#ink hair that goes down to her slipper-wearing feet

[ponds-of-ink]

Sketched this out last night because a certain song snippet got stuck in my head.

I present to you: A Grecian-inspired Octoling who is in the mood to.. maybe smooch? I’m not sure.

[thelittlestcheshire]

Self Para 005: The Reminders Pull the Floor From Your Feet

Note: For starters, this takes place on Saturday. This involves the Leo plot, and for the most part it’s...  lots of Ches’s thought process leading up to her visiting Leo. Any interactions with people are lead up / not really... the majority. So please, tread carefully. I was careful to avoid going too deep into her more... brutal thought processes in hopes of ensuring it’s not too triggering but given the context I do feel a need to mention it. I do discuss her finding her brother after his attempt a little bit too, so, please pay heed to the tws and if you think it may be an issue, I strongly urge you skip this self para. I love you guys, and your safety is the biggest priority always <3

TWs: Suicide / Suicide Attempts, Decapitation / Murder (mentioned in a comment about how displeased Leo will be to see her), Hanging, Amputation, Ches’s thought process while shopping does include her making considerations about what she can buy Leo can’t hurt himself with so I don’t know how to tag that but I am aware it could be triggering.

For once, Ches didn’t know how she was expected to react, but she was sure it didn’t align with how she currently felt as she tore through her wardrobe to try to find something to wear. What even was appropriate to wear today? Colors were too cheery, white too saintly, black was a staple in her wardrobe and entirely off the table. Everything in her closet was practically getting thrown without care as she desperately tried to find anything. Even as her front door opens, she doesn’t glance to see who was coming in until she hears Balo squeak as she tries to avoid yet another thrown object.

“Sorry! I just was wondering if I could maybe borrow a pair of shorts?” The blonde squeals and the redhead pauses her frantic search for something appropriate to wear. Was Balo really trying to carry on like normal when her friend was in the hospital after trying to kill himself? Sure, people were saying it was an accident, but that didn’t mean it was.

Emmett had told everyone it was an accident after his attempt, a prank gone wrong, that she had to cut him down from the ceiling after. And at this point, she simply didn’t believe in accidents.

“Of course, they’re in the dresser. Let me know if there’s something worth wearing to the hospital in there while you’re at it.” She glances away from what she was doing to wave her friend toward where the dresser was. She would have to rearrange the room to the way she liked it eventually, but she hadn’t exactly been happy about much of anything since they arrived in New Zealand. 

“Is going to see Leo a good idea?”

Balo’s question throws her off, as it was one she had been asking herself over and over again. She still didn’t know the answer herself, and she just turns away from her friend to go back through her closet, tossing yet more things in the direction of her bed as she fails to find something worth wearing. “This is my fault. I have to go.” She finally speaks as she tosses the last item of clothing in the closet onto the floor. “If I had done more....”

“It was an accident, remember? Just breathe, okay? You dress like you usually would. Maybe ask if I’m allowed to visit if you think he’s up to it?” She shakes her head, grabbing the shorts she came for from the drawer before she tosses a pair of ripped jeans and a tank top her way. Ches catches it, grateful for the answer so she could move onto the next method to tear herself apart with. “Just promise me you’ll be gentle with him. He’s going through a lot.”

“I’m not going to be mean. I figured he might like some comfy clothes and stuff. If someone else already thought of it, great, but...” She glances at her shoe rack as she talks. Maybe she should wear sneakers instead of heels for once, it’d make her look shorter and left her feeling more vulnerable, but perhaps it’d ease his fears of her just showing up. She doubted she was the first person he wanted to see; in fact, she was likely the very last, perhaps Balo was right, and this was a horrible idea.

But she needed to do this. How else was she going to live with the guilt?

“Well, if you need to talk later, come find me. I’ve gotta go, but I love you.”

“I love you too.” And with those words, Ches was alone with her thoughts again. She takes a deep breath as she walks over to her dresser to set the clothes she was going to wear down. Stepping over multiple piles of discarded clothes carefully as she realizes just how much money she’d just carelessly thrown to the floor as if it didn’t matter. Perhaps, in the long run, it didn’t. Still, she kneels down and starts to sort through the discarded clothes on the floor, slowly beginning to put everything back onto hangers. How was she supposed to make intentions clear from the moment he saw her? 

Maybe the gifts would help, but she was just going to have to accept that whatever she did, Leo was likely to be hostile. Emmett was after his attempt, and he liked her. Ches was entirely unwelcome, and she knew that, but she supposed that was well deserved. If the roles were reversed, she would have made Leo’s visit a living hell for daring to breathe near her after a failed attempt. He had every right to do the same to her now. She carefully puts the last dress back where it belongs, going through the motions of getting dressed and making herself presentable, throwing her hair up in a ponytail, grabbing her bag, and just leaving the dorms. 

She would have to go to the store and try to find things Leo would be allowed to have. She was already starting a shopping list of things in her head, things he’d need, things he’d like. 

-------------------

Could she trust Leo with colored pencils, or was she going to have to stick with crayons? As Ches looks over the shelf of Crayola products, she ponders it for a few moments before she grabs both the washable crayons and the twistable colored pencils, glancing around before she tosses the bath crayons in too. She always got her worst thoughts in the shower. Maybe giving him a creative outlet he could take with him would be beneficial. On second thought, she tosses a box in for herself too. Her roommate was simply going to have to fucking deal with it.

The notebook had to have no wires, nothing he could pull off of it and cause harm. Any bags needed to be paper so he’d be allowed to have them. The slippers had to be sturdy yet stringless. She’d broken into his room in an attempt to figure out sizes, so she was hoping she was doing well on the clothing. She didn’t want to bring anything of his, not only because it’d require her to be honest that she had broken into his bedroom, but because she already knew how easily things got lost. The last thing she needed was to grab something that mattered and something happening to it. That was a problem she had no intention of being blamed for.

What else could be needed? Pre-paid call cards just in case what she’d read was wrong, and he wasn’t allowed to have his cell phone. If he did, she supposed it never hurt to have prepaid international calling cards either way. 

He liked pen and ink, not paint, right?

For a moment, she tries to remember the art of his she had seen, none of it had been paintings, but maybe that was just simply because he couldn’t carry it around. She could ask, offer to make a second trip. She tosses comfy clothes into the cart as she goes, trying to find the most comfortable stringless things she could find, socks and underwear, because people probably weren’t thinking of it when they grabbed stuff. Toothbrush, he definitely needed a toothbrush. And inpatient units were usually cold, so a massive plush blanket probably help. He probably would be allowed to have zippers. Shit, what was his jeans size? Maybe Elizabeth would know, although was it a good idea to bother her at work with how busy she was. She glances at the racks for a minute, considering it for a moment.

Stuffed animals were usually taken in her experience, but if she could prove he wouldn’t hurt himself with it, maybe getting him something he was allowed to punch would be nice. After all, he did seem to enjoy his fights. Was Winnie the Pooh punchable? Balo was onto something when she said Leo looked like Christopher Robin. And he was a baby toy, so if Leo got him apart and found a way to hurt himself with it, it would be a feat. Still, she considers it a moment longer and puts an elephant in the cart instead.

She could always come back for it later if he’d appreciate the joke. What else would he like? Would the ward he was on allow her to drop by and grab him fast food? She probably could find a McDonalds’.

She takes a deep breath, already trying to find the number to find out. Hopefully, they’d allow outside food and drink. After all, what made someone’s day brighter than cheap junk food? 

-------------------

[To Momma Everett 😍😍:] I’m dropping by to see Leo, so I’m gonna put my phone on vibrate to avoid him ripping my head off, but I love you so so so so so much, and please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’ve got everything handled here, I promise. I’m going to tell the front desk I’m your daughter, so that should get me in long enough to drop him off clothes and stuff. Hopefully, he won’t correct them? 🤞

Ches puts her phone into her purse after she’s done, tossing the bag over her shoulder before she goes around to the trunk of her rental to grab the stuff. It felt like it wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t as if she could bring him nearly as much as she wanted to, just essentials and a few small things in hopes of making him smile. She goes to the hospital’s front desk, explaining why she was here and that she had no idea where she was supposed to be going. As they led her in the direction of where he was, she tries to take deep breaths. Leo was going to kill her for this, wasn’t he? Maybe she should have dropped by to steal a kiss from Elliot before she left before he literally ripped her skull from her body.

Of course, nothing could have prepared her for what was to come after she got on the unit. She hands over the stuff to the nurse’s station for them to check over, insisting it’d be better if she waited to go in to see him until she had it back, and for a brief moment, she sees Leo, and everything comes crashing down. Where had his arm gone? Why hadn’t anyone told her?

“Your brother didn’t tell you.” The nurse guesses, and she glances over to the man and the art supplies she’d brought. Was it a dick move? Perhaps, but she wasn’t going to let anyone even dare suggest he couldn’t do art. It was only a matter of adjusting how he approached it, and suddenly she didn’t care if she had to import a physical therapist willing to try to help him. If anyone tried to tell Leo he wasn’t doing something, they would have to fight her. 

“No, but that’s okay. He can still whomp me for bringing him children’s bath crayons after he gets home. He’ll be fine.”

If the nurse says anything else, she doesn’t listen. She just quietly waits for him to sticker the stuff and hand it back to her before she enters to see Leo, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she hopes that for once, maybe she wouldn’t say the wrong thing to him. 

[plumeofacat]

Chapter 1

Error growls as he checks the state of Lanna who left her t-shirt on her knees so she can get the treatment. As for Ink, he stores the groceries that his sister brought kindly.

Error : ̷W̷h̷a̷t̷ ̷w̷a̷s̷ ̷t̷h̷a̷t̷ ̷i̷d̷e̷a̷ ̷o̷f̷ ̷d̷e̷f̷y̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷t̷h̷e̷ ̷s̷o̷u̷n̷d̷ ̷b̷a̷r̷r̷i̷e̷r̷ ̷o̷n̷ ̷a̷ ̷c̷a̷r̷t̷ ̷a̷n̷d̷ ̷a̷g̷a̷i̷n̷s̷t̷ ̷a̷ ̷s̷h̷e̷l̷f̷?̷

Lanna: It wasn't my idea!! It was Blueberry!!

Ink: I'll talk about it with Swapy... he needs to teach a lesson to his brother...

Lanna: Sure... But this transformed pollen stealer might be proud of what his brother did...

Error : ̷Y̷o̷u̷r̷ ̷c̷u̷r̷s̷e̷ ̷d̷o̷e̷s̷n̷'̷t̷ ̷t̷o̷u̷c̷h̷ ̷a̷n̷y̷o̷n̷e̷ ̷w̷h̷e̷n̷ ̷y̷o̷u̷ ̷a̷r̷e̷ ̷f̷a̷r̷ ̷a̷w̷a̷y̷ ̷f̷r̷o̷m̷ ̷t̷h̷e̷m̷.̷.̷.̷

The red one sighs and looks at her mask on the ground. She feels the âin leaving completely, which gives her the signal to cover her scar on her back and front with her usual t-shirt.

Ink: Hey, Lanna, how much time passed since you visited Sans?

Lanna: Which one?

Ink: Classique...

Lanna: ho... It's been a while... I should go see him a little...

Error: ̷A̷v̷o̷i̷d̷ ̷s̷h̷o̷w̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷h̷i̷m̷ ̷y̷o̷u̷r̷ ̷s̷c̷a̷r̷s̷ ̷a̷g̷a̷i̷n̷.̷.̷.̷ ̷L̷a̷s̷t̷ ̷t̷i̷m̷e̷ ̷h̷e̷ ̷a̷c̷c̷u̷s̷e̷d̷ ̷u̷s̷ ̷o̷f̷ ̷n̷o̷t̷ ̷p̷r̷o̷t̷e̷c̷t̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷y̷o̷u̷.̷.̷.̷

Lanna: And with my bruises, he will scold you again...

She giggles, knowing very well that the two skeleton pests about the fact that Lanna's body can't be totally healed, they can only lessen the pain. The human smiles to her brother and to the one who makes her brother's soul beat faster, before she gets up slowly, checking if her bracelets still stand in place.

Lanna: I'm going to see Sans! Clean up after using Error's strings in the kitchen!

Ink and Error: LA̷N̷N̷A̷ ̷!̷!̷!̷!!!

She giggles and runs outside, taking absently her pen so she can quickly do her portal to Undertale. She walks in the spring street, putting her mask on correctly, then she looks at the monsters around her, smiling. A lot of her childhood friends and childhood enemies enjoy their Sunday to have fun or simply to walk. She sees a rabbit lady, Cassy. She sees Sparkles, a flame monster the same age as her. She sees Frisk, a teenager who helped her save the monsters, almost 10 years ago.

Frisk has semi-long brown hair and golden eyes. Instead of her old striped t-shirt, she wears a jeans jacket on a purple t-shirt with jeans and boots. In her hands, three heavy books are tired of her, but Chara helps her carry three other books. Chara is a teenager in the same age as Frisk with short and messed up brown hair and her eyes are aggressively red, but they hide the kindness towards the monsters that she always has. Before Chara was only a ghost who was hunting Frisk since she was a human dead long ago, but for 10 years, Lanna has succeeded in giving a body to the ghostly child.

An enormous desire to take off her mask itches the creator's sister, while she gets closer to the first of the Sanses' house. Nervously playing with her pen, Lanna stops in front of her friend's door, remembering some bad memories, before she shakes her head to focus on the good ones. The fingers almost as white as a bone put away the pen while the other hand forms a fist to knock twice on the door.

Sans: who's there?

Lanna: Anold.

Sans: Anold who?

Lanna: an old friend!

Lanna smiles as she removes her mask, while the door opens on a skeleton that looks like Blueberry but wearing an old dark blue jacket on a white t-shirt with black shorts and pink slippers. He gestures for the young women to get in, then he walks nonchalantly to the couch. The red one closes the door behind her, then she throws her mask on the living room table while sitting next to her friend.

Lanna: What's new? Is life on the surface as good as before or do I need to teach some lessons to humans?

Sans: don't worry yourself to the bone, your brother does it enough for all of us...

Lanna : *giggle* I see! ... *sighs* otherwise... Do you have any news about... HIM?

Sans: Hmm? ... You won't like what I'll say about it...

Lanna: Say it anyway... I need to know...

Sans: He got released from jail for good behavior

Lanna : *sighs* shit...

Sans: Do you think it's gonna be okay for you or do you prefer that we visit you in the multiverse?

Lanna: ... It's okay, I know how to protect myself, don't worry *nonchalant* Bye the way, where is papyrus?

Sans: In training with Undyne... they should get back any minutes now...

Exactly when Sans finishes his sentence, the door is smashed by a kick from Undyne, and the window is broken by Papyrus who goes through it. Undyne is a blue fish-woman with red hair and an eyepatch on her right eye. She wears a pair of jeans with a pale blue shirt, her black ankle boots leave a wet dirt trail behind her. Papyrus is like Swapy, but he wears a white top of an armor with yellow rims and black sleeves that ends on his red gloves. As for the down part of his body, he wears a red swimming trunk or something that looks like it and boots as Blue's and in red. A scarf in the same color decorates his neck.

Papyrus: LANNA!! You're back!!

Lanna : *giggle* I came to visit you...

Undyne: Big Punk! We missed you!

Lanna: sorry, I had a lot of work!

Papyrus : *hug strongly Lanna* NYHE HE HE HE! How are you, dear?!

Lanna : *giggle* I'm good... if you could let me go to not kill me, par contre...

Undyne : * hugs Lanna and Papyrus super-strongly* You should find more time to come and see us!!

Lanna : *lose all her air in a painly moan* les gars...

Sans: I don't wanna eat some Lanna-ghetti tonight, so if you could avoid transforming her into minced meat...

The two monsters let go of the human who ends up crawling into a ball on the ground, moaning in pain and swearing against heal magic that ''doesn't freaking do shit''. The one laying on the couch looks at his brother and at the fish-woman who panicked. He ends up sighing and raising up the t-shirt of the young woman, his ordinarily white pupils vanishing under his anger.

Sans: Lanna ... What did you do again?

Lanna: ... Groceries...

Sans: without lying?

Lanna: *gown* Really... I went buying some magic paint and milk bottle, and Blue rushed over me with his cart, and I ended up against a shelf that falls on me... So I really just did the groceries... Promise!

papyrus: S-so it's not my fault?

Lanna: Not at all, Paps...

Sans suddenly gets up and walks towards the door in the back of the room, while Papyrus and Undyne help the red hair to get to her feet. As she notices what the shortest skeleton is doing, the injured one looks at him, worried, while the brother does the same.

Papyrus: Where are you going, Sans?

Sans: Saying a couple of things to Blueberry

Lanna: No, Sans! It's okay!!! He apologized, promise!

Sans: You already are about to break with any hit...

Lanna: No, Sans, I'm not THAT fragile! You know it very well! It's kind of you to want to protect me, but I promise you that everything is okay! It's only some bruises!

Sans: Last time you said that you were bleeding in my living room...

Lanna: I just suck at volley-ball!

Sans : *stare at Lanna* You know which last time I'm talking about...

Lanna : *shrugs* I know, Sans... But I promise it's just some bruises, nothing more! And besides, it was an accident, I wasn't the target!

Sans: Promise?

Lanna: on your life...

Sans: ... Ok.

He lay against the door, crossing his arms, but he can't get rid of his annoyed expression against the reassuring and amused smile of the red one. These acts reassure the two other monsters who end up offering some spaghetti. They don't wait for any answer, running into the kitchen.

Lanna: ... Is it just me or he faked innocent?

Sans: What are you talking about?

Lanna: He was here when... Last time I told you that it was just some bruises and that it was nothing... Though, he acts like it was nothing and we both know that he is innocent in the naïf type, but not stupid...

Sans: He does everything he can to make you happy and comfortable with us, that's why... He didn't even want me to tell you about Him getting out of jell...

Lanna: I see... Thank you for letting me know anyway, I'll be able to be careful now...

Sans: You will have to Mask your presence?

He does his joking smile while pointing at the mask on the table with his eyes, making Lanna giggle while nodding, then she closes her eyes and lays down on her friend, surprising him. He takes a few seconds to understand, then he sighs.

Sans: Wanna sleep on me like when you were a kid?

Lanna: I'm not a kid anymore, Sans... And a Boney pillow isn't always comfortable!

Sans: *snigger* Though, I'm Coccyx-fortable

Lanna: *laugh* Bone-head!

Sans: Come on! You know I'm a good pillow!

Lanna laughs and yawns before she closes her eyes and suddenly falls asleep on Sans' shoulder. The pillow gently smiles before using his telekinetic powers to bring an old jacket that was on the floor, so he could put it on the sleep head's shoulder. She moves a little to be more comfortable while the bone hand starts to stroke the ruby hairs, combing them unintentionally.

Sometime later, Papyrus gets back in the living room and finds the two sleeping beauties on the couch, which makes him sigh gently. He decides to eat alone with Undyne, and this, despite that a portal leading to a universe in flames appears in Classic Sans' house. The young women's brother gets loudly in through it, wearing his normal attire, AKA: a brown parero close on the upper part of the torso who's edge are golden on a ¾ sleeves white shirt, with graphic tablet's gloves that the pinky and just under it is green on the brown that finishes the weird glove. To cover his legs, il wears an Edo era in Japan's inspired brown pants with socks that don't cover the heels, nor the toes. Some green overalls suspenders lay behind him, while his belt passing from his left shoulder to his right waist and keeping some mini paint bottles come restraining the suspenders to come in the front. The forms and colors changings eyes lay on his sister while he holds on his giant paintbrush as he breathes erratically.

Ink: Must wake up Lanna immediately!

Papyrus: What's going on?

Ink: someone decided to attack horrortale's inhabitant...

Lanna : *wake up slowly* hmm? is there a problem, Inky?

Ink: YES! Come immediately and don't forget the mask!

Lanna: Yes inky!

The red hair jumps and grabs her pen that she immediately transforms into a sword, then she runs into the portal. Around her, the houses that still stand more or less are in flames and the monsters that were already in so bad condition that they were mistaken with zombies panic, and some of them try to run away, while others try to eat the human who is holding two. This human has black mess up hair like his starting beard that almost blends into his long sleeves that tied on his middle finger shirt... at least as they can see from that afar. A Night blue jacket is tied on his waist and his blue pants are covered in soot, as his black boots. As soon as his eyes find Lanna, a sardonic smile appears on his lips.

??: Ho <3 Lanna <3

Lanna : *shiver in disgust* Stop what you are doing and go home!

??: Don't you want to get to know me? <3 Though, I'm doing this for you <3

As soon as the name crossed thetha man's lips, a disgust's shiver shared between everyone one who heard it, without anyone knowing why. The man approaches Lanna while letting his flame's sword create a trace on the ground that melts the snow. Ink uses his brush to create a wall in front of the threat, then he grabs his sister's arm.

Ink: I didn't think that he was after you in particular...

Lanna: Don't worry, he's not the first that is after my life... And he won'T be the last.

?? : Ho <3 Un simple magic wall? How stupid... <3

The wall ignites in two seconds and transforms into ashes. Under the shock, the siblings struggle to move, but their instincts being stronger than their mind, the red hair ends up quickly between the skeleton and the other human.

Lanna: Ink, go home! You don't have to get hurt for me!

Ink: and leaving you against someone who wants to kill you?!

Lanna: That thing is only after me! I'll avoid that he destroys anything more or hurts anyone else!

Ink: Lanna...

Ink tries to move to protect his sister, but she pushes him behind her, not even noticing the fact that the human dangerously approaches her.

??: that thing has a name, dear Lanna <3

Lanna: If you tell me what it is, you go home and leave the universes alone?

??: No!

Lanna: Then I don't want to know it...

??: Sans cœur!! I will still do you a favor of knowing who will destroy you so much that you will wish that I killed you today <3 Call me Loucas <3

Ink: Lanna, come with me!

Lanna: I know how to defend myself Inky... Go back to Error...

Ink hesitates, but Lanna pushes him far away while she turns towards the aforementioned Loucas. Her sword in her hand, the red hair try to disarm the one with two blades, but he doesn't let her any time to move an inch that one of his swords comes to cut deeply the unarmed arm. A little scream escapes the woman's lips, while the ankle boots that keep the scar-covered feet warm step back. A second doesn't have time to pass when the masked one hits the left hand of her opponent. He steps back in a jump, his sword falling on the ground, then he targets Lanna's head without losing his sadistic smile.

Ink disappeared, he probably left for home, while the red try to force her opponent to retreat, in vain. He almost cut in a half Lanna's leg as well as her back, yet, the miss stand still, panting and holding weakly her weapon. However, Lanna doesn't stop to attack Loucas, almost in vain. He only have some scratches and bruises, but nothing else.

Loucas: You're pretty strong for an anomaly, Lanna <3

Lanna: Can you stop saying my name? It discusted me!

Loucas: Never, Lanna <3

while saying his last sentence, Loucas use his fire swords to burn a house from where a kid was watching the fight. The red notice this fact and run towards the house. Sadly, Loucas doesn't agree, since he stab the non-injured leg. Noticing that her injured bleed when he pull off the sword, Lanna raise an eyebrow, then she clenchs her theeths while standing up trhough adrenaline. Surprised, the man's smile grows as he take two steps back. He start to miss some magic and he know that she noticed it.

Lanna: You freacking shitty human! Leave!

Loucas: I don't want to, but work call me in an other univers... Why not Underswap?

Lanna : You ...

A terrified scream cut the creator's sister's sentence. A child scream. Lanna doesn't listen to anything around her and the difficultly hobble to the burning house, searching for the child. Since she hear the cries, the read hair search the source while avoiding the flames as much as she can. She see a crying child surrounding by fire. The panic taking over her, the young women run withouth noticing that her mask is somewhere in the snow outside, getting crushed into pieces by Loucas' blades. This one make sure to completely destroy the face-covering before he cut the air, creating a portal that lead to a house into a forest into the multiverse. As soon as he cross the opening, he hear the burning house's beams falling followed by a scream of pain.

Louca: Try to not die yet or it won't be funny, Lanna <3

Summary : https://plumeofacat.tumblr.com/post/644284784841031680/summary

Next  : https://plumeofacat.tumblr.com/post/645213650674761728/chapter-2

[torendheavenandearth]

1.2

“As they fought, Radya Indarapatra slashed Omaka-an one hundred and fifty times, but Omaka-an’s star body was not cut completely. The great starlight beast roared in laughter ‘YOU HAVE NOT CUT ME!’

Radya Indarapatra, the Immortal Heaven Hero of Mantapoli, sheathed his kampilan and responded: ‘The way a datu kills is not by cutting the body into pieces.’ And with that, the Omaka-an fell dead.” - Radya Indarapatra, the Hero of Mantapoli

▼

“W-Wait--” The demon lady grabs Angela’s hand--causing her to yelp--and pulls her away from the procession, walking past the throngs of people that are now rushing up to the procession with baskets of food and other trade goods. They walk-run almost expertly through the throngs of people until they arrive at a relatively sparse area that has bamboo stilt houses stacked on top of each other, connected by ladders and walkways and suspended bridges. Angela follows the demon lady up the ladders all the way to a fourth house upon a stack--the tallest ones only go for five stacks--and yelps again when the demon lady slams the door shut behind them.

Angela didn’t notice how hard she was breathing. She looks down upon herself and finds her skin sticky against the fluffiness of her hoodie.

“Your raiments,” says the demon lady, not looking like she had just run a sudden walkathon. “You should change. It is too hot and humid for that.”

“Yeah,” Angela says in between gasps for breath. “Tell me about it.”

“Remove them now. I have some clothing you can change into.”

Angela nods and removes her hoodie, revealing her school blouse underneath--a simple white blouse with a dark blue collar. She fixes her hair and puts the hoodie down on a wooden chair. The woman vanishes into the only room: a partitioned off part of the house.

While waiting, Angela looks about and inspects the house. Of course, the first strange thing she notices is how the bamboo stilt houses are stacked on top of each other. They had bamboo stilt houses back in the Philippines: nipa huts or bahay kubo they called them, but they were never built up like this. They look and feel like… strange, retro classical apartment complexes.

The house itself is relatively small, although there is more than enough space for two people. There is a sort of kitchen on the far side, where there is a stone top stove and some cast iron pots and pans. There is plumbing, Angela realizes, as she hears water swooshing down near her. The pipes are made of bamboo. There is a wooden table in the middle, and there are two chairs that flank it, both made of some sort of hardwood. Another table sits upon the corner in an L-shape, and upon it is a horrible mess of paper, flasks, alcohol, and ink.

Perhaps the most interesting thing to Angela here is the candle, which burns upon the table. There it illuminates a single piece of parchment. The flame that dances upon it, however, has eyes. When the being notices that Angela is looking at it too, its mouth opens. “Yo.”

“Y-Yo.” She lifts her hand up half-heartedly and waves in a non-committal wave.

“Name’s Muntiliyab. You?” 

Angela blinks.

“Muntiliyab,” says the woman, as she comes out of her room and gives her a stack of folded clothes. “Means ‘Small Blaze’. You should go change.” The lady herself has changed into a loose baro--one that has wide flared open sleeves-- that is made up of what looks like pina fiber, which makes the blouse somewhat transparent, allowing Angela to see the black brassiere that she has underneath. Her muscles are taut, and when she moves, Angela notices the outline of her abdomen.  Below that, the demon lady wears a beautifully colored white and red tapis. A tapis that is much too wide for her and shows off her pale leg through a slit.

Now, this is weird for Angela, since she’s used to having the tapis be put over the saya skirt. She supposes then that it’s the fashion here, and that it is somewhat freer to move in than others.

Another thing that’s now awfully obvious and striking through the see-through baro is that almost every inch below the demon lady’s neck is covered in tattoos. An intricate latticework of abstract depictions of snakes, the sun, swords, crocodiles, and eagles. They’re the traditional batuk tattoos that Angela had read about. Very similar to the ancient tattoos of Precolonial Philippines. Every part of her is covered in those tattoos, with the only parts not being covered seemingly being her neck and head, her hands, and her feet.

“Okay, but what’s your name?” Angela asks the demon lady.

The woman walks over to the kitchen and puts a pan on the stovetop, which is a simple steel grate with a couple of coals beneath it. The woman snaps her fingers once, leans in close to the coal, and then whispers something inaudible. In the next moment, a flame comes to life, dancing happily on the coals. “More stuff to cook?” the embers say and giggle. “What you got today?”

“Eggs,” replies the woman, cracking a few over the cast iron pan. 

“Gotcha. Leave it to me!”

Absentmindedly, Angela asks: “How can the fire talk…?” 

“Ang Nilapastangan. That’s my name,” says the woman, turning around. She has removed her salakot, showcasing her white hair and pink horns. She stares at Angela for a bit before shrugging and then turning back to the egg that she’s cooking. “But that’s a mouthful, so you can just call me Nila.”

Ang Nilapastangan. The Blasphemed. “O-Okay. Nila.”

There is a knock on the door. The sound of the rapping doesn’t even finish ringing out yet when the door swings open and in comes a tiny creature with black bulbous eyes and lanky arms and legs. Angela considers him tiny because he only goes up to her knees, and Angela already isn’t exactly the tallest of the lot. Additionally, he’s wearing a simple collarless white shirt, brown pants, and no slippers. Farmer’s clothing. “Nila! All right so about your taya in the cock-fighting ring--” he stops and then looks up at Angela. “--teka, who the fuck are you?” He turns to the demon lady. “Nila who the fuck is this?”

Angela blinks and then looks down at him. “Are you a duwende? Like the ones from outside the village?”

The duwende freezes. And then, like a sudden whistle, his bolo is out, flashing, pointing at Angela, ready to skewer her right here and then. Due to the duwende’s size, the bolo looks like a longsword in his arms.

Angela yelps and takes a step back, slamming onto the rattan wall of the nipa hut. The clothes in her arms fall onto the bamboo slat floor of the house, scattering into a messy heap. Before Angela can react, the duwende boy is up clinging on the wall that she’s backed into and, with his bolo pressed against her neck, snarls: “I knew it! You’re some kinda underworld spy! I’m never going back, you hear?!”

Angela blinks, but the shock of the moment blocks her thinking, and she cannot speak.

“Calm down, Makabintang, you’re jumping into conclusions again.” Ang Nilapastangan is behind the duwende, lifting him by his neck and then throwing him against the wall on the other side, narrowly missing the window. The boy doesn’t slam onto the wall but instead flips in the air and lands on his feet.

“What if she’s some sorta duwende glamour that’s trying to get me back into the under-lungsod?” He shouts without missing a beat as if he hasn’t just been thrown against a wall and would’ve been falling out a four-story tall complex if Ang Nilapastangan had aimed just a bit wrongly.

“The duwende don’t care about you,” replies Ang Nilapastangan. She turns to Angela, who’s still pressed up against the wall, and tilts her head up by pushing her chin up with her fingers. Ang Nilapastangan checks if there are any wounds from the bolo. Angela feels time slow down, and she feels the very deliberate decision of gulping.

When Ang Nilapastangan confirms that no wounds have been left, she sighs and nods. “Angela, this is Makabintang. Makabintang, Angela.”

Angela nods. She doesn’t say anything. “Angela, go into the room and change.” Angela nods again and follows Ang Nilapastangan’s orders.

Ang Nilapastangan picks up the clothes that have been scattered on the floor and gives them to Angela. Angela takes them and walks into the room. With that done, Ang Nilapastangan turns to Makabintang. “Now, what are you doing here?”

Makabintang still squints at her. He drops down to the ground and “sheathes” his bolo by shoving it behind him. When he lets go of it, the bolo is nowhere to be found. “You’ve pre-betted on the next big sabong fight right?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods as she walks over to what she’s cooking. She removes the already cooked egg, cracks another one onto the pan, and then places a few pieces of pork tocino onto the pan. “Tocino?” asks the flame. Ang Nilapastangan nods, and the flame shrugs seemingly in response.

“Well, the fight? It’s been canceled. The authorities are tightening up for some reason. There’s been no announcement or official missive. The Guwardya Sibil are just coming in and stopping everyone from doing stuff.”

Ang Nilapastangan sighs. “I think I know why.” She turns and glances at the room where Angela’s changing.

The duwende blinks. “And?” He turns to the door and blinks in confusion. “Uh, what are you glancing at the room for?”

“The Hagdanan. It has begun.”

Makabintang works the cogs in his mind. He smirks and then shakes his head. “No, all right, let me get this straight. THE Hagdanan has begun? That thing that all the old people talk about but doesn’t really happen? The one that old babaylan would cryptically talk about but no one believes? THAT Hagdanan?”

Ang Nilapastangan nods as she begins placing the fried eggs and tocino upon a porcelain plate. 

“THE Hagdanan, that I never thought I would be able to see in the 32 years of my life. It’s happening right now?” As he says that, Angela appears out of the room--which curiously only had a banig, a rattan mat for sleeping on, a box or stack of presumably Nila’s things and valuables, most of them simply scattered across the floor, and what looked to be a small wooden shrine with a single wooden idol seated atop them. That idol is mostly made of wood, with a strange crown rising from her head, shaped like the rays of the sun encircling a great turban, and then the idol is depicted as sitting, while their two other pairs of arms are stuck in strange poses, as if mid-movement to attack. 

A larawan, Angela somehow recalls.

Angela has shed her school blouse and skirt for a longer saya that reaches her calves and a shorter, thinner, and lighter fabric baro, colored the brightest yellow. The sleeves were left widely open, instead of the other baro she’s seen before, so Angela appreciates the movement and the brisk cool air that now wraps around her body, unimpeded by her hoodie. That hoodie she has neatly folded and put into a corner in Nila’s room.

Ang Nilapastangan nods in approval of her new change of clothes. “I suppose we owe you an explanation.”

Angela scoffs. “That’s an understatement.”

“Wait,” the insufferable Makabintang interjects again. “She’s not from here?”

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. “She is not of Sansinukob at all.”

Angela nods. “Yeah I’m from the Philippines, I think.” Angela then begins picking up the pieces of clothing she’d dropped and put it on the table next to her. Ang Nilapastangan gestures for her to remove it from the table as she puts the tocino and egg on the table. “I… I think I’m remembering a bit. Although I can’t remember past a certain night.”

“Philippines? What the fuck is a Philippines?”

Angela snorts. “Some say it’s hell.”

“Impyerno?” asks Makabintang.

“The food is ready,” Ang Nilapastangan interjects. She turns to Makabintang, raising an eyebrow. “And I know why you’re really here.”

“What’re you talking about? I got here because I had to deliver the sabong news!” he says as he hops up on one of the chairs flanking the table and beginning to feed on the tocino and egg. Nila also puts a bowl of rice on the table. 

“Come and eat,” says Nila to Angela. “We have a long explanation ahead of us. But perhaps, this is a good time to explain a bit about yourself?”

Angela shakes her head. “Like I said…” she says as she sits down on a carved wooden chair. Nila takes it upon herself to give her a cup of rice and some tocino and egg. “...I don’t remember much. Just what happened that night.”

“That night?” asks Makabintang.

Angela nods. “The night where… where I was taken by those strange beings made of flame? I was stolen by a creature of burning blue fire.”

“An Anghel,” says Makabintang.

“Not just an Anghel. A Serapin. You were abducted by the group known as Para sa Luklukan.”

Makabintang blinks once and then turns to Ang Nilapastangan. “Are you sure, Nila? THAT Luklukan?”

Angela lets out a short, amused snort at that. “Is that what you usually say Makabintang every time Nila says something?”

“What’re you--shut up.” Makabintang rolls his eyes and goes back to devouring his food.

Angela turns to Ang Nilapastangan, but she is staring straight into her spoon, her brows furrowed and her mouth in a downward curve. Angela waits for her to finish her rumination.

After a full minute of stillness, she says: “Para sa Luklukan is, in the simplest terms, a sort of mortal trafficking ring conducted by the anghel. Anghel being the servants of the Holy Trinity. They are probably called Angels in other languages and universes--that word came from anghel after all. Now the purpose of the Ring is more or less unknown. Some say it's for some strange ritual. A blood sacrifice, some underground circles say, to revive God. Others say it's to keep providing souls to the Holy Trinity, since apparently their diyostek works not on electricity but on souls and diwata since those are the ones that burn with Gahum.”

Makabintang is nodding. Angela is blinking in confusion. “All I understood is ‘mortal trafficking ring’,” says Angela. “So, what, I was a victim of some illegal smuggling operation?”

“An interdimensional angel-led smuggling operation that’s right,” answers Makabintang in between bites.

“Thanks, really helpful,” Angela mutters under her breath.

“But what’s interesting is that it coincides with the Hagdanan--” Angela opens her mouth to say something, but Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t stop, “--the Hagdanan is a multiversal blood competition wherein one hundred and fifty souls are transported into Sansinukob and made to fight against each other to find out who is strong enough to be the next MAYKAPAL, the creator of the next universe.”

Angela blinks. “What?”

If Ang Nilapastangan noticed Angela’s confusion, she doesn’t show it. “There have been three so far. The first two Hagdanan have all ended in bloodbaths where no one won. That was the preferred outcome, I am told. The Trinity gets to keep their hold in this current universe.”

“What about the third one? Did someone win?” asks Angela.

“Yes. In the third Hagdanan, after growing into godlike power and killing the rest of the contestants in a bloody duel to the death, someone finally won.”

“Who?”

Ang Nilapastangan goes back to eating a piece of tocino. “Me.”

▼

Angela blinks. She looks up and down the demon lady, at Ang Nilapastangan, at the horns that grow out of her brow and her weird, edgy red and black eyes. “So… you have the power to become the next MAYKAPAL?”

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. She opens her mouth to say something more before she is interrupted by a thud-thud-thud on her door. All three of them suddenly pause, as if some invisible god grabbed them by their necks. Angela looks at Ang Nilapastangan and Makabintang, blinking rapidly in confusion.

Ang Nilapastangan turns to the door and squints. “Angela, hide in the room. Makabintang, keep eating.”

“On it,” says Makabintang, doing a small kind of salute, before going back to devour his food.

Angela follows Ang Nilapastangan’s orders again, walking into the room and closing the door, although she keeps a small slit open so that she can peek out and see what’s happening. When Ang Nilapastangan is sure that Angela is hidden, she walks up to the front door and flings it open. 

On the other side of the door are two beings wrapped in that strange armor. Both of them look like perfectly handsome human males: one has dark red hair and the palest of skin, the greenest of eyes. In his back is strapped a shield, and then on a scabbard is a strange bulky sword. His posture is lax, leaning against the railings of the walkway.

The one that opens his mouth to speak is wearing a pure black coat that falls to his knees. Within he wears something that looks like a kevlar vest. He has white hair that is slicked back, and he has a European style saber that he holds in one hand. He stands with his back straight, his shoulders held back.

They both stood a full two heads taller than Ang Nilapastangan, but she--wearing that loose baro and tapis--somehow looks as if she’s looking down on them.

“Good day. We are the Celestial Sword wing of the Hukbong-Katihan and we’ve come to ask a few questions if you wouldn’t mind, binibini.” Hukbong-Katihan? The land army? Thinks Angela to herself, as the words are familiar to her.

Ang Nilapastangan puts her hand on her hip. “What is the Hukbong-Katihan doing here in the lowly village of Laurel? And even more so: coming to a random balay in the stacks?”

The white-haired one’s eyes flicker to where Angela is. For a split second, she could’ve sworn that she saw him stare at her. “I would suggest that cooperation is in your best interest,” says the white-haired one. His grip on his saber is loose, relaxed. “We have spent the last few days tracking down a young lady that has escaped our care. We are supposed to be rehabilitating and helping her get accustomed to Biringan life.”

“Oh yeah?” from out of one of her sleeves, Ang Nilapastangan brings out a cigar and lights it with a snap of her finger, which causes her finger to glow a bright red. She drags one out and then blows the smoke into the white-haired one’s face. The red-haired one’s face grows wild, like a tiger finding prey, and he surges forward, but the white-haired one simply blocks him with his hand.

“Yes,” says the white-haired one, staring at the red-haired one and then back at Ang Nilapastangan. “Look here, Ang Nilapastangan. We do not need to do this smoke and mirrors--”

“--heh--”

“--simply surrender to us the girl and you will go undisturbed for the rest of your days. I am sure that is in your best interest, yes?”

It’s raining outside, Angela notices. The water streaming down behind the two men is harsh. A storm?

Thunder roars. 

Definitely a storm.

Angela can feel the bamboo slat floors beneath her rattling. Vibrating. As if in anticipation.

She looks up at Ang Nilapastangan once again. Her feet are glowing that same hot crimson color, and the bamboo slat floor beneath her is… smoking?

“I’m kinda stupid,” says Ang Nilapastangan. “I don’t always choose the things that are in my best interest.”

And then, in conjunction with a bolt of lightning striking the ground behind them, the white-haired one’s hair blazes into a bright blue, and a halo of swords materializes behind his head. He unsheathes his saber at the same time as Ang Nilapastangan flicks her cigar towards him and then swings her foot. The blue one isn’t able to do anything but raise his saber’s blade to block her kick.

Ang Nilapastangan’s glowing foot, on the other hand, connects with his blade and sends him flying straight out of the small platform he is standing on and into balay on the other side of the street. After that, she turns around and closes the door. 

“So the Hagdanan has begun,” Ang Nilapastangan turns to Angela. “And the Para sa Luklukan has been a bit more proactive in looking for new people to smuggle. Something smells fishy, and they definitely sound connected.” She walks over to Makabintang and picks him up by his neck. “You’re going to help me get the cute little girl out of here, klaro?”

“Wh-what? What the hell are you talking about?” She throws Makabintang straight through the door and into the room where Angela is hiding. Makabintang slams against the rattan walls and he groans as he slides to the floor. 

Before long, he picks himself up and starts walking back towards the other room. “Now you listen here ya lil puta, you’re going to--”

Before he can say anything else, however, Ang Nilapastangan is struck through her chest with a saber as the blue man suddenly materializes behind her, seemingly out of thin air. The entire front portion of the hut is ripped away by a wild wind. The blue man now has a pair of blazing azure wings exploding from his back. 

Behind Makabintang and Angela, the wall is ripped open by a crimson sword, wielded by the red-haired man. Now he’s wearing a strange a smiling mask: one of the Pained Saint, and crimson wings are exploding from his back. A crimson and azure angel duo.

Angela screams. Makabintang curses: “Putangamang diyos ko!” My bitch father god!

A flood of events happens in that Setsuna moment and somehow, Angela manages to reasonably keep track of it: she sees Ang Nilapastangan roll her eyes and slam her heel against the Azure Angel, this time causing him to double over. And then, with her bare hands burning a bright scarlet and her white hair burning an ashen pale white, she grabs the Azure Angel’s halo of swords, tears it in two with her bare hands, and then clamps them together at the Azure Angel’s neck, ripping the being’s head straight off.

Seemingly in response to that, the Crimson Angel roars in agony and wrath. Makabintang screams in terror. Angela is speechless: shock is a hell of a muter. The Crimson Angel surges toward Ang Nilapastangan, raising his bulky sword and shield. 

The Scarlet Demon that is Ang Nilapastangan, however, turns and throws the halo of swords--now bloody with a strange, stringy blue ichor--at the Crimson Angel, who blocks the attack with his shield, but Ang Nilapastangan has already begun to run. When the Crimson Angel lowers his shield to see, Ang Nilapastangan is already in the air in front of him, her entire body in the positioned in the form of a dropkick. 

Ang Nilapastangan bellows: “「YAWA UPENDS HEAVEN STYLE: CONTINENTAL DROPKICK!」” Somehow, Angela sees those words materialize into the air beside Ang Nilapastangan, turning into a strange, blocky script that somewhat resembles a mix of badlit and baybayin. Angela can somehow read it, despite having never seen the writing before. It simply says “Kontinental Hulog-Sipa”. Yes, she read it in Tagalog, and she has no idea why. 

The Continental Dropkick slams directly into the Crimson Angel’s face. There’s a second of impact--a sudden pause as the universe decides to catch up with the daring action, as if It couldn’t quite believe it either--and then the hit registers. The Crimson Angel is sent flying straight out of the house, so fast that there is an afterimage of the Angel that shatters when the dropkick follows through.

Ang Nilapastangan falls to the floor and then kicks herself off of the ground, Chinese getup style.

The moment afterwards is a strange lull in excitement and noise. A sudden silence, like that strange instant between inhale and exhale. 

Makabintang is fucking wheezing. “Nila, you’re showing off your power level!”

“Shut up,” says Ang Nilapastangan, turning to the both of them. She’s still glowing red, and her hair moves as if it's underwater, floating up and staying suspended unless she moves her head in such a way that tugs the strands along. She turns to Angela: “Angela, come with me. We have to leave this entire barangay.”

“What?” asks Makabintang, rising to his feet and going over to the table to grab the last piece of tocino that hasn’t been burnt to crisp. “Leave Laurel? You can take those Anghel on I mean come on, you just fucking dropkicked one of ‘em!”

Nila shakes her head. “There will be more of them, and they will be chasing after me once word gets out.”

“Word of what?”

“Word of my survival.”

Angela blinks. “Why not just kill them all? Don’t you have the same power as MAYKAPAL? That would make you God.” She tilts her head as she thinks. Back in the Philippines, the term ‘Bathalang Maykapal’ is synonymous with God. As in, the Almighty God that one can find in monotheistic religions. 

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head, however. “That was all a fucking lie. No mortal person will be able to have the same ‘power’ of MAYKAPAL. It’s an impossibility. No one is going to ascend to the throne: it’s already been taken and shat upon by the Holy Trinity. 

“No, the Hagdanan has only one purpose: 

“To find those strongest, those that are the biggest threats to the Trinity, and kill them.”

Next Chapter

Return to the Table of Contents.

[hazzasgayvodka]

19 * WAITING FOR A GIRL * 19

Impact: Chapter 9

Chapter title song: Waiting For a Girl Like You - Foreigner 

HARRY

I wake up to the light coming through the curtains and squint my eyes against the sun. I look down to see her red hair splayed across my chest, her cheek squished against my chest and her arms wrapped around me. I know that I could lean down and kiss her right now and the thought makes my head feel like exploding. I knew from the minute I saw her that I wanted her but from the minute I kissed her, I needed her. I want to get up and make her breakfast, but I remember my promise to her last night and stay right where I am.

I run my fingers through her hair and she stirs in her sleep, nearly punching me in the face as she stretches and yawns. Her eyes flutter open and land on me, her mouth tugging into a smile.

"Morning." She grins.

"Hello, gorgeous." I smile back at her, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She blushes instantly, her entire face turning red as she hides away from me, burying her pink cheeks in my chest. I laugh and sit up, taking her with me and tossing the blankets off of us.

"Harry!" She whines, already shivering and grasping at the covers.

I pick her up in my arms despite her squealing and she thrashes around as I toss her over my shoulder. She lightly pounds her fists against my bare back, but I carry her all the way to the bathroom before setting her down in front of the counter.

She rolls her eyes at me and grabs her toothbrush as she shoves her feet in her slippers. I start the shower and grab a towel from the closet before grabbing my own toothbrush and joining her in front of the sink. I purposefully nudge my elbow into her as I brush my teeth, making her glare at me. She rinses her mouth out and I lean down, pressing my toothpaste covered lips to her cheek.

"Oh my god!" She shrieks, pulling away and wiping the toothpaste off her cheek hastily.

Her eyes meet mine and I can't help but laugh, spitting the rest of my toothpaste into the sink and rinsing out my own mouth. She's still glaring at me when I stand back up, so I grab her face and press her mouth to mine. She's still glaring at me when I pull away, but her façade finally cracks into a smile despite her punching me in the arm.

"What are the plans today, babe?" I ask, shoving my boxers down my legs and stepping into the shower.

I can feel her judgmental glare through the shower curtain as I soak my hair under the shower head. I peak my head out of the shower to see her shaking her head as she plugs her straightener in and picks my boxers up off the floor.

"Library? I have a psychology exam that I could use some studying for." She says, running the straightener over her hair.

"Oh, don't bother with that shit, your hair looks fine." I groan, rubbing shampoo into my own hair.

She sighs like she always does and gets to washing her face from last nights makeup. I duck back into the shower and rinse my head before grabbing the loofa and washing myself down after sweating my ass off last night in the club. It feels like weeks ago that I was flirting with Lynnette at the bar, not hours.

I shut off the water and grab my towel, rubbing it over my head vigorously before wrapping it around my waist and stepping out onto the rug beside her. She turns to look at me and tries her best to mask her surprise at me being shirtless. I watch as her eyes take in my chest and shoulders and the tattoos covering them. She's always been the worst at blatant staring.

"Eyes are up here, Lawson." I smirk, snapping her from her daze and causing the glaring to continue.

She follows me back into my room, her straightener forgotten as I get dressed into a pair of boxers and sweatpants. She tries to avert her eyes, but I can feel them on me as she twists her hair into a ponytail and I slide my glasses onto the bridge of my nose.

I turn around to meet her eyes and she sucks in a breath, hiding her face as she walks out to the kitchen without so much as a word. I follow her and come face to face with Niall sat on a barstool with a bowl of cereal and cage fighting on the TV. I pass behind her to pour myself a cup of coffee and have to resist from kissing her grinning face when I realize that Niall has no idea what's going on.

"Oh my god, my straightener!" She gasps, dropping the box of fruit loops and rushing past me, "I'm gonna go finish getting ready and then we can go to the library or something."

She kisses my cheek as she wiggles past and shuffles to the bathroom, shutting the door behind herself. I look up from my cup of coffee to see Niall's mouth gaping. He looks between me and the bathroom door and then to my bare chest and I can tell he's more than confused.

"Alright, we've got at least twenty minutes, let me fill you in." I laugh.

JESS

I close the bathroom door behind myself and let out a breath, bringing my hands to my cheeks. My entire face is a thousand degrees when I realize I just kissed Harry right in front of Niall. Something about him walking around shirtless now has my mind in a frenzy. I always wondered why he was so conscious of being shirtless around me and now that I know why, I feel terrible for accusing him of so many other reasons.

Before seeing his chest and back, I never would have guessed that he's as built as he is. His shoulders are broad, and his back has more muscles than I can count. My hand fits perfectly in the space between his shoulder blades and his back is the only tattooless space on his body other than his face and neck. If it were up to me, we would have stayed in bed all day today while I traced the lines of his newfound tattoos. A caged bird on his side, a cross in the center of his chest, and words in Arabic across his ribcage. I want to ask him about them, all of them, I want to know the meaning of each and every sketch of ink on his skin.

I finish straightening my hair just as a knock sounds at the door and his voice calls my name on the other side, dragging me from my thoughts.

"You ready to go?" He asks.

"Yeah," I sigh, shoving the door open to meet his smiling face, "Let me just grab my purse."

He follows me to his room to grab my bag and closes the door behind himself. I turn back around ready to go but he's sitting on his unmade bed.

"Can we...talk about last night?" He asks carefully.

"Maybe," I say, taking a seat next to him, "What about last night?"

"What happened, what did he," He sighs, tearing his eyes away from me to stare at his hands in his lap, "What did he do, dollface?"

My throat wants to close up when I hear the words come from his mouth. Suddenly my mind is hurtling back to last night and all I can picture is Jace's hands around my arms, holding me against the wall. He realizes I've gone back to it and all of a sudden, he's holding me in his arms again.

"I just don't understand how he could, how he could do this." He stutters, his eyes flickering between me and my arms.

"Well he did." I say simply, not allowing myself to sink back into it again.

"What did he-"

"I don't want to talk about it." I say seriously, standing from the bed and hoping that he drops it.

I feel myself sinking again and I can't allow myself to. This morning has been too perfect, I don't want it ruined. Everything is perfect besides the words pouring from his lips and the angry look in his eye.

"I need to know-"

"No, you don't Harry," I huff, pulling away from his reaching hands, "You don't need to know."

"Jess, you're covered in bruises, I just want to make sure-"

"Stop making this about you!" I shout, surprising myself as tears form in the corners of my eyes.

He doesn't know what happened and he doesn't need to. He doesn't need to know that my long time best friend held me down and kissed me and nearly shoved me onto my own bed. I know that he'd go ballistic if he were to know, he knocked Jackson out for just talking about sleeping with me, let alone actually trying to.

I hate the look of pity in his eyes when I finally turn back around to look at him. I don't know what he wants from me. Does he just want me to let him hold me again so he can feel big and bad and protective. He should know by now that that's not how this goes, that's not me.

"What do you want from me? Why do you need to know? Do you want me to cry in your arms again and let you be my savior? My knight in shining armor? You want me to tell you about how he held me down and forced himself on me, so you feel justified in beating him to a pulp last night?" I shout, my anger escalating the longer I look at his sorry face.

"He forced himself on you?" He asks through grit teeth, standing from the bed.

"No Harry, he held me down because I didn't want to watch a movie with him," I groan sarcastically, rolling my eyes, "Yes he forced himself on me! He shoved his hand down my pants and dug his nails into my skin! Is that what you wanted to hear?"

I'm hysterical again. My breath is coming out in heaves as I shove him away from me and tears pour down my cheeks. I can't believe him, why did I think for two seconds that he actually cared about me and it wasn't just his stupid temper that made him do what he did last night. He grabs at me as I push the door open, but I shrug him off and grab my keys off the counter.

"Jess, where are you going?" He calls after me, reaching for my arm.

"Anywhere but here." I huff, shoving him away.

I watch his face fall as I grab my own jacket and throw it over my shoulders. I hate the solemn look on his face, he feels sorry for me. What does he have to be sorry for? It makes me feel disgusting, like I'm broken or something. He's being careful with me as if I'll shatter if he says the wrong thing. I just wish he'd be the same as he was instead of insisting that he know what happened, I wish he'd call me dollface and tease me about my makeup and wearing a jacket.

HARRY

I watch her walk out the door despite wanting to follow her because I know she needs time to cool off. I'm just trying to be a good friend. I want to know what happened, so I can make sure that it never happens again. I hear a door close behind me and turn around to see Niall emerging from the laundry room.

"You are such a dick sometimes, Harry." He says, walking over to the sink to wash up the cereal bowls from breakfast.

"I'm not being a dick, I'm trying to help."

"But if she says she doesn't want to talk about it and you keep talking about it, you're being a jerk," He says seriously, "Think about it, if something like that happened to you would you want someone questioning everything as soon as you wake up the next morning?"

I narrow my eyes at him and lean on my elbows on the counter. He shrugs and turns back to the sink to finish the dishes and suddenly I feel like an idiot. What was I thinking? All I kept reminding myself of last night was to give her space and let her talk about it when she's ready. Why do I want to know anyway? Why do I care? She's mine now, not his, and I won't ever let anything like that happen ever again.

"Fucking hell, Niall, you're right." I huff, standing from the counter and he turns to look at me expectantly.

"I know I am," He laughs, "Now go find her and take her on a drive or something cute and sappy and apologize for being an ass."

I roll my eyes at him despite him being right and run back to my room to grab my jacket. What am I going to do? How am I going to find her? I have no idea where she is. I catch sight of my computer on the chair in the corner as I'm about to walk out of my room and an idea sparks in my mind.

I collapse into the chair with my computer on my lap and open it up to see the music playlist still open. I scan over the titles, all of the classics with a few new age hits thrown in. A huge conglomerate of music for her and I to listen to while we drive or sit parked on the hood of my car in my favorite place. I made the playlist a while ago but never brought myself to burn it onto a disc, until now.

I lean forward and grab a blank CD from the stack on my bookshelf, sliding it into the drive on the side of my computer. It starts burning and I start searching high and low for a CD jacket to keep it in until I can give it to her.

Just as it's finishing up, I call Sam to start my hunt for where she could possibly be. She picks up on what feels like the thousandth ring and her voice sounds like she's shouting from speakerphone.

"What do you want, Harry?"

"Jess, have you seen her?" I ask hopefully, for once feeling delighted in the fact that she sounds mad at me, maybe she talked to Jess this morning.

"Yeah, I just got done having coffee with her, apparently you're being an ass this morning." She says matter-of-factly, and I can hear the smug smile in her voice.

"Yeah, whatever, did she say where she's going? Is she coming back here now?"

"No, she said something about the library, she has an exam or-"

"Revising for her psychology exam, that's right, thanks Sam." I grin, hanging up before she can speak again and darting to the door with the CD gripped tightly in my hand.

"So, what's the grand gesture?" Niall laughs.

"A CD, for the car, I'm gonna take her for a drive and apologize a shit ton." I smile, grabbing my keys and heading for the door.

He smiles as I head out the door and nearly jog to the mustang Louis parked back in the driveway. It's stupid how much I want to see her face after only a few hours. I start the car and check my pockets three times while I'm driving to make sure that the CD is still there.

When the library is finally in view my stomach is turning itself inside out. What if she's still pissed? What if I fuck up and say the wrong thing again? I rehearse my apology in my head over and over and promise myself that I won't just kiss her as soon as I see her.

I get out of the car and walk up to the front doors. I should have gotten her flowers; all girls love flowers. Or chocolate, dammit, I should have gotten her chocolate. I see her across the landscape of the library. She's sat at a wooden table with three textbooks in front of her, one earbud in her ear and a pencil behind her ear. She's so beautiful, reading through the lines in the textbook with her finger, her now straightened hair falling into her face before she tucks it behind her ear.

I'm about to walk right up to her when he appears out of thin air it seems and falls into the seat beside her. What is he doing here? Why would she come here with him? She's laughing and smiling and reading right over his shoulder and it makes me sick.

I back up towards the entrance, I need to get out of here before I make things worse because I can feel my blood boiling and every fiber of my being wants to punch his face in. I can't take my eyes off of her and back straight into a book cart, smacking it into the bookshelf behind me. Her head turns to face the noise and her surprised eyes meet mine. I can tell she wasn't expecting me to be here, this isn't what I do, follow girls to apologize when I fuck up.

"Harry?" She says, standing from the table carefully to gauge my reaction of seeing her with Miles after everything.

"Yeah, it's me." I huff, wishing I could get out of here already.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, not daring to meet my eyes.

"I came to apologize, for being a dick, but it seems my actions were entirely justifiable." I snap, my words coming out without a filter.

"Harry, we're studying for my psychology exam-"

"Yeah, I'm sure, I always study for exams with my ex-girlfriends when me and my current girlfriend get in a fight." I laugh sarcastically.

He steps in now, wrapping an arm around Jess and making me feel sick. He's glaring at me, probably wondering what right I have to come in here and fuck up their day, but he doesn't know the half of it.

"Harry, what are you talking about?" He says, looking between me and Jess.

I turn to look at her and I see her face fall. She won't meet my eyes and I know instantly, he has no idea. I'm waiting for her to give me a pleading look, to beg me not to tell him but she knows me too well, she knows I won't keep this to myself.

"She hasn't told you, has she?" I ask, the words falling past my malicious lips before I can catch them.

He's worried now, glancing between us in confusion. She finally looks up at me and I can see the defeat in her face. I should do it, I should tell him everything because it will hurt them both, two people who have put me through the ringer and ruined my life in different ways. But I can't, my throat won't work, nothing will let me purposefully hurt her no matter how much my jealous heart wants me to.

I can feel myself going on autopilot as I turn back around and face the entrance. The CD jacket is heavy in my pocket all of a sudden, a reminder of everything I want to forget. I pull it out of my pocket as I start to walk away, turning it over in my hands and punishing myself as I finally face them again, staring at her wrapped in his fucking arms.

"Hey, I burned you a CD by the way," I smirk, sending her a wink before tossing it on the ground in front of me and crushing it beneath my foot, "Hope you like it."

JESS

I stare at the white envelope on the ground as he walks away. I can't get the image of his face out of my mind, the way it fell when he realized I hadn't told Miles. I want to tell him, but I don't know if I can. He's done nothing to me, he's been anything but deserving of my actions against him. I don't know how I can look him in the eye and tell him that I kissed Harry, that I love kissing Harry, that every time I've kissed him, I've pulled away wishing his eyes were green and his hair touched his shoulders.

Watching Harry walk away has my stomach in knots. Something about the way he can flip the switch and throw on that stupid smirk and wink at me like it's nothing makes me feel sick. I break away from Miles' arms and grab the envelope, turning it over in my hands and tracing my fingers over his name scribbled in his messy handwriting.

Harry

"Jess, come on-"

"I kissed him." I say, cutting him off.

I look up to meet his eyes, the CD still gripped tightly in my hands. He's surprised, his eyes wide and his mouth unmoving.

"You what?"

"I kissed him," I say again, less confidently this time, "Harry, I kissed Harry."

He brings a hand to his face, holding his head in his hands and I wish I could just stuff it all back in my mouth and pretend none of this happened. I never wanted to hurt him but keeping it from him would end up hurting him even more in the long run. I say I'm sorry a hundred times and reach my arms around him, but he holds me at a distance and shushes my apologies.

"Do you want him? To be with him?" He asks finally, making me look at him instead of my shoes.

"I-I don't know-"

"Well why don't you call me when you figure it out." He sighs, pushing past me and walking towards the exit.

I want to grab him and pull him to me and apologize a thousand times, but I know none of that would make any of this better. I ruined the chance of any of this being better when I gave into those green eyes and kissed him. I watch him walk out the door, smiling at the lady at the front despite the pain he's in. It kills me to see him walking with his shoulders hunched but the worst part of it all is that after everything I still want to go back. I want to drive home and let Harry hold me in his arms and kiss his face and trace the lines of his tattoos.

The sudden buzz of my phone in my pocket startles me and I take it out to see a text from Miles. I brace myself as I open it, nearly holding my breath as I collapse back in front of the wooden table.

I'm alright. I'll see you in class. Now go get him before he terrorizes the entire student body with his short temper.

I laugh to myself, tears falling from my eyes. I can't tell if they're from relief or sadness or grief, but they feel calming on my cheeks as I wipe them away and gather my things. I shove all of my books into my bag and barely bat an eye as I stuff my notes in after them. I keep the CD tucked in my jacket securely and I can't wipe the stupid smile off my face as I imagine running into his arms as soon as I get home.

I nearly run to my car and toss my bag into the passenger seat, speeding out of the parking lot before I've barely gotten my seatbelt on. I know he'll be angry, but I'll explain that I told Miles, that I want him, that I want to kiss his face more than anything in the world and I'll do just that. I'll let him hold me and all will be resolved for another day.

I see the mustang parked in the driveway and my adrenaline goes through the roof. I try to practice what I'll say to him, going over it in my head as I walk in the house through the garage. Instantly my ears are blaring as I'm hit by a wall of music coming from the living room. I round the counter in the kitchen and my eyes land on him, half naked on top of a girl on the couch. Their mouths are super glued together as he rocks over her and I can't move, I'm frozen in place wondering how it's possible to be as terrible as he is. My mind can't comprehend what's happening, my body can't keep up as my stomach twists into a thousand knots and my heart burns in my chest.

I turn away from them, covering my eyes and heaving out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It feels like all of the air has been sucked from my lungs. I'm choking on air as I walk back around the corner, pressing my back to the wall and covering my mouth to keep the hiccupping sobs from echoing through the house. Suddenly there's tears on my cheeks and I'm nearly hyperventilating as I run to his room and close the door behind me, locking the door. As soon as the door closes, the tsunami crashes over me. I can't contain it, the tears, the sobbing, and the wretched feeling of my stomach in my throat.

I hear him shouting, just barely louder than the music. The sobs are coming faster when I hear his voice, when I can no longer pretend that it wasn't him or that it was just a bad dream. The front door slams and I pray to god that he left but I hear his voice again all too soon.

"Jess?" He calls, and I hear his footsteps running to the door.

The doorknob jiggles and I hear his voice on the other side of the door, begging me to open up. As if I owe him anything. What good does he think me letting him in will do, there's nothing he could do that's going to fix this in a quick pinch. He shouts as he bangs his fist against the door, jiggling the doorknob more vigorously this time.

"Jess? Please! Come on dollface!" He shouts, smacking his hand against the door.

His voice tears down what little resolve I had left in me and finally I'm hysterical. My entire face is wet with tears, my eyes are burning from me squeezing them shut. My throat is sore and throbbing from the guttural screams of sobs erupting from it as I picture the scene over and over in my mind. It feels like it's burned behind my eyelids, scorched and branded to remind me of how easily he traded me out for someone else.

Suddenly the doorknob is wiggling again and to my surprise the door swings open. He's standing in front of me, dressed in nothing but gym shorts, breathing heavily as he tosses a ring of keys back into his pocket. I back up to his headboard, getting as far away from him as I can. I tuck my knees into my chest and hide my face from him, I can't let him see that he did this to me.

"Jess, I'm sorry-"

"I'm sorry? That's it? I come home to tell you that I told Miles everything and you're fucking some girl on our couch?" I scream, the words falling from my mouth and I wish I could shove them back in.

His face falls as he takes a step towards me, stopping abruptly. His head falls on his shoulders and he rubs the back of his neck the way he always does when he's stressed. I refuse to let myself feel sorry for him no matter how badly I want to run my fingers through his hair to calm him down. What does he have to be stressed about?

"Our couch?" He says finally, his head just barely picking up enough to meet my eyes.

"Your couch." I say, correcting myself.

His face falls even further. Whatever was the last sliver of hope inside him, it's shattered now. He looks the same as the night I met him, there's no emotion to him. I've gotten too used to seeing him smiling that I forgot he never used to.

"Can we talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about Harry? You got heated and grabbed the first girl you saw and slept with her. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?" I snap at him, the time for crying now over and anger starting to surface.

"I just went to get you and you were with Miles at the library, or did you forget about that dollface?" He barks back, his eyebrows drawing together.

"That is definitely not the same thing and you know it." I huff, standing from the bed to be face to face with him.

"It is the same thing! You went and hung out with your boyfriend after kissing me all night!" He shouts, taking a step closer to me.

"I went and hung out with him because he is my friend, Harry. Not because I wanted to sleep with him on my couch." I sigh, pushing past him to get out of the small expanse of his room.

He grabs my arm, tugging him back to me, "Jess, come on-"

"Don't touch me." I seethe, ripping my hand from his grasp and continuing to his door.

"Baby, I'm sorry." He says, his voice dropping to that low gentle register that makes my face flush.

"No, you don't get to do this," I huff, turning around and pressing my finger into his bare chest with every word, "You don't get to come in here and call me baby and say you're sorry and all is forgiven."

He opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off again, "No, don't say anything. No more baby, no more dollface, no more I'm sorry. I need time, to think things through, to make some decisions."

He remains quiet but his face changes. I can't tell if he's worried or taken aback or scared. Is Harry Styles really standing in front of me scared shitless by my careful demeanor? My words come out precise and calculated, through grit teeth and a locked jaw, a tone I've developed from him.

"Okay, I'll leave." He says, searching my eyes for any sort of reaction.

As soon as the words come out of his mouth I wish I could take it all back. I don't want him to go anywhere, I want him to hold me and tell me that it was all a bad dream. Even after everything, I want him right next to me, but I know we need our space to think.

I nod, and he sighs, turning back to the door with his head hung low on his shoulders. I call his name before I can stop myself and he turns around hopefully.

"Where are you going?" I question, and I wish I wouldn't have asked.

I don't want to know where he's going. He's probably going to some bar with other girls to drink and dance with them and forget about me. He'll go move on over the span of tonight and I'll still be here crying over him.

"Somewhere quiet, I'll be back tonight." He says gently, his voice barely a whisper.

He walks back over to me and takes me in his arms and I let him. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as soon as my arms are around him and my chin is resting on his shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut so he can't see my tears just as he pulls away and leaves a kiss to the top of my head.

He walks back out the door and closes it behind him, leaving me alone with the silence and my thoughts. I hear the front door close and then the rev of the mustang backing out of the driveway. As soon as he's gone, I'm in a hurricane. My thoughts are muddled, my hands are shaking, and all I can beg for is his strong arms holding me. Every time I close my eyes I see him on the couch with that girl and it feels like a dagger to my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

I lay back against his mattress and the CD envelope in my jacket digs into my side. I take it out carefully, my hands shaking like a leaf in the wind. I read his name over and over, studying his scribbly handwriting I've grown so fond of. I take the CD out of the jacket to see it a little scratched up and warped on one side. I debate going out to my car to listen to it until I see his laptop sitting in his chair. Before I can stop myself, I'm collapsing into the chair with his computer in my lap and loading the CD into the tray on the side. I press play and put his headphones over my ears, encompassing myself in the music.

The notes make me think of him. They're warm and soft and the beat of the drums thump through to my heart and rattle my bones. I sway to the music, losing myself to it, melting into the singer's voice and allowing the pent-up tears to stream down my face. It's then that I realize, when everything reminds me of him, when after everything I still want him, when I know that no matter how bad things get we can make it work, that I'd rather fight with him than kiss anyone else.

It's during this realization that the door opens and my heart stops in my chest. Sam walks in unannounced, her face already solemn and understanding. She stands above me, looking between me and the computer on my lap. She takes the headphones off my ears and sets them on the side table beside me before doing the same with the computer.

"Come here." She breathes, pulling me up by my hands.

I nearly collapse into her arms. She holds me close and the floodgates burst, raining down my cheeks and onto the back of her shirt. She rubs a hand up and down my back and lets me cry before finally holding me back from her and wiping under my eyes.

"I knew it was bound to happen." She sighs, wiping tears from my face and tucking my hair behind my ear.

"What was bound to happen?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"You two," She smiles weakly, sitting on the edge of his bed, "We all saw it coming."

"You did?"

"It was too different for him; Niall and Louis have been friends with Harry for years, but they've never seen him being friends with a girl before. You're different for him, because he loves you." She explains, nearly making me choke on the air around me.

"Harry doesn't love me." I cut in, taking a breath.

"I can promise you that he at least cares about you," She says, wrapping an arm around me, "It's not every day that he comes bursting into our dorm begging Louis to tell him how to get you back."

I turn to her with a start. Harry did that? No, he didn't, there's no way Harry Styles is begging anyone to help him with anything.

"He didn't."

"He did," She nods, "He's scared shitless Jess, he thinks you're not going to forgive him."

I can tell she's waiting for an answer of whether I will or not but even I'm not sure yet. I shouldn't do so as easily as I want to. As soon as I didn't march right up to Miles and tell him it's over, Harry was grabbing the nearest girl and making out with her on the couch. He's rash and indecisive and hot tempered and he drives me absolutely insane. But he's intelligent and witty and sarcastic and he makes me smile like no one else in the world can. I've only kissed him a handful of times but all of them have felt like flying, like taking off to outer space at a million miles an hour and spinning so much that you can't tell which way is up.

"I don't know if I should." I breathe, looking up from my lap to meet her eyes.

I wonder if she knows what he did, if he cared enough to let her and Louis in on that little detail. I can't imagine that she would be so quick to side with him if she did. Part of me doesn't want to tell her, part of me doesn't want her to talk me out of forgiving him.

"Everything has just been so fast, one minute we were best friends and the next he was kissing me, and everything changed. I don't even know what we are, he's not my boyfriend but we're closer to dating than me and Miles ever were," I think aloud, my mind racing, "I mean we've never even been on a date, we live together for the time being, everything is always so extreme with him."

"You love it." She laughs.

"What?"

"The extreme! The rash decisions and spontaneity, how crazy he is; he's a hot head and an adrenaline junkie and you love it." She grins, shoving me to get her point across.

Her words make me think back to when I first met him. I remember being intrigued despite him staining my favorite dress with a cup of cheap beer. His long hair and crazy number of tattoos and foreign accent; I was glued to him from day one. It was so easy to be myself around him, to throw digs at him and know that instead of taking them personally he would come up with an equally snarky remark to throw back at me. That stupid smirk on his face and his constant smugness grew to be my favorite things about him. He was unapologetically himself and it was addictive.

"You two are so alike."

"And so different." I remind her.

She sighs, knowing that this isn't going to be as easy as she might have previously imagined. I was serious when I said I needed time to think this over.

"He's scared, Jess."

"He should be."

"He's sorry."

"And so am I."

She huffs in frustration and stands from the bed before taking a breath and turning back to me with understanding.

"I know he fucked up, majorly fucked up, but we all do it sometimes. He's new to this, he's never been with a girl like this Jess, he's never been someone's before."

"He's not mine." I lament, shaking my head.

Harry doesn't belong to anyone but himself, he makes it evident. He floats from person to person and builds relationships but they're never substantial.

"He's yours, dollface." She nods, laughing at her own use of his stupid nickname for me.

She eventually helps me off the edge of the bed and drags me with tear stained eyes to the shower and makes me get in. She promises that it'll help, and I allow myself to believe her. She starts the water and it's far too hot when I finally step inside but I welcome it because only moments ago I was shivering. I hear her in the kitchen on the phone with the takeout Chinese place as I wash my hair. I silently thank the universe for her in my life as I rinse the soap from my hair and replace it with conditioner.

I hope to god that scrubbing myself like this will finally rid me of the bruises Jace inflicted on my skin but instead the purple and blue hues only mix with the irritated redness of my skin. I smell like mangos when I climb out of the shower and grab a towel but it's not enough to distract me from the marks on my skin. I drag my dripping feet to his room and refrain from sinking into a pair of his sweatpants and hoodie. Instead, I go through my own suitcase and grab a pair of pajama bottoms and my own sweater.

I pull my hair into a ponytail after deciding I can't be bothered to blow dry it. When I walk out of his room Sam smiles and pats the seat on the couch next to her. There's six boxes of takeout on the coffee table in front of her and the sky outside the windows is black. There's no way I can sit on that couch, just looking at it makes the image of him with her appear in the foreground of my mind.

I grab a box of takeout and retreat to his room. I close the door behind me and debate locking it, I just want to be alone. I turn the lock and collapse back into the chair, dragging his computer onto my lap and placing his headphones back over my ears. I press play and my stomach flutters at the sounds of him, music I can only associate with him, specific songs that he chose to play for me. Before I've even gotten a bite of Chinese, my eyes start to fall closed and I'm sinking into him, reaching for one of the many blankets on his bed and enveloping myself in his scent with tears on my cheeks and his music in my ears.

HARRY

I drive back home in silence with shaking hands. I know what I did was wrong, so beyond wrong, but I couldn't believe the anger bubbling inside of me when I walked into that library and saw her with him. I thought I had her, but I was mistaken. She's not anyone's to keep, how could I have been so stupid? It's almost as if I forgot how different she was from every other woman on Earth.

I forgot nearly all of the things that make her, her. I assumed that she was mine, that she would let me be her protector when she really doesn't need one at all. I forgot about her independence, her fire and her strength, I threw it all out the window in worry and tried to convince her to do something she didn't want to do.

I let it get to me, I let everything get to me. I let jealousy get to me because he has her, he has everything I've ever wanted. I let worry get to me because I know that I can never give her what he can. I let her get to me in all of the best ways, this whole time I thought it was me getting under her skin, but it turns out she was just as successful.

I pull into the driveway and I can barely breathe as I walk inside and call her name. Sam sits up on the couch and scares me half to death as she grabs her bag and makes her way to the door.

"What are you doing here?" I ask her incredulously.

"Helping you."

"I thought you said I was a huge fuckup and to stay away from your best friend?"

"I did," She thinks aloud, mulling it over for a bit, "But I think you two deserve a fair chance and that's anything but what you've been given so far."

"A fair chance?"

"A chance at making whatever this is you two have, work."

She pushes past me to the front door and walks outside, closing it behind her without so much as another glance in my direction. 'Whatever this is you two have'. I laugh as I think it over in my head, the course of our rocky road of a relationship. I've never had a serious girlfriend, but it doesn't take a relationship genius to realize that ours is anything but orthodox.

I walk to my bedroom carefully, readying myself to apologize. I turn the knob and let out a breath when I can open the door, she didn't lock me out. My eyes land on her, sound asleep in the chair beside my bed. My laptop is in her hands and my headphones are over her ears. I walk over to her and glance at the screen on my computer to see her listening to the CD I made her. She kept it? It works?

A weight has been lifted off my chest as I take the headphones off her ears and set the laptop aside on my bed. I readjust her head so she's not leaning on her neck and cover her with another blanket. She's so beautiful, her hair tied up in a ponytail and her face bare. She looks so peaceful as she sleeps, tucked into one of my blankets in my favorite chair. I finally back out of the room just as she stirs in her sleep, snapping her eyes open in shock when they land on me in the doorway.

"Harry?" She yawns.

"Yes, baby?" I ask eagerly, awaiting the worst but hoping for the best.

"Can we talk tomorrow?"

My chest feels tight when the words come from her mouth. I'm an idiot for wishing for anything more but part of me hoped she'd want to lay together tonight and forget about what happened.

"Of course."

"I'll sleep in Louis's room, sorry, I just fell asleep-"

"No, you sleep in my bed, I'll take Louis's room."

She smiles weakly as she stands from the chair and wraps one of the blankets around her shoulders. She walks over to me, her beautiful face saddened. She surprises me as she wraps her arms around me and presses her lips to my cheek before pulling away much too fast.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, dollface."

She tries to smile but I can tell that it's hard. She turns back to my bed and slides under the covers, tucking the blankets around herself. I step outside and close the door behind me, letting my back rest against the wood and bracing myself for a night without her.

I drag my feet to Louis's room and collapse into his full bed. My feet nearly hang off the edge and I'm still fully clothed, but I can feel sleep dragging me down. My mind drifts to the last night that I slept without her and awoke in Ashlyn's dorm from the worst nightmare I'd had in months. It seems that when you've been without them for a few nights, you lose your tolerance. Because of Jess, it's been weeks.

[ylizam]

Answer these questions then tag ? blogs you’d like to know better

tagged by @walkthegale and @farmerdamsel​. 

Nicknames: JC, j., [my irl lastname]

Zodiac: Leo. that’s the only bit I know. 

Height: 5′1.5″

Time: 22:34

Favourite band/artist: um. my brain short-circuited at the idea of a single favorite, but I love Leonard Cohen and the Indigo Girls and Beyoncé and Fleetwood Mac and the original Broadway cast of Ragtime and Sarah Connolly and Kelly Clarkson and Fiona Apple and Cher, off the top of my head of course.

Song stuck in my head: All I Want for Christmas is You, which, yes, is in part because it’s ubiquitous, but is mostly because of my Berena advent title convention (I am determined to catch up and finish Berena advent, but I got sick, and the Yuletide deadline is suddenly omg!soon, so look forward to a bunch of drabbles at the last second).

Last movie I saw: Coco

Last thing I Googled: I was checking to see if Sarah & Duck is available on US-region DVD (it is not) because it is of course my nephew’s favorite show and they pulled it from US Netflix. 

Other blogs: mazily on dreamwidth! I’m going to try to start updating there again (in addition to tumblr, which I’m not leaving until the last lights go out, etc.)!

Do I get asks: sometimes! I am terrible at responding in a timely manner and then let it overwhelm me, but also I am still working on those prompt responses (see above re: Yuletide deadline and add Secret Santa, etc.).

Why did I choose this username: it’s my LJ name backwards. I got that from a poem. 

Following: 97

Average amount of sleep: my alarm goes off at 5am on weekdays so never, ever, enough.

What I’m wearing: the cheerleading hoodie I stole from my sister when we drove from New Jersey to California in, oh gosh, 2002? ish?, grey sweatpants, and unicorn slipper socks. 

Dream job: for a bit I dreamed of being a nun, and then there was a period during which I dreamed of playing one of Erica Kane’s children on All My Children, and then of course I was going to perform in musicals, and then I thought maybe writing movies, or showrunning the next big sci fi TV show, and then maybe writing novels, or somehow getting paid to travel. my real dream job is being some sort of witch who lives in the woods but also near the sea and close enough for a day trips to a city that has good pizza and theatre and who writes queer romance and maybe something with a touch of religious-tinged horror. 

Dream trip: I have so many dream trips, honestly: Iran, a long slow ramble through the UK, taking my mother to Ireland (her dream trip; we’d do Dublin and wherever my grandmother’s cousins, etc. are), Egypt, visiting all the fandom Australians I have known, visiting all the fandom Kiwis I have ever known, Cambodia, New Orleans (always, forever, no matter how many times I go), the south of France, etc. etc. also Disney World and other Disney properties. 

Fave food: the m&m pancakes we only ate down the shore growing up, specifically the way they tasted to my childhood palate, with the smell of saltwater everywhere and sand stuck to my feet and a day alternating between ocean and bay ahead of me. also freshly baked bread and various spicy noodle dishes. 

Play any instruments: I quit both piano and clarinet as a child.

Hair colour: brown (although I’ve got some grey coming in I’m quite fond of).

Languages you speak: only English, really, although I can stumble along in terrible French after a day or two adjusting (it’s not pretty, but it gets the job done).

Most iconic song: Fast Car by Tracy Chapman

Random fact: I trained myself to say drawer with an -r sound at the end because I kept getting gently mocked for saying it draw and it still feels wrong in my mouth (it's such a comfort to slip back into draw draw draw, get the silverware from the draw when I visit my family). 

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: cats, striped blankets, coffee, punching down bread dough, whiskey, messy stacks of books, ink stains from writing longhand, peeling nail polish, smudged glasses, Doc Martens, water, a black suit and tie, spontaneous singing, clutter. 

Tagging: you and you and you you and you. honestly.

[wild3flow3r]

Here is the one shot I promised like two weeks ago lol I hope everyone enjoys it!! Please let me know what you’ve thought of it!!

Down The Hall

A story about annoying neighbors, repeating phrases, and the overuse of the word okay.

Thalia would not have known about her new neighbor down the hall if it hadn’t been for his incessant band practice. Every night from ten in the evening to four in the morning there would be a constant banging on the drums, a guitar ringing out of an amp, and someone screeching out a song that wasn’t even good through a microphone. Maybe if there were other tenants in the building they would complain with her to the landlord and then her neighbor would have been kicked out only a day after they moved in, but she was the only other person to live on this floor and the old lady who lived upstairs could barely hear anything with her hearing aids in.

Now this is the fifth night in a row with that insufferable noise and Thalia is very sleep deprived. She had been leaving notes on the door all week begging whoever the hell it is that lives there to either practice somewhere else, or at a more reasonable time, but each night when she arrives home for work she finds her notes crumpled up and in their communal trash can. She would stand this no longer, she decides as she shoves her feet into her pink bunny slippers and ties her yellow robe over her silk pajamas.

She throws her apartment door open with a loud slam and stomps her way down the hall. With three loud bangs to the door, the godforsaken music finally stops. The door opens just seconds later, and Thalia is met with a woman about her age with purple hair and several piercings on her face.

“Do you live here?” Thalia demands with a hand on her hip.

“No,” The girl states simply with a bored expression.

“Well can I speak to whoever does,” she requests.

“Hold on,” she sighs before shutting the door in Thalia’s face.

Thalia can hear some murmuring on the other side of the door before it opens again. This time she is greeted with a man much taller than her with brown curly hair and murky green eyes. Similar to the woman, this man has several tattoos inked to his skin, but not a piercing in sight.

“Can I help you?” his voice is heavy with annoyance.

“You need to stop practicing your horrendous music this early in the morning!” Thalia spits out right away.

“Who are you?” The man asks with crinkled eyebrows as he looks her up and down. Thalia steps back self consciously.

“I live right down the hall,” Thalia points towards her still wide open apartment door.

“I didn’t ask where you lived, I ask who you are,” he chuckles quietly when he spots her bunny slippers.

“My name is Thalia-”

“Well Thalia, I believe that you should mind your own goddamn business. What I do in my apartment is none of your concern, and you have no right in telling me what I can and cannot do within my walls.”

Thalia sends him a glare filled with hatred, “You’re keeping everyone awake throughout the night! It’s rude!”

The man rolls his eyes, “Well you have been the only one to complain about it, and this is, if I’m assuming right, that you are the person who has been leaving notes on my door.”

“Yes the notes were from me-”

“Exactly! You’re the only one with a problem with it, so you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“No! I won’t just deal with it,” Thalia snarls.

“Okay.”

Thalia’s face scrunches up in confusion, “And I’ll continue writing my notes until the day I die or until you stop, whatever comes first.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll complain to the landlord about you until he finally kicks you out.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Thalia replies with a bemused sigh.

Harry raises an eyebrow once more before shutting the door without another word. Thalia stands there for a minute longer in frustration and with her mind a bit muddled. She finally gathers her bearings after the music starts up again, this time louder than how it was before Thalia had interrupted them. She let’s out a scream of frustration before storming back to her apartment, slamming the door behind her. She hates him, she hates him, she hates him.

/\\//\

Thalia was ready for the longest sleep of her life. Sadly, she knew she wouldn’t get it tonight if her neighbor continued to refuse her request of practicing at another time. She stumbles her way into her building after a strenuous day of work. Before she can climb her way up the two flights of stairs, she stops by the mail room where, unfortunately, he is.

Thalia ignores him while she goes to her mailbox which is only a few feet away from his. She can feel his eyes burning into her skull, but she still never turns towards him. Not even when he clears his throat to speak.

“You’re not wearing your bunny slippers,” he states simply and his body turns towards her.

Thalia’s head snaps in his direction, “What?”

He looks down at her feet, “Or your robe. Didn’t it have ducks on them?”

Thalia feels her cheeks flush, “What the hell is this about?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “All I’m saying is that you dress way differently at night then you do during the day. It’s almost like you’re hiding your true self from your peers.”

“You have to right to make false statements about my life, arsehole,” Thalia growls.

“Actually the name’s Harry,” his lips turn up into a smug grin, “and I’m almost completely sure they aren’t false. You’re just a person who pretends to be someone they aren’t to please the people around them.”

“I don’t care what your name is. Hell I don’t care if you’re the bloody queens long lost grandson. You have no right to talk about people that you know nothing about.”

“Okay,” Harry turns to leave.

“What?”

“Okay,” Harry repeats over his shoulder and walks away.

“What do you mean okay? You should at least apologize for being an arse,” Thalia jogs after him, but it’s a bit of a struggle in the heels she’s wearing.

“Okay,” his feet carry him up the stairs much faster than hers do.

“Stop saying that! I hate that!” She barks from behind him.

“Okay.”

By the time she catches up with him, he slams his apartment door in her face just as he had the night before. She pounds her fist against the door in aggravation.

“Yes?” Harry opens the door after the fifth pound.

“Listen you, you have no right to make assumptions about me or what I do. Believe it or not I have a job, unlike some people on this goddamn floor, where I need to dress as someone I’m not because it’s the fucking professional thing to do!” Thalia pulls on the skirt of her black dress.

“Okay.”

“You and that goddamn word!” Thalia screeches through clenched teeth.

Harry tilts his head to the side in amusement, “Is that pizza place across the street any good?”

“What?” Thalia squints up at his face.

“I’m hungry. Do you want to get some pizza? You can keep yelling at me if there’s more you want to say,” He grabs his jacket off of the coatrack and slips his arms through the sleeves. He shuts the door behind him.

“Okay,” Thalia agrees in her moment uncertainty.

“Stop saying that, I hate that.” Harry raises his eyebrows before racing back down the stairs. Thalia staggers behind him.

/\\//\

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Harry points out to Thalia as he places her slice of pizza in front of her.

“I haven’t been getting much sleep lately,” she mutters bitterly and watches as he sits directly across from her.

“Do you have, like, insomnia or something?” he asks before stuffing his pizza into his mouth.

Thalia sends him an unamused stare, “You’re joking, right?”

Harry’s lips tip up in the smallest of smiles, “Of course, it’s just so much fun to see you get all riled up.”

Thalia grumbles to herself and picks at her pizza.

“So what do you do during the day that makes you dress so fake?”

Thalia glowered at him in disdain, “Believe it or not, I don’t dress fake for my job. Just because you saw me in one outfit, which was my pajamas by the way, does not mean you know my sense of fashion.”

Harry’s eyes scan over her attire, “So you like dressing like an old widow going to a funeral?”

“I’ll have you know that I look bloody amazing in this dress,” Thalia snarls.

Harry chokes back a chuckle, “For a widow.” “You’re an absolute prat,” Thalia huffs and pushes away her uneaten pizza away from her.

“So are you going to tell me what you do or not?” he asks, unfazed by her small tantrum.

“I work as an assistant to the woman who styles the models for the women’s fashion magazine The Gentlewoman. This dress actually came with my last raise.”

“Oh so you dress terribly so that you look better in front of your boss,” Harry smirks.

“I do not,” Thalia defends in a quick snap, “and you have no right to make fun of how I dress. At least what I’m wearing is actual clothes. You’re literally wearing rags! That shirt looks like the cleaning towel my grandmum uses when she dusts.”

“This is fashion.”

“I work at a fashion magazine, and I can promise you it is not.”

“I’m a rock star! All rockstars dress like this.”

“I dressed Mick Jagger last week and I’m telling you that he does not dress like that.”

Harry coughs so hard his water that Thalia fears it might go out through his nose, “You what? You’re lying.” he finally asks between shallow breaths.

Thalia smirked in victory, “I am lying, but it’s just so much fun to watch you get all riled up.” she repeats the words he had told her earlier.

Harry glares at her, “Eat your pizza before it gets cold.”

“I’m allergic to food given to me by people who dress terribly.”

“So what if I let you dress me? Then will you eat the goddamn thing?” Harry sighs.

Thalia thinks about it for a moment before a sly smile appears on her face, “Alight, you’ve got yourself a deal.” She picks up the pizza.

“Wait! I was just kidding. If I let you dress me then I’d probably end up looking like my father is his stupid business suits.”

Thalia rolls her eyes, “I wouldn’t dress you in a suit. You want to be a rockstar, so I’d dress you like a rock star.”

Harry stares at her skeptically, “I’ll let you dress me if you come to our show in two weeks.”

Thalia frowns. She already hears them play at three in the morning, she doesn’t know why she would want to suffer an evening of torture voluntarily. But she really really wanted to get those disgusting clothes off of his body. They hurt her eyes whenever she looked at him.

“Meet me at Piccadilly Circus in four days. Be there exactly at noon and then I’ll take you to my office. You can tell me where your concert is then.” Thalia stands up, picking up the pizza on the paper plate with her.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I’d like to get at least an hour of sleep before your screeching starts.”

“Aren’t you going to thank me for the pizza?” Harry leans back in his chair with an amused smirk.

“I could, but I’d rather die than do that.” Thalia flips around on her heel and walks out of the restaurant without another word.

Thalia must have left some kind of impression on Harry because that was the first night Thalia got a good night's sleep in a week. There was not one off key note to be heard for the next three nights.

/\\//\

Harry was late. Thalia has expected that he would be, but that didn’t calm down her frustration in the slightest. She was spending work hours on him, and although he might not feel it he should be thankful. It wasn’t everyday that someone like Harry got the opportunity to get a new wardrobe that is ten times better than his old one. So when he showed up twenty minutes after noon Thalia was ready to claw his eyes out. She is not a patient person.

"You're late," Thalia states in a clipped tone.

Harry shrugs his shoulders, "Okay."

Thalia glowers at him, "Follow me."

A tense silence surrounded them in the elevator ride up to Thalia's office. At least it was tense for her, Harry looked like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Strip down to your underwear," Thalia orders before losing herself in the racks of clothing in her office.

"I thought you said you were an assistant?" Harry calls out. "Doesn't that mean you get your boss coffee and and mail all of her letters?"

Thalia scoffs, "It's a styling job Harry. Officially I assist my boss in styling her clients. Unofficially, she's training me to take her place after she moves to America next year to work for Vogue."

After finding a few articles of clothing Thalia is sure will look amazing on Harry, she reveals herself back to the center of the room. Like she had ordered him to, Harry stripped down to her underwear. The disgust she held for him was on the ground with his rags, that is until she caught his cocky smirk.

"Is there a problem Thalia?" Harry asks with a tentative eyebrow raised.

Thalia coughs awkwardly and avoids her eyes away from his body. Her cheeks flame up, "Uhh... No sorry I just hadn't expected um... so many tattoos is all."

Harry bites his bottom lips to try and deeter his ever growing smile. It didn't work. "Okay."

"Just try this on," she huffs in response before shoving one of the outfits she'd selected into his chest.

“The shirt is pink.” Harry points out.

Thalia rolsl her eyes, “Oh my, you’re right!” her voice drips with sarcasm.

“I’m trying to be a rock star.”

“Pink is the color for rock stars.”

“Since when?”

“Since I just said it right now. Now change!:

Thalia makes sure to turn around as he starts tugging the tight jeans up his legs.. She doesn’t want him to catch her looking at him again, and she doesn’t trust her eyes to not do so. She fiddles with something on her desk before he lets out a cough.

"I'm not entirely sure about this," Thalia turns around to see Harry staring at himself in the mirror with an unsure look on his face.

"Well you're wearing it wrong," Thalia rolls her eyes.

"How can someone wear clothes wrong?" Harry's eyebrows crinkle on the top of his head.

"Just..." Thalia sighs, "Come here." She walks to him and turns him so that he's facing her. She feels his eyes on her face, but ignore them while she fixes the shirt.

Harry had buttoned all of the buttons nearly all the way to the top. If he was trying to look like the rock star he wanted to be, he was failing miserably. Thalia undoes the first four top buttons so that the top of his chest is exposed, revealing two swallow tattoos and the top of a butterfly. Her hands reach up to fix his hair, but he jumps away from her.

"What are you going to do with my hair?" He glares at her.

"I'm just trying to fix it!" Thalia throws her arms up in the air in frustration.

"It doesn't need to be fixed."

"Stop acting like a baby and come back here," She demands and points to the spot where he had been standing in front of her moments before.

"I don't-"

"Oh forget it, you wanker. If you want to look like an idiot then look like an idiot!”

Harry frowns, “I don’t look like an idiot.”

“If you’re going to grow your hair out that long then I’d suggest you style it properly and not always let it frizz up so much. When was the last time you washed your hair anyways?”

“Oh fuck off and get back to your job,” Harry grumbles.

Thalia rolls her eyes and then sighs, “Here, put these on.” she grabs a pair of black boots off of her desk and hands them to him.

“Boots?” he scrunches his nose in distaste.

“Yes, now put them on. They are better than your ratty old sneakers.”

Harry groans quietly but leans down to get them on his feet.

He looks in the mirror when he does. Thalia stands behind him, and as she does with the other models she dresses (and without thinking it through all the way) she pushes her hands against his back and then over his shoulders to smooth out any wrinkles on the shirt. He tenses under her touch, but she barely pays it any attention.

“How do you like it?” she hums and watches over his shoulder to see his expression in the mirror.

“I don’t know…” Harry murmurs.

“Oh shut up, you love it and you know it. You just don’t want to admit it to me.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise, “You’re kind of arrogant, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be insulting me if I were you. I just gave you a shirt that’s more than one month's rent for free. I think a thank you is in order.”

Harry holds his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, “I could, but I’d rather die than do that.”

Thalia shoves at his back; Harry lets out a loud laugh.

“You’re going to wear that next week at your concert.” Thalia states more than asks.

“I suppose if I have to. I might look better than my band mates though.”

“I’ve already thought of that. Here, take this to them and make them wear it when you perform.”

Thalia hands him a bag filled with clothes she’d already picked out for his band earlier in the day. Each outfit was not the same, but all of them were black and white. Harry would be the only one wearing pink, but he was the lead singer so she figured he should be different. She hands him another bag, this one a bit larger than the first one.

“What’s this?” he asks as he grabs onto both bags.

“It’s filled with other clothes you can wear for concerts. This way people will take you more seriously when you perform.”

“People take me seriously,” Harry pouts.

“Believe it or not Harry, as much as the people of the world deny it, most of the population judges others on their looks. It’s the first impression they receive of you, and first impressions are very important. For example, my first impression of you was that you were an arsehole because you didn’t care about the other people on your floor.”

“And now?” his eyes alight with amusement.

“I still think you’re an arsehole,” Thalia shrugs “Now I have to get back to work.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you around then.”

“Okay.”

Thalia watches his with raised eyebrows when he makes no move to leave the room. His eyes move towards where his original clothes of the day were folded on a chair next to her desk.

“I’m burning those. They’re a monstrosity to this world,” she notifies him.

Harry rolls his eyes, “Okay.” he finally leaves the room.

/\\//\

“Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times. Welcome to the final show. Hope you're wearing your best clothes. You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky. You look pretty good down here. But you ain't really good.”

Thalia hates to admit it, but Harry’s voice did sound better at ten PM than it did at three AM. Many others seemed to agree with her by their constant applause. They also seemed to agree with his superb outfit choice. Just like they (she) decided, Harry was wearing the pink polka day outfit she gave him a week ago. He looked much more comfortable in it than he originally had.

This song was the last and final song his band was playing for the evening. It was also Tennille’s favorite of the few he sang. His eyes catch hers, and he smirks when he catches her slowly swaying back and forth with the rest of the crowd. She glares at him, but he only rolls his eyes in response before focusing once more on hitting those falsettos.

“Thank you so much for having us tonight. We’re The Bandicoots and we’re signing off.” Harry speaks through the microphone after the song finishes.

Thalia sits at the bar, sipping her drink while waiting for Harry to find her like he promised to when she first arrived at this place. He just had to help the band pack up their instruments before he could meet her, and that took another twenty minutes to finish. He sits next to her in a small huff, his eyes alight with happiness.

“So what did you think?” he leans in closer to talk directly into her ear. A new band was already performing, but they were not as good as Harry.

Thalia shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, “It was okay, I guess.”

Harry chuckles quietly, “It was good enough to get you to dance.”

“I was being pushed around in the crowd. It may have looked like I was dancing when really I was only trying to save myself from being trampled.”

“Yeah yeah, alright.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Do you want to go outside? I think I might need some fresh air.”

Thalia only nods in response before getting up and following him to the back entrance. The alleyway the stepped out into was filled with smokers and members of other bands, but Thalia and Harry found their own private spot against one of the walls.

“My band mates really liked the outfits your picked out. They think we should make you our personal stylist when we make it big,” Harry starts with a teasing smirk.

“I don’t think I could ever work for you. Not if you wouldn’t let me touch your hair.”

The wrinkles by his eyes crinkle up, “I’m sure we could come up with some type of agreement.”

“We can’t agree on anything,” Thalia points out.

“It’s not my fault that you’re so unagreeable.”

Thalia puts her hands on her hips, “I am very agreeable, thank you very much. Just to prove it to you, let’s agree on something right now!”

“Well what would that be then?”

“I don’t… I don’t know! But I’m sure we could find something.”

“You’re probably a terrible kisser.”

“I am not! Why are you so rude all the time?”

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” Harry winks.

“I’m not kissing you.”

“See! So unagreeable!”

“Don’t be an arsehole-”

Harry cuts her off by pressing his lips against hers. She’s shell shocked, she can’t even breath. It was almost like he was suffocating her, like he was taking her life force away from her with just one touch, but it also just felt… right. It’s not until he backs away that air lets itself back into her lungs again.

Harry looks up for a moment with his chin resting on the palm of his hand, “I guess you’re right. You aren’t a bad kisser.”

With wide eyes Thalia stares at him. Her mouth open and closes a couple of times, no witty responses successfully breaking through the haze in her mind. Harry lets her be as she collects her thoughts. When she finally does speak it’s only to mumble out a quiet, “Okay.”

Harry laughs, “Stop saying that, I hate that.”

“Oh shut up,” Thalia growls before leaning up to push her lips back against his again.

[pinkcupofcherrytea]

[Fic] Storyteller

Title: Storyteller Summary: He promises fortune and happiness, beauty and power beyond the limits of man. He is the beginning of the stories told in hushed whispers by the fire – and he leaves destruction in his wake. Relationship(s): Dazai/Atsushi, mentions of mostly one-sided Atsushi/Lucy Rated: T Warnings: Dark themes, a rather twisted character, Dazai is the ultimate Disney VillainTM, character death (sort of).

Note: Written for BSD Rare Pair Week 2017, day 4: Things Left Unsaid//Fairy Tales// “Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise.” - H. P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu.

He has many names.

Those who do not know of him call him fairy, for the shining bright light he plays with in front of their very eyes.

Witch, for the endless possibilities he presents those willing to pay the price.

Godmother, for the misgiving idea that he will become that which have been missing from their lives, ripped cruelly from grabbing hands.

"Evil," those who lives long enough to receive a farewell cries, "demon!"

Wishbreaker, cursegiver, the one who starts the story before leaving crestfallen people to fend for themselves. The beginning of the end. Constantly smiling with a spring in his step.

Devil, liar, thief. A god, a saint, a trickster with no qualms. He touches the ground for a flower to bloom but when he turns his back to it, it withers back to the earth where it came from.

He is Dazai Osamu. He is a dealer of fate and no name given to him is wrong, since he’s been them all, nor is it right, for he is also nothing.

The coat over his shoulders hide the body of its master; the fabric takes the colour of its surroundings, its master’s bones fade from wandering eyes. Only the faintest of taunting laughter can be heard as Dazai sweeps past some ignorant villager.

He is seen when he wants to be seen, or when the story demands it.

(It’s the same thing, in the long run)

He appears in the castle of an arrogant brat dressed as a prince. Laughs as he throws a useless rose – magic in name only – and leaves the prince a dark beast and the rest of his scarce household as furnishings.

Dazai stops to help a girl sneak from her duties in order to have one magical night in her otherwise miserable life. He gives her a shimmering dress and shoes of glass, tells her she can keep them as long as she wants. At midnight, the girl’s dress turns to rags, the glass slippers are stuck on her feet – impossible to remove – and an enraged step-mother chases her out into the night.

In the large, unforgiving woods Dazai whispers the locations of little red riding hoods to the hungry wolf.

Dazai writes out recipes using poisonous apples, turns lesser princes into frogs and crashes parties for newborn princesses.

Meanwhile, Dazai scribbles all their stories down on his own skin. Black ink that etches to the paleness of his arms, chest, and back. Before each new encounter he carefully wraps over each letter with bandage.

It’s not allowed to know another person’s story before knowing one’s own.

A young mermaid finds him in a cave. He’s been under water so long his skin changed colour and the hair against his cheek feels more like seaweed than hair. Shells grow on his skin.

It’d been a great place for a nap. Silent and with fishes streaking against him hesitating, wondering if they could eat through the flesh offered. Perhaps they could feel the lurking darkness under his ribs, because they didn’t.

The mermaid has carefully plaited hair glowing red in the deep, will of steel, blue eyes, her hands pressed together as she begs him for a way to breach the wall between sea and land – for a way to turn a creature of the deep into a creature of the earth

A young man.

It always is.

A prince.

Also a common one.

I love him.

Ah, there it is. The trigger, the reason, and the final nail in the coffin. That which has deceived many to an early grave. Dazai doesn’t know if he should feel jealous or not.

Humming quietly, Dazai leaves the mermaid on a beach close to the mentioned prince’s castle; naked, shivering, confused, and with legs that thrum with pain for each step she takes. She cannot give the pain a voice, for Dazai calmly plays with it in his hands.

The prize for a wish is always more than you expect.

The prince she yearns for is a lonely one. The youngest son of many, has no kingdom that awaits him, isolated from the world where Dazai moves his pieces. Dazai takes note of his bright hair and gentle hands as he helps the mermaid – maid – to her newly crafted feet before he leaves the story to take hold. To fester.

Usually, no interference is needed.

Dazai is planning another plot by the time he throws an eye at the pair again. He sees them dance, sees the former mermaid swallow the pain and drag the prince around the market. There’s a strong fragrance of flowers and freshly baked bread. They move with ease through the thick crowd with the prince’s hand gripping the girl’s so as not to lose her.

It’s all awfully smooth and simple.

Dazai knows, without questioning it, that this story is in need of a twist.

He chooses the prince. The little mermaid has already been promised – fooled – once, to aim at her again would be a mistake.

The prince however, is easy to single out.

Imagine Dazai’s surprise then, when the prince turns around and smiles at him before he’s even finished mumbling the spell. Dazai freezes, but the prince takes his hand and squeeze it gently.

“Hello,” his smile is shy. Light. “What’s your name?”

Normal question. Dazai hears it often. Rarely does he speak the truth.

Rarely.

Dazai swallows the unfinished spell and feels it buzz in his throat. He follows the prince, who truly is a fine dancer. Perhaps not in technique, for he stumbles a little and laughs while going red, but Dazai notices that once they’ve started they can’t seem to stop. He put a flower in the girl’s hair but gives Dazai a bouquet.

“Careful,” the prince says kindly, “they have thorns.”

So do he, but Dazai only smiles and drags his fingertips over the soft petals. These roses have neither poison nor curse. Normal, beautiful flowers.

Dazai keeps them even as they wilt in his hands. He presses over the dry thorns hard, the dripping blood turns the bandages close to his wrist red at the edges.

The prince is a supporting character, important but not essential. If only Dazai could remember why, for his sparkling eyes takes over the story completely.

They return to the castle late. The red-haired girl already in bed sleeping soundly, not having any worries for the story’s new progression. She has no idea.

(No one has)

The mermaid screams when she sees them closely entwined in the grand hall. Her screams are empty, only Dazai can hear them and only he sees as she runs away with her hands against her face.

Her sobs echoes empty in the hall. Soundless.

Dazai knows he succeeded. There’s a twist to it all, starting from his stomach and curling under clothes like a malicious bug. It creeps over the pages, sullies the parts Dazai deliberately left clean.

He can see the ever after closing in but no words appear sufficient enough to fill the remaining blanks.

She too knows of it, and as dawn paints the sky a pink hue she waits for him. Waves lick the soles of her feet, the sand feels coarse under Dazai’s own.

  -

During all of this: Atsushi wakes from a dreamless sleep. He wonders where the man he fell asleep next to is. The bed is empty. As he pulls on a shirt and walks down the beautifully decorated corridor he notices that Lucy isn’t in her room either. Now a little worried he runs in the direction of the beach in hope of finding his friend and beloved.

 -

 She doesn’t shake as the threads keeping her body intact loosens. Starting from her legs the lines separating her from the illuminating, rising sun begins to bubble.

The prize for a wish is always more than you expect.

“Curse you,” her voice is hoarse as she uses it for the first time in many nights.

The end is near, and in death there is enough freedom for anyone to speak.

Any last words, the winds blowing sand in their eyes asks coldly.

“Curse you,” she chokes, “don’t hurt him- your word means nothing, but don’t you dare hurt him.”

And maybe the little mermaid with hair like blood had some magic in her all this time, for Dazai feels her curse – her promise – wrap itself around the void in his chest. Tighten around the vague contours of a heart that’s started to appear in the darkness.

He is Dazai Osamu.

So he finishes the job and watches the former mermaid dissolve. She goes back to the sea where she came from, this time without legs, without fin.

The newly formed foam rides back and forward with the waves, seemingly attempting to drag Dazai with them. To drown him, maybe.

Dazai contemplates whether he should let the water take him or not, but then takes a step back.

After watching the burning sun long enough for dark spots to dance across it. Dazai closes his eyes.

When he opens them again the blanks spots settles at the edge of his vision, the last punctuation mark stretches wide and Dazai can for a moment see a long line dragging over the sand, to the castle, down the cliff, and then towards the horizon.

No end in sight.

Perhaps that’s alright?

The story moves with each step he takes. The bandages covering up his past unravels and falls to the ground as Dazai moves to meet up with the prince running his way.

They lived happily ever after.

   (Stories like these always focuses on the bitter things. The coat that covers the storyteller also covers the eyes of the reader. There is never such a thing like objectivity.

So-

The despairing young lady runs through the woods. Wearing only rags and glass shoes, she finds an isolated castle with a beast of a man as its master. A prince with dark, slithering robes and a teacup for a sister.

A wolf roams the night, finds five lost red riding hoods and takes them in. They laugh, pull at his ears and pet his fur. He lets them be and they sleep together in a pile during the cold nights.

On the nights of the full moon, the ocean sings for the gentle prince.)

 THE END

Author’s note: Ahhhh, I actually managed to finish this! I love fairy tail AUs, so when I saw the prompt I knew I had to write something. This turned out... a little different from what I’d originally planned, but I still hope that you liked it!