#their expressions are so beautifully content and overjoyed and i !!!!!

[3amstoryreader]

No matter what, we'll be together.

Medicine Pocket x fem!reader AU

This scenario occurs in an AU where the storm phenomenon doesn't exist. Reader is not an arcanist/established relationship/fluff/sensitive content: discrimination against arcanist/English is not my first language

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

You were on a rare date with your partner, MedPoc. You chose the newly opened café as your location and sat together by the window, enjoying the view. The bright sun beautifully reflected off your lover's golden eyes.

"Look at you—pale face, messy hair, and dark bags under your eyes. I’m glad you finally got two weeks off from responsibilities and boring reports." You tried to start a conversation to get MedPoc's attention on you instead of whatever they were thinking about.

"Vertin, with reports to manage, a team of incompetents to supervise, fundraising to tackle, and puppies to care for, it all feels so draining. Yet, I will always make time for you." They offered you a small reassuring smile before turning their attention to the menu resting on the wooden table. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and coffee filled the air around you. The background music was soothing, and the view of the park outside was breathtaking.

"This place isn't bad, and they have a lot of food and drinks. Med, take a look at the cheesecakes and fruit shakes." You pick up the sheet, literally shoving it in their face.

"You idiot, my eyesight is 10/10! I don't need the menu this close to my fucking face!" they replied, annoyed by your behaviour. However, you didn't take their words to heart. Having known MedPoc for a while, you had simply grown used to the way they acted, talked, and expressed themselves sometimes.

“Fine, read the whole thing yourself. I'm ordering [insert something to eat] and a [favorite drink].” You moved the piece of paper out of the way, waiting to hear what Medpoc was going to choose.

"I can order dinosaur-shaped cookies! This is amazing! I'll have a coffee, too." You stared at the overjoyed researcher in front of you with amusement. It makes your heart skip a beat to see them so happy like today, instead of buried in a never-ending pile of suffocating work.

"Can I take your orders, ma'am... and sir?" The moment was interrupted by the waitress, who was trying to figure out how to address MedPoc. You couldn't help but want to laugh at your lover's expression, clearly uncomfortable being analyzed like a lab sample or a specimen.

"Ma'am, sir, young lady, young boy and etc I honestly don't give a fuck about it I just want a few of the dino-shaped cookies and a macchiato as for my girlfriend she wants[your order]"

The waitress glances back at MedPoc, mumbles a quick apology, and walks away after taking your orders. "My apologies. I'll be back soon"

"And as for you, don't pretend I can't see you trying hard not to laugh," they said, pinching your left cheek before shifting to a more serious demeanor.

"It's honestly so annoying. Every time we go out together, I can feel the intense stares of others on me just because I'm different."

MedPoc faces the window, observing the lively scene outside. Couples on stroll hand in hand, families share joyful moments, and students chat animatedly, their laughter filling the air. Friends gather in small groups, each completely absorbed in their interactions. The atmosphere is vibrant, with each individual living their own unique experience. How beautiful.

“Is this because of what just happened? You usually don’t take things like this seriously. Is everything alright?” You knew them better than anyone, and something was definitely off.

"No is not that. He, she, it you know I don't give a damn about the pronouns thing anatomically speaking I'm not a man or a woman anyways, but..." they take a moment of silence slowly observing you carefully and taking a good look at their reflection on the glass.

"...right now, look at me and then around us. Don't I stand out a lot? I'm an arcanist, and everybody can tell, a scary arcanist and a normal girl on a date. How hilarious. They don't dare to say anything but I'm not dumb it's written all over those idiotic faces" They keep on rambling while you just listen letting them finish saying what was troubling their mind all this time.

"I know that you love me, but sometimes I can't help but think about how your life changed because of me. Don't you get criticised for taking someone like me as your lover? A freak? Arcanum wielder?" Silence again by the look of it, MedPoc was probably waiting for your response.

"Between me and you, I can't tell who should be the idiot now. You think like those close-minded people, we're in a new era where humans and arcanists coexist and can get legally married without any problems; indeed, you don't see many like us, but who cares? You're my world, my universe, and that's what matters, I love you, and nothing on this planet can make me take back my words. "

Without hesitating, you stand up from your seat to reach MedPoc's face. They barely have time to register what's happening before you bring your lips to theirs.

They wrapped their arm around your neck, drawing you closer as the kiss deepened. The world around you froze as the voices and music faded.

“Enough! Get off me, you clingy, crazy woman. If you’re going to do something like that, at least not here!” their face became crimson red as they struggled to say proper sentences.

"Look at the all mighty Medicine Pocket who now turned into a blushing mess"

"Shut-" their words were cut off by a feminine voice "ehm pardon for the interruption, but here's your order" the waitress walks away avoiding eyes contact

"You know... I will marry you one day, put a pretty ring on your finger. I can already see you wearing a nice suit or.... even better a beautiful white dress. After that, your genius mind won'tbe troubled by any nosense, and-" MedPoc couldn't take it anymore. They stood up, shoved a cookie in your mouth, and kept those lips sealed with their hand.

"Enough! Do you want to make a fool out of me so badly today? " their cheeks were burning, knowing your lover they were probably dying of embarrassment and trying too hard to hide due to their ego.

"And if we do get married one day, I won't be the one to wear the dress for sure dumbass"

Seeing a smile on their face was enough to make your heart flutter. You admit that MedPoc can be difficult to understand at times, but deep down, they have a soft side. From now on, your goal is to fully bring that side out and make it shine.

"We'll see what happens when the day comes, but X, Regulus, and Mr Apple must be flower girls"

I wrote something again hehehehehe :>

I don't remember where in the main story, but someone(I think Schneider) mentioned that human and arcanist couples were not well seen by most people, so I bought this topic back.

Ans also sorry this time the reader is not gn cuz it easy for me to write if only one character uses they/them

[luccy224]

am at peace with my past.

I am a knock-out!

I look terrific!

My skin is becoming softer and smoother every day.

I deserve to look and feel fantastic.

My hair makes me look even more beautiful.

I let go of all reasons and excuses for not looking and feeling beautiful.

My body is muscular and well-sculpted.

People enjoy being with me as I radiate inner beauty.

I am the vision of perfection that I seek.

I have a perfect height.

When I walk into the room, everyone is drawn by my natural beauty.

My beauty is worth seeing and appreciating.

I have unique beautiful eyes.

My fingernails grow longer and stronger every day.

I love my morning face.

Others enjoy my company for my exterior as well as inner beauty.

I am naturally beautiful.

My lips are sexy and subliminal.

I express so much gratitude each day for my beautiful and healthy body.

I walk gracefully and carry myself elegantly.

My eyes sparkle like stars.

I am crazy beautiful.

I see the natural and perfect beauty in everything around me.

My skin is glowing and healthy.

It’s okay to accept compliments.

I choose to eat a healthy diet and only eat foods that nourish my hair, skin, and nails.

Accepting myself as I am right now is the first step in growing and evolving.

I am the most confident, attractive, and beautiful woman to have ever graced this Earth with my presence.

When I look in the mirror I absolutely adore what I see.

My smile is radiant and reflects my inner beauty.

I now have the body of my dreams.

I have beautiful hands and lovely manicured fingernails.

I love taking care of myself.

I love the way I look and I feel good about myself.

Everyone sees me as pretty and attractive because I have beautiful facial features.

I enjoy life and love to laugh which shows all over my beautiful face.

I adore my hair.

No one has the power to make me feel bad about myself without my permission.

I have clear, healthy skin.

I have a healthy head of hair free of dandruff.

People find me very attractive.

I am allowed to feel good about myself

People compliment me on what amazing hair I have.

I was beautiful, I am beautiful and I will always be beautiful.

I am happy and content with myself.

I am overjoyed with the way I see myself now.

I choose to love myself every day.

I deserve to often hear how beautiful I am.

I take good care of my skin by only using natural skin care products.

People light up whenever they see me because they see how beautiful I truly am.

I feel more beautiful every day.

My expectations for hair growth are realistic.

I look beautiful, I dress beautiful and I speak beautifully.

Being a beautiful woman comes naturally to me.

I have thick and luxurious hair.



My skin is healthy and youthful.

I have beautiful eyes.

I am beautiful because I know I am a powerful goddess and beauty flows through every part of my being.

The opposite sex finds me sexy and attractive.

My inner beauty radiates positive energy into the world.

I welcome positive and healthy energy with open arms.

My body is sexy and gorgeous.

I have beautiful perfect hands and feet.

I am grateful for my good looks.

My skin is smooth and soft.

I am a positive being, aware of my potential.

Meine sexy und verführerischen Lippen ziehen Männer an und wecken den Wunsch, mich zu küssen.

Ich habe ein großes Gespür für Stil und das zeigt sich darin, was ich trage und wie ich mich präsentiere.

Ich liebe meine Ohren, weil sie mir die Möglichkeit geben, wunderschöne Musik und Geräusche zu hören.

Ich kleide mich schön und spreche schön, weil ich schön bin.

Ich war immer genug; Ich bin mehr als genug, und ich werde immer genug sein.

Ich bin nicht perfekt, aber ich respektiere, schätze und liebe mich selbst, weil ich weiß, dass ich schön bin.

Meine Haut ist klar, gesund und strahlend.

Wo auch immer ich hingehe, strahle ich positive Energie auf andere aus, was mich jeden Tag noch schöner macht.

Jeder wird von meiner schönen, positiven und liebevollen Energie angezogen.

Meine Schönheit spiegelt sich in meiner Haltung wider, weil ich elegant und anmutig gehe.

Ich sehe in jedem Outfit, das ich trage, wunderschön aus.

Ich erkenne jeden Tag die schöneren Aspekte meines Körpers.

I release all of my insecurities. I release all of the hate.

I have no blemishes.

I am grateful that I have eyes to see the magnificent beauty in the world.

I choose to be pretty, to be attractive, to be beautiful, to be gorgeous.

Being beautiful is one of the top priorities in my life, and I practice this feeling every day.

I find time to nourish my skin.

Zum Inhalt

Es fällt mir leicht, meine Gewohnheiten zu ändern

Meine Gefühle liegen in meiner Verantwortung und ich sorge dafür, dass ich mich von innen heraus glücklich fühle.

Ich werde strahlen, egal was passiert.

Ich zeige meinem Körper Dankbarkeit, indem ich ihn gesund halte.

Ich treffe immer Entscheidungen, die für mich am besten sind.

Ich kann es kaum erwarten, zu strahlen.

Ich ziehe aus allem und jedem das Beste heraus.

Ich fühle mich selbstbewusst.

Ich kümmere mich um meine Haut und ich kümmere mich um meine Haare, weil sie mich großartig aussehen lassen, wenn sie gesund sind.

Ich setze jedem in meinem Leben immer gesunde Grenzen.

Heute sehe ich wunderschön aus und fühle mich auch so.

I release all worries about imperfections.

Maintaining and creating healthy boundaries is easy for me.

I am getting closer to a stable peaceful mind every second of the day.

Setting health boundaries support my wellness as well as improves the quality of relationships in my life.

Whenever there’s a decision to be made, I always take time to understand all the consequences before making a decision.

I can easily convey my boundaries to others.

I can easily take up new habits.

I allow all the toxicity to leave from the amazing relationships I have in my life.

I always dress in a fashionable manner that suits the occasion and place.

I love to stay fit and it is one of my priorities.

I allow good and positive changes to take place.

I appreciate all my good features whenever I look in the mirror.

Discipline is important to me because it helps me grow.

I am proud of myself for staying persistent to achieve all my goals.

I’m becoming more confident day by day.

I always dress appropriately & what I wear becomes fashionable.

It is very easy for me to stay disciplined.

I attract positive experiences and positive events.

Anyone can glow up.

I am very grateful for my appearance, taking care of it and appreciating is being kind to myself.

I embrace my flaws because nobody is perfect.

I listen to my body and give it enough rest.

People want what I have.

I let go of any negative thoughts.

I deserve to look good.

I admire so many things about myself.

I see myself as the person I want to be.

I celebrate myself and my successes.

Every day, in every way, I’m becoming better and better.

I know that true beauty comes from within.

I am ready to become the best and most fit version of myself.

It is easy for me to decide because I know myself very well.

I release any negative beliefs about mental and emotional well-being.

My mindset is evolving.

I always remember to celebrate and pat my back every time I accomplish something important to me.

Practicing expressing gratitude adds to my happiness.

I can express and convey everything with ease, positivity, and kindness.

I allow positivity to enter my life.

I allow disciplined to enter my life at a pace that is aligned with myself.

Affirmationen für ein strahlendes Aussehen

I enjoy eating nourishing meals.

Every day, I’m getting closer to my glow up transformation.

I am optimistic and positive.

Every part of my body radiates beauty.

I find it satisfying to take care of myself every day.

I radiate beauty from the inside out.

I choose not to take things personally.

I am confident in my abilities.

It is ok to forgive because it can open the ways for peace to enter my mind.

I am a magnet for love and positive attention.

My energy makes it easy for everyone to feel connected to me.

I am grateful for everything I’ve accomplished successfully in my life.

I trust myself to create an amazing life.

I always choose the outfits that suit me the best.

The more I love myself, the more beautiful I become.

I’m working on myself every day.

I am expanding my perception of what is possible for myself.

I always make myself look and feel the best.

I am allowing mutual respect & trust in all my relationships.

Seeing situations and things in positive light allows me to become peaceful.

I feel motivated to take care of my health.

I control my fears, they don’t control me.

I recognize and appreciate all the positive events that happen in my life every day.

I make sure to make myself feel special and good whenever I can because I deserve my attention.

My relationship with food is great.

I have a very recognizable and amazingly different way of talking.

Kindness and the energy of love are very apparent in my personality.

Everyone is going to be so shocked by my glow-up.

I am unique and special.

I embody my confidence with kindness and manner which makes me stand out.

I love taking care of myself.

I am grateful for everything good and positive that has happened to me in any form.

I feel good in my own skin.

I cherish all the positive things in my life.

I have a clear vision of myself.

Success comes easily to me.

I enjoy the idea of becoming my ideal self.

My fears do not hold me back.

I am allowing love and gratitude in all the relationships in my life.

I focus on my growth.

I am always able to tap into my intuition when making decisions.

I forgive myself.

I love and adore every inch of my body.

Meditation and deep breathing help me calm and I can easily do them.

This is my time to shine and I am stepping into my power.

I am conscious about what I eat and how food is affecting my body and this allows me to stay healthy.

I’m proud of what I have accomplished so far.

The more I recognize my successes the more accomplishments come into my life.

I take out time to do things I enjoy.

My relationship with my body is great.

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I give myself time to process my emotions.

Setting healthy boundaries also helps me get closer to success because it helps me maintain my integrity.

I enjoy following a routine and staying disciplined.

I open my heart to experience all the emotions with an awareness that the value of happiness increases as I allow myself to feel my feelings.

I prioritize and take care of my health.

I feel more beautiful every day.

I enjoy working out.

My dressing and fashion sense is improving every day.

I am ready to allow discipline in my life.

I am never alone, the universe has got my back.

I allow myself to feel confident and worthy.

The more I smile, the more beautiful I look.

I do not judge myself or others.

I am aware that everyone I love loves me and has my good in their heart.

Good habits are actually very easy to take on.

I am allowing family, friends, love interests, and social interactions, all to heal.

My body is my home and it’s my responsibility to make it as beautiful as I want.

I have the power to change my life.

It is easy for me to stay consistent when I am adopting good habits.

I know who I am and my confidence comes from knowing myself so well.

My confidence is growing every day.

I’m proud of myself for wanting to change my life and body.

I love myself fully, deeply, and completely.

I enjoy my company and because of that, I am able to enjoy solitude.

I emit the energy of love.

My hair looks healthy and shiny.

I embody my ideal self every day.

I always dress the way it makes me feel confident and comfortable.

It feels good to glow up.

The source of my confidence comes from within that’s what makes it so powerful.

I let go of the things that hurt me and allow peace to enter my life.

My love for myself is unconditional.

I become more and more peaceful as I become aware of the truths of life.

I allow my higher self and my guardian angels to help me make great decisions.

I am deciding to step into my powerful self of who truly I am.

I take care of my mental and emotional well-being.

I allow myself to process my emotions at a pace that is aligned with me.

I recognize and celebrate all the successes in my life.

I feel beautiful today.

I take care of my needs because I love myself.

I am not my negative thoughts or emotions.

I allow myself to enjoy life and feel happy because I deserve happiness.

I am beautiful.

I choose to view life in a positive light.

My mind is focused on becoming the best version of myself.

My skin is smooth and healthy.

I’m taking control of my life.

I have a great sense of style.

I take out time to take care of my beauty.

I am blessed.

I am the creator of my own reality.

[pianostarinwonderland]

Birthday Malleus and dorm silver are just so pretty

Right???? Like, just look at him

Dorm Silver is just so gorgeous. Truly, Yana is showing her favoritism by drawing him so beautifully hahahaha I just love the intensity of his expression as his hair is blown away. And yet still, he remains one of the most ethereal people in existence. Silver used to be one of my favorites back in the early months of Twst ;u; he kinda fell out due to lack of content, but I'm sure 2020 me would have been so overjoyed seeing his dorm card now. Truly, he has one of the most gorgeous dorm art ever. And he's mirroring Sebek! Of course they wouldn't give up the mirror imagery that Sebek and Silver have xD

And Broom Malleus!!

I think the vibes his expression give off are the ones that the artists wanted to achieve for his first birthday art but couldn't do. But now, they nail the coolness and smugness so well and beautifully. And he gets his own special hat! This for me is one of Malleus' prettiest pre-groovy artworks. He's just so ethereal.

Honestly, all the broomquet art so far has been so pretty that it hurts ;u; can't wait for the upcoming birthdays!

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Kassandra x Eivor Varinsdottir x female reader. 💋

• • Warnings: adult content, nudity, sapphic love.

our sapphic verse, part II.

Oh moon, my goddess… how kind of you to keep me company in these late hours, when life itself has gone to sleep.

Beautiful verse came to life in the pallid glow of your lamp, words which finally made you proud. The perfect epic poem birthed by your hands alone, soon to be recited to the most feared, yet revered warriors of the Greek World.

When daylight caressed your cheeks, you left your pages to dry and made for the pool of flowers by the waterfall. You washed the fatigue from your eyes and the ink from your aching fingers. The spring embraced you wholly, and you became one with the element. A daughter of the forest with gifted hands and beauty in every shape of your body.

Only at night you were ready to wander the streets of a city of temples. Colorful paths of blossoms led you back to the veranda where all the heterae had gathered. Just like the night before, they sang like sirens and danced gracefully. But this time, not for warrior women; it was a group of foreign military men they entertained. You sought Kassandra with your gaze among the crowds of people, and in the absence of her beauty, you grew anxious.  

Then, from high above, you heard the wild cry of an eagle. With hope renewed, you followed the gracious bird to the lean plates of a mountain. There, moonlight cast a glow upon a marble pool of spring water and fresh rose petals. The scent of lavender and iris oil was almost overwhelming, you felt as if you stepped into another realm. When you looked up at the temple, you saw Artemis gazing down at you, beautifully carved in marble. The eagle flew above again, and as you turned to follow, you saw him landing on his owner’s outstretched arm.

Kassandra.

Her presence took your breath away so effortlessly. You, a poet in search of a greater purpose, able to wield only a quill. And her, a magnificent warrior with many talents. The image before you was something you had never dreamt of; two beautiful women on a bed of cushions, glowing beneath the rays of a midsummer moon. They were wearing only dark red silks which barely covered their glorious, muscular bodies. Even without their menacing armours, though, they looked just as fierce and deadly. Kassandra quietly hummed a foreign song as she caressed Eivor’s bare chest. You held you breath as your gaze naturally followed the slow movements of those precious fingers over small, firm breasts. Touches so forbidden, so beautifully sinful. This must’ve been a vision, too perfect to be real – the eagle cried again and the spell broke.

“Ah?... Thank you, Ikaros.”

Kassandra’s deep gaze met yours as she spoke, and in a moment you turned away, ashamed.

“Oh gods, forgive me! I didn’t mean to - "

“There’s no gods here, only us.” Sweet mercenary spoke with harmless amusement.

“Come now, we’ve been waiting.”

Oh, that bewitching voice… You slowly approached them with your gaze on the ground and words of praise at the tip of your tongue. To recite your masterpiece to the most revered women of your life must’ve been a miracle bestowed on very few. And here you were, the lucky one.

You sat on the pristine edge of the pool, biting your lip whilst these graceful warriors patiently waited until you were ready. It warmed your heart to learn how dignified they were, even as you became flustered. Eivor had not made an attempt to cover her chest, in fact, Kassandra was still sensually massaging the soft edges of her breasts. And the way they enjoyed one another was so perfectly natural, just as you imagined! Secret lovers diving into the pleasures of womanly affections. With courage renewed, you begun to recite.

Your tone full of confidence, rhythm and cadence fell perfectly, like the powerful thunder of your young, wild heart. Words so poetic, metaphors easily engaging your private audience. You told tales of their beauty and grace, their forbidden love and how bravely they conquered lands. You were out of breath as you read the last verse, and yet you never felt more lively and strong. Sappho must’ve been proud.

You were overjoyed as you witnessed enchanting smiles blooming over their handsome features. So much, that you were free of shyness and nerves, and you could openly express your genuine feelings for them. You took a little bow, bringing your papers to your chest, feeling completely victorious.

“That was quite impressive!” Kassandra praised as she sat up on the cushions. Her hand now lazily rested over Eivor’s bare thigh, subtly pulling the silk which covered her lover’s lap. How silly of you to think you were brave enough to face them; the moment you cast your gaze upon their half-nude bodies, you were speechless. Raw strength and beauty laid before you, gorgeous warriors, akin to the murals of ancient, brave heroines. You shivered as Eivor spoke to you, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You are very talented, and very brave to recite it like this. Not many approach us with such confidence.”

Confidence? What a laugh! You were on the verge of breaking as you stood there before their deep, focused eyes, and yet you somehow found the courage to keep your stance. You nodded silently, eager to hear their review. The hard part had passed – or so you thought.

“There’s something missing, though…” Eivor begun.

You froze.

“Like your verse is a little… hmm… forced, incomplete.” Kassandra added.

. . .

To die would’ve been better in that moment. You smiled and nodded, willing to hear all they had to say – after all, that was what you came for. Still, you were not prepared to accept that your masterpiece was… not a masterpiece. Your heart shattered at the thought of being a mediocre poet. Someone Sappho would not spare a second glance.

“It feels as if… the metaphors you write are just wishes, dreams- ” Eivor spoke, but you quickly interrupted her.

“How do you mean?”

God, the way she smiled then… Just like the previous night, thawing you. Breaking you down, just to put you back together.

“It means you write of passions you’ve never felt, yourself.”

There was a deep, lingering silence after.

Confused, you sought the floor for answers, in deep thought, wondering just what went wrong.

Eivor slowly leaned towards you, and as you saw her, you reached for her as well. You offered her your pages thinking that was what she desired, but instead she gently wrapped her hand around your dainty wrist. And as she pulled, you naturally fell to your knees right in front of her. Suddenly, you felt a burning warmth beneath your skin. Nervous, anxious, and exhilarated all at once.

“Come here…”

Eivor beckoned in a tone so deeply sensual, you were completely powerless. Your gaze followed the trail of intricate designs on her tattooed arms and chest, silently admiring. Her eyes stood out like precious jewels beneath her dark viking eyeshadow. Like a wolf, she pulled you in, and like a sweet lamb you followed. You didn’t even realize how Kassandra neatly put your precious papyrus away, nor how she circled you like a silent predator observing her cornered prey. But you shivered as you felt her breath upon your shoulder, and suddenly you felt very small beneath her intense gaze. She caressed your arm with the back of her scarred fingers, a touch so tender it made you sigh with desire. Then, she leaned in close, brushing the tip of her perfect nose along the apple of your cheek.

“... let us teach you… real womanly passion.”

The mercenary whispered smoothly against your ear. As if hypnotized you slowly nodded, more than willing to learn and take everything they had to offer. You felt Kassandra’s hand on your shoulder, her fingers slipping beneath the only strap of your lavender dress. Very slowly, she pulled the silk down your arm, leaving your chest completely bare.

-          To be continued…

* part III.

[ddarker-dreams]

Bride in White. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

When you had fantasized about this day in your youth, this is not what you had desired.

In those days, you pictured how you would count down the days until your wedding. Mulling over a dress you wanted to wear, one that was within your budget but pretty nonetheless. Maybe an outdoor venue, friends and family alike joining together to witness your union. There’d be butterflies in your stomach as you held onto your bouquet, breath hitched. Most important of all, the one who would be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. 

A person you truly loved. 

Eerily, certain lavish elements align with what you would’ve wanted. Almost as if he peeked in your mind and stole it for himself. The venue you were to be wed reminded you of a whimsical fairy tale, indulging you in its architectural beauty. A cathedral with warm, earth tone colors with tall ceilings that reached to the heavens. Colored sunlight shone through broad, mosaic windows, illuminating aisles of wooden pews. 

“I’m not a pious man,” Giorno had claimed, as he monitored you with his eyes. He must have mistaken your wide eye look for acceptance of the situation. “But it feels right.” 

But it feels right.

Those four words haunted you the moment they left his roseate lips. He couldn’t have expressed the gravity of your situation, the living nightmare of your life more perfectly if he had tried. Every freedom he readily plucked from you like a flower petal, all the undesirable parts of you that he trimmed away, planting you wherever he saw fit to soak in your beauty. The single difference you can find is a flower will eventually wither away to nothing and wilt. 

Whereas Giorno, your ever dutiful lover, cruelly refuses to let you meet the same fate. 

All of this was thrusted upon you because it felt right to him. He’s assured that this is what love is and you’d be a fool to think otherwise. What happened in his past to delude him into believing this sick parody of love is right? Questions like this will remain unanswered, Giorno skillfully dodging them with ease when presented with your numerous concerns. 

Freedoms you were generously given did little for you. Giorno took care of a majority of the planning, considering what minuscule input you offered. Whether it’s because he envisioned your union in a particular way -- or he was tired of your lackadaisical responses to wedding detail questions -- he stopped asking. The illusion of choice he presented you with was insulting in your eyes.

You don’t want to choose the flavor of cake, what orchestral arrangements are to be played during the reception, or what kind of veil you’ll wear. It’s as macabre as preparing for your own funeral down to the letter, you concluded. No, none of those frivolous things will bring you the true desire of your heart. 

Living your life as you did before meeting the Don of Passione.

“I-is it to your liking?” 

A young woman around your age asks, pulling back to allow you to see your own reflection. The person working on your hair continues in silence, the pair only speaking to you when absolutely necessary. It’s not like you can blame them, you think bitterly. Treading carefully and minding your mannerisms is an all too familiar dance. 

“Yes, thank you.” you offer in response after brief deliberation, to which she lets out a shaky sigh of relief. A fluffy brush dances across your face as she continues her work, blending together your foundation or making small touch ups when necessary. Seeing your own somber reflection being dolled up stirs unknown emotions within you, almost prompting you to laugh humorlessly. 

Your hair has been pulled back into a loose braid. Woven into your hair are flowers, likely created by Gold Experience. From light pink juliet roses to white hydrangeas, all stunningly beautiful despite your inner hatred for what they represent. It’s not that Giorno can’t afford to obtain flowers from other sources. The act of claiming you is what this represents. 

Highlight that compliments your skin color is set upon your cheekbones and lightly dusted onto your nose, cheeks subtly rosy from blush. The color of your eyes is brought out by smokey eye shadow, eyelids covered in flecks of gold then finished with dark winged eyeliner. Lastly, in the color that Giorno had picked out himself, your lips plump and covered in a deep pink.

As for the dress, Giorno considered your minimal input when deciding on it. Weeks of fittings and measurements in his private villa come flooding back to your mind, the irritating experience bestowing upon you an extravagant dress. A sweetheart neckline, with a mermaid silhouette that extended past your feet. It has a bare back, with a long cathedral chain behind you. The fabric clings to your curves beautifully, made of lace and tulle. 

It’s hard to justify messing up their work, as much as you’d love to. As innocent bystanders in this entangling mess, you loathe the thought of them getting in trouble for your tantrum. Knuckles tightening by your sides until your nails press painfully to your skin, you stop only to realize how it’d displeasure Giorno to see your beautiful skin tainted by crimson. 

A door opens behind you, the sound of fine orchestral accompaniments growing louder. In the mirror, you’re able to see one of your bodyguards, Fugo. His normal outfit riddled with holes replaced by a coal black tux, gaze serious as ever. 

“She walks out in five minutes. Is everything done by now?” he asks in a way that leaves room for little argument. Fugo has always been a no nonsense type of man, the stress from keeping a monumental event like this safe and moving along weighing down on him. Your hairdresser doesn’t look back while she responds, adding final flourishes while time allows.

“It will be. We’re just wrapping up now.” 

Fugo runs a hand through his hair, sighing but nodding his head. For privacy he closes the door, likely standing by it for added security. The comfort of this room will soon be left behind you, as much as you want to stay hidden away forever. All you can think is this aspect will be over after today, though a much crueler fate awaits you with open arms. 

After what feels like a too short amount of time, they begin prompting you to stand, handing you your bouquet of expensive and vibrant flowers. Your grip on which is weak, hands shaking too much to gain a proper grasp. Taking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you do everything within your power to quench this stifling anxiety. 

With no rest for the weary, Fugo once again opens the door. He meets your gaze, lips set in a tight frown but not commenting on your aghast expression; likely in an act of mercy towards you. He silently offers you his arm to steady your teetering figure, to which you shake your head. You’ve made it this far on your lonesome, the rest of the world failing you at every opportunity. 

It’s more of a symbolic act now since you’ll have to take his arm later, Fugo being the one to give you away in the stead of your father. This is one of the conditions you presented to Giorno in return for your full compliance, that he leaves your family alone from all mafia related circumstances, this included. He seemed more than pleased at the time to accept his beloved’s request.

Wedding veil gingerly placed atop you, all the preparations steps have been completed. There’s no other acceptable excuses you can present at this moment, the calling before you beckoning. Fugo prompts you to walk out with him, a hallway not long enough for your liking in front of you. 

Each step takes every ounce of your willpower. All you can hear, like a mantra within your own mind, is that you need to get yourself together. That’s the deal you made with him, the one that you need to stick by in spite of yourself. For the safety of those you care about, you must present yourself as a perfect and overjoyed bride. 

Two intimidating looking men dressed for the occasion stand on either side of the large doors, ready to open the gates of your own personal hell. Fugo nods to them, his authority within the organization prompting them to open the doors to the chapel. At the very second of doing so, the orchestra changes their song to the bridal chorus.

Rich sounds of the organ flood your ears, lips quivering at the crushing sound reverberating within these tightly packed walls. The sensation of hundreds of faceless strangers staring at you makes your knees go weak, all of them now standing out of respect for your soon-to-be husband. None of them mean anything to you, but you’d be a fool to not acknowledge their importance. From politicians to fellow mafiosos, all eyes are on you. 

Sensing your hesitation to continue walking, Fugo gently nudges you forward. The act breaks you from your momentary stupor, allowing you to continue down the aisle with faux grace. Running out of other sights to look at, your gaze hesitantly falls onto Giorno, who grows closer by the second. 

He’s composed, as you’ve come to expect from him. There’s an image of rigidness that needs to be maintained with being a Don. His lips curl into a content smile when your eyes meet. Every ounce of your being screaming, pleading, for you to look away. To run away. Yet you can’t, the logical side of your brain being won over by the intensity of his presence. 

Your body moves in a trance-like state towards him, drawn to his serene expression and loving eyes. Otherworldly is how you describe him in this moment, sunlight shining against his golden hair which is loose from the normal braid. No expenses were cut on his own outfit, wearing a luxurious navy blue Givenchy suit. 

There’s no denying that the devil incarnate is nothing short of beautiful. 

Fugo goes to shake Giorno’s hand, instead of your real father. He gives you one last look before descending down the stairs and taking his seat in the front row. Now feeling all on your own, you feel the anxiety from before returning in full force. What frightens you the most now is how gentle Giorno’s emerald eyes are, how much heartfelt love shines within them for you. It feels like his gaze pierces through your being, capable of reading every thought. 

Offering him a smile that you pray he finds satisfactory, Giorno lifts the veil over your face. 

“I’ve never seen someone so breathtaking.” he mutters under his breath, only for you to hear. Goosebumps dot your skin at his affectionate proclamation. 

He then turns to look to the altar. You mirror this action, seeing an eldery man who must be the priest. Seeing his lips move, you faintly process that he’s addressing the two of you. All the world slows down as your fate is sealed, head growing dizzier by the second. This stifling atmosphere all but grabs you by the neck, suffocating you. Body on autopilot, you respond only when prompted to do so. 

Now time for rings to be exchanged, Giorno grabs your hand with utmost care. He smiles at you, one that’s different than normal. One that doesn’t have hidden intentions behind it, an agenda to manipulate your feelings. No, this comes from the depths of his soul. From his overflowing love for you, that drowns out any other sensations.

He places the ring on your finger, expensive diamonds and gold band sliding on with shackles. “With this ring I, Giorno Giovanna, take you, [First], to be my own. To have you by side and support you until I draw my final breath, to love you with everything that I am and more. Let this be a symbol of our union that will last until the end of time itself.”

Words flow from his mouth with practiced ease, silver tongue threatening to draw you in. Your heart rate hammers away as you realize it’s your turn to speak your own vows, no longer protected by having to repeat someone else’s words. Giorno required of you to write it yourself, one of the cruelest things he could’ve had you do. 

To speak of an abundance of love for someone you have nothing but deep abhorrence for. 

Giorno’s eyes flicker at your lack of response, muscles of his jaw taut. A darkness momentarily seeps within his expression, one that you recognize all too well. This is the Giorno that you know. Lightly clearing your throat in mock sentiment, you pass it off as being choked up. Placing Giorno’s ring onto his ring finger, you shiver as your skin brushes against his. 

Recalling the dishonest words, you speak them through a forced smile. “With this ring I, [First], take you, my dearest Giorno, to stand by you through the trials of life. The joys of my life are brought to me by you, and now I wish to return the favor. Allow me to repay you by being yours, and may nothing stand between us.” 

Any signs of malice have melted away, a beaming expression taking their place on his countenance. Every word brought bile to your throat, numerous lies spilling from you like sweet venom. Your impeccable acting goes unnoticed, as he draws closer to you. Or maybe he does notice it but wants to delude himself into believing you’re being honest. 

“By the power vested in me by God and man, I pronounce you wife and husband. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.” 

Warm hands on both sides of your face caress you, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. What’s meant to be a tender moment causes your blood to run cold, hairs on the back of your neck standing at the realization of what this next action means. Giorno leans forward, long eyelashes fluttering shut. Soft lips mold against your own in a chaste kiss, your body tingling and scent of his rich cologne enveloping you. 

He lingers for a second longer, before pulling back a few inches. Golden locks tickle your skin, his warm breath fanning against your flustered face. Giorno greedily drinks in the unfolding events in front of him, wordlessly portraying to you the depths of his obsession. You can only imagine what he’s thinking, and what it means for you. He feels like he’s won, that this victory will cement your place with him. 

Closing his eyes once more, he offers you his arm. Understanding the gesture, you take it without protest. The smile never leaves his face as he turns around to face those who have gathered to the ceremony with you at his side. 

Meaningless cheers erupt behind you, a once in a lifetime event of witnessing the union of Passione’s Don filling the air with palpable electricity. As you assume he wants, you follow Giorno’s lead by walking out towards the large wooden doors. His grip on you is tight, both physically steadying and emotionally unsettling you. 

Going through the motions, is what you decide this detached state of existence is. Pushing through the numbness that threatens to take hold, you smile your best dazzling smile. It all happens in a flurry, crowds parting to allow for your safe passage. Once you walk out the Cathedral doors, you’re met with grains of rice fluttering onto you from either side and more delight. 

All the faces that go by you like a blur appear overjoyed, paling in comparison only to Giorno. In the time you’ve had to share with him, you’re incapable of recalling seeing him this thrilled. The day is long from over, an outdoor reception already set up for you to sludge through. At least for this aspect, you doubt anyone will speak to you directly. Or if they do, it’ll be a predictable conversation that you already have designated answers to give. 

Their attention will mostly remain on Giorno, congratulating him on the union. You wonder if some poor soul learned through experience that it’s unwise to have their eyes linger on you for too long. Giorno is a walking contradiction, wanting to both present his beautiful lover yet setting boundaries to prevent people from getting too close for his liking. 

As you predicted, congratulatory words are shared hundreds of times. Hours pass of the same, monotonous routine. The one aspect that causes you to subtly stiffen every time is when an individual addresses you as Mrs. Giovanna. It feels like a part of your identity has been stolen, among all the other things he has taken from you. 

“Do you need to rest? We’ve been standing for some time.” Giorno whispers into your ear, after a mafioso expressed his regards to his Don. You shake your head, not wanting to be alone with him. With all these people around, you oddly feel safer. Though none of them would stand up for you as it’s a certified death wish. 

“I’ll be alright,” you respond to him with a sigh, lowering your head to look at the tile underneath you. “It’s just been a lot.” 

Giorno considers your words, searching for emotions that aren’t there. You distract yourself by looking around, feeling content that these people are having fun even if you’re not. Families speaking amongst themselves enjoying the fine catering, partners dancing and almost everyone holding a wine glass. Asking him never felt like a priority, but you do wonder how much this spectacle cost. 

As the evening progresses, the sun lowers into the sky. Beams of orange and yellow mixing together enrapture everything in sight, the scent of delicacies and wine mixing together. Milan is an enrapturing city. All day you’ve had no appetite, Giorno having to convince you to eat something. Looking down at the plate that he brought you, a slice of buttered focaccia is what you settle on.

Speaking of Giorno, he left your side for the first time in hours to speak to some security. You feel like it’s easier to breathe outside of his presence, though the respite won’t last much longer. As expected, he returns to you and extends his hand. You hesitate before grabbing it, to which he helps you up.

“We’ll be heading to our hotel now.” he instructs you, leading you to the curb where a limousine awaits. Ever the gentleman, Giorno opens the door for you to take your seat before sitting next to you himself. A final group of cheers for the new couple break out, before the crowd is behind you. 

Only the low drum of the engine fills your ears, your lap holding your interest. Feeling emotionally drained to the core, you don’t offer any resistance when Giorno lays his hand over your own. Working up the courage to look at him, you’re met with a serene expression. He loosens his tie some, upward curl of his lips never faltering.

“Cara… you looked troubled,” he squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Is something bothering you?” 

“Ah. I’m not used to all that attention and socializing.” you admit in truth, a sheepish smile of your own creeping up. Giorno is the only person who you have contact with on a regular basis. You forgot what it was like to converse with strangers, even in passing. Giorno seems to understand, bright green eyes softening.

He reaches to a pen in his jacket, and before your very eyes, it turns into an impressive burgundy rose. Giorno’s ability is a mystifying one, no matter how many times you witness it. He quietly laughs at your wide eye look, before tucking it behind your ear. 

“We’ll be alone soon enough.” 

It’s a phrase meant to soothe you, yet it has the opposite effect. A hidden meaning glimmers underneath the surface, one that you anticipate. 

Still in a dreamlike state, you eventually arrive in a luxurious suite. This is one of the finest hotels in Milan, with a vast view of the historic city. Placing your hand to the glass of the window, you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. Not feeling the need to turn around to greet your husband, Giorno makes up for it by wrapping his arms around your torso. 

He presses himself against you, head lowering to the crux of your neck to take in your scent. A perfume that he chose for you. His lips ghost over your pulse, appreciating how it gains speed at his teasing touch. He knows this body well. This is a culmination of all he’s desired, the payoff of you before him. Giorno’s hands hover up to your shoulder, where he plays with the straps of your dress. 

You close your eyes.

Lifting his head to your ears, you shiver at his low declaration. “Now, give all of yourself to me, mio bellissimo amore.” 

[fancytrinkets]

First kiss cutscene (Dorian/Trevelyan - location changed)

The sun is low in the sky when Dorian approaches the gates of Redcliffe.

"You didn't have to wait for me," he says. "I would've made my way back to camp on my own."

He sounds exhausted.

"I know," Trevelyan says as he hops down from the stone wall where he's been sitting. "But Cassandra asked me to check this place thoroughly, so I've been talking to the locals. I helped a few of them and got a free lunch out of it. Not bad, for a day."

Dorian doesn't answer. He seems inclined towards silence. Understandable, Trevelyan thinks, for someone who's just spent hours in conversation with the parent who would have forcibly altered him by way of blood magic. Trevelyan follows his lead and stays quiet. As they pass through the gates, the long shadows of late afternoon stretch out on the road before them. The day fades to evening so beautifully in this wild, green countryside. Trevelyan is content to take in the landscape, not saying another word.

Once they've walked for a while — more than halfway to their campsite — it's Dorian who breaks the silence between them.

"So let me see if I understand this properly," he says. "You're telling me that the leader of the Inquisition spent his time running frivolous errands for villagers all day long?"

Trevelyan grins at him, thoroughly overjoyed to be teased so unexpectedly.

"Frivolous errands? How dare you — I assisted the locals in an adventurous fashion," he says.

"Adventurously gathered elfroot, did you?"

"The mockery hurts," Trevelyan says, entirely insincerely. "I'm a sensitive man."

"Oh, are you? I'll bear that in mind," Dorian says.

Trevelyan doesn't fail to notice the look Dorian gives him — a quick, appreciative once over — before turning his attention back to the road ahead.

"I'll have you know, my adventures took me all over the Hinterlands. I gathered quite a few varieties of herb — not only elfroot. And after that I tracked down a lost sheep for its distraught human companion."

"How thrilling that must have been for you."

"Mmhm. Lord Woolsley. May he rest in peace." Trevelyan presses his hand to his chest as though he's sincerely moved by the loss.

This has the intended effect of piquing Dorian's curiosity.

"Wait — the sheep died?" he asks. "After you rescued it? Or did you somehow manage to kill it in the attempt?"

Trevelyan grins and evades the question by heaping rapturous praise upon Lord Woolsley.

"Dorian, you should have seen this majestic animal. Wool like the color of the sky at sunset — reds and oranges, a hint of purple. He was wily, too, but I tracked him down, way high up in the hills. He didn't want to go home, but I figured out how to nudge him along with a spell or two."

"So you accidentally killed this animal with your magic?"

Trevelyan gasps in mock indignation.

"Don't insult me, I have better control than that!" he says. "I killed him on purpose because he turned out to be a rage demon in disguise."

Dorian groans. "Were you sitting around all afternoon thinking up this ridiculous story?"

Trevelyan's about to explain that it really happened. It sounds like a fabrication, to be sure — but like most things that have occurred so far in Redcliffe, the truth is stranger than stories. He pauses, however, when he sees that Dorian's expression has shifted. The amiable facade falters, and beneath it, he looks truly devastated.

"Are you alright?" Trevelyan asks.

"No," Dorian says. "Not really."

And Trevelyan would leave it at that, if asked. But instead Dorian stops at the edge of the empty road, turns towards him, and opens up about all of it — how it felt, and still feels, to have been rejected and betrayed so thoroughly by his own father. And then, to Trevelyan's utter surprise, he apologizes — both for dragging the Inquisition into a private issue and for the things Halward said and assumed about Trevelyan personally. He apologizes for putting his own rage on display in a humiliating spectacle.

"I can't imagine what you must think of me now."

For a second, Trevelyan's left at a loss for words.

How could Dorian possibly think that any of this reflects badly on him? To Trevelyan, it's quite the opposite — a true measure of his strength and resolve. It's also the confirmation of everything he's been feeling towards Dorian thus far. Attraction and camaraderie are wonderful things, but his feelings go well beyond both — Trevelyan deeply admires this man. 

It's time to tell him so.

He puts his thoughts to words, not as eloquently as he'd like, but he manages to convey the sentiment. The effect of those words upon Dorian is immediate. His troubled expression changes to relief. He smiles, and looks genuinely hopeful. The next thing Dorian says is about the importance of staying true to what's in your heart. It's fucking romantic, is what it is — and Trevelyan's not about to let the moment pass unanswered. He steps forward, palms up, entreating. He's not even sure what he's asking for until Dorian meets him halfway. 

Before Trevelyan's thoughts can catch up with him, he's holding the man and being held. Standing at the edge of the road under a darkening sky, he kisses Dorian for the first time. It's more gentle than anything he's imagined. Trevelyan's fantasies — when he's alone at night with the privacy to indulge himself — have been lustful and unrestrained. He's imagined nothing of the soft, almost tentative way they take hold of each other. Dorian seems cautious in this, and Trevelyan meets that caution with a kiss that's well-paced to be careful and slow. Their mouths open not to devour in a passionate frenzy, but to taste and to savor. 

Oh, Trevelyan thinks, I've missed this.

Because while he does remember the last time that kissing someone lit a spark in him with this same intensity, it's been years since it's happened. 

Trevelyan pulls back, not because he wants it to stop — quite the opposite in fact. He'd like to begin moving lower, kissing along the line of that beautiful jaw, learning what sounds of pleasure he can wring from this man by kissing his throat. But he steps back to check in and make sure this isn't too much too fast on an already overwhelming day.

Dorian doesn't look troubled at all. But he shivers as Trevelyan pulls away, and it's unfortunately not from the good kind of chills. With the sun gone down, the temperature has dropped precipitously.

"You know, I'm much more skillful at this when I'm not freezing half to death in the wilderness."

"We can pick this up again back at Skyhold," Trevelyan says. "I mean, if you'd like?"

"I would like."

"Good," Trevelyan says. "So would I."

(I really love these two in a solid, friendship-based romance. Read more of my long, weird fic here if you like)

[queer-and-dear-books]

Title: As Far As You’ll Take Me

Author: Phil Stamper

Genre: YA Fiction | Friendship | Drama 

Content Warnings: Calorie Counting | Anxiety | Homophobia

Overall Rating: 8.5/10

Personal Opinion: Sometimes life sucks, and the only way to escape it is to move to another country and start over. That’s what Marty Pierce did anyway. He moved to London to live with his cousin and aunt, and to live his best gay life, free from the oppressive rule of his conservative parents. But not everything is as perfect as they first seem. If you long for a found family, maybe this is the book for you.

Do I Own This Book? Nope.

Spoilers Below For My Likes & Dislikes:

Likes:

- Love the overall progression of the story. Marty suffers from crippling anxiety but over the turbulent course of the story, he really comes out of his shell and learns to be a better advocate for himself. In my opinion, it’s mostly due to Shane and Sophie talking to him. Being there for him. Dani too during their trip to Italy. She was Pierce’s best friend but she was willing to push that aside to protect Marty because she knew he was a good guy and didn’t want a repeat of what happened to Colin. With these friends, this beautifully put together found family, he was able to cut out Megan and be the best version of himself. And I am overjoyed that he’s still able to keep Skye in his friend circle.

- I love the emphasis put on choosing family and Marty’s insecurities concerning his fat are so relatable. Mental health and having a good support system are repetitive themes and they’re so important for queer kids to know. Especially those in their first relationship. They need to be aware of those they trust and understand that their relationship with their body shouldn’t be dictated by a crush. And especially one that constantly calorie counts and made no real effort to stop Marty from his dangerous crash diet. The guy fucking fainted! He should have encouraged Marty to eat since he obviously noticed that his BOYFRIEND barely touched his food.

- The diversity is great even if it’s not explicit. Sophie is very clearly black and a WLW and she is just so chill. She wanted to bring Marty out of his shell but never tried to do it forcibly. She kept him in his comfort zone but also helped him feel brave and good about himself.

- Sang is likely Asian (possibly Chinese?) and also gay! And he has a happy ending with Shane and he’s apparently a musical genius on classical guitar and allegedly cute too. It is a shame we don’t get to see his chemistry with Shane really play out on the page but still, it brings me so much joy just knowing he’s doing well. And that Shane is doing well too after booking the Les Mis gig.

- Dani is Mediterrannean and apparently Ajay, who is most likely South Asian, is her loving boyfriend and bi! I love how casual that reveal was and the fact that he’s not afraid to express that part of himself while dating a girl. He and Dani don’t do much on the page as a couple but Dani is such a good friend. She easily included Marty into the group with their first jam session at the park. She took him out on a coffee run while in Cardiff. She warned him about Pierce once she knew everything that was going on and I just love her to death because she’s so sweet and genuinely cool.

- Mr. Baverstock is great too. I do think he has a bias toward oboists since he was about to give Marty a second chance but I love that he considered it. He wanted to help and he is a good help. I adore that.

Dislikes:

- Let’s address the biggest and ugliest blemish, Megan. I do think she was necessary as it was her who allowed Marty to gain the courage to take this big leap of faith. He needed her when he was alone and isolated and so afraid of everything. But Megan is so entitled. She outed her best friend to Skye and their entire school just because he missed some calls? Marty tried. He tried to get back in time. He sent an email to her explaining what happened and she went and did such a putrid thing. And then she proceeded to not apologize for it. She never apologizes. And Marty realized it when Sophie, his other best friend, apologized for not being there for him. And she was right in that situation! Sophie was right and she still chose to be accountable for leaving him alone in his time of need and that is a true friend. So yeah, fuck Megan. But I am inclined to give this a pass because we’re not meant to like her as Marty learns that she is toxic and drops her. Skye and Sophie and Shane are all better best friends anyway.

- The next issue, Pierce. The guy talks big game when it comes to mental health and I appreciate him so much for that. He also did a great job shutting down Megan when she outed her best friend. I respect him for those moves. It’s just so unfortunate that he’s a manipulative, neglectful bastard who uses men to elevate his own status and sense of self-worth without giving as much in return. I feel utterly horrible for Colin and I hope he’s doing well and I’m just glad Marty dumped Pierce once he saw the truth. And the fact that Rihanna’s “Take a Bow” was playing on my Spotify playlist during that moment when he called out his “boyfriend” on ALL of his bullshit was truly icing on the cake. But again, fuck that toxic bastard. But I also hope he can grow and be better. Maybe he’ll reconnect with Colin and apologize for his gross, deplorable behavior. I just can’t believe Dani and Ajay and Rio are still friends with him after that though. I get why Shane chose to distance himself.

- Sang and Marty had way more on-page chemistry than either of the canon MLM couples and that kind of sucks to me. Ugh, if only Pierce hadn’t gotten to Marty first because I am willing to bet Sang would’ve been into Marty had it not been for that.

- Fuck Marty’s parents too. What the fuck. I mean, I’m glad that they came around but they really made their own son feel like shit with their Christian guilt stuff. I’m glad the dad was much more understanding at least. But his mom really cut off her own sister for getting pregnant without a husband and told her son to be what God wants him to be. Which is code for straight. She really thought he could change just like that. The major consolations of her character are that she knows Megan’s behavior and the very conception of conversion camps are appalling. So I respect that. It is a small consolation, all things considered but I’m glad that she made progress too. And I hope she continues to do so like she seems to want to.  

- I know there are more negative things than positive but most of the negatives, I can pass since the point of the story is about growth. Here is what I cannot let pass, Marty is not a very likable protagonist. There are a ton of similarities between Marty Pierce and Darius Kellner so I ended up comparing them a lot. They are both plus-sized teenagers who go to another country and suffer from mental illness. A big gaping difference between them is that Darius is medicated and very knowledgeable in the behaviors he engages in that are toxic. But in the case of Marty, he engages in self-destructive behavior without acknowledging it. There’s just so much self-deprecation (how he shits on his weight, appearance, and oboe playing) and he doesn’t actually do anything to be better. He doesn’t really want to make an effort to improve himself and recognize that he’s damaging himself by starving himself and pushing certain people away and allowing toxic people in. Darius and Marty also both have their first relationships with guys who try to pressure them into sex. I do think they both handled their respective situations maturely, I think the difference is the guys themselves. Landon had none of the warning signs that Pierce did. Landon wasn’t some diet junkie and he was always trying to be there for Darius when he needed it. He even cooked for Darius’s whole family! Pierce, again, let Marty skip meals. He talked big about mental health but he also continuously dragged Marty for being ignorant. Also Marty hates tea and Darius loves it so yeah. I like Darius because he has taste, unlike Marty. But seriously, I think I would’ve been more willing to give this a pass had Marty decided to seek out therapy in the end but he didn’t.

[cognacdelights]

Teenage Dirtbags | 001. — Welcome To Exile

Summary: In which, an out of control teenager is sentenced to a summer in the Outer Banks to come to terms with her mother’s untimely death, and reform her rebellious, troublesome ways before she does irreversible damage. 

Author’s Note: So this is the first chapter of Teenage Dirtbags. I really hope that you enjoy. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist and all my masterlists will be linked below if you feel like checking out my other fics. Also, I’m doing a celebration cocktail night at the moment so feel free to get involved with that!

Warnings: This series may contain mature themes/content throughout including but not limited to swearing, sexual language and/or scenes, substance abuse and mentions of death. 

Word Count: 2999.

Teenage Dirtbags Series Masterlist.

Fill The Void General Masterlist.

This gif is not mine, all credit goes to the owner.

001. — Welcome To Exile

The sweltering, mid-day sun was unforgiving as it stared, ceaselessly, down upon the unkempt, sandy shorelines of the island. It was typical for temperatures to reach an unbearable eighty-five degrees fahrenheit in the Outer Banks during the summer months, however the subtropical jet stream had brought with it an exceptionally merciless wave of blistering heat this year. The old, mercury thermometer that hung proudly beside the entrance to the ferry deck read one hundred and two degrees - or, perhaps, it was one hundred and three. The thermometer's glass had clouded over due to the extensive build up of dirt over the years and had obscured the faded markings. Whether it read one hundred and two or one hundred and three was merely a trivial discrepancy; either way, it was still miserably hot and insufferable.

As Marnie Sinclaire stepped outside onto the ivory-painted decking, the salt-laced, ocean-scented air overwhelmed her petite silhouette. It was uncomfortably thick and oppresively muggy - and the occasional oceanfront breeze was feeble, offering little relief against her fair, freckle-littered complexion. A content cluster of perspiration droplets adorned her forehead, causing her pale skin to glisten under the relentless rays of the North Carolinian sun. She could feel the prickling, burning sensation as the ultraviolet rays graced the high points of her doll-like features, and anticipated the inevitable rosy tinge that would develop in their absence. It would take some time for the dark-haired tearaway to adjust to the Mid-Atlantic climate; her blanched complexion was far more accustomed to New York's much milder conditions. 

Her piercing, indigo eyes followed the labyrinth of cracks between the wooden planks as she stepped nonchalantly towards the bustling dock. The queue before her was fast-paced, and had dwindled down in just a matter of minutes as the eclectic array of passengers disembarked the privately-run ferry. Those trapped behind her sighed haughtily, and proceeded to roll their eyes in an obnoxious display of disapproval, as Marnie continued to move painfully lackadaisically in the direction of the dock. It was her final exhibit of reluctance to spend her summer vacation on the Outer Banks islands before she officially arrived, and she was determined to savour every last millisecond of her much-loved freedom.

"Have a nice day, Miss," a greying, middle-aged member of the ferry's crew bid her a pleasant farewell. The full, hearty smile - which had been plastered across his ochre complexion since his first interaction with the auburn-haired lady at the front of the long, winding queue - remained genuine, as he proceeded to address the insufferably impatient couple next in line. He seemed to be such a cheerful, sanguine man; in fact, everybody aboard the hell-bound vessel appeared to be detestably overjoyed to be on the island - well, except for Marnie. The bitter brunette had likened the experience to being ordered to serve a life sentence in the solitary confinements of Alcatraz - cruel, painful and inhumane.

After several hesitant steps towards the silt-covered tarmac strip which somewhat resembled a road, she halted. Her wary, sapphire eyes examined the chaotic hustle and bustle for any distinguishable sign of either of her grandparents. Although, truthfully, Marnie wasn't sure she would recognise them if they were stood centimetres in front of her and brandishing a luminous, neon sign; she hadn't physically seen her grandparents since she was four years old. Her parents' hectic and manic work schedules, and the uncomfortably long travel time between the Outer Banks and New York, meant that visiting for both parties was simply not an option. Yet, here she was, contrived to make the dire eight and a half hour journey alone - with just last month's crumpled edition of Vogue to keep her company.

"Marnie, is that you?" the sweet, honey-like voice of an elderly lady captured Marnie's attention. Her face was weathered - presumably due to the sheer amount of time she had spent under the constant and relentless gaze of the Mid-Atlantic sun, and the lack of adequate ultraviolet protection. Nevertheless, a cordial, welcoming beam still upturned the corners of her retreating lips. Her silver-tinted locks brushed against her cardigan-covered shoulders, and the dried-out ends curled upwards in a natural kink. The two front wisps had been tucked behind her pearl-baring ears, secured into place by the over-sized, diamonte-encrusted sunglasses that sat atop the crown of her head. She bared resemblance to Marnie's mother slightly; she had the same piercing, ashen eyes and high, prominent cheek bones that were decorated by a natural flush of rouge.

"Grams?" Marnie responded in a casual manner, although the answer was undoubtedly, blatantly obvious. An unidentifiable pang of emotion filled her stomach at the sight of her estranged grandmother, twisting and turning her insides in a sickly, tornado-like whirl. It was such a bittersweet reunion for the grandmother and granddaughter; Marnie had craved a reconnection with her mother's side of the family ever since her untimely death almost three years ago, however, she had always anticipated that it would be on her terms and not at the hands of her at-a-loss father. 

"Doesn't she look just like Della, Graham?" her grandmother cooed in her saccharine tone, as she took in the petite, fair-skinned beauty before her. It was almost as if she had been transported back twenty years prior, to when her own daughter was sixteen years old and had the whole island in the palm of her hands. Neither Marnie, her grandmother, nor her grandfather could deny that Marnie was a doppelganger of her mother. From the infamous, prominent cheek bones, to the luscious, peach-tinted lips, to the lustrous, cinnamon waves - she was a complete carbon copy of Della Baker-Sinclaire. To Marnie this was both a blessing and a curse; whilst being gifted with her mother's charmingly beauteous looks came with it's obvious perks, every time Marnie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she was reminded of the devastating tragedy that utterly devoured her life. That took a toll on her, as it would anybody in her position. 

"The spitting image," her grandfather agreed, taking a second to indulge in marvelling at his one and only granddaughter. A solemn expression etched itself into his dappled, ageing features as he remembered his late daughter in all of her unprecedented beauty. His sparse, silver eyebrows furrowed together in objection as his sunken, chartreuse eyes fixated on the silver, metallic ring protruding from Marnie's septum. "What's that in your nose?" he questioned almost immediately, the tone of his voice exuding absolute disapproval. There it was, what could have been a beautifully sentimental moment between a granddaughter and her estranged grandparents ruined, all because of a two dollar metal ring extruding from her septum.

"My septum piercing," Marnie's voice was impassive, and lacked emotion as she answered her grandfather - a vacant, deadpan expression occupying her doll-like features. The sporadic, coastal gust picked up ever so slightly, brushing the out of control teenag's tangled, chestnut locks across her pale face. The gentle wisps tickled against her reddening complexion, forcing the unruly brunette to turn against the direction of the much-appreciated draught. 

"Did your father consent to you mutilating your face like that?" her grandmother interrogated. A disapproving glare contorted her haggard features, as her intense, oyster eyes clouded over with the unmistakable fog of condemnation. Despite her typically gentle and innocent nature, her grandmother could be a ruthless and malevolent woman at times. Raised solely by the word of the bible, Eileen Baker stood by the preaches of the lord to determine what was right and what was wrong in life. You would be damned to oppose the word of the bible, particularly in the eyes of Eileen; it was the law of the land in the Baker household.

"He almost had a heart attack when he found out," her granddaughter admitted with an apathetic shrug of her petite, denim-covered shoulders. Although she remained nonchalant and dismissive, Marnie was cautious of her grandmother's reaction. Her mother had told her many a story of her unruly, teenage escapades on the Outer Banks islands, and how they were to the utmost discontent of her grandmother. Obtaining a ticket back to her concrete sanctuary was a game of tactic and strategy - divulging further details of how she had actually pierced her septum herself, during a booze-fuelled weekend across the river, would condemn her to the island for the rest of eternity. That was simply a life Marnie could not fathom, nor was she even willing to bear. 

"Well, there will be no more of that, young lady. You must ask our permission before you do anything," the ageing lady enforced her regime, an earnest glint occupying the cobalt speckles of her smokey eyes. She was resolute in straightening out her wayward granddaughter, just as she had with her own rebellion-filled daughter. It was her expectation that a bit of tough love and discipline would do the trick - however, the incessant niggling suspicion at the back of her mind urged her to prepare for an all out battle with the doe-eyed hellcat. 

Marnie merely responded with a sickly-sweet smile of compliance. You had to choose your combats wisely with a woman like Eileen Baker if you were to ever reign supreme; it was an insignificant surrender to aid in a much more momentous war. At this moment in time, the element of surprise was her only weapon. Her grandparents would be expecting resistance, defiance and contention - anything but a submission. Giving in to their demands so effortlessly was a certified means of coercing them into loosening their restraints. Perhaps it would even compel them to question why she had been exiled to the Outer Banks in the first place. Well, she could only hope.

The tearaway teen had counted thirty seven steps until they had reached her grandparents' battered and bruised pickup truck. It was parked perfectly parallel to the sand-covered stone curb, a mere stones throw away from the main dock. It was an old make; the wheel alloys were scuffed and scraped to glory, and the North Carolina sun had faded the chipped, maroon paint over time. An almost invisible line of dints graced the side of the trailer - which Marnie only noticed when she struggled to haul her over-packed, stuffed-to-the-brim duffle bag over the side. She was thankful that her grandfather had opted to lift the offensively-bright fuchsia suitcase she had also dragged down the coast with her as she knew exactly how much that weighed. Whilst boarding her bus in Brooklyn, the driver had informed her that her suitcase was drastically over the permitted twenty kilogram weight limit and had issued her with a twenty five dollar fee to cover the extra weight of her case. 

Clambering into the passenger side of the pickup truck, Marnie fished around in the pocket of her over-sized, denim jacket for her headphones. The wires were knotted together after being carelessly shoved into the unzipped pouch of the acid-washed jean. It took her a few frustrating seconds to free the entangled wires, but, nevertheless, it was a victory. Placing the buds in her pierced ears, Marnie turned her attention towards the window; a pattern of splatters decorated the glass, indicating that the truck hadn't been cleaned in some time. However, her luminous, cerulean eyes could still peer out and admire the picturesque scenery. In actual fact, the battery on Marnie's phone had died several hours previously and there was a steady wave of absolute silence blasting through the old, well-used wires. It was merely a successful ploy to deter her grandparents from launching into the impending lecture on her reckless and impulsive behaviour. She was sure to receive the reprimanding speech at some point, but for the duration of the journey to her grandparents' house she desired to be alone with her thoughts. 

The drive across the island was considerably longer than Marnie had expected. Her idea of the Outer Banks islands was a series of small islands which you could walk the length and breadth of in a matter of half an hour, where everybody lived in wooden, beach-front huts - but she couldn't have been more wrong. Of course, there were your standard, shanty shacks that lined the shoreline, but there were also rows upon rows of enormous, architectural properties with beautifully landscaped gardens and extravagant yachts docked on their private jetties. It was almost as if the island had been split in two; it was a contradictory clashing of a vacational haven for the financially privileged and the mundane existence for the menial working class. Her grandparents lived on the cusp of both extremes - owning a newly-built house with a small plot of land. Nevertheless, they hadn't quite met the highbrow criteria for acceptance into the island's country club. Despite his retirement, Marnie's grandfather was a working man at heart and had spent the majority of his life earning a living as a commercial fisherman in the local waters. Her family very much belonged to the working class side of the island and were very much proud of their humble beginnings. 

As the beat-up, old pickup truck pulled into the paved driveway, Marnie caught a fleeting glimpse of a boy stood on her grandparents' porch. Through the dust-coated windshield, she could make out his vague silhouette; he stood approximately six foot tall and had broad, square shoulders. His arms appeared to be sculpted and muscular, showcasing the signature, subtle bulging around his biceps and triceps. A washed-out, salmon snapback sat comfortably atop his head, as the remnants of his untamed, dark curls peeked beneath the brim of his hat. His jawline wasn't particularly defined, but Marnie could make out it's squared-off outline from the glaring rays that penetrated the shelter of the porch. 

"John B, what can I do for you?" her grandfather's deep, assertive voice projected towards their house. His tone was inquisitive as he proceeded towards the two-story build, the cluster of keys to his beloved pickup truck clasped firmly in the palm of his calloused, well-worked hand. A concerned, yet quizzical, expression graced his wrinkled features - mimicking his intrigued inflection. 

"Mr Heyward sent me with your groceries," the boy - who Marnie's grandfather had identified as John B - answered neutrally, holding up the unbranded, plastic carrier bags of groceries he had been tasked with delivering. His muscles tensed under the strain of lifting the hefty bags, the contours of his muscles being ever more evident as his bronzed complexion glistered celestially under the harsh light of the subtropical sun. He was a polarising contrast to the boys in Brooklyn, especially the boys that Marnie had acquainted herself with. Her male friends tended to be worryingly pasty, ridiculously gangly, and often came with one type of serious drug addiction or another. 

"Thank you, son," her grandfather acknowledged the boy before him, retrieving the several bags of essential groceries. The greying, olive-skinned man took a few moments to inspect the neatly-packed groceries - confirming that he had indeed received the entirety of the goods he ordered. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his dry lips, flashing an appreciative grin at the young Routledge boy. "You let Mr Heyward know that I'll square it with him when I see him, won't you?"

"Of course, Mr Baker," John B nodded politely, before proceeding to make his way down the painted, wooden porch steps. His off-white Converse padded lightly against the painted, cedar wood steps, as he adjusted his salmon snapback. The boy flashed a cordial smile at both Marnie and her grandmother as he passed them by, and nodded once again in a polite acknowledgement of both ladies. He may have been raised by his single father, but John B had been raised right. His father was a stickler for manners; if there was one thing he would instil in his only son, other than his intimate knowledge of the local waters, it was good manners. 

"Oh, John B," the sugary, dulcet voice of Mrs Baker attracted the wavy-haired boys attention once again, compelling him to turn on the heels of his worn-in, off-white sneakers, "this is our granddaughter, Marnie. She's staying with us for the summer." In response to her grandmother's sudden introduction, Marnie plastered an evidently forced, caustic smile across her fair features. She raised her dainty palm in an impassive manner, and waved almost sarcastically at the sun-kissed boy before her. It was her grandmother's improvised attempt to make her granddaughter feel more at home on the island - introducing her to the local kids would aid her in making friends, and having friends would make the place more bearable for the New York native. Well, so her grandmother thought. 

"Uh, hey," he spoke a little uneasy, unsure what to make of the situation that was abruptly unfolding in front of him. His dark, umber eyes peered downwards at the girl before him; her glossy, mahogany wisps cascaded down her back - yet to be touched by the moisture-sucking salt suspended in the ocean's playful waves, and her light, blemish-less skin exhibited a healthy glow. Her doe-like, ultramarine orbs reflected the suns rays, yet still managed to hold an unidentifiable darkness within their malachite speckles. She was, undoubtedly, beautiful - as insinuated by her model-like features and svelte, athletic figure. "Me and my friends are having a get together at the boneyard later, you should drop by."

Marnie's cold, callous eyes followed her grandmother’s nimble silhouette, watching intently as the short, silver-haired lady leisurely strolled up the ivory-painted porch steps and towards the front door. Sure she was out of earshot, the fair-skinned girl relaxed her prominent features from their strained contortion, "no need to roll out the welcome wagon, I'll be gone by this time next week. You won't even remember I existed by the end of summer." 

"Suit yourself,” John B responded with an apathetic, slightly confused shrug of his broad, shirt-clad shoulders. 

Taglist: @drewsephsmiles @spilledtee @bellaguarneri @outrbanks @ilovejjmaybank @milamaybank @jjtheangel @shawnssongs @jayjaymaebank @jjouterbanks @ptersparkers @jjcultmain​ @summerintheobx​ @captainpogue​ @rudyypankow​ @rudypankow-whore​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​ 

[platedprimadonna]

;HM, father’s day is my FAVOURITE time of the year, and i feel DIRE in this chilli’s tonight, so here’s a pretty grim, not-proofread little drabble where humanverse mettaton visits his father in a retirement home. i hope it at least makes for a good read if not a happy one, or maybe that someone can get.,,.,. some kinda comfort from it? i know it felt cathartic for me lmao

warnings for referenced abuse and.,,.,. menacing of elderly people i guess

“Did you not think I’d come, daddy? You look so surprised!” 

It’s said with a mellifluous little titter, as an inordinately huge bouquet of roses are set down on the dresser. 

“I think one of the nurses is supposed to be bringing a vase. A crystal one, I should hope. Nothing but the best for my baba.” 

There’s still not a word from the man in the chair; and that’s enough to draw a sigh from the one who’d just entered, who taps a well manicured nail against the dresser for a stagnant few seconds, then sits, beside the occupied chair. 

“You look well, all things considered. Seems they’ve been taking good care of you. Though you’ve hardly made use of the facilities.” The younger one offers a sweeping gesture around the space; it’s a beautifully furnished room-- but devoid of any personal touch, save for the small shrine in the corner. A little rich, given that the choice of extras and activities for the residents here is almost boundless. But Mettaton’s father’s always been a stubborn piece of work like that. “Seems a bit of a waste, don’t you think?” 

“I don’t know why you’ve come.” 

“Ah! Contact at last,” the star snickers, and leans back in the chair, regarding his father. “I was fairly certain you weren’t the type to make the sudden choice to observe a vow of silence in your twilight years. You’d never get by.” 

The elderly man raises his head, finally, and the anticipation that lurches in the pit of Mettaton’s stomach doesn’t know whether it’s nervous or excited. But the look Avinash gives him isn’t cold, or angry-- just vacant. 

He could have done with a bit of this docility when he’d been younger. 

There’s a nervous rap on the door before either of them can open their mouths. It makes Avinash twitch in his chair, but Mettaton just touches his arm ever so briefly, rising primly from his seat, given how difficult he knows it would be for his father to do the same. 

It’s another resident. A slip of a man, spindly and tall like a growing tree, who rasps out that he’d heard rumours Mettaton would be here and holds out a card in his pale hands, whispering that his granddaughter would be overjoyed to have his autograph as he clutches his IV. And Mettaton’s all too happy to oblige, of course, with all his usual charm. It’s become a bit of a mechanical process, scrawling out his name in loopy cursive with the marker he can’t get away with not having on him these days - a curly cross through the ‘t’s, and a little heart or star at the bottom, depending on his mood that day - but it truly never gets to be any less flattering. And he expresses such by thanking the man with a radiant smile, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder and pointing him to his waiting PA, who he insists will be more than happy to give him a few signed prints to send on. 

“No rest for the wicked, mm?” Mettaton chuckles as he presses the door closed, rolling his shoulders and turning back to where his father’s sat. There’s no response for a good few seconds, so it’s all the more surprising when a shaking, freckled hand flies out in a clear motion to stop. 

“Why visit? You have paid... far, far too much money for me to be here already. And this is after... nothing, after I do not hear from you for almost ten years. Do not pretend that you are happy to see me.”

“Oh, now don’t talk like that! That’s just depressing! Does a boy really need a reason to come see his father?” 

“I see you every day,” Avinash says back a little too quickly, jabbing a thumb in the direction of a stack of magazines clearly provided by the home. It’s a little buried, but that’s unmistakably one of Mettaton’s Versace boots protruding from beneath shots of smiling old folks and gardens.

“Hm. I think that one was Vanity Fair,” the star muses nonchalantly, taking a seat once more in spite of the way his father’s shoulders stiffen. “It must be ever so strange for you, baba. Seeing me everywhere. And probably hearing about me, too!”

He crosses his legs over, not missing the way Avinash’s eyes dart tersely down to his preposterously tall platforms, and there’s a glint in his eyes now, something that stretches a little beyond bouquets of roses and afternoon visits. 

“They must ask you if you’re proud all the time. I feel like it could get almost tiring!” he goes on, resting his chin in his palm, a perfect picture of calm. “They probably can’t believe it, can they? I imagine it’s a constant stream of ‘Avinash, you must be so proud of your son.'”

And there’s that twitch again. But this time, the sight of it’s like music to Mettaton’s ears.

“What’s that like?” 

“I am grateful for your generosity, but I am sure you are far too busy to be here,” the older man grinds out quickly, those frail hands looking a little tense with the way they’re gripping the armrests. “Please, do not spend any more of your time--” 

“Oh, not at all! What kind of son would I be if I didn’t check in personally-- and after all that surgery, too--” 

“No. No--” There’s tension in Avinash’s brow as he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, looking almost as though he might be trying to stand, but simply lacks the strength. “Ten years, and you decide you-- I do not hear a word!! The last thing you had said to me was that you wanted nothing to do with me, you-- you said if you never saw me again, that it would be too soon. Why, then, do you appear out of thin air, showing your-- all your money, the moment I am taken to the hospital--”

“Well, once Uncle Prem told me, I could hardly--” 

“No, no more of this-- pretend nonsense, phuul, there is no one here to pretend for.” The old pet name slips out in the midst of his frustration, and there’s a flash of pure resentment in Mettaton’s eyes-- and the sight of it makes Avinash point his hand, jaw set. “There. That is the child I know, none of these pleasantries when we have not spoken one single word in almost a decade. When there was no ‘checking in personally’ for ten years, why did one trip to the hospital--”

“Oh, because where would the fun be in letting you go out like that?” Mettaton snaps, the fury in his gaze matching Avinash’s in a way that makes it almost hard to believe they’d gone so long without laying eyes on one another. “If I’d have left you to it, what would have happened, mm? You’ve got no insurance. It’d have been a matter of time-- and not much time at that. And then what? You’d have gone out happily resenting me from afar. You’d have died fully content in being able to say you’d had nothing to do with that person on all the billboards who parades around in nothing and has people call him a man. How boring would it have been to let you distance yourself from your little disgrace like that?” 

Avinash’s hand flies for the call button on the wall, but Mettaton catches it with a shocking dexterity, leaning in close with smouldering rage written across his face.

“You know, it’s funny, really, isn’t it, daddy; all those people you used to hate for their ‘ludicrous’ lifestyles, the ones who you always said how it was a wonder they didn’t drown in all their champagne and diamonds? That’s me now, that’s my life,” he hisses, jabbing a finger repeatedly into his own chest. 

“And how are you ever going to forget that? After all, even if I tipped you out of that chair and kicked that vile, bigoted head in, it wouldn’t come close to even half the hurt you did me.” Mettaton scoffs like there’s anything remotely funny about this, and shakes his head. “Does that feel good, baba? I’ve wondered that a lot. Whether you feel good about how you managed to turn that shoddy little flat into more of a hell than you would think was possible--”

“You cannot s--”

“No! You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care, I don’t want to hear it!” Mettaton laughs, even though his voice is getting to sound rather choked as he abruptly stands. “And I don’t have to. I don’t ever have to hear your voice again! But you’ll hear mine--”

His hands are on the armrests of Avinash’s chair with a force that makes the legs screech against the floor. 

--every time one of these people turns on a radio. And you’ll have to think about everything I’ve done, and all the things I’ve achieved with you trying to hold me back every step of the way,” he spits, just as a tear rolls down his cheek. “You won’t be able to pass a day without knowing that my pocket change is the reason you’re still here.”

He snaps back to his full height then, swiping the wetness from under his eye before it can make a mess of his makeup, completely still for a few seconds, save for the rise and fall of his shoulders. 

And when he glances up, composed, it feels eerily like the last five minutes hadn’t even happened.

“You’re in retirement somewhere that most people could only dream of, baba. So please, from the bottom of my heart, enjoy it,” he says softly, kissing his fingertips and pressing them to the back of his father’s hand. “Because, it all came from me. And you won’t be able to forget that for a moment.” 

There’s a hesitant knock at the door, followed by a nurse’s nervous face peering around it. A few seconds pass where they simply stare at Mettaton, having apparently forgotten how to use their mouth, but they’re quick to stumble in, vase in hand. 

“I-I’m, uhm. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting--” 

“You’re just fine, darling. I was heading out anyway.”

[vandnana]

Loving You Is Easy

 Part Twelve

“I can’t believe that in two days people will actually come and see my art. Kai. Two days. It’s so close but so far away!” I beamed as we walked out of the exhibit door.

“I know! We need to think about what you’re going to wear. I think I might have a dress that you can wear. I just need to get your measurements.” 

“Hey guys! Here are the flyers for the exhibition!” A lady yelled from the top of the red carpeted steps, a huge stack of papers in her hands. Kai ran back up the steps to grab them from her, then thanked her for remembering.

Kai split them in half, handing a stack to me. He checked the time on his watch, and sighed, “I have to go to school now, but I’ll pass these out there.” 

I nodded and we booked it to one of the subway stations nearby. Kai and I sat together talking about our excitement, and I couldn’t stop thanking him. Eventually,the train stopped at 5th Avenue, and Kai got off, but not before happily waving goodbye to me. 

Too excited to tell Chanyeol about the exhibit, I bounced up and down in my seat. For regular bystanders, I probably looked like I was on the verge of peeing myself, but I didn’t care. I got up from my seat as  my stop approached, and I held onto the metal bar.

An old woman that sat across from me smiled at me warmly, “You look very excited dear.”

I smiled at her brightly, “I am beyond excited. My art is going to be displayed in an exhibit for the first time!” 

She was visibly frail and gentle, her eyes droopy and her hands folded over each other. Hearing my words though, her eyes slightly lit up. “Wow! That’s great! When is it? I would love to go and see your work, dear!” 

I handed her a couple of flyers, right before the train had stopped. “Here! This flyer has all of the information. I gave you more in case you wanted to give some to your friends or family. Thank you!”

The doors opened, and she let out one final thing before I exited the train, “No, thank you! I can’t wait!”

I looked at the flyers admiringly. I didn’t care too much about the amount of people that went, most of my excitement being from the fact that I even had a place in the exhibit. I just wanted Chanyeol and Halmeoni and Kai to be there with me. 

Once I returned to the shop, I practically busted the door down, the bell above shaking aggressively. Chanyeol was at the front, hunched over the counter as usual, but he livened when he saw me enter. 

“June! You’re back and you look happy! What happened?” He asked curiously, tilting his head at me. I went behind the counter, shoving the flyers in his hands. 

He read it aloud intently: 

The 116 Art Exhibition Featuring Talented Artists Based In NYC. 

Multiple Expressions, Multiple Mediums. 

Food Will Be Served and Dress is Semi-Formal. 

Open To The Public From October 14 to October 18. 5 pm-7 pm.

Location: 1422 Valley Lane in Up Town Manhattan

He gasped loudly after he read it, putting the flyers down. “June what the FUCK. OH MY GOD. I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” 

I erupted into a fit of laughter, almost wanting to scream in anticipation, but choosing against it. Chanyeol pulled me into a hug, and we jumped up and down as we embraced each other.

“Chanyeol, June! What are you two doing?” Halmeoni interjected, coming out of the kitchen with a concerned expression.

“Halmeoni, one of my sculptures is going to be displayed in an exhibition!” I exclaimed, letting go of Chanyeol to hold both of her hands. 

Her concerned expression faded as she matched our overjoyed faces. Her mouth lifted into the biggest smile I had ever seen on her face, and she danced with me around the lobby. 

“How did this happen? This is amazing, June!” 

“Kai entered my sculpture to be in an exhibition, and they accepted it, and I don’t know, I’m still in shock. Chanyeol pinch me. This is real right?”

Chanyeol lightly pinched my cheek, “It’s real!”

Halmeoni shuffled to the front of the store, turning the open sign off, and taking her apron off. “Let’s go out for a celebratory lunch!”

Chanyeol took his apron off too, and put it on the rack. I followed him, and Halmeoni went upstairs to grab her purse.

“Okay, June. Where do you want to eat lunch?”

“Oh! You know that noodle place across the street? Can we eat there?” 

“There’s a noodle place across the street? How had I never noticed it before?” Chanyeol wondered, scratching his head.

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to eat there for a long time, but I didn’t want to because I didn’t want to eat alone. Now, we can all eat there together.” 

Halmeoni came back with her purse, quickly hurrying us out of the shop. Chanyeol locked it, then looked at me for guidance. I led them to the restaurant, which was barely a minute walk. We stepped inside, and immediately a young woman greeted us with a warm smile.

Hi! Welcome in! Will it just be the three of you dining in?” Her voice had an odd familiarity, but I brushed it off, having never seen her before in my life.

Chanyeol nodded, and she took three menus from inside her podium, leading us further into the restaurant. I observed the inside, and it was decorated beautifully. They had a blue theme that was contrasted with deep brown furniture. The walls were ornately detailed in sapphire and gold, and there were no chairs, only booths with padded seats wrapped in an embroidered silk. Something about the style of the place felt wonted to me, but I couldn’t understand where the root of that feeling was coming from. 

Halmeoni took a seat next to me, and Chanyeol plopped himself across from us.

The host put down the menus in front of us, “Your server will be right out.” The fluctuation in her voice striking me again.

“Thank you!” I replied, and she nodded, before going back to her place at the front.

I looked around even more, intrigued by everything. “This place is really pretty.”

“Yeah, the decorations are super nice and the fabric on these seats is so soft.” Chanyeol commented, rubbing his hands along the silk.

A waiter approached us with a tray of water glasses. “Hi! I’m Jin. I’ll be your server for today. What would you like to drink besides water?”

“Hi, Jin. Just a pot of Jasmine tea for the three of us please.” Halmeoni replied, and Jin jotted it down in his notepad.

“Okay, I will be right back with that pot. Let me know if you have any questions about the menu.” His face was content as he walked away. 

Halmeoni observed the menu intently, and both Chanyeol and I didn’t even bother to look at the menu. She always insisted that she would order for us, and we knew better than not to question her decisions. 

Jin came back with the pot of tea and three ceramic tea cups. He poured the tea for the three of us, then asked if we were ready to order. Halmeoni nodded, and began to list off more items than we could ever think to finish. Jin kept up though as she talked, writing the order down quickly. She finished the order, and he took our menus happily. He ensured our food would be out as soon as possible before attending to another table. 

“I’m going to tell all of my friends that you have an exhibition, and I’ll tell them to bring their friends.” Halmeoni uttered proudly, sipping her tea slowly.

“I’m going to make copies of the flyer, and ask everyone on the block if they could pass them out to people. You’re gonna have so many people in there, they’ll be lined up outside.” Chanyeol beamed, gesturing the grandness with his hands.

I was touched by their efforts, and I laughed affectionately, “Thank you, but I don’t really need everyone in there with me. I just need the two of you.” 

Halmeoni let out an audible ‘Aw’ and rubbed my shoulder. Chanyeol blushed a little, but he didn’t try to hide it. He leaned in, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, fondly smiling at me. The way he looked at me made my heart flutter, and I looked at my hands quickly. 

“It’s weird. I went to the exhibit with Kai earlier, and I saw my piece in the gallery, but even now, I still can’t believe it. I need to make another sculpture soon, but this next one needs to be better.” 

“What are you thinking of making for your next sculpture?” Halmeoni asked, turning her head to face me.

“I don’t know. I usually don’t decide until I have the clay in my hands. I guess it’ll come to me then.” I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. 

Chanyeol let out an awe-filled sigh, “You’re so talented, June. You really just create things like that on the spot.”

“I’ve always done things like that, for sculpting and a lot of other things too. I really don’t think all that much about things, but I overthink at the same time. My brain is kind of a mess.” 

“The brain of a genius is a mysterious thing. You and I both know that.” He smirked.

“Pfft. What do you mean by you and I? I’m clearly more genius than you.” 

“Please, June. Do you remember how I fixed the shower yesterday? We didn’t even need to call the plumber. That’s genius.”

“Ooookay. You fixed the shower, but have you forgotten about how you thought that increasing the oven temperature would make the pastries bake faster, and then you just ended up burning them?”

“Hey, if you’re going to mention that, then, let me remind you how mixed up the tablespoon and teaspoon in the directions, and almost killed us all with your batch of salty red-bean pancakes.”

We bantered back and forth until Jin came back. He placed each dish on the table carefully, then asked us again if we needed anything. We shook our heads, and he urged us to enjoy. 

I got the last word in before Jin interrupted us, and I held a proud smile on my face. Chanyeol pouted, shaking his head disapprovingly at me, but he seemingly got over the feeling quickly though, once I tried to serve myself. 

He grabbed my bowl from my hands, then used his chopsticks to nestle the noodles into it. He delicately placed the bowl in front of me, then served Halmeoni before serving himself. 

Among the main noodle dish that Halmeoni ordered, she also got other entrees that we devoured. Everything was perfect, and Jin checked on us as we stuffed our faces. All we could do was nod as he asked how everything was, and he encouraged for us to choose a dessert. 

I chewed my noodles quickly, swallowing them then covering my mouth, not sure if I had something in my teeth, “Surprise us.” 

Jin was enlightened at my trust in him, “Sure! I’ll put that in for you, right now!”

We all nodded as we finished up the rest of the food. We all leaned back, our stomachs puffed out from the array. Jin came back with three tiny bundt cakes sprinkled with powder sugar.

“These are sweet rice bundt cakes. There’s red bean paste inside. And, here is the bill. No rush at all. I hope you enjoy!”

We thanked him, and he walked away again. Chanyeol and Halmeoni both reached for the bill, and she gave him a death stare that made him let go. 

“You should know by now that when it comes to food, Halmeoni doesn’t mess around.” I retorted at Chanyeol, taking one of the mini cakes in my hand.

He crossed his arms and pouted, “June, come on you kno-” I stuffed the cake in his mouth, and he put his hands to his mouth to stop it from falling. 

I looked at him mischievously, “Is it good?” 

He shoved one of the other cakes in my mouth, then talked, his cheeks filled with cake, “Yeah, it is.”

 Unlike Chanyeol, I couldn’t fit the entire thing in my mouth, the other half of it falling into my hands. Chanyeol and I grossly chewed, while Halmeoni delicately took a bite, savoring every taste. The cake was delicious, but we ruined each other’s chances of savoring it like Halmeoni. I had a hard time chewing it properly because looking at Chanyeol’s full cheeks made me laugh. I was proud of myself for not spitting the cake out, but it took a lot out of me to calm down and swallow safely. 

Jin came back right in time, and I was thankful that he hadn’t seen me almost choke on the cake. Halmeoni handed him the bill, leaving only for a second before returning her card. Chanyeol took the opportunity to get his wallet, and he left a cash tip for him on the table. 

“I’m just going to wash my hands really quickly.” I said, getting up.

“Don’t miss me too much.” Chanyeol teased. 

I rolled my eyes at him, before heading to the bathroom. They patiently waited for me to get back, and at the front, there was a stirring of voices. Halmeoni turned around to see why everyone was being so loud. The host, Jin, and another man she hadn’t seen inside of the restaurant were all gathered at the front. 

“Chanyeol, look at that guy by the door. He’s so well-dressed, and so handsome.” Halmeoni gushed, her mouth threatening to drop on the floor.

Chanyeol looked up to inspect the guy. He admitted to himself that the guy was handsome, but Chanyeol was more confident in his own looks.

I came out of the bathroom, and once they saw me they got up. I straggled slightly behind them, and Halmeoni purposefully slowed her steps as the man she was staring at moved away from the door to make room for us to pass.

“Thank you, young man.” She said in a feathery tone.

“You’re welcome!” The voice gently replied, his tone instantly making my ears perk up. I recognized his voice, peeking my head out from behind Chanyeol, my face radiating with a mix of surprise and contentment.

“KAI?!” 

He looked in my direction, his mouth gaping open in surprise as he let out his signature childlike giggle. He clapped his hands approvingly, and approached me.

 Chanyeol and Halmeoni were both confused at the situation in front of them, frozen in place. He tried to wrap his head around everything, thinking that this couldn’t possibly be the same Kai that I had been hanging out with, the same Kai that offered his own apartment for my sculpting, the same Kai that picked out clothes for me, and the same Kai that asked me to be his model, the same Kai that had helped me realize a long-time dream. 

“I thought you were at school. Are you skipping right now?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“No, the lecture ended early. I got hungry though. I did tell you that this is my parents’ restaurant right? I can’t remember if I told you the name of it.”

I gasped, everything making sense in my mind. “This is your parents’ restaurant? No wonder everything felt familiar in here. You designed it, didn’t you? How could you have designed this place so elegantly? Your apartment literally has nothing in it.” 

He giggled, before softening his expression, “You recognized that I did this? That’s actually really sweet.”

I rolled my eyes, “Of course. You should decorate your place better. Woah, wait is that a new jacket?” I grabbed his shoulders, inspecting the fabric draped over his upper body. 

Chanyeol was speechless as he watched us talk, and his heart sank deeper and deeper as it weighed heavy with jealousy. Shame and insecurity seeped into his mind as he observed the fluidity of the conversation, a natural chemistry transparent to everyone in the room. He suddenly felt inadequate to Kai.

He was mad at himself for never thinking twice about it, and he was guilty because if he had known that Kai wasn’t a girl, he would have found ways for me to spend more time with him than with Kai. 

Halmeoni cleared her throat, catching both Kai and I’s attention. I was still pawing at his jacket, when I turned toward her. Everyone except Chanyeol was staring at us intently. He had his back turned to me with his arms crossed, trying to pretend that he was merely aloof, and not trying to hold in how miserable he felt. 

Halmeoni walked over to us, “So this is Kai! Forgive me, but I thought you were a girl when June first mentioned you.”

He reverted to the shyness he had when I first met him, turning toward me with a slightly accusatory expression as he gently asked, “You never told her I was a guy?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I did tell her, but I guess she just didn’t listen. Sorry, Halmeoni.” 

But, Halmeoni shot me a look that reassured she was fine with it. Chanyeol still had his eyes glued to the door, and I eyed him, baffled by his uncharacteristic silence. I walked over to him as Kai formally introduced himself to Halmeoni. The two carried on a conversation, and the unreconciled feeling I had about the host’s familiarity was solved when Kai confirmed that she was his older sister.

“Chanyeol, what’s wrong?” I asked, pulling slightly at his sleeve. He had pulled himself into a daze to distract from his reality, and he shook himself awake once he heard my voice. 

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine. I-I just didn’t want to interrupt you guys or anything.” His tone fluctuated oddly as he tried to cover up his lie.

I noticed. 

He wasn’t his usual cheerful self, stiff and uncomfortable, and for the first time, he looked lanky. A slight frown formed on my face, his discomfort unnerving me.

Halmeoni’s voice was suddenly louder, purposefully wanting Chanyeol to hear, “Oh! Yes, Chanyeol is my only grandson.” 

His ears perked up at the mention of his name, and he turned his head to find Halmeoni motioning him over.

“This is my grandson, Chanyeol. He lives with me during the cold months, but he lives upstate for most of the year.” She explained, locking her arm with Chanyeol’s. 

Chanyeol forced the happiest smile he could muster, greeting Kai plainly. The air between them was painfully awkward, and as shy as Kai was, he still tried to fill the silence by asking Chanyeol questions, but the short answers that Chanyeol muttered furthered a heavy tension that I could no longer stomach.

Chanyeol glanced at me briefly, my face undoubtedly dispirited. Seeing my face, his chest ached. 

“So-uh, June told me you’re a fashion designer.” He uttered out abruptly, trying to be friendly for my sake.

Kai noticed my dejection too, and the defense influenced by the feelings he couldn’t shake away for me, came crumbling down. 

He sensed Chanyeol’s intentions as he spoke, and tried to resolve the situation to make me feel better. “Yeah, I am. I have a menswear project soon, and June gushed about how you look good in everything. If you’re interested, I would really appreciate if if you would be one of the models.”

I widened my eyes at Kai, who just smiled, relieved that his comment lifted some of the friction that held the air.

Chanyeol immediately peered at me, the blankness in his face disappearing completely into a smirk.

“You said I look good in everything?” Chanyeol repeated, wanting to hear me say it out loud.

My pupils were inflamed by Kai’s random boldness, and I felt all of the awkwardness the two had surround me. I couldn’t stop the crimson color rising to my cheeks, and I panicked in my head, too flustered to continue the conversation properly with everyone looking at me. 

“He-hey why are we all standing here still? Didn’t you want to eat, Kai? Go eat already or you’ll get an ulcer. I’ll just talk to you later, bye!” I said hurriedly, quickly opening the door and disappearing into the street.

“June, where are you going?” Chanyeol called after me, following my path out the door.

Kai let out a sigh as he watched us leave, a small part of him wishing that it was him chasing after me. 

“Well, I guess it’s time for me to go.” Halmeoni sadly let out, walking toward the door. 

Kai rushed to open it for her, and she beamed at him.

“Come by the restaurant anytime! Next meal is on me.” 

She rubbed his shoulder affectionately, nodding gratefully before she left. Kai closed the door, his face drooping as he turned around. His sister stood idly by watching the entire thing unfold, and she patted him on the back.

“So that’s the June you love to talk about huh? She’s pretty. But what’s up with her and that tall guy? Are they together? Or are they just...flirting?”

“Yes, I know she’s pretty. They’re not together or flirting. June couldn’t flirt to save her life, but I’m perfectly fine just being June’s friend.”

“Ha! No, you’re not. Your face is so depressed. Why don’t you just make a move on her if they’re not even together?” 

“You saw how they looked at each other, and you saw how June got all blushy after what I said about the model thing. I don’t even stand a chance. Chanyeol and June are literally perfect together.” Kai groaned, covering his face with his hands in shame.

“You’re not even giving yourself a fighting chance. Why did you even say that?”

“Because we were making her so uncomfortable, and I couldn’t stand seeing her like that, so I knew saying that would make it feel less suffocating.”

She pulled his hands away from his face, forcing him to look at her. “Get it together baby bro. You didn’t see what I saw.”

He scrunched his eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“You made Chanyeol jealous.”

“So...?”

She huffed, annoyed at his slowness, “So...that means he felt threatened by you, which means that you have something with June that he doesn’t. That’s your fighting chance. A guy like Chanyeol will confess on the same day they meet a girl they like, but you’re telling me that they both like each other...and they’re still not together?”

“I mean yeah, but I still don’t get what you’re tryin-”

“What I’m trying to say is that June’s not taken. You can flirt with her all you want because she’s no one’s girlfriend. But, she could be Chanyeol’s if you don’t start stepping your game up.”

There was a new hope in Kai’s eyes, but inside he was still doubtful.

“You really think she’ll like me back?”

“Baby bro, it’s not about if she likes you back right away. It’s about how you make her feel now, so later if Chanyeol messes up, she’ll think of you.”

“I-I don’t know. They’re with each other all the time, the-they live together. How can I even compete with that?” Kai racked his brain, still processing his sister’s advice that felt more like an undertaking.

She held his shoulders reassuringly, shaking him out of his headspace to ensure he was listening to her.

“Chanyeol’s bound to do something to disappoint June, but you’ll be there for her when he does. It’s foolproof.”

[strawberryremus]

“I created a universe. I didn’t do it all on my own, but I don’t think it would have happened without me.”

It took a fair bit of convincing to get him to agree to meet me that day. Rain fell heavily as my town car entered the driveway; I understood why today might not have been the most ideal for an interview. Shielding my face and my notepad from the downpour, I scuttled up to the doorstep.

The doorbell sounded like wind chimes, and moments after I had rung it, a cheerful blonde woman opened the door.

“Ms. Rowling?” I said, reaching my sodden hand out to shake hers.

“Come in, come in!” Her voice was bright. She ushered me inside; the home smelled faintly of honey, and was beautifully adorned. “Can I get you anything? A towel, perhaps?” she asked. She hurried off into an adjoining room as I stood awkwardly in the foyer.

I was grateful for her allowing me to conduct the interview inside the home. I felt it would be important for the context of my story to understand the environment in which he lived. So far, it seemed pleasant.

Ms. Rowling returned to the room with a small stack of towels. “Sit down, dear. I’ll go fetch him for you,” she said, pointing me towards a lavish sofa.

“Actually,” I said, “I was hoping to see for myself where you kept him. If that would be appropriate, of course.”

She smiled; she didn’t seem fearful or nervous. “Certainly.”

Ms. Rowling and I walked through a wide corridor and into a room with several doors that seemed to lead in different directions. One door was labeled, in sweeping cursive, “Writing Study.” We took the door to the left of it.

I must have made a noise indicating my surprise, because she paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned to me.

“I can’t keep him in there. He makes too much noise and it would be impossible for me to focus,” she said, a hint of sadness on her warm face.

Slowly, she turned the doorknob and revealed a slightly dusty storage room.

“Dear?” she said tentatively, as we poked our heads in. “The woman from the newspaper is here.”

My eyes scanned the room, taking in the disarray of boxes and dinner chairs stacked disheveled on top of one another. Then, sat on a table in a corner by a curtained window, was an old, but undamaged-looking typewriter. A voice that I can only describe as low, gruff, and resembling the clacking of keys erupted from it.

“You horrible, devilish woman!” it yelped. I darted my eyes between the typewriter and Ms. Rowling, who wore a sad smile.

“Would you like to take him into the living room?” she asked me, ignoring the insults he had spouted at her.

“Yes, sure,” I said. I was unsure if I should take him in my hands, somewhat fearful that he would start calling me the devil as well, but she indicated that I should.

I made towards the curtained window and stuck a gentle hand under his base. He was fairly heavy, but luckily did not make a sound at my contact. I took him into my arms like a baby, still feeling rather awkward, and followed Ms. Rowling through the door.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” she said as I sat on the couch, placing the typewriter on the coffee table. Smiling her cheerful smile again, Ms. Rowling left through the corridor.

I cleared my throat nervously. “Er, sir,” I said, staring at the typewriter. There were golden decorations on either end of the carriage, making it look like he had thick, metal eyebrows. I noticed there was nowhere to make eye contact and settled for the space between the G and H keys. “I’m going to be taking notes during our interview.” He made no sound.

I produced my notepad from my back pocket and cleared my throat again.

“So, Mr. Typewriter, sir, would you mind beginning by telling me about the role you’ve played in Ms. Rowling’s writing career?”

The clacking voice came again, quite slowly. “I made her the celebrity she is today. Many years ago, I was young. I was naive.” The carriage moved as he spoke. “She purchased me from a shop in London where I had lived for several years with many others of my kind.” Ding. The carriage shifted back. “We spent our days praying that each ring of that bell on the shop door was the sound of someone coming to purchase us, to put us to use.” I couldn’t help but notice that he spoke quite like a dramatic story would be written.

He went on. “Naturally, when Joanne took me home, I was thrilled. I was so full of life back then. She used to talk to me, tell me how she was planning this grandiose story about a boy called Harry Potter, always scratching notes and drawing up charts and tables by hand.” Ding.

“Finally, one day, she got to work. Oh, the story was wonderful.” The typewriter made a sound that very closely resembled a sigh. “Each chapter about the boy revived me from any death I’d died while waiting to be chosen by an author, for I was an author, too. I fed her ideas, took her out of her writer’s block on bad days. We were the best of friends.”

He fell silent. I flipped through my questions, trying to find one to follow with. Instead, I settled on, “But, what happened?”

“Well, we created that first novel.” Ding. “And it was a masterpiece. I worked tirelessly to produce it for her, never letting my keys stick, never asking for a break when she was on a particularly long inspired whim.” Ding. “And when she went on to publish it, we were overjoyed. It wasn’t long before thousands of people were reading that story Joanne and I had produced.”

“You were happy then,” I prompted lightly.

“Yes, but then she betrayed me, left me to rot on a shelf, all because of one foul thing. It really showed me how little I had ever meant to her.” Ding.

I knew what he was talking about: computers.

The typewriter’s voice rose when he said, “I was the foundation of her career! She would be nothing without me!”

We spoke a while longer, most of the content of the conversation involving the typewriter calling Ms. Rowling rude names, lamenting about technology usurping his relationship with her, and shouting about the glory he should have received for the decade-defining book series. Eventually, I adjourned the meeting and called to fetch Ms. Rowling.

“Would you mind if I included an interview with you in the story? I think it would be interesting for readers to hear your side of things,” I said as she shut the storage room door, closing out the sounds of the typewriter shrieking insults at her.

In our interview, Ms. Rowling expressed that she always had a fondness for her typewriter, but it was true, the first Harry Potter novel was the only book she ever wrote on it.

“It breaks my heart when he says those things. I never wanted to betray him, but it simply became impractical to use him.”

I’ve never written anything on a typewriter, so Ms. Rowling explained to me the difficulty with transporting it and the way that you must retype any additional drafts you wish to make.

“He told me that he used to prompt you with ideas and feels as though you robbed him of credit for the story. What would you say your reasoning was behind choosing not to include a mention of him in the final draft?” Ms. Rowling suddenly looked to be very far away when I asked this question.

She wanted to make it very clear that she had heavily considered the idea in the publishing stages, grappling with herself many times before eventually deciding against it. “The truth, dear, is that, for a very long time, I was the only one he would ever talk to. Back in those days, had you come round here and tried to speak to him, he would have sat and stared back at you like any other inanimate object. I think he may have just been shy around others, but in those days I worried I might be mad. See, I knew he was talking to me, but I also knew that if I shared this with my publishers and editor, they wouldn’t have believed it nor let me put reference to him in the book.”

“Have you ever explained this to him?” I asked. She nodded sadly.

“Surely you can see that he isn’t nearly as quiet anymore. The trouble is, that wasn’t his greatest complaint. He has just been bitter ever since I started writing with a computer, even though he knows the computer doesn’t speak to me, so I couldn’t possibly have the same fondness for it as I do him.”

I understood where he was coming from, though. It is quite difficult to be convinced of something, even if you would like it to be true, if the facts presenting themselves disagree.

I thanked Ms. Rowling or inviting me into her home as I walked out into the showering afternoon. It seemed as though she had accepted success gracefully: her lifestyle was not ostentatious and she seemed like a very kind woman. I supposed that, regardless of how happy one might be with the things they’ve earned in life, there can always be trouble that comes with the choices that lead to prosperity.

[whiskeyslullabye]

I am overjoyed and content over how it worked out for Drake & Riley. As it should be, in any circumstances,  they deserve their own fairy tale . ❤

This is one excellent work. I can't find the right word to express how I really enjoyed reading this serie from start to the end. The very concept is so captivating and you have written it beautifully. You weaved in the known facts from TRR book seamlessly into your story.  I got a vibe from my fave movie 'Before Sunrise' there two strangers were stroling around the city one night under borrowed time, where nothing else matters except  them and the fate that brought them together. Your attention to details is outstanding. I was there with them all the way, through every interaction, feeling, place, thought, that you so meticulously described.

Thank  you so very much for writing this serie. Hands down top three of my all time fave Drake fanfic. 😍😍

Somewhere Else pt.9 - Epilogue

[Summary: All of the what ifs of Drake & Riley meeting somewhere else, in any other way.]

Part 9 to Somewhere Else

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4,  Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

“If we’d met somewhere else…anywhere else. At a club in New York or in an airport, or at a party…If you hadn’t been our waitress that night, and I hadn’t been sitting next to Liam…Do you think all of this…do you think it could’ve been different…between us?

“Just another glamorous New York Saturday night of hauling trash to the dumpster…” Riley huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face as she heaved the black trash bag into the dumpster and dusted her hands off.

“It could be worse,” Daniel said, wrinkling his nose at the stench. “There could be – Rats! Riley, help!”

Riley looked down at the mice her old co-worker/friend/new co-worker (once again) was shrieking over with a raised eyebrow and amused smile. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of this adorable little mouse family,” she said, squatting down to get a closer look. “They’re trying to get by, just like us.”

“Hey! Riley, Daniel, quit slacking off over there!”

The two turned just in time to see their manager poke his head through the back door of the restaurant they started working at a little over a month ago. The bar Riley had closed down but her old boss had been able to put in a good word for Riley at her new workplace, and Riley - being the smooth-talker she was – managed to put a good word in for her friend Daniel, who had just lost his job working at the Broadway Theater.

Riley scowled. “You told us to take out the garbage.”

“And now I’m telling you to wait on the bachelor party that just rolled in. Chop chop!” the manager snapped, clapping his hands to further his point. Before Riley could retort, he slipped back inside the building and the heavy metal door fell shut behind him.

“No, not a bachelor party!” Daniel groaned, falling back against wall. “Riley, you know I have that date tonight!”

“Oh, no,” Riley shook her head. “Nuh-uh. You are not going to make me take on a bachelor party all by myself.”

“Please,” Daniel pleaded, putting his palms together. “I’ve got a date tonight, and I’ll never make it out of here in time! Besides, you owe me! Remember the night I snuck you and your friend into the theater? What was his name again?”

Riley glanced down, digging the toe of her shoe into the ground. “Drake.”

“Right, Drake,” he nodded. “What ever happened with him?”

Riley shrugged, and looked away, her eyes roamed down the alleyway, up the red brick building beyond, and to the starless sky above. She knew they didn’t have time to linger outside, but her mind had already wandered far away at the very mention of that familiar name…

“Riley?” Drake turned, blinking at her in disbelief. Over the top of her head, he could see the last car of the train they’d been on – the train she was supposed to still be on - disappear from the subway station.

“Don’t go,” she told him, shaking her head and clutching tightly to his hand with both of hers.

“Riley …” he repeated, but this time her name felt heavy on his lips. The skin around his eyes tightened and a crease formed between his brows as he opened his mouth to say more, already beginning to shake his head.

“I know. I know you can’t, but I’m just…” Riley shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down her pride. She felt ridiculous, begging him to stay when she knew from the start what she was getting herself into. “I’m know you can’t but I’m asking you to anyway because the truth is, I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

He let out a mirthless laugh, his eyes showing an emotion on the exact opposite end of the spectrum as joy. He cupped her cheek with his other hand, thumb brushing over her skin with tenderness he himself didn’t know he could even possess for another person. “I thought we weren’t going to say goodbyes, Cole.”

“But that’s what it is, isn’t it?” Riley questioned, bitterness tainting her voice. She gritted her teeth and jutted her chin in the direction he had to go. “You’ll leave and get on that airplane and I’ll never see you again. If that’s not a situation that means goodbye, then I don’t know that is.”

He had nothing to say to that. Drake had never been one to lie just to save someone else’s feelings. Once he left, whatever this was between them…it would cease to exist. Distance made certain of that. He’d made that very point multiple times throughout the night, but for once, he had no satisfaction from being right.

“This is why you didn’t want to do this,” Riley muttered, her eyes falling to the floor. Drake felt her grip on his hand loosen in defeat, but her words rang out with the opposite effect for him.

Before she could let go, Drake pulled her closer and tilted her head up so her eyes met his again. When he spoke, his voice had a new sense of urgency that demanded her attention. “Do you regret it?”

Surprise briefly flickered across her face at his sudden shift in demeanor. In the back of his head, he felt a little gratification for being able to surprise her for a change. Drake watched as the shock transformed into a sort of stubborn determination only Riley could ever have. He recognized it in the steely look in her eyes and the firm set of her jaw.

“No,” she said, a-matter-of-factly. “Of course not.”

“Good,” Drake nodded, slipping his hand from hers to tangle his fingers in her hair as it fell over her shoulder. “Neither do I.”

Riley studied his the solemnness of his face and the careful but fierce way he looked at her. When he looked at her like that, when he allowed himself a genuine smile despite himself, or when he held her close like this… it made her feel wanted. It made her own heart fill with longing. As she looked at Drake, her chest tightened with the realization that no one had ever given her a feeling like that before. Despite herself, she worried that no one else might ever do that in the same way again.

“You still have to go, don’t you?” she whispered, her hands balling themselves into the front of his shirt to bring him even closer. Drake rested his forehead against hers and nodded.

“Riley…” he began. The beginning of a goodbye.

“I know,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat as she released her hands from the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, only to throw her arms around his neck. Riley clung to him tightly, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Drake’s arms constricted around her, holding Riley with the same desperation she held onto him.

All of his life, Drake put up walls and precautions that would protect him from such intense emotions—emotions that could make him weak. Weakness and vulnerability was dangerous in the court and back home. He wouldn’t dare show anything of the sort. But now, in a crowded subway station all the way in New York, he left himself open. Open to this spitfire of an American woman and the heartbreak he knew she’d bring him. She’d stripped him of his armor and now he was vulnerable.

But somehow, he was okay with that.

Even in their tight embrace, they managed to separate just enough for their eyes to meet and their noses to brush before they collided again.

In that moment, Drake fully understood the meaning of bittersweet. He hated their circumstances, and the cards they’d been dealt. He hated that he’d come so close to finding happiness for himself, he might even admit that he really did find it, only to have to give it up for his unyielding devotion and loyalty to another who needed his support.

But this moment… he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even if it was a goodbye, he had the most incredible woman in his arms and he’d found heaven in her kiss. As her lips tenderly moved with his and his heart hammered away in his chest, he decided that he had never found anything sweeter.

Shakespeare had it right, he thought. Parting is such sweet sorrow.        

When their inevitable disunion came, a sudden thought bloomed in Riley’s mind that she’d forgotten all about once Drake found her on the subway.

“Wait,” she told him, one arm still around his neck as she rifled through her purse for what she needed. Once she found it, she took his hand and pressed it into his palm. “It’s ridiculous, but…”

Drake looked up at her, as she slowly slipped her hand from his and left only the item behind. She was giving him something? He had nothing to offer in return and the realization filled him with shame, but before he could express this to her, she shook her head – as if she knew what he was thinking – and stepped back.

“It’s hardly anything,” Riley shrugged and he opened his hand.

It was the napkin. Wrinkled, coffee stained, and still smudged with ink it read: Kismet. 8 PM.

Drake laughed, caught off guard by the sentiment of such a simple thing. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well,” Riley grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What can I say? I’m a generous soul.”

Drake couldn’t help but smile down at the napkin and began to turn it over, but Riley’s smaller hands stopped him. He looked up at her questioningly.

“I…” she began, eyes falling to the napkin. “I wrote something on it. Before you found me on the subway. Just…wait until you get on the plane to read it, okay?”

Drake looked down at the napkin with a newfound importance and he desperately yearned to know what words Riley had left behind for him. But he’d wait if she wanted him to. He wished he could do more for her.

“Alright,” he nodded, carefully folding it up and tucking it safely in his pocket.

“Alright,” Riley repeated softly.

A loaded silence filled the space between them. Time had long since been up and they couldn’t ignore the ever-looming Goodbye.

“Riley …” Drake began, running his hand through his hair. “These last fifteen hours or whatever…They’ve been some of the happiest in my life. Everything you’ve done… I can’t believe you did all of that and I can’t believe that I was lucky enough to have found you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t luck,” she mused, somewhat teasing but also half believing. From the very start, Riley had a feeling that she’d known Drake from somewhere, maybe even from another life. And if that were true - that they’d known each other in a different life- why shouldn’t they be brought together again in this one? “Maybe it’s fate.”

Drake chuckled and for a second, Riley thought he might brush her off because fairy tales are for kids. But instead, he only nodded and looked at her in such a way that it made her heart pound so strongly, she thought it might beat out of her chest. He was looking at her as if he’d been searching for something all his life and now, he’d finally found it in her. It simultaneously filled her with unmatched joy and unfathomable sorrow.

“Maybe,” he agreed.

“Drake…” Riley said softly, unspoken words on her lips.

“I know.”

It was time.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a glass of whiskey the same after all this,” she teased, but her joke fell flat as her voice grew hoarse.

“Yeah, well, now I won’t be able to eat any of that fancy finger food without craving cronuts or Sloppy Joes,” Drake give her a small smile. “I’m a changed man, Cole.”

She returned his smile with one of her own. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“I know you will.”

Another silence fell between them, a clear sign of their reluctance to separate.

Drake closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Riley’s forehead. A small sign of affection that somehow meant the world. He murmured against her skin. “If things were different…”

Squeezing her eyes shut and willing the tears that had begun to burn behind her eyes back, Riley wrapped her arms around his waist and rest her head against his chest. As his arms gently enveloped her, she nodded. “If things were different.”

They stayed like this for a few moments longer – a few moments they could not afford – until Drake pulled away.

“Goodbye, Riley,” he told her, voice soft as he began to back away.

Riley took a deep breath and forced herself to stay rooted to where she stood. “Goodbye, Drake.”

“Uhh, Riley? Earth to Riley?”

“Huh, what?” Riley shook her head, blinking to snap out of her reverie. Daniel was staring at her, concern etched onto his features as his other hand rest on the door handle.

“I asked whatever happened to that guy one guy. Drake,” he said, opening the door to let her through first. “You kind of zoned out on me there.”

“Oh… right,” Riley cleared her throat as she re-entered the bar. “Yeah, um, well he went back home. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Shame. You looked happy that night.” Daniel shrugged, patting Riley’s shoulder. Riley almost scoffed. If only he knew. “Anyways, I have to head out soon. Will you please take the bachelor party?

“Ugh, fine. Fine,” Riley relented, putting her palm against her forehead. A bachelor party. Just great. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night. “The tip better be good.”

“Oh, thank you!” he cheered. “You’re the best!”

“Are you two still talking?” the manager snapped, glaring daggers. “I’ve seated them already. Now get over there before I dock your pay!”

“Right, sorry,” Riley muttered, wheeling about to head in the opposite direction. She glanced at Daniel over her shoulder and mouthed, Go, I’ve got this.

“Waitress, there you are!”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Riley made her way towards a booth seating three men, all finely dressed. The one in the tailored suit, who called her over was fussing over a loose string on one of the buttons of his coat while the brunette next to him grinned ear to ear and waved to her. Riley chuckled and returned the gesture as her eyes fell on the third, undeniably handsome man with a kind smile and an almost regal air about him. They didn’t look like too much trouble.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Riley greeted them, pulling a notepad and pencil from her apron pocket. “I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

The beaming brunette called for steaks for the table and the man in the suit ordered a medium-rare fillet mignon with béarnaise sauce. Riley had to bite her lip to stifle her laughter. Steaks and fillet mignon at a bar like this? Clearly, these men weren’t from around here. Their accents – wait, their accents…

A sudden tingling feeling formed in her hands as hope bubbled up inside her chest. Could it be? Were these men Cordonian?

“Um,” Riley cleared her throat, forcing herself to abandon such ridiculous thoughts. There was no way… “The closest thing we have to filet mignon is the deluxe burger.”

“Four deluxe burgers it is,” the quieter, princely man declared with a cordial smile.

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Four…?”

The suit’s face fell. “Dare I ask for your wine list?”

“Tariq, you don’t drink wine at a bachelor party,” a voice behind Riley suddenly spoke up and she felt her heart stop. That voice… “We’ll be fine with a bottle of whiskey.”

She’d know that voice anywhere. And the whiskey…

The fourth man stepped around Riley and slid into the booth, a familiar image with dark hair, a white T-shirt, and a denim button up. Without glancing up, he pulled his phone from his pocket and set it face down on the table, as if he needed it within reach to distract himself from the other men of his party.

Riley could hardly breathe. “Whiskey, huh?”

At the sound of her voice, Drake looked up.

Explaining how they met to the others – sparing quite a few details – Drake and Riley realized just how unrealistic the whole thing really seemed. A fairytale, a twist of fate – however it was that Riley put it… well, it seemed pretty fitting. But despite how improbable their story was, the other men of the bachelor party found it absolutely delightful and praised Riley for rousing more smiles out of Drake in one night than he usually allowed in an entire month. In fact, the others loved the story – and Riley – so much, they insisted that she come along with them to a club called Kismet.

“It was Drake’s idea,” Maxwell Beaumont, the same one Drake had told her about months ago, revealed. “He was the only one of us who knew anything about the city. Now we know why.”

Riley snorted, sneaking a bashful glance at Drake. “Kismet? You suggested Kismet?”

They had yet to talk privately and Riley had so many things to say, but she still didn’t know if she could bring herself to say them. It had been months since they’d parted, after all.

“Heh.” He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he swirled his whiskey around. “Sentimental value.”

Riley felt her cheeks heat.

“Well,” she said, turning away from him. “Forget Kismet. There’s this gorgeous little cove by a beach just outside the city that we could go to instead. It’s my special spot, but I suppose I could make an exception.”

Drake stilled. The cove. The beach, the subway – everything after the bar, they’d left out. It was an unspoken agreement between them.

“Cole…”

“A beach?” Liam – Prince Liam, as Riley already knew him to be even though he had yet to tell her – questioned. Based on what Drake had told her of him months ago and what she’d gotten to know about him since they’d officially met, Riley had taken a liking to Liam. She understood why Drake was so devoted to him. “That actually sounds perfect. Lead the way!”

“Sure! Let me finish up here and I’ll meet you out front,” Riley told them as she adjusted her apron and then turned to check on the other tables.

She felt the weight of Drake’s stare as she went.

“So those are your nobles,” Riley smiled slightly as she came up behind Drake and joined him where he sat on the cliff side, overlooking the dark ocean. The other men were busy frolicking in the waves – even Tariq with his expensive suit – and although he joined them for a short while, Drake eventually slipped away to get some peace of mind. Riley followed.

“They can be a bit of a handful,” Drake said, glancing over at her with an apologetic smile. “Thanks for taking us all out.”

“Oh, they’re not so bad,” she shrugged, letting her feet dangle over the edge as she gazed out at the horizon. The stars weren’t as visible as the night they visited together months ago, but it was still breathtaking. “So the bachelor party…it’s for Liam, isn’t it? How’s he taking it all?”

“Well, Liam is Liam. So naturally, he’s taking it very well. Still a horrible situation, but…” he sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I want him to get some happiness out of it.”

“From what you’ve told me, he definitely deserves it,” Riley agreed, her fingers playing with the ends of her hair as she spoke. “Shame he’s getting married though. He’s so handsome.”

Without looking, Riley could see the incredulous look on Drake’s face.

She looked over at him, a sly smile on her face. “Kidding. Can you really imagine me with a prince?”

“Ha ha.” Drake rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Imagine that. You as a suitor. Cordonian nobles wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Maybe you should pull some string and get me in the running,” she teased, nudging his shoulder.

“Like hell, Cole,” he scoffed. “My goal is to keep you as far from that crowd as possible.”

“Ah, and bringing me out to party with them is just the way to do it,” Riley grinned nodded towards the cove where the others could still be heard whooping and hollering.

“Maybe I’m not doing the best job,” Drake admitted, looking over at Riley with a faint smile. A few moments passed before he cleared his throat, eyes clouded, and looked at the horizon again.“Look, Cole…”

“Yeah?” Riley felt her lungs restrict at the shift in his tone. This was it, after all these months, they could finally talk.

Drake took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak before hesitating. He swallowed a lump in his throat and glanced down at his hands clasped in his lap. For a second, Riley thought about taking on of them in her own.

“Remember when we came here?” he asked finally.

“Of course,” Riley nodded, somewhat disappointed by his flat question.

“And the bonfire?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The stars?”

“All of it, Drake,” Riley said firmly, stopping him from asking any more detail-based questions.

“And everything I said.” Drake finished. It wasn’t a question. He was looking at her again, face solemn and eyes unreadable.

“If things were different…” Riley whispered, trailing off as if going any further would be overstepping the boundary between what they were and what they are now – whatever that was.

“You said…“ Drake’s brows drew together and his eyes grew conflicted. “You said if things were different, then maybe things between us – “

“I meant it,” Riley cut him off. “If we had more time…”

He looked away, fingers tangling the long, thin blades of grass that tapered off at the edge. Months ago, Drake had once told her he didn’t believe fairytales. But after everything…maybe he’d been beginning to hope. “Cole…?”

She looked at him questioningly, leaning in to see his face better. “What if this is our different?”

Riley’s eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. “Drake… you mean…?”

“Hell, I don’t know, Cole,” he muttered, shaking his head as if that would help clear it. “How is it possible that we met like this again? When we walked into that bar, I never would have guessed you’d be there.” He sighed, mumbling under his breath, “You have no idea how glad I am that you were…”

“What are you trying to say?” Riley asked after a weighted silence had stretched on between them, moving closer and taking his hand.

“It’s been months, Cole. I haven’t stopped thinking about you and that night since. I’m pretty sure Liam’s sick of hearing me talk about it, too,” he admitted in a rush, as if speaking any slower would make him lose his courage. Sharing feelings was never easy for Drake to do, but the moment he saw Riley tonight, he resolved that if he only had tonight with her, he wouldn’t waste it to be careful. “I just have to know if you still feel the same.”

She stared at him, heart hammering in her chest as she tried to process everything he just said. He thought about her? All this time? Which meant he still felt the same?

Not trusting herself to form a coherent sentence, Riley just shook her head and surged forward and fit her lips against his. She felt him seize up for a split second before coming to life, just as he did the first time they kissed. He cradled her against him, moving them first away from the cliff’s edge and then pulling her into his lap.

Neither of them knew how long they stayed like that, sitting and – after a while – laying in each other’s embrace, but eventually, Riley broke away. Breathless and beaming, she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Does that answer your question?”

“I think so,” Drake grinned, cupping Riley’s cheek. His hair was mussed up – all thanks to Riley’s doing – his cheeks were rosy with blush, and his eyes were alight with joy, Riley wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him so happy. “But I wouldn’t mind if you’d say it out loud.”

Riley giggled, reaching up to smooth some hair off of his forehead. “I still feel the same.”

“You still feel the same,” Drake repeated, as making sure it was still true.

“Yes, I still feel the same,” she nodded, kissing the corner of his mouth – right where the hint of a smile would form first whenever she could coax it out of him.

“I didn’t think this would ever be more than a fantasy,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

“Are you saying that you’ve thought about this before?” Riley teased.

“More than I’d like to admit,” Drake breathed out before capturing her lips again in a long, deep kiss. “But what are we going to do about this?”

Riley shrugged, not quite ready to face the heavy reality of their situation. Now, she was ridiculously happy, in a state of euphoria, and she didn’t want this moment to end. “We can figure that out tomorrow morning.”

Drake’s heart sputtered to a stop in his chest, cheeks flushing. “Cole…”

Riley responded with a sweet kiss on his cheek, smiling against his skin. “I’m happy you’re back, Drake.”

He tightened his arms around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Things will be different this time, Riley.”

I promise.            

One Year Later

The sheer curtains billow lazily in the early morning breeze, the first hints of daylight just beginning to filter into the room. Drake watches with sleepy eyes and a yawn on his lips as the sunlight creeps its way across the room and onto the bed before falling gently on the sleeping woman next to him. He reaches out, tenderly trailing his fingertips over her skin as it softly glows golden before pressing his lips to the small freckles on her bare shoulder.

Riley’s eyelids flutter slightly, but she still doesn’t wake. Drake doesn’t mind it at all. He enjoys moments like these, when he wakes before her and gets to see what the rest of the world doesn’t. There had once been a period in which Drake often wondered what it’d be like to wake up with Riley next to him, to hold her hand when he wanted to, to have more than a handful of hours with her. And now, all of that is his reality.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

After reuniting in New York during Liam’s bachelor party, Drake had made an effort to visit Riley more (Liam was more than willing to help with travel expenses) and she’d even visited Cordonia once. But once was all it took for her to fall in love with the small country. Drake had taken her around to all of his favorite places, showed her around the palace, and together, they mocked and observed the nobles at dinner when no one else was watching. Her single visit to Cordonia – and a little bit of convincing from Drake – had been enough to make up Riley’s mind about moving not even a month later.

Now it had been about three months since Riley had moved in with Drake, and the last three months were easily some of the happiest of his entire life. Sure, the nobles talked, but Riley quickly proved herself more than capable of holding her own and Drake, Liam, and even Maxwell were there to have her back.

After Savannah had left, Cordonia felt as if it were simply a place in which he had to live in. He had no attachment to country, save for a few exceptional people. But now that Riley was here with him, Cordonia was actually starting to feel like home again.

Three small words fall from his lips as he leans down to sweep her hair off her shoulder and place another kiss in the crook of his neck before slipping out of the covers, dressing somewhat decently, and leaving the room. He returns from the palace kitchen a few minutes later, coffee for him in one hand and tea in the other, hot and with a spoonful of honey, just the way Riley likes it.

He’s learned a lot about her in the few months they’ve lived together.

She’s a side sleeper and always seems to take to the left side of the bed when she passes out as he showers, but shares the middle with him when he takes her into his arms.

She doesn’t flail around in her sleep, but tosses her legs over his thigh and curls into his side with her head on his chest, one hand tucked beneath her chin while the other rests over his. He usually likes to hold her in the night, but when the nightmares are bad and Savannah’s name slips from his lips, he always finds solace in her arms.

She prefers pancakes over waffles and likes a mountain of whipped cream and strawberries to accompany them.

She holds his hand under the table to ground him at dinner when someone brings up his family and when she whispers that she loves him in private corners of the palace, he feels warm again.

It is now a second nature for him, to hold her.

Drake sets their mugs down on their night stand, right next to an old and coffee stained napkin, smudged with ink. On the front, a location and time was hastily scrawled location and time, but on the inside was a note.

He’s read the note hundreds of times and remembers it word for word, but he picks it up and unfolds it anyway to read…

Drake,

You’re gruff and stubborn and sometimes you’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.

But on the beach, you asked me if we met somewhere else, if we’d had enough time…would things be different?

And my answer was yes, maybe everything could have been different. I hate that I believe that things still can be while you don’t. I hate that you’re afraid to care for me when I, for some reason, care a hell of a lot about you. There’s something about you that I can’t shake. When I first saw you, I could have sworn I knew you or that maybe we’ve met before. I don’t know what I believe in, but you make me wonder. Maybe we have—in another lifetime, and maybe everything is different there. Or maybe we didn’t work then either and we were still left wishing for something more. If that’s the case I imagine I would have wished for you to find me, for us to meet again under different circumstances.

So maybe this isn’t a life where things work out for us. But I ask you to come find me again. Because my answer is still yes.

Smiling softly to himself, he folds the napkin carefully and sets it back on the nightstand before climbing back into bed, slipping his arms around Riley.

The End.