#Invisible Braces London

[theharleystreetdentist]

Invisible Braces for Specific Dental Issues: Overcrowding, Gaps, and Bite Problems

Is a misaligned tooth stopping you to flaunt a pearly white smile? With advancements in orthodontics, it has become easier to attain control over the misaligned teeth. Gone are those days when you needed to wear the traditional braces that used to give rise to a flurry of questions in the minds of the beholders. The invisible braces in London are readily available to keep those discomfort and awkward moments aside and help to restore the lost confidence.

[piccadillydental]

Invisible Braces London - Invisible Adult Braces Cost

We provide invisible braces for adults at cost effective prices in London, UK. Call us 02074370154 to book an appointment to know the cost of invisalign braces today!

Visit Us: https://www.piccadillydental.co.uk/invisible-braces-london

[chatfieldbraces]

It is Chatfiled Dental Braces, The Invisalign London Dentists our aim that with these tips you will find a better way to get through your Invisalign treatment.For Invisalign London treatment, do well to contact us. Our orthodontist  Dentists will answer any questions you might have. It’s always a pleasure to restore patients’ smile.

[thousandsmilesdentalclinic]

Invisalign clear aligners treatment at Thousand Smiles allows you to comfortably and discreetly transform your smile using virtually-invisible removable braces.

[1aorthodontics]

https://healthrader.com/is-invisalign-better-than-traditional-braces/

If you’re exploring teeth straightening options, an initial Invisalign braces consultation in London allows you to discuss choices suited to your smile. Here you can address important considerations like treatment times, effectiveness, costs and insurance coverage, to determine if clear aligners or traditional braces better fit your orthodontic needs.

[smilecliniclondon]

16 Game-Changing Invisalign Hacks For A Radiant Smile In 2023

If you are seeking professional guidance and support on your Invisalign journey, look no further than Smile Clinic London. With our specialized expertise and commitment to creating beautiful smiles, we can help you achieve the smile of your dreams. Stay hydrated throughout the day to combat dry mouth, which can be a common side effect of wearing Invisalign offers London. Sip on water regularly and keep that smile hydrated and happy. Visit Us:https://shorturl.at/drFT2

[starsmiles]

Invisible Aligners in London - StarSmiles

In recent years, invisible aligners have revolutionized the way people think about orthodontic treatment. These clear plastic trays have become a popular alternative to traditional metal braces, as they are less noticeable and often more comfortable. In London, one company that has gained a reputation for providing high-quality invisible aligners is Starsmiles.

Starsmiles is a London-based company that offers clear aligners to help straighten teeth. Their aligners are made from a patented, high-quality plastic material that is BPA-free and designed to be durable and comfortable. The aligners are custom-made for each patient, and are designed to gradually shift teeth into their correct positions.

One of the biggest advantages of Starsmiles' invisible aligners is their nearly-invisible appearance. Because they are made from clear plastic, they are much less noticeable than traditional metal braces. This makes them an ideal option for anyone who is self-conscious about their appearance, particularly adults who may feel embarrassed about wearing braces.

Another advantage of Starsmiles' aligners is their convenience. Unlike traditional braces, they are removable, meaning that patients can take them out when they eat or brush their teeth. This makes them much easier to care for than braces, which can be difficult to clean around.

The process of getting aligners from Starsmiles is also relatively simple. Patients start by taking an impression of their teeth using a home impression kit provided by the company. The impressions are then used to create a 3D model of the patient's teeth, which is used to design the custom aligners. Once the aligners are ready, they are shipped directly to the patient's home, and treatment can begin.

Overall, Starsmiles is a great option for anyone looking for high-quality invisible aligners in London. Their custom-made aligners are comfortable, convenient, and nearly invisible, making them a great option for anyone who wants to straighten their teeth without traditional braces. Whether you are an adult looking to improve your appearance, or a teenager who wants a less noticeable option, Starsmiles is definitely worth considering.

[foxes-that-run]

That time 1D posed for Vogue with a Taylor lookalike next to Harry:

December British Vogue: The Fab Five Full Interview

By Jo Ellison 18 December 2012 (x)

Photographed by Patrick Demarchelier wearing a Christian Dior dress - with One Direction - for the December 2012 issue of British Vogue. Patrick Demarchelier

In just two years, since coming third on X Factor, they've charged their way to global fame, smashed new records and set millions of hearts aflutter. Not bad for a boy band who don't dance. Jo Ellison tries to catch up with One Direction in the December issue of Vogue.

Could it be that the only person in the world not familiar with One Direction is Patrick Demarchelier, the photographer today charged with capturing the fab five for Vogue. Sitting on a battered leather sofa in a comfortable studio in north London, his typical Gallic indifference to the upcoming task is almost comic. "So, oo iz ziss zat we are shooting?" he appeals to the room. "The Beatles?" Pretty much, an entourage of overexcited females nod back. He shrugs, and glances at his watch.

For the benefit of Demarchelier - or those who don't associate regularly with seven-year-olds, televisions or radios, or those of us of a slightly older vintage with dubious moral intentions - One Direction are currently the biggest pop band in the world. In two years, since coming third in the reality talent factory X Factor, they have achieved successes even Simon Cowell couldn't have quite dreamt of. At the time of writing, Messrs Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan are number one in 50 countries, boast about 10 million Facebook fans and lead more than 6.5 million followers on Twitter. Their debut album, Up All Night (a pop-pourri of infinitely familiar but earwormy tracks, including the ubiquitous summer anthem What Makes You Beautiful), was the first by a British act to go straight to number one in America. Ever. Its release coincided with an epic, global, sellout tour, during which their every movement was accompanied by a shrieking tsunami of tweenage desire. They've just recorded a "difficult" second album in Sweden.

Critics may dispute their musical legitimacy - they don't write songs, nor play instruments, nor dance (unless you count swaying vigorously on the spot). Neither was their genesis remotely organic; the five were thrown together "live" on air when they failed to persuade the X Factor judges of their strength as soloists. In short, they are as manufactured as McDonald's. But 1D, as their apparently un-ironic moniker would now have them, are the modern pop phenomenon. As Alexa Chung puts it: "They're no Beatles, obviously, but it's nice to see a boy band dress well for a change. They remind me of a box of puppies at Christmas - each one more adorable than the next."

The question as to exactly who is the most adorable remains the most hotly contested debate in the playground today. Is it Liam, from Wolverhampton, star sign Virgo, with his newly shorn, post break-up crew cut, his phobia of spoons and his excellent Kermit the Frog impression? Or Zayn, a chocolate-eyed Capricorn from Bradford, who has three sisters, always wears two pairs of socks and can't swim? Maybe it's Louis, the green-eyed granddaddy of the gang, another Capricorn, this time from Doncaster, about to turn 21 and one of only two members to hold a driving licence. Is it little Niall, Virgo, a blond moppet from Mullingar in Ireland, with not-so-invisible invisible braces, "a soft spot for girls with green eyes" and a habit of curling up and dozing off at any given opportunity?

Or is it Harry? Which, of course, it is, because if you have heard nothing whatsoever of One Direction you have probably heard of Harry Styles, the hazel-eyed, mop-topped, bedimpled lead singer and baby of the group, with whom the whole world has fallen in love. Harry, an Aquarian, who hails from the village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire. Harry, whose delightful scowl of petulant confusion, like a teddy bear trying to do trigonometry, has skewered millions of fluttering hearts, and has wooed scores of women if the papers are to be believed (and wouldn't you, if you were he and had that kind of opportunity?). Harry, whose favourite food is tacos, who hates mayonnaise, adores the Beatles, likes to perform Justin Bieber at karaoke and who is the first to introduce himself to the assembled crew when the band arrive, two hours earlier than scheduled, throwing everyone into a paroxysm of panic that even the best Carry On film couldn't emulate.

"You're never going to get used to walking into a room and have people screaming at you," he says of his status as World's Most Fanciable Adolescent, as a stylist fumbles around him with a black tie in as professional a manner as she can muster. Despite being so terribly attractive, with his lazy northern brogue and cursedly pretty face, he has managed to stay sanguine about his fame. "There's a lot of things that come with the life you could get lost in," he says, eyes flickering earnestly under the signature 'do (ebony curls, fringe swept-over, mussy at the back). "But you have to let it be what it is. I've learnt not to take everything too seriously."

And how does he feel about the endless photocalls and press shoots that go with the territory? Days like today, for example. "I enjoy 'em, actually," he says. "Especially ones like this, where you don't have to just sit there and grin."

He's especially comfortable in the fashion world; he was the only member of the band who sat front row at Burberry last September, for example. "I like fashion," he says. "When I look back at the kind of stuff I wore on the X Factor, I laff." In fairness, he was only 16 then, a highly forgettable period in anyone's style evolution. "No," he shudders, recalling the bow ties and long straggly scarves that accessorised his earliest television appearances. "There's no excuse."

Despite being the most obviously charming of the group, Harry is also remarkably self-contained. In front of the camera he can appear removed, even shy at times. As to his role in the group: "I float a bit," he says vaguely, before adding, "and I can fall asleep anywhere. That's my thing."

Asked to identify the "father figure" among them, the boys nominate Liam, who is wrestling with the laces on a new pair of white Converse and getting used to the aforementioned haircut. "At the start, the management said I wasn't allowed to change my hair," he says of the strict aesthetic with which the boys are expected to comply. "But then I did it anyway, so they kind of let that one go. I tend to change my hair quite a lot." The change affords him a small window of anonymity. "I can go out and about," he says. "The other day I went out dressed as a big chav - Adidas trainers, jogging bottoms - and no one recognised me."

"It seems almost sad that a little haircut should represent such a big opportunity for the boys to lead anything like a normal life, if only until the papers catch up with them 24 hours later, but they are, at least, beginning to enjoy more autonomy in their artistic lives. The new album allowed them "to experiment with new sounds", says Harry. "We want to gradually get more and more 'live' sounding. So this album is a lot less little synth sounds, more guitars and drums. It's important to experiment with things - we want to move with the times, but keep true to ourselves."

For others, the second album was a longed-for chance to flex some musical muscle. "We did a lot of writing in the studio," says Niall, the self-described "carefree" member of the team. "And I play the guitar, so I play on a lot of the tracks on the album." A "born performer", whose first party trick, aged four, was to sing Saturday Night at the Movies to any willing audience, Niall has no issue with screaming women. Adores touring. "I love it. I love the screaming. They love it, too: they've all got their tickets and they've been waiting a year or so to see you, so you've got to give it your best." That said, he - like all of them - is looking forward to the three-day holiday they've been allocated, and the quiet normalcy of "hanging out at home and going to the pub with my old mates".

But now it's time for work. And so they assemble, staring down the lens of Demarchelier's camera with all the intensity of Derek Zoolander, as the sphinx-like Edie Campbell trails lissom limbs along their shoulders. Approaching 22 herself, she's far too old for these young swains: "They're just children," she laughs as she quick-changes into white Dior. Anyway, the boys seem largely impervious to her beauty, Zayn standing stock-still as she arranges herself around him, never breaking eye-contact with the lens. Perhaps he's in awe of her - the band's groomer later mentions she's never seen the boys so "well-behaved". True enough, they are a treat to shoot: quick, uncomplaining, each doing just as they are told - there's barely even any banter between frames. It's far from the hi-energy performance they bring to the stage, but no less efficient.

Such professionalism is almost eerie - the product of a long, long education at the school of Simon Cowell but they're ever so sweet with it, too. Afterwards they sign autographs, pose for pictures, thank everyone for their time, and are as lovely as you hope they'd be. And then they're off, all ushered, in one direction, towards the next appointment on that relentless schedule of world domination.

One Direction's new album, Take Me Home, is out now.

Read more: The December Issue Highlights

[reg-arcturus-black]

The Room is on Fire, Invisible Smoke

Soft!Billy Russo x Female reader

Part 2/2

Warnings: (kinda major) sexual hints, lots of drinking

Words: it's a lot longer than I was expecting... 3.3 k

Part 1 here

gif not mine

You sat with your head in your hands, wondering how to get Billy back. He was never really yours to begin with so then why did it feel like you had lost him? So he was too mad to even talk to you but not enough to come save you from a baseless panic attack? What was he even mad about? You were honestly afraid to know the answer. You were sure that you had lost the only good thing in your life, no thanks to your stubborn self. If only you would have fessed up instead of waiting around for him.

You leaned against the door, hearing Bill walk away from the house he had spent countless nights in. In separate beds, of course, except for that one night... Shaking your head of the thoughts of that night, you decided to go for a shower instead and get ready for work. You had a long day ahead of you filled with torturous colleagues and a boss who loved to micromanage.

You had sworn that all you needed from the company was the work experience of three years and then you would fly off to London for a better position and salary. With the three years almost done, you were closer to your dreams than ever. Especially now that you had destroyed the only thing keeping you back in New York.

You could feel yourself physically filling up with dread as you drove closer and closer to your office. It had been a long time now but the feeling never seemed to go away. Bracing yourself to endure another never-ending day, you entered the office building and scanned your ID card. The swivel gate let you walk in to what you thought hell looked and felt like.

'Just till 5...' you muttered to yourself and managed to get in the elevator before it closed. It was so crowded, you barely had any place to breathe, let alone stand.

'Cutting it awfully close, again, I see,' you heard someone say from the back.

Jim. You would have recognised that voice anywhere. Not because you loved him. But because you hated him - and that was an understatement. He had done everything possible to make your professional life miserable. He would steal credit, talk shit about you to your boss and the others and would constantly look down on you. He would take every chance he could to humiliate you publicly.

'I clocked in 18 minutes early, you dickhead,' you whispered the last part without turning back. You walked off the elevator before the doors had even opened up completely and practically threw your bag on the desk. Jim had the capacity to ruin your entire day with just one single sentence. And the worst part was that he knew he had this effect on you so he would do it even more, just of out of spite.

You threw yourself into work to distract yourself from the thoughts of Billy and Jim and your stupid office. It was a pretty uneventful day until your boss came up to the desk right behind you and congratulated Jim for submitting all his work perfectly within the deadline. It would have been fine if that would have been it. But no, your misogynist boss just had to come to you and praise his work and ask you to 'take inspiration from him'.

That day, you didn't even wait till 5 to clock out and left storming out the big glass door at 4 pm. Rushing home, you changed into your comfiest pajamas and grabbed a big tub of ice cream. You were on your fifth episode of The Vampire Diaries when you took a deep breath and turned off Netflix.

You were tired of being stuck in this loop. With your professional life terrible and your love life being uncertain, no thanks to Billy's unwillingness to confess or agree to anything, you wanted to just run away. You grabbed your phone and were about to call him to sort everything out before realising that you didn't care. Well, you did but it was emotionally exhausting. Choosing to put that aside, you put on your best, little-est, black dress and left the house.

It was usually Billy who took you out to all these fancy bars but you were sick and tired of being dependent on him. Or on anyone else for that matter. You wanted to go out tonight, drink till the early hours of the morning and be a woman who needed no one. A strong, powerful woman with red lips and revealing little black dresses. Confidently, you grabbed a seat at one of the shadiest bars of New York.

While ordering 3 tequila shots, you saw the bartender clearly staring at your chest before looking away awkwardly and getting you your drinks. You had gulped down all three one after the other in a single minute when you heard a bar stool being pulled closer to yours.

'Please get the lady's next drink on me,' a handsome man in a black shirt said, looking straight at you, not breaking you eye contact.

'In that case' you addressed the bartender. 'I'll have your most expensive drink please.' You winked at the beautiful stranger. 'All thanks to the gracious gentleman,' you smirked, rubbing your hand lightly on his chiseled arm.

See? This was fun. This was easy. Flirting with men, knowing exactly what you wanted and getting that because the man would reciprocate as well. Reciprocate? Hell, he initiated the whole thing so who were you to back down and deny yourself a handsome man with a sharp jawline, hair of a God and the voice of a rockstar.

You touched him as much as you could, shamelessly flirting- it was your guilty pleasure. And why wouldn't it be? It was not like Billy was waiting for you. And you weren't waiting for him either. Not anymore.

You were on your third glass of scotch when your senses started going numb and you could feel your inhibitions lowering. It was all fun and games and you intended to keep it that way. His hand was on your thigh now and it kept moving upwards every once in a while. You didn't plan to stop it either. Besides, the night was still young.

Being with this name-less stranger was so much better than being with Billy. At least that way, you could just have fun and then forget all about it the next morning. Unlike with Billy. Every word, every moment spent with him seemed to cling on to you. You couldn't get rid of it no matter how much you tried. Even his darkness, his shadows seemed alluring to you. As if it was inviting you in. And the truth was, you did not mind being swallowed up whole by his darkness. He, however, did not want that.

'Lost in thoughts, beautiful?' the stranger asked. His raspy voice sent a chill up your spine. 'I have a few ways to bring you back to earth,' he said, moving his hands even farther up your thighs, dangerously close to the hem of your dress.

Your hand moved from his back to the back of his collar, gripping it tightly as your eyes closed in anticipation.

'It might look because of the alcohol but I do have quite an effect on you,' he said as your answer was let out by a shaky moan.

If this is what destruction felt like, you were ready to embrace it and let it consume you. It was only when you wanted to look at his beautiful face that you opened your eyes and your sight fell on your drink. And you were pretty sure it had changed it's color.

You were drunk anyway, you thought. What's a roofied drink more? You gulped the drink in one go and before you knew it, you were kissing the stranger, your hands all over his face and neck. It was only when you were kissing him that you realised how good it felt. How good it was to kiss someone wantonly and having someone kiss you back.

"Give me a minute, will you? And clear the tab while I am gone." You said, breaking the kiss and walking away without waiting for his answer.

You found a relatively quiet corner of the bar and pulled out your phone. This was a victory moment for you and Billy needed to know. He needed to know how there are others who want you and you are willing to give yourself to them completely.

It had rang barely thrice before he received your call.

"You know what, Bills?" Your words slurred. "I am kissing the most handsome man on the planet and it's not you... And it feels soooo good, you have no idea...."

"Y/N, are you drunk? Where are -"

"His hands are working magic, Billy... I am pretty sure he put something in my drink but I don't care!" You practically screamed. "At least someone wants me... And I am gonna take him back to my place and let him do things to me, Bills... You're welcome to watch if you want but just know..." At this point, you had lost all train of thought. "You had me and lost me and I am gonna have so much fun with him tonight, Bills..."

You hung up abruptly and stumbled your way back to the bar.

"Let's go," you said and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the door of the club.

"Where?" He asked.

"My place," you said, pushing him against the wall outside the bar and grazing your fingers gently over his neck. "My turn to bring you back to earth..."

He was about to lean in closer and kiss you but you moved away and called for a cab. The entire cab ride home, for some inexplicable reason, you sat as far away from him as possible. All of a sudden, you weren't liking his touch anymore or the way he was looking at you. It seemed almost... Animalistic. The hunger in his eyes, the impatience in his hands, they all seemed very obvious.

You were fine in the dim lights of the bar and the mood that had been set. You were on your way to a night you were sure you would never forget and yet, every part of you felt uncomfortable. Maybe if it would have been Billy -

You did not want to think about him. At all. So choosing to focus on the handsome man next to you, you moved in closer to him, practically on his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Oh, the things I am going to do you," you whispered in his ear and felt his hand removing the strap of your dress as he kissed your shoulder. "Patience, baby," you practically moaned into his ear and felt his grip tighten on your back.

You wasted no time in getting down from the cab and pulling him towards your building. He had started kissing you in the elevator before you were even at the house, trying to unlock the door. Something about it felt wrong. As if your mind wasn't completely in it and his touch didn't feel right anymore. However, you had made up your mind and were going to take this stranger home, no matter what.

It was only when you were too busy kissing him to unlock your door that you heard someone clear their throat.

"Busy much?"

You would have recognised that voice out of a lineup. Billy.

"Go away man," your lover said, paying no heed to him and continued to kiss you.

Your eyes, however, were now on Billy. His face had seemed to go red and he was clenching his jaw.

Before you knew it, Billy was separating the two of you forcibly.

"Why don't you go away?" He asked angrily. "Given the fact that I am Y/N's boyfriend and you should leave before I beat you to a pulp for putting something in her drink."

"Geez, whatever fucked up agreement you two have, I am out," he said and turned around to leave, buttoning up his shirt's top buttons again.

"No, wait, don't go, he's not my boyfriend!" you cried, trying to follow after him but drunk you on heels was a bad idea and you would have fallen if you had run after him. "Stranger!" You cried, trying to stop him. "Handsome man! Loveerrrrrr!!! Hey, black shirt!! Come back, I'll show you a good time," you giggled, almost falling down.

You allowed yourself to lean against the wall and turned around, only to find yourself face to face with Billy.

Rolling your eyes at him, you made your way back to the door and unlocking it, went inside, slamming the door on his face. He, however, had other plans and followed you inside. "You're NOT my boyfriend, Billy. What do you even want? Why did you send him away? I was having fun!"

"Are you crazy?" He practically screamed but lowered his volume and went to get you a glass of water.

"What were you about to do, Y/N?" He asked worriedly. "Are you really that determined to get yourself into trouble?"

"It wasn't trouble, Bills," you answered. "I just wanted to feel wanted for one freaking night."

"You brought a strange man home, Y/N! You were drunk and practically all over him. What if -"

"It is better than waiting around for you, Bills! I did everything I could for you! Hell, I was even ready to sleep with you! But what did that lead to? Nothing!"

"You pushed me away, Y/N. I didn't want to sleep with you because I didn't want to ruin what we have so you responded by pushing me away..." He replied, seeming tired now.

He knew it was the most cliche excuse but he cherished the bond he shared with you. And a meaningless one night stand would have ruined it. He couldn't risk that.

"Y/N, I-" He started but you weren't in the living room anymore. He found you instead in the kitchen, drinking directly from the vodka bottle.

"Whoa, okay, you need to stop," he said, gently taking away the bottle from your hand.

"You need to stop," you repeated, words barely making sense at this point. "You need to take inspiration from him... You're late... You're crazy... This is what my life has come to, Bills!" You screamed. "My work life is a big joke but I have to do it because I want to be independent! You on the other hand .. I don't have to keep going in circles with you because I am done, Bills! If you don't want me, I will find someone who does! What don't you get about it?"

"So you will intentionally put yourself in danger Y/N? Knowing that you will regret it for the rest of you life?"

"I don't fucking care, Billy! I don't care!"

This was the point when you finally allowed yourself to sit down and cry. "I got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you, Bills.... But what even is the point? It's better to just be alone than to hurt and be hurt... Enough is enough... I - I have loved you with all my heart, Bills... But there's no point because - because you don't... And I just, I can't give you my heart... It's like, each night I sleep, I know I will wake up in a burning room and be surrounded by an invisible smoke but that smoke is YOU... You make me so helpless, Billy. I - I don't know what to do. Every part of me screams out that you might feel the same way but nothing ever shows it... I am a mess! Look at me... This uncomfortable dress, the make up I don't even like... Each day, all day, I keep asking myself, who could ever leave but then who could stay? And you know what happens whenever I look at you? I feel like you could stay... But you never do, Billy... You never do..." You were sobbing by this point.

"There are times, you know," you continue, wiping your eyes. "What if I don't need you? What if I am alright right here? By myself. It's better than acting like a child who never grew up and will do anything to get your attention but I am sick and tired of it, Bills... Each night, I go to sleep begging you to help me hold on to you... But you just don't care... And I am better off... I really am..."

Billy was not expecting this. He had come prepared to scare away the random guy you were bringing home and then putting you to bed. He did not come prepared for you sobbing on your kitchen floor, drunk beyond words and spilling out your secrets.

He gently helped you up and took you to your bedroom. "I am gonna wait outside," he said, talking your face in his hands and gently wiping away your tears. "Why don't you take all the make up that you don't like off and freshen up and I'll be right on the other side of the door?"

Too exhausted to say or even think anything, you worked like a robot, getting in the shower and changing into comfier clothes.

The moment Billy heard your door lock click, he knocked and entered with a jug of water and Advil. "Come here," he said, leading you to your own bed and sat down with you. "I am so sorry, Y/N," he said, caressing your cheeks with his thumb. "That I ever made you feel like I didn't love you... Because that's all I have ever done and that's all I am ever going to do... And I will probably die doing it... I am sorry that I let you keep building up walls against me... I am sorry that I hurt you over and over and over again... I am sorry I got mad at you for meeting other men when I should have put in efforts to be a man who deserves you... I am sorry that you kept suffering every single day and I only watched from afar instead of holding you through it... I don't know how much of it will you remember tomorrow but I promise you Y/N, this moment onwards, you are never going through anything alone ever again. Not shitty bosses or shitty colleagues, not shitty days and especially not shitty men. I promise I will be there to love you through them all, no matter what... Because I really do love you, Y/N... More than I imagined was humanly possible... My heart fills up to the brim whenever I look at you, Y/N... Every time you laugh, the world seems a lot better and it feels like nothing can ever go wrong... And I am so sorry that I never told you how precious you are to me... You are the light of life, Y/N... I love you so freaking much..."

He placed a small kiss on you head and felt you melt into his arms.

"I wanna sleep, Bills..." You sighed.

He was afraid how much of it were you going to remember but your health was what mattered to him at the moment. He turned off the lights and gently tucked you in.

"I know you're an independent woman, Y/N and you don't need anyone. But I promise that if I cannot be the light that guides you, then I promise to sit with you in the dark... And I hope you always remember that..." He kissed your hand before walking towards the door.

"Stay," you whispered sleepily, your eyes barely open. "Please..."

And stay he did.

---------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @dreamyjcel @doriangray-lover @el-de-phi

[callsign-owl]

Contingency Plan

This is a continuation of Lucky

London, United Kingdom - July 2008

Pain was what finally pulled Owl from the depths of unconsciousness.

Not the dull, lingering ache he had grown so accustomed to over the years. Not the bruises, the cuts, the soreness that came and went like an unwanted guest overstaying its welcome. No, this was something else. This was deep, consuming, a fire licking through his veins, igniting every nerve, every muscle. It was the kind of pain that demanded attention, that refused to be ignored.

His body felt like it had been put through a blender and then carelessly stitched back together. Every fiber, every muscle screamed in protest the moment he so much as twitched. His head throbbed in time with his pulse, a relentless, pounding rhythm that made him want to claw at his skull just to relieve the pressure. His neck was stiff, locked in place, but the pain didn’t stop there. It radiated outward, twisting through his shoulders, his spine, his arms, even down to his legs.

For a long moment, he just lay there, staring blankly at the dark ceiling, his breaths coming in slow, shallow gasps as he tried to will his body into compliance. It didn’t work. When he finally mustered the strength to shift, a sharp, searing pain shot down his back, forcing a low, strangled noise from his throat. Fuck. Okay. Movement was officially off the table.

Owl let out a slow, measured breath through gritted teeth, trying to suppress the involuntary tremors racking through his exhausted body. He had been through pain before, more times than he cared to count. He had weathered broken ribs, sprains, bruises so deep they took weeks to fade. He had learned to grit his teeth, to swallow it down, to endure. But this? This was different.

This wasn’t just one localized injury he could brace against, push through, and compartmentalize. This was a raw, all-encompassing agony that left him utterly, completely helpless. The kind that stole the air from his lungs, that made even the idea of movement unbearable.

His eyes flickered toward the bedside table, where he knew the painkillers he had gotten in the ER were sitting. Owl wanted to move. Needed to move. But his body wasn’t cooperating, and the frustration of being trapped in his own skin, unable to do anything but lie there and suffer.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his arm to move, the motion sluggish and stiff, every muscle screaming in protest. His fingers barely grazed the bottle before it wobbled, threatening to tip over the edge of the nightstand. Owl sucked in a sharp breath, biting back a curse as he stretched his fingers further, finally managing to wrap them around the plastic container. The triumph was short-lived. As soon as Owl tried to twist the cap, reality hit him like a freight train. The damn child-safety lock. Owl let out a slow, controlled breath, the kind meant to steady fraying patience. He adjusted his grip, his stiff, shaking fingers pressing down against the cap as he twisted.

Nothing.

He tried again, applying more pressure.

Still nothing.

A flash of irritation sparked through the pain, a familiar, biting frustration he had known for years. Owl had always struggled with packaging: wrappers, bottles, boxes, anything that required fine motor coordination and an unreasonable amount of dexterity. It was just one of those stupid things, one of those invisible battles that no one ever thought about but managed to make his life hell at the worst possible moments.

The harder he tried, the more the cap refused to budge, his fingers slipping against the smooth plastic as his frustration grew. “Fucking come on,” Owl yelled, his breath hitching as another sharp pain lanced through his back. His frustration mounted, a mix of exhaustion, pain, and pure, unfiltered rage at something as absurdly simple as a damn bottle standing between him and relief. His fingers trembled as he tried again, his grip faltering at the last second, the bottle slipping from his grasp. It hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled just out of reach.

Owl stared at it. For a long moment, he didn’t move. He couldn’t. His whole body was locked in place, his breath coming fast and shallow as something inside him twisted violently. The pain was already unbearable. And now he had to deal with this too. A stupid, insignificant, fucking pill bottle that had the audacity to defy him.

Owl’s vision blurred at the edges, his chest heaving as frustration increases further. He wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something, break something, anything to release the fury boiling beneath his skin. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t even sit up without pain tearing through his body like a blade. Not this. Not now. He clenched his teeth as if he could physically force the impending breakdown back into whatever dark, locked box it belonged in. But the pressure kept building, rising higher and higher, until it was unbearable.

“No, no, no…” The words were strangled, barely audible as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stop. To breathe. But nothing worked. His whole body was unraveling, shaking violently, his ribs hitching with the force of his suppressed sobs. He hated this. Hated that something as simple as a goddamn pill bottle had broken him.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the tears from burning hot trails down his face, couldn’t stop the way his breath came in shallow, broken gasps, couldn’t stop the sheer helplessness clawing its way up his throat, choking him. Owl's fingers curled tighter into the sheets, his body trembling with the effort of containing something uncontainable. He wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop.

 ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Percy moved quietly through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound against the polished hardwood floors. He had been following the discharge instructions to the letter. Waking Owl every hour or so, checking his responses, making sure his concussion symptoms weren’t worsening. It was tedious and frustrating but at least Owl‘s responses so far had been coherent enough to suggest his brain hadn’t turned to mush, which was mildly reassuring.

Percy reached Owl’s door and pushed it open just enough to peek inside, expecting the usual sight: Owl sprawled across his bed in a tangle of blankets, asleep or at least half-asleep.

Instead, what he saw made his stomach drop. Owl was awake. He was curled in on himself, his body trembling violently, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Even in the dim lighting, Percy could see the faint shimmer of tears tracing down his brother’s pale face, his expression twisted in something that looked dangerously close to panic.

For a moment, Percy just stood there, caught entirely off guard. Owl rarely cried. In all the years Percy had known him - which, to be fair, was all of Owl’s life - he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen his younger brother cry. And even then, it was usually behind closed doors, in the rare moments when Owl thought no one was watching.

The sheer helplessness in the way Owl’s fingers clenched the sheets, the violent way his body trembled, the broken, barely-contained gasps. It was raw and unfiltered, a level of vulnerability that Percy had never been meant to see.

For a fraction of a second, Percy debated stepping back, pretending he hadn’t seen anything, giving Owl the space to compose himself. But then he spotted the pill bottle on the floor, just barely out of reach.

Percy stepped fully into the room. “*redacted*.”

Owl flinched at the sound of his brother’s voice, his entire body tensing as if expecting a blow. His breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow make Percy disappear.

Percy's gaze flickering from Owl back to the pill bottle lying on the floor. It didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. The child-safety cap.

Owl wasn’t crying because of the pain—well, not just because of the pain. It was the frustration, the sheer helplessness of being trapped in a body that refused to cooperate with him. Percy had seen it before. Not often, not like this, but he had noticed things over the years. The way Owl often struggled with packaging, bottles, wrappers or buttons. The way his handwriting had always been an illegible mess, no matter how much effort he put into it. Seemingly insignificant things that most people wouldn’t even think twice about. It had always been there. Subtle, buried beneath sarcasm and carefully crafted deflection. Owl never talked about it. Never acknowledged it. Never asked for help. He would fight with it until his patience snapped, and if he couldn’t win, he would simply act like it didn’t matter.

Owl heard Percy retrieve the bottle, the quiet pop of the cap being twisted open without an issue. That was the worst part, wasn’t it? How effortless it was for him. How easy. Owl’s jaw clenched as a fresh wave of frustration surged through him, burning beneath his skin, mixing with the pain, the exhaustion, the humiliation of being seen like this. Weak. Helpless. Vulnerable. He could feel Percy’s eyes on him, sharp and assessing, cataloging every sob, every ragged breath Owl was trying and failing to suppress.

A quiet rustle of movement. Then, Percy’s voice, low and even. “Here.”

Owl didn’t look. Didn’t move. His body remained rigid, muscles coiled so tightly he thought they might snap. He didn’t need to see to know what Percy was offering. The pills. The relief.

Owl swallowed against the raw lump in his throat. “I don’t need it,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

Percy exhaled slowly. “*redacted*.”

Owl squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body to hold out, to endure, to not give Percy the satisfaction. “I said I don’t need it,” he bit out, his voice sharper this time, more defensive.

Percy didn’t move. Didn’t react. He simply remained where he was, standing beside the bed, holding out the pills with that maddening patience of his.

Owl waited for it. The inevitable I told you so. The smug, condescending reminder that he had brought this upon himself, that if he had just listened, if he had just stayed in the hospital like a reasonable person, he wouldn’t be in this position. He deserved this. He had earned it. But Percy didn’t say it. He just waited.

The pain throbbed, relentless and unforgiving, Owl could feel his body losing the battle against itself, breaking down piece by piece, cracking under the weight of it all. His pride fought, kicked, screamed against it, but it didn’t matter. The pain won.

Finally, Owl forced his arm to move, his fingers clumsily brushing against Percy’s hand as he snatched the pills from his grasp. He didn’t meet his brother’s gaze. Couldn’t. Owl dry-swallowed the pills,still waiting for the inevitable commentary, the dry remark, the satisfaction in Percy’s tone. But it never came.

“Just say it.” Owl muttered.

Percy tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Say what?”

Owl let out a hollow, bitter laugh, wincing as the movement sent another sharp pang through his torso. “Go ahead. Tell me I’m an idiot. Tell me I should have stayed. Tell me this is my own damn fault. Just get it over with.”

Percy’s expression didn’t shift. He remained as rigid and composed as ever.“No,” he said simply.

Owl blinked, caught off guard by the sheer lack of judgment, of reprimand. “No?”

“No,” Percy repeated, his tone calm, steady. “I think you already know.”

Owl stared at him, waiting for the catch, for the inevitable turn, but Percy just remained there, unmoving, unrelenting.

Finally, Percy exhaled through his nose, as he checked his watch. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said, his tone returning to its usual measured calm. “As per the discharge instructions.”

Owl let out a quiet scoff, tipping his head back against the pillow. “Of course, you will.”

Percy ignored the remark, already turning toward the door. He paused briefly at the threshold, his fingers grazing the doorframe, as if debating whether to say something else. But whatever thought lingered on the tip of his tongue, he swallowed it down. Without another word, he stepped out, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

Owl knew he should try to sleep. That would be the logical thing to do. Let the medication do its job, give his body the rest it so clearly needed. But the idea of sleep felt distant. Impossible. His body was still buzzing with frustration and the painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet. Sleep never came easy on a good day and this was definitely not a good day.

Owl‘s gaze flickered toward the pill bottle now resting open on his nightstand. That stupid, insignificant fucking bottle. It was ridiculous, really, how something so small could unravel him so completely. He had spent years building up his defenses, perfecting the art of indifference. And yet, all it took was a fucking childproof cap to remind him just how not in control he really was.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did. How could he struggle with something so basic—something so utterly mundane—when his hands were fine otherwise? He was good with his hands. He knew he was. His hands weren’t weak. He wasn’t clumsy. He could spend hours meticulously painting miniatures and models, his brush strokes precise, his hands steady as he brought each tiny piece to life with an almost obsessive level of detail. He could assemble intricate models, cut, glue, layer, his fingers working with careful precision. He could land perfect inputs on a game controller without even thinking.

And yet.

A plastic wrapper, a stubborn zipper, a cardboard box that needed prying open? A childproof cap? Handwriting? Suddenly, his fingers refused to cooperate. It was infuriating. It was humiliating. And the worst part was, there was no logic to it, no clear reason. Just another one of those stupid, unexplained things about himself that he could never quite fix, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

Owl squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. He hated how his brain and body seemed to fumble with things that should be easy. About the gap between what he knew he should be able to do but somehow couldn‘t. It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal. So why did it feel like one?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The hours stretched on in a blur of half-consciousness, the painkillers dulling the worst of the agony but never fully erasing it. Instead, Owl was left hovering in a strange in-between state, neither truly asleep nor awake. His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, yet his mind refused to fully shut off.

Like clockwork, every hour, the door would creak open, and Percy’s heavy footsteps would cross the room, stopping just beside the bed. Owl never fully woke for these check-ins, but he was aware of them.

By the time the sky began to lighten, shifting from the deep ink of night to the muted grays of early morning, Owl realized he had actually managed to sleep at some point. A restless, broken sleep, but sleep nonetheless. His limbs still felt heavy, and his head still ached, but the sheer bone-deep exhaustion had lessened just enough to be a little more tolerable.

The door opened again, and this time, Owl cracked his eyes open fully, blinking sluggishly as Percy stepped inside.

“You’re awake,” Percy observed, unsurprised.

Owl let out a quiet, groggy hum. “More or less.”

Percy didn’t immediately respond. He studied Owl for a long moment, then nodded slightly to himself before setting something down on the nightstand. Owl glanced at it blearily—water, painkillers, and a small plate of toast. Nothing fancy, just something functional.

“You should eat,” Percy said simply.

Owl stared at the plate, his stomach twisting slightly at the thought of food. “Not hungry.”

Percy sighed. “You never are.”

Owl didn’t have a response for that. Technically, Percy was wrong. It wasn’t that Owl was never hungry. It was that he rarely noticed when he was. Hunger wasn’t something that registered in the way it seemed to for other people. He didn’t get those clear, sharp signals that said hey, you need to eat now. Instead, it was vague. Abstract. A concept more than a sensation. He’d go hours, sometimes an entire day, without even realizing he hadn’t eaten. The signs were there—exhaustion, dizziness, headaches—but his brain never connected the dots until it was too late. And thirst? Even worse. It wasn’t that he didn’t need food or water. It was just that his body didn’t tell him in a way that made sense.

So, no, Percy wasn’t exactly right.But Owl wasn’t about to explain that. Instead, he just stared at the plate of toast like it was some kind of foreign object. The idea of eating felt distant, like trying to grasp smoke. Logically, he knew he should eat. That his body needed fuel to heal. That food wasn’t some optional side quest but a basic human requirement. And yet, he still felt… disconnected from the whole process.

Percy, as always, was watching him with that sharp, calculating gaze of his, reading him like an open book. Owl could practically hear the internal monologue running through his brother’s head, the assessment, the inevitable conclusion.

With a sigh, Percy uncrossed his arms and nudged the plate a little closer. “Just eat a little,” he said, his voice measured but firm. “You don’t have to finish it. Just something.”

Owl exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He didn’t want the toast. He didn’t not want it either. He just… existed in a state of vague neutrality toward it. And that was the problem. Most of the times food only seemed appealing when he was already halfway to collapsing from hunger. Anything before that just felt like an unnecessary chore.

With a sluggish sort of resignation, Owl eventually reached for a slice. The motion sent a dull ache through his arm, but he ignored it, tearing off a small piece of toast and popping it into his mouth. It didn’t taste bad it just didn’t register as anything pleasant either. He chewed slowly, more out of obligation than actual desire. The texture was dry, the taste bland. He swallowed, took another small bite, and then gave up entirely. Owl leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment, his exhaustion pulling at him like a tide.

Predictably, Percy wasn’t satisfied. “You need to eat more than that,” Percy said, his voice laced with irritation, but not outright anger.

Owl cracked one eye open. “Yeah, well. It’s a little hard to eat when you feel like you’ve been flattened by a truck.”

Percy didn’t respond, but Owl could feel the weight of his stare. The scrutiny, the way Percy was always trying to dissect him, pick him apart like a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet. Then, Percy shifted slightly, straightening his posture in that way he always did when he was about to bring up something serious. Owl knew that look. He braced himself for whatever was coming.

“We need to talk about Father,” Percy said finally, his voice measured, careful.

Owl groaned, tipping his head back against the pillows. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Percy. Can’t we just—” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “—pretend he doesn’t exist for a little while longer?”

Percy’s expression didn’t change. “No, we can’t.”

Owl sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. I know. He knows. He’s furious. The reckoning is coming. Believe me, I got the memo.”

Percy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Owl muttered.

Percy shot him a look but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You should go and visit Grandfather.”

Owl blinked, caught off guard. He stared at Percy for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not he was actually serious. “Why?” He tilted his head, considering.

Percy exhaled, his fingers lacing together as he thought through his words. “Think about it,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “Father won’t touch you while you’re with him.”

Owl let out a short, incredulous laugh. “That’s debatable.”

“It’s not,” Percy countered. “You know as well as I do that as much as Father resents Grandfather, he wouldn’t dare disrespect him. Especially in his own house. And if you’re there, under his roof, it buys you time. I don’t think you’re in any shape to deal with Father’s particular brand of punishment right now.”

“You really think hiding out with Grandfather is going to stop him from coming after me?” Owl asked, skeptical.

Percy exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “No of course not,” he admitted. “But it might make him reconsider how far he’s willing to go. And it gives you space. Also Grandfather likes you.”

Archibald—unlike his son Bartholomew—had never treated Owl like an inconvenience. The old man was sharp, unbothered, and somehow infinitely more tolerable than the rest of the family. There was a dry humor to him, a quiet understanding that had always made Owl feel like he could breathe just a little easier in his presence. Archibald never forced expectations onto him, never treated him like a disappointment waiting to happen. He simply… let Owl exist. That alone made him one of the only people in the family Owl didn’t actively resent.

“I don’t hate the idea,” Owl admitted slowly. “But what’s in it for you?”

Percy arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

Owl smirked, albeit weakly. “Come on, Percy. You never do anything without weighing all the angles first. You’re always thinking three moves ahead. So, what do you get out of this?”

Percy sighed, rubbing his temple. “I get to not spend the next few weeks cleaning up behind you.”

Owl snorted. “Touché.”

Percy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as if this entire conversation was physically draining him.

Owl shifted against the pillows, wincing as his body reminded him exactly why moving was a bad idea. “So, let me get this straight,” he continued, voice laced with amusement despite the dull ache in his ribs. “Your grand solution to my latest fuck-up is to ship me off to Grandfather’s estate like some wayward Victorian orphan?”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Owl smirked. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Percy ignored him. “I’m serious. Grandfather has enough sway to keep Father from doing anything too drastic.”

Of course Percy was right. Staying at the mansion was a terrible idea, especially in his current state. And, well, it wasn’t like he minded Archibald’s company. The old man was as sharp as ever, his mind a weapon honed over decades of navigating power, influence, and the cutthroat nature of high society. Unlike his son, Archibald had never wasted time trying to beat Owl into submission. If anything, Archibald had been the only person who seemed to see him. And more than that, he had helped him get into med school. Archibald had been the one pulling strings, making calls, ensuring that Owl’s application had the right attention from the right people. Not that Owl hadn’t earned his place—his scores were solid, his qualifications more than enough—but getting into medical school wasn’t just about merit. It was about connections. Influence. And Archibald had plenty of both. It had all been done behind Bartholomew’s back, of course. And Percy’s, at the time. Just to avoid any possible interference. There were still some details to finalize, logistics to sort out before term started in September. So staying with Archibald would actually be helpful. But if Owl agreed too quickly, Percy would get smug. And Owl couldn’t allow that. So instead, he let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Percy narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he didn’t quite believe the lack of resistance. “Just like that?”

Owl smirked. “What can I say? I’m in a delicate condition.” He made a vague gesture toward himself. “Wouldn’t want to risk Father finishing what the car crash started.”

Percy huffed, clearly unimpressed. “Try not to make Grandfather regret this arrangement within the first twenty-four hours.”

Owl gasped dramatically. “Me? Cause regret? Never.”

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”

Owl grinned. “And yet, here you are, still looking out for me. It’s sweet, really.”

Percy shot him a withering look, the kind that spoke volumes without a single word. The kind that said I am this close to strangling you, but unfortunately, I still have some shred of self-control.

Instead of dignifying Owl’s remark with a response, Percy turned his attention back to his phone. Owl watched him with lazy amusement, his exhaustion pressing down like a weight but not quite enough to smother his usual mischief entirely.

“Let me guess,” Owl mused, shifting slightly against the pillows with a wince. “You already have everything arranged, don’t you?”

Percy didn’t bother looking up. “Obviously.”

Owl let out a low chuckle. “Of course you did.” He shook his head, immediately regretting the movement. “You really don’t leave anything to chance, do you?”

Percy glanced at him briefly before returning his focus to his phone. “I don’t have the luxury of leaving things to chance where you’re involved.”

Owl hummed, tilting his head. “You really don’t trust me to handle myself, do you?”

Percy scoffed. “Not even slightly.”

“In case you haven't noticed, I'm currently not exactly in any shape to be traveling anywhere,” Owl muttered after a moment, tilting his head slightly to look at Percy. “Or did that minor detail somehow escape your master plan?”

“It hasn’t,” Percy said smoothly, ever composed. “Which is why I’ve already arranged transportation.”

Owl frowned slightly, his mind still sluggish from pain and exhaustion. “Transportation?”

“Yes, *redacted*,” Percy said, voice flat. “That thing that moves people from one place to another.”

Owl rolled his eyes. “Oh, ha-ha. I mean what kind of transportation?”

Percy leveled him with a look. “A car.”

Owl hesitated, narrowing his eyes. “Who is driving?”

Percy exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be driving.”

Owl stared at him, dumbfounded. He blinked once, twice, and then— “You?”

Percy’s expression twitched, the barest flicker of irritation. “Yes, me. Is that a problem?”

Owl let out a sharp, incredulous laugh before immediately regretting it as pain shot through his ribs. “Just picturing you willingly spending eight hours in a confined space with me. Thought you had a stronger sense of self-preservation.”

Percy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Believe me, if there were any other viable options, I’d be taking them. You’re not getting on a plane in your condition, and I refuse to let you take a train alone when you can barely sit upright.”

Owl tilted his head, studying Percy with a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Uh-huh. And you driving is the best alternative?” He smirked. “Since when do you even drive?”

Percy exhaled sharply, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with a practiced air of indifference. “Since I got my license, like any functional adult.”

Owl snorted. “Yeah, and when was the last time you actually used it? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Bigfoot more times than I’ve seen you behind the wheel.”

Percy’s expression remained unreadable, but there was the faintest twitch in his jaw. “I don’t need to drive when there are more efficient options.”

“Right. So what’s changed? Let me guess—this is about control, isn’t it?” Owl gave Percy a knowing look. “If you let the driver take me, I might make some more unsupervised poor life choices along the way. Do you realy have that little faith in me?”

Percy didn’t even bother denying it. “It's just to ensure you make it to Edinburgh in one piece.”

Continue reading here

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