#she only recently remembers her real name but still prefers the name eight since she has more happy memories with this name

[xtarart]

born from the chaos of the Grand Festival (and the rejected costume pieces for the Now or Never Seven) a new band is born from the 5 understudies of these legendary idols. The Mysterious DJ with the soul of a leader, DJ Sango. Maries wild child, Zest. Off the hooks caring daughter, Eight. and Deep Cut's young understudies of anarchy, Vibrant child of the enemy found in the wasteland, and Smallest of runts born in the dry river. or just Veronika and Smallfry for short. they are... The Agents of Splat!

in other words i gave the NNSS agents grandfest outfits for fun.

[ceruleanchillin]

5 Day Stay

| Or, Angel down bad for a week |

Angel x F!Reader

Warnings: language, infidelity, Angst (?), lil bit chili spice at the end

Mon:

Angel felt he was too young to consistently feel so bone-tired, yet that’s how his day had been ending for weeks now. Sometimes it was all he could do to get off his bike and make it to the door, only to have to rest his head against it to prepare to make it to the couch and collapse.

Tonight was one of those nights, and he wanted to be dead to the world until it dragged him back into it.

It was the smell of mixed spices that hit him first. It felt like he was in suspended animation, and slowly being released as different things started to register to him.

His TV was on, someone was rummaging through his kitchen, and music played faintly from his desk. Thinking back to the last time an unwanted guest was in his kitchen, he placed a hand on the holstered knife fastened to his back.

The fridge door closed, and you appeared in the window, eyes focused intently on whatever you were cooking on the stove.

He exhaled, feeling like complete shit. It only spoke to how weary his mind was that he could forget you were staying with him for the next week. Especially after the conversation that led to it.

“I don’t know Angel…really I can afford a motel for a few days.”

“Here? Rusted-through pipes will be the last thing your landlord is worried about when you bring back bedbugs and shit.”

Your eyes had widened at that, but still you brought up the thing that had been chained to your hesitation. “I mean….do you think it’s ok to do this? After we…Nails..Ang-“

He remembered a flash of irritation, more so at himself than you, when you said that. “Yes querida, fuck. If you’re so scared, I most likely won’t even be there the way things are going. Nails is out of town til’ next weekend…”

“Relax Ignacio.” you had cut your eyes at him, and he’d felt his dick jump like it did whenever you gave him attitude. “I’m just not trying to be a problem.”

Your voice calling his name brought him to the present. He caught the last part of your statement, that you didn’t know he’d be back.

“Yeah, we got in earlier than expected.”

“While you’re standing there like a weirdo, let me shame you real quick. How does a man in his thirties still have the kitchen of a frat boy?” You leaned on the sill of the divider. “You’re lucky I already knew you were sad in the kitchen. I had to bring my own tagine.”

He stepped into the kitchen, his stomach coming alive with interest. “One, I don’t know what that is, two, I can’t help it if the kitchen isn’t my preferred room of work.”

He peeked over your shoulder, but the unique pot kept him from seeing what you were making.

“Neither is the bedroom, unless that work is piling up dirty laundry.” you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to your simmering dish.

“Ha ha. Dinner and a show, she does it all folks!” he collapsed at the table, the day catching back up with him. “Should put your ass on the club’s payroll. End the cashflow problem real quick.”

You turned to him, concern etched on your face. “I heard from Hank about that…sorry. I know now isn’t a great time for that at all.”

Things got awkward like they always did when you referenced the recent changes of his life. He wasn’t sad about getting another chance at fatherhood, this one more tangible than the last. However, he wasn’t entirely sold on everything he’d accepted along with it, and he was pretty sure you at least suspected that. It threw the previously comfortable confusion that was your relationship off track when it was touched on.

“No, it’s not.” was all he could manage.

It was quiet for a beat, the simmering of the food and quiet Neo Soul the only sounds.

“Well,” you started, turning off the burner. “At least you don’t have to eat like a ‘we got food at the house’ meme for once.”

He laughed, a genuine and needed laugh. “Ok, you know what? Keep talking about my pantry stocking skills, and I might take it personally.”

The rest of his night went that way. Anytime you and Angel got together, things were just…easy…better. You spent the evening eating in front of the TV (Angel getting all the way to thirds for what turned out to be olive chicken and roasted potatoes), trading jokes, and going over the finer points of Golden Girls. Angel learned you took it very seriously, and mocked you for being “old”.

It wasn’t until you were nodding off, and he was left with his own thoughts, that he realized he hadn’t enjoyed coming home this much since he moved in.

Tues:

Angel had dreamed he’d been back in his childhood home, but as a grown man. There was music coming from his parent’s room, and when he got to the doorway, his mom was at her dressing table. She hummed along to the soulful seventies music and smiled at him from the mirror. She said something, but he couldn’t make it out, and woke up in the frustration.

He jerked up from his position on his stomach, and slowly came to. With a grunt he wiped his hand down his face, glancing at his phone to find it was six in the afternoon.

It then occurred to him the music wasn’t just in his dream, it was coming from his bathroom. He got off the couch and followed the sound.

“Hey coma head.” you grinned at him from where you were doing your makeup.

He shook his head, trying to let go of the last vestiges of the dream, and how eerie the scene before him was.

He focused instead on the nightmare of products and alien looking tools surrounding you.

He kind of liked the mess, even if he couldn’t see the counter anymore.

“Hey hurricane Ulta.”

You made a face that was a cross between being amused and suspicious. “You sleep in your jeans and buy your shirts in pack form. Don’t act like you know what that is.”

He made a face of mock offense. “That’s so classist.”

This time you paused completely in you what you were doing and twisted your body to meet him. “Uh oh…let me find out you’re actually learning something from EZ.”

“Angel Reyes can know something about something, damn.”

You laughed, lowering your hands from where you’d been lining your eyes to avoid a mistake. “I’m only teasing you Angel Reyes.”

“Looks like you plan on teasing more than me. Some clown is gonna get his hopes and tiny dick up for nothing.”

“There’s this new club in the city that Belinda’s getting us into. It’s bad luck to buy your own drinks on the first night at a new place.” you adjusted the bodycon mini-dress for emphasis. “You doing anything?”

“Club shit.” he started picking through the products, sniffing them every so often. “Then I think I’ve got a call with Nails at some point.”

“You think?” you popped his hands when he got too close to the good stuff, or the things you were using currently.

“Yeah..I think.” he shrugged, only realizing how short he sounded when you winced.

He didn’t know why he got so annoyed when she was brought up around you. He wasn’t like that with anyone else, and he knew you were only trying to support his incoming changes.

“Ok..”

Awkward silence settled in before he found the words to break it.

“Why do you wanna know? You want me to be that clown?”

“Never.” you pinched his cheek, tone pure saccharine jest.

He muttered in Spanish, stepping around you to the toilet.

“Angel!” you exclaimed.

“What?! It’s my bathroom, I have to piss.”

“You better never make me angry Reyes, I could end your whole Casanova game with ease."

Wed:

“You holding on a little tight there mami!” Angel called over his shoulder with a laugh. “You said go fast."

“Shut up!” you giggled, but he wasn’t lying.

You’d asked Angel to take you to work on his bike since even though you spent so much time with bikers, you hardly got to ride one. You were going to the same place anyways. He had been all too happy to shake up his commute, but your speed challenge took it over the top.

He didn’t know how you were up so early, he personally felt like the bags under his eyes were like a PEZ dispenser. You’d gotten in at two am, and still got up with him at eight.

He loved watching you in the morning, you managed to be cheerful without being obnoxious, and it worked better than coffee for him.

He loved how much he was learning about you.

As he pulled onto the street beside the cafe you’d asked him to stop at, he felt your arms uncoil from around him. He may have pretended to shift just to make you pause and hold him a few seconds longer, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that.

“I didn’t scream, and I’m not shaking, so you still have to buy my breakfast.” You unclipped your helmet, grinning the whole time.

You looked so pretty to him, with the sun hitting your eyes and hair just right. He could catch you at just the right moment, and you’d look so gorgeous, he struggled to believe you were real.

He cleared his throat, afraid his voice would crack if he didn’t. “Fair enough, come break my pockets then.”

You laughed, squeezing his chin and pointing out his pout. “You don’t even have to tell me once sir, I know my worth.”

Once inside, he trailed after you to the counter, using your head like an arm rest when you reached it. “That’s good.”

“Boy!” You swatted his hand away, and it was his turn to laugh at your adorable pout.

“New bet,” he stepped around you while the customer ahead of you wrapped up. “If I get your entire order just right, you buy lunch.”

“Deal.” you leaned on the counter, eyebrow raised at him in challenge.

Angel knew the best part of his day would be watching your expression go from smug to shocked out of the corner of his eye. He nailed every pastry, the iced coffee, and their preparation with ease.

The simultaneously impressed and amused barista looked to you for confirmation. She got a shocked nod in response.

“I know my worth too mama, so don’t skimp on lunch.”

“Fair enough.” You shook off your shock as you repeated his earlier words and shrugged. “Can’t complain I guess. I trained my work husband too well.”

He scoffed loudly, and the two of you went back to swapping smart ass barbs while he tried to ignore the lingering dip his stomach did when referred to him as “husband”.

Thurs:

Angel was a grown man, with years of grown man experience, yet he was sitting on the edge of his bed feeling like a teenager again.

The end of your stay was nearing, and every time he thought about you going back home, he felt weird. He was pretty sure that’s why he’d been a little snappy and annoyed easily at the club the past couple days. He just wasn’t ready to delve into that too much.

Regardless, he had to admit you had some growing effect over him. All morning, while he should’ve been resting and preparing for a charter visit, he was fighting off hard-ons thanks to you.

“Can I borrow your kitchen for the day Angel?” He mimicked your voice in a nasally mocking tone. “I’ll save you some when I’m done baking.”

He’d thought nothing of it when you asked the night before. Really didn’t even feel like you had to at that point.

He realized why when he saw that the desserts you were making for your friend’s brunch were elaborate as hell. The effort took all your attention, and unfortunately for him, his too.

You were baking a lot more than dessert and didn’t even know it.

Now he was hiding in his room, fighting off arousal he knew wasn’t appropriate. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours.

That didn’t change the fact that you in a short silk lounge set, singing in French (how the hell did you know French?), doing domestic things in his home, did it for him.

He ran a hand over his hair, still damp from his cold shower, and forced himself to finish getting dressed. He had to be ready to face a room of dangerous bikers and prove his patched in worth. He couldn’t be thinking of weird little fantasies and parallels to his parent’s marriage.

He must’ve zoned out again, because you startled him enough to almost make him hit his wardrobe.

“Oh my god Angel try this! I think I did magic.” You excitedly thrust a red cookie his way.

Angel took the offered treat, and found it was a red velvet cookie. “It’s fucking good mi dulce.”

“Really?” You looked so hopeful, so beautiful, that he would’ve lied if the situation called for it.

“Yes, but you know you kill it in the kitchen.” He turned away to put on the flannel he’d fished out.

Now you were in his personal space, smelling amazing, and all his senses were under attack. He couldn’t trust Angel jr. at the moment.

“Baking is different. It’s a whole thing for me...I go all in.”

“I noticed your little Broadway production in my kitchen.” He kneeled down, pretending to look for his shoes as something to do while you were there.

“Don’t shame me.” You pressed your foot into his back, gently pushing him. “It makes for better results.”

‘shit.’ He cursed mentally at the contact.

Luckily, he heard you turn to leave the room. “Oh, EZ said to tell you to hurry up or pick up your phone.”

He rose up once you were gone and checked his phone. Sure enough, he had several missed calls and texts from Gilly, Coco, and EZ. He cursed aloud this time and finished getting ready, determined not to get distracted again.

Of course, his boys having to physically come in and get him when he did just that destroyed that promise.

Fri:

It had come down to the last night of your stay with him, and what he thought was a favor to a good friend, turned out to be more for his benefit.

The hell with the club seemed so far away when he was home now, and he’d laughed more times that week than he had the previous few months total.

Tonight though… Tonight had him so in his head he didn’t know if he was coming or going.

You, sensing something was going on with him, had invited EZ and Felipe to dinner. He didn’t know how you got the latter to agree, his dad had never even been in his home before, but you did it. It went over a hell of a lot better than the last time they tried it too.

The missteps that reared their head when his family tried to talk to each other at length were mitigated by you. You were the perfect buffer, able to get them to engage with you and then each other.

He saw his family in an unfamiliar, but favorable light. His father was actually enjoying his time with him in his house. He knew that night wouldn’t have happened if not for you.

Now, as he distractedly dried the dishes you’d washed, listening to you hit all of the high notes in Loving You, it hit him.

‘She should be my wife’ the thought came so quick, and was so loud he almost jumped, confused if it came from him or someone else.

“Hey dishwasher-less!” you nudged him with your hip. “Move those hands.”

“Why can’t we be a thing?” he blurted.

You dropped the silverware you’d been washing, eyes wide and focused on him. “Um..excuse m-…what?”

He knew that wasn’t the most tactful way to introduce his thoughts to you, but it was his way. Fuck…he didn’t even understand them fully himself.

“You heard me querida,” he put the dish down on the counter, turning to you. “When I stayed with you that weekend that my head was all fucked up-“

“Angel.” your tone made it a warning, but he kept going. He was never afraid of a challenge.

“I was inside you so much that weekend I forgot that’s not how I came in this world. I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud, but I felt home cause I was with you-”

“Stop it!” you hit the sink, rattling the contents.

“Fuck that!” he shouted back, startling you both. He stayed silent for a moment before speaking in a calmer tone. “Fuck that. Why can’t we talk about it? Why couldn’t we talk about it then?”

You didn’t say anything, but he saw your chest heaving with adrenaline, and realized you were just as affected by the conversation as he was.

“You just decided it didn’t matter and put it in this space we can’t touch now. It’s all fucked up!”

“Because,” you hissed. “If you remember, it was all over that Adelita chick, and I don’t know what kind of hold she has or had over you, but it was deep.”

He cringed at that, and turned his attention to the light fixture over your head, unable to meet your heated gaze.

“Whatever feelings I have for you Angel, I put them away in a place where I can still be your friend and keep things in perspective.”

“Feelings you have for me?” he latched on to the lack of past tense, hopeful.

You inhaled sharply. “You are having a baby and just got engaged. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing..I mean a lot, but nothing to do with this. I know-“

“I know,” you pushed away from the sink and reached up to cup his cheeks. “That you’re scared Angel. You’re scared, because you’re gonna take two steps you’ve never taken before at once, and you’re trying to sabotage it.”

He shook his head, taking your hands from his face and holding them tightly in his own. “No..mi dulce, no. I’ve been struggling with this all week, longer if I’m being honest. Tonight sealed it.”

You snorted humorlessly, looking around the kitchen as if something in the room would help you get through to him. “I cook you some big boy meals, and treat your speakers to some musical taste, and you’re ready for vows?”

“Don’t put this all on me. Tell me you don’t feel it. Right here and now, to my face.”

He watched your expression soften, and let you put one hand back on his face, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. “Ok, I can’t do that, but I also can’t just fall into a situation with you either.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “We both know we didn’t just fall into anything. We sat here and let it build and didn’t say shit, and now I have to. This week just made it too real not to.”

He placed his forehead to yours, his own hands cupping your face. “Please…”

He watched you have an internal battle by your changing features before you finally leaned into him. The moment you did, his lips were on yours.

He knew it was more than just a kiss a few seconds in. Everything he’d felt that the previous week was alive and confirmed between you too. He could feel you telling him you had moments like his own.

He palmed your thighs under your sundress before grasping them tightly and lifting you up. He placed you on the counter while you two separated for air. Your chests heaved in unison, and neither of you had to say you wanted the other touching you again before it happened.

He gripped your hair, tilting your head back for access to your neck. The smell of vanilla and cocoa butter surrounded him as he worked his mark all over your skin.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pressed yourself against his jeans.

He hated he couldn’t feel the heat he knew was emitting from your core through the thick material of his jeans, and slid his other hand up your thigh to your panties.

Your entire body twitched when he ran his fingers over you through the thin cloth. It wasn’t just hot it was soaked.

“You need me that bad mami?” he pulled away from your neck, satisfied with his work, and beginning to work at his jeans.

“And quick.” you breathed into his ear, your tone and the sensation making him shudder.

The ache against his jeans didn’t need to be told twice to find its way into your heat. He slid your panties to side and pressed his thumb against you. You jumped, whimpering your need again, and he pulled your panties way from you.

You’d gotten them around one ankle before he was inside of you, and they were no longer your focus.

You clung to each other so tightly there’d be evidence on both of you.

In the quiet, he wondered if your mind was racing with the same thoughts that his was. What now? How do we get this again?

He pressed kisses to your cheek just as he started to move. You inhaled, your nails sliding down his back. Not quite catching the skin, but enough to set him on fire all the same.

He mapped out a rhythm by your whimpers and how you grasped at him until he crafted the right one.

This was the conversation he’d needed. Every thrust from him, every cry from you, every bit of give and take to heighten the other’s pleasure. The two of you were admitting that everything that was between you was deeper, realer than you’d wanted to admit. He loved you, and you loved him, and you were engraving that on one another.

The flirtation, the way you could be yourselves around each other, the heatless jabs. Good friends was always a ruse.

Your face was buried in his neck, and when he felt dampness he knew came from your tears, he hiked your legs higher, moving deeper.

You cried out so loudly it echoed in the kitchen, drowning out the soft crooning of an eighties songstress.

“I know baby, I feel it too.” his voice was choked by the threat of tears of his own.

He’d never been here before. Not with Adelita, not even close with Nails. He was terrified. Terrified for it to end because he never felt so good. Terrified for it to end because it might never happen again.

“Angel..” your voice sounded so small, but it was strong enough to anchor him back with you. “I’m close, I’m so close.”

“Let go,” he encouraged. “Let me have it querida.”

Your body seized up with your release, his name the only thing he caught in your unintelligible babble.

You clenched up repeatedly in the aftershocks, and that drug him over the edge with you, biting your shoulder.

His vision tunneled, pinpricks of pleasure traveling up and down his spine. Your hands smoothed up and down the area, and he realized it was because he was shuddering.

He gripped the counter for support, pulling back slowly. He was searching for a way to ask if he’d changed your mind, but the act hadn’t made words for his thoughts any easier to find.

It didn’t matter, before he could even speak you stopped him. Your eyes were glazed over with tears that had nothing to do with pleasure this time.

“That was all that I can give you Angel. It’s not right, none of this is, but it’s all I can give you.”

AN:

Am I the only one who wishes she had reference photos for their home/club layouts? Lol, it’s such a weird non-factor thing, but still. From memory, I’m pretty sure Angel only has one bedroom though.

No shade, no hate but this was partially inspired by how over Nails Angel looked when she was putting her back into it….🥴

I played with a few canon-timeline things + knocked the dust off my smut writing ability (I’m going under my humiliation rock now, no calls plz)

[ammocharis]

OC Interview: Vatna

Thanks for the tag @cleverblackcat, @mageofholyandraste, @darethshirl! It sounds fun!

Introduction

This event was organized a few weeks prior to the Winter Palace ball. Ambassador Josephine Montilyet had invited a few Orlesian journalists to Skyhold to interview the newly appointed Inquisitor.

Can you introduce yourself?

Vatna Einarsdotten Selkesdotten of Two Falcon Hold. (a moment of silence) In the Frostback Mountains. (another moment of silence as the interviewers wait for her to say something else) Inquisitor of the Second Inquisition. (it seems that she won’t say anything more, so one of the journalists asks the next question)

What are your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

Is that what you ask every Lowlander? (grumbles) Alright. I see myself a woman. Who I invite or don’t invite to my bed is my very own matter. I am unmarried and have never been before. If you’re curious, yes, the Avvar may marry multiple times in their life if they wish so. Does this answer satisfy you?

Where and when were you born?

I was born in Two Falcon Hold, eighteen... no, nineteen winters ago. (she corrects herself as she remembers that winter came and went when she was away from home, making her one winter older than when she left)

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

I am a mage. Unlike most spellweavers in your Circles, we in the mountains train with all sort of weapons, just like any other warrior. I prefer fighting in close quarters. When I came of age, I chose an axe as my preferred weapon. It was commissioned from the dwarves of Orzammar. The blade is engraved with runes and the handle has lyrium core that I can easily channel my magic through. It has been... misplaced for the first few months that I spent with the Inquisition, but it was recovered. Fortunately, the gods blessed me with another weapon in the meantime - the fire-staff that belonged to the Avvar-Mother. I’ve been told this topic is a source of confusion, but I’m not sure how to explain it better. Yes, I do use both an axe and a staff now. I had a battleaxe when I arrived into the Lowlands. Then I lost it. Then I claimed the staff of Tyrdda Bright-Axe. Tyrdda was called Bright-Axe because she had a staff with a fire-focusing crystal. But the word ‘axe’ used to mean every hafted weapon. Then I got back my axe, my regular axe... Let’s go to the next question.

Are you happy?

I’ll be happy when the Lady’s Veil is fully repaired and Corypheus lies dead. Until then, I have work to do. Would you be happy if there were world-dooming critters in your house? Because there are. There are cowards in Orlais scheming together with Corypheus, maybe even people you know. (a lady in a pale blue mask exchanges looks with the others and suggests a lighter topic)

Family and friends

What should I say? Just talk about my family and friends? Well, my father is called Einar, my mother is called Selke. In my hold, we take bynames after both our parents, so I actually already revealed their names. My father was born is Two Falcon Hold, my mother moved from another hold further south. They’ve been married for twenty three years now. They were rather mad to promise such a long marriage without extensions. Eighty-eight knots, can you imagine? I mean, they could always as the Thane to cut the rope short if they grew tired of each other... But it works well for them. I hope they’ll live together until it the last knot. (the interviewers prompt her to explain what she meant by knots and ropes) Oh, I run away with that. The number of knots is the number of years the marriage is supposed to last. Before the wedding, the bride ties a number of knots into a rope, and the groom’s task is to untie them. On the wedding day, the bride starts to sing hymns to the Lady of the Skies. The groom begins to untie the knots then. However many he’ll manage to unravel before the hymns ends, that many years they shall be married together. After the promise ends, they can get married again if they wish. But my parents vowed to get married for eighty-eight years right away. Eight is a blessed amount. Eighty-eight, doubly so. I’ve been told the ritual took all day to complete. By the end of it, my mother’s throat was sore and my father’s knuckles were raw. But they got married how they wanted, and the bond has been steadfast for many years now.

I have a younger sister, Hirka. She’s only four winters younger than me but she can be a real brat sometimes. We used to be inseparable as children. Then we both grew a bit. I got my magic and had to spent a lot of time mastering my abilities. She had other things to do too. But she’s my sister no matter what.

I have some (she pauses to rememeber the right word in Common language) aunts and uncles, but most of them and their families live in other holds, so I haven’t seen them a lot. Only a few times, never in some cases. The word still travels through the Mountains, so we do hear news from them every now and then. 

In the end, the whole hold is your kin.

Have you ever run away from home?

Once or twice, I skulked outside of the hold and refused to go back until well after nightfall. But I never really run away, I wouldn’t abandon my family like that.

Would you consider marriage or having children?

I don’t know.

Do you secretly hate any of your friends?

No, I do not. Those who I call my friends, I think as such. I make my dislikes known. Too easily, I’ve been told.

Which friend knows everything about you?

There is someone who knows my soul, but I’m not going to talk about it.

Asked by fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

Yes, I can read and write. Not everyone in the Mountains does, but more than you imagine, I think. Augurs, skalds, merchants, those who aspire to be thanes... Many are able to tell the numbers, in order to trade with dwarves, but haven’t practiced beyond that.

The augurs learn how to read so that they may study old magics. I was an apprentice to the Sky Watcher of my hold - uh, a Sky Watcher is like a... priest to the Lady of the Skies. I was supposed to become his successor. So I studied something almost every day since I was eight. One day, I would memorize the shapes of protection sigils, and then try to draw them myself. Another day, I would study the uses of all mushrooms found in caves. But we don’t have any schools like there are in the lowlands. You learn from your mentors and from the gods, and most importantly, from your own mistakes.

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

Eeriest? I’m not sure. I dreams of many things. Some come true, but not in the way I imagined them to.

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realise?

I had no idea those lap dogs your Orlesian ladies carry around are really dogs. I’d never guess they share blood with wolves. I thought they’re some sort of magic toy.

Do you have mental or physical problems?

Do you honestly expect me to reveal my weaknesses to you?

What is your current main goal?

As I said before, restore the Veil and kill Corypheus.

Drink or food?

Am I supposed to choose between the two? Food, I guess. I could live on soups and stews, maybe. Does goat milk count as drink or food?

Cats or dogs?

Birds.

Optimist or pessimist?

I learned these words only recently. I must say, I do not fully understand why your sages would divide people like that. Is there someone who truly sees everything in bright colours? And someone who sees everything in black? Isn’t everyone a little bit of this and a little bit of that? Perhaps I’m more on the pessimist side.

Sassy or sarcastic?

Eh, sarcastic.

HAVE YOU EVER:

Have you ever been caught sneaking out?

Yes, I once got so bored with my healing lessons that I decided to sneak out while Jokka wasn’t looking. She of course noticed me right away. I never tried to sneak out again.

Broken a bone?

I broke my left wrist while climbing. My mentor healed it quickly but he left a scar to serve as a reminder to not be so reckless.

Received flowers?

I... (she bits her tongue) Josephine tells me I had received several bouquets of flowers this last week. She had placed them in the guest hall where everyone can enjoy them.

Ghosted someone?

Ghosted? (a man in a green mask explains mirthfully) No, never. I wouldn’t leave someone hanging like that. I’d tell him straight in the face. (she replies sharply)

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn't get?

I have yet to learn how to pretend so well as to laugh at something I don’t understand or find funny.

~

Tagging (no pressure, of course, this is just for fun): @dreadfutures, @tejaswrites, @serenpedac, @molliehaswords, @crackinglamb, @a11sha11fade, @rakshadow, @samuraisaucefrites, @noire-pandora, @1000generations

[linopetal]

photograph. chapter one

pairing : na jaemin x reader

genre : angst , fluff , best friends to almost lovers , hanahaki disease au

word count : 5k

warnings : heavy cursing , mentions of blood , throwing up , dying , death

synopsis : so you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans holding me closer 'til our eyes meet you won't ever be alone

note : this heavily based off of ed sheeran’s song photograph ! ( it will make more sense in the later chapters ! ). this is also based on jaemins love for photography since he is always taking pictures of the members !

one.

At nine years old , Jaemin was gifted his first camera by his mother on Christmas morning. His mother always saw the look inside his eyes when they landed on the nice and expensive cameras in the mall. He always found nature in itself so pretty. His mother decided that a white disposable camera would perfectly fit him for his Christmas present. “ Jaemin it’s time for you to open your gift “ , his mother said in a soft voice. He remembers anxiously running up to the colorfully light christmas tree and bending down to pick up a present with his name largely written over it in black ink . The wrapping paper had pretty white snowflakes and snowmen printed all over. Quickly grabbing the present , he ripped open the box only to reveal a camera. He remembers this warm and happy feeling flowing throughout him. Most children his age would want toys and things like that , but that was not Jaemin. He didn’t see what was so important about toys that you would soon get rid of once you found a new and cooler looking toy. Grabbing the white camera , he hugged his mom. “ Thank you Mom! This is my favorite gift “ , he said smiling.

At ten years old , Jaemin was taking pictures of different things he ran across of during his walks in the neighborhood park. He vividly remembers taking a walk in the near by park that was recently built in his neighborhood. He stumbled across this little pond. Jaemin was fond of animals. Whether it be a dog or a goose , it didn’t matter to him , he thought they were all such beautiful creatures. He quickly grabbed his camera out of his back pocket to take a picture of the ducks swimming in the pond before they swam off. Jaemin wrote on the palm of his hand , “ Pond. Nice spot for photos “ as a reminder to come back to that exact spot another time to take photos. He still had the same old disposable white camera that he was gifted one christmas ago.

two.

At fifteen years old , Jaemin had just entered the ninth grade. Jaemin was always a quiet student. He didn’t interact with many students. Though , Jaemin was popular amongst some because of his looks and nice personality , he preferred to stay out of the crowd. He never liked being the center of attention in any context. He was fine with his one and only friend , Renjun. Huang Renjun had been Jaemin’s best friend since the second grade. They had met during the first day of school. Jaemin’s mom had made him a small creeper necklace.

Renjun had notice it and engaged in a very long conversation with him about how Minecraft was the best game to ever exist. And since that day they were inseparable. Renjun was basically Jaemin’s brother. He was always invited to family events. It was the same for Renjun aswell. They did everything together. Jaemin was very appreciative of Renjun. He had never had a friend like him. They stuck together throughout elementary.

Jaemin had just moved to a new neighborhood. His mom had recently got promoted to a higher placement in the company she worked at so they had to move a little ways over to be closer to her job. Renjun’s parents worked at the same branch of the company that Jaemin’s parents worked at meaning that they both would still go to the same school.

During the first day of nineth grade , Jaemin had decided to take his new green disposable camera with him , which he bought with money he saved up from doing chores. He bought it with him for on his way back to his house from school. There was a pretty park and he just felt like he had to capture the beauty he felt it held.

Jaemin was intimidated easily by people , though he was careful with the emotions he showed. He was to busy placing his camera into his backpack to notice the visibly taller and scary looking guys approaching him “ Hey what is that in your hand ? “ , the middle one asked sarcastically. “ Uh uhm its just a uh camera “ , Jaemin said nervously. “ Oh well mind if I see it for a second ? “ , the middle one asked with a fake smile on his face. Jaemin got a weird feeling in his stomach yet he was scared to say no so he simply nodded and complied out if fear of the strong boy. As he place the green camera in the boy’s hand , he heard the two other boys chuckle. Jaemin had attempted to take the camera back out of his hand but he failed in his attempt. Right then and there the middle boy took the camera , threw it on then ground , stomp on it and broke it into pieces. He looked at Jaemin and said , “ Thats what you get for being weird camera boy “, he said. Jaemin was upset. He spent six months saving up money to afford that camera. All the photos he had taken and all the memories stored were simply gone. He held back his tears and then all of a sudden he heard yelling. “ You asshole , why would you do that ? Fuck you , there was no point in that. “ you said angrily. “ Hey, Y/N you better calm down now “ the middle boy said in a mad voice. “ Fuck no “ , you said as you slapped the boy. Jaemin was caught off guard. No one had stood up for him when things like this occurred. Renjun was too much of a coward to stand up , and Jaemin understood that. He watched as you walked up to him and asked him , “ Hey , are you okay? I’m so sorry Jihoon acted that way to you. I’m Y/N by the way. If you want, I could by you a new camera ? “ , you said to him in a worried yet sweet tone. Jaemin was embarrassed. Eyes were on him and you which made him feel weird. You had notice his sudden discomfort due to the people staring and you looked at them and glared. When they turned their heads around you looked back at him with a soft smile. He realized it had been a good 20 seconds and he hadn’t answered you yet. “ Oh uh I’m Jaemin. Thank you so much. You don’t have to buy me a camera. I can just save up some money to buy another one “ , He said. “ Oh no don’t worry. It’s no bother Jaemin! “ , you said in a soft tone. He liked the way you said his name. And ever since then ,you two became best friends.

About a week after the incident that occurred on the first day of school , you and Jaemin had miraculously became friends. In the spam of seven days you both managed to find out you both live right beside each other , you both love peaches , and you both have an addiction to horror movies. You were both practically made to be best friends. From that day on it was you , Renjun , and Jaemin. You all had became best friends. It was you three against the world. You couldn’t ask for better friends.

One day , Jaemin had just woken up on a Saturday morning to the sound of his doorbell ringing multiple times. He thought he was going to catch a headache. He was a little annoyed but his annoyance quickly disappeared when he opened the door to only see you. He smiled so widely while looking at you that he didn’t even notice the item in your hand. Your were so cute , how could he not ? As you walked inside his nice and comfy home , you handed him the small box in your hand. “ What is this Y/N ? “ , he asked. “ Just open it Jaemin , I’m positive you will love it “ , you said smiling. You had a nice smile , he thought. You had known each other for eight months now , why was he thinking such things ? He shook the thoughts away and slowly started to unwrap the box. A camera. No. It wasn’t just any camera , it was a real camera. Not a disposable camera , a real one. He was shocked that you spent so much money on this. But he was beyond happy. “ Y/N , you really didn’t have to you know ? “ he said , still in shock. “ I know but , I wanted to. You love photography and I thought it would be a nice appreciation gift. Plus , when we hung out here a month ago , your mom showed me all the photos you’ve taken. They’re beautiful Jaemin. It’s artwork. So I thought you deserve this kind of camera. “ , you said sweetly to him. Why were you so perfect ? And why were you the most kind hearted and selfless person he had ever met ? And why was he feeling things he had never before ? It was that moment he realized , he had liked you. He didn’t realize it then , but to put it simply , Jaemin was fucked. When he became conscious of how he felt , he only watched those feelings grow stronger.

three.

Junior year had now arose. During sophomore year he met Chenle , Jisung , and Dongyhuck who all became an addition to your now expanded friend group. Jaemin had met them during try outs for the soccer team. He had been acquaintances with Hyuck prior. They had both met in ninth grade biology but they all didn’t become close until sophomore year. You were all inseparable. Friday movie nights were a frequent thing. You loved hanging out with them. But recently, everyone besides you and Jeno , had notice a recent change in Jaemin’s behavior. It had all came about when the two new boys , Mark and Jeno , had transferred to your school the beginning of junior year ( which they quickly became an addition to your friend group ) . The boys didn’t understand why Jaemin always sent Jeno an envious look. Jeno and Jaemin had naturally hit it off when they first had met. Jeno felt understood by Jaemin and Jaemin felt the same exact way. But what Jeno and you failed to realize was that Jaemin slowly had become envious of him in these recent months. The rest of the boys didn’t want to pry on Jaemin because they , themselves , didn’t understand the underlying situation and potential problem. So , they had let it slide due to the well being of their friend group.

Donghyuck had invited the whole group to his house for the usual friday movie night. On Monday , Hyuck sent out a text to the ‘ barbie’s life in the dream house ‘ group chat ( name was Mark’s choice , of course ) the list of food needed and who was to buy what. Donghyuck was never one to care about relatively anything BUT when it came to food he was one specific human being.

“ Did you all get the EXACT food I told you too ? “ , Hyuck said with a raised eyebrow. “ Yes , Yes we did Donghyuck “ , Chenle said. “ And before you ask , I didn’t forget to buy you tteokbokki “ , Jaemin said. “ You’re my favorite Jaemin just so you know “ , Hyuck said , sending a finger heart Jaemin’s way.

When Jaemin saw you walk through the door , he couldn’t help the way his heart had begun to beat so incredibly fast. Jaemin was one to observe every detail of a person. He noticed every small to large detail about you in that moment and he admired it all. He wanted to rush to you and sit right beside you but he saw the way Jeno beat him to it. Jaemin let out a sigh which caused Renjun’s attention. “ Hey you okay Jaemin ? “ , Renjun asked Jaemin. “ Yea uh just stressed “ , he replied. Renjun only nodded , turning away to focus on Chenle who had a bunch of movies in his hands. But Jaemin attempted to move his eyes away from the flirtatious scene infront of him.

“ Hey Jaemin “ , mark said , pulling Jaemin out of his thoughts and trance , “ Did you bring your camera ? We should take a group photo right now like we always do ! “ , mark suggested and everyone cheered. The camera. The one you bought him. You. You. You. Always fucking you. Jaemin shook his heading and grabbed his camera , signaling everyone to gather around. Of course you were right beside Jeno. He pushed a painful feeling down his throat. He clicked the timer button and went to join the photo. After the photo was done he put the camera in his bag and sat beside Donghyuck. And you , of course you were by Jeno.

Chenle suddenly placed all the movies infront of him on the carpet. “ Okay , We need to choose what we are going to watch right ? “ , he said and everyone nodded. “ So that means , Close your eyes and when I call out a movie name , raise your hand if you want to watch it okay ? The movie with the most votes is what were are going to watch. “ , Chenle explained. “ Since when were you so bossy Mr. Zhong Chenle ? “ Jeno jokingly asked. And there it was , your beautiful giggle. But again , was it for Jaemin , was it directed towards Jaemin because of something funny he said ? No. Never was it. It was for Jeno as always. Jaemin felt something poking at his throat. Ouch. It hurt but he tried to suppress the pain in order to focus on picking a movie.

“ Okay close your eyes everyone “ , Chenle ordered. “ Zootopia “ “ Rio 2 “ “ The Nun “ “Chucky “ , Chenle named out. “ Okay open now. We have the movie! “ , Chenle announced. “ What is it ? Tell me Tell me “ , you said in the softest voice ever. Jaemin suddenly wanted everything to stop. “ Chucky!” , Chenle said . “ Yay! “ , you cheered , Jeno smiled that perfect eye smile of his , and hugged your arm. This wasn’t good , Jaemin thought. He then felt a pain in his throat and motioned to the others that he was going to the bathroom and would be right back. What is this pain ? It hurt so damn much as if he was going to throw up something unusual.

He was right. Very unusual. Terrifying. Fucking scary. He felt like he was going to faint. Petals. Fucking petals. He threw up goddamn petals. Not just any petals. They were pink carnations. Fucking hell. Jaemin memorized many meanings of flowers. He always thought flowers were beautiful. He loved the fact that each of them had their on individual meaning and significance. But pink carnations, they symbolized “ I’ll never forget you “. Jaemin couldn’t stop freaking out. His hands had begun to uncontrollably shake once he realized what was happening. Hanahaki disease. Fucking hanahaki disease. He hoped this wasn’t it. He really hoped. He tried to pick up his phone and look up what was happening. And damnit , it fucking was hanahaki disease. A disease where a person falls in deep love with someone but the person that their inlove with doesn’t return their feelings so they start throwing up the petals of the favorite flower of the person their inlove with. And if they end up never returning the feelings , you die. A flower will form in your throat causing the thorns to kill you. But there is always chance that they might love you back , a very small chance. And he was throwing up pink carnations. How fucking relevant.

Jaemin quickly realized that if he didn’t clean up the bathroom quick and go back to the living room , they are all going to start worrying. But he knew he couldn’t stay. It hadn’t fully hit him that he was going to possibly die soon , but he was aware and there was no way in hell way he going to go back there and quicken the process. He quickly ran out the door to the living room and attempted to give some shitty ass excuse to get the hell out of there before something bad happens.

“ Hey guys , I just don’t feel well. I think I am just going to go home and get some rest “ , He said apologetically. “ Oh bye Jaemin! I love you “ you said smiling. That hurt. It hurt so much but he bottled it all up. “ Yea we love you! Get home safe “ , Jeno said waving bye with the other boys. That hurt worse.

Why was the world so unfair to Jaemin ? Why was the world such a shitty and unfortunate place ? And why did Jaemin have to live on a time limit ? Jaemin couldn’t do this. Three years of his life he has spent liking you and now he finds out he is going to die because of it ? How much more shitty could life possibly get ?

The sky wasn’t completely dark. There was enough light to take photos. Photography was his forever safety. He grabbed his camera and took pictures of every beautiful thing he could find. But you were the most beautiful thing of all. Yet he couldn’t obtain you. He could only imagine you both in an alternative universe.

He suddenly remembered all the photos he took of you on this camera when you both hung out. He sighed , “ What am I going to do “.

Jaemin didn’t even realize then , life could get even more shitty than it already was.

four.

A month had passed. All weekend long , Jaemin was restless. At this point , he could say he was officially sleep deprived. His mind was filled with you. Of all things it had to be you , always. But Jaemin knew it was not the same for you. He could see the platonic love you held for him in your eyes.

Jaemin was dreading Monday. School in general felt like a waste of time , but you being there made the petals in his throat grow.

Throughout the weekend he realized how the petals gradually got worse. On Saturday you had asked him to facetime you so he could help you pick out an outfit for dinner with your family. Of course Jaemin agreed but seeing you look so effortlessly beautiful just increased the pain in his chest. But by Sunday it was not as painful. He spent the whole day off of his phone trying to avoid you. But Monday rolled around and he was not prepared. When was he ever ?

“ Jaemin wake up you have school in 30 minutes! “ , his mom yelled across the house. “ I’m getting dressed mom “ , he yelled back. He quickly threw on a simple and comfy outfit. He ran to the kitchen , grabbing a quick breakfast then headed straight to his vehicle to get to school. The whole way there he could feel his phone vibrating with messages which he assumed were from the group chat.

After he arrived at school he took out his phone and read the messages.

y/n 🌺 : hey !! do you guys want to go for boba later this week ??

ducky : yes madam 😏⁉️

markie mark : YES ?? OFC ?? 🙃

He turned off his phone , finding the conversation irrelevant in the moment , and headed to his first class , algebra. Jaemin wasn’t as fond of math as he was of other subjects. It quite frankly frustrated him. He never seemed to guess the answers correctly , though he was thankful to be passing the class ( thanks to Chenle’s help of course ). Jaemin was fond of art. Primarily because photography was incorporated into art and he was able to portray his talent in there. He counted down the class periods he had up until art class. 2. Two more classes left until art.

When English and History had passed , he made his way to the art classroom . During the day , he managed to speak to you and the other guys a little but he seemed off to them. But Jaemin was not the type to give in even if people keep on bothering him with questions, so they gave up. But Renjun was slowly catching on to something. Why would he ever let this odd behavior be unattended to ? This is his best friend after all , but he didn’t want to bother so quickly yet.

Jaemin loved and hate art class in this moment. The pros were that he got to pursue something he loves and be transparently himself. But the main con was , you shared this class together.

“ Hey Jaemin! “ , you said happily. “ Oh hi Y/N “ , he said nervously. You frowned at his sudden awkward behavior but let it go when the teacher walked in.

He could feel a petal threatening to be coughed up but it took all his power stored in his body to shoved it back down.

“ Good after noon class! Today I have assigned you all with a task. This project is due within 2 weeks time. Last month , if you remember , you all took a vote on what your next big project will be based around. The results were photography! I discussed with some of my colleagues that are photographers what would be best to have this project be on. We decided each of you will be assigned a partner. You and your partner will be give a specific theme. This will count as an exam grade , Understood ? “ , she concluded and everyone nodded. Jaemin was beyond happy to be given such a project.

Mrs. Choi , the art teacher , was going around the class calling out who was paired with who and what their theme was. She gradually made her way to you snd Jaemin’s seat , you both so happened to sit right beside each other. How ironic.

“ I have decided to pair you to together for this project. You both seem to work together very well and accomplish tasks extremely well. Your theme is beauty found within each other. I suggest finding a landscape which best suits you both individually as that can help you find what beauty is stored within you. Try your best to portray what you both think is beautiful in each other while incorporating a landscape which suits you both! “ , she said. “ Good luck!”

Funny thing is , Jaemin had already made a mental note a long time ago of every thing about you that was beautiful. He already knew what best suited you. He could name everything about you and tell you how it was so incredible to him.

Could you do the same ? Jaemin had already been aware of the answer to that question since he became aware of his own feelings towards you. His thoughts were so incredibly crowded that the only thing that broke his inner voice was the petals that were about to arise because of the overwhelming feeling of love for you pumping throughout his chest.

“ I’m going to go to the bathroom right quick. “ , he said. You only nodded , watching him rush out of the classroom quickly.

He tried his best to maneuver through the halls as fast as he could without drawing any attention. Luckily , when he reached the bathroom , no one besides him was present. He began throwing up the petals that were grown inside of his chest. He hated this life.

Jaemin had already walked back to the classroom after five minutes. Only a few minutes after arriving to the classroom , the lunch bell had rang.

“ Hey , Jaemin just text me when you are free next week so we start on this project , okay ? I am so excited ! “ , you announced.

Jaemin didn’t go to lunch. Instead he sat in the bathroom waiting for the last bell to ring.

Thursday had came around the corner fast. You had been blowing up his phone with messages for him not to miss the gathering at the local boba shop or he would ‘ get the boot ‘.

Jaemin quickly grabbed his grey hoodie you bought him , how ironic again , and headed out the door.

Upon arriving at the boba shop , he couldn’t help but notice through the clear glass window how you and Jeno were so close , flirting even. His heart ached even more but he pushed it aside and decided to put on a mask and walk in.

“ Oh Jaemin ! You are here , finally. “ , Jeno said hugging Jaemin. “ Yeah sorry I am a little late. My mom needed help with some yard work “ , he said. lie. Jaemin was extremely hesitant about coming. Why would he want to ? It hurt too much , but he did it for you.

One hour had passed and all Jaemin did was here Marks stupid jokes and about how Donghyuck had “ accidentally “ thrown Jisung’s ipad into a wishing well one summer vacation. And oh , let’s not forget you laughing at Jeno’s horrible jokes. They weren’t even that funny , he thought.

And then he saw it. He heard Jeno whisper , “ If you kiss me on the cheek , I will buy you some more boba!! “ , to you , while smiling. And then you had kissed him on the cheek.

It was immature for Jaemin to feel upset , but he justified his emotions by the fact he felt a petal about to come out. He again , like always , motioned that he was going to the bathroom.

And again there was a petal from a pink carnation. How fucking nice. Needless to say , Jaemin got out of there with an excuse before he could near his death more.

He didn’t bother showing up for the weekly Friday movie night. But no one asked questions. He felt alone , yet again. But who could he tell his tragic ending to ? It only felt as if it would make worse of his situation.

About a week passed and it was Wednesday. About this time last week you had arranged for you and Jaemin to meet up and the park at around 4pm for this art project. You both were equally excited , maybe Jaemin even more. He just couldn’t express it.

By the time he arrived , he saw you were already there , playing with the ducks. He took this opportunity to capture a picture of you in this moment. You were so beautiful , he thought.

Once you felt a presence behind you , you turned around but softened your gaze once your recognized it was him.

“ Oh hi! Are you ready to start ? “ , you asked.

“ Oh yeah of course ! While you were playing with the ducks , I took a photo of you. It fits you. Maybe we could use it ? “ , he shyly said.

“ Let me see Nana! “ , you said excitedly. His heart was about to fucking burst. “ Oh okay here “ , he showed his camera your way.

“ It’s so good ? You truly have a way with cameras. Okay now take some more of me over here by the pond! “ , you stated. He aimed his camera at you , clicking the button. You were perfect.

“ Nana let me take some of you! “ , you said , reaching out your hands to grab the camera. “ Okay “ , he replied while walking to a tree and posing. click. You smiled at the photos you had taken while handing him the camera back.

Two hours had passed and he could feel that this was about to come to an end today , just not in the way he had anticipated.

Your phone had started ringing and he could see a certain realization had hit you. You quickly picked it up and hung about after about a minute.

“ Oh that was Jeno. He called me to remind me of our date tonight. I am really excited! But unfortunately I need to head home to get ready. Good night ! Don’t forget to send me those pictures of you for the project ! Bye bye , Love you Nana “ , you said apologizing while waving bye. He couldn’t make out words. He was caught off guard. He zoned out for a second and then realized you were gone.

All these emotions had hit him. He didn’t know how to process. You were going out with Jeno. Not Jaemin , Jeno. Fucking Jeno. Why him ?

Jaemin felt everything crash down. He couldn’t breathe probably. Petals were threatening to come out and he couldn’t help but hide behind a tree in the dark while letting them come out. He was so hopeless. He had no idea how much he had left. Why was the world so cruel to Jaemin ? What had he done to deserve such a fate ? Why suddenly did he have to live on a time limit ? He thought again it couldn’t get worse.

Yet he was always proved wrong at this thought.

Out of nowhere , Renjun appeared and said , “ Jaemin ? Is that you ? Are you okay ? “.

In fact it got worse. He was fucked, big time.

[idk-maybe-i-did-it]

Scars: Year five, Chapter six

Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Implied eating disorder, swearing, violence, alcoholics, 

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Peter Pettigrew

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Peter Pettigrew

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Peter Pettigrew

Did you stay for the end?

Or are you just waiting for a beginning?

Because without her, the boys fear they'll never get either. ________________________________

Lily told me to get a journal to write in.

So here we go.

Dear Diary,

Wait am I allowed to call you Y/n?

I think I would prefer that better, let me restart.

Dear Y/n,

I miss you.

I also punched James earlier.

I'm not sorry.

I can just hear you scolding me about it and I can see you asking James what he did.

I know he didn't mean to knock you out, I just... I can't help it Y/n.

It hurts too much to do anything now and now that you're in a coma I can't get my daily dose of Y/n wonderfullness. I know that that isn't a real word but I don't care.

Goodbye for now my love, Please wake up tomorrow. ________________________________

" You comin Remus?"

James leaned out of the door and looked at the boy still sitting on the windows ledge.

" Not today James... I'm not hungry."

The boy signed and moved over to where he sat, squatting next him.

" Remus you haven't eaten in three days. Y/n wouldn't want this, she would want to see you happy and with food in your stomach. Come on Re, just one meal, for Y/n at least?" _______________________________

Good morning darling,

Don't ask about the name, I'm just trying something's out for when you wake up.

Anyway, I still miss you. I miss you every waking second of the day and I miss you like the sun misses the moon at day-rise.

Sirius says I need to eat more but I think I'm fine.

I got mad at Malfoy earlier and broke his nose.

James covered for me and punched him so it would look like he did it. I'm still not sorry for punching him last week by the way if you're wondering.

Transfiguration was nice. I mean, McGonagall accidentally said your name in class when assigning partners and I had to be excused when I started to cry.

Lily's been helping me with classes and homework recently because I can't focus in class anymore without you here. Kayla actually came to our dorm earlier this week too and dropped off your trunk and other stuff. I put it all by my stuff at the end of the bed.

Sorry Love, I have to go, James just came in.

Goodbye Y/n, Wake up soon. _______________________________

Hello angel,

I know I just put an insert to this yesterday but I had something else to tell you today.

Earlier Sirius went out to do a detention and It was just James and Peter and Me in the dorm. Peter wanted me to see something outside so we went and sat on the window ledge outside of our window where Sirius goes to smoke at night.

Do you remember when we used to sit there and watch the sun go down while I held you in my arms?

Well Peter wanted to watch the sunset and I ended up crying while James and Pete sat beside me and hugged me.

James said that it's important to remember that I need to wait out for you.

I'm really starting to miss you Y/n.

Sirius says that I shouldn't be worried because he knows you're a stubborn ass who always comes back but I'm starting to doubt that.

Please come back love, I miss you ________________________________

" Remus can you put down the book for a moment?"

" Lily you're the one who told me to start it-'

" I know that Remus and you're a lot better now because of it but you also never put it down." ________________________________

Lily says I spend too much time writing to you because I write in class too sometimes.

I've only written about a third of the journal so far and it's been two weeks since you, y'know... but I think that it doesn't matter because I feel like I can talk to you all the time in here. Like I used to be able to talk to you all the time...

Of course I don't do this during my prefect rounds but I wish I could.

Goodbye button I love you, But please wake up soon. ________________________________

" Moony we won!"

" We bloody won Remus! We won!" ________________________________

Sirius and James won the Quidditch cup yesterday and made me go to the party.

I'm so sorry love.

I'm sorry...

I know you wouldn't've wanted me to drink but I did... I drank a lot.

I realized what I was doing about an hour in and went upstairs to take a shower and cry.

I really am sorry love, you hate alcohol.

I ended up wearing the last sweater of mine you wore afterwards. It still smelt like you y'know.

And I finished all my homework so I could tell you about what happened last night.

Anyway, I love you.

I want to press kisses all over your face, I wanna kiss your nose and your temple and I wanna kiss your forehead and I want to kiss your jawline again and I just wanna be able to kiss your lips again love.

Goodnight baby, Wake up soon please. _______________________________

" Come on Remus you gotta go see her. You haven't even visited the hospital wing since what happened."

" Peter I said no. How many times do I have to say it?" ______________________________

Peter got me to visit you today.

He didn't even seem affected when I cried with my head on your stomach. He just grabbed my hand and stayed with me.

I'm really glad he made me go visit you. It made me happier.

I also really miss laying in bed with you, my head on your lap or stomach or chest while you just hummed and kissed my forehead and hands and anywhere you could reach.

I Really miss those days. _____________________________

Hey Y/n!

This is Sirius, James made him start eating his lunch but he wouldn't unless one of us talked to you so here I am. When you wake up you better beat your boyfriends arse because he hasn't been eating much and he looks like he did in third year again and I know you wouldn't like that.

Speaking of your boyfriend, Remus recently got an owl telling him your mum and aunt died so we don't know who you're staying with when you wake up but I think Mrs. Potter has her hands full with both me and James so you'll probably stay with Remus.

Wait I have to give the book back to Remus. Bye sis, Love ya. _______________________________

Hi Y/n,

Your finger twitched today, I almost got my hopes up but Pomfrey said that was usual.

She made me leave to pack my things for the train tomorrow.

I won't be able to visit you over summer break and I don't think I'll be able to tell Mare and Ky and Jamal and Mum and Dad what happened to you.

Speaking of Mare, her and her girlfriend are engaged now. No actually her girlfriend is a boy now. James's parents are going to help fund the wedding whenever it comes. I love you, Please wake up before I come back to school. _______________________________

Today at home Mare was getting me to help pick the seating arrangements and she wrote your name next to mine in the first row.

That was the first time I ever cried in front of her and she didn't know what was wrong so I had to tell her what happened.

Will you wake up soon enough to go with me?

I love you Kitten, Come back to me Y/n. _______________________________

I have to babysit Ky and Jamal later tonight. Maybe I can write something new later Afterwards love. Anyways, I've a new book, Rising Stars is what it's called. Mare Recommended it to me yesterday. I think You're gonna steal it from me when wake up.

Mare's been making me eat more food. Everyone says I should eat more.

But Mare says I look more like myself now.

Love, Remus _______________________________

" Remus can we make cookies?"

The boy's head lolled back onto the couch's frame and Jamal stood on his thighs trying to get him up.

" Pretty please big brother dearest?"

The boy lifted his leg and swiftly sat up, lightly moving the children off of his body as he made to move towards his bedroom.

" Alright, the eight-year old's have it! Just let me get the book-

His sentence cut short at the sight before him.

There, standing outside the screen door of the kitchen, was Y/n.

The woman stood standing, hand in her pocket, arm in a position to knock on the door when she froze and saw Remus standing like a deer in headlights looking at her.

She looked full again.

She looked like Y/n again.

Remus was still staring at her when the two children came and mad ran out from behind him, peeking behind his figure to see who had been outside. Once Jamal and the other saw the girls face they ran for the door and pulled it open, grasping onto her fingers to pull her inside the house they were so exited.

Remus still stood there.

Shocked.

And yet he still stood and watched as she smiled and laughed with the two kids as they pulled her over to where he stood.

He watched as she sneakily slipped her arms under Ky's and pulled him upwards, sitting the kid on her hip as the boy started to mess with her hair.

Remus watched as she looked up at him with a wide grin that showed all her pearly-white teeth and he watched as she walked the last foot keeping them apart and grasped his jaw, pulling him into a kiss.

It took his body a moment to react before he was pulling the girl flush against him and kissing her full force, needing to feel her body, to feel proof that she was back. Just needing to feel her.

He could feel her hands move up to the collar of his shirt and he could feel her smile against his lips, breaking the kiss if only for a moment. His arms rested on the outline of her coat as he pulled it closer to his body, in turn pulling her.

Then he went back to kissing her full force again, his arms wrapped around her waist as he dipped her backwards and grinned.

" Gross."

Their heads snapped back to where Jamal and Ky stood, their noses scrunched up in disgust. Until they saw the smile on Remus's face.

They hadn't seen him smile like that in forever.

So when he went back to pull her into another kiss and when he started to pepper her face in kisses they simply looked away, not ruining the moment and intent on keeping that smile on his lips.

Remus reached behind Y/n and grasped the bag in her arm, grasping her wrist in the process and pulling her along with him to the bedroom.

" Are we still getting our cookies?"

" Yeah!" ________________________________

D'ya still hate me? 😀

Anyway- Nice reunion scene in my opinion.

I know it's not long but if you complain then I will legit show you how many fucks I give, Oh wait, I don't have any. _____________________________ Drop a vote, drink some water, eat some food, take screen breaks and remember You Are Loved! ^ - ^

[leiasfanaccount648]

Is It Enough?

Hajime Iwaizumi x Fem!Reader

A/N: I got inspired by some lovely Haikyuu writers (as well as some real life events) to make my own scenario. Also, gif credits go to the maker, not me. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Tags: @briswriting @mikwrites @haikyuuopworld​

Summary: After dating throughout and after high school, Hajime decides to propose to his girlfriend of 5+ years. Of course, the process leading up to popping the question is a lot harder than he realized it would be. 

Word Count: 5410

Warnings/Contains: TONS of fluff, fair amount of angst/sadness, nerves. Also, disclaimer, I did google searches and currency transfers/differences for parts of the fic (you’ll see) so I apologize in advance if anything seems incorrect/weird.

Google Search:

what is the best way to propose

Search Results:

Prep a place in a private beach with an intimate tent and rose petals. Find a private beach to go on bended knee for a simple proposal idea. Put a ring on in it down by the beach. Get snazzed up and then suggest walking down by the water.

“There’s no way I can do that.”

Google Search:

When is an appropriate time to propose

Search Results:

While some would prefer to be in a relationship for two or three years before even thinking about getting married, a new study conducted by F. Hinds says the optimum time is just ONE YEAR and eight months (and three days to be exact!)

“Am I too late to even be doing this?”

Google Search:

how much is the average engagement ring

Search Results:

According to recent surveys, most couples expect to spend between ¥108,022 and ¥540,110 on an engagement ring. The actual average cost for an engagement ring is over ¥665,796. With all that said, most women are reasonable creatures.

“God, I can’t afford anywhere close to that.”

Relationships can be many things, whether they’re serious, just starting out, or even just with a friend or family member. Either way, complicated things always come rushing in that either strengthen or ruin them.

For Hajime, he had been in a serious relationship with his girlfriend for years, and he had been struggling with something that most men could probably figure out and accomplish in a matter of months.

He had been at it for almost 2 years, and it was a simple proposal.

“Iwaizumi!”

Hajime quickly turned around at the voice, seeing a girl he vaguely recognized from his class running down the hall towards him. She was not only sudden about her words but also a little frantic; god knew whatever she wanted from him, but he was about to find out himself. “Yeah? Can I help you?” He looked the girl up and down real quick, noticing how she was slightly out of breath. He took the moment to try and remember her name as well, but she took care of that for him.

“Although we’re in the same class I doubt you know who I am,” she laughed, finding the idea funny, “but I’m (Y/N) (L/N). I’m really struggling on the english homework that’s due at the end of the week, and I know that you’re good at the subject so I was wondering if maybe you’d take some time out of your life to help me pass?”

Hajime glanced to the side to see if his friends were present, but noticed that they were still walking down the hallway to head towards the gym. Only Oikawa stopped when he realized that his best friend wasn’t walking beside him anymore, watching the two talk from a couple feet away.

“Uh, I mean,” Hajime didn’t know what to say at first, not wanting to be rude but still wanting to be a decent human being. “I have volleyball practice before and after school every day, but if you want to meet during lunch or something I can try my best to help you.”

“Really?” The girl gave him a relieved yet bright smile, as though asking him something like that was the most intimidating thing to ever do. She quickly bowed her head in thanks. “Thank you so much, I owe you big time!” Hajime smiled a little himself, opening his mouth to respond but his idiotic friend called for him.

“Iwa-Chan! Quit talking with your admirers and let’s get going.” Oikawa began walking down the hall after their other friends. “Us first years can’t be late you know!”

Hajime sighed in both annoyance and embarrassment. He turned his head slightly towards Oikawa. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” He glanced back at (Y/N). “Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

(Y/N) shook her head, smiling. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She began to walk back towards the classroom, waving back at him. “Thanks again, Iwaizumi!”

Hajime stopped from typing on his computer as he thought back to almost 6 years ago. The moment that he met the love of his life was cliche for sure, but he still loved her nonetheless. From the random nonsense she would spew at him, to how cute she looked when struggling to reach for something and would refuse to admit that she needed his help, to how she would comfort him after bad practices and games alike; there wasn’t a single thing about her that made him not want to love her. That was why he had to marry her.

“Iwa!” (Y/N) quickly made her way over to Hajime, smiling bright despite it being so late in the day. “Are you ready to go?”

Hajime turned to look at her, ignoring Oikawa’s rant about whatever skill or technique he had been working on that day during practice. He managed a smile despite being so worn out from the last few hours. “Yeah, I just need to get changed real quick then we can head out.”

It had been almost a year since the two of them started dating, and things were going well. Slow, but good nonetheless. They ate lunch together, walked to and from school, and had the occasional date night every other week or so. It was simple, but with them still being in high school and being busy with things in their lives outside of classes, it was just about all they could do anyways.

Of course, Hajime had the constant thought at the back of his mind of whether or not it was enough for (Y/N).

They had just started their second year at Aoba Johsai, and although both of them acted comfortable with the way they had been doing things, Hajime was worried that she would leave him for someone that could give her more. This then led him to worry if (Y/N) was worrying about whether or not she was enough for him.

She constantly reassured him that it was okay if he couldn’t walk her to school one morning due to an earlier morning practice, or if she happened to have a family event in the evening so they couldn’t get snacks after their clubs were done for the day. As long as they could keep in touch, and still felt the same about one another, everything was okay, at least in her eyes.

He believed what she said, but Hajime still had to ask her something for the sake of his sanity before he got desperate enough to ask Oikawa for help. It wasn’t that he hated any ideas or suggestions he thought of, he just didn’t think that a plan from a guy who only flirts and rarely (actually) dates women would work in Hajime’s case.

Iwaizumi finished changing as fast as he could, quickly saying goodbye to everyone in the clubroom before leaving and rushing down the metal stairs to meet his girlfriend at the bottom. “Ready when you are.”

Their walk was nothing out of the ordinary. Loosely held hands, talking about how their clubs went and sharing funny stories or jokes about some of their friends (mostly Oikawa), and overall enjoying each other’s company. They decided to skip snacks on the way home tonight, as (Y/N) told Hajime that her mother had planned a big dinner and didn’t want to miss out on it, but that made the walk no less interesting.

Silence fell upon them after (Y/N) finished talking about how one of her friends in her club had accidentally messaged their crush about something embarrassing, and a slight breeze went past the two of them, making (Y/N) shiver slightly. She didn’t say anything, but Hajime noticed and let go of her hand to put his arm around her waist and hold her close.

“Iwa-”

“You’re cold.”

(Y/N) didn’t say anything else, only smiling and leaning against him as they continued to walk. A moment or so later, Hajime spoke up.

“By the way, do you have anything going on in a couple months?”

The two stopped at an intersection to wait for the crosswalk to turn green and (Y/N) took out her phone to check her calendar. She shrugged as she looked through it, double checking just to make sure. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Are you busy June 18th?”

(Y/N) glanced at the date again on her phone as Hajime responded almost immediately. She smiled as she remembered the date. “You mean to tell me you’re planning something for our 1 year anniversary?” She held back a giggle as she saw his face flush slightly. She always found it cute when he let his guard down and got flustered because of her.

Hajime glanced up, seeing the crosswalk signal change. He pulled (Y/N) close to him once again and started to cross the street with her. He sighed, knowing it was now or never. “Well, I’m planning on it.” Here it goes. “I’m just not entirely sure what to do.”

(Y/N) did her best to look up at him, despite him holding onto her the way that he was. “What do you mean?” She didn’t necessarily understand why he seemed so unsure and nervous on the subject. Afterall, all she could really ask for was a day with him by herself; however, there was a look in his eye as Hajime continued to look ahead at the sidewalk that practically told her that an answer like that wouldn’t suffice for him. “You don’t have to worry yourself, Iwaizumi. I don’t need anything special or extravagant like what most girls would want.”

“But I feel like I could be doing more and,” he paused, glancing down at the concrete. “I just don’t know what I can do for you.” There it was. He didn’t plan on saying it that quickly into the conversation, but it was racking his mind like crazy.

(Y/N) forced the two of them to slow their walk until they were stopped. She stood in front of him; the look in her eyes almost held the same emotion his did: worry. “Wait, is there a problem with me? Is what we’ve been doing getting old?” Of course she knew it was a little irrational to think much less say these thoughts to him, but now she couldn’t help it. Hajime shook his head, his gaze never leaving her eyes.

“No, no, of course not.” He paused, quickly gathering his thoughts. “If anything, it’s more of the other way around.” He laughed softly, part of it almost forced out. He took hold of her hands, looking at them before meeting her gaze once again. “I just care about you so much that I’m afraid of screwing up what we already have.”

“But I’ve already told you that I don’t need much.”

“Yes, but you deserve so much more.”

(Y/N) felt her heart practically skip at his words, touched and even felt the love radiating off his words. She knew that they hadn’t been dating long enough for most people to say it, but she could still feel the love between the two of them.

(Y/N) didn’t know until Hajime told her almost a year later, but that was the moment that he realized he loved her. He also didn’t believe her at first when she said that part of her knew. It was all so uncanny to both of them that it just felt unreal. Of course, both of them knew that they didn’t care how typical their relationship was. It was theirs and no one else’s.

Hajime took a deep breath, the smile slowly leaving his face as he stared at the computer screen, looking through link after link, google search after google search, trying to find not only the right ring, but the right time and place as well. He sighed again, shaking his head.

“This isn’t working.”

He stood up from his desk, grabbing his wallet, keys, and jacket before heading out the door. Maybe some hands on searching would help him. They had come this far, and he knew that he couldn’t fail her now.

“I just,” (Y/N) sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that won’t let up about this.”

It was late, around 10pm on a Friday, and (Y/N) had been on a skype call with Hajime for the past half hour or so. She hadn’t been messaging him for a few hours since he dropped her off at home, which worried him a little, but he knew that she wouldn’t be ignoring him on purpose. So he decided to keep himself distracted until he received a Skype call on his computer from her.

He was a little confused, as they didn’t Skype often, nor had she texted prior to calling him. Of course, that didn’t stop him from walking over to his desking and sitting down before answering the call. He felt his heart break at the sound and sight of her crying, one hand holding her forehead as she the other held a crumpled up tissue to her eyes. Hajime would have done anything to physically be with her right now, but he knew that he couldn’t at the moment.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just my parents again.” She sniffled, looking up at the camera as she heard his voice. “I swear once we’ve graduated, I’m going to keep as little contact with them as possible.”

Ever since (Y/N)’s parent’s met Hajime, they loved him. They knew he was caring, protective, and all around a great guy for their daughter. When they found out his intentions after high school, they started to suggest things to (Y/N) that, in short terms, would make her want to either push Hajime to consider a different career, or even break up with him.

Yes, Hajime was a great volleyball player, but neither of (Y/N)’s parents thought that he could make a living playing professionally. Sports at the national level were hard enough to make into as it is, and as talented as he was, neither of them thought he could.

Hajime was aware of this, after (Y/N)’s parents started talking to her about life after high school, and he honestly didn’t care for their opinions on his playing; but after seeing how upset they made (Y/N) and realizing that he didn’t know himself how he was supposed to make his girlfriend’s parents completely happy with her choice of being with him, he couldn’t help but be annoyed and upset as well.

Hajime had managed to calm (Y/N) down on the matter, but her thoughts about life after graduation continued. Yes, the year had just started, but there was still so much to decide on. What would life after the two of them graduated be like? Would they both be in college; same or different? Would Hajime go out for a national team and make it resulting in her to go wherever he went, or be in a long distance relationship? Would neither of them go to college, each get a job, and move in somewhere together?

So many questions ran through her head, and Hajime could tell even if she was through a screen. Just in case her parents might have been able to hear, he quickly pulled out his phone and sent her a text. As she received it, (Y/N) glanced up at her computer to see Hajime simply looking at her and gesturing for her to open it.

Hajime: You wanna go get some food?

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile, quickly replying.

(Y/N): Yes please

Hajime: Great. I’ll pick you up in 10

She glanced up at the screen one more time, seeing him smile at her. It read everything, but she still said it nonetheless. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Just like he said, Hajime picked her up at her house (as it hadn’t been the first time she had snuck out), and he drove the two of them to her favorite fast food place. They went through the drive-thru but stayed in the parking lot to eat as they had nowhere else to go. This time, it was (Y/N) who had to ask him a question that had been rattling her mind.

“What do you think our lives are going to be like after we graduate?”

Hajime looked over at her, still chewing his food, and saw the look on her face. Part of her was still thinking about what her parents said about him, but he couldn’t blame her. He swallowed and turned in his seat to face her. “Well, what would you like it to be?”

(Y/N) looked down for a moment in thought and smiled. It was as though she had already thought about it. “I would love for us to live together. If only I go to college, I’d study while you play for one of the national level teams, and I’d also get a job to help pay for things.” She set the bag of food down on the floor of the car below her seat before holding both of her knees in her arms as she sat. She continued to think about what their life could be like, a fond smile still on her face.

“However, if you don’t make a national team, I know you’ll still play at the college we decide to go to. Hell, maybe even Oikawa will follow us there if he doesn’t make a team either.” She chuckles, causing Hajime to do the same. She bit her lip in thought, letting go of her knees so her legs could relax and looking out through the car windshield at the street 10 or so feet away from them. Hajime stayed silent as he knew (Y/N) had more that she wanted to say.

“Later down the road after I, or we both,” she glanced at him, “graduate, we’ll continue to live together. We’ll both have stable jobs, and I just know you’re going to be involved with professional volleyball whether you’re on the court, interviewing players, or spectating games.” She smiled to herself again. “And,” she looked up at him once more, “we’ll even get married.”

Hajime considered that either time had stopped or his heart had. Whether it was one, the other, or both, his gaze did not leave hers. He was so surprised by her last statement that his face didn’t show any other emotion other than shock. (Y/N) couldn’t tell if it was the good or bad kind. Eventually, he spoke up, his hand reaching out to hold her own. “You really mean that?”

(Y/N) couldn’t stop the tearful smile from appearing on her face, nodding and squeezing his hand slightly. “Yes, Hajime.” She took hold of his other hand. “I love you so much and I want us to be together for as long as time will allow us.”

Hajime didn’t stop himself, nor could he if he wanted to. He leaned over the center console of the car and kissed her, one of his hands letting go of hers to gently hold the back of her neck to keep her close.

They kissed for a few seconds before (Y/N) broke away to climb over the gearshift to straddle his lap. She pulled him close once again to resume the kiss, her hands holding his shoulders and neck while his stayed on her waist.

Soon enough, (Y/N) was clinging to Hajime with all that she had, smiling and giggling in between kisses and causing him to do the same. She paused for a moment, resting her forehead against his, both of them breathless.

“Hajime?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he still heard her nonetheless.

“Yeah?”

(Y/N) stared at him for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin again. “I love you so much.”

Hajime smiled as well, one hand gently holding onto her cheek as his eyes closed. “I love you, too.”

“We carry a wide selection of rings varying from bands to the diamonds, and we can customize just about any ring to make sure that she says yes.”

Hajime nodded, paying careful attention to what the saleswoman was telling him. She was nice and soft with her words, as though she had gone through her fair share of nervous boyfriends trying to find the perfect ring. He appreciated the help as much as the next guy, but now that he had done all the research he could and was finally looking in a store, it was as though all of that research was gone from his head.

“So,” she turned to face Hajime, still smiling as sweet as ever. “Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for? Or possibly a style or cut that you know she’s wanting?”

Hajime shrugged, a nervous smile on his face. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.”

“Well that’s totally fine!” She smiled, walking over to a display of rings. “Lots of people come in not knowing what they’re looking for. However,” she walked behind the display, gesturing to it. “These styles and cuts are the most popular with our customers.”

Hajime nodded, looking over each ring individually. They were all beautiful for sure; some had plain bands, others had designs or diamonds on the sides of the main gem. There were rings that had one big diamond, rings with 2 or 3 small ones, and he could picture (Y/N) each and every one of them. Then he saw the price tags, and his heart dropped.

His gaze went to each and every one, and it was as though he could feel his face get paler as he read over all of them. He and (Y/N) were halfway through their second year in college, and he knew that both of them were in quite a bit of debt as it was. Paying for any one of these rings would probably put them even more into the negative. He couldn’t do that to her.

Then he pictured him calling Oikawa for help and possibly ruining the relationship to the point that she may dump him. He just couldn’t leave the store empty handed.

Hajime cleared his throat to not seem too uncertain or even unstable. He looked up at the woman across the display. “Pardon me for asking, but what are the least expensive rings you have available?”

The woman stared at him for a second, a little shocked that he asked that out of all the possible questions she already had an answer for, but she still did her job with the same kind smile. She walked over to a different display, Hajime following close behind on the other side of the glass cases. “Well, I wouldn’t call them the cheapest diamond rings, of course, but they’re definitely the least in value given the sizes of the diamonds and/or the styles and material of the bands.”

Hajime nodded, once again looking over each of the rings by what they looked like before looking at the prices. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could practically see why these rings were the least expensive. They weren’t as flashy or as big as the most commonly sold; and he knew that (Y/N) had told him time and time again that she didn’t need what most girls wanted, and that what he offered her would always be enough. Five and a half years into the relationship, but he still second guessed himself on that matter.

Hajime blinked a couple times to clear his thoughts, and began to look over the price tags. Once again, he could picture (Y/N) wearing them, but they didn’t seem as perfect as the ones in the first display case. But the price tags were in his range at the moment, and he thanked every god he could that he had been saving up over the last two years.

He then noticed a ring that was practically in the bottom corner of the display, standing at ¥26,443.56, which he knew was extremely cheap for an engagement ring. Of course, it was also the simplest and smallest. The lady behind the counter noticed his eye on it, and gently pulled it out of the case for him to see up close.

“This one is probably the most stereotypical, as it’s a simple 14k white gold band with a 0.25 carat round cut diamond with six prongs holding it. It’s the smallest we have to offer, but it might just be in your price range along with the other rings here.” She smiled and placed the ring back on the cushion on which it was displayed.

Hajime nodded, glancing over at the other display he first saw. The rings he saw in there were more extravagant and and elegant, and he could easily pick any one of them as they all would look beautiful on (Y/N); however, he just couldn’t put the two of them in debt over a ring that he may have to return anyway from not making payments on time. He took a deep breath and looked down at the ring that the woman had taken out of the display case, and smiled.

‘This one is probably the most stereotypical.’

Just like he and (Y/N). This was the ring.

“I’ll go with this one.”

~    ~    ~

Later that evening, Hajime had decided to throw away all suggestions that the internet gave him and go with his gut feeling with proposing: a nice home cooked dinner in the comfort of the apartment they had lived in since they graduated high school, and at the end he’d get down on one knee and ask the fabled question.

(Y/N) been at work all afternoon, and it had been a rough one. Customers go frustrated, coworkers not doing what they were supposed to, her boss “kindly” warning her of some things. It was practically the whole nine yards and all she wanted was for Hajime to hold and comfort her. The moment she opened the door, she almost slammed it closed as she walked inside. She quickly took off her shoes and dropped her bag at the door before heading towards the kitchen where she knew Hajime would be making dinner. The moment she saw him, he was already making his way towards her and immediately took her into his arms.

The moment Hajime heard the door open and slam shut, he knew something was wrong. He turned the stove off and started walking towards the door. He met her half way, his arms around her waist while hers were around his middle. She couldn’t help but tear up finally letting go of all the pent up stress the day had brought upon her.

Part of Hajime didn’t want to bring up the proposal, but part of him also wanted to make her feel better from it. And as the night wore on, he couldn’t help but sway back and forth between each decision. First, he managed to calm her down and make her feel better, but then he shortly forgot about the dinner and almost burnt it. Then, while dinner tasted great, he forgot to finish making the desert and (Y/N) had to help him. While he appreciated the help, he wanted this night to be for her. She deserved so much and no matter what he did, it just didn’t seem to be-

“Hajime.”

He flinched slightly as he felt (Y/N) hug him from behind. He offered to wash the dishes while she got a quick shower, and he didn’t realize how harshly he was scrubbing at a plate until (Y/N) got his attention. He had been so lost in thought all evening, more so all day than anything else, that it was really starting to catch up with him. He sighed, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to bother you with my problems.”

“That’s what couples are supposed to do.” (Y/N) smiled as she got a chuckle out of him. “And then they make you feel better again with distractions or solutions.” She let go of him, walking around to sit on the counter next to the sink. She was dressed in her robe, hair still wet, but she still looked as beautiful as ever in Hajime’s eyes.

“Well you, for sure, are a distraction, my love.” He smiled cheekily, moving to stand in between her legs and hold onto her waist while he kissed her gently. (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, pulling away first.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll help you with whatever it is.”

Hajime stared at her for a second before taking a deep breath. “Okay.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the black box that held the ring. He didn’t need to open it as he saw (Y/N)’s eyes widen. She immediately felt herself tear up and held one hand to her mouth. Her eyes stayed trained on the box while his stared at her own. “It’s this that’s been troubling me.

“(Y/N), I’ve been in love with you for over 5 years, and I plan to never stop. We’ve been there for each other through so many pinnacle moments of our lives from when I lost my last high school game to when you finally stood up to your parents about what you were going to do with your life.” Hajime’s breath hitched a little as (Y/N) finally looked up to meet his eye. “I know that we’re going to have both hardships and great times together ahead of us, but as long as I have you getting me through it,” he smiled, starting to tear up. “I know that nothing can get between us.” Then he frowned, glancing down at the box himself.

“However, I know that I can’t always offer you the best that the world has to offer. Whether it be the house we stay in, the work lives we have, or even this ring.” He opened the box, starting to feel a small wave of embarrassment. “I’m always afraid that who I am and what I have to offer may never be enough for you someday, but damn it I will always try to be.”

Hajime paused, feeling that if he went on any longer that he’d bore her or she’d make him stop. Instead, he took a deep breath and removed the ring from it’s box. “I know that it’s not a whole carat or fancy looking, but it’s all that I could afford, and I hope that you’ll accept it and me for the rest of your life.” He smiled, seeing as (Y/N) was doing the same despite the tears starting to fall. “So, (Y/N) (L/N), will you marry me?”

(Y/N) let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding at first, and grinned wide. “Yes.” She nodded, pulling him in for a kiss. This time, it was Hajime who broke it first, sliding the ring onto her finger. She whispered.

“No matter if you're rich, poor, can give me nothing, or give me something, I will always love you Hajime Iwaizumi. And I will never trade you for someone else no matter what they do to try and persuade me.”

Hajime couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he leaned in close and kissed her again. “I’ll always love you, too, (Y/N) Iwaizumi.”

(Y/N) laughed softly, playing with the hairs on the back of his head as her hands rested there. “Oh, so it’s already decided that I’m taking your last name?”

He laughed as well. “I mean can you blame me? I don’t think Hajime (R/N) really fits. Unless you really think that the Iwaizumi name isn’t enough for you.” He smirked, enjoying how he got her laugh so hard at that.

“While I’d greatly agree for the sake of messing with you, it actually sounds perfect.” She smiled, eyes never leaving his. “As long as it’s from you, it’s enough.”

[ericsonclan]

Allison’s Character Bio

Summary: Here is Allison's character bio for anyone who's interested!

Word Count: 1340

Read on AO3:

Name: Allison (Amehan) Sumaya

Nickname: Allie (by Renata and Willy)

Age: 4 (Season 1) / 6 (Season 2) / 8 (Season 3) / 12 (TFS) – arrives at Ericson age 16

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 52.16 kg (115 lbs)

Hair color: black

Hair length: down to the middle of her back if it was down

Typical hairstyle: ponytail with loose strands in front of each ear

Eye color: Brown

Noticeable Features: burn marks scattered across her body (a punishment from the Delta)

Typical Clothing: mauve hoodie on top of a grungy white tee, worn out jeans, sneakers

Preferred Weapon: a combo spear/hammer she and Willy made together.

Backstory: Amehan was four when the apocalypse happened. Her family was vacationing in America and visiting some of their relatives in New York when disaster struck. Amehan’s memories of that time were hazy being so young, but she remembered always being told to keep quiet and always moving. Her family survived by relying on members of the Filipino community in New York, but that could only accomplish so much. A year and a half into the apocalypse, both of Amehan’s brothers were killed when there was a breach in their small community’s walls, leading walkers directly into a playground where most of the community’s children were at play. Only 3 of the 15 children survived. Amehan was one of them.

After the loss of both of her sons, Amehan’s mother grew heartsick and depressed. She did not sleep or eat much at all and was unwilling to be near Amehan, leading the six-year-old to spend a great deal of time alone. Several months later during an evacuation, Amehan and her mother were cornered with a few other women within an alleyway by the very walkers they were trying to flee. Amehan’s mother told her to run and Amehan did. Those were the last words she ever heard from her.

Over the course of the next two years Amehan focused on becoming as useful as she possibly could be to her father and their community. Her father, scarred by the loss of the rest of their family, interacted with Amehan on a purely practical level. When he and Amehan were not out hunting, scouting or training, he was running English drills with her, training her to be as proficient and skilled as she could be should the day come that he was no longer there.

That day came all too soon. One night, the community came under attack from a militia group at their walls. While the adults barricaded the front gates and fought to protect their home, members of the militia circled round and took their real targets: the children. At eight years old, Amehan became one of the first child soldiers “recruited” by the Delta. She was sent down the river and given the name Allison since her commanding officer didn’t care to learn her “foreign” name.  She never learned what became of her father that night.

Delta life was brutal. Every day was regimented, every moment watched. Each time a recruit disobeyed or messed up one too many times, the child was dragged off and a red-hot poker pressed to their side, leaving a mark to remind them that their actions had consequences. Allison knew how to be silent and how to follow orders. Still, over the years the number of marks upon her sides grew. There was never an end to punishment, it was only a question of who received it. There always needed to be someone to make an example of.

Life held little happiness for Allison. The only joy within it was the small stolen moments between her fellow recruits. Whispered conversations after curfew, quick jokes when none of the adults were round to hear them and promises made that someday they would all break free. None of those promises ever came true. Deserters were maimed or killed; dissenters transferred. Nothing stayed the same. Except for Bridget.

Bridget was a special case, the daughter of one of the soldiers in Allison’s unit. When Bridget talked back she was smacked instead of burned, a meal taken away rather than a finger. Bridget realized her power, and she used it as best she could, taking the blame whenever possible to shield the others. Sometimes it worked (Bridget was enough of a troublemaker on her own to make her claims believable), sometimes it didn’t. But Bridget never stopped trying.

Allison admired the girl, who was two years her senior, and stuck by her most of all. She tried to behave in part to avoid transfer, some deep part of her fearing that she would lose all hope if she couldn’t see Bridget. As she grew older, Allison recognized her feelings for what they were: love. She never disclosed them to Bridget though. Love had no place in the Delta. Perhaps someday when things were different, when the Delta was done fighting, their empire secure, she could tell Bridget how she felt.

She never got that chance. Bridget died on a raid, one she’d been conscripted to at only 14 due to the thinness of Delta’s ranks. Their unit was desperate for new recruits and took a risk to gain them. It backfired terribly. Allison felt her heart go numb at the news. From that day on she lived as a machine, eating, sleeping and fighting for no reason other than the commands given to her. She fought for nothing: not the Delta, not survival and certainly not for herself.

A few months later with Allison’s unit still unable to gain new recruits, it was absorbed into another unit. There Allison met Renata, a Hispanic girl who had recently been transferred there herself. Allison didn’t care about anything when she met Renata, but for some reason Renata cared for her. The older girl took Allison under her proverbial wing as a sort of adoptive sister, talking with her, checking on her and covering for her whenever there was trouble. In some ways she reminded Allison of Bridget: the way she never gave up and looked out for others even though the consequences she faced were so dire. Against her better judgement, Allison found herself caring for another being once more: a friend whose sunshine never seemed deterred by her gloom.

The girls had known each other for about four months when news reached their unit of a Delta squad that had been completely destroyed, their boat torched and abandoned without a trace of their enemy. A tremor was felt throughout the entire Delta and the recruits felt the adults’ fear. Delta wasn’t invincible after all. That night, Renata confided in Allison what she’d been working toward since her transfer here: a way to escape. They had to do it tonight, before replacements were sent for the adults deployed downriver to provide backup to the southern units if needed. With nothing to lose, Allison agreed. In the dead of night, they targeted the weakest security point, slit the guards’ throats, and disappeared into the night.

They were free. After years of guarding her every word and action, Allison had no clue what to do. Neither girl had any living family that they knew of left. But Renata had a plan. Somewhere in West Virginia there was a school where they would be accepted. All they had to do was find it.

Facts about Allison:

Allison enjoys collecting stones. As she puts it, they’re pretty to look at and an instant weapon if needed.

One of Allison’s earliest memories is her cat Bunso who she left in the Philippines. To this day she sometimes wonders if he’s alright.

Allison always thought it would be fun to dye the tips of her hair another color but never got the chance.

Allison’s favorite game is Slapjack since the rules are simple and she enjoys the opportunity to slap others in the heat of competition.

Allison’s favorite flowers are daffodils since they remind her of her brightest loved ones: Bridget, Renata and Willy.

[janeyseymour]

Shattering Glass

Prompt: Katherine is going through a rough patch and Mum! Jane is there to help her through it. (as full of angst as you'd like)

word count- 3110

In this life, Katherine had grown quite fond of the motherly figure of the household. Yes, in reality, Jane was only about eight or nine years older than the youngest queen herself, but the blonde had quite a motherly presence even if she was the second youngest queen. She often followed around the woman like a lost puppy, or like a duckling as the other queens would say. As time went on and the two women grew closer, Jane never once told her to back off (nor would she; she quite liked the company that the pink haired girl provided), but Kat was waiting for that day to come. 

At first, she didn’t even really notice that she had become so attached to the other blonde. But then, much like shattering glass, Katherine’s views of Jane changed.

The third and fifth queen were settled on the couch watching reality television on a day off- something they did quite often. Kat had recently begun to sit right next to her friend and was currently very content to have her head laying in Jane’s lap while the blonde busied herself with embroidering a few flowers on the plain white shirt the two had bought recently.

“You guys are so cute.” Cathy smiled as she walked past the two to get to the kitchen for yet another cup of coffee. “Do you guys want anything to drink?”

“I’m quite alright dear, but thank you. Kitty love, would you like anything?” When the blonde didn’t get a response, she looked down to see the fifth queen fast asleep. “You know what Cath, do you think you could grab me a cup of tea? If she’s napping, I’m going to be in this position for a while.”

“Of course.” Jane continued on with her embroidery for a few minutes until Cathy sat a large mug of tea next to her. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course. Do you need anything else while I’m down here?”

“Could you pass me the remote?”

“I thought you liked this show?” Cathy gave her a questioning look but handed her the remote anyway.

“I would rather be watching the cooking channel, but-” Jane shifted herself to a more upright sitting position, unknowingly waking the sleeping queen in the process. “Kat really likes this show, and I don’t mind the background noise while I work. Besides, if it means she’ll keep me company, it’s worth listening to the ridiculous drama that is obviously scripted.” 

Katherine began to open her eyes, but Cathy began to speak. Not wanting to interrupt the conversation, she let them flutter closed again.

“You sound like a mom.”

“I don’t mean to,” Jane said, guilt creeping into her voice.

“No, it’s a good thing. Some of us need a little bit of mothering sometimes.”

“I always do wonder if I would’ve been a good mother to Edward all those years ago.”

“If it was anything like the way you are with Kat, I’m sure you would’ve been incredible.”

“Are you implying Kitty is like my daughter?” Jane asked. Her tone was confused, but there were no signs of anger or even upset. 

“I mean,” Cathy glanced at the younger queen who still looked to be asleep. “You are there for her through everything. You embroider her clothing because you know how much she loves it. If she’s having any troubles at all, you are always the first one beside her and helping her through it. The girl follows you like she’s your little duckling.”

“I guess I-”

“You even just admitted to me that you’re willing to watch a show that you’re not even all that into in order to spend time with her. That sounds pretty motherly to me.”

Jane thought for a moment before replying, “I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s a good thing. The girl needs someone like you to be there for her. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself too.” With that, the writer disappeared into her bedroom again.

Katherine, who was still pretending to be asleep didn’t realize her breathing had picked up at the realization that she maybe, just might, think of Jane as more of a mother figure than a friend. Do I really think of her as a mum? No, that’s- well maybe. Katherine Howard, get it together. She thought to herself.

“Kitty honey?” Jane noticed the breathing of the girl on her was rapid.

How do I act when I’m just waking up? Kat thought. She couldn’t have Jane know she just heard almost the entirety of her and Cathy’s conversation. The fifth queen shifted slightly before slowly opening her eyes and sitting up.

“Jane?” She made her voice sound as sleepy as possible.

“Are you alright love? You started breathing rather fast there,” Jane’s voice was laced with concern. The furrowing of her eyebrows didn’t help. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I guess I was just starting to dream or something.”

“Okay dear. Just making sure you’re all good.”

“I’m good. Thank you Jane.”

“Of course sweet. If you’d like, you can go back to sleep. I’ll probably be sitting here for a bit working on this.”

“I might not fall back asleep, but can I stay here with you? You make a good pillow.”

“That’s quite alright love. We can keep watching this show if you’d like.”

“You can change it if you want?” Kat bit her tongue. Now she’s going to know that you know she doesn’t really like the show. Nice going.

“Do you not want to watch it anymore?” Jane was confused. Katherine always requested to watch this show when it was the two of them.

“I just figured maybe you would prefer to watch something else?” Kat tested the waters a bit more now. It seemed as though Jane didn’t realize she had been awake for the conversation that took place a few short minutes ago.

“This is just fine love. I know how much you enjoy it.” Jane didn’t realize what she had said. She knew how much Katherine enjoyed it, not how she herself enjoyed it. Deciding not to press any further, the pink haired queen laid back down and sighed. 

A few days had passed since overhearing the third and sixth queens’ conversation, and Katherine had regressed back into the shy and almost mute girl she once was. She wasn’t curling into Jane on the couch in their spare time. She wasn’t offering to help cook dinner with the blonde. She wasn’t asking the third queen to spend the night in her room with her after a nightmare. In fact, Katherine could barely look the head of the household in the eye. And that was worrying the silver queen. 

The fifth queen heard a gentle knock at the door. Immediately, she knew it was Jane. Aragon would’ve knocked harder. Anne would’ve just burst into the room. Anna wouldn’t have knocked; she would just yell through the door until Katherine opened it. Cathy would’ve knocked on the door harder than Jane but softer than Aragon. 

“Kitty honey?” Jane’s gentle voice could barely be heard through the door. Maybe if I just pretend I didn't hear her she’ll just go away. “Sweetheart? Are you awake?” She saw the knob begin to turn. Instantly, she assumed her sleeping position and shut her eyes. Jane pushed the door open and saw what she thought was Kat sleeping.

“Oh honey,” Jane’s voice immediately got softer. The fifth queen could practically feel the love the blonde was surely looking at her with. “Well, I just came to say goodnight I guess.” Jane pulled the covers up to her chin and leaned over her. “I love you sweet girl.” She placed a gentle kiss on the girl’s temple. 

Do not respond. Katherine fought with herself. It was taking everything in her to not respond with an ‘I love you’ back.

Jane always knew just how Katherine liked her blankets. Deciding it would just be easier to go to sleep now, the youngest queen went to sleep.

No more was Katherine Howard in her safe bedroom with the covers tucked to  her chin. No. She was on the streets alone. No longer was she in her comfortable pajamas and warm. She looked down at the clothing she was wearing: a ratty t-shirt and dirty jeans, and she was cold. Only then did she take in that there was fresh snow dusting the ground. Taking in this new environment, she began to walk around. Once she realized that she was not certain of where she was in, she sat down on a bench.

“Jane?” Katherine called to the blonde walking down the street. 

“Who are you, and why do you know my name?” The woman’s voice was rough. Katherine hadn’t expected it to be so dull and dark. 

“Jane, it’s me. It’s Katherine. Katherine Howard?” Upon hearing the fifth queen’s name, a scowl appeared on Jane's face. The once sparkling blue eyes were now a lifeless grey.

“You whore.” This isn't right. Jane would never say that word, much call Katherine that. Even in her dreaming state, Katherine knew this.

“You look worse than you did when I threw you out. I didn’t even recognize you.” This dream Jane that Katherine’s mind had created was much harsher than the gentle woman she knew and loved.

“What are you talking about?”

“ All I did was try to be there for you, and you went and threw everything away. I paid for you to go away to college, and all you did was sleep around and party. I thought you would’ve remembered, or maybe all of the drugs you did finally got to you,” Jane replied dryly.

“Jane, you don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s me. It’s Kitty. You know I would never do any of-”

“Don’t do this again Katherine,” the blonde sneered. “If you think acting innocent will get you back into my house, you’re dead wrong.”

“How could you?” Katherine grew angry, pointing a finger at this woman that looked like Jane.

“How could you?” Jane shot right back.

“I thought of you as a mother, and this is how you treat me?” 

“You thought of me as your mother?” the blonde bit back a bitter laugh unsuccessfully. “I was never your mother, and you know that. I was only trying to fill Edward’s place with you. I should’ve picked Boleyn instead.” 

Katherine shot up in her bed. It was just a dream Kat. It was just a dream. Trying to reassure herself didn’t work. It had felt so real to the fifth queen, and she was quickly finding herself in a state of panic.

Jane woke up hearing the creaking floorboards in the hallway. No doubt it was either Katherine finding her way to Jane’s room after a nightmare or Cathy on her way to grab another cup of coffee. When the youngest queen didn’t appear at her door frame in the next few moments, Jane rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep.

Something felt off though. She knew that if Katherine was awake and upset, she would’ve made her way in by now, but the blonde couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. Maybe against her better judgement, the third queen threw the covers off her body and set her feet on the ground. It was colder than usual. Padding down the hallway as quietly as she could, she heard what sounded like Katherine whimpering for help.

“Mum,” she whispered over and over, not realizing Jane was now on the other side of the door. 

“Kitty honey,” Jane opened the door to find the fifth queen wide awake on her bed in the fetal position. “Kitty!” Jane crossed the room quickly and knelt in front of the bed. 

“Mum,” Kat repeated. 

Jane thought for a second. Is she calling me Mum?

“Mum,” the pink haired queen whimpered again.

The third queen decided to bite the bullet and spoke, “Mum’s here Kitty. Can Mum touch you?”

Katherine snapped back to reality and realized Jane was now in the room. 

“Jane!” She panicked. She tried to back away from the queen in front of her that she tumbled over and off the bed, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Kitty!” Jane jumped over the bed and began to look over her girl.

“G-get away from me!” Katherine made herself as small as possible and hid her face from the blonde. 

“Kitty honey. It’s just me. It’s just Jane. I’m not going to hurt you,” Jane made her voice as soft and as warm as she possibly could.

“Please leave me alone,” Katherine began to cry. Katherine hadn’t told her not to be near her since a few weeks into being reincarnated. Jane hadn’t been prepared to be turned away.

“Do you really want that?” Jane knew the girl like the back of her hand. The first few times she had told the blonde to leave her alone, mere minutes later Katherine would be crying for Jane to come back.

“No,” the pink haired queen whispered. “Just, please don’t be near me.” Jane’s heart of stone broke. She couldn’t remain stoic anymore. Her eyes welled up with tears. 

“Okay.” Jane pulled herself up from the ground. “Where would you like me to go?” Katherine remained silent, and she didn’t dare to move from her place on the floor against the wall. 

“That’s alright love,” Jane sighed. She made herself as comfortable as she could on the floor on the opposite side of the room.

The two sat on the opposite sides of the room in silence for quite some time, but neither fell asleep. The fifth queen continued to stay curled up in a ball, staring off in the distance. The third queen kept her eyes trained on her girl. 

“You’re going to hate me,” Katherine broke the silence after a long while.

“Love, I could never hate you,” Jane stated softly, but the defiance in her voice shone through.

“Yes you will. Everyone tires of me eventually.”

“I promise you, my sweet girl, I will never tire of you. I will never leave your side.”

“Yes you will. Everyone does. My dad, Mannox, Dereham, Henry, Thomas,” Katherine listed before pausing. “My mum.”

“Sweetheart, is this what all of this is about? Your mum didn’t leave you purposely honey.”

“She still left. You’re bound to leave too.”

“Love. what are you talking about?” Jane didn’t want to assume Katherine was implying she was like a mother to her. She wanted to be sure that was what the pink queen meant before she said anything.

“I had this dream,” Kat trailed off. She began to tell the blonde about the other Jane she had met. When she was finished, Jane could only look at her in horror.

“My sweet thing, please tell me you know I would never say such horrible things to you.” Jane decided to tackle the problem of Katherine seeing her as terrible first. 

“My heart wants to know that, but clearly my head doesn’t see it that way. It was so weird seeing you so cold and distant. Even your eyes,” Kat continued. “They weren’t shining blue anymore. They were grey and dull.”

“Kitty dear, can I come sit next to you?” Jane pressed. Katherine talking to her was a good sign, and she knew the odds of the pink queen telling her no were slim at this point. The fifth queen nodded her head ever so slightly, as if she was still afraid of the woman. Jane made her way to the other side of the room and slid down the wall but refrained from reaching out towards the broken girl. 

“Can you look at me?” Kat’s eyes snapped up and met Jane’s warm blue eyes. “Do my eyes look like they’re full of hatred? Are they grey and dull?”

“No. But they were.”

“My sweet, that was a dream. I’m awfully sorry you had to see that, but I can promise you that they will never turn to stone on you.”

“How can you say that?” Katherine rushed out. “How can you just be so sure you’re not going to get fed up with me one day and leave like everyone else? How are you so sure?”

“Oh honey,” Jane sighed. “My sweet girl, I can promise you that I’m never going to leave you. Even if I die again before you do, I’m always going to be right here.” Jane pointed to Katherine’s heart. “I’ll be by your side. My love for you is set in stone. That will never change.” 

“I don’t know. Isn’t that supposed to be what family does? And yet every time back then, they all left. My mum left me.”

“Kitty,” Jane sighed. She opened up her arms, inviting Katherine but giving her the choice to hug her. It was always Kat’s choice, and the blonde would remind her of that every time. “Your mum would’ve been so proud of you. And,” Jane took a deep breath, knowing what she was about to say could either send the girl into her arms or scare the girl away forever. “And your mum in this life is so proud of you too.” 

Katherine was confused. Joyce Culpepper wasn’t here in this life with her. And then it hit her. Jane just admitted she thought of her as a daughter.

“Mum,” Katherine flew into the older woman’s open arms. 

“Mum’s got you Kitty Kat,” Jane whispered as she held the girl close. The two stayed that way for what felt like forever. Eventually, the two brought themselves off the floor and onto the bed.

“I think we need to talk about a few things in the morning, but for now, let’s just try to get some rest dear. What do you think?” Katherine nodded as she tucked herself into Jane’s side. And then something happened that had never happened before: Jane started singing to her. She didn’t start singing her song at the very beginning, but rather the part of the song that she could get her message across with. 

“But I hope my girl will know she'll never be alone. Cause like a river runs dry, and leaves it's scars behind, I'll be by your side. Cause my love is set in stone,” she sang softly before adding, “for you Kitty. My love for you is set in stone. It will never change.” 

“I love you Mum,” Katherine whispered as her eyes fluttered shut.

“I love you too my sweet girl,” Jane kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

Maybe Jane would be different. 

[feistypaants-archived]

Scene of Sentimentality

Rating: T Words: 2080 Pairing: Kristanna

Summary: Anna reflects on her ever growing feelings for Kristoff

[AO3]

Notes: Sometimes I get sad about how infrequent Anna’s feelings are shown in canon. So I wanted to write something small about her reflecting on her feelings for her fiancé. It means a lot to meeeeeee.

Enjoy!

Anna stood quietly, tapping her ring against the champagne flute in her hand, a soft smile playing at her lips as she watched her fiancé laughing at the edge of the ballroom. He had come to find his footing in these settings, even if he wasn’t the biggest fan of larger events, and Anna was more and more impressed with him each day.

Her coronation was the worst, Kristoff just standing by awkwardly as she could barely get a moment to say hello to him, much less get to help ease the tension for him. She hated knowing he was uncomfortable, hated knowing it was her fault that he was stuck in this situation. Anna knew that if he had the choice, Kristoff would much prefer to be in the mountains, but he loved her enough that he stayed with her, even if he hated it.

“Your Majesty?”

Her attention turned back to the dignitary from who knows where with whom she was speaking to before she got distracted. 

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry.” Anna lifted the glass to her lips, sipping lightly before covering her mouth with her hand. “You were saying?”

More than once, she was distracted by Kristoff. Something about him just fascinated her from day one, and when his gaze found hers through the large room of people, Anna felt her smile grow. 

She remembered the first time it happened, after they fell two hundred feet off a cliff’s edge. After he lifted her out of the snow like she was nothing, after he looked at her and asked her what now? His deep honey eyes locked onto hers, and suddenly she was imagining his broad body hoisting her up and her whole face flushed as she remembered this is not the time, Anna!

And it happened again a couple of days later after he kissed her on the docks and turned her knees to jelly. She watched with pure adoration as he ran towards the sled, admiring all of its upgraded features. It was then that she knew she would do whatever it took to keep that big smile on his face. 

Then he looked up at her, practically skipped back to where she was glued to the spot, and grabbed her hands. 

Wanna go for a ride?

It was almost a childish glee that had taken over him, and Anna knew that the little flutter in her heart was real this time, not just desperation, and after their week together, she knew she could trust him not to break her.

She bit her lip before nodding enthusiastically, watching with interest as Kristoff hooked up Sven, and climbed up into the carriage as soon as he waved her on, his hands outstretched to help pull her up.

Where do you want to go?

Anna scooted a little closer, pretending to ignore the pink that had spread across both their cheeks. Anywhere, she smiled, before correcting herself. Everywhere. Then she grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. As long as you come with me.

He had let out a huff of a laugh before grabbing the reins with one hand and squeezing her fingers with the other. 

Alright, Sven. Let’s take her highness anywhere and everywhere.

It became an everyday thing, her being distracted. She’d look at him across the table, across the room, across the courtyard, and her face would warm, a dopey smile pulling at her lips as he continued to do whatever he was doing. He didn’t even need to be doing anything special, really. Once she caught him just fixing his boots, sewing up a hole in the side, and just the pure reliability of it all made her fall even harder. 

Maybe she knew how to be a royal, but it wasn’t until Kristoff was in her life that she learned more practical things - how to sew, how to start a fire, how to find her direction without a compass - and she was forever grateful for it. 

Especially when…

Anna shook her head, not wanting to relive that.

She couldn’t bear being apart from him now, so she politely excused herself before crossing the floor with less grace than was expected of her, and practically threw herself at her fiancé, who, as always, was ready to catch her.

“Hi, baby,” he smiled, pressing his forehead against hers as her arms wrapped around his neck. 

I love you, baby! Anna had felt the fondness spread across her features again, as he slid up to her, his bashfulness taking over. I do…

She loved him, too. So much, from day one. More each day, for always. 

She lifted her hands to his cheeks, nuzzling her nose softly against his. “Hi, honey. I missed you.”

A woman beside them coughed loudly, rolling her eyes before walking away with a smile. They parted only slightly, his hands resting on her hips. “It’s barely been an hour,” he teased, placing on kiss against her palm as she stroked a gentle hand down his cheek.

“Yes but it’s our engagement announcement.” Anna clasped her hands together behind his neck. “I shouldn’t have to be away from you for even a minute.”

Kristoff rolled his eyes, but tightened his grip on her. “And her majesty should have whatever she so pleases, right?”

“As should my prince consort,” she hemmed, turning her nose up slightly in mock snobbery. 

The first time they talked about their future, Anna had been so nervous that nervous was an understatement. They had been together for about eight months, and while everything was going so, so well, she knew that her lifestyle could be stifling, to put it mildly. Things had been better since the gates were opened, but for someone who lived a free life on the mountains…

Anna walked with him slowly up the stairs of the palace, their fingers interlaced as they climbed to their favorite spot on the roof. The way his hand squeezed hers gently, Anna knew he knew that this conversation might be a rough one, but they both held steady. 

They sat, her curled up against his side, his fingers playing in her hair. 

You know I love you, right? She had asked, her fingers playing with the hem of her skirts. I love you so, so much, and I can’t believe how lucky I am… and… 

He had quieted her with a soft kiss, one arm pulling her closer to his side. I know, he had replied, kissing her again and again and again until tears started to fall down her cheeks. She just wanted him to be happy. She just wanted to be with him. 

She was afraid those things wouldn’t align. 

But he had tucked her up under his chin and told her that wherever she was, that’s where he wanted to be. Whether it was in a castle or in an abandoned barn… She was his home now.

Anna had cried more, kissed him again, and immediately commissioned them a cabin up in the secluded woods of the mountains. One that they spent many many days hiding in alone, showing one another just how in love they were.

Her cheeks reddened as his eyes tracked over her exposed skin, her low neckline exposing more of her than was usual for a royal, and she pressed an accusatory finger to the bottom of his chin. “Don’t look at me like that,” she protested, guiding his gaze elsewhere. “We have to stay until the end of this party.”

It wasn’t usually Kristoff who made them leave early, though, and his arched eyebrow told her that he was thinking exactly this. 

She couldn’t help herself, though. 

He always got dressed up for her, and that sacrifice alone was enough to make her want to get him undressed and comfortable again as quickly as possible. But he never had any objections anyway.

Dropping her hands to his lapels, Anna busied herself with straightening them as his arms tightened around her waist. “Thank you,” she sighed, finger scratching at a speck on the metal button of his coat, the same as the first time he had done this for her. 

One hour, he had firmly stated, his expression smug. You get this for one hour.

Six hours, fifteen minutes, it was all the same to her. Kristoff had talked to the tailors to make him a suit that matched her gown, he had taken it into his own hands to do something so thoughtful, and Anna loved him even more that day, even if she hadn’t thought it possible.

He reluctantly agreed when the palace staff insisted he have a few more made, because the townspeople were truly head over heels for the complementary wardrobe, and Anna had made sure to properly thank him for it.

Kristoff never wanted this life, but he wanted her. If Anna had the choice, she’d probably leave it too, if he asked it of her. But he never would, because he knew she loved it - loved the camaraderie, the parties, the ability to help those who needed it - but she loved him more than all of that.

That frightened her, once.

A tap on her shoulder brought her back to reality. Kristoff’s hands had moved to rest protectively on her waist as another young prince from some other kingdom came to congratulate them. 

He asked for a dance, and Anna graciously agreed even if she was rather annoyed to have to leave her fiancé again. 

But the prince was kind. He enthusiastically congratulated her. Told her he had heard about what had happened with that prince from the Southern Isles - his reputation still not enough for other kingdoms to learn his name - and that he was happy she had found something real.

Anna smiled softly, looking over the prince’s shoulder to Kristoff, who was now leaning against the wall and watching her, a small flicker of jealousy in his eyes.

When they returned home and the highs and lows of their most recent adventure had worn back down to level ground, Kristoff had sat her down anxiously, rubbing his fingers over hers as he struggled to find his words.

I think, he stammered, twisting his mouth from side to side, that there’s probably someone else out there… more deserving of you and everything you have to offer…

Anna had immediately tightened her grip on his shaking hands. 

And I understand that I’m just… some commoner who you happened to like and who really, really liked you. 

She scooted closer, her knees brushing his as he did his best to get the rest of the words out.

I love you, more than anything. I always have, and I always will. And I think that’s important, right? His eyes had welled up, as had hers, as she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. 

I just… I want to be right for you. I want to be everything you need me to be.

Anna had pressed a firm but chaste kiss to his lips, sighing through her nose as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. 

You already are, Kristoff, she mumbled against his mouth. You’re more than that.

He had kissed her senseless, then, more and more giving each time she whispered a soft I love you into his skin, burying herself even deeper into his heart. 

With a small curtsey from her and a lower bow from the prince, Anna was determined to spend the rest of the night right by her fiancés side. Ignoring everyone else, she stepped up to his side, sighing with relief as his arm came around her shoulders and held her closer as he finished his conversation with someone she didn’t quite recognize. 

When they left with another bow, Anna turned, wrapped her arms around Kristoff’s waist, and pressed her nose into his shoulder. “Hey,” she muttered, smiling as he waved off a concerned Kai. “I love you.”

The way he held her now, the way his fingers dug into her, she knew he wasn’t letting her leave his side even once more this evening. 

She was completely fine with that.

Looking up at him, her eyes glimmered as he smiled down at her. “I can’t wait to marry you,” she whispered, meant only for them.

Kristoff kissed her forehead gently, and Anna knew, right here in his arms, was where she was meant to be for the rest of her life.

[its-sixxers]

OC Interview - Briar Mary

Doing this both to flesh her out, find a voice for her, and also let you peeps learn a lil’ somethin’ somethin’ about her.

name ➔ “Mary. Jack started calling me Briar Mary, but people only really call me that to tease me.” Self consciously, she touches the strange spurs growing through her shoulder like needles. “Maybe that’s why people called him Smiling Jack. I don’t know.”

are you single ➔ A belabored sigh and a long suffering look is cast to the interviewer. “Don’t be cruel.”

are you happy ➔ “Not really. But I can’t complain. Could be worse.”

are you angry ➔ “I look like a Brujah to you?” She raises the brow that isn’t pierced. “Nah. I keep my Beast collared.”

are your parents still married ➔ A frown, lost in thought. “No. They were divorced. I can remember that, but not their names or faces. Weird, huh?” A fragile smile, showcasing her array of mismatched and yellowing fangs. She doesn’t seem bothered.

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ “Detroit. Moved to the west coast when I got married. That was... more recent. Things get fuzzier the closer they get to when I was sired. I’m told it happens if your sire’s got blunt fangs - it’s trauma, or something.”

hair color ➔ She barks with laughter. “Oh, these aren’t personalized! That makes me feel better. Means you aren’t mean.” A wag of a clawed finger, playfully scolding. “Like the rest of my clan, I’m pretty clean cut. Prefer it - Mitnick told me about this guy who had hair, but just little weird wiry strands sticking out of boils and- oh, I’m not making you nauseous am I?”

eye color ➔ Mary flutters non-existent eyelashes, placing a hand under her chin. “Why don’t you tell me?” White irises gleam faintly in the gloom, her left eye caged behind her piercings.

birthday ➔ “It was sometime in April, I think? It always rained. I remember that.” A light shrug. “I was sired October 22, in 2004. Pretty hard to forget that. I guess that’s the closest thing our kind have to a birthday.”

mood ➔ “Thirsty.” She bares her fangs playfully again, flicking her tongue against the front ones. “I’m just teasing.”

gender ➔ “Nosferatu.” she snickers. “I used to be a woman, don’t know if that still applies since I’m not really human anymore. Don’t know if it matters.”

summer or winter ➔ “Winter. Longer nights. Summer’s a nightmare. Can’t get anything done once June hits.”

morning or afternoon ➔ Another barked laugh. “You ghouls are funny. What if I said sunrise was my favorite, huh?” A wink. “Very early mornings, if you want to get all technical. 4 AM’s nice - pretty quiet, most Kindred are back in their beds or coffins or whatever but there’s still a little bit of time to enjoy the silence before you have to worry about sunlight. Although people tell me you stop doing that the older you get.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ “I said don’t be cruel.” This time, there’s a trace of sadness to her eyes instead of resigned annoyance.

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “I know a couple of thin bloods who provide compelling evidence.” She tilts her head. “Um. Sure.”

who ended your last relationship ➔ Her brow furrows, as it does whenever she tries to remember what living was like. “Me. I did. Ran away. I think it was bad. But I wasn’t married when I got sired, so I think I made it to better pastures.”

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ It’s strange, how laughter and crying can sound so similar. Mary makes a noise split between the two. “I don’t know. Don’t really care. It was before, if it ever happened. I think my rejection now could only be a relief.”

are you afraid of commitments ➔ “In general? Or the romantic sense? Either way - if I play my cards right, I’m going to be living pretty long. Any commitment’s kind of a big one, in the uh, vow sense. But for a good cause? Nah. Not scared.”

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “I get within six feet of anyone and they wrinkle their nose. Fuck no.”

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “If I have any they’re probably secret.” she muses aloud. “You’ve got to be a sick fuck to want to get down with this.”

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Jesus, that’s heavy.” Another frown. “It’s heartbreaking looking like this, I’ll tell you that much. You get used to it, but I’m not a big fan of mirrors.”

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ That look of tired resignation returns. “Love.”

lemonade or iced tea ➔ “I can’t really drink either. I can smell them, that’s kind of... the same... tea’s nice.”

cats or dogs ➔ “Cats don’t seem to mind me. I scare dogs. And some cats.”

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “Regular friends tend to have shifting loyalties, and that’ll get you killed, cupcake. I keep my circles of trust very, very small.”

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ Mary snickers now. “Wild nights out are all I do. Not the kind you’re probably asking about though.”

day or night ➔ “Day! I love burning to death. It’s on my bucket list.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ “Nosferatu don’t get caught. You have to see us first.” She winks.

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “I fell down stairs, but only because the stairs fell first. Fuck the Ocean House Hotel, by the way.”

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ There’s a little flinch in her face, but her smile hastily returns. “Blood, of course. You’re a ghoul, you probably know a bit of the feeling. You get low, and it’s one of the worst feelings in the world. Never piss off whoever’s running the local blood bank. Just a tip.”

wanted to disappear ➔ “Wanted to? More like can.” She wiggles her clawed fingers for emphasis. “I’d demonstrate, but I’d need a few sips to make it worth it. I don’t think you want me chewing on your neck.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ Another baring of her mess of fangs. “I’m going to have to go with eyes, boss.”

shorter or taller ➔ “I’m pretty small. I’d like to be taller. Oh, you mean in-” Understanding dawns on her features. “I mean, if I was still... into that whole thing... tall is nice.”

intelligence or attraction ➔ “I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I said anything other than intelligence. Lucky for me, it’s true. You start saying you’d prefer a pretty face over a smart mind and you’re going to have one of my people coming to make an example out of you.”

hook-up or relationship ➔ “Uh.” she scratches her temple. “I remember sex, and it wasn’t that great. Maybe I was missing out. Either way, no chance of that now. No chance of relationships either, but a girl can dream, hey?”

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ “From what I remember of living - fuck no. It’s why I got married quick and ended up in LA. I’d call the Anarchs my family now, and we get along alright. The newbies like to talk shit until they realize who I am, then they’re real polite.”

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “Hah! Messed up unlife is more correct. It’s been interesting at least.”

have you ever ran away from home ➔ “Oh yeah. It’s um. A habit of mine, I guess.”

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Before? Probably. After? Almost, after that blood hunt mess. Christ. That was terrible.”

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “A few of them are pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t say hate. Then they’re not friends. They’re frenemies.”

do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Well, yeah.”

who is your best friend ➔ A thoughtful hum. “Mitnick’s been the nicest. Knox is a sweetheart. You mean who I trust most though, probably.” She swallows, eyes darting around nervously. “Nines owes me enough and has enough of a sense of honor that I’m pretty sure he’ll never fuck me over. Let’s go with him.”

who knows everything about you ➔ “Can I say my entire clan? Because that’s probably the truth. If there’s something to know, they know it - and I’m not very mysterious. Keep that in mind if you decide to ask them these questions, cupcake. Maybe edit a few. I’m one of the nice ones.” A wink.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Can you do something with a seriously injured/sick Modern!Arthur ending up in the hospital ICU and female reader being his doctor?

This one turned out much different from what I expected. Hope it works for you, Anon! Also, for any of you who work in healthcare, forgive my bullshit. I did some research but I really know next to nothing about it. 

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of smut

You pick up the new chart for your most recent patient and sigh heavily. You figured you’d get this case. Earlier this morning, you’d heard of a car accident and that one of the drivers involved was rushed to your hospital. Sure enough, when you open it to read the patient’s info, it is the same incident. He was terfed to you in the ICU from surgery. You read the name “Morgan, Arthur” but think nothing of it. Just another name. 

Before heading to see your new patient, you stop by the lounge and grab a cup of coffee. You’d like to run downstairs to the hospital’s coffee shop and get something better, but you need to see your patient first. You chug the bitter coffee, despite it being eight at night. You’re here until morning anyways, running one of your mandatory night shifts. 

You stop at the nurse’s station and see Hailey, one of the nurses. “Hailey, have you finished with Mr. Morgan?” you ask. She nods. “Yes, I gave him a full workup. He’s still out from the surgery, but I gave him the usual amount of morphine for someone his size.” 

“His size?” you say, furrowing your brow and opening the chart again. In the section stating his height and weight, you read 6’2 and 203 pounds. You mentally shrug your shoulders and thank Hailey, asking if there’s anything more you need to know before going into his room. She shakes her head and goes off towards another room. 

When you open the door to Arthur’s room, you look at him lying in the hospital bed. He’s got the usual set up: IV, heart monitor on his finger, cast around his left arm. You open his chart again and read the surgery to fix his arm took just under five hours and they’d had to put a few pins in near his elbow. He also needed a transfusion during surgery. You go over to a board holding up his CT and x-ray scans. It was reported that he may have struck his head on the driver window of his truck and it was thought he might have some swelling in his skull. Luckily, his scans are negative for that and the only thing broken is his arm. He also has a tear in his rotator cuff and a laceration in his calf. Those things considered, he’s very lucky. You’d read the article about the accident. He’s lucky to be alive, his truck was a pretzel. 

You check over him. He is quite handsome, but you’re professional of course. He’s not the first handsome man who’s been thrown your way and he certainly won’t be the last. Just as you’re writing down some notes about his condition, his eyes open slightly and he looks around, his eyes landing on you. This is a good opportunity for you to check his mental condition, or at least as much as you can since he’s still under the influence of the anesthesia. 

“Hello Arthur, can you hear me?” you say softly, standing close to him. 

His heart beat picks up a bit and he breathes out heavily. “Was… accident…” he mumbles in a gruff voice. 

“That’s right, you were in an accident. You’re okay though, you’re in the hospital. Just take it easy and relax.”

You give him a few moments to wake up a bit further and collect himself. When you ask him if he’s in any pain, he says no. You offer him a sip of his water and he takes it. Just as you’re lowering the glass and getting ready to leave, his good hand suddenly shoots up and grabs yours. This isn’t unusual, of course. People respond differently when waking up from the drugs he’s on. At least he isn’t being aggressive. 

“You’re real pretty,” he says roughly. “Real pretty.” His eyes close and he’s out again. You smile to yourself. When you first came in and noticed his large build and rugged appearance, you didn’t figure he’d be sweet like this. You’re curious how he’ll be when he’s more coherent. 

*******************************

It’s nearly five in the morning and you’re nearly done with your shift. It’s been a long night, but not unusual. You’re making your last rounds again to check on your patients before heading home. You stop by Arthur’s room and go in. Rebecca, another nurse, is in the room, checking on his supply of fluids and the monitors. 

“Did he wake at all?” you ask.

“Only for a moment or two. Said he wasn’t feeling much.” 

“Good,” you say, but you’re curious. Rebecca’s pretty, much prettier than you in your opinion. “Hey, when he was awake, did he call you pretty?” 

“No,” she says and you can tell she’s being honest. “Why?” 

“Hmm, nothing. Just… heard from one of the other nurses he’d called them pretty,” you lie. You’ve never once thought of yourself as attractive, but pride yourself on acting like you don’t care. You’ll die before you admit to anyone that the one thing you want most is to curl up in the arms of someone who loves you. You’ve been alone so long, you’ve given up on exploring what that feels like, so you’ve pretended like you don’t care, that you prefer being alone. 

Rebecca smiles. “Well, lucky her. He’s cute! Got that rough look some girls just love.” 

“You mean you love,” you tease. She giggles and walks out. You sigh and go over to his bed, checking him over again despite Rebecca having just done it. You aren’t quite sure why, you don’t do this with the other patients when they’ve just been checked on since you can trust the nursing staff. “Get a grip on yourself,” you say quietly. “Just because he called you pretty when he was floating in outer space doesn’t mean anything. He’ll probably find you just as ugly as everyone else when he’s back to normal.” 

You mentally shake yourself and leave the room before you can make yourself sink further.

****************************************

That night, you’re back for another long 12 hour shift. You hadn’t given this Arthur Morgan another thought from the second you left his room, but now that you’re standing outside of it, you realize the effects of the anesthesia will have completely worn off by now. You brace yourself, ready for him to not remember you at all. 

When you open the door, he’s awake, though you can tell he’s still fairly doped up and could very easily fall back into a drug-induced slumber again. He doesn’t even seem to know you’re there until you’re standing next to him. 

“Mr. Morgan,” you say softly to catch his attention. He looks up at you and smiles a bit. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m Doctor (your last name).”

“You’re my doc?” he says, his voice soft. “Well, ain’t I the luckiest?” 

You smile down at him. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Morgan, there are plenty of doctors here that are just as good as me. Some are probably even better.” 

“Bet none of ‘em are as pretty as you though.” 

This stops you. It wasn’t like the last time when he called you pretty. He’s much more conscious this time, though still doped up. “Like I said, don’t be silly, Mr. Morgan. Now while you’re awake, I want to ask you a few questions.” 

You go through the usual questions for someone in his state, making sure he doesn’t have a brain injury, how much of the incident he can recall, and of course if he’s in any pain or experiencing any numbness. Again, he’s lucky, he can recall most of what happened and his pain is manageable.

Just as you’re making your last notes, he catches your attention. “Am I gonna get transferred somewhere else any time soon?” 

“Not if we can help it, Mr. Morgan. We’re hoping you’ll be out of here tomorrow, then you’ll be taken to post-surgery. Once you’re deemed well enough to go home, you’ll be released.”

He smiles again. “Good. Will you be down there with me?”

His question takes you by surprise. Of course you’ve had patients get attached to you, but they’re usually the ones that stay here for longer periods of time. 

“N-no, Mr. Morgan. I’m an ICU doc, I don’t do anything with surgery.” 

His smile fades a bit. “But you will come see me, won’t ya?” 

You can’t resist the look of hope in his face. “I will do my best, Mr. Morgan.” 

*************************************

Arthur stays in your section of the hospital for the remainder of the night, but in the morning he’s well enough to be transferred to post-surgery. You aren’t there when he’s rotated, so when you check the room that night to find it empty, you feel a bit bummed. You go to your office and look up his record to find where he’s been moved. Room 102 in post surgery and he’s scheduled to be released in the morning as long as his new doctor determines the amount of pain he’s in. 

You decide to go visit Arthur in his new room to see how he’s doing. You rarely do this for your patients, except for those you take an academic interest in (such as a few years ago when a teenage girl got ejected from a vehicle and lived). You’ve never done it because of a personal interest though. 

After making your rounds, you make your way to the post surgery unit. You greet some of the doctors you pass by, some of them you know. Finally you find room 102. You knock on the door and open it, wondering if he’s asleep. His TV’s on, playing some silly late night adult cartoon, but his eyes are closed. You can tell by his expression he’s not asleep. 

You approach his bed slowly and he opens his eyes, a smile immediately stretching across his face. “Hey doc. I’m real glad you came to see me.” 

“Hello, Mr. Morgan. Just wanted to make sure you’re adjusting fine,” you lie. 

“Oh I’m peachy.” 

“You glad to be going home tomorrow? I’m sure they explained the process to you of dealing with your broken arm.” 

“They did, yes. But I ain’t too sure about how I’m gonna get home. Call an Uber I guess.” 

“You don’t have someone to pick you up and take you home?” you ask. 

“Nah. I’ve lived alone on my ranch for some time now. Used to live with my adopted father, uncle and brother but… father died, uncle went crazy and ran off, my brother did too. Ended up in a big mess and I was left with the ranch they owned. I ain’t got no one. ‘Cept Copper my dog. Ya can call him but he don’t answer his cell hardly ever.” 

You laugh, despite yourself. “Bet he would if he could, Mr. Morgan. And I’m real sorry about your predicament. Don’t you have a girlfriend or… someone special who you could depend on?” 

Okay, now you’re treading in dangerous waters. Asking him questions to scope out if he’s available or not. What is wrong with you? 

“Nah, I was engaged a few years ago but… it didn’t end well. Her daddy didn’t like me and to be honest I ain’t too sure why I ever loved her. She used me a lot. Ain’t had no one since.”

“I almost find that hard to believe, good looking man like yourself.’

Seriously, what is wrong with you? It’s time to stop. You should never have come down here. Just because he called you pretty a couple times when he was doped to hell doesn’t mean he was interested in you. For all you know, he’s just a friendly guy when he’s drugged up. Some patients are like that. You once had a woman younger than you try to adopt you and the rest of your staff when she came out of having surgery and got tossed to your department.

“Nah, most women don’t seem interested in me. ‘Sides, I ain’t what I’d call good looking,” he says. 

“Hmm, well maybe you need to look at yourself from someone else’s perspective, Mr. Morgan.” Okay, you’re really pushing your personal envelope here. It’s time to leave before you step into dangerous waters. Close the curtains on this before you get into something you’ll regret. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing better, Mr. Morgan. I’m real sorry for your predicament, but it could certainly be worse.” 

You close his chart and begin turning to leave, making yourself silently promise to never make it a point to see him again. Just as you’re about to grab the door handle, he calls to you. 

“You, uh, you ain’t single, I’m guessin’,” he says. 

“W-why?” you ask. 

“Well,” he’s blushing now. “Was thinkin’ I’d really like to get to know ya. Not when I’m stuck in a hospital bed with God knows what bein’ pumped into me so I don’t feel nothin’. Proper, I wanna get to know ya proper. Take ya to dinner maybe.” He rubs the back of his neck with his good hand. “Course if you’re with someone, I don’t wanna get in the way of that.”  

You sigh and turn to face him. “I’m not with anyone, Mr. Morgan. Trust me, though. You don’t wanna date me. I’m… I’m a workaholic. Most of my time is spent here and when I am at home I’m doing paperwork.” 

“Well it’s nice to know you’re so dedicated to your career but that don’t tell me a damn thing about ya.” 

You shuffle your feet and look away. “You’re better off not knowing me, Mr. Morgan. Most people get to know me don’t like me. Not like that anyways.”

“Can I be my own judge on that?” he asks. “Please, doc, I’d love to take ya to dinner. Humor me just once?” 

You sigh. “Okay.” 

**********************************

A few weeks have gone by and you haven’t heard a peep from Arthur, despite having exchanged cell numbers with him. Not that you’re surprised. Once he weaned himself off the major painkillers, he probably came to his senses. You try to pretend to yourself that you’re not bummed about it and drown yourself in work. It’s hard to convince yourself that you weren’t excited though. You haven’t been on a date in years. 

Just as you’ve finally begun to forget the whole thing, your cell phone goes off on one of the few nights you have to yourself. You pick it up and read the text. “Sorry I haven’t spoken to you since I was released. Been trying to put my life back together. Dinner still? -Arthur.” 

So he hasn’t forgotten you. Your stomach tightens. Do you really want to go through with this? Part of you wants to lie and say you’ve gotten into a relationship with someone else. “Come on, Y/N,” another voice says. “You didn’t get to becoming a doctor through squeezing out of uncomfortable situations. If it ends up awkward, just get some bread rolls, hightail it out of there and block his number.” 

It’s been ages since you did something for yourself on a personal level though. Sure, you’ve done a lot of things you didn’t like in order to advance in your education and your career, but not on a personal level. 

It’s been ten minutes since you got his text and you’ve been arguing with yourself on whether or not to take him up. Finally you pick up your phone and type “I’d love that.” 

A few moments go by and he responds back, asking where you’d like to go.

*******************************************

Three days later, you’re standing outside your favorite restaurant, an Indian place, waiting for him to arrive. You’re still scared of what might happen tonight, but you’re betting nothing good will happen. You doubt he’ll attack you or anything, most likely he’ll just figure out he really doesn’t like you and then never speak to you again. Hell, he might already be ghosting you. Whatever, if he is, no skin off your nose. You’ll just order out from this place and take it home to watch your favorite movie. 

It’s fifteen minutes past when he said he’d be here, but still nothing. You sigh and start turning to walk in when you hear the engine of a truck pull into the driveway. Turning around, you see a gray Dodge Ram pulling into a space. A moment later, Arthur gets out of it. He beams when he sees you, his arm still in a cast and walking with a slight limp. 

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic jam held me up.” He grabs the door and holds it open for you.

“Oh, th-thanks,” you say. 

Over dinner, Arthur asks you a ton of questions about yourself. You’ve never opened up so much to anyone, but he seems so genuine in his responses and so enthusiastic about getting to know you, you can’t help it. You end up staying at the restaurant for two hours.

He reveals a lot about himself as well, what his life is like now and how it used to be before his family fell apart. You can’t help but think you couldn’t find a more loyal, hard working man than him. By the end of the two hours, you can’t help but wonder if you’re feeling something for him. 

You finally leave the restaurant, but more for the sake of the waiting staff than anything else. Arthur walks you over to your car. When you get there, he stops you. “Y/N, thanks for lettin’ me take ya to dinner.” 

Oh no, he’s going to follow up with this by telling you he isn’t interested in going further. You mentally prepare yourself to block this in order to protect yourself. 

“I’d love to go out with ya again, if you’d like. Ya seem like a wonderful person.” 

“Huh?” you say out loud.

“I, uh, I said-” 

“No I know what you said,” you respond, your face burning. You hadn’t meant to voice your confusion. “I meant… why in the hell would you want to go out with me? Honestly you’re a trooper for doing it once. You must be insane for wanting a second go.” 

He cocks his head to the side slightly. “You really don’t like yourself much, do you?” 

His question causes you to blush even more. You look down at your feet, not sure what to say. “I guess not. That’s why I became a doctor. I didn’t do it because I wanted to help people. Just… guess I wanted to boost my own ego.” 

He sighs heavily. “Y/N, can I try somethin’ with ya? If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.” 

“What is it?” you ask quietly, on the verge of tearing up. 

He extends his good arm, holding it out to you. You realize what he’s offering to do. You can’t remember the last time anyone hugged you, or even touched you in any kind of affection. He slowly approaches and you feel yourself tensing up. His arm gently wraps around you, his hand gently touching your mid back. He slowly pulls you to him until you have to settle against his chest. You find yourself leaning into him though. God, he’s warm and he’s firm. He smells good too. You’d been worried he wanted to hug you in order to gain some kind of grounds for sex, but this feels different. Platonic, almost. His arm grips you tight and you rest against him. A vortex of emotions goes through you. Confusion, fear, yearning, but most of all, gratitude. You know exactly what effects physical touch can do to a person, the chemicals it releases. How humans are wired to thrive better both physically and mentally through touch. Yet you’ve received so little of it, it feels almost alien to you. 

As he continues to hold you, you suddenly find yourself crying into his blue plaid shirt. You don’t know why, either. As the first few tears fall, you feel something inside yourself breaking like a dam and you’re sobbing. He pulls away, looking down at you, a worried expression on his face. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to make you upset. You shoulda said you didn’t like-”

“No it’s not you, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” you sniffle, rubbing your cheeks dry. “I don’t know why I’m crying, Arthur. All I know is… you’ve shown me more kindness tonight than I’ve experienced throughout the last five years.”

“Jesus, Y/N, I done hardly nothin’.” He looks down, the expression of worry changing to sorrow. He extends his arm again to you and you happily go into it, resting against his warm, strong body.

**************************************

You’ve been on multiple dates with Arthur at this point. During every single one of them, he’s made it a point to hold you close to him. He knows now just how touch-depraved and starved you are. He’s the same way, he’s admitted, so he enjoys the opportunities too. Your last date had been nothing but you both curling up on your couch wrapped in each other’s embrace as you watched a movie. You ended up falling asleep in his arm, but he didn’t move at all. He just loved the sensation of having someone he loved trust him enough to do so. 

Your first kiss had been sweet. It had been sunset and Arthur insisted on taking a walk in a park not too far from your house. He’d held your hand the entire time, but halfway through your walk, he’d stopped you and pulled you into a kiss. He didn’t push things further with you than that, but since then you’ve kissed him every time you’ve seen him. Even those times you’ve only seen him for five minutes. 

You’ve started to really fall hard for him. You’re starting to think you want to sleep with him. How could you not, after all? He’s handsome, tall, broad, but more than that, he’s sweet, thoughtful, and compassionate. However, it will be hard for you to make love to him with his cast still on. Even when it comes off, he’ll need physical therapy. But you might be able to make things work. 

That night when he comes over, you greet him with a home cooked dinner (a rare occurrence for you). He greets you with a sweet, soft kiss. After dinner, you take his hand. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you say, trembling lightly. You haven’t slept with anyone since college, and those people you felt no affections for. You’d slept with them to blow off steam to handle the stress of school. Arthur’s different. You want to have sex with him to show him how much you love him. 

“Oh?” Arthur says, curious. You lead him to your bedroom. He’s well acquainted with it. One night you’d gotten pretty sick from some bad food. When you told him your predicament, he’d come over and slept in your bed, holding you all night. He’s spent several nights in your bed since, but he’s never tried pulling a move. 

When you get to your room, you guide him to sit down on your bed. When he’s positioned, you slip off your shirt and then your bra. You can hear his breathing pick up and his eyes go down to your tits. 

“Ya… ya sure?” he asks. 

You bite your lip, smile and nod. “Yes, Arthur. I’m ready.” You slide into his lap, straddling him and gently push him to lay on his back. He does so, letting you take complete control. You undress him slowly, being aware of his injured arm. He’s so goddamn attractive, you can’t help but admire the hair on his chest, his firm arms, his treasure trial, beyond that. You already know he’s going to put all your past sexual encounters to shame. 

“Let me take a refresher course in anatomy, Mr. Morgan. You obviously don’t mind being my subject,” you say. God, you couldn’t make this sound more like a bad porno if you tried. Oh well, he seems excited. You mentally roll your eyes at yourself and go to work. 

***************************************

In the morning, you wake up still naked, lying with your head on Arthur’s chest. His heart drums in your ears. His hand starts brushing through your hair, he knows you’re awake. You look up at him and smile. 

“I never asked if you liked my surprise,” you say. 

He grins. “More than you know.” He leans up and kisses you sweetly. “When this arm’s better, I’ll make sure to really give you a good time, darlin’.”

You groan into his mouth. He’d done some pretty amazing things to you last night you definitely won’t forget for a long time, if ever. “I can’t wait.”

[monabela]

this is here because I was listening to esc songs and Goodbye To Yesterday suddenly seemed like a great song to write a fic about. so here you go, a small, mostly aimless thing. the title... is from that other estonian song. no, not Play. it’s from Verona.

never said enough

pairings/characters: Belarus (Nadzeya)/Estonia (Eduard)

word count: 3268 summary: Nadzeya wakes up alone, and she doesn’t understand why. The only one with the answer to that question is the man who left her, and she’s determined to find it.

Something is off.

Nadzeya doesn’t open her eyes, trying to listen for what woke her. The room is quiet. Her whole house is quiet. She sighs, and outside, down on the narrow street, a car starts. It idles, just a few seconds, and then the sound echoes off the old buildings as the car leaves the street.

Without opening her eyes, Nadzeya flings her arm out across her bed, hitting the empty pillow next to her.

“Fucking coward,” she grits, letting the wave of anger she feels quickly overtake the welling of sadness. Anger is, in her experience, much easier to deal with. Her fingers clench in the empty pillow, arm quickly getting cold. How fucking early is it?

Finally, Nadzeya wrenches her eyes open to check the alarm clock on its shelf across the room, nestled between her collection of CDs. Six-fucking-fourteen, is he serious? Groaning, she turns over and tucks her arm back underneath the covers, pressing her face into the mattress, into the lingering, familiar smell of pine and fresh bread.

Although she dozes off and finds it’s half past six by the time she opens her eyes again, trying to go fully back to sleep seems like a futile exercise at this point, so she curses some more under her breath, just to make sure she stays angry instead of slipping even slightly toward despondent, and rolls out of bed. There is absolutely no reason to be up; it’s her day off work and there is nothing to be done around the house. Maybe, somewhere, she had planned on spending at least the morning… Not alone.

But she overestimated Eduard Mets, obviously.

There is no note anywhere in his ever-hurried handwriting that explains his abrupt departure from her bed and her house, no text or voice message left.

Nadzeya had expected more. Too much, evidently. Coward.

It’s a good thing she spent so much of her teens and early twenties being angry at just about everything—including herself, more often than not—because she finds it’s barely any effort to hold on to the ire now, slamming doors up and down her narrow house and stomping on the many stairs.

She knows he’s an evasive man, is the thing. Eduard has these things he refuses to talk about, and Nadzeya knows she’s stubborn, but he manages to talk around her every time she asks. It’s impressive, and it does—it did—intrigue her. That little bit of mystery.

Of course, it now turns out it’s just cowardice.

Without noticing, she has started dragging her feet. It’s still barely gone seven, but Nadzeya goes and puts on the heaviest boots she can find, digging them out from underneath some festival outfits from the past few years. They don’t match her T-shirt and jeans at all, but she needs to stomp some more.

Eduard liked these boots, one of the first times they met up. Said they made her look like some ancient warrior queen. Then, of course, they’d had sex in his awful little tent, and they haven’t really stopped since.

Kicking the wardrobe, Nadzeya focuses on her anger. She doesn’t understand what happened here, and she hates not understanding things.

Since she’s up now, she makes breakfast, deciding to go all out with it because she might as well, and also to spite Eduard if just in spirit. That man is religious about breakfast.

After managing to eat everything she makes, Nadzeya reads the news, which is one thing that always serves to make her feel worse. As expected, it works. Somewhat. It also serves to remind her that it’s more fun to be able to bitch about it to someone, even if just over text messages. She’ll be damned if she texts Eduard as if he didn’t run out on her at ass o’clock in the morning, though. He doesn’t deserve that.

She’s sure she didn’t deserve that.

There’s the sadness again, threatening to drown out the anger that is much preferable.

No one would accuse Nadzeya Alyakhnovich of being a melodramatic person, but that’s just because very few people actually know her well. When she was eleven, a girl in school laughed at her dress, and she still despises her with a vengeance, just because it’s a petty thing to do and that’s what makes it fun. She told Eduard this, once. He seemed impressed by her ability to hold a grudge at the time, because he isn’t the type—much too logical for that, and probably too much of a fucking coward—but he didn’t seem particularly surprised that she would. He has strange talents, and understanding her is one of them.

Remembering that makes this even more confusing, and it’s getting harder to stay angry. The sun is rising outside, slowly bringing color to the cold streets of the city, lifting the haze of night under which he slunk away, and Nadzeya just needs to understand.

Everything about Eduard is rational; he’s always thinking about everything, so what the hell was he thinking?

It’s almost eight now. Nadzeya has already had it with this day.

Getting out her phone, she opens her contacts. Scrolls to Eduard’s name. Although she opens their messages—she never realized, she thinks, how often they talk about the most mundane things, like the most recent conversation, which is about how hay fever is a bitch—she does not send anything new.

Instead, she yanks her bag from the table, throws her phone into it, and slams all the doors on the way out.

There is only room for one coward in this—this relationship, and it sure as hell will not be Nadzeya. She’d be dishonoring the name of Alyakhnovich if she were. So she’s going to find the man who is.

It’s still too cold of a spring morning to be outside without a coat on, let alone ride on a motorcycle, but Nadzeya just puts her helmet on and determinedly ignores the goosebumps crawling down her bare arms.

Eduard lives barely fifteen minutes away, just outside of the city’s main bustle, on the lower floors of terraced building that would be lovely if age hadn’t weathered it to a dull grey color. He’s constantly complaining about the lack of parking space, but Nadzeya just slides her bike between two cars and stomps her way to the front door of number 14A, where she rings the doorbell just once. She isn’t desperate, after all. Not sad. Just pissed off.

The door isn’t opened, and fine. If he wants to be like that, two can play that game.

Nadzeya rings the doorbell about ten times in quick succession, then slams on the door with a closed fist.

“Come out!” she shouts. “You coward!”

Still no movement in Eduard’s house, but somewhere else, a door opens, and then there’s a man’s voice from above her.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on down there?”

Nadzeya takes a step back to look at Eduard’s upstairs neighbor standing on his tiny balcony, the neighbor who must be the one Eduard says is always making noise at inconvenient hours but also keeps giving him baked goods, which apparently makes it okay. Nadzeya thinks that’s bribery, but then if anything could bribe Eduard, it would be baked goods.

“Oh, hey!” the neighbor is saying. “You’re Eduard’s girl, right?”

And, really, Nadzeya resents being called a girl—she’s well in her thirties—let alone someone’s girl, but she just shrugs now. The man grins.

“Sounds like he’s in trouble, huh? Can’t imagine Mets doin’ anything to deserve all that racket, so it must be pretty bad.”

“Where the fuck is he?” Nadzeya narrows her eyes up at the man, ignoring his obvious attempt to get some gossip out of her. He just keeps grinning, unperturbed, light hair flopping all over the place. He looks like someone who makes a lot of noise, for sure.

“Went off to work.” A vague gesture in the direction of the city center.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said when I saw him leave!” The man shrugs. “He’s a workaholic, that guy. Or he’s avoidin’ ya. Wouldn’t blame him, no offense.”

Nadzeya quirks her eyebrows minutely, decides to take it as a compliment, turns, and walks back to her motorcycle.

“Wish him good luck from me!” the neighbor yells after her when she takes off. She will not.

It’s remarkable how much she knows about Eduard. Except it’s not, really, Nadzeya realizes. She knows she has no real skill with people, never has and never will, but it became easy to talk to Eduard. At first, maybe, they talked when they weren’t busy having sex, but if she’s honest with herself, it didn’t take long before it was the other way around.

Case in point; she knows where he works. They’ve had lunch together a few times, somewhere near the university when Eduard was between lectures and Nadzeya between shifts at the museum—she would be lying if she said she doesn’t enjoy the looks she gets when she manages to get away on the days she does demonstrations and is in full period costume. With fake bloodstains.

There are no lectures on Saturdays, though, not in Eduard’s department, and if he were doing research, she’d know.

She’d know.

She parks her motorcycle haphazardly between some bicycles, very nearly knocking one over. It’s hard to resist the urge to kick it, but she’d probably damage it with these boots and the fucking bike didn’t do anything wrong.

Even early on a Saturday morning, the hall of the university is fairly busy with students. Nadzeya weaves her way through them to the information desk, slamming her palm down on it and startling the woman sitting there.

“Good mor—” she starts.

“I’m looking for Eduard Mets,” Nadzeya says. “Where is he?”

For a long moment, the woman just blinks up at her owlishly. Nadzeya bites the inside of her cheek.

“He works here.”

“Yes, of course. He should be up in…” She trails off as she gestures upwards. “Actually, there he is.”

Turning, Nadzeya follows her gaze up to the mezzanine level over the canteen area of the hall. Eduard has his back turned to the desk and is talking to a young man who must be one of his students. He’s tucked his hands underneath his own upper arms in a familiar gesture and is wearing the same turquoise sweater he was yesterday, despite obviously having been at home.

“Thanks,” Nadzeya tells the woman behind the desk, and goes to find some stairs, hoping Eduard hasn’t run off by the time she gets up there.

He has not. When she throws the door of the stairwell open and starts towards him, he looks up at the heavy footfalls of her boots, and freezes, eyes wide. The student looks between them curiously. He appears quite young to be at university.

“Nadzeya,” Eduard starts as she nears, and he gestures at the boy. “I’m—”

“Thanks, Mr Mets, bye!” the student says, and scuttles off to the other end of the mezzanine level, barely pretending not to pay attention to them anymore. He might even be pulling out his phone to report to his friends. Eduard looks after him for a moment, raising his hands forlornly.

“Pretty smart kid,” Nadzeya comments. Eduard turns back to her, expression caught between apprehensive and plain sheepish. It’s not fear, and she doesn’t know if she’s glad about that or not. It would have been easier if he was afraid, maybe. His sea-green eyes are bright as ever, even if the way they are squinted slightly behind his glasses indicates that he hasn’t had enough sleep. It was one o’clock by the time they’d gone to bed.

“What are you doing here, Nadzeya?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she snaps.

“I work here—”

“Not on fucking Saturdays, Eduard. I’m not an idiot.” She takes a step closer, tilting her head back to look up at him. He swallows visibly, eyes flitting everywhere but her face. Her next words are a hiss. “What the fuck happened?”

“I just thought…” He adjusts his glasses. “Can we do this somewhere more private, maybe?”

“Absolutely not.” She jabs a finger against his chest. Her nail polish is chipped, and she has not put on makeup, which is very rare, but she’s too upset to give a damn. “All I need is an explanation. You’re a teacher, it can’t be that hard.”

“Look, it’s… I…” He chews on his lip nervously. When he reaches for his glasses, his long fingers brush against her cold arm. He pitches his voice low. “I didn’t think I should stay.”

Nadzeya frowns up at him, jerking her chin to demand more explanation.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

She blinks, trying to process that.

“Why not?”

“We didn’t—” He leans closer to her after glancing around nervously. “We didn’t have sex. Last night.”

“And?” They don’t always have sex when they meet, now, no matter the time of day. In fact, more often than not, they just have lunch, or go to a museum, or that concert a few weeks back. For all intents and purposes, they have been dating, despite never having named it as such.

“Nadzeya, I’ve never stayed the night.”

“Yes, you have.”

“No.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve stayed late, but never… Like that. I’ve always left, you know, afterwards.”

She wonders at how that brain of his made this leap of logic, because she’s a smart woman and she has no idea what the hell he means right now. Afterwards? What about the nights they’ve just spent watching ever stranger documentaries or just drinking beer and talking, when he only left because he said he had work in the morning?

“So because we didn’t fuck—” she narrows her eyes when he winces and looks around again— “you decide it’s okay to leave without any kind of message? How the fuck does that sound logical?”

“I should have written something, but I wanted to spare myself the awkwardness, Nadzeya!” he hisses. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to stay!”

“You thought I—” She tries to take a deep breath, and find to her surprise and horror that it’s difficult, breath shuddering. “You can’t think for me, Eduard Mets.”

“I thought…”

“You’re always thinking! I know!” There are probably people watching, and this might be getting live-tweeted. She doesn’t care. “But you don’t think for me. You don’t get to decide what I want.”

“I know.” He touches her arm. His fingers are warm.

“You don't, obviously! If you knew what I wanted, we wouldn’t fucking be here, we’d be having breakfast in my kitchen! Because you’d know I don’t give a fuck whether we have sex, Eduard.”

The anger is difficult to hold on to, and the sadness that it has been keeping at bay is surging up. She finds herself grasping Eduard’s sweater, gritting her teeth against the empty feeling in her chest, the unwelcome taste of tears at the back of her throat. It’s easier to be angry, because at least if she’s just angry, she doesn’t have to face up to the fact that this thing—that Eduard—means more to her than she had anticipated. More than it seems to mean to Eduard.

“I don’t know how you can still think I just care about getting laid.” It’s said through gritted teeth, and Eduard bites his lip in return, slowly reaching for her face, swiping a thumb across her cheekbone. Nadzeya looks up at him, meeting the familiar sea-green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. She swallows, averting her gaze. Eduard’s chest rises and falls steadily under her fingers, and she watches it for a moment. He waits, silent. He knows she talks when she wants to, that she sometimes needs to put the words in order first. It’s another one of those things that make this situation so baffling.

“I don’t think it’s been that kind of casual for a long time, at least for me,” she says at the hollow of his throat. “Maybe I wanted it to be.”

“Nadzeya—”

She looks up now, not knowing what she’ll say until she says it, and then it seems strange she didn’t realize.

“I’m in love with you,” she tells him, and the series of expressions that flits across his face is unreadable. “So don’t try to decide for me what I—”

He kisses her, pushing both hands into her hair in that way he does. There may be a gasp somewhere on the mezzanine level.

It’s a hard kiss, one that speaks of emotion, and Nadzeya doesn’t know what to do. Eduard’s heart is thundering under her palm as she spreads her hand against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes when he pulls away, a curious light in his eyes. “Nadzeya, I’m a coward. I’m such… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you are,” she whispers, still out of her depth. This entire situation is… Not one she’d predict herself getting into, but maybe she herself underestimates her penchant for melodrama as well.

“Let’s try again.” Eduard presses his lips together and searches her gaze. “I feel the same, Nadzeya. I feel the same. I was just scared, and I’m sorry.”

All the air leaves her lungs in a great rush, and Nadzeya closes her eyes for a long moment, willing the tears back definitively. This whole thing is melodramatic enough as is. She wants to call Eduard an idiot, and maybe herself as well, a bit, because she recognizes somewhere that he isn’t the only one at fault here, but Eduard is the one who walked out, so she feels justified in not bringing that up right now. They’ll get around to that.

“Okay,” she says instead, curling her fingers against his lean chest. “Okay. Let’s try again.”

He smiles, a little tentatively, and she shakes her head, fond despite herself. She feels… Light. It’s a curious feeling, a pretty rare one, but she likes it. Still, she attempts to look stern when she lifts her gaze back to Eduard’s.

“Don’t ever—” she pokes his chest— “try to think for me again, Eduard Mets. You have no right.”

He catches her wrist.

“I won’t.” There’s an earnest expression on his face that would honestly disgust Nadzeya in any other situation, but she’ll take it this time.

“Good.” She tugs her own arm back until he leans forward and kisses her again. It’s soft, this time, no intent beyond it. Eduard tastes like peppermint.

When someone nearby clears their throat, he pulls back, making a face. Color is quickly rising in his pale cheeks, and Nadzeya grins.

“You’re gonna be the talk of the school, Mr Mets.”

“Oh, god. Can we leave? I really have nothing to do here anyway, and I think I owe you breakfast.”

“Fine.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’ve done breakfast, though. You owe me lunch.”

“It’s nine!”

“We’ll make do.”

As they leave, Eduard gets his coat from a locker and drapes it over her shoulders, pine and fresh bread surrounding her. She pulls it around herself, willing to revel in it for now. They have things to work out, but they’ll work them out later.

At the doors, she hears the young student from before shout, “Have a nice day, Mr Mets!”

Eduard groans, and Nadzeya can’t help but grin, turning to wave up at the boy.

“Don’t encourage him,” Eduard says.

She smiles and tugs him outside. It’s a nice morning.

[peepingtoad]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐜𝐡𝐚 𝐈𝐜𝐡𝐚!~

(Answered from a post-war perspective)

► Name ➔ “I’ve go by many names! The Toad Sage, The Village’s Madness, The White-Maned Toad-Charmer, The Legendary Hermit Of Mount  Myōboku, That Bastard Who Still Hasn’t Paid Off His Tab (it’s coming soon, I swear!)... but most know me simply as Jiraiya. Ogata Jiraiya is my full name nowadays, ever since I was accepted into the sacred clan of the Myōboku toads!” ► Are you single? ➔ “Eternally, it seems—but don’t let that fool you! My diary is never short of upcoming dates. Speaking of, are you free next Friday?~” ► Are you happy? ➔ “The happiest I’ve ever been! Not everything in life is perfect, even now, but I’m enjoying it to the full!” ► Are you angry? ➔ “Do bratty theatrics count as ‘anger’? I know, I know, it’s quite a glaring flaw of mine...” ► Are your parents still married? ➔ “My dear, I don’t think my parents were ever even considered an item. Who knows if they ever met again, but given my age I doubt my father is alive now, either.”

EIGHT FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “Konohagakure, born and raised! My mother, I believe, was from what would become unified as the Land of Fire, but my father? He was from the Land of Lightning, as far as I’ve been able to deduce.” ► Hair Color ➔  “White as the clouds on a sunny day in Spring! About as fluffy, too. Touch it, if you like~”  ► Eye Color ➔  “They look black, until you come up real close. Then, you’ll find that they’re a deep yet piercing grey.” ► Birthday ➔ “Eleventh of November—a nice, simple eleven-eleven, no matter where you’re from!” ► Mood ➔  “You don’t have to spend much time with me to see that I take life with a relaxed, humorous and cheerful attitude, but... haha. I can be a little prone to childish outbursts, I can admit.” ► Gender ➔ “Just a manly kinda dude. I’m not sure, to this day, what exactly makes a man—but I’m comfortable being one.” ► Summer or winter ➔  “I feel like if I had to choose one, I’d only miss the other before long. I appreciate all the changes that come with the seasons... but I suppose, in general, I’m more of a summery type.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “I’m definitely an early bird kinda guy. I like to rise early, have breakfast and coffee while watching the sun rise, and I find it’s when I’m the most inspired to do things. But I must say, nothing beats a lazy afternoon nap after a productive morning!”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love? ➔ “Perpetually. I’m in love with the very idea of love. It sure helps with writing romance, I’ll tell you that much for free!” ► Do you believe in love at first sight? ➔ “Perhaps not love, with all the weight the word has, but I definitely believe in that spark. The feeling you get when you’re compelled by some unexplained force to learn more about a person, to spend time with them and see what makes them tick. Lust, on the other hand... well, that’s certainly something that can rear its head in a flash.” ► Who ended your last relationship? ➔ “The last one, I believe, ended with a mutual, amicable agreement. It’s something that is sadly quite commonplace with my travelling lifestyle, but I like to maintain contact with those I’ve cared about and who care about me in turn. Usually by letter—although, I admit, sometimes even that connection gets lost with time.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart? ➔ “I’m pretty sure I’m incredibly guilty of this. Especially in my younger years, I was a little careless with people’s hearts, by lack of forethought, rather than a lack of care for their feelings. I do what I can to be upfront and avoid it now, but sometimes these things can’t be avoided. It’s hard, you know, being this addictive!” ► Are you afraid of commitments? ➔ “Hmmm. Romantically speaking... I wouldn’t say I fear it, I just... avoid it, for the most part. I don’t want to make that promise unless I’m absolutely sure I can keep it... and I guess that scenario just hasn’t come up for me, yet. So worry not, there’s still a chance for all you single ladies out there~” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “I’ll hold my hands up and confess that I’m a hugger, through and through. I couldn’t tell you who, or how many people I’ve hugged recently—it’s just second nature for me to do so!” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer? ➔ “Judging by some of the love letters I receive in the old PO Box, I’d go as far as to say I have them in multitudes. Heh.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Hmm. I feel like in my past, I’ve sacrificed many chances in favour of other duties and paths I had to commit to. And I think, yes, I was the cause of my own heartbreak at various points thanks to that.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust? ➔ “In an ideal world, both. Is that cheating? They can both end up feeling rather incomplete without the other, in the long term. And for me, lust comes part and parcel with love—but that’s not necessarily the case the other way ‘round... Bah. I couldn’t possibly choose! My novels wouldn’t be so exciting with such clear-cut distinctions, and I say the same applies to life!” ► Lemonade or iced tea? ➔ “Definitely iced tea. I’m much more a fan of still drinks—unless it’s beer!” ► Cats or Dogs? ➔ “I’m not allowed to say frogs, am I? No? Well... I do like both cats and dogs. Though I must say, a cat that acts like a dog is very charming. I think, equally so, a dog that acts like a cat would be charming! But I think, if you’re really gonna press me about it, I’d choose cats, whether they’re doggish or cattish. They’re a lot more easygoing and less dependent. Plus, there’s nothing more relaxing than having a big, lazy cat snoozing on your lap!” ► A few best friends or many regular friends? ➔ “I’ve always been one for small, tightly knit circles, as much as that can often lead to more... complicated friendships.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in? ➔ “I hardly think I can answer that, given it depends entirely on the mood at the time! I’m gonna say neither, because my favourite way to spend time with someone is out, but somewhere intimate, where we can talk. A cosy bar where we can people-watch, followed by a walk along the riverside or along a nature trail... and maybe, if we’re feeling daring, some canoodling beneath the stars~” ► Day or night? ➔ “I love the day, but it can get very busy and overly exciting. It’s wonderful when night arrives, and you can just unwind from all that. Plus, all the good bars, casinos and other establishments open at night, if you catch my drift. Which, I guess, isn’t conducive to the whole unwinding thing, but I’m nothing if not capricious at times!”

FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out? ➔ “I didn’t exactly have anyone to catch me sneaking out, but I’ve certainly been caught, uh... sneaking around, in general.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs? ➔ “Not that I remember, and that’s all that matters, alright? ... Ah, but there was that one time the other week—” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “I don’t think I’m capable of wanting something any other way. When I want something—or someone—I ache for it. With all my being.” ► Wanted to disappear? ➔ “... In a way, yes. Never to disappear entirely, not at all. There’s too much to live for, but... I have thought it would be better for me to disappear as far as others were concerned, at times.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes? ➔ “Easy—eyes. You can see a smile in the eyes, after all.” ► Shorter or Taller? ➔ “Being as... gifted as I am, in height, I must say it's always novel to have a taller partner. It’s happened, a few times, and I rather liked it. But I do enjoy the feeling of being a nice big presence for my partner to cuddle or drape themselves over, too. There’s merits in both. I can’t possibly choose!” ► Intelligence or Attraction? ➔ “Attraction is the most important thing of all—and there’s so much more to a person’s mind and heart than their smarts. I say this as someone who perhaps isn’t what one would consider typically intelligent.” ► Hook-up or Relationship? ➔ “Oooh, difficult. I don’t think life would be complete without a variety of experiences. But I’ve had so many hook-ups, and with all the relationships I’ve ever had coming to an end along the line, I can’t say I’d be opposed to exploring one more deeply. Especially now that life is more relaxed in general.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along? ➔ “The family was only ever ma and me, and she was around so little... but yes, we did get along. I have a feeling I’m more like her than I’ll ever truly know...” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life”? ➔ “As a shinobi, I really must say, don’t we all?” ► Have you ever ran away from home? ➔ “I prefer to say I srategically retreated.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out? ➔ “No, but perhaps my absences were... encouraged, at times. But that’s something I’ll never know for sure.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends? ➔ “If I hated anyone, I certainly wouldn’t keep it a secret!” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends? ➔ “Y’know what? Yeah. I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and all those I consider my friends are solid people.” ► Who is your best friend? ➔ “My fellow Legendary Sannin, of course! No matter the difficulties we’ve faced, those two’ve been there since the beginning, and we’re all stubbornly alive and kicking today; my feelings for them have never changed, and I doubt they ever will.” ► Who knows everything about you? ➔ “Hmm... I don’t think anybody in the world knows everything there is to know about me. Even with those closest to me, there are things even they don’t know. But I like to think I’d be an open book, should they ever wish to.”

[the-rebel-archivist]

OC Interview: Raynda Lavellan

NAME ➔

Raynda Lavellan. Or, rather, Rutherford, but you don’t have to use that, it’s still pretty weird to me too. It’s sort of like giving up part of your identity, right? But it’s also so comfy and homey.

[‘Raynda’ doesn’t seem like a traditional Dalish name, is there a story behind that?]

No.

ARE YOU SINGLE ➔

No, quite the opposite, as one might gather from the whole name thing.

ARE YOU HAPPY ➔

[She smiles and turns away before answering]

Ridiculously, stupidly happy. For such a long time after I… lost… my arm, I wasn’t.

[She traces the pattern engraved on the metal arm on her left without looking down]

It’s easier when you have someone looking out for you.

ARE YOU ANGRY ➔

I mean, I try not to be. It’s a remarkably unpleasant emotion and I’ve had enough of it. So many people in my clan were fueled by it; even I was to a large extent. I still have a short temper.

Sometimes I get angry when I think of former friends who turned out to be different from what I thought they were. Ultimately I think that people see themselves as good and try to do what they think is right, it’s just that that can conflict with what someone else thinks is good, so it’s important to look from their perspective before blowing up in anger. I don’t really know if I  even believe in an objective good, you know? Sorry, I’m a little off topic.

ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED ➔

Yes.

[She has an impassive look on her face, interrupted by amused flashes of what looks like her thinking about whether or not to say what’s on her mind.]

They’re also dead, so there’s that. But they died married, so I’m not a bastard, which is cool.

EIGHT FACTS BIRTHPLACE ➔

Somewhere in the Free Marches, I’m not really sure where seeing as I wasn’t in a state to remember the location at the time. We moved around a lot. I know we’d recently moved away from Wycome, where my father had disappeared, but I don’t know where the clan went.

HAIR COLOR ➔ 

You seem to have a working pair of eyes - they’re a nice colour, by the way - so you tell me. And don’t give me any of that ‘ginger’ or ‘’auburn’ bullshit, it’s just straight up red.

EYE COLOR ➔ 

Alright, I’ll give you this one, because people tell me that they change depending on whether I’m inside or outside. When I see them they’re blue, but I’ve heard green a lot as well. Because Cullen is fancy he sometimes goes with ‘aquamarine’ or ‘sea green,’ but I’m not particularly pretentious so I usually say ‘greeney-blue.’

BIRTHDAY ➔ 

Sometime in Drakonis, I don’t know the exact date. I’ve always liked it because it happens right when the snow is melting and spring is in the air and the birds are flying back after winter. When I first started celebrating birthdays I picked the 15th because it’s smack dab in the middle of the month.

MOOD ➔ 

My mood right now or generally? Right now I’m really pretty neutral. Generally I’m… also pretty neutral. 

GENDER ➔

Well this should be self-evident, or are you trying to insult me? Don’t… don’t mind me, I’m just going to be in the corner weeping.

I’m a girl.

[She laughs]

SUMMER OR WINTER ➔ 

Oh that’s a tough one! They really do both have so much to recommend them. I think I have to go with winter, even though I do so love the sun in the summer, since winter means curling up in blankets and drinking hot tea in front of a fire. For some reason Cullen never joins me in the blanket, but oh well, his loss, more blanket for me, and he seems content enough in the freezing cold wasteland that is the blanketless living room.

MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➔ 

Morning, easily. The sun is just coming up and it’s lovely. Plus you feel like the day is so much longer! EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ARE YOU IN LOVE ➔ 

Very much so.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT ➔ 

You know, I do. Although I’m not entirely certain that it was love at first sight as much as attraction at first sight. Helps when the person you’re falling for is easy on the eyes. Love at first speak, maybe? We had a great conversation about bows and it was the most engaging and delightful conversation of my life.

WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP ➔

I’d rather not discuss it, but me.

HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART ➔ 

This isn’t really a line of questioning I’d like to pursue. Probably a lot of people’s, probably not all romantically.

ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS ➔ 

Of the concept, no, but I haven’t really been in any place long enough to get committed. Not even to an asylum, though Creators know sometimes I think I belong there.

HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK? ➔ 

So many people. What can I say, I’m a hugger. Do you want a list? Because I can’t remember a list. If there’s a person around I’ve interacted with I’ve probably also given them a hug. Do you need a hug? You sort of look like you do.

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER ➔ 

When I was about fourteen, someone kept leaving me these really ridiculous love notes in my quiver. I still don’t know where they were from, I used to find them and laugh about them with Tam. They were the dumbest things, stuff like we can run off together, your eyes shine brighter than veilfire in the dark… He always said that we had to burn them after, I didn’t quite understand why.

It was Tam, wasn’t it.

Damn.

Well, now I feel bad.

HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART? ➔ 

How about we change the subject? SIX CHOICES LOVE OR LUST ➔ 

Why not both? If they must be separate, then love, but the best love has some lust mixed in there. 

LEMONADE OR ICED TEA ➔

Tea is hot, isn’t it? I like hot tea, though I’m not sure about how it would be cold. I should try it! So, uh, lemonade I guess.

CATS OR DOGS ➔ 

I like them both! Cats have a special place in my heart though, the way they’re social but on their own terms. They seem  solitary, but can be so good at keeping one company.

A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS ➔ 

A few best friends. I’d rather have a smaller number of real relationships with people who actually care about me.

WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN ➔ 

Night in, hands down. Although I do enjoy a good party, especially one that isn’t too crazy so that I can hear the people around me speaking.

DAY OR NIGHT ➔ 

I like them both - I mean, have you looked at the starry sky at night? Gorgeous. It’s so sparkly. But the sun is warm and bright, like a hug from the universe, so day. That’s my final answer. FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT ➔ 

Oh, fuck yes, do you know how hard it is to sneak out of an aravel? Pretty freaking hard. 

There was this one time at the last arlathvhen I went to when I went to meet a boy in the woods and… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell this story. It was a pretty good time until the rabbits.

Tam’s mom was so mad. She wanted to make me sleep outside, but, well, that wasn’t much of a punishment so for the rest of the arlathvhen I had to sleep closest to the wall. It was hot.

[She laughs and looks down]

Good times.

FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS ➔ 

It’s really embarrassing, but both, more times than I can count. It got so bad that Cullen insisted we find a house with only one floor. I had a permanent bruise on my shin from falling up the stairs at Skyhold. What, they were an awkward length and I kept trying to go up two at a time! Think of all the valuable seconds I saved. When I didn’t trip like an idiot.

WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT? ➔

I don’t know, can you get me my arm back? Haha, I’m just kidding. Or am I.

WANTED TO DISAPPEAR ➔ 

Wouldn’t you want to if everyone kept asking you what to do and you had no sodding idea what the best path was? FOUR PREFERENCES SMILE OR EYES ➔

Smile. A smile brightens up someone’s whole face. It’s also so much fun to make someone who doesn’t smile much burst out laughing, it’s like a ray of sunshine.

SHORTER OR TALLER ➔ 

I like people to be taller than me, with at least a good five inches of clearance, but honestly it doesn’t matter much. If I truly care about someone height isn’t important.

INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION ➔ 

Oh, intelligence. I can appreciate a pretty man well enough and they’re good for some things, but for anything deeper I need someone who can make me think, you know?

HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP ➔ 

Relationship. I’ve done the hook-up thing enough and it only leaves you lonely. Plus you can work on really tailoring your in-bed experience to your preferences in a relationship, constantly iterating on concepts and what not. Lots of iteration. Yup. FAMILY DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG ➔ 

I assume you mean my clan, not my dead parents, but either way the answer is no. Cullen’s family is great though, they’ve really adopted me. They’re so… warm. I thought it was normal for families to be distant. But Mia’s more of a hugger than I am!

WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE” ➔ 

Maybe once I would have.

HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME ➔ 

Slept in the forest, yes, but I wouldn’t have run away. When you only have familiarity with one small group it’s hard to break out of that. Like, money - what do you do when you know how to barter but barely know the value of a coin?

HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT ➔

Let’s just say learning the value of a coin was the easiest part of a pretty rude awakening. FRIENDS

DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS ➔ 

Absolutely not, if I hated someone I wouldn’t be friends with them. Sometimes people can get on my nerves, I’ll admit.

DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS ➔ 

Yeah, I really do.

WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND ➔ 

Definitely Dorian, he’s persistent and won’t let me not be his friend. He makes me laugh so hard, and my fashion sense has really gotten an upgrade from being around him. Sometimes I look in the mirror at an outfit and just think, ‘Thanks, Dorian.”

Also did I say he’s funny? He’s uproariously funny.

Sometimes I want to twist his moustache just to annoy him. I do it, but I want to too. He hates it. But I think he also secretly loves it.

On a more serious note, he has a unique perspective and I’m pretty sure he’s the smartest person I know. He probably should treat me like an idiot in comparison, but he doesn’t.

WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ➔ 

Cullen. If there’s anything he doesn’t know about me it’s because I’ve forgotten about it or it’s just never come up, but he knows me like nobody else does.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

It Came to the Wrong Town

The smell of meat roasting over the open fire sparked up conflicted feelings in his heart. His stomach growled and felt like a sharp blade made of pure hunger had just gotten rammed right into it—but a sense of guilt twisted the knife.

Something about that smell of burning wood—the stinging smoke in his nostrils, paired with the the scent of the roast—reminded him of his upbringing up north. But the thought of his dead horse being the source of his meal for the night elicited a deep and sorrowful sigh.

He looked up, squinting to see past the dancing flames and rising embers. A dead body rested by the campfire on the side opposite of the marshal, wrapped up in a blood-soaked blanket and tied up with rope so to not reveal his face. Little did the lawman know that he would be getting company soon—the living sort.

U.S. Marshal Ezrah McPherson rolled out a leather pouch on the dusty ground before him, laying it out. He started dismantling his revolver to clean it and distract himself from his depressing situation and current predicament. This way, it was easier to banish the thought of his loyal steed, Lightning, being dead.

He perished the thought of some dim-witted cattle thief by the name of Tobias Lonnie Stowell being responsible for Lightning’s untimely demise. The two-bit criminal had not even aimed at Lightning, he had tried to shoot the marshal.

Worse, McPherson loathed that bringing this outlaw to justice had been his only pursuit since arriving at the town of Dead End. Other things had led him here. Things he had prepared for, unlike petty crooks.

Unnatural things.

Even the circumstance of killing Stowell disappointed McPherson. He would have preferred to bring the man in alive and have him pay for his crimes. His aim had been off ever since a skinwalker claimed his left eye, so the shots had killed the crook, rather than disabling him.

The marshal sighed again and assembled his service weapon once more. Even missing a pinkie finger and some feeling in his left hand from a recent injury, he put the pieces back together with steadfast routine and swift precision. The gunslinger holstered the weapon in a flash and rolled the leather satchel with cleaning utensils back up, putting it into a saddlebag slung over a nearby rock.

He picked the skewer he had carved from the campfire and ate the roasted horse meat in silence.

“Waste not,” he murmured in between bites, chewing, and swallowing. His time with Tsela Hatali yielded such wisdom. He reminisced about his time with the medicine man—the shaman who had taken him in after his encounter with a skinwalker.

Although barely burnt and despite the meat smelling good, the bad feeling in his gut persisted. After the meal, he wiped his hands off on his pants. The night dragged on in silence with him retracing his route to get out here into the hills outside of Dead End, mentally mapping the way back to the trampled path from which he had chased Stowell.

He checked his pocket watch, closed it again, and pressed the secret button combination on it—causing tiny silvered blades to snap out from it. Using a whetstone from his duster’s pouch, he sharpened them to while away the time. The night’s cold set in, enveloping the pocket of comforting heat around the campfire, and the sharp contrast sent shivers down the marshal’s spine.

Without Lightning—or any horse, really—McPherson calculated it to take him three days to get back to the town of Dead End. Finding the way should prove no challenge.

He remembered the face of Miss Brubaker from the train ride over, quite comely and inviting. Then he remembered her sobbing face, twisted by fear and dread after encountering the madman they had killed in the freight wagon. Last he reckoned, she left town immediately the day after they arrived. The marshal pushed those memories back down into some dark recesses of his mind.

Then again, it was not like it was his fault. She had been too nosy for her own good. And she also had the luck to not know what the real threat on that train had been.

A wolf howled in the distance.

Funny, that, McPherson thought. One of the fellow marshals had told him those things had been hunted to extinction in these parts.

Instead of feeling more alarmed or alert from the sound, the monotony of twigs and coal crackling in the fireplace, coupled with the sense of solitude that overcame him, let his thoughts drift and wander aimlessly. Exhaustion finally caught up to him. The marshal slumped against the flat of the rock where he sat.

He fell asleep very quickly. Too quickly.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes as he sat up, alarmed by the silhouette of a figure standing in front of him. He had drawn his six-shooter and aimed it at his unannounced visitor before any thoughts even crossed his mind. With the back of his free hand, he rubbed his nose and snorted to clear his nose, blinking again to clear his vision.

The figure must have been eight feet tall. The marshal thought this giant of a man was wearing furs, but on his second take, he realized that this person was covered in shaggy fur from head to toe. Dark brown or dark red, he could not quite discern, for the glow of his campfire had died down quite a bit.

McPherson swallowed the bad taste in his mouth. He regretted his prayers to find the unnatural things out here.

The silhouette stared at him. Dark eyes glowered, in which the dying embers were reflected, dancing as those eyes stared with a wordless cruelty. The creature studied him. He studied it in turn. It stood upright on freakishly long limbs and had fur all over. Its hands were twice as long as those of a large man, but not nearly wide enough to look natural.

“Howdy,” the marshal growled. He cleared his throat, surprised by how gravelly his greeting had drawled out of his mouth. He had wanted to make that sound a bit friendlier.

The giant stared at him. It offered no response.

McPherson lowered the gun and nodded to the stick upon which he had roasted meat from Lightning without breaking eye contact with the creature before him.

“Got some more if you’re hungry,” he said.

After another awkward stretch of silence but no signs of hostility from the creature, he holstered the gun.

“You ain’t much of a talker, huh?”

McPherson chuckled and wiped over his lips with a thumb and index finger.

“Ain’t much of a looker, either. Well, you’re in good company here, ‘cause I’m neither of those things myself.”

McPherson chuckled again, but this time, it died in his throat after half of what it should have been. The smile faded from his face. The unsettling silence from the shaggy giant continued.

“Well, I hate to be a bad host, but if you ain’t gonna be partakin’ in my meal or sharin’ at least some words of greetin’s, I’m gonna have to kindly ask you to leave. Mister?”

For some reason, the marshal had hoped that the shift to a higher pitch in that questioning tone would prompt the creature to finally respond.

It stared. It never blinked. Its gaze burned.

McPherson made an effort of sitting still, keeping the posture of a relaxed statue. Underneath the surface, his heart raced and his nerves frayed. One wrong move, one twitch, and he would sling his revolver back out and shoot this thing in the skull.

It finally broke eye contact with him. Its gaze swept past the fire and locked onto the dead body of Tobias Stowell. The marshal followed its line of sight and felt even more unsettled by how long the creature stared at the wrapped-up corpse.

The marshal clicked his tongue.

“No funny ideas, Mister. The outlaw over yonder’s comin’ back to town with me. Would hate to have to waste some good bullets tonight, truth be told.”

The creature’s head turned with sudden speed, transfixed on the marshal’s eyes again. That set of eerie black eyes stared into the one steel-blue eye and one milky-white eye of the lawman.

It turned, and left. McPherson expected sounds, but it moved with complete and unnerving silence.

He waited for seconds. Moments. Minutes. Time dragged on with painful slowness. He checked his pocket watch and noted the ungodly hour of night before hiding it away in his pocket again. He shot a nervous glance around him to confirm that the hairy giant was gone.

The marshal wished it was so, but it was not meant to be. He could not see it, but he felt its terrible gaze upon him. It continued to study him. He did not know this for a fact, but he pictured it with vivid imagination.

Time melted away. The darkness of sleep overcame him again. McPherson struggled to stay awake, but his body refused. He sensed his true exhaustion being overtaken by something abnormal—something unnatural. Just like the creature’s presence. Under normal circumstances, he could have stayed awake. The lawman pinched himself regularly, yet fell asleep again.

When he awoke, the fire was out. Smoke rose from it and it stank to the high heavens, as if someone or something had urinated on it. Clouds covered most of the waning moon and dim shapes formed in McPherson’s field of vision.

Strange sounds reached his ears. Slurping, snapping.

A small, shaggy figure stood on the opposite side of the smoking, fireless fireplace. Wrong—it was a giant, like the one from before, but squatting next to Stowell’s body. Rope lay splayed out, frayed where horrendous strength had ripped it apart. The blanket, disheveled, fluttered in a gust of wind where it hung from a bush nearby, rather than being wrapped around the dead man’s body.

The snapping came from the bones that the giant split apart like the skin or shell around some succulent fruit. Sinew tore, flesh ripped, and the creature slurped again, sucking marrow from the insides of the corpse’s opened bones.

With delay, McPherson realized he had gasped once the creature and he locked eyes again. He reached for his gun, but it took forever to draw, for his hand weighed a million tons. His vision blurred and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop seeing double. Raising the gun and aiming at the creature, his arm swayed. He squeezed his eyes shut again, all the while feeling the dreadful gaze of this creature upon him.

Saiduka.

His finger curled around the trigger and squeezed, but all strength had escaped him. Even if he could have taken the shot, he might have missed—or worse, he might have shot himself in the foot.

The creature continued to stare at him. Saiduka, he thought, remembering Tsela Hatali’s lessons about the Manitou and the monsters. “The Paiute wiped them out. That is all you need to know about them, warrior,” Tsela had told him. Would his lips have obeyed him now, the marshal would have uttered profanities this very second, swearing up and down what kind of devil had ridden Tsela to share so little about them.

McPherson also wanted to say something, perhaps to shout and scare it away, but unseen forces continued to rob him of any strength and cognition. His tongue lolled and no sound escaped his lips. The claws of sleep grabbed at him still, dragging him back into a dream realm. For a moment, the marshal even wondered if this was real at all.

But his heart pounded like a drum. This was all very, terribly real.

The creature’s mouth opened, proving to be much larger than he had imagined. Its teeth were sparse and strangely rounded, disappearing again once it bit down on the femur and sucked more marrow out. Slurping, suckling, hungry. The smell of human refuse and feces now hit the marshal’s nose.

And the slurping sounds made McPherson’s stomach knot. Bile started climbing back up his throat, making him feel like vomiting.

But he was powerless—his hand plummeted to the ground, the revolver bounced down into the dust beside him. Some sort of spell must have crippled the lawman. This savage-looking creature wielded unnatural power.

It gingerly laid the femur onto the pile of mangled and dismembered body parts that used to be Stowell’s corpse and rose to full height.

Just blinking, McPherson missed how it had taken silent steps to stand right above him, towering over him. Although no light cast reflections in its eyes now, he felt its stare, piercing into his skull, penetrating his mind and soul.

He blinked again and it had crossed half the distance of squatting down next to McPherson. The rest of its body froze while a hand with impossibly long, lanky fingers, pitch-black and smooth like snakeskin, reached out to him. It crept closer and closer to his neck.

The clouds cleared up, the moonlight rendered the fur framing its silhouette into a bright and bloody crimson.

Before the creature’s gnarled fingernails could pierce the flesh of McPherson’s neck, it howled. A howl unlike any animal out here. A howl unlike anything a human would ever emit. It jolted back into standing, shying away from the small leather satchel hanging from the marshal’s neck.

The Saiduka hissed, and spat onto the ground. The dust and rocks sizzled where the spittle hit, dissolving the earth like acid.

It arched back and its hands curled, trading out any semblance of humanity for monstrous claws. It howled again, this time towards the sky. Hunching over and stumbling away from McPherson, it retreated, staring at him with hate. Its eyes darted back and forth between his face and the satchel from the medicine man that hung from his neck like a talisman.

The marshal managed to grasp the satchel and hold it tight. With every fiber of his being, he knew that something about the charm had warded this creature off. He clung to it like his life depended on it.

The creature retreated farther away, then lunged at him, hissing and snarling and baring its stumpy fangs at him. It then darted to the side, and snatched up a human leg from Stowell’s remains. It stared at the lawman with defiance, as if stealing away any morsels from the corpse was a hard-won victory.

McPherson’s eyelids grew heavy once more and he fought with all his might to keep them open. But the darkness of unwanted sleep overcame him once more.

A piercing cry awoke him. Hawk, he reckoned. McPherson scrambled to get back up on his feet, pawing around till he gripped his trusty revolver and slinging out the second one in his other hand. He swiveled several times, blinking furiously to regain his vision in the blinding daylight.

The creature was nowhere to be seen and flies already buzzed around the mutilated remains of Stowell. McPherson gagged and covered his mouth with the back of a hand, fighting the urge to vomit again. The smell of excrement and decay clung to his nostrils, having crept in there for the past hours as he lay unconscious by the extinguished campfire.

He shouldered the heavy saddlebags and staggered away from the grisly campsite.

After taking a break by the side of a stream, splashing his face with water and counting his blessings, he started looking for tracks. Before long, he found a footprint of something vaguely human but far too large, imprinted in the mud, followed by tufts of reddish hair clinging to branches where the woods began.

The lawman peered into the darkness beyond, where the forest swallowed up all the light. In his mind, the Saiduka stared back at him from there. He shook his head and shot that thought down the moment it started welling up.

McPherson decided to return to Dead End instead. He left the tracks behind him. He needed supplies and he needed to conduct some research. This thing was not going to elude him for long. McPherson thought one more thing as he began his march back to Dead End.

It came to the wrong town.

—Submitted by Wratts

[1dffexchange]

A Star is Torn

To: Christa @wild3flow3r​

From: Rory @verorax​

Warnings: Language, sexual content, mentions of substance abuse and a gunshot.

Summary: Harry Styles is known as the charming, perfect superstar who has not done a single wrong thing in his life. Abigail Quinn is known as the washed away superstar who has been doing tequila shots since she was eleven.

They fell in love, fast and hard. They thought they could make each other 'themselves' again but when you've spent an entire lifetime living a shallow, faux life, you don't really know what you were before the world made you who you are.

A story about tequila, empty homes, being a coward, and a journey down the ladder of success to meet everyone once lost

Or an ou inspired by Lady Gaga’s soul shattering song ‘Shallow’

Author's Note: hi christa! i'm so glad that i wrote this prompt and even more that i wrote this for you!! cheers to our friendship with this 25K story!

November 2022

At twenty eight, Harry Styles found himself sitting in the lobby of a hotel behind the big green chair that was particularly reserved for him in the name of privacy. A cup of black coffee (that he liked with brown sugar and the slightest tint of creamer) was cooling down in front of him, as of yet, lying completely untouched. And a copy of War and Peace remained etched to his eyes despite the fact that he wasn't really paying much of an attention to it.

Most people would sell their souls to live a day in Harry's luxurious Beverly Hills Mansion or the penthouse he had brought on the Sunset Strip last year, but to him they were all mere investments he'd done following the words of his financial advisor. Rather the penthouse he had brought was a gift for his sister, Gemma, on her wedding last summer. Not that it was needed; she barely ever came to LA, mostly loving the land of English too much. Thence Harry still had an extra key of the house just in case he decides to crash.

But that never really happened. Harry Styles wasn't happy being stagnant. His life has been a non stop routine of travelling, often living the same day twice (in different time zones) and then more almost losing an entire day by a few hours.

Travelling meant Harry had lived in Four Seasons more than he had lived in any place that was could be called home.

There was something about sitting in the lobby the way he was right now. He'd done it plenty of times. It allowed him to hear the crying of the toddler in his father's arms behind him or the couple whispering sweet nothings and giggling every once in a while, without worrying about all of the world's attention diverted to him as soon he entered a room (only making him more guilty). It gave him a sense of normality around him, even if he knew he'd never be a part of that normality.

California was the golden state. The first time Harry came to LA, he was still very seventeen, very much of a popboy and very much in One Direction. While rest of the boys found the place cool enough to hang out once in a while, Harry took the liking for it too hard. The fascination with the city of stars lodged itself in his brain, his heart, his soul, in that order. As if it was not enough, it slowly seeped down to the crinkles of his eyes, his dimpled grin and the crumpled papers on his stainless floor forming the subject of his multiple famous tunes. Eventually he realised why almost every celebrity finds LA more endearing than any other land. Sometimes he felt like he came to LA to take a break from reality as if he was on a world detox.

Maybe it was the the warmth of the sun or the lack of gloomy, rain sounds that dominated back in England – giving him an effusively jubilated feeling that maybe life is not as dark as people say when it came to Hollywood. But time made him learn – to get warm you must burn. That is why eleven years later he was still burning yet somehow thought the warmth was worth it.

From : Jeffrey

H!!!! Party tonight remember? At Catch, 7. I'll pick you up. And please get your Chevy from car wash first thing tomorrow morning, Glenne says

From : Harry

Who's party? Say hi to Glenne.

From : Jeffrey

YOUR party, idiot. 125 million remember, Richie Rich?

From : Harry

This is Glenne, I can tell from the tone.

From : Jeffrey

BE THERE BUT.

And yeaaaahhh Glenney here!

Harry chuckled as he kept his phone on his lap and took the coffee that was too cold for his liking now. His net worth had recently reached a whopping 125 million USD – a news that was given to him over the weekend, the first thing as he concluded his third solo tour. His mum was very proud of him, so was his sister, they both being in nearly tears. Both him and his mum had decided to give a good percent of it away on charity, the subject of which was yet to be decided.

But for now his ‘friends’ and tour mates needed a party, a well acclaimed event that his publicist wanted a lot of people to know about.

Harry would be lying if he said that it didn't matter. He had always been an ambitious lad, a perfectionist as Niall and often Liam would term it as. And watching a memento of his success, a new notch on his perfect, splashy, non tainted image as ‘superstar who only keeps on going higher’, it made him proud of his over-working nature. But what made him proud even more of the way his tour ended.

It was the most beautiful show he had ever played despite the fact that he said the same thing after every single show. The final show was in LA as it's always been, the crowd celebrating another Harry Styles Victory and it being attended by most of the people nearest and dearest to him. Of course when he looked back at it, in all those eleven years, there were so many more people he'd left behind than take along. But everytime that feeling started crawling up to him, he tried to push it away. These thoughts only made him guilty of his success. And as much as he tries to convince himself that this is how life is supposed to be, it still stung and each absence left a gaping hole in his existence, never mended by time.

As he finished his coffee, placing the empty cup carefully on the table he knew he had to go back to his room in order to get ready; seven was not long away. And then as he turned around glancing at the once crying toddler who was now sleeping peacefully in his father's arms Harry thought, maybe it was how it's always supposed to be – first it's shallow then deeper. He just didn't know where and when his deeper was going to come.

■■■

LA’s dining scene was a notorious fickle. While Harry usually preferred his Cafe Habana in Malibu or the very paps free zone of Cavatina, when it came to anything in public view it always came down to Catch. Despite Harry and Jeffrey's unlikeliness for the dine-here-drink-here restaurant, Glenne happens to drag them there on several occasions, making sure Harry wears his hair well on those days. She usually says, “Harry it's a pap pic day. I need you in a good shirt and do not forget to brush the untamable disheveled wig of yours.”

Glenne was Jeffrey's wife. Sometimes looking at them, Harry felt ridiculously jealous. He was a man of twenty eight, a hopeless romantic at heart and very unfortunate when it came to his love life. All of his bandmates have had some or the other real relationship in their lives, so did his closest friends after the band and even his very shy often geeky sister. All of this only made him pity on his situation, often making him wonder where he goes wrong when it comes to love.

After a whirlwind of congratulatory hugs and being bubbly, jumping from one group to another, and raising a toast in the name of his entire team, Harry felt his job was done for the night. He had done everything mandatory and the rest left was just chilling. That's when he excused himself from Jeffrey's grip, wanting nothing more than some cool air that could parch down his body temperature, some space to breathe until he finds himself oxygenated enough to go back to his mates.

He usually loves a good party, but what he hates is the aftermath. Once the party is over, everyone leaves. Harry, though would spend hours at the party location, not leaving till the echoes of people from the night slowly dims into oblivion and he can actually hear his heart beating – that's how silent everything becomes. That is when he leaves, trying to find another place so loud that he can't hear his own thoughts.

The rooftop was not a good idea. It had a gorgeous view and that usually meant his model friends and guests were out there taking the best pictures of the night to flaunt brazenly on their Instagram pages. And if Harry happened to be in room, as always, he'll have to pose with them – in groups, solo – all of it sounding nothing but another hour of smiles and cameras to him.

So instead he took the spot beside the door of the rooftop, leaning his back on the wall and closing his eyes in silence. The November breeze was cold on his face, as if opening the pores on his skin that had been closed due to excessive make-up. It was a feel good, the music being lighter than ever and Harry felt that he was deported to a silent room yet with lot of human presence, the body heat around him reminding him that — the exact way he wanted it all to be.

“Tequila?” Harry’s face perked up at someone talking to him. For a moment he gasped at the voice but soon came to a rest when he saw a girl with blonde hair, average height and cocked up eyebrow holding out a tequila glass to him.

“Thank you.” He sighed, taking the drink from her hand, something that made her smile. She was wearing a denim ankle length jeans and an overused washed away Rolling Stones tee. For a moment Harry felt she didn't have an idea of what the party was about. Most females here were kind of dressed up (not the gown dressed up, the fancy dinner dressed up). But what a woman wore was not much of his worry, at all actually.

“You're welcome.” She said crossing her hands over her chest and standing beside him.

Harry was still nursing the tequila when a thought occurred to him. He kind of chuckled speaking, “Is it by any means spiked? I mean I didn't ask for this and you're just coming here and offering me a drink.”

That earned him a laugh. “Ah don't worry, I by no means intend of taking you to bed and stripping you down once you're inebriated.” The blonde shrugged, pushing her hair away. She sounded innocent but the glint of smirk on her face said otherwise. “Just thought the host doesn't look good sans a glass of drink.”

“Very considerate of you… but I'm not buying that. You don't even have a drink yourself.” He suggested cheekily when she looked at him with a bewildered expression.

“Come on, can't a girl be nice?” Harry's expression was still skeptical but he nodded nonetheless. When after a few moments he opened his mouth to speak again, the blonde rolled her eyes giving away the act and taking a hold of his arm. “Okay, listen I know it usually happens later at night but I'll keep it hidden and very quick.”

“Are you by any means asking me for a quickie? I usually chat first, maybe share a drink-”

“A bill. A green note.” She interjected him.

“So you're asking me for money?” Harry still sounded as lost and confused as he did.

This only made the blonde sigh, she stretched on her toes moving closer to Harry so she could whisper into his ear. “A rolled green note? I know you might have it hidden around.”

Realisation hit him, only making his eyes go wide before he awkwardly chuckled. “I..I don't. Sorry, I don't do cocaine.”

“That's a lie, pal.” She scoffed. “It's just me you can let with the nice guy act slip. Nothing wrong in mild spliff.”

It's just me. Harry never understood that line. Maybe because nobody ever said anything like that to him. And nobody did because they were intimidated by him, his name, his fame and things that come along. But now that this girl had said it, he wanted to know what that line actually means.

“You really don't?” She asked moving a hand around his face only getting a guilty shrug. “How do you not? Cocaine is like water for celebrities.”

“I've heard that.” He nodded being reminded the above statement too often. “But I roll away with a weed max, that too very rare.”

“Weed at max? Not even acid.” He shook his head kind of embarrassed at this point the way she was looking at him. In that moment he thought she might rebuke him and leave but when she pouted, still keeping her stand he had started feeling more comfortable. “Damn you. What did I even sacrifice my tequila for?”

He laughed taking his first sip of the tequila. “I am so sorry that you had sacrifice your tequila. But I can promise you that later at night a lot of people can give you a rolled green note.”

“I'm not staying that late.” She announced once she had checked time from her watch. After what looked like a little thought, the blonde added, “And actually thank you that you don't have it. I have a class early morning tomorrow and can't be jammed before that.”

Harry was overwhelmed by this information. It was rare finding people who go to school at such parties. Nonetheless he nodded. “Tequila? If that's not jamming.” He offered her a drink that he had just taken from the tray one of the waiters was carrying. The blonde nodded with a small smile, taking his offer.

“Abigail Quinn.” She brought a hand forward and he gently took it in courtesy.

“Harry Styles.”

Harry said that because it seemed the only right thing to say. Abigail Quinn was no random name. The world knew her as childhood star from a famous Disney sitcom called ‘Bunker Hill’, who's been doing vodka shots since she was eleven. He remembered that he had to meet her somewhere when he was nineteen, very vaguely though. Niall had a huge crush on her, he had stolen Harry's cologne because it apparently ‘attracted woman’, to impress her. She never came to meet them. They were told she got stuck in work hammering Niall's timid heart but the news of her being arrested on the account of drink and drive the next day was not something that could be hidden away from them.

“Where do you study?” Harry questioned in a cautious tone, with everything about Abigail's past it was a rather caution worthy subject.

“UCLA psychology.” She answered without a click as if the answer was lying in the tip of her tongue. Though her further addition came after a good pause. “Well I'm kind of focussing on substance abuse issues.”

Harry tried everything in him to keep his demeanour as normal as it can be, too scared he'd do something that will offend her away. He could only imagine how most people react to everything she does nowadays after the wildest history from her past – all splashed on papers. “So you went back to school?” Harry asked, sounding even to himself somewhat uncomfortable.

“Yeah. My mom said that the only way I'd be allowed to come back in LA is if I go to school.” Abigail shrugged. “It's fine, you can ask if it's weird or not.”

“Sorry,” Harry's voice was like a drawl, genuinely guilty. “No offense but it's already weird being in the public eye. Then school.. I'd never be able to do it.”

“I hope you never have to. At least some of us can stay a stellar superstar.” The last part came as a mutter and Harry could see that Abigail regretting saying it. But it was the first time ever since this conversation began that he had looked at her face properly, brazenly, not peeking a glance but rather studying every feature; not even blinking properly. “What's actually weird is being 27 and an undergrad. I look like a middle aged woman with six children. Even if I talk to guys they act as if I am a madam. ‘Lady Quinn, can you tell me the schedule of tomorrow?’”

Her mocking voice was extremely humorous and Harry didn't mind laughing along. “I think you're being too hard on yourself. You look pretty fit and young.”

“You would say that, you're my age. Ask the kid who nearly drools on my shoulder whenever he's too sleepy in class.” She rolled her eyes before they both had started laughing. What seemed like a laughter for eternity but rather lasted a few minutes, she looked back at him nudging his side. “What about you? How do you feel about your 125 million grands?”

Harry sighed at the question. “It's a great feeling of accomplishment and I'm glad I'll be able to help people. A good share of it is going on charity.”

“Charity? I would've brought a wine cellar with it. Not that I didn't have one.” She told, this time being quite more confident.

“That's a very nice investment. At the end of my next tour, I'll be sure to contact you to get a wine cell.” The sarcasm in his voice earned him a slap on his chest.

There onwards, for the first time ever since his last show ended, Harry felt like himself. It was not much except for a constant bicker, throwing in comments about the weird metallic furniture or mocking the group of social media addicts on the rooftop. But it made something alive in him, something that could expand his jaw in wide smile. They were drinking tequila for the longest time known to man, it might even have been a little more than an hour as they sat on the couch right beside the rooftop door, laughing incessantly.

Due to the flame of the fire that was a part of the decor, Abigail's face was lit up highlighting the golden of her hair or the pale skin and pink chaste lips. It made Harry blush slightly when his eyes lingered on her lips a little too long.

“Abigail why don't you go home already? You have a class.” Harry asked.

“Yes but I can't leave yet.” She shrugged sighing in a slurry tone. “All thanks to you this place is very much pap friendly, sneaking inside was already a task now leaving would be much worse. Especially when there's no one else leaving.”

She probably said that all in fun but it made Harry feel ridiculously guilty. Time and again he had been reminded of how he influenced the lives of people around him but he never knew that he even impacted the life of people outside his life.

He offered her a crooked smile, unsure of what to say next. After contemplating in wry silence, he offered. “How about… I drop you? My driver, I mean. There's a backdoor and we will have our privacy.”

Abigail bit her lip opening and closing her mouth several times. “That's very sweet Harry.. but I'll have to pass. It's your party, you don't have to do so muc-”

“I insist, please,” he cut her off, placing a hand over hers.

Abigail lived in a quiet residential area of Century City. It was close to school and allowed her to commute easily, she told him. The entire ride their conversation was very similar to the one in the restaurant just this one delved more into the recent happenings of their lives, superficially. It was blatant that Abigail enjoyed school more than acting, even at an unconventional age, from the way she talked about it. On the other hand Harry seemed more intrigued by the psychology student beside him.

The car pulled to a halt outside a three storied, little building beside a flower shop. He couldn’t help but examine the area outside to see if there were any photographers, who might have been following them. Abigail got out of the car, keeping her head low. It kind of made Harry feel better that she was accustomed to this life just the way he was.

She turned on her toes to a pulled down window, “Thank you so much for this ride.”

He nodded in generous appreciation, beholding for a little while if he should accompany her to the door. So when Harry got out of the car, following her with his hands in his pockets, Abigail looked at him in a strange yet nervous way.

He couldn't blame her though, she must've been used to men thinking it was their right to let into any woman's house if they had offered to drop her. Those terms were often synonymous in Hollywood.

“Uh.. don't worry. I just thought of dropping you to the door.” He reassured, rubbing his neck uncomfortably.

She winced dramatically, “Bad luck Abigail! First I couldn't spike your drink, now I couldn't seduce you to inside.” Harry laughed very hard at her statement and from the looks of it, Abigail appreciated it. “Not every guy gives me a ride home and goes back from the door. That's sweet, popstar.”

“Not every girl gives me a her tequila in order to get a rolled green note. That's-” He spoke cheekily before being cut off.

“I'm taking the sweet back.”

■ ■ ■

December 2022

Abigail was mates with Glenne. Harry discovered this when Glenne asked him how she was in his car – something he was sure the driver must've told her. What more sufficed was that Jeffrey wasn't very pleased with the situation, even after being reassured by Harry several times that he came back from the doorstep.

They were taking some time off. They usually did post touring but with this album being just on the verge of beginning, Jeffrey knew that it wouldn't be the same time next year that they'll be touring. As much as Harry loved believing that Jeffrey was his mate, he was first a part of his management team. Hence his concern of Abigail Quinn was not just a concern of a friend but one of a manager. Harry somehow hoped he'd let this topic pass off.

A few weeks in, Harry had to move into his Beverly Hills mansion. He was glad that his first night in the house was raided by Jeff Bhasker, Alex Salibian and some other of his music colleagues, it only made him feel more in the buzz, the way he was used to. He needed coffee and exercise, in that order. His mum often joked that he had technically turned American given how he has traded his family favourite Earl Grey for darker and bitterer caffeine. Sometimes he wished he was a fan of instant coffee, that would have cut him a good slack of work but he was not and that's why when his coffee machine gritted and didn't respond due to lack of usage he knew he had to take some on his way to his Soul Cycling class.

The Soul Cycling class was a twelve minute ride on normal traffic from his place. Taking on his Chevy, he found a spot closest to the door incase a quick escape was necessary before walking into the tiny coffee shop beside the building. The queue this morning was unnecessarily long but Harry was fine as long as people didn't approach him for anything more than a selfie.

“So tequila at night, coffee in morning?”

He recognised that sound quickly. Particularly he recognized the word tequila said in that sound quickly. Tequila had not been the same word since Harry met Abigail.

“Abigail, to what do I owe the honor.” A very warm smile was an instinct as he turned around.

“Who would've known you enjoy a coffee pre-exercise, superstar?”

“Well being absolutely guilty here but these ones are too good to resist.” Harry shrugged. “Better point, I don't get women asking for a rolled note in exchange of their coffees.”

Abigail rolled her eyes at him without any hesitation. “At least I'm not the person who hasn't even taken acid in his thirty years of lifetime.”

“Twenty eight. And I proudly steer clear of them.” Harry bit his lip once, a certain memory coming in his head. He contemplated for moment if they were on the page of him mentioning one of his ex band mates. He hadn't mentioned them to anyone in a long while, as if they were never a part of his life. But then he remembered her words – it's just me and so he went with it. “Once my bandmate, Louis tried a narcotic, only ended up in fits of nosebleeds. A terrible sight, he was only twenty.”

“Poor guy. But he just needed a good tutor. I'm sure he's got used to it by now. Or if not you can always send him to me.” She winked playfully. “I can even tutor you.”

“Tutor for taking narcotics? Thank you so much but I'll have to decline.”

Harry didn't know how joking about drugs had become so normal to him. This is something he's never done. When all of his band mates, Niall included, were trying their firsts in the world of substance, Harry had steered away. He never judged people who did it, he just didn't want everything he had being wasted because of it. Time and again he had promised himself of discipline. He always thought it was only discipline that could make him who he aimed to be – ‘superstar who only keeps on going higher.’ Harry was an ambitious workaholic – another reason as to why he had missed and lost so many things in his life. It wasn't just drugs or it wasn't drugs at all. It was everything and everyone else his farce cry for discipline sent away.

“I never knew you were mates with Glenne.” Harry said putting a hand in his Nike track jacket.

“Glenne Christiaansen?” Abigail earned a nod compelling her to continue. “Yeah we met through a common friend. Crazy girl to say the least.”

“She says the same thing about you.” Harry could tell that Abigail was amused that she was a subject of his conversations with his friends. He was somewhere hoping she wouldn't say it loud, it'll only make him blush. “Says you two haven't talked in a while.”

“I haven't been in LA in a while, otherwise we're pretty good.”

Harry glanced up to place his order as they were next in the queue. He took a simple americano and moved aside for Abigail to take her turn. But when she instead followed him, he was compelled to ask.“What? You won't be taking a coffee?”

“I left my wallet at home.” She wrinkled her nose.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “Don't be daft; I wouldn’t let you pay anyways.” "Why not?” “Because I am a gentleman,” Harry explained. And just before Abigail could argue on the topic of feminism, something he knew she was about to, he added “You can always pay me back.”

Abigail didn't actually go for a coffee. When Harry told her about his mother's personal favorite chai latte at the shop she was adamant to try it.

“How will I pay you back?” Abigail asked Harry for the tenth time when he told her that she had nothing to worry about.

“You've got a point. Given how you don't even have my number.” He cheekily commented knowing where this was going.

“If you wanted my number, Harry all you had to do was ask.” Harry was smiling sheepishly as a pink patch crawled up his neck. “Just kidding, you can have it of you want.”

He reached out for her phone that she had unlocked and slid in his direction. “Why do you have emojis in front of all your contacts rather their surnames?”

“Because they're emotions.” Abigail shrugged. “And I associate people with emotions.”

“What do I get, then?”

Abigail put a tongue to her cheek before slowly forming a grin. She took her phone from his hand, keeping him to only watch her deviously pull his contact, sneaking a glance at him every once in a while. She passed it back to him, earning a loud laugh from Harry as he saw the a tequila shot emoji in front of his name.

Abigail was an avid conversationalist, Harry learnt very quickly. The entire forty five minutes of stationary cycling was highly dominated by Harry and Abigail’s inappropriate amount of laughter and bizarre looks that the rest of the cycling mates were sending their way.

“You're not coming?” Harry asked Abigail when he was just a few steps away from the door after their class was over.

She coughed awkwardly in response “I have to meet a friend. Catch with you later.”

Her words only received a tiny nod and respectable smile from Harry though the roll of her lips told him how it was a lot more to do with the line of paps waiting on the road in front than her meeting a friend.

■ ■ ■

February 2023

When Harry returned to LA a week after his birthday, he again went to a hotel instead of pulling into his Beverly Hills ‘bachelor pad’ as the media would term it. He personally thought he was too old for the term. Most of evenings he was not working, were spent in Abigail’s studio apartment that was too tiny to hold a place for two yet managed to grasp Harry's heart every time he went there.

He would cook her dinner as she managed to get her assignments done, mostly a soft tune playing in the background to fill the voids of silence. He would laugh whenever she complained about her professor being a sleepy moronic prick or her not finding her school supplements in the mess of her apartment, but let her go on anyways.

Fact was that Harry loved listening to her. It was probably the way she talked, with expressions and pressure that managed to intrigue him, making him realise why a good population of the world swooned over her acting skills on silver screen back in his teenage days.

“Do you think social media addiction can be qualified as an addiction?” Abigail inquired, eying Harry's plate of remaining Bolognese pasta after she had finished her own.

“Well given how you put the term addiction there, I think that's already a giveaway.” He chuckled, taking a sip of water directly from the bottle lying between them before snapping her hand away when she was trying to sneak in a bite. “Oi!”

“What? You're using my kitchen, my packet of pasta, my utensils. I deserve an extra bite, at least.” She argued, side-eying him before placing her hands in front of her chest.

“And you're having this because of my cooking skills, so steer clear.” He said proudly but when Abigail pouted at him he couldn't help but divide his leftover in half to share with her.

Grinning widely, she took her bite before continuing, “No, I meant, is it addiction enough to qualify in the realms of a post-graduation subject?”

“You're thinking of post-graduation?” He was inquisitive when he got up from the single couch in the apartment where they both had been sitting, having their dinner.

“Not me, just something I heard in the campus. To be frank it was weird in my opinion.” She followed him to the kitchen as he grabbed an apron from the doorstand, “Hey you can leave the dishes, I can do them tomorrow.”

“Yes just like we could've ordered a chinese takeaway but I cooked for us on this Friday night and didn't even get much of a thank you.” He dotted a boyish grin, one that earned him a little slap.

“Correction, superstar. You cooked for my gifted shirt, because it seriously has more pasta than my stomach.” She chuckled looking up and down the simple, white button up that she had gifted Harry for his birthday few weeks back.

She had gotten it on a sale at The Grove while Harry was in England for his birthday. It wasn't much, not any Gucci or Louis Vuitton that he was used to yet it was his favourite ever since he had received it. That is why Harry had gasped multiple times, even freaking out a little when, while cooking, his shirt was contaminated with a good amount of pasta sauce. Abigail told him it was nothing that a little wash won't run away even promising him that they both can wash it together this Sunday.

“I told you I am sorry.” He shook his head guilty but both of them knew that it was only Abigail pulling his leg.

She asked him to stay over, arguing that it was too late and too cold for Harry to go back to his place. Harry tried putting in his courtesy but truth be told he was elated to spend some more time with her. They took turns for the washroom, him going first before changing into a trouser and loose t-shirt for decency.

When Abigail went to the washroom, she left Harry alone amidst his thoughts and some time to vaguely pass. He spent a little while scroll down his newsfeed but eventually gave up, feeling bored. That's when he stood up, examining the walls of Abigail's house. There were numerous pictures, some of her and her family who lived in Pennsylvania, some from her teenage days. She looked very pretty even back then, he thought. He was still in the midst of going through them when he saw a small jammed drawer. It wasn't hidden on purpose but looked like it was discarded, full of old stuff...

“Those are a couple of awards I got for my sitcom back in day.” Abigail broke his trail of thoughts, her wet hair open only sitting on her shoulder. Opening the drawer and picking a trophy from what seemed a bunch of them, she said, “Outstanding Children's Award for Best Actress. Can you imagine I was children's favourite artist at sixteen? I hated children back at that time.”

She showed him the old, stained trophy laughing at it before going for another and another. But Harry wasn't paying much of an attention to the list of awards in her name. He was paying attention to the way she mocked them, as if she was embarrassed about them.

“Have you thought of going back?” He catechised, out of the blue. “Into acting I meant.”

“Never.” Abigail replied closing away the rack and going towards her bed to set pillows and sheets. “There's a reason why you leave some things. Sometimes the reasons are so strong that they control your life.”

Harry nodded knowingly. He knew that feeling, the only difference in their case being that he still didn't know the reason why he had left so many things. Sighing deeply, he picked up a pillow and a cover from her side, walking subconsciously.

“Where are you going?” She asked him with furrowed brows.

“I was thinking of sleeping in the floor.” He replied earnestly.

She laughed at him.“H, we can share a bed. You're cute and all but don't worry, I can control myself.”

■ ■ ■

April 2023

It was five days in April when Abigail finished her winter quarter finals and the first thing she demanded after stepping into Harry's Chevy, was to take her to his home. By instinct Harry turned in the direction of Century City, not long before she pulled him to a halt, rephrasing it as, “Your home, not mine. The Beverly Hills one.”

What would usually make him feel embarrassed, made Harry anxious. She had clearly stated ‘his’ home in the first place. But home was not what he linked with his Beverly Hills pad; actually home has always been an incognito term for him. Yet how he had subliminally taken the word home synonymous to Abigail's tiny apartment bewildered him.

It was a weird feeling creeping down on him. Attachment, he'd tell Glenne or Gemma whenever they brought it up. But then again, he knew better than anyone else that attachment is one thing that ruins you more than love can. At least love is a term of assurance; attachment is love without clarity. Attachment is so near to love yet so far away; attachment almost love. And that almost ruins you.

The entire car ride, Abigail was talking about her exams and her final year nearing by. And Harry was listening, listening and listening. He wanted to listen to her forever, maybe that would help him forget about the devious feeling hovering over his head. And it did, as always.

As Harry gave Abigail the code to the gate of his mansion he suddenly felt more apprehensive than ever.

This house was supposed to be his, but every night that he had to spent here (whenever he wasn't at Abigail's) he felt lost in his own world. He would walk the halls three times at night, unable to sleep, passing through the massive piano in the hall that he didn't play anymore. He would check out the pool, the foyer, the wine cell, even the barbecue lawn that was never used. There were several nights he would simply jump into the pool, sitting alone in the cold water for hours with his equally cold thoughts. There was nothing here except for overrated, comfortable silence.

And now for the first time Abigail was walking into this place, completely unaware of Harry's thoughts on it.

“Voila!” She sang entering the main hall in anticipation, pulling her hands wide in Vanna White style. “Why does this place echo, H?”

“Maybe because of lack furniture. Ain't that what science says?” He said placing the keys of his car on an underused coffee table and following her into the main hall.

“I think it's because of lack of people.” Abigail countered, running her hands over the fine leather of the main sofa. She placed her backpack on the floor beside the table, taking off her shoes and popping down on the sofa.

“Would you like a tour? Or we can first have some wine from the cell.” Harry asked in a humble tone, standing in front of her tired form.

“You have a wine cell?” Abigail gasped loudly at his statement, standing up at the speed of flash. “Do you know how fucking lucky you are?”

“Right, not lucky for having headline tours, back to back albums and awards, being chosen into One Direction. But lucky to have a wine cell. Nice perception.” He mocked her joyously before walking towards the black, all packed wine cellar which could be mistaken for a textured wall. “Which one?”

“I mean it's your cell, you have every right to chose, superstar with a posh Beverly Hills pad.” She spoke, following him into the massive room starred with wine on all four corners. Abigail tried to remain decent but it was evident how much in awe of the cell she was; and Harry was just as much in awe of her.

“Ladies first. My mum taught me manners, remember?” His voice was low and sexy as he spoke into her ear from behind. When she whipped her head halfway to see him in the vicinity he was, he raised his eyebrows, a hand slipping into her waist. They stood there for a while, not breaking their eye contact in between sporadic breaths and growing pulse. Harry took his time to appreciate every corner of her face – from her eyelashes to the highlight of her nose, back up to her glowing forehead marked by a single blonde hair strand and finally down to her lips. The extremely pink, highly kissable lips he often spent time thinking about.

Abigail breathed audibly, something that was followed by an awkward cough. Moving towards the directory of the cell, she scanned through the book aimlessly under Harry's deep gaze on her. He could see that her cheeks were burning red and she bit and chewed her lips nervously. “This is a gorgeous collection, H. I really get to choose?”

When she looked back at him humming a yes, she thanked him with a wide smile before moving forward to take out the wine she had chosen. It was a red Bordeaux encased in dark glass, one they decided to share directly from the bottle. Abigail proposed to toast on their way because she was extremely excited to see Harry's ‘home’ and all other wonders he had kept hidden from her.

They walked down halls through the floors, admiring the kitchen, the foyer, the paintings that Harry had collected over the years but never looked back at, the lawn with its multiple exquisites, moving to the pool area and back into the interior. Abigail gushed over the walk-in closet that was probably more spacious than her entire apartment and the sick, new television launched by Google with virtual space technology, one that Harry doesn't even remember how to switch on.

Half a bottle later they were back in the living room and Abigail was still swooning over the entire place when her eyes fell on a black and red box in the corner of the room. She stood up and trudged towards the corner of Harry's living room, primarily focussed on the cute Crosley record player that was resting there comfortably.

“You are such an untrustworthy person, Harry. First you have a wine cell then a record player and you were keeping them all from me.” She accused him, hands running over the victrola.

Harry followed her suite in order to comprehend the reason of his indict. Realising her reference, he pulled his hands up, “In all of my defense I cook us dinner at least four times a week and I never pegged you for a record player fan.”

“Really? What did you peg me for?” She asked him with a frown.

“You always play Apple Music, you know the modern world girl. Not vintage.”

“Well then you surely had a few strong wrong inhibitions on me.” She countered, looking over to the drawer with his vinyl collections in awe, “ My mother used to play her vinyl collection everytime she had to make me do my homework after shooting. They kind of soothed me because it was usually past dinner when I'd get time touch my books.”

“You worked very hard, Abby.” He enunciated softly as if it was a fact.

“I guess.” Abigail laughed, shaking her head. “Is it vintage? The record player.”

“Sure is.” Harry confirmed.

“Play me some?” It was more of a statement than a request but Harry was quick to abide. Abigail move aside, giving him enough space to go through his vinyls. Music was Harry's reign, his love, his way of expression, his art and Abigail trusted him with it.

After a protracted period, he brought out a single CD, putting it in the player and turning on the sound.

“‘Love Me Tender’, very appreciable.” Abigail raised her eyebrows in reverence, recognizing the Elvis Presley song as soon as words entered the track.

Harry turned around slowly after putting the record on, his hands behind his back as he took long, slow steps in her direction. “Well what would be more appreciable is if you dance with me? For Sir Presley.”

She stared at his outstretched palm, before laughing and shoving him aside. “Bucker off Styles Boy.”

But Harry was quick to get a hold of her hand, swinging her back, right into his arms. “Come on, don't tell me you only study over music. The best way to live music is to dance on it.” It was probably the wine that had given him all the confidence in the world because Harry was too calm and confident for their faces being only inches apart. Abigail on the other hand, wasn't. “Do you trust me, Abby?” He asked looking straight into her eyes receiving a very weak but sure nod. “Then dance with me.”

This time Abigail took Harry's offered palm willingly, something that brought a huge smile to his face. He parted away from her guiding them towards the hall where they had some empty space before pulling her towards him. Her hands snaked around his shoulders and his went around her waist, pretty smoothly to say the least. It was feel good, rhythmic and slow with Harry leading their dance.

“Okay, this is not as awful as I thought.” Abigail observed slowly with a smile.

“I guess I can be of some use.” Harry said proudly, thumb tapping on her hip.

“So tell me, are there any stories to this?”

“A lot of them – few girlfriends, loads of shags, it often starts with a romantic dance.” Harry winked at her cheekily, gaining a deep glare from her. “Oi, I was kidding Abby.”

He took her hand to swirl her twice before pulling her back into his arms, it had her giggling loudly. “I meant the vinyls, how you have them listed and arranged by genre.”

The cheery smile on his face was replaced my one that was slightly sad. Nonetheless he replied, “The entire collection was my dad’s. Every time I visited him, growing up we would listen to it. He.. he left it for me with a note after...after his death last year.”

“Oh,” Abigail took a moment to absorb the new information, stopping her feet slowly. “I am so sorry Harry.”

“Can we please keep on doing this?” Harry gestured, referring to their dance, he knew well he needed some sort of distraction if he was going to continue. Abigail nodded in response, now their once seemingly romantic dance turned into simple swaying in rhythm. “It was weird, him leaving even though I didn't grew up around him much. First Robin left us a few years back, then dad. That kind of made me more of a man of the family than I already was.”

Abigail nodded understandingly, watching live the glint of sadness in his eyes that she'd always seen somewhere hidden.

“You know dad hated my job.” Harry added with a dry chuckle. “He told me that it would ruin everything, that every celebrity goes down into a deep pithole someday. I had challenged him that my behaviour will never falter down, I'd be clean.”

Abigail had her eyes furrowed deep in concentration as if it was the most important thing she had ever heard. “And that's what you've been trying to live upto all this while?”

“You know this world, Abby. It's pretty easy to slip, ain't it?” He looked down, biting his lips.“I did everything in me to prove it to him but… but he didn't. I couldn't make him proud while he was here,” Harry mumbled a ‘shit’ when he realised a little tear escaping his eye.

“Oi,” Abigail instinctively reached the tear before him, wiping it away.

“I'm sorry if I'm a bit emotional.” He chortled nervously between patchy breathing, “I've never really shown these vinyls to anyone, never said these things loud and I mean just.. fuck.. I'm a mess.”

“It's okay. It's absolutely okay.” She lifted his chin, making him look up at her. Harry had never appreciated her more than this moment itself, her look enough to calm down his nerves.

He was still swaying slightly, Abigail's head resting on his chest as she spoke more words of brightness to him. He wanted this to go on forever, her telling him how everything would be okay through and through and him listening; listening to her for hours, days, maybe even years.

“H, can I ask you something?” Abigail’s voice was timid and raw from not speaking for a long time. “Why did you show it to me when you’ve never shown this to anyone?”

“Because it's just you.”

She lifted her head slowly from Harry's chest and he watched her hair stuck on the button of his shirt. To be frank he never wanted to let that strand of hair off his shirt, maybe that would mean that she'll stay here in his arms, her warmth wiping away the coldness of the floor. And maybe for the first time this warmth won't burn him.

Harry couldn't formulate anything, it was all conveniently spontaneous when his hand cradled her jaw, tilting her head upwards. A slight shiver went down his back when Abigail responded by fisting his shirt tightly.

He could smell peppermint on her breath and hear the low, sporadic breaths that escaped from her parted lips. His lips grazed over her own, the simple hesitation casting a shadow of doubt in his mind. But when her mouth met his, all feelings of uncertainty in his mind vanished immediately. It wasn’t much, a simple feathery brushing of lips, mouths moving gently over one another and then fell into a rhythm of sorts.

Harry had never anticipated this with Abigail. They've been friends since November when they first met. Most of his endeavours till date were either quick attraction or purposeful dating. But with Abigail it was so different. There was a built up, like a story with layers. Everything here was slow, everything had a meaning and this everything was what he was getting attached to. With Abigail it was first shallow then deeper and Harry was ready to dive in.

A friendship that started with a simple tequila came here to them taking off each other's clothes tonight. And Harry didn't know where any of this would go ahead. But all of the thoughts and consequences could patiently wait for the next day.

■ ■ ■

May 2023

It was one truth that Harry Styles found nothing more endearing than a productive day of songwriting and recording.

And another that Harry Styles was unstoppable, more because he never really wanted to stop than because he geared competition. When he recorded his first album, he had done it in Jamaica and Los Angeles, purposely renting an entire mansion where all of his mates could sit and focus on making his debut album a hit. During his second album, he was more public – through the year he oscillated between LA and London, in between his MET Gala chairmanship, his Gucci campaigns and a fashion line coming out. The third one was marked by casual dates, meaningless relationships and loneliness, the events in his life at that time. But what all of them had common was that they were never about a single person or emotion. Every song had a different story as opposed to the entire album being one story with different chapters. He blamed it on the fact that he had no one to go home to once the recording was over.

This time it was different, very different. Because this time Abigail was a huge part of his album. The tone, the lyrics and the sounds did not have voids anymore. They seemed somewhat full, somewhat content even if it all was just halfway there.

And it did not go unnoticed.

“What was that girl's name, again?” Alex asked resting on the sofa where Harry, Carl, Mitch, and Alex himself were all seated, drinking water after completing a session.

“I think it started with A.” Carl earned a glare from Harry at his words. He knew well that they were just messing around with him.

“Abigail.” Mitch commented before excusing himself to call his fiancé, Sara.

“Abigail. And now I see what all the fuss is about and who you’ve been writing all these songs about,” Alex commented cheekily, before sharing a clap with Carl.

The songs. They were everywhere – from his antique leather journal to scribbled on the corners of waste newspapers. And every night after Abigail went to sleep, Harry would take out his typewriter, trying to phrase out something tangible from his cluttered words on the journal to printed form. It was not much, just diluted words put into grammatically wrong sentences and a mess in summary. Just like what Harry's mind was everytime he thought about the night they first had sex and every after.

It had become a routine. After initial hesitation, Abigail and Harry had eventually given the shadow cast of doubt away and used actions more than words. They would kiss each other every time they were leaving the house (his mansion or her apartment wherever they had spent the night), snog incessantly over tequila and sleep on the same bed often waking up to each other's naked bodies.

But never talk about it.

Nonetheless Harry was happy. Now he was no longer jealous when Mitch would call Sara everytime they finished a session (whenever she wasn't there herself) or when Glenne would surprise Jeffrey over lunch in the studio.

Sure Abigail hasn't done any such thing, but now he had someone to think about. It was strange, really, how Harry transitioned from having no one ‘special’ in his life to having Abigail.

“What about Abigail?” Jeffrey walked inside the record room to a cracking Carl, Alex and Harry. Seeing him, Harry immediately stopped laughing knowing well of his disapproval on this subject.

Carl and Alex took their time pulling Harry's leg in front of Jeffrey – from laughing about Harry smiling like an idiot to his phone sitting on the patio between recording sessions to the excessive crumbled papers in the bin filled with frustrated words. Jeffrey laughed with them as well but on the contrary his laugh sounded very shallow.

So when Alex and Carl excused themselves, leaving only Harry and Jeffrey back in the room, Jeffrey was induced to ask. “So… Abigail. These songs are about her?”

“Jeffrey...” Harry nearly winced, closing his eyes. He felt too old for this conversation.

“No, they're nice, pretty songs. One of your best works, Carl told me.” Jeffrey added with uncomfort dominating his voice.

“Mate, can't you just be happy for me because right now that's exactly what I am.” Harry explained in a very sure tone.

“Harry I know you like that girl but-”

“But what Jeffrey? I like her, ain't that all what matter.” Harry cut him off in a slightly frustrated tone. He had never really felt the need to rebuke Jeffrey, thinking that he understood Harry in the best way.

“She doesn't have a clean past. She's done drugs all life, was highly arrogant at the peak of her career, addiction, rehabs. You've never associated with such people, H.” Jeffrey breathed a moment, “Believe me or not pal, you both are a combination of a catastrophe.”

“Yes but those were things of past. She's a changed person. She goes to school, focuses on course work and exercise, even stays away from media.” Harry defended, clearly unamused on the topic of Abigail's past being brought up.

“Then what is she doing with you?” he finally said, “A person who wants to stay away from media will never be with you.”

■ ■ ■

August 2023

“Harry I'm not coming to Vegas with you.” Abigail announced, trying to take her pen – one which Harry had purposely held high in air – from his grip.

“It's just one weekend and your entire schedule is clear.” He reasoned, pulling the pen higher. “Your last class ends Thursday evening at six. I'm pretty sure you don't have any homework in the first week of school so we can conveniently leave Friday morning at three and coming back your Health Science class is due Monday, two in afternoon. We'll be back and fresh by then.”

Harry had been trying to convince Abigail almost ever since she walked into her apartment to the smell of paninis and heath milkshake. It was only the second day of her term but she was certain holidays had a terrible impact on her circadian rhythm cycle. Especially with Harry being around. It could be easily said that they had somewhat moved in together. Not officially but none of them ever questioned walking into their homes to find the other sprawling on the couch watching television or cooking dinner.

The summer went away quick – something Abigail dreaded a lot. Not only because going back to school sounded hectic but also because Harry had become like a habit to her and school definitely meant she could not spend as much time with him as she did over the summer.

Abigail went home for a week in summer to visit her family. Harry and her had talked of dates so they could mutually come back to LA. But when Abigail came home anticipating that she had to wait another day for Harry to arrive, she was welcomed by Harry himself. Turns out, Harry never really left LA. It was a weird feeling that had crept on him, stopping him. His mum visited him over the weekend but that was it. He was in no mood of leaving the place that smelled lavenders and peppermint due to a certain blonde haired girl he had grown too fond of. And his mum recognised that way better than himself.

As of now Harry was trying to convince Abigail to accompany him to Vegas for the Video Music Awards due coming Sunday.

“Whoa! Is a multi millionaire, VMA performing superstar my personal assistant now?” She bulged her eyes, overwhelmed while going around to her study table to grab a spare pen.

“I've done my homework, thank you my lady.” Harry followed her, adamant on his stand “On a serious note whatever coursework you have, we can do it together in the plane.”

“As tempting as that sounds, Harry I don't think you are literate enough to do my homework.” She turned around, hitting his forehead with a new pen lightly.

“Oh I am.” His voice had an exclamatory tone. “And even if I'm not, I'll do anything. I'll hire you someone to do the coursework or maybe I'll personally meet your professor. I'll do anything. Please come with me, please, please, pretty please.”

When Abigail understood that Harry was not going to give up anytime soon, she sat on her bed defeatedly. “H it's not the coursework. It's…”

“It's the media?” He completed her sentence as the air around them got thicker. “Abby you have an invite yourself. We don't have to go together but I really would love it your were there. It's my first live performance since last year and I've been nominated for four awards. I would love if you’d be there.”

He was now seated beside her, his eyes on her while her was on the floor. “Harry you don't understand this.” She explained, “Every time I'm in front of those cameras I see pictures of me doing those horrid things I did back in time. It makes me feel like I'm still her, the girl who set fire in a rehab to escape the place… what bullshit.”

“Oi, you're not a horrible person.” Harry took her hand in his and she closed her eyes at his touch. “You are the person who would take an injured cat to a vet even if it means you'll miss a test, you are the simple girl who hates color orange and has abnormal amount of love for tequila. Your allergies flare high in March, and out of everyone Pearl is your favourite in Nemo, you-”

“Pearl resembles you, so don't complain.” She frowned though the tiny hint of her smile was enough to make Harry smile himself.

“You are an adorable, amazing human being. Never think otherwise, Abby. It's fine, you don't have to come if you don't want to.” He reassured her before giving her hand a comforting squeeze.

The next hour went with them having food and catching up generally. Harry told her about the funny guardsman he met at his fitting for the award show while Abigail imitated an eighteen year old boy in college asking her out.

After awhile they both split work, with Harry doing the dishes and Abigail setting their bed straight. Harry was in the middle of wiping away the last spoon clean to the stand when a pair of hands slipped under his arms, running over his shirtless torso.

Abigail planted several kisses on his back, slow and soft before he turned around giving her all the attention she deserved. His hand slipped down on her hip and hers encased his shoulders, both of their mouths attached, when he lifted her leg up to his waist, guiding them both back to their bed.

Somewhere in between their lazy and long snog, running hands and aching bodies, Abigail mumbled, “H, I'll come with you.”

Harry pulled apart, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“To Vegas. I'll come with you.”

■■■

The arrangement was crystal clear. Abigail had insisted on staying back at their hotel (that was merely a walk away from the event hall) for the show at least. If it was upto Harry, he would've preferred her as a date or at least as a friend but the fact that she had agreed to come to Vegas solely for him, was enough at the moment. He knew if he asked for anything else, it would just be him pushing his luck.

He was enamoured though, he got an entire weekend to spend in the bounds of a luxury hotel room with first class room service and no phones or impending coursework to disturb them. Except for the few hours of the show and few hours prior for checking the stage and dressing up, Harry had all the time in the world to spend with Abigail.

They arrived early morning on Friday through his private jet. He was lucky that it was awards season and LAS was a busy place, storming with celebrities who all arrived in short spans between each other. There was a special car arranged in the back that would directly take Abigail to the hotel while Harry walked through the main gate, knowing well that he'd be mobbed.

“Steven Nicks? You didn't get a better name?” Abigail laughed when they had first checked into the hotel under a fake name.

Soon after breakfast, the duo explored the hotel for a while, finding different locations to hangout. Abigail was particularly in awe of the spa where she decided to spend a good chunk of her Sunday when Harry would be busy with the stage practice.

Saturday morning was pool time. Harry booked the entire rooftop pool for four hours straight, where he and Abigail could spend hours under water and many more in each other's arms back in the hotel room. Vegas was a sight at night and Harry made sure Abigail got a whiff of it when they took a helicopter ride over the most enlightened city of the States. Abigail might have even shed a few tears at the sight itself.

Despite the show marking Harry's comeback on stage the first time since last November, Sunday was the worst day of the trip according to him. What he had anticipated to last only half day was dragged to the entire. He could barely sit through the countless hours of pre-show interviews and red carpet nonsense coupled with the actual award show itself. The only part where he thoroughly enjoyed was his performance; it made him realise why he had been here, in this world in the first place. It was sterling if Jeffrey and his team were to be believed, Harry Styles showing the world how to truly be a superstar.

Harry was proud of himself, with smiles and dimples prominent but he was equally nervous about what Abigail had to say about his performance. She was watching it live from the television in their hotel room like the rest of the world but her opinion still mattered the most for him.

The after party was a mandatory, though Harry wasn't able to sit through it for long. There were interviews lined up for him soon after he had won three of the four awards he was nominated for and that made him curse deep under his breath. His feet popped up and down restlessly as the interviewer standing in front of the entrance of the after party location asked him one over the other questions.

“So Mr.Styles, are you seeing anyone right now?” The young man inquired turning the direction of the mic towards Harry.

Harry had his jaw slightly clenched as he pulled a fake smile, frustrated enough that he could not be done with this soon and meet Abigail. He was about to dodge the question the way he was trained to when his eyes fell behind the glass door of the entrance. He squinted and blinked, even thought of pinching himself to assure it was real. It indeed was; there stood the blonde girl who had his heart in her hands, behind a bush of pink roses wearing a pink and gold dress that made his breath hitch tight under his chest.

Harry didn't know what possessed him when he said, “I am.” He bit his lip in order to hide the smile growing widely on his face and in the moment of realisation, hugged the interviewer joyously. “Thank you mate, you have no clue what you have done for me.”

Without sparing another glance at him, Harry literally ran inside, taking Abigail in his arms, walking a little way from the glass door and swirling her around. They were lucky for the bunch of roses that their little act of amour was hidden away from the cameras.

“Harry!” She exclaimed, hitting his shoulder.

“I can't believe you are here, you look absolutely stunning babe.” Harry giggled through the widest smile on his face as he put her down on her feet. He could see that she was a bit taken aback by the usage of the term but instead of calling him out on it, she blushed.

Abigail gushed over and over again about his performance, his awards, his awards speech, his suit - actually everything. She had made it to the show with the help of Glenne and Jeffrey, taking a seat somewhere between them, with his team. Harry had his lips between his teeth, the smile too wide, the blush to deep, all the while as she spoke about him and him alone.

He thanked Glenne and Jeffrey the moment he saw them at the party. Jeffrey patted Harry's back with a wink when he hugged him, whispering, “Reach out to me for any boyfriend guidelines.” Harry smiled, nodding to him appreciably. The four of them shared a couple of laughs over drinks. All the while, Harry had his hand on Abigail's lap, rubbing circles in request to return back to their bedroom. Abigail glared at him on occasions, shoving his hand away playfully.

It was a little while later when they both finally got a while to make their escape. Harry's lips were on hers the moment he entered the elevator, and it did not leave until they were on the bed. Her hands had somehow managed to get rid of his blazer and shirt in the time being.

“God, I've been meaning to take that dress off you even since I saw it.” He whispered, searching in all directions for the zipper.

Abigail giggled at his frustrated form and decided to help him by turning aside, “It's a side zip, H.”

And just like that it was gone as well. They were in the hotel bed, under white lights and lavender room freshener with Harry nibbing on the bottom of her lip.

“Need you now, H.” Her voice was soft hiding under the deep moan. Harry didn't needed to be told twice. He closed his eyes, pushing in slowly feeling her inside contract and expand around him. He swallowed every moan that left her throat and intertwined their fingers as their bodies moved in a perfect rhythm they had created for themselves.

Harry fell down once they had reached their climax, rolling over but keeping their fingers intertwined. He watched her closed eyes and sweaty forehead that must've resembled his own, both their chests heaving up and down breathlessly.

That's when it kind of hit him. He needed to say this now or it might become too late. All the faux confidence that he had donned all night disappeared almost immediately as he rested his head on his palm supporting his body by the elbow. “Abigail I want to tell you something.”

She hummed in response, still with closed eyes. It made his heart beat faster.

But with a deep breath, he continued. “Tonight an interviewer asked me if I was seeing someone.” He spoke softly, playing with her her hair. “And I said yes.”

That lead to her opening her eyes, pronto. Her heavy, quick breathing converted into slow, inaudible one as she asked. “Why?”

“I don't know, Abby,” He spoke nervously biting his lips, “I saw you there and I knew I was seeing you, I was seeing you and I wanted to see you forever. You were behind the rose vase and even thinking that you'd seen me perform live, that you had seen me take up that award – it made me feel like there's a star everyone wants to look at but that star was looking only at me. I..I know I'm sounding stupid and mad and you might want to slap me right now-”

Harry's speech was cut off by a loud laugh from Abigail. He watched her laugh with equal amounts of bewilderment and anxiety. “I didn't know I had such a nervous wreck of a boyfriend.”

“I'm not usually this nervous but you do something - wait, did you just call me your boyfriend?”

“I can again, if you'd like it.” She shrugged with a notorious smile.

“I would love it.”

■ ■ ■

December 2023

Harry had locked himself in one of the washrooms of the hotel where his album listening party was supposed to be held. Nerves were high on him as he walked back and forth in the washroom, rambling worst case scenarios that even under the light of Satan, could not occur.

“Harry, slow down.” Glenne said, knocking on the door of the loo and inhaling deeply when all she heard was more rambling.

Anyone could decipher from the bags under his eyes and the shortness of his breath as he talked, that he hadn't slept well, maybe even not at all. The last few weeks were dreaded with the finalising of contracts, one over the other, going through the labels and concluding the order of the songs in the album that Harry had changed at least four times.

He was extremely scared for this album, especially because it was dominated by two of the most important things in his life - his dad (and family) and Abigail. Both the emotions were completely in contrast to each other and arranging the songs in order that it would not only hit best with him but his fans was a task that had Harry up for days.

If the exhaustion from work was not enough, Abigail had her finals going on just in the while. That indicatively meant that she could not mumble soothing words into his ears to calm him down, not give him a comforting massage after a long day of work and he could not tell her about all of his rising anxiety. Harry had no intention of distracting her from the exams, he even told her it would be fine if she couldn't make it to the album listening party. Her third exam was due next day, after all.

Truth be told, he was extremely down that she wasn't here with him tonight. Maybe if she was, at least for some time, some of his thoughts would be calmed down.

“Harry I'm seriously going to call Abigail if you don't open the door now.” Glenne warned Harry from outside.

“She won't pick up the call. Her phone is on silent whenever she studies, so don't bother.” He replied, soon before sitting on the bench, his hands going in his hair in absolute, torturous frustration.

A million thoughts ran through his head back and forth about what everyone would think about his album. Harry always knew that no one else can ever know the actual meaning, story or feelings behind any song no matter how many music journalists sit and over analyse his lyrics and tunes. But it petrified him how well he did or did not put his own thoughts into words, if he even did them justice.

“I heard somebody is being a baby tonight,” Harry's trail of thoughts were broken by a distinct female voice which was not Glenne’s. There was a split second before her speaking and Harry's face breaking into a grin. He rushed towards the door opening it, pulling Abigail inside and closing it - all within a span of two seconds. Taken aback, she squeaked, “Harry, what are you doing?”

“They will force me to go out. I'm not going out Abby.” He answered without a breath, quickly wrapping his hands around her.

“Harry-”

Pulling away, he added nervously, “It's bullshit, the entire album.”

“Harry-”

“I think this hotel is a curse, absolute curse.”

“Harry-”.

Harry interjected her again, “You know that feeling when you're super excited about a new idea and you give your entire self to complete it. You even like it when it's complete, but then after a few months you see it and you know that you could've done so much better… that the songs are dumb and everyone will laugh at you.”

Abigail looked at him with a stern look before pulling a fake smile. “You know what, I think I should be leaving.”

He held her hand stopping her before she could filling turn. “What? Why?”

“I was your muse for the album,” she pointed at herself raising her brows, “but since you think the entire album is dumb, that probably means our feelings for each other's dumb or our relationship is dumb and what else did you say… yeah a laughing stock. So what am I even-”

“It's not dumb.” He interjected her with a serious face, holding her arms to still her. “Babe, how can our feelings for each other be dumb. It's the purest thing I've ever felt, it's the purest thing that has ever existed.”

“Then how can the songs that tell our story, be dumb Harry?” Abigail reasoned, her voice now low and calm. She lifted Harry's chin to make him look up at herself. “Hey, please look at me. I know that I'll always be proud of whatever you do but this.. this is seriously the closest music to my heart, Harry. This is us, it's the one album that may or may not be the biggest hit of the year but it's the biggest hit of my life. It's about us.”

Harry looked at her in awe, eyes twinkling as if he was watching the reflection of a star. “How do you always do this?” He shook his head, chuckling to himself before he pulled her into his arms. They stood there for a while until realisation hit Harry, “Shit, Abby what are you doing here? You have an exam tomorrow. I'll take you home directly, just give me moment-”

“Don't worry,” She stopped him from taking the keys of his car out of his pocket, “ I'm good with the exam, might walk through the party with you.”

Harry's eyes almost doubled in size, a shadow of uncertainty in his voice. “Abby, there are a lot of cameras. It's a public event… public.”

“I'm pretty cool with that.” She reassured him with a squeeze of his hand.

“Are you sure? We don't have to do this now.”He asked her, not at all trying to do anything she wasn't ready for.

“H, they have to find out someday right. Don't worry, I'm ready.”

At her words, Harry's smile grew two folds. This was not something he had thought about much but right now he loved the idea of the world knowing about them. Them, together. Harry and Abigail, Abigail and Harry - as couple.

Abigail's hair brushed Harry's arm as they sat in their respective seats, listening to the songs he had spent last year working on. He was already on the edge, hyper-aware of everyone’s reactions in the room, attempting to analyze whether they were pleased or not.

“Relax, my boy.” Abigail whispered in his ears, intertwining their hands together. She probably had the biggest and proudest smile in the room after his mum and sister.

What Harry didn't know was that he wasn't in need of comforting squeezes and uplifting words. She was.

■ ■ ■

January 2024 to July 2024

Harry Styles blinded in love!

This new year did not start on a great note. Looks like it's going downhill from there. Sources confirmed that Harry Styles has been swiped off his feet by troubled, former actress Abigail Quinn who you might remember from Disney's super hit sitcom Bunker Hill somewhat a decade ago.

The couple first photographed in early 2023, had as of yet kept their amour under wraps, but looks like they are just ready to go public now.

“He is smittened by her,” a close friend said. “It's completely different watching Harry play a dotting boyfriend but we were quite sure this one would be serious. She is a huge part of the album, if not whole.”

Quinn made an official appearance alongside Styles on his album launch party end of December last year where she was seen posing for the cameras first time since 2019.

With Styles latest record speaking bounds of being in heart-wrenching love, it's safe to say that rockstar is off the market, this time for a long while. Tell us below in our comment section, which song did you love the most from his latest album.

■■■

Popstar Harry Styles buys a new Los Angeles mansion in a family friendly neighbourhood

Riding off the success of his latest album, our favourite popstar recently splashed a whopping $29.6 million on a Bel-Air Mansion in the neighbourhood of David Beckham and Beyonce.

The six bedroom three bath household was formerly resided by musician The Weekend. As of yet it is believed to be undergoing a makeover under LA based famous interior designer, Vaughn Turing.

“Abigail is in direct contact with the designer,” a source referred, “Harry wants the house to seem exactly like a home Abigail wishes to have. All he is doing his signing cheques while she is leading the planning of their future house along with Anne and Gemma.”

“He wants a family friendly neighbourhood. He's always been close with the Beckhams and dreams to have a family like them with Abigail,” another source added.

■■■

Harry Styles and his girl Abigail Quinn make their MET Gala debut in New York City!

No year is complete without seeing Harry Styles on the red carpet of MET Gala. The handsome hunk has been co-chairing the event ever since his debut back in 2019 and this year is no different.

Or maybe it is. Styles, for a first time attended the MET Gala in hand with girlfriend Abigail Quinn. The pair were unabashedly displaying their affection all through the event. Both matched each other's outfit in a modern fairytale-esque piece by Ralph Lauren, seemingly looking like a pair made in heavens.

Prior to this, they attended Audi's pre-gala party in New York together before they were spotted dining in The Rainbow Room within the Rockefeller Centre.

Being etched to each other makes sense though, since Harry would be hitting the road with his fourth solo tour in beginning June and his lady love graduates last week in May. So maybe the in-love duo are just trying to makeup for all the time they are about to lose.

■■■

Is Abigail Quinn trying to get back to acting by using Styles?

Uh-oh! Former actress Abigail Quinn, better known today as superstar Harry Styles’ girlfriend might be using her beau to get back into acting.

As per reports, Quinn who recently graduated from UCLA as a psychology major has refused a few job offers, instead choosing to travel with her beau for his tour.

She has been spotted at a lot of industry affairs ever since she publicly started dating Styles back in December last year. A few directors maybe interested in working with her, now that being with Styles has cleared her act a bit.

Does that mean Abigail is using her relationship for professional purposes? We don't know but what we know is that Harry doesn't mind one bit.

■■■

At this rate, can Harry Styles go bankrupt?

Harry Styles donated a total of $2.2 million in just the first half 2024 to various non profit organizations. But if you think that's a huge money, wait till you hear the next.

This year Styles seems to be very reckless about his bank account. Beginning from splashing almost $30 million on his and his girlfriend’s current residence, to various exotic vacations around the world, Harry has been throwing in an unexplainable sum of money.

If LA famous investment banker Oliver Logan is to be believed, Styles could've got the mansion for less than $23 million had he waited for a few months. But apparently he wanted the place as soon as possible and ended up paying a lot more than the market price.

A lot of people have also mentioned this could be Quinn, Styles’ girlfriend's influence on him, who herself is known for being bankrupt in the past.

“It is slightly disturbing how enamoured Harry is with her,” an insider close to Styles’ team told us. “He seems like being at the top of the world nowadays. As if following the ‘only live once’ motto.”

If sources are believed, Styles’ tour was supposed to start end of May but he purposely shifted the dates so that he could see attend his girlfriend's graduation. The entire shift almost costing his team $1.3 million.

With Styles adamant to stay a charity god, and a boyfriend who spoils his girl, can we assume that the guy might be drilling a hole to bankruptcy soon, just like his girlfriend?

■■■

Couple of the Year alert: Harry Styles and Abigail Quinn were the most publicly in demand couple this summer

It's only a little over half of 2024 gone but we already know our ‘couple of the year.’

The pair have been dating for almost half an year under public scrutiny and unlike rest of Styles’ relationship, this is going strong as ever. From soul cycling in Beverly Hills, taking trips to the beach, shopping at Rodeo – we've seen the couple do all that a typical celebrity couple would do in LA.

Residing amongst Los Angeles’ elite, Styles and Quinn are the youngest couple in their neighbourhood and as per an interview of Victoria Beckham, they are the most in love couple she has ever seen. Not to forget, very respectful, ideal neighbours.

And with Abigail featuring on Harry's Gucci campaign as their first couple photoshoot, it's safe to say Harry Styles and Abigail Quinn are taking the world by storm.

■ ■ ■

August 2024

Harry loved a lot of things about his Bel-Air Mansion. The perfect sunshine invading his room every morning at the perfect hour, the white curtains flying under the wind, the green sight of the entire city that made him feel that he indeed was at the top of the world; but the thing he loved the most about his Bel-Air Mansion was the woman in his bed.

She had recently got back to the bed, clad in his ‘Treat People With Kindness’ shirt with two cups – one of chai latte and the other black coffee. It was early morning and Harry smiled rubbing his eyes. He doesn't even remember how Abigail slowly fell in love with chai latte so much that she made sure to wake up earlier than him to make her own cup. She hated it when Harry made her the chai. The only other person she would accept it from was Anne, Harry's mother.

Harry's usual dark circles had vanished just like the darkness in his life. He no longer woke up every morning still feeling exhausted beyond his life. Rather there were a lot of moments in the day he would agree with gratitude that he was well rested. And all of it's credit went to one woman.

“Good morning,” he mumbled in his ever so raspy voice as she bend down to press her lips against his chaste ones.

“Good morning, superstar. Did you sleep well?” Abigail asked, her entire weight on his body as she put her chin on his chest.

“Do you ever let me sleep well, babe?” His smile was still very persistent.

At his statement, Abigail squinted her eyes before lowering down his body. Slowly, very slowly. It was torture for Harry to say the least. He was only in his Calvin Klein boxers, the one he had changed into after having sex last night because sleeping clean is something Abigail insists on.

It was maddening to Harry, how even after an year together, he was still extremely nervous when it came to Abigail. She was his, she was his. He knew that yet couldn't believe that.

Her face was somewhere near his navel when he chuckled nervously, “It's okay babe. You don't have to.”

Abigail rolled her eyes, hitting his side with a couple of envelopes that lied beside. “I was only getting these. Why? What did you think?” When she rose her eyebrows all in faux innocence, Harry rolled his eyes still found himself chuckling along. Getting up from above him, Abigail reached for the other side of the bed, popping down the mail envelopes in front of her. “There's an invite to a charity ball by Disney for the 23rd, its entire hamper waits downstairs for you. There is a thank you note from Gucci headquarters for our campaign. And there is a...”

Harry was happily taking a sip from his coffee listening to the mails he had received when Abigail suddenly stopped, prompting Harry to look up. “There is a what, Abby?” He didn't receive much of an answer instead a frown and her just rolling her lips. “Here show it to me.”

It was a bank notice.

Harry sighed opening the envelope and reading the context before throwing it on a drawer on his bedside like the many others stocked up there. When he turned around he saw Abigail looking at him with an anticipated, concerned expression.

“Oi, it's nothing.” He pulled her onto his chest and she softly kept her head there. “They want me at the bank. I'm sure Smithers only wants to discuss investments regarding the tour.”

“Please don't lie to me H,” Abigail said. “I told you we don't need these extravagant purchases and vacations. You spent $32 million at this place Harry. That was a terrible bargain.”

“Abby what are you saying. It's our home. For me this is the only one that hasn't felt entirely empty.”

Abigail shut her eyes at his words. They were absolutely true, she knew that. “I know babe. I'm just saying… we could've avoided the vacations. I mean Bali, Miami, Australia, Valentines day, my birthday, the lawsuit against paparazzi – it was all too much H.”

Harry chuckled at her tone, well aware that she was blaming herself for this entire situation. “It's nothing, darling. The lawsuit was for your safety. I don't want them following you everytime you're out. Trust me we don't have financial issues to take care of. I'll just get the meeting done quick.”

“I'll come with you,” Abigail insisted as Harry got up to the wardrobe, grabbing a towel.

“No, no need I'll take care of it and Jeffrey will be there as well. Nothing to worry about,” Harry shook his head getting out of his briefs as he held a hand out to Abigail. She took it willingly, her own thumb rubbing her man's wrist. “As I bathe please pick me a good dress shirt and while I'm gone you can pack our bags. We leave for New York tomorrow morning, remember?”

Harry watched Abigail bite her lip hardly for a little moment before she broke into a grin and pressed a kiss on his lips in a gesture of agreement. But for some unknown reason, Harry felt the grin was highly undermotivated.

■■■

The negativity he felt was bound to happen. It was something that Harry felt whenever he had to go through these meetings with his financial adviser, lawyer, managers and a group of bank officials. What was supposed to be an hour of discussion turned around four hours of it, more because Harry could not see eye to eye with any of these men who claimed that they were trying to help him.

Most of the time, they listed his newly developed, heavy ‘spending more than earning’ habit with examples of his recent splurges – most of which were on Abigail. Harry could not even imagine cutting any of those. The mansion, the lawsuit, the occasions – according to him it was all necessity rather than luxury.

The lawsuit itself caused him a big chunk of money but Harry was adamant not to sacrifice on Abigail's safety. As much as he loved posing in front of the camera and proudly showing off his girl to the world, he liked doing it on professional platforms – events, galas, photoshoots. Not when they both were walking down the street to grab coffee, and especially not when she was walking alone.

“I'm so fucking exhausted, Jeffrey.” Harry exhaled running his hands over his face. He sat with Jeffrey in the cafe at the bank, their coffees and lunch placed in front of them.

“Why the hell are you exhausted? You have done nothing but throw money and listen about it.” Jeffrey said through his deep frown.

“Not you as well, mate.” Harry licked his lip reaching for the silver fork to cut his food. “You're my friend.”

“And that's exactly why I am telling you this.” Jeffrey reprimanded, hitting their table with his fist in a clear sign of pique. “Right now you're in a bubble of love but one day that bubble would burst and you'll see nothing will stay pretty in pink.”

Harry watched his friend in a vexed manner, too sure of his own tone. “I don't care if the bubble bursts. I'll still have her. It's her, us I'm spending my money on and I'm sorry if I don't see how her safety is bargainable.”

“Her safety is not bargainable, H.” Jeffrey replied exasperatedly, “ I care about Abby as well. I'm talking about the vacations. You've spend the entire summer abroad, taking flights every other day.”

“Let me live, Jeffrey.” Harry rolled his eyes, he was too tired from everyone telling him the same thing over again. “I worked so hard on the album, I'm working my arse off on the tour. Let me spoil my girl, she deserves an extravagant life. Don't tell me if you earned that much, you won't be doing the same for Glenne and Thea.”

Jeffrey winced audible at Harry's choice of words, “Even if your extravagant life is on debt?” Jeffrey spoke this time in a lower tone than earlier. “$2.2 million on charity, seriously?”

“Don't talk about charity.” Harry said, “You know I've always done it, it gives me a sense of purpose.”

“It gives you a fucking reputation, Styles.” Jeffrey replied in a dark chuckle. “Till one moment it was because you wanted to help but right now it's nearly mandatory. As if you want to outdo your own amount, you don't even give a damn for the cause. Fuck pal, you don't get it you're hurting yourself.”

“Shouldn't you be pleased?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Jeffrey, “I am the most charitable musician right now, I have a girlfriend, a stable home, perfect life. And the world knows it, they know it and they are jealous. Maybe you're too because I'm not longer a pathetic, sad pop star you can save, Jeffrey. I am happy.”

Harry had always been perfect professionally for the world. For once he was perfect personally as well, for the world. Harry Styles was at the top of the world, it was a different kind of high he was experiencing and by far, he had loved it.

Jeffrey kept his eyes on the untouched food on his side for a little too long. He tried cutting his food but instead only ended up playing with with silverware all the while as Harry took bites over bites of his food. “I care about you more than this faux rep, H.” He let out a deep sigh, “But I suppose we we have very different working styles now.”

That caught Harry's attention and he suddenly stopped eating. “What.. what do you mean?”

“I quit.” Jeffrey announced raising his hands up in air. “I.. I can't deal with you any longer. You're not the guy I signed up for, the guy who used to be private. You're just another bag of celebrity bullshitery – the one you were so determined not to be.”

“I'm not. I'm fucking not.” Harry rebuked too quickly and too loudly. “I'm tired of hiding everything. For years I've seen you and Glenne in public, holding each other's hands, proudly telling the world you both are in love. I was jealous...I was fucking jealous that I have to keep my single label open so that my fan base is not hurt. And whenever anything I did went public the media ruined it.”

Jeffrey chuckled shaking his head. “What tells you they won't ruin it this time?” With that he got up from his seat, leaving his food untouched and his once best friend bewildered. “I might not have as much money as you but I've paid my share of bill. I hope you get a better manager, H. Good luck.”

Jeffrey left after that but Harry could only hear the words he said before leaving – ‘What tells you they won't ruin it this time?’ He shook his head, throwing away the thoughts and continuously telling himself that this is different, this is love and this is Abigail. No fucking one would ruin it.

What Harry didn't know was playing with fire and not touching it was practically an impossible task that even knew the man who could conquer the world, couldn't do.

■■■

“Thank you, Abby,” Harry said taking the champagne filled flute goblet from Abigail's hand before patting the space beside him. She took it, instantly putting her head on his chest. He could tell that she was tired, so was he, both of them trying to find solace in each other. They sat there, on a faun leather seat of Harry's private jet, their breathing synchronised and so were their thoughts.

“I am sorry about Jeffrey.” Abigail mumbled softly.

“No, I am sorry babe. I am so fucking sorry.” Harry let out in an exhausted tone. “We.. we had this argument and he doesn't see it. He's one of my best mates, I didn't want to let him go. But why is it always me who should understand, with him, with the boys, with dad. Why can't they understand?”

“Hey, hey. It's fine.” Abigail got up from his chest to rub his arms in an attempt to calm him down. “You don't have to understand anything, Harry. You don't have to keep it so hardcore. You can talk about your dad with me, if you want to. Especially today.”

It was his father's birthday. It would've been his 67th birthday had he been alive. That is why today was no less than a day of mourning for Harry.

“I know you're really tired and probably don't want to be bored-”

“Don't do that.” Abigail stopped him, her hand lifting to his shoulder. “Harry, I’m here to listen to you for as long as you want me to, about anything.”

Harry watched her in awe. Sometimes it filled his eyes how lucky he had gotten to have this woman by him. There and then he knew that as long as he had her, he was ready to take all the daggers thrown at him; by others or by himself. “Okay.”

So for the next hour their conversation centred around Desmond Styles and the life he lived. Harry left out no details about his father, even marking the smallest bits that could easily go unnoticed by people. There were stories all scattered before the band, during and after. There were a lot of open ended points that Abigail wanted to question; like the time his dad called him out after a fight with Zayn, the time he went straight to his father's house disappearing when the there was a drug racquet in the band's hotel, but she decided against it, giving him his own time. Abigail could figure out that Harry felt a plethora of things about his father – anger, disappointment, love, resentment but the one he felt strongest was guilt. But she also knew that guilt was a significant part of who Harry Styles was and with every passing year, the amount of people he felt that emotion towards increased. After a while the chat lingered from Harry’s family and past and moved onto the tour and his plans of the rest of the year.

“Don’t worry. Glenne told me he is a bit angry right now but he'll be fine.” Abigail caressed him but a cloud of anxiety hovered over herself. “Soooo… this afternoon I went with Glenne for Thea's check up.”

“Yeah right. I completely forgot about that. How's her fever?” Harry perked his eyebrows, asking about his goddaughter and Jeffrey's biological one, in concerned tone.

“She's okay, just a common cold. They said it will be better in a few days. But Harry I… I had a checkup for myself.” She rolled her lips in after saying that.

“Y-You?” His eyes were wide, her words more the cause of perturbation to Harry. “What happened? Are you not feeling well? We can call off the show, I'll take you to the best doctors as soon as we land. Tell me-”

“I'm fine.” Abigail announced before sighing deeply. “Harry I'm… I'm pregnant.”

And just like the entire hole of guilt Harry felt towards his father vanished. He had spent last three years wondering why, despite being on his best behaviour always, he could not convince his father that this life would not ruin him. Maybe he was at fault somewhere or maybe his father was, for not supporting his son. But all of that vanished the moment he heard this news. This was his chance, his chance of rectifying all of his mistakes, all of his father's mistakes.

“Harry?” Abigail shook him out of his thoughts.

“Can you pinch me?” She rolled her eyes pinching him just hard enough. Harry let out a wince before tears swelled up in his eyes, so fast he didn't know how to control them. “I love you, I love us… fuck I love… thank you so, so much babe.”

He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her before showering her face with kisses. Usually he would have her pressed against himself in the closest hug known to man, but today his hands were slow and cautious. Abigail pulled away from him with a frown. “Oi this is the hug I get?”

“I don't want to crush our baby.” He remarked slyly.

“Jesus, you're an ass.”

■■■

It was impossible to miss Abigail in the crowd. Even in the sea of fans, the silk white fabric of her dress stood out. She sat with her family, sandwiched between her parents, beside her brother and his fiancè. Harry felt extremely lucky that her parents took the liberty of time to make a quick trip for his concert before they returned back to Pennsylvania.

There were thousands of people crammed into Madison Square Garden, fans of varying age groups, some with him since his One Direction days others finding his solo career their new favourite thing about pop music. Harry doesn't remember a single tour he had completed without playing in The Garden, each time the entire hall making him feel at home.

But this time it was different. This time his real home was here, amongst the attendees and now that a part of his own lived and breathed in her, Harry wasn't sure what else heaven sounded like.

His attention was on each part of the crowd, making sure his fans had the time of their lives as long as they were in this room, but every time his eyes fell on Abigail it made him grin so wide that his jaw ached. There was a certain patch of the show he saw she wasn't in her assigned location but when she returned back he assumed she must've gone to the loo.

She swayed with the crowd, whistling every once in a while. They were seated far back in relation to the stage, so Harry imagined the proud smile Abigail sported. It was the same one she showed off backstage when Harry was greeting his fans after the show was over.

He invited her family with his tour mates to their hotel lobby for drinks and dinner. Abigail's brother and his fiancè chatted with Harry while her mother praised his performance to no ends. Abigail was equally celebratory before she urged to return to their room. Harry assured her he will be joining her shortly.

Harry sent Abigail's family off with leftovers, hugging each of them before their flights back to their respective homes. He didn't bother as much to see off his mates, instead making his way up towards his hotel room, the urge to finally talk to the love of his life making him smile like an idiot in the elevator.

“Abby, Abby, Abby. You have no clue how much-” He started saying but stopped abruptly when he saw her bent down over drawer closet with a vial in her hand.

Abigail looked like she’d been caught trying to steal something, but rather she addressed it completely innocently.

“Uh, hi ” She blurted, abruptly closing the drawer behind her and taking a step towards him. “I didn't see you there.”

“All good, love?” Harry's voice cracked asking her this. He didn’t know why he felt like he was the guilty party here. She had been clean for years and as far as Harry remembered not once had she touched a drug in their entire year of relationship. Especially not now that she had a baby in her.

“Yeah, just a few medicines the doctor gave me. Pregnancy stuff.” She shrugged.

He believed her, completely relieved. Maybe the logical part of him didn't want to given how he had been the one in contact with their doctor. But because of the pious fact that she would never lie to him and his belief that she would never want to harm their baby, Harry believed her, he believe her, he believed her, he believed her.

“But I'm glad you're back.” Abigail said, walking towards him.

“Me toooooo.” He drawled, hugging Abigail from behind in the entire process showering her with limitless kisses. “So tell me how are both of my babies?”

She giggled in his arms, her blush exceeding even though she had wiped away her makeup. “They are very happy and very proud of Daddy.”

“Of Daddy?” He pulled apart to look at her with a prominence of a smirk and haughtiness.

“You're ridiculous,” she said rolling her eyes. “But since I love you here's an offer. I'm in shower, you can feel free to join anytime.”

“I'll join you in a while.” Harry smiled pressing a lingered peck on her cheek. For a solid minute after she left, he contemplated checking the vial label but finally shook his head smiling in thought of how his girl would never lie to him. He was stupid to even think that, of all, at this point would she lure back into drugs.

He had to change out of his tour suit before giving in to any kind of cruel desperations. That was an expensive item made exclusively for his tour and as many others, this wasn't his in the least sense of words.

Harry retreated to the bed, carefully taking off his shoes and watch, placing them on his bedside. His blazer and button up followed next. When he was in middle of pulling the black fabric of his shirt over his head still humming to the tunes of one his closing songs, his phone buzzed. Without even sparing a glance he answered it, putting it on speaker.

“Hello,” He sang through the speaker of his phone. Anyone on the opposite end would be sure to figure out his extremely bewitched mien.

But what followed next put his brain in a kind of turmoil he hadn't ever experienced. The weight of the voice on the opposite end overburdened his soul, making him feel as if even the sturdiest anchor in the sea could not prevent the drowning he was feeling. This drowning throwing him into a past full of stormy, tumultuous shadows, from where he has continuously tried escaping but has still not managed to succeed.

He wasn't sure if it was the words, the voice or both. Or it was when the person called him ‘mate’ after all these years. But he knew he was blanking. Harry could not hear what the person at the other end was saying, but he could only hear the echo of the words that person said the last time they had met. Over and over again.

Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you, Harry.

Contemplation wasn't even an option, he had to escape this. So the first thing he did was press the red sign blinking on his phone so hard, he might have broken tiny little blood vessels underneath his skin.

It petrified him how fast his heart was beating. He had no clue that this pace was even medically possible for the human body to endure. He wondered what if the walls of his arteries were not strong enough to hold the amount of blood rushing through him and they would burst, bathing his organs in the plasma, too demented to find their own place – the place they had held to for so long. Just like him.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, on his bedside with his head down in his knees and the bubble of his perfect world struck by a meteor of his own skeleton.

“H, you didn't have to-” Abigail closed off the door behind her, but stopped mid sentence when her eyes fell Harry's timid frame. It was either shock or fear that stood on her face because as opposed to a concerned one, she had a terrified tone. “W-What happened, babe? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He was too frantic, speaking robotically. “Absolutely. I am perfectly okay.. look at me… I'm completely okay..”

Abigail stood there for a moment clearly trying to comprehend what could drive Harry to the extend she hasn't seen him in almost two years of knowing him.“Okay,” She added with caution in her voice before moving on to change the subject. “So who was it? On the phone?”

“No one. No one important. No one at all.” He replied a little too quickly, his head knowing only two phases – turbulence or blankness.

“Are you sure? It looked like the person knew you and was in need of help-”

“Yes I'm sure. It was no one.” His reply was too stern and too certain to be true.

“Harry is everything-”

He didn't want her to complete that. He didn't want to talk about anything regarding the phone call. So he changed the subject. “Do you want to watch a movie? I was thinking we could watch a romcom.”

Abigail watched him for a moment before nodding defeatedly. “Yeah. Yeah.”

The following hour Harry and Abigail spent cuddled in their suite bed, under dim yellow lights watching Love Actually. Despite this being one of Harry's all time favourite movies, he could not concentrate one bit. He didn't laugh in the moments he usually does, he didn't smile in awe at the mention of his favourite line, he didn't even rub circles on Abigail's arm. He simply sat there like statue. Any signs of him being alive were blinking and breathing – just the mandatory.

Abigail wasn't concentrating much either, her eyes more on her boyfriend than the television in front. She did try to make a little comment here and there but never really received a reply from Harry. Not even a hum. After a while, she switched over to catch over the news channels. It was the regular as well, the weather, the gossip from who's dating who that both of them were too old hear. It was only one certain live report that caught their attention.

Harry's attention.

Everything after happened in slow motion and all Harry could do was watch in horror as the video of his once-closest friend taking a bullet shot surfaced on the screen in front of him. Abigail suddenly sat up from her position, watching just in as much of a shock, glancing back at Harry. But Harry, he didn't move, he couldn't move. Anything that could move were the little droplets of tears from the corner of his eyes.

“Covering live outside Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid's New York apartment. Ex-popstar Zayn Malik has been shot on his chest by an invader who reportedly held his wife, supermodel Gigi Hadid and four years old son Eric Malik hostage in their Upper West Side house for nearly two hours.” Harry watched as the reporter on screen spoke, “Malik was supposedly visiting a friend in Queens when the invader, identified as an ex fan of his former band, One Direction called him in demand of a ransom. As per reports he, a serial criminal, was not keen on the money but blamed Malik for the dispersion of the band and was seeking revenge. Ex-popstar Zayn Malik has completely given up on his music career after the failure of his third album in 2020, ever since taking care of his son's upbringing. What do you think Malik's ex band mates would like to say about this? Harry Styles, the most successful member of the band is indeed in New York City for his fourth solo tour. Malik has been immediately admitted to New York Presbyterian Hospital and fans are requested to respect privacy.”

“Harry,” Abigail snapped at Harry. He suddenly gasped as if he was breathing after a century worth of time. Guilt surfaced his body, rising higher and higher until it practically lodged itself in his throat. Harry felt nauseous all over again, his stomach tying itself into knots, twisting and turning until he cracked. “Harry we need to go.” Abigail repeated in commanding tone. She was already in front of their half packed luggage hunting a decent piece of clothing for herself and him, one that could be worn in a hospital.

“A-A-Abby.” He mumbled through broken words still catching his breath. “Maybe we don't.” Harry licked his lips again and again, reaching for her hand to stop looking through the bag all the while as his own body shaked tremendously. “H-he didn't need me. He doesn't need me. He's been living in this city for years, he has so many people here to call, to help him. I don't even know his son, fuck I don't even know his wife. Why would he need me? Why would he call me? I'm the last person he would ever like to see, he hates me. He-”

The guilt surfaced again in him, terrifyingly clutching his lungs. Harry was rambling, probably not even listening to himself but Abigail could. And so the one thing she did there and then was slap him. Hard enough to snap him into reality.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” She screamed, shaking Harry by his arms before closing her eyes in at attempt to calm herself down. “Harry I have no fucking clue what went down with you two. But if you have a single decent bone in your body, change your clothes now. I'm driving.”

■■■

The first thing Harry heard as he reached the VIP floor of the hospital was the crying of a little boy. It very much resembled his own when his dad left the house for the first time after his divorce. Shockingly it also resembled his silent crying in the washroom of his childhood home in Holmes Chapel after the burial of his father's body, even though at that time he was a man of twenty seven.

The boy had Zayn's features. The shiny dark hair, the exact almond shaped eyes, and same sleeping posture. Gigi, his mother had him cradled in her arms telling him how his father is okay but she herself could not help the excessive black tears flowing from her eyes. It was a slow process, him going to sleep but as soon as he did, Gigi couldn't help but ball her eyes out with her son clutched close to her chest.

Harry came back to reality when a hand slipped down his own. He looked at the two hands joined and then up at Abigail giving him a tiny smile of encouragement. She raised her brows for consent to move further, one that Harry replied to with a little nod.

“Gigi?” Abigail spoke cautiously.

It took Gigi a moment to realise she was being addressed and another to realise who was addressing her. Her expression moved from glum to fury in the same synchronicity. “What the fuck are you doing here?” She growled placing her child on the seat beside her and getting up.

“Gigi-” Abigail attempted to reason, being the only one with a stable head in the moment but she was soon cut off.

“I'm sorry.” Harry abruptly said not even knowing what he was sorry for.

“Sorry? What all are you sorry for?” Gigi screamed at the top of her voice. “Actually it's not you, it's Zayn. He is the stupid one in this entire situation that he called you out of everyone to help us out. You've bailed him so many times in the past, he should've known that you'll fucking cut his call. Cut. Even after knowing what was going on and here you are showing up now. My son could've died, Zayn could've… can..can fucking die.” Her tears were endless, so was Harry's guilt and what else was endless was Abigail's shock. “And it's all because of you, Harry Styles. All because of you. I hate you, he hates you… we all hate you. You don't understand this now but the day you'll have a child and will be on the brink of losing it, you'll know how he felt when he called you and you cut his call.”

Before she even knew it, Gigi was on the floor in front of Harry's feet and the only thing audible was her cries, one after the other. Abigail knelt down to hug the blonde woman in front of her, giving her a shoulder but her own eyes never left her guilt stricken boyfriend.

Harry could not stay there anymore. He had never felt more real and vulnerable in his life as if he was being stripped naked, this time not only of his clothes but his soul. So he left, straight for the empty staircase behind a hospital door.

Abigail came there after almost an hour, the entire time Harry feeling like a child who has recently failed in a test and was waiting outside as his parent read his horrible report card.

“I didn't know. I didn't even hear him, I couldn't. He called me for first time after eight years. What did you expect me to do?” Harry spoke robotically not even looking her in the eye. “I should be leaving.”

“Harry, stop.” Abigail held his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“You heard her, he hates me. And if anything else I hate him too.” He had his lips bitten too hard after saying the last words.

“How much do you hate him?” It was more of rhetorical question Abigail had asked him, her brows together in frustration. “You hate him enough to leave him dying?”

Harry whipped around scoffing loudly, “Come on, I'm not that person. I told you I didn't even hear what he was saying on the phone.”

“You know very well that's not what I am talking about. As opposed to your thinking running away from this will not solve this issue.” It sounded more like a warning coming from her mouth. “Zayn might be on his deathbed right now. If anything you should be begging for one fucking chance to reprimand everything, but here you are.”

“Reprimand? There is nothing left. The person who needs to reprimand is on the other side.”

Abigail was high on frustration, clenching and unclenching her fist. “Harry, fuck do you suppose your ego needs any more inflation than the fact he himself called you when he needed to save his son and wife – the most crucial point of his life? What if this happened to me and our baby? Would you still not talk to Zayn for help?”

Harry felt like he had been slapped, a combination of solemn and shock in his eyes. “Abby-”

“Exactly that.” She pinpointed. “That's what he would've felt. Yet he called you, Harry.” Abigail breathed loudly before speaking.“ I have said this before and I am repeating that this is an issue. You hide the most important things, all your stories are incomplete because somewhere they are altered versions made by you that you've repeated to yourself so many times that they have become your own version of reality . The bank notice, your dad, Jeffrey and now Zayn.”

“I know that, I know this very well. Everyone have their issues, you had past issues of your own. You can't throw them on my face in an argument like that.” Harry turned around from her, taking one step down the staircase.

“You can't avoid them forever either. Somebody needs to tell you this before you make a big mistake and decide not to see Zayn,” She chided, taking a single step towards him. “I promise you, you’ll regret it if you don’t.” “You don't even know Zayn, why are you so sure about that?” “Because he so easily could be dead right now, if that happens you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. It's been more than three years your father passed away and you still beat yourself everyday that you couldn't change his opinion,” Abigail's words had suddenly dignified in Harry's opinion. He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair before he slid down to sit on a stair platform. “If Zayn leaves too you'll be carrying another pile of guilt for the rest of your life Harry. And even for king of tolerance that you are, it's no easy task.” Abigail slowly followed his actions, sitting right beside him. “Be honest with me H, why don’t you want to see him again? Even after this? What’s stopping you?”

“Because I’m terrified,” He admitted pathetically. “I have done terrible things to him as well. I was twenty one, Zayn and Louis were taking morphine in a hotel room beside mine when we had a raid, it was illegal in the country. They called me and I… I left the fucking hotel, Abby.” He cried for a while, his voice reeked with guilt. “Zayn wasn't any better, though. I almost went to prison for him.”

“You both were pretty close?”

“Closest.” He replied with a tiny smile, still keeping his head down. “Growing up, things changed, what we wanted with life changed; within the band there were disagreements, but especially we both disagreed on everything. Everyone saw it, Niall sided with me, Louis sided with him and Liam was mostly trying to cool things but he was busy in his relationship back then. Worst thing, none of us ever said sorry. And,” Harry breathed deeply, “and then I did one unimaginable thing. ”

Harry looked as guilty as he sounded when he sneaked a glance at Abigail. It was difficult for him to contemplate whether telling this to her was a good idea or not. Abigail was Harry's everything and he had every intention to shower her life with confetti and roses not thorns of his own.

“H, it's just me.” She reassured him in her raspy voice.

He nodded weakly, “One night Zayn and I wrote a song together, in one sitting. He was high off his ass but I was sober, he didn't remember much of the night… so, so I never told him he wrote that too.” Harry inhaled because he needed oxygen at the moment. Abigail had her eyes closed in disappointment but what else was even expected. Harry was more disappointed with himself than anyone else could ever be. “It went to my first album, was a massive hit. Abby sometimes I really wonder what if I didn't have that song, would I still be this huge.”

“Yes,” She recited abruptly, snaking her arm around his and keeping her head on his shoulder. “Your entire album was a hit, Harry. Not just one song.”

“I know that, just can't get the thought off.” He admitted apologetically. “And what if he had it, would his career still be going strong? Mostly I think maybe that song could've helped us rekindle our friendship.” It was something Harry thought about a lot but never cared to admit. Sighing deeply, he added, “But it's been years, I'll only hurt him more by talking to him now.”

Harry has always been ricocheting to the next high, striving to be better than himself. So much so he never even realised that the skeleton in his closet was no ones but his own. And the thing about skeletons was that they were the most deep-seeded part of your body, under the fascia, beyond the organs and tearing the strong inbuilt network of nerves and vessels – the most difficult to reach. But then once you throw them off your body, all that was left was your flesh – immovable, raw, useless flesh.

So was there really a question? Sometimes keeping your skeletons in was only viable option.

Abigail nodded in that moment, pretending to understand but Harry could see very well that this was another story he had left incomplete. And with the law of life, every incomplete story needs to be completed. The more you delay the ending the biterrer the climax gets.

■ ■ ■

November 2024

“I have that covered, Mr. Styles,” Fearne, the manager of West Hollywood restaurant Catch, replied to him after a minute long listings from Harry regarding the event.

As soon as he received a nod, Harry rushed over to the foyer where a number of cameramen were assigned their positions, to take a look over the setting in the area. The restaurant was enlightened in black and gold, fire playing a important part of the decor, in a complete modern gala esque demeanour.

It was a charity party organised by GQ magazine and hosted by Harry himself, one like so many others he regularly attended.

He stood in the foyer wearing a Dior black suit and hair trimmed for the event because he wanted to personally receive his guests, especially over the first half hour. As and when his guests arrived, he would smile, hugging them all before guiding them towards their introductory glasses of champagne.

Slowly everyone around him started filtering inside, filling the once empty interiors of the restaurant. They were all in groups, of friends, associates and uncos who laughed together a bit too much to be strangers. At one point, he greeted Jeffrey and Glenne as they arrived, giving Glenne a long, friendly but keeping it highly professional with Jeffrey with a mere handshake. There was tension between the two, one that Glenne attempted to crack with a joke but she failed miserably.

But Jeffrey didn't occupy much of his thoughts, Abigail did. As time kept on rolling, Harry frowned everytime a car would arrive but it won't be Abigail's. She had told him she was feeling tired and would rather join in with the guests a while later.

After multiple calls from his new manager to come back to the party, Harry finally did. It had been forty-five minutes since the event began rolling but Abigail was not there yet. His manager guided Harry, both of them jumping from one group to another, laughing with strangers. Abigail was mentioned every time, her not being clutched to Harry's arm like she always was, questionable to people.

Harry though, could see nothing bad in it. He smiled everytime her name was taken telling them how she would be arriving soon.

After a whirlwind of congratulatory hugs and dismissable conversations, Harry excused himself from his manager's grip to look for an isolated area. He wanted nothing more than hearing Abigail's voice for once. As if on instinct his feet rolled towards to rooftop, stopping right beside the door of the rooftop as he leaned back on the wall; all the while his eyes were busy scanning through the 4000 contacts on his phone down to one name.

It was the same line repeated: ‘The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please try later.’

With every passing moment, Harry’s concern kept on growing but he tried not to over think about the situation. Closing his eyes he allowed the November breeze to hit his face, as if opening the pores on his skin that had been closed due to excessive make-up. This felt like a deja vu for him, the light music, the silent haze in a busy room, the rooftop of Catch, November… of course November of 2022 — two years back when he had first met the love of his life in a very similar environment.

“Tequila?” Harry’s face perked up at someone talking to him. For a moment he gasped as if all of his last two years were a dream and they were about to come to reality, restarting right from the beginning.

“Abby,” He said abruptly opening his eyes, the rate of his heart ricocheting to a new high. But there instead of his girlfriend, stood a waitress dressed in a uniform holding out a tray full of tequila to him.

“Sir, tequila?” She repeated in a melancholic tone and Harry smiled taking a glass from her tray before thanking her. The waitress left but he stood there on his spot smiling faintly at the glass of liquor in front of him.

Abigail had slowly engraved herself in Harry's life. Starting from the party at Catch when she asked him for a rolled green note, then the soul cycling trip, when he first took her to his Beverly Hills mansion, when she gave him the privilege to call him her boyfriend, when she told him she's having his baby, Zayn's accident — everything had and breathed her. He breathed her.

Harry had always been a musician, he never knew he was an artist until now that he had every picture of them together, painted right in his brain.

And it all started with tequila.

It was in the midst of his thoughts when Harry heard a prominent thud from the lower floor. He ushered as quickly as the crowd around him, excusing himself through the mass. There on the ground floor, in the foyer was Abigail arguing with a guardsman over something.

Something about her didn't seem alright. Instead of the designated, sophisticated dress of Gucci, she was wearing a silver-blue sequined piece that was too short to barely cover any part of her legs, it's strap falling miserably. Her hair was untamed and wild and her eyeliner was too thick and smudged for her usual liking.

She was in the midst of an argument with flailing hands and uncontrolled movements when Harry reached there, “Abby,” he called out.

“Haarryyy! Babyyyy!” Abigail's face lit up seeing him and she took a single step towards, tumbling and falling in the process. This made Harry rush ahead so that instead of the floor, she landed in his arms. She giggled like a child, squirting in his grip. “Don't I look the hottest of all? They said this is not the dress code. Something fucking sophisticated.”

There were endless clicks from the photographers in the foyer and all Harry wanted in the moment was to protect her from becoming a public nuisance. “You look brilliant, just come with me.”

“Sir I apologise, but she does not have an invitation. I'm afraid I'll have to take her.” The guard beseeched him.

“Don't dare touch her.” Harry warned in an aprising tone.“She's with me.”

While Harry was busy talking to the guardsman, Abigail had somehow managed to release from his grip moving towards the fountain that was placed as an ornament in the foyer. “Fountain?” She gasped dramatically, “That's so much water here. No, no close it. We're saving water. Harry and I will save water.”

She was pathetically trying to close the fountain, jumping in her heels to reach its top. Harry flustered even thinking how badly she reeked alcohol; and his concern proliferated as soon as the thought of his baby came to his mind.

Just then Jeffrey came up to him with a concerned tone. “Harry is she okay? There are cameras around, she's causing a scene.”

In an alarmed tone, Harry rebuked. “She's fine, I'll take care of her.” Moving towards her, he held her arms ever so lightly whispering into her ear. “Babe your strap is a little off, let me help you.”

“Oh this, let it be. This is what they live for.” Her voice was loud and messy. “Abigail Quinn can't handle herself and her dress. Abigail Quinn using beau for getting into acting. Abigail Quinn purposely got pregnant to take relationship to the next level.” She enacted them all in a mocking voice before letting out a laughter, “Let them live, H. Let them talk and slander me all they want.”

“Babe please let me take you home.” He closed his eyes, trying to take her hand but she immediately withdrew, moving closer to the main foyer where she was under the direct gaze of the cameras.

“Home? Who's home? Your $30 million mansion that I didn't even pay a penny for? Sorry-sorry, stupid me. I don't even earn, how can I pay for anything.” She laughed like girl gone mad.

“Abigail you are not in your senses right now. Come with me, please.” Harry was begging her now, him being too sure that it was the alcohol speaking not her.

“Glenneyyy!” Abigail greeted cheerly, escaping Harry's grip. She hugged a frantic Glenne almost taking her down to the floor with herself. “I missed you so much. You and Jeffrey left us and this idiot didn't even talk to Zayn, we have no friends.”

Jeffrey and Harry fast approached the two women, trying their best to protect Abigail from being hurt. Glenne on the other hand, was a frustrated figure. “Guys, what the hell? Abigail why are you shouting?”

“I am shouting? I think I'm talking too low. There's so loud music here, I can't hear a thing.” There was indeed no music. Rather everyone's attention was only on her in a pin-drop silent mode. “Can you guys hear me? Helllllooo.”

Abigail was flailing her hands, asking for a response. It provoked Glenne to quickly shove her into Harry's body, herself holding her from the other side. “Jeffrey, I need a car fast.”

Together the trio helped Abigail into Glenne and Jeffrey's car, quite like the first time they had met before Harry gave away the address to his Bel-Air Mansion.

■■■

The night seemed infinite for Harry. From the car ride to the bedroom where Abigail dozed off like she was a dead girl — Harry was only left to process what had happened. There were multiple occasions she woke up to throw up making the floor of their once paradise room a mess of bile and tears. Harry desperately cleaned it three times, spraying his best perfumes through the room to somehow wipe away everything that happened.

But what was done was done and it was out there for the world to see.

The remaining night went with him watching her sleep on their bed as he sat on the floor close to her side, running his fingers through her hair. His eyes were bloodshot and no amount of makeup could hide the once etched dark circles that had started showing up again.

It was a little over three in morning when Abigail winced loudly, almost crying while opening her eyes. Harry immediately smiled through broken lips and glistened eyes trying to contemplate what to say. But before he could, Abigail shoved him to the side and stubbed her toe on the way to the bathroom.

Twenty seven minutes from there she came from the bathroom, now dressed in a loose trouser and a tank top of her own. She stopped in her way when she saw Harry sitting on the little sofa in their room, repeatedly hitting his forehead with his knuckles, still dressed in his white button-up and dress trousers from the event.

He sat up alarmed as soon as he heard door creake close. “Are you feeling alright, now?”

She scoffed lazily taking the seat beside him on the sofa. “How would you fucking feel after pulling a stunt like that, huh? Alright? Fantastic? Sorry, sorry you don't know this feeling. You have never pulled a stunt like that, you're all clean Styles.”

“Hey, it's fine.” Harry breathed deeply keeping a light hand over her shoulder but she pushed it off as if opposed to a hand, a bulldozer was put on her. “I'm not mad at you at all for last night, we can forget it happened. I forgave you the moment.”

“You forgive me? I didn't even apologise, Harry. I don't fucking need to,” she retorted in derision. “And of course, forget. Let's forget it happened, like you forget everything else that happens.”

“Babe-”

“Don't babe me out of this.” She snapped in the instant, the next thing that followed being a little cry. One that grew into complete balling with time. Harry tried pulling her into his chest being that his own face was wet with tears. But everytime he tried touching her, Abigail would hold his hand to stop that. And this final time she kept her hold strong caressing the anchor tattoo on his hand. “The things I said last night...in.. in that condition they were all true.”

“No, no Abigail. They are not, you said them because you were not in a clear state of mind. You didn't even know what you were talking about.” He replied in a light voice yet was very sure of his statement.

But Abigail only watched him with a disgusted, ill look, “Say it loudly… no, actually face it. What do you mean by ‘not in a clear state of mind?’ Say it loudly that I was high. That I was so fucking high that I ruined your perfect image, that golden man fantasy that you worked your ass off to create.” She was frantic using hands and all. “And yeah then throw me out. Throw me out of your sick, shallow popstar life and this mansion because you're too ashamed to be near this nuisance.”

“Are you gone mad? What are you talking about?” He was too aloof and naive.

“Even now Harry? Even now you are not going to say this loud? How much of a shallow coward are you?”

Any other day Harry would probably sit her down and talk to her about this issue but right now she was guilt stricken and maybe those were the kind effects drugs brought to people. So he thought he'd only talk to her once she was well rested. What Harry didn't know was that she was too tired from being well rested.

“You're not feeling okay right now. Let's get you some rest.” He tried getting a hold of her.

“Okay? Frankly Harry I haven't ever felt better because we might just be talking about this.” She replied in a much more energetic tone. “You can't keep on avoiding the topic as if it's bleeding nothing.”

There hasn't been a word made in the Oxford dictionary for how Harry was feeling. It was chaos in the least sense of words — his heart in knots this time instead of his stomach.

“It's them ain't it?” He bit his lips to prevent any more tears to fall down — an attempt that miserably failed. “It's the media who did this to you. They always, always fucking do it to me. They chide everything that is ever good for me. It always ends this way. People have no choice but to leave me.” “Where are you in this equation, Harry?” she asked him earnestly, leaning back to the sofa before getting up from there. “You think it's the media who fucks up things for you? Goodness you blind man, you are the one who fuck things up for yourself, Harry. At least a hundred celebrities live in this city alone, the media slaughters them all, but you act like you’ve got no say in any matter. As if they are the cause of every problem of your life and you are nothing but perfect. Flashnews, you're not. It's just a fantasy crafted for the world, that's not real. At what point do you realise only you’re responsible for all the people who left you?”

“You think my whole existence is a fantasy?” He scoffed and then shook his head, “You know how terribly difficult discipline is. Yes, fucking yes, I've never touched drugs, I've always kept my behaviour in check, but do you know how damn difficult that is?”

“And what I do isn't difficult?” Abigail berated in him putting a hand on her waist, “Being a trophy girlfriend you show off to the world, who has nothing else to do but chose your clothes, make you coffee, socialize with your friends and roam like a puppy to each of your shows — isn't difficult. Fuck Harry I graduated six months back and yet I have no job.”

Harry was everything synonymous to confused. “You said you needed time. You told me you didn't want any of those jobs.”

“Did you ever ask why? Everytime I went to an interview, they pinpointed every scandal of life and turned it into a resume not even looking at my real one till they came to the final. ‘But seeing how you've cleaned up your act, being with Styles, and keeping off substance abuse, we would be willing to hire you.’” She spoke her heart out. “They didn't understand I wasn't clean. You don't fucking make me clean Harry. There were still nights I tempted to unlock that closet, to take that vial out and just-just do it. Just inhale the coke so badly that even I can't hear my voice — feel so damn high. It's such a vicious cycle that even if you touch it once, you can't get off it.. you fucking can't. That is why I never ever wanted to do it again, not even think about it again.”

Her voice broke at the end of it, one that even softened Harry's own. “W-Why didn't you ever tell me? You always told me you were clean ever since you returned to school.”

“Because you would've left me.” A chuckle escaped her lips just as a tear did from her eye, unapologetically, “You would've left me like you leave everyone else who's a threat to your image.”

He winced, “I wouldn't have left you, babe.”

“How do I know?” She shrugged, “You left Zayn and Louis. You always stay away from these things, these people.”

“They were different.” He replied with a slight frustration.

“They were your fucking best mates.”

“What do you want me to do? Be reckless like they were. And see where they are now, nowhere. There is a cost for success, I have to pay it.” Harry tried reasoning his life choices despite knowing he was somewhere always wrong.

“They are in their homes, the ones that may not be as huge as this but at least it's not empty. They have people in their lives whom they love more than fame, and who love them. They have spouses that have fucking names, Harry. Not just ‘popstar xyz's girlfriend.’” She spoke without a breath. “You see where they are now? They are exactly where I am.”

Silence was Harry's only answer as Abigail sat on their bed with a thud. A million things ran through Harry's head and for the first time since the end of the band did Harry feel that life was happening too fast.

“Babe, we both have it right? I love you more than fame and you love me as well.” He spoke timidly.

“Oh you do? Because I don't see it one bit. Do you even care how I imagined my life when I started school? Do you remember the times I told you I could do anything to not be in the public eye anymore?” She stood up facing him again, “No, you don't, otherwise you wouldn't have thrown the cameras on my face. I don't blame those outsiders Harry, but what when you yourself aren't with me. Why would this – us, even be a thing then?”

“I am not on your side? I?” He tried everything in him to not bring this up, but now he had had enough. “I have been so fucking patient with you, Abby. I kept on tell myself that vial in your dresser is just a medication, that the rolled packets of paper in the kitchen just have sugar. But no, no I am not on your side.”

She clenched her jaw, speaking ruthlessly. “That's not called being patient, that's called being in denial. That you've always been, you still still are. These are the decisions you take in your life? Avoid, deny, close your eyes when you see something wrong, cut a phone call when it's from a person you don't like, fucking leave your best mate to die.”

They were cut throat in this fight. It was not anywhere near to a discussion now.

Harry said pacing through the room. “He's not my best mate. He's a terrible human.”

“And you aren't?” She followed him before snapping at him. “You are worse Harry. You are worse.”

“At least my decisions didn't ruin my life… And if we are talking things, I think you owe me some good explanations.” Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. “How long have you been taking that poison of coke? How long have you been planning to assassinate our baby with that never ending addiction of yours?”

“Wrong question boy.” Abigail had a deep mockery in her tone. “The right question is why am I taking it. After three years of being clean, why I jumped back into something that fucking ruined me. And the answer is you… because of you and the countless articles tagged in your name.”

“Abby, you can't completely blame me for your addiction and you know that.”

“I know that and I'm not blaming you for it. I'm blaming me, that I even thought you were worth it. Do you have a clue of how fucking entitled you sound nowadays? Have you bleeding seen your attitude over everything?” She chided him. “Or maybe that's been you always. You've just plastered a princess face to the world and me when I met you. But when I got to know you, this boy,” she pointed up and down at him, “he is a dammit disaster.”

“What do you want me to do Abby?” Harry deadpanned defeatedly.“I.. you want me to get a plastic surgery that people won't recognize me. It's a part of me. Famous is a part of me, you have to accept that. You knew what you signed up for.”

“Yes but I expected you to be there for me, you never have.” She cried, “And buying this outside-your-budget-house, getting me gifts and taking me to your fucking stupid vacations don't count as being there for me.”

“I… I d-don't c-choose this Abigail. I don't.” He shook his head as an array of tears fell down to his hand. Harry could see what was coming, he has seen this apocalypse too many times to discern, he just didn't know why everytime it hurt more than before.

“It's history repeating right? This happened with everyone else. With Zayn, the boys, your dad?” She accused, too sure of herself. “You are given a choice to choose between your fame and these people. And you always, always chose fame. Didn't you?” It was rhetorical question but Harry wanted to shake his head at it. Denying it, but maybe even denying it will be of no use now. “You just look for escapes. Soothing escapes. Before me your work was your escape.. then I became your escape and now that even I am ruined enough to stay with you… you'll find another escape.”

“Please don't say that… I'll leave it all.” He spoke suddenly alarmed. Harry wiped his tears abruptly before holding Abigail's arms, trying to promise her something impossible through frantic words, “I promise, I'll make the world forget who Harry Styles is. For you Abby, for us, for our baby.”

“There's no baby.” She broke through his grip so harshly that it also broke his heart. “I aborted it. I.. I knew if I keep it, I'll always somehow be associated with you. I don't fucking want that.”

Just like that Harry's entire world was ripped apart. The bubble of love disappeared, the haze of their perfect world — one with him, her and their baby — burned in the warmth of Hollywood, leaving back not even ashes.

His back hit the wall and there stood no one but a lifeless man.

It felt like a few minutes expanded into eternity, breaking the dimensions of time. And eternity was a long enough time to comprehend a lot.

He spoke exanimately before a tear dropped off his eyes. “You hate me, don't you?

“No baby, no. I love you… I love you so much I can't even tell you. I just hate your choice,” she wailed, just like him. “And Harry if you want the world to forget who Harry Styles is, tear yourself apart. Fucking get a pair and apologise, Harry. Apologise to everyone you did this to. Everyone you never stood up for. Everyone you lost for fame. That's the only goddamn way you’re gonna get yourself out of this mess. And I…I have my own mess to clear, once again.”

The fight seemed closed off on both the ends. Silence enveiled the air around them as he slid to the floor, his knees pressed to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face into his worn out jeans.

“You're right, this is me. I ruined it all and only I can fix this.” He said exasperatedly before looking at her with begging eyes.“B-But.. n-not... us. Not us, right Abby?”

Abigail's face crumbled at his words as endless tears dripped down her cheeks. “Maybe Jeffrey was right when he said we are a combination of a catastrophe, hmm?” she chuckle half-heartedly, taking Harry's face in her hands, his tears wetting her palm. Harry didn't reply. He had never felt more tired in his lifetime, but watching everything you've ever built, slowly and painfully crumble down in front your eyes could do that to you. Rumours and articles had never bothered him much because the things printed were nowhere near truth. But what she said, each word off her mouth was true and that cut him like a piece of glass.

He had her head leaned against his shoulder as she briefly closed her eyes and letting time escape them. For one moment, just one moment, he needed to feel okay again. But okay was not going to come so easily, it would take years to walk down the ladder of success, to meet and apologise to everyone he had once lost, to find Harry more that Harry Styles and worst part; even if he did all of that he would never get the one woman he wants in his arms ever again.

He knew he had to start with Zayn. He owed him more than he owed anyone anything and if he is anyhow lucky Zayn would accompany him in his trip ahead, only if he was lucky.

In that one night numerous stars garnished the moon on the navy skies of California, children slept in peace between their parents in their tiny beds, concert shows sold out in a single moment, birds slowly started waking up before the break of dawn, the entire universe worked just in the equilibrium it was supposed to – amongst it all in an empty house of a posh street – a star was torn.