#like matthew is a big boy who can handle himself but i just know those fans and that team want a piece of him

[hinakyuu]

if i may speak…

matthew’s outgrown the alberta rivalry and it feels very one-sided, like, they’re definitely thinking more about him than he is of them. over there he was a love-to-hate character. then things became boring after he left and they’re still pining after him :/

that being said, if they so much as misplace a hair on his head in ed/m there will be hell to pay.

okay, let’s have fun!

[troubatrain]

want you to want me - m. tkachuk

a/n: i’m awful at intros but this fic is my whole ass child. i started it months ago and i picked it up back and then i just couldn’t stop writing. now we’re at a whopping 10k words and i’m really happy with the way this one came out. i hope you guys like it as much as i loved writing it.

big thanks to @hookingminor @igor-shestyorkin & @tkafuckit for reading this as i wrote it and gassing me up ily all sm

warnings: smut

You were Matthew’s dream girl, and you didn’t have a fucking clue. You were leaning against the cold metal bleachers of your former high school, chatting with whatever teacher probably wanted to hear all about that shiny NWSL contract you signed right out of college with the Chicago Red Stars. It was well deserved, a few national titles in college put you in the position in the first place, and Matthew respected the hell out of you. You wouldn’t know, by the way he never seems like he actually wants to speak to you and the few snide remarks about your sport in general. That started forever ago, when Matthew royally fucked up any chance he had with you later in life because he was a competitive asshole.

It started when you were twelve, and middle school was nothing short of a mess. Matthew was growing into his own, adding a near foot to his height over one summer while his father and coaches doted on the fact that he was getting bigger. Getting bigger meant getting better, and for a few years winning was the most important thing in the world. But, becoming a hormonal preteen came with something else, feelings about the girl who sat three rows behind him in almost all of his classes.

Then third period gym class came around, and Matthew was a competitive monster. The kind of kid who took that way too seriously, and you accidentally became public enemy number one. You were the only person in his class who could even come close to beating him at anything, because you were just as much of an athlete as he was. Soccer had become your craft, and much like Matthew, you declared you’d go pro one day. So, Matthew did what any other insecure twelve year old boy would, he teased you relentlessly. It was awful, but by the time Matthew had gone off to play for the National team you had forgotten about his bullshit.

Apparently, you’d done something in a past life to warrant dealing with Matthew for longer than you ever anticipated. Jamie was your little sister, and Taryn’s best friend. Best friend was probably understatement, the pair were inseparable on and off the field. They trained together, they played on the same teams and that meant way too much time with the rest of the Tkachuk’s. You learned quickly, that the rest of their family was wonderful and Matthew seemed to be too thick headed to fall in line.

You tolerated Matthew, brushing his silly remarks off just like you did when you were younger. The thing was, Matthew didn’t want you to just tolerate him, but he didn’t know how to get you to stop hating him. You make your way over to Matthew who’d been standing next to his brother since the start of your sister’s game.

“Hi Brady,” You greet, tapping Brady on the shoulder who pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That annoyed Matthew the most, the way you seemed to love his siblings and despise him. In your defense, nobody was more supportive of your professional career than Brady, who’d made a promise to catch a game the second he could, “Hi Matthew.”

You were waiting for something from Matthew, an acknowledgement for finally achieving a dream of yours. You’d gotten the congratulations from the rest of his family, a massive celebration because Keith thought you deserved it. Matthew probably didn’t think you did. You could practically hear his smug little voice about how much his recently inked contract was compared to yours, because you’d heard it since you were kids. He used to rip on your athletic abilities every chance he could, something about how it didn’t matter how hard you could kick a ball you couldn’t hold a hockey stick so he was just better.

“You’re here!” You hear the chipper voice of your little sister approach, Jamie’s sweaty postgame arms wrapped around your waist. You’d been in Chicago, signing some paperwork and looking into finding a place to stay when you had to go for camp. You promised you’d make it back in time, and your flight landed less than five hours ago but you made it.

Matthew bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself, watching his own sister push past him to see you. Taryn loved you, because sometimes she just needed a big sister and her brothers were in another country most

of the time. It was the part that killed him the most, seeing you with his family. You fit right in, a fierce athlete with drive that rivaled his own. Brady side-eyed his own brother, watching him instead of the scene unfolding in front of him. He was frustrated with his own brother for not just telling you the truth, that he teased you because he was an idiot who didn’t know how to handle having a crush on you.

But Brady was going to do it himself if his brother didn’t.

***

Matt, you don’t have a girlfriend right?

Matthew knew damn well he should not have answered his sister’s question, but when he realized her best friend had been sitting right next to her in the kitchen, his curiosity got the best of him. So he did, telling his sister he was single and sparing her details of any of the girls he’d gone on dates with the past year. That was his life is Calgary, a constant revolving door so no one would see what was underneath layers of sarcasm and angst. But every summer, he’d come home and wonder when he’d start to build a life for himself, and if he’d ever find that person to do it with. That was when his brain would start to wander, fantasies of a future that always seemed to involve you. He loved to imagine it, the years that you’d both spend supporting the other’s dream. Matthew would do anything to make sure you achieved yours, and he thought you’d do the same. Then you’d both settle down, the big house with the white picket fence and a shiny ring on your finger Matthew put there himself and years of arguing about what sport your future children would play - he’d even consider letting you have just one.

Unfortunately, none of that could be real until he figured out how to get you to hate him less. Taryn apparently had the same idea, and had been scheming with your sister for months. The two girls were looking at Matthew with devilish grins on their faces, like whatever they came up with would totally work.

“Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Your sister hums, sipping the smoothie they forced Matthew to drive them to go get, “It’s sad actually-”

“We think you should date,” Taryn explains, Matthew’s eyes went wide. His sister didn’t know the whole story, or just how far back this stupid fued went. Taryn always loved you, so Matthew just kept his remarks to himself.

“I know you know Y/N doesn’t like me very much,” Matthew explains, “So tell me how that’s going to work.”

“Apologize to her, if she can forgive me for anything she’ll forgive you,” Jamie sighs, thinking of all the times you’d shown her mercy when she didn’t deserve it.

“You’ve got to be sorry,” Brady interrupts, mouth full of food while he goes to go look for more in the fridge. He turns around, Matthew’s eyes giving him daggers, “What? You were a dick to her for years, you’ve got to fix that first.”

It didn’t take much convincing after that, Taryn had already planned out what Matthew should say to you. Matthew wasn’t going to repeat those words, because he knew exactly what he’d say to you if he ever got the chance. He was trying to fix his past, because the way he acted towards you was the one thing he regrets. 

So with the help of your little sister and the Find my Friends app, Matthew was pulling up to a soccer field he’d been to plenty of times. He used to run through the park nearby, catching a glimpse of your practices when you were in high school and Matthew was an afterthought. He hops out of his car, smiling when he could see you running drills alone. You were dribbling the ball, counting to yourself while you were weaving through cones you set up.

“I’ve never been good at those,” Matthew calls out, walking over to you while you stopped and caught your breath, “I kick the cones with my skate every single time.”

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are,” You tease, grabbing your water and guzzling it down, “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I came to apologize?” Matthew admits, knowing his face was probably bright red. He was nervous, the good kind like he got before a big game, “I was just an insecure kid then, and you didn’t deserve what I did just because I was afraid you’d beat in something.”

Matthew left out the part where he felt like he was still that kid all the time. All of those insecurities about himself seemed to be picked up by every reporter in Canada when he was there. You bit your lip, pretending like you were trying to debate whether or not you should forgive Matthew at all. In reality, you would have forgiven him ages ago if he’d just apologized sooner. It was so long ago, and sometimes you thought Matthew’s constant taunting made you better. He was pleading, baby blue eyes staring at you sadly while he waited for your answer. He looked like he didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven, shoulders slumped while he tried to read your body language. It was something you noticed about Matthew forever ago, he could have everything in the world but when he looked at you he seemed almost sad.

“I mean I could forgive you, but only if you beat me,” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at Matthew, “If I win, I don’t have to and if you win all is forgiven.”

“Really? Isn’t that why we were in this situation to begin with?” Matthew points out, crossing his arms at you.

“I thought you weren’t that kid anymore,” You remind of his own words, testing him to see if he’d put his money where his mouth was. Matthew smirks, chuckling to himself, “C’mon Tkachuk let’s see what you got.”

Matthew shook his head, laughing and lining up next to you. You both counted to three, sprinting down the field at full force. Matthew knew his height was the only thing working to his advantage while he tried to keep up with you. You were nearing your finish line, and Matthew didn’t think he was going to win. You were going to forgive him regardless, but Matthew didn’t know that. His arms stretched out, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his chest. Matthew turned his body around, stepping over the line before you did.

“God, you’re such a fucking cheater Matthew,” You hit his chest, Matthew’s hands still firmly placed on your hips.

“I didn’t want to lose,” Matthew admits, all of his smug attitude diminishing immediately, “Just want you to forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you never pull that shit on me again,” You poke his chest, slipping out of his grip and running to your stuff before he could notice how nervous he was making you. 

No. Absolutely not. You told yourself while you checked your phone, rolling your eyes at the warning text from Jamie that Matthew was on his way, you couldn’t have anything but indifference to Matthew Tkachuk. It got harder everytime you saw him, the past few years had been nothing short of kind to him, he was growing from a dumb immature boy to a man more and more every summer. You turn around, peeking at Matthew who was sitting down and catching his breath, a winning smile on his face, the same kind he had the very first time he schooled everyone at floor hockey in middle school.

Maybe you could be friends.

***

Matthew liked having you as a friend, mostly because as of right now that was all he was going to get. You definitely didn’t trust him, which was valid considering Matthew had been a dick to you for years, but he was working on it. He had to, that uncontrollable feeling that he cared about you was getting harder to shove back down with every year that passed.

“You’re friends now, you don’t need to stare at her like a creep anymore,” Brady scoffs, watching his brother gawk at you from afar. Matthew couldn’t help it, you just had a glow about you, you always did, but somehow in the summer you were golden. Tonight you looked even better, maybe it’s because you smiled at him when he walked instead of scowling like you usually did.

“He’s in love with you,” Steph giggles, sipping her drink and giving Matthew a side eye, “He’s been staring at you all night.”

“He apologized to me,” You confess, holding in that little secret about Matthew’s visit to the field even from your best friend. You had the same friends, the same group of people who’d been pushing the two of you to work it out for years. It wasn’t that you didn’t want them to know that they no longer had to worry about one of you blowing up because the other was there, you just wanted everyone to let it go too. Matthew deserved a little forgiveness, you could only imagine the pressure he felt on himself back then, and while he didn’t totally deserve your protection - you were going to give it to him, “Don’t-”

“Oh wonder why, I know it’s because he looooves you,” Steph teases, “Did you forgive him?”

“Yeah I mean we’re both older and I’d like to think he’s wiser, and besides our parents are way too close,” You knew this was going to be your excuse for a while. It was better for everyone that you forgave him, Jamie and Taryn spent more time together than you’d spend with anyone and you're just as close with the rest of their family. It wasn’t untrue that it was in fact for the best, but that didn’t mean Matthew’s stupid dimples didn’t persuade you before you could think about anyone else, “Can we stop talking about this?”

Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you once that night, especially after the way Steph downed tequila shots and convinced you to join her. You deserved to celebrate, you’d accomplished something Matthew knew was your biggest dream because it was the same as his. He was proud of you, not that he’d gotten a chance to show it.

“If you’re going to go pro Y/N, you’ve got to start keeping up,” Brady chirps, watching you stumble over your own feet to walk over to him and Matthew. Matthew had seen this once before, a level of drunkenness where you turned into bambi but that was so long ago he never thought he’d see it again.

“I’ll go pro in beating your ass Brady,” You snap back, shooting daggers over Brady who was already cracking up, “Hi Matthew.”

“Hi,” Matthew’s voice was small, a weird sound considering he was usually the loudest in the room. Brady scoffs, walking away from the two of you before he snaps at how hopelessly in love his brother was. You turn your head in confusion, your mind far too hazy to realize why Brady was so annoyed in the first place, causing Matthew to chuckle, “Want to play? Might be best if we’re on the same team.”

Matthew’s thumb shot over to the beer pong set up on the other side of the room, a mischievous smirk on face, “I mean if it’s for the best.”

Matthew’s arm wrapped around your shoulders holding you close to his chest while you both played pong was definitely not for the best, and it wasn’t helping that stupid crush you had on him. You could feel Steph’s stare from the corner of the room, and you look at her to mouth a don’t at her. It was nice having Matthew on your team, finally a moment where instead of arguing with each other about who’s elbow was clearly over the table - you got to do the same thing to Brady.

“Brady you’re cheating,” You call out, Matthew’s head thrown back in laughter at your seriousness.

“You heard her Brady, elbows over the table,” Matthew breathes out, his body still rumbling with laughter at his little brother’s expense.

“Oh look at you two, you’re just gonna raise some winners one day aren’t you?” Brady chirps back, both happy to see you getting along and annoyed once he realizes that means he was going to get roasted by both of you now. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, tucking your face into Matthew’s arm in hopes no one saw the way you shrunk at that stupid joke.

“We’re winners right now,” Matthew calls out, his last ball landing in the cup and sealing the game for the two of you. Matthew would raise winners with you, it was something he thought about from time to time, but those thoughts were never going to see the light of day, “Alright drunky I think it’s time to get you home.”

“You can stay, I’ll just catch a ride with someone,” You waive Matthew off, who shook his head no at you before you even started speaking.

“One, my dad would kick my ass if he knew I left you,” Matthew starts with, holding up one finger with another on the way, “Two, we’re friends now and I’d like to make sure you don’t die before you see a pro game.”

Matthew had seen you this drunk before, but what he didn’t know was that getting you home would be more difficult than he thought. You started in the direction of your house, but apparently you were a runner and a speedy one at that. Now you were barely two blocks away from Matthew’s parents place and if he could at least get you there he’d be able to call it a night - which wasn’t fucking easy.

“Alright I’ve had enough,” Matthew huffs, jogging to catch up with you and scooping you into his arms. You were hanging over his shoulder, Matthew making his way down the street with the house in his sightline. You could have cared less, laughing your ass off while Matthew walked up the stairs and finally placed you back down on your feet, “Be quiet, go up to my room and get some clothes and go sleep in the guest room.”

You weren’t quiet, not at all and Matthew was amazed not one of his parents came down to see what all the chaos was about. After Matthew had to walk you up the stairs, running back down for some water and hoping you weren’t a disaster by the time he got back - he found you in his bed. You were curled up right in the middle, an old London Knights shirt on your body, Matthew’s favorite. Matthew grabs his comforter, throwing it over your body. He sighs, leaning against his door frame and smiling to himself at how comfortable you looked, flicking off the light and retreating to the guest room.

Matthew hated the guest room. He hated how hard the mattress was and after a few hours of no sleep and tossing and turning - he gave up. Matthew hoped no one else was up, but not to his surprise his mother was already in the kitchen, and judging by the look on her face, she knew who was upstairs.

“Care to explain?” Chantal smirks, raising her eyebrows at her son. Matthew’s face got red, his landing on the back of his neck to cover the blush.

“She fell asleep before I could even get her to the guest room,” Matthew shrugs, hoping his mom wouldn’t push it any further, “I, uh, apologized the other day.”

“Good,” Chantal hums, a knowing look on her face. She didn’t like to push Matthew, her one kid who seemed to be a little rougher around the edges than the others, but that silly feud never sat right with her, “Here, bring her a coffee, I’m sure she needs it.”

Matthew nods, grabbing the mug his mother was holding out and starting to make his way up the stairs. He heard the tell her you made it from his mother and shook his head. He knew what she was thinking, especially with the way Chantal seemed to talk about you. His mother thought you were nothing short of perfect, and Matthew would be a liar if he didn’t think the same thing.

“Did I fall asleep here?” You’d woken up confused, your question only answered by the jerseys hanging on the walls, you were in Matthew’s room. You rub your eyes, the door creaking open way too loudly for how dead you felt.

“Only after you almost fell down the stairs and ran three blocks in the wrong direction,” Matthew chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing you the mug, “You know you’re fast right?”

“Yeah,” You muse, smirking to yourself and taking a sip of coffee, “I’m sorry I did that to you, and stole your bed - I can go.”

Matthew stopped you, telling to finish your coffee and relax and he’d drive you home after. You fell into a comfortable conversation, something Matthew never thought would happen.

And watching you walk up to your steps in his shirt still wasn’t something he thought he’d see, but it was better than he imagined.

***

“Hey it’s Jamie, can’t get to the phone right now…”

You groan, tossing your phone onto your bed and continuing your pace around the room. It was well after midnight, and your sister had been out all night, and past her curfew. Usually you’d cover for her, definitely taking the prize home for the cool older sister who picks her siblings and their friends up from parties. That’s what had you so worried. Sure, Jamie was a teenager and she snuck in a few little white lies with your parents just like you’d done, but Jamie always told you the truth. She’d check in with you more than her parents, letting you know that she’s going to be out late but she’s safe and if she needed anything she knew who to call. You texted sometime around ten, just checking in since it was Saturday and you were sure she had a more riveting social life than yourself. No answer. Then eleven rolled around and you didn’t hear anything, so naturally you double texted and now it’s twelve thirty and you still haven’t heard anything. You cross your arms, looking at your phone as if you could will an answer into existence. You grab it, dialing a number you weren’t even sure would work.

“Hello?” Matthew’s voice appeared on the other side of the line, clear confusion in his voice. You let out a sigh of relief, hoping Matthew would have the answer you wanted to hear so desperately.

“Is my sister at your house?” You ask, biting your lip and throwing on a pair of sweats so you could pick her up and murder her for scaring you like that. You were sure it was innocent, Jamie slept over at Taryn’s all the time, staying up way too late watching movies or when Jamie would hide going to a party from your much stricter parents.

Matthew tells you to give him a minute, and you can hear him walking through the house. By the time you heard a door open and a small fuck under his breath, your stomach dropped, “She was supposed to be home by midnight.”

“Alright, thanks anyways,” You sigh, “Do you know where they might have gone? It’s just, Jamie hasn’t answered me in hours and she usually does even if she’s out past curfew and I’m just-”

“I’ll be at your house in ten,” Matthew says, his keys alright in his hand and his foot halfway out the door. He was more mad than worried, sure his sister was out a party past curfew. Matthew was her biggest brother, and he was far more protective over her than Brady ever could be. He hated when she did this, and Matthew was pissed. You waited on your steps, Matthew car coming into view while you sprung up and practically sprinted into his car.

“You look mad,” You observe, as if it wasn’t completely obvious. You knew why, trying countless times to remind Taryn that her brother loves her and that’s why he’s like that. You thought he could go a little easier on her, but you wouldn’t dare get in the middle of that.

“I am mad,” Matthew grits out, knuckles white on his steering wheel while he drives slowly down the street. You just drove, in hopes you’d find what was obviously a house party and hopes your sisters were inside. You squint, hoping your eyes weren’t fooling you.

“Wait, pull over I think I see my neighbor,” You yell, Matthew’s foot flying on the break and you hop out. You were right, the bright orange tuft of hair you saw was like a miracle, “Hey Henry have you seen my sister?”

“Oh yeah I think she’s still inside,” Henry points to the house behind him, music blasting and a party in full swing, “I think she’s with Taryn.”

Matthew hops out of the car, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the house with him. Matthew’s fingers were laced with yours with every step he took, weaving through the crowd in hopes you’d see them. It took three bedrooms and a laundry room until you finally saw Taryn standing in the doorway. Her eyes went wide, and you pushed past them both to see Jamie with her head in the toilet. She was fine, well she was definitely in deep shit, but it wasn’t the worst thing to stumble upon. You throw her hair up, your attention moving to Matthew yelling at his sister in the hallway.

“Why didn’t you call someone,” Matthew yells, trying so damn hard to not completely snap on his baby sister. Taryn yells that her phone had died and then Jamie got sick and she didn’t know what to do. Of course they didn’t. You were probably more sympathetic, and you knew just how pissed off Matthew could get. You get up, pushing Taryn back into the bathroom and telling her to watch your sister.

“Calm down before you talk to her, please,” You plead, grabbing Matthew’s shoulders, “Besides, I sort of need some help right now.”

There it was. The very moment Matthew realized all along you could’ve been helping him. Your hands were wrapped around his biceps, a finger gently rubbing the skin right under the sleeve of his shirt. Every bit of anger disappeared from his body, a calm feeling replacing it. He knew you were right, and he’d be thankful for it later. Matthew knew he had to do the right thing by you, and he nodded, willing to follow any directions you gave him.

Matthew carried Jamie out of the house, getting both of your sisters in the car and finally heading back to your house. You knew he was still pissed off, a present frown on his face so you just took the chance. Just like he’d done before for you, you grabbed one of his hands from his steering wheel, lacing your fingers together. You caught the smile on his face, your thumb rubbing over his hand while his shoulders seemed to just relax. Once

Matthew finally helped you get Jamie inside, a night of laying on her floor to make sure she was okay ahead of you stood in the doorway with Matthew across from you.

“Thank you, I know we’re working on this friendship thing but you really didn’t have to do that,” You were eternally grateful, wrapping your arms around Matthew’s waist and tucking your head into his chest.

“You’d do the same thing for Taryn,” Matthew hums, knowing full well he definitely owed you for being Taryn’s replacement sibling with him and Brady in Canada for most of the year, “Get some rest okay?”

“Wait,” You stop Matthew, grabbing his hand one more time, “Don’t kill your sister, please she’s just a kid-”

“You’re way too easy on them,” Matthew chuckles, shaking his head at you. He knew Taryn was probably scared, and after he calmed a bit he understood where you were coming from. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tell her that if she ever pulls that shit again - he was going to rat her out to their parents.

And when Matthew finally got back in the car, he could see his sister’s grin in the backseat, “Don’t say it.”

She held your hand, are you sure you’re not going to malfunction now?

***

Maybe you were spiraling.

You’d been waiting for this moment your entire life, now you had a few more weeks until camp started and you were afraid. You knew you were good enough, you had to be. But what if you weren’t? You could feel the anxiety settling in, a feeling you hadn’t felt since Matthew told you soccer wasn’t a real sport in fourth grace. It’d been eating at you for weeks, deteriorating any confidence you had left in yourself. So you started pushing yourself even harder. The harder you worked the less like you were to fuck it all up. Your muscles were sore, your body was tired and it was just all becoming too much.

And Matthew noticed.

You were pushing yourself too hard, even the time you were supposed to relax with your families before your seasons started was being spent training. He understood it, the term first round exit lived rent free in his head every single time his skate hit the ice over the summer, but that didn’t make it okay. You looked tired, sluggish while you moved because you were running twice a day and training in between. And he was pissed everyone seemed to be fine with it. You should start working harder then Matthew. If it bothers you so much maybe you could join her. It wasn’t that he was jealous of your work ethic, he was worried. Matthew’s eyes followed you as you ran past his house again. The third time in one day, he’d finally decided he had enough.

Matthew took the walk to your house, charming the pants off your mother for her to tell him you were upstairs because you just got back in. He knocks twice, hearing a come in from the other side.

“What are you doing here?” You question, rolling one of your ankles that just seemed to be getting more swollen every time you started to practice. Matthew noticed it, your hands freezing one you caught his gaze.

“You’re overworking yourself,” Matthew stands his ground, he knew you could have told him to fuck off because no one hates advice they didn’t ask for quite like him, “Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s rich coming from the kid who’s played with more broken bones than anyone I know,” You remind him of a few mistakes Matthew’s made playing through injuries he really shouldn’t, “I’m not fucking frail.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Matthew scoffs, it never once crossed his mind that he thought he was tough enough to play through injuries but you weren’t, “It’s about taking a break so you don’t get hurt.”

“I’m fine,” You huff, getting up and trying your best to hide the pain in your ankle when you stood on it. You fell forward, Matthew catching you in his arms and putting you back down the edge of your bed.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Matthew asks with soft eyes, he bent down to take your ankle in his hand and inspect it the best he could. It was swelling, probably from the amount of pressure you’d been putting on your body with no breaks.

“What if I never score a goal?” You whisper, teary eyes finally meeting Matthew’s. His brows shot up, alarmed at how one of the best athletes he’s ever seen could feel the same way he felt right before his first NHL game. Matthew sits down next to you, hand on your thigh while you let out a cry, “What if I’m just a bust? Like I get there and nothing works and I suck.”

“You’ll score eventually,” Matthew scoffs, understanding how ridiculous you sounded but just how you felt at the same time, “Everyone does.”

“You scored like four games into your fucking career Matt,” You remind him, Matthew smiling a bit that you knew that to begin with. It would have been impossible not to know, or pretend like you didn’t keep a few tabs on his career. Matthew Tkachuk was a legend in the making, and whether or not you could feel butterflies in your stomach every time he dropped the gloves was a secret you’d take to the grave.

“I got suspended my first season too,” Matthew jokes, a teary eyed laugh escaping your lips, “I’d put down money you score in your first game.”

“Well good thing you have money to lose,” You sigh dramatically, the fear of fucking up still on your mind.

“You’ll find your groove, all legends do,” Matthew promises, throwing his arm around your shoulders. You snuggled into his side, a realization that he was becoming a comforting presence in your life with each passing day, “And if you don’t, you can always hide out in Canada with me.”

“Matty!” The same silly nickname Matthew introduced himself to you on your very first day of kindergarten slipped through your lips without realizing it. Matthew hadn’t been called that in ages, but it was welcome from you. You push his chest, “That’s not making me feel any better.”

“What if I told you the only reason I was so mean to you was because I was intimidated by how talented you were?” Matthew confesses, scratching your head with his fingers, “If I win a cup one day I think I owe you one.”

Matthew didn’t mention that in his wildest fantasies of raising that cup over his head, you were there. He’d owe you one and he hoped it was because you were there for him until he got there. Matthew saw it the same way every time, you’d tell him to go see his parents first but he’d fly right past them to get to you - the person who accidentally pushed him to be his best. He had plenty of daydreams about you winning too, remembering times you used to brag you’d go to the Olympics one day, and he hoped you were right. He wanted to see you succeed, more than anything, and he thought it would work.

“Legally you have to let me drink out of it,” You muse, shutting your eyes and letting yourself just rest against Matthew.

“It has to be Bud Light,” Matthew teases while watching you fake a gag. You grab his outstretched hand, letting him pull you up. His hands rested on the side of your face, eyes flickering to your lips for just a second. He wanted to kiss you, but he knew he had to wait. Wait for you to be ready. Wait for you to settle down. Or even just wait until he thought he had a real shot at forever.

Forever with you.

***

Matthew was kind of pissed off.

The press didn’t bother him, none of that mattered and at the end of the day Matthew was able to sleep at night knowing he was a good teammate and a decent person most of the time. This one got him though, some writer criticizing the A on his jersey, and how someone who plays like he does didn’t deserve a letter.

A letter he earned.

You could tell something was off, the way Matthew had been running alongside you was aggressive to say the least. He insisted he came with you, something about forcing you to take breaks. He was being your friend, even though your sisters seemed to disagree. Taryn’s words were replaying in your head, Matt doesn’t even care if I get hurt. That didn’t mean anything, those two had no idea what love was and Matthew caring about you a little bit didn’t mean he loved you. Besides, the way he was acting right now told a completely different story.

“Are you mad at me?” You finally slow down, sitting on a rock that was next to the hiking trail you were on.

“No?” Matthew stops dead in his tracks, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach that he fucked this up too, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“No, tell me what’s wrong,” You push, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes at Matthew. You could tell he was pressed about something, his neck covered in a red flush the same way it used to.

“Some stupid article about my letter, don’t worry about it,” Matthew grits, repeating his words again. His defense was up, even after you confessed to him that you were scared of not being enough.

“Get the fuck out of here with the tough guy act Matthew,” You challenge him, poking him right in the chest, “If we’re going to be friends you need to cut that shit out.”

“You really want to hear it?” Matthew barks back, fully yelling at you, “I’m tired of people thinking I don’t deserve things because I threw a few bad hits. Do you know how it feels to have everyone think you’re shitty? No you don’t, because you’re so fucking perfect that my own parents like you more than me.”

You stood there, silent while you tried to figure out how to tell him that simply wasn’t true. His entire body was shaking, the anger coursing through his veins like you’d seen many times before that. Matthew looked like he did the first time you hit a homerun in gym class, except this time it was because that same pressure never got released. You couldn’t come close to understanding the way he probably felt. You didn’t have the comparables in your own family, the constant reminders of Brady’s points tally compared to his, let alone the career his father had.

“Matty,” You whisper, grabbing his hand and running your fingers over the scars on his knuckles, “Why is this bothering you so much?”

You were sure this wasn’t the first time someone’s said he was a pest, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. Matthew sighed, the better part of his brain screaming at him to stop before he lost you too.

“I’ve felt like this forever,” Matthew whispers, eyes fixated on your hand in his, “From the moment I started getting bigger, there’s just been this pressure to play a certain way and act a certain way. I was a fucking kid, and while all of my friends got to go wherever they wanted all I ever did was practice. Then I finally get to where I wanted and I’m still getting shit on.”

“Except no one thinks you don’t deserve to be where you are,” You whisper, quiet words as if you were going to startle him, “And I know it doesn’t make up for things people say, but the people who love you think you deserve it.”

Matthew nods, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. Your arms wrapped around his waist, his words mumbled against your forehead, “I needed that.”

“I know,” You nod, smiling wide up at him, “And we need to practice more because you’re too slow, soooo catch me if you can!”

You slipped out of his arms, running away with a giggle and a smile. Matthew stopped for a second, his Neanderthal brain checking out your ass while you jogged away and his more logical one trying to process what just happened.

But what mattered most was that whatever you did worked and that meant something to Matthew.

***

Just admit you think he’s hot.

You wanted to kill your sister for making this weekend harder than it had to be. You were doing a good job at just friends with Matthew until Jamie was curled up in your bed while you packed for a lake trip with your friends. She pushed it for hours, rambling on about Matthew is actually your type and Taryn swears he’d be a good boyfriend if someone just understood him. The problem was, you were starting to see her point. Matthew had a glow up a few years ago, like one summer he’d gotten home and you were infatuated with him. It used to annoy you, because he’d been such an ass to you that you hated how attractive he was. Then things changed, and now looking at him was just frustrating you. You were terrified about the way he made you feel, like everything would be okay with one look of those blue eyes and a smirk. You felt like he had your back, a vast change from how you used to feel and it was just getting hard to hide it anymore.

Especially when Matthew looked like he did right now. He was holding himself up on the dock, shoulders broad and glistening in the moonlight above you. All your friends were inside, moving their party away from the water as the night lingered on. You wanted to run your fingers through his wet curls, the temptation was almost too much.

“I’ll be in Chicago a few times you know,” Matthew hums, enjoying the time alone he was getting with you. Anytime without Brady teasing him about what the Tkachuk’s had been referring to as the hand holding incident. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t want you, because he did, but he just needed to move at his own pace.

“You want to come see me play?” You ask, leaning back on the palms of your hands. You were surprised by the kind of man Matthew had become, it was a completely different person that he used to be. He cared so much about his loved ones, and you were starting to feel like maybe you had a place there.

“Actually thinking you could come see me play,” Matthew teases, sarcasm dripping from his words. You lifted your foot up, kicking some of the water below you to splash him, but he’d caught your ankle before you could. He stopped for a moment, running a thumb over your skin, “This looks better.”

“Don’t make you admit you were right,” You whine, Matthew swiftly pulling you into the water with him. You yelp, the water way too cold for any normal person, “It’s freezing.”

“C’mere then,” Matthew grabs your waist, pulling your body against his. His hands were splayed across your back, heat radiating off of them. One of your hands was on his shoulder, your other on his chest. You could feel his heart beating quickly, his eyes locked on yours, “Middle school Matthew would be so jealous of me right now.”

“Why’s that?” You hum, running your fingers along Matthew to play connect the dots with the beauty marks on his skin.

“Because he had the biggest crush on you,” Matthew confesses, his grip on you a little tighter, as if he was afraid you’d slip right through his fingers again, “But he was too thick headed to do anything about it.”

“What about grown up Matthew?” You ask, biting your lip. Matthew was practically holding you both up in the water, pressed so close together you could hear the hitch in his breath at your question, “Is he too thick headed to do something too?”

You wrapped your legs around Matthew’s waist, pressing your lips to his and tugging on the curls at the base of his neck. He pushed you up against the dock, helping you back up and pulling himself up next to you. You grabbed the back of his neck, latching your lips back on his. His hand was on your back, fingers toying with the back of your bathing suit, “Think we can get upstairs without anyone noticing?”

Matthew was cool most of the time. He never faltered under the pressure from his career, most of the time, and he definitely didn’t fold when it came to a pretty girl. You had him in the palm of your hand, every part of his brain malfunctioning in response to your words. You bit your lip, wondering if you’d read this entire situation. Matthew rubs a thumb along your lip, “When are you going to realize I’d do whatever you asked me to?”

The two of you snuck up the stairs, giggles and stolen kisses left in your wake. You open the door, Matthew’s hands still toying your bathing suit top, “Just take it off already Matty.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Matthew breathes, his lips pressed against your neck while the garment falls to the floor, “So fucking beautiful.”

You back hit the mattress, Matthew’s hands running up your body slowly. Slow wasn’t in Matthew’s vocabulary, but he was taking his time just in case he never got this opportunity again. His fingers hooked under your bathing suit bottoms, sliding the wet fabric down your legs. You looked so beautiful, spread out just for Matthew like he’d dreamed about numerous times. His lips moved down to your breasts, teeth grazing against your skin while his tongue swirled against your nipple. You let out a breathy moan, Matthew’s ego boosting from the sound. You plucked at his curls while his mouth moved down to where you were craving him most, a gentle kiss to your clit, “Matty, please.”

“I didn’t peg you for the type to beg,” Matthew hums, pressing feather light kisses around your core. He stopped, gripping your thighs and looking up at you, “You sure about this?”

“Yes, please,” You whine, pussy dripping from Matthew’s hot breath fanning over it. Matthew chuckles darkly, fingers digging into your thighs when he flicked his tongue over your clit. You moan, completely unbothered by the blaring music a floor below you. Matthew didn’t seem to be bothered either, his tongue teasing your entrance while his nose rubbed against your clit, living for the way you were whimpering above him, “Matty-”

“Close baby?” Matthew groans, slipping a finger inside of you and curling it. You back arched, his name falling through your lips was enough to answer his question. Your legs shook, pleasure washing over your body from Matthew and all of it just felt so right. Matthew’s lips were latched to your skin until he finally met your eyes again. He smiles softly, nudging his nose with yours while you caught your breath, “So good for me.”

“Should’ve known you were that good with your mouth with the way you run it,” You tease smiling against his lips.

“Not with you, not anymore,” Matthew promises, soft blue eyes looking into yours, he meant it. He didn’t know how else to make it clearer, he wanted you. You kissed him slowly, hands trailing down his abs and stopping where his shorts hit his waist. Matthew kicks off his swim trunks, cock springing free. You grab the back of his neck, pulling your lips to his and rolling over top of him and straddling his waist. It was criminal how good you looked on top of him, “Gonna ride me babe?”

You nod, lining his dick up your core and lowering yourself on top of him. You let out a whine, Matthew’s smug smile on full display once he realized it was because of how big he was, “We don’t have to if my dick’s too big.”

“Oh shut up,” You roll your hips, watching the way Matthew’s head fell back, smirking because he really thought he had control here. Matthew’s hands gripped your waist, moving your hips faster. His finger flicked over your clit, causing you to lunge forward on top of him. Matthew flipped you over, wrapping a leg around his waist so he could hit your g-spot. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails leaving scratches Matthew was going to wear pride later. You were seeing stars, noises leaving your throat you’d never even heard yourself make, “Fuck, Matty, I’m gonna cum again.”

“Look at me,” Matthew grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours and watching while your eyes roll back with pleasure. Your pussy clenched around him, his own cum spilling into you from the sensation, a loud groan following. Matthew pressed a kiss to your forehead, his cock still buried inside of you, “I wasn’t bullshitting you, I mean every word Y/N.”

“Matthew,” You whisper, running a finger along his back, “The distance…”

You didn’t mention everything, the way that if this was real it meant it would end up ripping you both apart. You were set to live in a different city, Matthew all the way in another country. The way your dreams included a spot on the U.S. National team, and the idea that wanting to be with Matthew would hold you back was terrifying. The way his dreams probably meant staying in Calgary forever, a C on his jersey and a cup over his head. It wasn’t going to be easy, you weren’t ever going to be the doting girlfriend he probably needed. There would be years of travel schedules and games that overlapped, and a part of you thought that maybe Matthew wouldn’t be able to do it. You’d get a year in and he’d find someone who would be there more and finally you’d end it.

“We can make it work, baby I want you, I always have and I probably always will,” Matthew starts, baring his soul to another person for the first time in his goddamn life, “I want to support your dreams and have you be there for mine. I’m all in here, I don’t know how else to tell you.”

“Can I have some time?” You plead, holding onto Matthew’s shoulders because you knew he could leave and tell you to never speak to him again. Matthew sighs, understanding the way you were shitting yourself about starting your own professional career, remembering the way rookie Matthew would have died before he considered settling down that first year, “Please don’t leave me-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Matthew promises, rolling over and letting your rest on his chest, “I’ll wait for you.”

You smile, snuggling closer to him. Matthew didn’t sleep a minute that night, running every single scenario that could possibly happen with the two of you. Matthew was sure it would work out, it had to, because if it didn’t he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover.

So now all he could was wait.

***

You know this is creepy right?

Matthew stares at Sam, punching his teammate in the arm lightly and telling him to shut up. He had a night off in Chicago, and after four straight hours of staring at your contact in his phone, Matthew finally just bought the tickets. He’d been good at keeping his distance, you needed space and he respected you enough to try and give it to you. He wasn’t doing so hot, Matthew consuming more soccer games than hockey games at this point. It started with your first game, because how was he supposed to just pretend like it wasn’t happening? You scored too, and it took everything in his power not to call you to tell you that not only was he right, he was insanely proud of you.

And he’d been hearing it from everyone. Your sister thought it was bullshit, Taryn and Jamie almost had Matthew on a flight to Chicago ready to show up like a terrible Lifetime movie. Brady thought it was hilarious the way Matthew was simping like this for one girl. Now, his teammates were on him, wondering why on Earth their friend who historically ran through women faster than he did mouthguards could be this hung up on someone he had a crush on in middle school.

“What number is she?” Sam asks, sipping the beer he forced Matthew to buy after making him go along with this.

“Nineteen,” Matthew smiles, pointing down at you on the field. You looked so happy, warming up with one of your teammates and a bright smile on your face. It seemed like a good fit, your team and your new city, and it made Matthew’s heart grow four sizes.

“Did she choose your number?” Sam jokes and Matthew mumbles something under his breath, “What?”

“It was her number first,” Matthew admits, not wanting to ever confess to another soul that you crossed his mind when he kept that camp number. Sam howled next to him, leaning over his seat and cracking up at his teammate.

You looked out in the crowd about halfway through the game, rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren’t seeing things. That tuft of curls was hard to miss, not to mention you knew just how big Matthew was. He was far too into the game to realize you caught him, up in arms about a call against your team that was valid but he’d argue it wasn’t. You asked for space, and it was getting harder to stick to your guns. Especially when he was making it so clear that he wanted this.

And whether or not you went to his game the next night, was a secret you’d take to the grave.

***

You were so close you could have tasted it.

While the final seconds of your season came to a close, all you could do was hold your head in your hands and hope no one caught the tears. A semi-final loss was devastating, but a semi-final loss where there wasn’t anything you could have done differently was even worse. Every athlete had off nights, a point Keith pushed right before you left to start your season, and he was right. Unfortunately, that was this game. Your biggest fear had come true and there was nothing you could do about it now. The game was over and you weren’t moving on.

And Matthew watched it.

Matthew promised you space, and he swore he’d give you the time you needed to settle down. But, this was something he couldn’t ignore. He could tell you were off, your entire rookie season was almost perfect and watching the way you folded during this game was gut wrenching. Matthew knew better than anyone, losing sucked. So he took the chance, grabbing his phone and shooting you a text he’d been waiting to send.

Doors open in Calgary.

and I’m so fucking proud of you.

It was the very last text you saw before you went to bed that night, tossing and turning for a few hours thinking about that loss. You couldn’t stop, every bone in your body was aching and you didn’t know what to do. So you bought a flight, packed your shit and was walking down the hallway to Matthew’s apartment without a second thought. You’d left him on read, calling Brady in the middle of the night and asking for his address, who gave it to you reluctantly with a reminder that if you needed to see him this badly you should rethink the needing time thing.

Matthew let out a groan when he had a bang at his door at three in the morning. Noah definitely was trying to walk into the wrong apartment again, and Matthew was grouchy when he whipped his door open. Except it wasn’t Noah after he’d had too many. It was you, teary eyed with your shit in a suitcase and a broken heart.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” You admit, whispering something you never thought you’d say to anyone, “I just didn’t do enough-”

Matthew didn’t say a word, pulling you into a bone crushing hug and holding you as tightly as he could. You didn’t need to hear it from him, about how things were out of your control and you did your best. You didn’t want that right now, you wanted him, “Baby…”

“Everything hurts,” You whimper, finally just letting it all out. You were bruised and battered from the season, the physical pain alone was enough to upset you, let alone the loss you just took. Matthew carded his fingers through your hair, letting you soak his bare chest with your tears because he wouldn’t have it any other way. You came back to him. You came back to him when things got too tough because you trusted him to bring you some peace, and he was happy about it.

You passed out sometime after that, your tears finally running dry and the exchaustion taking over your body. Matthew woke up early the next day, grateful for the optional morning skate so he could stay with you for just a little bit longer. The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains in his room, a calm snowy morning in Calgary so the city was just a bit quieter. 

Matthew settled on breakfast, working away in his kitchen with the only thing he knew how to make. Tell her you made it, his mom’s words from just a few months prior in his head while he cooked. You padded out his bedroom, one of Matthew’s god awful beer shirts hanging from your frame while you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed a kiss into his back, “It’s cold here.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Matthew hums, internally pumping his fist when he felt your lips form a smile against his skin. You turned your head, pressing your cheek against his against and letting out a laugh, “What’s so funny?”

“You framed my jersey?” You ask, your eye catching a jersey that was way too familiar. It was hung up beside Matthew’s from his first all star game, both number nineteens staring back at you.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my favorite player,” Matthew hums, a blush covering his cheeks, “I’m so proud of you.”

“You keep saying that,” Matthew finally turns around, pressing a quick peck to your lips.

“I’ll keep saying it long after we both retire,” Matthew speaks, words clear and sure because he’s had plenty of time to practice this one, “I’ll say it when you win a World Cup gold, I’ll say it when we have kids, I’ll say when you play at the Olympics. I’m going to say it over and over again.”

“But…” You trail off, all of those same demons you’d been fighting when it came to your whatever this was with Matthew, “What I’m not around enough for you?”

Matthew knew what you were thinking about, he’d thought about it plenty too. There were countless sleepless nights where all he did was wonder if you’d find someone in Chicago who could support you better than he could. He’d do his best, he swore he would, but in order for you to be happy, your passion came first. There was always going to be times when he couldn’t be there and it killed him.

“You’re more than enough,” Matthew promises, his lips ghosting over yours, “I want you to seize every opportunity in the world, I just want to be there to tell you that I love you and use the goat emoji on Instagram when you do.”

You let out a laugh, Matthew’s smile wide enough to see his dimples you loved so much, “I think I want to stay a little while.”

“I think you should,” Matthew agrees, capturing your lips in his, “Besides I’m playing tonight and I think I need to show off now.”

“You’re a cocky asshole.”

“But now I’m your cocky asshole.”

***

One year Later

You had a good reason to be late.

You swore Matthew couldn’t possibly be mad at you for this one. You’d missed your flight to Calgary, a few days post a second loss in the semi finals that you’d been taking much better this time around. Mainly because Matthew wasn’t there, but his stupid smile and words of encouragement where there on facetime hours later. That wasn’t the reason you were late, the reason you were late was because you’d received the most insane news of your life and it was an important phone or that flight. You’d caught the next one, legs shaking not to just call him and share the news, but you needed to tell him in person.

You’d finally gotten by the doors to the locker room entrance, out of breath from spriting there from your cab. There was Matthew, tapping his phone and staring at the clock on his phone with furrowed eyebrows. He was still in his suit, tie pulled a little looser, a nervous habit you realized he had some time ago, “Matty-”

“Don’t call me that just because you know you’re late,” Matthew huffs, already ready for the pout that would have followed so he’d forget all about the fact that you promised you’d make it on time. He holds his hand out, waiting for the handshake he made up in the car on the way to the first game you went to after he finally locked it down. You laugh, slapping your hand against his and letting him pull you closer for a kiss.

“They want me on the National Team,” You mumble against his lips, the words spilling out of your mouth when you pull away with an excited smile. Matthew stood there stunned, while you shuffled your feet in the little dance you did when you were really happy. He grabs your cheeks, pressing kisses to your lips again and again.

“We’re celebrating after this, holy shit,” Matthew cheers, still stunned by your news, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, now go score a few goals so we have even more to celebrate,” You kiss him one more time, pushing him before the door before he was late.

“Anything I do seems unimportant now!” Matthew calls out, a light laugh to his voice as he watched you walk away to go sit in the stands.

And that’s how Matthew thought it should be.

[kallulovesu]

Heyooo :) can you do headcannons for a platonic yandere allies ?? Am aroace so that's the kind that floats my boat, also do you ever feel tired of writing ?? Like .. ur so productive, it's awsome but like .. I hope ur doing it cuz u have energy not cuz you have followers waiting 😬 take care Plz ❤❤🥺

For the anon that asked that yandere reader ask, thx u inspired this ask ur idea is rad :3

(A/N:) ahh thank you for the worry anon, but it’s no problem really!💞 I wouldn’t be making as much content if I wasn’t having any fun, since it’ll probably end up feeling more like chore...and I hate doing chores 😭

That one protective friend that makes sure to check up on you every second (but it’s turned up to the extreme and downright becomes unhealthy in some cases)™

It was ironic to him. Out everyone that he had gotten to know over all these years— hell, perhaps even Arthur; you were the only one he felt like understood him the most. Not many seemed to notice what was going on beneath the surface of his facade, which was why he appreciated you being there. You still liked him despite the many flaws that he had, and tried your best being with him even if it became downright tiring. Alfred would be heavily dependent on you because of this, often going to you to cheer him up— or before he was going to make a rash choice.

So it was only natural that he couldn’t see himself being without you.

You were like a best friend to him; Alfred would even go as far as to say that he felt a familial connection between the two of you. So the deep desire to protect you was normal, wasn’t it? Even when he felt himself worrying for your well-being at even the slightest approach of a stranger, it was just his instinct telling him that there was something wrong. It wasn’t anything unhealthy. Thus, would usually drag you away from anyone that he found to be suspicious; even those he was already familiar with. This would probably result in a lot of arguments, with him trying to say what was ‘best for you’ and with you denying that you needed this much...protection. You swore that it almost felt like he was just isolating you from the others, to have you purely depend on him for whatever reason you couldn’t make up.

Alfred can’t handle being apart from you— nonetheless the idea of you being angry with him, or even hating him . It truly didn’t matter if the reason was rather ridiculous or not, the idea of you hating him just...made his stomach churn uncomfortably. You were his best buddy, and basically one of the only ones he could trust with his inner worries; and the risk of it all being taken away from him because of a silly, childish mistake was all it took to send the poor boy into a state of panic. Please don’t leave him, he’d do anything to keep you there with him. Begging, gifting— you name it.

Arthur didn’t completely seem to realize his feelings at first, confusing it with romantic attraction for a little while— before quickly seeming to realize that it was all purely platonic. He did feel a bit protective of you, maybe even possessive...but it had nothing to do with romance, nor lust. It was just him wanting to have someone beside him, someone that he could call a friend. And someone that would never leave his side.

It won’t be hard to notice how...bad his communication skills were; with him often saying things that he didn’t really mean and slightly setting you off. Arthur is stubborn, so it may take some time (and slight teasing at how much he hesitated) for him to actually apologize. You’ll probably get used to it after a while, since he’s one big tsundere.

Saying this out loud was an absolute no-no for this man— but you being around Arthur was often enough to make him the slightest bit happier. It felt a bit lonely at times, especially with less and less people being around him these past few years. So having you as a friend almost felt like a breath of fresh air.

He’s very critical of those you choose to be around with, often analyzing even the smallest of things so he can determine if they’re actually worth being around you. Which more often than not ends up... not being the case. Arthur will tell you to stay away from them; saying that they were suspicious, and probably had something bad in mind. He’ll resort to isolating you if you were to disobey him, trying to take as much of your attention— and perhaps even kidnapping you if the extreme were to happen. You were his one and only best friend, and he had to make sure you were safe. Always.

Totally the big brother type...well, he usually proclaims himself as being one, so it isn’t that much of a surprise.

Francis will make sure to absolutely pamper you with his attention; hanging out with you, sending letters whenever he was too busy...and simply sending gifts from France. He simply couldn’t let you go off feeling unloved!

He adores talking about you; usually going off on a mindless ramble whenever someone even mentions your name, like a proud father showing off his child. Others will usually compare him to one due to how much he adores talking about you— or simply the way that he treats you. Which would quickly be disregarded with a: “oh, I’m no father! They’re just such a nice little friend to have around, who wouldn’t want to praise such a delicate person?”

On a second note....he actually did feel like a father figure to you. Huh.

Francis will often suggest helping you out with your love life, perhaps even gushing over cute guys together that you found on a random dating app— before quickly realizing that he didn’t really want this. Those silly moments were fun and all, but having you talk with someone that could just be out to use you made him a bit angry...and paranoid, mainly the latter. He will make sure that anyone that even so much dares to get close you first gets his approval first. The feeling of a broken heart was all too familiar to him, and he didn’t want you to experience such a thing.

This may result in him checking up on you...an awful lot, making sure that those around you were only the best of the best and wouldn’t end up being bad influence to you. Yes, he truly was like a father.

A sibling-like person in his life that he didn’t feel insecure against and acknowledged him as his own person? Fuck yes!!

Jokes aside— Matthew really does care deeply for you. Perhaps it was due to the Canadian barely having those that he could...truly call close friends, so having you around almost felt like a blessing. Unlike Francis, he won’t really show you off or talk about you much, especially around his brother. The American had already stolen enough from him, so why would he let something like that happen again?

He’s extremely wary of anyone that even so much tries to make a move on you. It’s just...you were someone that he held extremely dear; and having you potentially getting hurt due to some lowlife that managed to slip into your life would absolutely break his heart. Matthew didn’t want to fail in protecting you, he would never forgive himself if something like that were to happen.

Losing you is something that he wishes to avoid completely. He’ll even go as far as kidnapping you if it came down to it, Matthew just couldn’t see himself living happily without you by his side.

Yao likes cute things...and you’re a cute friend, so it’s a perfect match!

But seriously, he thinks that you’re absolutely adorable. Whether it be because of your personality— or your appearance, it really doesn’t end up mattering in the end. You’re his cute little friend, and that’s all that matters!

He’ll often treat you with more, yet gentler care than most of the others around him. He knew that you were well capable of taking care of yourself; but he just couldn’t help but see you as something fragile, something that he had to protect. So you can already imagine how frustrated he gets when someone treats you with even the slightest bit of disrespect— Yao will often confront them immediately, while you awkwardly have to sit back and watch it all. Almost feeling pity for the person that had to endure your friend’s seemingly never-ending complaints.

Oh, he probably doesn’t quite realize how he comes off as a father at times; seeing how much he’ll scold you for the smallest mistakes (while making sure to correct you of course!) and how he usually made decisions for you, making it hard to refuse his gestures due to his pushy nature. But it’ll probably become a normal thing for the two of you as time progresses, since it’s just...how Yao was, you assumed.

His controlling behavior will also reflect on how he treats your personal life. Yao is very selective of who he lets you be around with, so he’ll often look at your acquaintances and friends with a very critical eye, immediately expressing his distaste in them if they were even to do the smallest thing wrong. “Such a brute isn’t worth being around, (y/n).” Yao will warn you to stay away from them, but won’t bring it up any further if you decide to do what he says. If you don’t then...well, he had special friends to help him out with his dirtier work.

Yao might consider kidnapping you if this behavior keeps on repeating, but won’t feel compelled to actually do it unless something bad were to happen.

Ivan will always try his best to be there for you! While it most likely won’t quite work with him being a rather busy person; a country, nonetheless, but he’ll do his upmost best. It was extremely hard for Ivan to make friends that...weren’t scared of him or secretly disliked him, so having you was such a relief!

Being his only friend, he’ll make sure to be absolutely devoted to you— perhaps in a way that wasn’t too healthy in a friendship, and would often be looked down upon by those looking at your relationship from an outsider’s perspective. But could one truly blame him? Ever since he was born it felt like everyone around him were either toying with him, or were utterly terrified of the boy expect for his two sisters. It was lonely...so it isn’t hard to imagine how overjoyed he was once having you in his life; someone that didn’t display the usual fright whenever he approached them, nor did you look like you were out to hurt him.

Ivan appreciated you a lot.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that you’d most likely become the target of a few other countries, your connection with Ivan wasn’t extremely hidden from the outside world... (from how much he’d senselessly mutter things about you when daydreaming, and the many times he stuck by your side) and so, others would take it to their advantage. Those like Alfred will probably try convince you to leave Ivan’s side, spewing terrifying stories of the man to try and stir up something inside of you so you could leave him. It was mainly for your own safety, yes. But it was also to make the Russian weaker. It was obvious that he was depending on you heavily, and losing you would...god forbid if that would ever happen. Ivan would completely lose himself, perhaps even snapping completely.

So don’t hesitate to tell Ivan if someone was bothering you! Ivan will make sure to get rid of the little parasite from your life in an instant, giving them a short warning whenever the two come across each other...and making sure that he got his point across! It’s better to ignore their sudden disappearance after that day, since someone like them wasn’t worth lingering in your mind.

[jjmaybanksbaby]

Where It Leads (Rafe Cameron)

Summer IV

Part 07: Crashing Down

series masterlist | previous part

summary: A jarring family emergency forces you to consider the future of your relationship with Rafe Cameron.

a/n: I'm a little bit emotional about this series ending because I've had so much fun writing it! Enjoy the last part and, as always, please come share your reactions with me in my inbox. Okay, that's all from me!

word count: 2.1k words

Rafe Cameron knew how to text. He was somehow witty, charming, and hilarious all in less characters than a single tweet. Texting with most boys was like talking to a brick wall: single-syllable answers, unironic uses of punctuation, asking “What are you wearing?” before even listening to how your day went. Though, to be fair, Rafe had asked that same question a few times, which always earned him a sarcastic answer in return. Well, except for that one time.

You’d been forced to spill the beans about your dreamy summer romance to Alice and Kensie after one of Rafe’s funnier texts almost made you pee yourself laughing at the lunch table.

“Oh, so he’s a stud muffin,” Alice announced, peering over Kenzie’s shoulder at the photo on your phone.

“Please god don’t call anyone a stud muffin ever again Al,” Kenzie replied.

“What? The 80s are like making a comeback.”

“Yeah, not that,” you countered and Alice huffed.

“He’s totally hot though,” Kenzie said, handing the phone back to you. “And I kinda hate you for not telling us about him.”

You looked down at the picture. Rafe was kissing your check while you grinned up at the camera, the golden hour lighting made the whole thing look rather enchanting. It was your favorite picture of you and him.

“Oh shit,” Kenzie said causing you to look up from the phone. “You’re like in love in love with him.”

“What? No,” you protested. Yes, your brain corrected.

Kenzie glanced over at Alice for backup.

“Besides, I wasn’t hiding him. I just didn’t know if there was anything there to...tell,” you finished.

“I wish I had a handsome summer fling with spectacular cheekbones,” Alice sighed.

“Don’t let your boyfriend hear you saying that.” Kenzie chucked a fry off her tray at Alice who dodged it expertly.

“Oh, please. Matty knows I would dump his ass for someone who looks like a young Chuck Bass any day of the week. Gimme your phone. I wanna see the photos again y/n.”

“I seriously don’t know how you and Matthew have been together for two years,” Kenzie replied.

“Are you kidding? They’re practically made for each other,” you added.

“The phone, please,” Alice interjected. “I wanna thirst over your mans while my boyfriend is sucking up to his English teacher so she doesn’t fail him. Of course, I told him he needed to actually read Wuthering Heights and not just sparknotes it. But did he listen? No. I picked a real winner y’all,” she finished, taking the phone from your outstretched hands. “You sure Rafe doesn’t have any brothers? Not even like a half-step brother?”

So yeah, going great. Against the odds of three thousand miles, the whole thing was somehow working. Long-distance friends with benefits? Check. Well, except for those moments when that nagging feeling in your stomach came back and you’d start overthinking everything. His texts would sit, unread in your phone for days or even a whole week, slowly sinking to the bottom of your messages.

Then came the call from the Kildare Country Hospital in the early hours of a foggy April morning. You should have gone to sleep hours ago but were still up, desperately trying to cram Maria’s lines into your brain while also texting Rafe. The Sound of Music opened in three weeks and your director had already chewed you out twice for not being off-book, something about being an upperclassman and the lead, and what kind of an example were you setting for the rest of the program. Big speeches were kind of your director's thing, you learned to just ride them out.

Around 1 a.m. your phone ran with an incoming FaceTime call from Rafe. You pressed the green acccept button, a smile spread across your face as Rafe’s own filled the screen.

“Hey Broadway Star.”

“Hi Rafe.” The dim lighting of his bedroom made his feature especially striking. “What are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep. Plus you’re up too so. How’s the memorizing going?”

“Shitty,” you replied, closing your binder with a sigh. “I’m too tired to do anymore of it tonight anyway.”

“You know, I was thinking I could come to Oregon for your opening night?”

“Really?” The possibility of Rafe sitting in the audience made your heart race.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll ask Ward if I can borrow the plane that weekend and I bet Sarah’ll want to come too. I wanna see my girl kill it. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Rafe. You know my friends think you’re hot.”

“Oh, do they?” Rafe replied, rolling over onto his back in his bed.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Cameron.”

The home phone ran but you ignored it, much more invested in your conversation with Rafe. The second time the hospital left a message. Your Nonna’s heart had given out. The prognosis wasn’t good. She had barely any time left.

Your heart dropped as the words echoed over the speaker of the answering machine.

“Rafe,” you said, cutting him off momentarily. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later. I gotta-” you ended the call before Rafe even had the chance to respond. You dropped your phone on the kitchen table, dashing up the stairs to your parents’ bedroom. Your father was booking a flight for your mother back to the Outer Banks minutes later.

The end had come so quickly, so unexpectedly. It was almost like that made it harder. There'd been just enough time for your mom and uncle to get to the Outer Banks, sitting on each side of your Nonna as her final breaths passed through her lungs. Now, everyone was there to say goodbye one last time. Uncle Austin and his fiancé. Your mom and dad. Both your siblings. The entire population of Figure Eight.

☼☼☼

Rain drizzled down from the dark, gray clouds looming overhead. It was as if Mother Nature was mourning your Nonna too, hiding the sunshine away.

Three baby ducks followed their mama into the man-made pond at the edge of the cemetery. You watched their tiny feet kick up small waves disturbing the peaceful water and the tears silently slipped down your face.

The cars were waiting to take you back to your Nonna's house for the wake. The same house with the for-sale sign now stuck in the front yard. The for-sale sign with Rose's patronizing grin that you were starting to really hate. Your dad had handled that. Listing the house. He'd handled most of the funeral arrangement's actually because your mother had been too sunken into her grief to make any decision. Sending out the invitations, picking out your Nonna's casket, choosing the flowers. Your mother clung to him during the entire funeral, weeping into his shoulder.

“Y/n?” Rafe's voice called out from behind you and you turned to see him walked toward you. He’d stood at the back of the church with his family during the funeral. You had longed for him to be sitting in the first pew next to you, to have had his hand to hold onto to ground you, but it hardly would have been appropriate. Your Nonna would have sooner risen from the dead than have had a Cameron front row at her funeral.

As soon as he was close enough, Rafe reached for you, pulling your body tight into him. Your head landed on his chest and the sobs came moments later. God, he always smelled the same. He just let you cry, holding you close, smoothing his hand over your hair.

“I know you’re selling your grandma’s house but I was thinking you could stay with me for the summer," he said as your tears began to slow. It was hard to imagine that you wouldn't return to the Outer Banks once school let out. It was the first week of May already and you could feel the tourist-attracting town waking up. But selling the house just made more sense. Your older sister was already living her life in New York, a real adult life. Next summer, you'd be moving out too, headed to college. The house would sit empty for eight months out of the year, your family couldn't keep it and your uncle certainly didn’t want it. Selling it just had to happen.

You stepped back, slipping out of his embrace. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rafe.”

“Why not?”

“Cause we’re like Romeo and Juliet.”

“I copied Cleo’s notes for that unit," he joked, trying to lighten to damp mood. “Plus I was never a fan of Leo DiCaprio so I didn’t finish the movie either.”

“It means we’re not supposed to be together, you and me. And whenever we try, the universe rips us apart. We hurt each other.”

Rafe shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly wanting to reach for you again but stopping himself from doing it. “But I can't lose you.”

You reached your hand out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Oh Rafe, don’t you get it? You never really had me.” You stood up onto your tiptoes to kiss him just like you had the first time three years ago. Rafe barely parted his lips, kissing you back gently. Your hand cupped his face, your thump stroking over his cheek. It was a goodbye. Both of you knew it. It was an ending and this was your closure. You pulled away, your hand falling away from his face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual words. Your eyes fell to the ground. You needed to walk away now. You side-stepped Rafe but he grabbed your waist, turning you back around to face him.

“So that’s it? You’re not even gonna try to fight for us?”

“What even is there to fight for, Rafe? I’ve been fighting for us for the past four years. If we were supposed to be together that car wouldn’t have crashed into ours, I wouldn’t have fallen for Evan when I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at my Nonna’s funeral. What? Are we supposed to do long distance for all of college? I hardly know who I am right now. I have no idea who I’ll be in the next four years. Our future selves might not even like each other. I’m not gonna wait around for you Rafe and I would never ask you to do that for me.” You twirled the small, star charm between your fingers, a nervous habit you'd developed over the past year. His eyes dropped down to your neck momentarily and his adam's apple visibly bobbing as he swallowed his next weeks.

“You were it for me, you know. I tried to give a fuck about anyone else but I couldn’t get your gorgeous, stupid face out of my mind. I only wanted you.” Rafe paused gauging your reaction “I was falling in love with you.”

Your eyes wandered over his stoic expression. “The feeling was mutual, Rafe Cameron.”

He dropped your wrist but you both stood, not moving or saying anything. “Do you wanna walk me back to the car?”

“Yeah.” He reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers. Your other hand held onto his bicep so you walked together through the graveyard back to the parking lot.

The moment felt precious and delicate, like the fragile china your Nonna used to collect. You wondered what would happen to all that china.

Rafe placed a chaste kiss on your lips before opening the door of the car.

“I’ll miss you,” you said, the words hanging in the air meaning so much.

“Me too,” Rafe agreed.

You wanted one more kiss, one more passionate declaration of how much this all had meant but that would make leaving Rafe so much more impossible.

You climbed into the car, dropping Rafe’s hand in the process.

“See you around Cameron.” You knew it wouldn’t happen but it felt better than a goodbye.

He smiled back. “Maybe so.”

Perhaps Rafe was right and you’d both end up at a small liberal arts college in California taking the same second-year Econ class with a professor who always smelled like weed. Perhaps the stars would align and two of you would realize the universe wasn’t trying to keep you apart. It was just waiting for the right moment to show you that the love you had for each other was the soulmates, forever and ever kind of love. Perhaps you would get married and Sarah would be your maid of honor, of course. You’d buy back your Nonna’s house to raise your troubling-making kids in. Perhaps, you would find your way back and wake up each day and choose each other again and again.

Or perhaps, he'd always be your right-person-wrong-time. And, in the end, the passing days will steal away your memories of the blue-eyed boy from the Outer Banks.

taglist! @oreoenthusiast13

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

We learned a lot about each of Jesus's followers from episode 3. A lot of what's been beautifully displayed/shown for us had a chance to be articulated and told to us here (in a natural way--great storytelling!). So let's break it down in a meta longer than what any of you asked for:

John - the themes explored in S2E1, which are very present in his gospel, are here again! He expresses awe at the fact that he--"a nobody"--is not only alive at the time of the Messiah, and not only sees Him, but travels with Him and is close with Him. That wonder at the personal, loving relationship we can have with God--that defines both John and his writings. But, we also see him give in to pride (setting up James to be better than the others, and his comment to "ask Matthew") and anger (accusing Simon, even if ostensibly in Matthew's defense, showed both anger and pride (a "you're no better than the rest of us!" mentality)).

Big James - we learn that he loves to study and has more theological/Torah knowledge than almost all of the group. He's a rule-follower, who loves the law and its structure (a foreshadowing of his eventual reluctance to accept Gentile converts who did not first convert to Judaism). More importantly, we see him acting as a moderating influence on the group. He comforts Mary when she expresses her insecurities about her past, and tries to get Simon to stop attacking Matthew. But, we also see how quickly he can become indignant and proud (telling Simon to sit down, instead of simply sitting down himself--"someone else must give in first, not me").

Simon - finally finally FINALLY we get to understand why exactly he's so mad and spiteful towards Matthew. He comes off as kind of a jerk half the time, but this moment (although heart-wrenching for Matthew's sake) helps to humanize Simon too. We get to see the roots of that protective, communal nature that will eventually make him such a good leader, and we see how deeply and passionately he cares for Israel. But we also see that he still struggles to accept those who are unlike him, and this will be a theme for the rest of his life, as he is called to minister to the Gentiles and told that all foods are clean. "Different" is something it takes Simon a long time to get used to. Additionally, his refusal to forgive Matthew is setting up his conversation with Jesus where he asks, "If my brother sins against me, how many times must I forgive him? Seven times?" (This was two-and-a-half times more than the required amount, so he probably thought he was going above and beyond.) I can just see Jesus knowing who Simon is thinking of and telling him, "No, you must forgive your brother seventy times seven times!"

Little James - we get to know a little about him! I just threw him on here since previously we haven't seen much of him and now we understand him a little more. We get to see him bond with Thomas, who's the first person we see really reach out to him, and we see his insecurity and his worry that Jesus will think less of him or change His mind about him. (What a relatable struggle!)

Thomas - what we learn about Thomas surprises us! We're told earlier that "being methodical is his thing" (S2E1), and he seems fairly shy at points, so we assume he must be like Matthew, or Philip. But he's not! He doesn't like the rules. He's somebody who questions things. (Shocker--he questions Jesus's resurrection too! Great set-up and character-building there.) He even says "I'd like to ask Him about that" (referencing Jesus losing His father, but showing that Thomas is someone who naturally asks and seeks). His innate drive to search out the truth is an asset, similar to Nathanael, but also similar is his hesitancy (and at times, flat refusal) to accept the truth because it seems hard to believe. It can also make him combative with those who have more faith, or more respect for the rules (there is some brief tension between him and Big James when discussing Torah, for example).

Mary - we learn that she is eager to learn the Scriptures, something that she as a woman was never allowed to do--and also that she feels she needs to relearn her Jewish-ness. She is ashamed of who she was before and felt that she turned her back on her true identity...sound similar to anyone?? It's no small wonder that she's sympathetic toward Matthew. Simon's outburst directly paralleled them (and Mary did not seem pleased that he used her past in that way). Mary feels that she has a lot to make up for, and has no expectations that Jesus will give her special honors or power--she is humble, and this is why she is more receptive to and understanding of His teaching, despite her lack of knowledge, than the other disciples are.

Ramah - she, too, is eager to learn; for her, this stems mostly from a feeling of never having been allowed to be anything but a dutiful daughter. Her worth was limited and defined by the men in her life. Now she is beginning to explore the possibilities of being defined by God instead, which is a distinctly counter-cultural move. This is why it's so important that she goes with Jesus despite her father's reluctance--she is showing she's willing to be someone other than who she's told to be. Instead, she'll be who she's called to be. But she is still insecure about her lack of knowledge and her inability to take initiative; she is more passive by nature, and even when recounting her imaginings of the Messiah, she doesn't imagine helping Him, just being rescued by Him. This sets her up as someone more able to be used by Him, as, like Mary, she has no delusions of grandeur, but she is still unsure of her role in the group.

Andrew - (this has been more "professional" so far but oh my gosh BABY boy I love him) we learn that he is considerate of others' needs and doesn't want to be a burden (through the "sorry" stories). He likes the rules and is comfortable in order, and things like apologies are meaningful to him because they show respect and consideration for the other person. This is why Andrew gets hung up on the fact that Matthew never apologized for his past and putting them in such a predicament--but John has a point when he stands up for Matthew. Although Andrew is doing it in a nicer way than Simon, both men are setting themselves up as someone who can forgive sin, ignoring the fact that Jesus has already forgiven Matthew (edit: what I mean by this is Simon is loudly excluding Matthew from the group because he's valuing his refusal to forgive over the grace Jesus extended Matthew. Andrew is nowhere near as extreme in this, and is justified in wanting an apology (naturally) but in jumping onto Simon's comments, he seems to indicate that he agrees with Simon's overall attitude--if you don't apologize, we won't accept you). It shows that despite his sensitive nature, Andrew is still proud, and feels that the respect he shows is also what he deserves. He will have to learn, throughout his time with Jesus, that the beauty of grace is that we don't get what we deserve. We are called to forgive those who persecute us, even if they don't ask for forgiveness.

And I'm sure I missed some (I can't even find the energy to cover Jesus's mother Mary, but I loved how they handled her as well) but even with just these we can see how the showrunners are taking such care to develop these characters in a way that their eventual interactions and growth in the later portions of the gospels make sense! They feel so genuinely real, and you can see in them the seeds of who they will become--seeds that Jesus had seen all along. Excellent, excellent work, and an even better witness to the transformative power of Christ!

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

tell me you care

request: 60 62 and 74 with Joel edmundson or Matthew tkachuk

prompts: “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t care.” & “Hi.” - “Get away from me.” & “You’ve been crying, I can tell.” / numbers 60, 62, & 74 off of this list with Matthew Tkachuk.

summary: first impressions are important to you, but Matthew somehow finds a way to bounce back.

warnings: none

word count: 2.9k

You were, by all accounts, a likable, friendly person. You always wore a smile on your face and got along with just about every person you met. Of course, there’s always a few exceptions. Your grumpy old neighbor who had heard your music loud late at night once and decided to hold a grudge. A few of the girls at your old high school who resented you for not giving them the time of day. One of your professors, who seemed to have a personal vendetta after you forgot to turn in an assignment late. 

And then there was Matthew. 

Your relationship with the curly haired hockey player was something else entirely. He was cocky, which to be fair you could handle, because you were friends with other hockey players on the Flames, but it was borderline arrogance that made your skin crawl. He teased you relentlessly whenever you were in the same room, which, once again, wouldn't be a problem if he actually showed some kindness every once in a while. 

Long story short, you and Matthew did not get along very well. Like, at all.

Which also seemed to be a source of amusement between his teammates, and it seemed to be their personal mission to get you and Matt in the same room as often as possible just to see how you’d react. 

“Noah, I’m pretty sure whatever it is, you don't need my help. You’re pretty capable.” You joked, following your friend’s large frame into the kitchen. You were at a house party, thrown by Matthew himself, though Johnny had been the one to extend the invitation to you. You had considered not even going, but then Johnny had said something about how he wanted to make sure he spent as much time with him as he could before they got too busy with a push for the playoffs, and, really, how could you say no to that? 

But you had seen Johnny twice in the entire night, and only spoken to him once. He had been with Matthew, and you weren’t in the mood to start a fight, so you kept your distance. You found residence at the pong table, making friends with the people there and hung out for a while until Noah approached, saying he needed help getting something in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, but it’s more fun if you come.” He said with a grin, one that should have been your first warning to turn and run, but you were just tipsy enough to overlook it as you walked into what was essentially a trap. Standing in the kitchen awaiting your arrival was not only Johnny, but Matthew and the usual gaggle of women that trailed after him 

You weren’t blind, you knew Matt was attractive. Curly hair, handsome grin, tall with broad shoulders—you definitely got the appeal. But then he did things like open his mouth, and you wondered just why those girls stuck to him like they did. 

Matt didn’t even see you enter at first, too busy chatting with one of the girls to notice you. But then Johnny called your name with a cheer, raising his drink in your direction and opening his arm for you to tuck yourself into his side.

And Matt genuinely might have given himself whiplash with how fast his head snapped to face you. 

“Where have you been?” Johnny teased, squeeing you obnoxiously tight before letting go. 

“Playing pong.” You explained with a shrug.

“How bad did you lose?” Matt cut in, and for a moment you spotted the mischievous glint in Johnny’s eyes as you rolled yours, not even bothering to turn towards the boy who had spoken at first. When you finally turned, you were surprised to find that Matt had separated himself from the girls, but they were still nearby. 

“What makes you think I lost?” You knew you shouldn't have said it, should have turned back to Johnny and asked him how much longer he planned on stay or told Noah off for tricking you into coming into the kitchen. But instead, you took Matt’s bait and met his smirk head on. 

“Well, you’re in here instead of defending your title of champion.” His arms were folded across his chest and his attention was solely on you, and it was devastating that even though you could feel your annoyance at him growing, you couldn’t help but silently acknowledge how attractive he looked.

“I’m taking a break, my partner needed to use the bathroom and Noah said he needed help with something.” You found yourself explaining, though the petty part of you considered just ignoring him. Knowing Matt, though, he probably would take that as he had been right, and there was absolutely no way you were letting him think that.

“Who were you playing with?” He questioned, and he sounded like he was genuinely interested but you were certain he was working some kind of angle, trying his best to try and get under your skin. With your brows tugged together in confusion, you gestured across the open floor plan apartment to the guy you had been playing against. 

The guy was already looking at you, and when you made eye contact, he sent a wink in your direction. You smiled back at him, before he was blocked from your line of sight by a broad chest. Over Noah and Johnny’s laughter, you realized that Matt had physically moved from one side of the kitchen to the other, just to stand between you and your decently handsome pong partner. 

“What are you doing?” You crossed your arms over your chest and raised a brow, spotting out of the corner of your eye as the girls Matt had abandoned from his previous spot huffed in annoyance. 

“I don't want you flirting at my party.” He explained, all traces of amusement void in his tone. You rolled your eyes, and the only thing that stopped you from gesturing to the women who were waiting for him to pay attention to them once more being the fact you didn't want them to think you were rude. 

“Oh, you really don't get to decide that.” Your response, coupled with the way you were clearly waiting for him to try and argue his case, had him spluttering for a response.

“No—not like that, I just meant—” He started, but was mercilessly cut off by one of his teammates barging into the kitchen.

“Hey, Chucky!” Rasmus cheered, swinging an arm over his shoulders as Matt still floundered for a response. 

“Saved by the bell.” You muttered, rolling your eyes at Matt and smiling at Rasmus as you passed. 

An hour and a half had passed in peace. You had been hanging with Noah for the entire time, until about five minutes ago when a girl caught his attention and you shoved him in her direction with an encouraging smile. Surprisingly, despite it nearing one in the morning, there were still quite a lot of people in the apartment, and all at once it felt stuffy. 

You slipped out onto the balcony and were alone for two minutes, tops, before the door opened behind you. You didn’t turn at first, too captivated by the nighttime view of Calgary. But you did feel the person lean against the railing next to you, and it was a voice you were certain you could recognize anywhere.

“Hi.”

“Get away from me.” You snapped, tired from a long day of classes and your buzz had long since worn off. 

“You're so sweet, you know that?” Matt’s sarcastic tone was obvious, but when you turned to look at him he was grinning. It wasn't his typical devilish smirk, it seemed genuine. “What’re you doing out here by yourself?” If he was being civil, then you could too. 

“I needed some air.” You shrugged, turning away from him and leaning backwards against the railing, craning your head sideways to look at him. “I think I’m going to head out, though?”

And it was like a switch had been flicked, all traces of his typical annoying personality vanished, and it was as if you guys didn’t usually bicker whenever you were in the same room. 

“I’ll go with you.” He said easily, as if it wasn't the first time he had offered something like that. You scoffed, raising a brow in his direction. 

“Not a chance, Tkachuk.” 

“Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.” He clarified with a chuckle, only grinning wider when you rolled your eyes. “It's way too late, I’m not letting you get in an Uber alone.” 

And, okay, so maybe he wasn't as big of an asshole he you had originally thought. 

“You can’t just leave your own party.” There was a hint of amusement in your voice, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment. It was strange, usually you couldn’t wait to get away from Matt, but the simple fact that he was thoughtful enough to not want you to get in an Uber alone had you starting to see him in a different light.

“Yeah, I can. Johnny was going to crash here tonight so he can watch the place. Nobody will even notice I’m gone.” You wanted to protest, to argue that his fan club of women that he had somehow managed to lose in the crowded party.

But then he grabbed your hand and tugged you inside, his free hand ordering the car to your apartment. His tall frame was able to spot Johnny through the crowd, and he made his way over to him. Johnny had been in the process of crossing the room, so Matt was able to catch him by himself.

“Hey, we’re heading out but I’ll be back soon.” Matt told Johnny, gesturing to the door over his shoulder. Johnny’s gaze casted over Matt, then to you, and down to where your hands were still connected. 

“Stay safe, you two.” Johnny was clearly hiding a grin, and without your permission a blush bloomed on your cheeks. Matt didn’t notice, thankfully, and tugged you by your joined hands towards the exit. 

It was silent between you and Matt the whole ride to your apartment. It was a little strange, how he didn't let go of your hand until he was opening the car door for you. What was even more strange was how you found yourself wanting to reach back out to him once he settled in the back beside you. 

But, you stayed quiet, hands in your lap and stared out the window. Once the car turned onto the street your apartment was located on, you decided that you needed to say something.

“Uh, thanks, Matt.” You spoke quietly, turning to face him. He was already looking at you, a genuine smile on his face. The car pulled over, and Matt was climbing out and holding the door open for you before you could even think to reach for the handle on your side. 

“Don’t worry about.” He was standing on the sidewalk, hands stuffed into his pockets as he shrugged. It was hard to believe that the man standing before you was the same that not only an hour before you couldn’t stand to be around. But he had shown you the side of him you had only heard about from Johnny and Noah, the sweet and caring side. You bit your lip, contemplating your next move, unable to get yourself to just turn around and go inside. 

If anyone asked, you would tell them alcohol was the reason why you did what you did.

You pushed yourself onto your tip-toes, one hand placed on his chest to brace yourself and the other on his shoulder to keep him still as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. You smiled subconsciously at the way his scruff scratched your lips. 

For seemingly the first time in his life and definitely since you had met him, Matt was at a loss for words. His jaw dropped a bit, a slight blush creeping up his neck. 

He watched as you retreated into your building to make sure you got there safe, and only when you were half inside the door did you turn to face him once more. 

“Get home safe, Tkachuk.”

After that night, things seemed to shift between you and Matthew. Time spent with him was filled with more laughter and less annoyed glares, though you were pretty certain that you still rolled your eyes at him just as often. He had shown you his softer side, and it was like you saw him in a different light. He was still a pest, but he was more endearing than obnoxious.

And then you and Matt started spending time one-on-one, and it was becoming increasingly clear that before when he would say the things he did, it was only because that was his personality. He acted like that with everyone, you had even showed up at his apartment while he was FaceTiming his parents and caught him chirping his dad. 

He had introduced you to his parents that night, and that was when you started to feel the shift on your relationship with him. How things weren’t so platonic between you, the way your heart raced whenever he tugged your legs across his lap while hanging out on the couch or how you found yourself wanting to text him whenever something good happened. 

But you shoved that part of you down, and tried to carry on as normal. Which is why you agreed to go on a date, and one date led to two, three, four, and that’s how you ended up crying on the couch by yourself one night. Your phone was still open, his ‘sorry, this isn't going to work’ text mocking you as the device sat on the cushion next to you. 

You felt stupid for crying over this guy, it wasn't as if you felt any real feelings for him, heart already occupied by a mop of curls. But your day had been stressful, and even then it sucked being dumped by a guy you thought things might have worked out with.

Someone knocked on your front door, startling you enough to drag you out of your thoughts. As you stood, you wiped the tear tracks from your face to try and seem presentable, knowing your puffy face and bloodshot eyes would give you away immediately. 

Though, you forgot all about how bad you must have looked when you spotted the person standing on the other side of the door. Matt barely had time to register your appearance before you flung yourself into his arms, a hug which he easily returned. 

He didn’t say anything, just lifted you off the ground a bit to carry you inside the apartment and shut the door with his foot, keeping you out of sight of the prying eyes of your neighbors. Eventually you had to pull away, but he gently cupped your jaw, not letting you get far away. You felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, knowing that he was searching your face for any signs of what could have explained your behavior. 

“You’ve been crying, I can tell.” He said so simply, and it clearly wasn't a question, but you found yourself nodding anyways. He moved you both so you were sitting on the couch, and pulled you into his chest. His hand was rubbing comfortingly up and down your back, effectively soothing you. “Why?”

And so you did, starting from your day sucked from the moment you woke up to the text you’d received ten minutes before his arrival. When you told Matt about the guy, he tensed up underneath you, and you felt his hand momentarily still on your back. 

After a while, Matt had turned on some show and the two of you were silently watching without having separated. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you worried that maybe he could feel it from your position. 

“I know we haven't always gotten along.” He started after a while without conversation. Your head tilted up to try and gauge where he was going with this, but his gaze was set in his lap, where he was toying with the hem of his shirt. “But you’ve gotta tell me you feel the same.” 

“Matthew...” You trailed off, so caught off guard by his confession that you couldn’t even form a response. He must have taken your silence as a bad response, because suddenly he was shifting so that he met your gaze. The seriousness in his expression took the wind out of you, and you couldn’t find it in you to voice how you felt. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t care.” He pleaded, continuing you before you could get a word in edgewise. “Tell me I'm not the only one that feels this.”

And still, you couldn't get any words out, too many thoughts running through your head to pick one and send out into the world. So instead, you cupped both of Matt’s cheeks and pressed a kiss to his lips before he could interpret your silence as notice for him to leave. 

You didn’t want to pull away, but you did need to breath and the whole situation had taken the breathe out of your lungs even before the long awaited kiss. The two of you simply grinned at each other, though after a moment you couldn’t resist a chirp.

“You could’ve given me a minute to respond, drama queen.” 

[astarlightmonbebe]

compilation of thoughts and theories on chain of gold

for reference here is my theories before reading

pls do not expect coherency i have never been coherent about books in my life

also spoilers! and it’s really long! you have been warned

- okay to start we are going to be talking about my MAN matthew fairchild because he’s making me hurt too much. you guys know how much i love him, but especially after reading chog i mostly feel super sad? because it’s so obvious that at this point he is so far gone, like he’s been walking the path of self destructiveness for so long and in the fact of his own internalized self hatred and guilt he ends up hurting other people along with himself--or he will, for all the much he loves his friends. i really feel that he needs to get a handle on himself, but he’s so afraid that if anyone ever knew his secrets that everyone would turn him away, but in the fact that he’s keeping them--he’s digging his own grave and i’m sobbing. someone needs to help him; while i feel it is important that matthew saves himself, i don’t think it’s something he can or should necessarily do alone.

- this is kind of about the grace situation? like wow i hate that girl. i swear she tears apart a flower every morning to decide how hot or cold she’s gonna be for the day. i felt like the slightest inkling of pity for her like maybe once in the book but in the end she’s sooo two faced and i can’t bring myself to like her knowing she’s the reason they are all going to practically fall apart (especially james/matthew/cordelia). 

- i told you guys she was involved with some witchery huhhh...as expected, the bracelet is found guilty...i guess because of james’ demon blood, her regular magic doesn’t work, which makes me wonder if it is connected to demon blood (maybe warlocks??). anyways i hate her and making boys do things without consent. i do find it a little fishy that matthew hasn’t caught on, especially after the kiss? like despite all the secrets he keeps, i highly doubt he would do anything that would hurt james (with active realization; we’re not talking about mental states right now). and the fact that james knows something is bothering matthew and how matthew feels james’ pain so acutely? you can’t tell me their bond is breaking or fragile, because to me it seems strong even if the two of them are liable to break and take it with them as they do.

- can i just say. i was so disappointed. to find out. that CASSIE IS DOING ANOTHER love triangle like pls kill me now. i’m actually devastated and super unhappy about it because we a) already did this last series and b) just??? i don’t want another reason for those three’s relationship to become more strained? tbh, i kind of like cordelia/matthew if it wasn’t for the fact that matthew has his own issues, cordelia is hopelessly head over heels for james, and james has feelings for cordelia if you take the bracelet and grace a w a y. i do love how cordelia seems to see matthew in a way that nobody else does and she’s willing to confront him in a way that no one else does (looking at you, lucie). i mean, props to matthew for not going to intervene during their arrangement, but like...that’s another secret, too. anyways. i’m big sad over this.

- cordelia!! i have to admit, i have fallen for her more than i expected to. her pov was wonderful and i loveeee her character. she takes everything in stride and is really mature and in control of herself, which i like. plus there are a lot of sides to her, and i enjoyed getting introduced to them all. we really saw character growth throughout the book with her too--she definitely matured in her feelings, despite all the heartbreak she’s been put through, and i love how she changed her mindset when finding out the truth about her family instead of being, say, stubborn that her father was innocent. 

- on the other hand...i like lucie and james but i also...don’t??? idk, i genuinely did enjoy reading their perspectives but i don’t feel that in love or connected to the two of them as i thought i would be. especially lucie. don’t get me wrong---i absolutely adore lucie and her writer self, but i definitely went into chog thinking i was going to be a lot more invested in her. i think cc did a good job with her character, despite some of lucie’s actions and views not really aligning with me. i don’t know, to me she just seems a little too naive. maybe it’s because cordelia is such a contrast to her. and shoutout to james, who is having a horrible time. i feel bad for him, but his character is alright. i just want him and cordelia to be happy honestly.

- lucie and jesse was nice, honestly. i really went into chog thinking that jesse disappeared and tatiana just said he died, but i guess actually dying is cool, too. i have to say, i was partially right about lucie’s power (even if it wasn’t the cool out there one i wanted it to be). jesse’s humor is actually right up my lane. i thought he was going to be dry, but i enjoyed his character a lot, honestly. i don’t see them as romantic though? to me he’s like another endearing older brother figure to her at this point. 

- jesse so willingly giving up his last breath like !!! you can tell how painful it is to be trapped here, like that must suck.

- grace and lucie about to team up next book i see?? kind of looking forward to it, ngl. they have a common interest (jesse) who they would do anything for. i’m intruiged.

- also called it, villain was a prince of hell! wasn’t belial in a gotsm story? or am i tripping out because i think i’m tripping.

- when i said it was likely for barbara or oliver to die I DID NOT MEAN BOTH OF THEM!!! i was actually getting attached to barbara and her good eyesight. i want to know the tea with eugenia too. 

- anna lightwood is forever an icon in my eyes. she’s a power unto herself and i can’t wait to see her in the next couple of books. i had a feeling ariadne was going to chase her...not that psyched about it but curious all the same. i love how anna’s first reaction was ‘oh so you heard that charles dumped you from me not him’

- anna and cordelia are awesome. i love how anna takes one look at cordelia and immediately decides she needs new clothes (thankfully, i swear, pastel is never a good choice for someone with cordelia’s complexion, like?? shouldn’t her mom know that.)

- charles. no words. why is he that kid in school, the one that has every answer and an obsession with wwii or whatever like TT. just run for president. (oh my gosh that’s it he reminds me of a politician in modern times)

- which moves me onto alastair. who honestly i love so much, 10/10. i honestly can’t remember why i liked him so much going into this book? but that’s not important because if i had any doubt in my heart, it is now gone and crushed. like the reason i like alastair and not grace is because alastair is such a prime example of character growth. not that his intrinsic personality has changed, but he’s realized he’s done bad things that he can’t exactly make up and that are not excusable, whereas grace keeps doing bad things continuously (and let’s be honest i think what she’s doing is worse. at least alastair is honest lol (jkjk)). plus he dyed his hair and that’s suddenly all i needed in my life.

- i love the carstairs siblings so much!!! they are my fave duo and i love how realistic their interactions are. idk how to explain it, but they really warm my heart. especially how alastair has been protecting cordelia all her life and she really had no idea. his speech when he told her about their father’s drinking habits made me want to cry. i love how he’s so endearing towards her too; he’ll be all annoyed and then one second later is panicking over the fact that he can’t find her and that she could be in danger. plus cordelia cares for him a lot, like how she wanted to leave during his and charles’ breakup, but stayed because she could feel he needed her, even when he let her go. i can’t wait for their relationship to continue to grow, especially with their secrets out in the air. sibling solidarity. 

- and that brings me to *dundundun* thomas! i found myself really interested in him and liking his character a lot, not just because he’s a giant, either. (i will never stop laughing over the fact that thomas is a literal tree). i find him such a strong character, despite all the grief he must have been close to drowning in. he stayed away from his family all that time, too, but also he was with people who were basically his family and i stan that. 

- a break to talk about christopher. i never thought he would get hurt, but thank goodness he had a cure all worked out. i love how he’s actually so coherent at times, despite being stuck in his own head. i kind of forgot he wasn’t spacey 24/7, so this was a nice reminder. he’s going to go places, mark it.

- on that note, i called the thomastair spain moment, though it was not in the way i expected it to be. i love how thomas so obviously caught feelings for alastair but like. had no idea what to do with them. he was just over there shivering and showing alastair his tattoo like boyyy. that kind of makes the engagement all that much sadder, because for one, i was glad that it finally got out (though tbh i kind of forgot alastair said all that other stuff and i was like ‘son, never say that again’) but it was so...heartbreaking??!

- like you can see that thomas was so stunned and hurt by the realization that alastair said that about his family behind his back at the academy, all while being somewhat nice to him in the face of it, especially considering that thomas was the one who always stood up for alastair in their friend group. and alastair--the fact that he was there to finally try to put it all behind them, to finally try to start something, only for it all to come crashing down. the fact that he was so resigned, knowing that thomas deserved the truth even if it meant he could lose everything.

- i just have so many feels about that particular scene. matthew’s bitter voice as he recounts everything alastair ever said. how thomas turned so hard and cold and was like ‘you’re not the person i thought you were’ and told alastair to never show up in front of him again. how alastair was so sad and he couldn’t even hide it, he didn’t even have words. how he cried when alastair is like, the person the you least expect to cry in a room.

- magnus though. he took one look at matthew and was like ‘oh gosh there’s another one of them self destructive men who drink themselves into oblivion’. like yes!!! pls save my son magnus!! he needs help.

- chog was filled with lapidary phrases though. there were a ton of good quotes.

- i said theories but i forgot them all, honestly. this is just a rant on characterization. *cries*

- if james is dishonest to cordelia in the next book he’s gonna have to catch these hands. he won’t even see me coming. i’m watching you, james herondale.

- also, great. tatiana and belial. great. (read: sarcasm)

thanks for reading !

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

What about Byron?

PART THIRTY-EIGHT OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of surgery/appendicitis, mentions of family trauma, plentiful pop culture references, this is just fluff I know guys but I needed something to restore my faith in humanity even just momentarily

Word Count: 5.5K

Summary: The first Thanksgiving in Ella and Jess’s new apartment doesn’t go exactly according to plan.

Humming a She Wants Revenge song under her breath, Ella leaned back against the cabinets and dried the fragile dishes. She was reminded of their days at the diner as Jess stood over the kitchen sink washing them. From her spot sitting on the counter right next to him, she could admire his profile and feel her cheeks heat up at the sight. He had grown into himself so well. But his beauty and her comfort at his presence were probably the only things keeping her nerves at bay. The dishes, her mother’s, had come in the mail from Fiona only two days earlier. White faux China adorned with pinkish-red roses. Ella had taken a few moments to recognize them, since there had been no note along with them. But then she remembered family holidays when her mother would take them out, only used for the most special occasions. Even though they were chipped in some places and had been bought at a rummage sale just after her parents had gotten married.

The dishes were where the plans for the holiday truly started to form. Chris, Leo, Matthew, and Mabel all had other engagements which took them out of town for Thanksgiving. Ella and Jess were still unsure of what they were doing. Adam was going to Noah’s, Fiona was going to her sister’s. Still, no word from Jake. Jess was wary of staying in Stars Hollow, though his time at the community center therapist’s office had been doing him well. They bounced him around to a different counselor each time he went, and talking to a complete stranger about all his issues hadn’t come easy, still wasn’t coming easy. But maybe just the fact that he was trying made him feel better.

On a whim, at the sight of the dishes, Ella had a wild idea. Instead of going to Stars Hollow, why not bring Stars Hollow to Philadelphia? The dishes were meant to be used. She couldn’t neglect them like an instrument unplayed. Not her mother’s dishes. And when she’d run it by Jess, he’d been more receptive than she’d thought he would be. Maybe he was just surprised she was open to contacting anyone from her family at all. She still seemed so standoffish about them, since the graduation ceremony. And the apartment wasn’t big, but certainly they could handle a few people over for one afternoon. Julie, Michael, and their girls would be in attendance. Along with Luke and Lorelai. But, when Liz and TJ heard Luke and Lorelai were coming, they somehow managed to invite themselves.

Jess wasn’t thrilled about it, and neither was Ella, but they were trying to keep level heads. Plan everything in advance and keep the day-of to a low-stress affair. It was only Monday, and they were already washing the dishes. It made Ella feel slightly more secure. And she had the whole week off, leaving plenty more time to prepare. Luke and Lorelai were also coming on Wednesday and staying the night at a motel, though Ella and Jess insisted they didn’t need to help. Ella was shocked Luke was willing to be away from the diner for more than one day, let alone Thanksgiving. Maybe getting back with Lorelai after Rory’s graduation had changed his outlook on life a bit.

She uttered a small sigh as she dried yet another dish, stressing herself out with the storm of thoughts raging in her head. A throb was starting behind her eyes.

“What’s up?” Jess asked, handing her another plate, his hands reddish and dripping from the hot water.

Ella shook her head slightly. “Nothing. Doesn’t it just seem a little bourgeois of us to have a set of dishes?”

“I don’t know. I think we’re exempt, considering you got these from your mom, who got them from someone else,” Jess pointed out, his voice light. “Sharing is caring for the proletariat.”

Snickering, she let a small smile cross her lips. “Well, it’ll have to be, considering we’re trying to fit eleven people in a shoebox.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Jess continued, trying to sound reassuring. She had been quiet and fidgety all evening, and he wondered just how wound up about the event she really was. Ella had a tendency to spread herself too thin and regret it when it was already too late.

“Look at you, Mr. Sunshine,” she quipped as she dried the last plate.

Jess shut off the water and watched the soapy foam begin to circle down the drain. He wiped his hands on his jeans, eyeing the tall stack of dishes which sat on Ella’s other side. She was right. Even a chipped set of plates didn’t look quite correct in their faded, out of date kitchen. But he only shrugged off the nerves. They were in for it, and there was nothing they could do about it. He came to stand in between Ella’s legs. She brought her arms to rest on his shoulders as he shifted closer.

“I’m working on my positive outlook.”

She snorted a laugh. “Good luck.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Well, that wasn’t very convincing.”

“I just don’t know if I’d be able to handle you waking up to a motivational tape every morning,” she said, shrugging.

Jess smirked. “That’s cute. But it’s not 1985 anymore. It would be a motivational CD, at least.”

“Maybe you could start with reading that self-help book again?” she suggested, teasing. “Maybe Luke could bring it up for you on Wednesday?”

“Touché,” he replied.

“Hey,” she began, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, “I kinda like that you read that book.”

He scoffed. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, searching his face for a moment. “Just seems exactly like something you would do...in a good way. Are you sure you’re okay with seeing your mom and everything?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I promise,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Okay. But just tell me if you’re not okay. I can kick them out without a second thought,” she said with mock gravity. “There’s a reason I was Luke’s favorite waitress.”

Jess chuckled. “Good to know.”

Then, she took a deep, tired breath. Tilting his head at her, he noticed the constant tinge of pink on her cheeks, and the way she seemed to sit as though the weight of the world was on her limbs.

“You okay, Stevens?” he asked.

“Other than the sense of impending doom...yeah, I’d say I’m doing alright,” she said.

Furrowing his brows, he brought the back of one hand to her cheek.

She groaned in annoyance at his needless concern. “You can’t get all Mother Hen on me now, Mariano. We’ve got pies to bake and a turkey to roast.”

“Elle, if-”

“I’m fine, Jess,” she continued, swatting his hand away when he attempted to move it to her forehead. “It’s just PMS. I have cramps, too. Don’t worry about it.”

After a moment, he finally managed an unconvinced: “Okay.”

.   .   .

Wednesday afternoon brought flurries of snow in stray showers throughout the day. A crisp, biting wind blew through the Philadelphia air, but it still felt a bit warmer than Connecticut to Lorelai. She could already smell the fragrance of pie as they approached the door of Jess and Ella’s apartment. It was odd, to say the least, standing in the dingy, grayish hallway of the building in front of the door, adorned with a rusty ‘7.’ A flash of memory crossed her mind, sitting in the living room of her home, braiding Ella’s hair. She’d warned Ella back then not to get involved with Jess, told her he was trouble. Sometimes, when she heard through the Lane grapevine about fights the two had, Lorelai wondered if she should have done more to protect Ella. She remembered nights comforting her on the couch after her mother died, feeling helpless and unable to get Ella to work through her emotions. Often, Ella would just sit there staring at the television screen, with the same glazed expression no matter what they were watching. Even after Rory fell asleep, Lorelai would stay up with her. Just to be there.

She knew what it was to be alone at such a young age. And she knew what it was to fall for a boy who didn’t deserve you just to escape the isolation. Sometimes, Ella reminded her more of herself than even Rory. But Rory had been on her mind every waking second in those days. And she had, somehow, let Ella slip through the cracks. Go on a rocky path with Jess. Not that it hadn’t turned out alright in the end. Even Luke approved, despite how against it all he had been at first. But Lorelai was still unsure of Jess, even after so many years. She was civil when they crossed paths, but actually spending a day inside the home Ella shared with him was a different matter entirely. All she’d ever seen of him were the angriest, nastiest moments. She didn’t like the idea of Ella having to weather such a storm for the rest of her life, simply because she and Jess had been together for so long.

“You gonna knock, or what?” Luke asked, his wide, expectant eyes flicking between the door and Lorelai. His hands were full of the sides he’d made the day before. One tupperware with garlic mashed potatoes, the other with glazed carrots; he knew how much Ella liked them. She’d always taken the leftovers from the diner when they were offered.

Lorelai nodded. “Yes. Just preparing myself to right walk into a John Hughes movie.”

“I told you, Lorelai,” Luke said gruffly, rolling his eyes. “He’s changed. They both have.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Well, you’re getting the chance to. Just please knock on the damn door before my arms give out,” Luke said.

Lorelai scoffed, then raised a gloved hand and knocked. She was surprised how quickly Jess came to greet them, a thin smile on his face as he took their coats and the tupperwares from Luke. He seemed rushed, and there was a pink, checkered apron tied around his hips. It stood out against his otherwise all-black t-shirt and jeans ensemble. She was surprised to see a respectable haircut on his head.

“Hey. Make yourself at home. I gotta make sure the sugar doesn’t burn,” he said, then hurried back into the kitchen as they took off their shoes.

“Thanks,” Lorelai muttered, looking around the place.

It was surprisingly cozy, homey, considering the run-down state of the building. There were a few throw blankets draped over the back of the couch, and cacti planted in small pots on one of the end tables near the sliding glass door. Through it, she could see two mismatched armchairs next to each other on the tiny balcony. Art lined the walls. A few posters, famous photography, paintings and drawings Lorelai could recognize as Ella’s from their mixture of horror and botanicals. Stepping into the living room as Luke immediately offered to help Jess, she spotted a couple pictures in small frames, sitting on the end table sans cacti.

In one, Ella sat on Jess’s lap inside what looked to be a dive bar. Ella’s left arm was hooked around the back of Jess’s neck, and she used her free hand to gesture. Her lips were curling up at the edges as she spoke some word frozen in time. Jess had his head thrown back in laughter at whatever Ella had said. The sight made Lorelai’s eyebrows raise just a touch. She didn’t think she had ever heard Jess truly laugh at anything. The next picture saw Ella and Jess together in a train seat, the scenery passing them by through a small window. They were both asleep, Ella’s head on Jess’s shoulder, and Jess’s head on top of Ella’s. In another, just Ella was in the shot. She was glancing at the camera, not quite smiling but looking serene as she sat on a beach towel, the waves captured in mid-crash behind her. Still, Lorelai’s surprise grew. Ella hated the ocean.

“Nice apron, by the way,” Luke said, smirking at Jess as he rounded the corner to take a seat at the island.

Jess gave a sardonic grin in response, looking down at himself and blushing. “Thanks. Eleanor said it wouldn’t really feel like a pie day without it.”

“Oh, God, the pie days,” Lorelai piped up, groaning fondly at the memory. She came over to take the stool next to Luke. She had to admit, watching Jess stir a pot on the stove in a pink apron like a portrait of Donna Reed made a giggle rise in her throat. “I don’t miss those.”

“You weren’t the one she was waking up before the sunrise to get inside and use your oven because hers didn’t have convection!” Luke argued.

Lorelai snorted. “No, but I was the one who had to hear you rant about it before you gave me my morning coffee.”

“Need I remind you all that we always sold every slice?” Ella chimed in, emerging from the bedroom.

Lorelai smiled as she swiveled around on the stool. Ella wasn’t wearing any makeup and she was dressed in a large flannel and leggings. Her hair was messy and down. Maybe her style had changed since the grunge-goth diner phase.

“Hey! I told you to stay in bed!” Jess said, raising his eyebrows and pointing a wooden spoon at Ella from the kitchen.

Ella rolled her eyes, going over and giving Lorelai and Luke hugs of greeting. “Why would I stay in bed when there’s so much excitement out here?”

She waltzed into the kitchen next to Jess, eyes roaming over the mess of flour and spices and bowls and pie tins he had laid out next to the stove. She could tell by the smell of the apartment the apple was currently in the oven. It looked like he was working on the pecan next.

“Maybe because you just got your appendix taken out, like, twelve hours ago?” Jess said emphatically, eyes widening at her.

“What?” Luke asked.

“Is that why Jess is doing his Leave it to Beaver routine? I thought he was filling in because you were getting ready,” Lorelai said, a startled lilt in her tone. “But instead you just got your organs rearranged?”

“I had a minor surgery and I’m fine now,” Ella said, casual and content. The medicine they’d given her at the hospital hadn’t quite worn off yet, but she had been high around parental figures more than once. She could hold her own. She could even ignore the troubling notions about gender roles deeply ingrained in Lorelai’s comment, in the spirit of keeping arguments to a minimum. She glanced at the mixture Jess was beginning in the big blue bowl. “Just make sure to-”

“I’m following the recipes you gave me,” Jess cut in defensively. “If you’re not gonna stay in bed like you should, can you at least sit down and not backseat bake?”

Lorelai gave the two a suspicious glance. There was the bite in Jess’s voice. The one she could remember so well.

Ella gave a heavy sigh through her nose. Of all the weeks to get appendicitis. Pie-making was probably her favorite part of the winter months. “Fine. But I’m playing my Joni Mitchell record and you can’t complain about it.”

“You’re sick. You’re allowed to play whatever you want. You’re just not allowed to rip your stitches open,” Jess said, shrugging and gaining a teasing tone again. The smirk returned.

“I’m not sick, jackass,” she snapped.

Lorelai pursed her lips, looking over at Luke with eyes full of nostalgia. “Is it just me or have we been transported back to 2002?”

“Seems like it,” Luke mumbled, watching them bicker like they always had.

Before Ella could turn on her heel to leave the kitchen, heading for the record player in the corner of the living room, Jess put down his spoon and stopped her with a: “Hold on.”

“What?” she asked.

He took a couple steps towards her, wiping his hands on the apron before placing his palm on her forehead, feeling how warm it was. Then, he transferred the backs of his fingers to her rosy cheek. “Do you need more Ibuprofen?”

“Not for a couple hours,” she replied, more honest than he was expecting. Banter aside, he could see the fatigue in her glassy eyes. “It’s fine. The doctor said I could have a fever for up to forty-eight hours after surgery.”

“I know. Just checking,” he said, then dropped his hand as she made her way out.

Again, Lorelai’s confusion deepened. She couldn’t hide the crease on her forehead as she furrowed her brows at the interaction. Was Jess really playing nurse? Without complaint?

“I can’t believe you got her to a doctor at all,” Luke said.

Jess scoffed, looking down at the mixture as he stirred. “Only after she passed out on the bathroom floor because her fever was so high.”

“What?!” Luke repeated, instantly panicked.

“Tell them every detail of our lives, why don’t you, chatty Kathy?” Ella grumbled as she put the record on. “I’m fine now.”

A wave of relaxation washed over her as Joni Mitchell’s voice sounded. She went to the couch and threw an old blanket over herself, facing the kitchen.

“My God, Ella. It’s just like that time you broke your arm,” Lorelai said knowingly, going over to join Ella on the couch. She put a comforting hand on Ella’s knee. “Seriously, sweetie, you can’t just expect an organ to abracadabra out of your body.”

“Damn, if only Jess was still doing those magic tricks,” Ella teased in retaliation, narrowing her eyes at Jess as he glared at her through the opening to the kitchen.

Soon, he and Luke were enveloped in their own sporadic, monosyllabic conversation and it made Ella crack a small smile of nostalgia. She raked her hands through her hair as Lorelai began to ask about the apartment, how school was going. It was strange having such a long conversation with her. They hadn’t engaged in their old, pseudo mother-daughter dynamic in a long time. Part of Ella felt as though she were back to being fifteen again. But another part of her felt so elementally different. Able to recognize how much Lorelai had helped her in a way she simply hadn’t been able to comprehend as a teenager. Sure, she was beyond grateful even when she was young. But, now, she wondered if and where she would be if Lorelai hadn’t been there to help her following her mother’s death, or even in her life before. She probably wouldn’t have gotten a job at Luke’s, considering Lorelai was the one who had initially asked Luke to help the Stevens out and give them leftovers every once in a while. Who knew if Ella and Jess would have ever gotten together. The ‘what-ifs’ spinning around in her head only served to fill her heart with warmth for Lorelai. Not only due to the lingering effects of the hospital drugs.

“You said Rory’s still following Obama?” Ella asked, leaning against the side of the couch. She had never had surgery before, and never knew how absolutely exhausted she would be afterwards.

Lorelai nodded, taking a sip of the water Luke had brought her. He was currently fighting to get in the kitchen with Jess, who was still insistent on making the pies entirely by himself.

“Yeah, she’s gonna be with him until the inauguration in January,” Lorelai explained. “She’s Woodward and Bernsteining it up in Chicago right now. They’ve been making stops all around the country for months.”

“Wow,” Ella said, a soft smile still playing on her lips. “She’s really doing it. I can’t even imagine how happy she must be. I mean, I always knew she would. But it’s finally happening.”

“I know. Just a few steps closer to Christian Amanpour,” Lorelai agreed proudly, beaming. “But, hey, you don’t seem to be doing too bad yourself.”

“Yeah. Only a few more months and I’ll finally have that damn degree. The dean’s been talking to me about teaching after I graduate, at least part-time. I don’t know, though. I’m still mulling it over,” Ella said, thinking back to the meetings she’d been having recently. Her own classroom, her own office, her own space to create and guide others to create. And, of course, she could still work making art for Truncheon. The more she thought about it, dreamed about it, and talked it over with Jess, the more she could see herself staying at Penn for longer than just the end of the spring semester.

Lorelai’s face was unreadable for a moment, as she swallowed dryly and looked down into her drink. “And you’re really happy here? This is...this is what you want?”

Ella’s face fell just a touch. She had thought maybe such a question was coming. Lorelai had never loved Jess, never even liked him. Part of Ella thought it was completely understandable. An angry teenager who steals beer and pulls stupid pranks and walks out of town without a word? Dick moves, all of them. But Lorelai had never seen anything else from Jess. She had never made the effort to. She didn’t know him.

As she met Lorelai’s eyes once again, Ella gave a careful, sincere nod. “Really. I get to work on my art every day. I get to collect records and plant cactuses and I get to...I don’t have to live for anyone else. I even get to make pies, when I don’t have nine stitches in my side. I never wanted...I never wanted much else.”

“I know,” Lorelai replied, voice hushed with emotion. She glanced back over at her shoulder at the two men in the kitchen, now begrudgingly tag-teaming the desserts. “And Jess?”

.   .   .

The light was fading to an orangey glow by the time everyone had finished up dessert. Julie, Michael, and the girls had to start the drive to New Britain back almost right after, since Michael had work the following morning. Ella was sad to see them go. They were the ones who made her ache for her mother in a not altogether unpleasant way. The day Ella had lost her mother, Julie had lost her big sister. Forever, the two of them would be linked by the trauma. But not just the trauma. Julie provided a home away from home when Ella needed one. And Ella was a makeshift babysitter whenever Julie called. Julie was the only member of Ella’s family who was truly reliable, the one she could count on. Aside from the family she had found in Philadelphia.

But the apartment was still lively with noise as afternoon slowly melted away into evening. Liz and TJ danced near the kitchen to the sound of the Grateful Dead record on the turntable. Off in their own strange world. Ella didn’t mind. She’d been giving Jess’s hand comforting squeezes all day long, noticing how his shoulders were just a touch more tense and his words came out in short, anxious bursts when he spoke to his mother. He wasn’t completely miserable, though. At least, that was what he told her each time she asked.

Maybe the work of setting up the apartment and serving the food helped, keeping him busy. No matter how many times she tried to help him arrange the card tables for everyone to sit at, or put out the dishes, or clean any noticeably dirty surface, he’d only shrugged her off with some snarky remark and made her sit down. Once Luke and Lorelai got there, she could barely shift in her seat without one of the three pairs of watchful eyes landing on her in concern. It was sweet of them, really, but still made her squirm under their gaze. And pissed that she couldn’t enjoy the first Thanksgiving in the apartment the way she wanted to.

Stomach as full as it could be (the surgery had left her appetite at next to nothing), she sat comfortably on the old couch, Luke and Lorelai in the folding chairs across the card table from her. Luke was busy ranting about how corrupt Black Friday and malls in general were to Lorelai, making a sentimental twinkle spark in Ella’s hazel eyes. She was glad they’d had enough room to fit three tables in the space, with four seats at each. The set-up was arguably too tight, but they’d managed. Erin and Annie had only spilled two cups of milk over the course of the night.

Ella felt a sleepy calm beginning to settle in her body. Through the sliding glass doors, she could see a little sliver of the sunset. Soon, the sky would cloud over and there would be another spray of early snow. The room smelled of wintry spices and hot gravy. Jess still hadn’t reached Luke’s level of perfection, but he had done a pretty damn good job with dinner. And, she had to admit, the pies weren’t too shabby either. It shocked her how seamlessly he had pulled it all off, in his element as he put it together. Though not without a scowl and some huffy breaths.

Ella looked back at Jess, sitting to her left. He held Doula in his arms. She sat on his lap, facing him, as his hands gently supported her back. She was a little over six months old, and almost able to sit up on her own. But, Jess figured it’d be best to keep his hands where they were for some insurance. The baby had somehow tugged the pendant of his necklace out from beneath his shirt, and was alternating between staring at it in wonderment and sucking on it. Jess was having some murmured conversation with her, and she occasionally responded with a gurgle or a coo. Even a laugh when he tickled her stomach.

Ella watched in awe. She remembered how terrified he’d been when he’d first met her nieces, at a Thanksgiving long past. But, now, he handled his sister, along with her nieces, with such ease. He had found a deck of cards for old time’s sake, put on a little magic show for the kids during the lull between dinner and dessert. He’d convinced Annie the smaller half of the wishbone was still lucky when Erin had broken off the bigger half. Just because it didn’t look as big, he said, didn’t mean the magic wasn’t as big. When he realized Ella had caught him saying it, he’d looked away with a scarlet flush and cleared his throat. Sometimes, she could really see the writer in the way he spoke.

“What about Hemingway?” he asked quietly as Doula looked up from the pendant with giant brown eyes and drool dripping down her chin.

Doula gave a little squawk of noise, then swatted one sticky hand up to pat Jess’s face. He scrunched up his nose and chuckled. Then, Doula went back to marveling at the small, circular pendant.

“See?” Jess said, tossing a glance at Ella. He could feel her soft gaze. “Doula likes Hemingway.”

Ella scoffed. “Then her taste is just as bad as her brother’s.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Jess said to the baby, leaning in with a conspiratory whisper. “She likes poetry. Like she can criticize anyone for their taste.”

Narrowing her eyes playfully at Jess, Ella put an arm around his shoulders and inched closer to the two of them. “What about Byron, Doula?”

Doula didn’t look up, instead grabbing the pocket of Jess’s t-shirt in her pudgy fist.

Jess smirked pointedly at Ella.

Ella rolled her eyes. “You’ve taken her to the dark side already.”

“If you mean the right side, then yes,” Jess shot back.

Snorting a laugh, Ella pressed a kiss to Jess’s cheek. Her freckled face became almost wistful. Her raspy whisper near his ear was so sincere it made Jess’s stomach do a flip. “I love you.”

“Love you back,” Jess replied, his voice barely audible over all the others in the room.

She was almost surprised he said anything at all. She hadn’t expected reciprocation with so many people around, and it made a joyful tingling spread from her center out to her fingers and toes. She ran an absent hand through the ends of his hair, a smile painted on her lips.

“Thank you for doing this, Jess,” she said. “You’re the fucking best.”

“Language, Eleanor,” Jess scolded, gesturing playfully to Doula, who still fiddled obliviously with the necklace.

Ella snickered. “Right, sorry, sorry. I’m just...you didn’t have to do all this. I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to go and get appendicitis.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, eyes still trained carefully on the baby in case something unforeseen happened. He was more confident in his childcare abilities than he had once been, but there was still an untrained fear within him that she would tumble straight out of his lap. “Don’t worry, Stevens. I don’t do things I don’t wanna do.”

“Sure you don’t, James Dean,” she teased. “You’re not a good liar.”

“Look who’s talking,” he quipped in return, a smirk still present on his face. “Besides, it was better than scraping plates in the diner all day at Thanksgiving. After doing that a couple years in a row, it’s pretty much nowhere to go but up from now on.”

“It’s true,” she said. “Maybe I should do the dishes, just in case there’s any rogue knives in the sink.”

“Very funny,” he deadpanned, thinking of the scar which had almost completely faded from his left hand. “But I’m still not falling for it. You’re not helping me clean up. You’re gonna watch Carrie and then fall asleep so we don’t have to go back to the hospital with your guts spilling out.”

“I’m not allowed to swear in front of her, but you’re allowed to say stuff like that?” Ella asked, laughing through her words.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Jess joked coolly.

“You really don’t need to clean up by yourself,” Ella continued, not budging. “My stitches aren’t even in the double digits. I could at least help you put the leftovers away.”

“The next time you find me passed out on the bathroom floor with a high fever, then you can tell me all about how much you want to see me cleaning the apartment,” Jess said.

Her smile disappeared. Sighing through her nose in embarrassment, Ella nodded. She swallowed dryly. “Fair enough.”

She couldn’t have been out for more than thirty seconds or a minute. She didn't hit her head or anything. The bathmat had cushioned her fall almost entirely. But she had never passed out before. She’d felt almost as terrified as Jess sounded when he practically carried down to the car and sped to the emergency room. He was right. If the situation were reversed, there was no way in hell he’d be cleaning up alongside her. Especially not a day and a half after surgery. She had to remember the last time she hadn’t been feeling like herself. With a migraine and period cramps right when she felt as though everyone was expecting the most from her. But it was just in her head. It was okay to let go every once in a while. It was okay. She reminded herself that he wasn’t trying to tell her what to do. He was only asking her to take care of herself. That, she could try. She didn’t ever want to put him out like this again. And she didn’t ever want to see the look she had seen on his face when he’d been driving to the hospital again. Not if she could help it.

“But, if it’ll make you feel better, we can have everyone over next weekend and do Thanksgiving food,” Jess suggested. “Chris was pissed he was missing the pies. I don’t think he’d mind if we had a do-over.”

“Yeah, that sounds good, Mariano,” she said. Then, after a moment’s pause: “I’m sorry. I know I can get so wound up.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” he teased.

“I was just excited for my pies,” she admitted. “But, just for the record, you did a kickass job with them. Sorry I was freaking out.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “So, you’re not a good patient. Who cares? I was excited for your pies too. Just please don’t make rhubarb. All the rhubarb makes me think about is Kirk running naked through the town square that time after Christmas.”

And she felt a beaming smile spread over her face as she laughed and gave him a nod of confirmation. She pressed another kiss to his cheek and told him she would make him any pie he wanted. And she felt even more sure of the words she’d spoken to Lorelai the day before. Lorelai had been surprised to hear them, but Ella couldn’t bring herself to be even the least bit shocked as they’d come out of her mouth. She felt it more confidently than she ever had before, seeing him cradle his baby sister in the aftermath of a Thanksgiving he’d put together all by himself, without being asked. Because Jess was Jess. And it was just what he did. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

[fluffykitty1999-blog]

Burned Chapter 13

As always, coffee is appreciated! https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

Edward sat rather sullenly in Roy's office the next day, a frown etched on his face.

"Edward. Quit sulking."

"You don't believe me."

"I didn't say that. I just didn't see it for myself. I've imagined things when I was tired before."

"I'm not tired!" Ed banged both fists on his desk, causing everyone to pause and look up at him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I know what I saw."

The door to the office burst open, and Hughes stood there, looking out of breath.

"Hughes?" Roy cocked an eyebrow.

"We've got a severed arm found in an alley last night. It was a woman's."

"Just an arm? No body?"

Hughes frowned. "Just an arm. We... we're expecting to find more later. But the marks on the skin- it's our guy. It was about 6 blocks from here- it was right under our noses. We've got a few people nearby who were out late last night to come in to interview, but nobody's said anything that stands out..."

"It was the clown."

All eyes turned to Ed.

"What?"

"Mustang and I came back to the office late last night to grab some papers. Mustang went in and I stayed in the car and I saw him. Six feet tall, wearing a clown suit, painted face, red balloon. Smoking a cigarette beneath the street light. I was gonna trap him in the cement of the sidewalk and question him, but Mustang came back out and distracted me, so he got away."

Hughes frowned, turning to Mustang. "You saw him too?"

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I didn't. I saw a silhouette, maybe, but it might've been the light playing tricks on my mind. There was no sign of anyone when we got there..."

"I saw him."

"I'm not saying you didn't, Ed, but I didn't see him."

"I wanna sit in on the interviews with the people who were out last night." Ed said seriously, turning to Hughes.

Hughes looked uneasy.

"You're only to listen. You don't say a word, nothing to suggest anything to the witnesses. You're to report back to me immediately after." Roy said.

"That's fair. Let's get started. The sooner we get this creep off the streets, the better." Ed turned and strode briskly out of the room, with Hughes looking hesitant.

"You sure you want to let him in on this? It's a murder investigation..."

"I'm not letting him see the case files or the pictures. But he's convinced he saw something... and with how dead set he is on it, I'm not convinced he didn't."

"Alright. But just the interviews. After that he's done with this case."

"I agree."

Most of the people who were outside around midnight were doing pretty mundane things, it turned out. Stumbling home from a night out with friends, stopping to relieve themselves on a brick building. Walking to the corner store for late night cigarettes. The occasional college student walking home from a late night studying in the library.

Ed quickly grew bored, but Hughes never faltered, recording every detail like his life depended on it. Still, no one had seen anything unusual, until they got to the last man. Henry Johnson was unremarkable, about 5' 4", and he had to go to work early as a baker, so his morning was at midnight.

He'd been taking his dog outside to go to the bathroom at the park, and saw the call for people who'd been outside in the area in the newspaper, so he'd come in.

"What time were you out?"

"About quarter after midnight to twelve thirty. I was walking by Meadow and Broad street, taking my girlfriend's dog to the park to pee. I saw a guy on Broad out smoking a cigarette, but he's Frank and he's usually out there at that time so it didn't bother me. It wasn't til I was starting back home I saw the clown."

Hughes stopped taking his notes and looked up. "Clown?"

"Yeah. Big guy, at least six feet, dressed as a clown. Walking down the street with a red balloon."

"He was smoking a cigarette, wasn't he?" Ed spoke up from where he'd been sitting in the back corner.

The man nodded. "Yeah, yeah he was. Freaked me the hell out. Normal people don't do that crap. I just hurried up and went home locked my door. Didn't wanna be out with that."

"What time did you see the clown?"

"Oh, twenty after twelve I'd say..."

Ed had already stood and was heading for the door. Hughes didn't bother following him out.

"Someone else saw him. I was right."

"I never said you were wrong, Ed, it just seemed... Odd."

"Well chopping women up and leaving there body parts around the city isn't exactly normal either." Ed's eyes were stone.

Roy sighed. "You're getting too involved in this case."

"I'm getting too involved!? Without me you wouldn't have known about that creepy clown in the first place!"

"And now we do, and that's good. But Hughes and I both agreed you're getting too involved. I'm not even supposed to be on this case- I'm just helping as a favor to Hughes."

"I find the only damn lead and you tell me to quit it!?"

"Ed. Stop. Go home. Spend the day with Al. You have research to be doing, don't you? On the philosopher's stone?"

Ed's gaze softened slightly at the mention of his brother. "Yeah, I do. I have to finish those reports..." his eyes drifted to his desk.

"You can do them tomorrow. I'm your superior officer, and I'm telling you, go take a break."

"Fine. You coming home for dinner or am I eating by myself?"

"I'll be home by 5. If you wouldn't mind heating the oven up for me we'll have macaroni or something. Now go on."

1 week passed. 1 week of them finding a body part every day, until the entire woman had been assembled. Her name had been Patricia Matthews, a local prostitute.

Ed didn't say much about the case, though Roy caught him reading about it in the papers. Everything seemed fine. Ed's anxiety from his accident was well managed with his journaling and relaxation techniques, and while he was nearly completely healed by this point, he made no mention of moving back to the military dorms, and Mustang didn't bring it up either. Truth be told, he liked having the Elric boys around. He hadn't realized how quiet his residence was until the boys had moved in with him.

Still, Roy was pretty sure the kid was still having nightmares. He'd looked rather tired in the mornings for the past few days. He found himself palming open the door to the boy's room around one in the morning, checking to see if he was sleeping peacefully.

He didn't hear any breathing, and he stepped closer to the lump beneath the blankets, expecting to hear breathing and see pale locks of hair on the pillow... only to find a mass of pillows stuffed underneath the duvet to look like a sleeping form.

The wind blew the curtains to his right, and he realized with sharp alarm the bedroom window was wide open.

Edward was healed now, he'd clearly had no trouble climbing down from the second floor to the sidewalk below.

Roy's heart jumped to his threat, and for a brief moment he found it hard to stem the panic swelling within him.

Where the hell had Edward gone? He'd been a fool, thinking the kid was tired from nightmares, when really he'd been sneaking out...

And then he knew. Dread and certainty settled in his gut like a brick, and he calmly headed down the hall, almost robotically, to knock on the door.

"Alphonse, I'm going out for a little while. I should be back soon."

"Okay, Colonel." Alphonse didn't sleep, and he clearly hadn't noticed Edward was gone, or he'd be panicking too. Al was too sensible to let his brother go running off in the middle of the night alone...

He grabbed his keys and started his car, and ten minutes later his headlights were illuminating a small form in a red cloak sitting on the curb, just outside the office.

He threw the car into park, jumping out and slamming the door with much more force than necessary.

"Edward." He barked.

Ed jumped up from where he'd been sitting on the curb, surprised. "What!?"

"Just how, pray tell, do you explain sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night?"

"I needed fresh air." Ed said simply.

Roy looked down road at the streetlight, frowning. "You're looking for him."

"So?"

"You're looking for that clown, who may be a murderer, at one in the morning, every night, alone..." Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't even tell anyone where you were going! Do you know how stupid that is!?"

"Not as dumb as not looking for him at all! I've seen the papers, they keep finding pieces of that girl! I'm a state alchemist, I don't need you looking out for me all the time, I can handle myself!"

"Of course you can." Roy's vice was dripping with sarcasm. "That's why you moved in with me after you got burned, because you were so capable of changing your bandages and taking your medicine and handling your anxiety attacks..."

"You were the one who burned me."

Roy stopped dead in his tracks. Ed stood perfectly still, a slight breeze catching his cloak and rustling it in the wind.

Roy found himself unable to breathe for a brief moment as the world seemed to stop completely, before he took a breath, acknowledging just how much that hurt. He's right. YOU burned him. That little voice in his head spoke up. His insides were a rolling cocktail of emotions he couldn't deal with right now. Edward was strong, but he was over-confident, and over-tired, and a child. And Roy needed to be the adult here.

Be the adult.

"Ed, get in the car."

"Huh? Why?" Ed looked surprised Roy wasn't shouting back at him, getting into his war of words.

"It's one in the morning, and we should both be in bed. Especially you, considering how often you've been sneaking out. Get in the car. We'll talk about this later. Right now we both need to be at home, asleep."

Ed paused, looking across the road at the empty circle of light beneath the street light.

"Ed. Hughes and I will find the clown. But being exhausted and searching the street every night isn't gonna help anyone."

"There is a clown." even though he was exhausted, Ed looked vindicated, and a slight smile crept onto his face as he said it.

"Yeah, there is. And investigations will find him. Investigations. Not you, and not at one in the morning. Now get in the car."

Ed did as he was told, but he still had that little smirk on his face at being right.

You burned me... Roy's amusement faded as he recalled Ed's words and his steely expression minutes earlier.

Still, he parked the car and led Ed inside. He was the adult. He shut Ed's window and sternly told him to stay in bed, that they'd talk about this in the morning.

He was the adult until he got into his own bedroom and closed the door, and then he laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling and closed his eyes and tried to unhear those words.

You burned me...

Normally, his room smelled like aftershave, but he couldn't shake the scent of burnt flesh. No matter how hard he buried his face in his pillow, he could smell it. It was too hot, and water leaked from his eyes slightly as he struggled to control his breathing...

It'd been awhile since he'd had a night this bad. Normally he'd have a glass or two of whiskey to pass out, but he couldn't bring himself to, not now...

Breathe. Just breathe... he told himself. And slowly, the bedsheets stopped suffocating him and he was able to lay, uncomfortable but not stifling hot, and the scent of burnt flesh faded to unwashed linen and waxy burning candles.

He just laid there, not asleep but not completely awake, tired by his own anxiety and mental ordeal. One hour passed, two... it was nearly three in the morning when the quiet was shattered by a scream.

He was on his feet before he knew it, sprinting down the hall.

"S-Stop, he's my brother! I-it burns! Stop!"

Strangled shouting as Edward struggled in the bedsheets.

"Edward! Ed!" he unraveled the cocoon of blankets the boy had wrapped him in, but Ed was still thrashing.

"Stop, stop, ah god why does it hurt!?"

Edward's eyes were half open and glassy. He hadn't had a night terror like this in weeks. Ed never let Alphonse near him when he was in this state, and by now the suit of armor knew to stay away.

Roy's own ills and fatigue were quickly forgotten, and he slipped back to what he'd done all those weeks ago when Ed had just been learning what nightmares and PTSD was, wrapping his arms around the flailing boy and holding him still, pulling him close to him and wrapping him in a tense hug.

"Fullmetal- Ed- Ed, it's a night terror. Shhh, shhh, it's alright, Ed, it's okay..."

Slowly but surely, the boy's struggles stopped and mellowed to harsh breathing. "R-roy..." his voice was hardly a harsh whisper. "I-it hurt so bad. I could feel it- heating my automail, burning my skin..."

"I know, I know, but it was just a bad dream. Breathe, breathe Edward, it's okay..."

Slowly, the boy's choked sobs evened out into shaky but steady breathing.

"It's alright, Edward..." the boy had sweat clean through his shirt, it'd been that anxiety provoking, and he ran his fingers through the sweaty locks of blond hair, trying to soothe the boy.

"I know, buddy, I know. Breathe for me..." Roy took deep breaths, demonstrating what to do as Edward mirrored him.

"I...I didn't mean it..."

"Didn't mean what?" Roy frowned, looking down at the tear-stained child's face. The moonlight made his golden locks look silver and his face even more pale.

"I...I said you burned me... I-it was an accident... I know that. Y-you took care of me... A-and you w-woke up and stayed with me all those nights I got scared, and you took me to the doctors... A-and I repayed you like a selfish brat. I...I know you didn't mean to... I don't deserve your help... S-sorry, I'm sorry..." Ed dissolved into quiet crying and buried his face in Roy's chest.

For the second time that night, Roy found himself speechless. Out of shock, and... gratitude? Ed's forgiveness seemed to have lifted a weight off his shoulders, his gratitude proved that despite all his mistakes, the accident, burning Edward... He'd done something right in taking the boy in and trying his best to care for him.

"Oh Ed... You're just a kid. It's alright..." He reached up and wove his fingers into the back of Ed's blonde locks, holding him steady and just being solid. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on his shuddering back, and gradually, the boys sobs quieted to cries, and whimpers, before he was finally still.

"A-are you mad?"

"No. How can I be mad? I'm just glad you've calmed down. You were tired, we all say things we don't mean..."

"You gonna kick me out?" Ed's voice was slightly muffled as he was still clinging to Roy for dear life.

Roy laughed. Ed flinched and peeled himself back, looking watery-eyed and exhausted and surprised.

"If I was going to kick you out, I wouldn't have bothered to come find you outside tonight. I'd have told you to pack up when you got home. I'm not sending you anywhere Edward. You are stubborn, and impossible, and headstrong, and I'm not going to make you stay if you don't want to, but you are ALWAYS welcome here. You can stay as long as you like. I... I like having you boys around."

"Really?" Ed sniffled, looking baffled.

Roy chuckled. "Yes, really, you loud-mouthed flea."

"Hey." Ed protested half-heartedly, and Roy ruffled his hair.

"But what you did was dangerous, Ed. Sneaking out without telling anyone where you were going, going after a killer- it was dumb, and stupid. And I'm not letting you off the hook for it. It was reckless, and you're grounded- not allowed to go anywhere without my permission- for a week. You understand? I think that's fair, considering the stunts you've pulled. And you're already a bit punished, your anxiety is thru the roof and you're exhausted... Get some sleep. Alright?"

Roy went to stand, but was held still when a hand grabbed his shirt.

Ed looked up at him with those pitiful golden eyes, looking afraid. "Stay?"

He and Ed hadn't slept in the same bed since the first few days after Edward had been burned, when he'd needed Roy to help talk him through the flashbacks.

But he laid back down anyways, and listened as the boy's breathing evened out beside him. His own breathing was calm and steady, as he watched Ed's sleeping face.

Was this what it was like to be a father, he wondered? Twice in one day, one moment in the worst possible anguish, the next with a heart so full it could burst...

I failed you once, Edward. But I will never give up on you. was his last thought, before he, too succumbed to a well-earned sleep.

[troubatrain]

tis the damn season - m. tkachuk

a/n: as we all know, i am an absolute whore for a christmas fic and when i listened to evermore yesterday i knew this needed to be done. i literally haven’t written anything this fast in forever but i hope you guys like it!! (also tagging @igor-shestyorkin​ @blueskrugs​ & @fenwaynightlights​ for reading this last night and telling me it was good so i’d actually finish it ily)

The second you walked into the party, Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you. He knew you were coming, but watching you step into his parent’s house with a plate of your famous chocolate chip cookies and a smile that made his heart skip a beat, was almost taunting him. You dated forever ago, the last real relationship Matthew had ever been in, and by the looks of it - it was staying like that. You greeted everyone, down to the biggest hug to his grandparents who swore you were going to be Matthew’s wife one day. That was because that’s just how you were, kind and smart and constantly impressing anyone who Matthew introduced you too. Every teammate he had at the time loved you, and he knew if you were in Calgary his team now would be the same. Brady adored you, even admitting to his brother he still called you for girl advice because if Matthew fumbled the bag when it came to you there was no way Brady should take his advice. Matthew couldn’t even think about your relationship with his sister, or how crushed she was when you broke up. Then there was his parents, his mom swore it would be okay. That it was just Matthew’s first love and eventually he’d find his forever but he knew she was lying. Matthew found forever with you, and he let it implode because his dream was just more important at the time. Now, he could be at the top of the world and none of it mattered because you weren’t by his side.

Matthew just felt dumb now, because you were on to bigger and better things and you weren’t hung up on your high school ex-boyfriend. You went off to college, crushed it, and moved back into St. Louis with a near perfect job offer and success practically radiating off of you. He was standing in his kitchen in the worst Bud Light Christmas sweater like an eighteen year old frat boy and you looked every bit like the goddess Matthew knew you were. The perfect Christmas red dress you were wearing sat on your frame flawless, and it was obvious that red was still your color.

“I can leave if you want me to?” You ask, leaning into Matthew when you finally made your way over to him. Your voice was low, mouth close to Matthew’s ear while you hugged him so no one could hear you ask. You were an infinitely better person than he was, so of course you asked him if it was okay to stay.

“You’re always welcome here, you know that,” Matthew answers, sipping his beer for some liquid courage he desperately needed.

“Just because your mom invites me doesn’t mean I need to be here,” You shrug, “Maybe you’ve got someone here…”

He would never. Matthew had never even considered it, what it would be like to bring someone home that wasn’t you. There wasn’t one person in Calgary who could measure up, and despite the fact that his family loved him and would accept anyone with open arms, deep down Matthew knew you would always be on their minds.

“I don’t,” Matthew says, trying to stop himself from wrapping his arm around your waist while you stand with your chest still pressed against his from your hello hug, “I mean what would be the point? They don’t make cookies like you do.”

Matthew had to joke, cover up the fact that he was never able to let go of what you had and choke it down with beer he was drinking. He liked seeing you, the same times he did every year. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the occasional summer BBQ was something he looked forward to, sometimes he even hoped for an extra reason for you to both be somewhere. He knew you’d come, because you wouldn’t dare deny his mother’s invitation.

“Of course you noticed I made them,” You rolled your eyes, pushing Matthew back jokingly, “Remember when you used to beg me to make them-”

You stopped yourself when you noticed where this was going, you never brought up the before times. The times when Matthew would give you his best puppy dog eyes for you to bake him something, followed by a plea to just look the other way when he devoured the entire plate.

“Maybe it’s best we broke up, I probably never would’ve gotten drafted by eating these,” Matthew teases, sliding past you to grab a cookie off the counter and taking a big bite, “Because fuck these are good.”

Matthew’s moans in delight sent a chill up your spine. You hated that he could still do that to you, because it was the same thing every time. You’d see him, and for a moment you’d think that this would work itself out. You could get back together, and falling in love would be just as sweet a second time, but it wouldn’t work. You were settling into your own, a fresh lease signed in your new apartment you were going to move into after New Year’s, and Matthew was going to go back to Calgary where he was a big deal. That was always the dream, to make it big in the league and make his parents proud. Matthew was doing it, not that you ever doubted him, but you were proud nonetheless.

The thing was, because Matthew was doing the damn thing, he gave up you. It was like a deal he made with the devil when he was seventeen, he could have everything he ever wanted if he didn’t have you to hold him back. You always knew that was why he broke up with you, it was the right person at the wrong time.

“It’s nice to see you Matthew,” You muse, biting the inside of your cheeks to hold back the grin on your face. You stopped the conversation before it started, constantly trying to make this as painless as possible, but it wasn’t always easy.

“Wait, uh, you’re going to be here until Christmas right?” Matthew asks, grabbing your attention before you slipped out of the kitchen. Matthew was hopeful, catching a flight a few days earlier than he usually could and landing before Christmas gave him more time to see you.

“I’ll be at my parents house,” You nod, thinking about your childhood bedroom that was currently covered in moving boxes while you waited to settle into your new place.

“Oh sweet,” Matthew takes another swing of his drink, trying to keep his cool because you were the only person who made him completely uncool.

“Yeah, sweet, I’ll see you around,” You wave, disappearing into the kitchen. Matthew takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts for a minute until Brady stepped in front of him. His little brother scoffed, a stupid smirk on his face when he finally spoke.

“Dude that was painful to watch.”

***

Matthew had no idea what the fuck he was doing. His feet were just carrying all two hundred and two pounds of his body in the exact direction of your house. He was drunk, well over the limit of how many whiskey shots he could even handle. He looked at his watch, it was almost three in the morning but if he didn’t get it out now when would he ever. He loved you, and all he could think about is what would happen if he could have just had one more night with you. Maybe you’d feel it, you’d always been pretty intuitive with his feelings, because he was awful with them. He had to make his case, did he even have one?

Oh hey Y/N, I know I’m hammered and it’s three in the morning the day before Christmas Eve but I want you to know I’m still in love with you.

That wouldn’t work, and he was going to have to do better than that. He could turn around and go home, but if he had to watch another one of your Instagram stories and pray that whoever was in them wasn’t your boyfriend again - he would lose his mind before he made it to the holidays next year. He snuck past the gate into your yard, not surprised to see your whole house was sleeping quietly. He picked up a few pebbles from your mother’s garden, shaking them in his hand and hoping you remembered the way he let you know he was outside when you’d sneak out in high school.

One.

Two.

Three.

You were woken up by the sound of three pebbles hitting your window, and you rub your eyes in disbelief by what you were hearing. Matthew wasn’t outside your window at three in the morning looking for you, why would he even think about it? 

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, poking your head out the window and crossing your arms to battle the cool air blowing through.

“Come down?” Matthew asks, wiping his palms on the back of his jeans and giving you his best smile. A real one, because you’d always been able to tell when it was fake.

You should’ve closed the window, and pushed Matthew to the back of your mind until you found yourself creeping on his Instagram again. You were always a good listener, and you always tried to do the right thing but Matthew was your vice. He’d always been a little bit a bad boy, but never enough to stop you from coming back for more. So you opened your window a little more, slipping down and scaling down your house just like you used to.

Matthew could have pretended like he didn’t notice, his last name faded on the back of the hoodie you were wearing, but he couldn’t. You looked just as cute in it as you did all of those years before, “Seven was such a good number on you, I wish I could have kept it.”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks, hoping Matthew couldn’t catch it in the moonlight, “Why are you here?”

“I want one more night,” Matthew takes a deep breath, standing his ground, “I, uh fuck-”

Matthew Tkachuk had never been good with words. He put his foot in his mouth, all the time, but his plea was something you never thought you’d hear. It was Christmas, you were lonely, and a part of you wondered the same thing. So you said fuck it and decided that this was your problem later, pressing your lips to Matthew’s. Your hands gripped his shirt, trying to get as close to him as you could. Matthew was dumbfounded, wrapping his arms around your waist, his fingers digging into your sides.

“Can you be quiet?” You ask, pointing at the back door. It was the middle of the night and your parents room was on the first floor but if Matthew was quiet enough you could get him upstairs easily - you used to do it all the time.

Matthew nodded eagerly, following you inside and tip-toeing up the stairs. He was doing a terrible job, either he’d gotten bigger or the floors in your parents house had gotten creakier.

“You said you could be quiet,” You tease, letting Matthew push you against the door, he twisted the lock, smirking at you.

“I’m a lot bigger than I used to be,” Matthew declares, fake puffing out his chest.

“I noticed…” You muse, running over your hands over his shoulders. He’d gotten broader with age, and it wasn’t something that was lost on you. You press your lips to his, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him closer. Your fingers crept up to his curls, tugging on them slightly. Matthew smirked against your lips, “I missed that.”

“I missed you,” Matthew mutters, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you to your bed. You squeal, tucking your head into shoulder to stop the noise, “Who’s the loud one now?”

“Well don’t stop kissing me then,” You tease, grabbing Matthew and pulling him on top of you. You worked quickly, a pile of clothes in the corner of your that was going to be addressed later. Matthew’s lips were on your neck, his finger circling your clit while you bit your lip hold back a moan, “Matty please-”

The nickname slipped your lips so easily it was like you never should have stopped calling him that. Matthew took notice, and it was like music to his ears, “Anything you want babe.”

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, desperate for as much of him as you could get. Matthew slipped out of his boxers, pumping himself a few times before he gave you a look. You nodded, giving him the go ahead and pulling his lips back to yours. Matthew slipped inside you, and it’d never felt better.

Matthew was better now, much much better. His hips were snapping into you, a near perfect pace while grunts left his lips. The pleasure was almost too much, and you could feel your nails scratching into his back while you bit into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. His hand snaked down to your clit, “Cum for me babe, c’mon.”

You clenched around him, the sensation was enough to send Matthew over the edge, spilling into you. He dropped to his elbows, placing lazy kisses on your skin while you basked in the post sex glow. Matthew’s skin was glistening against the moonlight from your window, his breath in your ear while you caught yours and it all felt right.

“You know you have to go now,” You remind him, “My dad will murder you if he catches you up here.”

“I know,” Matthew bumps his nose against yours, pressing one more kiss to your lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow? Or later?”

Later. It had completely slipped your mind that in just a few hours you were going to be forced to run an annual day before Christmas Eve 5k with the Tkachuk’s like you did every year. The idea was somehow worse than doing it on Thanksgiving, and now you had to see Matthew after you let him fuck you in your childhood bedroom. You watched Matthew dress himself, hopping out your window and back to his own house.

Now you just needed some sleep.

***

You felt like shit, and you were missing the iced coffee you didn’t have a chance to get while you trailed behind your parents to meet the Tkachuk’s. You greeted everyone, stopping at Matthew last, you were unsure of how to even greet him after what you’d just done a few hours before. He didn’t think anything of it, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

“Here,” Matthew says, nudging his cup towards you. You assumed it was coffee, but then the taste of a mimosa hit your tongue.

“Jeez,” You choke, coughing while you take down the champagne with just a hint of orange juice.

“Do you think I was going to run this sober? You wore me out last night,” Matthew teases, and he could feel Brady’s gaze on him.

The wheels in Brady’s head were turning. He was suspicious, catching Matthew sneak back into the house early in the morning, and now watching the two of you - it was clear. It became even clearer when they started running, because Brady knew Matthew wasn’t that slow and he didn’t wasn’t going to let Brady beat him. He was though, jogging behind Brady with you and laughing at whatever you said. There was one thing that was clear, Matthew got over his dumb fear of talking to you and finally did. His brother was happy, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was going to watch this explode in your faces in a few days. Matthew would go back to Calgary and just the first time you broke, it was going to be ugly.

***

The winter in St. Louis was brisk, but Matthew’s warm body next to you was enough to fight it. Your head was on his chest, and you were snoring softly. Matthew picked you up a few hours after you got home, driving up to the same lake you snuck off to in high school. He stole Brady’s truck, driving off with a bunch of blankets without giving Brady an answer as to where he was going. It was supposed to be romantic, but you’d always been prone to falling asleep when you were with him.

Matthew didn’t have a complaint in the world, you slept the same way you used to. Your head on his chest, a leg tangled with his and your hands clutched to his shirt so he couldn’t move. He wasn’t going anywhere. Matthew would let you sleep the entire day away if he could have. He carded his hands through your hair, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Matthew often wondered what would have happened if you never broke up. If you’d followed him to Calgary and what that would have been like. Maybe you’d still be together, and after all these years he’d start looking for a ring. If you’d buy a house together, maybe even be that family that houses wayward hockey players just like his parents did. You’d be the person he got to share looks with across the room when he was forced to have conversations he didn’t want to have. He’d get to take you family skates and you’d get to see him play and you’d live happily ever after.

Reality was always much more cruel, and it wasn't pretty. You had a life in St. Louis, one that didn’t include him. You were moving along in your life just fine without him. You didn’t need Matthew and it was dumb of him to think you’d drop it all for him. You never asked him to stay, and it would be unfair to ask you to wait around.

“I can hear you thinking, you might start to malfunction soon bubs,” You whisper, your voice still laced with sleep. You meant to run a hand through his hair, but the palm of your hand just hit his forehead while you moved it back down slowly. Matthew chuckles, the silly nicknames you gave him seemed to come out without a second thought, and it felt good to be called any of them by you.

“Just thinking about you,” Matthew breathes, and you pick up your head. Matthew shoots you a smile, but you knew he was faking it.

“Matty-” You take one deep breath, “Don’t ask me to come with you, you know it’s not fair to me.”

Your voice was cracking, pleading Matthew to just not have this conversation. You weren’t ready for it, because it meant accepting defeat. The universe wasn’t going to allow you to be together, and that’s just how it was going to be.

“I don’t want to go back to Calgary,” Matthew whispers, more to himself than you. He did want to go back, but he wanted to go back with you.

“You have to,” You sit up, a chill running through your body from the loss of Matthew’s body next to yours. You rub your arms to warm up, “You have to because we’re just not going to make it work Matty.”

Matthew nods solemnly, like his heart just broke all over again. You were right, you always were, it just seemed naïve to think you’d both be any different now than you were the first time, “Let me take you home.”

The car ride was awkward. The only thing cutting through the silence was the Christmas music playing on the radio. You sat with your head pressed against the window, counting down the streets until you finally hit yours. Matthew halted the car, and you gave him one more look before you stepped out of the car, “Tell your parents I said Merry Christmas.”

“I will,” Matthew nods, and those were the last words you heard him say before you walked up your stairs. Matthew waited for you to be inside before he drove off, a small part of him hoping you’d run back to the car and tell him you wanted him too. You didn’t, and that was just how it was going to be.

***

Christmas was awful, the past two days seemed to pass were pure agony. You were sad, and knowing Matthew was about three blocks and four houses away wasn’t helping. You were counting down the hours until he was back in Calgary, away from you and you could finally grieve him for the final time. The last nail in the coffin of what was once your first love had yet to be hammered in but once he was gone that would settle it.

You had two more hours until you knew his flight would leave, and you were so close to the finish line you could taste it. You were home alone, your parents still making their way to a few neighbors' houses to spend the last few moments of the holiday with their friends. You were sulking, a wine bottle stolen from your mother’s collection and the Grinch on your TV. 

A doorbell was the only thing to interrupt you, and you could see a tuft of curly hair through the window. Matthew was standing outside your door, pacing back and forth while he waited for you to open it. You thought about acting like you weren’t home, maybe he’d leave and never come back. You opened it, not even having a chance to open your mouth before he spoke.

“Come with me,” Matthew pleads, “I love you, I still do and I always have and we’re meant to be together. There isn’t anyone I want more by my side than you, and I know it’ll be hard but I’m not ready to let you slip through my fingers again.”

“Matthew-” You interrupt grabbing his arm to stop his pacing, “Listen to yourself.”

“I am, and I want this, I never wanted to give up you and I just can’t fly back there with people who don’t know when I’m faking a smile or when I don’t want to be somewhere,” Matthew explains, running a hand over his face, “You’re the best I’ll ever have and I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

“I’ll come until New Year’s,” You agree, Matthew’s face breaking out into a very real smile, “We need to talk about this Matthew.”

“You talk, I’ll listen, you can have whatever you want,” Matthew agrees, because he’d move the sun if he could for you. His lips pressed against yours, pushing you against the same front door he kissed you in front of on your first date. The porch light still flickers the way it used to while Matthew’s hands gripped your face because he was afraid to let you go. You both finally pulled, Matthew mumbling his next words against your lips.

Tis the damn season huh?

[telekinesiswrites]

Matthew Taylor Relationship Headcanons

You meet him at one of the college football games. You’re sitting in the stands, spectating, and he’s on the sidelines, waiting to be swapped in. It’s when he looks up into the crowd, he spots you. He doesn’t know why, but you drew his attention immediately. But after you gift him with a shy smile and hesitant wave, Matt knows he wants to meet you. 

So after the game, he finds you at the gates. Que the awkwardness as you and Matt attempt small talk and try to avoid eye contact. After a few minutes of stumbling over each other, Matt finally manages to ask you out.

Matt is a gentleman, through and through. He opens the door for you, pulls out your chair, thanks you for every little thing you do; he loves you with all his heart and wants to show you how much he cherishes you. 

He loves it when you wear anything related to the sports teams he plays for. You’re his #1 Fan!

Out of all the Until Dawn guys, Matt is the cleanest. He hates mess, disorganization, and he’s never understood the concept of “organized chaos.” He also likes to split up chores, like you cook and he does the dishes or you clean the toilet and bathtub and he cleans the sink, mirror, and sweeps and mops the bathroom floor. One, it lessens the burden of cleaning an entire room yourself, and two, it makes you and Matt feel like equals. It’s nice to know that you’ll never have to worry about cleaning up after this man.

Study dates are very common. Though he doesn’t like to admit it, Matt isn’t the smartest person and struggles in most of his classes, and knows that he needs decent grades in order to play sports. Scenery varies, depending on both your moods; sometimes you huddle up in the corner of a coffee shop, or a secluded table in the library, or maybe just in your dorm, dressed in your comfiest of clothes. Matt is always appreciative of your help, always making sure to thank you afterwards.

Matt can’t help but compare you to Emily, who he broke up with after the events at Blackwood. While Emily could be outwardly mean and condescending to him, a revelation Matt didn’t have until after he started dating you, you were always patient and kind to him, always so happy to see him and never cruel. You didn’t put him down for his poor grades, something that Emily always jabbed at, but instead you always helped him. And he didn’t hate any shopping trips you went on because you always involved him, asking his opinion on clothes and whatnot and sometimes finding things for him to try on and never mocking his choices. Anytime he was left to his thoughts and started comparing you and Emily, he would always smile knowing that he was in a much better, healthier relationship. 

If you wear his signature Letterman jacket, this boy will die of cuteness overload. He can’t handle seeing you in his jacket.

Communication is something that Matt has to work on. He’s a pushover and all his past girlfriends used this to their advantage; he would much rather let his partner have their way than have to deal with confrontation. Not you, though. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but you always have to sit Matt down and talk out whatever problem you two have. After a couple successful conversations, Matt isn’t so opposed to the idea of bringing up any issues he has about the relationship, knowing that you’d rather find a solution than talk over him. 

Matthew absolutely loves massages. He works out a lot so he tends to get sore, especially if he pushes himself. Lay this boy down on the bed and rub all the knots out of his back and he’ll be putty in your hands. And...it might just lead to something a little more intimate.

If you start showing interest in his hobbies, Matt will be absolutely elated. Go to the gym with him and let him show you how to work out properly so that you don’t hurt yourself. Attend all his sports events so you can cheer him on. Shoot hoops with him down at the rec center on campus or go to the batting cage at the baseball diamond. Emily was always dismissive of his interests, so he’ll be so happy if you ask him questions about anything he’s interested in. And don’t worry, this is not a one-sided thing. Matt will support you in whatever you’re interested in as well. If you like to paint, he’ll take a painting class with you. If you like to write, he’ll ask so many questions about your stories. If you participate in a sport that he doesn’t, you bet that he’ll be out there on the field trying to learn the basics. Matt just loves spending time with you.

Matt is actually a decent cook. He’s a pro at meal prepping and reserves Sundays for cooking. As mentioned in a previous bullet point, Matt doesn’t like mess and is very organized, and this reflects in his meal prepping. The fridge is stocked full of healthy foods, with all the fruits and veggies cut up, all the meats seasoned well and cooked perfectly, and any condiments you need poured into little individual dipping containers. He has all your breakfasts and lunches neatly packed so you can grab them on the go. All your co-workers are in awe at how colorful and delicious your lunches are and you can’t help but brag that your boyfriend made them for you. It fills you with such pride when they all tell you Matt is a keeper.

Somewhere down the line, you and Matt bump into Emily, who Matt hasn’t talked to since Blackwood. At this point, you and Matt have been happily dating for almost a year, but yet, Matt hasn’t mentioned Blackwood to you, in hopes that he can just forget it and move on with his life. You both run into Emily at the grocery store and Matt knows that Emily is going to say something awful to you just by the way the woman looks you up and down in disgust.

“Jesus, Matt, you really downgraded, didn’t you?”

You’re honestly shocked and are speechless and Matt steps in between you too, holding up a hand to Emily. 

“Please, Em, don’t start anything.”

“What? Scared that they’re going to find out what a douche you really are? Are you going to leave them for dead too?”

You’re tugging on Matt’s sleeve. “Matt, what is she talking about?”

Emily smirks. “Wow, Matthew, keeping secrets? Figured you would be too cowardly to tell them all the shit you pulled back at Blackwood.”

Before Emily can continue, Matt pulls you away, ignoring Emily as she continues to taunt him. Both of you wander to one of the registers, bringing your shopping trip to an abrupt end. At this point, Matt doesn’t even care if you haven’t gotten everything on your list; he just wants to go home. Once you both get home, Matt doesn’t say anything, and just goes to the bedroom, shutting himself inside. You know not to push, knowing that Matt would just shut you out even more. You go about fixing dinner, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door of your shared bedroom, worried. 

“Matthew, dinner is ready!” 

No response.

You eat dinner alone, forcing yourself to eat, but eventually giving up since you don’t really have an appetite. You try to distract yourself by cleaning the dishes from dinner, on homework, on anything, but you find yourself pacing outside the bedroom door, internally debating on whether you should go in and confront Matt or let him come to you instead when he was ready. 

You decide on the former. Testing the doorknob and seeing that he never locked it, you push the door open, met with darkness. You feel your way towards the lamp that sits on your nightstand and flick it on, light flooding the room, and illuminating your boyfriend, who was curled up on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest and face buried in his arms. Kneeling beside him, you contemplated on how to start this conversation, before gently reaching out and touching his arm. 

“Matthew, please, talk to me.”

“You’ll hate me if I do,” he said, voice muffled.

“No, I won’t. Just please, speak to me. I don’t like it when you shut yourself out to me like this.”

Matt was quiet for a moment before lifting his head from his arms. That’s when he tells you everything: the prank he and his old friends played on Hannah, resulting in both her’s and Beth’s deaths; going back to Blackwood with Emily as his girlfriend and seeing her and Mike hugging through the telescope, causing him to be salty toward her for the rest of the night; rushing to the fire tower after Chris and Ashley told them about Josh getting killed by some psycho wandering around the mountain; the fire tower falling through the mines, trying his best to save Emily from falling, but only causing the tower to shift, resulting in her fall anyway; being grabbed by the Wendigo and only managing to escape because Emily had given him a flare gun she found at the tower; leading Jessica out of the mines and escaping with their lives. He poured his heart out, expressing his guilt in not trying hard enough to save Emily, remembering how scared he was that he had possibly caused her death.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell all of this to you sooner. I just...didn’t want you to think I was crazy or something and...I didn’t want you to think I was a horrible person. A failure because I couldn’t save Emily when that tower was falling.”

You’re quiet and the silence kills him, twisting his insides into a painful knot. He knew this was going to happen. He knew you would break up with him for being a failure, a horrible person, a-

“Matthew, there is no way in hell that I would ever think of you as a terrible person.”

Matt stares at you, stunned. “W-What?”

“You’re a good person, Matt. While I’m a little disappointed that you went along with that prank, you didn’t know what would happen to those two girls. If you had known, I know you wouldn’t have gone through with it. As for Emily, I know you tried your damnedest to save her. I didn’t believe her for a second when she said all that about you. Because I know you, Matthew, and I know you’ve got a big heart.”

Matt just looks at you, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. That’s when he grabs you, pulling you close, burying his face in your chest, letting the tears fall. You hold him close, running your fingers through his hair, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

“Thank you.” He tightens his hold on you. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too, Matthew.”

[wherearemyglassesbro]

Why Francis is That Way: A series of headcanoned events that led to the ancient man we have now long post warning

Baby’s First Abandonment: When Fran was VERY little, physically 6 or so (idk 50 years old?? I don’t know nation ages) his mother Gual was his main caretaker. They lived in a small village with nomadic people by a river, very nice! Very aesthetic. Gual was close friends with many villagers so naturally Francis became close with them too, leading to them becoming his second family of sorts. One night Gual came back after bei Nd gone for a few days, Fran didn’t think much of it, and insisted he stay inside for the night with her. She made a special dinner and cuddled him all night and sang him to sleep and in the morning, she was gone. Francis, again, didn’t mind cause his mom left frequently for hunts so he went about his week. After a month he became worried and after six, he started flipping out. Tantrums and screaming and the villagers all had a felling his mom was dead so the woman with the most kids took him in. This was Francis’ first abandonment and this is what began his somewhat clingy nature. (He now knows that when his mother left, she went to fight Rome...and lost)

The First Heartbreak of Many: A long time later, I don’t know how many years, Francis met Arthur. Fran traveled with a new nomadic tribe now and went across the channel with them for the first time and found that lil stinker. Arthur and his brothers lived close to the water too so it was easy to find them! As years and years went on, Arthur and the other kirklands were Francis’s only friends! When the Auld Alliance was formed, he and Alastair were ‘married’ for awhile, which Francis very much enjoyed. He never had a lover before! He was still young for a nation, so was Ali so this was a first for them both. In his naivety, Fran believed that he and Ali would be together forever! But within a decade or so, Ali became more distant. Eventually he sat Francis down and told him “I love ya, I really do, but...Not as a wife. You’re a boy...And...I don’t like boys in a ‘wife’ way” of course Ali was very nice about it!! He was nothing but nice to Francis but that still broke his lil heart and the next day he insisted on going to live back home with his people to sulk. Sulk was probably the wrong word but what he did was lay in his hut for days on end, not leaving and crying a lot. He really thought he’d have someone to love forever and for the first time, he was broken up with

Too Young: As he grew up into a cocky teenager, he made many more nation friends. He called Antonio ‘cousin’ in an endearing way and spent a lot of time with him! He fought with Arthur a lot because now that little kid was growing physically too and they could fight their frustrations out like Real Men (they were not). By now, Francis had been with many women and a handful of men so he had Experience in relationships now. He’d talked to Antonio about a certain someone...Someone who...Has been trading around Italy...Sadik. It took awhile after first hearing about him to see him and oh lord, Francis fell for him on the spot! He was all he talked about with Toni and Artie for awhile!! His friends weren’t very supportive “Listen, idiot, he’s far older than you are it just wouldn’t work out!” “Franny, he’s so cruel, I’ve seen some of the things he’s done” but we know our boy is not one to listen to other. So of course, he perused Sadik and got exactly what he wanted. Both parties did, actually. Francis didn’t care about Sadik’s religion and Sadik felt the same way, they were attracted to eachother. Sadik liked Fran for his feminine features and his strength and Francis was extremely attracted to Sadik in almost all aspects of who he was. This ‘relationship’, if you could even call it that, was based on lust and not love so it didn’t last more than three years. It ended in an explosive fight with Francis saying Sadik was too self centered and Sadik calling him too young and stupid. Not exactly the way you should end a relationship. Both were upset at the split and went their separate ways. What did Francis learn from this experience? He learned not to rely on looks and that older men were a pain in the ass....But that didn’t stop him from persuing him again in the 1900s and I oop-

Humans Cant Provide What Nations Need: We all know the story of Joan of Arc so I won’t waste time describing that. Francis and Joan were close and Francis felt a very intense love for her. So intense that he longed for her when she was away and felt her pain himself when she was hurt. Was this a complication of being a nation? Possibly. But he thought it was his heart belonging to her. After centuries of living THIS girl was it! This was his soulmate! This had to be her, the woman he would love forever! And then the English came. When she died Francis felt dead on the inside and sank into a deep deeeeeep depression. Arthur later came to see him and told him a few things “Listen...It wasn’t personal. I didn’t want to hurt you, you were never the target. But you can’t depend on humans the way you depended on her...They dont last long...And they don’t come back...” Francis learned to be more closed off towards humans. Developing connections with them in this way wasn’t just unhealthy...It was stupid too

The Child: Skipping history again here! So Francis raised Matthew and Arthur raised Alfred for the most part UNTIL the English government decided they wanted Arthur to have custody over Matthew. After a lot of back and forth, the French agreed to give Matthew over without Francis’s consent. Naturally, Francis was DEVASTATED!!! He was such a good father. Every night he sang Matthew to sleep, he made him his favorite cookies, he let him pick out clothes, he cut his hair, he kissed his cheeks and hugged him and loved him so much! And now that horrid englishman was taking his son away! He blamed Arthur even though it wasn’t his decision. Francis chose to deliver Matthew himself so they could spend some time together. Francis dropped him off and practically dragged Arthur away from the house to yell at him without the kids heading. He yelled and punched him in the shoulder and yelled some more, let all of his hurt out. And when he was done having his adult tantrum he felt...worse. They went inside and spent time together as a family and later apologized to his dearest friend with a kiss on the cheek and breakfast in bed the next morning. He learned to be more mature and handle his feelings in another way than yelling and to be the adult his kids need

The Light Switch: Between the world wars, Fran and Artie finally got together. During the second ww, Fran was taken by the Germans and kept as a prisioner. When he was finally retrieved and brought home two years later he was a big ol mess. Arthur stayed with him at his house. The lights all needed to stay on, no loud noises, the doors were locked and checked over and over and over. Francis would insist he was fine until he was blue in the face but at the end of the day, he really needed Arthur and was so thankful for him being there. At this time he really needed someone there and Art had a lot of shared trauma so they got even closer through that. Fran didn’t learn much from this but what he did was become more open with his closest, dearest friend and become his lover. They became eachother’s support through this time and grew a lot from that together :) now the lights can be off and they can sleep soundly if a door went unlocked somewhere but they both can’t stand those thunderstorms that shake the house. Those kinds of storms bring back horrible memories for them and that’s an excuse to just hold eachother closer

Conclusion: Fran has issues with seperation and rejection cause of all of this and even though hes hella old he still is naive despite his smarts and even though he knows it’s bad, he listens to his heart more than his head

Thank you for reading this far!!!!!

[bpdjennamaroney]

guys did y’all ever see this peak cringe Jason Robert Brown interview where he, at 37 years old, answers questions like a teenager tumblr-roleplaying as an anime character?

Logan Culwell, in only the latest of three hundred emails to me, asks:

I have a composer demo of Smile by Marvin Hamlisch and Howard Ashman. I’m pretty sure one of the guys on it is Howard himself and the other one… I swear… sounds EXACTLY like you do on that Parade demo. Were you ever involved with that show and/or the demo?

JRB, patiently but with tension in his jaw, smiles and says:

Logan, Logan, sweet Logan. Smile opened on Broadway in 1986. I’m going to assume that the demo was made before the show opened. Let’s just say 1985. Was I involved with Smile in 1985?

Simone Becque, having too much time on her hands, asks:

I just was noticing how a lot of your songs (especially in Songs For A New World) have a lot of boating / water themes. Do you just like the metaphors (I know I do) or were you ever a big boat/water person?

JRB responds, a little too loudly:

I CAN’T SWIM.

Looking to expand her audition book, Andrea Liacos smiles coyly and writes:

Saw you last week at Birdland with a friend. By far and away one of the most enjoyable cabaret style nights we’ve had in a LONG time! Kudos! Where, if anywhere, if ever, can I find a copy of the song in the first set – I want to say “One More Thing Than I Can Handle”?

JRB, who always hates to disappoint a fan, sadly utters:

I’m so glad you like that song, it’s one of my favorites that I’ve written, and it’s especially fun to play. But it’ll be a while before it’s “out in the world.” I’m hoping to include it in a recording project I’m working on that will perhaps be ready some time next summer. Until then, I’ll program it on my concerts as often as I can find someone who can sing it (Benanti did a gorgeous job with it, and I wrote it for the sensational Kate McGarry), so keep coming to the shows; with any luck, you’ll be able to hear it there.

Matthew Baughan, still desperately trying to pay off the engagement ring, scrawls:

My fiancée and I can’t wait for the Donmar Parade in the autumn, but while you’re over here are you planning to throw in some concert dates somewhere? …and the thought… On 7th July we’ll be dancing the foxtrot (if we’ve learnt it in time) to “Grow Old With Me” for our first dance at our wedding in deepest Hampshire – if you’re in the UK that weekend there’s a baby grand you’d be so welcome to play!

JRB, who’s been listening to Brits doing American accents all week in “Parade” auditions, puts on his best RP and declaims:

Why yes, my boy, I am currently in negotiations with several excellent establishments to perform some concerts whilst I am in what I teasingly call “the Uck.” I have to do those concerts because living in London is so unbelievably expensive that I can’t afford to come to Parade rehearsals unless I get a little extra dosh. I’ll let the website know as soon as those concerts are scheduled (pronounced “shed-yooled”). And while I’m chuffed to be invited to your forthcoming nuptials, I must respectfully decline, both because I won’t be in the Uck yet and because if I said yes to you, Ryan Moody would beat me with a hammer. He’s probably still mad at me for that entry anyway.

Brian Perry, pouring salt in old wounds, asks:

My disappointment with not being able to make it out to DC for the Songs concert is bigger than you know. I travel all over to see you live and see your shows and it just didn’t work out. Any luck in securing that financing to record the show?

Quietly, with a single tear descending from his eye, JRB responds:

No.

full interview here, at his own official website: http://jasonrobertbrown.com/2007/06/14/june-07-im-turning-37-youre-asking-questions/

[the-a-word-2214]

Hack the Planet!

Emmanuel Goldstein x OC

Summary: Our story starts during the introduction of yet another member of the discreet gang of teenage hackers in New York City.

Heads up: Cereal’s actual story is pretty sad, for those of you who don’t know, he usually never has a place to sleep. His parents must have kicked him out or something, that’s why he’s always asking to sleep on a couch and why he carries a toothbrush. He also gorges on food because he doesn’t know when his next meal is going to come. This is all from watching Matthew talk about his own little backstory for the character btw.

1,087 words

Chapter 1: Introductions

“Dude, you’ve gotta meet this little lady, she’s an absolute wizard at hacking.” Cereal’s voice echoed in the narrow hallway as he carefully walked on his rollerblades towards his girlfriend’s apartment. The new guy, Dade, had met everyone but her, including his newfound frenemie, Kate Libby, who was a notable member of their crew.

“How old is she? Is she our age?” Dade questioned as he passed several preppies outside of their apartments. The group of boys were definitely out of their element by being in a much nicer apartment building than their own. The sleek flooring and pristine looking doors showcased that. They stopped at an apartment where noise could be heard inside, the door read “35”, they were near the penthouse. Damn, this chick must be loaded? What’s she doing hanging out with these guys? Dade thought as the slender, braid-wearing brunette knocked on the door.

A business woman opened the door and smiled fondly at them as she stepped aside for their entry. “Hello boys, good to see you all again. You know the rules, anything in the fridge is up for grabs as long as you ask.” Dade looked around the surprisingly spacious living room, his eyes landing on a door marked “leave me alone”. The woman, who turned out to be the mentioned girl’s foster mother, turned towards the curious blonde. “Are you new, honey? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” He smiles slightly as he shakes her hand. “Yeah, I moved here a few days ago.”

☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹

After a few knocks, a young voice on the other end of the room’s door answered a loud “it’s open!” The three boys, Cereal, Dade, and Nikon, unceremoniously stumbled through the door. The sound of clacking keys could be heard in the dark room, the only thing illuminated was a teenage girl’s face. “Is this the new meat you’ve been telling me about?” The teen saves her latest work and shuts off her computer before looking up at the boys. “Yeah, this is Dade. He’s that wizard I told you about.” Cereal says as he peck’s his girlfriend’s head.

“Well, hey there, Dade. I’m Alien but you can call me Wendy.” She sticks her hand out as he nervously shakes the girl’s hand. It’s almost as if the dude had never even see a girl, let alone touch one.

Wendy swats at the dangling braids that had fallen in her face due to her boyfriend’s over excited kisses. “Seriously, Cereal?! Get off!” She playfully shoves him off of her before standing up and walking over to his back. His fit of laughter was interrupted by her suddenly jumping on his back. “Full speed ahead, mister!” She commands as he hooks his arms under her knees to keep her secure. He sits her down on her bed as she grabs her bag and pulls on her roller skates. She was the odd one out because she couldn’t balance herself on rollerblades so she opted for skates.

Once she was ready, Cereal picked her up again and hauled her out of the house, saying a quick goodbye to her foster parents. The quartet whizzed past passersby on their way to Cyberdelia for their usual night of fun. The place was packed, save for their regular table. They almost felt like the knights of the round table when they sat down at it.

Joey is already at the table, spouting off about his usual dull hacking adventures. He explains how he made an ATM in Idaho spit out $700 onto the street. Wendy shakes her head and flicks up upside the head. “That’s a total novice move, dude. Never pull shit like that from your house, you’ll get busted. Big time.” Joey winces and holds his head.

“Can you believe that our names will go through, like, seventeen computers in a day when we aren’t even doing anything. ‘1984’? Yeah, right, man. That’s a typo. Orwell’s here and now, living large. We have no names, man, we are nameless. Can I score a fry?” He begins to munch on Phreak’s fries that were soon completely taken over. Cereal always did shit like that, he gorged on food since he didn’t know when he was going to eat again. The other guys should cut him some slack, at least they had a place to sleep every night. It makes you think, y’know? How you take things for granted like that?

“So, what’s up with Joey, man? I heard you pulled a noob move and hacked into a mainframe from your house. That’s so stupid, universally stupid.” Cereal cackles as he kicks up his feet onto the table, fries still in hand.

Phreak pipes up. “Yo, dude, you bring those Crayola books?” Cereal begins to pull out brightly colored books and hands them to Phreak. “Oh yeah, baby, technicolor rainbow.” He hands them one by one to Phreak, Dade manages to name every one of them. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as he looked. He definitely seemed to have a better handle on hacking than Joey, a sophomore who wanted to kick it with the big dogs.

As far as the group could tell, Wendy and Dade seemed to be the most skilled out of them. Wendy had been hacking since she was little and managed to stay undetected in the process, unlike Dade. That indiot got himself caught when he was 10 years old and only recently got back into the hobby.

☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹

Wendy studied her boyfriend intently, watching as he washed his face in the sink, the water dirtier than she expected. She always wanted to make him feel comfortable and at ease when he stayed over at her place since he was always scrounging to stay with friends.

“Can I ask you a question?” She queries as she messes with a patch on his discarded army jacket. “Shoot.” He responds as he pats his face dry. “Why do you always braid your hair? Not that I’m complaining or anything, I’m just feeling inquisitive.” He subconsciously runs his hands over the bound hair before sitting down next to her. “Well, it’s so I don’t have to wash my hair that often. Y’know, since I don’t really know where I’m gonna stay unless I ask someone.”

It broke her heart to hear him talk like that. He probably looked at some of his fashion choices as being convenient. The large backpack, braided hair. It all made sense now, although it also shed some light on some of his mysteries.

[slippinmickeys]

Fairies, Skip Hence

This is my pic for the 2019 X-Files Secret Santa fic exchange. It was written for @msrafterdark, who’s prompt was “Soft early MSR, maybe a small gathering at the Scullys in which Mulder is invited. I'm a sucker for where Mulder and Scully are trying to find equlibrium in their new relationship.” 

Observing her from the passenger seat, she looked nervous, tense, eyes focused on the road like high beams. Her sharp little bob was perfectly coiffed, and she was wearing the bra and panty set (he’d been there when she put them on) that made her walk more upright. He thought of them as her Confidence Boosters, though it wouldn’t do to tell her that--she’d roll her eyes at the double meaning and never wear them again.

Hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, knuckles almost white.

He’d loved her for years, and knew she felt the same. They’d been Pyramus and Thisbe, speaking words of love through walls of their own making. It was only recently that those walls had come down, and he knew she felt unsteady, was still finding her footing. He didn’t know how the next few days would go, but he did know one thing: she still wasn’t sure about this.  

XxXxXxXxXxX

She still wasn’t sure about this. Mulder was coming to Christmas at her mother’s house.

She wouldn’t even be dealing with it if they’d been slightly more discreet and a lot more awake--he’d accidentally answered her phone at 8am on Thanksgiving when Maggie had called to asked Dana to bring an ingredient she’d forgotten. When Mulder had handed her the phone (they really needed to figure out what side of the bed they were each going to take, and leave phones ONLY on their own side), he’d looked both chagrined and pleased, and her irritation had given way to mortification when she’d heard the tone of her mother’s voice.

“Good morning, Dana. Was that… Fox?” she’d asked, her voice full of hope and barely concealed delight.

For all his foibles and for as much as her older brother hated him, her mother had

always had a soft spot for Mulder. “Fox and I have been through a lot together, Dana,” she would always say.

One grandchild was all Margaret Scully had, and the prospect of more--however they might come into the world--would sustain her. A man--any man, really, but this one in particular (Scully had reluctantly told her mother about the IVF failure earlier in the summer)--answering her daughter’s phone at dawn on a holiday was surely cause for celebration and hope.

Scully had steadfastly refused to bring him along that day, their relationship being so new, so she really ought not to have been surprised when Mulder told her a week or two later that Maggie Scully had called him herself to invite him to join the family at Christmas.

She’d pinched the bridge of her nose when he’d asked her what she thought he should bring.

And that was how they’d found themselves bright and early on Christmas Eve, driving north through quickly accumulating snow with a backseat full of gifts, a half case of wine and increasingly jangly nerves.

“We do stockings on Christmas Eve,” Scully said out of nowhere, her fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

“Okay,” Mulder said, clearly wondering where she was going with this.

“Just a warning,” she went on.

“Okay,” Mulder repeated.

“Bill is going to be there.”

“You’ve mentioned that several times.”

“And Tara and Matthew, and Charlie is home on leave,” she went on.

“Right.”

“I’m not sure where Mom will want us to sleep. She might put us in separate rooms.”

“So sex only clandestinely in the bathroom,” Mulder joked.

“Mulder!”

“Scully, I’m kidding. Relax, it’s going to be fine.”

She gave him an extremely skeptical look.

“Please no sex jokes in front of my family.”

“Noted,” he said, and then, “I grew up with a full Emily Post upbringing, Scully, I promise I can comport myself.”

Her mother knew she and Mulder were together now, which meant that so did everyone else. She worried she’d be treated differently. She worried Mulder would be treated differently. She and Mulder weren’t exactly “public,” so she worried she’d treat him differently. Everything was so new. God, would he kiss her in front of her family? Would she want him to? What if she wanted him to? Seven years of saying we’re just friends to her family was a hard habit to break. She’d rather do Christmas with the Gunmen, she thought, as she took her mother’s exit off 95. She’d rather see Frohike in nothing but a Santa hat.

She sighed dramatically.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she said.

She thought, it’s everyone else. It’s Bill. It’s me.  

Mulder reached over the console and tried to rub the tension out of her neck.

His touch fortified her as it always did. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They made it through the lekking ground of the entryway, Bill and Charlie gathered to alternately dole out hugs and stiff handshakes laced with polite menace. Charlie winked at her as he shook Mulder’s hand.

Tara met them at the threshold with glasses of spiked eggnog, which Scully downed half of instantly, gratefully.

They made small talk in the kitchen with Tara and her mother, while Matthew scooted around on the floor, running a Brio train over everyone’s shoes. Mulder offered to make his legs a tunnel for the boy, and she saw both other Scully women’s eyes crinkle at the corners, charmed.

The man could charm anything but bees, she thought.

Scully couldn’t help but be thrown by his presence amongst her family, his dark minky hair and his Fortean job, all out of context amidst the buttoned up Naval fortitude of the Scullys, with their fair hair and their strict adherence to protocol.

He looked and sounded relaxed, as did the rest of her family, but she couldn’t unclench. He reached for her several times and she didn’t reach back.

Her mom caught her eye from across the room and gave her a questioning look.

She ducked into her mother’s quiet den not long after that, pulling Mulder rather reluctantly behind her. The room was much the same as it had been when it had been her dad’s office: still smelled of leather and old books. Naval charts hung on the walls. She took a moment to center herself.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked her.

She turned to him.

“I was going to ask you the same,” she said.

He cocked her a half-grin.

“This is not my first too-hard handshake, Scully. I can handle myself.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said.

“I’m the prince of subtlety,” he said, “I plan to challenge Bill to a game of one-on-one and throw an elbow.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose again. She’d been doing it a lot lately.

“The guy plays like Bill Lambeer, Scully,” he said, continuing to push her, “you can just tell. It’ll be completely justified.”

She didn’t rise to the bait and instead stepped into him, close.

“Everything is different now,” she said, nervously, and he sobered.

“Nothing is different now,” he replied as he moved in to kiss her forehead, then leaned down to catch her eye, “absolutely nothing is.”

She knew he meant that they had always had love between them, fierce and unconditional.

She nodded at him, her face softening, “but everything is all out of context here and it’s already throwing me for a loop.”

It was probably as honest and forthright as she had ever been with him. He decided right then to be on his best behavior.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose as he backed out of the room, “come on, let’s go be social.”

She glanced at her watch as she followed him. It was not yet noon.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Lunch was a simple spread of cheeses and meats, laid out on the dining room table for casual grazing -- Mrs. Scully had a big dinner planned.

Mulder helped himself, but Scully seemed too preoccupied to eat, and he watched her interact with her family as he sat on the couch in Maggie’s living room, a paper plate perched on his knee.

It was fascinating watching her comportment shift from Agent Scully to Dana, to watch how she joked with her brothers, slouched like a teenager against her mom in the kitchen. The Scullys were a tactile, affectionate bunch, prone to sarcastic comments about one another, but always with the understanding of love under each gentle jibe. Hers had been a very different upbringing from his own. He was held rapt.

The star of the show of course was Matthew, who was happy to be the center of attention, taking time to engage with each adult to gauge their suitability as playmate and co-star. Mulder appeared to pass muster with his ability to realistically die when poked with a small plastic lightsaber.

Mulder caught Scully staring during one such encounter with the boy, her expression guarded and unreadable.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully watched Charlie watch Mulder surreptitiously from where he sat in the living room. Her brother was obviously intrigued by him, having heard the stories from other members of her family, having never met the man himself.

Each of the Scully children had very different personalities. Charlie had always been the prankster, the lighthearted sarcastic kid that could bring a smile to anyone’s face. He’d also been the kindest, and Scully thought, behind his extroverted, jovial exterior, the most observant. He never missed a moment.

As if on cue, he shifted his gaze to her and smiled. Pointed to Mulder and gave her an exaggerated thumbs up.  

Charlie’s approval was almost antithetical to high spirits and she found her mood turning sour, which she knew was ridiculous. She operated better when it was just her and Mulder against the world, when her love for him was a closely guarded secret. They had only just started sleeping together, and she was afraid of how much she already needed him. She found she wanted to go to a corner and lick at nonexistent wounds, to snarl at anyone who came near. She was mad at herself for getting mad.

When her mother asked if anyone wanted to decorate the Christmas cookies she and Matthew had made the day before, Scully surprised everyone by volunteering and drifting off toward the kitchen with Tara and Bill, leaving the room with an apologetic glance at Mulder. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Enjoying ‘The Very Best Sacred Christmas Carols?’” Charlie said, handing Mulder a cold bottle of beer and dropping heavily onto the couch beside him.

“Of course,” Mulder said, nodding his thanks.

Charlie took a swig from the bottle he was holding. “You don’t have to lie,” he said, “there’s only so many times a man can hear a choir singing the word ‘holy’ before he wants to get hung from a yardarm.”

“Depends on the choir, I guess,” Mulder said, smiling.

A stiff, staid chorus sang from the speakers in Maggie’s entertainment center.

“I think this one is from King’s College, Cambridge,” Charlie said thoughtfully, “I’ve only heard it every Christmas since 1979. Mom is militant that the Christmas music be as Jesus-y as possible, and Bill is militant about Mom being militant.”

Mulder took another swig. “Always been more of an Oxford guy, myself,” he said, noncommittally.  

Charlie regarded him for a long moment.

“Bill isn’t a big fan of yours,” he said levelly. Mulder quirked a shoulder—a ‘what are you gonna do?’ gesture. “But you seem to make my sister happy,” the man went on.

Mulder sat up straighter and chuffed a self-conscious laugh.

“I wouldn’t have drawn that conclusion by the way she’s been today, myself,” he said, still smiling, catching his thumbnail on the edge of the beer label.

Charlie laughed brightly.

“That’s actually how I can tell,” he said. “She cares so much about making a good impression, she’s getting in her own way. And you haven’t seen the way she’s been looking at you when you’re not looking at her.”

Mulder looked to the younger man.

“You do the same thing, by the way,” Charlie went on, laughing. “My aunt Mabel would have used the word ‘besotted.’”

Mulder flashed on something he’d said a year or so before, I do not gaze at Scully.

“You guys are hopeless,” Charlie laughed. “But… I’m not my brother,” Charlie went on, “and to be honest, I’d like you on the off chance it would piss Bill off-“ Mulder quirked a grin at that “-but couple that with Dana’s obvious and utter devotion to you, and I’ve decided to like you because she does.”

Mulder felt he’d just earned something hard-given. He looked at the youngest Scully with gratitude.

“Now cover me,” Charlie said, and suddenly stood, the earnest moment forgotten as the young redhead pulled a CD case out of his back pocket. He handed Mulder his beer.

“What?” Mulder said, confused.

Charlie nodded towards the room’s entrance.

“Cover me,” he said, and Mulder stood, holding a cold beer in each hand, moving to the edge of the room, a precipitate look-out man. “Nobody fucks with Mom’s carols,” Charlie went on, kneeling in front of the CD player in the middle of the room. He pushed a button and the music suddenly stopped, the changer slowly giving up the ghost and ejecting the disc that had been in the player. “So let’s see what happens, shall we?” He pressed a mischievous grin in Mulder’s direction and pushed a new CD in.

It took about ten seconds before a new song started playing, more loudly than the carols had been, a drum beat followed by piano—Elton John’s bizarre holiday song ‘Who’d Be A Turkey At Christmas.’

From the direction of the kitchen, Bill’s voice came with an approaching “Now what the hell?” and Charlie ran toward Mulder, a roguish smile on his face.

“Run,” he said, coming right at Mulder, who braced himself.

“What?!” Mulder said, amused, but unnerved.

“Run!” Charlie said, darting past Mulder and grabbing his beer out of Mulder’s hand in the process.

Mulder felt he had no choice but to run up the stairs after him, laughing—a sudden but willing accomplice—while Elton drawled on drunkenly about having ‘a few too many,’ loudly from the speakers just as Bill barged into the room on a wind of blustering confusion.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully narrowed her eyes at Mulder, as they deposited overnight bags in the corner of her adolescent bedroom.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Charlie took full responsibility for the music kerfuffle,” she said, and Mulder looked at her innocently. He would not implicate himself. Charlie had hit a setting on the CD player, whether on purpose or not remained to be seen, but Bill couldn’t get the player to stop until it was halfway through ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’

Peace had been restored and the choir of Cambridge was once again singing its way through the Wassail Song though Scully had used the temporary chaos to steal out to the car and grab their luggage. She still wasn’t entirely sure Mulder wouldn’t be relegated to the foldout couch in the basement, being both the other half of an unmarried couple and now party to the playing of non-sanctioned Christmas music.

He sat on her childhood bed, bouncing on it experimentally.

“Not too creaky,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

She ignored him, hands on her hips.

“You seem to be getting along with everyone okay,” she said, half questioning.

“I’m not without my charms,” he shrugged. She seemed tense and still hadn’t sat down. “Your family is great, Scully,” he said, “even the ones who don’t like me have been very polite.”

That at least elicited a reluctant smile, and she finally sat down next to him.

“We’re halfway through,” she said.

“Halfway through what?” he asked.

“The day,” she said, and he shot her a sympathetic smile. “Next up we’ve got stockings, dinner, then midnight mass…”  

“And then?” he said, swaying into her.

“And then we take a Benadryl with the family Sauterne and wait for sleep to save us,” she said, standing and offering a hand up.

He laughed as she had meant him to and took her proffered hand.

“You okay with going to mass?” she asked him soberly as she pulled him up.

“If you go, I go,” he said, and gave her hand a quick peck before dropping it. “Tara’s been trying to get me alone for the last three hours, I’m going to go give her a chance.”

She smiled at him.

“Want some backup?” she said.

“Always,” he said, backing out of the room.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Bill started coming up the steps as Mulder was headed down, and Scully waited on the landing so as not to crowd him.

He passed her and started to head down the hallway, but as he walked by, he gave her a look which brought her up short.

“Something you want to say, Bill?” she said to his back. He stopped and turned toward her slowly.

“He’s staying in your room, I see,” he said.

“And Tara is staying in yours,” she said, a statement of fact.

He gave her a long look.

“Why him, Dana?” he finally asked.

“Because he loves me,” she said, feeling as though she really needn’t justify herself.

“Any man would love you,” he said, “look at you. You could have anyone you wanted.”

“But I want him.” She didn’t need to convolute it any. When it came right down to it, it really was as simple as that.

Bill looked at her for another long moment and then, seeming to come to some kind of internal decision, nodded at her and turned away.

XxXxXxXxXxX

After a few minutes he watched as Scully came into the living room to find him perched casually on the couch next to her sister in law. She sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room and picked up a nearby paperback. Good old Scully, watching his back as always. The music in the room was still extolling the glory of the season and it afforded he and Tara a fair bit of privacy.

“Have you done Yankee Swap before, Fox?” Tara asked him brightly.

“Don’t know. Sounds vaguely punitive.”

She smiled at him.

“It’s a fun gifting thing we started doing a few years back where you can take someone else’s present or swap it out for a new one.”

“That’s a relief,” he said, deadpan, “I was afraid you were coming onto me.”

Tara laughed as he had hoped she would, then leaned into him confidentially, her breath smelling sweetly of pinot grigio. She had a smudge of flour on the left side of her chin.

“You know, Dana has never brought over a boyfriend before,” she said, probably a bit louder than she meant to.

Scully looked up sharply from where she sat curled up in her chair, and Mulder gave her a significant look which was completely lost on Tara as he leaned in to talk to her.

“We’ve been worried about her,” Tara said, “with that job of yours. It seems dangerous and all-consuming. We didn’t think she’d ever meet anyone.”

“I, for one, am glad she didn’t,” Mulder said and darted a look at Scully who was pretending not to eavesdrop.

Tara giggled good naturedly.

“Maggie’s been telling us about the change in her these last few weeks. How happy she seems. I guess falling in love with each other was inevitable,” she said wistfully.

Mulder nodded softly.

“Fate,” he said, and Scully’s eyes bobbed to his.

“Sweet,” Tara sighed girlishly, “well, we’re glad you’re here, Fox.” She patted his knee. “You’ll make Dana a wonderful husband, I’m sure,” she went on, clearly meaning it as the highest of compliments.

“Well,” Mulder said, holding Scully’s eyes across the room, “it’s an honor just to be nominated.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Afternoon rolled into evening, and the weak sun laid long shadows through Margaret Scully’s neighborhood before it was blotted out completely in a blast of swirling snow.

He had drifted into the den and had been looking at the Naval map of the Carribean when Scully found him.

“Please tell me you’re not considering another trip to the Bermuda Triangle,” she said.

He turned to her and smiled, reached out to her. He saw her look at his outstretched hand and she walked around it, moving to look out the window.

“Looks like you’re getting out of midnight mass,” she said, one finger pulling down a slat on the room’s Venetian blinds, “it’s really coming down out there.”

The wind was gusting, pushing snow and ice past the glass; visibility was limited to about ten feet. The family had agreed to keep an eye on the weather and bow out of attending the midnight service if driving conditions became too dangerous.

Mulder came up behind her and bent down to look outside as well, her back pressed into him. When she straightened, he didn’t move, and he felt a frisson of energy run along the skin where he was pressed to her. He brought his hand to her hip and pressed his lips to her ear.

“Don’t,” she said, stepping away, and Mulder looked at her, hurt and confused. Immediately, she reached out a conciliatory hand and looked to the heavens as if for help. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He gave her a long look.

“If you didn’t want me to come, you should have told me,” he said gently.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it? Because honestly, Scully, you are the only one making things weird. Even Bill is acting like an adult, which is, frankly, almost as surprising as your attitude.”

She sighed.

She was prickly and self-conscious, beautiful and unapproachable. Even when she was pissed off with him--even when he was pissed off with her too--he felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

“We’re still trying to figure out what this is, Mulder,” she said a little desperately, gesturing between the two of them,  “I still don’t know how to be with you. How to work with you. How any of this is going to play out. And having to figure that out while surrounded by my family of all people is just… a lot.”

He sighed himself and stepped back into her space, reaching out to rub a hand up and down her back.

She was tense under his hand.

“Tara keeps staring at my ring finger,” she said, and Mulder couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It’s not funny,” she said.

“It’s kind of funny,” he said.

“Mulder-”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, pressed his lips to her neck. One of his hands started creeping under the hem of her blouse.

“Scully—“ he started, when Matthew toddled into the room on a delighted shriek, the only one in the house who wouldn’t have picked up on the blatant frottage before him.

Scully took a step away from Mulder as Bill popped his head through the door.

“I think we’re going to to do stockings now,” Bill said, nodding toward his son, “some of us are getting a little antsy.”

“Sure,” Scully said to him, and then knelt down in front of the boy. “Matty, will you show me where the stockings are?” she asked him, and he happily took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room. She glanced behind her at Mulder as she left, who was still standing by the window, backlit by the snow.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Her mother found her outside just before dinner, wrapped in a tatty old afghan and leaning over the railing on the back porch, watching chickadees dart in and out of the feeder in the day’s fading light. The wind had stopped blowing, but the snow was still coming down, fat white flakes drifting down out of the silent heavens.

“Everything all right?” Margaret Scully asked from the doorway. She turned to look at her mother, who was hugging her sweater around herself tightly, her feet shoved into an old pair of fleecy slippers.

“Mm,” she hummed, smiling at her.

Her mother closed the door behind her and walked out slowly to join her daughter, the snow squeaking under her feet as she moved.

Scully had gone outside to get a little fresh air, and, she hoped, a clearer head. She was avoiding Mulder’s touch like he was some secret teenaged boyfriend she wasn’t allowed to see and her head was running in such circles about the whole damn weekend, she was wound up in her own thoughts and likely to fall face first.

“Is my absence conspicuous?” Scully asked her mother lightly, reaching out an arm and wrapping a corner of the afghan over Margaret’s shoulder.

“Only to me,” her mom said, leaning into her. Her mother’s intuition was flawless, and sometimes all it took was Maggie flashing her a compassionate look for Scully to crumple back into a pre-teen mess and spill all her fears and secrets. “And to Fox.”

She turned to look at her mother. She’d inherited her insubstantial height, and being eye to eye with her always seemed to buck up Scully’s morale.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

“He’s fine,” her mother answered with a small smile, “currently building a fairly intricate train track with your nephew.” Then, after a long moment, “how long?” Have you been together didn’t need to be said.

Scully breathed out, a column of vapor dissipating into the air.

“Not very,” she answered.

Maggie Scully smiled and looked out onto her small white yard.

“I’m glad,” she said.

“Bill’s not,” Scully said softly.

“Bill doesn’t understand what you have,” her mother said, looking at her significantly. “I don’t know if anyone really can, other than the two of you,” she went on. Scully tucked her chin to her chest, not able to meet her mother’s eye. “That man loves you, Dana. With the kind of unquestionable, forever love any of my kids would be lucky to see in the world, much less experience. I’m glad Fox is here with us for the holiday,” she reached out and ran a hand up and down her daughter’s arm, “I hope you are, too.”

She looked up and saw her mother’s wistful expression, the way she rubbed her thumb over her wedding ring like a talisman. Maggie smiled at her and headed back into the house.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“You feeling any better?” Mulder asked her. He had volunteered to do dishes after the meal, so she volunteered to help him, drying as he washed and putting the dishes away.

He had one of her mother’s aprons on and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suds halfway up his forearms.

“A bit,” she said.

He’d been the consummate guest at dinner, regaling the table with stories from his college days at Oxford, full of vulpine charm and Vineyard decorum. At one point she’d even seen Bill chuckling at one of his stories.

She felt guilty for laying her own discomfort at his feet when he was the outsider, the guest at her mother’s table. She told him so, while she wiped a casserole dish dry.

“Hey,” he said, bumping her gently with his hip, “you know I know you, right?”

She smiled at him.

A siren approached outside the house and they both stilled, a Pavlovian anticipation building until the emergency vehicle passed, the siren fading into the night. Water dripped from Mulder’s hands and they both slowly unclenched.

“Go be with your family, Scully, I’ll finish up here.”

She regarded him, took the glass he was holding and dried it slowly.

A round of laughter came in from the dining room, where the rest of the Scully clan were sipping Sauterne, Matthew playing troll under the table.

“You don’t know where anything goes,” she said.

“I’ll figure it out.”

She kissed his cheek, lingering there for a moment, and hooked the damp dishtowel over his shoulder, then left to join her family.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She offered to help Matthew put out cookies and milk for Santa, and Mulder followed them into the living room, charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm.

Once the goodies had been strategically placed just-so, she let Matthew talk her into reading him a small Christmas book he’d gotten in his stocking. She barely made it halfway through before Matthew ran out of steam and slumped against Scully’s leg, half a cookie clutched loosely in his damp hand, leaving a trail of crumbs on her knee. His eyes slid closed.

Scully ducked her head down to look at him, sweeping soft curls from his forehead. She closed the book and set it down next to her.

Mulder cocked his chin toward the boy.

“I had a roommate once, was the same way,” he said quietly.

Scully smiled and resisted the urge to smell the boy’s head. His little body had pinned her arm to her side.

Another round of cheerful laughter came in from the direction of the kitchen, the rest of the adults in the house all loosened up from a good meal and a round of wassail, the proximity of family.

Mulder rose from where he sat, and kneeled down in front of Scully, scooping the child up in his arms from where he’d been pressed to her. Her side felt suddenly cold.

“Where does he sleep?” Mulder whispered, and Scully rose, silently beckoning him to follow her.

Up the stairs and down the hallway they crept like thieves, Mulder and the child behind her a sleepy votary.

She opened the door to Missy’s old bedroom, which her mom had converted to a sewing room. It had a large crib set up in one corner and a Fisher Price nightlight projecting a jungle scene onto the ceiling. The door creaked as it swung open, but the boy didn’t awaken, and Mulder crept to the crib and deposited the child gently onto the mattress. He snuffled once and turned onto his side.

“Should we change him into PJ’s or anything?” Mulder whispered, keeping his eyes on the boy’s sleeping form.

She shook her head and took in the scene before her, Mulder watching over a sleeping Scully child. Whatever emotion threatened then, she refused it.

“I’ll go let Tara know we put him down,” she whispered back and turned from the room, drifting down the hallway like Marley’s ghost.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When it was confirmed that Matthew was finally asleep, Bill and Charlie set about bringing in gifts from the trunks of various cars, and Mulder had to jump in and help when they tumbled in through the front door, overloaded with gifts and stamping snow onto the mat.

Several toys needed assembling and the unlikely trio headed into the garage and went about it in the usual male fashion; with several strong opinions and more tools than necessary.

When they finished, they found that Tara and Maggie had gone up to bed, and Bill and Charlie followed suit.

Mulder searched the house until he found Scully.

Bubbles floated like dust motes silently through the living room, catching the color from the lights on the Christmas tree and turning the room kaleidoscopic. She sat in front of the fireplace amongst Matthew’s scattered stocking stuffers, looking young and small. She held a small Santa-shaped bottle, blowing bubbles quietly into the room from a wand protruding from Santa’s hat. She looked like a fairy in the festive space, and his heart clutched at the sight of her.

“Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” he said softly.

She looked up with a smile.

“What, jealous Oberon?” she said.

“Never,” he said, and lowered himself cross-legged next to her. The fire gave off a radiating heat that pushed into one side of his face.  

“I’m sorry--” she started, but he cut her off with a finger to her lips.

“Don’t,” he said, “this is a lot for you--all of it--I get it. You don’t have to apologize.” She smiled at him in relief. “So long as you don’t forswear my bed and company,” he went on.

She looked at him, her eyes watery, but bright.

“Never,” she whispered.

A bubble landed on her hair and refused to pop. He could hardly blame it.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A log gave a sharp snap in the fireplace and she turned her head to look at it.

She had realized she was in love with him when she was sick, writing to him in a journal she didn’t want him to read. Back then it was too late to do anything about it. Then she was granted a reprieve, death’s scythe pulled back, and regret was replaced with cowardice.

She looked back at him, the glow of the fire turing his face chimeric, and thought of Matthew’s crumby, damp hand, the glint of Charlie’s hair by the light of the sun. Her mother’s worn, papery skin, Bill linking his hand with Tara’s under the dining room table at dinner. She thought of the thump and swish of Mulder’s heart when her ear was pressed to his chest. It all felt like family. It all felt like home.

He was her partner, her fidus Achates, the love of her life.

“Take me to bed,” she said softly, reaching out for him.

“Look, I don’t know what the secretarial pool has been saying, but I’m not that kind of g-“

Scully silenced him with a kiss to the lips.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a basket case today,” she said, catching his eyes in the warm light of the fire. “Take me to bed, Mulder,” she said again, coyly arching an eyebrow at him.

He nodded at her earnestly and took her by the hand.

They padded lightly up the steps as Handel’s “Messiah” began to play on the stereo in the living room behind them.

XxXxXxXxXxX

She closed the door after he followed her in and the room took on a sudden quiet, the music from downstairs pushing gently at the outside of the door.

It was an odd contrast to see Mulder, an adult man, standing in her adolescent bedroom looking at her in anticipation, his eyes hooded with lust. She stepped into him, her toes on the tops of his--he flexed them even as he reached out and pulled her to him by the hips.

Sex between them had been surprising, incredible, but it was still new, and they had not yet settled on an easy rhythm, a give and take on the act’s initiation.

“Come here,” he said softly, though she couldn’t get much closer, and he pulled her flush up against him, his breath fanning her face.

He slowly took her arms one at a time and propped them up over his shoulders until they were encircling his neck, then he grabbed her firmly by the ass and lifted until her face was more or less even with his. She wrapped her legs around his waist reflexively.

“Better?” she whispered, smiling at him, their faces only an inch or so apart.

“Better,” he answered, and then leaned in slowly to kiss her.

His lips were framed by the rasp of his five o’clock shadow, which scraped against her skin, her teeth, as she opened her mouth to him. She hummed into him, relaxing into his embrace.

The stresses of the day seemed to peel back--her fears, expectations, pressures from her family whether real or merely perceived, all seemed to coalesce into one sharp feeling that melded somewhere in her chest and slowly sunk until it was an exquisite yearning pressure in her womb.

She threaded her fingers through his silky hair and she felt him turn and start walking them to the small double bed of her youth. Mulder sank slowly until he was sitting on it, Scully perched earnestly on his lap. He finally broke the kiss and leaned back to look at her.

“So I’m the first boyfriend you’ve brought home, huh?” he said, an obnoxious grin spreading across his face.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said on a smile of her own, and reached down to grab the hem of his sweater, pulling it up and over his head, effectively erasing his insufferable expression.

She brought her hands to the spongy hair on his chest, running light fingers over his pectoral muscles, then slowly lower down over his abdominals, naming his anatomy in her head as her fingers explored. Rectus abdominis, external oblique, transversus abdominis. When her fingers reached the area of the linea alba, he hissed in a breath and she felt his body react to her touch, swelling under her right thigh.

He grabbed her hands and pulled them gently away from his body, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Turnabout is fair play, Ms. Scully,” he said, lifting up the shirt she was wearing and pulling it up and over her head.

She leaned in as his hands once again found her waist, and darted her tongue into his ear.

“That’s Dr. Scully to you,” she said, and clamped her mouth around the delicate flesh of his earlobe.

His hips responded to her, surging up as his hands held her steady--the pressure where their bodies met sharpening to an exquisite point.

The alarm clock next to the bed was an hour ahead, passed over when Daylight Savings ended. It glowed cherry red over Mulder’s left shoulder. Her mouth drifted down his neck, her tongue following the long line of tendon as his hands migrated toward her front, cupping her breasts over her bra.

The wind had once again picked up, blowing snow in soft tinks against the glass of the window. He pinched her nipple gently through the fabric and she let out an involuntary moan. She heard him laugh quietly and then he pressed his lips into her ear.

“Shhh” he shushed, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh even as sweet wine sloshed in her stomach. She felt warm and concupiscent, lusty and clear. She wanted to feel his skin on hers.

She leaned back, stood, stepped out of her pants and rid herself of her underthings. Mulder did the same, standing before her--his skin a golden bronze, his gaze intense--ithyphallic and unashamed. She laid on the bed and reached out a hand for him.

He joined her, kneeling onto the bed above her, knees pressed into the mattress between her legs. He took a moment to run his tongue slowly from beneath her navel to the point of her chin, painting her skin with his cooling breath.

His skin felt fevered on hers, but his eyes were clear and bright. He pushed into her slowly and her own eyes slammed shut, her teeth digging into her lip. He stretched her out, filled her up, and she took a moment to adjust, to enjoy.

Time seemed to stretch out, sand in the hourglass slowed to a honey drip. The bed was silent beneath them, for which she was thankful.

Seven years she had waited for this—a hymnal in the air, his overbite on her skin. What time she had wasted, what pleasure they had denied themselves. She pulled him to her, bit his shoulder, licked the teeth marks she had left. She wanted to consume him, take everything he was and absorb it like light.

She felt love-drunk, parched, caught up in chasing the high of their frenzy. He had his arms bracketed on either side of her face, and the hollow of his throat was at eye level. She darted her tongue out to taste it.

Suddenly, he reached down, grabbed her by the hips and flipped them and she found herself perched atop him, wild and wanton, his own Lady Godiva. Time caught back up to them and she gave him a wicked smile.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He still had trouble believing he had unlimited access to her compact, tight little body; she seemed all angles and edges these days with the exception of her center which was all soft, lush, wet heat--the sweet brine of her anointing him like a sacrament.

A car turned somewhere on the street, its headlights sweeping once over her, catching a freeze frame of her above him, back arched, head thrown back, mouth open.

He licked his thumb, reached between them and swept it over the tight bud at her center; she made a breathy noise in the back of her throat.

When they had finally gotten together there had never even been talk of a condom; the only thing left between them was for one of them to say “now, no more waiting.” He thought of his seed inside of her, thought of putting a baby there, an impossible gift he almost believed he could give her from sheer wanting. He’d read once that it was theorized female orgasm--unnecessary from a scientific, purely reproductive standpoint--helped by perhaps moving sperm further up into the womb, and he thought of it as he applied himself to her with a renewed vigor.

She started breathing that quick, shimmery breath that he’d only recently come to understand meant she was close, and he drove up into her as he pressed her with his thumb, encouraging her in a quiet, whispering voice. She clutched at him, fingernails digging into his hips on a hiss.

He followed her into oblivion, cresting just as the Hallelujah chorus reached the height of its crescendo in the living room below them, the sound both tinny and muffled. Mulder would associate the song with sex for the rest of his life.

The French call orgasm “the little death” and that felt right to him, proper and precise; he felt struck down and reborn in the cradle of her hips.  

She rolled off of him, to the scant empty space on the bed, and laid face down, a small smile cracking slowly up her cheek from the pillow below.

He propped himself up on an elbow and considered her naked back, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light, her hot slip cooling on his thighs. He leaned over to kiss the dimple above her ass cheek, and he heard her chuff a laugh.

Emboldened, he ran his tongue along the ouroboros upon her back, dared not tell her that it was an ancient symbol of alchemy. Dared not tell her how fitting it was that it was branded upon her skin, that he believed she was the elixir of his immortality, that she alone gave him life.

Outside, the world was cold, tilted away from the sun. Dust collected on the nicotine tainted pages of their files, and monsters walked the earth.

Inside, she was dreamy hot skin pressed to his side. She was his cover--the alert, sharp eyes that watched his six, the love of his life.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he said quietly, could already tell she was on the edge of sleep.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she mumbled back, and he reached for the blanket, pulled it up and over them both.

XxXxXxXxXxX

When he woke, her head was near him on the pillow, she had a crease in her cheek and she smelled of sleep. Unable to help it, he reached out and tucked a feather of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” she said on a breathy smile.

“Hey,” he lobbed back.

The bed dipped in the middle under their weight and had pitched them together; her whole side was pressed to his, his own personal hot water bottle. He threw a leg over her.

The house had come to life below them, he heard cabinet doors swung closed, the soft chunk of coffee mugs on granite, gentle murmuring.

He could stay in this little bed with her all day, he thought, reading books pulled from her childhood shelves—Black Beauty, Moby Dick, A Brief History of Time. They would lock the door, make love, take sustenance only from each other.

She had an eye cracked on the pillow next to him, regarded him warmly with her cool blue stare.

“I love you,” he said, apropos of nothing.

She smiled, slowly blinked.

“They say ‘if you love something, let it go,’” she said, her voice rough from a night’s disuse.

He considered her, the peach fuzz of her skin in the early morning light.

“I don’t want to let you go. I want to hold on forever.”

To prove his point, he reached out and looped a pinky through one of her own, her hand lying close to her face on the pillow. He felt her breath puff against the hairs on the backs of his fingers, humid and warm, a humectant tropic in the tiny bed.

“It’s supposed to be a test, to see if what you love comes back to you.”

He squeezed her finger with his.

“You do always come back,” he said.

“So do you.”

They were thinking of the same things—her abduction, him lying in a hogan in New Mexico, her cancer.

It was Christmas morning, he remembered. The day already felt like a gift.

“I suppose we should get up,” Scully said, “put Matthew out of his misery.”

Mulder let go of her and stretched in the tiny bed, his feet lopping out over the end.

“How long do you think he’s been awake?” he asked, then reached for a pair of jeans.

“Oh, hours,” Scully said with a smile, and she pulled on the pair of pajama bottoms she’d brought with her. After a moment’s hesitation, she swiped the undershirt he’d worn the day before out of the sweater she’d tossed to the floor and pulled it up and over her head.

“Your family’s going to start getting ideas about us, Scully,” he joked, pleased.

“Let them,” she said, and went for the door.

They padded down the steps hand in hand, and when they reached the bottom, instead of letting go, her grip on his hand became more firm.

He followed her into the kitchen where they found everyone else milling about, all the adults wearing the pre-caffeinated shell-shocked look of a pre-dawn awakening.

Matthew cheered gleefully at their arrival, which had clearly been a pre-negotiated stipulation of gift-opening.

Bill, after giving their joined hands a long look, thrust his chin towards the counter and said “Coffee’s in the pot.”

Maggie caught her daughter’s eye before smiling into her own steaming mug like Emma of Hartfield. Charlie and Tara shared a knowing look and an arch smile.

Breakfast was eschewed in lieu of gift-opening, and Matthew ran to the tree, the adults a slow shuffling procession behind him. Gifts were passed out, opened, fawned over, played with. Thanks were shared and coffee was drunk.

There amongst her family, he felt content, happy, accepted. Scully looked at him warmly over her shoulder, and separated as they were by mounds of torn wrapping paper, he felt connected to her in a way he’d never felt connected to anyone.

She was his favorite gift. Sent to the basement to punish and dissuade him, she’d done the opposite. She was everything they hadn’t planned, antipodal to their strategy of turmoil and distrust.

She was the dawn in the night of his life.

He was glad he’d come. And so was she.

[aeirithgainsborough]

very Important adam/ronan things to take away from the cdth sampler:

“like the other lynch brothers, he was a regular churchgoer, but most people assumed he played for the other team.” i am SCREAMING. top tier gay joke. well timed.

everyone: ronan’s eyes aren’t pretty. adam: mhmm  e y e l a s h e s

much to say about the revelation that ronan is partly at the barns to keep his dreams hidden and in check, and how much he relates an inability to change and be like everyone else to having to stay there. almost like he’s stuck huh! i’ve been saying!!

of note that words used to describe ronan’s existence are BORED and MALINGERED.

fingers crossed he finds some balance between his dreams and his wants/needs that allows him to leave the barns and grow but after the Great Crab Disaster I’M WORRIED.

fire imagery EVERYWHERE. i’m WORRIED again.

“there are stains that spread faster than you drive. if you drive, it’ll take fourteen years to get there. seventeen. forty. one hundred. we’ll be driving to your funeral by the end.” good to know ronan is still the most DRAMATIC boy in the whole of virginia. absolutely no chill.

dont like the possible foreshadowing of that driving to your funeral by the end, though. must leave lynches alone!

“it’s very safe” asjkajjka DECLAN PLEASE 

“ronan kicked one of the volvo’s tires” asjkajjka RONAN PLEASE. 

ronan trying to act nonchalant by cramming chocolate covered peanuts into his mouth and choking a little is Peak Disaster Gay. 

matthew’s music must be awful if ronan and declan are in agreement over it, must have playlist. 

ronan who lives to pretend he doesn’t care wondering if his brothers didn’t say anything about his moving because it didn’t make a difference to them is huhhh. don’t like it, take it away pls.

i’m sorry, ENTIRELY WRAPPED UP IN! ENTIRELY! 

entirely

wrapped

up

in

shut up!!!! shut upppppp! 

“is there any version of you that could come with me to cambridge?” tbh nothing would have readied me for this. adam i-can-do-everything-alone asking ronan if he could go with him. so much growth, too much pride, nowhere to put it, send help.

the fact that ronan doesn’t stay in cambridge when he visits adam because of plausible deniability, that if he doesn’t try there’s no evidence he can’t make it there. rip. 

ronan! missed! him! like! a! lung! 

dramatic again, but entirely relatable bc damn, same ronan, same. 

a) ronan thinking about how his heartbeat is the same as everyone else’s so he wasn’t that different and b) JUST LIKE ADAM’S HEART WHEN HIS HEAD WAS RESTING ON HIS HEAD = much too much to think about. need to lie down for a bit.

he could move to follow the guy he loved!! we all knew it was love, we’ve always known it was love, but! the words. the words!!!!! brb sobbing.

i have only had jordan for a day and a half but if anything happened to her i would kill everyone in this room and then myself. 11/10 would marry.

art forgery plot confirmed!

THIS WAS HOW IT HAD BEGUN

bitch fkajdkajksja GIVE ME A WARNING. 

still can’t compose myself RE the info that ronan saw adam and immediately sent a desperate prayer up to god 

will the word please ever be the same again? definitely not!

adam’s arms adam’s hands his lovely! boyish! hands!

the description of his expressions with all its contradictions and multitudes is just my favourite thing ever. it encapsulates everything i love about adam fucking parrish.

and the fact that ronan instantly recognised all those multitudes in him. there was always a level of understanding ronan had for adam throughout trc that no one else did and this tells us he had that before he even met him, he just... recognised something in him i just... ;______; 

please 

ronan knowing all the harvard stats because he was the person adam could crow to, how he takes on that adam that is still full of contradictions and multitudes, how he finds it hard but he absorbs all the facts and all of adam’s anxieties, even in the face of his own anxieties about adam leaving and falling in love with the shining, educated people that ronan thinks are better than him. that absolute, unwavering support 😭😭😭

tbh there’s a whole ass lot to unpack in this section so imma try and do it briefly (she says!)

ronan lynch is a romantic cdth confirmed: 

he could have texted adam but he liked the soft surprise of it

over the past few days ronan had played his reunion with adam over in his head MANY TIMES

adam i love you but that outfit sounds awful. you are a student, it’s a friday night, put some sweats on and stuff some cheetos in your mouth. 

the sweet nervousness of their reunion, how they walk past each other and both seem so uncertain. they’re a year into dating and the still get nervous and unsure after a few weeks apart and it’s CUTE and definitely speaks to their excitement/anticipation levels.

THE WATCH. big time softness. 

they hugged hard ;_____; 

im just so relieved that they’re allowed to touch each other and be intimate and aren’t consigned to the ‘boys in love aren’t like that boring boring’ corner. 

the way ronan thinks about how adam fits as he remembered. huh. you’re really gonna do this to me.

his hand still pressed against the back of ronan’s skull the way it ALWAYS did when they hugged. 

you smell like home. you smell like home!!!!!! brb ive gone absolutely fucking feral. 

i both want to play repo because it sounds fun and don’t want to because it sounds complicated and i fucking hate instructions. much confusion. 

adam pressing his shoe hard against ronan’s and then his leg and then breathing in ronan’s ear I AM HOWLING. ronan’s nerve endings being made a marvel of I AM SOBBING. it’s very important that m/m ships are afforded the same level of explicit attraction as m/f (and i don’t mean explicit as in nsfw, i mean as in obvious)

no offence because i love them but all of adam’s friends sound Extra™

“to the outside eye, ronan lynch was a loser” pls ronan, you are giving me an ulcer.

scary spice i asjkjdkjskdjak

queer crying club! i stan!!

also adam saying in the epilogue of trk that he wanted to save all the adam’s hidden in plain view and then going to college and scooping up all the criers and giving them something to do is far too much to handle.

don’t think about that and the time he thought about how he used to spend his nights crying on the trailer steps and wondering why he bothered until gansey came along and offered him friendship. dont think about how he’s essentially paying that forward DON’T THINK ABOUT IT.

hand holding, arms around each other, hip to hip walking, can’t wait anymore kissing, I MISSED YOU. love that for me! 

but also the fact that adam reaches down for ronan’s hand and its so natural. ronan’s hand is there so he just. takes it. 

hearing ronan’s thoughts on what happened with robert at last is A Lot. the way it’s still happening, always happening, kept fresh and savage shows how affected ronan was by it all and still is and i think its so important that he’s not just. angry and hot headed. there’s more to it than that. its painful, it makes him feel sick, its unending and it really speaks to how much adam means to him. 

adam thinks he has no one BITCH YOU’VE GOT ALL OF US. 

and ronan. 

but. how he feels like he has nothing still. the way his voice hitches on ‘because’ because it’s all still so painful. i wanna wrap him up. i wanna take everything that hurts away. i wanna tell him he’s so loved. guess i’ll just have to sit back and watch him work his way through it all I GUESS. no but i am looking forward to his growth in this trilogy, especially considering how much he’s grown already. adam parrish invented character growth lets 👏 be 👏 real 👏

it had never been a fight between them/it was a fight between adam and himself, between adam and the world/for ronan it was a fight between truth and compromise, between the black and white he saw and the reality everyone else experienced. i LOVE this. it so well encapsulates them. and it’s so important that they can realise their differing world views and their complexities and meet in the middle somewhere.

“ronan put his lips on adam’s deaf ear, and he hated adam’s father” FUCK ME UP. my absolute favourite bit 103930%. absolute incoherent mess over here. not! okay! see other post for more coherency because i only had it for 5.7 minutes. 

frowning, guarded, crumpled adam who i’ll literally. never be over in all of my life. 38983/10 will love him until the end of time. 

i want it too much. !!!!!! going feral again over here. WHAT DO YOU WANT ADAM? I WANT IT TOO MUCH. definitely will never shut up about this. 

scared adam is going to be a visionary so pretending chapter 6 doesn’t exist. 

LINDENMERE ;________;

i love it already

i CANNOT believe that ronan is being dream invaded and challenged and he’s over here like hmm nice bike ELEGANT and ROUGH and READY like ADAM asjkasj please ronan you are so embarrassing!! 

also. ronan thinks adam is elegant and rough and ready so! there’s that!

i literally. cannot. cope with the HILARITY of chapter 8. the whole thing is a complete and utter DISASTER. it’s absolutely gone off in adam’s room after all his work at constructing a well put together boy. ronan comes for a night and everything goes BONKERS. amazing. 

(really worried about what this means RE ronan being able to exit the barns and grow and change and not be bored and not feel like a loser so we’re focusing on the hilarious disaster of it all.)

p.s. adam sleeping slotted between ronan and the wall OKAY. THIS IS FINE! 

p.p.s. adam’s bed hair is WILD. 

p.p.p.s i have missed adam and ronan so so so so so much and im an emotional fucking wreck