#over all the ins*st relationships even

[most-canon-non-canon-ship-poll]

someone submitted marichat/love square/whatever the fuck it's called and i fucking love you for that. they wrote an essay. its glorious

[hollandorks]

saved

matt murdock x original female character

chapter eleven

Summary: Fleeing from an abusive relationship, Grace St. James goes to the only place she still has a friend: Hell’s Kitchen. She’s forced to live in her car and beg for a job from the law firm Nelson, Murdock, and Page all the while making sure her past doesn’t catch up to her. Enter Matt Murdock: cocky, handsome, and willing to let her live with him for free until she can afford to get a place of her own. Grace is drawn to Matt in a way she’s never been drawn to anyone, causing sparks to fly as they inevitably grow closer and closer.

a/n: we’re almost to the parts that inspired this entire fic, which is crazy because we’re also like 50k words into it....huh. Thanks as usual for the feedback and love on this self-indulgent fic of mine. 

***NSFW themes/ allusions in this chapter!***

Series Masterlist

word count: 4931

He needed to find out who owned that building and where they had gone and when they might come back.

And he had to find out what their connection to Grace was.

Grace’s POV 

Grace was embarrassed to admit how long she spent on that rooftop waiting on Daredevil to come back. She was cold and stiff and exhausted by the time she gave up. It was almost two in the morning when she went back into the warmth of the apartment. 

Matt was still gone. Grace frowned at the empty couch. Her thoughts turned, again, to him spending the night with a faceless woman and her stomach turned. 

She somehow fell asleep quickly and easily. For once, she wasn’t plagued by nightmares and she wondered if it was because she had finally taken action–even if that action was to give information to a vigilante. 

She woke up exhausted for work Monday morning. Matt was either still gone or had come and left again without her knowing. 

She hesitated for a moment before she left. Then, against her better judgment, she ran up to the roof to check and see if maybe a note had been left for her. 

But there was nothing. 

Resigned to waiting, Grace headed to work, already two cups of coffee deep in what was inevitably going to be a long day. 

Though she wasn’t late, everyone else had beat her to the office. They were gathered around Matt’s desk, talking softly and drinking coffee, when Grace came in. 

“Good morning,” she called softly, punctuated by a yawn. She dropped her stuff on the desk and immediately went to retrieve a third coffee. 

The other three were still talking in Matt’s office as Grace got settled at her desk and pulled up the schedule for the day. She forwarded each of them important meetings then checked the office’s voicemail for messages that had been left over the weekend. 

Eventually, Karen and Foggy went to their own offices right as the first couple of clients arrived. One was established already, a small domestic case over some broken patio furniture, while the second was a woman who seemed nervous just to be in there. 

“Hi,” Grace said as she approached the woman. She’d taken to greeting clients as she got more comfortable, though she wasn’t sure if it was technically part of her job. “Welcome to Nelson, Murdock, and Page. Do you have an appointment?” 

The woman–tall and overly thin, like she’d missed one too many meals–glanced around with wide brown eyes. There were dark circles under them that were badly covered up with makeup. “Uh. No, I don’t, I’m sorry–” 

“That’s alright, we do take walk-ins.” Grace smiled at the woman. The patio furniture case was being handled by Foggy, who was meeting that client in his office, while Matt and Karen were both working on paperwork. “What can we help you with?” 

The woman shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting back and forth. She seemed to be focusing her attention on Karen, who had looked up from her paperwork and was watching curiously. 

“Can I get you something to drink first?” Grace asked, switching tactics. Something within her stirred in recognition. She had a feeling she knew what the woman was there for. 

“Yes please,” she said in a low voice. 

“Coffee? Water? Tea?” 

“Water, please.” The woman fiddled with the hem of her shirt and shifted from foot to foot. 

Grace motioned for her to take a seat and went to fetch her drink. As she went, she caught Karen’s eye and inclined her head. 

“Ma’am?” Karen said as Grace poured a cup of water. “Come into my office.” 

Grace grabbed her laptop with her free hand. Usually, with new cases, she took notes that she then passed on as they started to build each case. She handed the cup to the woman and gently closed the door to Karen’s office behind her. She angled the last empty chair more into the corner of the room so that Karen and the client were the focus. 

Cup in hand, the woman seemed to relax. “I’m being stalked by an ex. I heard you guys help with things like that, so…” 

“We can definitely help. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on while Miss St. James takes notes. It’s best to get these things down as soon as possible so we can start making our case.” Karen smiled warmly at the woman. 

Grace opened a document on her laptop and waited, fingers poised against the keys. Something seemed to pass between all three women as the client took a deep breath and began her story. 

Her name was Celine Harris. Two years prior, she had left a long term relationship because the man had gotten possessive and controlling, though he’d never physically harmed her. He had been obsessive after their breakup, first starting out needy and pleading before he devolved into angry and threatening. She’d changed her number and moved apartments after repeated threats from him. A year had gone by without incident. Then the threatening letters started to appear. At first she wasn’t sure who they were from, thinking it was a prank, but then the letters started referencing specific things from the relationship. After that, the man started showing up at her job, her local coffee shop, and sometimes outside on her street at night. 

Karen recommended proceeding with an order of protection against the man first and foremost and immediately started the paperwork. 

It was almost lunchtime by the time Celine Harris left. 

Karen and Grace exchanged a look. 

“Wow,” Karen said after a long moment. 

“Yeah,” Grace agreed. The entire time Celine had been talking, something had been twisting in Grace’s gut. She wanted to tell her that she wasn’t alone, that she had been through something similar. That she knew what it was like to be afraid of someone you had once loved. But she didn’t want to admit to anything in front of Karen. Though they were fast becoming friends, Grace didn’t want anything to change in how they viewed her, any of them. She wanted to be just Grace, to be herself without any influence from Dean and what he’d done to her. 

“You were great with her,” Grace said after a long moment had passed. She knew she’d want someone like Karen on her side if she were in the same boat. 

Karen shrugged and shuffled her papers into a folder. “I know what it’s like,” she said. “Not necessarily being stalked, but the…hard life. The fear. I’ll tell you about it sometime.” 

The twisted thing inside Grace twisted harder. “I’d…like that. Sometime.” 

Karen flashed her a smile. 

The rest of the day passed quickly. In the quiet moments between clients and paperwork, Grace tried to see if she could prove who owned the warehouse she’d told Daredevil about. She was certain one of her coworkers would have a way to look into it, but she didn’t want to have to explain to them why she needed the information. 

She left a little early in order to make it to the showing of the first apartment on her list.

The building was in need of some severe renovations, most of the outer lights broken or missing, while the entryway at least was well-lit. Grace shuddered as a rat skittered by and disappeared down the first floor hallway. The place was well within her budget, and she was starting to see why. 

The realtor showed her around the tiny apartment. It was a one bedroom, one bathroom with a kitchenette tinier than the one at the office and a shower stall that would barely fit her small stature, let alone anyone bigger. The small living room was dirty, cigarette smoke staining the walls and ceiling and creating a funk in the air. 

Grace tried to think positively and consider how satisfying it would be to clean the place up. 

“I can have the paperwork brought up,” the realtor was saying, a tall, thin man who smelled just as strongly of cigarettes as the apartment did. “While you go over the rental agreement we’ll run a quick background check, and then I’ll need your information for the security deposit and first and last month’s rent. We’ll also need a list of your previous addresses.” 

Grace blinked. A background check? For this shithole? And previous addresses–she wasn’t sure if they’d check into it, if something might lead Dean to her. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” she said, which was the truth. She would have to convince herself to take it, if it was worth the risk. 

The realtor frowned and stroked his chin. “I can’t promise any holds. If someone else is interested, they get it as soon as they sign the paperwork.” 

“I understand,” Grace said. “Will you call me if it becomes unavailable?” 

The man shrugged noncommittally. 

Grace took one more glance around before excusing herself to the next showing. 

The second apartment building was a good bit farther from work, but in much better shape. It was still a little dirty and outdated, but she didn’t see any evidence of rats, and all of the lights outside and inside seemed to work. The apartment was also on the first floor, which she thought would make moving a lot easier. 

The realtor was a woman this time, and Grace almost laughed as the woman stubbed out a cigarette when she approached the building. She was going to have to get used to the smell, she supposed. 

“Miss St. James?” the woman said. 

They shook hands and entered the apartment. It was slightly bigger than the last one–which was reflected in the price of rent–but still small. Grace liked it immediately, though the windows didn’t open and there were several questionable stains on the floors. But the shower tiles were a brilliant forest green and a couch was included when she moved in and she had enough room to breathe unlike in the last place. 

“It’s great,” she told the realtor as she continued to glance around. She imagined a bookshelf in one corner and a small TV in the other, and a green bedspread and throw pillows to match the bathroom. “I’m definitely interested.” 

“Great. I’ll get the application started. We have to run a background check, of course, and I’ll require a letter from your previous landlord. There’s also a security deposit and first and last month’s rent required.” The woman pulled out a tablet and started rapidly pressing icons. 

Grace’s heart stuttered. “Uh…I didn’t have a previous landlord. My ex-boyfriend owned the home where we lived.” 

“A letter from him will do just fine, as long as we have proof he owned the home included,” the realtor said. 

“That might be…difficult. It was a bad breakup.” Grace swallowed and looked around the apartment one more time. Her dreams of matching bedspreads and throw pillows were quickly dissolving around her. 

“I’m sorry, it’s a requirement.” She shrugged. “Even if you have to go through his lawyer or something.” 

“I…” Grace didn’t know what to say. She needed a place to live. But if Dean found out where she was…she didn’t know if he would do anything, but she didn’t want to risk it. She didn’t want him anywhere near her life anymore. “I’ll have to look at my budget one more time. It’s a little bit outside my range.” She smiled apologetically. 

“I have another showing tomorrow at six. If I haven’t heard from you by then, it’s theirs if they want it.” 

“Okay. I’ll let you know before that, I promise.” 

Grace thanked the realtor and left feeling worse than she had in a while. 

The hope she’d been carefully nurturing was blackening and withering. 

To distract herself, she bought dinner at a nearby food truck and went into a bookstore for a while without buying anything. Both were close to the apartment, which only made her feel worse. Would it be worth it to reach out to Dean? Maybe she could use her mother as a go-between. 

Finally, she dragged herself back to Matt’s. 

He was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop and papers spread around him, when she got back. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed like he’d been running his fingers through it. Her eyes automatically strayed to the skin of his throat. 

“How was apartment hunting?” he asked, somehow knowing it was her before she spoke. 

Grace groaned and went to the fridge for a water. When she turned, Matt was smiling a little. 

“That good, huh?” He shuffled some papers back into a folder and took out the earbud that dictated documents to him. 

She opened her mouth to try and explain how the blossoming hope had turned to ash in her mouth. But all that came out was, “I don’t think I’ll get either of the apartments I looked at, no.” 

Matt shrugged, the perfect picture of ease as he leaned back with his legs spread and one elbow hooked on the back of the chair. “You know you can stay here as long as you like,” he said softly. “It might be better for you, anyways. That way you can save more and get something nice.” 

She made a face somewhere between a wince and a grimace. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome is all.” And then there was the complication of every place requiring her to either outright contact Dean or have him contacted on her behalf. 

Matt straightened, face utterly serious. “You won’t. I mean it. Stay as long as you like.” 

There was almost a growl to his words. The sound of it sent Grace’s pulse tripping over itself. 

She sighed and mentally shook herself. “Thank you. I–”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Matt said with a wave of dismissal. “Really.” 

“But I will anyway.” 

Grace took a long, extra hot shower to try and drown her frustration. Dean was ruining her life even when he wasn’t in it, and she was just so tired of it. 

She later laid in bed for a long time without sleeping, watching the lights from the sign across the street shift from blue to purple to red and back again. Maybe it had been the deep, commanding tone of Matt’s voice or maybe it had been his muscled forearms or even her general frustration, but Grace couldn’t stop picturing herself standing between Matt’s legs while he sat spread out at the table. She pictured the way his head would tilt up to her, the way his hands would rest on her hips. 

And maybe that was why, when she finally fell into a restless sleep, she dreamed that the mattress was dipping behind her with Matt’s weight. 

His breath was hot against the back of her neck. One of his callused hands slid up the outside of her thigh and over the curve of her hip. Her breath caught as she arched into him, eyes closed tight against the world around her. There was only the silkiness of the sheets and the heat of Matt as his body pressed into hers. 

The hand on her hip slid forward and pressed against her stomach before inching upwards. His fingers brushed against the bottom of her breast and the touch sent electricity over her skin. 

“Grace,” he murmured into her hair. His lips brushed against her neck then sucked gently. She could feel how hard he was against her ass and she pressed into him to make him moan. She wanted him to make her come undone and to make him come undone in return. 

“Matt,” she moaned as he palmed her breast. She realized she was naked, that he was naked too, and her entire body filled with a slow, burning heat. His hand traced lazy circles on her abdomen and up over her breast and down again, teasing her, setting her skin on fire. His other hand fisted in the hair at the back of her neck and tilted her head back so he could kiss her jaw. 

“Matt, please,” she said, her body on fire with need as his hands continued to tease her. 

She felt him nudge against her, pressing her open, sliding into the wetness between her thighs. 

And then she jolted awake. 

Her alarm was going off. Grace groaned and smacked her phone to turn it off. 

She could still feel the phantom heat of Matt behind her, touching her, kissing her neck and jaw. She felt the ghost of his hands tracing her abdomen and her breasts, lighting her on fire from the inside out. 

She had never wanted a dream to be real so badly before–she had never even had a dream as intense as that before. 

She bit her lip, hard, to try and refocus the heat that was still all over her body, but then her mind helpfully supplied an image of Matt doing the same thing for her. She groaned and rolled to press her face into her pillow. Every part of her ached with emptiness. She had been able to hide her want from herself for so long but this–this had broken that wall down so thoroughly it was nothing but dust. 

She heard the telltale creak of the shower shutting off. 

She wanted to shower so she could take care of some of the flames lingering in her body and low in her belly, but she’d already showered the night before and knew it’d look weird. 

She tasted blood and started. She hadn’t stopped biting her lip. 

Fuck, she thought, because she really didn’t have any options. Especially with Matt in the very next room, getting ready for work like she hadn’t just had the most intense sex dream of her life with him as the star. 

And to make matters worse, Matt stepped into the bedroom in his slacks with his shirt unbuttoned. 

“Sorry,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears. “Forgot my belt.” 

Grace stopped breathing. She screwed her eyes shut and focused on settling her thoughts and her body along with them. The flash of hard muscle had been enough to send her spiraling right back to the dream, her hands itching to see if the muscle was as toned as it looked. 

It was going to be a very, very long day. 

Matt’s POV

Matt was in agony. 

With his senses like they were, he tried very hard to give the people around him the privacy they deserved. He tried to tune them out, to let other noises wash away the tells of their bodies, but sometimes it didn’t always work like he wanted. 

It was one such morning. 

He’d been roused from sleep by his name, of all things. 

Jerking upright, heart pounding with a surge of adrenaline, he paused and listened. 

It was early but quickly approaching the time to get ready for work, the city slowly but surely waking up outside. He could hear the steady increase in traffic and noise and the lack of the buzzing streetlights, which meant the sun was rising if not risen. 

And there, halfway between a whisper and a moan, his name. 

Grace. 

She had said his name in her sleep. 

Matt’s heart stuttered a quick beat in his chest. 

Every single one of his senses focused on the bedroom without him willing them to. He was glad he was sitting, because what he found would have knocked him over. 

Grace was aroused. It was so heavy in the air that Matt forced himself to hold his breath. It was a heady scent, so utterly hers that his body responded immediately. She was writhing in the sheets, murmuring his name, and smelling like that. 

Matt pressed his hands over his ears as if it would stop the noises. 

He muttered a curse to himself even as his body hopelessly reacted. 

She was asleep, definitely still asleep, her heart still steady and relatively slow despite the way she was twisting herself in the sheets. In his sheets. His sheets that smelled like her all the time, that put his own scent on her skin, marking her as his even when she wasn’t. 

It was becoming harder and harder to tune Grace out in his daily life, which meant every one of his working senses was turned towards her even as he willed himself away. 

He stood and paced, hoping she would wake soon to get ready for work. 

Then she moaned his name again. 

A fire raged beneath his skin and consumed him alive. 

Matt half-stumbled to the bathroom. He turned the shower on and left it ice cold. Maybe between the shock to his system and the noise of the water he could….forget this was happening. If not, then he’d be clean, and he could run as quickly as possible to work and calm down there, away from Grace. 

Another wave of her scent hit him as he undressed. He had to lean his forehead against the shower tiles for a full minute before he gave in and took matters into his own hands. 

Literally. 

By the time he was finished, Grace’s alarm was blaring. Matt dried off and did his best to continue ignoring her as best as he could. 

He’d taken to leaving his work clothes in the bathroom so he could change, since he usually woke earlier than her. He didn’t want to wake her up by digging in his dresser or wardrobe. 

Matt muttered another curse when he realized he’d forgotten his belt.

It sounded like Grace may have dozed off again, her heart slow and steady, her body still. 

Just as he stepped into the room he scented blood. He frowned and then decided he didn’t want to know. Grace shifted almost imperceptibly. Awake, then. He wanted to curse again but resolved instead to simply hurry. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly in case she wasn’t fully awake. “Forgot my belt.” 

He’d forgotten to button his shirt, too. His entire mind was twisted in knots over her. He had to check the label on his belts twice to make sure he grabbed the black one and not the brown one. He couldn’t think with her so close. 

Grace was holding so still he wasn’t sure she was breathing. 

Matt focused every ounce of his attention on getting his belt and leaving as quickly as possible. He held his breath, afraid to scent or, God forbid, taste any lingering hints of her arousal in the air. 

He hated that he knew she had dreamt about something like that, that she had said his name in her sleep, that she might be as twisted into knots inside as he was. 

Matt practically ran out of the apartment once he was dressed. Forget coffee, forget breakfast, forget everything. He needed out. He barely remembered his cane and his glasses before he darted outside. 

The fresh air–as fresh as it could get in Hell’s Kitchen, that is–tasted of winter and car exhaust and sweat and asphalt. 

It was infinitely better than the air in his apartment, saturated with Grace. 

Matt groaned and took a second to gather himself as he leaned against the cold bricks of the building. 

How could he ever talk to her again, knowing what he knew? It was such a huge invasion of privacy and he hadn’t even meant to do it. And yet he had done it. And then he’d disrespected her farther by–Well, he’d had to do something, though already it was as if he'd never spent those extra few minutes in the shower. 

Matt mentally shook himself and walked the rest the way to work. He made himself breathe as if he were meditating, focusing only on swinging his cane and not running into anything. He centered himself as he walked and emptied all extra thoughts from his mind. 

By the time he was sitting at his desk with coffee in hand, it was better.  

Karen arrived first, yawning a greeting to him as she went to start some paperwork. They were gearing up to finish their first big case as a trio with the client Marci had sent their way. The trial was coming up and they were all working extra on top of their normal caseloads. 

Matt focused on his own work, sinking into it gratefully, his mind finally clearing the rest of the way. He was even able to act normal around Grace when she arrived, telling her something vague about getting a headstart on work, backed up by Karen’s presence and the mountains of paper on every desk in the office. 

Things went downhill very, very quickly. 

Grace settled at her desk and yawned. Then she shuddered a little. Matt forced his mind away from her and back to the papers he was reading. 

It hit him like a tidal wave. The scent of her arousal was so strong out of nowhere that he had to thunk his head down on his desk. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, because that was about the only thing that would come out of his mouth that wasn’t a string of expletives. 

What on earth had she dreamt about? 

Matt cursed his abilities from top to bottom. He wished, just for a day, to be normal. If it had been anyone else–when it was anyone else–it was so easy to tune out he didn’t have to concentrate. 

But with Grace, it was like she was right next to him, whispering in his ear how turned on she was. And no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on literally anything else, he couldn’t stop focusing on her. 

It was bad enough that he had a crush on her. Now lust was added into the mix because he couldn’t stop invading her privacy and noticing that she’d had a sex dream. A sex dream where she’d said her name, where she kept getting aroused even at work. 

Matt thunked his head against the desk twice for good measure, but nothing worked. The thoughts of all the possible things Grace could have dreamt about chased each other around his mind over and over. 

“That kind of morning already, huh?” Foggy asked cheerfully. 

Matt jerked upright. He hadn’t heard Foggy come in, let alone stop in his doorway.

“Did you just–” Foggy laughed incredulously. “Did I just startle you, Matt?” 

Matt waved his friend away, frustrated in more ways than one. “I’m just tired, Fog.” 

Foggy made a noise like he didn’t believe it. It didn’t help that Matt’s voice was unsteady and he was probably red in the face, too. The good thing was, Foggy’s appearance tempered the smell. He’d never been so glad to smell his friend’s deodorant and cologne in his entire life. 

The rest of the day didn’t go much better. It was impossible to avoid Grace in the small office. And, the final nail in his coffin, every time he passed by her desk or even talked to her it apparently triggered her memories of whatever dream she’d had, and the scent of her arousal hit him on the head like a brick each time. He spent most of the day dazed and achingly uncomfortable. 

He needed to hit something. It wasn’t Grace’s fault that she’d had a sex dream. Even if it was a dream Matt would give the rest of his working senses to hear about. It was his fault that he kept tuning into her and not giving her the privacy she deserved. She couldn’t help it–it was a natural bodily reaction and there was nothing she could do about it. No one had control over their dreams or how their bodies reacted to them. 

Matt told her to go home without him because he had paperwork to do, which wasn’t even a lie. 

Once she was gone, he could focus again. 

He muttered another curse as he buried his head in his hands and tried to breathe around her lingering scent before he got back to work. 

“What has gotten into you?” Foggy demanded the moment Grace was gone. Matt had heard him coming this time, though. Karen had left with Grace. He could hear them talking and laughing softly on their way out of the building. 

“Nothing,” Matt said with a shrug. “It’s just been a long day.” 

“Are you–did you get a concussion or something?” 

“Why?” Matt asked, immediately suspicious of the line of questioning. 

“You’re acting kind of like you do when your super senses get shorted out.” He heard the rustle of Foggy’s shrug. 

“I guess you could say that, yeah.” Because he did feel like he’d been hit on the head repeatedly. But worse, because a concussion didn’t leave him feeling like a horny teenager all day.

“Sucks, dude.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

Matt could have admitted, then and there, that he had a crush on Grace. That he’d felt utter relief when she said the apartments she’d visited weren’t going to work out. That he didn’t want her to move out, ever. That she was slowly driving him crazy and he wanted to beg her to tell him about her dream to put him out of his misery. 

But instead he sank back into his paperwork and worked until it was well after dark. 

And then he went home to grab his duffel bag with the suit in it. He needed to hit something, to ease the tension lingering in each and every one of his muscles, to distract himself until he was exhausted so he could fall right to sleep.  

It had been a long, long day.

Next Chapter

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[finelinevogue]

could you do some angsty smut please??

oh hell yeah we can. this is going to be 70srockstar!harry with roadie!y/n eekkkk! okay have fun;

Being the girlfriend of the most famous, golden boy rockstar was the craziest rollercoaster you’d ever ride.

For the past 6 months you’ve been touring with the one and only Harry Styles, living your life between helping on tour, drinking endless amounts of wine and smoking a hell of a lot of weed. The job had come past you at the perfect moment. Your dad happened to be best friends with the tour manager, Jeff Azoff, who’d spoken of their being a job opening for a roadie. You were employed to help set up the musical equipment and test out the instruments before the act went on at night, falling in love for the man you roadied for was just an add on. A beautiful bonus.

It was a lot more pressure being Harry’s girlfriend than people thought though. There was so much pressure to act a certain way and present yourself another way. Harry was so idolised and craved by millions and it put pressure on you to be a certain person for him. You loved him so much and you were so scared that he might one day realise that there was so much better than you - at least in your eyes. Someone extroverted. Someone musically talented. Someone who wasn’t a virgin.

Harry had never pressured you into anything sexual unless you were ready. Of course he was notorious for being an above star rating, when it came fo sex - thanks to all the articles published by the many men and women, sometimes both together, he had slept with. The sex reputation went hand-in-hand with his rock-n-roll aesthetic, so that part of him would never change. You’d only been with Harry for 4 of those 6 months, managing to fall for him very quickly, so you wondered just how he was coping without having had sex for that long. He usually had a different person each night to take backstage after his concert to play with how he wanted, hence how he built his reputation, but since you there had been no one.

Sex was such a big thing for Harry though, so you couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Currently, you were sat on his bed on the tour bus reading an article that had been published about your boyfriend last week. Your heart strings tugged as you read one section of the interview.

Interviewer: The new album, tell me about it.

Harry: It’s coming on slowly yeah. Just want this one to be perfect so, taking my time.

Interviewer: What would you say your biggest inspiration is for writing?

Harry: Changed on every project, to be honest man. Sometimes it’s about past relationships. Sometimes it’s about issues i’m going through. A lot of the time it’s about sex!

Interviewer: Yeah, dude, I have noticed that like every other song is about sex. Is that something you’re quite open about?

Harry: I think sex can be either something so beautiful or so passionate. Don’t believe in sad sex! But, um, yeah i’m always really honest lyrically when it comes to the songs about sex and I hope others see it as that too.

Interviewer: No it definitely does! Thanks Harry for your time and, um, keep on having sex so that third album breaks even more records!

Harry: Will do man!

It was easy to understand why you were upset. Harry’s biggest inspiration wasn’t possible for this album, because you were too nervous to let him have you. All of you. You felt a burden, as if you were holding him back from living his life and creating something so amazing. His past two albums had been such hits for songs such as ‘She’ and ‘Only Angel’, which were inspired by the intimate times with past lovers. There would only be sad songs if he wrote an album without any spice.

That’s why as soon as Harry came back on the bus, dressed in shorts and a shirt that was unbuttoned to see his toned chest, you jumped him and kissed him like your life depended on him. He was taken back by surprise, but welcomed your lips nevertheless.

Pulling back he mumbled some words against your lips, “Well this is a nice welcome back gift.” He chuckled at the eagerness of your lips and let his hands roam over your body - from your neck to your waist and over your ass. This man knew what he was doing.

“Harry?” You whispered, stopping your kiss and looking at his beautiful swollen red lips. He was a sight for sore eyes.

“Yeah baby?” He kept himself close to you and you could feel the stiffie that he’d developed pressing against your front.

“Can we… I’m.. If you…”

“What baby? Can tell me anything, y’know that.”

“Wanna have sex with you.” You told him the most simple virgin way ever, your face heating up when you saw him smirking down at you. You’d screwed yourself over here and were getting all shy and embarrassed about it.

“Hey, no. Don’t hide from me,” He drew your face back to his and kept his eyes on yours to provide you some familiar comfort, “you sure?”

“Mhm, yes.” You nodded affirmatively.

“It might hurt a little, okay? First time means that your cute little pussy is going to be really tight. Don’t even know whether you’ll be able to take me.” He taunted you, cupping his hands to your cheeks and brushing his thumbs carefully over your skin to ease your tension.

“I w-will.” You moused out, wanting to be this person for him.

“‘Course you can. You’re my best girl and I know you’ll fit perfectly for me, yeah?” He rhetorically asked pushing you back to the bed and letting you flop there. You watched him as he discarded his clothes, following his lead, until you were both naked in front of each other. You’d been this far before, but this time it felt different. It felt more lustful and exposed and nerve-wracking.

Harry bent down and started to kiss you from your belly upwards, leaving kisses everywhere until he reached your jaw where he bit more than he kisses. He loved seeing his marks being left behind on your skin, proving to everyone that you were his and his alone. His hands found comfort ins kneading and squeezing your breasts like dough, loving the way they were so soft and yet so hard beneath his warm hands. As he found your lips and divulged in your sweet tastes, you slunk your hand down and grabbed ahold of his cock, pumping him a few times to get him primed. You felt the trickles of pre-cum drip from his tip and it only excited you even more.

Taking your lead, Harry pushed one of his hands in between your bodies and started playing with your wet cunt, paying extra attention to your needy clit. He knew you loved it when his fingers got rough, so that’s exactly how he played. His tongue was battling against yours, whilst you both stimulated pleasure to one another. The wet and beautiful sounds filled the room, heightening your arousal - Harry could feel it too, his fingers becoming wetter with every circle and pump of his fingers.

“You ready, baby?” He asked carefully, plucking his lips away from yours with a wet sounding smack. You already looked fucked out and he had barely done anything to you yet.

“Y-yes.” You stumbled, so excited yet so nervous. You were finally going to give Harry what he had been missing for so long and you were also going to let yourself go, and divulge in something new and potentially life-changing.

He leant back and rubbed his own cock for a few strokes, before lining the tip of it with your opening. He teased your entrance, making you bite your lip in anticipation. He smiled down at you and mouthed the words ‘I love you’ without any sounds leaving his lips, before you did the same. The head of his cock started to push in, but you didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did.

“Shit fuck, y’so tight baby. Need you to relax for me, okay?” He asked, pulling away so he could watch your body relax. You closed your eyes and took a deep breathe, reminding yourself that the best way to relax is not to think about the problem itself but oh how you’d feel when the problem’s fixed. You smiled and once Harry could see your shoulders un-tense, he, once again, pushed his cock into your opening. He hissed at the contact, obviously finding it so pleasurable even if it was only minimal contact, but you, you felt so much pain and soreness from absolutely nothing.

You couldn’t do this.

“It should just…” Harry tried a different angle, but your smile had disappeared and your whole range of emotions had resumed to flat and disappointed in yourself. “Maybe if I just..” Harry tried to hold your legs a little wider and guide his cock more firmly into your opening, but each time he couldn’t push past a certain point without your body rejecting him or your facial expressions telling him he should stop.

“St-stop Harry please.” You cried, bringing your hands up to cover your face as you let the tears flow freely. “Please stop.”

“O-okay. Just gonna…” And he slid out as much as he’d managed to get in, which was probably less than an inch. It hurt when he pulled away and your cunt felt like it was on fire. It stung and it didn’t feel right. You felt like a failure and an embarrassment.

You cried into your arms, letting harsh sobs take over your body. You chest felt tight and your eyes stung worse than your cunt did. God, you couldn’t even do one thing for him. You were the reason why he was having a hard time writing at the moment. You were the reason people would be disappointed to hear no sex inspired songs on the album. He might even have to use past experiences as inspiration, which made your heart curl with jealousy. You didn’t feel like you were enough for him, like you would ever be enough for him.

“I’m so sorry Harry,” You sat up from the bed, not wanting to look at him and his disappointed expression as he stay knelt on the bed - cock looking painfully hard still. You scrambled for your t-shirt and your joggers and then walked out of the room, across the bus’ narrow corridor, and into the bathroom.

You looked at yourself in then mirror and were disappointed at what, or who, you saw. Looking back at you was the person who couldn’t even have sex. You couldn’t give Harry what he deserved. You were a failure and it was stamped all over your body. You cried as you looked at yourself, until you couldn’t and you just slid down the wall and onto the floor. You wished for the Earth to just swallow you whole. You couldn’t stand being here when you were clearly broken and useless.

Harry would surely leave you for this. Why would he want to stay with someone who couldn’t even get their boyfriends dick in their pussy? Couldn’t give each other that pleasure? Harry had so many people in the past and surely with you gone he’d have so many people in the future. It would be selfish of you to stay. Harry had needs you completely appreciated that, but it would be just so difficult to let him go when he means so much to you.

There was a quiet knock at the door, which broke you from your cries and self-deprecating. “Y/N? Baby honey? Can I come in, please?”

“S-sorry. Yes of c-course.” You stood up quickly, thinking that he was wanting to be let in to go to the toilet or to have a cold shower go get rid of the hard-on that you’d put there. Too bad you couldn’t have taken it away.

You unlocked the door and shuffled past him, only for him to stop you. He shut the bathroom door behind him, leaving you both infinitely pressed together in the pathway on the bus. He had you pressed you up against the side of the wall and kept his arms at either side of you.

“Sweets—”

“Harry, please don’t say anything. I-I know what you’re thinking and—”

“Yeah? And what am I thinking?” He asked, not moving away from you. You held your cries the best you could and took a deep breathe to continue.

“I’m a disappointment. I-I i’m not good enough. I’m broken.” You choked out, knocking your head back against the wall from frustration.

“Stop it.” Harry ordered firmly, gripping your cheeks in his hands and forcing you to look at him. The look in his eyes was so hard to read, but he looked desperate and worried and hurt. You hated to think that you were the cause of any of those emotions. “Just stop.” Harry’s own eyes were starting to fill with tears too and you brought your own hand up to catch a few of them before they could fall.

“Don’t cry, please.” You begged, keeping your hand pressed to his cheek which he absolutely adored. He loved the feeling of your skin against his. He never wanted to not have it.

“Then don’t say things that hurt me, okay? Hearing you say those things about yourself absolutely breaks m’heart flower. Just because you were a bit too tight to take me today does not mean that you’re a disappointment or you’re a failure or that you’re not good enough. It hurts to think that you’d ever think I would think that, because - fuck -,” Harry pressed his forehead tight against yours and fanned his lips lips over yours. His closeness was everything. “I love you so much it scares me. My feelings for you are so strong and so real. I want your forever and something as trivial as sex is never going to make me want otherwise. Do you get that?”

“B-but the album?” You asked.

“What about the album?”

“I-in the recent magazine interview you said that sex is your biggest i-inspiration. I can’t be that for you.”

“Is that what this is all about? Because you think that my album isn’t coming together because i’m not having sex? Did you miss the part where I said I wanted this one to be perfect and I was taking m’time with it?”

“No.”

“Well I did say that, because it’s for you baby. The whole thing is going to be for you. Every melody. Every lyric. Every song. Just and all for you.” Both of you were silently crying now, absorbed in each others love and adoration for one another.

“I-I didn’t know.”

“Now you do. This album isn’t really for the charts or the awards. It’s for you, m’heart. I love you for a lot more than your body and its’ pleasures.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, taking all his words in and realising how irrationally you’d acted out afterwards.

“For what, sweetheart?”

“For even thinking that you’d be so shallow and cold-hearted.”

“You didn’t think that though, baby. I know you and so I know you didn’t. Your thoughts were based around your own insecurities, not to do with your small-thinking over me.” He explained to you, making you nod and kick your lips.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Well then we don’t deserve each other.”

“But i’ll keep you forever if you’d let me.”

“Looks like we’re together forever then, baby honey.”

[milleroptimism]

Basic info for mobile users!

BASIC INFORMATION.

Full name: Jennifer Sarah-Monique Blake.  Sarah Monique Miller (Winchester). Nickname(s): Marah.  Claims it’s the name of her twin sister who no one’s ever met or even seen. Age: 18-30s, thread dependent. Birth date: October 5th, 1982. Birth place: Providence, Rhode Island. Ethnicity: White. Nationality: American. Gender: Cisgender female. Pronouns: She/her. Sexuality: Bisexual/biromantic. Current location: All over the place.  Hunters never really stop moving. Zodiac/astrological signs: Libra. Blood type: O. Social class: Middle. Religious values: Agnostic atheist. Occupation: Owner of, chef and waitress for Sarah’s Spot.  A restaurant dedicated to giving hunters everywhere the energy they need to, well, hunt.  Info here!  When she’s not running Sarah’s Spot, she’s either out hunting or teaching the younger hunters the ins and outs of social media.  Busy schedule, folks!

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

Height: 5'0. Weight: 121 lbs. Body type: Athletic. Species: Human. Eye color: Blue. Glasses/Contacts?: No, no. Hair color and style: Brunette, typically wears it down.  A little wavy at the bottom! Face claim: Victoria Pedretti. Tattoos: None. Piercings: Both ears. Clothing style: Her style’s all over the place, really.  It’s literally anything that pops out at her. Usual expression: Neutral. Distinguishing features: An anti demon possession charm bracelet she got from Dean when they were teenagers.  She never goes anywhere without it.

FAVORITES.

Weather: She says it’s cloudy and rainy but REALLY she loves sunny weather. Color: Purple. Music: Rock.  Pop. Movies: Horror.  Romance.  Comedy. Sport: Soccer. Beverage: Diet Coke. Food: Pizza. Animal: Dogs.

RELATIONSHIPS.

Father: Matthew Blake, human.  Deceased. Mother: Wendy Blake, human.  Deceased. Sibling(s): A younger brother named Phillip.  They became estranged after everything with their parents went down. Children: One daughter named Jami and two stepdaughters named Lily and Emma. Pet(s): Miracle, Dean and Sam’s dog who’s actually Sarah’s. Family’s Financial Status: Middle class. Relationship status: Dating Dean Winchester.

ALIASES.

FBI badges: Maureen Wilson, Laurie McAllister, Debbie Meredith, Marie St. Jacques & Candice Night.

+ STORY TIME.

HER STORY.

Unlike most hunters, Sarah came from a happy and healthy background with two parents who loved her dearly and a brother who could stand to be around her for five minutes at a time.  (Y'know, the typical sibling relationship).  They did everything together, from family picnics to Christmas tree shopping– every single year without fail, right up until Sarah left for college at 18.  Even there though she stayed in nearly CONSTANT contact with the three of them, letting them in on almost every single thing she was doing at Stanford.  INCLUDING meeting and eventually dating Dean Winchester, the one man in all those eighteen years who made her feel beautiful— inside and out.

At this point their relationship only lasted two weeks, Dean leaving soon after to rejoin his father for another hunt.  Word got out quickly that he bailed because his night with Sarah fucking sucked, and she believed those rumors for a LONG time.  She had no idea Dean was a hunter OR that the supernatural world actually existed, which was why the charm bracelet he gave her right before he left came in handy.  According to Dean, it wasn’t JUST a charm bracelet– it also protected her from demon possession.  He was gone the next morning, never to be heard from again, and Sarah’s heart broke.  Jeffrey, a supposed friend of hers, swooped in at the right time and convinced her to take the charm bracelet off as a sign of defiance against the hateful rumors AND Dean.  You don’t care that he bailed, Sarah!  A few weeks from now you’re gonna graduate and you’ll forget all about Mr. Stupid Impala Guy!  It’s gonna be great!  Realizing he was right, she gave into the idea and took the bracelet off.  Leaving herself vulnerable once more to demons.  Demons who waited to strike ‘til graduation night.

It was supposed to be a beautiful ceremony.  All the students were dressed to the nines in these beautiful gowns, MORE THAN READY to move onto the next phase of their lives and Sarah was right there with them.  Even after all the drama with Dean, the charm bracelet now tucked safely away in her pocket because she wasn’t ready to let go of it completely, she couldn’t wait to get her diploma!  Everything was going wonderfully… and then her name was called.  Something happened when she reached the stage.  One second everything was fine and the next she was a prisoner in her own mind, forced to watch herself cause chaos in the worst ways possible, forced… to watch her own hands… murder her parents.  She remembered hearing herself laughing the entire time, remembered feeling WAY too happy about the life draining from two all-too-familiar pairs of eyes.  It went on for hours, the thing that wasn’t her that was holding her hostage in her body taking its sweet time with those two brutal deaths.  The last thing Matthew and Wendy saw before everything came to an end was their daughter smirking in their scared faces.  Cue another blackout.  When she woke up she was herself again.  The room was red.  Everyone was staring at her, frozen in shock– all except her brother.  Phillip stared with a hatred in his eyes and Sarah knew, knew, he would kill her one day.  “I’m…”  She got slowly to her feet, shaking.  “I-I’m sorry…..”  She turned for the door, ran and just… kept running.

[fuckyou-unbearablyindifferent]

BASIC INFORMATION.

Full name: Jennifer Sarah-Monique Blake.  Sarah Monique Miller. Nickname(s): Marah.  Claims it’s the name of her twin sister who no one’s ever met or even seen. Age: 18-30s, thread dependent. Birth date: October 5th, 1982. Birth place: Providence, Rhode Island. Ethnicity: White. Nationality: American. Gender: Cisgender female. Pronouns: She/her. Sexuality: Bisexual/biromantic. Current location: All over the place.  Hunters never really stop moving. Zodiac/astrological signs: Libra. Blood type: O. Social class: Middle. Religious values: Agnostic atheist. Occupation: Owner of, chef and waitress for Sarah’s Spot.  A restaurant dedicated to giving hunters everywhere the energy they need to, well, hunt.  Info here!  When she’s not running Sarah’s Spot, she’s either out hunting or teaching the younger hunters the ins and outs of social media.  Busy schedule, folks!

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

Height: 5'0. Weight: 121 lbs. Body type: Athletic. Species: Human. Eye color: Blue. Glasses/Contacts?: No, no. Hair color and style: Brunette, typically wears it down.  A little wavy at the bottom! Face claim: Victoria Pedretti. Tattoos: None. Piercings: Both ears. Clothing style: Her style’s all over the place, really.  It’s literally anything that pops out at her. Usual expression: Neutral. Distinguishing features: An anti demon possession charm bracelet she got from Dean when they were teenagers.  She never goes anywhere without it.

FAVORITES.

Weather: She says it’s cloudy and rainy but REALLY she loves sunny weather. Color: Purple. Music: Rock.  Pop. Movies: Horror.  Romance.  Comedy. Sport: Soccer. Beverage: Diet Coke. Food: Pizza. Animal: Dogs.

RELATIONSHIPS.

Father: Matthew Blake, human.  Deceased. Mother: Wendy Blake, human.  Deceased. Sibling(s): A younger brother named Phillip.  They became estranged after everything with their parents went down. Children: None. Pet(s): Miracle, Dean and Sam’s dog who’s actually Sarah’s. Family’s Financial Status: Middle class. Relationship status: Dating Dean Winchester / otherwise it depends on the thread!

ALIASES.

FBI badges: Maureen Wilson, Laurie McAllister, Debbie Meredith, Marie St. Jacques & Candice Night.

+ STORY TIME.

HER STORY.

Unlike most hunters, Sarah came from a happy and healthy background with two parents who loved her dearly and a brother who could stand to be around her for five minutes at a time.  (Y'know, the typical sibling relationship).  They did everything together, from family picnics to Christmas tree shopping– every single year without fail, right up until Sarah left for college at 18.  Even there though she stayed in nearly CONSTANT contact with the three of them, letting them in on almost every single thing she was doing at Stanford.  INCLUDING meeting and eventually dating Dean Winchester, the one man in all those eighteen years who made her feel beautiful— inside and out.

At this point their relationship only lasted two weeks, Dean leaving soon after to rejoin his father for another hunt.  Word got out quickly that he bailed because his night with Sarah fucking sucked, and she believed those rumors for a LONG time.  She had no idea Dean was a hunter OR that the supernatural world actually existed, which was why the charm bracelet he gave her right before he left came in handy.  According to Dean, it wasn’t JUST a charm bracelet– it also protected her from demon possession.  He was gone the next morning, never to be heard from again, and Sarah’s heart broke.  Jeffrey, a supposed friend of hers, swooped in at the right time and convinced her to take the charm bracelet off as a sign of defiance against the hateful rumors AND Dean.  You don’t care that he bailed, Sarah!  A few weeks from now you’re gonna graduate and you’ll forget all about Mr. Stupid Impala Guy!  It’s gonna be great!  Realizing he was right, she gave into the idea and took the bracelet off.  Leaving herself vulnerable once more to demons.  Demons who waited to strike ‘til graduation night.

It was supposed to be a beautiful ceremony.  All the students were dressed to the nines in these beautiful gowns, MORE THAN READY to move onto the next phase of their lives and Sarah was right there with them.  Even after all the drama with Dean, the charm bracelet now tucked safely away in her pocket because she wasn’t ready to let go of it completely, she couldn’t wait to get her diploma!  Everything was going wonderfully… and then her name was called.  Something happened when she reached the stage.  One second everything was fine and the next she was a prisoner in her own mind, forced to watch herself cause chaos in the worst ways possible, forced… to watch her own hands… murder her parents.  She remembered hearing herself laughing the entire time, remembered feeling WAY too happy about the life draining from two all-too-familiar pairs of eyes.  It went on for hours, the thing that wasn’t her that was holding her hostage in her body taking its sweet time with those two brutal deaths.  The last thing Matthew and Wendy saw before everything came to an end was their daughter smirking in their scared faces.  Cue another blackout.  When she woke up she was herself again.  The room was red.  Everyone was staring at her, frozen in shock– all except her brother.  Phillip stared with a hatred in his eyes and Sarah knew, knew, he would kill her one day.  “I’m…”  She got slowly to her feet, shaking.  “I-I’m sorry…..”  She turned for the door, ran and just… kept running.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Mended Pieces

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: When undesirable memories of the war resurface, Draco has you to seek comfort in.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: mentions of the war, guilt, depression, angst, bad days, comfort, fluff

The soft sigh that was heaved across from you was one to join many others that evening, one to join many others that day, actually. When you peer over the top of your book Draco’s gaze is fixed out of the window, focusing on the steady streams of raindrops trickling down the leaves of the trees nearby. His hair flopped over his forehead in haphazard chunks of platinum, dangerously close to obstructing his distracted stare. It wasn’t hard to presume that today had not been his best day, or week, not even a good one—could tell by the very look on his face when he returned home from his shift at St. Mungo’s. That, paired with his need to be close to you despite the lack of any conversation was a clear indicator of such things.

“Draco,” you say softly, cutting through the ongoing silence filling the room. He finally manages to pull his attention to you, a tired smile tugging at his lips upon hearing your voice. “What’s the matter, Love?”

He sits up a little straighter at that, clearing his throat and pushing the hair out of his face. “Nothing, darling.”

It had been your turn to sigh now, because the words leaving his lips were far from truthful and he knew you wouldn’t believe him even for a second. He could tell by the way you folded your page immediately and closed your book, abandoning it entirely as you set it on the nightstand to give him your full attention. Not to mention the way you had pursed your lips ever so slightly, looking over his own expression. His eyes were tired and he slouched, his hair a ruffled mess from undoubtedly running his fingers through it in a nervous habit throughout the day. He sat before you, picking relentlessly at a loose string on his pajama pants.

You waited a few moments before you spoke again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask kindly, patiently, his gaze bouncing around every inch of your face as he mulled over his response. He simply shook his head. Draco Malfoy was not one to talk about things as openly as another may be, he never had been in all of his life so his answer had not come as a surprise.

You nod, understanding in your eyes as you give him a small smile. You do, however, offer him your hand and he takes it without hesitation, allowing you to pull him to your side of the bench as he settles against your chest. A different kind of sigh left his lips this time, one of relaxed contentment as he rested his head over your heart. It was something he’d been waiting to do all day, a feeling he craved so desperately. You knew exactly what had been souring his day, what had been on his mind. The same thing that had always done it; it was the war.

His involvement in the now four year old event was something that continued to weigh heavy on his mind from time to time. Some days were far worse than others. Sometimes he spoke on it, sometimes he didn’t, but it had been the same reasoning every single time. Guilt.

Your fingers run through his hair, gingerly brushing through the minor tangles he’d created before repeating the action over and over. The rain was steady pouring on the other side of the window, its heavy droplets pattering against the window consistently and trickling down the cold panes. The bedroom grew darker by the minute as evening rolled around without pause, the stormy clouds only adding to the shadows filling the room. You couldn’t imagine the inclement weather to be of any help for his mood. A soft kiss is pressed to his forehead, a gesture he wordlessly appreciates more than he could describe in that moment as he squeezes around your waist. 

He knew you were privy to what had been plaguing him that day, and he knew you had all the right things to say because you were wonderfully compassionate; so much so that he hadn’t known just what he’d done to deserve it. Not with the person he once was. The guilt weighing him down was far too much for him to articulate properly, of the things he had done, the hurtful things he had said as a child and as a young adult. All of it had danced ungracefully through his mind in this bout of remembrance of his past, taunting him whenever it so pleased. The guilt of the hurt you had gone through at the start of your relationship when your love was once forbidden. Before he could readily and openly defy his fathers wishes to rid himself of you; but he couldn’t let you go, even if that meant not being able to love you as he’d have liked to then. You meant more to him than to do such a thing.

The culmination of the years of mistakes and numerous regrets had proved to be far too much to carry for just one day, and he was grateful of your understanding. He was grateful for your unwavering patience with him.

He gripped your wrist tenderly, pulling your hand from his hair before enveloping it securely in his own. His fingers pushed between yours, hands melding in the perfect fit as he exhaled another breath.

“A new shipment of books arrived at the shop today,” you mentioned after a while, anything to pull his focus elsewhere.

A soft laugh left his lips at that, his thumb brushing over your skin. “And let me guess, they were nearly all romance novels?” 

You joined in with his laughter, reaching up with your other hand to ruffle his hair before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Your guessing skills are starting to become impeccable, do you know that?”

“Or perhaps I just know you like the back of my hand, darling,” he says with a lazy smile, one that widens with your delighted laughter. Your laughter doesn’t cease upon the feeling of his lips on your neck, chaste kisses pressed to your skin. Kisses of gratitude for simply being there, but you weren’t privy to their meaning.

“Perhaps,” you murmur.

Your hand drops down to his back, finger tips tracing lightly across the bare skin in unknown shapes and lines. He ignored the chill that ran through him at the action in favor of relishing in your touch, his calloused hand squeezing yours a little tighter. It was moments like these that always meant the most to him. Moments where he didn’t feel like he needed to speak his dark truths in order for you to understand them, moments where you just let him feel what he’s feeling with the promise of being there with him. It made all the difference to him.

Eventually after a few moments when the laughter dies down, he sits himself up, tugging on your hand to pull you to his chest instead. He leans his back against the opposite wall of the window seat, his legs tangling with yours in a silence that could only be described as comfortable.

His fingers splayed across your back, cheek rested on your head as his stare remains focused on the gloomy Thursday night weather. It was ironic really, to have such miserable weather in a day he felt his absolute worst. As if Mother Nature had known his very outlook amongst everyone else and decided to match his countenance, his feelings. But despite that, he feels he’s got the sun in his arms, he knows he does. No one in the world could bring him out of a bad moment the way you could.

The simple act of you laying tucked away in his arms, knowing he could vent to you if and when he chose to, it worked wonders to soothe his racing mind. To know he could feel without judgement, process without pressure. It helped.

He focused on the way your chest would rise and fall against his own steadily, and the feeling of your kiss on his jaw. He focused on the way your thumb brushed gingerly over his knuckles and traveled to the back of his hand. Or the way your lashes tickled his skin with every fatigued blink, your cheek pressed to his chest. His lips ghosted over the crown of your head, kissing once, twice, three times there, his nose nudging affectionately against your temple.

You were a wonder to him indeed, a blessing, if you will. For you loved him for his ins and outs, his ups and downs, through everything. He needed that, all his life he needed that. And now he’s finally got it.

“Will you play me a song?” You ask after who knows how long, eyes curious and tired as you gaze up at him through your lashes. He looks down at you quizzically, brow raised.

“A song?”

“Yes, a song,” you laugh softly, sitting up and leaving the warmth of his arms much to his dismay. “On the piano, Dray.”

A knowing smile graces his lips then, his gaze traveling down to the hand you’ve outstretched towards him. The piano. You had gotten it from the Manor when you’d first moved into your own little cottage; it was a housewarming gift as much as it was a gift of long-standing comfort. You had known of the joy that was bestowed upon him whenever he allowed himself a moment to play it, you had known the distraction it gave. It had done so all his life. You knew it all, you always did, and he couldn’t help the way his heart swells in his chest at the thought behind your suggestion.

With a lighthearted huff he takes your hand, allowing you to pull him through the hall and down the wooden staircase eagerly, your laughter filling the space as he shook his head fondly at your antics. It wasn’t until he’d gotten up that he realized just how drained he had really been. 

Moments later, the sleek grand piano had come into view, tucked in the shadowed corner of your living room just waiting to be played. He raised his brow at you once more, hand having not left yours quite yet. You pulled him to sit on the bench with you and he did so with a sigh of faux annoyance, but you didn’t miss the small smile on his lips. He settled down next to you, sitting closely by your side as you switched on a nearby lamp with a simple twitch of your fingers. It took him a moment to decide on a song, but soon he figured it out.

The pattering rain was quick to dissolve into mere background noise as his fingers slowly dance across the ivory keys with a comfortable familiarity, and you could see him beginning to relax. Could tell by the way his gaze focused on his hands, could tell by the way his shoulders began to slump and lose their stressed tension. There was something about creating a melody, one so beautifully delicate, that set him at ease. He created it, he had made something beautiful.

You move to rest your head upon his shoulder, and the smile on his face was immediate yet unseen by you as you let your eyes flutter closed. It was then that he deemed himself to be lucky, the luckiest man in the very strange world he knew. The sorrows of his day hadn’t washed away completely, no, they were still very much there. But they lessened; with the unwavering love you gave him and your wordless comfort, they lessened.

He played. He played a song ever so familiar to him, so much so that he could do it without a second though as if his hands had a mind of their own. A song that was your favorite just as much as it was his, one his mother had taught him as a boy.

In a matter of minutes the song began to taper and lose its tune as he’d become far too distracted by you, his lips pressing to your temple. It was when he’d stopped playing completely that you lifted your head in curiosity, a confused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“What is it?”

He simply looked at you for a few fleeting moments, his eyes bouncing between yours as a soft grin remained to mirror yours. Then he leaned in, his forehead pressed to yours, noses brushing. “You made me a better person. Thank you.”

His words were hushed and they were true, spoken in the utmost appreciation as he spoke them in the close proximity. You let out a quiet laugh as your eyes fall closed for a moment.

“I love you,” you say and his hand settles on your cheek, his kiss as tender and meaningful as his statement. And if it weren’t for the sudden pressing of piano keys as he clumsily tried to move closer to you, it just might have lasted longer.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his laughter puffing warm against your lips. “I love you.”

In that moment, you made him feel whole; you mended his broken pieces.

—

Tags: @dracosathenaeum @awritingtree @amourtentiaa @harrysweasleys @snitches-at-dawn @hahee154hq @lunalovecroft

[mallorykeen]

Okay gonna just... about the Oedipus complex thing... That's all on Rick. He literally spent over ten years writing about Greek mythology before writing Magnus Chase. And while Norse mythology doesn't really have an ins*st theme, Greek mythology really does.

I mean you have the titans, the gods, the heroes (Oedipus included), like it's pretty disturbing if you spend enough time thinking about it like Sophocles probably did when he wrote Oedipus.

Anyway, Rick spent so much time in that area that he probably just decided to black out any part of his brain that said 'hey dude aren't all the kids at camp half blood technically still related even if the whole ichor thing applies? isn't it a bit weird' and then still was on that same sort of pathway when writing Magnus Chase.

also, this is the most disturbing thing I've ever had to think about.

yeah anon I'd say rr probably just got so used to it with the greek stuff. as far as i know, norse mythology doesn't go for incest so much, loki's flyting includes shaming frey and freja for having a relationship when they're twins so i guess its frowned upon but i am not an expert

[angria]

Met with J yesterday and it was a lot, as always.  He challenged most of my worries (and he was right as much as I don’t want to admit it), but it only made me feel “This is what I’m losing” even more.

Pretty much began the conversation by saying I feel I’m in denial of his election, not yet grasping he will be leaving the community, for good.  This is when he said, “You know I’m going to push you a bit.  I don’t think you are in denial.  You are not completely paralyzed by me leaving as you would have been two, three years ago.  You are in a different place now than you were when we first met.”  He then explained how me not being as affected or dysregulated does not mean I care about him any less.  I can grieve and still be okay.  Which T said the exact same thing during our last session.  That being able to still function does not mean I no longer care or am not grieving over him leaving.  I shared this with J, how T said the exact same thing, to which J nodded, telling me to recognize how much I have grown.  It’s scary and won’t be linear, but it’s not a bad thing to change and grow.

Letting that sink in, I told him how he and St. P’s changed everything for me: who God really is and not the lies I was taught, what the church is really like and not a dogmatic, controlling, bigoted institution, how a community is supposed to support and love you and not manipulate and abandon you.  J challenged me again and said I am putting too much power in him, that I am projecting my role onto him (which he reminded me isn’t a bad thing).  He said, “You are the one who made the change.  You are the one who took the risk to come here, to keep trying, to reach out to others when I didn’t know how they would be.  You did the work and formed the relationships and attachments.  You are the one who has grown.”  Continuing, he mentioned how he knows reflecting the good can be a trigger for me, but to know how brave I am to come into a strange church with a strange community given my past experiences.  

By this point, I was shaking and rubbing my head (not in the more obvious way I do with T) because I knew all of what he was saying was the truth.  Yet, it’s just too scary to feel it and believe it.  Then I remembered my next concern: I’m afraid the next rector will not be as familiar with mental illness.  J validated this, recognizing they may not know the ins and outs of symptoms and treatments like he does, but they will still be aware.  St. P’s isn’t going to hire someone who is unable to serve the community in ways they need, especially when it comes to mental health.  However, he pushed back again and described how I am not in the same place where I was three years ago.  I don’t necessarily need this new rector to know all the details and trauma history in order to form a pastoral relationship.  I am no longer in a place dominated by symptoms and treatment, telling me again how I have grown.  Squirming a bit, I described the struggle with self-sabotage, ever since inpatient and partial with the med change and folate.  I have never felt this way before in my entire life.  Nodding, he told me to let the chatter have its moment for 10 minutes, but know it is an old narrative.  I have a new one now, a narrative that I made happen.  

J shifted focus a little because of course, I had to bring up “people always leave” and people will stop caring once I’m “better.”  He then asked, “Has that happened?”  Well, no…  He reminded me that just because I have grown doesn’t mean I still don’t need people.  “What if I’m a burden?”  Saying something similar as E, J said it is okay to reach out and ask for help.  There are people here who love me and want to provide support.  I’m a part of this community too.  On top of reassuring me that E will still be here and isn’t going anywhere (she is stepping down from her role, which made me fear her leaving.  But, she is staying on as an assistant).

Towards the end, I asked what is allowed around communication and staying in touch.  He wasn’t sure yet, but it sounds like it would no longer be a pastoral relationship in the sense that we could talk like we do now.  Apparently, it’s required (?) that the leaving rector will no longer communicate with the parish community for at least one year so the new rector can establish relationships.  Which makes sense.  So he doesn’t know if it’s different because of his type of position.  However, if I were to want to talk to him about something personal, he told me he would have to recommend I speak with St. P’s new rector in order to not interfere with the developing relationship.  So essentially, I’m not really going to be able to stay in touch.  I can probably check in with him every now and then, but it won’t be like it is now.  I’m not sure which is worse…never seeing him again or staying in touch, but only superficially.

I did give J my gift.  He absolutely loved it (got two hugs too) and was so moved by it.  I think as a way to reassure me about our relationship and its significance, he genuinely thanked me for our relationship over the years and that I played a role in his own growth.  How I helped him improve as a priest and pastor.   How he will take what he learned from me to shape how he ministers to others.  How he will carry me in his heart wherever he goes.  Cue the tears by that point.

This is what I am losing.  And I know I should feel grateful I had the chance to know and learn from him for three years.  But all I can think, see, feel, whatever is I am losing this safety and love and support.  I’m terrified as to what life will be without him.

Please just stay here.  I still need you.

Stay here.

Please.

[theasstour]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟑.𝟒𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

A/N: Thank you to the lovelies who nominated Strange Tides, Baby Blue, and moi for the 1D Craft Awards 🌊🐚 If you have the time and feel like spreading some love, go vote for your fave fics and authors here ✨ ENJOYYY CHAPTER 5! x

Tuesday, 7 July

“I’d say you’re doing quite alright for someone who has just gotten into knitting,” Bessie said, looking at Y/N’s creation over the rim of her glasses. “What technique did your mother teach you again, sweets? ‘Cause you’re a natural.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Y/N answered honestly, taking her blue square back. “Are there different types of knitting styles?”

Bessie’s laugh was warm and joyous, looking out at Camila, Florence, and Barb, who smiled at Y/N. Though Y/N had been scared of being judged by these women for not knowing how to properly knit at first, there was nothing but kindness and appreciation in their eyes. It seemed they really were just happy to see the beginning of Y/N’s knitting journey. They had all been beyond helpful, taking their time and being patient with her as she learned the ins and outs of knitting. She was still not sure what she was making, but she was knitting a bunch of squares to start off, and she would see where to go from there.

“So,” Florence said, turning her attention back on the knitting in front of her. “What do you think of St Ives thus far, Y/N? Is it living up to your expectations?”

“You’ve been here a month now,” Bessie said, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite believe it. And Y/N couldn’t believe it herself. Time had flown by so incredibly fast it did not seem quite real. It seemed like only yesterday she had checked in here and met Bessie, or when she ran into Harry and started their little thing. It just did not seem real that time had gone by this fast. In a month’s time, summer would almost be over and she would have to start thinking about checking out and finding out what to do next. Going back home to Winchester was out of the question, but she didn’t really have anywhere else to go.

Y/N took a deep breath, telling herself not to think about that now. Debating what to do after she checked out of The Roaming Crab Inn could be done at another time, not while she was knitting with four lovely ladies. For someone who had lived her whole life with a plan laid out for her near and far future, Y/N was awfully relaxed about the prospect of the chapter of her life that would start once she left St Ives in August.

“I love it here,” she answered truthfully, finding some red yarn so she could start knitting a red square. “I’ve met so many people while staying here, it’s been amazing.”

“It’s been fun to meet Harry’s family as well,” Barb said. “If your name comes up in conversation when we’re at the chess club, Jessa won’t shut up. She’s so proud Harry’s dating such a lovely lady.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, both because she took pride in that compliment but also because she knew Jessa wouldn’t think of her like that when she and Harry “broke up” later.

“Speaking of people you’ve met, my son tells me you went to the pub with him, Harry, and their little group.” Florence looked at Y/N, smiling. “Did he invite you to his birthday this Saturday?”

“Yeah, Harry told me we were invited,” Y/N said.

“Dax and Harry have been close ever since Harry came to St Ives. He even slept at the lighthouse for close to a month after Harry’s father got lost at sea.”

Y/N stopped knitting. When she looked over at Florence again, the older woman was already knitting so she didn’t notice Y/N’s sudden interest. She looked over at Bessie who only gave Y/N a nod as to confirm what Florence had just said, and in that second Y/N was very happy Bessie knew her and Harry’s relationship was only pretend.

“The day they found the empty boat was absolutely horrible. All of St Ives in mourning. Remember it like it was yesterday,” Camila went on, sighing dramatically. “Devastating time.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Bessie chimed in. “It is such a sad time to reminisce about.”

“Yes, no reason we should think about such things,” Barb went on. “I’m sure it’s a touchy subject for Y/N as well, seeing as Harry is so close to her.”

Y/N focused entirely on her knitting, not really wanting to say anything in regards to Harry’s dad. She knew he died, but she hadn’t really questioned how that happened. For some reason, Y/N had assumed he had been sick, but knowing something happened to Harry’s dad while he was at sea… she didn’t know how to feel. Was it worse to have a loved one be sick and know the end was inevitable and close, or to have them ripped suddenly and unexpectedly out of your life?

“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down, girls,” Florence said, letting a bright laugh escape her lips. “Maybe we need some tea to brighten up our mood some?”

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Bessie said, getting up from her seat. “Y/N, dear, would you give me a helping hand?”

“Of course.”

Y/N got up and followed Bessie inside to the kitchen, the three others chattering away as the two started making a new batch black tea. Bessie busied herself with finding some mugs, her sugar, and milk, as Y/N just stood beside the kettle and waited for it to finish boiling. With her arms crossed, her mind wandered off to all those times Harry mentioned his dad and his death, not once had he mentioned he was sick, so Y/N didn’t know where she had gotten that idea from. She knew it was not something she should be speculating or thinking about, but right then, she could not help herself.

Instead of thinking about something so tragic, she forced herself to think about Dax’s birthday party the coming weekend. Harry had only mentioned it in passing yesterday, but Y/N was already looking forward to it. There wasn’t much else she did now anyway besides knit, read for the UCAT, and lie about being in a relationship. Throwing some partying into that mix seemed like a bit of fun.

Saturday, 11 July

“I’m about to do it,” Y/N said, eyes on her laptop screen in front of her. Her white summer dress blew a little in the wind from the open window beside her, but the breeze was welcomed, as it always was in Cornwall.

Harry looked up from where he was going through some bills on his couch, wearing his red knitted jumper along with a pair of short dungaree shorts. Y/N was sat on the other side of his tiny house in the windowsill beside his bed. It was big enough to fit her, her books, and laptop, it was kind of her spot now.

“I’m really about to do it,” Y/N repeated, more for her own sake than for Harry’s - who was a little confused and sat with his mouth open, waiting for her to elaborate – because she simply could not believe she was doing this.

“What?” Harry asked after a while, and when Y/N met his eyes, he blinked a few times as if readying himself for whatever she was about to say.

“Apply for the UCAT exam.”

Last week, Y/N had taken Harry up on his offer to study for her UCAT exam at his place. She came over Friday, and upon seeing her walking up to his house around 8:30, Harry walked toward her on the gravel path. She didn’t know why, but she liked that he did that instead of just standing stoic and just watching her. It made her almost feel urgently desired at his house when he did that.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted as they fell into step beside one another. “Report time?”

“Yeah, just walking around and checking everything.”

She smiled. “And so you walked over here to check on me?”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Y/N wanted to laugh, but Harry was looking at the gravel in front of him, lips sucked into his mouth as if telling himself to shut up. He walked her all the way into his house, telling her to make herself feel at home. She sat down by the round table and placed her books out before her, sighing a little to herself as she opened the first one to the page she’d left off on last time. Before going about his day of lightkeeper chores, he made her a cup of tea and told her to help herself to anything in the fridge. He left in a hurry to report, and Y/N didn’t see much of him till two hours later, when he came inside to look through some paperwork.

The rest of the week, she’d popped by almost every single day and then stayed for hours on end. Though she’d mostly been studying, she had also stayed a little longer just to hang out with Harry. She felt safe on Clodgy Point, with Harry, who, once she got him talking about something he found interesting, would talk someone’s ear off. It was so nice to hang out with someone her own age. Someone who would curse and who didn’t need to gossip all the time. There was something so relaxing about Harry’s presence and his little bungalow that attracted Y/N. She simply could not study in her own room anymore, and Harry didn’t seem to mind. He’d meet her on the gravel path and walk her to his house before he went off to report, every single day without fail. She always looked forward to seeing him there, a sight that made the moors around her seem less turbulent and the world a little more colourful.

Though she sat by the door the first two days, she ended up in the windowsill after a while. When Harry caught her there, he asked if her bum wouldn’t get numb from sitting there all day, to which Y/N jokingly said not to worry, she could just bring a cushion next time, though she always forgot. She didn’t mind though; she liked that windowsill so much that her sore arse didn’t bother her. It also seemed Harry liked that his windowsill was being used, because at one point, he brought his Super 8 camera out, taping her doing her work in the windowsill.

On Monday, something happened that took Y/N’s breath away. Harry walked into the house, zipping his mouth shut when their eyes met as if to tell her he didn’t intend on interrupting her. He made himself something to eat for lunch and sat by the round kitchen table, minding his own business and looking out of the window beside him every now and again for some sort of entertainment. Once he was done eating, he washed his plate up and then, instead of walking back out to work, he walked over to his piano. Y/N immediately sat up a bit straighter, resting her hands on her bent knee as she watched Harry open the piano chair, pull a notebook out, and then sit down once he closed it.

Harry’s hands hovered over the keys before he slowly started pressing down on them, producing the softest melody Y/N thought she might have ever heard. He moved along with the piece, feeling the rhythmic waves take over his body and guide him through the history that melody held. It was clear Harry had some sort of attachment to that piece. Y/N didn’t know how carefully musicians played, how much attention and care they gave to each of the pieces they performed, but there was something graceful and almost intimate about watching Harry perform that piece. Y/N simply could not put her finger on it, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Once he was done playing that specific melody, about to start the next one, Y/N opened her mouth, “What’s that piece called?”

Harry looked at her over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows some as if he hadn’t heard her right.

“Is it well-known?”

“No, uhm…” He furrowed his brows some, looking at the dresser stood beside the piano where a few photos were placed. “I wrote it myself?”

“You did?”

“Yeah, it’s a few years old.”

Y/N couldn’t help her smile. “Does the piece have a title?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Saving Grace,” he explained. “It’s got a dual meaning.”

“Which is?”

“Well, I was 20 when Grace was born. Until then I hadn’t really been around babies, so it took some getting used to when Grace was around most of the time. It had only been my dad and me for a long time, then Jessa came into our lives, which ultimately brought Gracie.” Harry looked out the window Y/N sat in. “It had been a very… content life till then. Nothing spectacular, Dad and I really did love each other and were best friends since before Mum left us when I was 6. But…” He trailed off. “But then came Jessa and Grace, and they truly changed all that. They made us so happy.”

A warmness that was not due to the hot temperature outside, made its way like a wave down Y/N’s body.

“Grace became my little person, you know? Though I worked at St Ives Bakery and had friends, I still didn’t know what I wanted to really do with my life. I was about to apply to study music at uni, but… I dunno, I just didn’t. Grace became my purpose for a little while. I earned money so I could take her places and buy her ice cream, or I taught her how to walk, talk, and we did everything together.” Harry turned back to the piano, playing the first few notes slowly. “This melody came to me when I watched her walk without trouble around the moors outside, she was looking at flowers and she was so happy. The melody tries to capture that moment and how perfect that day was.” He stopped, glancing at the sheet in front of him. “She was two years old.”

“So, essentially, you try to capture feelings and moments in your music?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any other pieces?”

Harry chuckled, looking over his shoulder at her. “You know, the reason I started playing was to help you concentrate. Piano music is great for that.”

“Sod my work, I want to know more about your music.”

“Oi!” Harry exclaimed, turning his body in her direction now. “I’ve never heard you say that word before! Never heard you speak like that!”

Y/N laughed, but persuaded Harry to play a few of his other pieces before he went back to work.

That Saturday when Y/N brought up the exam, Harry hadn’t played any piano. He sometimes would, both to calm himself down, but also to help Y/N concentrate. She would sometimes take breaks just to listen to him, but his playing really did help her focus. Harry was doing some of his work in the house that Saturday, probably to keep her company, but she was very happy he was there. She needed someone to talk this through with.

There was an instant pull to the edges of Harry’s lips, something that he didn’t have to think about, it was instinctive and genuine. A slight breath left his mouth, almost like something of a chuckle, a relief of sorts that made her all hot. He smiled and got up from the couch, a reason for his movements as if he moved a little easier now that he’d just heard that.

“Are you really?” he asked, taking his tea mug and nodding at Y/N’s beside her. She picked it up and handed it to him.

“I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I feel like it’s stupid to study for an exam if I’m never going to take it.”

“That makes sense, yeah.”

“So, I’m just gonna do it now.”

Harry put their mugs down, filling up the kettle before making another round. Y/N liked that he just assumed she wanted another cuppa. She liked the fact he made her this hot beverage that took a long time for someone to drink up. That he made her several a day. She really liked that.

“I’m thinking, you’ve been reading for weeks and you clearly know the material, you might as well,” Harry said.

“There’s just… I dunno…”

“What?”

“No.”

Harry was quiet, so when Y/N looked at him, he was already looking at her, waiting for her to continue. Both knew she wouldn’t hold back once she’d already started saying something.

“I’m scared I won’t show up.”

Harry frowned. “Why? That something is gonna come up?”

“No, that I’ll just oversleep on purpose or find any possible solution so I won’t have to go. Maybe my brain will refuse to revise the entire week before it, I tended to do that in school. When I have an opportunity to, I make things hard for myself.”

Harry plopped two sugars into her cuppa. “I won’t let that happen.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “How, you’re gonna carry me out of my room and to your van, then drive me to the exam?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

She laughed, looking back at the laptop in front of her as Harry walked over, putting the tea down beside her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I think you should just do it.”

“I know I should, but… once I sign up, it’s all happening. It’s not just something I’m thinking about doing, it’s actually happening and there’s a date I gotta work toward.” She sighed. “It’s not just a dream anymore.”

“It stopped being ‘just a dream’ the second you bought those books,” Harry said, sipping his tea as Y/N looked up at him where he stood beside her. “When you started reading, you knew what you were doing and yet you did it anyway.”

She studied him for a second, meeting his eyes the second before she turned back to the laptop. “Guess you’re right.”

“I’m right.”

She flung her arm out, hitting him just across his knee. “Cocky.”

“No,” Harry giggled. “I’m correct. You should try being it sometime.”

“Tone it down!”

Harry laughed, walking back over to his paperwork again. He sat working for a bit longer, finishing his tea before he put everything back in the folder and walked back out of the house and to the lighthouse. When the front door slammed shut, it was like Y/N was slapped out of a sort of trance. She had just been looking at the UCAT website, mouse hovering over the ‘Register and Book’ button, mind somewhere else completely. She remembered what Harry said, how registering and taking this exam wouldn’t make this dream of hers reality all of a sudden, she had done that herself when she started deliberately revising for the UCAT.

She clicked the button and made herself a new user on the website. Reading through everything carefully, Y/N felt her heart picking up speed. It was dawning on her that she was really doing this, despite everything, she was finally registering to take the test. The next few minutes as she took all of this in, she completely forgot where she was. All she knew was the information being fed to her. The wind, the sun, the fly flying around her head, nor whatever Harry was doing was any of her concern. She focused entirely on registering and booking a date. A fee of £75 had to be paid, and though Y/N would never have thought about paying that kind of money before, she hesitated now.

She didn’t have a job, her parents weren’t providing for her anymore because… well, she wasn’t talking to them, so she only had the money on her one card left. Though she was sure she could afford the test fee, there would come a time when she couldn’t. Money had never been a problem until now. This hadn’t been something she thought about before, it hadn’t been a problem then because her parents were filthy rich, but she recognised this now. However, this test had been on her mind for years and it was something she really wanted to do, so spending money on it wasn’t something she needed to feel guilty about. Y/N paid the fee and sat there staring at her screen as a ‘Thanks for your booking’ popped up on her screen. Her test was September 10th. That was in two months. In two months she would be taking the UCAT.

She got up from the windowsill, shaking her clammy hands to dry them some, a shaky breath leaving her parted lips as her heart galloped inside her chest. It didn’t feel real. None of it felt real. She was doing the UCAT exam. This was her first big step into dentistry. She was actually doing what she had been dreaming of doing for years now.

She had no idea what made her do it but she walked out of the house, instinctively walking towards the lighthouse. Harry was already halfway to the cottage from the lighthouse, halting a little at Y/N’s abrupt exit. She stopped when she saw him.

“I did it.”

Those three words took a few seconds for Harry to comprehend, but when he did, he gave her the biggest grin she’d ever seen on his face. His eyes completely disappeared behind his cheekbones, crinkles appearing beside them, and his crooked smile was accompanied with his brilliant dimples that breathed light and meaning into every situation they were present in. The sight of it made her own appear and she put a hand over her chest, feeling her heart still going hard against her ribcage. Harry must have not thought a lot of it, because he nearly opened his arms, but they quickly fell to his side. Next, he went to give her a high five, but that almost seemed inappropriate because it was such a huge moment to Y/N.

But Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about the way Harry had opened his arms for her just now. Couldn’t stop thinking about how he wanted her close like that to congratulate her on what she’d just done. And, the part of her that hadn’t really experienced someone’s noticeable pride in her like this before, wouldn’t mind at all. That’s why she ran towards him, and the two seconds Harry had to prepare, Y/N both saw the visible shock at her sprinting for him, but also a sort of jubilation like it was an honour. Y/N threw her arms around him and Harry quickly wrapped her in his, a breath of relief skimming her neck and making goosebumps run through her entire body. She laughed as Harry picked her off the ground, groaning in triumph at the news of her finally having signed up for the UCAT.

She leaned her head against his, smelling that same perfume on him that she remembered smelling when she wore his knitted jumper a few weeks ago. Her theory had also been right: Harry was an amazing hugger. His grip was tight and she was sure he closed his eyes, really immersing himself completely in the person he was embracing. Fingers spread out across her back, the tips of one just touching her shoulder blade and the other on her waist, squeezing her slightly for a few seconds before letting her down again.

“That’s amazing, Y/N,” Harry said, and Y/N tightened her grip.

When they finally let go of one another, Harry ran inside and came back some seconds later holding his camera, said he needed to document this. Y/N did a few poses that made Harry laugh, then proceeding to run out into the field beyond the lighthouse. She felt absolutely ecstatic as she ran around, grinning and jumping, her arms held up high and her heart soaring. After all this time, she was finally pursuing this. If she was able to do something that terrified and excited her like this, then what else could she do? Part of her felt like she could do anything now.

Porthgwidden Beach was like Harry described it: small. Once Harry and Y/N arrived at the tiny car park above the beach, Y/N stopped for a moment to take in the beach that wasn’t even a fraction of what the other two major beaches of St Ives were. Some Tiësto song was playing somewhere and the beach was crowded, all guests of Dax’s birthday party. The Porthgwidden Beach Café seemed to have been booked for the occasion as well, people around their age all sitting grouped around the table with their bottles and cups. No one seemed to be going crazy on their alcohol, which reassured Y/N some because it had been a while since she had been drunk, a glass or two of anything would make her very lightheaded and giggly. She had brought with her a bottle of wine in her tote bag, Harry seemed to be relying on his mates having brought drinks. If not, Y/N wouldn’t mind sharing the rest of hers with him.

Y/N had left Harry’s place not long after she signed up for the UCAT so she could get ready for Dax’s birthday party in her own room. She wore a dark green column midi skirt along with a white tee shirt and some short heels that she regretted wearing the second her and Harry stepped out into the sand. He looked over his shoulder at her once he noticed her struggling a bit, offering his hand for her to hold so she could take her heels off. While she did that, she took the liberty to study him again. His outfit was simple, yet effortlessly hot. High waisted mid wash denim jeans, a baggy black tee shirt tucked into them, along with some white socks and black Converse. Y/N had a theory Harry would end up taking his own shoes off by the end of the night too.

The two had met on Island Street where they knew none of the other partygoers would venture. That way, people would’ve seen them walk together all the way to the party, assuming they must’ve spent time at Harry’s place before coming here. They had discussed this plan over a last cuppa tea before Y/N left earlier that day, Harry had seemed very happy with himself for coming up with that one. And as they stood there, Y/N holding his hand while taking her shoes off, they heard some loud whistles followed by a “There they are!”

Looking over, they saw the birthday boy making his way over, arms spread wide and the biggest grin on his face. “My boyo!”

“Dax, not now-“

But the man didn’t listen. He hugged Harry to him, causing Harry to take a few steps, resulting in Y/N losing her balance. With a squeal, Y/N almost fell face first into the sand again, but Harry was fast to bring one hand under her armpit and the other to her hip. He dragged her toward him, her torso flat against his. She saw Harry’s eyes on her face in her peripheral vision, felt his breath on her cheek.

“Oi!” Dax laughed. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Got a bit carried away seeing this hunk.” Dax put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, causing Harry to jump right out of his trance and let go of Y/N, as if couples didn’t normally embrace each other like this without hesitation.

“Happy birthday, Dax,” Y/N smiled before picking up her shoe, shoving the pair into her tote bag along with her cardigan and Harry’s red knitted jumper.

“Happy birthday, mate,” Harry said.

“You know, I expected you to be the first one here.” Dax crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Harry.

Harry furrowed his brows at Dax. “What do you mean?”

“Well, isn’t your best friend’s birthday important to you?”

Harry was quiet for a second. “Oh, my word, Dax.”

“I’m just a joke to you.”

“You sure are.”

“Look who it is!” Ellie called, grinning as her and the rest of Harry’s little gang made their way over. “You made it!”

“We were starting to think you two wouldn’t come,” Amir said, his hair in the most effortlessly pretty bun at the top of his head. “Too busy?” Amir wiggled his eyebrows.

“You’re too caught up in people’s sex lives for it to be normal, mate,” Harry said, taking the cup Fatima offered him. “Cheers.”

Something about Harry referring to him and Y/N’s sex life made Y/N’s cheeks feel awfully hot. Even though their joined sex life was non-existent, it still got to her. Maybe it was the way Harry always dodged those questions so the two wouldn’t have to answer any awkward queries they had absolutely no idea about. She didn’t know, but she rummaged through her bag so people wouldn’t see how flustered she suddenly got.

“Just trying to make conversation,” Amir said.

“Well, don’t,” Jo chimed in, their smile mocking and Amir only huffed in response.

“By the way!” Dax exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re going Terraland next week, you coming this year, Y/N?”

Y/N raised her eyebrows in question. “What’s Terraland?”

“Theme park in Helston, we go every year towards the end of the summer vacation,” Jo explained. “Harry here-“ They gestured at the man standing beside Y/N. “-Doesn’t like Terraland.”

“I do,” Harry protested. “I like laying by the pool and not doing shit. I don’t particularly like it when you force me on rollercoasters.”

Y/N smiled. “I’ll come if Harry decides to.”

“Brill! All of us are coming, maybe a few others,” Amir said.

“So, it’s like an adventure park with rollercoasters and such?” Y/N asked

“That and pools, very much the kind of thing you visit when you’re on vacation in, like, Spain,” Harry explained. “But it’s in Cornwall.”

“Good for a group of grown up kids, ey?” Dax grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Come, Y/N, babe.” Ellie linked her arm with Y/N’s, taking Y/N off guard, but she didn’t stop Ellie. She looked at their arms and smiled a little. “Let’s get you a cup so we can get this party started.”

“Love your skirt, by the way,” Fatima smiled as they reached a table with tons of cups and napkins.

“Ahh, thank you. Haven’t worn it in a while, so I felt it was fitting to do so today.” Y/N glanced down at her skirt, running her hand over it before reaching for a cup.

“Ellie and I were saying the other day that you’ve got such a sophisticated sense of style, you need to take us shopping.”

“Could use a few pointers,” Ellie agreed, watching Y/N as she poured herself a glass of wine.

“Really?” Y/N screwed the cork shut before putting the bottle away, smiling at the two girls. “I mean, it’s not that good-“

“-Out of respect for what Harry said, I will stop you before you discredit yourself,” Ellie smiled back.

Y/N laughed. “What about respect for me? Respect me wanting to discredit myself for having a mediocre clothing style.”

Both Fatima and Ellie joined in on the laughing and the three girls walked away from the table so they could hang out by themselves. Though St Ives had around 11,000 inhabitants, Y/N was sure a lot of the guests weren’t locals. Maybe friends from University or friends-of-friends, everything to get a good party going. Judging by what Fatima and Ellie told Y/N, this was an annual thing. Dax Rose held a massive birthday party and absolutely everyone was invited. Bring your own alcohol, bring a friend, and bring a smile, and you were welcomed with open arms. People were sitting in the sand or by the café, others were just standing around, some were dancing, and a group was also taking a swim and joking around in the water. Y/N genuinely liked the atmosphere; it was just really freeing and nice. People wore whatever they wanted, laughter could be heard everywhere, and it just seemed like everyone wanted to have a good time.

Though anyone could come join the party – something that made her look around her a few too many times -, there were still enough people there to notice something suspicious going on.

Fatima, Ellie, and Y/N stood just talking for a while. It was really nice to talk to some girls her own age again, she couldn’t remember the last time she had done that. She had some good friends at school but once they had gone off to University or moved away from Winchester, she fell out of touch with most of them. Y/N knew it wasn’t personal, she quite liked the fact her friends had acquired new lives for themselves, being happier and more fulfilled. But she had missed just standing around chatting nonsense. The conversation didn’t hold much significance, there wasn’t much crucial information going around, or any sort of seriousness attached to it, just some mates having a chat. Y/N found herself wondering if Fatima and Ellie would come if she asked them out for lunch one day.

“I saw this documentary the other day, it’s on iPlayer,” Ellie said. “It was super interesting and disturbing.”

“Oh?” Y/N said, tipsy at this point and just holding the cup of wine in her hand, not wanting to drink more in case it would make her dizzy and very giggly.

“Yeah, it was basically about all these people who committed gruesome murders in the UK, and who go free now.”

Y/N looked up from her cup with wide eyes and at Ellie as Fatima gasped.

“Yeah, I can’t remember what it was called…” As Ellie started thinking, a shadow appeared beside Y/N and she jumped. The tall red-haired man standing beside Y/N only smiled at her, holding a hands up to indicate he was friendly.

Fatima clicked her tongue. “Are you trying to give her a heart attack, Cam?”

“No, I’m sorry, darl,” the man said, looking at Y/N as he held a hand out for her to shake. “Just saw an unfamiliar face and thought I’d introduce myself, is all. I’m Cameron.”

Y/N took a huge breath, meeting Ellie’s eyes before looking at Cameron and shaking his hand. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he mused under his breath, nodding his head as his hand fell to his side again. “Haven’t seen you around here before, Y/N.”

“I’ve only been here a month now.”

“Too bad we didn’t meet earlier, then.”

Y/N’s eyes widened a bit, the compliment taking her off guard. She only chuckled some, wrapping both her hands around her cup as she looked down at the liquid in it.

“When did you come back, Cam?” Ellie asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Two weeks ago. Are you on vacation here then, Y/N?” Cameron didn’t even spare Ellie a look, his undivided attention on Y/N as she continued to stare at her drink.

But suddenly a pair of black Converse appeared beside her bare feet. She felt a hand on her lower back, a warm and comforting pressure that slowly trailed its way to her waist, wrapping his fingers around her curves and bringing her toward him. Her figure fell against his, fitting against his side as if they’d done this before.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re trying to pull, Cam,” Harry said, his voice steady and a little darker than normal. Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol he had drunk this far or it being late, Y/N didn’t know, but she knew she liked it.

Cameron was quiet for a second. “Your girlfriend? Mate, you got a girlfriend?”

“This is her,” Harry continued.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Haz.”

“Don’t apologise to me, apologise to my girlfriend.”

Cameron smiled, as if he couldn’t believe Harry, but he met Y/N’s eyes. “I apologise, I didn’t know.”

Y/N nodded, not really knowing what else to say or do. Cameron looked at the other three, saying a quick goodbye before buggering off. As he disappeared, Harry’s hand slid back around her waist as he came to stand in front of Y/N. She felt his touch along her forearm, rough fingers caressing her with such sensitivity as if he was afraid of crossing a line. Whenever he touched her like this, she could tell by the rough skin of his hands that he wasn’t used to being gentle like this; wasn’t used to being careful when touching someone else. His work made him have rough skin and maybe even a rough touch, but he was always so incredibly cautious when he reached for Y/N.

He slid his hand into hers, squeezing her fingers as she wrapped them around him. Their eyes met and upon seeing him in front of her, seeing him this close, she felt her eyes widen a bit. Though the entire reason why he was doing this was because there were people around watching them, it still felt like everyone was intruding on a special moment between the two of them.

“You okay? Saw he made you jump a bit,” Harry said, hooded and glassy eyes searching her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just came up out of nowhere,” Y/N answered, offering a smile because she knew Harry’s concern was genuine.

Y/N wasn’t sure if Ellie or Fatima noticed Harry’s slight hesitance because by the sound of it, they were chatting amongst themselves, but Y/N did. Harry leaned in, eyes on hers till he closed them. Every single hair on Y/N’s body shot up as Harry pressed his lips gently against her cheek. He was covering her view of Ellie and Fatima, so the two couldn’t see the immediate shock on Y/N’s face. Their conversation halted, she was aware of that, but all her attention was focused on Harry’s lips and how hot her entire body got in the matter of a second. She closed her eyes, eyelashes brushing his skin. Harry pulled away, resting the right side of his forehead against her left for a few seconds. She wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was beating, how clammy her hands were. Could he tell she wanted to reach for his neck and hold him there, but she was carrying her cup and her other hand was already holding his? Could he feel her breaths on his neck like she could feel his? Did he want to stay like that, safe in each other’s company and unbothered by everyone else, for the rest of the night?

“I’m sure there are taxis driving about town if you two wanna go home,” Ellie said, and Fatima cursed her right away.

Harry took a step away from Y/N, clearing his throat as a familiar redness came to his cheeks. His hand was about to fall away from hers, but she gripped his harder, not ready to let go yet. He gave Fatima and Ellie a tight-lipped smile before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, the muscles in his face relaxing.

“El, I need a refill,” Fatima said, and though Y/N couldn’t read their faces yet, she could kind of tell what that meant.

“Let’s go get you a drink then. See you two in a bit.” Ellie and Fatima walked off, falling into conversation right away.

Harry made sure they were completely alone, that no one was eavesdropping before he said lowly, “Sorry if that was too much, I just… I just thought it’d look good, you know? To kiss my girlfriend- my pretend girlfriend around other people just to underline that we are… you know…”

Y/N nodded, biting her lips together as she watched Harry continue to try and find his words.

“Also, sorry if you wanted to chat to Cameron, I’m… I don’t want this to get in the way-“

“-I didn’t. I don’t.”

Silence stretched on, eyes on one another as the party continued around them. They didn’t have any regard for it as they kept their attention on one another. Y/N had answered so quickly and so honestly that it made her nervous when Harry didn’t say anything. Because it was true that she didn’t want to talk to Cameron, she didn’t know who he was and would probably never see him again. But she knew who Harry was, and she wanted to see him all the time. There was a comfort in his presence that settled over her like a warm, safe blanket. She liked being around him. She didn’t want to be near Cameron or anyone else.

“Do you think people think we’re a couple right now? Are we believable? Is this believable?” Harry mumbled.

Y/N giggled. “Well, you just kissed my cheek out of nowhere, I’d hope it’s somewhat believable and that they think we’re a couple.”

Harry laughed, looking down at their hands. “Yeah, it’s kind of… it’s kind of easy, isn’t it?”

Y/N frowned. “What is?”

“Being like this with you. I might feel like a right idiot when I take your hand or kiss your cheek, but you don’t make me feel like one.”

She smiled.

“It’s natural. Not that… that being in a relationship with you and acting like this is natural, I didn’t mean it like that, but it’s-“ He stopped himself looking up at her again as he bit his bottom lip, shrugging slightly. “-It’s like joking about with a friend and just having fun, feeling comfortable.”

“Yeah?”

“You know… I hope I don’t sound like a melt and I’m probably only able to say this ‘cause I’m a tad tipsy,” Harry said, and Y/N giggled. “But you’ve become one of my best friends. If not best friend, a very good one. Like… dunno, I can talk to you about anything, I don’t feel weird being silent around you, or saying or doing stuff that is weird, and I-I feel like you might feel the same way about me. At least I hope so.”

Her smile widened. “I do.”

He let out a small breath and Y/N chuckled.

“It’s sad that when this ends it’ll look weird if we remain friends, won’t it?” Y/N hated that she was thinking and talking about a time in the future they both knew was coming, but avoided talking about at all costs.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do exes stay friends without it being weird to a degree? If you start dating someone for example, will our friends expect us to act a certain way, and if they do and we contradict their theory, will that make them suspicious of us?”

Harry furrowed his brows a little.

“I want to hang out with you and it’s sad to think that in August, we might have to part ways and never talk again ‘cause it’ll look… weird. Dunno, I haven’t really gone through this before.”

Harry let out a breathy chuckle. “Neither have I.”

Y/N laughed.

“I mean, I’ve gone through a break-up, but not like this.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t talked to my ex since it happened.”

They were quiet for a moment as Harry digested Y/N’s choice of words. “You haven’t talked to your ex since you broke up either? Like, at all?”

“He, uhm, he’s sent me texts, but I don’t want to talk to him.”

Harry must have noticed how little Y/N wanted to talk about her ex, because he looked down at their hands again and let their conversation end there. Y/N held her cup out for him and Harry took it, looking at it. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking if she wanted any more of it, but she shook her head. He poured it out in the sand.

“You’re enjoying yourself?” Harry asked after a little while, wiping something off the corners of his mouth with his free index and thumb.

“The party?” Y/N met Harry’s eyes and then searched for Ellie and Fatima, she’d have to find them later. “Yeah, it’s nice. I like your friends.”

“There are a couple more who want me to introduce you, so we’ll have to do that later if it’s okay.”

“Of course.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the now empty cup. “And are you enjoying yourself in St Ives?”

Y/N smiled. “I am, it’s fun.” As she laid extra pressure on the last word, Harry looked up and as she raised her eyebrows, he knew she was referring to them and their fake relationship. He chuckled and Y/N watched him.

“Is it everything you hoped it’d be?”

She was unsure what he was referring to, but she said, “More.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she answered, folding her hands.

“So, you’re… you’re staying?” Pause. “Right?”

Confused, Y/N furrowed her brows at Harry, studying his face to try and find some sort of explanation to that utterance. She slowly opened her mouth, and said, “Staying?”

“Here.”

“On the beach?”

“No.”

“In St Ives?”

Something that could be interpreted as a nod happened, but no words left Harry’s lips. Instead, he continued to look at her, eyes searching her face as if he could find her answer somewhere there. A slight breeze blew past them, making a curl come loose and hang in front of Harry’s eye. He quickly pushed it away, not letting anything prevent him from seeing Y/N fully as she realised what Harry meant. Y/N felt his fingers brush her arm on their way down.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Harry didn’t say anything or nod this time around. Their eyes didn’t waver, looking at each other and not daring to look away. Y/N didn’t register till then how close they were standing. When the wind blew from behind Harry, she smelled his familiar scent and it made something inside her flutter. It was instinctive to look down at his lips, just as instinctive to look up and feel her breath hitch somewhere in her throat as she saw his lips part. Unapologetically, Harry’s eyes did the same that Y/N’s had done just a few seconds prior. A fire-hot shiver ran up her spine as he glanced at her lips, taking a step forward so that their hands rested against one another. Y/N wanted to look at his lips again, but she simply could not look away from his eyes. He was so close and she didn’t want to ruin it, didn’t want to look away.

“Do you think we’re believable now?” Harry whispered, his voice hoarse.

Y/N couldn’t bring herself to answer, she was waiting for something unspeakable; something that couldn’t be put into word for fear of the reality of those words being too raw, too true. She felt his curl against her forehead. His breath on her nose. Her body prickling with anticipation and confusion, unable to properly decipher if what was going on was all part of the show or if this was genuine. Harry was too respectable to make a move, and Y/N was too perplexed to do anything. If she kissed him, how would he feel? Would he take it as her being genuinely interested in him, or that they were just doing it to seem like a genuine couple? And if she kissed him, would she interpret it as her genuinely fancying him, or would she do it just to feed into their façade?

Before she could think about anything else, someone shouted something above the music and everyone else talking. It seemed to have caught quite a few people’s attention, because the volume on the beach lowered considerably. Harry tore his eyes away from Y/N and looked in the direction of the commotion. Y/N did as well, craning her neck to see beyond the group of people that were hugging and crowding what looked to be a new guest. Harry froze in front of Y/N and she looked at him, then back at the group.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“My…” Harry mumbled, pausing for some seconds. “Emilia.”

Y/N looked back at Harry. “Emilia?”

Harry nodded.

“Your ex?”

“The one who lived in Munich for two years, yeah.” Harry ran a hand through his hair before he met Y/N’s eyes. “I haven’t seen her since she came back, think she came back sometime last week.”

“Do you want to go say hi?”

“I…” Harry glanced in Emilia’s direction again, clearly thinking it over thoroughly. “I mean… yes, but… she’d meet you as well. She’d have to.”

“Why?”

“’Cause Dax won’t be able to keep himself from bringing up the fact that I have a new girlfriend. Pretend girlfriend, but… you know…”

Y/N nodded.

“If she knows I’m here and I’m with my new girlfriend, she’s gonna wanna meet you.”

She inhaled sharply. “Why would she want to meet the person you’re supposedly being intimate with now?”

Harry’s eyes grew wide for a single second before he composed himself, blinking himself back to reason. “Dunno. Emilia is very sociable. Just like you.”

“But she’d meet the person you’re with now, I don’t see why she’d want to meet them.”

“Maybe she’s happy for me, maybe she wants to meet someone who supposedly makes me happy,” Harry offered, shrugging his shoulders.

Y/N stared at him for a few seconds. “I know you said she didn’t want to be with you ‘cause it affected her mental health, and I get that, but leaving you when you were at your lowest is still an awful thing to do.”

Harry glanced at Y/N.

“And then not talking to you for two years after just sodding off to Munich. She doesn’t know what you’ve been through since then, do you think she’s gonna care now?”

Harry furrowed his brows. “Y/N, I loved Emilia.”

“I’m aware, but the people we love don’t have to love us back the same way we love them. One part always ends up loving more, feeling more, doing more. We can’t choose how much we love someone, and we don’t have a say in how they love us, but the fact of the matter is that if you love someone, you act like it. You let them know.”

Harry didn’t say anything, he just bit the inside of his cheek and continued to look at Y/N.

“I’m fully aware you loved Emilia, probably still do, but it doesn’t sit right with me that she just removed herself like that completely. You’re not a toxic person, you were just going through a rough time.”

“Harry!” Amir shouted, waving Harry and Y/N over. “Harry, mate!”

Harry watched Y/N for a few more seconds, probably either debating what she’d just said or losing every shred of respect he had for her, Y/N didn’t know. He nodded in the direction of everyone and the two started walking there, strolling the distance in silence. She didn’t know how she was supposed to interpret said silence, if it was a good kind or if he just didn’t want to talk to her for the rest of the night because he had taken offense to what she’d said.

When they reached the group, they made space for Harry and Y/N, and the first thing Y/N noticed was the brunette standing on the opposite side to the circle from them. Her blue eyes lit up when she saw Harry and she smiled at him instantly, clearly happy to see him after two years of no contact.

“Hi,” she exclaimed, crossing the circle, and giving Harry a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too,” Harry said. “How was Munich?”

“Amazing, I’m moving there permanently after University, I’m sure.” Emilia stepped away from Harry and immediately, her eyes fell on Y/N. “And this must be the girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N’s eyes met, Harry raising his eyebrows in a quick “told you so”, which made Y/N smile some before turning back to Emilia.

“Yes, I guess I am. And you’re the ex.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he looked from Y/N to Emilia and back again. It was evident that the rest of the group, and quite a few others as well, were watching this interaction with keen interest. They were probably waiting for one of them to start a fight and the other one to feed into it, something Harry would step in to stop and take sides, which would ultimately just end badly. It was clearly something a lot of people thought would be great entertainment. But Y/N kept her cool, not wanting to sound passive aggressive or make Harry uncomfortable. Though she was not impressed with Emilia’s past actions, she wasn’t about to judge her solely on them. Y/N hoped she was right not to.

“I am, it’s been so long since I’ve seen Harry.” Emilia looked back at Harry, considerably smaller than him, looking up at him through her lashes. “That rain check you were talking about, you could make up for it by walking me over to get a cup?”

Y/N looked at Harry, about to open her mouth and ask what rain check Emilia was talking about, but she realised it was none of her business. And questioning Harry like this in front of everyone would just feed into everything everyone wanted. So, Y/N just crossed her arms over her chest.

“Actually, we’re about to leave,” Harry said, giving Emilia a small smile.

Emilia pouted. “Really? It’ll only take you a minute.”

Harry opened his mouth to inhale hugely, looking over at Y/N who hoped he could tell she didn’t like this. But Harry met Emilia’s eyes again, taking a step back and Emilia grinned as the two started walking towards the table in the middle of the beach with all the cups. Y/N watched them, how easily they fell into conversation and how eager Emilia was to talk to Harry again. While witnessing this, Y/N kept reminding herself of what Harry had said earlier, about her becoming one of his closest friends. She hoped repeating that moment to herself would prevent her from getting hurt and sad and angry, but it didn’t. When turning back toward the gang, she realised both Ellie and Dax were watching Harry and Emilia as well. And upon taking a look around, she realised Jo, Amir, and Fatima were as well. Y/N didn’t know for what purpose, but if Dax’s tense jaw was any indicator, it couldn’t have been for a particularly good reason.

Why would Harry do that? Though Y/N wasn’t in a relationship with him, it was still embarrassing for her to have to stand there and wait for him. She felt ridiculous when Fatima met her eyes again, giving her an apologetic smile, one Y/N – Harry’s fake girlfriend – didn’t deserve, but she appreciated it nevertheless. Because despite everything, this hurt. She dug her nails into her upper arms as she stood there, mad at Harry for the first time ever. Though it had been gormless of Emilia to ask in the first place, Harry hadn’t really needed much persuasion.

As Emilia and Harry’s voices got louder, the gang started up a light conversation that Y/N pretended to be part of. She only gave Harry a slight glance before looking back at Dax who was talking, the guy not giving the returning two any of his attention either. Y/N wondered if Dax thought the same way about Emilia’s behaviour as she did, but then again, it wasn’t like Y/N could take Dax aside and ask him that. If Y/N sought Dax out to talk about Harry’s ex, it wouldn’t look good.

“Ready to leave?” Y/N asked, reaching into her tote bag for her cardigan. Some of her passive aggressiveness was detectable in her voice, she hoped no other than Harry picked up on it. She was still tipsy so she blamed her incapability to hold back on that.

“Yeah,” Harry said, standing very still as he watched Y/N put her cardigan on. Once it was on, she smiled at everyone, and then looked at Harry as he directed a “See ya, yeah?” at everyone. Though Dax was visibly sad the two were leaving, he seemed to know why they were bailing because he didn’t ask them why or stop them. Y/N put her shoes back on and the two started on their way back up the hill that led to the car park.

It was unexpected when Harry reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers so slowly and so deliberately that she felt it in every single one of her cells. Though it was nice to feel him there, she had to bite her lip from saying anything as they walked up Burrow Road. The second they were out of sight and alone, Y/N let go of his hand. This wasn’t something Harry would’ve usually paid much attention had he not heard her passive aggression just a few moments earlier.

“Is it Emilia?” Harry asked.

It was stupid how the only time Harry managed to be blunt and upfront was when he knew he was in trouble or if someone was annoyed with him. At least Y/N thought so.

She straightened her back, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. “What about Emilia?”

“Is that why you’re all… mad? Dunno if mad is the best word.”

“Think it describes how I’m feeling perfectly,” Y/N said. “’Cause I’d say I’m mad with a dash of disappointed.”

Harry looked over at her, frowning again. “Why?”

“Why am I mad you walked over there with Emilia?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders exaggeratingly. “Call it intuition, call it paranoia, call it whatever you bloody want, but I think she wants you back now that you’re not broken up about your Dad anymore.”

Harry took a few seconds to say, “I’ll call that stupidity.”

The laugh that left Y/N was anything but friendly and warm. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“Why are you so mad about this anyway? It’s not like we’re…” Harry stopped himself, looking over at Y/N who refused to look at him. “It’s not like we’re a couple.”

“It’s still embarrassing. I was left standing there while my boyfriend walked off with his ex. You don’t even want to admit that what you did was stupid.”

“’Cause it’s not, we just walked down to that table so she could get herself a cup.”

Y/N sighed, running her hands over her face. “Yes, it’s an innocent act and I probably have no right to act like this, but I’m being a friend. I’m trying to look out for you.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Being a friend, looking out for me?”

Y/N looked at him, seeing his set jaw and piercing eyes. “Why wouldn’t I look out for you?”

“Right now you just seem mad I hung out with my ex.”

She glanced away again, so frustrated with him that she felt like screaming. They reached Back Road, Y/N walking straight ahead to take the quickest way back to the Inn, Harry was turning right to Clodgy. “Interpret it any way you want, Harry. I’m being truthful when I tell you I just want what’s best for you.”

There was a pause as Harry watched Y/N cross the road. “You’re just gonna leave like that? You don’t wanna talk it out?”

“You don’t understand where I’m coming from, Harry!” Y/N exclaimed as she faced him, turning her back on the dark alleyway behind her. “What’s the point?!”

“Y/N, it’s not like I’m making out with Emilia in front of everyone!”

“I know, but that small act of just walking down there has a lot of meaning! She wants to make up for lost time!”

“You’re just reading too much into this!”

“And you think the best of people who hurt you!”

“She left for her own good, don’t blame her for that!”

“I’m not! I just think it’s odd to not check up on you in those two years following your breakup when you were clearly having a tough time when she left!”

“Oh, my days, Y/N.” Harry ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

“I know you want to see the best in everyone, but I’ve experienced people fucking me over ‘cause I gave them the benefit of the doubt. Multiple times. I’m not doing that again, I’m-I’m just not. And I don’t want to watch that same thing happen to you.”

Harry blinked when Y/N cursed, but quickly regained himself. “I can take care of myself!”

“I’m just being a friend and looking out for you, I’m sorry if-“

“-And what if I don’t want you to look out for me as a friend?!”

Y/N was about to answer, but she felt something brush against her back and then a figure moving out of the dark alleyway behind her. Her heart skipped a beat and the next thing she knew, she felt it in her throat. She jumped out of the way, stepping just in the crack between two cobblestones and stumbling away from the stranger. The man looked at Y/N as she regained her balance, about to reach his hand out to help her when Harry rushed across the road. Y/N managed herself, but she took another step away from the stranger who genuinely looked baffled as to what had just happened. Y/N put a hand over her heart, feeling it beating furiously. Calm down, calm down, calm down, she told herself, feeling safer the second Harry put a hand to her upper arm.

“You alright, miss?” the man asked, looking at Harry who was standing beside Y/N, making sure she was okay.

“Sorry,” Y/N said, doing her best to give him a smile. “I’m just a bit jumpy. And a tad drunk.”

He laughed joyously before continuing on his way, and the second he turned away, Y/N’s face fell. Harry noticed and turned her to face him, squeezing her shoulders so she’d look at him. She balled her hands into fists as she felt her heart beating hard, calming down from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“You’re okay,” he said, recognising her reaction from that first time she read to him in the grass beside the lighthouse.

Y/N nodded, meeting Harry’s eyes and telling herself it was all fine. She would be fine. Harry was here and nothing would happen to her while he was here. She continued to look at him till she was calmer, but the thought of walking down that dark alleyway now made her want to hurl. However, she didn’t have any other place to walk and she had to get back somehow. Maybe she could call Bessie and talk to her, or maybe she could find another and maybe longer route back. But then she’d be out in the open longer than she initially wanted to.

“Have you always been like that?” Harry asked, the question curious and without any hint of judgement.

“Like what?”

“Paranoid.”

Y/N smiled a little as if that would brighten the mood that had fallen considerably. Slowly, she nodded, averting her eyes from Harry’s. “I like being prepared for anything, for any possible outcome.”

Harry didn’t remove his hands from where they rested on her shoulders.

“So, I either make them up, or if something happens unexpectedly, my brain does this thing where it tells me that the worst possible thing is happening, and I need to escape.”

“What’s the worst possible thing that can happen?”

“In any scenario?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N watched as someone turned every light in their flat off, wishing she was in her bed right now. “That my Dad finds me.”

Harry stayed quiet.

“He terrifies me. Always has. I know he won’t hurt me, but… he’s a bad man, Harry. A very bad man.”

“He won’t come here, Y/N. You’re safe in St Ives.”

Some part of her laughed at that, but when she met his eyes, she knew he genuinely meant it. If Harry was there, he would not let anything happen to her. No matter what. Even if they had a disagreement the second before her Dad showed up. But her father knew where she was and if he wanted her back, he would do what he could to get her back. A lighthouse keeper wouldn’t stand in his way.

Y/N felt her bottom lip starting to wobble at the thought of it, and she put a hand in front of her mouth when the back of her eyes started to sting.

“Hey,” Harry said, squeezing her shoulders. “Let’s go back to mine, yeah? You won’t have to be alone.”

She met his eyes, blinking a few times as she processed his offer. “Yours?”

“Yeah, if you’re a bit shaken up, I thought you might… might not want to be alone.”

Without really registering what she was doing, Y/N was nodding her head to answer his question. “If you’re sure I won’t be a burden in any way-“

“-Flower, you’re never.”

She almost thought she heard him incorrectly. Flower. She had never gotten a nickname before. Her friends back home used to call her ‘babe’ and her mother would sometimes call her ‘sweetheart’ and Bessie referred to her as ‘dear’, but never this one. She suddenly felt a little lightheaded.

Harry wrapped an arm around her and held her to him as they walked through the city. He hummed to The Power of Love as they strolled, keeping the empty and quiet streets of St Ives alive as long as they were walking through them. Y/N looked about them, staring down alleyways and streets, sometimes being too afraid to even to study the shadows or look to make out silhouettes in the darkness. Harry’s humming kept her grounded and reminded her that she wasn’t alone. Once they were walking along the road up to Clodgy Point, Harry let go of her, letting her walk by herself. It was starting to get a bit chilly when the winds of the moors started up around them, so Y/N reached for Harry’s knitted jumper in her tote bag and gave it to him. He was a bit taken aback by that, seemingly having forgotten it was there, but he thanked her, the only two words being uttered at all on their 30-minute walk up to the lighthouse.

Harry unlocked the door and walked in first, turning the light on the coffee table on as Y/N locked the front door. He opened a window to let some air in, then took his jumper and shoes off. Y/N did the same, wrapping her arms around herself. She was aware it had been Harry’s idea for her to stay here, but she suddenly felt like she was intruding. This was his space and his bedtime routine. They had walked off most of their drunkenness, so when Y/N tripped over her own feet a bit, it was purely from exhaustion. Harry was almost about to reach out and catch her even though he was across the room, but his dedication to help her made her chuckle a little. Harry smiled at the sound of it.

Y/N put her tote bag on one of the chairs, putting her cardigan over the back of it as well.

“I…” Harry started, making Y/N look over at where he stood by his dresser. “I have a few shirts and stuff if you wanna freshen up some.”

Y/N chuckled. “What do you mean?”

Realising he probably didn’t make sense, Harry let a breath escape his lips as well. “I meant, if you wanna have a shower, I’ll lend you a tee shirt.”

The thought of showering in Harry’s space seemed almost a bit surreal, but for some reason, also completely normal. She spent so much time here and with him that in a way, it was weird that she hadn’t showered here before. She slowly nodded her head, and Harry opened a drawer, pulling out an old tee white shirt with a small Elton John logo on the chest.

“Towels,” Harry said, walking over to his tiny bathroom and turning the lights on for her. “They’re here, and I got everything you might need in the shower. There’s an unused toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink.”

“Thank you.”

Harry gave her a smile before closing the door. Taking a breather first, the next thing Y/N did was get undressed and take that shower. She washed away the argument with Harry and the reason why it was cut off so abruptly; tried to soak herself in everything else that happened tonight that made her entire body warm. When Harry kissed her cheek; the way his hot lips felt against her skin, how the thought of that moment alone made her feel some type of way. She knew Harry only did it so everyone would think they were a couple, but her cheek was tingling.

She got out of the shower, drying herself off, and putting Harry’s tee shirt on, her skirt under it. Yes, the two were starting to get comfortable around one another, but she wasn’t sure if they were just there yet. Last thing she wanted to do was walk out there in her knickers and one of his tee shirts, then make him uncomfortable in any way. Though she felt like a raisin since she was not doing her usual post-shower skin routine, nor any hair products for her hair, she told herself she’d do it tomorrow when she was back to the Inn.

She walked outside to see Harry laying in his bed, his small telly that was stood by his couch, turned around so he could watch a rerun of an old Would I Lie To You episode. When the bathroom door opened, he instantly looked in her direction, placing his hands on either side of his form as if he got ready to get up. Their eyes met and his eyes fell to her tee shirt, where the material hugged her waist firmly. He met her eyes again, swallowing thickly before he gestured beside him at two glasses of water.

“One by the window is yours.”

“I’m literally so thirsty, thank you.”

Harry smiled, walking past Y/N and into the bathroom, going to take his own shower. Y/N sat down in Harry’s bed, nuzzling under the covers and taking a hold of her glass. She brought it to her lips, sipping it till it was empty, watching the telly as she did. She got up for a refill, drank half, and then just continued to watch the telly for a bit. The light in the room was dim enough so she could easily fall asleep, and she almost did drift off against the headboard, but then Harry exited the bathroom and woke her up with a start.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

She smiled, sinking down into the pillow. “Almost went off to dreamland there.”

“Soz.”

“I’m a light sleeper, it’s not your fault.”

Harry nodded, walking over to turn the lights off, the only light in the entire little cottage now being the light from the telly. He strolled over to the fridge and took a cucumber out. Y/N watched him as he brought a knife out, cutting it up in half.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Just brushed my teeth.”

“So did I, but after I’ve been out, I usually eat half a cucumber before bed.”

Y/N stared at him.

“What?”

“Just… just a cucumber? Nothing else?”

“What else? Do you spice your cucumber? With what?” Harry looked at his little box of spices by his stove. “Onion granules?”

Y/N laughed, placing her hands on the duvet above her stomach.

“I actually had jalfrezi leftovers after we went to the pub a few weeks ago,” Harry said as he came over to the bed, giving Y/N half the cucumber. “So I dipped my cucumber in that and ate it.”

Y/N grimaced. “Were you still pissed?”

“No,” Harry chuckled. “I just like cucumber and Indian food.”

“Fair enough.”

Harry picked up one of his quilts and sat down in bed beside Y/N, draping it over himself so she could have the duvet for herself. He bit into his half of the cucumber, completely unfazed as his eyes fell on the telly. Y/N tried not to laugh, but he looked so incredibly cute, munching on his cucumber and smiling at something Rob Brydon said. He must’ve noticed her not eating, because he looked down at where she laid in bed, raising his eyebrows.

“You weren’t hungry?”

“It’s not that.”

“It’s honestly refreshing.” Harry took another bite. “I love it.”

That made her smile and she took a bite of her cucumber as well, Harry watching her as she chewed and then swallowed.

“Well…? Your verdict?”

“It’s just a cucumber.”

Harry rolled his eyes, making Y/N laugh again. “You’re humiliating.”

“Says the person who eats half a cucumber before bed!”

“I’m quirky!”

Laughing again, the two fell into comfortable silence as they watched the rest of the Would I Lie To You episode. Though the idea of eating half a cucumber hadn’t been very appealing to begin with, it did make her feel a bit better. She didn’t know she’d been hungry till now, the cucumber and the two glasses of water had done a well enough job to fill her stomach up before bed, so she didn’t bother asking Harry if she could make herself a toastie. Instead, Y/N found her eyes falling shut, her entire body relaxing completely. All the worry and the paranoia and the fight earlier all came together now, making her so tired she could barely stand to keep her eyes open. Her entire body ached with the effort it took to stay awake. She stayed as close to the wall as possible, where she could look out across the dimly lit lightkeeper house.

Y/N felt the move as Harry reached out to the windowsill. He sat back, screwing the lid open, revealing a balm of some sort. He rubbed his middle finger in it, slowly sliding it along the thick balm till his finger was wet with it. Y/N bit her bottom lip. For some reason, she thought he was going to smear it across his own lips, some sort of cream to help keep his lips moisturised. No, instead Harry dragged his finger under his eyes. Not directly under his eyes, but along his cheekbones, slowly and gently.

“What’s that?” Y/N asked through a yawn.

Harry looked away from the telly and at her. “Face cream.”

“You put it on before bed?”

“It helps me sleep, it’s made of lavender and apricot. Both are supposed to help you fall into a deep sleep.”

“Can I try?”

“Yeah.” Harry handed it over, leaning his head back against the headboard, watching Y/N as she smelled it.

“Lush.”

“It is.”

Y/N rubbed her finger in it, putting it along under her eye. She was aware Harry was keeping an eye on her, but she pretended to find the programme incredibly interesting right then. She heard a slight chuckle.

“Not directly under your eyes,” Harry said. “Not there.” He leaned over, taking a delicate grip of her wrist and moving her hand down. “Here.” His hand moved upward to cup hers, his little finger, ring finger, and middle finger hooking themselves tenderly between her thumb and index. His index rested on top of hers as he guided her hand slowly and gently, tipping his head to the side to rest against the headboard while he concentrated. She didn’t dare look away from the telly, too overwhelmed to do anything but let him help her.

“Then the other eye,” he mumbled, telling her what was going to happen next. Because without warning, he dipped his finger in the balm Y/N was holding, swirling his finger slowly around till it was moist. When he did that, she simply could not help herself, and her eyes fell to look at his hand, taken aback by what was happening. However, she didn’t move or tell him to stop when Harry brought his hand up, sliding it over her cheekbone. Soft, slow, graceful. A prickling hot sensation followed where he touched, slowly spreading through her entire body. She looked away from the balm and at Harry, the second she did, he glanced back at her. A slight breath left her lips, Harry’s eyes falling to them. She sat up, finding the lid and placing it back on the balm. She handed it back to Harry.

Harry took it, placing it back in the windowsill before he got up from bed. Y/N lay back down, quickly checking the pulse on her neck because she knew her heart was beating hard. If it beat hard enough, would it somehow make the bed creak? Was it possible her heartbeat made her entire body shake like that? Just in case, Y/N switched so she was laying on her side. She watched as Harry turned the telly off, the room falling into complete darkness. Y/N closed her eyes, realising for the first time in a minute or two how sleepy she actually was.

It took a second or two before she felt the bed move and creak as he sat down. He shuffled till he was comfortable laying on his side facing her. Only reason she knew that was because she heard his content sigh and felt his breath on her face. It had been quiet for a minute or so before Harry whispered her name.

“Hm?” she asked, opening her eyes slightly. She could not make out much, but she thought she might’ve seen him looking at her. That might also just be her imagination playing tricks on her.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, his voice a whisper.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“I know you’re just looking out for me and I’m sorry if it was embarrassing for you when I did that.”

“I’m sorry I criticised her for leaving you when it was bad for her mental health, I just know that it can’t have been easy to have been in your shoes just then, so that break up can’t have been easy to deal with on top of everything else.”

Silence stretched on for a few seconds. “It wasn’t. But I don’t blame her for leaving if that was what was best for her.”

Y/N closed her eyes again. “Okay.”

She felt the bed move again as Harry found a new position that was more comfortable. The pillow she rested her head on moved a bit, she reckoned he slung his arm over the top of her head.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Harry said, voice slurring now as well.

“Night.”

“My alarm will go off at 3am, by the way.”

She smiled. “I know.”

She heard him let out a slight breath, sounding like a small chuckle, and the next thing she knew, she was having the slumber of her life.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 27 September, 9PM GMT!

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[miraclesnail]

Operation: Make Will Solace Sleep

Will has an unhealthy relationship with his role as the camp’s medic. And Travis is going to chip at it until it’s not.

ao3 link

Rated t

Tags: canon divergence AU, just a teeny bit of angst, mostly cheesy romance, cuddling

fic under read more

His first taste was from the Colchis Boar. His second taste was from the Stymphalian birds. Everything afterward was a blur. Of blood and screams and pleads, of promises to do better, to train, to prepare, stock up, learn more, to not have to burn any more shrouds. He thought it couldn’t get worse after the labyrinth. But no. No. The battle of the labyrinth was a tea party compared to now.

There are people bleeding out on him. There’s an alarm blaring in his head. A demigod screams for him. He goes to them. They’re dead, on the verge of dying, he can’t do anything for them. Someone else calls for him and right after, another person asks for him too. He stands to attend to them but the first clings to his arm and begs for him to try though, to help them. To do something. Anything. But he can’t do anything. Not at the point he is. Maybe months later with more experience. But right now, he’s not capable enough, not strong enough. Too weak. Useless. Helpless.

Will hates it. He hates him.

Travis is sure this whole workaholic thing Will has going on came from the Titans. A lot of bad habits came from the Titans actually. That whole four-year war really took a toll on people’s mental health and the coping mechanisms that developed? An absolute clown show.

More or less, the coping became better over the months following the war. Some, though, just got worse and worse. For example, Will who recently now started staying up all night and day in his infirmary when he’s not busy with his cabin.

Him though? He’s fine. He’s A-okay. Never been better. It’s not about him right now so let’s just move along.

Will has an unhealthy relationship with his role as the camp’s medic. And Travis is going to chip at it until it’s not.

Plan B is as simple as can be. Just a very nice, simple intervention.

Like Will always said, communication is key and every problem can be solved by talking it out.

So he did exactly that. In response, Will laughed, followed by ‘oh, you’re not kidding,’ then a scoff and a fond eye roll, and ending with him saying cheerfully, I don’t have a problem. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Overworked? I’m feeling great. Yeah, I know it’s free time right now. Wall climbing? Sure, I’m down. Wait, just let me check the inventory one more time. And refill the alcohol bottles. And get the laundry started so I can have fresh towels. And I guess I should also fold the dried towels while I’m at it. Oh, wait, I have to tell Chiron we’re running low on —

Just a never-ending list of to-dos. Attempt one failed, but that’s okay because nobody ever said it will be easy and Travis has so many other ideas.

Plan C is just as boring as Plan B

As one of the camp’s longest yearrounders, just a couple months short of Annabeth’s, Travis pretty much knows all the ins and outs of camp even if he never worked in the infirmary. He remembered enough when he poked his head in there. A couple years ago. Okay, maybe years and years ago, before even Lee was ever a counselor. A daughter of Apollo, beheaded by a cyclops, showed him how the infirmary ran and where the supplies were kept. Sure, the inventory expanded in the years since he last was there, but at least 25% of the supplies are still familiar.

It took a couple days and many strange stares from Will to familiarize himself with everything again. But he did it. Restocking drawers and jars of cotton balls, gauze, and tongue sticks. Sterilizing the equipment. Sweeping and mopping. Refilling nectar bottles and packing ambrosia squares for easy access. He takes about 35% of Will’s workload, finishing at the ripe time of 10:50 pm.

“Alright, time for bed!” he says, pushing Will out the door and closing all the lights. Will protests, of course, sprouting more things still have to be done, that he’s not tired. It’s adorable, the little pout he does and the way he crosses his arms with his indignant expression. It just doesn’t work as well as Will hoped as Travis drags him to his bed. ‘Not tired’, his pet donkey. Will practically melts and snores within minutes the moment his back hits the mattress.

He thought it worked. Will actually goes to bed with the rest of his cabinmates for the next few days.

Until Kayla told him Will is reading his books underneath his sheets past bedtime after taking some Stay Awake! pill with a gallon of black coffee.

Oh well. At least he can say he didn’t try at all.

Initiate Plan A aka the best plan aka the OG plan aka “should have done it from the get-go.”

Travis is nice though so he will give Will one more chance. The next night with ten minutes left before curfew starts, Travis watches Will write down some notes on his desk at the infirmary while swirling in circles in the spinny chair. At five minutes, Travis lets Will know it’s time to go by flicking the lights on and off. The answer is the same as always. “Okay, be right there. I just need to finish these really quickly. You can go ahead.”

More empty promises. Another casual dismissal. Travis is tired of Will’s blatant disregard for his health.

With a not at all suspicious smile that immediately puts Will on guard, Travis flicks the lights off and stands by the doorway with his hands behind his back.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Will asks cautiously, spinning his chair so they could face each other, eyes flitting behind him like he’s expecting Connor to come popping out. Which is fair. Connor was the one behind Plan A. And Connor is the plotter between the two of them whenever it comes to anything. But Connor isn’t with him right now. Someone has to watch their cabin. There’s no way one of them can’t be there unless they want a cabin fire started.

“Like what?” he replies innocently enough but with the way Will squints his eyes it probably wasn’t anywhere close. He just has that look to him. The ‘I want to shove firecrackers down your pants’ look, according to Percy. The ‘I will steal all the pretty flowers from the garden,’ according to Katie. The ‘I will give my boyfriend a bouquet of flowers with sparklers shooting out at odd angles for Independence Day while hiding from a rampaging daughter of Demeter with the cutest smile,’ according to Will.

“Like you’re planning something,” Will accuses with a fond shake of his head, standing from his chair. Great! That will make his life so much easier. “Did you steal something from Katie again? Do I need to protect you?”

“What? No, nothing like that,” Travis scoffs, stepping closer, “I am just standing here. Like a normal person. Nothing suspicious at all.”

“That’s the most suspicious thing I think I have ever heard,” Will deadpans before he frowns a bit, face marred in worry. “Seriously though, are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Everything’s fine, Will.” Travis takes another step, finally into position beside the bed. With an apologetic smile, Travis takes one of Will’s hands in his. “Please don’t be too angry.”

Gently Travis falls back onto the bed, dragging Will with him. As soon as both of them hit the mattress, the bed shoots upwards and remains levitated.

“Did Lou Ellen do this? Is that why she was faking her stomach ache earlier? Did she enchant the bed while I was getting her medicine?” Will asks after nothing more than a few blinks, cool and calm and confident as a cucumber. The only indicator he was totally caught off guard was the flitting bone-crushing and skin-bruising hand squeeze when the bed flew up. Will wasn’t always like this. It used to be easy to scare the son of Apollo enough for a yelp or scream. A little popping out from behind the curtain. A little tap on the shoulder from behind. Both were enough for a little squeak. Not anymore though. Maybe it’s the war that gave him that unrelenting facade of calmness and serenity.

Travis shrugs and rights himself so he’s facing Will with his legs crossed and Will does the same. “I may have bribed her with some drachmas and a promise to get whatever she needs for her spells.”

“Well, kudos to her. Can I go back to studying?”

Will is already swinging his legs over before the last word and Travis acts without much thought. Before Will can jump down, Travis leans forward and blocks with a hand against the headboard. It puts him face to face with Will who just blinks wide at him with his sapphire blue eyes in mild surprise.

As simply as he can, as quickly as he can, with all his accumulated tact and persuasion from years as a counselor and warrior and pranking master tactician, Travis blurts, “Actually, sorry, but no. It’s bedtime for you so snuggle up.”

Okay, maybe a little too simple and quick. But it makes Will throw his head back and laugh, his smile gentle and sweet and soft. “This was what you wanted to do from the start, huh? I thought it was really strange you were doing all that other stuff first. I'm sorry for worrying you. But I'm fine. Really. It’s okay.”

Travis shakes his head and crosses his arm with a pout.

Heart-to-heart conversations aren't his thing. He’s more of a “watch from behind a rock and run away” kind of guy. More of a “let's just non-verbally agree to not talk about our problems and put it behind us.” More of an “I’m sorry please don’t be angry anymore even though you are definitely in the wrong.”

He’s trying to change though. It's not hard to just say, “No, you’re not fine. I care about your health, Will, and it would make me really happy to see you taking care of yourself.” He knows it’s not hard. He has heard cheesier sentences from well-respected campers. He has done pretty bold and brazen things too with zero problems that will put a lot of people to shame. Will won’t laugh. If anything he’ll probably think it’s sweet. So why is his face heating just trying to say it?

Instead he just stares at Will, mouth flapping open and shut as he tries and attempts. Will watches him for a solid five minutes, in silence, an eyebrow raising after one minute, head tilting quizzically after three. After five minutes, Will asks him, “You okay?”

He can’t do it. Why can’t he do it? It’s so easy and simple. It’s just words and he fought in a war. Two wars actually! He slew monsters. He killed people. He led a bunch of pre-teens and teens in the battle of the decade. He watched over those said pre-teens and teens for yearsand only cried from annoyance nine times. He cut open and prepared a durian all by himself. So why can’t he just say it?

Travis flops down to one side of the bed, on his side with his back to Will to hide his probably tomato-red face. He subtly changes the topic. “Anyway, do you wanna be the big spoon tonight?”

Travis is sure Will isn’t going to entertain him. His boyfriend is going to snort ‘yeah, right, like I’m going to do that.’ and hop off the bed and now Travis will have to go back to the drafting board for a plan D, E, F, M, P, Z, 1, 2, and 5.

But the bed shifts and sinks. A back presses against his. A hand snakes around his wrist and a cheek rest on the nape of his neck, soft blond strands tickling the tip of his ear.

“You’re gonna help me tomorrow with studying,” Will tells him, squeezing him closer.

Travis beams. Plan A. Success!

“Am I good enough like this?”

Will didn’t mean to say it. It just came out, unprompted and unneeded. Maybe it’s because it’s been a day or two since he slept. He half-prays Travis is asleep, already off in dreamland. His breathing is even and steady, face relaxed, body loose. Travis doesn’t need to know. He already has enough on his plate and he doesn’t need anymore. Besides, he’s fine. Everything is fine. A-okay. Never been better.

But Travis groans quietly, face scrunching as he shifts to press closer to him, voice slurred by drowsiness. “You’ve always been enough. And awesome. You’ve always been awesome and super cool too.”

Will bites back a smile and hugs Travis closer to him, buries his face in the neck. Before he could speak though, a voice cut through the dead night. Clear and lucid and so quiet, so unlike the spirited person he knows, Will can almost pretend he just hallucinated it if not for the warmth radiating from his snuggle buddy’s nape.

“You helped more people than you ever let down, you know. It’s okay to grieve and mourn. You don’t need to pretend it doesn’t hurt. It’s not a fault to care and be kind. Just please don’t drown in it.”

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

road less travelled - m. tkachuk

I was throwing together a list of ideas yesterday, and this one stuck out to me for some reason. So I started writing, thankfully had a pretty free weekend, and finished today! It was a fun piece to right, I hope you all enjoy it! As always, I read all my tags, so reblogs are a writer’s best friend! You’re also more than welcome to come into my inbox and yell at me if that’s more your speed.

word count: 4.5k+

March 18 (thurs)

Elsie couldn’t believe she had gotten herself in this situation again. Every time she woke up in his bed she swore it was the last time, but one drunken mistake turned into another, which turned into a threepeat, and now she wasn’t so sure it had been a mistake in the first place. There was just something about Matthew Tkachuk, something so intoxicating that she was able to ignore the every fiber of her being that was screaming at her to stop this, stop things before it turned sour. Stop it before her brother found out. 

It had been easy enough to keep things from Johnny when they first started hooking up; they’d meet at a crowded bar, somewhere where the cover of anonymity was all but guaranteed, or a late-night text, a few words by the other communicating everything they needed to know. He was lonely. And Elsie Gaudreau was the only one who could help. It had been easy enough to keep things from Johnny at the start, but then they started texting before 11 PM, and then they decided they were exclusive, and then, Matty decided that it was about time that they put a label on it. And suddenly it wasn’t so easy to keep their secret anymore. 

The team knew that he was seeing someone, but much to everyone’s surprise, he had said precious little about their relationship. He called her Leigh in the locker room, or out with the boys — her grandmother’s middle name, one he felt toed the line as well as possible between complete fabrication and some semblance of the truth — and they knew the couple had been together for a few months, that she made him laugh, and that he was more into her than they had seen him act with anyone in recent memory. She didn’t come to events because she was shy, Matthew said, and he didn’t want to subject her to the kind of spotlight he knew she might be scrutinized under the moment they went public. He wasn’t lying when he said she’d been to games — Elsie usually made it to a few a month, usually on Johnny’s invitation — but left out the part where she wore the number 13 in the stands instead of 19, or where she caught a ride home with her brother after media availability instead of her boyfriend, the man she’d been sleeping with for the past five months. 

“Leaving already?” Matty mumbled, slinging one arm over her waist as Elsie tried to sit up. 

She twisted over, kissing him softly. His stubble tickled her cheek. “Got class, remember?” Of course he remembered. Class was the whole reason she was in Alberta; most of it, at least. She had done her undergrad in astrophysics at Wellesley in Massachusetts, and when the time had come for her to decide where to do her graduate studies, Johnny had been all too quick to offer up Calgary. “It’s a great program!” he had said. And it was, but Elsie also had her doubts that her brother knew much about astronomy beyond the ability to find the Great Dipper on a clear day. They had always been close, even when he went to go play in Dubuque when she was 13, but their time together had naturally been more than a little limited ever since he turned pro. So when the opportunity arose for them to be in the same city full-time for the first time in a decade, he was jumping at the prospect of being able to look after his younger sister again. And, especially after he offered to pay her tuition, she wasn’t about to say no. International fees didn’t come cheap. 

Matty groaned, pawing at her hand as she got up from the bed, throwing the covers back over him. “Do you have to go?” he whined. 

Elsie rolled her eyes. “It’s an 8 AM, and it’s,” she glanced at her watch, “already 7. I’d love to stay in bed with you, babe, but I’ve still got to eat and get dressed and grab all my stuff. Plus, it’s at least fifteen minutes to drive and find a place to park, so I’ve got to build that in too.”

“I still think it’s dumb that they make you pay to park at your own school. You’re already paying tuition, plus you TA that one course, so it’s not like you’re doing nothing for them,” he said.

“It’s dumb,” she agreed.

Matthew clicked his tongue. “It’s highway robbery, is what it is, Els.”

She laughed, bending over the bed to run a hand through his curls. She loved those curls. “Be that as it may, Matty dear, I’ve still got to get there on time. Experimental space physics waits for no man.” 

He pouted. “Fine.”

Elsie shot him a sympathetic look. “I’ll try to swing by after my classes let out, how does that sound?”

“Can’t. Johnny and some of the guys are going to be over after morning skate, we’re going out to lunch then they’re coming back here. I’ll call you if they don’t stay too late?” he proposed, looking over at her. 

She gave a tight smile. “Works for me.”

---

Matthew couldn’t believe he had managed to keep things from Johnny for as long as he had. As pretty much anyone could tell you, he was the world’s worst secret-keeper off the ice, and even more so when it came to his friends. And every time Johnny would lean over to him in the locker room, showing him a picture Elsie had posted on Instagram, or recount a story from the intro astronomy class she TA’d, he had to bite his lip and pretend like he hadn’t been the one to take the picture, or he hadn’t been the first to hear about the kid who didn’t believe you couldn’t see the Southern Cross from Alberta. As much as Matthew hated it, he knew that part of what made his relationship with Elsie so exhilarating was the illicit nature of the whole thing. Something about sneaking around with your best friend’s little sister made everything that much more exciting. 

The first time they hooked up hadn’t been a mistake, but it hadn’t been planned in any possible sense of the word. Elsie had moved to Calgary in August, a few weeks before everyone had stated trickling back into Alberta for training camp. Matthew was pretty sure it was mostly Johnny not wanting her to only be surrounded by “space nerds” — his words, not Matty’s, because while he had endless admiration for his sister’s dedication and academic skill, he understood approximateky 0.2% of what she was studying — all day, so by late September or so, she had established herself as a core member of the Flames’ “going-out” group. Which led to one particular night at a bar in October, with Johnny having already headed home thanks to an early breakfast with his fiancée and most of the rest of the group leaving around midnight. And it was a Friday, so Elsie had let herself have a few more drinks than usual; the team didn’t have practice until noon, so Matthew let himself shrug off any worry of a hangover. And Matty and Elsie already knew each other, so they got to talking, then they got to drinking, then they got to kissing. And then Elsie cancelled her Uber to get into Matthew’s, and before she knew it they were stumbling through his doorway, her fingers tangled in his curls and her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked her back to his bedroom.

There were a few people who knew the truth, and only a few people. Matthew had Brady and his mom. His logic being, as soon as Brady knew he was even vaguely interested in someone, he never took no for an answer and would have annoyed her name out of him regardless of whether or not he was being particularly forthcoming with any personal information. His mom because if he needed any advice, if he needed someone to turn to that wasn’t the incredibly vague commentary he gave the boys in the locker room, he wanted to have someone there who wouldn’t judge him and would have his best interests at heart. Okay, scratch that. Chantal definitely judged him, lifting her eyebrows over FaceTime as he called to break the news. She knew Elsie from the one trip with Johnny she’d made out to St. Louis and the times the Tkachuks had travelled up to Canada to visit the boys, and as much as she told Matthew that keeping it a secret was just about the worst thing he could do to his friend, she couldn’t say she was exactly surprised he had fallen for Elsie. 

Elsie had Ines, her best friend from college. It was easier with her, much more straightforward with a lot fewer of the conflicts of interest she felt she got with talking with anyone in the “hockey world.” Ines knew hockey, she obviously had met Johnny and some of the other boys before. Wellesley was only a twenty-five minute drive away from the Boston city center, so the one time a year the Bruins played Calgary at home she’d go with Elsie. But Ines was compassionate, objective, and one of the smartest people Elsie had ever met in her life. She didn’t have any stake in the matter that wasn’t named Elsie Gaudreau, and she wasn’t about to mince her words because she was afraid of what Matty — or Johnny for that matter — would think. So there were people who knew, but the list was very short and, at least for the time being, they wanted to keep it that way.

For anyone on the outside looking in, who didn’t know them as well, they might have said that it was a long time coming. “It” being Matthew and Elsie’s relationship. And, if she was being honest, Elsie might have agreed. She knew Matty since he joined the team; he and her brother were thick as thieves from the beginning, and he’d visited them on the East Coast pretty much every summer since his rookie year. Visited Johnny. Not her. Johnny had made it crystal-clear from the beginning that under no circumstances was their relationship ever allowed to proceed beyond friendly. 

And it didn’t. For four years, almost, it didn’t. Sure, Elsie may have carried a torch for him from the moment they were introduced, but she was far too concerned about Matty’s physical and mental well-being to pursue anything. Even if, once or twice, she could have sworn that he felt something too. But then she moved to Calgary for grad school, and Johnny started bringing her out with the boys, and she finally got to see him in his element, really in his element. She got to see Alternate Captain Matthew Tkachuk, the one who’d go to the ends of the earth for his team, who would score goals and drop gloves and do whatever needed to be done whenever it needed to be done. And it didn’t hurt that Matty looked hot as fuck whenever he got into fights, his curls flying as he stuffed his helmet under an arm, skating over to the penalty box. It only hurt that she had let herself fall for him.

March 22 (mon)

Johnny was over at Matthew’s apartment; he had come over under a pretense of going over some tape from their last road trip, but it had quickly devolved into a very heated game of Super Smash Bros before the pair took a break for dinner. “Dude, your laundry’s in the way,” Johnny said as he made his way to the bathroom, Matthew staring at the half-cooked pot of pasta on his stove. 

“It’s clean, you can just dump it in my room,” he called down the hall. He didn’t hear the tell-tale click of the bathroom door, so he looked down the hallway, only to be greeted by a site he hoped he’d never have to see. 

A conspiratorial grin on his face, Johnny held a black, lacy pair of panties between two fingers. His sister’s panties. The half-second it took for Matthew to reach, jumping forward and grabbing them out of his hands, unfortunately wasn’t enough. He held them behind his back, almost as if he was hoping that if Johnny couldn’t see them, they weren’t really there. 

“Leigh’s?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. 

Matthew rubbed his temples with the hand that wasn’t holding the panties. “Yeah. Just...Pretend you never saw those, okay?” 

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Who would I tell? The boys? They wouldn’t care. You? You already know. Elsie?” Matthew froze. “She’d just slap me and get mad at invading your privacy.”

“And you are,” Matthew mumbles, stuffing the panties into his back pocket. 

Johnny’s brow furrowed; he leaned up against the doorframe. “Seriously, though, Chucky. What’s going on with you and this girl? You know everyone respects your decision to keep things quiet and private, but I’m your best friend on the team.” The look on his face betrayed the hurt he felt inside. “I would have thought you’d say something, to me at least.”

Matthew let out a deep breath. How was he going to talk his way out of this one? “I know, and I feel bad that it seems like I’ve been keeping things from you.” But he was keeping things. Very important things. “I think with Leigh and I, we just want to take things slow, make sure what we have is real. And I think it is,” he said, hazarding a glance at his friend. “I don’t know if it’s love, yet, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a girl before. But we both agree that we need to know before we open it up to the opinions of the rest of the world, before she gets shoved into the public eye. And she understands what that’s like better than most, but it’s still not fair.” 

Johnny’s ears perked. “Better than most?” Matthew froze. “What is she, like an Instagram model or something?” 

He smirked, pushing him with one hand. “No, she’s not.” 

Johnny realized quickly that he wasn’t going to be getting any more information out of Matthew anytime soon, so much to his chagrin, he dropped it. Johnny left Matthew’s apartment that night with a weird taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. And he didn’t like that. 

April 3 (sat) 

Everyone was at Gio’s house, one of his quarterly team barbecues that had quickly become one of Matthew’s favorite things as soon as he joined the team. By “everyone,” that meant the players and their families, kids, partners, parents if they were in town. Johnny hadn’t invited Elsie — he assumed she’d be getting ready for finals, which was true, but Matthew knew she could have spared an afternoon — and Matthew couldn’t think of a way to invite her himself without arousing suspicion, so she was back in her downtown apartment while the boys were busy grilling up an inhuman amount of meat for dinner.

After everyone ate and the dishwasher had been loaded, someone decided to light the fire pit, and the conversation turned to relationships. For once, Matty didn’t tune out.“It’s the little things, you know?” Gio said, tipping back his beer. “When I see Lauren in my jersey at the games, or when she’s fallen asleep on the couch waiting for us to get back from a road trip. Makes you realize that what really matters isn’t so much how many goals you score or how big a contract you have. It boils down to the quality of people in your life, and we’ve got some good ones.” 

“It’s the same thing with Leigh and I,” Matthew said. His words caused everyone to listen. There were precious few times Matthew willingly volunteered information about his relationship, and as much as his teammates genuinely did respect their penchant for privacy, that didn’t mean they wanted any fewer details. “Sometimes when she stays over and doesn’t have anywhere to be the next day, I’ll walk out to the kitchen and she’ll just be dancing around the stove, making pancakes and singing along to a Fleetwood Mac song. Usually takes her a minute or two to notice me.” 

The guys laughed, and Matty took a long pull of his beer. He wasn’t really risking anything by saying that. Plenty of people liked Fleetwood Mac. “And she’s got this little scar behind her right ear, got it from falling out of a tree as a kid. She always tries to cover it up, but I like it better when she lets it show.” Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Matty’s frustration about not being able to say anything about the woman he was falling in love with finally coming to a head, that made him say something he maybe shouldn’t have. 

He realized, as he hesitantly met Johnny’s eyes, and could see the gears in his head turning, that he definitely shouldn’t have said anything. Johnny was looking in between his beer and Matthew, then Matthew and his beer, then his hands and Matthew’s, which were tapping nervously on the arm of his deck chair. And then he started to put things together. The orange blossom soap at Matthew’s apartment — Elsie’s favorite scents were citrus. Fleetwood Mac was one of her favorite bands. Their maternal grandma’s middle name was Leigh. And the scar. He remembered the day she got it, falling off an oak tree in their backyard in New Jersey, running into the house to get their mom and then in the car to the emergency room with a six-year-old Elsie who needed four stitches from the accident. And with an extremely uncomfortable feeling, he realized that that more likely than not, that meant the pair of panties he had picked up that one afternoon in Matthew’s apartment had been hers. He wanted to throw up. 

Matthew was sweating as Johnny finally looked him in the eyes, realizing that the secret he and Elsie had tried so hard to keep for so long wasn’t going to be a secret much longer. “Matthew,” he began, his voice dangerously low. Matthew winced. He couldn’t remember the last time Johnny had called him by his first name. “Her name’s not Leigh, is it.” He said it like a statement, because, well, it was. He knew the answer, he just needed to hear it from someone other than himself, that the one thing he had asked of his best friend had apparently proven too much. 

Matthew shook his head slowly. “No.” Everyone else’s eyes flitted between the pair, Markstrom and Gio and Andersson and everyone else very clearly confused. 

“Something going on here?” Gio asked carefully. 

“Tell them what her name is, Matthew.” Matthew squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn’t see everyone’s reactions, everyone’s disappointed faces, maybe they wouldn’t happen. 

“Elsie.” 

“Elsie what?” he prompted. 

“Elsie Gaudreau,” Matthew finished. You could have heard a pin drop, the backyard was so silent.

 “Dude, you’re dating his sister?” Noah asked. 

Matthew nodded, one hand still tightly gripping his bottle. 

“How long?” Johnny asked, looking him straight in the eyes. 

“Just under six months,” Matthew admitted. 

He sucked a breath in. “You’ve been dating my sister for six fucking months and nobody ever thought to maybe, I don’t know, tell me?”

“It didn’t start as dating, we were just—” 

Johnny cut him off. “I can see where that’s going, and I don’t want to fucking hear it, Matthew. This was the one thing I asked you to not do. You’re a fucking All-Star NHL player, Matt. You could have any girl you wanted, you could wheel half of Calgary and I wouldn’t care as long as everyone was into it. But my little sister? The one person I told you years ago was off-limits? You had to fall for Elsie?” 

“I—” Matthew stammered as he set his drink down. “I didn’t expect anything to happen. Neither of us did. But then it did, and I fell for her, and for some ungodly reason she’s decided to stay with me, and I don’t know, Johnny,” he finished weakly. “I felt terrible about keeping it from you, and for what it’s worth, Elsie does too. I feel awful about how you found out, you deserved better than this. But I won’t apologize for my feelings.”

Johnny scoffed, standing up and grabbing his keys. “She deserves better.”

April 4 (sun)

The first thing Matthew did the next day was go over to Elsie’s house. He had already called her the night before to tell her what happened; even if he didn’t, she had the numbers of half the guys on the team and more than one had texted her to check in after seeing how Johnny left things. When he opened the door, Elsie wasn’t doing well, to put it mildly. She was sitting on her couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a barely-touched mug of tea on the coffee table in front of her. She gave him a weak smile as he walked over. “Hey.”

He bent down, kissing the top of her head. “Hey, Els. How are you doing?”

“Not great.” At least she didn’t try to hide, not like it would have been any use with Matthew. He could read her almost as well as her own parents could. “I tried to call him last night and this morning, sent a few texts, just trying to explain. Asking to talk. But he hasn’t responded to anything, I called my mom and she said she hasn’t heard anything either.”

Matthew sat on the couch beside her. “He hasn’t talked to Gio either.”

She rested her head on his shoulder; his fingers carded through the soft hair at the base of her neck. “I feel like it’s my fault,” Elsie said despondently. Coming in between her brother and one of his best friends was the last thing she would have wanted, and she was starting to feel like everything was falling apart because of her. “It never would have happened if I wasn’t there,” she mumbled into Matty’s shoulder. 

Matthew immediately shook his head. “No, no, don’t say things like that, babe. It’s not your fault, don’t put all the blame on you. Everyone dropped the ball on this one, and you shouldn’t have to take responsibility for how your brother decided to react.”

They were jolted out of their relative peace by a frantic knocking on the door. Elsie furrowed her brow. “I’m not expecting anyone?” she questioned as she threw the blanket off of her lap, She opened the door to see Johnny, staring bashfully down at his hands, an apologetic look on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

Elsie raised her eyebrows. “You should be.” After a moment, she stood aside to let him in the door.

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Matthew’s eyes. “I talked to Mom, she kind of chewed me out about the whole thing. Not talking to you when you called or texted, the way I kind of blew up at you yesterday,” he nodded at Matthew, “but mostly the leaving. Neither of you deserved that. You deserved to have a chance to sit down, explain yourselves, and have an adult conversation.” A flash of regret shot through his eyes, which steeled again as soon as he saw Matthew’s arms around Elsie, who had returned to the couch. “But that doesn’t mean I like it. I’m still pissed that you went behind my back, and that you two decided to do the one thing I asked you not to do, and how you blindsided me—”

“You’re not my dad, Johnny. You don’t get to decide how I live my life,” Elsie said sharply.

He screwed his eyes shut. “I know, but I love you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, and—”

“No more ‘ands.’ I know you don’t like it, Johnny. You’ve made that much very clear,” Elsie said in frustration. “Pretty much everyone knows that if you could make a list of guys you wanted to date your little sister, Matthew Tkachuk would be in last place. But just think,” she paused, looking up at her brother. “Think about all the things you said to look for in a guy when I started getting old enough to date. Divorce who Matty is from your feelings about us being together. You always gave me three things. Someone who cares about me. Someone who respects me. And someone who’s honest.” Johnny nodded, his hands in his pockets. “Matty is all of that and more, Johnny. He treats me better than anyone I’ve ever been with, and I love him. And that’s what you’ve always wanted for me. Nothing more and nothing less.” 

Johnny leaned up against the bookshelf. “I guess you’re right.” 

Elsie cracked a tiny grin. “I’m sorry, what was that?” 

He groaned in response. “Don’t make me say it again, I’m not going to.” She shrugged. He looked between her and Matthew, sighing. “I overreacted, and I’m sorry about that. If you love him,” Elsie smiled, “and he cares about you,” Matthew frantically nodded, “then there’s really nothing more I could ask for. I think it just hurt that you two felt like you couldn’t come to me as soon as things progressed, as soon as you got together.” 

“We were afraid you’d react like you did,” Elsie said, reaching over to grab Matty’s hand. “We never wanted to hurt you, and I might only be speaking for myself, but I think I was worried you’d try to come between us, or say something about the relationship, or…” She trailed off. “I don’t know. Sure, you shouldn’t have reacted that way, but you’re not the only one to blame. We shouldn’t have kept things from you, or from Mom and Dad for that matter.” 

Johnny laughed. “Honestly? I’m pretty sure Mom called it from the beginning.” Elsie frowned. “What do you mean?” “You know when Matty came over to Jersey in the summer when you guys were about 20, and we all took that vacation on the beach?” She nodded. “There was one time when she saw you together, running into the ocean together. You were laughing as hard as I’ve ever seen you, Matthew was splashing water back at you, and you kept trying to tackle him into the waves. Mom, Dad, and I were back up on the beach. She just looked at you two, looked at me, and smiled.” 

Matthew rubbed his thumb over the back of Elsie’s hand. “You think she knew?” he asked curiously. 

Johnny nodded. “I think she knew even before you guys figured it out for yourselves.”

“How could she tell?” Elsie asked. 

Johnny gave a soft smile, looking over towards the couple. “You’ve never been a good liar, Elsie. And you can’t hide love.”

[a-sirens-melody]

i can’t believe it’s true, i get to love you

It’s finally here!! I’m so excited to share my first drakepad fic. Get ready for 5k words of absolute sap kjskhdg (I’ll reblog with the link to my ao3)

This is part of a series I’m developing too, Let’s Get Engaged! so there will be more of this au.

Enjoy!

***

“Uh, DW? Why are we parked across the street from Mr. McDee’s movie studio?” He heard Launchpad ask behind him. “I don't think W.A.N.D.A said there was any crime here.”

“I, um.” His hands were shaking. “I have something I want to show you.” He double checked the brakes of the Ratcatcher; he didn't need to crash his only ride into the wall as the Thunderquack was already in need of repairs. That sounded like something that would happen to Drake Mallard, not Darkwing Duck. He needed to be Darkwing Duck for just a little longer.

Patrol had been busy tonight, to the surprise of both partners. They'd had to foil seven house break ins, five robberies downtown (three of which had been at the mall), and even got dragged into breaking up a bar fight on the other side of St. Canard. That last one was an unexpected surprise, but at least the stench of alcohol and yelling about… sports? Mothers? Darkwing had no clue what it was even about. He wasn’t sure what higher power he had pleased, but he was grateful for the distraction from the precious cargo he had safely tucked away in his jacket pocket.

He had been planning this for one month, two weeks, and three days. Not that he's been counting or anything. The big moment was almost here, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

Because tonight, Drake was going to propose to Launchpad.

They had talked about this before. Actually, Launchpad was the one to bring up marriage. A year ago, two years into their relationship, the pilot had very bluntly asked him, “so what do you think about marriage?” In that moment, Drake thought that all his head injuries acquired from three years of crime fighting had caught up to him and his brain was truly not working.

After recovering from his mini heart attack, the two discussed and came to the conclusion that both of them really liked the idea of becoming husbands. Loved it, actually. But neither was ready to handle all the planning and stress of a wedding yet. Hell, Launchpad had only been living with Drake and Gosalyn for a couple of months.

Still, that didn't stop Drake from imagining the scenario at least once a month. Launchpad kneeling down with a ring in a pretty box and scooping up Drake to kiss him. Drake getting on one knee instead and offering a golden or silver ring (he hadn't been sure, at first, what color would suit his beloved best) after an incredibly sappy speech. 

What was that he said before about planning for a month? Scratch that out. He'd been dreaming of the moment for a year, but started considering for real three months ago. He asked Launchpad again for his opinion on the matter, just to check that they were still on the same page, and almost died on the spot when his answer was now a confident “yes.” If they lived in a cartoon, Drake surely would have floated off the ground surrounded by tiny pink hearts.

He thought about any and all locations that marked a special milestone in their relationship. The movie studio where they first met, the tower where they constantly met on hero business, the McDuck Enterprises building where they found their first supervillains together and met his future daughter. In the end, the former won because it felt like that was the true start of them. Because of their meeting there, the events of the past three years occurred. That point in time marked the beginning of many changes in Drake's life.

He hadn't spent one month, two weeks, and three days scrambling for a location. That sounded utterly unromantic and incredibly unprepared. No, that was the amount of time he had spent finding the courage to actually ask.

Now the moment had finally arrived. And he was not backing down.

After making sure the motorcycle was properly parked, he hopped out and strode to Launchpad, offering a hand. His boyfriend still looked confused but smiled at the gesture and took it, getting out of the seat. “Such a gentleman.”

“I try.” Darkwing flashed a grin back. Thankfully, his hands had stopped shaking and his voice betrayed none of the frayed nerves within the valiant vigilante.

They continued to hold hands as they crossed the street. Once on the sidewalk, they looked up at the building. It had been closed for the night already, the lights dimmed and the only soul seen was a lone security guard on patrol.

“Man.” Darkwing was drawn out of his daydreams and looked over to Launchpad. “It's been a long time since I've seen this place. Brings back memories, huh?”

Darkwing hummed in agreement. For a while after the failure of Darkwing: First Darkness, the only memories he had of this place were bitter. It was here that his big break as an actor had literally gone up in flames before his very eyes. It was here that his idol Jim Starling, a man he had looked up to the moment he laid eyes on the first episode of Darkwing Duck, had tried to kill him only to be buried in the remains of the set in a sick sense of karma.

But after spending more time with Launchpad, he had grown to see it as a landmark of new beginnings in his life. He hadn't met the pilot here, but they really began to bond when Launchpad broke into his trailer. After trying not to damage several previous pieces of merch, they quit fighting each other and started playing with Drake’s action figures, of all things. As odd as the circumstances were, it was nice. Somewhere along the way, he told the other duck about what he personally called his origin story (yes, he knew it was nerdy, but it felt right and no one was going to make him stop).

And Launchpad didn't make fun of him or call him ridiculous for keeping a beat up lunchbox after all those years. No, he nodded his head and looked on in… admiration. Then he yelled out something about getting Jim to stop fighting Drake and talk together about how they could both fix the movie and. Well. They both knew how that went.

Demise of Darkwing aside, it was the first time in Drake’s life that he had felt completely understood. He didn't have to hide his love of Darkwing for fear of rejection, instead he was encouraged to geek out as much as he wished.

And when the rain machine stopped and the ashes of set pieces and the dream of a starry-eyed boy were all that remained, when Drake thought all hope was lost, what did Launchpad do? He told him to get back up. He convinced Drake that he could become Darkwing Duck for real. He even let Drake autograph his poster, an action which he'd dreamed of doing the moment he started acting.

Three years of what he would call his best (and first) romantic relationship, one alien invasion, one spirited little girl, and another found family full of feisty adventurers later, Drake wouldn't change the events of his life for anything. He’s tried so many times to tell Launchpad how much he appreciates him and the warmth and the love he’s brought, but it always feels like words are never enough. That doesn't mean he won't stop trying, though, as he said, “I knew coming here would change my life all those years ago. I'm so glad I was wrong.”

He snuck a peek at Launchpad and was pleasantly surprised to see his boyfriend blushing. “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Never thought the worst movie I'd ever seen could open the doors to the best years of my life.”

Darkwing choked and looked away again, cheek feathers turning pink. “I-I, uh. Yeah. Me too.” He squeezed his boyfriend's hand as he tried to regain his composure. When he succeeded, he began again the speech he had spent hours practicing and pacing in his room over. “I thought all I needed to make my life complete was a starring role in a big movie. That I could inspire other kids like me as a solo hero.” 

He faced Launchpad again, softly smiling. “But you. You crashed into my life,” he raised his hands here at Launchpad’s smirk, “pun not intended. You showed me that I could have a good family, I could surround myself with people that really loved me for who I was. Adopting Gosalyn, meeting the Ducks- I never would've done that if you hadn't pushed me to. Hell, I wouldn't even be Darkwing Duck without you.” He stepped closer and cupped the pilot’s cheek. “And, of course, you will always have a special place in my heart.”

Launchpad’s eyes widened and there was a faint hitch in his breath. “Drake, what are you saying?”

“Launchpad, I-” Just as he was about to reach in his pocket for the ring, Drake stopped.

He still had the mask on. He was still Darkwing Duck.

No, no, he couldn't propose like this. Sure, Launchpad knew Darkwing Duck and Drake Mallard were one and the same and that it was still his boyfriend under the mask and ego but- but it was the principle of the thing, okay!?

He wanted to ask the love of his life to marry him in honesty and vulnerability. And to do that, he had to be Drake Mallard. He had to find somewhere more private.

“Wait.” Darkwing grabbed Launchpad's hand and began to run to the nearest alleyway. “I need to do this with no risk of being spotted.”

“Um. What are you doing now?” His partner asked as he shoved themselves into the dark, quiet alley between what looked like a jewelry store and a hair salon. Launchpad looked confused and- wait, were those tears?

Shit, shit, shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen! That wasn't part of the plan! “Honey! No no no, don't cry, I just wanted-” Scolding himself, he tore off his hat and mask. There. Now Drake Mallard could take out his ring and propose and hopefully calm his partner down. “I wanted to ask if-”

He reached his hand into his pocket and froze.

There was nothing there.

Frantically, he searched his other pocket and checked both of them again. His heart sank as he came up empty handed, and he remembered where the ring was.

He hid the box in one of the boxes of smoke bombs earlier that day. In his panic to get out onto the streets and running through his plan and his words ninety nine times, he must've forgotten to take it with him.

Which meant that his fool-proof proposal plan was no longer fool-proof.

“Dammit!” Drake hissed, angry tears forming. He could've kicked the wall, but he didn't want to scare LP. He tried to ignore the hot shame simmering inside him as he covered his face with his hand. “God, I'm sorry, sunshine, I left something-”

“Drake?” Launchpad's voice was hushed and gentle, the complete opposite of Drake's current mental state.

Drake shushed the voices in his head and looked up.

Launchpad was giving him a soft, knowing smile and his eyes were still watery but he didn't look sad. Actually, he looked thrilled. “Are you... asking me to marry you?”

Even if his original plans were ruined, Drake was still going to see this through. So he took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, met his boyfriend's gaze, and said, “yeah. Yeah, I am. At least, I tried to.” He pinched his fingers in between his eyes and huffed a sigh. “Would've helped if I hadn't forgotten the ring. You deserve a romantic proposal, and I somehow failed at the bare minimum.” He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up.

“Hey. You didn't fail at the bare minimum.” Launchpad was standing closer now, determination in his gaze. “You took me to the place that marks the beginning of our friendship and gave a really sweet speech about how I've made your life better. The fact that you don't have a ring to give me doesn't make that any less meaningful.”

“God.” Drake shuddered, relief flooding his body. He'd been so caught up in his setback that his actions earlier had completely slipped his mind. Launchpad was right. The ring wasn't the most important part; the proposal itself was. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, overwhelmed with emotion. “I love you so much.”

Launchpad pressed his beak to the top of his head in a kiss, and Drake soon felt a familiar pair of warm arms snake around him. “I love you too, babe.”

For a few minutes, neither spoke and simply basked in the presence of their lover. Drake found himself processing the past few minutes more and discovered another realization.

He hadn't gotten a clear answer yet.

He was strongly tempted to bury his head further into Launchpad's chest, but he had another important question. Plus, if he had to ask more than once, he would run the risk of dying on the spot from sheer suspense. “Um, so. I didn't screw up my proposal to you.” Launchpad gave a comforting hum as Drake lifted his face to make eye contact once again. “And it made you happy, but. You didn't really answer my question. So. Launchpad, will you marry me?”

His smile was brighter than the sun. “Yes!” His hands drifted up to Drake's side and picked him up. His fiancé- fiancé, oh god, it's real now, not just a dream- threw him three inches into the air, laughing. Drake smiled and joined in, then cupped his hands around Launchpad's face and pulled him into a kiss once he was safe again in his arms.

Drake heard Launchpad sigh and felt his partner tighten his arms around his waist. Drake opened his beak, deepening the kiss. Launchpad made a pleased hum before doing the same, and Drake's mind went pleasantly blank.

It felt like hours had passed by the time Launchpad pulled away. Drake bit back a whine and lowered his hands to wrap around his fiancé’s neck.

“Okay, as much as I want to keep kissing you, we should probably go back to the tower. I don't think either of us is gonna be able to focus on patrol anyways.” Launchpad flashed a small smirk, but his eyes were still sparkling. “Also, you need to put your mask back on. It would be really unromantic if someone found your secret identity out,” he added, as fleeting as an afterthought.

Drake let out a small laugh. “You're right, that would totally kill the mood. Could you let me down, please?” He was gently lowered to the ground at that and took Launchpad's hand again. “Oh! Also!” He had gotten carried away in the moment, but there was another good reason to go back to the tower. “Your ring is there.”

“Did you hide it and then forget to get it back out when you were getting ready to go on patrol?” Launchpad guessed.

“Yup.” They started walking back to the Ratcatcher, swinging their clasped hands back and forth. Drake felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. He did it! And Launchpad said yes! Even if it wasn't exactly perfect, he would remember tonight as one of the best nights of his life.

His fiancé suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Wait. I forgot to tell you something.”

Drake turned to face him. Something about that statement made him wary. “What?”

His figurative feathers were smoothed over when Launchpad smiled again. “You're not the only one who was planning to propose.”

Drake's entire face went red, and as he could faintly hear the other duck say, “I'll show you when we get back”, amidst his stuttering.

“You're gonna be the death of me someday, LP, did you know that?” Drake sighed when he had stopped bi panicking. He scrubbed his face with his hand and walked over to the motorcycle, hopping on.

“Better me than a supervillain.” He heard Launchpad walk over and get on behind him, felt strong arms wrap around him in anticipation. “Besides, you love me,” was whispered in his ear.

“Okay, we're going now,” Drake choked out. He was definitely blushing again. He turned on the motorcycle and pulled out onto the road. 

With that, they sped off into the night.

***

Once he parked the Ratcatcher, Drake practically scrambled off and sprinted to the pile of boxes in the far right corner labeled Smoke Bombs! Do NOT Touch!! Launchpad was right behind him, chuckling under his breath.

“Which one, which one…” He muttered under his breath, looking for the one with the marker he had put on it. A minute later, he found a box with a large black X on its side. “Ah ha!”

He stuck his hand in the box…

And immediately set off a few smoke bombs.

“Okay, note to self,” Drake said, coughing, “don’t hide your engagement ring with little delicate spheres full of smoke.” He waved one hand around to clear the air and used the other to very gently pry the ring box out.

“Tada!” He opened it to show Launchpad the dark purple ring he had chosen. “Your ring.”

“No way!”

“Um. What?” Okay, definitely not the reaction he was expecting. He tried not to let his nerves get the best of him again. “Is it the wrong shade? Or would you rather have a normal ring?”

“Huh? Oh, no! It’s beautiful!” Launchpad rushed to reassure him. “I just think it’s kinda funny.”

What? How was this funny? “Launchpad, you’re not making any sense.”

“Here, I’ll show you!” Launchpad pulled a similar back velvet box out of the pocket on his left sleeve. He flipped it open to reveal a ring small enough to fit Drake’s ring finger.

A ring that was the exact same purple as Launchpad’s.

“We got the same ring!” They exclaimed at the same time, meeting each other’s gaze and giggling.

“Oh my god. What kind of soulmate magic is this?” Drake couldn’t believe it. This felt like the sort of thing that only happened in fairy tales or really cheesy rom coms. “Hold on a second. Is this what you were doing that one time you said you were picking up lunch?”

“Yeah.” Launchpad said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure how to explain a trip to the jewelry store without giving it away. Plus, it was a pretty spur of the moment thing. You know how bad I am at lying.”

Drake chuckled. “You said you were on your way to Hamburger Hippo at ten am. I was definitely confused. Why purple, though?”

“Gold and silver didn’t feel like they fit you, and I wanted a ring that would represent something special to both of us. So, the first thing that came to mind was Darkwing Duck! ‘Cause you love it as much as I do, maybe even more, and it’s what we bonded over first and you’re Darkwing Duck, so. It felt right.”

Drake could relate to that. As fun as ring shopping had been, it hadn't started out as the easiest task on his list. Launchpad didn't strike Drake as much of a jewelry person. He had never seen Launchpad wear any jewelry casually, and the fanciest thing his work uniform required was a tie. Even on the few occasions his partner wore a suit, the cufflinks had been provided.

There was a slight blush on his fiancé's cheeks and his hands flapped as he rambled, and Drake felt positively smitten. Again, what kind of soulmate magic was this? It had to be magic; what other explanation could there possibly be for the way they seemed to think as one? “That’s so sweet of you, LP. Actually, I got your ring for the exact same reason. Except for you being Darkwing, ‘cause. You know. You’re my partner.”

“And you’re my Darkwing.” Launchpad whispered, gazing with the softest eyes and his words pulled Drake under a tidal wave of emotions. His Darkwing, his Darkwing, his Darkwing-

“You sap.” Just as he thought he was done crying. He wiped away tears. His face hurt from smiling so wide and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Launchpad grinned just as widely. “Neither can I. Before we go back home, though, can I ask you one more thing? Two, actually.”

Drake took a deep breath and nodded, fanning his face.

“I know you asked me first, but I really wanted to ask you and I’ve got my ring so-” Launchpad was bouncing up and down on his tiptoes, running his hands over the zipper of his jacket. He looked like a puppy, all frantic energy and big hopeful eyes. “Can I ask too? Please?”

Drake laughed and nodded. “Of course, sunshine.”

“Yes!” With that, Launchpad cleared his throat and got down on one knee. “Drake, you’re so special to me. You’re the first partner I’ve had that really understood me. That loves my favorite show as much as I do, and knows what it’s like to build your personality around it. You’ve been there for me in the best and worst times, and you’ve given me the best adventure I could’ve asked for: living my childhood dream with someone I love and that loves me in the same way. You already know my answer, but I need to know-

“Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Launchpad. Yes.” His heart felt like it was going to burst. God, it was really happening. This was better than any lovestruck dream he had conjured in the past year. Drake ran over to the other duck and flung his arms around his waist. He was once again surrounded by strong warm arms and sighed happily.

“We did it. We’re gonna get married.” He could hear Launchpad’s voice rumble low in his chest. “Can we have a Darkwing Duck themed wedding?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Drake pulled his head back up, eyes sparkling. “We could totally coordinate our suits and the decorations and the cake, oh my god, we’re gonna get to eat wedding cake together, and-” He paused his rambling as a realization struck him. “Hold on. Is it gonna look weird if I have a wedding themed after myself?”

“I mean.” Launchpad blinked. “We’re both talking about the TV show Darkwing Duck, right?” Drake nodded. “Then, I think it’s fine. If anyone comes that doesn’t know you’re also Darkwing Duck, they’ll probably think of it as an obsessed fanboy thing. And everyone that does know, will probably understand.” He squeezed Drake’s hand with a grin. “It’s our wedding.”

“Our wedding,” Drake echoed. Oh my god. They were having a wedding. Together! Because they were getting married to each other! He started flapping his hands to try to let out some of his pent up joy. “Our wedding! Oh my gosh, we need to tell people! And send invitations and start writing our vows but I don’t know if that’s something you have to do separately or you can coordinate somehow and-”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get all that sorted out,” Launchpad responded, taking a hold of Drake’s beak and tilting his head up to look at him. His eyes were warm. “But, sweetheart, it’s almost three am and I don’t know if anything’s even open. I’m excited too, but you gotta take a deep breath.”

Drake did just that. “Right, right. Don’t need to pass out before we get home. That would also kill the mood.”

Launchpad chuckled. “Shall we?” He gestured to the open foyer.

“Wait, wait, one last thing!” Drake’s gaze had caught Launchpad’s hand and there was still a certain something missing. Something he had already forgotten once, and he was not going to make that same mistake again. His partner jumped a bit at his sudden outburst, and smiled in apology. “Sorry, this really is the last thing, I promise. Do you want me to put on your ring for you?”

Launchpad’s eyes widened. “Right, rings. We should be wearing them.” He smiled back, gaze drifting to Drake’s left hand. “Can I put yours on, too?”

“Of course.”

And finally, after months of dreaming and pacing and purchasing, Drake took the hand of the love of his life and slipped on his ring. Launchpad did the same, and Drake could hardly breathe. They held their hands up to the light, admiring the way the rings sparkled.

“So why is it that you’re supposed to put your engagement ring on your left hand?” Launchpad tilted his head to view his ring from a different angle. “Is it for protection?”

“I’ve heard it’s because your left hand is closer to your heart.” Drake explained. He saw Launchpad compare the distance from his hands and his chest, brow furrowed.

“But. How’d they figure it out? I can’t tell which one is closer!”

“Maybe they made it up to sound sappy. I don’t really get it, either.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Anyways,” Launchpad shook his head and offered his hand out. “Shall we go, then?”

Drake giggled and took his hand. “Yes, we shall.”

***

When they arrived at home, the stars were still shining. Drake would always be thankful for the shortcut built into their house in Duckburg. When he and Launchpad had decided to move in together, the most difficult decision had been choosing where exactly they wanted to live. Drake didn't want to leave St. Canard without a hero to protect it, and Launchpad didn't want to move away from his job and his family.

Fortunately, his pilot worked for the richest man alive who had no intentions of letting Launchpad leave if he didn't want to. With Scrooge’s money, they had a secret tunnel constructed that led from their house to Darkwing Tower accessible via two blue chairs in the living room. Travel was instantaneous, so Drake didn't have to give up his city and Launchpad didn't have to give up his job (it also meant he could come on patrols without sacrificing so much sleep. In the early days, Launchpad barely got any sleep driving for six hours total back and forth every night. It was scary to Drake how dedicated his partner was sometimes. Endearing, yes, but scary all the same).

He was going to try to stay quiet as he entered the house, he really was since he was expecting to find Gosalyn asleep in her room. It was a school night, so she should have been asleep.

Sleeping, however, was not what she was doing when he found his fourteen year old daughter awake on the couch in the living room. She was spread out, feet kicked up on one of the arms and scrolling through her phone. The second she heard the chairs activate, however, her eyes darted over to her fathers and dropped the device and scrambled over.

“Dad! Papa! How was patrol tonight?” Her eyes glittered with excitement. She always loved to hear about their patrols whenever she couldn't go. Which was often because she had school on weekdays and needed her sleep. Sleep that she was currently not getting for reasons possibly not unknown to Drake.

He arched an eyebrow. “It was fine. Only had a few robberies to stop, but you probably knew it was a quiet night. Speaking of which,” he crossed his arms. “It's three am on a Thursday. What are you doing out of bed and still awake?”

“I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd wait for you guys. And I can see,” her eyes landed on his ring, grin growing wider, “that tonight wasn't as uneventful as you said. Not in the sense of crime fighting, anyway.”

She turned to Launchpad and asked, “so how mad was he that you beat him to it?” He started to explain but Drake cut in with some squawking of his own.

“What do you mean, ‘beat him to it’!? How did you even know he was planning to propose too?” He finally asked, pointing a finger at Gos.

“Oh, I asked her if I could marry you.” Launchpad answered. “‘Cause, she's your family and I wanted her to know.” He seemed shy all of a sudden, blushing slightly and twisting his own ring.

Somehow, Drake felt his heart swell with even more love as his breath caught in his throat. “Oh. That. Makes sense. And that's. That's really sweet of you, LP. Oh my god, I'm so happy I'm gonna marry you.”

His fiancé grinned back, silly and sweet. “Me too, babe.”

The moment was interrupted by their daughter gagging and rolling her eyes. She still had a slight smile on her face, though. “God, go get a room. Anyways!” She clapped her hands and turned back to Launchpad. “You didn't answer my question. Did he fling a smoke bomb at you or something?”

“Hey!”

“No, but he did set some off on accident…”

As they explained the events of earlier that night, Gosalyn listened with rapt attention. She only interjected twice, both times, “I told you so,” and both directed at Drake (she had caught him pacing in the kitchen one day and demanded an explanation, to which he told her everything. She told him he had nothing to worry about as “you guys are so in love, it's sickening sometimes”). When they were done, she asked if they had any ideas for the wedding yet. Ignoring their clear choice for overall theme, the answer was no, so they brainstormed possible locations and the beginning of what was sure to be a very long guest list. By the time Gos brought up food, it was four thirty.

At that point, Drake declared that it was too early for this and said they should all go to bed. Gosalyn didn't argue, as the wedding talk had finally tired her out.

They tucked her into bed, kissed her cheek, and said goodnight. Launchpad was already in their bedroom and Drake was following him when Gosalyn spoke up.

“Dad?”

He turned around. “Yeah, sweetie?”

She met his eyes and gave him a soft smile. “I'm really happy for you.”

He smiled back. “Thanks.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Gosalyn.”

He and his fiancé didn't get much sleep. They spent the rest of the night talking in hushed whispers, showering each other in soft kisses, or simply holding one another.

Because they said yes.

And that small word opened a new door, one they were both thrilled to walk through.

Together.

[alphinias]

'You’re never this quiet, what’s wrong?' for jiara - I was thinking abt the moment when Kie sees JJ in his baseball uniform for the first time, and she's kinda speechless 👀😏

Talk about hot JJ being hot in a baseball uniform? I can do that. 

Kiara was not really a huge fan of organized sports as a principle. Most of the kids involved left much to be desired, and the mainstream sports in particular fell victim to political relationships as often as they did natural talent.

But Kiara was a good friend (And secretly competitive as hell), so when JJ was plucked off the back alley sandlot where he threw curveballs in his downtime for a scholarship at St. Anne’s Academy, she was obligated as his best friend to attend his games for moral support. He still gave his kook teammates a wary side eye even months after joining their practices, and even though Kiara was confident they wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize a straight shot to state at the hands of their new star pitcher, she wasn’t as confident JJ wouldn’t ruin this opportunity for himself. He tended to strike out like a stray dog when he was cornered, so if her smiling face from the stands helped give him a light at the end of the alley, then she was going to be there.

She was prepared for over the top kook parents threatening to fight the umpires. For gossiping girlfriends bragging about whose number they wore on their backs. Even for the scorching heat.

What she was not prepared for was the way her breath caught in her chest when JJ approached the mound, digging his cleats into the clay.  

Kiara was not blind.

She’d been there when JJ’s abs popped up the summer before high school, had seen them twisting as he got a better angle on a wave. Her eyes had lingered on his tongue darting out over tobacco paper probably more times than she was prepared to admit, and she understood why he tended to catch the eyes of touron girls at the Boneyard.

She knew he was hot, okay? But she had a perfectly good handle on it, even when he made those ridiculous, never-quite-serious insinuations towards her. At least she did until he strutted out in front of her in his baseball uniform looking like the fucking cover for Sports Illustrated.

Kiara clutched her hands under the bleachers when JJ wound up to pitch. Loosened them, then tightened them again when he turned around and she got an unfair view of the way his pants hugged his ass.

“Popcorn?” John B asked, shoving the bag in her face. He and Pope, who was on his other side keeping some sort of pitching record book, had already made three trips to the concession stand, and the game had just started.

“No,” Kiara said, with a little more bite than was probably called for.

John B shrugged, then clapped when JJ threw another pitch. The umpire called it a ball, and the grin slipped off his face when the kook parents shot them dirty looks. JJ tapped his fingers against his thigh, then adjusted the blue cap on his head, and Kiara could just picture his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips.

She decided maybe some popcorn was a fantastic idea. “Give me some of that.”

Things got easier as the game went on. She grew tense for other reasons, like when the other team had too many players on base, and gained a much more secure hold over her thoughts until JJ was in the batter’s box right in front of her. She couldn’t really be blamed for looking then, could she?

JJ’s team won, and judging by the big ass grin on his face, his coach was more than pleased with his performance in his first game.

John B and Pope got predictably cagey when it came to fetching him from his teammates. Although JJ hated kooks more than anyone, John B and Pope didn’t have the barrier of being useful team members to them.

“Kie, you go get him,” Pope said, shuffling around behind the concession stand, because the kooks were forced to barely tolerate her at school, and that evidently made her fair game. John B nodded, curly hair flopping, and nudged her towards the dugout. The other boys on the team were already filing out, the loud air of victory surrounding their conversation.

Kiara scowled, but for once, the sooner she got home, the better. Even if she hadn’t caught a ride with John B to begin with, she couldn’t slip off without saying hello to JJ. She inched her way towards the team while John B and Pope retreated to the safe haven of the parking lot. 

She caught JJ rounding the dugout, bat bag slung over his shoulder. He threw her a lazy grin, and her heart did a totally uncalled for summersault. Up close, even with his hair drenched in sweat, he looked good.

The uniform stretched out over his shoulders, and his pants had gained a dirt stain from where he slid into home. She was sure the sight of it made her pulse quicken, which she wasn’t sure what that said about her.

“Yo,” he said, and she could tell he was tired. He’d pitched a full five innings before being rotated to outfield, so he had a right to be.

Kiara couldn’t count the sheer amount of words she and JJ had spoken in their lifetime. Late nights of laughter and chats after the others had gone to sleep, incoherent babbling when they were high.

The words never got caught in her fucking throat. “Hey.”

“Where’s my congrats kiss? Pickens and his lady got one.”

Normally, Kiara would have snorted. She’d have dropped some comment about how he must be dreaming, or how Pope was waiting for him right around the corner.

Instead, she snapped, “What?”

JJ didn’t miss her weirdness. His brows scrunched up together. “What? No shit talking? No you were amazing, JJ?”

“You were amazing, JJ.”

“Seriously, you’re never this quiet. What’s wrong?”

Kiara rolled her eyes, ignoring the thoughts racing through her brain, and gave him a playful bop on the arm. “Oh my god. Nothing. You really did great though.”

“Why thank you.”

“The boys are at the Twinkie. Come on.”

JJ nodded, thumb flicking at the cracked screen of his iphone five. His gaze flitted to her, shadowed by his hat, and she quickly looked away. She met his eyes again just as quickly, not wanting him to pick up on her caginess. He’d never let her live it down if he knew she was thinking about running her hands all over him.

“Hm. Next game’s Tuesday,” he said.

She’d never been so torn over whether her smile came across fake or overeager. “Great.”

[eternal-echoes]

Catechism of the Catholic Church

III. Contemplative Prayer

2709 What is contemplative prayer? St. Teresa answers: "Contemplative prayer [oracion mental] in my opinion is nothing else than a close sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with him who we know loves us."6 Contemplative prayer seeks him "whom my soul loves."7 It is Jesus, and in him, the Father. We seek him, because to desire him is always the beginning of love, and we seek him in that pure faith which causes us to be born of him and to live in him. In this inner prayer we can still meditate, but our attention is fixed on the Lord himself.

2710 The choice of the time and duration of the prayer arises from a determined will, revealing the secrets of the heart. One does not undertake contemplative prayer only when one has the time: one makes time for the Lord, with the firm determination not to give up, no matter what trials and dryness one may encounter. One cannot always meditate, but one can always enter into inner prayer, independently of the conditions of health, work, or emotional state. the heart is the place of this quest and encounter, in poverty ant in faith.

2711 Entering into contemplative prayer is like entering into the Eucharistic liturgy: we "gather up:" the heart, recollect our whole being under the prompting of the Holy Spirit, abide in the dwelling place of the Lord which we are, awaken our faith in order to enter into the presence of him who awaits us. We let our masks fall and turn our hearts back to the Lord who loves us, so as to hand ourselves over to him as an offering to be purified and transformed.

2712 Contemplative prayer is the prayer of the child of God, of the forgiven sinner who agrees to welcome the love by which he is loved and who wants to respond to it by loving even more.8 But he knows that the love he is returning is poured out by the Spirit in his heart, for everything is grace from God. Contemplative prayer is the poor and humble surrender to the loving will of the Father in ever deeper union with his beloved Son.

2713 Contemplative prayer is the simplest expression of the mystery of prayer. It is a gift, a grace; it can be accepted only in humility and poverty. Contemplative prayer is a covenant relationship established by God within our hearts.9 Contemplative prayer is a communion in which the Holy Trinity conforms man, the image of God, "to his likeness."

2714 Contemplative prayer is also the pre-eminently intense time of prayer. In it the Father strengthens our inner being with power through his Spirit "that Christ may dwell in (our) hearts through faith" and we may be "grounded in love."10

2715 Contemplation is a gaze of faith, fixed on Jesus. "I look at him and he looks at me": this is what a certain peasant of Ars used to say to his holy cure about his prayer before the tabernacle. This focus on Jesus is a renunciation of self. His gaze purifies our heart; the light of the countenance of Jesus illumines the eyes of our heart and teaches us to see everything in the light of his truth and his compassion for all men. Contemplation also turns its gaze on the mysteries of the life of Christ. Thus it learns the "interior knowledge of our Lord," the more to love him and follow him.11

2716 Contemplative prayer is hearing the Word of God. Far from being passive, such attentiveness is the obedience of faith, the unconditional acceptance of a servant, and the loving commitment of a child. It participates in the "Yes" of the Son become servant and the Fiat of God's lowly handmaid.

2717 Contemplative prayer is silence, the "symbol of the world to come"12 or "silent love."13 Words in this kind of prayer are not speeches; they are like kindling that feeds the fire of love. In this silence, unbearable to the "outer" man, the Father speaks to us his incarnate Word, who suffered, died, and rose; in this silence the Spirit of adoption enables us to share in the prayer of Jesus.

2718 Contemplative prayer is a union with the prayer of Christ insofar as it makes us participate in his mystery. the mystery of Christ is celebrated by the Church in the Eucharist, and the Holy Spirit makes it come alive in contemplative prayer so that our charity will manifest it in our acts.

2719 Contemplative prayer is a communion of love bearing Life for the multitude, to the extent that it consents to abide in the night of faith. the Paschal night of the Resurrection passes through the night of the agony and the tomb - the three intense moments of the Hour of Jesus which his Spirit (and not "the flesh [which] is weak") brings to life in prayer. We must be willing to "keep watch with (him) one hour."14

[devil-kindred]

let love warm you

Pairing: Jesse Cunningham/Ruthie Campbell (who belongs to the lovely @ma-sulevin)

Rating: T (and full of fluffy goodness)

Summary: With the clinic getting busier every day and the holidays, as well as the annual Davenport charity function fast approaching, Ruthie’s got a lot on her mind to say the least. Add in: one ex-boyfriend, one white-lie, a hot biker who she might have feelings for, a fake-relationship, and a party where said “relationship” is on full display? Turns out Ruthie’s got the recipe for a very interesting holiday.

[or; Ruthie’s friend tell a little white-lie, Jesse agrees to play along, and the two of them find out their feelings for one another aren’t just pretend.]

WC: 7.2k | 1/1

trying the read more again so hopefully it works on desktop!

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It’s a frigid, snow-filled day in the city of St. Denis and Ruthie is already running behind— without the added aid of steady snowfall. With the weather turning even colder this late into the month and with the holiday being just a few scant days away, it’s an understatement to say the clinic is certainly picking up in business. People staying outside too long while improperly dressed, injuries from cooking mishaps, sports-related injuries, and many others all on top of the normal everyday visits make for the busiest they’ve been in months.  … And all the more reason for her to really get a move on before she’s well and truly late.

“Okay, Otto, you know the drill. No strangers in the house, got it?” She smiles as the dog barks once in response and wags his tail as if in agreement. “Good boy. I’ll see you later!” With one last pat to his head she races for the door, pulling on her coat and gloves as she steps outside and locks it behind her. She winds her scarf a little tighter around the collar of her coat as she tromps through the snow to her car— pleased that the snow build-up is minimal enough that it shouldn’t take long to clear.  

Roughly twenty minutes later, she sails into the clinic, the bell above the door chiming her arrival as it swings shut behind her. She greets her two usual attendees, Belle and Elle— of no relation despite the similar name— and looks them over with a quizzical stare when they remain mostly silent and seem to disregard her presence. It’s unusual behavior for the two of them, but Ruthie shrugs it off, taking stock of the waiting room’s appearance and noting anything that needs tended to before turning to head into her office.

“You better tell her, Elle, or I will.”

Belle’s voice is stern, breaking the tense silence that had permeated the room, and Ruthie finds herself stopping short, not even half-way across the waiting room. “Tell me what?” She asks, tone wary.

“So…” Elle begins, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and offering a nervous smile when Ruthie only stares even harder. “Benji might’ve stopped in, looking for you?”

“Not unusual of him, but the way you’re talking tells me that’s not what you need to tell me.”

“That’s because it’s not—“ Belle interjects, with a pointed stare at the blonde who’s avoiding looking at either of them. “and if she doesn’t hurry up and say it, I will.”

Ruthie shakes her head as she walks into her office, stowing her belongings and hanging up her jacket as Belle and Elle get into yet another argument. She’s briefly amused by the hushed whispering between the two of them, but any amusement quickly falls away at Belle’s loud yell across the waiting room.

“She told Benji you were dating Arthur’s friend!”

“Belle!”

“I told you if you didn’t hurry, I was going to do it.” She replies sternly, unfazed by Elle’s shocked and slightly wounded expression. “You can tell her the rest.”

“Elle,” Ruthie calls loudly, face flushed hot as she exits her office. “We’re not dating.”

“Well, I just— he’s here all the time!” She sputters, waving her hands as if to accentuate her point. “And I... might’ve also said you were going to the Davenport charity thing together?”

“Estelle!”

The blonde shrinks back at the use of her full name, looking for all the world like she’d love nothing more than to crawl under the desk and stay there. “I just— I panicked, okay! I thought he was going to try and ask you to go with him! And I knew you two had a falling out a while back so I just... said you were going with Cunningham.”

“You said a little more than that.” Belle chimes in, Elle’s outraged scowl only making her grin and shake her head in response. “This is all you, Elle. I told you to look busy and you didn’t listen.”

“He walked right up to the counter! What was I supposed to do, ignore him? Pretend he wasn’t there?”

“Enough both of you.” Ruthie interrupts with a sigh, a hand over her face as she starts mentally running through her schedule. “What’s done is done, but in the future please clear any details about my personal life with me before you go sharing them with other people. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us, so please try to get along. Oh, and his name is Jesse, Elle. You’ve been spending too much time around John.”

With that said, Ruthie heads back into her office to start the day but not before sending out a text to the man in question.

| Ruthie: Any free time around one today?

| Jesse: For you? Always

| Jesse: I might be about… five minutes late? Have to help Javier with something, but we can meet at Tilly’s? I’ll buy you lunch?

Ruthie shakes her head with a smile, a laugh bubbling from her lips as she replies.

| Ruthie: Tilly’s at 1. I’ll wait.

The message sent, she silences her phone and tucks it back into her purse as she settles into her work. She’s got plenty to do, after all.

-

True to his word, Jesse is late but only marginally so and he steps through the door to Tilly’s with the same smile he always has for her— bright, warm, and charming. He spots her settled into a corner booth, a cup of coffee resting on the table in front of her and heads for her at a quick stride. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he greets, sliding into the booth and grabbing a menu that he passes to her. “Javier had some car trouble. Want me to get you another cup of coffee?”

“That would be great.” She answers, looking over the menu as he reaches for her cup and places it closer to the edge of the table. “Thank you for offering to do lunch.”

“Of course, I bring you coffee all the time so it’s only fair I actually feed you too.”

“Surprised you manage to bring it on the bike.” She teases good-naturedly. His presence always brings her a sense of ease, and she feels a wave of warmth when he laughs and shakes his head. She knows he doesn’t ride to the clinic with it. In fact, she’s seen him park and jog around the corner to the cafe to get it, always leaning as casually as possible against his motorcycle when she emerges to say hello. She knows, but he tries hard to surprise her so she’ll keep it under wraps.

“Were you ready?” He questions as the waitress stops by the table, giving her a nod to go ahead first when she nods. He places his own order after her’s, adding in a refill on her coffee and noting that it’s all on one ticket.

“Don’t let him have too much fun.” The waitress teases, with a smile directed at Ruthie. “He’s just as much trouble as his sister.”

“Very funny, Karen.” The woman laughs and tells them she’ll be back with their order shortly and Jesse’s still smiling when she walks away, though he looks a tad embarrassed for once. “We, the club I mean, come here every weekend for breakfast. Karen usually waits on us, so whenever I’m here without Dawn and the others…” He waves a hand to refer to what had just happened.

“Now, as happy as I am to spend some one-on-one time with you… I’ve got to say I was a little surprised.” He continues, leaning back with an arm draped over the edge of the booth. “Everything going okay at the clinic?”

“Oh, the clinic’s fine.”

“Any run-ins with the O’Driscolls?”

“No, nothing like that. I just… need a favor.”

He relaxes a little, the tension leaving his shoulders, and leans forward to rest an arm on the table while he studies her face.

“I’m happy to help. Is this favor of the ‘I need you to beat someone up’ variety or are we talking something more run of the mill?”

Ruthie makes a face and Jesse can’t help but laugh; her cute scowl only making it harder to contain his amusement.

“Belle’s family hosts this holiday party every year that doubles as a charity fundraiser— everyone that attends donates something— and one of my colleagues might’ve told my ex-boyfriend that you were going to be attending that party. With me.” She blushes a vibrant red at the sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips, ducking her head as she continues. “She might have also said that you were my boyfriend.”

“Did she now?”

“She knows about the MC, just not why you’re usually outside all the time. She means well.”

“Oh, I’m not offended. Flattered, actually. She really thinks we’re dating?” His smile is incredibly wide and Ruthie’s face burns hotter at his intensely visible delight.

“Will you go with me?”

“I’d honored to attend the party with you.” He answers truthfully, adding another teasing look. “And playing the role of the boyfriend should be easy enough. When’s the party?”

“Christmas Eve.”

Jesse blinks once, stunned into silence, as the waitress from before drops off their food before departing.

“I know it’s short notice,” Four days is hardly ample warning time, after all. “And I understand if you have things to do or… plans with someone else.”

“No, no.” He reaches across the table, taking hold of her hand as she reaches for her coffee mug. “Again, I’d love nothing more. Dawn’s spending Christmas Eve with Charles anyways, so it’s not like I’ll be doing anything else important. Besides, what kind of guy would I be if I didn’t help out the cutest doctor I know?”

She pulls her hand from his hold, clearing her throat and turning her attention to her food. “We should probably eat, now. I’ve got about twenty minutes before my next visit.”

“Of course,” he answers, settling back into the booth. “When are you free again?”

“Um… tomorrow night? We close a little early the week of Christmas, but Tuesday’s the day I’ve got the most time available. Why?”

“Well, we should probably get to know each other a little better if we’re going to be convincing, don’t you think? I mean, I know you but I don’t know you.” He studies her carefully for a moment, then asks his next question. “Tomorrow night, your place or mine?”

They only have to pretend for a single night and only while they’re at the party… but still, spending some time alone with him couldn’t hurt. If only to get their stories straight.

“Mine?”

He smiles again, a wide grin that makes her face burn.

“Perfect.”

-

The following day at around six o’clock, Ruthie’s alerted to Jesse’s arrival by Otto planted in middle of the entryway and barking up a storm. She exits her bedroom, having been looking through the closet for a suitable dress for the party, and quickly makes her way to the front door— shooing Otto back towards the living room.

“I’m going to guess he’s friendly?” He greets, holding out a coffee cup to her as he enters the house and peeks around the corner where Otto sits, tail wagging furiously.

“Otto? Oh, he loves people!” She answers as she takes the offered cup from him, surprised he didn’t know already. “That’s his ‘I really want to see people’ face. He won’t run over unless you tell him to.”

Jesse crouches down, and extends a hand. “Hey there, Otto.” He laughs when the dog in question comes running, barking excitedly and sniffing his hand before thumping down onto the floor for pets and belly rubs.

“Careful, you’ll be doing that the whole time you’re here.”

“That’s alright,” he answers, rubbing Otto’s belly when he rolls over. “I love dogs. Dawn and I were never able to have one growing up.”

His tone strikes Ruthie as a bit sad, and she watches for a moment longer before digging a dog toy out of the basket by the couch. “You can play with him whenever you’d like.” She tosses the ball in his direction and smiles at the way Otto bolts upright at the squeak it emits when Jesse catches it.

“Wanna play?” He stands and checks the vicinity for anything breakable, then tosses the ball into the living room and watches as Otto scampers after it. “Cute little guy.”

“Thanks!” She takes the ball from Otto when he runs back with it, tossing it back into the living room and watching as he runs after it again. “Did you want to sit down?”

“Sure.” He follows her into the living room, taking a seat on the couch beside her. “How was your day?”

“It went well. Saw a few of the regular visitors, handled some new ones, filed a lot of paperwork. Nothing too exciting. How was your’s?”

“Well, can’t have your clinic full of Arthurs.” He jokes, beaming when she laughs. “I did some work at the shop, not that there’s too much to do this time of year. Changed some batteries, replaced a starter… that was about it, honestly. There wasn’t much to do at the clubhouse either.”

“Things quiet down in winter?”

“A little.” He answers carefully, uncertain of how much to say. “Most of the club are either away on business or visiting out of town. Javier’s gone up north to see his girlfriend, Sean and Lenny are on a run, and Micah… who knows. He comes and goes when he feels like it, so it’s really just Dutch, Hosea, and John who are around the clubhouse lately.”

“Does John live there?”

“Yeah, it’s… a long story. Speaking of John,” he answers, an annoyed cast to his gaze. “He’s been acting odd lately, real prickly. You so much as look in his general direction and he’s up in arms, but he won’t talk to anyone about whatever it is that’s got him so wound up. Just clams up and stomps off like whatever is something we’re solely responsible for. It’s like talking to a cactus.”

Ruthie laughs, thunking her cup onto the coffee table as she tries not to double over.

“I’ve never heard anyone put it that way.” She replies, slightly out of breath. “A cactus?”

“I would’ve said porcupine, but that would imply he does more than mope around. We’d help if we could, but since he refuses to let us try… he’ll just have to sort it out himself.” He sets his own cup down on the table, then rests an arm on the back of the couch— his hand just shy of resting on her shoulder. “Enough about the club, tell me about your friends. Will any of them be at the gala?”

“Yes,” Ruthie answers, settling back onto the couch— moving just the slightest bit closer; just enough that Jesse could fully put his arm around her if he wanted— and tucking her legs up beneath her. “Belle’s parents are the hosts, so she’ll be there… Arthur’s supposed to attend as her date so he should be there too if you get bored and need rescued.”

“I could never be bored with you.”

Ruthie stares for a moment, lips parted in shock both at the ease of his words and the way he sounded so sincere. It isn’t until he grins that she shakes herself out of her stupor, raking a hand through her curls as she rushes to break the silence.

“Elle is also attending— you’ve met her too, she usually works the front desk with Belle— though I’m not sure if she has a date or not. Her current situation is… complicated.”

Jesse nods, seeming lost in thought for a moment but quickly turns his attention back to her.

“Any ground rules?”

“Um…”

“Such as… not being overly touchy, being too close, no kissing… anything of that nature?”

“Just don’t make it look like you’re one step away from herding me into the nearest empty room.” She jokes, touched that he was considerate enough to ask. She goes still when he lifts a tattooed hand to brush her hair back from her face with a gentle smile.

“No ravishing you in the closest room, got it.”

“Jesse—“

“I’m kidding,” he says quickly, lifting his hands in surrender. “I assure you, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Should I prove to be anything less, you’re fully within your rights to give me a good punch.”

“I doubt that will be necessary.”

“By the way, since I neglected to ask earlier, what color is your dress? I’d imagine I should try to coordinate with you.”

“Blue,” she answers, the exact dress coming to mind the instant he asked. “Dark— maybe a shade lighter than the color of Dawn’s bike?”

Jesse nods, gaze alight. “Excellent. When should I pick you up?”

“Ah… six-thirty? It’s a bit of a drive to the Davenport’s, and the event starts at seven. We’ll probably arrive about ten after?”

“Sounds fine to me. I’ll see you Thursday?”

“Thursday,” she echoes, as he smiles once more.

-

When Christmas Eve rolls around, things seem to go off without a hitch. Ruthie’s ready by six-twenty, fed Otto as well as made sure he’d been let out and back in at least once, and when six-thirty rolls around, Jesse knocks on the front door— timely as ever. Satisfied with everything she got done, Ruthie pulls on her coat and grabs her purse and keys from the entryway table before she steps outside.

“Good evening,” Jesse greets, smiling brightly as always despite the cold. “Are you all set?”

“Ready,” she answers, locking the door and taking his offered arm as the two of them descend the stairs. “You left the car running?”

“Didn’t want you to be cold for long, if you didn’t have to be.” The words are warm and she smiles softly, breaking into a grin when he opens the door for her. “Thank you.”

Once the two of them are settled in and he’s gotten the address for the Davenport’s home plugged into his phone, the duo begin their drive. It takes only slightly longer than Ruthie’s estimate, mostly due to the sheer number of attendees ligering in their vehicles upon reaching the long drive up to the house. Jesse whistles lowly, dark eyes scanning over the building as their vehicle creeps ever closer. Ruthie glances his way, noting his impressed gaze as they finally pull up near the house and park just a few cars down from the doors. He waits to say anything until they’ve made it inside, however, helping her out of her coat and passing it along to the attendee before handing over his own.

“Quite the house.” He says softly, offering his arm once more as the two of them exit the entryway and step into a vast room with glittering chandeliers and marble floors. “I’m not sure what I expected when you said charity event, but this is… something. No wonder Arthur was so nervous about coming here.”

“Arthur? Nervous?”

“Shaking like a leaf.” He jokes, glancing about the room. “So, not to sound ridiculous but uh… what do you do at these things?”

“Mingle,” she answers, recalling the first time she’d attended with Belle and had been at a loss herself. “Eat, if you’re hungry.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, resting a hand against Jesse’s chest when he leans down to hear her and pulls her close with a hand on her waist. “Get slightly drunk on champagne, dance… any of those things.”

“What do you wanna do—“

“Ruthie!”

An older woman’s voice interrupts his words and Jesse straightens, still holding her close as the stranger hurries towards them.

“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, dear.” She pulls Ruthie into a hug, then steps back. “I’m so glad you could make it! Phillip and I always love seeing you; we’re glad Belle extended the invitation again.” She turns her attention to Jesse, eyebrows raised as she takes in the tattoos on his throat and hands. “She didn’t mention you were bringing a friend along.”

“Jesse Cunningham,” he offers with a million-watt smile, tone polite as ever, even as his posture goes stiff. “Ruthie’s boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Davenport.”

“Oh, well isn’t that delightful!” Her earlier uncertainty falls to the way-side, replaced with nothing but joy. “It’s so nice to see younger couples out and about. You know, Belle’s supposedly bringing the man she’s been seeing… but I haven’t been able to find them yet.” She laughs and waves a hand at the crowd. “It won’t be an easy task, but I’m sure they’ll turn up. Do enjoy yourselves and thank you for coming.”

She disappears into the crowd as quickly as she’d approached them and Jesse looks to Ruthie with a wry smile. “I suppose that went well.” His tone is a tad awkward, but he quickly recovers. “You look lovely.”

“You look rather handsome yourself.”

He clears his throat and smiles, turning his head as if embarrassed, and points to the table on the far side of the room. “Champagne?” He questions, taking her hand when she nods and weaving his way through the crowd with her.

They spot Arthur a good ways down, leaning awkwardly against the wall and seeming as if he feels woefully out of place in his suit. Ruthie waves when he glances their way, taking the glass Jesse hands her, and gives a soft smile when he nods in return before resuming his stationary search for Belle. It seems unlike Belle to leave Arthur to fend for himself at the gathering, but Ruthie shrugs it off, guessing she’s tending to something on behalf of her parents.

She and Jesse wander away from the table, making a circuit around the vast room until their glasses are empty, returning to grab another before doing a second walk around. They don’t get far before Jesse stops her, a hand on her waist pulling her flush against him as he bends down to say something.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Detective Fox, would you?”

Ruthie blanches, slipping her arms around him in the appearance of a hug. “That… would be my ex-boyfriend.”

“Thought so.” He murmurs, seeming slightly amused. “He’s not exactly fond of me anyways, but the whole staring daggers bit is a little new.”

Ruthie pulls back with a shake of her head, taking one of his hands in her own as she straightens. “Ignore him.” She sets her glass on a nearby tray, gesturing for Jesse to do the same. “Why don’t we dance?”

“I’d like that.” He chuckles as she leads him to the center of the room, where a myriad of couples are swaying gently to the music drifting through the air and he holds her close as the two of them join in.

They dance for a long while, making it through several songs, only stopping for a bit to eat, and then return to the dance floor— the warmth of the room making it feel as if it’s just the two of them. It’s a lovely moment, and Jesse’s about to say as much when Ruthie steps back— concern in her eyes as she looks at someone behind him.

“Hey, Jesse.” Belle greets, as he turns to face her, and offers a smile before she turns her attention back to Ruthie. “I’ve got a bit of a situation. Think I could borrow you for a bit?”

“Jesse, would you mind if I?”

“No, go ahead. I’ll wait by the stairs, take care of whatever you need to. I can always find Arthur if necessary.”

Belle gives a grateful nod and takes Ruthie’s hand in her own, quickly pulling her along to the staircase and rushing up the steps.

-

“Belle, what’s going on? Is someone— Oh.” The sight of Elle crumpled on the bed in a puddle of green silk is enough of an answer and Ruthie carefully shuts the door, crossing the room to take a seat at Elle’s side. “What happened?”

“Marston.”

“Oh. Elle—”

“I told him I… I wouldn’t be the back-up. That as much as I like him, that I deserved someone who would want me all the time, not just when things were rocky with someone else.” Elle’s voice wobbles, and the tell-tale shine to her eyes makes Ruthie grab the tissue box from the side table to have at the ready. “I told him I’d be here and that he needed to make his choice.”

“That’s a good thing, Elle. We’ve talked about this.”

“But what if he doesn’t show up?” She asks, the words caught in a sob. “And— And I’m just here?”

“Then it’ll hurt, but you’ll move on. And we’ll get together some night soon, you and Ruthie can come over to my place, we’ll get take-out from that Chinese restaurant you like and get drunk. Play music and dance until you forget all about him.” The words are meant to help soothe her, but only seem to make Elle more upset. “You wanna give it a go, Ruthie?”

Ruthie shakes her head and stands, leaving the tissue box beside Elle as moves to the end of the bed.

“Estelle.” Ruthie’s tone is stern, the kind she only breaks out at the clinic when things are terribly serious. “If John doesn’t show up, then he’ll have made his choice like you told him to. Unfortunately, it’ll mean it’s not the outcome you hoped for, but at least you’ll finally have an answer one way or another.”

Elle sniffles but nods, slowly standing from the bed to go check her make-up in the en suite and leaving Ruthie and Belle to talk amongst themselves.

“Think Arthur would let me kick Marston’s ass, if I asked real nice?”

Ruthie smothers a laugh, smoothing down her gown as Belle watches the en suite for Elle’s return. “I’’m certain Arthur would let you do just about anything, providing you beat him to it on that one.”

“True.” Belle laughs softly, turning to face her friend with a smile. “Thanks for coming up to help. I’ll let you get back to tall, dark, and handsome down there… but if I don’t catch up with you later on, thank you for coming to the party and have a merry christmas.”

“Thank you, Belle. I hope you and Arthur have a merry christmas too.”

With things tended to, Ruthie exits the guest room and begins the rather long trek back through the halls to the party.

-

Jesse leans against the stairway railing with a nonchalant air, patiently awaiting Ruthie’s return. She’s been gone for a while, but the Davenport home isn’t exactly small and with the main room filled to the brim, he’d imagine the rest of the house is probably fairing much of the same way. Truth be told, he’s having a good time… even if he’s gotten more than a few looks from some of the other guests.

It’s not a stretch to say he and Arthur were the outliers among the men present, and no doubt the clearly visible ink decorating his hands and throat had done little in earning him favor with any of them. … But so long as Ruthie doesn’t mind, neither does he.

He’s not here for them, after all. He’s here for her.

He smiles to himself, recalling how she’d stunned him to the point of speechlessness when she’d stepped out of the house— something he could never tell Dawn unless he’d want to have it used against him until the end of time. … But she truly had looked stunning; still did even with the party now several hours in and with no sign of winding down anytime soon.

He hears footsteps to his left and turns his head, expecting Arthur, and instead finding a rather familiar face staring at him.

“Detective Fox,” Jesse says, politely yet wary of the intensity with which the man is staring at him. “What can I do for you this evening?”

He’d like to think it’s something to do with the club, perhaps Fox looking for some intel on Dutch… but if that’s the case… Jesse will be no help. When he says nothing, Jesse heaves a sigh and closes his eyes briefly— now knowing without a doubt that it’s something else entirely and exactly what he’d been thinking would happen.

“Are we really going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“The whole big bad detective versus the big bad biker posturing thing. It’s a little beneath us, don’t you think?”

Benji scowls but relents, casting a glance towards the top of the staircase where Ruthie had exited with Belle a short while ago before focusing his attention on Jesse.

“Look,” he begins, the tone he uses making Jesse stand to his full height. “she seems to like you and I just want her to be happy.”

“So do I.”

“But I know your kind of people.”

“My kind of people.” Jesse repeats, his smile appearing genial but truly anything but. “And just what is wrong with my kind of people, exactly?”

“You’re a bunch of—“ He lowers his voice as Belle turns her attention their way, worry in her eyes and her hand on Arthur’s arm as he chats with the elder Davenports. “I’m not here to cause a scene and I’m not starting a fight. This isn’t the time or place. But you know.”

“Oh, do I?”

“You—“ Benji pauses, then heaves a deep sigh and collects himself before speaking again. “Just keep her out of whatever trouble you and your people get into. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

Jesse’s expression softens, all the tension and readiness to fight draining from him in a single moment.

“Rest assured I want nothing more than for her to be happy and that her safety is my utmost priority. Now, I’m not stupid enough to try and tell her what to do… but know that if I can keep her out of any trouble the club runs into, I will.”

Benji looks him over, then nods once. “That’s all I needed to hear. Enjoy the rest of your night, Jesse.”

“You too, Benjamin.”

By the time Ruthie returns, Jesse’s back at the foot of the stairs and watching with his usual charming smile as she descends to join him once more.

“Get everything sorted out?”

“Yeah,” she answers, taking his hand when he offers it and stepping down beside him. “Just needed to give Elle a pep-talk.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear everything’s ok.” He scans the room, noting Arthur fiddling with his phone and the frown etched across his features. “Did you want more champagne?” He questions, waving a hand towards the hall leading to the kitchen. “I’d be happy to grab you another glass.”

“I think the two I’ve had were enough, but thank you.” She follows his gaze, tilting her head up to look at him with a teasing lilt to her voice. “Y’know, if you need to talk to Arthur you’re welcome to do so. You don’t have to be stuck with me all night.”

Jesse frowns, looking for all the world like she’d wounded him. “I just need to check in,” he says, nothing short of absolutely apologetic. “Make sure it’s not anything with the club.”

“It’s fine, Jesse. Go on. From what Belle’s told me that looks Arthur is never a good sign, so it’s probably best someone figure out what’s going on before too long.”

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart. I swear.”

The second she nods, he’s striding across the marble flooring towards Arthur and the two of them vanish into the crowd— but not before she gets a glimpse of Arthur looking none too pleased as he seemingly explains things to Jesse. A bad sign indeed.

She scans the room for Belle, but finds no sign of her— and when she looks for Elle, finds the woman checking her phone and seeming lost in thought. Ruthie considers going over to talk to her again; to see if she’s feeling any better… but ultimately decides it’s best to let her have some space for now. Another cursory scan turns up Benji, chatting with what appear to be other members of the department as he weaves his way through the crowd.

Not exactly looking forward to a possible confrontation, she turns and steps into a more crowded portion of the room— weaving her way through the crowd in much of the same manner as he had. She makes polite conversation with anyone who stops her, finally circling back to the bottom of the staircase. There’s still no sign of Jesse, and she briefly considers digging her phone out of her purse… but the sound of the hall door opening with a thud brushes the thought from her mind.

She sights someone coming in through the doors, their suit looking slightly disheveled and hurriedly fixing their bow tie before they head straight for Elle, tapping a hand against her waist and catching her by surprise. Ruthie knows the second Elle turns and flings her arms around him, with so much force that they both nearly topple onto the marble flooring, that it must be John Marston— Elle’s former on and off again flame. He meets her eyes with a nod, face flushed red as he holds Elle close.

She’s happy for the two of them truly; pleased that her words— as well as other’s no doubt— had finally had some impact upon him— and on Elle herself— and that it would seem her friend would no longer be pining away for someone... So why is it that she feels her smile wobble, just the slightest, as she turns away? Feels a wave of sadness wash over her when she catches sight of Arthur chatting with Belle’s parents, with her at his side, finally appearing to relax when he realizes they seem to bear him no ill will for wooing their daughter?

Ruthie shakes her head, turning to make a quick retreat to the other side of the room and before she knows it she’s darting through the archway, her hands closing around the handle of the balcony door as she pushes it open and steps out into the cold. She’s certainly not appropriately dressed for the weather, far from it, and she mumbles under her breath as she wraps her arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the chill.

“All these happy couples and here I am, with a relationship that’s not even real.” She whispers, her breath fogging into little steam clouds in the frigid air.

“Little cold to be outside, isn’t it?”

“Jesse—“ she turns, lips parting and her next words falling away in surprise as he steps out onto the balcony with her— settling his coat around her shoulders. “I... won’t you be cold?”

“I’ll live. Besides, I’m a little more concerned about you.” He waves a hand at her attire, the stunning blue of her dress peeking through where her hands hold the coat lapels together. “You look beautiful, and you all wrapped up in my coat is a delightful sight... but I don’t think that’ll be enough to keep you warm.”

“Good thing you’re out here then.”

She tries to keep a cheerful lilt to her tone, but the concern on Jesse’s face as he steps closer tells her she’s failed.

“Ruthie?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Was it Benji?” He’s scowling darkly when she looks up at him, his own gaze flicking back to the balcony doors with a set to his jaw. “I’ll beat him up if you want.”

“No.” She chokes out, half a laugh and half a catch of emotion in her throat. “Can you just—“

“Take you home?” He asks, expression softening as she nods and he extends a hand— taking the one she’s not holding the borrowed coat shut with as the two of them head back inside. He’s all smiles and polite thank you’s as they weave their way through the still large gathering, giving a wave to John and Elle— still tangled up in one another’s embrace, and in the coat closet no less— and stopping only to bid farewell to Belle and Arthur. Having said their goodbyes, he and Ruthie head back outside— Jesse insisting she keep his coat despite her protests as they hurry through the snowfall to his car.

He opens the passenger side first, helping her in and making sure her skirt doesn’t get caught in the door before he shuts it— resting a hand on the hood of the car to keep his balance as he circles around to the driver’s side. He climbs in quickly, starting up the car and rubbing his hands together to warm them up after he turns on the heat.

“Should’ve asked for my gloves.” He jokes, signature smile in place as Ruthie shakes her head and searches through his coat pockets for the gloves in question. He thanks her when she holds them out, pulling them on before he puts the car in gear, slowly cruising down the drive and out onto the road.

The drive to Ruthie’s house is spent mostly in comfortable silence, interrupted every so often by Jesse inquiring if he has the heat set too high, and he holds her hand for a short while— only letting go when they get back to the more crowded section of town so he can focus on navigating through both the traffic and the weather. Thankfully, the two of them are able to reach her home without too much trouble and Jesse pulls into her driveway with a smile.

“Here, let me walk you up at least.” He turns off the engine and quickly exits the car, circling around to her side to help her out. “I’d be a lousy date if I let you go up by yourself; what if you fell?”

“I’ve walked up to my front door in conditions worse than snow, Jesse.”

He laughs but smiles when she accepts his offered hand and the two of them carefully make their way across the path to the door and up the stairs. He’s taken a half-step back by the time she gets the door unlocked, seeming hesitant to head back to the car, and Ruthie looks him over with a raised brow.

“Leaving so soon? You could come in and warm up a little, if you want.”

“Sure,” he answers, seeming a little lost— something that strikes her as being wholly unlike him. “I’m sure Otto could use some extra love.”

Ruthie laughs as she opens the door and walks in, Jesse following after and greeting Otto— who’d come running the second the door opened. The collie prances around her heels, sniffing Jesse’s coat as Ruthie drapes it over the back of the couch, and Otto barks once before giving Jesse himself the same treatment.

“Hey buddy, how you doin’?” He crouches down and scratches Otto’s ears, the dog looking nothing short of pleased at the attention. “Good boy, aren’t you?”

Ruthie laughs again as Otto barks in response and wags his tail, her face warming slightly when Jesse glances up with a beaming smile of his own. She clears her throat awkwardly, turning her attention away as she takes off her heels and sets them down by the couch— planning to put them away later. “Thanks for letting me borrow your coat, by the way. Belle will probably bring mine by the clinic next week, since it’s easiest.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t do to have my favorite Doc catch a cold.”

“Jesse.”

He averts his gaze, offering an embarrassed smile. “It’s the truth.” He mumbles, giving Otto one last scratch on the ears before he stands, walking away from Otto and stopping just a little ways from Ruthie. He reaches out a hand, as if to pull her close but hesitates and settles for taking one of her hands in his own instead. “Thank you for letting me accompany you. I had a good time tonight, the most fun I’ve had in a long while.”

He leans down, lifting her hand to press a kiss to the back of it with his gaze never once wavering from her own. He lingers for a moment, then gently drops her hand and straightens with bright smile.

“I better get out of here and leave you to what’s left of your evening.” He steps back into the entryway, pausing at the door and turning back with a gentle gaze. “You know... I’m a little sad I won’t be pretending to be your boyfriend anymore. It was fun getting to spend so much time with you, just the two of us. And to be honest...”

He crosses back to where Ruthie stands at the edge of where the entryway and living room meet, hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“Somewhere along the way, I wasn’t pretending anymore. I just... wanted you to know.” He offers a soft smile, then heads back to the door. “Goodnight, Ruthie.”

He steps out into the snow, shutting the door behind him and leaving Ruthie to stand in the living room, the warmth of her home doing nothing to ease the feeling that if she lets him go now… then she’ll never get another chance. She hurries to the door, his coat long forgotten on the back of the couch, and forgoes her heels in her haste to catch him before it’s too late.

“Jesse, wait!” She throws the front door open, knowing Otto will stay inside, and runs out onto the front porch— barefoot and freezing as Jesse halts; then races back to her and comes to a stop half-way up the steps. “Jesse—“

“Ruthie, sweetheart, it’s barely thirty degrees and snowing, please go back inside. You’ll—“

“Jesse,” she says again, the lapels of his jacket held tight in her hands as she interrupts him— where he stopped on the stairs bringing them nearly to eye level with one another. “You said you weren’t pretending anymore… well, I wasn’t either.” She plows ahead, face burning red as he stares in surprised silence. “So… let’s be us, for real this time.”

He studies her for a moment, the scrutiny only making her face burn hotter as the embarrassment sets in, before he breaks into a smile. “I’d kiss you right now, if you’d let me. A real one, not those quick little ones.”

“I’m not stopping you.” She answers with a smile of her own, knowing it’s his way of saying he thought she’d never ask. He pulls her into his arms and she goes willingly, snuggling into the warmth of his embrace as his lips brush her temple in a gentle kiss. “I though you said a real kiss.” She teases, pressing closer as the wind sends a flurry of snow dancing against her exposed skin.

“I did, but you’re freezing. Inside first, to get you warmed up. Then I’ll give you all the kisses you want. I’d even kiss you until sunrise if you wanted.”

She laughs, leaving the warmth of his arms and dashes back to the door— stepping through as he follows, shutting it behind him just as the clock chimes midnight.

“Does the offer still stand?”

“I did say until sunrise.” Jesse steps towards her and pulls Ruthie close, one hand resting on her waist as he leans down— lifting his free hand to cradle her head as he finally kisses her. “Merry Christmas, Ruthie.”

[simsroyallegacy]

Lunaria’s Royal Family: Four Years Later

It’s been four long years since the tragic passing of Crown Princess Calliana and there has been many changes in Lunaria’s Royal Family since then; let’s take a look at the family she left behind.

(Above: The last photo taken of King Vincent two months ago, leaving the residence of the head of the House of Lords.) 

His Majesty King Vincent has spent these past years attending to Royal business as usual with the exception of the last year and a half, where his health has been in the decline. The King is getting on in his years and he has been battling heart complications recently. His youngest son, the Duke of Andale, has been taking on several of his engagements in order to help him rest. 

Many are speculating on whether or not the King is going to be abdicating in favor of HRH Crown Prince Arden this year; if he does, the monarchy will be met with serious opposition from the people. Since the death of his wife Arden has taken a step back from his public life, attending only State events and leaving his philanthropic work on the back burner. Many Lunarians question his ability to rule, feeling as if he has little to no care for his country and its people anymore. HM has yet to make any statements regarding an abdication, but it’s safe to say that if the King goes, Lunaria will be left in a state of unrest.

(Above: Prince Nicky spotted heading to class with his roommate and best friend, Prince Gabriel.)

On a happier note, the children of the Crown Prince are more popular than ever!  The media has tried its best to keep up with the three children of Crown Prince Arden and they’ve all become Lunaria’s sweethearts! 

HRH Prince Nicholas, the oldest of the three, is currently attending the University of Britechester like his parents before him. He lives in a townhome on campus with his best friend HRH Prince Gabriel of Castille. He has decided to study law and is well on his way to graduating with honors.

In the meantime, the future King of Lunaria is working hard during his breaks from uni, taking over many of his father’s engagements for him. His most popular project to date is a scholarship program called Infinite Horizons. The program, which offers high achieving students from low-income families a tuition-free education at their university of choice, launched just over a year ago and has gained popularity with many students across the country.  It currently accepts only five students a year, but the Prince has recently been quoted to be determined to triple that number in the next year.

Aside from making high schooler’s dreams come true, Prince Nicky has also been making his girlfriend, Lady Anissa Crawford’s, dreams a reality as well. The two have been spotted on luxurious trips and dinners, and articles have photographed Anissa showing off expensive gifts from HRH (Jewelry, clothes, even a CAR!). Easy-A’s reputation hasn’t gotten any better since we had first seen the couple; several scandals have popped up in the past four years depicting Anissa with other, extremely wealthy, men. Much to our horror, Nicky’s  forgiven her and taken her back each time. Here’s hoping to HRH pulling his head out of the sand!

(Above: Prince Charles with Alivia Acharya, last week’s girlfriend-of-the-week and the daughter of the Ambassador to the country of Dhuri.)

Unlike his older brother, HRH Prince Charles just can’t seem to be tied down. Taking up the mantle of Lunaria’s Wildest Prince from his Uncle Rhys, Charles seems to be dating his way through all the girls in his social circle. Never spotted with the same heiress twice, it looks like we’ll have to watch out for the next Royal romance scandal with this teen!

Charles’ womanizing ways aside, the young Prince is set to finish his final year at Hartfordshire Academy with excellent grades. HRH has expressed an interest in studying physics at the Foxbury Institute, where his cousin Prince Matthew is currently attending. 

(Above: A photo taken of Princess Annaliese and the personal bodyguard that had been injured on the job with her just before they entered the car doomed to crash.)

Citizens have been excited to watch HRH Princess Annaliese wherever she goes since the camera-shy princess aged up! Annaliese, nicknamed Ana after her grandmother, is constantly surrounded by bodyguards when she is spotted in Windenburg. She attends St. Ives Prep, an all-girls high school near Whiteglenn Manor where the Crown Prince family stays.

Princess Ana is the spitting image of her mother, and is constantly approached by the press, despite her and her family asking for her privacy throughout her life. She has had several run ins with the media where things have ended badly, the most recent being six months ago where a paparazzo from a popular tabloid chased HRH’s car down and caused an accident. A member of her security team was severely injured in the crash, and the young princess has refused to be seen in public since.

Reports from insiders claim that Ana feels incredibly guilty about the injury of one of her protectors and is terrified of something like that happening again. We’re happy to report that the injured party is recovered and spending time with their family (they even plan on returning to their position as the princess’ personal security guard!). The paparazzo has also been imprisoned after causing a major traffic accident and endangering a member of the Lunarian Royal Family.

(Above: Crown Prince Arden, still wearing his wedding ring, spotted on his way to Windenburg Palace for his weekly meeting with the King.)

Lastly we will revisit the Crown Prince Arden and what he’s been up to since the murder of his wife. HRH has taken to attending only large State functions, seen in public only when absolutely necessary. The press have been banned from being anywhere near his official residences and their access to Windenburg Palace has been heavily restricted.

Notably missing whenever we do get to see the Crown Prince is his smile. He maintains a poker face at whatever event he attends and is seen grim faced even in his family portraits and photos (as seen in the most recent family photo released above). Our inside sources also claim that he has drifted from his children, spending less and less time with them over the years.

“The saddest thing is his relationship with little Ana,” an anonymous source quotes. “He can’t even look at her because of her resemblance to Calliana.”

It can also be noted that HRH was absent from Prince Nicky’s high school graduation three years ago and was out of the country during Prince Charles’ most recent birthday; only sending a monetary gift in the mail. Those poor kids! 

Thankfully Arden’s siblings, the Duke of Andale and the Queen of Windsor, have been taking time out of their very busy schedules to support their niece and nephews. Both were photographed giving congratulations to Nicky on his graduation and the Duke threw a spectacular party for Charles on his birthday at his home, Highland House. Arden’s three children have also gone to stay with their aunt’s family in Windsor for the past few summers and even spent Christmas there as well. We’re glad they can at least get some familial support still, though we would like to see the Crown Prince return to the doting father he used to be!