#her dissertation and lecture she’d more than

[wesleysniperking]

if i could write well i’d write a fanfic about usopp somehow getting separated from the strawhats and landing on a island where there’s a ton of other black people there.

if he were to stay there for a few days, maybe a week, how much damage could that fix? probably a little bit. but a few people to help him with his hair, to connect him to new sides of blackness, to open up to him and let him indulge in their culture could be sooo good. especially if the culture is based in stuff like inner peace, meditation, spirit cleansing, etc etc. if he could find a sense of inner peace, a way to breathe when he’s scared, a way to stabilize it could help him with his anxiety AND his observation haki. my boy need a week of silence and saging fr. i haven’t quite figured out how the crew would react to a changed/changing usopp yet tho. and i’m totally projecting half of my trip into re-connecting with my blackness onto him(i grew up around black people during but when i was forced to move i was suddenly the only black person in my whole grade. at 16. lowk damaging stuff but my family was still black so i held strong) but everyone projects a little so it’s okay!

tips from black people, being around black people (who in usopp’s case are not trying to kill him) could be sooo goood for him

Okay but now you’ve got me spiraling in the best way. I love your idea of Usopp getting separated from the crew and ending up on an island full of Black people. Just… what that would do for him. Even if it’s just a few days or a week, that could be huge. Not just in helping him feel seen—but in letting him rest, decompress, and connect with a side of himself that he’s never been able to fully explore. Imagine him getting tips on how to care for his hair, finding people who understand him without judgment, and being welcomed into a culture that’s rooted in things like inner peace, meditation, and spirit healing? That alone could help with his anxiety and strengthen his Observation Haki. A week of silence, saging, and soft head pats—please. My boy deserves that badly.

And yeah, I definitely feel you on projecting—it’s not even projection at that point, it’s just relatability. I grew up with my Blackness reinforced by my family too, but when you're suddenly the only one in the room, that shift hits hard. That kind of isolation changes how you move, how you speak, even how you brace yourself. I think that’s exactly why Usopp, out of everyone, would be so in tune with microaggressions and subtle bias—without even trying. Because he lives with that sort of inner radar. He’s been the odd one out from day one.

And honestly, the Straw Hat crew’s reaction to a spiritually recharged Usopp would be hilarious. Nami would probably feel left out. Luffy would be like “Whoa, what’s this vibe? I like it,” but also get weirdly (adorably) jealous. Sanji and Zoro would start beefing over whether or not Usopp’s about to dip and start a new pirate crew. Meanwhile, Robin would casually drop a full dissertation on diasporic identity and Black cultural preservation, and Brook would probably start writing a song about it.

But yeah—being around Black people who aren’t trying to kill him would be such a gift for Usopp. Just safe, affirming energy. People who could say, “Yeah, brotha—you belong here.” I’d read the hell out of that fic if you ever wrote it. Or I might just have to write one with that as the blueprint! You really got me thinking, Anon.

[idontbelievethehype]

This isn't for you. Part 1. F.S.

Lets give Farleigh a life outside of Oliver's gaze. ;)

Warnings: drinking, some drug use, smut if you really squint, the general disgust of the upper class, Farleigh being a bitchy pansexual, Oliver is his own warning, Farleigh can't tell the difference between friendship and love. I don't write user inserts. This is an ofc based on a vague amalgamation of several people. No beta, we die and typo like men.

Farleigh was running late. Farleigh was always running late. It wasn’t something he often even clocked about himself, but this time was different. He’d made a promise to his Art of Islam tutor that he’d attend her thesis defense, and that defense was across campus in 5 minutes. He was selling her short of course. She was a million things more than a tutor to him.

Truthfully, Farleigh didn’t give a singular fuck about the art of Islam. He did give a fuck about Maggie, though, and as poor at time management as he was, he was determined to at least try to keep his promise. So he ran. It was a first.

Maggie was already speaking when he took a seat along the back wall of the lecture hall, sliding down slowly as to not make any noise. He worked hard to steady his labored breathing as silently as possible. He mentally checked out almost immediately, but his eyes never left her nervous fingers hooked together, giving each other comforting strokes as she spoke.

45 long minutes of death by PowerPoint later, Farleigh heard his own name, snapping him from his open-eyed daydreaming.

“Lastly, I’d like to thank Farleigh Start for taking the time to read through this dissertation several times over the last year. You’ve given me lovely feedback, so thank you.” Her voice was weak and rough from having spoken for an hour straight. He simply offered a nod and a smile. Truthfully, he’d only read it once and skimmed it three times. He loved the passion and fervor that worked up in her voice when she spoke about art, and that was enough.

“So, are you a doctor of art now?” Farleigh bumped his elbow into Maggie’s shoulder as they walked side by side back to his dorms. He had waited for her while she answered questions in a closed room. He was glad he’d never know that anxiety. A second class in Art History and never returning to uni again would be more than enough for him.

“I’ll find out by the end of the day, but it is usually a foregone conclusion.” She seemed calmer than she had in months. A weight had clearly been lifted off of her shoulders. It all felt a bit silly to him, but knowing Maggie meant witnessing her drive, however pointless it may seem. She needed a doctorate just about as much as he did. Far less, even. Her future was pre-ordained and quite comfortable.

He’d grown up just a couple of years behind her in age, always stuck together at functions and events. He couldn’t even count how many times they’d been sat side by side at dinner parties. He’d watched her grow from a chubby little girl who couldn’t stop talking about anime into the gorgeous, articulate, connoisseur of fine art she was today. He knew that she’d watched him grow too. He often wondered if he was just a child in her eyes, as he sometimes was in his own.

“Will you be joining us tonight?” He opened his door for her, watching as she toed her shoes off next to his bed and flung herself down, deflating after a long morning.

“Pub?” It was mostly mouthed. Sound barely came out of her. He didn’t turn the light on. There was a softness to her when she was spent that he didn’t see in other girls. He certainly didn’t see it in any of the boys he knew. Something gentle and sleepy and begging to be held.

“Can’t tonight, love. I’ve got a dinner with mum.” She lifted her arms and legs like a bug, slowly waving them about with a foolish smile, beckoning Farleigh into her grasp. “Come, smoosh me.”

“If you’re trying to be sexy, you’re shit at it.” He complied nonetheless, lying on top of her and hiking her thighs up his hips until they were interlocked on his bed. It was intimate, yet anything but sexual. It was a position they found themselves in on a semiregular basis.

“When I’m ready to be sexy, you’ll know.” She giggled and tucked her face into his neck. The heat from her breath made his hair stand on end. “You could come to dinner if you like, Farleigh.”

“Not with THE Countess of Snowden. I couldn’t fathom taking a moment of her time.” He didn’t need to see her to know that she was rolling her eyes. The relationship between their mothers had been adversarial all their lives, though it rarely trickled down to the children. For all of the caddy shit talking and passive aggressive comments over cocktails, they all summered at the same estates and enjoyed the same trappings, even if Frederica and Serena had been at each other’s throats since birth.

The thing about Maggie that Farleigh loved the most, apart from just blanket familiarity, the thing that really set her apart from every other landed gentry in their friend groups, was that Maggie never once acknowledged her birthright. It was there, sure, and it was significant. 27th in line to crown, Easter brunch with the Queen, etc, but she lived her life quietly and calmly, in the way Farleigh imagined boring middle class people did. She never pulled the rip cord for a bailout. He respected the hell out of that. It was something he was never able to accomplish himself.

“Oh come on then, you could ask for my hand in marriage,” Maggie started, exaggerating her posh accent for his enjoyment. Farleigh squeezrf her side, making her squirm into him more. “Two great houses equal in dignity.” She recited Shakespeare mockingly. To her, they really were equals, though Farleigh knew better.

“Dignity, is that what we’re calling this now?” Farleigh slid his hand down from her waste to her hip, letting the silky fabric of her trousers slip between his fingers. If she were someone else, he’d start working on the buttons, inching the zip down, easing them away from her skin. Not Maggie though. This wasn’t a game to be won. There was no trophy at the end. To comfort and to be comforted. That was all they were there for this time.  

“Drinks after, I suppose.” Maggie mumbled, lacing her fingers into his hair softly, her nails barely grazing at his scalp. “If you’re still out.”

“We will be.” Farleigh closed his eyes and let himself appreciate the feeling of her hands on him. He was rarely touched so tenderly by his lovers. Even calling them lovers was giving too much credit on both sides. “Felix has a new pet. You can meet him.”

“Oh, god. Not again.” He felt her body go slack. Maggie’s family was closed off. True aristocracy always was. They found the way the Catton’s took on strays to be intolerable, always making Saltburn a theme park for the less fortunate. Last summer, she’d called it sad. Poverty porn in how they always fed on the stories of the downtrodden. Farleigh wanted so badly to agree, but he knew in some ways he was just as much a charity case as their flavor of the week.

They parted ways around tea, Maggie going to shower and nap, Farleigh off to attend a tutorial he had put zero thought into. He loved the way his tshirt smelled of her hair, of shampoo and the scent she’d been wearing since her 16th birthday. Vera Wang Princess. Cheap and frankly pedestrian, probably purchased at Boots, it was the sort of scent he’d drag a woman for it he met her in the pub. He didn’t mind it on Maggie. It was familiar and soothing to carry her with him for the rest of the day.

Farleigh sincerely hoped Maggie would come out to the pub. He wanted to chat shit with her and maybe dance a bit, but she text him around midnight that she was going to bed. He didn’t reply. She was wishy-washy on nights out. Always a good time, but rarely in much of a mood to have one. She got horrible hangovers regardless and he’d been talking to a boy from St. Anne’s all evening who seemed interested in fooling around.

They didn’t see each other the next day, or over the weekend. This was hardly unusual. Farleigh loved her company in a different way than that if his other friends, or his cousins. He suspected she felt the same. It wasn’t necessary to keep tabs. It was annoying even. With the school year coming to a close, they were likely not to see one another until midsummer anyway.

Farleigh arrived to Saltburn with Felix at the end of term. He’d wanted to take a weekend or two in London to party, but Venetia had pleaded with them to come home. Venetia felt more like family to Farleigh than most. His little sister, faithfully awaiting his return.

They had a peaceful, though boring week as a family with the occasional entertainment of poor dear Pamela’s idiocy. She’d worn her welcome out over the spring, but Farleigh knew that the Catton’s need a bit on tension or they’d go looking for it. He quite enjoyed having someone else be the mess on the floor for them to step around.

Once Ollie arrived, though, it all felt a bit crowded. The little gremlin attached himself to Felix like a leach. No matter where they went, Oliver was there like an unsettling shadow. He was a poor lost boy. He demanded attention and care. Farleigh longed for the comfort of someone who just gave a shit if he was in the room or not.

Felix’s man-child has arrived

Farleigh sent the text already knowing the reaction he’d receive.

Well, then, I’m not coming now. Yuck.

Maggie liked to pretend she had any control over it. Of all of the places to be and families to summer with, one could do far worse than Saltburn.

Of course you are. They’ve already made up your room for you.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. The rooms had been made up for weeks for whenever Maggie and her mother planned to stop by. Hers was one of dozens of rooms that go largely unused.

Next to yours?

As God intended, my love.

When they were children, they’d build little forts with blankets and sleep side by side all summer long, never alone in the night. At home with their mothers, they were always alone. Left to their own devices. Summer was the only time Farleigh felt truly part of anything. When they got older and shipped away to boarding schools, their summers together were sometimes supplemented with bank holidays and winter breaks. The idea was the same even while their bodies were quite different.

They would talk, maybe kiss, maybe touch, maybe more. It was equal parts educational as it was erotic. To this day, when Farleigh makes a girl cum, it’s Maggie’s body he’s using as a roadmap.

She came through the doors with absolutely no fan fair. She had a way with Duncan. She seemed to disarm him. He didn’t feel the protective need with people whose stations were far higher than the family he served. She could take nothing from them, only give. And besides, he’d known her all her life.

“Good morning, lover.” She wrapped Farleigh in a hug from behind at the garden breakfast table, surprising him.  She kissed his neck, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He held his arm out as far behind himself as he could reach to not burn her with his cigarette. Almost immediately, she did the same to Venetia on her right. “Oh how I’ve missed you, my dear.”

“I didn’t even know you were coming today.” Venetia pushed Felix’s feet from the chair between herself and Farleigh to make room for their friend. Maggie had always treated Venetia with a bit more care than most others. It went a long way.

“Oh, I drove. I was only at Daylesford. Hardly a long way.” She immediately silenced the potential comments brewing within Elspeth. She knew exactly how to please her, not that she really needed to. “Mum went off to Portofino.” She cupped a hand around her mouth, allowing only Elspeth and Farleigh to see, stage whispering. “To see a man!”

This elicited a delighted laugh from all of the Catton’s who often joked about how uptight and impossible to please Lady Serena could be. Daughter of Princess Margaret, she had somehow inherited absolutely none of her mother’s good humor or sense of fun.

Suddenly, as if she felt it boring into her, Maggie seemed to clock Oliver’s unblinking gaze. “Oh, hello, you must be-“ She let the sentence linger, having never actually learned his name.

“Oliver.” Farleigh watched him make the completely wrong choice of trying stare her down, that doll-like smile on his face that had pulled so many others in. For all of Maggie’s calm demeanor and candor, she didn’t trust a soul she hadn’t known a decade or longer. There was no way in with her. No amount of charisma or flirtation could build her good will. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ah.” Maggie raised her eyebrows, pasting a somewhat strained smile onto her own face to match his. “Sure.” Under the table, she took Farleigh’s hand. “I do hope you’ve been having a good summer so far, Oliver.”

After their somewhat tense interaction, Maggie largely ignored Oliver, and Felix too for that matter. They made plans to go to the field in the afternoon. Farleigh felt content for the first time in weeks.

“Strange, right?” Farleigh asked the second they closed his bedroom door behind him, both of them snapping into action immediately.

“Oh god, yes.” Maggie wiggled her jeans down her hips, sitting down on the edge of his mattress to kick them off. “Like a creepy porcelain doll.” She pulled her t-shirt over her head and tossed it into Farleigh’s chest. He was already half undressed himself. Maggie didn’t have a bra on. Her small chest held a sort of unexplainable, ungendered elegance. He preferred her that way.

“You should see the way he looks at Felix like he’s going to eat him or something.” Farleigh emphasized the word eat as he almost fell over trying to yank his socks off.

“I love it when you’re like this.” Maggie was down to her white cotton thong, sprawled out on his bed in a column of mid-morning sunlight. The ever-present dust from the tapestries on his walls left them in a faint, swirling fog. It felt like they were in a dream.

Farleigh stepped between her knees hanging off the bed. He ran his hands up her legs, enjoying the stubble of her unshaven thighs on his fingertips. “Like what?”

Maggie walked her fingers from the top of his hand to his chest before reaching out and pulling him down on top of her. “I like it when you’re a complete bitch.” Her eyes closed when she laughed and he laughed with her.

He shifted into her more, enjoying the way his hips forced her legs wide to compensate for their dramatic difference in size. It was his instinct to say something snide and barbed, dripping with sarcasm, but he knew he didn’t need to. He didn’t need to say anything at all.

Farleigh took his time with Maggie. He always did. They had nowhere to be but with each other. Last summer she had said he looked cast in bronze. She’d called him statuesque. Beautiful. No one else had ever described him as anything more than surface level. No one had ever looked at him long enough.

He pressed himself into her slowly, watching her lip go between her teeth and her face twist upward into a joyful smile. She craned her neck, looking down at were their bodies met. “How’s it look?” He asked with a chuckle, relishing in the way her breaths got heavier the more he moved.

“Really, really fucking hot.” Maggie spoke through a deep exhale, flopping her head back onto his bed and looking up into his eyes. “Best porn I’ve ever watched.” Her hand came up to his cheek, thumb brushing against his bottom lip. “I like to watch this too.”

“See, I like it when you’re like this.” He kept his pace slow and languid, coaxing pleasure out of her steadily. No rush.

“Talking dirty?” Her voice was husky. Her eyes still locked with his.

“No,” It came out sing-song, light. “I like it when you’re having fun.”

Movement in the window behind her caught his eye. Someone walking in the courtyard.

“Look, it’s the real-boy now.” Farleigh separated from Maggie just long enough to flip her over and slip back into her. Her ass bounced off of his hip bones. Her delighted squeal rang out through his open window so he reached forward to clasp a hand over her mouth. “Shhh, just watch him with me.”

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 4

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

The rest of the week moves quickly, full of meetings - of both the dreaded office kind and the personal encounter kind - and Satine spends free moments at work making progress on her second book. Her free moments at home are spent in a mix of professional and personal: she reads Ben’s dissertation cover to cover.

Most dissertations, she knows, are not the author’s best work. They are the result of sleepless nights, the culmination of years of eighty-hour work weeks, attention split between planning lectures, grading coursework, submitting one’s own coursework, and - between it all - managing to conduct research. Most scholars cringe when forced to interact with their dissertation after they’ve graduated, finding various typos and illogical arguments not initially caught by tired eyes or disinterested committee members.

But Ben’s dissertation - 

It’s a work of art. His writing is academic poetry, each word chosen for maximum emotional impact. And it’s not just the writing but also the subject matter that he appears to have approached with reverence, with respect. 

He’s a storyteller, just like Satine. He’d conducted dozens of key informant interviews, performed qualitative content analysis - all to highlight marginalized voices. 

Again, Satine is astounded by the parallel tracks of their lives. 

He, of course, had noticed the similarities well before she’d been aware of them; he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d cited her dissertation within his own.

Kryze (2015) eloquently argued for increasing emphasis on qualitative data in the realm of conflict prevention studies, which historically has prioritized quantitative modeling to predict conflict. While giving credit to the importance of such algorithms, Kryze noted the dangers of overlooking the voices and stories of those most affected in favor of discrete data points captured by scholars halfway across the world who do not understand the language or culture of those they are studying. She proposed that such conflict prediction algorithms could be improved and enriched by incorporating qualitative analyses that highlight the lived experiences of those most deeply harmed by these conflicts.

She’d had to pause reading after the first mention of her name, and then again later when he’d cited the postdoc paper she’d spent two years writing and honing. And when she’d finally finished reading Ben’s dissertation - all two hundred and fifty pages of it - she’d had to pour herself another glass of wine.

Satine hadn’t thought anyone had read her dissertation or her postdoc paper. She still isn’t convinced the reviewers at the journal where the latter was published had even read it, either.

But Ben had read them both. And not just read them; he’d acted on them, engaging with them in such a way as to build upon her argument and strengthen it.

He’d considered the qualitative model she’d proposed for predicting genocide, and he’d tweaked it to apply the framework to his field, adding his own critical theory and background to predict - and thus possibly prevent - attacks of religious terrorism against Muslims.

It is, Satine thinks, taking another sip of wine, incredible work for a doctoral dissertation. And it’s more than that, too, and she knows it. It’s an academic love letter.

Satine downs the rest of her wine.

But a feeling nags at her. Ben had followed her career, and closely. He’d had to have known when she accepted the postdoc at Northwestern. She was in Evanston, IL, for two years while he was in Wisconsin’s capital. They’d been fewer than 150 miles apart during that time, and such a distance would have been a trifle if they’d mutually agreed to rekindle things.

And yet he hadn’t reached out.

Satine thinks of their last words to each other.

“We’ll see each other again; I know we will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise you.”

After they'd walked away, even thinking of him was agony incarnate. Had he felt the same? It seemed unlikely, given how well he knew her work. But if it didn’t bring him as much pain as it did her, if he’d truly engaged with her work and had been open to the possibility of giving things with her another go…why had he not contacted her when they were both in the Midwest?

And by Satine’s calculations, their time in DC has overlapped for the past five years. If Ben was open to a relationship with her, surely he would have initiated contact in that time.

Frustrated, Satine wipes at the moisture welling in her eyes. Maybe she’s misreading everything. Maybe she’s reading between lines that don’t even exist.

She shuts her laptop and heads to the kitchen in search of a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

---

Early on Friday morning, she runs into Ben in the hallway. He takes one look at her expression and says, “You read my dissertation.”

Satine nods, face still warming up after her trek across campus in the cold. She removes her hat and fumbles in her coat pocket for her keys. She’d forgotten her mittens at home, and her frozen fingers do nothing to help her locate the stubbornly missing keychain.

Ben, who appears to have arrived well before - his coat hangs in his office, and his eyes aren’t watering from the cold - notices the way her fingers clench and unclench, and he reaches for her free hand, rubbing it between his much larger ones to generate heat. When glorious feeling finally returns, he grabs her other hand and repeats the process. “What did you think?” he asks, his voice low.

“I…” starts Satine, but she’s having trouble remembering which words go in what order to form a proper sentence with the touch of his skin against hers.

He takes a step closer, no longer trying to warm up her fingers, but he doesn’t release her hand.

She looks up at him, glances at his lips, and then meets his eyes again.

“Ben, there you are!”

They jerk apart and turn to meet the new arrival, a man in his mid-twenties, taller than Ben by an inch or two with long, wavy, dirty blond hair. His right hand is covered by a leather glove but his left is not.

“I was meaning to ask you…” But the man trails off as he notices Satine and Ben, and even though they’ve moved apart, Satine realizes they’re still standing too close to be entirely appropriate.

“Uh, hey,” says the man, with a look from Satine to Ben. “Ben, you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Anakin,” he groans, voice low. “This is Satine Kryze, and she’s not my girlfriend.”

The man, Anakin, steps to Satine and extends his right hand. It’s a prosthetic hand, and a good one - she wouldn’t have clocked it without the handshake. “Nice to meet you, Doc,” says Anakin. “Would you like to be Ben’s girlfriend?”

“Anakin,” says Ben in a warning tone, and Anakin backs up, hands up in a pacifying manner. Ben turns to Satine. “The insolent youth here is my postdoc, Anakin Skywalker.”

Satine had known Ben had a postdoc, but seeing him in person is something different entirely. She blinks at Ben. “They gave you a child? You?”

Ben rolls his eyes again. “Even worse: this child has a child, for all intents and purposes. He’s largely in charge of mentoring my master’s student, Ahsoka.”

“Hey! I’m right here, you know,” Anakin interjects.

Ben sighs at him. “You and Ahsoka can contribute to this conversation when the number of postgraduate degrees I have doesn’t outnumber the number of postgraduate degrees you two have combined.”

Satine tries to keep a straight face and fails miserably.

“Look, I didn’t fail my master’s,” says Anakin, and by his tone, this is a discussion they’ve had before. “I just wasn’t invited to continue at that program.”

Satine finally manages to locate her keys. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she says with a smirk, and she lets herself into her office, listening to the two men continue to banter as she shuts the door behind her.

---

That afternoon, Satine departs her office a bit early in order to head to the seminar room. As she locks up, she feels more than hears Ben beside her.

“Confident in your ability to find the room?” he asks, and she can hear the wry smile in his voice.

Satine turns and leans her shoulder against the wall separating their offices. “Ducking out of office hours early to attend the seminar?” she shoots back.

He chuckles. “Guilty. But I have a good reason.”

“Escorting me so I won’t get lost isn’t a ‘good reason,'” says Satine.

Ben locks his door. “It is good reason, but I actually meant that I’m giving the seminar talk today,” he says. “And no matter how many times I present, I still have the inevitable nightmare that my slides don’t work or that the screens won't turn on.”

Satine nods, immediately empathetic. “I stand corrected.”

Ben smiles at her. “Walk with me?”

So they fall into step.

The silence is companionable, but Satine’s nerves are not. “Your dissertation was good,” she offers. “Very good.”

She steals a glance at him, thrilled to see the softness of his gaze. 

“High praise from you, Madam Secretary.”

He opens the door to the stairs for her, and they descend together, the sound of her heels echoing in the stairwell. “Yes, well,” says Satine, hand on the rail - she does not need to tumble down in front of him - as she glances behind her. “I can hardly say differently if I inspired parts of it, could I not?” But when they clear the landing, she turns to face him so that her expression makes clear she is joking. 

Ben, however, doesn’t look like he is being facetious as he says, “You inspired all of it.”

And then he opens the door and exits to the first floor, and she has no choice but to follow wordlessly after him.

The seminar room is, mercifully, next door to the stairwell, and Satine watches Ben walk down the aisle, past the rows of - as of yet - empty seats, and log into the computer at the lectern. Satine ponders where to sit, wondering if Ben would think it rude for her to choose a seat in the back or too distracting for her to be in the front. She decides to sit toward the middle but to the side, hoping it is an acceptable compromise.

At that moment, the door opens again and Anakin barges in, his long legs skipping steps as he makes his way down the stairs. “Thanks again, Ben,” he says, handing Ben a small device.

Ben just looks at him, amused. “Not a problem,” he says eventually. “I know I’m not technically your doctoral advisor any longer, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you to purchase a spare PowerPoint remote. Is this the second time you’ve had to borrow mine before one of your lectures?” And he plugs the USB component of the remote into the computer.

Anakin grumbles, "This would be the fourth.”

Ben gives him a withering look. “I think I’ve made my point.”

As Ben loads his slide deck, Anakin notices Satine, and he heads over to her. “Mind if I join you?” he asks.

“I’d prefer it, actually,” says Satine.

Anakin grins. “You want details on Ben?” he says, not bothering to lower his voice.

“Anakin,” warns Ben, not even bothering to look up from the screen.

But Satine just laughs. “I’ll settle for insider gossip on the department. Any intel you have on Ben would just be icing on the proverbial cake.”

So Anakin takes the empty seat next to hers, and he begins to point out the names of the people who are trickling into the lecture hall in anticipation of the seminar. “Dooku Serenno,” says Anakin, nodding toward a man with graying hair who chooses to sit in the first row. “I assume you already know him.”

Satine nods. “Yes, he was on my interview panel. He’s the chair, right?”

“A relatively recent change, but, yes - he’s department chair. It was basically a successful coup attempt on his end. The previous chair had been in that position for something like twenty years. It was time for Dr. Yoda to retire, which is the only reason the rest of the faculty allowed it.”

Satine frowns. “Twenty years is a long time to serve as chair.”

Anakin sighs. “Academics,” he says in frustration. “Once they get a little taste of power, they won't give it up. It’s why I’ve told Ben to never let me apply for something like that. It fucks with you.” He taps his temple.

“Indeed,” says Satine.

Anakin leans over slightly, lowering his voice. “But you wanted gossip? Dr. Yoda was Serenno’s advisor, back in the day. And Serenno advised a man by the name of Quigon, and Dr. Quigon advised…” He waves his hand to Ben.

Satine raises a brow. “Ben?” She breathes in. “I’ve never heard of Dr. Quigon. Where does he work now?”

Darkness flashes across Anakin’s face for an instant, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. The din of more people filing into the hall gives cover for Anakin’s next words. “He doesn’t,” Anakin says eventually, making sure no one gets close enough to hear him. “He was found dead when he was doing fieldwork - " Anakin gives her a loaded look at the word. " - abroad, just before Ben defended his dissertation. There were no leads, and no one was ever arrested.”

Satine turns to him, horrified. “God,” she says, feeling suddenly nauseated. “Why wasn’t it widely reported? Surely that kind of news would have made the rounds in academia?”

Anakin shrugs. “Quigon seemed to deliberately keep a low profile. I think Ben suspects he worked for the Agency. They might also have killed any stories about his death.” He winces. "Poor choice of words, but you get my meaning."

Satine turns over his words in her mind. It’s not unheard of for scholars in international relations to have security clearances. And among those who do have access to classified information, it’s also not unlikely to be recruited for more sensitive work. From her undergrad coursework, Satine knows that anthropologists in particular were recruited as spies during World War II and during the Cold War. And the Agency, she knows, is shorthand for the Central Intelligence Agency, so Anakin is suggesting that Ben’s doctoral advisor was indeed an intelligence operative - and that he was killed on assignment.

This, actually, is the only explanation that makes any plausible sense to Satine, given that academics are the worst gossips she’s ever had the misfortune to work with.

"Was he killed in Russia?" murmurs Satine, feeling cold.

Anakin's eyes flash up to hers. "Yeah," he says. "How did you know?"

Ben’s sudden interest in learning a new language after landing a tenure-track position now makes a lot more sense.

"Lucky guess."

Anakin doesn't press for further explanation. Like her, he's aware of the growing size of the crowd around them. It's for the best, Satine realizes, for if her suspicions - and Anakin’s - are accurate, then any information they’re discussing could be classified. He really shouldn’t have revealed as much as he already has, especially in such a public setting. But Satine gets the feeling that Anakin has never cared enough about rules to follow them, or even to acknowledge they exist.

The moment is gone, however, as Anakin raises his hand and yells, “Snips! Over here!”

Satine’s eyes follow his own, landing on a young woman - Desi, Satine would guess, based on the style of her traditional clothes - whose dark hair is highlighted with streaks of blue and split into two braids. She’s wearing a gold nose ring and gold bangles on her wrists, and a bindi rests above her eyebrows. The young woman smiles when she catches sight of Anakin and heads in his direction. When she reaches them, Anakin says, “Snips, meet Ben’s girlfriend. Satine, this is Ahsoka.”

Ahsoka’s jaw nearly drops to the floor. “I always thought Dr. Ben was ace,” she says. “Or aromantic maybe?”

Satine glances at Ben, who is leaning against the lectern, ready to be introduced to the room; however, his eyes are on her, his expression telling her he knows exactly how Anakin has introduced her and exactly how Ahsoka has responded.

She nearly laughs at the panic in his eyes.

Satine offers her hand to Ahsoka. “I am Satine, but I am not Ben’s girlfriend,” she says. “I’m the new fellowship hire,” she elaborates. “I’ll be here for a year as I write my next book.”

“Oh,” says Ahsoka, reaching to shake Satine’s hand. “Nice to meet you, then. I’m Dr. Ben’s master’s student. It’s my second semester.”

"Congratulations on surviving your first," says Satine with a grin.

Satine would dearly love to ask Ahsoka at least ten questions, but at that moment, Serenno rises and heads to the center of the room, and the packed lecture hall falls silent. Ahsoka sits beside Anakin, and Serenno begins to speak.

The introduction is hardly needed for those in the department who know Ben already, but Satine knows the seminar is open to the entire school, and not everyone in attendance is already familiar with Ben’s work. It’s an impressive introduction, on account solely of Ben’s accolades and not at all due to any warmth Serenno exudes. Satine bites her lip, wondering why the man introducing his academic grandson doesn’t appear to be more fond of him.

But then Serenno gives the floor to Ben, and Satine’s attention is captured.

He’s a masterful speaker, she notices immediately. He has the air of someone who’s practiced and knows his arguments like he could give them in his sleep, but he’s not over-practiced or rehearsed. His cadence is not too slow nor too fast, and he smiles and makes jokes only at appropriate moments.

It’s breathtaking.

And a breath later, forty minutes have gone by, and Ben lands on a slide that says only:

Thank you! Questions?

The audience politely claps, and Satine waits for the inevitable awkward few minutes of people wracking their brains to grasp onto any question they can think of to make it seem as though they’d been paying attention. But to her surprise, several hands fly up immediately, and she smiles.

Ben fields the questions with ease, like he was born to be exactly where he ended up.

Finally, Satine raises her hand, and Ben nods at her.

She raises her voice and asks if he can re-explain a small detail. He listens to her, eyes on her like they are the only people in the room, and launches into a clear explanation.

She smiles again.

She’d understood what he said the first time, of course, but she knew that others hadn’t grasped it yet. And this piece is important, so important that she wants him to have a chance to explain it again, to make sure everyone in the room knows how incredible his findings are.

He catches her eye as he finishes his answer, and his expression tells her that he knows exactly what she’d been doing. He sends her a half smile.

She gives him the other half.

[literaryfootball]

Futbol & Pages-Chapter 2

Summary:

In Marseille, Miguel González a Mexican footballer limps through recovery. In a bookshop nearby, Camille Mahrez, a French-Algerian scholar prepares to defend her ghosts. This is a story about rhythm, exile, and what happens between touches.

Read the first chapter: here

Camille left the bookstore in a hurry. Her lecture began in twenty minutes, and the tram was reliably unreliable at this hour. Still, she didn’t run. She never ran.

She walked fast, yes, but with purpose, not panic. Her long coat billowed slightly behind her, the belt cinched tightly at her waist. Each step struck the cobbled street with the precision of a metronome. The sea breeze, sharp and briny, caught at her scarf as she turned out of the narrow alley into a sun-struck plaza.

Marseille was already awake and buzzing, street vendors shouting, scooters snarling between pedestrians, the scent of espresso and seaweed mingling in the air. But Camille barely registered it. She moved through the city the way she read a difficult text: with cool detachment, eyes always scanning for meaning.

And yet, she couldn’t help the small scoff that escaped her lips as she remembered the boy in the bookstore. Tall. Dark. That thick accent.

Football, of all things.

There was poetry in everything, she believed. In syntax. In exile. In the way a sentence could ache when translated. But football? That wasn’t poetry. It was noise. Crowd chants and sweaty nationalism. She’d grown up surrounded by it, her childhood in Paris marred by raucous post-match parades, her adolescence in Lyon tangled with boyfriends who cared more about match day results than philosophy.

And now Marseille. Another city with a cathedral of a stadium and a citizenry that prayed to strikers like saints.

Fútbol a sol y sombra, he’d said. She knew the book. Galeano. A sentimentalist’s Marxist. She had once skimmed it after a stupid boyfriend had thought she would enjoy it. She’d tossed it aside almost as quickly as she had the boyfriend.

She stepped onto the tram, gripping the cool metal bar as it lurched forward. The car was mostly empty, save for a few students and an elderly couple. She pulled out her book again. Camus’ Stranger once more. She’d read the text over and over again, and it bore the marks. Dog-eared and annotated to near ruin.

She couldn’t focus on a silly boy. Her last boyfriend had been nearly two years ago, if one could call a whirlwind affair with a professor fifteen years her senior, a boyfriend at all.

He’d praised her mind, called her formidable, quoted Barthes to her like a secret language only they shared. And then, just as quickly, he’d vanished. One polite, devastating email: I’ve overstepped. I’m sorry if you misunderstood.

Camille had understood well enough. He’d returned to his wife.

She’d returned to her books.

And then she’d packed up and moved south, to Marseille, a city with rough edges and unvarnished truths, where no one pretended to be anything other than what they were.

She applied for doctoral candidacy at the Université d’Aix-Marseille. She got in. Moved into a one-bedroom apartment in the Panier. Started teaching seminars. Rereading texts she thought she’d outgrown. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, she’d built walls around herself. Made of irony, intelligence, and just enough beauty to keep people guessing.

Now she was nearly done.

Another year, maybe less, and she’d submit her dissertation. “The Architecture of Absence: Postcolonial Memory and Erasure in Algerian Francophone Literature.”

She would be Doctor Mahrez. Her mother would cry. Her father wouldn’t call. Life would go on.

And the boy in the bookstore?

He would vanish just as easily as he’d appeared.

Read chapter three here

[jamneuromain]

Wishful Thinking Chpt. 9

Andy Barber x You (Reader), no use of Y/N

Alternate Universe - College AU

Summary: A new semester. A new task. A new boyfriend, your previous professor, Andy Barber. Everything seems to be going on the right track. So why didn't it?

Warning: Angst, possessive behavior, inappropriate teacher-student relationship, power imbalance, age difference, cheating, explicit language, toxic dom/sub relationship, more arguments

A/N: This fic has some disturbing themes, and discusses potentially upsetting topics. Please read through the warning before engaging with the fic. As I have said, the fic has mentioned a number of (potentially) triggering and heavy topics, you don't have to engage further if you feel uncomfortable about one or more topics.

A/N 2: Aaaaaaaaaaaaand I'm back! I'm feeling way better and I'm merging towards my social life as well. I did a litte editing and changing on part 8 where they argued. But it doesn't affect the plot. Feel free to check it out :3 Two more chapters and WT will be completed (I hope I'll get it done by December based on my current speed lmao)

Wishful Thinking M. List Dancing in the Daydream M. List

From joannaklein@dwightuniversity.edu.cn

Dear all,

I hope this reaches you well. This email is to remind those of you who have yet to submit your form for assigning a supervisor…

You have been looking at this email for quite some time. Opening the link at the bottom of this email too. But you haven’t made a move yet.

You have thought about having Andy as your supervisor, but that idea sounded like a lifetime ago. And now, there’s no way you’d let Andy be your supervisor.

How are you going to face him? This is more than just some misunderstanding from last semester. This is you two breaking up. Broken up. Whatever.

You are not making him your supervisor.

Taking a deep breath, you text a reply to the message your barely-friend Fiona sent you half an hour ago.

Fiona: Are you going to choose Barber as your supervisor?

You: No. Klein.

A few more messages come from Fiona after you send it. But you ignore them, knowing that she’d be asking dumb questions.

No, probing questions like “what are you going to write for your dissertation” or “should I include my pilot study into my dissertation” or other things that she wants to make an impression in front of her supervisor without “borrowing” from your answers first.

Bitch.

You feel like screaming. Which you did, after punching your mattress and burying your head into the pillow. Only lifting your head when you are completely out of breath.

With everything that happened with Andy, Laurie, Fiona and your schoolwork, it feels like nothing could alleviate you from the endless mess of self-doubt and self-hatred. Hating others as well. Hating your friend choices. Hating your boyfriend choices. Hating your school which led you to him. Hating everyone and every being on this very planet.

Hating yourself.

“Fucking hell.” You mumble to yourself. Pulling your laptop close to fill in the form for dissertation supervisors.

Typing word for word of your dissertation title, and selecting “Joanna Klein” as your preferred supervisor.

I hate my life. The idea keeps floating in your head like the obnoxious bubbles in a soda can, spritzing tiny drops of irritating reality into your face.

Andy has just received the email from Joanna Klein to all available lecturers and professors about supervising students in their dissertations.

He found the familiar name – your name – in a heartbeat. Merely sticking out his lips and making what Laurie would call “a bitch face”, as he found your name under the list of students under the supervision of Joanna Klein.

The pure imagination of pulling the strings behind your dissertation, of having a say in what you could not refuse, seeing you writhing under his grasp, gets his blood pumping in his veins.

He’s probably sick to the bones. One brief moment of clarity tells him so. To get high just to watch you struggling in his control. The adrenaline rush of knowing you are helpless, having no one to turn to but him.

He probably needs help.

But who needs help, when you, the most direct and sufficing way of satisfying his hunger, practically serve your weakness on a silver platter?

Andy pulls his chair closer to the desk, makes up his mind, and starts typing on the keyboard.

He is doing what’s best for you.

You might not see it that way for now but…

You’ll understand, eventually.

Andy sits in his office. Waiting. Patiently. Tapping his fingers on the table surface, as he looks out of the window.

It has only been a while, since you last came to his office to deliver his suit and your breakup.

However, things turned rather quickly, as there was no room for argument as the final version of the list containing supervisor and their students to tutor through the dissertation was settled as the last nail in the coffin.

Five students, students that he is going to supervise, are about to enter that door. And one of them being you.

He grins, thinking of the fact that you are tied to him for the rest of the term time.

No use running. He rolls your name on his tongue silently. He’s far beyond any help could ever achieve in pulling him back. He wants you, one way or another.

He’d keep you, treat you like the precious thing he adores, if you behave.

If you do not… well, there are more than a few ways that he can think of to devour you.

He’d keep you, one way or another.

Five students, including you, walked through that door, sitting on the chairs that he prepared. You picked the seat furthest from him, in a small corner. Didn’t make eye contact. No friendly “hello”. No nothing.

He doesn’t mind.

He knows that you are still mad about your little dispute.

He will tolerate it, knowing that you still love him.

He will explain, tell you that he will fight tooth and nail for you. Tell you that you could start over. He was being unreasonable. He was frustrated and angry, and he lashed out on you, that he was sorry about it all.

Later. He will explain later.

Andy clears his throat, folding his hands on his stomach, “Today we’ll start by having a brief introduction of yourselves. You obviously know me, since I’ve taught you all, but I would still like it if you could introduce yourself to each other. You can tell us about your name, something about yourself, and also tell us about what you are planning to write for your dissertation…”

He pays no special attention to you. He comments, nods, and gives useful suggestions based on everyone’s self-introduction.

“I understand I’m asking for a lot of work in a short amount of time. However, I would expect you to produce a general frame of your dissertation by the next meeting, which is two weeks from now. In the framework, you’ll be talking about how you want to approach your topic-” He stops Fiona from scribbling on her notebook, but ignores you who are doing the same. What can he say, he favors you in the smallest of details, “I’ll send you all an email after this meeting for the framework you’ll be writing about. The topic, the details you are going to investigate, the methodology – I’m sure Professor Rifkin has explained this in her class, and also, keep an open mind when you are writing the dissertation, especially for those who are employing a qualitative method to analyze their data. Any questions?”

You are the first to rush out of his office after he declares that today’s session has come to an end.

He waits until the last student has left the floor before heading out.

The entire floor is quiet. Dead. Deserted.

His shoes barely make a sound on the soft carpet as he steps out of his office, finding you on the floor, sitting on the carpet. You have opened your laptop, but it seems blank.

You gain your consciousness when he approaches, looking up at him. A sigh leaving your lips before you speak, “You did this.”

Not a question, but a firm sentence.

You know he was behind this transfer of dissertation supervisors.

Andy neither confirms nor denies. He cocks his head slightly, looking at your tired expression, “You will need to work on your methodology. Your arguments wouldn’t be convincing if you only state the method for your dissertation.”

“Can’t we be those ex-es like friends? Stop torturing each other over the fact that we broke up? Can you just leave me alone?” You take a deep breath, saying the words that you know he will be disapproving of.

He takes a seat on the couch in the open space, about three feet from where you are sitting, but he doesn’t have to put extra pressure on his neck looking at you from above.

Andy interlaces his fingers into a fist, his thumbs tapping each other.

To tell the truth, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let go of you. Couldn’t watch you go away.

“Look-” Seeing him unresponsive to your plead, you change your tactics, switching into defiance, “If you want to be a bitch about our relationship, I will have to put in a request to the faculty about changing my supervisor.”

Andy lets out a cold, hard laugh. Raising his eyebrows in disbelief, Andy “kindly” tells you about the regulation that runs around the place: “Nice try getting rid of me, sweetheart. But even if you do, and that’s a big ‘if’, you would still have to write your dissertation, and during scoring, your dissertation would be assigned to lecturers based on your topic. And I know all your topics, sweetheart.”

Your lips visibly tremble in fear, so are your arms, “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.” His tone turns sharp, “I can put an A into your months of work, or an F. Your choice.”

“Yeah? And what should I do for an A?” You shut your laptop with a loud snap, jumping from the spot on the floor to your feet. Clenching your teeth and hissing like venom burns your mouth, you challenge him even further, “Suck your dick, Professor Barber?”

“Be nice, sweetheart. I’m trying to be a friend.” Andy narrows his eyes, the threat in his tone is evident, “First of, I suggest you to be respectful when talking to me.”

You glare at him with fire burning in your eyes.

“I'm not a monster, sweetheart. But if you poke me like that, I don't mind putting a little discipline inside that pretty little brain of yours. Try to stay on my good side, yeah?” Andy stands to his full height, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands up, casually tugging the hem of his shirt and his tie. After tiding himself up, Andy lifts his hand to caress your jaw.

You jerk your head on instinct but his fingers dig into your neck, reminding you, painfully, of the night that he went overboard and fucked your throat.

His grip softens when he feels you freeze on spot. Tracing his thumb on your jawline, he murmurs, “Remember, sweetheart? I'm your Dom. I tell you something, and you do it.”

“You're not my fucking Dom.” You grit out.

“Still bratty, I see. You're a handful but I doubt there's anything that can't be solved by some punishments.”

His thumb forces you to lift your chin, even so, you refuse to look at him.

It takes you a few seconds to regain your voice, “You can't expect me to whore out myself.”

If that’s what he’s asking.

Andy presses a small kiss to your temple, whispering by your ear, “I don't really mind, sweetheart, as long as it is you.”

Some sense finally comes to you, your body shakes like a leaf in both fear and fury, you try to sound tough, but it comes out no better than a whimper, “I could report you to the board of malpractice.”

“And I have a lawyer friend, honey. He's the best in town. God knows how long a lawsuit can take. 18 months? 24?”

“Honey” was usually meant for Laurie, but he is beyond caring which endearment belongs to whom at this point.

“You're ... evil.” You want to move, but you cannot, not when he’s still having an iron grip over your neck.

“Maybe.” Andy shrugs, letting go of your neck, “Now run along before I do something evil, like fucking you over my desk.”

You pack your things as fast as you can, leaving the place without another word.

The rest of the term time passed in a blur. He attends your graduation ceremony with a heart-felt smile, knowing well that he black-mailed you into accepting his supervision and that you have an impeccable dissertation as he almost looked through every word of it, which probably violated ten faculty rules, if not twenty.

He is still clapping when you receive the graduation certificate from Joanna Klein, while he stands on the side. The next thing he knows, you are rushing towards him with a knife in your hand, carving his chest almost in half and he dies before the ambulance can reach the hospital.

His soul floats in mid-air as he watches everything pans out.

Laurie takes over everything, every property in their marriage.

You are charged with murder, serving your life-sentence in a max-security prison.

And Laurie… Laurie divorced him and marries the man she was having an affair with, decorating Andy’s house into a shit-yellow color, laughing and doesn’t have to worry about the rest of her life since she has all the money, cars, and houses that she could get their hands on…

Andy wakes up screaming.

Panting.

Taking a few seconds to realize that he is not in a ghost state and that he is still alive.

Alive. Awake. In his home. In the middle of the night.

Everything in the dream felt so real. Like it actually happened.

Andy touches his chest, where the skin and flesh are intact.

He is still alive.

He sweated through his sheet.

Another few seconds pass and he stays up, hands over his face, recalling the horrible dream.

The absolute nightmare where he told Joanna to switch you to his-

Shit.

He pulls himself over the bed and snatches his phone from the nightstand, checking his email.

The sudden blue light from his phone has him cursing. After flipping over his inbox and finding that he received the email of supervising students yesterday, but hasn’t made a move yet, he lets out an exhale of relief.

He groans and lies back to the bed. His heart still pounding frantically.

A string of curses flies out of his mouth.

Rest assured that he is not going to pull a favor and get you assigned to him.

But he wants you so bad.

How can he live when he wants you so bad and he pissed you off by saying the most harmful things that could be ever said to you?

Tag List: @geminiflanagansblog @wintasssoldier @sapphire-rogers @nouk1998 @sarahdonald87 @charmed-asylum

[radiant-reid]

Beyond Breaking // Chapter Eight

DAMAGE

Summary: Things get messy when some new information is revealed about Spencer, even messier when a reaction comes

Content Warnings: divorce and custody disputes, a lot of yelling, mentions of a bunch of spencer’s trauma 

Word Count: 3.0k

Masterlist/ Navigation  Taglist

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The story made Y/n sick as it was recounted by the three-year-old on their way home. Florence didn’t know much. She was small and not good at picking up on insinuations or reading between the lines. The briefest description was that she looked similar to JJ, but JJ when Maddie was born. Florence was specific about that. Plainly, it translated to young, blonde, and pretty. And then subsequent jealousy from Y/n.

Despite the little girl’s naivety, Y/n knew the right questions to ask to get information without setting off alarms. “Baby, when did you meet her?”

“Uh.” She thought for a moment. “When Daddy was still teaching, I went with him to work. She’s doing a dis-art-something.”

“Dissertation.” Y/n corrected her, gulping when she realized that meant Lily was a student, probably his. 

She knew there were lots with crushes on him, something she’d seen when she watched one of his first lectures to give him the confidence boost he needed. She couldn’t blame them. They’d even joked about it, the girls that would interrupt them in his office to ask questions they knew the answers to, but now it made her stomach twist. Never did she think he would be screwing one of them.

Her age plus her described looks seemed to make her incredibly similar to the JJ Spencer fell in love with years ago, and it was impossible not to be jealous of that.

That night also meant something more than Florence would hopefully ever understand. That night was the night Spencer packed up and left officially. It seemed impulsive when it happened. Why had he chosen that random day to pick a fight and leave?

During the chaos that followed, she didn’t think about it, but it made no sense. They used to barely talk when Spencer was out of town, and he left for Emily’s on one of the last days of his sabbatical. The calculated, Spencer-like thing would be to wait until the annoyance of being in the same city for 30 days took over and leave then. Or end things at the very beginning, so he’d have a month to enjoy a lighter workload without her. 

It was clicking together now. All those little nauseating, anger-inducing puzzle pieces. There was no other explanation for it in her brain.

It took everything in her not to bawl her eyes out in the car, cry so much she couldn’t see the road. Somehow, she pulled it together for Florence’s sake. Without that much-needed emotional release, her outrage built up. 

How much of a shitty person did he have to be to leave her after spending the day with his mistress? And introducing his daughter to her. It was 100 steps too far for Y/n.

Spencer was going to pay for it. 

As childish as it was, she wanted him to feel all of the pain she was feeling. He liked physics. He understood Newton’s third law of motion. It couldn’t be any more mathematical to her: his actions caused her reaction.

“Do you wanna hang out with Michael?” Y/n asked, looking in the mirror at the backseat. 

There was something she needed to channel her anger into. JJ’s offer of Will’s childcare still stood, and she could use it to exert the sadistic plan formed in her head. 

“Please, please, please,” Florence begged, kicking her feet up and down happily. She thought Michael was the coolest because he was older than her and not her brother. 

Once she dropped Florence off, Y/n cried immediately after getting back into her car. There was more anger than before, but still a lot of grieving for the relationship that was fast approaching its end.

As passionately as it started, it would end. Soon Y/n was set to be all alone in a way she hadn’t been in years and years.  

That was the scariest feeling. Scarier than him being in the hospital because there was no chance. She’d spoken to Spencer every single day for almost a decade, and now she was going to have to not call him whenever she had something random to tell him.

The more she cried, the madder she got, all channeled directly towards Spencer because she realized it wasn’t her fault- all that distance between them and not getting back in orbit. It was on him. And maybe because of him betraying their vows. 

Her mind rewound to the day they set those vows and Spencer’s face as he said them. He was in tears when he saw her walking down the aisle on their wedding day, and not unnoticeable tears. Even though it was years ago, she could remember how his clammy, shaky hands felt in hers and the heartfelt words he’d said. Then the letter later that night with sweeter, more personal words... and promises. 

Promises he’d broken.

Then her brain focused on another wedding, the latest one they’d been to. A wedding they attended as guests, where Spencer barely looked at her. He spent his time throwing longing glances at JJ while Emily talked about Dave, Krystall, and twin flames. Her hands shook as she thought about how few alarm bells were set off in her head that night and how many should have been.

Fuck Spencer Reid. 

If he was going to dish out emotional pain, he could take it too. 

She would not be the one crying in her car with deep emotional bleeding while he got to have his cake and eat it too.

So she knew where to go, and there was one thing that would hurt Spencer the most. It undoubtedly would make her feel guilty later, and she would question her morals, but she was making decisions with her heart, not her head.

She was fuming, the rage radiating off her skin as she walked in there with a one-track mind.

“I don’t want this anymore.” She declared firmly, slamming the divorce papers she’d been carrying around against the wooden desk. She’d thought about getting rid of them after the night they slept together, so they could actually work on things without an easy escape.

“And what do you want now?” Her lawyer asked, frowning at her client. 

The expression on Y/n’s face wasn’t one of happiness, like someone who had decided divorce wasn’t the right choice. If she were honest, it wasn’t the conclusion the lawyer thought Y/n would come to, not when there was so much uncertainty in her eyes when she drew up the divorce papers.

“Full custody.” She stated. “During his weeks at the BAU, I only want him to see them every second weekend. He can’t come into their lives whenever it suits him.” She justified, not just to the lawyer who was frantically writing as the words came out of Y/n’s mouth too quickly. “And if he wants to be at extracurriculars during that period, I have to approve it.” She added. The three didn’t deserve him to be in and out, hoping he’d make it as he chose what activities he wanted to be at. She knew she would cave on that one quickly. Especially if they asked for their adored dad to be there. 

Her lawyer looked reluctant to ask the next question, but her pen stopped moving. “Do you want the same to apply to you on Spencer’s weekends?”

“No, not since I’m their stable parent.” She decided, explaining her reasoning. “During the times he’s not working with the BAU, he can have every second weekend and Tuesdays to Thursdays on the alternating weeks.” Five days, on average for that month, wasn’t a lot less than the original seven she’d asked for, but it would make it easier for their kids to have stability, to not rely on an untrustworthy Spencer, or that’s how she justified it to herself.

“Okay, any chance to the legal custody?” She asked. 

Y/n bit her lip, almost reigning herself in for a second and not go in for the jugular, but the hurt from loving him was too overwhelming. “Yes, I want it solely. He has exhibited exceptionally harmful judgment making good decisions for years.” That change to her original petition was out of selfishness. When she was pushed for examples, Y/n didn’t hesitate to provide them. “Obviously, he was in prison, wrongfully accused of murder, but he still knowingly left the country without being briefed. Three months on the inside, doing God knows what.” She knew exactly what. She was the only person in the world who knew the entire story. “Even the FBI doesn’t consider him stable enough to be there full-time. He throws himself in front of bullets.” She neglected to mention that he’d never thrown himself in front of a bullet for the wrong reason or a reason she disapproved of. She was talking too fast with too much bottled-up rage, so it slipped out. “And he was addicted to Dilaudid while being an FBI agent without anyone but the tight-knit team knowing. The only reason he avoided relapses was because I held his hand.” It would kill him to read, and she’d hate herself forever for using his deepest secrets, but as her lawyer wrote, Y/n didn’t stop her. Whoever said ‘hurt people hurt people’ was talking about them.

“Wow.” The lawyer commented, reserving judgment professionally.

“Is that all?” Y/n asked. She needed to get out of there, and soon. 

Paper was passed over to her. “So I can draft it.” Her lawyer explained. “Then he’ll get served, and we’ll wait for his response.”

Y/n didn’t know the probability he’d fight it. Probably high since all of the important things to him were being threatened, but she wasn’t sure he cared about any of them anymore. 

She felt sadder after that. The removal of her anger only gave the despair more room. Her drive home after getting Florence was heartbreaking, and so was the entire evening, even with her three beautiful children. 

Bennett noticed instead of Maddie when she was tucking him into bed after reading to him. “Mommy, are you okay?” He asked, looking up at her with Spencer’s eyes. 

“Yeah, baby, of course.” She assured him before pushing the curls against his forehead back. “Why?”

He looked at her with a baby profiler stare. “You look sad.” He answered succinctly, unaware of how close to the truth he was.

“I’m not, bud. I just...lost my bracelet, and you know how sad you were when you lost your dinosaur last week.” She lied, explaining it in terms he’d understand. It wasn’t too grand a lie. Technically, she’d lost something.

It seemed to be enough for him. “I’ll look for it tomorrow.” He promised sweetly. 

“Thanks, but tomorrow because you have to sleep now.” She reminded him, giving him another kiss before leaving him to sleep. 

She didn’t sleep much that night or the night after that. The lack of sleep only shortened her fuse. Spencer did not help when he called her frantically in the middle of a work day, demanding she come to his office at college.

Both a sadist and a masochist, she went without thinking it through.

“What the fuck is this!?” Spencer demanded as soon as she walked in the door, not even waiting for her to close it. 

“Good morning to you too,” Y/n replied sarcastically, walking past the couch and table to his desk. 

He was standing on the other side of it, angrier than she’d ever seen him, with his eyes narrowed and hands gripping a stack of paper. “That’s not an answer.” He said firmly.

“Uh, well, I don’t know, genius, it’s not like I can see it.” She said antagonistically. It could have been a lot of things, but one, in particular, was more probable. 

“Yes, you fucking do!” He maintained. His swearing was usually minimal and never directed at her out of anger. 

It had always been fun to wind him up, although it usually ended in sex. This, Y/n was finding, was just as satisfying. “Okay, I can deduce that it’s one specific divorce petition.” She played ball, keeping her face neutral. 

Spencer went off the rails, slamming the paperwork down on his desk. Amusingly dramatic, like a toddler throwing a tantrum, something she knew how to deal with. “It’s bullshit, is what it is.” He answered his own question. “You have this shit served to me here, just after I finish teaching.”

“Not exactly my choice.” She interrupted, giving him the same bored stare. 

“Should we get onto the contents then?” Spencer questioned, but it wasn’t much of an offer. He was going to tell her what he felt. Even though she knew it, she stood there in silence. He picked up the paper again, angrily flicking through it. The words all made sense to him, and it didn’t take him long to read the first time, but he’d read a hundred times since. The words he knew, even the legal jargon, but he couldn’t understand why they’d all be put together, remixed to form torturous paragraphs. “I was acquitted for every charge in Mexico! I was drugged, and you’re using that as a reason you should get to make every single decision about them. That’s as wrong as it is unfair!” It was clear how much he was hurting, but she wasn’t looking. She felt guilty, but it was hard to apologize when Spencer was still yelling. She couldn’t blame him for acting erratically when she’d done the same thing airing out their dirty laundry. “Then my issues with Dilaudid. That could fuck up everyone’s lives if it ever got out. Trials, prison, firing.” He purposefully left out how much it broke him. It blindsided him that she left peacefully, only to tear their lives apart days later.

She stopped him when she shook her head, trying to justify the actions she’d jumped to out of heartbreak. “Don’t try and play me.” She said calmly but firmly, having not come to his office out of the goodness of her heart- mostly her guilt- to hear his monologue. “The statute of limitations is up on drug charges after five years.”

“I honestly don’t think the Attorney General will give a fuck.” He shot back, slamming the paper down on the desk as he huffed. His blood was pumping, and he couldn’t stop if he tried. “They’ll drag everyone into it, ask questions, and get answers. I could be sued for every case I worked on while I was high, Aaron for negligence, and even the rest of the team.”

“So that’s what you care about? Some legal proceedings?” She demanded. Spencer was really helping cement the idea that her decision was right and not rash. “Sign it uncontested. Then there’s no mediation or court between us.”

Spencer maintained a tendency to focus on one detail instead of the big picture, and this time it had given her the allusion he didn’t care about anything but not getting in trouble.

Only once had he heard that phrase relating to divorce, but back then, it was the Hotchner’s, and everyone knew how that worked out. Probably Y/n wouldn’t become the target of a serial killer and she’d probably be able to defend herself, but Aaron was broken long before Haley died. 

“That is not fair!” He cried out. The custody was so much less than what he wanted. If he thought seeing them every second week was a frying pan, this was a red hot fire. “All I ever wanted was to be a dad!”

She chuckled humorlessly, rolling her eyes, but her anger got the better of her. “All I wanted to be was your wife, but we can’t have everything we want.”

“What, so you’re punishing me now? That’s real mature.” He spat out of pure anger. He couldn’t figure it out, and he could always figure it out. Something happened after she left the hospital, but he couldn’t figure out what. He wanted to tell her she could have that, that there was nothing more that he wanted than for her to be his wife again. His voice betrayed him, dropping off, and the tears were closer to erupting as he spoke softly. “I know you’re done, but what did I do to deserve this?” 

“I don’t know. Ask Wren about who she hung out with the night before you left.” Y/n prompted him, not wanting him to have the ease of the whole truth. 

He’d deny it. They always did.

She couldn’t even look at him. She just stared right through him like he never meant anything. It hurt them both.

With one final look, she turned on her heels to leave. She could feel Spencer’s presence as he maneuvered across the room, and there was nothing else she had to articulate. His brain was drawing a complete blank about what she meant.

“Wait, Y/n, don’t leave.” He pleaded, stopping himself from grabbing her hand. That would not go down well. “You can’t just walk away from this.”

Just like her, his anger was gone once he got it out, and they both knew things would be much less rocky if they screamed into a pillow, took a kickboxing class, or even went for a run. It was different from the Kübler-Ross cycle because they always skipped over bargaining and ended up with depression.

The lost, empty feeling sank deep inside. No hope, just despair. 

His first love had been Math, but he knew the probability of coming back from this was 0 just from the way she looked at him: like he wasn’t, and had never been, someone she loved. All the brilliant ideas he had been dreaming up to earn her back felt delusional.

“Yes, Spencer, I can.” She assured him, tugging on the strap of her handbag. “You left first.” 

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[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Eight

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone is well :) Thank you to everyone that’s read/liked/reblogged/replied! I really appreciate it! Summary: My walk to the shuttle and the ride back to the ship were wholly uneventful. If only things had stayed that way when I reached the ship. 

My fingers barely stopped tapping on the keyboard as the headphones were lifted off of my head. I paused the recording I’d been transcribing before I glanced over, doing a double-take at the sight of Una holding my headphones between her thumb and forefinger. “Hey,” I greeted, looking at the screen, “Give me...Two seconds...” I said, typing the phrase that I’d heard before she’d pulled my headphones off. I saved the file before I minimized the screen, turning in my chair to look at her. “What’s up?” I asked, watching her lean back against my desk. “I feel like I haven’t seen you since we docked,” She said, fingers absently smoothing over the controls on the headphones. “I’ve been keeping busy,” I excused. She quirked a brow. “So I’ve heard. You took Onafuwa‘s one-day intensive,” She said, raising her brow. I shrugged. "You and Spock both hold him in high esteem, and I never had occasion to take his courses while I was at the Academy. Figured it couldn’t hurt to see what you two were raving about. Well, as much as you and Spock ‘rave’.”

The left side of Una’s mouth lifted with amusement. "What is it you’re up to now, then?” She asked, glancing toward the screen. “Transcription speed exercises. Never hurts to brush up-- And I’ve got a lecture on Tamarian allegory in half an hour, so, helps keep my fingers warm.” “When the Captain told us to make the most of this week’s leave, I’m not sure that this is what he meant,” Una contemplated. I tipped my head to the side, briefly taken aback. “Are you disapproving of my studious plans? Is something wrong? Blink twice if we’re under attack.” Una rolled her eyes with such pronouncement that she rolled her head with it as well. “I simply mean that you ought to give yourself a little time to relax at some point.” “Well, this may be controversial, but I find Tamarian allegory incredibly relaxing.” Una looked wholly unconvinced as she set my headphones on the desk beside my keyboard. “I trust you don’t have any lectures scheduled for around seven tomorrow evening?” “Not as far as I know. Why?” “A few of us are going to Liquara. You’ve more than earned a drink, lieutenant,” Una straightened from the desk, flicking my forehead before leaving. I watched her go, rubbing at the spot on my forehead. I’d never gotten around to asking Una why she’d given me that look after Sandblossom, and she’d never raised any concerns with me. I’d assumed my studios pursuits would be entirely Una-approved, but apparently I’d judged that wrong, too. -- I hadn’t stayed in the long-range sensor lab so late since well before I’d completed my dissertation. After the lecture on Tamarian allegory, I’d grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading to the lab and settling in. I’d only planned on being there for a couple of hours, but I just kept putting off leaving, increasingly telling myself that I’d only be five more minutes. Unfortunately, before I knew it, I’d managed to ‘five more minutes’ myself right to two in the morning. I grumbled as I packed my things up. I’d only just gotten myself on a fairly regular Earth-time sleep schedule; this was my own fault, I knew that. My walk to the shuttle and the ride back to the ship were wholly uneventful. If only things had stayed that way when I reached the ship. It was late. Sure, some people were still up and about, maintaining schedules so that a readjust to late shifts wouldn’t screw them the following week, but the halls, for the most part, were quiet. That’s why his voice stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t even speaking loudly -- but then, he didn’t have to. His voice just had a timbre that the ear naturally caught and held to. He was making an effort to be quiet, but whoever he was with wasn’t quite taking the same pains. I heard an unfamiliar giggle, followed by a sigh of, “Oh, Chris--”, and then his gentle hushing. I felt...Odd. Weirdly gross. Like I needed to play Klingon poetry in my ears at top volume for a few hours to get rid of the sound. Just this once, I didn’t let my curiosity get the better of me. I turned around quickly and went in the opposite direction. I took the longest, most convoluted route to my quarters out of fear of running into him and whoever it was. When I did finally reach my quarters, I was exhausted. This was for a combination of reasons. The first, of course, was the fact that I was coming off of a day of two lectures and nearly six hours in the long-range sensor lab. The second was that I had just spent half an hour skulking around the ship to avoid running into the Captain and...Someone. Thira was sound asleep already, which was optimal; she knew me well now, and I was too tired to hide my moderate distress. It was moments like these where I had to take a deep breath, step back, and put my ‘Spock’ cap on. There was a better way to see this situation. I had no logical reason to be upset. While my initial... Interest in the Captain may’ve grown into a much stronger feeling toward him with increased time spent in his presence, I had always been fully cognizant of the fact that the likelihood of anything happening between us was insanely low. This was for several reasons. For one, Pike was my Commanding Officer. While it wasn’t entirely unheard of for officers to become...Involved with their superiors, it wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up. I thought of Thira and her husband. They’d been deliberately placed on separate starships despite the fact that they’d both applied to the Enterprise. Unless you were a computer, or a Vulcan, emotion tended to hold at least some sway over certain areas where objectivity was needed from a Captain. Another reason was, despite the fact that I might have liked to think otherwise, the Captain had never explicitly stated any interest in me. There were moments with Pike that, seen one way, I could misconstrue as romantic. But seen another, they were purely friendly. Our time in Sandblossom, for example -- if I had been there with Spock, he might’ve suggested body heat for the mutual benefit of the well-being of crew members. If I’d strayed too far from Una, she might’ve reached out to keep me close. I had good intentions when we got back to our time. That was why I had signed up for so many courses and trainings for that week. My mind had less time to wander in other directions-- especially in Pike’s. This was for the best, I told myself as I tucked myself into bed. It was for the best that I had heard what I had heard, and not let my curiosity get the better of me. My stomach felt like someone had filled me with pop rocks and hot coffee and given me a shake. This was for the best. It was for the best that I knew my place on the ship, and didn’t have any silly notions about what the Captain might think about me. I couldn’t get that stupid giggle out of my ears. This was for the best. Where could I even find recordings of Klingon poetry?

[theasstour]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 21k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: my baby @shepherald... grazie mille my dear one! i’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for bb, and i’ll never be able to put into words how much you mean to me! i love you so much! thank you!

A/N2: so, this is it! last chapter of bb! it honestly doesn’t seem real, and i’m so sad i have to let painter!harry go cos i’ve grown quite fond of him the year i’ve spent thinking about him and this fic! what bb represents is what makes this fic so special to me. i - a plus size woman - never felt like i belonged anywhere. i assumed i was unloveable from never seeing a bigger person like myself in a book or a film where that person was deemed attractive. they were always the clown, or ‘the fat character’, or their entire storyline was based around them needing to lose weight. i’ve gotten pretty fucking tired of never seeing myself represented properly in fiction or irl or ANYWHERE for that matter, so i decided to take matters into my own hands, and i cannot begin to tell you how LIBERATING and AMAZING it felt! to each person who reached out to me saying bb made them confident, made them feel like they weren’t alone, opened their eyes to what life as a bigger person is: i love you all. this is the exact reason why i wrote bb. fat doesn’t equal ugly, it doesn’t equal unloveable, it doesn’t equal any negatively charged words. fat equals beautiful, it equals human. and anyone who ever tries to tell you otherwise can choke lmao. enjoy this last instalment of bb, i love you all so much x

Sunday, 1 March 2020

Y/N had always thought that the biggest changes were those you didn’t pay immediate notice to. Like the changing of the seasons, aging on your birthday, when the clock struck 12 and a new day began. Changes that were caused by time; that could not be prevented. Loads of changes couldn’t be prevented, but it was impossible to escape time. Manmade to make life simpler to live, and yet it’s what kills us in the end. However, Y/N had come to learn that some changes – the biggest and worst of them all – pained you so much, they didn’t fully leave your body. Like a volcanic eruption, they’d come every now and again, but would leave you scorched and burning for days. She chose not to think about those changes.

But it was hard when she was out shopping with her younger sister and said younger sister would not stop bloody chattering. The first day of spring had brought nothing but clouds and the occasional fall of some rain. Y/N wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t a new season supposed to bring something else? So far it just felt like any other winter day in south England.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at Portia, it was painfully obvious Y/N hadn’t been paying attention to anything her sister had been saying.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking the mick right now?”

“What?!”

“You’re not even listening to what I’ve been saying.” Portia scanned her Oyster card and walked on into Haggerston station, leaving Y/N sighing behind her. Y/N scanned her own card and followed, knowing that her sister would not stop being annoying unless she asked what she’d been talking about. The second she began talking again, she’d forget Y/N wasn’t listening to begin with.

The two were on their way to Victoria Station, Portia was going back home after having stayed with Y/N in her shared flat in Hackney for two weeks, having had some modelling jobs to attend to. And now that she was done, she would be going home to their mother and staying there for a week until she had to come back down to London for some more jobs. Y/N was getting rather sick of her little sister staying with her when she could easily find her own flat, but she figured she’d bring that conversation up another time. A time when she hadn’t pissed her sister off already that day.

“Tia,” Y/N said as they reached the Southbound platform, the windy remnants of the storm that had just been making it freezing to be taking the Overground and wait outside for the next tube to arrive. “What were you saying?”

“Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“This bloke I’ve been going on dates with while I’ve been here, right,” Portia started crossing her arms over her chest as the tube started approaching, knowing that a gust of wind would accompany it. “He’s got this friend that’s been eyeing me up the two times I’ve met him. He’s fit and everything, but I’m seeing Azeem, you know.”

“Tell Azeem his mate makes you feel uncomfortable and he’ll do something about it till next time you meet.”

“But he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, that’s the thing.” Portia sighed as the two girls walked up to the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop so they could get on. “I just think it’s annoying.”

“That men find you attractive?”

“That the fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have.”

“Oh, my days, Portia.” Y/N mumbled, getting on the Overground and sitting down in one of the orange and brown seats. Portia sat down next to her, putting her bag on the ground beside her feet.

“What, Y/N?”

“You just sound like a bellend.”

“How?”

Y/N gave her a look.

“How?!”

“’The fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have’? At least you’re dating someone, and they’re interested in you.”

“And Azeem is delicious, but his mate’s got…”

“Got what?”

Portia sighed. “Got nice arms.”

Y/N leaned her head against the wall behind her, it swayed with the moving coach.

“I know it’s not all about looks.”

“It really is not.”

“But I still can’t help myself.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Don’t be rude.” Portia nudged her sister’s shoulder. “If you’d just go out and date people as well, you’d have the same problems.”

Y/N huffed, looking at Portia. “Doubt it.”

Portia rested one leg on top of the other, examining her nails. “You’re so boring sometimes.”

“Cheers.”

“No,” Portia glanced at Y/N again. “But isn’t it boring to just be sat inside all day?”

“Oh, it’s incredibly boring to get an education.”

Portia rolled her eyes.

“Go out of my mind going to lectures, writing my dissertation, doing other assessments, and applying to thousands of jobs a day.”

Portia crossed her arms, looking ahead.

“So boring.”

“I know you pride yourself on the fact you’re gonna be a vet.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

Portia sighed, refusing to answer. The two kept quiet after that. Y/N knew in order to make Portia shut up, she just had to bring up her education. Portia was fully aware that Y/N was the smartest one out of the two of them – quite frankly, the smartest one in their entire family – and if Y/N rubbed it in, Portia would keep quiet. Reminding her sister how she’d gotten into the University of her dreams and was doing great, was a low blow, Y/N knew that. But at the same time, Portia just pissed her off so much sometimes that she simply could not help herself.

The two got up as they reached their stop at Canada Water, and walked off towards the Jubilee line once the tube doors opened. Portia’s bag kept bumping into Y/N as they walked, and though she would normally tell her to piss off, to keep her bag closer, she didn’t know. Giving Portia a reason to start shouting at her in the middle of a tube station was not ideal. She was mad enough as it was.

They got on the escalator, Y/N was just about to tell Portia what direction to walk in once they reached the bottom since her little sister always forgot, but Portia gasped before Y/N got the chance. Looking up at her sister, Portia’s eyes were wide, a small smile lingering on her lips. She pointed to the digital posters that lined the wall along the escalator, making Y/N look to her right to see what had gotten her sister all excited.

It was the colour that stood out first. She remembered the exact shade of it. The painting stood out second, then the colour of the person’s hair, the shape of their body, the shoes. The landscape, the warm colours. It was her. It was the same day she’d found Viola. The same day Harry had supposedly… No, she couldn’t even finish that thought. She’d tried not to think of him for months now. As they passed another one of the posters, she looked at it again. In white and bold letters, the text on the poster said ‘H. Styles’ exclusive and limited new exhibition. 11:00-18:00. 23rd February – 1st March. Dover Street, Mayfair. £10 admission.’

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Portia said, tapping her finger against the screen multiple times as they passed yet another one of the posters. “What the fuck?”

The exact same statement was going on repeat in Y/N’s head as well. Seeing the painting, seeing herself on that poster, it brought back so incredibly many memories from a time she had tried to forget.

Ever since they had parted ways, Y/N and Harry had only talked on a handful of occasions. They would text one another – very early on, Harry even called her twice (only after making sure the time zones weren’t fucked and she wasn’t asleep) -, and they did so for a long while, but then Harry’s answers got shorter and shorter, and Y/N felt like he might be falling out of love. She didn’t want to ask him in case she was reading too much into things, afraid of what the answer might be. She was still in love with him, would probably be so till the day she died, but she didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he wasn’t feeling it anymore.

As time went on, their text conversations got less frequent, and by Christmas, they weren’t talking at all. Y/N had tried to forget about him, thinking that he might have just viewed what they had as an intense summer romance and that was it. After all, he was a passionate and artistic man, maybe he fell in love with the thought, image, and what she represented to his summer more than her person. It all hurt to think about, which was why she rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. She hadn’t seen him in almost seven months, she was terrified of what that distance had done to them. To his heart. Because hers still longed for his in every way a person could yearn for another. It proved hard living apart from a person whose name you had etched onto the organ that kept you alive.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and the two girls stepped off, Y/N blinking a few extra times because she simply could not hold tears back when she was thinking about Harry. Portia walked beside Y/N, mouth agape.

“Y/N,” she said. “We have to go.”

Y/N sniffled, pretending it was because she’d caught a cold. “Why?”

Portia glanced at her as if she was insane.

“What?”

“Don’t even start, Y/N. We’re going. I need to see those paintings and so do you.” Portia walked onto the Jubilee tube, Y/N following straight after. They held onto a pole, and when Y/N averted her eyes to the advertisement on the walls of the coach, she saw Harry’s poster again. They were everywhere, how hadn’t she noticed them before?

“Dover Street.” Portia said. “Right by Piccadilly, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Brill, we just jump off at Green Park and walk for like five minutes and we’ll be there.”

Y/N sighed, suddenly feeling like she needed to throw up.

Portia grinned, looking at Y/N. “I’m excited now.”

“Portia, this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a splendid idea.” Portia corrected. “I need to see all the paintings. I’m sure they’re amazing.”

Y/N had never told Portia she hadn’t seen the paintings herself, that Harry hadn’t let her. But then again, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told Portia about last summer and H. Styles. Her heart was beating way faster than normal, she was suddenly sweating. The notion that Harry might be there was overwhelming, that he had probably been in London for a while now but not contacted her made her entire body ache in a way it had never done before. Though Harry being at his own gallery didn’t make sense on any other days than the opening one, Y/N was still sick thinking about meeting him. He wouldn’t be there, but she still was wary of going.

“What’s gotten into you, you look faint.” Portia pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it’s a really bad idea to go to that exhibition.”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Portia groaned. “These are paintings of you. You’re literally the star of the whole thing.”

Y/N shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t think we have to pay a tenner since you literally spent all summer with him so he could paint you. Free admission equals ‘why the fuck not’.”

Would Harry even want her there? They hadn’t talked after all; he hadn’t told her he was in London. Maybe he didn’t want her to come see the paintings. Maybe he just wanted her to stay away.

She hated how much she was overthinking this. The last thing she wanted to do was step on Harry’s toes, especially now that they hadn’t spoken in a while. Especially because she loved him and was afraid he didn’t anymore. However, realising the reason she was overthinking in the first place, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was because Harry meant so much to her. Never could she face him now without knowing if he felt the same way about her.

Portia dragged Y/N off at Green Park, walking towards the exit with an excited gleam in her eyes. Y/N’s stomach hurt so much she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to lay down in a foetal position and die. This was all so sudden, so overwhelming. They exited the underground, and as they reached the outside again, the sun was shining and the wind didn’t seem as horrible. It didn’t ease Y/N’s nerves one bit, though.

It took them a total of three minutes to reach Dover Street, and the exhibition was one of the first things that caught Y/N’s eyes. The entire front was made of glass, covered in a baby blue sheet that read ‘H. Styles’ new exclusive exhibition.’ Portia gripped Y/N’s arm, squealing before she looked both ways and crossed the street. Y/N knew Dover Street was known for having numerous contemporary art galleries, but looking down the street, none stood out as much as Harry’s. It was impossible to view any of the paintings through the windows, undoubtedly leaving people wanting to pay the 10 quid to do just that. Y/N was torn between actually wanting to walk inside or sprint back to Hackney.

“Why’re you hesitating? Come on!” Portia took Y/N’s hand and opened the door with the other, forcing Y/N in first.

The reception was dark, absolutely everything covered in black from the floor to the ceiling. There was nothing on the walls, nothing that stood out. But in the middle of the room stood another black wall, covering the proper entrance to the actual exhibition. In front of it stood a reception desk in the same colour, and behind it sat an old man, but he was accompanied by a figure Y/N recognised right away. Portia walked straight up to the desk, a huge smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the old man said, smiling right back at her.

“Hi, my sister and I would love to just enter the exhibition, please.”

“20 pounds, then.” Jamie said, standing bent over a pile of papers that they were signing and reading over.

“No, you don’t understand,” Portia started, turning around and beckoning Y/N over. “My sister is a good friend of H. Styles.”

Jamie looked up, their eyes immediately landing on Y/N. And just like that, she was brought right back to last summer and everything Jamie had told Harry on one of her last nights there. So many memories washed over her that it made her a little dizzy. The car rides where she and Jamie would sit in the backseat and discuss animals, life, or anything else that would’ve caught their attention. The other times when they’d wait for Harry to get ready downstairs. She didn’t know how to act. Did she give them a hug? Did she smile? Did she say something? This was exactly why she didn’t want to go.

“Y/N,” Jamie said, standing up straight.

“So you recognise her!” Portia was elated. “Can we just walk on in then?”

Jamie and Y/N didn’t break eye contact, both at a loss for words. It was clear that something went down between them, that there was something unspoken in the air of the reception hall. Y/N looked away, not wanting to have Portia ask her about Jamie once they entered the gallery. She didn’t want to tell her; didn’t want to recount anything from her time in Italy.

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily reached for two brochures, locking eyes with Y/N again as he handed them to her. Portia raised her eyebrows, catching on that something was going on. She looked at Y/N. “Don’t take any photographs, if any of our guards see you do so, you will be asked to leave and pay a fine. Other than that, I hope you enjoy.” Y/N knew they were talking to both her and Portia, but by the look in their eyes, she felt as though they were talking to her alone.

“Thank you very much.” Portia smiled, taking one of the brochures and walking away from them.

Y/N looked at the brochure, just as baby blue as the sheet that had covered the front of the gallery, the same writing on it as well. Her eyes met Jamie’s again, and there was something about the way they glanced at her that was so sad. Somewhere in the wrinkle between their eyebrows Y/N saw an apology of sorts. Regret so deep and intense that she could feel it herself. They didn’t say anything, but Y/N felt the agony; saw something in their eyes that she hadn’t experienced herself, but that they needed her to see. She gave them a small smile before following Portia and walking around the wall behind the reception desk, keeping her eyes on the brochure in her hands.

If meeting Jamie had her shaken up this bad, she didn’t even want to begin to think what an encounter with Harry would bring. The leaflet was shaking in her hand, begging for her to open it. What would it even hold? Copies of the paintings? No, if they weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, why would he have them attached in leaflets for anyone to see?

“Oh, my word.” Portia said, making Y/N look up.

The entrance to the gallery had her halting. Just like everything else, she recognised it right away. All over the wall was a painting she’d seen on her first week last summer; seen on one of her last days when she’d shown it to Harry.

“When I first moved into the flat, I found a painting in this wardrobe.” She pulled it down, taking a glance at the autumn painting depicting a gravel path leading nowhere into darkness. Turning around, she walked back over to the bed, handing the painting to Harry. “That’s only one of like, two of your paintings I’ve really seen, other was one of the sea back in your house. Mind if I ask what inspired this one?”

A projector planted it on the dark surface, welcoming the guests to the gallery. A gravel path leading off far into the dark distance, tall oak trees surrounding it, filled with the rich colours of autumn. Though it was filled with yellow and green, two colours that would normally have positive connotations, Y/N couldn’t help but get quite the opposite vibes staring at it, just like all the other times she’d seen it. There was something about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Like there laid a secret at the end of the path; an explanation in the black of the unknown.

“It’s the drive to my house back in Manchester. The drive up to my childhood home, or… this is facing the other way.” He explained, dragging his finger gently along the gravel path. “It’s what you see when you’re leaving.” He shifted the attention of his finger to the trees of different colours. “Autumn, the dull colours…” he trailed off, as if reliving a memory he’d almost suppressed; something he’d pushed so far into the back of his head it had almost vaporised and disappeared into nothingness. “This was when I left home, when I first moved to London.” He pointed at the darkness at the end of the gravel path. “That’s the end of the road, I couldn’t make it out clearly. My future, I mean. It’s all supposed to represent uncertainty.”

Portia looked over her shoulder at Y/N, squealing. The darkness at the end of the painting was a hallway, a dark corridor that seemed to be leading off into nowhere. Her sister stood there waiting for her, reaching her hand out so they could walk through the darkness together. But Y/N needed to take a moment and just look at the wall, because it was one of the very first of his paintings she’d ever seen, and now she was about to see all of the other paintings he had refused to let her see. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, took Portia’s hand, and the two walked into the dark hallway. Y/N felt her grip on Portia’s hand tighten for each step they took

“Why didn’t they just put some bloody lights in here?-“

But just as Portia said that, the exhibition was revealed to them. It was black. Dim white lights lit up the room on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the floating balls that were lined up down the room. Looking at the walls first, Y/N realised the light appeared as stars. Dotted along the walls and ceiling, lighting up the room and revealing the huge round objects that appeared to be floating, but was held from the ceiling and the floor by metal poles. The first one was completely dark, and as the two sisters walked on closer, Portia gasped a little.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“How many planets are there in our Solar System?”

Y/N frowned, but as her eyes met Portia’s she understood immediately. Taking a step to the side, she looked down the room, seeing that there were quite a few others visiting the gallery as well. Harry was an immense painter, after all. Everyone knew who he was. However, Y/N couldn’t focus on the other people in the room with her, she started counting the different sized round objects that were nicely lined.

“Eight.” Y/N answered.

“And how many-“

“-Eight.”

Portia squeezed Y/N’s hand, eyes wide with some kind of realisation. The sisters looked at one another for a minute before Portia opened her mouth to speak again.

“Why the fuck has he done that, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “Dunno.-“

“-You do.” Portia said. “That’s why that person back there looked at you all intense as well, wasn’t it? What happened last summer? You never spoke of it.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Portia, it’s… it’s incredibly complicated and… and it’s a long story.”

Portia groaned, clinging to Y/N’s arm. “I don’t care, Y/N. I want to know. For fuck’s sake, look around you,”

Y/N opened her eyes, doing as her sister told her to.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Y/N.”

 Y/N refused to believe it was. She didn’t want to believe that what Portia was insinuating was true, because it would mean the last few months had been for nothing. It would mean the countless hours she’d cried, the times she stopped herself from thinking about him, from yearning for him, from going back to a time spent with him and cursing herself for doing so; it was not worth it. Trying to forget him had meant nothing.

Portia tapped Y/N’s arm, catching her attention. She gestured at the painting they stood in front of, giving Y/N a little smile. Y/N looked at it, and she was immediately taken back to the exact moment of it.

There was a hole in the planet in the shape of the canvas, white light washing over it to reveal it completely to the gallery visitors. Portia opened the catalogue as Y/N studied the painting Harry had never let her view. His first painting of her.

“Miss Sweeney,” Harry said, pointing at the hill. “You-“

“-You can just call me Y/N.”

“You need to stand far away.”

Shocking. But there was no use making that comment. She took her cardigan off, putting it along with her purse in the backseat of the car.

“You will find a tree further down if you just walk straight ahead, it’s got a blue ribbon on it. Stop there with your back facing me. And don’t move until I tell you so.”

As she started walking down the hill, she could feel Harry watching her, studying her every move and every surface of her body. She supposed he wanted to make sure she found the ribbon, as well as to see what he was working with.

An abundance of colours surrounded her; green, grey, yellow, brown. She could barely make out the baby blue dress amongst the nature swallowing her, there was no way of knowing the colour of her hair, the proper colour of her skin, or any of her characteristics. The only thing that stood out was the colour of her dress, but even that wasn’t as prominent as she remembered the colour to be.

“Won’t that smear the paint everywhere?”

Harry looked at her, those two familiar lines appearing between his brows. “How?”

“Shouldn’t it be left to dry or something?”

“It’s dry.”

She frowned back at him. “Already?”

“I finished a while ago, left it to dry for around an hour.”

The memory made her smile some, regardless of how infuriated she remembered being. It was the fact that they had started out like that; polar opposites with absolutely nothing in common. Two people who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. That fact was easy to note in the first painting, seeing the insignificant role she played in the actual painting. The Tuscan landscape could’ve done fine without her presence in it, she wasn’t even placed in the middle of the painting where nature parted to reveal Fosdinovo, but somewhere to the right of it, in the middle of the trees.

Portia tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, motioning for her to follow her to the next painting behind the first one. It was the same as the first one; a rectangle shaped hole in the dark planet, lights surrounding it to show it off. She smiled again.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Do you see that rock over there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sit there facing me.”

She knew there was no use saying anything back, so she simply walked over to the rock and sat down like he wanted her to. It wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit there for two hours straight. Then again if she decided she needed a break, the painter would undoubtedly show his annoyance in some way. He instructed her to straighten her legs, crossing them at the ankle, leaning back on her hands. He said he wanted her to “be looking directly into the sun.”

“That could literally ruin my eyes.”

“Art goes beyond comfort.”

“I want to be able to see said art.”

Y/N felt like she was transported right back to the moment of the painting, like she could feel, see, smell everything. Though she had known that would probably be the effect once she saw the collection, she hadn’t been aware it would be this intense. The notion Harry had painted these of her; that he had painted them before, during, and after everything happened between them, it struck her. He’d been working on these for so long; she had been a forced part of his life for so long. Maybe that was why they’d stopped talking. He’d gotten tired of her. Gotten enough of her.

The colour of her dress was the same as the previous painting; it stood out, but not in a contrasting way like you thought the colour of baby blue would when surrounded by woods. The white sunlight lit up most of her surroundings, making them blend well with the dress, but then again, she could recall quite clearly how bright the sun had been that day. Though she had hated the heat of the Italian weather in the beginning, towards the end she’d gotten kind of used to it. It was almost cold coming back home to a normal British summer.

Y/N groaned, positioning her head like he wanted her to. “Went to this baker Wednesday.” It just slipped out. She had genuinely not meant to say it, but now that she’d already mentioned it, she might as well go all the way.

Harry didn’t respond.

“Said you were known around town as the grumpy Brit.”

She didn’t see him stop painting, but she could tell he halted a little. “Who said that?”

Trying not to smile as she had somehow managed to capture his attention. “Does it matter?” Y/N didn’t know why people wanted to know what someone else thought of them. It was out of their control. Then again, she supposed, she’d brought it up so it was partly her fault he asked in the first place.

Harry huffed.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What was the –“ Y/N imitated his exasperated huff.

“Whoever said that,” Harry said, bending down a bit and disappearing completely behind the canvas. “They’re a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N nodded her head, pursing her lips before she clicked her tongue loudly. Harry glanced up. “Great argument.”

It was weird how there had been a time prior to how she was feeling now. That at the time of this painting, she hadn’t been in love with Harry. The hands that had created this artwork hadn’t yet touched her; hadn’t yet loved her. She wanted to reach through the glass that separated the canvas from them; wanted to feel the paint and the memories that came with it.

But Portia was impatient, having already started walking around the planet to the next one. She looked down into the brochure, a furrow to her brows and concentration on her face as she read something on it before taking in the third painting. This was the one Y/N almost remembered best. This was the one that changed her and Harry’s relationship in a way neither of them was made aware of till after. You don’t realise the pivotal moments in your life till after they’ve happened, but as they’re happening, you don’t understand their incredible impact. Harry nor Y/N knew how big of a role Viola would play in their lives. What her presence would do to them.

“Is that a smile I see?” she teased. “You got a rise out of me, and now you’re pleased with yourself?”

He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head without looking away from the painting before him.

“Right then.” Y/N said, eager to get the conversation going again. “What’re you best at? There’s a lot of stuff you can do with gymnastics, innit?”

Harry wasted no time. “Swing bar.”

Y/N’s eyebrows immediately shot upward. Trying to be subtle, she let her eyes fall to his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and the curve of his slight biceps. The tan he’d gotten did wonders to the outline of his muscles. Stop, stop, stop-

“Explains the arms.”

Oh. My. God. Immediately she felt her cheeks heat up. And her blushing got worse when Harry looked up at her. He huffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been checking me out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have not.”

She walked closer, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble as she saw the painting. Harry had depicted the cliff, the ocean, the forest, the atmosphere of that clifftop perfectly. It was exactly as she remembered it. Just looking at it brought her back to finding Viola, to watching Harry pet her to calm her down, the closeness in the back of Gioele’s car. How willing Harry was to help. How good he’d smelled. How hot his skin had been against hers. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; first time she’d seen him happy. It was the first time she saw him show compassion; saw him worry. She hadn’t known then, but she knew for certain now, that if Viola hadn’t stepped out of the woods at that second on that day while Harry and Y/N hadn’t been talking, then none of this would’ve happened.

“What?” His voice was a whisper, the small word leaving his lips like a simple puff of air that hit her jaw, sending a storm of goosebumps up and down her back.

“Your…” she started, swallowing thickly before looking down at the cat in her arms. “Your moped.”

“I’ll get it later.”

She hated that he sounded like he wasn’t faced by the close proximity at all.

“What if someone steals your painting?”

Looking up at him, she realised once again how close they were. They might have been close earlier when he helped calm the cat down outside, but this… this was close. She felt his hot breath against her lips, in her nose; felt his eyes on her like there was nowhere else to look in the car; felt everything too much. He was… so handsome. So incredibly good looking. There was undoubtedly sweat along her hairline and cupid bow, but she literally could not reach up to remove it right now. She was unable to move, not only because of the cat, but because of Harry.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N,” Portia said, pointing at the painting. “What’s that?”

Y/N walked over, looking at what Portia had asked her about. Though she didn’t see it at first, having mistaken it for a dark rock or something alike, Y/N gasped a little when she realised what it was. Small pointy ears, fur a dark brown with some striped black and desert brown and a tail swaying upward. The cat was so tiny, hidden amongst the tall grass by the forest, looking at Y/N with big pleading eyes. Y/N had almost forgotten what Viola looked like, but seeing her on the canvas, it was like being back in Fosdinovo, walking the cobblestoned streets with the little kitten following her every step.

“Viola.” Y/N answered, blinking a few times as her eyesight started to blur.

“What?”

“A cat.”

“A live one?”

“I, uhh,” Y/N nodded. “The day of that painting we found an injured cat in the woods and brought her to the nearest vet so I could help nurse her. She’d broken her foot.”

Portia looked at Y/N, raising her eyebrows. “And you called her Viola?”

“Yeah,” Y/N didn’t take her eyes off the cat. “She stayed with me the rest of the summer.”

Portia turned to face her sister. “Where is she now?”

“Dunno.” Y/N sighed. “I… dunno.”

Y/N looked at Portia, giving her a little smile before walking towards the next painting. Looking at Viola and knowing that she’d left the cat in Harry’s house in Fosdinovo, also knowing Harry had most likely moved out of the Italian mountain village, it hurt. She had no idea what happened to the cat after she left. Absolutely no idea of how she was doing or who was taking care of her now. There were many times when Y/N had cursed herself for not bringing Viola back home with her. After all, they had created a little bond between them that Y/N now realised would stay with her forever.

Walking up to the fourth painting, Y/N felt herself halt some, watching as Portia walked right up to it to study it properly. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because Harry had taught her about how he painted during the summer, if she was getting an eye for these things, or if she was just that observant, but she could swear there was something about this one that set it apart from the other few she’d seen up till now.

It dawned on her that for each painting, her figure had gotten closer and closer to Harry. As if the focus shifted from the nature around her to her alone. From far away in the first one, to taking up the whole lower half of the canvas in this fourth one. Her figure was the first thing you saw. The baby blue dress that only barely covered her bum, her bare legs, her white knee socks, her white docs.

“Don’t bend your knee that much.”

Y/N readjusted her knee.

“No.”

“Then how?!”

The grass shifted behind her, and looking to her right, she noticed Harry walking over. For some reason, Harry getting closer got her heart beating so hard she heard it in her ears and her muscles tensing. He sat down before her, a concentrated furrow to his brows that wasn’t at all intimidating. He just looked focused, deep inside his own head, constructing and planning his new painting.

For some reason, she hadn’t thought of the reason for Harry coming over, only that he was. So when he reached for her leg, she almost jumped.

She blinked as she remembered the first time Harry touched her willingly like that. How he had barked orders at her in the beginning, to coming over and moving her leg like he’d done. It made her thigh seem very cold all of a sudden.

“You’re not being serious right now.” Portia hissed, sliding her finger in the air along with the outline of the mountains at the far back of the painting.

They were dark against the pink, orange, and blue sky, so was the forest, making Y/N stand out majestically against everything else. The hint of a small white outline in the sky showed the presence of the early moon, welcoming the oncoming night. Y/N couldn’t remember seeing the moon that afternoon, but then again, she didn’t remember much besides the fact that she laughed with Harry that day and he touched her bare thigh. But Portia had miraculously seen what had captured Y/N’s attention as well. The landscape in the painting, though it wasn’t blatantly obvious, it resembled her figure. It swayed where her hips did; dipped where her legs did. It did so in a natural manner, Harry had made them seem like actual mountains and not just a replica of her curves, but Y/N couldn’t see anything else.

“The blue,” Portia said, pointing at Y/N’s dress and then at the slight streak of blue in the sky. “Kinda looks alike, does it not?”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to it. She started walking away, eager to see the next painting, which she knew was a very special one because it might be the one she remembered the most clearly. As she rounded the planet and started walking toward the fifth one, a huge white orb caught her attention. The detail in all of Harry’s creations caught her off guard, but the moon she was looking at right now looked so real it took her breath away. She saw herself standing in the water; saw the baby blue dress; the knee socks and her Dr Marten’s in the sand. It all looked like a photograph, only the moon was abnormally big. But all his paintings looked so real it was almost like if you stripped the display of the glass protection, you could walk right into the world he’d created on the canvas and live there forever.

“What about you?” he asked again, voice low like a mumble.

Y/N hoped he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was hammering, how every nerve in her entire body was on high alert, how every cell was screaming for him to get closer. “What about me?”

“You’re never as alone as your head makes you believe. The moon is always there.” He said, eyes searching her face. “What about you?”

“Will I always be there?”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking that his look was answer enough.

Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, and she hoped the rush of emotions that was running through her didn’t show on her face. Portia looked at her with an open mouth before taking in the fifth painting. Y/N knew exactly how her sister was feeling; that overwhelming need to ask herself and everyone else in the room if this was an actual painting, or something from someone’s most desired fantasy captured exactly as it was and printed onto canvas. And maybe it was. But Harry had taken days, weeks, months to finish these paintings, Y/N knew. She remembered those times when she’d watch him paint and he’d refuse to let her see them. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her to see them.

It was so beautiful it was hard to believe someone had made it; it just seemed too celestial for it to be real. She wanted to touch it where Harry had touched it, feel the strokes he’d made, the lines of paint. There was something about this one that sent a shock of pain through her heart no medicine could cure.

“I’d stay up only to get a small glimpse of you.”

She balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her skin to hold herself back from crying. Because all she could remember was how fast Harry had kissed her back when she’d kissed him, the feeling of his lips against hers, and the taste of peach tea on his tongue. His hands roaming her body, gripping onto her thighs as she hooked her legs around his waist. His body against hers, their cells mingling, the moon shining her white light down on them, and the ocean swaying around them.

Portia walked around the planet and onto the next one, and giving the moon one last glance, Y/N followed her. Y/N couldn’t even remember this one. Maybe it was because everything that happened after the wedding blurred together, or maybe she’d just not thought about it enough for it to take up space in her head. But as she got closer, the idea of her being a model for this painting seemed unlikely.

The canvas was black as night, a huge moon in the centre of it like the one before. A figure was floating in the middle of the white moon, a baby blue gown clinging to its form and floating up behind them like they were sinking. As she got closer, Y/N saw that this wasn’t her. All the other paintings were of her, but this one wasn’t. This was Harry.

His arms were floating at an almost 90-degree angle, the baby blue gown hovering behind his arms and torso, just barely covering some of his thighs and crotch. One of his knees was bent a bit more than the other, and the tattoos he had up and down his muscular legs were very visible, making Y/N think back to a time she’d been allowed to touch them. His neck was craned backward, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly, bubbles of air leaving him and making a hasty return for the water’s surface. She remembered his fright of the dark, how much he hated the ocean, but his facial expression showed one of peace. He didn’t seem afraid; didn’t seem like he dreaded any of it. It seemed like he was okay; ready to reach tranquillity and the ultimate meaning to life. He was surrendering himself, it seemed.

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Portia said, pointing at different places on the painting. “Look.”

“At what?”

“You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what, Portia?” Y/N knew she must sound irritated, but with everything going on and all the emotions she was feeling at once, she simply could not hold her anger back.

“The painting,” Portia directed Y/N’s attention back to the canvas. “Do you see?”

Y/N took a closer look.

“Do you see all the blue?”

And it was like her little sister flicked a switch, and suddenly, Y/N saw it. Blue. Baby blue. It was hidden in the waves along the top of the painting, in the shadows of the water, in and around the moon, in his hair, his body, his gown. Taking a few steps back, Y/N wondered how she hadn’t picked up on the blue right away. It was all over the painting. Most of the details on that canvas were baby blue.

Quickly, Y/N walked all the way back to the first painting. Portia just watched her, unsure what was going on, but not wanting to interrupt something if Y/N had come to some sort of realisation.

The only blue in the first one was her dress, in the second one, the sky resembled her dress some. In the third, the sky, ocean, and a bit of the grass surrounding her held the same colour as her and her dress, and in the fourth the landscape swayed along with her form, the sky, the woods, and certain highlights were the exact colour of the dress. How hadn’t she seen it all the first time around? Because once she took a few steps back, the baby blue stood out starkly against everything else. Marching straight past the fifth and the sixth, Y/N wanted to see the last two. Because the second to last put the finishing touch on everything.

The entire canvas was baby blue. Her form was outlined in white, but none of her features were shown. Her breasts, face, or any other part of her body was not included. But Y/N would remember that exact pose till the day she died and long after that also. Because it was the one where Harry had drawn on her; her arms above her head, her knee bent, leg resting over the other. She wondered if this had been the one he’d painted when she laid on the floor of his loft, but why had he been so incredibly detailed when he painted on her if he was just going to erase it forever? Not include it in one of his masterpieces? It didn’t make any sense.

“You let him draw you like one of his bloody French girls.” Portia hissed, about to burst out laughing when she stopped herself. The room was silent as people walked through the exhibition, neither of them wanted to be thrown out or something to that effect.

Y/N looked at her sister. “Yes.”

Portia’s eyes got wide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He painted on me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Y/N glanced at the painting again, noting that the only thing on that canvas was the very careful outline of her.

“Exactly how well did you fuck him for him to do that?”

“Portia!” Y/N hissed. “Leave off.”

“I’m serious, Y/N, this seems like the summer of your entire life.” Portia smiled, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Did he do you good at least?”

Y/N only gave her a look.

“Oh, come on.” Portia pouted. “I just found out my sister has been shagging with my boss all summer, I want the deets.”

“Can that happen another time? I’m a little busy-“ Y/N gestured around her and Portia nodded, clearly eager to be done here so she could hear Y/N explain everything to her over the phone on her commute home.

“You know,” Portia started, holding up the leaflet. “If you’d just bothered and taken the time to look in the brochure, there’s a lot of information about all the paintings.”

Y/N frowned.

“I kind of had my suspicions about the two of you before you even said something just now.”

Y/N looked down at her brochure, reading the front of it again as she walked toward the last painting. She wanted to go through everything one more time and read the leaflet, she needed to know all the details and all the reasons why Harry had done what he’d done. When she glanced up again, the first thing she noticed was how the planet surrounding the canvas was glowing. A dark golden colour, looking a little like the moon, but as if it was on fire on the inside, the surface of it pure gold. She turned around and looked down the row of planets, meeting Portia’s eyes right after.

“The first one is black,” Portia said. “And the last one is golden.”

Y/N felt her heart hammering faster, felt herself begin to sweat.

“With each planet, you slowly fade into-“

“-Venus.” She finished, looking at the last planet she’d been named after. Y/N Venus Sweeney. She was so overwhelmed she felt a little faint, though she hadn’t known what to expect from the exhibition, this – all of it – was not it. She didn’t want to draw conclusions and think this whole collection was about her, but right now, looking at everything around her, it was hard to think anything else.

She still had one more painting to go, so she grabbed the leaflet and walked to stand in front of it. Instantly, she remembered it. She’d seen this one before. It seemed like ages ago, but she had seen this painting. It was the same one Gioele had stolen from Harry’s house and given to Salvatore and Carina as a wedding gift. Y/N had no idea why that one would be in the collection, what had made Harry put it there. She was just about to open the brochure and read what it said about this particular one when she heard a commotion behind her. The screeching of joggers against the floor as if someone was running, some gasps, Jamie shouting something.

Y/N turned around, and she recognised him right away. Her heart immediately started screaming his name. He walked down the row of planets in a haste, frantically scanning the crowds surrounding each quickly till he came to the last one where she stood. He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on hers, a sigh of relief leaving him in between pants for air. Had he been running? Quickly, he swallowed, trying to regain his composure before he did anything. While he did that, Y/N took him in.

His hair had grown, he must’ve trimmed it some since last summer, but his curls were lush, his hair thick, and just as brown as she remembered it. He was wearing a colour-block patchwork cardigan with all the colours of the rainbow, a white tee shirt with some blue artwork printed on it, washed denim jeans, and his signature pink Converse. He looked healthy, maybe not as tan as she remembered him to be, but he looked good. He looked like the same Harry she had fallen in love with back then; it was still him. He was here. Right before her. After months apart, he was here.

“Y/N.” He said, voice faint as he took a reluctant step forward. It was like he realised what he was doing – getting closer to her when he had no idea if she still wanted that - and was almost about to take a step backward again but stopped himself.

She was unable to say anything at all. One second she had been about to take in the last painting of the collection, and the next Harry had rushed into his gallery and now he stood right in front of her. It didn’t seem real. The months they hadn’t talked, the months they hadn’t seen each other. They all hung in the air between them, pushed them apart from one another; demanding them to keep separated. She wanted to defy their distance, wanted to fling herself into his arms and melt into him like she had done so many times before, but the uncertainty, the separation, and the many curious eyes watching them stopped her.

Harry was about to say something else when his eyes fell on something behind her, clamping his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Portia said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”

“I-I do, I…” Harry’s eyes fell to Y/N again as he trailed off, glancing back at Portia after clearing his throat. “Portia.”

“And you’re H. Styles.” Y/N could hear the smile in Portia’s voice, and Y/N knew instantly she was taking the piss, telling Harry she knew exactly who he was and why he was here. Whispers were heard, as if the visitors all suddenly realised who they were looking at. Someone gasped and someone on the other side of the room started walking closer. Harry looked around him as if he just understood what he’d done by coming here. Their eyes met again, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes big and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N looked at everyone around them, then back at Harry, hoping he’d understand that she didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else. Taking a few steps backward, Harry began walking towards the exit of the exhibition, making sure Y/N caught up with him before he started walking normally. Y/N glanced at Portia over her shoulder, but Portia was grinning so widely Y/N knew her sister was okay with her leaving her behind for a bit.

The next room they entered was just as dark as the first one, but the paintings were huge projections onto the walls, ceiling, and floor, showcasing all the details each of them portrayed. Harry walked quickly through the room, having seen this multiple times before – having created this -, but Y/N slowed. The attention to detail was incredible; it looked so real, yet it still looked like art. She was never able to really put her finger on it, but then again, she supposed that was what creativity was. The lines between what was certain and what was a craft from someone’s imagination, blurred to the point of doubt, yet it’s human nature to find an explanation for everything; but in art we find an excuse not to have one. Maybe that was what drew people to it; it was real, but not real enough to need reason.

He held the door open for her, leading her to a smoking area in the back of the gallery. Two trees rose up, some dead grass sprung up between the stone flooring, and, thankfully, no one was there. The sun was still shining, and somewhere not too far off, an ambulance siren was going off. It was weird to be with Harry in an environment other than quiet, warm, rural Fosdinovo, it was almost as if she associated him with the peace of the Italian countryside now. But she didn’t mind having him here in London. Not in the least. In fact, she liked it very much.

“Y/N,” he repeated, almost as if he didn’t really know what else to say; almost as if he had to repeat her name over and over and over again to tell himself that she was really here. He just looked at her, studying her intently, probably to make sure she was okay.

“I didn’t know…” she started, blinking a few times. “Didn’t know you were in London.”

“I’m in London.”

“But I didn’t know you were.”

“But I am.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Harry sighed. “No.”

“Why?”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. “I… I just… It’s not as if I…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She frowned. “What made you think that?”

“We haven’t talked in a couple of months, have we? Maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

“You think I’d forgotten about you?” Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not the one who got disinterested and pulled away.”

Harry’s face screwed up into that familiar scowl she had seen so many times before. “I never bloody lost interest, what’re you on about?”

“Seemed that way over text.”

“Those are text messages!” Harry gestured with his arms, very obviously frustrated. “How much can you tell from a text?!”

“A lot!”

Harry groaned. “Y/N, please.”

She stood her ground, looking at him and waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. How had they gone months without talking, months before that with barely any communication, and he didn’t think she’d be annoyed at him for that. She was annoyed at herself, too. It takes two to communicate.

“I don’t want to fight.” He said. “I… I just… I don’t want to fight. Can we just talk?”

“We’re talking.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the ground, nodding a bit before he dared look up at her. “What’ve you been up to?”

Though she wanted to yell at him, tell him that she’d been busy writing and researching her dissertation, that she had been busy missing him, she composed herself. She might be frustrated, but Harry was trying, so she should as well.

“Uni,” she simply said. “And you?”

Harry let out a short breath through his nose. “Figured, stupid question, really.”

She couldn’t help the slight tug at the edge of her lips.

“Been travelling the world, showing off the exhibition.” He gestured back at the gallery. “It’s been wonderful, but I’m glad it’s over now. Can relax for a bit before I start painting for clients again.”

“It’s quite the exhibit.”

Harry nodded.

“Almost a little too extra.”

He let out a chuckle, eyes falling to the ground again. “You think?”

“Wasn’t it hard travelling around with all of that?” Y/N asked, thinking about the huge planets – or rather Venuses – back in the exhibition. Seemed unlikely that they travelled far distances with all of that, but then again, what did she know, she hadn’t talked to him in a long while. And when they did talk, it wasn’t about the transportation of his collection from country to country because he never talked about it.

“No, we drove around most of the time, then by plane when it got to travelling from continent to continent.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

His eyes flicked between hers, inhaling slowly. The sun hit the top of his hair, making his locks shine like gold, and Y/N remembered the countless number of times before she’d seen his hair like that in the early morning light, or a bright sunset. Memories are supposed to bring you joy, especially those remembered with fondness, but those are also the ones that hurt the most to relive.

“Are we really gonna chat about anything but what we want to chat about?” Harry asked, face very serious all of a sudden.

“Which is?”

“Us.” Harry said, something in his throat making the word almost sound choked. “And… and…”

She waited, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest.

“And us some more.”

She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

“Start then.”

She could tell he wanted to frown at her, as if he wanted her to have a certain reaction. But he didn’t, instead he let his shoulders fall a bit, taking her in for a few moments more before he decided to start talking again.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It hurt every time he said that, as if he didn’t believe that what she’d felt this summer wasn’t half of what he had.

“Tortured me to think about you.”

She took a little step backward, not wanting to listen to him talk on about how she’d hurt him.

“But the thought of you also brought me peace, as it always has. Brought me inspiration and motivation.” He took a step closer to her. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since the day I was brought into this world, I never knew I did till I was without you.”

Those three words radiated throughout her entire body, her heart screaming them right back at his. I miss you I miss you I miss you I-

“Please don’t…” he trailed off, balling his hands into fists as if he was mad at himself for not finding the right words for what he was feeling. “Don’t leave.”

She swallowed, not wanting the hundreds of butterflies and warm feelings in her chest to get the better of her when she answered. “Don’t leave… now? In general?-“

“-Don’t leave me. If not as a lover, as a friend. I need you in my life to some capacity.”

“Harry-“

“-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His voice was so soft, yet urgent. He needed her to feel the same way, to understand what he was talking about. “I love you.”

Every cell in her body vibrated with the effect of those words, telling Harry she felt the same. In every way one person could love another, she loved him.

“If you even feel a fragment the same, please tell me.” His eyes were so big, pleading with her.

She felt so much all at once, finding the right words – finding words at all – was difficult. Every single part of her tried, her brain working hard and fast so she wouldn’t leave him hanging. But that was exactly what she did. So overwhelmed with absolutely everything today had brought, she couldn’t do anything but feel.

Harry’s jaw visibly tensed with the lack of response. “Or don’t.”

She opened her mouth, brain working a hundred miles a second to find words for him.

“If you don’t, then that’s fine. I won’t pretend it’s not gonna hurt and I’ll need some time to come to terms with it.” He sighed, eyes falling to the ground as if he couldn’t look at her now. “I… I was terrified this would happen.”

She couldn’t just stay fucking silent, she had to say something. Speak you bloody nonce, don’t do him like this. “Harry-“

“-What I’ve been most scared about since we stopped talking is that I played an insignificant role in your life, when you played the most significant in mine.” His eyes were still on the flooring, gripping the ends of his colourful cardigan. “A part you won’t talk about with others, that you keep a secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of this summer, Harry-“

“-I feared you’d never need me like I need you.” He said, voice thick with something resembling torment. “Because I just… I know we have no power over who we end up loving, you meet someone and before you know it, they’re so important to you that imagining a life without them in it is like staring uninspired at a blank canvas. But I’ve chosen to pour every ounce of my love onto you. I’ve chosen you, and I’ll continue to choose you without hesitation and without fail, for the rest of my life.”

She felt her eyes sting, fearing that she’d start crying if he continued on talking. Why was it that before their first kiss, Harry hadn’t been one for talking, but after it he hadn’t dithered? Everything he’d told her since had been so heartfelt and true, she felt like he was putting words to her very own feelings.

The right words wouldn’t come, and she felt like the longer she left him standing there in silence, the longer she let him ramble on, the more catastrophic this would get. Because she felt the same for him, but what she felt was so enormous and she was afraid she’d never find words for it. She wasn’t one for art or expression. She studied science and medicine and animals, she knew all that, but she didn’t know how to tell someone like Harry what he wanted to hear. Most of the time, at least before, he didn’t need her to say anything. Her presence, her touch, her comfort was enough for him. He never expected anything else from her but to reciprocate his feelings. Which she did. Oh, did she love him. More than she thought possible.

“I-“ she started, but cut herself off as she didn’t know where it was going. Harry looked up at her instantly, instant hope in his eyes. “Your exhibit.”

Not the appropriate thing to be talking about right now, she thought to herself, but better than nothing.

“Could you explain it to me?”

He blinked. “Explain it?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling every surface of her body heat up. “Because I knew you were painting me, but I didn’t…”

His eyes lingered on her lips for a second, but he quickly composed himself, a slight redness appearing along his cheekbones. A wave of goosebumps ran up her spine.

“I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect the whole exhibition to be about you?”

She just looked at him, biting her bottom lip.

Harry let out an amused chuckle. “You’re the smartest person I know, thought you might get it right away, to be completely honest with you.”

“It took me off guard.”

“Right, should I walk you through it, then?” Harry gestured at the gallery. “Want to see it?”

She sensed irritation in his voice and sighed. “You don’t have-“

“-Don’t fucking say I don’t have to. You asked about the exhibit. You don’t understand, even though I just made it very clear for you. So, let's.”

He walked toward the door, flinging it open and beckoning for Y/N to walk through it first. Walking first, he stomped straight through the entire exhibition, right past people who were leaving. They all looked over at Y/N and Harry as they walked the opposite way, a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. Portia still stood in the first room with the eight planets, looking up as Y/N and Harry came back. A smile first graced her features, but seeing the look on Harry’s face and how fast they were both walking, she quickly pieced together that something was happening.

“This,” Harry said as they reached the reception, pointing at the wall with the projection of that painting Y/N had found in the flat in Fosdinovo. The drive to his childhood home in Manchester. “You recognise this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She gave him a look to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tone. He didn’t seem to care.

“Told you the path leads to uncertainty, hence the darkness at the end of it. I didn’t know where my life would lead me and I was terrified. Now,” he pointed to the dark corridor. “What does that lead to?”

Y/N blinked a few times, looking up at Harry when he didn’t continue talking. But he was already glancing down at her, raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face. Though she was tempted to tell him to shove it if he was going to keep that attitude up, she didn’t. She needed to tell him how she felt, that he wasn’t alone in wanting more. She needed to find the right words. But right now, knowing Harry, he’d just get furious with her if she told him now that he was putting the effort in and showing her what everything meant.

“The paintings.”

“It leads to the exhibition.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Harry didn’t respond, he just walked towards the corridor without looking back. Y/N felt her anger bubble up, but she tried to control it as she followed him to the first room of the exhibition.

“Hope you know what the solar system is.” Harry shouted back to her.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hands, gritting her teeth from responding. Portia was standing at the other side of the room, watching them with wide eyes. Everyone else had left, she realised. The gallery was closing, and Harry’s exhibition needed to be taken down so the next one could be put up. This was his very last day showing his collection. Y/N gave her a look to keep quiet, the last thing Harry needed now was Portia intervening.

“Our solar system’s got eight planets-“

“-I bloody know how many planets there are in our solar system-“

“-But to me and my life,” Harry walked to the side of the room, pointing down at the last planet. The full Venus. Her plant. “In my universe, there’s only one.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“They each fade more and more into Venus. Notice how the first one’s black.”

“Like the end of the painting I found in Fosdinovo.”

Harry’s arm fell to his side, having proven his point on why he’d chosen space to be the theme for his exhibition. He walked on over to the first painting; straight past Y/N, jaw still tense and the look in his eyes enraged. She realised this was torturing him. Going through everything without knowing how she felt, and probably fearing – and believing – the worst. She had to say something.

“This one,” he pointed. “We can barely see you. You were a fucking pain in my arse.”

“Hey!”

“There’s only one dot of baby blue, you’re far away from where I’m standing.”

“If you don’t-“

“-Next one,” he walked onto the second one without Y/N even having reached him and the first painting. “You’re closer to me, still not very close, still not a lot of blue. Only some in the sky. Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Harry, slow down-“

“-Third,” it seemed he was on a mission, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible. “You’re close. You can see baby blue in the sky, ocean, your dress, some in the grass. Still not doing it on purpose.”

She jogged over to the fourth as he did, really wanting to take a grip of his arm and tell him to calm down. But she had no right. Not now. But she was still getting annoyed with him.

“Fourth is when I start doing it deliberately. Realised I caught feelings for you, and you can see that in the landscape, how it follows the outline of your body.” Harry pointed just as the lights inside the planets went out. “There’s baby blue in quite literally everything.”

The lack of lights to showcase the paintings didn’t stop him, Harry walked on. She ran after him, about to tell him to slow down again when he walked right past the beach painting with the huge moon.

“The night you changed the moon for me forever. Now I do as you said you do; I talk to her. Every night.”

Y/N felt her heart ache. She wondered, if they were both talking to the moon at the same time, if they were talking about one another, why didn’t the moon whisper Harry’s words into her ear and hers into his? Why didn’t she help them?

“You’re further away in that one ‘cause I realised I’d have to let you go at the end of the summer, didn’t want to get too attached.” A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “Look how well that worked out.”

They stopped in front of the second moon painting, where he was floating in what looked to be the middle of a huge and dark ocean.

“You once told me the moon knows all your deepest secrets and biggest desires,” Harry pointed at himself in the painting. “Here’s me surrendering myself to her.”

“Why’re you in the ocean?”

Harry chuckled, running both hands over his face as if he couldn’t believe her.

“What?”

He looked at her for a few seconds while clenching his jaw. “I used to be terrified of the dark and the ocean. You taught me monsters won’t magically appear just ‘cause you can’t see. They’re just as likely to show themselves in sunlight.” He glanced at the painting again, blinking a few too-many times as he looked away from her. “If you take your time to understand and truly look at this painting, you’ll understand it.”

She was about to open her mouth when Harry said, “And don’t use your ‘I only know science, I barely know how to interpret art’ rubbish.”

“Well, it’s true.” She mumbled, but Harry only clicked his tongue, disinterested in her insistence on not understanding art. He walked on to the next one, the one that was completely baby blue, where her body was carefully outlined in white.

“Here you can clearly tell-“

“-I have a question,” Y/N said, making Harry shut up. “That painting of me… the one where I’m… Where’s that one? I mean…”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to continue, but when she never did, he mumbled another question right back at her, “You think I’d put a painting of your naked body on display in my exhibition?”

She just looked at him, seeing something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar but too far away to fully grasp.

“I’m keeping that one-“ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. “It’s private.”

She nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry went back to the painting before them. “You represent baby blue to me, so here’s your colour – you -,” he paused for a second. “Becoming everything.”

She looked at him, feeling everything within her wither and bloom at the same time. The painting seemed to take him back to a time long ago, every urge he had to do this as quickly as possible seemed to leave him when he looked at that painting. They still had one left, but he forgot about that, losing himself in a memory. And Y/N lost herself in him. Suddenly, proper lights lit up the room and the stars that had illuminated everything prior, disappeared.

“Harry!”

Harry didn’t meet Y/N’s eyes as he stepped away from the row of planets, looking up at Jamie how had shouted his name.

“Closing time. We need to pack up, mate.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Y/N who suddenly felt her heart pick up speed.

Jamie clapped their hands together. “Come on, you lot, you need to leave.”

For a few moments, it was like the two of them moved in slow motion. Harry took a few steps so he could face the other way, ready to leave through the backdoor, not breaking eye contact with Y/N. Once they looked away from one another, the rest of the world would resume being and they had to leave. Y/N had to say something, she had to tell him. But everything was clogged up somewhere in her throat, she wasn’t able to say anything. This whole exhibit… it was about her. Harry had cared so much about her and he still did. But she couldn’t find the right words. She had to say something. Had to let him know she felt the same way.

Harry’s jaw clenched again before he looked away from Y/N and started walking back down the way he’d taken Y/N before. Everything inside her went into panic mode.

“Harry.” She said, but he didn’t turn around. She started jogging after him. “Harry.”

“Y/N-“

“-Just a sec, Portia!” Y/N continued to follow Harry through the now lit exhibit. “Harry!”

He didn’t turn around still.

“Harry, please.” She took a grip of his arm.

Harry stopped, dragging his arm out of her grip. “Y/N, stop.”

The force of his words took her off guard and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, looking behind Y/N at the closing exit door. “What?”

“I… I need to tell you that…” she swallowed, feeling her palms get clammy. “You said earlier that…”

Harry looked at her expectantly, something in the frantic way his eyes moved over her face and the quick breath he took made her think he detected reciprocation in her voice. “Yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she was beginning to sweat.

“What, Y/N?”

“I can’t, I-“ She ran both hands over her face, frustrated with herself. She groaned.

“What?”

“I know how I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Harry took a small step towards her. “Say what?”

“How I feel for you.”

He let out a small breath. “And how’s that?”

“Just how you feel about me.”

There was a single second when Harry’s eyes were filled with elation; like he was ready to embrace her, kiss her, and never let her go. Wanted to become one with her right then and there, to never leave her side again. A ghost of a smile grace his features and his shoulders lowered; his entire composure seemed to relax. As if all the anger he’d been carrying around with him in the gallery disappeared. But the next second, realisation sunk in and he glanced away for a second.

“Need to hear you say it.” He said, voice weak. “Know you say you’re not one for words, but there are moments in life when words are everything.”

Y/N felt a drop of sweat run down her back. Her head was spinning.

“I deserve to hear you say it yourself.” Harry said.

“I know! That’s why I’m trying so hard to say something!”

Harry nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “You’re not ready.”

Y/N frowned, sure her panic showed on her face. “I am ready. That’s why I followed you out here, isn’t it?”

“No, Y/N, you’re clearly not. You might feel it, but being vulnerable is hard for you. Admitting to being vulnerable isn’t something you know how to do.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

“Your whole life you’ve put up this cold and hard exterior to protect yourself from feeling too much. You’ve had a hard time receiving the love you needed while growing up, and you’ve been burned in the past-“

“-Don’t psychoanalyse me.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know I have a hard time opening up to people completely.”

“You have a hard time admitting to letting your guard down. You do it willingly, but there’s a part of you that just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I said don’t psycho-“

“-I know, I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, as if getting ready to walk away from her. “I’ll wait.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded, just about to turn around and leave when she called his name again.

“You just begged me to tell you I felt the same way, and I did.” Y/N said, taking a few steps toward him, but stopping herself. “I told you.”

“That you felt like I did.”

“Exactly.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and though it sent a swarm of butterflies straight to Y/N’s stomach, it also hurt because she knew the next few words would send her into a panic. “And thank you for that, but I told you how I felt. Now you need to tell me. Physical show of affection is nice, but proper verbal confirmation that someone loves you…” he trailed off, looking at her in silence for some seconds. “It’s key.”

“Harry-“

“-I love you.”

She fell silent, taken off guard. But the words warmed her so that she was sure she’d never freeze again. He started walking away.

“I’ll wait, you need to figure this out on your own. I know,” smiling he continued, “Now I need you to comprehend.”

Mouth falling open as she tried to force herself to say something, she cursed herself over and over again for having built up that humongous wall around her. Being vulnerable was like admitting that you were weak, and she knew those two weren’t the same thing at all, but she’d associated them with one another her whole life. She needed to stop.

“I’ll wait for you.”

And just like that, Harry left her this time. She was tempted to run after him again, but to what purpose? To have him tell her yet again that he needed her to tell him she loved him when she couldn’t bring herself to? To hurt him again? No, she was going to deal with her struggles to admit vulnerability herself. He deserved to hear her say everything he’d just told her and much more. And hopefully Harry would still love her the way he did now by that time. How terrified she already was that he didn’t.

But if that was the case, at least she’d have taught herself the importance of vulnerability.

Thursday, 10 September 2020

“Smile, baby.” Elaine brought her phone up, snapping a picture of Y/N with her diploma in hand, standing in front of her University.

It was a nice day; the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds and the temperature was high, but not so high that Y/N was struggling to breathe. All her course mates were milling around behind, beside, and around her, saying their last goodbyes before everyone was to part ways after this. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye to her mates. She knew she was going to see them again and knew she would be happier now that she didn’t have to care about uni, but it would be sad not seeing them and not knowing when she would meet them next. Though she hadn’t really been close with any of them, she still counted them as her friends and would miss their time together.

Portia stood beside Elaine and gave Y/N a little applause, grinning from ear to ear as her sister walked over to them again. “Look at you, all smart.”

“Yes,” Y/N said, doing a little dance with her diploma. “I’d like to think I am.”

“Look,” Elaine begged Y/N over so she could look at the pictures she’d taken of her. “You look lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the lighting’s amazing.”

“So peng.” Portia said, zooming in on Y/N’s face.

Y/N playfully hit Portia in the head with her diploma, making the two sisters chuckle before they turned back to their mother. Elaine smiled at Y/N, there was a look in her eyes Y/N wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her mother’s face when looking at her. It was something she often directed at Portia, but Y/N rarely got this. Pride. It almost made Y/N’s eyes sting with oncoming tears.

“Come on, girls,” Elaine said, taking each of her daughters’ hands. “We need to celebrate. What’s a good pub around yours, Y/N?”

“Hmm,” Y/N thought for a few seconds. “There’s a Gregg’s two minutes away.”

“Sausage rolls!” Portia exclaimed.

“We’re not celebrating you getting a degree at bloody Gregg’s, are you dim?” Elaine huffed, unlocking the car once they reached it. “We need to get a pint each, and a fancy dinner later.”

“Reckon we could afford a fancy dinner in London, Mum?” Y/N sat down in the car, putting her seatbelt on as Elaine started the car. “I’m skint.”

“Well, you’re not the one paying for the dinner, are you?” Elaine raised her eyebrows at her, driving away towards Y/N’s flat in Hackney. Portia reached into the backseat where Y/N sat, squeezing her knee before she sat back and focused on the city they were driving in. Y/N leaned forward and squeezed Portia’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, P. Know you have a lot going on at the moment, but it meant a lot to me that you bothered to come.”

Porta looked over her shoulder at Y/N, studying her sister for a second before she smiled. “Might be busy, but it’s your graduation. It’s important to me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up a bit, something they always did when she managed to discuss her feelings. “Thank you anyway.”

“You’re very welcome.” Portia’s smile widened, and she grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing it before turning to look ahead again.

Y/N smiled herself, sitting back in her seat and looking out the window.

She’d never really gotten attached to London. Maybe it was because she didn’t really have anyone she was close to, or the constant fast-paced lifestyle you had to lead to live there. Y/N had always preferred a slow life, like the one she had grown up knowing in Maldon. Essex was calm, it was what she’d known her whole life and what she wanted to know forever. Regardless of where she wanted to live and where she felt she belonged; she’d gotten a job at North London Veterinary Clinic so she didn’t really have much of a choice in where she could settle down for a little while. North London wasn’t as busy as Central, so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed as she usually was. She’d have to move and though the thought stressed her out, she was ready for a little change. It would be good for her.

“Do you remember that guy I was chatting to for a little while?” Portia suddenly asked, snapping Y/N out of her reverie.

“Drake?”

“No.”

“That Felix lad?”

“Not him.”

“Ezra?”

Portia shook her head.

“Jackson-“

“-Oh, for fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Portia turned around in her seat. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“That you date a lot of men? I don’t have to do that; you know it perfectly well yourself.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Azeem.”

“Ahh! Azeem!” Y/N nodded her head, giving her little sister a smile. “Remember you talked about him, yes. Ages ago, though.”

Portia seemed to think back to the time she was talking to Azeem, getting lost in her own thoughts for a few short seconds before she blurted out, “Anyway, I met him on a night out like two days ago.”

“You did? What’d he say?”

“Just that it was nice to see me again.” Portia said. “Told me I looked good. And then he walked me home.”

In an attempt to come to terms with how she was feeling and letting other people know, it had been one of the first things Y/N had done. She sat Portia down when she came back to London, told her she loved the fact her sister came down and that they got to spend time together because it brought them closer – and she wanted to be close to her sister since they’d struggled being just that growing up -, but Portia needed her own place. If she was going to spend that much time in the capital, she might as well move there permanently. Elaine had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her youngest daughter would be moving out, especially considering how much time and resources she’d put into Portia and her career. But both the sisters had convinced their mother that this was what Portia needed to do. She needed to become independent. And besides, Portia wouldn’t be alone in London, Y/N lived there as well.

“And…?” Y/N urged, raising her eyebrows to show she was eager to know what happened next.

“He asked me out on a date.”

“He did?!” Y/N grinned. “Why did you stop seeing each other in the first place?”

Portia sighed. “It was hard to not see him very often, we lived far away from one another, and all that. But now that I live in London, maybe it’ll work out.”

“Is he a decent bloke, Y/N?” Elaine looked in the driving mirror back at Y/N. “I won’t take Portia’s word for it. You know she’s blinded by a good shag when she’s got one.”

“Mum!” Portia exclaimed. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Say what? What you always tell me? You talk about lads and your sex life constantly.”

“I do not! Oh, my God!”

Y/N laughed, zoning out as her little sister and mother started arguing in the front. They soon reached Hackney and Y/N’s flat building. It felt weird knowing that Thursday next week, she’d be moving out of this flat and into a new one. Though Hackney wasn’t the nicest place to be living in London – or the nicest place to just be walking through – it had been Y/N’s home for five years now. Sure, she spent loads of time in Maldon and Essex, but this was her place in London. But soon, Hampstead would probably be it. It wasn’t that the commute would be horrible from Hackney and up to North London, but she would rather have a stroll to work in the morning instead of using public transit. It was bloody unbearable on the tube in the mornings sometimes.

They exited the car and Y/N rummaged through her purse for her keys, giving them to Portia when she reached her hand out for them.

“Thanks, babes.” Y/N said, getting her diploma out of the car seat before closing the door and letting their mother lock the car.

Portia glanced at Y/N for a little while, a grin spreading out over her lips.

“What?” Y/N asked, gesturing for her sister to unlock the door so they could walk on in.

“Dunno,” Portia shrugged, putting the key in the hole and turning it. “You never call me ‘babe’ or anything like that, but you’ve started recently.”

“Been watching too much Love Island.”

Portia laughed, holding the door open for her mother and sister. The lot of them walked up the stairs to the second story, about to let Y/N change out of her heels so they could go have a pint and then go out to dinner. Though she wouldn’t look as smashing as she did with her heels on, they would ultimately kill her feet and she was not about that life today. She’d just gotten a degree, she was going to feel good all day. So fuck heels.

They reached Y/N’s door and she let Portia unlock that one as well. Her flat was as simplistic as always; one single room with a small kitchen, a bed, a desk, and a door to a small bathroom. Elaine walked over to the desk, sitting down in Y/N’s office chair while Portia bent down and picked up something behind the door.

“Mail.” She said, giving Y/N a few envelopes.

“Thanks.” Y/N took it, looking through the envelopes to see nothing interesting. A couple of bills, some rubbish, and…

“Where are we going after this then?” Elaine asked, looking from Y/N to Portia. But Y/N didn’t hear what Portia was answered because she was too busy reading the small slip of paper that told her she’d gotten a parcel. Everything that was too big to slip through the mail slot was out into a cupboard on the outside of Y/N’s flat. Beside her front door was another, smaller door where her electricity metre was. If she wasn’t in to receive the parcel herself, she’d written on her mail slot to just pop it in there.

She put all her mail down on the kitchen counter before walking outside to check the cupboard. Upon opening it, she saw a single brown parcel, though it looked more like a gift than anything. She reached for it, bringing it out into proper lighting. She read her own address on the front, and when turning it around, she found it a little hard to breathe. Had he…

Y/N walked back into the flat, closing the door behind her and placing the package on the kitchen counter so she could unpack it. She knew Elaine and Portia were talking behind her about something, probably where they were going to go have their pint, but Y/N could not focus on anything but what was right in front of her. Ripping the paper off, a sea of colour was revealed to her and she recognised what she was looking at right away.

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She ran her hand over it, feeling the strokes of paint she’d put there with Harry’s help. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the paintings in his collection, but it was the most breath-taking creation she’d ever laid her eyes upon. It was something she’d made with Harry. It was art. Picking it up, something fell to the kitchen counter. An envelope.

“What’s that?” Portia asked, but Y/N couldn’t answer.

She put the canvas back down on the counter and reached for the envelope, tearing it open. It was his handwriting and she suddenly longed for him again. Months had gone by, but she thought about him every day. He was always with her, always motivated her; made her want to be better. And seeing something the two of them made a year ago, reliving the memory of them sitting close and creating something beautiful in the warm Italian summer night, it made her yearn in a way she never had before.

‘Complimenti per la laurea, celeste.’

Looking down on the canvas again, she suddenly recognised it. The landscape resembled the one in Tuscany, the one she had walked through and lived in all last summer. And in the corner was a white house, almost like a mansion of sorts, but not as big as some of the houses she’d passed on the countryside. She didn’t remember painting that. In fact, she barely remembered painting anything but the colour of the sunrise. Orange, yellow, blue. Harry must’ve completed the painting after she left.

“Y/N,” Portia said, now standing by her sisters’ shoulder. “Is that one of his paintings?”

Y/N just looked at he canvas, unable to say anything.

“Is that one of his fucking paintings?” Portia gasped, looking at Elaine and back at Y/N. “Imagine how much that is worth!”

“I’m not gonna sell his painting, Tia.”

“No, but-“ Portia gestured at the artwork, squealing. “What’d the card say?”

“Think he’s congratulating me on graduating.” Y/N put the card down, looking at the painting again. The room fell silent as nosy Elaine probably didn’t know which of her questions to ask first, Portia looked dumbfounded at the canvas, and Y/N yet again lost herself in daydreams of Harry. He knew she was graduating today. Sent her their painting. He congratulated her on finally getting her degree. He was still thinking about her like she was thinking about him. One of Y/N’s fears with taking so long to figure herself out, he’d somehow move on. But she believed in him enough, knew how she felt well enough, to know that they’d see each other again.

“You have to leave.” Portia said. “Y/N, it’s been six months.”

“I know.”

“You have to go to bloody Italy right this second.” Portia looked around Y/N’s flat. “Where’s your bag?”

“What about my life here? I’m starting a new job next week, I’m moving.”

“Figure that stuff out next week.” Portia smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last few months, Y/N. You’re softer now, not so prone to fighting people for not having the same opinion as you, but you listen and you’re willing to change. Not for the world, but for yourself. Harry didn’t tell you to embrace tenderness just so you could admit how you were feeling about him, but also so you’d be nicer to yourself.”

“But I already am.”

“I know, but he wanted you to allow more love into your life. By seizing love and allowing yourself to feel, not only self-love, but the love of others, you allow yourself to live fully and completely.” Portia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “Without regret, without apology.”

Y/N smiled a little at her sister, studying her face. “Portia Cressida, when the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Can’t let people know I know shit or else I’ll ruin my dumb image.”

The girls laughed, and Portia rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, glancing at the painting Harry had gifted her sister.

“Go, Y/N.”

Saturday, 12 September 2020

She remembered Italy to be hot, but something about Italy in autumn was almost unbearable. Everything was still a lush green, nothing had changed outdoors since last year it seemed, everything still looked the same. But Y/N wondered how that was possible when she wasn’t even in the southern part of Tuscany anymore, she was in Veneto, a county further up north. North-west Italy looked as summery in autumn as Y/N would’ve expected it to, and she loved it. Though she didn’t like the sun much, she’d come to appreciate it more than the rain of England. Besides, she could stand the heat if it meant meeting Harry again.

She’d called Jamie yesterday, asked them where she’d be able to meet Harry. She knew she could’ve just asked Harry, but she also wanted to see the surprise on his face when he saw her on his doorstep. So, she hadn’t told him she was coming. Which could either end with them living happily ever after or him saying he didn’t feel the same anymore. Thinking about the latter gave her a panic attack.

She hadn’t brought much with her, just a small bag as a carry-on and the clothes she was wearing. A see-through red, yellow, white, and pink tie dye crop top, showing off her cute black bralette underneath, a washed-out pair of high-waisted boyfriend denim jeans, and a black pair of Dr Marten’s. Though it had gotten a bit chilly on the plane, she knew Italy would be hot, and she had been very right about that. Besides, she needed to look extra cute now that she was seeing Harry again for the first time in six months.

The bus ride wasn’t as bumpy as the one she’d taken to Fosdinovo, the bus was new, and she trusted the driver to know if something was wrong. She hadn’t trusted Gioele to know the same, which she applauded herself for in retrospect. The bus was fairly new and the road to Padua, Veneto was nice. She’d done some research and figured out the reason why Harry might’ve moved up north and close to Padua. It was a city known for art; spectacularly pretty and often overlooked by Venice, a mere hour-drive away. Knowing Harry, he’d probably walk through the quieter streets of Venice to get inspiration or sit on a corner café in Padua to people-watch. She knew he wanted to get out of Fosdinovo, but he hadn’t been able to remove himself entirely from the Italian culture he had immersed himself in. His love for that country was too great for him to ever truly leave.

Reaching Padua, Y/N got off and got a taxi right away. She told the driver where she was going, and though it was a bit out of town and onto the countryside – not to Y/N’s surprise, Harry liked quiet after all – he agreed to get her there. It took them about 30 minutes to reach the house, and when they did, it was a simple gravel path. She obviously had to walk for a bit to get there, but she was glad she got to take in Harry’s new residence in the calmness that was the outskirts of Padua. She could make out the white house at the end of the road, the newly sown trees that lined the path, and knew when they had grown to their full height, they would envelope the drive like a tunnel of green leaves and nature. Y/N smiled a little to herself as she imagined it, knowing that Harry most likely had the exact same thought in mind.

It was nice seeing how he decided to live now, especially after everything that happened in Fosdinovo. Secluded, but a couple of neighbours a few minutes’ walk up or down the cemented road she’d just been on. It was undoubtedly his new paradise. And by the looks of it, the closer she got, it seemed he was still working on the house. White and grand, with huge French windows and sheer curtains on either side of them all, there was still some construction work going on on the outside, though the workers weren’t working today it seemed. It was only 12pm, but maybe Harry wanted them to take the day off to relax. She’d ask him, she told herself, because she was now in the driveway, viewing the red front door, looking in through the windows to see if she saw him. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she noticed her tie dye top vibrating with each beat.

Reaching forwards, she pressed the doorbell, taking a step back so the door wouldn’t hit her in the face when he opened it. Nearly as quickly as it had gone off, she heard something very familiar inside the house. Spending time around animals nearly all the time, Y/N’s puppy radar went off when she heard the tiny barks of a baby dog inside. Immediately, her mouth fell open, and she walked to the closest window to look inside.

Down a white tiled corridor, the light from the massive windows on the other side of the house shining down on him, a puppy came running down on his big paws, his tail wagging so wildly his little bum moved with it.

“Hi.” Y/N cooed when he reached the window, standing on his back-paws to get a better look of her and bark some more. “Who’re you then? What’s your name?”

He sniffed the glass as if trying to get a sniff of her, but he whimpered when he couldn’t. And as Y/N got a good look of the little guy, she realised something very quickly that made her almost fall backward onto the gravel of the driveway. A Scottish deerhound.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Y/N said under her breath, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again. Why was it that Harry had trouble answering the bloody door every time? She stood her ground this time, the puppy still barking at her and watching her in anticipation, ready to jump onto her the second Harry opened the door. But he didn’t. So this time she knocked on his door with her fist, not about to wait around for hours. She knew he was in. A puppy couldn’t be left alone in a big house like this, he’d either have to put him in a cage or take the pup with him.

With no response, Y/N decided to explore the outside of his house. Giving the pup a little wave, she stepped down from the front step, taking in the marble pillars on either side that held a small roof above the front door. The house was incredibly elegant and new. Had he built it himself? She walked around the side, admiring the huge garden and the tall stone fence that secluded it from everything else. There were a couple of trees that stood around a tiny pond, and it seemed he’d taken the time to put a grey stone bench beside it. The rest of the garden was newly trimmed and grand, though pretty empty still. There seemed to be the start of a pretty big doghouse beside another tree, and something else that might be the start of a veranda. Maybe he’d just about moved in. It would explain why everything looked so new, anyway.

It felt like Harry, though. All of it. Elegant yet simple, big but not too much. He was a simplistic person who loved grand things. The thought of him moving into a new house, probably a little anxious to meet new people and to get acquainted with his new life in a new town, it made her smile. He was restless and would move in a few years, but for now, this was exactly what he needed, she knew.

Faint, but Y/N still heard it with every single part of her being, a meow sounded from behind her. Turning around, there stood a striped cat looking over at her. She hesitantly moved forward and Y/N felt like breaking down crying.

“Viola,” Y/N hunched down. “Hi, baby.”

The cat made her way over quite hastily when she recognised who the person was, rubbing herself against Y/N’s outstretched hands. She’d grown, yet Y/N would know this little creature anywhere. She’d often wondered what happened to Viola, because when she left, she assumed Harry would take care of her till he left. But here she was. Had he brought her with him everywhere? She reached down, pressing a soft kiss to Viola’s forehead like she always did, and the cat meowed in response. Y/N giggled, the feel and sound of Viola brought her right back to her time in Fosdinovo. The cat had been there for her every single day, putting a smile on her face. They gave each other a home for a month.

Thinking she might explore more of the grounds, she stood upright, and Viola immediately perked up, ready to follow Y/N wherever she decided to go. Her eyes suddenly landed on a glass house attached to the mansion, and then on the figure standing by the open door leading into it. The inside of the winter garden was fully furnished, unlike the rest of the property that lacked the same attention. She couldn’t believe this. Not only was this Harry’s dream home, it was hers as well.

Their eyes met, and a jolt so intense rocked through Y/N’s body that it shook up everything. She fell in love with him all over again, seeing him there, looking right back at her with a look of startlement and longing and relief. She couldn’t wait any longer, she had to be close to him. Taking the first few steps, she felt the inside of her tummy vibrate as the butterflies inside her came to life again. The closer she got to him, the more every single part of her body tickled, itching to hold him again. And when it seemed to have dawned on Harry that this wasn’t a dream, he started walking toward her as well. The closer they got the more they picked up the pace. It had been too long, they had taken too much time, they had worked on each other for one another and for themselves.

Y/N threw herself into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was sure she’d fade into him. Though it had taken them so much to get to this moment, it had taken them a while for a reason. People needed to work on one another and for each other to make a relationship work, it didn’t just magically happen. And sometimes people need to be apart for a little while to gain perspective and mature enough to return. Harry needed someone who could be as open as him, and Y/N needed someone who wasn’t afraid to be himself to the fullest, without apology.

They broke apart, eager to look at one another again. Harry’s eyes moved over her frantically, taking her in again. He was wearing another silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted washed out denim jeans, and barefoot. Something about his bare feet was adorable. And the fact they were basically wearing the same jeans made her stifle a laughter.

“Hi,” she said, unsure how else to greet him.

He chuckled. “What the fuck, Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re here.” He said, smiling at her. “I… I had no idea. But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He took her hand, squeezing it, looking her up and down. “Here.”

She smiled as well, feeling her hand heat up here his skin met hers. When he looked up at her again, eyes glistening, face lit up more than she’d ever seen before, dimples as deep as ever, she felt like tearing up. This was the man of her dreams; the man she wanted to spend every day with till death. And even after that she’d find him in their next life, or she’d find him in her afterlife, or wherever else they’d end up. There was no one else. Would never be anyone else.

“This is a big place.” She said, gesturing at the house and the rest of the estate.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, still looking at their joined hands. “Started building it back in March.”

“Big place for a big lad.”

Harry laughed, looking up at her again. “Need enough space for Viola and Gopher to wander.”

Y/N’s heart did a dreamy sigh. “Gopher?”

“Oh!” Harry pointed behind him at the house. “He was the one barking.”

“The puppy?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lips together, looking down at their hands. “You adopted a puppy.”

Silence for a few moments before Harry said, in such a soft voice she swore it felt like a caress, “He’s been waiting for you.”

She glanced up again, happiness so overwhelming filled her to the point that she felt like flying. Eyes landed on the house and then back on Harry as he ran his thumb over her hand.

“Don’t you remember that day in the car last summer, when you first met Jamie?”

She didn’t at first, but it hit her like a truck and she almost gasped out loud. Harry only smiled a little at her, having remembered her words this whole time.

“A Scottish deerhound.”

“They’re quite big, aren’t they? Can’t remember how they look, but I think I know.” The phone was in Jamie’s hand, typing the name of the breed into the Google search bar.

“I’ve always wanted one. Always wanted to move to the outskirts of Maldon with two deerhounds. That’s where I want to settle down, I think.” She said. “With a winter garden and a big property so the dogs can run freely.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe Harry had done this.

“Harry…”

“It’s not Maldon, or Essex, or England for that matter,” he said, stepping aside so she could look at the house. “But I tried to make it like you said, with some pieces of me in it, if that’s okay.”

The resemblance it held to the last painting of Harry’s exhibit was incredible, the same painting that had been stolen by Gioele. The painting Harry had an emotional attachment to of sorts. It was because it was this. It was the house. It was the place he hoped she’d settle down. With him.

“Wanna take a look inside?”

She smiled at him. “Please.”

He smiled back, letting go of her hand so they could walk into the winter garden. Viola followed them, strolling in through the door before Harry closed it. He took her into his arms and walked over to the door that led into the house, opening it and letting Viola walk away before closing the door again. They were left in silence, a few of the windows were open to let some air in or else the room would undoubtedly get incredibly hot with the sun shining right in. The roof was shaped like a spire, the whole glasshouse a half-circle, and green plants lined the window wall. Vines hung gracefully along some of the stiles, and in the middle of it all stood a big blue velvet ottoman. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and Y/N absolutely adored it. When she’d pictured a winter garden, she’d just wanted a place she could relax outdoors during wintertime, but this was something else entirely. It had a Harry feel to it, but it also felt like her.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, leaning his back against the windows.

“It’s amazing.” She mused, looking around. “Harry… I’m speechless.”

“Tried to make it into something that I knew you’d like. That’s why I painted it first and had an architect sketch the outline of the house after.” Harry explained. “Hope it falls into liking.”

She looked over at him, for the first time in ages, seeing the hint of doubt in his eyes again. Simply not able to help herself, she walked over to him, hesitating a bit before placing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, closing his eyes for a second and letting a sigh of relaxation leave his lips.

“I love it, I haven’t even seen the inside of the house, but I love it.” She told him, studying his dark eyelashes against his cheekbones. “And I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shot open, looking straight into hers. The absolute joy in them made the colour of his irises more radiant, and it was almost as if the sun shone a little brighter. As if the world fell into place; like how it was supposed to be all along.

“I love you.” She repeated, softer this time around.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounded like a whisper; a plea for her to really, really, really feel it – what was between them – like he did.

“I’m in love with you, Harry.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, swallowing hard. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t help it when the sides of her mouth tipped upward. “I know.”

Harry smiled. “Smug bastard.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp tenderly. God, it felt good to have him touch her again. It felt good to be close to him. It felt good to not be ashamed of saying ‘I love you’. It felt amazing to let someone else know how deeply you cared for them and see them light up in response because they felt the same way.

“Now fucking kiss me before I go out of my mind.” Harry said, an undertone to his voice that made a hot tingle run up Y/N’s spine.

“How about you kiss me?”

Harry frowned.

“After all, if I hadn’t kissed you in the ocean that night, would we even be here?”

“You take pride in that, don’t you? I would’ve kissed you eventually.” Harry said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. “I would’ve!”

“Yeah, alright. When? The opportunity presented itself a couple of times, but you only had the nerve to kiss my hand.”

Harry gripped her hair hard in his hand, bringing her lips to hover above his. She gasped, looking down at his lips and then feeling it against her thigh. Very quickly, she felt hot all over, and the need to be closer to Harry grew so fast it made her dizzy.

“Got the nerve to fuck you good now, don’t I?” Harry said, voice so deep she felt it vibrate through her bones.

Y/N bit her lip. “What gentleman talks like that to a lady before he’s even kissed her for the first time in a year?”

“You want a gentleman?”

She ran her hands down his torso. “Depends on the situation.”

Harry kissed her jaw, leaving wet kisses down her neck. “Hmm, does it now?”

“Want a gentleman to walk the little puppy with, to make breakfast with, or to take me out for dates.”

“Do you want a gentleman between your thighs, baby?”

She closed her eyes at the feel of Harry’s lips on her, bit her bottom lip as he pressed her body closer to his. “Depends on how well that gentleman knows how to treat a lady.”

Harry chuckled, the feeling of his laughter against her skin was like heaven. “I’ll be a gentleman, the devil, an angel; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She huffed. “Thought we were doing dirty talk, and here you go turning it romantic.”

“I need you to shut up,” Harry said as his lips hovered above hers. “Because I’m about to kiss you and then fuck you on that sofa.”

She grinned, tilting her head to fit perfectly against his. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Hard and passionately. They wasted no time, slipping their tongue into one another’s mouths, clinging to one another, touching all over. They tasted the other, felt them right there. There were some birds singing outside, rustling of some leaves, but the two of them didn’t care. Harry pushed her backward till her legs hit the couch, but she stopped herself from falling back into it. Instead, she turned them around, pushing Harry back onto the ottoman.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She said, and Harry let out a shaky breath at her words.

He quickly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, threw it somewhere behind him before he leaned on his elbows. “Nothing you’ve ever said has turned me on more.”

She giggled, taking her jeans and knickers off and straddling his lap. He sat up, attaching his lips to hers once again, grabbing onto her bum, begging her to grind against him. They both wanted some friction, and she knew that if he pressed her harder onto him, there would be wet marks from her left on his jeans. But in the moment, neither cared. They just wanted to be as close as humans could be, wanted to feel ecstasy. She buried her hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, and the heat between her thighs got more and more intense the more time went on. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through her as she felt Harry’s hand run up her back, reaching for her bra. He wanted to see all of her.

She let him, throwing her shirt off and letting her bra fall to the floor. Harry kissed her the second she was done undressing, moaning her name against her lips. She felt her centre ache, reaching for the zip of Harry’s jeans as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bare it any longer, she needed to be skin to skin; soul to soul. Y/N found that the people she had sex with, she formed an emotional attachment to them in a way that was unexplainable. There might not even be real feelings there, but you’d shared an intimate moment with someone, and it was a moment neither of you would ever forget. But with Harry, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a single moment she shared with him when they were like this; it felt like sharing an entire lifetime. It felt like happiness; it felt like the rest of her life. And she knew she was right to have spent time away from him, because she would tell him this over and over and over again, and she wouldn’t be ashamed or feel weak for admitting how much she loved him.

They got Harry’s jeans and boxers off, and as she took a grip of his cock, Harry stiffened. Their eyes met.

“A condom.” He said, reminding her what they were about to do.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Harry gripped her thigh, squeezing her.

“You pay for the pill.”

He smiled, kissing her for a long time. “Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, she sat down on him, gasping at the familiar feeling of him inside her like this. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time, mouth opening wider for each centimetre he moved inside her. Positioning her feet on the floor, she started moving her hips over him. He instantly moaned, not able to help himself because it felt so good. He moved his hands up her thighs, her sides, her back, wanting to feel every single little part of her. Wanted her to know how much he appreciated every little thing about her. There wasn’t a single part of her body, of her soul, of her existence he didn’t love. She felt all his emotions in his touches, in the kisses he left along her collarbone, in the soft way he moaned her name.

She tried to push him down onto the ottoman, wanting to have him watch her as she rode him, but Harry stopped her. He shook his head, curls tickling her jawline and cheek.

“No,” he simply said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m staying right here.”

And though he hadn’t meant it that way, Y/N still took it as him telling her he’d stay with her like this forever. After all, she’d been the one to leave him in the first place, but they were here now. Never was she going to leave him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the truest thing in her life, and her best influence. Had she ever been happy before she’d met him? Had she known true happiness till now? Because right now, feeling Harry’s bare skin against hers and hearing him repeat her name, she wasn’t so sure the happiness she’d felt before him could be counted as just that, happiness.

Harry squeezed her hips. “Like that,” he moaned, burying his face in the cook of her neck.

Nothing mattered besides the magic they were creating between them; nothing mattered but Harry and eternity. The soft skin of the inside of Y/N’s thighs against Harry’s hips and sides, pressed to him, sweaty. His tattooed body against her bare one. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

The burn in her core was really starting to build up now, and she knew it would burst any second. Harry moved his face so it was right in front of hers, studying her moving form above him. Her sliding hips, her desperate hands, her exclamations of pleasure. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy, all of them flying wildly in a single circle to intensify the oncoming orgasm. Harry’s hips moved more with hers, staring at her as she closed her eyes, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry said, hands trembling against her back.

She didn’t know why that almost brought her to tears, but it did, and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. No one had ever made her feel as stunning as Harry. Though she was confident in her body and on her own, being with Harry made her feel on top of the world. His love, his encouragement, his compliments, it all made her feel so incredibly good about herself in a way nothing ever had before. She had no idea how she could ever thank him for that.

Their hips moved rhythmically, hard against one another, desperate for release. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. Y/N wanted to melt into him and have the two of them sitting like this forever. Wanted to feel him close, feel his love, feel his skin. Having him inside her like this, feeling him grip her hard, whimpering against her lips, moan her name; she felt powerful, beautiful, strong, and so so so good.

“Harry,” she moaned, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He said, bringing her closer. He reached between them, knowing that in order to come properly, she needed him to flick her bud. “Let me watch you come.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped his shoulders harder, moaning loudly as he rubbed her clit like he knew she loved so much.

“Yeah?” He watched her, flicking her faster. “Come for me, baby.”

She came hard. Harry watched her intently, clearly holding back his own release till he knew she was completely done with hers. She grinded on top of him, looking deeply into her eyes as hot flames lashed threw her body, rocking up her entire reality. She gasped for breath and moaned and repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it let like it was the only word she knew. Her legs were shaking, and it was hard for her to move properly so he could come to.

“Say it.” Harry said, his neck vein about to show and his face reddening with the oncoming climax. “Tell me.”

She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his lips as she continued to rock over him. “Everyday, for the rest of my existence, I’ll love you.”

“Fuck.” Harry moaned, not able to look away from her. “Y/N. My love.”

She held his face in her hands. “Never leave me. I love you too much.”

“Never.” Harry said, a moan escaping his lips. “Shit.”

He came, not looking away from her. A furrow appearing between his brows, lips parted, and Y/N had never seen anything so hot and beautiful. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. She watched him till he came down, feeling his cum inside her, feeling his breathing against her, his arms around her.

“You need to go meet Gopher now.” Harry said after a little while.

“My puppy.”

Harry laughed. “We’re gonna have a house filled with fucking animals, aren’t we?”

“And what about it?” Y/N smiled. “Don’t you want to see me happy?”

Harry’s eyes softened, smiling slightly up at her as he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, then her palm, then the pulse of her wrist. “For the rest of my life, celeste.” His smile widened as he felt her beating hearts against his lips. “My baby blue.”

the BIGGEST thank you to all my beta readers! you lot have saved me and helped me more times than i can count! love you!

@aileenacoustic @sunflowervolumeeleven @emotionally-imbruised @fromyourstrulyh @harryisadogperson @harrysthighles @mellowstyles94 @toolazymyguy @clorenafila @dearest-rebecca @tpwkceline @tasteslikestrawberriesharry​

and thank you to you! thank you for reading baby blue! thank you for the love sent both mine and bb’s way! thank you for letting me tell you yet another story, the fact that you sit down each sunday (or whichever day tbh) to read bb and immerse yourself in the bb-verse means so much to me!

as for what i’m gonna do next cos i’ve gotten quite a few questions about that! i won’t be posting writing on tumblr or wattpad till may, but in the meantime i’ll be over at patreon posting! there’ll be a poll there where some of my patrons can vote for what they want me to write next and i’ll post something every week!

my next fic will be announced sometime in april (tho i’ve talked about what it’s gonna be multiple times lmao), and the first few chapters will be available to read on my patreon before it starts posting on my other platforms!

ANYWAY, i love you all so much! thank you again! bb!harry and bb!mc appreciate you very much, as do i :’’)

thank you so much. till next time, stay hydrated.

your bestie, nora x

[thetwistedfaun]

From a Diamond to a Rose: My Very Long and Detailed Interpretation of Pink Diamond and Her History

Before diving in let me preface this by making it known that the narrative of this dissertation makes a noticeable shift. This originally started out as me explaining to a friend who has never been exposed to Steven Universe and somewhere along the line it shifted from explaining to a non viewer into having a discussion with a fellow fan of the show. But I liked how it turned out, so I left it as it is. This is also my take on things just from watching the show. I wasn’t apart of the SU fandom until just about two months before Steven Universe Future ended, just in time to watch the last few episodes air live, so I haven’t dug around and researched anything. This is just based on what is presented in the episodes. Please bare with me, because this is going to be a long ride.

While the show as a whole is very very wonderful, my Pink Diamond doesn’t come in until season 5, and they actually treat my baby like crap and use her as a scapegoat for the series. People make mistakes when they’re young, it’s a part of growing up, such is the case for Pink Diamond. In this essay I will…

Diamonds are considered the elite. The highest authority on their planet “Home World” and all other gems fall below them. In my opinion the Diamond family is like this; Pink is the baby, Blue & Yellow are her parents, and White is the grandma that they rarely ever see. White, Blue, and Yellow conquer worlds. I think this also goes in alliance of the family/gem order. White has conquered the most worlds, then Yellow and then Blue. Because the other Diamonds treat Pink as the child of the family, she didn’t get any worlds to conquer until much much much later in this history.

Each Diamond has their own Pearl, who basically serve the Diamond they’re assigned to. The Pearls look very similar to their Diamonds in color, hair, and gem placement. While White was very rarely seen, Yellow was around more frequently, but I believe that Blue and Pink spent the most time together, but she was left all to herself (with her Pearl and/or Spinel) when the other Diamonds were off conquering other planets.

As I’ve already stated, Pink is basically the young child and the other Diamonds definitely treat her as such. Since she is treated like a child this is basically how she was groomed to act as described by her behavior; playful, imaginative, temper tantrums. They would bring her life forms from the planets they conquered (mostly Blue I think) And she loved these various foreign life forms as one would love their animal companion, if not equal to or above herself. I believe that she was spoiled as well, but a spoiled child is the fault of the parents that raised them.

After being left out of the other Diamonds business, Pink was so happy when they returned that she would plan and throw massive balls in celebration and to have all four of them together again. When she planned and threw her extravagant parties, Pink would sneak her foreign pets/friends out with her, probably wanting them to enjoy the party as well, or just to keep her company. I would assume that it’s difficult, sneaking a very curious friend out with you when they excitedly want to explore, so Pink frequently lost track of her friends at these parties and this obviously caused tremendous chaos. This bad behavior of sneaking pets out and throwing tantrums was frowned upon, so When the other Diamonds decided they didn’t like her behavior, they would lock her away in rooms as punishment. Time is very different for the gems, so imagine a childlike alien being locked away for literal thousands of years. This is neglect and abuse, and very few fans of the show realize this.

After experiencing this over and over again, it’s no wonder she hated her life on Homeworld. Pink wanted to grow up, to have more responsibility, but the other Diamonds wanted her to stay in that baby role and/or didn’t feel that she would be able to handle her own planet and ruling a colony. And I think this is really where her tantrums came in. When she didn’t get what she wanted she would throw tantrums, and because Diamonds are the hardest gem, I think this contributed to how strong their powers are. When Pink is very emotional she loses control of her powers (or perhaps she never really realized how powerful she actually was). She would ask the other Diamonds over and over to have her own planet, and after being denied for so long she was emotionally distraught and her powers pretty much exploded and she ended up damaging her original Pearl, which at this point was probably one of her very few friends. She was emotionally invested in her Pearl. This in no way was physical abuse, she never raised a hand or lashed out.

Because of the damage done to this Pearl, White took Pink’s original Pearl away and replaced her with “Our Pearl”. There is speculation that Pink’s original Pearl was also taken away because it was indulging Pink in her childish whims instead of being a good influence on her, but because I was late to the fandom and this is just my personal interpretation of what I gathered from the show, I haven’t looked for proof of this.

She spent time alone in a garden of hers with Spinel who was her “childhood” friend. I like to consider this to be the beginning of her teenage years, with wanting responsibility and to be taken seriously. With that she was slowly growing out of the needed of having the playtime friend that Spinel was. So after begging and pleading for who knows how long, the other Diamonds finally decided to give Pink her very own planet; earth. So, what did she do with Spinel once finally getting her own planet? She left her in the garden. In my opinion, the other Diamonds never truly taught Pink how to properly express her needs and wants; ie her tantrums. In my opinion this also mirrors how the other Diamonds would lock her away when she would “act out”. It’s quite possibly the only way she knew how to be rid of the friend she had outgrown, because it was what she was used to.

After leaving Spinel, Pink excitedly went to tend to her planet, and her Quartz soldiers began to colonize the earth. This is what all the other Diamonds did with their planets and it’s what was expected of Pink, although I’m not quite sure that Pink actually knew what having her own planet entailed. Her excitement quickly weaned once she realized sitting in an office behind a computer wasn’t as adventurous as she’d hoped it would be. With Pearls being companion servants, it was part of their job to keep their Diamond happy and “Our” Pearl felt that she was failing her duty. Once “Our” Pearl showed her the actual progress of her Quartz’s emerging, Pink realizes that this was what she wanted. To be up close and personal, meeting her soldiers and exploring, but there was a problem; the other Diamonds would never approve of letting Pink go to earth’s surface, so “Our” Pearl wanted (probably more than anything else) to make her Diamond happy, and so she came up with a plan; Pink could change her form (into a Rose Quartz) for the day in order to escape and explore.

After kindly greeting a freshly emerged Quartz soldier, Pink and Pearl set off to explore earth’s vast surface and Pink immediately fell in love with her earth. She couldn’t let her soldiers continue to colonize the earth, it would completely destroy the planet and its preexisting life, so she immediately returned to Homeworld and told the other Diamonds that she no longer wanted to go through with the colony, but Yellow told her to finish what she started. When Pink told them she wanted to preserve life on earth, they created the zoo on Homeworld and threw a handful of humans in. Pink pleaded with Yellow and Blue to cease the colonization of her planet, but she received the parental shutdown because her status meant nothing to them. Still basically a teenager, all she could do was ask, and when that didn’t work, she made excuses; too many organics, cities too difficult to dismantle, unruly Crystal Gems. Still, Blue and Yellow would not budge. Pink was becoming desperate and seeing no other way to make them listen, she changed her form into Rose Quartz once again, and tried to scare the Diamonds into backing off. She was fighting from both ends, trying her best to save her one and only planet, but still no luck. It was perhaps her final attempt as Pink Diamond to try reasoning with the other Diamonds to halt their assault on earth, but instead she was lectured. “As long as you are there to rule, this colony will be completed.” said Blue, and thus, the seed was planted. She would fake her shattering, saying goodbye to her Diamond from and permanently becoming Rose Quartz. From what we know, Diamonds are the hardest mineral and it’s basically impossible to actually shatter a Diamond, and yet, no one really dug deep enough to dispute the claim on whether or not Pink Diamond was actually destroyed. Keep in mind that during all of this, Pink Diamond/Rose Quartz she still had the mental development of a child/teen, and being a child means what? That she lacked the mental capacity to think her decision through a little better, that she didn’t think of the future or impact that shattering a Diamond would bring. She genuinely thought that destroying her Diamond form would cease the colonization of earth. Pink’s literal child thought processing mind never could have IMAGINED that faking her shattering would lead to an all out war! She was trying to SAVE the earth, she did not intentionally hurt anyone!

And so, after “shattering” Pink Diamond, the war was on. Bismuth created the weapon to end all weapons, the one thing that could very possibly successfully shatter a Diamond. But this is not what Pink wanted, she wanted to spare as many fatalities as possible, so instead of explaining her reasons behind wanting to prevent death to any beings (Diamonds included), as well as possibly exposing her rouse, she bubbled Bismuth and kept her safe where no one else could ever find out. But consider, if Pink/Rose Quartz truly wanted to be rid of Bismuth for good, she had numerous chances to just shatter Bismuth’s gem to permanently prevent another soul from ever stumbling upon her life threatening secret, but it was never in her nature to end anyone or thing’s life. It’s quite possible that she fully intended to free Bismuth, but was always questioning when to do it, too afraid that perhaps once she did, the most important beings in her life, her closest friends, would turn on her, not caring for her reasons behind bubbling another close friend. Once you lie to get away from something, it weighs on your mind, and as time passes you feel like you’ve just dug yourself deeper and deeper into an inexcusable hole. Again, this is speculation on my part, but the fact remains, she had every chance to permanently be rid of Bismuth, but she chose not to. I’m not sure of the timeline of the war, but both humans AND gems were lost in the battle, until the other Diamonds blasted the war site. In the end, Rose Quartz (Pink’s now permanent form) could only save herself and a few friends. This was never her intentions, she never considered that things could quite possibly end this badly with so many lives lost. This was truly the last thing she ever wanted because she had ALWAYS considered all life to be important. Her little pebble people, foreign life forms she had as friends on Homeworld, strong compassion, wanting to preserve ALL life on earth, healing tears and literally bringing things back from the dead is the proof of that! This was all her fault, and she knew it, she blamed herself probably everyday, every second of her life after the war, and this is why Rose Quartz and the other Crystal Gems scoured the earth, trying to find and recover any intact gems, as well as gem scraps, and bubbled every single one they came across, because Rose had literally EVERY INTENTION of finding a way to reverse the corruption of those gems. She knew that it would happen one day, she just never figured out HOW during her lifespan. Consider all of these things and ask yourself, if she truly didn’t care about the damage her actions had brought, would she really be dedicating the majority of her life on earth to finding and caring, trying to coax out the original mental state of all the corrupted gems they came across? “The truth is, Rose Quartz had tried to use her powers to save these monsters too, but she was never able to heal them.”

Hopping to a separate note in season 4, I believe that in Rose’s room, when Steven finally got to hang out with his mother, that Rose was a prerecorded smart simulation that Steven could interact with as he pleased. Gem tech was light years more advanced than any tech humans had ever made. She knew that Steven would possibly question his true purpose, why she had him, if she loved him, so she installed the knowledge of the Steven/Nora tape into her room.

So, here we are at the end, and I believe I’ve hit on the most important notes to explain her life and behaviors. Rose did not leave all of her bad deeds for Steven to fix. She never planned on meeting Greg and falling in love. Steven most likely was never even planned until the last year of her life, because notice how much Greg had aged in the photo of him and Rose. He had probably asked several times to have a child with her, and she loved him very much. She knew that humans have very short lifespans, and she wanted to do this with Greg before he was out of time.

[sarah-wants-to-write]

Searching My Dreams for a Lifetime; Chapter Two (Criminal Minds)

                “Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm.”                 -Abraham Lincoln

◊

        “She did WHAT?” Rossi asked, surprise written all over his face.

        “Wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it myself,” Derek replied, folding his arms over his chest “just popped it right back in place like it was nothing.”

         “Well it makes sense,” Reid declared, turning to see Shira talking to one of the detectives “people with EDS have problems keeping their joints in place all the time. Makes sense she’d know how to put them back where they need to be without medical help.”

        “What was weirder was how much Hotch knew of her condition,” Emily added, voice quiet “rare enough that it doesn’t seem like something he’d need to know off-hand.”

        “Maybe researching genetic conditions when Hayley was pregnant,” Rossi mused “and it stuck.”

        “Well, no matter how you look at it, Hotch definitely gained her respect with showing he knew about it,” Derek said “starting to look more like you might be right, Rossi.”

~

        Shira was tucked into her own corner of the conference room, where the team was set up to work. Sketching out the crime scene, with the sigils, and the distances, Shira couldn’t figure out what was going on. To the untrained eye, it seemed like a complex ritual layered with meaning. Yet to Shira, who had done her masters dissertation on ancient blood rituals with a focus on the Norse, she was just confused.

        They didn’t mean anything. Not in context. Though the arrangement was definitely familiar.

        Ehwaz, Othala, Ansuz, Gebo.

        “Loyalty, home, communication, gift,” she muttered “nothing to do with…wait…”

        She knew those positions anywhere. How hadn’t she seen it right away?

        Getting up, she made her way to the white board, quickly mapping out the scene with the runes and positions.

        “Make a connection there, doctor?” Rossi asked, watching her “what’s the meaning behind the symbols?”

        “I still can’t figure out the one that’s directly ahead,” Shira replied “but the others I recognize. Looking at them by themselves, their meaning is totally unrelated, but together? It’s one of the interpretations of the runed Helm of Awe.”

        “A Norse symbol that serves like a compass,” Reid added, looking at the board “not much is known about it.”

        “In mythology, it’s also been known as a symbol of protection, for those who cause chaos,” Shira continued “in the Poetic Edda, the dragon Fafnir gave the Helm credit for his seemingly being invincible. 'The Helm of Awe I wore before the sons of men in defense of my treasure; amongst all, I alone was strong, I thought to myself, for I found no power a match for my own'.”

        “So, he’s basing the staging off something that gives power to those who cause chaos,” Hotch mused “he’s declaring himself invincible to our efforts. Getting off on the torture and the lack of progress from the officials.”

        “He likes watching the police squirm,” Shira muttered “hopefully you’ll find a pattern with the victims before the next abduction.”

        “That’s something we needed to speak with you about,” Rossi declared, earning cautious attention from her “all the victims; they’re women in their early thirties, with dark brown hair and blue eyes.”

        “You fit the victimology to the letter,” Hotch added “and with your involvement in the case, that makes you more of a prime target. Needless to say, if you’re leaving the station, it won’t be without one of us or a detective.”

        “You’re telling me this like I didn’t make the connection already,” Shira told them, smiling to reassure, though the glint in her eyes was a bit cheeky “a woman sees six of her near-doppelgangers dead, she connects the dots.”

        “This could also mean that you might be the intended target,” Hotch continued, watching her “if it comes to that, we’ll have to interview you, and ask you to step away from the case.”

        “Then I best do as much as I can, shouldn’t I?” she countered “give you all the help I can. After all, he isn’t gonna wait. Though if my presence hasn’t been made public or obvious, then that might buy some time, or it might make him angry. Either way, he might slip up.”

        Watching the two talk, Rossi was both impressed and amused. Shira didn’t seem at all fazed that she might be a target. More that it seemed like fuel for her work. With her knowledge of profiling, as well, she almost sounded just like Hotch when she was talking. A quiet authority that had people listening whenever she spoke.

        “I’ll bet you’re a favorite among students,” Rossi declared, earning a pleasantly surprised smile from Shira “direct and personable. How quick do your classes fill up?”

        “Don’t even make it to the end of the first day of enrollment,” she replied, straightening up in pride “most students love having a younger teacher, and I like to think that I’m quite good at what I do.”

        Rossi smiled at that, catching a quick glance at Hotch as Shira spoke. The slight smile on the younger agent’s face was a surprise, gone just as quick as it was seen, but Rossi was certain he saw it.

        Already Rossi knew one thing for sure, about those two; Hotch was doomed, in the best way.

~

        It was late, and the team was taking a break for dinner before calling it a night. Still at the police station, in case a call came in, Chinese food and small talk were the order of the night, as a reprieve from the work throughout the day.

        Most of the talk was directed at Shira, the team wanting to get to know their consultant better.

        “One of the youngest professors at the University, huh?” Morgan huffed, smirking a bit “starting to give pretty-boy here a run for his money.”

        “Ah, I couldn’t measure up to the famous Doctor Reid,” Shira laughed “not many people who could! I was lucky to be granted one PHD.”

        “Those committees are vicious,” Reid agreed, laughing “makes staring down an unsub look like nothing, sometimes. Takes guts to stand in front of people and have them question everything about your work. Give yourself credit, Doctor Amell.”

        Shira laughed at that, dipping her head a bit in thanks at the compliment.

        “And how about your personal life?” Emily asked “any pets?”

        “One, a dog, though I definitely want more,” Shira replied “his name’s Michael. He’s a retired MWD.”

        “Adopted a military working dog?” Rossi mused “good on you. They’re loyal and incredibly smart. Malinois?”

        “German Shepard,” she answered “poor thing’s still skittish sometimes, but it makes sense. Most loyal man in my life, being the only one.”

        “No soul mate yet?” Morgan wondered, noticing Hotch starting to watch her more closely “someone as smart and pretty as you should have found him by now.”

        “Been busy,” Shira replied “master’s thesis, doctoral dissertation, books, teaching, and guest lectures. I noticeably value and show my intelligence. Most men are intimidated by that, and even if they aren’t…”

        She trailed off for a moment, sitting up and rolling her shoulder a bit, before it audibly popped. Her smile was sad as she looked to Morgan.

        “Even if they aren’t,” she continued “who would want to be saddled with all this?”

        She gestured to herself, her joints, and shrugged. Looking down as she continued eating, she missed the surprise on most everyone’s face, including Hotch.

        How much had she been through?

~

        It was early morning, and the team was preparing to leave the hotel and go back to the station.  Wanting to get in some quiet time to eat and think, Hotch made his way down to the dining room for some breakfast. Not many people were there, and he knew it wouldn’t be that way for long. Going to the coffee pots and water kettles, Hotch poured himself a mug, as someone came up beside him. Glancing over, he saw the person was in a sling, and was forced to do a double-take when he realized who it was.

        “Doctor Amell?” Hotch felt his eyebrows go into his hairline, seeing her turn to him with a confused look “your arm?”

        “It’s my shoulder, actually,” she replied, smiling sheepishly “won’t stay in easily, and it hurts. Afraid I won’t be doing any hiking today.”

        “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he mused “I imagine it must hurt quite a bit.”

        “Nothing more than I’m used to,” she promised, reaching with her left hand for a mug “though it sucks that it’s my right, being right-handed and all.”

        Hotch watched as she grabbed the mug, reaching for a hot kettle as she picked out a tea bag. When she had the package open, and bag in the mug, he went and filled her mug for her.

        “Oh, thank you,” Shira declared, smiling, as he finished “my arm definitely couldn’t support that for long.”

        “Least I can do,” he replied “we should eat while we can, before the rest of the team wakes up.”

        The way he said ‘rest of the team’ was something she definitely noticed, yet she didn't get her hopes up. Clearly, he was referring to his relationship with the team, and not her.

        “Are you always up before the rest of them?” She asked “burden of leadership, I imagine, getting ahead of everyone so you can stay on top of your game.”

        “Doesn't help that I don't sleep much,” Hotch replied, taking her mug as they went to a table “hard to sleep in new places.”

        “Yet you're used to it, from how you're handling this,” she mused, smiling “not all professional experience, I think. Kids?”

        “Pity you weren't able to join the Bureau,” he declared, amused “just one. My son, Jack.”

        “You fight for justice and come home to your son,” Shira grinned, sitting and taking her mug with a grateful nod “a family man. Regular Captain America.”

        “Just a man raising his son on his own, trying to make the world safer for him,” Hotch countered, sitting across from her “hardly have time for much superhero work.”

        “Says the one who's basically a superhero,” she teased, smile widening as she saw him smile “your son has a wonderful role model to look up to, with you.”

        “Thank you,” he replied, dipping his head slightly “it’s been tough, especially after his mother passed, but we have a good support network.”

        “I’m sorry to hear she’s gone,” Shira declared, eyebrows knitting together as her heart went out to him “was she your…”

        “No,” Hotch shook his head “but we both didn’t think our marks were the be all, end all. Love is love and can last a lifetime no matter what, or so we thought.”

        “Nothing wrong with that,” she reassured him “I’m sure she’d be happy, when you do find the one.”

        The silence wasn’t as tense as Shira expected, and she was surprised when Hotch straightened up and looked her in the eye.

        “Doctor Amell,” he started “I wanted to apologize for my behavior back at Quantico, and on the plane. You’re here to help us, and I was disrespectful.”

        “Believe it or not, I figured it might have been out of character for you,” she replied, smiling to try and comfort him “though I had chalked it up to how bad this case is. Besides, you came around eventually. In my mind, there’s nothing to forgive, but I know it helps to hear it, so I’ll say it; I forgive you, Agent Hotchner.”

        Shira watched as his eyes softened, and a small smile came back to his face. A soft, vulnerable, almost happy glance that showed more than she was sure any of the team saw on a normal basis.

        “And please,” she continued, smiling as a twinkle came to her eye “you can call me Shira. If you want to, that is.”

        “And you can call me Hotch,” he replied, giving the smallest chuckle “the rest of the team does.”

        “The way you keep saying that,” Shira mused, slightly hesitant “it’s a bit strange…”

        “Because you feel like you’re not part of the team,” Hotch mused “that I’m just referring to their connection to me, but it’s entirely the opposite. It’s temporary and new, but you’re doing just as much work to solve this as we are. We brought you in. You’re just as much a part of the team.”

        The way her heart fluttered made Shira blush, and she smiled for him.

        “That’s sweet of you to say,” she replied “thank you, Hotch. We should probably eat something, before we head into the station. Don’t know about you, but a muffin of any kind sounds great.”

        Hotch smiled, turning to look at the tray that he could see she’d been eyeing. Going over and grabbing two, he brought them back to their table. Shira smiled wider when she saw the flavor that he brought for her.

        “Blueberry?” she asked, immediately taking the top off so she could enjoy it last.

        “Fruit tends to go better with black tea, in my opinion,” he answered, watching her closely “balances it out.”

        “Only someone who enjoys tea could come to that conclusion,” Shira laughed between bites, grinning “blueberry’s one of my favorites.”

~

       When he came down for breakfast, Rossi was distracted by thinking on the case. Yet when he heard familiar voices engaged in conversation, he was jolted to clarity. Looking around, he saw Hotch and Shira tucked into a corner, deep in conversation. The smile on Hotch’s face brought one to Rossi’s, seeing the way that the two were relaxed around each other.

       “Is that Hotch…smiling? And eating?”

       Rossi turned to see Morgan and Reid behind him, both looking equally shocked.

       “This whole case just got more interesting,” Rossi chuckled “but we’ve got work to focus on.”

       As the rest of the team came down, and everyone was able to eat something, they were getting ready to head in before Hotch got a call. Watching as he took it, expression falling, they knew it was bad news.

       “Unsub’s taken another woman,” he told them “let’s get going. We have work to do.”

◊

                “A heart worth loving is one you understand, even in silence.”                 – Shannon L. Alder

∞

[labellerose-acheron]

Third Time’s the Charm *** [Helle]

In which Belle has news for Hades...[takes place: May 5]

@trip-downtheriverstyx

[tw -- none]

BELLE: Belle was pregnant.

Surprise!

Except it wasn’t. Not this time. This time she was supposed to be pregnant and yet when the little pink lines showed up a few days before her birthday—she stared at them in shock.

And then she took another one.

It was positive too.

Still the shock was louder than any excitement and she left the bathroom feeling stiff, as if she’d been sitting in one place too long, although the whole ordeal couldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes. She was glad she was home alone because she’d burst into tears for no discernable reason that she could pinpoint exactly and certainly couldn’t explain if asked. Maybe it was relief or excitement or a release of stress bursting forth or, maybe, it was even hormones. Either way, she was glad she had asked Hades, after that first time, if she could do this part alone. In her request, she was originally looking for solitude in that first lash of inevitable disappointment, but she was grateful to have a moment to herself to process.

Sitting down on the couch, she gathered herself and then—went to the library. After all, a dissertation waited for no one. Perhaps it was awful of her that she’d sat down in her usual chair, turned on her laptop, dove into her books, and managed to completely forget until it was two in the morning and she was getting forcibly removed from the building. (A frequent occurrence.) In her defense, as soon as she was out in the chilly night air, she remembered and called a cab. Hades was already asleep when she got home.

And the next morning, she was awake and gone before he’d even stirred with an eight o’clock class.

So, it wasn’t her fault that it was now a full day later and she still hadn’t told Hades. She felt, ridiculously, like she had somehow missed her opportunity and she didn’t know where her in was or how she was supposed to do it. Belle felt like texting Ting-Ting and asking her, because Ting-Ting seemed like the type of girl who would know the answer to “how do I tell my husband I’m pregnant?” But she didn’t know if their relationship was there yet. Then, she considered Berlioz, but she ultimately decided against it. She didn’t want anyone to know before Hades.

Which meant she was on her own and tongue-tied whenever she looked at him. She felt awful, like she was keeping some secret from him…and she was, but the secret was a good thing! And she just wanted to tell him properly. She just didn’t know how. Belle didn’t want this to be at all like last time—she didn’t know how it could be, but she remembered it all very clearly. Those emotions had been so ugly. She just wanted this to be the complete opposite of that.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up avoiding Hades the way she’d been doing for much longer. He was going to catch on. She could only hide behind her dissertation for so long and she had already waited for a week or so after when she could’ve tried testing positive because she found breaking the militant cycle of sex, pregnancy test, sex, pregnancy test right on schedule was helpful on her nerves. Soon, it would technically be time for her to start ovulation again. If she wasn’t pregnant. Which she was.

Except, Hades didn’t know that and he should probably know that.

Belle was zoned out all through dinner, spending more time feeding Opal her food than eating her own, just alert enough to nod and “mhm” in the right spots as Hades lectured about the petitions circling the Board like sharks. (And secretly she worried: was this the best time? Should they have waited? Was any time a good time? Was their life really suited for one child? Let alone two?)

“Maman!” Opal barked, grabbing Belle’s wrist which held her spoon, hovering just away from Opal’s mouth.

“Sorry, love,” Belle apologized softly and gave Opal her final bit of dinner, then wiping her face with her bib. She placed a few cut up strawberries on the tray and then turned her about so they could keep an eye on her whilst they did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.

“I’ll wash,” she volunteered, a bit out of character for her, but she was antsy and needed to do something with her hands. Wiping the counters down wouldn’t give her enough time. So, she stood at the kitchen sink, the warm water running over her hands, looking at her reflection and the dark, rainy night beyond. It was quiet besides the running water, the rattling of rain on the roof, Opal humming to herself as she smacked at her food, and Hades moving about behind her.

She saw him coming towards her in the window before she felt his presence beside her, dropping off the last of the dishes and taking up the rag to dry the ones she’d already finished. It was gentle and easy and just like them. They went about this for a few moments. There was the water and the roof and her daughter and Hades.

Belle handed Hades a plate, looked up at him—really looking at him for the first time in almost two days—

“I’m pregnant,” she told him, the words slipping out as easy as the water from the faucet. 

HADES: Yes, Hades was aware that any day now, Belle was going to take a pregnancy test. Actually, the first day to take one had passed and it was possible she had already taken it and it had come back negative again. 

He knew this because he still had Belle’s cycle in his phone, despite their agreement that Belle would take the tests on her own. He should delete the app but Hades was stubborn. There was much that was out of his control in this situation-- really, the whole thing was out of his control-- and so the app, at the very least, let Hades know where they were. It included him, even if he kept it to himself and waited for Belle to take the test when convenient to her. 

He had also noticed that over the past few days, she had been acting strangely. There were explanations for her behavior that had nothing to do with a pregnancy, or a failure to get pregnant. Exams were soon; Belle was in the middle of intensive revision. She had her internship and Hades knew that she was working hard on several cases. The recent petitions undoubtedly stirred conversations in Belle’s classes and in Queen Clarion’s offices as well, even though they were still gathering signatures and had yet to truly make their way to the Board’s desks. All this could be distracting Belle, plunging her into research-mode. This was Hades’ favourite version of his wife and he didn’t want to distract her.

Except that every now and then, when he was reading and she was studying, he’d feel her eyes on him. Staring. As if she had something to say. 

It was negative, thought Hades to himself, every time. He willed her to simply tell him. They’d failed twice so far after all, so wasn’t he almost used to it? The disappointment would still flash and burn. But they’d just try again. It was still early enough in the process that there was no reason to worry.

Just say it. Please. C’mon. But Belle could not read his mind, no matter how intensely he thought in her direction, and the hours passed. 

They were doing dishes when yet again, Belle’s eyes fell onto Hades. Hades did his best to pretend that he didn’t notice. He simply accepted each dish she handed to him, rubbing them down with their dish towel and then using his powers to float the dish to its proper place in its proper cabinet. 

Say it, he willed her again. “Thank you,” he said out loud, accepting yet another plate. She looked up at him with those round eyes of hers, full of thoughts she didn’t know how to parse out. Hades smiled at her. 

“I’m pregnant,” said Belle.

The dish slipped from Hades’ hand.

“Shit!” Hades gasped but the plate froze in the air, an inch from shattering on the ground. He quickly bent down to snatch it, popping up the next second. Now it was his turn to look wide-eyed at Belle. “I’m sorry-- what did you-- you are?” Hades clutched the plate with his other hand too, almost like he was going to give it back to Belle like a birthday present. 

BELLE: Belle jumped slightly at the explicative, her heart jumping to attention as well. She didn’t expect it. Not from the situation and especially not from Hades, who wasn’t at all clumsy. It made her laugh, once she’d recovered from the bit of shock as the plate floated back up and into Hades’ hands. And she was, quite out of the blue, remembered a moment from long ago. Where Belle had broken a dish and Hades had swept it away into the bin so that she wouldn’t cut herself on it.

How young they had been. How unaware of everything that they would face. Belle spared a tender second for the people they had been then. Wishing them well and then, wishing this future of theirs well too. For they didn’t know what was coming, what threads the Fates would weave, but for this piece of the tapestry, for their child right in this moment, Belle only knew it would be sweet.

And the relief she felt at that, at the shocked expression on Hades’ face melting into one of surprised delight as she watched him process the information was overwhelming. There were tears in her eyes as she smiled back.

How silly she had been to worry. Now that it had been spoken and made more real, Belle felt the shackles of that worry fall off her heart, making it light as a feather.

It was beating fast in her chest, fluttering like the wings of a bird. It was excitement. Belle knew that feeling well. It had come again and again into her life once Hades had arrived. This feeling of jumping into the air and expecting to soar. She hadn’t let herself feel it before this moment, hiding it from herself.

“Yes. I-I’m quite sure. I haven’t—I haven’t gone to the doctor or Hera o-or anything, but I took about a hundred tests and they’ve all come back positive. I’ve known for a few days but I didn’t know how to tell you. I mean—I was trying to find a way. A-a good way. A perfect way. I’m sorry I don’t know what I was thinking.” She said all of this in a rush and she didn’t look sorry at all, still smiling, her eyes sparkling. 

HADES: It was the definition of whiplash. Seconds ago, Hades had been practicing his poker face. He was wearing his armor, convinced their failure for a third month in a row would hurt as badly as the other two-- or worse, that he wouldn’t feel its impact at all, and he would get used to disappointment. 

He’d entertained other ideas too, of course.

But not this. He knew how dangerous his hope had been in the past. Belle called that hope pressure. That pressure gave birth to anxiety. He hadn’t anticipated any such things at the start of this process, thinking instead that it might be fun to make a baby. Not that he didn’t enjoy it but it had been work-- Hades wanting it too much, taking it too seriously, the way he might have once taken a book report for class. He wanted top marks and nothing less, but he couldn’t control what happened; his efforts either succeeded or they didn’t. And so it was best not to hope, he’d learned quickly. Anticipate failure and try not to care (he cared).

But third time’s the charm, eh? What a horrible cliche. It was also his new favourite cliche, as he stared at Belle, his eyes tracing the shape of her lips as she rambled on and on about knowing for several days (should he get angry about that?) and wanting to surprise him in some meaningful way (such as washing dishes, obviously) and Hades tried to find how he felt in the middle of her speech but he couldn’t find it-- 

He’d always preferred action. 

Hades laughed, not even a little angry, quite frankly. He laughed and then his arms were around Belle, bringing her close so he could kiss her on the mouth. The faucet was still running, Belle had soap on her hands, but Hades didn’t care. 

He kissed her firmly, and when he pulled away, he still wasn’t done. He lifted her into his arms and twirled her. 

“This is brilliant! Belle--” 

He relished her name on her lips and when he said it, light bloomed between them, shining from the runes on their arms.

He kissed her again.  

BELLE: Hades laughed and once again, Belle was somewhat startled by the reaction. She supposed she shouldn’t be, if only because she had no real frame of reference. They hadn’t been excited about Opal. As awful as it was to say, it was also true. Still, it was not often that Hades smiled that crooked smile of his and laughed bright enough to fill the kitchen with light.

It made Belle laugh too. She laughed into the kiss, squeaking as he pulled her close, her hands wet. She hesitated to put them around him, which meant she relied on him to keep her balanced.

When the kiss broke, Belle laughed again, letting out a breath, her cheeks properly pink and starting to hurt a bit from her smiling.

“Ah! Hades!” she shouted as he lifted her into the air, and this time, she didn’t have a choice. It was instinct to wrap her arms around his neck and cling to him. One of her hands going to his hair, making the back of it stand up somewhat. She laughed again and thought of the same joy as the day they’d decided to get married. Uncomplicated, for just a moment, even if the decision to get married when Hades was promptly going to be sent to hell was complicated; uncomplicated, for just a moment, when having another baby whilst also already raising a child, running a business, both working full time, and Belle finishing school—was complicated.

For just a moment—there was nothing but bright happiness and excitement. Belle’s stomach bubbling with it as she laughed as if she’d just drank a bottle of champagne.

Belle leaned in and kissed him again with all that delight shining out of them both.

Brilliant was the perfect word for it.

[hecate-herself]

Some kind of AU featuring KaIrene? Whether it be "Wild West," "High School," etc. Just an idea.

I went with a uni AU since I already have a school AU I just haven't posted it yet

Irene, Kai thought, could be found in one of two places on their university campus when she was not in a lecture. The first of these places being tucked away somewhere in the massive library, probably with her headphones in, ignoring the world and working on her latest essay or her dissertation. Or she could be found in the cafe, attempting to drown herself in coffee. She was, annoyingly, not answering her phone to be able to tell him, but since it was easiest to search the cafe, he started there, heading to the library when he couldn't find her there. When he couldn't find her in the library, he wearily rubbed his forehead and headed outside.

He didn't need to see her urgently, what he had to talk about was less a time is off the essence thing and more of a Kai will lose his nerve thing.

He headed back to the cafe, she'd either turn up and they could talk, or he could drink enough espresso that he didn't sleep that night.

She was ahead of his and he rolled his eyes. The rules of the universe were strange and cruel and really annoying. He tapped on her shoulder and she jumped before pulling her headphones out and turning to face him.

"You scared me." She pointed out.

"I hadn't realised." He said. "I've been looking for you."

"You have? Sorry, roommate was freaking out about exams and held me up. What's up?" She shoved her headphones into her pocket. Her hair was messily tied into a bun, half falling out, still managing to look good. There were scribbles of pen in blue and black ink on her hand.

"Do you want to come over tonight and watch a film?" He asked. "To destress. You've been working like crazy all week and I thought you could do with a night off."

"Your usual idea of a night off involves large quantities of alcohol." Irene was no stranger to the student habits of binge drinking but she was nowhere near to Kai's ability to drink into the early hours and still manage to make it home.

"But yours isn't." He said, shrugging.

"Will the people in your flat be there too?"

"I think they're all busy tonight." He said.

"Alright. Sure. I'll grab some popcorn on my way over, what are we watching?"

"I'm thinking as much star wars as we can before falling asleep." Irene smiled.

"That sounds good."

#

Kai remember the crying ewok and nothing past that. Irene remembered nothing that even happened on Endor, she just knew that she work up to the light coming through around the edge of the curtains, and that she was in Kai's bed, his arms were around her, holding her tightly and his breathing was deep and regular, he was still asleep.

"Kai." She whispered his name, she wasn't sure how early it was. His eyes flickered open and he frowned, looking at the film menu still on the TV and then down at Irene.

"Irene?" He carefully released her and inched away from her in the bed. "Sorry, you fell asleep on me and then I must have fallen asleep too." Irene smiled.

"I'm not surprised." She sat up and stretched, her spine popping. Kai groaned.

"Oh it's cold now." He complained. "Please come back."

"I should get some work done." She grabbed her phone, it was half eight in the morning, surprising when she remembered checking the time at two.

"Lay in a little longer. I'm cold." He was wining and she smiled.

"What do I get out of it?"

"I'll keep you company and bring you coffee." He said, "Just an hour more, you need more sleep anyway." Irene slowly lay down again and he slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. He couldn't work out if this seemed like a good time to tell her or if it would get him slapped.

"Kai?" She sounded nervous and he flicked his eyes open.

"Yes?"

"Last night... Was that a date or am I just reading into it too much?"

"That depends on if you wanted it to be a date or not." He replied, probably not the answer she was expecting but the best he could come up with without coffee.

"Well, I do." She said decisively. "I would like it if last night was a date. And if we could do it again sometime."

"I'd like that too. I was trying to think of a good way of asking you out, but to be honest, with you in my bed did not seem like the best of times." Kai confessed. Irene smiled before she ran her fingers along his jaw and kissed him, a light brush of her lips against his that left him aching for another.

"At least it makes it easier for that." She said quietly, blushing a little. Kai's lips felt dry but he ignored that as he pulled her close and sunk into a kiss three years in the making, Irene was the more than happy to kiss him back, ignoring the fact that the star wars music was still playing in the background.

[awesomenightfall]

The first part of the “DA Protags are Bad Adults Modern!AU”.

---

Work at the university had been brutal and Solona Amell wanted nothing more than to go home, rip her bra off, and sit in a bubble bath for a few hours while reading a nonsensical smutty romance novel and drinking an entire bottle of wine.

She loved academia, she really did, and the study of magic and the arcane was an important one, but if she had to listen to one more old, crusty mage-cum-lecturer with too many degrees and not enough brain cells tell her that her research on the Blight was archaic and irrelevant one more damn time she was going to flip a table and --

Her thoughts of slaughter and revenge halted as soon as she managed to open the old, rickety, door to her apartment. It was a far cry from the lavish estate she had been raised in, but it was her oasis in the chaos of Kirkwall, a small bit of independence that she was proud of, despite the leaks and the chipped paint, and the noisy neighbors who had ceiling-thumping-sex at very inconvenient hours.

As soon as Solona opened the apartment door, she was greeted to the sight of her roommates on their worn, secondhand couch. Hawke was wearing nothing but a sports bra and gym shorts and Ellana was naked from neck to waist, wearing only a thin pair of underwear. There was a quart of melting ice cream between them and a cooking show blasting from the TV. Solona could only deduce from the sweltering, unrelenting heat of the apartment and the tear tracks down Ellana’s cheeks that a) the air conditioner was still broken and b) her elven roommate was still reeling from her recent break up.

Solona sighed deeply. Her bath and the next chapter of Swords and Shields would just have to wait.

“Hawke,” Solona addressed her cousin, who was busy spoon feeding Ellana ice cream while simultaneously dabbing her cheeks with a tissue. “Didn’t you say you had a friend who could come and fix the AC?”

“Hello to you, too. And actually, it’s Ellana’s friend Dagna who said she’d come over to fix it, but she’s been holed up at work. She’ll be here soon, don’t worry so much, Sol. It’s not good for you. Remember your blood pressure,” Hawke said easily, in her Hawke-ish, charming way that almost made Solona forget that she was annoyed.

Almost.

Solona stripped off her outer shirt. If she couldn’t beat them…

She plopped down next to Ellana. “Are you alright?”

Ellana waved her hand. “Oh, fine. I’m fine. I’m tired of dwelling on my bad luck with men. Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about Hawke.”

“Always a fascinating topic of conversation,” Hawke agreed and Solona rolled her eyes.

Ellana wiped her face with the back of her hand and wiggled her eyebrows, instantly cheered up. “Fenris, you know, the elf from the building that Hawke is crazy about, passed by the apartment on the way to the basement to do his laundry and I swear, I’ve never seen Hawke run so fast!”

“I never run after a man.” Hawke plucked the spoon from Ellana’s hand, dug it into the soupy ice cream, and slurped it indecently. “But for tattoos and muscles, a girl might just power walk.”

Solona threw a couch pillow smattered with cigarette burn holes at Hawke’s head, laughing despite herself. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love that about me,” Hawke said with a shit-eating-grin.

She did, but there was no way she was going to admit that out loud. Hawke was loud, ridiculous, and unpredictable, but her heart was in the right place. Still, Solona would have preferred it if Hawke could settle down, just a little, instead of burning the candle at both ends all the time, but that just wasn’t Hawke’s style. Hawke with her five part time jobs (some of them not quite legal, Solona deduced, but somehow she never got arrested -- Solona suspected that Hawke’s very connected dwarf friend, Varric, had something to do with that but the rumor was unconfirmed) and endless energy and need to help people.

Solona loved her cousin but her poor life choices with partners and work and living in general really left a lot to be desired.

Ellana Lavellen, the third part of their trio, was sweet but young, and only slightly more put together than Hawke. She was a graduate student that had ventured far, far away from her clan to come to Kirkwall to study and write her dissertation on eleven history and relics.

“I think I’m going to title it: ‘How the Shem Steal Dalish History, Give It a Mediocre Andrastian Twist, and Slap Their Name on It’,” Ellana told her the first time they crossed paths in the library. “I was going to call it, ‘The Study of Shem Perverting Dalish Culture for Political Gain’, but apparently that was ‘too controversial’. Can you imagine?”

Solona liked her immediately and the rest, as they say, was history.

“You know, you can’t be sad forever over one guy ghosting you,” Hawke said to Ellana.

Ellana sniffed, affronted. “We were together for a year and then he just ups and leaves. To do ‘field research’. Except he just disappeared off the face of the planet. That’s more than just ‘ghosting’. That’s-- that’s-- a full blown haunting!”

Solona had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Apparently Hawke’s penchant for the dramatic was contagious.

“Maybe he did you a favor,” Hawke suggested. “Your friend Dorian said he dressed like a hobo, anyway.”

Ellana took another couch pillow and shoved it in Hawke’s face. “He did not! It-- it’s a style choice!”

“A bad one!”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk!”

“Stop defending him, he ditched you!”

Solona shoved herself between the two arguing roommates, hands on both of their faces to pry them apart. “Alright, you two. Break it up.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hawke said snottily, acting every bit like the rebellious teenager she once was. “All I’m saying, Ellana, is that there are plenty of fish in the sea. You’re cute with perfect tits--” Solona snorted,  “-- shut up, Sol, so let me hook you up with someone.”

Ellana’s frown softened. “... who?”

“Anyone you want. Just name them.”

“... Varric?”

“... anyone but him,” Hawke amended. “Trust me, it’s for your own good.”

Solona desperately wanted to ask if it was because, as she had long suspected, Varric was secretly Hawke’s Sugar Daddy and that was how she could afford to live life on part-time salary, but that was more than Solona ever really wanted to know about her cousin and her proclivities.

Hawke waved off Solona’s openly suspicious look. “All I’m saying is that many have tried and failed miserably. The dwarf is immovable. A fortress against venereal temptation. Ellana needs someone… easier. What about Merrill?”

“Why?” Ellana asked. “Because we’re both elves?”

“No,” Hawke corrected. “Because you’re nice and she’s nice and you can be nice together. How about it?”

“Isn’t your brother dating Merrill?” Solona asked.

“No, Carver has his thumbs up his ass and is wasting time pining away from afar. Besides, I’m not suggesting they get married,” Hawke said. “Maybe they just go on a casual date. Make out. Have sex and then report back in graphic detail.” Solona slapped Hawke on the arm. “Fine, fine. Maybe just the first two, then. Spoilsport.”

Ellana chewed on her bottom lip. “Well… it couldn’t hurt. It might be nice to go out.”

“Great! I’ll text her. You won’t regret it, Merrill is the best.”

Anytime Hawke said, You won’t regret it, the person almost immediately began to regret it, but Solona didn’t want to rain on Ellana’s parade.

“It’s disgusting in here,” Solona announced. “I can’t sit here another moment longer.”

“Dorian’s apartment complex has a pool,” Ellana suggested. “It’s not open now, but we could climb the gate and sneak in. The security guards are usually napping at this time or watching soap operas.”

“Before Captain Killjoy nixes the idea, I’m making an executive decision and we’re going,” Hawke said quickly before Solona, could in fact, nix the idea. “It’s either that or die of heatstroke. I vote pool.”

Solona unstuck herself from the couch. “Fine, but we better not get arrested. I’m lecturing tomorrow.”

“What could go wrong?” Hawke wondered aloud.

“With you?” Solona asked. “Only everything.”

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Part Nine; It Was There With Every Breath.

Previous parts can be found: HERE.

This chapter definitely got out of hand. But @suhailauniverse was on hand to offer her wise opinion. Thanks bud! <3 

And @gotham-ruaidh is, as always, my fandom big sister, the kind everyone needs in their lives. Mwah.

I hope you enjoy. 

Walking aimlessly around the bustling Glasgow streets, Claire’s vision blurred as people continued to pass by her on the high street. The mizzle covered her face leaving a faint coating of moisture on her skin as she turned off the main street and wandered down a side road until she came to a stop opposite an interesting piece of graffiti.

--

“Ye should come to this lecture we have at the end of the week, Claire.” Jamie said on their weekly study meet. Neither of them had brought up the kiss but they seemed easier in the presence of one another, the weight of their confessions alleviating some of the previous tension that had begun to grow silently between the pair.

“Oh, what’s it about?” Claire asked, twizzling the pencil between her fingertips as she looked up from her book.

“It’s by a world renowned doctor called Joe Abernathy, have ye ever heard of him?”

Claire shook her head though something niggled her, leaving her questioning whether she did, in fact, know who he was.

“He’s doing a seminar wi’ us and a couple of other doctoral programmes in central Scotland on necrotising fasciitis so there will be loads of students there. Nobody will ken who’s who so ye willna stick out. It’s on Friday afternoon, will ye consider it?”

“An afternoon listening to a professional surgeon discuss flesh eating bacteria? Hmm, Mr. Fraser, were you always this smooth with the ladies?” She joked feeling rather chuffed. With the medical programme being so elite and small, it was almost impossible for Jamie to take Claire along to any of his lectures without someone noting an unfamiliar face but this would allow her to sneak in unnoticed.

--

The rucksack felt heavy on her shoulders as the straps dug into her flesh but even the sores that were forming couldn’t bring her vision back into focus as she finally sat down in the empty outside patio of a generic coffee shop and laid her head on her arms.

“Can I get you something to drink?” A friendly barista asked, braving the rain in an attempt to drum up some interest in Claire.

“Earl Grey,” Claire said, her words surprisingly clearly, “take away, please.”

When the waitress had brought her the hot drink and Claire had placed the cash, she simply sat letting the thin paper cup warm her frigid fingers.

She’d gone to the lecture as Jamie had asked and it had been amazing to hear. Afterwards she’d even managed to speak to Dr. Abernathy and discuss, whimsically, the humour behind the simplified nickname for a disease that didn’t -in fact- ‘eat’ anything…

--

“Ah, well, yes, Miss Beauchamp,” Joe quipped, using Claire’s maiden name - which she had given to him on a whim rather than using her married name, “I guess toxin-releasing bacteria didn’t have the same ring to it - nor the active image the term ‘flesh-eating’ gives to the disease. But I like your point.”

“That’s all down to Jamie, really,” Claire replied, smiling as she pulled Jamie gently forwards, “he’s the one who’s given me all of these wonderful insights into modern medicine - him being a third year student and all.”

“So you’re only in your first year then, bravo, Claire, the questions you posed on the increase of sepsis and antibiotic resistance were well informed and clearly presented. If you ever get the option to write your thesis on it I do hope you’ll email me a copy, I’d love to read it.”

Passing his card over to her, Claire placed the small piece of paper into her pocket and moved to let some of the *real* students through to ask their own questions.

--

The business card felt heavy in her fingers as she let droplets of rain splash onto the top of it. Luckily it was mixed plastic material and the text didn’t blur with the moisture.

Dr. J. Abernathy: Surgeon: Harley Street - it read clearly, the stark font screaming medical professional. It made Claire feel positive.

For a moment -just a second in her life- she’d been interesting and *smart*, her points and opinions had mattered and then only an hour later (after a quick coffee and chat with Jamie and his course mates) she’d walked in on something life-altering.

—

“I have a meeting with my course mentor in a few minutes, lass.” Jamie whispered in Claire’s ear as they’d left the rowdy group sharing anecdotes about their various experiences with famous and *infamous* doctors over the last couple of years. “Are ye alright by yerself? You can wait if you like - we can pop over to The Mitchell for an hour or two after. Unless ye have other plans?”

“I’d love that.” She answered honestly. “But I think I’m going to find Frank’s office. We need to have an earnest conversation about some things. Maybe he’ll be more open to listening to me whilst his colleagues are within earshot.”

“Ach,” Jamie chuckled, “I like yer style. Have ye no’ spoken at home since…?” he said, leaving his sentence hanging in the air instead of talking openly about their previous encounter.

Claire sighed loudly. “When I got home he’d already left for the day. After that we’ve been in the same room as one another. It’s been polite, no more arguments, but he’s just been reserved and quiet and I haven’t had the energy to bring up the subject of my *illicit* studying.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke frustrated that she even had to consider her possible continued education as something to be hidden.

“But now?”

“Yes, well, that lecture opened my eyes.” “I bet Dr. Abernathy would gi’ you a glowing reference...if you asked?”

Smiling, Claire pushed her thick curls behind her ears and shook her head. “He thinks I’m already enrolled on a course somewhere. If I were to email him asking for support with an application, don’t you think he might be a little reticent to do so?”

“Nah.” Jamie replied. “I dinna think he’s the sort to hold that against ye. He offers support to the cutters on our course as well as passing on all sorts of literature to the professors. He’s a really nice guy. He’ll understand why ye couldna be honest at the time - I bet ye a good bottle of whisky.”

“You’re on, lad.” She returned, winking as they turned the corner and headed towards the history block. “But for now, I have to talk to Frank, and you need to get to your meeting.”

--

Thunder rattled overhead and Claire jumped, her curls frizzing madly around her head as she shook the rain from her hair.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the waitress said, pointing to her watch with a small smile on her face, “but we’re closing now. Is there anything else I can get for you before I start cashing up?”

“Nah, no...thank you, though. I’m fine.” She mumbled, collecting her bag, shaking herself off and pushing the chair under the damp table as she made her way back onto the now desolate streets.

The low slung clouds threatened to dump a fresh shower on her but the roll of thunder kept the heat in the air up as she meandered down to the Clyde. Standing overlooking the water she could see a tall ship mast in the distance, a reminder of the first nice lunch her and Jamie had shared with one another.

“Fuck you, Frank,” she cursed to herself, “that’s how it should be.” Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as huge, black clouds replaced the lighter ones, making the scenery look menacing in the growing darkness.

Images from the afternoon flooded her mind now, replacing anything good and pleasant with a thick, dank ooze that made her stomach roll.

She could’ve just gone straight to Jamie’s, sat in the bottom bar with a drink her hand and waited for him to return home from university but with her mind all over the place she felt it would be unfair to dump another load of her emotional baggage onto him without knowing what exactly she was going to do next.

“It should be simple.” She sighed under her breath. “Why is it not simple?”

--

Knocking tentatively on the door that read: ‘Prof. F. Randall’, Claire waited patiently until it was clear his secretary wasn’t going to call her in. Wrapping her hand around the brass door handle, she pushed her way in to find Frank’s receptionist’s office empty. A brief squeak caught her attention and she glanced over at the closed door to the internal room that lay beyond the abandoned desk.

Voices filtered under the door but Claire couldn’t work out what was being said. One was distinctly feminine and without knocking again she made her way over to the second door, her heart pounding in her chest, her head screaming that something was not quite right.

“Frank?” She half questioned, half gasped as she pushed through and into his half furnished office to find a petite blonde woman half dressed and half draped over his spartan desk.

--

She felt sick. The wind swirled around her as she recalled the calm look that had passed across Frank’s face.

He didn’t care that she’d caught him, she could tell by the bored look in his eyes as he’d straightened his tie up and re-buttoned his fly.

--

“Just wait outside for a moment, Sandy.” He said, nodding at the woman as she righted her shirt and pulled her skirt from around her ankles. “Read through the dissertations the third years have submitted so far and I’ll be out as soon as I’ve spoken to my wife.”

“Of course, Frank.” She replied, a smug smile plastered across her face as she went, closing the door behind her.

“There was no history expedition the other week, was there?” Claire said as soon as she was certain they were alone. “You were away with her.” Her words were emotionless and clear even though her mind was running at a mile a minute as she tried to process what she’d just walked in on.

“There was a trip, Claire.”

“Really?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to keep her feet still.

“Of course. But yes, it was with Sandy. She’s a PHd student and needed a more accurate research sample for her research doctorate. It was only logical that I accompanied her as her speciality is one of mine.”

“How long have you been fucking her?” Claire whispered, her voice becoming dangerously low as she spoke with forced politeness.

“That sort of language doesn’t become you, Claire.” Frank said, his eyes trained solely on her as he shuffled some fallen papers and placed them back in the centre of his desk. “It doesn’t matter, truly. You’re my wife, I’m not leaving you for her.”

“So you expect us to continue like nothing is wrong?” She choked, the air appearing to thin in the space around her. “Does it mean I can just go out and find myself someone to hook up with, come home and tell you - oh, it doesn’t matter, Frank, I’m not leaving you for him!”

Frank scoffed and the thin veil of nicety that Claire was clinging to freyed as she struggled not to throw the wedding ring on her left hand right at his face.

“It just happened. It’ll fizzle out, they always do.”

“No, Frank. I don’t accept that.” Claire spat, her anger spiking. “I’ve suffered for years, isolated and alone, ditching all of my dreams because of you and your bloody mother and her archaic ideas of marriage. You slept with someone else. After I...I waited, I put my life on hold. You don’t get to brush this off as nothing. Not now.”

--

She’d stormed out then, but not before she’d told him about her plans to apply for medical school and whispered; ‘he’s all yours, you’re welcome to him’, to the still smiling Sandy who was sat, spine straight, on the chair in Frank’s miniature reception room.

Suddenly Jamie’s words the previous evening made more sense.

He’d had an idea of Frank’s infidelity but no actual proof of the affair. Claire smiled sadly as she thought about it.

Fugitives from the laws of averages, indeed.

But now, standing in the midst of a powerful storm, it wasn’t the excitement of applying (finally) to university or the horror of discovering Frank’s infidelity, that had her heart racing. Instead it was Jamie. By finding himself inflagranti with his own student, Frank had inadvertently lessened any guilt Claire might have felt about her growing ardour for Jamie.

Before she could think too much about it, her feet were moving quickly in the direction of the West End. It was late enough that if he had gone across to The Mitchell after his meeting, he would certainly be warm and dry at home by now.

As the rain started to pour, fat drops of water pummeling the pavement around her as she jogged through the empty streets until the familiar lights of the pub appeared in front of her.

It had been there with every breath, she realised, her love and affection for Jamie and now there wasn’t anything standing in her way. Once she hired herself a lawyer, she’d begin proceedings to divorce Frank and move on with her life.

Pounding on the door as well as ringing the bell, she shuffled from one foot to the other, ignoring how wet she was getting from the unstoppable downpour.

“Christ, Claire!” Jamie exclaimed as he pulled the door to his flat open and took in the sight of the very drenched lass standing nervously on his stoop. “Ye’ll catch yer death out in this, come in.”

Needing no more encouragement, Claire took one step inside and pushed Jamie against the wall before pressing her lips to his. She tried to keep her sopping clothes away from him, but lost to the passion of the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him, causing his own shirt to stick to his chest as his hands roamed up and along her back.

Their tongues danced together for a short while, their mouths only parting briefly to drag in gasps of air before Claire tilted her head to the left and slowed her movements.

“I think I’m falling for you, Jamie Fraser.” She sighed her stomach flip-flopping at the breathless admission. “It started the moment I met you and now I can’t get you out of my head.”

“And Frank?” He asked assuming something must have changed for her to be here with him pressed delicately against him.

“Fuck Frank.” She said emotionlessly. “That was over a long time ago and it’s definitely over now.”

“What happened?” He asked, wanting to know exactly what had given her the courage to seek him out like this, in this sort of furor.

“It doesn’t matter now.” She returned, shutting out any image of Frank and focusing completely on Jamie.

“It was there with every breath.” He confessed lowly, choosing to drop his previous question and eerily echoing the words Claire had said to herself not long before making her decision to come. “My love for ye. From the moment I met you I kent what we had was special. Different. But we can talk about that later, aye? Now,” he continued, leaning his forehead against hers, “I think ye need a shower to warm ye.”

[islareeveswriting]

A/N Just something really short and sweet for Valentine’s day because I couldn’t help myself and I miss these two a lot. I haven’t proofed it properly, but hope you enjoy nontheless. Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you!!

“So what are you and Rae doing today?” Harry looked up slightly as Niall asked the question. They’d grunted sleepily when Niall had come into the kitchen, Harry already sat at the table shirtless and waiting for his coffee to wake him up. It hadn’t worked yet, but Niall seemed chirpier as he turned to face Harry from the steaming, brewing mug of tea on the counter behind him.  

“I’ll be getting some sleep, don’t know about her.” Harry told Niall groggily, bleary eyed and puffy cheeked. In case it wasn’t already obvious Harry was shattered, he yawned for effect.

“Oh dear, trouble in paradise is it?” Niall questioned teasingly, knowing that wouldn’t be the case. Niall did fold his arms across his bare chest though, reminding Harry that even, but maybe especially, he wouldn’t get away with upsetting Rae. Not if Niall had anything to do with it.

“No, she’s just got an exam so she’s stressing and was up late revising, I didn’t get a lot of sleep.” Harry explained, sitting back in his chair and lifting his mug to take another mouthful of the black coffee. It wouldn’t be enough to give him the wake up he really needed though.

“Oh I see.” Niall nodded, understanding. If Rae had been a hard worker in first year, another word entirely was needed for how she was approaching second year. She even put her third year housemates to shame ninety percent of the time. “It is Valentine’s Day though mate, you should probably wind some flowers into that plan of sleeping somewhere.” Niall pointed out. Harry knew, but it was never something he or Rae had really gone in for. Their first Valentine’s Day together had gone past largely unnoticed had it not been for the waitress in their local cafe who asked them if they were on a Valentine’s date when they’d gone in for coffee and pastries.

“Alright, when were you worried about romance?” Harry asked with a smirk.

“I’m not, but Rae might be, she is a girl after all, don’t they all love that shit?” Niall sneered, only humouring Harry more. Despite the good looks and sparkling eyes and Irish charm, Niall was not a romantic, at all. The last girl he’d dated had been horrified when Niall had admitted the flowers he’d given her had been stolen from Rae’s room half an hour before their date because Niall had forgotten all about it. And that was just one story in a long list of un-romantic mishaps when it came to Niall’s lovelife.

“Honestly,” Harry sighed. “Rae is so taken up by this exam at the moment, she probably hasn’t even realised the sun has come up, let alone that it’s Valentine's day.” Harry explained, and it wasn’t a lie. Rae had been in her revising bubble for two days now, and though she spent most of her time in Harry’s room, it often felt like she wasn’t really there, or at least that Harry may as well not have been.

“I hope you’re right.” Niall warned, turning back to his tea. Harry groaned to himself then. He’d always been one of those, ‘I don’t need a special day to spoil my girlfriend’ kind of people. However, if nothing else Niall’s words made him think about when the last time that he had done something nice and out of the blue for her. If he was honest he couldn’t remember, but he could remember how Rae had come home with chocolate for him when he was stressed, picked up some Lemsip when he had a cold two weeks ago, met him after his lecture because he’d forgotten something for his catch up with his dissertation mentor.

Maybe Harry did need an excuse after all. He hated himself for that, but at the same time, maybe it was better than nothing at all. And he had an idea.

Harry stood from the table and traipsed back upstairs, Niall forgotten in the kitchen, eating whatever sugary cereal had been on offer in Tesco that week. When he got to his room, Rae was still bent over his desk, oblivious to him being back in the room, scrawling over pages and leafing through text books like her life depended on it. Of course Harry knew exactly what depended on it, and he hated how much pressure she put on herself to not have to leave Brighton after her degree.

“I’m just gonna pop out for a bit.” Harry told Rae, pulling on a sweatshirt from the box at the end of his bed and searching around for his jeans in the same spot.

“Am I annoying you?” Rae asked, though didn’t lift her head from the book she was scanning. Obviously she found what she was looking for because Harry saw her finger quickly point at something on the page, before she started writing frantically on the notebook again.

“No, why would you think that?” Harry asked as he stepped into his jeans, pulling them up over the clean boxers he’d put on that morning. Harry stood still for a minute, staring at the back of Rae’s head waiting for her to say something. For a few moments Harry wondered if she’d even heard him, but then she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Because I’m being a stressy pain in the arse at the moment.” Rae laughed and Harry shook his head, stepping closer to her.

“No you’re not it’s fine,” Harry told her, bending to kiss the top of her head. Rae relaxed for a second, but it wasn’t long before she was tensed up again and eyeing her books. “I won’t be long.” Harry told her and Rae nodded, turning back in the chair to look down at her books as Harry escaped the room.

Rae sighed to herself once the door was shut, distracted by the gaping feeling that she was being a rubbish girlfriend. Harry said he understood, it was fine, it would be done soon and they could cuddle in bed as much as they wanted then, but even so Rae felt guilty. It always felt like he went over and above for her, yet she was more often than not stressing over exams or photos or something university related.

At that moment, she really did have to revise though. Her exam was two days away, and she did not know enough, or at least she thought she didn’t. So she pushed her guilt aside as best she could and drowned herself back in her books.

Rae didn’t know how long had passed, when she surfaced again at the sound of the doorbell. It woke her from her dream like, study state that she’d been in since Harry left. She had no intention of leaving the desk though, she was just a little more aware of the world around her again.

“Rae can you get the door.” Rae heard Niall call and she groaned loudly, leaning back on her chair.

“I’m studying.” Rae shouted back, moving to relax again, thinking about grabbing a blanket as she was already out of the zone, she may as well make the most of it and her thick cable knit sweater and jeans, just weren’t quite cutting it in keeping her warm.  

“I’m naked.” Niall called back to her again.

“Eugh, you’re so annoying.” Rae cried as she stood from the chair and pulled Harry’s door open. She trotted down the first flight of stairs, and then the second, pausing halfway down catching Niall sat on the sofa in the living room, fully clothed and working his way through a family pack of Walkers crisps. “You’re not naked.” Rae reprimanded. Niall turned to her and grinned brightly.

“And now you’re not studying.” He pointed out with the same impish grin. Rae just rolled her eyes and finished her journey down the stairs to open the door. She was taken back a little by Harry stood on the other side a little rosy cheeked from the cold February air.

“Oh hey, did you forget your key.” Rae smiled, stepping aside. Harry cleared his throat and shook his head not moving from his spot.

“No, I’m here to pick you up.” Rae frowned at him and stepped back into his line of vision from behind the door. Rae had an amused, confused look on her face as she tilted her head to one side. “For our date.”

“What date?” Rae laughed, shaking her head at Harry, completely at a loss for what he was talking about. She knew she was being a bad girlfriend at the moment, but she wouldn’t have forgotten if they’d made plans to do something that Harry would feel worthy of calling a date.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” Harry winked with a smirk, making Rae giggle more.“You agreed to go out with me on Valentines day remember?” Harry urged, leading her in the direction he was going. Rae continued to giggle and nodded her head at him.

“Oh yes, I remember.” Rae conceded.

“These are for you.” Harry announced, pulling a beautiful bunch of flowers from behind him. Untraditional in his choice of blooming daffodils, bright yellow freesias and a scattering of gypsophila to break it up a bit. Rae smiled, taking them from him and sniffing in the fresh scent, always a lover of fresh and beautiful flowers. Though no one had ever bought her flowers before, even Harry. “Are you ready?” He asked with wide eyes and a bright smile.

“Harry I’ve got-”

“You’ve got to come out with me and forget about your exam for an hour.” Harry interrupted, his eyes turning stern and his smile falling to a hard line that told Rae there was no arguing. She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with it. “Trust me, you need a break.” Harry told her a little softer, stepping forward, breaking the nervous first date act and taking hand. Rae sighed again, giving in despite her better judgement. Apart from anything else, getting out of the else was tempting and getting out of the house with Harry was too good to say no too.

“Ok, let me just find some shoes.” Rae told Harry with a soft smile that didn’t even nearly match the bright grin she got in response to her agreement. Rae turned from the door, slipping on the black leather chelsea boots that were soft from wear and grabbing her winter coat. She joined Harry on the doorstep again and took his hand, closing the door behind her with her other one.  “So where are we going.” Rae asked.

“A surprise.” Harry told her with a smile. Rae didn’t ask any more questions but followed his step away from the house in the direction of wherever they were going.

As had always been the way with Harry and Rae, conversation came easily, even without talk of university which Harry tried to steer the chat away from. All he wanted, just for a couple of hours, was for Rae to completely forget about her exam and about university and about the fear she carried of not getting a first and having to go straight back to Australia. Of course, it didn’t always sit nicely with Harry. The thought of Rae being so far away buried a black hole into Harry that opened up every so often and threatened to suck him in. Living in the present had always been hard for Harry and it fed his anxiety no end. However, there was a part of his mind that couldn’t see a future with our Rae’s hand in his, so he just chose to focus on that instead.

“The pavillion.” Rae chirped as they rounded the corner, past Pinocchio’s into the gardens. They were still suffering from the onslaught of winter and the bleak day didn’t help, but the place still made Rae smile with memories of what this place meant for her and Harry.

“Yep, remember when you bought me ice cream?” Harry asked, as if either of them would forget it.

“Of course I remember, I was pretty nervous.” Rae admitted with a grin, peeking up to Harry as she did so.

“Rae O’Brien, nervous? I don’t believe it.” Harry scoffed, but Rae just laughed, because she had been nervous. She’d never felt nervous around him before or since, he stilled her mostly, but that one time she had been and she’d never really been able to pinpoint why.

“It’s true, I thought you’d tell me to get lost, Niall had hyped this up as being your place for you time.” Rae explained as best as she could.

“I’m glad you came.” Harry told her with a smile.

“Same.”

“Well we’re not sitting on a bench in the cold today.” Harry told her, leading her down the path towards the large domed building.  “They’ve got a special exhibition on for Valentines day, all about love and romance and stuff, thought it might be good seeing as we’ve still never been inside.” Harry told and Rae’s smile seemed to get bigger with every word.

“Sounds perfect.” Rae told him honestly.

Inside was both exactly as Rae had imagined and different all at once. Of course it was regal and stunning and breathtaking, the way she’d known it would be and she wished she had her camera on her. The exhibition Harry had been talking about was in a smaller part of the building, its week long stint, meaning it was contained to only two rooms. It was pretty much silent and Harry and Rae respected that, wandering around the place hand in hand quietly. They stopped at each painting admiring them and occasionally pointing things out to one another.

Harry enjoyed the quiet, and found himself stepping back a little so he could watch Rae as she took in the art. There were some great paintings on display, but none of them matched her. She was his muse, and has glorious as any art work he’d ever seen. He’d rather look at her than all the portraits in the world.

It was as they stopped in front of Claude Monet’s ‘Camille (The Woman in the Green Dress)’ that Harry decided to pipe up.

“That’s his wife.” Harry whispered, dipping his head to Rae a little.

“Really? I didn’t know that.” Rae admitted, tilting her head to look at the painting a little harder.

“He painted her quite a bit.” Harry told her. Rae just nodded, continuing to inspect the work. “I’ve been thinking,” Harry started, still whispering, but clearly his throat a little before he continued. “You’ve take loads of photos of me, but I’ve never painted you.” Harry told her and Rae twisted her head to look at him.

“There’s that sketch you did that time.” Rae reminded him, the small pencil drawing in his notebook something she loved.

“Yeah but that was quick and rushed, I’d like to paint you properly.” Harry explained to her, their eyes caught on one another now, Rae’s neck strained to look up at Harry.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’d like you to sit for me.” Harry told her, with wide honest eyes.

“Want to paint me like one of your french girls?” Rae smirked with a wink and Harry couldn’t help but let the chuckle leave his mouth.

“It can be my valentine’s gift.”

“So you do want to paint me like one of your french girls?” Rae quipped and Harry laughed again, shaking his head and pulling her hand a little to keep them moving around the room, away from the people behind them.

“Not quite like that no, I’ve got an idea though.” Harry said, letting go of her hand and wrapping the now free arm over her shoulder.

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while huh?” Rae smiled, cocking her head to look at him again.

“Yeah a little while.” Harry admitted unabashed. “So what do you think?”

“I’d like to.” Rae told him with a smile, which Harry reciprocated.

They left pretty quickly after that, Harry deciding they’d get the bus home to save time. Rae giggled at his emphatic enthusiasm that had bubbled up after her agreement. She wondered if he was worried she’d say no, knowing Harry he probably had been, but she didn’t ask. Harry tried to explain his idea to Rae as they travelled, Harry fidgety with excitement, Rae giggling as he bumbled over words, losing himself in his creative thoughts.

All the lights were off when they got home and Rae was silently grateful. They didn’t turn any on as they took the stairs back up to Harry’s room. The heating had clicked on though and Rae shivered, content as the change in temperature moved through her.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Harry asked as he shut the bedroom door behind them.

“No I want to.” Rae told with a smile, already facing him.

“Ok, can you take your top and bra off?” Harry asked suddenly shy. Rae giggled and raised an eyebrow, as she began to lift her jumper over her head. . “No Rae, not like a french girl.” Harry told her sternly, but only making her laugh more. As Rae continued to shed clothes, Harry grabbed the stool he used to paint from and placed it near her. “Ok if you sit there.” Harry instructed once Rae was topless. It was intimate and Harry did have to swallow on nothing for a second, but he was working now so he pushed it away.

Rae did as she was told, taking a seat and bowing her head as Harry walked around her. She jumped a little as she felt Harry’s hands in her hair, but relaxed quickly. She could feel his fingers working deftly through her thick, black mane. She kept her head bowed, eyes looking down at her lap. It was as a petal floated down and made home on her thigh that Rae frowned to herself. Harry hadn’t mentioned flowers.

“You putting flowers in my hair?” Rae asked, and Harry simply hummed a positive sound, clearly concentrating on making the arrangement he could see in his mind's eye come to life.

“Ok,” Harry breathed and Rae lifted her head with that, watching as Harry moved around the room to get his chair. He set it behind her, the easel and a piece of paper next to be moved. Harry sat on his chair getting comfortable and setting himself up. “Good,” Rae could hear the smile on his face as he looked at her from behind. “Can you turn your head to the side slightly? Look over your shoulder at me.” Harry requested and Rae obeyed, but Harry stood to move her a little more, tilting her head to get the desired angles. “Will that be comfortable?” Harry asked once he was happy and Rae simply nodded. “Ok let’s do this.”

Harry sat back on his chair, rolling his shoulders and looking for a few moments before beginning. The room was silent, peacefully so. The only sound was their soft breathing and Harry’s brush against the paper and in the paint. They’d been intimate in so many ways, but this felt different, intimate in a completely different, but somehow, more intense way.

Rae was completely still while Harry painted, looking down at the floor as he worked. He shoulders rose and feel slightly as she breathed but that was it. It made Harry’s work easier, but he wasn’t worried about that. Even as he concentrated hard on what he was doing, he was taken aback by the woman before him. Every inch of her was perfect, the way her waist curved into her hips, the freckles the dotted the tops of her arms and the scar on her shoulder blade from barbed wire. Harry loved and admired it all and it all made its way onto the paper, but he couldn’t do her justice.

In his eyes the piece was going well. It looked how he’d imagined it when he’d had the idea few nights ago as Rae had arranged the flowers now wilting on his desk. She’d glowed in the afternoon light that fell through his windows and smile as she put the flowers in a pint glass that would serve as a vase.

“Ok.” Harry breathed as he finished, putting one last stroke into her hair on the canvas before sitting back and setting down his paint. “I’m done.” He announced. Looking at his watch an hour and a half had passed, though it felt like no time at all. Silence had held them mostly throughout and Harry hadn’t felt so peaceful in a long time. Judging by the soft smile on Rae face as she turned and stood from the stool, she felt the same. Rae joined him at his side, her hand resting on her shoulder as she stood and looked over the painting.

“Wow,” Rae breathed, Harry smiling up at the real thing beside him. “Harry, I don’t, I’m a bit lost for words.” Rae sighed a laugh, eyes raking his work. “It’s really good.” Rae beamed still entirely in awe. Harry simply smiled at her response still soaking her in. H “You happy with it? Is it how you imagined?”

“Better.” Harry admitted, both finally drawn from their transe. “You sat really well, thank you.” Harry smiled standing from his chair. Rae stepped back so he could unpeg the paper from the easel.

“That’s ok.” Rae smiled. “What are you going to call it?” Rae asked, taking steps to join Harry. He didn’t say anything, but Rae peered over his shoulder as Harry picked up his pen. It was the pen he used to sign his work, date it and name it. It was the only thing Rae had seen the pen used for and it was home in his a hole of its own in his desk organiser. Harry flipped the piece over, content it was dry enough and wrote the date at the top of the page before writing it’s name underneath.

Rae Aisling O’Brien. (Forever Valentine).

[goonlalagoon]

Wish Upon A Walking Star || Leagues and Legends

For @thats-the-moon-grey, who answered my request for prompts back in June with ‘anything with Miz Eliza’

Miz Eliza is from @ink-splotch​‘s  Leauges and Legends trilogy, which can be downloaded for free here.

Minor spoilers for the whole trilogy below.

(Read on Ao3)

Somehow she always forgot how much brighter and closer the stars were out in the desert, whenever she travelled elsewhere. When dusk fell and the moon rose, looking close enough to walk right up to, her heart gave a warm little twist of homecoming - home wasn't a place, it was something she carried in herself, wherever she planted her feet, but these shifting sands were the steadiest place she knew.

The engine in her battered truck had broken down yet again, but Miz Eliza considered that a problem for later. For now she sat on the cooling roof and mapped stories into the lights and spaces in the sky.

Her brother had taken her hand at the end of her visit, in his stern, smart office at the Academy, Rupert waiting patiently outside to throw his chubby toddler arms around her legs and say goodbye, and asked her once again to stay. He had offered to find her a place as an instructor in their sages' programme, if she wanted, but she was always welcome in his home.

"There's a library, and a whole suite of rooms I barely use. Please, Eliza, think about it? I..." worry about you, finished the furrow in his brow. Her brother had always been a solemn worrier, set shoulders asking for responsibility, heart yearning for stability.

Eliza didn't want stability, and her brother could never understand that - that she didn't keep home outside of herself as an anchor, a destination, a beacon. She wanted chaos, but not as he saw it. She wanted exploration and discovery, broken down engines and wrong turnings that lead to deep pools or tiny villages.

Eliza wanted only the stability she already had; her brother's love, her son's love, the stars scattered above her, her own steady heart and nimble hands.

The first time she went to the desert, she was nineteen, rattling along in the passenger seat of a different battered truck. Her supervisor was driving, making occasional stilted conversation. The selection for the placement had been down to an essay competition, and it hadn't taken long to realise it was for the best the essays had been anonymous for assessment. He seemed to think that because she was a woman she would have delicate sensibilities.

She'd grown up in Rivertown, exploring and observing those harsh streets. She'd begged, bribed and simply asked her brother to take her out on camping trips and hikes. Before she'd left St John's Port for this trip, he had taken her out to a field and set up targets, and taught her how to fire a gun.

"So that when you inevitably forget to pack rations you have a chance of getting something to eat," he'd said with a despairing head shake and a fond smile, as he showed her how to skin it ready for cooking. She didn't tell her supervisor any of this, just watched the world outside the window with wide, sharp eyes.

It was late evening when they broke down on a desert track, hours from the university they were basing themselves at. Her supervisor grumbled and dug blankets out of the truck and looked around for something to make a fire with so he could have a cup of tea. They would have to wait until the next day and hope the next traveller along this road knew how to fix their problem. Eliza ignored him and climbed up onto the roof of the van to get a better look.

In sunlight everything had been gold, but the sun dropped below the horizon like a light flicking off, and the world was painted in silver. The stars were bright, ethereal but seeming close enough to touch, and she lay on the roof to try to map them out. Her heart was beating in her chest and it felt three sizes larger than normal. She thought her brother had probably felt something like this when he walked through the Academy doors.

Eliza fell asleep on the roof of the van and woke cold, but it had been worth it. Before the sun had had time to turn everything baking hot a truck rattled down the road, pulling in to an obliging halt when they waved frantically. Eliza peered curiously over the shoulder of the desert dark woman who climbed out of the driver’s seat, waving at her kids to stay put, and watched closely while her supervisor fretted about the time off to the side.

The woman's hands were nimble, calloused and certain, oil settling into the grooves of her hands the way ink was always rubbed into Eliza's. She barely seemed to be thinking, the innards of the truck as familiar as breathing, and Eliza's fingers itched to take notes. They set off in convoy, the children appearing in the window every so often to wave back at them until they took different turn offs. When they reached the university, Eliza made for the library after putting her bags down but before unpacking. She threw an eager glance at the shelves of anthropology and desert culture, but wandered until she found a few shelves on engineering. Most of the books were too complex to be useful, but she found a promisingly battered and oil marked volume tucked away in a corner.

They had two weeks of comfort, her supervisor said half sternly, half mournfully, warning her to make the most of it while she could. Eliza spent quite a lot of that time wandering the streets and markets, getting sun-burnt and picking up street slang in half a dozen dialects. She hunted systematically through the library's section on desert cultures and slipped into lectures, asking questions with sharp, confident zeal. One lecturer made the mistake of blustering at the presence of a woman in his lecture hall, and she peered at him curiously until he trailed off in embarrassed bemusement at her lack of response. She sniffed scornfully, and kept going to his lectures, because even if he had misguided ideas about the right to learn, he had some interesting stories about the ancient desert cities that had been largely lost to the dunes.

"This isn't the kind of internship where you fetch coffee and file papers." her supervisor had said, peering at her doubtfully, at their first planning meeting. "You'll be doing as much work as any other member of the team." She'd smiled and nodded, teeth a little gritted. "That was what I was planning to do, sir. I want hands on experience, and enough material for a paper at the end of my dissertation - ideally enough material to form the basis for more, of course, but definitely at least one." He'd harrumphed, and she had lifted her chin with a hint of defiance. Her opinion of the man hadn't improved since then, but she was socially aware enough after years of her parents’ dinner parties to know she would need his grudging respect in the future and tearing him to shreds right then wouldn't do her much good.

It was a good thing she wasn't supposed to be fetching the coffees, because her memory for who liked cream and who had sugar was terrible, and her habit of getting sidetracked by a debate or interesting conversation meant that it would turn up cold anyway. Her filing was pretty all over the place too, but she rarely needed to double check important facts in any case. The things she cared about stayed in her head just fine.

The van rattled back out of the university after their two weeks, laden with supplies and having gained two more researchers - a PhD student and a technician - who were pleasant enough company, even if they too seemed to be mourning their departure from the city. Eliza watched the desert roll by, and wondered why on earth they missed it when this was where they were going? She was shaken from her thoughts when the engine coughed, spluttered, and died.

While the others peered at a map and grumbled, Eliza propped the bonnet open and tried to match the machinery inside to her memory of the illustrations in the oil marked volume she had read through. A toolkit settled onto the road by her with a clank, and the technician smiled at her. “Done this before?” Eliza shook her head, and gestured at the engine. “It broke down on the way into the university. There was a woman who knew how to fix it, I think she just tightened that bit there…”

“Yeah, I see, hey, grab the wrench outta the box for me?” He chattered while he worked, grousing about poor funding and how often they had to fix up the vehicles they were able to use. He cleaned the wrench off with a rag and gave her another cheerful smile. “Should still arrive with some daylight. Remind me when we get there and I’ll show you the basic tune ups to check for, yeah? Anyone working out here should know how to fix their own truck.” She flicked her eyebrows up and sideways, where her supervisor was complaining at the dutifully listening PhD student. The tech picked up the toolbox and grinned. “Hey, I said should.”

When she went to bed that evening, and the next, there was oil ground into her fingertips, staining the edges of her nails, but her mind was spinning over instructions - check this valve, the level of liquid in this thing, looks like this has a tendency to rattle loose but at least it’s an easy fix…

The third day of travel brought them to the encampment they would be based in for the time being, sheltered between the walls of a rocky quarry. There were two trucks already there, looking weatherbeaten and with sand piling around the wheels. As they pulled into the makeshift parking lot two of the local guides leapt up out of the shade to help them offload supplies. Eliza peered with interest at their soft, flowing clothes and tried to catch any of the phrases she’d learnt in the city in the rapid tumble of their chatter, without any luck.

She helped Cris, the technician, set up the two tents they’d brought and dragged the food and water inside. When they finally emerged after setting up, dark had fallen. Three weeks into the desert, Eliza still wasn’t quite used to that - between one blink and the next the sky would go inky black and star speckled, the moon hanging just above the horizon, seeming a bare step away from the top of the rock walls. There wasn’t so much a sunset as a changeover, like flicking a switch, and she stood breathless for a moment to soak it up.

Someone - one of the guides, she guessed - had lit a campfire and there was a woman stirring a pot over it. Eliza made a beeline for her. One of the few female professors at the university in St John’s Port had advised her that making friendships with the women of a culture was always a good first step - they tended to have more influence than many would assume, and were usually vital to most of the day-to-day goings on of the camp, so getting on their good side was just good sense. On her third try, Eliza managed to pick the right language to say ‘that smells delicious’ in, and eventually resorted to mime to ask if she could help at all.

Five minutes later she was stirring some kind of stew, and had entirely exhausted her local language skills, but she knew there was a translator out in the field who she hoped would be able to teach her more. Her supervisor emerged from the tent where he’d been going over plans for the next day as the rest of the camp returned, trudging in from the other end of the canyon, waving and calling out their greetings. He scooped up a bowl from the stack and held it out expectantly as he fell into conversation with one of his colleagues. Eliza scooped three ladles of soup into the bowl and took it from him with a smile and a polite thanks, ignoring his dumbfounded expression. The woman who’d done most of the cooking looked like she wanted to laugh, and Eliza winked at her on the way by, settling by the fire to enjoy her food.

The interpreter turned out to be a no-nonsense mountain born woman who introduced herself as Dichren, and could speak seven languages fluently and read confidently in fifteen. Eliza tailed her whenever she got the chance, scribbling down phonetic phrases and asking endless questions about tenses and regional variations. Cris was terrified of the woman, who barely came up to his shoulder, and peered over her notes in the evening and complained about her terrible handwriting. Eliza blinked at him. “Well, I didn’t write them for anyone else to read, did I?”

It was Dichren who showed her how to tie her hair up into a soft scarf to keep it off her neck and protect her from the sun (and so she could happily ignore the grimy stiffness of it, after days of it filling with sand with limited water for washing it), and slathered sun block on the back of her neck with an endless litany of scolding for not having packed any for spending two months in the desert. Eliza just hummed absently, busy pondering the layout of the ruins they were in the middle of excavating. They were unlikely to find anything groundbreaking, but it was fascinating to see it all laid out before her, not just  photos and field notes in someone else’s handwriting.

But it was the second month of her trip she was looking forwards to the most - travelling to another, smaller dig, in the company of one of the nomadic clans. A month of living with them, a chance to study a small cache by day and the nomadic culture in the evenings - their stories, their knowledge, their histories. Her supervisor didn’t seem to look forward to it as much, but Eliza rolled her eyes behind his back while the corners of Dichren’s eyes crinkled up in silent amusement as she nodded soberly and said that yes, camels were deeply unpleasant, and yes, of course, nomadic desert camps were utterly devoid of luxury, and of course it was a good thing for academia that he was so self-sacrificing.

The nomads rode into the canyon camp that evening, and Eliza’s fingers were already itching to take notes. Professor Morton scurried over to a tall, athletic man calling out instructions and greetings, but Eliza’s eye landed on a straight-backed woman, a crown of hair and lifted chin, a baby safely in a sling around her chest, and grinned to herself as she scrambled down the rocks. She wanted to be nearby to see the expression on the professor’s face when he realised the leader of the group was a woman - so much for his repeated lectures on ‘delicate sensibilities’ and ‘desert cultures having strong opinions on women’.

They rode out early the next morning, travelling slower than the nomads usually would to allow for the fact that someone had to lead their camels on foot as neither Eliza or the professor knew enough to direct one themselves. They were borrowing two camels that belonged to Aisling’s nephew, who was leading the pair along. Dichren thrust a full bottle of sun-block into Eliza’s bag, with stern instructions to use it, and looked doubtful when she dutifully agreed. Enough of the nomads spoke both languages that the interpreter wasn’t travelling with them, and Eliza was sorry to see her go. She gripped her friend’s hands, squeezed gently, and told her to stay in touch. Dichren smiled, soft, and said she wouldn’t need to - anyone could see Eliza would be back, and Dichren had no intention of going back to the cold mountains.

Eliza had never seen a camel before, except in photos. She watched it kneel on command, and felt a little sympathy for professor Morton’s complaints. It didn’t so much sit down as collapse in two stages, and from watching the others mount up she wasn’t sure how exactly one stayed put as it got back to its feet in an equally jerky motion. She resigned herself to falling in the sand, and accepted Mo’s hand up to get into the saddle. He fussed around for a moment, securing her bag and checking the blankets that covered the saddle were secure, before flapping the lead rein to make the camel get back up. Eliza yelped as she was thrown forwards and backwards, clinging to the pommel of the saddle hard enough to hurt, and someone laughed. It wasn’t malicious - it was a child, and she grinned in the direction it had come from, even as she heard the distinctive tone of voice that meant someone was being scolded. Professor Morton’s beast heaved itself to its feet, and Eliza just had time to wave before they started off down the canyon.

The camel swayed with every step, and it took some fidgeting to find a way of sitting that wasn’t uncomfortable and avoided kicking Mo in the back every other step. But once she was settled and able to properly look around, she felt her heart skip a beat. They’d been in the desert for a month, but this - this was different. The dunes rose around them, rolling on and on to the horizon, shimmering in the heat, heat haze blurring the line between sand and sky. Partway into the ride Aisling dropped back to plod along next to them, maintaining polite chatter with the professor until she interrupted him in the middle of a sentence to order Eliza to take a drink.“You have to keep drinking, or you’ll make yourself sick. That water skin has to be empty by the time we stop to eat, understand?” Eliza blinked, and took a mouthful of water under the eagle-eyed gaze, and Aisling nodded sharply before dropping back to her polite conversation with the offended professor as though there had been no pause.

They didn’t bother pitching the tents that night, just rolled sleeping mats out. Eliza burrowed happily into her squishy sleeping roll and watched the stars. She was half asleep when one streaked across the sky, falling out of view close to the horizon, and she smiled softly to herself. She didn’t particularly believe in omens, but she decided if she did she would take it as a good one.

She woke with the sun - dawn was as brief as dusk - and wandered in search of breakfast. The cook fires were already going, upturned metal bowls heating over the fires. The men around the fire waved off Eliza’s offer of help, but let her sit and watch as they stretched dough into thin circles and threw it over the dishes to cook into the flat-breads that seemed to be part of every meal. A shadow fell over her before someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to find a child with the most infectious grin she’d ever come across hovering behind her.

“Mom says you and the professor can eat with us.” He loaded a stack of flat breads onto a plate and beckoned her to follow. The professor was already waiting with Aisling and her husband, sitting on patterned rugs and eyeing the tray of food set between them with what he probably thought was well disguised suspicion. Eliza ignored him, and spent most of the meal talking to her guide, who seemed delighted to have someone new to trade stories with.  He happily shoved some kind of creamy cheese and fig jam onto her plate, before smearing both over his own flat bread and rolling it up like a pancake, while his mother sighed pointedly at him for talking with his mouth full. Eliza hid a smile. Even when she was scolding him, Aisling clearly doted on her son.

With a little more experience of camels, it took less time to settle into a comfortable position, adjusting to the sway with every step. Eliza shifted the blankets covering her saddle around in an attempt to cushion the harsh peak at the back from bruising her back further, though she wasn’t optimistic it would work and had mostly decided to accept the inevitable bruise.

Liam was perched amidst a pile of his family’s belongings, and cajoled the cousin his reins were looped to into keeping pace with the visitors. Professor Morton dripped syrupy friendliness, and Eliza snorted to herself, catching sight of Liam’s polite but disgruntled expression. She didn’t know much about children, but she remembered that she had hated being talked down to as though being young meant she couldn’t understand.

So when Professor Morton decided he’d humoured a child enough and got out a book, Eliza grinned over at the boy, digging a notebook out of her pocket. “I hear that your people are excellent storytellers?”

She forgot to write anything down after the first few sentences, but she remembered every word that lunchtime and scribbled it out. The desert people had a tradition of storytelling - of course they do, she’d thought in the lecture where this had been mentioned as something notable, every culture does, just because we typically write ours down nowadays doesn’t mean it isn’t the same thing - but Liam, young as he was, had the knack for carrying you away with the tale and dropping you breathless back to reality when he was done.

Years and years later, she would read back over the worn pages of her notebook and laugh at the world. Liam had woven a tale of stars and skies for her, and that had been the day the she met the wandering star. Not that she knew that at the time - he was just a man, calm and thoughtful, who breathed the world in with his eyes wide open so as not to miss a precious, fleeting moment of it.

Aisling’s eyebrows had risen when they arrived at the rocky outcrop they’d intended to camp at to find a man peacefully watching them approach. He called out the proper, polite greetings, travel stained and alone, but looking…well, for someone on their own in the desert who didn’t look to have supplies with them, and had an accent that suggested they weren’t desert born - though Eliza couldn’t place where exactly it hailed from either, and readily admitted to herself that she actually meant that his accent just wasn’t like Aisling’s or her peoples’ voices. He was paler than them, too, though still darker than her own Rivertown typical skin.

Suhail watched everything, an infinite curiosity and patience that drew her attention like a lodestone. He looked around for the two days journey with bright interest, and asked about the work of the professor and herself with just as much fascination. The professor blustered, somewhat, thrown by keen interest and no background, and a little insulted that the student’s work was apparently just as interesting as his own. Eliza ignored him and watched the way the camel Suhail had been given permission to ride lipped happily at his sleeve, wondering how he’d befriended the creature. She’d nicknamed her own steed ‘Your Temperamental Majesty’, because the camel certainly lived up to the species’ reputation in terms of temperament and seemed to have a permanent expression of aristocratic disdain.

After the fourth day of travel since leaving the archaeologists’ main camp, they reached an oasis Aisling declared to be within reasonable distance of their small dig. Eliza helped with setting up the camp where she could, but mostly sat with Suhail watching with interest as family groups moved around with organised chaos and familiar precision to pitch tents and build cooking fires.

Somehow Suhail managed to join them on the dig itself; Professor Morton seemed bemused, but Eliza just nodded at him as they rode out in the early morning stillness. It was less than an hours journey, with a rocky scramble to get to the sheltered remains of buildings, weathered and smoothed by the desert winds. So far as she could gather Suhail had no training at all, yet he poured over the layout of buildings with fascination. He passed her a heavy waterskin several times, with smiles and resigned sighs. Eliza found a buried fragment of pottery, and when she (reluctantly) passed it over to be packed away so she could continue searching Suhail handled it like it was spun sugar, like he too could see its value.

In the afternoons they both tagged along in Aisling’s footsteps, observing and questioning when she wasn’t too busy; Liam and the other storyteller’s drew them like moths to the campfire. She filled page after page with scribbled notes just by listening to the answers to his pointed, insightful, and above all genuine questions. How did they lay out the camp? How much did tent designs vary, between families, between tribes? How long did tools usually last, were they passed down or were they transient? How did the chain of command and authority work, through generations, through the varying group sizes the tribe broke down into depending on resources and family ties? How does this game work..?

That last was how they both ended up playing a very serious game of something like hopscotch, delighted children giggling at how these clumsy adults didn’t know any of the rules. Eliza nodded and mentally took notes as they were explained, and felt her eyes flick to the solemn, serious expression on Suhail’s face. It wasn’t false, wasn’t a studied mask for humouring the children, intended to be inoffensive and unpatronising.

He had looked the same, keenly interested and deadly serious, when asking Aisling about nomad politics, the old men by the fire about finding their way in the desert, the women resting in the shade about recipes and finding ingredients, as he did asking children how they played. Later, she thought that might have been the moment she decided to fall in love with him, at least a little, because he understood. There was so much to the world, and all you could do was look around at every part of it you came across.

She had her own questions, too, and she thought she could see him taking his own notes in the sharp look in his eyes, the thoughtful distance in his gaze. Do cloth colours have any meanings? The patterns and embroideries? How do the tribe groupings work, beyond the immediate family tent? Is everyone here related, or can you join a goum because you want to travel the same way or can pool resources? How often do people move between groups? What do you call that cluster of stars, there? What about that one?

Their dig was only a small one, else it would have justified more people. Once it had been a handful of buildings, an enclave of stillness in the dunes, before the landscape had changed and it had been worn down to bare stubs of walls in the sand. Suhail spent a morning pacing around the site at her instruction, and found the remnants of the well that had sustained the tiny settlement based on the layout of the buildings. Eliza sketched it out carefully on her map, and he smiled like helping her find it had been the greatest privilege he could imagine.

Professor Morton spoke mostly to Aisling, or the men who seemed to be heads of their own tents. He spoke scant words of the desert tongue. Suhail seemed almost fluent - at least, as fluent as he was in Eliza’s own native tongue. Precise, but not necessarily familiar, sentence structures and phrasings that correctly conveyed meaning but not the way you would expect. Eliza wasn’t that fluent, but she could hold a rough, simplistic conversation, which combined with the ability of most of the nomads to speak at least some of her language, thanks to trade, and a joint effort on mime and drawing in the sand meant she felt reasonably happy she was getting answers to the questions she was trying to ask. Professor Morton sniffed when she tried to talk about the weaving the older women had shown her, lounging in the shade in the heat of the day, and she gritted her teeth. She wondered how you could go so many years studying people and cultures, and not realise asking the women about their world was just as important as asking the men.

Professor Morton was happily measuring the rudimentary burial site they had found, and was cataloging (scant) generations and theorising on whether this had been a waypoint or a settled dwelling. Eliza had uncovered what she increasingly thought had been a child’s room, with Suhail helping. When he drifted away, the morning after they started to focus on the room, she was vaguely surprised and then he faded entirely from her awareness once he was no longer handing her tools or carefully excavating at her side. It was only when she stopped squinting at her page as she precisely recorded the pattern on a carved cup that she realised he had set up some kind of awning to keep the sun from beating down on them, burning the back of her neck and glancing off of the page. He settled back by her with a smile, and nudged the water closer to her hand before picking up a soft brush to help clear sand from the raised whorls under her fingertips.

When a group of men went out hunting at the end of the month, they politely invited the professor to go with them, and he said he’d be delighted. Eliza glanced wryly at the slightly waxy expression on his face and then at a couple of kids nearby nudging each other and giggling, and wondered if he knew he was being - very politely - mocked. Or possibly tested. They invited Suhail much more enthusiastically, but he declined. Eliza didn’t bother to volunteer the fact that she could hit a rabbit reliably, though she was tempted to do so sheerly on principle. Once the hunting party had left, Aisling sent Liam to fetch both of them from where they were watching a weaver at work, and invited them to sit with her. Her younger child - Lanetia - was fussing in her sling, and her brother reached out for her without prompting, bearing her away to the shade of their tent and crooning a lilting song. Aisling watched them go, face softer than Eliza could have imagined it, then turned back to her guests.

“So, the professor has gone off to record our men’s barbaric, unrefined hunting - or possibly the mystic way in which we commune with the desert, one can never tell which way one such as he will write these things, and I do not particularly care - but it would be very rude of me to keep you both here in his absence.” She smiled slyly. “We tend not to build things that last, in the desert. The sands shift, and so do we, but sometimes there are patches of stillness. My husband’s nephew is restocking some of our food caches while we are in the area, and has said he would not object to your company. There are some more intact ruins nearby - an old church or temple. I know that you have already packed your equipment ready to leave, but you should see them before you leave; I believe they may be of some interest, if only for the variation.” She folded her hands precisely, and questions burned on Eliza’s tongue - where did you learn to hold yourself like this? Who taught you to stand so that the world would part politely at your feet? Does it hurt, that the professor thinks there’s some mistake, some bizarre exception, in your authority, or are you really so confident that it slides off you like rain? What does strength like this cost you?

For once, she didn’t ask, just swallowed her curiosity down. This strength was not something to be questioned lightly, in case it shattered. This strength was not something to be questioned unless you were one of those who had the privilege of being someone Aisling could let herself shatter before. Eliza looked at the still face, the strong hands, the crown of hair, and bit her tongue.

It took two days to reach the supplies cache, carved into rock and hidden unless you knew it was there. Aisling’s husband’s nephew and his friends where polite and friendly enough, but kept themselves to themselves. Eliza looped her camel’s lead rein to Suhail’s saddle - he was better at directing the stubborn, lovely creatures - and stared around as though it was her first day in the desert. Every day felt like she was discovering it all over again, and she kept waiting for it to become mundane, familiar, unnoticed, but every morning she still had to catch her breath.

They didn’t talk much, for that journey, and she appreciated it. The end of the research trip loomed and she wanted to take this warm silence in. It didn’t need to be filled, and she wanted to hold the calm inside herself when she left.

The supplies cache was beyond the ruins, so Suhail and Eliza stopped there while the nomads went on, more interested in checking supplies and storing everything carefully than archaeology, which she supposed was probably reasonable even if she found it utterly incomprehensible. The ruins were worn smooth with years of sand and wind, crumbling arches and a deep well that still held water. With a huff, the camels flopped down in the shade, and Suhail reached for her hand to help her over a missing step. She didn’t let go.

Dark fell while they were still exploring the ruins, the sky lighting up with stars. Peering into the distance Eliza could see a pinprick fire, about where the nomads had said their cache would be, and she shrugged over at Suhail. He shrugged back and dug through their saddlebags for blankets and sleeping bags, and started telling her a story she hadn’t heard about a cluster of stars, her hand still clasped in his.

In the morning, he left. He had to move on, he murmured, seeming half in a daze. He had to keep looking. She didn’t ask him to stay longer, because she’d never expected him to be there in the first place, because she would be leaving soon too, because she’d somehow known this was the last journey they would take together. She held his hand for a moment longer and he smiled, warm and open, eyes fixed on her for a moment like the universe was written out in the lines on her skin. When she left she would carry the stillness of the desert, its uncaring winds and the silence that wrapped around you, but she would also carry the warmth of his hand in hers and the way he listened to every word she said like it was the first time anyone had ever spoken.

She watched him vanish into the haze of sunrise, then reached for a notebook and flipped to a fresh page.

“Though the nomadic people of the great desert have a rich storytelling tradition, this has rarely been documented outside of the discussion of the importance of story sharing to maintaining cultural identities. Therefore, I collect here…”