. I have to see this through.”

Bellamy nods, understanding. “We can wait as long as you like.”

You put on a brave face, looking up at your fiance. “I got this.”

And then you step inside.

You lead Murphy and Bellamy back to the rec room, where Gabriel’s body remains, untouched since you all left him there to save Madi. Bellamy helps you change him into clean clothes, unstained by blood, something more akin to what he’d usually wear. You also clean the blood from his face, and by the end, it’s easy for you to pretend that he’s just sleeping. That Gabriel Santiago is not dead, he’s just taking a long nap. In a few minutes, he’ll jump up, ready for dinner, cracking some joke about being ready to eat, even when he’s sleeping.

Of course, that isn't the reality. And once you're ready, Murphy and Bellamy load him onto a stretcher and carry him out of the bunker, out into the woods where the others are standing beside a grave that is already dug and waiting. On your way out, your eyes land on the piano, black blood staining some of the white keys. You pause and stare at it, Gabriel’s cup of alcohol still sitting on the edge, right where he left it before he was stabbed. You feel yourself start to choke up, and you step away from the piano, intending to join the others outside when something catches your eye. A sheet of music beside the others, a familiar scrawl in the corner.

You reach out and pick it up, tears springing to your eyes when you read the title of the song.

Clair de lune.

And off to the side, framed by music notes, is a message. One line, simple, but it’s enough to make you cry again.

For mi cielito.

You hear a sound out in the hall and you grab the sheet of music, swiping away your tears as you fold it into quarters and tuck it into your pocket, running outside to join the others.

There are no dry eyes as Gabriel is lowered into the ground, and you all collectively say one last Traveler’s Blessing for him, mourning the loss of your friend and family. Everyone whispers their final ‘may we meet again’s,’ and file away, one by one, leaving only you and Bellamy. You walk to the edge of the grave and look down at Gabriel’s peaceful face, your mind thinking back to his final moments. You still don't know if his final words were a love confession, but looking back on the years you spent with him and the sheet of music in your back pocket, you think that maybe it was a confession. You hate that you’ll never know for sure, but you do get a sense of comfort in knowing that he’s at peace now.

He was ready to die ten years ago, before he was unwillingly put into a new body, but now, he’s at peace. He’s probably with Josephine and Russell and the other Primes, watching all of you from the stars. He lived a full life, a few of them actually, and got to answer some of his biggest questions about the Anomaly and the Anomaly Stone. And maybe that’s enough.

Bellamy steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. “Are you okay, natshana?”

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“About Gabriel?”

You hum in agreement and stand silent for a moment before you reach into your pocket and pull out the sheet music, unfolding it so Bellamy can see it. You both look at it, and you can hear his mind silently putting together the pieces before you quietly add, “I think he confessed his love for me before dying.”

You don’t know why you say it to him, because it's not like it matters now. And you’re not even sure what your feelings for Gabriel would have been like had he survived, but you're sure of your feelings for Bellamy. If Bellamy really had died in Sanctum and Gabriel had lived instead, you’re sure you could have loved him. But he would have never been your soulmate, because that title belongs to Bellamy. Bellamy is a part of you, the same way Clarke is a part of you, his fate and existence intertwined with your own in every way.

You start to grow nervous when Bellamy doesn't say anything, afraid you’ve hurt him, but he finally breaks his silence when he whispers, “I’m glad he was there for you when I couldn't be. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”

“Me too.”

Bellamy tightens his grip around your waist a little, lifting his head to press a kiss into your hair. “Besides, you’re easy to love.”

You turn your head and smile at him. “Are you using my own line on me?”

“Is it working?”

You smile at him, lifting your hand and placing it over his hand that’s resting on your stomach. “A little. Too bad we’re stuck in tents right now.”

“Is that supposed to stop me?”

You let out a surprised snort of laughter and shake your head. “Enough.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to your cheek. “There’s the smile I was missing.”

“It’s hard losing people. I know so many of us have survived, despite the odds continuously stacked against us, but I still feel like we’ve lost so much.”

“I know, la lune.” He tightens his grip on you before stepping away and turning you to face him. “But things will be different now. We’re building a new life here and we’re going to do better. We’re going to honor all those we’ve lost by living long, peaceful lives, the way they’d all want us to.”

You nod your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

You lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, accepting the comfort he offers you. When you finally pull away, you both turn towards the open grave, Gabriel still waiting to be buried. Bellamy grabs the shovels, passing you one, and as the two of you start to drop dirt around him, you whisper one last time, “La muerte es la vida.”

6 months after Transcendence

You roll over with a huff, turning to look at the ceiling of your tent, cursing yourself for not taking up Octavia’s offer to sleep in their guest bed.

You thought you could handle a couple more weeks in the tent with Bellamy, but your aching back and stiff limbs are starting to tell you otherwise. Everyone’s permanent homes are being built one by one, everyone focusing on one home at a time, finding that makes the process much faster. You, Wonkru, the Eligius prisoners, and even some of the Sanctumites have been sharing the workload, moving from one group to the next to keep things fair. You and Bellamy are next on the list for your people, but there’s one house for someone from Wonkru and one for someone from Eligius that needs to be built before you and Bellamy get your own place.

Meaning, you have at least a few more weeks of tent living before you get your own bed, and your own roof that doesn't leak when it rains too hard.

You sit up with a sigh, closing your eyes and stretching the stiffness from your arms and legs. As you're rubbing a knot out of your shoulder, Bellamy’s smiling face pokes into the tent, grinning at you as if he has the bet news. You give him an odd look, not appreciating his chipper energy when you’re feeling grumpy and sore. “What?”

“Let’s get married.”

You laugh a little and he steps inside of the tent fully. “You’ve already asked me that, Bellamy.”

“No, I mean, let’s get married today.”

“Today?” You shake your head, your brows pulling together. “We can't get married today. We have a house to help build.”

“Everyone could use a break.”

You counter, “We don’t have anything planned out.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Your jaw drops open a little as you look at him, trying to think of some other excuse why you can't marry your fiance today, but unable to find one. He smiles when he realizes that you’re speechless. “If you have no other objections, then you need to get to Sanctum.”

“Sanctum? Why?”

“You’ll see when you get there.” He passes you your boots and a pair of clean clothes, the large smile back on his face. “C'mon, get dressed. We have a lot to do and I need you out of here!”

You laugh a little as you quickly get dressed, stepping out of the tent to find Bellamy waiting. He leads you to the Anomaly Stone, pulling on the helmet in the room and getting the code for Sanctum, which he quickly types in. As the flash of green appears in front of you, he tugs off the helmet and sets it aside, turning to you with a bright smile. He places a quick kiss on your lips before ushering you towards the open Anomaly. “I’ll see you in a few hours. I love you!”

You turn to look at him with bewilderment, unused to this playful energy, as you call back, “I love you more than the stars!”

You step into the Anomaly, appearing in the palace of Sanctum. The room has been mostly cleared out by this point, Sheidheda’s throne destroyed, the blood staining the ground, Bellamy’s included, now scrubbed away. The palace primarily serves as a transportation hub at this point, shelves lining the walls with disciple helmets placed on them, waiting to be used.

You look around at the empty room, confused as to why you’re here, and as you start to walk towards the door, someone comes running in, an apologetic smile on their face. “Sorry I’m late, we got busy at the tavern!”

“Blythe Ann? What am I doing here?”

Blythe Ann smiles and motions for you to follow her before she turns and heads out the door. You jog to catch up, her voice floating back to you. “Bellamy wanted you to stay here so they could get things ready back on Earth. Plus, you left a few things here.”

You follow her from the palace and over to the tavern, where she leads you to the base of the stairs that lead to your former living quarters. You stand looking up at it, and she motions to the top. “Go on.”

You give her a look before tentatively climbing the stairs, moving down the hallway and pushing open the door to your former room. It’s empty, but it looks nearly identical to the way you left it years ago, back when you thought you'd only be gone for a few days. You had no idea it would be years.

The room is different though, because a long silver dress is stretched out on the bed, a gift from Delilah. You smile at it, walking across the room to the dress, running your hand over the fabric. As you do, something catches your eye, and you turn to look at the top of your bed, near the pillows, a yellow book with blue binding sitting beside your old pack. You reach out and grab the book with a smile, the cover stained with your blood and a little scorched. You open the book and flip the first few pages to the note that Bellamy wrote you years ago, reading it over again, tears springing to your eyes as you do.

And just as you finish the note, you hear a noise behind you, startling you. You drop the book on the bed and reach for your knife, an old habit that you still haven't broken, despite the six months of peace you’ve lived. But instead of finding a masked intruder or someone ready to kill you, you find Clarke, Octavia, Raven, Emori, Echo, Hope, Gaia, and Madi. They all look at you in surprise, holding up their hands in surrender, “Slow down there, we come bringing drinks!”

They all hold up cups and you smile, dropping your hand. “Sorry, old habit.”

They all file into the room and move over to you, each of them pulling you in for a hug in greeting. As you hug Gaia last, you look over them in confusion. “What are you all doing here?”

“We’re your wedding party!” You look at Emori, your confusion deepening. “Blythe Ann said it’s what they used to do on Earth before Praimfaya. Brides would have bridesmaids that stand at the altar to support them, and grooms have groomsmen to support them.”

Clarke smiles, “I know all those traditions were lost on the Ark, but we thought it might be nice to have a real wedding, like they used to.”

You smile at her, “How long have you been planning this?”

This time, it’s Octavia that answers. “My brother’s been working on this for weeks, and he has a very specific schedule for us to follow, so we better get started.”

“Okay then.” She passes you a drink, and now all of you have a cup in your hands. Clarke lifts it in the air, looking at you with a smile. “To the bride, our la lune!”

Everyone echoes, “To the bride!” before downing their drinks.

After that, your morning is a whirlwind of activity. Everyone helps you to get ready, and the morning is full of stories about Bellamy. Octavia tells you some from her childhood that you had never heard before, and Echo, Emori, and Raven share stories from the Ring. They help you get dressed in the silver dress, before helping you with your hair. And as you sit in your old room with your friends, you can't help but be overwhelmed by all the love you feel. You start to tear up, and Clarke is the first to notice. “La lune, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, quickly wiping away your tears as everyone turns to look at you. “Nothing, I'm just so happy.”

Everyone lets out a collective aw, and Clarke helps wipe away your tears. “Well, before we finish up your look, we should probably get the rest of your tears out of the way.”

“What do you mean?”

Emori, the resident wedding expert, steps forward. “There’s another tradition with weddings, and that’s for the bride to have something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.”

Clarke grabs your hand, turning it over before dropping something into your palm. “Something old, it symbolizes continuity and often incorporates something sentimental, passed down through the family.”

You look down at your open palm to find a ring, your father’s wedding ring, given back to your mother before he was floated. You thought it was lost after she was bodysnatched by Simone, but now you see that it’s not. You look up at Clarke with teary eyes, which overflow quickly and rush down your face. “Dad’s ring?”

“He would want you to have it, to give to Bellamy.” You feel yourself start to cry harder as she whispers, “He’d be so proud of you, la lune. Mom too.”

You reach out and pull her into a hug, whispering into her hair, “Thank you.”

The two of you share a moment before pulling apart, and Echo and Hope step forward next. “Something new, it symbolizes excitement for the future and a new chapter in your life.”

They each hold out a boot to you, new shoes for your wedding, but shoes that still fit your personality. You take them with a smile and hug them each, setting the shoes down as Madi steps forward, a chain clasped tight in her hand. “Something borrowed, for good luck.”

You look down at the necklace in her hand, a sun hanging from the chain, and you start to cry again as she steps forward and clasps it around your neck. You hug her as soon as she’s finished, a piece of your father and a piece of your mother now with you on your wedding day. When you and Madi pull apart, Raven and Emori step forward with matching smiles. “Something blue, to ward off evil spirits, but also a symbol of love, purity, and fidelity.”

They open their palms to reveal hair clips adorned with small blue moons, and you smile as you hug them both in thanks. They help to arrange the clips into your hair, and before you know it, you're ready to get married. You all take one more shot of Jo Juice for good luck before heading down the stairs and back to the palace, towards your wedding. You feel your nerves start to build with each step you take back towards Earth.

Blythe Ann, Jae, and a few others are waiting for you at the stone, and as someone enters the code back to Earth, Jae turns to you with a curious look. “Who’s walking you down the aisle?”

“What?”

“Typically, the father of the bride walks her down the aisle, and gives her away to her future husband.”

You shake your head, lost, unsure who could do that for you when your father is dead, Kane is dead, and your mother is dead. But just as you start to panic, you feel a hand slip into your own, and you look down to find your niece smiling up at you. “I’ll do it, ani. If you want me to.”

You smile back down at her, “I’d be honored if you walked me down the aisle, little sun.”

The two of you share a grin as the Anomaly is activated ahead of you, and in one large group, you step through, following the rest of the crowd as they lead you through the bunker and out into the warm afternoon air. The sun is beginning to lower in the sky, creating a golden glow over everything you see. You have no idea where you’re going, you just allow yourself to be led to your destination, trying to keep your mind off your nerves and focus on your excitement instead.

Finally, after a few minutes of walking, you all stop near a tree. The other wedding guests walk ahead of you, moving to find their seats, but your bridesmaids keep you hidden out of view, but also unable to see anything around you. Clarke reaches out to take the hand not held by Madi, and she gives you a reassuring smile. “One by one, we’re going to walk down the aisle ahead of you. Madi knows your cue, and she’ll walk you down to us. After that, just follow the lead. We’ll be right there with you if you need us.”

You smile at her, tears in your eyes again, “Thank you, Clarke. For everything.”

She smiles, shaking off your praise. “Don't thank me, thank your future husband when you see him.”

You smile at her, and one by one, your friends hug you before walking down the aisle ahead of you, a soft song playing over a set of speakers. It takes a second for you to realize that it’s Clair de lune, and you smile, another piece of your parents put into your wedding. And despite them not being here, you feel like they are. You feel their love everywhere, incorporated into everything around you, reminding you that they’ll never truly leave you.

You get so lost in your thoughts of your parents that you don't even realize Madi is starting to tug on your hand, until she whispers, “Ani, it’s time. Are you ready?”

You look down at your niece and smile. “I’m ready.”

She starts to walk, leading you around the large tree and into a clearing. There is an aisle cutting through two large groups of people, all of them standing and watching as you approach. Your eyes lift to the trees, where stars and moons of varying sizes hang down, catching the light of the setting sun, and it brings a smile to your face. At the end of the aisle is an arch adorned with flowers, and your friends stand on either side: Gaia, Raven, Emori, Echo, Hope, and Clarke stand on the left, and on the right is Octavia, Murphy, Miller, Jackson, Jordan, and Levitt. But you don't focus on any of them, because as soon as you catch sight of Bellamy, your eyes never leave his face.

He is watching you intensely, tears streaming down his face, which makes you start to cry too. He’s dressed in a suit, which he must have gotten from someone in Sanctum, and though the sight is a little startling at first, he also looks good. He shaved once he joined Cadogan’s cause, but once all of you decided to return back to Earth, he started to grow out his beard again, reminding you of the scruffy man that saved your life from Diyoza and her prisoners a few years ago. The freckles that dot his face and cheeks are prolific, thanks to the days that all of you spend in the sun, and his eyes are sparkling in the golden hour light. And though you think he looks good every single day, you think he looks beautiful right now. You sear the image into your memory, never wanting to forget how he looks in this moment.

You finally reach the end of the aisle, and Madi passes you off to Bellamy, who leans in for a quick kiss. They exchange a quick hug before Madi moves to stand beside Octavia, switching places with Murphy, and you turn to Bellamy and whisper, “You did all of this?”

He grins, “You like it?”

“Bellamy, I love it.”

His smile grows even wider, and you melt, wishing you could stay in this moment forever. As the two of you stand smiling at each other, Murphy comes to stand beside the two of you, beneath the arch, and you turn to look at him. He smiles at you, “You look beautiful.”

You smile back and counter, “You look good too, for a cockroach.”

He laughs a little before lifting his voice to address the crowd, which is now sitting and watching all of you closely. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate a wedding between our favorite couple. I’ve never officiated a wedding before, but honestly, I already know that I’m going to be good at it.”

The crowd snickers and you and Bellamy exchange an eye roll as Murphy continues, “I’ve heard from reliable sources that weddings on Earth before Praimfaya were long and boring, but this wedding will be anything but that. We have a party to get to after this, so I’m gonna keep it short.”

He pauses and looks you and Bellamy over for a second, before he says, “From the very first moment they laid eyes on each other, Bellamy and la lune were in love. It was obvious to everyone but them, but eventually, for all of our sake, they figured it out. We all thought the puppy dog eyes and longing looks would end once they got together, but to our dismay, they didn't. Bellamy and la lune look at each other with as much love as they did on that first day, if not more. Some of us had to watch Bellamy pine away for her while trapped on a tin can in space, while others had to watch la lune pine away for him while in the last green valley on Earth.”

He motions to your surroundings, lush, green, overgrown, and muses, “Or so we thought. Still it didn't take long for them to figure it out again, though life continued to get in the way. But finally, after a few years and a few different planets, we have arrived at this moment. Bellamy and la lune, it’s time to exchange your vows. Bellamy, you go first.”

Bellamy holds both of your hands in his own as he takes a deep breath and begins, “Natshana. We have been through so much together. We have experienced so much loss, so many hardships, but through it all, I felt at peace, because I knew I had you. I vow to always love you, to support you through everything, and to remain by your side through it all. I vow to protect you and keep you safe, and to remind you daily of how much I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, proving to you that I deserve the love you freely give me. I want to be your best friend and confidant, your soulmate. I vow to be a good husband, a good father, and a better man. I vow to love you in this lifetime and in the next.”

You’re crying by the end, tears streaming down your face, making your vision blurry, and you smile at him as he finishes his speech. You swear you even hear Murphy sniffle a little before he says, “La lune, your vows.”

You wipe away your tears to get a better look at Bellamy before taking his hands again with a smile. “Bellamy, I have spent my entire life feeling like something was missing. Despite living a life full of love on the Ark, surrounded by people that cared about me, I knew that something was missing from my life. I would have never guessed that what was missing was you. From the moment you saved me from Shumway, I knew our fates were intertwined. I didn't understand just how much back then, but I understand now. You are a part of me, as if the gods created our souls from the same mixture of stardust. I can't imagine my life without you, and I am so honored and grateful to be standing up here today, joining my life with yours. I vow to love you unconditionally, until we take our last breaths. I vow to comfort you when things are hard, to protect you from the harsh world, and to make you smile as much as I can. I vow to be a good wife, and mother, and woman, and I vow to do everything I can to make you happy, because I love you more than the stars.”

Bellamy starts to cry as you say your vows to him, and by the end not only are you both crying, but almost everyone around you is crying too. Murphy gathers himself and mutters, “The rings.”

Clarke and Octavia each pass him a ring, the first of which he offers to Bellamy. Bellamy takes your left hand, poising the ring at the end of your ring finger as Murphy says, “La lune, do you accept this ring as a symbol of Bellamy’s love for you?”

“Yes.”

Bellamy slides the ring on your finger, the gold band matching the band of your engagement ring. Except this band has a small moon on it, seeming impossibly small, and as you admire it, Bellamy whispers, “Bardo tech is good for something.”

You smile at him as Murphy passes your father’s ring to you, and you take Bellamy’s left hand, holding the ring at the end of his ring finger the same way he did with you. Murphy repeats, “Bellamy, do you accept this ring as a symbol of la lune’s love for you?”

Bellamy smiles at you and whispers, “I do.”

You slide the ring onto his finger, whispering, “It was my father’s.”

Bellamy looks up at you in surprise, tears in his eyes again as he whispers back, nearly speechless, “Natshana.”

You smile at him, and beside you, Murphy proudly announces, “I now pronounce you married! You may now kiss the bride!”

Bellamy grins at you before sweeping you into his arms, turning and dipping you before kissing you, pouring all the love he has for you into it. You both pull away with matching grins, the crowd cheering around you as Murphy yells, “Let’s party!”

And party you do.

All of you move to a different clearing, set up with food and fire and more music, and you spend hours dancing, partying, and laughing with your friends, your family, and your husband. Sometime later, long after midnight, you and Bellamy are slow dancing, looking at each other with adoration when he mutters, “I have one more surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“Do you trust me?”

You give him a look and say, “You know I do.”

“Close your eyes.”

You do as he says, and he leads you away from the party to a chorus of goodnights, hoops, and hollers following you. As the sounds of the party grow fainter, the sounds of the woods grow louder, and you can hear leaves crunching beneath your boots as Bellamy leads you through the woods. You walk for a few minutes before he pulls you to a stop, putting his hands over your eyes to cover them even further. His mouth is right beside your ear when he whispers, “Ready?” and it sends a chill down your spine.

Your voice is a breathy whisper when you answer, “Ready.”

“Okay, open.'' Bellamy drops his hands from your eyes, and they open to see a house standing in front of you, the soft light of a fire coming from inside. It has a porch and a big yard, and as you look at it in confusion, Bellamy adds, “It’s no house in Shallow Valley, but…”

He trails off as realization dawns on you, and you turn to him with a look of excitement. “Wait, are you saying?”

“It’s ours.”

You laugh and pull him in for a kiss, pulling away again so you can ask, “Wait, how? There were two houses ahead of ours!”

“We’ll probably be babysitting for everyone for the rest of our lives, but they came by everyday to work on it.”

You smile at him, shaking your head with disbelief. “I don't deserve you, Bellamy Blake.”

“You deserve more than me, blainen natshana.”

“That’s not true.” He smiles at you a little before nodding towards the house. “Wanna go inside, Mrs. Blake?”

You grin at him, “I’d love to, Mr. Blake.”

He takes your hand and leads you inside, giving you a quick tour before leading you back to the bedroom. There, he stops at the door, motioning for you to go inside. You push the door open and walk into the room, looking around at the decor, Gabriel’s sheet music hanging on the wall, the large bed in the room, and...the skylight. You let out a little gasp as your gaze locks on the window situated in the ceiling, letting in the soft light of the moon. It shines down on the bed, giving you a perfect view of space from the place you’ll be sleeping. As you look up at the stars over your bedroom, you feel Bellamy slide up behind you, his hands on your shoulders. You whisper, “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, you are.” You smile at the compliment, but your smile drops into a gasp when his lips move to your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin. His hands slide from your shoulders, down your arms, and then to your waist. You sink into him, enjoying the feel of his lips on your skin, as they move from your neck to your shoulder. One of his hands lifts, and you feel your zipper being tugged down your back slowly, his lips kissing down your spine as he exposes more skin. Your dress slides off your body, the silky material moving off you easily, landing around your feet. Bellamy drops down behind you, his hands roaming across your skin before reaching around and untying your shoes, one after the next, his lips pressing kisses to your legs.

He rises slowly, trailing a finger up your spine and sending a chill through you before his lips press to your neck again. He pulls away to spin you in his arms so you're facing him, and he eyes you up and down hungrily, his expression one of admiration. “More beautiful than the moon.”

You smile at him, before reaching out and crashing his lips to yours, the two of you kissing hungrily, Bellamy’s teasing leaving you eager with anticipation. He pulls you close to him, his suit rubbing against your bare skin, his arousal pressing against your body. You slide your hands up his chest and push his jacket down his shoulders, before moving your hands to his buttons. You break your kiss so you can press kisses to his skin, the same way he did to you, a new kiss with each new inch of exposed skin. When you reach the last button, you drop to your knees, leaving his shirt on as you do. You press one kiss to his waist before leaning down and ridding him of his own boots, before you return your focus to his waistband.

You undo his pants and slide them down his legs, letting them pool around his feet, and then you tug his underwear down, his dick springing free. You look up at him, and his eyes are locked on you, watching your every move as you take him into your mouth. His eyes flutter closed as you work him with your tongue, slowly at first, increasing your pace as you move. You can feel him start to reach his climax, his thighs clenching beneath your hands, but he stops you before he can finish, his voice breathy when he whispers, “Not yet.”

He pulls you to your feet and straight into a kiss, guiding you backwards towards the bed, stopping just at the edge to break your kiss. Bellamy shakes off his shirt, the last of his clothes, before nudging you to sit on the bed so he can help you out of your underwear. As soon as you're naked, he takes a moment to admire you again, and you do the same with him, your eyes scanning his body, before settling on a scar at his side. You reach out to run a finger over the scar, given to him by Kane while he was under the influence of Alie. Bellamy reaches out and tips your chin up until you’re locking eyes, and he smiles, “I love my crooked scar.”

“And I love you.”

He leans down and kisses you, the two of you moving backwards on the bed until your head is on the pillows. His mouth leaves yours to press kisses all over your body, worshipping you, and when he finally sinks into you later, you climax while looking at the stars.

7 months after Transcendence

You look down at the list of supplies in your hand, checking over it a second time before you jump to Bardo to grab all that you need. But as you’re reading through the list, you get an idea, and you lift your gaze to look at your twin, who’s sitting across from you at your kitchen table. “We should form a council.”

Clarke looks up at you, confused, her mind too focused on the list in her own hand. “What?”

“We should form a council, like we had on the Ark. Except this one will be between all of us that chose to leave Transcendence.”

Clarke considers your idea for a minute before nodding in agreement. “It would definitely make it easier to get supplies if we had an official person to go to each time.”

“Everyone can choose or elect a council member to represent them. One from Bardo, one from Sanctum, one from Wonkru, and one from Eligius. And then the council members can elect a chancellor to represent all of us.” Clarke nods in agreement. The ideas start coming to you quickly now, and you add, “We can set an age for Transcendence, for those who choose to go through with it. We’ve already got a few pregnant people within each group, so inevitably, somebody will want to transcend. Even though none of us liked the idea, we can make it a celebration or ceremony of some sort.”

“I like that. And we can jump to other planets for trades, make the routes and access to each other easier. With Bardo being at its closest point in its orbit, it’s easy to handle the time dilation now. But in the future it’s something we’ll need to consider. We can also set up schools or specialized learning within each group, so everyone has some way to contribute. Maybe check in with each other once a year at an official meeting just to make sure we’re all on the same page.” She looks back down to her notebook, flipping to a new page and already scribbling out a few notes. “I’ll get a few ideas written out, and we can pitch it to the others later.”

You smile at her, standing from your chair with your list. “And with that, I’m gonna go get our supplies.”

Clarke glances up at you as you step away, smiling. “Good idea, la lune.”

You smile back and counter, “Thank you.” And as you turn away from her, you drop your voice to a whisper, low enough that she can't hear you. “Intergalactic Chancellor.”

9 months after Transcendence

You walk up the path to the newest building in your fast growing town, Octavia and Gaia at your side.

The temple in front of you is built with stone, gifted to you from Bardo, the first of many gifts exchanged after the announcement of the Intergalactic Council. Everyone agreed and elected their council members. The Bardoans chose Lila, your former training partner, the Sanctumites chose Jae, Wonkru chose Indra, and the Eligius prisoners chose Nikki. With most of the people concentrated back on Earth, everyone agreed that Earth needed two delegates, to ensure everyone’s voice was heard, so they quickly chose Clarke as a fifth council member. And then a few minutes after that, they made her the Chancellor, just like you predicted. Everyone agreed that she could put the needs of the many over the few, that she could be more impartial than most, and that she was the best suited for the job. What surprised you though, was when they chose you to take over Clarke’s council seat, making you the new fifth member.

The last two months have been hectic as you all established the council and a new routine, and each Stone Room was cleaned up and made easier to access. On top of that, each of the three planets built a temple for Transcendence, where future ceremonies could be celebrated. Which is where you are right now, walking up to the new temple with Octavia and Gaia. Gaia leads you all inside, pointing out the various features of the temple. Stained glass windows, designed based off images from Earth before Praimfaya, but the religious images have been replaced with the origin of the Grounder religion and the story of Transcendence.

In the center of the temple, surrounded by a stone altar, are the remnants of Gaia’s transcendence. She was the only one on Earth when everyone transcended, and despite coming back down, her being of light remained. Now, it sits in the center of the temple, serving as a reminder of what will happen to those that choose to transcend. On Sanctum, they fixed up the palace and made it part temple, part Stone Room. And on Bardo, they put their temple in the oxygen farm, where most of the beings of light remain.

It’s weird to think that all of you are essentially establishing a new religion for people to follow. And though it’s likely that most of you that are alive right now won’t believe in the miracle of Transcendence, it’s possible that the descendants that come from your generation will believe. Religion on the Ark was always more of a melting pot of histories, most of the major religions combined into one universal religion. The Grounders believed in the Commanders and Becca Pramheda, and the Bardoans believed in the Shepherd and his teachings. On Sanctum, they believed in the divinity of the Primes.

And even if the new religion surrounding transcendence is not something you’ll ever believe in, religion has always been a big part of the human experience, and it only seems fitting that all of you create something for future generations to believe in. Plus, it does bring a smile to your face to know that you’ll always be part of the history of transcendence. Without you, the human race was condemned to extinction, until you urged them to reconsider. With Bellamy and Octavia’s help and everyone else’s compliance, you were able to convince the alien species to give humans another chance. It wasn't just because of you, but you are a part of the legend, a legend that will be passed down to generations to come.

Your story will live on, even when you’re not there to tell it.

11 months after Transcendence

You sit in your large bed, waiting for your husband to join you, both of you winding down for the night and preparing for sleep.

When he finally steps into your bedroom, you give him a serious look and muse, “I think it’s time.”

Bellamy gives you a shocked look, “You think so?”

“I do.” You hold up The Iliad, bookmarked a few pages from the end, you and Bellamy both procrastinating the inevitable: finishing the book. But now, after working your way through the book slowly, over the course of a few years, you know it’s time for the two of you to finish it.

Bellamy strips down to his underwear and climbs into the bed beside you, taking the book from your outstretched hand. He settles back into the pillows, opening his arms so that you can cuddle up next to him, tucked into his arms. You turn your gaze to the night sky above you, visible though the window in your room, and listen as Bellamy reads you the story of Achilles’ wrath. The moon rises slowly as he reads to you, bringing more light into the room as the time passes, and it’s right overhead when he finishes the last lines with a solemn voice. “When they had heaped up the barrow they went back again into the city, and being well assembled they held a high feast in the house of Priam, their king. Thus, then, did they celebrate the funeral of Hector, tamer of horses.”

Bellamy closes the book with a snap, setting it aside as you roll over to face him, resting across his chest as you look at him in confusion. “Wait, that’s it?”

“That’s it. Was that not enough for you, la lune?”

You glare at the laughter in his tone, and he attempts to hide the smile on his face as you answer, “What about the Trojan Horse? And the end of the war?”

Bellamy shrugs, “The Iliad was always about Achilles’ rage and the consequences of it. I guess Homer didn't think the rest of it was important.”

“Bummer.”

Bellamy laughs at the genuine disappointment in your voice, readjusting so he can place a kiss on your forehead. “If you want, I can get Niylah to keep an eye out for more historical books. She’s pretty good at finding them.”

“That would be great.”

He smiles at you, “Good. Now go to sleep, we have a lot to do tomorrow.”

He turns and blows out the candles beside your bed before the two of you adjust and get comfortable, falling asleep in each other’s arms. The last thing you think before sleep overtakes you, is that this sure beats sleeping in a tree.

1 year after Transcendence

You stand in the kitchen directing Clarke, Madi, Bellamy, and Octavia on different tasks. “Madi, you and Clarke work on the vegetables.”

“Bellamy, you cut up the beef, and Octavia you’ll cut up the pork.” You slide your cutting board towards you, chicken laid out on top of it. “I’ll take care of the chicken.”

Everyone takes their directions, asking you for approval every few minutes, making sure everything seems right as you rely on your memory for how to make Sancocho Trifásico. You carve the chicken into bite size pieces, using your Grounder knife to do it. You haven't used the knife to take a human life in over a year. Little do you know, you’ll never use the knife to take another human life again. The Grounder knife eventually becomes a knife, the way it should, and Wanlida becomes a distant memory. She’s only ever mentioned in stories now, memories, the nickname never again used. You’re thankful for that.

And as you sit preparing dinner with some of your favorite people, it’s easy to forget all the messed up things you’ve done. It’s easy to forget that you’ve killed people, hurt people, fought in more battles and wars than one person ever should. You’ve lied and kept secrets, betrayed people. You’ve done a lot of bad in life. But here, among your family, those closest to you, none of that matters, because they’re messed up too. All of you have done terrible things, usually to save the ones you love, and you’ve all been forgiven for that. You’ve all forgiven each other for the betrayals and secrets and fights. And what was once two sets of killer siblings, is now just one big family. Happy, at peace, able to rest for the first time in your lives.

You look around the table, not seeing Wanheda, Heda, Blodreina, Wanlida, or the man that slaughtered a Grounder Army. Instead, you see your twin, your niece, your sister, and your husband, all of you laughing as you exchange stories, preparing dinner and living a life drastically different from the one you used to live.

A while later, after the Sancocho Trifásico has had time to cook and the flavors have had time to intertwine, the five of you sit down around the table, bowls in hand. Before you start to eat, you lift your cup and announce. “To those we have lost, and those that aren’t here with us today. To Gabriel.”

Everyone repeats, “To Gabriel,” toasting the man that taught you the recipe you’re all about to dig into. Once you finish your toast, everyone takes their first bite of the meal, a collective moan of delight rippling through your group. There’s a chorus of compliments around the table, everyone praising each other’s contributions, before Madi looks around at all of you and says, “We should make this a monthly thing. Once a month, no matter how busy we are, we all meet up for dinner.”

Everyone nods in agreement, and Octavia adds, “And we can invite the others: Raven, Echo, Hope, Murphy, Emori, Jackson, Miller, Gaia, Indra, Niylah, and Levitt.”

“We can switch houses so the burden never falls on just one person to host. And maybe we can all bring dishes to eat.” They all nod at your suggestion, and you say, “All those in favor, raise your hand.”

Five hands go up around the table, everyone united on Madi’s idea. You nod once, announcing, “Well, that's that. Let the new family dinner tradition begin.”

1 year, 3 months after Transcendence

You drag the cart full of fruit behind you, straight into the green glow of the Anomaly, stepping into the palace of Sanctum.

Normally, you would just drop the fruit off in the palace and head back to Earth, but you have a stack of Intergalactic Council papers to sort through and sign off on, and you’re eager to procrastinate the task. So instead, you bring the cart out of the palace and down to the tavern, stepping inside behind a group of patrons. Jae looks your way as you walk towards the bar, and he smiles and calls out your name. You wave and point to the cart behind you. “I come bearing gifts!”

“We’ve been eagerly awaiting the next shipment from your garden! The last batch went pretty fast.”

You smile at him, proud that everyone seems to enjoy the food from your garden. “I’m glad you liked it! I’ll try to double up on the next batch for you.”

Jae winks, “We’d really appreciate that.”

As you start to unload the fruit into the various baskets around the bar, he looks up from the glass he’s cleaning, a look of realization on his face. “Oh! The last time Niylah was here, she said you guys were looking for old books or anything about history. We found a few things in the library and when we were cleaning out the palace. We put them up in your old room.”

“Thanks, Jae.”

“No problem. I think there are some old magazines too. The news is outdated, but it might be good if you're using them to teach Earth history to the young ones.”

“That’ll be great, I’ll go check them out.” You finish unloading the fruit and leave your cart downstairs as you head towards the stairs. You take them two at a time, turning and heading towards your old room. You smile as you approach the closed door, remembering the last time you were here nearly a year ago, before your wedding. You step inside the old room, your eyes immediately falling on the stacks of books and magazines on the bed, and you can immediately tell that even with your cart, you won't be able to carry all of these back in one trip. You decide to sort through them now and grab the ones that you think Bellamy will like.

You find the Aeneid by Virgil, Metamorphoses by Ovid, The Divine Comedy by Dante, and Paradise Lost by Milton, among others. You gather the books and start to stand, intending to take them and leave, until one of the magazines on the top of the pile catches your eye. It’s a Time Magazine, and normally you wouldn't have paid it any mind, but the front is a picture of a ship overflowing with people, hundreds if not thousands of them. The title reads: “The Battle of San Francisco, humanitarian disaster.” Beneath it, in a smaller print, is a subheading: “Charmaine Diyoza: terrorist or freedom fighter?”

You gasp a little, dropping the books in your hands and reaching out for the magazine, flipping it open to the table of contents. You scroll your finger down the page, reading each blurb until you find the one you're interested in about Diyoza, page 52. You frantically flip the pages, finally landing on a full page picture of Diyoza. You gasp a little when you see it. She looks only a few years older than Hope, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She’s covered in dirt and blood, and her clothes look like a torn military uniform. There is no scar on her neck, her own SEAL team yet to come after her, and her mouth is open in a yell. You can tell from the ferocity of her expression that she’s giving orders, directing the refugees of San Francisco onto an aircraft carrier as others in the background shove the helicopters overboard.

Honestly, she looks beautiful, and terrifying, and commanding, and all you can think is that Hope has to have this. She lost her mom in such a tragic way, and you know she still blames herself for it. Echo says that some days she doesn't even leave her bed, she just locks herself inside her room and refuses to come out for anyone. But you think that maybe having a small piece of her mother might help her.

You sift through the rest of the magazines, finding a few more that offer pictures and stories about Diyoza, and before you know it, you have two armfuls of books and magazines to bring back to Earth with you. You manage to grab them all and carry them back down the stairs, setting them into your cart as Jae looks on with a smile. “Looks like a successful trip!”

You smile at him, truly unaware of just how much he’s helped you. “Thank you again, Jae. You can expect double the fruit when I’m here next!”

“We look forward to it!”

You wave your goodbyes to him and to Blythe Ann across the room, before wheeling your cart back to the castle and through the Anomaly to Earth. You stop by your own house since it’s on the way to Hope and Echo’s, and you drop the books and cart off before grabbing the magazines and continuing on your journey. The walk isn't far, and you mostly get to stay on the wooded path that connects nearly all of your houses. It’s a nice walk because the weather is mild, one of those early fall days where the wind is cool but the sun is warm.

You reach Hope and Echo’s in a matter of minutes, walking through their own personal garden before knocking on the door. You only have to wait a few seconds before the door is opened and Echo smiles at you, “La lune!”

She reaches out and the two of you exchange a hug before she steps aside and motions towards the house. “Come in.”

“Thanks.” You step into their living room, looking around for any sign of the younger Diyoza. “Where’s Hope?”

Echo’s expression drops, her eyes darting to the back of the house. “It’s one of those bad days. She locked me out earlier.”

“Oh.” You feel a pang of disappointment before you hold the magazines out to Echo. “I found these, I thought she might like them.”

Echo’s face lights up as she flips through the magazines, finding the pictures of Diyoza, and she looks up at you with a smile. “You should try to give these to her, she might let you in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just…” She trails off, stepping into the next room to grab an apple and a cup of water off the table. “Try to get her to eat something if she lets you in.”

“I will.”

She smiles and passes the water and apple to you, along with the magazines, and you take the path back to Hope’s room, comfortable with the layout of Echo and Hope’s shared house. You knock on the door a few times with no answer, calling out your name, hoping it’s enough to get the door open. When that doesn't work, you knock again. “Hope, I have something for you.”

You wait, met by silence, before adding, “It’s about your mom.”

You're met by more silence, and you glance down the hall, where Echo stands watching, both of you looking disappointed. But then you hear the lock on the door click, and a smile graces Echo’s face before she slips away, unseen. You turn back to the door and push your way inside, your eyes landing on Hope, already curled back up in her bed. The curtains are drawn and the room is dark, none of the warm afternoon sun reaching the room. You close the door behind you, giving your eyes a second to adjust to the darkness before you cross the room and set the apple and water on the table beside her bed.

Then, you move to the foot of her bed, sitting yourself down at the edge, keeping your voice soft when you talk to her. “I know what it’s like, you know. My dad got floated because of me. He made a deal to save my life, and I never got to thank him for it.”

You let out a shaky breath, surprised that grief still visits you, all these years later. “Anyways, I went to Sanctum today, and they had these.”

You flip the magazines open to the relevant pages, stacking them together before setting them beside you, right at her feet. Hope makes no move towards them, and she stays silent, the two of you sitting in her dark room without a word. You wait a few minutes before standing, guessing that she needs some time alone. “I’ll leave these with you. They’re yours, if you want them.”

As you start to step away, a hand reaches out and clamps down on your wrist, stopping you. You turn to look at Hope, her eyes locked on you, tears welling up in them. “Can you read them to me? The stories, I mean.”

You give her a small smile and nod your head. “Sure. You have to eat that apple though.”

Hope sits up, adjusting her position in the bed to make room for you to slide in beside her. She reaches out for the apple as you flip through the magazines, deciding to start with the Time Magazine article. You glance at Hope, and she takes a bite of the apple, bringing a smile to your face as you shift the magazine so she can see the pictures. And then, you begin to read, “Charmaine Diyoza, former NAVY Seal turned self proclaimed freedom fighter, is pictured here with the refugees of…”

1 year, 6 months after Transcendence

You sit in the chair in front of the mirror, checking over your appearance as Clarke carefully braids sections of your hair, tucking them out of the way for your date tonight. As she works, she muses, “Are you excited? I can’t believe it’s been a year already.”

You smile, thinking of the night you have planned for you and Bellamy. A trip to Sanctum to visit the new dance night at Jae and Blythe Ann’s tavern, followed by a moonlight picnic, like the one you used to have back at Arkadia. “Yeah, I think it’s going to be great. I hope Bellamy is surprised.”

Clarke smiles at you in the mirror. “I know he will be.”

She tucks the last few braids into place and reaches for the hair clips you wore at your wedding, arranging them in your hair as an extra touch. As she works, she asks, “What do you think of Raven?”

Your brows pull together and you try to lock eyes with her in the mirror, and you open your mouth to ask what she means. But then you see the light tint of a blush in her cheeks, her eyes avoiding yours, her tone tentative, and you suddenly realize what she means. You look away from her, back at your reflection, as you muse, “She’s pretty. Smart too. And she’s saved our asses a few dozen times, so we maybe owe her some undying gratitude.”

Clarke lets out a soft laugh before placing in the last hair clip, her eyes finally meeting yours in the mirror. “I think I’m gonna ask her out.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles, growing more confident with each passing second. “Yeah.”

You stand from your seat, turning to hug her, pulling away to smile at her and say, “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Thank you, la lune.” You have no idea what she’s thanking you for, but you know you have a reason to thank her, due to her weeks of support as you planned your first anniversary celebration with Bellamy, so you counter, “Thank you, my shining star.”

She smiles at you before grabbing your hand, tugging you towards the door. “Okay, time to go. You don't want to be late!”

You allow her to pull you out of the room and down the stairs to your waiting husband, eager to celebrate your first wedding anniversary.

2 years after Transcendence

You and Bellamy stalk through the woods, eyes scanning the brush around you.

He has a rifle slung over his shoulder, but he ignores it, favoring the axe in his hand to hunt with. You have your Grounder knife out, both of you tracking the boar that you can hear nearby. Somewhere up ahead, a twig breaks, and you and Bellamy turn to look at each other, eyes wide, and he nods towards it, taking the lead. You move behind him, scanning the woods around you for the wild animal, and as you do, you feel a wave of nausea pass through you. You shake your head, trying to will it away, hoping it’ll pass long enough for you to get through your hunt. But shaking your head only makes you feel worse, and suddenly feeling light headed, you pause, stilling your movements.

It only takes a moment for Bellamy to notice your absence, and he backtracks towards you, immediately reaching out and putting his hands on your cheeks, lifting your face to look at him. “Hey, what’s going on? Why’d you stop?”

He can tell something is wrong as soon as he looks at you, a light sweat across your face despite the cool temperature, and you don't have time to answer him before you push his hands away, quickly turning to vomit. Bellamy reaches out for you, holding your hair back and putting an arm around your waist to support you, and as soon as you finish puking, you sway in his arms. You feel a rush of dizziness, and Bellamy turns you towards him again, looking you over with concern. “La lune, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Must be a stomach bug or something. Clarke said something was going through the school last week.”

Bellamy leans down and scoops you up in his arms, and you let out a sound of protest. “Bellamy, I’m fine! I can walk.”

Bellamy shakes his head, already turning back towards the town. “I’m not taking any chances. The last stomach bug that went around took everyone out for nearly a week.”

You’re about to protest again, but Bellamy gives you one of those looks, and you know immediately that it’s a waste of time to argue with him when he’s being protective. He carries you all the way back to town, heading straight for the small clinic near the center, where Jackson works on a day to day basis. As soon as he door is open, Bellamy is yelling out, “Jackson! I need your help!”

Jackson comes running, and as soon as he catches sight of you, his expression morphs into one of deep concern. You wave him off immediately, trying to placate his worries. “I’m fine, Bellamy’s just being dramatic.”

But as soon as Bellamy puts your feet on the ground, your knees give out beneath you, and he has to quickly catch you before you hit the ground. Jackson’s concern returns, and he motions for Bellamy to follow him. “Bring her in here.”

Bellamy follows the doctor down the hall, sitting you down in a bed as Jackson turns to you. “What are your symptoms?”

“I’m feeling kind of weak and dizzy.”

Bellamy adds, “She threw up on the way here.”

Jackson hums, turning to reach for some equipment. “Could be dehydration. I wanna do some blood work on you, and if it’s dehydration, we can treat you and have you back home in a few hours.”

You nod, and Jackson readies everything to take your blood, the process going smoothly. He leaves the room with your samples, and you and Bellamy sit in there together, talking and distracting you from the worries that are threatening to take over your mind. You’re there for a few hours before Jackson comes back in, looking over his notes. “Okay, la lune, you’re definitely dehydrated, so we’re gonna get you an IV to bring those levels back up.”

You nod, about to thank him, when he flips another page, reading over a different result, and he looks up at you and Bellamy in surprise. Bellamy immediately gets worried, his voice cracking a little when he asks, “What?”

Jackson smiles, “It seems congratulations are in order. La lune, you’re pregnant.”

You let out a laugh of surprise, turning to look at Bellamy, whose mouth is dropped open in shock. As soon as you turn and lock eyes with him, you both start crying, and he dives at you, pulling you into a nearly bone crushing hug. He tucks his head into the crook of your shoulder, and you can hear him muttering through his tears, “Oh my god. We’re gonna be parents. I’m gonna be a dad.”

His voice cracks on the word, and you pull away, looking your husband in the face and giving him a watery smile. “You’re going to be the best dad.”

“You’re going to be the best mom.”

He pulls you in for another hug, both of you laughing with disbelief, tears still streaming down your faces. Your joy is overwhelming, though your worries are already beginning to creep in, despite just finding out the news. Because now you have to carry a baby. And raise it. And try not to fuck it up. And it’s overwhelming to think about, but Bellamy's presence is reassuring. Because you know that no matter what, he’ll be there. For you, the baby, your family. Bellamy will always be there.

Especially now, because you’re a mother.

And he’s a father.

And the Blake family is growing by one.

2 years, 6 months after Transcendence

Bellamy comes running into your bedroom, a bag in his hand. “I got them!”

You sit up in the bed and smile, and he collapses into the bed beside you, pulling open the bag to reveal a collection of fresh baked cookies, courtesy of Jae. You’re 6 months pregnant, and it’s the only thing that you, your body, and the baby are craving. And Bellamy, the angel that he is, is more than happy to make the trip to Sanctum to grab them for you. You’d go yourself, but Bellamy is very protective and insists on doing nearly everything for you. At first you tried to fight him on it, but eventually you gave in and allowed him to protect you in the way that he so desperately desires.

And now, the two of you lay in bed eating cookies, your shirt pulled up to reveal your round belly. Bellamy finishes his cookie and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your stomach before he whispers, “Hey there, little guy. It’s your dad. I just wanted to tell you that me and your mom love you so much. In fact, we love you to the moon and back again, can you believe it?”

You smile as you watch him, Bellamy already the attentive father that he never had growing up. And he's not the only one that’s attentive and protective of you. All of your family has turned out to be the same way. Clarke, Raven, and Madi come over nearly everyday. Octavia and Levitt bring food by every few days, sometimes with Murphy and an again pregnant Emori, who offers you and Bellamy first time parenting tips. Echo and Hope keep an eye on your garden, and Jackson has even taken to making house calls. You think it’s because your pregnancy is reminding him more and more of your mom, and when she was pregnant with you and Clarke, so you don't argue. Instead, you sit back and accept the doting, aware that everyone means well, and is just eager to offer their love to you, Bellamy, and your growing son.

Bellamy rests his hands on your stomach, his face lighting up every time your little warrior kicks, which is starting to feel like every few minutes at this point. The two of you exchange a smile, and his hand drops to a scar on your side, the one from the assassin in Mount Weather. He traces another scar, stretched across the middle of your stomach, from the first time you met Lincoln. He traces a few more, stretched along your arms, legs, and shoulders, though he doesn't find them all. As he does, he looks up at you, his face reverent as he whispers, “It’s incredible, you know. I’ve seen your body change so much since we met, but never more than I have right now. I’ve seen you stabbed, shot, bloody, and bruised and you always came out the other side stronger. You’re so damn resilient, and now you’re carrying our child. I’m in awe of you.”

You melt, Bellamy always good at leaving you as a nearly incoherent puddle of emotions. You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer, “C’mere.”

He smiles and moves back up the bed towards you, dipping his head to kiss you until you're breathless. The two of you smile as he pulls away, both of you high off your happiness. You've definitely had your struggles in your pregnancy, but moments like this have made it worth it. And you just know that meeting your son will make it all worth it too.

Bellamy settles onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms, offering you another cookie as the two of you stretch out beneath your skylight, searching the stars. He’s quiet for a minute, before he says, “I’ve been thinking about names.”

You glance up at him, expression curious. “Yeah?”

“I know we haven't found anything we really love yet, so I started thinking about the things we love the most: the stars and history. And then, I remembered the first constellation you ever told me about, Orion. I thought that might be a nice name.”

Your face lights up as soon as he says it, and you smile at him. “I think that’s a really good name.”

He smiles at you before continuing, “For history, there was a Roman emperor named Alexander.”

“Orion Alexander Blake.” Your smile grows, knowing immediately that it's perfect. “I love it.”

He looks down at you, a big smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You feel a kick in your stomach, strong enough that Bellamy can feel it too, and you both look down at your stomach with a smile. “I think Orion likes it too.”

Bellamy’s smile grows larger, and he shifts his gaze from your stomach to your eyes. “Orion Alexander it is.”

2 years, 9 months after Transcendence

You stand in the kitchen, peering into your cabinets for something to eat while Bellamy waits for you in the other room, studying a chess board.

He was adamant on getting up to get the snack for you, but you insisted on getting it yourself, not quite sure what you want. And as you stand there deciding, you feel a trickle of water run down your leg. Your stomach drops, already aware of what’s happening, but you look down anyways, confirming what you already guessed.

Your water just broke.

You keep your voice calm as you call out, “Bell!”

He immediately comes running, his face contorted with worry. “What’s wrong?”

He sees you standing in the kitchen, looking at him with wide eyes, and he immediately understands what’s going on. “I’ll get the bag and get the rover started. You go change.”

You hurry to your bedroom the best you can and change quickly, before heading out of the house and into the rover where Bellamy is waiting. His grip on the steering wheel is tight, and you know he’s just as nervous as you are, if not more. As he puts the vehicle into drive, you reach out and place a comforting hand on his thigh. “We’re gonna be okay.”

He puts his hand on top of yours, turning to glance at you quickly with a smile. “I think I’m the one that’s supposed to be comforting you right now.”

“I’m fine.”

But as soon as you say it, the contractions begin.

It takes your breath away, and Bellamy keeps looking at you with worry. “La lune, are you okay?”

You breathe through the pain, relieved when it stops, and you turn to give your husband your most reassuring smile. “I’m okay. The contractions are starting.”

The drive to the clinic isn’t long, but you’re thankful for the rover, gifted to you and Bellamy by the others just a few days prior. The two of you live further out than anyone else, and everyone was worried about how you’d get to the clinic once you went into labor. The distance is short enough that you could have walked, but no one seemed too keen on that idea, you included. Luckily, Miller found the rover a few weeks ago, in pretty bad shape, but with the help of some Bardo tech, they got it fixed up and gifted to you before the big day.

Bellamy pulls the rover up right outside of the clinic, quickly hurrying to the other side to help you out and into the building. The only person in the clinic right now is Niylah, who stands from the front desk as soon as she sees you. “I’ll call Jackson, pick any room!”

“Thank you, Niylah.”

Bellamy takes you to the first available room and helps you into the bed, before he works on calling Clarke and Octavia on the radioes you all set up between your houses. You try to focus on the sound of his voice as you feel another wave of contractions, and a few minutes later, Niylah comes into the room to get an IV started and let you know that Jackson is on the way. He arrives quickly, and so does Clarke, Raven, Madi, Octavia, and Levitt. Everyone crowds in your room and helps to distract you from the increasing amount of pain you’re feeling, until Jackson finally says that it’s time for you to push. He kicks everyone out, except for Niylah and Bellamy, and he turns to you with a smile. “Okay, we’re gonna push now, are you ready?”

You nod weakly, getting worried before you turn to Bellamy. He reaches out to take your hand, smiling softly at you as he whispers, “You’re the strongest person I know, la lune. You can do this.”

And then you push.

Before you know it, a sharp cry cuts through the room, and you sag with relief, well aware that your son has entered the world. Bellamy cuts the umbilical cord and Jackson and Niylah take your son away, cleaning him up and checking him over. Bellamy presses a flurry of kisses to your face, whispering between each one. “I’m so proud of you. You did so amazing, natshana. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You smile up at him, feeling the energy drain from your body as your adrenaline starts to fade, but in this moment, you are so unbelievably happy. Jackson brings your baby over to you and Bellamy, putting him into your waiting arms. You and Bellamy crouch together, looking down at your son and his tiny nose and tiny ears and tiny hands. You look over at your husband, both of you smiling, and you whisper, “Do you want to hold him?”

Bellamy nods, his smile growing even brighter, into one of those rare ones you treasure so much. It melts your heart as you pass Orion into his arms, Bellamy holding him so tenderly, so carefully. He smiles down at the bundle in his arms, tears springing to his eyes as he whispers, “Hey Orion, it’s dad. I’m so happy that you’re finally here. Me and your mom have been waiting so long to meet you. I love you to the moon and back again, and I’ll always be here to keep you safe.”

You look at Bellamy and Orion, your heart so full of love. At this moment, you’re not sure your life could be any better than it is right now. You have no idea just how wrong you are.

3 years after Transcendence

Your dazzling little sun comes to see you nearly every day now.

Correction, she comes to see Orion nearly every day. She comes over in the late afternoon, after his nap and before his dinner, to visit and play with him. Sometimes she brings Clarke, sometimes she brings Luca, but mostly she comes alone. You and Bellamy welcome the visit, Madi’s babysitting giving the two of you a little break to rest or work on dinner.

Today, she comes alone, knocking on the door softly, but full of excitement. You pull the door open to her smiling face, and she pulls you in for a quick hug before barreling past you, into the living room where Orion and Bellamy now play. You close the door and quickly follow her, stepping into the living room to find your husband picking up Orion with a smile, both of them turning to greet Madi. Orion lets out an incoherent babble of happy sounds, and Bellamy nods and mutters, “Yeah, what he said.”

Madi looks between you and Bellamy, a big smile on her face. “I made Orion something.”

“Yeah?”

She reaches into her jacket, pulling out a thick bound book. You all step closer to her as she flips open the first page. “It’s his own sketchbook of stories. Some of them are yours and Clarke’s, some are mine, but some are from the others too. Eligius, Sanctum, Wonkru, Bardo. I interviewed everyone and drew what they described so that I could pass it onto Orion.”

She passes the sketchbook to you, and you flip through a few pages, Bellamy peering over your shoulder. You look up at your niece, equal parts touched and impressed. “Madi, these are incredible!”

“Thank you.”

Bellamy adds, “La lune’s right, these are amazing. Plus, Orion loves storytime.”

Madi looks at him, hopeful. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Can I read him something now?”

Bellamy nods, passing Orion into her outstretched arms. “Of course. Though, maybe hold off on the violent stories for now.”

She smiles, settling into one of the chairs with Orion in her arms, and you put the book in her lap as she looks up at you with thanks. “I’ve got a good story in mind.”

As you and Bellamy start to step out of the room and towards the kitchen to get a few things done, you hear Madi begin, “Orion, this is the story of your parents. They met on this spaceship in the sky, called the Ark, and…”

4 years, 2 months after Transcendence

You hear a knock on your bedroom door, and you tug your shirt down over your head before yelling, “Come in!”

The door swings open, and Octavia stands in the doorway, a big smile on her face. “Hi, sister.”

You smile back, “Hi, trouble.”

“Trouble?” She scrunches her nose and you let out a laugh before you explain, “Bellamy told me that you put all the kids’ hands in warm water at nap time. He said he was changing kids for an hour.”

She tries to hold back a laugh, but fails, “Oops.”

“Oops is right.”

You cross the room towards each other, and she pulls you in for a hug, leaning back after a moment to inspect your outfit. “That’s what you’re wearing to date night?”

You look down at your clothes, pants, a long sleeve shirt, and some boots, and look back up at Octavia, your voice a skeptical, “Yes?”

She shakes her head. “I know you’ve been married for a few years, but this is awful.”

You balk at her, but she waves off your indignation, turning to grab a bag that she dropped near the door. “Lucky for you, I already anticipated this being a problem, so I brought you this.”

She pulls a top out of the bag, red, velvety, and dressier than anything you’ve worn since having Orion. You look at it with skepticism, but Octavia holds up her hand. “Before you protest, at least try it on first.”

“Fine.”

You take the top from her hand and quickly change into it, turning to look in the mirror as you do. And even though you’re still wearing your usual pants and boots, you already look way better than you did a few moments before. Octavia steps up behind you, pulling your hair out of its ponytail, freeing your hair and looking at you in the mirror. You look at yourself, shocked, not used to seeing yourself dressed up these days. Octavia smiles at you in the mirror. “I mean, you looked great before, you always do, but now you look hot.”

You laugh turning to press an appreciative kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, Octavia.”

“It’s always my pleasure.” She turns and motions to the door. “Now, go! Bellamy is waiting for you.”

You smile at her, both of you walking to the door together. “Thanks again for babysitting Orion.”

“There’s nothing I love more than visiting my nephew.”

You walk past the living room, where Levitt is sitting with your son, and the two of you exchange a greeting before you continue on to the door. You try to remind Octavia of Orion's bedtime schedule, but she shakes her head, pushing you out of your now open door. “There are no rules with Aunty O.”

You sigh and she smiles, hugging you one last time before closing the door in your face. You roll your eyes and turn, starting to walk down your porch, looking for your husband. But instead of finding Bellamy, you see a path of candles, leading you into the woods near your house, lighting the way through the rapidly darkening night. You follow the candles with a smile on your face, which only grows larger when you see what’s at the end of the path.

Bellamy, standing beside a blanket, a spread of food and candles beside him. He grins when he sees you, eyes raking up and down your body with appreciation. “You look beautiful, Mrs. Blake, as always. More radiant than the moon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blake.”

You reach him, and he pulls you in for a kiss, slow and sweet, and when the two of you break apart, you’re both smiling. You turn to look at the blanket, taking in the bowls of fruit and cookies spread across it. “And what’s this?”

“A picnic, like we had in Arkadia. Back when life was all about spying, Grounders, and Pike.”

You turn back to him, “Do you miss it?”

He shakes his head, taking your hand and guiding you down onto the blanket. “Not at all. I’m glad it led us to this moment, this life, but I wouldn't trade any of this right now for anything.”

“Me either.”

The two of you sit talking and eating and laughing, enjoying your date night together, enjoying each other’s presence. And later, after you’ve eaten one too many cookies, and Bellamy’s had a little too much Jo Juice, he looks at you, taking your hand. “Tell me about the stars?”

Normally, it’s a request that comes when he’s upset or angry or looking for a distraction. But now it is one of curiosity, and love, your husband eager to just listen to the sound of your voice. So you smile at him, and answer, “Of course.”

You lift your gaze to the sky, searching for one you haven’t told yet, your eyes finally landing on one overhead. You point it out and begin, “That’s Perseus. I’m sure you know a little about him already.”

Bellamy nods, confirming he does, but he makes no move to stop you, wanting to hear the story from you anyways. You continue, “Perseus and his mother, Danae, were locked in a box by his grandfather and thrown into the sea to drown. But instead of sinking, the box floated, carrying Danae and baby Perseus to a different country. They were greeted by the king of the new land, Polydectes, who immediately fell in love with Danae. But she refused to marry him, claiming she wanted to focus on raising Perseus instead. When Perseus was a young man, Polydectes hatched up a plan that would get him out of his hair so he could marry Danae. He tricked Perseus into agreeing to the mission, which was to slay the gorgon Medusa and bring back her head as proof. Polydectes was sure that Perseus would be killed and he would be able to marry Danae with ease, because Medusa had hair made of snakes, which turned anyone that looked at her into stone.”

Bellamy smiles at you, and you smile back, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before you continue, “The next day, as Perseus began his mission, he sang songs to welcome the rising sun, which pleased the gods. Because of this, they decided to help him on his quest. The goddess Athena gave him a gold shield that he could look into, to avoid being turned to stone but still see what he was doing. Hermes gave him a pair of sandals that would help him move quickly, along with a new moon sword that was sharp enough to cut off Medusa’s head. Armed with these gifts, and a special sack to put Medusa’s head in, Perseus went to the cave of the gorgons and killed Medusa, putting her head into the bag and returning home. On his way home, he came across Andromeda, who was chained to a rock and being offered to a sea monster.”

Bellamy gasps a little, adding dramatic effect to your story, and you roll your eyes at him, pretending to be annoyed. “Luckily for Andromeda, Perseus used Medusa’s head to turn the monster to stone, saving her. She was so grateful she decided to marry him, and the pair continued back to Perseus’ home. They made it just in time to stop the wedding of Danae and Poydectes, which was being forced on Perseus’ mother. He used Medusa’s head to turn the king and his wedding guests to stone, saving his mother in the process. After that, it’s said that Perseus lived for a long time, happily married, and he eventually became king of Mycenae, which he founded. After he died, Zeus put him in the stars, alongside his wife Andromeda.”

Bellamy smiles, squeezing your hand a little. “I hope I get to be by your side in the stars.”

“Me too.” You're quiet for a minute, thinking before you muse, “I guess in a way, you are like Perseus. You’ve definitely slayed your fair share of gorgons and monsters, and you saved me.”

“Does that make me a king?”

You laugh, “Maybe not officially, but you’ll always be a king to me.”

Bellamy smiles at you, tugging you down into a kiss. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

8 years after Transcendence

You peer up from your papers and to the late afternoon sun, enjoying the feel of it on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve had quiet for a while, as Orion has just reached an age where he’s old enough to go to the school in town during the day. Before that, he stayed at home with you, making it pretty difficult for you to get any real work done while he was awake and playing. But you’re glad you got the time with him, your favorite little carbon copy of Bellamy. He looks just like him, dark, curly hair, a face full of freckles, a bright smile. But he acts just like you, and you can see so much of your personality in him already.

You shake your head, trying to clear the distraction from your brain, giving yourself a wave of nausea instead. You have just enough time to push your papers out of the way before you turn and puke. Your brows pull together, wondering what that could be about, until you remember your pregnancy with Orion.

And how you found out.

You gather your things and quickly stuff them inside your pack, glad that you’re already in town and not far from Jackson’s clinic. He’s in the lobby, talking to one of the nurses in training when you walk in. He looks up at you with a smile, his gaze questioning. “La lune, what brings you here?”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

Jackson’s eyes go wide and he motions for you to follow him. “Let’s go find out for sure.”

You follow him back into one of the rooms and he draws some blood, returning not long later to inform you that you are indeed pregnant. You let out a surprised little laugh, and Jackson asks, “We can do an ultrasound right now, if you want. Or you can wait for Bellamy.”

You’re about to say you want to wait for Bellamy, but then you think it might be a nice surprise to have an ultrasound picture to show him when you announce the news. “Let’s do one now.”

“Great.”

He takes you into a separate room, pulling out a machine and moving it over your stomach, searching for the baby and its heartbeat. After a moment, he finds it, the heartbeat thudding rhythmically, bringing you a sense of peace. But as Jackson shifts, his eyes go wide, and he whispers, “Oh my god.”

The words send alarm bells off in your head, and you look at him with fear. “What? What is it?”

“You’re having twins.”

You look at him with shock. “What?”

He turns to you with a smile, pointing out the two little blobs on the screen. “It looks like you’re having twins!”

You laugh with disbelief, tears pricking your eyes. “Oh my god. Bellamy’s gonna flip.”

Jackson prints a picture of the ultrasound for you, both of your little babies visible, so you can bring it home to Bellamy. He sends you on your way with a few vitamins and a big piece of news. You practically run the whole way home, excited that Bellamy is already there when you arrive. You come into the house in a flurry of excitement, unable to contain it, and Bellamy looks at you with amusement. “What?”

You can see Orion playing nearby, clearly distracted, so you turn to your husband and say, “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

He gives you a weird look, but he complies anyways, holding out his hands for you. You place the ultrasound picture onto his palms, and say, “Open.”

He opens his eyes, and looks down at the picture in surprise, his face instantly lighting up and he turns to you. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod, your face split into a grin, and you motion to the picture. “Look closer.”

Bellamy looks down at the picture again, his eyes finding the two arrows that point to each baby. His mouth drops open in shock, and he looks up at you with wide eyes. “Are you...is this…”

You finish for him, “Twins!”

“Oh my god.” You laugh at the fact that you, Jackson, and Bellamy all had the same reaction, and Bellamy laughs too, happy. He reaches out and scoops you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your lips. From across the room, your son sees you, and he pulls himself to his feet, proclaiming, “I want a kiss too!”

You and Bellamy pull away, smiling at each other before he leans down and picks up Orion, lifting him in his arms. Both of you press a kiss to his cheeks, and he laughs, delighted, before you pull away and say, “Hey buddy, we have some news…”

15 years after Transcendence

You finish up with the paperwork in front of you, looking up to glance at the clock.

“Is it 3 already?”

Madi looks up in surprise, glancing at the clock too. “I guess so.”

You stand from your seat, stretching before you reach out for your bag and start to pack your things inside. “I’ve gotta go. The twins requested that I walk home with them today so they can show me their favorite tree to play in.”

Madi smiles, shaking her head a little. “They’re so cute.” She stands and starts to pack her own bag, glancing at you in between. “I’ll go with you. Luca has to work late tonight, and I promised I’d pick up Abigail from daycare.”

“Perfect.”

As the two of you grab your bags and head towards the door, Clarke comes tearing inside, looking between you both. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, we have to go get the kids.”

Clarke smiles at the mention of her nieces, nephew, and adopted granddaughter. “I want to come. The council can wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit!”

You all laugh as Clarke runs to grab her things, glad that your twin is deciding to join you and Madi today. She works so hard all of the time, and she takes her job as Intergalactic Chancellor very seriously. Sometimes Raven comes to eat dinner with you and Bellamy, because Clarke is working late and she doesn't want to be alone. You’re always happy to welcome her, the woman becoming so much like a sister to you over this last decade.

As you, Clarke, and Madi make the walk down to the school, you can't help but think about everything that’s happened just with the three of you. Clarke and Raven are now married, and have been for a few years. Madi married Luca a couple of years ago and they have a child together, a three year old girl named Abigail, named after your mother. You and Bellamy haven't had any more kids after the twins, Selene Ara and Helen Carina, each named after a woman from a Greek myth and a constellation. They’re now 7 and still very identical, looking just like you and Clarke did as kids. They have Bellamy’s soft heart and kind spirit, and you love them more with each passing day.

Orion is now 12, the same age Madi was when she became Commander, a burden that you can't believe you allowed your niece to take on. Because now, every time you look down at Orion, you can't imagine putting something like that on him. And Clarke’s reaction to your betrayal makes much more sense to you now. In the moment, you were so focused on saving her, that you allowed Madi to take on more than she should have. Though everything has long since been forgiven, it’s something you think about often.

Still, walking between Madi and Clarke, you’re in awe of the women they’ve both become. They inspire you every day to be a better wife, mother, and woman, and you’re so grateful to have them in your life.

It’s not long before the three of you arrive at the school, the door and windows to the building all thrown open to allow the influx of cool afternoon air inside. The three of you stop just outside the door to the building, watching as Bellamy sits surrounded by all of the kids inside. Your kids, Miller and Jackson’s, Murphy and Emori, Hope and Jordan’s daughter, Echo’s son, all of them spread out around Bellamy. Technically, the school day is over at this point, but every day after school they gather around Bellamy and he tells them all a story from your collective history. The kids love it, all of them proclaiming it their favorite class of the day, and it’s easily won Bellamy the title of ‘favorite history teacher ever’, something he proudly reminds you of on a weekly basis.

But you’re happy that he’s so happy, so at peace. He hasn't picked up a gun in years, not even to hunt, and he hasn't fought anyone in twice as long. And he's more than happy to teach history to the kids every day, and share stories of your history, before coming home to a house full of laughter and love. As he finishes his story about the 100’s first day on the ground (the kids favorite), his eyes lift to you, sensing your presence. He smiles at you and wraps up the story, looking over all of the kids. “That’s it for today!”

They all groan, wanting another story, and Bellamy smiles as he shakes his head. “Maybe, if all of you are really good this week, I’ll tell you two stories on Friday.”

They all clap with excitement before breaking away and grabbing their bags, turning and running to the door, where the rest of their parents, your friends, stand waiting. The twins come running at you as soon as they see you, and you pick one up in each arm for a quick hug. “Mommy, you came!”

You smiled down at Selene, “Of course, I came! I can't wait to see your favorite tree.”

Bellamy walks over then, baby Abigail in his arms, fast asleep. He passes her to Madi, who takes her with a smile of thanks, before he turns to greet you with a kiss. “Hey, beautiful.”

“Hi handsome.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to Clarke and Madi’s cheek, greeting them both. Orion is the last to join your group, giving you a hug as he reaches you. “Hi mom.”

“Hi baby.” You hug him back, glad he’s still at that age where he wants to hug his mom, and then all of you turn and head out the door. Bellamy locks up the school behind him, before he takes each of the twin’s hands in his own. Orion grabs Clarke’s hand, and you smile at them as they walk slightly ahead of you, talking all things medical. You turn and look at your husband, walking with your daughters, and your smile grows, reminded of how grateful you are to have this family and live this life.

50 years after Transcendence

You and Clarke step out onto her porch, cups of tea in hand. You both walk over to the chairs she has waiting, sliding into one of the seats, situated one beside the other. You’re silent, your relationship long past the point where you have to fill the silence, more than content to sit side by side, saying nothing. You’re both well into your 70’s by now, Clarke’s blonde hair faded to a pale gray, yours doing the same. Her hands and face are wrinkled, but her smile is just as bright and her mind is just as sharp as it was 50 years ago.

And as you take a sip of your tea, she hums, “I’m going to resign as Chancellor next week.”

You turn to her with a look of surprise, “Really?”

You had retired a few years ago, along with Bellamy, but Clarke hadn’t. You were convinced she’d work up until the day she died. “Yeah, I just don't have as much patience for it these days. I’ve been doing it nearly 50 years at this point, and I’m ready to step back, pass the torch on to someone else.”

You nod, take another sip of your tea, and muse, “I think that'll be good for you. Spend the rest of your days with Raven and the kids and grandkids.”

She nods, and your mention of the kids reminds you of the small gift tucked into your pocket. “Oh, I have something for you.”

You pull it out and pass it to her, and she sets her tea aside to unwrap it, revealing a charm, a silver star with a gem in the middle. Clarke smiles at it, admiring it. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s from the girls. They each made one.” You pull your moon necklace from beneath your shirt, a few different charms hanging on it at this point, thanks to the many gifts you’ve received over the years. Clarke’s bracelet looks the same, now something more akin to a charm bracelet, her wrist twinkling every time she moves it. She secures the new charm to the bracelet, looking down at it with a smile. “It’s come a long way from original gifts dad gave us all those years ago.”

“Definitely.” You brush a finger over the original moon, whispering, “I wish they were here to see us. To see who we’ve become. And our families, god I wish they could meet the kids.”

“Me too. But they know, I believe that. And I know they’d be proud of you, la lune.”

You turn to her with a smile, “I know they’d be proud of you too, shining star.”

63 years after Transcendence

You step out of your house, welcomed by the sounds of joy and laughter.

Your eyes roam the yard, searching for your husband, but he surprises you by calling out from beside you. “I’m right here, my love.”

You turn to see his smiling face, patting the seat beside him in the rocking chair on your porch. You smile and move to sit next to him, the two of you softly swinging as you look out into the yard. Gathered there are your friends, kids, grandkids, and your first grandkid, a boy named Jake. As you look out at your large family, Bellamy grabs your hand and squeezes it gently. “This is what I always dreamed of. When I wrote you that note, back before we even knew about Praimfaya, this is what I wanted for us. A big family, full of kids and grandkids, all of them a product of our love. I wanted to live the rest of my life with you by my side.”

You turn to smile at your husband, pressing a kiss to his ageing face. “That’s all I ever wanted my love, and you made my dreams come true. I’ve gotten to live a full life with you, and I wouldn't trade a second of it for anything.”

Bellamy whispers, “Me either.”

The two of you turn back to look at the scene in front of you. Echo is out in the yard, braiding flowers into some of the girls’ hair, and Hope is helping her, reminding you of your days on Skyring. Gaia is sitting with Madi, the two women still close after all these years. Murphy and Emori are playing with the youngest grandkids, always so full of energy when it comes to the kids. Their own seven children gave them 15 grandchildren, and a handful of great grandchildren. Echo only ever had one son, with a man from Wonkru named Michael. Hope and Jordan have two kids, one son and one daughter, and Madi and Luca have three kids of their own. Octavia and Levitt, and Clarke and Raven all decided to remain childfree, choosing instead to be the best aunts and uncle a family could ever ask for. They’ve spoiled your kids more than even you have. Miller and Jackson have a few kids of their own, thanks to the tech on Bardo, and they just welcomed their first great grandchild around the same time you and Bellamy did.

Your own son brought home a man of his own a few years ago, one he met while studying in Bardo. They both became doctors and remain childfree, but they spoil their nieces and nephews from the children your twins had. Helen married one of Murphy and Emori’s sons, making you related to the cockroach, and they had five kids of their own, including a set of twins, identical boys. Selene married a woman from Sanctum, and they created their own family with Bardo tech, welcoming two kids together. One of Selene’s daughters gave birth to your first grandkid, Jake, who is asleep in his mother’s arms, sitting out in the open air.

And now, sitting on your porch, your hand held tight in Bellamy’s, you can't help but reflect on your life as a whole. You spent the first almost 18 years of your life thinking that you would never see the Ark beyond the walls of your room. You thought you’d live and die in the same room with your parents, and that you’d never make friends, never fall in love. Then Shumway came along. In the moment, you were sure that he ruined your life. But your dad made a deal to have himself floated, just to save you and give you a chance to live beyond the life you had dreamed. Living without your dad was difficult, but it gave you the chance to go to the ground, and it gave you the opportunity to meet Bellamy.

Your life changed after that.

Meeting your soulmate is one of those experiences that you can't describe to others. You can try, but they’ll only understand when they meet their own soulmate. Until then, they can try to understand your words and hope one day that they’ll get it. But if you had to try explaining the feeling, you’d say that it feels like falling. It’s a rush, and your stomach drops, but you know someone is there to catch you. Raven always says it’s like spacewalking. Tethered to a ship, the only thing between you and the endless universe is this small space suit. That space suit is love, protecting you from the dangers of space, while also allowing you to explore it.

But no matter how you describe it, it's magical.

It’s life changing, and even if you hate your soulmate at first, the way that you and Bellamy did, there will always be that inexplicable pull to each other. Half the time you followed him out into the woods, you never knew why. You just knew that you had too. But now, you get it. You know it’s because he is a part of you, part of your soul, and you can't resist the pull to him even if you wanted to. And from that pull came love. A kiss in the middle of a battlefield, a proposal while chained up in a cave, a wedding after saving the human race (again). Three kids, seven grandkids, and one great grandkid, all a product of your love.

You’re not sure you would have believed that this would be your future if someone had told you back then. Back when life was all about Grounders, fighting, Mountain Men, and war, you would have never thought that peace was possible. But it is, and you and everyone you know and love has spent the last 63 years proving that it is. The alien species that created the stones leaves you alone, allowing the remaining survivors of the human race to just be. They seem to have no interest in any of you beyond the few that choose to transcend when they turn 25.

You are suddenly pulled out of your thoughts by someone yelling, “Nana luney!”

You smile, turning your focus to the voice, your eyes landing on one of Miller’s grandkids, David. He smiles at you, waving you over, “Come tell us a star story!”

You glance at Bellamy and he grins at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Duty calls.”

You stand and start to walk over to the gathering group, only to be stopped by Selene, who calls from inside the house, “Time to eat!”

The kids all groan, and you smile at them. “I’ll tell you one after dinner, I promise.”

They smile and all run into the house, grabbing their plates and returning outside. Orion brings a plate for you and Bellamy, helping you both down the stairs and into the grass with the others. You’re having one of your first nice days in weeks, and everyone agreed that they wanted to eat outside. Someone set up blankets and tables for those who need it, but you feel good enough to plop down on a pillow beside Bellamy, Clarke, and Raven.

Once everyone has gotten their plates and returned outside, you begin the dinner the same way you have every month for the last 63 years: with a toast. Bellamy lifts his cup, looking over the many faces gathered there. “To those we have lost, and those that aren’t here with us today.”

You know everyone is thinking of those that have passed in the last few years: Indra and Niylah, Jae and Blythe Ann, Jackson. Losses that affect each of you when they occur, every one of you so close after everything you’ve endured together. Still, all of you have promised to celebrate their lives and not mourn their deaths, so you lift your glasses and repeat, “To those we have lost, and those that aren’t here with us today.”

Everyone drinks, honoring those that are absent, hoping that they’re somewhere in the stars watching, smiling at the tradition that has never died.

67 years after Transcendence

The gods look down at the devoted couple, held tight in each other’s arms, both of them taking their last breaths together. And as the couple passes on, the gods exchange a look, tears present in some of their eyes. “It was a love story for the ages.”

“A privileged, invisible twin falling for the demoted guard that only ever tried to do right by his little sister. A love that was felt across the Universe as we all watched on, rooting for them. A love that crossed the stars and left their mark on multiple planets, and a moon. I think there’s only one place for them.”

The god gives the other a surprised look. “Do you think so?”

“They belong in the stars. They always have.”

“Then it must be so. Let it be known that we have an 89th constellation being created: The Lovers.”

Year round The Lovers shine down on Earth, reminding all those they left behind of the power of their love. They live on as legends, their story told for generations to come. As a kid, you never thought you’d be up among the stars, your life told as a story, the same way your father told you the stories of countless others. But because of Bellamy and your unforgettable love for each other, you become part of history forever.

And it all started over 200 years ago, on a dying spaceship floating over the Earth, when a cocky ex-guard came running down the abandoned halls of the Ark, finding you held tight in Shumway’s arms.

Thus beginning a love story that would span from this lifetime, and into the next.

Forever.

Fin.

One 68 page outline, 14 pages of written notes, 3 maps, and 2 calendars later, we did it!!! That’s it, my friends. That’s a wrap. It’s insane to think that I sat down in January of 2020 and decided to write a 7 season, 101 chapter rewrite. It’s insane to think that I actually did it. This journey has been so wonderful. I have learned so much, had so much fun, and truly grown from writing this monster of a series. But more than anything, I’m fucking grateful. I have met so many lovely people through this series, made so many incredible friends, read so many kind comments and messages. And I just gotta say: thank you. Thank you to those that have been there since I posted 1.01 all those months ago. Thank you to those of you that showed up later, throughout the seasons. Thank you to all of the binge readers, the weekly readers, and those of you that commented on every upload. Thank you to everyone who ever sent me a message or ask or commented. Thank you to the quiet readers too, the ones that have enjoyed sub rosa silently. Fanfiction is an escape for so many of us, and I'll never judge the way that you consume content. So even if we’ve never interacted or talked before, but you took the time to read this series, then thank you!!!

I have more projects planned and more series coming out, including a sub rosa au mini series, another Bellamy x reader series, and others! I’m also going to be posting in a few other fandoms as well, if you’re interested. If you like me or my writing, I invite you to stick around. If sub rosa is the only content of mine you think you’ll ever enjoy, just know that it’ll always be here for you.

Okay, that’s all for now. I love you all more than the stars, in this lifetime, and in the next!!!!

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction

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