#how can something that was never raised or nurtured or loved born into a world of chaos with innate bloodlust ever progress if it is

[critter-wizard]

you are all I have, you are the eyes that see, the air that breathes, how can I worship anything else?

[blossom-works]

The Apple of His Eye

A peek into the life of the Kennedy household with a gentle cocker spaniel, a nurturing mother, a protective father, and their oh-so-adorable little human.

Original prompt

A/N: OC is the same OC from His Sunshine

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Leon's eyelids start to flutter at a familiar sound. His tired mind slowly lulls itself back to sleep. A few seconds later, his ears pick up at the same sound. Leon tries to go back to sleep but a loud babble forces his brain to kick his body into high gear. The babbling gets louder and louder.

'Doesn't sound like she's crying.' Leon compromises. If she really needs him or her mother, she will start crying. Finding a rational excuse, Leon sinks himself further into the mattress. Just a few more seconds and Leon will be back in dreamland.

.

.

.

Wrong.

The baby monitor transmits a loud screech, compelling Leon to open his eyes and kick his legs over the edge of the bed. Hhm, that is weird. The other side of the bed is empty. Where are you? The squawking does not give Leon enough time to think.

"Okay. Okay. I'm on my way, bunny." Leon grumbles while shutting the monitor off. The distance from the master bedroom to the nursery is only a couple of feet away. In fact, both rooms are located at the opposite sides of the staircase. The master bedroom is at the left, down a mini-way. The nursery is the door directly to the right of the staircase. Per routine, Leon looks down at the door to see Shiloh tapping her paws against the wooden floor, awaiting her chance to say "good morning" to her little human.

Pushing the door open, Leon gives the medium-sized dog to enter the decorated room. When the DSO agent first encountered BOWs, he never thought that he would get married and have a kid. It was something pre-Raccoon City Leon thought about, but that wishful thinking quickly left the man after the events of '98. It was not until after your one-year wedding anniversary did Leon really started thinking about having kids. He discussed his desire with you which led to some serious baby-making.

Leon never had any experience with babies before Eri was born. He never changed a diaper and he never held a baby. Kids, Leon was comfortable around. They know how to use the bathroom on their own, and they mostly run around all day. The cherry on it all was that Leon would be raising his baby from day one. As soon as that baby popped out of you, Leon would be a father.

Your pregnancy with Eri was relatively easy. You did not experience morning sickness or many aversions to food or cravings. You did get emotional here and there, giving Leon some serious whiplash. Most of the time you were just tired. Leon forbade you from doing field work when you told him you were pregnant. He was even able to convince the president to give Leon domestic cases so he could be closer to you.

After Eri was born, Leon's view of the world permanently changed. As much as Leon hates his job, the moment he held Eri, Leon knew he would be a DSO agent until his late fifties. Maybe early sixties. Why? Leon needs to do everything he can to make sure his little girl can live in a world without the worry of bioterrorism. When you took Eri home, Leon used his connections to up his home's security system.

Changing diapers. Bathing. Changing clothes. Cleaning spit up. Diaper explosions. Late-night feedings and changings. You name it, Leon did it. It was definitely a learning process for him, but you were able to show Leon the ropes. Thank goodness that you had experience with babies. You spent your teenage years babysitting your little cousins, and your older brother and sister have kids of their own. Lord knows the chaos that would have erupted if the both of you were clueless about babies and raising them.

Leon loves fatherhood. His own childhood (at least the parts he remembers) was not a happy one. His parents got into some sketchy stuff with equally sketchy people. Their family was always on the run. Then, Leon was orphaned. Eri is Leon's chance to make up for his childhood. He would be the father he never had. You would be the mother Leon wished he had growing up. The two of you would give Eri the childhood Leon never had.

Shiloh claws at the crib, whining through the wooden bars.

"Calm down, girl. I'll get her in a sec."

The baby stops her crying when she sees her father. Cheeks are free from tears. Leon lightly pinches her chubby cheek. "You little faker." He coos. On most mornings, Eri would whine and fake cry to get her parents' attention. She would always greet them with a mischievous smile that said, "Ha ha, I tricked you. Now pick me up!"

"Morning, bunny." Leon picks his daughter up by her armpits and holds her against his chest. Morning cuddles with his baby girl are one of Leon's favorite ways to start his day. The others are cuddling with his wife and umm...cuddling with his wife. Eri nuzzles against Leon's t-shirt, further messing up her brown hair. Other than her eyes and hair, Eri looks just like you.

After their morning routine, Leon lays Eri down on the changing table. His daughter looks around at the wall beside her and her curious hands try to grab at the garland of stars. With his quick reflexes, Leon stops her.

"Nu-uh. Your mom would yell at me if you pulled that down."

You spent days planning Eri's nursery. A couple of those days were just trying to figure out the theme of it. Leon told you that he did not care, which ended up biting him in the ass. You wanted his opinion, but you forgot that the man is not well-versed in home decor. Eventually, you narrowed your options down to a night sky/starry night theme. Leon never heard about this website called "Etsy" until then. So. Much. Shit. You bought off that place.

You even had your baby shower themed the same to keep things simple. Since most of your family lives in Georgia or the Carolinas, you had the baby shower in Atlanta. The Redfields, Jill, and some of your FBI friends came down to celebrate too. In this entire room, Leon's favorite object is the framed footprints on the wall. You asked your nurse to print Eri's feet on cardstock so you could hang up. Every month since Eri's birth, you and Leon make it a goal to stamp Eri's feet. A cute memorabilia for the two of you.

Clean bum, check. Now Leon needs to feed his baby. Putting her down on the living room carpet, Leon rummages through the fridge. On the second shelf, he sees two plastic-wrapped plates. The bigger plate, his plate has a note on it. It says, "Good morning, handsome. I left for a quick trip to the grocery store. I made you and Eri some breakfast to keep your morning easy. All you need to do is cut up an apple for her. I already fed Shiloh, so don't worry about her. - Sunshine <3"

God, you are amazing. Leon heats up Eri's plate first. Like Leon, she tends to get hangry. After heating the small plate up, Leon sets it aside to let it cool and he takes an apple from the fridge and cuts it into bite-sized pieces (while also getting his "dad tax" in).

'Wait a minute...It's too quiet.'

Putting the pairing knife down, Leon wipes his hands with the kitchen towel and looks for his daughter.

"Eri? Where are you, apple?" Leon peeps from over the couch and his daughter is nowhere to be seen. He calls out to her again. Great. Another game of hide-n-seek. Eri's favorite game to play. If you leave the little girl alone for long enough, Eri will wander off and hide. He blames you for introducing the game to her. You would hide around the house with Eri, waiting for Leon to find you. It was cute until Eri decided to spontaneously play the game by herself when she learned how to crawl. You and Leon had a full-on panic attack when you could not find your daughter.

Both of you have dangerous jobs. Resulting in making dangerous enemies. When you and Leon moved out of your shared apartment to live in a house in the suburbs, the main concern was security. Files on DSO agents and their families are strictly confidential. Even the people who work at the Pentagon have to have a certain level of clearance to access that information. Even Eri's birth certificate is confidential. The only information that is not blocked out is her name, date of birth, and sex.

But, there is always that small chance that someone can find out about your family. When that does happen, Leon wants to be prepared for it. Your home is on a large piece of land in Arlington, Virginia. It is close enough to the city for help to arrive in a reasonable time frame, but far enough to enjoy some well-deserved privacy. With Hunnigan's help, Leon was able to equip his property with a high-tech security system. Cameras, motion detectors, audio recordings, and more. Leon even chalked up some hidden compartments around the house to hold firearms of different kinds.

After twenty minutes of looking, you found Eri asleep under the dining room table. The chairs blocked her from your view. That day, you and Leon did not take your eyes off of her. One of you was always with her to make sure she did not crawl herself into trouble.

"There you are, you bad girl." Leon bends down to drag Eri out of the walk-in pantry. Oh, and Shiloh often hides with Eri. The two of them are partners in crime. "Let's get you something to eat alright? And not give your old dad a heart attack."

By the time Leon finished doing the dishes, you came walking in from the garage door with two arms full of groceries.

"Hey, handsome." You greet while tossing the plastic bags onto the kitchen counter. Leon greets you back with a kiss before helping you put the groceries away. Seeing her mother, Eri squeals in delight. She leans over the tray and makes grabby hands at you.

"Awee! Did my baby miss me?" You pick Eri out of her highchair and smother her with your love. Leon could live in this moment forever. If he had one wish, this would be it. Just him, his daughter, his wife, and his dog at home. No spontaneous calls from work. No investigations. Secretly, Leon takes out his personal phone and snaps a photo of you cuddling with your daughter.

The afternoon comes and it is almost time for Eri's nap. She usually naps for about two hours before being put to bed around eight-thirty. Today has been an easy one, and Leon hopes it stays that way. When the two of you are home, Leon puts Eri to sleep while you make lunch for the two of you. Eri always has an early lunch before she naps and a snack after she wakes up. The two of you found that to be easy considering Eri's tendency to get cranky when hungry. Like father, like daughter.

Leon walks into the kitchen to see you watching something on your phone. A pan is on the stove, sizzling.

"Watcha' watchin'?"

"A video popped up on my YouTube feed. It's about three things this guy learned from raising daughters." You hand the phone to Leon since the lessons are being told from a father's perspective.

When you plate your respective meals, Leon is sitting on the back patio. You find this unusual because he always tells you where he is going (with the exception of some missions). Even if it is somewhere around or in the house. You slide the patio door open.

"Leon? What's wrong, babe?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing." Leon opens his arms to invite you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle into Leon's shoulder.

"Did you get another mission?" Your guess is a valid one. Leon almost always gets like this, quiet, when he gets a call from his higher-ups. Your husband hates to leave you and he hates it more when he has to leave his darling apple, but Leon shakes his head "no".

"Is something bothering you then?" Again, Leon shakes his head "No".

Alright, then you will wait for Leon to tell you what is bothering him. Until then, you pull Leon up and bring him to the kitchen. There is no way that you are going to forsake your hard work. His appetite has gone down a little, but Leon knows that if he does not eat, he will not get a chance to without paying the "Eri tax".

Later that night, after Eri is snoozing in her crib, Leon tells you what is bothering him. The last thing the man in the video said hit Leon straight in his heart. The last lesson for dads is to teach their daughters how to shoot. It is Leon's job as a father to be his family's main provider and protector, but there will come a time when Leon will not be there to protect and provide for his family.

As much as Leon tries to rid of the dangers of the world, darkness will always lurk. It will be his job as Eri's father to teach her how to defend herself. To protect herself from the monsters that try to stop her from reaching her full potential in the world. Cause'...someday daddy will not be there to do it for her. Sometime in the night when the baby monitor picks up on Eri's cries, Leon volunteers himself to care for her.

Half-asleep, you hear Leon talking to your daughter. Repeating the same promise he made when she was born. To protect her for as long as he can. Then you hear Leon say, "Did you just pee on my hand?"

In the morning, your family of four go to a nearby park to take a walk. Eri is in her stroller, you pushing the stroller, and Leon is walking Shiloh. This writer has been focusing on the nurturing mother, protective father, and their adorable daughter, but what about the gentle doggo?

Shiloh has always loved people. Cocker spaniels are known to be wonderful family pets and very tolerant of small children. The first day you brought Eri home, Shiloh would not leave her alone. While you were pregnant, the dog would find every opportunity to nuzzle against your stomach. When Eri still slept in the room with you and Leon, Shiloh would sleep at the foot of the bed or next to the bassinet.

Their relationship would only grow as Eri gets bigger. You have a video of Shiloh giving one of her toys to a one-month-old Eri, wanting the baby to play a game of fetch with her. When Eri started eating solid foods, she would purposefully throw a small handful on the ground. Always nearby, Shiloh would lap up whatever Eri was eating. There was one time when you were out of the house, Leon was giving Eri a bath and then Shiloh hopped into the tub.

You used to be Shiloh's best friend, but you gladly gave that position to Eri. They make a cuter pair anyway.

With a household full of girls, Leon is always smothered with love. Before, you and Shiloh would always fight for his attention, and now he has three girls fighting for it. You like to mess with Eri when she gets cuddly with Leon. You would pick Eri up and put her a few feet away from Leon, before running back to him and taking her place. Purposefully, you dramatically nuzzle against Leon and kiss his cheek with a loud "Mwah!"

She only started crawling about a month ago, but Eri is a fast one. She would pop up at her father's feet and cry out to him, demanding that he pick her up. When he does pick her up and place Eri on his lap, she would try with all her might to push you off. If she could talk, Eri would say "My daddy!" Then Shiloh and Eri fight with each other to get Leon's attention. Safe to say that Leon loves the attention he gets from his girls.

Bath time is Eri's favorite. Right behind cuddling with mommy which is right behind cuddling with daddy, which is behind chasing the things that likes to play with her and lick her. Eri loves water. She loves slashing it everywhere. Leon introduced Eri to a water bath toy. It is a whale that lights up and spurts water out of its blow hole. Kind of a double-edged sword because Eri will not let either of you bathe her without that toy.

"That's enough, bunny." Leon begs as he scrunches up his face. Thanks to his baby girl, Leon's chest is all wet. He learned to rid of his shirt whenever he bathes Eri. It is easier to dry himself off without having to deal with a soaked shirt.

Eri dismisses her father's pleas and continues to punch the water. Her dark brown hair is clean and the water droplet on her nose enhances the button-like feature. Eri's eyes are a hazel brown, but if the light hits her irises just right, you can see a swirl of blue in them. You once joked that Eri's charming features would attract all the boys in her class, begging her to be their girlfriend. Leon did not find that funny. He protectively held Eri to his chest and said, "The sons of bitches better know how to shoot then."

Leon's last straw during bath time is when Eri shoves water over the edge of the tub, drowning the tile and soaking the edges of his gym shorts. Leon puts a diaper on Eri and takes the towel-clad baby to her room. Carefully, Leon tosses the clothed baby on your shared bed where you are typing away at your laptop.

"Watch the brat. I've gotta clean up her little mess."

You put your laptop on your bedside table and curl against your baby. You lift her shirt up and blow raspberries against her puggy stomach.

"Did you give your dad a hard time again?" Her little giggles say "yes".

You like to keep a few baby books in your room to keep Eri entertained. You sit up against the headboard and plop your daughter on your lap.

"Guess how much I love you."

Animated, you read the book in different voices and inflections. You use your hands to copy what the hares are doing in the book. At some point, Shiloh lays herself in the middle of the bed where your legs are. When you finish the book, you pull out another one.

"The giving tree."

Before you can read the first page, Leon takes it and climbs into his side of the bed. Minding the sleeping dog, he slides you over to him. Practically squishing Eri between you two.

"Once there was a tree and she loved a little boy..."

The Kennedy family has vital parts to it.

You are the sun that gave life and light to the apple seed, allowing it to sprout into a little tree. Shiloh is the birds and small animals that give the little apple tree companionship. And Leon. Leon is the protector. The one that wards off the pests that try to nip at the little apple tree. The one that fights off the wolves that try to eat the birds and small animals. The one that blows away the clouds that try to cover the sun's rays. Then there is the little apple tree itself. A precious gift of life that should be nurtured and protected.

"And the tree was happy."

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Note: Eri may or may not have been inspired by the Eri in My Hero Academia...Why? Cause she's so darn diggity cute, that's why!

[aethon-recs]

Themed Rec List | Harry-Raises-Tom Riddle Recs

Another one of my all-time favorite Tomarrymort themes is when Harry decides to raise Tom Riddle. Below is a selection of wonderful fics where Harry is Tom's primary caretaker for some or all points during his childhood, such as going back in time to adopt Tom, or existing as a disembodied voice in Tom’s head, mentoring and guiding him through the ups & downs of his unfortunate childhood circumstances.

Many of these fics ask the question, could Tom have turned out differently if he had experienced a better, kinder upbringing? How much of Tom's nature is nature versus nurture, and how much influence can Harry even exert? These questions and more are explored in the >1 million words of Harry-raises-Tom Riddle fic linked below.

See here for Part 1 of this theme: Voldemort-Raises-Harry Tomarrymort Recs 🤍

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47 Days to Change by snow_owl01 (E, 201k, complete)

Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are enemies, born adversaries, prophesied leaders of opposite factions. An unfortunate tale of one man's failed attempt to mold young Tom into a decent, law-abiding citizen. Instead, as Fate will have it, young Tom grows up to become the same twisted psychopath, who is hell-bent on winning the love of his adoptive father, Harry's consent be damned.

A Single Love by Vera_DragonMuse (E, 23k, complete)

If Tom had been raised by Harry instead, would he have grown up to be Lord Voldemort?

Animus, Anima by @maiathoustra (M, 145k, complete)

In limbo, Harry doesn't choose to go back to the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort. He makes another decision and finds himself in a baby's body: little Tom Riddle. Years pass that intimately bind the orphan and his imaginary friend into a hopeless and incestuous relationship. Indeed, all the odd events of Tom Riddle's life happen in spite of Harry's presence: could he be the one who provokes them? This is Tom Riddle's entire life, as close to canon as possible, if he shared his body with Harry Potter (and fell in love with him).

complete by @cindle-writes (E, 9k, complete)

Everyone had always said that Voldemort was an alpha, and Harry didn't have any reason to presume otherwise. When he travels back in time to adopt Tom Riddle out of the orphanage, it never occurs to him there'd be any issue. What Harry doesn’t realize is that Tom is actually an unbonded omega.

Eudaimonia by @duplicitywrites (E, 16k, complete)

Harry travels back in time to save Merope Gaunt from dying. He takes her in, heals her illness, helps her when she gives birth to her son... and then falls prey to her love potion.  Despite his lack of exposure to the outside world, it doesn't take Tom long to realize something is off about his parents' marriage. It takes even less time for him to decide his loving father deserves better.

Growing Pains by @whisprchrysalis (M, 113k, WIP)

June 24th, 1995. The night that Lord Voldemort regains his human form and attempts to fight Harry to the death, their wands collide, shared by a beam of gold light. And then, Lord Voldemort's volatile, recently-regenerated human form morphs into something else entirely. Into his seven-year-old de-aged self. Now he's young Tom Riddle, fresh out of Wool's Orphanage.

Paved With the Best Intentions by @perhaps-sunlight (M, 81k, WIP)

Instead of dying during the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort de-ages into an infant. Until he becomes old enough to be legally executed, he will be magically bound to Harry.

The Abyss by AislingSiobhan (E, 36k, complete)

Nietzsche was right: when fighting monsters, Harry should have been more careful not to become one himself. That didn’t matter anymore. It was too late to save himself, yet he could still save the world from Voldemort. But who would save Voldemort from him?

the babytrap series by @cindle-writes, @crowcrowcrowthing, @duplicitywrites (E, 5k, complete)

This little boy, barely five years old and Tom Riddle in miniature, boasted beautiful emerald eyes. “A piece of you,” Tom said lightly, kissing Harry’s cheek in greeting, “and a piece of me.”

the eternal flame by @duplicitywrites (E, 25k, WIP) — with lovely art by @kagariasuha and more lovely art by @chiocchi

There’s a well-dressed older man who enters the orphanage asking after Tom Riddle.  The man’s green eyes fix on Tom’s face, searching and searching. His expression is conflicted, sad and hurt. Almost like he’s grieving, only that doesn’t make any sense because Tom is right here. “My name is Harry Gaunt,” the man says, the tenor of his voice soft and faltering, a reflection of Tom's deepest, most secret anxieties, “and I’m here to adopt you.”

Times, he remembers by SpitFire97 (T, 4k, complete)

A green-eyed stranger whisks Tom to a distant future to prevent the Dark Lord from getting to Tom. It’s not his fault he misunderstands.

Three Turns Should Do It by @vdoshu (M, 284k, WIP)

When Harry tried to cast a Patronus to save himself, Sirius, and Hermione from hundreds of Dementors, he created a paradox, and found himself ripped out of time entirely. Many years earlier, Tom Riddle was just a lonely boy who wanted to be happy. But history was written by the victors, and the monster of Lord Voldemort was not what Harry found when he was no longer adrift. Time was a tricky thing, and fate, even trickier. It would take plenty of friends, and family, and just so much time, but maybe—maybe—together they could change fate.

What He Grows To Be by @k-s-morgan (M, 267k, complete)

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

“Would you like to come with me?” by @chiocchi (SFW, art)

The Wool’s Orphanage adoption scene. Adorable heartwarming art piece.

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[malanasims]

Taylor Swift Eras themed Legacy Challenge

i wanted to put together two of my favorite things: the sims and Taylor Swift. so i came up with this 10 generation legacy challenge in which each generation is inspired by a different album. I created this challenge for the sims 2 ultimate collection since that is the game i normally play, but i am sure it can be adapted for sims 3 or sims 4. i also implemented the traits project for ts2 but you can easily do the challenge without it using different personality points. i set up this challenge so that each generation alternates genders but you can switch that up. i also chose first names for each generation based on references of the album. also some of the writing is very cheesy and has a lot of references because why not go crazy. this is my first legacy challenge so if you have any critiques let me know. the rules are not strict and cheats can be used as its a story-based challenge.

Debut- Gen 1: Mary

“Take me home where we met so many years before. 

We'll rock our babies on that very front porch: After all this time, you and I”

You grew up in a small town where everyone knew each other. Your parents never had the greatest relationship and your mom was always with her best friend. Since birth you and her kid have been inseparable. Will you fall into the same patterns as your parents…or will you find a place in this world?

family/romance 

LTW: reach golden anniversary

nurturing, jealous, loves the outdoors, great kisser, family oriented

marry your first love

have 2 children (at least one son)

formal wear is a little black dress

Fearless- Gen 2: Stephen 

“You played in bars, you play guitar

I'm invisible and everyone knows who you are”

Your parents raised you well but something about the fact that they only ever knew each other scares you. You want to get out there and make a name for yourself. You know no ones coming for you on their white horse. You’ll have to be fearless to become a superstar: but for now all you have is your mothers eyes and her old guitar.

fortune/pleasure

virtuoso, charismatic, irresistible, ambitious, non-committal

LTW: become rock god

go on at least 5 first dates

have at least one daughter

date a fan

Speak now- Gen 3: Emma

“When Emma falls apart, it's when she's alone

She takes on the pain and bears it on her own”

You often felt overlooked by your rockstar father. He was always busy and you spent most of your time with your mother until her mysterious disappearance. You feel like you grew up too fast, and now you love to travel back to your youth and fantasize about castles and dragons. So you become an actress; a character. Will you break out of your fathers famously destructive patterns, or will you regain your balance on the tightrope and break out before fire can catch you?

popularity/romance

LTW: Become Icon

natural born performer, childish, bookworm, shy, hopeless romantic

your first love doesn't work out/ you break their heart

have at least one son

have a strained relationship with your father but a good relationship with your mother

meet your true love at a party and then never see eachother again

Red- Gen 4: Bobby

“How you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out

They say you bought a bunch of land somewhere

Chose the rose garden over Madison Square”

You grew up in the starlight of your mothers fame. You two were always close but after suffering from the tabloids and the camera flashes you decide this life is not for you. You move out of the Angel City and start anew. Your mother has given you some funds and you build up a family home. You tell everyone you left because the city wasn’t right for you… but maybe it was partly to run from your playboy/girl ex who you know was trouble. Now you spend your life painting and searching for your muse. Will you stay paralyzed by time or finally begin again?

Knowledge/family

LTW: become visionary

artistic, eco friendly, night owl, loves the cold, loner

Have an on and off toxic relationship

Move out of your parents house

Settle down with someone nice

Have 3 children (at least one girl)

1989- Gen 5: Love

“You searched the world for somethin' else

To make you feel like what we had

And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad”

You grew up secluded from the world, surrounded by your mothers paintings. Your mom loved the environment but you couldn’t wait to get out of the woods and explore new places. Somewhere along the road, you fell into a rabbit hole of insanity: mascara running in the bathroom and rose gardens filled with thorns. You blow money and string lovers along. You have fantastic delusions until your wildest dreams turn into nightmares. Will you accept the help from your family and abandon your affinity for screaming, crying and perfect storms? Or will every day continue to be a battle?

knowledge/pleasure

LTW: Become space pirate

Insane, unstable, diva, adventurous, jealous

Join the adventurer career

Have 3 loves at once

Have children with multiple people (one must be boy/girl twins)

Lose money in poker

Reputation- Gen 6: Burton (the name is so bad help)

“I don't like your kingdom keys

They once belonged to me

You asked me for a place to sleep

Locked me out and threw a feast”

Yeah, your mother may have done a number on you, but who's counting? Maybe your twin sister… Everything you did, she just had to do better. In the wake of your mother’s madness, you turned to dancing. You found peace in swaying as the room burnt down. Your twin sister on the other hand hated how you were lit up every room you walked into, but you couldn’t help it. There's nothing she hates more than what she can't have… so she turned to sabotage. Just when you think that your life is perfect- you're at the top of your career and you finally found love- your sister starts a rumor that you cheated on your love. Your reputation as a famous dancer goes down in seconds. But to your surprise, your lover isn't reading what they call you lately and your relationship is stronger than ever. Will you get revenge on your sister and become exactly what you despise, or sit back and let karma take over?

Popularity/romance

LTW: Become world class ballerina

Party animal, irresistible, social butterfly, hot headed, unlucky

Be enemies with your twin sister

Never be unfaithful

Have a bad reputation

Have at least one daughter

Lover- Gen 7: Cornelia

“I’d be a fearless leader, I'd be an alpha type

When everyone believes ya, what's that like?”

You've always known you wanted to change the world. Who cares if you were overlooked and discouraged. Snakes and stones won’t break your bones. You never had a big family as your father walked away from his. Sometimes it gets lonely trusting the wicked, and your loyalty was often a fault. You turn to politics to combat your feelings of helplessness, but no one takes you seriously and you feel lost in the light. You have to start from the ground up with the help of your best friend. You start to build your picture-perfect life: the kids, the lyrical smiles and the power. Will you drive away your lover by searching for their dark side, or will you put aside your ways and find the daylight?

Popularity/family

LTW: Become mayor

Good, easily impressed, brave, unlucky, perfectionist

Fall in love with your best friend

Have 10 best friends

Have children (at least one son)

Folklore- Gen 8: James

“I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that”

You grew up trying to meet the expectations of your politician mother. Everything had to be picture perfect, even your private life. So she set you up with the daughter of one of the most powerful families in town, Betty. At first you are skeptical, but over time you fall for her integrity and affinity for old cardigans. Along the way you begin to feel stuck, tired of the sensual politics and your mother’s watchful eye. That's when you meet August -the polar opposite of Betty- and some part of you has to know what she is like. You meet in parking lots and dive bars, but after Betty finds out, you realize that summer is dwindling. In wake of losing two girls, you turn to writing: poetry and sad prose. You get lost in your stories, but once you start to gain traction, you can’t help but wonder how different your life could have been. Will you rekindle your wild flame with August or go back to the peace you felt with Betty?

knowledge/ romance

LTW: Publish 5,000$ best seller*

Great kisser, coward, bookworm, brooding, commitment issues

Fall in love with Betty

Fall in love with August

Confess to cheating on Betty

Write novels

Move into a cottage by a lake

Finally choose the one girl

Have at least one daughter with her

Evermore- Gen 9: Ivy

“And the skeletons in both our closets

Plotted hard to fuck this up

And the old men that I’ve swindled

Really did believe I was the one”

You always resented your father because he abandoned the good life for a cottage in the woods and his stories. You don’t want that; you want power and wealth. You don't need love, just a fancy car. So you turn to crime, because it’s easy for you; you love the gold rush. You con men and no one will ever prove it. You marry rich men and inherit their money when their time runs out. But then one day you meet your match, a fellow criminal, and wonder if this life will really bring you happiness. But you realized this a little too late, and now you're forced to drink your husband's wine… but he was the wrong guy. Will you leave the life of crime behind or will you stay frozen in time?

Fortune/pleasure

LTW: Gold digger

Kleptomaniac, genius, charismatic, mean-spirited, rebellious

Go into the criminal career

Marry a rich sim

Fall in love with a criminal and have an affair

Have a son

Midnights- Gen 10: Snow

“And I don't dress for villains

Or for innocents

I'm on my vigilante shit again”

You knew your mom wasn’t the most ethically-correct person. You like to think you inherited her better half; but that isn’t entirely true. You are determined to be different, so you become a spy; you get the satisfaction of working for the good guys and the pleasure that comes with great wars. Being a spy is difficult though, and you never know when things could go wrong. You are constantly burning files and deserting old lives. But you’re a mastermind, nobody can deny that. You finally meet your perfect person, but it's hard concealing your true occupation from them. You have money and respect… But can all of that pay for someone to just know you?

Fortune/knowledge

LTW: Become head of the SCIA

Perceptive, disciplined, loner, proper, daredevil

Join the intelligence career

Move homes at least twice

The rest is up to you since it is the last generation 

*50 new LTW mod can be found here

if anyone decides to do this challenge tag me! i'd love to see it

[psychostxr]

PUPPET ── Chapter One

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CHAPTER ONE. tragedies

WARNINGS. angst, cursing

WORD COUNT. 1.1k

SYNOPSIS. a villain being in love with a hero always ends in heartbreak

"Dammit!" (y/n) hisses, tears pricking her eyes.

She sits on the toilet seat in her bathroom, her heart beating against her chest. Her hand trembles as she holds the pregnancy test, staring at the two pink lines. It's positive.

The test falls to the tiled floor. The pink lines taunt (y/n), confirming her worst fears. It feels like the walls are closing in on her as she struggles to catch her breath. Her tears finally fall down her cheeks.

Her upbringing was far from ordinary. Being born into a family of villains, (y/n) was trained to follow in her parent's footsteps and expected to revel in the destruction of hero society. She's never known the warmth and stability of a happy family. The idea of love and nurturing feels foreign.

How could she possibly handle the responsibility of raising a child? She can barely look after herself. Her mind races with thoughts, doubts, and fears, threatening to engulf her in a tidal wave of uncertainty.

Taking deep breaths, (y/n) attempts to calm herself. She closes her eyes and presses a hand to her stomach. She couldn't deny the truth of carrying another living being within her. But another presence invades her thoughts, Keigo.

"Shit," she whispers, eyes opening. "How am I tell gonna tell him?"

Keigo is a Pro Hero, a god the civilians of Japan praise. And (y/n)'s a former villain, a convict still wanted by Japan.

How would the public react to their relationship? What would happen now that she's carrying the child of the Number 3 Pro Hero? Does Keigo even want to be a father?

(y/n) shakes her head, shooing away those thoughts. 

"It's okay. You're going to be okay," (y/n) says, trying to reassure herself. "I've dealt with worse and got through it. This will be easy." She pauses. "Hopefully."

Gathering her strength, (y/n) picks up the pregnancy test and throws it in the bin beside the toilet. She walks to the sink to wash her hands and clean her face.

The water cools down her face, but when (y/n) sees her reflection in the mirror, she sees how unattractive she looks. Her eyes are puffy, her face red, and her nose scrunches to stop the snot from running.

She looks far from happy at that moment. She knows that. But all she can do is put up a front and pretend she is. So she smiles and hopes for the best when Keigo arrives later after patrol.

But fate has other plans.

As (y/n) opens her refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, a knock at the balcony sliding door interrupts her. She stares at the glass door, her heart skipping and her grip on the plastic bottle tightening when her eyes lock with Keigo's golden ones.

She smiles. "Fuck me."

(y/n) moves to unlock the sliding door, inviting the winged hero inside before closing it again. Keigo stands in the middle of the lounge, unusual from the routine (y/n) was used to. Normally, he would hug and kiss her by now, but today is different. Her senses are telling her something is wrong.

"Not that I don't love your company," she starts nervously, "You're usually only over once the sun is down. So what's the occasion?"

Keigo's gaze avoids (y/n)'s, allowing his eyes to roam around the apartment that's felt like home for the last couple of months. (y/n) can feel the tension in the air. But before she can ask another question, Keigo utters the words she fears.

"(y/n), we need to talk."

(y/n) breathes through her nose, her heart sinking as she sits on the couch. She crosses her arms, hoping it will somehow protect her from hearing what Keigo needs to say. Keigo turns to look at her, and (y/n) searches Keigo's eye for answers, but all she finds is emptiness.

"I- We can't do this anymore, (y/n)," Keigo says, his voice tired. "We're just not meant to be."

(y/n) inhales sharply through her teeth. The room seems to spin, and the world blurs around her. How could Keigo leave her? Now, of all times to do so?

Tears well up in (y/n)'s eyes, but she fights to hold them back. She turns her head, not wanting Keigo to see her like this. She won't let him see her weakness, her vulnerability.

She shakily sighs. "I should've known this was coming."

Her elbow moves to sit on the couch's arm, and her hand covers her mouth as she shakes her head. She closes her eyes momentarily before opening them and uncovers her mouth.

"I should've known that a hero couldn't love a villain." Her voice trembles as she continues. "I'm so stupid to think I could live a normal life and be happy. But villains don't get happily ever afters." She turns to face Keigo. "Only tragedies."

"(y/n), it's not like that."

"Really?" She scoffs. "Then please, explain to me what other reason you would have to want to break up with me?"

Anger and hurt swell within (y/n). How could he leave her after everything they've been through together? Did the promises he made years ago mean nothing to him?

Keigo hesitates, his gaze falling to the floor. "I've found someone else."

"Bullshit!" (y/n) exclaims, standing up to point an accusing finger at the blond. "If you're going to lie to me, at least make sure it's believable. It took me months to get you to break down your walls and even learn your first name!" she argues, "I highly doubt you found a bitch that made you crack that quickly."

The silence between them is deafening, but (y/n)'s ragged breaths and rapid heartbeat cut the stillness.

"If you have nothing else to say, just leave," she says.

Keigo turns to open the glass door, oblivious to (y/n)'s secret. She wants to tell him the truth, to make him understand the gravity of their situation, but she won't beg him to stay if he won't willingly.

"But I hope you know you're making the biggest mistake of your life." Her words cause Keigo to stop in his tracks. "And you're going to regret it in the future."

Keigo glances at her. "I know."

(y/n) nods. "Just making sure."

Keigo's red wings outstretch as he stands on the balcony. They beat against the air, and he takes off, soaring through the sky.

(y/n) quickly locks the door and pulls the curtain closed before she crumbles to the floor, clutching her knees to her body and letting the tears flow freely.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm sorry."

(y/n)'s alone, facing a future with the weight of motherhood on her young shoulders. She knows she has to find the strength to face this situation as usual, but for now, all she can do is grieve the loss of Keigo and her broken heart.

© psychostxr — all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.

[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 8

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: Fluff and a hint of angst

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed, greatly advised and strongly appreciate.

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Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie; @sunflowersandsapphires; @schneeflocky; @danzer8705; @ebathory997;

@foxyjaina; @soph69420world; @shouldbestudying41; @beezusvreeland; @lulukings92;

@flowher

Dividers by @cafekitsune

You both shared breakfast in the early hours of morning, both basking in the afterglow of the previous night. Enjoying the small bubble you had created for yourself for as long as you could. For a few hours, the outside world didn’t exist. Your families, your own issues ceased to exist. It was a brief moment of respite before reality would ultimately come crashing down.

You walked him to the door, “can’t you stay a little longer?”

“Wish I could but Frank called for a meeting,” Michael said, his hands taking a hold of your hips. “Got to deal with all the shite we just started. I’ll come find you as soon as I can, yeah?”

You nodded, “okay.” You slid your hands up his arms; to cup his face and you pressed your lips to his. In a soft kiss at first, his tongue had demanded entrance and quickly the kiss turned heated. As though the fire burning within you could not be put out. You moaned into his mouth when his right hand slid around your waist, and over your ass. Palming you through your sleeping shirt. You instinctively pressed your hips into his, feeling his half-hardened cock through his jeans. Your arms slid around his shoulders.

He pulled away, reluctantly, bringing his forehead to yours, “let’s not start something we can’t finish, Pet,” he panted out.

You let out a small laugh, sucking in your lips, “you’re right, let’s not.”

He smiled down at you, before leaning for another kiss, his hand squeezing your ass gently before letting go of you. You closed the door behind him, thinking about ways to busy your day before you could see him again.

You were elated, more than you’d ever felt before. After confessing your feelings for each other, you both decided to give it a go. To try and see where would this relationship go. It was probably unwise to start something new with Michael Kinsella of all people. Especially now that he had a bounty on his head. Now that he was a target, a man to be taken down. His family was now at war with Eamon Cunnigham. You were not stupid. You knew how dangerous this could be. How dangerous it truly was. Any man with a gun in Dublin, greedy for money or trying to make a name for themselves, would come looking for any of the Kinsellas and more so for Michael.

You were aware of how dangerous it was to start a new relationship with Michael. And yet—you couldn’t care less. No matter how dangerous or unwise it might be, you thought—you were convinced that it was worth the risks.

There was a freedom that came with your father’s death. Regretfully. You loved the man but you never felt as though you could be free for as long as he was alive. There was a responsibility and guilt that came with being the first-born daughter. Constant worries that you were not doing enough, slaving away to make sure the house was cleaned, that food was prepared. And on top of it all, you had to be an example for your younger siblings. You were raised to be strong and self-reliant which led you to feel lonely and isolated.

Your loneliness and isolation had slowly disappeared since you’d moved to Dublin. It first started with Birdy. The woman was sweet on you, always making sure that you were taken care of. She, too, was the first-born daughter of her family and naturally, she had taken on the part of the nurturing caregiver. It was in her nature. You were kindred spirits.

Although, afraid at first, you couldn’t help but take a liking in her. She was caring and took you under her wing pretty quickly. Making you feel less lonely and isolated.

And then came Michael.

There was a deep connection between the both of you. You couldn’t deny it, even if you tried. You both found solace in each other’s arms. You found peace and safety in his arms.

You felt understood in ways you had never been before. Although, a criminal, you had more in common with him than you had with anyone you’d met before. And maybe that was why it had been so easy to fall into bed with him. So easy to open yourself up to this man.

There was no judgment. Only understanding.

You couldn’t help the permanent smile on your face. Even if you tried.

It was crazy to think that you had to come to Dublin to find this level of understanding. To feel this deep connection with someone. You would think that moving to another country would isolate you more than anything. And yet.

You felt freer. More connected. Less lonely and isolated.

Free of this martyrdom that had been plaguing you for most of your life, you weren’t burdened by the constant worry of your family not being able to function without you anymore. The constant responsibility of pleasing and appeasing were no longer your cross to bear.

There was a true freedom that came with stepping out of that martyrdom of being the eldest daughter. To be able to let go of pressures and responsibilities, and all of the resentment and blame that often came with it.

It was still hard for you to do as much. There are things that were inherently ingrained in you; work hard, cater to everyone’s feelings, to people please. Those were things that you couldn’t just let go of. It was hard to.

But eventually, one day, you hoped you would get there.

Hair slightly damp from your recent shower, you opened your door to a smiling Birdy. She greeted with a wide smile as usual, and a plate.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” you told her as she followed you inside. “Especially, with everything that you have going on.”

“’S no trouble, really,” she waved you off. “Like takin care of ya, Pet.”

“And I appreciate it,” you smiled softly. “Tea?”

She nodded, “yeah,” and sat down at your small kitchen table. “You and Mikey are getting close,” she stated.

Caught off guard, you froze for a moment. Your heart started racing underneath your ribcage. As though you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. Bracing yourself for blame, perhaps, or something more.

You cleared your throat, and stuttered, “yeah—we—uh—we got to know each other a little.” Heat creeping up your face and neck. “He’s—a—huh—he’s been—very good to me,” you turned around to face her. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“Not at all, dear,” Birdy stood up and walked up to you. She tucked your hair behind your ear, “I’m glad you and Mikey are gettin’ close to each other.” Your eyes roamed over her face, a soft and tender smile making its way onto her face, “I’ve seen how happy you’ve been makin’ Mikey. How happy he’s been makin’ you.”

“Yeah,” you huffed out a laugh. “He does. He—uh—we understand each other a lot, I guess. Makes it easy to get close.”

“He cares ‘bout ya.”

“I care about him too.”

“Good,” Birdy hummed happily.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” You questioned, “whatever it might be. It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“It doesn’t bother me, pet,” Birdy patted your cheek softly. “And I’ll make sure to keep the others in line, if I have to.”

“I bet they won’t be as happy as you—when—” you sighed, “—once they know about it.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” she reassured you. “I’ll handle it.”

You weren’t worried about the others. Neither were you in a rush to meet any of them, really. You were perfectly fine with keeping your relationship with Michael as far away as possible from the rest of them. You weren’t fool enough to think that they won’t find out about it. Or want a say in it. But you’d rather face them further down the line.

You locked your door behind as you left the safety of your home. Your eyes inevitably drifting to Michael’s home. He had not come back yet. You’d figured he must be still dealing with the consequences of Caolan Moore’s death. They were probably getting everything in order, organizing themselves and their business. You didn’t know exactly, and you wouldn’t ask.

Walking down your street, you noticed the guards’ car that sat at the end of it. Reality was slowly crashing down on you. Those were the things you would have to live with. These were the sorts of things that the Kinsellas would bring to your life.

Could you live with this?

Strolling down the streets of Dublin, enjoying your lazy day, you had pushed all thoughts of your mother in the dark corner of your mind. Where she truly belonged. You had almost forgotten her and everything that came with her. The dread in the pit of your stomach, the tension in your shoulders, the irregular beating of your heart, the shortness of your breath. Those were the things you always seemed to feel when she was in your life. Her presence burdened you with dread and anxiety.

It was so easy for her to make you feel this way. And you hated it. You hated how much power she had over you.

When thoughts of her came to your mind, and you inevitably tried to remember her features, it was fuzzy. Always. You couldn’t remember how her nose curved, or if she had moles on her face. Or how big her eyes were, or even what her smile looked like. You couldn’t remember any of those things.

And yet—

Why, while you were there, rooted to your spot in the middle of the crowd, across the street, did you recognize her so easily? Before you could even catch a glimpse of her face, why did you know it was her? Like a rock, your heart dropped. The wind got knocked out of you. You should be moving. Run away. You didn’t want her to see you. You didn’t want her to know you were there.

But you couldn’t.

It was your mother. She was right across the street. And after so many years of not seeing her, it felt like a miracle to have her within reach. You weren’t going to reach out to her. But you wanted to.

Your breath hitched in your throat when her eyes locked onto yours. And in a moment of panic, you fled.

Your mother was in Dublin.

Like a freight train, reality just crashed into you.

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[m1ssunderstanding]

I honestly think most of you hate rich people because you're envious

omg you're right!! How have I never seen it this way before?!?! Yeah I am so envious. I wish I could buy politicians and laws and wars that will burn the planet and end innocent lives! Or at least let me sit on a yacht and watch people starve at my feet! That would be so cool. Ugh. It's so unfair.

No but seriously anon, how does it feel to be a COMEDIAN?????!!!!! I literally giggled and kicked my feet like I was down atrocious for you or something.

Okay but besides the obvious mass-murdering planet destroying enslaver billionaire thing, let me tell you why I hate rich people. First of all, different levels of hate for different levels of rich because here's the empirical truth. Studies have shown, over and over again, that the more wealth you accumulate -- and worse, the more wealth you were born with -- the lower your ability to empathize. And not just with poor people problems. Rich people taped up to a heart monitor didn't flinch or accelerate their heartbeats when someone talked about their dog dying or their cancer diagnoses. And the decrease in empathy correlated perfectly with the increase in net worth. Other studies have found similar correlations with wealth and a lack of altruism. So the richer you are the worse you are and the worse you are the more I hate you.

(((skip to the bolded if you don't want my boring bitter poor kid sob story)))

But yeah. You're not 100% incorrect about the envy thing. For me, at least, it did start with that. It started with jealousy that my fellow gymnasts took for granted what I worked so hard to afford. (Yeah I just didn't feel like coming to practice yesterday VS me a literal twelve year old hiring myself out illegally as a maid to the landlords of my neighborhood cleaning a meth house once the meth heads moved out and getting crazy sick and still working my ass off in the gym wishing I could rest at home and not worry about affording it) Then when I had to quit gymnastics for financial reasons in high school and work multiple jobs (coaching gymnastics, lifeguarding, and packing boxes of essential oils in a warehouse) and I was spending a large chunk of time with rich cheerleaders (think Missy from bring it on only she lives on the wrong side of town and Torrence hates her) my free time became consumed with reading. It started with Les Miserables and Rousseau, then drifted into Grapes of Wrath and Marx. I became interested in current events and politics and supported Bernie as a high school senior in 2016. I went to college and specialized in Marxist theory in my literature and writing classes. I expanded on my own petty experiences with the American class system to empathize with the much greater struggles of most of the world's population. Starvation. Geniuses who would never have the opportunities to fully use their minds. Modern slavery. Parents who couldn't truly raise and nurture their own children. Climate Destruction. On and on. And all caused by the same greed that had caused my own little pains. Capitalism is evil. Capitalists are evil. End of discussion.

Literally thank you so much for this anon. You can send me rage bait any time. It absolutely will work on me. This ask was so great on so many levels.

Much love!!

[dont-call-me-baby-posts]

Blacking Out and Breaking Hearts - Chapter 37

Blacking Out and Breaking Hearts - Master List

Word Count: 19K

Warnings: sex drugs and rock n roll baby!! But on a real note there's also some mental health stuff in here so be warned!!!!

Summary: Y/N is a successful musician, trying to navigate the world of stardom along with her complicated feelings for her best friend, Harry.

Alternatively: The one with some closure.

A/N: Hey guys :) Long time no see.

This chapter is starting to tie up all of our loose ends; we need happy endings for everyone! I kind of flip between alllllll the characters in this chapter so we can see a little bit of what they're all doing. Sorry its a little long! As always, please let me know what you think!

Here's what we've got lined up for the rest of the story:

chapter 38 will probably be around 16k of straight smut, plus an ending. 39 and 40 will be the epilogue and then we'll have as many blurbs as y'all want! thank you again everyone who still loves this story! I can't wait to finally see it through with you guys :)

Chapter 37

Rachel wasn’t a confrontational person.

She couldn’t tell if it was just the fact that she’d been born and raised to sit still, look pretty, and be pleasant, or if that was just the personality she’d been cursed with. Either way, she had been soft for as long as she could remember. She was kind and nurturing and never raised her voice, but that also meant she was constantly being stepped over, talked over, and told exactly what to do. She felt like a show dog who never learned to play fetch; all she was meant to do was sit, or speak, or jump. 

That was one of the many, many reasons she loved Logan so much. She was almost the complete opposite of Rachel; She never held her tongue, she never let anyone step on her toes, and she said what she meant with her chest. She was everything Rachel wanted to be and couldn’t. She was strong and brave and also soft in her own way without being weak. 

For some reason, the news of Harry and Y/N’s inevitable rekindling didn’t bring Rachel the same warm, sappy feelings it did for everyone else. Sure, she was happy for them… But she had to fake the excitement in her voice while she listened to Logan go on and on about how amazing it was that her best friend had finally “gotten the balls” to open up to Harry and fix the “good thing they had”. 

Instead of the nice, bubbly feeling Rachel knew she was supposed to have, she felt something else entirely. Something wicked and foreign and almost sinister. Because you know what? Rachel and Logan had a good thing, too, and yet here they were tiptoeing around and lying and covering up every track they left behind them. Here they were, going on nearly two months without having seen each other. Here they were, happy and in love and almost entirely secret.

She didn’t talk to Logan before she did what she did next. It was almost like she was possessed by someone else, someone like her beautiful, talented girlfriend who was brave and bold and decisive. She hung up the phone, after having spent a better part of an hour insisting that she was over the moon for Y/N when in reality she was feeling quite bitter and jealous and angry, and sat motionless on her bed for another 45 minutes. Then, as if someone else had come to rest their hand on her shoulder, she stood up and walked down the stairs to where she knew her parents were enjoying cocktails and fancy little finger foods. 

(She, as she marched down the marble stairs, thought how interesting it was that her parents were still having guests over in the height of a global pandemic but insisted it wasn’t “safe” for her to go see Logan. Funny, she thought to herself. Hilarious, really! If Rachel didn’t know any better, she'd suspect they had different motives keeping her away from Logan! Imagine that!)

And then, still guided by some outside force completely out of her control, she found herself in the middle of the expansive kitchen of her parents enormous house, surrounded by at least 20 people she only sort of knew. People who ran companies her parents invested in or directed movies Rachel never bothered to watch or owned record labels that fucked over people like Logan and Y/N. She, in her pajama pants and hair undone, face bare of any makeup whatsoever, slapped her palms on the cool of the island counter and found herself smiling. Cheesing, actually. Nearly giddy with excitement. 

Her mom noticed her last, letting out what could be considered a gasp as she turned to see her perfect, hand-moulded daughter in front of all these people looking the way she did now. Hair thrown up on top of her head, not clean. Logan’s oversized t-shirt over her narrow frame, covered in various stains. (The stains were an homage to the exciting, vibrant life Logan had lived before they met, one that Rachel would never experience or understand. Stains from house parties in basements and 9-5 jobs and public school. Rachel loved the spots where the material was stained blue or purple with paint, or slightly torn from a fight Logan had gotten into with some girl from Junior year. None of Rachel’s clothes had stains. Not any of them. It was almost as if she’d never existed at all.)

It was after the gasp that Rachel’s mother said: “Oh! Oh, wow! Sweetheart, why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed and you can join us for dessert?”

Rachel, quick with a response she hadn’t taken any time to think over or plan, shook her head. Her smile didn’t falter. 

“Actually, mom, I don’t think I will.”

Nervous laughter, from everywhere. It came in small spurts, someone else’s uncomfortable chuckle filling the silence one after the other. 

“Okay, well…” Her mom started, letting out her own high pitched chortle. “Why don’t you-“

“I’m going to see Logan.” Rachel interrupted. (She couldn’t remember one other time she had ever cut someone off while they were speaking, but she was already far from her usual self tonight). Rachel looked around at the confused faces around her, “Logan is my girlfriend.” She clarified with a smile. Her mom laughed tightly again. 

“Oh, no, she’s-“

“Yes, mom. Logan is my girlfriend and I’m going to go see her. I think I might stay there a while, actually. With the virus and everything, you know, I figure it would be safer than staying here with all of your lovely guests.”

Now she’d done it. Her mothers face changed shades three times over, going from pink to red to a stark white that for some reason made Rachel feel even better than she already did. Her mom, after a quick excuse to her friends, walked herself up the stairs, knowing Rachel would follow. 

When she got to Logan’s house later that night she didn’t recount the events of the evening. She didn’t tell her what her mom had said, all the threats she’d whispered under her breath. She didn’t tell her how she’d cried the whole time packing her bags, or how her dad had run out after her telling her to think it over or sleep on it. She didn’t tell Logan that her mom had, in her own words, told her she wasn’t welcome back in their home if she did anything “unsavory”. She didn’t tell Logan that she’d essentially been cut off by her parents when she told her mom she was going public with her relationship. She didn’t feel that she needed to, not yet at least. 

Rachel didn’t need her family's money. She was successful in her own right, and the whole pandemic had given her a chance to start thinking about careers other than modeling, anyway. She didn’t take time to think it over. She didn’t have to. 

///

Logan was snuggled in her bed when Rachel knocked on the door. At first she wasn’t sure what she’d heard, knowing she had already had her daily DoorDash interaction and wasn’t expecting anything or anyone else. The second knock came once Logan had sat up in bed, ears perked and skin prickly with nervous goosebumps. 

To say she was surprised was a massive fucking understatement. She’d never been so happy. She threw herself into Rachel, whose arms were slung with bags, and didn’t notice the way her cheeks were still a little puffy. She tugged her inside and she sat her down on the couch before running to the kitchen to whip up some of Rachel’s favorite cookies. 

Rachel could’ve cared less about the cookies, but she knew Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, she sat backwards on the couch, gazing into the kitchen just watching the love of her life pant and stress and measure and stir. She’d never looked more beautiful, Rachel thought. Never ever ever. 

They stayed on the couch the rest of the night, catching up and kissing and saying over and over how they’d missed one another. Next to a half eaten tray of cookies is where Logan helped Rachel pick out all their favorite photos together for Rachel to post on Instagram. A post dedicated to her girlfriend. And in a way, a post dedicated to herself. 

And it was that easy. After so many months of lying and hiding and longing desperately for what all these other couples had, Rachel had it. She was free. She was cut-off and angry and hurt and scared but before all of that she was free. And, now, she was out. 

///

You didn’t see Rachel’s post, or Logan’s texts, or the countless tweets breaking the internet. You were… preoccupied. 

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like that.” Harry praised, running a hand through your hair to rest on the back of your skull. “So fucking pretty. Fucks sake.”

You hummed around him, running your hands up the length of his thighs to rest on the soft part of his hips. Harry was laid back against the headboard, body at a slope while you nestled yourself between his parted thighs. Your head bobbed softly around his length, his hand applying no extra pressure but still making your scalp tingle warmly. You weren’t in any hurry, your movements slow and sleepy and delicate. Harry hummed softly above you, telling you again and again that you were so pretty, so pretty, so fucking good. 

The last few days had gone pretty much like this. You’d wake up wrapped up in Harry’s gangly limbs, kiss his eyelids open, and stay in bed until one of you was desperate enough to go pee or eat. You’d sometimes lay in bed and talk or make out or, on days like this one, you’d shuffle yourself down the length of Harry’s body and take him into your mouth like you were starved. Harry would do the same for you, usually pulling you by your hips up his torso and onto his face or bending his leg just enough so you could situate yourself on top of his tiger tattoo and curl into his chest until you came. 

Life was so good. Everything was perfect. Harry was an angel, as usual. The weather was just right for leaving the windows open. No one texted you or called you about meetings or bothered you. It was just you and Harry and a kind of calm contentment you hadn’t felt in years. 

You still hadn’t had sex, but after listening in on Harry’s conversation with Anders you decided not to push it. You thought maybe if you just proved yourself to him, he’d be ready. You didn’t mind giving him time, even though you secretly hoped each night you curled up next to him that he might take you right there and press your face into the mattress until you couldn’t think or even speak. You would never ever want him to do something he didn’t want to, and he was giving you more than enough to hold you over. In fact, the amount of affection and love and attention he’d showered you with the last few days had been enough to last a lifetime. Not a second went by that you didn’t know with every singular cell in your body how much he loved you. He wouldn’t allow it. 

Even when you had a nightmare a few days before, Harry had been awake and alert the moment you needed him. You didn’t even have time to get to the worst part of the dream and startle yourself awake before he’d pulled you on top of his body and began whispering in your ears. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and his legs around your thighs, tying you to his front. You weren’t scared when you woke up and didn’t pull away from the touch. “I’m right here.” He’d whispered, shifting his weight to rock you slightly. “I’m right here. It’s okay, flower. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

He must have heard you mumbling his name in your sleep, the same way you always did when you had these nightmares. You called his name like always and he was there. You were calm and back to sleep in a matter of minutes, something you wouldn’t have even thought possible a few months ago. 

And now, on another beautiful morning, you were leaving the half-moon indents of your nails on the inside of Harry’s thighs. Feeling more alive than ever. On top of the world. Like the luckiest girl alive. 

///

Anders wasn’t sure what to do with himself. 

He’d not been doing his weekly therapy sessions like he was meant to, and hadn’t been for weeks. Talking about his feelings with some stiff old man was bad enough, and doing it over a Zoom call was just downright unbearable. He’d rather do anything else, and so he did. He crocheted and wrote songs and annoyed his parents to no end practicing his trumpet from middle school. He painted and talked to Harry and Y/N and learned the dances from three separate Justin Bieber music videos to a fucking T. He kept himself busy by any means necessary, because he had to. He even built a tiny house for a lady bug he found on his window still out of a cereal box. The ladybug died the next morning, but Anders liked to think it died comfortably at least. 

But on this day, Anders was inclined by some outside force (perhaps the same force that had moved Rachel all the way in LA) to find his laptop under all the dirty laundry and half-finished projects on the floor and open up the stupid fucking website and message his stupid fucking therapist that he was actually going to show today. 

He found himself talking about Y/N, and Jena, and Macy from the grocery store. (She’d been the one to stop him from nearly overdosing that day he’d bought all those drugs, after all. He thought about her all the time lately. He thought about her every time he ate one of his oranges he’d bought that day, which was a lot. His mom told him he had to finish the entire bag as some sort of fucked up punishment, he supposed). His therapist, with his cable knit sweater and glasses slid half-way down his nose, had to basically force Anders to talk about his parents. 

“It sucks, man. What else do you want to know?”

The doctor, Dale, narrowed his eyes at Anders’ answer to his question about how things were ‘at home’. When he realized Anders wasn’t going to continue, he sighed and lifted his hands. 

“Could you be any more specific about what sucks so bad, man?” Dale retorted. Over the weeks that Anders had spent with him before the pandemic, Dale had learned it worked better if he talked to Anders the way Anders talked to him. Dale thought, genuinely, that they bonded this way. Anders just thought it was funny. 

“Everything about it sucks.” Was all he could think to say in return. 

By the end of the session, Dale had somehow convinced him that spending more time with his parents might help. If he didn’t put so much space between them, he said, he may feel less suffocated. So, in a desperate fucking attempt to feel a little less crazy, Anders decided to do just that. 

Every night his dad would hobble up the stairs and knock softly on the door and invite Anders to dinner, and every night Anders would decline. (Ever since the incident with the drugs, Andy couldn’t stand looking either of them in the eyes.) When Anders would inevitably turn him away, his dad would say something about how he would save some if he changed his mind and Anders would mumble a quick “thank you” and that would be that. He knew his dad was trying his best, and he believed it when he said he missed Anders and wanted to spend time with him. His mom never made any attempt to talk to him after the drug incident. Anders was okay with that, he thought.

To put it plainly, Anders’ dad was fucking bamboozled when he accepted his offer to come to dinner later that night. He’d been leaning against the door, his ear pressed to the wood to hear Anders’ response when it had been thrown open to showcase a bright-eyed and surprisingly content son on the other side. “I’d like that.” Anders smiled, feeling like this was his first big step into fixing everything. “Thank you for asking.”

His dad had followed him down the steps, even the sound of his socked feet on the stairs sounding confused. Anders spun around the corner into the kitchen, throwin’ a little razzle dazzle on his triumphant return to the family unit as he found a seat at the table. He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. He felt almost excited to be here. 

“Whatcha makin’?”

His mom, at the sound of her only son’s voice, turned to face him and froze, serving spoon still in hand and dripping twice onto the tiled floor before she looked back at her husband. 

“I told you I didn’t make enough for three.” She said to him.

Oh. 

And, just like that, it was over. The high Anders had felt following his talk with Dale fizzled out and settled into an ache in his abdomen. He was stunned for a second, looking back and forth between his parents. Surely he misunderstood. 

“I’m sure there’s enough.” His dad said, an over the top sunshine in his voice. When she didn’t answer right away his dad spoke again, his sunshine feeling a bit more shaded. “He wants to have dinner with us, hun.”

“Well, there’s not enough.” She reiterated, literally throwing her spoon onto the stove. “If he wanted to eat he should’ve said something. Since when does he want to spend time with us?”

“He can have mine, then.”

Before anyone else could speak, Anders stood up. He felt so small and yet too big, like he was taking up too much space no matter how far he folded into himself. 

“It’s alright, Dad.” Anders smiled, turning to face his mom. She met his eyes, finally, though she couldn’t have looked more uninterested. “I have oranges upstairs.”

And he turned and walked back up the same stairs to his same room and collapsed on that same bed he spent all day every day in. He could hear the bickering, just like when he was a child. He covered his head with a pillow but he could still hear them. 

“That was cruel.”

“He doesn’t want anything to do with us! Why should I continue making him dinner if he never eats any? I’m tired of cleaning out the tupperwares you insist on saving for him.”

“I’ll clean them, then.”

There was a pause. Dishes clanging in the sink. 

“Why do you do this? Why do you defend him after the way he’s talked to us?”

“You’re holding him hostage here! What is he supposed to do?”

“Be grateful, I don’t know!”

Anders turned under his covers. He decided already he wouldn’t cry, but it was threatening to gurgle out of him anyway. 

“He is our son. We’re supposed to be helping. You read all those books… You- you went to classes! And now you’re not even going to let the boy eat?”

“I'm tired of the books! I'm tired of the classes, and the coddling, and the fighting! I give up. I give up, okay? I’m done!”

“You give up? Haven’t we failed the boy enough?”

“He failed us! We gave him everything. He could’ve been anything and, and, and… and look at him! You’re proud of that? I’m tired of feeling responsible for how he turned out. He did that on his own.”

“Damn right I’m proud. He may have his… struggles, but he is not a failure. The boys a goddamn rockstar!”

“He’s not a rockstar, he’s a junkie. And I’m tired of pretending that he’s not.”

Now, to anyone else hearing this conversation, there’s a few things you might miss. 

Number one:  Anders’ dad never cursed. He had, in all of his son’s life, uttered at most 4 curse words and even that was a stretch. Him using the word “damn”, and taking the lord's name in vain? Anders’ could’ve thought hell had finally frozen over! 

Number two: Anders couldn’t remember a single time in his life that either of his parents had said they were proud of him. So, even if he hadn’t said it to his face, his dad saying those words was like winning the fucking lottery. 

Number three: In all of his years as a semi-professional drug addict, Anders had never been called a junkie by anyone. He hadn’t even seen it online, and he was called his fair share of names. So, to hear his mom say it… It was like a kick in the back of the head. It was like a blow right in his chest. It was worse than going to therapy and making phone calls and being punched in the nose. It was worse than anything he’d ever felt before. 

He sprang up out of bed, grabbing his car keys and stuffing his feet into the nearest pair of shoes. He sauntered down the stairs, making no attempt to hide his presence. The conversation in the kitchen stopped as both parties watched him. With a captive audience, Anders thought, it was the perfect time to put on the performance of a lifetime. 

“I’m heading out.” He said, spinning the keys around his finger. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Anders, when his mom said nothing, thought he might have been hoping she would stop him. She didn’t. 

“I would ask you not to wait up, but seeing as you’ve already eaten I suppose you’re about ready for bed.” He continued. His dad followed him to the door. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He said, stopping a few feet away from Anders as if he was some feral cat that might be startled away. “We can go grab a bite somewhere. It would be nice to spend some time together.”

Anders actually thought about it. His dad, who his entire life had stood by like some decorative piece of furniture, was finally doing what Anders had always wished he would.

“I’m just going to go do some shopping, but maybe we could watch a movie tomorrow, okay?”

His dad smiled, a real smile, and nodded. “Okay, son.”

“Okay.” He said back. 

Anders gave one last look to his mom, waiting. Any second now she’d say sorry and tell him not to go. She’d tell him at the very least to be careful, or be home by 10. She didn’t. 

“I’ll be home by 10.” He decided for himself. Maybe she’d hold him to it. Maybe she’d call a hundred times if he wasn’t home in two hours. Maybe she’d do what she used to and demand he be home by 9 instead. 

She didn’t say anything. She turned back into the kitchen and continued clanging against the pots and pans she had on the stove. His dad gave him a sad, knowing look, but forced a smile anyway. 

“Call me if you need anything.” He said, giving a quick slap on the shoulder. “I’ll still be up when you get home if you decide you want to hang out. Be safe, okay?”

Anders nodded and because he was possessed by some much more kind hearted spirit tonight he wrapped his arms around his father with an awkward pat-pat on his shoulder blades. His dad took the opportunity to hug him tightly against his chest, even ruffling Anders’ hair the way he had when he was only a kid. 

“I trust you.” He whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

///

The drive to Taco Bell didn’t take too long. Anders turned at the second stop light, hooked a left by the library, and took two more rights until he had made his way into the drive thru. He was the only car there, which was fitting. 

He ordered himself two soft tacos, a quesadilla, a cheesy gorrida crunch, and three spicy potato soft tacos. Instead of bringing it home he sat in the empty parking lot and ate there. He wasn’t hungry anymore after the first two tacos but he forced himself to eat the rest anyway. He kept eating and eating and even when it hurt he kept going. He didn’t need his mom to feed him when he could feed himself, he kept thinking. He didn’t need anyone when he could take care of himself. He was eating, wasn’t he? As long as he was eating it was proof he didn’t need anyone at all! He was doing just fine.

When he’d finished the last scraps of food, he nestled himself further into his seat. It was 9:55. His mom would call any minute. 

He tried to call Y/N, but she didn’t answer. He tried calling Rachel. No answer. He almost called Logan, but knew he wouldn’t have shit to talk about with her. He was about to call Harry when he changed his mind, not really in the mood for someone who was going to try to fix his problems instead of just listening. He settled on sitting and waiting instead (for what, he wasn’t sure), watching the clock change numbers. He didn’t even put on any music. 

He bent forward, picking at a spot of dried paint on his pant leg. He hadn’t even noticed the red splotch there before, the paint somehow reaching his ankle while he painted a portrait of his now deceased lady bug that morning. He kept picking at it but somehow made it worse, chips of red shoved under his nails so deeply it was starting to hurt and the stain now more deeply embedded into the fibers of his sweats. He kept trying and trying and it just got worse and worse and it hurt more and more but he needed the stain out. He needed it out. It had to come out. 

When he looked up again, it was 10:37. His mom never called. The red paint was still on his pants. 

///

You’d already cum twice before you picked up your phone that morning. After Harry had finished, he’d pulled you up onto him (as he was in the habit of doing), nestling his face against your belly as he pressed kisses into the spaces under your hip bones. 

You didn’t even notice all of the missed messages and the chaos online until Harry left to go to the bathroom an hour or two later. You were still foggy-headed and naked when you finally picked up your phone, quickly propping yourself up on an elbow when you realized that while you’d been busy apparently the entire world had turned upside down. 

You sprang out of bed, nearly slipping as you hauled yourself down the hallway and into the bathroom where Harry had just finished washing his hands and was getting ready to brush his teeth. 

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” You were spitting out, scaring the ever loving fuck out of Harry. He jumped almost out of his skin, smearing toothpaste on cheek. 

“What is it?” He questioned, free hand pressed to his chest in shock. “Is everything okay?”

You just shook your head, scrolling through the 40 messages Logan had sent so far that morning. (Or, really, that night for Logan). 

“Everyone knows about Logan and Rachel.” You finally said, setting your phone down on the counter and tangling your fingers into your hair as you shoved it out of your face. Harry froze mid-brush, his face flashing with panic before settling into a determined, problem-solving stare.

(Harry had been in the habit of doing that lately. Something about him just seemed so much more at ease, more sensible, more calm. He was so much slower to boil. He had a tranquility about him that you hadn’t noticed before.)

“Someone outted them?” He asked, setting his toothbrush down on the counter. He cringed for a second, shaking his head. “Do you know who it was? I can talk to my team about having my lawyers reach out to them, not that Rachel doesn’t have her own lawyers…”

You stared back at him, confused. “Oh, no…” You started, letting out a small chuckle. “They didn’t-”

“I’ll talk to Logan myself if she already said no, but I can’t just let that happen to them.” Harry grimaced again, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Is she okay? Is Rachel okay? That’s so fucked up that someone would do that.”

“Rachel did it.” You stopped him, cutting him off before he completely spiraled. “She posted on Instagram. Apparently she’s moving into the house with Logan. Her, uh, her parents…”

“Right.” Harry said, letting out a huff. He paused for a second, acting like he was about to speak again before stopping. It only took him a second for him to change his mind, turning his body to face you and resting a hand on the counter. “It’s really fucking convenient of these parents to just kick their kids to the curb like this, innit? And for no fucking reason. It’s so fucked up.”

You closed the gap between your bodies, wrapping your arms around Harry’s waist as he put his attention back towards brushing his teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, Logan says Rachel’s okay. She never liked living with her parent’s anyway, so she says they both just feel relieved.”

Harry hummed along, bending forward slightly to spit into the sink. “Are people being nice to them? Online and allat?”

You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, meeting his eyes in the mirror ahead of you. You nodded. 

“They’re being very nice.” You told him. “They’re trending on Twitter.”

///

Harry left a few minutes later, making you promise not to shower without him. You agreed, sending him off with a kiss and a promise that you’d join him on his next run. You didn’t mean it, but Harry still seemed satisfied as he headed out. 

You’d been so distracted by the whole Logan/Rachel situation that you almost forgot Anders had called you until you were snuggled up back in bed. You figured since Harry would be back soon to take a shower that you would wait to get dressed and have a few extra minutes in the swaddle of covers on Harry’s bed. So, back in your snug little cocoon, you decided to give Anders a call back. 

“HEY FUCKER.” Anders yelled into the receiver almost the second you’d pressed the call button. You giggled to yourself, pressing the phone between your ear and the pillow.

“Hey sweet pea. What’s up?” You asked, letting your eyes flutter closed. You could hear some kind of… banging on the other end, though it didn’t particularly surprise you considering who you were talking to. “What are you building a fucking rocking chair or something?”

“Its a shelf, actually.” He corrected, swinging what you assumed to be a hammer a few times before continuing. “I’ve almost got it all finished, I just need to add some final touches.”

“Oh…” You started, deciding whether or not you should even ask. “That sounds… fun?”

“It’s keeping me busy, at least. I got in a fight with my mom again so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” He swung the hammer again before letting out a sigh. “She wanted to act like a bitch and not let me eat dinner so I thought, y’know, okay. I’ll go buy some fuckin’ groceries and a shelf and I’ll feed my fucking self. I got a mini fridge and everything.”

You paused, unsure what to say next. As close as you and Anders were, Harry was normally the person that he went to to talk about his family stuff, and you weren’t sure exactly how to navigate it. 

“Why wouldn’t she let you eat?”

“Because she hates me.”

“She doesn’t-”

“No, she does.” Anders stopped you, chuckling to himself. “But I’m okay with it. Kinda come to terms with it, you know?”

It got quiet for a second, both of you unsure what to say next. 

“She called me a junkie.” Anders added, instantly making your skin itch all over. You tried not to but let out an audible gasp, your hand not quick enough to stop it before it came out. “She said all kinds of stuff, actually. But it’s cool.”

What were you even supposed to say to make this any better? “You aren’t a junkie, Anders.”

“No, I am.” He brushed you off. “It’s all good though, seriously. You don’t have to make me feel better or anything. I just wanted to talk to you is all.”

“Okay.. Well, if you were wanting to talk to Harry he should be home in a little bit…”

“Harry? No, no..” Anders responded. “I just want to talk to you for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, totally.” You rushed out, realizing too late how desperate you must sound. “I mean, for sure. I can talk.”

///

Anders filled you in on the rest of his night, telling you all about how he had spent half the night in a Taco Bell parking lot before coming home and watching a movie with his dad. He said his dad waited up for him just like he’d promised he would, only to pass out less than 15 minutes into the movie.  You felt your chest swell slightly at the news but you didn’t make a big deal out of it. You’d always hoped Anders could work it out with his parents, and even if his mom still wasn’t on board, at least he had someone on his side now. 

(Anders made a point not to tell you that he’d purposefully fallen asleep on the couch, too, his head ‘just so happening’ to fall on his fathers shoulder next to him. He’d imagined they’d both wake up the next morning and laugh about how they’d dozed off. Andy woke up only an hour or so after he’d drifted, though, neck stiff. He was never, ever able to get a full night's rest, even now. Once he woke he hobbled up the steps and got into bed like nothing had ever happened. He'd already decided he’d never utter a word of it to anyone.)

When Harry got home you were still on the phone, and instead of listening in he decided to clean up the kitchen. (You’d decided to make homemade pizzas the night before, and to put it lightly the kitchen looked like a murder scene). You felt kind of guilty leaving him to deal with the mess, but you felt special being the one to have Anders’ attention for once and you didn’t want to let it go just yet. 

“And so I built the little guy a house and everything, right? I made him a little couch and a bed and all that…” Anders was going on, telling you some story about a lady bug he’d found in his bedroom. “He was dead when I woke up, though. I googled it and I don’t think it’s bad luck to find a dead lady bug but I still think it’s, like, a sign or something. Like a bad omen.”

“You sound like you’ve been cooped up too long, buddy.” You laughed, imagining the comical frown on Anders’ face when he found the bug. “You’re thinking about it too much.”

“That’s all I have to fucking do these days, man! I’ve been cooped up way too long.” He spit out, exasperated. “You never wanna fucking talk to me anymore so I have to resort to desperate measures.”

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean I never talk to you?” You asked with a soft laugh, though you really weren’t joking. “You’re the one who never calls me.”

That wasn’t entirely true and you knew it, but it came out anyway. What you meant was that he didn’t call you as much as Harry.

“I never call you? What the fuck do you mean I never call you?” He pushed back, his awkward laugh mimicking yours a moment ago but his tone a little bit harsh. “I would call you more if you actually wanted to talk to me.”

“What are you even saying right now?” You sighed, sitting up in bed so the comforter hung off of your chest. “I always want to talk to you. You just call Harry instead.”

“You want to talk to me now but you didn’t before I left LA.” He said matter of factly. “You’ve barely wanted to talk to me for months now.”

“That is not true, Anders.” You spoke, offended. You realized once you’d said it that you had no reason to be offended; he was actually right. But that realization only annoyed you further, so you doubled down. “We hung out all the time before you left LA.”

“Well, first of all, we definitely did not. Not alone at least.” He spoke again. He didn’t sound angry, only a little bit miffed. “And second of all, you’re my best friend. You seriously think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been around me? It’s just like… if I did something, I’d rather you tell me what I did so we can talk about it.”

For some reason your blood ran cold. If I did something, he said. You could almost laugh. 

“I’m not your best friend, though. Don’t say that.”

He barked out a laugh. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Anders. I love you but I am not your best friend.”

He didn’t say anything right away. “Okay then? Fucking ouch.”

“I’m just saying…”

You could hear him breathing unevenly. “So could you, like, tell me why? Or?”

“Why what?”

“Why you don’t want to be my best friend anymore?”

It was you who laughed this time, trying to lighten the mood and make your words a bit softer. You spoke like you were kidding but you meant every word. “It’s not that I don’t, it’s just that you’ve clearly replaced me. Like I just mean don’t call me your best friend when it’s obvious I’m not.”

“Replace you? What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“What is not clicking here, man?” You tried to tease him.  “We’re still friends I’m just saying that you and Harry are closer than us now, and that’s okay, but don’t-“

“Harry? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Fuck Harry! What the fuck? You’re-“

“You can’t tell me it isn’t true!”

“It’s not!“

“It’s is!”

Anders let out a long sigh. “Y/N you are my best friend… I couldn’t ever replace you even if I lived a thousand life times. Don’t be crazy.”

You hated it when he called you crazy, even when he didn’t really mean it. 

“I’m not your best friend and you know that.” You let out, words coming faster than you could even comprehend them. “I can admit that I might have been distant but you’ve been doing the exact same thing as me. You think I haven’t noticed how much you talk to Harry? You call him every day and tell him all about your life and what’s going on and when we talk you tell me everything’s fine. It’s like… It’s like you replaced me the second you got back from…”

“From where, Y/N? Say it.” He prompted you. “Where’d I come back from? Hm? Could you just fucking say it for once instead of acting like it didn’t happen?” 

You frowned hard, biting your lip. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“I did, I was just letting you finish before I tell you how ridiculous you sound.”

Your eyes rolled so hard they almost fell out of your head. “Fuck you, Andy.”

He let out a sigh. “No, I didn’t- I just meant that you’re wrong about that. About Harry, I mean.”

“Oh, am I Anders?” You questioned, free hand balling into the comforter. He tried backpedaling but you had already departed the station, the damn already split open. You were upset now and couldn’t hide it even though you wished you could. “You tell him everything. I’ve heard how you guys talk to each other. And, yeah, I needed some space from you after everything but… But I’m just saying it didn’t take you very long to find someone else. You act like I just fucked off and left you out to dry but you did the exact same thing to me.”

He was quiet for a while, thinking. “I wasn’t trying to say that at all, dude. I think maybe we’re misunderstanding each other-“

“Oh, and speaking of rehab,” You cut him off, words already caught in the avalanche. “Who did you have come visit you twice a fucking week? Not me, Andy. If I was your best friend… fuck. I didn’t get to see you once, Andy, and I’m the one who fucking found-“

You stopped suddenly, chest heaving. It was the first time either of you had come even remotely close to talking about that night. You decided to do what Anders tried and back pedal, but it was already too late. You kept going.

“Whatever. I’m just saying that, to me, it seems like you've already got a best friend. I’m sorry for not being around more but-“

“Hey! Hey! I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, okay? I just wanted to know if I did something…”

Here he went with that shit again. If I did something. He could get bent. 

“I’m not either.”

“Kind of seems like you are.”

“I’m just saying! Geez!” You yelled, knowing you were just making it worse. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just stop yourself. “It’s okay if Harry’s your best friend. It’s fine. I just don’t think we need to lie to each other to make me feel better.”

“He is not my best fucking friend, Y/N. I could give a motherfuck about Harry.” Anders spoke. He wasn’t often serious with you like this, so his tone made the words you wanted to throw at him disappear instantly on your tongue. “Not really, but you know what I mean. And I… I never even invited Harry to come see me at rehab, he just showed up.”

“Yeah, and you never even told me!” You snipped. 

“You told me not to talk about Harry! What was I supposed to-“

“No. You kept that from me purposefully, Anders. That’s different and you know it is. I fucking… I fucking drove you there and you didn’t even let me see you.” You caught your breath, panting. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being mean right now it’s just…”

“It’s been on your mind, I get it.” He excused you. He was so kind, even now, letting you off the hook easily as always. “It’s been on my mind, too. I’m glad it’s out in the open at least.”

“I guess.” You grumbled. But he was right, and he was right to bring it up. You sighed, admitting defeat. “You’re right, I just… Its hard for me to talk about. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He waved off. “What else do you need to say?”

You chuckled, wracking your brain. What could you say? There were a million things you’d thought to yourself over the last few months, and the last few weeks in particular, and yet nothing came to mind. 

“That’s it, I think.” You answered honestly. “I’m sorry I talked to you like that, but… I don’t know. It hurt my feelings when you said I don’t like talking to you because it isn’t true. I still care about you and I still love you as much as I always did…”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like that, Y/N?” He asked, voice wavering. “I’m sorry for spending so much time with Harry, but I couldn’t be alone, man. I… I felt like you fucking disappeared. I’m not blaming you I’m just saying I wasn’t trying to replace you, ever. I- I genuinely didn’t know what else to do. I needed someone.”

“So did I!”

“I know you did! I know! And I would’ve been there if you’d fucking let me.”

“Maybe I would’ve let you if you weren’t with your fucking boy  all the time!”

He let out a small gasping sound. “That’s totally fucking unfair. I only spent so much time with him because you weren’t around.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But it’s not just that you were hanging out with him, anyway. It’s the way you talk to him… You know when I got here he knew things about your life that I didn’t even know? It was embarrassing, dude. You call him to talk about your feelings and you tell him what’s bothering you and when I call you just say it’s fine.” You let out. “You don’t talk to me like that, and you never have. You didn’t before you went to rehab and you don’t now… And you know what, now that I think of it, it kind of did bother me how much time you spent with Harry. You could’ve befriended anyone in the world, Anders, and you chose him? I mean, part the reason we stopped seeing each other as much is because you were constantly with my ex boyfriend. It wasn’t the main reason, but it still fucking sucked for me.”

“I was trying to get you guys back together the entire time!” He defended weakly. “I wasn’t picking a side, man, I was trying to fucking help. I don’t fucking know. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I spent so much time with him and I can totally understand why that would upset you. I should’ve thought about that and I’m sorry.”  He paused, sheets ruffling as he must have been laying down. “But we both know that’s not the reason you didn’t want to hang out with me. And, you know, I understand that and I’m not trying to act fucking stupid by pretending I don’t get it, but… I mean, I want to know how I can fix it. Like how long is that going to last before you want to be around me again? I know I fucked up and if there’s nothing I can do I get it but I would like to at least try before I let this fucking ruin our friendship.”

You weren’t sure what to say. He spoke again while you tried to figure it out. 

“Sorry I didn’t fucking open with that.” He giggled, letting out an exhausted huff. “I didn’t mean to come at you like that I just didn’t know how else to bring it up. I should’ve just asked you how you were feeling.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine, I just don’t…” The words you searched for still eluded you. “Why didn’t you let me visit you, Anders? When I found that out, I… That hurt super fucking bad, man. I mean, I asked you every single day… And, I mean, the whole Harry thing aside, I feel like I should’ve been the one to get to be there. I think I earned that.”

“Earned it?” He whispered incredulously. “Y/N, I didn’t want you there because I was a fucking mess. I- I- I was a fucking disaster! I had already done enough to you at that point it felt unfair to drag you into that. And I was embarrassed, man. I didn’t want anyone to see me, and the only reason I was okay with Harry being there was because I didn’t know him and I honestly didn’t give a shit what he thought. I care what you think, a lot. I always have. I couldn’t let you see me like that.”

It made sense, but it didn’t make you feel much better. You didn’t even realize how badly you’d been hurt by the news of Harry going to visit him until you’d spoken it out loud, and it was hitting you like a truck. 

“I still wanted to be there.” You replied, words like glass ready to shatter. “I wanted to be there for you the entire time, after rehab, but…”

“But you were mad at me. I know.”

“Mad at you?” You snapped, shaking your head for no audience. “I wasn’t… No, Andy. I couldn’t be around you because…” You had to stop, inhaling a shaky breath. You didn’t want to think about it. “Because every time I was around you, all I could think of… I still saw it every time I looked at you. I could see how purple your lips were, and you were so pale…”

You couldn’t continue, throat closed tight. You shook your head again but didn’t know why. Maybe to shake the sight out of your brain. 

“I’m so sorry I did that to you, Y/N. I am so, so fucking sorry.” He whispered again. You could tell he was crying. “I spend every second of every day wishing I didn’t do that. And, you know, sometimes I think that… I don’t know, if I’d only done it an hour earlier, or locked my door, you never would’ve-“

“Anders! Stop it!” You broke, cutting him off before he could rip your heart out entirely. You were crying now, too. “You can’t say stuff like that. It’s a good thing I was there. I was supposed to be there.”

“You were never supposed to be there.” He argued. “That wasn’t supposed to happen like that. And if- If I thought for a second that you’d come there and see that then I wouldn’t have… Or I would’ve done it differently, or something. And then you wouldn’t have had to see anything and you wouldn’t have had to drive me to rehab and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. And you wouldn’t have even known me that well back then to even really miss me for that long.”

“It would have ruined my life, Anders.” You clarified. He couldn’t have been more wrong, about any of it. “I never would’ve fucking forgiven myself for that shit. I still can’t forgive myself now! You can’t- You don’t get to say you wish you’d done it better, or that I’d be better off or whatever dumb shit you’re gonna say. I was there for a reason and I am grateful every day that you weren’t alone.”

“I know. I know.” Anders repeated over and over while you finished, voice hushed and tired. “I know, I didn’t mean all of that… I just feel so guilty about everything, and the only way I can think to fix it is if I would’ve-“

“You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do not.”

“You just fucking said you can’t forgive yourself for what happened! You just said that! I fucking ruined your life as it is! I didn’t need to die to do that, it’s already fucking done!” He went off suddenly, nearly making you jump out of your skin. “I know what I did to you. And I’m sorry. But that is exactly fucking why I call Harry to bitch about my life, or talk about my fucking mom, or whatever. I can’t talk to you about that shit.”

“Why not, Anders? Why not?” You croaked. “That’s what friends do. I want you to know how you're doing, I want to help…”

“I can’t fucking talk to you about it! I can’t! I have burdened you since I fucking met you, I’ve scarred you for fucking life. I’m not calling you to complain about how shit my life is.” He huffed for a second, bordering more on angry now than he did upset. “As far as I’m concerned, for the rest of my fucking life I’m going to be perfectly fine every time you ask me how I’m doing. I have to be okay for you. I don’t get to complain to you, ever again.”

“I don’t want you to always be okay. I want you to be honest with me.”

“Because you’ve been honest with me, right? Like you ever tell me what’s going on with you. You hardly even talked about the breakup with Harry with me. You don’t tell me shit.” He spilled out. “Every time I ask, you lie to me just like I lie to you. You’re telling me you’ve been perfectly fine this whole time? There hasn’t been one thing that’s bothered you? Not one bad day?”

You didn’t realize just how clueless Anders was on what you’d been through while he was off dealing with his own stuff. You’d kept just as much from him as he had from you, from the breakup to the nightmares to the way you were constantly haunted by that pale, purple version of your best friend. 

“You’re right. I haven’t been honest with you, either.” You admitted. You wiped your face, frustrated tears threatening to make their way down your neck. “Can we just agree not to lie to each other anymore? I’ll tell you what’s going on with me but only if you agree to do the same. I want to be there for you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

It was quiet, both of you catching your breath and slowing your brains. Everything was coming at you so fast it was like you couldn’t keep up. You thought about everything, about how angry you had been and how hurt and how confused… You thought about everything that had pinched at the back of your brain for months now that you always steadfastly ignored. 

“You should’ve told me what was going on, before all of this.” You said without meaning to. “It never should’ve gotten so bad if you just told me.”

“It’s not that simple, Y/N.”

“It is, though. I… I fucking asked you if you were on drugs, and you lied to me. I asked you all the time if you were okay. I tried calling you every single day after you broke your nose.” It was all bubbling over now, nothing stopping it. You were angry again, about everything. All at once. “I know I should’ve tried harder and I will always carry that with me, but you should’ve talked to me, man. You should’ve told me.”

“What was I supposed to do, huh? What do you want from me?” He snapped, a chord obviously struck. “You wanted me to tell the girl I hardly knew that I was fucking su*cidal? That would’ve gone over super well, I’m sure.”

“That’s not what I mean-“

“I can tell you how that conversation would’ve gone, actually. Hey girl I just met, do you want to hear about how fucked up I am?” He stopped to laugh. “You wanted me to tell you that I was on drugs, again? Should I have told you how many fucking times I’d already done the exact same thing since I was, like, 17? That would’ve been really comforting to you, I’m sure. It wouldn’t have totally made you lose faith in me or anything, like everybody else.” He stopped for a second to laugh, again, the idea of this imaginary conversation obviously tickling him. “Or, better yet, I could’ve told you at the hospital that that wasn’t even the first time I’d tried to fucking k*ll myself! Or the second! Or the fucking third! I’m sure that would’ve helped soooo much had you known that.”

Instead of saying anything you just cried quietly into your bent elbow, head resting on your knees. When you didn’t say anything Anders sighed sadly, speaking again. 

“I shouldn’t have said that. I know that’s not what you meant, and I’m sorry. But you have to see where I’m coming from, right? If I…” He choked on his words for a second, clearing his throat. “Y/N, if I knew how to ask for help you would’ve been the first one I went to. If I knew how to ask I would have. You have to believe me.”

You did believe him. It was unfair of you to blame him for not coming to you, but you still couldn’t help how angry you were at him. It was fucked up but you just felt so… fucked over by him. It was so wrong and you knew it but you couldn't help being mad that he didn’t think more about your feelings. You knew it wasn’t about you and it never was, and yet it still hurt you. Maybe you were just selfish, you weren’t sure. 

“You didn’t even leave me a note, Andy.” Was what you decided on saying. You’d never brought that fact up to anyone, deciding it was too morbid for your mom or Logan or even Harry. But it had always been there, in the back of your mind, gnawing away at the space you used to use for your fond memories of Anders. It’s like with every second you didn’t say anything about it it just continued eating at the image of him you had in your head. Each day that passed just eroded at the soil more and more. “I called and I texted and I showed up to your house… I was the only one who didn’t think I was being irrational. I was worried fucking sick about you for weeks and weeks after the Halloween party, and you couldn’t even write me a fucking su*cide note?”

Saying it out loud like that made your stomach lurch. You were nearly hysterical but you kept talking anyway. 

“I deserved a fucking note, Anders. If you were going to leave me all on my own the least you could’ve done was write me a fucking note. And I know there wasn’t one hidden because I cleaned every square inch of that apartment after I dropped you off at rehab.” You choked back a sob, so upset the phone in your hand shook fiercely against your ear. “There was nothing there, Anders. Nothing. I know I sound selfish and I’m being a brat, but honestly Anders when you… when you took those pills I felt so abandoned by you. How do you think I felt? I know it’s not about me and I’m fucked for feeling that way but I felt like you never even cared about me at all when you did that shit. And I tried ignoring that part, I chalked it up to being bigger than me, but… but I didn’t even get a note? I wasn’t even important enough to you for a note?”

He didn’t say anything, for a long, long time. You both just cried and cried and cried and you wished more than anything you could’ve had this conversation face to face. You wanted to hold him like you did at the hospital. You wanted to play with his hair. You wanted to put a hand on him, just to prove he really was okay.

“There was a note. On my phone.” He whispered after that long, long time had passed. His voice was so quiet you could hardly hear it over your own ragged breath. “There was one for you, and for Rachel. And there was one for my mom. I thought that you guys would, like, go through my phone or whatever, after…”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You hated the way your shoulders relaxed, like something had been proven to you by that fact. You hated how relieved you felt. It made you sick.

“You are important to me and you always have been. And I don’t think you’re fucked for feeling that way. I knew you must feel that way and I thought… I thought if I just went back to normal I could make up for it. I thought I’d make it go away.” His breath rattled his chest for a second. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this sooner. If I could go back, even to February, I’d do it all differently. I swear on my life I would.”

“I’m so sorry…” Was what you said, unsure what else could fill in the silence. “I shouldn’t have even brought the note thing up, it’s just been.. on my mind, I guess.”

“No, I get it.” He spoke sweetly, voice still soft by the tears mostly gone. “I actually thought about telling you I wrote it a few times, but I didn’t know if you’d even realized and I thought it’d be weird to just randomly tell you…”

He started laughing at that, a real, genuine laugh. You started laughing too, unable to ignore how silly the whole thing was. You wished softly that you’d talked about all of this sooner, but you did your best not to think too much about it. 

“It would’ve been weird, yeah.” You snickered, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. “Imagine we just went out for lunch and you drop that on me over a salad. Like a casual, hey by the way…”

Anders laughed harder, the sound healing some part of you that had snapped during the conversation. “Right like we go out to fucking Bella Vino and I just slide my notes app across the table to you.” He had to stop, cackling with laughter. “Like, I wrote this for you, just so you know.”

“Not the notes app.” You shrieked, wiping at your eyes. 

“You know what they say, right? The only thing better than a notes app apology…”

You both giggled a while longer, eventually sighing exhausted and overwhelmed but somehow peaceful. 

“You know you’re important to me, right?” Anders asked once your stomach was sore. “I mean that. You saved my life, Y/N, and I could never, ever…. I could never replace you, or stop caring, or any of that. You saved my fucking life. And I never even said thank you! I never… I’m fucked for that, I know I am. I just didn’t know how I could possibly-“

“You don’t have to thank me.” You assured him. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life, man. I owe you everything.” He choked up again, blowing out a deep breath. “Because, you know, I bitch a lot to Harry, and this has been the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done, but.. but I’m really happy I’m alive. I’m so happy I’m alive.“ He stopped again, giggling. He sounded like a little kid. “I got to watch a movie with my dad because I’m alive. I owe you for that, big time.”

///

The rest of the conversation went easily after that, or at least easier. You talked more about everything, both of you letting out everything you’d been meaning to. For as scared as you were of this inevitable conversation, it really wasn’t as hard as you expected once the first bit was over. 

The topics floated around elsewhere, too. Anders caught you up on how life with his parents had been and even told you a bit more about his relationship with his mom in particular. He told you stories from his childhood about being locked out of the house for a day and a half because his mom was mad at him or not being able to go on a feild trip in eighth grade because “she thought he liked his friends at school more than her”. He told you about Jena, too, more than he ever had before. He told you how she used to force him to have sex or literally push his head down to snort pills off the coffee table even when he said no. He told you how he still had panic attacks every single time he took a shower. He couldn’t wear wet clothes, either, like if it was raining or his sleeve got damp in the sink. “It makes me feel like I’m dying.” He told you. “One time I got caught in the rain and I was so upset I threw up in a parking lot.”

Harry walked in as Anders finished a story about his sixth grade band recital, a plate of scrambled eggs and a bagel set on your lap. You asked Anders if he wanted to say hello, but he politely declined.

“I just want to talk to you for a while.” He’d said. “I’ll call Harry later today.”

And so you told him everything, too. You told him about what happened with Christian and the nightmares (which he did not take well, by the way). You told him that you also hated taking showers at home because it reminded you of what happened. You both shared song recommendations that you used on your shower playlists that made it a little bit easier. 

///

By the time you made your way downstairs, Harry had already cleaned up from breakfast, folded your clothes in the dryer, and was neck deep in your old guest bedroom. 

He turned to look over his shoulder as you walked in behind him, smiling broadly. He had your suitcases dumped out onto the floor, though most of their contents was already scattered around the room. 

“There you are!” He beamed, setting a tube of mascara in a pile he’d set aside for makeup. “I was starting to miss you.”

“I got distracted talking to Andy.” You brushed off, sitting down next to him where you could find the smallest amount of clear floor. “We got into a fight.”

Harry furrowed his brow, setting a pair of socks into the sock pile. “A fight? What about?”

“About you.” You teased. Harry snapped his head to look at you, mouth falling open.

“Did I do something?” He asked, abandoning the t-shirt in his hands. You only smiled, shaking your head.

“No, no.. I’m just kidding.” You laughed, “I kind of told him off for calling you all the time instead of me.”

He didn’t laugh with you. “Baby, you should’ve told me it bothered you.” He began, putting a hand on your cheek. “I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay!” You insisted. “I was feeling kind of bitter but we talked about it and it’s okay. I was just jealous, I guess.”

“You were jealous?”

You paused. “Yeah, kind of.” You admitted, taking Harry’s hand in yours and pulling it off your cheek and into your lap. “I felt like you guys were closer than me and him, and… I don’t know. He called and told me I was his best friend and I kind of lost it on him.”

“But you are his best friend?” Harry responded, confused and looking guilty. “I could’ve told you that. He tells me every day he doesn’t like me as much as you.”

You smiled, maybe a little bit too satisfied. “I am his best friend.” You agreed.

Harry smiled, confused. “Okay?”

“We’re good now, though. Like, actually.” You said, picking up a pair of leggings out of the mess and throwing it in the clothes pile. “We finally talked about everything.”

Harry followed your lead and grabbed your lap top off of the floor and set it on the bed. “You did?” He beamed, nudging your shoulder with his own. “That’s awesome, sunflower. I’m really happy you guys did that.”

“Me too. He said he’s call you later today.”

Harry picked up a bottle of lotion out of the pile, revealing how it had leaked out onto everything below it. He closed his eyes, sighing. 

“You know you don’t have to live like this, right?” He nagged. “You’re lucky that didn’t get all over your laptop. Which shouldn’t have been on the floor anyway.”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah, well if you’re going to be living with me you need to start living like a real person.” He rasped, rubbing his brow. He stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d said. “Not that you live here now, or anything. I just mean since you’re gonna stay here for a while. You don’t have to live out of suitcases.”

You shrugged, brushing off the exchange about the living situation. “I like living out of suitcases. I’m used to it.”

“Well you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“It’s not a big deal…”

It was quiet for a second, you still helping Harry clean your disaster of a bedroom despite you saying it wasn’t an issue. Harry stopped after a minute or two. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want to move your stuff into our room?” He questioned, looking you in the eyes. You frowned, stunned. 

“I just haven’t gotten around to it.” You said honestly. Harry knew that, the two of your spending nearly every second of every day together. “You know how I am about cleaning.”

Harry didn’t laugh at your joke, just nodding along. “Feels like you have one foot out the door.” He mumbled, chucking a pair of shoes into the shoe pile with a bit of extra frustrated force. 

You looked at him, but he just kept organizing. You thought about what he’d said, realizing how it must look from his perspective. Your suitcases were literally still packed.

You thought about his conversation with Anders the other night, how Harry had told him how afraid he was that you would change your mind or leave. You picked up a pair of jeans. 

“Do you think you have room in your dresser for my stuff to go in there?” You asked, folding the pants carefully. “We could probably move everything to our room before lunch, if you think we can make space.”

Harry whipped his head around, ignoring your question. “Really?”

You furrowed your brows. “Yes?”

“You want to put it all in our room?”

“Yeah, I do.” You answered honestly. It would be nice to not have to go down the hall every time you needed socks, anyway. “Do you think it will all fit?”

Harry leaped up, a ridiculous kind of look on his face as he cheesed down at you. 

“Yes!” He squeaked. “Yeah, I can make room! I can go move some stuff right now!”

“Okay. Awesome.” You commented, just looking up at him. You couldn’t help smiling just as goofily as he was. “Do you want help?”

He looked back and forth for a second, running his fingers through his hair. “No, no, I’m good. I’ll just move some shit and you stay here and get your stuff ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t leave, though, just staring at you. His legs were wiggling with nervous excitement.

“This is great.” He said, letting out a giggle. He covered his mouth, trying to force the smile off of his face and failing. “This makes me really happy, Y/N. Thank you.”

You crinkled your nose at him. “You don’t need to thank me, you pest.”

He continued staring at you for a second, his smile now a permanent fixture on his face. He knelt beside you, pulling your face to his with a hand on either cheek. 

“I love you so much.” He gushed into the kiss, hands clammy. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you more.” You promised, pulling away from the kiss with a smile of your own. “Now go get ready for all my junk, okay?”

He stood again, his entire body tense and excited and giddy. “Okay! Yeah, okay.. I’m gonna go do that.” He turned to leave, looking back at you every step or two to give you another grin. “I’ll be in our room if you need me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And then he left the room, his giggling following him down the hall. “Let’s fucking go!” He said to himself, his footsteps in the pattern of a little happy skip. “Let’s fucking go!”.

///

You weren’t done by lunch time, the entire ordeal becoming much more of  a thing than you’d expected. You sorted through all of Harry’s shit, him deciding what items he wanted to move out of the closet to make room for your own. He threw sweaters you’d seen him wear in paparazzi photos onto the bed, discarded as if you hadn’t memorized the patterns staring at those pictures of him while you were broken up. “I never fucking wear this.” He said, throwing another jacket onto the bed. “Or this. Or this.”

You watched him take nearly all of his clothes across the hall to another empty bedroom, leaving them on the bed in there to be put away later. He took out things you’d seen him wear within the week, insisting he hadn’t worn them in years and didn’t mind them being in the other room. You didn’t argue with him on any of it, his mood so bubbly and excited and just about over the moon. You hadn’t seen him this excited, even the night you first got back together. He talked the entire time, going on and on about how happy he was and all of his plans for your new room you’d be sharing. 

“We can paint the walls yellow, too, since that’s your favorite.” He was saying, taking the last load of  clothes out of his dresser. “I’ve been meaning to paint the walls in here anyway.”

“You definitely don’t have to do that.” You’d laughed, thinking he was kidding. He just looked at you like you were crazy. 

“You don’t like yellow anymore?”

“I do, I just don’t want you to have to-”

“It’s fine.” He cut you off. “I want it to feel like your room, too.”

You didn’t say anything for a second, just looking at him. He looked so in love. You smiled, nodding. “We can paint it together, then.”

He grinned back at you, shoulders relaxing. “Yes! Wouldn’t that be fun?” He gushed, back to his rambling now. “We could buy a new duvet, too. We could hang up some of the paintings Andy’s done for you, too! And all your awards can go over here if we add a shelf.”

You didn’t say anything about the fact that Harry most certainly wouldn’t hang any of his own awards in his bedroom and that you didn’t want to do that, either, just letting him continue. You just listened to him talk, believing everything he said and every promise he made. You wanted to kiss him, so you did, over and over and over. Before you knew it, you had moved everything onto his room and the two of you were picking out a new silk duvet cover online. It had tiny flowers on it. 

///

You didn’t get around to lunch until after 3, the two of you close to starvation by the time you’d finished up everything upstairs. You sat on some stools at the kitchen island, scarfing down the Thai food you’d had ordered in. You were almost done with your entire plate when Bethany called you. 

“Hey Beth!” You chirped, Harry’s good mood infecting you and making everything seem a little more sparkly. “What’s up?”

She sighed. Bad sign.

“Have you been on the internet at all today?” She asked, not bothering with niceties. 

You paused, looking over at Harry who was just as confused as you. You set your phone down on the counter, turning it on speaker. 

“I haven’t really been on since early this morning.” You explained. “Why, what’s up?”

“Well, its officially happened. Cats out of the bag.”

You relaxed, realizing what she meant. “Oh, yeah. I saw everything with Logan and Rachel already.” You explained. “Logan texted me this morning to talk about it.”

Bethany let out a short laugh. “Nope, not that Peach. Try again.”

Your breathing stopped for a second, your head whipping to look at Harry the same moment his turned to face you. You had matching expressions on your faces, eyes wide and eyebrows bunched together. Harry leaned towards the phone, speaking.

“What do you mean, Bethany?” He asked, his plate pushed away with the back of his hand. 

“Harry, great. I’m glad you’re here.” Bethany went on. She had that tone to her voice right now that she always had when she was really, really pissed. Not at you, but at everything else. It was the way she talked after meetings with Tom, or when someone posted something about you online that was particularly searing. “You should be here for this so you can reiterate all of this to Jeff.”

Oh, fuck. You looked back at him, mouth opening and closing over and over again but no words actually coming out. Harry looked just as dumb and confused as you felt. Finally he spoke. 

“What happened?”

His expression changed into the kind he always got when he talked about work. (You selfishly hated that version of him, the one who was all serious and analytical. It didn’t feel like him.)

“Well, Harry, your girlfriend wore your pants on Jimmy Fucking Fallon.” She snipped, sighing. You knew she wasn’t mad at you two, but you still felt like a child being chastised. “And you have a scuff on your wall.”

“What the fuck are you taking about?” You asked, put opened on your stomach. 

“Well,” (You could envision her pulling glasses off the top of her head, sliding them down her nose.) “Aubrey on Twitter says, ‘Y/N was literally wearing Harry’s pants on Fallon tonight I’m gonna kms.’ And attached is a picture of you, my dear, wearing some black sweats and another picture of Harry last week on BBC wearing the same ones.”

You looked at each other, mouths agape. 

“How do they know we don’t have the same pants?” You asked. You were trying not to panic yet, remembering how Beth had always been the one to brush off incidents like this. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, except there’s a stain on the back.” She explained. “A big white splotch on the butt. Paint, or something.”

Harry groaned, leaning his head onto the counter and banging his fist once in defeat. He stayed like that for a second before sitting back up, his head in his hands. 

“Andy and I got into a paint fight.” He started, voice small.

“A paint fight?” You asked incredulously. “What even is that?”

“Well, babe, it’s a lot like a fight but with paint involved.” He snipped back at you. “I should’ve remembered. I was so pissed he ruined those pants…”

You just shook your head, mimicking Harry and throwing your head into your hands. 

“What about the scuff on the wall?” You asked, remembering that other detail. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well it’s in the same spot in every single interview the two of you have done the last month.”

Of fucking course it was. You grumbled, laying your head down completely. You’d spent so much time picking an inconspicuous place to set up your camera, and this was still happening. 

“So everyone has put it together, then?” Harry asked. 

“Yup.” Bethany answered. “And there’s no denying it. I mean, we can say you aren’t a couple… We can say whatever you want, but there’s no denying that you’re living together. Everyone knows it. And, now that they have that, they’re putting everything else together, too.”

Harry shook his head, eyes closing. “But is it like, a couple people saying this? Or is it, like, everyone?”

“Well you're trending on Twitter. Right under Rachel.” 

It was quiet for a second, the three of you all waiting for someone else to pipe up. It gave you enough time, in the three or so seconds it was silent, to make up your mind. 

Harry needed to know you meant it. He needed to know you weren’t going anywhere. You’d already moved your clothes out of their suitcases and you promised to meet his mom, and there was only one more thing to do. There was only one more thing you could do to prove you meant it. 

“I’m happy this is happening.” You said out loud, unsure if Harry would feel the same considering but taking a chance. You watched his face out of the corner of your eye. “I… I don’t want it to be a secret anymore. I want everyone to know.”

Harry snapped around to look at you, expression unreadable. 

“As long as Harry is okay with that.” You added, adding some cushioning in case this went sour. “I’m okay with it, though. I’m excited, actually.”

It was true. You’d spent so much time forced to keep it a secret that you’d forgotten that wasn’t ever what you wanted at all. Bethany still sounded just as stressed when she spoke. 

“You guys can talk about it. And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to talk to Jeff. Once you guys talk let me know and we’ll go from there.”

He agreed, both of you saying your goodbyes to Beth before hanging up. You pressed the big red button, waiting a beat before looking up at Harry. 

“So…” You started, not able to get much further before Harry cut you off.

“Did you mean that?” He asked, eyes cautious. “About wanting everyone to know? You meant that?”

You nodded weakly. “We’re only supposed to say the stuff we mean, right?”

He looked at you a beat before realization set in and his face broke out into a smile, a giggle ripping through the tension around you. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

He sprang foreword, kissing you firmly in the mouth. He held your face the way he always did lately, a hand on either cheek. He mumbled into your mouth, too, the way he’d been keen to do lately. 

“I fucking love you. I love you.” He rushed out, biting your lip. “I’m so happy. I’m so fucking happy.”

You kissed him back, telling him you were too. You were too. You were too. 

“We can go on a date now.” He went on. “I can take you to get that spaghetti I was telling you about, after everything opens again. You’ll love it, it’s the best spaghetti I’ve ever had I swear to God. We won’t have to lie to anyone anymore.”

You, out of nowhere, felt your eyes grow hot with tears. You didn’t say anything else, just continuing to kiss him. You hoped if you kissed him enough times he would just know everything you wanted to say this whole time. Your dirty dishes still sat on the counter, forgotten. 

///

A few days later, Anders woke up on a Sunday in the best mood he’d been in for days. 

Since his conversation with Y/N he’d felt a weight lifted off of his shoulders, but rehashing everything that way adding an entirely different kind of pressure. But today was Sunday, and Sunday’s were good.

On Sunday’s, his parents left the house to go to church. His parents, even in the pandemic, still went and sat with everyone else who was too stupid to stay out of large crowds, and even though that should’ve annoyed him Anders loved it. He didn’t care if his parents brought the virus home. The possibility of dying was worth the 180 minutes he got to spend without them in the house. (His mom no longer asked him to go with them. She actually still hadn’t said a single word to him since he’d gone to Matt’s house).

Anders threw open his door once he heard the car roll out of the driveway, feeling as if he had the entire world at his fingertips. He was wearing a pair of sweats, the same ones he’d had on for 6 days, not bothering to put on a shirt before bouncing down to the kitchen. 

His plans for breakfast were foiled as soon as he turned the corner. 

“Hey son!” His dad smiled brightly, standing over the stove. He was just pulling out a pan, a carton of eggs out on the counter. “I thought I was gonna have to wake you up.”

“Why are you here?”

He knew he should’ve said something else, but it’s all he could think. In the last 24 years he’d never once seen his dad skip church. Ever.

“I wanted to have breakfast with you.” He said simply. “Are you hungry at all?”

Anders just shook his head. “But it’s Sunday.”

“We can’t have breakfast on a Sunday?”

Anders laughed, deciding to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. He realized that he wasn’t actually upset his dad was here. 

“I figured you’d be at church is all.” He explained. “Im starving though.”

His dad just smiled. “Fantastic. Do you want bacon, too?”

Anders, suddenly, was bombarded by memories of Christmas morning when his dad would always make bacon after the gifts were opened. He stopped doing that when Anders was in middle school, but he could still smell it when he really tried. Back before everything was bad all the time. 

“Fuck yeah.” Anders said, knowing his dad would chastise him for that but not able to resist pissing his parents off even when he didn’t want to. It was a defect of his he couldn’t help.

His dad turned to look at him, mouth pinched to hide a grin. “Fuck yeah.” His dad agreed, the word sounding bizarre coming out in his voice. Anders threw his head back in a howl of laughter, tears accumulating.

“Did you just say fuck? My father, the Saint?”

His dad was giggling now, the sound almost identical to Anders' own laugh. He’d never noticed that before. “Fuck yeah I did.” He said, only causing them both to giggle harder. 

“Fuck yeah, dad! Let it out!”

“Fuck yeah!”

“You can do better than that”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck yeah!!!”

Anders was in fucking stitches, his sides literally pinching his ribs as he died laughing. 

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He asked. His dad nodded enthusiastically. 

“It feels good.” He agreed, pulling a pack of bacon out of the fridge. “Feels fucking good.”

“I'm surprised you chose a Sunday to say your first curse with me, dad.” Anders joked. “I'm surprised you’re here at all.”

“Well I am, aren’t I?”

“Just figured you’d be, like, praising the son of god right now. Or whatever.”

His dad was quiet for a second, using the same scissor he always used when Anders was baby Anderson to open the bacon. 

“I have my own son to worry about.” He said quietly, looking over his shoulder. He smiled shyly. “You ever make bacon before?”

Of course he had. Everyone had. But for some reason Anders shook his head. 

“Can you show me?”

His dad smiled even bigger now. “Yeah! Of course I can! Grab the tongs out of the drawer over there and I’ll get us started.”

“Okay.”

Anders did what he said and grabbed the tongs. He stood next to his dad, feeling awkward but also strangely good. He was almost as tall as his dad. The last time he’d watched his dad cook he had to stand on a chair. Part of him wanted to stand on a chair anyway, just for old times sake. Or maybe he just wanted to feel like baby Anderson again. Baby Anderson never had a care in the world. Baby Anderson’s parents were always crazy about him. 

“Moms gonna be pissed at you, huh?” Anders asked, laughing lightly but meaning it. His dad shrugged, turning on one of the burners. 

“She can be mad at both of us, then.” He as all he said. “So now we have to wait for the pan to get hot…”

///

“How much shit do you own?” Logan asked, a hand over her eyes to block out the sun above her. Rachel was grabbing another box out of her Range Rover, hobbling up the steps to the door. 

“You could help me.” Rachel squeaked, barely managing to make it inside before the box slipped from her fingers. Logan shut the door behind them both, coming up to take Rachel by the waist. 

“Why don’t you just stop for a while?” She whispered, pressing a kiss to her girlfriends hair. “Let’s relax. I miss you.”

Rachel only blushed, as always, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I have a lot to unpack.”

“You can unpack tomorrow.”

Rachel looked around the living room, full of boxes and suitcases and all sorts of junk. It was a fucking disaster in here. Rachel’s house, or her parents house, technically, was never dirty. Ever. 

Rachel thought maybe she liked it being dirty. She threw the bag off of her shoulder she’d grabbed from the car, letting it land right in middle of the floor. Her heart beat funny at the thought that she’d just leave it there, right in middle of the walkway. 

“Tomorrow.” She agreed, leaning into Logan. Logan chirped triumphantly, immediately pulling Rachel to the couch. They both laughed together, happy. 

The house was a nightmare, Rachel’s parents wouldn’t talk to her, and she didn’t know what the fuck she was going to do when the pandemic ended and she had to go back to work. She didn’t feel like taking pictures anymore, or doing her hair every time she left the house. She didn’t want to hang out with Margot or Kira, ever again. She had a millions things running through her head, all of them spiraling and twisting and bumping into each other until she couldn’t make sense of a single second of it. For some reason she didn’t mind though. 

“You know I was never allowed to have short hair.” She said without knowing why. Logan hummed. “I’ve always wanted to cut it.”

Logan sprang off the couch. “Babe! I used to go to beauty school! I’m, like, so good at cutting hair!”

“You did?”

Logan frowned, her nose scrunching up in the way that always made Rachel feel especially soft. “Well, I went for like a week before I quit. But I am really good at cutting hair! I swear!”

This wasn’t entirely true. Logan had enrolled in beauty school, but never actually went. And she was only decent at cutting hair, at best.

But Rachel couldn’t give a fuck if she was any good at it. “Okay.” She agreed, standing. “Do you think it’ll look good?”

Logan nodded frantically. “Of course! You know what, I’ll cut mine first so you can make sure you like it. Then you can decide.”

Rachel was objecting the best she could but Logan was already in the kitchen, scissors in hand. 

(The scissors, funnily enough, we’re the exact same pair Andy’s dad always used for the bacon on Christmas morning.)

Before Rachel could even catch up Logan grabbed a fist full of hair, lobbing it all of just under her chin. Her eyes widened as the blonde strands scattered on the floor. Then, she started laughing. And so did Rachel. 

They both laughed until they were crying, making their way to the bathroom with Logan’s hair half to her waist and half to her chin. It only took an hour or so for both of them to be made over, making eye contact through the mirror. Both with matching hair cuts, both equally as drastic. They looked fine, but not great. 

“I love it.” Rachel beamed, eyes teary again for a whole new reason. “I love it.”

She shook her head around, watching the bob swing around her face. She looked like a completely different person, someone she’d never met before. She loved it. 

“It looks amazing!!” Logan screeched, excitedly bouncing around. “This is amazing!!!”

///

“I didn’t know you had so many tattoos.” Anders’ dad said through a mouthful. 

Anders shrugged. “I did that on purpose.” He said honestly, referring to his mostly blank arms and covered chest. (Not covered, but he had a few.)

“They’re cool.” His dad said, making Anders furrow his brow in surprise. “I always wanted to get a tattoo.”

He couldn’t help snorting. This was the best day he’d had in as long as he could remember. Maybe his whole life. “I can’t imagine you with a tattoo.”

“I’ve still got time.” His dad grinned, taking another bite. “Maybe I’ll get one.”

“I’ll take you to get one.” Anders offered, saying it like a joke but not at all kidding. “You could get a face tat, dad. You’d look so fucking sick.”

His dad just shook his head. “What’s that one?” He questioned, pointing to the mysterious blob on his torso. It was on his ribs, just under his heart. 

“It was supposed to be a frog.” Anders laughed. “My friend Y/N did it.”

“With a tattoo gun?”

“With a needle.”

His dad didn’t tell him off like he was expecting. “What’s she like?”

His parents never asked about his friends. They’d always hated his friends growing up. 

“She’s fuckin sick.” Anders answered, realizing they’d both finished their plates but weren’t getting up. “She’s my best friend.”

“Maybe I can go see her show one day.” His dad said casually. “Or am I too old for that?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You could totally go!” Anders gushed. He imagined it, his dad bobbing awkwardly along like dads do. “You could come see Harry, too.”

“Could I come see you?” His dad asked, making Anders’ heart skip a beat. He’d never invited his parents to a show, figuring they wouldn’t want to go. His mom definitely wouldn’t. 

“Of course you could.” Anders said. He felt his face get hot. “It would actually mean a lot to me, dad. If you came, I mean.”

His dad smiled to himself, shaking his head. “I can’t believe my kids a rockstar. That’s pretty cool, huh?” His dad chuckled for a second. “Sorry. That’s pretty fucking cool, isn’t it?”

The praise made him embarrassed. “It’s alright.”

“I always wanted to be a rockstar.” His dad mused. He almost didn’t even look like his dad right now. He looked younger somehow. More like a person. “Like Jimi Hendrix, you know? I used to be pretty good at the guitar. Not that good, but I think you’d be impressed if you heard it. I was never as good as you, though.”

For some reason Anders wanted to cry. For every reason and no reason. His dad wanted to be a rockstar. His dad used to be young. He used to want things. He used to have dreams. He felt overwhelmed by the realization that he’d lived an entire life before Anders was born, and part of himself hated the other for ruining his dad's plans. Maybe that was why neither of them liked him for so long. 

“I love you, Dad.” Anders said, immediately feeling the need to cry multiply at the embarrassment of saying that out loud. “Thank you for making me breakfast.”

His dad smiled, speechless for a second. “I love you so much, son.” He spoke, his face growing warm in a similar pattern to Anders’. “I always did, even before I met you.”

Anders started crying. His dad stood up, pulling Anders to stand with him. He wrapped him up in his arms and baby Anderson was crying, too. 

“I’m gonna fix this. The best I can.” His dad spoke, voice sounding strained through all the sincerity. “We can have breakfast again next week, okay? It can be our thing.” 

Anders wiped his eyes. “Won’t mom start to get upset if you don’t go to church?” 

His dad wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He shook his head, staying quiet for a long time but not letting his son out of his grip. “I have done this entire thing wrong, for a long time.” He said finally. He gestured between father and son, nearly identical copies of each other. He stopped, shrugging his shoulders. They slanted at the same angle as Anders’. “If your mother wants to be mad at me for fixing my mistakes, she can be. I’m done making her mistakes with her.” He cleared his throat again. “One day she’ll come around. I know she will.”

Anders just nodded, understanding. He didn’t believe what his dad said about his mom, but he believed the rest. He was still sniffling like a child. The front door opened, signaling the end of the moment. Anders quickly rubbed his face clean. 

“I’m gonna go.” Anders told him, hating his mom extra for ruining the only good thing that had ever happened to him. His dad nodded knowingly, looking just as upset as Anders did. “I’ve got, like, four guitars in my room if you ever want to borrow one.”

“Okay, son.” His dad smiled, staying put while Anders tip toed out. Just when he was about to reach the living room his dad called his name, making him pause. “I think we should go get those tattoos. If you want another one.”

Anders laughed, resisting the urge to look to his left where his mother was setting down her purse and kicking off her heels. She didn’t look at him either. 

“That sounds fucking sick, Dad. You just say the word.”

///

On Sunday, after Anders had made his breakfast with his dad and Logan had cut her hair and Rachel had moved everything she’d ever owned into her new home, Harry was having an equally as exciting day. 

He walked down the stairs, having slept in way later than he ever did. He’d been a little miffed when he’d checked his phone, realizing you’d let him spend half his day sleeping. He’d grunted, sitting up. The windows were open, and it smelled like spring today. It felt like spring all over, really, in a way he couldn’t even explain. 

By the time he’d made his way to the stairs his bad mood had vanished. He couldn’t be in a bad mood these days if he’d wanted to. How could he be mad at Y/N for letting him sleep in when she was here? How could he be mad at anything when she was here?

Even when he’d heard the voices coming from the lower level of the house as he descended the stairs, he still wasn’t mad. Worried, obviously. But still in a good mood. 

“What is happening?” He grumbled, rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes. The entire house looked like it had been ransacked, things missing and random men wearing masks walking around. It was more like the opposite of a robbery, Harry noticed, seeing the boxes and random pieces of furniture scattered around. He came to his senses, slowly but surely, taking it all in. 

“Baby!!” Y/N shouted, rushing over to him. Before Harry could speak at all she’d covered his eyes with one of her tiny hands, using her other to grip his t-shirt firmly. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet!”

Harry pushed her hand away softly, looking around the room. He took in her subtle disappointment, her lower lip sticking out ever so slightly. (Upon seeing that he actually had to hop off his train of thought to take it between his own lips for a moment). He cleared his sleepy throat. 

“What is going on?” He asked again, trying to force both of his eyes to open as he squinted at his girlfriend. She sighed, frowning. 

“It was a surprise.” She huffed, crossing her arms. She shook her head, disappointed. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t sleep long enough.”

Harry couldn’t help leaning down and kissing her again, longer this time. He kissed her until she let out that breath she was always holding, her feet relaxing off their tippy toes so she could give all of her attention to him. Harry loved the way she always did that, he thought. He should tell her how nice it is. 

Harry forgot about the commotion around them, stopping the conversation entirely for a second to tell Y/N that he loved her so, so, so much. It was true, more so today than ever before. As he continued to kiss her he whispered all the things he’d missed out on saying by staying asleep for so long. He’d wasted so much time, he thought. He could’ve had, like, four more hours with her than he did if he’d woken up earlier. He brushed her hair away from her face, deciding that he wouldn’t tell her about that little breath-holding thing she did when he kissed her just in case she thought too much about it and stopped doing it. He’d die if she stopped doing it, he thought. He knew he would. 

“It’s already 10:30.” He said finally when Y/N pulled away from him all too soon to continue pouting. “How late was I supposed to sleep?”

“At least until 12.” She answered seriously, making Harry’s eyes pinched shut with laughter. He didn’t expect her to actually have had a time in mind. “I purposefully kept you up until, like, 3 just so you would sleep in.”

She never ceased to amaze him. “You fuckin’ what?” He giggled, overwhelmed in that moment by how much he loved her. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude towards the universe that he almost felt choked up. 

“I had a whole thing planned….” She sighed, shaking her head. “Anders said it wouldn’t work but I just thought….”

Holy shit. “Did you ask Anders to call me last night and keep me up?”

“Yeah. He said he kept you as long as he could…”

Harry couldn’t fucking believe his ears. It was all too perfect. Maybe he was just so delirious with affection that he was missing something, but to him this seemed like the funniest thing in the world. Men still wandered about, moving shit here or there and yelling across the room to each other. Harry didn’t even hear them. 

“What was the master plan, huh?” Harry asked, completely oblivious but not even minding it. 

“The plan was to keep you up as long as I could before having Anders call you and keep you up longer so I could sleep and wake up early and you’d be extra sleepy.”

(Harry had spoken to Andy for three and a half hours last night. About literally nothing. Harry figured Anders was in one of those moods where he just didn’t want to be alone and he’d forced himself to stay up as long as he could so he could be there for him. Turns out it was just a silly little trick and not a mental breakdown at all, which was nice.)

“And why am I supposed to be so sleepy?” Harry asked, pulling Y/N into his chest. He looked around again, realizing it wasn’t just new furniture being delivered here but Y/N’s furniture from home. Y/N’s makeup table. Her bean bag chair she never let anyone else but him use. A box with Logan’s handwriting on the side labeled ‘winter clothes’. He looked closer, realizing all at once what was going on. “What’s happening?” He asked again before Y/N could answer his first question. He pushed her back so he could see her face, heart beating erratically. “What is all of this?”

Y/N just huffed. “It’s my stuff from home. Or some of it, at least.” 

Harry heard himself gasp, Y/N confirming what he already knew. He looked around again, and it was true. It was her stuff from home. 

“I was going to ask if it was okay, but then I just decided to go for it. It was supposed to be a surprise once everything was, like, unpacked and everything…” She grimaced, eyeing Harry nervously. “You’re mad, aren’t you? I know I should’ve asked, I just got carried away-“

“Mad?” Harry laughed, both hands coming to cover his mouth as he looked around. He let his head fall forward, his eyes closing. He recovered, looking up again. “This is all your stuff?”

“Most of it.” She nodded, looking uneasy. “Is that okay? I just thought since we’re moved in together…”

“Moved in together?”

“No, I mean- I just meant-“ Her cheeks flushed bright red, her eyes widening. Harry also loved it when she did that, when she got super embarrassed and made that face she always made. He didn’t tell her how much he loved that, either, just so she would always do it. “Like, living together.”

He couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. She’d had all of this shit brought to fucking London from LA, she’d gone through the trouble of getting her own movers and even conspired against Harry so he’d be surprised when it was all done. She brought winter clothes. For winter. He couldn’t help it when his eyes started to sting and he teared up. His throat was tight suddenly. 

“This is amazing, baby.” He choked out, smiling the best he could at her. Her shoulders relaxed, her own smile replacing the worry on her face. “I… I can’t believe you did all of this.”

“I was so worried you’d be mad.” She gasped, taking a deep breath as she deflated. She giggled, relieved. “I was up all night getting ready and I almost called the whole thing off….”

“How early were you awake?” Harry asked incredulously. It was all too good to be true. 

“I told Anders to call me thirty minutes after you guys got off the phone and you were out like a light.” She admitted, looking embarrassed though Harry couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “So like, 3:45 I think. Somewhere around there.”

Harry choked on his next breath, having to turn away for a second to compose himself. He was still a mess when he turned around to face the amazing, chaotic, beautiful girl before him. He pulled her back to him, hugging her tightly. He felt like a little kid on Christmas. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, burrying his face in his hair. She did the thing she always did where she tells him not to thank her, but he did the thing he always did and ignored her. “This means so much to me, baby. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done.”

She didn’t say anything else, just taking his face and pulling his mouth to hers. He loved the way she kissed him, he thought. Like she was trying to tell him something. 

“Now you’re stuck with me.” She snickered into his lips, thinking she was being cheeky. But as she said it all Harry could think was that this meant she really was going to stay. She wasn’t going anywhere, at least until winter. He choked back the emotion that threatened to bring him to his knees, pushing his hands into Y/N’s hair as he kissed her. He kissed her the way she always did, like she was telling him something. And with every kiss Harry was saying to her, in his own silent way, everything he’d ever wanted to. 

Thank you for not leaving me, he told her. Thank you for being the person who stuck around. Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for letting me grow when I needed to. Thank you for loving me even when you hated me. Thank you for being here. Thank you for bringing winter clothes. Thank you for making me feel like Harry, without the rest. Thank you for staying. Thank you for staying. Thank you for staying. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

And then Y/N did that thing she always did where she gasped for breath between kisses, thinking Harry didn’t hear the way she had to gulp for air. He thought about slowing down, about letting her catch her breath, but he selfishly liked the way she gasped like that. He liked everything about her. He liked the way she gasped and the way she said his name and the way she would say “pleeeease” when he had her really wound up. He liked the way her hands felt on his stomach. He liked the way her legs felt over his, the way her stomach moved when she breathed really hard. He liked the way her cheeks started to turn pink all the way up to her ears and down her neck. 

“Come here.” He mumbled to her, trying to maintain the kiss as he pulled her through the mess towards the stairs. They both stumbled their way across, tripping over a box they hadn’t noticed. It only took them a second to be wound together again, tumbling up the stairs like they were drunk or high or dizzy. 

“You know I love you, right?” Y/N panted, reaching for the doorknob behind her. Harry had his hands around her waist, keeping her against him. He moved his kisses to her neck, mumbling an mhmm. 

“Tell me again so I don’t forget.” He pleaded, throwing the door closed behind them once they’d made their way into the room. “Tell me again.”

“I love you.” She whispered. They bumped into the edge of the bed, tumbling onto their new bedspread that had just arrived a few days earlier. 

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Harry pushed her body down so she was laying, situating himself between her legs. His heart was pounding out of his chest, with excitement and an indescribable fondness. He was overwhelmed again by how much he liked her. She smelled like strawberries today, just like the lotion she’d gotten in the mail from her mom. Harry breathed her in, overwhelmed. Forever overwhelmed. 

“I love you, too.” He rasped to her, “You know that, yeah? You know how much I love you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“No you don’t.” He giggled. “You have no idea. No idea.”

He remembered saying something like that to her at the house party a lifetime ago. It was still true. 

Harry realized suddenly why he must have taken her up here. He must have known the entire time what he was about to do. His stomach flipped, considering it. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes extra tight as if to hide himself, though Y/N wouldn’t have noticed. 

“Baby…” He managed to force out, “Sunflower….”

“What baby?” 

He wanted to say it so bad. It was just there, behind his front teeth. His heart stuttered for a second. 

“Can I show you have much I love you, sunflower?” He whispered, not able to say it any louder. “I want to show you how much I love you. I need to show you.”

The sound Y/N made was enough to put Harry in the dirt. She chirped like a little bird, a short giggle following. Everything felt lighthearted and easy. She hummed into the kiss, letting the sound turn into a soft moan. 

“I want you to show me.” She whispered back. “I love you so much, baby. I want you to show me.”

She mumbled it all, broken up between kisses. She told him again that she loved him, saying it over and over again as the curtain next to the bed whipped around in the breeze. Harry believed her entirely, and he was scared and excited and awestruck and giddy all at once. 

He was finally going to do it, he thought to himself. It was finally happening. He thought about backing out again, but Y/N did that thing again where she slides her hand under his shirt and touches his belly. The butterflies under her fingers flapped harder and Harry folded immediately. He was so nervous he almost felt blinded by it. He took a hand and placed it over hers where she touched him, just under the tattoo. 

“I’m nervous.” He said out loud even though he didn’t want to. She tried to remove her hand but he pressed it down harder so it wouldn’t leave. 

“Sorry-“

“I want it there.” He whispered. “I always wanted to tell you I like it when you touch me like that.”

He wanted to keep that to himself, like all the other secret little things she did and had no idea about, but it just came out. He supposed she could know about one of her little things, at least. He could keep everything else for himself, which was more than enough. 

///

It was while you and Harry were whispering all these sweet little things to each other that the world, already turned upside down, flipped even further. Sunday wasn’t over yet, after all, and that same outside force that pushed Rachel to leave her home and cut her hair, the same propulsion that pushed Anders to tell his dad he loved him, the same hand that guided Harry and yourself up the stairs…. It was moving someone else, too. Right to your doorstep. The one in LA, at least. 

That outside force came in the form of a hard knock on the front door of the house you’d paid for but hadn’t been to in weeks. Logan and Rachel were already knee deep in an episode of New Girl, making it a particularly bad time for visitors, even more so than the pandemic. 

Logan shuffled to the door, annoyed. She’d been alone and totally fucking bored out of her mind with nothing to do for weeks but now that Rachel was here she suddenly had a million things that needed her attention. As minor as it was, she was still pissed. 

But when she opened the door, she didn’t know what to feel. Immediately she was hit with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke. She felt everything at once.

“What in the ever living fuck are you doing here?” She asked. The visitor nearly tipped over, eyes glazed. He shrugged. 

“I came to- fucking shit-“ The guest spoke, steadying himself on the wall with an outstretched arm. His hair had grown out since the VMAs, and it looked like shit. “I came to talk to Y/N. Is she here?”

[talon-dragonbeast]

on seasonal instincts and dragon customs

[obligatory warning for brief mentions of animal reproductive habits and human sexuality. nothing explicit though.]

okay, so i haven't done any research on this, so apologies for any inaccuracies. but you know how in the animal kingdom, many behavioural patterns are seasonal? think of migrations, hibernation, reproduction... almost every animal's habits are impacted by their environment in one way or another. of course, dragons are no different.

i get urges to brumate in winter, when i get really slow and tired if the temperature drops below a certain level. when the weather is warmer i just want to bask in the sun for hours, absorbing as much sunlight as i can. and now that spring is here, im getting inexplicable urges to care for someone, preferably a young one.

ive never wanted children, at least not of my own. i am not parental in any way; i like to care for people but only in a big sibling/weird aunt/"dont-tell-your-mum-we're-doing-this" way. i love children, especially young ones, but raising one myself? having to care for someone all day, every day? getting pregnant? no fucking way.

im asexual, and aromantic. always have been, always will be. im pretty sex repulsed (hearing/reading about sex is fine, but the mere thought of doing something like that myself makes me nauseous) and romance indifferent; ive never, ever wanted a partner. i know of some beings in this community who hate the thought of having a human partner, but indulge in the idea of having a mate if they were in their 'type's body. however, that doesnt happen to me. wether in human or dragon form, i dont ever want to get romantically or sexually involved with another individual. im a solitary dragon, i dont need another to be happy.

however. spring is the season of blossoming, of abundance, of birth. in spring, new animals are born into this world, fragile baby dragons that need to be nurtured and protected. i do not have the urge to have my own dragonets, but i still get the instinct of caring for them. i long for a nest, for a little breath synchronized with mine, for a young heartbeat lying next to me. i would protect the dragonets, i would guarantee nothing bad ever happened to them. i would make sure theyre happy and well fed. i would teach them things about the world and tell them stories of our kind. and when the time came for them to leave the nest (to go with their real mothers perhaps), it would be with a promise to return soon.

dragon customs is something i dont talk about because i dont really have any noemata for how my species would interact with each other. i dont know if this is because my species is truly solitary or if i am the exception. besides, i dont like to speculate about something without having concrete evidence, even if its about something as subjective as a kintype. but seeing my instincts regarding springtime, i think its safe to say that my dragon species has a mating season. more than that, we probably care about our young communally, seeing as someone as isolated as myself has such strong instincts of nurturing dragonets.

im really interested to hear if somebeing has similar instincts in the spring, or even in a different season. and if so, please share any tips of how to deal with it because its driving me up the wall :}

[gravegrime]

Poll Game Lore Results

Alright gang here's the lore for the poll I did yesterday! It's going to be a long one so buckle up lol

I ran the same poll over on twitter too with different results so if you want to know even more lore you can check that out over there too

💕LILIUM💕

Lilium's hyper positivity and caring nature is a direct result of her strange upbringing. As a "child of the kingdom" Lilium was raised under the watchful gaze of the All-Mother. An otherworldly being in her world I call an Abstraction. As well as guided by the hands of the All-Mother's servants, fathers.

A core tenant of the ideology is a strict adherence to simply positivity and an over emphasis on love and care.

Speaking of the All-Mother... She is also responsible for Lilium's lack of any face. Scooped that shit right out of her head when she was born as is tradition for all children in the kingdom.

It doesn't particularily bother Lilium as she's never known a world where she's had a face. To her, the gaping maw in her head is just as good!

There is a level of redundancy when it comes to the concept of friendship within the kingdom. They're all seen as each other's family so having external relationships on top of that is seen as unnecessary.

However, Lilium is particularily close to one individual in her town. Rose from Elsewhere. A kindly older gentleman who took Lilium under his wing when he discovered that she enjoyed writing.

She is appreciative of everything he teaches her, even if she doesn't always understand it right away! The two make a point to visit each other at the end of every work week in a small park to discuss ideas and learn about the lovely world around them.

You did hear that right, Lilium is in fact a writer! on a hobbiest level at least.

Her writings are very rudementary self-insert fables about princesses saving kingdoms and getting helpful advice from old wizards. I think we can cut her a little slack though given she's never really read a novel before. That's just not something they have access to in the kingdom.

Besides, these are very personal stories to her. They help her compartmentalize and understand thoughts and feelings frowned upon by the kingdom. Lilium would have no interest in sharing these stories with others. The very thought would have her "face" flush and her knees weaken for some reason that's hard for her to understand!

Another unfortunate down side of being raised in the kingdom is a deep lack of experience with anything close to lying or deception. To the point that Lilium doesn't even understand them as things anyone can do but only as evil sins commited by individuals with hate in their heart.

This results in her being blatant, almost horrifically, honest. She would tell her killer where to find the knives level of honesty because she simply doesn't understand why anyone would say something untrue.

She would love to figure out why someone might though! That's one thing that seperates Lilium from a lot of the other children of the kingdom, she's very curious.

She sees the world as an infinite source of love and wonder. Absolutely everything has some aspect to it that is lovely and should be nurtured and acknowledged! To find out the lovely parts isn't easy however and requires a keen eye and lots of questions. This driving force of her curiousity leads her to being a very kind, if not a bit frustrating, amatuer slueth looking for the good in the world.

👻CORNY👻

Before taking on the role of Kaspar's apprentice Corny would develop his own methods of dealing with the ghosts and spirits he would encounter.

One being if Corny found a ghost that was capable of communication he have it follow him to an old abandoned residence and stay there until he found out how to help them. Essentially collecting coherent ghosts in one spot to cut down on travel and maybe give them some much needed company.

Ultimately he wanted to help these ghosts but in the meantime maybe they'd at least to find comfort in each other!

Corny is a massive horror fan! He loves himself a good spook be it by show, movie, or game. Going so far as to study some of the stories he feels might be applicable in his own paranormal pursuits. Obviously to varying results lol

Some of his favorites would be akin to Poltergiest, The Shining, Silent Hill, and Fatal Frame!

💀LYNETTE💀

Lynette absolutely hates relying on other people for anything. There is almost nothing more distasteful to her than asking for help. Near the point of rathering to die than even consider calling the ambulance lol

This completely bull-headed approach to aid is a huge flaw of hers and something that's going to be quite harshly punished throughout the story. Lass has a lot of learnin' to do

Exhibit A! Lynette has never summoned a spirit for a contract before. In Grimm Deeds magic is preformed through ritual trades with spirits that bind the witch/wizard and the spirit together in a sense. This exchange grants the witch/wizard power while giving the spirit form. Lynette has never done this!

There is a much more difficult route for a magic user to cast that utilizes the caster's own soul instead of relying on the power of a spirit. This practices is much more difficult and takes A LOT of training to achieve comperable results to normal magic. This is the method Lynette uses instead severly kneecapping her own potential to avoid having to rely on another entity for her own power.

There are also some advantages to using your own soul for magic but I won't detail these here unless you guys have a question about it lol

Most of the time she is completely alone on the Necropolis, outside of her caretaker, but she doesn't count them. Her father, Kaspar, is extremely busy with being... the grimm reaper and everything and is unable to spend much time with her.

This isolation has led to some pretty sever social stunting and having any complex social interaction will often stun her as she tries to navigate it. For this reason Lynette often retreats back into self isolation even more. She hates the loneliness of it but there's a comfort in the familiarity.

If there is a silver lining to her loneliness it's her academic and hobbiest pursuits have florished with nothing else to do on her own. Her magic is an obvious example of this, having a far greater grasp on her abilities than any normal witch/wizard in training would.

Of course having a hyper magical being as a father to teach you a few tricks probably helps too.

But she has other skills as well! Lynette actually has a small passion for music and is able to play a sort of fantasy themed piano/organ as well as a strange looking violin!

She actually writes her own songs as well. They act as a form of journaling her feelings in a more abstract sense, Lynette would die of embarassment if she were to actually log her feelings in a way people would easily be able to understand them, and are often without lyrics.

No lyrics also makes her feel better because she feels she doesn't have a very good singing voice either.

On the academic side of things I don't think I have to mention how much she likes to read. Take a stroll through any artwork with her in it and she probably has her face buried in some form of literature. She loves it so much that her father turned almost TWO full walls into bookshelves for her! It's the one thing she does the most out of anything.

She mostly reads nonfiction as well. Biographies, textbooks, essays you name it she probably has read something similar. Many pertain to magic and the practice of it but a good amount are also about the various worlds in the Cosmos. She respects her father's wishes to not go exploring without him there to keep her safe and therefore lives an explorer's life vicariously through written world.

Unfortunately all this knowledge can't translate to real world experience. All her knowledge of how things work is almost completely theoretical.

She loves her fucking dad so goddamn much. Everything she does is for him. EVERYTHING IS FOR THAT BIG BEAUTIFUL MAN. She just wishes he could be here...

Lynette is very cold and holds herself very strongly but man is she fragile. A huge emphasis on strength and self sufficency acts as a bit of a complex for her to avoid having to deal with the fact that she's scared and that she's hurt.

There are a lot of reasons for this but I'll leave it at that for now >:)

🖤SHADE🖤

Shade has a pretty big family all things considered! A grandmother, two parents, and four other brother's and sisters that he's smack dab in the middle of. He loves them all dearly and makes sure to take breaks from his wanderlust to come back home and visit.

His family are actually quite supportive of his lifestyle, especially given his father's background, and always want to hear the stories of his magical adventures across the Cosmos!

Shade is not a bright boy. You could honestly say he's very much of an idiot, but he's an idiot in what I feel is the most charming way possible.

His head is never empty. Shade's mind is bursting with a million questions and observations. The quality of them is questionable is all! their either an insanely solid observation or the equivalent of a yahoo answers question and there is very little inbetween. He has no idea what a good or bad question is so he just asks them all! Making Shade one of the most interesting people to talk to possible lol

On top of already being very likeable with his laid back and open personality Shade is also insanely charismatic! He is an absolute accidental people pleaser able to make a lemon smile.

Full of worldly charm and experience Shade often wins people over with his adventerous stories, of which he has plenty, and good nature. He's one of those people you'd just want to sit down and listen to, no matter what he's saying.

[pvregold]

         ✦         AUDRE  HÉRITIER         ›        affable  yet  impertinent  forty - one  year  old  cybernetics  specialist  who  goes  by  she  +  they  pronouns  and  is  always  toying  with  an  unknown  device  between  fitful  fingers.  born  in  sol  city,  often  can  be  seen  walking  through  her  section  with  a  playful  smirk  perched  on  her  countenance,  highly  focused  behind  a  too - bright  screen,  or  lighting  up  a  new  cigarette  despite  having  an  unfinished  one  in  her  usual  ashtray.  resourceful  by  nature  and  nurture,  but  heedless  as  a  hyperactive  child,  audre  deeply  enjoys  the  stinging  taste  of  scotch  against  their  tongue  when  nights  become  too  long  ;  the  faint  smell  of  sweat  and  lime  that  emanates  from  their  skin  after  a  successful  run  &  the  growl  of  annoyance  they  ignite  in  someone  they’ve  managed  to  annoy.  chaotic  good,  sagittarius  sun  &  dancing  enthusiast,  audre  identifies  herself  as  a  lesbian  demi - woman,  has  the  terrible  habit  of  biting  their  knuckles  when  they  have  to  wait  for  something  or  sometimes,  the  impatient  simmering  inside  barely  tolerable,  and  loves  nothing  more  than  the  smell  of  her  mother’s  cooking.

*   LINKS .         threads.     tag.     wanted  connections.     pinterest.     ©.

*       ONE     ,       BASICS  .

full  name :     audre  etta  héritier.         nicknames :     dree,  ettie  ( mother’s rights only ).         age  +  dob :     forty1  +  december  17th.         hometown :     sol city.         gender  +  pronouns :     demi - woman  +  she / they.         orientation :     lesbian.         species :     human.         occupation :     cybernetics  specialist.         sector :     seven.         affiliation :     none.

*       TWO     ,       PERSONALITY  TRAITS  .

positive  traits :     resourceful,   efficient,   affable.         neutral  traits :     independent,   discerning,   logical.         negative  traits :     impertinent,   argumentative,   heedless.         zodiac’s  main  three :     sagittarius sun,   aquarius  moon,   aries  rising.         moral  alignment :     chaotic  good.         temperament :     sanguine.

*       THREE     ,       A  BRIEF  TALE  .

               it  was  cruel,  leaving  you  adrift  at  the  hospital  only  hours  after  you  were  born,  yet  it  never  mattered  to  you  (  at  least,  not  enough  to  spare  it  a  second  thought  )   —   the  world  surrounding  you  was  too  dangerous,  too  devastated  to  care  about  those  who  brought  you  into  this  life  and  left  you  behind  to  survive  how  you  could.                and  survive  you  did,  unstoppable,  solid  as  a  concrete tower .                you  didn’t  know  about  parents,  but  you  knew  about  love.  it  came  unrestrictedly  from  the  woman  who  took  you  in,  a  nurse  at  the  hospital  that  always  wanted  a  child  yet  never  got  the  chance  to  have  one.  until  you.  you  grew  up  loved  and  pampered  and  chaotic,  and  in  the  freedom  handed  to  you,  you  found  your  passion  for  electronics  and  cybernetics.  the  word  genius  didn’t  take  long  to  surround  you,  but  you  never  paid  much  attention  to  it   —   as  long  as  you  were  allowed  to  do  what  you  loved,  as  long  as  your  mother  was  safe  and  you  were  out  of  trouble  despite  your  heedless  nature,  everything  else  was  irrelevant.

*       FOUR     ,       ESSENTIALS  +  HEADCANONS  .

(  !  )   CW   :     ABANDONMENT,  SMOKING,  FOOD,  KNIFE  MENTION.

i.   adopted  by  someone  who  yearned  so  terribly  for  a  child  made  the  word  no  a  very  scarce  one  in  her  reality,  she  was  a  very  energetic,  reckless,  yet  despite  her  shenanigans,  little  to  none  of  them  were  ever  serious  or  harmful. ii.   they  knew  from  the  very  beginning  that  the  one  raising  them  wasn’t  their  mother,  however,  the  name  slipped  from  them  enough  times  to  stick  and  that’s  what  audre  calls  them  until  this  day.  to  everyone  concerned,  she  is  their  mother. iii.   they  don’t  read  too  often,  their  attention  span  too  narrow  to  truly  enjoy  it.  however,  when  they  do,  they  do  it  to  learn  about  the  old  world.  their  favorite  thing  about  that  time  was  dogs  and  the  relationship  they  had  with  humans. iv.   it  was  her  curious  nature  that  led  her  to  discover  her  love  for  science  —  she  was  thirteen  the  first  time  she  came  upon  and  managed  to  repair  an  old  device. v.   they’re  a  skilled  knife  thrower.  they  gained  the  ability  thanks  to  a  paranoid  scavenger  ex-girlfriend  who  worried  too  much  about  their  incapacity  to  defend  themself  physically. vi.   she’s  a  great  cook  and  loves  doing  it  for  others.  it  is,  most  of  the  time,  the  way  she  has  to  show  love  and  take  care  of  people.  she  deeply  believes  a  full  stomach  can  cure  any  maladies. vii.   sadly,  they  smoke  a  lot.  they’re  not  a  big  drinker,  but  they  are  an  enthusiastic  smoker.  their  ashtray  is  often  filled  with  half - consumed  cigarettes,  though,  because  their  terrible  attention  span  hardly  ever  lets  them  finish  one.

[hqsenvs3000w24]

A Sense of Place (take 3)

Okay, I've messed this up so many times now, I should not be allowed to blog, I've accidentally deleted this entire post and responses I've made so were gonna just try again I guess.

My relationship with nature begun at a very young age at my family's cottage. My cottage, located just east of Bracebridge, ON has been in my family for three generations now (me being the third). It was the place where I spent my summers, learned who I was, learned what nature is and the first place I have in mind when I have time off. Although I grew up in the suburbs of Georgetown, my cottage is my home, because, at the end of the day, it’s the place I always want to go back to.

When I was young I didn't entirely realize the privilege it was to have a space like this. I was always aware that not everyone had a cottage, none of my friends did, and I only knew a few people in my grade that actually owned a cottage instead of just renting. As I got older it became more and more apparent that I had won the lottery when it came to my cottage, and from there I gained a deeper understanding of my privilege as well as the opportunity I was born with, when it came to this connection I was able to make. My love for nature and the natural world was born up in Bracebridge and nurtured and grew from there and is still growing to this day. As I sit here writing this post as a student studying environmental sciences, I can't help but think how proud my younger self would be, knowing that I've grown up to become a person who can help protect the areas I was raised in.

My childhood allowed me to form connections with the natural world, I played in the forest, and swam in the lake and enjoyed the peace that nature offers. Now it's something I aim to protect. One of the biggest developments in my connection to nature occurred rather recently when I was introduced to outdoor education. For four months I worked at an outdoor education school for one of my co-op positions. There I helped educate young students on the importance of the natural environment and helped them form their own connections with nature. This was one of the most eye opening experiences in my life and again brought up the privilege I had grown up. So many of the kids coming up to the school located in Huntsville ON (about 3 hours north of Toronto) had almost no connection to nature. Only a few had or rented cottages, and growing up in the Scarborough area didn't offer them many opportunities to explore nature in a safe environment. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life watching them interact with nature and the joy that it brought them. I have never seen bigger smiles on students faces, they had the opportunity to play freely outdoors, we led them on hikes, and taught them about the importance of nature and what it can offer us. And I truly believe that those kids left with a better understanding of why the protection of natural areas is so important, even if they didn't realize it yet.

From there, my connection to nature was reignited and I went on to teach nature photography at a non-profit last summer (the main photo for my page up there was actually taken by me at my cottage!). It's so rewarding to be able to help others develop a relationship with nature for there sake but also for my own. Every time I saw one of those kids exploring on their own or taking a picture a tree or following bumblebees, it reminded me of my own relationship with nature and the importance it holds in my life.

I hope that I helped offer those students and campers a sense of place, and that they left with a deeper understanding of the natural world and hopefully a connection of their own.

My own sense of place was introduced to me by my family, and the opportunity they granted me to build this beautiful connection to nature, and inevitably, what sculpted me into the person I am today. For me there was never a moment in time where I can pinpoint my relationship with nature starting. It started before I was even aware of it, it started the moment my parents brought me to that cottage and it hasn't ever stopped. My cottage isn't just a place, and I never felt like it was, it was always a home. And the love I have for that place translates to every natural environment I have explored since.

-all for now :)

[mortiium]

     𝐰𝐡𝐨  𝐢𝐬  ..  𝒋𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 ? 

tip  of  the  iceberg. 

full  name :   jack  ernest  hall

age / dob :   twenty - eight  /  january  first  ( capricorn  new year baby ) 

gender / pronouns :   cis man  /  he + him

sexuality :   bisexual 

species :   werewolf

dwelling :   prospect hill

occupation :   history teacher at marina high , assistant coach 

in  a  word. 

nurturing.  honorable.  officious.  arrogant.  warm.  charming.  absent - minded. fervid.  

type a and the a can sometimes be for asshat. respecter of women. friend of the milf.

water tower watching. icarus was never afraid of heights or falling. the smell of an old book. loose thread on a vintage sweater. a house so warm it shimmers under certain light. bones too big. has there ever been one non - tragic hero? old leather. muscles sore from regular use. martyr - you've always been looking for something to die for. dimples and clenched jaw , blond curls framing. every chess piece knocking over. the hungry animal in your mouth.

let’s  talk  about  jack. 

the eldest son born to samuel and melissa hall - two local professors. his partners were both human, though it's been rumored his father's line had once included some wolf.

the hall's lived a quiet life in a farmhouse out in prospect hill, on land that has belonged to his father's families for generations. they still to this day provide a few crops to the farmer's market - though it's little more than room for the family horses to roam anymore.

jack was ten when his siblings were born. the two twins, thomas and mary, were the light of the halls' world.

unfortunately, melissa wouldn't be around to see them grow up. when jack was thirteen and the twins were three, melissa was killed in what was deemed "an accident", and little more. samuel still mourns her terribly, but he did step up into the role of single provider with his whole heart.

despite the loss, jack's childhood was not an unhappy one - he played a big part ( and still does ) in raising the twins, he excelled in school and athletics. he was quarterback of the football team, an outfielder on the baseball team, a forward in lacrosse. it was actually annoying how jack seemed to be good at anything he wanted to be.

the second great tragedy of jack's life was also the one that turned him. the death of his cousin, dominic, and the wolf bite he sustained in the confusion. still to this day jack is unsure if it was dom or another werewolf that bit him that night, but they both surely left him to figure things out on his own.

for over a year jack struggled immensely. he left home for fear of endangering the little family he had left. he flunked out of college for abandoning his courses. it wasn't until he discovered a proper misfits pack of his own that jack was able to settle into himself - to pick up some semblance of a life. since, he has graduated with an associates degree, began work at marina high, and reunited with his biological family.

his only question is was he allowed to linger in the wild for a bit too long? how tamed can be truly be?

hiii everyone im so excited to be here i'm alli (she/her) (24) and im in the cst and i want to be ur friend! this is jack the first of a few muses i am bringing to terrorize marina with pls pls love me. tap dances.

[evelynshq]

[EVELYN HARPER]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [AISHA DEE]. You must be the [27] year old [BARISTA AT BLACK CAT CAFE]. Word is you’re [RESILIENT] but can also be a bit [IMPULSIVE] and your favorite song is [BAD INTENTIONS BY NIYKEE HEATON]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS] || @aurorabayaesthetic

tw: mental health, substance use, death

Full Name: Evelyn Hope Harper 

Nicknames: Evie, Eve, Harper

Gender / Pronouns: Cisfemale, She/Her 

Sexual Orientation: bisexual w a preference for women

Birthday: October 30th, 27 years old, Scorpio 

Hometown: Aurora Bay, California - born and raised, left for 10 years and returned three months ago

Residence: Ocean Crest Apartments 

Personality Traits: Impulsive, Indecisive, Creative, Adaptive, Resilient, Deceitful, Guarded, Resourceful and Independent

Face Claim: Sarah Jeffery

Height: 5’3” 

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Light Brown

Piercings: Ears 

Tattoos: planet & stars on her inner hip 

Hobbies/Interests: playing guitar, piano, flute, ukulele, swimming, hiking, biking, writing, reading, drawing, painting, crocheting, skateboarding, hockey, basketball, partying

can be seen dressed in a variety of styles- prides herself on her eclectic fashion-sense 

likes anything oreo

night owl over early bird

prefers warmer weather (spring / summer) 

favorite holiday is halloween 

favorite animals are giraffes 

favorite color is green 

smells like vanilla and honey 

favorite artist: Halsey 

Evelyn Hope Harper was born to a nurturing and supportive family. The only child to Erin and Anthony Harper - their pride and joy. It was a typical start with occasional disagreements, parents volunteering for school trips, last minute outings to parks, libraries, beaches, and vacations all around the west coast. Evelyn’s mother, Erin was a receptionist for the local dentist office with welcome all with the kind of smile that could allow the most pessimist an opportunity to smile. Erin was a warm hug through and through whereas Evelyn’s father, Anthony, was a marshmallow wrapped around sand paper. Anthony was a truck driver who would have to leave his family for long periods of time, always returning back to where he belonged. Anthony participated in as much as Evelyn’s life as his job allowed. He was the most vulnerable when it came to his daughter and the relationship they shared. Evelyn spent a significant amount of time with her father growing up, learning a variety of skills from how to play various instruments, how to start a camp fire, ice skating, how to unlock a locked car, and practicing situational awareness. Evelyn had scored the ultimate gift of a cohesive family unit. 

Evelyn was the type of child who wanted to explore the world’s greatest treasures - a true adventurer. If there was something that sparked her interest, she was going to give it a go. Evelyn loved to learn and treated the world with kindness. Her spirit had radiated a vibrant yellow, thanks to the environment that she grew up in. However, it wasn’t always peachy keen. At times there were days that had been filled with sadness, mistakes that were made and hard to forgive, and apologies that needed to be given. The world was a place with so much darkness to where Erin and Anthony made sure that Evelyn minimally had to experience those instances. While Anthony and Erin were great parents, they hadn’t always been so as partners to one another. Evelyn’s parents had decided that through all the rough waters that had faced together, they were going to put in the work, go to counseling, keep their little family together. 

Little did she know that her world was about to get smaller a short few months after her tenth birthday. Despite all medical interventions, Anthony had passed away due to injuries that he sustained during a fatal car accident. Anthony was on his way to a school concert for Evelyn after work and never made it there. Her father had anticipated in surprising Evelyn with a new guitar and Erin, a vow renewal ceremony. There was nothing that felt more catastrophic to the Harper women than the loss of Anthony. Their loss brought them closer together for a period of time and they were the anchor for the other. Although life was hard, they had the support of family and friends to lift their spirits. 

After three years, Erin had begun her own spiral of grief with limited availability to care for Evelyn. It had felt like a lifetime already without Anthony. Being the only parent, Erin had begun to feel the weight of how difficult raising a child was alongside all other life’s expectations. Evelyn moved around after school to various relatives and family friends because Erin had to “stay late at work” or some other rationale, which in reality,  she was driving to bars around town and finding her own way to silence the suffering. Evelyn watched her mother from afar fade away into a person that she no longer recognized. She starting showing up late to school events, was calling out of work in the middle of the week, and spending less time creating home-cooked meals. As a child, Evelyn was rather naive into the understanding of what was happening with her mother. 

Evelyn had her own struggles - grieving the loss of her father while also experiencing the distant of her mother. Evelyn couldn’t put her finger on why but started to wonder if there was something she had done to cause the change in the relationship. When confronting her mother about these feelings, Evelyn noticed how cold, withdrawn, and angry her mother had become towards her: she was a reminder of her husband.  Evelyn had a practice that was cancelled last minute and she went home on the bus that afternoon. During that afternoon home alone, Evelyn was going to surprise her mother with a home-cooked meal that a thirteen year old could do on her own. In the midst of looking for supplies, Evelyn had stubbled upon Erin’s drug paraphenlia.  When discussing this with another adults in her life, they had realized that the Harper residence was no longer a safe environment for her. This allowed for an intervention that Evelyn’s mother desperately needed. Erin went to receive support for her substance use, in addition to her mental health in order to be able to take care of her daughter again. It was a long road, but after two years between inpatient and outpatient treatment, she would gain her rights again. There were a couple of solid years where her mother stayed on the right path, and things seemed as if they were going to be better for the both of them. Evelyn’s mother ended up with a relapse when she was seventeen years old. Evelyn stayed with an aunt, finished out the rest of high school and decided to move to the east coast. 

Evelyn was trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life and what her life was going to look like moving forward. Keeping it light, Evelyn got herself a job on the boardwalk selling typical tourist merchandise. While working her first summer in the new city, Evelyn met a man that instantly had her at hello. She got herself into a relationship that ended up being toxic, emotional, and controlling. She had been craving the ability to give and receive love that she had been blind for some time about what it looked like to have a healthy relationship. This relationship last for two years and so did the job at the boardwalk. Evelyn eventually found herself in a variety of working environments while living on her own and establishing her social network and other hobbies. Some of these places include: restaurants, ski resorts, record shops, animal shelters, coffee shops, arcades, bookstores, etc. She learned so many skills that Evelyn was able to connect with a wide range of individuals. Evelyn was the woman that nearly everyone could get along with. She was outgoing, adventurous, intelligent, bubbly, and confident. 

During one of her many employments after the boardwalk, Evelyn fell into a relationship with a man who would eventually cheat on her with a coworker. This wouldn’t be her last taste at poor intuition. Evelyn had been working at another one of her jobs and began a friendship that she hadn’t known she needed. It was the first time in a long time that she felt cared for. The woman brought back that vibrant yellow aura in Evelyn, allowing her to be an authentic version of herself without attempting to change who she was. It was refreshing to envision the future with a potential person that could provide her with the compassion that she had been desperately trying to replicate from, in different ways, the loss of both of her parents. After disclosing intimate feelings for the woman, Evelyn’s world once again came crashing down. The feelings were not reciprocated. 

Evelyn went into her own maladative patterns of destruction: shopping sprees, staying out until early in the morning, periodic hook-ups, and even her own drug use. Her feelings of hopelessness, isolation, and grief were so strong that Evelyn had to seek her own mental health treatment. For her, it was dark and uncertain. After receiving the support that she needed, Evelyn was stable enough to return to life. 

Evelyn decided then and there that she was going to go college and find something that she could turn into a passion. Evelyn wanted to give herself a real opportunity to establish a career. She eventually found herself returning back home not only to take courses, but slowly attempting to mend her relationship with her mother. Evelyn has been back in Aurora Bay for about three months. In that time, Evelyn has been helping her mother clean up the house and adopt a furry friend to provide her with some company. In order to pay for tuition, Evelyn seeked employment at the Black Cat Cafe. 

Evelyn recently moved out of her mothers house and moved into Ocean Crest Apartments, along side her partner in paws, Marley. She is looking for a fresh start in the place that she had always know as home. While feeling fueled with optimism of her new start, she still is on edge of others. She has lost trust and remains rigid on allowing anyone in about what she had experienced when she was on the east coast. For those who knew Evelyn before would had trouble picking her out of a crowd now. She’s superficial and vague but can carry a conversation if it’s what she truly wants. 

[all-pacas]

doing this part in a new post: So lemme talk about my Durge for my story. Because lol, for all my woe is me up there, I did plan it all out.

Born in blood and flesh as Enyo Atavia, last child of Bhaal, in the year 1369. She appears to be drow, but it's a bit complicated: she's an avatar of Bhaal. She's never been to the Underdark. It's more of a case of "my evil child should look properly evil uwu."

By 1372, Enyo has been thrown into Baldur's Gate as a random orphan to be raised until she's old enough to do useful murder things. She was taken in by a nice half wood elf family and renamed Chryseis (surname undetermined). She was often called Chrissy, which her party will decades later find hilariously unfortunate. She had some episodes of Creepy Child Bullshit growing up, but her parents, who did heavily suspect she was a Bhaalspawn, tried to nurture/lecture her out of it.

Early 1380s - Chryseis's younger brother is born. Due to differences in half elf and full drow aging, he appeared physically and mentally older than her for about half their respective childhoods. They were very close, in part because of this: she spent a few years "older" and protective, and then he was the "older" and protective one. His name was Taviel.

Early 1400s - Chryseis still has violent urges and a tendency to go overboard. At Taviel's suggestion, she joins a paladin hall, to channel this productively. She is also approached by the Bhaal cult, and finally finds out she is a Bhaalspawn. This causes a rift between her and her adoptive family, who had hidden it to protect her: Taviel included. Chyrseis starts to struggle with her nature. Once angry, it's almost impossible for her to put away her grudges. She is a paladin, but takes too much pleasure in the punishment of the deserving. Still, she holds on to her sanity.

1450s: Chryseis snaps. The Urges have been getting worse, and they take over. She kills her paladin hall. She kills Taviel. This is still enough to horrify her. In a fugue, she cuts off his hand as an offering and brings it to the temple of Bhaal. She is reveling in her power; she is terrified and traumatized. She begs her father. Carve her heart from her chest, and she will serve him without question or falter. Let her stop feeling, and she will kill the world in his name. It is unclear if her wish was granted, or if she merely manages to suppress her own memories and feelings.

1469: Enyo is 100 years old. An adult. She spends her first few years in the Temple of Bhaal killing and having fun, but starts to grow frustrated with the lack of scope. Yes, we'll kill everyone in the world, how fun! But most Bhaalites are too busy trying to one up one another and find creative ways to murder. Where's the efficiency, you know? She still has fun, finds the time to be a serial killer in 1482, but she's primed to be courted by Gortash a few years later, since his plans align with her own desire for a bit more organization and purpose. (She wants more -- more murder, she thinks. Something about this life dissatisfies her. She resents her sister-niece Orin, who seems to have no qualms and endless creativity. Enyo believes she is ambitious, instead of realizing she is less than perfectly happy.)

By 1492: Enyo envies Thorm and his control over death, but thinks what she feels is disgust for his perversion of her father's powers. She has a pseudo-relationship with Gortash, where she realizes the Baneite wants to conquer and rule her and the longer she staves him off the more he wants her. She pities him, but sleeps with him because she has a compulsive need to be wanted and needed. (To be loved, which she can no longer recognize or remember. She has forgotten her family. Taviel's hand rotted into bones, which she carries with her as a token. Her Father will love her, surely. When she kills the world for him. She will be loved.)

1493: Orin in her resentment can see Enyo's neediness for what it is, and yet Enyo dismisses and patronizes her. Orin betrays her, and Enyo is left for dead. She wakes up not as Enyo or even Chryseis, but with a name she doesn't remember is her brother's childhood nickname: Tav. It is Tav's form that the Emperor takes in her dreams, although he was aiming more for "subconscious love interest" than "beloved brother I murdered almost a century ago."

-

Appearance:

Colors are blue/purple/white, mostly to contrast Orin. Ice toned Drow, average height and build; a bit emaciated due to weeks/months of living autopsies and hanging out in a fleshpit. Her most striking feature is her eyes, which are widely spaced and a very, very pale silver. It makes her hard to read, even when she isn't really trying to be.

She comes across as stoic and emotionless, but that's mostly due to her resting :| face and that she's naturally on the quieter side. Not shy, just quiet. Even as a crazed cult leader, she wasn't terribly flamboyant, doing her murders with a calm determination and pragmatism. She enjoys her work and takes satisfaction in it. Closer observations: she's always tense, always holding back. She's been restrained for so long she doesn't remember what it's like to relax. Everything needs to be controlled. Herself. Her kinder instincts (or her murderous ones). Her body. Her mind. Ice can burn as much as fire, if properly applied.

Her butler would encourage and nurture her, try and get her to relax and enjoy herself. She's always been afraid of that, of what might happen if she loses control, although she would call it a hatred of inefficiency. She has a deep and almost compulsive need to be loved, to be admired. Fear and respect is also good, and what she believed this was. It leaves her very vulnerable to certain types of manipulation: she believes she ought to be loved and so takes any kindness as proof that she is.

As "Tav," she's slightly more relaxed: she's forgotten she's a Bhaalite and this is a more natural state to her, she has less to control and keep in check and keep suppressed. Still a bit Type A, every muscle in her body still held tense, but she has much less to remind herself to be. She's still utterly desperate to be loved.

Her hair is currently in a truly unfortunate sort of pixie cut hot mess, thanks to being totally ruined by all the fleshpit blood and guts she was submerged in for however long. As cult leader Bhaalite, her hair was fairly long and she dressed immaculately; it will grow out slightly over the story but only to about bob length. Her hair is white, but as a child she'd sometimes dye it red or black -- not for edgy murder reasons, but simply because she was a Drow in a family of auburn brunettes.

[excellentexecution]

Anonymous asked: Tell us a bit about your wedding to Niccola. I can only imagine it was a bit chaotic to plan given she would have been heavily pregnant with Logan and you still on the road with the company or is it a really well kept secret that you and Niccola didn't have the chance to marry before your oldest came into the world? I know you pride yourself on tradition even though your family is a nontraditional by most standards.

Molded and modeled to always have decorous conduct, ancestorial influence at work, Bret considered his marriage with Niccola to be as conventual as any could be. Good in morals and even greater in foundation - strong and built upon sacred love and trust - honorable in how husband and wife respected one another. Cared for each other so tenderly, their children the beneficiaries to all that could possibly be given, warm embraces and kisses so sweet. There was nothing strange about them. Niccola and his union truly a perfect match, two alike souls who found their missing piece, the marriage was not at all bizarre, either, but even the Hitman could recognize that himself and his beloved had forsaken the traditional route, somewhat. Steered well into the uncharted pathways and never looked back. Skipped over a step in the courtship process, explored affections of the flesh before they had even announced an engagement, bodies connected as one, their precious Logan conceived during a night of fulfilled passion and devotion. A moment that could never be forgotten; would never be asked to be replaced, never changed. 

Catching sight of the mentioned boy just then, more so a man now, for Bret, it felt as if it was only yesterday when Niccola had told him the news. Pregnant and having every right to feel scared, nervous and unsure, he was just as so, too. Worried for her and her wellbeing - the baby would change everything - beyond excited and overjoyed all the same. Niccola was to be the mother of his child. A child who would be nurtured by the woman that the Hitman loved most, created from part of her and part of he, half of each of them, there was no care to the break of tradition. They would be married and have their baby together. Just as they were always destined to, just as Bret had promised they would, perhaps with sequence of events rearranged but still seen through, nonetheless. He couldn’t imagine a world without either of them. His darling woman and beloved son gone from him - a broken heart would’ve destroyed his very life - it was then that Bret did as he dreamed, desired. Proposed to his greatest love, married her and began a slice of forever with her, raised their Logan with all the love that could be offered. There was no sense of limit. Not back then, not in the present, and not in all the eternities that awaited. 

Bret said, unable to take his eyes away from Logan, his son who chatted with friends around, the latest of Hart family house parties a small one but a fun one. “Well, that’s part of the reason why we got married when we did. Myself and Nickie, we didn’t want there to be any secrets. I didn’t want my intentions to be taken out of context, misconstrued for something that they weren’t. As I told her when I proposed to her during our vacation trip to Fiji, as I made certain to mention to her father once I properly got to meet him and Nickie’s mother shortly thereafter, I was ready to marry her. I had no doubts about it, y’know. I loved her and I wanted to be with her. Her being pregnant with Logan at the time, it didn’t bother me. Truthfully, I didn’t care all that much to wait till after he was born for us to be wed. Sure, it might’ve saved us some stress, but I was ready right then and there. She was, too. It just felt like the right time. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t have even considered it for a second. We would have waited.”

“Y’know, I won’t lie to you, it was damn hard planning everything. Like you mentioned, I was on the road over 200 days out of the year, every year. My schedule didn’t change just because I had fallen in love and was expecting a baby with my fiancee. My wife’s didn’t, either, and she had to deal with her own career plus pregnancy symptoms. For those first few weeks of planning, we communicated over phone. But, I will say, having had discussed such things beforehand while we were dating, our general wants and wishes, did help a little. We knew what our gameplan was, least some of it. So, that’s how we got everything together. After that, I tried to be home as often as possible to help with the rest of the preparations, much to McMahon’s and President Jack Tunney’s chagrin.”

“We’re both introverted people. We wanted a small wedding. No more than 100 guests at most, mostly family and close friends, the people who loved us and who we loved being with. In honor of my mother, I wanted our ceremony to be in a church. I know Nickie’s mother appreciated it, too. Our reception, that was Nickie’s doing. She knows good food when she sees it, smells it. She chose a mix of Irish and Greek cuisines. Something from my family and something from hers, but nothing too fancy, mostly hearty and delicious comfort foods. Meals you would actually enjoy eating. It was some of the best food I ever had. I couldn’t have chosen better.” He smiled, finally locking eyes with Niccola who stood across the room, as pretty as ever, the keeper to his heart.

“The venue was wonderful, too. Nickie found this beautiful ballroom. It was a renovated space from the 1920s, had a large dancefloor and high ceilings. A very rustic yet classic sort of design about it. But nothing was more beautiful than Nickie that day. Y’know, she was several months pregnant by then, but she couldn’t have looked any more gorgeous. Her hair, her makeup, it just made her look so stunning. She’s always been a natural beauty, very light on the cosmetics and such, but she glowed that night. I’m not an openly emotional person, I don’t like crying in front of people, but I couldn’t help myself once I saw her walk down the aisle in her wedding dress. She was an angel. How an ugly mutt like me got so lucky as to be her husband, I’ll never come to know. She’s just too pretty for me. She could’ve had anybody else, but now, we’re stuck together, and I don’t plan on letting her go. I might not be as fast as I used to, but I still have one good knuckle sandwich in me yet if some slimeball tries to steal her away. I got my boy Logan as backup, too, and he’s a better wrestler than I ever could’ve dreamed to be. He’s the best.”

“Our wedding, though, it wasn’t just about us. That was another big reason why we had it before Logan was born.” Bret concluded, winking to his wife whom he flirted with in boyish silliness, also did he wink to his son who he was so impressed by. “It was a celebration of his life, too. Maybe it wasn’t how we would’ve done things normally, but that’s the facts of the matter. When Nickie became pregnant, our lives were no longer just our own. We had our son to think about now. We wanted to include him in everything we did. He was, and is, on our minds all the time, every day. We were celebrating his upcoming birth just as much as his mother and father were celebrating their love. Niccola might not have been your typical bride, in the classical sense, but she didn’t care. She loved our son right from the beginning. She did all she had to in order to prove that. She cared for him. She considered him while putting the finishing touches on our wedding. She even chose her dress just so that he wouldn’t be compromised - the style and the cut, even the color. Back then, there weren’t any shops that carried maternity wedding gowns, so she had to make an extra effort with alterations, in finding a seamstress. Everything she did was for him, for me, too.”

“But I was the same way. All my choices, all the decisions that I made while going over the details with my wife, were based upon what would make her and Logan happy. That day, our wedding, it wasn’t just my story. It wasn’t about me. It was the story of our family, our love for each other. Maybe things would’ve been different had we waited until after Lo was born, less chaotic at times, but, y’know, I wouldn’t change a thing. It was perfect. Exactly how I always hoped my wedding day would’ve been. I got to marry my soulmate and got to be with my baby son all on the same day. There’s nothing better than that for me.”

___