#i’m just a single father with multiple jobs i can’t give nearly as much attention to my kids as i’d want to 😔

[d0d0-b0i]

love these silly kids, hope nothing bad ever happens to them ^w^

#little nightmares #mono #six #my art #ANNIVERSARY BABY IM NOT TOO LATE !!!! #jus a lil sketch but that’s cus i forgor until the day of. and i have been also doing something else #that i’m posting later 😫 my babies they r in my mind constantly. #i now just also have 3000 other babies in my head as well. so it’s a lot #i’m just a single father with multiple jobs i can’t give nearly as much attention to my kids as i’d want to 😔

[chateautae]

maybe i do | kth. I

➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst 

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 11k

➵ warnings : swearing, alcohol consumption, anxiety, lots of feels about marriage, a stupid ex (reader’s), mentions of bad sexual experiences with ex (there’s consent, just bad sex that makes the reader feel shitty), does ceo tae count as a warning? 

➵ a/n: hello my first fic of my favourite trope arranged marriage, AND with kim taehyung?? yes pls !! this will be a series and I’ll be actively working on it so you don’t have to wait too long for chapters, i hope you can follow this series with me <33

chapter one : “my forever’s falling down”  

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“Another one, Father? I thought I told you my secretary would be handling marriage profiles from now on. Stop concerning yourself with who I marry.” 

“But I do, son. Trust me, I know this girl, she’s the daughter of a trusted friend and I think she’s a good match.” 

“Father, everyone you choose for me I dislike and it’s distracting me from my work. I don’t need this right now.” 

“She’s different, Taehyung. I personally know her and I’m certain you won’t say no.” 

“And why is that?” 

“There’s something about her you won’t refuse, son, you’ll notice it when you meet her.” 

“I don’t want to meet her, Father. Like I said, I need to work.” 

“I just knew you’d act this way. Want to know something, son? I’ve made her part of a business deal, you can’t back out of this.”

“What? You made her part of a business deal?! Why would you-”

“Because you wouldn’t have given her a chance otherwise, you haven’t been giving anyone a chance since I’ve been setting up potential partners for you and I’m sick of it. You said you were open to an arranged marriage, where’s that attitude now?”

“Because, Father, I have a company to run and that’s-”

“No. I will not allow you to reduce your life to just this company. There are far more enjoyable things in life than a business.”

“But Father-”

“No, Taehyung. One thing you need to learn is balance. If you don’t give anyone or anything a chance you will live a lonely life behind your desk. Even in this cutthroat world of business where you can lose money or be betrayed by anyone at any moment, the most painful thing to suffer is loneliness, and I won’t let you live in this world alone.”

“Dad-”

“You will meet this girl, Taehyung, end of discussion.” 

“Dad! I told you I want nothing to do with your company, how could you let me get dragged into this?!” 

“Y/N-ie, I know you value the life you have without any of my help, but let me help just this once, especially with finding a husband. I’m being offered the deal of a lifetime and I can’t refuse, he just happens to be part of it. I need this for the company, please.”

“But Dad, I don’t even know him. And if he’s the CEO of some rich company he’s probably an asshole, I’m not doing this.” 

“Y/N-ie, trust me, I know his son. He’s a sincere, hard-working man, I promise.”

“Yeah, right. Even if that’s the case, I still don’t know him, let alone love him, Dad. How can you make me marry someone I don’t love?”

“Because you can learn to love him. There are no rules concerning the way two people should fall in love, love doesn’t always need to come first.”

“But Dad-”

“My daughter, I have not asked you for many things in my life, but this is one thing I must ask of you. Please, just meet him, don’t say no without even trying.”

“Dad, I don’t know-”

“Please, Y.N, do it for me. If not for the company or money, please do it for me.”

And here you were, fidgeting with the tips of your nails, tuning in and out of the present world and overthinking every aspect of your life that somehow lead you to this moment. Sitting on a Leather Italia couch in what was described to be Mr. Kim’s study; listening to your father’s incessant, albeit wholesome chatter next to you with your future in-laws across. 

And next to them was their suave, unreadable son sitting in a relaxed manner, flipping his attention between your fathers’ conversation and anything else in the room.

You on the other hand, were utterly high strung due to the fact that your father failed to mention your future fiancé’s identity until 30 minutes before arriving here, having done a quick search in the car to unveil who he exactly was.

And that’s when it hit you. You weren’t marrying just anyone, you were getting married to Kim Taehyung. The infamous CEO of Kim Enterprises—Korea’s largest software development and manufacturing company, rivaling to be one of the largest in the world. He was part of Seoul’s most prestigious circle of businessmen, having made multiple Forbes international lists of Most Successful, Youngest, Richest, and is even one of Korea’s most eligible bachelors, not just Seoul.

If this wasn’t already taking you out, then it was definitely the fact that his photos through a measly Google search did him absolutely, utterly and completely no justice. They simply could never capture the truth of just how handsome Kim Taehyung was in real life. You couldn’t deny it, he wasn’t just good-looking, he was stunning, gorgeous, seemed as though God had created the universe, heaven and hell in 6 days and left the 7th just to create him. 

He was like a work of art, worthy of being placed in the finest of museums and left untouched, unsodden by the ugliness of humanity. It made you feel extremely inferior to him in an instant. It was sickening, he was sickening, intoxicating, and quite frankly, intimidating.

It was his look, his undivided stare when he eventually settled his sight on you. It didn’t matter his dark hair that landed and perfectly curled above his eyes, the way he occasionally licked his plush lips or how his long, tall legs spread out before him, it was his look that made you want to turn tail and run.  

It seemed to reach into your soul, peer straight through whatever façade, walls or defense mechanisms you could spend years building only to have his simple look tear it down in minutes. He was alluring, captivating, left you wanting to cower into whatever hole you could dig yourself into or discover all the secrets he hid behind those enchanting eyes.

Kim Taehyung was many things you couldn’t quite wrap your head around, though you assessed your priorities and decided they didn’t just include him, but mainly the significance of the current meeting taking place right now. 

It wasn’t a mere one-time business deal to discuss a project, it was a meeting that entailed the partnership of both your family companies and would define the next however many years of your life. More specifically, spending it with the exact same man that looked at you without a single readable expression on his face. 

You distracted yourself by trying to observe as many useless things as you could, flitting around the room many times before suddenly glancing at Taehyung’s index finger coming up to rest against his lips.

You zeroed your vision in more. 

Is that a cut on his finger?

“Jae-in, of course! This is just as important to me as it is to you, your son is a remarkable CEO, and I’m sure he’ll make an amazing husband.” 

“Aish, Namhyun, you flatter me too much. My son may be handsome, though your daughter is even more beautiful. I’m very sure she will make a wonderful wife.”

“Yes, Namhyun, your daughter is absolutely gorgeous! Just as gorgeous as her mother. I know she wasn’t able to make it, though may I ask where your wife is tonight?” 

“Ah, unfortunately, she’s out of the country. Though I was hoping my presence would be enough to fill in for her, am I doing a bad job?” 

Laughter erupted from the parents in the room, meanwhile, Taehyung couldn’t help but notice the way you immediately winced at the mention of your mother. Something he definitely wouldn’t miss with the way he found himself examining your every move. 

It was habitual to him, something born out of his roots in business, only for the purpose of calculating and reading people like an open book. 

He knew you’d also become victim to that habit, though oddly enough, he found himself quite interested in observing you. He had already figured you out; you hated business, there was a clear disconnection between yourself and your father’s company and you reeked of a sense of independence that funnily contradicted the antsy way you bounced your leg. 

Your way of speech, however, mannerisms, gestures, your look; it was all professional enough you clearly have some sort of background in business. You seemed like an heiress to Taehyung, which you were, though you oddly had no interest in business?   

All these details piqued his interest, curious of just who you exactly were, but he was mainly intrigued by the mysterious claim his father made upon mentioning you for the first time. 

‘There’s something about her you won’t refuse.’

That had raked Taehyung’s brain consistently for the past hour now, crossing his legs loosely and his arms folded over his chest, contemplating over and over again as he looked at you, what’s so damn special about her? 

‘You’ll notice it when you meet her,’ the words rang in his ears.

That was the driving force behind his calculation, observation, near inability to take his eyes off of you as he learned new things nearly every minute and led him closer to understanding his father.  

He could tell you were an anxious person, though hid it behind a persona of false confidence. You had a tendency to stick close to your father despite observing you don’t rely on him for much of anything, even less your mother. The softness behind your every movement despite being from a business background where you should be harsh, rigid, rough around the edges, and yet you seemed entirely different.

Taehyung then realized how inherently dissimilar you were to many of the other women he met. They were all relatively of the same cut and look. Cold, sharp, cunning. All women of pure business; daughters, granddaughters or straight CEOs of wealthy companies, simply interested in marriage as a deal or an advantage rather than a commitment. 

And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. Taehyung was a man of business himself, married to his work, his home behind a desk and the company the only thought occupying his mind 24/7.

But with you, you were interesting, unlike the others and it made him curious.

Taehyung also couldn’t help but notice you were...pretty. You weren’t too overly sexy nor too innocent, you were pretty. There was an elegance to your looks, features like your hair and eyes complementing you as a whole, and he couldn’t miss that you felt oddly...warm.

Taehyung found himself beginning to understand his father’s original viewpoint, considering the possibility he could’ve been correct. 

You just seemed different. 

“Ah, that seems to be everything. Exact details about the wedding have already been put in place by us.”

“Yes! We’ve been waiting for our TaeTae to get married for so long. We’ve had plans for months now and we can finally move forward with them! You and Y/N don’t need to worry about anything!” 

“Mom, did you really just call me that in front of my future fiancé?” 

“Oh, let it go, son. It won't be long before she calls you that, too!” 

Taehyung could only playfully roll his eyes at his overly excited mother, you scrunching your nose at the embarrassment.

“That’s incredibly generous of you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim, though my conscience is not one to let such things go. My family should contribute to the wedding in some way. Y/N and I would be happy to do so.”

“Why don’t we discuss that outside? I believe we should give the future couple some time alone, shall we?” 

You and Taehyung exchanged a quick look before standing up and respectively addressing either’s parents, Taehyung shutting the door behind them once they exited and having turned to look at you, an awkward silence piercing the air. 

There it was again, his look. It was irrefutably the one reason you avoided eye contact with him, you felt he would swallow you up if you shared even 5 seconds between each other.

“So...” Taehyung suddenly broke the ice, eyeing you.

“So...” 

“Marriage, huh?” 

“Yeah, marriage. Never done that one before.” If there wasn’t a time you vehemently hated yourself, then it was undoubtedly now. You internally facepalmed at your dumb comment, adding a laugh at the end in embarrassment only to look away. 

“Uh..yeah.” Taehyung laughed awkwardly. “Me neither, if you didn’t already know.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked away, you fidgeting by the couches everyone previously occupied. 

A beat of silence passed as you both exchanged looks between objects in the room and each other, either of you pursing your lips or blowing light raspberries to cut the awkwardness. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Hm?” You turned towards him, lips just a pout as your doe-eyes awaited him. 

Taehyung didn’t miss that at all. 

“Um, your mother. I apologize if this is intrusive of me, though I couldn’t help but notice I’ve never actually met her. May I ask where she is?” 

You let out a dry chuckle before answering, another detail that didn’t slip Taehyung’s attention. “Trust me, Taehyung, one thing you’ll never have to worry about during this entire ordeal is my mother. She should be the last thing on your mind.” You assured him with what he could tell was your fakest smile, distracting him from the realization you’d said his name for the first time.

“Are you sure? I’ll be meeting her at the wedding so-”

“You won’t. I don’t think you will. Even if she does make it, it takes very little to impress her, just be yourself and she’ll love you.” You stated with a sense of finality, as though the topic should be dropped. 

“Be myself? I’m one of the best businessmen in Korea. It’s my job to get people to like me, easy stuff.” He casually gloated. 

“You don’t only have to be a businessman to do that,” you paused and looked at him, “you can just be Kim Taehyung, too.” You spoke nonchalantly, eyes lingering with his for longer than 5 seconds and he, in fact, had not swallowed you yet. 

Taehyung instantly furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback as if your suggestion was something outlandish, absurd, maybe even offending.

Nobody has ever said such a thing to him, not throughout the entirety of his life. 

Taehyung tried his best to recover, searching for another topic of conversation before he was cut off by your rather soft voice, he noticed. 

“Oh, I wanted to give you this.” You stepped towards him, reaching into your purse and retrieving something Taehyung couldn’t quite see. You strided over and extended your hand, Taehyung finding himself even more confused.

“A bandage?” 

“Mhm. For the cut on your finger. You should probably clean it and apply something before putting this on.” You stated nonchalantly once again, offering him a small smile whilst holding out the bandage. 

“Uh...” Taehyung started but couldn’t complete his sentence, lost on how you even observed something as small as his cut and spoke of treating it like it was an actual injury.  

After his struggle to form a sentence, you grew bold enough to gently remove his hand from his pocket and place the bandage in his palm, looking back up at him. You shared a momentary look with his chocolate eyes, instantly scrambling after realizing your hand was still in his.

He has really big hands. 

“We should um...probably go.” You avoided his eyes, stepping aside quickly to pull the door open.

Taehyung’s mind felt displaced, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the fact that someone had actually left him with nothing to say, an extremely rare occurrence in his book.

He was even more displaced looking at the measly wrapper in his hand, then at the cut on the side of his finger, playing through the last 5 minutes of what just happened.

He scoffed to himself.

‘There’s something about her you won’t refuse.’

It had been 3 weeks since that meeting, not having seen Taehyung once as you wasted your time enjoying single life luxuries before you prepared for one of marriage.

It still felt odd to say such a thing, marriage, because it didn’t even feel like one, or a real one at that. It was forced, fake, a pressured one out of convenience. It felt more like a deal, something Taehyung and yourself had to settle for in order to keep your parents’ minds at ease.

That thought racked your brain all those 3 weeks; Taehyung had to settle for you, he didn’t choose you, just as much as you settled for him and didn’t choose him either. You both had ultimately agreed to the marriage only in an effort to optimize your parents’ happiness, not your own.

You had no clue how he felt, a mystery as much as the Bermuda Triangle, knowing he most certainly had a grand pick of women to choose from and you were most definitely his worst option.

You knew you were suddenly dumped on him, leaving him no choice in the matter as you learned your marriage entailed a beneficial business deal between your fathers’ companies, and Taehyung couldn’t really refuse you with so much on the line.

You had already felt inferior to Taehyung since the moment you met him, though your insecurities seeped further into the crevices of your doubtful mind the more you thought over that sad fact, contemplating a married life with him. In your opinion you were pretty much undesirable to him, Taehyung probably kicking himself knowing he had to unwillingly call you his wife for the rest of his life. 

You just knew you weren’t good enough for him, you would never measure up no matter how hard you’d try and that utterly terrified you. You were confident and independent when it came to yourself, though wedding a near perfect being regarded as one of Seoul’s finest in terms of a CEO and a man? 

Confidence be damned, this dude was intimidating. 

These were the feelings that swarmed your head as you sulked at your over-the-top engagement party, set up in a prestigious buildings’ gorgeous 37th floor riddled with baroque styling and embellishments, classical music gracing some of Seoul’s wealthiest patrons as their flutes clinked and snobby chatter filled the hall. 

It was all extremely high-status, reeking of upper class supremacy and quite frankly, it made you want to throw up.

You distracted yourself by bringing any and all types of alcohol to your lips, trying to focus on anything but your daunting thoughts.

The entire night you hadn’t talked to Taehyung, both of you having been too occupied with the numerous amounts of people meeting and congratulating you. This became a genuine nuisance as you’d mentioned before, this marriage was of convenience, one that brought families and companies together merrily and constituted hundreds of people attending your engagement party you didn’t really know.

Your friends were excited, over-the-moon you bagged a man like Taehyung and chastised you for not having told them about your engagement to him earlier. Your relatives similarly scolded you, pinching your cheeks and praising Taehyung like he was a God while they scrunched their noses at you for concealing him.

How could I tell you when I didn’t even know myself?, you thought.

It was funny they praised your ‘choice’ of a fiancé, positive nobody was saying the same to Taehyung without at least lying. The public only knew of you as your father’s daughter, never having seen you due to your vehement absence from anything remotely related to his company, and much of the business world in general.��

You weren’t part of that world, a world of greed and money-driven lunatics. It just wasn't you. It never suited you, left you with a bad taste in your mouth you constantly grimaced at and thought maybe you were the insane one for not understanding its flavour. As you grew older, however, you came to realize it simply wasn’t the path meant for you, someone who valued the independence and achievement of earning something for yourself, by yourself.

Ever since the inception of that principal, your young teenage self resolved you didn’t want to rely on your father’s wealth, especially not his influence or power to achieve your own place in life.

Your father had worked determinedly hard for years in order to stand as high he does now, warranting your acute admiration for your role model of a father, his now successful architecture business landing him a few buildings part of the Seoul skyline.

And after finally achieving his dream, it suddenly morphed into your own aspiration. His hard work drove you to want your own design part of Seoul’s breathtaking scenery as well, by means of your own effort, your own hard work. You didn’t want your father’s help. It felt wrong, like you were cheating if you used him to gain your place and so you condemned your life to one that separated yours and his. 

So you lived, worked and earned money without any of his influence.

You worked for an average architecture company where you felt comfortable, happy that you were away from the suffocating high-status business of your family. And although your detachment left your identity a mystery to many, your situation on the other hand was an extremely infamous one.

‘The-runaway-heiress’, was your staple trademark. The judgmental comments about your choice of life and the insults it warranted were never-ending, subjected to that criticism all your life.

There was no doubt Taehyung was hearing all of that, people probably warning him to step out of the marriage before it was too late. You weren’t like Taehyung, who was perfect, desirable, someone everyone either wanted or wanted to be. It left you glad and quite frankly, proud to be wedding a man of such caliber and incredibility, though left you wondering why in God’s name he would ever agree to marry someone like you; average, average and well, average.

“That’s your 5th shot, Y/N, slow the fuck down.” Your best friend Hana’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, snatching the shot glass from your grasp. “It wouldn’t be cool if you were trashed at your own party, dummy.” 

Her sudden appearance brought a smile to your face. “I know, I just don’t feel well.” You sighed by the counter of the bar, seated atop a stool as you circled an empty shot glass mindlessly. 

“I get you, there’s like, hundreds of people here and you’re probably hearing a lot of different shit.” Hana appealed to you, having read your emotions like an open book. “Speaking of people, I wanted to ask, what’s up with Taehyung and his stare?”

You stifled a snort, looking at Hana’s incredulous face. “It’s just a habit of his. He stares at everyone.”

“Okay... sure, but I didn’t mean everyone, I meant you.” Hana emphasized, comically pointing.

You furrowed your eyebrows at her, arm leaning against the bar’s counter as you questioned, “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t really stop staring at you, which is kinda weird. Unless you like that, I don’t judge people’s kinks.” Hana mockingly held her hands up in surrender, gauging a reaction out of you. 

You instantly grimaced, “It’s not a kink, Hana. Nice joke by the way, wanna sign up for SNL with that one?”

“I’m serious! I’ve been catching him just looking at you and I don’t know if it’s weird or hot.” Hana informed as you became more puzzled, her becoming oddly excited, “Awh, maybe he’s concerned with how much you keep drinking! That’s so romantic.” She chimed, looking off into the distance dreamily.

“Shut the fuck up, he wouldn’t do that.” You smacked her arm, snatching your shot glass back from her. “Besides, you’re one of the rare people who knows this marriage is fake, you know he doesn’t care.”

“Jheez, way to kill romance?” Hana rolled her eyes, smacking your arm in rebuttal before continuing. “I’m serious, though. This may be fake but he really does keep looking at you, and I don’t know what it means.” Hana speculated, contorting her lips as if in thought.

“It means nothing, Hana. You’re just seeing things.”

“Then why has he been staring at you depressed by the bar for the last half an hour?”

You nearly spit out your drink, “What?”

“Are you clueless or just dumb? He’s been talking to someone for 30 minutes but most of the time he’s been looking at you, and he still is, how haven’t you noticed?”

You creased your eyebrows in surprise as you slowly lowered your shot glass. You turned away from Hana to scan the small crowds of people mingling, eating, drinking in the hall.

You searched the room, drink still in hand until your eyes caught tall, dark and handsome in his finely pressed suit, casually standing with a drink in his hand by a table speaking to someone. You nearly jumped when your eyes locked with Taehyung’s, every cell in your body caught off guard.

What made your heart specifically race was the way he didn’t even look away from you. He held your gaze, casually conversing with the person in front of him, eyeing you until he finally cracked a small smirk before turning back to his companion.

Your eyebrows practically shot up to the sky.

“See, weird or hot? Am I even allowed to say hot?” Hana blurted as she reveled in your reaction. “And you really thought I was joking. You don’t believe anything I say, I could tell you the world’s ending and you wouldn’t believe me. I could tell you aliens finally invaded the planet and you wouldn’t believe me until the green motherfuckers knocked on your door themselves and-”

“Hana, shut the fuck up.” You cut her off abruptly and made a face at her. “Why did you even come here?”

“Grumpy, aren’t we?” She flashed you a sarcastic look before sighing. “Your dad wanted me to find you. You and Taehyung have to meet someone important, so you should stop drinking like an alcoholic, dumbass.” Hana informed hastily as she grabbed the shot glass from you and downed it herself.

“Your dad’s by the entrance, go before he gets mad!” She shooed you away, pushing you up until you whisper-yelled and smacked at her to let you go. 

You began stepping towards the entrance, smoothing over your dress and this was the moment you realized you may have drank a little too much. You were quick to reprimand yourself, cursing your unprofessional behavior as your inner equilibrium became slightly woozy, senses drowning out a bit, every sound hazed over with a buzz in your veins.

You sucked in a breath to pull yourself together, knowing your dad valued this person enough you and Taehyung had to meet them together. 

Taehyung.

You decided to glance in his direction, lips pursing seeing he wasn’t in his previous spot. You chose to ignore it, walking along until you felt a looming presence behind you, almost having time to acknowledge it before a hand suddenly touched the small of your back. 

“Looking for me?”

You nearly squealed, jumping with a hand ready to punish before calming down at the sight of Taehyung, sighing with relief. “Jheez, could you use my name? I thought you were a stranger.” 

“Well, hello to you too.” Taehyung quipped sarcastically. “And why would a stranger touch your back? Of course it’d be the only man in this room marrying you.” Taehyung narrowly eyed you, scrutinizing your reaction with his hand still pressed to you.

“People do a lot of whatever the hell they want, Taehyung.” You responded turning away from him, heels clacking as you continued to pace towards where your father stood. “W-why’d you do that, anyway?” 

Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows. “Because we’re engaged?”

“It’s not real, though.”

“It’s as real as it gets.” Taehyung finalized, making it a statement to smile at everyone you passed, to which you realized just how many pairs of eyes glued themselves to you. “This may not feel like a real marriage to us, but to the rest of the world it is.” 

He then suddenly leaned himself down to your height and lowered his tone, breath just ghosting your ear. “Y/N, we have to make this seem real, it’s the only way we’ll survive.” Taehyung was the closest he’s ever been to you, and the deep baritone of his voice as he called your name did absolutely nothing but manifest butterflies in your chest. 

Why was his voice so deep?

You shook the thought out of your head, ultimately choosing not to say anything because he was in fact, correct. You grinned widely continuing to mask the truth of your arrangements, leaning into him more as you settled for his hand on your back.

You’d noticed it before, but his hand felt particularly large against you now that he was so close. You glanced at his other hand resting by his side, impressed by how masculine they appeared; long fingers with running veins and a roughness to them, sculpted so well you were sure they deserved to be referred to as art. It tickled your giddy side for a second when they seemed to perfectly contrast your more feminine and smaller hands. 

It was kinda cute. 

You neglected your thoughts once you neared your father, warm-heartedly conversing with a well-dressed man you just about recognized. 

“Ah, there you both are!” Your father cheered, reaching out his arm so he could envelop you in a side-hug, returning Taehyung’s bow and addressment.  

“Dad, I heard you wanted us to meet someone?” You perked up in a superficial tone, at least attempting to act as though everything was fine and dandy in your life; maybe owing it to the alcohol to endure all the falsehoods.

“Yes, Y/N-ie, I wanted you to meet Mr. Won. Chang-in, my lovely daughter and whom I guess you already know, her fiancé and CEO of Kim Enterprises, Kim Taehyung.” Your father proudly presented you both.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Won, Kim Taehyung.” Taehyung was the first to address the man, extending his hand and bowing as he greeted him. You were almost taken aback by how polite he could be, the way his charming smile graced his features and attractively displayed his perfect teeth. His manner of speech and etiquette were all refined with a high degree of professionalism as well, internally gawking at his duality.  

Wasn’t he acting all entitled with you just now? 

“Nice to meet you as well!” You collected yourself and cheered, a little baffled as to why Taehyung still rested his hand against your back. “I’m hoping my father has only said good things.” You earned a laugh from the group, Mr. Won responding by receiving your hand with a firm shake. 

“Ah, Namhyun, you forgot to mention how beautiful your daughter has grown, and your future son-in-law has me jealous! What a handsome and accomplished young man, the perfect match, the two of them.” Mr. Won praised you both kindly.

You and Taehyung both smiled and thanked him humbly, feeling some heat collect in your cheeks upon Mr. Won’s words. You two? The perfect match? Unless he believes a rock and a Greek statue belong together, then he’s absolutely correct. 

Other than that, you chest swarms with butterflies thinking you’re now referred to as ‘two’. 

Taehyung for some odd reason encircles the curve of your waist suddenly, pulling you closer to him. You last minute sputter at the intimate action before leaning into him, one arm nervously encasing his torso as the other rests against his chest. 

You feel him tense underneath you. 

“Aish, you’re such a flatterer. Y/N-ie, do you remember Mr. Won? My friend from university? You haven’t seen him in a while.” Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, trying to jog your memory. 

“Oh, you mean Mr. Won from SNU?” You suddenly remembered, looking to your father for confirmation. 

“Yes, so you do remember!” 

“Of course I do, how could I forget!” You smiled brightly and returned your gaze to the familiar man. “Mr. Won used to sneak me ice cream when you wouldn’t let me have any, Dad.” You scolded him with a playful jab to his arm, inviting more laughter. “I apologize for not recognizing you right away, it’s been a long time, Mr. Won, forgive me.” You solemnly apologized, Mr. Won giving you a look of understanding. 

“Ah, forget it, Y/N. Don’t worry about it, although since it’s been a long time I hope you remember my son? He should be here somewhere..” Mr. Won trailed as his eyes fished over the grand hall, scanning around. 

“Your son..” You repeated to yourself, realizing there was a familiar connection itching at your mind, he was your age actually-

Wait. 

Oh God, not him. 

Anything but him. 

You felt raw panic seep into the spaces between your ribs, your chest filling with a constricting feeling of anxiety you couldn't shake off. Your heart picked up speed and the alcohol coursing through your veins didn’t help your judgement or memory at all, mind fogged over with the poison we dare call alcohol.  

You felt stupid, so utterly stupid. How could you forget Mr. Won and who his Godforsaken son was? 

You felt an anxiety attack riddling you, shifting your weight on your feet as you tried to bite back your uneven breathing. You just couldn’t see this man, especially in a situation where you were standing next to your husband-to-be. 

Taehyung wasn’t so invested in the conversation before him, mindlessly nodding along before he felt you physically freeze next to him, his glance to the side confirming your pale look, watching as your panicked eyes faltered to the floor and revealed... fear? 

He registered your odd shifting and your failed attempts at plastering a smile, confused if you knew this guy and if you did, why were you freaking out so much?

Were you in love with him or something? 

The thought minutely bugged him until he watched you turn straight up uncomfortable, horrified when Mr. Won called out his son’s name. 

“Kiseok-ah! Come here!” 

You stopped breathing when you heard the name, eyes going wide as you avoided eye contact with anyone in the group, but caught Taehyung’s undivided attention. He grew curious when Kiseok sauntered over to the group, your hand on his chest suddenly squeezing his suit as the mysterious man greeted everyone respectfully.

Taehyung watched as his intrigued eyes locked on you, eyebrows perking up amusedly as his lips curved into a smile Taehyung honestly couldn’t admit to liking. 

“Y/N? Wow, long time no see. It’s been what, a year?” The man Kiseok called out happily, like there was absolutely no problem occurring here but as Taehyung felt your hand clutch onto his suit, lips just about quivering before you forced a smile, he knew there was most certainly a problem. 

“Yeah.” Your voice was weak, small, and Taehyung found himself wondering how a courageous person like you was all of a sudden cowering. 

He’d heard it all night, all the accounts of your other life away from the business world. He wasn’t going to lie, he heard a multitude of opinions concerning you, many of which including either looking down on you or telling Taehyung there’s many other, more powerful women in business he could’ve been marrying instead. 

But Taehyung didn’t care for their opinions, he found you the most powerful woman he could ever marry, and agreed to do so because of that very prospect. Sure, you were estranged from the business scene and practically abandoned any role you’d play in your father’s company in order to pursue your own personal aspirations, but if anything, Taehyung found it highly commendable. 

Taehyung knew it took guts to do what you did, a bold and daring act that no other heir or future heir of a wealthy company could ever think of doing, including himself. 

What he found to appreciate most was your unwillingness to give in, where you had to have heard all the back-handed and snobby comments, yet you still held your head up high, remained rooted and adamant in keeping your current way of life. It instantly signaled to him you were courageous, fearless, unable to be stopped in your tracks.

So when he watched you become smaller and smaller the more you stood in the vicinity of this Kiseok, he knew something was sincerely wrong. 

“Ah yes, it’s been quite some time. Why don’t we step away from you three? You could do some catching up.” Your father urged as he motioned Mr. Won to step away with him. You lightly addressed them only to have your hands neglect Taehyung entirely and start fidgeting, attempting to calm your nerves as the alcohol inebriated your system and magnified your anxiety by tenfold. 

“Ah, yes, Kim Taehyung, CEO of Kim Enterprises. I’ve been meaning to meet you.” Kiseok extended his hand as his voice irked you with every syllable, trying your best to seem like absolutely nothing was wrong. 

Taehyung reached out his hand in response uneagerly, giving a small shake while wondering why you let him go. “That’s news to me, nice to meet you.” Taehyung responded, already feeling an intense aura of discomfort and tension between you both, sensing he was missing out on something that seemed 6 ft deep. 

“Likewise. Y/N..” Kiseok suddenly turned towards you, making you wince. You painted on your smile as you lifted your vision. “Kiseok.” 

“How’ve you been?” 

“Better than ever. You?” 

“Marvelous, just wondering what your life’s looked like since I haven’t been in it.”

“I believe I said better than ever, didn’t I?”

Kiseok scoffed unamused, “So a year, huh? In all that time you suddenly found yourself a fiancé, and Kim Taehyung at that?” Kiseok seemed to be making light-hearted conversation to anyone outside of your group, though you knew deep down the hostility behind his words.

“Yeah, I did. It just happened.” You shrugged, gaining the confidence to counter him. “And you? Plan on putting a ring on any of your girls? Maybe the 5th or 7th one you liked?” You sarcastically questioned, furrowing your brows in mock contemplation. 

“No, you know I’ve always had my eye on one girl when it came to marriage.” Kiseok eyed you knowingly, purposefully, like he was trying to make it obvious.

You snorted and glared at him, “If I remember correctly, your attitude said otherwise.” hatred began boiling under your skin. You felt yourself growing angrier by the second, memories between you two coming back in flashes. You didn’t even realize you were shaking until Taehyung’s hand suddenly entangled with yours, pulling you towards him almost defensively. 

You were surprised, looking at your connected hands and back up at Taehyung. He returned your look, peering down at you as he smiled warmly, affectionately. 

“I’m sorry, Kisook? Was it? My future wife and I have plans for tonight. May you excuse us?” Taehyung didn’t even let Kiseok respond before he was pulling you away, in complete shock at his first lack of manners you’d ever seen. You were only left to watch Taehyung as he lead you along, gaining the timely opportunity to realize he was taller than Kiseok, and in fact significantly taller than you. 

Taehyung was a large man in general, you noticed. His shoulders looked broad from behind, accentuated by the fit of his suit which also emphasized the expanse of his chest, tastefully exposing his sculpted neck. His legs were long, proportioned perfectly in accordance with the rest of his model-like figure, which was ideally fit and contained just the right amount of muscle. 

Dear God, you took your time with this one. 

You didn’t even realize Taehyung had pulled you into a secluded hallway or that you were ogling him when he suddenly stopped, turning in your direction and snapping you out of a near fever dream. 

Yeah, alcohol was not a good idea tonight. 

“Who the fuck was that?” 

“What?”

“That douche, who was that?” Taehyung inquired slightly pissed, in need of the asshole’s identity after watching whatever shitshow he didn’t pay for. 

“Nobody, Taehyung, he shouldn’t concern you.” You looked away from him, pouting in a way that made Taehyung momentarily notice the plush of your lips. 

Again?, was all he could think, first, your mother, and now this guy? Just how many people did you have bad connections with and he needed to ignore? 

Why were there so many intricate pieces to you? 

“Are you kidding me? He concerns me now, your mother I can understand but this guy? Nothing to me. I could step on him.” Taehyung proclaimed confidently and stood up broader, conviction written all over his face.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his remark, resembling the thought you had earlier. “I was just thinking, you’re a lot taller than him.” 

Taehyung couldn’t help but bite back a smile, watching you giggle like a shy high schooler and his ears gladly welcomed the soft sound. “Damn straight I am.” He adjusted the jacket of his suit suavely. It was then he remembered what his other hand was doing; still holding yours. 

His eyes suddenly gleamed with mischief. 

He squeezed your hand a little tighter and yanked you towards him, bodies just centimeters apart as you crashed into him, all up in each other’s personal space.

Your eyes widened in complete surprise. 

 “So you were thinking about me, huh?” Taehyung teased with a stupidly lowered tone, a smug grin decorating his face. 

You ignored the electricity shooting through you, rolling your eyes and playfully sneering at him. “Shut up, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see you’re taller.” You forced space between you two and tried snatching your hand from him, but his grip transformed into an iron lock. 

“Says the one who was thinking about me.” 

“Taehyung, shut-” You almost huffed out but as soon as you stepped away, your copious consumption of alcohol suddenly attacked you all at once, vertigo making you lose your balance until Taehyung reached out to steady you. 

“Jheez, did you have to drink tonight?” Taehyung chastised you as you fell into him, head spinning with disorientation and growing flimsier by the second. “You’re probably a lightweight at your size.”

“I am not a lightweight. You don’t even know how much I drank, it was a lot.” You bit back in rebuttal, hooking onto his taut forearms as he supported you. 

“But I did see.” He voiced barely above a whisper, causing you to snap your vision up at him incredulously. “What?” 

“Nothing, it shouldn’t concern you.” Taehyung mocked, though still tried to fix you onto your own footing.  

You didn’t even get to scrutinize him further when you felt another round of dizziness plague you, balance faltering again. Taehyung huffed out and finally flanked you on his side, arm encasing your shoulders as he adjusted you. “Okay Miss I’m-Not-A-Lightweight, you should eat something.” He fit you beside him, beginning to walk you towards the main hall. 

Taehyung in this moment didn’t understand what he was doing, utterly clueless as to what was fueling his actions. He was uncertain why he found himself.. caring? He didn’t even know you, yet he couldn’t help but become a little concerned when he watched you down drinks like it was New Year’s Eve. 

How can all that alcohol fit into one tiny person?

What was he even thinking when he dragged you away from that Kisuk guy? Why did he feel like protecting you all of a sudden? A near sense of possessiveness? He wasn’t even your real husband. 

It started giving Taehyung a headache. This was all strange, a foreign concept he wasn’t familiar with and he didn’t know if it was the result of his considerate personality or only manifested solely because of you.

The same way Taehyung dealt with his inner turmoil, you dealt with yours; you were always so adamant on independence though ironically found yourself leaning on Taehyung.

Oddly, you let him carefully guide you back into the hall with no protests. 

It was the day of the wedding. 

You wish you could recall your emotions throughout the day, certain there would be at least a sliver of a positive one. Though as you remained unmoving, nearly catatonic, unresponsive to your surroundings, you knew there wouldn’t be a single happy memory in the tsunami of sorrow that attacked you today. 

Emotions of grief plagued consistently as you realized the loss of everything you valued most in your life. Your happiness, your freedom, your ability to choose. The stripping of all those bundled into an stifling wad in your chest that left you in a perpetual state of wanting to cry.

The sting in your heart when you realized your mother didn’t bother to come, the excruciating smile you forced onto your features when Taehyung’s mother delicately placed the veil atop your head, the secret tears you shed after adorning your body with a wedding dress you didn’t even choose; it all left you internalizing feelings of utter agony. 

And none of it was your real choice. 

Even the flowers at the wedding weren’t your favourite. 

This day was horrifying. You couldn’t believe you prided yourself on your independence, refusing to give in despite numerous challenges and never taking a word of what anyone said to you. Even when someone begged you to change or come back to your old life, you always chose for yourself. You never allowed someone to push you around, seldom coerced into anything solely based on the wishes of another. 

Yet here you were, standing just before the grand doors of a wedding you never asked for, having easily followed every word of your father’s and sacrificed your deepest principles in order to make him happy, to appease and live up to his expectations that weren’t your own. 

It was utterly frightening, appalling. As if you had lost the one true commendable feature of the intricate character you were, suddenly lost the acclamation of others even if they didn’t know the true nature of your marriage. 

But what disgusted you the most was truly, that you had lost respect for yourself. 

These grim thoughts were the ones that attached themselves to you as you hesitantly hooked your arm with your father’s. You used every ounce of strength to not flee, to remain here, to still walk down that isle with your head held high like you always have despite abandoning every foundation of the character you’d spent years working on.  

You didn’t care that your eyes watered, masking them with the facade of happy tears from the blushing bride. You didn’t care when your father looked incredibly concerned and wondered what was so wrong, you didn’t care how sorrowful you may have appeared to anyone at this ironically glamorous event. 

Though what you did care for was that you couldn’t hold your head up as you walked down the isle, vision fixated on the ground as your tears betrayed you, spilling out at the traumatizing feeling of not being able to stand tall like you always did, something stripping you of your self-reassurance, your strength, your confidence.  

It all spelled the requiem of your soul as you reached the end, dwelling in the impossibility this was happening to you until you felt the touch of Taehyung’s fingertips, guiding you up the stairs. It was then confirmed to you this was in fact real, part of your new reality you had no choice but to accept. 

You suddenly felt eternal gratitude for the veil that now covered your face, hiding the tears you cried at mourning the loss of everything you worked for.

While the priest’s words were read, you didn’t exchange a single look with Taehyung, knowing you’d only want to evaporate into the air, to run away at light speed or have someone in a turn-of-events suddenly take your life, just so you didn't have to face the humility of giving up the life you’d spent blood, sweat and tears building if you looked him in the eye. 

You felt the weight of your unknown future crushing you, pushing you towards the precipice as you gripped Taehyung’s hands harder to ground yourself. 

You were to rely on Taehyung, to share a bond with him you had never spent time cultivating, expected to live a life next to him while never being able to truly understand him, know him, love him. The natural process of falling in love now tainted with the coercion of a pressurized marriage, losing the opportunity to achieve any true sense of love. You’d never experience finding the one anymore, your soulmate, the other end of your red string of fate. 

That realization made your tears spill harder, disconnecting your hand from Taehyung’s to prevent your choked sobs becoming audible, holding your palm against your quivering lips. 

To anyone beyond you and Taehyung, it would look as though you were crying tears of happiness, joyously weeping at your matrimony with the love of your life, though as Taehyung felt the shaking of your hands, your refusal to meet his gaze as you reluctantly walked down the isle, the agonizing pain he could see through the sheer of your veil, he knew you were far from happy. 

He couldn’t help but purse his lips together tightly, knowing you were probably swallowing insurmountable torment down your throat because of this marriage, and tears pricked at his own eyes finding himself able to relate. 

He wasn’t just upset for you or himself, it was the entire situation, quite frankly the fucking world. The fact that the universe planned this as your destiny, his destiny, that the happiness of your parents and two companies came at the expense of both yours and his.

He knew you didn’t hate him, that he wasn’t the reason just as much as you weren’t the reason either, it was the arbitrary nature of the arrangement. That whatever version of true love and happily ever after you and Taehyung had separately dreamed of, it could never come to life. 

Even if the company meant everything to Taehyung, his CEO position more important than whatever position he’d play as some husband, seldom having time to consider love and relationships, he still harboured the same wants and desires any human would. A partner, a companion he truly loved with whom he’d start a family eventually, create a life for them and himself defined by love and comfort.

Though Taehyung only knew now you would both die with your decision-making capabilities robbed of you, bound to each other forcibly without the ardor of real love. 

Taehyung’s every thought was proven correct when the two of you exchanged your vows in near strangled chokes and shaky tones, appearing as happy emotions to the guests of the wedding though only you two knowledgeable of each other’s suffering. 

Your vision finally met Taehyung’s once you heard the rawness in his voice, your miserable emotions doubling when you registered he was just in the same pain as you. It was in that moment the priest’s words became audible and rang loud in both your ears, suddenly grounding you two to earth and reminding you of your reality. 

“You may kiss the bride.”

Both of your eyes grievously locked for a moment of horrified realization; that you were seconds away from going through with this, throwing each other’s lives away for the utilitarian benefit, abandoning any sense of choice in whom you both would spend a lifetime with.

Taehyung swallowed thickly as he removed your veil, feeling his eyes fill with tears again when he laid them upon your utterly devastated, tear-stained face. You were using every nerve in your body to stop yourself from sobbing and caving into the ominous thought of fleeing the ceremony.  

Taehyung’s sight wondered to your lips as they still quivered, nearly swollen red at the intensity in which you bit them, awaiting the kiss you were certain would be filled with frustration and hatred, hatred for the mud you were dragging him through, hatred for pressuring him into suddenly valuing something more than his work and his company, to suddenly become a husband to you. 

Though as he watched the terror flashing through your eyes, tears watering your lash line, he knew he could never feel anything so ardently negative towards you, remembering exactly what he was stripping you of. 

The life you built on your own, defying any and everyone’s expectations of yourself, cursing your heir status to hell, your strength, your independence. Now? Your life was bound to his, bound to one where you were obliged to sacrifice yourself for your father’s company and the upper class cesspool you’d spent so long trying to run away from. 

So as Taehyung began closing the gap between you two, nearing your shaking figure, he resolved he wouldn’t make this hard. He would try, try to accept that his life now entailed you, would try to work towards the balance his father insisted he needed, try to understand that you were now part of his priorities and could never simply ignore you.  

He glided his thumbs against the back of your hands that held his pacifyingly, leaning down until he was just inches from your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut. He unexpectedly spoke quietly, meaningfully, seconds away from sealing the deal of an uncertain future, though, remained certain of this one thing. 

“I’ll take care of you, Y/N, I promise.” And he kissed you in a single breath, no haste, no pressure, only the gentle touch of his lips as they met yours, soft and light. 

Maybe Taehyung didn’t know the exact feelings behind his promise, but he knew the meaning; that no matter the arrangement, the non-existent feelings, the loss of choice, he would at least take care of you like any husband would, a good husband.  

He at least owed you that.  

You were left shocked at the nature of his kiss, Taehyung’s warm lips connecting with yours tenderly. You were convinced the tears you saw in his eyes were enough to assert he hated this, frustrated he had to sell his soul, wishing to only rush the kiss so he could call it a day and ignore you for the rest of his life. 

Though what you never expected was the promise he made, or the way he kissed you with such intimacy you found yourself melting into his touch, reciprocating. He kissed you like you were fragile, locking your lips in a way that solidified his promise, as if out of all the empty vows you spoke today, this was the one, true vow he would keep. His lips felt plush against yours, catching his mouth just a little more before the bittersweet disconnection. 

You and Taehyung exchanged a poignant look, small smiles decorating both your faces with a mutual understanding swimming in your eyes as you gripped each other’s hands. You let his promise permeate the air between you two, finding solace in his words as the applause of everyone attending the ceremony filled the hall.   

Maybe it was the warm way Taehyung always pressed his hand to the small of your back when you spoke to others the whole night, maybe the way he veered you away from excessive amounts of alcohol with a light-hearted scolding considering that last time you drank, or maybe even the way he gently held you during your first dance..

Maybe it was all these considerate, kinds act that made you view Taehyung in a less negative light and rather a favourable one, that maybe he wouldn’t be the asshole CEO you’d first accused him of being.  

You would also be an idiot to not mention how completely and utterly handsome he was, looks carved by the Greeks themselves, quite possibly the hottest, most attractive man you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. 

And maybe all that accumulated into your assured opinion that when it came to consummating your marriage with Taehyung, you’d have no qualms or worries whatsoever. You would be absolutely willing, ready to take the night on and maybe even have some fun for yourself with whom you could tell was a really, really nice guy.

Though as Taehyung walked calmly in front of you towards your hotel suite, reaching into his suit pocket for the card key he’d retrieved at the front desk to swipe against the lock, your chest clogged with a crushing feeling of anxiety you couldn’t subdue. 

These weren’t the same nerves of maybe being not pretty enough, body insecurities or fear of what to expect from Taehyung, no, these nerves came from the utter panic of having to experience sex with another man.

Especially since your last partner. 

It always started with your permission, that wasn’t the issue, Though what left you afraid, so utterly frightened with the thought of spending a night with a man like this came from the treatment you received from that partner. 

Safe to say, you weren’t treated kindly. Far from that, actually, you were treated as though you had no needs or were a means of simple use. Your last partner was the opposite of giving, he was selfish, self-absorbed and only concerned himself with his own pleasure, going on and on only until he was satisfied and neglected you in every sense of the word, sometimes even refusing to listen to you if you protested. 

To make matters worse, he wasn’t faithful. 

You knew he slept around, a lot, it was the number one reason you never agreed to actually date him, never make things official. 

But the reason you would end up sleeping with him was because of the most perfectly imperfect concept among the human race; love. You believed every time with him was a new chance to make that love real, that it was the genuine manifestation of your feelings for one another, thinking maybe he wasn’t the asshole he always portrayed himself as and could man up enough to love you unconditionally. 

And he completely reeled you in, made you fall in love too quickly and made you believe he was capable of love. This grew exponentially when you were often described as ‘the different one’, the one he always came back to, that you were special. You clung onto those words as much as you could, convinced each time you were in fact the one for him, that maybe one day, he’d wake up and abandon his fuckboy lifestyle and mature.

But everyday that went by, every promise that was never fulfilled, every word that wasn’t met with an action, and especially after every hook up that resulted in nothing new, you began to understand you were everyone’s favourite role in a Shakespearean play. 

The fool. 

You were a joke to believe anything he said, the most naive person on earth to think you were any different from the others, when every night simply ended in rough fucks, virtually no orgasm and miniscule aftercare.

It left you essentially scarred, traumatized that every man in the world was built like this. It didn’t help that whenever you look back, many of your ex partners were of the same cut, the same trope of assholes that don’t seem as bad but end up being exactly so. 

It was what made you swallow thickly as Taehyung opened the door to the suite, holding it open as he moved aside to let you enter first. You walked forward and unintentionally brushed against him, realizing how much smaller you were in comparison to him all over again. 

He towered over you, and it made you more nervous. 

You looked up at him momentarily and quietly thanked him as you stepped inside, setting your sights on the large, king sized bed situated on one side of the room, a lounging area with couches to the other side which lead to a bathroom. Seoul’s breathtaking skyline was visible in the dark of the night through wall-to-ceiling windows opposite to you, covered by flowy, sheer curtains. 

You took a deep breath, trying to remind yourself Taehyung was not the same. Not all men are the same, you can’t inflict the mistakes and wrongdoings of one man onto another, categorize them into one kind. You wanted to think this way, and you knew it was the humane way to think. 

But as the memories of those heart-aching nights filled your head, the empty words, the lack of care or concern, the neglect, the feelings of pure abandonment and use only caused your heart to beat profusely in your chest, clutching onto the neckline of your dress to breathe. 

What if Taehyung really was no different?

It then suddenly hit you you didn’t know him. All you knew of Taehyung was that he was a fiercely successful business man, sitting atop Seoul’s most prestigious with Godly looks and a stare that could kill a man. You remembered your initial feelings about him; his stare in fact intimidated you, quite frankly all of him intimidated you, he was the epitome of perfection and you were far from that very notion. It left you thinking you didn’t measure up, and that he could view you in a dissimilar light than you viewed him; an unfavorable one. 

He could simply not want you, but is forced to.  

You’d observed his kind behavior and actions over the odd two days you met him, though that was exactly the inculpatory factor; you had only met him twice. You didn’t know what he would be like alone, when it was just the two of you, when there weren’t eyes scrutinizing him and cameras snapping shots of his every move. 

You didn’t know how he would be like in the bedroom, either. 

Your mind raced as you conflicted with yourself, trying to understand that Taehyung could be different, though apprehensive with the miniscule knowledge you actually had of him. 

You discerned after that last asshole of a partner you needed the love and care of a real partner, someone who would tend to your needs, adore you in the midst of their actions, be a giver and not just a receiver.  

And you didn’t know if Taehyung would be that partner. 

“Y/N...” Taehyung called out to you rather softly as he removed his suit jacket, the rustling of the cloth signaling he had indeed done so. His footsteps were hard to miss, the soles of his shoes sounding against the hardwood floor as he neared your lonesome figure standing in the middle of the room. 

Your breathing quickened with nearly every step he took, attempting to resolve the civil war you were battling within. You were trying to convince yourself Taehyung would be a nice man, a nice husband; though couldn’t help but feel deflated by the fact it was all mainly coerced out of him.

Your thoughts overwhelmed you as Taehyung finally stood behind you, mere inches from your back as he watched you from behind, unbeknownst of any feelings or thoughts currently riddling you.

He hesitated, though gently placed his hand against your bare arm, the sudden warmth of his hand against your skin causing you to flinch. He peered down at your smaller self squarely focusing in front of you, anticipating your response. He grew slightly soft when you tentatively looked over your shoulders, clearly teary-eyed. 

Taehyung couldn’t miss how scared you seemed, and he his heart inexplicably stung at the thought you were afraid of him. 

“We don’t have to do this.” Taehyung’s voice was low and resembled warm honey, reverberating in a way that made you ease up. 

You worked towards a stable voice. “W-we don’t?” 

“No, we don’t” His voice held no disappointment, only the intention of seemingly wanting to assure you, firm and oddly comforting. 

“I’m sorry, Taehyung. I’m really sorry.” It was hard to keep your tone leveled, clutching your hand over your mouth as you swallowed your emotions. 

“Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing for you to apologize for.” 

You strangely felt the desire to hold his hand that rested against you, though you ignored the urge and simply stepped out of his touch, clutching your chest tightly in an effort to cower away from him. But it was here you suddenly remembered that he kissed you, and the way he did so. 

It made your cheeks fill with a rosy blush. 

“Do you mean that?” You’d finally turned to meet his eyes, his face only visible by the moonlight illuminating the room. He seemed to have retracted his hand and stood with both tucked in his pockets, relaxed. 

This became the first time you noticed just how ravishing he looked tonight. 

His dark hair was slicked back loosely and left enough pieces to fall as a comma, graciously exposing his forehead, his Tom Ford suit attractively hugged his model-like body, watch and accessories accentuating his expensive look. 

His features were casted over by soft lighting, somehow adding to his beauty as the glow made him appear... less intimidating, dare you say warm or inviting. 

His expression was funnily enough, one that you could actually read. He held no contempt, no impatience or anger, only a hint of consideration as his calm eyes looked at you. His face may have been predominantly blank, void of a smile, though certainty held a form of reassurance.  

“Of course I do, why would I do anything with an unwilling person?”

You scoffed lightly, “Not a lot of people would say that.” Your eyes faltered from Taehyung’s and clutched yourself tighter, expression completely telling of trauma.

Taehyung instantly picked up on it, eyebrows slightly furrowing at your words though softening once registering their weight. He felt an overwhelming sense of apology take him, thinking of his next sentence before his mind oddly flashed back to the night of the engagement party.

“Y/N, did Kiseok..?” Taehyung trailed hesitantly. 

You winced at his line of thinking, “No, no...not what you’re thinking,” you immediately denied. “Just, shitty experiences.”

“Shitty, as in...?”

“As in only seeking self-satisfaction, neglect, lies, infidelity. Can we go to sleep?” You deflected with a heavy sigh and a hand at your temple, the day’s events catching up to you.

Taehyung nodded in agreement, “Yeah, sleep. We both need that.” His eyes then landed on the bed, registering even if it were large enough you two could sleep apart, he still opted for caution. 

“Um.. you can take the bed, by the way. I’ll sleep on the couch-”

“No, don’t do that.” You replied quickly. “I can’t sleep on a king-sized bed all by myself, it’s huge.” You side-eyed the massive mattress and laughed a little, lightening the heavy aura casted over the room. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomf-”

“Don’t worry, Taehyung. You don’t make me feel uncomfortable.” You smiled at him lightly and received a small one from him, both your eyes mirroring the same sense of understanding you exchanged at the altar. 

“I’ll let you wash up first, your overnight bag should be in the bathroom closet.” Taehyung informed, pointing towards the direction of your things. 

“Thank you.” You voiced with an amount of warmth that made Taehyung want to genuinely smile, though crushed the weird urge and nodded agreeably instead.

You began walking away from him until a nuisance suddenly occurred to you, cursing yourself as you came to a full stop. “Um, Taehyung.. I forgot but could you..?” You angled your back towards him to call out to the ribbons tying the back of your dress, knowing you would’ve taken 20 years just to untie your bodice yourself. 

The fact that you weren’t looking directly at Taehyung made him feel relieved, glad he wouldn’t embarrass himself with the his eyes slightly widened. He was quick to reprimand himself, it’s just a woman’s dress, why the hell are you shocked? 

Taehyung swallowed dryly before replying, “Uh, yeah I’ll--I’ll do that.” He walked towards you sparingly and positioned himself behind you.

He’d noticed it before, but you were relatively small compared to him in size and it continued to poke at his brain, maybe even momentarily think it was cute. 

Cute? When have I ever found a girl cute?

Taehyung exhaled before his hands carefully made for the silk ribbons, his tentative fingers fiddling with the ties until he eventually began loosening each one. He started unlooping your bodice, breathing out considerably when each loop began exposing your back inch by inch.  

Taehyung’s sweet, hot breath fanned your skin, tensing each time as your every nerve went haywire feeling just how close he was. His slender fingers brushed against your bare skin here and there, making heat collect in your face.

You grew even hotter when your kiss with him suddenly crept back into your mind, unknowing of the reason why excitement and electricity shot throughout your body because of it. The way his soft, full lips met yours, mouthed at you tastefully repeated in your head, making you extremely nervous at how much a measly kiss from him was occupying your mind; it was just a kiss. 

Taehyung found himself tensing by the intimacy of the moment, remembering the way he so boldly kissed you. He found that he liked the plush of your lips, the way he had to bend down to your smaller height to lock lips; and it made him feel strange. 

How the hell was he taking interest in something other than his work? No, this isn’t interest, Taehyung thought, and would spend however long denying it. 

He’d finished the task throughout all his thinking, unrealizing of how proximal he was to you. He oddly hated that the moment was over, coming back down to Earth.

“There you go.” He cleared his voice and stepped away from you. 

You held your bodice up against your chest, realizing Taehyung had a full-access view of your back and you grew 10x hotter. You gulped at the thought before hastily turning around to thank him, quickly disappearing into the bathroom for a moment of reprieve. 

You shut the door and instantly breathed out a breath you didn’t remember holding, looking at your hot mess of a face in the mirror trying to cool down, reliving the last 10 minutes of what just happened. 

You took a deep breath. 

Maybe Taehyung is different after all. 

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#thebtswritersclub #bangtanhq #kwritersworldnet #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #taehyung scenario #taehyung fanfiction #kim taehyung #taehyung arranged marriage au

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Thursday (Part 2)

Monday     Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, puking, concussions, mentions of injuries/bullying, homophobia

Word count: 5,138

After school, you were sitting on the couch as you furiously typed on your keyboard at an extremely fast pace. You were on a roll with these essays, they were probably going to be finished by the time you had to go back to the school to get on the bus with the team. You figured that you could even finish Annie’s essay and get started on Sammy’s US history presentation on the sociopolitical climate of the United States in the mid twentieth century to today. However, instead of covering a variety of topics like the rubric requested you to do, you were only going to talk about the significant events that happened to the LGBT+ community starting with Stonewall and going to Obergefell v. Hodges. You were also going to go in depth about how even if there are more opportunities available and more laws set in place to protect for LGBT+ people in the present then there were in past, members of the LGBT+ community still suffer heavy discrimination in the workplace and in the public. With receipts of course, the assignment required a minimum of three pictures per slide, and the group chat was a perfect source.

After that was done, you would email Sammy’s teacher (you had her last year for US history and you knew that she had a son in the grade below you currently transitioning from female to male) that you were the one that did her project and send screenshots of Sammy calling you slurs. Luckily for you, you had receipts of her being transphobic in the past that you could also send. Everything was effortlessly falling into place for you today. 

As you were typing, the front door swung open and two overly excited fifth graders ran into the house and up the stairs. A tired Schlatt followed them. “I will never know how the hell Phil keeps up with them.” 

“I dunno, maybe because he’s already raised three kids before.”

You watched as your uncle jumped and whipped his head over towards you, his hand clutching his chest. He lightly glared at you, “christ kid don’t do that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You smirked at him before turning back to your laptop to continue typing the essay. You were almost done with the conclusion paragraph on Annie’s essay and you wanted to get to Sammy’s presentation as fast as possible. As you were typing, you felt a warm air fan across your neck and your uncle’s voice right next to your ear, “whatcha typin?”

You lept off the couch and almost fell into the coffee table before steadying yourself and deadpanning at Schlatt. “I was typing an essay before you interrupted me.”

He snorted, “it looked like you were on a roll, just thought I’d see what my beloved niece was writing. Can I read it?” 

Your eyes lit up as an excited grin split your cheeks, “yeah, but lemme catch you up real quick. Adrian, Sammy, and Annie got mad at me a few days ago and wanted me to do some homework for them as a sort of payment. But after they pulled that little stunt in the lunchroom yesterday, they decided to be little bitches to me and call me slurs. So naturally, I decided to change the essay prompt into an in depth analysis about discrimination LGBT people face from their peers on the daily. My english teacher’s really against homophobia and the project’s worth twenty five percent of our overall grade, so it’s perfect.”

While you were rambling on and on about your detailed plot for revenge, Schlatt couldn’t help but be proud of the person you’d become. A major part of him was impressed that you came up with a detailed plan so quickly, that meant that his cunning nature was rubbing off on you and that made him ecstatic. Sure you mentioning not being straight was new to him, but he was prepared to accept you for whatever you identified as. He didn’t care how people identified, he just cared if they were good people. And his niece was one of the best kids he knew. He’d let your slip up slide for now until you felt comfortable enough to properly come out to him. 

“That an amazing plan, fuckin brilliant. Though, you could do more.”

That piqued your interest, “I’m listening.”

“Do you have any blackmail?”

Your eyes glinted with sudden understanding, “why yes I do, uncle dearest. I just so happen to have thousands of texts from them talking shit about each other and basically the entire school. And them being incredibly racist. They would be destroyed if that came out.” 

“Two things. One, never call me that again. Two, perfect. Keep it as leverage if they try to do something. You don’t pull out all the good cards in the first round, you wait for the right moment to strike so you can win. You need to constantly defend yourself against other players and anticipate their every move. If you leak everything right now, you won’t have anything to use against them if they have something up their sleeve you didn’t know about. Patience is key in things like this.”

You absorbed every single word that came out of his mouth like it was the holy gospel. Although he was your uncle and you loved him with all your heart, but he was a sly bastard when he wanted to be. He knew his way around fighting and manipulating people just right, so you were incredibly happy that you were on his good side and he absolutely adored you. Though questionable and morally gray, he was giving you advice because he cared about you and you’d be an idiot to not heed his advice. 

“That’s genius, Uncle Schlatt. What would I do without you?”

“You’d get along just fine without me, you would’ve gotten there eventually. You’re smart. I’m just givin you a little push in the right direction.”

“I honestly would’ve never thought about waiting, I was so dead set on getting revenge that I would’ve just leaked everything all at once. I want them to feel how I felt when they were around me. I-” you paused. Would this make you the same as them? You’d be screwing up all their grades, Adrian’s job, and Sammy’s athletic career. You came to the chilling realization that you’d be the same as them. You’d be as manipulative as they were. “...Uncle Schlatt, would that make me the same as them?”

“Fuck no! You’re always gonna be better than them no matter what. When they’re at their best, you’re always gonna be a whole lot better than them. They deserve what’s happening to them, it sounds like they put you through so much shit the past few years. I actually think you could do a whole lot worse to them if you’re willing to put more work in, but it’s your plan and if you think that what you’re doing is too much,” he darkly chuckled, “you wouldn’t like my idea.”

“You’re right, they deserve everything I have planned for them. God, I don’t know what I was thinking, ‘would that make me the same as them,’” you mocked what you said earlier, “what a load of shit. Anyways, thanks Uncle Schlatt. I’m gonna get back to writing this. They’re due tomorrow and I wanna finish as much as I can before I have to go.”

“Alright, whaddya want for dinner? Phil’s gonna be like thirty minutes late from work so I’m cookin tonight.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no. That man can barley cook boxed mac n cheese, let alone anything else. He’d burn down the house if you left him alone in the kitchen with the stove. “On second thought, why don’t I help you with dinner? We can make some chicken alfredo.”

“Awe, you’d rather hang out with me than finish your homework? Ya really do love me. C’mon let’s start.”

The process of making dinner was… interesting. Multiple times, Schlatt almost spilled boiling water on himself and he even managed to burn the pasta while it was in the water. How he even managed to do that you’d never find out, you had your back turned cutting up vegetables and herbs at the time. That was when you subtly started to take over in the kitchen, giving him smaller tasks while you handled everything else. You felt bad for Tubbo, his father can’t cook for shit. 

By time you finished, about an hour passed and Philza had come home and changed out of his work clothes. The two adults sat at the table discussing something that you didn’t pay attention to while your brothers and cousin were in the living room waiting for you to finish dinner. Finally, you set the table and it was time to eat. 

Because you couldn’t have many fatty foods before any matches or practices, you had made a separate plate for yourself that only had plain pasta, chicken, and broccoli. You were surprised with how well it turned out, you were following an iffy recipe you found on the first link Google brought up. 

After dinner, you went upstairs to put your uniform on and pack a little bag full of things you might need: a small blanket, some snacks, a water bottle, and a portable charger. Oh, and fuzzy socks and a pair of crocs. You could never go wrong with fuzzy socks and crocs. Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you pulled out your phone.

Hales : )

(Y/n), I’m omw to your house

Gonna give you a ride to the school

(Y/n)

Hales you don’t have to give me a ride, I can drive

Hales : )

Don’t care

Omw, be there in like 7 mins

You swiped out of yours and her conversation and opened up the family group chat

(Y/n)

I don’t need a ride to the school, Haley’s giving me one

She’s gonna give me a ride home too

Dadza

Alright, thank her for me

Tell her I said good luck too!

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Dadza

(Y/n), do everything he wouldn’t do

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck you I’m a good influence

Dadza

You’re really not

Wilby

^^^^

Technology Sword

^

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck all of you 

You heard Haley’s car pull into the driveway and dashed out of your room with your bag. Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, a hand stopped you.

“Coat.”

You grumbled as you reached past Philza to grab your coat. After you slipped it on, you were pulled into a hug. “You’re gonna do great out there. I know you’re gonna win this, we’ll be watching in the stands.”

“Damn right she’s gonna do good, she’s my niece after all.”

Schlatt pulled you away from your father’s hug and tried to ruffle your hair before you swatted away his hand, “don’t. You have no idea how long it took me to get a perfect ponytail. I have an ungodly amount of hairspray and bobby pins in my hair right now.”

“Fine. You’re gonna kick their asses tonight.”

Tommy and Tubbo pushed past Schlatt and both tackled you into a hug making you stumble slightly back. 

“Kick their asses good (y/n)!” Tommy cheered, making you crack up before one stern glance from Philza completely stopped you. “Tommy, don’t say that. (Y/n), not funny.”

“Alright, Haley’s waiting for me. I gotta go, love you guys!” As you turned to walk through the door, you could hear your family following you and shouting “good luck”. You felt heat creep up on your cheeks as Haley rolled down her window and wove at your family with the biggest grin on her face. 

“Thank you! We’re gonna take home the gold for sure!”

You hopped in her car as she rolled up the window and chuckled. “I love your family, they’re always so full of energy. It’s refreshing to see compared to how boring my family is.”

You glanced at your entire family gathered on the front porch. Tommy and Tubbo were practically vibrating with excitement, Wilbur and Techno calmly smiled and wove at you, Philza was grinning widely at you as you saw his mouth forming words that you couldn’t hear or read, and Schlatt was grinning cheekily at you. You raised your hand to wave at them as they vanished from view when Haley pulled out of your driveway. You smiled softly, “I love em too.”

The car ride was relatively quick with the same soft indie pop music floating from the speakers and an easy going conversation with Haley about the match tonight. You both thought that you could beat the other team if everyone focused 100% and played exactly like you guys did in practices. If everyone did that, you would be unstoppable. 

Luckily for you and Haley, you were the first ones in line to board the bus so you two got the back seat with Zara and Jazzy sitting across from you guys. The hour long bus ride passed quickly and lively with you four passing around your phone and playing some mad libs, you were sure that by the end of the last game you four were laughing and crying. Sometime in the middle of the trip, you noticed that Haley would start to lean on your shoulder and continuously glance at you as she laughed. You desperately wanted to believe that it was because she liked you, but she was straight and she was your best friend. She was probably trying to make sure you were having a good time. 

When the team had gotten to the opposing school and left the locker room to stretch in the gym, you could hear your family start to scream your and Haley’s names from the front row next to you, Tommy and Tubbo being the loudest amongst them with Philza trying to get them to quiet down so you could focus. You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled at them and Haley wove enthusiastically back at them. Zara was laughing at you two. Stretching went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were on the court facing the opposing team. 

The first match was won by the opposing team by five points. The second match stretched on and on until it was won by your team narrowly by two points. The team was going to have to shape up in the third match if you guys wanted a chance at winning, the opposing team was good. Before the third match started, Coach Williams called for a time out so you guys could talk about strategy. Before Haley could go back onto the court, you pulled her aside.

“Hales, we need to do what we practiced. The other team won’t be expecting it at all, I’ve been setting you up this entire game. They’re never going to expect you setting me up for a spike.”

“When are we going to do it though? We need a better plan.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will come and both of us will recognize it. We just can’t do it too early in the game though, that’ll ruin their surprise.”

“(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When do I not Hales? We gotta get gold this year.”

The third round went by with both teams constantly swapping places until you both were tied fifteen to fifteen. You saw the ball flying towards Haley, giving her the perfect opportunity to set you up for a spike.  “HALEY NOW!” 

You watched as her face hardened in determination as she pretended like she was going to spike it by jumping high in the air and stretching her arms back, making the opposing front row players all gather in front of her. Much to their surprise, she launched it towards you as you leaped up and went for the kill. The stinging of the ball hit by your wrist and the smack sound the ball made when it slammed onto the open gym floor was something you’d never forget as the crowd around you went wild over the unexpected play. You could hear the high pitched screaming of Tommy and Tubbo over everybody else. Glancing at them over your shoulder, you saw them jumping up and down on the gym floor and looking at you with awe filled eyes and gaping mouths. The rest of your family looked at you with similar expressions, their cheers echoing in your mind. Winking at them, you turned back to your team and went straight to Haley. Clapping a hand on her shoulder, you pulled her into a quick hug, yelling over the raving of the crowd. “HALEY WE NAILED THAT!” 

“HOLY SHIT I DID NOT THINK THAT WAS ACTUALLY GONNA WORK!”

“You have such little faith in your setter! You wound me Hales.”

“Well, I would have more faith in you if you weren’t chaotic on the court, sweetheart.”

You felt yourself surge in happiness at the nickname, but you couldn’t afford to focus too much on it. Your team only needed one more point to win best in the state and go to nationals. It would be the first time in your team’s history if you reached national level, and you’d be damned if you were the one to screw it up for them. 

The last rotation went on for a while, each team fighting tooth and nail for the state championship title with clashing determination. You tried your best to block every hit and try to set Haley up for a spike, and you were successful for the most part, only missing a few blocks. You saw the setter adjacent to you set the spiker up for a spike and jumped up in time to try to block it, your arms stretched upwards and your palms out. Only, the ball didn’t hit your hands. It collided painfully with your nose, ricocheted off your face with a thwack and sailed over to the other side of the court. Your head whipped back as your body followed suit and flew backwards onto the floor. Without giving you any time to react, your head bounced back and cracked against the polished hardwood floor of the gym. Everything went black. 

“...(y……”

“..(y/n)......”

“(Y/n).”

You faintly heard someone calling someone’s name over the continuous ringing noise. Was it your name? It felt right, so it had to be your name. You peeled your eyes open to see a blurry figure hovering over you. It was swirled with tans, browns, and backs. After a while of the figure repeating your name, it slowly became more recognizable, albeit appearing twice in your vision. It took you a while to figure out who this was before your muddled brain recognized Haley.

“Hales! There’s two o’ya. Twice as beautiful babe…” You slurred out as you attempted to smile at her.

“Oh thank god, PLEASE WE NEED A DOCTOR SHE HIT HER HEAD!” Her usually angelic voice gritted against your brain like sandpaper making you cringe as pain exploded in your head.

“God babe you’re so loud, why’s so bright? I-wha's goin on?” You blearily tried to move your head to look around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on each side of your head gently holding it in place. You moved your laggy eyes around to look at the figure. He was a blonde man with blue eyes and a hint of stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked… he looked… your brain worked to figure out why he looked how he looked. Who was he?

“Please don’t move hun.” His muffled voice was baritone. You squinted at him trying to figure out who this man was.

“Who th f-fuck… why?”

“I’m your dad hun. Do-do you not recognize me?” You made a noise in the back of your throat as your stuffy brain finally put a name to the face.

“Dad- wha’s goin on? I’on feel so good…”

“Shh, I know, I know. Just stop moving and talking. Everything’s fine. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Mmk… Dad, where are we? I’ont know- you’re so quiet.”

“Stop moving so much. You’re on the floor in a gym. You just won your team the state championship. Now stop talking please.”

Huh. So that’s why everybody seemed to appear from above you. You strained your eyes to look around you, but you could only see your dad’s face hovering above you. “Shit I- who’s aroun’ me? Where’s Hales?”

“I’m right here sweetheart. I got the doctor, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad’s face moved away from your vision so fast that it made your head spin and your stomach twist. Another face appeared above you that you once again didn’t recognize.

“I’m Doctor Martin, can you tell me your first and last name?”

“Uh, (y/n) Minecraft?”

“Good, what month are we in right now?”

“Nov-November?”

“Close, it’s late October. Can you tell me who this,” he pointed to your dad, “is?”

“S’my dad Phillip.”

“That’s your dad Philza.”

The questioning stopped as he suddenly shined a blinding light into your sensitive eyes. You hissed as you tried to move your head away from the offending light only to be held in place by your dad’s hands. Your head spun as you moved too quickly and a wave of nausea hit you, making you groan and move your arm to cover your eyes. Your hand was stopped by something warm and soft wrapping around it and holding it tightly. Everything was so overwhelmingly and painfully bright and loud. You wanted to make it stop. 

“Mr. Minecraft, your daughter appears to have a concussion. I don’t have the tools on hand to determine the severity of it, but it’s worrying that her pupils are asymmetrical, she’s delirious, and has slight memory loss. I understand you live about an hour away from here, and it’s alright for you to take her to a hospital closer to your house. Make sure you keep her alert.”

Your delirious mind only registered about half of what came out of the doctor’s mouth. You mumbled gibberish as you once again opened your eyes to look around. You were only briefly able to crane your neck to the left. Several figures large and small were standing behind your dad. Your family, your mind supplemented. Slowly, your mind was starting to recognize your surroundings even if there was currently double of everything and everything was blurry.

“I’m going to help you stand up. Do ya think you can do that?”

“Yeah Dad.” You lifted your upper body off from the ground with a gentle hand on your back helping you sit up. Fighting the wave of nausea that slapped you in the face, you reached up to rub at your eyes. A hand once again stopped you. You peeked your eyelids open and lightly glared at whomever stopped you. “Hales you’re lucky you’re so cute I woulda slapped you. I like holdin but you’re bein annoying. Stop.” You attempted to make your voice sound firm, but the words that came out of your mouth were slightly slurred.

She was silent as she helped her dad haul you to your feet. Once on your feet, you saw the room spin and felt yourself start to sway slightly. An arm wrapped itself around your shoulders and pulled you close to them so that your weight was supported. They were a little taller than you were making it easy to lean on them. 

“...Can you walk?” A deep, monotone voice rumbled the chest of the person you were leaning against. 

“Mhm. ‘M not weak.” Though your limbs felt like they were made of molasses, you placed one foot in front of the other slowly. The person moved alongside you, “you’re doing so good, keep going.” That sparked familiarity in you as you stopped in your tracks and tried to look up at the person you were leaning against making the person tighten their arm around your shoulders when you almost fell over.

“Tech?”

“Yeah, it’s Technoblade. Just focus on walking. You’re almost out of the gym.”

When you realized that you were out of the gym, you sighed in relief. It was so much quieter and darker. Though it was still relatively bright, it was better than the gym. 

“S’better.”

“When we get her to the car we can give her some sunglasses or something if it’s still too bright for her.”

“Wilbs-”

“Focus on walking.”

You huffed in irritation, “don’ tell me what to do bitch.”

You felt Techno’s body jolt slightly as he chuckled, making your head throb at the sudden movement. “Just walk.”

When you walked outside, you shivered as you felt the cool air nip at your exposed skin. Right, you were in your volleyball uniform. “I’ll go pull the car around, you guys stay with her.” 

You saw a tall brunet start to walk away from you. Uncle Splat? Uncle Schmat? Whatever his name was, you were sure he was your uncle. You tried to snuggle closer to Techno, craving warmth but never being satisfied. Where was your uncle? 

After a while, you saw a car moving towards you and blinding light pointed right at you making you cringe away and groan. Techno started to slowly walk towards the car. “C’mon (y/n), you’re almost there. When you’re in the car you can relax.”

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Techno, you’re in the back row. Schlatt can drive and Wil, you’re taking the passenger seat. I’ll stay with her in the middle row so she can have some room to lay down.” Tommy and Tubbo were with you? Why weren’t they talking, they usually were very vocal.

“Tom, Tubbs didja like the game?”

They didn’t say anything as they climbed into the car. Did they not hear you? 

“They’re just… tired (y/n).” Your dad’s voice reassured you as he took Techno’s place holding you up. 

“I wanna nap. ‘M so tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet. We gotta get you to a doctor first.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

“Let’s get you in the car hun.”

As he helped you climb into the car, you felt an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over you making you lose your balance and almost faceplant into the cloth seats. You felt yourself being gently, yet urgently taken out of the car and led to grass as you felt your esophagus shorten. Something burning made its way up your throat and spewed into the grass. You felt someone rubbing your back as you puked up your dinner. 

When you were done, you reached up with a shaking hand to wipe your mouth. “You feelin better? Think you can get back into the car or do you need to sit down for a bit?”

“Car.”

After some difficulty, you were successfully in the middle row of the car laying down with your head on Philza’s lap. Soon enough, your shoes were taken off and a blanket was draped over you. 

“(Y/n), what do you remember?”

You scrunched up your face as you squinted at Philza’s face. “I remember playing volleyball with Hales. She’s so pretty, she’s straight though. I remember the other team hitting the ball, me jumping, then nothin. Wha’ happened?”

You watched as Philza winced, “well, you got everything right so far. You got hit in the face with the ball so you fell and hit your head on the floor. You were passed out for a minute before you woke up. It was a pretty nasty fall, we’re going to the hospital now. How’re ya feelin?”

“Head hurts, ‘m seein two of everything, an I can’t think.”

“Do you know what a concussion is?” You nodded in his lap slightly, “you probably have one.”

After a while of talking, you were slowly starting to come to your senses and your speech was clearing up, but your head was still too stuffy to think about what you were saying before you said it. You didn’t have a filter.

“Do you wanna tell us about your week so far? Do you remember most of it?”

“Mhm, it was shit. On Monday I had a panic attack and Adrian, Sammy, and Annie were being bitches to me all day. They fucked up my back. On Tuesday, they got mad at me for ditching them and they had me do their homework, had another panic attack, and Haley told me that someone took pictures of our boobs ‘n stuff and they were gonna leak it to the school if Haley didn’t stop hanging out with me. Haley and I almost kissed, but she’s straight. Pulled an all nighter and Wednesday I accidentally came out to Tech and Wil and had another panic attack. Annie, Adrian, and Sammy took more pictures of me through my window, Annie outed me to the entire school and slapped me. Another panic attack, skipped the last two classes and felt like shit the entire practice. Today Adrian and Sammy told me to kill myself and I had another panic attack. ’S about it.”

As you were going through your week, the hand that was previously gently stroking your hair had frozen as the car was enveloped in a tense silence. Luckily, Tommy and Tubbo were passed out in the back seat so they didn’t hear how bad your week was. Everyone awake knew that you had a few bad days this week, but they didn’t know the full extent of it. You watched as Philza’s expression had turned downright murderous, but you didn’t really care. You were busy talking about your week.

For the rest of the car ride, Philza asked you simple questions like what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, basically your favorite everything. Eventually, the car pulled into the hospital parking lot and Philza helped you get out of the car. “Schlatt, can you take the boys home so they can get some rest? I’ll stay with her.” 

“Yeah, I’m on it. Don’t cause too much trouble (y/n), we all know you can raise hell.” He watched you for a reaction, but when you didn’t react, he coughed. “Well, I’ll see ya later kid. Good luck.”

The car drove off leaving you and Philza at the front of the emergency room building. “It’s gonna be a long night (y/n).”

“I gotta finish Annie’s essay and Sammy’s presentation though.”

“No you don’t, I’ll email your teachers.”

You two checked in with the front desk before moving to sit on the uncomfortable chairs. It was going to be a long night. You were so tired.

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[yuzukult]

from home 01 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in future chapters word count: 7.1k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class?

a/n: i hate cliches but i also love them so i’m gonna write them lol also i know ‘from home’ is an nct song, don’t come @ me. in addition to that, i’m hoping i can expand my writing and be able to lengthen it as much as possible! (well... this chapter only has 7.1k but baby steps...)

next chapter →

Jeon Jungkook is a disappointment.

Well, kind of. His four older brothers think so, especially when he comes stumbling at noon on a Thursday, hair disheveled, shirt buttoned all wrong, half tucked into his pants with the zipper down. “He’s already fucking drunk.” His second eldest brother, Jonghyun, hisses, standing up from the dining table of his parents’ home. They’re supposed to have a scheduled lunch together, and although Jungkook is surprisingly on time, he’s still intoxicated. Jungsik and Jongseok, his other big bros respectively, only shake their heads in their seats, finding this situation all too familiar. The baby does it again.

The oldest of them all, Junghwan, does nothing. His eyes say it all—the glimmer that once was evident in them was drowned, full of nothingness when he looks at his youngest sibling.

But their mom didn’t think of it that way. She spoiled Jungkook like crazy, to the point that he’s the way he is today. Mrs. Jeon saw potential in him the moment she birthed him in 1997; full of love, life, and glory, Jeon Jungkook was going to be off doing great things. 

Yet, ever since Jungkook ripped into the age of 16, everything changed. He started smoking, cigarettes, weed, name it and Jungkook has done it. By the time he turned 17, he was experimenting with different types of alcohol, far and wide, and eventually moved up into sleeping with multiple women consecutively. Coincidentally, they’re rich from wealthy families with nothing but dollar signs in their eyes when they see Jungkook, his beauty just being a perk of the package. In spite of his women endeavors, he had enough respect for his mother not to bring them home.

“Mother,” Junghwan finally speaks up, voice stern and face hard. She comes peering out from the back, the house servants trailing behind her before they all realize the sight of Jungkook, clumsily tripping on his own feet, quickly running to his aid while his mother only gasps in horror. “Jeon Jungkook does it again. He can’t just come to a family lunch, no, that would be too easy. He has to do it while reeking of alcohol, on a weekday, all in broad daylight. This is what happens when you let your child run wild and do whatever they please with all the money in the world. They turn out like him.”

His words are harsh, but they don’t impact Jungkook like they used to. No, not after he discovered his love for vodka, whiskey... all of the above. He learned that before seeing any of his family members require at least a couple servings. Stepping into the Jeon’s residence means being criticized, words that come shooting at him like bullets and in the beginning, they pierced through his thin skin with ease, heart clenching in pain at the men he idolized and admired. His skin hasn’t thickened since then, but alcohol does a great job of numbing it all.

Mrs. Jeon glares at her eldest son, the next in line to take over the Jeon Corporation when their father retires. She loves all her kids equally, yet gifted Jungkook more attention than the rest. To be fair, she couldn’t help herself when she saw those pools of sweet chocolate called orbs, begging for her love and affection. “Jungkook, why are you drunk already, love? It’s only 12:30. You probably haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“But I’ve already had breakfast,” He slurs, the housemaids attempting to have him seated at one of the chairs at the dining table that extends from one end to the room to the next. Seat big enough for two people, he slides down in it, head falling to the side in drowsiness. “Mimosas. My favorite breakfast drink.”

“What’d you do? Champagne with a sprinkle of orange juice?”

“Mmm, didn’t have champagne. Worked with vodka instead.” The four men grimaced. 

Their mother’s face softened at his response. “Jungkookie, baby. You can’t just come marching in here like this. We’re having a lunch, together, as a family. You’re lucky your father is coming here late, or else you would’ve been kicked out in seconds.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out in seconds,” Junghwan chimes in, expression unwavering. “This is ridiculous, Jungkook. You need to stop acting like some bachelor. What are you? Twenty-three? Kim Taehyung was that age when he proposed to his now wife. Yet you’re still fucking around with mom’s friends daughters who innocently are just looking for love. How reckless is that?”

“Junghwan.” Mrs. Jeon says through her gritted teeth, eyes shooting daggers at her son. “Stop it.”

“Hyung has a point, mom,” Jonghyun interjects, making his way toward Jungkook before sitting on the armrest of the chair beside the youngest one. “What has Jungkook even done other than come to every event drunk, spend all our family’s money, and fuck around with women he has no intention of marrying?”

Mrs. Jeon raises a brow at Jonghyun, sucking in her cheeks in disbelief. “You boys are acting like you guys have never been through this phase.”

“Mom,” Jungsik, the middle child and the most empathetic of all, attempts to console his mother’s anger toward his older siblings, humming soothingly. “We all got over that by the age of 21. Jungkook is twenty-three.”

Despite being completely under the influence, the pain is evidently still there. He regrets not drinking an extra glass or two of that make-shift mimosa. They speak of him as if he’s not even in the room, and it makes him feel sick. He knows this feeling well—and his stomach stirring isn’t from the alcohol. Jungkook can’t even look at his mom at the moment, a bit embarrassed by how all his brothers seemingly gang up on their mom just because she was defending him. He really felt like a baby.

“Well, what do you suggest I do? Tell him to get married? You wouldn’t want that, right, Jungkook?” He gazes at the table. Mostly because he doesn’t know what to say, especially if she’s suddenly taking suggestions. “I take that as a no. So it’s settled, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Why don’t you just like... cut him off?” Jongseok proposes, shrugging at his own idea. “I mean, just until he gets his act together. He’s not getting any younger, and if he actually put his brain to use, he could be part of the company, leading in a division. Jungkook isn’t stupid, he’s just acting it.”

At this point, Jungkook’s consciousness begins to fade, slumber creeping up and drowning him like quicksand. For the first time, he regrets consuming so much alcohol because when he’s awake, he’s sleeping on the couch of one of their family rooms with his mother sitting in an armchair, worry washed over her face.

“Mom?” He jerks up, pushing off the blanket that someone had laid on him while he was asleep. “Everything alright?”

“Jungkook,” She begins, and he can already tell it’s going to be bad news. “I think I’ve spoiled you too much. When I first saw you as a baby, I thought that you needed everything, and I wanted to give you everything. Your brothers just grew up so much more differently than you did, your dad wasn’t so swamped with the company and had an abundance of time with them before you came along.”

His mom doesn’t look over at him. She looks uneasy, something eating her insides, and he feels nothing but remorse for her. Jungkook wants to move closer in attempts to comfort her, but it seems that she purposely sat at that distance. “I thought that giving you everything you needed and more meant that I was giving you the things that your father couldn’t give you and look where you are now... wasted every single time you come home. You haven’t had any real jobs, and when I supported you during your modeling endeavors, you threw all of that away! And for what, Jungkook? I gave you everything... and now I feel like a horrible mother.”

“Mom,” He reiterates, his voice soft and apologetic. “You’re not horrible. You took care of me, defended me against all of my hyungs, and guided me through the hardest times of my life. But maybe you’re right, I can’t do it anymore. I’ll do better, mom—”

She finally turns to see him. Her eyes are bloodshot red from the tears, bags underneath them from years of taking care of her five sons that have increased over time from Jungkook’s shenanigans. “No. Jungkook, I’m cutting you off.”

He nearly chokes on his spit. “What?”

“I’ll give you an allowance every month. It’s not a lot, but it’ll be enough to get you by. You can stay in my studio apartment downtown; I haven’t been there in a while so it’ll require some sprucing up.” She places a manila envelope on the table with Jungkook’s name written across it, wiping the tear that streams down her cheek. “You need to learn to fend for yourself, Kook.”

The next morning, Jungkook finds himself lying flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his legs tangled in his satin sheets. Just like that, in an instant, he lost everything. He should’ve stayed sober before coming, or at the very least, took one shot of vodka rather than... well, a couple cups worth. Sleep didn’t come easy that night but the guilt crept in like a tsunami. All that went through his mind was how he let his mom down, her favorite son, and that she had to come to terms with this new arrangement. Disappointing his brothers was something he’d done continuously over the years anyway, so the chance of finally making them proud has gone out the window but with his mom, there was a little bit of opportunity left to show her that he wasn’t completely a fuck up.

“Thanks, Hyungjin.” Jungkook is grateful that his mom let Hyungjin drive him downtown, and to come up to help drop off his belongings. The older male nods, tipping his hat at him. Hyungjin had been Jungkook’s driver for as long as he could remember; from piano lessons, early and late school drives, to even his one-night stands, where Jungkook would panic call Hyungjin and he’d come almost immediately after. Although he’d hope to see him again, he knows that this may be the last time Hyungjin drives him. “I hope I get to see you again.”

“Of course you will, Mr. Jeon. If you prove yourself to your brothers, I’m sure that they’ll be more than willing to accept you back into the family with open arms.”

Jungkook scoffs, shoving the key to the apartment into the slot of the knob. “I wish. I’m sure they’ll find a way to still keep me out. They hate me, Hyungjin, and I don’t know what else I’m going to do.”

“No, no, Jungkook. They’re your brothers. They have nothing but love for you. Tough love, maybe, but love nonetheless.” Hyungjin carries a portion of the suitcases and bags when Jungkook opens the door to the apartment; the both of them sneezing and coughing abruptly once they step inside. The entire apartment was dusty, dark, and gloomy. The windows had these black long and heavy curtains that blocked any sunlight from seeping through, and the remains of his mother’s paintings and canvases sprawled all across the floor with splatters that coat the wooden floors and brick walls that all were collecting dust.

“Uh... I guess Mrs. Jeon isn’t tidy when her artistic side comes out.” Hyungjin jokes, eyes skimming around the apartment. He walks over to sink, turning the knob of the faucet on, and Jungkook doesn’t even notice that he’s holding his breath until he releases it when the water flows out of the spout. “Least there’s still water? I think your parents are still paying for this place.”

After shoving as much of Jungkook’s personal items into the apartment, Hyungjin brushes his hands off on his slacks, straightening his back afterwards. “Well, Mr. Jeon, congrats on the start of your new future. I know that technically I’m not supposed to drive you anymore, but... if you are in dire need of help, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Placing a hand on Hyungjin’s shoulder, Jungkook sighs. “Thanks, Hyungjin, really. It means a lot.”

After sending Hyungjin off, Jungkook does some scavenging. For one, there’s some plates in the cabinets that he could use for the time being. No shampoo, no loofah and... when he opens the fridge in the kitchen, his face scrunches up from a whiff of the odor. Milk. Of course, his mother left half a carton of milk in there and hasn’t been back for months. “Guess... I already need to go shopping.”

“Your total is going to be ₩62,636.00.” Packing the groceries that had been scanned into the brown paper bags that were stuffed into another plastic one, you push it down the line for the customer as she’s shuffling through her purse for her wallet.

“You know, I am the bag boy, right? I can do it.” Hoseok, a fellow co-worker of yours, comments at your actions, hooded eyes darting in your direction in annoyance. “I know you’re trying to be nice to me because Hyeri broke up with me last night, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of working.”

“Hush,” You demand, yet face blooming with smiles for the customer who replicates the expression, sliding the credit card into the payment terminal. “Have a good day!” You’d cry out with every receipt you handed to a customer as they’d walk out the store, slouching immediately afterwards from the exhaustion that washes over you. “I’m just trying to make today a bit easier for you, Hobi. I know how much she means to you.”

“You’re kidding right? I’m rich, I’m only working here because I’m trying to save some money up to leave that household but I haven’t left yet. I’m thinking of doing some type of yacht party tonight; drinks, girls, all my homies getting drunk, it’s a great way to truly mend my heart.”

You roll your eyes at the male, leaning back against the register. “If you keep spending your parents’ money like that, you don’t have to leave. They’ll just kick you out.”

He gasps. “I sure as hell hope not, not ‘til I’m ready.” Shaking his head at the thought, he freezes as his mouth gapes open. “Ah, speaking of. Mrs. Jeon actually cut off one of her children. Mostly because he’s a brat and needs to be taught how to be humble... and grateful... and maybe not to be such a dick.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow questioningly. “Which one? Is it the one you’re friends with?”

Hoseok wags his finger in disagreement. “Not friend, acquaintance. We’re party buddies, but he and I don’t talk deep things like you and me. But yes, it’s the baby of them, Jeon Jungkook.”

The name is familiar. His face is plastered on almost all of the billboards that you’d pass by on your route to work. Jeon Jungkook was one of the heirs of the Jeon Corporation, and his mother being the CEO of the supermarket and café chain you had been employed at. Despite all of that, he chose to go the path of modeling (from what you know, it’s just for fun and games), and did nothing to help his family out in their business. Although you never found yourself involved with the media, Jungkook was an image hard to get rid of. His news was everywhere, especially since you had no idea how to remove the Apple News notifications from your phone. Tech wasn’t exactly your strongest suit.

“Interesting. Well, that sucks for him. Can’t have it all.”

“You say that because you’re not rich,” He frowns, crossing his arms. “You’d be living a different life if you had some more money.”

Leaning over the counter, you tap Hoseok’s nose with your pointer finger. “And I’m okay with where I am. Working two jobs, saving up money for my dreams while paying off my student loans... I’m okay with that. Yes, I’m tired, and who wouldn’t kill to be rich, but let’s be honest here. Coming from money, and money that’s not yours, sound horrible.”

“And it is,” Someone sighs, dropping their groceries onto the conveyor belt. “Money that’s actually yours being spent doesn’t feel as fulfilling as when you’re spending someone else’s, but having them control how you spend it... well, it’s not the best.”

“I mean, I feel great knowing that I earned my own money and—“ As you turn to meet with this customer, you’re speaking to the devil himself. Jeon Jungkook. “—oh, uh, Hello.” Magazines, pictures on the internet, billboards... all of them do not do Jungkook any justice because he’s not just gorgeous in person, but he looks like perfection on legs. The way he pushes his long locks back when they begin to irritate his eyes, his skin is milky smooth, supple and soft, and when he shoves his hands into his pockets afterwards, all you can think about is how his arms flex in the sleeves of his T-shirt. 

“Kook,” Hoseok greets, forehead crinkled in confusion as he extends his hand for a shake. “What... why are you here? I’ve never seen you at a supermarket before. Doesn’t your personal chef take care of those things for you?” He’s feigning ignorance, afraid that his assumptions of Jungkook’s withdrawal from wealth is only gossip spread by the middle aged women. Jungkook lets out another heavy sigh, shoulders dipping in disappointment. “Well, you probably heard from your mom... who heard from my mom. She kicked me out. Cut me off. So... I’m trying to fend for myself now and get some groceries for dinner tonight.”

“Where are you staying?” 

“Uh, my mom used to have an art studio downtown. She’s too busy to go there anymore, so she paints at home now. So the studio is pretty much abandoned... therefore I’m residing there now. I’m also getting an allowance every month to live off of.”

You snort. It was truly an accident, but the words coming out of Jungkook’s mouth were unbelievable. His mom made him leave the house yet gifted him an apartment and an allowance? Does anyone even consider this as being kicked out? “I’m sorry,” He turns to look at you. “Is something funny?”

“I... thought you said she cut you off?”

Without saying it, his face contorts to a visual version of an, And? 

“Well, if your mother really cut you off, you wouldn’t even have an apartment. You’d be living on the streets or sleeping on your friends’ couches in rotation. Trust me, I know, I’ve been there. And you’re still receiving an allowance from them?”

Jungkook thinks he doesn’t realize that you’re from a wealthy family as well. “You... have been cut off of your family money and kicked out?” 

Hoseok bursts in a laugh, hand in front of him in an attempt to stop himself before apologizing. “Ehem, sorry. She’s never been cut out, her family isn’t well-off in the first place. She’s trying to say she did the latter, sleeping on her friends’ couches on rotation. Me being one of them.” As you’re scanning his groceries one by one, sliding them down to Hoseok, he bags them quickly and efficiently as Jungkook’s eyes dazes off in amazement at his skill. “You... said you’re still getting an allowance from her?”

Jungkook nods but he’s completely immersed by yours and Hoseok’s quick movements, shuffling through the bags and scanning the items. When his toothpaste doesn’t beep, he watches as you start typing in some group of numbers into the register. The system recognizes it immediately before you turn back, resuming into your previous actions. He admits that this isn’t the first time he’s been in a supermarket, but the last time he remembered stepping foot in any of his mom’s businesses was probably before he hit puberty.

“So that’s going to be... ₩113,552.00.” Hoseok looks up when he realizes that Jungkook hasn’t moved from his position. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook shakes his head from his daze, quickly rummaging through his pockets for his wallet. “Sorry, I was just... you guys are really good at that.”

“At what?” You ask, confused with your brows furrowed. 

He gestures the register and bags with his chin as he pulls out his wallet. “The whole... register thing. You guys move fast and... expertly. Where’d you learn to do that?”

You and Hoseok freeze. It’s weird to hear, exclusively forthcoming from someone who’s known to be arrogant, and yet the expression on his face is genuinely impressed by the show the two of you had just put on for him. “Uh... basic training? They just give you some tips and you just do it.”

“That’s it? It’s that easy?” He says, eyes bulging from his head at the simple response. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say easy,” Hoseok rephrases as Jungkook inserts his credit card into the system. “It gets tiring when your shift gets long. But the task itself isn’t difficult, just becomes brutal.” You shake your head in affirmation, wiping the counter down with a rag. “Don’t look down on your local grocery store employees! Where else would you get your groceries without them to help you?”

He laughs, and he’s so pretty when he laughs, but what subsequents after his laugh isn’t so... pretty. “I won’t, but I don’t think I’d ever work in a supermarket either. Not really for me. I think I have more potential than... everyone here.”

Hoseok eyes his friend quizzically. “Uh... I didn’t think I would be either. I didn’t choose to work here, you know. I want to move out eventually, so I’m saving money. Do you think she chooses to work here too? No. This is temporary for us, Kook. But even so, there’s people who have to work here because it’s how they put food on the table.”

He only shrugs. “I guess. I just think I can do better than this. Thanks for the family discount though! Even though the allowance my mom gave me paid for it.” 

And with that, he leaves. 

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” You jeer, completely appalled by Jungkook’s comment. “Is it because he’s the boss’ son? Is that why? That’s so ridiculous, why didn’t I say something—“ Hoseok interrupts your rant with the sound of your name soothingly coming out of mouth. “Let him be. I believe in karma and it’s going to bite him in the ass later.” You let out a dejected sigh, caving into his words. “On another note... you’re coming to my yacht party right?”

You hate Hoseok for luring you here. 

He’s got chicks in bikinis, dancing away with their drinks swaying in their glasses, waists so thin you could wrap your hands around them. Guys are lounging, admiring the view of both the sea and the women, alcohol also accompanying their hands, whispering things here and there when they catch a sight of you— jeans and a crop top. You were not going to let Hoseok see you in a bikini, no matter how nice he is to you. He’s still a slob at heart.

When Hoseok spots you through the crowd, he hollers your name. “Oh my gosh! You actually came! I’m so stoked! Which text convinced you to come? I did all those things, just in case any of them are actually the reason why you came.”

hoseokie [1:03PM]: pls come to my party hoseokie [1:03PM]: we’ve got tacos hoseokie [1:04PM]: we’ve got white claw hoseokie [1:05PM]: we’ve got pigs in a blanket hoseokie [1:05PM]: we’ve got some weird hors d'oeuvres hoseokie [1:06PM]: we’ve got fresh fish hoseokie [1:07PM]: we’ve got... mini sandwiches?? idk i’m running out of nice things to mention hoseokie [1:09PM]: what about.... chick-fil-a? i know chicks dig that hoseokie [1:09PM]: i take that back, i know you’re into the feminist thing and don’t like it when i say collectively chicks like something

You frown. He’s so annoying.

hoseokie [1:12PM]: attachment 1 image

Ah. There it was. The true reason why you’ve decided to come. 

The picture mostly shows the food that sits at the table, but the angle that Hoseok takes it from gives you a glimpse of the kitchen, a delicious glance because right there is a take for inspiration for your own that you’d like to see for yourself. With that, you figure you’d hit two birds with one stone; getting to steal an idea for a small kitchen and celebrate Hoseok’s... breakup? You’re not even sure what this is for.

“Uh, where’s the kitchen? I want to wash my hands.”

He’s kind of drunk, so you’re thankful he doesn’t probe for more information, like why the kitchen and not the bathroom. “Downstairs. Do you need me to take you?”

“Nah, I’m good.” You grin, walking in the direction he points afterwards. On route to the kitchen, you spot the catering of Chick-Fil-A. Guess he kept to his word after all.

That’s when you spot him. 

Jungkook is sitting on one of the white leather couches that Hoseok’s yacht is built with, arms resting on the top of the seat while surrounded by women who giggle with their hands on his chest with hearts coming from their eyes in admiration. “Kook-ie, you’re so funny! Who knew someone like you would have such a beautiful personality!” 

You have to swallow the vomit that’s begging to leave your body.

Finally downstairs, you get to see it yourself with your own eyes. It’s beautiful. So beautiful that you can’t believe that a room can look this beautiful, and on top of that, it looks untouched. Reaching the stove, you almost hold in your breath from all the excitement forming in you, pulling the handle out to peek inside. “Jesus, stainless steel, great for cleaning, so much space, enough for inventory, and so much wattage—”

“Are you getting turned on by a stove?”

Fuck. Slamming it the oven shut, you abruptly straighten yourself. “Uh, no.” Turning to see the owner of the voice, you frown at the sight. Of course, with your luck, it’s Jungkook. “I’m just really curious on how people do their kitchens. I wanna open a bakery and want some ideas on how to work with a limited amount of space.”

Your breath hitches at the view; the shirt he has on is barely even buttoned, exposing his toned chest, and his hair is slicked back with a comma curl that hangs over his forehead. His lips are pink and plump, arms are tight in their sleeves, and when he leans over on the counter across from where you stand, the smile that tugs on the edges of his mouth is so pretty. “Hire an interior designer. Why do you need to do it yourself?” His breath already reeks of alcohol, and the drink in his hand almost screams that it’s not going to be his last either. “I don’t have the money for it.”

“Sure you do, you have two jobs. Why do things yourself when other people can do it for you?” You roll your eyes at him. “Because, unlike you, I have student debt. I need to pay for that and start a business. It’s not easy. I need to make a profit somewhere.”

He shrugs before saying nonchalantly, “I’ll pay for you.”

“With what money?” It comes out faster than you expected, but it’s too late to back down now. “With the money my mom gave me,” He responds calmly, tapping his fingers against the counter. “It’s more than enough to start a business.”

You nearly piss your pants. His mother’s allowance was enough to fucking start a business. Jungkook was indeed not in lack of resources and with the way his mom was taking care of this meant he will never truly learn responsibility.

“Are you kidding me?” You’re almost gasping for air. “Your mom gives you that much money for an allowance? What are you? I thought she was cutting you off. At this rate, you’re never going to actually be an adult. How are you even going to prove to her that you’re capable?”

He gets up from the counter, startled by your sudden outburst. “What makes you think I’m incapable?”

“You were just about to give me money to start a business. This is the second time you’ve met me, Jungkook. You don’t even know me. You don’t even know what the business is for, what my plans are, and where it’s going to be. You were just going to throw away good money without even having any knowledge of what it’s going to be used for!”

Unsure what to say, he speaks the only thing that comes to mind. “I trust you because you’re friends with Hoseok, and well, I trust Hoseok.” How could a guy with five older siblings who all went to prestigious ivy league universities, including attending one of them himself, be so gullible and naïve? 

“That means nothing, Jungkook. All it means is that we have a mutual friend. I can’t stand kids like you, strutting around with all the money in the world without knowing what to do with it. You have no real responsibilities, no real life plan, no dreams— nothing! All you do is fuck around and get drunk. What a fucking waste of space.” You shake your head before climbing up the stairs out of the lower level of the yacht, heated from Jungkook. He hasn’t actually said or done anything actually wrong yet you can’t help but hate him. Jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and all you can think about is how you were born with a plastic one instead.

You’re not actually anyone to Jungkook. No, not really, especially since yes, like you mentioned before, it’s only the second time he has met you. Whether or not if the proposal for paying for those things were serious, he wasn’t sure why he made you upset so easily.

But it hurt. Those things you said really hurt— more than when he speaks to his brothers.

So he drinks. He drinks the pain away or just enough that it fades to the point he doesn’t notice it as much anymore. 

When you catch him slouched on the couch alone, cheeks flush pink from what you assume is from the beer sitting in his hands loosely, guilt washes over you. Without much thought, you’re already making your way to the innocent looking boy, buttoning his shirt up and tearing the can from his grip. You figured you’d take him home, it’s the least you can do after flipping him off earlier. 

With Jungkook’s arm draping over your shoulder, you wince when the button on his sleeve tugs on your necklace. “Jungkook, could you at least try lifting yourself up so I’m not doing all the heavy lifting here?” He doesn’t say much but mumbles with drool coming out from the side of his mouth, emitting a whine from you. 

“Oh my god, is that Jungkook?” Mrs. Jeon drops the book she reads in what seems like a living room, rushing toward your side before Jungkook vomits again on the marble floor. “Hana! Nayeon! Please come clean this up— quickly, quickly, please.” She pulls his other arm over her shoulder, tugging him along with you before reaching the couch, letting him settle down easy. If she wasn’t here, you would’ve thrown him on it. “Sorry CEO Jeon, I wanted to take him back to his place but... I didn’t know where he lived and I didn’t really feel comfortable leaving him by himself like this. So... I googled your estate and here we are.”

She gives you a pained smile, clenching your heart at the same time before she’s draping a blanket onto Jungkook’s sleeping body. “Would you like some tea?”

It feels weird sitting on a tall stool chair at a marble countertop island in such a huge kitchen. There was more than enough space to hire a staff sized for a large wedding venue, and truth to be told, you were jealous of the appliances that were stocked. If only you could touch the deck oven, just one touch...

Mrs. Jeon says your name for the first time since you’ve introduced yourself, interrupting your thoughts. “Ah, yes, CEO Jeon?”

“You keep calling me that. Do you perhaps work at one of my franchises?”

Rubbing the sides of the mug full of tea anxiously, you nod. “Two, actually. I work at one of the supermarkets down in Seoul, and a café at the University. I admire your plans and how you treat your employees, so I based my search on that.”

There’s a smile that jumps upon her lips, and it’s genuinely full of joy in comparison to the one she shares when you dragged Jungkook in. “A hard-working class citizen. I love that.” She brings the mug to her lips, taking a sip of her tea before sitting it down gently. “You brought Jungkook here. Are you two... an item, maybe? I’ve never seen him bring anyone home.”

Hastily, you wave your hands in front of you in denial. “Oh, no, no, CEO Jeon, we are not. If anything, I brought him home.” You pause for a moment as she eyes you carefully. “Oh, wait, no, not like that, I meant brought him to his home, here. Not to my house. Gosh, no, that’s weird.” Mrs. Jeon laughs, leaning back, almost stumbling off her seat and you were already set on your toes in preparation to catch her. “Geez, my son displeases you that much? Honestly, I wouldn’t be so opposed if you told me that you both were in a relationship.”

You blink. “Really? Why’s that? I kind of expected you to hope for him to go for someone who’s a bit more... accustomed to this lifestyle? Not that there’s anything wrong with it... I just... this is a bit different.” 

Although you had been preoccupied with dragging Jungkook into the house, there was no missing in the way their home looked. Chandelier hanging in the hall off the ceiling with crystal-like features that you were sure were actually authentic diamonds, walls and floors were marble and granite, portraits and paintings that hung on the walls were originals, and the size of the home itself was... breathtakingly prodigious. The kitchen alone was a prime example— from your own personal research and knowledge, the appliances were top tier products of the industry, only the best of the best were able to afford it. Not to mention that the dimensions of the kitchen was about four times the surface area of your apartment.

Mrs. Jeon shakes her head in lack of approval, tapping her fingers against the ceramic cup. “No, I want my sons to go for love that they feel is real. But for Jungkook, I always hope for more than just that, someone who can teach him that this life of luxury isn’t necessarily everything. He hasn’t found anyone yet, or at least, I still hope it’s you, but I figured cutting him off the money would be the next best option.”

You tilt your head to the side, mouth open in hesitation. “But... you didn’t cut him off. Jungkook still gets an allowance.”

“Yes, but—“

“Sorry to interrupt, but isn’t that defeating the purpose? Like... you want Jungkook to go off and learn responsibility and what it means to be a functioning adult yet you’re still giving him money. I don’t want to criticize but...” You’re expecting her to jump at the chance to interject, mention something about how you’re overstepping, but she does nothing. Instead, her shoulders slouch and she frowns. “Am I doing this wrong? Should I take his allowance away?”

Honesty seems like an iffy noun to act on at the moment, but you speak words with it, nonetheless. “CEO Jeon, don’t get me wrong, you are a great person. But if you’re trying to teach your egotistical and spoiled-rotten son some life lessons, putting a step stool down for him isn’t going to make it any better.”

“It was you, wasn’t it!” Jungkook exclaims, stomping into the supermarket with his face flushed red with anger, hair pushed back with a vein popping out on his forehead. He has his pointer finger directed at you, startling Hoseok as he shoves Jungkook’s finger down. “Ok, I get you’re mad, but no pointing please. You may proceed.”

He scoffs. “She did this, you know. My mom cut me off. Completely! Done, I’m so done for. How the hell am I supposed to pay for anything? All she gave me was the money I earned from those modeling gigs in the past. What the hell is that going to do for me two months from now?”

“Uh... I don’t know, get a job?” You say sarcastically, unfazed by his fit of temper. If childish is how he’s going to act, he might as well embarrass himself while he’s at it. “It’s not my fault that she decided to actually cut you off.” Jungkook doesn’t get the right to come in here, full of flames just because of something you suggested to his mother the night he blacked out. He doesn’t, especially not after you learn from Mrs. Jeon why she wants to do this in the first place.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to get a job?”

Hoseok stares at Jungkook blankly for a moment before pointing to a sign behind him, taped to the wall with big letters printed.

CASHIER FOR HIRE @ THE JEON MARKET! PLEASE SEE AN ASSOCIATE FOR DETAILS ON HOW TO APPLY!

Jungkook lets out a heavy breath of defeat, falling back against the counter, fingers raking his strands of hair back stressfully. “Fuck, fuck...” He closes his eyes, head falling back. “... Fuck.”

It’s barely even the start of his first day and he’s presently on the verge of throwing another hissy fit when the apron doesn’t tie around his body like it does for the other workers. “Are you fucking—”

Snatching the fabric from his hands, you can see through Jungkook’s orbs that he’s ready to pounce at you for doing that, but you’re already standing on the tip of your toes as he dips down unconsciously for you while pulling the loop over his head. “This is so much easier when you’re calm, cool, and collected enough to think like a sane person.” He mutters a quick thanks, jutting out a puff of air from his lips. “Also, tie your hair up, will you? It doesn’t look professional.”

“Professional?” He scoffs, shaking his head as you’re slipping off the hair band that’s on your wrist, handing it over to him that he grabs unwillingly. “This place is far from professional. It’s a freaking goddamn supermarket.”

“It’s just... in your face and we have an employee handbook that wants your hair out of your face so the customers can see your lovely smile.”

“You think my smile is lovely?” His heart is warm at the compliment but it quickly fades when you respond, “No, it’s how it’s worded in the handbook. I’m only quoting what I read.”

“Why are you helping me anyway? I thought you didn’t like me.” This was true, notably since you’ve last spoken to him was with fury and fire in your eyes. But you merely just roll your eyes this time, turning away to turn the dial on your locker, pulling a slip of paper out to hand to him. “I was assigned to train you. Here’s your locker combo. Don’t think I’m doing this to be nice to you.”

“I’m still trying to understand what I did wrong that made you hate me.”

Tying your own hair back in the magnetic mirror that hangs on your locker door, there’s clips in your mouth to push your bangs back and Jungkook can’t help but find the action so... attractive. After taking the bobby pins from your mouth and slipping them into your hair, you straighten your shirt before turning to face him. “Because I can’t stand entitled people. And you are one of them.”

His mouth drops and closes several times before he finally gets the guts to speak up. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Tugging the apron over your head and knotting the strings behind you, you inhale sharply afterwards. “I know that you’re the CEO’s youngest son, the bachelor, who basically doesn’t really do anything but freeload off his parents and spend their money. You’ve never had a real job before today and if I’m being totally honest, I kind of expect you to fail.”

“To fail?” He exasperates, his posture stiffens, in disbelief of your perspective. “I haven’t even started the job yet and you had this image of me build up before I even get the chance to clock in.”

“Speaking of, come here, I’ll show you how to clock in.”

Trailing behind you to a mysterious machine that hangs on the wall, he can’t help but attempt to sink everything in around him. He’s in the back of a supermarket, his mother’s supermarket, one of many, dressed in their uniform with his luxurious hair tied back, hidden away from all the people to admire. The locker room has flickering melancholic lights that he realized are unflattering when he looks at himself in the mirror earlier, and the people here drag their legs when leaving through the double doors to start the shift, all the way to the end. 

“Hello, Earth to Jungkook?” You wave your hands in front of his drifted gaze, frowning at his sudden daydream. 

“I can’t believe that it’s gotten this bad. I have to work... like a real job. I’ve never had a job in my entire life.”

“Well, yeah. I mentioned that just moments ago.”

His stare shifts to you, worry written all over his face. “I’m above all of this, above all of the people working here. I know what it’s like to be happy—I have money for god’s sake, I don’t need any of this. I could be working some corporate job right now that requires less effort.”

“Jungkook, I haven’t even started the training yet.”

He still hasn’t learned how to clock in before a shift yet and he’s already prepping to quit this job. 

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gyukultfics

[monster-bait]

Monster Match: Landry, NB Monster x F Human, SFW

For @ghostlystitches, my 3rd place contest winner from waaaaaay back in August! Thanks so much for your patience, I can’t wait for Landry and the choir to make their return in Cambric Creek!

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There was a universal truth to working in the service industry, one that not many people outside it understood: everyone who’d been doing the job for more than a few months possessed a customer service voice. Whether it was poised and polished, bubbly and enthusiastic, or steadfast and calm, The Voice had little bearing on the person to whom it belonged; gave little insight into one’s personality once they were off the clock and safe at home, far away from the food service or retail or call center way of life.

You were no different: friendly and professional, you handled customers with ease, chatted easily as people checked out, and always had a ready smile. The fact that you hated crowds and grew anxious at the thought of evenings out was not something the customers at your job would be able to guess, but you still sighed a small breath of relief upon clocking out each day, eager to be home with your cats and fuzzy socks.

There would be no respite that day.

As you walked across the shopping plaza’s parking lot, your stomach clenched with nerves, and a familiar tightness wrapped around your chest. Your heart was beating just a little bit faster than it had been an hour earlier, and a slight ripple of nausea replaced the giddy relief you normally felt as you went home each day. It was Thursday, the most anxiety-inducing day on the calendar, when you would leave work and go straight to the Nocturnal Worship Center, a non-denominational church for a subset of the community’s residents.

Your work friend Greska had gotten it into her head that it would be so fun! to join the Cambric Creek community choir several months earlier, changing her availability at the store almost immediately afterward, meaning she no longer worked on Thursdays with you. She hadn’t been on time to a single rehearsal since. You’d been unsurprised when she’d texted that afternoon, letting you know she’d not be able to make it to rehearsal that night; knew she’d already lost interest in the choir and would likely be announcing her intent to quit any day now.

I really hate Thursdays...

Being a human in Cambric Creek was hard enough. You loved your multi-species neighbors, had made good friends and enjoyed the varied clientele at work, but you still tiptoed, worried that you’d inadvertently say or do something to offend someone, finding it easier to exist at the periphery of friends groups at work and school. The community choir was a distillation of everything that made you nervous: a large, noisy crowd of big personalities, wannabe divas and social butterflies, and your heart would be in your throat each week as you made the drive.

The parking lot would already be filled with cars by the time you arrived, werewolves and lizardfolk and tieflings hustling in, neighbors and friends calling out greetings and socializing in the aisles beneath the big, domed ceiling of the non-denominational worship center, moonlight winking down through the glass overhead. Instead of comfy clothes and cozy socks, you would be in your work clothes for hours more, in particular your Thursday work outfit—one you always spent a bit more time and care picking out, attempting to be as cute as possible when you arrived at the choir’s home, a task which seemed impossible after a long shift.

“Mi mi mi mi mi mi miiiiiiiii….”

Landry’s rich voice reverberated off the wall to your back as you carefully stepped up the risers, taking your place beside them. As usual, you were unable to repress your smile as they belted out the arpeggio.

“Did you ever notice how self-absorbed this exercise is? There’s no you, no us. It’s all about meeeee!” They belted the last syllable once more, and you ducked your head as you laughed, lest they see the heat that stole up your neck. You enjoyed singing, it was true, but you enjoyed the company of the Thursday night rehearsals more. “As if there weren’t enough inflated egos packed in here!”

As if to prove their point, a turban-wearing harpy in the row ahead let out a window-rattling operatic warble, her voice piercing in the upper notes. You huffed silent laughter as Landry lifted a webbed hand as if to say see?!

You would be lying to yourself if you pretended even for a moment that your crush on your green-skinned section-mate wasn’t the reason you were determined to stick with the choir, despite the absence of your friend. Always chipper, always smiling, choir rehearsal with Landry had simultaneously become the brightest and most worrisome spot on your weekly calendar, as you fretted over saying the wrong thing or being too awkward, talking too much or not enough, seeming too eager...but the week’s worth of anxious over-thinking would wash away once you saw the small, pointed teeth revealed by their bright smile, and the hour-long rehearsal would seem only minutes long, leaving you free to bask in the afterglow of your crush throughout the weekend, before you began worrying all over again the following week.

“If you keep that up, Chaz is going to call you out again for not harmonizing. Do we really need a repeat of the great a Capella nightmare of two weeks ago?”

They huffed dismissively as Chaz, the eccentric vampire in charge, began to tap a pencil on the music stand before him to call the chattering group to attention. Your audition may have been good enough for the 1980’s fashion-loving choir director, although you were fairly certain your status as a human made up for what you lacked in musical talent, and that Chaz deliberately spaced his less-than confident choristers, strategically placing them adjacent to those who had talent to spare…like you and Landry.

“Please! What’s he gonna do? We’re the backbone of this whole row, he’d be lost without us!”

Your laughter was hidden behind your folder of music as the vampire ahead banged the music stand against the stage, finally earning the choir’s attention, and fire once more heated your neck.

I love Thursdays…

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“The front row favorites were talking about going to the Sidecar after rehearsal. You’re coming, right?”

You froze, missing the note you were meant to be writing in your music, your entire body seizing in panic. It wasn’t until a webbed hand reached over, turning the page before you that you snapped from your stupor, your voice joining the first note half a beat behind. You knew a large portion of the choir gathered together after rehearsal each week, but you’d never joined them. Perhaps if Greska would have been there, perhaps if you were a part of any of the existing cliques which comprised the choir, if you didn’t feel so awkward…besides, it wasn’t as if you’d ever been invited by any of your fellow choristers.

“You’re not really going to leave me alone with these vultures, are you? You know I’m liable to say something about the out-of-tune second row if you’re not there to mind me.”

The Sidecar was a speakeasy-style pub, dimly lit and trendy with an expansive cocktail list and entirely intimidating. You’d never been there and couldn’t imagine yourself confidently strolling through the doors alone.

“You can follow me if you’ve never been there before. C’mon, you know I can’t be trusted alone.”

They wouldn’t be alone, you thought immediately: Landry was fun and funny and friendly towards everyone, and surely wouldn’t have a problem slipping in with the larger group.

“Please? Pleeeeease? I really don’t want to go if you’re not coming, but I’m parched. I’ll shrivel up like a blue-raspberry fruit roll-up if I don’t get something to drink right after rehearsal.”

A smart-assed retort about the nearly-full water bottle beside their chair danced on the tip of your tongue, but as you raised your head to deliver it, their wide, golden eyes held you spellbound, imploring you to give in. You felt suspended in time, like a prehistoric bug in amber as you admired the angle of their jaw, the slight sheen on their blue-green skin, the tightly sealed gills at the side of their neck. When your eyes wandered back to theirs, the golden orbs shimmered with hopeful expectation.

“Sure. We don’t want you getting into too much trouble. Look what happened the night of the harvest jamboree concert.”

Chaz was tapping the music stand as the piano started up, the elderly beetle woman who provided the accompaniment hunching over the keyboard with her multiple arms, and you were unable to bury your face in your music as you flushed. You scarcely recognized the confident voice that had come from your mouth; you were surprised with the way you’d responded, but pleased all the same, and you realized there was an unexpected benefit of possessing The Voice.

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.

“I never met my father, but you can’t miss what you don’t have, you know?”

You nodded sympathetically, crunching into another of the fried zucchini sticks from the basket between you. They would have been better with a touch more salt, but your companion had a low tolerance for sodium, and you were happy to go without.

The Melted Meeple hummed with energy and people, as it always did on Saturday nights, but the tabletop gamers kept to their own parties, leaving plenty of open booths and tables toward the back half of the establishment, and you enjoyed the happy energy within. You’d blurted the question over their heritage, unable to tamp back your curiosity for another week, and to your relief, Landry had laughed.

“Well, my mom is a human. My parents met while she was studying abroad, and she came home with a hell of a souvenir! Although I must say, I’m way better than a t-shirt.”

Your face flamed, regretting asking so personal a question, but Landry waved away your flustered expression. “None of that. I was the only amphibious kid in the family, so that meant I won every swimming contest. I’d go to the river with my cousins and we’d mop the floor with the other kids. Now I live in a nice neighborhood where there are some folks who look like me, I have my own pool, and I sing in an awesome choir. No regrets!”

There was a ridged fin that moved down the center of their head like a punkish hairstyle, mirrored by the delicate fanned membranes of their ears...you already knew from casual bumps and touches that their skin was silky smooth, if not a touch rubbery, and you wondered what their long, webbed fingers would feel like moving over your skin, or entwined with yours…

“You’re right,” you agreed, watching them drain the last of their drink. “You’re much better than a shirt.”

That first night at the Sidecar had been as awkward as you’d feared, but Landry had stayed by your side and had lamented how fussy and complicated the bar menu was as they walked you back to your car once the choir members started to disperse. When the plans buzzed around rehearsal the following week, they hadn’t needed to beg again, and your dislike of crowds was slightly mollified as you walked into the speakeasy together, your taller companion’s hand resting lightly on your back.

“Let’s go somewhere else this week,” they’d whispered as Chaz addressed the tenors of the second row, the third week after that first post-rehearsal meetup. “That place is too dark and crowded. I thought that gnoll was going to climb into my back pocket last week.”

Somewhere else had been the Melted Meeple, then the Black Sheep Beanery the week after, and a dim sum restaurant that served bubble tea the week after that. A full month had gone by, and then another, you realized, two months of Thursdays, and somehow your stomach had stopped clenching in anxiety by Tuesday each week. The Melted Meeple had been your favorite of the spots you’d visited together, and you’d been the one to suggest it that night. Landry’s golden eyes had glimmered as they nodded happily, straightening to attention when Chaz lifted his head, signaling the group to attention once more.

Your weekly post-rehearsal outings had become the most looked-forward-to event on your weekly calendar, and when you’d once been overcome with anxiousness, a giddy elation seemed to carry you into rehearsal each week, and you were amazed by how quickly the time had seemed to fly.

“You know, there’s going to be a dinner after the Snowdrop Festival concert, we’re not going to be able to wriggle out of that.”

“That’s fine,” you allowed, laughing at their screwed-up expression. “You know, if you keep carrying on about the second row, that gryphon is going to assume you’re jealous.”

“Oh, you take that back! The audacity!”

You weren’t sure who this girl was, as you dropped your head back, unrestrained laughter pouring out of you. You weren’t sure who she was, but you liked her, you decided. Liked the possibility that perhaps your feelings weren’t completely one-sided after all. You’d wondered, a few weeks earlier, when Landry had talked around the gnoll sitting in front of you, evading her questions about that evening until the choir was called to attention, wrapping a cool, webbed hand around your wrist the moment the rehearsal ended, hurrying you down the aisle and out the door, before whooping into the night air that you’d escaped and were free to do what you wanted.

“We’re going to the dinner, and that’s that.” You watched as they rolled their eyes, sighing dramatically.

“Fine...what about Saturday?”

“Is there a rehearsal on Saturday?” You felt a prickle of panic that you’d forgotten to schedule something, for you definitely had to work Saturday afternoon, and had nothing else on your schedule…

“No, no...dinner, on Saturday? Are you free?”

The sound of other patrons playing their tabletop games suddenly seemed very far away, and wind rushed in your ears. Were you free Saturday night?

“I think I am,” you answered guardedly. “W-why? Is there something special about Saturday?”

“Yes. It’s not a rehearsal night.”

You bit your lip as Landry smiled broadly, giving you a glimpse of those small, pointed teeth. You wondered what their kiss would feel like; if their skin was always cool to the touch, and if they liked cats. “I work in the afternoon, but I’m not busy at all that night.”

They slipped on the knit hat you’d made them as you left the noise of the Meeple behind, their head fin popping adorably through the opening, and your heart felt close to bursting when long, cool, webbed fingers threaded with your own as you moved through the chilly night.

“Perfect, then. It’s a date.”

You’d reached your car by then, but you made no move to open the door. “A date.”

“A date.” Their lips were cool and soft against your cheek, and the heat that flooded your skin was enough to make the cold night air seem balmy. “A date,” they repeated once more, a bit softer, squeezing your hand before releasing you to open the car door.

You had learned to love Thursdays, but you were certain, as you pulled into the night, your skin buzzing where they’d kissed you, that Saturdays were about to become your new favorite day.

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Next up is Alder the Ghillie Dhu’s revisit & then my first and second place contest winners! For exclusive Cambric Creek stories every month, smash subscribe on my Patreon!

#Exophilia #monster lover #enby monstey #non-binary monster #monster match #monster matchmaker #terato #amphibious #monster x reader #monster x human #monster x female reader

[crossxskulled]

☠ Destroy Your Painless Fantasy ☠ 

___

☠ - ‘Just where..?’ Within what looked like a sea of thick sludge would ring that sole question. Pristine lights, a happy future, all of it had been torn away in a moment that doesn’t align with the pace of his conscious. Thoughts of laughter, feelings of relaxation, the overbearing fulfillment that was pieced together with every one of his dreams coming true. Why did it feel as if he ended it up with a mindless scream before his frustrated fist had cracked away at that reality with his own two hands?

Oh yeah. ...Maybe that’s it.

Right now he was in a place tethered by that bastard’s actualization and currently being fought by the unflinching tenacity of his own heart. Any sense of direction found itself useless, all that Ryuji considered and completed was bringing himself up, onto his knees, onto his feet, raw agony shifting through his muscles as before him stood a light. One that found itself chaotically dancing while matching to the very pace of his heart deep down, for the moment, those eyes of Skull found themselves so transfixed, that sheer ignorance made him fail to realize that pristine shackles of ivory clung and bit to his wrist and ankles.

Why in the fuck did it feel as his head was swimming? Just being close to this light served to be a force that aimed to tear at his flesh, to buckle and shatter each and every bit of bone. Even now, the looming throb of a headache pulsed within his mind, prompting the blonde to grit his feet while bringing a single head to his forehead. “What is.. No.. Me. This is me, damn it.. I know this..”

☠ So you’ve finally come to. ☠ 

Ryuji’s eyes snapped open at this voice.

☠ Haven’t you abandoned your vessel? The very torch that carried your once inexhaustible flame? ☠

☠ It was effortless to tear you into complacency by bringing ruin upon your held pain. ☠ 

What..? Unconsciously did his mind filter for an instant of images that nearly made him buckle with the ear-splitting ache followed in their wake. Too many examples of him reunited with his old team, their laughter filling the halls and their dreams becoming savage declarations to the ‘world’ before them. His mother could rest happily, his father never became their horror. Picture perfect was the only thing that could label it all. Static began to violently flourish while he begins to coil within that darkness.

Fighting.

Suffering.

Ruin.

The man who seemingly destroyed potential in your life.

The one who-- And opened the chance for your hidden possibilities?

“Rrgh.. Grahhhh... Nnngh!” Before he even realized it, his hands were beginning to reach, to fight against the luxurious binds that aimed to embrace him like a comforting, maternal hug. Distant screams and wails to cease this pursuit into pain growing the further he tugs, the more he attempts to reach, to claim that very fire that hung like an all illuminating truth in the inky abyss that slithers and crawls all around him, attempting to ensnare the entirety known as Ryuji Sakamoto.

So why? What in the two hells made him so desperate for the feeling that threatens to send any and all into the cusp of insanity?

Even a single touch upon those blue flames causes a harrowing world to slam into him in a moment’s notice. Each and every nerve from the roots of his hair down to his damn toes realized it, recalls it, making his mouth hang open due to the raw shock of it all. Blistering sparks of returned pain began to roar in unforgiving mercilessness, causing his entire body to throb before his voice follows, before the desperation of those bindings to pull him away, promises of salvation and a life built of no bad possibilities pleading for him to return. So much was beginning to call and roar for Ryuji’s attention, for him to make a choice, for him to be the open ended and non-moving prize for any force that can tug most convincingly at his heart.

Pain or Pleasure?

Reality Unforgiving or Illusions Actualized?

All that he knows within this moment is he so GODDAMN TIRED!

The final binding would be torn away as he yells out with the same agonized intensity as the surroundings elements, hard clinks of torn chains bellowing in the ether of this amalgamation of heart’s, the roaring flames noise growing intensive as each step is created with purpose. Echoing distantly throughout his mind is the sound of splintering glass, upon his body would be the silenced sound of dripping blood, multiple tears made along his arm, a small curtain of blood dripping down his face.

Graceless, bestial, a being that held no form of finesse and had his current viewing stamped near permanently into the mud. Right now the truth of gripping that fact, joining others scorned, used and abused, attempting to create his own mark with a rebellious will that aimed to destroy all tyranny and conflagerate all falsehood

Ryuji Sakamoto. He knows the life that a singular truth created.

☠ Our pact had been destroyed. All pain is rid from your being. Yet, now you fight to cling to it?  ☠

☠ Do you think your Other Self will forgive--  ☠

“I JUST DON’T GIVE A DAMN!” His voice booms with the same distorted frenzy, no different then Persona transmogrifying within the fires of rebellion. For a second the skeletal mass pauses, finding itself shaken by the familiar call of that desperate babe in what seems like an infinity ago, the one kicking, screaming, pride filled in that anger and desire to change things for the better. ..After sitting so long in watching them stew in the fear of a future unknown.

It felt incredible to see them come back into shape.

Ryuji’s mouth heaved desperate gasps of air, a steel tinted glare pinning down that power, no, pinning down himself while he thoughtless shot his hands into the flames, into that very coalesced power that twisted before him. “Let’s get.. one damn thing right! From the whole damn start you are me, bastard! You know the same damn thing about what I want! How we can’t leave this fucking pain behind! ..Even thinking that it’s okay to just live some bastard’s lie, and allow all the people who believe I’d do damn right.. TO MAKE THEM ALL SINK WITH ME..!”

“So.. No damn more.. That truth of me getting messed up, all their tears, mines, all that shit belongs to me! It’s my damn job to make it better with whatever the hell I can do!”

“Or die trying to get sucha thing done! BUT I WON’T!”

☠ I am Thou. ☠

“AND I’M YOU!”

☠ Fester in the Weight of the Truth you desire. You’re the TRUE Captain of this Vessel! Devour me if you have the GALL! ☠

Tearing from the abyss of his heart would be a massive skull, shaped and flamed with an wild dash of cerulean, two crimson, seething eyes located within it’s sockets while a primal roar etched from it’s lips. Just the utterly idea to lurch his head forward, to bite at the apparition of his inner self, the skull had done the same, charging it’s maw downward like a guillotine, snapping at his head all the way down to the shoulders, all while the splintering cracks of this world begin to reach out further, burning, destroying at falsehoods that offered a subtle comfort, a lying hope, all in the depths of his dreams.

It was time to Awaken.

“COME, WILLIAM!”

“MY PAIN IS MINE ALONE!”

And now was the time to complete this final test of claiming it rightfully.

Everyone is waiting for him!

#| Drabble #Just for my interp of how the P5R awakening would go #aka let these rebels find their own ways without Joker as the 'magic talking' center #They're a lot more reliable then that #Mannnn did it feel nice to do this one! #| P5R Spoilers

[angelliev]

Lover Boy - JJ Maybank x OC - Part Seventeen - Home Sweet Home

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: Aria is given the opportunity to meet her real dad. Aria and JJ are both in for a pleasant surprise.

Warnings: Smut. Typos probably? 

A/N: I don’t have that much to say. I just want to thank you everyone for liking, following, and especially reblogging. Your support means so much to me when you guys share this with others, because it truly helps. That will be all, I hope you guys enjoy, and stay safe my lovies. ;) (Not my GIF. Credits to the owner. I don’t own the show or any of theses characters.) 

Lover Boy Series Masterlist 

3 Months

Every bone in my body is shaking as of now. My feet would not stop tapping away as JJ drove the car. He takes notice of my nervous state. “Babe, you’re shaking so hard, the baby’s rocking.” I just chuckle nervously. “What’s up babygirl?” He asked placing a hand on my bare thigh, the warm gesture erupts butterflies in my stomach. 

“Nothing, I’m just really nervous to meet him.” I confess, referring to Jamie, my real father. Today is the day I get to meet him for the first time. We’re having dinner with him and my mom. “C’mon babe, you have nothing to worry about. He’s going to love you. He already does.” JJ attempts to reassure me. “But what if he’s disappointed in me about the pregnancy. He’s going to be a grandfather in six months, that’s got to come as a shock to him.” Despite being fully aware of who my biological father is and having many opportunities to meet him, I always kept avoiding, out of fear that he’d already disown me. 

“Aria, he is not Claude. Everyone in the cut knows he’s a nice guy. He’s tranquilo. Most easy going guy I’ve ever met. Plus, you're a spectacular woman. He’d be crazy not to love you. I know I do.” JJ gives me one of his infamous winks, making me blush. It feels just like yesterday, when we met and he was already making me weak in the knees with his flirtatious compliments. He really knows how to make a girl’s heart throb. 

I attempt to reach back and grab my purse from the backseat, but JJ stops me from doing so. “Whoa whoa. Hold your horses babygirl. I’ll get it for you.” He reaches back himself once we hit a red light. I just roll my eyes at him. “I’m pregnant. Not crippled.” JJ ignores my comment. “Exactly, which means you shouldn't be doing hard work.” My eyes roll once again as I retrieve my breath mints. I take one more in my hand, before leaning over to JJ. My fingertips skim over his warm lips, which he gladly opens up for the minty goodness, his moist tongue skims my nails. 

I giggle and peck his lips. He smiles and hums. “God, I wish we were behind closed doors. The things I’d do to you would leave you in a moaning mess.” His hot breath fanned my face. “Don’t worry lover boy, I’m gonna take good care of you.” I say seductively, my hand cups his growing bulge. He nearly melted under my forbidden touch. “Baby, you don’t have too.” It doesn't stop me from unzipping his shorts and pull down his boxers. “I want to. You're so stressed lately, with all your work, let me help you relax.” 

I take him in my hand, causing him to release a relieved sigh. All of his pent up tension and stress seemed to melt away when I wrapped my luscious lips around his tip. The taste of his pre cum invaded my taste buds immediately. His left hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, and the other one explored my brown locks, as I took him in deeper. My pink flushed cheeks began to turn a dark crimson red. The pool of wetness began to grow in silky velvet folds. I couldn't stop my hands from slipping under my skirt and caress the sensitive bud. JJ’s breaths began to falter, his moans grew louder, and his hips bucked erratically. Tears began to escape my glossy eyes as he hit the back of my throat.

“Babe, I’m so close. I'm gonna,” But before he could finish, his sweet hot cum filled my mouth. I let it run down my throat and my proudly when my lips leave his shaft. I look up to see JJ out of breath and his cheeks dusted pink. “All better?” I asked. “Yeah. Whoa.” He huffed glancing over at me. “You didn’t cum.” He stated, voice filled with guilt. “It’s okay, really. You needed it. You're so stressed these days. I can tell you needed some kind of release.” I reassured him. He’s been working so hard lately with overtime, desperately trying to make more money. He hasn’t spent a single penny on weed, and he just ran out, making him super antsy. 

“Let me return the favor babygirl.” He insisted, before slipping his expert hand under my skirt, replacing mine. He wastes no time to work on my sensitive bud and luscious folds. I loved the way his hands always brought me satisfaction and warmth. His fingers curling inside me found my hidden spot, making bite my lip and mewl. I can practically feel myself flirting with the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the pit of ecstasy. “JJ, I think I’m gonna cum.” I say through breathy moans. “Go ahead baby, let it go.” His words were all the motivation I needed to fall off the edge, diving into the pit of ecstasy and let the euphoria crash over me. 

JJ removes his glistening fingers that shined in the light, before taking them in his mouth, licking them clean and enjoying the taste of me. “I can’t wait to taste the rest of your sweetness when we get home.” I giggle while fixing my appearance before pulling into the driveway of the small and cute home. That’s when my nerves settled in again. 

“You’ve got this baby. I’ll be right by your side the whole time. Don’t worry.” He says before pulling me into a comforting kiss, the lingering taste of myself still lingered on his lips. “Thank you JJ. You’re my biggest cheerleader. I love you. You know that right?” My hands caressed his cheek. “I know. You make that well known when you're moaning under me.” He says making me laugh. “Alright, settle down lover boy, before it gets too steamy in here.” I exit the car not wanting to tempt myself, as I fight the urge to pounce on him again.

It felt like an eternity standing on the porch, waiting for someone to answer the door. The anticipation was piratically killing me. My life was in slow motion as the door creeped open, finally revealing the face of the man I never knew. My had been breath caught in my throat when I saw him. It was like looking in a mirror, except it was a male. All these years I resembled someone else. How did I not see this before. 

“You must be Aria.” Jamie smiled cheek to cheek as he held out his hand for me to shake, which I gladly accepted. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The two of us stepped into the warm and welcoming home. “Pleasure is all mine, and JJ you must be the boyfriend.” Jamie pulls him into a hug. “How’s life treating you Wilson? Did you get the boat fixed?” JJ asked curiously. It was nice to know that the two already knew each other and were quite friendly. I couldn't help but feel slightly jealous at the fact that JJ knew my father more than me. 

“Hey kids. You two are just in time. Dinner is ready.” My mom entered the room, apron still on. “JJ, could you please help me set the table?” Elaine asked sweetly. “Of course.” The two enter the dining room, leaving Jamie and I alone. He was the first to speak. 

“I’m really happy that you agreed to come. I’ve been waiting for yours to finally meet you and get to know you.” He confessed, tears had threatened to spill, which he unfortunately noticed. “I’m sorry if I was moving too fast or startled you with this.” He apologized. “No, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. This is all just really new to me. My life has been spiraling out of control lately.” I chuckle.

“How’s the baby?” His question made my eyes widen in surprise. “The baby is doing great. Um, I wasn’t aware you knew.” “I tried seeing you at the hospital, but clearly I arrived at a bad time. Your mother told me about the baby.” He explained. “What do you think about it?” I asked nervously. “At first I was in shock. Then I was upset,” The words made sick for a moment. “When I learned that Claude had kicked you out.” This brought me relief. “I couldn’t believe he was so cruel towards you. You didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve you either.” Memories of Claude had stormed my brain. He hasn't even bothered to call and ask if I was okay. Years of him raising me had been thrown out the window.

“I’m so sorry that I wasn't there for you growing up, and I want to make it up to you for all those years, if you would let me.” His eyes were filled with desperation. “Of course. I want to make this work, and thank you.” “For what?” He asked confused. “For accepting me.” He just smiles warmly. “Always. Now let's go eat. Your mom has whipped up something good.” 

I genuinely enjoyed getting to know Jamie over dinner. He was filled with love, warmth and humor. I could see why people liked him so much. He was an amazing storyteller, everyone at the table paid attention, full of excitement. He never failed to make me laugh.

“So how did you two meet?” Elaine motioned between Jamie and JJ. The two share a laugh. “JJ was riding his bike one day, trying to outrun some kids.” Typical JJ. “He used a ramp to jump over a fence, losing the kids. He was too busy teasing the kids, he didn't see the parked firetruck in front of him, causing him to crash into it and broke his nose.” Laughter had erupted at the table. 

“I think he was six at the time. We took him to hospital, he got to ride in the fire-truck that day. You should've seen the smile on his face. It was adorable even with all the blood dripping from his nose.” JJ smiled at the memory. “What have you been up to these days son?” Asked Jamie. “Working mostly. I’m just trying to save up money for the baby. I’m working multiple jobs now.” 

“Have you ever given any thought to becoming a firefighter?” This immediately caught my attention and JJ’s. “Would that even be possible for me?” He asked hesitant. “Yeah, you have a high school diploma. I would highly recommend you’d get associates degree program in fire science, and EMT classes. Then there’s the fire academy.” Jamie explained.

“I can’t afford to go to college. I don’t think I’d be accepted by any.” He said. “There’s always community college. It’s a lot cheaper too. I could pay for your tuition with no problem.” My mom offered. “I couldn't ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much.” JJ attempted to decline her offer. “Please, it's the least I can do. I care about you too JJ, and I want the best for you, just like my daughter. You’re family now.” I could see the shock in JJ’s eyes when he heard what she said. His heart almost melted right there. 

“I’ll need some time to think about it. Thank you.” This seemed to please my mom. JJ and I help gather the plates and silverware, clearing the table and washed the dishes. When JJ and I walked back out to the dining room, we saw my mom and Jamie putting on their coats. “Where are you guys going?” I asked curiously. 

“We have a surprise for you two. Come on.” Jamie answered and grabbed his keys. JJ and I shared a confused look, but followed them outside. I give JJ a suspicious look as he follows behind their car, going who knows where. “Are you in on this?” I raise an eyebrow. “I'm just as clueless as you are babe. I’m looking forward to see what the surprise is.” He answers excitedly. “That makes two of us.” 

We finally reach our destination, still in the cut, we pull into the driveway of this beautiful baby blue two story home. There was a small, yet cute front yard and trees surrounding the land, giving the home some privacy. We exit the car and meet up with Elaine and Jamie who were wait on the front porch. “Mom, you bought a new house for yourself?” I asked admiring the interior, which was painted a nice creme color. 

“Nope. I just moved in with Jamie.” She answered with a gleaming smile. “So, whose house is it?” I asked confused. “It’s your guy’s” She tossed the keys into the air, which JJ caught flawlessly. Words couldn't even express the exhilaration coursing through our bodies. The two of us stand there in surprise. “Are you serious right now?” I asked, not believing any of this was true. I have to be dreaming right now. 

“100%. It’s all yours. It’s a four bedroom and three bathroom home. If you go outback, you’ll see that you're right next to the marsh. This house isn’t too far from John B’s.” My mom explained. “Mom, I don’t know what to say. This is amazing! Oh my gosh! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I exclaim cheerfully, hugging her. JJ was still in pure shock. 

“You’re welcome love. Jamie and I wanted you guys to have a nice home for you and the baby somewhere on the cut, close to us and your friends.” It took everything in me not to burst out in tears right there. “C’mon, we want to give you a tour of the house.” She nudged me. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a second. I want have a word with Jamie.” I said. “Of course. JJ?” The two left the room and gave us some space. “What’s up kiddo?” Asked Jamie. I decided to answer with a tight warm hug instead of words. His body had stiffened out of surprise, before relaxing and returning the hug. The hug felt right and comforting. Nothing like the cold hugs that rarely gotten from Claude growing up. This felt right. These were the fatherly arms that were supposed to hold and comfort me. A smile and happy tears decorate my face. 

“Thank you Dad.” 

#jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj x oc #obx netflix #obx fanfiction

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love Side Part 3 - Hallers

Hey everyone! I changed the order a bit. So Hallers first, then Edith, then finally the Queen. Hallers is one of my favorite characters of all time, so I hope you all enjoy this side part from his perspective. 

Master post linked here. 

Enjoy!

____________________________

In a previous life…

I was a professional. One of the best.

I’ve always seen this as a good thing. I came from a family that had served the Duchy of Armeny for generations, I was born to run a household. It required knowledge, determination, and above all… professionalism.

“You’re too cold.” The young woman I courted told me, before leaving me for another man. “No one wants to be with a man who is just an empty shell.”

I wished her well, confused, and continued on in my life.

“Tommy!” Jim, my brother, patted me on the back one day. “You have to loosen up! You can’t just live for your work.”

“Some of us care about our work.” I frowned at his frivolous words. “Why should I change if I’m doing it well?”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, groaning. “Just… find something… someone… anything to care about. I promise, it will make you more human.”

I ignored him, returning back to the duchy from my weekly home visit. Jim worked for the Royal Treasury, but his manners and demeanor left much to be desired. I saw little reason to take advice from him.

Someone to care about? It would just interfere with doing my job perfectly. 

I thought this over as I entered the estate, when something ran into my legs, nearly knocking me over.

“What the…” I halted my words, looking at the wide-eyed child standing before me.

A young girl, with light hair and delicate features. She wore a dress incompatible with her age, decorated in frills, which was already covered in grass stains and dirt. In one hand was clutched a single red flower. Her eyes drew my attention; they were bright, intelligent, studying me closely.

I made a formal bow. “Young Miss, is there something I could help you with?”

This was of course the daughter of the Duke, Lady Lenora. She listened to my words, seeming to consider them carefully, before holding up the flower in her hand, offering it to me.

“For me?” At her nod, I took a slight step back. “I’m sorry miss, but I can’t accept, it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Her eyes dimmed, the flower in her hand shaking. Feeling an inexplicable panic, I offered a solution. “Why don’t you give it the Duke or Duchess?”

“…” She stared at me silently for a few moments. “I tried.”

The words were whispered, but the pain behind them struck me like a blow.

“You…” I couldn’t say anything. I knew. The Duke treated her coldly, ignoring her existence except to buy her clothes and jewelry. The Duchess, on the other hand…

The flower in Lenora’s hand was crushed slightly, missing multiple petals… had it been stepped on?

My heart aching, I reached out to take the flower from her, giving her a professional smile. “I will happily accept this gift, Miss.”

Lenora didn’t say a word, but a bright smile spread slowly, brightening up her face. I couldn’t help but widen my own smile in response. As I felt my professional mask crack, I stepped away, confused. 

What am I doing?

I gathered my self-composure, shaking my head slowly. I needed to be more careful.

____________________________

The Duchy was not doing well. The Duke spent all his time on his own interests, leaving all of the work to his subordinates. Rumors of theft and corruption abounded, many people lacked work and starved to death on the streets. The Duchess was frequently gone, spending extravagant amounts of money wherever she went.  When she returned it was even more intolerable. She would abuse the maids, scream at the Duke, and the things she would say to her daughter… It was enough to make even my heart break.

Lenora grew up a sweet girl despite this. She was quiet, often overshadowed by her friend Lady Edith who spent her days by the girl’s side. It was concerning. I saw the girl treating Lenora poorly on more than one occasion. She would mock the things the young Miss enjoyed, until she was afraid to even speak up. She pushed her to wear off-putting poorly fitted gowns, convincing her they were the height of fashion. Once I saw Lenora crying, holding the torn remains of a small doll she treasured. I recognized it as a gift from the Queen, neither of her parents would have thought to give her such a simple toy. Edith stood nearby, berating her.

“If you had just given me the stupid doll I wouldn’t have had to do that! Now it’s ruined and it’s all your fault!” Her rude and vicious tone made me angry, but I kept a disinterested smile in place.

After all, I was a professional. 

I made a formal complaint to the Duke, but at the mention of my concerns, he simply stared at me with a haunted expression.

“Lenora will be fine. She has a title, and anything she could ask for.” 

“But Lady Edith…” My words were cut off by his raised hands.

“Let her do as she wishes.” His tone was sad. “I have no right to step in.”

Honestly, it felt wrong. Isn’t Lenora your daughter? I wanted to shake some sense into him, but kept my hands at my sides. I bowed coldly, and walked away. I knew better than to ask the Duchess. If anything, she was worse than Lady Edith.

At least she has the Queen. I comforted myself with this thought. One day, the young miss would marry the Prince Ronan and would leave this place. Not that she took her position as the prince’s fiancé for granted. I knew better than anyone how hard she trained for her future work as Queen. More nights than not she was up late at night, practicing dances, learning ceremonies, memorizing history. How many times had I helped a maid pick up Lenora from her desk or the floor where she had fallen asleep in the middle of working, tucking her into bed?

She worked so hard to please others, but no one ever noticed.

I was hopeful her life would be better once she left this place, even if I felt sad at the thought. Any man should be grateful to marry such a gentle, beautiful girl. One day, for certain, her life would be better.

I was proven wrong.

____________________________

The prince broke his engagement, declaring his intention to marry Lady Edith instead. Overnight the Duchy seemed drowned in shadows. The Duke drank steadily, the Duchess broke every fragile thing she could lay her hands on, and Lenora… she stayed locked in her room. I felt a desire to comfort her, but halted each time I walked in that direction. What would I say? It would be overstepping bounds.

I watched as the household slowly tore itself apart.

The debts were called in, without the engagement to protect the Duchy. Everything was sold, the land split up between the neighboring families. The place I had called home for so long was gone.

Jim arranged for me a job in the palace, working for the Queen. It was an enormous honor, one I never thought to have. But for some reason I hesitated.

“The young miss…” She was grown now, but I could still see the small child holding out a flower towards me. “What about her?”

Jim shrugged. “What about her? She and her parents will have to learn to survive like the rest of us do. I mean, it may sound heartless but they brought this on themselves.” 

“Don’t blame her… she’s not…” The idea of Lenora undergoing hardship made my heart ache, but what could I do? I was simply her family’s head butler. I wasn’t her family. I could only hope she would be happy.

She deserves to be happy. She will be… right?

____________________________

 “Lenora’s dead?” 

The Queen’s face was so pale, I thought she might pass out. I instructed some maids to support her, all the while my professional mask hiding my true thoughts.

It can’t be true!

The young woman who was always smiling and polite, no matter how harshly her family and friends treated her. Who brought me lemon tea the day I had a cold and couldn’t get out of bed.

It has to be a lie.

She worked diligently into the night but was never recognized for it. She cried each time her mother came home, but refused to speak poorly  of the woman. She loved her parents dearly, even when they refused to love her back.

How could she be gone? 

I thought again of the flower she held out to me that day. The smile she gave me that was so bright just because someone cared enough to accept a gift from her. She should have been happy. She should have been cherished and loved.

But she was dead.

I heard the Queen, she was screaming in pain, her sobs loud enough to echo in the hallway. Unsure of what to do, I stumbled back to my room, abandoning my post for the first time in my life.

Lenora.

I fell to my knees at my bedside, tears soaking the blanket as I buried my head in my arms.

Why didn’t I stay with her? I knew she had no one. I knew she’d be alone.

Lenora.

I’m sorry.

If we meet again in the next life, please let me serve you once more. I’ll do my best. So please… please be happy, please smile once more.

____________________________

 In another life…

I was a professional. One of the best. 

I’ve always seen this as a good thing. I came from a family that had served the Duchy of Armeny for generations, I was born to run a household. It required knowledge, determination, and above all… professionalism.

Or so I had thought...

The young miss of our household was a special child. She had been quiet, often bullied by her friend Edith and her parents, to a point where I was often worried for her. But one day, she changed completely.

I saw her pacing outside her father’s study one morning, and stepped forward behind her. 

“Shall I announce you, Miss?”

She had obviously not heard me approach and let out a surprised yell before turning to look at me. At the sight I felt shocked. Her outer appearance was unchanged, her facial features the same as they had been yesterday… but her eyes…

Her eyes were completely different.

They had always been bright, hopeful, if a little sad. They were always looking at others for approval. But now…

Her gaze was cold. As if a wall had been erected around her heart, keeping everyone else out.

She looked me up and down, her expression thoughtful. I had a strange feeling that she was evaluating my worth, and that I had been judged “useful.”

After a moment’s pause she nodded to my question.  “Please do. Also I would appreciate if you would stick around, it may be useful to have your input.” 

With that Lenora entered her father’s office and with a smile took all financial documents in the room. Just a short conversation, and the reins of the duchy had completely switched hands, without the Duke realizing it. I was impressed, but deep down I felt uneasy. How had she changed so much so quickly?

____________________________

Things were busy after that. Lenora swiftly took control of the duchy, punishing the corrupt officials, promoting the few honest ones. She gathered talented people, started a business, and slowly turned the duchy into a power to be reckoned with.

But still, she worked late into the night, never resting, never asking for approval. I still had to help carry her sleeping form back to bed, tucking her in.  Even if she seemed colder, harsher, deep down the young miss hadn’t changed. She cared deeply for the suffering people of the duchy, crying alone when she thought no one was looking. I was proud of her, so proud I could burst, but I worried deeply that she was pushing too hard, working too much. She took on all the weight, not sharing her burdens with anyone.

I wanted to support this girl. 

I did my best to help her life run smoothly, working to the best of my abilities. But even then, there were events outside of my expectations.

The prince canceled his engagement to our lady. 

On one hand, I was relieved. Such an idiot obviously didn’t deserve her. But how dare he not appreciate the honor he had as her fiancé? I kept my professional mask on at work, but went to Jim’s house and cleaned it from top to bottom in my frustration.

____________________________

“Please, Tommy! You’re polishing my floors into dust!” My brother sighed, patting me on the back. “Just get revenge on the man himself, and stop taking it out on my poor house.”

“Revenge? But he’s a prince…” It would be difficult to get close enough to beat him up, unfortunately. 

Jim grinned. “There’s more than one way to get revenge. You just need to be… creative.”

Creative? I thought it over that night, before coming to an answer. Our mother had been a talented musician, passing on her knowledge to me so that I would know some of selecting appropriate performers for balls and other parties. I used all that I knew, with the frustration in my heart and wrote a pleasant song.

“Ronan the Ridiculous?” Jim laughed when he heard it. “You’re even meaner than I am when you put your mind to it!”

I nodded silently, putting the finishing touches on the last few copies so that I could have Rig distribute them throughout the Capital. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked up to see my brother’s serious expression.

“It’s nice to see you’re human too.”

I turned away, embarrassed. “I’m just doing my duty to the young lady. She’s the duchy’s only hope, after all.”

“Sure, just keep telling yourself that.”

 I felt uneasy, as if I had stepped over some invisible line, unable to return to my former state. But when I saw Lenora smile the day she first heard someone singing the song… I felt it was worth it.

She was worth it.

____________________________

Lenora escaped the terrible Lady Edith’s schemes, faced down the King, forcing him to give up and returned to Tilendria.. The young Prince Nate started courting her in earnest, and I felt a sense of relief. She no longer worked late into the night alone, unnoticed. There was someone by her side, helping her. Nate and I often worked together to convince her to take breaks, and watching her trust others, slowly share her burdens, made it difficult to hold back a smile. 

The wall I saw in her gaze, that kept everyone else at arms length, was slowly breaking apart. In those moments I caught glimpses of the little girl she once had been. The one who trusted others. Whose smile lit up the room. 

She was happy. And so was I.

____________________________

“Grandpa Hallers!” A quiet voice called out, startling me from my thoughts. I looked up to see a young girl running towards me, a wide grin on her face. Despite myself I smiled back, reaching down to pick her up.

“Aimee, what brings you here?” I studied the smiling girl. Her hair was dark like her father’s curling around her delicate face, but her eyes… her smile… they were just like her mother’s.

“That boy was bothering me.” Aimee pointed down the hall where a grim faced boy had stopped, glaring at her. He was dressed well, obviously the son of a noble, which was confirmed by the servants trailing behind him.

“How dare you run away?!” The boy yelled, stepping closer. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m the future Duke of Verallan!”

Aimee ignored him, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. “He pulled my hair.”

“Hahaha.” A cold laugh escaped me. I couldn’t help but feel that my professional mask had disappeared, but what expression I had instead, I was unsure. It must not have been very pleasant, as the boy and his servants all turned pale, taking a few steps back. “You wish to bother the little princess, do you?”

My smile widened. “Let me tell you the story of a young man very similar to you, who had a very embarrassing end. There’s even a song about it.”

____________________________

Once I had finished lecturing them and they had run away, Aimee hugged my neck tightly. “Thank you, Grandpa Hallers!”

“Of course, dear.” I patted her head, noticing she was holding something in her hands. “What do you have there?” 

“A present!” Smiling brightly, she held out the object, a small red flower.

The young girl stood before me, her eyes hopeful, the red flower trembling in the air as her hand shook from nervousness.

I took the flower from her, blinking back tears. “Let’s go find your mother.”

We walked down towards the royal suites, and before we could enter, a lively discussion should be heard.

“They must be joking with these trade agreements! Do they think we’re pushovers?! I’m rewriting them!”

Aimee and I peeked around the corner to see the Queen, Lenora, waving a stack of papers in the air with a severe expression. King Nathaniel stood next to her, a helpless smile on his face.

“Let me help you with that, you promised you were going to take a break…”

Lenora shook her head. “No, you’re too nice. We agreed that I would handle all trade agreements. I’m fine, I’m just pregnant, it’s not like I’m an invalid.” Her hand draped across her bulging stomach as she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, okay, you can rewrite the agreement, but after this you rest, alright?” Nate knelt down, his larger hands overlapping her smaller ones. “I just want both of you to be safe and healthy.”

“Thanks!” Lenora leaned over, kissing the king’s cheek, who smiled in response. 

“…” I considered stepping in to the room now, but Nate’s next question froze Aimme and I in our tracks.

“Do you regret it?” His tone was gentle, but there was a slightly worried look in his eyes.

“Regret what?”

“Marrying me?” He leaned closer, putting his forehead against hers. “Becoming Queen? I worry that you could have been happier, avoided all this stress if you hadn’t…”

Lenora put a hand around his neck, kissing him deeply. After a few long moments, during which I shielded Aimee’s eyes, she leaned back, a smile on her face. “I chose this ending for myself, Nate. I love you. I love the work I’m doing, that I get to use my skills to help others. I have a family here. Rig, Hallers… Mother… with everyone here, how could I regret anything?”

Nate’s eyes filled with tears. He reached over, placing a gentle hand against her cheek. “I love you too.”

“MOMMY!” Aimee broke from my grasp, running towards the couple with a smiling expression. “I love you too!”

Lenora laughed, a pure, happy sound. Looking up, she saw me, and I stopped in my tracks, my breath frozen in my chest.

Her eyes, the ones that had always held sadness, nervousness, loneliness, even when she was a small girl… they were clear. She smiled at me, the bright smile that always made me break my mask of professionalism, smiling back at her.

“Hallers, she hasn’t been giving you any trouble, has she?”

I laughed, quickly using my hand to wipe tears of happiness and relief from my eyes. “How could she, Miss? She’s family.”

____________________________

I was a professional. One of the best. But there was an exception:

The young girl who first reached out to me, who grew up into an amazing woman. One who I loved as my own family. Whose happiness I would protect for the rest of my life. When it came to her, everything else meant little, even my precious professionalism.

My beloved daughter, Lenora.

#writing #i can't eat love #side part #hallers #i love him #and lenora

[welllpthisishappening]

Aye, But We're Loved by Our Mommies and Dads

Hello, hi, hey there internet. So, this is weird timing with the ask I got earlier today, but I’ve been hoarding a different ask from @ glowofthevendingmachine that said: “every time will scarlet calls emma swan ‘em’ in all was golden in the sky my heart grows about 49 sizes.” And, like, same. My love for Will Scarlet knows no bounds, no matter what ‘verse I am writing in and it’s been nearly a year since I’ve written any All Was Golden in the Sky so here’s some.

In which we have: snarky!Will, magical!Emma, pirate-mode-activated!Killian. Banter! Friendship! Allusions to cute kids! Who steal things. Or. Will Scarlet teaches Emma and Killian’s kid to be a thief.

-----

“Make him stop looking at me like that.”

Emma can’t help her laugh, even through tight lips, a smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth and betrays her feelings about everything that has happened in the last sixteen minutes. Because everything that has happened in the last sixteen minutes is somewhere in the realm of absurd and not entirely surprising. 

Will’s eyes keep darting around the room, arms crossed over his chest until Emma is a little concerned that he’s actually going to crack one of his ribs and—

Killian hasn’t moved. 

Or blinked. 

His fingers keep fluttering over the hilt of his sword. 

“Ok, now that’s just unnecessary,” Will grumbles, slumping further in the chair. 

Emma laughs again. 

She needs to come up with a better word than absurd. 

“Seriously, Em,” Will continues, “can you not do something about this? I thought you were the Savior. Save me.”

“What would you like me to do exactly, Scarlet?”

“Look at the face thing he is doing! Right now! He’s trying to intimidate me.”

“I’m pretty positive it’s working. Are you starting to sweat a little?”

“This is not funny.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“No,” both Will and Killian respond, and Emma has to actually put her hand over her mouth. Her chest aches while she tries to contain her laugh, lungs burning with almost too much oxygen, which is a nice change of pace from previous experience and—

“We did get your boot back, babe,” she reasons. 

Killian doesn’t look away from Will. Who pales noticeably. “That’s not the point, Swan.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Will echoes, and all the oxygen files out of Emma. In a rather large and dramatic sigh. 

“You really are not helping your own cause at all,” she mutters. “And strictly speaking, the point of this might actually be at the end of Killian’s sword.”

“You’re making jokes.”

“Because you are both being idiots.”

Will huffs, Killian finally turning his attention to Emma — so he can immediately gape at her, as if suggesting this isn’t the most serious thing they’ve ever dealt with is the peak of betrayal. The muscles in her face are going to freeze. 

She bites down on her finger. 

“He’s the one who did it, anything that happens is Scarlet’s fault,” Killian says, waving the hand still not gripping his sword in the air. Of course, that leaves him brandishing his hook at Will instead, which also leaves Will even paler and—

Emma pulls Killian’s arm down, fingers curling around cool metal until some of the fight almost visibly falls out of him. 

Will exhales. 

“Still not helping,” she sneers. 

“Ok, ok, ok,” Will says quickly, scrambling back up with both of his hands held in mock surrender. “Let’s not send me to the brig or anything.”

Emma’s head falls to Killian’s chest, nearly tripping over her feet when he tugs her closer to his side, like the closeness will help him remember that they shouldn’t actually send Will to the brig. 

For teaching their son how to steal things. Multiple things. Everything from earrings that had been on her dresser to a small stack of papers from DunBroch on Killian’s desk to, this morning, his left boot. 

That’s the problem. 

Or so Killian claims. Emma doesn’t really…get it. 

They got everything back. 

And yet. Here they are. With the fluttering fingers and an exceptionally sweaty Will Scarlet and—

“You’d have to be on a ship for that,” Killian says, soft enough to be entirely threatening. Emma jerks her head up. He’s totally doing the face thing again. 

Will swallows. “Yuh huh.”

“It’s a dungeon when you’re in a castle. That’s basic knowledge. Read a book.”

“Ah, well—not all of us grew up staging a covert relationship with a magical princess, so…”

“Do you not have any sense of self preservation?”

“I didn’t think I needed it with you, honestly.”

Killian deflates slightly, even as the arm around Emma’s waist tightens a fraction of an inch. She presses her lips together again, gaze darting between Will’s still lifted hands and Killian’s clenched jaw, doing her best to make sure the magic she can feel curling at the base of her spine doesn’t manifest itself into protection. 

She’s only seventy-two percent positive Killian will actually draw his sword. 

She admittedly needs to get better at math. 

“Hey, uh, Em,” Will mumbles, “your…well—your hair is doing that thing again.”

Emma hums in confusion, which is not only dumb, it’s pointless because she knows exactly what he means and why it’s happening and it hasn’t happened in years. She’s usually in much better control. 

“Oh shit,” Emma growls. She pulls herself out of Killian’s grasp, shaking her hair onto her back like that will fix everything and not send lines of light across the entire room or—“What is that?”

Will twists, glancing in the direction of Emma’s pointed finger, and Killian absolutely kisses the top of her hair before he moves. The light jumps. 

And lands directly on the small pile of loot in the corner of the room. 

Emma doesn’t even try to mask her gasp. 

“Is that—“ she starts, but Killian is already nodding and it was a dumb question anyway. It’s not just toffee. At first glance, it appears to be every single sweet made in the entire kingdom, chocolate bars and bags of something that smells almost like lemon and the last thing Emma expects is for Killian to throw his whole head back. 

And laugh. 

Rather uproariously. 

Will’s eyes have gone very wide. 

“Is he—is he still going to stab me, do you think?” Emma only needs four steps to walk forward, lift her right foot and kick Will soundly in his left ankle. “Shit,” he hisses, “you are a violent bunch, aren’t you? A match made in heaven or the Underworld or whatever.”

“Killian, give me your sword.”

“Aw, c’mon, that’s—“

“I thought we weren’t making jokes?” Emma snaps, and it’s been years, so her threat is only a little empty, but Killian is still laughing and she genuinely did not understand why he was upset in the first place. 

So. Maybe she’s the absurd one. 

Will shrugs, a lopsided smile and tilt of his head, leaning forward to flick his finger against Killian’s side. “Hey, you know you sound like a crazy person, right now, right Captain? I wasn’t trying to offend or anything. Or, uh—you know, step on your piratical toes.”

The laugh stops. Rather abruptly. 

And Killian doesn’t spin, so much as he moves in slow motion — Emma’s teeth digging into either one of her lips and her breath catching noticeably in her throat and—

“That probably would have hurt when I only had one boot,” Killian drawls. 

“You got it back.”

“Right.”

“Do you not have more than one pair of boots? How is that possible? Are you not a royal pirate?”

He tosses a bag of candy at Will. 

Who catches it. 

“Oh my God,” Emma exclaims. “What the fuck is going on right now? Seriously!”

Killian grimaces, the toe of his recently-reacquired boot twisting under him when he suddenly appears particularly interested in the floor. Will’s grin stretches. 

It takes her twenty-four seconds to understand. 

Give or take. 

“Is that,” Emma groans, the tips of Killian’s ears going noticeably pink, “are you kidding me?”

“You’ll have to be more specific, love.”

“Did you want to teach our kid how to steal things? Is that honestly what you were mad about?”

“Well, when you say it like that…”

Her jaw drops quickly enough that something cracks as well, more dramatically exhaled oxygen and wide eyes that are starting to water. From surprise. And emotion. Possibly a little magic. 

She can’t believe their kid stole toffee. 

The more things change, or whatever. 

“It wasn’t so much that I didn’t get to teach him how to pick-pocket,” Killian reasons. “Just that—”

Will shakes his head. “This was not pick-pocketing. We’re not using that term. That requires some finesse and let me tell you, your kid does not have that yet. This was just generic looting.’

“Nah, looting is bigger. Also, that’s another thing that’s really better suited for ships.”

“Should you be writing down the rules, do you think?”

Emma stomps her foot — and neither one of the men in front of her jump to attention, technically, but it’s pretty damned close. She’ll make sure to remind them of that eventually. “Ok,” she says, “so if it wasn’t being upset about the petty theft, then…what was it?”

Killian’s fingers find the back of his neck, tugging lightly on the hair there. It’s almost enough to distract Emma from the general color palate of his ears. 

“Babe…”

He squeezes one eye shut before he answers. Will does a piss-poor job of not laughing. 

Although slightly better than Emma does of not being impossibly endeared by the whole goddamn thing. 

“He shouldn’t be stealing things,” Killian explains. “Not really. I mean—he lives in a castle and he’s got everything he could want, right?”

“Are you double checking with me?”

“Of course not. I mean—no. That’s—“

“Absurd?” Emma suggests. 

“A little. But—God, fuck you, Scarlet. This is seriously your fault. Because first I was disappointed that he was doing it and then I was even more upset that he could do it and…” 

It’s Will’s turn to flush, an inhaled hissed in between his teeth because he understands as well as Emma. Captain Killian Jones, royal consort, former Dark One, True Love, part of the goddamn prophecy that saved them all does not want his kid to be anything except good. 

As if he could. 

With Killian Jones as his father. 

“Oh, well, now I feel like a dick,” Will mumbles. “I wasn’t trying to fuel the circle of self-loathing.”

“And are we equating pretty talented at petty theft to being bad?” Emma adds. 

“Phrase that better, Em.”

She shakes her head brusquely, a step back into Killian’s space and fingers curling around his jacket lapels. So she can tug lightly. “At least we know he’s good at something, huh?”

“Jeez.”

“Swan,” Killian chides, but she just tilts her head up and pushes up on her toes and the scruff on his jaw scratches at her mouth when she presses a kiss there. She can feel him exhale. “It’s not exactly the talent I was hoping to pass down.”

“Well, I’m much better at it than you. so—“

“—Uh, excuse me,” Will cuts in, “but who got the kid to pick things straight out of your room?”

“Are we patting ourselves on the back for that?”

“At least not stabbing each other.”

“I was never going to stab you,” Killian says. “I just—if anyone’s going to teach the kid how to pirate, then it should be me. Right?”

“Sounds like you’re double checking again.”

“And I think you’re a much better pirate than Scarlett,” Emma adds, not bothering to move away from Killian’s cheek. It’s easier to feel his answering smile that way. 

“High praise,” he mumbles. 

“It is our kid.”

“Which is probably why he wanted to steal the candy,” Will points out, standing up in a huff of limbs and vaguely sarcastic expression. “Alright. No more thief 101 with the mini royal. He can learn at the feet of his one-booted father.”

“We got the boot back,” Emma says. 

Will hums, nose scrunched and brows pinched and Emma flicks her fingers before she can even think of all the reason’s it’s exceptionally petty to do just that. He stumbles back under the force of her magic, Killian’s laugh echoing off the walls again and maybe directly around Emma’s heart and she’s not all that surprised when he kisses her hair again. 

“Gross,” Will gags. “Do I need to sign a blood oath, or is my word that the kid and I will find some other bonding activity good enough?”

“Get out, Scarlet.”

He salutes. “Your Highness. Captain.”

And Emma barely waits until the door is closed behind him before she glances up at Killian, laughter and absurd practically hanging in the air because—

“You actually want to get the kid to steal something of Scarlet’s or you just want to do it ourselves?” she asks. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Eh, we’ll let him grow into piracy, shall we? Plus, we’re more well practiced.”

“You just want immediate revenge.” He nods, lower lip stuck out just enough that Emma can properly nip at it when she kisses him. “Pirate.”

“Indefinitely. C’mon, let’s go steal something.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs #that stupid witch fic #long time no see old tag #this was very fun to write #thanks for this!!

[rallamajoop]

Inception: A Fannish Retrospective

For a while now I’ve found myself craving a fic of a particular hard-to-define quality – something with a bit of grit and maturity – not graphic or grim, but perhaps the kind of seedy underworld setting you might find in the better parts of Tarantino or Guy Richie’s oeuvre. The kind of fic that lets me believe that if the author toned down the slash and published it as a mainstream crime or espionage thriller, I’d still be enthused about reading it. Cord Smithee’s work is a particularly good example, for the UNCLE fans out there, but you can only reread those fics so many times, and fic of that quality has been especially sparse in the last few fandoms I’ve drifted through, and so the craving lingered.

Then it hit me: hey, you know what fandom used to be really good for that kind of fic? Inception.

And after all this time in Venom fandom, it was hardly a big jump to more Tom Hardy, so.

Maybe the bigger wonder is that nearly ten years on, most of the fic is still just as good as I remember it being. Mirabella’s Towards Zero remains one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever read in any fandom, and delires’ chav!Eames AU is better than any idea that cracked has any goddamn right to be, and (at least as long as you’re into the juggernaut ship that is Arthur/Eames) you are spoilt for choice ­­for more.

But revisiting a fandom this much later and binging this much fic, you notice things. We’ll start with…

The Film

Still holds up on rewatching today. It will never be nearly as smart a film as I’ve seen some claim: totems, for one, make no fucking sense (they’re objects with details known only to you, but if Cobb can unintentionally bring a carbon copy of his wife into a dream, why not a top that falls over when spun? And why does it keep spinning indefinitely in dreams, anyway?), and for all the exposition on ‘kicks’, why the kicks need to be synchronised to work under sedation is woefully under-explained, to the point I’m always by distracted trying to make sense of it in the middle of the third act. (Do not even get me started on the ‘it’s actually about filmmaking!’ theory – the mental gymnastics required to explain how Yusuf or Mal fits in or why we’re so fixated on the importance of the set designer, of all roles, is laughable. Some of the parallels are moderately entertaining, but don’t try to tell me you’ve unlocked the secret meaning of the film – Inception is not a movie that makes you work that hard to find its main themes.)

But the film works despite its plotholes because it’s not, ultimately, a story driven by its mechanics: the endlessly spinning top may make no sense, but film is a visual medium, and it’s such a good visual gimmick it’s gets a pass. The practical stunts are still as impressive ever, but what really lifts Inception so far beyond your typical action/heist film – for me, at least – are the characters, and the huge emotional payoffs at the end. Fischer’s reconciliation with his father is no less moving for its falseness, “We did grow old together” has gotten a sniffle out of me time and again, and the final “We’ll be young men together” scene is wonderful in so many ways I could only dream there was the Cobb/Saito fic to live up to. It’s not for nothing I’ve got Inception mentally filed in my very short list of humanist action movies along with Mad Max: Fury Road, Terminator II, and precious few others.

And then there’s…

 The Fandom

Film fandoms are always an interesting beast, peaking as they do when the film is still in theatres, when most folks writing fic are working off imperfect memories of having seen an hour or two’s worth of canon maybe once or twice at most. Fanon can go feral in far less conducive environments, is my point here – inevitably, there’ll be the details that get analysed to death or flanderised to the point of parody, and the details that get altogether forgotten. Here’s just one example that hit me on a rewatch: I have lately read god knows how many different theories on just what it means that Arthur knew Eames was in Mombasa – none of them the least bothered by how everything in Cobb’s behaviour in that scene suggests he already knows exactly where he’s going, and may even be right now leaving to catch his flight. We could talk about the artefacts of clunky exposition being shoehorned into the dialogue, or the actual intent of that exchange, but shipper-goggles give you some powerful tunnel-vision (and I say this as someone who ships it like burning).

Binge as much fic as fast as I have in the last few months, and you begin to notice trends. Common themes and popular fanon that have ascended to gospel, and facets of the original film I’d love to see explored that fandom seems to have collectively missed altogether (and the sad lack of decent Cobb/Saito is only one). Below, in no particular order, are some of those observations.

Since most of these come across as critical, I want to emphasise that I have had a ball revisiting the fic in this fandom, and there are probably multiple fics guilty of everything I touch on below which I have loved to bits. It’s only the repetition that really starts to make you sit up and notice.

1.       The Cobb-bashing, oh my god the Cobb-bashing! I had forgotten just how much this fandom hates Cobb. In the film, Cobb’s plan is the only reason Arthur and Eames ever end up in the same room at all – yet in fanfic, Cobb has been recast as the only thing keeping them apart. I’m not kidding there – fic with that exact premise is almost its own genre. In Inception fanon, Cobb is crazy and cares only about himself, and Arthur has wasted years of misplaced loyalty keeping him alive. Fanon!Eames hates Cobb for monopolising Arthur’s attention (in the film, Eames seems underwhelmed to learn Cobb is still working with Arthur at all). Fanon!Eames only works with Cobb at all because it’s an excuse to work with Arthur (in the film, they’re barely capable of having a civil conversation). Fanon!Eames never forgives Cobb for concealing the level of sedation they were under Inception job, and nor does Arthur (in the film, no-one even mentions Cobb’s deception after they leave the first level, and Eames’ main disappointment at the end is that he won’t get to see the Fischers’ big reconciliation, but why let that douse a good hateboner?) Meanwhile, Yusuf’s corresponding betrayal and Arthur’s equally-disastrous research-fail are rarely referenced. It’s not every fic, but the base level of Cobb-hate around these parts is pretty astounding. There’s nothing new about fans bashing the main character for having the gall to take screentime away from their OTP, and I’d be the last to play down Cobb’s real failings. But when one finds oneself tempted to leave enthusiastic comments on decade-old fic, praising the author for giving Cobb a minor scene or two where he gets to be a total bro to Arthur for a change… I promise you, it’s not me, it’s this fandom.

2.       For all that Eames is basically the single biggest reason I’m reading in this fandom, his fanon characterisation leaves something to be desired. I do get the appeal of flirty!Eames or pining!Eames – it’s just that once in a while, you find yourself longing for fic about the guy who was actually in the movie – y’know, the one who’s first response to Arthur’s name was, “Arthur? Are you still working with that stick-in-the-mud?” I am totally down with the idea he was feigning indifference– maybe for Cobb’s benefit, maybe he’s actively in denial himself, whatevs. But fanon!Eames characterisation typically ranges from “hopelessly in love with Arthur from the moment they met” to “a walking sexual harassment lawsuit in action,” and neither of those guys could convincingly feign indifference to save their lives. It’s also a shame we don’t see more of the side of Eames that got so genuinely, unashamedly invested in what they were doing for Fischer – quite beyond the money and the prestige, Eames loves that they get to fix Fischer’s relationship with his father and reveal Browning as the rat that he is, and it’s a wonderfully humanising side to such a shady character. There should be so much scope in there to cast Eames was a guy with a real idealistic streak, or more conscience than he’d usually admit to, or just an abiding love for melodrama – the possibilities go on and on (and if you can’t think of a dozen ways to tie any of those in as fuel for his rivalry with Arthur for bonus shippy fodder, you aren’t even trying). But that part of Eames never does seem to have found a place in the fandom’s collective headcanon, because hell if I can find any exploration of it in fic, le sigh. (Cynically, I have to wonder if it’s because it clashes with the fanon where Eames spent the Inception job furiously hating Cobb and focused on Arthur, but even that seems somewhat lacking as an answer. Who even knows?)

3.       As a corollary to the above, remarkably few fics make any attempt to deal with the fact that Arthur and Eames a) basically hate each other, b) for reasons that do not entirely revolve around how Arthur won’t put out. Obviously, this is a ‘hate’ that covers a much deeper well of underlying respect, but these are two guys who only stop taking potshots at each other when they’re being shot at for real, and to me that is 95% of the fun of the pairing – why does no-one even seem to try to recreate that dynamic in fic? Even 99% of Eames’ infamous ‘flirting’ would be better described as him pulling Arthur’s pigtails. Yet virtually no-one seems to want to tackle their antipathy head-on – even fic that acknowledges it as a past phase of their relationship isn’t set during that phase. I’m all for seeing them eventually end up friendlier, but you’ve got to show me how they get there first – that’s the good bit! Why does everyone skip over it? :((((

4.       This fandom has SUCH a thing for underage!Arthur. Fics will go on and on about how young he looks, or theorise that he was actually underaged when he first got into dreamshare, or at least looked it. Seriously, the idea of Eames having mistaken Arthur for a teen when they first met is, like, the accepted pan-fandom headcanon as to why they don’t get on (unless we’re in military-backstory land, in which case it’s that Arthur had to deal with Eames hitting on him during the time of DADT). Then there are the many (MANY) AUs where Arthur really is a teen, hitting on the much-older Eames – there’s that one semi-parody where even twenty-something!Arthur gets cockblocked by his own looks, and there’s even at least one that flips things so that Eames the one who was underage when they met, just for variety.

It’s a real Thing, and I only wish I understood where it comes from, since (to me) Arthur has always looked like the 29yo man JGL legitimately was back when Inception hit screens – I don’t think he’d even passed as a Hollywood!teen for a solid half a decade at that point. So… are there really that many people who thought JGL looked that young when the film came out, or is this just one of those fannish meme things? I may never know.

5.       No-one (by which I mean almost no-one) gets how limbo works. Fic after fic treats it as basically just a garden-variety coma, and colleagues can spend days or months moving the victim, gathering a team and planning a complex rescue. Rarely is it ever remembered the whole point of limbo is that you can age and die trapped in your own mind in no more than hours in the real world. When Eames talks about being ‘trapped in limbo until our brains turn to scrambled egg’, I think it’s safe to assume he’s being pretty literal. Basically, if you’re not treating limbo as the temporal equivalent of the Total Perspective Vortex, you’re probably doing it wrong.

6.       No-one does anything interesting with Ariadne. This, I have some sympathy for: it’s hard to know where to go with someone who ends the film where she does – her push-pull relationship with the world of illegal dreamshare is not a contradiction that can be easily resolved in a subplot, if at all. But the Ariadne who so quickly had Cobb picked as a loose canon never seems to appear in fic either, and nor does the Ariadne with the guts to sneak into his dream to find answers, or the prodigy whose last-minute moment of inspiration saved the whole job. No, Inception fic is more likely to give you an Ariadne who giggles and drags her teammates out partying than any of that, which is absurd to the point of being genuinely offensive. Seriously, that is some A-grade “all we remembered about her is that she’s female”-bullshit. Even when she’s not saddled with OOC giggle fits, fic!Ariadne also remains frustrating static: years after the film, she’ll still be doing extractions with the Inception team, despite seeming no more at home in their world. Where’s the Ariadne who embraces the underworld wholeheartedly and reaches Arthur or Cobb levels of badassery? The Ariadne whose natural gifts and overconfidence get her into Cobb-levels of trouble? Who takes the Inception job as inspiration to go into therapeutic uses of dreams? Who finds legitimate dream-related work through Miles or Saito, but still lets the old team drag her back into extractions every once in a while (because she’s easily one of the most reliable architects in the whole shady business, and there’s a part of her that still kind of loves it)? WHERE?

The obvious rejoinder to all this is that it’s hardly surprising Ariadne doesn’t get much play when you’re mostly reading Arthur/Eames fic. So (because the land of fic is still terrible at cataloguing character-specific gen) I had a dig through some Arthur/Ariadne fic for comparison – only to run into much the same frustrations all over again. No-one takes her character anywhere very interesting.

So you can imagine my surprised delight when I tried a couple of Arthur/Ariadne/Eames fics on a whim, and almost immediately found not one but two different stories willing to dive headfirst into the questions surrounding Ariadne’s future in the world of illegal dreamshare (plus multiple stories which made a very convincing case that Ariadne should absolutely celebrate their successful Inception by having a threesome with her colleagues, I mean, damn).

I have absolutely no idea what it says about fandom that I had to go looking at threesome fic to find real character development, but at this point, I’ll take it.

7.       So, I get why everyone reads Eames as queer (duh), but having discovered two quite excellent straight!Eames fic (which is to say, fic which utterly sells the idea that Eames considers himself straight or had no experience with men until long after meeting Arthur), the fact no equivalent seems to exist for Arthur baffles me. Sure, there’s one or two stories where one smile from Eames is about all it takes to make him change his mind, and one great kink meme fill that might have been just what I was looking for if it had ever been finished. But otherwise, the idea that Arthur (a guy who snogs Ariadne and is given no other obvious sexuality) -- the same Arthur whom every other fic portrays as seriously emotionally repressed – the idea this guy might not be experienced and comfortable dating men just… doesn’t seem to have occurred to anyone. Which is so weird.

Is there not enough RL evidence that Tom Hardy can and does make straight guys reconsider their preferences? Is the idea of an Arthur who’s repressed that side of his own sexuality not a juicy enough explanation for the tension between them? How on earth did we wind up with a fandom where Eames is more likely to be the designated “straight” one at the start of the story than Arthur? The mind boggles.

Holy shit, you’re still reading? Damn! Have some more recs as thanks for listening to me ramble at so much length.

Recs!

Here’s those two from the top again, because I really do love them that much

We Can Do This Until We Pass Out by delires Disturbing London, baby, we about to branch out. (The one where Eames is a chav)

Towards Zero by Mirabella Five levels down, and five to dig yourself back out.  Arthur met Eames' projection long before he met Eames.

Where the Dead Live also by Mirabella There's a monster in Arthur's basement.  Maybe he shouldn't have invited it in. It’s the vampire!Apocalypse, and this one is intense. Utterly brilliant, but equally unapologetic about the implications of its premise. So, for a somewhat-lighter take on monster!Eames, I will also throw in:

Cthonical’s demon!Eames verse Unfinished -- arguably never even properly started, just a series of ficlets from a ‘verse that never quite got written, but they are scorching hot and still well worth a look.

That’s a lot of darker fic though, probably time to lighten the mood a little.

Anal [Inception] aka Not Now Cobb We're Doing BGs also by cthonical Arthur and Eames both play WoW. They kick ass at Warsong Gulch, and when they team up they’re nigh on unstoppable.They don’t know they’re playing with each other.

Champion Sound by pyrimidine Prompt: Arthur is a DJ, Eames is a bartender.

London Bridge by sorrynotsorry Arthur loves whiskey, and maybe strippers. 

My two favourite Arthur/Eames/Ariadne fics

How to Cure Insomnia by wonderfulwrites When she called Arthur for advice on how to deal with the unexpected insomnia - okay, fine, on the pretense of asking for advice – she hadn’t expected to have to wade through a sea of bodies to see him. But then, she also hadn’t expected Eames’s cheerful but surprising, Just come, Ariadne. You can sleep when you’re dead.  Or Eames, at all, really. The Wind on the Mountain by Starlingthefool Something in her rebels against this casual, passive seduction. God knows why, but she’s sitting up in the water, taking her foot back from Eames and dislodging Arthur’s hands from her back. She stands, wet underwear clinging ridiculously to her, and says to Arthur, “All right. Your turn.”

Aaand let’s have a few more straight Arthur/Eames to round it out.

Untitled and Untitled, redux by Helenish -- two variants on a theme, and do not let the lack of proper titles put you off, they’re both great.

Unexpected Plot Twist by ethrosdemon Post-Inception -- long and (as promised) twisty, and a very solid read.

Four Corners by Mithrigil In Eames’ line of work, a first impression means nearly everything. It’s always a pity when he doesn’t get off on the right foot.

Kiss With A Fist  by cmonkatiekatie Because apparently, to find real Arthur/Eames antagonism, I have to go looking for hate sex. (Not complaining, this is some amazing hate sex.)

And also basically Everything by Wiltling There’s a darker vibe to their work, but it rarely gets oppressive -- just generally a lot of great fic.

#Inception #meta #fic recs

[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.

#1dff #exchanges

[thedistantstorm]

Keep On Rising (Until the Sky Knows Your Name) 05

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 

This Time: The bond between them becomes too much for the matron to ignore.

-/

"Sit," Karena says, softly. 

Amanda does. The head matron usually only sits them down like this if they’ve done something real bad. But Amanda can’t recall anything she might have done.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I don' really get a choice, do I?"

The matron sips her tea and sighs. "You do. You always have a choice, my dear." She pours the child a bit from the pot now that it's had time to cool and pushes both a small cup and the sugar bowl toward her. Amanda looks at the sugar before choosing to raise the mug to her mouth without it. "You could sit here, listen, and choose not to reply. Or, you could walk away. This is about you and what you want."

"Oh… okay." She sets the mug down on the saucer, and does not blanch at how strong it is. "Well, go on then," She drawls, in her tiny accent.

"The Commander. Is he important to you?"

"I mean," Amanda's nose crinkles with her confusion. It wasn't the question she'd been expecting. "A'course. He keeps us safe."

Karena sucks her lower lip between her teeth. "He does, doesn't he?" Her smile is sad. "But-"

"Why?" Little fingers weave together around the mug. She sits up straighter. "Why're you asking?"

"Would you answer me first? Honestly, please."

"Zavala is… kind," She looks down into her mug. "He's stern, and he don't take no BS," Karena holds back a hum of amusement at that. "But he cares lots. 'Bout everybody, the City, e'rything."

"I have three different families, all who want to adopt you," Karena whispers. Amanda lurches back, ready to push her chair away. "No no, baby, don't run away. I don't-" She clears her throat.

"Why tell me then?"

"I need to hear it from you."

"Hear what?" Her eyes darken, a stormy sea of green. "That I don't want nobody to adopt me? I don't!"

"If it were him-"

Amanda rolls her eyes. "Don't pull my leg."

"I'm talking hypothetical." Karena looks at her coolly. "Hypothetically, if anyone in the world could adopt you, who would it be?"

She closes her eyes. Almost too quietly to be heard, she grumbles, "No one. I don't want anyone to adopt me." Her dark lashes flutter against her freckled cheeks.

It's a lie and the Matron can tell. "I asked you to be honest, Amanda."

"You want me to tell you I want him to adopt me?"

Karena's eyes widen a touch, her head dipping in an inscrutable nod.

The child babbles, "It can't happen. Guardians don't have kids. The others tol' me-"

"Nevermind them," The matron says patiently. "This is about you."

"An' I'm tellin' you," She drawls, heavier. "He told me he can't. Probably doesn't even wanna."

"... If he did?"

She looks down into her mug for a long time. When she looks up, fixing the matron with a stare, her eyes are open, torn between futility and hope. It's a devastating, heartrending look. She doesn't cry, but her chin quivers.

"I s'pose I would."

-/

She waits. The matron is a patient woman, she has always been. The children insist she has eyes in the back of her head. It's another two visits after the time she overhears the conversation between the Commander and their little survivor before she asks Amanda if she wants the man to adopt her, and another two after that before she confronts the man himself. The conversation is almost a year in the making.

It happens to fall on a rare occasion. A day in which she comes to him, her charges in tow. Outings like this are almost biannual at best, between funding and census in the orphanage itself.

Earlier, she'd watched as Amanda tore through the crowd, the calls of her group-leader falling on deaf ears. Karena herself stood back, almost to the railings, nearly able to see the City sprawled out before them. Amanda had slipped through the last of the bystanders, dipped around and under the Commander's arm, his mark flapping in her wake. 

She expected him to hold his position, looking out almost regally at the masterpiece that was the completed walls, newly repaired and built up to protect the metropolis below. But instead, he looked down at Amanda with a much freer man's smile, the corners of his lips upturned for once.

A thruster kicked in with a loud thrum and he followed her gaze. Amanda wasn't looking down, or across at the Traveler, looming in the cradle of the walls that surrounded The Last City. She was looking up. Karena had never seen her so happy watching the ships soar up into the sky at his side.

No one paid her any mind, caught up in the commotion of being up so high, taking in the sights themselves. The same almost went for the little girl front and center, staring up into the clouds with something akin to awe.

No one noticed when she leaned against his leg, a single hand fisted in his mark, nor when he dropped to one knee, put a palm on her back, and listened to whatever childish secret she had to tell.

No one except the matron, who sighs wistfully as the moment replays in her mind. There is no denying it, not any longer. Thus, here they were.

“The other children are starting to notice,” She begins in a tone far softer than most of their conversations start with.

Part of it is subject matter, but they are both carrying dozing orphans. He has one in each arm, while she carries another on her back. He was always willing to go the extra mile, though she suspected it kept the craven lunatics that led the factions off his back to be on orphan escort duty. It was very clear his attention was very valuable, to everyone. 

And yet, it isn’t that at all. She’s been fielding these questions intermittently. Most of the time it was simply overworking minds and infantile anxiety. But this wasn’t. 

He lays the child in their bed carefully, easing the blankets over them before rising once more and settling the other youth in the upper bunk. Karena deposits the last of the sleeping children in the room next door and meets him at the top of the stairs afterward.

“What do you mean?” His eyes glow bright in the dark, twin halos of electric blue eclipsed by his eyelids as he narrows them in time with his question.

Karena moves past him, a loaded glance in his direction stopping him in his tracks. No matter how many centuries more he’s lived - honestly she couldn’t give a damn - she’s no match for a motherly gaze. He follows her into the kitchenette utilized only by staff, taking his usual seat.

Instead of fixing tea like she always did, she reaches up into the highest cupboard, procuring a bottle and glasses. She pours him two fingers before giving herself about the same.  Another wide-eyed look from him has her shaking her head in disbelief.

“Amanda,” She answers him, finally. “They’ve begun to accuse you of having favorites.”

“I... do not.”

Karena takes a hearty sip. “You do,”  She asserts. “Perfectly natural, considering. She latched onto you. A lot of them do.” Karena hums, “This time was just… different.”

“We have been doing this for-” He takes a drink, “A long time.”

“I’m aware,” The matron dips her head. “Usually I indulge them a bit, as they adjust. Amanda is a sweet child. Polite, when she wants to be. Too intelligent for her own good. I get applicants for her, all the time. It’s been almost a year now. I’ve had a total of seven applicants interested in her. Good families, clean backgrounds. She’s refused every one. Mostly politely. The last one offered to let her keep her family name, since they’d found out it meant so much to her.”

“I’ve told her countless times that she should-” He steeples his fingers, propping his elbows on the table and leaning over his drink, sighing heavily. “Even if I wanted to, I cannot,” He finally says, as close to an admission that the matron is right as he’ll come.

“She knows that.”

“You’re sure? Perhaps I’m not getting through to her. I can bring it up again if need be-”

“She’s verbalized it,” Karena swallows. “ Multiple times. She knows.”

Zavala’s shoulders sag for a moment, the nearly lost look in his eyes reminding her of a man far younger than he is. “What would you have me do?” He asks, voice rough. Like it’s hurting him to know.

She reaches across the table, takes one of his far larger palms in both of her own. “Honestly, I wish you could take her. You’d be an excellent father.” He shakes his head, uncomfortable with her praise. “You would. You work wonders with these children. And your soldiers. I hear all about how they talk about you.” 

And then, she sighs.

“But if you cannot, I need you to step back. She’ll never realize her full potential here. She’s well above her year in school, she’s a good girl. I want her to have a family who can give her what she deserves. That’s what I want for all of these kids.”

“I do, too.” He scrubs a hand over his face after a few moments of sipping their liquor in silence. “It would never work,” He says, finally. “Even if-” He trails off.

“If I can find the right family, I need you to convince her to give it a shot,” Karena presses, business-like. “I’ll push for a foster-to-adopt situation. Make her feel like it isn’t permanent until she wants it to be. But she needs to get out of here.”

The Commander’s nod is resolute. “Whatever I can do,” He answers, sad but sure.

It burns as the liquor courses down her throat, but it washes away the retort lingering on her tongue. It isn’t that he doesn’t want her. That’s not it at all. She has no doubt in her mind that if he weren’t the Vanguard Commander that he’d take her. But his job - his duty is not conducive to raising a child.

When he rises, she sees the metaphorical weight of it cast upon him. This hurts him, as much as she had expected it to. No amount of armor can hide it, no stoicism can completely outshine it in his gaze.

“For what it’s worth,” She says, when he takes his leave, “I’m sorry.”

His Ghost flickers into the space over his shoulder when he exits. She can hear their muffled voices as they exit the front gates. It seems the matron wasn’t the only one hoping he might at least consider an alternative arrangement.

#destiny fanfiction #shipwright september #amanda holliday #commander zavala #destiny stories

[deafchild2000]

I Never Really Liked Rikki

Alright before y'all go on and say I'm "shitposting" or degrading your favorite mermaid, just let me let it out!

Rikki Chadwick is one of the 5 mermaids (yes, counting Bella and Charlotte) on H2O: Just Add Water. When she she became a mermaid, she got heating powers, essentially leading to actual fire and lightning powers in Season 2.

On the Wikia, she's described as: Rikki is quite rebellious, independent, sarcastic and carefree, making the two argue often.Rikki frequently speaks her mind without euphemism or without care that her opinions might hurt other people's feelings. She has a hard time sympathizing with people who are in pain, as seen in "Dangerous Waters." She can be very stubborn and has a short temper. Rikki has a strong adventurous streak and is the first to fully embrace the possibilities of the girls' new powers. Despite their arguments, Rikki and Emma do get along a lot of the times, and Rikki genuinely cares for her friends. This is demonstrated when she takes Emma and Cleo out on a shopping spree with her new money in "Dangerous Waters." To make up for her previous blunder in the same episode, she also does her best to buy Cleo the perfect new fish (as thanks, Cleo dubs the fish "Hot Stuff," in honor of Rikki). Rikki also shows her care for Emma when Rikki prods Byron to apologize to her friend in "Sink or Swim," revealing that Emma is not as tough and thick-skinned as she lets on.

Not only does Rikki shows her rebellious nature freely, but she encourage it in her friends as well. In "Pressure Cooker", Rikki encouraged Cleo and Emma to rebel against Charlotte Watsford and her mother, Annette Watsford who were invited by Don Sertori to stay over for dinner. Thinking that Don is getting remarried and that Charlotte will become Cleo's step sister, Rikki encouraged the others to use their powers to ruin the food, not knowing that Annette was only invited as a business partner. Despite her carefree nature, Rikki is capable of displaying a sense of responsibility especially when it comes to money. In the episode "Hook, Line and Sinker", Rikki attempted to look for some financial security for her family by attending Harrison Bennett's seminar, only to find it to be a scam. In "In Over Our Heads", Rikki attempted to help her father by trying to find a lost treasure for the reward money because her family was struggling with the bills. During her stay as café manager in season three, she was able to show her ability in running a business successful. When Rikki left after breaking up with Zane, the café started to struggle despite Sophie replacing her as manager, showing her organizational and monetary abilities.

But the things is, I never connected to her. Actually, I could never relate to any of the trio, but Rikki at most (ironically it's Charlotte and Bella that has my favor.).

See, by technically, I should like her because I'm sarcastic, independent, rebellious, stubborn, easily vengeful, unapologetically blunt at times and savvy business-wise (side hustle - jobs- for money). Plus I've been borderline homeless and raised by a single parent.

But for myself and others, I had needed to be more than that. Where I'm sarcastic, I am concerned and loyal when it needs to be regardless of circumstances. Where I'm independent, even I have to admit defeat and ask for help because I accept I don't know everything. When I'm stubborn, while admitting for fighting in what I believe in, I do my best to set it aside when need be or else Karma would be on my ass. For my rebelliousness, I have to know when I draw the line and go too far. Same goes for being vengeful, but I at least have someone (mom and uncle) on my corner to steer me away and even get a good laugh out of it while I can still reverse it. I'm legit working on being blunt since past experiences taught me sugarcoating isny always the best option, but I do have basic understanding why people do it. Sometimes the bandaid does need gently peeling to get the job done - especially if it's for the sake of a child.

So in comparison, between me and Rikki, felt that aside from a few glimpses of her realizing her mistakes and vulnerability, in those 3 years of being a mermaid, she never really took on the lessons she learned and developed Empathy. Empathy is all about understanding someone and their feelings, especially if their in a place you've been before. And considering that Rikki had a bunch of friends to pull her from the dark side of her personality, no one really bothered to do that when her personality took a turn for the worse in Season 2. Season 3 was when she nearly reached the point of No Return if Will hadn't intervene to stop her from borderline killing Ryan in the moon pool.

Then, I've talked to friends about this and perhaps it originally stemmed from the mermaid aspect of her life. Yes, H2O is just a tv show, and it aired years before I entered my own teenhood, but people are drawn to it because they can relate to the girls in the show. So, when it came to being a mermaid, I believed that it was because all teenagers struggled with being different and that what usually (or generally) sets them apart from their peers.

Now, I live in the US, and I'm an African-American female who's smart (book and street-wise) and has an internal, physical disability: I'm deaf in my right ear. Add in a potential fact that I might have Aspergers (a form of Autism), I never really stood a chance growing up. I knew how to be apart of a group (most of the time), but I was essentially a wall flower in it. There was/are time when I had to dive into things trending for pre/teens just so I had to understand what the big fuss was about. (Plus watching people deal with unnecessary teen drama has always been a turnoff for me.)

Thus leading me to believe Rikki never really had to fight for anything. Yeah, she was pure but not poor enough to live in a single house of multiple strangers (which was my life in 5th grade). She didn't have to struggle to fit in, whether or not that was the case, since she basically had her own little niche of mermaid sisters and (a) boyfriend. In my case, that's more than anyone could ever get in high school- minus the mermaid aspect. But if you add that in, Rikki literally had a whole separate life all to herself where she could get away and in my case, I never had that. Reading and writing was the only escape I had from reality and there were times even that wasn't enough.

So, during that time, if I was one, being a mermaid, like Rikki, would be embeaced but with the rightful amount of shock of the situation would also be there as well.

And maybe I would be prone to abuse my powers, who wouldn't? Having a supernatural ability, using it as I see fit to work for me or against others? I actually thing having something no one else has tend to make anyone else selfish, whether they are all alone or in a small group of those like them. It's Human Nature to be like that. Besides, look when the trio had done so on multiple occasions, yet were hypocrites in regard to Charlotte when she did so to Nate. (Which I will happily point out all the times Rikki did just that, like when she found out she was a part of a fish scheme and all the other times she blantatly almost killed someone with her powers.)

However, I also knew that "With Great Power, Comes Great Repsonibility" is true, regardless of fictional or realistic obligations. If I did want to just pranks someone, I would do it so obviously- with potentially witnesses- and then make it a recurring gag.

(To be honest, if I did and did it so often to a sibling like Kim Sertori, well, let's just say I'd accept responsibility If I got found out because I had it coming for doing said pranks in the first place.)

If I had wanted to use my powers like a weapon to harm someone, I knew I better have a damn good reason to do so, especially if said powers were as dangerous as Rikki's. And then question if that said person was a threat or just someone I really didn't like. And add in the fact if it was on purpose or a genuine accident (like, for example, how I'd like to believe Emma was traumatized after realizing ahe had frozen Miriam alive. Sure the girls saved her in time, but still, that should have been a hint to the girls to not only expand the knowledge of their powers, but become increasingly aware of how dangerous they are. So if they hadn't saved Miriam or Rikki ended up killing her....)

Basically summarizing above, Rikki was shown on more than one regard just how careless and irresponsible she is with her powers and then had the nerve to be self-righteous and hypocritical when someone else does it, and it's someone she doesn't like.

However, while I admit to giving her cudos on some of her ocean adventure - definitely as she's a career diver as an adult- I don't think she really took into account just how much of an advantage she had as a mermaid. While she wasn't a full-on superhero, she probably spent more time in the ocean more than anyone else since getting her tail. Meaning you'd finished being more awareness to the issues on the ocean such as trash and oil spills, taking in for granted having a rich boyfriend could technically help achieve resources to do so. Yeah, they shouldn't be drawing attention to themselves, like at all, but if the ocean is your second home, you can't tell me you'd wouldn't try to help keep that home alive and healthy.

So maybe the producers didn't show it or it just never occurred to them (or in Rikki's case, until her job profession), but if I had mermaid powers and a tail, Lord knows I would have been kept busy for all my teen years cleaning the beaches and pulling up trash after trash to at least somebody caught onto it and started taking action themselves. Not starting a trend, but a chain reaction. And it wouldn't be a seasonal thing either. Basically, if you had the ability to be a live like a fish, you use your human life to bring awareness to sustain that life. We caught maybe a few glimpses btwn H2O and Mako Mermaids, but that would have been a great way for Rikki to express just how much she clearly cared about being a mermaid. But thus she didn't, so I have no reason to believe she did or had a basic understanding of what oppertunities she had offered to her as a mermaid.

I would see it before anyone told me.

And sensing that I'm going off topic, I'll just steer myself back to the point: All other reasons aside, here are my main reasons I never liked her:

Rikki never really grew to have Empathy, or understand when someone is in a place where she once was. She stayed mentally the same as she grew up and it wasn't until she was an adult and found herself back where she started, that she finally developed it.

She actually had more than any other teenage girl can want and more. A roof over her head to call her own, friends and a chance for a significant other? Plus an amazing double life you had to see to believe? For someone like me, who has to fight through obstacles everyday between my race and disability, everything about that spells something worth taking for granted.

She never really took responsibility for her powers or learned from the trouble she caused. Maybe at the time, things seemed necessary, but overall, she was extremely careless and selfish in regards for it. And then some, in regards for using her powers in public and nearly exposed herself, especially when nearly seriously hurting someone, but then had the nerve to berate someone who did just that when she'd done the exact same or worse (adding in potentially murdering someone in the midst of her anger). Season 2 was the so best example of how bad that got and frankly, turned me against her completely to be honest. And Season 3 was basically like Season 1, only Cleo was in Emma's place plus a crazed obsession with protection the moon pool. (Which proven right considered how many damn people found it in the show's history, but still!)

While debatable, she never shown and consideration to the environment ( the Ocean) until it fit her needs. I can name a hundred of ways she could have shown concern and and helped environmental impacts and sea animals affected by it, and do it anonymously, especially considering her future job as a diver.

Like all stories, the 2000s H2O trio is supposed to be 3-dimensial characters who change throughout the story - or in this case, a show - where Emma was a responsible girl who learned to enjoy life, Cleo was a kind girl who learned to grow a backbone and Rikki was a loner who got friends.

As a child, it's easy to see it that way. And considering how Rikki is viewed as someone you'd want to grow up into -Strong, opinionated, stand firm in what's right - who wouldn't idolize that. Anyone, even young girls, should be like that because, in the real world, values like that are rarer than your led to believe.

But when you take into to account of whether or not Rikki is the type of role model you should look up to, then that's why I labeled and the things she's done under:

Static Character.

Rikki started and ended H2O as a mermaid with a rebellious streak. But though she's made mistakes and apologized, she never changed who she was and truly learned from her mistakes, leading me to believe she just kept getting things without any real consequences, thus no character developement.

As I'm ending this, I will acknowledge that I know this sounds like a rant degrading Rikki - and someone will chew me out defending her for it- but after watching all the seasons and how taken Rikki into consideration I came to see if she was real, we'd never get along. So while I'm not going "I hate her so much!" or "She's so ugly!", I'm simply stating why that I don't believe Rikki deserves all the fanfare she's got over the years.

#h2o just add water #mermaids #rikki chadwick #rant #why I don't like this character

[idesignedthefjords]

RSS Fic: Picture Perfect Bride

Recipient: @thestraggletag 

Prompt:  Arranged Marriage Modern AU

Notes: It’s my very first fic ever, so I hope you like it :) I had a really good beta; @avatoh who saved the day XD 

Summary: Maurice French, no longer wanting to take care of his daughter auctions her off on a mail-order bride website. Mr. Gold responds to the ad.

Belle was standing in the middle of her luxurious hotel room, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked beautiful in her wedding dress. It was a lace dress with a plunging V neckline. The bodice accentuated her slim waistline and had cap sleeves. Her soft skirt had lace flowers with tiny dots made of golden thread in the middle. Her hair was in a messy braided bun, with some baby’s breath braided in. She did not recognise herself. True, she looked like a typical beautiful blushing bride, but her face told a different story. She already had to redo her make-up 3 times, because she kept messing it up with her tears. Her lips were sore from gnawing on them; she had already drawn blood.

Just two months ago, her father decided that he had enough of her living in his house. He was dating a new woman, just two years after her mother passed away. He wanted to start a new life with her, and Belle was taking up precious space. “I just want a fresh start, Belle!” he told her on the same night he introduced his girlfriend He also had admitted that he didn’t think she would be able to live by herself. Yes, she had some mental issues in the past, she had been admitted to the hospital when her depression took the best of her. But that was in the past and she was building a life for herself; going to college, making friends. Maurice on the other hand, still believed she wouldn’t be able to cope by herself; “You aren’t getting any younger Belle, and neither am I. I can’t take care of you forever and you are nearly 25! It’s someone else’s turn now. Why don’t you get married and live with Gaston? He can provide for you; his family has money. You won’t have to look for a job anymore or go out with your shady friends to some disgusting bar.” She became so angry with him that he threatened to lock her up in the hospital again. “You are leaving this house, with a husband or a straightjacket and that’s final!” When she still refused to marry Gaston and screamed that she would rather marry a stranger, her father put her picture on some mail-order bride website. She still felt her cheeks burning with shame when she thought about it.

She had never expected him to do such a horrible thing, but she saw the page he had ultimately created for her, complete with a few happy pictures from her past and a brief description about her studying Library Science and a few of her hobbies which he had made up to appeal to possible suitors. Her father showed her the page with great pride even. “Look Belle, already multiple interested men! I’m going to pick the richest man though, only the best for my daughter!” Belle was so disappointed in her father. She couldn’t believe he would treat her like cattle; to be sold to the highest bidder. No wonder he thought Gaston was a suitable option for her; they were both equally misogynistic. She sort of accepted her fate in some strange way. If marriage was the way out of her father’s house, then so be it.

After a month of being on display on this awful website, someone with enough money had responded and her father agreed to make a deal. The man could marry her, if he would pay the rent for Maurice’s struggling flower shop for the next 5 years.

Her life was being exchanged for some bushels of roses..

--------

“Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow,” Belle thought when her father guided her down the aisle. She held her head up high, and stared towards the end of the aisle, keeping her eyes focused on  the priest. She didn’t notice, or pay much attention, to the other important person on this day; the man she was about to marry. He almost mirrored her body language when she finally looked at him. He too was staring at the priest, his back towards Belle. She could see the tension in his back; he was also nervous about this whole situation.  His legs were slightly parted and she could see he was leaning on a cane. He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t see his face.

When they reached their destination at the end of the aisle, Belle turned her head away when her father tried to kiss her cheek. She vowed she would never speak to him again after this day.

When she turned to face the groom for the first time, a shock went through her. It was Mr Gold! Mr. Gold was going to be her new husband! He wasn’t a complete stranger to her, afterall, but she knew his reputation and it wasn’t good. He was the owner of the pawn shop in town and her father’s defence lawyer when he was being sued for copyright infringement regarding his shops name, “Game of Thorns”. She had seen him a couple of times but hadn’t really spoken to him except for the occasional ‘good afternoon’ and ‘good evening’ when she ran into him around town. He had been nice to her in the past though. So he was the one she was being sold to. She knew more than enough about his reputation and the gossip surrounding him, and for a moment she was even more scared of him than of Gaston. But at least Mr Gold was smaller than Gaston and he had a limp. So she could outrun him is she needed to.

She was still in shock when they spoke their vows and it all went past her like in a haze. She didn’t realize it was over until she heard the priest say “You may kiss the bride.” Belle’s eyes went big with fear and she tensed up. She was going to have to kiss him! Gold gave a tiny, shy smile when he looked at her he finally leaned over he gently kissed her next to the corner of her mouth; nobody else seemed to notice he failed to kiss her a few inches shy of her lips..

Her friends weren’t invited to the wedding, so soon, she found herself in the backseat of a limousine. Mr Gold, her now husband, was sitting next to her playing with his flip phone. The wedding went by her so fast that she didn’t even hear a thing.

They arrived at their honeymoon location at the Boston Harbor Hotel an hour after they finished up signing all the papers to legalize their marriage, Mr Gold checked in while Belle was waiting by their suitcases. She was worried about what would happen on their wedding night. Would Mr Gold would expect something to happen between the two of them? Perhaps this is why he had wanted to marry her all along… Belle shook her head. He had a bad reputation, but he wasn’t a bad man, from what she knew of him. If this was the cost of her escaping her father, however, then it was a small price to pay.

When they reached their hotel room, she noticed there was, as you might expect from a honeymoon suite, only one bed.  There was, however, a small sofa in the corner by the window and a desk. Mr Gold walked over to the sofa and suggests “I can sleep here on the sofa tonight, if you’d like-”.

At the same time Belle blurted out “-So how do you want to do this?”

“Excuse me?”  Gold asked surprised.

“What?” Belle was confused. “I assumed you wanted to have a... “proper” wedding night. Consummate the marriage? I mean, that must be what you were after. Why else would you marry me? I know your reputation, Mr Gold. You find weakness in people and exploit them for your own gain. Me having had a mental illness is a weakness. And when my father put me on that awful website, you knew I was vulnerable. You found me and knew you could exploit me,” She spat at him angrily. She wanted to cry.

Mr Gold sighed and sad down on the sofa looking tired. “Belle, I’m disappointed you would think such things of me.”

His use of her first name made Belle feel powerless. She still had yet to know his.

“You see the good in people and I expected you to be better than just go by some rumours when judging someone.“ He started to explain: ”I saw you on the website; Maurice sent the page to every single one of his business relations. I was disgusted he would do this to you; selling you off to the highest bidder like that. So I decided to marry you just so you could get away from Maurice. Because I know you are capable of so much more. I just needed to get you out of that house. I wasn’t exploiting your weakness Belle, I was exploiting Maurice’s weakness; his love for money and his carelessness for you. I couldn’t sue him, because these mail-order bride websites are technically legal and I had to get you out of that house as fast as possible.”

Belle was even more confused now. “But where do we go from here? You got me away from my father, but now what? I have nothing to give you in return. I have no job, I’m homeless, I can’t even go back to college because father stopped funding it.”

Gold walked over to her and placed his hands on her arms, trying to reassure her. “You can have a home with me. I have a spare room for you in my house. And soon you will have a job. You’re studying Library Science, correct? I’m in the process of securing funding for the Storybrooke library, in the meantime you could help me out in the pawn shop. I have a lot of antique books that need to be catalogued and sorted. And if you want, you could save up some money to finish your degree; I’m not going to stop you” he laughed, “You can have all that, that is, if you spend just this one night with me.”

The blood drained from Belle’s face. So he did want to consummate this marriage. She tore herself away from his touch and took a step back. Gold realized his mistake “It was a quip, dearie. I didn’t mean… you misunderstand. I meant we have to sleep in the same room together. I can take the couch, it’s fine.”

He immediately limped back to the couch, to make sure she would understand that he was indeed intending to sleep there.

“No wait!” Belle apologized. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch, especially when you have been so kind to me. We can share the bed. It’s big enough and I trust you. Unless you don’t trust me?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Belle had made up her mind.

They took turns using the bathroom, and when they finally settled in their shared bed and the lights were out, all the emotions from this day washed over Belle and spilled out. She had started to cry again and hoped Gold wouldn’t notice her silent sobs, but she suddenly felt his hand searching for hers and he carefully held it, drawing circles with his thumb in comfort. Belle hadn’t felt this kind of kindness for a while now, and she rolled over to him in a hug. He tensed for just a moment, but relaxed as he rubbed her back. Soon they both fell asleep. They could make this work.

AO3 link

#rumbelle secret santa #thestraggletag #rumbelle #rss #rumbelle fic

[redhourglass]

Bad at Love

Written for @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid and @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian‘s Divas of Storytelling Challenge. My song was Taylor Swift’s “Back to December,” but I also took inspiration from Halsey’s “Bad at Love,” which is where the title is from, as well as countless other TS songs because I’m a monster.

Summary: Ten months after your breakup, you meet up with your ex, realizing where you went wrong in your last fight. (Non-hunter AU)

Warnings: Angst and fluff throughout, reader has some anxiety, Dean has a daughter from a previous relationship

Words: 2.9k

“Huh.” She doesn’t quite know how she feels about it now, but in almost cynical way, she finds it kind of funny. She’d been mistaking love for so many smaller emotions for so long, and the one time she actually gets it right, it’s well after the relationship is already over.

Yesterday.

Her hands hug her coffee mug, now mostly empty, her paint-chipped nails anxiously tapping against the porcelain cup as she shifts her gaze from the looking out the window, to the door, and back again. Straightening her sweater and smoothing the pleats of her skirt, she takes a deep breath through her nose and exhales slowly through her mouth, counting backwards from ten the way her therapist told her to.

Her therapist also advised against multiple cups of coffee, but here she was, on her third cup of the day. She wouldn’t have been so tempted to accept the refill if she hadn’t been so early, but nerves got the best of her. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours the night before, tossing and turning most of the night.

Ten months is a long time to go without thinking about someone. She’s never been able to do that, but kudos to the people who have.  Is it foolish to linger on something that ended almost a year before? Most definitely, but it’s not like she can just forget about what happened. He was a huge part of her life. To discard all those memories would be losing a part of the person he helped her become.

Pushing up the the sleeve of her sweater past her wrist, she glances down at her watch. Seven minutes past ten.

Is he coming? Had he changed his mind?

To be honest, if he had decided not to come, she won’t blame him. She would’ve been hesitant, too, if if one of her exes had asked to see her again.

“And Dean, the one you dated before this. You loved him, correct?”

She opens her mouth to correct her therapist because obviously she hadn’t loved him or she wouldn’t have left, but the words don’t come. Her mouth just hangs open, and she realizes, with a twist of the winch around her heart, that she’d been wrong about herself all along.

“Huh.” She doesn’t quite know how she feels about it now, but in almost cynical way, she finds it kind of funny. She’d been mistaking love for so many smaller emotions for so long, and the one time she actually gets it right, it’s well after the relationship is already over.

The memory threatens to put a gloom on her otherwise hopeful mood, so she straightens her posture, pushes stray strands of hair back behind her ear before glancing again at the watch on her wrist. Figuring she would at least wait another half-hour, she pulls her book from her purse and opens up to the place where she left off.

She found the fairy-tale much simpler and more forgiving and than the real world. As they say, everyone does love a good happy ending. She just hoped her own story could have a fraction of that same happiness, though perhaps with less dragons to slay.

Four pages later, the bell above the door chimes.

She glances up, having been so immersed in her ink and paper world she’d forgotten there was a much larger universe outside of it. As if by magic, her eyes are drawn to the man who’d just come in, her breath catching in a barely audible gasp in her throat. She sets her book down slowly, not even paying much attention to where she places it.

Her table is closer to the wall at the back of the diner, so it takes his eyes a minute to find her. The green of them nearly stops her heart the instant they do. He crosses the room in a few strides, and she reads a similar apprehension on his face as her own.

To combat some of the winter chill, he’s grown a beard, a burgundy knit beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears, and he’s wearing the same mossy green coat she remembers wearing a few times around the apartment. It had smelled so much like him, almost feeling like a hug whenever he wasn’t home.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle, as rugged as she remembers, and warm like tomato soup as he slides into the booth seat across from her.

“Hey yourself.” So much of him is the same, yet now that he’s up close, she can see many of the finer differences. His eyes are different, not in color, but in intensity — stronger, yet distant, like he’s keeping his emotions behind a concrete wall. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping well, either. Maybe thinking about today kept him up late, too.

Her hair has fallen back in front of her face again, bangs too long to be bangs but too short to stay behind her ears. She pushes the hair back out of the way with a single swipe of her hand. “I guess this is kind of awkward, huh?”

“A little,” he says, though his smile is kind.

“Should we start off with the basics?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I’ve never really done this before, met up with an ex, so…”

Her heartbeat thumps loud and fast. “Is it bad that I asked?”

“No, not really,” Dean says. She’s relieved. “It wasn’t really weird or anything, just…strange?”

“That would be a synonym of weird,” she says and can’t help but laugh. It’s not hard to force herself to relax at this point. She’s always been comfortable with Dean, but he was right about this being strange. There’s an urge to let things fall back into old habits, but she knows that she’d quickly fall into the realm of becoming too comfortable if she let things go too far. They aren’t together anymore. She has an inkling that it’s going to be hard to remember that the longer they’re together.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, ignoring the heavy pounding in her chest. She’d read somewhere that acting confident in an otherwise uncomfortable situation could help alleviate some of her anxiety. Sort of a ‘fake it til you make it’ mentality. Her smiles is twice as cool as the nervous teenager she feels like she is on the inside. “So, how has life been treating you, Dean Winchester?”

“Well…” He purses his lips, searching for the right words. “Life’s been treating me…pretty okay, I guess. The shop’s been keeping me pretty busy since you wrote that article about the benefits of supporting local small businesses, so thanks for that. Again.”

“Of course,” Her smile is polite, if not kind.

“But mostly, it’s just been back and forth between home and work,” Dean says. “Bobby…You remember Bobby right?” Y/n grins, remembering the man fondly. It had taken her two weeks to break through his gruff exterior. She finally broke down and bought him an expensive bottle of whiskey. He’d warmed up to her pretty quickly after that. “Well, he hired a couple more people to help run the place and to keep me from working on the weekends as much as possible. Gives him the chance to relax more, too.” Dean leans in close, resting his elbows on the table. “You know, he’s talked about retiring?”

“Well, he’s worked there, what, thirty years?”

“Close to it, yeah.”

“Then he should retire.”

“That’s what I told him,” Dean says. “But I also bet he’d be so bored from sitting around all day that he’d be back at the shop within a month.” His rumbling laugh sends shivers down her spine. He’s exactly the way she remembers. She’s not sure what she expected, but the familiarity of him hits her like a punch to the gut.

She laughs, too, but it’s too distracted to be genuine. “That’s probably true. Poor guy.”

Dean smile remains on his face as he relaxes, small crow’s feet crinkling warmly around his eyes. “So, how’s life treating you these days, Y/n? Same old chaos or has it mellowed out some?” His arms stretch out to rest casually on the top of his booth. “You’re still working for that online newspaper, right?”

The waitress comes by then, taking Dean’s order — a black coffee and a piece of their best pie.

“Yeah, I’m still working there,” Y/n says as the waitress walks away. “It’s been the same old kind of thing, you know, either running around like a madwoman trying to finish an article or throwing crumpled up pieces of paper at the trashcan because I can’t think of what to write about.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It is,” she says with a sigh, propping her elbow up on the table so she can rest the side of her cheek on the palm of her hand. “Which is part of why I’ve started looking for a different job. I could use a little quiet right now.”

The waitress come back with Dean’s coffee and the slice of pie, setting both down in front of him. Y/n can’t help but smiles when she sees it’s a slice of apple pie, the kind she made for him on Father’s Day.

She sits up straight in her seat as Dean picks up his fork. “How is she?” She bites her lip, fingers knotting together with genuine concern. If anything hurt as badly as ending her relationship with him, it was knowing she’d inadvertently ended her relationship with his daughter as well.

“She’s…good,” Dean replies slowly. “She started the first grade a few months ago at a new school, so that’s been a little rough.”

“Understandably,” she adds. She’s done her fair share of moving around to know what that’s like.

“But she seems to be making some new friends, so I’m happy.” He takes a bite of the pie. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head, unable to hold back a low moan.

There had been a reason she’d chosen this diner. One of her friends at the paper had reviewed it a few months ago and said this diner’s pie was some of the best in the state.

She laughs lightly at Dean’s dramatics, pleased he’d liked it so much. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing okay.”

Dean nods, swallowing. A somber looks crosses his face and he stares down at his plate. “She misses you,” he says, looking up as if to gauge her reaction.

Her heart clenches in her chest. Without much thought, she places her hand over his, brushing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles in a gesture meant for comfort as she says, “I miss her, too.” Dean gives a stiff nod, his jaw locking in discomfort as he struggles to look away from her hand, and she realizes she’d overstepped a boundary. She pulls her hand away and returns it to her lap where it form into a tight fist, so tight her nails dig half-moons into her palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why’d I do that?

The rest of their time together is brief and skirted. Though they’re getting along just fine for the most part, she can tell Dean’s holding back, not quite laughing the way he used to or smiling as brightly as she remembers. She doesn’t blame him in the slightest, feeling she’s guilty of the doing the same thing.

Ten Months Ago.

He stands behind her as she cooks, distracting her by trailing kisses down the side of her neck as he wraps his arm around her middle, holding her close to him.  “Marry me,” he whispers as he plants a kiss right below her earlobe.

She’d gotten so caught up in what he was doing that she nearly drops the spatula. “What?”

“Marry me.”

She starts to laugh uneasily. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why is that ridiculous?”

She gives him a dubious look. “Um, because we’ve only been together four months?”

He purses his lips, contemplating it for a second, then shrugs. “So what? I don’t see any problem with that.”

Wriggling out of his grasp, she turns around to face him. “So, I haven’t even met your dad yet.”

As expected, Dean stiffens.

“See? What I’d tell you?”  She turns her back to him, returning to her cooking, completely dismissing him.

“That’s not…” Dean huffs, scowling. Digging into the pack pocket of his jeans, he pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

“Calling my dad to see if he wants to have dinner tomorrow night.”

“What? Dean, no!”

“You wanted to meet him,” Dean says, “so I’m letting you meet him. What’s the big deal?” With a frustrated huff, she rips the phone from his hands. “Hey!”

“Dean, I’m not marrying you,” she says stubbornly.

“Why not? Do you not want to?”

“No, I…” The decision is too difficult, too complex for a simple yes or no answer.  She shakes her head helplessly, groaning in frustration as she drops her face into her hands. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice slightly muffled, though not enough to where Dean can’t understand her. “It’s just,” She lifts her head, crossing her arms. “It’s too early for me to think that far into the future. A lot could happen between now and then.”

“Too early to think about our future?” Dean’s eyes narrow. “I have a daughter, Y/n, the one thing I constantly have think about is my future. I need to know that she’s going to be okay, that if something were to happen to me, someone would be here to take care of her. If you’re not willing to think about a future for us, if you can’t even see one, then what’s the point?”

Her eyes widen in shock as the weight of his worlds settle. Moisture stings in her nose, making her eyes glisten.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, actually. I do. I don't date to fool around, Y/n. I do it because I want to marry someone. I’m ready for marriage. Clearly, you’re not, which means I love you in a completely different way than you love me, if you even love me at all.” It’s a low jab, but the resentment and bitterness has been building up for some time.

Y/n’s bottom lip trembles without a sound. She hasn’t said the words yet, fearing their relationship would just end as badly as her previous relationships if she does, like it was some curse of irony or misfortune. He’s said them a number of times, and he’s always said he was okay with her not saying it back, that actions spoke louder than words, but clearly that was a lie.

Dean turns away from her, facing the kitchen table where the two dozen roses he bought for her last week have wilted in their glass vase.

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We can pack up your things in the morning after I take MJ to school.”

Y/n instantly pales. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

Dean looks back at her. “I’ll tell her,” he decides, knowing it would best best if she heard it from him.

Y/n nods, sniffling, and quickly wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t want to stay ‘til morning,” she says quietly.

Dean presses his mouth in a thin line. “You want help packing your stuff?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’d rather just do it myself.”

When MJ is dropped off after soccer practice later that evening, there’s one less car in the driveway.

Now.

Drinking when you’re at an emotional low is not something she recommends. She hadn’t realized she’d been keeping her feelings locked up until she’d already downed half a bottle of wine.

She should have guessed though, that seeing Dean again after all this time wasn’t something she would just walk away from unscathed. Wounds she’d thought healed have opened like a floodgate, and before long she’s sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, coasting down the road at about forty-five. She has no destination in mind, just relies on the hum of the road beneath her tires and the autonomy of the drive to calm her down. It starts to rain, a dull pat-pat that soothes her tortured soul like a strings in a symphony.

She takes back roads through unfamiliar neighborhoods, choosing turns at whim, and it’s not until she turns onto the last street that she realizes she’d unknowingly been leading herself to an actual destination. She eases to a stop in front of his house, peering out through the rain-streaked car window at the house that glowed softly in the yellow light of the streetlamp out front. There’s a few lights on inside. Pulling up the sleeves of her jacket, she sees that it’s almost midnight, yet Dean appears to still be awake.

The rain has eased up to a light mist by the time she gets out of her car, her breath condensing in a white smoke as it hits the air.

This is her swallowing her pride, her regret, and the feeling that ten months ago she didn’t understand. This is her taking her future by the hand and running with it. Love was once a fleeting thing to her, a mystery, a curse. Now, it’s as simple as breathing.

At his front door, she takes a moment to gather herself and raises her fist to his door, knocking hard four times. Then she shoves her hands back inside the pockets of her jacket, stands back, and waits, counting to ten as she holds her breath, then exhales.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in future fics!

Tagging: @tardis-is-mine @andhiseyesweregreen

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn one shot #spn imagine #spn angst #spn fluff #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural imagine #supernatural angst #spndivas

[tamzaraaaa-blog]

Artifacts that show growth: Top 10 Blog posts and Top 5 blog post responses

 TOP 10 BLOG POSTS (DESCENDING ORDER)

Connecting the Dots: 

    This summer I read the book The souls of the black folk by W.E.B Dubois. It was a book that mainly one of the many problems of the 20th century; "the color-line". He writes from the perspective of an African American man struggling to earn his rights. He continuously expresses his views on living life at the mercy of your race. 

     He mostly focuses on the regressions caused by the emancipation proclamation especially in the south. He also writes about the establishment of Freedman's Bureau and its role in the reconstruction of the nation after the civil war. He centers his book around to themes; the idea of "double consciousness" and "the Veil". Double Consciousness refers to the idea that every African American must live with the struggle of balancing two inconsistent identities that can't be combined. They must balance their ideal "American identities" with the black experience that they inherited from the remnants of their ancestors who were born into slavery. This compliments the second theme of living under "the veil". He describes the theory of "the veil" in terms of living on the other side of the color line. He stresses he importance of the black experiences and how that experience can only be gained from living on the other side of the color line. 

    It was hard for me to find a connection with this book because I have never truly experienced what it's like to live on the other side of the color line. I do however, know the significance of the black experience and how it affected those who came before me. This book did not really challenge my beliefs but it did enhance them. One challenge narrated in this book was the struggle of balancing both identities and I was able to connect with that theory. Having to incorporate both the ideal American identity with the black experience in their daily lives is a struggle I can relate to even though they had to do it while under the prejudice of living behind the color line. From this book, I was able to learn what it truly means to earn the black experience and how difficult it was to live under "the veil" while still trying to achieve the ideal standards of an "American Identity".

Making Meaning from the News: 

This article was about a sexual harassment claim filed by Shailja Patel against Tony Mochama. Patel claimed that writer and journalist, Tony Mochama, had sexually assaulted her at an event. She quickly took to various social media platforms to tell her story and never shied from public bashing Mochama every chance she got. Soon after these allegations took to twitter and took a large toll on Mochama's career. He claims he lost scholarships, guest lectures, business opportunities, friends and many more. Due to the backlash he faced, Mochama decided to sue Patel for her "false allegations". He ended up wining the case in which Patel was forced to pay a 9 million shilling fine and officially apologize to Mochama. She refused to do and went into a self imposed exile claiming she would rather go into exile than apologize to Mochama.     Patel was very quick to take to social media to tell her story. She told majority of it on twitter. Along with Ms Wambui Mwangi, she took to twitter to publicly bash Mochama and ruin his otherwise perfect reputation. The only thing she failed to do was file an actual police report, reporting his actions. She never filed a case and never went to the police about it. There is currently an ongoing debate on whether Patel was telling the truth because if she should have gone to the police first. This issue arrived when he decided to sue her and even then she neglected to counter sue him.     The opposing side of this debate sympathizes with Patel and understands the struggle of coming forward about an assault. They argue that the act itself is hard enough on women, it is often even more traumatizing to be degraded in court. She also appealed o our sympathy when she claimed she would rather go into exile than have to apologize to Mochama for what he did to her.     As for my perspective, I want to believe that Patel is being honest. There have been a few other reports regarding Mochama's aggressive behavior towards women and a few of his friends have suggested that these allegations could be true about him. Even his wife left him after hearing all of this. The one thing I think she should have done differently is she should have gone directly to the police when it happened. Even if she delayed a bit on that she should have at least countersued him when he sued her. Overall I think Patel was telling the truth I just think she went about it the wrong way. 

Learning from Writing Mentors: 

   Stephen King starts of this book by explaining to us some of his earliest childhood memories. He makes it a point to focus on what he thought was his most painful childhood experience. He compares that single experience to many others and claims nothing came close in comparison to the pain he felt on that day. This is how he uses the rhetorical appeal of ethos. Rather than start the book off with facts and advice he chose to give us insight on what his childhood was like and how significant it was in his journey as a writer. He uses a very light hearted voice during the first couple chapters because this is when he is describing his childhood to us. 

   One very useful piece of advice he gave concerned the knowledge behind good story ideas. He said there were no short cuts to finding good story ideas. They seem to appear from void. It is not our job to create these "good story idea' but to recognize them when they show up. It's as if he is saying that we are constantly plagued with good story ideas but in order to become a decent writer, we have to recognize the good ideas when they come. This is a strategy I will definitely be incorporating into my writing. Conjuring up a good idea can be a challenge but when it hits you, it often hits ant the most random times. The challenge for me will be to wait until a good idea hits me. I'm a very fast-paced person and not a very patient one so he concept of awaiting a good idea is very foreign and quite simply unrealistic to me. It will be a very big challenge for me.

What's Education For? Education can be a very complex and sometimes prejudiced system of learning. As shown in the article "Best in Class" by Margaret Talbot, in education is what leads to a prosperous future but, at what cost? The idea that education is the only thing that leads to a prosperous future is an idea that has been stressed globally across multiple schools but success comes at a cost. As per my opinion, the problem with the education system is it has lost track of the true meaning of education. School has stopped becoming about learning. Students now focus their attention on passing instead of actively absorbing the materials taught. This is mainly a result of the common belief that success can only be achieved through a higher education. As shown in the documentary, school comes with a lot of academic stress and sometimes parental pressure. Idris' father was very hard on him when it came to his scholarly achievements and Seun had to leave Dalton after failing a class due to academic stress and a little prejudice. I think we need to work towards reforming the education system so that kids can once again feel the joy of learning. A lot of academic stress comes from the pressure of homework. I can understand why some teachers assign homework and why it can be essential to our education but an over supply of this becomes taxing and tedious. It would be beneficial to students if we did not receive as much work as we do now because, this results in students driving to complete their work rather than learn from it. It would also be beneficial to do more interactive activities within the classroom so that we can eliminate our workload after school and have more time in class to resolve any inquiries we may have.

News Evaluation 2: Shooting at South Carolina Bar leaves 2 dead and 8 wounded

The shooting happened early Saturday morning near Lancaster, South Carolina. The shooting occurred at around 2:45 am and it was said that the gunman was still at large. 10 people were shot. Two people were killed and 8 were injured in this tragic act of terrorism. The motive of the shooter was unclear but it was thought to have been a result of local conflict. The Sheriff declined to discuss the incident but, he said that one of the victims that was killed was involved in the local conflict that had been occurring for a couple of months. I think this is a horrible act of terrorism and no "local dispute" can excuse the act of intentionally harming nearly a dozen people. Of course, this goes back to the issue of gun laws in the U.S. I do believe stricter gun laws are what we need to keep situations like this from happening again. This is only one of multiple mass shootings that have occurred recently and the only solution I see is restricting the usage of guns. Unfortunately, I find that the reason stricter gun laws have not been incorporated into the legislature is because the republican party is largely funded by the National Riffle Association (NRA). Because of this, the government is hesitant to abolish the second amendment even if It means multiple losses of innocent lives. 

News Evaluation 3: Italy to lend Leonardo Da Vinci works to France in a Masterpiece Swap

Da Vinci's famous drawing Vitruvian man will soon be transported to Paris to participate in a block buster Leonardo da Vinci art exhibition at the Louvre. The Vitruvian man is a drawing that exhibits the study of the proportions of the human body. However, it is only one in a series of art works that museums in Italy are transporting over to the Louvre. This art show will mark the 500th anniversary of the Renaissance master's death. As part of the exchange, the Louvre has agreed to transfer over several masterpieces made by another Renaissance master; Raphael. These masterpieces include "Self Portrait with a friend" and "Portrait of Baldassarre Castiglione". Both parties treat this as a sort of exchange of cultures. At first, a diplomatic dispute broke out between the two countries over the issue of sending over multiple of Davinci's pieces during a major anniversary year. The Italian undersecretary for culture claimed "Leonardo was Italian and he only died in France." It wasn't until later that both countries cultural ministers began working towards reconciliation and claimed "Now more than ever , it is essential for culture to be at the heart of European policies both because it is a tool for creating a shared sense of citizenship, and because it is a great opportunity for economic growth." I agree with this statement. An exchange of paintings like this not only stimulates cultural and economic growth on both parties but it also helps honors the Renaissance artist for their marvelous work. An exchange such as this one should liberate the world of art and revere the creators of such beautiful masterpieces. Da Vinci may have only died in France but that connects him to the cultural world of France. Not only did Leonardo die in France but the Louvre in holds some of his finest and most recognizable work including the Mona Lisa and a portrait of a woman known as La Belle Ferrionnière. France was a major part of da Vinci's history as it was his final journey and resting place. Both France and Italy have chosen to honor that and in return, France agreed to send over some of Raphael's most exquisite pieces. I only wish I could be there to witness the 500th anniversary exhibit of Da Vinci.

Telling Stories: All the single Ladies In this article, the author describes her less than enjoyable experience at her best friends wedding. At the beginning, Doll describes to us the apprehension she felt when she heard a masculine voice say "All the single ladies to the dance floor". It was made clear in the next paragraph that she wasn't the only one with feelings of apprehension as her friend pulled her close and they devised a plan to go hide out in the washroom. Sadly it did not work. In the next couple of paragraphs she talks about her relationship with the bride and groom. The bride and her were apparently very close friends until she decided to marry a man that Doll simply could not approve of. She characterized her friends decision to get married by absolutely refusing to pick up the brides bouquet of flowers when it landed footsteps away from her during the bouquet toss. She saw it as an act of condoning and accepting the union of her best friend and this man and she simply could not do it. The structure of each paragraph in this article is very autonomous. Each paragraph describes different parts of the story while still providing us with the context we need to understand the article. This helps the article flow a bit more. As per her choice of word and her sentence structure it is clear she is using the rhetorical appeal of pathos to entice her readers. I feel like this, along with the independence of each paragraph, are what makes this article so captivating. The style of writing she uses reflects on how she wants us, as readers, to feel about her article.

Thank You For Arguing Reflection Throughout this chapter, and majority of this book, the author used a lot of pop cultural references as evidence to back up his claims. Particularly in chapters 12-13, Heinrich really goes in depth when describing useful argumentative tools. In these chapters he focused on learning and utilizing the skills of inductive and deductive logic. He successfully manages to explain to his readers the importance of beginning your argument with a very broad opening and then narrowing it down to specific facts (deductive logic) and beginning your argument with a very precise fact and then opening it up to a wider spectrum. However, the tool I found to be the most interesting while reading this book would be the art of finding a common place. Commonplaces are words and phrases that reflect the audience’s core values. This tool is crucial to arguments because it condenses a lot of complicated ideals into just a few seconds of material, enough to successfully gain the approval of your audience. Another interesting section of the book was in chapter 12 when the author listed several different approaches to an argument. Traditionally, the best way to defend an argument is through evidence. Unfortunately, I find some evidence is also really easy to counter-argue. If this is the cause you could always attempt to redefine the term and if that doesn't work, argue the importance of your opponents statements. So far, I have found that Thank You for Arguing is actually quite an enjoyable book. I a learning new tools and techniques to use not just in speech but also in my writing and overall, I am learning a lot more about argumentative tools and how to skillfully use them.

Is there a role for public shaming? Discuss. I absolutely do not agree with the concept of public shaming as a punishment. I agree, using a concept like public shaming as a method of punishment is actually a very effective punishment however, it does more harm both morally and socially than it does good. Take Monica Lewinsky for example. Shaming not only exposed what she did but it also made her vulnerable to various attacks online that diminished her sense of worth as a human being. As shown in the Scarlet Letter, both Dimmesdale and Hester experienced some form of shame. While Dimmesdale’s shame was mostly internal, Hester experienced full on public shaming in front of the whole town for her transgressions. Her punishment did not end there. After her release from prison, Hester was forced to bear the scarlet letter A on her dress so that everyone would know that she was an adulterer. In some sense, the punishment was successful but it was also a demoralizing and humiliating process that some people are not strong enough to handle. Yes, actions do have consequences and most of the time shaming is used as a ploy to keep people in check. However there must be a different way to achieve this goal without demoralizing anyone

TOP 5 COMMENTS

Connecting the dots: Hidden Figures

Having read this book before, I also loved their devotion to overcome racial and gender barriers. They were indeed very inspirational and worked tirelessly to ensure that women were never overlooked and were just as capable of achieving greatness as men were.

News Evaluation 2: Justin Trudeau: New video of Canada's PM in blackface

The act of blackface is horribly racist and very very offensive but I agree with you. Trudeau has changed and he has seen the errors of his ways. He has seen exactly how much of a bad decision he made doing this and acknowledged that rather than deny or try to defend his actions. Instead he took responsibility and apologized. Yes, blackface is a horribly racist act and should not go unpunished. He has already faced a lot of backlash from the media and his people and this has done quite a bit of damage to his campaign. I don't think we should dwell on something that happened so many years ago especially since he has acknowledged and apologized for his mistake.

News Evaluation 2: Ugandan President Museveni seeks mandatory death penalty for murders after nephew's slaying 

I admire how you sympathized with Museveni. The loss of a family member is incredibly painful and my own heart goes out to him. I agree with what you said about Museveni thinking with his heart not his head. When it comes to the death penalty I feel like we, as humans, shouldn't be the ones to decide who lives and who dies. If someone is convicted because of murder, we shouldn't decide whether or not to take their life. It's not humane.

Making meaning from the News: Liu Yifei: Mulan boycott urged after star backs Hong Kong police

The controversial debate on whether or not it is considered culturally respectful for Disney to portray Mulan the way the original movie did it is a huge one. A lot of fans would like to see the original Mulan movie but unfortunately it highlights a lot of China's ancient cultural aspect so its hard to do that while still being respectful.

Learning from Writing Mentors: Bird by Bird - Anne Lamott  I agree with the writers idea if abandoning perfectionism. I also struggle with this when it comes to my writing because I feel like everything I write has to live up to an unrealistic standard of perfection. I think its the same for most people. Perfection can be defined in multiple ways by multiple people so living up to this standard of perfection is basically impossible because everyones definition of perfection is different. We should just abandon it :)

EDUCATION TED TALK - SOAPSTONE ANALYSIS

Pathos - It is almost as if he tried to guilt us into believing his story/ sympathizing with his story

Ethos - In order to convince his audience he uses his personal experiences which makes him seem more knowledgable about the topic. 

S - Roy Bunker O - The speaker visited a village and decided to complete his schooling there. He speaks of his experiences and his accomplishments A - All viewers of the Ted Talk P - He spoke not only to educate us on the matter of quality education, but also to describe the importance/unimportance of it.  S - Education/various teaching methods/accomplishments are equally effective and higher education is meaningless if you don’t learn. Women have vast power in knowledge TONE -  His tone was very authoritative and informative. He wanted us to see the proper value of education and all of his points were focused around the notion of importance in education.