#reality show au

[hairmetal666]

Eddie Munson gets famous at fifteen, after a YouTube video goes viral.

He's the kind of famous where he can't leave his house without being mobbed; where his name is plastered across grocery store tabloids and every fifth Pop Crave post; who has to make special arrangements with stores, whose body guards have body guards, who's forgotten what it's like to be normal. He's the kind of famous with well-chronicled stints in and out of rehab

And he thinks, at thirty, why not do a reality show? Why not let everyone in the world into his life because they're there anyway?

There's this guy on the crew, beautiful as a fucking sunrise. He's all golden-tanned and chestnut-haired, with these big hazel eyes that makes Eddie stomach swoop deliciously whenever they happen to meet his.

His name is Steve.

And Eddie, well. He's learned his lesson about jumping into relationships. So, Steve is nice to look at, and that's all there is to it.

---

They're at the studio, and Eddie, he only smokes when he's recording but he's "not allowed" to do that inside. So, he steps out into the alley behind the building, eyes falling shut as he hands search his pockets for his pack of Camels and his Zippo.

"I didn't realize you smoked," a deep voice says from the darkness.

Eddie startles, eyes flying open. Steve is leaning against the brick of the building, cigarette perched between his pursed lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I'm Steve. With the crew."

"Eddie," he answers by instinct.

"I know," Steve chuckles. His hazel eyes are golden in the yellow streetlight.

"Oh, right." He lights his cigarette and inhales deep.

"I really like what you're doing in there." Steve nods his head towards the studio.

"You a fan?"

"Never listened to you much before. Not really a metal kinda guy, but I like it."

People aren't usually honest with Eddie. It's refreshing.

"Glad you're getting into it! How's your--uh, job going?"

Steve laughs. "First assistant camera, that's my job." Eddie's expression must read a total blank, but Steve only smiles. "I make sure everything's in focus while we film"

"Is that--hard?"

"Sometimes," Steve agrees. "How do you like being the star of a reality show?"

Eddie huffs out a breath. "It's more fun than I expected. Like, sure it's weird to have you guys follow me around, but at least I invited you, you know?"

Steve's dark eyes are fathomless in his perfect face. "You'll let me know? If anything happens that you don't like?"

Eddie nods, taken aback by the serious line of Steve's pretty mouth. Before he can respond more, the back door creaks open, Gareth's backlit shape leaning into the alley. "Eddie? They're ready for you."

"Duty calls." He smiles at Steve as he stomps out his cigarette. "See you around."

---

Eddie goes to a house party in the hills. It's just a handful of people, all of them he's known for years, no cameras in sight.

Someone asks how things are going with the band. Eddie doesn't think anything of it. Why should he, among friends? Why should he when they already know the resentment that Gareth, Jeff, and Freak have for him? Eddie got signed and not his band. The guys--they never really forgave him, think he could have tried harder.

So, he says--he says--"I wish they didn't resent me so goddamn much still. To this day! They're millionaires and they're pissed at me? Fuck that. I got them here. I got us all here."

They're filming the next day at Eddie's house. He's working on a new song, engrossed in his acoustic and his notebook.

He's so in the zone, it takes him a second to register when Gareth bursts into the house.

"Fuck you, Munson," Gareth screams. "What the fuck is this shit?" Eddie's own voice pours from Gareth's phone, and Eddie's stunned speechless for dozens of seconds as he tries to comprehend what's happening.

"I didn't--" he tires. He raises his hands placatingly, but his minds a whirlwind, thoughts a tangle, heart a mess of betrayal and hurt and fear.

"We should be fucking grateful?" Gareth yells. "You spoiled piece of shit, fuck you!" He lunges towards Eddie, but Steve darts from behind the camera, moving to block Gareth's path.

"Stop filming," Eddie shouts. He lifts his arms to block the shit. "Get out," he snaps at the crew. " Now!"

He and Gareth scuffle towards a set of double-doors, heated words low and unintelligible.

"Don't come in." He tells the crew. "Steve, I mean it. Tell them to stop."

Eddie shoves Gareth into the other room, slamming the door behind him. Still, the mics pick up the screaming fight between the two men.

Hours later, Eddie finally makes his way back to the main part of the house, finds Steve standing at the kitchen island.

"Why are you still here?" He's too exhausted from the fight to put any inflection into it.

"I was wo--I wanted to make sure everything was okay," Steve says. He relaxes against the island. "Are yo--is everything okay?"

Eddie's laugh is humorless. "Something like that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The tears he kept at bay with Gareth prick at his eyelids until they burn. "Not really, no."

Steve nods. "We could--you wanna watch a movie?"

This startles a laugh out of Eddie, one that has tears flooding his eyes and he has to blink fast, look down, anything so Steve doesn't notice.

"You know what I want?" he says. It's soft enough that maybe Steve, across the kitchen, wouldn't hear.

"What?"

"To have friends who won't sell me out for a couple thousand bucks." The tears start falling, his throat choked with emotion.

He wants to stop, embarrassed to be crying in front of Steve, but now that he's started, sobs shake his shoulders and he can't keep quiet.

Steve reaches for him. "Is this okay?" he whispers, hands rubbing circles against his back.

Eddie nods, cries for a while as Steve makes soothing motions against his back.

"I just wish I was normal," he mumbles when he has words again.

Steve's hold on him tightens. "I'm sorry, Eddie."

Shame hits him then, too hard to ignore, and he steps away. "I'm gonna--I'm gonna go. I--Thanks again."

He ignores the sound of Steve calling him back.

---

Eddie's playing a show. He's playing a show in a small club, something he hasn't been able to do for years, but he's doing it right now. It's electric, vibrating through his body, the crowd screaming along with every word.

So much of this is because of Steve, and Eddie can't think about it, because men like Steve aren't for guys like Eddie.

As he plays, his eyes scan the small crowd, find Steve easily. He's gazing at Eddie, lips slicked pink and parted, eyes shining. Eddie knows this look; the naked desire obvious. A heat he never lets himself feel for Steve blooms low in his abdomen, but--

He wails into his mic, forcing his thoughts away from that path. He has a show to play, one that's pumping his veins full of satisfied adrenaline. Nothing can ruin it.

When the show ends, Eddie is high, endorphins and adrenaline pounding through his bloodstream.

Eddie, the band, and the film crew make their way out the club's backdoor. There's a car idling close by, but they only get a few steps in before there's shouting; the ear-shattering click of dozens of camera shutters; overwhelming burst of flashes.

Eddie is disoriented, dizzy; the rapid shift from the best night he's had in years, to this, mobbed by paparazzi, people screaming his name, crowding their small group. He stumbles, black spots still obstructing his vision.

Arms catch around him, holding him steady. "You okay?" Steve asks.

Before he can answer, one of the paps yells, "Munson's wasted! Can't even walk!"

"C'mon, Ed, I've got you," Steve says.

"Just get into the booze, Munson, or someone had Molly too? Maybe a little coke? That used to be your thing, right? Snort a little blow and do a show?"

Eddie tenses, almost stops, but Steve keeps him going.

The crowd surges around them, more voices yelling, more flashbulbs popping, the guy saying, "He can't even stand without help! You got a real problem you know?"and he just--can't anymore. He whirls out of Steve's grasp, lunges for the guy.

"What's your fucking problem, man?" Eddie hisses. "What did I do to you, huh?"

"Real tough, Munson, huh?" The man sneers. He shoves Eddie hard, knocking him back a few steps.

Eddie's vision fuzzes out, brain buzzing. He snarls, knows he does, knows he's losing it, can't make it stop.

Strong arms wrap around his waist, pull him off his feet. He fights it until he's pressed into a wall, until cold hands cup his face.

"Baby, baby, you have to calm down," Steve murmurs. "You have to breathe, can you do that for me?"

"I want--he can't--I--"

Steve presses harder against him, bodies joined. "You're having a panic attack, yeah? Can you breathe with me, baby? Match me?"

Eddie nods, tries, wants to be good for Steve.

He calms, as much from the breathing exercise as being held by the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Pressing his face against Steve's neck he says, "why are you always around for my worst moments? I'm such a fucking mess."

"I don't think you're a mess," he says. "I think you've gotten hurt, you've gotten cornered. And your reactions are normal."

"Why do you even care?" Eddie asks.

Steve doesn't even pause. "Cause I like you, Eddie." His hold tightens for a second. "I like you a lot."

Eddie scoffs. "Yeah, you like Eddie Munson, the hot rockstar. Not the loser who cries in your arms"

Cold air hits Eddie as Steve steps away to meet Eddie's eyes. You want to know something? I didn't expect to like you at all. I admit, I bought into all the stories on the internet. But you were never anything like that, Ed. Not even once."

Steve takes a deep breath, turning away as his cheeks grow pink. "And you--you're always going out of your way for people. The day I knew I was gone for you? Three weeks into filming. There was this kid interning. You didn't know a thing about him, just some twenty-year-old, and you sat down and talked to him. Were genuinely interested in everything he said."

"Steve," Eddie's voice breaks. He has to cover his mouth, lips a wobbling mess.

"I want to give you normal, Eddie, as much as I can. If you'll let me."

The moisture tumbles free from his eyes, streaking down his cheeks. Eddie laughs. "God, Steve, you're--I like you, too."

Steve brushes the tears away. "So, you'd go on a date with me?"

"I think I would really like to go on a date with you, yeah."

Steve leans in, slow and gentle, placing a soft kiss at the corner of Eddie's mouth. It lights him up like a fresh struck match, nerve endings on fire. He thinks it's so much more than like already.

"Take me home, sweetheart," he says.

"Getting fresh with me, Munson," Steve smirks. "I won't have you using your rockstar wiles to seduce me."

Eddie's laugh echoes off the brick of the surrounding buildings. "Oh, sweetheart, my rockstar ways will destroy you."

"That a promise?"

---

Six months later, the first and only season of Welcome to Hell premieres. Instead, of chronicling a rockstar's debauched and wild lifestyle, it's a soft and charming love story. It shows Steve and Eddie growing closer, Steve working late into the night, to give Eddie the hint of normalcy he's so desperate for, to make him happy. It shows Eddie's eyes track Steve across a room, something like sadness crossing his face. It shows a concert that Steve arranged, the fight with the pap outside the venue, brief glimpses of Steve and Eddie in the aftermath, the gentle kiss.

In the last interview of the season, the producer asks Eddie if there will be a season two of Welcome to Hell.

Eddie smiles, glances off camera, which pans to find Steve in worn jeans and a Metallica hoodie, hair messy and wearing glasses. He gazes at Eddie, smiles this soft, aching thing.

"Nah, I don't think I need it anymore," Eddie answers. Throwing the camera a smile that matches Steve's.

[silverkiiwii]

Your A-Team, Your Endgame

by silverkiiwii | @tomlinsins with art by @harryanthus-annuus

“Did you have another fight with Harry?” Liam asks as they move away from everyone, into the kitchen.

“No. Why?” Louis says, perplexed.

“He looks ready to murder you.” Liam subtly looks over towards Harry and sure enough, his gaze on Louis is intensely unwavering.

“Or well, fuck you senseless.” Zayn chimes in with the most absurd possibility before Louis can think of a reply.

“What? Shut up. He does not want to fuck me senseless.”

“Then you can fuck him senseless.”

“Nobody is fucking anybody senseless.” Even the mere notion is enough to make his eyes roll up into their bloody sockets.

“Doesn't mean you don't want to though.” Liam smirks like a true traitor. He really ought to make new friends.

“I'm leaving.” Louis deadpans. He is not going to dignify their idiocy with responses anymore.

Coming Soon as part of @onedirectionbigbang round 7!

Subscribe on AO3 to be notified when the fic posts!

[imagination-mess]

Reality Show: Pro Heroes Wives (Shinso Hitoshi Edition)

Reality Show Masterlist (All Editions)

There is a reality show where pro-heroes' wives are on television and paid to be there. It is filled with juicy gossip and pure drama. There are few wives in this second season who were kept out of the spotlight, which adds mystery and creates theories about who they were married to.

The same winners who were in the group that couldn’t be identified are back this season as a surprise challenge. Unlike last season, it wasn’t revealed at the very beginning of this reason which Pro Heroes wives would be featured.

There are only a few left without being matched, which were mostly underground heroes who people don’t typically pay attention to. Half of the cast already knew each other because their spouses had interacted on more than one occasion and were disqualified from participating in the weekend challenge of the show for those spouses. The others who did not know their spouses had to identify them, but the others couldn’t spill anything that would clue who their spouse was.

You, however, were making headlines and trending throughout social media for your wicked punch, knocking out Pro Hero [Blank] with a sharp uppercut punch after receiving a punch from them.

It was unexpected for the fans of the show to see another side of you since you always kept close to your friends and did the bare minimum to stay within the competition. You were barely involved in other people’s business. You are mostly found in the background, watching the drama unfold in front of your eyes.

The Pro Hero [Blank] had punched you in the face because you were ripping her apart from your words alone, causing her to have an emotional reaction. You were brutal with your words. It was also oblivious that you were purposely riling her up with the way you were openly mocking her. With a wicked grin, you intimidated her when the hero was trying to rip you apart while dodging her next attacks.

She was talking shit about your husband and claiming he shouldn’t even have licenses to be a pro-hero. She claims to have known him since middle school, and he will always remain a freak. Despite his being in the top 20, which was completely unintentional on his part,

Her friends that she made during her time on the show eventually join in attacking you verbally to only get their own medicine, taking them apart by their insecurities and such. It was clear her friends were ganging up on you while your friends were gone. 

You were ripping them apart and letting it all out because you have seen over and over how these people have to make side comments and belittle the other spouses in the house, including your friends. It was just her comment on Shinsou that threw you over the edge.

Who would have known the way to trigger you was by badmouthing your husband?

You ripped the Pro Hero [Blank] a new one and got punched as a result, but it was oblivious that you wanted it to happen. You purposely provoked her even more and unintentionally knocked them out on live television because they were trying to play dirty by attacking from behind. It was out of reflex because of the years of training you have. Your body just reacted.

People do what they do best: search on the web to find out who you are. You aren’t as popular as the Pro Hero to only find out you are worth way more than the hero. You also have a history of being the bully toward other bullies throughout middle and high school. You were an absolute menace in your younger years. Your former classmates coming to the internet to tell stories about you include those who were with you in martial arts and boxing clubs.

There were thirst traps and edits created by fans circling the internet. The fans of the show couldn’t tell if it was a loyal friend's or spouse's reaction based on the stories circling the media.

At home, the hero couldn’t help the smile that climbed up his lips. You didn’t even know, but that specific hero is someone he would never forget since they spread rumors about him in his earlier years of being in school. Those rumors stuck with him up until middle school.

Karma is a bitch.

[kryptonite-kisses]

Meet Superboy

if you want to read it in text form instead of this image you can find it here on AO3: The House of “L” (ch 4)

[veloursdor]

Obikin Reality Show AU where Obi-Wan is a middle aged single step-father (48) who is unsatisfied with the way his life is going (failed relationships, a job he’s good at but no longer satisfies him, meaningless flings that leave him aching for more) but is used to being unhappy (“what else there is for me?”) since it’s all he’s ever known. 

Quinlan, his best friend since childhood, fed up with Obi-Wan’s continuous misery and his friend’s unwillingness to do anything about it signs him up for the reality show D!LF Manor (a reality show where a dad and son duo go live in a mansion alongside other 7 pairs of dads and sons) alongside his step-son Anakin (the relationship Anakin and Obi-Wan have is… complicated, to say the least, but the producers of the show all agree when meeting them is fascinating to watch, perfect for reality tv).

(Quinlan wanted them to get over their hang-ups and fuck or either find someone else to have fun with, but the tension between them was killing him).

After fighting with Quinlan and both of them being dragged by Vos to the Manor, Obi-Wan is uncomfortable about the situation (“how can i flirt with someone who is Anakin’s age?”), dodging every advances towards him (uttering a “fascinating” every time a 20 something guy tries to impress him) until he sees Anakin being pursued by a particular contestant that gives Obi-Wan the creeps (Palpatine).

Anakin gives off very intense vibes, but there’s an angelic beauty in him that has captured Obi-Wan’s attention from the moment that they met, making him unable to look at anyone else while they’re there. However, much to Anakin’s displeasure, Obi-Wan is the most popular older man; almost every young contestant wants him. He’s constantly being asked on dates, when it is time for meals or community activities everyone fights to sit by his side or be his partner. 

(Anakin fails to notice all the other guys wanting his attention, too focused on Obi-Wan. But Obi-Wan notices, and seethes in jealousy, specially when that Palpatine creep manages to make Anakin smile)

They’re both pining from afar (sharing small moments when the rest of the house is asleep, making them fall for each other even more) until one night, when one of the other dads (not Palpatine) makes a move on Anakin (catching him unaware, right on Obi-Wan’s line of sight) and Anakin (seething in jealousy as Maul (another contestant) is all over Obi-Wan) lets him kiss his cheek and take him out on a date. Queue Obi-Wan’s jealousy kicking in and, after Anakin gets back to the Manor from his date, goes to Anakin’s room and fucks him silly that night.

The producers of the show don’t know whether to kick them out or continue with them since their ratings are off the charts. 

[thekatebridgerton]

Philoise Problem child/ bachelorette au where Phillip is a reality tv bachelor with two kids hell bent on getting rid of all the contestants by whatever pranks necessary. And Eloise is the one contestant who got tricked into participating by her crazy family.

Phillip of course is miserable trying to fend off the crazy fame obsessed contestants advances, while at the same time having to go on contractually mandatory dates with them and Eloise is doing whatever she can to get booted off the show. Only that for some reason Phillip's kids keep using their immunity vote to keep her in no matter what she does to intentionally ruin her chances at advancing to the next round of eliminations.

At one point Eloise realizes she has more in common with Phillip's vengeful eight yearolds than she ever did with the wannabe Mrs Cranes and strikes up a friendship with the only entertaining people in the entire reality show. Phillip of course clues in that now the twins have an inside agent of chaos among the contestants but no matter how much he tries to catch Eloise in the act of purposefully aiding his kids in the ruining of his mandatory reality tv dates, he can't seem to get enough evidence to call her out on it

Bonus if at one point there is a segment of a particularly annoying contestant getting chased by a vicious army of chickens that somehow got placed in her cabana only for the camera to pans away from the unfortunate contestant to do a closeup on the bachelorette house balcony where Oliver, Amanda and Eloise are wearing sunglasses and sharing popcorn among each other, while Eloise shares her favorite Bridgerton ™ tips for childhood revenge and mayhem

Just know that in this show:

Phillip is there to find love and a good role model for his kids

Eloise is there to have as much fun as possible trying to get kicked out ( because Colin wanted Penelope to himself and tricked her into thinking she was signing up for a 'save the polar bears' charity retreat.)

Oliver and Amanda? Well they're there to send prospective step mothers running

And the audience is obviously there to ship Philoise

Will Phillip ever find 'the one' ??

[a-little-unsteddie]

Give Love a Chance || Original Post

the other day @ladykailitha posted something that just sparked so much joy, i decided i absolutely had to expand upon and write a full story abt it. idk how fast i’ll work on this, as my main focus currently is on the big bang fic, but i wanted to post a prologue/teaser of sorts. (side note: i am definitely stealing piratefishmama’s layout, shhh)

enjoy! -rowan

Steve wasn’t sure how he had gotten here, to be honest. Well, he did, but he didn’t know it would actually get this far. He would like to place the blame on either Dustin or Robin—or both, both was good, too. The point was, Steve was completely faultless in it.

When Steve got home earlier, after a long day at work, he had checked the mail, as he usually does. He saw a letter addressed to him, which, to be fair, makes sense, seeing as it was in his mailbox, but it was the sender that had surprised him. It had been several weeks—at least—since Robin and Dustin had cornered him and forced him to fill out an application to be a bachelor on Give Love a Chance, and he had honestly forgotten about it. He had only agreed to submit an application to the show because he had been so sure that he wasn’t going to make the cut. Who would want to watch a dumb reality love gameshow with Steve as the bachelor? A middle school guidance counselor with a five year old daughter?

Steve had still held that opinion even as he opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. The confidence in his thoughts only waned when he began to read the letter, his eyes had slowly widened and his mouth fell open. He reached for his cell, instinctually calling Robin as he reread the contents of the letter.

“Y’ello?”

“Did you seriously just answer with—nevermind. Robin tell me why the fuck I’m staring at a letter telling me I was chosen to be on Give Love a Chance?” He asked, pacing the length of his kitchen.

“Oh my God!” Robin shouted from his phone, causing Steve to wince and adjust his hearing aid. “Why do you sound upset? This is what you agreed to! This is why we sent in the application in the first place! This is great news!”

“Robin, you and I both know that I only agreed because I thought nothing would come of it.” Steve said flatly, checking the time on the stove. He still had twenty or so minutes before he needed to leave to grab Matilda from preschool. “I’m going to tell them I changed my mind.”

“Absolutely not! I’ll never forgive you. Dustin will never forgive you.”

“What? Am I supposed to just do the show?”

“Yes!” Robin said enthusiastically. Steve let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What am I going to do with Mattie, huh? I can’t just take her with me, she has school!”

“Dustin already told you that he and Will would take her in!”

“‘Take her in’? Rob, she isn’t a stray cat. She’s a whole tiny human.” Steve said with heavy exasperation. “He may have said that, but that doesn’t mean he will say the same thing now! There’s a difference between us joking about me getting accepted and the reality of taking care of a four year old!” Steve walked to the kitchen sink, filled himself a glass of tap water and set it to the side.

“So, we ask them again! I’m sure they’ll agree! You know they’ve been wanting to adopt! You can think of this as practice for them!”

Steve stared blankly out of the window above his kitchen sink, then groaned loudly and tipped his head back to glare at the ceiling.

“I don’t think I can leave her for the month—or more—it’ll take to film.” Steve admitted with a frown. He could immediately feel Robin’s shift in demeanor with the soft sigh she let out.

“Oh, dingus. You’ll be okay. We can video call her everyday while we're gone.” Robin said softly, trying to soothe him. “I think you should give it a go. You deserve to give love a chance.”

Steve let out a loud groan, which dissolved into a soft laugh. “You did not just say that.”

“I did.”

“That was so bad.”

“I know. But it’s true!”

“You’ll be with me?”

“Every step of the way.”

“..Fine.”

—x—

Dear Steve Harrington,

Congratulations! You have been selected as one of the bachelors to move forward into the next stage—interviewing and filming! We believe you are a perfect fit, and cannot wait to have you at our Los Angeles studio!

If you are still interested, please contact us via email to receive more details about what comes next.

Thank you,

Murray Bauman, Host of ‘Give Love a Chance’

[highqueenofelfhame]

idk if this is good i just wrote it and didn’t edit it IDK MAN IDK WHAT THIS IS i hope you enjoy it tho xo

rowaelin // 1820 words

It wasn’t the first time Aelin had cursed her socialite lifestyle, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last, but she really hated that a full camera crew was filming every second of Aedion and Lysandra’s wedding tonight. 

Not because she didn’t want the event well documented. This footage would immortalize their love for each other in a beautiful way and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would never be able to watch it back and not shed a healthy amount of tears. If anything, she was grateful for that aspect of how chaotic their lives tended to be. What she wasn’t looking forward to seeing was Rowan Whitethorn’s face sneaking in and out of frame while he enjoyed the party. 

Aelin could deal with everything this night threw at her, but she hated that she kept catching glimpses of the top of his silver head over everyone else’s, or that he looked unfairly delicious in a dark, forest green tuxedo that fit his frame perfectly. She hated the feeling of his gaze on her when she wasn’t looking, and she especially hated when they made eye contact from opposite sides of the dance floor. 

The option to disappear completely wasn’t on the table. As maid of honor, she had duties to fulfill and knew there would be a million and one rumors about her having a falling out with Lys or Aedion. Though they laughed about all that outrageously ridiculous gossip, she refused to have that trump the day that was solely about them. 

So instead of trying to make herself blend into the background or hiding in the bathroom, she had taken to being keenly aware of where Rowan was at all times so that she could easily avoid bumping into him and having to talk to him at all. So far, through the ceremony and the first leg of the reception, it was a success. Her shitty relationship drama wasn’t going to muddy up the wedding, especially when Rowan and Aedion had only recently began to speak after two years of radio silence on Aedion’s part. 

Their breakup had been very public. More than one episode of the reality show that followed the scandalous lives of Orynth’s elite had featured her crying over everything she and Rowan had lost. Though she never watched the show unless she was feeling sentimental, she especially avoided the clips from that part of her life. It was a chapter she had slammed shut, and she refused to look back on any of it. Not yet, anyway. 

Truthfully, Aelin didn’t like thinking about it because she always tried to look back on it with rose colored lenses. There were many nights that she lay awake, watching her ceiling fan spin in spirals while  trying to avoid a mental one of her own. 

It wasn’t that anything truly terrible had been the reason for their breakup. Rowan’s career simply took off and, in the process of a blooming music career, their relationship had taken the backseat. He got too busy, long distance was hard, and they had grown apart. 

Except she didn’t feel like she was the one that drifted away. Even with oceans between them, she made her best efforts to show up when it mattered to him, to talk to him as much as she could despite a busy schedule of her own. And then one night while they lay in bed on a rare weekend he had free to visit her in Orynth, she’d whispered the words that shattered her heart and crushed her soul: I can’t do this anymore. 

It was all too hard, too much. It felt as though they had gone from being madly in love and bordering on obsessed with each other to struggling to hold a conversation. Rowan was often exhausted from long days of travel, rehearsals, or shows. Aelin worked hard, long days between filming the show and working on her designs for the next season. 

Rowan had tried to fight her on the breakup, insisting that things would get better, but neither of them could figure out the when and the how. He had begged, made promises that she knew he couldn’t keep, and swore up and down, left and right, that he would be better and more present. But after months of drifting, she couldn’t see the shore anymore. By the time she said it out loud, there was nothing he could say or do that would fix it. Aelin had made up her mind and waited until she couldn’t handle it anymore. And then she just… shut down.

It had caused a big falling out with their friend group. A few had been on his side, a few on hers. Aedion was blindly loyal to Aelin and cut ties with Rowan almost immediately after watching her slowly crumble from heartbreak. It had only been three months ago when he’d tentatively asked her how she would feel if Rowan was at the wedding. 

“Aedion, it’s not about me. You used to be best friends. If you want him there, then he should be there,” she told him, squeezing his hands as she spoke. Aelin had even told him early on he should invite Rowan, something he had shot down at the time. But as time went on Aelin could see it was bothering him. That getting married without his best friend since he could walk at least in the room would leave a single piece of happiness missing on the best day of his life. Of course she had insisted he be invited. It wasn’t about her, that was the truth.

But seeing him had been more painful than she had anticipated, even five years later, and she was tired of knowing where he was in the room at any given millisecond. As she had the thought, their eyes locked across the dancefloor and she quickly turned to find anything else to do than be caught in a staring contest with the love of her life. Instead of walking away, though, she slammed into the hard body of her cousin.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He teased, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. Aelin conjured up one of her infamous mischievous smirks as she gestured toward the open bar.

“Where else?” 

“The dance floor. You owe me a dance.” At those words, her heart softened and she patted his cheek, taking his arm and allowing him to pull her into the center of their dancing friends. A slow song that sounded vaguely familiar drifted through the speakers as they fell into a relaxed carriage, Aedion leading them in slow circles. 

“Our mothers are probably weeping over this,” she joked, eyes scanning the crowd once more to where Evalin and Aerin stood arm and arm with their husbands. The matriarchs had their phones already pointed to the cousins and deep laughter rumbled from Aedion’s chest. Aelin stuck her tongue out toward the two women, her mother shooting her a flat look over the top of her phone before she let herself be swept back into the moment with the man who was so much like a brother to her. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“I think you’re going to take that back in about ten seconds.” As Aelin’s brows wrinkled in confusion, Aedion spun her around and– let go of her hand that was quickly caught by someone else. 

The easy, relaxed posture she had with Aedion disappeared almost immediately as she scowled at him over her shoulder. He mouthed an apology, one that she mentally flushed down the toilet, and turned around to stare at the bowtie tied around Rowan’s neck.

There was no need to look up to know it was him. Aelin knew the callouses that scarred his fingers and palms, knew his warm smell of pine and snow. Her entire body was rigid while he led her in a slow dance as the song played on. Everyone around them had definitely clocked the encounter, and Aelin caught Lys smacking Aedion’s shoulder while he held his hands up defensively. 

The worst part about the entire thing was how badly she wanted to relax into his body, his touch. She wanted the hand that rested on her side to slip to her exposed lower back and hold her closer. It made her want to cry, but she exhaled slowly and willed her emotions to simmer instead of breaking the dam she had so carefully built around anything that had to do with Rowan. 

“I’m sorry for ambushing you,” he finally said, his thumb soothingly stroking soft circles over the bare skin of her ribs. 

“I doubt that,” she replied, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. Rowan’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. Aelin frowned. 

“I’m a little sorry,” he amended, eyes sparkling in the low, twinkling lights that surrounded them. Aelin didn’t say anything, shifting her eyes to the dark green fabric of his suit instead of the piercing green of his eyes. It maybe made her a shitty dance partner, but she couldn’t get her body to relax. Every muscle was stiff, even her fingers where they rest on his arm. Her nails were pressed into the skin of his hand where he held it, but it didn’t seem enough to push him away. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Maybe you should have told me that more often before,” she quipped, unable to keep her mouth shut. Typical.

“I should have.” Surprise must have flashed on her face, because he nodded, letting out a sigh. “I should have done a lot of things that I didn’t do, that I stopped doing. I should have tried harder.”

“I don’t want to rehash our old bullshit at Aedion’s wedding,” she said tightly, jaw clenching over every word he said. “Time and place, Rowan. I know you were never good at that, but–”

“I’m sorry.” Aelin stilled at his words, something about hearing them now threatening to break down every wall she had built where he was concerned. “For all of it, Fireheart. You deserved better than what I gave you that last year. You deserve more than that. I was young and stupid, and I’m sorry. I never meant–”

“It’s a little late for all of that, Rowan.” Aelin pulled her hand from his and stumbled out of his arms, catching the bicep of a college friend of her cousin’s to steady herself. She wouldn’t fall, not with the way Rowan had immediately caught her hips to keep that from happening. 

“Ace–” He started, but she shoved his hands off of her and held up her hand to stop him. 

Without another glance over her shoulder, Aelin gathered the bottom of her gown in her fist and disappeared from the dance floor with a burning hole in her heart. 

[kanthonyficrecs]

Featured Fic (Modern AU)

most eligible by firstglances (amalin) Rating: E Status: WIP Summary: In 1814, when a man was in urgent want of a wife, there was the Marriage Mart. Over two hundred years later, there is reality television. Or: the Bachelor AU no one asked for.

Happy reading!

[ladykailitha]

Six Sentence Sunday

Rules: post six sentences from a WIP and then tag six people.

I was tagged by @vecnuthy

It didn't say six sentences from an active WIP, so this is from my little Halloween special about the older teenagers doing tasks in haunted ghost town Hawkins.

Snippet

Jonathan walked through the empty halls of the high school and that chill down his spine settled like ice as he could feel someone or something watching him.

He whirled around but there was nothing there. There was no light streaming through as all the windows had been boarded up.

Jonathan’s breath came in pants, steaming the cold air in front of him.

It shouldn’t have had been this cold, he thought frantically. He could feel the dread and darkness stretch out toward him like fog rolling in. Jonathan’s heart began to speed up as the darkness got closer and closer.

BAM!

****

I also may have fudge the number of sentences (there are eight).

I'm not sure who to tag, I don't know who's been tagged or who would want to do it.

So if you're seeing this from and you want to do it, consider it me tagging you. ;)

[kjack89]

Love is Blind (Part Four: The Wedding)

We have finally reached the end of our lovely little reality show. Thanks to everyone who's read and encouraged this nonsense along the way!

E/R, Modern AU, Love is Blind AU (bad reality TV AU for anyone unfamiliar with the source show). Established relationship at this point, but like. Still a speedrun.

Read Part One here. Read Part Two here. Read Part Three here.

First, our couples fell in love in the pods, sight unseen. Then they made their connections physical in Mexico before confronting reality back home. Now, there’s just days left before they’re at their weddings, facing the toughest choice they’ve ever had to make.

Will they commit to spending their life with the person they fell in love with in the pods? Or will they part ways forever?

Is love truly blind?

On this final episode of Love is Blind, we’re about to find out.

Enjolras smoothed a hand down the front of his tux jacket and frowned at his reflection in the mirror before poking his head out of the dressing room curtain. “Are you ready?” he asked, a little impatiently, and not just because the idea of trying on clothes, let alone trying on clothes with a three-person camera crew in tow, was one of his least favorite activities.

The curtain in front of Grantaire’s dressing room twitched. “Give me a moment,” Grantaire said, sounding amused. “You can’t rush perfection.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened as he glanced critically at his reflection one more time. “Yeah, unfortunately, I don’t think this one’s anything close to resembling perfection.”

Grantaire chuckled, and a few moments later, opened his curtain and stepped outside. Enjolras’s mouth went dry as Grantaire adjusted the cuffs of his shirt sleeve. “So?” Grantaire asked, with a grin. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good thing we’re getting the so-called first look over with here and now, or else I’m going to be liable to forget my vows,” Enjolras said, drinking in the view with eager eyes.

Grantaire laughed. “Thankfully, there’s really only two words you need to remember,” he teased, before arching an eyebrow. “So are you going to come out and let me see?”

Enjolras made a face. “I’d rather not.”

Grantaire looked bemused. “Dare I ask why?”

“Because I look ridiculous.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “I very highly doubt that,” he said. “You look amazing in absolutely everything. Besides, don’t you think that I should be able to draw my own conclusion on this front?”

Enjolras heaved a sigh before finally stepping out of his dressing room, holding his arms out to the side. “See?” he said, a little sourly.

To his credit, Grantaire didn’t immediately laugh, though judging by the look on his face, he very much wanted to. “You look—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Enjolras warned.

The corners of Grantaire’s mouth twitched. “I think the cumberbund was not a great choice,” he said tactfully.

Enjolras groaned, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Remind me again why we can’t just wear the same damn thing?”

“Because the point is to complement each other, not match each other,” Grantaire said, crossing over to the rack of tuxedos and thumbing through them. “How in God’s name am I the one explaining this to you?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes before saying, “Speaking of God—”

Grantaire glanced up at him. “I am fascinated to see where this goes.”

“Well, I know how you feel about a good segue,” Enjolras said lightly. “Anyway, we haven’t really talked much about religion, and since the wedding ceremony is coming up pretty quickly, I figured we should make sure we’re on the same page.”

Grantaire frowned. “Haven’t we already agreed on a justice of the peace? And getting married in not a church?”

“We have.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Then what are you really getting at?”

Enjolras sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been trying to write my vows,” he admitted.

“Ok,” Grantaire said slowly. “And?”

“And I’ve been trying to draw inspiration from a lot of different places, and a lot of vow examples that I’ve been able to find have had a pretty strong vein of Christianity running through them,” Enjolras told him. “And while I know we’ve both discussed that neither of us are really religious, I want to go a step further. With everything happening with Roe, I don’t want any Christian imagery or what have you in our wedding.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “And I certainly wasn’t planning otherwise. I mean, what, you want to opt for a pagan handfasting instead?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far—”

“I would,” Grantaire interrupted. “If that’s what you wanted, anyway.” Enjolras stared at him and Grantaire shrugged, half-smiling. “All I care about is saying I do and making this legally binding. The rest doesn’t matter to me.”

Enjolras felt a warmth spread through his chest, though he tamped it down to point out, with no small amount of amusement, “And yet us wearing matching tuxes is a step too far.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “Ok, well maybe some of the rest does matter to me, at least a little.” He cocked his head. “But I’m more interested in why you’re bringing this up. I mean, have I somehow given you the impression that I’m going to start quoting the Bible at our gay wedding?”

Enjolras flushed slightly. “No, I guess not,” he mumbled.

“So what is this actually about?” Grantaire pressed. “Because I don’t really think it’s about our vows. Or our wedding.”

“Well it’s tangentially related to our wedding, I guess,” Enjolras hedged.

“Still waiting on that explanation.”

Enjolras sighed, beginning to wish he’d worked his way into this conversation from a different angle. “Ok, so you know how we’re supposed to be having our bachelor parties in a few days?”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “A toast to our last day of freedom before the ol’ heteronormative ball and chain, sure.”

Enjolras wet his lips nervously. “Well, what would you say to not doing that?”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, the idea of a day of debauchery and heavy drinking is normally my idea of a good time, so it depends on what you’re proposing as an alternative,” he said slowly. “And what connection it has to Christianity.”

“What connection it has to keeping Christianity out of our private lives,” Enjolras corrected. “And the alternative is probably not something as fun as debauchery and heavy drinking.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a protest that’s been planned regarding the Roe leak, and I thought…”

He trailed off. “And you thought it might be fun?” Grantaire supplied.

“Something like that.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “So to be clear, do you want to spend what should be our bachelor party working, or protesting as a private citizen?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Does it really make a difference?”

“It does to me,” Grantaire said evenly.

Enjolras sighed. “Fine, Les Amis was asked to participate, but even if they weren’t, I would still want to go.” He knew he sounded defensive, unnecessarily so, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Reproductive freedom is a vitally important issue, not just for cisgender women, and—”

“And you don’t need to lecture me on the subject,” Grantaire said. He was quiet for a long moment before asking, “What if you went to the protest and I still had my bachelor party?”

Enjolras stared at him. “I mean, if that’s – if that’s what you want to do. I’m not going to make you come with me,” he said, though he couldn’t stop his heart from sinking in his chest. “That said, the point of agreeing to do a joint bachelor party is because we wanted to spend our last day together.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Together having fun, not together working.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “Is it bad that going to a protest is my idea of both?”

He was aiming for a joke, but something in what he said seemed to resonate with Grantaire, who brightened. “Not necessarily,” he said. “Are you opposed to me finding a way to make going to a protest also both work and fun?”

Enjolras’s eye narrowed. “Only if your way of doing so involves public intoxication.”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “Surprisingly, no, not what I had in mind. For once.” 

“Then I say go for it,” Enjolras said, crossing to him and kissing him lightly. “As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”

Grantaire kissed him back for a long moment before pulling away. “Then I guess I better text Joly and Bossuet and tell them to lose the boas and body glitter, because we’re going to a protest instead of going on an extremely gay bar crawl.”

He didn’t sound as disappointed as Enjolras expected, and Enjolras decided to take it as a small win. “Who says you can’t have boas and body glitter at a protest?” he asked instead.

“Good point,” Grantaire said with a grin. “Now, how about we get back to the business of finding you something to wear to our wedding that doesn’t make you look like you’re attending a prom in 1982?”

Enjolras laughed. “Oh, but I had my eye on this ruffle-front shirt—”

“Absolutely not,” Grantaire said firmly, steering Enjolras back to his dressing room. “I will turn around and walk back up the aisle if I see that shit.”

Enjolras just laughed again as he accepted the tuxes that Grantaire shoved at him. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even blame you.”

— — — — —

“Women’s rights, human rights! Women’s rights, human rights!”

Chants filled the spring air, the bright sunshine a disconcerting backdrop to the masses of people gathering for the protest, many bearing signs. Enjolras couldn’t quite stop his smile, even if it was a little grim; as much as he hated what had necessitated this moment, it warmed his soul to see so many finally engaged.

Now if only the outrage would last.

As if reading his thoughts, Grantaire took his hand and squeezed it. “Think they’ll still be this fired up come November?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. 

“We’ll make sure of it,” Enjolras told him. He caught sight of Combeferre and Courfeyrac conferring with the event organizers and glanced at Grantaire. “I should check in with them. Do you want to—”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m working too, remember?” he said, hefting his camera in his free hand. “Besides, I should see if I can find Joly and Bossuet.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed his cheek before letting go of his hand and heading over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He shook hands with the protest organizers, introducing himself and offering Les Amis’ help with anything that day or in the future, and the lead organizer thanked him before being pulled away to deal with something else.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “I like your t-shirt,” he said, nodding down at Enjolras’s ‘FUCK YOUR ABORTION BANS’ shirt. “It’s certainly to the point.”

“Yeah, well, I figured why beat around the bush, right?”

Courfeyrac snorted, and Combeferre gave him a withering look. “If you’re even thinking of making a bush joke right now—”

 “So where’s your shadow?” Courfeyrac asked brightly, clearly deciding that changing the subject was the best course of action.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, frowning slightly as the idea of Grantaire as his shadow. “He’s around here somewhere. He’s taking pictures of the protest as a freelance assignment.”

“Good for him,” Courfeyrac said sweetly, “but I was referring to your camera crew.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, flushing slightly, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “They, uh, they decided to give us the day off from having our lives taped.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Meaning they didn’t want any footage of this protest,” he said, a little shrewdly. “I suppose that way they avoid any concerns about how they’d choose to edit it.”

Enjolras shrugged, scanning the crowd for Grantaire. “I think their official statement is that it would be too difficult for production to get waivers from all the protesters, and, quite frankly, it’s probably better for everyone involved that the folks here aren’t captured on footage that a multinational conglomerate can do with as they please.” He didn’t see Grantaire and so turned back to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, shrugging once again. “They taped a little moment with Grantaire and I before we headed over to sort of explain what we’re doing today, and I’m sure they’ll tape something once we’re home tonight.”

Courfeyrac made a face. “So that they can bookend all their footage of the other couples getting shitfaced and fighting with you two social justice warriors.”

Enjolras snorted. “I mean…”

“At least one social justice warrior, anyway,” Combeferre said, something unreadable in his tone. “Are you sure Grantaire’s up for this?”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed and he searched Combeferre’s expression for a minute before telling him, “Of course. I told him I wasn’t going to make him come today if he didn’t want to, and he was the one who thought of reaching out to some of his editor contacts to see if they wanted anyone to cover the protest.”

Combeferre’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah but photographing a protest is very different from participating in it,” he said evenly. “Or does he plan to stay on the sidelines the whole time?”

“I’m sure he’ll join in,” Enjolras said, defensive without really knowing why. “He just needs to get warmed up to it, that’s all. Now can we please get back to discussing the logistics of this protest?”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow but chose not to say anything more on the topic.

Not that he needed to.

As things got underway and the rally started in full force, Enjolras couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Grantaire’s general lack of enthusiasm for the whole protest.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He knew Grantaire well enough to know that the man wasn’t going to wholeheartedly jump into any political cause, at least not without his requisite layers of sarcasm and disbelief. But still, given the importance of the issue at hand, he’d expected…more. And he was beginning to think that Grantaire had no intention of giving anything more.

While the speakers took to the makeshift stage, Enjolras glanced around the crowd again, looking for Grantaire. While he didn’t see him, he did spot Joly and Bossuet. Bossuet, it seemed, had taken Grantaire’s point about boas and body glitter to heart, bedecked in a violently pink feather boa with his entire bald head seemingly encrusted in glitter. 

Next to him, Joly looked considerably more understated, but still waved with enthusiasm when he spotted Enjolras, grabbing Bossuet by the elbow and dragging him over. “Hey!” he said, greeting Enjolras with a hug.

“Hey,” Enjolras said, a little taken aback, and he hastily added, “Joly, Bossuet, meet Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They’re my best friends.”

“So you’re us to Grantaire, but for Enjolras,” Bossuet said, grinning, as he shook Courfeyrac’s hand. “I guess we’ll be seeing you both at the wedding, right?”

Courfeyrac beamed. “Of course,” he said. “We’ll be the ones heckling Enjolras.”

Enjolras scowled. “I think introducing you was a mistake.” He glanced at the growing crowd again before asking Joly, in what he hoped was a casual sort of way, “Did Grantaire find you?”

Joly nodded. “Sure, yeah, I think he’s walking around on the other side of the protest, or at least that’s where we saw him last,” he said. “Of course, knowing his dumb ass, he’s going to try to climb a tree or something stupid just to get a better picture.”

Enjolras’s face fell, just slightly. “He’s not protesting?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Bossuet shook his head. “At least he wasn’t when we saw him last, but you never know,” he said, somewhat bracingly, as if he had accurately judged Enjolras’s feelings on the topic. “Knowing Grantaire, he’ll get swept up in it eventually.”

“Yeah, but when?” Enjolras muttered under his breath.

Joly just shrugged. “When he feels like it,” he said. “Which is generally at the most inopportune time known to mankind.”

Even though Enjolras knew he was joking, he couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. Instead, he glanced at Combeferre, who was watching him with that same unreadable expression from before on his face. “I’m going to do a lap,” he said, jerking his head toward the crowd. “Make sure everything’s good.”

Combeferre nodded and Enjolras started off toward the edges of the crowd, though he didn’t leave quickly enough to miss Joly asking, “Is everything ok with him and Grantaire?”

That was certainly the question of the hour – or at least, whether everything was ok with him was the question. Enjolras doubted highly that Grantaire was wrestling with anything even remotely similar to what he was feeling at the moment.

He skirted the edge of the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled for both Grantaire and for any potential trouble. There was an unsurprisingly large police presence, though certainly not as many as he would expect at, for instance, a Black Lives Matter rally. Granted, the demographics of the crowd probably explained that, since despite the highly intersectional nature of the issue, the crowd was still predominantly white. And nothing would actually threaten the Chicago Police Department’s ever-ballooning funding like cops assaulting white women who took the Metra in from Naperville.

Still, the amount of police put Enjolras on edge, and even more so when he finally spotted Grantaire standing right next to a police officer. Every one of Enjolras’s instincts told him to pull out his phone, start recording, and go demand that the officer release Grantaire from his custody unless he was placing him under arrest.

At least, that was his instinct until Grantaire said something to the cop, who…laughed.

And it was only then that Enjolras realized that Grantaire wasn’t being detained. 

A normal person would probably have been relieved that his fiancé was not being detained by the police, but Enjolras had never been accused of being normal. And besides, Grantaire being detained meant that at very least he had said or done something, anything in support of the cause.

Instead, Enjolras watched with a pit in his stomach as Grantaire clapped the cop on the shoulder before moving to a different vantage point to take more photos.

Enjolras wrenched his eyes away, forcing his attention back to the crowd, even as his stomach worked itself into knots. When the speaker portion of the rally started winding down, Enjolras made his way back to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, trying to school his expression into something neutral.

It evidently didn’t work, as Combeferre caught his eye and frowned. “What happened?” he asked, and Enjolras just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said shortly.

Combeferre looked like he didn’t believe him, but thankfully, he didn’t press the issue any further. “Well, it’s good thing you’re back,” he said instead. “Some of the advocacy group leaders want to turn this rally into a march once the speeches are done.”

“Let’s do it,” Enjolras said immediately, grateful for something that he could use as a productive outlet for the fury he could feel seeping into his veins. 

“Just one problem,” Courfeyrac said. “We don’t have a permit for a march.”

Combeferre nodded. “And with the amount of police here…” he started, a little uneasily.

But the reminder of the police at the event just riled Enjolras even further. “Fuck it,” he spat. “They can’t stop all of us.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glanced but Enjolras ignored them, instead crossing over to the lead organizer to offer his assistance in getting the crowd ready to march.

If there was one thing he was good at, it was getting a crowd incensed enough for direct action of some ilk.

Even if it was just marching and not firebombing CPD headquarters.

Enjolras joined the swell of the crowd, encouraging people to march, and was gratified to see that they were more receptive than he anticipated. At least some people had some fire in them.

He just couldn’t help but wish that Grantaire was one of them.

The crowd started to move toward the park exit, some starting to spill out onto the road, and Enjolras paused as the exit, keeping a wary eye out for the police. He caught sight of Grantaire keeping pace with the crowd, still taking pictures, still not joining in.

But Grantaire couldn’t keep his interest for long, no matter how much his chest clenched whenever he saw him. Enjolras had bigger problems – mainly, that the police were already trying to corral folks back into the park. “Either return to the park or disperse,” one of the cops shouted through his car’s speaker system, and it was then that Enjolras realized that the cops in the park weren’t the only ones.

He could see lines of additional police in full riot gear approaching the perimeter of the park, as if they were expecting violence.

Or, knowing the police, as if they were planning on creating some violence.

Enjolras quickly pushed to the front of the crowd. “Everyone get back in the park,” he urged, keeping himself between the people at the front and approaching police. “Do not give them an excuse to ruin this.”

“This is a peaceful rally!” one white woman at the front protested, eyes wide as she looked between Enjolras and the cops. “Why are they here?”

Enjolras hoped for a brief moment that this might be her wake-up call. “Because they’re the police,” he said sharply. “They don’t give a damn about ‘peaceful’.”

She looked like she wanted to argue further, but Enjolras didn’t stick around to listen further, mainly because he spotted a group of what looked like early-20s-something white men starting to push back against the police as they closed ranks. “Shit,” he swore under his breath, pushing through the crowd to force his way over to them.

Enjolras was no stranger to antagonizing and even, on occasion, provoking the police, but there was a time and place, and it was certainly not when the police were already looking for a reason to escalate things and, at absolute best, start making arrests. And absolute worst, take things out on the Black and brown women in the crowd especially.

“Hey!” he shouted, doing his best to get between the men and the cops. “Get back in the park.”

“Why should we?” one asked fiercely. “We have just as much right to be here—”

As much as Enjolras recognized something of himself in the younger man, as much as he felt something like pride that there were more people willing to take on the fight, he also knew that one of the most important things he had learned over the years was when to fight, and when to not. “Because this fight isn’t about us,” he said, trying his best to keep his voice calm and even. “And the last thing we want is to give them an excuse.”

For a moment, it looked like he might argue further, but then, grudgingly, the group started moving back into the park. But evidently, not quickly enough for one of the cops, who grabbed one of the guys by the arm. “Hey, get the fuck off me—” the man protested, trying to wrench his arm out of the cop’s grip.

“You can let him go,” Enjolras said, years of deescalation training keeping him calm when every instinct in his body told him to do something immensely stupid, like punch the sneering cop directly in the face. “He’s not resisting—”

Without warning, a different cop grabbed Enjolras’s arm, twisting it behind his back. “Just like you’re not resisting, pretty boy?” he growled in Enjolras’s ear.

Despite the situation, Enjolras couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Pretty boy?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you serious—”

He should have realized that mocking an office was not the wisest choice, especially in the position he was in, but he still hadn’t expected the office to shove him face-first down onto the ground, his knee planted firmly in the middle of Enjolras’s back. “You wanna try that again?” the cop asked, and he had the audacity to actually smirk at him.

Enjolras gritted his teeth, only just managing to hold himself back from trying to buck the officer off of him, knowing that it would only make things worse. “You know, I really thought this was gonna be a boring day,” the cop told him, “but you just made it a lot more interesting.”

“Hey!” someone shouted, and Enjolras felt the pressure on his back ease up, just a little. “Smile for the camera, Officer.”

Enjolras turned his head to see Grantaire, holding his press pass up in one hand, his camera in the other. “Oh, yeah,” Grantaire said, with a grim sort of smile. “This is for sure going to viral on Twitter.”

The cop grumbled something but stood up, allowing Enjolras to scramble to his feet. Grantaire took a few more pictures of the cop before grabbing Enjolras by the arm. “Thank you for your service,” he said sarcastically, yanking Enjolras along with him as they quickly headed back into the park.

When they were finally clear of the cops, their pace slowed down and Grantaire finally let go of Enjolras’s arm. “Are you ok?” he asked quietly.

Enjolras couldn’t quite seem to meet Grantaire’s eyes. “Did he scratch up my face?” he asked roughly. “I wouldn’t want to look bad for the pictures tomorrow.”

Grantaire reached out, brushing his fingertips across Enjolras’s cheek. “Just a little red,” he said quietly. “No lasting damage.”

Enjolras let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he said. “No lasting damage.”

Grantaire searched Enjolras’s expression for a moment. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Enjolras said it harsher than he perhaps intended to, and Grantaire’s hand fell back to his side. 

“Right,” Grantaire said. “Well, should we, uh…”

He trailed off and Enjolras shook his head. “No, uh, you should head home,” he said. “I need to check in with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

“You don’t want me to wait for you?”

Enjolras shook his head again. “No,” he said. “I think you’ve done enough.” He didn’t wait for Grantaire to say anything else, walking away and leaving him standing there, staring after him.

— — — — —

Enjolras wasn’t surprised when he walked through the door later that afternoon to find Grantaire sitting on the couch, waiting for him. He had a glass of whiskey in front of him, but it didn’t look like he had touched it. “Hey,” Enjolras said.

“Hey,” Grantaire echoed, his tone unreadable. “Did you eat anything?” Enjolras nodded and Grantaire picked up the glass of whiskey and took a sip before saying tonelessly, “Good, because I already canceled our dinner reservation.”

Enjolras winced. He had forgotten that Grantaire had planned a dinner for them in lieu of their previously planned bachelor party. “Where’s, uh, where’s the camera crew?” he asked instead. “I figured they’d be begging for some footage.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I sent them away,” he said. “I didn’t really think anyone else needed to be a part of this.”

“Dare I ask what this is?” Enjolras asked cautiously, sitting down across from him. 

Grantaire met his eyes evenly. “You tell me,” he said. “Because I thought everything was fine, and then when the protest went to hell…” He trailed off. “You could barely look at me. You can still barely look at me.” Enjolras didn’t bother trying to deny it. “So something happened, and I think we should talk about it. Seeing as how we’re getting married tomorrow.” He paused. “If we’re still getting married tomorrow.”

Enjolras sighed. “I’m sorry for leaving like that,” he said, a little grudgingly. “Today just…” He sighed again. “Today wasn’t what I expected.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “In what way?”

Enjolras wet his lips, trying to find the right words to begin. In the end, he decided to just tell the truth, no matter how blunt it may be. “You were talking to the cop.”

“What?”

Grantaire sounded confused, and Enjolras swallowed. “I saw you,” he said, trying and failing to control the anger he could feel welling in his chest. “Just casually chatting to the pigs like you were old friends.”

“I was introducing myself,” Grantaire said slowly, staring at Enjolras, “which is generally a good idea if you’re a member of the press who doesn’t want to get arrested for covering a protest.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I didn’t realize introducing yourself normally invited laughter,” he said sourly.

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was going to make one of his usual clever retorts, but then he paused, tilting his head slightly. “What is this actually about?”

“I’m pretty sure—”

“Because you’re talking as if you caught me flirting with another man,” Grantaire continued, as if Enjolras hadn’t tried to interrupt him, :and not having a polite conversation with someone.”

“Not just someone!” Enjolras burst. “A fucking cop! You spent more time at an abortion rights rally chatting with the police than you did talking to the actual protesters.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “I assure you, I didn’t.”

Enjolras’s lip curled. “Well it sure looked like it. And maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“Are you actually pro-choice?” Enjolras asked sharply.

‘

Grantaire recoiled. “Excuse me?

“You told me you were when we met in the pods, but it occurs to me you may have been telling me what I wanted to hear,” Enjolras said. “So are you?”

“Of course I am,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “Pro-choice, pro-abortion, pro-people with uteruses making their own damn health decisions, however you would prefer I word it.”

“And are you pro-police?”

“Am I—” Grantaire broke off, exasperated. “Enjolras, when I discovered my niece was watching Paw Patrol, I taught her to say ACAB every time Chase the fucking police dog comes on screen!”

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You could have fooled me.”

Grantaire took a deep breath, his face tight. “Do you want to know why the cop was laughing?” he asked abruptly. “I introduced myself, said what publication I was there taking pictures for. And then I asked about the police presence because it seemed a little high for simple crowd control, almost like they were there hoping for a fight.” His expression twisted. “Bit of a change of pace from beating Black and brown teenagers to assaulting predominantly white women, which I suppose was probably part of the appeal.” He scrubbed a hand across his face before continuing, “Anyway, the cop I was talking to made a comment that his stepdaughter was there in the crowd. And I mentioned that it would probably be a little bit awkward if he ended up having to arrest her. And he laughed.”

His voice shook, and Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “He laughed, and he told me it wouldn’t be the first time. This is a man who has arrested his own family for peacefully protesting, and found it funny.” Grantaire shook his head. “You can’t reform that.”

“Then why the hell weren’t you protesting?” Enjolras demanded.

“Because I was doing my job,” Grantaire snapped. “And honestly, I don’t understand why you’re this surprised.”

Enjolras blinked, taken aback by that, and it took him a moment to respond. “I’m not surprised,” he said finally. “I guess I’m just disappointed. I thought, when the time came—”

“What, I was going to become an entirely different person?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras shook his head and looked away. “I just thought you might actually find it in yourself to care,” he said, a little bitterly.

“I do care,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “And I sure as shit cared enough to stop you from getting arrested or worse.”

Enjolras looked back at him, a muscle working in his jaw. “That’s not good enough.”

Grantaire didn’t look away. “Then maybe I’m not good enough,” he said, lifting his chin with something like defiance.

“I didn’t say that,” Enjolras said tiredly.

“You didn’t have to,” Grantaire told him. “I’ve been honest about who I am from the beginning. And you’re the one who has to decide if that’s good enough for you.”

He stood, and for the first time Enjolras noticed that there was a duffel bag next to him on the couch. His heart dropped. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Out,” Grantaire said shortly, picking up the duffel bag. “I’m spending the night at my apartment. My actual apartment.”

“You can’t just leave—”

“When things get tough,” Grantaire finished for him. “I know that. But this isn’t about me.” Enjolras glanced up at him, and Grantaire met his eyes evenly. “This is about you, and if you can spend the rest of your life with someone who is never going to be the person you secretly want them to be. And I figure that’s a decision best made alone.”

Enjolras’s chest felt tight. “Grantaire—”

But Grantaire just shook his head, shouldering the duffle bag and brushing past Enjolras toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He was almost out the door when Enjolras told him, a little desperately, “I still love you.”

Grantaire paused, but didn’t turn back. “I know. And I love you too. But you have to decide if that’s enough.”

Then he left, closing the door behind him.

And for the first time in weeks, Enjolras was alone.

His first instinct was to rage, or to throw something. He didn’t do either of those, instead crossing over to pick up the half-drunk glass of whiskey Grantaire had left on the coffee table and picking it up, draining it up in a single gulp.

It burned and he choked, coughing against the fire in his throat. But it didn’t hurt as badly as the pain in his chest, the pain at the realization that for the first time in weeks, in addition to being alone, he had no idea if he was going to stand in front of the justice of the peace and say yes.

Grantaire was right – he had to decide if it was enough, if Grantaire was enough.

He had told Grantaire before that he didn’t mind his cynicism, that he welcomed it, even, as a reminder of everything he was working for. But now, when faced with the reality of it…

He didn’t know if could live with it. If he could wake up every day next to a man who just didn’t want to try to make the world better.

And if he was being honest, he had hoped that he would change Grantaire. Maybe that was a selfish thing to say, or egotistical, but maybe he had thought spending time with him, loving him, would rub off on Grantaire. That all of their time spent together might mean something. 

Because if Enjolras couldn’t even convince his fiancé, where the hell did he get off thinking he could convince anyone else?

And wasn’t that really the crux of why he was feeling this way? Because after the day they’d had, he felt like seeing Grantaire every day for the rest of his life would be a daily reminder of how he had failed, was continuing to fail.

Enjolras didn’t know if he could take it.

But he also didn’t know if he could go the rest of his life without waking up next to Grantaire every day. He didn’t know if he could say no when asked if he took Grantaire to be his husband.

Because he loved him. And he just didn’t know if that was enough.

He sighed and ran a tired hand across his face, glancing up at the clock. It was too early for bed, but he had a feeling he was going to be lying in bed staring up at the ceiling for a few hours anyway. He bent to pick up the empty glass and caught sight of Grantaire’s sketchbook, where it must have fallen out of Grantaire’s bag. He sighed and went to pick it up, glancing automatically at the sketch it was opened to.

It was one he hadn’t seen before, and he realized that it was him, from today, his arms outstretched, shouting something. It was a remarkably good likeness of what Enjolras imagined he must have looked like when he tried to head off the police. ‘Apollo’s Sacrifice’, Grantaire had scrawled in the corner, and Enjolras half-smiled.

He couldn’t imagine Grantaire sketching something like this before they’d met.

As unsure as Enjolras was, as much as the decision he had to make felt absolutely impossible, he had this to hold onto. An actual tangible, physical reminder that no matter what Grantaire had said, what he’d done or, more accurately, not done, he still saw Enjolras this way. 

And maybe, just maybe, that could be enough.

Maybe he had been right all along. Maybe Grantaire didn’t have to be a sign of failure. Maybe he could be a bellwether of hope.

If Enjolras could let him, at least.

— — — — —

The car ride down to the Pullman National Monument was a long one early the next morning, but Enjolras didn’t mind it. It gave him more time to think, and to figure out what he was going to say to Grantaire.

He had dressed at home, since there wasn’t really a dressing area at the venue, but that also meant there wasn’t really anything to do once they arrived.

And while he was happy to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac and the rest of his friends, there was really only one person he wanted to see or talk to.

He knocked on the door of the office Grantaire was holed up in, holding his breath until he head Grantaire call, “Come in.”

Enjolras poked his head in. “Are you decent?”

“Would it stop you if I wasn’t?” Grantaire asked, giving him a slightly tired smile.

“Probably not,” Enjolras said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up today.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “I could say the same to you.”

Enjolras sighed. “I know I deserve that,” he said. “But I did hope that you’d know me enough to trust that I would.”

“I think we both know each other pretty well at this point,” Grantaire said quietly. They were both quiet for a long moment before Grantaire sighed. “I’m not going to ask what you’ve decided,” he said, and Enjolras looked sharply at him. “I’ll find out with everyone else in short order. And I’m not going to try to change your mind.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Enjolras asked, a little surprised.

Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said. “We both know what our differences are, and there’s nothing I can say that’ll change that.” He reached out and Enjolras stepped over to him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “We do have some things we agree on.”

Enjolras nodded. “We do.”

“For instance, I think that you and I can agree that the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends towards justice.”

Enjolras laughed lightly. “It does tend to be hard to disagree with Dr. King.”

But Grantaire didn’t laugh, searching his face for a long moment before saying, almost hesitantly, “But I think where we differ is that I think the arc is longer than you do. And I’m not convinced that some of the things you do have any impact on its bend.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. “Well that’s…”

“Harsh?” Grantaire supplied.

“Maybe,” Enjolras said. “But it’s honest, and I appreciate honesty.”

“I have always tried to be honest with you, Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly. “Even if it means that we’re all dressed up with nowhere to go, so to speak.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say that.”

Grantaire lifted their hands to his mouth, kissing Enjolras’s knuckles. “Well, you’re going to have to make your mind up soon.”

“And you don’t?”

“Enjolras, my mind was made up a long time ago,” Grantaire told him gently. “Since that very first day in the pods. I love you. And for me, that’s enough. But I know that may not be enough for you. And I just want you know—”

“Grantaire—”

Grantaire shook his head. “I just want you to know that even if it’s not enough for you, the time we’ve spent together has been the best time of my life. You may not be able to see it, but you have made me a better person. Or at least, you’ve made me want to be a better person.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hand. “You’ve sure as hell made me want more than just to know the answer to top, bottom or vers.”

Despite himself, despite everything, Enjolras laughed. “Though you have to admit, we did have a really good time establishing the answer to that question.”

Grantaire grinned. “We sure did.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed him. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, letting go of his hand. “And I’ll see you at the altar.”

It was a dismissal if ever Enjolras had heard one, and he took a few steps back. “Is it still called an altar if it’s in front of a justice of the peace?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately. “Well, you’re the one who referred to the Pullman National Monument as a temple to the contributions of African Americans to the American labor movement when you picked the Clock Tower as the venue, so…”

Enjolras smiled. “Fair enough.”

He started towards the door, though he paused when Grantaire asked, something almost desperate in his voice, “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

Enjolras didn’t turn back around, just squaring his shoulders as he told Grantaire, “Yeah. I think I do.”

— — — — —

The venue was decorated beautifully, and there were so many familiar faces in the crowd, but Enjolras didn’t have eyes for any of them. The only person he saw was Grantaire, waiting for him.

The justice of the peace gave some introductory speech, but Enjolras didn’t hear a word of it. He only started listening when he heard his name. “Enjolras, the time has come to answer the question: is love blind, and do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

He swallowed, and looked in Grantaire’s eyes. “I want to answer the second question first.”

Grantaire blanched. “Oh fuck,” he whispered.

“Because I do,” Enjolras continued. “I absolutely, one hundred percent do take him to be my husband. But I can only take him to be my husband because the answer to the first question is no.”

He could hear the crowd murmur something, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t saying this for them. He wasn’t even really saying this for Grantaire.

He was saying this for himself.

“Love is not blind,” he said, “because I didn’t really fall in love with you until I got to see the whole you, imperfections, idiosyncrasies, and all. What this experiment has taught me is that love can’t survive if we pretend it’s blind to those things or if we ignore those things. It’s only by acknowledging them and growing from them and with them that our love has grown and strengthened and gotten us here today.” Grantaire was beaming at him, and Enjolras smiled as well. “So I may have picked you blind, but I am choosing you today and everyday because I have seen you for who you truly are and I love you for that. So yes, Grantaire, I take you to be my husband, and I will fight every day for you, and for us.”

Grantaire took a deep, shaky breath as the justice of the peace turned to him. “Grantaire, it’s time for you to answer the same questions: is love blind, and do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was just going to blurt yes, but then he wet his lips, and he took Enjolras’s hands and squeezed them. “To everything there is a season,” he recited, “and a time to every purpose, under Heaven – a time to gain, a time to lose, a—”

Enjolras scowled. “I thought we agreed, no religion,” he hissed, not caring that he was interrupting Grantaire’s wedding vows.

Grantaire just smirked. “And I’m quoting the Byrds quoting Pete Seeger.”

“Who adapted the song from Ecclesiastes!”

Grantaire laughed, a bright sound that filled Enjolras with warmth. “And see, this is why I love us,” he said. “Because we know that there is a time for us to fight, even if it’s in front of a justice of the peace and all of our friends and however many millions of people are watching us at home. And we also know that there is a time for us to make up, and we don’t let our fights ruin we have. Because before I met you, I thought that I would never find the kind of love that made people lose their minds and fight wars—”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, even though he was crying, just a little. “And now you’re misquoting Taylor Swift.”

Thankfully, Grantaire ignored him. “But I did. I found you. So it just wasn’t the right time before, but it is now. It’s our time, and I am so lucky that I get to spend it with you.” He smiled that crooked smile that Enjolras had fallen in love with before he had ever even seen it. “I know that we’re supposed to be answering the question ‘Is love blind’, but I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t care. Because blind or otherwise, I found you and I love you and against all odds known to man, you love me, too. So yes, I absolutely, unequivocally do.”

Enjolras didn’t wait for the justice of the peace to pronounce them, surging forward to kiss Grantaire, the first kiss that would begin the rest of their lives together. Nothing else mattered, not the reality tv show that had somehow brought them together, or the thousand and one things that would always threaten to tear them apart.

Love was not blind, and Enjolras’s sight had never been clearer.

And he was going to spend every single day with the love of his life.

“I love you,” he told Grantaire, when they finally broke apart. “I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, grinning. “I love you, too.”

“And it’s enough,” Enjolras said, his voice low, for only Grantaire to hear. “You’re enough.”

Grantaire kissed him once more. “I’m just glad you finally saw it.”

“Finally saw you,” Enjolras corrected. “I finally see you, and I love you. All of you. Even the parts I may not always like very much.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together, “like I said when we first talked, you strike me as someone who enjoys a challenge.”

Enjolras laughed, pulling Grantaire to him and kissing his temple. “I absolutely do.”

[jilyarchive]

Hi! I’m looking for a fic in which James is a contestant on a reality dating show and Lily is a producer on the show? It’s multi chapter and I think has a lot of sexual tension... it’s NOT the Bachelor fic from ghostofbambi. Thanks!

Do you guys know this one?

Updated 11.8.22!

Title: Eligible Author: elanev91 Rating: M Genre(s): Angst, Romance, Smut Chapters: 45 Word Count: 177,986 Summary: Lily Evans, television producer with uTV, is moving into her second series with Eligible, the UK's newest dating show. After a strong (and morally questionable) first series on her part, she's been given the chance to work with this year's bachelor, James Potter. James, now retired from football, is ready to shake himself out of his post-injury funk and take a chance on love -- unfortunately for James and Lily, these things hardly ever go as planned.

[imagination-mess]

I may write a Hawks version for the that Reality Show mini series

If you do know any good hawk fics or drabbles, please send them my way so I can have better understanding on his character since he is complex individual.

Please feel to drop them through my ask box or direct message me.

This goes for ao3 and Tumblr or other writing platforms websites

[kryptonite-kisses]

Meet Supernova:

if you want to read it in text form instead of this image you can find it here on AO3: The House of “L” (ch 3)

[acekindaneat]

I don't want this to end.

A cute little date scene that I really liked from the fic The Big Woo by @tinkertoysdamn !!!!!

[blackkatdraws2]

Stanley encounters them. [Blank Scripts AU]