#Sweet Emma Band

[banjofilia]

Sweet Emma and Her Preservation Hall Jazz Band

source: Smithsonian, National Museum of African American History and Culture

Preservation Hall Jazz Band, American, founded 1963

Alcide Pavageau, 1888 - 1969

Jim Robinson, 1892 - 1976

Emanuel Sayles, 1907 - 1986

Willie Humphrey Sr., 1900 - 1994

Josiah Frazier, 1904 - 1985

Percy Humphrey, 1905 - 1995

Emma Barrett, 1897 - 1983

A black-and-white photograph of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band of New Orleans, standing in front of Preservation Hall in New Orleans, Louisiana. The photograph depicts six men in suits standing behind bass drum, with the words [PRESERVATION HALL / JAZZ / BAND / of / New Orleans, La.] printed on the drumhead. The men are standing in a line and each is holding one instrument. From left to right is Alcide "Slow Drag" Pavageau holding a double bass, "Big" Jim Robinson holding a trombone, Emanuel Sayles holding a banjo, Willie Humphrey holding a clarinet, Josiah "Cie" Frazier holding drumsticks, and Percy Humphrey holding a trumpet. "Sweet" Emma Barrett, piano player and leader of the band, is seated to the right of the wearing a skirt set, printed blouse, hat and jingles attached to her calves. There are no inscriptions on the front or back of the image.

[nancywheeeler]

List 10 songs with 10 names in the titles that I like, and then tag 10 people.

tagged by @lilalbatross, thank you this was a blast! i didn't realize how many of my favorite songs have names in the titles.

buddy holly {weezer}

emmylou {first aid kit}

evangeline {emmylou harris}

fare thee well, miss carousel {townes van zandt}

francesca {hozier}

for elise {saint motel}

jackie onassis {sammy rae & the friends}

me & magdalena {the monkees}

ophelia {the band}

so long, marianne {leonard cohen}

tagging @eugeniedanglars, @camgoloud, @goodwitchs, @skiptownlikea, @benoitblanc, and anyone else who wants to give it a go!

[nerdblob]

[ghost-proofbaby]

foolishness and all

summary: your boyfriend puts your love to the test when his heart is set on a certain unsightly purchase.

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

warnings: jar jar binks. not edited, i was laughing too hard.

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: this is the product of a very insane conversation that occurred in the middle of the night last night with @emmaisgonnacry, @lokis-army-77, and @emma-munson. forever sad we can't get the jar jar watch </3 (but at least emma got the darth maul one!) ((thank you for making me laugh until i cried last night, friends.))

“If you buy that thing, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.” 

“I’m getting the watch.” 

“And I’m getting a new boyfriend.”

You glare at your boyfriend for several beats of tense silence, narrowing your eyes as if it’ll do anything to change his mind. His heart is already set – there’s no stopping what’s about to happen. 

“Edward Munson,” you stress, hand shooting out to hold his wrist, but he’s already whipping it out of your reach, “That thing is hideous. We’re shopping for a nice watch for Steve’s wedding, not that.” 

“This thing has a name, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles toothily, tilting his head tauntingly at you, “And I think it fits the theme perfectly.” 

“In what fucking world?”

You're whispering harshly now, trying to keep from causing a commotion in the middle of the store and garnering any more unwanted attention. The workers had given you strange enough looks when Eddie had first laid eyes on his prize, his little yelp of excitement seemingly startling them. 

The less people who witnessed the atrocity on Eddie’s wrist currently, the better. 

Eddie goes against that wish entirely, holding his wrist high in the air for the entire mall to see at this point, “In my world. He did say it was meant to be open for interpretation-”

“Not like this.”

“And my interpretation is buying this absolutely priceless Jar-Jar Binks watch.” 

The thing looks down at you, almost as if it’s laughing at you just as Eddie was right now. 

Part of you wonders if it’s all a bit – something Eddie noticed set you off, and he’s now making it into an entire catastrophic situation solely for his own enjoyment at your irritation. But part of you also knows that even if it is a bit, Eddie Munson will commit wholeheartedly to it. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke or not. He’ll be leaving this store as the owner of that watch, and the thought mortifies you. 

“Please,” you finally resort to begging, feeling a bit childish as you give a pitiful hop to reach his wrist. It’s useless. He only stretches higher, shirt riding up to expose that strip of pale skin beneath the fabric. Your eyes catch on it momentarily, but you force yourself to not get distracted, “Eddie, baby-”

“Nuh uh,” he’s quick to shake his head, taking a full step back from you, “Nope. That baby shit isn’t working on me this time. I’m buying it. End of discussion.” 

Fine. The sweet talk route didn’t work. That’s fine. 

You had more than one weapon in the arsenal. 

Before he can even think to step any further away, you reach out and hook your finger through one of his belt loops, giving a tug that further exposes the band of his boxers all while forcing him closer to you. 

You’re back on your tip-toes, no longer reaching for the watch, but to let your lips barely graze over his as your whispers, “What if I ask you not to very, very nicely?” 

That has him faltering. Complete hesitation as he takes a deep breath and visible gulp, arm beginning to drop ever so slightly. 

“I would… I’d…” he trails off, clearly losing focus as your lips stay hovering just out of touch, “I’d probably… I-”

“Probably not buy it – right, handsome?” 

And just as quickly as he’d fallen victim to the game you’d started playing, he’s pulled from it. 

He leans back as far as he can with your finger still clinging to his pants, scrunching up his nose, “I see what you’re doing. Not fucking fair. It’s only thirteen dollars, anyway. I bet if Steve was here right now, he’d tell me to get it.” 

“He wouldn’t!” you whisper-yell, giving up and pulling back as well, “It’s his wedding, Eddie. He told us to get something nice to fit in with the black tie dress code,” you can see him ready the argument of interpretation once more, and nip it in the bud, “No amount of interpretation can ever qualify the head of Jar-Jar Binks turned into a watch as something that fits into black tie attire.”

He’s not convinced. Not of the point you’re trying to make – no, you know he agrees with you and is just being a little shit at this point – but of not buying the watch. 

“What if I just bought it?” he barters, “Maybe I don’t wear it to the weddin-”

“There’s no maybes about it. You can’t wear it to the wedding. You’re one of the groomsmen.”

He lifts his other hand just as the one adorning the eyesore finally drops to be eye level once more, “Fine! Fine. I won’t wear it to the wedding, but I’m still getting it.” 

It’s a compromise. Or as close to a compromise as you and Eddie were going to get to right now. 

With his wrist finally lowered, you can finally get a proper look at the thing. It’s Jar-Jar’s head with a band to mimic his skin, no clock in sight until it’s flipped open. The inside might be even worse though. Vivid font curling to spell out Jar-Jar, a light orange background with darker swirls, and the world’s smallest sliver of a screen to display the digital time. 

It absolutely blows your mind that anyone thought it was a good marketing idea. But then again, people like your boyfriend exist. He was the intended audience, not you. 

“It’s not even that cool,” you weakly still try to fight the losing battle, gingerly grabbing for the wrist this time with your free hand. Your finger hasn’t left Eddie’s belt loop, now resting comfortably in it, just growing fond of the closeness rather than weaponizing it against him. 

And maybe as a way of keeping him from running up to the counter to complete the purchase. Maybe. 

“It’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he proudly proclaims, right there in the middle of the Radio Shack, never having looked more satisfied with himself, “It can just be a conversational piece. I promise, I won’t break out the secretly evil little shit-”

“What?”

“Unless the occasion actually calls for it.” 

“I’m sorry, can we go back to where you just called Jar-Jar secretly evil?” you ask, more perplexed than concerned at this point.

He was getting it. You were hating it. You had bigger wars to win with the man before you at a later date, surely. 

His grin makes you regret asking, “Oh, you haven’t heard the theory about Jar-Jar being a Sith lord, have you?” 

Your finger slips from his jeans, and your eyes nearly roll out of your head. 

“Go buy that thing. I’m waiting in the car.” 

“Wait, babe, no!” 

“Nope. I’m not listening to this.” 

You turn from Eddie to walk away, making sure he can’t see the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you’re so desperately fighting, but it’s no use when he grabs onto your elbow to spin you back around. 

“Eddie, I’m not-”

You’re interrupted with his lips on yours, an unexpectedly genuine kiss ensuing. The kind that reminds you why you’d ever deal with someone who wants a Jar-Jar Binks watch, the kind that reminds you why the occasional embarrassment Eddie purposefully puts you through in public is all worth it. 

All the butterflies, all the sweetness, all the tenderness. The way his thumb traces over your skin as his hand stays wrapped around your elbow, the way his other hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You can still taste whatever sour candy he’d bought moments before walking into the store all over his tongue and lips, hiding his last cigarette from hours ago. 

It’s a good enough kiss to forget the entire interaction that had just occurred. 

When he pulls away, you’re a little breathless, all fluttering eyes glazed over as you look up at him, “What was that for?” 

His smile could melt your entire existence. Turn you right into a puddle of all the love you struggle to contain, just for him. 

“Just because,” he shrugs, but then he continues on, “And for putting up with me. Thank you for that.” 

“I don’t put up with you,” you say immediately, and mean it.

Even when he’s being insufferable. Even when he’s still wearing the goddamn Jar-Jar Binks watch. You don’t put up with him – you love him. Foolishness and all. 

Your finger returns to his belt loop, and this time, you tug him in for another kiss. Something short and sweet, something just because. 

“You know,” he mumbles against your lips, arm wrapping around you so you can’t leave him just yet, “They have a Darth Maul one, too…” 

Your hand comes up between the two of you, only a slight struggle, just for you to smack him in the center of his chest, “You can only have one, Munson.”

“We could match!”

“I am not wearing that thing.” 

He throws his head back and cackles, a certain glee only born of being with the one you feel safest with flooding his features. All those wrinkles in the corners of his crinkled eyes, the stretch of his lips that bring on the appearance of dimples you could bury yourself in if given the chance. A boy made up of stardust and felicity. Your boy made up of every good thing that could have ever existed in this lifetime. 

You’d rather bicker over the useless things with him a hundred times over than ever live a life without him. 

“It’s fine,” he finally sighs dramatically, “I’ll just wear the Jar-Jar Binks watch to our wedding one day.”

Our wedding one day. 

Your heart just about explodes, and the only thing you can do to not choke up is smack him even harder. 

Our wedding. 

It has a nice ring to it. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” you tell him instead.

There’ll be plenty of other moments to talk about that. Now, when he still wears the ugliest watch you’ve ever laid eyes on, is not the time. 

“Gotta catch me first,” he teases as he slowly backs away, a twinkle in his eyes that makes you question if he knows how you’d secretly felt about that joke. That makes you question if he and Steve Harrington had really only been shopping for Steve’s rings for the last year. 

He doesn’t even run to the counter, knowing that you won’t be chasing him. You’re content to stay back and wait. You’ll always wait on him, really.

Even if it meant waiting for the day he wore that goddamn watch on your wedding day, because at the end of it all, you’d probably let him. You’d even wear the Darth Maul watch to match if he insisted. 

You’d let him wear whatever he wants, and you’d wear whatever he insists upon, because at the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter – it’d be enough to simply marry the dork that just tripped on his way up on the counter while giggling over a watch on his wrist, and know that he’s yours, forever.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

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@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo @findmeincorneliastreet

join my taglist!

[carpediemma]

Oh what? What is this? Emma back on her Dead Boy Detective bullshit? YOU SURE BET.

This edit is by DreamOfTheBanshee and it uses a song by one of my favvvoorite bands. Short and sweet!

So watch. Obsess. Give it some love!

And tell your friends to watch Dead Boy Detectives ;)

[weezerfan123]

Requests are always OPEN

…but I will get to them at my leisure and I have the right to ignore any requests I don’t want to do, soz! ^_^

WELCOME TO MY TOTAL DRAMA BLOG!

My name is BATS but you can call me weezer/weezerfan if you’d like!

My pronouns are she/her!

I’m 18!

I’m rlly friendly, I promise! Never be afraid to comment, ask something, or send me a message!💗

Talented artist, bad writer!

My ao3 is songbyrd!

If you want to scroll through my art, click on the #my art tag!

This is the only platform I post my art on. If you see it anywhere else, it was probably reposted without my permission! :c

MY FAV SEASONS are revenge of the island and the ridonculous race!

MY FAV CHARACTERS are sugar, macarthur, scott, noah, owen, bridgette, lindsay, justin, anne maria, alejandro, bowie, and emma (g4)!

MY FAV SHIPS are sweet dirt (scugar), nowen, scike, bridgeney, lyler, alenoah, and jock!

This blog is 100% Total Drama content only, but here’s some other things I’d like to share!

SOME OTHER SHIT I LIKE detroit become human, the last of us, hunger games, until dawn, team fortress 2, littlest pet shops, calico critters, mlp

MY FAV MOVIES ARE get out, bodies bodies bodies, paddington 2, wonka, it follows, the beguiled, jurassic park, mulan, hercules, sixteen candles, night at the museum, violent night, and shattered glass! (I like most movies I watch but I love horror in particular)

MY FAV BANDS/MUSIC ARTISTS are bruno mars, chappell roan, sabrina carpenter, lady gaga, rihanna, incubus, fiona apple, sir mix-a-lot, tv girl, that handsome devil, weezer, arctic monkeys, me first and the gimme gimmes + sm more!

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 Fic: "For All Life and For All Time" (A CS Dracula AU in 3 Parts)

Author's Notes: Okay, so this is posted late, on a day that was luckily unclaimed. I struggled with doing justice to the work that probably began my love of all things Victorian Gothic, and re-reading it again for plotting and inspiration certainly didn't make the prospect any less daunting. While I love the original Bram Stoker novel's epistolary format, it was not something I wanted to carry on for an entire fic. Nor is this fully true to the original's narrative. I do hope that those who have read the novel and enjoyed it may find nods to the original to make them smile. I didn't want to make Killian the Dracula character - he is neither at all attractive nor redeemable in the original work - so he became my Van Helsing. Emma is the kick-butt awesome Mina Harker, quite a standout female character for that time, but I did away with the Jonathan Harker character altogether.

This starts in the middle of the action, then has a fair bit of reflection to bring readers up to speed. The next installment should have more action and pick up where this one leaves off.

A MILLION thank yous to @myfearless-love for all the editing work she did - my writing is quite a mess when I first translate it from my handwritten pages to a doc! She made it so much better, and I am incredibly grateful!!

A Victorian, Dracula-inspired AU in Three Parts

Please Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

**Also available on AO3, if you prefer

Part One

by: @snowbellewells

Emma craned her neck to peer out the small window of the carriage into the impenetrable darkness encroaching on all sides as the conveyance careened around sharp curves and stark cliff faces, making her stomach pitch and her heart leap into her throat. More than once, her mouth opened to call the driver, beg him to slow down, but each time a sudden jolt or swerve had her clenching her teeth and swallowing the words as she gripped the seat tightly. Pitching wildly from one side of the bench to the other, Emma was nearly toppled to the floor repeatedly as they sped on.

The torches beside the carriage doors flickered wildly behind the glass sconces but barely made pinpricks of light in the surrounding night; deep blackness which had swallowed them since leaving the small gypsy outpost where they had supped just an hour past. Emma realized belatedly that she was only becoming more overwrought by attempting to stare blindly into the void while they hurtled forward, and instead forced herself to lean her head against the seat back and close her eyes, resolutely taking deep, calming breaths.

Scant moments passed in such a manner before Emma felt her racing heartbeat slow. It was a different sort of thrill which then ran along her spine - distinct from the chill which had settled on her skin with the horrifying loss of Aurora’s sweet friendship and from the eerie foreboding which had accompanied her since setting out in this last effort to ensnare the perpetrator of her younger friend’s downfall. This determined trek higher and higher into the isolated Carpathian heights seemed to weigh on her more with every mile they gained.

Yet, despite the tightening pit in her stomach and the anxious flutter of her pulse, Emma would not fail to accomplish her part in Killian’s plan. The Professor had turned Emma Swan’s already teetering world upon its axis. He was beyond description - no words could capture what his mere presence, his voice, a glance in her direction could do to her - a power no man had ever held before, because she would not allow it. And yet every hair on her body stood on end when he was near; her awareness utterly captured by the mysterious scholar. He had introduced himself merely as Killian Jones when they met at Aurora’s sick bed, but as they had nursed her together, even when their every desperate attempt proved futile, it had become clear his vast intellect, his determination and resolve, placed him well beyond the scope of any man she had met before - or likely would again.

By the time he had spoken the truth of the fiend who had siphoned Aurora’s life before their eyes, she could not doubt him, even in the face of the utterly impossible - a vampire.

This ancient evil, Count Dracula, had ruled his isolated corner of the world for ages, but in coming to England and extending his reach, he was a threat to all mankind. Aurora had been only a prelude to what he intended. A monster of myth and legend had destroyed her innocent friend, and without pausing for rest, he had stalked and marked Emma as his next victim, only she had the advantage of awareness and warning enough to resist.

Though the threat was deadly, and knowing what she faced - stakes and dark graveyards and the betrayal of her very humanity from what she gathered of Aurora’s end that no one would speak of in full - Emma did not wish to be shielded and to wait hidden in safety while others risked their lives for her sake. She would have her hand in it, even if that meant to some extent playing the helpless damsel as bait in the trap.

To Killian, it was personal as well. He had still been a medical student long ago, traveling to study folk remedies in Romania when he met a darkly beautiful Countess, lonely and sad, all too eager to join him on his travels. She had set his world aflame - first in joy, and then in ruin, for she had not been as free as he had believed. He had fallen for her, and then seen her drained of life by her husband - the creature of night who had proven nightmares lived and walked the earth. Killian had only survived that first encounter because the Count wished him to suffer. For years, Killian had studied and prepared. He had made himself into an expert much different than he had once aimed, and he had intended for his suffering to end only when his life, or the Count’s, did as well.

There was a fine line to walk, however, between justice and bitter revenge. When he had seen the desire for reprisal in Emma after Aurora’s death, when she learned of the indignity to which the young beauty had been subjected and the lengths to which the men who cared for her had gone to assure her peaceful rest, she had sworn she would see this Count Dracula pay for his cruelty somehow. That was when Killian had told her all. “Do not fall into that trap, Swan,” he had spoken softly, though the import of his words was unmistakable. “That way lies ruin - only wasted years and endless torment.”

His blue eyes bored into her very soul as he strove to make her see. “When I lost my love, my Milah, I sore revenge upon her foul husband, the vampire who murdered her without remorse. I was nearly consumed, and when I finally came back to myself, I realized that seeking only retribution would make a monster of me as well. That was when I took on the name Van Helsing, obtained my licenses and degrees with it in fact, in the hope of evading his detection while I waited and watched and the years crept by. I must pursue the course for the sake of all, but not for my own ends, my own anger and hate.”

He would not release her eyes, his focus searing as he continued, “You too must find a way to separate yourself, to retain your purity of heart despite the terrible mission you undertake. Do what you must to save all, but do so without letting it twist your soul with similar darkness.”

And so, in their desperate alliance, they all had their roles to play - Aurora’s bowed but unbroken suitors, and she, Aurora’s dearest friend. The three gentlemen had rallied around Emma, swearing to protect her in her friend’s name. And Killian, their worthy advisor and leader, had not yet steered them wrong. She wanted justice and what retribution could be found for the torment Aurora had suffered. None of them would falter. They had taken solemn vows. Now all that remained was to see the mission through.

Emma could only wonder how had her life been altered so drastically in a few short weeks. Such thoughts replayed through her mind in what was at first a rose-tinged procession as she recalled how bright and full of promise she had been when first arriving on the coast of Whitby for a holiday with her childhood playmate. It had been some time since she and Aurora had seen each other, and those first days on the shore were spent in a haze of sunshine and laughter. They caught up with one another’s lives as they shared tea and biscuits on the wide veranda of the Spindleton’s gorgeous summer cottage. They giggled under the covers long into the nights, whispering of Aurora’s debut season, the many eager suitors who had vied to court her, and her blushing fondness for her chosen fiancé Sir Philip Thornswood, Lord Briarling. They also chuckled over Emma’s adventures - how she disguised herself in men’s pants to move freely while researching her stories, and the various pseudonyms she used when submitting her pieces for publication, subverting the male-dominated publishing world. 

It had been an idyllic change from the crowded, dingy part of London where Emma could afford to live and work. Aurora’s family belonged to the upper echelon of society, well-known and old-moneyed, and Emma had been mostly alone in the world for as long as she could remember. She was discovered on the front stoop of the Widow Lucas’ boarding house as an infant, wrapped in a snow white baby blanket with her name stitched in purple as the only clue to her identity. Fortunately, the Widow Lucas was a formidable woman, well-versed in making her way in the world against harrowing odds. She had already raised a granddaughter who was now off traveling the continent, so she took in the little blonde foundling and raised Emma as her own, teaching her all she knew. Though the tough older woman - “Granny” to all who knew her, especially Emma - had been gone for some years now, Emma remained eternally grateful that it was her doorstep her unknown parents had chosen that cold dawn so long ago.

Granny had even managed to scrounge and save enough, and was willing to spare Emma’s assistance twice a week, for riding lessons - where Emma had met Aurora Spindleton. Though poor Aurora had been an absolute lost cause at equestrian pursuits, Emma had excelled with enthusiasm, and everyone involved was relieved when she took the slightly younger future debutante under her wing during their lessons.

Emma loved the freedom riding gave her, and Granny was glad to know her charge would have the ability to get help quickly and effectively if ever needed - and defend herself too, if her skill in archery and marksmanship was any indication. In truth, Granny had been secretly delighted. She had lived long enough to know just how dangerous the world could be, and she wanted to see her girl as prepared as possible without completely tarnishing her outlook.

Though Aurora’s family was of a higher social standing, they had always been welcoming and kind to Emma whenever she visited their townhouse in Mayfair. She sensed that they were glad their only child had found a practical friend who could provide a steadying influence on Aurora’s naive, head-in-the-clouds sweetness. Since gossip photographers insisted on capturing and reporting the doings of the peerage, her parents were certainly relieved that Emma’s tips and encouragement had kept Aurora from being caught falling off her mount or in some other embarrassing faux pas. Aurora, for her part, was so endearing and open that Emma couldn’t resist being charmed. She might have been cosseted and sheltered, but she was hardly the sort of snob Emma had expected to encounter when mingling with the upper crust during her lessons. Instead, Emma was pleasantly surprised to make her first close friend - a friendship that lasted for years, with Emma always missing the Spindletons when they left for the shore in summer, counting down the days until her confidante would return.

This year, however, she had received a request, along with a train ticket, to join them at Whitby. It had been wonderful - strolling, swimming, and lovely summer hours blending together joyously - until all had gone horribly wrong. If only the happy, haze of sunshine-warm days had not gone dark and tinged with blood.

Aurora had already been betrothed to Philip by the time Emma had arrived. Still, it had been lovely to meet each of the worthy men who had sought her hand. With not an ounce of malice in her slender body, they had each sworn their friendship and fealty, even after the troth had been gently rejected. Even without Aurora there to blush and smile sweetly while introducing them, Emma could easily see why her friend might have been drawn to each in his own way, despite the obvious differences between them. All the men who had sought Aurora’s hand in marriage were honorable and true, respectable and worthy beyond reproach. Their faithfulness to Aurora tested beyond natural bounds and withstood the onslaught, and Emma felt the protection of their bravery as they had rallied around her when she faced a similar fate. If only any one of them had understood what had preyed on Aurora before it had been too late!

Philip Thornswood, Aurora’s betrothed, was the most like her young friend in Emma’s eyes. Upon first meeting the landed peer, she felt the warmth in his large, chocolate eyes, his gentle strength and charm, and she knew they would have melted Aurora’s heart irrevocably. There was a sad sweetness to his expression, as if Emma herself returned a bit of his lost love to him with her presence. He had bent over her hand to gallantly kiss its back, and she had blinked away tears for the happiness that Aurora would never enjoy, knowing the two would have been well-matched beyond her friend’s wildest dreams. All she could do was press his hand in return, and give him a wordless smile she only hoped might express her bittersweet feelings.

Graham Morris, from the wild, rolling hills of Ireland - a cowboy of sorts, as they would call it in the Americas - was a man of few words and swift action, easily winning and debonair, but  also a bit rumpled and informal. He was clearly happier out of doors, more comfortable in the woods and riding horses than in a crowd of people, and yet his easy good humor and almost bashful regard could easily have swayed her young friend. He was an excellent shot, ever on the alert, and a godsend to have in their desperate endeavor.

The third suitor, Dr. Jefferson Seward, was a celebrated and innovative physician who had fought to restore Aurora’s health with every fiber of his energy. If the foe he had battled had been a mortal man rather than an immortal being, Emma had no doubt they would have prevailed. Though he was slightly older, he was thoughtful and doting; Aurora would have naturally been fond of him. The affection between them had been undaunted by her choice of another - so much so that when Jefferson had found himself losing the fight for her life, he had urgently sent for his friend, the renown Professor Van Helsing, expert on the supernatural forces, to do what he could not.

And that was how she had come to be in this rattling horse-drawn carriage, racing up a treacherous mountain path. The devious monster who had taken everything from Aurora - and who now threatened to drain Emma’s own life as well - awaited her in the deserted outpost at the end of this long night’s journey. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. Every few minutes, her fingers reflexively gripped her reticule, its strap looped around her wrist, drawing comfort from the small Derringer hidden within its folds. She also took strength from the knife secured in a special holster at the top of her stockings, pressing against her thigh. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of Professor Van Helsing - Killian - explaining its purpose as he presented her with the clever sheath. He had been deathly serious about her safety, but there also had been a heated flicker of clear attraction when she shyly gestured to ascertain where it should be worn, a moment that had ignited a warmth deep inside her.

The gentle feathering of gray in his hair near his temples and sideburns reminded her of the vast experience and knowledge he had gathered in his life - the very things they were all counting on to help them survive. The deeper lines around his startlingly bright blue eyes and at the corners of his firm lips reminded her that he had once smiled much more than he allowed himself to now. It made Emma wish to see him do so again. Everything about the man radiated power and purpose, commanding her respect from the moment they met, just as Aurora’s terrifying affliction had reached its peak. 

They had not won the victory any of them had prayed for, least of all Lord Briarling. Emma had hardly been able to bear looking at the strong young man bowed by grief as she had boarded the carriage for her mission. Philip Thornswood had given her a hand up onto the step, and was the last to speak to her before Killian Van Helsing’s own farewell. The gloom in his demeanor made her very glad she was not leaving the young gentleman alone, but in the company of true comrades. Even so, she trusted that Philip would not allow himself to falter in their cause. That steady hand, such a gentle support for her own as she ascended into the carriage, might have trembled in the doing, but had not hesitated to drive a stake into the breast of one he loved most in all the world for the sake of her eternal soul.

Breaking from her reflection on the journey’s beginning, Emma remembered herself suddenly as an eerie calm seeming to settle over her surroundings. She was instantly on alert when the carriage began to slow. A shiver of trepidation ran up her spine, returning her harshly to the present and the task before her. Outside there was a foreboding, unnatural quiet, only the crunch of the carriage wheels and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the rough ground broke the eerie silence. They rolled to a stop, and Emma leaned from the window, intent on calling up question the driver.

To her utter confusion and horror, when she glimpsed the seat where the driver had perched, she found no one there. He was gone, and she was stranded alone in the dark. Uncertain of what to do, but knowing she could not stay on the desolate mountain pass in the cold, Emma exited the carriage and alighted on the ground. As her feet touched the rough stone and dirt beneath, some unnerving signal was sounded. The silence was broken by the howling of wolves - loud, spine-tingling, and coming from every side, all around them.

There was no way to outrun them, and as the echo and answer of their baying circled nearer, Emma knew there was no way through their number at any rate, even without being able to see. The horses stamped and tossed their heads nervously, panic driving them as instinct warned them predators lingered just beyond the faint circles of light from the carriage lamps. She would not leave them to be devoured; nor would she lie down and wait to be torn apart herself. She was nearly there!

Desperate and trembling, but steeling her resolve, Emma moved to the front of the carriage, intending to climb up onto the driver’s box, take the reins, and break through the pack, to drive them to the castle herself. It might have been her imagination, her terror breathing life into her senses, but it felt as though the creatures drew closer still. She could almost hear the heavy pants and growls between their mournful howls and feel their hot, slavering breath on the back of her neck. A nervous glance over her shoulder showed only moving flashes of grey fur and horrifying red eyes shining out of the shadows. She had gripped the metal railing to pull herself up when all seemed to fall away, the night going perfectly still.

A dark figure glided with unnatural grace through the mass of half-seen forms. The pack almost seemed to bow their shaggy, sharp-toothed heads before it, if Emma could at all reconcile that impression in her mind. One would almost believe they had been summoned.

The slim, dark, and sinister figure appeared before her, having reached her almost before Emma could mark his movement. Wearing a fine black cloak trimmed in thick fur and reaching almost to the ground, Emma saw little else but the flash of deep garnet in its lining and the glimmer of an evil, yet irresistible, smile. A pale hand reached out of the folds of the garment, outstretched to take hers in strangely formal greeting.

“I believe you are seeking me,” a sibilant voice nearly crooned.

Emma fought back a shudder at the sight of dagger-sharp nails at the end of long fingers somehow reminiscent of spider legs, pulling her into the web. She wanted to deny his claim, but all resistance failed her. What else could she do but allow the cold, dry hand to encase her own, and pull her forward through the wolves and dark and gathering mist? This was the nightmare she had come to find…

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @laschatzi

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@stahlop @myfearless-love @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @lfh1226-linda

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @drowned-dreamer

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @resident-of-storybrooke @everything-person

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm

@donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@goforlaunchcee @laianely @belovedcreation @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

@grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

[grahamkennedy]

Anyway instead of giving that zio cunt's eugenist ideas more airtime here's some music by Aboriginal Australians that I really like that we can all listen to instead ⬇️

[pupsmailbox]

MEDICAL︰GORE ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　aceso. addison. aden. aero. airmed. aliza. alora. althea. ambrose. ambulette. ame. amelie. amor. amore. angel. angelique. angelo. anna. anthony. apollo. arabella. arzt. asa. avian. babe. baby. bambi. bandage. bandagette. blanche. blanchette. blood. bloodette. bright. brigid. cal. carla. carmelita. catherine. cathie. cathy. cecil. chamomile. charge. charles. charlotte. clara. clemence. clement. connie. cora. corina. corry. cosmas. cross. crosse. crossette. daisy. daniel. david. delilah. desdemona. dorothea. dropsy. edema. edith. eira. elias. eliza. elizabeth. ellison. emil. emily. emma. evangeline. feronia. fleur. florence. fragilette. frailette. galen. ginger. gram. grimm. hansen. harmonie. harmony. hazel. healer. hira. hospette. ida. incisionette. incisionne. ivie. ivy. jace. jackie. james. jason. jayla. jayr. jen. jennifer. joasias. john. josiah. joy. jules. kaison. lace. lain. laryn. leah. lee. leigh. leuk. lucie. luciel. lucile. lucy. lue. lues. lyra. lyrica. mae. maebell. maggie. maiya. malachi. mark. mary. marybelle. may. maya. meddette. medette. medicel. medicette. medicinalle. medilita. mercia. michael. michelle. milo. milu. mitzi. moraxella. morgan. natasha. needlette. nile. norrie. norry. nursesse. nursette. nursie. nwurse. nyura. palsy. penny. phoebe. phoebus. pille. pillette. pott. potter. quinn. raphael. ray. red. redde. reseda. reye. richard. robert. rose. salmon. savior. scalpelle. scarlet. scrivener. scrubbe. scrubette. scrubs. serra. shiga. solitude. steven. stitch. stitches. stitchette. susan. sylvie. syrinelle. syringe. syringette. thomas. triage. vasc. viper. vitas. vitus. wiel. winnie. yves. zika. zoster.

PRONOUNS ⌇　ache/ache. ai/aid. aid/aid. aid/aide. amb/ambulance. ambulance/ambulance. bacteria/bacteria. band/age. band/aid. band/bandaid. bandage/bandage. bandaid/bandaid. bile/bile. bl0/bl00d. blood/blood. bu/bubonic. bump/bump. ca/care. care/care. chick/chicken. chronic/chronic. chu/chu. clean/clean. cold/cold. cough/cough. crab/crab. cross/cross. cross/crosse. cure/cure. cyu/cyu. die/dying. doc/doc. doc/doctor. doctor/doctor. dra/draw. drug/drug. fe/fever. fever/fever. flu/flu. fluff/fluffie. fragi/fragile. fragile/fragile. fragile/fragility. frail/frail. frail/frailty. gauze/gauze. germ/germ. gown/gown. gross/gross. he/heal. he/heart. he/help. he/hem. heal/heal. heal/healer. healer/healer. heart/heart. help/help. herb/herb. herb/herbal. hos/hospital. hospital/hospital. ill/ill. in/inject. incision/incision. infect/infection. injure/injury. IV/IV. iv/iv. ivy/ivie. ivy/ivy. lace/lace. li/live. love/love. lung/lung. luv/luv. mas/mask. mask/mask. med/med. med/medic. med/medical. med/medicine. medi/medic. medi/medicine. medic/medic. medical/medical. medicine/medicine. nee/needle. need/needle. needle/needle. nu/nurse. nur/nurse. nur/se. nurse/nurse. out/outbreak. pain/pain. pat/patient. patient/patient. pi/pill. pil/pill. pill/pill. pla/plague. plus/plushe. poke/poke. red/red. sa/save. savior/savior. sca/scan. scissor/scissor. scissor/scissors‎. scrub/scrub. shi/hir. si/sick. sic/sick. sick/sick. sick/sickly. skin/skin. sle/sleep. sneeze/sneeze. so/soft. soap/soap. sore/sore. stab/stab. stem/cell. stitch/stitch. stu/study. su/surgeon. sun/sun. sweet/sweet. symptom/symptom. syn/syndrome. syr/syr. syr/syringe. syri/syri. syrin/syringe. syringe/syringe. tape/tape. te/test. virus/viruse. ward/ward. we/well. wrap/wrap. ☎ . ☣️ . ⚰ . ❤️‍🩹 . 🌀 . 🌡️ . 🎀 . 🏥 . 🏨 . 👨🏻‍⚕️ . 👩🏻‍⚕️ . 💉 . 💊 . 💐 . 💤 . 📞 . 🔬 . 😷 . 🚑 . 🤒 . 🤢 . 🤧 . 🥀 . 🥼 . 🦠 . 🧊 . 🧑‍⚕️ . 🧠 . 🧪 . 🧫 . 🧬 . 🩸 . 🩹 . 🩺 .

[mcgnagallsarmy]

Top 10 Spuffy fics I’ve read (Oct 2023)

All the Way Alive by violettathepiratequeen [PG-13]

Rewrite of "All the Way." AKA an episode that was so RIPE with unfulfilled potential. Because this is the last one in S6 where everything was still all sweet and soft between them…

Blackout by bewildered [NC-17]

The lights have gone out in Los Angeles - and when they come back up, Buffy is there in front of Spike, saving the day and reawakening his hopes. When the unwinnable battle against the demon army is finally won, Spike has the opportunity to win back Buffy’s trust—and perhaps even her love—on an evil-fighting, life-sharing road trip across America. Can he tick all the boxes to get back in her good graces? Or will he end up alone in the dark again?

Cold Comfort by scratchmeout [NC-17]

Buffy’s burning up. Spike has a solution.

Come Back to Me by honeygirl51885 [NC-17]

One call can change everything. It can jump start your heart or it can send your whole world crashing down around you. A newly corporeal Spike musters up the courage to call Buffy. They slowly rebuild their relationship over the phone lines, him in California fighting alongside Angel and her in London establishing the new Slayer central. Phone calls and letters sustain the onetime lovers, while they fight against the forces of evil on two separate continents; all the while counting down the days until they can meet again in person. Things change when tragedy strikes and Buffy is gravely injured. Not willing to let another moment slip through his fingers, Spike sets off for England to care for his Slayer. Is he only there to offer support? Or, could their newly rekindled relationship finally be ready to break through the surface?

Husky by Holly [R]

The Finn family farm has a crappy harvest ahead, but Buffy's too busy with her new boyfriend to care. Who can blame her?

It's a Wonderful Spike by Lady Emma [R]

After Spike (William Pratt) wishes he had never been born, an angel (Cordelia Chase) is sent to earth to make Spike’s wish come true.

Keepsakes by violettathepiratequeen [PG-13]

Spike is fated to pop up at random moments in Buffy's life, with only a short window of time to guess what she most needs right then. And Buffy's just trying to figure out why she isn't more weirded out by it.

Startlingly Moral by acekoomboom [PG-13]

Buffy never told her mom she's the slayer, so she never left town to live as Anne in L.A. When Spike comes back to town with Drusilla in tow, there's a perfect excuse already sitting around to explain for her mom why her life is so strange… Buffy's in a band. Aka a truce fic, rock band style.

Tension by The Danish Bird [NC-17]

It's not even been a month since she buried her mom, her sister is a glowing ball of energy and now Glory knows about that too, and instead of staying to fight, like a proper Slayer should, she's running away in a Winnebago where all she can do is sit and wait for the fight to catch up to her anyway. No wonder Buffy is feeling so tense. But hey, if the world is ending anyway, maybe it's not so bad to agree to that massage Spike is offering. After all, it's just an innocent back rub, right? Just a short smutty oneshot set in the season 5 episode Spiral. It could even be almost canon-compliant… if you squint.

Voices in the Woods by honeygirl51885 [PG-13]

There’s something in the woods.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Signing a Contract - Clavis Lelouch (premium end)

On the way back to the inn, a beautifully bound book on display at a shop catches Emma’s eye. It’s a rare foreign book that’s not even in Chevalier’s library. She tells Clavis that she wants to get the book as it’ll be a nice souvenir. Clavis asks who the souvenir’s for.

Emma says Chevalier’s name and then cuts herself off. Clavis’ smile widens. She’s just broken the contract. Clavis sighs dramatically.  How disappointing. She had to mention Chevalier of all people. Nothing but her love can fix his broken heart now, so her punishment will be to shout out her love for Clavis at the top of her lungs in this foreign land. Emma’s in disbelief. People passing by stop and stare. Emma asks Clavis if he wants her to do it where they’re standing now. Of course, he replies. He wants their love to be known to everyone. There are, of course, a variety of ways for Emma to declare her love for him. Emma can hug him for as long as she can or kiss him passionately. Or all of the above. With how loudly Clavis is saying all of this, they’re attracting even more attention. 

Emma’s embarrassed but she’ll do her best. She looks around and then looks back at Clavis who’s staring at her with open arms and a big smile. Emma slowly closes the distance between them, reaching out to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek. She then announces that she loves him. Emma feels her face heat up and as she tries to step back, Clavis holds her tight. She really is too adorable, Clavis says. Any kind of damage done will vanish in an instant. Emma says that what she did was just for a special occasion, her punishment for breaking the contract. Clavis pulls away and they start to head back to the inn. Emma notices that his ears are red and she’s pretty sure it’s not from the sun. Walking back hand in hand, her heart becomes filled with warmth.

~~

Back at the inn, now that Clavis has gotten a taste of punishing Emma, he wants to do more. He looks over the contract to see if there’s anything else Emma has broken. Well she hasn’t said “I love you” 10 times yet, but that can be fulfilled later that night. There’s also the one about wearing whatever he picks out. Clavis takes the garter bands out of the box and removes his gloves. He’ll put it on for her. Since they compromised earlier, she should let him do what he wants now. He has a point, Emma thinks. 

As Clavis slips the garter band onto her leg, he gently caresses the bare skin with the palm of his hand. One more to go. Emma asks him not to do anything unpleasant with his hands. Clavis has no idea what she’s talking about. He’s just touching her out of love. He slips the second one on much slower than the first. The ticklish, sweet sensation almost makes Emma tremble but she resists. As Clavis expected, it suits her well. For Emma, every time she looks at the bands, she’ll be reminded of this vacation.

Clavis starts to stroke her thighs more seductively and Emma asks him to remove his hands now that he’s done putting the bands on.

Clavis: I’m savoring it. Emma: Then do it with your eyes.

She can’t take it anymore. Clavis starts to kiss her legs as he strokes her thighs, and then flashes a wicked smile when he feels her tremble. He’s found a way to continue punishing her.

[leggerefiore]

For Mother's Day, the kids try to make various gifts for their moms.

Erin tries his hardest to make breakfast in bed for his parent. But, Ingo looks away for one moment, and he over salts the eggs. He also burns the toast and sniffles over the toaster hating him. Ingo has to take over and let him do basic tasks while promising to let him have full credit. Breakfast is clearly made by a certain husband, but Erin's sweet, nervous smile is too cute to even try to correct.

Inka and Emma band together to make a drawing. Emmet monitors nearby. They squabble of whether they should be represented by Joltiks or their parent's favourite pokemon's baby state. There is no mediating it despite his best attempts. It ends with them being Joltiks since they made Emmet a Galvantula. Emma still is a bit pouty about her side of the argument, but it is dropped when you compliment the cute card.

Cyllene wants to build some kind of gadget for her parent. She struggles to think of anything that they do not already have, though. Her father was more than effective in gift giving, it seemed. Said father takes notice of his brooding daughter in his workshop and offers to aid her. In the end, you get a cute rudimentary model of your daughter that says affectionate terms to you in a cadence like that of her father. Your giggle at it made the small girl fill with relief.

Astrea gives you a flower crown or something. Unless Volo sneaked off with that merchant bag, then there was not much to offer in the Ancient Retreat. She does try to accommodate your cultural traditions, at least. (Cogita might help her get something nicer. Surprise gift of candies from Jubilife.)

[ghostradiodylan]

I'm on a four hour car drive, singing at the top of my lungs (terribly, I'm so congested right now, not gonna stop me though lol), and having quarry brainrot. Who among the counselors do you think can sing well and who do you think can play an instrument?

I looove this question and I have to admit I haven’t thought about it that much so this is gonna be kind of off the cuff, instinctive stuff and I’m sure I’ll refine my opinions if others chime in (please!).

It’s kind of weird we never get any campfire singalong action in the game when there’s a guitar in Chris’s bedroom and he mentions Kumbaya, but maybe they’re tired of that from camp by the time the plot line picks up.

Miles obviously is a musician and Dylan’s the music guy so I’d imagine he’s musically inclined in some way. I’ve seen headcanons that he plays guitar and I could see that but I lean more toward thinking he would have taken piano lessons when he was younger and moved on to keyboard and adding on techie stuff like the Mellotron and Moog synth. I think he loves dials and buttons and weird sounds and he can sing but he’d rather fuck around in the noise. Any instrument he plays is gonna get a bit sad if he loses his hand but maybe he’d get more into sampling and remixing and looping computer generated beats as a result.

I think it would be funny if Jacob had a surprisingly angelic singing voice that was completely uncoached and no one ever expected out of him, sort of like Finn from Glee (RIP) but less auto-tuned. I think he’d be an acoustic guitar guy for sure just for the romance of it. Anyway, here’s “Wonderwall.”

Actual footage of Jacob serenading Emma, feat Abi.

Kaitlyn does not strike me as particularly musical though I headcanon that she and Jacob slay karaoke together. She just kind of shouts into the mic like a 90s riot grrl and sings Alanis or Joan Jett and kills.

Abi is so high school marching band nerd coded to me and I feel like she’s a total flute/piccolo girlie or else clarinet/oboe. Or maybe she plays violin in the school orchestra. Something sweet. She’s good but too nervous to perform or audition in front of people very much so it’s just a hobby she shares with people she trusts.

Emma I think would have a perfectly nice mid range singing voice that she’d wish was better. She probably started her influencer career recording Taylor Swift covers for YouTube but she’s a much better actress and dancer than she is a singer. Not quite triple threat material but she believes in herself so she’s trying.

Ryan has such a unique voice that I can’t decide if he definitely can sing or if he’s practically tone deaf. I kind of lean toward the latter. I imagine he hates his singing voice and rarely sings even for fun but if Dylan catches him singing or humming he’s like smitten times one million about it. I could see Ryan playing drums though, I’d imagine he has a good sense of rhythm.

Max, on the other hand, cannot carry a tune but sings ALL THE TIME anyway. And Laura cringes but finds it endearing all the same. He probably plays the ukulele. He just seems like the type.

Laura was a choir kid for sure and probably got solos in school plays and Max was accompanying her on ukulele and playing unnamed roles or else he was painting backdrops or something. We know Siobahn can sing and I feel like that would carry through with Laura for sure. I imagine them doing elaborate musical routines together on car rides even with their vastly different musical abilities.

Nick reminds me of a bassist I know who is maybe the weirdest human being alive. So that’s where I see him. He can sing a little but it’s definitely a backing vocals voice. I feel like he’d be in a stoner jam band just fucking around, playing the same song for an hour while both the band and audience are too high to know the difference.

Chris Hackett obviously plays guitar and Travis accompanies him on harmonica. Bobby plays blowing air over the lip of a jug and also cowbell.

I LOVE THIS ASK EVERYONE TELL ME THOUGHTS!

[ladylooch]

Nico getting a lot of attention from other women either at a party or at a game and lex gets SO possesive over her man

Hes so surprised at this side of his woman hahahaha

"Is it just me or were the signs obnoxious on the glass for you tonight?" Lexi asks, crossing her arms over her chest. Nico's car strolls through the streets towards home. Lucie is asleep in the backseat, nook tucked safely in her mouth.

"I didn't notice." Nico says as he turns his blinker on to change lanes.

"How could you not? And that teenager with her boobs out? So disturbing. Where were her parents? Lucie will never be wearing outfits like that." Nico purses his lips together to smother a chuckle. This is new.

"Sweets, you see more than I do. I have a different focus."

"Sometimes I don't think you realize that you could have any girl, in every arena you play in." Lexi's voice is low and growly. "Like you flip your hair and they fall to their knees for you." He can hear rather than see her eye roll. "I want to mark all over you tonight. Like cover your neck with hickies and bite your lips until they're swollen from my mouth." Whoa.

"I.... okay." He finally decides on. "Make the hickeys so I can cover them up during interviews though."

"That is literally not the point of the hickey."

"Babe, I can't look like that. I'm the captain, not Holtzy."

"Emma marks T all the time." Lexi grumbles. "It seems to work." Nico reaches over, lacing their fingers together on her left thigh. He strokes along her wedding bands assuringly.

Nico has a better idea than rashy bruises.

The next, home game day, Nico stops by Lucie's camera hole at warm ups like he always does. Lexi smiles at his timed approach. He reaches his left hand out this time, letting his wife see the white silicone ring on his hand. In the middle of the band 'L&N" is stamped in black ink.

"Always yours. Especially here." He says to her through the glass. Lexi pouts, reaching her hand out for him to hold with their daughter's.

"I love you." She tells him.

"Love you too, sweets."

"Kick some ass." She winks at him, insinuating she wants the same thing later.

[lonelycowgirls]

Scared

Hey guys! Here we are again ✨

So, this is a long, angsty piece of work that I've been drafting for quite a while. I'm not sure where my inspiration came from, but I do like to write and explore deeper aspects of relationships and life. I really hope this doesn't rub anyone up the wrong way. These things happen every day and I for one feel very lucky to live in a country that operates on a pro-choice basis, for the most part. Whatever keeps a person alive and healthy is what I think is the priority. I won't get into the politics of it all, I'm purely reflecting life and its complex feelings and emotions through art.

Nevertheless, this is a part of Stella and Harry's story - it's entirely fictional and has nothing to do with the real people. I hope you all take it that way.

I also hope you enjoy reading it.

Nel x

WARNINGS | Unwanted Pregnancy | Adult Language | Minors DNI | Lots of Angst

Word count: 6.6k

2014

“Ah sweet, Emma put out the chocolate-covered raisins I asked her for,” Harry waltzed in from his rehearsal into the canteen area set up for the band and crew. He was beaming at the buffet table spread out before them, a child-like energy still so prevalent even at the age of 20. Stella had been staring into the bowl of potato salad for God knows how long by that point. “Y’alright, babe?” He nudged her side while popping a handful of the dried fruit sweets into his mouth.

“Yeah…” Stella glanced up at him before turning away and walking over to grab a banana from the fruit bowl. She tugged at the tip of the banana, but it wouldn’t budge. Tugging harder and scoffing with frustration before slamming the banana back onto the buffet table.

She screwed her eyes shut and ran a hand over her forehead, sighing heavily. When she opened them again she saw a peeled yellow fruit under her nose. She looked up at Harry and took the banana, she swallowed through her dry throat over the nausea crawling up from her nervy tummy. He winked and popped another raisin in his mouth over a smirk.

“I’m pregnant, Harry.”

He was almost sure his heart stopped for a few moments. The smirk fell the quickest it had ever fallen - she’d likely remember his facial response forever.

“What?” He whispered. His eyes were wide in shock, his blood ran cold with a shiver up his spine. She nodded, the tears welling in her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d found out. She couldn’t believe she’d become that girl. That girl in his life. The girl to ruin his life. “You,” He shakily attempted to draw in breaths to steady his racing heart. “No, no, y-you can’t be pregnant, you’re-”

“I’m on the pill.” She spoke over him, stepping back and running a sweaty palm through her hair. “I know, trust me I know, I’ve been questioning everything for days. Apparently it’s not 100 per cent effective.”

“We- you can’t be pregnant… I’m about to go on the biggest tour of my life.” He stepped back, stumbling on his feet slightly. He brought a hand up to his forehead and she watched his fingers shake.

“I know that-” she murmured quietly, but he cut her off again. He was panicking, now.

“We can’t have a baby- fuck.” He cursed, running both hands through his fast-growing curls and tugging at the back of his head. “We’re always so careful, right?” His voice was muffled through the sleeves of his top as his face was buried in his arms.

“I mean, yeah… I guess we needed to be more careful.” She sniffled, still not looking at him. She’d expected him to feel and react this way, but it still made the whole situation that much more emotional and scary. He snapped to look at her when he heard her small sob of sorrow.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Stell. You should’ve told me as soon as you found out.” He leaned back against the buffet table, reeving up the cream tablecloth. Emma always complained about the stains that the boys would leave on it but still refused to get any other colour.

“I knew you’d react like this, H… I was scared.” She was folded in on herself now, protecting herself from the rejection she swore was coming.

“I know… I’m sorry, I’m just shocked. I never wanted to do this to you.” Stella looked at him with that. Their eyes locked, his shiny green with her deep brown.

“You haven’t done anything bad, Harry. In theory. There are things we can do… things we have to do.” They stayed silent for a moment as Harry racked his brain through the options he knew about from sex education lessons at school.

“Won’t that hurt though?” His eyebrows were tied in the middle, concern flooding his pale face. His shoulders were sunk, he looked like a helpless little boy. Nowhere near ready to be a father. She took a careful step towards him, unable to stop herself - he needed comforting.

“I’m sure it won’t hurt nearly as much as giving birth, H.”  She laughed slightly, pushing a curl over his ear.

“I’m so sorry, Stell.” A large hand came to rest on her hip, a thumb stroking back and forth.

“You don’t have to be sorry.  It takes two to tango… and I was a very willing dance partner.” She winked, trying to lighten the mood. She brought her fingers to his chest, two of them tracing the cross that rested on it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with… with what you have to go through.” He spoke barely above a whisper, looking down to try and find the appropriate words but coming up empty.

“I’m a big girl, Harry.” She was telling herself as much as him.

“Yeah, I know…” He smiled slightly, somewhat proud of how mature she was and just as thankful for it, too. “Just know, one day… the time will be right. We’ll have beautiful babies, as many as you wanna push out.”

“Yeah?” She cocked her head as he smirked and another hand moved to curve around her hip. “We’ll see about that, Mr Cheaper by the Dozen.” She chuckled as he finally scooped her up into his arms, the feeling giving her an immense amount of comfort. He breathed her in, his face nuzzled in her neck as she ran her hands up and down his back. “I love you so much, I think we’re gonna be okay.” She whispered into his shoulder. Pulling away slightly to look down in her eyes, Harry kept his arms around her and smiled softly.

“I can’t believe there’s a baby in there…” He smirked, eyes getting a bit glossy. Goosebumps instantly sparked all over her body, she flinched in his arms almost as if his words had physically struck her. Regardless of how softly and sincerely he’d said them. She moved to gently push him off but he held tighter.

“No, H… it’s not a baby. Not yet.” She shook her head, blinking the tears away. She was exhausted, having been up for nearly 24 hours by that point, worrying about this exact situation. She pushed harder and stepped out of his arms, but he let his palm graze her belly as she moved away. She began slowly pacing, hands raising to rub at her eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asked, confused by her sudden return to her stressful demeanour. He frowned, still leaning back against the buffet table.

“You can’t make this what it isn’t. You’ll… you’re making it harder.” Her breath was speeding up, a shaking hand being brought up to her chest as she fought the panic and nausea. He kept his hands by his sides now, fidgeting and anxiously picking at the skin around his thumbs with his forefingers.

“I don’t understand, babe.” He stated firmly, not knowing whether she needed his comfort or her space, but desperate to figure it out. Her pacing stalled in the middle of the room. A clear divide was now put between them.

“Harry, I have to go to the doctor’s and take a pill to get rid of this… whatever you can call this thing inside me. I can’t do that with the thought that it’s anything more than a speck in my womb. Alright? So, just don’t make this what it isn’t because I… I can’t.” She brought her hands to her face again, her breath catching in her throat as the anxiety continued to heighten and spill over. Harry stayed frozen, not knowing what to do, or how to help her. This was something he’d never been prepared for, he’d never learned about abortions in school or even discussed them with his mum or sister. His dad adopted the phrase, ‘Don’t be a fool, wrap your tool’ pretty much as soon as Harry turned 16. As far as he was concerned, Stella was still carrying his baby, no matter at what stage, which was making him feel unexpected things. He knew that right now wasn’t the time and it would be irresponsible of them, but he thought that if he romanticised it a little bit, she’d still feel loved and accepted by him. Boy, was he wrong.

“We need to tell someone-” Harry offered, his eyes following her pacing feet. She came to a halt again at his words.

“No. No, we can’t tell anyone.” She motioned with her hands, emphasising how serious she was.

“Have you even told your mum?” Harry reasoned, brow furrowed. Stella told her mum everything. He was sure her mother knew more about their relationship than he probably did.

“No, she’d kill me if she found out.”

“Well, maybe you can tell Dolly?” Harry grasped at straws, he thought she might need another woman’s opinion. He’d definitely be telling Gemma at some point, he knew she’d have comforting words. Most probably after thumping him on the back of the head for being so stupid as to get his 19-year-old girlfriend up the duff in the first place.

“I don’t know, Harry. I think it’s best nobody knows, I don’t want this following me.” The pacing returned.

“Well, I’ve gotta tell my mum,” Harry said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?!” The pacing stopped again, she looked at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head on his shoulder.

“Because she’s my mum, Stell. She knows more than me about this stuff. She’ll know what to say.” Stella didn’t doubt that, but she couldn’t bare Anne knowing that they’d been irresponsible enough to have to get an abortion. If she was scared of what her mum would think, she couldn’t summon the thought of Anne knowing.

“And you don’t think she’s gonna be disappointed?” Harry was quiet at that, folding his arms and dropping his gaze to the floor again. “You don’t think she’ll judge us? Judge me?” Stella stepped forward on each question, a fire behind her eyes now. She almost looked wild, her eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep and her body almost vibrating with emotion.

“You know she’s not like that. She’ll understand. Yeah, she might be a bit shocked and sad that you’re getting rid of it but-”

“Oh, I’m getting rid of it? It’s just me, yeah? It’s all me, I’m dealing with your baby but it’s none of your business.” Stella was beyond help now, spitting venom in the quiet room. He’d not seen her act this way before.

“No… no, you know that’s not what I mean,” Harry said quietly, sounding fed up now as he dragged a hand across his face in exasperation. She stared at him with wide eyes, daring him to look at her. “I don’t know how to talk to you right now.” He grumbled, holding his hands up in surrender, before swiftly moving towards the door.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell, fine, do that! Lucky you can just walk away from this while I’m left to sort it out!” Her screeching words were punctuated by him slamming the door. “Prick.”

“Hiya, baby girl! How are you guys? How’s the tour rehearsals? Tell me everything!” Dolly’s beaming face on the other end of the FaceTime was almost making Stella feel better. Almost.

“It’s… it’s good, yeah. Can get a bit boring sometimes, but it’s nice to be able to go to bed with Harry every night.” She tried to sound happy and upbeat, hoping that her big sister wouldn’t see through her.

“Oh, girl I bet it is.” Dolly’s perfectly plucked eyebrows danced with a suggestive smirk, making Stella scoff.

“Not just for that reason, Doll. We go to the hotel pools or gyms together, then we go to dinner or we get a takeaway, the takeaways are a bit shit here though, I said to H I’d kill for a-”

“Okay, what’s going on, Stell?” Dolly asked suddenly. “You’re all flappy and flustered. Your eyes are bloodshot to fuck. Tell me what’s going on.” Stella sighed, dropping her head down onto her arm, willing the tears to stay in her damn eyeballs. She was sick of crying at that point. Deep down she knew that her sister would pick up on the signs straight away, she’d subconsciously called her for this exact reason. She just thought she’d have a little more time to get her courage up.

“You’re gonna be so upset with me.” Stella sobbed, fully crying now that she actually had to say the words. Dolly’s face was full of worry, whatever this news was, she was scared to know now.

“I won’t be upset, Stell. We can get through anything, but you’ve got to tell me.” Stella tried to take deep breaths, just so she could allow the words to leave her lips. “Stella, please, just tell me.”

“I’m… fucking pregnant, Dolly.” Dolly’s face fell into shock, her hand flying up to her mouth.

“Oh my God,” her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Stell…” She awkwardly laughed in disbelief, unexpected emotions bubbling up.

“I know.” Stella shook her head, eyes shut, tears still flowing.

“Fuck, okay. It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine.” Dolly dabbed her eyes with her fingers, trying not to smudge her winged eyeliner. “You obviously can’t tell Mum.”

“This is what I said to Harry! It would go down like a fart in a lift.” Dolly laughed and Stella joined in, it felt like the first time she’d laughed for a week straight. It felt good to make light, somewhat, of a very stressful situation. “I’ve got an appointment to get an abortion on Friday morning.”

“Ah Stell, you’re gonna… deal with it?” It was telling how nobody seemed to be able to say the actual word - it was one of the reasons Stella knew she’d be judged.

“I can’t have a baby right now, Dolly. Harry’s 20 years old. He’s having the time of his bloody life.” Stella blew out a soggy breath through her pouting lips, sniffing over the tail end of her tears.

“What about you?” Dolly asked, the conversation pausing for a moment. “I’m hearing a lot about Harry and not a lot about Stella.” Dolly rest her head on a fist as she looked in the camera lens.

“I… I can’t have a baby.” Stella’s hand absentmindedly landed on her lower belly, running her palm along the material of her t-shirt. “I’m not ready… there’re things I want to do. Things I want to accomplish. I especially can’t have Harry Styles’s baby. Can you imagine? I don’t want to be just his baby mama.” Stella anxiously cringed inwardly at the potential headlines. “The girl chasing for child support… the girl waiting at home looking after the kids while he’s off seeing the world… the girl left behind…” she whispered, trailing off with her eyes focused on the lamp on the bedside table.

“I get that. You’re gonna be more than that, of course, you are.” Dolly smiled over fresh tears welling up for her baby sister. When Harry first became famous, everyone was so excited, Dolly remembered it like it was yesterday. She’d watched Stella enjoy it, for a while. Recently she’d watched her struggle with it, watched her fade into the background. She’d never been truly accepted into his new lifestyle. By the people who were begging to be around him, or by his fans - everyone knew why, including Stella. But Dolly also knew she was in love with Harry, had been for years, and she wanted her sister to be happy. So she vowed she’d always be there to pick up the pieces when it all started to fall apart. “I wish I could come and be with you but I’m knee-deep at fashion week.”

“No, I know, of course, I understand. I’ll be fine.” Stella spoke sadly, as much as she secretly hoped someone in her family would be able to come and support her, she’d never want any of them to drop everything, for this of all things.

“Is Harry going with you?” Dolly questioned, casually.

“He can’t, he’s got rehearsals,” Stella mumbled, picking at a nail.

“Oh, for God’s sake, surely they’d understand-”

“Well no, because we can’t tell anyone.”

“Can’t you just say you’ve got an important doctor's appointment?”

“Isn’t it a bit obvious if we say we both need to go?”

“Well, maybe… but it’s not fair for you to have to deal with it all on your own. It’s scary.” Stella’s belly flipped again at the thought of the abortion, but she knew she could do it. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but she would be fine. She had to be.

“It is a little. But it’s supposed to be not too bad, I Googled it and apparently, the worst of the pain is over in a few hours, so I’ll be back at the hotel and in bed for the bad bits.”

“Okay,” Dolly didn’t sound as convinced. “What’s he thinking anyway, is he freaking out?”

“He’s… I haven’t seen him since he walked out on me yesterday.”

“What?!” Dolly sat up straight in her chair at this revelation. Her eyes bulged behind her glasses. “He walked out on you? Surely fucking not.”

“We had an argument and he walked out. Slammed the door and everything. I do kind of get it to be fair, I’ve basically given him the worst news imaginable.” Stella looked up at the lamp on the bedside table again. “I almost didn’t tell him because I thought he’d dump me.”

“Aw Stell, I don’t think he’s like that is he? He’d be an idiot to throw away three years together and he’d be a dick for doing it over a pregnancy scare, especially.” Dolly’s face was as serious as her tone. “I know I’d never forgive him.”

“Well, it’s not looking good now anyway. He’s off sulking somewhere.” Stella rolled her eyes. “I’ve gotta go, I’m knackered and just wanna sleep. I’ll text you.”

“Okay, sis. Look after yourself. Speak soon, keep me in the loop. I love you!”

“Love you, too,” Stella replied, sighing as she flopped back against the plush hotel pillows and dropped her phone onto the bedside table. She was too angry to text Harry first or to ask anyone where he was either. None of the boys knew what was going on so they hadn’t bothered her, which she took as a win. She glanced around the room, Harry’s suitcase lay open in front of the dressing table, the contents spilling out in a mess onto the floor, as usual. Was he still wearing the same pants from yesterday? How had he brushed his teeth? She wondered to herself but then reasoned that he could literally just ask Carrie, the tour manager, to get him anything he needed. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone, really.

A heavy knock on the door shook Stella out of her thoughts with a firm jolt to her body. She sighed, tossing the duvet from her body and dragging her feet towards the direction of the sound. Forgoing the peephole, she cracked the door open, peering through. There Harry stood, in the same clothes he’d been in since the day before. In his arms was a huge brown paper bag, emblazoned with the familiar golden yellow arches they’d become way too accustomed to since landing in the US. Glancing down further, her eyes caught on the fluffy pink slippers that adorned his feet. She smirked at them before quickly covering by folding her lips into her mouth and narrowing her eyes at his face.

“You think a Maccy’s is gonna fix this?”

“We’re not broken, baby.” He said with his own smirk and a shake of his head. His eyes widened, “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

Stella rolled her eyes and opened the door fully, stepping to the side so he could waltz into their hotel room. Just watching him cross the threshold had her body sagging with contentedness. She’d been tensely on edge for far longer than what would be considered a healthy amount for a 19-year-old. But for a 19-year-old pregnant girlfriend of a boyband member? That scale may be marked differently.

“Where’d you get the slippers?” She said to the back of his head.

“Got fed up of my boots, so Lou let me borrow these of hers,” Harry mumbled, dropping the paper bag onto the dressing table before collapsing back on the bed with a huff and a deep sigh. She looked at him, sprawled out on the white duvet, his lanky legs hanging off the edge, arms splayed out either side of him, eyes shut, lips parted. Stella thought back to her conversation with Dolly and felt anger flow through her veins again. Moving to the sofa against the wall of their suite, she picked up a throw pillow before launching it at Harry’s head. He huffed in surprise, not able to get a word in before she did.

“You don’t get to come back in here like nothing’s changed, Harry.” She said, getting upset all over again. Harry clutched the pillow to his stomach, coming up to a sitting position. “You left me yesterday not knowing if you’d ever come back.”

“Obviously I was gonna come back, I just needed space, Stell.”

“Yeah? Well, I needed you.” Harry was silent, his mouth hung open, catching flies. “Why do I have to be the strong one? When you didn’t come to bed, I didn’t know whether it was over or not yesterday… thought I might even have Carrie coming up here telling me to pack my stuff because we were done.”

“Stella, I’d never do that to you. I… I can’t believe you’d even think I would end things like that.” He frowned hard, hand coming up to his chest. “Do you really think that’s who I am?”

“I don’t know, Harry. This is the point!” She threw her arms in the air. “You left me in the unknown.” They came back down to slap her hotel robe-covered sides. “That’s what fucking hurts.” She pointed to her heart as her voice faltered.

“Stella, you were laying into me, I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know what else to say!” Harry’s chest was heaving slightly, panic and anger mixing and rising. “Everything I say to you lately is wrong.”

“Don’t make me out to be some sort of psycho, Harry. I’m going through a lot right now.”

“Ugh, God there you go again!” He tossed the cushion back onto the sofa it came from, getting up to move away from her, arms flying in exasperation. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself before turning back with his hands on his hips. “I’m not trying to make you out as anything, I’m literally just trying to talk to you… I don’t know what to do to help you.”

“No, you don’t.” Stella laughed humourlessly, she looked down at her fidgeting feet. Her arms came to surround her tired torso. “I’ve had enough… let’s just get ready for bed.” Harry ran a hand over his face and moved towards his open suitcase, starting to unbutton his jeans. Stella wandered over to the ensuite to brush her teeth, speaking before she closed the door, “I think you should get the sofa bed out.”

Stella had been tossing and turning for over an hour, occasionally shifting up to glance at Harry on the sofa bed. He was on his side, a long leg thrown over the top of the spare blanket they’d found in the wardrobe. He always slept like a brick, no matter where he was forced to lay his head.

Dropping her head back onto the pillow, she wondered if they’d make it through this one. She didn’t want to lose what they had but she was too proud to accept the way he’d behaved about this whole situation. They were only young but their lives together would bring so much more turbulence and she didn’t want to have to be the one to guide him through it all the time, while he pranced about with everyone thinking he was perfection personified.

She knew what people said about him, how they talked about him, the words they used. They idolised him. They couldn’t understand why he’d chosen her. Of all the options he had. She’d mostly gotten over the insecurity of their younger years together, but every so often, it would start to swim around her head again and make her doubt herself again. And doubt them as a partnership.

She wanted to respond to people who pointed out her seemingly endless list of flaws and say, ‘Hey, he’s got plenty, too.’ Not that they’d believe her. He was still a man at the end of the day. And men did stupid shit. Like, walk out on their pregnant girlfriends for a day and a half, while they’re away from home and she’s about to get an abortion.

“Hey,” Stella jolted awake, she must have dozed off in her thoughts. Harry’s voice was soft and gentle, his light strokes on her back were even more so. She made no move to turn over, just nudged her head slightly to signal she was listening. “I can’t completely get out of rehearsals… but I’ll make sure I’m here when you get back. Okay? I’ll make sure of it, I’ll make some sort of excuse and I’ll be here.”

Harry watched her breathing, biting his bottom lip when she still didn’t move. “This is all my fault…” His voice wobbled over the words, making Stella’s heart sink. She finally rolled over to see him leaning over the bed on his arms, fists digging into the mattress. Leaning up on her elbow, she brought a hand to his cheek, she stroked with her thumb and shook her head.

“It’s not all your fault, Harry. It’s not.” Her hand slid down to his neck and to his bare shoulder, giving him a subtle pull to signal his welcome into the bed beside her. He quickly obliged before she could change her mind, pulling the duvet up to his chin, almost swallowing her head up completely in the heavy covering. “We’ve both just… made mistakes. It’ll all be over soon.” Her voice held a melancholy that encapsulated their complicated scenario completely. The sadness of the loss, the anguish of the toll it was taking on their relationship, the relief that there was a safe solution available to them.

“I should be comforting you, I don’t know why I couldn’t do that. I think, I just…” Harry’s eyes were cast down in thought. He really didn’t know why he reacted the way he did. He surely wasn’t proud of it, but he had to do it. Something inside him told him to run away for a bit until he could think straight.

“We’re scared, H. We’re just kids still, this is heavy… we’re working it all out.” She fiddled with the lining of the pillowcase that was under his head. 

“I don’t wanna lose you.” His voice was so quiet, dripping with sincerity. His hand itched to touch her, to grab her and pull her close, just to emphasise how much he meant it. But he didn’t want to overstep his welcome. “I hate when you’re angry with me.”

“Stop making me angry then.” Stella teased, her eyes flicking up for a second with a smirk before looking at her fiddling fingers again. Harry chuckled lightly.

“I’ll try.” Stella bit her lip, looking at his dark silhouette again, with hooded eyes begging her for sleep. She leaned forward to press a tiny peck to his lips, his arm secured her to him to place a successful three more to hers. She then turned in his hold for a few minutes, him hugging her so tight, their bodies slotting together naturally. She rested there for a few minutes, before nudging herself free to shift across the bed and snuggle down into her own side. Harry’s heart ached as he stared at the back of her head, so close but still so far. But he knew he needed to put his own feelings second, at least for now. He needed to take her lead on this one and respect her boundaries. Besides, she’d never steered him wrong thus far.

Stepping out of the back emergency exit of the family planning clinic, Paul, one of the band’s bodyguards and one of Harry’s closest friends and confidants, guided her to the haven of the tinted windowed vehicle waiting for her in the car park. The whole thing had felt like a Mission Impossible movie, except Stella was more of an Austin Powers than an Ethan Hunt. She had her most oversized cardigan on, along with Harry’s biggest, darkest sunglasses and one of Niall’s caps, hood up. She’d signed into the clinic with a pre-arranged dummy name that was called out into the waiting room. Luckily, there were only three other people waiting to be seen and they all looked too caught up in their own lives to care about her presence. Which made a really nice change. She’d almost forgotten the concept of people not giving a shit about her or what she was wearing or how she acted.

She was sure she wouldn’t be able to describe the way her body felt if she tried. The phrase ‘emotionally drained’ could never be more appropriately used. Harry had kept her up half the night with his tossing and turning and the other half she’d kept herself up with her own tossing and turning. Which was out of character for him, but he was so worried that she would be papped - or worse still, spotted by fans - that he was moving like a man possessed.

Halfway through the struggle of the night, she’d decided it best to try and calm him by drawing patterns on his bare back. Running her nails up and down, side to side and in circular shapes, softly letting her fingertips glide on their journey. She did it often because she knew he loved it, that night she felt he needed it. It calmed her too, feeling his warm, smooth skin on hers. Once she began hearing his quick breaths slow to a relaxed pace and then finally to a soft snore, she stopped and turned over as slow as she could so as not to disturb him again, falling asleep at last, but for an hour at most. When she woke up with a jolt, his side was empty, sheets crumpled and unmade as usual.

As Paul began to drive she took a deep breath, took her cap and glasses off and willed herself to feel something. To feel something for what she’d just done, but she didn’t. She’d done her best to block out the intrusive thoughts of believing that she was a murderer, purely to stay sane through all of this. But now she felt like a cold heartless monster, almost like she’d gone the completely opposite way. No one would ever know what she’d done, but she always would. Dolly always would. Harry always would. Now, Paul always would. She trusted Harry as much as he trusted her; as much as to not force her into signing an NDA. So she knew he’d never tell a soul, should things not work out between them in the end. But they were forever changed from this moment, well, from the moment she’d watched the little red lines show up on that plastic stick.

Don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty, don’t-

“Ya alright there, sugar?” She jumped slightly at Paul’s deep Irish voice piping up from the front. She met his eyes in the rearview mirror and noted the kindness in the blue, he wasn’t judging her, she could sense that. All he wanted was for her to be okay. She nodded wordlessly, pulling her cardigan sleeves over her fingers and leaning to look out of the window again.

Paul scanned her card for her and allowed her to step through the hotel room door, which she allowed after multiple attempts at telling him that she could do it herself fell on deaf ears. He carried her handbag, too.

Harry jumped up from where he’d been led back on the bed, an arm propping his head up and his phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling as he tried not to lose his mind overthinking that his girlfriend might die from a noninvasive, tried and tested medical procedure. He’d been on the phone to Gemma since he’d gotten back to the room after telling the boys and the crew that he had a migraine. He couldn’t stop himself, he wanted to know what he needed to do to help Stella when she returned from her treatment. He felt a bit guilty about going against her wishes of not telling anyone, but he was unaware that Stella had already told Dolly.

He stopped a few feet in front of her, fidgeting from one foot to the other, fiddling with the side hems on his jeans. She looked so small and defeated. She smiled at him softly, trying to show gratitude that he was there, just like he’d promised he would be. Paul nodded once at Harry before handing Stella her bag and squeezing her shoulder, throwing a final salute before letting the door shut with a soft click.

“Well, it’s done,” Stella said, dropping her bag onto the sofa and perching herself on the end of the bed to slide her trainers off. Harry stayed put, watching her.

“How do you feel? Does it hurt yet?” He kept his voice gentle like he was approaching a wounded deer.

“No, I feel fine at the moment, only happened about an hour ago though and the doc said I should expect some pain around the two to four-hour mark.” Once both shoes were off, she stayed still, only fiddling with the threads pulling from her cardigan.

“Okay.” They sat in silence for a minute or two, before Harry finally worked himself up to move to a crouch in front of where she sat. He cupped her slightly chubby cheek, her eyes stayed downcast, lashes fluttering. His thumb stroked under her puffy eye and she brought her hand up to wrap her fingers around his wrist. “I’m really proud of you, Stell. You’re so brave, much braver than me.” She still didn’t look at him, her bottom lip tucking inwards as she shook her head slightly.

“I feel nothing, Harry.” She voiced, barely above a crackled whisper. “Why don’t I feel anything?” He frowned, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, babe. You said the doctors mentioned it would take a few hours to-” 

“No, I mean I don’t feel anything.” Her words were juxtaposed with the lone tear that began to trail down her face.

“Oh. That’s alright, you’re not a bad person if that’s what you’re thinking… you did what was right for you… and for us.” He tried not to make it about him again, he knew she definitely didn’t need that. “Like you said, it wasn’t really a baby, it was just a pocket of cells in your uterus.”

Stella huffed out a laugh, “You been Googling?”

“Nah, Gem told me.” Harry laughed softly, eyes flashing with realisation when Stella flinched, eyes finally meeting his. “Shit.” Stella couldn’t even find the energy to argue, she just rolled her eyes and moved her head to the side to press a kiss to his palm and his wrist that she still had hold of on her face.

“Don’t worry about it, H. I suppose it was harsh of me to say you couldn’t tell your family.” She knew she hadn’t handled this very well. Inside, she was grateful that he’d talked it out with someone. “What else did she say?” He stood up straight, both his knees clicking on the way. She puffed out another laugh as he stretched out exaggeratedly like an old man. 

“She said,” He held out his hand to help her up. “That I should take care of you. That I should rub your belly, if you’d like that?” Stella nodded. He led her up the bed by the hand, flipping the duvet over. He slid her cardigan off her shoulders, before flicking his head up and running his hands up her arms as she lifted them over her head. He then pulled her t-shirt off, leaving her in just her soft lounging bra. “She said that I should get you your favourite food, which is gonna be hard to do since you like Cadburys chocolate and roast dinners and we’re in America.” He flicked her nose with his finger and she swatted at him. Stella giggled along anyway, brushing a hand through his curls as he bent to pull her leggings down her legs. Once both of her feet were free, he pressed kisses back over her tummy, the tops of her breasts and her neck, as he made his way back up to stand. He bent to wrap his arms around her waist and bury his face in her neck, hugging her close. She, in turn, wound her arms around his neck, scratching his nape and inhaling his scent. He pulled back and turned her so she could climb into the bed.

Once the covers were over her, he jogged in small steps back round the bed, getting his t-shirt and jeans off in quick succession, something she knew him to do regularly, but in different circumstances. He slid into the bed and faced her, breathing a sigh of relief when she shuffled closer to him and tangled her legs with his. “Then she said,” he murmured, low and slow, tucking hair behind Stella’s ear. “To tell you how much I love you and that I support you.” He brought her closer still, trailing his fingers up and down the curve of her waist. “I’m sorry I was a dick.” He whispered.

“She told you to say that, too?”

“Nah, that one was all me.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be… okay, again.” She looked down again, not meeting his eyes. His brows pulled in.

“That’s alright, Stell.”

“I mean… in a lot of ways.” She whispered, wanting him to get the message without her having to say it out loud. “Specifically… in that way.” She looked in his eyes briefly to solidify her point.

“Stella, you’ve just had an abortion, I’m not a horny monster.” To be truthful, both of them were feeling a little bit of PTSD from the experience, they needed to live a bit more of a wholesome lifestyle for a while. “Don’t worry about all that. We’ll just worry about what’s up here for a while,” He tapped her temple with his finger. “Instead of what’s down there.” She smiled, so relieved that he was being so understanding and mature. “Plus, distance makes the heart grow fonder. Once you’re ready to go, it’s gonna go OFF.” She knew it was too good to be true. He was still a 20-year-old man, she supposed. It still didn’t fail to make her a little excited, deep inside.

“You’re so good.” She said, playing with the ends of his hair that just kept getting longer.

“You are.” He responded, rubbing his nose with hers.

“Yeah… we’re good.”

~

If you'd like to read other pieces from this universe click here.

[the1975attheirverybest]

fic idea if you feel like writing any <3

dad Matty is left in charge of getting his little ones ready for school. his eldest daughter can get herself ready but he still checks on her and she helps him get the little ones ready. just some cute shit like making breakfast, doing their hair, driving them to school??

Gave them names cuz it gets clunky constantly referring to them by their ages, though i can't possibly imagine what Matty would name his children.

Warnings: None

---

Matty tiptoed towards his eldest's room, grinning to himself. His heart fluttered at the prospect of seeing her excited face once he hands her the coffee he'd gone out to get her. He cracked the door open as delicately as possible, wincing when it creaked. It didn't seem to bother her though. He smiled softly at the sight of his first baby girl, sleeping soundly, and thought to himself that she almost looks the same as she did back when he used to set her down in her crib, over a decade ago.

"Alice, honey, wake up." He whispered, nudging her gently with one hand, holding the coffee cup in the other.

Alice stirred slightly but seemed, on the whole, unaware of his presence. "Baby, I'm sorry cuz you look so comfortable, but- it's time to get up now."

She groaned and mumbled something Matty couldn't quite make out, pulling the covers over her head.

"what was that?" He laughed.

"I said you stink." she mumbled from behind the duvet.

"Just got back from the gym. Didn't have time to shower cuz I wanted to get you this." he stuck his coffee-carrying hand into the tent she'd made herself with the bedding. "Does that help at all?" he giggled. "It's full of that sugar and cream and gross shit that you like."

Slowly, she accepted his sacrificial offering, peeking her head out to look at him with squinty eyes.

"Wait, where's Ellie?" She sipped on her beverage, letting the saturated sweetness warm up her body.

Matty noticed that she held her coffee with both hands, exactly as he always does, and smiled to himself. "Oh, she's in the baby chair in the living room."

"You took her to the gym with you? you crazy?"

"'Course not, dropped her off at Hann and Carly's."

"hmm." she crossed her eyebrows, taking another sip.

"what? I wasn't pawning her off, I promise! went to pick up Hann anyway cuz he wanted to come with me."

"I just feel bad for Carly. Every time she thinks she's done with the infant phase, one of you lot has a baby and asks for her help."

Matty chuckled and shook his head. "She knew what she was in for all those years ago when she married Hann. It's a deal. You marry one of us, you've married into the whole band. Besides, I'd watch their kids in return....one day. When they're old enough to-"

"to not need your help? yeah."

Matty laughed, in awe of her. "Warning: im going to kiss your head now."

"Don't you dare- ewww you're gross." she squirmed away to maintain the grumpy teenager facade. Secretly, she liked when he was sweet with her.

"Count your blessings, kid." he smiled. " You think my dad ever brought me coffee in bed? He banged on the door twice, if I didn't wake up, then it was all my fault."

"Grandpa Tim's too sweet for that."

"Finish your coffee and get dressed, alright? I've got the other two to take care of." Matty walked away from her, heading for the door.

"Make sure you shower first!"

"Piss off!"

***

"Right, so what're we feeling today? pig tails? bun? what's the vibe?" Matty ran the comb through his 5 year old's hair, looking into her eyes through the mirror they were both facing.

Emma sighed loudly, looking away from his reflection.

"hey, what is it, darlin'?"

"Well, I want small braids in my hair, but you always make them too loose and they end up falling off. So...I'll take a pony tail, I suppose." She rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me! I'll have you know, I've been practicing my technique!"

"no, you haven't!" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yes, I have! Your uncle George's been showing me. You want me to call him so he can tell you?"

"I guess you can just prove it by doing my hair. Tightly this time!"

"Yes, m'am!"

***

"Okay, I've got all three of you, my car keys, my head hasn't exploded, yet. So, off we go, i guess...c'mon."

"Not so fast." Alice tapped his shoulder. "Em refuses to wear the right shoes."

Matty frowned, looking down at his 5 year old's feet. "she's got shoes on. What's the issue."

Emma pulled her sister's arm and whispered something about not telling dad the situation, but Alice simply shrugged her off.

"well....you see those butterflies with the glittery wings?"

"Yeah...."

"They violate the dress-code.

"She's 5! why does she need a dress code?"

"Hey, I'm just the messenger."

C'mon Em, you're not changing out of these shoes. If anyone says anything to you, tell them to give me a call." She grinned, wide and toothy, just like her dad, hopping and skipping over to him to take his hand as they walked out the door. "these....fuckin' tyrants squashing out a kid's sense of self with their oppressive conformity." He mumbled all the way to the car.

"Hey, if you're so anti-establishment, you shouldn't have put her in that school."

"It's the best there is!" Matty shrugged, unlocking the car door and setting his infant down in her car seat. "Though I'm gonna have to have a talk with your mother about this tonight...a school with strict rules for kids? Can't be the best there is..."

***

"Whose turn is it to pick the music?" Matty asked.

"NOT yours!" Emma yelled out from the backseat, making her dad burst out laughing.

"So much for democracy." Matty muttered and handed his phone to Alice in the front seat. "Well, we're dropping you off first, so you pick for the first half, and then Emma can change it after."

"Best dad ever."

"fuck yeah I am. And don't you two forget it!"