#PRINCE PAP ANSWERS

[samara-asaika]

Yoooo back to the roots! I missed U all! ^.^!

I haven't drawn anything for a very long time and to counteract my art block I opened the requests. Thanks to the dude who requested an Underfell Papara drawing - now I've gone about it in a pretty emotional way -

An idea kept hanging in my head "why did Pap really want to become a Royal Guard?" The answer would have to do with the disappearances of the prince and princess! So I thought about Papyrus with great feelings of guilt that arose because, unlike before, he wasn't there to save a loved one. To fill his deep hole, he decided to become the Royal Guard of the entire underground for her sake.

And no, here Pap doesn´t regocnise Chara as the princess of the past :p

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

untitled janet/talia, Bruce's bio kid Tim AU pt. 1 (NOW no choice but to love you)

FIRST | SECOND | THIRD | FOURTH | FIFTH | SIXTH | SEVENTH | EIGHTH | NINTH | TENTH | ELEVENTH | TWELFTH | THIRTEENTH

AO3 Link (a little behind, but better edited)

Janet scheduled her appointment with Bruce Wayne for a Tuesday.

Mondays were for business matters that came up over the weekend, easing back into the daily grind, and not much else. Wednesdays were notorious for dragging on and putting everyone in a poor mood. Thursdays were basically the weekend and Fridays for men like Bruce Wayne were simply not.

It had been a struggle to get such a short notice appointment, but she was wily and knew how to sweet talk assistants and secretaries alike and as such she earned herself her preferred time.

Tuesday morning at 9:30 am.

Sitting in her car at 8:53 am, Janet could only continue driving herself mad with her own swirling thoughts and recriminations. On one hand, she could leave and say “fuck it” to all of her hard work getting this meeting with Gotham’s unofficial official prince. Who would know? Not Bruce Wayne or the paparazzi, that’s for sure.

Unfortunately, she’d learned the hard way that avoiding this particular problem hadn’t made it go away. No, something had to give and she knew it was going to have to be her.

The thick stack of divorce papers on the passenger’s seat said as much.

She wasn’t much for dithering, not really. She’d gotten her crying out in the shower this morning like an adult and she wasn’t keen on revisiting it. She would have to redo her whole face, probably while walking through Wayne Enterprises to avoid being late. She could only imaging what the soulless corporate drones would think of her.

She let herself wallow until the clocked ticked over to 9. Then she killed the engine and climbed out, smoothing her business casual blouse and skirt. Checking her reflection in her side mirror, she fiddled with her ponytail and squinted over her eyeliner – was it uneven? Oh well. There wasn’t time to fix it now.

Before she walked away, she grabbed her purse from the backseat and checked its contents.

This was a first for her, she thought with a humorless smile; one of the most important business meetings of her life and she was walking into it armed only with a child sized toothbrush and a hairbrush. She would have to stop for replacements on her way home and thought that maybe Tim might like to go with her. The toothbrush was from a passing interest in dinosaurs and these days he was more of a superhero type kid.

The young woman at the front desk – the girl, really, was Bruce recruiting out of middle school? - rattled off a list of rules and restrictions for visitors as she efficiently issued Janet’s visitors pass. Tacked on at the end, she gave impressively detailed instructions on how to get the elevators and which one to take.

Janet nodded easily and was just about to move around to the plainly visible elevators behind the desk when a man appeared and slid into the vacant chair beside the girl. He gave her a little paper cup and kept the other one for himself.

“Sorry,” he said with an easy grin. “You treating our guests right, Becca?”

“I did the badge all by myself,” she confirmed, a slight smile peeking out from behind her general teenage apathy.

“Sorry,” he said again, turning his attention to Janet. He glanced over her pass quickly. “It’s bring your kid to work day, but you don’t need to worry about that if you’re visiting Mr. Wayne. His kids don’t like coming here any more than their daddy does. And the littlest one isn’t going anywhere soon!”

Janet’s answering smile was glass.

“My son actually loves coming to the office with me,” she said, choking back heavy guilt. She never should have come here. She should have made different choices ten times over, never should have dragged her son down with her. “He thinks shuffling paper is the single most important thing any businessman can do. I think he likes the sound of the paper on wood.”

“And he’s right as far as I can tell,” the man – his name tag read “Ron” – agreed easily.

Janet faked a laugh and extracted herself with a friendly shrug before bee-lining for the restrooms. She found a stall and firmly locked herself in before her face screwed up in misery. She shook her hands out, wanting to press them into her eyes or grip her hair, but she couldn’t ruin her mascara or her ponytail.

She forced herself to stop and took her phone out instead. Her phone background was a breathtaking view from a rented home in Tambobamba. She felt, if possible, shittier. Other mothers had their children as their background or lock screen.

Turning her screen off and then on, she stared judgmentally at the picture there of her and Jack. She would have to change that soon.

Then, just because she was deep in her self-loathing, she clicked through into her photo gallery. The last picture she’d taken of Tim was almost a week old from when the two of them went for ice cream after she’d fought with Jack – it had been a desperate grab for normalcy and she’d immediately posted it to her social medias, desperate for someone to see how hard she was trying and-

And what? Praise her for doing the bare minimum?

Tim was a cute kid, he was. But he was so sticky and clingy and he always talked too loud and after Tim fell asleep in his car seat on the way home Janet had cried herself nearly sick.

Janet swiped back to the home screen to search what she’d originally intended when she took her phone out.

Talia al Ghul due date

From the gossip rags, it looked like Talia would have a late summer baby. A son. Bruce Wayne’s “first” blood son.

Just after Tim’s birthday, she thought. Which was... just over two weeks away at this point. She had nothing planned yet. What did people do for sixth birthdays?

…Hiring a clown was probably out.

Janet didn’t sigh, very aware that there were other people coming in and out of the public restroom. She double checked that her phone was set to silent before stowing it away again. Not that many people were clamoring for her time, not anymore. She was viciously glad of the fact. Let Jack choke on all the emails he couldn’t bother reading for all she cared.

Janet slid the lock and stepped out into the fray once more.

She still washed her hands because she wasn’t a savage and quickly exited the bathroom. Now that she knew to look for it, a few of the people she saw around did look too young for the workforce. Stepping into the elevator she needed, she was joined by a couple of employees dressed smartly and a girl around Tim’s age in a shimmering mermaid tail dress.

This had to be a punishment. This was as close to Hell as she believed in.

The little girl chattered happily up until the 21st floor when she was pulled out of the elevator by her mother. The other employee got off on the 25th and Janet rode nearly to the top all alone.

[kingwu]

sharing a little thing that @worldly-diversity​​ (writing as Mako) and i (writing as wu) did back in 2020 through tumblr IMs so it’s pretty short and rough, but it ends up really cute.

it started off as like us jokingly talking about wu just being dumb and not knowing boundaries like of course wu would just straddle mako's lap because he's a dumbass and then we started to rp it out lol

"Would you stop it already?" Mako huffs softly. 

 "Stop what exactly?" Wu hummed. 

 "Just-" He groans annoyedly, trying to put at least some distance between them but failing. It's making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he doesn't know what to do about it.

Wu huffed back and shook his head as he climbed off of Mako's lap and plopped next to him instead, crossing his arms. "You gotta learn how to use your words, Mako." He wasn't going to admit that he enjoyed the tension there, but he didn't really want to push it if the firebender was actually uncomfortable about it.

"Yeah? Well you use too many of them." He retorted mullishly, arms crossed. It's a weak blow, really, but there's this itch he doesn't know what to do with, and Wu wasn't helping, it's making him frustrated. It's not that he really minded though, the warmth of the young king on his lap surprising but not negative. But it did make him uncomfortable in his inability to understand what the hell was going on.

"Because I know how to use them!" he waved a matter-of-factly finger in the air. "How else am I supposed to hold the position of the Earth Throne if I didn't, hm?" But to Mako's point, he was still talking too much. After another huff, Wu glanced sideways at his companion, noticing he was still red in his cheeks. The royal peered up at his face as he placed a concerned hand on Mako's knee. "Sorry. You okay?" he asked, his tone softer this time.

The sudden touch jolted Mako from his internalized thoughts, to the point of loosening the arms that had until then been tightly crossed in front of his chest. "I- Yeah, I'm fine... Thanks." He felt a little bad for snapping at the prince now, the urge to make it better manifesting, though he has no idea how to go through with it.

As quick as a switch flip, Wu's mood changed and the smug expression he wore most of the time was back on his face. "Good. Like I said, worry and all that gives you premature wrinkles," he remarked, lightly papping Mako's face again. He totally missed Mako's flinch as the oblivious king he was. "But like I said, you really need to say what you mean. How else is someone going to know?"

The sudden change brought an annoyed twitch to his brow, the strange urge now easily squashed. He refrained from retorting though, only giving half a shrug. "I'm just not very good at expressing myself, I guess, but I haven't really needed to either."

The king let out another huff -- the firebender brought out a lot of them --, a little exasperated at how much in common Mako had with a brick wall emotionally. "Then how do you know what you want, huh? You gotta treat yourself sometimes!" He accentuated the last few words by lightly slapping Mako's knee along with them. "Don't you just ever want to reach out and grab whatever you want in the moment?"

Mako jolted slightly with the touches, though Wu's little speech went in one ear and out the other. He was the one with restraint, the most of it next to Asami when it came to the new team avatar, so no... He never did things like that. In fact, following such desires sounded like a monumentally bad idea... "Well... Don't you ever know how to hold back?" Not knowing how to answer, he returns with a question of his own, despite silently admitting to himself that Wu's open behaviour is part of the other's charm. Ah, not that he's actually charming or anything--!

"Of COURSE I do!" he admitted with a scoff probably a little too quickly. "Do you know how large my wardrobe would be if I didn't?" To add to his dramatics, he rolled his eyes. "But youuuu," Wu jabbed a finger at Mako this time, "didn't answer my question. When was the last time you did something for yourself, hm??"

He couldn't help the mildly amused snort that escaped him at the other's comment, the superfluity of it so very typical of Wu. Still, he tsk's softly under his breath at being called out. " I guess... not since I dated Asami and Korra..." His job didn't leave much time for personal frivolity and neither did he have the means for such things. And ever since he'd been contracted to work for Wu, well... Time to himself or privacy were concepts he'd had to say goodbye to... Still, not being left to wallow in his thoughts was good for him, he figured. "I'm not really the type of guy to just do whatever anyway though... I've got responsibilities."

In the moment Wu was exercising his ability to hold back as he tried his hardest not to sigh again. Sometimes he just felt like shaking Mako as if it would jostle some sort of wake up call that would let him know it's okay to not always be on-the-job. "Look, I know that being my bodyguard is, like, a round-the-clock sort of thing, but since you've started, nothing wrong has happened while we were here," he motioned with a hand at the Presidential Suite that they were in, Wu's place of living for the past couple of years, "so you can just relax, you know? Take it easy. You deserve it."

"Yeah, but..." He lightly gnawed at his lip, arms uncomfortably at his sides, not liking being idle unless they’re crossed. He sighed, finally glancing over to the other, though whatever emotion is in his eyes is difficult to make out. "I feel like whenever I take my eyes off of you, something bad happens. I mean, remember the incident at the restaurant where Kuvira's goons captured you?" That was supposedly safe, and yet... He can't help but worry.

While Mako's concern was very touching, the king rolled his royal eyes instead. "Yeah, that's because you weren't with me. I'm right here right now, clearly in your sights." This time he didn't hold back a frustrated groan as he slumped down in his seat. "Look, what I'm saying is that when we're here, alone, you can loosen up! Take it easy! It's a Presidential Suite, for spirits' sake, Mako! Unbutton and unwind!"

Wu did have a point... In an attempt to appease the other, mako uncomfortably slumped in his seat before raising a brow at the other. He wasn't about to unbutton anything- "Happy now?"

Of course 'unbutton' was just a saying and he wasn't expecting any buttons to move, but in any case Wu also wasn't expecting Mako to slump down with him, so immediately he burst into laughter, clutching his stomach as he did.

Naturally, the laughter immediately caused the firebender to bristle, posture growing tense again as he glared at the other. "What's so funny?!" He certainly didn't appreciate being laughed at... Especially not when he was trying to humor the other and making an effort.

It took him a bit to come down from his laughing fit, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye as he finally did. "Nothing, nothing! You just caught me off guard is all," Wu said, still trying to stifle some giggles. "I'm just so used to seeing you all straight-laced and everything that seeing you sink into the couch like that was, uh," he paused for a moment not knowing what word he wanted exactly. "Kinda cute, I guess?"

He was frowning at the other with mild annoyance right up to the moment Wu coined the term he'd been looking for, catching Mako entirely off guard and even making the usually stoic male blush slightly, although he'd brush it off as surprise. "Cute. Seriously?" He rolled his eyes, brushing it off as a joke, or trying to at least.

"Yeah! Cute! Like, you know when a ferocious polar bear dog basically turns into a little puppy when it's not being on guard? Like that." Once again, Wu was rambling too much to notice the soft pinking in Mako's cheek at his words.

Mako can't help but snort at basically being compared to Naga. Still, clearly Wu has a high opinion of him, to liken him to a ferocious animal... "Uhh, thanks, I guess? I'm no puppy though..." The petulant comment slips out unbidden despite himself, not having meant to give Wu any extra ammo.

Imagining Mako as an actual puppy almost made Wu dissolve back into giggles, but, again, he exercised his restraint. "What are you then?" the king leaned an elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand with a mischievous smile gracing his face as he awaited Mako's answer. If anything he was glad to see him loosening up at least a little.

"Uhh..." Well fuck. He's no good at this whole analogy thing, but 'puppy' itches at his pride. Wu staring him down like this, all expectantly is making him feel nervous somehow, and he doesn't have an answer to offer...

"I'm jooooking-- you don't have to answer that," he snorted and waved the hand his chin was on as if dismissing it. "You're Mako and that's all that matters."

Somehow... That easy certitude into who Mako was to him brought another small blush to tanned cheeks, not having expected the honesty of the comment or his own reaction to it. "Thanks Wu... You're a good guy, y'know.." He's not usually one to dole out praise, but the strange feeling demands some sort of recompense it seems

Through this oh-so-casual conversation focusing on Mako's need to loosen up, the last thing Wu was expecting was to be thanked and then complimented, which made him pause a moment from surprise. Immediately he grinned back at the firebender. "I know. You're not so bad yourself," he joked as he lightly elbowed Mako in the side.

He chuckles softly, letting Wu jab at him before reasoning over to ruffle his hair, kind of like he'd done to Bolin like a million times. It's the most relaxed Wu had probably ever seen him.

Normally, the king would've batted away anyone's hand from touching his carefully styled hair, but Wu let it slide as he was too distracted by Mako's soft laughter, barely even noticing the warmth in his cheeks as it was his turn to blush. "S-See?" he stuttered a bit. "You do know how to relax!"

He had expected a small playful tirade about messing up the royal hair, but he instead spots the blush, wondering why Wu is having such a reaction. He lets it slide with a small grin though. "Well of course, I wasn't born in work mode." He teases with a small smirk. "Hell, I used to be in the triads way before we joined pro-bending"

Wu gasped dramatically, holding his face with both of his hands as he did. If him being silly was an invitation for Mako relax a little more, he was going to play up the theatrics. "You? A gangster?? And they let you be on the Police Force?"

Mako couldn't help but be amused at the other's antics, raising a brow at him playfully. "What, you think I don't look tough enough to be a gangster?" He shook his head with slight amusement. "To be fair we only did minor jobs for Shady Shin and his ilk, we were never really members. It was a long time ago, either way. I don't think Chief Beifong really gave a damn unless I was actually fucking up on the job." He grinned fondly. For all that she was tough as nails, Mako did respect her greatly.

The king furrowed his brows a little, trying to figure out what he meant by a long time ago -- the two of them were in their early 20s and it didn't occur to him that the Triple Threats would hire teenagers; he wasn't deeply interested in the underbelly of the city. "I mean, granted, you're the best on the beat, which is why I hired you after all."

Mako rolled his eyes slightly at that comment, the atmosphere seeming to change a little again. Maybe this whole opening up thing wouldn't work out very well... They've certainly gotten closer over time, but being hired because he was the best on the force? It makes him a little uncomfortable... Maybe it's the thought that Wu wouldn't have given a shit if someone had been 'better' than him on paper, he'd have picked someone else for the job and Mako would just be doing same old... He's been looking after Wu long enough now that not doing it was weird to him. "I guess so..." He muttered, realising he was supposed to answer.

Quickly sensing the mood change, Wu's royal brow wrinkled under his still-tousled bangs, confused to how his accolades about Mr. I-Have-Responsilbities' work ethic made it seem like they had taken two steps back. "You 'guess so'?" he echoed. "That was compliment, Mako! A pat on the back for a job well done!" He accentuated it by literally patting him on the back of his shoulder -- since the rest of his back was still against the couch. "Back then I didn't know that I'd gain a treasured companion as well," he said a little softer.

"Oh..." He honestly doesn't know what to say, realising his mistake. Wu sometimes said thoughtless things, but that didn't mean there was thoughtlessness in everything he did, and he sometimes still managed to forget that. Never mind Mako's not exactly good at any of this stuff, talking about his feelings, whatever. It's just not his game, and way out of his comfort zone besides. He looks much calmer now, but he doesn't know what to say either.

The king let the silence between them hang in the air a bit. He then gently nudged Mako's side and whispered, "Psst. This is the part where you go: Yeah Wu you're awesome too wow." As he said the second part, he stuck his fingers through his curls, pulling them up a bit to mimic Mako's hair, furrowed his brows, and made his voice a little more gravely in a poor attempt to sound like him. Once it was done, he let go of his hair, which just flopped in front of his face as he laughed at his own impression.

Mako chuckled softly and playfully poked him in the side, a small grin on his face. "A dork is what you are." He teased, not feeling the need to bloat Wu's ego any further than he already did today. Still, this is nice, and he does appreciate Wu making an effort to not be annoying, if that makes sense. He knows Wu can be mature and sensible if he wants to be, it's just that he doesn't usually want to be that.

He couldn't help but laugh along, folding a little as Mako poked him. Wu retaliated by bumping his shoulder against his. "That's 'Your Royal Dork-ness,' to you, good sir," he said, putting on a faux pompous air that didn't last very long as he grinned again, just knowing the fact that he made Mako laugh again.

[spotaus]

Woah! Timeless AU stuff? Wild...

AYO??? Baby pics???

Jk jk lore under the cut but not much because I'm eepy.

Timeless AU is just an AU where Gaster never died! He revived Asriel after the whole squabble with the royals divorcing, and he rizzes up Asgore in the meantime. Nah nah.

Gaster was already working on a personal project to create monster souls (children) without a large strain on the one donating magic. This just happened to line up shockingly well with Asriel's death. So when Gaster's test (Sans) worked and he survived a few years, Gaster offered to help Asgore bring back his son through a lil science and a lot of love (but not LOVE).

So Asriel was back, Sans was a toddler, abd a few years later Gaster went and Made Papyrus too. Everything else lore-wise is kinda the same? But Gaster abd his Team aren't forgotten, and Sans and Paps were co-parented by Asgore. Sans followed his dad into the science work with the Core in the lab, but he's the best of the siblings at being social and charming. He's just very skilled in the art of interaction. Eventually he takes up position as Judge after an accident with his magic breaks through the 4th wall and he learns he can see LV w/o checking.

Asriel follows his original life path. He's the prince, the hope of the underground. People coddle him and fear another human coming in contact with him lest he be killed for good, but he's a confident and polite young monster who can't be held back by the fears of his peers. He trains in combat with Asgore abd goes through all the lessons to be a good royal, but... he envies that Papyrus gets to train with Undyne all day and that Sans gets to work in the lab and learn with Gaster! He's not ungrateful, he's just naturally curious!

Papyrus and Undyne train alongside Azzy in combat. They learned to fight, were trained from a young age, and Undyne became Captain of the Royal Guard! Papyrus was 'en route for that position first, but he was abrupt, haughty, and often was accidentally Too Much (in a bad way) so he decided that he would simply be Undyne's right hand instead! Most of the time he's acting as Asriel's body guard, despite him not really needing one.

Thanks to Gaster and Asgore's relationship, these three are like brothers. Asriel and Paps both regularly pick Sans up out of habit. Sans is always the one they run to when they have a problem (he has answers). Papyrus looks up to both his brothers so much! He wants to help them as much as he can!! He wants Sans and Gaster to stop going to Grillby's after work, it's bad for their health! Asriel wishes he could tell his brothers how much he loves them (he does, it's just not enough) he loves to give them big bear-hugs Asgore-style. Asriel picked up 'Howdy' from Asgore, but curses in Wingdings like Gaster. Sans loves helping Asgore garden and has several plants in the lab he's trying to grow as a surprise for Asgore's birthday. Papyrus cannot ever decide which dad he's more like, because they're both so cool! Papyrus has been known to Suplex Asriel when he's not paying attention, or announce him when they're entering a room (Asriel wants to kill him for it every time-). Etc. Sibling/family shenanigans.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Sweet Dreams--Part 4

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted. 

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: There’s smut across this series (18+ content), as well as mentions of parental abuse, neglect, and alcoholism.

Series Masterlist

My Complete Masterlist

All wildfires start just as smoke signals in the sky. Even if the smoke is thin and wispy, the fire will always give off a siren song. And the first signal lands on Calum’s desk with a huff. “Mind telling me what’s going on here?”

Calum looks at the glossy cover of the magazine and spots a picture of you and his mother sitting at a restaurant, staring back at him as the front and center imagine. When Calum doesn’t respond, the red manicured nails flip the magazine open and there on page 21 is another shot of you and his mother from your early dinner a week ago. Miranda taps the image. “The Queen told me she was meeting someone for dinner last week. I thought nothing of it. She meets many people. But that--them right there, that’s one of our employees.”

Calum continues to look over the picture. Nothing sets off his alarms about the three paragraphs written. Though he doesn’t get much time to read it as a tablet is lowered into his vision. “And then, from the same day, given by their green shirt, the two of you are spotted in the service lot kissing,” Miranda huffs. 

Calum taps on the tiny picture to bring up the article. It’s a gossip site, but there’s the photo of Calum and you, outside your car, his lips pressed against your forehead--the angle shows that clearly. 

“You told me you were dating someone. And I figured I’d get the notes when it was serious. But you failed to mention it was someone on our staff,” Miranda scowls. She’s worked on their PR team since Calum’s late teens years. Her and her signature red manicure have drafted many fact sheets, apologies, and letters for him. 

The thing about Miranda that Calum has learned is that she’s never really looking for an answer. None of her speech is to actually gain any sort of clarity or answer from Calum. She’s already prepared on all fronts. The only thing she needs from him to solidify which path they’re going to take. 

“It’s getting serious,” Calum returns. It feels true in a way. Things could be going somewhere. Though there hadn’t been more than the conversations in his room or the stolen moments at breakfast, things were starting to settle. There were fewer whispers and worries about who might catch you too. Though Calum’s father was still waiting for his moment to meet you one on one too. 

“Serious? Okay, well, I’ll make sure you’re fully stocked with condoms while I also prepare the statement about the engagement--sound good?”

“That might be a year early on that,” Calum returns, handing the tablet back to Miranda. He delivers the sentence with a smile. It works but only a little as Miranda smirks back. 

She huffs, tapping at the screen. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“When it was clearer,” Calum answers. That sounds like a genuine question to which he will give a genuine answer. Sure, the few months had been strong, but Calum wasn’t going to jump the gun with you. It’d be like trying to lead a terrified horse. It’d only serve to get Calum kicked down if he wasn’t careful. 

“Having lunch with the Queen seems pretty fucking clear,” she retorts, falling into the one seater opposite of Calum. Her nose is buried in the screen. Her eyesight was going, but she refused to wear glasses except during speeches. 

“We-we haven’t talked about the publicity thing--gossip sites, pap pictures. Is there anything we can do to keep it quieter? I don’t want this to scare them.”

Miranda drops the tablet to her lap. Her gaze is careful and calculated. “I’ll do what I can. But you two will have to talk quickly. They’ll need to be media briefed and trained too. Are you aware of any social media that they have?”

Calum can’t recall that you’d ever mentioned it. Though, he wonders if it’s something you reframed from given your desire not to have your parents contacting you. “I’ll find out,” he answers. 

“I’m quicker,” Miranda laughs, devoid of all humor. “But keep me posted. I can give you a week.”

A week feels much too short to solidify anything let alone a relationship, but he knows if they don’t contain this now it’ll only get worse later. “I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks for making my job a dream, Calum,” Miranda calls from the door of his office. 

“I like to keep you on your toes,” Calum calls out. Her laughter-real this time- is faint but he catches it just before the door closes. He pulls out his phone and right there on the home screen is a message from you. It’s a little too early in the afternoon, Calum would’ve thought for you to be awake. But there, the message sits. He clicks on it. 

Would you like to go to the park one evening? I’ll show you a painting, since I still owe you that. I’ve got some spare 8 x 12 canvas and mini paints. Perhaps a picnic and painting date?

It’s a date. An actual date. He’d been wondering if it would be too much to ask. It was still dicey inside the castle, he hadn’t even wanted to push too much about taking you out somewhere. You’ve answered his question though. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a far fetched idea. Calum’s stomach flutters at the thought of someone asking him on a date. His cheeks burn at the realization that you’re asking him a date before he can ask you on one. But he likes being courted too--a nice gesture that you want him too. 

I would absolutely adore that, Calum replies. I’ll be sure to bring my guitar. Since I do owe you that. 

I’m free Friday evening if you are? 

God, Calum wishes he could swallow the fluttering of his stomach. He does swipe to his calendar to double check that he is free. Usually Friday’s were empty as most times his friends would want to gather on Thursday or Saturday. His calendar is empty. It makes Calum breathe a little easier. I’m free, he replies. 

I’ll pick you up at 6.

6 it is. He wavers, fingers wanting to type out more about needing to speak with you about something. He worries that will cause you to worry. But he stares at the magazine still on his desk.  Are you free right now? he texts. 

Nearly immediately, his phone lights up with your name. He answers it. “Hey, baby.”

“Hi. Everything okay, Calum?”

“Missed your voice,” he counters. “That and I do need to talk to you about something.”

“Sounds serious?”

Calum thinks the question is a probe, you fishing for how serious is serious. And he doesn’t fault that tactic either, knows it’s important for you to know the details. “So, it got brought to the attention of the PR team, but a couple photos have surfaced.”

“Pictures? Who has pictures? We haven’t gone anywhere?”

“There’s some from when you met with Mum. It’s mostly white noise. And there’s a second set of pictures from that same day, I think of us.”

Your side of the phone remains quiet. Calum wants to assuage any fears, but he doesn’t want to assume any one reaction from you. But he lets the silence fall thick between the two of you. 

“Are people saying things? About me?”

You ask it quietly, like you might be ashamed of yourself for even giving the question thought. But Calum gets it. It was probably the very thing you were dreading. It was the exact thing you were waiting for. “I haven’t read the comments,” Calum answers. “And I have no plans to read them.” He prays his volley conveys what he needs it to say: I don’t care what others think.

“Won’t your team need to know?”

“They do. Not me.”

“You’d only gain me--realistically. Don’t you care what the cabinet will think?”

Calum shuts his eyes at the question. He doesn't care. He hasn’t needed to care. But he does realize what this will mean. If you two do get serious, it will always be an uphill battle. There will always be people who question you and your motives. There will be people who don’t like Calum’s decisions. But Calum’s not living his life for other people. At the end of his days, he wants to not regret anything. 

“Someone I know called it a circle jerk and if I’m being honest the only person I’m interested in jerking anything of mine is you.”

“God,” you scoff at Calum’s answer. Your laughter falls out in waves. Your annoyance and disappointment is clear too. But that’s the sound Calum needed to hear. 

“It’s true,” Calum laughs. 

“You’re-you’re not ashamed?”

“Baby,” he coos, spinning in his desk chair. The window gives view to the busy streets below. It’s a pretty clear day. The trees bow to the breeze, but the sun is bright in the sky. Calum’s praying that the break in the weather lasts so it’s cooler. “Did I do something to make you think I am ashamed? Because if I did, I'd need to kick my own ass.”

“No, there’s nothing you’ve done. I’m worried that maybe these pictures have changed something.”

“No, these pictures change nothing. And I know it’s really easy for me to say those words, right? Because words are easy. But let me show you, okay? Let me show you nothing’s changed.”

Calum’s not above begging--not when it’s about you. He clutches his phone hoping that you’ll let him show you. 

“Okay,” you answer. “I’ll let you show me.”

“Thank you,” Calum whispers. 

“Can I ask just one thing?”

“You can ask more than just one question. You can ask--”

“If you say two,” you huff. 

Calum exhales a tuft of laughter. “Oh, don’t tempt me. But what’s your question? You can ask all of them.”

“If-if more pictures surface, can you not tell me about them? Not unless it’s important of course. Tell me if anything is important, please.”

Calum’s not sure why you don’t want to know. But the thing he won’t do is subject you to something that you’re not ready to handle. “Yeah, I think I can do that. I know I’m moving fast on this one. But, soon, I think you might get pulled for media training and stuff. It’s like--how to talk in press, what to say if someone asks you x question and so on. And I’m not trying to say you’ll have to talk to the press. You don’t. You absolutely don’t have to talk to the press.”

Your exhale crackles the receiver. Calum knows, well before you even speak, he knows that he’s dug himself into a bit of a hole. However, you don’t even mention the hole Calum’s dug. “Are you giving the paparazzi the glorified title of press?”

“I am being polite,” Calum returns with a small bit of laughter. He’s glad to hear the quip, but he will be logging for later that this might be a subject to return. “I know I’m moving too fast. It’s just--the PR team’s going to move fast and I don’t want that to blindside you.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“With Miranda, it’s a good thing. She gets on her shit and gets it done. I’ll-I’ll talk to her to get more and relay it to you.”

“What time does Miranda usually leave? I work tomorrow anyways. I can talk to her.”

Calum spins, almost lifting himself out of his seat as if he’d take himself to Miranda’s office right now. But he pauses, one hand on the desk still. “Uh, I’d say around 5. But she’s been known to work late here and there. I can let her know you’re coming tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I can be in by 4 if she’s okay with that.”

Now, Calum pushes up fully, dress shoes clicking against the floor. “Let me tell her now.” Miranda’s usually on the second floor and Calum’s hoping that she’s still there and not elsewhere--least there be a meeting of some kind for her. 

“Tell me, have you been media trained?” you tease. 

“More times than I can count if I’m honest.” Calum nearly takes himself to the elevators, but worries he might lose signal. He takes himself down to the stairs. “We refresh once a year, maybe? It’s boring. Truly. Your eyes will fight to stay open during it.”

“God that bad?”

“Yeah,” Calum laughs. It echoes in the stairwell amongst the click of his shoes. 

“Do you ever get tired of the dress clothes?” you ask. 

“All the time. But you get used to it.”

“Would I have to dress up?”

Calum carries himself down the last flight of steps. The worry paints your tone heavily and it makes Calum realize how much of this world is absolutely foreign to you. He’s happy to walk you through it, guide you through the madness that his world can bring. But he can’t quite imagine the overwhelm that might descend on someone being suddenly thrusted into this. “Hey, baby, don’t even worry. Should you feel comfortable going with me to events, there would be an expectation that you present according to the dress code. But I’d ensure that you got access to loaners. You won’t be expected to just suddenly have Chanel and Gucci in your closet. I don’t have that shit in my closet.”

Your laughter falls softly. “You have it on your nightstand though.”

Calum knows exactly which scent you’re referring to--his bottle of Gucci Guilty. “But you love that cologne, so I don’t want to hear that.” The sound of his knock rings around the hallway.

Your rebuttal is swift to Calum’s accusation. “It is a nice cologne. But I much prefer your Calvin Klein One Gold, so let’s get our facts straight.”

Miranda peeks her head out from the creak in the door. “Yes, Calum?”

“One second, baby,” Calum offers to you, before peeling the receiver back from his mouth. “How late are you going to be tomorrow, Miranda?”

Her eyes narrow. “Is this a test? But 5:30 at the latest. What’s up?”

“No test. They wanted to talk to you.”

“They who?” Miranda asks. 

Calum offers your name. “About going over their social media. Probably to set up a time to get media trained later on too. Told you I’m always here to make your job easier.”

“Can they be here by 4:30 tomorrow?” 

Calum motions for just a one second and turns back to his phone. “Can you be here by 4:30 tomorrow?” he poses to you. 

You laugh. “You know I can hear everything. But yes, I can do that.”

“Affirmative, Miranda,” Calum relays, ignoring the sass from you for the moment. 

“I’ll see them then. And no, you don’t make my job easier Calum. You just keep making it more and more interesting. All good?”

Calum nods, hearing your cackles at Miranda’s attitude. “We’re all good.” She throws up a thumbs up and then slinks back into her office. Calum huffs at your giddy before turning back to the stairs. “Oh, shut up. She’ll be just as nice to you as she is to me.” 

“Sounds lovely.”

“Calum!” 

He turns at the sound of his name to see Miranda leaning out her door. She’s waving her arm as if that’ll get his attention faster. “Yes?” he calls out. 

“That 4:30 included you too. You’re free. I already checked.”

“Got it,” he hollers back in exchange. “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow too, in addition to Friday.”

“You were going to see me anyway tomorrow, because I work.”

“But I’ll see you longer tomorrow,” Calum corrects. 

“There is that too.” A small voice calls out from the background of your side of the phone. Calum listens intently to the soft voice as it calls out your name. “Yeah, for your birthday. Hey, Calum can I call you back? I’ve got to drop some stuff off with Teagan.”

“Yeah, absolutely you can. Tell her I said hi and happy birthday? If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her.” From the background, he catches a gasp and faintly your voice floats up, “Got a special message for you, Teagan.” The line goes quiet before the special message is given, but he hopes it’s you telling your sister happy birthday from him. Part of him wants to feel deflated, upset that somehow you’d opted not to share this important news with him. But he knows, the bigger part knows, that he can’t let that ego win. Maybe you’d just gotten close enough to do that. Maybe there’s some other reason that the information is withheld. But Calum refuses, as he climbs into the elevator to let his ego get the best of him. 

He does wonder if he could get your sister something. If you’d be okay with him doing that and passing it along the next time you saw her. He knows it would most likely be very late, but still, he doesn’t want your siblings to think he doesn’t care about them. He does. But Calum knows getting to them means getting through you. It’s a much more challenging stage than it might seem. However, even if Calum wanted to get Teagen something he’d have not the slightest clue what to get her. What did she like? Was she into dolls? Did she like playing mad scientist instead? Was she into excavating bones of animals millions of years old? As much as the layers were peeling away to show Calum more of you, there was still a heart that was locked away. 

Calum gets so distracted with the searches--taking his time from tea sets to magic trick kits--that the photos feel like a different timeline until he walks down into the kitchen. The morning is bright and there’s a swelter of voices behind the doors. As he gets closer to the kitchen, he catches pieces. Though one voice rises about them all, with a sharp, Yeah, but with the prince? Followed behind it are whispers. It’s not how he imagined his morning might go, but Calum picks up into a jog to close the 20 feet. The door creaks open and as you hold out plates to other staff of food, everyone has a locked in gaze on you. They look more like children being told a story than what Calum imagined as predators locked in on prey. 

The sound of the door shifts the room. All eyes on you shift to him and now he feels it. The way the eyes widen and some let our poor attempts at stifled laughter. “Uh oh, Your Highness heard you talking shit, Val,” a brave voice quips up from the group. 

“I-uh-” Calum stutters. 

“Eat Declan, or you will be wearing that jam,” you return. 

The room falls into a cacophony of laughter. People slowly retreat into their seats. Eyes flickering between you and Calum. “I can go, sorry,” Calum offers. Perhaps, he should try to find time when you’re not around. Or maybe that would make it worse? He’s not sure. 

“Then I guess I’m eating the three scrambled eggs, six strips of bacon lightly crispy and fruit medley all by myself.” You hold the plate like an invitation. It is his usual time to get breakfast. He’d switched to evening workouts given the volume of work to be done. Minus the weekends--on the weekends Calum would do his best to get up early to get a good workout in if it’d been missed during the week. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” he counters. It might be better to wait for things to die down.  He’s not used to this caliber of staff in the morning. Though, he imagines now that if the pictures are getting around, the staff would of course want to know what they could know. They’d need to get to you in order to get information if they did want more. They certainly wouldn’t come to him. 

“You might’ve skipped over that when the door. I won’t offer again,” you warn, taking the fork from the plate and cutting into the eggs. 

“You don’t even like your eggs scrambled,” Calum concedes, crossing the threshold. And it’s true, you prefer sunny side up. Calum had learned mostly by watching how you prepared your own plate. 

“I can be convinced otherwise,” you hum, taking the tiny cut, hardly a divot in his plate, to your mouth. 

Calum takes the plate, skin feeling warm at the eyes watching from under their lashes. A mug of coffee--just a little brown but still dark--settles into his palm. There’s no way around the inevitable so Calum carries on to the table. The big table is clear, as the rest of the morning staff are huddled around the kitchen island and counter. With his plate settled though on the table, behind the group, he watches you. You move back to preparing food, pulling the scraps of paper from waiting hands. 

“Checks now or you’re not getting fed again until lunch,” you tease, collecting four more from the miniature crowd. 

He shouldn’t. And it’s less that he shouldn’t and more like he thinks it might be too much. But it’s what he’d normally do. Much like you did. You’d normally hand him a plate of breakfast. You’d hand him a cup of coffee just like he likes. And in return, he’d fetch a mug for you--a splash of milk, two creamers, sugar till the ancestors tell him to stop. He’d slip you two pieces of his bacon and get toast going if he has time. You’re a light eater in the morning, but he never wants to leave without you eating. 

Before Calum can convince himself otherwise though, he’s grabbing the mug--a clear one that he also gets for you--and adds coffee to it. He watches the dark color fade with the milk and creamer. He’s reaching over you to get the sugar and takes four spoonfuls to him. Then goes for a little extra because his gut tells him he can add a little bit more. When that’s the right color, he goes for the bread and takes out two slices. The dial is already set from all his previous mornings so he slots the slices in and starts the toaster.  Calum goes into the fridge, notices the jelly is still there and retrieves it. It’s a rhythm that he knows well. But  there’s no moment that Calum’s not acutely aware of the extra eyes on him. When the toaster pops, Calum plates the dark brown pieces next to the two slices of bacon and gives each of them a good spread of jelly. He sets it down--out of the way of your prepped ingredients, but close enough to you that you can get to it with ease. 

You reach for the mug almost instantly after the plate is settled. Calum waits for the three smacks you’ll give followed by a head nod and it’s how he knows it’s good. Your head tilts for a moment this time though. The smoke rises just a little from the bacon you’re cooking. “There’s more sugar than usual?”

“The ancestors told me to give a little more,” Calum answers. 

You nod, taking another sip and hum. “Tell them I said thank you.” You gnash into a piece of bacon and go back to your work. 

“God, they make breakfast for each other. It’s so cute I’m going to be sick.” Calum doesn’t know who said it, but it’s all the room needs. The tension seems to melt as the laughter bubbles. 

“When will it be my turn?” another voice quips.

Calum watches the grin on your face, though you're flipping over french toast and plating bacon, he can still see the amusement on your face because of the comments. This is what he wants for you. People who support you. There’s no malice here. Perhaps, that’s what you want too and why you asked him not to tell you about more pictures. Satisfied that you’re actually eating during your work, Calum slips back to his own food. Though he’d like to help, he’s sure he’d only really get in the way. 

“French toast, eggs, no bacon,” you call out. The hand shoots up to claim the plate. “Pancakes, no bacon, no eggs.” And down the list you go, calling out what you’ve got until the kitchen settles into the click of forks against ceramic plates. 

It seems to be a system--Calum’s not sure if it’s one that the staff has built long ago, or just one for today, but as each one finishes, they take their plates back to the sink, working in rounds to wash and dry and wash and dry. But it’s a little fascinating to watch each person know when it’s their turn to wash and then rotate to dry the dishes. It’s effortless work amongst the group.

“I can take the plate for you if you're done, Your Highness.”

“Oh, no, I’ve got it. Thank you,” Calum returns to the offer. 

There’s a moment of confusion, but it seems to settle quickly. The room empties the moment the doors open and Calum’s father enters. Though everyone greets him, it’s clear that everyone feels a bit like being in school having the teacher walk in. But you remain, turning to the counter where yet another waiting plate resides. 

“Seems like quite the commotion this morning,” his father quips, pausing at the kitchen table at his normal spot. He doesn’t sit just yet. 

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Calum returns. 

“Your Royal Majesty,” you greet Calum's father, setting the plate down to the table where the King usually sits. A cup of coffee follows it too. 

“Thank you. And I know we’ve yet to have more informal introductions, but please, do call me David.”

You nod. “Alright, well in that case, are we doing orange juice or water this morning, David?”

“Oh, I’ll get it in a moment. No need to worry. But do you think perhaps, I could steal a moment of your time?”

“Certainly,” you agree. Yet, you remain standing too. The table remains between two of you--Calum’s dad on the interior side closest to the wall the table sits near, Calum on the exterior side. 

“C’mon, sit for a minute,” David offers, waving to the seat across from him. You settle on the bench and slide across from David. 

Calum can only watch, unsure of what will transpire. He’s praying his father is nicer than the initial conversations they shared. They weren’t bad, yet somehow more tense than Calum imagined them going. 

“I know there’s probably much better times to do this,” David starts, settling into his seat. “But Joy’s much better at the planning than I am. I wanted to speak with you though. I don’t know what Calum tells you or what he doesn’t of course. But I’m sure you’re aware your position is unique. I only want my boy happy, but I musn’t be so blinded by that desire that I abandon my duties as his father. You’re a hard worker. You came to us with glowing reviews from all your previous employers. Came from pretty high places if I do say so myself. I’ve eaten at your old restaurant a time or two, most likely while you were working there too. Joy seems to approve of you very much. Yet, there’s still a lot none of us know. That worries me.”

“Dad, please,” Calum interjects. 

“Calum,” David warns. It only takes his name and Calum knows he can’t interject. He wants to save you. Because this is the same thing they’ve been circling privately for weeks now. Calum knows you’ll tell more when you’re ready--and given what he’s already learned there’s a lot more. But you’re not trying to be facetious. 

“I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. I want to be fair about this,” David continues directly to you.

You sit, unwavering. Calum watches over your face as you listen to his father and your breathing never hitches, you never shy away from the words. He inches his hand forward, a small sign that he’s still there. If you do see it, you never let on that you do. “What would you like to know?” It’s a simple question but Calum knows everything that comes behind it. Or at least, he knows the dam that’s going to be cracked. 

There’s a silence much too long and Calum turns to his dad. Perhaps, your direct attitude is something that even his father was prepared for. “Well, for starters, I guess it would be nice to know what brought you to us.”

“My parents found out where I was working before and that prompted me to start looking for a new job.”

Where his mother is perceptive, attune to what’s not being said, Calum knows his father is a little more clumsy. And as his father speaks, Calum can’t help but cringe. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It is.”

“But Joy says you still interact with your siblings--Charlie and Teagan, right?”

“Yes,” you nod. “I’m only involved with my siblings.”

“So why not your parents?”

Even to Calum it comes out a little harsh, a little unsure of whether it’s meant to be caring or stern. “Dad,” Calum returns. “I know you want answers, but there’s better tones.”

His father sputters for a moment before uttering an apology. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be hostile.”

“No, I understand,” you answer. “My parents drank horrible and they’re not good drunks either. I don’t know how many odd years it was because I got pulled by Child Services to go into foster care at 14. And I stayed in foster care until 18. I got the adult assistance, abysmal as it was, if I can say. Got myself into school, and now I’m here. Because a few years ago, my parents found out where I was working.”

“And your siblings? Did they get pulled too?”

“They were born after I was placed into the system. There’s a twenty year gap between me and Charlie. Twenty-two between me and Teagan.”

“Are they well taken care of? Your siblings?”

“They seem to be. There’s a family vacation in two weeks, apparently that they’re very excited for.”

Calum knows where this is going. He can feel the gears in his father’s head moving. “We can’t assume,” he whispers. “You can’t assume.”

“I mean, if their siblings are being taken care of,” his father offers softly. 

“I spent a lot of years wondering what I’d do if I ever saw my parents again,” you interject. Both Calum and his father turn to face you now. “The truth is, as much as I am fucking angry at them for what they did to me--hardly fed, barely bathed, more money spent on booze, physical and violent arguments right in front of me--I’m also not a child anymore. They had the chance to be parents to me when I needed them and they chose the bottle. You may not like to here this, David, but the reality is that adults choose to become parents. You made the choice to become a parent just like my parents did. But it is not the child's responsibility to make parents act like parents. It’s not a child's job to beg for care. But if parents choose not to care for their children, then children must make choices for themselves.”

You lean into the table, elbows and forearms settling into the wood. Your eyes are watery, Calum can see the tears collecting on your lashes. Your voice quakes as you continue on. “As you know, all choices have a consequence. My parents want a relationship with me. I see it. It burns them when I don’t go inside of the house for more than twenty minutes. They hate that I don’t call them Mom and Dad. I do not call them on their birthdays. I only speak to them to speak to Charlie and Teagan. And I begged for my parents when Child Services took me away. I cried for them. They had every chance to get sober and get me. I heard it in the meetings through the door. They came four times to get me but wouldn’t get help. They wouldn’t fucking stop drinking so they could get me back. They made their choices and I have made mine.”

“And if they’re sorry? And if they want to make it right?” his dad asks. 

You shrug. “As long as they continue to take care of Charlie and Teagan like they should, like good parents, I’ll be happy. But there’s nothing left I can give to them or that they can give to me.”

“I’m sorry your parents weren’t there. They should’ve been. They should’ve been there.”

You nod, sniffling back most likely snot and tears. Calum pushes a napkin into your hand before moving out from his side of the table. “I’m okay, Calum.”

It’s not enough to stop him though, as he draws up a glass of water and slips down next to you, a hand rubbing at your back. “You are hard headed, you know,” you tease. Your laughter is thick and wet as it leaves you. 

“I’ve been told a time or two,” Calum offers, pushing the glass closer to you. You take the hint and take a sip. Calum takes your free hand under the table into both of his, swallowing your hand and squeezing tight. He’s here. Even if you really are doing the heavy lifting, Calum’s not going anywhere. It’s a weighty resolution that falls into the pit of Calum’s stomach. He’s not going anywhere. 

“I wish it were a more scandalous story, David. Wish I could tell you I really had an elaborate scheme to trick your son into dating me, hell maybe even falling in love just to try and stage a coup,” you joke. 

“Hell, you’d still have time,” his  father jokes. “Thank you. For giving me grace. And hearing me out.”

“You care, like you’re supposed to as a father. I get it. Is-is there anything else? Need my time and place of birth to do my birth chart?”

A head shake no comes first.n“No, no I don’t think I need to go that far. But I’d like to get this recipe. I’ve finally gotten word it’s yours and you’re tight lipped.”

You laugh, squeezing Calum’s hands too. “It’s a family recipe, I’m afraid.”

The pure look of offense is clear on his father’s face is wide before it slides down into mischief. “I’ll get it soon enough. Pretty sure of it.”

“You go from integrating them to now suddenly being sure you’re going to get a secret recipe?” Calum questions with a laugh. 

“No, son, a family recipe. There is a difference. A difference you can make.”

“A confident man,” you tease. “I hate to do this but I do have a few more things to get squared away before my shifts end. And I don’t want to keep you from your breakfast.”

“Of course, of course. Thanks again.”

You nod. “Of course.” 

As you start to turn out from the table, Calum tugs just a little on your hand. You face him, the grin a little tight no doubt from the drying tracks of tears on your face. “Yeah?”

“You going home after this?”

“Maybe? I do have to be ready for Miranda at 4:30 later,” you answer. 

“Stay. Won’t have to drive all the way home and then back. Saving on gas isn’t so terrible.”

You cup his cheek and Calum nuzzles just a little into the warmth. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and he’s sure the scratch may not be entirely pleasant. “You’re fishing.”

“Just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ve got more days of being okay under my belt than not being okay. But I’ll stay. And I really do need to get the last of the dishes cleaned, though. So, do I have permission to finish up my job before Janet fires me?”

Calum snorts, holding your hand still to press a kiss to your palm. “Fine.  You do have a valid excuse. But I’ll clean up if you want to go freshen up first.”

“Oh, I’ve--”

Calum raises a brow. “I have washed dishes before. I distinctly remember my mother getting me on a step stool in this very kitchen so she could teach me. It won’t kill me.”

“I don’t want you to be late.”

Calum shrugs. “We’re in a stand still in votes right now. I really don’t think they’ll be made if I’m five minutes late.”

“Three if you let me escape to the bathroom now. And take the extra two as a change for another time.”

“Go,” Calum commands with a laugh. His lips find your palm again in another kiss--it’s brief and faint that even Calum’s not sure if he reached your skin or not. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Thank you, sire.”

Calum won’t forget that tease, and he will make sure he gets clarity on if you mean the double entendre. He’s sure you do though. His father laughs a little. Before Calum can question what is funny, his father is speaking, “Oh, I’m getting that recipe within the next year tops.”

“If I discover you and Mum have an engagement pool, I swear.”

There’s only a shrug. But Calum gathers his plate and mug before there’s any further discussions. Maybe his father liked you more than Calum originally estimated. Though, Calum’s not entirely upset about his father’s apprehension. It just frustrated Calum that he couldn’t get this information organically. He wants you to trust me. It’s important that the information is shared in the moments where you feel safest to share them.  Does it bother you? Calum hopes it doesn’t bother you. That you don’t feel cornered. But he’d understand if you did. 

“You don’t think I was too harsh, do you?” 

Calum stops his work on the fork and turns to face his father. “I could answer that, but it seems like maybe you already have a feeling about it.”

“I know you care about them. But I needed to know.”

“You have every right to worry, Dad. You do. But you have to trust me. If I make a mistake, then that’s on me. I know it gets infinitely more complicated because of our status. But please trust me. I don’t want to compound on their feelings like they don’t belong. And I hate to feel like a child. I know I haven’t told you a lot but there’s a lot that I didn’t think was my place to share.”

“Could I have a bit of your expertise though? I feel like maybe I need to make it up.”

Calum nods, his exhale rolling down his shoulders. “Stick to Dad jokes. I’ve got a feeling those might be a winner.”

“Perhaps a round of golf?” his father offers. 

“Well, I don’t know how to play,” you state. Calum turns, not realizing how quickly you’d returned back to the kitchen. Your hand brushes along his back, but your focus is on his father. “So if you’re up for the challenge of teaching me then I guess I could be convinced.”

It seems to be enough of an agreement that it brings a smile to his father’s face. “I taught Calum.”

“I thought that was soccer,” you tease. 

“Oh I couldn’t teach that. But we’ll schedule something, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“How much of that did you hear?” Calum questions in a whisper. You check his hip with yours and he goes with ease. 

“Just enough,” you answer, taking the fork Calum had paused on. Calum’s not sure what just enough means, but he takes it that you’ve heard what you needed to hear. Picking up the drying towel, Calum starts to dry off the last bits of the dishes. “I plan on stealing a shirt,” you comment. “Since I’m now staying. If you have a preference on which one I take, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Premeditated theft? I’ll have you know I ought to call the authorities,” Calum laughs. 

“Yet you won’t.”

“But I could. Anything in the middle two drawers of my black dresser are free game though.”

“I look forward to unearthing your dirty secrets. What kind of skeletons do you have in those drawers?”

Calum snickers, placing the mug he’s dried off back into the cabinet. The conversation is mostly in whispers though, in the relatively quiet kitchen Calum is sure it’s not as private as he’s hoping it to be. But nevertheless, he won’t let the volley fall. There is a score to keep, a game to win. Carrying back to the dish rack, Calum plucks the plate fingers noticing that it’s hardly wet at all. 

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Calum whispers. 

You snort at the comment, shoulders shaking with the laughter you don’t release loudly. “Oh God. Don’t you have some stuffy meeting to get ready for? Some Prime Ministers to coddle?”

He should get going. He did need to ensure that his notes were in order. But that doesn’t mean he can’t take a few extra seconds to make you laugh, to ensure he leaves you on a good note after a rough bump in the day. “I left instructions with the Nanny,” Calum quips, slotting the plate away. “But I probably should get ready.”

“Hope today is a kind one,” you return. 

“Hope you sleep well.” 

They feel adjacent to prayers, if not prayers directly to the universe over each other. But Calum hopes that whomever in the universe is in charge of listening to such things takes note of the prayers you two have dropped for each other. Calum thinks about it while slipping into his clothes, buttoning the shirt up and over the under shirt, he whispers more and more hopes for you. He hopes that you sleep so deeply that he has to wake you. He hopes that your muscles don’t ache when you settle in for sleep and when you wake. He hopes the water is the right pressure for your shower, and the right temperature. He hopes that the sheets are just cool enough to lull you to sleep and warm with your heat to keep you under. He hopes that don’t think twice about needing to use his mouth wash or his body wash. He hopes that the pillow is always cool for you. 

_______________________________________

When your morning shift coworkers return, officially on the clock and taking over for the lunch preparation, you think you’ll get cornered again. Not that you truly felt cornered in the morning. You did have your job to focus on and that was reason enough for people to give you space. However, you wondered if your answers of taking things slow and you’ll have to take me to court would actually placate the crowd. It seems to have. Though the smiles that come your way carry an air of mischief, no one asks more questions. You’re grateful for it. Though you know it might only be a matter of time before someone doesn’t back off. 

You’ll have to talk to Calum, see what the meeting today with Miranda brings about. The thought lingers through in the back of your head. Perhaps, you’ll need to find another place to work. Though, if you do, will that really solve the problem? Perhaps, you’ll always be doomed just a little to have to field such invasiness. Those thoughts are much too heavy for your brain at this moment. You hadn’t anticipated David bringing up that topic of conversation earlier in the day. Though you always knew Calum’s father was the most apprehensive of his parents, you’d wondered if you’d get a bit more grace. 

Your mind is lagging behind your body, all of the energy spent on getting you through your tasks and now you’ve got nothing left. Though you slept well before your shift, you’re ready for your brain to shut off again. Your parents are human too, you know that. You know they will not be perfect beings. But you can’t help the wounded child that still howls within you. The thing about all of this is that you were much too tired to consider what your parents might want from you. Having spent so much of what felt like should’ve been your youth in survival mode, you’re desperate to leave it behind. What your parents did, or didn’t do, what your parents want and don’t want don’t matter anymore. You’re your own person. 

You take the elevators up--you won’t punish yourself with the stairs today. As the door slip shut, you recline your head into the metal walls. As silly as it is, you find yourself thinking back to the first time you ascended the levels with Calum. How he pressed in close to you, hands slipping around your body and kissing you like he wouldn’t be breathing if he didn’t kiss you. You felt wanted, desired. Someone wanted you. Someone still wants you. Your skin is still bruised along your chest from Calum’s kisses. Though it was only two days, they’re lingering, much to Calum’s delight. 

It’s an addictive feeling. A high that you want to consume you constantly. You want to be wanted. And you want Calum too. Though the lines are cheesy sometimes, and God is he good with a cheesy line, he listens. He takes you so gently when you need it, tucked into his chest and you know you’re safe. What a feeling to have in the presence of another, to feel safe. You’re glad Calum was there when his father questioned you. You know you had someone, even if they didn’t get it, that would keep you safe.

The water is cooler. Something to cut through the heat of your chef’s coat. The coolness makes you sigh under the running water. You only stand there for a moment, letting the water run down your body as you try and let it wash down all the heaviness of the morning. You want all of it to fall into the drains. There will be plenty to worry about when you meet with Miranda. There will be plenty to worry about when you take Calum to the park for your date. Sure any date has been months in the making, but you worry in the back of your brain that this will also somehow get photographed. Maybe there’s no reason for it. Maybe even if you do get photographed there will be nothing you could’ve done to prevent it. 

With the shower done and into fresh undergarments--a stash you brought over to last week for purposes like this-- and Calum’s body wash scent clinging to your skin, you crawl up into the bed. The sheets smell fresh, though you can catch the faint, faint lingering of Calum’s scent into the threads. Perhaps, they’re only a day out from being washed. You’re not really sure. You don’t really care. You just sink into the feeling. That like Calum would be coming into the room anytime now. Like his arms will drape over you. Like it’ll just be the rise and fall of your chest into his. 

Your phone rattles from the stand and you push from the mattress with a slight start. You think you’ll need to change the tune, but damn does this one do the job. You clear the crust from your eyes and flop back down into the mattress. Light filters into the room and you turn towards it. Your phone finally falls silent as you press the volume buttons on the side. 

“Did I wake you?”

You shake your head at Calum’s question. Your eyes clear after another blink and see the black suit he’s dawned--head to toe black it seems. “No, my alarm just went off. Also, if you are calling the cops on me for when I raid your drawers, you need to also call to lock yourself up for being so damn handsome.”

Calum laughs, the breath brushing over your temple. “You’re getting five more minutes, then I’m going to have to drag you out of bed.”

“No,” you mutter, pressing your face deeper into the pillow. 

“Yes.” It’s all Calum says before he presses a kiss to your skin. The bed releases his weight. You watch him walk around the bed until he’s behind you. You can only hear the drawers pull open and then close. Another one opens and closes before it falls relatively silent. You lay, arms wound around the pillow only for a moment more before you push up fully. 

You watch the dagger tattoo on his bicep as it flexes, working the dress shirt off his torso. “I never said thanks this morning. But I do appreciate your extra time,” you confess to Calum’s back. 

Calum turns, threading one arm into a powder blue button up sleeve. His eyes are soft as he looks over you. “You can be honest. Did my dad go too far?”

“David’s no Joy,” you answer. While you’re sure the intentions are in the right place, there’s still a little bit of a sting in your chest. You hadn’t realized how important it was to his father. Yet, you weren’t ready to peel that band aid off fully. You were picking at the corners, the bandage was peeling, but not not ready. 

Calum’s exhaled laughter doesn’t feel all that humorous. “Yeah, he’s sometimes a bit of a bulldozer. I’m sorry again.”

“Not your fault,” you concede, pulling the sheets away from your body. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” 

Your descent from the bed is quiet before you head over to the black dresser. You’ve never previously been into Calum’s clothing. But the first drawer slides open and the stacks stare back up at you. One top of one pile is a black t-shirt, with Drop Dead screened onto the front. You lift it to get a look below and notice another black t-shirt that peers back across it in red comic sans is the word: watermelon. You snort at the shirt and peel up another layer. A Nine Inch Nail t-shirt you assume by the NIN monogram into the chest. 

“Into the band tee, I see,” you comment as you pull up more and more music themed t-shirts.

“I like music, sue me,” Calum laughs. 

You move over to another pile, briefly to take in a white t-shirt with Taste Testers on the front. There’s more words, but you’re not sure what the full shirt says. You go down another and spot a cute dog printed onto the material. You’d never seen a dog on the grounds, or heard of one. The question burns your throat, but you wonder if the cute gray, white, and black face staring back at you is a childhood pet lost to the unfortunate test of time. Around you, you catch the scent of Calum’s cologne. Light, but still musky. You think he might’ve refreshed on it. 

“You’d tell me if I was pushing a hard line, right?” you ask, turning to face Calum who’s know shuffling out of his attached bathroom. 

“Yeah, I would. What’s up?”

You pull out the white t-shirt with the dog. “Hard line?” you ask, wanting to know if you can even press the topic. 

“Duke,” Calum answers. “He was a grumpy old man when he got up there, but I loved him. I nicknamed him baby grandpa in his last few years. We had him until I was about nineteen or so. I think Mum and Dad got him when I was three.”

“A solid sixteen years, huh?”

“The best sixteen years,” Calum smiles. It’s wobbly. You can hear it in his voice. Placing the shirt back into the drawer, you reach for the Drop Dead t-shirt and dawn it with no thought. It’s holy, across the shoulders, back, chest, and torso, almost swallowing your torso, but you don’t think twice about it before crossing the room to give Calum a hug. 

“I’m glad it was the best,” you whisper into his neck. His face is pressed into your shoulder. Calum’s curling around your body in the hold but you don’t say much else, as you rub your hand up and down his spine. 

There was no space or time or energy for a pet when you were younger. Though you loved hanging out with your friend’s pets, something you understood long before you had the language for it, was that there was just no time for that kind of thing for you. Your parents weren’t capable of that then. 

“Thank you,” Calum returns to you in a whisper. It vibrates up through the meat of your shoulder. Grief, you’ve learned, is not linear. It doesn’t really shrink but other things get bigger around it. You are able to put grief into the context of your life but it never loses its own gravity either. 

You finish getting dressed, slipping into the jeans you’d been in previously. Just as you slip into clean socks and back into your shoes, Calum starts to kneel in front of you. “What are you doing?” you laugh, watching him chase after your feet. You turn up into his desk to hide the laces away. 

“Just give me your foot,” Calum laughs, fingers wrapping around your ankles. He’s got a firm enough grip that he could force it you assume. But he doesn’t. “We can’t be late. Miranda will have my head.”

You definitely don’t want to be late either. So you turn. Calum takes your left foot and begins twisting the laces around each other. You can’t really help either, can’t bring your foot up to tie your right and you can’t bend over. “Is there anything I need to know about Miranda?” you ask. 

“Not too tight?” Calum asks in return. You shake your head no and he moves onto the right shoe. “Miranda’s going to be doing most of the talking. If she asks a question, there’s an 80% chance she doesn’t actually need an answer.”

“The other twenty?”

“That’s a toss up. Either she's asking because she does or because she wants to catch you in a lie.”

“Ah, so there’s no reason not to attempt to answer lest I make myself an asshole.”

Calum grins up at you, finished now with your shoes. “Exactly.”

The two of you file out of his room and you let Calum direct the way. You’re still apprehensive about the handholding, not that you don’t love the physical contact, but it feels like it’s a spotlight following the two of you. You cannot deny each other. Though, you think that’s the point for Calum. He doesn’t want to deny you--as simple as that. But you carry on down to the elevators hand in hand. 

Calum squeezes your hand as the elevator pauses to settle before the doors open. “You look good in my clothes.”

“You said the same thing about me being in your room.”

“No,” Calum laughs, “I said you in my bedroom was a sight I could get used to. I fear if you wear any more of my clothing, I will die. I won’t be able to recover.”

You scoff, all playful tufts of laughter escaping you. “I am CPR certified.”

“Good to know.”

No sooner than Calum can knock the door creaks open. “Yes, yes, the lovely couple. C’mon in.” Miranda’s just as tall as Calum if not a bit taller. And you’ve never been insecure about your height, but standing there you wonder if she’s the lead on PR simply because she could make grown men feel like they could be swallowed up. But Miranda moves from the door seemingly uncaring if you two actually enter or not. Calum waves you in front of you and you cross the threshold to hear Miranda still going, “I apologize for the abruptness of this matter. But gossip waits for no one.”

You settle into the seat across from her desk and Calum follows suit next to you. “I’m starting to realize,” you return. 

“I’ve heard there was a buzz this morning among some staff. You’re okay? Nothing bad happened?”

“No,” you answer simply but it’s not like you’ve talked at all. 

“Good. I think I would’ve heard if it had. But I had to make sure. So, first thing first, social medias--all I could muster up for you seems to be a well abandoned Twitter account. Hasn’t been used in 8 years. No Facebook. No Instagram. No abandoned SnapChat. No kik. No WhatsApp. I did check your number from your employee file. I checked AO3, Tumblr, TikTok. I mean I went to the edges of the earth. You’re a ghost,” Miranda laughs. “Well almost.”

“It’s-it’s for my safety,” you return. 

Miranda nods, grabbing a tablet from her desk and bringing it almost right up to her face. Your eyes flicker around to see if you can spot glasses but you don’t. Not on her desk at least. “Yes, well. That makes my job that more interesting.”

“Who do you communicate the most with? You’d say?” Miranda asks. 

“Oh, uh, Calum. And there’s my roommates, but we’re mostly just cordial.”

“Hmm, didn’t know about the roommates. How have they been? Any strange behaviors?”

“No? We really only see each other in passing because of my work schedule.”

Miranda hums and then places the tablet down. Her arms fold over her chest as she reclines back into the seat. “Parents? That who you’re hiding from?”

“Yes.”

“Do you speak with them at all?”

“As necessary,” you answer. 

“For I assume the two siblings listed in your file.” You nod at what is clearly not a question but you want to affirm what Miranda’s already aware of. “Alright, well, regardless if you don’t have plans to talk to too many people, we still need you to go through the media training. It’s going to be boring. But it will be important. The thing to keep in mind is if you do say something, they’ll use it against you. If you don’t  say something, they’ll use it against you. It is the nature of the beast.”

“Figured as much,” you comment, mostly to yourself. Though you’d avoided looking for those photos, you’re sure you can imagine what they might say. 

“The thing we’re focusing efforts on is that this will hit like wildfire. The prince dating is international fucking news. Our angle for the time being is to keep quiet. There’s nothing that has to come out about this from us. Who Calum decides to date is not really much of our concern. But given your position as staff, we do have to be extremely careful. I’m still waiting on HR’s final position on what your next steps. Can you believe that? Told them it was urgent and they still told me fuck off. Ridiculous.”

“Next steps as in if I’ll need to find a new job?”

“In essence, yes, depending on how HR sees this they don’t want any lawsuits.”

“Whoa,” Calum interjects. He’d remained mostly quiet. You'd assume nothing about what Miranda had been saying was shocking or new to him. Until now, of course. Until now. “We can’t really be assuming that they can just find a new job on a whim.”

“Honestly, Calum, HR can make such assumptions. I have asked for reasonable accommodations should they come to a decision that requires new employment. But that’s just a risk. It would be a conflict of interest legally speaking. If you wish to continue to date, then the long and short is that someone’s interest must realign,” Miranda explains. 

It’s the way she says it, like she’s not sure what else Calum expects, that makes you realize that in the grand scheme of things, perhaps he had a more optimistic view on this situation than you. You’d had it festering in the back of your mind that change would have to come should you wish to continue to date Calum. And that you do want, you want to keep dating Calum. Because it’s the best damn thing you've had in a long time. 

Calum pushes forward in his seat and you reach out for his knee. It stills him just enough for you to speak first. “I can start looking now.” It burns to say those words. You're not trying to make a scene though. You don't need to lose it in here in front of Miranda.

“Baby, what a second? Is there even any place for you to go? And we don’t even know what they’re classifying as a reasonable accommodation. You’ve been here for years.”

“I still have some connections. I could try and go back to my old job if really necessary. I could do something else should the situation demand it. But as someone who’s dealt with HR are few times, let me be the first to tell you HR is there to protect the company. HR will protect you over me. In a heartbeat.” It's bile on your tongue, but it's true. It's all fucking true. They'll protect Calum and their asses before yours.

His brows furrow and you know it’s true anger, you know Calum is truly frustrated. But you wish his glasses weren’t so rose colored. Perhaps, this would be the way to scratch those lenses. “It’s not fair,” he huffs. 

You snort. “And who said anything about this being fair?”

“It should be fair,” he retorts. 

“It should,” you concede. It should be fair but it’s not. It will never be fair. You turn back to Miranda. “Will this be mailed to me as a letter? What HR concludes?”

Miranda nods. “I’ll make sure you get a copy. But you’ll start looking now?” She’s gone to her computer, shaking the mouse to get the machine to awake from slumber. 

“Yes, I’ll start looking now. When will media training be?”

Miranda slides in close to the screen. “I really ought to unearth those reading glasses. For fuck sake. But, to answer your question, dear, it’s going to be next week. Janet’s still working on getting your Monday shift covered for you. But you’re looking at Tuesday, 11 AM sharp. It’ll go until 4PM that day. Lunch will be provided to you. During your search, please use us though. I know it’s not fair, but Janet adores you and if you can please use her as a reference. I’m having an intern compile a list of up and coming restaurants in the area. They may be looking for some extra help.”

You know the dangers of up and coming. They’ll hire bodies just to have people. “Any places a bit more established?” you ask. 

“Our criteria were businesses in operation for at least 3 years. I told her the sweet spot might be about 5 or so. We don’t want to throw you to the wolves,” Miranda’s face falls her nod sympathetic. 

“It certainly still seems like we are,” Calum retorts. 

“I do wish I could give you sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. But that’s not the real world works. So, I’m waiting for HR. And until then, it’s best that we prepare for the worst.”

You nod. Prepare for the worst, but it doesn't temper the frustration in your stomach.

“So, Tuesday is media training for you. Calum, you’ll need a refresher after we get into breaks. Prepare. Our position is quiet. We don’t want to make waves until HR tells us how to proceed. This does mean that you won’t be able to talk to your roommates about it," Miranda states.

“A gag order?” Calum questions. 

Miranda continues on though. “We will need to vet your roommates again. I think they got a call when you first applied. Once you get a new position, things may open up a bit more from there. And Calum, if it were a gag order, you’d see the NDA on my desk. I’m trusting the two of you about this. It’s not fun to deliver this news. But it is what it is. Because we’re playing the silent game we have to make sure there will be no leaks internally.”

You’re nodding, you can feel it. But it feels a bit numb, like the world is going to white noise out around you soon. 

Miranda’s continuing on. “When we call your roommates, we’ll just say it’s a renewal process--run of the mill. Maybe don’t boast about looking for a new job. And if you do land something fast, we can all just say that you were ready to move on and no ruffled feathers.”

You do have rent to pay. You’d like to at least get through the end of the month so you can pay that. Not only that, but you’ll miss the good health insurance too. But perhaps, it could give you and Calum normal times to hang out, dates may be more frequent. It may be worth looking at the positives to ensure you don’t find this as a reason to run. You know you could. You know you could say that you can’t afford to lose this job. You know you can say that this is all fucked. But would you be able to come back from that? If you run now, are you leaving behind everything? 

You’re not even sure when or how you get out of Miranda's office. But you know you’re in the hallway, listening to other doors close. Shoes strike the floor. In the blurry field of your vision, you can see briefcases and backpacks bouncing around you. “This is all so fucked,” you huff. “It’s all so fucked up.” The words hiss off your teeth and tongue. 

Even if you know you can land on your feet from a fall, you don’t even want to fall. It’s not even your own doing. You’re having to fall because of a push. The easy thing is to push away. You can feel your gut coiling, like it wants to push you to run away. But you keep telling yourself that if you run now, there may be no coming back. Though you believed it was sometimes better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission, you could only imagine the hurt you’d cause. Calum stands in front of you with a transparent beating heart and you don’t have the guts, nor the desire, to break it. 

“I don’t like this one bit,” you huff out. “Nothing else is going to pay as good as this. And let me tell you, this job is still not paying all that great. But it’s better than where I was.”

“I can talk to someone,” Calum offers. “There’s gotta be something.”

“I was thinking about it,” you start, taking a few steps from Miranda’s door. “I was thinking that I might have to switch jobs just to keep things kosher. But now it’s not even voluntary. I have to leave.”

Warmth envelopes your hand. You turn into Calum, squeezing at his hand as you do. “What do you mean you thought about it?” he asks. 

“I wondered if it would be a good idea to leave now before things got more serious so that we could go out, do things, not have to hide so much. But I wanted- I wanted it to be a conversation. I wanted to have a say in that ask that I at least get sixty days or something to make the transition. But if HR’s already discussing that, I don’t know, it just makes me angry. The choice was taken from me.”

“We can still go to them.”

The thing you won’t do is beg. Not for a job. Not for people that probably don’t really care about you at all. It’s pride--a stupid emotion--but yet, yout skin still crawls at the prospect. “I-I don’t think I’m thinking straight right now,” you answer. It could be productive to go to HR, but even you already know the shit they do is not for employee benefit. It may turn out to be like talking to a brick wall. 

“Okay. We’ll figure this out. We’ll figure this out,” Calum offers. 

You nod. “We will. But that doesn’t mean you get to go pulling strings behind my back, please.”

“We always figure it out,” Calum returns, kissing the top of your forehead. It’s not lost on your that he doesn’t promise not to get involved solely. You could push it. But then you’d be making Calum a liar. And you don’t want to do that. You don’t want to make him into a liar. 

But there’s still the picnic date. Even if next week turns your world upside down, assuming HR finalizes by the weekend, you still have today. You’ve got tomorrow and things for right now are the same as they’ve been over the last four months. It feels way too soon to be making changes to jobs and worrying about the gossip over the entertainment world but this is the word Calum’s in. You’ll have to be worried about it no matter how soon it feels. 

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Calum asks. 

“Yes,” you return, “Preparing for our date.”

“Preparing? What do you have planned?”

You laugh. “I’m not telling you a second sooner sir. But I do need to run and grab a few things this evening for it.”

“And let me guess, I don’t get any hints do I? No sneak peaks?”

“Nope, none,” you return. 

Calum groans, but nods his acceptance. “You’ll let me know when you get home though, right?”

“Of course,” you return. 

The steps are heavy after you collect your belongings from Calum’s room. Your gut is still a choppy sea. Frustration keeps a tight hold, but you do your best to keep it at bay. Life was not always fair--a lesson you were far from a stranger to. Though, it never makes it any easier to handle. But you try and focus on the date--the picnic of Calum’s favorite that you’ll have. Your favorites mixed in too. You think about the painting you’ll show to him. You think about the song Calum will sing to you.

[maxverstepponme]

steppy. more photos of charles & alex on vacation dropped and people are being crazy 😭

they’re going on and on about how it must be pr. now, yes, there have been times f1 couples called the paps themselves (KELLY!!! and charlotte come to mind, there were sus ones of kika and pierre too) but i don’t think this is one of those scenarios… so here’s me attempting to debunk. this is going to be VERY LONG so grab a snack and get comfy lol:

first of all. charles is the pr prince(ss) when it comes to racing related things/media and sponsors. he does NOT play about his sponsors. he rushes immediately after a race to put all of his sponsored jewelry on no matter what and he is always wearing those damn meta glasses. he takes those sponsorships SERIOUSLY. if he knew that there was going to be paparazzi, i sincerely doubt, as a long time charles fan who knows how seriously he takes brand deals, he would wear one of their biggest rival’s biggest sponsors. like he could wear any other swimsuit and you’re trying to tell me that on the one day that he apparently paid the paps to be there he chose that one out of all of them 💀 like bffr his ass had no idea they were coming!

and that wasn’t even me getting into the at least 5-6 times straight off the top of my head the times that charles said how much he hates how his personal life is in the spotlight, hates how f1 drivers are treated outside of the race track now too (speaking again of his personal/private life and how it’s in the spotlight now), hates how his relationship [w/ charlotte] was so public (he said this in nov 2022 so it was after they broke up probably but before they announced it), and he even said that while being an f1 driver is his dream, he wishes he could disappear in public. does that SOUND like a man who would pay paps to take pics of him or who would allow his girlfriend or friends to pay paps to take pics???

another reason why they claim these are paid is because of the anti-pap laws in france. fair enough point on surface level but if you look into it… um no. yes, they were in corsica where the photos were taken. HOWEVER! the photos were PUBLISHED in an italian magazine. now the french law states that you aren’t allowed to publish, or even take, photos of people without consent, but does this stop people? nope! how many times have you seen photos of your favorite celebrities in paris from random people and in gossip magazines and whatnot? so if they can’t enforce it then, what the hell makes these people think they’ll enforce it on some random magazine from italy? the answer is that they probably won’t unless charles himself takes action, but that’s a long process and it’s expensive and chances are not much would even happen because the photos are already out there now, and if celebrities could just sue paps and get rid of them forever… NEWS FLASH! THEY WOULD HAVE DONE IT ALREADY! 😱

also another bit of information on the “anti-pap laws”. this is literally one of the very first things that pops up when you look up anti paparazzi laws in france. if these gossip pages or the anons on them bothered to do any research they would have seen it but obviously they don’t. “according to jamie nordhaus, although the french government set strong laws to prevent paparazzi from invading celebrity privacy, these laws counteract each other. they, thus, are not efficient enough to protect celebrities and their children.” mind you, jamie nordhaus is a professional attorney with 20 years of experience  in laws to do with licensing and the exploitation of things to do with licensing (*cough* like paparazzi photos *cough*) and how to protect clients against these exploitations. simple google search tells us this. if an attorney with 20 years of experience to do with things in this topic, along with my common sense, says that these laws aren’t helpful, i believe her more than i believe user ihatealexstmlx on instagram, thanks!

the only thing i’m questioning is the clearness of the photos but 🤷‍♀️ if your whole job is to take photos of people from a distance you’d probably have a good camera to do it no? and you can also literally see the shrubs of bushes and crap in front of the camera lol if they were paid to be there and everybody knew they’d be there why would they hide in the bushes like what? another thing i thought might have been suspicious was that they were in a private villa with no close neighbors, but the more i thought about it the more i realized that wasn’t a good point. you can see in the ad charles posted for le collectionist (where the villa they stayed in was from) how intensely and violently the waves lap against the beach. that was NOT safe to swim in! so they probably were at a public beach in those photos or at least a much more accessible place that wasn’t right in front of their villa, and therefore probably easier to get to for unauthorized paparazzi [**I’M RESENDING JUST TO ADD THAT MORE PHOTOS WERE RELEASED AND YES, THEY WERE AT A PUBLIC AND POPULAR BEACH WHERE IT WOULD NOT BE HARD TO GET TO OR BLEND IN**] … just saying. that’s all :)

.

[practicalmagicintuitions]

"Now MM. She is 100% definitely aware of what is she doing and what she wants to achieve."

You're so right. Can't remember the details now, but in that court case of MM vs Daily Mail, it came out via Jason Knauf's records that MM wrote the Dear Daddy letter thinking that it will at some point make it to the public. She then wanted to write it a certain way so as to "tug at the heartstrings".

Her dad became just a prop to her to add to her victim story.

Someone, Knauf or someone else also pointed out the harsh obvious that MM wanted to be rejected. She wanted to be pressed. She wanted to be the victim because this was always her brand alongside the woman whose love saved the prince. This is also a narcissistic behaviour: us versus them, our love story is the biggest, most amazing etc. It's funny to think that this strong, independent woman is always crying and unable to walk without clinging to his husband.

But back to the letter. Logically thinking if you have a feud with your dad and you two are separated by distance, you pick up the phone to talk to him because that is the quickest, most personal way considering the physical separation. But given the benefit of the doubt let's say she was too emotional and she feared she will say something or cannot remain calm, so she chose to write a letter. Why she didn't send an email? That is the second quickest after the phone. I should seriously believe she decided to write a letter on paper with her faux calligraphy, put it into an envelope, buy stamps and send it to his father? And waiting for the answer maybe for weeks? Or did she scan it and emailed it? Rationally there is no scenario which justifies the letter. She obviously wanted it to be leaked. I am 100% sure she set up his father for the pap walk and then throw him under the bus.

[skippyv20]

From the book Spare 

WOKE TO a text from Jason. Bad news. What is it now? The Mail on Sunday had printed the private letter Meg had written to her father. The letter that Granny and Pa urged her to write. February 2019. I was in bed, Meg was lying next to me, still asleep. I waited a bit, then broke the news to her softly. Your father’s given your letter to the Mail. No. Meg, I don’t know what to say, he’s given them your letter. That moment, for me, was decisive. About Mr. Markle, but also about the press. There had been so many moments, but that for me was The One. I didn’t want to hear any more talk of protocols, tradition, strategy. Enough, I thought. Enough. The paper knew it was illegal to publish that letter, they knew full well, and did it anyway. Why? Because they also knew Meg was defenseless. They knew she didn’t have the staunch support of my family, and how else could they have known this, except from people close to the family? Or inside the family? There was nothing in that letter to be ashamed about. A daughter pleading with her father to behave decently? Meg stood by every word. She’d always known it might be intercepted, that one of her father’s neighbors, or one of the paps staking out his house, might steal his post. Anything was possible. But she never stopped to think her father would actually offer it, or that a paper would actually take it—and print it. And edit it. Indeed, that might have been the most galling thing, the way the editors cut and pasted Meg’s words to make them sound less loving. But the pain was compounded tenfold by the simultaneous interviews with alleged handwriting experts, who analyzed Meg’s letter and inferred from the way she crossed her Ts or curved her Rs that she was a terrible person. Rightward slant? Over-emotional. Highly stylized? Consummate performer. Uneven baseline? No impulse control. The look on Meg’s face as I told her about these libels rolling out…I knew my way around grief, and there was no mistaking it—this was pure grief. She was mourning the loss of her father, and she was also mourning the loss of her own innocence. She reminded me in a whisper, as if someone might be listening, that she’d taken a handwriting class in high school, and as a result she’d always had excellent penmanship. People complimented her. She’d even used this skill at university to earn spare money. Nights, weekends, she’d inscribed wedding and birthday-party invitations, to pay the rent. Now people were trying to say that this was some kind of window into her soul? And the window was dirty? Meg wanted to sue. Me too. Rather, we both felt we had no choice. If we didn’t sue over this, we said, what kind of signal would that be sending? To the press? To the world? So we conferred again with the Palace lawyer. We were given a runaround. I reached out to Pa and Willy. They’d both sued the press in the past over invasions and lies. Pa sued over so-called Black Spider Letters, his memos to government officials. Willy sued over topless photos of Kate. But both vehemently opposed the idea of Meg and me taking any legal action. Why? I asked. They hummed and hahed. The only answer I could get out of them was that it simply wasn’t advisable. The done thing, etc. I told Meg: You’d think we were suing a dear friend of theirs. Prince Harry the Duke of Sussex

Thank you. No doubt she wrote this….we KNOW HER STYLE….😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[kilesplaysthings]

Sing Out

Here we go! I'm adding Ikemen Prince to my list of things I write for lol This time, it was Licht's route that prompted me to write something. Just a short little thing, but the idea came to me as I was reading his route so I quickly jotted this down.

Also, if anyone knows the film Harold and Maude, you'll recognize the song. Great film, btw. I highly recommend it. For some reason Licht reminds me of Harold ever so slightly.

Ah, there she is.

The quiet figure of the Sixth Prince of Rhodolite had been searching around the palace for the past five minutes for a certain young woman. To his relief, he had finally found her. She was in the music room, of all places, sitting in a chair by one of the great windows that stretched from the ceiling down to the floor. It let in quite the amount of natural light which shone down on the lady at this moment, forming what almost looked like a halo around her shining hair. He found it quite fitting.

She was not just sitting there idly. Her attentions were preoccupied by an instrument in her arms; a guitar. She was bent over it a little as she focused on strumming the strings in a pleasant tune.

“Emma.”

His low baritone of a voice interrupted the quiet moment and she quickly looked up at him. Her face immediately bloomed into a smile.

“Oh Licht! Hello there!”

Whether he wanted it to or not, a small smile appeared on his face in return.

“Hello. I was looking for you.”

“I’m happy you found me, then! Did you need me for something?”

He shrugged slightly and turned to look out the window, avoiding her gaze. She knew full well that this was a sign he was a little embarrassed.

“Not really. I just… I was able to take a short break and wanted to see you.”

He knew she was probably grinning at him. It was embarrassing to admit such things, especially since only a short while ago, he wanted nothing to do with people and would never have dreamed of saying or revealing something so emotional. But being with such a kind soul as Emma, getting to know her, receiving such kindness and empathy from her, he slowly began to realize that even someone like him could change. Being shut up in the dark, disassociated from the world, was not healthy; he knew that now. It was also very lonely. Emma had extended her hand of love and charity and pulled him into the light after he shunned it for so long. It was hard, it was painful, and even frightening at times, but he was beginning to enjoy this new form of life. As long as Emma was with him, he knew things would get better.

“I wanted to see you too,” she readily replied. “I was about to put this down and go find you actually.”

“I see.” He strode over to a nearby table to grab another chair. He set it down across from her and sat down.

“What is that, a guitar? I didn’t know you could play.” His voice held curiosity in it. He was actually very pleased he was learning something new about her.

“I can play some!” She answered. “I was in town the other day to pick up a book and heard an old tune my pap used to sing!” She blinked and sheepishly smiled. “I mean… my grandfather.”

She strummed the strings again and continued to smile at him. “It made me want to see if I could play it like he used to. Sariel told me there was a music room here in the East Wing and, well, here I am!”

He tilted his head, curious. It reminded Emma amusedly of an inquisitive puppy. 

“What song is it?” He actually did like to sing a little, and when he would go into town on patrol, he would catch some of the local songs. For whatever reason, he was able to remember tunes very easily, even after only hearing them once. He wondered if maybe he knew the song she mentioned, especially if it was an older one.

She looked happy he asked about it. Seeing her so happy made him feel happy.

“Let’s see if I can sing it properly. Hmm..” She hummed thoughtfully at first as she tried to picture the notes from the beginning of the song. It wasn’t long before she grasped it, plucking the strings before strumming them.

She began to sing.

If you want to sing out, sing out.

And if you want to be free, be free.

Cause there’s a million things to be, you know that there are.

And if you want to live high, live high.

And if you want to live low, live low.

For there’s a million ways to go, you know that there are.

She looked up a Licht and smiled. They gazed at each other as she played and sang and as he listened.

You can do what you want.

The opportunity’s on.

And if you find a new way

You can do it today.

You can make it all true.

And you can make it undo.

You see. Oh, it’s easy. Oh, you only need to know.

She grew more confident in her playing and strummed the guitar with more passion. He didn’t realize it, but he was smiling as he listened to the words and enjoyed her singing.

Well if you want to say yes, say yes.

And if you want to say no, say no.

For there’s a million ways to go, you know that there are.

And if you want to be me, be me.

And if you want to be you, be you.

Cause there’s a million things to do, you know that there are.

She grinned and nodded at him. “Sing, Licht!”

He blinked. She wanted him to sing this with her? Well, it wasn’t too hard to learn. He already practically had the tune down. It made him feel a little shy, but her pleasant singing and the happy tune was admittedly a bit contagious. And so, albeit hesitantly, he began to sing the chorus with her.

You can do what you want.

The opportunity’s on.

And if you find a new way,

You can do it today.

You can make it all true,

And you can make it undo.

His voice faded out as she sang the first verse once more time. He was happy to merely listen.

Well, if you want to sing out, sing out!

And if you want to be free, be free!

For there’s a million things to be, you know that there are!

You know that there are!

You know that there are!

And with that, the song was over. She strummed the guitar one more time and then sat back in her seat. She took a deep breath and sighed happily.

“Oh, that was fun! I’m happy you sang with me, Licht! We should do it again sometime!”

The smile he had kept on his face actually grew wider. “Yes, we could. But..” He felt a little shy again.

“But perhaps, only when it’s just the two of us?” He was still a little wary of showing different facets of himself to others. With Emma it was one thing; he loved her so. But it would still take some time for him to open himself up more to others.

Even so, he didn’t think he would mind singing that song again. There was something about it. It was so hopeful and encouraging. It spoke to him in a still, small voice that seemed to say, there is no need to be afraid. Live. Live and be happy.

“Certainly. I would like that,” Emma agreed. She set the guitar down on the floor and leaned forward to reach for his hands. She squeezed them affectionately.

“We should sing this song again, too. I thought of you when I heard it. To be honest, I wanted to sing it to you.” She admitted.

His heart beat a little faster. He didn’t know why he was able to receive and reciprocate such love from this wonderful woman, but he knew he would never take it for granted. His eyes stung and his throat felt a little raw. Taking a deep breath, he nodded, squeezing her hands in return.

“Thank you Emma. I would like to sing it again.” His voice was soft. If he spoke any louder, he was afraid his voice would betray the surge of emotions he was feeling from within.

Emma looked utterly happy to hear this. It was a hopeful sign. A sign that her beloved prince was growing; was beginning to feel more and hope more. There was a light in his eyes and a more relaxed expression on his face. She couldn’t wait to see more of this new Licht and, of course, to hear more of his singing.

[storyshiftinperspective]

[bittybattybunny]

Happy halloween from Ru, Eclipse, Hattie (and empress)

Stay safe and have fun!!!

(they are dressed as Mettaton (eclipse), Papyrus (Ru), Frisk (hattie), and flowey (empress)!)

[messedupessy]

Hm.. Underfell Gaster, SwapfellRed Grillby, and G!Papyrus? >:3c

Mhhh fyuck this one is even harder Grassy why u do this gjgjekgege 

but uhhh I would marry G!Papyrus, I do not have a take on him myself and neither do i plan to, but he is usually uh what’s the word the way ppl usually write/draw him is him been a total gentleman and a good boi so yeah marriage material rightthere ye

Uhhh fudge I don’t want anything to do with the other two at all, my UF Gaster is a total shithead and ugh while my sf Grillby aka Lord Carnation got a screw loose grjeughuighkjg

But mhhh sheit guess I would fuck Lord Carnation he is very pretty after all and get drunk with uf gaster even tho it will prolly result in my very untimely demise jgkerghiu4ghkjger, tho Lord Carnation might end up killing me too so there is no winner there pfft

Send me 3 characters to either Fuck, Marry or Get drunk with

[mythlived]

@duskwilt asked: [Cassandra; Hector] “ I have even understood their hatred for me. “

❛  Destruction by a two-edged sword !

   (  ♞  )  ━  Despair was a heavy burden to carry even amidst the carnage of their war torn country. Certainly, they had avoided the devastation of their city thus far, but the villages surrounding it had been raided with savagery the likes of which many of their people had never witnessed. There had been no mercy, no possible kindness and very little respect offered to his people in return for their lives. It was unforgivable and it was frightening. As such, the people had turned their fright, their animosity inward, toward things they knew could not fight back. It seemed that this subconscious decision had brought more suffering to his little sister, as if she could possibly afford to bear anything heavier than the burdens she already carried. Hector was a patient man, kind and understanding—perhaps to a fault—but the spark of his temper beneath his well woven temperament was undeniable. Regardless of their thoughts on Cassandra, she was of royal blood, as well, and even if she were not she was no less a person than the rest of them. On the contrary, she seemed even more so, if only someone would take the time to look, to see beyond what they could hear; it was in the way she held herself, in her gaze as she watched over the city of Troy and its people, in the way she cared for those around her. But people seldom looked beyond what they could see or hear or feel at the surface.  ❝  Do not mind their hatred for you, Cassandra. It is ill placed.  ❞  His words carried a hefty task, he understood, for he had never been hated by his own people, abhorred even, and had never had to overlook such vitriol being hissed at him for simply bearing his name and the weight of misfortune. 

He tried to imagine it, the burden that had been placed upon her shoulders at the whim of one of their selfish gods for refusing him. What darkness she had been forced into, what misery. Naturally, he could muster nothing close to what he imagined his sister had truly been through. The Fates were not known for their kindness, this much was true, but for them to have chosen someone like Cassandra—someone who had tried time and again to warn of this devastation for the sake of her people, for the sake of her family—for their games was cruel. But Hector was nothing if not devout. He could only assume or perhaps hope there was a larger reason for the games the gods played. After all, he was a willing participant in them and as such had volunteered his wife and child for them, as well. He could handle bargaining with his own life. . . it was his family’s that he would never offer to the gods and their whims. If he could have taken Cassandra’s place and given her his, he would have. Though he did not like to say as much, if he could have kept Paris from obtaining the prize he had so sought, he would have. Their people were not bargaining chips, yet that was what they had become. But that was not the problem at hand. Although it did bring to the forefront of his mind something else she had mentioned, something else that had prefaced the hatred their people directed at her as their outlet. And that was the bitterness that Paris had spat at her some nights ago. Or perhaps the previous evening, he could not be sure based solely on what she had told him. ❝  Nor should you mind Paris. He is stretched thin and vain. His words, at least, hold no power over you.  ❞  Smiling as fiercely as he dared at his younger sister when she seemed to be feeling so melancholy, he gave a jovial pat to her shoulder. Paris was harsh in his criticisms, but his spine was weak. He knew that she was aware of that, but nonetheless he thought it important to make it clear. Cassandra had more courage and mental fortitude than Paris could hope to have in several lifetimes. Even as a mostly unbiased elder brother, Hector would resolutely relay this information to whomever seemed to need it. Including Paris himself, if he must. 

[softtdaisy]

_barracuda

andrew garfield x reader (neutral)

based on: barracuda by heart

summary: andrew is playing in the remake of a knight's tale and you have fun watching your boyfriend in an armor

words: 763

a/n: thank you to my lovely @arciella for requesting this story with Andrew in a fantasy movie. The song is more of a background music for the story. It's super fluffly and lovely. I hope you will like it and it's meeting your expectations.💛

Join my 600 followers celebration 💛

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I don’t remember ordering a Prince Charming for Christmas!”

Being Andrew’s partner meant you could follow him in all his shooting. You loved seeing him act, you could tell all the passion he had for his job. Andrew loved having you around, it reassured him to see your face when he had any doubt on his acting. You always trusted him and made him feel like he was the best.

And you enjoyed seeing all the looks he had to get for movies. You took pictures for each one you got the chance to see. And this one…well, it was one you won’t forget.

Andrew had been cast for the remake of A Knight’s Tale. A movie that was long-awaited by fans. A huge role that he could add to his endless list of iconic characters he played. So yeah, it was a big thing. And you were proud of him for landing this role.

But the biggest thing about this movie was seeing Andrew in an armor. Something you never thought you would see.

He had taken off his helmet just before you entered the room. You could tell from the sweat on his face and how messy his hair looked. However, the armor was still on. And you had to admit Andrew looked extremely hot in this. Even if you had a little too much fun joking about it.

“Laugh all you want love, but I know that you secretly love this.” He looked at you with a little smile, the one he knew you couldn’t resist. It made him even more irresistible. You walked to him and kissed his cheek slowly. Andrew put an arm around you to keep you close. 

“Let’s just say that it’s interesting to see what you’d have looked like back in the days.” You shrugged and looked at him from head to toes. No doubt Andrew would have made a perfect knight or prince. He knew how handsome you thought he was, considering you were telling him all the time. But you loved playing around and pretend he wasn't that beautiful. You grimaced looking at him and Andrew pinched your arm as an answer. 

You had this lovely and playful relationship that made medias and fans obsessed with your couple. There was no doubt that you were making Andrew the happiest man in the world. When you were together, his smile spoke for his feelings. You don’t look much at tabloids, but you saw some paps pictures taken of you two. And you couldn't deny the love that screamed from them. 

“Andrew?” The director called from the corridor before appearing in the doorway. He looked at you with a sweet smile, the kind of reaction you always get when you’re together. “Oh hi [y/n] I didn’t see you there. So Andrew, we need to film the fight scene. You’re ready?”

“Sure.” He replied with a huge smile. He dropped his arm around you to take the sword that was laying against the wall. That. That was hot. When he turned around to look at you, you mimed a fan with your hand. And while Andrew was laughing again, you all went outside for the scene.

You stepped back to let the team work. From your position, you could see Andrew rode his horse with all the kindness he had in him. He was so sweet, making sure everything was alright. Once it was, they gave him his helmet and sword. And you wondered why Andrew had never played a knight before. He was made for this role. 

Before the shooting started, Andrew had turned his head to look at you. You couldn’t see his face at all but the small wave he gave you was enough. You were there for him, like you will always be. You sent him a kiss, that he captured by putting his hand on his heart. What a lovely and romantic boyfriend you had.

You couldn’t resist screaming “Fight for me my love!”. And even if the distance between you was quite big, you could still hear Andrew’s laugh. Or maybe it was the way he tilted his head back that made you imagine his voice. 

The scene started, and you just appreciated Andrew’s talent. How straight his back was, how confident he looked like he had done this his whole life. You were mesmerized by his presence. Suddenly you wondered if maybe you’ve been dating a knight since the beginning. In some way, your story with Andrew was your favorite tale. So maybe he was indeed a real knight.

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Thurs 15 April ‘21

A proper OT5 day today, how are we doing? Well, #stressed, apparently, LOL! Oh darlings, don’t worry...

First up, Liam finished his Prince Phillip drawing and captioned it “rest in peace… small tribute to you and your service,” sighhh. As Louis put it “boss drawing and that but get your priorities straight”, I truly couldn’t have put it better! I mean Louis may not have been referring to his politics, he was following up a tweet demanding Liam’s attention (“I see you on Instagram lad, answer your phone!!!!!”), but still he hit the nail on the head. Anyway, maybe Louis wanted to chat to weigh in on Liam’s haircut! (‘WTF mate I thought we were growing it out YOU LOSE’, perhaps?) Yes, Liam’s lion mane got a shearing; he posted a picture looking handsome showing the change, and #jesusLiam trended in memory of the lost hair as fans mourned dramatically. Also there’s a little behind the scenes video of Liam making his BAFTAs performance avatar (last glimpse of the long hair, RIP)-- no footage of him making funny faces but it does feature the very tight suit and the even tighter mo-cap outfit.

And what else is Louis up to? Well he came back to say that yes, he did talk to Liam, and to ask, “how’s everyone doing?” Just saying it wasn’t enough, fans trended the answer for him; STRESSED. We’ll be all right, said Louis, “Faith in the future. Keep your head up.” Faith in the future again!! Nice. We hear you sir and are looking forward to knowing what this is the title of… Also, a geotagged photo of him that wasn’t meant to be shared, was; it shows that Louis flew into LA the other day after leaving Mexico (it’s him at LAX in the outfit he left Mexico in-- look at that hair!! FLIP FLIP FLIP.) Is he still in LA, no way of knowing, so even if the pic wasn’t supposed to go out at least there was a delay and his location remains unknown, as he likes it, though he doesn’t seem to be home to London yet. For some reason people are really stuck on the idea that Sergio (his new footie bestie) said he was going back to London but even aside from the fact that I doubt they got that deep into itineraries, I’m pretty sure he actually just said that when Louis was back in London they’d meet up; not the same thing.

Assuming Louis is still in LA that’ll be convenient for him to go punch Nick Kroll if he wants! Nick said that during DWD filming Harry fell in love with him and they ‘made an omlette’ together... oh wait, no need, he just said they literally made some eggs and fake meat and ate it one night (and obvs that he was joking about their love, but it can for sure be hard to tell Harry’s supposed love affairs from jokes, I get it if you were confused.) He also said Harry is “very good at making everyone around him feel very comfortable. He's just very grounded.” Gucci is having some kind of online fashion opening today and there was a rumor Harry would attend which, yeah, sounds legit, and there’s a Harry puzzle in a Gucci puzzle book. First clue to the Harry Styles Puzzle, “a fictitious narrative.” Timely! Yes indeed, he and Olivia “were spotted together” in London last night, oooh my the scrambling to try and come back from those legal documents is really ON! Really though, WERE THEY? The tabs claim to have interviewed multiple people who were dining there and saw them. Reaaally, okay tell me- how did this come about? Were these people so excited to see a celeb that they called the papers… but none of them took a single picture or posted to their social media about seeing them?! Pics or it didn’t happen guys, COME ON: this is very much in keeping with how unbelievably half-assed they’ve been from day one but still, pretty pathetic attempt. Then rumors went around that Harry was actually out with GEMMA which would be hilarious, but seems more likely to me that no one was actually out anywhere at all.

The To Begin Again video is out! It’s pretty and tearjerk-y and it’s got sweet laughing Zayn content, good times!! It’s mostly sweeping shots of New York City and people there, living and laughing and being quirky and stuff, big humans of NY vibe, and Ingrid and Zayn in their studios happily making music. Zayn’s studio of choice (in Pennsylvania) celebrated their star turn by posting a pic of a signed guitar Zayn gave them back when he recorded Icarus Falls there. The TBA video director says, “we filmed this video in one day- sunrise to sunset.” TBA merch is on sale today in Ingrid’s store.

And there were lots of pap pics of Niall and Anne Marie filming their video (which is not out yet) in Essex. Seems they were FILMING it on the 8th, the day of Niall’s “it’s happening” post. So what’s HAPPENING is not the actual release of it, just yet, okay then. When will it come out? Who knows! We’ll be able to tell though, Niall will come back online for non-golf posting when the time is nigh, you’ll see. Meanwhile, pics of Niall out at a pub with his friends (outdoors) last night were posted, because that’s a thing that happens when celebs go out for public outings and lots of people see them.

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

The Birthday Fic

Several months in the making. Started around Ruggie’s birthday (Which is why he’s the opener) completed long past my own birthday.

Content warning for coarse language, sexuality, mentions of illness and the medication needed for managing it, and getting wildly horny to a point that even I was impressed with myself.

As always, there’s more in my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag, send me a message if you liked it! (I know what the birthday gifts were from most everyone, even if not mentioned in-fic.)

~*~*~*~

"I'm sorry dude, what did you say? You ears started going and I just tuned the fuck out."

"I said, 'when's it your turn to have the school-run birthday party?' It's got it be soon." Ruggie's intentionally twitching his damn ears, has to be, and you had to physically shield your eyes to be able to answer properly.

"I don't fucking know, man, I need to have a birthday for that."

"Everyone has a birthday."

"Yeah, but I don't know when mine is."

"Can't Crowley tell you? He's got all kind of magic."

You sighed. "He tried that, so I could remember my proper name. He can't even get a year fix."

"That fucking sucks, Yuu." Ruggie passed you a pop can before cracking open one himself. "You should get one of these, too."

"Ah, maybe Riddle will take pity and dedicate me a specific Unbirthday party." What was this, melon? Not bad.

"That's not the same because you won't get loot."

"Yeah, you wanna go through fifty boxes of chocolates to get rid of all the ones with potion-of-suck-your-dick? I'm good."

He scrunched his nose in disgust. "People still trying love spells on you?"

"Not as much, but I still get Mal to check them over for me. He's good about that."

"He just doesn't want to share."

"Shush."

"It's true!" He stopped for a moment. "Does he know you don't have a birthday?"

"He hasn't realized yet and you're not going to tell him."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

"Trey?" You blinked up at him. You didn't talk as much as you'd like to, mostly because every time he showed up your mouth rapidly filled with whatever treat he'd just made.

"What do you like best for cake?"

"I will literally eat anything that you put in front of me if you make it, even if it's full of shit I hate."

He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, new angle. What don't you like?"

Oh boy, he better prepare himself. "Fondant tastes gross, modeling chocolate is white chocolate so I hate it, a cake should be cake and not mostly fucking icing and rice crispy treats, most icing's too heavy for me if it's not whipped cream- why are you writing this down."

He looked up from his notebook, blinking at you with his pleasing yellow eyes. "Because you always give thoughtful feedback to my baking and I want to make you something as a thank you."

"Oh. If that's it, I'd rather have cheesecake."

~*~*~*~

"Mon Trickster~"

"Rook, I'm trying to re-" You yelped as he squeezed your waist, and you swatted at him. "Fuck's gotten into you?"

"What, I cannot play with my sweet friend?" He'd dragged you from your seat in the library, and was now doing his damndest to twirl you around without ramming you through the tables.

"Not right now! I expect this shit from Floyd, not you." He's going to get you both kicked out of the library if he doesn't smarten up.

"Our dearest Malfeasant is playing with the Rose King right now. Besides, he lacks my talents." He stretched your arms out straight before twirling you around, your back pressed to his front.

"Is that getting away with being a shithead?" you ask as you pap the side of his face, too little force to be a slap but with a similar message of 'stop'.

"Amongst much else, my dear!" He managed to dip you low, bracing one of your legs in the air, and you wiggled out of his grasp with a thump to the floor.

"Ah, what an invitation, ma belle! But alas, I cannot. It could never be. I'll see you at lunch." And he left you there, baffled, on the floor.

You wound up getting kicked out of the library after you started shrieking in rage and kicking like a damned toddler. What the fuck was that about?

~*~*~*~

"People are being weird."

"Everyone's weird around you." If Idia's combo kept, this would be a perfect match. "You encourage it in people with your presence. It's a passive AOE. No fighting against it."

"More than normal."

"It's the curse of spring. If you aren't sneezing, you see pretty girls and get stupid." He got his perfect match, and went back to the lobby. "Even I'm not immune to simp fever and spring flowers."

"You sure? You only go outside so you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency."

He pouted at you. "Girlfriends are supposed to be nice to you, you know."

"If I stopped, you'd wonder what's wrong. Anyway, then you couldn't brag to your followers about a tsundere girlfriend."

"You're not even a tsundere! You genuinely like me even when you're mean." He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "You're maybe sadodere."

"What's that one?"

"Sadistic yet affectionate."

You opened your mouth but genuinely couldn't argue. He was too fucking cute not to be mean to! What can you say? That pwease-no-buwwy aura he got when distressed was just too much.

"Yeah." He paused, a small smile creeping across his face. "Yuu."

"Yeah?"

"You really like stripes, don't you?"

You looked down, at his blue striped shirt you were wearing. It honestly fit you better than it did him. Further down was pinstriped socks, and if you remembered, the underwear had stripes too.

"What do you think."

~*~*~*~

"Mal?" "Yes?" "Why do you have all this even if you don't wear any of it?" "I do wear earrings now, thanks to you." He dropped another oversized ring onto your finger. "The rest, I simply don't bother with unless I must appear in an official capacity."

"So I'm a special occasion?"

He smiled at you, sweet and genuine. "Always."

"Then why am I your jewelry rack today?" So many necklaces. So many rings. There'd be a crown on your head, too, if the crowns for Draconias weren't essentially elabourate chains hanging off the horns.

"Perhaps I enjoy seeing you wearing my things. You wear Shroud's all the time." He was slowly going through a box of rings, trading them on and off your fingers after puzzling over them.

"Your clothes are tailored, and I'm too big around." You thought for a moment. "So, Mal."

"Yes?"

"Are you planning on something you aren't telling me?"

He blanched and immediately went shift eyed. "Of course not."

You took a breath. "I'm gonna say no."

"Yuu-"

"I'm pretty sure your grandmother would eat me alive if I said yes."

"No!" He made a shushing guesture. "I... am planning something. But not a proposal, my goodness, that would be too much pressure for you and would splinter the kingdom." He sighed. "Even if I would like it."

"I know you would. What are you planning."

"No."

"Yes, tell me."

"It's a surprise. You'll get it at some point in the future."

You thought back to some of the stranger events of the past few weeks. "... is it a birthday party, Malleus."

"Nnnnnnoooooooooooooo?" His face was a desperate, wide-eyed mask of please-believe-me.

"Yes it is."

"I didn't say that."

"You might as well have!"

"It's not." He wasn't even facing you anymore, knowing his face would betray him.

You took a deep breath. 

"I can keep pretending I don't know. I mean, if you want to throw a surprise party, I can't really stop you. And anyway," you added, "If I don't have a set birthday, there's no way I can know exactly when it's coming."

He relaxed, slightly.

"Don't get me a ring, though."

He chuckled. "That does have implications, doesn't it."

"Don't it, though?"

"I was checking what colours were most flattering for you." He finally turned around, all warm smiles. "I should have known. They all look lovely, because you're the one wearing them."

"Stop." You could feel you cheeks reddening. "If it helps, gold doesn't make my ears act up."

~*~*~*~

When you walked to your dorm one warm day, after school, you simply could not see the building for the brambles grown up since you left this morning.

"Yuu?"

"Grim?"

He squinted at you, unimpressed. "Your prince boyfriend has lost his fucking mind. Why'd he do this?"

"I think I know." You looked in amongst the branches, which held no roses, but something better. You plucked off a blackberry and held it to your little shoulder monster.

"Ew, no. I want tuna."

"Suit yourself." There was a path, and if you got on tiptoes, a tent half-hidden behind the briar. "You ready for a party, Grim?"

"What? What party?"

You shifted him from your shoulder to your hip as you walked along, careful of your sore arm. "They decided I needed a surprise party because I don't have an actual birthday. Figured it out like two... three? weeks ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He stopped, looked away, and bristled. "Why didn't they tell me?!?"

"Because you can't keep a fucking secret?"

He yelled and scrambled to the ground. "Hey assholes why didn't you tell me I better be getting presents too-" He's already out of sight, and you can't stop laughing at him. It's better like this, when he's himself.

~*~*~*~

Why is Everyone here. There's a huge stack of presents, there's a buffet table, there's chairs, there's - 

"Shrimpie's here!" And then everyone converged with enough words that it was just a wall of sound; mystery hands leading you to a chair, someone was trying to stick a hat on you -

"Wait!"

People only stepped off and quieted because your voice cracked. Idia, hiding in a corner, managed to raise sympathetic eyebrows before whispering something into Azul's ear.

"I gotta go inside for like, five minutes, I'll be right back." And off you went.

~*~*~*~

"You don't seem the type to do drugs."

You looked up and laughed. "Well, Vil, I gotta get through the day somehow." You shook out two pills and poured a glass of water.

"What are they for?" He leaned against the doorway, as though it wouldn't cover his clothes with splinters and dust.

"These," you said as you pointed to the two in your hands "are anti-nausea. They're new."

"How many of those do you take?" He nodded towards the other bottles on the counter. “I didn’t see them during training.”

"Well," you said, as you started to number them off on your fingers. "I started the first ones after Eliza, to help stabilize my organs, the second ones were immunity-boosting after my pneumonia, I started taking vitamins after that as well, I got sleeping pills for nightmares after Jamil blotted - they don't always work, but hey - and, well." You shook your current bottle. "Your curse vapours are pretty good, it turns out."

He blanched, and you backpedaled. "You weren't yourself, and I only have to take these before meals now. I had to get IVs in the morning for a few days, I couldn't keep... wait, wait, shit, no, I'm sorry, don't make that face -"

Vil crossed the distance, putting his face very close to yours. "You should have told me."

"Why make you feel even worse, man?"

"Because I could have formulated something better for the damage." He flicked your nose, more exasperation than malice. "Cures and poison go hand in hand. I can't fix what was done if I don't know."

"Taking care of my medical woes is not your job, Vil."

"You don't get to tell me what is and isn't my job." He squeezed you close with one arm. "You're just an exhausting little potato."

"I'm a delicious little sweet potato that you can't resist."

He sighed, exhausted. "Yes you are. Now take your pills and stop with secrets."

~*~*~*~

"What kept you?"

"Had to make sure there's room in the fridge for all your food, Trey." He hadn't chosen one cheesecake - he had at least two dozen varieties of bite sized miniatures, labeled by flavour and potential allergens. "You were busy."

"Well, I felt like experimenting. I hope you don't mind."

"You're the one doing me a favour." You looked around, everyone chatting idly with one another. "Where's Mal."

"..."

"I swear to fucking god if he didn't get an invitation to the party he helped organize-"

~*~*~*~

It turns out he'd left to fetch an obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers, the scent so overpowering you thought your chair might tip from the force of it.

"You do enjoy them?" Mal was so cute when unsure.

"Yes, dear." As long as people didn't crowd in again. Lately, you can only take so much sensation before your brain shorts out and you start yelling. "Set them on the table, I'll have to start on them later." Hairspray and an arid room would have those dried within the week.

"Which part of the celebration will we start with first?"

"I don't know. It's my party but you're the ones throwing it. Where's Grim?"

He pointed over to one of the set up tables, where Grim sat in a pile of wrapping paper, furiously kick-scratching at a wriggling toy fish as big as he was, while Cater filmed. "We realized a few days ago he'd be unhappy if he didn't get his own presents."

"Aww. Is there catnip in that?"

He leaned in conspiratorially. "We're not supposed to have any on campus because Kingscholar is susceptible to it."

You went right past normal laughter straight to wheezing.

~*~*~*~

So far, the highlights were: A mycological photobook from Jade big enough to crush someone's head with (that he cheerfully wrote as such on the inside flap), an enormous multipack of slipper socks from Ruggie (with a note saying it was a return on the doughnut-patterened ones you'd given him for his own birthday) and a parure set from Floyd, crafted from thousands of woven seed pearls with carved coral feature beads that was frankly obscene in the amount of money it must have cost. (He, of course, said it was worth it as long as you wore it for him, and simply laughed when you quipped that he meant with clothing right?)

The rest was fantastic, still - various books and movies, a pretty glass vase from Ace stuffed with wildflowers, fine silk dresses from Kalim and a simple belled bracelet tucked in, from Jamil. Currently, you were opening a basket from Vil.

"Oh, wow," you meant with sincerety as you pulled out a light, fragrant soap. "You make this yourself?"

"Yes. There's soaps, shampoo, conditioner, perfumes, lotions..."

You smiled at him sweetly. "You saying I stink, Shoenheit?"

He mirrored your smile right back at you. "Be sure to use them."

"... I'm going to kill you," you said, laughing, as you lobbed the wrapping paper at his face.

~*~*~*~

"Az?"

"Mm?" He was watching with amusement as you looked the jacket over, a lovingly tailored frock coat in periwinkle wool and shell toggles.

"Are you sure this'll fit?"

"Of course." He guestured down the table to Rook, who waved. "He checked your measurements."

"When did-" Ohhhhhh. Oh. Alright. "I'm surprised he couldn't tell by just looking."

"I could, mon ange! But that was more fun!"

~*~*~*~

Malleus barely hid his pout when sliding his box over to you, and it didn't take you long to guess why. "Floyd's jewels really show yours up, huh."

"Perhaps," he said, pointedly not looking at the boy currently playing with Grim.

"Yours are more special because they're from you." When unwrapped, the box was stunning; carved walnut with shell inlaid curlicues. "My god, how old is this?"

"Older than I am," he said with a smile.

"How old is that, Mal."

He just kept smiling, and you rolled your eyes and opened the box to reveal a piece far, far different than the frothy confection Floyd gave you. A single, sizable brooch of gilt and enamel, a tiny faerie woman staring up at you with imperious emerald eyes, she was so lovingly crafted you could see the tension of her muscles and the hair between her legs.

"This piece is only a hundred and fifty years old," he said mildly. "The artist lives in the Valley of Thorns, and created it in the image of her lover." His smile was fond, and sweet. "They're still together to this day. Even if we may not last so long, I hope that it can be as strong."

The sentiment was enough to make you tear up.

~*~*~*~

Several tissues and a bat-shaped blanket from Lilia later, Idia pulled out a large box. And another, and another.

"Uh, Idia."

He just turned red as he stacked another box.

"Dude, holy fuck. What did you do?"

"Looked at your wishlist on your shopping websites." He's flickering pink at the tips of his hair. "Couldn't decide."

"I told him to just get them all!" Ortho looked wildly proud of himself. "Some of them are from me."

You blinked several times. "I thought the sites broke." You started feeling faint. "Idia."

"Yes?" He finally brought out one last box, easily two thirds your height, and set it in front of you.

"Some of those dolls were... so much madol."

He was shifty-eyed. "Yeah."

"Some of the outfits were themselves more than some of the dolls on those wishlists."

Despite the redness, his face was still. "Yeah."

"Oh my god." You're already sitting down, but you need to lie down. "That's too much money."

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"Why do you have so much money one of those sites alone was at least a million madol's worth of-"

"Please just open the boxes," he said in a strained voice. "I don't want them all staring."

You take your shaking hands to start unwrapping, mentally trying to figure out which rooms in the building were sound enough to hold obscene amounts of porcelain, resin and plastic. By the time you were done, there were over forty of varying shapes and sizes with complete wardrobes for each; the last not even on any list - that was an art piece near as tall as you, a fine bone china girl with golden curls and knowing eyes from an artist whose work did not go for less than five million madol even firsthand. Your vision greyed at the sight of her, and when you came to your senses, everyone breathed a sigh of relief before spending the rest of the evening treating you as something at least as delicate and precious as her.

~*~*~*~

It's just past sunset, and guests are still milling about. You're not really looking at them, though - you're losing your little friend.

Grim's only himself in daylight, now. Once the night hits, he goes back to the strange, feral thing that laid your wrist open to eat a chunk of solid ink. He's gone twitchy, wordless, pacing with his now headless robot fish in his mouth, before finally tearing through the brambles to god-knows-where.

"... I don't know what to do about it. He doesn't come back at night anymore. What if he doesn't come back at all one night?"

"I won't let that happen." Idia was draped over the back of your chair, idly playing with the wrapping on your wrist. You couldn't see his face, but a curious tension was clear in his voice. "How many of those crystals has he eaten?"

"All of them, as far as I know." There may have been one on the camping trip that you were mercifully excluded from; thankfully your restraining order against Vargas meant that Grimm had been allowed to attend by himself. Good thing, too, your period had arrived weeks early. "Do you think it's like mercury poisoning? The effects get worse as more collects in his body?"

"Maybe. It's something to look into."

You snorted, lightly. "What do you know about it?"

"... Less than I'd like." Before you could ask, he leaned down to your ear to whisper, "I'd rather know you."

"What, now?" You looked around at the tables. "There's still people here-"

You barely stifled a cry when he nipped at your earlobe. "I put on something nice for you~" You could hear the smirk in his voice as he played every trick in his book to goad you. "Unwrap me and see~"

It took every ounce of self control in you to not throw him down on the table and take him right there, in front of God and every student in the school.

~*~*~*~

"I'm too late, I see."

"Close that damned door before everyone hears."

Malleus obediently shut the door to the balcony before setting his slotted pillow on the dresser. "They couldn't even if they had their ear to the door, I soundproofed all our rooms months ago."

"Aren't you clever. Did they buy the excuse?"

"I think that they would have believed that you were going to bed if you did not say it as soon as Shroud went inside looking very proud of himself."

You flopped back onto your pillows, eliciting a sleepy grunt from Idia. "Shit."

"And if you didn't trip on the stairs in your haste."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"Perhaps," he smiled, sitting at the foot of your bed and idly stroking your leg.

"So, why didn't you tail up after us?"

"I am, if I try very hard, capable of some discretion, even when it comes to you," he huffed. "And anyway, someone had to see everyone off, get everything put away, and bring the gifts inside."

Your face fell. "I'm sorry-"

He crept up to put a finger to your lips. "It was very simple. Now," he pressed himself against you and turned to look at Idia's drowsing form, "what is this?"

You snickered lightly to yourself. "I think he found my browsing history." All you'd left on him was a fine pair of silk stockings, with delicate stripes from thigh to toe. You'd never thought he'd even consider wearing something like that, but your pretty blue boy was so full of surprises.

Malleus hummed to himself as he reached out a hand, dragging a finger along one bruised hip. Idia only sighed and fluttered his lashes, and Mal let out a stuttering gasp.

"Do you think," he whispered, voice hoarse, "that if I took these off with my teeth, that he would still stay asleep?"

You felt faint at the thought. "I don't know, but let me watch you try."

~*~*~*~

You awoke, later, to Idia sitting with the blankets pooled around his waist, five of his blue screens open. You couldn't make much sense of them, too sleepy to make out the letters on their obnoxious brightness, so you reached out both hands to squeeze his waist.

He yelped and scowled at you. "Go to sleep."

"No, you." The screens weren't making any more sense, but there was, briefly, a picture of Grim. "What are you working on?"

"I'm almost done," he said, which was not an answer but you were too tired to notice, so you reached up his back to wind a few locks of hair around your hand - and pulled, which lead to another annoyed yelp as he quickly saved and closed his work. "Just say you're weak to light attacks instead of doing that."

"You know I am." When he finally laid back down beside you, you put your face to his chest, as much to block out the light from his hair as for warmth and comfort. No wonder he slept so poorly, he literally gave off blue light every hour of the day, that only dimmed once he was already asleep. "Tell me about it later, okay?"

"Later," he said, and you drifted off between your two boys, which was almost as nice as sleeping with Grim in your bed, but this would have to do until he got better.