#that's a lie i already felt like shite going to bed last night

[n-hospital]

anyway. i finished isat last night at 4 am and im still experiencing things

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - vi (King!Steven x Reader)

Chapter Summary: Perhaps the rumors are true.

Warnings: blood, character death, arguments

Word Count: 2.2k

Note: This chapter is short. I’m out of town, so I’m trying my best!

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

“You look rattled.” Your eyes widened slightly as you looked behind you in the mirror at your husband. You hadn’t realized he walked into your shared bed chamber. The images of the men cowering in the dungeon – the toothless man unconscious and drooling in his cell – passed through your mind as you forced a smile.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

He wanted to attribute your behavior to the sister at the orphanage. Wanda had stopped him in the halls when you came back and told him of your argument with Sister Mary. Which was why he sought you out only to see that you were leaving the dungeon with Brock and Alexander. He thought about what the men could’ve told you. What did you see in the dungeon that made you act distant?

Your hands shakily went up to your ears and unhooked the jewelry that dangled from them. Normally, Wanda and Natasha would’ve gotten you ready for bed, but you dismissed the ladies for the night. You wanted to be alone with your thoughts as you contemplated what Lord Pierce and Lord Rumlow revealed to you.

You weren’t sure what to believe.

Steven nodded as he neared you. He saw your body visibly tense as he got closer. He reached out and stroked your shoulder, gently. Your muscles would’ve relaxed to his touch, but something’s changed.

“Where are your ladies?” He asked you. He leaned down and gave your exposed skin a soft kiss. Your muscles remained tense. He frowned.

“I dismissed them for the night. Natasha wanted to spend time with James.” You muttered. Another lie.

“Hmm…” Steven nodded. He knew you were lying. Sure, the two had gotten close in your time in Brooken, but James had been at his side for the whole day. Lady Natasha did not come and ask for James’s attention. There was another reason for your desire to be alone. “I’ll run you a bath, then?”

You didn’t want to argue. You didn’t want to let on that you found out the horrendous truth about the deaths of his two wives. You didn’t want to believe the rumors that King Steven murdered the wives before you, but with Sister Mary, Lord Rumlow, and Lord Pierce all confronting you about the truth on the same day … You couldn’t help but doubt the king. Was his kindness just a façade? Was his ‘we have a lifetime of producing heirs’ just a lie? Were you next because you weren’t pregnant yet?

“That sounds lovely,” you smiled with an even tone.

Steven smiled back though his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He pressed a kiss to your temple before walking off. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Wide eyes filled with so much fear. You were sure that the king saw it. You took a few calming breaths as you attempted to steady your heart that beat rapidly in your chest. Perhaps you should’ve insisted that you could run your own bath, or that you would’ve called for Wanda to help you unwind for the night.

You hadn’t been afraid to be alone in the king’s presence in the past. But you were wed now. Two months in and not pregnant. No heir on its way. He had no reason to keep you around – you weren’t even sure if his emotions were an act or were truthful. You remembered the king you first met. The angry one that grabbed your wrist so hard that it tore open your wounds. Was that the true Steven after all?

“My love?” You flinched, startled once again. “Are you ready?”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The king insisted to share the bath – “conserve the water,” he said. You reluctantly agreed.

The warm water helped calm your nerves as did Steven’s arms which wrapped around you. You tried to forget that with the king’s sheer strength, he could strangle you in an instant as you rested your head rested against his chest as you listened to his steady heartbeat. It seemed to help calm yours. He kissed your shoulder again and his hand rubbed your arm soothingly.

“You were angry before?” He asked.

“Must we speak?” You muttered, exhausted from the day.

He chuckled. “Forgive me, my love,” another kiss on your skin. He gently pushed the wet strands of hair to one side of your neck. “I just wanted to know why my wife was so distraught.”

You sighed. The old crone’s cold stare and accusing words rang on in your head. The tortured men, too. They called out Sharon’s name, calling for the queen the husband beneath you beheaded before them. A chill rushed through your body and you shuddered in his arms.

“Is the water too cold?” You shook your head. He sighed. “Wanda told me.” Steven prompted. “About Sister Mary…”

“Can we not?” Your voice was hushed.

“I’m not upset that you’re not pregnant.” Steven said. His voice was calm, even, and low as if trying to comfort you from the sound alone. It was a simple and straight answer. It was the truth whether you believed that or not – you didn’t. “So, you shouldn’t be either.”

“She tells the orphans that you are cruel.” You finally said. “The same things I hear in York.” You brought your wrists out from beneath the water. The scars were pale, barely visible, but they were still there. “She asked if you gave me these and I told her no.”

“It’s none of her business.”

“Which is what I told her.” You nodded.

Steven frowned. He knew of the rumors that swirled throughout Brooken and in York – and probably throughout the whole continent. He knew that he appeared to be a strong man. His stature alone attributed to that claim. His reputation of the battlefield painted him to be ruthless. He knew that. But he grew angry at the thought that someone would believe that he would hurt you – that he would scar your delicate, innocent skin.

“I said you were a good man, a good king. That she should watch her tongue because she’s speaking ill of the king. Is that not treason?” He murmured that it was. “And…” Your voice trailed off. You were unsure if you should even tell him, but he hummed in acknowledgement, curious and eager to hear the rest of the story. “She asked if I was convincing her … or myself…”

“Are you? … Are you convincing yourself?” You both sat in long moments of silence. You were unsure of what to say. Steven tensed underneath you. His muscles beginning to shake with rage as he concluded that you were convincing yourself. “Have I harmed you on purpose? Have I wronged you? Have I forced myself on you in bed? Cruel as I am – as cruel as they paint me out to be, you know me.”

“Do I?” You asked with a frown. You pulled yourself away from his chest to turn your head towards him with accusing eyes. “Do I know you? All of you? Or do you show my what I want to see?”

“I don’t understand – “

“The men in the prisons… They’re there because of Sharon, right?” His blue eyes turned cold upon hearing her name. They weren’t the warm, kind eyes that stared at you across the hall as you walked down the aisle. They weren’t the bright eyes that admired you as he took you for the first time and every time after that. They were something else entirely – cold like the paintings where he never smiled. “You torture them because of Sharon?”

“They deserve it.”

“My father doesn’t torture his prisoners. He feeds them and clothes them in nice cells before their trial. The conditions your prisoners are held in! The prison is rancid. The smell of piss, and shite, and death, Steven! They sit and wait for your next bout of torture.”

“You are not in York, (Y/N).” He snapped. “I don’t care what King Anthony does in his kingdom, but this is my country. This is Brooken. Not York. You best understand that.”

You clenched your jaw so hard you felt it in your temples. It felt as if you’d bite right through your mandible. “You treat those men in that way… I wonder what you’ve done to your past wives.”

Steven’s brows shot up at your accusing words. His tongue darted out to lick his lips before biting his bottom lip hard. He nodded. “If you want to believe I’m such a monster,” he said as he made a motion to stand, “then, so be it. I’ll show you a monster.” He got out of the bath, throwing on a robe, before leaving you cold and alone.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You tightened the cloak – the same one from your wedding – around your shoulders. Natasha and Wanda huddled together beside a pillar in the courtyard. Although it was already spring, the nights in the North still held a hint of the winter’s winds, cold and harsh.

“What’s happening?” Wanda asked you.

“The king has ordered everyone in the castle to gather.” You answered. It was what Lord Rumlow told you when he and some kingsguard awoke you in the middle of the night. You weren’t sure where Steven was. For the first time since your marriage, you had fallen asleep without your husband at your side.

“Did you two argue?” Natasha asked. James hastily walked past her and she grabbed him by the tail of his shirt. He stopped and turned to meet her. His eyes were tired as if he had been up all night. “What’s going on?” She asked him.

James’s eyes met yours for a brief moment. “He’s… The king is wound up.” The two ladies glanced at you. “I must go.” He gave Natasha chaste kiss on her cheek before rushing off towards the risen platform at the front.

“What happened?” Wanda asked you again.

“He’s proving something to me.” You muttered vaguely.

“What?”

“Oh, my god.” Natasha gasped.

The rest of the crowd sprung up into murmurs as Sister Mary was brought to the stage. She wore a black dress and her hair, which was normally hidden away in her cloak, had been tied into a messy bun that collected at the back of her head. You felt the color drain from your face in realization.

“Steven…” You gasped. You took one step forward, wanting to rush out and stop this lunacy, but your arm was caught in a vice grip. You turned and saw Brock’s furrowed brow. His hand gripped your bicep, keeping you in place. “Lord Rumlow, stop this.”

“I cannot, your grace.” He muttered. “And neither can you.”

Steven stepped onto the platform as the woman’s arms were held by two guards. Your eyes widened when he raised his palm to silence the crowd.

“You stand before King Steven Rogers, King of Brooken, accused of treason. Before your god, how do you plea?” Lord Barnes announced.

“Like I told you when you barged into my home, Lord Barnes. I am guilty.” Sister Mary said. No hesitation in the old crone’s response. She glared at the king before looking into the crowd to glare at you. 

She looked back at the king and spat at him. The crowd gasped. “And I’d do it again, you horrible man. I’ll do it for Queen Margaret and Queen Sharon. Again and again. The gods know the truth, Steven Rogers. The gods know. And you will be put to rest in an early grave and may you rot in hell along with (Y/N) Stark, your future widow.”

There was silence after the woman’s words. Your heart fell to your stomach. The King wiped away the spit from his cheek as he returned her glare threefold. Wanda and Natasha grabbed your arms with wide eyes. They were stunned. You visited the orphanage many times in the past two months. The woman had never showed any distaste towards you –  except for today when she spoke out against the king – but here she is now, cursing you and your husband.

“I, Steven Rogers, King of Brooken, sentence you to death for your treason. You will be executed on this night.” Steven said. His tone carried so much poison you were surprised she wasn’t dead already. His voice was low, but in the silent night, it carried throughout the kingdom. “Bring me my sword.”

The two guards grabbed the woman and pushed her upon an execution block. She stared into the crowd, locking eyes with you as if to say, “this is your fate.”

“You might want to look away, your grace,” Rumlow murmured in your ear.

You thought there would be an executioner, but it was King Steven who held the sword. He lifted up the mighty blade into the air, the moonlight reflected on it. You and your ladies gasped when the sword came down. You turned your head away, cowering against Brock’s chest. You heard a slash, spurting and squelching, and a deafening thud.

You found the courage to look up. The sword was swung straight though the woman’s neck. The blade coated in fresh blood. The crimson red taunted you. The head had been caught in a basket, thankfully, hidden away. The blood continued to drip from the headless corpse. Your mouth was ajar as you stared up at your husband. He was panting and shaking with so much rage.

Steven looked to the stunned crowd and met your graze. His eyes cold and murderous like his portraits.

You couldn’t help but wonder… had you awoken the monster?

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Navigating the Storm 2/4

Summary: Emma Swan navigates the aftermath of Neverland by trying to deal with everything the way she always has, by locking all her feelings away. Between having to share Henry with two other people now, her parents confession in the Echo Caves, her parents pushing her towards a man she has no interest in, and feelings for another man that she never expected to feel, Emma is at the end of her rope. *Post Neverland - No Curse*

Author’s Note: Thank you again to the wonderful @hollyethecurious for beta reading services! After the response to Part 1 - I am so nervous in hoping that Part 2 lives up to its predecessor. 

Rated M        3.1K        ao3         ffnet        Part 1        Under the cut, promise

Emma woke, wrapped in a warm embrace and her body immediately tensed in the fog of early morning brain haze. She never spent the night! Then she remembered where she was and who she was with and although a new fear popped into her head as she realized she was exactly where she wanted to be, Emma decided to unpack that later. They were both on their left sides and his right arm and leg cocooned her. She relished just how nice it felt to be right here, right now. Under normal circumstances Emma might feel smothered, but the crisp Maine air had penetrated the cabin a bit and his body heat was heavenly.

“Don’t run off, Swan,” he grumbled in a raspy, sleep-filled voice. “I can feel you thinking.”  

“What do you mean, ‘feel me thinking’?” she asked, mocking his husky morning voice and accent. She fell into giggles when he squeezed her in his arms and tickled her side. 

“Your body tensed as soon as you woke, that’s what I mean.”

“I actually wasn’t thinking about running off.” Emma sat up as she pondered how to translate what she was feeling. “I mean I was, but I was more thinking about not running. I know this is going to sound ridiculous because it sounds stupid in my own head, so don’t laugh.”

“Try me,” he said softly, as he sat up next to her. 

“Have you ever done things the same way for so long, or done the same thing so many times, that to not do the same thing scares you?”

Hook chuckled and nodded his head as he picked up on exactly what she was saying.

“I said no laughing,” she deadpanned.

“I wasn’t laughing at you darling, I merely know exactly the feeling you are referencing.”

Emma folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Let me share with you,” he offered, “since I see you are doubting me, despite your lie detector’s silence.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, damn him for always being so right about her. Open book, his words echoed in her head.

“Why do you think I left when you appealed to me to help you and your boy, to be a part of something?”

Emma took a moment to consider this, and though she’d always assumed it was because he was the ruthless Captain Hook, maybe there was something to what he was saying. “Because it was what you had always done? Look out for yourself, you’ll never get hurt.”

“Precisely Swan, but - and this is where I understand what you are talking about, when you appealed to me, every part of me wanted to stay and help. I wanted to stay for you. For the first time in centuries, my focus wasn’t on my revenge, and that? Well that scared the shite out of me.”

Emma was a little bit speechless, she’d always been thankful that he’d come back, but she’d never stopped to really question why. In fact, she was embarrassed to admit that at the time, she’d assumed he’d found some self-serving purpose to help them. Placing her hand on his cheek, she leaned in to kiss him gently. “Thank you for coming back,” she murmured. “I don’t think I ever truly thanked you. And since you’re always asking for gratitude in the form kisses, that’s what that kiss was for.” 

“Let me show you how I say you’re welcome.”

Emma laughed, a carefree little thing, as he tackled her to the bed and kissed her soundly. When Hook broke the kiss, Emma tried drawing him back in, but found he was sticking to his word. While she was disappointed to not experience more of this man while she had him in bed, she knew that this was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for her, putting her well-being first, even when she didn’t want to.

“We should get you home, lass, your parents are probably worried about you. I don’t suppose you checked in with them on your talking phone?”

“It’s just a phone,” Emma giggled, secretly finding it adorable that he was trying to learn new world lingo, “not a talking phone. And no, I didn’t. I left my phone at the diner so no one would bug me.”

“Bollocks, Swan. You’ll be lucky if there isn’t a massive search party underway already,” he said as he jumped out of bed. 

Emma took his proffered hand and left the comfort of the bed as well. “Ugh, you’re probably right.”

“Let me walk you home?” Hook asked after they’d dressed.

“I’d like that,” Emma answered. “Think we have time to grab a cup of coffee at Granny’s?”

They walked in relative silence as Emma pondered her next steps in helping herself. She was tired of feeling like a prisoner in her own life. Hook had made some really good points last night. Who knew Captain Hook was a life coach in training?

By the time they arrived at the loft, Emma had made a choice. Grabbing his hook, since he was holding a coffee in his hand, she said, “I’m going to talk to my parents this morning, about everything.”

“I think that’s a smart idea, love,” Hook affirmed, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Will you come inside with me?”

After choking on his coffee and coughing until he was almost blue in the face, he answered truthfully. “I think that is the opposite of a smart idea, but… as you wish.” 

“Thank you,” Emma sighed in relief. Before she could grab the handle to the door, it swung open. 

“David, it is her!” Snow called over her shoulder. “Emma! We were so worried about you!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around her daughter. “I heard the coughing at the door and hoped it was you. You didn’t come home and I was so scared someone or something had gotten to you.”

“I’m fine, mom,” Emma assured her, hugging her back with her free arm.

“What’s he doing here?” 

Emma gritted her teeth as she peered into the loft and saw Neal standing inside. What the hell are you doing here? she wanted to scream at him. “I asked him to come with me,” Emma answered with a measure of calmness she was drawing straight from where she was still gripping Hook’s hook.

David stepped forward to join his wife and daughter in an embrace. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” he whispered. “Come inside,” David said as he ushered Hook and Emma into the loft. 

“Where’d you spend the night,” Neal asked.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Emma growled. 

“Why is he here?” Emma asked, looking between her parents.

“I called him this morning when you hadn’t come home,” Snow confessed, eyes downcast to the floor. “I asked him if he knew where you were and he got worried and came over. We were going to get a search party organized. I’m sorry, Emma.”

“It’s okay,” Emma said, reaching to grab her mom’s hand. She didn’t miss the way her mom’s eyes shot up to meet her own, relief clear in the relaxed set of her brows as Emma uttered those two simple words. She gave her mom’s hand a squeeze before letting it go. “Let’s talk.”

Turning to Hook, she nodded her head toward the kitchen and pulled him forward. They both sat down at the dining table, where Snow and David joined them.

“I’m sorry I worried you guys last night. It was… bad form,” she smiled at the turn of phrase, “of me to leave my phone at the diner and not let you guys know I was okay. Killian was kind enough to let me stay aboard the Jolly for the night.”

“You really think jumping straight into Hook’s bed is the best thing for Henry?” Neal sputtered.

“You’re out of line, Bae,” Hook snapped.

“It’s okay,” Emma whispered to Hook, then she stood from the table and walked straight over to Neal, until her face was inches from his. 

Anger boiled in her belly, but she tamped it down and instead spoke with composure she didn’t feel. “Again, I fail to see how that is any of your business. I don’t give a fuck what you think about who I spend my time with or where I spend my nights. You lost that right so long ago. And I would never do anything to jeopardize Henry’s best interest, so you can stop using that as a cover for your jealousy of Hook. Now you can stay or you can go, but the conversation I am about to have with my parents probably isn’t something you want to stick around for.” She whipped around without waiting for a response and sat back down next to Hook at the dining table.

Emma looked between her parents as they sat next to each other holding hands, and it made her happy that they had each other. “Mom, Dad, we have to talk,” Emma started, pausing only momentarily when the door to the loft opened and slammed shut. “I let everything build up after we got back from Neverland. Last night was the absolute wrong time to try to make you guys understand all I’ve been keeping inside, and I’m sorry that I went off and then stormed out. I’ve never been the best at talking things out.”

“Emma, we only want what’s best for you,” David said sincerely. 

“I know that,” she said confidently. She reached across the table to place her hand atop her parents' joined hands to make sure she had their attention. “Neal is not what’s best for me.”

“I’m sorry we were pressuring you toward him,” her father interjected. “It’s obvious now that something happened between you two, but your mother and I didn’t know that.”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss this morning,” Emma said, sitting back in her chair. “I want to tell you what I should have told you from the very first time you mentioned Neal and I getting back together. Killian once asked me if I’d ever been in love and I lied to him. I lied because I was ashamed to admit that I had been in love once and I’d gotten my heart broken like the stupid, naive teenager I was.” 

She looked over to the man himself, and took his hook in her hand again. He smiled at her, giving her a reassuring nod. “Look, I’m going to make this as quick as possible, because this is something I hate to even think about, let alone talk about. Without going into all the details, when I was sixteen, I met Neal. We got together and eventually decided we wanted a better life, more than petty crime and sleeping in stolen cars. Neal said he had a way for us to make that better life, but it involved one last job, and I was stupid enough to help. When all was said and done, he left me holding the bag for his crime, because Pinocchio had found him and told him that I was The Savior. An anonymous tip was made to the cops and I was arrested. I was charged with possession of stolen goods in an amount exceeding the grand theft larceny limit, and they put me in prison for eleven months.”

Hook shifted in his seat, and she didn’t miss the fury in his eyes. “That’s where I found out I was pregnant, that’s where your grandson was born,” Emma’s voice cracked with a sob as the pain she’d dealt with on her own came rushing back. “What exists between me and Neal now, can only be based on what happened between us then. I hated myself, and by extension I hated him, because I did the one thing I’d vowed my whole life that I’d never do if I had a child of my own. I gave him up.”

David and Snow sat silently, grief stricken as they listened to Emma tell the story of what had happened to her when she was still just a child herself. A steady flow of tears trailed down Snow’s cheeks as she faced the collateral damage of a choice she’d made. David was ashen as he thought back to the moment he’d placed his precious daughter into that wardrobe so she could be The Savior. 

“And I hate that I put those looks on your faces, I know you had no choice in sending me away, but I didn’t know it back then,” she continued, straining to get the words out through the tears. Emma leaned into Hook when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, helping her to fight the intrinsic urge to shut down, with just his supportive embrace. 

“I didn’t make the time to process anything that happened over the last few months, Neal returning, Neal dying, Henry being kidnapped, Neal being alive, mom wanting a new baby, Dad almost dying, Henry almost dying. Then we came home, and not only did I have to share Henry with Regina, but now I had to share him with Neal of all people. And he just wouldn’t let up about getting back together and putting the past behind us for Henry’s sake, like it was my fault that there is this wedge between us. The final straw was having you two push me toward Neal, it made things…  unbearable.”

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” her mother spoke first, “we had no idea.”

“How could you,” Emma said, “I tried to sweep everything under the rug instead of talking to you guys. I didn’t want your pity and I didn’t want to be the reason you’d pass judgement on Neal.”

Snows brows furrowed. “Emma, sweetie, parents are always going to lament the wrongs their children experience, it’s because we love you, not because we pity you. It’s especially painful, at least for us,” Snow said, looking at David for confirmation, “because we weren’t there to pick up the pieces with you.”  

“I’m sorry I never took the time to explain any of it,” Emma apologized.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” David spoke. “That… coward, he’s the only one at fault here. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.”

Despite the somber mood, Emma couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Hook sat next to her, no doubt spoiling for a fight with Neal, and her father looked just as primed to knock her ex down a peg or two. “He’s still Henry’s father, and I didn’t want everyone in town to hate him because of what happened between me and him. That’s why I never said anything. And now that I have, I don’t need you, either of you,” she amended, looking between Hook and her father, “seeking to avenge me.”

“No sucker punches, then?” Hook asked, looking at David while rubbing his jaw subconsciously.

“Or sneak attacks with a crowbar?” the prince asked, eying Hook.

“Exactly,” Emma said, “I just need my parents to back me up when it comes to the fact that there is no me and Neal, and there never will be.”

“We promise,” David said solemnly. 

“Of course,” Snow agreed. 

“And just so there is no question, I am happy that you guys want to try for another baby. I was just a little taken off guard when you mentioned it in Neverland, I was already struggling with the whole orphan game that Pan was playing. I’ve always felt replaceable, a byproduct of being in foster care, and no one has ever stuck around, so it took me a hard minute to realize that you weren’t trying to replace me.”

“We just got you back!” Snow exclaimed. “We would never try to replace you, Emma.”

“I know that, logically. Like I said, some of this was my bullshit that I needed to deal with. I just wanted you guys to know that I am happy for you, and I also needed you to understand where my head has been these past two weeks.”

“Thank you for trusting us enough to confide all of that to us,” David said. “I hope you know we are always here for you. And Hook,” David continued as he extended his hand across the table, “thank you for taking care of our baby girl last night, she needed someone and I’m glad you were there.” 

Hook scratched behind his ear as he tried to come up with an apt response. His instinct was always toward sarcasm or innuendo, but he knew now was the time for neither. Accepting the handshake, Hook replied graciously. “You’re welcome, Dave. I’m glad I was there, too.”

“All this talking has made me really hungry,” Emma said. “Anyone up for breakfast at Granny’s?”

“Why don’t you and Hook go,” Snow suggested. “Your father and I already ate and now that there is no search party, we can still make our appointment to look at a property.”

“A property?” Emma asked.

“We want more space,” her father started, “and I miss having land and animals around.”

“I guess it is a little crowded in here,” Emma laughed.

“Not space from you,” Snow corrected, “you’re more than welcome to come with us when we find a new place!” 

The cheerful hope behind Snow’s voice almost made Emma feel guilty about the fact that she already knew there was no way she would be moving with them. “Thanks, mom.” Emma didn’t miss the swell of elation that crossed her mom’s face at the sentiment. “You ready to go eat?” Emma asked Killian.

“Aye, love.”

“Maybe you guys can tell me and Killian about the property over dinner this week?” Emma asked, and she didn’t miss the shocked expressions on each face in the room as so many things in that sentence gave each pause for different reasons. 

“Sure, honey, that sounds nice,” David answered, a genuine smile touching his eyes. 

The four said their goodbyes and then Emma and Hook headed out the door hand-in-hand.

“Does she mean like a double date?” Snow asked.

“I don’t know,” David admitted, hands on his hips, “but I think he’s good for her.”

“You? You think Hook is good for our daughter?”

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Snow said, a smile ticking her lips. “What a difference a trip to Neverland will make. You couldn’t stand Hook.”

“That’s before I knew what kindred spirits he and Emma are. I think he understands her in a way we never will.”

Snow’s face crumpled a little and her husband was quick to pull her into his arms to reassure her that he hadn’t meant it as a slight to them as parents. “Emma knows we love her, all I’m saying is she and Hook have a lot in common. They understand each other just as you and I have always understood each other.” 

Tagging some folks, please let me know if you want to be added or removed ♥

@laschatzi @qualitycoffeethings @hookedonapirate @wordsmith-storyweaver @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @wyntereyez @hooklineandswan @teamhook @let-it-raines @spartanguard @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @apromisednightcap @xemmaloveskillianx @elizabeethan @cocohook38 @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @timeless-love-story @jennjenn615 @girl-in-a-tiny-box @thesschesthair @galadriel26 @ultraluckycatnd @lifeinahole27 @therooksshiningknight @kday426 @djlbg @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @delightfully-difficult-pirate @thejollyswan @csalltheway @xarandomdreamx @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove @mcakers @gingerchangeling @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @nadine200179 @alexa-fangirl-forever

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hi! James hides from everyone something that causes him pain (injury/event/illness), and behaves as if nothing is happening. but Sirius notices that something is wrong with James, and starts a conversation with him, in which James denies everything to the last, but then breaks down. Sirius takes care of him. Thank you!

((A/N: This is more like James freaking out than being in pain, but I hope it’s still the style of hurt/comfort you wanted <3 ))

James had never thought of himself as weak before, and even now, he knew that it wasn't really true. This wasn't how strength was measured, which meant that it couldn't be indicative of his personal strength or weakness. He knew that. 

The problem was that he couldn't figure out how to get his head on straight after it all. He was too aware of the fact that other people had been through worse shite than him and been perfectly fine. It felt ridiculous that he'd still be thinking about it when it had been weeks. Weeks, and he wasn't the one that had been hurt. Remus had had a flare up, and it had been bad enough that he'd had to be in hospital for more than a couple of days. And it had freaked James out. He saw him laying in that bed, looking utterly helpless, and he'd panicked. He thought it would go away, but it hadn't yet. 

He was going to give it more time. Seeing a friend hurt from an illness you knew they had wasn't a very good reason to panic in the first place, and he wasn't about to make it all about him by bringing it up. 

*

James had thought he'd been hiding it pretty well. No one had said anything to him. On reflection though, it made sense that Sirius noticed. He sodding noticed everything about James, whether he liked it or not. Of course, Sirius was also a sneaky bastard, so he didn't bring it up until they were in bed one night, with Sirius curled up behind him and an arm thrown over his waist. 

"What's been bothering you?" 

"Nothing." 

"C'mon, I know something's wrong. I know you. I know when what it means when you get like this." 

"I haven't been like anything," James denied. Just because Sirius had called him on it didn't mean that he was going to admit to anything. 

"Oh, are we lying to each other now?" Sirius asked, but there was no recrimination in his voice. "Sweetheart, you've definitely been off lately. I just wish you'd talk to me about it." 

"I haven't been off," James said, because if Sirius already knew he was lying, there was no need to stop now. Besides, it was stupid and he knew that it was stupid, even as he knew that there was no harm in confessing what was bothering him. It was... embarrassing. He didn't want to deal with that. Sirius would tell him that it wasn't something he had to worry about, but James already knew that; he didn't need to be told about it to know that it was rubbish. "I'm fine. See? We're talking. We've talked about it, and we're good." 

Sirius sighed, then pressed a kiss behind his ear. "You're not fine. Babbling about it isn't going to make it true. There's clearly something wrong." 

"I don't babble, and there's nothing wrong." 

"You do babble, and there is something wrong." 

"For fuck's sake, stop grilling me about it. What does it matter?" 

"It matters because it's eating at you." 

"Nothing's eat at me," James grumbled. 

Sirius kissed behind his ear again. Generally speaking, he wasn't good at waiting. However, he could also outwait James based on pure stubbornness when he wanted. James refusing to talk to him about what was bothering him was enough to kick him into being stubborn; he was going to outlast him if it killed him. 

Unfortunately, James was thinking the same things, but about himself. He could be as stubborn as Sirius if he wanted to-- and this was certainly a situation where he wanted to. But Sirius had picked his time well. Now that James was thinking about it, it was all that he could think about. He wasn't going to be able to get to sleep like this. It kept turning over in his head, and from the way Sirius shifted occasionally, James knew that he wasn't asleep either. 

He started to cry. He didn't mean to, and it definitely surprised him when he realized what was happening. It's not like he even felt that depressed about it. It had gotten to him, sure, but he didn't think it would feel like this. 

Sirius held him the whole time. Kissed him on the head every now and then and reminded James with a gentle whisper that he was there for him. 

When James had finished sobbing and felt like he could talk again-- albeit stuffily-- he said, "We're all going to die. We're going to have to- somebody's gonna have to watch the rest of us die. Who's going to be the one to watch all of that? I don't want it to be me. I don't want to see Remus die and have to plan a funeral, and I couldn't do that with you; I couldn't." 

"Yeah," Sirius said softly. "It's scary to think about. Hopefully, it'll be a while before we have to worry about it actually happening." 

"But there's no guarantee of that." 

"...I can guarantee that I love you," Sirius said. "And that I always will. That's the best I can offer you right now, sweetheart. We're... human. We'll die some day. So will our mates. Do I like to think about it? No, of course not. But eventually it'll happen, and I think that we'll be able to handle it." 

"I don't think I'll be able to," James whispered. He wasn't strong enough to deal with that. 

"It's not happening today, and it won't happen tomorrow. Isn't that enough, for now? Take it one day at a time." 

"You're rubbish at this comforting thing," James said, but it was another lie. He felt better. There was no way of escaping something that was inevitable, but it didn't feel like he was going to crush under the weight of it anymore. Not right now, at least. 

"Liar," Sirius said. James rolled over to hug him-- and maybe bury his face in Sirius's chest-- and caught the smile on his face. 

[disco3000]

omg omg... 1 and 10 for the ficlet thing

Hitchhiking down to Reading was much easier than both Paul and John expected. Everything had gone smoothly, and they were warmly greeted by Paul’s cousin, Betty, and her husband. They’d made a promise to work behind the bar through the week and perform at the weekend - a brand new audience in a brand new town! Working was fine, a little repetitive, but the customers were good fun and didn’t bother talking to either boy for most of the night.

The pair of them had spent their free time making posters for their weekend gig, pasting them around nearby streets to spread the word. Under Betty’s husband’s guidance, they’d created a brand new setlist - specially catering to their acoustic guitars - and put the advice he’d given to them to good use. This week was their week, something they’d probably not get to do again for a very long time. Having a band was much easier than being a duo, but the fact it was just them - nobody else - made it all the more special. Working didn’t seem like work with the other by their side, it was fun. Something neither of them would ever put alongside the idea of work. Practicing on only acoustic guitars was great too, they’d reinvented themselves for the week - no more electric guitars - just classic rock and roll on acoustics. It reminded Paul of when he was learning guitar - and when he was teaching John guitar properly too. Back to basics - strangely intimate, he felt.

The week passed quickly, and their first gig was upon them. Regular customers piled in, alongside some new faces - perhaps they were weekend regulars, or perhaps the posters had enticed them to come to The Fox and Hounds for the first time. Once the stream of people coming in had seemed to slow down, the pair introduced each other and jumped right into a cover of The World is Waiting For The Sunrise , followed up with Be Bop A Lula and the rest of their setlist. The gig had gone well, they’d made actual money! Sure, the patrons were all drunk, but they hadn’t caused a fuss - they seemed to enjoy it!! All the work into making their weekend stint as the Nerk Twins something fantastic had paid off, and the exhilarating feeling pulsing through them both was like nothing they’d ever felt before.

Once the pub had shut (and they had helped in cleaning up, of course!), they headed off to bed - squeezed together, lying top and tail, dozily making conversation as the hazy moonlight shone through the gap in the curtains.

“I don’t want to go back tomorrow, Paul. Are ye sure we can’t stay?” John asked, evidently really enjoying being a Nerk Twin

“I don’t either, y’know. But a promise is a promise, an’ I can’t be away from home any longer - but ‘m sure we can come down again, yeah?” Paul responded, nudging John’s calf with his heel.

“Aye, yeah, we should. ‘S been nice, just us. Nobody to bother us, ‘n no Mimi or Jim to tell us to go to sleep. No stupid arguments about songs n’ shite either.”

“Mmm.” Paul agreed, trying not to succumb to sleep in the middle of a conversation. “I like it when it’s just us. Feels like…uh….”

“Like what…?” John pushed, with genuine curiosity.

“Like, like… it was supposed to be this way, yeah? Like we met for a reason an’ we’d be best mates an’ do this stuff forever. Just us.”

“Ye think so?”

“Yeah. Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Paul asked, trying not to overstep the boundaries of their friendship too much.”

“Course, course it does.” John replied, pushing himself up into a sitting position, which Paul followed - leaving the two of them facing each other, the bedding bundled up in between them. “Paul…?” John began, nervously looking away. This time felt right .

“Yeah?” he replied, squinting to get a better look at his friend - he was already curious as to why he sat up (and why he mimicked this!), and John’s quiet, wavering tone sparked a deeper curiosity.

“Can…” he began, hesitating, before shaking his head slightly. Not many people had seen this side of him - shy and careful. “Can I… kiss you?” he asked, breathing in sharply once the words had been uttered.

“Can you what??” Paul replied. He can’t have heard that right. John, kissing him? John? Kissing? Him?

“Oh fuck - no, nevermind. ‘M tired. Jus’ forget what I said!!” He was clearly panicking now. Maybe he should just make his own way home now , and never see Paul again.

“No, no John… you can. If you really want to. But yer’ not…. Yer not queer, are you?”

“Am I not? Are you not? I jus’ want this, Paulie. Just… that’s what I thought ye’ meant. About us.”

“I’ve never… thought about it.” He lied, he had thought about kissing John. He wanted to. But he didn’t think John would ever want that too - not in a million years!

“I’ll just go to bed, eh? This never happened -” John began to lie down, but Paul grabbed onto his wrist, pulling him forward, closer and closer until their noses were practically touching.

“I jus’ want this too.” Paul whispered, before tilting John’s head to the side and kissing him. At long last.

[clownsgobeepbeep]

Kiss

Wanted to try my hand at finally writing some Mary...hmm...some gay stuff, yes, yes

Curly hair was wilder than before, having been slept on for not very many hours. Not like it mattered, her dancing alone was more than enough to muss up her style.

“How long were you awake for this time?”

A voice with a slight accent spoke from the darkness that wasn’t really a darkness, instead a sunlight that was held back by lilac curtains. The voice’s owner had a silhouette that stood out through this darkness, moving slowly and carefully onto what was a bed that now sank with her weight.

Curly hair was moved from the face of the person the locks belonged to, now tucked behind her ear as her eyebrows became furrowed.

“More like, what time did you drop dead?”

No response came from the person who had already been on the bed, the only reaction being a smack of her lips and she attempted to pull her teal covers over her face.

“Don’t ignore me.”

A sort of mumble came from her lips that soon felt the feather-like touch of fingers that remained soft despite the amount of rough work they were put through. They now trailed away from the lips and down the girl’s chin, turning so that the back of them caressed her warm cheek.

“You need to stop sleeping so late, Mochi.”

“No.” the girl finally replied, smacking her lips once again as she hugged her blankets even more, ignoring the fact that the tips of the other girl’s fingers were now on the lining of her face. 

Soft lips planted themselves onto her cheek, forcing her to finally peek her eyes open in the slightest way, not that she could exactly bring herself to completely open them due to the blinding light that wasn’t that powerful. Through drowsy and blurred eyes she saw the perfect shape of a young woman, lips curled up into a beautiful smile meant only for her. A beautiful shade of blue orbs stared down at her, not bothering to blink as if to stare at her longer.

“Ansel.”

“Hm?”

“An...Ansel...longer…”

“Ansel told you to stay longer?”

A slight and lazy nod came from the girl in bed as her eyes shut once again, not bothering to react when she received a slight shove on the shoulder.

“Marianne Vidal, don’t you lie to me.”

“Mmm.”

“Ansel called me to tell me you refused to leave.”

“Fun.”

“It was fun?”

“Ye.”

“Well your fun has kept you in bed till 3.” the other woman shoved her once again, sighing when Mary brought the covers over herself. “Mary.”

“Mm.”

Mary’s lover could only blink down at her worm-of-a-partner, seeing as the blanket rose every now and then with every one of Mary’s soft breaths. There was no winning this one, Mary always being the type to party all night before passing out and sleeping all day until the night rolled around again. She got away with it most of the time, but this would not be one of those moments.

The other woman, Sato, removed herself from the bed they shared to then make her way to the very end of it. Here, her hands found the end of the large blanket Mary concealed herself with, snaking her hands beneath it before her body followed through. 

In the darkness created by the blanket were Mary’s bare legs that were barely covered by the pajama shorts she wore, her abdomen also revealed as she only wore a cropped top. This was enough for Sato to trail her fingers over Mary’s exposed skin, the latter shivering at the cool touch she never expected.

With the small illumination that came through the blanket, Mary opened her eyes to look down and see Sato climbing over her, offering kisses that were peppered over her stomach.

“What a wake-up call.” Mary groggily spoke, finally awake enough to keep her eyes open and move her arms over her lover’s body. “Good morning.”

With Sato now completely over her, Mary placed her tired hands on Sato’s cheeks as the former held herself up with a hand on each side of Mary’s head. She leaned down, soon enough placing her lips onto Mary’s somewhat dried ones. She was always so stubborn when it came to wearing lip balm.

“Good morning.” Sato replied after removing her lips from Mary’s, now giving the latter a quick peck on the nose. “Are you finally going to wake up?”

“If I get more kisses...perhaps.” Mary blinked once after her lips curled up into a sleepy smile. “Maybe some Ramune.”

“I think you had enough of that last night.” Sato brought herself closer down, using a plank-like position to hold herself as her body was still pressed against Mary’s. “I saw the bottles.”

“Aaand?” Mary gave a goofy giggle as she placed her arms under Sato’s. “It’s never enough.”

“Just like your boba?”

“Just like my Boba.” Mary leaned up to kiss Sato who had fixed her body once more, now laying between Mary’s legs. “I never have enough of you.”

“Good answer.” Sato leaned down to kiss Mary’s cheeks, intending on removing herself from Mary who made sure to hold her back.

“You woke me up, you’re staying here.”

“I am not, I have things to do.”

“Like?”

“Feeds the babies. You’re helping me out, it’s can night.”

“Hm. Good point.” Mary slightly nodded with a smile, then chuckling as a new sinking happened on their bed. “Speak of the devil.”

“Macintosh.” Sato turned her head to where a new figure came into view, an adult feline that slowly made its way over to the pair. “So nosy.”

“He is.” Mary removed her arms from Sato, now reaching out to the cat that rubbed its furry body on Sato’s arms. “Come here baby.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two then.” Sato finally stood up, looking around the bedroom to see that other cats had come by to see what was the hold-up with their Friday treats. “What do you want to eat?”

“You know the answer.” Mary gave a smirk as she looked behind the cat she had placed on her chest, giving Sato a look that made the latter’s cheeks flush red. “Fugu, duh.”

“Ew.” Sato jokingly rolled her eyes, especially as she realized that word alone had caught the attention of their feline friends. “You did promise to take me to that new restaurant by the sea.”

“The expensive one?” Mary faked wide eyes. “What kind of money does it look like I have Sato-Bear?”

“The kind of money that bought me a new bike the other day.” Sato picked up the cat known as ‘Macintosh’ from Mary’s body, setting it on the carpet before she sat on the bed to hold Mary’s chin between her thumb and index finger. “I still have to pay you back for that.”

“You know how to do just that.” Mary giggled to herself, finally sitting up to hold Sato’s features before their foreheads were pressed against each other.

Their eyes were now shut as they ignored the cats for just a few moments, faces so close they rubbed their noses together before Sato whispered.

“Kimi ni muchu nanda.”

“Well you drive me crazy when you speak Japanese.” Mary gave a purr.

“Ii nioi.”

“It’s that new perfume you got me.” Mary whispered back as she rubbed her thumb over Sato’s cheek, almost teasing herself as she restrained herself from giving Sato yet another kiss. “Or maybe the Ramune.”

Sato opened her eyes for a moment, giving Mary a look that made her shrug in a playful manner.

“Or cotton candy.”

“Omae wa baka da.Anata nashi de doshitara O nodesu ka?”

“You’d be the single mother of many, many, many...cats.” 

Sato once again rolled her eyes at Mary’s response, smiling at the comments she always made.

“Kisu shite.” Sato brought herself closer to Mary, the latter meeting halfway.

“No need to tell me twice.” she spoke, closing the gap between them as their moment was sealed with a final kiss.

“Mary?”

Mary’s eyes shot open, her curls wild enough to cover her face like the curtains she typically awoke to.

“Shit, we thought you had actually died this time.”

“Wha...what…” Mary blinked, having to do this quite the few times until her vision was no longer blurry and she could properly perceive the figures that stood over her. “What...what time is it..”

“Time...to wake up?” a woman’s voice spoke, Mary seeing as she crouched down to slightly shake the latter’s shoulder. “You haven’t had a turn in a while, figured that thing actually gave you a break this time.”

“Thing?” Mary yawned out, finally bringing herself to a sitting position as she realized there was a darkness, slightly illuminated by the neverending full moon in the sky above as well as the roaring fire she had accidentally slept too close to.

Once she had come back to her senses, she looked to her left, and then to her right.

No lilac curtains.

No teal blankets or pillows.

No pink carpet.

No white computer.

No cats.

No...Sato.

Mary remembered. Life was no longer pink like that song she listened to...it was now a dull gray...a lifeless gray that spoke no Sato, only death and torture. Continuous death and torture.

“Right.” Mary brought her right hand up to her eye, rubbing it in an attempt to wake herself up some more. “How long was I out for?”

“A good while.”

“Like I said, we thought you had died this time. We couldn’t wake you up.”

“I never did sleep much, and when I did...it took a bit to wake me up.” Mary informed the pair that helped her up, as she had kept her signature skates on. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Mary stood before the scorching fire, every now and then the flame turning a peach-like color that resembled the color Sato adored dyeing her hair.

Mary clenched her fists as did her jaws, eyes furrowed as her left hand reached over to the charm that hung at her side. It was one of the parts of this desolate realm that kept her determined.

“Dakishimetai, Sato.”

[three-drink-amy]

All the Shine of a Thousand Spotlights

This chapter was inspired by an interview I saw with Lin Manuel-Miranda about Hamilton and Beyonce. I thought it would translate well to this story! Hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading! 

masterlist - AO3

Chapter Fourteen - When You’re Worn Out and Tired

It started as a gentle sniffle. I’d handed him a kleenex without much thought. Jamie was never sick. Never even allergies. The sniffle alone should have alerted me. But it didn’t. The sniffle grew stronger and lasted a few days. I figured everyone gets sniffles and it didn’t really matter. 

But then the sniffle became a cough. 

And the cough was obnoxious. It was loud. It sounded painful. It made him double over sometimes as he barked it out. 

He was getting worse. 

I wasn’t much of a caretaker. Never really getting sick all that often, I didn’t really even know what I liked when I was sick. We were two healthy people, but Jamie was starting to fall into another category. 

He wouldn’t admit that he was sick though. The first day of the cough, he chugged a bunch of cough syrup right before leaving for the theater. He came home that night looking exhausted out of his mind. Stumbling in, he barely made it to the couch before he collapsed in exhaustion. I covered him with a blanket and let him come to bed whenever he woke up in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t do to try and get him back to consciousness. 

The second day of the cough, it took on a different quality. It was deeper, and objectively, grosser. He hacked away like his life depended on it. That day, he took the bottle of cough syrup with him. Coming home, he was in a similar state to the night before. He plopped down on the couch, but before he could close his eyes, I had him back up and walking toward the bedroom. Jamie was out before I was even into my pajamas. 

The third day of the cough, it was getting even worse. I was reminded of those cough suppressant commercials where the mucus mocks the sick people. I pictured a mucus party in his lungs. No matter what he took, it didn’t seem to make a difference. Granted, he wasn’t getting the rest he needed. Day three was when I floated the idea of his understudy. Jamie scoffed heavily, ignoring the idea completely. He sounded awful though. I suggested a doctor visit and he claimed he didn’t have the time. I knew he was stubborn, but I hadn’t seen this level of stubbornness from him yet. 

Day four was the breaking point. His cough was still getting worse. I told him in no uncertain terms could he go do the show that night. He’d surely cough through the whole thing and give people an awful experience. He insisted that with enough medicine, he could get through it the same as the last three nights. I stood my ground though. If he could be stubborn, so could I. Standing next to him while he still sat in bed, I watched as he called and requested his understudy. It was clear that it killed him to do so, but he took me seriously at least. He sounded like death and more than preserving the show, I wanted him to rest and heal. 

“I just feel bad,” he whined as I walked in with a cup of tea. I’d called Ellen and asked her what he’d liked when he was sick as a child. She’d sent me a long text of all the remedies she would try. I appreciated the help. 

“You shouldn’t feel bad. This is literally why we cast understudies, Jamie,” I reminded him.

“Aye, I ken that. But do ye know how many times ye’ve told me I was perfect for the part?” Rolling my eyes, I nodded. Of course he was going to use my words against me. “I suppose that’s gone to my head a bit because I’m no’ sure I trust Mark wi’ the role.” 

I shook my head and shoved the mug of tea in his hands. “Mark will be fine. He’s trained for this and watched you perform plenty of times. He’s got it.” 

“But his Scottish accent is shite,” Jamie argued, hacking out a cough. 

“Yes, but I’m sure Mark can get through a line without getting mucus on the first row.” 

Jamie glared at me as he blew on his tea. “That’s cold.” 

“I see steam coming from it,” I replied, looking at his mug. 

He shook his head at me. “I meant yer comment.” I sat down on the bed next to him while I felt more whining coming. “I just feel like I’m abandoning the cast. I’m letting them down.”

“Didn’t you say Louise was sick in, like, the first two months?” 

Jamie nodded with an annoyed look.

“And Joe missed a week of shows right? When Gail had the baby?” 

With a sigh, Jamie agreed with me. 

“Tell me, did the show fall apart without them?” 

“No,” he said in a small voice. 

“Then it’s not going to fall apart with you either. And if you don’t take at least one damned day to take care of yourself, you’re going to miss several shows because this will have turned into pneumonia and you’ll be in the hospital. Is that what you want?” 

“Obviously not,” Jamie answered, taking a long sip of his tea. “I just...this is my first show. I dinna want to be the weak link. I’m no’ saying I think the show hinges on me, I just dinna want to leave them hanging or let them down.” 

“Do you want me to go?” I asked. His head whipped over to look at me. “Not in your place, obviously, but it’s been a while since I’ve done a check up. I could go and make sure everything runs smoothly for you. Then I can tell you tomorrow how it all went.” 

“Why no’ tonight?” 

“Because I have a feeling you’ll be fast asleep.” 

He rolled his eyes but I saw the start of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His eyes lingered on me as he sipped more tea. “Do ye want to do that?” 

“Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve checked in to see how things are running. I’m sure someone will freak that I’m choosing to do so the day that you’re gone, but they don’t know that I’ll already be expecting it.” 

Jamie was silent for a long moment. I could tell that he was thinking over my offer. “Ye ken, I’d probably get more sleep if ye werena here to distract me.” 

I snorted out a laugh. “I don’t think much is going to stop you from sleeping. Except maybe that damn cough.” 

He let out a long deep cough as evidence. 

“I’ll go,” I decided for him. “It’ll be nice to see everyone at a time when I don’t have to act weirdly toward you.” 

Jamie laughed, but it only made him cough again. He nodded at my decision. “Alright, then. I’ll finish this and go to sleep.” 

I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his slightly sweaty temple. “I think that’s a good call.” I jumped off the bed, walking toward the bathroom. 

“Claire?” I turned back to look at him. “Thank ye.” 

My face softened as I walked closer to him, a hand resting at his cheek. “It’s not a problem, my love. I just want you to feel better.” Leaning down, I kissed his forehead. I pulled the blankets up further around him before I headed back to the bathroom. 

I left later in the day while Jamie was passed out from his cold medicine. A note was next to the bed telling him to let me know if he needed anything. I figured he’d surely still be asleep when I got home. 

As I got to the theater, a wave of feelings crashed over me. I was thrown back into the way I’d felt all through production. It was strange. Walking back in gave me such visceral memories that almost made me wish I’d chosen a check in time that Jamie would be there for. But the whole point of coming was to ease Jamie’s mind. 

Joe, thankfully, was the first one to see me. “Beauchamp!” he called, his arms outstretched. 

“Joe!” I walked over and he wrapped me in a hug. 

“What brings you by?” 

I shrugged. “Just checking in. Been a while since I’ve done so.” 

He hissed in a breath through his teeth. “You picked one hell of a show to check in on. Fraser’s out today.” 

I hoped my face didn’t betray me as I pretended to act surprised. “Oh, he is?” 

Joe nodded. “Yeah. Can’t say it surprised me all that much to hear it. He’s been fighting off something nasty for most of a week now. Boy needed a break for sure.” 

Part of me wanted to ask Joe to say that all again so that I could record it and send it to Jamie. It wasn’t just me that decided Jamie needed to rest. 

“Well then I’ll be curious to see how Mark does as understudy,” I replied. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Joe assured. 

“Me too.” I looked over at him and realized I hadn’t really talked to Joe in a while. We’d been friends before the show, after all. “So, how are things? How’s the baby?” 

A bright smile crossed his face. “She’s wonderful!” He immediately pulled out his phone and started showing me picture after picture of the baby. We passed the time talking about his family. I was relieved that by the time he asked me about my life, he was pulled away to get his costume on. 

I walked further backstage and was talking to one of the crew members when another familiar face pulled me aside. “What are you doing here?” John asked. 

I stared at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?” 

“I heard Fraser was going to be out so I decided to come see how things would run without him,” John told me. His eyes narrowed in my direction. “What about you?” 

Shrugging slightly, I replied. “Well, it had been a while since I had done a check in. Between taking some time off and working the other days of the week, it’s just been a while. Decided to come today. I didn’t realize Jamie wouldn’t be here.” A well executed lie. I hoped. 

“Why, because you would have picked a different night?” he teased. 

I glared at him. He held his hands up in surrender. 

“Sorry.” 

“Yeah, well you should be,” I retorted before walking away from him. 

I walked over toward the stage manager and stood toward the back wall. It wasn’t my show; I was just observing. The woman had an excited look on her face as she was whispering loudly to one of the other crew members. Each person who heard it became significantly more jittery and excited. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, stepping toward them. 

The stage manager turned toward me, her face lit up. “We heard from one of the attendants that there’s someone famous in the audience.” 

I raised one eyebrow. “Who?” 

* * *

I crept back into the apartment, feeling like quite the traitor. Slipping my shoes off, I tried to be as quiet as possible so I wouldn’t wake up Jamie. All the lights were off which meant he surely was still in bed. I’d gotten completely through my nighttime routine and pulled back the blankets before he roused at all. His head turned toward me before his eyes even opened. As I settled in bed, his hand reached out for mine. 

“Sassenach?” he whispered. 

I scooted closer, rubbing a hand along his forehead, pushing his hair back. “I’m here. How are you feeling?” 

“Tired.” 

“Mmm. I bet so. Just go back to sleep.” 

“How was the show?” he asked, ignoring my suggestion and opening his eyes. 

I chuckled to myself. “This is quite the role reversal.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “The show went well. You’ll be happy to know that Mark didn’t ruin it.” 

“Good. Anything notable happen? Did Laoghaire ask anyone else out in my absence,” he asked around a light laugh. 

“Nope. Apparently you’re just the lucky one.” 

He rolled his eyes, fighting to keep them open at all. “You didn’t answer my other question. Anything notable?” 

My silence made him open his eyes wider to look at me. Apparently my answer was written on my glass face. 

“What happened?” 

I sucked in a breath. “There was a celebrity in the audience. Everyone got excited by that.” 

Jamie, somehow even when sick, masked his face. “Oh? Who was it?” 

“I don’t want to tell you.” 

His face betrayed him a bit this time. “Claire, who was it?” 

I bit my lip, knowing he was going to be mad at me. “It was Lin.” 

“Manuel-Miranda?” he asked, a slight gasp to his question. I nodded, my face contorted. “Are ye bloody serious?” I nodded again. “Did he come back and meet the cast?” 

“Jamie, don’t ask me that.” 

“Claire.” 

“Fine, yes, he did. He came back and talked with all of us. Apparently his dad saw the show and loved it and recommended it,” I told him. Jamie looked utterly betrayed. “I’m sorry.” 

“The one bloody day ye made me stay home and one of my idols is there?” 

“You know I never could have predicted this!” 

He shook his head at me, a disapproving look on his face. “I canna believe ye.” He pulled out his phone, opening twitter. “Would it be bad if I tweeted him and told him he should come another time so he can have a better show? You know, with the actual lead.” 

I grabbed his phone out of his hand and sat on it. “Yes, Jamie, that would be bad. I’m not letting you do that. Look, when it’s meant to be, you’ll meet your idol.” I leaned closer to him. “Maybe at the Tony Awards.” 

His eyes narrowed as he glared back at me. “Dinna invoke the Tonys to try and distract me. Ye ken I’ll start thinking on how people are predicting that we’ll get nominated. But just know, Claire Beauchamp, that I’m no’ likely to forget this any time soon.” He told me, pointing at me ominously. 

I rolled my eyes at him, tucking his blanket in tighter around him. “Okay, dear. But you know what? You sound a lot better.” He gave a half cough in reply. “Still sound better than you did earlier. Sleeping most of the day must be helping. Go back to sleep, okay.” 

He huffed in reply, but scooted to lay back down. Even if he blamed me for making him miss meeting his idol, he still clutched my arms as I became the big spoon and curled around him. My ear pressed to his shoulder blade, listening to the comforting sound of his breathing til I followed him into sleep.

Next chapter

[problems-turn-fics]

listen charles made me watch the show and now im writing fic for it so please enjoy my nameless “we were totally into each other as teenagers and kissed once but we never talked about it and i thought you hated me and now we’re adults and we have to talk about it” fic. words: 3293

Ben jumped from rock to root as he tried to make as little noise as possible on his way down to the cove. It was late at night and he was far enough away from any house that he shouldn’t have had to worry but it had rained that day and the leaves and mud made for a slippery walk and he’d wiped out enough to learn his lesson. It was better to take his time and be quiet than it was to get laughed at for being covered head to toe in mud.

Caleb was already at the shore, skipping rocks on the waves, as Ben jumped the last few feet down onto the rocky shore. Caleb turned around with a grin on his face. The beard he had decided to grow weeks ago was finally starting to come in and Ben had to remind himself that staring would only cause trouble. “Took you long enough,” Caleb said.

“Dad stayed up late working on Sunday’s sermon,” Ben said, brushing off a few dead leaves from the piece of driftwood he and Caleb had pulled up a few months ago to act as a bench for their late-night meetups.

Caleb half-turned back to the water to throw his last rock, it landed with a harsh thunk into the water. “Must be a real good one he’s cooking up,” he said. He came towards Ben and stopped for a second to dig around between the log and the sharp incline into the woods. “Ah!” he said triumphantly, holding up a bottle of rum. He sat heavily next to Ben with a sigh as he worked the cork out of the top.

“Why even bother hiding it? No one's going to come looking for us here,” Ben asked, taking the bottle when it was offered and taking a drink. He wasn’t quite used to the burn yet but he did enjoy it. Or he told himself he enjoyed it. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between what he actually wanted and what he was expected to want at sixteen.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” Caleb said, taking it back and drinking. Ben forced himself to look away and out over the water. The sight of Caleb’s lips touching the same bottle where Ben’s lips had just been always made him light-headed. “I was tryin’ to keep it safe so you didn’t knock it over again.”

“That was one time,” Ben said, rolling his eyes.

“One time too many.”

Ben pushed at Caleb’s shoulder, almost knocking him off the log. “See?! You almost made me spill it this time!”

Ben rolled his eyes and took the bottle to an affronted noise from Caleb. “Now you don’t have that problem,” Ben said, taking another drink with a grin. Caleb just smiled at him, shaking his head. For a while they were quiet.

It wasn’t the type of quiet that needed to be filled, though Ben could admit he had a hard time telling the difference, it was just quiet. It was like the moment of peace right before you fell asleep after a long day of hard work. Serene.

They’d been sneaking out together for years, but over the last few months it’d stopped being “sneak out to go do something stupid with Abe and Anna and Selah” to “sneak out to sit at the shore and drink enough to feel like adults and just talk.” They didn’t even talk about anything exciting or particularly interesting. Some days it would be gossiping about someone in town, other nights it would be talking about what they planned to do as soon as they could get out of town. There were even nights when they barely spoke and Ben had to be shaken awake by Caleb after falling asleep on his shoulder.

A small part of him missed the excitement of getting up to trouble in the dead of night with his other friends but a larger part wouldn’t trade these nights for the world.

Their friends must have been on Caleb’s mind too because he broke the silence. “How long do you think it will be before Abe and Anna get caught? It’s been going on for months now you’d think that someone besides us would have noticed.”

Ben laughed sharply. The chill in the air was gone and he was a little flushed though that might have just been what Caleb had said. He tried very hard never to think about Abe and Anna. “Someone will have to notice if they aren’t careful,” Ben said as he took another drink. He almost regretted it when Caleb laughed loudly and Ben struggled to control his grin.

“You dirty bird,” Caleb said, taking the bottle back and drinking. “What do you know about being careful?”

“More than you,” Ben shot back.

“Benny Boy, don’t lie to me. You’ve never so much as been kissed,” Caleb said rolling his eyes.

“Yes, I have,” Ben shot back before he could stop himself. He had been kissed. It had been an awkward stilted uncomfortable thing that he hadn’t cared to repeat and for a while, he told himself that was why he didn’t tell Caleb. But even on the few times that he’d tried to say it something had stopped him short. He knew, somewhere deep in his chest, that if Caleb knew he’d kissed Martha behind the schoolhouse something would change. Caleb would change and Ben was more afraid of losing him than he was of anything else.

“You’re full of shite. You’ve never gotten within ten feet of a woman who wanted anything to do with you,” Caleb said, still cackling. “Or you would have told me.”

But now Ben had to either lie and back down or he had to come clean and admit to hiding it from Caleb and neither seemed like a good choice. So instead Ben was moving without thinking, leaning in towards Caleb who had gone completely still.

That didn’t last for long because their lips barely brushed before Caleb snapped away as if it burned. “Don’t,” Caleb said, sharper than he ever got with Ben. Sharper than he ever got with anyone, really. But then he laughed and Ben felt the tight feeling in his stomach move to his chest and his blood go cold. He couldn't breathe. “Don’t do things you’ll regret when the sun’s up and you’re sober,” Caleb said with an empty laugh.

Ben forced out a laugh too. “Right. I should go home. Get to bed.”

Caleb shot up off of the log and towards the water, the bottle gripped tightly in his hand. “Good idea.”

Ben stood, brushed himself off, and was barely able to croak out a “good night” before he headed back into the woods. He stumbled home not from the booze but because the tears that were burning his eyes were blurring his vision and he couldn't breathe. He’d ruined everything and he knew it.

Caleb wouldn’t sell him out and no one would believe him even if he tried but that seemed like a small consultation when Ben knew he’d just ruined the one good thing he had. He sat down at the fence line of his father’s property, pulled his knees up to his chest, and let out a sob where no one could hear him.

He wouldn’t act without thinking again.

**

The sight of Setauket was something Caleb thought he’d always recognize no matter how many years it had been or if it was pitch black on a night with no moon. He could make out the shore where he had skipped rocks as a child and the barest lights of town through the trees. There was a chill to the wind but with summer on its way, the cool air was more than welcome.

He lifted his oar and placed it quietly next to him as he crouched lower and rode the momentum and current to shore. There wasn’t much light and Caleb was almost to shore when he realized why it was that the sunbleached driftwood where he had spent days sitting as a teenager looked odd; someone was sitting on it.

He crouched lower but if he could see them he was sure they could see him, or at least see the boat. Maybe he could get the drop on them if they didn’t know someone was inside. With his head barely over the edge enough for him to see,  Caleb waited, unmoving, to recognize who it was. As soon as he did he sat up a little, no longer worried about being caught.

Ben had stood up once he saw the boat and taken another step forward when Caleb had sat back up. He was taller now but there was still a softness to his face that Caleb would recognize anywhere. “Ben?” Caleb whispered over the water.

He must not have recognized Caleb before because in a moment everything about Ben shifted. His eyes lit up and a grin spread across his face as he took a step forward into the water. “Caleb?” For a moment Caleb’s heart stopped and he felt like he was fifteen years old again locked in a daydream of Ben waiting patiently for him to return from an adventure, ready with a kiss of relief that Caleb had made it back to him. He’d thought he’d left those dreams behind years ago, the last time they had been alone on the shore of their little cove, but one look at Ben and he was falling all over again.

The grind of soft sand against the bottom of the boat brought him to a stop and back to reality. Caleb jumped out, and in a second they were both standing in knee-deep water hugging each other tightly. Caleb pulled back first, holding Ben by the shoulders. “Look at you. It’s been ages.”

Ben smiled at him, starting to step back and grabbing the bow of the boat to help Caleb pull it further onto land. “What are you doing here?”

“A man can’t sneak back home anymore?” Caleb asked, securing the boat to a tree as Ben sat back down on the log. Caleb sat heavily on the other end, popping his back to distract himself from the lump in his throat. A part of Caleb was warmed by the sight of the driftwood every time he came into the cove. It was a permanent reminder of what they had been. They’d pulled it to shore together, they’d sat there together, and now it sat waiting for some other lovesick fool to sneak out at night with someone who was only supposed to be a friend and sit under the stars. Now, after everything that had happened, it felt loaded to even sit there with Ben. “What are you doing out here?”

 “I needed to get some fresh air.”

“You and the old man at it again?” Caleb asked with a laugh.

“No. Actually, he’s almost proud of me,” Ben said with a laugh.

“Oh, wow. Is that a bad thing these days?” Caleb had spent hours listening to Ben complain about never being enough, or sometimes being too much, for his dad. But things changed and Caleb had been gone a long time. “What’d you do? Finally propose to a pretty woman? Gonna settle down and have a couple of kids?” Caleb ignored the way his heart clenched at the idea of Ben married with kids running around after him. He’d thought he’d made peace with it a long time ago but it stung just the same.

Ben laughed. “No, I...uh...joined the Continental Army.”

Caleb’s blood went cold. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”

Ben bristled and straightened up. “No, this is the-”

“You’re gonna go risk your life for some fantasy of living without a ruler?”

“The people will choose their own representatives. That makes a difference.”

“That’s what they say today but how long will that last? Have you heard the way they talk about Washington? One George out for another,” Caleb snapped at him, standing up and pacing around for a second. Ben always cut straight through all of Caleb’s carefully crafted facades to drive him mad.

Ben stood up too, following Caleb, unwilling to relent even a few feet of space when they were arguing. At least some things never changed. “Washington earned his title,” Ben continued but Caleb wasn’t really listening.

“And that’s if you lot win. You could die well before then!”

“At least I’d be dying for my principles unlike you,” Ben shot at him.

Caleb turned on him. “And just what the shite is that supposed to mean?”

“You put your life on the line for a few pounds and the chance to run away from me,” Ben said, pointing a finger in Caleb’s chest.

“What in the hell are you on about? I didn’t run away from you,” Caleb said. It wasn’t completely true. He had been running away but not from Ben. Caleb had been planning to leave Setauket a long time, Ben had just reminded him of why it was important that he left sooner rather than later.

“Really?” Ben laughed, clearly set in his idea that Caleb had fled, setting Caleb's teeth on edge. He wasn’t a brave man but he didn’t like being called a coward any more than the next person. “Because that’s what it looked like to me. You were obviously afraid I-”

Caleb cut him off by grabbing him and kissing him hard.

It was a proper kiss, unlike the last time. That had barely been a brush of their lips even if Caleb did still selfishly consider it his first kiss. But now he was holding the back of Ben’s neck and they were chest to chest and Caleb felt like crying. He broke the kiss and took a stumbling step backward. “I am not afraid of anything.” He hoped they could both pretend his voice hadn’t cracked.

Ben just stared at him, mouth hanging open as the waves continued to crash against the shore. They seemed louder than before.

Caleb took a step forward and to the side, intending to move past Ben and into the woods to actually go see his uncle as he’d intended to before this whole thing started. But Ben grabbed his wrist and pulled him in and they were kissing again. This time Ben was the one holding Caleb in place by the back of his neck and Caleb let his arms wrap around Ben to pull him even closer.

For once Caleb let himself revel in the closeness and the feeling of Ben’s lips on his and the way his other hand had settled on Caleb’s back. He let himself memorize the smell and the taste and the feel of the moment. The sound of the waves and the bugs and the wind faded until all Caleb could hear was their breathing. Every inch of him felt alive and buzzing and he was hyper-aware of everywhere they were touching, and even more so of everywhere they weren’t. He was desperate to get closer even though a small part of his mind was still telling him that he shouldn’t. Maybe he could have just a few minutes of bliss before Ben came to his senses.

And he did have a few minutes, even if they were shorter than he’d like, before Ben pulled away enough to break the kiss, though his hands stayed put, holding Caleb close.

“Oh,” Ben whispered, sounding a little out of breath. He probably was. Caleb was definitely short of breath.

“Yeah,” Caleb said with a laugh.

For a few minutes, they just stood there together until Ben broke the silence.

“Then why’d you leave?” Ben whispered, his thumb gently stroking the side of Caleb’s neck. “If you weren’t running away from me then why?”

“I wasn’t running from you. I was running from what I wanted from you. I knew it then and I know it now: this will only hurt you.” Caleb closed his eyes and tried to pull away but Ben only held him tighter. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ben laughed and kissed him again, short and sweet, and leaving Caleb desperate for a thousand more just like it. “You won’t. I know you.”

Caleb shook his head. “You don’t know that part of me. This part.” Instead of trying to pull away this time though, he rested his head on Ben’s shoulder. “You don’t know how much I want.”

“What about me? What about what I want?”

Caleb laughed and shook his head. “You want a nice girl to settle down with and, apparently, to win a war.”

“I do want to win this war,” Ben said, grabbing Caleb’s shoulders and pushing him back so that Caleb had to look at him. “But I don’t need a nice girl if I have you.”

“You’ve always had me, Benny Boy,” Caleb said with a smirk.

“Then I guess that’s why I never found a nice girl,” Ben said with a grin.

Caleb laughed and took a step back and this time Ben let him go. “What about your war? You won’t be back here for a long while and I never know where I’m going too far in advance,” Caleb said with a  shrug. He could feel the hope blooming in his chest and he needed to stamp it out before it started to hurt him. “What am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you to come home?”

Ben bit his lip and looked to the ground for a moment and Caleb knew he’d won. Ben was out of ideas and stalling. Caleb would have let out a sigh of relief if he’d been able to breathe past the lump in his throat.

“See I-”

“You could come with me,” Ben said suddenly, looking up and smiling like he’d figured something out.

Caleb let out a surprised laugh but one look at Ben and he knew he was serious. “Come on. You know I’m not much of an Army man.”

Ben visibly deflated. “Of course,” he said with a nod. Caleb felt something in his break. “I supp-”

“How do we know that we’d even be together?”

Ben perked back up and Caleb could've kicked himself. Apparently where Benjamin Tallmadge was concerned Caleb was still 16 years old with a crush on his best friend.

“I know someone who can make sure we stick together. You just have to say yes,” Ben said with a grin. The smug bastard knew he'd won.

“Fine. Now I have to go before my uncle falls asleep waiting for me,” Caleb said, finally stepping past Ben towards the woods. It was getting late and Caleb really did have to go. Summer nights were short.

“Wait,” Ben said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back for another kiss, soft and sweet and lingering.

Caleb smiled up at him. “You gonna do that all the time now?”

“Whenever I can.”

“I’mma hold you to that.”

Ben pushed him away towards the woods again, both of them laughing a little louder than they should have. “Go.”

Caleb gave him a mocking salute. “See you on the road, Tallboy.”

Ben shook his head at him, and Caleb turned around to start his walk, still grinning so hard it hurt. Joining the military just to stay close to one man wasn’t something Caleb could honestly say he had expected to do -- it seemed much more up Abe or Ben’s ally, to be honest -- but it wasn’t the first dumb decision he’d made concerning Ben Tallmadge and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

[jckelly]

dear mum

[ jack kelly’s eulogy for his mother ] 

“I was supposed to say this shit at your funeral. I wrote it all out on a torn out page of my exercise book, on the flight over, when George was asleep and Claire was busy pretending to fuss. I think she gets a kick out of coddling me, stroking my hair, pretending I’m a baby again as if she can turn back the clock if she pretends enough, send me right back to toddler years so she can be the proud mum at the school gates acting like she gave birth to me. You’d fucking cackle if you saw it. You never liked babying me.

I was supposed to say this in the church, in front of the people who showed up - bit of a pathetic turn out, if I’m being honest, it was me, the vicar guy, Claire and George, and the latest social worker. Carole or summat. She stank of dog hair when she hugged me, I could feel Claire wanting to put my clothes in the wash straight away. She’s such a fucking clean freak, is Claire, all we have to be careful, it makes me want to jump in a swamp just to see what she’d say. She didn’t really talk to anyone, just George, so the crowd was pathetic and antisocial. You would’ve taken the piss out of it. But when I got into the church, I just couldn’t do it. I felt like my chest was tightening, I swear I couldn’t breathe for a moment and I thought I was gonna fucking pass out right there in front of the stupid alter. Claire squeezed my hand - Jesus Christ she’s one for hand holding - and was all you don’t have to do this and I bottled it. Gave up and let the vicar mumble some shite about ashes to ashes. He probably says the same thing for everyone. We played The Masterplan by Oasis - you would’ve liked that, I insisted on it and it was fucking epic in the church, Liam Gallagher fucking ringing out across the stupid place. Claire hated it, she was all wouldn’t a classical piece be better, I was like it is a classic, fuck off. And then it was over and we all went back to the hotel and I hadn’t even eaten yet and it was only eleven and it felt so fucking wrong that my day was barely starting and I’d already said goodbye to my mum and I didn’t even say a single stupid thing.

So I’m saying it now, in my bedroom with the door locked, smoking out the window - this joint’s for you, okay. Claire’s downstairs probably doing some late night googling - is my son depressed? How do you comfort your adopted son after his junkie mum dies? - and George is probably resisting the urge to come confiscate the weed because he can definitely smell it from there and I know Claire’s probably the only thing stopping him. So it’s just us, because to be honest, I don’t think you’re any more likely to be in a church than right here. We never went to church anyway, I don’t think I was baptised. I don’t really know anymore.

Mummy. You liked when I called you that, something about me sounding like a toddler made you feel younger. Not that you needed to sound any younger, you were well fucking young as it was. Fifteen when you had me, I remember being eight, nine, and the parents  at the school gate thought you were my sister. Sometimes you played along, I thought it was a funny game and I’m only just starting to realise it was out of shame, you never liked to admit what was really going on, but then again I never realised what was going on then. I thought all the kids got left for days on end while their mums went off to find ways to make ends meet, pasta in the cupboard and a step by the stove so I could stand on it to reach to turn the gas on and boil the water. I went back to that flat the other day, we had to pick up the last pieces of shit you’d left. It stank of mouldy vomit and piss, I swear the blanket you were sleeping on had fucking fleas and there was next to nowt in the entire place - they said you’d sold it all in the end, paying for your drugs with your bed and your clothes - but the step was still by the stove, as if you thought I was gonna come back and I might need to reach the cupboard.

I had a massive fucking panic attack right there by the step. You would have been ashamed. I couldn’t breathe and I think Claire was torn between calling a doctor and trying to comfort me, she didn’t know what was happening because it was just a step but it was never just a step or a flat or a room. It was your room, your step, your flat. It was what you did for me because you knew I was gonna come back and I’m so sorry I was too late, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it in time to save you. It’s my fault. It usually is.

You would’ve known what to say. You usually did. Noel, stop being a fucking dumbass, and somehow that would have sorted me right out as if nothing ever happened. (It was always Noel, never Jack, you always said you meant it that way - Noel Jackson Kelly, not Jackson Noel Kelly, you messed up when you went to register me because you didn’t have anyone to help.) Those were your words on my first day of school, slightly abridged, Noel, stop being stupid. And then you put that ring of your mum’s in my pocket, the one you never took off, just to make me feel like you were there with me.

I lied about that ring to some kid at school. I said I buried it with you. I didn’t want to admit you sold it years ago, just to pay for your heroin habit. There used to be a little mark on your finger whenever you took it off because you wore it so much, I guess that translated well into the marks on your arms. When the ring money wore out, you came to my high school - do you remember? I was fourteen and you were rattling the school gates, Jack honey do you have a fiver? A tenner? I’ll pay you back, I swear. And the fucking kids were muttering, going is that Jack Kelly’s mum? Nobody mistook you for my sister anymore then, the needles and the alcohol and the lifestyle had folded your skin, pushed premature wrinkles in. I couldn’t deny it when they asked, we looked too much alike, thanks for the freckles by the way, really fucking attractive. I didn’t really want to deny it. I didn’t care much if they said shit, I could beat most of them up even if I was shorter. They didn’t know fuck all about you. Nobody does. Claire wanted a restraining order after that, fuck her. You’re my mum. Not her.

Everyone always wants to see the fucking bad side. It’s morbid. I learned a word the other day in class: schadenfreude, means taking pleasure in other’s pain. That’s what everyone’s like, deep down. They like imagining you as some sort of monster because it makes them feel better, when they tuck their kids into bed in their nice houses in the nice areas of town, no sirens going off, to think that you’re completely different to them. That no matter what they do they’ll never end up like you. That’s not how it works. You could’ve been one of them, you could’ve had the nice place and the husband, if maybe you’d been born in a different place to different people and you hadn’t met whoever gave you your first high. Sometimes I imagine that. You in a nice dress in a nice house, there’s a man making dinner when I come back from school, maybe you have a degree or even you just finished secondary school. You have a nice job as a receptionist or a secretary or something normal. You’re smiling. I haven’t seen you smile properly in years.

Point is, I’m tired of them trying to make you sound like you don’t deserve to be loved just because you were sick. You had an illness, it’s the same like some people’s mums get fucking cancer. You didn’t want to be sick, fuck knows you tried to beat it, spent half your fucking life on methadone. They make it sound like you were never a mum. You’re my mum. You know more about me than anyone. Claire doesn’t even know what my favourite band is, as if I’m not named after fucking Noel Gallagher. Claire thinks she can buy motherhood with fake worry and acting like she cares. She doesn’t realise it’s not for sale because I had a fucking mother already and I don’t care if she’s in the ground. You’re always gonna be my mum. Doesn’t change.

I see you when I look in the mirror. Your nose, your eyes, your hair, your crooked smile and crooked teeth, neither of us ever bothered to get them sorted out and I’m glad. I’m half him, I know that, the elephant in the room, the man who stuck his dick in you to give you me, another inconvenience in a life full of mistakes. I’ve spent eighteen years without knowing him though, and I can spend seventy more because he gave you fuck all. I guess that makes me like him, in a way - all I got you was trouble, problems with the law because they thought you shouldn’t be leaving me then, visits from social workers who found your stash. All I did was mess your life up even more and then I let myself leave and I lie awake at night replaying all of the conversations me and Claire and you ever had about that and wondering why, why did I let it happen because I just know you would never have been so careless if you knew I was coming over next week or next month. You wouldn’t have done that to me. I know that. They don’t, but I do, and since when did it matter what George or Claire or any of the fucking social workers thought?

I miss you when I play Oasis. I miss you when I hear some stupid kid messing around on a guitar because I remember that one you had once upon a time before it got added to the list of shit you sold off. I miss you when I catch a reflection of myself smiling in a window or a shiny car, your smile again. One day I’ll stop remembering the way that smile looked, it’s been such a long time, and then your eyes will start to leave my mind, your thin lips, your hair. I need you still. I’m not ready to be by myself yet. The law says I’m an adult but I feel like a kid still, sometimes, when I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I’m being hurt and all I want is you to tell me I’m being stupid again, but you can’t do that. Not ever again. I’m not ready to accept that. Sometimes I catch myself imagining what I’m going to do when I come back home over the summer, I’m gonna clean up your flat again like I always do, make you dinner, clean up your arms. When I realise I can’t do those things again it’s like someone tipped ice water down my back.

I’m going to graduate in June. I know your mum and dad never did, even though what you said about them was next to nothing. I know you didn’t, because I arrived to fuck your life up. But I think you’ll be proud, somewhere, that a Kelly made it to finish secondary school. Maybe we’re not so cursed after all. Or maybe I’m the curse, and it’s just everyone around me who’ll get fucked up because of me, I’ll be the only one unscathed. I’m sorry I did that to you. I’m sorry I let this happen. I wish I could swap places. All I can say is I loved you, I love you, and I’m sorry.

Noel”

[ccnqueror]

YOUR PRESENTS IS REQUIRED.

d. Sunday, 7th June.

l. Master Bedroom, Malfoy Manor.

w. 1260 words.

Abraxas Malfoy could only recall one instance of being truly afraid.

The night was dark and dreary, a blackness punctuated only by a raging summer storm. The halls of Malfoy Manor echoed its howling cries, sweeping through the emptiness with a harsh whisper, until even the windows rattled fearfully in their stone-framed cages. He found it difficult to sleep on nights like these, when the haunting beauty of his childhood home became too much, too suffocating.

Even here, in the bubble of his lumos, Abraxas felt vulnerable. His wife traced patterns on his skin, a soothing ritual he found inadequate. She placed her sweet lips on the lobe of his ear, coaxing him to lie down. But the dread clung to him like ivy to a tree, and when Abraxas rolled over, he could still feel the eerie foreboding: I’m going to get you, the night hissed.

He did not wake immediately. He came, slowly, into consciousness, registering only the welcoming silence of the dawn. There was no red beneath his eyelids, no source of light at all: and here, in the blankest void of his mind, Abraxas felt comfortable.

Huff. A sound so faint he could scarcely hear it.

Puff. His arm was damp: someone was breathing heavily on it, and it was not the side where his wife slept.

“Argh!” It was a terrible shout, one that could not have come from a man so ordinarily lukewarm, but in this moment, next to death, Abraxas was not himself: he was a mere victim, thrashing and swearing. Beside him, his wife awoke with a piercing scream only a banshee could rival, and she dug her nails into his skin. They left imprints in the shape of a crescent moon: the mark of horror.

He could not find his wand in the dark. Abraxas reached out towards the silhouette to push it away, feeling underneath his palms something wet and sticky. Drool, perhaps. He retracted his hand immediately, scrambling backwards, as the bed dipped under the weight of the creature; it was crawling towards him.

A noise itched to jump out of his throat. He opened his mouth, to scream or yell for help, he did not know, when –

“Where are my birthday presents?”

It had been fifteen years since that had occurred, and just as many years since he’d thought about it. Now, though, it had come back with frightening clarity – and so had the creature that had brought upon the Malfoys such misery.

“You missed my birthday,” it said.

Abraxas groaned. “Ducky, I skipped it.”

“I want my presents.”

He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow, blearily opening one eye so as to glare at the portrait of his late wife. She was pretending to be asleep, the devious witch she was. It was hard to tell, but he could see the semblance of a smirk on those lips: she had led the boy here.

“I know they’re somewhere here,” Ducky continued. He was ransacking the closet, now, and Abraxas heard him scoff at some of the contents. “I’ve looked everywhere else. Unless – ” he turned, eyes narrowed with suspicion, “ – you didn’t put them in the servant’s quarters, did you?”

“Close,” was the off-handed reply. “Your present is the servant’s quarters. Enjoy your new room.” He flourished his hand, conveying a sarcastic ta da.

Ducky had the nerve to throw something at his father. “That’s not funny, and I want my presents.” He started pulling things from the shelves, dropping them to the floor. “It’s bad enough you chose to spend your night at a wedding instead of my birthday. Did you know what I did? I – ”

“ – spent it with people who gave a shite, presumably, because I wasn’t there. Now, get out. I’m sick of you already.” He threw a pillow at his son, which missed and landed placidly at the boy’s feet.

“No,” he snapped impertinently. “I want my presents.”

“And you can wait until I get up.”

“Why can’t you just give them to me now?”

Abraxas sat up, scowling. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“You’re not even doing anything!”

“I’m not doing anything?” He pulled the blankets off, standing up, glaring harshly at his son. “And what have you been doing?”

Ducky faltered. “What are you talking about – ”

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was last night? Listening to my peers talk about their sons and their achievements – and they turn to look at me and I just stood there? Tell me. In the three years you’ve been at Hogwarts, what do you have to show for it? Tell me one of your accomplishments. Hell, tell me the name of one of your friends.”

Silence. Then: “I – I made president.”

“I made you president!” Abraxas roared. “I told you who to bribe, I issued the threats, I rigged the voting for you and what have you done with it? All these parties you’ve thrown, and not a single connection to show! That’s something you’re proud of, is it? The most useless president in Warlock’s history? Grow up, Lucius. You’re a Malfoy.”

The use of his given name seemed to shock the boy a little bit. It was strange, to think that a boy ought to earn his name, and yet Ducky had never grown to be anything more than just that. He was the same boy he had always been: a small little thing, waddling after his mother with his pouting lips pressed together like a duck’s bill. They had been too complacent with the boy, too kind, bribing him with lollies instead of disciplining bad behaviour. Where other boys were preparing to be men, Ducky was still too soft and too fragile, the sort of boy who appealed to power than control it.

He was, in short, nothing more than a follower.

“What you are,” Abraxas sneered, “is a disappointment. A placeholder for someone better: here, there was a Malfoy, and he had a mediocre little life and knew nothing of glory, of legacy – ”

“I am a Slytherin, you know.” Ducky’s voice was pitched higher, his face coloured in anger and shame. “I have ambitions – ”

“ – What you have is a lack of anything else. Too cowardly to be a Gryffindor, too stupid to be a Ravenclaw, too disloyal to be a Hufflepuff. You’re in Slytherin because you can’t be anywhere else, because as always, you’re too bloody insufferable for anyone to want you. Merlin. You might as well snap your wand and go be with the mudbloods.”

Abraxas stormed towards the door, which he held open. Ducky did not move. He was glaring straight ahead, hands curled into fists at his side. The portrait of his mother had left, abandoned her son, once more, to his father’s sharp tongue.

“I can get my hands dirty,” Ducky said quietly, “you’ll see.”

His father gave a hollow laugh. “With what, makeup?” He flicked his wand, and a pile of shrunken presents came sailing through the open door. They clattered to the ground and grew to normal size – and yet Ducky did not look at them. The boy’s head was lowered, staring intently at the newspaper on the nightstand, at the Dark Mark in the sky: a true marker of death.

“I can do it,” he said.

“I don’t care what you do. Take your presents and go.”

[afteriwake]

(Banner by @strangelock221b)

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures - It all begins with an invitation to Mycroft’s wedding to his PA and seven days at a resort in Jamaica, with the assumption that Molly pretends to be his girlfriend that his mother might be under the impression that he’s going to propose to sooner rather than later. It ends up being so much more than that…

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 15 | BUY ME A COFFEE?

It was honestly one of the worst experiences of his life, having breakfast with his eldest brother, and this was considering her bore scars on his back from being tortured. His brother flirted with every woman he encountered who was younger than him, or even younger than Molly. It was rather obscene the way he flirted, and every once in a while he got the notion that some of the younger and more vulnerable women might be in trouble. He decided to alert Robert to see if the more discreet members of his family could take to watching other guests and some of the staff to make sure they didn’t get cornered.

And Molly...the idea of his brother cornering Molly made his skin crawl. He wanted to go to their room and bunker down there until the actual ceremony, just to keep her safe.

Thankfully Sherrinford’s mobile chirped and he waved Sherlock off to take the call at the table. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t go back to the room soon, but as he was leaving the eating area he saw Robert signal to him with a pack of cigs. Sherlock went over and Robert offered him one. “You look as though murder is on your mind,” Robert said, tapping out one himself.

“Murder is usually on my mind, but it’s more solving murders rather than committing them.” Sherlock took the lighter and lit the cig before taking a long inhalation and pulling the smoke into his lungs before blowing it back out. It calmed his nerves a bit, but not as much as he would have liked. The idea that Molly could be in serious trouble was leaving him shaken. “He’s trouble. To more than just the wedding. He seems to be...”

“A world-class creep?” Robert filled in. Sherlock nodded. “I got that from the pornography I found in his room. I know people have kinks, but he’s got issues with his kinks.” Robert lit his cigarette and then had some of it for a moment. “I know Mildred has security feeds for this place being run into my cousin Benjamin’s room.”

“The Q to Mildred’s M?” Sherlock asked.

Robert tapped his nose. “He’s only here because Mildred promised him a week to himself to tinker with his toys if he’d watch the security feeds. He is the best multitasker we have. If your brother tries anything, Ben will catch him.”

“Good,” Sherlock said with a nod. He paused for a moment. “You didn’t knick these from my brother, did you?”

Robert shook his head. “Nasty habit of my own. I wouldn’t smoke the shite he smokes if he had the last pack on earth.” Robert had another puff of his cigarette. “My sister is done with the dresses. I’m sure you’d feel better if you see Molly is just fine.”

“I would,” Sherlock said, dropping the cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out, then pocketing the mostly unsmoked cigarette. “Just to be safe.”

“Of course,” Robert said. He nodded towards the direction of Anthea’s room. Surprisingly, while he and Molly were sharing a room, Andrea and Mycroft were staying separately. He’d have thought that even with the wedding coming up they’d only spend one night apart, the night before the wedding when the hen night and stag night would happen. He’d promised Mycroft that he would keep the two of them sober and he was sure Robert wouldn’t imbibe much as well. But for now, the idea of sequestering himself in the room with Molly was more and more tempting.

He made his way to his future sister-in-law’s room and heard laughter coming from inside. He knocked on the door and Andrea came to open it, a wide smile on her face. “We’ve kept a good eye on her,” she said, moving out of the way so he could come in. There were Molly and another woman he didn’t recognize sitting with champagne flutes, looking at magazines that he assumed were fashion magazines for brides, but as he got closer he saw they were just regular fashion magazines.

“Sherlock!” Molly said happily. “We’re getting some lovely clothes aside from the bridesmaids' dresses. You’ll have to take me to some nice places on dates when we get back so I can show them off.”

He smiled at her and nodded. “We’ll borrow my brother’s good standing at many restaurants if you’d like.”

Andrea scoffed. “Oh, you tell me where she wants to go with one of these outfits and I’ll have my husband foot the bill.” Then she smiled widely. “That has a rather nice ring to it. ‘My husband.’ I mean, ‘My Mycroft’ simply sounds...” She waved a hand in the air near her head.

“Redundant?” Molly suggested, and Andrea nodded, pointing at her. “I think ‘my husband’ sounds lovely.” Sherlock could see her mood had dimmed slightly and he watched her drink the rest of the champagne flute.

“It does, Andrea,” Sherlock said with a nod. “I thought perhaps I may steal Molly away for a while? We’ll be back for the wedding shower and rehearsal, but I think I’d like to skip the lunch.”

“Oh, of course,” Andrea said. She moved closer to him. “Bad news?”

“Ask your brother,” Sherlock said quietly as Molly got to her feet. He wondered if the champagne flute had actually had anything alcoholic in it because she wobbled slightly, and he was by her side in an instant, supporting her by putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Molly said. “And thank you, Andrea, for such a lovely time. I don’t know what Sherlock has planned, but I look forward to the rehearsal and the dinner and gift giving. I think you’ll like my gift.”

Andrea came over to Molly and, as she was taller, leaned over when she gave her a quick side hug. “I’m happy you’re here to celebrate with me,” she said.

“I am too,” Molly said, pulling away from Sherlock and giving Andrea a proper hug. They let go and then Molly reached for Sherlock’s hand and they made their way out to the door and then outside. “You could see my mood changed.”

He nodded. “I did. You still regret ending your engagement?”

“I did, for a long time. I mean, I knew I cared about you too much to give him the chance he deserved, and I didn’t want to hurt Tom. I just thought I’d be alone, and now...” She interlaced her fingers with his. “Well, just for a moment I thought of how I could be married and expecting a child by now, but I wouldn’t be happy. He wasn’t you.”

“Do you want all that with me?” he asked, turning to look at her.

“I would. Eventually. But there’s no rush. Things already feel fast, though I suppose it also doesn’t? It’s just a lot to sort out. But as long as we get on the same wavelength, I suppose it will all work out.”

“I’ll go at whatever pace you want,” he said. “Whether it’s simply sharing a bed every once in a while and dates or...more. It took me too long to realize what I felt for you was more than fond friendship, and I don’t want to mess things up.”

Molly stopped and let go of his hand, and then he frowned before she turned to face him and frame his face. “Sherlock, the only things you could do to make this fail is to keep secrets and lie to me and purposefully hurt me.”

“And I’ll endeavour my best not to do any of that,” he said, settling his hand on her waist and then sliding his hands around to the small of her back. He pulled her closer. “Just teach me, let me learn how to have a proper relationship.”

“Deal,” she said before leaning in and up to press her lips to his. For just a moment he forgot about all of the troubles and sank into the kiss. Eventually, she pulled away and had a wide smile on her face as she took his hand again. “So, what plans do you have for us?”

“Snorkeling,” he said. Her smile got even brighter. “It wasn’t in the events planned for the wedding but I know you had said you wanted to try it, so I thought we could find out where and how we can do it. We just have to grab our swimming costumes and then go to the concierge and have some time to ourselves.”

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand and then pulling him towards their room. He had to smile to himself. Maybe this was what they needed for their relationship, a bit of peace and quiet and time to themselves. And maybe they could take more between the events. He could only hope...

READ CHAPTER 16 @ AO3!

[starswornoaths]

Months and Malms Ago

Serella had thought herself the only one who had used her tomestone. Upon a chance review of what data it had collected, however, she found a recording addressed to her. A recording she had not been expecting.

Or:

Hi I didn’t need to make this depressing but I’m on my bullshit and I needed this out of my drafts it’s been here for a year h e l p.

The Steppe was beautiful in the twilight hours in its own melancholy way, Serella observed from her perch on one of the higher cliffs overlooking the vast expanse of the lush landscape. The night sky was chasing after the falling sun— N’haama ever reaching out to touch her beloved Azim, ever stopped by the horizon, according to local beliefs. A belief that felt closer to home than she had felt for months now, so far away from all she knew. 

She watched the mundane nothing and everything that happened around her. With her knees curled to her chest she watched the deep blue of unimpeded night fall upon the land. Watched the way the world around her hushed itself in preparation for bed. She watched until the stars began to twinkle amidst the blue of the night sky and sighed deeply. This was both her most loved and loathed time of day, where the world was quiet enough that she could gather her thoughts— but also silent enough that she was left to them.

Still, she found solace and much needed distraction in the handheld tablet that she now pulled out of her pocket. A tomestone used to store and gather data any way it could. Truly, for how remarkable the technology was, it offered little to most; a small storage device, able to record audio, pictures, and motion but useful for little else.

For Serella, it was something to cling to.

It had been a parting gift from Cid and the Ironworks crew before she had gone to Carteneau to activate Omega. Nero had been outright aghast at Cid’s declaration that it was the bleeding edge of what Garlond Ironworks had developed in handheld technology, because, “Garlond! Do you not realize that in Garlemald there are such devices that can transmit data without connecting to another device how are you the pride of our nation?!”

Serella got the feeling that he was largely blustering at the whole ordeal for blustering’s sake. 

Though at first she had no idea what she was meant to do with it, upon her entering Ala Mhigo for the first time and drinking in the sights of the land of Uthengentle’s birth, she found its purpose. With a camera lense and ample storage, she had quickly taken to using it for taking pictures of places she had been, things that she discovered, all in anticipation of showing them to her loved ones upon her return.

Whenever that was to be, she thought bitterly.

The device itself— and every photo she took on it— quickly moved from a curiosity into a tangible piece of what will be for her— proof that this will be over, that there will be people waiting for her back home, that she will be home at all. Each photo she took was a promise to herself: I am taking this home with me. 

Turning her photos into such lofty promises of will be, however, turned into her scrutinizing every photo she had taken, scouring over them to see if there were pictures that needed deleting because she really needed to remember to move her thrice damned finger or looking for which photos she liked the most. It had become part of her ‘winding down’ ritual for the night, ever since they had landed in what felt like a whole world from home: before bedding down, she would scroll through her pictures, reminding her of how far things had already come even while she knew there was still so much more yet to go.

Still, Serella often opted to do so in solitude, whenever she could; even if the only solitude to be found was burying herself fully beneath her blankets, she took it. With the group sleeping safely within the Mol tribe’s boundaries, however, she had the liberty to scurry off to find her own solace; better no one see her and worry over her petty homesickness, she thought. Twelve knew they had all been fretting over her enough since her loss against Zenos as it was, the last thing she wanted was to add to that concern.

Nearing the end of the new photos she had taken, she raised a brow when she began to see photos she could not recall taking. She scrolled through curiously.

Photos of her— taken by Uthen, judging from the height difference between herself and the camera...and photos Uthen took of himself and his surroundings, too. Innocuous photos, all told; a shot of her stumbling through sign language with a member of the Qestir tribe back at Reunion, a shot Uthengentle took of himself with a friendly arm slung around Lyse, who in turn had an arm around Arenvald back in Rhalgr’s Reach before everything went up in flames, a shot of her enjoying a bowl of udon with Yugiri in Kugane— with his own grinning face peeking from the corner of the shot, and a slightly tilted, off center shot of a baby chocobo. She recalled that day— and that bird— because Uthengentle had slapped at her arm while tearfully insisting that she had to look at him, he’s so small but he’s doing his best Ellie look at him, as he had put it. 

She particularly liked that one— he had been an adorable little chick.

Pleasantly surprised by his additions to her collection, she closed out of her photo gallery— and after a few moments of consideration, opted to look through the rest of her tablet to see what else Uthengentle had decided to put on there without her knowledge. Sneaky shite, she thought fondly.

Scrolling through the other files and folders that she had, she had begun to think that there was nothing else when a file caught her attention— she had never bothered to check her audio folder, knowing she had recorded nothing of the sort, but upon inspection, she found there was precisely one file to be found within.

Curious, Serella mused, tapping on the icon to bring the file up. She had half expected it to be only a few seconds long, perhaps long enough for Uthen to say something silly, when she was surprised to see that it was a few minutes long— and had been sitting on her tablet for some time, if the date on it was anything to go by. Comparing the timestamp to what the current date was put it at just under a year ago.

Her frown deepened as she tried to think of why that date was significant, though quickly gave up on the attempt; even with a calendar function on the tablet, she had not paid much mind to the precise when of her leaving Eorzea, and by the time she had thought to, it was a lifetime too late, and she was left adrift. She had decided that it was better that way.

Still, she pressed play and held the speaker end up to her ear, fully expecting to hear Uthen ramble about something that he was crafting or trying to craft. Perhaps he had inspiration for a new weapon augmentation — or it might have been Cid using it to test its functionality— 

“Ella,” a voice from what felt another lifetime said softly in her ear.

It was a moment before she realized who she was hearing, though when she did, her breathing stopped. His voice continued but she had to fumble desperately to pause the recording, unable to hear his words for how her heart pounded in her chest. 

Aymeric, she thought with aching, bittersweet warmth. 

It hurt more than she was prepared for, not having immediately recognized his voice— how long had she gone without hearing it? How long had she been away from home? She had dreams of him— and the rest of her family scattered throughout Eorzea— but with absence, their details had grown hazy in her mind. Their voices were distant echoes, their touch a forgotten memory. Hearing him again brought clarity to it all— and to how much her mind had blurred to numb her to the distance. To help her cope.

The date’s significance slammed into her mind with all the force of Titan’s fist: it was the night of the Alliance’s decision to liberate Ala Mhigo, to go to war in earnest against the Empire. The last night she had seen Aymeric, tucked away in their room in the Carline Canopy before he had to journey back to Ishgard, and she to Gyr Abania. He had known of the device— she had showed the Alliance Council the data on Omega that she had collected from Carteneau on this very same screen— and must have fumbled through figuring it out to record her a message. 

A message she found a year too late.

Still, she restarted the recording and held the tablet up to her ear with a trembling hand, her throat already closing around the lump that had formed within it.

“Ella,” the recording repeated. “I know not when you will find this. It is my intent for you to find this later, after you have left— or rather, that is my hope, presuming I have this figured out.” There was a breath’s length of a pause. “Before I say aught else, I should start with an apology. For everything that you are about to go through.

“For you are leaving on the morrow— somewhere that I cannot follow you. For the Alliance has asked it of you. For I have asked it of you.” She heard him take in a soft breath, and she forced down the lump in her throat. “I know you will contest me on that point, so I will say only that I am sorry that you have to leave at all. I am sorry that you must risk yourself in ways that few others are forced to.

“Though even as I am sorry… I cannot stress how proud I am of you. How proud I have always been of you. But know that I am not only proud of you in victory— pray know that I am proud of you for trying most of all, dearest. Even should the worst come to pass, that will never change.”

“Stop,” she wheezed despite knowing he could no longer hear her, despite never wanting to stop hearing his voice again. 

Her eyes stung. Breathing became difficult— it was as if, months before she would lie broken in the blood soaked sands of another nation he whispered a reassurance he would somehow know she needed. Perhaps she had always needed it regardless. Unaware of her anguish grounded in the past as he was, Aymeric’s recording continued on, and she continued to focus her entire being on it. 

“Though while I am apologizing, I would beg forgiveness for my...reservation. Earlier. Though we have only just...come to know one another, I know not why I had ever feared your touch for how I yearned to feel it. I feared that in seeing...me, you would be reminded of all that had transpired in the Vault..and the price of my folly. That it would hurt you to even look at me.” After a pause, he added in a whisper, “Never have I been happier to be wrong.”

Now that he murmured into her ear from that night so long ago she recalled it with aching clarity, and made a mental note to chastise him for apologizing. She knew what he was referring to— he had been reluctant to take his shirt off before they made love for the first time. She’d told him he could leave it on if he so chose— she had no preference— though he insisted that he would not want to hide aught from her. As it turned out, what he feared her seeing were his scars from his time in captivity.

Understandable, but silly. She’d told him as much between kissing every single one of them. She would tell him again in her next letter, whenever she would have the next opportunity to do so.

“I,” he breathed a laugh into the microphone, soft and disbelieving. “I find it strange, speaking to you like this. Knowing you are mere fulms away from me, this seems the coward's way of expression. You deserve to hear this in person, even if I did not know you will only hear this after we have parted— and for how long will we be apart, I wonder.”

She let out a sob and instantly clapped her free hand over her mouth— she would not dilute the sound of his voice with her blubbering, of all things. The blue of the night sky blurred— and almost looked like a familiar but half remembered coat she had not seen in over a year. Or rather...how she remembered it looking.

“You have said before that there have been lovers that have left,” he said in that slow, careful tone he had when he knew he was traversing a verbal minefield. Though he had rarely used it in speaking with her, she could hardly fault him for using it now. “That there have been those who have courted you falsely, and demanded you stay when the realm would yet need you— and when you would yet need the realm. I fear this might be in the back of your mind as you march on our command, that months and malms will sever our ties.”

Her throat closed, and she nearly choked on another sob. While it had been a scarred wound, she had shown it to him, much in the same way she had shown him every scar that marred her body that night in the Canopy. He would know that this would only needle at her nerves, her fear that her obligations would burn this bridge, too.

“Pray never fear that my heart will change— Ishgardians are not bred of fairweather stock. We endure the storm for the encroaching sun, come what may.” 

When he paused again, she wept in earnest— how did he managed to always find the words that she so desperately needed to hear? Even when he was no longer beside her?

She heard a shuffling sound— she could almost picture him shifting his weight from one foot to the other in that way he did when he wanted to say more.

“And...my heart already decided some time ago, Ella. I have been careful not to say overly much; I would not burden you with myself more than I already have.” She added chastising him for thinking himself a burden to the rapidly growing list of things her next letter would contain. “All the same, it felt...important that you know, given the circumstances. I love you.” 

Her heart almost stopped beating. 

“Please know, above all else, that I love you, Serella. With all that I am.” His voice cracked, and she curled tighter into herself, squeezing her eyes shut to better try and conjure a clear image of him in her mind— and cried when she could not.

The way her heart clenched made her wonder if it would burst under the pressure, even as she felt tears trek hotly down her face. She bit her knuckle to keep her sobs quiet and prayed he still had more to say— Gods, but what he had said had already been more than enough, more than she'd ever dared hope to hear him say.

“So rather than plead with you to stay, I would ask of you this: go, Serella.” He said, his voice soft but solid in his conviction. “Go and let your light push back against the dark. I shall be waiting, praying for the Fury to shield you.” He sighed deeply. “Though that is a prayer for the dawn. For tonight...I will simply pray for the strength to say all of this to you before you leave. But if my cowardice does not leave me before we sleep, then...goodnight, Ella. I love you.”

Just like that, the recording stopped.

It was an abrupt goodbye, rather different from the lingering, hesitant farewells they had exchanged in Gridania. 

The Fury must not have heeded his prayers for courage that night: he had said none of this to her. They had made love again upon her emergence from the baths— the only time he would have had to record this message— and though they spoke in quiet whispers lying in bed together for much of the night, he had said none of this.

Though he had certainly looked like he had more to say, she had noted at the time. 

Even standing at the crossroads, where she and Uthen would continue south and he and Lucia would continue north, they had lingered where their travelling companions had taken their paths a ways to give them privacy. Aymeric had looked as though he had more that weighed on him, even then. 

And this had been it. Telling her he loved her. 

She had hoped, had wanted to tell him of her heart besides but she had feared pressuring him— doubtless he had been driven to silence for much the same reasons. 

Before she had even realized what she was doing, she was scrabbling to her feet, her limbs imbued with frenetic, desperate energy. She felt her own aether near vibrating beneath her skin with the want to go home. Just for an hour. Just for a moment. Just long enough to find him, to be reminded of what shade of blue his eyes were and tell him she loved him, too, the sweet fool, and she could—

But...no. That wouldn’t be wise, she reminded herself, even as her eyes stung all over again. Never mind what time of day it would be in Eorzea— and he would likely just be unavailable besides— she had obligations here. While nothing prevented her from just leaving for a little while, to drain herself so heavily of aether for how vast such travel was when they were on the eve of the Nadaam; in comparison to how important this was— to help the Mol tribe, but also to further aid the liberation of Doma— and later Ala Mhigo— what she felt didn’t matter. What he felt...couldn’t matter. Not yet.

Though...it could matter enough. Enough to make her fight that much harder, push herself that much farther to accomplish her goal that much sooner. 

Better he not see her like this, anyroad. With hair haphazardly growing back in all manner of directions it could, with her eyes puffy and red, and trembling like a leaf. Better she meet him on the cusp of victory, on the edge of home— ideally, after she’d been able to get a full night’s sleep in, but that was fantasy.

Obligation fettered her in place— the aether she felt prickling under her skin like a thousand needles softened and dissipated. She could wait. She was fine. Sinking like a dropped anchor she scrubbed at her eyes with one hand. The other hand was already starting the recording over from the beginning, already pressing the device to her ear again that she might memorize the cadence of his voice once more. 

“Ella…” said Aymeric, and she was home again, if only for a moment.

[silversiren1101]

Hmmm okay Nero/Sanga prompt, where Nero unknowingly cuddles her in bed by wrapping his long limbs completely around her lol

‘Damn this cold. Damn it to Hells.’ Nero shivers fitfully. His tall, lanky frame does little to protect him from the bitter cold seeping in through… everywhere really. The cabin they’ve taken refuge in for the night is more of a suggestion of shelter than an actually viable one. A sudden snowstorm -though can it really be called sudden when they’re in bloody, thrice-cursed Coerthas? -had driven them to seek shelter sturdier than Sanga’s well-loved camp tent. Brought all the way from her homelands of the Azim Steppe, the canvas was made more to keep out the boiling heat of the desert sun than the cold of a frozen wasteland. The cool night air of the Nhaama desert may be enough to freeze, but not nearly so much as this hellscape.

Still, the stubborn little oxhead had refused his pleas to find shelter. The mere cold wasn’t going to kill her, she’d huffed. Him neither, being from the cold north of Ilsabard, himself. And so they’d trekked onward, snow piling up her knees and his calves as visibility dropped to near zero, stubbornly marching on. It wasn’t until a solid layer of ice had formed over her midnight-sky scales and horns that she regained some sense, turning to look at him with those crimson-ringed eyes almost apologetically. 

“There’s a mill somewhere to the east of here… I think. The tent won’t do much good in this weather.” 

He’d nearly erupted into that smug, boisterous laughter of his, had his teeth not been chattering so. “No shite, genius.” 

By the time they stumbled inside, more frozen than the ice golems they’d encountered earlier, he’d nearly kissed the floorboards in relief. Hells, he nearly sent up a prayer to whatever goddess was worshipped here. Hal-something?

The fire Sanga immediately worked to get started in the hearth couldn’t have come fast enough. Her fingers had trembled so severely as she did it by hand, not trusting her volatile black magic skills to not explode the already ramshackle building around them. Reserved only for emergencies, her tutors had told her… from sickbay beds. 

Even so, the crackling fire ended up being more useful for light than heat. The flicking flames barely put any dent in the cold air seeping through the walls. Nero doesn’t think he’s ever been this cold in his life. Ilsabard is cold but not Coerthan cold, especially not with how these hills have been corrupted in the wake of Dalamud’s fall.

The worst part, though, is that he really only has himself to blame for this predicament. For once, he decided to take his maybe-maybe-not girlfriend-or-fuckbuddy (it’s complicated) up on her offer to travel out on one of her quests. It wasn’t until they set out that she ‘remembered’ to tell him they’d be trekking into the Coerthan wastes with only her tent, two bedrolls, and two fur blankets.

Blankets valiantly doing their best to keep them warm as they lay on their rolls before the struggling hearth.

He never would’ve said yes if he had known, and a part of him wonders if she deliberately withheld the information or truly just forgot. Knowing Sanga, though, she most likely forgot, too excited to have company with her for once that she didn’t think he might not exactly be suited to traveling in such harsh conditions.

Still, he’s here now and there’s no changing that. Here with the Warrior of Light, the fierce little wyrmling, stripped out of her plate and fur cuirass, and somehow bloody snoring next to him. How she could stop shivering long enough to fall asleep so deeply as to snore he has no damn clue. 

He turns to look at her, observing the dopey look on her sleeping face, just like any other time he’s seen her asleep. The cold doesn’t seem to be bothering her in the slightest.

So wrapped up into his bitter thoughts that the appearance of Sanga’s arm flopping across his chest nearly startles him to death. He hisses, sucking in the gasp so as to not wake her, looking down that the bare, grey-blue skin tossed over his chest. Oh no, no no no. Nero is not a cuddler. Even after sex, he quickly gets her out of his bed or climbs from hers lest anything more than lust catch hold. Feelings were not something he was willing to risk.

He quickly goes to push the limb up and away, but the sensation of his ice-cold fingers touching her flesh gives him pause.

Sanga isn’t just warm, she’s hot.

He looks over, wondering if maybe she’d caught a fever from the ice that’d clung to her earlier, but the relaxed expression still there says otherwise. 

Sanga, apparently, is a little furnace.

And so, against his better judgment, he decides to leave the arm where it lay. He bites his tongue, looking away in that instinctive embarrassed reaction despite her being sound asleep. Leeching this small amount of warmth from her can’t possibly hurt. In fact, her figures she damn well owes it to him after dragging him out to this hellscape she called an ‘adventure’, anyway.

As the heat of her arm begins to permeate the shirt he has on, warmth seeping into his freezing chest, the more his choice begins to feel like the right one.

——————————————-

“You… are suffocating me.”

The warrior’s voice pierces through the fog of his slumber. He feels exhausted, and just opening his eyes is a battle and a half.

But as the scene fully registers in his mind, awakeness hits him as hard as a sack of bricks. 

His arms have completely wrapped about Sanga’s midsection, pulling her tightly to his chest as he curls around her. His legs too, twine with hers and have hooked them close to his body. 

Her face is pressed into his chest, between his lean pecs, and it’s only now he registers the pinpricks of pain from her horns stabbing at him. Those black and red-ringed eyes look up at him from his chest, a confused yet obviously amused look swimming in their depths.

Nero shoves her away in a heartbeat, horror descending on him just as quickly as the cold of the room does. It’s as though he’s been dipping into an ice bath as soon as she’s pulled away. Vestiges of her warmth cling to him desperately before falling off like molted scales, leaving him standing in the freezing air of the morning sun lit room.

“Awww. I was enjoying that.” She whines, but her tone indicates anything but mockery. Completely genuine, actually. “My people snuggle for warmth all the time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, prudish Garlean.”

It tugs at his heart in a way he’s never felt, and a flash of red dusts his cheeks. Was it from him being embarassed at the situation? Or embarassed over this uncomfortable jealousy as he thinks of Sanga ‘snuggling’ with someone besides him?

No! Nero does NOT cuddle. Nero does NOT get attached. 

“Well. I wasn’t.” He snaps but quickly turns so she can’t get a look at his expression. 

It wasn’t the first lie he’s ever told her. It most certainly wasn’t the first he’s ever told himself.

And it definitely won’t be the last.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hey there! I’ve been in love with your stories for a while now on AO3 so I wanted to make a request! Can we have a pining!James and Oblivious!Sirius with a tiny bit of angst but then some fluff (or maybe smut if you feel like it) okay thank you -T.C.

Sirius would like to think that he knew James well. Quite well. Better than anyone, really. From who his favourite Quidditch player was at the time to his ever-changing favourite colour, and that certainly included who he fancied. It was therefore the most ridiculous thing in the world where Moony-- of all the people, it was Moony, who hadn't realised Mary meant a date when she said, "Would you like to go on a date with me to Three Broomsticks?"-- told him that James fancied him. He actually said the words, "Padfoot, Prongs fancies you." He said that to Sirius's face. Not only that, but he'd left whatever he was doing outside to come in and tell Sirius that. He went out of his way to say that, which made it even stranger. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. Honestly, where did Moony get that from? "He does not." 

"Trust me, he does." 

"Since when do you get involved in James's love life?" Sirius asked raising an eyebrow. 

"Since now. Really Padfoot, he does. I'm  pretty sure he's in love with you." 

Sirius rolled his eyes again. Even if James was in love with him-- which he wasn't-- Remus wouldn't know about it. He couldn't notice shite on his own, and James never would've told him himself. Besides, they had a Marauder's pact to stay out of each other's love lives after Sirius embarrassed Wormtail rather badly back in fourth year-- in his defense, it had totally worked and he'd gotten a date out of it just as planned. Point was, Remus wasn't about to actually interfere with something like that even if he somehow did have insider knowledge that James fancied him. Which he didn't. 

That would make this a very roundabout way of trying to get Sirius to embarrass himself in front of James. The real joke was that Sirius didn't get embarrassed, not when it concerned James. There were only so many times you could interrupt someone wanking-- and vice versa-- before you become impervious to it, and after that, nothing could embarrass you in front of them. Of course, Moony was a very easily embarrassed person and likely had no concept of living a full week without it. 

After Sirius ignored him for long enough, Moony left. It was their last summer before their last year of Hogwarts. He would've thought that Remus wanted to live it to its fullest instead of doing this. Whatever helped little wolfy feel better, he guessed. 

It did made him think, though. Not about James fancying him, because that was quite impossible, but James... well, he was rather fit. And it's not like either of them were dating anyone, so what would be the harm in trying it out? 

*

James regretted telling Wormtail and Moony anything. He really, truly did. The point of telling them that he was head over heels for Sirius was so that they wouldn't say something while they were all together. If James got all heart-eyed in front of them, he wanted them to keep their mouths shut about it. 

Evidently, he couldn't trust people in this group for shite. 

"You told him?" James asked, voice squeaking. His voice hadn't done that in over year, but the little scratch in his throat still felt familiar. "Remus, what the fuck!" He threw a handful of grass at him. "You're not supposed to tell him!" 

"Prongs, relax. He didn't even believe me." 

That brought James up short. "What?" 

"I told him-- figured I'd do us all a favour and tell him instead of letting you pine uselessly for ages and be miserable-- but he didn't believe me. So relax, your secret is safe." 

James just stared at him, eyes wide. 

"Er, Prongs?" Peter said, looking at him with a hint of concern. "You alright there, mate?" 

"I'm going to kill you," he whispered. 

"Me? What did I do?" 

"Not you. Him," James said, stabbing a finger in Remus's direction with a glare. "He's the one who couldn't keep his bloody mouth shut!" He stormed off after that, despite knowing that it made him look like he was seven again. Sirius, when James found him after going back inside, didn't act like anything had happened. Maybe Moony had been lying about telling him in some bid to get him to spill his guts, because that was more believable than Sirius being told and acting like absolutely nothing had happened. Your best mate fancying you was big shite, even if you thought it was fake; it would raise the question of why that lie would be at all believable in the first place. 

"Hey," James said, keeping his voice even. 

"Hey," Sirius replied, just as neutral. To be fair to Sirius, it's not like he was training his voice; he just didn't have anything to be upset over. He was reading some muggle magazine about motorbikes, from the look of it. Either that or it was just a whole bunch of photos of motorbikes, which wouldn't really surprise him. 

"Did Moony talk to you?" 

"Yeah. He's getting senile in his old age. What is it? Seven wolf years to one human year? He's like, over a hundred by that logic. How much longer can we really expect for him to last?" 

"If you're suggesting killing Moony, I agree," James said, throwing himself down on the couch next to Sirius. 

"Maybe a stern talking to will set the old man straight." 

"Doubtful." Sirius flipped the magazine closed and leaned towards James. He pressed a quick kiss to James's mouth, then leaned away and opened his magazine again like nothing had happened. 

James blinked at him. Then blinked again. "Did you kiss me?" 

"Yeah." He turned the page. Then he snorted. "Why do people always insist on yellow paint? It hasn't looked good on a machine in the history of the world." 

"Yellow paint? Really?" James repeated incredulously. Remus goes and flaps his mouth to Sirius, Sirius acts like nothing happened, and then he goes and kisses him! And then he acts like that's nothing either. 

"Right?" Sirius said, apparently taking James's words for agreement that motorbikes shouldn't be painted yellow. 

James snatched the magazine from him, glaring. 

"Hey," Sirius protested. "Give it back, Prongs." 

"You kissed me, and yellow paint is what you want to talk about?" 

Sirius shrugged, holding out a hand expectantly. 

James, in disregard for all the nice things he usually did for Sirius, threw the magazine at him angrily. He was a little surprised by it, same as Sirius judging by the look of shock on his face. "If this is your idea of a prank, it's not sodding funny," James growled, storming off. He'd come in to make sure they were okay, not to get his feelings thrown in his face. Buggering up their friendship was the last thing he wanted, but having Sirius mock it was the worst way it could happen. 

*

Okay, after getting a little space and the rest of the night to think about it, Sirius came to the conclusion that maybe kissing James hadn't been his best decision. He'd wanted to see if there was any truth to what Remus had said, and kissing him had seemed like the easiest way to go about it. Bad news was that it had pissed James off, but the good news was that it got Sirius the answer he needed: James fancied him. The worse news he had though, was that he deserved James's anger. He'd done it because he was curious, not because he thought that he returned those feelings. The best news was that, while thinking about all of this, he came to the conclusion that he fancied James too. That was going to make everything else easier to deal with, but he still sucked bollocks that he hadn't known he felt that way earlier. It was enough to make him think he was stupid, which obviously wasn't true. 

Now he had to figure out how to get James not to be mad at him anymore. Sirius wasn't too great at this sort of thing. He was a lot better at making people miserable than making them happy, and through the years of their friendship, James didn't often need cheering up. It had been lucky for Sirius, but it meant that he was at a loss now. 

Wormtail and Moony weren't here anymore, having gone home for the next couple days to see their families for once; Sirius was pretty sure they saw the Potter parents more often than their own. It made sneaking over to James's room all that easier. 

James looked over at him when he entered, quietly shutting the door behind him, then groaned and pulled the duvet over his face. "Can't you let me mope?" James moaned. 

"Nope. You get sad when you mope." 

"I only mope when I'm already sad, you berk." 

Sirius tugged the covers away from his face. As usual, James looked strangely innocent without his glasses on, and his mussed hair only added to the effect. "Well. Stop being sad." 

James rolled his eyes. "Thanks, I don't know why I didn't try that." 

"I should've asked before I kissed you," Sirius said, sitting down on the side of the bed, and James stiffened. 

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, hoping desperately that Sirius would leave it. He didn't want to talk about it now, and he didn't want to talk about it later. He wanted to pretend like it had never happened and that he hadn't told Remus shite because then he would be able to pine in quiet misery like he'd been doing for the past few months. Moony just had to bugger it all up. 

"What I should've said," Sirius continued, as if James hadn't said a word and wasn't mid-crisis, "was that you're fit as hell." Sirius twisted to throw a leg over James's hips so he was sitting astride him and leaned down so his hair was hanging between them as he put his hands on the bed by James's head for balance. "And that while Moony had no business sticking his nose where it didn't belong, you should have said something to me before he had the chance." 

James suddenly found the air rather thin. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and tried to find the proper response to that, but it was difficult to think with Sirius staring at him like that-- all intense and close, and like the only thing he wanted to hear was what James had to say. The fact that he was sitting on him was not helping James's brain form coherent thoughts, because his blood was pumping a little further south in his body. 

"You gonna kiss me, James? Or do I have to tell you that this is all I've thought of since you ran off?" 

"You weren't very clear with your intentions," James managed to stutter out in his defense. Personally, he thought getting that many words out at once was a wondrous achievement. 

Sirius smirked. "Am I being clear now?" 

James had to swallow again. He was more aware of Sirius's arse than he should be while trying to have a talk about his feelings, but it was right on top of him and he was only human. "Not really. You're acting like it's just physical, and I don't- that's not all I want for us." 

Sirius's expression softened. "James. Kiss me now. Kiss me tomorrow. Kiss me in a month, and in a year. That's what I want. Does that sound just physical?" 

"Not really," James admitted. "But you gotta admit, kissing me like that, and then this... it doesn't really look like you're in love." His face erupted in heat as he realised what he said. "Not that I'm in love with you, that's-" he laughed nervously. 

"I love you," Sirius said before James could dig himself into a deeper hole, "and no offense James, but I think you're lying." He leaned down a little more, which scooted him further down James's body. A hint of his smirk came back when he felt that James was half-hard under him. "Even without that, I'd know that you're lying. You really think you can keep shite from me? I know everything about you." 

"Bugger off," James muttered, but then he reached up and pulled Sirius the rest of the way down. 

[futurewriter2000]

Because I hate you the most - pt.2

A/N: WHAT! How can I work on one fic for two weeks and write another in like..one hour! This is not fair but hey, at least I am finally posting something. So, I really don’t have a writers block, just out of inspiration. Hope you like this one. Love you all <3<3

TAGS:  @siriusly-loves-snuffles, @slither-in-a-half, @nadinissavage, @shadyladyperfection, @geeksareunique, @ashkuuuu, @xinyourdreamsx, @maralisa124, @loserslytherpuff, @chloe-geoghegan1, @heritier-de-la-ravenclaw, @musekala, @moonysmilkshake, @crispyfrenchfrieschrusis, @unicorn-sparkles123

Other parts —> MASTERLIST

(REQUESTS ARE CLOSED)

xx

A broken heart can’t be fixed, yet it can recover. But a broken soul takes more than just recovery.

That is what Sirius Black did to you. He broke you in half. No, not in half but into million and million pieces because when you looked at his grey eyes, after fourteen years, you remembered. You remembered the days he cooed to you while you were still in your crib. He was smiling, James Potter was beside him with his hazel eyes but the ones that really stood out from that memory was his, Sirius Black’s. It wasn’t the only memory that reappeared in your head. There was a blurry memory of christmas tree and colorful ornaments.

‘ “ Where’s (y/n)?” his voice was concerned and you heard steps getting louder. Your eyes were stuck on the red ornament in front of you and you couldn’t help yourself but to hit it. “ No, no, no! Princess, don’t you dare pull that down! “ but you only giggled and grabbed the red ornament. “ God dammit! “ was the last thing you heard before you realised you were in his arms, your eyes stuck on the tree which now laid on the carpet. Your eyes met his grey ones and he smiled. “ You’re going to be trouble won’t you.” he smiled and kissed your forehead. 

“ Just like his dad.” you heard another voice, woman’s and eyes in a beautiful shade of green. Green which you already saw before. ‘

Grey eyes.

They were so pure, joyful and that night they were still the same until you spoke the words that hurt him. You wished you were glad that you hurt him, that he should know how you felt since the day you found out but all you felt was some sort of sorrow in the pit of your stomach. You hated it... you hated him.

“ (y/n)! Wait up!” you heard a familiar voice shout from behind.

Oh. You almost forgot about the boy who led you there, to this hurt, to the sorrow in the pit of your stomach.

“ (y/n)!” he kept shouting but his shouts were ignored.

“ Do you hear something?” you asked your friend which walked beside you as George finally caught up.

“ No. Just the wind.” she replied and both of you burst into a fit of evil giggles, causing George to stop following you.

It was cruel to say that. You admit but he hurt you and you were done being naive. Naive for him. Because you hated him too. Because he was the reason you were broken on so many million pieces.

---

You walked down to your brother’s seat, smiling as you saw his usual mischievous eyes sparkle with his usual evil glint. “ Good morning, Draco.” you sat next to him and he returned a smile.

“ Good morning.” he replied, smirking at the Hufflepuff table. “ Look at her.” he scoffed. “ My father told me about her family. Apparently, her mother cheated with a muggle. She thinks she’s pureblood but really, she is nothing but a filthy half-blood.” he told his group of friends, causing you to roll your eyes.

“ Well, yes Draco. Father has always been big on gossip. Half-blood or not, she is still a witch.” you replied with a sharp tone and your brother frowned. Just as he was about to say anything in return, his gaze fell on two Weasleys. “  Hey, (y/n)?” his tone changed cheery as the corner of his mouth quirked up. “ Is it true you punched Fred Weasley in the face and broke his nose? “

You stopped eating your cereal, widening your eyes.

* Flashback*

The whole Weasley gang kept staring at you, Harry and Hermione as well, and you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

You got on your feet, grabbed your books from the table and made your way out of the Great Hall. A few moments later and your heard two pairs of shoes running after you.

You quickened your pace, turning around the corner, and another and many others until you finally lost them.

At least that’s what you thought.

“ Malfoy! “ his voice was loud and clear, the only one echoing in the corridor.

“ Go away, Weasley.” you grumbled, gritting your teeth and clawing your books.

“ Come, come, love. Let’s chat.” he finally caught up, placing his hands on each side of your shoulders.

Not even looking up at the boy, you pulled away from his hold and pushed past him. “ Any word from your foul mouth is a lie, George Weasley.  I’d rather be in Azkaban than chat with you.”

He chuckled, running over to you and placing his hands back on each side of your shoulders. “ Good thing-”

“ Don’t touch me!” you raised your voice, moving away from his hold and walking away again.

“ Aren’t you just a stubborn little birdie.” he rolled his eyes and now put one hand on your shoulder from behind.

At his touch, you felt fury finally emerge on the surface and in a quick moment your fist was hurting and the ginger boy was on the ground, holding onto his nose.

“ Bloody hell, Malfoy!”

* End of flashback*

“ Maybe.” you replied to your brother and continued to eat your cereal.

“ Wicked.” Draco replied smiling.

“ I thought it was George, though it doesn’t matter at this point. “

“ Father will laugh at this when he hears about it.”

“ Or he’s just going to tell me I could have used a wand.” you sighed, placing the spoon back into the bowl and getting up. You suddenly didn’t have the apetite anymore. Placing your hand on Draco shoulder, you met his grey eyes and simpered. “ I’ll see you around, little brother. Don’t forget to go to the library for the History of magic books.”

Draco’s smile quickly faded. He saw the look in your eyes as you said that. Lucius was never pleased with anything. As you said before, Lucius was always big on gossip, never on a family. You tried your best to make him proud, Draco tried his best to please Lucius but you could never reach his high standards.

--

You laid on the bed, eyes stuck on the ceiling as you kept thinking about...well, everything.

*flashback*

“ Bloody hell, Malfoy! “ he cursed and your eyes widened at the sight of the wrong Weasley.  

“ Oh, shite! “ you replied, running your hand through your hair. “ Fred, I’m so sorry. I thought it was George.” you offered him a hand to stand up but he only stared.

“ If you thought it was me then you wouldn’t punch me but if it was George, you would?” he asked confusedly.

“ Yes.” you replied, still holding your hand out to him. “ Are you going to take my hand or not? “ you started to grow impatient.

He grabbed your hand and you helped him up. Your hand traveled up to his and you took a look. “ What are you doing? “ he asked, furrowing his eyebrows at you as your hand moved away from his.

“ I’m checking if it’s broken.”

“ Is it?”

“ No.”

“ Still hurts though.”

“ Don’t be such a wuss, Weasley. “ you flicked your fingers against his nose, causing him let out a whine and you to chuckle.

“ Auch! That hurt.”

“ Wuss.” you giggled and Fred smiled because, for the first time, he saw you smile. Not that he didn’t before but after a long time, he did.

“ So you are able to smile.” he simpered and finally let go of his nose. “ You look like him.”

Your expression immediately turned the opposite. “ Fred, I don’t want to talk about him.”

“ There is an explanation for all of this.”

“ I don’t want to hear it.”

“ But you have to.” he insisted and you just felt tears well up in the corner of your eyes. But you haven’t shed a single one, not one tear rolled down your cheeks.

“ There is no explanation for him leaving me the way he did. For fourteen years.”

“ He- he lost a best friend, a brother that day...he was desperate.”

“ I lost a father that day. A father I never had a chance to have.” you replied calmly, looking at his brown eyes. “ I’m happy being a Malfoy, Fred. I love Draco and my parents with all my heart.”

“ But if you just give him a chance.” he continued to insist.

“ I can’t.”

“ Why not?”

“ Because..”

“ Because of what?”

“ Because I hate him. I hate him the most!”

* end of flashback *

(Requests are closed)

[socutesoevil]

Opinions™ on MCL UC Beta

Well then! Got my beta pass today. Curiosity satisfied. Bad taste left over, (and not just from the mojitos.)

I was on the fence about Campus Life and wanted to give it a try, but I'm edging my feet over towards no now. Yes, it’s just one episode, but when it’s not right, you just know. I’ve put down books after reading a chapter or two because they held no interest. And that’s okay.

To be perfectly honest, my interest in the MCL universe has been fading for a while now. The past few episodes were pretty meh. They felt rushed and generally unsatisfying, like someone roughly pushing you out of the house because they don’t want you to see the body in the closet 'Thanks-for-coming-see-you-later-okay-bye'. Episode 40 aka the Finale was just... the cherry on the sour sundae. And that sex scene! I like a nice big helping of sin, but it has to flow with the story. (I like my porn with plot, is that so much to ask?) And this was... awful and super-forced like the 'now kiss' meme. Especially sweet Lysander's. Here's this angel baby, talking about antiquing, and poetry, and how he's a pure unicorn who's never had a girlfriend before, and how much he loves and treasures Candy and she's like 'mm-hm, that's nice, let's bang'. Seriously girl?! I would just cuddle the hell out of him and call it a successful night. (Sex is neat-o and all, but cuddles FTW.)

And while that episode left a bad taste in my mind, I was still excited for the University sequel. I didn’t mind a break up ‘cause I assumed (a safe assumption in an otome game, yes?), there would be a make up. I was curious to see the new settings, how the characters grew up, how they changed or not, their new redesigns, their new stories, etc.

Which brings me back to the beta. (Sorry, took the scenic route there.) The graphics are truly beautiful. The animations are... amusing. A lot of the old supporting cast is here. We find out what happened to the guys who are not there. It has a familiar vibe, like watching a once-fave show after it jumped the shark in season six and became utter shite.

For me personally, there are two cementing factors why I most likely won’t be continuing with the game if it stays as is:

1) The new AP system. Movements are free, but every line of dialogue you click on costs 2AP. Seriously. The first episode was just under 1k for me. It would take a really long time to collect that many points naturally and the story is in no way interesting enough for me to pay real money for.

2) Quite honestly, none of the datable characters caught my eye... in this dating game.

Here’s the buffet on offer:

Hyun - Will probably be the most popular new character. (That's my bet anyway). He's got that whole soft cinnamon roll thing going on which is totes on trend right now, but that has never been my thing. I like cinnamon rolls for breakfast. For my pixel harem I like angst with a dash of sin.

Rayan I-have-a-last-name-I'm-so-fancy The prof who looks like he's mentally undressing you with every arch of his brow and has young ladies gathering around him like fruit flies on a rotten apple. Now, I have nothing against the whole hot-for-teaching meme. Hell, my Candy would be down for it 'cause it works with her rebel child personality. However, while someone like our favourite bumbling history teacher, who was charming in his awkwardness, would be fun to romance, Rayan the undead lounge lizard is sketchy fucker. (By the way, the whole trend of loafers with no socks? Needs to die. And button up your damn shirt, man! You're a professor! Ugh.)

Priya - I don't even want to be friends with this girl. *shrug* So... yeah, no.

Castiel - The notorious Cassychu, the one of the perma-scowl and bad-boy tats and poor hairstyle and lifestyle choices. Candy already dumped him once. Will she want to take him back?! Probably. She clearly has major issues when it comes to understanding how relationships function.

Mysterious fifth character to be revealed at a later time. (Do we get to vote on which one of the lost boys we get to bring back? Oh wait, no, that's democracy. Sorry! Forgot myself for a moment.) My guess? Most likely it will be Nathaniel who became a dude-bro likes a bit of a party now. Rock on, Nath. Rock on.

*pulls an Eldarya and sets crush to no one*

It was fun while it lasted but now it's time for something new. And by new I mean re-reading the SLBP Shigezane route. My precious <3

That’s about it! Some more randomness below.

random comments from my play-through + points of interest

Rosa and Candy lost touch 'cause this is the dark ages of communication before phones. (JK. Candy is a lazy fuck who can't be bothered. Relationships are not cacti, Candy!)

After four(!) years of silence, this little shit Candy appears back on the scene again to pursue her lame degree and everyone just accepts her back into the fold like nothing happened. The hell?! I'm not saying give me telenovela levels of drama, but c'mon!

The only happy ending Lysander got was in Episode 40. That sweet child. </3

These animations are... hilarious. (They can be turned off). The randomly jiggling boobs are the best thing! Any girl will be standing there and outta nowhere boop-boop. *snort* Did they look at any breasts before animated these, or did they use a custard as inspiration?

Chani is precious.

Why is Melody here? Oy... Still a teacher’s pet. (Yet she gets annoyed when I say she hasn’t changed? Lie to yourself much, Melody?) Probably still holds a torch for Nathaniel but won’t admit it. Mean-funny scene if you invite her but not Chani to drinks. Your pals are not excited about seeing wet-blanket Melly.

Our roommate has a stick so far up her ass she's sitting on top of the Eiffel tower. Dunno who spat in her oatmeal, but I left the spilled paint on her bed and called it karma.

The Cozy Bear Cafe sounds like some sort of sweet lolita place... but it isn’t... False advertising much?

Rayan stop staring at me, you zombie creeper.

Mojitos or beer. Those are my sedative options. Awesome. Can’t even get a decent drink around this joint. (If you ask why mojitos, it doesn’t translate as ‘where’s the wine’. You get lemonade instead. -_- )

I will say this, the backgrounds are gorgeous. They don't match the art style of the characters, but they're stunning. The park is incredible.

The black in the outfits is true black, so you can satisfy your inner goth child or chic Parisienne all you want. The hair is still a blue-black though, like a raven’s wing.

The petal game is still there. You will need it.