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5lazarus · 3 years

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The Domestics

Alistair runs into an older elven woman on the battlements, watching the children play in the Skyhold courtyard below. They get to talking: isn't it nice that the mages get to keep their children now? Then, in the course of the conversation, Alistair figures it out. Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.” Read on Archive of Our Own here.

It’s snowing at Skyhold, which delays Alistair’s plans by a day. Anora cuts him loose, locking herself in the ambassador’s heated room with her furs, and he wishes he could change into less fine clothes and join the children in their snowball fight, or wander into the kitchens and see if he can sweet-talk the cook into giving him something hot and sweet to drink. He’s king, so he could ask for all the chocolate in Seheron, and doubtless the Inquisition would try to give it to him.

He walks the battlements so less people will see him and watches the battle in the courtyard below. The Inquisitor’s children seem to have made common cause with the servants’ kids against the visiting nobility; honestly it’s just a relief to see that it isn’t human against elf. Alistair, a tad self-conscious, touches his right ear. An older elf is watching them, smiling. Alistair wonders if she’s the mother of one of them below.

“Which one’s yours?” Alistair asks.

The woman says, “I’m only watching them for the Inquisitor. I’m their guard.” She’s got short black hair, threaded with silver, but her eyes are lively enough. She’s wearing green robes with a bit of Dalish-looking embroidery at the ends of her sleeves. She’s got an Orlesian accent, too. He didn’t know the Inquisition was working with elves from Orlais, didn’t Anora tell him to keep an eye out for Ambassador Briala’s livery?

“Oh.” He shouldn’t feel awkward, but he blushes anyway. He stares at the woman’s feet, toes poking out of those foot wraps, and wonders how on earth she’s not freezing. Alistair’s got a coat of heavy wool, trimmed in fur.

The woman notices he’s staring and says, matter-of-fact, “My circulatory system is different than yours. We conserve heat more efficiently than your people. Besides, I’m a mage. It’s easy to keep warm.”

That has him a bit miffed. Of course he knows elves are biologically different than humans; they can still breed, though. He’s evidence of that. He doesn’t feel the cold as intensely as the others at court, and he knows why. The servants at the palace can tell, even if he passes, for the most part. Eamon and Tegan talk all the time about how much he looks like his father, how much he looks like Cailan, but he’s seen enough portraits of them both to know how he differs.

Alistair says, again, “Oh. Cool. I’m half, you know.” It’s not that he’s discouraged from talking about it, but it’s never been something to advertise. Those with eyes to see it don’t need to be told, but right Alistair feels like he needs to justify himself, with the way she’s looking at him. Skyhold has had him wrong-footed; Leliana has been distant and he is finding it harder and harder to slip away from the King. Anora tells him that’s part of adulthood. He’s not so sure.

The woman says, “I know.”

Alistair folds his arms. “Really? Because I didn’t. What’s your name, by the way?”

The elf smiles sadly. “Fiona. I used to travel with the Grey Wardens, when I was young.”

Alistair says, “Really? The Grey Wardens don’t really let people leave. Unless, you know, you point out that yet another civil war is going to break out if they don’t let you put your ass back on the throne. What was your excuse?”

Fiona says, “I had a baby. It’s hard to keep a nursery going in the Deep Roads. The darkspawn get jealous.”

“Oh. Can’t be having that, they’re crabby enough as it is. Though I heard of a Warden who brought his cat into the Deep Roads too, scratched out the eyes of a hurlock apparently. You’re lucky, most of us can’t have kids. I can’t. Probably.” He thinks about his own natural daughter with Tabris and blushes at the lie, rubbing at the back of his head. It’s for her own good and the good of the realm he hasn’t brought her to court. It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason, and Morrigan has the spare heir anyway, if Anora can’t figure something out.

Fiona says, “I suppose it’s luck. The Circle took him away from me, and gave him back to his father.” She sounds wistful. “But under the Inquisition, the mages keep their children. It’s a different world now. There’s no going back.”

He thinks to himself, I’m not so sure—the disastrous plans for the Hinterlands, the riots in Denerim, the failure of the embassy in the Brecilian forest. He thought after the Blight, with this new alliance between elves, dwarves, and men, there would be no going back. Anora tells him it’s a struggle for the future and that reform doesn’t come in a day, perhaps not even their lifetime: sometimes they need to settle for establishing the groundwork for the next person to rule, like Maric did for them. But of course, Anora’s never had her cousin kidnapped and brutalized, or her father sold into slavery. That sort of perspective changes things.

Alistair says, “Really?” He scratches his head. “I look at things in Ferelden and wonder how things can stay so stagnant, and then you look at Orlais and how they’re eating themselves alive. And Orzammar, of course, which is basically a living fossil. People don’t like change. They’d prefer for things to stay the same, or even go back to how they were a generation ago.” He is surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

Fiona cocks her head and looks at him curiously. She says, “You’re too young to be talking like that. You must understand it comes in seasons—we flourish in spring and reap our harvest in summer, and then prepare for and suffer through the conservative reaction in winter. Sometimes it’s a harsh winter, and many do not survive. But then there is always the spring. You lived in Ferelden, you should know—from the Night Elves who freed your people from the Orlesian occupation to Clan Alerion securing the boundaries of the Hinterlands now, things have changed. You just need to…riot every so often, to make sure no one gets complacent.” She grins.

It’s nice to talk politics with someone who doesn’t know who he is, who thinks he’s just another wealthy Ferelden currying favor with the Inquisition, not a king staring down the religious cult that just carved itself a city-state at the border of his realm. Below the children are yelling. A couple of them are using magic to freeze the snowballs, and they’re having a fierce debate, interspersed with throwing said ice balls, on whether that’s fair.

Alistair says, “Then I hope you’re right. I hope the mages and the Inquisition’s made enough of a, er, spring, to shake things up. It’s good for these kids to stay with their families, I hated what the Circle did. I didn’t know my mother, growing up. Would’ve avoided a lot of angst if I’d gotten to meet her.” He thinks about Morrigan and her awful mom, and then Goldanna flashes through his mind. Ashamed, he pushes the thought away. “Or maybe it would’ve made it worse! Hard to say, I certainly don’t know!” He smiles at the woman brightly.

Fiona says, “It might have made it worse, since she was an elf. Your life would’ve looked very different, even in Ferelden.”

His heart stops. Surely she doesn’t know who he is. That could be awkward, considering what he’s been saying. Anora will be furious that he’s gone off and talked politics with another random person again. He can’t help it, he gets bored easily, and the courtiers and advisors only tell him what they think he should want to hear.

“How do you know I’m Ferelden?” Alistair asks suspiciously.

“You’re wearing the badge on your fur coat. And, of course, your accent. Unless I am mistaken?”

“No, no,” Alistair says. “But yeah. Sorry. I don’t know much about her. Don’t know if she’s still alive. Just that she was an elf. Always assumed she was a serving woman or something, if my father was anything like C-Caleb.”

Fiona says, “Sometimes it’s better not to think about it, how we came into the world. I never met my parents either.” She leans against the balustrade and shakes her head at the kids fighting in the courtyard below. They’ve devolved into outright brawling, but that weird Warden the Inquisitor keeps around her has waded into the fray, bellowing orders. “It’s good to see them playing again. They never had enough time to play.”

“When were you a Warden?” Alistair asks. “You know, my dad travelled with the Wardens too. But they didn’t make him join up—guess that’s why I’m here, ha-ha.” He wants to ask her if she ever met him, because they might have overlapped. It’s hard to tell with elves sometimes though, they age more slowly, but she looks like she’s in her late forties, a bit careworn. Then he decides he really doesn’t want the conversation to get weird, because he is a king and his father was a king, and it’s rare that someone speaks to him normally now—treats him like the lovable idiot he knows he is, not the history-breaking king.

Fiona says, “Oh, give or take thirty years or so. I try not to count the years, at my age. My people live a long time if left unmolested, but I have a knack for running into trouble.”

Alistair laughs. “Oh, me too! I don’t even mean to do it, I’ve just never learned to keep my mouth shut.” To Teagan and Anora’s chagrin, he thinks ruefully. “I was given to the Templars as a boy, before I managed to get the Wardens to take me, and Maker! The Mother despaired of me. Called me most the accidental heretic she’d ever known. Really the Wardens taking me saved my life, Maker knows what they would’ve done to me if I kept poking at them like I was.”

Fiona pauses, trying to suppress a laugh, and then says, “At least you’ve never started a war.”

Alistair laughs heartily at that. Then he realizes what she’s said. “Wait, what? You started a war?”

Fiona says, “You…you didn’t know?”

Alistair says, “Is there something I should know?”

Fiona steps away, smoothing her expression away. “Many things.” Anxiously she peers down into the courtyard, smoothing her sleeves over her hands. The two factions of Skyhold children have joined forces and are attacking Blackwall with snow, but another one of the Inquisitor’s companions has joined the fray—a cackling elvhen girl, and then Alistair sees that from the balcony of the inn there’s a mustachioed mage swatting snowballs away from his friend.

Alistair says, “You never asked me my name.”

Fiona glances at him and then turns away. “I didn’t need to. You look very much like your father. Though I suppose you must know that.”

Alistair opens his mouth and then closes it. He says, voice hoarse, “Did you ever—“ He stumbles over his words, and clears his throat. “Did you ever find out what happened to your baby? When the Circle took him away.”

Fiona hesitates. The silence between them is filled with the children laughing below, the mage grandiosely chanting what are clearly made-up words, and the old Warden dramatically pretending to be overwhelmed by the volley of snow. The elven girl is swearing revenge, right now. It looks the children are trying to steal the “body” and make a pyre out of snow.

Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.”

Fiona covers her face with her hands.

Alistair continues, “Then, yeah, being apostates suck. Believe me. I met a girl who lived in a swamp. But I think we could’ve made it work. Like since I pass, and I’m not magic—at least I don’t think so, but I think I’d know by now? I’m like, thirty-five. Or something. I could’ve gone to the villages and traded for food. And I would’ve known more about who I am. Than just Maric’s bastard. Who’s just a story, anyway. That’s how kings like that end up. Just stories.”

His mother is weeping now.

He says, “I have no idea how you started that war you said you did. But I think I know what I’m supposed to know.” He takes a step closer, and she doesn’t move. He says, helplessly now, “I think I have your eyes.”

Fiona leans against the balustrade, back to the courtyard below. She’s not crying now, but she’s not making any sound. Alistair is afraid to go closer. Her hands press into her face like a mask, restraining a scream. He thinks if he touches her, all that tension will explode. He gets overwhelmed like that too. Can you inherit that sort of thing? He has to wonder, does the way one expresses pain get passed down in the blood?

He waits for her to speak. A door behind them creaks open, footsteps scuffle to a stop, then retreat. The door shuts. The mage has come down into the courtyard now and is chanting what appears to be Nevarran over the pile of snow that is Blackwall’s pyre. The elven girl is leading the children in mourning—but then the mage flourishes, and the snow glows purple, then scarlet, then green as he sparks. Blackwall throws the snow off and roars. The children cheer.

Fiona breathes heavily, drawing herself out of wherever she retreated. She swipes at her face with her sleeves. She says, “Forgive me. It was better that you didn’t know. You couldn’t have become—you deserved—Maric needed—what are you going to do, I told the Divine to go fuck herself, you can’t have a mother who told the Divine—“

Alistair says, impressed, “You told the Divine to go fuck herself? I am your son, I knew it had to come from somewhere! This is your fault!” He gestures at himself, and Fiona manages a laugh.

“An exaggeration,” she says. “I merely said the Divine should fuck herself, right before we voted to dissolve the Circles and separate from the Chantry. I’d hoped to tell her that at the Conclave, which is why they sent Orsino rather than myself.” Her mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Perhaps the only time running off my mouth and losing my temper has saved my life.”

Alistair says, “Well, the Divine was kind of an ass. Somebody had to say it.” He laughs. “Oh, this is wonderful. My mother, the rebel mage.” He’s genuinely delighted, this is much cooler than anything he came up with as a boy. “This is so cool. Anora’s going to be so annoyed when I tell her. Not like she can complain, her dad betrayed the realm and got all the Wardens killed, so really on the scale of shitty in-laws, I win.” He pauses: he isn’t sure he conveyed what he wanted to by that. Fiona is just staring at him. “But seriously, I don’t know who you are. Besides, obviously, my mother.”

Fiona says, disbelief in her voice, “I’m the Grand Enchanter."

Alistair says, “Oh Maker, I should’ve recognized the belt, shouldn’t I?”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic #dragon age fic #fiona #king alistair #alistair finally gets reunited with fiona #alistair #alistair theirin #fiona & alistair #I have typed this man's name so often it ceases to look real #fluff #family fluff #family reunion #happy ending

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missmitchieg · 3 years

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Alex, Not Alexis

When Alex Mercer was born, his doctor called him a baby girl. His parents dressed him up in a pretty pink onesie with white stripes and took him home. They named him Alexis Abigail Mercer. They liked to call him Lexi for short.

At a year and a half old, Alex was sat in the living room watching Sesame Street while his mother, Rebecca cooked dinner and his father, George sat reading the newspaper. He smiled and giggled when Suzanne Farrell appeared in her pretty pink tutu and danced around like a ballerina. He clapped as she twirled and stood in fifth position, and Rebecca decided then that her little "Alexis" was going to take ballet lessons when "she" turned two.

At two years and a month, Alex was put into his first ballet lesson, clad in a pretty pink tutu, just like Suzanne. He was taught how to stand in position, how to move his arms and hands so he could dance, just like her. He smiled proudly at himself as he twirled in his little tutu, his proud mother watching with happy tears in her eyes.

When Alex started school a few years later, he was nervous to be in a new environment. He's always been a little anxious about trying new things and about being away from mommy and daddy. The little boys and girls at school already seeming cliqued up and excluding him did not calm him down.

For a few years, he would come home from school upset and crying because the other kids laughed at him for panicking, needing his Epi-pen, or whatever bad thing happened that set him off like a boy pulling his pigtails. When he didn't, he would tell his mom he was sick, because he did sort of feel sick, and ask for chicken soup and a mom-approved show on the TV.

But when he felt alright, he would just go and suffer the consequences. Until one day in third grade when he met this boy named Luke Patterson. Luke was nice to him and would yell at bullies for being mean because "She's not doing anything bad! Just leave her alone!" and run to tell a teacher to get them in trouble.

"Thank you, Luke, for making them go away." Alex would tell him and push his bangs out of his face, behind his ears. He was sort of starting to hate his long bangs and long hair. But he loved his pink clothes.

"No problem!" Luke would respond and grab his hand, and they would take off together in search of crickets and grasshoppers to chase.

They stayed best friends all though out the rest of their elementary years, and into middle school. His parents loved Luke for Alex. A little boy who shared their sweet "Alexis'" faith and was nice to "her"? He seemed absolutely perfect. Until they got to know him.

See, Luke was sort of a stubborn, rebellious boy who liked rock bands and electric guitar. It only got worse when the pair met Bobby Wilson in the seventh grade and introduced them to Reggie Peters, who wore leather jackets and Bobby only encouraged Reggie, Luke and Alex sneaking out to see bands they liked, and who called their sweet baby Alex. Little did they know it was because Alex had asked the three of them to call him that.

Alex laughed as he stood in the arcade with Bobby, Reggie and Luke, beating Reggie at Street Fighter for the third time that day. Their arcade trips had soon become a regular thing, and they had learned to ignore the strange looks they got from the fact of the four of them being three boys in rebellious rocker boy garb and a girl in a baby pink hoodie, grey baggy shorts, hair shoved under a black snapback, and Nike sneakers.

"Way to go, Alexis!" Reggie cheered him on, fist in the air in celebration at his best friend winning yet again.

Alex blinked and felt his smile falter just a little, giving Reggie a fist bump. "Thanks, buddy."

Reggie took notice of her smile shrinking, though, and frowned a little, tilting his head. "Hey, you ok? Something bothering you?"

"What? No, I'm fine. Just-" Alex stopped to take a deep breath, shoving the anxiety building up in his stomach down. He knew his friends would be fine with such a small change, so why did the idea of asking this of them make him want to throw up the pizza they just ate? "I- Can you guys stop calling me Alexis? I don't like that name. I want to be called Alex." He admitted and bit his lip, bouncing on his heels.

"Oh, sure." Reggie shrugged like it was nothing.

"No problem, Alex." Luke agreed with a smile.

"Alex it is." Bobby nodded. "But is Lexi still ok?"

Alex considered it for a second and nodded with a smile. "Lexi is still ok, but thanks for asking first."

"Hey, we just want you to be comfortable, Alex." Bobby smiled and Alex chuckled, bumping shoulders with him. "Thanks, boys."

"Anything for you, Lexi." Reggie promised. "Besides, it would be weird of me to call you a name you don't like when I ask everyone to call me Reggie instead of Reginald. Just feels wrong." He said, scrunching up his face when he spoke his full name.

"Or Bobby instead of Robert." Bobby cringed.

"Or Luke instead of... Um, Lucy." Luke admitted and bit his lip, watching his best friend's reactions carefully.

"Luke fits you better." Alex told him, silently promising to keep his real name a secret from the rest of the world for all eternity, and he saw appreciation in Luke's eyes at that. So his best friend was both Christian and transgender (and maybe so was he). It didn't have to be a big deal. Luke was still Luke, and he would always be just Luke to Alex. He smiled, silently pointing his thumb at the game machine.

"I like Luke!" Reggie grinned, giving him a comforting pat on the back.

"Yeah, man. It sounds cool. Sounds like a rock star name." Bobby commented and Luke chuckled as he put another coin in the slot to play (and lose) again.

So it was settled. His boys called him Alex and Lexi and he called his boys Luke, Reggie and Bobby. It worked for them. It felt right.

He knew he couldn't just ask his parents to stop calling him the name they picked out that they loved so much, so he just didn't. And he definitely wasn't planning on ever telling them that he was pretty sure he was a boy like his best friends, not a girl like they had previously thought, because he'd heard the awful way his very conservative, very religious parents had talked about "disgusting queers and their sick desire to poison the youth and watch the world go up in flames".

So yeah, he was very much content with keeping it a secret until he turned eighteen and moved out so he could do whatever he wanted to, like cut his hair and legally change his name and get a whole new wardrobe that he didn't have to hide in the back of his closet behind pretty church dresses and ballet class tutus. Like his cool hoodies and pants and sneakers. He still loved the color pink. It was still his favorite. He was just a boy that liked pink. Not a girl. It didn't have to be a big deal.

And he did keep that secret, very well. For a while. Some punk kid at school told his parents and they told Alex's parents, who promptly threw a massive tantrum about having a daughter, not a son, and how they did not raise "Alexis" to be like this. How they were not going to raise a "queer" and Alex needed up to clean up "her" act or "she" could find another place to live because "she" could not stay there if "she" was going to be like that.

"And what if I like the way I am, dad? What if I like that I think I'm a boy, and like that I think I might like Luke?" Alex finally snapped and crossed his arms, and both of his parents were shocked into silence.

"Really, Alex?" Luke asked softly, uncharacteristically quiet for once. He looked up at Alex from the couch where the pair were previously finishing Math homework together, his eyes wide and hopeful.

Alex softened and gave Luke a little smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, Luke."

"And Luke, how do you feel about our Alexis?" George sneered at Luke and sent him a bitter glare, almost daring the boy to challenge him, and Luke, well, he never said no to a dare or a challenge.

Luke pursed his lips at George and gave him a sickly sweet smile. "Well, I dunno who Alexis is, sir, but I do know that Alex is one of the coolest, smartest, most talented and amazing boys I've ever met." He answered, putting an emphasis on "Alex" and "boys" just to piss George off.

"Luke." Rebecca spoke up, fists clenched and eyes trained on Luke. "Say that again." She ordered slowly, as if asking him to speak again would change the words that came out of his mouth.

Luke scoffed, standing from the cough and dropping his text book to the floor. "I said, ma'am, that Alex is one of the cool, smartest, most talented and amazing boys I've ever met, and I like him, too." He smiled and took Alex's hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze and smiling when Alex squeezed him right back.

"Get out of this house! Both of you!" George commanded, pointing toward the door.

"Bye!" Alex waved and walked out with Luke, as if this was something perfectly normal and fine, getting on his bicycle. "Let's head to Bobby's. Reggie's already there with him."

So now Alex was taking up residence in the Wilson garage. He guessed he really should've known they would find out some way or another. He wasn't openly telling people he was a boy named Alex, but he also was necessarily acting like the little ballerina princess people used to know as Alexis. No, now he was just that "girl" that always hid "her" hair under hats before just cutting it all off, and that "girl" that played the drums and hanged out in the arcade or played basketball with a bunch of guys.

Reggie came soon after, when his parents' fighting had just become too much for him to handle. Alex always felt bad and wished there was some way he could snap his fingers and magically have everything be fixed, but there was nothing he could do to help anyone. That didn't help his anxiety, either. The only thing that helped, was drumming. So he drummed, a lot.

The boys ended up forming a band that they called Sunset Curve. (Reggie came up with it. Reggie also designed their logo. Both things he was very proud of. And the boys loved it.) It took them a few years, Luke and Alex deciding they were better as friends, Luke moving into the garage, and some gigs at book clubs, but they were starting to get big. Big enough to play The Orpheum.

And then three of them ate some bad hot dogs.

Alex guessed the afterlife wasn't so terrible. Sure, he was dead and he couldn't eat pizza or Bobby's mom's famous meals anymore, but dying brought him and Luke and Reggie to Julie. With Julie came Ray, and Carlos, and Flynn. And sure, he couldn't actually talk to Ray or Carlos, but he could talk to Flynn with Julie's whiteboard or Julie relaying messages to them, so he had that.

And then came Willie.

Sweet, funny, handsome Willie that was nice to him, and answered his questions, and used the name Alex had asked him to. Sweet, funny, handsome Willie that showed him how to move objects by focusing his energy into his hands, and gave him a new coping mechanism for his anxiety. Sweet, funny, handsome Willie that liked to cause trouble with cops, and went by "they" and "them", which Alex would always respect, because he knew what it was like to be misgendered and he was never going to do that to his sweet Willie.

There was just one little thing bothering him on one random Saturday. He hadn't yet told Willie that he himself was trans. He was going to! He wasn't going to keep that a secret from someone sort of like him. He just hadn't gotten around to it yet, but now he would.

"Hey, Wills." He piped up as they were sat in a museum, shouting a little and talking through his stressor of the week.

"Yeah, Hot Dog?" Willie smiled, running their finger through Alex's soft blond locks.

"I'm trans. I'm a trans boy." Alex told him after a moment of hesitation, leaning into Willie's gentle hand.

Willie raised their eyebrows and their smile widened, scooting closer to Alex. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Ok."

"Willie?"

"Hmm?"

Alex blushed and chewed on his lip, taking a deep breath and looking Willie in the eye. "I really like you. A lot."

Willie gasped softly and felt their jaw drop as they looked at Alex, a soft smile forming on their face. "I like you, too, Lexi."

Alex smiled at the way the affectionate nickname sounded on Willie's lips, raising a hand to tuck Willie's hair behind their ear. "Then, can I kiss you?"

Willie let out a giggle and nodded, leaning in slowly. "Yes."

Alex leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips against Willie's, his hand grasping Willie's neck gently. He pulled away slowly after a while and bit his lip, still unable to hide the smile on his face. "That felt really good."

"Yeah." Willie agreed.

"Can I do it again?"

"God, yes." Willie nodded immediately. "Yes please, Lexi."

Alex giggled then and kissed Willie again, softer and slower this time.

So, yeah. Maybe the afterlife wasn't perfect, but it came pretty damn close if you asked Alex, so he wasn't going to complain.

#julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #willie #jatp fanfic

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1322

surveys by taco-tuesdays

What are some foods from your childhood that you miss? Surprisingly a lot of my favorite childhood snacks are still around; but one that sadly got discontinued as soon as I first learned about it in first grade was a Japanese brand of chips called E-Aji. I was crazy for those, and I loved that they even came with dips.

Which app on your phone do you use the most? Either Facebook or Messenger.

Do you know of anyone who went into labor at the baby shower? No. I don’t even know anyone who’s held a baby shower.

When's the last time you did a hand game with someone? (ie: Mary Mack) I’m not sure. Maybe a year or two ago.

How old is your oldest living relative? I think my great-grandparent from my dad’s side is still alive; she’d have to be over 90 now.

What was the worst part about being a kid? Having to be stuck around kids who may not be raised as properly and may end up teasing, bullying, or being a general pain in the ass towards you – and still getting away with it because you’re both kids.

What's the best part about being an adult? The independence.

How many hours of sleep do you need in order to function successfully? Around 6 or 7. 5 is fine too I guess, but I might be cranky for a while.

What are two foods that are supposed to taste weird together, but you like? ...ugh, I’m blanking out at the moment.

What is your favorite kind of dip? I don’t have a preference; I like dips in general and am always open to trying new/unfamiliar flavors.

Do you know anyone who was not born in a hospital, unexpectedly? Nope. As far as I know everyone I know had been born in the hospital.

Does anyone you know have dual citizenship to live in multiple countries? Probably.

Do you still have a landline phone/phone number? Yeah, we keep it around for older relatives who don’t have cellphones.

Do you know anyone who lives in the Southern Hemisphere? Yeah we have a number of relatives who have settled in Australia and New Zealand.

What are some things from childhood that you still do today? Tinker around with anything that has buttons or knobs or anything I can toy with.

Name a fad that was popular when you were growing up, that you miss. I don’t miss any fads.

Have you ever gotten to milk a cow or a goat? Never yet.

Have you ever taken a gymnastics class before? I mean we were given a few gymnastics-related lessons in our PE classes, like we were taught the basics of walking on a beam, but I’ve never taken a full-on gymnastics class.

What's the worst part about being an adult? All the boring but required bills.

What was the best part about being a kid? The much shorter and simpler list of things to worry about.

Were you ever force-fed as a child? No.

What's the worst thing you could hear before going under anesthesia? Idk, probably someone realizing at the last second that they fucked up the dosage or whatever.

What's the last thing you rolled your eyes about? Clients and media messaging me on Viber and following up on various stuff despite my profile picture which clearly and loudly states I’M ON LEAVE.

Should kidneys or other organs be able to be bought and sold? That just doesn’t sound right to me. I know a lot of young people (me included, lol) make jokes about selling a kidney to get concert tickets or whatever, but at the end of the day I just don’t think this is something very sustainable. I’m alright with the option of having your organs donated at most.

When's the last time you had to refrain from telling someone I told you so? Cooper is having a bit of a diarrhea issue today and I just know it’s came from overeating c/o my mom. I’ve kept telling her to calm the fuck down when it comes to the servings and she never listened, so today she has had to deal with the dog vomiting and poop that’s on the soft side.

What's one of your favorite riddles? I’m not a big fan of riddles.

What is one of your most important rules when going on a date? I don’t really go on dates, but I imagine I’d be a bit conservative. No kissing or hand-holding or anything, especially if I don’t know them all that well yet.

Do you judge books by their covers? (actual books) Yes, sometimes.

What unethical experiment would have the biggest positive impact on society? I don’t understand how this would come to life if it were already unethical to begin with.

What did you find while snooping, that you really wish you hadn't? Ok this was definitely my fault, but during my heartbroken and hung up era (lol) I remember going through my ex’s account after we broke up just so I can see what she had been up to. I saw a tweet where she was talking about how happy she finally was, so...you can just imagine how that went down for me.

I entered into another spiral, but it was also one of those moments that flicked a switch inside of me, telling me to just move the fuck on. I did shortly after. It’s a memory I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but I’m also grateful for it to some extent.

What's something most people don't worry about but probably should? House fires. It’s something I’ve always been paranoid about.

Do you use movie quotes often? Almost never.

What are some of your favorite idioms/sayings? I don’t really find myself using a lot of idioms these days.

Will children today have better or worse lives than their parents, and why? I want to say better. It seems as though today’s generation of parents make smarter decisions, are more politically aware, are more welcoming in terms of differences in society, etc. and I believe all of those can make for good influences on kids.

When was the last time you had a new lease on life? Probably the start of 2021 when I started to proactively bring in good change for myself and my mental health and my life in general.

What's the craziest conversation you've overheard? As much as I enjoy getting gossip from my friends, I don’t actually eavesdrop myself lol. I mute people out when I’m in public.

What are some goals that humanity is not focused enough on achieving? Eliminating racial discrimination.

If you were capable of possessing people, what would you make them do? I don’t even want to start thinking about this.

What's the most ironic thing you've seen happen? Seeing people be crazy religious lunatics while still advocating for thieves and creeps in public office.

Which charitable cause is most deserving of money? I think it differs for everyone since we all have our own advocacies. Personally I’d keep donating to animal shelters or any animal-related NGO.

Do you live in the same hometown as where you were born? No, I haven’t lived in Manila in over 20 years. Fortunately.

Did you dorm at college or commute from home? I drove to and from home. My university wasn’t too far away that I needed to move into a dorm.

How long before you tell someone that enough is enough? Depends on the person. I give most people a chance or two; but for people I view more important/want to keep in life I’d pretty much act like a doormat for them.

Do you want to get married one day? Why or why not? It would be nice to, but it’s the kind of thing where I’d be fine whether I end up getting married or not. It’s definitely not a priority right now.

Do you file your own taxes or have an accountant do it? My company does it for me.

How often do you get your haircut? Just once a year. I’m not very hands-on when it comes to my hair.

Do you prefer the thin blue and white masks, or decorative ones? No preference; I just go with whatever stock we happen to have at home.

Have you ever witnessed someone have a seizure before? No.

Are you someone who puts a decent amount of emojis in their texts? Eh, not really. I barely use emojis with friends, but I would insert one or two when I’m texting someone for work purposes.

What was the last excuse you used when you didn't want to hang out? I don’t turn down offers to hang out.

Do you own more solid colored socks or patterned socks? Patterned.

What is something that still excites you as though you were 5 years old? Honestly? Fireworks.

Tennis, Ping-Pong, or Badminton? Table tennis!

Do you buy seasonal/limited edition treats for yourself? Just sometimes. I don’t have to have them.

Have you ever rode on the back of a shopping cart, or a Home Depot dolly? Yeah. It’s been a while since I did the groceries with my family but I would definitely still hop on the back of a shopping cart and zoom through the aisles at 23 hahaha.

Does everything you buy have to be organic? No. Things are different here and most of us can’t really afford to go that extra mile to make sure everything we get is organic or gluten-free or vegan or whatever. Those products aren’t the most accessible here to begin with.

Do you support more small businesses or chain restaurants/stores? I think I give an equal amount of support. Sometimes I’ll order a meal from small businesses on IG; other times I’ll, say, get a specific craving I can only get from a big chain.

Starbucks, Tim Horton's, or Dunkin' Donuts? Literally I love all of these.

Have you ever been crowned king or queen at a school dance? No.

Do you have conversations with your pets or do voices for them? Sure.

#survey #surveys

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fllinginluvwevry1 · 4 years

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“I just want everybody here to know, I’m fuckin’ gay!”

Kiara Carrera x Reader

Summary: You had moved out of your conservative prejudice parents house at seventeen. Now at eighteen with your hot ass girlfriend Kiara you attend your older sister's baby shower effectively pissing off all of the conservatives in your family. Things are going about as well as you expect until your trick ass bitch of an aunt makes a comment that was a little too much to just tell her off for and you’re forced to throw hands.

Warnings: Conservatives, homophobia, unsupportive parents/family, violence, swearing, and a whole lot of fluff.

Word Count: 1,458

A/N: that summary is really cringy, anyway this is my first Kie fic so I hope you like it. This was inspired by @collecting-stories theirs is probably definitely better than mine but I would love if you gave this a read.

🦋💖🦋💖🦋💖

After having moved out of my disgusting conservative parents’ house I had lost most contact with them. I talked to them on the phone about every other week, but I stayed in close contact with my little brother, Carter. He was fifteen now and had always had a bit of trouble with our parents but he was doing good. The only other person in my family I kept regular contact with was my older sister Megan, she’s twenty-six and one of my favorite people in the world. My sister is the complete opposite of my parents like me but, she lacked a certain bite that I had. I was always defiant as a kid and a teen but my sister just obeyed trying to avoid conflict.

My sister and my brother both knew about me and Kie but the rest of my family did not. When Megan started planning her baby shower she just wanted a small event but she made the mistake of telling our mother that, she immediately inserted herself into the planning and invited literally all of our still alive family to Megan’s baby shower. My mom insisted on booking a huge venue and hiring a coordinator. I asked my sister if she was okay with me bringing Kie, because I didn’t want to steal attention away from her and her husband, she immediately said yes. I could tell my sister was fed up with our mother and wanted to piss her off and I was completely okay with that.

Kie and I took the ferry to the mainland two days before Megan’s shower because we wanted some time alone from the boys and we wanted to go to all of the stores the mainland had to offer that Kildare did not. We were staying in an expensive hotel compliments from Kie’s dad for the weekend. Kie’s parents were definitely much more supportive than mine.

On the day of the shower Kie and I had a nice morning with breakfast in bed along with something else a little more fun if you catch my drift.

Kie and I got ready and then got an Uber to the venue my mother booked. I held Kie’s hand the whole ride there feeling my anxiety spiking. While I didn’t really care about what my family thought, I really didn’t enjoy conflict. That being said I was always ready to throw hands if anyone stepped too far out of line. I didn’t take three years of mixed martial arts for nothing, okay so maybe I really didn’t remember any of it but I could punch hard and if I started kicking you would definitely end up with a few broken bones. I was really hoping it wouldn’t go there but there was no telling how far my family's intolerance ran.

I walked into the venue with Kie hand in hand and we walked straight to my sister to greet her. “Hi!” Megan waved excitedly. “Hey, Meg.” I said letting go of Kie’s hand to wrap my sister in a hug. “Hi, Meg, look how pregnant you are.” Kie said in a happy tone, “Oh, I know, it’s great.” Meg responded, wrapping Kie in a hug next. Megan and Kie had met quite a few times before and got along really well so I wasn’t worried. “Where’s Sammy?” I asked, referring to my sister's husband. “Oh, he’s trying to keep mom entertained so she doesn’t drink all the wine before everyone gets here.” She said the last part in a more hushed tone. “Ahh, I see.” I responded.

We talked to Meg for a little while longer before more people started arriving and she had to start mingling with them. Kie and I mostly kept to ourselves before I was practically tackled by Carter. “Oh my god, Y/N you have to save me, mom is driving me insane, she limited my PlayStation time and she’s making me try out for the baseball team, I haven’t played baseball since I was ten.” I laughed. “Hey Carts, I missed you too.” I said hugging him back, Kie gave a light laugh behind me. “This is no laughing matter Y/N, I’m this close to turning into a runaway.” He said overdramatically. “Carter, you’re gonna be fine, you know how often mom doesn’t go through with things and summer break is coming up so you get to visit me on the island again.” Carter finally pulled away and said hi to Kie.

As more people arrived I noticed more family members staring at Kie and I so I just kept hold of her hand and placed a small kiss on her shoulder. Kie then wrapped one arm around my waist and brought one hand up to stroke my hair. “I love you baby.” She said kissing my nose and then my lips. I melted into her kiss and rested my forehead against hers. “I love you Kie.” I said, feeling soft.

I knew it was gonna happen but I was still a little upset when I felt like someone was staring at me. I looked up from where my chin was resting on Kiara’s shoulder and saw both my parents looking at Kie and I from the table they sat at. My father had a suppressed look of anger and my mother looked positively disgusted. I saw their expressions and my bratty smug ass just smiled at them and put a light kiss on Kie’s neck.

The rest of the time went as well as it could with some people muttering under their breath and still giving off glances and my girlfriend and I. I got to talk to the few family members that I actually liked and some of my sisters friends that I had known since I was a kid. It was at the point where most of the action was over so about 50% of the people had left and more were fleeting when my least favorite aunt came up to the table I was at with my brother, my sister, and her husband. Now this aunt has been married five times and has eight children that she makes do everything, and she still had the audacity to come up and say some shit to me.

She came up and sat in the empty chair next to me. “You know it’s such a shame, Y/N you were always such a pretty girl, it’s too bad your parents didn’t realize your ‘condition’ earlier.” I was already pissed at this point but I decided to play dumb. “What do you mean?” I asked in a faux clueless voice tilting my head slightly. “Well you’re gay sweetie, and you and your, friend, are obviously very, promiscuous. I’m just saying maybe if your parents knew earlier they could have gotten you into one of those conversion camps.” She smirked and the jaws at the table dropped. I felt the rage fill my small body and I fucking lunged at that bitch knocking her out of her chair and started throwing punches.

“Beat her fucking ass Y/N!” I heard my Megan yell and was honestly a little surprised. I only got a few punches in as Megan and Carter cheered me on because Sammy lifted me by my waist prying me off of her. “You wanna say that again bitch!” I yelled as Sammy pulled me away from her. “Maybe you’ll think twice before saying some shit next time unless you want me to break your fucking nose again!” I yelled again trying to squirm out of the large guy’s grip.

Sammy carried my struggling form all the way to the bathrooms before transferring me to Kie. “Hey, Hey, baby it’s okay, you’ve done enough, and you definitely broke her nose.” She said trying to calm me down. The rage started simmering down and I now felt overwhelmed as tears welled in my eyes. “Hey, Baby, you’re okay. What’s wrong?” Kie asked, her thumb stroking my cheek. “I-I don’t know, I cry when I’m angry, and when I’m sad, and when I’m overwhelmed. I just cry a lot.” I explained. ”I know you cry a lot Sunshine. I just don’t know why you’re crying now.” Kie stroked my hair and wrapped one arm around me holding me against her.

I calmed down, and pulled away from Kie slightly. “I love you.” I spoke softly. “I love you so fucking much Y/N/N.” Kie said in between kisses to my forehead, cheeks, nose, and finally my lips.

After my moment with Kie we went into the bathroom so I could wash the blood of my hands and see the damage to my hands. My knuckles were already starting to bruise and it was not going to be pretty.

🦋💖🦋💖🦋💖

A/N: I know this was probably not good but if you read it thank you :). Also this is not edited or revised so sorry for any mistakes.

#kiara carerra x reader #kiara carrera x reader #kie imagine #kiara carrera imagine #kiara x reader #kiara outer banks #kiara carrera #outer banks

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #467

“oh, mary, mary, ain’t this fun? / mary, mary, i’ve got a gun”

If the last person you kissed asked you to marry them, what would you do? Pray to god it wasn't in public and tell him it's waaaay too soon for that one. Does your favorite uncle have any children? Yeah, a son and daughter. Name all the members (first, middle and last names) from your favorite band. Ha, it's funny how once upon a time, I could do this. All I've got now is John Michael Osbourne. Have you ever heard a young child swear? Maybe? Have you ever seen someone get a piercing/tattoo?: Yes to both. Has a taste of something ever made you smile? Boy meet me at The Cheesecake Factory and see what my face does lmaooo As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be a paleontologist sooo badly. I wanted to discover new dinosaurs, put a shitload of work into unearthing fossils and being so proud to see the final results... Even now as an adult, if I could handle the heat, traveling, and hardcore school, I'd still love to do that. Would you cuss the person you hate the most out to their face? No. My hatred for her is unjustified and I'd rather just not say anything to her. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Where do you see your closest friend in ten years? As one of the strongest people around. I imagine her with a job in medical coding, while also pursuing the hobbies of ball python breeding and writing. I'm sure she'll have loads of pets to love, too! Do you like Florence + The Machine? I've never listened to them. Did you watch the presidential debates? No. Do you ever watch Dr. Phil? No. Are you typically unattracted to people outside of your race? No; I can be attracted to any race. Have you ever ridden any animal other than a horse? No. Do you brush your hair when it’s wet? Yes. Do you eat the crusts of your bread? Yeah, I always have. Have you ever flown a kite? Yeah! At my childhood home, there was a tobacco field directly across the street, and when they weren't in season so the field was flat, Dad would help us with getting kites set up and in the air. Those are good memories. How are you for money? I don't make any money. Mom is struggling. Do you think you are more intelligent than the average person? Ha, no. Do you ever think about why we are here? Does it matter? We're here, so make the most of it. Do you like cherries? I fucking hate cherries. Name a celebrity that you admire that nobody would expect you to: Jeffree Star, probs. Can you use a yoyo? Not well, but yeah. Do you think Jenna Marbles’ videos are funny? I've actually never watched her. Do you like folk music? NOOOOOOOOO Ever had a crush on somebody of the same sex? Yes. Do you know any lesbians? Yep. Favourite member of your favourite band: I'm unfamiliar with all but Ozzy himself. And Ozzy is rad. Who’s your favourite female rapper? I don't have one. When you were younger, were you ever in a relationship with someone you now realize was way too old for you? No. Have you ever had a seizure? No. I sometimes have very, very quick spasms when I'm falling asleep that feel like what I assume a seizure would, but they barely last a second. They seriously jerk me awake, though, and are very startling. What’s the oldest man-made object you own? I dunno. Is there anything you feel like you need a break from? Not really, no. What do you hate to hear people joke about? I will actually and remorselessly deck you in the jaw if you make a joke about rape. There are other things that are absolutely forbidden joking matters for me, too. What’s the largest animal you’ve seen in the wild? Hmmm... Nothing that big, really. Maybe a whitetail deer buck? Do any of your friends or family members have strange occupations? Not to my knowledge. Have you ever been in weather so severe that you feared for your safety? Oh yeah. We've had some savage thunderstorms. What political issues are the most important to you personally? LGBTQ+ rights and just equality in general, the pro-choice movement, environmental conservation, gun control, the abolishment of poverty and homelessness... There is honestly a lot. I could keep going. Do you know anyone who doesn’t know how to cook even just simple recipes? ... Me. :x Especially now that I'm in a relationship, I really want to make a greater effort to learn. I want to prove to him I give a damn about the success of our relationship and that I'm capable of being an adult that can take part in general adult responsibilities. ^What’s stopping them from learning this basic life skill? Laziness. Forgetfulness. The fear of getting burned. What small thing makes you automatically distrust someone? I can pick up on sketchy body language from a mile away. I'm too paranoid not to. Of all the states/provinces in your country, which one is your favorite? At least from photographs I've seen, Utah appears BEAUTIFUL. That whole region of the U.S. in general. Are there any obscure foods you’ve eaten that most people have never tried? That's very unlikely. I'm far from explorative with food. When you travel to other countries, do you always try the local cuisine? I've never been outside the U.S. I would probably do that, though. I'd really want to experience the culture as thoroughly as I could. What did you do for your 19th birthday? Hell if I remember. What’s the kindest thing a total stranger has done for you? I remember as a young kid, my parents, two sisters, and I were getting food at McDonald's, and whoever was in front of us paid for our meals. Such a sweet gesture for a larger family. Have you ever used a meal kit delivery service? No, but there actually is one that I can't recall the name of that I'd like to try when I cook myself, especially getting started learning, but yeah, subscription fees. You see a lot of YouTubers get sponsored by them, if that rings a bell. Do you have any psychological issues rooted in events from your childhood? Possibly my fear of men, with my dad having been an alcoholic that had a 50/50 chance of being very angry when drunk. How organized are the files on your computer? Pretty organized, I'd say. I put stuff into folders. Would you date someone with braces? Yes? Do you ever rehearse conversations before you have them? Only always. Do you get angry at yourself or at others more often? Myself, for sure. When taking a cab, do you talk to the driver? I've never even taken a cab. Who or what greets you at the door every time you come home? Nobody, really. My cat is occasionally in the living room to see who's home, but not always because he's a lazy cat, ha ha. Do you ever chat about your favourite video games with your friends? Not really, no. I wish. Have you ever supported anyone’s Kickstarter? If so, what was it? No, bc I'm poor. Are you currently studying a language? If so, which one? No. Ever had a friend online for a long time without seeing a photo of them? Yeah. Do you carry pepper spray? No, but I want some 'cuz I'm paranoid as hell. Are you waiting on anything right now? No. Have you ever been described as shy? Is it true? Oh, always. It's absolutely true. Name something you’re a complete sucker for? Baby animals, to name one thing. Do you remember when you first went on the internet? Nope. What is one way someone could completely put you off on a first date? Arrogance/over-confidence. What about a way someone could make you like them more on a first date? Make me genuinely laugh a lot, to name one way. Are you in love right now? Not yet. I love him with our decade of history, but I need more experience as a couple before I've got the confidence to say that. Do you wanna get married anytime soon? It wouldn't be smart to. I want to be in a strong relationship for quite a few years before I want that. Have you ever kissed someone in a band? No. Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear? No but oh my fucking god I wish!!!!!! Did your mom or dad ever put soap in your mouth? No, but Mom would threaten to. What was the last fruit you ate? Well, I had strawberry yogurt earlier today. Who was the last person to make you laugh? Girt. He is very, very good at that. Have you ever dated someone with more piercings than you? No. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Hell yeah man. Is there one night of your life you wish had never happened? I wish it hadn't happened the way it did. Do you have a close relationship with your sibling(s)? No. What was the last thing that you shared? Some watermelon Sour Patch Kids with my mom. Do you think people talk behind your back? You couldn't get me to believe my mom doesn't at least sometimes to my sisters even if you tried your absolute damnedest. In real life do you laugh like ‘haha,’ 'hehe’ or something else? It depends on what I'm laughing at/at what intensity. Do you have any unusual skills? Nah. Who’s your favourite person? I don't have a sole favorite person. I love many people in different ways for varying reasons. Are there any chores you actually enjoy doing? No. When did you last have an "Oh, I get it now!" moment? Watching Attack on Titan yesterday w/ Girt. Have your parents ever suspected something untrue about you? My mom HAD to have suspected I was doing something FAR worse than innocent meerkat RP to have borderline fucking traumatized me invading my privacy and forcing shit out of me regarding what I was always doing on the computer so secretively. Like I get it, she was a concerned mother, but I was a fucking WRECK because I found it so embarrassing. It was insulting that she didn't trust her well-behaved daughter. What do you think about video games? They're great for both the creators and consumers. They're wonderful expressions of creativity, and so much fun to experience as a player, delving into a new world and getting engrossed in the story. I could go onnnn and onnnnn about what video games mean to me. I've gone my whole life as a loyal gamer. Are there any forms of Art you personally find pointless? I really, really don't get a lot of abstract art that's worth fucking thousands, BUT, I absolutely disagree that they are without purpose. The artist created what they did for SOME reason. As a distraction, a method of expressing emotion, to convey an idea... Are you tired right now? I have been SO ridiculously tired today. Like it's unreal. I've taken I wanna say three naps and I'm still sleepy. What’s something you do a lot? Drink something. I'm not talking about alcohol; just in general, I ALWAYS need some kind of drink by me, and I go through drinks pretty quickly. Are you currently on any other websites? Yeah, I'm watching YouTube. Are you good at using Photoshop? I'm decent, I guess. Have you ever been told you naturally tilt your head a certain way? Yes, actually, at least by my mom, and she's right. My head tends to tilt VERY slightly to the right, and I can tell by how easy it is to bend my head that way as opposed to left. I'll feel a biiiit more strain.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''run rabbit run'' by rob zombie

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hellyeahtrickster · 3 years

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It occurs to me that I have friends here that I don't have contact with in other spheres, so ... life update: my mother passed away unexpectedly last Friday. I'm doing as well as one would expect. Been going through her things as both a walk down memory lane and a goodbye. I keep coming across things she never got around to using, and it hits hard that now, she'll never have the chance. And I can't stop thinking of the stories we watched together that now she won't know the ending to, or shows I wanted to try with her. And then there's all the things we used to do together on the regular -- all the places I can never go with her to again. And all the places we wanted to go to "someday", but now she never will.

We were two weeks out from our second COVID shots, and 4 weeks from being totally vaccinated. We were finally going to get back to EPCOT, to see the Flower and Garden show. Finally going to get back to the Florida Mall. Going out to lunch. That I won't be doing this things with her anymore ... it's unfathomable. I can't wrap my head around it.

Thanks, anti-mask / anti-vaccine Covidiots, for prolonging the presence of this pandemic -- basically stealing the last year of my mother's life. She was anxious to see her elderly mother again, because we don't know how long *she* has left ... and now she never go to see her mother again. I knew losing my mom would happen someday, but my mother was relatively young yet, so I thought it would be a while ....

It doesn't help that she died after the second night on a new bed. See, she slept on her side all the time, what with the couch being narrow, but with a twin mattress, the bed was much wider. She snored a lot -- I highly suspect she had sleep apnea. When I found her the next morning, she was on her BACK. The doctor agreed that her cardiac arrest could have been caused by sleep apnea. In trying to make my mom more comfortable .... Yeah, I know, it's not my fault, but I cannot shake that thought away, that she's not here anymore because we tried to do something nice for her. How cruel the humour of the universe can be.

(I'd put the rest of this behind a cut, but I don't see that option anymore? Sorry!!)

And it REALLY doesn't help that, not only have I lost the person I was closest to, but now I am stuck alone with the person I least want to be with: my dad. I'm pretty liberal, and he's pretty conservative. We fight a LOT. We haven't really since mom died (things got a little tense here and there, but not like we usually are) ... but I know it won't last. It can't -- not when he believes BLM are terrorists, or that gays have an agenda. And now he keeps wanting to do things with me, like watch my shows, and a petulant part of me is like, no, this is mom's territory -- stay out. I don't want to do anything with him. (Especially since I know he'll start ranting once the shows start talking about racism and homophobia.)

My parents always had a volatile relationship. Mom didn't know you could get pregnant the first time, and when she found out she was pregnant, her Catholic family bullied her into marrying him.* And he cheated on her at LEAST once (with a girl who was only a few years older than me at the time -- I was 15, she was 19, he was 33). My mother was far from perfect, so I don't blame all the marital problems on him. But my point is they were married "in name only" for about the last 25 years, so it's ... offensive to me now that he would dare to act bereaved.

I know he can be hella manipulative, make himself seem generous so as to be loved, and then turn on you like a viper, getting irrationally angry. I can't drive, we live in a very rural area with no public trans, there are no friends or fam less than an hour away, I've had next to no job for the last 17 years, I barely feel like a functional human being (am coming to seriously suspect I have ADHD and Dyscalculia; I have diabetes and suspect have PCOS and a thyroid problem; all these things having strong interconnections; and I have no insurance, nor do I qualify for aid, thanks to living in Florida), and I feel utterly trapped. There's a reason Rapunzel is my fave princess. I've had bad experiences with cabs, so using Uber / Lyft kind of terrifies me. Plus, he'd want to know where I'm going, and likely either insist on coming too, or insist I can't go, because his house, his money, his rules. The ONLY time each year I get away is when I go to Dragon Con (and I'm worried he might forbid that in the future -- he has once before).

And then there's the problem of ... he has no one. As much as I can't stand him, he lost his job because of COVID, he's lost his wife, he has no real friends (total homebody), and like it or not, he has supported me financially for so long. Even if someone else were to take me in, or I can get a job and save to leave ... how can I leave him (a person with severe rheumatoid arthritis / in not-great health)? I owe him too damn much, and I feel like it would be entirely callous of me. Yes, I realise that that's the abuse talking, but ... it's also true?

Anyway, I feel like I'm on Sliders, and keep stepping into progressively worse timelines.

* Let me mention that I have long suspected my mother is -- was -- on the autism spectrum, but when I mentioned it to one of her sisters, the sister seemed skeptical, saying that if anything, mom had a penchant for reading out loud, so they thought maybe she had a reading disability, and took her to a specialist, but "that's it". (Mom was in "remedial" classes through high school, so it doesn't sound like they did enough -- and maybe couldn't because the science just wasn't there.) I explained that mom frequently seemed to have trouble grasping concepts, especially humour. Like when a radio ad featured someone reciting a love-letter to a tomato, she was all, "That's stupid -- tomatoes can't read!" Try as I might, I could not get her to understand that the love letter was a playful way to tell US about what makes the tomato so good.)

Anyway, when I talked to my grandmother recently, she said that my mom "always had a special way of looking at things," and that she guessed mom was "what do they call it -- neuro-something? 'Aspie'? High-functioning, but still." And I told my cousin about it, and he said, "Wait, I thought it was common knowledge in our family that your mom was autistic?" (Note: we have other, officially diagnosed family members who are on different areas of the spectrum.) People always commented when I was growing up that it was like my mom's role and mine was reversed -- like I was the parent, and she was the child.

But to think my family had *recognised* that something was up, and left me, a child, to deal with it on my own?? To think they *pressured* someone who was "special" into having a child?

I know my mom loved me, but my whole life, she said she wished I'd never been born, and so she'd never have married my dad -- I know both can be true, that she loved me but wished she'd never had me (she'd have never known what she was missing). She only survived her marriage because I was there; I've always felt she'd have had a better life if she hadn't married him. When she tried to leave him, her mother would not take her in, because divorce was against her mother's Catholic beliefs (never mind that my uncle divorced twice)

I loved my mother, but were fought a lot, and she frequently exasperated me as we struggled to communicate. She frequently left words out, but did not believe that she did; when we met her last PCP the first time, he looked at me and said, "Is she always like this, or is she having a stroke?" And she would always angrily proclaim that I wasn't listening, when most of the time, it's that I couldn't get her to understand that she was working from a misconception or misunderstanding in the first place, because she would focus on ONE THING, to the exclusion of all else.

An example of an exchange (copied from a letter I wrote to a friend): We got into a weird argument yesterday. She had asked me for pain reliever, a glass of tap water (you're supposed to drink a full glass of water with the pills), and a "cold water" from the fridge (it's too cold to drink it all at once, but we both prefer ice water in general). Later, I was picking stuff up from her table-tray, including a bottle of pain reliever, and put a bunch of stuff away. When I passed by again, she asked for more cold water. I happened to look as see that she had the tap water glass still full, even though she had asked tor it half an hour before. I asked if I needed to bring the pain pill bottle back, because she hadn't drunk the tap water yet -- had I taken the pill bottle too soon, or had she forgotten to drink the water? She was all, "no, I said I need COLD water!" I said I knew that, and I would bring it; I was just asking of she had taken her pills already, or if I needed to bring the pill bottle back too. Her (again): "I said I need COLD WATER!" Me: "I know, and I will bring that -- I just want to know why you haven't drunk the tap water yet? Did you take your pills?" Her: "No, I'll take them at bed!" Me: "So I should bring back the pill bottle? Did I put it away too early?" Her: "YOU DON'T LISTEN! I SAID I NEED COLD WATER!" Me: "And I said I will bring that -- I'm just asking if you also need your pain pills?" Her: "You already took the bottle!! Did you forget that already?"

And then I finally spotted the white pain pills on the napkin under the tap-water glass, so I knew that no, I didn't need to bring it. But it's a frequent struggle to figure out how to phrase questions so I get the answer I need -- nearly every time, I get her screaming at me that I don't listen.

She loved me, but she was never mothering. She hated to be touched, so never hugged me; I was pretty touch-starved. I learned to read because she was a very slow reader when reading me stories; I got impatient and learned to do it for myself. She couldn't help me with my homework. She resented having to take me to school recitals and science fairs. She wasn't someone I could get advice from. I admit I was often envious of characters who had physically-loving, compassionate, wise mother-figures (who weren't so binary about morality -- and so weren't always screaming that this or that character should die, no matter how small the transgression).

But I wish she were still here to frustrate me -- that's so much better than not having her at all. And I wish I had been better at keeping my temper.

She was an atheist, and firm in that belief. Maybe she's right, or maybe her firm belief is affecting me, because I would dream frequently about others I have loved and lost, and swear I feel them, but with her ... nothing. Just a gaping hole in the fabric of my waking life, threatening to suck all the light and hope into it.

#mine #rant #personal #tw: death #cw: death #the death of my mom #my mom

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 32

Read on AO3.

Warning for mention of past sexual assault.

It’s around ten in the morning when Sebastian and Kurt wake in their tent out on the porch, rattled to consciousness by Sebastian’s ringer slicing through the lull of the still pouring rain. Kurt hears Sebastian groan, hears him curse at it, mumbling something about not answering it out of spite and wouldn’t that show it who’s boss? Kurt chuckles at his boyfriend’s sleep-deprived ridiculousness, but Sebastian has no one to blame for this oversight but himself. Kurt had left his phone in the bedroom before they’d retired to the porch for this very reason.

He didn’t want to be disturbed.

They’re both dog tired. More than that. Whatever animal dogs use as a metaphor when they get tired, that’s what Kurt and Sebastian are.

It’s comfy in their tent out on the porch. Too comfy to deal with things like phone calls when Kurt and Sebastian are lying next to one another, asleep in each other’s arms. Kurt feels Sebastian stir, mumbling again about how he’s willing to punch his phone to fucking pieces if it doesn’t knock it off, then settle back into their cozy cocoon.

“You could just shut it off, you know,” Kurt reminds him, giggling when he feels Sebastian’s breathing hitch.

“Yeah, all right,” he says without owning up to his mistake. He reaches underneath his pillow to get it, but before his fingers touch it, it obligingly stops ringing. “There you go then. I guess that’s that.”

“Who was it?” Kurt asks, completely unaware of anything outside Sebastian’s tirade with his eyes closed.

“Don’t know, don’t care. They’re gone. That’s all that matters.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kurt says, surrendering to the hug that envelopes him from behind. Sebastian’s soft snores fill the tent again, and Kurt takes that as his cue to go back to sleep, the patter of the rain on the outside skin of the tent a powerful sedative.

But right as Kurt gets ready to re-visit his fantasy from last night in the darkness behind his eyelids, Sebastian’s phone rings again, dragging them both further into consciousness.

“Argh! What do you want?” Sebastian whines. Kurt rolls to his opposite side in their sleeping bag as Sebastian proceeds to verbally berate his phone. Kurt is reluctant to do anything that qualifies as moving, but he so wants a front seat to this temper tantrum. If he’s going to have his sleep repeatedly interrupted, he wants to be entertained.

And besides, if Sebastian had turned off his phone, they wouldn’t be having this issue.

Again, the phone stops ringing, but it starts immediately up, and Sebastian fishes it out without stalling this time to put an end to its reign of terror. “Ugh. Too bright,” he murmurs, squinting at the screen. But something he sees stops him from shutting his phone down. “Wait a minute …”

“What?”

“It’s Liv.” Sebastian stares harder, making sure. “Pfft. Her timing is impeccable.”

“Shouldn’t she be here?” Kurt asks. “She didn’t mention having any plans for the morning.”

“I don’t happen to have her social calendar memorized, but mumsy and dadums probably took her and Brian out to brunch. If Julian went with them, you know what that means …” Sebastian bites his lower lip suggestively, growls for good measure.

“Pizza for breakfast?” Kurt teases.

“No …” Sebastian says. “You … on the living room couch. This way you won’t be able to even look at a couch cushion without getting a hard on.”

“Kinky,” Kurt says, his heart fluttering at hummingbird speeds from the smile Sebastian flashes him, broadcasting his intentions on devouring him whole. Still, Kurt can’t help thinking Sebastian looks more than a little nervous. That thought doesn’t dim as Sebastian answers his phone.

“Hello, Olivia!” Kurt yells before Sebastian gets the chance.

“Hello, sister dear,” Sebastian says, voice dripping venom. But Olivia doesn’t rise to the challenge.

“Hey,” she says in a guarded tone. “How’s it going? Did you guys have fun last night?”

“We did,” Kurt answers for his yawning boyfriend. He rests his head against Sebastian’s chest, their tent so quiet despite the rain, he’s able to hear Olivia even though his ear is nowhere near the phone. “Very much.”

“That’s good. I’m glad,” she says. She sounds happy for them, but also distracted. “Have you guys seen Julian by any chance?”

“No. We’re not even awake yet,” Sebastian replies. “We are currently enjoying the sleep in and cuddle phase of being on vacation!”

“So no phone calls or anything?” Olivia reiterates without any of her usual teasing, her syrupy swooning over how sweet the two of them are together. “No texts?”

The scowl drifts from Sebastian’s face at the concern in his sister’s voice, the urgency behind her questions. “No, Liv. Nothing. Why?”

“We can’t find him.”

“Is that all?” Sebastian relaxes, but not enough to erase the worry lines from around his eyes. “He’s just bummed out over Cooper. He’ll turn up. He always does. It’s only … fuck …” Sebastian exclaims when he glances at his phone screen “… ten in the morning!”

“Seb,” Liv says firmly, trying to make her younger brother hear her, “he left early. He didn’t tell us where he was headed, but he was in such a hurry, I thought Cooper had arrived. I thought … I thought things were finally going to work out for him. But he hasn’t checked in, and we’ve been calling him for hours.”

“Julian’s not really a check in sort of person,” Sebastian points out. “Never has been. But maybe Cooper did come through and they’re at a hotel. You know Julian …”

“His phone has stopped going to voicemail,” she interrupts, nearing her wit’s end. There’s a knot between Olivia’s words, an unlevel platform struggling to keep her voice steady enough for her to tell them the rest. But she doesn’t have to. Kurt feels Sebastian’s chest tighten beneath his cheek and he just knows. It’s contagious, Kurt’s chest tightening shortly after. “He’s gone, Sebastian. He’s just … gone.”

“Where are you now?” Sebastian asks.

“We’re out looking for him. Brian and I are still local but Mom and Dad are heading farther north.”

“Don’t worry.” Sebastian throws off the covers, mouthing the words I’m sorry to Kurt when a sudden block of cold air hits them both like an anvil and Kurt’s teeth chatter. “Kurt and I are going to head out in a few minutes and help. We’ll find him, Liv.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“I have a hunch.” A pained expression colors his tired face, but it disappears quickly. “Let us go. I’ll text you in about thirty, let you know our game plan.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she says, a bit more relaxed than when she first called.

“Awww, are you worried about me, sis?” Sebastian coos.

“Well … I’m worried about Kurt mainly. But sure - you, too.”

Sebastian retaliates with a rude noise. Olivia laughs conservatively, and things feel closer to rectified. “Thanks a lump.”

“Bearing that in mind, maybe Brian and I should swing by and pick him up …”

“Goodbye, Liv,” Sebastian sings, disconnecting the call. He stares at the screen, or at his reflection in it - Kurt can’t tell. But he knows Sebastian is thinking.

“What’s up?” Kurt asks when Sebastian starts swiping through his call log.

“I’m checking to see if Julian did try to contact us this morning, but we were too dead asleep to wake up.”

“Unlikely seeing as Olivia’s calls woke us up.”

“Yeah, well, it took her five tries,” Sebastian says, showing Kurt his screen.

“Wow.”

“I know. My mom and dad tried nine and we missed them, too.” Kurt watches Sebastian’s eyes scan the numbers on his screen. When he reaches the end, he scrolls back to the beginning and checks again. “Crap! There’s nothing.”

Sebastian and Kurt recline together in the silence, Kurt staring at Sebastian, unsure what they’re supposed to do next; Sebastian looking Kurt over appraisingly, a hundred and one thoughts at work behind his eyes.

“What?” Kurt asks, unable to take Sebastian’s silence any longer, his pensive stare that prickles Kurt’s skin and not in a good way, not when he feels like they should be doing something! “Do I have something on my face?”

Kurt can tell by the way the right corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirks that he has a comeback for that one, but he doesn’t let it out. “I may have a way to find him, but you have to swear you won’t tell anyone!”

“You don’t trust me!?” Kurt gasps since that’s the absolute last thing he’d expected Sebastian to say at this stage of their relationship, fledgling or not.

“Lawful good, babe. Remember?” Sebastian replies like that explains everything. “Plus I know you. If you think we’re in over our heads, you’ll call in reinforcements whether I want you to or not. And I need you to trust me on this one, okay?”

“Hypocrite much?” Kurt mutters.

“I need you to trust me,” Sebastian repeats, sounding as urgent as Olivia did doing her darndest to get through her brother’s thick skull, “and do what I’m asking without question, just this once.”

“Sebastian! I’m not going to tell on you! Your brother’s in trouble! I’m going to do anything in my power to help you out!”

Sebastian blinks at Kurt, doesn’t seem relieved by his response. His brows draw together, an unamused look brewing in his eyes. “Mmm … hmmph …” he says, going back to his phone, not at all thrilled by Kurt’s enthusiasm. Kurt rolls his eyes because he can’t with his boyfriend, acting jealous at a time like this!

Sebastian holds his phone like a poker hand, close to his chest, but bit by bit, he loosens his posture as he navigates a website Kurt has never seen before. He doesn’t want to peek, doesn’t want to invade his or his brother’s privacy, but the bizarrely high-tech looking page has Kurt curious beyond belief.

“Okay, I have to ask,” he says, breaking down. “What is that? What are you doing?”

Sebastian gives him a look, still thoroughly unamused, but his apparent need to talk through this with someone wins out in the end. “Julian has two phones. Has for a while now. He has the one our folks set up for him with the number he’s had forever, and one he bought for himself. I’m the only one in our family who knows about it. Only two people have that number including me. Anyway, both of his phones have a GPS tracking function, but he tends to turn it off on his main phone.”

“But not on the second one?”

“It’s a safety net. In case he gets himself into any real shit, at least I can find him.” Kurt watches Sebastian flip through screens, eyes following his finger as he scrolls. What starts as a blank, inscrutable expression swiftly becomes a frown. “Of course, I don’t actually trust him as far as I can throw him, so I downloaded an app called Spyine.” Sebastian smirks. “It’s one of those apps that jealous husbands use to keep tabs on their wives.”

“Well …” Kurt’s face pinches with disgust “… isn’t that morally ambiguous.”

Sebastian flips to a new screen with a map displayed and sighs. “This isn’t good.”

Kurt moves up Sebastian’s chest to see better, no longer concerned with invading privacy considering the site Sebastian is using. “What isn’t?”

“According to this, his phone is either not on, or …” Sebastian swipes back, again double checking.

Kurt gnaws on his inner cheek, wracked by the suspense. He’s beginning to feel like he’s been dropped in the middle of a Tom Clancy novel. “Or …?”

“Or he’s nowhere nearby.” Sebastian makes it sound so simple, but from the way his eyes cloud over, Kurt knows it’s not.

“Like … nowhere near the beach house?”

Sebastian shakes his head but he doesn’t explain. Kurt’s stomach flips. He feels out of his depth and completely useless. He wants to help Julian, but he has no idea where to start. He knows nothing about the technology Sebastian is using. He’s barely aware of the fact that his own phone has a GPS tracking system. As it is, he has no idea whether it’s switched on or not. He thought they’d be able to find Julian regardless using cell phone towers and pinging signals, but that’s because the only information he has on the subject comes from watching Law and Order. “What’s the reach on that thing?”

“I don’t know exactly. Far? I’ve only had to use it once, but that time, he was only a couple of miles away.” Sebastian’s head snaps up, a hint of Eureka! in his eyes. He slaps a palm to his forehead. Kurt jumps at the smack! the contact makes. It sounds like it hurt. “Shit! I have a feeling … fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I know where he’s heading!”

“Where!?”

Sebastian blows out a breath. It’s the most annoyed, frustrated, worried, anxious sound Kurt has ever heard come out of another human being, and Kurt knows, he just knows that the next words out of Sebastian’s mouth are going to open a Pandora’s box. “Westerville.” Sebastian puts both hands over his face, laughs maniacally into his palms. “Fancy a drive? I swear we’ll come back.”

“Yes.” Kurt sits up, moving aside so Sebastian can get ready. “Of course. Whatever we have to do.”

“Great,” Sebastian says, although he sounds more put out than relieved. Kurt can’t help wondering if this is a pattern for them - one of their many complicated tangos. Julian had mentioned that Sebastian has an inner mom complex. Does that extend to more than damages to home and property? Is this a habit - Julian messes up and Sebastian goes after him? What else would necessitate Sebastian downloading some super spy app onto his phone?

“We should text your parents, right?” Kurt follows Sebastian to the tent door, carrying the sinking suspicion with him that they’re not. “Let them know what’s going on?” Sebastian stops Kurt before he unzips the rain flap. He drapes a blanket over Kurt’s head and shoulders, then puts an arm around him to keep him from getting too too wet.

“Not quite yet,” Sebastian says, hurrying them the short distance across the porch to the door.

“It’s going to be a twelve hour drive! What are they going to think when we don’t come back? You have to tell them something!”

“I will tell them something!” Sebastian throws the door open and ushers Kurt inside. “I just … I need to figure out what that something is first.”

***

Sebastian doesn’t pack any of his belongings, but Kurt does. He doesn’t take everything he brought with him when they leave. After all, they plan on coming back. But he does grab a few things - a couple of shirts and some shorts he’s sick of wearing. He’d already mentioned to Sebastian wanting to stop by his house to say what’s up to his dad and tell him the good news about the check. Kurt didn’t feel right telling his father over the phone, but he wants to get it out of the way as soon as possible so that his dad won’t waste time worrying. Kurt isn’t exactly sure how much he intends on telling his dad, though he should probably consider telling him the whole truth eventually.

If Charlotte knows, Greg will, too, sooner or later. It’ll get back to his dad one way or the other.

Kurt wants his dad to hear it from him.

While they’re in Ohio, Kurt plans on depositing the check into his account (he’s been trying to do it via mobile but, again, his frickin’ phone …) and bam! One less thing to worry about.

Sebastian leaves his folks and Olivia a note letting them know that he and Kurt will be out for the afternoon and well into the evening, running down some of Julian’s hangouts. It’s not exactly a lie. In fact, it’s enough of a not lie that it’s nearly the truth. Never once does Sebastian mention in his note that any of those spots are in North Carolina so technically not a lie.

Kurt is frightened at how quickly that conclusion is to come to, and how okay he is with it.

Kurt expects Sebastian to text his parents and come clean after their first rest stop. When that doesn’t happen, he hinges his hopes on the second, which they take two hours later. But Sebastian doesn’t text them then, either. He doesn’t look at his phone at all once they hit the highway. He just drives, with so much determination, it concerns Kurt. What will happen if they show up at wherever it is they’re going and Julian isn’t there? What do they do then?

Kurt considers texting Liv on the sly to tell her that they’re okay and that they have a lead. But if he does, that would mean Sebastian is right.

Kurt is a lawful good. And that’s not necessarily a good thing.

But worst of all, it would mean Sebastian can’t trust him.

So he turns his phone off and puts it in his pocket to avoid temptation.

Half way to Ohio, they stop for a bite, and to sit down somewhere that isn’t a car. But they eat so fast, so anxious to get back on the road, Kurt barely tastes his sandwich. When they settle back into Sebastian’s Mustang with a canvas bag full of road snacks, the engine is barely cool to the touch. Sebastian merges onto the highway, hops lanes until they hit the far left, and that’s where they stay, cruising at a hair above eighty for the remainder of the way.

Kurt watches Sebastian drive for awhile, but Sebastian’s eyes don’t leave the road. He either doesn’t notice, or he’s so used to Kurt watching him, it doesn’t faze him. Kurt feels like he should say something, reassure Sebastian that they’ll find his brother, but Sebastian knows that better than Kurt does. Kurt doesn’t even know where in Westerville they’re headed. The Smythe estate? But then why didn’t Sebastian just say they’re going home? Dalton? Also a possibility, but then why not mention it?

Kurt hates waiting, but he’ll have to and see.

Kurt is tired of questions that have no answers, but he doesn’t want to pressure Sebastian for any. And since staring him down while they’re trapped inside a vehicle together might be seen as pressuring, he shifts his attention out the window to the cars driving beside them, at the trees and the grass, the gorgeous ocean they’re leaving behind.

Saying goodbye to that ocean prematurely will be one of Kurt’s biggest regrets about this adventure.

But it won’t be his only one.

***

Kurt wakes to a shrill metallic beeping spitballing through his brain. It unnerves the hell out of him since he didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep. They’d been traveling in silence, the radio on low, tuned in to a classical music station Sebastian chose. Kurt didn’t rest his head, didn’t close his eyes.

He’d blinked, and hours had flown by.

It’s night when Kurt opens them again.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Sebastian says when he hears Kurt stir. “I raised the volume on my phone in case I got a signal.”

“And?” Kurt inquires around a yawn.

“I think I’ve found him.”

“What time is it?” Kurt asks, starting conversation to ease the tension. He could check the time for himself. It’s right there on the dash.

If Sebastian isn’t too worried about Julian’s well-being, if things aren’t as serious as Kurt is beginning to fear they are, Sebastian will tease him about that.

But he doesn’t.

“Around nine,” Sebastian says. “We made really good time.”

Kurt sighs, that tight feeling in his chest becoming tighter with every mile marker they pass. “Sounds like it.”

A web of apprehension weaves its way around them both. Too much has been left in the air and it’s piling up. Kurt doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does remember the phone calls Sebastian let go to voicemail, the text messages he didn’t pull over to read. They kept coming and coming, and Sebastian ignored them until they stopped.

Does Sebastian have the GPS tracking on his phone turned on? Are they in danger of the entire Smythe clan following them? Kurt doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to add to Sebastian’s stress, even if his own brain is about to melt from it.

Sebastian pulls into the small side lot of a place called The Draft Room. It’s not as big as the club in Columbus, but it’s a step up from Scandals. He parks in the first empty spot, turns off the car, and sits, staring at the brick wall in front of them. Kurt scans the lot in search of Julian’s Jag, but he doesn’t see it.

That doesn’t mean Julian isn’t there.

“Are you all right?” Kurt asks, reaching out a hand to caress Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Yes?” Sebastian says, but it’s another question, not an answer. “I … kind of don’t want to do this.”

“Do you want me to go? I can look around, see if he’s there, text you if he is.”

“No,” Sebastian says, overlooking the opportunity Kurt hands him to poke fun at his menace of a cell phone. That’s two for two. “No, it’d be best if we both went. Just … stay with me? Please?” Sebastian sounds so small when he asks. So timid.

So not like Sebastian.

Kurt takes his hand. He threads their fingers together, smiling as confidently as he can with his heart trying to tear out of his chest. “Always.”

***

The place is nowhere near crowded, so even if he wasn’t wearing the tightest jeans imaginable or a leather jacket that costs about as much as Kurt’s SUV, Julian is easy to spot from the front door, sitting at a stool dead center of the bar with no one else around, as if he wants to be easy to see.

Easy to find.

Sebastian walks through the front door as if he’s pushing himself from behind to make himself go. He slides up to Julian, bumps him with his hip, and slaps a hand on his shoulder. Julian jerks in his stool and looks up at him, smile vibrant, but when his eyes lock on to Sebastian’s, when he sees his brother there next to him, his smile falls.

“Hey, baby brother,” he says, knocking on the bar and signaling the bartender. The man steps up, filling Julian’s empty shot glass with whiskey.

“Hey, Jules,” Sebastian says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Ain’t it just?”

“You know, they have bars in North Carolina ...” Sebastian stares at Julian’s glass. Kurt doesn’t know whether he’s contemplating cutting Julian off, or knocking it back himself.

“True. But I didn’t come to Westerville to drink. I just sort of … ended up here.” Julian grabs the glass as if he knows it’s in danger, drinking down the whiskey in one gulp.

“I can see that,” Sebastian says with more sympathy than Kurt expected considering their impromptu, all-day drive. “How deep in are you?”

“Uh … I don’t know.” Julian picks up his empty shot glass and gazes into it, as if it holds the answer. “Two beers and two shots?” He wiggles the glass Sebastian’s way. “Wanna catch up?”

“No thanks. How long have you been here?”

“A few hours. Figures you’d be the one to find me.”

Sebastian shrugs. “I had help.”

Sebastian is referring to his phone, which he holds up as a visual. But Julian spots Kurt standing behind him, watching over his shoulder, and what remains of Julian’s grin - the miniscule shadow of it - dissolves.

“I didn’t give him an ultimatum,” Julian says, speaking straight to Kurt now, another human who understands the woes of falling in love with an Anderson brother. “I said that maybe inviting him to the beach house was going too far too fast. That maybe he felt like I was putting him on the spot. I told him that I would meet him half way. When I didn’t hear from him, I told him I was willing to meet him all the way …” Another shot appears, then disappears down Julian’s throat. “But he’s not coming. I know he’s not coming. I was an idiot to think he was, to think that everything was finally going to work out for us.”

“Maybe he’s just …” Kurt tries, but Julian shakes his head.

“I’ve looked for him everywhere. Called every number I ever had for him. Some of them have been disconnected for years, but I called them anyway. I even called the house.” Julian’s cheeks flush red, as if of all the things he’s done, this is the one he didn’t want to admit to. “Emily says he just … he just left. He didn’t pack a bag, didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Just pfft. Gone. I don’t know who got to him, but they got to him good.”

“I'm ... I’m so sorry,” Kurt says, his heart sinking when the light that always lingers in Julian's eyes, the one that blazes hot behind the ice blue of his irises, starts to burn low, threatening to go out.

“So many secrets …” Julian looks down at his phone clutched in his hand as if at any moment it might spring to life with a call or a text. “We’re so good at keeping secrets, aren’t we, Sebby?”

He pauses, and Kurt feels Sebastian go rigid beside him.

“Julian …”

Kurt has heard Sebastian say his brother’s name dozens of times, and in as many different ways.

He’s said it jokingly.

He’s said it seriously.

He’s spat it like a curse.

He’s said it with affection.

But this was a plea.

He was begging Julian to stop.

“We keep secrets from mom and dad," Julian continues to himself as if they aren't there, which means Sebastian’s pleas can’t reach him. "Secrets from Liv. Hell, the two of you kept the biggest secret of all. You even had me duped, though, apparently that isn't as hard as I thought.”

Julian laughs, dry and hollow, until it becomes a cough.

“Julian …” Sebastian repeats his plea softer, subconsciously searching for and taking Kurt's hand. He squeezes it tight, and Kurt can't help noticing how it shakes.

Julian shoots his brother a smirk, lifting a newly-filled shot glass in his fist in an unspoken toast and downing it in a single throw. He slams it down on the bar, the glass bottom hitting the wood with a poignant thunk.

“Now why haven’t you told him yet, Sebby?” he asks, mockingly upbeat the way depressed drunks sound when the liquor finally hits. This Julian is such a departure from the one Kurt normally sees – the suave and sophisticated sexy man whose every word speaks to Kurt’s artistic soul – that he might as well be a complete stranger. Someone who looks so much like Julian that from a distance on a cloudy day he could be mistaken for him, but turns out to not be him.

This transformation frightens Kurt, but Sebastian’s reaction to it concerns him more.

Sebastian squeezes Kurt’s hand a little too hard, arriving at a conclusion that Kurt doesn’t even realize exists.

“Tell me … tell me what?” Kurt asks Julian, then Sebastian. He would much rather hear it from Sebastian, but Julian gets to him first.

“Why it is that Sebastian went away,” Julian replies, talking to the wood grain in the bar, the bottom of his glass, everything but them. “You know it wasn’t your fault, Sebby. At least, if you tell him, he’ll know exactly how much of a bastard I really am, and you’ll never have to worry about losing him again. Not to me, anyway.”

That last part was meant as a joke, but to Kurt it feels more like a jab. Not at Kurt, and not at Sebastian. At himself. He’s skewering himself on his own metaphoric sword, one he’s been carrying around with him ever since whatever happened happened.

Whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t expect Kurt to forgive him, or to speak to him ever again.

Kurt’s eyes meet Sebastian’s, but Sebastian isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at an insignificant speck on the bar, frozen to the spot.

Numb.

“Come on, Sebby …” Tears burn in Julian’s eyes that Kurt can hear in his voice. “You love him. He loves you. He should know, dont’cha think?”

Sebastian still can’t seem to answer. He’s paralyzed, mouth agape, unable to breathe a single word. Kurt has never seen Sebastian like this. Whatever Sebastian hasn’t told Kurt yet, whatever this pain is that the two of them hold on to, that the two of them share, Julian is getting ready to spill it. Kurt won't deny that he wants to know - he wants to help. But this is not how Kurt wants to find out.

He doesn’t want Julian outting his brother against his will.

“Julian, no,” Kurt says, even though he’s sure what he’s saying no to is the one thing he’s wanted to know all summer. “You can’t do this. You can’t hurt your brother like this. It’s not right.”

“No, Kurt! It’s my story, too!” Julian insists, unhinged. “And I … I need you to hear it, to try and forgive me because what I did made this …” He flicks a finger between Kurt and Sebastian “… so much harder for you! And you don’t deserve that!”

Julian had mentioned early on that Sebastian would never want to look weak or vulnerable. Kurt suspects they have that in common. Kurt wonders when the last time Sebastian saw his brother like this was. A while, he assumes, if the way Sebastian’s eyes widen are any indication.

“It’s … it’s fine.” Kurt’s voice is thick, on the verge of panic. He feels like he’s standing in the path of a runaway train with nowhere to run, no way to escape. “Really. Forget about it. I … I forgive you. It’s …”

Julian shakes his head. “Don’t, Kurt. You don’t understand. You can’t even conceive of how bad I hurt him …”

“Julian …” Kurt steps protectively in front of Sebastian, puts his free hand on Julian’s knee and squeezes, trying to break through his haze of whiskey and self-pity “… please, stop. I don’t need to know.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agrees in a voice so quiet, it can’t qualify as an actual sound. Kurt turns to look at his boyfriend, expecting him to be looking away, off in the distance like Julian, maybe down at his shoes. But he’s looking right at Kurt. “Yes, you do.”

Kurt shakes his head. This time, it's Kurt's turn to plead.

"Sebastian ..."

“That’s the spirit, baby brother,” Julian cuts in with a fake laugh and a halfhearted version of his trademark salute, which has been conspicuously missing the past week while he’s been brooding over Cooper. He takes his next shot off the bar and passes it to Sebastian. Kurt watches Sebastian sadly put the glass to his lips, snap his head back, and down the drink, a single tear racing down his cheek and getting lost in his hair. “Let’s tell our story together.”

Julian knocks on the bar as the bartender walks by and the man fills their glasses. He sets one out for Kurt without asking and fills that one, too. Kurt is so stunned he doesn’t have the wherewithal to wave the man away. On his end, the bartender doesn’t seem to mind that Kurt and Sebastian don’t look anywhere close to 21. He looks about as done with life as they all feel right now, or like the bouncer at Scandals when Kurt and Blaine first went, which would be a funny comparison any other time but now. Kurt wishes he could bring it up, break the tension, get a smile out of Sebastian, steer this conversation in a different direction.

But that would be beneath them.

“There was this … guy,” Julian begins, landing on that word as if the crux of their problems is always some guy. “Seb fell so hard for him, so fast. He called my brother all sorts of cutesy nicknames. They were so adorable together. Frankly, it made me kind of sick. But, in the spirit of brotherly love, I wanted to help Sebby land this boy, because back then, he had no game to speak of.” Julian grins with inappropriate wickedness. “And I mean no game. So I got them some fake IDs and I took them out drinking.” Another shot appears. Julian downs it. Just as quickly, it’s refilled. Kurt has lost count at this point. “It might have been love.” Julian’s brows draw together. “Was it?” He squints up at Sebastian, waiting for an answer. Sebastian downs another shot but says nothing. Julian shrugs. “I don’t know. It could have been. I mean, not the kind of love you guys have, but love. But right before we went out that evening, I got into a fight with Cooper, and I turned into an asshole.” He sputters. “Well, more of an asshole than usual, right, guys?” He pauses, snickers to himself, gets a little carried away, but he doesn’t sound like he’s enjoying his joke. He sounds like he’s trying to keep himself from crying. And he’s not doing that good a job. “I got them both drunk …” he explains, waving in the direction of the bar “… and then I went about seducing this poor boy of Seb’s.” He shakes his head, the look on his face one of revulsion. “Man, I pulled out all the stops for that kid. I really went overboard. And he fell for it – hook, line, and sinker. I may have made him fall in love with me.” He growls angrily, another shot flying down his throat. “Sebby, he got mad, sulked in a corner …” Another wave of his hand, this time in the direction of the jukebox sitting in a half circle of golden light “… had one too many to drink. He got real sick, went to the bathroom, and while he was in there, there was … there was a man ...” Julian hiccups.

Warning bells sound off in Kurt’s head, their clatter coursing through his body, carrying adrenaline with them, and now his hands begin to shake. “Don’t. Stop. I don’t think I should hear …”

“No,” Sebastian whispers, his voice raw, as if he’s been drinking nails instead of alcohol. “Let him … let him finish.”

Julian turns on his stool, eyes blurry as he stares off behind them. “When I got to them …” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking from the sides “… he had Sebastian pinned between the sinks, had his pants unzipped and his hand down them.” Julian’s voice shudders, gaze returning to his glass, glued as if he can see the memory in the reflection, playing before his eyes. It probably is, Kurt thinks. It probably plays back for him over and over when he shuts his eyes, when he drinks too much, every day that Sebastian was overseas … “He was trying to kiss him, k-kept saying …” Julian clears his throat so violently Kurt feels his own throat burn “… kept saying that he wanted to t-taste himself on Seb’s lips.”

And that’s the moment.

The moment when those alarms in Kurt’s head, and all that coursing adrenaline, build in his chest, and explode. With those words, Kurt’s entire body folds in on itself and freezes solid from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It creeps underneath his hair, makes his follicles itch as if bugs have been nesting there and are clawing to get out. A picture of Sebastian pinned against a bathroom wall like Kurt was with Max in that bar in Columbus fills Kurt’s brain. The man pinning Sebastian there Kurt fills in with the vilest human being his mind can conjure up. Now that that image is there, Kurt knows it’ll never leave him.

Like Sebastian and Julian, he’ll never be free of it.

But back in Columbus, when Max tried to assault Kurt, Sebastian was there. Sebastian saved him. Even though that memory enrages Kurt, it doesn’t paralyze him with fear.

A second later, he feels the phantom of Dave Karofsky’s mouth on his, and his knees nearly buckle beneath him.

“So …” Kurt says, “so, that man … he …”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says with his last bit of voice, the hand that’s been latched on to Kurt’s since Julian’s story began slipping away. “Big brother charged to the rescue about a minute too late.”

“Oh … oh God. Sebastian …” Kurt turns to his boyfriend, to hold him, but by the time Kurt realizes he’s leaving, he’s completely out of reach, weeding his way through the tables to get outside, find fresher air. Kurt turns back to Julian, but his gaze stops on a narrow door with a small rectangular sign nailed over the frame. It’s the door to the bathroom, directly in Julian’s sight line, which Kurt had overlooked since he thought Julian’s gaze was aimed nowhere. Julian glares at it like he’s fit to burn it down, and things suddenly fall into grooves and click.

This is the bar.

This is where Julian took them.

This is where it all happened.

That’s why Sebastian was so certain Julian would be here.

That’s why he didn’t want to come in.

“That’s what happened between the two of you?” Kurt stares at Sebastian’s back, fighting between running after him and giving him a minute to pull himself together. “That’s why Sebastian went to Paris? That’s why he stayed away for so long?”

“Yup.” Julian downs his next shot. Kurt’s and Sebastian’s, too, with such effortless fluidity, those glasses might as well have been full of water. “That’s the story of how big bad Julian Smythe let his brother down, lost his trust … and broke his heart.”

***

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks when he finds Sebastian standing by the curb, staring at his shoes while he teeters on the edge. Kurt had been practicing those three words while walking through the bar towards the door. He didn’t want his voice to crack, needed to stamp out the tears pressing behind his eyes. He didn’t want Sebastian comforting him, which he would if he thought Kurt was upset. Kurt needs to remove his own feelings from this equation.

He needs to remain neutral and help his boyfriend.

He’d considered stopping into the restroom and splashing water on his face, but no. He wants to stay miles away from there. He can’t see it. He can’t know what it looks like. Speculating is fine. Intrusive thoughts he can handle when they’re figments of his own imagination. But reality …

Reality will split Kurt apart.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Sebastian says, looking over and around Kurt instead of landing on his face. His eyes are red, but it doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Kurt imagines he’s been out here pressing the tips of his fingers into his eyelids, trying to erase the last ten minutes from his brain. And Kurt doesn’t blame him. “I’m good. I found Julian’s car, so I called for a tow.” His gaze flicks down the street, avoiding Kurt’s eyes with the pretense of checking for the truck. “He’s in no condition to drive home so I thought, you know, we should take him. If you don’t mind. I mean, he’s not the best driver when he’s sober.” Sebastian chuckles uncomfortably. Kurt watches his face stagger between holding it together and falling apart. “Besides, I … I don’t think he should be alone. He needs someone to take care of him.”

“I don’t mind.” Kurt is dying to touch Sebastian, to hold him. At the very least, to take his hand. But he’ll wait for Sebastian to come to him. Kurt doesn’t know where Sebastian’s mind is right now. Is it here, standing on the street, talking to him? Or is it in that bathroom long ago - scared, confused, praying for his brother to come find him and rescue him? “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Speaking of Julian …” Sebastian looks anxiously over his shoulder to the front door of the bar, as if expecting Julian to appear. “Where is he?”

“I helped him into a booth by the window.” Kurt points, re-directing Sebastian’s attention to the plate glass next to the door. At a round, wooden table where they can keep an eye on him, Julian sits, head resting on his folded arms, a glass filled with more ice than water melting by his right elbow. “I thought it would be best to keep him where I could see him. I paid the bartender twenty bucks not to give him another drink.”

“Ahhh. You’ve done well, Padawan,” Sebastian says with a wink. “But you didn’t have to do that. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. Haven’t you heard? I’m rich.”

Sebastian snorts, worrying his lower lip with his teeth like he’s itching to remind Kurt that having a $10,000 cashier’s check at his disposal doesn’t necessarily make him rich, especially when it’s going to go straight to the bank, then straight out again to NYADA.

“I called Liv,” he says instead. “Told her we found Julian. And where.”

“How did she react?”

“I think she kinda knew. We’ve been wrapped up in the ongoing saga that is the Juliper rom-dram. We know how it plays out by now.”

Bizarrely syncopated steps approaching interrupt their conversation. Sebastian finds their owner, his eyes staying with him when he sees him coming their way. Kurt thinks he might be the tow truck driver looking for him, but a longer look says he’s not. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, flip-flops of all things, and he’s smoking a cigarette. Kurt waves a hand in front of his nose, making no effort to hide his disgust, but Sebastian puts up a hand, getting the man’s attention.

“Hey,” he says, “can I bum one of those?”

“Sure,” the man says.

Kurt pulls a face. One of what? he thinks. He can’t possibly mean …?

The man stops walking and reaches into his back pocket for his pack. He shakes out a single cigarette and offers it to Sebastian, who takes it, thanking him under his breath. The man pulls out a blue BIC lighter and flicks it. Sebastian puts the cigarette between his lips. He leans towards the lighter with a hand cupped over the flame, taking a few long drags to get it going. Sebastian steps back, blows a long plume of gray smoke into the air.

“Thanks,” he says.

Kurt stares at him the way primitive man must have stared at the first eclipse. His thoughts go immediately to how bad that is for Sebastian’s lungs, how awful it is for his health!

But watching him a while, sucking on that cigarette like he’s a seasoned smoker, Kurt’s second thought is how unbelievably sexy he looks.

He’s not proud of that thought, but there it is nonetheless.

“No problem,” the man says, continuing on his way. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” Sebastian takes another drag along with a bigger step back, doing his best to keep the smoke away from Kurt’s personal space. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then another drag. “This isn’t an all the time thing,” he says without opening his eyes, not interested in seeing any judgement from Kurt, Kurt figures. “This is a once-in-a-blue-fucking-moon thing. The last cigarette I had … I don’t even fucking remember. It wasn’t this year, I don’t think.” Sebastian lowers his hand and flicks the filter of the cigarette with his thumb, sending spent ash to the cement. “I need something to calm me down and I … I don’t want to go looking for anything stronger. I need to drive.”

Kurt sighs, oddly disappointed in himself at Sebastian’s need to find anything stronger to calm him down. “I understand.”

Sebastian opens a single eyelid. The look he gives Kurt isn’t a glare, but it comes close. “What’s with the sigh?”

Kurt is about to admit that he’d rather be the thing Sebastian turns to for comfort, but he squashes that comment quickly. This isn’t about him. Not a single bit. There is something else on his mind. Something that bothers him more. “You grew up too fast,” he says sadly.

The hand with the cigarette traveling up to Sebastian’s mouth stutters to a halt, Sebastian staring at it as if he’s never really looked at one before. He flicks it again, sends more ash and a few sparks to the ground. “You’re probably right,” he concludes, bringing the cigarette all the way to his lips. He takes a drag, avoids commenting further. “Anyway,” he says when enough time has passed to change the subject, “I told her that we’re probably going to stay the day here because I’m …” He chuckles again, that same uncomfortable laugh that tiptoes on the borders of crying “… I’m just plain wiped out.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Kurt agrees even though he can’t see himself sleeping after this. His body is running on adrenaline, his mind racing with images and thoughts and questions. So many fucking questions. They’re maintaining out here with tasks they have to accomplish and Julian whom they have to get home safely. What is it going to be like when they’re alone in a quiet house and a dark bedroom? The same dark bedroom, Kurt assumes, that Sebastian had to return to after he was assaulted.

“Good. That’s good.” Sebastian takes a drag and doesn’t say another word. Kurt doesn’t either. Every single word he has fails him, disappearing when he needs them most. Sebastian takes a longer than normal pull on his cigarette, then crushes the tip underneath the toe of his shoe while he blows the last of the smoke away. He ditches the butt in a nearby trash can, brushes the ash off his hands. He shoves them deep into his pockets, staring down at the smooth, beige cement. “Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“I know I probably don’t smell all that stellar at the moment, not after that but … would you mind …” Sebastian’s voice cracks and his face screws up. He tilts his head to the sky, breathes in hard through his nose “… can I have a hug?”

“Of course,” Kurt says, almost barreling into Sebastian’s embrace.

Sebastian extends an arm, opens himself up to Kurt, and Kurt steps into it. Sebastian wraps his arms around him and holds him, huddled in the safety and security of Kurt’s arms.

Together they wait in each other’s arms until the tow truck arrives.

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #spread the love #two chapter left

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larryfanficwriter98 · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eighteen

*Fake It Until You Make It Real*

This took forever because I kept coming back on whether to publish or not due to the somewhat debatable parenting that happens in here. I just think this particular Harry as a doctor and as someone who is compensating for a horrible mother may be a bit too honest with his daughter but also have a good reason to be so here it is.

Harry woke in the middle of the night in a dark room disoriented as he looked at Louis who directed his head to Maddie standing beside the bed for too innocently.

"Yes Maddie?" Harry asked rubbing his face tiredly.

"Daddy I've thought about and I've decided I want a baby sister. I already have a brother with Freddie now, so I want a sister. I had a dream about it." Louis started laughing behind him and Harry just groaned burying his face into the pillow.

"Okay baby. I'll try my best." Harry mumbled.

"You better daddy because I don't want another brother. If I have a sister, I can help LouLou dress her up and I can stay home some days with her since LouLou won't work."

"Sounds good." Harry said, "wait what."

"Maddison sweetheart when I said you can come talk to me any time, I didn't actually think you would make three AM our deep conversation time." Louis said pushing himself to sit up and look at her, "also I will still work, not right away, but I will."

"But my mom doesn't work, and you'll be a mommy."

"I'm already a mommy. I've got Freddie."

"Yes, but daddy is the breadwinner." Harry burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking as Louis pinched his side, "you can stay home and be a stay-at-home mom and live off my Daddy’s paycheck like my mom does." Harry tried really hard to cover his laughter but by the pinching and twisting at his side he knew he failed.

"I'm not anything like your mother sweetie. I actually like to work; I went to university for a reason not to sit around. Also, she doesn’t live off his paycheck, she lives off his child support check and trust me she won’t be living off it for long. Once that new amount hits her, she’ll be living off Daniel’s paycheck."

"But who will watch the baby?"

"Maddie is now really the time to have this conversation. We haven't even had this conversation yet." Harry said looking over at Maddison, "Louis isn't pregnant and won't be pregnant for at least a year. We have time to discuss this and when he is pregnant, we will still have nine months to talk it over."

"But I have so many questions daddy. Like how are babies even made? How does a whole baby get crested inside a person? It's crazy."

"A baby is created when a person who can carry a baby ovulates which means the ovaries releases a mature egg carrying an x chromosome. A man's sperm will enter a tube and it will have a race with all of the other sperms and it will fertilize the egg which over a nine-month process will create a baby." Harry said sleepily making Louis stare wide eyed at him though he didn't notice.

"How does the sperm get inside the tube?"

"Well technically after sex the race begins and all the sperms race towards the tube to the egg though most of the sperm doesn't make it very far."

"Is sex the only way to have a baby?"

"No there are many different ways however sex is the more traditional way."

"It sounds gross."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Yes. How fast is your sperm?"

"Please don't ever ask me that question ever again."

"But I'm curious."

"I don't care we're not discussing my sperm speed. It's inappropriate, meaning it's not proper conversation to have with you. Now please go to bed."

"But I have more questions."

"Why?"

"Does Louis have a vagina like mom?"

"No. He has a penis."

"Well then does it go inside of him? How does the baby come out?"

"It doesn't go inside of him sweetie it stays where it is. They cut him open and pull the baby out of his stomach."

"THEY CUT HIM OPEN?!"

"Yes."

"And he lives!?"

"Obviously. I cut people open all the time Maddie."

"Wait so will you cut him open when he has a baby?"

"Not unless it's an emergency."

"Oh okay. Goodnight daddy. Goodnight LouLou. Goodnight future baby sister."

"G'night." Harry mumbled turning his head away as the door closed behind her.

"What the fuck just happened." Louis asked, "did you just- did she- she really ask about sperm?"

"Just go to sleep."

"I can't your daughter asked about sperm and penises and vaginas. Is this normal?!"

"Yes, now go to sleep." Harry pleaded pulling the pillow over his head.

"I can't go to sleep Harry. You just told her how babies are made...medically correct terms and everything. She's a bit young don't you think?" Harry pushed himself up on his elbows and looks at Louis frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"She's five."

"Yeah and? She asked a medical question, so I gave her a medically correct age-appropriate answer. What's wrong with that?"

"Teaching her medically correct terms for her body is one thing but talking about sex at her age-"

"I didn't talk about sex I talked about the creation of a baby. I didn't tell her a man puts his penis into a person's vagina or anus and ejaculates into it. I told her sperm and eggs create a baby." Harry defended pushing himself to his knees to look at Louis sitting back against the headboard.

"Which is inappropriate. She asked about your sperm."

"Which I shot down immediately. I told her it was inappropriate, reminded her what that meant, and she didn't ask again. It's not like I encouraged her to ask. Granted I should have maybe told her before she asked not to ask such specific questions but she's five. She's going to ask questions. I'm not seeing the big deal here. Yes, her questions were a little inappropriate at times, but it's better to explain it than to have her clueless."

"There are better ways to tell her how babies are made. More age-appropriate ways."

"More conservative and untruthful ways you mean."

"Untruthful? How is saying that babies are made when two people love each other and have special connection to one another untruthful?"

"Because it's a lie."

"It is not a lie. It is an age appropriate-"

"Lie. It is a lie. Do you know how many rape victims I have to tell they're pregnant to in a year?"

"That's different-"

"It is not they still have a baby and I promise you they did not love whoever it was that did that to them. When she is older, I want her to know she can talk to me about anything either it be questions about sex or questions about menstrual cycles or hell even discharge. Whatever it is no matter how weird and uncomfortable it may be, it is my responsibility to make sure she knows everything she needs to know. I'm not going to tell her these pretty little lies."

"When she's older you can better explain it, but no five-year-old should know about sperm and eggs and sex in general." Harry rubbed his hands over his face then looked at Louis again.

"Look I see where you are coming from, I really do, but I feel like being completely honest with your child is the best way to prepare them for this world. The world is going to shit, women can't even go to the bar alone Louis, I have to prepare her for that. I'm going to hope and pray to whatever I can that the world changes for the better, but in case it doesn't she needs to know she can talk to me, talk to us openly without fear of lies or half-truths. In a perfect world babies are made out of love, but they're not. I wasn't. You think my dad loved my mom? If he loved her, he wouldn't have done what he did. Maybe a small part of him at some point, but in the end the only thing he cared about was getting his pants off somewhere regularly. Maddie wasn't even made out of love. Freddie even? Can you honestly tell me Freddie was made out of love on both sides?" Louis folded his arms and looked away from Harry pressing his lips together. Harry watched him for a moment then ran a hand through his hair and looked at the clock noticing it was half past three.

"A little white lie doesn't hurt every now and again."

"So would you tell me a little white lie?" Harry challenged.

"What? No? No not between us Harry I meant-"

"To kids. To kids who trust us impeccably. Who believe every word we tell them until they learn something new, they use us as examples for future use. If we lie about small things, then they won't talk to us in the future about big things. You won't lie to me, your partner, your equal, but you'll lie to a child who doesn't comprehend the danger a stranger can do in five seconds?"

"That is not what I meant."

"There is literally no other way to take it. That is exactly what you were going to say one way or another. Little white lies to equals is bad but to kids it's perfectly fine."

"In certain circumstances at certain ages yes I think it's fine. Like the sex talk can wait until she's older."

"I didn't give her the sex talk." Louis rolled his eyes and threw the duvet off his legs as he got out of bed, "where are you going?"

"I don't know a guest room maybe. Just away." Louis said taking his pillow and walking around the bed.

"You're leaving? Because I told my daughter about sperm?"

"No, I'm leaving because you won't even consider that maybe perhaps what you told her was entirely too inappropriate." Louis argued.

"Because it wasn't."

"See you won't even consider it."

"And you won't consider that it wasn’t, but you don't see me grabbing a pillow and leaving the room." Harry countered.

"Goodnight Harry." Louis said before he was stepping out of the bedroom closing the door behind him.

Harry sat there for a few moments completely shocked and confused before he just ignored it and got out of bed. He knew trying to sleep was a lost cause so instead he took a long shower and got ready for work then headed downstairs to make himself some breakfast. After a quick egg sandwich, he made both kids and Louis their lunches since he had time to spare then headed upstairs and checked on both kids seeing them fast asleep. He kissed them both then headed to a few guest rooms checking in them until he found Louis'.

"Lou." Harry whispered stepping up to the bed, Louis had his back to him and was cuddled under the duvet, but he was awake, "Louis."

"What?"

"I have to go to work. I made lunches for you and the kids." Harry hesitated before he carefully climbed in behind Louis wrapping his arm around his waist, "I'll see you when I get home."

"K."

"Oh, come on anything can happen to me or you on the way to work today at least pretend to miss me."

"Don't pull that."

"I'm not pulling anything Louis it just so happens that I work in a hospital where I see car accidents daily. The most common sentence out of their partners mouths is we fought today. So...just drive safe alright? I'll see you when I get home." Harry pressed a kiss to Louis' forehead and cheek then left the room with nothing but a simple 'yeah you too' from Louis. One more kiss to the kids then he was leaving the house and getting into his car driving off.

Louis got back to house ready to bury himself for a few hours only to enter the house to not only his family, but also Harry's family there. He and possibly Harry had completely forgotten their families were coming up for their weekend wedding shopping and planning trip. The kids were excitedly though yelling for their respective grandmothers and running to them.

"You look like you had an early morning." Anne teased.

"Well sorry to disappoint but I look like this because your granddaughter woke us up at three in the morning asking about babies then I couldn't go back to sleep after Harry left for work."

"Early morning and night shifts get hard especially in the beginning but you'll soon love having the bed all to yourself for a few hours. Especially when you don't have any kids here."

"That'll be new." Louis commented unsure how he felt about that yet, “Have you guys settled in? How did you even get into the house?”

“We stopped by to get Harry’s house key and when we got here, I told Jay she was welcome to come whenever she was ready, but yes we are all settled into our rooms. Jay and I are making dinner tonight, so you don’t worry about that.”

“That’s right you relax dear.”

“Come on Maddison let’s get started on your homework so when your dad gets home you are free.”

“Okay.”

“Freddie you too come on.”

“But Papa-“

“No buts come on.” Freddie pouted but let go of his nana and walked over to the living room with them. Louis settled in between the two kids and between Maddison’s homework, Freddie’s homework, and his grading he was kept busy which relaxed him. Before he knew it the kids were finished and off to play together while he finished grading.

“So dear brother what sort of dress are you thinking?” Lottie asked.

“Don’t know or care. It’s going to be cold so keep that in mind. The only dress I care about is Maddison’s. Wear whatever you want. However, I will say that if it clashes, I will hurt you.”

“Noted. I’ll ask Harry when he gets here.”

“Yeah, you do that. The wedding inspiration book is over there, that big light blue binder. Harry did most of it.” Louis said pointing to the big binder in the bookcase, Lottie stood and grabbed it just as Louis noticed Harry was almost an hour late. He immediately sat up and reached for his phone checking for any messages but found none.

“What time is Harry supposed to be home? Dinner is almost ready.” His mom asked.

“One hour ago.” Louis said standing up from the couch and pressing the call button on Harry’s contact, “He always texts or calls when he’s running late.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, it’s Friday he’s probably busy.” Robin said gently, but Louis couldn’t stop playing the words Harry said earlier that morning before he left. It was just about to go to voicemail when Harry answered the call.

“Hey sorry I left my phone in the car all day. Everything okay?”

“Yeah…I was just making sure you were okay I- you’re late.”

“Yeah, I’ll be a little later, probably won’t be home until twelve maybe. We’re busy I actually just ran out to get my phone to text you to tell you that. Just got back to my office when you called.”

“Okay do you want me to bring you some dinner? Our families are here by the way.”

“Oh, shit they are, aren’t there. I would love a visit from you with food. We can eat together I’ll make sure to get my mandatory hour break when you visit. When are you coming?”

“I’ll make us a plate once the kids have their own then I’ll be on my way…say…thirty minutes.”

“Perfect. I-“

“Dr. Styles you’re needed in room 503.” A woman’s voice was heard in the background.

“Okay one tiny moment.” Harry said, “I gotta go, just tell the front desk you’re my fiancé and they’ll send you to my wing. Drive safe, please it’s crazy over here. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“If you tell me to drive safe one more time, I’m suffocating you in your sleep.”

“If suffocating me in my sleep involves your ass then I’m perfectly okay with it.”

“You’re insatiable. Just for that I’m hanging up on you and I’m going to say the q word when I get there.”

“YOU WOULDN’T DARE!” Anne, Robin, Harry, and his own mother shouted in pure shock making Louis laugh.

“You’re a dick.” Harry said, “It’s not my fault your ass is-“ Louis quickly hung up the call before Harry could say anymore.

“You taking food to him? Long shift tonight?” Anne asked.

“Yeah at least another six hours it sounds like. I’ll help plate the food for the kids then I’ll leave with ours. Hopefully, he can eat a full meal while it is hot. He said he’ll wait for his mandatory hour break for when I arrive, but I’m sure you know that’s not guaranteed especially since they do sound busy.”

“Yeah, the best they can do is thirty minutes, but thirty is better than none. Take what you can get.” Robin told him.

***

Arriving at the emergency room department wing area was hectic and Louis was momentarily worried he would have to wait far longer than he wanted to, but he was surprised when Liam called him over and told him Harry was just finishing his rounds for the moment and would be getting his break in a few minutes.

“You can stay in his office; I’ll send him in when he’s done. Also eat, he told me to tell you not to wait on him.”

“I would have brought you a plate if I knew you were working.”

“Got called in about twenty minutes ago. Huge pileup crash on a motorway. Honestly don’t expect him home until midnight at the earliest.”

“Okay thanks.” Louis said as he sat on one of the chairs Harry had in his small office, Liam nodded before he left closing the door behind him. Louis did as he was told and started eating his own food while he waited for Harry who came in a few minutes later. He looked tired and worn out, but he grinned when he saw him, and Louis was immediately out of his chair and in his arms before he could even realize he had stood up.

“If twelve-hour shifts get me these types of hugs, I’ll have to work more of them.” Louis shook his head causing Harry to chuckle as he tightened his arms around Louis’ body, “For the next hour, this morning never happened. We’ll deal with it later.”

“Deal.” Louis said pressing kissed to Harry’s jaw before pulling away to look at him, “You look tired.”

“I’ll be fine. Just not used to my long hours after so long. How’s the family?” Harry asked walking to the chair Louis had just left and sat in it pulling Louis into his lap.

“They’re fine. So are the kids, a little upset I came to visit you without them, but they’re fine. Maddison is really excited about dress shopping tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she is. I am too, it’ll be fun. Can’t promise I won’t be exhausted, but it’ll be fun. Now how about for the next hour we eat our food and cuddle and hopefully just relax.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Louis cuddled against Harry as they both ate their meals that their mothers made, Harry practically inhaling everything barely taking a few seconds to chew it properly.

“I told you during my long shifts I could eat anything.” Harry said with his mouthful of broccoli and cheese rice and maybe some chicken in there. After their meals were done Louis laid his head on Harry’s chest hugging his waist as his mind wandered back to this morning.

“I just don’t understand why she needs to know the dirt details.” Louis confessed.

“And I don’t understand why we should lie about it? It’s not harming anyone for her to know these things. It’s preparing her for the unfortunately near future of teenage boys and hormones and sex. She’s five right now Louis, but she’ll be six then seven then eight then she’s ten then she’s fifteen with a boyfriend or girlfriend. All her mother does is lie to her, half-truths, little lies, big lies, that’s all she does. That’s all Maddie knows from a parent, well knew from a parent.”

“I know that, but it’s weird.”

“It’s only weird because you’re making it weird and sex talk with our kids is never going to be fun and comfortable, but at least they’ll know. Besides Maddie doesn’t even know what sperm is, she just knows it exists now. It’s really not that big of a deal. Look if it makes you more comfortable, I can have these conversations with her alone, but I’m not going to lie about anything. If a question is asked, I’ll answer it the way I feel like is appropriate. I’m not going to talk to her about sperm and the actual sex act for years unless she asks about it and even then, I won’t tell her all the dirty details.”

“She’s a child.”

“Yes, but she won’t be one forever.” Louis pouted folding his arms making Harry chuckle, “Is that your problem?”

“No.”

“Seems to me that is the exact problem. You know I had a hard time accepting the fact my baby girl is growing up too, but it’s the way of life. We can’t stop it, the only thing we can do it prepare her for it and unfortunately, we have to prepare her for a world that one in five women is a saying that every woman knows about. School and work are the most popular places to experience something within that nature and she needs to know that eventually.”

“Stop talking I’m not listening to you.” Harry chuckled but held him close to his body for the next thirty minutes until they were interrupted by Liam.

“Ready to get back to work? Fifty minutes…almost an hour.”

“Yeah, come on I’ll walk you out.” Harry and Louis stood and left the room after gathering everything up then Harry walked Louis to his car, “We’ll talk later. Drive safe and text me when you get home okay.”

“I will. Wake me when you get home.”

“Of course.” Harry pressed a lingering kiss to Louis’ lips before pulling away and opening the door for him, “See you when I get home. Give the kids bedtime kisses and cuddles for me.” One more kiss then Harry was heading back into the hospital while Louis headed back to the house.

#Larry Stylinson #larry shippers #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #larries #larryfanfic #fake marriage #nonfamous au #doctor harry styles #teacher louis #parents au

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welldressedllama · 3 years

Note

“Good Trouble” and “All American” for that show/fandom ask thingy por favor??

Wow, you really just came out swinging huh? Asking about my two favorite shows. Go off I guess.

Did you guys ask for explanations? No. Are you going to get them? Abso-fucking-lutely. And by explanations, I mostly just mean me rambling.

“Good Trouble”

Favorite female character - Alice Kwan. That woman is fucking hilarious. And very kind. She deserves the world.

Favorite male character - Gael Martinez. Duh. I mean *waves hand in the general direction of our resident sexy bisexual artist with a heart of gold.* I rest my case.

Favorite season - Season 1. Season 2 was great, and season 3, because this show is just phenomenal, but season 1 was really interesting. Watching Callie deal with her clerkship and the trial and with Marianna forming Byte Club? A+. Plus it was when we were first introduced to all these wonderful characters so for that I will forever be thankful.

Favorite episode - Okay, any episode with the moms is equal parts hilarious and heart-warming. The birthday episodes never fail to be a hoot and a half. I am partial to Malika’s birthday episode though, 2x06 “Twenty-Fine.” No, it is not purely because of Gael dancing to “Hot-N-Fun.” Yes, it is largely because of that. I am but a simple human, do not judge me.

Favorite cast member - I don’t particularly know anything about any of the cast members. I follow some of them on Instagram, and they all seem nice I guess? Sherry Cola’s funny.

Favorite ship - Gael and happiness. My guy has had a real rough go of it for the last *checks watch* ever. Alice and Ruby are kinda cute though.

Character I’d die defending - Alice, because we all know she ain’t gonna do it herself.

Character I just can’t sympathize with - Jamie I s’pose?

Character I grew to love - Davia. I wasn’t a big fan of her in the beginning. She could be rude and annoying, but over the course of the series we’ve seen her big heart and good intentions. And she’s funny, and something about her relationship with her mother just reminded me of me with my parents, so that helped a lot.

NOTP - Callie and bad decisions. Which is a shame, because that’s her most recurring ship. I honestly quite like Callie, and I think she largely has the best intentions, but her execution often leaves something to be desired.

In terms of actual ships though, I’m actually not a fan of Callie with Gael or Jamie. I don’t think I would call either a full notp, and between the two I like Gallie more than Jallie, but I still don’t particularly like Gallie. Callie and Jamie have similar lifestyles and interests, sure, but they’re values are so different. Why the hell is resident progressive Callie Adams-Foster dating ex-Republican-turned-Independent-but-still-very-conservative Jamie Hunter?? Like, it’s always been clear they don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.

“All American”

Favorite female character - Olivia Baker. She has such a big heart and is so human. And Samantha Logan portrays her flawlessly.

Favorite male character - Jordan Baker. No, it’s not just because of his face. I really like the Bakers y’all. Baker twins interactions are the best interactions.

Favorite season - They’ve all been really good? Maybe season 1. This sounds crazy, because I honestly couldn’t care less about football, but I kinda liked how it really followed the team in their journey to state while still showing the other storylines. It felt a bit more straightforward. Seasons 2 and 3 got a little complicated, which makes sense, but there was just something about the simplicity of season 1 that makes me feel all warm and nostalgic. Season 1 did the best jobs balancing all the characters, football, and the drama.

Favorite episode - “Protect Ya Neck” - 2x10. So much happened this episode. A lot of drama, but also, that cotillion?? So much fun. We got to see some rarer dynamics, which was cool. But mostly just for the dance, because hello. And Baker family hugs, my greatest weakness.

Favorite cast member - I don’t know a lot about any of them really. I’ve watched a lot of Daniel Ezra’s “The Hangout” videos with the other cast members, and I think they’re all funny and entertaining and really enjoy their interactions.

Favorite ship - This is not a romantic ship. But a pair that I always really enjoy is actually Laura Baker and Spencer James. It’s rare we really get to see them really interact, but the little things like her hugging him immediately, her saying “the one thing [Billy, Grace, and I] can all agree on is how much we love you” to him in the season 2 premiere, her inviting him to family dinners even after he moves out? Beautiful. It’s very much a familial dynamic, and I just really appreciate it.

Character I’d die defending -

Character I just can’t sympathize with - Asher’s dad. I think his name’s Harold? Either way, he’s just the worst. No explanation needed. Grandpa Willie isn’t great either.

Character I grew to love - ??? Honestly, almost every character on that show has my heart. I can’t think of one I love now but didn’t in the beginning.

NOTP - Honestly, maybe Ashlivia? Like, don’t get me wrong, they are both very pretty, and they have some cute, fun moments together. But they also have a lot of issues. I’m honestly not a big fan of Asher. He has a lot of potential, but I feel like he doesn’t live up to it. He has a lot to work through, and until he does, I don’t particularly want him with my girl Olivia. I did really like them as friends though.

#good trouble #all american #alice kwan #gael martinez #olivia baker #jordan baker #the baker twins are the best twins #llama says #laura baker deserves all the good things #anti jallie #I guess??#a lil bi furious #mutuals

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3. Our Place in the Cosmos

‘I wish we had all been born birds instead’ Kurt Vonnegut

“Réveille toi, princesse!”, Louis bellowed, barging into my room first thing the next morning, “Time do doll up for the day! No little birdies coming to help!”

I responded the way I always did, by grunting half-heartedly, hoping it would be enough for him to leave me alone; it never was.

“Mags?”

I felt the mattress dip to my left and then a sudden pull to the blanket. Prepared, however, with more than two decades of him in my life, I was already holding tighter to it.

“Come on, I brought coffee! Get up and look! I even added cream and powdered cocoa, just how you like it.”

I took in a deep breath, emerging from my blanket cocoon just enough to look at him with one eye, raising one eyebrow.

“I asked the chef, it’s the intention that matters.”

Sighing, I pulled myself up slightly to half-sit against the bed frame. I pulled the blanket off a little more, enough for one arm and half of my face to be out, and took the mug from him.

“Praise!” Louis looked up, in mock-reverence, “For the sacrificial bean potion has been accepted by the beast! The kingdom is spared another day!”

I rolled my eyes, or tried to in my sleep, but stuck to the coffee smell entering my nostrils as I blew it lightly, allowing the first sip to wake me up a little.

I’d been having the weirdest dream; I was in the conference room at work and my entire company was sitting around the room. At the head of the table, my bosses. They were all staring at me as I struggled through a presentation I couldn’t for the life of me remember and when I looked at the screen behind me, it was a powerpoint filled with images of Harry.

‘Care to explain, Your Royal Highness?’, my boss asked, which was weird, because no one at work treated me as HRH.

‘He was just joking!’, I justified, hurriedly. ‘Of course he was joking!’

‘He seemed pretty serious, Margueritte’, said my other boss. ‘He was even jealous of your ex.’

‘Where would you live? If you married?’, asked Sophie, one of my colleagues.

‘They’re both spares, so neither needs to inherit…’

‘I guess neither is needed at their own country, they could live in Savoy.’

‘No, she would have to move to England, of course.’

‘Why?!’

‘She’s the woman. They would make her.’

‘But her career is here!’

‘She can be a lawyer anywhere!’

‘Do you really think the British Royal family would allow her to continue to work?’

‘Guys!’, I started yelling, but my voice wouldn’t come out, ‘He was just kidding! Of course it would never work! Guys! We’re not together!’

‘What will the press say?’

‘What will her grandmother say?!’

“Maggie?!” Louis snapped his fingers in front of my face.

Startled, I sighed, closing my eyes, trying to will the nightmare into oblivion.

“You still talk in your sleep, huh?”

I looked at him, feeling my blood run cold. I cleared my throat, but didn’t say anything.

As a teenager, he always managed to get information out of me by pretending he heard me say something in my sleep and allowing me time to start justifying myself or ask incriminating questions before I even knew what he heard. With time, I learned. Say nothing. If he really heard something, he’ll eventually ask specifically.

“Who’s Mary?”

I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Did you have a dream about Jesus? Because you were also saying ‘I’m a catholic! There’s nothing I can do about it!’, so maybe it was the mother of Jesus?”

Of course I knew what that meant. Harry had called me “Mary” at least thirty times the day before. And being anglican, Harry could lose his title if he married a catholic, a fact I couldn’t for the life of me remember how I knew, or when I learned.

“Maybe.” I said.

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through something, allowing me time to drink my coffee. A song started playing, slightly upbeat, with an indie feeling to it. I tried to remind myself to ask the name later, but had no energy at that moment.

I heard a noise and realized he’d taken a selfie of us.

“Pourquoi?”, I sighed.

“Just texting Lou.”

Both Louis and Lourdes, our sister, used ‘Lou’ as a nickname. It made for confusing conversations with other family members or friends, but amongst the three of us, we always knew who we were talking about, so we rarely used their names.

He showed me his phone, smiling, a minute or two later. There was a selfie in reply from Lourdes. It was a Saturday so she was home from boarding school, and the picture showed herself in bed with an open laptop nearby and some young teenager paused mid-sentence on it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I think she’s watching youtube.” He returned.

“She should be asleep.”

“She has ice skating practice soon.”

I sighed again, heavily. “She does too much.”

“Did she send you a video of a new move yesterday?”

“It’s possible. She sends me a lot of videos.”

“She’s getting really good.”

The coffee had gone cold, so I sunk into bed again and shoved the mug in his general direction.

“Put it over there.” He said, dismissively, eyeing the bedside table to my other side.

I whined something incoherent, pleading as I sank lower into the blanket, but he made no move for the mug.

“I’m not taking it, you gotta get up, anyway.”

“Ugh.” Forcing myself to turn to my side, I stretched and pushed the mug into the bedside table, near my phone.

Clicking the screen twice, I looked at my notifications. A couple texts from my friends and a few emails. I clicked it dark again and let the blankets consume me.

“Have you heard from Chris?”

I sighed loudly, more for him to be able to gather my annoyance than out of actual necessity.

“Non.”

There was a pause.

“You know we have to leave soon, right?”

I whined again.

“I know.” He sighed. “How’s work?”

I sighed, trying to respond like a normal, awake version of myself.

“Good.”

“Nice."

I constructed a sentence in my head, about how I had to stop taking time off if I wanted to be taken seriously as a lawyer, and how dad had promised me he’d let me focus on my career after he moved back home. Instead, what I said was,

“How’s school?”

He sighed. “Good.”

There was a pause, but I didn’t hear his fingers on his phone anymore. I closed my eyes again and started feeling a cosy sleepiness take over once more, as if it never left.

“Peter came out to his family.”

I opened my eyes again.

“...I thought - oh. I thought everyone knew.”

“They… knew.” He said, uncertain. “His friends knew. His parents knew, but… pretended they didn’t. His extended family definitely didn’t know.”

I stretched a hand towards the bedside table, hovering over the vertical stripes of the wood. It was a victorian style chest with copper edges, two small drawers and a victorian lampshade on top. I knew there were 17 vertical stripes in the wood facing the bed - I had been counting them the night before after the Mayor’s ball, when I couldn’t sleep, thinking of how the edges matched the hair in a certain jerk.

“How… how did it go?”

My brother sighed.

“Fine.”

I turned in bed to face him, and waited.

Peter was Louis’ roommate since his second year at the University of Edinburgh, when he left the dorms in search for more privacy. They met at an econ class and soon discovered they had a lot more in common than it seemed. Peter was also from an upper class family with a lot of generational wealth and property to look after, and was also studying in Edinburgh to find some space in which he could figure himself out before he had to dedicate his life to the family business.

“...I don’t know.” He admitted. “I guess, from what he said, it sounds like it went better than expected?”

“His parents came to your birthday party a couple years ago, right?” He nodded. “I remember them; they seemed nice.”

“They are, they’re lovely! It’s just… His father has an estate up north. It’s been with them for generations. Peter doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, so he has to inherit. And you know the aristocracy, right? They’re…”

“Overly conservative? Stuck in the past? Assholes?”

He smiled, slightly, then shrugged. “He needs to provide an heir.”

“He can, though.”

“He knows… it’s just…”

“Unusual.”

Louis let out a long breath; “Yeah.”

“Maybe they just need time.”

“His family does this… thing, every year. They’re big on Christmas. So they plan this whole, really long family holiday, with a trip, and activities, and theme nights…”

“I know, you spent Christmas with them last year.��

“Yeah.” He smiled. “It was the most fun I had with older British people ever since I moved here.”

I smiled; my family had its own Christmas traditions, but as royals we didn’t have any commitments until New Year’s Eve, when there was a televised ceremony at the Capital and a speech from my father. It was nice, it gave us room to do whatever we wanted for the holidays, as a family, not property of the country. We could stay with mom’s family, or Lourdes could go skiing with a friend’s family, or I could go to Cabo with college friends in my junior year… so it wasn’t unusual for Louis to decide to spend last year’s holiday with Peter’s family, specially when his family made such a big deal of those days.

“It’s such a big spectacle, they start planning months in advance… Peter said they usually have already started an email thread at this point in the year… And he hasn’t received anything.”

“It’s October.” I reasoned.

His smile was sadder now. “His cousin said she’s in a thread.”

I sighed. “This…”

“I know.” He added, when I couldn’t find words.

I knew Peter, of course. Being only a couple years younger than me, Louis was basically my best friend. Not the one I talked to the most, but definitely the one who knew me better than anyone in the world. We loved Lourdes with our whole hearts, but she was more than a decade younger than me.

As a result of that close age difference, Louis and I had a lot of friends in common. Even though I went to an all-girls boarding school in Belgium, and he to an all-boys boarding school in Savoy, we had the weekends at home, and the school holidays. And polo matches at the club, and charity events with family friends, and we always ended up meeting the other’s friends from school one way or another.

Peter, then, became a fixture in our lives, and it broke my heart to know something so silly could be wrecking him without my knowledge.

“You should invite him home for Christmas.” I told Louis. “Invite him to come to Savoy. I think we’ll be at Corsilla Castle this year; it’s right by the beach, he’ll love it.”

He considered it for a few moments, but his brows were troubled.

“I don’t know… He already has to deal with paparazzi at the entrance of our building and following us to class because of me… I don’t want to throw him even more to the wolves.”

I sat up in bed, adjusting my shirt. “It won’t be that bad! Remember my third year of University, when I brought Kat and Amanda home for Christmas? Paparazzi followed us around because of me, but then they went home without me and they were fine.”

He nodded. "I'll wait a bit more, see if they'll come around. If not, then I'll ask."

I smiled. "Good."

Laying back again, I pulled the sheets to my neck, and turned back to the bedside table, closing my eyes.

It wasn't even five seconds before I felt a pillow hit my thigh.

"What?!" I jumped.

"Get up!" he said, looking distressed.

--- ---- ---

After breakfast at Clarence House, I rode to the British Parliament with Louis and our father. I wore a nude, midi length, blazer-like wrap dress with two rows of buttons and a tank top of the same color underneath to make the neckline more conservative, with shoes and hat were of the same color.

We sat in the House of Commons and watched as my father was introduced and delivered an address on the honor it was to be at the ‘center of British democracy’, and ‘how fortunate we are in Savoy to have such an ally across the sea’. I sat in my seat attempting not to look bored, which was a feat to behold as I had heard that speech a bunch of times in preparation for the trip. It was just as hard not to mouth the lines along with my father.

Over the past few years, tensions had been growing between the two islands: the British and the Savoyen governments were in conflict over the right way to handle the immigration crisis slowly taking over Europe from Syria. England, Savoy and France were all interchangeably accessible through the Eurostar, and that free access was generating higher immigration numbers, and because unlike France, Savoy hadn’t yet toughened their regulations over the issue, the British were more than a little upset at our government for, as they said, ‘facilitating the entry to Great Britain’.

That’s what we were there to do, smile and wave and appear friendly to strengthen our diplomatic ties. And that was the main issue my father was subtly talking about in his speech. Our need to come together and find solutions to benefit the many, yada, yada, yada.

“I’m thinking of skipping the meetings to go with you to your event.”

I looked at him. Louis was still looking at our father as he talked about the economic partnerships between the countries.

“The meetings are important. Dad is talking to a lot of representatives.”

“I know, but he doesn’t really need me.”

I sighed. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Just have Cadie send a press release to inform people I’ll go.”

“We’ll discuss it later.”

I made sure to keep a smile on my face during the exchange, but as soon as had shaken all the appropriate hands and posed for the necessary photographs in front of the press, I pulled him into a quiet corner of the hallway while dad gave a short interview to a British journalist.

“You can’t come with me.”

“Why not?”

“Louis, your responsibility is to help dad with diplomatic affairs.”

He rolled his eyes. “There won’t even be press there.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Stop stage-whispering, they’re gonna hear you.”

I took a step forward and gave my back to the people on the other end of the hallway.

“Papa is counting on you. The press is not important, it’s about…” I sighed, searching for help in my memories of the preparatory meeting Auguste made me attend. “It’s about building a relationship of trust with the people you’ll be working with when you’re king.”

“Maggie.” He took in a long breath. “Fine. Okay, you’re right.” He shrugged, sighing.

“You’ll do great. Remember, you’re here to learn.”

“Alright, fine, now you’re sounding like Maman.”

--- ---- ---

The Duchess of Cambridge was nothing but bright and bubbly, the picture of politeness when I met her that morning at the gravel driveway into Clarence House. The team figured it would be weird if we saw each other for the first time in public and had to make introductions in front of the whole world, so she was kind enough to drive to Clarence House so we could leave for our engagement together.

I arrived from Parliament, where I left my father and brother to their meetings with elected officials, and had just enough time to change into a different outfit and remove my hat before I rushed down the stairs to meet the woman the world knew as Kate Middleton waiting in the drawing room with the Duchess of Cornwall.

The dress I was wearing now was silk and down to my knees, tied under my chest with a bow, bellow a V shaped neckline that stretched into long, bishop, sleeves. The Duchess of Cambridge was wearing a green envelope dress, midi-length, and nude shoes, with her silky, golden brown hair falling down her shoulders in perfect waves. She and the Duchess of Cornwall were sitting in armchairs, leaning towards each conspiratorially. They looked up at me when I walked in with Cadie, with an air about them that gave me the distinct impression I was the subject of their recent whispering.

With a mid-thought smile on their lips, they stood up.

“Your Royal Highness, may I present, Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge.”

“Your Royal Highness, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said, extending a hand, which I shook just as she flexed her legs down in a curtsey.

It was a bit of a gray area, who curtsied to whom between the two of us, because, although we both technically held the same spot in the lines of succession of our countries, I was there as a royal by blood, and she was only the consort of one; still, I wouldn’t have expected her to curtsey, so I curtsied too.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Royal Highness. And please call me by name.”

“Well, then you must too. Call me Catherine.”

“You can just use Margueritte, if it’s easier. I make no fuss over our obnoxious French R’s.”

They chuckled.

“I will admit it shouldn’t be too difficult to skip the formal titles, I do feel as though I know you well already.” She exchanged a look with the Duchess of Cornwall that could only be described as knowing, and then said, in a forcibly casual tone, “I have heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

They stared at me, smiling. Behind me, Cadie was aiming her wide eyes at the ground; brows raised, an amused grin in her lips.

“Good things I hope.”

“Oh, of course.” Catherine laughed. “Nothing but good things!”

“A little too good, perhaps.”

Of my current options - ignore it altogether, try to pretend I misinterpreted their meaning or face it head on - I decided it was safer, more diplomatic perhaps, to stay in the middle.

“We’re not as famous as Britain in Savoy, but we do get on the news sometimes.” I said, with a small shrug. “So long as you don’t believe everything you read. Unless it’s good.”

They chuckled again, but the Duchess of Cambridge seemed as if she wanted to contest my understanding, but decided against it.

“Of course.” She agreed, finally.

“And lucky you.” Added the woman to her right.

“We should get going, then.” Catherine’s aide, a young brunette, added from the door.

I curtsied to the Duchess of Cornwall, who wished us luck before kissing her step-daughter-in-law’s cheeks and waving us into the car.

There was a palpable shift within Catherine when we were in the car, alone if not for the driver and her aide in the front. Her hands were fidgety, her eyes moving quickly between the window by her side and the one in the front. At times I thought she might have looked at me as well, only for a moment, one from the corners of her eyes.

She seemed level-headed. Mature. Sensible. So she could reasonably have meant something else entirely by what she said… what I said about the press, perhaps. Because what could Harry even have said about me? He barely knew me. It was only the day before that we met (officially, that is). How much time would he have had to talk about me to his family? Did he run home and told them of the cold, overly polite Princess he’d just met who kept rebuking his advances?

I looked over at her, who still seemed slightly fidgety, definitely more than when the Duchess of Cornwall was with us. I wondered if there was a particular reason, or if maybe she was just shy. Maybe she was also thinking of all those times she’d heard so much of me.

Her aide spoke before either of us did.

“Ma’am, why don’t you tell Her Royal Highness why we chose Place2Be to visit today?”

I was reminded of my mother, when she attempted to force me to talk to our adult guests at dinner parties when I was younger.

“Right.” The Duchess smiled. “Well, I’ve always really loved children. So after I got married, I was meant to chose organizations I’d like to support and I decided to start with children. Place2Be is was the first, it’s where I made my first speech. They… they help children.”

There was an awkward break. I wondered if that was it. Was that it? That seemed like a very short answer, though I suppose a case could be made that it was to the point.

My mother had made me attend enough etiquette lessons growing up to know that the host is supposed to make conversation, so I wanted to stay quiet, but the only thing I had to occupy myself with were my own thoughts, and that was unacceptable.

“I remember my first speech. It was… a nightmare, honestly.” I chuckled to myself. “And no matter how many of these things I do, I still get so anxious beforehand.”

She looked over at me, and I saw immediate relief and surprise wash over her features.

“Really?!” She shook her head in disbelief. “So do I! At times I’m shocked I don’t trip on my feet!”

“I used to only wear low shoes when I first started, I was afraid of the very same.” I confessed, with an embarrassed smile.

“And I do prepare, of course! I do all the work-”

“Exactly, it’s not about the work, just… the-”

“Responsability.”

“Yes!”

The way she smiled in response, shoulders dropping, voice wavering, I wondered how often she had been told by her own team all the things she should and shouldn’t do during these events; If I couldn’t escape Auguste’s nagging, and my father was the King, what hope did she have? Merely marrying into a family where her husband was still the heir to the heir.

As it turns out, the charity Catherine chose to show me, Place2Be, didn’t just ‘help kids’; it helped the communities around them as well, providing lunches, and courses for the parents, and and counseling tools for the children to learn how to properly express their feelings in order to be healthier. They mainly worked with school, so on that afternoon we joined them in an event in a primary school in the outskirts of London that served mainly marginalized communities and families of immigrants.

As we parked outside the simple yet lovely building, our security stepped our first, followed by our secretaries, and finally, the Duchess and I. At the entrance, the organizations’ leaders awaited to guide us in our visit, with the press lined up at the opposite direction, cameras ready to snap.

Friends often ask me what is running through my mind when I walk anywhere with the press on my heels. 'How can you think straight-', they'll say, 'with those cameras and flashes following you so up close?'. The truth is, I do not think at all when forced to walk with the press watching. Things like arriving at events, such as this one, where the flashed are so constant it mostly just looks like the room merely has weirdly artificial lighting. I don't have time to look around and register or appreciate the landscape, or take notice of who is watching and what they might be thinking of me. All I can do is walk straight up, either taking the lead or, in this case, following it, and shake the hands I was suppose to and say the pleasantries I was suppose to, all making sure I have a smile on my face and my skirt isn’t blowing with the wind.

There were two women waiting for us in the entrance, one was wearing a dress, the other a pantsuit. I‌ let Catherine go first, and after she had shaken their hands, and they had each done a short, polite curtsey, she turned around and introduced me as ‘Princess Marie-Margueritte’, with a perfect French pronunciation.

The school was simple enough, brick walls with colorful art, posters about washing one’s hands and treating others with politeness. There was a smaller group of reporters inside, following us along as we walked, and our aides were taking pictures or videos themselves.

As we walked, Angela, the principal in a pantsuit, was telling us about the progress the children had undergone since the school began its partnership with Place2Be. Less temper tantrums, more willingness to talk things through. Michelle, the representative from Place2Be, told us about the art therapy initiatives, which helped the children learn how to better process and express their feelings, and about the researches that showed children that were incentivized to talk about what they felt were less likely to develop mental health issues.

We passed by classrooms and halls until we arrived at a room with wide, round tables, knee high, filled with children and a few teachers. We walked in, reciprocating their timid, excited smiles, and another Place2Be specialist introduced us and welcomed us to take seats in a table in the middle, where two tiny chairs had been left empty for us, side by side. There was a hilarious moment when we realized just how low the chairs were as we tried to take our seats, and shared a mildly desperate look, before starting to giggle at the same time. We eventually sat down, knees together as demanded by etiquette, and said hello to our table mates, Audrey, Matthew, Safiya and Thomas.

The instructor told us the exercise we were doing today was called safety net, like one an equilibrist might use in a circus to make sure if he falls he won’t get hurt, she said. The gist of it was, in our lives our safety net was the people we could count on to talk to or to help us if we felt troubled, like family or trusted teachers. They gave us sheets of paper and crayons, and told us to draw our safety nets, or something that represented them, which is when I sighed, looking at Catherine.

“I’m a terrible artist.” I told her.

She chuckled, cheeks red, and seemed to ponder her words before she spoke.‌ “No pressure, only all the reporters will see.”

I‌ smiled, noticing her a little more comfortable now, sarcasm and all.

I looked at tiny, Asian little Audrey to my right, “do you think they’ll accept a stick figure? It’s all I can draw.”

She giggled and showed me her drawing, already a red man with strangely large hands and comically crooked legs, “Like this!”

“Yes,‌‌ I’ll try to do as well as you!”

I ended up drawing only faces - they did say I could draw something to represent my safety net. In truth, I‌ would have drawn some of my friends, like Stella, Constance or Kat. Maybe even Sophie or Larissa, from work. But bringing up friends during royal engagements was practically asking the press to talk about them, and I did not wish that on anybody.

So I drew exactly who I knew they would expect me to, my family. Of course I could count on my family, even if I had to put my career and goals on hold to help them with no early notice just because they needed me. Even if my brother seemed to not be putting much effort into coming home as soon as he should. Of course I could always count on them. And regardless, it’s not like I could draw anything else. Not when this was my job. Even if I needed space, they were, after all, the job.

“Woah.”‌ I told Catherine. “That is amazing.”

I wasn’t even exaggerating; she had drawn a pretty good, torso only version of her husband, with a bundle on his arms which I suppose was their son, Prince George. There was another adult figure by his side, with larger shoulders and a stronger jaw - I was seriously amazed at her ability with crayons. As I watched, she was filling in his hair with an orange one; I felt my heart in my throat. I knew that orange.

“Thank you,”‌ she said, timidly, “Yours are not so bad either!”

I‌ had four crooked circles in my sheet of paper, all black, and I had just managed to fill out two with weird, tiny dots for eyes and large, wavy lines for hair.

“You are too kind.”‌ I told her, half-laughing.

“Who are they?”, asked Thomas, the little boy to her left, pointing at her drawing.

“I drew my husband and my son, and my brother-in-law, Harry.” She told him, sweetly. “My husband is very patient and dedicated, he always helps me when I need, and he is a really good daddy. And his brother is very sweet.”

I kept my eyes to my black blobs, adding a hat to the one that was supposed to be my mother to hide the weird hair I had done, trying not to listen to her even though she was sitting right next to me.

“He is really kind, and really good with his nephew, and always makes people laugh.” She turned to look at me.‌‌ “You know Harry, don’t you, Margueritte?”

I‌ looked at her, feeling weirdly warm. “Harry?” She nodded.‌ “Prince Harry, you mean?” She nodded again, smiling. “Yes, we’ve met.”

I looked back at my drawing, now doing a ball on top of Lourdes’ head, as she was always wearing her hair in a bun for ballet or training.

“Don’t you think he’s a sweetheart?”

“Well, I… Yes, he seems nice.”

I drew Lourdes’ hair a bit more forcefully, making it almost look as if she had a second head on top of her own.

“And he’s so funny. And a truly loyal friend, you can always count on him.”

This, I‌ thought, was a lot. So I sighed, and looked at her, brows furrowed, trying to decipher what exactly she was trying to do, but she was focused on her own drawing again, now giving Harry some freckles.

“He is very dedicated to his work, too. He and William love animals, and conservation work, and we started working on mental health a while back, that’s very important to both of them.”

“How nice.”‌ I said, moving on to one last circle, giving Louis - or attempting to - thin eyes and a long, thin nose.

“How did the two of you meet?” she asked.

I‌ leaned in.‌ “Did he ask you to ask that?”

“No.”‌ She said, a faint note of surprise in her voice, but her reddening cheeks gave her away. “Why would he?”

“No reason.‌”‌ I‌ told her, smiling.‌ “We met a while ago.”

She nodded. “He talked a lot about you yesterday.”‌

“Did he?” I asked, now adding my brother’s long, wavy hair.

“He did…” She leaned in again, and whispered to me, “I‌ think you made an impression.”

“Well, that’s… good. I think.”

“He’s single, you know.”

The crayon in my hand broke. I‌ looked at her. She was… redder than I had seen her yet and, looking uncomfortable, she focused on her own work again.

“Whoever he ends up with will be really lucky, I think.”

“That’s…” I tried, my voice hoarse. “That’s nice.”

“Woah, I don’t have that much hair!”

I turned around. On my other side, there was Louis.

The kids all turned around to look at him, in some kind of awe. The reporters in the front of the class started snapping their flash-photography more viciously.

“Oh, hello.” Catherine smiled up at him.

“Good afternoon.”‌ He smiled back, sharing her hand, before waving it to the room. “Hello, everyone!”

“Welcome, Your Royal Highness!” The Place2‌Be instructor brought a chair for him, placing it after Audrey, and addressed the children, telling them who he was and asking Matthew, by his side, to explain to him the exercise.

“Oh, so that’s why my sister was drawing me!”‌ He said, cheerily, after hearing the explanation. “That’s so sweet, Marie-Margueritte, even if you completely over did my hair, which I will attempt not to take personally.”

A reporter took three steps to the center of the room, and raised a camera to capture us better. The movement put me on my guard, so I smiled at my brother.

“I only drew what I see. You need a haircut.”

“I do not need a haircut!” He said, brushing his hair back with a lazy hand that, having known him all his life, I‌ knew was precisely calculated.

“What do you think?”‌ I‌ asked Catherine, who startled, and laughed.

“Oh, I think you both look lovely!”

We laughed at her defensive reaction.

“Very diplomatic.”‌ Louis nodded and began drawing something on his sheet of paper.

Another kid came walking towards us and stopped by Catherine to show her his drawing; naturally, all the paparazzi turned to her to capture the sweet moment.

Louis used this moment to lean over to me. “Se détendre. Papa dit que je pouvais venir.”

Relax, he said, dad said I could come.

I‌ sighed, still smiling, but focused on the crayons.

It was around this time that the teacher started telling the students that had finished their first task they could start on the second. She said, now that we had our safety net, we had someone we could tell our problems to. Sometimes, she said, all you need is to get those feelings out of yourself, even if you don’t find a magic answer.

So, instructed to draw a box and put the things that made me angry inside of it, I used three crayons and a lot of time to draw a 3D, colorful box, so that the time would run out before I had the time to draw anything to put into it. It did, so we left our drawings on the table, knowing they would be shown off for the world to see soon enough, and marched out of the room waving goodbye to the children.

We were led into a crowded, large meeting room, where the teaching staff shared their biggest challenges and joys of teaching young children and the precise ways the organization had helped. Next, we sat down with older students who told us of the difficulties of being their age, and the things about the future that made them anxious.

My brother stayed mostly quiet except to crack a joke or two, making everyone laugh at his charming, easy-going personality. I focused on Catherine, on the children, and on keeping the most sincere smile I‌ could muster on my face.

Eventually, as we were preparing to leave, Auguste, who had come with Louis, leaned in to tell us, in a whisper, that dad had been delayed in his meeting, and we should make ourselves busy before our next appointment, at which time the Duchess of Cambridge invited us for tea at her home.

Eventually, we shook all of their hands, thanked them for their time, and walked out of the school the same way we came in, to a large wall of reporters and a crowd of well-wishers. Normally, someone would suggest that we go shake their hands, thank them for coming, but I could feel my anger-box starting to crack, so I took matters into my hands.

Though Catherine’s aide volunteered to drive separately so me and my brother could go with her, I insisted she go with her boss, who I was sure, ‘would need her’. That way Cadie drove with the security, and I joined my brother and Auguste in the car they had come in.

“I know you want to yell at me,” he started, when we were seated, as the security closed the doors, and Auguste got in in the front seat, “but more importantly, did you get a text from Lou today?”

I smiled at the people outside and waved, silent.

“Oh, right.” He said, copying me. “It was a video. She finally perfected a double axel, she’s getting really good!”

After we took off, my smile dropped, and I turned to him.

“Qu'est-ce que tu fous ici?!”

He threw his head back against the seat. “Papa said it was fine for me to leave!”

“Or course he did. Why does it matter?! You have a job to do, Louis. You can’t just half-ass this job!”

“I know very well what I am supposed to do, thank you very much.”

“Do you?! Because it doesn’t seem like it!”

Auguste took a deep breath in the front seat, turning back towards us. “Perhaps there’s a better time for this discussion?”

“Shut up, Auguste!”

“Don’t be rude!”

“You need to understand you have a responsibility!”

“There was no press there, me being there would make no difference.”

“Not everything in this job is about the press!”

“Will you stop acting like you’re my boss?! You’re not Maman.”

I looked at the window, feeling more frustrated than I ever had. “You think of nothing, of no one but yourself.”

“Yes, and I should be more like you, and put everyone ahead of my every need. Because that’s healthy.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You spent your whole life letting them dictate your every move and then you complain that it’s hard?! Yes, Maggie, we know it’s hard-”

“I did this for you!” I screamed.

“I never asked you to-”

“No, you didn’t! They did! Because they wanted to give you time to live your life before you had it committed to the monarchy forever! But guess what, Louis? It’s not a magic trick! Someone has to pick up the slack, and that someone is me!”

“You are not a victim here! They make you do these things because you let them-!”

“Because they need us! Because this job is taxing, and toxic, and exhaustive, and it’s our job to help!”

“You help because you want to-”

“I help because you’re in Scotland gallivanting around with Peter and somebody has to pick up the slack!”

“You know why I am in Scotland! You know what is waiting for me-”

“I do! But you don’t know that every day you’re not home I am sacrificing my career and my life as well!”

“You’ve done this your whole life, Maggie! You’ve always been like this-”

“Like what?! Like this what?!”

“Desperate to be the good girl! To be the child our parents think of when they needs someone responsible, and efficient. They place the burden on you because you let them! Ever since we were kids, you always acted like a third parent even though you shouldn’t have, so don’t blame me for your choices!”

“You don’t think I want to live my life?! You don’t think I want to travel somewhere people won’t know me or my family? You don’t think I want to text dad that I can’t come to this ceremony or that one because I am busy with my own things?! Who would help, Louis? You’re not home! Adrien is always away with Faye. Lourdes is too young. He is just one person!”

As my voice cracked, I turned to the window, trying to dry one tear before it fell.

“...you don’t have to cry.”

“You know saying that doesn’t help!” I yelled, now crying more.

He extended a handkerchief, which I took, drying my tears before they could fall down my cheeks.

There was a long, awkward, painful silence in the car.

“All I’m saying is,” he started, slowly, almost obnoxiously calm, “Stop placing the blame on me for not setting some boundaries and going after the life you want.”

I laughed, humorless.

“You really think I don’t want to? I have a career, Lou. I have friends and loved ones, too. You did not invent a personal life. I want to live mine, but this family we were born into does not offer an opt out option.”

He sighed. “I think you’re angry at yourself and you’re taking that on me.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Explain that to me.”

“You’re angry at mom and dad for giving you more than you can handle, you’re angry at yourself for letting them, and you’re angry at Chris for the-”

“I am angry at you!” I yelled. “Mom and dad, too, of course, but you’re the one that is running away from your responsibilities! You want to know why I have to take all of this on? Because while you’re here, tucked away and safe from us and from every negative headline back home, Maman isn’t speaking to Aunt Katherine, and Aunt Stephanie heard about it! Your sister has driven away yet another chief of security, the third one in four years, and dad…” I sighed, “Dad is getting worse, Louis. Meanwhile, I am the one that has to keep everyone together to the expense of my own life and career, when this isn’t even my job. It’s yours.”

The only sound in the car was the sound of the wheels on gravel as we drove into Kensington Palace in awkward, heavy silence.

“We don’t have time for this.” I said, drying my tears, and trying to make sure my makeup wasn’t smudged in a hand mirror before we parked. “Just… behave.”

Though I did not look at him, I could almost hear his eyes roll before he forcefully opened the door and stepped out, as petulantly as when he was 8 and I told him he couldn’t play doll with me and our cousins.

Kensington Palace was essentially built as one big set of squares and rectangles, which as most palaces in Europe, was now divided into sections, each being an 'apartment' given to specific families. The Cambridges' door was white, and by all means completely indistinguishable from the others. Louis had already ringed the doorbell when I reached him, and was avoiding my eyes, a pout in his lips, when Catherine's aide opened the door and welcomed us in; Louis and I were smiling again.

Catherine was in the kitchen making finger sandwiches as her husband watched, one hand to a glass of water, the other on a baby monitor.

Louis marched straight to Prince William, shaking his hand as if they were long-time friends, but that meant nothing; that was just his normal personality.

"So you're the famous Princess Mary." William said to me when Catherine introduced us.

Her smile immediately dropped, and she placed a delicate, yet forceful hand on his shoulder. "William", she warned, "It's Marie-Margueritte."

"Right, apologies." He smiled. "I've heard so much about Princess Mary I suppose I just forgot it might have been a loving nickname."

Feeling myself blush, I cleared my throat, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm not so sure that's how I'd describe it."

"And why not?"

I didn't have to turn around to know who the owner of that voice was, I'd been replaying it in my head long enough to know. Even if I didn't, the knowing smiles on William and Catherine's lips would be telling enough.

“Harry!” Louis greeted joyfully, shaking his hand. “Long time no see. How excited are you to be crushed by us tomorrow at the polo match?

Even as he answered, laughing, his eyes kept coming back to me. “I think you need to check your overconfidence, Castillon.”

“I think you’ll regret underestimating me, Windsor.”

“What I’m learning from this is you’re fully capable of pronouncing our Royal House surname,‌ yet my name remains a mystery.”

He grinned at me, “It’s a loving nickname,‌‌ Mary.”

“It’s just… a name. Not my name. Just another name.”

“Regardless.”

To say it shocked me to see him was was an understatement, and yet, somehow, the moment it happened I‌ was also overwhelmed by a feeling of unmitigated relief to have him there.

On my ‘loving nickname’, Harry was unwavering. As Catherine had her husband set the table with the sandwiches, and asked what our favorite tea was, Harry talked happily with my brother about our trip, about his schooling, and about me, whom he kept referring to as ‘Mary’. I made a point to roll my eyes every time.

On his end, ‌Louis didn’t seem to find that odd at all, which made me angrier at him. I wanted to ask Catherine what the delicious smell coming from the oven was, and if she would be at the polo match tomorrow, but I‌ couldn’t drag myself away from standing peripherally around my brother and Harry, even though I had no participation in their conversation, hoping Harry would stop for one or two seconds to look at me instead, but he and Louis were now happily trashing the other’s favorite rugby team.

I wasn't sure if it was the fight with Louis, or the wave of shock of seeing Harry again sooner than I had expected, yet somehow later than I wished, but I was suddenly annoyed. At Louis, for everything he'd said in the car. At Harry for focusing so deeply on his conversation with my brother instead of interrogating me again after apparently talking about me to both his brother and sister-in-law. But, perhaps more revealingly, at myself.

It annoyed me that I cared. It annoyed me that I suddenly felt sixteen-years-old again, hoping a boy would look at me across the polo field. It annoyed me that I seemed to have been expecting him to arrive ever since saying goodbye the day before, as if it was a given he would.

If forced with the choice of admitting I'd missed him or sticking knives into my eyes, I might pick the knives.

It was, however, when Harry asked if he was nervous about graduating, and Louis answered by saying he was looking forward to whatever came next, and that he was looking into maybe getting a master’s degree next, that I forced myself to leave.

I‌ asked Catherine if I‌ could use the restroom, and she directed me to the one upstairs, seeing as the one on the first floor was being re-tiled. I climbed up the large, hardwood stairs into a clean, minimalist looking second floor, easily finding the bathroom. I‌ washed my hands with cold water, placed them in the back of my neck for a few seconds, taking deep breaths, and tried to focus on calming memories.

Unfortunately, the most calming memory I‌ used to have - a skiing trip with Chris - was now tainted by the breakup, so it didn’t help. Instead, I‌ sat down on the edge of a bathtub, and pulled my phone from my handbag, checking my messages.

Lourdes had texted another video, but this was a music video; the text read, ‘do you think I can do a routine to this?! i’m so obsessed!’

I replied, ‘why not? it sounds great!‘, without opening the link.

Constance, my longest childhood friend, had ominously sent: ‘Did Stella and Rick get back together?????? I have thoughts. Call me.’

I sighed, typing a reply rapidly; ‘I can’t talk now, I’m in London. Let’s have dinner when I get back and do another intervention.’

And skimming through an email my mother had sent, I now knew all her thoughts on how I should do my hair for the State dinner the following day.

Telling myself it was mostly out of curiosity, I found Chris’ name in my list of old messages, and clicked through, seeing no new messages had arrived. I‌ blocked the phone, and went back outside.

When I was leaving the bathroom, before I could reach the stairs, I heard a soft wailing coming from a door to my right. It was half opened, and the room only lightly lit. Pushing the door forward, I recognized a beige and white nursery, and a moving bundle inside a wooden crib.

“Bonjour, bebe!” I approached, as gently as I could, whispering softly. “Do you need mommy? Or papa?”

I looked at the door, hoping to see someone coming to fetch Prince George, but no one was there.

“Alright.” I said, feeling slightly as if i was intruding, but not at all comfortable leaving the crying boy alone. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Placing him in my arms as swiftly as I could, I started to rock him from side to side.

“Should we go downstairs?”

His face still contorted painfully, but the crying was a little more spaced out now. I figured his parents would know what to do and, as weird as it would be to just show up downstairs with him, it would be weirder to leave him behind. Turning to the door, however, I was startled once more by his uncle.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”‌‌ He smiled, looking at the baby.

“How-?”

“Nanny-cam.” He answered, gesturing vaguely to the hallway, walking towards us.

“Oh.”‌ I‌ nodded. “He was crying, I didn’t want to leave him.”

He leaned down to look at the boy in my arms, raising one hand to his soft, tiny head as the citrus scent of his perfume overwhelmed me.

I‌ cleared my throat, trying to bring things back to familiar territory.

“Which bet did you lose to be put in nanny duty?” I joked.

He shrugged, smiling at his nephew.‌‌ “I‌ volunteered.‌ We’re buddies, aren’t we,‌ George?”

The baby stopped crying, looking at his uncle now making funny faces at him. It was hard not to smile.

“I‌ think he needs a nappy change. I‌ can take him if you want to go back downstairs.” Harry offered.

“Oh, sure.”‌

Avoiding looking into his eyes from so close, I passed him his nephew - our arms touched in the exchange; I tried to suppress the little part of me that noticed he was surprisingly muscly.

“We’ll meet you downstairs.”‌‌ He smiled, walking with the baby towards a changing station on the other side of the room.

I walked through the door slowly, trying to delay having to go back downstairs where I‌ had to pretend I wasn’t upset at Louis, but stopped when he spoke again. Initially, I thought he was talking to me, but the baby tone quickly corrected that assumption.

“Did you go number one? Did you? Or two? What surprise awaits me, here, Georgie?”

I leaned against the doorframe, smiling.

“Now, I‌ understand that a growing boy needs to go. We all do, it’s very normal. But I‌ just need you to prepare me, alright? How bad will it be once I‌ open this up?”

I considered sincerely going downstairs, focusing on the diplomatic aspect of making friends with the more important people, the ones we were there for, his brother and sister-in-law. But, peering into the room again, I‌ saw Harry lean his tall frame closer to the baby, holding him still with one hand, trying to reach a far away drawer with the other.

“Need help?”‌ I asked, stepping back inside.

He jumped slightly, but smiled when he saw me. “Oh, I‌- I‌ thought you left.”

“I think you could use the help.” I‌ reached for the drawer he was going for, but looked back at him, questioningly. He nodded, so I‌ opened it, and found him a new nappy.

“Alright, team work it is.”‌ He said, “Keep him distracted so he doesn’t move as much.”

I tried to distract George with a tiny, plush koala nearby, and uttered the first words that came to mind.

“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?”, I sang, dangling the koala from side to side, to the rhythm. “Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines… what?!”

Noticing Harry had stopped moving, I looked back at him, who was merely staring at me.

“What?! You said to distract him.” I‌ justified, defensively.

He shook his head, focusing on the task at hand again, with a renewed grin on his lips.

“Don’t forget the cream.”‌ I‌ said, before he could close the tabs.

“Right.”‌ He nodded. “I‌ knew I‌ was forgetting something… Why are you good at this? Have any secret children the press can’t find out about?”

I‌ smiled at George, still dancing the little koala. “No, just two younger siblings and a bunch of little cousins I was constantly pretending were dolls.”

He chuckled, and closed the little adhesive tabs on the nappy, fiddling with the straps of his onesie now. “Where do these-?”

“Here.”‌ I said, handing him the koala, and finding the right buttons to close. “There we go.”

“Nice. What do we say to the pretty lady, Georgie? Say thank you.”

I‌ smiled, at both of them, but kept my eyes on the baby. “You’re welcome.”

Harry started putting the cream, and tissues away, as well as moving to throw the dirty nappy in the trash can, so as George got fussy again, I‌ picked him back up, and started singing Frère Jacques again, slowing down the melody as I rocked, hoping the baby would calm to the moves. Looking up, I noticed Harry was frozen in place, one hand in an open drawer, looking at me with the softest of eyes. There was something else in them, too. A kind of yearning that was almost blinding.

“What?”, I asked.

He smiled, to the floor. “Nothing… You’re good at that.”‌ He shrugged. “How much younger are your siblings?”

“Louis is three years younger, and Lourdes is eleven.”

“Wow.”

“I know.‌ My parents frown upon the word ‘unplanned’, so instead we say she was a ‘surprising blessing’.”

He laughed, not a giggle, or a chuckle, a proper laugh now. It was as surprising as when he laughed at my jokes the day before. Chris used to only chuckle at my jokes, usually with merely a nasalized sound to let me know he heard it.

“I‌ always wanted to have a sister.”‌ He confessed.

“It's overrated. Mine mostly sends me videos of her ice skating practices, which all look the same, asking me for opinions which I do not care enough to have.”

He laughed again. “I sympathize.”

“How?”

“Well, she values your opinion. So do I. Why do you think I ask so many questions?”

“A lack of boundaries? Disregard to protocol?”

He laughed louder now, throwing his head back. The sound startled George, and made me blush with timid pride.

“Wow! Look at you. Throwing diplomacy out the window, are we?”

I sighed.‌ “You're right, I apologize… I'm just… not in the best mind space.”

“No, that was a compliment.” He smiled, looking at me now. “I like it.”

There was the gentle yearning again… feeling almost inappropriate in front of a child.

“So what did Louis do to put you in this bad mind space?”

“I‌ never said it was bad, I‌ believe I said ‘not the best’. And what makes you think he has anything to do with it?”

He grinned. “Other than the fact you’ve been staring daggers his way since you’ve arrived? Let's see... You have this... Whiff of annoyance about you, which is worse than when I was bothering you yesterday, and you chose to be here with me and George and his dirty diaper instead of going back downstairs and enjoying tea with the others.”

“I like babies.”‌ I‌ shrugged.

“Yes, and I would think that might be it, but the poo I think damages the effect, doesn't it? I know it can't be me that kept you here, since you don't like me...”

“...I like you.” I said, giving it no further thought.

“You do?”

I shrugged, mindlessly.

“Wow… if you keep flattering me so much I might fall in love, Mary.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I‌ corrected, on auto-pilot. “Marie.”

He smiled. There was a silent pause as I walked George around the room, his eyes following each new space carefully.

“Truth.” Harry said.

I looked back at him across the room. “Pardon?”

“Yesterday, one of the last things I‌ said was that you should ask me something. And you asked, truth or dare? Well, I’m answering. I‌ pick truth.”

I took a few seconds to breathe deeply and appreciate three things; one, he seemed to remember our conversation yesterday in staggering detail. Two, his eyes did this… thing when he smiled, they squinted into tiny crescent moon shapes and it highlighted the blue of his irises. And three, in the rules of this game he seemed to be up to playing, I could ask him anything.

“What do you want from me?”

The silence that followed was even longer than mine. I had to look away from the way he stared me down this time, it was too… personal. Too transparently enigmatic.

Eventually, I sat down in a rocking chair by the window, George on my thigh playing with the little koala. Harry walked over to us, slowly.

“By all means, take your time.” I teased.

“I’m just… trying to assess which answer you are ready for.”

My head snapped in his direction, almost in outrage. “There’s not supposed to be different answers. Only the truth.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.”

“It’s what you picked!” I rolled my eyes. “Well, what is it? What is the truth?”

He sighed, sitting in a matching footstool in front of me, uncomfortably close.

“There are levels to this truth, and for our blooming friendship not to perish, I think it’s important I don’t tell you something that would make you think less of me.”

“And I’m talking like a lawyer?” I asked, making him chuckle.

I weighed his words carefully, trying to understand the diplomatic euphemisms employed, but not allowing my mind to go too crazy with it. It was too far, too soon, but did he mean I would be offended by his honest answer?

Eventually, though, he graced me with an answer.

“I want to know you.”

I looked back at him… the yearning was still there, but it had a glint of determination mixed in now.

I attempted to analyze his answer like a lawyer this time.

“To know who I am as a person, or to know what I look like naked?”

He barked out such a loud laugh now that George dropped the koala to the floor. The sound echoed around the room like a thunder, but it felt like it was echoing inside of me as well, warming me up from my stomach out. I couldn’t help but smile.

“No, no, Mary. You already asked your question, now it’s my turn.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “We are allowed follow up questions. It’s the rules.”

“Not the British rules. And we are in Britain.”

I leaned forward, determined. “Truth or dare has universal rules.”

“Enough lawyering, it’s my turn!”

He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; I suddenly felt very much like I was in court, and I wondered - as I had a handful of times since seeing him that afternoon - if he was finally going to ask the one thing I told him the previous day he did not know about us: how/when we met.

“Truth or dare?”, he begun.

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my legs, but still swinging them side-to-side to appease Gorge in my lap.

I considered picking dare, and avoiding giving him the power to simply ask me how we met - which I’d have to answer; It’s the rules, and as a lawyer I had a duty to the law. But I also, in a way, or if I’m being honest, in all ways, wanted him to ask. So I smiled, looked him in the eyes, and said:

“Truth.”

“Why are you upset?”

The question came so swiftly and quickly I barely noticed it had happened.

“What?”

“Why are you upset? What did Louis do?”

I‌ looked around the room; I had frozen in place, so George got a little restless. Uncrossing my legs, I started bouncing him up and down on my knees.

“I’m not- I just…”‌ I shrugged. “It’s nothing. Siblings fight. Do you not fight with your brother?”

“Almost exclusively, but that’s not the question. It’s my turn, you picked truth, and I want to know.”

I sighed. “It’s… complicated.”

He nodded, leaned forward and picked George from me, sitting him in his own lap.

“Go on.”

I‌ took a deep breath, looking around, though mostly in, and let it out slowly.

“I‌ heard Louis telling you he wants to stay in Scotland to get a Master’s Degree.”

“And… you don’t want him to? Wait, you were already upset when you got here. That’s not it, is it?”

“Now we’re allowed to ask follow up questions?”

He grinned. “You don’t have to tell me… I‌ was just, I‌ don’t know, trying to help.”

I got up, and started walking about. I traced the outline of a giraffe illustration in the wallpaper with my finger, slowly.

“I don’t think he truly understands his… Place. In all of this.”

“This being?”

“Us. The Royal House of Castillon. The Crown. The Monarchy. The firm. The family business.”

“Ah. Of course. And you think he has to?”

I‌ turned around to look at him. “What I think is unrelated to the facts. And the fact is he is the heir. And he’s not acting like one.”

He shrugged. “He’s young.”

“He is almost twenty-two. And when he is here, taking care of his life, enjoying his freedom, which trust me, I understand, who do you think they call when they need someone to go to a ceremony or a service, or-”

“A royal tour?”

“Exactly,” I‌ dropped my gesturing hands to my sides, deflated. “Me. It’s not that I don’t like the work. I‌ do. But… I have a life, too. I have a job. And I know I’m not a fancy, cool, lawyer. They’re not writing Law And Order episodes about corporate law!‌‌ But my choices should matter too, should they not?”

“They should.” He nodded.

“And I‌ understand,‌ I do! I, too, went to school abroad! Louis had to stay home for boarding school, because he’s the heir, but even that I did abroad! And then later I‌ went to University in America, and I did get a postgraduate degree there, too, though mine was a shorter program. But I came home soon after! And you know why?”

“Why?”, he asked, diligently.

“For him!‌ Because I knew my parents needed help and I thought if I was around to help, they would allow him more time for his studies, you know? To enjoy his life before he has to dedicate it to the country, forever. And‌ I had job offers in America! I could have stayed there, where no one knew my name, but I didn’t. I‌ could have gone into human rights law, but I didn’t. So he’s not the only one who knows what it’s like having to make sacrifices for this family. But right now, I’m the only one doing that. Not him. And how is that fair?!”

Thankfully, he didn’t attempt to answer me. Instead, he allowed me time to slow my breathing and look back at him at my own pace.

“Have you… thought about maybe talking to your parents about this?”‌‌ He started, his voice gentle. “Tell them you want to dedicate yourself to your job.”

“Yes. My father promised as soon as Louis is back from University,‌ I’ll be allowed time to dedicate myself to my job.”

“That explains your anger at his plans for the future…”‌ He sighed.

“Is that it? No advice? Words of wisdom? Mockery of my outburst to offer?”

“Was that an outburst?”‌ He asked, brows raised. “God, you’re polite.”

I‌ giggled, walking back over.

“I‌ mean,”‌ he started, “I‌ get it. There’s a lot we wish we could do, but we can’t because of our position… And knowing your ticket to a slightly more normal life is so close, yet so far must be frustrating.”

I brushed my fingers through George’s fine, blonde hair. “But?”

He sighed again. “But I… Well, at the risk of ruining whatever chance I‌ have here, I don’t think there’s much need to really worry.”

“How so?” I asked, purposely ignoring his remark about his chances.

“Well… Is it really that big of a deal if he stays there longer? I mean, I‌ know it’s not ideal but you should just… tell your family you’re busy when they ask. You’re allowed. You’re an adult with a proper job, which is more than any of us can really say.”‌ He added, humorously. “The monarchy will survive, I’m sure.”

“And what if by never holding him accountable to his responsibilities he simply never learns? What if we let him stay and he just… doesn’t come back until it’s too late to really learn what he needs to?”

“Well…” He lowered George to the rug, and handed him the koala. “You know what the best thing about being the spare is?” He patted the seat in the chair I had recently vacated, and I sat down in front of him again. “It’s not our problem to solve.”

I‌ considered this. He wasn’t… wrong, per se. But it sounded so utterly bleak. I recalled the way he described my job in relation to anyone else in a monarchy just then, my ‘proper’ job.

“You don’t think our place in this is important?”

“There’s that word again, place. You said your brother doesn’t understand his place, but… do any of us? What is our place, Mary?”

“Marie.”‌ I corrected, absentmindedly. “And, you know what I mean… our place in the country. In our royal families. In the… universe.”

“We’re the plan B of an Old World symbol of power that no longer has any power. I‌ can’t blame your brother for wanting a more useful use of his time, and I can’t blame you for it either, because you’re doing the same thing.”

“The Plan B?”

“You know, the… center pieces. The garnish. The embellishment. This whole tour, the reason why you and your father and brother are here, is about the immigration crisis, isn’t it?”‌ I nodded. “Your country is a little too loose on their policy and because you have a point of entry to Britain, our politicians are blaming you for our growing numbers of immigrants.”

“First of all, our polic-”

“But really, think about it,”‌ he went on, ignoring me, “what can we actually do about it? My grandmother, your father, my father, and maybe even Will and Kate, they have some power to strengthen diplomatic ties and the show of friendship may shame our politicians into figuring their shit out.‌ But us, you and me? We’re really just here to smile and look pretty, aren’t we?”

“I’m… learning about Catherine’s work with children to bring some of the experience back home.”

“Yes, admirable.” He nodded. “But, again, and not just now, but overall, in our lives? What’s our role? Isn’t it just to give them something to brag about? Look at Harry in his military uniform, two tours of duty, who’s to say that the royal family haven’t made sacrifices for the country? And look at Mary-”

“Marie.”

“…In the news, they’re saying she won a case!‌‌ She’s a lawyer! How impressive are the members of the royal family!”

“Have you always been a cynic?” He chuckled, shyly. “Do you really not think what we do is important?”

He smiled. “I‌ just try to be as honest with myself as I can. And that begins with knowing that my, how did you put it? My role in the cosmos is to give the people a show. As the spares, that’s all you and I can do. Chose a good partner that they’ll enjoy building up and then destroying, hopefully a pretty wedding or cute babies one day, and if we can help some people along the way, all the better. It’s… it’s a good endeavor. We can help a little, I think. But… important? I don’t know. I can’t be sure I’d use that word to describe anything we do.”

I nodded, slowly, taking it all in. It was a… gloomy thought, and not entirely untrue. With one caveat.

“That uniform you mentioned, the two tours… were they fake?”

“What?!‌ No.”

“So you did go to war?”

“Twice.”

I‌ nodded. “And the people you went with, they were remarkable, weren’t they?”

He smiled, looking at his nephew slightly lost in thought. “Yes.”

“They wear the same uniform you do. Aren’t they important?”

He looked at me. “It’s… it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Do you think the people we help, the people that benefit from the organizations we help as best we can, whose lives are touched by our work one way or another, somehow, the people you helped in the army… do you think they’d agree with you that what we do isn’t important?”

He opened his mouth to speak, waited a couple of seconds, and closed it again.

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was, that the silence was nicer than it should be; that even though in the past it had felt invasive or abrupt holding someone’s look for too long, this time it felt nice. It felt like being seen.

George squealed loudly across the room, throwing a toy cube, and our daze was broken.

“We should take him to his parents.”

“Yes.”‌ He said, and we stood up at the same time, being caught off guard by how close we were.

I slipped away, swiftly, caressing a hand over my arm to smooth the chills there, and he went over to pick up his nephew, who whined a little as he was separated from his toys.

“It’s okay, buddy, we’re going to go find mummy and daddy.” Harry told him, in a sweet, gentle, baby-voice. “If it’s boring downstairs I’ll play with you, alright?”

He was so excruciatingly sweet with the baby that I could feel it right in my gut, this… whatever it was that roared as I watched them.

Wherever his place in the cosmos was, I couldn’t help but wish it was close to mine.

--- --- --- ---

Margueritte’s outfits!

[A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters, I hope you liked it too! Please let me know your thoughts? Feedback is always welcome! Shoot me a message, or like this chapter, either way, thank you SO MUCH for reading!]

#prince harry fanfic #princeharryff #princeharryfanfic #prince harry fanfiction #royalfanficcollection #prince harry #princeharryfanfiction #brf #modern royalty au #next week #harry and maggie play polo!#chapters

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asgardianthot · 5 years

Text

Hunting Season (sambucky) – Part 2

Series Masterlist

Summary: The Barnes family is your average rich people circus. With Bucky’s post-breakup financial depression, and a literal treasure hunt at stake, his best friend Sam finds himself in a mad situation in order to help him. They sure can pretend to be together, but that’s just the easy part.

Words: 3810

"So how do we do this?" Sam asked.

He was brushing his teeth with the door open so he could glance at Bucky, who sat on the edge of Sam's bed. He was going to give his friend the bed back once they fully decided to go to sleep and Bucky took the couch, again, but for now, he was enjoying the comfort of a bedroom. He always did find comfort in Sam and his hospitality, after all. He remembered that one Christmas the Barnes spent in the French Alps, the one Bucky avoided because he had just broken up with Rumlow for the first time; Sam was kind enough to invite him to the Wilsons for the holidays, and that was when Bucky realized where his friend got his charm and kindness. Sam's entire family were the most welcoming people Bucky had ever encountered, which made him wish he had been born into a home like that.

As Sam spit the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, Bucky thought of the specificities of their plan. At the realization that, if his parents had sat through several different relationships with the same Brock Rumlow, they probably wouldn't blink at the sight of a new man, he felt that the plan wouldn't be too complicated after all.

"I don't know." He shrugged, "Can you pretend to be gay?"

While Bucky's question was asked nonchalantly, Sam received it like a suckerpunch. It was supposed to be an easy answer, however the topic was a delicate one for Sam. Not that Bucky knew anything about it, but Sam kept a few secrets to himself. And since his friend had only ever seen him dating girls...

"Easy peasy." Sam faked a smile before cleaning his chin with a clean towel, "It's pretending I like you that's gonna be tough." He joked.

"Funny." Bucky said without a hint of amusement.

Eventually, Sam returned to his original concerns. The stakes weren't too high for him, but if Bucky got caught with this, he would never hear the end of it. Who knew what his parents would put him through, and Bucky had already mentioned something about being banned from the annual hunt for life, losing all hopes of ever getting the slightest fraction of Nana's money. Those two million dollars could mean everything to Bucky, so they really had to put on a show.

He walked back to his room and gestured his guest to give him some room, next to him. Bucky granted him the space, and they both sat in their own seriousness.

"No, but seriously, do we have to kiss and stuff?" Sam asked.

Bucky reflected on it.

"Maybe. I mean, we gotta make it believable."

The other man nodded, taking in the idea of kissing Bucky, even if just for an act, until Bucky's words caught him by surprise.

"Wanna practice?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, and cleared his throat with nervousness, "Uh, sure."

Nevertheless, he was met by a very amused Bucky, who happened to have been holding in his laughter. When he cracked up, falling back on the bed with pride on his own joke, Sam de-tensed.

"I'm kidding, dude." He threw a light punch to Sam's back, "We pro'ly won't even kiss through the entire week. Family's real uptight when they wanna be."

Sam let out a breath only he could hear, hopefully, and pretended to be comfortable with the entire situation.

"Okay, but if we do have to kiss, it better look real."

Day 1.

The time had come, and spirits weren't great. Sam had his shit together, luckily, but Bucky wasn't as confident. In the ride from the station to the lake house, they both sat at the back of the taxi, trying to prepare for the upcoming week. Eight full days of acting couldn't be too easy, but Sam was calm.

James looked the polar opposite, as he tried to keep his cool, mumbling to himself.

"Deep breaths." He told Sam like he was doing the calming for both of them, and it brought a small smirk to Sam's lips.

He watched his friend breathe in and out with his eyes closed, and he feared he might have a mental breakdown before they even got the chance to reach the house.

"Hey, I got this." He reminded Bucky, in attempts to ease his worries.

"God, I really hope you do."

Suddenly, the panoramic of the gigantic residence came to their field of vision. The two-story house had direct access to the lake, along with stored kayaks and sailing equipment. There was a -- floating there, unused, marking the family's possessions, and facing the big garden that separated the house from the water.

As soon as the vehicle stopped in the entrance, an employee came out to take care of their bags. Sam gave Bucky an odd look, himself not being used to maids and being served like that, to which Bucky only pressed his lips together. That's the Barnes way.

"Oh, come inside!" Bucky's mother welcomed them, ushering them inside.

They both obeyed and walked up the three steps to the door, finally entering the house. Before either of them got the chance to speak, though, Winnifred began theatricalizing.

"You poor things, it's so hot outside!" she lamented while pressing a hand to her chest.

Bucky tried, and failed, to reject her drama, "It's not that-"

"You must be Samuel." She ignored her son, and continued to ramble over Sam's attempts to at least say hello, "You want a drink? It's too hot."

The guest eyed Bucky, who was just staring into nothingness. If his eyes could speak, they would have been saying 'yep, sounds about right.'

"Uh, sure." Sam accepted, "Thank you, ma'am. I'm so glad-"

"There he is!" he was cut off by Bucky's father, who walked into the welcoming hall with his arms extended, "The man of the hour."

The two men shook hands.

"Sir." Sam nodded.

"Oh, please, it's George."

Sam opened his mouth to say something polite, when the woman interrupted him once more.

"And Winnifred." She added.

This time, Sam waited for a gap in the conversation. He hadn't been able to lay out a single sentence to the married couple, so he awkwardly waited for them to interrupt him, but when the silence extended for too long, he smiled, nervously.

"George and Winnifred, then." He agreed, nodding, "It's nice to meet you."

"James tells me you teach." Winnifred jumped right into the discussion.

"I do." Sam smiled, "History."

"Which school?"

"Mom, don't be a snob." Bucky warned her.

"I'm just asking him a question." She pledged innocence, as usual.

As much as the question of academic elitism bothered Sam, he had to remain polite. He hated gratifying rich people like that by disclosing the snob university where he worked. Sometimes he wanted to quit and go back to where he started, small high schools, poorly funded programs... for now, though, he had unpaid student debt and a two million dollar hunt to win.

"It's alright." He bit back his pride and dismissed it, "I'm teaching at Princeton right now."

Winnifred raised her eyebrows with one half excitement and one half surprise.

"That's a fine school." She showed how impressed she was.

The woman probably thought Bucky couldn't do better than the family friend business trash. She probably figured her son was too stupid for a Princeton professor, much less to settle down with one. It didn't add to the bad image Sam already had of her.

"I have some contacts in Harvard, could get you a spot." George butt in.

"Dad."

"Thank you, sir, that's not necessary." Sam rejected very gracefully, "I love my job and I certainly can't leave my students."

George gave him a respectful nod, while Winnifred gave his son a look, one that yelled well done. The interaction had gone better than any of them had expected, making Bucky forget every concern he had before. When they moved to the living room, which was right next door, the fake couple exchanged some victorious glances. Feeling much more confident now, Bucky pointed to the old lady sitting at the end of the room.

"Sam, I'm honored to introduce you to Nana Barnes." He dramatized in order to annoy the woman.

She looked like the kind of grandmother who had strong opinions on people and therefore, favorites, and Bucky sure acted like the favorite, teasing her with the confidence that she wouldn't mind. Nana didn't bother standing up. She was wearing a conservative black dress, reading glasses and she held a glass of Champaign on her hand. The matriarch look suited her wonderfully.

"I've heard many good things." Sam approached her, extending his hand.

While shaking the young man's hand, Nana eyed him up and down.

"You're handsome." She said in a powerful tone, "Much better looking than the last one."

Nervously, Sam fixed his tie and cleared his throat.

"Thank you." He frowned amusingly, not sure if he was meant to take the compliment or not.

"Are you an idiot like him?"

Sam tilted his head, "Excuse me?"

"That Rumlow boy, he was an ass. Couldn't tell his south from his north. Now, are you a smart man?"

Sam looked back at Bucky, who merely gave him a thumbs up as he backed away and left the two alone. It was only then that Sam noticed Bucky's parents had abandoned him as well. He accepted his situation, and sat down on the chair next to her.

"I... like to think so." He smiled, "I sure hope so, or else I'm teaching the next generation to be just as dumb."

"Ah, so I've heard." She spoke like it was the first thing she fully approved of, "It's a nice break from all the dull business men in our family. Is Jamie planning to live off your Princeton check?"

This time, the harsh question caught him less off-guard, "No, ma'am, I'm just helping him get back on his feet."

The lady narrowed her eyes like she was quizzing the new boyfriend.

"How long have you known my grandson?"

The fake couple had prepared a whole concocted tale, but right there, in front of the matriarch who worshipped the truth, he figured telling her the real story wouldn't hurt.

"I don't even know. Probably... six years?" the realness behind his words made Nana seem interested, "We met through other people, next thing I know we're best friends for good. Couldn't shake him off my back."

The woman laughed, "He can't help it, the Barnes have bloodsucker in their DNA."

Bucky had mentioned at some point, how the woman referred to the Barnes as simply the family she had married into when it came to pointing out their flaws, yet called herself a Barnes when it suited her. Sam, however, held in any type of snarky comment or laughter, and made an effort to remain excessively polite. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the façade for long, or at least not for the entire week, so he made sure to make the best first impression possible.

"No, Bucky's not like that.” He defended the man, although he immediately decided against contradicting the matriarch; he raised one hand in retreat, “I mean, you've known him all his life, so what do I know? But, uh… he's not that kind of friend."

The last word brought a smear of annoyance to the woman’s features, considering Sam had used it twice already.

"You can say boyfriend, Samuel, I'm not a prude." She protested.

Suddenly, Sam realized he was being too genuine. The way he spoke about Bucky was so truthful, he forgot for a second that he was meant to pretend to be his loving partner.

"Yes, boyfriend. Sorry."

In the welcoming hall, Bucky was thanking the service for getting his bags upstairs. He noticed a taxi parked outside, and he figured his cousin or one of his uncles had arrived, but as he wiped sweat from his forehead, the door opened, and his sister Rebecca walked in. As to be expected, she was dressed to impress in a light blue skirt and a sunny hat, wearing the additional drops of sweat that fell down her neck like an accessory.

"What are you doing here?” Bucky ambushed her, not too happy to see her, “You said you wouldn't make it."

The young woman didn’t seem offended by her welcoming, for she knew she was about to lie.

"I decided to spend some time with my family." She smiled brightly, reaching to hug her brother.

"Bull.” He stopped her. “What happened?"

Rebecca sighed, "Why do you always assume something's happened?"

"Because I'm the one picking up your slacks and shoving it under the rug." Bucky spat, looking around to check that nobody was listening.

"My hero." She rolled her eyes.

"Someone has to keep making you look perfect."

The words hit her, but she didn’t wince. Her face fell minimally, which was her own way of accepting it. Bucky was right, after all, because for years he had helped her out in every singl one of her fuck-ups, never asking for anything back, which resulted in their parents beliving their little girl to be a practical angel, while James remained the family screw up. The thing was, both siblings were emotional trainwrecks, but Bucky was the only one who got any backlash for it.

"So what was it?” he asked again, this time much more relaxed, “Boyfriend? Boyfriend's wife?"

"Actually...” Rebecca lowered her voice, “It's money. I need to win the hunt this year."

Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. Rebecca had only joined the family vacations to ruin his plans.

"I need to win the hunt this year." He was quick to shake his head.

"You don't understand, I owe a shit ton or money, James.” Unfortunately, his sister was just as enthusiastic about her own issues, “It's bad."

"Then get a loan from dad." He proposed in a very order-like tone, for he knew their father would give Rebecca money, while never offering Bucky a penny.

"He can't know I'm in debt!" she whisper-shouted.

Bucky took a deep breath and massaged his temples, still in disbelief that they were in this situation to begin with. He had brought his best friend into this, for all sakes. He couldn’t lose the money to his little sister. He wanted to explain to her how he was penny-less and had been enduring their parent’s hellfire for weeks, but Rebecca already knew that, and if that alone didn’t bring out her empathy, no amount of persuasion would. He wanted to tell her exactly what kind of treatment he had received in their parent’s house, but of course, Rebecca must have already guessed.

As much as he wanted to keep fighting, Sam joined them, and the two siblings were distracted from the argument.

"Samuel Wilson, why on earth are you in this shithole?"

Sam was baffled, as they hadn’t even spent half an hour there, and things were already not going according to plan. Bucky had sworn Rebecca wouldn’t be there, which was good, because Rebecca knew Sam and she knew that their relationship was not at all romantic.

"Good to see you too." He said, trying his best to ignore her obvious confusion and walking closer to Bucky, "Uh, your folks-"

"Sweetheart, you made it!" Winnifred’s exclamation echoed across the room.

"Of course, mama." Rebecca faked enthusiasm as she opened her arms.

"I see you've met Jamie's boyfriend." The siblings’ mother remarked as she gave Rebecca a quick hug.

Even before the contact was over, Rebecca was frowning.

"Boyfriend?"

Think, quickly.

"Yes, boyfriend. “ Bucky said loudly; perhaps too loudly to be believable, “We didn't wanna say. Thanks for ruining the newsbreak, mom." He faked discourage.

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, "No, you're not."

Desperate to play it out, Sam pressed a hand to the low of Bucky’s back, in an attempt to show affection and commodity with one another. Bucky, however, froze a little, because it was the first time Sam had done something like that and it felt more than just odd.

"We sure are." Sam grinned.

"Yeah, it just..." Bucky failed to imitate his fake boyfriend’s confidence as he scratched his brow and struggled with words, "Just sort of happened. We were going to tell you."

The room went silent, and Rebecca definitely wasn’t convinced. In fact, she saw straight through both of them and deciphered the truth behind the masquerade in a matter of seconds, which didn’t amuse her at all. They were going to take her prize away.

"Bucky's cheating." She said.

"Excuse me?” Winnifred opened her eyes wide, offended at what the accusation implied.

"At the hunt.” The young woman continued, earning a pleading look from her brother, who begged her not to out his lies; thankfully, she proceeded with a mocking tone, “He knows Nana's biased for couples, so he dragged his boyfriend to this freakshow."

Both Sam and Bucky felt like they had been given a second life, and they quickly laughed it off to dissimulate. Winnifred made a comment about her daughter’s choice of words while they all moved back to the living room, and although what had just happened was a sign that Rebecca wouldn’t out them, all three involved never got their eyes off each other.

Dinnertime was an event for the whole family. Others had arrived with their own luggage, setting three different generations in one table. Sam could only feel how strongly out of place he was, among the fancy drinks and conversations about business and family companies. He was learning a hell of a lot about Bucky’s family, though. The fortune was earned by the parents of the deceased grandfather, and he had been the one to ‘make them all rich assholes’, according to Bucky’s words.

"Aside from us and Becca, everyone here just wants to win the hunt for their ego.” He explained in whispers, leaning closer to Sam to not be overheard by the rest of the family, “It's just a fun tradition to them."

"I bet it's fun, getting four millions a year." Sam snorted quietly.

It made Bucky laugh, which got the attention of his aunt. She eyed the couple like they were just so cute together, and it only then occurred to Bucky that maybe they did.

"Oh, I forgot about Uncle Milo.” He gestured to an old and nice-looking man at the other end of the table. “Grandpa Theodore's brother, he's after the fortune."

Sam didn’t believe his friend, for it sounded like cliché rich family drama, something out of a soap opera. However, the young Barnes explained that the cliché was real, and that Uncle Milo had gambled his share of the fortune away, so he maintained his proximity to Nana in a desperate attempt to get it all back, the money, the house, everything. He soon continued explaining the rest of the less relevant characters: George's brother Teddy and his wife Andrea, who had a son about their age; cousin Colin. He was a dull creature and he looked like he'd come out of a Lacoste magazine, both him and his Ivy-league-college-sweetheart fiancée did. The third Barnes sibling was Aunt Ida, who had no children but was happily divorced.

“Are we all done with desert?” Nana stood up from her chair.

Cousin Colin raised his fork to speak and say that he hadn’t, but Nana didn’t seem to care.

“Wonderful. Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“No speech, Nana?” Bucky teased her.

“No, you’re all well aware. Except for Samuel, but he’s a smart man, he’ll catch up.” She winked at him.

That was apparently a good sign. She liked Sam.

“The first clue is very easy: just the meaning behind it all.” The woman chuckled at the end of her sentence, earning a few confused looks, “I didn’t hide it very well. You’ll find it if you search for it.”

Every guest remained seated. Knowing the woman, she wasn’t kidding, and this was just a riddle they were supposed to decipher, but they never failed to give her the benefit of the doubt that perhaps, just maybe one time, she would give them a real clue instead of messing with them as much as she could. Nana raised her glass of Champaign as a toast.

“Happy Hunting.” She smirked to the glass before chugging it down.

They seemed to be walking around aimlessly, just as the rest of the participants. This sounded like more of a mental riddle to fix by themselves, instead of an actual clue that was hidden somewhere. Bucky had the idea to look around grandpa Theodore’s old room in search for something emotional, although that didn’t sound like Nana, but she had told them to look for the meaning behind it all- she could have meant the meaning of the hunt. When Sam’s brain clicked, he grabbed Bucky’s arm to stop him.

"I got an idea." He announced.

Bucky glanced down at his arm, which was still being held by Sam.

"What're you thinking?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I'm guessing you guys have a library?"

Bucky nodded, "Smart."

Once they found the library, they were submerged in stillness. They shut the door so they wouldn’t give anyone else the same idea, and turned on the lights; the room was probably the calmest one in the entire house. There were high shelves with old books, two dusty reading chairs and a coffee table. Sam figured he wouldn’t mind spending some time there.

"What are we looking for?" James asked in a low voice.

Sam ran his fingers through the shelves for a few seconds, lurking for that one specific piece of literature he had in mind.

“Viktor Frankl.” Sam mumbled, concentrated on his task.

When he found the title, he pulled the book out and offered it to Bucky. Man’s search for meaning, 1946. It was too classical for fancy college men not to have heard of it, but the riddle was a tad too complicated for them. It was as if Nana had expected Sam to guess it first. Bucky caressed the cover, taking in the title and internally understanding the joke. The meaning behind it all. You’ll find it if you search for it.

He let a soft chuckle escape his lips as he opened the book and searched through the pages. Sam leaned in too close, over his shoulder, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel weird at the sensation of Sam’s breath hitting the back of his neck. He didn’t believe it was okay to even notice that sort of thing.

Suddenly, an envelope fell from the book, and Bucky looked back at Sam with amusement.

“That tricky old hag.” He laughed.

A/N: I know this wasn’t too exciting lol but it was more of an introduction chapter:/ next part will have your much needed fluff and intensity! Thank you so much for reading xx

#sambucky #sambucky au #fake dating au #sambucky fanfiction #sam/bucky #sam wilson/bucky barnes #sam x bucky #sam wilson x bucky barnes #fatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel fanfiction

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