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theasstour · 4 years

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𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟏.𝟗𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤

Friday, 26 June

Y/N made her way along the gravel path and up the hill leading to Clodgy lighthouse. Her pleated blue, pink, purple floral midi skirt blew in the wind, making it almost a little uncomfortable to walk, but she pushed on. There were a few translucent clouds overhead, but they were neither big enough nor solid enough to cause Y/N any sort of distress. She looked across the flat and green landscape that stretched on for miles and miles as she adjusted her white square neck top, making sure her ruched bust looked alright before actually approaching the house. She’d seen Harry’s yellow van the second she made it up the hill, like a sweet reminder that her final destination was just a few minutes away now.

Y/N didn’t particularly like exercise. Well… she quite frankly hated it. She admired people who liked it and who would spend their entire life practising and perfecting their skills in one sport, but she never understood the appeal. Why put yourself through all that? For a few medals and temporary recognition? You’d have to retire when you were in your mid-thirties or early-forties, and what would you do then? What aggravated her to no end was how male athletes were often more sought after and given more appreciation and awareness than the women. What was so good about men? What did men have that women didn’t?

Y/N saw the white summer dress and the red and white headband bobbing up and down from the grass surrounding the small bungalow. Though it was drowned out by the wind at a distance, Y/N could just about make out Grace singing to herself as she picked wildflowers. At some point, Grace turned around to look around her for more flowers, and suddenly her eyes landed on Y/N. She squealed and ran over to her, throwing her arms around Y/N’s waist. Y/N knew this was Grace’s usual reaction upon meeting someone she knew, but she’d never get used to how much the people in this town hugged and touched each other. She put her heart shaped sunglasses at the top of her head and then held her hands awkwardly out for Grace, her heart hammering as she didn’t really know what to do. She patted her back with one hand, holding the other one to her own chest.

“Y/N!” Grace exclaimed, squeezing Y/N some before stepping away.

“Hi, is your brother here?” Y/N held onto the strap of her tote bag where Harry’s knitted jumper was.

“He’s indoors talking on the phone,” Grace said, furrowing her brows as if it was the worst thing he could possibly do.

Y/N returned the look at Grace, making the little girl giggle. “Think he’d mind me handing this back to him?”

“Well, he’s your boyfriend so…” Grace shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t think you have to ask for permission.”

Y/N felt a little panicked at that, hoping Grace didn’t find it weird that she just asked her if it was okay that she entered her supposed boyfriend’s house.

“I’ll just-“ Y/N pointed at the house and walked past Grace, but the little girl followed her back and started picking some more flowers around the house. Grace’s high-pitched singing started up again, but Y/N didn’t really mind as she knew Grace most likely only did it because she was content.

The door into the bungalow was open slightly, so Y/N opened it a little more to peer inside. However, she didn’t get much of a chance to do that before she heard voices. She stopped in her tracks, eyes on what looked to be a garment rail with different coloured jackets and jumpers. She didn’t want to peer inside in case Harry didn’t want to be interrupted, though the only reason she’d come all this way was to give him his jumper back.

“I… I heard,” Harry said, voice low and very soft as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Fatima told me.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, fighting the urge to look inside and find Harry. It was already bad enough that she was just standing there and listening in on his conversation. Or… his half of the conversation, she’d have to fill in the blanks herself.

“Thought you said you’d never come back to St Ives,” Harry chuckled, but Y/N thought she could detect the remnants of the effect of a wound in his voice that had yet to heal properly.

The sound of it made Y/N furrow her brows a little. Something about the thought of Harry hurting didn’t sit right with her.

“You said you… You said you were done. That this didn’t feel like home anymore, so I just… guess I just assumed.” Footsteps could be heard, and Y/N took a small step away from the door. “Didn’t think you’d come back after two years.”

Another pause, and in that time, Y/N again felt the urge to creep closer, to look at Harry and his body language. Was he sad? Did he feel uncomfortable? Was he restless talking to someone he clearly hadn’t talked to in a while?

“I dunno. I have plans today, so I can’t. What about this Wednesday? July 1st?” A pause. “I’d like that, too.”

“Y/N!”

Grace’s shout made Y/N jump. Panicked footsteps were heard next and Y/N imagined Harry was stood by the window now, looking out to see if he saw Y/N on the path to the lighthouse. Heart hammering and the tips of her fingers beating with it, Y/N walked quickly away from the door and hoped Harry didn’t hear her feet on the gravel. She rounded the corner and walked a bit away as if it was going to make it less obvious she’d just been eavesdropping and about to enter his house.

“What’s up?” Y/N asked as she strolled over in Grace’s direction.

“I just want you to pick flowers with me. Look-“ She pointed around her at the colourful landscape around them. “I always pick flowers here. And Harry usually picks flowers for nanay as well, she loves them. Harry!” Grace waved and when Y/N turned around, Harry stood by the corner of his house, watching the two of them.

His phone was in his hand still, mouth open, and eyes a little wide as he just looked at Y/N, and then at Grace beside her. A slightly tight-fitted tee shirt with red, orange, white, and black stripes was tucked into the same pair of washed out denim jeans he’d wore the night before, coming up to rest just above his hip. He was wearing his black Converse again, a pair of white socks visible just over the rim of it. Upon meeting Y/N’s eyes again he dropped his phone just as he was about to talk, hastily bending down to pick it up again before walking over to them.

“Here,” Grace said as Harry came close enough, giving him one of the bouquets she was holding. “Why’d you take so long? It’s hard picking flowers with one hand.”

“Sorry, I… I had to take that, Gracie.” Harry looked at Y/N again, letting out a small breath before he clearly wanted to say something.

“Why’re you here, Y/N?” Grace asked, tilting her head a little to the side.

“Gracie,” Harry hissed, looking at his younger sister with a stern furrow to his brows.

“What?” Grace asked. “Is she coming with us?!” There was obvious elation in the little girl’s voice at that, something that warmed every single cell in Y/N’s body.

“She’s allowed to come whenever and wherever she wants.” The second after he said it, Y/N felt something against her wrist. A small pressure that remained tender and careful as it traced its way along the length of her thumb, like the amiable touch of a rose petal after dragging your hand along the harsh thorns of the flower’s stem. Suddenly, she felt his fingers in the crook of her thumb and along her index, then attentively wrapping themselves around her hand. She looked over at Harry who was already watching her, and though he held her glance for a few seconds, his eyes fell to their joined hands. His cheeks grew a familiar shade of red and he swallowed thickly before glancing at Grace again. They’d held hands before, but Y/N didn’t remember him doing it this meticulously before. She started sweating some, not used to being both uncomfortable and safe at the same time.

“Well, of course,” Grace scoffed, cocking her head to the side studied her bouquet that she hadn’t taken her eyes off of for at least a minute now. “I was just wondering if she was coming with us.”

“That’s not the reason I’m here,” Y/N explained, giving Harry a quick smile as she reached for her tote bag, removing her hand from his as her sunglasses fell off her head. She dragged his jumper out and handed it to him. “You forgot this last night.”

Harry’s mouth fell open for a second and he quickly put his bouquet in his jean pocket before he reached for his jumper. Y/N hadn’t thought he’d take her sunglasses that were in the same hand as his jumper, but that’s somehow exactly what he ended up doing. He looked at them for a few seconds, not recognising them, but the confusion on his face was replaced by a slight smile, and at that, she didn’t have the heart to tell him her mistake. Instead, she smiled back at him and rolled with it.

“They reminded me of you,” she said. Harry scrunched up his nose a little before meeting her eyes again.

“They did?”

It didn’t sound like he believed her, but she just shrugged her shoulders. After all, it hadn’t been her intention to give them to him, but here she was, and she wasn’t about to admit she’d done a mistake.

“That’s what I said.” Y/N looked down at them again.

“Alright.” There was amusement in his voice, and it made the smile on Y/N’s face broaden. “Uhm…” Harry said, standing completely still for a few seconds before jolting as if he remembered something. He reached for the bouquet in his jean pocket and gave it to her. “They… They reminded me of you.”

Mocking him, Y/N scrunched up her nose. “They did?”

Harry chuckled a little and she reached forward, her pinky just barely brushing his index before she brought the bouquet to her chest. She studied them, puckering her lips some as she tried to put a name to each of them.

“What are they?”

“Oh! Uhm…” Harry took a small step forward and pointed to each as he said the names. “Bluebells, sea pinks, and hedgerow cranesbills.”

“Are you coming to St Austell?” Grace asked, eyes big with hope.

“Oh, your birthday present, you’re going to St Austell today? For the street market?” Y/N asked, looking into her tote bag before carefully placing the small bouquet at the bottom of it.

“Yeah, are you coming?” Grace asked again, and though Y/N would love that, she wasn’t about to barge in on something that had been Harry’s birthday present to his little sister. Noticing the attention he was getting, Harry inhaled quickly as if taken off guard that his little sister wanted Y/N to come alone. He scratched at his neck, trying to hide his face a little as he looked away from the both of them.

“I mean… only if you- if you have the time. We won’t force you to if you have other plans, but we’d… we’d love to have you.” His eyes grew wide and he met Y/N’s before looking away again. “Not have you, that’s not what I meant, just meant it’d be great if you wanted to come. Unless- unless it’s bad timing, and you didn’t come here for… for that. Dunno.”

Y/N only smiled, finding Harry’s nervousness adorable still. It was probably because he didn’t know her well yet, and so acting like his comfortable normal self didn’t come naturally. She hoped it would at some point, though.

“I’d love to come,” she said, Grace squealing before she ran for the house.

“Harry, we need to put the flowers in a vase!”

Harry met Y/N’s eyes before following Grace toward the house and through the door. Assuming they would be using Harry’s car, Y/N walked in the direction of it, looking out over the sea that stretched as far as the eye could see. The wind was ever-present, and though one would think it to be harsh and violent, combined with the vision of the sea before her, it had a calming effect. Something about St Ives, the sea, and this lighthouse made her feel a version of contentment she didn’t think she ever had before.

Grace ran out of the house and to the van, skipping over to where Y/N was waiting for them. Harry locked the front door before he followed, opening the door to the backseat for Grace. The three of them all got seated in Harry’s van, lowering the windows a tad before Harry started driving down the gravel path and away from the lighthouse. The radio played softly in the background as they made their way through St Ives, Grace humming to the same tune she’d been singing along to earlier. It didn’t talk long till the little girl started speaking.

“Harry, can we listen to some of your music?”

“Go on, then.” He reached for his phone, about to hand it to the person sitting beside him, but then realising that wasn’t Grace, it was Y/N. “Can you plug it in the AUX, please?”

“Oh, sure.” Y/N took the phone, and the second she did, it lit up. A picture of four people popped up on his locked screen, Y/N recognised all of them right away. Amir had an arm around Harry’s shoulders, while Harry was grinning and looking up at Grace who was placed on Dax’s shoulders. It looked to be from some sort of Christmas Market, yellow lights hanging around them and the four of them tucked into warm clothing. Grace was beaming from ear to ear and Dax was holding onto her ankles, seemingly hooting with his eyes closed. It was such a happy photo that it took Y/N by surprise at first. She couldn’t even remember what she’d done last Christmas. She plugged it into the AUX as Harry scanned his thumb so Y/N could access his Spotify.

“Play his favourite tunes one, it’s called ‘favourite tunes’, if it wasn’t already obvious,” Grace called from behind Y/N.

Harry instantly started stuttering. “Now, we don’t have to do that. We have a roadtrip playlist-“

“-Nooo, put on his playlist, Y/N,” Grace begged, and Harry sighed heavily beside Y/N. She chuckled a little before looking down at Harry’s Spotify again, his favourites playlist at the very top. Clicking on it, she pressed the ‘shuffle’ button and the car was instantly filled with a cheery melody. Y/N was sure she’d heard it before, but couldn’t quite put her finger on when or what song it was. Grace clapped in the backseat, clearly happy about the song that had just come on. When Y/N turned around and looked at Grace, the little girl was swaying from side to side with a huge smile on her face.

“Welcome to your life, there’s no turning back!” Grace sang with everything she had. “Turn up the volume, Harry!”

Y/N glanced back at Harry and was shocked to see her red heart shaped sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a small smile gracing his pink lips. He turned the volume up and Grace continued to sing, though some of the lyrics were completely off from what Y/N could hear.

“Harry, sing!” Grace demanded.

“I think you can manage on your own, Gracie.”

“No!” the seven-year-old shouted. “Sing with me!”

Harry quickly looked at Y/N before he glanced away again, biting his lips together. Y/N was sure he wasn’t going to do it. Just when she thought she’d narrowed him down and started to understand him some, he came around and changed her perception of him. But Harry opening his mouth and singing just as loudly as Grace took Y/N completely off guard, to the point where she found herself laughing.

“Acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature!” Harry sang, at the sound of Y/N’s laugh, a grin widened his lips.

This made her think of the conversation she’d had with Harry and his mates the previous night, about Astronaut Lions and the fact Harry wrote songs. His voice wasn’t bad. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. He sounded… quite good. He hit every single note and even sounded better than the actual owners of the song, at least in Y/N’s opinion. She didn’t realise she was watching him with a smile on her face till he looked in her direction, meeting her eyes.

“You know the song, Y/N?”

Something about hearing her name spoken like that made her draw a quick breath. So mundane, so curious. She was sure he hadn’t meant anything by it, just to make it clear who he was talking to, but she still felt important. Something about him knowing her name and using it to address her felt intimate in a way any term of endearment never could. Your name was your own; someone else speaking it felt profound. She felt valued.

She felt ashamed of her answer, but pretending she knew the lyrics would be too embarrassing. Her heart picked up some speed and she folded her hands in her lap. “No,” she answered truthfully, sitting back properly in her seat and looking straight ahead at the road.

“That’s fine you can just dance!” Grace said.

Y/N giggled, looking back at Grace and then at Harry as they continued to sing the song with their entire chests. The rest of the drive up to St Austell was filled with 70s and 80s tunes that Grace and Harry knew every single word to. Y/N didn’t mind, though. She loved being surrounded with such unadulterated happiness; she felt it seeping into her own pores and felt it intermingle with the blood in her veins. These two didn’t care that Y/N didn’t know the lyrics, they just liked the fact she was there with them. They just wanted her there. Didn’t care in what capacity or for what purpose, they simply enjoyed her company enough to bring her along. That fact alone had Y/N beaming from ear to ear the entire way to St Austell.

Harry struggled to find parking once they were there, so they drove a few times around town in hopes of catching a spot. While doing that, Y/N got a good look of the town they had taken a trip to. It was like any other coastal town, she thought. Charming with constant seagull screams and plenty of people walking around, either carrying an ice cream or fish and chips. Though it might be identical to every other town in Cornwall for outsiders, every Cornish person would definitely know the difference between St Austell and St Ives. Especially people native to St Ives, like Harry and Grace. Y/N might not have any proper ties to any of the towns, but she found herself favouring St Ives to St Austell.

Before long, they were on the high street in St Austell. The street market stretched along the entire length of it, booths perched on either side and the space between brimming with people. Harry and Grace walked in front and Y/N walked just behind him, it’d be easier to walk properly that way. But Grace often slowed down so she was walking beside Y/N, pointing out different booths or artists that they strolled by.

Y/N suddenly stopped by a booth that held purely vintage finds. Harry and Grace took a little look as well, finding the small antiques and glass animals incredibly fascinating. Y/N, however, stood by the vinyl collection.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Harry asked as he walked over to Y/N, the heart shaped sunglasses now perched on top of his head. He glanced in Grace’s direction where she still stood with the glass animal figures, just making sure she was still around before directing his undivided attention to Y/N.

“Who’s your favourite artist?”

The question seemed to have come out of nowhere, because it took a few seconds for Harry to answer, “Elton John.”

“Why?” she asked, still looking through the vinyl collection.

“Uh… dunno,” he said. “Guess it’s just something about his music that I connect with in a way. And I also really admire him as a person.”

“That’s very nice. And what’s your favourite album of his?”

Harry smiled a little. “Am I being interviewed for something?”

She laughed. “No, I just want to know. They have tons of vinyls here, but I’m not really huge on music so I wouldn’t know what to look for.”

“The fact you’re not huge on music should already tell us we’re not a match,” Harry mumbled, both of them chuckling as Harry walked over to stand beside her. Y/N didn’t think that was all that true though, because she genuinely liked spending time with Harry. He was a very good friend of hers now.

Their upper arms laid flush against one another, hot skin against hot skin. Y/N hadn’t anticipated Harry to stand this close to her, hadn’t expected to feel him right there beside her like this. It was reassuring and overwhelming at the same time. Her eyes landed on his face, falling from his eyes as they took in the vinyls before them, and then to his nose. She looked away before she caught herself studying further down his face.

He looked through the vinyls for a bit, Y/N watched his hands as his fingers moved between the covers to look at the different albums. He suddenly made a soft “ah-ha” sound and brought an Elton John album out, tapping his thumb against it.

“This is my favourite album of his: Victim of Love.”

He held the Victim of Love vinyl in his hands, smiling a little to himself. He ran his thumb over the edge of it before he started bumping his hip slightly against it. Y/N just glanced at him as he studied the vinyl, smiling uncontrollably as his hips continued to nudge hers.

“Is this a game? Are you just playin’? Will I be losin’ you?” Harry sang lowly so only the two of them could hear him. “Oh, am I a victim of love, victim of love?”

Y/N glanced at the vinyl as Harry placed it back where she’d found it. “How do you know so much about music?”

“Dunno, guess I must be some type of god or summat.”

She giggled and Harry smiled.

“Boring,” Grace said as she made her way over to them. “Look! There’s a booth over there with just American sweets. Harry, can we go?”

“To the booth or to America?”

“Both.”

He bit his lips together as he placed the Elton John vinyl back where he’d found it. “Let’s settle for the booth for now, yeah?”

Grace ran in its direction and the other two followed quickly after as not to lose sight of the little one in the crowd. Multiple people were looking at the strange sweets and other accessories Britain didn’t offer, both fascinated and disgusted looks on their faces that Y/N found amusing. She loved American sweets personally, but then again, she loved right about anything that would make her gain a stone with a simple glance.

“What are these?” Grace asked, pointing to something. Harry bent down and looked with her as Y/N walked over to the scented candles. The American booth was filled with right about anything, not just sweets, and Y/N found this highly fascinating for some reason. These were just things you could get in the US but not in Europe.

“Y/N, I’m getting strawberry liquorice!” Grace grinned as Harry gave the seller a few pounds.

“Can’t you just get that from Poundland for a single pound?”

“Don’t remind her,” Harry mumbled as he walked over, Y/N sucked her lips between her teeth. He chuckled a little. “Shocked you know what Poundland is, though.”

“Oi,” Y/N said, nudging Harry with her shoulder as she picked up a candle to smell it. “I’ll have you know I used to pop by Poundland to buy a pack of Polos if I was just out and about at home. And sometimes even the Haribo Balla Stixx if I was feeling crazy.”

Harry smiled. “Would’ve never thought.”

Y/N shrugged. “You take a look at me, and you think M&S and Waitrose, but-“ She shrugged. “-I’m just like everybody else.”

They both laughed at that and Grace looked between them with slight worry in her eyes, not having found the conversation as amusing as the other two.

The three of them continued down St Austell high street, Grace humming a tune as she held onto Harry’s hand so she wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Though the high street was filled with people, there was a peacefulness to it that eased every tense muscle in Y/N’s body. She was sure she could walk along this street with Harry and Grace for eternity, she was content right here. They walked on and stopped by a gelato parlour so Grace could go get herself an ice cream. She took some time to decide the two flavoured scoops Harry would buy her, but once she settled on strawberry and cookie dough, she ate it up so quickly she got a stomach-ache. Harry said he felt no sympathy for her, but he still carried her all the way back to the car and into the backseat. Y/N had given Grace the small bag of crisps she kept in her tote bag for emergencies like this one, and Grace was happily chewing away once Harry started driving out of St Austell.

Regardless, the seven-year-old fell asleep pretty quickly, so Harry turned the volume down in the car and proceeded to make small conversation with Y/N. They didn’t speak for long enough or loud enough to wake Grace, neither wanted her to wake up and get pissy that they hadn’t shut up so she could sleep. She did pity herself a great deal.

“Do you and Grace pick flowers a lot, then?” Y/N asked, keeping her eyes on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “She loves it, especially because there’s so many different ones around the lighthouse.”

“The same ones don’t grow around the farm?”

“No, it’s not that.” Harry reached over and turned the volume down some more so he could talk more hushed. “I mean, yeah, some don’t, but it’s more the fact that you can see them all so clearly on Clodgy. There’s always the same ones each year, and it’s always a lot of fun to just walk around and pick flowers.”

“Ahh.” Y/N nodded.

“Though…” Harry trailed off as he switched lanes. “This year we noticed something strange.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a new type of wildflower there. Not many of them, but there’s this new one that I haven’t seen before.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows some. “You don’t experience that? New ones appearing each year?”

“Sometimes, but there are mostly the same ones. Ever since Jessa started teaching me about the different types, giving names to them and such, I’ve always been able to differentiate between the different flowers.”

“But not this new one?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” Y/N hummed, looking at Harry as he concentrated on the driving. “Guess you’ll just have to get Jessa to come over and take a look.”

Harry smiled a little. “Guess so.”

Reaching St Ives again was like gulping down the first real breath of fresh air after taking a deep dive. Though they had only been gone for a couple of hours, it still felt so incredibly good to be back. Harry stopped outside the Inn and Y/N thanked him for a fantastic day, wanting to turn around and say the same to Grace, but the little girl was still sleeping. So, Y/N told Harry to tell Grace goodbye for her once she woke up. He nodded and gave her a wave, driving down the road as Y/N stood watching them until they were out of sight. Upon entering the Inn, Y/N heard voices coming from the back. She peeked her head into the back garden say a quick hello to Bessie and her ladies before she made her way upstairs to her room. As she rummaged through her tote for her keys, she noticed something at the very bottom of it.

She quickly made her way downstairs again, stealing a mug from the kitchen and filling it with water before she walked upstairs to her room. Unlocking the door, she shoved it shut with her bum once she was inside, biting her lip as she hurriedly made her way over to the desk. She put the mug in the sunlight streaming through the window, and reached into the tote bag, carefully pulling the wildflower bouquet out of it, and placing it in the mug. She stared at it for a little while before walking back downstairs for dinner.

Sunday, 28 June

A family walked by Y/N’s open window, the baby in the pram crying and the father talking angrily with the rest of the family members around him, as if that would help the situation in any way. The sun was shining straight through her windows, making her Inn room so hot it was hard to breathe properly. Both her windows were open and the door too, allowing air to circulate and calm her down as the hot weather outside seeped through the house and made a layer of sweat appear on her skin. Though she felt icky, she was thankful for the cooling sensation the wetness brought as wind blew past her. Y/N was sat by her desk in a strappy dress and her hair in a bun at the top of her head, allowing for as much of her to be cooled down as possible.

One of her two UCAT books laid on the desk in front of her, an open notebook beside it where she took notes of topics she knew she’d have to revise some more. A pink, yellow, and green highlighter laid on her desk as well, being used to highlight the parts that were important to remember. Though that was essentially the entire book, Y/N still thought it’d be useful later if she wanted to go through the book again. And that thought was what had her staring off at a point on Porthminster Beach with no particular special value. It was just the shore, where the ocean washed over the soft sand. But she was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t know where she was looking or what she was doing.

The idea of looking through this book later had made her halt. Later. At some point in the future. Sometime again. When would that be? Would it even happen? For what purpose? She knew the reason she was reading this and why she was so invested, but she hadn’t realised she was working toward something till now. At some point she’d have to find her laptop and sign up to take the UCAT. She would have to find a date fitting for her, and she would need to work towards it. And then it was suddenly a reality. Then it was something that was actually happening. It wasn’t just a dream anymore, but something she was actually doing.

The thought made her more terrified than it ever had before. She knew what she wanted, she was also confident that she was smart enough to do well because this was a part of her own intelligence and person she had never doubted. Her talent for science had never been questioned because her parents hadn’t cared enough to even start. So, Y/N therefore concluded that it could not be that part that was making her anxious. Sure, her parents hadn’t exactly encouraged her to get those good grades for anything but show, but she had proved to herself in sixth form how intelligent she actually was. She had been told by her teachers how great she was at her A-Levels, and her results showed that as well, so her academic knowledge was no issue.

It was the reality of her situation that terrified her. The thought that once she did the UCAT and once her parents got a whiff of what was going on, they’d either try and do something to stop her or they’d never talk to her again. Y/N didn’t know which outcome she hated more.

She didn’t know how long she’d just been sat there staring off into space, it must’ve been a little while at least, because her phone vibrating against the desk made her jump. Quickly, she reached for it, for some reason expecting it to be Harry that texted her. The thought made her eager and she wanted to get back to him as quickly as possible. But it wasn’t Harry that had texted her. Reading that name was like getting a bucket of ice-cold water tipped over her head. It was freezing at first, then her heart started hammering dangerously fast, and suddenly she was hot all over.

Dom Your father knows where you are

Y/N had heard about near death experiences before. How it felt like you were transported out of your body and looking down on yourself, unable to move or live. The feeling of not feeling like your own anymore, but an entity floating above your own head; nothing and no one. She never thought she’d experience a near death experience. She never thought a few words would send her into complete shock like this.

She was thrust into her own body and back into coherent thought with such force that she jolted. She blinked a few times before her phone fell onto the book right under her hand, her hand just hanging limply in the air in front of her. Looking at it, that’s how she realised she’d started shaking. She tightened her hands into a fist and laid it on the desk. She was breathing hard and fast, her chest vibrating with the tremendous force and speed her heart was beating.

It’s not over yet, it’s not over yet, it’s not over yet, Y/N kept repeating to herself. Because it wasn’t. She refused to let this be her only taste of the life she wanted for herself. Or… was this the life she wanted? She had no idea. Ever since she was little, she had always wanted to help people. There was something about being of use to someone that brought her immense happiness, but there were multiple ways she could help people. The life her parents had planned for her was all about helping. She’d never really thought about the life she wanted, just accepted the one given to her.

Coming to St Ives and reading for the UCAT had given her new perspectives on things, however. She wasn’t sure if being in St Ives was what she wanted, but she realised that not being in Winchester and not being with her family was. She didn’t know where she’d end up or what she’d end up doing, but one thing was for certain: if her father knew where she was, she’d have to constantly look over her shoulder. She knew she’d have to face them eventually, but that would be on her terms, not theirs. In the meantime, she’d keep a low profile and hope her father didn’t have any eyes in St Ives just yet.

Wednesday, 1 July

Y/N quite liked the trek up to the lighthouse now. Not that she’d walked it too many times, but she liked walking up the slight hill and seeing the white pointy house in the distance. Contrary to the times before, she noticed a familiar figure moving about outside the lighthouse. Wearing a white tee shirt under a pair of denim dungarees that reached just above his knees, diagonal stripes of red, orange, purple, and white, along with his black Converse. As she got closer, the dungarees he was wearing looked worn, almost as if the coloured stripes had been added after purchase and the garment had been put to good use since. Y/N almost felt overdressed in her white front button maxi dress.

Harry must’ve noticed her approaching, because he stood beside the door leading into his cottage waiting, a hand on the handle and the other in the pocket of his dungarees. She gave him a big wave and a grin, something he returned with a smaller wave back, but the smile on his face matched her own. He closed the door into his house as she got closer, spinning a pair of keys around his index finger as he took a step further out into the gravel courtyard.

“Hiya,” Y/N greeted when they were close enough to hear each other.

“Hi,” Harry said. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just… just needed to get out of the Inn, to be fair. Been reading for the UCAT these last few days, and it’s starting to make a nutter out of me.”

A breathy chuckle left Harry’s lips, making Y/N smile.

“And I don’t really know anyone else in St Ives. Well, not well enough to just barge over and demand they spend time with me.”

“So I was your best bet?” The smile on Harry’s face was mixed amusement and slight mockery, something that had Y/N chuckling this time around.

“Maybe. Aren’t you flattered?”

“Understatement.”

She grinned, biting at her bottom lip so she wouldn’t let go of the ridiculous giggle she felt bubbling up. She nodded at the keys in his hand. “Where are you headed off to?”

“Not far.” He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “The lighthouse.”

“Oh.” Y/N nodded, looking at the tall building behind Harry.

“You wanna… you wanna come with?”

It genuinely surprised her that he asked. From what she’d heard, Harry didn’t let just anybody into the lighthouse. Maybe it was a rule that had been in his family for generations, to not let outsiders or strangers into the lighthouse. That was at least what Y/N had gathered from previous conversations with Florence and Camilla in Vintage Divine.

But, there was not really any question as to what Y/N wanted. Ever since he’d told her he was the lightkeeper, she’d wanted to look inside the lighthouse and see how it worked. She nodded at Harry’s proposal. “I’d love to.”

He smiled a little, eyes flickering to the gravel under their feet before he met her eyes again. “Don’t have anything better to do, ey?”

“Oi now.” She put her hands on her hips, something that made Harry laugh before he started walking backwards towards the white lighthouse. Y/N followed him, looking up at the tall tower that rose majestically before them. Harry unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing Y/N to enter first.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping an eye on the six concrete steps she walked up before entering a lighthouse for the first time.

The first thing Y/N noticed was the red interior. The steel floors, walls, and stairs were all red. One could tell it had been standing for a few years, maybe having had some work done to it in the mid-80s, but nothing had really been done to the lighthouse since. There were a few posters on the wall, all of them old and framed as the paper had started to yellow. Different types of ships and their names under it, different types of fish and their names as well, some pictures of Clodgy lighthouse throughout the years, as well as a few posters with lighthouse lenses and other things Y/N had no idea of. There was a window straight opposite to the door, maybe ten metres off, as well as two others, that provided a generous amount daylight to make it easy to navigate around the lighthouse without turning the lights on.

Harry closed the door and locked it, putting the keys in the pocket of his dungarees as he turned to look at Y/N. He gave her a tight-lipped smile as he gestured around him with his arms spread wide.

“This is it.”

“It?” Y/N shook her head, walking up to a picture taken of the lighthouse in 1947. “I love it.”

“Well, let me show you the rest. Bottom floor is nothing impressive.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Quite like it down here, not gonna lie.”

He smiled, dimples showing as he looked to the floor again, scratching at his neck. “I-It’s not as impressive as the rest of the lighthouse, is all I’m saying.”

“Alright then, lead the way, mister lighthouse keeper.”

Harry strolled over to the stairs positioned to the left of the bottom floor. “This might take the breath out of you, by the way. We’re about to climb 26 metres, 86 feet.”

“Oh sugar.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, looking up the stairs. “You not being afraid of heights will come in handy again.”

He remembered that?

Harry didn’t give her a chance to ponder this for much longer, however, because he started up the staircase right away. The steep set of stairs led straight up to another landing, once they were here, a new set of stairs were located on the other side of the steel landing. Wind howled along the outside of the lighthouse, the eerie sounds weren’t scary when the sun was shining, and Harry was there with her. There seemed to be a station there on the first storey, a desk with an open notebook, papers taped to the wall, along with a telephone and a radio. It looked to be important, but Harry didn’t stop.

The second landing was a little different, a little smaller than the one before. There was a door leading into a room, which opened to reveal a very comfy-looking tall mattress on the floor and an old desk by a window. The rest of the room was shielded from view, but Y/N wondered why Harry didn’t just live in here. That looked like a fantastic space. Or at least the small portion of it she’d managed to get a peek at.

They continued up a number of steel stairs, and Y/N was out of breath by the time the walls were really getting closer around them. Harry climbed up a ladder and pushed open the hatch, revealing a ton of sunlight and a sort of buzzing sound. He looked behind him and down at Y/N.

“Dunno if it’s ideal to climb up here with a dress, but I’ll help you down if you want.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s fine, I’m sure I’ll get other chances to see… what do you call it? The light?”

Harry smiled. “Lamp. This is the Bell Room.”

“Oh.” Y/N nodded. “Interesting.”

Harry only chuckled some before he walked up, returning a minute or two later. He closed the hatch and jumped down the remaining steps on the ladder, the impact making a loud sound once his Converse hit the steel.

“And down to report,” Harry said, motioning for Y/N to walk first. She didn’t know what he meant by what he’d said, but she didn’t question him. Instead, she walked down the stairs, comforted by the sound of Harry’s footsteps behind her. As they reached the second storey, Y/N heard a slight clicking sound behind her, like someone closed a door. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to put two and two together; Harry closed the door into the room she’d seen earlier.

Upon reaching the first floor again, Harry sat down by the desk Y/N had seen earlier. He picked up a pen and wrote a few things down into the notebook, speaking under his breath as he did so as if he was remembering specific numbers and whatnot. A shelf was perched right above the desk, multiple binders, books, and important-looking documents were scattered in each of the sections. Other papers, reminders, post-it notes, and a calendar were taped to the wall, all of it holding different kinds of information that Y/N couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There was a clock perched on the wall and Harry glanced at it, and when it read 9am exactly, a static picked up, and then a voice sounded.

“Good morning, this is Trevose lighthouse reporting…” Y/N didn’t catch the rest, but Harry seemed to have, because he was completely calm, eyes now on the book before him as if checking what he’d just written down. After a monologue she understood nothing of, she could just about make out a “thank you” followed by “Clodgy,” as if indicating that it was Harry’s turn to report back. Harry now had the telephone pressed to his ear and the pen in his free hand as he went through the page.

“Good morning, Clodgy is partly cloudy, one five, calm, and rippled.” More static. “One zero scattered, scattered above two five. Zero, one, zero, zero…”

Y/N didn’t know what was going on, so she let Harry do whatever he was doing while she just looked around. She walked over to the window and glanced out at the sea beyond. Though the wind could be heard whooshing past the lighthouse, the ocean was calm. Off in the distance, she could just about make out a ship. She wondered if the light from the lighthouse could be made out in daylight and if they had used Clodgy to navigate themselves wherever they were going.

“Thank you,” Harry said, hanging up the phone as someone on the other line said: “Pendeen.”

“Good morning, Pendeen is partly cloudy…”

“What was that?” Y/N asked, hushed in case Harry wanted to hear what Pendeen lighthouse had to say. He was quiet for a second, as if listening in a bit to what was happening further south, then glanced up at Y/N.

“Weather report. Most lighthouses are automatic, but most on the west coast of Cornwall are operated by lighthouse keepers, so we report to headquarters four-five-six times a day, approximately every three hours. Depends on the weather and the season.”

Y/N nodded. “What if you can’t make a certain time?”

“Well… not ideal, I should always be able to since this is my job. But if I can’t make one time, then Pendeen is pretty close, so one can kind of count the weather as very similar.”

“How about the times when you’re out and you got other plans? Like, Grace’s birthday or any other social gathering?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I make it back in time to do a report, and sometimes I go back to wherever I was earlier if I feel like it. I don’t often leave Clodgy, though.”

She smiled. “I’ve just caught you on the few occasions that you have?”

Harry smiled back. “Strategic, is what I call it. You get to experience the fun part of my life.”

“This isn’t fun?”

“Well, of course,” Harry said, placing the pen on the notebook. “I meant the social part of my life. Summer is when I leave the lighthouse most often ‘cause everyone wants to have plans when they’re not working all the time, but come autumn and I’m back to staying here alone for weeks on end.” He paused for a second. “Not entirely true, Jessa can’t stay away for long. She always comes over every Saturday to give me some food. She doesn’t think I can cook anything.”

“I’m actually a very decent cook,” Y/N admitted, tipping her chin upwards a bit with a smile. “One of my finest qualities.”

“Yeah?” Harry smiled back at her. “What’s your signature dish, then?”

She pursed her lips as she thought, clicking her tongue a few times. “I make a killer courgette lasagne.”

It took a second or two before Harry said, “Can’t wait to taste it one day.”

Y/N bit her lips together and Harry quickly realised how many different ways that could be misinterpreted. Hastily, Harry coughed and ran a hand through his hair as if to shield his face from view for a few seconds, his neck flaring red.

“Jesus Christ, I-I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. I-“ Harry stopped himself as there were some static on the radio from headquarters. His face was pink with a blush, and though Y/N found him adorable, she walked off out of his side of vision. He was there to do a job, and she was making it hard for him by making conversation. She waited till the reports were over, then waited some more as Harry wrote something down in his notebook, and then, when he finally got up, she too got up from where she’d been seated in the stairs. Harry gestured for her to walk down the set of stairs to the ground floor so he could follow her.

“So,” she started as Harry locked the door after them. “Six times a day, every three hours… when do you report?”

“3am, 6am, 9am, then I don’t have to report till 6pm,” Harry explained, putting his keys back in his pocket. “Usually, when we know the weather’s gonna be unruly or stormy, we report more than four-five times, but since it’s summer and since the weather’s very clear, we don’t report as often.”

“Ahh.”

“Around this time, I just make sure the lighthouse is in good condition. Went up to the Bell Room just now to make sure the lightbulbs work.”

Y/N furrowed her brows a little. “Would suck if they don’t.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “It’s been 25 years since they were changed last, so we need to change them out soon.”

“So,” Y/N dragged it out as Harry opened the door into his house. “How’s a regular day in the life of a lighthouse keeper, then?”

“Get up at 2:30, do a report by 3. Then do the same for 6am, and 9am. After 9am, I usually do chores around the property.”

Y/N zoned out for a few seconds as she took in the view in front of her. There was a tiny hallway, a glass door leading into the studio living space which seemed to be all-in-one. However, there was a door to the left when you entered, so Y/N assumed that must be the bathroom. But everything else seemed to be in the room before her.

At the far wall, a steel bed was placed horizontally, pressed up against the left wall. A big window took up most of the space along that wall, elegant white panes making the big windowsill seem perfect to relax in. To the right of it stood a dresser, decorated with pictures and a small vase with the flowers Grace had picked a few days ago. Along the right wall stood a piano, a big and old painting of a ship raised on the wall above it. Right by the small protruding foyer, a sofa was nestled, a tiny coffee table placed against the wall with a few newspapers and an empty coffee mug, a window placed above it, looking out over his yellow van and some of the lighthouse.

A kitchen was positioned to the left, just big enough for that one person living there, but old enough to know it had been used countless times over the last 30 years. Right beside it was a square white dining table, right under the window that overlooked the path leading up to the lighthouse, three chairs around it. Y/N guessed those were for the times Jessa and Grace made their way over.

All the walls matched the dining table and chairs, though the floor was reclaimed cherry wooden flooring, a small contrast to the walls that must’ve been repainted a year or so ago. It was old, and Y/N was sure that with some more decor, this place would probably be one of the cosiest places she’d ever been in her entire life. The windowsill would’ve been nicer with a soft cushion stretching across it and some pillows, and with some plants and green vines, maybe a straw chair and some pillows, it would be the prettiest place in all of Cornwall. But Y/N wasn’t about to tell Harry how to decorate his house, that was none of her business.

She suddenly noticed how quiet the place had gotten, so she turned around to see Harry looking at her, taking his shoes off.

“What were you saying? I zoned out a bit,” she admitted, gesturing around her as if that explained it.

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he took one big stride to enter the living space. He ran over to the coffee table and hastily put the newspapers under his arm and the coffee mug in the other. Putting the newspapers away, he placed the mug in the dishwasher before he speedily ran over to his bed and made it as fast as he could.

“I-I’m sorry. Didn’t know I’d be getting visitors,” he said, voice a little mumble as if he was truly ashamed of himself for not tidying the place up some more before she visited. He placed a knitted quilt over his white sheets and at the sight, Y/N couldn’t help her slight smile. She couldn’t wait to go knitting with Bessie and the ladies again.

“Please,” Harry said, voice a little louder as he gestured at the dining table, dragging a chair out before quickly rubbing his clammy palms over the shorts of his dungarees. “Sit. How do you take your tea?”

God, he was just so cute it was hard to act normal around him, Y/N thought as she walked over and sat down in the chair he’d just brought out for her. He started the kettle before bringing the tea out.

“Lump of sugar is fine, thank you,” she answered, crossing her legs as he found a mug for each of them. “What kind of chores do you do?”

“Hm?” Harry asked, looking over at her with his lips sucked in between his teeth and eyebrows raised.

“You said you usually do chores around the property after you report the weather,” Y/N explained. “What kind of chores?”

“Check that the lighthouse is in pristine condition. Go over to check for mould or damage, for example. I mow the lawn, clean the Bell Room, make sure no sodding seagulls have had a shite on the windows.”

Y/N giggled some, placing her hands in her lap.

“Lighthouse keepers are expected to be fairly handy,” Harry explained as he put a lump of sugar in Y/N’s glass and then one in his own, adding some milk to what would be his mug. “You’re expected to know how to use a hammer and nails, a saw, for example. You need to know how to do housework, building work, yard work, and all those other things along those lines.”

“Does Jessa make you do housework on the farm, then?”

Harry let go of a chuckle as he filled their cups, walking over and placing them on the table before opening the window they were sat by. It was fairly hot inside the house, would be even more so if they were drinking tea. But they were British, so drinking piping hot tea on a hot summer’s day without getting overly affected by it, was one of their few skills.

“Not too often, she’s amazing so she does most of the work around the farm herself. I just help sometimes when she asks, which isn’t often.”

Y/N nodded, slowly blowing on the tea before bringing it to her lips to take a sip.

“How’s…” He cleared his throat. Y/N wondered if it was a nervous tick of his, he tended to do it quite often. “How’s the UCAT reading going? You mentioned it earlier.”

Y/N couldn’t remember that she had, but she was so flattered that he remembered that she felt her cheeks heat up some. She took another sip of her tea and blamed it on the steam.

“Is it doing your head in?” he asked, sipping his mug as he brought his ankle to rest against his bare knee. His legs were so hairy. Not an odd amount, but just enough to make him a little more attractive.

“Yeah, it’s very hard to concentrate sometimes. Being stuck inside the Inn room is making me a bit mental, not gonna lie.”

“You could come here.”

The suggestion seemed to have taken both of them a bit off guard, but once Harry realised what he’d said, his shoulders sank a little, as if he wasn’t totally embarrassed he’d just blurted that out. Compared to the many times before when he said something and he’d gone all red. Friends suggested stuff like this, they offered their space and wanted their friends to feel at home. Y/N could still detect a slight worry in Harry’s eyes that she might reject his offer, but she smiled at him and gave him a little nod.

“That would be very nice,” she admitted.

“I’m rarely in the house anyway. I’m mostly in the lighthouse or out and about here, so I won’t disturb you.”

“You sure you’d be okay with me using your space like that?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, you don’t seem like the person to make a mess. Not that… I should be telling you not to make a mess, it’s a mess in here as is. I’m a mess.”

Y/N laughed and Harry joined her. The two drank their tea to light conversation. As much as Y/N loved being with Bessie and her ladies, she’d much rather spend time with Harry. The two of them just got on. It was so incredibly easy to be around him, it felt right in a way she hadn’t really experienced before. She had friends back in Hampshire and they were all lovely people, but none of them made her laugh, made her think, taught her something new, or made her feel as important as Harry had in the few weeks they’d know each other. He was quickly becoming a very good friend, so him suggesting she study for her UCAT at his place meant a little more in that sense.

Before long, Y/N was out in the fields beyond the lighthouse. They’d spent two hours inside Harry’s house just talking, so Harry hadn’t gotten any of the chores he needed to do, done. Y/N brought the book she was currently reading and laid down in the grass. She lay there reading; on her back, on her stomach, on her side, or sitting. At one point, she was just walking back and forth by the cliffs with the book in her hands, reading as she strolled. The wind was soft, and the temperature was nice considering it was the first day with partly cloudy weather. Y/N actually quite enjoyed just being outside today. And she particularly enjoyed being on Clodgy Point. It was so relaxing that she completely forgot where she was and how exposed and vulnerable she’d be if she fell asleep. But that’s exactly what happened.

She fell asleep in the grass, the open book resting against her chest, and she must’ve slept for at least an hour and some, because the sun was at a completely different angle than before. She started awake, sitting bolt upright and looking about her. Her heart was hammering as her gaze wandered over the landscape around her, frantically searching for figures in the distance.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, startled by her sudden movement.

She looked at him, readjusting the heart shaped sunglasses on his nose as they must’ve slid down when she startled him. Her hand came to her chest to check if her book was there, but it had obviously fallen off her when she sat upright. It laid on the grass beside her and she frantically reached for it, trying to find the page she’d stopped reading on.

“You alright?” Harry asked, voice low as if asking it too loudly would disturb her in any way.

“No, I- I mean, yes, I’m alright. I just lost the page.”

Harry watched her for a few seconds. “Bad dream?”

“Huh?”

“You… You just sat upright like that, did you have a bad dream?”

Y/N was way too busy focusing on the book to even think about the dream she’d just had. She turned page after page after page, but her mind was so far away. She wasn’t thinking about anything, yet she was thinking about everything. She was busy looking for the place she’d left off, but didn’t know what on that page would indicate it was the right one. Her head felt heavy, yet empty.

“Y/N.”

“Hm?” She finally looked up at him, eyes wide as if he’d just interrupted her.

“I… Are you okay?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes some as he watched her, not believing her when she nodded her head and made an “Uh-huh” sound. His eyes fell to the book in her lap, her hands still as she just held a page between her index and thumb. Y/N didn’t know what made Harry ask the question in the end, but she assumed he must’ve done it because he knew that to capture her undivided attention, he’d have to talk about books. “You never told me who your favourite author is?”

Y/N met his eyes and, for the first time since she woke up, actually registered what Harry was saying. “Virginia Woolf.”

Harry smiled a little, his dimples showing. His right one was a little more prominent, Y/N realised. “So, her.” He nodded down at the book in Y/N’s lap. “What’s so good about her? Is that your favourite of hers?”

Y/N smiled a little at the questions, looking down at the book before meeting Harry’s eyes again. “Think Mrs Dalloway-“ Y/N showed Harry the cover to tell him that was the book she was reading right now. “Might be my favourite, yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s just so-“ Y/N stopped herself, looking at Harry for a few seconds before shaking her head and chuckling some. “I won’t bore you with book talk again.”

Harry smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“You always trick me into talking for hours!”

Harry put his hands up in surrender. “And you don’t get me to open a monologue? Ask my mates, I didn’t talk this much until you came along. You’ve ruined my image.”

Y/N laughed, turning around and laying down on her stomach. “Think it might be my favourite spare time activity.”

“What, ruining my image?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine too.”

Y/N grinned up at him and Harry grinned back, laying down on his back, perching his sunglasses on top of his head as he stared over at her.

“Alright, you wanted to know why it’s my favourite, yeah?”

“Why I asked, yeah.”

“How about I read it for you, and you’ll make up your own mind.” Y/N raised her eyebrows and Harry furrowed his own. She giggled. “You don’t seem thrilled.”

“Well, I can’t say anyone’s read to me before, so I wouldn’t know how I’d like it,” he answered truthfully, but his eyes got big a second later. “Not-not that I don’t think it’s a lovely idea!”

Y/N laughed. “Harry, I know you don’t read ‘cause you don’t find it entertaining, it’s completely fine. Your flaws are your own to deal with.”

Harry barked out his hyena laugh again, hand covering his mouth for a second, but at the sight of Y/N howling at his outburst, he laughed with her and forgot all about it.

“I just asked,” Y/N said, still with a hint of laughter in her voice. “’Cause if you think it’d be a way for you to actually manage to follow a story, then I’d gladly read to you.”

Sucking his lips in between his teeth, Harry watched her for a few seconds before nodding his head, moving a little closer. “Yeah, go on then.”

She opened the first page again, focusing in on the words before her as Harry focused on her.

“’Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning – fresh as if issued to children on a beach’.”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed. “I like that.”

“What?”

“’What a morning – fresh as if issued to children on a beach’.”

Y/N smiled, looking back at the boom. “Virginia’s writing is beautiful. You can tell she took a while to write each sentence.”

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes on Y/N as she continued to read.

“’What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, still than this of course’-“

A car engine sounded in the distance, getting closer and closer.

“-‘the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet solemn’-“

Closer and closer.

“-‘feeling as she did, standing there at the open window’-“

The gravel moved harshly as if the car was driving unusually fast. Y/N whipped her head around. The car screeched to a halt in front of Harry’s house. She forgot all about her book. It slipped from between her fingers as she turned around and sat up. Quickly, she started scooting away, keeping her eyes on the car.

“Y/N,” Harry said, looking at the Royal Mail car before glancing back at Y/N.

She didn’t seem to hear him, though.

“Y/N,” he said again, getting to his feet and following her. She didn’t stop. She kept trying to get away from the car as the postman got out, waved at Harry, and put the mail in his mailbox. “Hey,” Harry said as he reached her. “Hey, what’s going on-“

As he put a hand on her shoulder, she startled out of whatever trance she was in. His skin against hers startled her to the point of her moving away from him. Harry moved his hand away, blinking as if hurt. It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t like Harry touching her, she actually really did, she liked it when anyone touched her, but it had just taken her so completely off guard with everything storming through her brain that she couldn’t help her reaction.

Her heart was hammering, palms were clammy, and her brain had been somewhere else completely. ‘Your father knows where you are’ had been all she’d manage to think in those seconds. Nothing and no one else had mattered. She looked at Harry again, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry said, taking a step away from her.

“No.” Y/N shook her head. “You don’t have to be. I… I like… I don’t mind you touching me.”

Harry bit his bottom lip, sitting down on his knees beside her.

“I’m not used to it.”

Harry paused for a second. “People touching you?”

“Yeah, uhm…” She ran her hands over her face before she looked over at the mailman. He was back in his car, not a danger to the two of them in any way. She’d just overreacted. Just thought her Dad had made it to St Ives and was driving down the gravel road towards the lighthouse, as if he knew that was exactly where she’d be. She didn’t know why she reacted the way she did, maybe it was just too much, too soon. Everything that happened Sunday with Dominic texting her and knowing that her father had been looking for her and knew where she was, it had all come to this. Just an hour and some earlier, she’d felt so safe. She hadn’t expected to feel so content and at ease anywhere ever again. But she did there. And it had all been taken away from her.

She felt a warm pressure against her shoulder. Reassuring, supportive pressure that felt a lot like Harry’s rough hand. His thumb smoothed over her skin and she closed her eyes for a single second before she glanced in his direction. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her believe everything he said and did. There was a truth and constant to him that was unwavering; like a bright star you knew would show up in the sky every night. It might not always show, but it was there. Waiting for the right time to show itself. Every single thing this man did came from the heart. He might not do too much, might have trouble finding his words, but there was assurance and comfort in everything he chose to say and do. It somehow held more meaning than anything else ever had.

“You’re okay,” he said.

And though her heart was beating faster than it ever had, and though she hadn’t felt okay a moment ago, she believed him. She let go of a shaky breath, and at the sound of it, a worried look graced Harry’s face.

“Want to go inside?”

Y/N shook her head, gesturing at her book. “I said I’d read to you.”

“If you don’t want to be outside… that’s completely fine.”

She crawled over to her book again, her shoulder felt cold when she was out of Harry’s reach. “Let’s read.”

“Y/N.”

She stopped, looked over at him as he looked at her. Seriousness lay in every single feature of his face as well as how calculatingly slowly he moved toward her to not overwhelm her in any way. She watched him till he sat before her, staring into her eyes for a few seconds before saying a soft, “You’re okay.”

She wasn’t so sure that she was, but she forced herself to believe him enough to open the book to the first page again. Just as she was about to start reading, Harry’s phone went off with a text. He brought it out, read the text, and looked about to say something, but stopped himself as he started answering whoever texted him. Y/N watched him, biting at her bottom lip as she waited for him to be done.

“Alright?” she asked once he put his phone away.

He pointed over his shoulder, mouth opening again as if he was going to explain, but he just shook his head as he thought better of it. “Yeah, go on.”

Y/N gave him a smile before she continued to read.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 13 September, 9PM GMT!

A HUGEE thank you to my amazing and beautiful beta readers! 🌊 @aileenacoustic 🌊 @bopbopstyles 🌊 @fromyourstrulyh 🌊 @harrys-creature 🌊 @summerfeelng 🌊 @watermelonsuger 🌊 @withallthelove-a 🌊

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #1dff #:DDDDD #PLS DO COME CHAT ONCE YOU'VE READ ILY ILY ILYYYYY

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the-omni-princess · 5 years

Text

Silver and Gold

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary: Soulmate!AU, The first words spoken to you by your soulmate are written on your wrist. What happens when two super soldiers say the same thing at the same time?

Word Count: 2.4K

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Injuries, blood, a bit of angst, bit of fluff

A/N:

A request by @darknessdaughterr for some soulmate confusion between Steve and Bucky and a “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

[Masterlist]

----

Soulmarks. That's what they called the words etched onto your wrists. They first appeared when you officially hit puberty, and they were the lifeline to your soulmate. Your other half, your perfect half. The first words your soulmate would say to you (once you had your mark) would be the words etched onto your skin forever. They would change colors, from the brown-grey they started off as, an ugly dull color, to a beautiful rainbow and array of colors.

Some people found their soulmates right away, your best friend in middle school let out a small gasp when the heartthrob of the school asked her for a pen. Her wrist busted into beautiful shades of green like a forest etched into the writing. Some people got lucky with their marks, and their colors always meant something to their other half.

When your mark first etched into your skin, you were thirteen. Womanhood gave you cramps and a soulmark. Despite how elated your family was that your mark appeared, they always teased you about your soulmate's choice of first words. "What the hell are you doing?" Etched in cursive, dull, brown ink. You used to get excited whenever someone spoke to you for the first time. Now, much older than your friends, you felt left out. You were one of the few people with a boring, lifeless, and haven’t-met-my-soulmate-yet-grey mark. You've been pointedly ignoring it for years.

You became a practiced surgeon. The long shifts at the ER helped ease your mind that you were one of the few people without your soulmate yet. Your family worried about it constantly. Maybe your other half was dead, maybe they aren't even from the same country as you.

Pushing all those thoughts aside, and begging to get away from your overbearing family, you moved to New York, and were approached by a Stark representative to work as the Avengers' personal surgeon. It took months of preparation under Helen Cho and Bruce Banner, learning exactly what ailments and enhancements every Avenger had. Super soldiers, gamma radiation, a telekinetic witch, it was a lot to learn, but you took it in stride.

Now three months into the position came the first challenge, a mission gone sideways. You grabbed your stethoscope, wrapping it around your neck as FRIDAY's voice appeared. "Your presence is requested in OR 2, Agent Barton has deep lacerations and multiple bullet wounds."

"On it!" You called out to the AI, already heading in that direction. You rushed in, noticing Dr. Banner already attempting to take a bullet out of the still awake Hawkeye. "Jeez, ever heard of anesthesia Bruce? And stop pulling on that bullet in his leg, it could be lodged in his femoral artery and he'll bleed out before you can toss the bullet into waste." You gloved up, shooing the doctor away who held his hands up in surrender. "Hello, I'm Dr. Y/n L/n, and excuse my forgoing of formalities, Agent Barton, but the bullet in your shoulder looks to have nicked something major and I'd rather make sure you live than introduce myself." He responded with a groan, nodding. You now noticed the redhead he was gripping hands with, who you recognized as Natasha Romanoff before you rushed to help him.

You quickly went to work, asking Bruce for gauze when needed and taking out bullets, green eyes watching you like a hawk, which you found ironic. Four bullets later you sutured the bullet wounds, then the laceration, effectively cleaning up the blood and bandaging him up. You clapped your hands faintly, smiling. "Done!" You grinned up at the two. Clint was out of it, staring up at Natasha who was staring at you. "Make sure he rests, and he should be up and running in a few weeks."

"You're new," Natasha stated, still eyeing you warily.

You nodded, "Still getting the hang of it, but I know what I'm doing, usually at least. But what's a little adventure into the unknown?" You smiled warmly, noticing she loosened up a bit.

"Thanks for patching Clint here up," she sighed softly, still holding onto the Archer.

"Of course, kind of my job to make sure you are all patched up. Tell him to try not to hit anything too major next time though," you teased.

She chuckled, "Will do, till next time."

"Hopefully you guys stay safe enough there aren't too many next times, besides, I have to take Robin Hood here to a room to rest," you cleaned up the station, before transferring Clint to his own room to rest. Natasha and you kept talking, and by the time you had to leave, she had started warming up to you.

You had found out she was so wary since the two were soulmates. Her soulmark was shades of purple, and Clint's was in shades of black and red, you noticed as you worked on him, but you knew not to ask what the words said. She had found out more about you and had seen that you haven't met your soulmate yet.

About a month later you had met or patched up most of the Avengers, and Natasha and Clint were the closest to you, as well as Bruce since you saw the most of them. FRIDAY had alerted you that the Avengers were back from another mission gone bad, this time it was Sam Wilson who was hurt, he was unconscious, and his vitals were dropping fast. Steve and Bucky were running in after him, just as you got to work. You patted your scrubs down, the bright orange and pink Ombre was a bold choice but you wanted a splash of color against the white sterile walls of your lab and operating room, as the Avengers tended to let you do what you wanted.

You silently went to work, washing hands, pulling on gloves, and wordlessly grabbing what you need to save his life. You groaned aloud, grabbing the bandages and cauterizing tool, but you weren't able to do your job due to the two towering super-soldiers blocking your way. Unable to push them away from you instead opted to jump on top of the patient. Terrible procedure? Definitely. But you had two super soldiers that wouldn't move, and you had a patient dying.

Both men simultaneously cried out, "What the hell are you doing?"

You were already starting your cauterizing tool, cauterizing the artery that was the cause of the blood loss. "My job, if you don't let me do it, he'll die from blood loss. So, get out of my way!" You pushed one of the soldiers out of the way, Steve you think, grabbing the gauze and patching up Sam. Once you were finally done, you jumped off of him, he stabilized halfway through your work, so you hooked him up to an IV and stood back at your handiwork. You ripped your gloves off, tossing them away as you washed your hands. You froze, your mark was now a splash of color. Navy blue ink etched in silver and gold. That only meant one thing, one of the super-soldiers behind you was your soulmate. But they both said it at the same time, which one was your other half? Could you survive having an Avenger soulmate? You had patched them up enough to know how many close calls they tended to have.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Of course, one of the very same men you were thinking about was concerned about your sudden shyness.

"I'm not quite sure, Captain Rogers," you turned back around. "Your friend will be alright, just needs to rest and heal, but he'll be fine." You smiled brightly at the two super soldiers looking at you warily.

Captain Roger's mark was already colored in, you could see the peaks of bright red just peeking out of his uniform. Sargent Barnes, however, didn't have any color peeking out of his right hand, and that's when you realized his mark might have been on his left wrist before it was torn off. That meant you had to outright ask the two intimidating men about their marks, something only children did.

"Are you sure you're okay, doll?" Barnes was the one that spoke up this time, both men weren't quite sure what to make of you. You were pushing them out of the way to do your job minutes ago but now seemed shy.

You took a deep breath, "There’s no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it, I think one of you two is my soulmate." You said it quickly, looking absolutely anywhere but them.

"What do you mean?" That time it was the Captain.

You exposed your wrist, the brilliant shades of Navy lined in gold and silver. The silver and gold seemed to shimmer, and even without their enhancements, both men could make out the writing. Both men shared a look, and you noticed you had gained an audience. Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Tony were now standing at the room, you were too preoccupied panicking to even notice their entrance to check in on the now waking up Falcon beside you.

"You two said those words and my mark gained color, one of you is my soulmate," a groan from beside you diverted your attention. You went to work, making sure Sam was comfortable as he started to become aware of his surroundings.

"I wake up and one of the fossils gets a soulmate? I should get injured more often, maybe they'll both get lives before I die," he joked in a weak voice.

"I have limited patience with someone who tried to get shot, Wilson," you rolled your eyes, checking to make sure he didn't rip his stitches as he sat up. "And you shouldn't be sitting up, you've lost a lot of blood," you tried reasoning, but he just waved you off.

"Na, I've got to see this. Aren't you the new doctor Tony hired? You're cute, too bad I'm not your soulmate, smart and pretty," he rambled on, the medication starting to kick in.

"I've been here for four months, you just manage not to get as many bullets in you like the others," you made sure his IV drip was working before turning to your audience.

Steve spoke up first, "It’s not me," he exposed his mark. "My soulmate was Peggy Carter," his mark was bright red, the color of bright lipstick. He had left his soulmate back in the forties, that had to suck.

His eyes went to Bucky, as did yours. He looked a little stunned. "Repeat what you first said to me," he said it softly, almost hesitant.

"Well, I can't remember! I was trying to make sure Birds of Justice here didn't die!" You gave him a pointed look, Sam laughed at that, and you shot him a glare, "No laughing, you'll rip your stitches and if you do something stupid I'll kick your ass myself."

"Oh, feisty, I like her," a loopy Sam Wilson giggled like a school girl beside you.

"FRIDAY, please repeat the audio of what Dr. Y/l/n said when Sam first came in," Natasha stated, making you roll your eyes.

"Nat, I'm just Y/n to you," you mumbled, but otherwise kept quiet, needing to know the answer to the riddle written in ink around your wrist.

"Certainly, Agent Romanoff," the AI replied before the audio played.

The two super soldiers’ voices rung out first, "What the hell are you doing?"

Before your voice replied in the audio, "My job, if you don't let me do it, he'll die from blood loss. So, get out of my way!"

You looked towards the former Winter Soldier. "Does Navy Blue, Silver and Gold mean anything to you, Sargent Barnes?" You held up your wrist, and he gently grabbed it with his right hand. His thumb brushed across the ink etched deep into your skin.

"Navy Blue was my uniform color when I was a Howling Commando, silver was the color of my first metal arm, and gold is currently in my metal arm. And call me Bucky," he held up the black and gold vibranium arm for you to inspect. "I always thought my soulmate would be a nurse during the war, one I flirted to at the wrong time, or got in the way one too many times. I guess I was partially right," he kept his voice soft, the two of you locking eyes.

"You're my soulmate? I never thought I'd find you," you mumbled softly, getting lost in his blue eyes.

"My left wrist had those words, and I lost it in the fall of the train, and I'm actually glad I did because Hydra couldn't find you that way, and I'm sorry you have me as a soulmate, and I'm sorry you can't even get to see the colors my mark would have, and-" he rambled on, making you smile, gently taking his hand and interlacing your hands together, promptly shutting him up.

"I'm not sad you’re my soulmate, Bucky. I was just confused is all. I had basically accepted I'd never find mine, I've had dull brown ink on me since I was thirteen. But it's you. I found you," you couldn't stop smiling up at him.

He gave you a bashful smile, "I'd like to think my mark would be the colors of your scrubs. Orange and pinks like a sunset," he explained.

"Or a sunrise," you spoke up, "New beginnings and all."

Natasha made a retching sound behind the two of you. "Absolutely adorable and disgusting. We'll watch over him, y/n, he's already falling asleep, and we'll have FRIDAY update you if needed. Go on break," she shooed you out of the room, Steve already tossing Bucky out with you, Sam making cooing noises behind you as he fell asleep. They shut the door, effectively giving you not much choice.

"Well, I guess that settles it," you turned to Bucky, who looked towards you a little skeptical. "Let me formally introduce myself, soulmate. I'm Dr. Y/n y/m/n y/l/n, but you can call me y/n/n." You put your hand out, your mark on full display.

He gave you a goofy smile in response, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles before kissing your wrist right over your mark. "Why hello, soulmate. I'm Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky."

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally, any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #My writing #soulmate!au

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kai-eastaughffe · 5 years

Text

truth or dare; kai eastaughffe

The night already peaked by the time Kai’s turn was up. He had come down off the high off the lip sync battle---gracefully conceeded to Samuel, on the basis that one man sacrificing his dignity to Avril Lavigne should logically outweigh what essentially became a group dance-off with Lady Marmalade, and the excellence of that was in no way Kai’s doing---and he was slumped on the floor half-wasted already by the time he was poked in the ribs and forced back to attention.

He wasn’t looking forward to whatever people had planned for him. There’d already been a few curve balls, and he was, frankly, really worried about Salem, and Cleo. But, he couldn’t very well refuse after making most of the squad do whatever had popped into his head.

from cleo raja —

truth: what’s one thing you would change about everyone here?

dare: consume everything in the minibar, alcohol aside, in five minutes.

He could not afford the contents of the minibar at this point, even not including the alcohol. Nor did he want to.

“Simple. We’d all have colour-coded or elemental or animal super powers, à la Power Rangers, or Sailor Moon.” He shrugged.

“We have never been, nor can we ever be, a proper friend group, since we don’t have a transformation sequence.” He downed the rest of his drink. Tonight was the first night he was really letting himself consume as much alcohol as he wanted---it seemed fitting. Then he continued, before anyone else could take over.

“See, Salem would be something dark and edgy like a black motif with ice and a panther, Leigh would be like a sassy lion and the colour orange. Danny would be yellow and something that flies, an eagle? TJ would be green with like, an alligator or a snake, Cleo would be red and maybe a badass scorpion or spider or a biker thing going on. Jenny might also be red---I feel like you’d rock the pink outfit, though, and maybe have some secret like you can control time and are the most powerful of us and no one knows it. Skylar would be purple and wind powers, something pretty like a butterfly but like---deceptive, her wingbeats make hurricanes, I dunno. Sam’d be blue, cause it’s like “leader-y”, but he’d have like... sweet water powers or maybe a wolf thing going on... I dunno. Dakota would be white, and his power would be...” Here he blanked. “To perfectly slice a bagel, or he’d turn into an airplane? I don’t know what your deal is these days, I dunno who you are, dude. Jules would be gold and control the sun, probably. Kelley would be silver---not because she’s second best though, silver ‘cause she’d turn into like a thousand knives, or just a fuckin’ tank.”

“And I’d be the, uhhh... Turquoise Ranger. There’s never a Turquoise anything. But it’s cool, ‘cause I’d also have a sloth patronus or whatever, and you guys would still have to bring me along anyway.” He folded his hands and surveyed the circle seriously.

“The defense rests.” Lawyer-talk, bonus points. He mimed sinking a basketball, for good measure.

from dakota harrison —

truth: who do you dislike most out of all of us?

dare: arm wrestle me.

It only took one glance at Kota’s arms before Kai scoffed. “Yeah, right. That’s happening---real suspense in who’d win, you clearly just want to look good. I’ll take truth... Who I dislike most...” He thought about it for a heartbeat, squinting around at the assembled group. Sure, there were some there he could take or leave, but no one he truly, deeply disliked more than... “Myself, obviously. Not that you’re not all terrible in your own special ways.”

There was a deafening silence, and he glanced around. “What? Too edgy? It’s called a truth for a reason---” Someone helpfully pointed out that answering yourself was against the rules, and he grew slightly more irritated with all of them. But only for a second. “Fuck you guys, let me be the emo one for once.” He sighed. “Whatever, let’s just... give the people what they want.” He rolled up his right sleeve, and leaned forward to plant his arm in the middle of the circle before flashing Dakota a wide smile and saying, “Bring it, Beardface. And I mean it---you throw this out of pity or something and I will destroy you some other way when you least expect it.”

from jenny jordan —

truth: what was the cause of your weirdest boner?

dare: put five ice cubes down your pants and leave them there.

“Saying no to the ice dick, thanks, darlin’.” It was a little hard to look at her longer than a second without remembering what she’d said about his eyes and... all that. He still hadn’t quite recovered from the stuff people had said on their turns. Skylar thinking he had a good personality was... misguided, but okay... Salem’s was intentionally weird (as he’d requested, so that one was probably on him.) But Jenny’s confession had taken him utterly by surprise and he still wasn’t sure whether she’d been entirely serious, or if she’d had some other reason for praising him.

He cleared his throat. “Weirdest boner? Mr. Fuller’s math class, apropos of trigonometry. Isosceles triangles just do it for me, I guess. Or, it was the hell that is puberty, and a light breeze could have the same effect, so.” He was answering a lot of truths, it turned out. Whether that would grow uncomfortable in the near future, he wasn’t sure, but at least for once it was a game of embarrassment for everyone, not just him.

from julian campbell —

truth: who in the room has hurt your feelings the most, and how?

dare: do your best impression of three people in the room - really commit to it.

Well, he knew he wasn’t gonna touch that truth with a ten foot pole. He’s not certain who he’d answer, anyway. Most of the incidents kind of blurred together, and the ones that really stung weren’t things he was willing to admit under any kind of torture. Which left him eyeing the other individuals for targets.

Of course, the more sensible thing would be to separate the impressions. But once he’d settled on them, a scene was already forming in his mind---and they had a brief stint taking Drama in high school to thank for that, he figured. “Alright, but I need props...” With an effort, he pushed himself up, then travelled around the room collecting what would be most effective---a pair of oversized sunglasses, a phone, a scarf, a pair of big headphones from his own bag tossed in the corner, and... yeah, that’d work.

He then proceeded to enact a familiar situation to all of them, Jenny and Salem being catty at each other---sunglasses perched artfully on a dismissive smirk when it was her lines, scarf draped around his neck lazily for pretentiousness rather than representing any particular habit of Salem’s, but it worked, and Cleo in the headphones, snapping peevishly at the others as she looked at her phone at intervals.

By the end of five minutes his brain was stretched to capacity, he’d nearly strangled himself twice in headphone cords and the scarf, and the sunglasses were haphazardly pushed into his hair. “...in conclusion, you’re petty assholes who need to handle your issues better, and I don’t know why I love you,” he finished, breathlessly, before collapsing backwards on the floor.

from salem st. ives —

truth: did you cheat to get through law school?

dare: spend the rest of the game blind folded and wear ear plugs under headphones turned full blast (so that any other dares can get done to him and he’ll have no idea who did it).

He wrinkled his nose at the dare. “I would have to be horribly masochistic to be into that, I hope you know that. And I’m only like... maybe lightly masochistic most days, so you’ll just have to be treated to my full presence for the rest of the game.” It was hard to sweep a mocking bow while seated, but he tried to give one to Salem with minimal spillage of his drink.

“And I...” He paused, and covered it by sipping at the medley of alcohol in his cup---was it his? Had he just picked it up? It tasted like sour patch kids, and he was fairly sure he’d had something in the brownish family. “Is this someone else’s drink?” he asked, keeping the suspicion that maybe he was being pranked---extra bonus prank on Kai night, you know---a private one. “Anyway, it’s delicious, so thanks.” The potential prankster could have their laugh, his drink was delightful. “As I was saying, I did not cheat in law school.” It was, he told himself, the absolute truth. He’d never even been in law school---so how could he cheat? His smirk lost some of its pep when he remembered why that wasn’t exactly the triumph it should be. Someone, somewhere, had actually been in law school and not cheated---but it sure as hell wasn’t him. His mouth tasted bitter, and the stolen drink didn’t help any.

from samuel flores —

truth: do you still resent how the squad treated you in high school?

dare: prank call one of your coworkers.

And there it was. The kicker. ‘Cause he didn’t have coworkers to call---unless you counted Jeremy and Yolanda from the sandwich shop. Who would not take kindly to being disturbed---high priced lawyers might shrug that shit off as a laugh. Minimum wage dishwashers, or his manager, would not. And, believe it or not, he actually liked his coworkers. They thought he was good at his job---and he was, obviously, but they treated him like he was. He wasn’t going to subject them to the... Recapturing Lost Youth Squad. Yolanda had three kids, for fuck’s sake.

He swallowed the remains of his cup and studied the bottom. “I wouldn’t say I resent it,” he said, surprisingly calm and serious for the moment. “That makes it seem like I’m out for vengeance on everyone or hate you all. I don’t, at all. I just want... I dunno.” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Respect, maybe? Or... something...” And now, because of his stupid choice to pretend to be something he wasn’t, some of them actually did respect him, but it wasn’t even him, not really. They respected a complete and total fabrication. He’d almost gotten what he wanted, but it felt hollow and fake.

from skylar murphy —

truth: when was the closest you came to truly getting upset with the squad’s jokes on your behalf?

dare: spread a rumor about someone in the squad that really grinds your gears (i.e. whoever pokes fun at you too much from your perspective).

“Uhhh...” He tried to think, this time, of something specific. After a minute, he nodded. “I do remember one time...” Which in hindsight, might’ve been a precursor to things to come, but he hadn’t been too wise about that sort of thing until he started actively looking for them at his therapist’s bidding. “After we saw the Arcade Fire concert in junior year, and everyone had bought merch. Remember, it was like, a status thing? Wearing the shirts the next day if you’d been to the show? Teenagers are trash.”

“Anyway, they were actually pretty tame as jokes go, just about the shirt and how I had finally made a decent fashion choice, combined with like... the occasional jab about how now I looked like all the other indie pricks at school.” It really had been totally run-of-the-mill day, all things told---except he’d actually loved that shirt, and the concert had been a good memory. And it’d only lasted a day, because of their idiotic taunts, and his skin being surprisingly thin that week. “Went home and burned the thing in the fireplace. Of course, our fireplace wasn’t equipped for synthetics or whatever was on the logo, I dunno... Anyway the house filled up with smoke and I had to evacuate the munchkins to the lawn,” he said, referring to his siblings. “And got in complete shit for it. Never told any of you, but I think that’s the most pissed I ever got.”

from tj powell —

truth: do you like leigh or salem better?

dare: run out into the hall, knock on somebody’s door, and ask to use their bathroom.

He toyed with his lower lip, looking directly at the dimly-aware Salem as he tried to decide. It should be an easy answer, but his drink had been spiked after all---with indecision and philosophizing, apparently, because it occurred to him that for all his resentment of Leigh becoming joined at the hip with Salem instead, there was something that wasn’t quite... It wasn’t jealousy, really, because he also liked Salem. Genuinely. If he’d been in her shoes, he’d have opted to hang out with Salem, too. So he didn’t really blame her, and that’s what made it complicated. Leigh was his oldest friend, probably. They understood each other, and she’d never cut him out---when she could have. They became a trio instead. He eventually realized he’d been silently musing and staring at Salem for quite some time, and shrugged. “Fuck it.” He got shakily to his feet and went out into the hall, made a show of being choosy about which hotel door he was going to disturb before selecting one at random and knocking.

And then knocking at another when the first didn’t answer. Finally, the door was jerked open. A tall man with a handlebar moustache to rival most cowboy movies loomed over him from the doorway. “What do you want.” He snapped.

Kai blinked. “Uh, I---I lost my room key---can I use your bathroom?”

The man stared at him---then down the hall, where he no doubt saw the heads of several onlookers. “No.”

The door slammed inches from Kai’s nose and blew his hair back with the force of it. He was happy to retreat with his indignity and the thought of ‘I’m twenty eight fucking years old, what am I doing’ echoing shamefully in his head, until he realized he had an ace up his sleeve---or on his hand, rather. He grinned down the hall at his friends, took the bandage off his right palm from the failed blood oath with Cleo, and knocked again.

The door opened. “Fuck off---”

“Please,” he implored, clutching his bloody hand. “I just need to wash off the blood, and then I’ll go...”

The man’s eyes widened. “Shit! Yeah, come on---I know first aid. How’d you manage that, son?”

Kai followed, face serious. Ten minutes later he came back to the room, freshly bandaged and more or less triumphant.

#thesquadtask #thesquadevent #finally!! finished the thing :)

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sugardaddytonystark · 7 years

Note

What castles coincide with Arya's siblings?

Arya - Harrenhal

Sansa - The Vale

Robb - The Twins

Rickon - Winterfell

Jon - Castle Black

Bran - Winter’s Keep

Ghosts of Castles Lost

I. Harrenhal

Peace is slowly creeping back into the realm.

Men have seen enough of war. The world has seen enough of death. The kingdom is scorched and ravaged and razed, but the roads are safer than they’ve been in years.

People pass each other, strangers where once they were neighbors. They are not afraid, they have seen enough of battle to be scared, but are unwilling to look into the faces of those whom they have crossed swords. Brothers were killed. Sisters were raped. And all sides are still both bitter and ashamed.

She finds no need to bind her breasts any longer, though she still keeps her hair sheered short. Out of habit, perhaps, or convenience. Or to remind her of who she is now and what she hasn’t been for a long time.

She has lived a hundred lives and died just the same. She has worn a hundred faces and been given a hundred different names. Arry, Weasel, Nan, no one. She answers to Arya if someone calls, but she knows she hasn’t been Arya for lifetimes.

She isn’t sure who she is anymore.

She has left pieces of her behind wherever she went - to realms so far south that she had to hide her skin from the sun and sand so it would not burn away. To the free lands where women bared their breasts and men dyed their hair the color of rubies and sapphires. She has learned the language of those who veiled their faces, fought with those who adorned their braids with bells, laid with those who marked their flesh with every full moon. She has been to the House of Black and White to live with the men who served the Many-Faced God. She has seen the Dragon Queen.

She longs to go back north, to recover a part of her that she vaguely remembers, and when she makes up her mind to go, she is already half of the way there. She ladens a stolen mount with what she needs, which isn’t much. Food she will get along the way. And shelter. She remembers a place from so long ago.

The halls are empty, cavernous, a place built for giants and she, but a ghost. The floors are ash and dirt. The walls, rags and dust. Tapestries fray and peel from the stone, banners with illegible sigils and faded colors. The castle is but ruin and decay - a shame for such a grand place.

Arya recalls Old Nan’s stories. She remembers that the foundation is strong with the bodies of men. She remembers that the towers were built with blood, mixed in the mortar and laid between each and every brick. She remembers that the walls were raised with fear the way the walls of Winterfells were raised with magic.

And neither fear nor magic had been strong enough to keep either castle from falling.

But Harrenhal was still alive. Arya could hear creeping amongst the rotting stone. Cats and mice and birds, but men as well. They inhabit the halls for a night or two while on their way to here or there, rejecting the haunting tales of Harren the Black and his sons - of his hubris and the horrors of the ruinous place. The appeal of the monstrous keep is too great for bypassers. Great enough to forget a curse. Great enough to forget a ghost.

But Arya remembers a time when all it took for men to fall was her will and the sound of her whisper.

II. The Vale

A madness has overtaken her, they say, like the Lady of the Vale before her.

But if the smallfolk are to be believed, Sansa keeps it hidden. She is faultless and unblemished like the snow that blankets the peak. She is white and pure and beautiful like her sister remembers. Her hair is piled high in scarlett braids and threaded with shining gold. Her dress is silken and flowing, lovely and bright as her Tully-blue eyes.

When she receives Arya in the High Hall, she’s sitting on the weirwood throne of the Arryns, a doll, ragged, filthy, held against the pale nipple of her naked breast.

Is that the doll father gifted to you? Arya wonders. Have you kept it all this time?

Maybe she is mad.

She abides in a hollow castle, far away from the reach of man. The Vale had remained untouched by war, but winter is here and those who had stayed now take refuge at the base of the mountain. They have all left her, alone in the high and desolate keep. The white stone halls are deserted and still and Arya can feel the silence echo through her.

Sansa crawls into her sister’s bed that night, laying her head on Arya’s chest, and their arms entwine as they clutch each other tight. Sansa can feel the rhythm of her sister’s heart against her cheek, her breath breezing through her hair each times she exhales.

Sansa asks her to stay. “The winter is cruel,” she whispers, “and I am alone.”

Arya runs her fingertips over Sansa’s skin, and it is as smooth and chilled as porcelain. She thinks that the frozen lands of the north can’t possibly be as cold as the castle that her sister calls home. As barren as the sleep that she sinks into night after night. Thrice a widow and a maiden still, they say. Arya wonders if Sansa has ever shared a bed with anyone other than herself.

“We are wolves,” Arya reminds her. “And wolves are made for winter.”

She can feel as Sansa clutches the doll tighter in the crook of her elbow. Hold him near, sweet sister. Keep him close. They fall alseep in Arya’s bed, curled together like wolfcubs.

When Arya awakes the next morning, she finds the doll left in her sister’s place. The sheets are cold and the stone floor is biting. Her breath, a frozen cloud before her. She bears the chill as her naked feet glide across the room, her lungs filling with ice until she feels as though she can no longer breathe.

The wind whips through the corridors, pushing Arya back, pushing her away, pushing her across the castle until she is running with no air and numb feet.

Sansa, she calls. Sansa. And the emptiness mocks her, echoing the name until there is only Sansa Sansa Sansa in her ears, in her eyes, in her mouth, the cold wind pushing the shadow of her sister back into Arya’s lungs.

She stops at the edge of the Moon Door, the open space still hungry and howling, trying to push her back, trying to lure her closer.

Arya clutches her sister’s doll and thinks that there are worst ways to die.

III. The Twins

(so this is where I stopped so it’s just a whole bunch of disjointed ideas)

The land is cruel in its beauty. It is overgrownand tangled and wild

Arya vows to salt the earth.

Men now risk the marshlands and avoid the twinnedkeep.

the place is haunted

not even wolves dare

the wind like a howling beast

fear cuts deeper than swords, she has trainedherself to say, but this time she is not afraid. It is by rote that she repeatsthe words, saying them to steady herself as she creep

it’s early dawn, the sky is pink and purple andorange

The sound of her horse’s hooves echo through theair

burns like ice

she wonders at what other creatures creep through the halls

macabre

silver shadow

eyes like molten gold

He still wears a crown

hollow crown

What are you king of now, brother? Do you ruleover haunted keeps and we, the ghosts that inhabit them?

The crown came at a cost, she thought. And we allpaid the price.

IV. Winterfell

The people in the north are scarce, and none liveinside the castle walls except a wolf, a woman, and the winter lord. The threegreet Arya at the gate.

The man is wary of this stranger who callsherself sister.

His memories of before the war are more thanhalf-forgotten; this woman’s face, only a dream that comes to him when thesnows fall deep.

Rickon the Wild, they call him. Rickon whoRebuilt Winterfell. The Second Stark to Bend the Knee.

He is tall and lean and lithe. His hair is darkred and wild, running down his back in long torrents of molten amber. His eyesare fierce and frightening, blue as the frozen winter sky. They flash like anocturnal predator when the descending sun hits them, bores through Arya as if //

But he knows no lord’s courtesies. He was tooyoung to learn and hasn’t been taught since.

He keeps to the crypts, the wildling tells her.Or the godswood.

He thirsts none for blood these days. He’s drunkhis fill.

All the gold of Casterly Rock at his command. “Ameager consolation,” he says, “for what they have done to us.”

And three Lannister heads, he doesn’t say. A morecomparable consolation, but even as unsatisfying still. Three Lannister headsin a golden box, offered up to the Dragon Queen, and a promise of yet morelives to come.

But his builders are northmen and wildlings

The north will be rebuilt by the north

“Everyone went away,” he says,“but I came back. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And I cameback.”

his hands are big and his fingers long

he spends his time wandering beyond the castlewalls.

taciturn

his wolf is wild, the woman is wild, but he isthe most wild of them all.

black wolf green eyes

“The north does not need a king,” hetells her over their meal. “It needs hunters and healers andbuilders.”

His voice is hollow. He knows no lord’scourtesies but he does know his duty.

His fork drops with a clatter. “I neverwanted this,” he says as he holds his face in his hands.

“You won’t come back,” he tells her.“No one ever comes back, but I did. There must always be a Stark inWinterfell. And I came back.”

V. Castle Black

She wishes she could fold back time.

Back before Jon left for the wall so she couldplead for him to stay. Back before she left for King’s Landing so she couldproperly say goodbye. She thinks of Rickon and Bran and Robb - the brothers whoshe left behind. She thinks of Sansa and her last words spoken.

She wishes shecould fold back time; fold it tight and keep it in her pocket.

We were all of us made to grow up so fast.

Rickon had sent a raven ahead to Castle Black.He’s done his lord’s duties and that is all that is expected of him.

She knows that Rickon does not expect to see heragain.

Jon is the one she has always loved the best.

outside the night rain was turning to ice, theheart in her chest battering her ribs like hailstones

one hand scarred and wrinkled

his body scarred

wounds that must have been deep

It is furiously cold on the Wall, and even in theCommander’s solar, they still wear their furs. Fires lick the walls aroundthem,

She’s had nothing but leagues between //// andthe Wall to think of what to say, but “Look,” is all she can manageas she unsheathes Needle, holds it up and displays it proudly. They watchsilently as the sword glitters in the firelight. I have given up everything,but I would never give up this.

She feels like the child she was back inWinterfell. Like Arya is who she is and not just a name.

VI. Winter’s Keep

He shies away when he doesn’t see her wolf.

Stares at her as if a piece of her is missing. Hedoesn’t know why, and he doesn’t ask. There are already too many questions toworry about the painful ones.

And losing ones soul, that must be the mostpainful of all.

For his part, Summer stays beside him

His eyes are clear and kind and old.

someone wise peering out despite his years

archaic

the woman is apprehensive

they had a set of twins and name them afterbrothers lost. Robb and Jojen

Bran lives in a keep several days north of thewall.

It once belonged to a man named Craster, but nolonger. The brothers on the wall call it Winter’s Keep.

few wildlings even stay north of the wall,migrated to the gift on Rickon’s request.

He doesn’t plead for her to stay, but he doestell her that the north is cruel. He tells her that he is a bird sometimes andcan fly beyond the reach of man. He tells her that he slips from his skin andwears Summer’s fur like a cloak. He tells her that he can teach her how.

She thinks of her soul wandering somewhere in asouthron forest. She thinks of Nymeria. She could –

But no,that would take her back and she has come so far.

She must go on.

People do not come back, he says. Only ghosts cansurvive in the Land of Always Winter.

Arya is a ghost and she is not afraid.

#game of thrones #wip #not marvel #dahlia writes stuff

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