#and even though watson is angry with him he does not say anything

[bl4ckb1rd13]

pov your idiot husband did drugs again so you have to put on your best reproachful malewife face

[calaisreno]

The Case of the Reluctant Bridegroom

1077 words / Prompt: Awkward

John Watson is not a mystery. 

Thirty seconds after he comes through the door, Sherlock knows that he��s not been sleeping well, probably because he’s drinking every night, thinking that will put him out. Mary has a cat which needs to be groomed so it won’t leave hair all over John’s trousers. She’s not a fastidious housekeeper. John’s shoes tell him this: they’re still wearing last night’s mud. She didn’t mind him wearing them into the house, and he was too absent-minded to notice he’d left them on. And he’s lost almost half a stone since Sherlock returned. A happy husband-to-be doesn’t lose weight. Mary might be an awful cook, but John has never been picky about what he eats. 

Absent-minded, not sleeping, weight loss, drinking more than he used to. John is troubled, and Sherlock would like to know why. 

Naturally, he can’t ask. They’ve never done that kind of probing, not since Sherlock deduced his cane and his phone and his haircut. They hadn’t even been introduced at that point, and Sherlock could see who he really was.

The man standing at the door is easily deduced, but none of those deductions explain what’s wrong. Any questions he asks will be awkwardly deflected.

The night Sherlock returned from the dead, John hit him. That’s something he certainly should have seen coming. John is a devoted man, and didn’t like having his devotion (his grief) mocked. 

Sherlock understands that, and regrets it deeply. His adventures in Serbia left him below par, or he wouldn’t have barged into that restaurant, thinking they would have a good laugh about his funeral. 

He understands the John who poured his heart out in the railway car, thinking they were going to die. And the John who was ready to kill him when he realised Sherlock had found the switch. He even understands why John didn’t hit him and walk away again, why he just shook his head when Sherlock said, killing me— that’s so two years ago. 

And this is the knot Sherlock must unwind: John blames himself. Everyone else has accepted Sherlock’s return, gotten past it, and moved on. It’s too long to be holding a grudge, John thinks, so he forgave Sherlock. But he’s troubled.

What does a man like John do with feelings? In that, he’s not so different from Sherlock. He declares them unimportant, non-existent, and pretends all is well. 

“Anything on?” John asks. 

Sherlock shakes his head. “Sorry, no. Dull as ditches. But I’m glad you’re here.”

John raises his eyebrows, frowns sceptically at his old chair. “Right. I suppose we haven’t seen much of each other. Sorry about that. Flu season, you know.”

“Of course. You’re well, though? And Mary?”

John blinks. He still hasn’t sat down. “Yeah. We’re fine. No problems.”

“I’ll make tea,” he says, “unless you’d like something stronger.”

“What’ve you got?”

He remembers the last time he opened the refrigerator. Better not do that while John’s here. “No beer. A half a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black.”

He pours them each a couple fingers, and watches as John settles into his chair. Settles is the wrong word. He ought to look familiar and comfortable sitting there, across from Sherlock. But he looks uneasy, like a man who is doing something that embarrasses him. 

What would embarrass John Watson? He’s an honourable man. He feels honour-bound to forgive Sherlock, but he’s still angry. He’s ashamed of his grief, of his anger. Sherlock was brilliant, as always, fooling everyone into thinking he was dead. Making a fool of John.

Sherlock has apologised. He did that as soon as he realised that John wasn’t just shocked, he was angry. Tricking John into forgiving him was more than a bit not good— but he knew that there had to be some way to get them beyond what neither of them could say. Talking wasn’t something they did; in their case it was useless. They just needed to get to the part where they were chasing criminals again. Back to before.

John refills his glass. Neither of them has thought of anything to say. He can see John’s eyes losing focus. 

“How are things—“ He breaks off, realising they’ve already covered non-specific pleasantries. “The wedding, I mean. The—“ he waves a hand vaguely, “the plans. I suppose there’s a lot to… erm… plan.”

“Mary’s got it all under control. I’m not sure why it takes nearly a year to plan something that’s twenty minutes of church, and then dinner.” John smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He truly has the most expressive face, but he’s guarded now, uncertain. Troubled. 

“Well, if there’s anything I can do,” Sherlock begins. Again, he waves a hand vaguely.

“You?” John is smiling, but it’s an incredulous smile. “Plan a wedding?”

“I have a very organised mind.”

“And no tolerance for tedium,” John adds. 

“I’ll just… well, let me know if you need to escape. I’ll come up with a case.”

They lapse into silence again, and Sherlock imagines that it’s a slightly more comfortable silence. Not quite like 2010, but fine, in a different way from before. He remembers the silent breakfasts, both of them too sleepy after a late night to say much. Tea, toast, and John half-awake, his hair rumpled…

It’s too bad that a person can’t know in the moment when their lives are perfect.  That’s the tragedy of time, how perspective changes and we don’t realise we’re happy until we’re not. 

The two years he was gone barely seemed like two months. There were nights when he dreamed of Baker Street, wished for John’s company. On the whole, though, he was too busy surviving to think about how long it’d been. Not until he saw John’s picture, the horrible moustache, did it begin to sink in how long it had been. In the mind of John Watson, it must have seemed an eternity.

“I should go.” John stands and walks into the kitchen. Sherlock hears him rinse his glass and place it back in the cupboard. The bottle is empty, and Sherlock still hasn’t finished his first glass.

John stands at the door, looking at him for a moment, then nods and heads out. His feet are slightly unsteady on the stairs, Sherlock thinks. The front door shuts, and he’s alone.

In his mind, he’s opening a new file: The Case of the Reluctant Bridegroom. As always, his mind is already turning over solutions.

---

Maybe this one needs a sequel?

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @ninasnakie

[the-cat-chat]

December 28, 2024

Little Women (2019)

An American coming-of-age period drama that chronicles the lives of the March sisters—Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy—in Concord, Massachusetts, during the 19th century.

Warning: Review may contain spoilers. Read at your own risk.

JayBell: I went into this basically knowing nothing except the actors in it. I've never read the book or seen any other adaptations of it. And it was great! It's the perfect movie to end the Christmas season and 2024.

I love the meta-commentary in the movie. The sisters even discuss and debate whether the domestic highs and lows of a family would be interesting enough to people. I could definitely sense the auto-biographical nature as the story unfolds.

Everyone has great performances, but Saoirse Ronan and Florence Pugh are the definite standouts for me (please give Saoirse an Oscar for her work, she's so overdue!!).

There are so many scenes that stick with me. Laura Dern's character's "I'm always angry" conversation, Emma Watson's character's romantic line to her husband (you totally know which one), Florence Pugh's character's speech in the art room, Timmy Chalamet and Saoirse Ronan's characters during the big, sad confession, and of course, Saoirse Ronan's speech to her mom at the end which communicates the overarching theme of the entire story.

I love that they give the past a golden, yellow hue as if the world is bright and beautiful. Alternatively, the present day is all blue cool tones to represent a more harsh, stark adulthood. It's less magical and more realistic. In many ways, this movie is about the nostalgia of youth and childhood.

With that said, I do think they could have done a better job with the characters' age differences from seven years ago to present day. Everyone looks almost exactly identical to their self from seven years ago. Now, it wouldn't have been good to hire different actors or anything, but was there really nothing else they could do? Like Florence Pugh is supposed to be 13 in the past. Sure, she does her part to act less mature, but she still looks much older. I don't know, I guess I expected movie magic or makeup to work miracles? Either way, it's my only gripe for an otherwise amazing movie.

Congratulations to Little Women for being our highest rated movie in 2024 (and our last one for the year)!!

Rating: 8/10 cats 🐈

Anzie: I didn’t even need to watch the movie again to write my review. Bc I’m sorry to say it miggght be a 10/10 for me. But I couldn’t go into 2025 without seeing Timmy cryyyy and I am sorry to reveal that I’m such a sicko but I love the Jo and Laurie scene where she turns him down and he cries. It does break my heart that he looks like such a baby in this. Anyway I think that Little Women is such a good movie and especially for Christmas- not only is it well acted by allllll of these amazing actors, but the story is so good even when it’s just about general domestic things like how the girls behave together. There’s honestly too much to mention like Meg with her husband and the fabric - and the old man and piano and Beth. It’s a hundred little things that make it, not just Jo’s main plot about writing her stories. There’s a lot of different messages(and so many good quotes!!)to be found and they are all really perfect for the Christmas/new years time of year. Especially that despite trying to be your own person- respecting what time we get with those we love ( love of any type) is equally important. I love too how even though it’s sad - it’s hopeful as well- and if you don’t cry at least five times watching it you’re a liar. Just calling it how it is.

Rating: 10/10 Cats 🐈‍⬛

[classickook]

you don't know him like i do | sherlock holmes

pairing: sherlock holmes x gn!reader

summary: you're sick and tired of constantly hearing insults thrown at sherlock about how he handles his emotions.

warnings: kissing, two dumb idiots in love!, (i tried to make the reader gender-neutral but please let me know if i missed anything).

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i recently started watching bbc sherlock and fell in love with the character (i know i'm like centuries late in starting the show oops) and really wanted to write something for it. ignore any inconsistencies or if the characters seem super ooc, i'm new at this lol.

you’d been at sherlock’s side for months now. ever since he solved a serial murder case that would’ve gotten you killed next, if he hadn’t figured it out just in time, you’d been practically attached to his hip ever since—helping him with cases as best you could, tidying up the flat and running quick errands, handing him his phone and reading his messages out loud to him (when he was perfectly capable of doing so himself, damn him). but you didn’t complain. in fact, you felt honored to be of any assistance to the spectacular sherlock holmes and john watson. you had fun in joining them—running through the city, chasing criminals, solving mysteries—it felt good, making yourself useful and doing something for the greater good. it was dangerous, yes, but you’d never experienced this much adventure in your life, and you couldn’t be in better company. so you were thankful to sherlock—to him saving you, and to him giving you this wonderful opportunity and friendship.

so, of course, you were irritated when others didn’t see sherlock the way you did; beyond frustrated that they hadn’t perceived his character how someone (you) who truly knew him would do so. it had taken you just under six months to develop a great friendship with sherlock, so how was it so difficult for his coworkers who had been working with him for years, relying on him for his genius to fix their problems and solve their worst cases, to appreciate him? it grated on your nerves and, frankly, you were over it.

it took one more snide remark from donovan, something about how emotionless and cold sherlock could be, that really put you over the edge. you snapped, to put it bluntly.

“he cares a great deal more than any of you will ever understand. you think he’s so cold? a machine, was it?” you ask, directing your glare at donovan. “you don’t see it, do you?” your gaze meets the others gathered in front of you—lestrade, anderson, mycroft, some familiar faces you’ve seen milling about scotland yard. you’re angry, fuming even, that nobody seems to appreciate sherlock the way you do. john, of course, and mrs. hudson and molly, sure, but it seems as though sherlock has barely a handful of people in his corner. after all he’s done, all he’s put himself through, to help those around him—solving cases, putting his life on the line, bringing forth justice—and he gets nothing in return but sneers and snide remarks.

“sure, he may process emotions differently than most of us,” you continue, “reacts in somewhat peculiar ways to the common eye, ways we may not understand. and because of this, you think he’s unlovable? unapproachable? inhuman? does that automatically give you all the right to criticize his every move and judge him regardless? i can guarantee that he cares more than any of you realize.” your cheeks feel damp and you become aware of the fact that you’re crying. normally, you would be embarrassed for being so vulnerable in such a public setting. especially your coworkers—if you can even call them that—of all people. but, truthfully, it’s about damn time someone put in any effort, show even an ounce of respect or sympathy toward sherlock. “he’s a great detective and an even better man,” you say, letting the tears flow freely. “but you just don’t realize that, do you? he is, without a doubt, the most incredible man i have ever met, and i consider it a privilege to know him. but you can’t accept that, can you? arseholes.”

john suddenly clears his throat next to you, pulling your attention toward him. he tilts his head off to the side, directing you to the tall figure standing in the corner, messy curls and popped collar making him immediately recognizable, to your dismay. you drop your head. now’s the time to feel embarrassed, you think to yourself. you never would’ve thought sherlock would walk in during your outburst and defense of his character. of course, you don’t regret it whatsoever, you meant every word you said. but for him to witness it? heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks, and you pray that no one can tell how you’re reacting to his sudden presence, but you know it’s useless.

sherlock approaches your accusation circle, everyone quickly pulling back and making room for the consulting detective, gazes flitting from one person to the next. sherlock pays them no mind, his footsteps quick and sure, until he’s standing right in front of you. your eyes are glued to his scarf when a nimble finger tilts your chin upward, and you’re staring into sherlock’s blue gaze. oceanlike, you think. pretty.

you’re surprised when he presses his thumb to your cheek, collecting a fallen tear and staring oddly at the wetness coating his fingertip. his blue eyes are curious and inquisitive beneath furrowed brows. always the detective, you bemuse to yourself. always looking for clues. suddenly, that look disappears and he’s looking at you thoughtfully, the creases around his eyes softening. “don’t waste these on me, my dear,” he says, voice deep yet gentle.

your heart pounds beneath your ribcage at the term of endearment. it was meant to be endearing, right? you panic internally. what if you’re connecting dots that aren’t even there and jumping to conclusions, just to make an even bigger fool of yourself. certainly, at this point, everyone is sure to know how you feel about the detective. if your sudden outburst wasn’t enough, you probably have hearts in your eyes now.

a grin stretches across sherlock’s face and you know that your reaction hasn’t gone unnoticed by him. typical. can’t hide anything from the man, you think sourly.

“while i certainly appreciate you defending my character,” he begins, “there’s no need to fret and most definitely no need to cry. not over me,” he says the last bit with an ounce of remorse in his tone. your heart cracks, knowing how hard he is on himself, how judgmental he is even of his own character, let alone how others respond to his peculiarities.

his large palm rests against your cheek and then adjusts slightly, just enough to cup the back of your neck securely, intimately. you feel safe in his hands—hands that are strong enough to pull the trigger of a gun, yet gentle enough to pluck the strings of his violin.

sherlock isn’t usually handsy, per se. you start to wonder why the sudden display of—affection, is it?—when he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. his lips are slightly chapped from the brisk winter air but they’re soft and warm against yours. never in a million years, although you certainly dreamt it, would you have thought you’d be kissing sherlock holmes—the world’s best (and only) consulting detective, and your greatest friend. he’s holding you so securely, tilting your head a fraction to deepen the kiss, tongue meeting yours until you’re practically making out in a scotland yard conference room with an audience, but you couldn’t care less at this point.

sherlock pulls away and you unconsciously follow his lips with the movement, not wanting to stop just yet. god, you could kiss him for hours, you think unabashedly. you vaguely hear gagging noises coming from anderson, but you tune him out, your full focus directed at the man in front of you. the unruly curls atop his head have become even messier, if possible, and his cheeks are flushed and his ears are red. it’s so endearing to see him like this, you feel a laugh bubble up inside you.

“what?” he asks, a tinge of self-consciousness creeping into his tone, and his hands slowly fall from your neck to rest on your shoulders. “why are you laughing? normally in a situation like this, the other party wouldn’t be laughing, correct? or am i doing something wrong? i haven’t received complaints in the past, although there was this one time—”

you tug on the lapels of his jacket and pull sherlock in for another kiss, cutting off his rambling spree as his arms wrap tightly around your waist. “i like you, idiot,” you mutter against his lips.

sherlock's breath catches slightly, just barely noticeable, but then a peculiar glint reaches his eyes. “i suppose i am expected to say that i like you, too?” he teases.

you gasp in mock hurt and the two of you erupt in a fit of laughter, the air around you bubbly and light. his laughter dies down but he's still smiling at you. “i do like you,” he says, earnestly, “truly. i adore you, my dear.”

your audience had departed from the conference room just moments earlier to allow for some…privacy, with john shaking his head at you two in amusement as he closed the door on his way out. “about damn time.”

[padawanlost]

Hello there! I just wanted to ask about something that’s been confusing me real quick: did Anakin lord over others with his Chosen One status or not? Because I thought he was insecure, disliked all the expectations that came with it, and didn’t really believe in that old prophecy to begin with. But, in Jude Watson’s books he thinks he deserves all these things because of it and rubs that status in other faces? I just need some clarity please lol thank you so much and I adore your blog ❤️

No, not at all. If anything, one of Anakin’s biggest difficulties was to assert himself in front of others (specially people in power).

This is a man who is considered a hero of the galaxy, of the most powerful jedi ever, married, soon to be father, beloved and respect by his men and even complete strangers…yet…look at how easily he submits.

If Anakin had been anything like some ‘fans’ like to pretend he was, he wouldn’t be the character portrayed on screen. He’d more like characters like Tony Stark, someone who is completely confident in his abilities and is not ashamed to admit it. But that’s NOT the character we see on screen, or anywhere else for that matter.

The Jedi Council didn’t want me, either. Being the Chosen One didn’t count for anything. Master Yoda wouldn’t train me, or Windu. Every member of the Jedi Council had had something more pressing to do than help him work out what this terrible, galaxy-changing power of his meant, and how he should live in its shadow. He still wasn’t sure. Anakin recalled standing there in that grand, polished Jedi Council Chamber, surrounded by what felt like fear, and disdain, and bewilderment—who were those Masters to feel bewildered, that the only person there who cared if he lived or died was Master Qui-Gon Jinn. And they stopped him training the Chosen One. Qui-Gon hadn’t cared what the Jedi Council said. He’d trained him anyway, a Padawan in all but name. Why am I thinking of all this now? Haven’t I put it behind me? Haven’t I had enough bad memories since then to take their place? Haven’t I vindicated Master Qui-Gon? [Karen Traviss. The Clone Wars]

Anakin enjoyed praise from Obi-Wan, but often became sullen when he was reprimanded. Obi-Wan assured him that he himself had been frequently reminded by Qui-Gon to be more mindful of the Force, but somehow even the slightest criticism managed to leave Anakin feeling stung. First they tell me to do my best, then they tell me I’ve gone too far! ANAKIN SKYWALKER IN THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Despite Anakin’s desire to distance himself from the slave he had once been, he was unable, or unwilling, to shed the other aspects that had defined him on Tatooine. He still dreamed of glory, still craved adventure, and never lost his appetite for high-speed thrills and the desire to prove himself in competition. THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Anakin was liked by the other students, but he had no close friends. He was not loved. Obi-Wan told himself that Anakin’s gifts naturally set him apart. But in his heart, he grieved for Anakin’s loneliness. JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE WAY OF THE APPRENTICE]

Just when Anakin thought he’d passed that elusive finishing line that said adult, experienced, seen it all, he realized he was still twenty, Jedi or not, and the wounded boy in him still rose to the surface—provoked into angry violence, scared of abandonment, and still in need of approval. KAREN TRAVISS [STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS NOVELIZATION]

[Obi-Wan] knew, glancing at his Padawan’s eager face, that Anakin meant well from the bottom of his heart. If Obi-Wan saw a shadow on that heart, he knew it would pain his Padawan to know it. In many ways, Anakin was still a boy. A wounded, loving, anxious boy with great gifts he did not fully understand. Yet he was also a young man, close to maturity, who could do great harm. To others, yes. To himself, most of all JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

“I just…” Anakin stopped. He took a ragged breath. “I thought you would be proud of me.” I am proud of you. Obi-Wan wanted to say the words. They were true. He was proud of so much in Anakin. But now was not the time to tell him that. Or was it? JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

Fixing broken machines was like a meditation. Fixing broken machines was an antidote to every pain, every loss, every fear, every defeat. Fixing broken machines kept him from going mad. CLONE WARS GAMBIT: STEALTH

You are very observant, Ferus, but you must accept that I know him better than you,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “Anakin can be arrogant. I know that. But he is also learning and growing. He is respectful of his great power. He does not abuse it. He is younger than you, but he has seen much injustice, many terrible things. I do not think it so wrong that he wants to change things. You must understand that it isn’t ambition that drives him. It is compassion. OBI-WAN KENOBI IN STAR WARS – JEDI QUEST: THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD BY JUDE WATSON

Taking them, she looked up at him and shook her head, even though it still ached. “It’s odd. You’re nothing like I expected.” “Why?” he said, perching on the edge of the nearby chair. “What did you expect?” “I don’t know,” she said, floundering. “I can’t say I’ve ever given the Jedi much thought. I mean, not as individuals. I never expected to meet one—let alone two. I don’t tend to go places where your skills are needed. But—well—you’re gentle.” That made him smile. “As opposed to what?” She swallowed the pain-tabs, washing them down with a mouthful of water. “Oh. You know. The HoloNet news—it portrays as you as this—this—heroic warrior. Larger than life. Charging into battle, lightsaber flashing. Scourge of the Separatists. That kind of thing.” She shrugged. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

“Ten years in this place, and still he was an object of interest. Of speculation. All their hopes and dreams hanging on him like decorations on a bantha skeleton at Boonta Eve. He hated it.” [Clone Wars: Wild space, Karen Miller]

[Anakin] did not like the fact that he had won. It seemed wrong that he had stepped so far out of line, and yet had been retained as a Padawan. He did not like the unease this victory, if victory it was, produced in him. Above all weaknesses, arrogance was the most costly. They keep me here because I have potential they’ve never seen before. They keep me in training because they’re curious to see what I can do. I feel like a rich man who never knows whether his friends are true-or whether they just want his money. This was a particularly galling thought, and certainly neither true nor fair. Why do they put up with me, then? Why do I keep testing them? [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

The only piece of media where Anakin is more ‘openly’ arrogant is in The Clone Wars (2008) but even then, he doesn’t flaunt his alleged ‘status’ over everyone. His arrogance is reflected more through his disobedience, not open defiance and antagonist behavior towards his peers.

But hey, what do Hayden Christensen, George Lucas and most Star Wars writers know? lol

PS: thank you! <3

[mysweetestcreature]

Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies

Words: 24.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death...smut?

Summary: Why can’t two people who are meant for each other get it right?

***

They’re fighting again. All Y/n can do is shut her eyes in the hopes that when she opens them, everything will be okay. But no amount of wishing can drown out the noise. 

“I can’t keep pretending like everything is fine! It’s not. You know it isn’t, Matt,” she hears her mother erupt between sobs. Lately, it’s been the same angry words shouted at one another over and over again. Y/n takes her baby sister, Ava, in her eight-year-old arms. She hugs the baby close. If she can’t block the screaming out, at least she can protect her sister from it.

“Grace, please.” It’s her dad’s voice. She’s never heard him sound so desperate. “What about our family? The girls need you. I need you! You can’t just walk away from us.” 

There’s a sudden silence that follows. At first, Y/n thinks that maybe her parents have reached a resolution. Her dad has always been good at negotiating. It is his job, after all. She’s seen him in action whenever he brings her to work with him. Maybe he’s managed to work that same magic on her mum. She gently lays Ava down on the bed, creating a makeshift barrier of pillows on either side of her, before exiting the room and running down the stairs. 

Before she can reach the bottom, she’s forced to a halt when she sees her daddy slouched over on the last step. His head is buried in his hands, his shoulders are shaking. He’s crying. That’s a sight she’s never seen before. He’d always been the picture of bravery and strength, but now that’s been washed away and replaced with someone who looks broken beyond repair. She doesn’t recognize him.

Where is her mum? She slips past her dad, despite wanting to throw herself in his arms for comfort. Besides his sniffling, the house is quiet. There’s no trace of her mum. It scares her.

“Where’s Mummy?” she asks meekly, turning to her father.

He doesn’t respond, but instead, he brings his hands out of his hair, and stares painfully at the door. Without thinking, she throws it open, the sun’s light momentarily blinding her for a few unhinged seconds. It’s only the screeching of wheels on road that brings her back.

“Mummy!” she cries, running as fast as her short legs can take her. Her eyes begin to swell with tears. The black taxi is still, and she’s just able to stare at her mum through its window. “Mummy, where are you going?” she pleads as she bangs on the door, but her mother doesn’t even flinch. Why won’t she look at me? 

The engine starts up, and the car begins to drive away. Y/n chases after it, crying out for her mum to come back. “Don’t go! Please don’t leave me!” It picks up speed after it turns the corner. She feels herself slowing down, but even then, she refuses to stop. The distance between herself and the car becomes too massive.  

“Mummy, come back!” 

Arms envelop around her, and now she’s running on air. “Let her go,” her dad tells her, and she can feel his own tears against her neck. Her feet stop kicking, it’s like the energy has completely drained from her body. Her mind, however, is still racing. 

***

A few days later, her daddy packs both hers and Ava’s bags, and loads them all into his car. She doesn’t ask questions, and instead busies herself with the fleeting landscape. A part of her had expected all that’s happened to be a part of some elaborate nightmare. But each morning, she wakes up to her parents’ bed left untouched, and her dad asleep on the living room couch. Ava is asleep beside her, and Y/n can’t help but think how lucky her little sister is to be living in ignorance. At three months old, she’s only just learned to hold her head up. Barely. Y/n doesn’t remember anything from that age, and maybe that’s a good thing. Had her parents always been this hostile towards one another? Had her mother done this before? What if she had? Does that mean she’ll eventually come back?

“We’re going to be staying with your grandparents for a while,” she’s taken out of her thoughts when her dad finally speaks up.

“Why?” She catches his eyes in the rearview mirror. They only ever go up to Nan and Gramps’ house during the holidays.

His fingers thump against the steering wheel, and he breathes in deeply as though to say something. It takes a moment before he answers her. “I just...I can’t do this alone.” His voice breaks, even though he tries to pass it off with a cough. “It’ll be good for us,” he says again. “You’ll see.”

When they hit a red light, he turns to look at her. He smiles weakly. No matter how much she wants to believe him, she still yearns for her mummy. It’s become especially hard in the mornings when her hair is knotted from tossing and turning in her sleep, and her dad can’t manage to tame it for the life of him. Her mum would often braid her hair, and like magic, it would remain intact all day. She always loved how gentle and soothing her mum would be as she brushed each strand with such care. That’s not to say that her dad isn’t trying, of course, but it’s just not the same.

***

Her grandparents live in a little town called Holmes Chapel. It’s pretty, she supposes. The buildings are a lot older, and the streets aren’t as busy as they are back home. She sits back and takes a deep breath. Her tummy flips a little when she thinks about how she might never see her old friends again, or her room, or even Mrs. Watson who lives next door (she would babysit Y/n and Ava whenever her mum had to run some errands). 

When she looks out the window again, she sees Nan and Gramps stood on their front porch, smiles reaching their eyes. 

“Where are my babies!” Nan exclaims, her arms stretched out. Her dad says a quick hello before opening up the back door. Y/n hops out, and her legs feel a bit unsteady from having been cramped in the car for all those hours. 

“Hi, Nana,” she greets sadly. Nan’s smile falters slightly, but she doesn’t seem to let it deter her.

The elderly woman bends down to her height and gathers her in her arms. Over Nan’s shoulder, Y/n watches as her dad whispers something in Gramps’ ear. Although she can’t hear it, she can tell by Gramps’ reaction that it can’t have been good. “A bit peaky?” Nan asks, when she finally pulls away. She cups Y/n’s cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I just took the cookies out of the oven, actually. Let’s go check on them before your grandfather gobbles them up.” 

Gramps groans behind them. “It was one time!” 

Nan waves him off, guiding her through the front door with an encouraging push. “Oh, you won’t believe all the colors I bought for you at the crafts store yesterday! I know how much you love to draw,” she says. Her voice drowns out when she hears something fall outside. “Arthur Y/l/n! If you break another one of my pots, I swear to–” It leaves Y/n to wander through the hall on her own. Her grandparents’ house is quaint and orderly and smells vaguely of warm vanilla (probably from the cookies) and jasmine. The walls are covered in framed photographs of her daddy and his older brother through the years, a few of a much younger Nan and Gramps, and finally of Y/n, Ava and all of her cousins. (They live in Nice––her Uncle Brandon married a French woman named Dominique––and only ever seem to come around for Nan and Gramps’ anniversary.) Finally, below her uncle and aunt’s wedding photo, is her parents’. She tries not to stare at it too long.

***

Y/n decides that maybe spending time with her grandparents won’t be so bad. After all, her and Ava don’t have to share a room anymore, which means that she won’t be woken up by her little sister’s 3 am wailing fits. Nan’s done an impressive job decorating on such short notice, too. The walls are still plain white, but at least there are some pretty stickers of butterflies and flowers and a few of Y/n’s favorite cartoon characters. Even the windows are nicely covered with those gel ornaments that she loves to poke. 

It’s all very nice, but she still wonders about when she’ll be able to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, under her own sheets.

“When are we going home?” she asks her dad as he tucks her in for the night. His hands stop in the middle of smoothening out her blanket, his eyes remaining glued to one of its printed ballerinas. 

“To be honest with you, love,” he sighs, “I don’t know if we’ll ever go back...at least not anytime soon.” 

“Oh.” That’s not the answer she wanted to hear. What if her mum does decide to come back? It’s still possible, right? After all, her mummy had always told her how much she loved her. She would scoop Y/n into her arms and twirl her around the room as they both laughed their hearts out. When she was sick, she’d always have her favorite tomato soup and grilled cheese. Every day after school, she’d sit down with her and help her do her homework and then give her an extra cookie if she didn’t complain. 

Then another thought pops into her head. Her mum hadn’t been able to do any of that stuff recently. It had been like living with someone who looked exactly like her mum, but without all the warmth and tenderness that once was. Y/n turns away from her dad and starts to sob silently into her pillow. 

Maybe she isn’t coming back, after all.

The dip in the bed from where her daddy had been finally reinflates. He’s about to wrap his hand around the door before she stops him. She calls out his name, sitting up with her arms around her knees. 

“We’ll be happier here?” 

His shoulders visibly relax, and for the first time in what feels like so long, he offers a sincere smile and nods affirmatively. She hadn’t realized how much she missed his smile until now. There’s something about it that she can’t quite describe, but she feels the safest she’s felt in a while.

***

Her daddy had left for the airport some hours ago. Gramps had offered to bring her along for the ride the night before, but she decided that she would rather not watch him leave. Instead, she pretended to be asleep when he came into her room and kissed her on the forehead. She knows he’ll be back in a few days, but it’s always tough when he has to go. It’s one of the other reasons they needed to move in with her grandparents, her dad has to travel a lot for work.  

As soon as he and Gramps had loaded the car and driven away, she had stepped outside and sat down on the grass. That had been before the sun had totally risen. Now, it’s up high and shining its rays on top of her head. Nan, who had been surprised to see her granddaughter sitting out on the lawn so early in the morning, had asked her if she wanted breakfast, but was told she wasn’t hungry. 

They’ve only been living here for a little over a week. She thought that they would’ve had more time to adjust before her dad had to fly off to wherever it is they’ve sent him. So far, things have been fine...or at least they’ve been as best as they can be. She tries not to think about her mum too much (she’s down to only once or twice a day). It’s a good thing that Nan and Gramps have a million ways to keep her busy.

Today is different, however. She’d had her daddy with her when she felt homesick. Now, she feels alone. 

“Hi,” her head snaps up, and there’s a boy, maybe around her age, standing above her. He has messy brown hair that curls at the ends, his pleasant smile is complete with dimples on either cheek. It’s his eyes, however, that hold her attention. They’re like spearmint, if spearmint is even considered a color. Or maybe they’re the same shade as the stems of her Nan’s petunias. She can’t quite describe it, but she can tell that she likes them. 

“Hi.” 

The boy takes her response as an invitation to sit down beside her. “I’m Harry. Do you want a Freddo?” He pulls out a chocolate frog from his pocket. “My sister always eats chocolate when she’s upset, and she’s a girl, and you’re a girl, and you looked kind of sad, so...” He gives her a lopsided grin.

“I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” she says. 

He––Harry––rolls his eyes. “I just told you, my name’s Harry.” He shifts a bit, then points to the house on the left of hers. “That’s my house there.”

“What if I don’t want to believe you?” she challenges, but she’s failing miserably not to grin at how utterly exasperated he’s getting.

With a defeated sigh, Harry shouts towards the house. “Oi, Gem!” It takes only a few seconds for a head to peak out of an upstairs window. 

An older girl, maybe around thirteen looks like she could throttle him. “I’m on the phone, Harry! Bugger off or I swear I’ll––oh, no, no! Not you, Blake.” She disappears back into her room. 

Y/n can’t help but giggle, and Harry turns to her, a triumphant look on his face. “See. Told you.” 

Once again, he offers her the Freddo, but this time, she happily accepts it. They sit in a comfortable silence as she nibbles on the chocolate. 

“I’m Y/n,” she finally tells him. 

Harry studies her carefully. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Y/l/n your grandparents? Because I’ve been over there loads of times––she babysits me when my mum and Gem are busy––but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

She nods. “Me, my sister and my dad moved in last week.”

“And your mum?” he tilts his head.

Her teeth bite down on the inside of her cheek. She looks at him wearily before staring down into her lap. “It’s just us.”

“Oh,” is all he replies. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “My parents are separated too. My dad lives in the city, but I still see him most weekends.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see my mum again,” she frowns.

What he does next startles her, but she’s more surprised at how quickly she relaxes. He wraps an arm around her and brings her closer so she can lean on her shoulder. “Mum says hugs help a lot,” he says sheepishly, she can feel his eyes on her. She nods against him, and it encourages him to continue. “I’m sorry you can’t see your mum, but hey, you can always talk to me! I’ll be your friend.”

It’s her turn to look up. “You promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Y/n decides that she really likes living with her grandparents. Her and Harry are practically inseparable, spending the better part of the day together (and sometimes during the night when they have sleepovers). This means that she hasn’t cried in a long time, and she’s heard her daddy tell her grandparents that things are finally starting to look up. Her daddy looks better than he has been in ages, he doesn’t have that faraway look in his eyes anymore. 

Harry usually comes over after breakfast, or even earlier when he knows Nan will be making French toast just the way he likes it. They play the entire day, a variety of games that range from hopscotch to pretend, to sneaking into Gemma’s room to dig into her stash of sugary treats because the girl has enough Freddo frogs to last her until next Christmas. He even likes to draw with her, even though she knows he rather be outside running around. 

Sometimes Gramps will drive them into town, and they’ll go to the park or the ice cream parlor or their favorite Chinese restaurant. (She learns that she prefers shrimp over pork fried rice). There’s also a bakery that she thinks is the cutest place she’s ever seen. They serve all sorts of pastries and desserts that the owner, Martha, gives them for free when the rest of the customers aren’t looking. Y/n thinks that’s all to do with Harry. She’s eight, and she can already see how charming her best friend is. She’s glad that she has him by her side. He’s made her time here better than she could have ever imagined.

But soon enough, September comes along, and with it, school. Y/n would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. While she and Harry will be attending the same school, he’s a year older, which means she might not see him nearly as much as she’d like. 

“It’ll be fun! You’ll see,” he tells her as they walk to school. “And we have breaktime, too. I can introduce you to all my friends, and you can introduce me to all of your new ones!” He sounds far too excited. 

Y/n pulls on his sleeve, and he clumsily stumbles back a bit. “But Harry,” she whines, digging the toe of her shoe into the sidewalk. “What if I don’t make any friends?” 

“You?” he gasps. “You’re like the most awesome person I know! Just be yourself.”

She doesn’t say a word, instead, she drops her head to look anxiously 

“Come on.” He takes her hand in his. “I’ll be at the end of the hall if you need me.” And they walk the rest of the way hand in hand. 

***

Harry drops her off at her classroom before going to find his. He promised he’d walk down with her for lunch, so at least she has that much to look forward to. When he disappears down the hall, she finally lets herself turn around to examine the place she’ll be spending the rest of the year in. 

The desks are all perfectly aligned, with names of her classmates in bold and colorful writing on cards at the very front. She quickly looks for her name and takes a seat. On the board, her teacher’s name is artfully written in the center. Miss Ferguson. She must have been the one who had greeted Y/n at the door a few minutes earlier. 

Y/n’s curiosity gets the best of her, and she starts committing every feature of the room to memory. The pictures of letters and corresponding objects and animals along the top of the blackboard are just like the ones from her old school. From her seat, she can see the playground, and she fantasizes about all the time she and Harry had spent on the monkey bars and hidden in the tube slide. 

“Do you want to trade notebooks?” Y/n turns in her seat in the direction of the voice. Behind her is a girl with blonde pigtails and an adorable gap between her two front teeth. “My mum always forgets that I don’t like purple.”

Y/n stares down at her own notebook, which is pink with white polka dots. “I like purple.” 

The girl grins widely. “Yay! You’re nice, I like you. I’m Penelope,” but as soon as she says it, her nose scrunches up in disgust. “But I hate being called that. So, just call me P or Penny!” Y/n gives a brief introduction, and the two girls trade notebooks. 

“You’re new, right?” Penny asks.

“Yup,” Y/n confirms, fishing her pencil case out of her backpack. “I moved here at the beginning of the summer.”

“Really? I’ve never lived anywhere besides here before, but when I’m older I want to live in London!” 

“That’s where I’m from,” Y/n says sheepishly. She hasn’t thought much about it, but when she does, she still misses it a fair amount. 

Penny’s hands go to her cheeks as she gapes in astonishment. “That’s so cool! What’s it like? Have you ever met the Queen?”

Y/n giggles. “I don’t even know where the Queen lives!” 

“Ugh, I’ve got so many things to teach you, then.” She and Penny make plans to hang out during breaktime and lunch.

Maybe Harry was right after all.

***

When the bell rings for lunch, Miss Ferguson’s class files out of the room in a somewhat straight-file line. Y/n walks behind Penny, her new friend is explaining all the proper ways to curtsy in front of a prince when a hand reaches out and tugs on the back of Y/n’s collar. 

She spins around, ready to thwack the whomever it might be. “I leave you for a few hours and you’ve already forgotten about me?” Harry smirks. 

“You just surprised me, that’s all,” she says. She’s fallen to the back of the line now. Penny stays back too and walks over to the two of them. “Harry, this is Penny! She’s in the same class.” 

Penny’s eyes nearly bug out of her head and her cheeks flush a shade of pink. “Hi-hi,” she stutters. Y/n stares at her for a moment, unsure where this sense of shyness has suddenly come from. She shakes her head, it’s probably just a draft from an open window. 

“Hi, Penny,” Harry returns kindly. He then turns back to Y/n. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria. I’m starving!” 

“Yeah! Let’s go!” Penny says, sounding much more like herself. Y/n walks in between them, feeling content. 

***

By the time she’s fifteen, Y/n has all she can ever ask for. Her dad doesn’t travel as much anymore, except for trips to the London office once a month, he’s able to work from Manchester. Ava’s seven now, and therefore able to cause all sorts of mischief. In fact, just last night, she’d eaten the entire leftover cake in the fridge when the rest of the family had gone to bed. She claims it was a ghost, but the frosting smeared across her face told everyone otherwise.

Penny’s practically moved in with them. Things at home aren’t always the best for her. Her mum usually spends the days drinking, the nights clubbing, and the early hours of the morning in some stranger’s bed. As for her dad, Penny doesn’t bring him up much. He decided to reconcile with his wife when Penny was three years old, leaving her and her mother penniless and alone. And well, she hasn’t spoken to him since. 

Finally, there’s Harry. He’s still her funny, sweet, and incredibly cute best friend. He’s sixteen now, far more mature than her. While they still spend loads of time together, he has his friends, and she has hers. Although, he does still come around for breakfast on the weekends––Nan’s French toast is still his most favorite thing on the planet––and they usually spend the rest of the time catching up on homework and watching movies they’ve already seen a million times. She loves how she’s never bored when she’s around him. They could be laying on the grass outside her house (much like they usually do) for hours, talking about nothing and everything, and still never run out of things to talk about. 

Except in the last few months. The thing is, Harry’s got himself a girlfriend, Lia, and she doesn’t like Y/n. There’s no logical explanation as to why, but whenever Y/n tries to talk to Harry at school, Lia slips her arms around him, like she’s claiming what’s hers, and glares at her until she has no choice but to retreat. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry that his first serious girlfriend is a total bitch, no matter how much she wants to. 

It’s a Friday night, Penny is staying over. She’s lazily flipping through last month’s edition of Vogue on Y/n’s desk. 

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks. 

“We’re fifteen. It’s not like there’s been much opportunity,” Y/n chuckles. She glances up momentarily from her sketchbook. If there’s a punchline, it never comes. She then gives her a look. “Why, have you?”

Penny shrugs. “Sometimes I think I am, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d never see me like that.” 

Y/n doesn’t respond to this. She’s heard stories about the boy Penny’s apparently fancied for ages now, but for some reason her friend refuses to give her a name. If she had to guess, it’s probably Bobby Baker from her French class. They dated for a few months when they were fourteen, but things had ended abruptly. Sometimes she’ll see them talking between classes and while in line for lunch. Her money’s definitely on Bobby.

Not wanting to press her for details, however, Y/n changes the topic. “Harry’s probably in love with Lia. I saw them snogging at the bust stop this morning.”

Penny groans. “They’re so gross!” she pretends to gag. “Oh, Harry. You’re so handsome! Kiss me before our lips dry out! Oh, Lia, you’re so pretty. Take this flower as a sign of my undying affections!” She imitates them, doing it so flawlessly. 

They share a look, and suddenly, they’re balled over in fits of laughter.

“How do they even breathe?” Y/n wheezes into her pillow. It’s not to say that she hasn’t kissed a boy before. It’s just never been as intense––or as nauseating––as that. Besides, none of her boyfriends have last long enough. Harry says that it’s all for the best, according to him, none of them are good enough for her. 

“They’re twos, you’re a total ten,” he had said to her once. She pretended not to feel her heart leap at the compliment. “A ten can’t go any lower than maybe a seven.” She wanted to say that she thought he was a ten, too, but was too embarrassed to say it.

***

Penny leaves early the next morning, but first helping herself to some of the food Nan had just prepared before zipping out the door. She leaves Y/n half asleep and barely functional.

“So, what’s the gossip?” Nan teases her, pouring her a cup of tea. 

“Same old, same old,” she yawns. She breathes in the steam from her mug and smiles. 

Nan places a plate of French toast in front of her. “Talking about the same old things until three in the morning? If only your grandfather and I could stay up that late. Of course, we’d be doing other things that decidedly aren’t–” she pauses, and Y/n’s never been more thankful. They both turn towards the back door. “Ah, and I was just beginning to worry.” 

Harry mutters a sleepy good morning, then stumbles into the seat beside Y/n. He looks at her breakfast, then looks at her. As if they can communicate silently, Y/n pushes her plate towards him. 

“Harry, dear,” Nan starts, making up a new plate for her granddaughter. “How does your mum feel about you spending so much time here?” 

“She’s fine with it,” he says, mouth full of bread. “As long as I bring her back some food, she says I can spend as much time here as I want.” 

Nan just rolls her eyes. “Will that be banana or blueberry then?”

“Hmm...” Harry pretends to mull over the options, but Nan knows better. Y/n watches with amusement as she places both bananas and blueberries on top of the French toast, then places it on a disposable plate and wraps it with tinfoil. 

She turns to them. “I’m just going to pop next door and give this to Anne.” Just before she can slide the door open, she calls one last remark over her shoulder. “Try not to burn the house down. We just had the floors waxed.” 

Y/n continues to sip on her tea, and Harry hums happily around another delectable bite. They sit in comfortable silence. 

“I feel like we haven’t talked in a while,” he says. He looks at her curiously. “Why is that?”

She has to bite her lip in order to stop herself from saying something she’ll regret. “Well, you know. I’ve been really busy lately.” From the corner of her eye, she can see how one of his brows shoot straight up.

“Busy with?”

“You know there’s an art show happening soon. I’ve been spending all my time in the art room.” She knows she isn’t convincing anyone, let alone him. He can read her like a book.

But if Harry is thinking she’s lying, then he doesn’t say anything. “Right,” he says aloofly. Taking another bite of his––her––breakfast, he continues. “Lia’s going to have a few pieces on display.”

This catches her off guard. “Lia’s into art? Since when?” 

He gives her a noncommitted grunt. “It’s news to me too.” He takes her mug from her hands and takes a sip. “But she seemed really interested when I mentioned you were participating.”

“Huh.” She rests her chin on her fist. That’s strange. She’s never seen Lia Hall set foot anywhere near the art room. Lia’s a cheerleader and spends most of her time cheering on the school’s football team, which is how she and Harry got together. Y/n would know if they shared any common interests. At least that way, she could talk to Harry without her grumbling bloody murder under her breath. 

“What is it?” his question pulls her out of thought. She plasters a smile on her face and says it’s nothing. 

***

Her bedroom window is right across from his, and they’ve been using it to their advantage since they were kids. When they both had bedtimes that were too early to ever enjoy the night, they would look out their window and find the other looking right back. They’d spend the night trying to make the other laugh with funny faces and their own little game of charades. 

But as Y/n looks up from her half-finished essay and through the glass, she doesn’t need elaborate hand motions to know that Harry is pissed. She wonders if he realizes where he’s standing or maybe he just doesn’t care right now. He looks like he’s trying to stay calm, but Y/n knows him better than that. While he isn’t one to yell, his voice does get tight when he’s trying hard not to. 

He runs a hand through his brown locks in frustration. She feels guilty for not having the strength to turn away, but she’s just too curious for her own good. If only she could read his lips just to get an idea as to why he’s so upset, but alas, that’s never been her talent. She waits, occasionally working on her essay (occasionally), then lifting her head back up to check up on him. 

When she looks up after a stroke of genius that had promoted words to pour out onto the page, he’s gone. Her shoulders drop in disappointment. Oh, well. At least all she has to do now is proofread. 

“Did you know your nan is making pot pie for dinner?” 

She swivels in her chair, her eyebrow tilting up. “I did.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” he pretends to be hurt as he falls onto her bed. “I’m wounded you would choose to withhold such valuable information from me.”

“I’m sorry?” she chuckles. Closing her laptop, she sits on the floor right beside where his head falls of the side of the bed. 

He turns to her, his upside-down face grinning pompously at her. “Eh, you know I can never stay mad at you.” She thumps his forehead with another laugh, but he only continues to smile.

*** 

Y/n’s always loved art and how it can imitate life in the way the artist chooses. Ever since she can remember, she’s been doodling landscapes and portraits on napkins or just about any plain surface she can get her hands on. She thinks she gets it from her mum. There’s not much she can remember about her, but she does recall her mother’s love for the fine arts. And as much as she tries not to think about her, she’s happy she knows where she gets it from. 

Mrs. Cuomo, the art teacher, says she has a gift, and Y/n tries not to let it get to her head, but she can’t help it! She’s already taken to looking for art programs around England. If she wouldn’t miss her family too much, she’d consider going abroad. 

“Paris seems fabulous, don’t you think? I mean, they have some of the best fashion schools in the world.” Penny muses as they walk around the gallery. “French boys are a plus.”

“Is that where you want to go after college?” 

“Possibly. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to afford it, though.” 

Y/n nods, understanding her friend’s situation.

They continue to browse all the art on display, until stopping at Y/n’s exhibit. She has three paintings. The one on the left is an abstract portrait of Ava that she’d been working on since the last art show. It was inspired by her little sister’s fifth birthday. Dad had bought her the cutest little periwinkle dress with a grey ribbon around the waist. It’s something Y/n would’ve been over the moon for at that age. But Ava being the little rebel she was (and still is) had gotten it all dirty. Right before her party, she came trudging back into the house, a complete mess from head to toe. Y/n’s entitled the portrait Muddy Princess. On the right is a landscape of a forest with the simple name Serene Acres. Finally, the one in the middle is a sideview of a boy laying in the grass. His hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed. He looks relaxed, like he’s never had a trouble in the world. As do all her paintings, this one had started off as a mere sketch born from a vision that she suddenly had just as she had woken up. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it anything more than that. But the longer she spent refining it, she just knew she had to take it all the way. There’s something comforting about him. This one in particular is Y/n’s absolute favorite. 

“Oh, you’re totally going to win this year,” Penny enthuses. “I’m not saying this because you’re my best friend and I’d literally give you a kidney, but seriously. You’re golden.” 

“I hope you’re right,” she says nervously. “Mrs. Cuomo said that the judges are going to be a lot more critical this year. I just hope they like my stuff.” 

Penny waves her off, as if she were talking nonsense. “They will.”

“Will what?” A pair of familiar hands land on her waist, and she can’t help but smile when sees him gasp at the wall in front of her. “Woah,” he’s speechless. She pats his arm as she steps away from him, afraid that his girlfriend might catch sight of them. 

“You like them?” she smiles. He nods, still unable to speak. 

“So, where’s Lia’s display?” Penny asks, but Y/n can sense the annoyance in her voice. She knows all about the girl’s hatred of Y/n.

Harry stares blankly, until finally registering the question. “Oh...um. She decided not to enter, after all.” He wraps an arm Y/n once again, and this time, Y/n doesn’t bother pushing him off.

“That seems sudden,” she says.

“Well...” Harry looks left and right, like he’s making sure no one will hear them. “I guess she realized that she didn’t stand a chance.”

This makes Penny snort. “Are we talking about the same girl here? Lia Hall does not back down. From anything. I’ve seen her at the mall fighting over jeans with University kids. She’s scary as hell.”

***

She’s laying on the grass on her front lawn when Harry comes outside and joins her. His body is oriented in the opposite direction so that their eyes are aligned if they were to face each other. He doesn’t say anything more than a hello. His hands are placed on his stomach and his nose wriggles when a cool breeze brushes past. 

“Lia and I broke up,” he suddenly says, but his voice is even and calm. 

“I’m sorry.”

He laughs loudly. “No, you’re not.” He glances at her before facing back up. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that you two don’t get along.”

“At least I know you’re not dense.” She bites back a smile. Why is she so elated with the news? Does that make her a bad person? Who’s to say? “She was pretty awful.”

“She was hot, though,” Harry interjects.

“I suppose.”

Silence washes over them. If she were any more relaxed, she’s sure she could fall asleep right here, next to him. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“The clouds, Harry. Aren’t they beautiful?” She giggles when he squints at the grey canvas above them. 

“There are no clouds,” he says flatly. He turns his head, their eyes lock.

She swallows, and she’s the first to turn away. With a content sigh, she lets her eyes droop closed. Even without looking, she can feel the way his gaze lingers, like he might be waiting for something more. “You too,” it’s a gentle request, possibly an order. He’s never been able to deny her anything. 

“Alright then,” there’s an amused tone to his voice now. He breathes deeply, his own eyes closing as the air leaves his chest. 

They lay motionless for a comfortable few minutes. Things are quiet between them, and only nature’s melody that plays uninterrupted. 

The wind whistles, and the leaves on the trees dance along with crisp and breezy movements. As the air––which smells strongly of fall’s fiery allure––rubs against her skin and tickles the tip of her nose, another blissful smile leaves a pattern across her lips.

“What do you see?” she asks.

“Not much, honestly. My eyes are closed.” 

She punches his arm. “Don’t be an arse.”

He groans out in pain. “Fine then,” he concedes. “What do you see?”

The image is vivid in her head. “Purple clouds.”

He chuckles softly.

“What color is the grass?”

“Green, of course.”

“That’s boring,” he teases.

She huffs in annoyance. “Not everything needs changing, you know.” He doesn’t challenge it.

“And the sky?”

That’s her favorite part. 

“Tangerine.”

“That’s a fruit.”

“and a color.”

“Why can’t you just say orange?” 

“Because,” she starts in her best ‘you better listen to me or else’ tone. “Orange is a meh kind of color. But tangerine? It’s a bit more exciting.”

“Exciting,” he repeats slowly, as though he were testing the weight of the word on his tongue. 

When she opens her eyes, fully expecting him to be looking at her as though she had two heads, she’s surprised to see that his are still closed. She finds herself studying him. The way his chest steadily rises and falls with each even breath. He looks as calm as she feels at that moment. It’s then she can appreciate just how handsome he really is. Of course, she’s known it for a while (but she’d never tell him that).

So, she turns her head back towards the grey-washed sky and paints over its gloom with an image of their own. 

***

Right before he starts Year 13, Harry’s dad, Des, moves to Boston. Harry tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but Y/n knows that he misses him a lot. Even though his parents have been separated for a long time, he’d at least had a good relationship with both of them. He and his dad would do “manly” things like fishing and batting at the cages. He keeps telling her that he’s fine, and it’s not like he’ll never visit him, but she can sense that something is troubling him. 

It takes a bit of finesse to get him to talk, and once he does, she immediately regrets it. 

“He wants me to follow him,” Harry says, scratching the back of his head. Y/n thinks she might throw up. Boston...America...it’s just so far away. The farthest she’s ever been is Italy on vacation. 

She stares at him apprehensively. “Do you...umm...do you want to go?” 

Harry doesn’t answer her at first. It takes to the count of five for him speak. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean...it’s a lot to ask, don’t you think? He’s asking me to uproot my life here.” He gazes at her. “And I really like it here.”

She lets out the breath she’d been holding. She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle being that far from him. He’ll be starting University in the fall, and him going to London already feels too much. Goodbyes aren’t easy for her, and she doesn’t think they’ll ever get easier. 

“At least both parents want you,” she doesn’t realize what she’s saying until it’s up in the air. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“No, it’s fine,” she shrugs him off. “It’s just, you’re lucky that both of them love you.”

Harry appears to think hard on this. “I love you.”

Her heart stops beating, her eyes double in size.

“What?” 

He reddens, and for once, she can’t tell what’s going through his head. His jaw juggles back and forth, and then he coughs like he’s got something stuck in his throat. He wipes a hand down his face. “I mean, you’re my best friend, of course I do.” 

Just as quickly as it had enlarged, something inside her deflates. “Oh, right,” she tries not to sound disappointed. It’s a little awkward now, but she’s at least comforted in the fact that he values her so much. She nudges her elbow against him. “Hey,” she quips.

He tilts his head.

“I love you too, doofus.” 

***

Y/n’s always thought her dad to be a kind and fair man.

Matthew Y/l/n doesn’t spoil his girls, but he also knows how to reward them for a job well done. He’s also one of those approachable dads, the ones you can talk to about a crush without him getting overly protective. From when she was eight and until now, he’s always been there for her and Ava, and for that, Y/n is forever grateful. 

Which is why she feels like she can discuss this one teensy little thing with him. Now, Y/n, she’s made up her mind about wanting to pursue a career as an artist. Some might say it’s insane! Risky! Financial suicide! But isn’t the threat of failure all the more reason to strive? She thinks so, and she just knows that her dad will too!

After dinner, which is when her dad is at his happiest. His belly is full of Nan’s roast, and he’s sitting next to Gramps on the couch while they watch sports. This is her chance. She’s already practiced on everyone else in the house, plus Penny and Harry, so she has a pretty solid plan on how to approach him.

“Hey, daddy,” she says sweetly, plopping between him and Gramps. He smiles at her and flings an arm around her shoulder. He returns his attention back to the telly. She gives Gramps a look, one so pleading that she thinks she might have just made him tear up, and he clears his throat and excuses himself. 

“I’ve, uh, got to take a shit.” And he stumbles into the hall, Nan’s snorting following closely behind. 

“So, dad, there’s something I actually want to talk about,” she starts, turning so she’s completely facing him. Matthew presses on the remote so that the screen is completely black. He prods her to continue. 

Y/n chuckles nervously. No big deal. “You know how I’m like crazy about my art? I mean, I’ve won three competitions in the last nine months!” 

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ve been telling everyone at work that my daughter’s an artist. You should’ve seen Anthony’s face when he found out you were the one who beat his boy out for the ribbon...”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad.” She can feel herself getting excited. “And I’m so proud that I get to make you proud. I mean, you’ve given me so much, I feel like it’s the least I can do.” On her lips is her most dazzling smile. 

He eyes her suspiciously. “Okay, I’m sensing something else going on here. Spit it out.”

“Well, it’s just that next year is my last year of college, and I’ll be applying to universities soon, so I was hoping that we could talk about me pursuing art.”

“Pursuing art, as in...?”

“Dad, I want to be an artist.” That wasn’t so bad, right? She can see her dad’s face waver in emotion. At first, he looks confused, then maybe a little unsure, but then he’s just unreadable. “Thoughts?” she presses.

“No.”

Had she just heard him right? “What?”

“No.”

“But, Dad–”

“There’s little to no security. The odds of you even making a decent living out of it are practically one in a million.”

“Wait, just hear me out first...”

“I’ve heard enough, Y/n. You’re not going to throw away an education on a hobby.” He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost guilty. “Look, I’m not telling you to never paint again. I’m just saying that you need to approach this from a more realistic point of view. How about you major in something more reliable––like business or nursing––then minor in what you want?” He continues to ramble on about different prospects, but she’s completely drowned him out by now.

There’s a spot on the rug that’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Where had she gone wrong? He’s never been so forceful with his decisions before. Had she overlooked a portion of her speech? 

“Mum loved art,” she whispers, but it’s just loud enough for him to hear.

Matthew stiffens at the mention of his estranged wife. “Your mother loved a lot of things. A lot more than she ever loved us.” And with that, he gets up and leaves.

***

“I think you should go for it,” she can always count on Harry to support her. 

She sighs, burying her face in his pillow. It smells of coconut and lavender. After her dad had walked out, she’d ran across the yard and had tackled Harry with a hug while he was taking out the trash. He’d given her some water (God knows how hysterical she’d been moments prior) before leading her up to his room so she could calm down.

“What if Dad’s right?” she mutters. “What if this really is just a hobby?” She suddenly feels herself being flipped onto her back, his legs straddling either side of her, his eyes boring into hers like lasers. Thoughts flash through her head, and it crosses her mind that he might actually kiss her. But he remains still.

“Look at me,” he says. “You’re amazing, and you know it. I know it. This whole damn town knows it. If there’s one person I know can make it as an artist, it’s you.”

While his words do encourage her, she’s far more concerned with how close he is. She nods in acknowledgement, and he flops next to her. Both of them stare at the ceiling. She wonders if he ever feels what she feels. 

“I got you something,” he says after a few minutes. He quickly turns and fishes for something under his bed.

“A present?” she doesn’t bother hiding the playfulness in her voice.

He kicks the side of her leg. “Grow up.”

“Can’t, I’m too excited.”

He pulls out a giftbag and hands it to her. “Saw this when I was out with Mum and well, it reminded me of you.” 

Peeking into the bag, she immediately smiles. “Is this...is this a frog?”

“Yeah, because remember when we first met? I gave you a–”

“Chocolate frog,” she finishes. It’s a plush toy the size of a basketball and its body is the same colors as their special world. Harry must’ve picked it out because of it. He’s always been thoughtful like that. It shouldn’t surprise her, but whenever he remembers these little things, she can’t help but feel weak at the knees. She and hugs her new frog to her chest. “It’s so cute! Oh, what should we name it?”

“Well, I feel like there’s only one appropriate name for it,” he winks.

“Kaleidoscope?” 

“That...that wasn’t even close to what I was going to say.”

She giggles, reaching over and bringing him in for a hug. “I’m just messing with you! We’ll obviously be calling him Freddo.” She sighs happily when his arms hold on to her tightly. Yeah, she likes his hugs a lot.

***

It’s the middle of March when Harry’s cousin comes to live with him. Jared is about his age, with the same shade of brown hair, only his is straight as opposed to Harry’s mess of wavy curls. Harry had told her that Jared’s mother (Anne’s sister, Sonya) had just passed away after her battle with cancer, and Y/n’s heart broke for the boy she barely knows. Similar to Penny’s situation, Jared’s dad isn’t in the picture. He’d left him and his mum before he was even born, and according to Harry, Jared’s always been very bitter about it.

Jared doesn’t leave his room much, only for school and for meals. Harry’s the only person he talks to because he wants to, not because he has to. They were practically like brothers before Jared had moved away, which Y/n is surprised to hear since she’s never heard of him before. But apparently when they were kids––way before Y/n moved in next door––Jared and his mum would always come over Harry’s house, and they’d play until one of them had to be forcibly dragged away. She had laughed when Harry had told her the story of how he and Jared had gotten stuck in the tree out back for five hours because the adults were so busy chatting inside.  

Sometimes Y/n will stop by and personally offer him some of Nan’s famous chocolate pie, and he’ll accept it only to give it to Harry once she leaves. Of course, she knows it’s nothing personal against her, it just makes her sad that she can’t help someone who is so important to her best friend. It’s hard for her to see Harry worry so much about him, and she really is trying her hardest to help him out. She doesn’t think Jared hates her, if anything, she always catches him staring at her in the halls when he thinks she doesn’t notice. That’s a promising sign, right?

“I happen to think he’s very good looking,” Penny tells her as they walk to Physics. “He kind of reminds of a young Leo.”

“You said the same thing about Harry last week,” Y/n giggles.

“They’re related, aren’t they? Maybe beautiful genes run in the family.”

Penny looks at her. “What do you think?”

She stares back at her. “About?”

“You know, Jared!” 

Y/n’s lips purse together. She hadn’t given him much thought, honestly. 

***

She’s glued to her sketchpad while sitting on the front lawn when she notices a shadow approach her. Not bothering to look up, she pats the spot beside her.

“Nan says that the pudding will be ready in ten,” she says. 

“That’s...cool.” That’s not Harry.

Tearing her eyes away from her latest drawing, she turns her head and sees the last person she expected. “Jared! Hi!” she squeaks.

He offers her a side grin. “Hey,” is all he says. He looks down into her lap. “You’re really good.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He rubs his hands on his jeans before settling them around his ankles. “Uh...do you mind if I sit here with you? You can say no, I was just feeling a little stuffed up in–”

“Of course! I love company!” she smiles broadly.

“I don’t know, you and that pencil were looking pretty cozy,” he suggests. She quirks a brow at him, but when the signs of a smirk begin to change the way his eyes gleam, she finally gets it.

“Jesus, that’s disgusting!” She doesn’t hesitate to slap him over the head. He sniggers in return but doesn’t say much more after that. Y/n continues to draw, but occasionally she’ll look up and catch him watching her. He immediately turns away, pretending to be busy with a blade of grass, or he’ll start whistling like it’s a sitcom.  

***

It doesn’t take long before Jared finally opens up to her. He’s funny––really funny, even though most of his humor is dirty––and is constantly finding ways to make Y/n laugh. She’s found that he does a nearly perfect impression of Austin Powers, and she enjoys it very much. There are also certain angles that really highlight how handsome he is. His eyes are a deep brown, almost the same shade as his hair. There are freckles evenly spread around his nose, almost as if they’d been specifically placed there. And oh, his lashes! They’re just as long as Harry’s, except maybe even fuller. She imagines what they would look like with a fresh coat of mascara. (She jokingly brought up the idea once, and to her delight, Jared says he wouldn’t mind it one bit.)

Harry seems happy that his cousin appears to be back to his old, goofball self. He’s definitely not as stressed over trying to get Jared out of his room as he had been in the immediate weeks after his Aunt Sonya’s death. Even Anne is starting to smile more. Losing her sister had been difficult for her, but Y/n admires how she had stepped up and took her nephew in without hesitance. She’s almost positive that that’s where Harry gets his selflessness from.

“Okay, real question, would you rather give up all desserts or all cheeses?” Jared asks. He always plays this game with her. She thinks it’s cute, sometimes even thought-provoking if she’s really into it. 

“Hmm, that’s a tricky one. Because what about–”

Both their eyes grow wide. “Cheesecake!”

Her head falls onto his shoulder as she laughs. She doesn’t see how Harry turns away. Although, sometimes she’ll notice how he’ll have this weird look in his eyes whenever the three of them are all hanging out together, but she thinks she’s just imagining it. 

***

When Penny tells her that Jared might like her, she doesn’t totally object to the idea.

***

A few days later, Jared kisses her. It’s one of those kisses that happen when you least expect it. She’s frozen in shock until his lips pull away. It’s strange, she likes the feeling, but something seems amiss. He looks at her nervously, like he’s afraid he’s done something completely wrong. But when she finally manages to get over that initial uncertainty, a grin slowly forms on her lips, and he’s kissing her again.

***

In two weeks’ time, she sees Harry snogging Penny outside his front door. She isn’t sure how to react, but she knows there’s this weird feeling inside of her that she doesn’t like.

***

Her and Harry haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since they started dating other people. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, in fact, she really misses him. Saturday morning breakfasts just aren’t the same without him shuffling into the kitchen in his half-asleep state. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was going out of his way to avoid her. Penny says that maybe he’s just feeling awkward because her two best friends are dating. (It turns out Harry had been the guy she’d been pining over for years.)

Maybe that’s true, but shouldn’t that make it easier for them to find themselves in the same room? She’s happy that Penny’s finally happy! Things hadn’t worked out with her last two boyfriends because all they wanted was to take advantage of her. If there’s one thing she’s sure about, it’s that Harry would never cross any lines that Penny hadn’t invited him to cross.

When they’re in Harry’s car, she’ll catch glimpse of how Harry takes Penny’s hand over the console, or how she’ll feed him fries from their takeaway. It makes her happy to see them like this. Really, it does.

Jared is just as much a gentleman, too. They haven’t done anything past snogging, and she’s okay with that. She isn’t even sure she’s ready for that type of commitment. It’s not like she has this idealized fantasy about losing her virginity. She doesn’t expect it to happen in the same way as the movies, with candles and a bed full of rose petals, or any of that romantic stuff. If the time’s right, it’s right. All she wants is to make sure her heart’s a hundred and ten percent in it before she lets anyone in. She wonders if Penny and Harry have talked about going all the way.

“Yeah, we’ve talked about it.”

“Oh,” Y/n tries not to sound surprised. “And how did that go?”

Penny gives a noncommitted answer. “He says he’s willing to wait until I’m ready. But the thing is, I’m ready now!”

***

Penny loses her virginity soon after. Y/n is the first person she calls, and it’s a bunch of squealing and bragging about how perfect it all was. How gentle and attentive he’d been, and how she can’t wait to do it again. It takes everything in her to not hang up. She loves Penny to death, but some things––at least in her opinion––are left unsaid.

***

The first time she and Harry get to spend time together, as in just the two of them, is when Jared is stuck in bed with a cold, and Penny is out with her mum. It’s not exactly planned, in fact, she had only seen him from the living room window whilst helping Nan dust the mantel. Deciding she couldn’t let the opportunity pass, she drops the feather duster and runs out the front door.

“Hey, stranger,” she greets, but she doesn’t sit. It’s only now she sees the bottle of beer hanging between his fingers. He usually only drinks when he’s got something messing with his head. 

He nods at her, and gestures to the spot beside him. She sits, but it feels to calculated for them. Usually, she’d plop down, not caring if their knees would brush together. Now, she’s careful to leave at least a few inches between them. And she hates how awkward things feel between them. In a matter of months, they’d gone from being attached at the hip, to barely acquaintances. 

“So, what’s going on?”

He takes a sip from the bottle, his face twitching with disgust as he does so, then takes a deep breath. “Do you ever feel like things should be different?”

A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair over her shoulders. She doesn’t know if the goosebumps running down her spin are from that or the it’s from the magnitude of his question. “Different, how?”

His features soften when he finally looks at her. As in, really looks at her. It feels like so long since he’s done, that it takes her breath away. He doesn’t say anything yet, but she can see in his eyes that there’s something there. 

“Harry?” she whispers.

His eyes drop down to her lips, and he licks his own in reaction. Nothing seems to matter at that moment. If her mind had been juggling with thoughts before this, it isn’t now. All she can think about his him. How good it feels to be so close him, and how she wants to be closer. 

Then it hits her. Jared. She’s with Jared, and Harry’s with Penny. She’d been leaning into him, but now that she’s broken from his trance, she straightens up.

Harry brushes off his disappointment with another sip from his beer. His stare lands across the street, where a pair of children are chasing each other around a tree. He drops his head, his hand wrapping around the base of his neck.

“I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow.”

She nods slowly. “Visiting your dad?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Something like that.”

Finally, he stands up, then offers her his hand so she can too. He doesn’t let go right away, and she revels in how good it feels. She smiles down to where they’re holding each other, then stares into his green orbs. 

Pulling on her arm, she’s suddenly trapped in his embrace. She hugs him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulder blades and pinching his t-shirt between her fingers. It’s all a bit confusing, but she continues to cling to him. She feels his nose nudge the crown of her head before he lets go.

He turns around and doesn’t look back. 

She isn’t sure what just happened, but it feels a lot like goodbye.

*** Ten Years Later

“It doesn’t feel right,” she sighs. “I can’t be the only one who’s thinking it.” He shuffles in place, eyes scanning the room around them. “What do you suggest then?”

“Take this to the empty wall by the entrance, then move the Reynalda exhibit closer to the back. It’s our main attraction, we have to make people work for it.”

Angelo nods approvingly, and she calls a thank you out to him as he gets to work. Y/n watches the rest of her staff disperse into their allocated directions, and it’s then she can finally take a moment for herself. Sometimes she feels suffocated, but at the same time so hollow.

There are so many reasons why Y/n shouldn’t be feeling as empty as she does now. After all, her life is pretty damn close to perfect. She graduated university with high honors, she has a well-paying job as director of a prestigious art gallery, and she lives in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment with her adoring fiancé who she’s been with for the better part of a decade. 

She can’t pinpoint when exactly she realized that something had been missing, or maybe this feeling has always existed somewhere deep inside, and she’s just been really good at hiding it. The only person who knows about this internal battle is Ava, but Y/n doesn’t like to bother her too much since she’s busy with coursework, as well as her own problems that come with being nineteen and young. 

Of course, there’s Jared. Her love. Her rock. Her other half. She doesn’t know why can’t talk about this with him. Maybe it’s too much of girl problem, or maybe it’s just guilt. The last thing she wants him to think is that he’s not enough to fill this void in her life. If anything, he’d been able to pick up all her damaged pieces when she just couldn’t. He’s great, more than. She depends on him, and he’s never let her down. 

But if that’s true. Why can’t she just be honest?

***

“Right, I’m heading out now. I’ll see you–” he pauses, and she can see the concern overtake his features from the reflection of the blank television screen. He walks around their living room and kneels in front of her, his hands rubbing her lower thighs with every intention to soothe her. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t really know,” she laughs, then shakes her head. “It’s silly, really. You go ahead. Go have fun with Sid.” It’s her best attempt at a smile, but it’s a weak one. 

He looks at her unsurely, like he’s debating if he should protest or not. She kisses him gently on the lips. 

“Go.” And she nudges him to his feet. Although she can tell he’s hesitant, he eventually concedes, leaning down for just one more peck to her forehead, then he’s out the door.

She needs to find a way to depress this strange feeling. It’s starting to affect too much of her life. A life that she enjoys, thank you very much.

Before she falls slave to her thoughts, she slumps into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cabernet. Maybe it’s a far too generous portion, but is there ever such thing as too much wine? At least for tonight, the answer is no.

The alcohol burns her throat with its bitter sweetness, and she finds comfort in how it settles at the pit of her stomach. She breathes in deeply. This is just what she needs. It’s all in her head. Stress, probably. 

Just as she’s about to rewrap herself in her blanket, the front door opens and closes with a gentle thud. She swings around, brows curling in question as Jared slips off his coat leans against the nearest wall.

“Sid will understand. You’re the one who needs me tonight.” 

She leans against the arm of the couch, a moved smile playing at her lips because, wow. How did she get so lucky?

***

“I found another grey hair this morning,” Jared says. “Is this what getting old feels like?”

She runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-eight, Jae. And besides, silver foxes are pretty sexy.” 

“I guess I’m a bit of a Clooney.” And he wags his brows suggestively. If he’s trying to come onto her, it’s not exactly working, but she’s also not completely turned off. This is why they’re good together. After all these years he still knows how to make her laugh.

They’re about a quarter though their takeaway (and she’s so touched that Jared decided to stay home that she doesn’t even say anything about the pork fried rice) when their doorbell sounds.

“I got it, hun,” he says, placing his plate on the coffee table, and grabbing a napkin before greeting the unexpected guest.

Y/n is pleasantly surprised when Penelope falls into the seat beside her. She looks dressed for a date, but the way she blows ferociously into the air, Y/n knows that things haven’t gone her way.

Without asking, Penny helps herself to their food, moaning as she stuffs a spoonful of that same fried rice into her mouth. “If I wasn’t wearing this dress, I would a hundred percent finish this whole thing.”

“You can borrow some clothes,” Y/n offers. Her friend pretends to contemplate, but she’s the first one to stride over into the master bedroom. 

Y/n pulls out a fresh pair of pajamas, and when she turns around, her mouth quirks in a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Under Penny’s dress is the daintiest set of red lace lingerie she’s ever seen. (And she has her fair share of lingerie since she knows it drives Jared wild.)

“Looks like you were in for a sexier evening,” she muses. She tosses Penny the set.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing,” she says. Y/n isn’t quite sure what she means by it, but smirks, nonetheless.  

“Now...” Penny pulls her hair through the hem of the borrowed shirt, “let’s finish off that food, shall we?”

Jared doesn’t say anything when they get back, either too consumed with his egg rolls or not wanting to interject himself into the conversation. Y/n simply kisses him on the cheek as she settles back into her meal. 

She glances at Penny for a moment, and her curiosity becomes overpowering. “Okay, so I wasn’t going to ask, but I feel like I have to now,” she explains. Penny cocks a brow at her. “What happened tonight.”

“He cancelled last minute. I was already at the damn restaurant when he texted saying something came up.” She stabs a piece of orange chicken. “It’s a bunch of bullocks if you ask me.” Typical Penny. It wouldn’t be fair to say that her friend is prone to trust issues, but it does take a little more effort. Ever since Harry had broken up with her back when they were seventeen, she hasn’t kept a relationship for more than a few weeks because she claims she doesn’t want to risk getting her heart broken again.

Harry Styles had broken her best friend’s heart, then disappeared to another country. Y/n hates him for that. She hates that he threw away all those years of friendship without a proper explanation. She hates that he abandoned her, especially when he knew how insecure she is about goodbyes. 

But not every guy is Harry. There are good ones that will stick by you no matter what, like Jared. Y/n reaches over and brushes his bangs away from his eyes. Penny just needs to find her person, and Y/n just knows that once she does, she’ll finally feel right.

“This is that Ahmed guy from the gym, right? I don’t know, Pen. He’s a decent bloke. Maybe something really did happen.”

Penny pulls a face, like she’s just oversaturated her food with soy sauce. “Wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s got baggage, and he won’t accept that he isn’t happy to carry it anymore.”

That last bit sticks to her. 

***

Her job requires her to have both a deep appreciation for art and a mind for marketing strategy. It had been the closest compromise that she and her father had come to when she had started her plight for a degree. 

After spending the last of her year of secondary school having second thoughts about the plausibility of making it in the art world, she decided that maybe her dad was right, after all. He would tell her to be in charge, to take control of her life. That way, she’d never be blindsided by anything. She’s still around the world she loves––the canvas, the acrylics, the community of dreamers who share their passion with the world––just from a more business perspective. The more she reflects on those naïve teenage years, the more she appreciates the direction she’d took. She has the best of both worlds, in her opinion. A steady income, and a building full of paintings and sculptures and history. What more can she ask for?

“Y/n!” She looks over her shoulder, where Angelo, her assistant, waves some a sizeable file in his hands. He gives her a knowing smirk.

“Good news?” she teases.

Angelo hands her the file. “Sales report can confirm.”

She glosses it over, satisfied with the numbers. Looks like she’d inherited more from her dad than just his advice. “And they said Expressionism was dead.” Their last grand showcase had been an ode to the German Expressionism movement. They had drawn criticism in the days leading up to the event because some saw it as outdated. But that’s just ridiculous. Art is art. And while history remains in the past, it doesn’t mean that it can’t be appreciated. Y/n’s vision for the gallery is embrace both the old and the new.

“Degenerates,” Angelo rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Dax, Narsi, and I are thinking Damond’s for lunch. You in?”

She looks down at her watch, and curses under her breath. “Can’t,” she sighs. “I have to interview the new curator in a bit.”

“You work too much,” he says humorously, but they both know there’s truth stitched into his words. He gives a friendly squeeze to her elbow. “Bring you back sandwich?” 

“Please,” she smiles. He gives her a mock salute before turning on his heel. 

When he’s completely out of sight, she lets her lips fall into a frown. She examines her watch again, there’s still a few minutes until their scheduled virtual call. She uses the time to stroll the halls, something she doesn’t really get to do. Well, not for fun, at least. 

Things are currently in transition, and all of the Maximalism works are finding their way onto her walls. She stops in front of one in particular that just screams color. With its carefully planned, yet freeing mixture of patterns and textures, it’s a piece to tickle the brain. 

“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes widen. That voice. She feels everything from her body to her unsuspecting heart freeze.

Her grip on her own arm tightens painfully. She thinks she might turn blue from her inability to breathe at this moment. 

“I’ve always liked how much of the artist we can feel. It really captures the complexity of character.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I agree.” She risks all and looks up, and he’s right there waiting for her. Harry. Her arms drop to her side as she feels herself grow weak.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Hi,” he whispers, then smiles. That smile. She had tried so hard not to think about how it had once been her favorite image. His dimples have caved in deeper, if that’s even possible. And his eyes, they’re the same brilliant green she remembers. “I saw an ad in the paper and thought I’d check it out.”

Something must be strangling her vocal cords because she finds that she’s unable to make a sound. 

***

“And what did you do?” 

Y/n drops her head to the table, not even caring if it’s dirty. With the day she’s had, it’s the least of her problems. “I was in shock! I-I think I might have screamed at him.” 

Ava snorts into her drink. 

There’s not much about earlier that she can clearly recall, but she does remember how she had fled to her car and driven halfway across the city to her sister’s dorm and dragged her to the nearest pub. Why? Because she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Why would he just...show up?” she questions. “It makes no sense!”

“Probably got homesick,” Ava shrugs. “Plus, Dad says it’s been in the work–”

“Wait,” Y/n’s head snaps towards her. “Dad knows?”

The younger woman looks at her as if she were insane. “Duh, he’s the one that approved the transfer.”

“But why am I only hearing about this now?” She feels herself heating up with annoyance, anger, and something else that makes her want to pull her hair out. Ava doesn’t respond right away. She looks down at her now empty drink and watches as the ice cubes into water. 

“Well,” she starts, still not bothering to meet her eyes, “ever since he left, he’s been a bit of a taboo subject for you.” 

Her jaw tenses at that, and she sits back in her chair. That’s a bit of an overstatement. Y/n had reacted the way any person would have if put in her situation. She huffs with frustration. “So, what else is everyone hiding from me?”

“This isn’t an intervention, enough with the dramatics,” Ava says.

Y/n’s lips form into a straight line. She looks over the bar and tuts her tongue. “I need another drink,” she mutters. “Where the heck is Penny? She’s supposed to be working tonight.”

***

After Ava had started going to school in the city, her dad had decided to move into the London office full-time in order to be closer to both his girls. And lucky for Y/n, he’s just close enough to get information out of. She visits her dad during her lunch break because she needs answers.

“Dad, we need to talk,” she demands, bursting through his office door without any regard for just about anything. “Explain to me why...”

Matthew Y/l/n tilts his head at her with a raised brow, and the person sitting on the opposite side of his desk has an expression to match.

“Perfect,” she sneers. “We’re all here, then.”

She nearly loses it when Harry choke down a laugh while getting up and offering her his now empty seat. She takes it, but not before she glares at him and his stupid face. 

Her dad looks like he’s been caught in a crossfire, and he calculatingly smooths down his perfectly ironed tie. Harry takes the seat beside hers, except he makes a point to pull it a few inches away.

“So...” her dad practically sings. “Harry’s back!”

“I can see that.” From the corner of her eye, she sees a smirk. “Why are you even here?” 

Harry doesn’t seem offended despite the harsh nature of her tone. He chances a glance at her dad before turning to her. “Work,” is his first answer. He bounces one leg over the other and leans back against the back the seat. His expression softens. “But I guess I just really missed home.”

She thinks that’s bullshit. No decent person would leave everything behind without a second thought. “It took you ten years?”

“I did what I had to do,” he retorts.

“And that was to just disappear?” 

“This isn’t really the place nor time...”

“Then why bother coming back!"

That manages to crack Harry’s calm demeanor. He looks at her as if she had knocked the wind from his lungs. At this point her chest is heaving, as well. She forgets where they are and that her dad is a witness to this outburst. 

“I, uh,” they both turn to Matthew as he tries to find the words to appease the situation. “I was thinking we could all go out for dinner later?” He’s joking, right? He smiles as her, but with that ‘I’m your father and you don’t have much of a say in this’ look in his eyes. “How about you and Jared meet us around...say, seven? Hey, you know what? Bring Penelope, too!”

“Pen–”

Matthew swivels in his chair and practically hops to his feet. He leans down and kisses Y/n on the head. “Got to get to a meeting. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s gone. It leaves her alone with the person she wants nothing more than to get away from.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. There are so many things she feels bombarding her all at once and there’s not one thing she can make sense of. Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s typing something on his phone. His lips are quirked up in an almost-grin, and she can’t help but feel miffed that he has the audacity to pull such a face in her presence when all she can do is glower. 

“I guess we’ll talk later?” he suddenly says. He slips his phone into his pants pocket. She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Like her dad had done, he gets up and starts towards the door. But before she can even hear it graze against the carpeting, he mutters one last thing. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

Her dress squeaks loudly against the leather of her seat because she must have turned too quickly. Their eyes meet, his are difficult to read.

***

“...and I’ve been trying to look for a flat, but the boss works me too hard,” Harry smirks over at Matthew. Her dad lets out a hearty chuckle as he finishes off the last of dessert.

“Well, if you’re really that overworked, it’s not at all obvious,” Penny says with a saucy smile. “Definitely still a catch.” She touches his arm, and Y/n digs her nails into her palm because it makes her feel sick. It’s ridiculous that she’s so bothered by how quickly conversation had flowed between Harry and Penelope. 

Jared has an arm around the back of her chair. He looks bored with the conversation. She can’t tell if he’s irked at Harry (in the same way she is) or because he sees how much her dad likes him. That’s not to say that Jared isn’t well liked by Matthew. He did get his blessing to propose, after all. Yeah, they’ve been engaged for a while now. But so, what? Long engagements are common enough, and it does allow the two participants to fully get to know one another, as well as get close to the important people in their lives. Things just aren’t as smooth between her dad and Jared as she would like, but she supposes that’ll ease over with time. 

“I wouldn’t let my current appearance fool you,” Harry snorts.

“Is that a challenge?” Penny bats her lashes at him. 

Y/n can’t take it anymore. “So!” she interrupts, “Pen, didn’t you go out with that Vogue photographer last night?

Her friend gives her an odd look, but when she sees the rest of the table’s eyes on her, she waves it off. “Oh, yeah. But it didn’t end how I would’ve liked.” She gestures between her legs. “He had a little trouble getting it up.” 

“Penelope Swanton,” Matthew warns, as if she might give him a heart attack. “Parental unit sitting right here.”

Everyone shares a laugh except for Y/n and Jared. The latter just stares at the tablecloth with vague intensity. It’s strange that he hasn’t made a quip all night. He’s usually the one who talks the most...well, besides Penny. 

“Maybe pretty girls scare him,” Harry chuckles. “It happens to the best of us.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in Penny’s eyes. “Do I scare you, Harry?” 

“COFFEE!” Y/n all but screams. “We should order coffee!” She can’t just sit there and watch her friend make the same mistakes all over again. It would be a serious miscarriage of justice is she were to let that happen. 

But she can only stall for so long, and before she knows it, they’re all making their way out of the restaurant. It’s that awkward phase of standing outside and making small talk before someone has the balls to leave. Harry offers Penny a ride, and Y/n has to watch as they get into his car, laughing like he hadn’t broken her heart all those years ago. 

Jared still seems to be in a mood as well, but he plays it off and tells her he’s got a stomachache from the scallops he had as an appetizer. She rubs his back as they wait for the valet to bring their car around, glaring at Harry’s taillights before he turns onto the road. 

***

Y/n manages to not think about Harry for a few weeks. With the newest exhibit opening up, it’s kept her body and mind busy. By the time she gets home, she’s tired and all she wants is to put her feet up and watch reruns of Downton Abbey.

The doorbell rings, and she can’t help but groan because she was just getting comfortable. She looks through the peephole, then shakes her head knowingly. She pulls the door open.

“Don’t you have work?” she asks playfully, but she wishes she could take it back when she sees the broken look painted across Penny’s face. “Oh my god, are you alright?” She guides her friend into the apartment and sits her down on the couch.

Penny suddenly bursts into tears, her face falling into her hands as though she were hiding her shame. Not wanting to distress her further, Y/n gathers her in her arms and lets her cry it out. They’ve been through a lot together, and in all their years of friendship, she’s never seen her look so somber as she does now.  

She strokes her hair, whispering her reassurance even though she’s left in the dark. Penny breaks from her hug and wipes her eyes with her knuckles before looking at her with misty eyes. “I’m...” but she starts blubbering, and nothing coherent can be understood. Y/n waits patiently until she can speak. “I’m pregnant.” 

Y/n feels the color drain from her face while her head fills worry. She can’t decide who she’s worried more about, Penny or her baby. Penny is an adult is capable of making her own decisions, but she can also be reckless. She can barely pay her rent on time and her work schedule isn’t the best either. A baby would mean growing up, but Y/n knows that Penny’s still trying to figure things out. 

Then, the inevitable question bubbles in her throat. “How far along?” Penny sniffles. “About six weeks.”

Y/n feels awful that the first thing she feels is relief. Not Harry’s. “And the father?” 

“I can’t tell him,” Penny cries, she lays her head in Y/n’s lap. “He’s...he has a...” She doesn’t need to finish that sentence for Y/n to understand.

“Penny...” her tone is every bit of disappointed. 

***

She accompanied Penny to her first appointment to the OB-GYN this morning, and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had been enough to drive both women to tears. It was beautiful, and the look in Penny’s eyes said all that they could. Sure, Y/n had worried about her when she first learned of the pregnancy, but that had immediately changed with just that one look. 

One day, Y/n hopes to have children of her own. She and Jared have opened up the topic a few times, but they never seem to be on the same page when it comes to starting a family. He claims it’s because his job’s hours are too crazy to juggle an infant. He’s the physical therapist for the National Football team, which means he has to go with them on away games. Deep down, however, Y/n thinks he’s afraid that he’ll end up the way his father did. She wants to tell him that’s ridiculous, but she always has to walk on eggshells about that. 

It’s okay, though. Until she and Jared can come to an agreement, she has no qualms over spoiling her new niece or nephew. Auntie Y/n. She likes the sound of that. So much, in fact, that she finds herself outside of a baby boutique on the high street. She wonders if Penny will be having a boy or a girl. 

“So cute!” she smiles to herself when she sees all the onesies on the mini mannequins. Would it be too early to plan Penny’s baby shower? She’s so lost in hypothetical party planning that she doesn’t notice see body before they collide, and warm liquid misses her shoes by mere centimeters. 

“I’m so sorry!” she rushes out an apology. There’s an unflattering brown stain on his otherwise perfect white button-up. She grabs for her wallet in her purse, hoping to at least pay for the damages, but stops when she gets a good look at him.

“You.” 

The world must really have it out for her. Harry looks down at his tainted shirt. “Nice seeing you too.” 

“Sorry,” she says again. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Head in the clouds?” he muses, shaking his sleeve of the last remaining drops of coffee.

She smiles tightly. “Just window shopping.”

He looks at the store in front of them, and his head snaps towards her. “Are you...?”

“No,” she replies immediately. “A friend of mine.”

For some reason, his shoulders seem to relax. He’s still incredibly handsome, though she never doubted that that would ever change. Under his wet shirt, she notices a sizeable few tattoos inked onto his chest. The sight intrigues her, and she has to stop herself from reaching out and tracing them with her finger. 

“Let me pay for your dry-cleaning,” she says, tearing her eyes away from his body. 

Harry shakes his head. “There’s no need, honestly. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” She really doesn’t want to be in his debt. “I’d feel better if I could make it up to you somehow.”

“No, really. It’s fine.” Why is he so stubborn?

“I insist.” 

He studies her for a moment. She imagines that she can see the gears turning as he thinks. 

“I’m actually on my way to a viewing, and well...I’m not really sure what to look for.”

She replays his words in her head. “So, you want me to...help you pick out an apartment?” That can’t be right.

“My car’s just over there,” he points with his chin. “What do you say?”

Alarms are sounding in her head, each one screaming a different command between her ears. A part of her is saying it’s a bad idea, that she should stand her ground and stay mad at him because of what he had done. On the other hand, the rest of her––the biggest part of her––wants to indulge in the feeling she has when she’s with him. It’s a crazy mix of fury and joy that isn’t entirely unbearable. 

“Fine,” she concedes, and she brushes past him and starts towards his car. “But only because I feel bad about the shirt.” She doesn’t dare look back. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles herself in. Her stomach is doing cartwheels beneath her high-waisted pants. 

Harry gets into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the engine right away. He pulls his jacket off and places it neatly on the console. What he does next makes her regret getting out of bed this morning. Her mouth dries as he undoes every button of his shirt and reveals the tattoos she’d been fantasizing about earlier.

“Do-do you mind?” She feels her cheeks heat up, and she turns to the window in hopes to find a distraction. 

“Well, I’m not going to talk business looking like I’ve just been bullied by a barista.”

“That’s completely beside the point!” 

“Well, you can look now, Mother Teresa,” he says smugly. She hesitantly cranes her neck back. He’s now sporting a similar shirt, but this time, it’s dark grey. “See?”

She huffs, then mutters something under her breath. He smiles at her, like he’s just dying to tease her, but ultimately decides not to. She just glares straight ahead.

“Just drive the damn car.”

***

“And this unit is complete with its own balcony which overlooks the Thames,” Mariette, Harry’s real-estate agent says to the both of them. “It sets the mood nicely, don’t you think? And it happens to be very popular with our younger couples.” She sends them a not-so-subtle wink. 

Y/n feels herself flush, and she ducks into the kitchen and pretends to inspect the marble countertop. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to be paying that much attention, or if he is, he’s really good at hiding his own embarrassment. Y/n wonders if he’s just humoring the over-zealous agent. After all, he was never the type to correct someone over silly little details. 

Mariette tells them to walk around, get a feel for the place, before excusing herself to make a phone call. Y/n follows Harry up the stairs where all the bedrooms are. There are three, and the master bedroom has its own ensuite toilet and bath.

“What do you think?” Harry asks her.

She glances at the view from the window. It’s beautiful, gorgeous even. The building itself is in one of the nicer parts of town, where the congested London traffic wouldn’t take away from its overall aura. She can already picture him spending the mornings on the balcony with a cup of tea and a book or passed out on a king-sized mattress in the bedroom after a long day of work.

“It’s nice,” she answers truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”

Harry looks at her like she’s spewing nonsense. “I asked for your input, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But at the end of the day, it’s your home. Not mine. You might not even stay around long enough to enjoy it.” The look on his face when she lets that last part slip out makes her wish she had just shut her mouth. She leaves him in the bedroom and heads into the hall. She needs to get away. Why couldn’t she have just given him a simple answer? Why does she continue to open up old wounds that she knows she’ll never be able to close? 

Before she can get far, however, his fingers curl around her shoulder. He swallows thickly behind her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Until now, he hadn’t apologized. She hadn’t expected him to, and now she isn’t sure how to take it. This should vindicate her, but all she wants to do is curl up and close herself off from the world, even for a little while.

She looks down to her feet, and as though on cue, her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her hand quickly lands on her mouth to muffle a sob.

He turns her towards him, holding her by the waist. In a split-second, she’s wrapped in his arms. She tries to pull away, but her body is too unwilling to lose his familiar warmth. 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” she whimpers against his shirt.

His chest heaves. “Because if I did, I’d never be able to leave.” His words shake her.

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “But what about me?” she asks. “Harry, you were my best friend, and you just treated me like I meant nothing to you.” It made her feel like nothing. Apparently, she’s an easy person to leave behind. First it was her mother, then the person she trusted most. She couldn’t tell you which had broken her more.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” 

Scoffing, “A bit late for that, no?”

“Then let me make it up to you,” his plea is coated with desperation. Every bit of him shines with sincerity that she wishes she could ignore. His touch burns her through her clothes like blue flames. Body and mind are rekindling, and now that she remembers what it feels like to be close to him, she can’t see a version of herself that doesn’t want him back in her life.

“I don’t know if I believe in second chances,” she says softly. His grip on her loosens substantially, and there’s a sudden fear that he’ll let go. “But,” she continues, “you’ll be my first.”

It’s a bone-crushing, heart-enlarging hug, and it leaves her feeling happier than she’s felt in a long time.

***

They’re not the same two kids who would spend every waking moment together, but this is the closest they’ll ever get in adult life.

Harry visits her on her lunch breaks and lets her bounce marketing strategies off of him whilst they walk the gallery. Just like her dad, he has a well-versed business mind. It feels good to be able to talk to him again. It’s like a part of herself has risen after years of sleep and is finally seeing the light of day. Under the fancy suits and numerous tattoos, he’s still the same guy who can listen to her talk for hours without fail.

She’s even had him over for dinner at her and Jared’s place. At first, she was afraid that things would be tense between the two of them, after all, Jared hadn’t talked much during their dinner nearly a month back. To her delight, however, they seemed to pick up where they left off, and spent majority of the night talking sports and all that ‘man’ talk that she can never be bothered to understand. 

If a month ago she had felt empty, she can proudly admit that she’s starting to fill up.

***

When Penny announces that the baby is a girl, Y/n is probably the most excited. She visits the baby boutique she’d been browsing some days ago and buys a rubber duckie onesie with a matching headband, along with four other matching sets.

“You really shouldn’t have to go through all the trouble,” Penny scolds her.

Y/n waves her off. There shouldn’t be any of that nonsense. She likes being able to spoil her best friend’s future child. “I want to. Just humor me, okay? I’m aiming for Auntie of the Year.” She lays all the rest of the outfits on Penny’s sofa.

“It’s true,” Harry adds. “She’s already had the bib made.” Y/n flips him off but is far too delighted by all the pretty patterns to come up with a proper retort. Rather, she tries to sweep Penny into conversation about a real baby shower (and not just the one she’d planned in her head), discussing potential guests and a wish list that she should start setting up on Amazon.

Jared and Penny give each other a look, and the way the former’s jaw tenses doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry but completely goes over Y/n’s head.  

***

“Why don’t you put any of your own work on display?” Harry asks her one day.

“Honestly?” she sighs, “I haven’t actually made anything in...well, almost a decade.”

His jaw drops. “I don’t think I heard you right, a decade?” 

The same amount of time you’ve been gone, she thinks to herself. Of course, now that they’re back to being friends, she would never say it out loud. 

***

Nan had called her up and asked if she and Ava would drive up to Holmes Chapel and help her sort out all the things to donate. They try to visit their grandparents every few months because they are getting to the age where they won’t be around for long. Although, Nan will tell anyone with ears that she’s stronger than she was in her twenties due to her weekly spin classes at the community center. Meanwhile, Gramps is still the same as ever. He still sits in front of the TV and watches highlights of games he’s got recorded on the DV-R, and accidentally knocks over Nan’s petunia’s when he backs the car out of the garage. 

Her childhood bedroom is also how she had left it. Sure, her teenage years had called for a bit of renovation, but underneath posters of her favorite actors and boy bands are the youthful stickers Nan had put up when they had first arrived. 

She rummages through her closet, throwing old clothes in good condition into her donation basket. There are even some that were never worn, and she debates whether she’d be able to use any of it, but ultimately decides against it.  

The top shelf is full of empty shoe boxes and other things she had carelessly thrown up there. Her old sketchbook falls open, face down, at her feet. 

She picks it up and is greeted by the same sketch that had won her first prize in the art show all those years ago when she was fifteen. Her fingers graze over the pencil lines, and it’s like being reacquainted with an old friend. She had spent months on this one drawing, and it had turned out to be her greatest piece to date (the actual painting is still being preserved at the school).

“You know, I always thought that boy looked like Anne’s boy,” Nan says nonchalantly. Y/n hadn’t even heard her come in. 

“What?” Y/n stares intently at the paper. “You think so?”

Ava practically skips in. “Oh, gossiping, are we?” She sounds just like Nan. Y/n can’t help the roll of her eyes. 

“I was just telling your sister about how that painting of hers up at the school looks a lot like Harry.”

“Is it not supposed to?” Ava seems genuinely confused. 

“I mean...it wasn’t actually based on anyone in particular,” Y/n says, feeling the need to defend herself. “It was just...something I envisioned in my head.” She turns back to her closet, leaving Nan and Ava to carry on their conversation on her bed. 

Reaching her arm up high, she feels around the shelf until she pokes something soft. When she brings it down, she can’t help but grin. Freddo. She had almost forgotten about him. After Harry had left, she had gone on a bit of a rampage, and any reminder of him had fallen victim to the trash or banishment to the top shelf.

Nan must notice her smile because she comes up and cradles her from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. “It’s funny,” she says, and Y/n looks back at her expectantly. “I also thought that you two would end up together, but I guess I was off by a bit, huh?” She kisses Y/n on the cheek and calls for Ava to follow her downstairs.

Y/n stares at the toy as though it held some sort of secret.

***

She’s lucky she’s home by herself––Jared is off at the pub for his and Sid’s weekly meet-up––because now she has time to unwind and be as antisocial as she wants. Work had been stressful, mostly because the exhibit is set to open next week. And really, all she wants is to be under her favorite blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and just be dead to the world.

Even though she thinks that, however, she can’t help but tap on her phone screen every few minutes. Sure, she likes the time alone, but she also likes being needed. Ava says it’s a control thing, but she really just prefers to be in the know. Lately, Penny’s been spamming her with messages and phone calls about the baby or sometimes it’ll be for a little reassurance. Of course, she’s more than happy to support her. It’s brave of Penny to tackle this alone. The baby’s father is completely out of bounds, so she’s told, and Penny says she’d rather her baby grow up with just a mother than in some dysfunctional setup.

Speaking of dysfunction, she hasn’t been able to properly think straight ever since her visit with Nan. What the elderly woman had told her hadn’t exactly shocked her, per say, but it did have her rethink some of the interactions between her and Harry. It’s ridiculous, really. They’d been best friends since she was eight and he was nine. They know each other’s ins and outs, likes and dislikes, what makes the other laugh and cry. They’re simply comfortable. 

Okay. Maybe there had been times where she thought that the possibility of something more was on the table, but that quickly proved to be all in her imagination. She had her boyfriends and he had his girlfriends. She fell in love with his cousin, and he dated her other best friend. Then he left town.

Then he left.

***

Abandoning her original plans for the night, Y/n finds herself at his door. 

“Hey,” he greets her, but his warm smile falters when he takes note of her appearance. “What’s with the look? Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, she’s too taken by the image of him and the way her heart feels like it might burst from her chest to comprise a full sentence. He doesn’t push her, though. He fishes into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a shapely object wrapped in purple foil. “I-uh, I don’t eat chocolate that much anymore, but they don’t have these in America, so I’ve been snacking on a few of these a week.” It lands itself in her hand. “Just like when we were kids, right?”

It’s a Freddo. A fucking Freddo. Her fingers curl around it.

“You once asked me if I thought that things should’ve been different,” she says. “What did you mean by that?”

Harry doesn’t answer. She tries again.

“Why did you leave, Harry?"

“It’s been so long, I don’t even remember.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She takes one step closer. He evades her eyes, like he’s afraid they’ll speak on their own. Her stomach tightens because it’s all starting to make sense. His words. That embrace. These feelings that have always existed between them. “You left because of me.”

It’s not a question, but a sure statement. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She slides a hand up to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. When he finally does, she’s sees it. And her gut says it’s not the first time. 

It’s heartache. 

She knows because she sees it every time she looks in the mirror. It’s taken her this long to realize it. That hollow feeling that’s been consuming her, it disappeared the day Harry Styles walked back into her life. Once the anger over what he’d done had subsided, she’s felt nothing but joy since. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She wants to scream. 

“You made him happy,” is all he says, almost regretfully. “I couldn’t take that away from him.”

“So, you didn’t even consider how I felt? Harry, I would’ve...would’ve–”

“And that’s why I had to leave!” He wipes both hands down his face in frustration. “We would’ve ended up hurting two people we cared too much about.”

“You don’t know that–”

“If I had tried to kiss you that night, would you have let me?” His gaze bores into her. 

Yes. The voice within her screams it over and over. He must already know her answer because he just smiles sadly at the floor. This is why he had done it. He knew that if he had stayed any longer, it would have only been a matter of time before they gave into each other. 

It makes her sick. 

“I figured if I just took myself out the equation, the rest of you would be spared the heartbreak.” He sighs. “And it worked. You and Jared are about to start a life together, Penny’s got her baby. You’re happy.”

She wants to counter him, but she can’t find the strength. “What about you?” she whispers instead.

He tilts his head to the side. “I came back to prove to myself that I could be happy for you.” His jaw slackens, and he doesn’t continue.

She’s toe to toe with him. “And are you?”

The next thing she knows, her back is against the wall, and her fingers are tangled in his hair. His lips feed her, makes her blood come alive like she’s never lived until now. She kisses him with everything she has. Every drop of anger and every ounce of emotion that burns through her veins. His hands keep her body as close to his as possible, yet, they feel so gentle as they caress her curves like she’s made of glass. It feels so right.

And it shouldn’t. 

Just as sudden as it had started, she pushes him away. He doesn’t fight her. Without another word, she leaves his apartment.

*** When she makes it home, Jared is about to get ready for bed. She drops her clothes to the floor, and his soon follow. They fall onto the bed, his teeth gnawing down her jaw while his hand slides down to cup her heat. He asks her if she’s ready once his member is nudged against her opening. She nods, and he pushes into her, just as he’s done many times before.

She tries her best to focus on how good this should feel to have him inside of her, but the more he moves, the more she feels like this is all a mistake. It feels all too similar to when she had given him her virginity. It happened the night after Harry had skipped town. She was upset and wanted to feel something aside from the pain he had caused her. Jared had been there, and things had soon escalated. But it didn’t feel right. Her heart wasn’t in it, and so her body couldn’t give itself the relief it had been searching for.

It hasn’t felt like that since, or maybe she had gotten better at hiding it, just as she’s done with everything else. She had hoped that sex with Jared would put her mind and her heart back into perspective, but instead, she feels even more helpless.

One kiss with Harry had meant more to her than any of this. It fills her with shame because shouldn’t want to be with anyone except Jared, especially when all he’s ever done is love her. 

She doesn’t realize it’s over until he rolls off her with a content sigh, then stumbles into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, and it’s then she feels the tears start to fill the rim of her eyes. Her thighs clasp together as her humiliation fully sets in. She turns on her side and covers her naked body with the blanket that had been pushed to the foot of the bed. Jared returns minutes later, mumbling a goodnight. If he has something else to say, he doesn’t. It takes to the count of five for him to drift to sleep. 

***

“I need to cancel the engagement,” she says. Ava gives her a circumspect shrug of the shoulders, like she’s trying not to say the wrong thing. Y/n turns to her, hands twiddling the fingers in her lap from stress. “What do you think I should do?”

Ava looks at her, the pity is obvious on her face. “I don’t know, sis.” She rubs her back. “Are you going to tell Jared about you and Harry?”

“I have to.”

***

She doesn’t have the opportunity to talk to Jared until the night of the exhibit opening since he’d been in Spain on a team trip. It’s eating her up, how she hasn’t told him yet, but at least by the end of today she’ll no longer be holding on to something so big. He had promised to come straight to the gallery once he landed back at Heathrow. His flight was set to get in two hours ago, so it’s only a matter of time now. 

More and more people are starting to fill the floor. Most are patrons whom she sees frequently at these events, but there are some new faces mixed in the crowd. She’s lucky that Ava and her grandparents are here to support her, especially when she’ll probably need them afterwards. 

“Hey, don’t look so nervous,” Nan tells her. “The place looks great. You know, I overheard that guy in the red Chanel that he’s interested in buying.” Bless her, Y/n thinks. Nan’s always had a way of diffusing the tension, even when she isn’t aware of it. 

“I’m happy you guys are here,” Y/n says, and she brings her friend in for a hug. 

Nan gives her a confused smile. “Of course, we’re here. We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she proudly declares, and she elbows Gramps in the ribs when he doesn’t contribute. “Honestly, try to look a little alive.”

“I put on a tie, didn’t I?” Gramps rolls his eyes, but then he sends Y/n a wink.  

“Where’s Penelope this evening?” Nan asks, scanning the room, brows furrowing. Y/n feels a sweat break out. She just hopes that Penny will understand when she finds out about her feelings for her ex-boyfriend. It’s been years, sure, but there has to be some kind of friendship code that prohibits this sort of thing. “And where’s that fiancé of yours? He should be here with you.”

“Probably just got stuck in traffic,” Y/n says, but honestly, she’s reveling the extra time she has to prepare.

Nan hooks arms with Ava and Gramps, and they walk the floor while Y/n greets a few of her guests. Her dad is one of them, no surprise there. He pecks her on the side of the head and lets out a perplexed sound as he gazes at all the art. 

“I feel like I should understand this kind of thing by now,” he muses, gesturing to the portrait of naked man made from duct tape and spoons. “Anything after 2003 is lost to me. I just don’t get it.”

“Are you proud of me?” Y/n shocks herself with the question.

Matthew looks stunned himself. “Why would you ask something like that? You know that I am.” He pulls her aside, so they have a little more privacy. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?” There’s worry in his eyes. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she appeases, “I just wanted to hear it.” Her dad doesn’t respond but hugs her tight. They stay like that for a moment, she’s always felt safe in his arms, until she feels them loosen around her. She looks up at him, his look somewhere else. When she follows it, her heart skips a beat.

“Harry!” Matthew takes his hand and shakes it. “I haven’t seen you in a full two hours!” 

The younger man lets out a slight chuckle. “It’s been unbearable. I just can’t keep away.” He turns to her. “Congratulations.” 

A nod is all she can afford. 

Matthew looks between the two of them, and their situation feels almost familiar. He coughs into his hand and excuses himself as he chases a waiter down the west wing. 

“Can we talk?” Harry asks her. 

She purses her lips to the side. There’s so much she wants to say to him, but she’s afraid of what she might do. 

Against her better judgement, she leads him into her office. She leaves the door open behind her in the off chance that things intensify. She doesn’t need any more guilt on her plate. (But she wishes he wasn’t wearing such a properly fit suit. It’s far too distracting for the seriousness of the situation.)

Leaning against her desk, arms crossed over her chest, she waits for him to speak. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It was both our doing,” she stresses. If you asked her who had kissed who first, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. “We just...got caught up in the moment.” I let my heart dictate my actions.

He looks hurt by her words but doesn’t press her on it. “I should’ve stopped it. I always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you, and when it happened, I...” He shakes his head, and she’s thankful that he’ll never finish that sentence. She’s already heard it in her mind. Hearing out loud would cause both of them too much agony.

“I know,” she rasps. “I can’t stand here and say that I didn’t want it, but–”

“you don’t want to hurt him.” She smiles appreciatively, though, sadly. In another life, maybe they would have a chance. This one doesn’t have a place for them. Even if she ends things with Jared, it doesn’t erase the fact that they’re family. She could never start anything with Harry without him getting hurt. It’s a matter of acceptance now. 

This must have been what Harry had been feeling when he had left. As much as it hurts to remember, she thinks she at least understands it better. 

“I need air,” she says, not wanting to entertain those thoughts further, “join me?” She grabs her phone from her desk. It’s getting late, and she’s starting to worry about Jared. 

They leave her office and start towards the back door that some of her staff use when they want a smoke. She usually avoids it for that reason, but it was getting too stuffy in there. Her lungs will forgive her if she takes this one moment to herself. Her screen unlocks, and just as she’s about to press on her fiancé’s name, Harry pushes the door open and she looks up as the evening breeze brushes her face and then...

“What the hell is this?” She drops her phone to the ground. 

Jared and Penny pull away from each other, but the space between them is nearly nonexistent. The latter meets her with scared eyes that soon begin to fill up. One hand covers her mouth as she chokes on a sob or maybe even fear, while the other clasps over her swollen belly. Y/n’s eyes drift down to it. It clicks. 

“Y/n...” Jared starts, he’s breathing heavily. “Let me–”

“That’s why you couldn’t tell me his name,” she says shakily. It’s directed at Penelope. “You couldn’t tell me because it was him.” The night Penelope had come over unannounced after her alleged date cancellation at the same time Jared had cancelled his own plans. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing.” And that’s exactly what she had done, and right under her nose. They’d have been sneaking around behind her back for months.

“We d-didn’t mean for it to get this far...” Penny tries to explain, she steps out from behind Jared’s shadow. The usually confident blonde has lost several inches of height. She says something else, but it’s like Y/n’s just drowned out all the noise. Her eyes still haven’t left Penelope’s stomach. 

She wants to hate her. She should hate her. But she’s just an innocent victim caught in her parents’ web of lies. Then she grits her teeth at Jared. How far he’s fallen from the pedestal she’d put him on. Now she’s certain that she had inflated his image in her spiraling guilt for having feelings for another man. To think that only minutes ago she was about to plead for his forgiveness for kissing Harry, when all this time he’d been fucking her closest friend. 

“Jared,” his name weighs like venom on her tongue, “I want you out of the apartment by tonight.”

She just runs. Down the alleyway, ignoring all the calls of her name behind her. Harry’s voice is by far the loudest. There’s a thud, followed by a scream. However tempted she is to look back, her legs have developed a mind of their own and lead her towards the busy sidewalk. The bright streetlights burn her eyes, but she doesn’t stop.

She keeps going until she finds the first empty cab. Getting in without a second to hesitate, she closes the door and tells the man behind the wheel to just go. 

“Where to?” he asks her. Her first instinct is to go home and lock herself in her room, but she realizes that she’ll probably have to confront Jared again, and that’s not going to happen. Her second and third options are still at the gallery, completely oblivious to all the night’s revelations. There’s just one other person on that list, so Y/n gives the driver the address. 

***

It takes less than twenty minutes for her to end up in front of a building with bright blue doors and window panels to match. She climbs the steps, one wobbly footstep at a time, but only hesitating once. Her knuckles curl at her sides, until lifting them up to knock against the heavy wood. Light from inside peeks through the curtains.

A woman appears in the open threshold, that faint light from inside creating a halo around her figure. She looks unreal, like something straight out of a storybook. Her ethereal face just as kind as Y/n remembers. It’s the most immaculate she’s ever been. 

Y/n feels herself lose the battle with the emotions she had managed to keep on leash from just one look from her. 

With a whimper, her mouth struggle with the words. “Hi, Mum.”

***

Grace sets her up in the guest room and supplies her with a cup of tea and biscuits. As she’s setting it down on the bedside table, Y/n can’t help but take note of her appearance. It’s been nearly twenty years since she had last seen her mother, but why is that she’s never looked younger? Her eyes no longer have the eternal vacancy that had highlighted her once slack expression. 

She looks happy. 

“Thank god I did the shopping earlier this week, huh?” Grace muses, opening up a new pack of biscuits. Each word to leave her lips feels smooth against her ears. “I’ve developed a bit of a sweet tooth in my old age.” Y/n doesn’t know if she appreciates her efforts to make conversation, but it does give her time to think about what exactly she wants to say. 

They drink their tea in hushed sips, like they’re afraid that any loud slurping might cause some offence. Y/n stares down into the contents of her cup, annoyed that it’s the perfect color. A part of her had wished that she could find something to fault her with. 

“So,” Grace hums, tapping melodically on the porcelain in her hands. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

Y/n barely lifts her head as her hands strangle the air with frustrated rigidness. “I’ve spent my entire life trying not to become you.” From her decision to follow her dad’s wishes, to keeping appearances for a relationship that she now knows was destined for destruction, she’d made every choice for everyone else. 

Grace doesn’t respond, but her mouth parts with a staggered breath. 

“I wanted to believe that I was happy. I wanted to do what you never did because I didn’t want to hurt the people I was supposed to love.” All the years she’d never confronted these feelings have ultimately resulted to this. “You broke us,” she says, staring her directly in the eyes. “You ruined every image I had of love.” The anxiousness that had put her through hell had to come from this. The truth is, she couldn’t break it off with Jared because she didn’t want to hurt him in the same way that her mother had hurt her dad. That’s it. She ignored every gut feeling that told her it wasn’t right because of the bitterness she felt towards her mother.   

“The choices we make aren’t genetic,” Grace says softly.

“Aren’t they, though?” she shrieks. She bounces to her feet and paces in front of the bed. “Penelope’s mother was the other woman, and now Penelope is pregnant with my fiancé’s baby! You ran away from your family because you couldn’t forget him.” 

By that, she means her mother’s new husband, the one she had left them for. It had been during her last year at university that Y/n had discovered the truth. He had been her professor for her art history class. She recognized him from a picture she had once seen in her mother’s jewelry box. She just hadn’t put two and two together until then. “And I...I can’t forget the person I’ve loved since I was eight. What makes us different, Mum?”

Grace holds her chin close to her body. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But tell me this. Why haven’t you planned your wedding?”

This causes Y/n’s pacing to cease. She stands at her mother’s knees, blinking rapidly. “How would you know anything that goes on with me?”

Her mother stands up as well. They’re about the same height.  

“I know it’ll make never make up for what I did but believe me. I’ve never stopped trying to be in your lives...even if it was from afar.” Her hand is shaking as she reaches up to cup Y/n’s cheek so she can wipe away her tears. “I was there when you won all your art shows back in school. I was there when you graduated university.” She’s crying her own tears now. “And I was excited for you when you got engaged three years ago.” 

Y/n doesn’t let herself give in. She pulls away. “It was supposed to be a long engagement.”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself?” Grace looks at her pointedly. Y/n’s bottom lip starts to quiver. Her mother grasps her by the shoulders. “Maybe that’s what makes you different from me. You stopped pretending before it was too late, you just hadn’t realized it.”

“Is that supposed to make me a good person?” Y/n challenges. 

“No,” Grace answers honestly, but she sighs with a small smile. “But it makes you a better person than me.”

***

She doesn’t recall ever falling asleep, but she can still feel her mother’s hand stroking her hair as she had laid her head on the pillow. The morning sun shines through the curtains of the unfamiliar room and greet her with slithers of light by her feet. Waking up here feels strange, but she’s experienced comfort that she hasn’t felt in so long.

The rug-lined steps make little to no sound as she makes her way downstairs. From the bottom, she can hear two voices talking in hushed tones from the kitchen. One is unmistakably her mothers, while the other is deep and manly. She isn’t sure how to make approach them, suddenly feeling self-conscious for having intruded. But soon enough, her mum catches sight of her and invites her to take the stool beside her. Y/n walks in, passing her mother’s husband, who smiles kindly at her. She had liked him as a professor before she had found about his private life.

“Good morning,” Grace says. “Lawrence’s just been to the bakery.” She pushes a box full of a variety of goodies. “Eat as much as you want.”

Y/n picks up a croissant and gingerly pulls it apart. She avoids how her mother and her husband gage in her every movement. 

“Did you sleep well?” It’s Lawrence who asks her. She nods. Lawrence and her mother share a look, and through their eyes they seem to converse. It reminds her a lot of how she and Harry had always been able to tell what the other was thinking without having to verbalize. Lawrence finishes up his cup of coffee, then circles around the island and kisses his wife on the cheek. “I’m just going to pop to the store,” he says. She catches the back of his head before he disappears. 

“I thought you said you had just done the shopping?” Y/n asks her mother. The older woman shrugs, continuing to pick at her breakfast. Oh. She sees that there’s apparently more to talk about. Y/n does in fact have a few more questions she wants to ask, if anything more than to talk to someone who knows what she’s going through. She takes a deep breath. “Are you happy?” The words feel awkward as they leave her mouth. Grace looks at her, questioningly. She nods towards the door. “With him?”

“Yes.” 

Y/n’s heart breaks for her father. 

“He’s my best friend,” Grace says dreamily. “I’ve known him all my life. Loved him about the same.” Y/n feels goosebumps startle her skin.

“So,” Y/n treads cautiously, “was he worth it?”

“There are things that I would have done differently when it came to you and your sister, given the chance,” her mother sighs, but when she looks at her with those eyes that are so full of light and what she guesses must only be love, Y/n gets it. “But otherwise I’d choose him all over again.”

***

She knocks impulsively on his front door, not caring if his new neighbors think she’s out of her mind insane. Her limbs are tight with anticipation, especially when she hears the scuffle of feet against well-polished hardwood. Harry stands in the open doorway dressed in a white t-shirt and black joggers, and an adorably confused look floating in his sleepy eyes. But when he registers her before him, it’s like he’d been hit by lightning and suddenly jolted awake.

“Has anything changed?” she asks, almost pleadingly. He just stares at her, frustrating her already exhausted nerves. She hadn’t come all this way after a rollercoaster of a night to not get an answer. “Am I...Am I still all that’s in...” And rests her hand where his heart is.

Her own heart leaps in her chest when his dimples emerge from his cheeks. He lays his own hand over hers, stepping towards her but also pulling her incredibly close. “It’s always been you.” 

And no words have ever made her cry out of shear joy. She laughs, or maybe it’s more of a wet giggle, before throwing her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a scorching kiss. Unlike their first kiss, this one is filled solely with everything they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel. He nips on her bottom lip, and her mouth parts and welcomes his tongue to explore every unchartered inch. He grasps her both her thighs and carries her to his bedroom. 

She can’t believe she’s gone this long without knowing his touch. Every movement of against her skin, and every exploration of forbidden pleasure makes her stomach coil and beg for more. He lays her down on his bed, his body hovering over hers like he’s afraid she might slip away. 

He leans in a little lower, and she gasps when she feels him hard against her hip. “We don’t have to do anything,” he gulps, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’ve been through a lot, and I just want you to know that–” but he doesn’t get to finish because she shuts him up with the fire in her eyes. She loves him for everything he is, even when he’s being selfless to a fault. 

“We’ve waited too long for this,” she breathes against his lips. “Let’s choose us.” 

A low throaty moan surges from of her as he grinds himself against her, sending currents of electrifying energy down to her aching entrance. Her mind becomes cloudier with his every caress. His hot breath against her longing flesh only intensifies her need.

“Please,” she begs, fingers working on the hem of his shirt. “I want you. God, please I want to feel you.” 

He chuckles softly as she whines, pecking her again. “Patience, love,” he teases. His lips glide down to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her inflamed body. “Show me where you want me.” 

Taking reign of his hand and guiding down the front of her front, she smirks at him. His pants become unbelievably tight as she lets him linger over her chest, her head falling back when the warmth of his hand flicks over her pebbled nipple. “You want me between your pretty little tits? Is that what my girl wants?” His girl. Nothing in this moment could sound so perfect than the words to have just left his lips. It’s enough for her to want to bring him in for another impassioned kiss, but she restrains, shaking her head mischievously as he squeezes gently on her breast. She leads him further down, his palm sliding down her abdomen. 

“Here.” She slots her fingers through the spaces between his and their tips graze the base of her dress, toying with the flimsy material until finally slipping beneath. He groans as his skin comes into contact with her pussy emanating all that delicious heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” She rubs against him just enough for him to feel her center through her panties, and he swears to her that he might come then and there. Wasting no time, she pulls his shirt over her head, only breaking their kiss to appreciate all the tattoos on his sculpted chest. When she’d seen them before, it had only been for a quick few seconds, and she’d been far too flustered to take anything more than a peek. But now she can’t help herself, and she lets her fingers dance across the ink, the point of her nails tracing over the edge of every design. She spends the most time on the moth, or maybe it’s a butterfly, she couldn’t say. 

All she knows is that something about it makes her feel at peace, like she’ll always be safe as long as he's there beside her. She tears her eyes away from his chest to find him looking at her as though she were everything that’s right with the world. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and she just beams, eyes looking back at him with such sincerity. 

He kisses the side of her mouth before descending along her body He takes his time, his lips pressing over every possible inch of her, leaving no surface neglected. Where his hands had been prior, he takes an erect mound in his mouth, tongue swirling around in through its covering. Each touch leaves her breathless, her back arching in intense anticipation the further down he goes. When his nose nudges at the bottom of her skirt, she lets out another frustrated whine, and he chuckles softly at how her abdomen sucks in as the stubble on his chin prickles goosebumps across her skin. 

“Please, just. . .” and the final remains of her inhibitions drain from the tips of her fingers and toes. “I want your cock inside me.” 

“Christ, you’ve got a filthy mouth.” And he tears her dress from her body and pulls her panties down her silky legs, leaving her completely bare before his eyes. From a pale green, the color of his irises darkens with a fierce and pounding desire. It sends vibrations down to her pussy and all she wants is for him to bury his face in her dripping arousal. She bites harshly on her lip once he licks between her slick folds. “So sweet,” he mutters, his lips slipping through the barriers to find her sensitive little nub. “I could just stay here forever.”

“Harry. . .” she gasps, fisting the sheets as her hips lift off the mattress. “It feels so good.” Her legs hang over his shoulders as he encourages her to ride his face until she’s begging to release all over his tongue. “Oh god, don’t stop.” 

One of his long fingers that had been drawing small little circles on the inner part of her thigh smooths over her damp skin until it forges its way into her glistening heat. The other hand moves down his own figure, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding past the waistband of his boxers. 

As the knot in her stomach twists with tremendous force, it pushes her closer and closer to the edge. He inserts another finger, the two digits piston in and out of her, working harmoniously with his skilled mouth. She screams out, her back arching to an almost impossible degree. It all becomes too much for her, bursts of light flashing behind her eyelids.  

“I’m gonna come,” she moans, cheek pressed deep into the pillow, eyes shut tightly to welcome the stars as she lets go with cacophonous convulsions. 

“That’s my good girl, come all over my tongue. That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

He climbs back up her body, a content smile awaiting him when their faces become level with each other. Another exchange of ardent kisses, and she feels herself tingle at the taste of her on his lips. Even after her orgasm, she already craves for another, but this time she wants nothing more but to feel him stuffed inside of her. She wraps a leg around his hip, the edge of her foot pressed against the side of his ass as she presses her core into his bulge. 

“I need to be inside of you.” He leaps off the bed to push off the last pieces of constrictive clothing. His cock springs free, flushed red at the tip and just desperate for her amorous touch. 

And he’s big, she had always had an inkling, but to see it in the flesh is a whole new sensation quivering between her thighs. “It’s so big,” her thoughts become vocalized. 

With his knees back onto the bed, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down lower, his elbows planking on either side of her. “Feel how hard I am for you?” He hisses as her warm hand wraps around him, her thumb swiping along a dribble of precum. She lathers him in his own arousal. “Think you can handle my cock?” 

She’s completely in awe, and her mind runs untamed with fantasies of how it would feel hitting that special spot deep in her cunt, every rigid vein carving its impression in her walls. “You know I can,” she dares him. 

“Fuck.” He kisses her deeply, his hand taking ahold of his cock and glazing it with the remnants of her last climax and gliding just between her wet folds.  “One last time–” he swallows hard as he pulls away from his lips, “–are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I...”

Their eyes meet, a wordless understanding worth more than any spoken language as she cups his cheeks. 

The entire length of him slides into her tight hole until he bottoms out, his balls pressing against her taut ass. She feels undeniably full, never having experienced such exhilaration in her life as Harry’s bare cock stretches her out completely. 

“Just slid right in,” he grunts, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. He bites down and sucks greedily on the spot until he’s made his mark. She gasps in mild pain, but it feels too good to know that she can finally be his. He pulls all the way out, before slamming back in with ease, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her walls flutter around him. “It feels like you were made for me” She feels marvelously tight, squeezing him for all he’s worth. All she can do is nod, her voice caught in her throat as his thrusts become harder and faster.  “It’s all mine now, your pussy, your lips. You’re all mine.” 

“I’m yours, all yours, Harry.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders. “God, your big cock feels so good in my tight pussy.” Nails dig into his back as they run down and carve crescents into his flexed and sweaty muscles. 

They move flawlessly in sync as she rises up to greet his every thrust with just as much excitement and fervor. Both their bodies are on fire, a pressure building up at their very core and threatening to unravel at any moment. His balls tighten, and he knows he won’t last for much longer. He looks down between them, his cock completely soaked with her with the most sinful sounds resonating whenever he pushes in and out of her delightful heat. “I love you,” he breathes into her ear, his fingers indenting into the plush of her hips. He loses any sense of rhythm he might have started out with, his movements becoming more and more urgent as he chases after his high. 

“I love you.” Her second orgasm fast approaches, she feels it thrill every one of her nerves as though currents of electricity were running through her veins. She’s so close, and her hand slips between their sweaty chests to rub desperately on her clit. Her head is spinning with an aspiration to reach the brink of ecstasy. 

“Come all over my cock,” he pleads as he pushes into her with incredible force. “Want to feel you come around me.”

And that’s it for her. A wave of pleasure crashes over her and she cries out with a high-pitched moan. Her legs hugging him so tightly that he barely manages to move. She rides it out, rolling her hips to feel him continuously poke that special spot. Soon enough, her mind is on a cloud, the rest of her body soaking up the bliss of the moment.

His movements only become more erratic, and the breath leaves her body once he releases inside of her. Hot white ribbons shoot out and paint her walls with the image of a sensational love. It warms her center, her lips turning up in a lazy smile as he remains within her even after the final drop has left his tip. Once they’re heaving chests calm to a natural pace, he collapses on top of her, arms willing their way between her and the mattress to gather her into a tender embrace. She scratches the back of his head and sighs contently.  

“To think we could’ve been doing that for,” and she counts the years on each one of her fingers.

Harry chuckles in between her breasts, then reaches up and plants a quick but sweet kiss to her lips. “How long are you going to be holding onto that one?” She pretends to think, her mouth quirking to the side as her brows furrow in contemplation. “Until we make up for all that wasted time.” 

***

“I got you something.” She looks up at him, her body still wrapped in his arms as they lay naked in his bed. Memories of what feels like another life flip through her head.

“Is this what déjà vu feels like?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you want it or not?” 

Smiling, she kisses enthusiastically and nods her head. He gets up, and she has to stop herself from frowning when they lose all contact. She sinks into the sheets and waits impatiently for him to come back. Listening to him rummage through his closet, then to the growling of her tummy–and she makes a quick mental note to ask him to order something for them in a while––she tries to relive every detail from the last few hours in her head. She didn’t know that sex was supposed to feel so good.

“You told me that you hadn’t drawn in almost ten years,” he states, making his way back to the bed, but this time, with a bag clutched in his hands. He places it in her lap, then slips between her and the headboard, arms going back to their initial position. “Maybe it’s time you started back up.”

Y/n opens the enclosed wrappings. Inside the bag is a new sketchbook and a carton of 9H pencils. She carefully grazes her fingers above them. There’s a feeling in her chest, like she’s just been reunited with an old friend. 

“But what would I even draw?” She’d lost all sight of that part of her life, and it seems unlikely that those creative juices will just come trickling back to her now. 

Harry kisses the side of her head, and she leans into him easily.

“Whatever inspires you.” 

It’s just that easy. She closes her eyes and reflects on what has always made her feel any bit positive. Ava and her bluntness; her dad and his sense of duty to his family; Nan and Gramps and their playful bickering; Nan and her proclivity for gossip; Gramps and his hatred for ties. All of them had been a comfort to her, even when she hadn’t realized it. They were part of what had kept her afloat.

Feeling Harry’s heartbeat press up against her back, she knows that she’ll never have to worry about drowning. She opens her sketchbook to its first clean page and lets herself be happy. 

***

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Jared says, offering her a modest grin. “I would’ve understood if you didn’t want to.” Penny nods beside him. Jared had texted her and asked if she would meet them for lunch, so that they could talk. At first, Y/n didn’t think that necessary. What was the point when it was all out in the open now? But with some convincing from Harry, she realized that she had to confront this.

“There’s no moving on if we don’t talk about it.” Y/n takes the seat across from Penny. She looks at the girl she’d consider a sister, studying her rounded and healthier features. Pregnancy looks good on her. “You look good.” 

Penny smiles thankfully. “So do you.”

They talk about everything, even the stuff that feels like it should hurt. But it doesn’t. Clarity exists where it hadn’t before. She tells them that about Harry, and apparently it isn’t much of a shock to anyone, which shocks her. Jared then admits to having had all these doubts about their relationship but had stuck through it because of his own insecurities. That had had hit close to home for Y/n. It’s somewhat of a relief that she hadn’t been the only one who felt that what they had was temperamental. 

“You were there for me when I was at my worst, and for that, I’ll always love you,” Jared sighs, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “But...”

“That’s all we were meant to be.”

He nods sadly, pulling back. His other arm is around Penny’s chair, and Y/n can see his fingers playing with the ends of her ponytail. 

Penny must notice this, and she quickly shrugs him away. “Sorry,” she mutters.  

Y/n shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she waves it off. “This was good. At least now we can all carry on with our lives.” She gets out of her chair. “Good luck,” she says to the both of them. Then she looks directly at Penny. “I know you’re worried about making all the same mistakes as your mum, but...” she smiles, “someone said to me that mistakes aren’t genetic. I know you. And I know how much you love your baby. Just promise me you’ll be there for her.”

With that she turns towards the exit. Before she can get far, however, she feels a hand grab her own. She looks back, and it’s Penny. Her eyes are teary, and her chest lifts erratically. “Do you think that...” she swallows, “...that you’ll ever forgive me?”

“Do I still get to be called auntie?” 

Penny lets out a stifled giggle. “Yes.”

Y/n touches her comfortingly on the shoulder. “Then, one day.”

She walks out of there feeling completely at peace with herself.

***

Two Years Later

The newest exhibit proves to be a hit. It’s smaller than its predecessors, this time only containing the work from a single artist. 

She and Harry walk hand-in-hand, greeting all of guests and just enjoying each other’s company. Gramps isn’t moping as much as he usually does, and she thinks it’s because Nan’s bought him a clip-on tie that doesn’t strangle him around the neck. Ava and Nan are gossiping with some potential investors, while her dad tries to apologize on their behalf. 

On the other side, her mum and Lawrence discuss color theory in relation to one of the spotlight pieces. She catches a glimpse of the civility between her parents when they catch each other’s eyes from across the room. 

“I think it’s the gallery’s best showcase yet,” Harry tells her and kisses her on the lips. “Really, I don’t see how anything might top this.”

Y/n laughs. “You’re just trying to get laid.”

Harry wags his eyebrows. “Is it working?” She doesn’t need to give him an answer with words, so instead, she pulls him by the lapels of his jacket and their lips meet in another sweet kiss. 

They stop in front of the piece in the very back, the one that’s drawn in the most viewers. They squeeze through the polluted crowd until they’re close enough to the front. He wraps his arms around her, and they both admire its beauty. 

Two kids laid out on the grass; eyes closed with content smiles on their faces. The sky above them, a product of their combined imaginations as well as the excitement of hopes and dreams. 

Below the canvas is a placcard with the painting’s information. 

Y/n Styles, Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies.

***

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

[elithesia-autem-danguarde]

DAI GYAKUTEN SAIBAN CHARACTER HEADCANONS (Part 2)

More headcanons I have, continuing with some main characters. Spoilers for both Dai Gyakuten Saiban games. You’ve been warned. Otherwise, have fun.

Sherlock Holmes

-With his antics, Holmes has gotten himself banned from at least 5 different restaurants all across London, all for different reasons. However, he’s never explained what these reasons actually are, since he enjoys the speculations that other people come up with. 

-Though he prefers not to talk to or about him due to them being distant, Holmes has an at least amicable relationship with his brother, Mycroft. Most people don’t even know he exists.

-When money runs especially tight, Holmes occasionally participates in underground boxing matches as a means of making income. Those who know about it (Iris, Naruhodō, and Yūjin) hate when he does it because he often comes home injured.

-Holmes is an atheist, saying his lack of belief in any sort of God comes from his years of investigations and seeing so many things happen to innocent people that led to him being cynical. This makes Christmas an interesting time at 221 Baker Street.

-Though he’s not comfortable saying it out loud yet due to not knowing his feelings on the matter, Holmes is very protective of Naruhodō and sees him like his son. He’s only ever confided in Yūjin about these feelings.

Iris Watson

-Iris is the best seamstress of the group, able to fix almost anything and even make clothes for people. She tends to give angry mom lectures to people if she has to fix their clothes for stupid reasons (so Holmes gets talked to a lot).

-To match with Holmes’s violin playing, Iris is gradually teaching herself how to play piano as a side hobby. She’s still learning, but can read music perfectly and has mastered some simpler melodies.

-Iris has a large collection of stuffed animals in her room that she loves. Meanwhile, the books in her room range from bedtime fairytales to complex physics textbooks.

-To save money, Iris is the hairdresser at 221 Baker Street, having acquired a decent amount of skill from years of practice. She’s the only one who can think of touching Holmes’s hair, and she’s also cut Naruhodō’s.

-Iris had a very strong immune system and practically never gets sick. The most she’s ever had to deal with are little colds, but she still handles them better than 99% of the human population.

Barok Van Zieks

-To absolutely nobody’s surprise, Barok has a disastrous sleep schedule. That being, he doesn’t really have one and will just sleep whatever amount he can on any given night. This can range anywhere between 2-7 hours.

-While he’d never admit it, Barok finds more things amusing than he lets on. He just restricts his emotional responses and wouldn’t be caught dead laughing about them unless it was something that really caught him off guard.

-Barok has a much higher alcohol tolerance than most people realize, which is why he always has so much at all times. However, his drink being spiked will immediately lead to drunk shenanigans and he’s noted to be very entertaining to watch due to all of his inhibitions vanishing while drunk.

-Though he doesn’t show it often, Barok is a skilled swordsman and hand-to-hand combatant. While he prefers to not show off these skills if necessary, but won’t hesitate to teach someone a lesson if he’s tested. It’s rumored taking a kick from him might rupture organs.

-Barok’s way of showing affection is through the smallest and most subtle gestures, as he’s not very good at expressing himself in words. However, don’t comment on it or he’ll punch you in the face.

[carnelianns]

(Ikesen and Ikevamp) Sorry if this has been asked before. But how about an MC who went back to her own time only to find out she was pregnant. How would the boys reaxt if she comes back somehow a few years later but with a young child she says is theirs.

im sorry for keeping u waiting this long anon huhu,, i only did the vamps but, if my askbox allows, i’ll come back to do the sen boys too ! i didn’t have a specific gender for their children so jus imagine the lil rascal any way u want

Napoleon Bonaparte

When you come back through that door with a fascinated child holding your hand, it’s him you meet first again, and the tears are already glossing his eyes over before you can say anything.

He literally has no words when you smile gently, saying it’s his. Napoleon swallows the bump in his throat before making his way to the both of you, holding the two of you in his arms for only god knows how long.

“I.. can’t wait to live my life with you both, nununche,” he mumbles into your hair, ears slightly tinged, only causing you to laugh at his adorable antics.

As a father, he isn’t very strict, and he isn’t all that good in child-rearing, either. But he tries — you have to keep reminding yourself of this when you catch them in a compromising position, usually when you see your child holding a foil with a goofy smile.

“Nunuche.. I can explain,” Napoleon says calmly when you first find the two of them — well, three; it seems Jean was in on this little practice, though he quickly bolted when he saw you — parading around the training room with the foils.

“Mamma, papa said he was the King! He teached me how to be King!” Your child exclaims, flailing the weapon around excitedly as your gaze only darkens.

“Well, you see, I meant emperor, but—” his words die down when he sees your unimpressed face practically dripping with the murderous intent he’s so used to fighting against on the battle field

Slowly kneeling down to meet your child’s eyes, you see him whispering something incoherent before the little one nods seriously, slowly putting down the foil.

Then, as if counting down ‘3, 2, 1′, Napoleon immediately hoists your child up in his arms, running out of the room as both his laughter and your child’s squeals echo throughout the halls.

“Napoleone di Buonaparte, get your ass back here right now!” You scream, running after them.

“3, 2, 1 — Vive L’Empereur!” The two of them scream back, before bursting into laughter. They’re always in sync. It’s exasperating.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

“That child is.. mine?” He asks, slightly jaw-slacked, pointing at the child that undeniably looks like him, if the identical beauty mark or violet eyes are anything to go by.

“Do you.. not want—”

“I never said that,” he instantly cuts you off, going over to kneel at the confused child. With a slight smile, in an attempt to hold his tears back, he manages, “So.. how was spending time with that clumsy mother of yours?”

Mozart doesn’t really know how to spend time with his child, though he’s clearly not opposed to carrying the little rascal around on his shoulders, or dragging the child clinging onto his leg around when stubbornness bites.

You often don’t know what he’s thinking whenever he spends time with your child, or the whole situation, but rest assured, he wouldn’t change it for the world, despite how he may look.

A clear example of this is when you once walked into the piano room only to see your little darling on top of the grand white piano itself, snoozing on top of a small comforter whilst your lover plays the soft tunes you’ve grown to love.

Shock holds you captive as you stare at the lovely sight, before finally trailing off, “Mozart..”

Without so much as glancing at you, he replies, voice hushed in a soft tone you don’t hear so often. The blissful smile on his face speaks thousands of words.

“I thought you were the only one foolish enough to let your guard down in front of me… It seems I was wrong.”

Leonardo da Vinci

He had an inkling the moment he saw the child sporting caramel eyes so similar to his own, tawny gaze regarding the large mansion with wonder.

And when you did reveal that the child is actually his, he only pulled you close to his chest, hoisting the little one up with his other arm.

“Papa has a lot of time to make up to you, doesn’t he?”

Leonardo is good with children, if it isn’t obvious. Not in your conventional dad way wherein he brings the child to school — in fact, he probably fell asleep in the hallway just when the two were about to leave — but he's awfully good at keeping his child entertained.

Running around the mansions, creating new inventions, learning a new language — sometimes, you have to remind yourself that this child’s father is literally Leonardo da Vinci.

A position you often see them in, however, is snoozing on the floor, probably near the library, your child a small ball curled into Leonardo’s arms and head in the crook of his neck.

“Again? Really?” You can only huff, though that doesn’t stop the small smile from spreading on your face as you brush the locks of hair out of your lover’s face.

“Cara mia,” he rasps out, cracking a bleary eye open and gripping your wrist softly. Then, he smiles, all sorts of soft and lovely and.. unguarded.

“You two.. are the best things that have happened to me.”

Arthur Conan Doyle

Arthur tries swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees you standing in front of that damned door, though to no avail as a tear slips.

He starts full-on crying when you say that you’re back for good and that the child is his, and he’ll have to be comforted by yours and your child’s tiny arms before he even plans to stop.

“Ah, crying like that on our first meeting… Don’t you think your fath — I’m a bit embarrassing?” He asks, sniffling as he musters a smile.

Your child giggles, blue eyes crinkling. “No! Mommy told me a whooooole lot about you, daddy!”

He has to stop himself from sobbing again.

Arthur wastes no time in making up for what he’s missed, and every single day is one you’d find the two of them either in town or messing about at home.

If not, then they’re probably just chilling in the comforts of his room, doing god knows what. The day you peek in to see what exactly they were up to was a blessed day.

Maneuvering yourself in a way that lets you see through the tiny crack of the open door, your jaw drops at the adorable sight of your child in a tiny deerstalker and trench coat far too big for his form, Arthur nodding with a serious look on his face.

“So, Watson, do you think crepes make mummy happier?” Your child asks, holding his magnifying glass up — one you’re sure is from Leonardo — like a mic in front of Arthur’s face.

He strokes his chin for a moment, before answering, “Seeing her reaction when we gave her the ones we bought yesterday, I deduce they do, Sherlock.”

“Good dedoo – deduck – deduction, Watson! I thought so too.”

Your heart literally melts. The two are far too cute for you, you having to calm yourself before walking in with the widest smile on your face. Dorks. 

Vincent van Gogh

When you meet those familiar, cerulean eyes from your place in front of the door, they’re already glossy in seconds, a flurry of emotions clear on Vincent’s face, though his smile says it all.

“Is it too much to say I’ve been waiting for you this whole time?”

Vincent would be practically wallowing in regret that he wasn’t able to be a part of his child’s life for the first few years, leading him to do any and everything that will cause his child to smile. In simpler terms, he’s basically wrapped around the little one’s finger.

He’s so adorable and happy that he’s blessed with your lovely child, and there’s an immediate smile on his face when he so much as thinks about the little blondie.

He literally makes the other residents question whether or not they want a child too.

Their bonding time is painting and, more often than not, it ends up with all three of you cramped in the shower, scrubbing furiously at the sticky paint on their skin.

“I’m sorry for having you do this all the time,” Vincent’s soft voice only makes you sigh in relaxation as he massages your shoulders from behind you, causing your fingers to halt in their journey of rubbing some blue paint off your child.

“It’ll take more than that if you wanna make it up to me,” you hum, leaning back into his chest and looking up into his bright eyes.

Your lips were just about to meet, when —

“Mam, I’m not clean yet!”

You groan, Vincent only laughing as you meet the crossed arms of your child pouting child.

“Don’t give your mammie too much of a hard time, okay?” He never forgets to take care of you above all, of course.

Theodorus van Gogh

When he first sees you after years with a child, his child, grasping your hand, Theo has to literally disappear to cool his head off because he’s angry.

Not at you, no, never, but at himself. That he wasn’t there for his child, for you, and god, even if he were, would he have been a good father?

“Hon — Schatje,” he starts, running his fingers through his already messy hair and staring at you with eyes that practically bleed insecurity, his voice breaking. “How am I supposed to take care of a child when I couldn’t even take care of you?”

After many reassuring words and gentle touches, Theo’s finally okay, holding up and scrutinising your child much like how he does a painting. He’s, well, awkward.

Theo is surprisingly very gentle with your child because he honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

He’s also very grounded and doesn’t fall for cute little tricks that much either, so out of the residents, he’d be one of the better fathers.

“Nee.” “Papje, pleaaase?” “No. Non. Nee.”

Your lover’s fixed refusal causes you to peek your head into a lovely picture. Theo was holding a chocolate bar high above his head, steely gaze fixed on your young child with his puppy dog eyes in full view.

“Je mama said no chocolate, right?” Your heart warms when you realise he remembered your scoldings, though you can’t help but to feel bad for your whining baby.

“Theo,” you say, both their heads turning towards you. “How about you give the little baby some chocolate and we all enjoy some pancakes, yeah?”

The way both their eyes shine almost identically is adorable.

Dazai Osamu

When you showed up again with the child in hand, one he knows is his, his first thought, first wish, is that for that tiny thing to not be his. Because no one knows how harsh this world is more than the man who wished to end it all, so much more than once.

But Dazai makes up his mind when he sees you and your — his child staring up at him with those eyes that look so much like your own. He makes up his mind, despite his own continuous suffering, that he’ll never let this child go through what he had to.

“Was I staring too much?” He smiles, slightly sad and, well, empty. “I suppose it’s because the little one looks far too much like you.” Bright. Too bright for me.

As a father, he’s surprisingly really good with children? He quite enjoys seeing your child smile more than anything, and one way he knows how to do so is by perching the little one on his shoulders, running around the mansion as his hands intertwine with small, tiny fingers.

You don’t know whether to yell at him and his close-eyed grin, or simply laugh at the resonating giggles of your child. Probably both as you chase the two down the halls.

Dazai often zones out whenever he’s playing with your child, a look you can only describe as pure bliss on those handsome features of his. As you stare up at him, confusion clear on your features, you ask, “Hey, Dazai, why do you.. Zone out so much? Whenever you’re with, you know,” you motion to the snoozing one in between the both of you.

“Why do I zone out, you ask?” He gives you a smile, a real one this time, and gently pokes at the little ones cheeks. “I think.. I’ve found a wonderful reason to live, is all.”

Isaac Newton

“That’s… mine??” “That?” “... It?” “It?” “The.. child?”

Isaac is very flustered, for lack of better terms. He can barely manage the children he and Napoleon go see intermittently, but his own child? Lord, help him.

He gets awfully flushed whenever he’s carrying his child around the mansion because even then, he isn’t spared by Arthur and Dazai’s teasing remarks — in fact, it only seems to have gotten worse.

Isaac is surprisingly good at getting your rascal child to sleep with his bedtime stories, which are usually all his unsaid rambles.

“And did daddy get that bruise on his forehead because he slipped while chasing Uncle Dazai and Uncle Arthur?”

Your child nods, bright eyes sparkling and toothy grin showing. “Daddy also said, ‘Get back here, you devilish imbeciles!’”

Your accusatory gaze turns towards Isaac, who averts his eyes, holding an ice pack to his bruising forehead.

“I-In my defense, they were—”

“One more time, Isaac, and I’m changing this baby’s legal godfathers to the two imbeciles you love so much.”

Gaping, his eyes widen to the size of saucers, “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He is now a grumbling mess when the two are around his child, but the lack of chasing them around with a stick in hand can be counted as an upgrade.

Jean d’Arc

When you walk through that door once more, nervously telling your lover that this child is his, you’re afraid of his reaction — after all, Jean is, despite his vampiric aging, barely an adult himself.

His jaw drops and he can’t stop staring at you nor the child with his inky locks, and you have to help him sit and calm down.

“Papa?” Your child asks, staring up at the still slightly panicked Jean as you hold your breath.

He stares for a moment, mouth wide, before finally, finally smiling, albeit a little awkward and rough around the edges. “Yes, little one?”

He’s extremely unaccustomed to this whole parent thing and can barely do anything without asking you first, so he feels bad quite often for having to lean on you so much.

Although he barely knows how to handle a sobbing child, nor can he entertain the child very well, you find that the both of them are quite content in each other’s presence as is.

Jean, well, looks ethereal as the sun shines through the windows in his room, a gentle smile gracing his face as he stares at his sleeping child.

He utters your name, causing you to look up, only to find him tracing circles around your child’s soft skin.

“Is this.. how it’s like to be happy?”

William Shakespeare

When Shakespeare wakes up to the news that you are, in fact, back at the mansion with a little surprise, he’s already there in no time.

He didn’t expect the little surprise to be a little child that’s practically an identical copy of him. But he’s always been more of a shoot first, ask questions later type of guy, so he immediately whisks you off to his manor, much to the exasperation of the residents who were surprisingly enjoying their time with the little Shakespeare lookalike.

Except he doesn’t really need to ask questions, because he’s already figured everything out through your soft, slightly nervous gaze, and your lovely little mannerisms.

“Alas, it seems the Heavens were kind enough to grant my wish,” he says as he stares at your child, only smiling to meet your confused gaze. “For I only wished you weren’t too lonely without my presence.”

William is always with his child, whatever the circumstances. Though he quite enjoys showing off his child, he’s also keen on spending his every waking second with the little tyke because he knows how it feels like to grow up lonely, and he wouldn't bestow that upon his own little one.

“Darling, it appears I has’t gotten myself into a slight predicament.”

If you could, you would have snapped a picture of your smiling lover practically itching to get up, yet unable to do so due to the sleeping child in his lap.

“And how did you get yourself into this predicament, my love?” You tease, your own smile on your face. He has a habit of reading his writings aloud, and it seems the little one fell asleep to William’s gentle voice.

“My works seem to be but a mere bedtime story to this little one,” he motions to the child, his smile softening. “I wonder why it does not dishearten me.”

Comte de Saint-Germain

“I was hoping you’d be back, ma chérie.” His perfunctory smile betrays the inner flurry of emotions inside him as he glances towards the child. “With a lovely little thing in hand.”

“Your lovely little thing,” you say gently, and the surprise outlining his normally composed face is something you’d forever save in your mind.

Comte is wrapped around the little one’s finger, his rotten spoiling being the effect of not being in your child’s life for a good while, and, of course, his indispensable regret for having you come back to him.

Many times have you asked Sebastian the whereabouts of your lover and your child, only for him to give you the look, responding that they were out yet again, and are probably not coming back without a few shopping bags in hand.

Then, to finally put a stop to it all, you decided to conduct a harmless experiment.

Placing a few coins on one side of his desk, a toy in the middle, and a beloved fruit on the side. After explaining to him that it’s to see what your child’s fate would be — picking between fortune, fun, and, well, snacks, you think — he simply leans back, interest shining in those eyes of his.

Unsurprisingly for you, your child pushes all these away in a second, opting to hug the wide-eyed man on the soft armchair behind the desk.

“And what.. does this mean, ma chérie?” He asks, honest-to-god confused as his hands slowly wrap around your child’s form.

You smile softly, “Isn’t it obvious, silly? The little rascal loves you more than anything.”

His eyes are suspiciously glossy before he laughs it off, preparing for yet another shopping spree — you regret everything.

Sebastian

He only gives you a knowing smile when you pass through the door with a young child gripping your hand.

“So.. this is the little one, is it?” He asks, tone soft as he walks towards you, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and meeting eyes with his child. “I’m a strict father, mind you.”

“Sebastian!” “I was joking. Slightly.”

Despite being a father, Sebastian is as strict and precise as ever around the mansion, rarely having to leave either his work or his family unattended due to his impeccable time management skills.

And if he struggles with both, well, he just has to merge them into one task, doesn’t he? Many are the times wherein the residents catch Sebastian working, his little runt on his tail or on his hip.

“They’re at it again, you know,” Mozart says in passing, only causing you to groan.

“Sebastian! How many times have I told you not in the kitchen?” You exclaim, walking into the kitchen to find your lover and your child tackling yet another chore together.

It seemed to be baking this time, if the flour on both of their faces says anything.

“Mama!” Your child exclaims with powdered hands as Sebastian says blankly, “We’re doing chores.”

You merely roll your eyes, sighing as you walk out the room. Your apology comes later when a sloppy cupcake makes its way into your view.

Your eyes move up to your proud looking child, hair obviously patted down in an attempt to look presentable while your lover sports a tiny grin on his own face.

“We made this for you, mom! Papa said he wanted to make you reaaaally happy.”

Sebastian’s head instantly snaps down, eyes narrowing, “Hey.”

You can only laugh at your two babies, taking a bite of the surprisingly good and sweeter than an average cupcake.

[tiger-moran]

47gaslamps said: Like, hello, mere mercenaries don’t get eaten up by revenge for three years straight.

YES

There are so many indications, some explicit, some subtle, in the canon that Moran was very close to Moriarty and that’s why he behaves as he does, even though they get very little written about them - Holmes calling Moran Moriarty’s “friend” and “bosom friend” explicitly, then the implication that Moran was cheating at cards to get money (so what happened to Moran’s money from before? Could he maybe have spent it all because he spent three years living off his savings while travelling around hunting Holmes down and paying others to be on the lookout for him?). And other elements too. And Moran doesn’t really have anything to gain by deliberately targeting Holmes like that, except satisfaction at killing the man who he actually saw shove Moriarty over the waterfall (something which he’s likely not only angry about but also probably actually traumatised by). Sure he’d be annoyed perhaps at losing his main/only source of income if he was just motivated by money but to be that obsessive about killing Holmes, it doesn’t make sense if the money was all he really cared about. And if Moran was just trying to take over Moriarty’s position as ‘criminal overlord’ or something surely he’d be more likely to dispose of Holmes later when they happened to cross paths, not have someone on the lookout for him and then try to murder him in his own home almost the instant he comes back to England, but it’s as if he cannot wait, as if he has been consumed by this desire for revenge for three years already and he cannot wait any longer. And I’ve said this before of course but a ‘cold-blooded murderer’ and someone who only cared about Moriarty’s money is not going to be “beside himself with excitement" on the brink of killing Holmes. Nor is he going to fall into an obvious trap which is very reminiscent of traps he likely has used himself for hunting game, unless he’s not entirely in his right mind, probably because he is so consumed with this desire for revenge that he just is not thinking clearly. 

I think Holmes did underestimate Moran’s regard for Moriarty once but he has realised it by then, and then Watson refers to Moran with words like “rage”, and says that “The fury upon his face was terrible to look at", and that doesn’t just suggest to me that Moran is simply angry at being caught, it suggests that fury is wounded fury, that he is absolutely devastated at not succeeding in killing the man who killed/tried to kill Moriarty, and that even Watson - whose view of Moran seems to be very distorted by his own pain - knows that Moran is hurting so much and that’s why it’s so terrible to look at. Moran is an experienced hunter but he’s not behaving like that at all, he is emotional, which isn’t just something that does not fit him being purely mercenary it’s also pretty unusual for a Victorian man as well. He is restrained in the manner in which he talks to Lestrade (who he seems to have no personal grievance with), but with Holmes Moran barely seems to be holding himself together. Nothing about it seems like ‘mercenary’ behaviour. 

And also, elsewhere in the canon there are characters who are seemingly consumed by a desire for revenge for the deaths of loved ones (not necessarily romantic partners always but certainly loved ones) - Jefferson Hope and Sophy Kratides for instance, and Leon Sterndale. The latter (which I addressed in a post some years back, here) is especially interesting to me because Sterndale is a “great lion hunter”, his first name even means Lion. Moran meanwhile is a well known hunter of man eating tigers and is referred to as being “wonderfully like a tiger himself”. There are very obvious similarities there between them and that may further suggest Moran’s motivation for trying to kill Holmes is very similar to Sterndale’s motive. And of course Holmes’s words in that story -  “I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who knows?” shows that even Holmes understands Sterndale’s motives for committing murder and he essentially says he might even do the same thing were a woman he loved killed. Also those words are often used to parallel his words and behaviour in The Three Garridebs, where Holmes says to Evans, “If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive". Since Moriarty is basically Holmes’s mirror and Moran is basically Watson’s mirror then that also even further ties that story back to Moran and Moriarty. That idea of avenging the deaths of loved ones is a theme that occurs repeatedly in the canon and I think that includes Moran. 

[moonyblackwerewolf]

Back to School Ch. 2 - Sirius Black

Betrothed Ch. 2

Sirius Black x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Sirius and Y/N meet at a family dinner and have some fun, later she finds out she is betrothed to some pureblood boy so Sirius comes up with a mental idea to save them both.

Warnings: Kissing, hints of sex, 'aggressive' parents, underage drinking, idk my writing and English? lol

a/n: so this is the second part!! i hope you like it!! :)

Xxxx

Ch.1 Ch. 2 Ch. 2.5 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch. 5 

When September first finally came Y/N was thrilled, she couldn't handle a single more day at that Hell she calls home, but that didn’t matter anymore ‘cause she was going her to her real home. She was excited to see her friends again, and Sirius too? No she couldn’t miss him, it was a one night thing, and most importantly Sirius Black wasn’t one of falling for someone. He had slept with half of Hogwarts by now, but there was something about him that made Y/N feel butterflies on her stomach when she saw him.

Now, on the train, looking for a place to sit, after she talked with her friends that were in other full cabinets, she saw a familiar face, Sirius’, so she went talk to him, she was nervous because his friends on there too, but she had to go, it wasn’t like her sister would be happy to share her cabinet.

“Hey” she said making the boys’ attention drift to her “Hm, could i maybe sit here with you guys? everywhere else is full, sorry” she said timidly.

“Sure Y/N, sit” Remus answered sweetly patting the sit next to his. He was the only marauder that Elena had talked with before, besides Sirius, given the events from summer break, she liked him, he was sweet, helped her in class when she needed and unlike his friends, was quiet and seemed to avoid trouble. Remus being as observant as he was didn’t miss Sirius’ and Y/N’s glances at one another during the ride and the tension between them, even though Sirius looked more relaxed then her, something had definitely happened.

The ride was fine, Y/N met the other marauders, they talked and laughed. They asked about her friends and about her house, at first they were taken aback about her being a Slytherin but soon brushed it off, Sirius found out her brother was friends with his brother, which he thought was really weird.

“But how did they meet?” Sirius looked confused and quite amused “Isn’t your brother like 5 years older than us?”

“Apparently at an internship in the ministry, your brother worked for mine and they seemed to like each other” she laughed a bit “weird isn’t it?” Sirius chuckled a ‘isn’t it’ as he started making fun of his little brother 

“Young ambitious Regulus, trying to impress the big guys, and he’s only in fourth year”

As the mountains outside started showing and the clouds covered the sky, they knew they were soon arriving at the castle.

“And then my brother looked at me and… BOOM he lift me, hung me up in his shoulders and starts heading to the my father” Everyone laughs “A-And” she couldn’t stop laughing “-so i grabbed his arse and he accidentally threw me in the pool. That was the first time I saw my brother laughing in years, for a change” James was the most amused one with the story.

“Wait, wait” he couldn’t hold his laughter “You’re telling me you grabbed the old Slytherin cocky head boy, your brother’s, ass? And that he threw you in the pool, that’s on my new to-do list, but the pool will have to be replaced by the Black Lake, you Watson, are a genius” Y/N didn’t remember the last time she had that much fun with her friends, it was a good feeling being there with the boys, she wasn’t her usual shy self and she liked that.

  Sirius felt something weird in the pit of his stomach when he heard her laugh, he didn’t know exactly what is was. They had a lot of fun, the boys liked Y/N, at first they thought she was a bit snobby but then realised she was pretty nice when she played along with James’ jokes and teasing.

When they could already see Hogwarts in the horizon, Y/N’s friends Elizabeth Greengrass and Katherine Abbott two tall blonde girls showed up, already on their Slytherin robes. “Come on Elena stop fooling around and let's go, we cleaned up our cabinet, now there is a free space for you” Elena looked at them a bit confused.

“What do you mean you cleaned?” She asked.

“Oh” her friends laughed “we sent that mudblood friend of yours Carla is it? to a Hufflepuff cabinet” The boys and Y/N looked at them in shock as she got flustered by her friends’ words.

“Oh my god?! Look, guys i’m sorry” she said apologetically, turning to the marauders “I have to go, but thank you, i enjoyed spending time with you” She said as she stood up to leave, when she left they could hear her scolding the two girls, before their voices faded away.

After she left, Remus took his opportunity and asked “What was that Padfoot?” Sirius frowned at him, so he continued “Y/N, you two kept glancing at each other when the other wasn’t looking. Please don’t do that to her she’s my partner in DADA and a nice person” he looked concerned.

“Oh, that was nothing” this time remus was the one who frowned, as James and Peter, as observant as rocks listened to the conversation with curiosity, “Relax Moony, we met over summer break at a party at her house, nothing much, you know me” Remus frowned again and Sirius sighted “We ran away from the party and explored the house, that’s it” making Remus run his hands over his face.

“You’re hopeless” 

James laughed hard, clearly thinking his friend’s explanations hilarious “Padfoot we know you don't explore houses without ulterior motives, what’s up with you? Usually you don’t try to hide your one night stands from us” He knew Sirius better than anyone else. “But by the way Pads, she’s hot, nice and all, but isn’t she like, a blood purist like your parents?” 

“No” he gasped “She’s not” he lowered his voice “she’s not like them and well you know, she couldn’t resist my looks”

“Ok, ok, sorry Pads I didn’t mean to insult your girlfriend, I like her, since she’s not a snobby purist” Sirius hit his shoulder and the boys laughed and continued talking until they arrived at Hogwarts. Remus’s suspicions growing at friend’s weird behaviour toward the girl, when he saw Sirius staring at her talking with her friends while getting on the carriage heading to Hogwarts and later on the great hall he stared continuously at the Y/H/C girl’s Y/E/C eyes sitting on the Slytherin table he despised so much, but something about her made him despise it a bit less.

“Quit the staring mate, it’s creepy” James pointed out as his friends brushed him off, continuing to eat his turkey.

Looking up from his plate Remus continues “He just can’t help it Prongs, he thinks he’s brother is quite good looking” 

“Oh yeah his Y/H/C feminine brother, you’re it’s just brotherly affection” Peter entered the teasing now.

“Oh shove it” Sirius mumbled hitting James.

In all the teasing the boys didn’t realise Y/N reattributing Sirius’ glances despite her friends’ scowls.

 ——————————

That week on her way to potions class, the Marauders approached Y/N, Sirius slipping an arm around her shoulders smugly.

“Hello beautiful, Potions too?” Sirius greeted her with a smirk on his face while James slipped his arm on her other shoulder, Remus and Peter stayed a bit back shyly waving.

“Yeah Y/N/N, how are you?” James asked teasingly, surprising Y/N.

She chuckled at the boys “What do you guys want?” James and Sirius put their hands in their chests dramatically.

“Rude. We were just asking” Sirius laughed.

“Ignore them Y/N, you’re free to go” Remus intervened sweetly taking his friends’ arms off the girl.

During the next few months they’d have talks in the corridor, eventually, during classes they shared together and Y/N helped them study, or tried to at least. She was surprised that the marauders started paying so much attention to her, since they never had before, she thought her night with Sirius wouldn’t change anything, but clearly that was wrong. They grew closer, she started helping them in their pranks and the boys loved her, she could handle with all of them, Sirius’ flirting, James’ jokes, Peter’s weirdness and Remus, well he was easy to deal with, the others weren’t but she liked them anyway. 

They later started to sneak her into the Gryffindor common room, they’d have talks about future pranks or just about their days and ideas. She even became friends with a few Gryffindor girls including a certain red head James had a huge crush on, Lily and Y/N bonded immediately, the girls shared a lot of interests, they understood each other perfectly, it was a friendship for life. James obviously always tried to persuade Y/N into getting a date, but she always gave him the same answer as Lily, no.

As Y/N’s Slytherin friends started to realise she was distancing herself from them and growing closer to the Marauders and Lily, they tried to talk her out, which made Y/N furious. However she couldn't just argue with them, it would be a matter of time until her sister realised, Diana usually kept her nose so high she didn’t even see who her sister walked with, she didn’t actually care, unless it involved her, but she wasn’t blind and would definitely tell to their mother. It’s not that she didn’t like her friends, she did, they were nice to her, but you couldn’t say the same for others, they still hated muggleborns, it was wrong to judge someone for their status, Y/N knew that, but even though she was conflicted between what was right and what her family wanted, she was scared of them and what they could do.

“You barely spend your time with us anymore!” Katherine stormed at Y/N “Only at night in our dorm room or when, and that’s rare now, you’re in the common room” she was angry and didn’t understand her friend’s liking for those pricks.

“Or in the classes we don’t share with Gryffindor” Elizabeth added “We miss you Y/N/N, Elijah does too” her face softened.

“I miss you guys too Betty” the words escaped Y/N’s mouth even not knowing if they were true. Nevertheless Y/N wasn’t planning on getting any closer to the girls, her solution to her doubts: just ignoring them.

In fact, after that conversation Y/N started spending more time with the Gryffindors, even sleeping there with them on the red couches by the fireplace after a long day or just talking for so long they would fall asleep accidentally, she and Sirius sometimes would end up cuddling subconsciously in their sleep, Remus would always notice when they woke up a little shocked but then just act like it didn’t happen after Sirius making a flirty comment, since the both friends had agreed to ignore the night they shared at her house, but secretly wishing it’d happen again, but they didn’t, it was just friendship right? but Remus and James saw right through their agreement, James teasing them endlessly.

“Padfoot do you take Y/N/N as your beloved wife” James sang grabbing both his friends’ arms.

“I do Prongs” Sirius joked.

“Brothers and Sisters, does anyone here has anything to say? It’s now or never” James continued.

“You’re such an arse James, why don’t you go look for Lily, so i can marry you with her too” Y/N hissed, laughing at the end.

“I’d love to” James accepted

“Good try” she leaves his grip, strong nails never fail.

She’d never admit but she loved their jokes, teasing and dumb comments, that are actually very smart, they are so funny and make her feel so happy. They were becoming her best friends and gaining her trust, which isn’t easy, as she was gaining their’s. It was a feeling she never had before, like a family she never had, the random talks at night, the real trust, and care, made her feel loved in a way she wasn’t at home.

They were becoming real friends while Y/N’s friends kept drifting away from her, they thought that the Marauders were irresponsible gits who just wanted attention, and would only talk to Y/N when she was alone on classes they didn’t share with Gryffindor or on the Slytherin common room. But honestly Y/N couldn’t care less, the Marauders and Lily had become her true family.

One day at a Gryffindor party, some Slytherins crashed and Lucius Malfoy cornered Y/N and Sirius saw what looked like a heated conversation, Malfoy seemed to be raging with anger and Y/N was almost crying, Sirius’ blood was boiling, what the hell was Malfoy doing with his girl, He had enough of seeing his friend suffer and shoved Malfoy away.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Sirius asked concerned, as he held her arms, that was it for her, she started crying and he wrapped her in his arms whispering sweet nothings in her ear “Hey, hey everything’s fine love, what’s wrong, what did Malfoy do?” He asked rubbing her back lightly.

“He.. He… He was trying to bring me back to the Slytherin dorm, saying that i needed to stop my ‘rebellious phase’ and go back to being a ‘good girl’ and to stop hanging out with you guys” she said sobbing against his shoulders.

“Hey Y/N, Malfoy’s an arse, you don’t need to listen to him, he won’t take you anywhere, not under my watch” he paused and smirked at her “You know, I pretty much prefer when you’re biting my shoulder rather than to see you crying on it because of that bloke” He smiled as an attempt to lighten up the mood and even made her chuckle a little.

“But that’s not it” she started sobbing again “H-he said that i’ll have to oblige sooner or later, b-because” she stopped, crying harder and Sirius tightened his grip around her “He said my parents are going to send me a letter explaining everything, Sirius and-and i-i’m scared”.

Lily, who had seen Sirius shoving Malfoy away, ran in her best friend’s direction and wrapped Y/N in another bear hug.

Sirius had never seen her like this, and he hated it, but it made him like and trust her even more. From this day on, he knew, he promised himself that he would always protect her if she ever needed him to, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt one of his best friends.

That night the Marauders spent the night in the common room talking until they all fell asleep, that night she felt loved by the group she now called family, it was a nice feeling. 

a/n: i don't know if i like it? idk. What do you guys think? let me know if you want to

[shyrose57]

2nd part.

Other: Both groups understand they have different ways of showing affection and closeness. Though Charles does hesitantly ask Jackie if Ran ever shows affection, to which Jackie answers that he does he just isn't a very physical person. 

After Ran first attacks and injuries Ranbob, and once the groups get the two separate, they sit down and talk. The Gladiators go first, saying they've never seen Ran that aggressive and angry before and ask what Ranbob could've done. To which the Fishermen tell them (to an extent. Somethings they leave out as its best for Ranbob to tell them) and after sharing, ask what Ran's relationship with Ranbob was. Where Watson says Ran said before he had a brother, and they then connect the pieces. So in summary, the Gladiators know about Ranbob being controlled by Dream, what Ranbob as done, how it affected him, and what the Fishermen have done to help him out and the progress Ranbob has made. While the Fishermen know that Ran has said he had a brother (Ranbob said it too), Ran having to survive on his own for years, And Ran having nightmare's but don't know what they are about. 

The Gladiators are skeptical of Ranbobs story, but after reading a bit of a dairy Ranbob recorded the experience in when able to, and both picture and multiple eye-witness accounts they eventually believe him. 

He ran from the hunters for around 4 years, he also lived alone and learned to survive during his time, while being constantly on the move. Multiple times the brothers have said something concerning, either jokingly or very casually, but both ways the brothers groups have responded with utmost concern and basically interrogating them until they find out the events behind what they said. Where they then either leave it be, or there's more talking, comforting, and maybe even cuddle piles. 

It happens once during the trip, when Ranbob just isnt having a good day at all, when he relapses he immediately tells the Fishermen (as he has grown to do), who then go to comfort him and do a sort of therapy. Ran immediately uses the relapse as evidence that he shouldn't be trusted and that he is still the same person he was before. While Watson, ignoring him, goes to see if he can do anything to help, while Grievous and Jackie try to lead Ran away to cause less stress for Ranbob. 

It is confusing at first for them, and when their finally able to, they (both groups) ask eachother what different instincts their enderman friend has. And after exchanging it they just kinda leave it be then and accept it. Sometimes Cletus will laugh when he just randomly sees Ran carrying someone around and mocks them, but Ran tends to growl at him when he mocks the person he's carrying, so he doesn't mock em often. 

He was only able to eat crackers, nuts and seeds, and dried out vegetables. So when he first goes to the Fishermen's house he's only able to keep down stuff like soup and again crackers. Though he's able to slowly work his way up to eating meat, which then he's able to keep most things down. 

The gladiators are overwhelmingly happy about no longer following such a strict schedule and can spend their time doing whatever they want. The fishermen are at first a bit hesitant at adventuring, seeing as they never really adventured outside of their home to much before, but are still very excited to see new places and get new items. Cuddle piles are sometimes shared amongst the groups, but strictly when neither of the brothers are nearby, other habits like telling bed time stories and sharing supplies and food are shared amongst the groups. While a sort of therapy sessions type habit are only in the fishermen group. And making and testing weapons are only in the gladiator group. For nicknames, Ran- Tall man/Tall bastard, Jackie- Jack, Shorty(teasingly/jokingly), Watson- Dad, Grievous- Ugly, John, Gri, Ranbob- Bobby, Benjamin- Benny, Ben, Charles- (Just Charles), Cletus- Wildfire, Little shit (Isaac only calls him that, Benjamin doesn't like it though), Isaac- Saac (pronounced as Isaac without the I, or just Zack).

The fishermen live a calmer, more quite life. Where the most active they've gotten is going to Mizu and getting Ranbob and a few attempted robbing. While the gladiators live a very active and fighting filled life, with only a few breaks where they can do whatever they want too. The fishermen are more accepting of outsiders and willing to give them a chance in their group. While the gladiators, you need to prove you can earn a place and are more tight in their group (Which is partly why it means so much to Ran and shocks him when his haunting welcomes Ranbobs group into their group). The fishermen are more freewilled, not having to follow a schedule. While the gladiators do follow a schedule and typically don't get much freewill.

They originally wanted to live in Mizu. But after the discovery of the Dream Mask Benjamin stated that it was far too dangerous to stay, much less live there. So they instead just went and looted the area then left 

As of now I do not plan to add anymore characters. Maybe they'll meet some while traveling but im not positive yet, if they do meet someone later on though it'll probably be either Wilburs decendent, or if I include other Tales I'll include them probably. 

It is very hard to convince Ran for a good while that what happened to Ranbob was the truth, but when he does finally accept it he's horrified. He feels incredibly guilty about leaving his brother and doing nothing during this whole time other than making it harder for him to recover. And immediately does what he can to make it up and help him out. And to the relief of the others, the brothers start to grow closer again, although there's still some problems. It took multiple tales of Mizu and Dream from all around the world, some very old records about how manipulative Dream was and how it seemed he had supernatural powers, and even finding Ranbobs journal and deciding to read it for safety reasons (where its recorded Ranbobs deteriorating mental state and all of the events where Dream came in, and even Dream wrote in it sometimes, comparing it to Ranboos Memory Book.)

Personalities (More may be added later): Ran- Secretive, protective, quite, joking when gotten close too, patient, serious mostly. Watson- Kind, very approachable, the father figure, logical, has a very comforting presence. Jackie- Playful, joking, mean at times, teasing, loud, energetic. Grievous- Very kind, energetic at times, quite, prankster, hard to trust someone. Ranbob- Quite, shy, well-meaning, clumsy, hesitant in things, very eager to please someone. Benjamin- Truthworthy, comforting presence, kind, approachable. Cletus- Chaotic, mean at times, prankster, loud, confident, energetic. Isaac- Leader figure, kind, logical, playful. Charles- Quite, shy, anxious, smart, logical. And idk if you want him too but Porkius- Confident, arrogant, hard headed/stubborn, hard to talk with, but extremely willing to make changes and call off events if serious injury to anyone is threatened. 

Sorry if some answers are dull, I had trouble coming up with answers and wording some of them. But as a bonus I thought of something that could happen while traveling (while they've been traveling for almost 5 months now). Maybe a thunderstorm is coming in and the group is trying to find shelter and they find it mostly in time, but the brothers start to really get into a verbal fight during the searching and so start to lag behind. And just as it starts to storm more Ran screams and yells "YOUR NOTHING MORE THAN AN MURDER! NOTHING YOU EVER DO WILL MAKE UP FOR ALL YOU'VE DONE!"(or something similar) Which just really breaks Ranbob, and the two stand across from eachother in the rain, before Ranbob chokes out a heartbroken agreement and runs off. Ran almost going to chase after him, but deciding not too, and going to meet up with the group.  Also Ranbob having a nightmare about when he first saw Ran again and is terrified in the nightmare, as no one is there to actually stop Ran this time (this happens before the thunderstorm part). So he does actually begin to kill him, and during the dream he keeps seeing glimpses of he and Ran as kids, being so close and laughing and everything. Then just before he wakes up he sees a younger, tween Ran directly next to the Ran killing him, and the Vision Ran's face is frozen in a scream of terror and heartbroken look in his eyes, and his eyes are filled to the brim of tears (which is the exact moment a Ranbob controlled by Dream turns the blade on Ran suddenly). Which just completely breaks Ranbobs heart, and when he wakes up, with tears frozen on his face, he can't look at Ran for days without seeing the terrified face of his younger brother. 

1: So they’re pretty chill about it. Alright. 

2: Fairly skeptical, but still willing to help out, and eventually coming to agree. Interesting. Ranbob has a diary? From before? That must be quite the interesting read. How much did young Ranbob understand was going on? How did he feel about it? Just how much does his diary show of his mental decline? Does he still have it? Were the Gladiators supposed to be reading it, or is it more of a ‘I found this, let’s see what’s inside’ thing? And I know the eye-witness accounts are probably the fishermen, but what are the pictures? Of Ranbob before Dream, back in Mizu? Of Ranbob when the fishermen found him?

3: Casually drops trauma on them, huh? What kind of things have been said? How much of it do these two traumatized gremlins think is the norm? Does Ran have any particular enemies with the hunters? Was it hard for him to settle in one place again?

4: What do these relapse consist of, exactly? Ranbob becoming aggressive? Trying to run? Can’t imagine Ran’s too happy Watson ignored him about it. What was the aftermath of this event? Does Ran know what a relapse means, or does he just overhear and assume?

5: So Ran totes people around, and Cletus occasionally makes fun of them. How long before someone points out that Ranbob, as you put it, follows them around like a lost puppy, in retaliation? 

6: The more I hear about Ranbob, the more I kind of want to wrap him in a warm blanket, give him cocoa, and go threaten Dream with bodily harm. That kind of food isn’t exactly great nourishment. If that’s the kind of thing he was eating, and only once every three days, I’m not shocked the Fishermen managed to force him into a room. Or that his house kept falling on him. Poor guy must be a malnourished noodle-stick. Honestly, he sounds light enough Cletus could probably carry him around. Or a breeze could. Hopefully he gets a little more weight on him, he needs it. 

7: Sounds like the first few days of the trip are probably pretty chaotic, with everyone adjusting. But they sound like they’re having fun, so that’s good. What kind of things are the two brothers doing to be gone long enough for their groups to be able to cuddle pile for a bit? Gathering supplies? Do they just know, and do their own thing for a bit so their hauntings can chill together? And Bobby, huh? Sounds an awful lot like what Ran used to call Ranbob. Who exactly revived the nickname, and what was both Ranbob’s reaction to it being brought back, and Ran’s reactions to hearing it again? 

8: The clash between lifestyles seems to be a pretty big one. The gladiators are a bit more willing to jump into things, and the fishermen are generally more open. Seems like they’ll contrast nicely once things settle down. So it’s kind of a big deal for the gladiators to just welcome the fishermen? You said they have to prove themselves. Do the fishermen ever end up doing something like that, or are they just an exception? Or is it that what they’ve already done proved themselves? 

9: They just loot the place, huh? Do they keep what they find or sell it? What’s Ranbob’s feelings about that?

10: A Wilbur descendant? Interesting. 

11: Oof. Well, at least they’re figuring it out. So there’s records about Dream and such? Do they just happen to find them, or are they led there? Who wrote those records? Does Ranbob notice when they find them, find some himself, or is that part of the trip he doesn’t know about? And Dream wrote in Ranbob’s journal too? Yikes. That must have been terrifying for Ranbob to experience. He compared it to Ranboo’s memory book, huh? Did that mean Ranbob figured out that something similar was happening to his ancestor? If so, how did he feel about it? And how does Ran feel about Dream’s part in all this? What does he do once he finally accepts it? Hug Ranbob? Apologize? Try to murder Dream?

12: Sounds like quite interesting group there. Charles and Ranbob both being shy sounds adorable honestly. Porkius sounds like he knows what he’s doing, and does it well.

13: They don’t seem particularly dull to me. But thank you for the heart-crushing scene, I’ll cherish it forever. Do the fishermen chase after Ranbob? How do the gladiators feel about that whole thing? Does Ran feel a bit guilty about it?

[nothingofpracticalgardening]

14 Versions of Sherlock Holmes Ranked from Most to Least Likely to Set a Building on Fire in a Fit of Rage

CURRENT UPDATED LIST HERE

1. Jonny Lee Miller — Elementary

This cool modern gent had a Moment™ in the very first episode of this series wherein he crashed Watson’s car into the side of the villain’s for absolutely no reason except the guy had pissed him off. That’s only like half a step down from setting a building on fire, which makes it almost canon, so this fantastic band tee-wearing lunatic gets first place for sure.

2. Yuko Takeuchi — Miss Sherlock

She may look cute, but this girl is fearless and feral. She would set a building on fire on a whim and dance away, leaving her poor Watson holding the matches as a joke. We haven’t really seen her angry, but she for sure would be unstoppable if she was. Sherlock Futaba has a secret heart of gold and a not-so-secret wit of arsenic and she’s not afraid to use either of them to end your ass.

3. Benedict Cumberbatch — Sherlock

He might tie for second place with Miss Sherlock, actually, because we all remember that one American who dared to slap Mrs. Hudson and fell out a window, several times, for it. I don’t need to tell y’all this Sherlock Holmes is vicious as a viper when he wants to be, but he’s also sweet as a newborn kitten deep down. Still, #3 is pretty high on the list and I think this emotion-driven drama queen deserves it.

4. Christopher Plummer — Murder by Decree

For most of this 1970s movie, you would never be able to picture this Holmes with a temper at all, much less one big enough to set anything on fire. He’s empathetic, easygoing, and even downright warm. But then, after discovering how a young woman has been mistreated by people in power, he suddenly goes for a guy’s throat—literally—and then it’s easier to see why he’s #4 on my list.

5. Basil of Baker Street — The Great Mouse Detective

Excuse me, it absolutely counts as a legitimate adaptation. This manic little guy might be cute as a button but he will go absolutely rabid on you if you push him (although he might feel bad about it a second later). I’m not saying it’s super likely, but it’s not super unlikely either. Honestly I wouldn’t take the risk.

6. Peter Cushing — The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959)

He might not be #1 on this list, but on a list of sassiest Sherlock Holmeses ever, he would definitely be at the top. More than once this sly gentleman was seconds away from Losing It(TM) in this movie; we might not ever have seen him show his temper completely, but between his impatient (but still affectionate) bickering with Watson and his mumbled sarcasm at every other character at every available opportunity, I wouldn’t doubt his capability of setting a fire in sheer annoyance.

7. Jeremy Brett — Sherlock Holmes

Calm but intense, this Sherlock Holmes is extremely popular, thanks mostly to Brett’s love and passion for the role; with all his self-control, every once in a while there’s a little flash of something much bigger going on underneath–his voice gets louder and his eyes get sharper and for a second you might wonder what he’s going to do. It would just depend on the situation, I think; hurt Watson, for example, and yeah…his fire will get you for sure.

8. Original Books

There’s no Sherlock Holmes like the original. Like Brett above, the Blueprint Holmes is cool, unruffled, and very much in control most of the time, but there are a few moments here and there when he turns into lightning personified, ready to strike someone down in a split second if they stir up his wrath. Nevertheless, he is softer and kinder and more patient than most adaptations give him credit for, so he’s lower on the list.

9. Basil Rathbone — Sherlock Holmes 

Ever wanted to see Sherlock Holmes take out Nazis? This might be the series for you, then. Despite the ‘40s vintage action vibe, though, this Sherlock Holmes really doesn’t have much in the way of a temper and a lot in the way of cool, observant preplanning. When it comes to high-emotion moments, this Holmes is more urgent action than fiery temper. With all that, he tends to lean more on the non-flammable side of the Sherlock Holmes spectrum.

10. Robert Downey, Jr. — Sherlock Holmes & Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows

Okay, you might have expected Action Hero Holmes to be higher up on the list, especially considering he literally did set a fire in the beginning of the second movie. But despite the flack he gets for not being “accurate” enough, I love this Holmes for so many reasons, and one of those reasons is that he’s so gentle and soft-spoken. He’d set a fire in a second for a case, but he faces evil with more melancholy than anger and really isn’t naturally violent at all when you get down to it.

11. Hannah Drew — Baker Street

Probably the most obscure one on the list, this fan-created Sherlock Holmes is blindingly intelligent and relentless, but also profoundly isolated, lonely, and deeply emotional. Still, the extent of her expressiveness seems to be playing obnoxious practical jokes when someone annoys her or shouting halfheartedly when she’s frustrated, not setting fires. (Also confession: she’s totally my girl crush. I would buy her all the ice cream in the world if she asked.)

12. Vasily Livanov — Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson

This Holmes is full of easy charm with emotions that tend to be more prominent on the softer side; he’ll start crying the second his Watson does, and laughs loudly and freely whenever he feels like it, but when provoked by a villain he maintains his cool demeanor like it’s not any kind of a challenge. Like I’ve said before, this Holmes has super-chill trustworthy older brother vibes to me, so he’s almost totally unlikely to be a firebug.

13. Henry Cavill — Enola Holmes (links to trailer)

While it’s true this Sherlock Holmes wasn’t the main character of this movie, we got to see enough of him to make a solid judgment, I think. And my judgment is that he’s one of the most gentle, mild-mannered ones out there. I mean, he might not have started out as a willing parent, but by the end of the movie this guy was volunteering to take in and raise his younger sister. Maybe he could be a fire-starter, but I just don’t see it so far.

14. Ronald Howard — Sherlock Holmes

By far the most adorable version in my opinion, this Holmes is more full of bright humor and childlike wonder than fury of any kind. Like with every version, he has his moments of righteous anger, but guys, come on…this man once spent a whole scene chasing a honeybee around their flat to trap it carefully and set it free. He’s not setting anything on fire anytime soon—at least not on purpose.

These are all the versions of the world’s favorite detective I like so far, but I’m still watching all the ones available, so consider this an incomplete list. If anybody sees this and has a different opinion or a Sherlock to add, feel free to comment! And thanks for reading my rambling.

[itsadamcole]

i wish

fem!reader x tyler breeze

It’s been almost three months since reader last saw her husband, Tyler Breeze. He’s been traveling for wrestling. Reader has a fancy dinner event for her law firm and she wishes that Tyler was there to accompany her. Little does reader know that Tyler has a little surprise up his sleeve ... “i wish you were here”

word count: 4.6k

warning: soft smut, fluff, a scene including sexual harassment, tyler being cute and happy, probably wrong legal stuff but we’re gonna pretend it’s real for the sake of the imagine

— just something i’ve been working on for a while and never posted —

masterlist || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

As you do your makeup for your formal dinner party with your co-workers, your mind wanders off to your husband.

It's been close to three months since you kissed Tyler goodbye and it's gotten harder and harder every day. You miss him. You miss him being around and you miss hearing him yell and scream when he's streaming or playing UNO with DaParty.

The house has been too quiet without him. The only reason you're not feeling lonely is because of Kanga, Tigger, and Roo, the two dogs and the cat you and Tyler parent.

As you're applying your lipstick, you realize that you have a few tears running down your cheeks, ruining your makeup. You groan, frustrated with yourself as you dry the tears and fix your look.

Once your makeup is finally done, you get into the dress you bought for the occasion.

The dinner tonight is a formal event, meaning full-length dresses instead of the usual cocktail dress. You bought a full length dark red satin dress for the occasion. The top of the dress hugs your chest while the skirt has a slight flare to it. The v-neck dips down a little bit and the sleeves are thin as they sit on your shoulders. You pair the dress with dark red heels.

You put in diamond earrings that were gifted to you by Tyler on your first wedding anniversary. They hand down a little bit. To decorate your neck, you wear a necklace that your sister gave you for your birthday two birthdays ago. You put on your engagement and wedding rings on your left ring finger. You rarely ever wear your rings to work, let alone a work event.

As you're putting on your jewelry, your phone starts to go off. You walk over to the ringing device. Tyler is trying to FaceTime you.

You've told him about the dinner tonight and he said that he'd be there if he could. He knows how much you hate any kind of party.

Putting a smile on your face, you answer the FaceTime call. Tyler is looking at his phone, waiting for you to pick up. The second he sees you, a smile lights up his face. "There's my beautiful wife," Tyler says. "I can only see your face but I just know you look stunning."

"Hold on," you say, walking over to the full-length mirror in your bedroom. You turn the camera so the camera is on the mirror. The sunlight coming through the window lights up the room.

Tyler has a look of awe on his face as he looks at you in the mirror via the phone camera. "Baby," he says. "You look like a princess."

You smile and say, "I just need a little tiara."

Your husband says, "You don't need a tiara to be a princess, baby. This right here proves it."

You giggle and turn the camera back to your face. "I wish you were here," you say. "I hate going to these things alone."

Tyler says, "I know. I wish I was too. I'll be home for the next event though and we can kill it together. I promise."

"I can't wait," you say, glancing at the time. "Okay, I have to get going. It's going to take me years to drive to the place where this event is going to be because I'm in a gown and heels."

Your husband laughs over the phone and he asks, "Is it at The Oak again?"

Nodding, you say, "Of course it is because the partners always have this stupid dinner at the same exact place every few months."

Both you and Tyler laugh before he says, "Well, then, I'll let you go. You look beautiful, baby. I love you."

"And I love you," you say, blowing him kisses through the phone. "I'll see you when you come home."

Tyler smiles and says, "I'll be home before you know it. It'll go by quickly."

You smile as you both say your goodbyes. You grab your clutch and walk downstairs, phone already in hand from having just been on it when Tyler called.

You get into your car. You turn it on and start the half-hour ride to The Oak.

The Oak is a fancy hotel with a large ballroom area that the partners at your law firm always use for these events. There's one every four to six weeks. You've been working at Dolan and Reid's law firm for close to ten years so these get kind of boring after a while. You're required to be at each one though because of your position in the firm. You're a junior partner. You were promoted late last year and you were ecstatic.

You've been with Tyler since you were just starting out in the law firm. You got married four years ago. It's been an amazing four years.

As you pull up, you see several of your co-workers walking into the hotel. They're laughing and already having a good time. You park in the parking lot before you walk into the hotel yourself.

You've been here so many times, the hotel employees know your name and you know most of theirs. You don't have to ask where the bar is because you've been here so often.

When you walk up to the bar, the bartender, whose name is Lucy, asks, "What can I get for you, Y/N?"

You sigh, "A glass of your best whiskey, Lucy. Thank you."

She nods and gets your drink ready.

"This drink is on me," a male voice says beside you. You look over and see one of the other junior partners standing next to you. Danny Watson. You roll your eyes as you're handed your drink. "What? No 'hello'? Or what about 'hi, Danny. How are you'?"

You sip your drink and hold up your left ring finger with your wedding ring on it. "I'm married, remember?" you say coldly. "I'm not interested for the hundredth time."

Danny says, "I know for a fact that your husband is out of town for some wrestling bullshit so let me take you home, baby. Let me show you what I could do if you dumped that husband of yours that's never home."

You stay calm as you say, "Listen here, Daniel. Don't you insult my husband's work by calling it bullshit. And don't you dare even ask me to go home with you. I'm tired of you and your sexual harassment. Do it one more time and I'll talk to the partners about it."

He laughs and says, "You think they're gonna do anything about it? They have more important things to deal with than an allegation of sexual harassment."

"You forget that I'm a lawyer that handles sex cases or cases involving harassment and assault," you spit at him. "I'll sue you and represent myself."

Danny rolls his eyes and says, "Whatever, Y/N. You're not worth my time anymore."

You get angry and you say, "Fuck you, Danny. I was never worth your time because I am not going to cheat on my husband with anyone, let alone someone as low as you."

Someone walks over and stands beside you. "Y/N, is Danny bothering you again?" You look over and see that it's your best friend from work, Y/WBF/N. You sigh with relief and nod. "Go the fuck away, Danny. Stop harassing the poor girl when she's already upset enough."

Danny rolls his eyes and walks off. You thank Y/WBF/N and say, "My hero."

She hooks her arm with yours and says, "Let's head into the main room and dance a little bit. We both need to let off a little steam after that."

You finish your drink and say, "I couldn't agree more." The two of you walk into the ballroom area and walk to the dance floor.

Y/WBF/N is wearing a full-length form-fitting black dress. It looks beautiful on her. Her jet black curls bounce up and down as she moves.

You and your work best friend both dance for about 30 minutes before the DJ says, "Let's slow it down a little bit so the couples in the room can dance together."

A Thousand Years by Christina Perri plays and you leave the dance floor area with Y/WBF/N, finding a seat at one of the round tables. You sip the water that's provided for you and you notice Y/WBF/N glance behind you and smile a bit.

Before you can react or say anything, you hear a familiar voice behind you say, "Excuse me, Mrs. Breeze. I believe that you should be on the dance floor with your husband." You quickly turn around in your seat and look behind you to see your husband, Tyler Breeze, standing behind you. He's fully dressed in a black and white suit with a red tie.

Quickly, you get up and wrap your arms around Tyler's neck. You're on your tiptoes as you hug him. You're hugging your husband for the first time in months. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck.

Tyler takes your hand and leads you over to the dance floor, where about twenty or so couples are dancing together to the slow song. You haven't been able to stop smiling since you turned around in your seat.

Your husband takes you in his arms, wrapping them around your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck and sway to the music. You stare up at Tyler, meeting his pretty brown eyes for the first time since he left three months ago.

"How did you get here?" you ask. "Last time I checked, you were supposed to be in Seattle for NXT Takeover."

He smiles and says, "That's not until Saturday and I decided to come by for the next four days and spend time with my wife. Dango is covering for me in Seattle while I'm here with you. It wasn't worth spending four days in Seattle with nothing to do so I decided to come and surprise you."

You smile and pull yourself closer to Tyler. Your cheek is now on his chest and you listen to the sound of his heart beating. You say, "I'm so happy you're home for a few days. I've missed you so much, so have Kanga, Tigger, and Roo."

Tyler laughs and says, "I said hi to them when I stopped by the house to grab this tie so I can somewhat match you."

Laughing, you look back up at Tyler. A smile is on your lips as you sigh, "I've missed you, Tyler. So much."

Your husband says, "I've missed you too, Y/N. You look absolutely stunning and I am so glad that I got to see you in the dress."

You smile and wrap your arms tighter around Tyler's neck, pressing your cheek to his chest again. Tyler kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes as the song ends but changed to One Direction's If I Could Fly.

Tyler wraps his arms tighter around your waist and you both continue to sway to the music.

As you dance with your husband, you wish that this moment would never end that way he wouldn't have to leave in four days to fly across the country from you. You wish you could stay in his arms forever. You don't want him to leave and you can't go with him because you have an important case to prep for. The trial starts on Monday.

"Hey," Tyler says, looking down at you. "Y/N, what's wrong? You're crying."

You hadn't noticed that you started crying. You wipe your mascara filled tears away and you say, "I wish you didn't have to leave in a few days. I hate it when you leave for so long. I wish you could stay with me for a while."

Tyler smiles and says, "I was going to surprise you with this later but after Takeover, I'm home for nine weeks. No more touring until after the holidays. The next Takeover is in Orlando so I don't have to go very far."

The news makes you smile wide. You say, "Really? You're going to be home for nine weeks straight?"

Your husband nods and says, "I am. I'm all yours for the next nine weeks after Takeover. I also told Dango to stay away for the first week or so since I have a lot of time to make up for." Tyler winks at you. You lightly kick Tyler's shin.

"Tyler!" you scold. "I'm at a work event. You can't be saying these things when my co-workers are around."

He laughs and asks, "Am I not allowed to touch you then since your co-workers are around?" He lets you go and you pout.

You say, "I never said that." Tyler smiles and puts his hands back on your waist. "You're mean."

Tyler smiles and says, "But you love me."

You giggle and say, "Yes. I do love you."

"Am I allowed to kiss you or no?" your husband teases. "Since your co-workers are around."

Rolling your eyes, you say, "I don't care if my co-workers are around. I haven't kissed you in close to three months."

Tyler laughs and brings his lips down to yours. They move against yours slowly and your eyes flutter closed as you kiss your husband for the first time in three months. The kiss is very soft and passionate from the start. Your hands slide to Tyler's cheeks, holding his face between your hands.

The song changes and everyone comes back into the dance floor. Tyler pulls back from the kiss and looks down at you.

"Y/N," one of the partners calls, walking toward you. Mr. Reid is the partner walking toward you. "May I have a few words outside with you?"

You nod and look at Tyler. "I'll be right back," you say to your husband. "Y/WBF/N is still at the table you found me at."

Tyler nods and you walk away with Mr. Reid, leaving the large ballroom and loud music. You find yourself in the lobby of the hotel with not only Mr. Reid but Mr. Dolan and Danny.

That bitch, you think to yourself.

Mr. Dolan says, "Mr. Watson here has told us you have been harassing him for a few weeks. He's been saying you've been wanting to, and I quote, 'take him to bed'."

Your eyes widen and you say, "That is not how it went down, Mr. Dolan. It's been the opposite actually. My husband has been away for a few weeks for his job and Daniel has been harassing me the entire time my husband has been gone." Panic rises in your voice. "I've never once asked if Daniel could take me to bed. As a matter of fact, I've never approached Daniel for anything outside of work."

Mr. Reid looks at Danny and says, "You omitted the part where she had a husband, Mr. Watson."

You've rarely ever told anyone that you have a husband let alone that Tyler Breeze is your husband because of his status. NXT Tag Team Champion and WWE superstar. He's well known, and you never know who is or isn't a wrestling fan.

The partners never asked for your marital status so you never told them. You were single when you started working at the firm. You've been going by your maiden name at work, not your married last name since you never legally changed your name to Y/N Breeze after you married Tyler.

Between your friends and family, you are Mrs. Breeze. Legally, you're still Y/N L/N so you're not obligated to tell anyone you're married. You've only told Danny and Y/WBF/N because of Danny's harassment and because Y/WBF/N is your best friend.

Daniel says, "I didn't think that was an important subject."

Mr. Dolan says, "Miss L/N, we did check the footage from tonight at the bar before we came to get you and we did see that Mr. Watson came up to you and you did seem agitated that he was there. You held up your left hand as well. We just wanted to confirm that it has been Mr. Watson harassing you since we did have visual evidence."

You sigh with relief that the partners didn't believe Danny.

Danny on the other hand looks pissed that he's been caught in a lie. Mr. Reid says, "Now, Mr. Watson, next time you lie, you might not want to lie to lawyers. As of this moment, you have been demoted to associate, and associate you will stay for a while. If we get any more reports of harassment coming from you, you will be terminated. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Danny mumbles.

Mr. Reid says, "You're dismissed, Mr. Watson."

Danny walks away and you look at the partners. Mr. Dolan asks, "Miss L/N, is your last name legally L/N, or do you share your husband's last name?"

You say, "It's legally still L/N. I've been thinking of legally changing it to my husband's last name for a little bit."

"What's been stopping you?" Mr. Dolan asks.

You play with your thumbs and say, "My husband is a professional wrestler. A pretty well-known professional wrestler and I've been trying to keep my marriage on the quiet side because of his job."

Mr. Reid says, "You don't have to use your husband's last name on your cards for work if you want to change it to his last name. You can still be Y/N L/N since it is your maiden name."

You blink and say, "In that case, I might legally change my last name to my husband's. I was lead to believe that I had to use my legal name."

Mr. Reid says, "You can go by your birth name or your married name, Miss L/N. We have a few documents upstairs that will help you begin the process of changing your last name tonight. I can retrieve them quickly. All you have to do is provide some information and sign a few papers and then it's done."

You nod and say, "Let's do it."

The partners go and get the documents. Tyler texts you in the meantime.

11:27 pm

tyler bby: everything okay? you’ve been gone for a little bit

11:28 pm

you: everything's okay. we're talking over a case that starts monday. i'll be back in a few minutes

Tyler writes back an "okay see you in a few" and you sigh.

He surprised you and now you're going to surprise him. He's been wanting you to change your last name so he'll be happy about this.

With Mr. Reid and Mr. Dolan's help, the documents are all signed after you provide the information. It takes about fifteen minutes once they come back with the papers.

Mr. Reid hands you a document with your new legal name and says, "Congratulations, Mrs. Breeze."

You smile and say, "Thank you."

You walk off back toward the dinner party and walk to Tyler.

When you get to Tyler, you lower the paper in front of his face from behind him and you say, "Surprise."

Tyler looks up at you and asks, "You changed your last name?"

You nod and say, "It'll take some time and some processing before it's officially legal but yes, I changed my last name. I am now unofficially Mrs. Y/N Breeze. I'm still going to use my maiden name at work and it's what my clients will call me but my legal name will be Y/N Breeze."

Your husband stands up and kisses you. You giggle into the kiss and he mumbles, "Mrs. Breeze sounds so hot."

"It was your last name before it was mine," you say against Tyler's lips.

Tyler smiles against your lips before he pulls back. "Tonight's just full of surprises for both of us," he says.

You peck his lips and say, "Take me upstairs to see another surprise that will give you a preview of what our week will look like once you're back from Takeover this weekend."

Tyler's eyes widen and he takes your hand. He walks to the receptionist's desk and says, "We'd like a room. Any room that you have available."

The woman behind the desk says, "Room 1118 is available."

Your husband says, "We'll take it."

Tyler pays for the room and is given the key. Excited, he takes your hand again and walks to the elevator. He steps on and pulls you into his arms. As the doors shut, Tyler kisses you passionately. You giggle against his lips and mumble, "Someone's antsy."

"I haven't been intimate with my wife in three months," he says, pulling back from the kiss and undoing his tie. "Excuse me if I'm a little excited to have sex tonight."

You smile and pull Tyler back to you by pulling his jacket. Your lips crash to his and the intense kiss continues as Tyler presses you against the wall of the elevator.

Luckily no one is on the elevator as you ascend to the 11th floor. The trip takes what feels like forever before you reach the 11th floor.

Once the doors open, you take Tyler's hand and walk down the hallway quickly until you get to room 1118.

Tyler unlocked the door with the keycard and pulls you inside. The door closes and automatically locks behind you as Tyler presses you against the door.

You stare up at Tyler and see his brown eyes dark with lust and need, for you. Your core begins to ache at the thought of what Tyler's going to do to you tonight after he sees the underwear you're wearing.

It's been three long months since you last had sex. Three months too long.

Your need for Tyler overwhelms you and you lean your head up, kissing Tyler hard.

As your lips move against Tyler's, you push off his suit jacket. It drops to the floor. His tie joins the jacket before the two of you stumble toward the bed.

It's mostly dark in the room, except for the moonlight and bright lights of Orlando shining into the room from the window and glass doors that lead to the balcony.

You've done this so many times with Tyler that the two of you know each other like the back of your hands. You don't need light.

Tyler's fingers work on the zipper on the back of your dress as yours work on unbuttoning his shirt. Your lips move feverishly against each other. You eventually get Tyler's shirt unbuttoned and you pull it off of him.

He gets your dress unzipped and you let it fall off your body, pooling at your feet. You step out of your heels and Tyler pulls back from the kiss. He looks down at you. You're not wearing a bra but you're wearing a pair of red lacy panties.

Your husband licks his bottom lip and says, "Now that's a surprise."

You giggle and start to unbutton his pants as he spins you around and pushing you back onto the bed. He leans over the bed with his hands on either side of you, holding himself up. Tyler kisses you softly, taking his face in your hands as you kiss him back.

Tyler pushes you onto your back, breaking the kiss. His lips are on your chest and slowly trail down your body. You've missed this feeling. His lips on your body, his fingers touching your skin. It's been three months since you've been with Tyler like this.

He pushes your panties to the side and starts to kiss and suck on your sensitive clit. You let out a soft moan and bite your lip. Tyler hums softly and runs his tongue through your folds. "Tyler," you sigh. "Please. No teasing tonight."

Your husband smirks and pulls off your panties before slipping two fingers into you. You moan a little louder and your back arches off the bed as Tyler moves his fingers quickly.

You grasp onto the bedsheets and let out a loud moan as he adds a third finger. Loud moans escape your lips with every flick of Tyler's wrist. Your body jerks beneath Tyler's touch and he looks up at you with his eyes.

It takes maybe five minutes before you're pulled to the edge of an orgasm. Your legs shake a bit as you get closer and closer, then Tyler pulls his fingers out of you. You whine and look at him.

"Baby," you say, pouting. "Not fair."

Tyler stands at the foot of the bed in front of you. You watch as he pulls off his pants and his boxers. You gently bite your lip and Tyler crawls onto you, hovering over you between your legs. His lips are on yours within a few seconds and they move against yours intensely. Your fingers are in his hair, holding Tyler close to you.

The two of you share the passionate kiss for a few moments before Tyler begins to push himself into you, making you moan and gasp softly against Tyler's lips.

Tyler pulls back and his lips attach to your neck. Your hands slide down to the back of Tyler's neck and he starts to thrust his hips into you gently. Your eyes flutter closed and you enjoy the feeling of Tyler inside you. "God, Tyler," you moan. "I've missed this."

Your husband smiles against your neck as he moves harder into you, his tip grazes your g-spot and you moan his name loudly.

He props himself up on his arms, pulling away from your neck. Your eyes meet his as you wrap your legs around his waist tightly. His thrusts are harder and he's so deep inside you that his hips are now flush against yours.

As you're pulled closer and closer to your orgasm again, your legs begin to shake. You're gasping and moaning. The sound of skin slapping and your moans fill the small room.

"I'm close, baby," Tyler groans as he's pulled closer to his climax.

Your hands cup his face and you say, "Come, baby."

Tyler thrusts a few more times into you before you both release. You around him and him inside you. He helps you ride out your high. You come down, whining and sighing. You pull Tyler's face down to yours and kiss him lightly.

Both of you are out of breath as Tyler rolls off of you and walking to the bathroom to grab something to clean everything up. You crawl under the blankets and once Tyler's done cleaning up, he joins you. You rest your head on his chest and listen to his heart beat in his chest. You smile and say, "Your heart is beating so fast."

He lets out a breathy laugh and he says, "It's beating that fast for you."

You move so you're laying onto your stomach. Your breasts are presses against Tyler's side and you rest your chin on your hands, which rest on his chest. Tyler smiles at you and you say, "You're so cheesy, but I love it."

Tyler kisses your nose and says, "I can't wait until after Takeover now if that's what our week is going to look like as soon as I get back."

Laughing, you say, "It's going to look like that and so much more. Expect some new outfits too, Mr. Breeze."

Your husband smiles and says, "Oh, I'm excited about these new outfits, Mrs. Breeze."

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘This Love Came Back to Me’ Chapter 2: This is London

Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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               Being in London again, amongst the bustling streets and busy lives, had Molly in a state of wistfulness. She had been homesick since the day she left and her stomach knotted with deep-seated guilt and regret. It mystified her how this city seemed to scream his name. When she thought of London, she didn’t think of the usual things—the Thames, Buckingham Palace, Trafalger Square, or even Big Ben with its comforting chimes—but she always thought of Sherlock Holmes. He was forever connected to this place much more intimately than anything or anyone else she could think of. And connected to him was the sense of home. She had felt her heart leap in joy when she stepped off the plane.

               And now, looking up at the street sign, Molly let out a shaky breath. She had once promised herself she would never grace this very pavement if she ever lost him. And yet she found herself on Baker Street once more. In her hands were the results of their findings, and she sincerely hoped he would be cordial with her, though she knew she didn’t deserve such a kindness. 221B stared down at her as if daring her to cross the threshold, to recall her memories here, to once again face the man who lived in it, and at one time with her.

               Molly took each step with trepidation. She wished to not upset him any further, but it couldn’t be helped. Never did she think her actions would have hurt him, for she hadn’t thought he truly felt for her what she felt for him. Her presence was difficult for him and Molly hadn’t a clue how to steer clear. Being put on a case together had made matters complicated. One deep breath and she knocked lightly against the worn wood. She made out a couple of voices including his own. He must have been with a client. Turning on her foot to leave, the door was yanked open, causing her to turn back towards it, towards him.

               “Oh,” he frowned, disappointment clear on his face. “It’s just you.”

               She swallowed the lump in her throat. His callousness tore at her rapidly beating heart. “I brought some of the results for you to look over. You’ll find that there is a particular feature of interest that may turn out to be a lead.”

               Sherlock studied her with curious eyes that narrowed when he met hers. He removed the report from her hands and looked it over. “Very good, then. It looks like Mike is no longer in need of your services.”

               Molly opened her mouth to protest, stepping forward to follow him inside, but he had quite firmly slammed the door in her face before she could utter a syllable.

                When Sherlock turned his back to the slamming door, he was met with Mary Watson’s chiding expression, an eyebrow raised high. “Was it really necessary to do that?”

                “She’s the one who decided to leave,” he replied like a five year old.

                “Yes, well, that may be true, Sherlock, but I thought you wanted an explanation from her, hmm?” Mary crossed her arms, tapping her foot with impatience. “I don’t agree with how she handled things, but I hardly think it necessary to act like children.” She briefly recalled hearing about their argument in the morgue the day before.

                “I’ll stop when she does.” Sherlock was in no mood. He hadn’t seen her in years until yesterday. Molly Hooper broke his heart, betrayed his trust. He told her he loved her, and she ran away. “I once thought she loved me—but, I see now that I was wrong.”

                “She did love you, Sherlock,” Mary argued.

                “Could’ve fooled me,” he huffed. It wasn’t as if she had said the words back.

                “I think you and Molly can work things out—you’re both stubborn, and that causes a lot of damage with situations like yours. One of you needs to be the bigger person,” Mary advised. “I know you’re hurting, but this week could change things. Try to make the best of it.”

                Sherlock sighed. “I won’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

.

.

               It was official: Molly Hooper hated herself for what she did to Sherlock. If she could, she knew she would go back when things were okay and do things right. Instead of listening to her doubts and allowing herself to be persuaded into leaving, Molly would have said the words back. She would have told him what she had feared. They would have talked through it and they would still be together now. She was sure of it. He could no longer stand the sight of her. The man who held high disregard of emotions—and for good reason—gave her his heart, and she ruined him.

               The next five days in London would be torture, but she had it coming to her. This was the universe biting her back in the arse for what she had done. Molly, upon returning to her hotel room, decided to take a soak in a bubble bath to calm her nerves. Hair up in a messy bun, she sank down into the warm sudsy water, leaning her head back with her eyes closed, unable to keep herself from remembering how it used to be.

               “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered in his ear. Sherlock had drifted off, but he still held her tightly in his arms. It was as if he was afraid to let go. Molly could still feel the ghost of his love all over her body, through her, inside her. In truth, she had never been so happy. But then, why did she feel so scared?

               If he were to ever wake up one day and realise this wasn’t what he wanted, Molly promised herself she’d never walk Baker Street again. Hell, she probably wouldn’t be able to stomach staying in London if he ever walked away. Or if, God forbid, she ever did. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him, his expression one of complete serenity. It made him look ten years younger. Molly pressed her lips to his neck, leaving a trail of soft, warm kisses for him. She heard him moan quietly in his sleep, and it made her smile. God, she loved him so much, her heart ached. What was it about those eight letters that were so overwhelming, so daunting? Maybe one day she’d be brave enough to say them.

               The visions in her head never stopped. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t think about him, about their love, magical as it was. For the first time since she arrived back in London, Molly allowed herself to cry; to grieve for them, for the man she had hurt. All she wanted to do was take away his pain, but he’d never allow her close enough to do that. Never again.    

.

.

               After a brief conversation with Mike the next day outside the morgue, Sherlock, she noticed, was fast approaching her. Molly braced herself for his scathing remarks, her whole body tensing up as if his words caused her physical pain. Instead, he shoved the manila envelope toward her, insisting she take them back. “Were my findings not to your liking then?” she asked, somewhat feeling put-out.

               “On the contrary, Doctor Hooper,” he replied, taking a moment to swallow his pride, “what you discovered is most fascinating.”

               Taken aback at the change of attitude, Molly questioned him with her eyes, her mouth slightly agape. “Yes, well, it seemed odd that our murderer went through all of the trouble of making a bloody mess of his victims when his real M.O. was a nearly undetectable poisoning.”

               Sherlock nodded. “He’s trying to keep us from profiling him correctly. He’s clever, but not as clever as you.” He felt his face flush, mentally cursing his traitorous body.

               Her eyes met his in a brief remembrance of the love they once shared. My clever Molly, he had taken to saying whenever her intellect shone through like a bright star. The man who had once admired her was still there somewhere deep down. She hoped so, anyways. As soon as the spark was there, it was gone, the air somehow colder than it had been. “If that’s all you came here for…I believe you have a murderer to catch.”

               “Wait,” he began, taking a small step forward. “It has come to my attention that I’ve been, for lack of a better word, an arse. We should be able to at least be cordial whilst working this case together.” Sherlock had a hard time meeting her eyes. “I’m…I apologise. You really are the best for the job.”

               Never had Molly felt more uncomfortable and undeserving of an apology. She gazed at him with soft, sorrowful eyes. “Thank you,” she uttered in a small voice. If he hadn’t looked so uncomfortable, himself, she wasn’t sure if she could’ve found the strength to reply. She wanted to apologise for leaving him, beg him for his forgiveness, but fear—a different kind; one of rejection—stopped her. The awkward silence was deafening and she was thankful when Greg interrupted them.

               “There’s been another body, Sherlock. Here’s your chance to go to the scene and—Molly? That you?” Greg grinned happily, going in for a hug.

               “It’s been an age,” Molly told him, her guilt eating her up inside. At least he didn’t appear to be angry with her.

               Sherlock stood by with his hands behind his back, jealousy rearing its ugly head, his stomach knotting tightly. He watched as Greg gave her a quick peck on the cheek and it took all his strength not to lash out. There was no way he could deny his feelings any longer—he still cared for Molly, still loved her despite everything, but it was clear she had moved on. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he only caught the tail end of Lestrade’s question.

               “—with us?”

               “Oh, I—well, I don’t think I should,” Molly answered, glancing at Sherlock. “It’s probably best I stay behind.”

               Greg knew things were strained between them—he had even been on the receiving end of her lack of communication. He nodded in understanding, not wanting to push her into it. “Suit yourself. How long are you here for?”

               “Just until the end of the week, then back to Galway,” she informed him. The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

               Galway, Sherlock thought. So that’s where she ran off to. It was where her grandmother was from—her father’s mother. It should have been blaringly obvious, but he had kept himself from thinking too much about it.

               “Well, do us all a favor, and phone us once in a while…yeah?” He clapped Sherlock on his back, including him in that statement.

               She nodded. “Of course.” Her eyes met Sherlock’s briefly. Never did she want to let him down again. “You have my word.”    

[padawanlost]

So I was on Quora the other day, and someone speculated that insecurity was at the root of Anakin's arrogance and apparent cockiness. I thought this through and it makes so much sense. He felt insecure in his place as a Jedi and had this constant need to prove himself. What's your take?

Personally, I’ve never seen Anakin as arrogant. I think he was *perceived* as arrogant by the people around him but, internally, Anakin was also driven by insecurity (not egotism).

Because he was so insecure in a place where he knew he wasn’t accepted as he was, he overcompensated. It’s a very common behavior: I’ll try harder to prove myself. And because he was so powerful, his attempt to prove himself worthy was viewed as an attempt to show off.

The Jedi Council didn’t want me, either. Being the Chosen One didn’t count for anything. Master Yoda wouldn’t train me, or Windu. Every member of the Jedi Council had had something more pressing to do than help him work out what this terrible, galaxy-changing power of his meant, and how he should live in its shadow. He still wasn’t sure. Anakin recalled standing there in that grand, polished Jedi Council Chamber, surrounded by what felt like fear, and disdain, and bewilderment—who were those Masters to feel bewildered, that the only person there who cared if he lived or died was Master Qui-Gon Jinn. And they stopped him training the Chosen One. Qui-Gon hadn’t cared what the Jedi Council said. He’d trained him anyway, a Padawan in all but name. Why am I thinking of all this now? Haven’t I put it behind me? Haven’t I had enough bad memories since then to take their place? Haven’t I vindicated Master Qui-Gon? [Karen Traviss. The Clone Wars]

Anakin enjoyed praise from Obi-Wan, but often became sullen when he was reprimanded. Obi-Wan assured him that he himself had been frequently reminded by Qui-Gon to be more mindful of the Force, but somehow even the slightest criticism managed to leave Anakin feeling stung. First they tell me to do my best, then they tell me I’ve gone too far! ANAKIN SKYWALKER IN THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Because Anakin had not been trained since infancy at the Temple like nearly all other Padawans, various Jedi Masters accepted the fact that he lacked the discipline of his fellow students. They were less accepting, however, of his arrogant behavior when he demonstrated his abilities. I’m more powerful with the Force than some of my instructors, Anakin thought, and they know it! ANAKIN SKYWALKER IN THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Despite Anakin’s desire to distance himself from the slave he had once been, he was unable, or unwilling, to shed the other aspects that had defined him on Tatooine. He still dreamed of glory, still craved adventure, and never lost his appetite for high-speed thrills and the desire to prove himself in competition. THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

What evidence to we truly have that Anakin was arrogance beyond people calling him that? And considering most of his peers and superiors didn’t take much time to get to truly know him, I’d say their option can be considered biased:

Anakin was liked by the other students, but he had no close friends. He was not loved. Obi-Wan told himself that Anakin’s gifts naturally set him apart. But in his heart, he grieved for Anakin’s loneliness. JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE WAY OF THE APPRENTICE]

Just when Anakin thought he’d passed that elusive finishing line that said adult, experienced, seen it all, he realized he was still twenty, Jedi or not, and the wounded boy in him still rose to the surface—provoked into angry violence, scared of abandonment, and still in need of approval. KAREN TRAVISS [STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS NOVELIZATION]

[Obi-Wan] knew, glancing at his Padawan’s eager face, that Anakin meant well from the bottom of his heart. If Obi-Wan saw a shadow on that heart, he knew it would pain his Padawan to know it. In many ways, Anakin was still a boy. A wounded, loving, anxious boy with great gifts he did not fully understand. Yet he was also a young man, close to maturity, who could do great harm. To others, yes. To himself, most of all JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

“I just…” Anakin stopped. He took a ragged breath. “I thought you would be proud of me.” I am proud of you. Obi-Wan wanted to say the words. They were true. He was proud of so much in Anakin. But now was not the time to tell him that. Or was it? JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

Fixing broken machines was like a meditation. Fixing broken machines was an antidote to every pain, every loss, every fear, every defeat. Fixing broken machines kept him from going mad. CLONE WARS GAMBIT: STEALTH

This doesn’t sound like some who thinks that highly of himself.

 “Master…,” he said hesitantly, “I know I’ve… disappointed you in these past few days. I have been arrogant. I have… not been very appreciative of your training, and what’s worse, of your friendship. I offer no excuse, Master. My frustration with the Council… I know that none of it is your fault, and I apologize. For all of it. Your friendship means everything to me.”

Interestingly enough, Obi-wan says it best:

You are very observant, Ferus, but you must accept that I know him better than you,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “Anakin can be arrogant. I know that. But he is also learning and growing. He is respectful of his great power. He does not abuse it. He is younger than you, but he has seen much injustice, many terrible things. I do not think it so wrong that he wants to change things. You must understand that it isn’t ambition that drives him. It is compassion. OBI-WAN KENOBI IN STAR WARS – JEDI QUEST: THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD BY JUDE WATSON

Yes. Anakin can act arrogantly. We all can. It’s part of being human and flawed. but that doesn’t mean that was ALL Anakin was. More often than not, Anakin was motivated by fear, love, kindess and, yes, even hate.

Taking them, she looked up at him and shook her head, even though it still ached. “It’s odd. You’re nothing like I expected.” “Why?” he said, perching on the edge of the nearby chair. “What did you expect?” “I don’t know,” she said, floundering. “I can’t say I’ve ever given the Jedi much thought. I mean, not as individuals. I never expected to meet one—let alone two. I don’t tend to go places where your skills are needed. But—well—you’re gentle.” That made him smile. “As opposed to what?” She swallowed the pain-tabs, washing them down with a mouthful of water. “Oh. You know. The HoloNet news—it portrays as you as this—this—heroic warrior. Larger than life. Charging into battle, lightsaber flashing. Scourge of the Separatists. That kind of thing.” She shrugged. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Because of Hayden’s Anakin being do disliked and, of course, because of the TCW wonky characterization everyday we are seeing more and more people embracing the idea of arrogant idiot Anakin. even if such characterization is not supported by the movies, the lore and basic common sense.

People use Obi-wan’s words in AOTC against Anakin but the truth is, as shown above, Obi-wan himself later recognizes that Anakin is not arrogant (even if he sometimes act that away). Besides, using AOTC to show Anakin’s arrogance doesn’t make much sense because of Hayden’s acting. Anakin doesn’t act like some arrogant prick for most of the movie. if anything, AOTC is a great of example of Anakin’s submissive and insecure behavior.

At last, let’s not forget that the same people calling Anakin arrogant were also facing the same criticism:

“But he still has much to learn, Master,” Obi-Wan explained. “His skills have made him … well, arrogant.” “Yes, yes,” Yoda agreed. “It’s a flaw more and more common among Jedi. Too sure of themselves, they are. Even the older, more experienced Jedi.” [R.A. Salvatore. Attack of the Clones]

People seem to forget that Anakin was in his early 20s when he ‘died’. Show me a teenager or a young adult who’ve never acted arrogantly and i’ll show you a liar. So why is Anakin the only one getting shit for that?

So, yeah, i agree. Anakin wasn’t motivated by arrogance. He was motivated by fear and insecurity, byproducts of his childhood trauma and years of grooming and emotional neglect.

[simplyclockwork]

okay so this is super obscure and i apologize but i have this headcanon where rosie runs into sherlock’s bedroom while he’s sleeping in the morning even though john tells her not to (because that’s what toddlers do best) and john has to run in to grab her so she doesn’t wake sherlock up and that’s how john actually gets to properly see sherlock’s scars for the first time

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Hi Anon! I love this idea. Hopefully, my fill is what you were hoping for! You didn’t specify if you were 18+, so I kept this gen :) Thank you for your wonderful prompt!

You can also read your prompt fill on Ao3 here. The rest of the fic is below the page break.

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No matter how many times John catches Rosie creeping past the kitchen, down the hall to the half-shut door at the end, he can’t seem to break her of the habit. She seems utterly obsessed with Sherlock at four-years-old. Chubby little legs working, she toddles around after him when Sherlock paces the flat in a fluster. Sits in his lap when he’s thinking in his chair or when he sprawls across the couch, sulking. She clutches his leg when Sherlock sways in front of the window with violin in hand, a blonde-haired little limpet.

Honestly, John would be more offended to be snubbed by his own daughter if he didn’t understand the allure. She is, after all, a Watson, and Watsons always follow Holmeses. Rosie comes by the habit honestly.

It’s just what Watsons do.

Because of Sherlock’s poor sleep habits, John tries to keep the flat quiet and calm whenever Sherlock drops. Since Eurus and Sherrinford, Sherlock sleeps more than he used to. He’s a little slower, a little softer around the edges, a little more willing to listen to John’s stern advice. But, still, his sleeping could be more regular. The times Sherlock falls asleep on the couch are nigh impossible to preserve, and Rosie always sneaks up and buries her little hands in Sherlock’s hair, inevitably waking him every time. Whenever Sherlock makes it to his bed for sleep, John runs interference as long as he can.

Today is a particularly trying day because John has a case to type up and paperwork to finish. If that isn’t enough to handle, he also has a raucous toddler who seems deadset on bouncing between loudly banging blocks against the floor or running full-tilt down the hall in a targeted assault upon Sherlock’s room.

“Maybe you could take after me a little less today,” John mutters after catching his daughter around the waist and hauling her back to the sitting room for what feels like the seventh time in an hour. Her stubbornness would be admirable if John weren’t the one corralling her in every few minutes.

“Daddy!” Rosie wails, squirming in his grip with a pout on her face sulky enough to rival Sherlock himself, “suck! You suck!”

Heaving a sigh, John struggles to keep his hold on the twisting toddler. “Oh, Sherlock and I will definitely be having a conversation about your vocabulary because I sure didn’t teach you that.”

“Auntie said Daddy sucks,” Rosie retorts, and John sighs again.

“Fantastic. Can’t wait to have that phone call with Harry.”

Setting his angry daughter on the sofa with the Union Jack pillow and the stuffed bumblebee Sherlock bought for her third birthday, John retrieves his laptop and settles beside her. Almost instantly, Rosie tries to wriggle down off the couch, and John catches her under the arms, nearly knocking the computer onto the floor.

“Rosamund, enough!” he says sharply, planting her down on his knee and juggling the laptop to the side. She stares up at him with narrowed eyes and her bottom lip pushed out.

“Want Sh’lock,” she shoots back, unable to capture the full sound of her name.

John settles her more firmly and taps a finger to her forehead. “I know you want to see him, but Sherlock is tired, and we have to let him sleep.”

The expression on Rosie’s face is mutinous, and John feels a wave of exhaustion wash over him when she tries to worm away again.

“That’s enough.” Standing, John carries her over to Sherlock’s chair, wraps her in the red robe draped over the headrest, and squats down until they are eye-to-eye. “If you wake Sherlock, I will be very cross, Rosie. Do you understand?”

She stares back at him with a sombre expression, wiggling deeper into Sherlock’s robe. “Daddy sucks,” she says in a soft, petulant voice, and John stands with an eye roll.

“Fine, sure, I suck,” he mutters, giving in on the language for now. “Just let Sherlock sleep.” Retreating to the couch, pleased to see his daughter sitting still and seemingly appeased by the offer of Sherlock’s robe, John picks up the laptop again. He loses himself in his work, relaxing as the warmth of the sitting room seeps into his body.

When he jerks upright moments later, blinking out of a light doze, John frowns. Across from him, Sherlock’s chair is empty, the housecoat discarded on the floor in a wrinkled pile that can’t be doing anything good for the expensive material.

Standing, John stretches and picks the robe up off the floor, smoothing it flat over the back of the chair. He glances around the room, doesn’t see his daughter, and frowns again.

“Rosie?” John turns toward the kitchen as if there’s any chance she’s not already halfway down the hallway. Crossing the room, John pokes his head out into the hall just in time to catch Rosie disappearing through Sherlock’s open bedroom door. “Sod it all,” he mutters, hurrying forward as quietly as possible, hoping Sherlock is still asleep.

Peeking into the bedroom shreds John’s hopes. Already crawled up onto the bed, Rosie is climbing over Sherlock’s hips, where he lies sideways under the covers. Sherlock jolts awake and moves to sit up before realizing his attacker is a toddler. Frowning, he settles back against the headboard, drawing the errant child into his pyjama-clad lap.

“Hello, Watson,” he says in a sleep-roughened voice. Rosie shouts a string of happy words at him, too fast to catch, and grabs a handful of Sherlock’s hair before curling up on his thighs.

“Rosie, I told you not to—” John begins before he pauses, the rest of the words dying in his throat when the blankets slip down, revealing Sherlock’s bare upper body.

Sherlock’s eyes dart to John’s face, but John’s gaze is lower, fastened on Sherlock’s back, and the latticework of scars standing out vividly on his skin. The longer John stares, the more his confusion builds until he is frowning and perplexed, trying to pinpoint how old the marks are.

“John,” Sherlock says quietly, but John just shakes his head, wordless, and keeps up the calculations in his head.

The scars are numerous. Some are long, jagged lines crisscrossing Sherlock’s otherwise pale skin, while others are round and puckered. Others are thin, some thick, some ropey, some turned silver from healing and time. None of them are new, but all of them are awful, and John shakes his head slowly, numb with shock. He finally lifts his eyes to Sherlock’s, who is sitting up with Rosie curled in his lap, her face pressed into his stomach and fast asleep. John’s brief flicker of ironic annoyance at his stubborn daughter flares and fades in the time it takes Sherlock’s throat to bob with a hard swallow.

“John,” Sherlock says again, accidentally talking over John when John speaks.

“How did—”

They both fall silent, locked in a staredown that neither seems willing to break. When John breathes in a low sigh and finally speaks, he sees Sherlock brace himself, tiny wrinkles appearing at the corners of his anxious eyes.

“When?”

Sherlock’s gaze darts away, and he smoothes Rosie’s blonde curls away from her forehead with an unsteady hand. “A long time ago,” he says, without really saying anything. John’s eyes narrow at the careful lack of information.

“What happened?”

Still looking away, his eyes on the wall, Sherlock lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “I was injured.”

John’s jaw tenses, and he shifts a little closer to the bed. He sees Sherlock stiffen slightly and pauses before sinking onto the edge of the mattress. Sherlock’s eyes remain locked on the wall, avoiding John’s solemn gaze.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says slowly, watching Sherlock’s stony expression in profile. “But you can, you know?” Tilting his head, John tries to catch Sherlock’s attention and fails. Quiet falls between them until John carefully reaches out and drifts a finger over one of the longer scars. It is thick and raised, the edges jagged, the unmistakable mark of a serrated blade. “Does it still hurt?”

Sherlock’s twitches and shivers, his skin rippling under John’s featherlight touch. His head turns slightly toward John, a flash of surprise on his face. “Sometimes,” he admits, not quite looking at John. “Not so much anymore. But sometimes.”

Nodding, John folds his hands in his lap and drops his eyes to his laced fingers. “I’m glad.” He frowns before glancing at Sherlock, who is finally looking back at him. His expression is wary and impossible to read, but his eyes betray his vulnerability, and John chooses his next words with care. “I’m sorry for whatever happened, and I hope you know that I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His face flushes with the intensity of his own words, and John drops his eyes back to his hands, throat tightening. His mind flashes to Mary, to his own fury that put Sherlock on the floor of a serial killer’s ‘favourite room.’ “Not again, not anymore.”

From the edge of his vision, John catches Sherlock’s stunned expression. Unable to meet his eyes, John waits and holds his breath, finally letting it out in a grateful rush when Sherlock nods.

“Yes. Um. Thank you.” Sherlock sounds mildly flustered and busies himself with plucking at a loose thread in the sheets. “I… will do the same.” He looks at John’s daughter in his lap as Rosie squirms and resettles against his hip, mouth open and face perfectly blank in sleep. “For both of you,” he adds softly. Watching Rosie, John smiles before looking up to meet Sherlock’s eyes again. They stare at one another, the tenuous connection holding, strengthening into something that feels almost tangible.

“Great,” John replies, catching the slight softening of Sherlock’s face. “I’m glad.”