#and this is why i hate anne's decision to make him lose his mind for a while

[desertfangs]

And that's why Daniel, the person who impresses this on Louis despite Louis trying to show the despair, is not only an important character but has one of the strongest hearts in the whole damn coven. The true romantic.

Yes! Exactly. I almost put something in the tags about that, too, but it felt like too much for tags. But yes!

Louis, in the interview, is trying to tell a story about loss and grief and despair and hopelessness. And Daniel, who has only known about vampires for one (1) night, hears that story and realizes that vampires have such a high capacity for love and so much time in which to find it and express it.

Daniel, at that table in that room in San Francisco, knows that if Louis went to Armand right then, Armand would open up his arms to him and they could be together. If Lestat were there, they could move past their differences and find love.

It's Daniel who tells the other vampires in Prince Lestat, “Every single one of you that I’ve ever known has had this capacity, to appreciate beauty and to love.”

Maybe it's part of why Daniel and Armand connect so quickly, as even as he's scared of Armand, he knows deep down the love he's capable of.

Daniel has always been the heart of the coven, a romantic who sees the potential and possibility eternity offers, not just for knowledge and experience, but for love.

[defensivelee]

James before Anne exposed him:

James after Anne exposed him:

The thing about James is I worry that I write him too inconsistently, but in my experience, that's what people like him tend to be-- inconsistent, especially when it comes to their manipulation tactics and abuse. At some point I might be able to recognize a pattern to keep them happy, but you never know when it'll switch up on you. It's very hard to be around.

That being said, it's hard to figure out when they're being genuine! Thankfully, since I wrote James, I can tell you :3

So, he's not technically lying before, he didn't kill Charles, and it's later implied by Mary that he genuinely could not do it, for whatever reason, which is why he had sent her to do it instead.

His grief and guilt are real, but ironically, he's offended that anyone would actually dare think that he killed Charles. He knows that people fear him enough to know that he isn't above doing it, which irritates him to no end, even though they're right. It should come as no surprise at this point that he hates being called out on his bullshit, so he will find any little loophole to make sure you're wrong-- and you know what, everyone kind of was. He wasn't lying, he'll tell you, he just didn't give you the whole truth!

"Which you're definitely not entitled to, by the way, I mean, do you mind giving me some privacy? It's quite a sensitive topic, you know."

Once he's found out, however, he's actually quite frightened, which you can tell by his little nosebleed, so he switches up to make it look like hey, actually, I'm owning this now! It was kind of slay of me! Don't you guys think I'm actually such a good leader for getting rid of the other one who was too much of a pussy to do anything? Aren't I so much more efficient? By the way, minor detail, I can kill you if you disagree. He acts reassured enough to make everyone believe him, that yes, this is in fact the best path after all, and through a religious angle... he has his six lives for a reason. Their Overlifer can't be wrong now, can he?

You will notice that he doesn't bring up anything about his grief over losing Charles, and that's because he is grieving-- but that hardly fits in with how confident he sounds, does it? He still doesn't want to come off as completely heartless, though, so he simply doesn't bring it up. In any case, it leaves most people deciding that his pride over his newfound power outweighs any grief or remorse he might have felt initially.

Now, when he speaks of an act of love, he means that it was love for Charles, not for the Disciples, which is how it was generally interpreted by his audience. With this you'll see that he's still not entirely condemning Charles through the few words he does speak of him-- he admits that he believes Charles had to die, yes, for reasons that will make more sense later, but there is more pity in his little statement on Charles in the third paragraph than there is triumph. "I freed him," he says so flippantly, which means that he believes Charles needed freeing in the first place! Something was seriously wrong, but he doesn't go into it. His little speech here was more focused on his own power in the present rather than why he made this decision in the past. Again, completely intentional on his part.

The fact of the matter is that he still feels the same way throughout all of this, no matter what he does or doesn't say. If anything, I will say he was being more honest about it before the truth was revealed; he wasn't lying when he said he wanted Charles back. Now that he's been exposed, he feels the grief sting even more, as if he had just found out along with everyone else, as if Charles had just died all over again. I've already spoken on why he decides he suddenly has to hide this now, but even so, he knows that everyone must surely remember how he acted about it before. So he will do what he always does when faced with his own inconsistent behavior-- ignore it, like it never mattered at all, and with time, he knows everyone else will, too. Just a tiiiny bit of gaslighting for the soul!

((I must add that it is unrealistic to expect every person to act consistently in all the time you will have known them, but what I mean to say here is that James' behaviors and dialogue don't make sense to the people around him because his abuse and manipulation are inherently illogical, as is anything he tries to justify it with. When I say inconsistent, I don't mean the growing and changing of a person, I mean the ways he constantly switches up to (knowingly or not) deceive other people and shift the blame on them. I repeat what I said in the beginning, abusers make absolutely no sense, and it's hard to get this across in writing because you want it to make sense. But I hope I did alright!))

[sebastianswallows]

id like to preface this by saying i like anne lmao but i also love Suffering so here we go:

1. in canon believes that sebastian should go to azkaban to pay for canceling their uncles life subscription (granted, if you agree with ominis, he does say she's torn about it now that its happening)

2. if u dont agree with turning seb in, ominis has to convince her it is the better choice... at which point she basically takes the "guilt will do the job" stance

3. loves him, but leaves him (dont blame her but wowza 6th year must have been a ride after this lmao)

4. if u dont turn seb in, he tries to contact anne via owl but she makes it clear it is Not Happening... seb believes hes lost her for good but still has hope it may change in the future (granted its all too fresh still and they're young... but hey, bad decisions run in the family)

5. +bonus hc: they're traumatised 15 year olds, but she has the curse that eroded her and no uncle as a support and seb just... goes back to school, to ominis (+mc), to a life? 🌟 suffering 🌟 no price, no penance, no pain, and she loses everything...? Slippery slope 👀

My personal hc is that anne has a firmer stance on which lines she allows people to cross and which ones she doesn't... even if it is her own brother. Also the curse must have taken its toll mentally as well, so, as I said, i dont blame her i just really like Suffering

Seb will REALLY have to live with that... ominis constantly torn between the twins

If u dont agree with ominis abt turning seb in, he is firm in his stance that u should... but If u agree with it, ominis almost pleads for u to reconsider, and u get a chance to agree and change ur mind... neat how the devs never give u a chance to contact anne urself (tho i think she wouldnt want to talk to the mc either)

If the roles had been reversed, what do you think, would anne had gone as far as seb to save him? Hoho

This has been your local Suffering anon, have a nice day~ :"D

ANON, WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?

Everyone's life is destroyed and nothing good exists anymore, this is the worst timeline possible. WHAT HAVE YOU CREATED?

Thanks to this headcanon I now hate Anne, thanks (jk).

[bohemian-nights]

I’d me mad if someone else was fcking my man too (mostly mad at my man cause yk he’s the one I’m in a relationship with 🫠) but we’re still in WAR times. Like Rhaenyra your reign is on shaky ground as it is 😭. Maybe after the war you can do the whole “THaTs mY MaN. BuRn WiTch!!” I swear I cackled reading that because she was seriously still high from her daily dose of delusion “my Prince would never lay with such a low creature” like girl he had two kids by you 🤣 thing but right now you need all hands on deck lol. *But seriously Rhae Rhae was tripping ordering the death of a dragonrider she still very much needed. Like Mysaria got to fck your man and live cause she was useful to you. Netty was also useful to you still* (Also quick question what do you think would’ve happened if Rhaenyra still went on her racist rant implying she wanted to kill Nettles but didn’t order anything but commanded that they both returned to King’s Landing? Do you think Daemon would’ve gone for that? And if he did how would their relationship work in Kings Landing? How would Rhaenyra react to seeing the two of them together? Or just in general how do you think their life would look post-war if the Blacks won? )

Anon haven’t you heard? Missy Anne never called Nettles a low creature or insinuated the only way a Black woman could claim a dragon or get with her man was by using witchcraft. That’s all lies spread by the evil green man 🥦Septon Eustace.

Black women(who have no idea what racism looks like because everyone knows racism ended once MLK gave his I Have a Dream speech 😊)are just making sh*t up to down a poor defenseless white woman. Sure Miss Maegor, I’m sorry Nyra, tried to kill an innocent (possibly pregnant I mean not pregnant because Daemon definitely wouldn’t sleep with a Black- I mean he would never cheat on his queen) woman, but it’s all Mysaria’s fault. You know queens don't have any actual power 😄

who just so happened to have lost her mind because of stress and thought it was a good idea to get her husband back.

She was fine with wh*te a** Mysaria so why wouldn’t she be fine with a Black girl with her man? It’s not like members of her own family(her grandmother, Corlys, the mad King) have ever been shown as racist. It’s not like the Targaryens believe that they are exceptional people because of their birth. She couldn’t possibly be racist🙃 Stop saying she’s racist. You’re a hater.

Jokes aside, yeah Miss Maegor messed up big time ordering Nettles’ death, but to be fair she didn’t think she’d lose Daemon along with her(still an idiotic decision since she did what she did to Addam).

A scenario like that kinda happened in the past and Daemon chose Viserys over his lover(Mysaria and the egg situation on Dragonstone). She probably just thought Nettles meant nothing to him and he’d get over his infatuation as soon as she departed from Except it wasn’t lust this time. She overplayed her hand. If she was a little more patient maybe she would’ve survived longer.

To answer your question, I think Daemon would’ve returned to Kings Landing. I could see Corlys’ warning/telling him Miss Maegor has gone kooky, she hates Nettles’ guts, and that it would be best if they stayed at Maidenpool.

Now if she hadn’t gone on her rant(or if others weren’t there to see it) then they probably would have returned. He wouldn’t give up Netty. She’d probably become his only paramour(I could see him gathering a couple of children with her. Try to give said child a lordship if it was a boy or doting on it if it was a girl). Missy Anne would either have to live with it or she won't go on breathing 😊

[missluckycharms]

What is grief, if not love persevering?

Anon asked: heyyy! i love your writing sm💕 can you write angst please? make it hurt☹

Masterlist.

Summary: in which Harry is a single Dad due to losing his wife five years ago just shortly after their little love was born. Y/N has been there through it all. Harry has a rough night filled with whiskey and tears for his late wife.

A/N: this one is full of Angst and light hearted jokes to not get you too sad … sorry in advance, it’s a real tear jerker. Enjoy!!

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, talks of alcohol and drug abuse, talks of depression and very low mental health, curse words.

—

Five years.

It’s been five years since the passing of Myla Styles, the woman who granted Harry a wish he always wanted, the woman who loved him beyond all the galaxies and the woman who never saw any wrong in anyone, not even the worst of people, she always used to say “deep down, their heart is just aching” and Harry always admired that about her, she always looked on the positive side of life.

She held that same attitude as he held her hand in the hospital room, her fragile and pale body laying on the white bed as she peered up at him, oxygen tube in her nostrils and too many machines to count hooked up to her body, she was a shell of a woman, but she still had a heart of gold, the same hear Harry fell in love with when they were sixteen years of age. He hated seeing her this way, especially when their nearly one week old baby was resting in his other arm, fast asleep as her Mum clung to every bit of life she had left, but not once did her smile fade.

It all happened so fast, one day she was pushing life into the world and eight days later her life was being taken out of this world. There was complications with birth, the doctors and nurses finding undiagnosed ovarian cancer in her ovaries when they had to send her in for an emergency c section. Myla confessed she felt off, her body didn’t feel right, but she knew if something was seriously wrong, she wouldn’t risk the life of her baby getting treatment, she would rather her baby live over her. Doctors and nurses tried their best, trying to refer her to new hospitals to get stronger chemo if she wanted, but Myla refused, she told them to let her go, she was tired and she couldn’t stick around long enough to see if these treatments would work — she knew she was dying but Harry refused to believe it.

The day she left, was the day Harry felt like his whole world stopped, like the curtains were shut and he was left in a dark room with no way out. He promised Myla he would do his best to take care of their love, who they named Honey. He was dealing with the loss, Honey taking his mind off it a little and giving him reasons to pull himself from bed even on the days when he wanted to lay around and wallow in his own darkness — she pulled him out of those days, but two months later it all came crashing down on top of him.

He slipped into a wrong mind set, immediately knowing that Honey had to be taken away from him because he was living in fear he would hurt her, one day he woke up and he looked at her and just cried, he held her and he felt nothing, he didn’t even sympathise with her when she would cry for food, he felt nothing towards Honey and this scared him, terribly. Anne, his Mum took Honey in, letting Harry to relax and blow off some steam and get some help, his and Myla’s family all agreeing and saying he needed help and it wasn’t something to be ashamed about — he just lost his wife, they can’t lose him either.

Harry took the wrong route of clearing his mind and getting help, he found his therapy at the end of a bottle and a line of cocaine. He slipped into an endless spiral of week long benders and debts for drug money along with risking losing his home due to him quitting his high up job at his Fathers Law firm, he completely crashed and burned, he couldn’t live without her, he couldn’t stop his mind racing and the only way for it all to stop, and let him feel numb — was when he was drunk and high, passing out in every room of his home and in his garden, the neighbours finding him sometimes in their yard in a mess. They were the ones who got him help, they called up his family and they all rushed him off in an ambulance to get him sober and conscious again. Here is where he made the decision to sign himself into rehab, accepting the help the hospital offered and a few months later, he was out and clean, he stayed with his Mum until Honey turned one and that was the year Harry found his smile again, found his life and purpose again.

Looking back now, he doesn’t know how he ever made himself believe it was Honeys fault Myla was no longer here, he doesn’t know how he’s even alive because of all the drugs and alcohol he ingested every single night for three months solid, but he knows why everything turned around, it was his Angel looking down on him, guiding him and kicking him in the ass to get up and look after their little love, just like she asked him to do before she left, always look after himself and Honey.

It’s been five years since her passing, Harry is doing better than ever, he started working for his Dad’s company again and now he’s the president of the law firm, alongside his Dad who is the CEO, Harry being second in command and then being the CEO when his Dad retires from the firm. They kept their family home, even if it was just the two of them, they loved the home and it still felt like Myla was living here, her makeup still tucked away in her unused vanity in Harrys bedroom and her favourite paintings still hung up around the home. Harry even hired a nanny, she has been working for him for two years now, she’s even working alongside Harry in his office being his receptionist during the day and she’s Honeys afternoon and night nanny when she’s done in work and Honey is home from school.

Y/N is Honeys nanny, she takes care of the little lady and feeds her daily, even taking her to the playground and to the movies when Honey asked her could she go. She would do anything for Honey and Honey loved her endlessly, she loved the way she would allow her to eat sneaky chocolate bars after dinner every now and then and how she would always play dollies with her, kneeling down on the floor of the den and playing with the small girl until they were both in fits of laughter. Harry also adored Y/N, her passion for her job at the law firm along with her passion for looking after Honey is something he admires, she never once complains about being exhausted even though he can tell when she is, she didn’t have to think twice when Harry offered her the job as Honeys nanny, she knew the little one from her being in the office every now and then, and Honey was instantly drawn to her, the way she was so kind and the way she cared for Honey.

Tonight is a hard night for Harry, it’s Myla’s death anniversary and he’s been having a bad day, his mind racing and his heart breaking all over again, but this time he’s stronger, he’s able to power through until he could be alone and just let his emotions go, have a glass of whiskey and just cry a little flipping through old photo albums — he does this every year on her anniversary. Honey is tucked up in bed and he’s sat alone in the den on the sofa, the photo albums on his lap and his hand clutching a small glass of whiskey as he sips on it flipping through many photos from their wedding and from when they were teens and drunk in love in high school — so many memories can be attached to one person, and Harry knew one day they would be memories, but he didn’t know it would be so soon.

“Honey is fast asleep, left her door cracked open so she can shout if she- Harry? Are you okay?” Y/N stops suddenly, her eyes landing on her boss who was hunched over a photo album on the sofa, curtains drawn and the only light coming from a lamp beside a framed wedding photo of him and Myla on the table by the sofa.

“Yeah, thanks for putting her to sleep” Harry says weakly, not turning around which alarms Y/N, she’s seen him like this last year, she let him be as she was only new to it, but this year she’s determined to sit with him all night if he needs — he needs to have some company.

“That’s you?” She asks sitting next to him, Harry not moving or telling her to leave, he accepts her company as she looks down at the photo his eyes are laid upon — two teenagers at a party.

“Yeah, m’hair was a curly mess” he says with a low laugh, looking over the photo of a seventeen year old version of himself, smiling cheekily clutching a red solo cup and Myla wrapped under his other arm holding him around his waist, both their smiles wide and cheeky and their cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol in their bodies.

“I think it looks cute, pitty it’s not as curly now” she says with a light laugh, watching as his ring clad fingers turn the page, taking a sip from his whiskey as he goes.

“This was our prom, she made me wear a pink fucking bow tie — absolutely hated it” he laughs, the crinkles by his eyes evident as Y/N laughs along, looking down at the curly headed teenager in a black suit, white shirt and a bright pink bow tie, matching Myla’s floor length dress next to him, a shawl over her shoulders matching as the corsage around her wrist match the pink of her dress also.

“She hated that dress a year later, she was packing up for college and I was helping her when she found it, immediately burst out laughing” he says laughing loudly, remembering back at the memory he has, Y/N beside him happy at how joyful he sounds speaking of the memories.

“Oh here we go, Frat boy Harry!” Y/N says with a loud laugh, pointing down at a shirtless twenty year old Harry, backwards cap on his head and “Myla’s Bitch!” Wrote on his stomach in paint, two beer bottles in his hands and Myla on his shoulders cheering with her hands up in a red bikini, matching his swimming trunks and baseball cap.

“Some of the best years of m’life, raging parties and no more curfews, we were two hormonal teens absolutely smitten for one another” he says shaking his head with a laugh, his eyes bright as he flicks them over the photos ranging from Harry dancing, Myla being pushed into the pool by him and Harry passed out with a mustache drawn on him with Myla next to him holding the marker with a bright smile mid laughter.

The book is filled with their college days, to their graduation day from college, their photo in their first apartment, Harry on his first day of work and Myla on hers. They took photos of small things, but at the time they meant the world to them, they were milestones in their lives and they never wanted to forget them. Harry is forever grateful that Myla had an obsession with photography, otherwise he wouldn’t have these to look back on and hopefully show Honey one day what her Mum was like, even if she’s drunk and half naked in some of them at college parties.

Harry and Y/N are in fits of laughter, tears falling from their faces as Harry explains every single memory behind each photo, one photo containing a memory of Myla at her bachelorette party, Harry coming out as a stripper and giving her a lap dance as she slaps his ass and throws money all over her husband — that one will definitely not be shown to Honey. Harry is like a whole different person when he speaks about her, his laugh becomes louder and his eyes become brighter, he even ditched his whiskey after one glass to speak about his late wife, Y/N looking at him with pure amazement and proudness of how far he’s come, how he pulled himself from a hard time and carried on life for the sake of his baby girl. He’s truly inspirational in her eyes.

“It should be easier than this by now, right? Like I shouldn’t be still grieving” he says when their laughs and stories come to a stop, their eyes hooded with sleep and faces hurting from laughing.

“What is grief, if not love persevering? You were both childhood sweethearts, you’ve loved her since you can remember and you always will, she’s your whole world, of course you’ll still grieve her, you still love her, and that’s okay” Y/N blurts out, her words quick as she blabs on while Harry watches her, a smile on his face as she explains and accepts his feelings.

“Never knew you were Shakespeare” is all he says, she rolls her eyes laughing, slapping his bicep a little as he shuts the album, tucking it away in the drawer again before turning his focus back onto Y/N beside him.

“Seriously though, never tell yourself you’ve been grieving for too long, it’s okay to grieve and cry yourself to sleep some nights, I get that, I do. You lost a person who made you who you are, but don’t forget, you still have a little one that will need you to be the person who makes her who she is”

Harry thinks she’s amazing, she’s smart and she’s so empathetic towards everyone and anyone. She has a heart of gold and she will never let anyone explain hers or anyone else’s feelings for them, she always allows people to express who they are, heck, one night she brought Harry to a gym after hours, explaining how her brother is a trainer there and he gave her the keys on the condition that she does his laundry for a month, she let Harry rage out and punch the shit out of a punching bag one night because he was so upset. She cheered him on and he was smiling as he was punching towards the end, she helped him release the emotions that built up and would of lead him back down a dark path.

She’s been an Angel sent from above, he knows Myla sent her to him because of how much they’re alike, Harry knows for sure they were sisters in a past life, their kind hearts and understanding natures alike but they have their differences, Myla was very out spoken and loved to party but Y/N is reserved and would rather stay inside with a hot chocolate and her crosswords while watching TV, but that’s another thing that Harry finds fascinating about her, she’s younger than him by eight years, when he was her age he was partying.

“Thank you Y/N, I needed this tonight” he says with a smile, her own smile on her face as she nods leaning over to rub her hand over his in a comforting manner, the pair looking at one another as they soak in their presences.

“It’s getting late, I should go” she says realising it’s nearly midnight, Harry and her need to be in work tomorrow morning and Harry has to wake up to get his little lady ready for school also. He gets a bit saddened when she says this, he secretly wants to hear more of her own college years and her own prom much like he told her earlier.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow” he says with a smile, watching as she gathers up her bag and throws it over her shoulder, car keys now in her hand as she smiles at him once more before heading for the den door. She pauses and looks back at him, his eyes meeting hers as they hold contact for a few seconds before she speaks up.

“See you tomorrow, Harry”

[julieloveupstead]

We're good. I just..., baby I'm just worried about you because I love you so much - (Upstead 08x14)

Description : A show of love, support and understanding. I love them.

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

Hailey sat on the couch, she was alone, the only sound coming from the TV. She waited for Jay who had gone to his place to get some clothes, by this time Hailey had cooled down and all the adrenaline that had been pulling at her all day was now subsiding. She felt bad about what she had done today, admittedly not a big deal but still. Again, she allowed her Sergeant's words to gaslight her doubts about her professional skills. She couldn't understand why Voight's opinions meant so much to her. It was the same thing last year, Hailey had done everything she could to make herself look like her boss, she'd gone to New York because of him, and it had taught her that she couldn't follow in Voight's footsteps because it would end badly. For so many years, she'd had evidence in front of her that fraternizing with the Sergeant didn't lead to anything good. Jay had warned her today, too, but she was in such a funk that nothing was getting through to her, and Jay was feeling the effects of that the most. He'd already lost one partner and he'd almost lost her. Hailey looked at her phone checking the time, it was almost 1am and Jay should have been at her place long ago. Maybe he changed his mind and stayed at his place because he didn't want to see her anymore tonight? All in all she wouldn't be surprised, she could barely stand herself. Today was the first time she had seen how much she had disappointed and pissed off her boyfriend. He was normally so calm, composed, not expressing his emotions much and trying not to show them too much in public, and the fact that he was showing anger at the scene meant that he was really angry. And that made her feel even worse about what had happened.

Hailey, tired after everything that had happened in the last few hours, must have fallen asleep because she was awakened by the sound of the phone ringing. Drowsy, she answered it without looking at the name of the sender

- "Upton"

- "Hailey, you finally answered. I thought something was wrong." - on the other side of the phone she heard Jay's worried voice. She quickly wiped her face with her hand to rouse herself and sat up straight.

- "Sorry, I just fell asleep." - She explained apologetically.

- "It's okay. Honey would you open the door for us?' - she heard an amused voice on the other side.

- "Yes I'm coming." - Hailey was amused by the whole situation. She had never fallen asleep so soundly to not hear someone knocking on her door, not while she was waiting for Jay. She must have really been exhausted.

- I'm sorry, I don't know how I didn't hear you knocking," she apologized again to her boyfriend, who only smiled.

- Nothing's wrong Hailey. The important thing is that you are okay - he said and hugged her tightly. At first she was surprised that after everything she had done today Jay was worried about her and that he was acting as if she hadn't upset him, but after a few seconds she gave in and snuggled into the safe arms of her man. She breathed in feeling the anxiety that gripped her after today's event, that Jay wouldn't want to see her or talk to her.

- Actually, I didn't expect you to come," she said truthfully pulling away from the brunet.

- Why, did you think that? - he asked, surprised by his girlfriend's statement.

- I don't know, but after everything I did today, I thought you were sick of me. - Hailey didn't expect that saying those words would hurt so much, but her honor didn't allow her to show how much. So she turned away from Jay and went to the kitchen to pour Whisky into the glasses she had prepared earlier.

- Hailey, you did what you did to get the person responsible for that boy's death," he said as he sat down on the couch and took the glass from Hailey. - I didn't like the fact that we went into that house without a warrant and I have to admit that I don't fully understand what was really driving you and the fact that I was angry, but that doesn't mean that I could get enough of you - he looked deep into his girlfriend's eyes. It broke his heart to hear Hailey talk about herself. - Come here to me Sunny - he grabbed his girlfriend's hand and pulled her close so she could sit on his lap.

- I'm sorry I gave you reason to think that - Jay looked guiltily at Hailey, who looked sad and lost. His heart was breaking at the sight. He kissed Hailey on the top of her head and hugged her tightly to him, and the blonde cuddled right back in.

- If anyone should apologize, it's me. I... I panicked. Again. I didn't want Voight to doubt my investigative skills. I felt like I had to prove to everyone again that I wasn't here by accident, that...

- That our relationship has nothing to do with your decisions," he finished for Hailey when she couldn't find the right words.

- Exactly. - she admitted quietly. - I hate feeling like I'm losing control of something. In order to survive the situation at home I had to follow certain rules and I owe it to myself to be alive and well, but as you know there are certain things, words that ruin my order and then I panic and do things like today.

- Hailey, look at me," he asked quietly. Every time he hears about what she had to go through his heart breaks. He wished he had known Hailey at that moment to make peace with her father and with every other man who had brought even one tear to her pretty face. It pained him to see his beloved like that and he felt powerless. He wanted so much that after the hell she had been through all these years now she would have only good things on her way. He wanted her to be happy because of him, but he didn't know how to ease the pain and trauma after all these years. And maybe that was the reason that pissed him off the most, because he could see that something was wrong with Hailey, that she was pulling away, and he didn't know how to remedy it. He had promised her a few weeks ago that he would help her, that he would figure something out, and what? He let her down. He let down the most important person in his entire world. - I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at Voight for making you stop believing in yourself and that you were a really great cop, even the FBI wanted you there, and it wasn't because of Hank, it was because of you and your skills. - He saw Hailey preparing to deny his words, but he continued. He had to make his girlfriend believe in herself again. - I've seen for a while now the effect what Voight says has on you and I don't like that he's using it the way he did today. He's manipulating you Hailey and I'm afraid that some tragedy is going to come out of this. I already lost you once, Hailey, and I don't want to go through what I went through without you again. I'm not gonna let Voight mess with your head. You are the most wonderful, wonderful and smartest person I know and you must never forget that. - Saying this, I saw tears appear in her eyes and immediately wiped them from her cheeks.

- So you're not mad at me and you don't want to break up with me and you're not sick of me? - she asked the question in a low, uncertain voice. Jay was hurt by how insecure she felt and how Hailey didn't believe anyone could love her. He promised himself that he would prove to her how much he loved her every day, every hour, every second of their life together, and he would never stop doing it. And he vows that as soon as he meets someone who has done her wrong he will kill them with his bare hands.

- Angry at you? I've never been mad at you and I never will be. You're too sweet for me to do that. And it never, ever crossed my mind for a second that I would get fed up with you and be the last idiot to want to break up with the love of my life. - He said in a calm, warm voice and with a small smile. Hailey could barely hold back her tears, and Jay was almost crying too. He couldn't help but feel each of Hailey's tears as his own. He can't stand to see his beloved cry, it always breaks his heart.

- So everything is okay with me? - she asked, still not believing her boyfriend's words. Jay grabbed Hailey's cheeks with his thumbs in circles and looked intently into her beautiful ocean blue eyes. He hoped that in his eyes Hailey would see that everything he said was what he felt, which was truth and true pure love.

- We're good. We're gonna be good always, until the end of our days. Honey I'm just terribly worried about you and this anger was caused by that. I was mad at myself for not being able to help you, and that's all it was, not that I was mad at you, okay? - Hailey must have finally believed me because I saw a slight smile appear on her face and the uncertainty in her eyes disappear.

- Jay you don't even realize how much you're helping me. Just the fact that you are with me and all my troubles, bad thoughts or panic disappear. - She shifted her position on his lap so that her whole body was facing him. She placed her hands on his cheeks and continued talking. Jay felt more drops of liquid slowly appear in his eyes. How much he loves her cannot be spoken. - You always say and even your brother told me yesterday that I saved you from death, and the truth is that you saved me and showed me that I deserve love, to love is not to hurt, and you taught me that love gives me wings, gives me a meaning to life. You give me the meaning of life, Jay - Jay couldn't stand it and joined his lips to Hailey's. It was just a brief kiss conveying how much he loved her. He rested his forehead on his girlfriend's forehead and closed his eyes enjoying her presence.

- You know I love you so much Angel - he opened his eyes to let his words reach this beautiful blonde girl, Hailey started to blush and Jay loved that he was the reason for it. - I love you Hailey Anne Upton and I will never stop. Angel you are the best thing that ever happened to me.

- Will you live with me? - He had not expected to hear that from his girlfriend. Hailey herself was surprised by her statement. It was a big step for her and especially for their relationship. She bit her lip, not sure if she had been hasty in her proposal.

- Do you want me to live here? - Jay made sure he heard right, Hailey confirmed eagerly with a nod, to which Jay laughed affectionately. - 'I was going to secretly bring my stuff anyway, but now I don't have to hide and I can bring a box of posters of my favorite superheroes that is always the style of my car,' Hailey laughed.

- Bear, where do you want to hang those Ninja Turtles of yours? - The sound of her laugh is the most beautiful he's ever heard and his heart beats even harder.

- In the bedroom? - he suggested, pretending to have a serious tone of voice, but by the look on Hailey's face he was sure she saw right through him.

- Not an option - she laughed even louder tilting her head back, Jay admired his girlfriend.

- You're beautiful Angel - he grabbed Hailey's hand, who blushed again. This is definitely one of the most favorite things.

- I love you Jay - this time she kissed Jay and then hugged him tightly.

Hailey realizes that she has a long and hard road ahead of her, but she knows that she can do anything with Jay by her side.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

sleeping on the blacktop

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, blood, gore, mentions of death, vomiting, medical terminology (that i know absolutely nothing about !! i am not a doctor or an emt—almost all of my knowledge is from an anatomy class or tv so—don’t come for me pls), my ramblings about fate and free will, i also gave the baby a name (sorry if you don’t like it :( i just hate having y/d/n, ya know? too much work)

word count: 8.5k

synopsis: while harry is away on tour, his wife and baby get into a car accident

author’s note: please, be mindful of the warnings and don't read if you're uncomfortable with anything mentioned and sorry for the sort of rushed ending... other than that, i hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

���You don’t need to do that,” Anne says from behind her, and Y/N flinches, nearly dropping a plate. She got lost in her thoughts, staring out the window in Anne’s kitchen.

“You cooked. It’s the least I can do,” she says. Anne grabs a rag and dries some of the dishes. Gemma is keeping Rhiannon occupied in the next room, and from the peals of laughter, it’s the happiest she’s been in days. Y/N sighs, wiping her pruned hands on a paper towel. If she’s being honest, she’s not doing too well; Rhia has had a hard time adjusting to not having Harry around all the time, causing a varied sleep schedule and more bouts of fussiness in general, and Y/N struggles keeping up.

“How’re you doing?”

Y/N hesitates. She contemplates lying. She doesn’t need one more person worrying for her, and she doesn’t want people to think that she can’t take care of her own child by herself. Harry already worries enough, even though she’s assured him many times that he doesn’t need to be.

She knows that he feels guilty for not being there all the time, but she would never force him to stop touring and doing what he loves, partly because she’s afraid he’ll resent her. Despite him being across an entire ocean, she never feels like he is far; he’s always willing to stop anything when she calls, and he tries his hardest to talk with her twice a day. She always keeps him as involved as possible, sending daily updates and photos.

“It’s tough,” she admits, “but it’s getting better, no need to worry about me.” She offers Anne a weak smile.

“Can’t help it,” she says, pinching her cheeks lightly.

Noticing the dimming sky, the sun sinking below the line of trees in the yard, Y/N sighs.

“We should probably go,” she mutters, slipping into the next room. Despite how tired she is, she can’t help the smile that takes over her face when Rhiannon looks up at her, showing her gums.

“Time to go, bug,” she says, light and lilting. Rhia kicks her legs, making her almost lose her balance. She’s too confident for her own good, like her father; she’s only just started sitting up on her own and thinks she can wiggle around without falling.

“You sure you’re okay to drive, love?” Anne asks from behind her. Y/N rolls her eyes, yet smiles fondly at her protectiveness.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only a few minutes away.”

Ever since Harry left for tour, Y/N has been staying in their lake cottage to be closer to Anne. It’s only a quick 20 minute drive away, which has been helpful during the days when Y/N needed to catch up on sleep, and Anne is always happy to help. She didn’t like to do that very often, feeling like she was taking advantage of her mother-in-law.

The cottage was a cute little thing, perfect for just the two of them, and Y/N was glad to get out of their shared home; it was too big and empty for just her and Rhia. Harry was always able to liven up any place they were at, but now that he’s gone, it felt hollow and dismal.

“You know you’re welcome to stay here. I’ve got plenty of room,” Anne tries to convince her one last time. As much as Y/N appreciated her worrying, she didn’t want to impose, and she’s sure that Anne wouldn’t want to listen to a fussy baby, even though she would deny it to the end of her days.

Y/N puts Rhia in her coat with little resistance, which is surprising, but she only had a short little nap that afternoon, and they had a busy day.

“I know, Anne, but I don’t want to intrude,” Y/N says. “Besides, Rhia sleeps better in our bed, and you need all the sleep you can get, don’t ya?” She tickles her daughter’s little bloated belly, making her giggle sweetly. Once she’s strapped in, the baby stretches and tries to put Y/N’s fingers in her mouth.

“You know I worry about you,” Anne sighs, kneeling next to Y/N.

“No need to worry,” Y/N smiles. Anne tucks the woven green blanket under Rhiannon’s legs. It’s the same blanket Harry had when he was a baby, barely held together with a few threads and love. Y/N stands, hoisting the carrier up to her hip.

“Call me when you get home, yeah?”

“Course,” she says, pressing a kiss to Anne’s cheek.

When they’re settled in the car, Anne stays out on the porch, watching them until they’re safely on the road, offering a wide smile and an air kiss. Y/N is so thankful to have her shoulder to lean on.

It’s a clear night, which Y/N is thankful for, no fog or rain, which isn’t an often occurrence. She stops at a sign, brakes squealing slightly. She stays there for a second, feeling the familiar burn of exhaustion behind her eyes. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Da, da,” Rhiannon mumbles. Y/N reaches behind her, barely able to reach her on the opposite side of the back seat, and she grabs onto her fingers.

“I know, peach,” Y/N sighs, “Miss daddy, too.”

She never considered how fragile life could be until she met Harry, not in the sense that death is an imminent and constant force, more in the sense that everything, her goals, her view on life, and her priorities, shifted when she met him. He became her influence, and she was willing to go through hell or high water just to be with him.

In summation, it takes all but five seconds for your life to completely change, for better or for worse.

There are dozens upon dozens of tiny events that build up and push you toward that one big moment that will change your life. Nothing is set in stone; different choices lead you down different paths, and your paths are constantly changing, either for better or worse, and slowly but surely, you’ll finally reach the top of that mountain. Every choice you questioned, every sacrifice you made, will come together in due time, just know that you’re working toward a greater purpose.

Y/N has never been a big believer in fate, that everything is beyond your control and that everything is already set in stone, but perhaps there is some truth to it. Fate could have pushed her to leave home when she was young. Fate could have put her on a safe and stable path when she went to university that landed her a good job when she was fresh out of her internship, and fate could have brought Harry into her life.

But she will never claim fate as a sole guide to her life. Fate is not responsible for her success nor her mistakes; that was all because of her hard work and integrity, her youth and ignorance. To her, fate is simply an excuse. People want to put blame on something, and when things seem out of their control or when they make bad decisions, they don’t feel quite as guilty. They’re willing to take credit for good things that happen but won’t when it affects them negatively.

Say, perhaps, that fate brought Y/N to that intersection, then maybe it was fate that planted the trees that obscured her vision; perhaps, it was fate that made the lights in the post go out that evening.

If so, fate has a twisted sense of humor.

If not, why wouldn’t fate give her any time to react before the impact?

How could fate be so cruel?

—

Working as an EMT, there are always certain risks you accept when you are on the clock; not only are you surrounded by an unbelievable pressure, there is always the ominous cloud looming overhead, a thin thread between life and death threatening to break at any moment, and it’s your job to keep them stable until they arrive at the hospital.

Not too hard, right?

Being able to save people from the brink of death and reuniting families makes almost everything worth it, but there are always scenes that stick with you for the rest of your life, and for Leslie Greene, this is one of them.

What stands out the most is the sound of a crying baby.

She’s seen some very horrific accidents: cars that have been reduced to nothing more than a ball of cheap scrap metal, with blood coating the shattered glass, to DOA’s, where the impact made them look unrecognizable. She has seen a lot of unspeakable things and had a lot of good people die on her watch.

But never has she ever had a baby present at any accident scene. That’s new.

Those cries will probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

“I didn’ see ‘em,” the man slurs from the police car. He has a bloodied lip and a slight bruise forming around his neck from the seat belt. The stench of rum rolls off him with every breath. He sits back, eyes dull and hooded, like he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

Another EMT meets with her half-way to the other vehicle, lodged against the ditch across the way.

“Driver side sustained some serious damage. The baby has no discernible injuries, but another ambulance is a minute out to take her.”

From the driver’s side, Leslie can see the baby on the opposite side of the backseat, the car seat still tightly in place. The baby flails about, legs and arms kicking with strength. The car is twisted and mangled, but most of the damage is on the driver’s side, the door latched closed. Shattered glass cracks beneath her boot.

When they’re finally able to get the car door open, the woman, barely even mobile, opens her eyes slightly, but she flinches back at the bright lights. Blood drips down from her hairline, bruises already forming on her eyes from the impact on the steering wheel. Blood pools on the leather seat as she shifts with discomfort.

James, a newbie who has never been to a scene with this much damage, breathes out shakily. Leslie turns to see his lips curling, close to dry heaving.

“Go get the baby, yeah?”

He nods quickly, pale in the face, and scurries to the other side. The baby is soothed only momentarily before her wails continue. The woman’s eyes snap open fully this time, panic clear on her features. She tugs fruitlessly on the seat belt, a pained groan leaving her when she moves too quickly.

“Please, don’t move. My name is Leslie. I’m here to help.” She presses a hand to her chest, feeling the woman’s racing heart. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she grits out, her eyes fluttering dangerously. From how she reacted to the lights, she probably has a concussion. Leslie cuts the seat belt, and glass falls onto the blacktop, clinking musically until they settle, like they’re sleeping. Through the gloves, she can feel how warm she is, sweat beading down from her forehead. Glass has settled in the divots of her wool sweater, but not before cutting her skin, caking the pearl necklace peeking from the neckline in blood.

“Y/N, I need you to turn a bit. I need to see where the bleeding is coming from,” Leslie says softly, inching her slowly onto her side. She sighs as more blood pools, gushing down her back and soaking her jumper further. It’s from a rib that broke through the skin. She can only hope that they didn’t puncture an organ.

“Does that hurt?” She asks as she puts pressure on the skin.

“No,” Y/N whimpers, eyes fluttering closed. When they get her on the stretcher, with minimal blood loss, she stirs with life again, her trembling hand reaching onto the sleeve of Leslie’s shirt, painting it red.

“Rhiannon—my baby girl—is she…” She swallows back tears.

“She’s fine.” Leslie knows that it’s unwise to lie to a patient; perhaps, she’s not entirely lying, but it’s never a good idea to give a victim a sure diagnosis without actually knowing anything. There may have been no physical signs of trauma to the baby, but internal problems are a very real possibility that they won’t know of until they get to the hospital.

She knows that she shouldn’t lie. It takes seven minutes to get to the nearest hospital, but it’s time that Y/N may not have; despite how quickly they were able to get her into the ambulance, she’s losing a lot of blood.

“Thank you,” Y/N sighs in relief, clutching onto her hand. Her wedding ring nearly cuts through the gloves from the pressure.

“Of course,” Leslie says, easily putting her on an IV.

“My husband,” she gasps suddenly, her arm jerking about. “Harry—he—he’s gonna be worried. ‘M supposed to call. He has to tell her goodnight—“

“Y/N, relax,” Leslie coos. “We will contact your husband. You need to focus on yourself, yeah? Don’t close your eyes, Y/N.”

Leslie can see the fear in her eyes; it’s something she’s grown very familiar with, but it’s not just fear for her own survival. She can see how scared she is for her family. She struggles to keep her eyes open, resilience and weakness fighting for power. Like any mother, she’s fighting for her family. She’s fighting to be able to hold onto and kiss them one more time.

She is trying so hard to fight for her family.

But at the same time, it’s so easy to give in.

“If I don’t make it,” she slurs, breathing quickly out of her nose. The blood from her nose slips down into her mouth, making her cough.

“Don’t say—”

“If I don’t, I need you to tell Harry that I love him, and that…” She lets out a pained whimper, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault, love.”

Her lip quivers, teeth chattering.

“I’m just sorry for everything.”

Leslie knows exactly what that means. She’s making amends, apologizing for not being able to fight. A lone tear slips from her eye, but Leslie wipes it away.

“I will.” She promises, gripping her hand tighter.

Only two more minutes.

Y/N gives her a thankful nod, and as if she has finally made peace with the world, she falls limp, the light leaving her eyes.

—

Harry has always enjoyed New York, and it’s not very often that he is able to stay for longer than one night. There is just something about it that’s completely different from London or L.A. that he likes about it; He couldn’t imagine actually living there, with the massive crowds and fluctuating weather, but it’s a nice place to visit, very different from what he’s used to.

He’s halfway through the tour for his most recent album, and New York is the last stop before he gets a short break to go home. He has a show tonight at Madison Square, a radio interview in the morning, and then, he’s home free. He’s been looking forward to this break before the tour even began. Don’t get him wrong, he loves performing and meeting fans and traveling the world, but now that he has a family, it gets more and more difficult not being there for the people who need him most.

“So, I heard,” the interviewer begins, smiling widely.

Sadly, Harry has already forgotten his name. The interview was supposed to be a short little thing for social media, only supposed to take 20 minutes, so he could prepare for the concert that evening, but it’s been nearly an hour, and there are no signs of stopping any time soon. Harry holds off yet another yawn, the lack of sleep from the night before washing over him. He’s having trouble focusing.

“You’ve got a baby girl.”

“Yes,” Harry beams. Even though he wants to keep his baby out of the limelight, he can’t help the excitement that fills his chest whenever she's mentioned. He can easily go on and on about how wonderful and sweet and perfect she is. He tugs on his pearl necklace, biting on his lips to keep quiet. He and Y/N agreed that it would be best for Rhia to grow up as normally as possible, which meant only posting about her on his private social media and avoiding busy places so as to not be seen, but some things were simply unavoidable, like interviewers trying to get him to let something about her slip to get their five-minutes-of-fame. It seems rude of him to completely ignore their questions, so he just sticks to very short, vague answers.

“How are you adjusting to fatherhood?”

“Uh,” he laughs, fiddling with his wedding ring. “It was a struggle to begin with. I will admit that, but it’s getting better. We’re still learning how to adjust to everything.”

He says it like he’s actually there, actively helping Y/N, even though he's on the other side of the world. He hasn’t seen his daughter in nearly two months; video chats have absolutely nothing on the real thing. He isn’t helping Y/N put Rhia to sleep when she’s feeling particularly fussy or feeding her at two in the morning, so Y/N can finally get some well-deserved sleep, and he’s not there to play with her or comfort her.

It feels like he’s lying.

He’s a sad excuse of a father. That’s what he really is.

The thought makes the smile fall from his face, but he’s quick to force another one; if there’s anything that he’s learned after years in the public eye, it’s how to fake emotions. The interviewer gives him an understanding smile. He’s older, but not too old, only having a few years on Harry, age wise, but the wrinkles beside his eyes and the nicked ring on his finger suggest years of familial experience.

“I completely understand. I have three boys of my own, and—”

“I am so sorry,” Jeff, Harry’s savior, says suddenly from behind the camera. “D’ya mind if I borrow Harry for a second?”

The interviewer nods.

“No problem. Take 15?”

Harry feels a twinge of guilt as he stands quickly from the chair, happy to finally have a break.

“Thanks,” Harry sighs, brushing past Jeff to the refreshment table. “‘M exhausted. Maybe it’s ‘cause of Rhi, but every little thing wakes me up. Swore I heard her cryin’ last night.” Jeff is quiet, fiddling with his hands nervously. Harry doesn’t notice how quiet the man has gotten, and he opens a bottle of water, rifling through his bag.

“Isn’t it almost 3? Y/N should be callin’ soon.”

“Harry,” Jeff says again, stronger this time. Harry still doesn’t notice how his voice breaks slightly, wobbly and hesitant.

“Yeah?” Harry drinks nearly half of the water, not sparing a glance up. He fishes for his phone, only to remember that he left it in the car. He sighs and turns. That’s when he finally notices how shaken up Jeff is, pale and nervous.

“What’s up? Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he laughs, downing the rest of his water before tossing it in the bin.

“Harry,” Jeff says again, soft and somber, and it makes Harry stop. Dread settles in his stomach, deep and heavy. Jeff has never been one to be the bearer of bad news, and he tended to beat around the bush. “Why don’t you sit down?” Jeff tries to guide Harry over to the cheap stool in the corner of the room, but he rips his arm from his grasp.

Harry has never been one to let his mind run wild; he’s the calm one, who looks at reason and logic. He's the one to tell everyone that everything’s going to be fine; he’s the one who takes everything in stride, like water rolling down his back. Bumps in the road are nothing. He’s the one that comes up with solutions and executes them with ease, but with the way Jeff is treating him, his heart races.

“What?”

“There’s been an accident,” Jeff says slowly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

It takes a second for Harry to process his words, but when he does, he stumbles back.

His mind automatically tries to reason with itself, that maybe it has nothing to do with him. Perhaps, something went wrong at the venue, and they would have to postpone, lengthening his stay for only a couple more days. Maybe, Mitch got food poisoning and will be unable to play that evening. There are dozens of reasonable explanations as to why Jeff pulled him aside, but Harry knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have such a mournful look in his eyes, if it isn’t anything less than very serious.

Okay, fine, there was an accident. That could mean so many different things. An accident doesn’t even necessarily mean that they are in grave danger; they could be walking away unscathed.

“W-what? I-i-is it Gem? Mum?” Endless scenarios flicker in his mind, each one worse than the last. The one thing that he doesn’t even consider is it being Y/N or Rhiannon. His mind refuses to go down that road; if it did, there’s no way of knowing how he would react. He doesn’t even consider the possibility of them being in trouble. He hates how long Jeff is taking to tell him, as if holding off will soften the blow. Irritation starts bubbling below the surface, and he finds it hard to keep calm.

“Harry,” he says, shaking his head. “Anne called me. There was a drunk driver, and they’re headed to the hospital now—”

“They?”

His heart stops for a second, and it feels like his chest collapses in on itself. His body feels like it’s reacting to a stressful situation, with adrenaline and fear and anger, but Harry isn’t thinking with a grieving mind; it’s cloudy and slow, delusional, even. He shakes his head.

“No,” Harry mutters, taking a step forward. He can feel tears burn in his eyes, and he makes no move to wipe them. “It wasn’t…” Harry can’t finish the question. It makes him nauseous. Jeff nods solemnly, which, in any other circumstance, would have been answer enough. “Say it,” Harry snaps.

It’s unreal, like a dream. This didn’t happen to him, not his family.

They’re safe. There’s just been a mistake. That’s the only reasonable explanation to everything. Someone made a mistake. Maybe a fan thought it would be funny to pretend to be his mum, and they somehow got Jeff’s number. It had to be a horrible, awful, repulsive joke to get some attention or something; as implausible as that seems, it’s the only thought that makes sense to him because he can’t possibly understand the weight of the truth. He doesn’t know if he can handle it.

His girls are fine.

They have to be.

“Harry—” Jeff tries to calm him down, seeing a bright red flush to his skin, frustration seeping through every pore. Anger isn’t becoming of Harry; Jeff has only seen him angry a couple of times, but never to this extent: red in the face, words shaky, eyes glassy.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“It was Y/N and Rhiannon.”

That is the absolute last thing that he wanted to hear.

Even though, deep down, he knew that they were in trouble. From the first moment Jeff said his name to how sickly he looked when he told him to sit down, Harry knew, deep in his heart and mind, that his family is in trouble. He just wasn’t willing to accept it or even think about it, as if that could change reality. Until Jeff said those five words that confirmed his worst nightmare.

And he feels his world come crashing down, but he’s stuck, frozen, mind not moving nearly as fast as it should be.

“My—my…” He stutters, throat closing. “My girls?” The ache in his chest increases tenfold, and he holds onto his, feeling the racing of his heart and his quick breathing. “You’re fuckin’ with me,” he scoffs, rage building. He shakes his head with denial. “What kind of fuckin’ prick—”

“I wouldn’t joke about—”

Harry knows that. Y/N and Jeff are close. Hell, they even considered making him their daughter’s godfather. Jeff would never joke about something this serious, and Harry knows that, but he isn’t willing to accept the reality because the reality is nearly too much for him to comprehend, to carry on his already weak shoulders.

“No, they’re not,” Harry closes his eyes, hands slipping through his hair like it normally does when he’s anxious. He tugs on it, but the pain is nothing compared to the sick feeling in his stomach or the crack in his pounding heart. He honestly feels like he’s going to be ill or pass out, feeling his mouth dry up, his hands clamming up, and he begins to feel light-headed.

“Y/N’s just about to call me. It’s Rhi’s bedtime.” He rambles, not listening to Jeff.

They can’t be going to a hospital. He talked to Y/N just this morning when he couldn’t fall asleep. He spoke about his worries and doubts and guilt that he felt for being so far away from them, and Y/N soothed all of his fears and reservations, reminding him why he does what he does. Before she left, she told him that she loved him, and he could hear Rhi babbling away in the background, content and happy and safe.

“There’s a plane leaving in a half an hour—”

“And I sing to her. That's the only way she’ll sleep through the night. She hasn’t been sleepin’ very well these past few days,” he says, lost in his thoughts. His words begin to slur.

“Harry, listen to me,” Jeff says, holding onto his shoulders, trying to keep him grounded, from falling apart. Harry doesn’t get anxious often, but when he does, everything comes to a startling halt; he’s not used to it, and he lets it overwhelm him until he can’t function. That’s the last thing anyone needs.

“No, no, they’re fine. They’re fine. They’re—” He swallows, and like a wave, realization dawns on him, drowning him. His family is in the hospital, and he’s not there with them. “Oh, god,” he cries, feeling bile burn his throat. He sinks to his knees, hand pitifully covering his mouth to keep from vomiting. His vision darkens. It feels like the walls are crumbling down, and he’s stuck, frozen and alone, with no one coming to save him.

Just like his girls.

“Harry, you can’t shut down, not now,” Jeff says, kneeling beside him. “They need you.”

He knows that. He needs to be strong for the both of them, so he wipes away his tears, clenches his jaw, and pushes everything down, even if it feels like he’s choking. He has to be strong for the both of them.

The drive to the airport is a blur. He swallows back his tears until his head feels like it’s going to burst and holds his breath until he can see black spots in his vision, but most of all, he’s numb. A small part of him is still trying to convince himself that this is all just a big misunderstanding, but the larger part, the part that’s screaming the loudest, tells him he’s being irrational and selfish.

It takes 7 hours to get home; he has to travel across an entire ocean to get to his family.

How unfair is that?

He wants to blame the world, God, fate. He wants to curse whatever force existed, but behind all of the hate and accusations and judgement, he is nothing more than a guilty, broken shell of a man.

He’s angry with himself, mostly, with the choices he’s made, with how selfish and greedy he was, and how inconsiderate his actions have been for the past few months. He can’t believe that he could be so self-centered, taking Y/N for granted. She’s his wife; they’re supposed to be partners, equals, and he treated her like she was disposable while he traveled the world, living out a dying dream.

He wishes he was there, to not only prevent it, but also to tell her just one last time how important she was to him and tell her of the pain that would spread in his chest at the possibility of losing her or their child; he wants so badly to show his love for her. In four days, they would have been celebrating six years together, and in that time, he has never doubted his love for her. He knew, from the moment they met, that she was meant to be with him until the very end. They were soulmates.

Now that he might lose her and his baby, he feels like his soul is being ripped out of his chest, leaving nothing but a gaping, painful void.

Jeff sends him a link to Twitter and a message: Harry, take all the time you need.

The post says: Due to a personal emergency, Harry will not be able to make the show at MSG this evening, and all tour dates from this moment forth will be canceled until further notice. Know that he wishes he could be with you all, and please, respect his privacy in these trying times.

He calls his mother shortly after, but she doesn’t answer. When he tries Gem, she picks up after a few rings, shaky and winded. He sighs, trying to quell the tremors in his hands. His lips quiver.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Gemma explains what happened to the best of her ability, that Y/N just left to go back to the cottage after eating dinner And that Anne received a call from the hospital, after he didn’t answer his phone (that part stung to hear).

“Please—” He begins, but his voice teeters and breaks at the end. He can’t help the tears that slip down his cheeks. Exhausted and weak, he finally cries. He cries for his wife, his child, and himself. They’re not heart-wrenching sobs, where he’s keeled over, grief and anxiety spilling out of every pore, but they leave him breathless, chest aching.

“Please, tell me everythin’s gonna be fine.”

Her silence is answer enough. She can’t promise him anything. It’s too early to tell, and she’s not going to lie to him, either, not when his wife and child’s life is in the balance.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Gemma admits, “but I will call you as soon—”

He hangs up before she can finish.

—

Rain thunders onto the broken concrete, a flash of lightning brightening the dull sky. Despite the rain, the earth nearly brimming with life, the hospital is dead. There’s not a soul going in or out. The lights flicker eerily in the corner of his eye. It’s four in the morning, so it’s not much of a surprise, but the sight of it being so lifeless just feels wrong.

His mind is moving quicker than the world can keep up with, it seems, and he feels like it goes against the laws of nature. It’s a strange feeling when you feel like you’re falling apart, but the world continues on; most people on the street wouldn’t bat an eye or even pay any notice to him as he’s deteriorating before their very eyes.

As irrational as it is, it feels wrong. It feels wrong that everyone else is able to go on while his life is crumbling.

He called Gemma when he landed, and there were still no updates on their condition. He broke dozens of traffic laws to get there, and now, he stands outside the entrance, still wearing his wool jumper from the day before, smelling like an airport, with rain soaking his hair. Droplets slip down his cheek and jaw, livening the dried tears from earlier, and they seep into his mouth; he can taste the salt.

He’s just staring at the flickering sign.

He can’t move.

Well, that’s not really it; he can move, he can feel, and he can see, but he doesn’t want to move.

How fucked up is that?

He doesn’t want to go inside. Despite all of his fears, and his longing for answers, and his need to see his family, he can’t move.

Because that would make everything real.

If he goes inside, if he pushes past those doors and sees the doctors, he can’t deny it anymore. When he goes inside, he has to face the very real possibility that he could lose his wife and daughter. He isn’t sure if he’s strong enough to handle it.

He’s being selfish. He knows that. He should be running inside, yelling at doctors and nurses to tell him what they’re doing about his family. He should be trying to do something, anything to see his wife and daughter.

But why is it so hard to move his feet?

And why does he still feel so numb?

He breathes in the cold air, burning his tender throat.

When he finally opens those doors, past the point of no return, he’s welcomed by a blinding light and the scent of antiseptic. The inside is just as lifeless, with dull white walls that leaves his head throbbing and dingy carpet that scrapes against his boots. He follows the signs, leading to the waiting room.

A new round of tears fills his eyes when he sees his mother’s familiar figure. He hasn’t wanted to just completely collapse into her arms, crying, in years, but now, he just wants to be in the comfort of her presence, to forget the world.

But he can’t, just like Jeff told him, he needs to stay strong, for them. He can’t shut down. He breathes out deeply, raises his head, and calls out for his mother.

Anne turns around, and when he sees Rhiannon pressed tightly to her chest, safe and sound, he feels more of his strength return, like he can breathe a little easier. He feels his knees weaken, but he keeps moving. He doesn’t feel quite so empty and broken and numb, a small ray of hope filling him for the first time in hours. He cups the back of her little head, thumb caressing the soft baby hairs. They’ve gotten thicker since the last time he saw her.

“She’s fine, Harry, just a little shaken up,” Anne says, smiling slightly.

His happiness is short lived when Gemma stands from behind Anne.

“Y/N’s in surgery right now. All we can do is wait,” she says, her eyes ringed with red, mirroring his own.

“Da,” Rhia says, and he smiles, a single tear running down his cheek. He wipes it and sniffles.

Y/N pretended to be upset when that was Rhi’s first word. She said it only hours before he had to leave. They were in their home, and Y/N was helping him lug his suitcases out of the bedroom when he heard it. It sounded like another babble, but it became clearer until—

“Da,” she squealed, bouncing in her little jumper chair. “Dada.” She hit a little plastic toy ring on the tray

“Y/N,” he called out for her and knelt down in front of his baby. She rushed out of the bedroom.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Say it again, peach, show mummy,” he cooed, and Rhi repeated it, again and again, reaching for her father.

“I carry her around for nine months and feed her out of my tit,” Y/N whined, “and this is the thanks I get?”

They laughed, nevertheless. It was a bittersweet moment, as he looks back on it now. He was so happy that Rhiannon was growing and learning, but she was growing up too fast for his liking. He lifted Rhi up out of the chair and pressed a gentle kiss to her chubby cheek, tears stinging behind his eyes.

“She’s just daddy’s little girl. Aren’t ya, peach?”

She left a slobbery kiss, well, her version of a kiss (which was more tongue than lip) on his nose. He scrunched up his face, and her features pinched together in return, mimicking him.

“See, jus’ a little mini-me you are,” he said, tickling under her chin.

And when she called out to him after saying their final farewells in the airport, it made it even more difficult for him to leave.

Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t leave.

He should have listened.

He’s knocked back into the present when his baby girl looks up at him, eyes lit up with innocence, completely unaware of the dire situation they’re in. They’re not in their London home, and Y/N’s not there with him. His lips wobble, nose burning. His chest hurts, whether from unshed tears or from the thought of actually losing the love of his life, he doesn’t know.

He cups his baby girl’s cheek.

Rhia has Y/N’s eyes. He loves her eyes. When she first opened them, as he held her for the first time, bundled tightly in his arms, he cried big, fat tears until they were all dried up. He felt nothing but love for this little human because she was a perfect mixture of him and Y/N. He loves Rhiannon’s eyes, but now, they serve as nothing but a deathly reminder of his wife, who could possibly not survive these next few hours.

She gives him a gummy smile, her little tongue slipping out over her lips. There’s some white peeking through her gums, and his heart aches. He wipes some drool from her chin, and she reaches for him, but he backs away.

His stomach sinks, and he wants the ground to swallow him whole. His mother looks at him softly, not a shred of disappointment apparent on her face, as if she knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his own daughter. His throat closes.

How could he be so weak?

Rhia’s smile drips down, but she lays her head back on her Nana’s shoulder. Anne cups the girl’s head, wrapping the thinly woven blanket tighter around her; sadness and pity present in the air.

“‘M gonna check in with the nurse, see how Y/N’s doin’,” he whispers, backing away, and he stumbles down the hallway, following the signs until he sees the nearest nurse, clad in pale blue scrubs. Even though he’s sure the nurse expects him to look nothing less than distraught, he smooths down his clothes and clears his throat, trying to quell the cries building, lips quivering pitifully.

“Do you have any information on Y/N Styles?” His voice is watery and broken.

The nurse looks at him with sad eyes, warm and understanding, like his mother’s. How does everyone else know what he’s feeling besides himself?

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” she says, and he simply nods. He doesn’t have the energy to be upset or press her anymore. The heaviness on his chest building, he doesn’t even try to stop it anymore. He just wants to wallow, curl up and cry until he’s finally able to wake up from this nightmare. He hates the feeling like he’s just given up, accepted that Y/N may not come back from this.

He wants to fight, but all of the fight he has left him as soon as Jeff told him the news.

“Thank you,” he whispers, heading back to the waiting room. He sits down silently on the chairs next to Gemma, the worn wood squealing from the sudden weight. Anne paces in front of them, rocking Rhia back and forth, like she has been for the past few hours; call it a nervous tick or a mother’s instinct, but holding Rhiannon calms her.

Gemma glances at him in the corner of her eye, unsure of how to comfort him in such a situation. He can see her

“I can’t hold her, Gem,” he says weakly, and she looks at him, finding his gaze held on the small little bundle in their mother’s arms. She sighs. “What if—” There’s a bitter taste on his tongue. He covers his mouth with trembling hands, trying to push back the cries swelling in his chest.

“What if Y/N dies?”

It’s one thing to think about it, but saying it aloud breaks his heart in two.

Y/N has been a constant in his life for six years, and in that time, she became his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his stability, who held his heart so close to her. Then, he thinks about his baby girl, who has had her mother for barely seven months, just to have her ripped away so easily because of some drunk who didn’t know when to quit, and he thinks he’s going to be sick again.

It takes only one mistake to set off a series of irreversible events.

Exhausted, he doesn’t fight the sob that comes out, his shoulders shaking as more and more. He heaves for breath, curling into himself. Gemma wraps an arm around him, and he cries into her shoulder. He feels useless, sinking further into the endless pit in his mind. He’s never considered the possibility of Y/N never being there with him, holding his hand through the fire, and now that possibility is very real; he can’t face it.

When he’s run himself dry, he finally looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and swollen cheeks.

“If she dies, I dunno if I could even look at her,” he admits. “To see her eyes...” Gemma just listens. She knows that there’s nothing she could ever say to make the situation any better. She holds her brother’s hands tightly. “I should have been here,” he says, nodding softly.

“Harry, there’s nothing you could have done. It’s that prick’s fault, not yours,” she says angrily. She’s trying to keep calm, for everyone’s sake, but it’s difficult when it feels like her family is being torn apart.

“I would’ve been driving,” Harry insists. “I would be the one in there, not her, and they would’ve been safe.”

“You don’t know that,” Gemma argues softly. She’s never seen him like this before, but that’s to be expected in the situation they’re in. He’s normally such an optimistic person, and to hear him degrade himself is almost too much to handle.

“If she does make it—”

“When she makes it,” Gem snaps.

“She’s gonna hate me. I know it.”

“She has never blamed you for anything, not when fans gave her shit, not when paps would follow her, and especially not when you had to leave. There are some things that are simply out of our control, and she understands. She understands that you can’t be there all the time. She understands that this is your job, and your job has made you who you are today. She won’t blame you for this either, so don’t blame yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” he sighs. It’s true. She does not understand what he’s gone through. She doesn’t know what it feels like, but she knows that the damage is already done. There’s no use in looking back and analyzing everything to see what they could have done differently.

“I should’ve been here.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“Harry?” A shallow, unfamiliar voice speaks from behind him, making everyone raise their heads.

Anxiety spikes in his stomach. He wonders how anyone could have recognized him, since there is absolutely no one else in the hospital, and how insensitive they would have to be to come talk to him while he’s in such a state. Anger bubbles within him, his skin turning hot as he turns to face the woman.

The blood on her uniform makes him pause.

“My name is Leslie. I was one of the first people on the scene.”

“Do you know anything?” She shakes her head sadly.

“But I was with your wife in the ambulance. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you and…” She coughs, hesitation clear on her features. “And not to give up.”

She probably doesn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words because when he stands and tugs her into a hug, she tenses, hesitantly wrapping her arms around him. Again, like when he saw his baby girl, hope warms him, blanketing and strengthening him.

It’s like Y/N is speaking to him through her.

“Thank you,” he whispers, offering her a weak smile. Just as they part, an older woman rounds the corner. Everyone sits up a little straighter, the air becoming a little tenser, when she gets closer to them.

“She’s resting, now, but she should be up in a few hours,” the doctor smiles.

Harry wants to crumple to the ground as a weight lifts from his chest, and he can finally breathe. He’s run ragged, a broken cry slipping out of his blubbering lips. He tugs Gemma into his arms, who returns the embrace wholeheartedly. Such relief and warmth fills him that he can barely hear the doctor as she continues.

“There was some pretty severe internal bleeding, but we got her stabilized. She also had a couple broken ribs, nothing that time and care won’t heal. After we do some more tests, she should be released in about a week. I can show you to her room, if you’d like?”

“Yes,” Harry cries.

When they reach Y/N’s room, Harry pauses outside and turns to his mother. Her eyes, noticing the confliction in his eyes, are soft and understanding. He never thought about seeing her in such a state until now, but least she’s still with him, his little fighter, just like Rhi.

“Mum, can I, uh…” He nibbles on his lip, holding his arms out.

“Course,” Anne says, moving the baby in his open arms.

“Hi, peach,” he says, smiling. She sleeps contentedly, her features relaxed. His heart twinges as she burrows herself into his chest, and he wraps the blanket a little tighter around her.

“We’ll go to the cottage and get some extra clothes for you all,” Gemma says, knowing that Harry needs this time alone. She tugs her mother, who hesitates but soon follows.

He expected her condition to be poor, but that doesn’t stop the burning in his eyes when he sees her, hooked up to what seems like dozens of machines, her face swollen, and stitches along her hairline; she looks so fragile, so broken, but her heart beat is strong, breathing steady. As if sensing her father’s discomfort, Rhi burrows further in his arms, snuffling lightly.

He settles in a chair next to Y/N’s bed, one hand holding hers while the other arm cradles his baby.

“Gave daddy a scare earlier, peach,” he coos. “Daddy’s sorry that he wasn’t there with ya.”

He promises her many things, that she’s safe, that nothing will ever happen to her, and that her mum is safe, too, but most importantly, he promises to be there for her. He cries silently, careful to keep the tears and painful jolts of his chest from waking Rhi. He just can’t help it. After the dust settles and the smoke is cleared, the gravity of the situation weighs on him: he could have lost the two most important people in his life, and he would not have been there.

A nurse stops by to bring a bassinet for Rhiannon and to check on Y/N, who is doing wonderfully, especially after such an invasive surgery.

Y/N wakes after about an hour, just as the sun peaks beyond the horizon. Harry is still up, of course, watching his girls, finding comfort in the heart monitor. He pushes the bassinet back and forth with his foot.

“H?”

He beams when he hears her voice, gravely and worn, but it’s her voice nonetheless, comforting and warm. He wishes that he could hold her and kiss her until his love heals her wounds, but he has to settle for holding her hand and kissing her forehead for the time being.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, tears slipping past her swollen eyes. “It happened so fast.”

“What are you sorry for, lovie? You did absolutely nothin��� wrong,” he says, brushing back her hair.

“You had to leave because I wasn’t being careful enough, and I—”

His heart aches, eyes glazing over. He hates that he made her feel like his job was more important than her.

“No, none of that,” he says, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter. Listen, this was not your fault, and as far as tour goes, it’s not nearly as important as you two. I would drop everythin’ if you needed me to. There is nothin’ that I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right? You both are my life, now; I made that promise the day we got married and the day she was born. You both are my number one priority, and I haven’t been treating you like it. For that, I’m so sorry.”

“Harry—”

“It was selfish of me to think that I could live in the past and the present, live the life that I used to while trying to be a father and a husband. It wasn’t fair of me, and I am so, so very sorry, babylove.”

He kisses her, careful of her bruises, and she sinks further into the bed, comforted by his warm words and tender touches. Her eyes, fluttering with exhaustion and filled with tears, refuse to close, as if she’s afraid that he’ll be gone by the time she wakes. He runs his thumb along her cheek, mindful of the swollen areas. For the first time in what feels like years, his mind is calm, basking in the feeling of happiness as he’s finally able to feel and see his family, safe and within his reach. That’s all he’s ever wanted, and as he sees her nodding off, he presses a quick kiss to her knuckles, whispering.

“Rest, lovie, I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

She falls asleep with a faint smile.

Perhaps, fate isn’t cruel as many think. Just like anything, it can be merciful and loving for those who are worth mercy and love.

—

[outofsstyles]

WHEN IN ROME - part 1

a/n: Ciao ragazzi!! So this is the part 1 of my friends to lovers featuring italy!Harry. Also a special thanks to my dear friend Giorgia for helping me with this, love her very much!! Hope everyone enjoys it!! Pease feel more than welcome to leave feedback (or just chat if you’d like) :)

Word count: 7k                                  Rated: M,mature

You visit your best friend in Rome and some old feeling may start to resurface.

You struggle with your luggage after one of the wheels got caught on a loose tile, making it jerk across the airport floor. 

The other passengers from your flight stroll along the illuminated hallway, towards the arrival gate exit. Looking around, you notice their tired faces; half-open eyelids and pouted lips, often opening in small yawns. You probably didn’t look much different, considering flying always tends to make you sleepy, which is why you preferred the night ones. 

This one, in particular, was supposed to have landed around sunset, giving you enough time to enjoy your Harry’s company before settling in the hotel room. What no one was expecting, however, was to hear a muffled voice announce through the speakers that your flight was expected to be delayed for about 3 hours. The news was annoying, sure, but you knew there was not much to be done about it. So you simply snuggled further on the uncomfortable metal seat as you rolled your eyes at some angry man who was trying to argue with the poor attendant.

The warm Italian weather was a refreshing change of settings when you finally got to step out of the aircraft, making you take off your cardigan and tie it firmly around your waist. It sent a sparkle of energy down your spine, knowing you arrived after what felt like such a dragged-out flight. But despite your tired state, you feel a warm feeling settling itself in your tummy. One that makes you fight back a smile and jump on your heels in excitement as you walk maybe a bit faster than you should. 

Going through the exit doors, it almost feels as if your heart wants to escape from your ribcage. The nervous anticipation filling every inch of your mind. 

You walk past the group of people gathered around the gate, politely declining the ones who approached you offering taxi rides in a strong accent. Peering around the busy area, it doesn’t take long until you spot the curly mop you were looking for, as he calls out your name.

You don’t hold back the smile that breaks into your face as you watch him approach you with open arms, his dimples marking his cheeks. Not giving a second thought, you let go of the handle of your suitcase, rushing to his direction. You find your place between his arms as he pulled you into a tight hug, arching his back a bit to make your feet leave the ground just barely. 

The scent of his cologne makes your eyes water just slightly, not realizing how much you had missed his presence until that moment. You nuzzle your face deeper into his neck, his arms tightening around you once more.

“Missed you so much, love,” he blurts, his voice muffled as his face squishes into your shoulder blades. 

Placing a quick kiss to the side of your face he pulls away, allowing you to take in his appearance up close for the first time in months. His hair was still short, but longer than it was the last time you’d seen him in person, some locks falling charmingly along with his face. 

You place your hands on his smooth face, rubbing it lightly, “you shaved!” You exclaim, referencing the last picture he had sent you, which showed a scruff growing along his upper lip and jawline. At the time, you were quick to text him to playfully let him know you were not the biggest fan of it. 

He rolls his eyes at you, shaking his head slightly as he pushes your hands away from his face. “‘m very happy to see you too, knobhead,” he mumbles, moving to retrieve your forgotten bag lying on the floor behind you.

“I’m just teasing, silly,” you pinch his chin jokingly as he comes back by your side, guiding you through the airport, “You know I support all your decisions, even the bad ones.”

“Okay, I get it, it’s a no for the beard,” he chuckles, “mum hated it too.”

“I’ve always trusted Anne’s good taste,” you provoke, making him poke you playfully before reaching to put his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug as you two walk. 

“‘S too bad your flight got delayed,” he says, “was planning on grabbing a bite and show you around fo’ a bit.”

Your heart grows a bit at his words, you reach your arm around his waist as to hug him back. “Yeah, it’s too bad,” you gaze up at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before he looked up again, “sorry for making you wait so long.”

“Stop that, don’t have to apologize,” he assures, “‘s not your fault.” He squeezes you against him gently, “‘sides we have the entire week to make it up fo’ it.”

When Harry broke in the news that he would be moving to Rome to pursue a photography degree you obviously felt heartbroken. You two were inseparable at the time and knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him every day anymore made your heartache. It couldn’t have come at a worse time either, you had just broken up with your boyfriend, and suddenly it felt like you were losing everyone you loved the most at the same time.

But still you swallowed back your selfish feelings to show him your support, promising to visit as soon as possible. 

In your ideal world, you would drop everything and pack your bags with him to start a fresh life somewhere else. But realistically speaking, you had too much tying you up to your home, and not nearly enough money to pay for tickets to Italy every weekend so you could visit your best friend as regularly as you wish.

So you hugged him goodbye with tearful eyes and shaky hands, watching him walk towards the departure gate as he waved back one last time.

That had been eight months ago. 

You never expected to take this long to finally be able to see him again, but life sometimes just doesn’t line up the way you want it to. Harry never let you lose contact, though, and for that, you were eternally grateful. He always made sure to call you at least once a week to catch up on each other’s lives. 

It was the highlight of your weeks if you were honest. Getting the comfort of seeing his face even if it was just to talk about trivial things like his recipe of vegan brownies or a new boutique shop that opened on the corner of your street.

But now you don’t have a screen separating the two of you anymore. You can see his smile without it being a pixelated image. You can hear his voice clear next to you. You can hug him back and feel his arms squeezing your waist. You can smell the faint lavender scent on his shirt, mixing with his cologne.

You definitely missed him much more than you’d realized.

**

The sound of your alarm clock rang softly through the compact hotel room. You sigh contentedly, reaching to turn it off before rolling on your back and blinking your eyes open with little internal fight. 

It wasn’t often you could feel this well-rested, especially after sleeping on a strange bed. But thinking about how tired you were the previous night, it didn’t take long for you to fall into a deep slumber as soon as you finally got to lie down. 

The sunlight invaded your small room through the cracks of the nearly closed curtains, making you realize you might’ve been too sleepy to bother on closing them all the way the previous night. Usually, in regular days, you’d lay back in bed and steal a few more minutes of sleep, which would eventually lead to maybe another hour or two of snoozing your alarm clock. But this wasn’t just a regular day, you were in Italy, and Harry would probably be waiting for you down in the lobby in just a few minutes. 

He had revealed none of the plans he made for the day, wanting to keep most of the trip a surprise for you. This habit of his of trying to keep a mysterious front usually makes you tease him with a roll of your eyes, but on this occasion you accepted it. You didn’t really care about what activities you’d do on your stay, as long as you can do it with him.

You check your bag to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything as you wait for the elevator to go down. Running your hands over your summer dress as the doors opened.

Walking into the lobby, you expected Harry to be late, considering he would always be the last one to arrive on any kind of social gathering you’d go before he moved. But to your surprise, you find him leaning against the reception counter, speaking excitedly to the sweet old lady that had welcomed you when you checked in. 

As you get closer to them, you can identify that they’re speaking Italian, making you smile softly at how easily the words flew through Harry’s lips as he speaks.

The lady notices you first, smiling at you as you approach the counter, making Harry check over his shoulder to find you standing behind him. His smile grows, his eyes traveling down your body so subtly it almost felt like your mind was making it up. He greets you with a small hug, looking back at the woman behind the counter one last time and saying something you don’t understand.

“She looks beautiful!” she speaks, her word flowing with a strong accent, “bellissima!” 

You feel a blush creeping to your cheeks as you thank her, wishing her a nice day before Harry and you make your way to leave through the front door. The hotel you’re staying in isn’t the fanciest, but it makes up with the cozy feel and charm you could only find in a small, old building. You chose it specifically for being located just a block away from Harry’s apartment, allowing you two to be closer to him.

“She seems nice,” you say once you turn into the street.

“She’s lovely,” he agrees, shooting you a quick look with a smirk on his face, “was telling me about her husband.”

“Oh,” you say, “What did she tell you?”

“Told me about how they met and all that, they’ve been married fo’ forty years!”

“You love those stories, don’t you?” You chuckle.

He rolls his eyes, “they’re sweet, okay?” he argues. “Not my fault you have a cold heart.”

You gasp, poking him playfully. “I don’t!” you exclaim, earning a knowingly look from him.

You walk a few more blocks along on the small sidewalk; the closeness making your hands brush slightly every so often. The day was nice, ideal for staying outside and enjoying the clear sky. A morning breeze messes up your hair a bit and the sounds of birds singing take over the empty street, along with Harry’s low hums to a tune you’re not familiar with.

He guides you to a small bakery, barely noticeable amongst the surrounding buildings. As you approach the entrance he explains how it’s one of his favorite places to go for what he says is “the best Italian breakfast in Rome!”

Walking inside you are met with the delicious smell of fresh-baked bread. The place is filled with quiet chatter as a few people sit on a long couch located by the back. An older man wearing an apron with various spots of flour on it greets Harry happily as you come in, pulling him into a small conversation you, once again, can’t really pick much of. 

Soon, you two are sitting at a small table by one of the large windows that overlook the street you came from. You bite into the sandwich as a pair of green irises watches you carefully, trying to catch a glimpse of your reaction. 

“So, what are we doing today?” You ask as you pick a few crumbles of bread left on your plate.

“You’re very impatient, haven’t changed a bit,” Harry replies, taking one last sip of his coffee. 

You roll your eyes at him, “you say that as if we haven’t talked in eight months.” 

He chuckles lightly as he leans back on his chair, his arms reaching over his head in a stretch. You try not to notice how his shirt rides up just barely, but enough for your eyes to wander a bit lower than you should’ve. When you meet his gaze again, he has a smirk adorning his face, knowing he just caught you not-so-subtly checking him out.

You clear your throat, praying the warmth you feel creeping on your cheeks isn’t noticeable as you try to think of how to cover up.

“Nice fit, by the way,” you motion towards his blue shirt with an imprint of Mickey Mouse on it, to which he matched with floral shorts. 

This was the kind of clothing combination that would most definitely look silly on anyone else, but Harry was the kind of person who could pull off wearing a potato sack. He just looked good in anything, it was almost aggravating if it wasn’t also endearing in a way. But you’d never say that out loud.

“D’you like it?” He asks as he moved his hands to pull at the hem, looking down at it before meeting your eyes with a smug look on his face. “‘S my tourist outfit.”

“Is it now?” You chuckled, “does that mean we’re being tourists today?”

“I mean, you are a tourist, but yes,” he said, “we’re sightseeing, baby.”

**

Walking around the historical neighborhood in Rome was an overwhelming feeling in every sense of the word. You knew choosing to visit the city at the peak of summer would come with tourist-filled streets so it didn’t surprise you to be met with congested crowds as you got closer to the historical sites. 

But as much as you were not the biggest fan of crowds, you couldn’t even feel bothered in the slightest by the masses of people surrounding you. The feeling of the city itself was ethereal, something that seemed right out of a movie screen. Timeless buildings stood tall above you, with the perfect combination of old-fashioned and modern. 

Harry is having fun with his camera, teasing you at the amazed expressions you made at every corner you turned. But you couldn’t help but feel like that. 

The day only helped to enhance the enchanting feeling of the place. With the sun shining proudly in the clear blue sky, but still catching a light breeze that relieved the heat that formed a light coat of sweat on your body, making you take big gulps out of your water bottle every so often. 

Even the air around you feels different. Something you couldn’t really explain, it was lighter. Harry said it was Italy’s perfect mixture of great food and great people - to which you can’t deny - but you know having him with you is also a big factor.

“Harry, please, I’m scared I’ll bump into someone,” you say,  moving your hands blindly in front of you.

“You won’t,” he replied, keeping his hand firmly above your eyes as he guides you. 

“What if I run over a child?”

“I find your lack of trust incredibly hurtful,” he says from behind, pulling you closer to him. “We’re almost there.”

“Do we really have to do this?” You chuckle.

“Yes, now shush.”

You walk a bit more before he stops. His chest meets your back as he leans in, the ends of his hair tickling your ear slightly. You mindlessly hold your breath, grabbing his wrists anxiously as you wait for him to remove his hands.

“Ready?” He asks. His low voice causing goosebumps to form on the back of your neck.

You nod quickly into his hands, bouncing on your feet slightly as you wait for him to pull out his hands from your eyes. 

It takes a second until your vision can get used to the sunlight after being in the dark, but as soon as you focus on the sight in front of you, it’s like all the air escapes from your lungs. The colosseum stands in all its glory, centered in the open area. A place you have only seen in pages of history books or through a screen. You bring your hand to cover your mouth mindlessly as you gasp at the gigantic monument. 

“How does it feel?” Harry bites his lip, grinning as he gazes quickly at the construction before looking back at you. “Seeing it fo’ the first time?”

“It’s incredible,” you gasp, your eyes still wandering around the sight in front of you. 

“It’s two thousand years old, you know,” he explains. “‘S why it kinda looks like a swiss cheese f’you look at it closely.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle, shaking your head at him. “Did you just compare one of humanity’s most historical monuments to cheese?”

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, “‘s a metaphor, darling, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Of course, I’m sorry for being so illiterate.” You joke, bumping your hip against his.

“‘S fine I’m used to it,” he provokes back. “So, are you just gonna stand there with your mouth open or are we going in?”

Your eyes widen at his question. “Wait.” you grab his arm as he looks at you with the most amused expression.”So we actually get to go inside?”

“Course we get to go inside, love.” He throws an arm above your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “What kind of tour guide d’you think I am?”

It warms your heart how much thought he clearly put into planning this trip for you. Not just planning it, but also making sure you’re enjoying all the aspects that Italy has to offer in your limited time here. Truthfully, the biggest reason that brought you here was him. Getting to visit one of the grandest cities in the world is just a bonus. A wonderful bonus. And you are glad to do it with him.

**

Okay, maybe you finally realize what people meant when they described Rome as “enchanting, yet congested” on the many traveling websites you had researched before packing your bags.

Harry warned you about it before you entered the small square - that isn’t even that small but the packed crowd makes it seem much enclosed. He keeps his hand holding securely onto your waist, pulling you close as you walk towards the fountain.

The fountain, yes, the whole reason you are here. Fontana di Trevi. One of Rome’s most prized monuments, and just taking one look at it you could see why. It’s gorgeous, not like any other fountain you’ve ever seen in your life. 

That seems to be a repeating theme in this place, finding the beauty in the most minimal details, like the flowers blooming on a building’s wall, but also on the obvious ones, like the carefully crafted statues posing forever on top of the marble stones.

As you get closer, your eyes never leave the artwork standing in front of you. You’re thankful for Harry’s grip on your waist, otherwise, you’d probably trip down the steps as you make your way through the crowd. 

You find a spot by the edge of the fountain surprisingly easily. Harry lets go of your waist to reach into his back pocket, retrieving a few coins and offering to you.

“Here.” 

“Do I make a wish?” you asked, picking a couple from his palm.

“No, there’s this whole thing,” he began, “f’you throw one means you’ll return to Rome,”  he held up a coin as he explained, “two, means you’ll get married, and three, s’to get a divorce.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “that’s a nice way to break the news, I guess.”

You looked down at your palm, quickly picking up a cent and throwing it at the fountain, watching it descend slowly into the clear water.

“There.”

“Just one, love?” Harry asked, making you look up at him to meet his gaze.

“Don’t really have anyone to get married to, do I?” you joked, “What about you?”

“Already made my wish when I first got here,” he replied, “not gonna risk throwing more.”

“How many did you throw?”

He simply grins down at you, letting your question linger in the air for a moment. You can feel his hand making its way on your waist again, pulling you closer to him.

.

**

You’re received at the bar table with excited cheers from the small group already gathered there. 

There’s an already annoying knot settling at the pit of your stomach. It’s something that has been bothering you throughout the day from the moment Harry mentioned you’d be meeting his friends for dinner. Even with his assurance that you’d be fine, telling you how excited they are to meet you, it still makes you a bit anxious. Of course you want to make a good impression, they are his friends after all. His new friends. 

What helps with your nerves a bit, is the fact that it’s not a massive amount of people, in fact, you are a bit surprised to see there’s only four of them. 

They all seem like they’ve just walked right out of a Vogue issue photoshoot, which makes you fidget with the fabric of your dress nervously. Harry keeps his hand placed on your lower back soothingly as he introduces you to everyone.

The two girls don’t even bat an eye in his direction, getting up to make their way directly to you. The first one pulls you into a tight hug immediately, the unexpected gesture causes you to take a second before hugging her back. She’s shorter than you, but she gives you a big smile as she introduces herself as Giorgia with an excited voice. Her look is very classy which stands out from the more laid-back outfits of the rest of the group.

You barely have time to separate from her before you’re being pulled into another hug. 

“I’m Francesca!” She says before pulling back, her blonde hair a bit messy on top of her head. “It’s very nice to finally meet you!”

You laugh softly at the warm welcome, “It’s lovely to meet you too.”

“We were all so excited to meet you,” Giorgia says, as you sit on the chair across from her. “Harry talks about you all the time.”

You glance at Harry who’s pulling the chair next to yours, arching your eyebrows at him. “Oh, does he now?”

“Alright, alright.” He scratches the tip of his nose, letting out a light chuckle. “Knew she’d do that as soon as you got here.”

“It’s my personal job to tease you at any given opportunity, H.” She reaches for the wine bottle, pouring it into a glass and handing it to you.

You give her a slight smile. “Think we’ll get along then.” You chuckle, moving the wine glass to your lips.

“Wait!” Giorgia stops you, “there’s a saying here in Italy that if you drink without toasting, you have seven years of bad sex, so.” 

“Oh,” you move the glass away from your mouth, raising it. “We don’t want that.”

“No, we don’t.” You hear Harry say from his spot next to you, moving his own glass to meet yours in a light click.

The night progresses bringing a warm feeling in all the pleasant ways. 

A light chatter fills the table, mixing with the sound of the other loud conversations from other young groups surrounding you. You risk learning a bit of Italian from the girls, as they tell excitedly stories about Harry’s first months not knowing the language.  It makes you feel silly for ever thinking they wouldn’t welcome you, seeing how they are treating you as if you are friends for years. 

But what makes your heart swell is seeing Harry so comfortable and laid-back amongst them. 

It may be the effect of the alcohol settling itself on your bloodstream, but as time passes, you find it harder to keep your eyes off of him. 

The crinkle in his eyes as he throws his head back with laughter brings an inevitable smile to your face. His hand squeezing your knee reassuringly, every so often, makes your breath catch in your throat. His eyes never leaving yours as you ramble about something you don’t even pay much attention to.

He’s listening closely to the words coming out of your mouth, his own lips forming a soft grin. You can feel your words start to get confusing as you become much aware of the distance between the two of you. It was close enough so you can notice the cloudy look in his eyes, but till not as close as you wish. 

Your mind seems to erase everything around you as you can see his eyes moving down, so quickly it almost seems like it’s part of your imagination. 

“You two look so cute together.” You hear Francesca’s sudden voice from the other side of the table, reminding that you’re not alone. “You’d make such a cute couple”

It catches you off guard, making you glance over to Harry before shaking your head. “Oh, I mean, I- Well- We’re not- We’ve never-”

“Francie!” Giorgia - thankfully - interrupts your nervous stutter, poking her friend gently in the arm. “You don’t just say stuff like that.”

“What? But it’s true!” Francesca says defensively, “they must get this all the time.” She turns back to you.”Right?”

You quickly bring your glass to your lips, taking a long sip as you decide to let Harry deal with the situation. You feel grateful for the dim lighting of the place, knowing it will cover the undeniable blush that you can tell is already covering your cheeks.

“I mean, yeah, we used to,” he begins, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. “But that’s just cause we slept together.”

You choke on your wine at his words, making him laugh at your clear affected state. “Harry!” You exclaim, hitting his chest lightly before gazing at the amused expressions watching the two of you. “We just slept together, literally. As in just sleep. And that was years ago!”

“I feel like I should take offense at your horror,” he teases.

“Wait- No! I- I didn’t mean it like that-” you try to explain.

“I enjoyed sleeping with you. Thought it was special.” He throws his head back dramatically.

You shake your head at him. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

He looks back at you with a smug look on his face, “maybe I’m just flattered.”

You look away from him, taking a sip of your wine as you hear laughter taking over the table.

“Told you, you are cute!” Francesca says once again.

**

The walk back to the hotel was filled with giggles and rushed whispers as to not disturb anyone, considering Harry’s warning about the loud acoustic of the narrow streets. Your minds were hazy and your chests warm as you stumbled along the way.

“Madame, you’re home.” He says, motioning dramatically towards the entrance door.

“Well, sir thank you for your company on this dark night,” you giggle, bowing slightly. “Seems like you’re a proper gentleman now, aren’t you?”

“Now?” he questions, an offended look taking over his face, making you giggle again. “Was I not before?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Of course you were!” you bring a hand over your mouth as an attempt to quiet your laughter.

“Well on that note, I’ll leave.” He turns on his heels.

You reach for his arms pulling him back to you. “No! Stop! I’m sorry, come back.”

He glances over his shoulder, allowing you to drag him towards you. His grin was visible on his face, dimples deep on his cheeks, as he wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you in. Your laugh stops on your throat when you gaze up to meet his eyes, realizing how close you were. 

Even in the poor lighting, you can still see the green of his irises as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek. The alcohol dancing in your mind making it seem like you were watching it from the outside, as you hold your breath, too afraid to make any kind of movement.

Your heart was loud on your chest. You wish you could read his mind, know his next move. His eyes looked at you almost as if they wanted to tell you something, but your head was too blurry to understand it.

You swallow dryly, “thank you for today, H.” You break the silence. “Was really nice.”

“‘F course, love.” He whispers, caressing his thumb gently over your cheekbone. “Should get some rest,” he says, “got another early day tomorrow.”

“Sure,” you breathe. “Good night, Harry.”

He leans in, your breath catching on your throat as he places a soft kiss on your forehead before pulling away completely.

“Buonanotte.”

**

“Gelatto!” You hold up the two ice cream cups before handing one to Harry and moving down to sit next to him on the steps, carefully avoiding the handlebar of your bike laying on the ground.

“Look at you!” He giggles, “by the end of the week you’ll be a proper Italian.”

You chuckle, “I mean, it’s not like this word is not written all over the store or anything.” you lick the ice cream off your spoon. “But I do have the best tour guide in Rome, so that helps a lot.”

“Is that so?”

You hum with your spoon between your lips, nodding at him.

“Should get his number then, heard he’s a pretty cool bloke.” He smirks, “heard he’s quite handsome as well.”

You roll your eyes at him, “he’s got a big head too.”

He scoffs, nuzzling you as you giggle. “You’re a pest.”

“I am?” You raise your eyebrows.

“Yes, you are.” He shakes his head, playing with the spoon on his ice cream before scooping a bit. 

You fall into a comfortable silence enjoying each other’s company with the soft sound of nature surrounding you. 

The day was thankfully cooler than the ones before, allowing you to sit underneath the sun without feeling like your skin was boiling. The light breeze helped to chill your hot skin, caused by all the cycling you did to get to the island.  

“Y’know,” Harry’s voice breaks into the silence. “I’m very happy that you’re here.”

You gaze up at him, smiling softly. “I’m very happy that I’m here too.”

“No, like really I-” he begins, meeting your eyes. “Thank you fo’ coming.”

“Of course I’d come, silly.” You say, “promised I would.”

“Yeah, I know but-” he looks down at his shoes, a frown forming between his eyebrows. “‘S just,” he sighs, almost in frustration, as if he doesn’t know how to say it. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, H.” Your eyebrows knit together - you can tell there’s something on his mind. “Where’s this coming from?”

“‘S nothing,” he brushes off, still not meeting your eyes.

“Almost fooled me there,” you say, bumping your shoulder on his softly. “You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know.” He looks at you, “was just thinking back to right before I moved. When I told you about it.” He shakes his head, gazing up to the river in front of you. “Felt like the worst friend in the world.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, “‘s just-” he begins, his eyebrow still in a frown - as if he’s searching for the right word to say.  “You just were in a bad place back then, felt so bad fo’ just leaving you like that.” He admits, glancing at you. “I’m sorry.”

You can feel your heart sink as the words come out of his mouth, knowing what he’s referencing to. Your breakup. 

It’s something you don’t really enjoy thinking about but still seems to come back to your mind occasionally, as if to haunt you. 

The entire relationship was a mess, to begin with, and it’s something you can only look back now and realize. From the start, you only accepted going out with him as a form of distraction from your genuine feelings - to which you assume now it’s incredibly unfair not only to him but to yourself. Truth to be told, you never loved him the way you were supposed to.

But as the months went by you learned to get used to it, telling yourself that maybe with time you would forget about who your heart yearned for. So you swallowed back that ache.

When it finally happened, it didn’t come as a surprise to you. You felt like it was inevitable that you wouldn’t last. What did surprise you were how harder the aftermath would be when you learned your biggest support was leaving.

So you look at Harry apologizing for it, not knowing how to express in words that the primary reason you were a mess back then, wasn’t because of the breakup at all.

“I’m sorry, shouldn’t have brought it up.” He apologizes after your lack of response.

“No, it’s fine.” You reassure, “just haven’t thought about it for a while.”

You can feel him watching you from the side of your vision.

“It killed me to see you with him.”

The sentence makes you freeze a bit. You’ve always known Harry wasn’t a big fan of ex. It wasn’t something explicit, considering he never spoke about his dislike of him. But you know Harry. You could tell from his dry words and uninterested eyes every time your boyfriend came up, that he disapproved. So hearing him admit it straightforwardly shocked you a bit, to say the least. 

“I-” You begin, but stop, not knowing how to end the sentence.

“‘m sorry, shouldn't’ve said that.”

“No. Harry-” you pause for a moment, his eyes never leaving you as you think how to say it. “He was a dick.”

“Yeah.” He agrees. “He really was, love.” His gaze moves forward, breaking the eye contact. “You deserve much better than that.”

Like who? You want to ask. Even if you already know the answer. Well, you think you know the answer.

The words get caught in your throat, screaming so loud inside your mind you physically shake your head, trying to stop thinking them. It’s that unsaid confession. The one you’ve been meaning to say long before you even dated your ex..

There’s an awkward pause in the air. One you created without even realizing, because of your lack of response. Harry clears his throat, getting up before offering one hand to help you do the same which you take it.

“We should go,” he says, his eyes still not meeting yours. “Still got to return the bikes.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” 

**

You let out a content hum as the orangy taste hits your tongue, scrunching your nose slightly at the bitter aftertaste, due to the alcohol in it.

“You don’t like it? Harry chuckles at your expression, pulling his glass back to his side of the table.

“It’s good,” you say, “Just looks like orange soda.”

Harry wraps his lips around the straw, taking a sip. “Suppose it does.”

The sound of a small boat passing by the river next you call your attention, making you gaze at it as it moved lazily across the water. You take a moment to appreciate the view from your table, feeling grateful for finding one right by the edge of the sidewalk, allowing you to look at it without lots of people serving as obstacles.

A pinkish and golden tone paints the sky, as the sun goes down to give space for the nighttime. The sound of someone playing the piano took over as background noise. The lights are already turned on though, reflecting beautifully by the water. You can see the masses of people strolling on the other edge where the expo was set up.

You were there earlier in the day, going through the small businesses and gazing at the artworks exposed on the tents. 

There was a particular rose necklace that caught your eye, making you run your finger through the delicate piece for a moment before deciding it was best to leave it be. To your surprise, a few minutes later, as you stopped to watch someone plays a ukulele version of Riptide, you feel a cold chain being wrapped around your neck. 

You looked back to find Harry smiling at you, muttering a shy “Surprise,” as you reach to your neck, only to find the same necklace you had been eyeing before.

The recent thought brings a smile to your face, causing you to play with the pendant.

“D’you remember,” Harry’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “When we went to that friend of yours birthday party.”

“Alice?” 

“I think so,” he says. “That party was shit.”

You laugh, “God, it really was.” You shake your head slightly at the memory. “We left after, like, ten minutes.”

“We did, yeah,” he says fondly. “Went to that petrol station at midnight to get those awful chips you like and ate them at that empty parking lot.”

“The one with the broken sign.”

“The one with the broken sign,” he smiles. “‘S one of my favorite memories.”

“Really?” You incline.

“Really.” He says, “can still picture you laughing at my terrible attempt at making jokes.” He looks down, poking his finger at the tablecloth. “Almost kissed you that day.”

You blink at him. Feeling your heart skip a beat at his confession. His eyes moving up to meet yours with a gleam to them.

Maybe it was the ethereal feeling that had settled into your mind from the first moment you got here. The one that made it seem like you were in one of those cheesy romcoms Harry loves so much. One where you found yourself in a breathtaking place along with your best friend, where you two slowly would come to the realization that maybe you felt like being more than just friends.

You tried your best to keep those thoughts away. Locking them down in the back of your mind and trying to forget they even exist. But like an annoying ich you can’t quite seem to reach, they would come back to you, almost in a provoking way, to remind you you couldn’t get rid of old feelings. No matter how hard you tried.

It was in the small moments when those thoughts came back to life. When he holds onto your waist in a crowded space so you wouldn’t get lost. Or how he always found a way to compliment you. 

Or even when he’s not even doing anything, but the string of lights above you just hit his face perfectly as he looks at you with the most affectionate eyes. His thumb finding your hand over the table, caressing it so gently that brought the most beautiful butterflies on your stomach.

Maybe the wine has gotten to your head but those unspoken words weigh so heavily on your tongue you can almost taste them.

But it was a little voice inside your head that makes you swallow them back. One that screams that this has become something too important to be thrown away in a failed attempt at a relationship. Whatever window that was of becoming more than friends had already been closed years ago. 

And with one look at his glistening eyes, you take a sip of your wine, deciding that those past feelings should stay in the past.

~*~

{PART 2}

[the-romantic-lady]

Surprised to hear you like Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou, given that you're a fan of Richard, Duke of York. Isn't that a conflict of interest or something? Lol. What's your opinion on Elizabeth Woodville and the Woodville clan, Margaret Beaufort, Warwick and the Neville clan, and George, Duke of Clarence? (Basically what's your opinion on the rest of the players of the Wars of the Roses lol.)

Gosh, anon you are encouraging me!! I love that you care about my thoughts <3. Alright then, let's start.

I used to be very anti-Margaret of Anjou. Until I started to look at things from her perspective. York was dangerously popular with a lot of children and a formidable wife. Margaret must have felt insecure. Also, there is this theory that Margaret's mentor and confidant William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk was murdered under the order of the Duke of York. That must have been a tipping point. But I still think that York was the better ruler and person. I will get a lot of hate for this, but women in general were not suitable rulers for the Middle Ages. They were often driven by more personal ideals (Empress Matilda vs. Stephen is a great example and Margaret was no different). Ofc there were men like that too but women seemed to always be like that. As a woman, I understand and the later periods were more suitable for female leadership. York was a much better ruler. He was driven by the stability of the realm rather than his personal issues (he put his own son-in-law in prison and Margaret wouldn't even budge on her failure advisors). And her entitlement was mind-boggling. I love how messed up she was. And Henry...I just feel sorry for him. The Middle Ages also were not a time for artistic and kind kings lol.

Elizabeth Woodville and the Woodville Clan:

As I have said, I pretty much like everyone before 1485 lol. But Elizabeth Woodville was annoying af. That made her interesting but I can't get over how incredibly greedy she was. She was the daughter of a minor gentry and widow of a Lancastrian knight. Edward makes her queen and she abuses that power so much. She has problems with everyone. Warwick, George, Richard, any noble who didn't kiss her arse and even Edward. Queens were meant to level the mind of King. Edward III's queen famously saved French clergy by going on her knees to beg the King for mercy. Ofc that was a bit dramatic but many Queens did this. It was called the Queen's mercy or something like that. But boy was she a hell of a woman. Despite being raised in a pretty privileged household, she was shrewd and survived to the end. She could have learned a thing or two from Cecily Neville about how to put that strong personality to better use but regardless. Also, I love how she was shunned fron Henry Tudor's court when Richard welcomed her to his with open arms. I mean...karma. But all in all, I like her. Its as they say "well behaved women seldom make history". She had flaws (so did the everyone else!) but her character is interesting and admirable. And despite that shaved forehead, she is a gorgeous woman. So I get where Edward was coming from XD The other social climbing members Woodville..not so much. The shameless way that they tried to push themselves in and take hold of power when they had literally fought on the losing Lancastrian side is embarrassing and oh so disgusting. Like Warwick secured the throne for Edward and they were given precedence over him. I just...yeah. John Woodville legit married a 65 year old duchess (he was 19) for money and power. They were a hungry bunch and courting them was Edward IV's biggest mistake and towards the end of his life, I think he saw that.

Margaret Beaufort

I will keep this short since I don't know much about her but I dislike her. I understand that she went through a lot. Her father apparently suicided when she was 1 and that is traumatic. And back then suicide was mocked and disgraced. She ofc blamed the Duke of York....cause at this point why not? She ofc went through a really young and traumatic birth at 13. Her husband was gross and that's that. And we know that Edward kept her son exiled so she couldn't see him. But despite all this, I just don't like her? I suppose its the super impressive Plantagenet women who just make me look at the sleezy and dull Margaret with disdain. And she gives me real phony vibes. Like at times, she just seemed to cosplay Cecily Neville lol. When you see women like Cecily Neville and Margaret of Anjou taking charge in the way they did, Margaret and her deceptive ways are just cringe worthy.

The Earl of Warwick

This man. Just this man. The way that England seemed to revolve around his whims is amazing. He was a real Duke of York stan and so I have to appreciate him. But he was so fearless. Henry VI, Edward IV, Margaret of Anjou, you name it. He stood against them. The Duke of York seemed to be someone he admired but other than that, he fought for himself. He helped Edward take the crown and worked hard to keep Edward's throne. He was embarrassed with the whole secret marriage saga but still stuck by. But Edward clearly forgot who he owed his success too. The man escaped an assassination by Henry VI's men and saved his father and uncle from it. He actually took charge in the first Battle of St. Albans in 1455 because his rivals the Percys were mocking him. I just love him. Ngl, sometimes when I read about him, I just blush. A man if there ever was one. There were so many attempts at disgracing him. He was the Captain of Calais and in that role fought Medieval pirates! And he was ruthless at it. People loved him and he carried that popularity well. I should stop fangirling over a dead guy. I think I made it pretty clear that I love him XD.

Neville clan

I like them too. Warwick's father was pretty much York's best friend and I love him for it. They were also social climbers like the Woodvilles but so much better at it. They didn't have the entitlement that the Woodvilles did and managed their powers well. Cecily Neville was ofc a Neville and she is one of my favorites. One of my favorite thing about them is how courageous they were. Like all of them. Unfortunately, Anne and Isabel are both obscure figures. I wish we knew more about them. They were pushed around like prizes. Good on Richard for giving Anne a position to make her own decision. I feel bad for those girls. Although the York brothers were known to be good looking so lucky them?

George, Duke of Clarence

Ah, George. I love this man. If there was one son of York who inherited his father's glamour and charm, it was George. And I love that he stood up to his brother and sister-in-law. He was sometimes too problematic but I still love that! Glamourous and problematic. How can one not love the man? Although his betrayal of Edward is kind of sad considering that Edward really tried to be like a dad to his brothers. George took Edward's love for granted for too long. His breakdown after his wife's death is really sad too. Interestingly, this seems to be a pattern with the Plantagenet men. They all have breakdowns and downfalls after the death of their wives. Their women are so much stronger emotionally.

I know this was long! I hope you enjoyed the post :D. I would love to know your thoughts too and if you agree or disagree. Seriously, thank you for letting me talk about this. Nothing makes me happier than to discuss these people!

[spectacularlyignorantt]

From the dining table

March 2017

Louis sat in the kitchen looking around, dust covering every possible surface. Princess Park, their first home, the place they bought together without telling anyone and then never sold after the breakup. Maybe because they couldn't see each other and not end up in bed, regretting it in the morning. Maybe because they both knew this time apart meant nothing. They were destined to be together, a love no one could understand, right?

The last time he saw Harry was after the presentation of his single Just Hold On on the X-Factor, but they had not been a proper couple for around a year. If you didn’t count the sex, of course. Louis didn’t. Sex didn’t mean much, not when he knew what it felt like to be in a relationship with Harry Styles for 5 years. They would have stopped seeing each other when the band started the hiatus if it wasn’t for his mom's health getting worse. Harry stood next to him all those months, giving him comfort, keeping her company when Louis was too tired to stay awake. Harry was part of his family, after all. And Louis knew Anne, Gems and Robin felt the same way about him. 

The reason for their break up was a mystery for everyone, a question never answered. They belonged together, no one could say the opposite after expending time with the couple for 10 minutes. Either you were blind or disgusted by their love, in a cute way. 

Louis knew, of course. It was a decision, more than anything. They felt like the only thing holding them together was the band and decided to take a break to figure out if there was more than that. So they never sold their first home because there was no chance they weren't going back together. 

Lately, Louis wasn’t so sure about that. To be honest, he wasn't sure about anything. The sky was pouring like it should be, for mood purposes. The lump in his throat made breathing hard, the weight in his chest holding him down in the chair. He closed his eyes, he wasn’t going to cry. The promise he made to his mother was still clear in his mind and it was killing him. Because lately, it felt like Harry had forgotten about them. With his solo music, the movie, all that pr girlfriends Louis knew he hated. All that glamour, all those lights. Why would he be thinking about Louis? Maybe they were right, maybe it wasn’t destiny but circumstance. 

Things got worse recently, after Niall went to his flat a couple of days before, wearing that big old tee and Louis told him he smelled like Harry. He wasn’t jealous, not really. It was Niall, for god’s sake. But Niall was around his baby a lot, they had a close friendship not many knew about. Something about the unusual sadness in Niall's eyes told him much more than the calls Haz never answered. Harry didn’t want him anymore. They were done. 

The pressure in his head felt compressive like the one in his heart. All those shots, pints and pot weren’t a good combination. Neither was that boy with curls but the wrong shade of green when he woke up that morning in a hotel room, unable to remember much about the night before. But what else could he do? How could he go to Harry right now and tell him he was sorry for his insecurities? For ruining everything without a good reason? How could he tell him he was sorry? Liam and Oli said he needed to give it time, but everyday felt a little bit more far away from home. So he came back. 

There was a notepad where they used to write the grocery list sitting on the counter, next to the fridge. He took it and the pen on the table, the dim light coming from the closed window. He didn't know what to do, how to get out of this pain, this love. How to be himself again. 

So Louis did the only thing he felt like he could do right: he wrote a song. It was more of a letter, really. But it was shaped like a song, that was his strong suit after all.  And Harry loved to see him write, once upon a time. Used to dance with him in that kitchen, used to make him pancakes in the morning. They used to talk and fuck and chat for hours between those walls. 

To Harry: 

Woke up alone in this hotel room

Played with myself, where were you?

Fell back to sleep, I got drunk by noon

I've never felt less cool 

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated, Harry

Why won't you ever be the first one to break?

Even my phone misses your call, by the way

I saw Niall the other day

He said you feel just fine

I see you gave him my old t-shirt

More of what was once mine

I see it's written, it's all over his face

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever say what you want to say?

Even my phone misses your call,

And by the way

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too

But you, you never do

Woke up this boy who looked just like you

I almost said your name

We haven't spoke since you went away

Comfortable silence is so overrated

Why won't you ever say what you want to say?

Even my phone misses your call

By the way…

 He stopped there, unable to continue. His hand was shaking, the tears were smushing the ink on the paper. What a fucking cliche, crying after promising himself he wasn’t going to do it. Nothing could hurt as much as losing his mum, nothing could compare. So why was he crying? Why couldn’t he just fucking stop?

Louis got up from the chair and walked away from the dining table, leaving the notepad there. He knew deep in his broken heart that the next time he came back it was going to be there. Left and forgotten, just like that house and those memories. Louis left it there next to his allowance to feel sorry for himself. He needed to grow up, get away from those parties and false people. He was going to get his shit together, write away his feelings and find his sound. 

And if Harry didn’t want him in his life, then there was nothing left to do, right?

May 2017

 The recording of Back to you was finally over and now they need it to work in the music video and he wanted to film it on Doncaster. It felt right to go back to his ‘home’, if he couldn't go back home, you know what I mean? It went well with the theme. 

Louis was driving back from the studio to his flat when a notification popped out in this phone: Harry’s album was out and apparently, people thought a couple of songs were about him. Louis wasn't going to be surprised if they were, both wrote about each other a lot along the way. And the fans loved to link things, made up theories about the Larry situation. Something he wished he could out and say ‘yes it was true but it's over now, please stop tagging me, it hurts’. It didn’t. not as much anymore. 

Or that’s what he thought until he heard track 4, Two Ghost. He knew those lyrics, Harry had written them years ago. That is what they used to call each other’s public images: ghosts. Images without a soul. What a young and dramatic pair they used to be, back in 2013. 

He didn't cry with that one, maybe because of its familiarity. And he wasn’t even mad about the songs about girls, he knew Harry better than that, even after all this time. 

Next was Sweet Creature, the one everyone was speculating about, and honestly Harry, ‘two hearts, one home’? The song felt different. Maybe because he thought that Harry didn’t really remember about their lost home, about being young and in love. Too young to know, most people used to say. What a fool he was for listening. Now he knew, and it was too late. 

Kiwi was funny in the most depressing way for him, Woman felt like an anthem, it felt like Harry’s jealousy, his deep and most dark possessive behavior. But then, when a chord from a guitar came in he went to his phone to check the name. He wasn’t quick enough, tho. The first verse stopped him right there. It was a good thing he parked in his apartment building a couple of songs ago. 

Because there, in the shape of the last song of H’s first album, it was Louis' letter. His feelings in a notepad, in the shape of an awkward song. Almost word by word, Harry’s voice filled the car with calmness and longing, a branch of olive. He was giving the first step. If those little easter eggs along the album weren’t enough, he took Louis letter from two fucking months ago and put it there. He probably had to push the label to do it, with such short notice. Harry went out of his way to let him know it wasn’t over. 

Harry went back to Princess Park, just like him. He went back home. 

 ----

His friend picked up the phone after two missed calls. 

‘Oi Lou, how ya doin?’ the thick Irish accent wasn’t enough of a distraction. 

‘Hey lad, I’m fine. Sorry to bother but I need to ask you something’ he could hear the urgency in his own voice. 

‘Never a bother mate, whatever you need’ Niall, always the optimistic. Louis loved him. 

‘Is Harry staying here? In London I mean’ 

‘What? What's going on?’ and then ‘Oh, the album is out, innit?’ 

‘Yeah…’

‘Okay, well, Harry was going to be with Nick today so yeah, he must be doing press shit’

‘Of course, makes sense, thank you mate. I will explain later ’

‘Sure, use protection’

Louis rolled his eyes but didn’t deny the implications. The car came to life once again and he started driving to Harry’s house. The one they used to spend time in when they had some time between recording and touring. He didn’t even feel annoyed by the traffic, listening to the album all over again. Letting his body welcome Harry once again.

Of course, he still had his keys, drowned deep in the glovebox. He wasn’t going to enter the actual house, but it wouldn’t have been smart to stay outside on the street, someone could recognise him. 

So once he parked in front of the building and noticed Harry wasn’t home, he closed his eyes and took a breath after what felt like hours. The next time he opened them there was a hand taping on his windows, he had fallen asleep.

It was a big hand adorned with rings and some nail polish. Louis knew what it felt to hold it more than he knew his own face. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Harry was waiting outside, a small smile making just one dimple appear. It was the first time they had seen each other in months but Louis felt like no time had passed. And if Louis was going to turn into an idiotic helpless cliche then it better be because of a boy as wonderful and beautiful as him. There was no one else. Harry was it. 

‘I thought it was going to take you longer ’

‘To listen to the album or to get my shit together? ’

Harry seemed to consider his answer for a second, the dramatic little shit that he was. Then he smiled and Louis forgave him immediately. 

‘Both’

Louis laughed and took a step closer to the love of his life. 

‘I’m sorry, baby, I'm really sorry ’

‘Me too’

‘If you let me kiss you right now I’m never letting you go again. It's your choice’

‘Never wanted you to go in the first place’

‘Right answer’

And then they kissed because there wasn't much left to say. At least not right now. The conversation could wait for the next morning, once they had sex, pancakes and maybe a little dance in the kitchen. For old times sake.

----

Soooo, I wrote this because I couldn’t get the idea of Louis writing this song out of my head. And like, it sounds so much like Harry’s writing, this is not a theory at all. But I liked the idea so yeah. It’s probably gonna be my first and only fic about Larry, hope you like it. 

All the mistakes are mine and its noy my first language, sorry if the grammar is trashy. Thanks. 

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 5)

Two life long friends. Secretly in love. Home for the holidays. Will they risk everything by telling the other how they feel? Or will they spend another year loving from afar?

Read these first    Prologue   Part 1    Part 2   Part 3    Part 4 

**

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” your mother smirked as you walked into the house. “I can’t believe you’ve been here almost a week and you’re just now coming to visit your mother.”

You rolled your eyes putting your coat on the hook and heading into the kitchen, “I’ve been here like three days… four at the most and I already told you. I have a deadline.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she sighed. “How’s that coming along?”

“I’m better off now than where I was before I left,” you said.

“Hm, maybe that means you should come home more often,” she raised an eyebrow.

This was a constant thing between you and your mother. She always claimed you never came home enough even though you made sure to visit a least a couple of days every other month. She would much rather you live here in Holmes Chapel, which technically was possible, but it made more sense for you to be in London.

“Anyway,” you said. “What do you have on the agenda for today?”

“Oh, I thought we could grab some breakfast and go do a little shopping,” she smiled.

“Oh, that would be great. I have some last minute shopping,” you said.

“I figured you did,” she laughed. “You definitely get that from me.”

You giggled, “So, ready to go?”

“Yep,” she smiled.

The drive into town where the main shops were located was mostly quiet. However, you could feel your mother glancing over at you.

“Just spit it out, already,” you said looking over at her.

“What are you talking about?” She smirked.

“You’re acting suspicious. There’s something on your mind, so spit it out,” you said.

“Oh, I’m just wondering how things are going over at Anne’s,” she said. “I heard Harry came home early.”

Your cheeks flushed red at the mention of Harry’s name. You were itching to tell your mother what had happened between you and Harry. Maybe not all the details, but that you two had confessed your feelings. But you and Harry had yet to establish what that meant for the two of you and you didn’t want to go blabbing about something that may not even workout. You hated having doubts, but there were very good reasons on why you did.

“Yeah, he came home the day after I got there, I think,” you said.

Speaking of when he got home, you couldn’t help but go back to the moment he walked in on you in the tub making you blush even more.

“Hm… have the two of you spoken at all?” She asked.

“We have,” you nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

“Hm,” she says.

“Okay, what are you doing?” You asked. “You’re being weird.”

“What? I’m just catching up with my daughter. What’s weird about that?” She asked.

“Your body language,” you said. “You’re tense and dragging out your thoughts. Your tone is one of those where you’re saying one thing, but have a whole other meaning behind it.”

“Look at you miss writer,” she joked. “But since you’re so aware… I was just wondering about you and Harry.”

“What do you mean about me and Harry? Just that we’re talking again… or that we’re working on our friendship?” You asked.

“Well, that but also… I didn’t know if maybe… you know,” she said.

“No, I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking what you’re getting at,” you laughed.

Although, in all honesty, you probably really did know what she was getting at, but you weren’t about to tell her that.

“I’m just wondering if you know… still are in love with him,” she said.

“Hold on, what do you mean still in love with him?” You asked.

“Y/N, darling, you’re my daughter. I know you. Yes, you and Harry were inseparable as best friends, but I saw the way you looked at him and the way you lit up whenever you were around him. I knew how you felt about him before even you did,” she said. “And I know things have been weird and distanced between you two the past few years, but that sort of love doesn’t just go away.”

You sighed looking out the window, “Then I guess you know the answer to your own question.”  

“Are you going to tell him?” She asked.

You bit your lip, still debating on telling her, but you couldn’t lie to her. She was your mother and plus she would have seen right through you.

“Weeelllll,” you said. “I kinda already told him… after he told me he was in love with me.”

As soon as the words left your lips, she slammed on the brings, pulling to the side of the road.

“And you’re just now telling me this!” She gasped. “Does Anne know? We’ve been waiting for ages for the two of you to come to your senses! What happened next? When did this happen?”

“Breathe, Mum,” you laughed. “One question at a time, please.”

“I’m sorry, now tell me details!” She insisted.

“I don’t know really, it just kinda happened. We’ve been talking and spending a little bit of time together the past few days in between my writing sessions. Then next thing I knew, he showed up at my door in the middle of the night telling me he was in love with me. That’s pretty much it. We haven’t even had a conversation about what happens next or what we want to happen next yet. We’re supposed to talk later tonight,” you said.

“What do you want to happen next?” She asked.

“Well, I obviously want to be with him. I want to give a relationship a try, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a little hesitant about it. There’s so many unknown scenarios and plus, we have really spoken in years. What if we’ve changed and we’re not the same people we fell in love with. What if it’s just the idea of us that we love and not each other,” you said.

“Those are all completely valid reasons, but honey, those can apply to anyone and every relationship,” she said.

“Okay, what about the whole long distance thing? It didn’t work out for us in regards to our friendship,” you sighed.

“Again completely valid,” she agreed. “But you two are older and in different places in your life. Plus, he’s not on the road for as long or as often.”

“That’s true,” you nodded.

“Look, whatever happens with you and Harry is up to you and Harry, but don’t let the fear of the unknown and what ifs keep you from letting you be with the one you love,” she said. “Would you rather live with the regret of never giving it a try and always wondering what might have happened, or would you rather live knowing you did and maybe it didn’t work out… or maybe it does. You just have to look at what decision you’ll be ready to live with.”

“You’ve been watching Dr. Phil again haven’t you?” You joked. “But seriously, I might use that line in my book.”

“Go right ahead, love,” she winked. “But in all seriousness, you and Harry really need to sit down, talk, and listen to one another.”

“I know,” you said. “We will. I promise.”

“Good,” she smiled. “You know I just want you to be happy.”

“I know and I love you for it,” you smiled.

“And I love you,” she smiled.

**

Harry did his best to sneak back into the house, but it didn’t matter how quiet he was because Anne was sitting in the chair in the living room sipping tea and reading a book.

“A bit early for you innit?” She smirked.

“I uh… I um.. “ Harry coughed. “Went for a run.”

“In your slippers?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Harry’s face blushed red, “I can explain,” he answered.

“You were with Y/N,” she stated. “Were you safe?”

“What? Oh my god, Mum,” He said, running his hands over his face. “What are you on about?”

“Hey, you two are adults. I just want to make sure you’re safe unless you want to make me a grandma already, which I’m not entirely opposed to,” she said.

“Mum seriously, stop,” he groaned. “We didn’t… I just slept out there.”

“Riiight,” she said.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mumbled. “It’s the truth.”

“Well either way, this must mean you finally told her how you felt,” she said.

“I did,” he nodded.

“And I take it she told you how she felt too?” Anne stated.

“Yep,” he nodded.

“So, when’s the wedding?” She smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes, “You need to chill.”

“Oh, come on,” she laughed. “Y/mom’s/name and I have been waiting for this day for ages. Ooh, I wonder if she knows?”

“Y/N’s with her now… so maybe,” Harry shrugged.

“How does it feel now that you’ve told her?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought.. I don't know...maybe it would feel like this huge moment… but I still feel the same.”

“Do you regret it?” She asked.

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I’d never regret telling the woman I love that I love her, but that was only the first step. I don’t know what this means for us now.”

“What do you want it to mean?” She asked. “What do you want to happen with Y/N?”

“I want to be with her,” he said. “I want to give a relationship a chance, but I kinda get the sense she’s a little apprehensive about.”

“Why do you think that?” She asked.

“Well for starters she kept putting off having the ‘what now’ conversation,” he sighed.

“Or she could just want time to let what happened soak in,” she said. “You and Y/N have been through a lot and have kept these feelings inside for so long, now that they’re out that’s going to take some getting used to.”

“That’s true,” he sighed. “I guess… I just pictured it to go a little differently.”

“You wanted your rom-com moment?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes at her, but didn’t say anything.

“Harry, look at me,” she said. “I know you and Y/N have missed out on a lot of time together, but you’re still so young. You don’t have to rush into anything. You have plenty of time. Everything doesn’t need to be figured out in a day.”

“I’m afraid I’m gonna lose her again, Mum,” he whispered. “Just when I’ve gotten her back.”

Anne got up from her chair, walking over to sit next to him on the couch, “You never lost her, sweetheart. She was always in here,” she smiled, placing her hand on his chest.

“I know,” he sighed. “But I fucked up when I let our friendship go… what if she can’t trust me to have a relationship?”

“I mean, she would have valid concern over that,” she said. “But that was years ago and if she wants to be with you, she would have to move on from that. And you would have to make sure what happened last time doesn’t happen again.”

“It wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“That’s good to hear,” she said. “But ultimately, in the end, you just need to talk to Y/N, whenever she’s ready. And you need to be ready to listen to her and accept that she may not want a relationship right now. You two aren’t as close as you used to be, things have changed, you’ve grown up. Take the time to get to know one another before you make this big decision, alright?”

“Says the woman who thought we had sex and asked when is the wedding,” he joked.

“Oh hush!” She said, slapping his arm.

He laughed, “No, I hear you, Mum and thanks for the talk… even if it started out a bit much.”

“You’re welcome, that’s what I’m here for,” she smiled.

Harry laughed wrapping his arms around her in a big hug. He definitely felt better about going into the conversation with you. He just hoped he felt the same way after it.

**

Dun. Dun. Dun.

How do you think the conversation is going to go? How do you want it to go?

Let me know! :)

Part 6 will be posted tomorrow at Midnight CST!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Déjà Vu (Or are we losing our minds?) -Modern!Shirbert

A/N: That’s right! I’m starting a new (old if you ask the fellas in Ao3 lmao) AWAE series!! I was waiting to have enough chapters and now that day is finally here! I hope you like it -Danny

Words: 3,961

Next Chapter

Chapter One: Make Your Own Decision.

'Two souls don't find each other

                                      by simple accident.'

Gilbert wasn't a morning person.

Medical school was a pain in the ass, he didn't need to say that to anyone– He didn't like to complain at all if he was honest, after all, it was thanks to school that he was going to become a doctor. Still, he missed the lazy mornings on his bed, no worries in the world apart from what his father would make for breakfast.

That was years ago, though. Now he was an adult (or the closest thing to it, anyway) and he had bills to pay, he didn't have to pay rent and that was certainly a good thing, Bash and Mary were a gift sent from heaven after his dad had died, but he still helped around their house, along with the schoolwork he worked on relentlessly while trying to ignore the uncertain future knocking on his door almost every day.

After all the sleepless nights pacing around the kitchen, lights on and coffee maker ready to go, memorizing things and finishing research papers, he's pretty sure this isn't exactly healthy, but if he's bound to have similar routines for the rest of his life, he might as well get used to it.

He tries not to think a lot about that, his future, that is. All around him friends start to settle down, move out to their own places, find love, travel, having adventures while he spends all his weekends locked in his room learning about a new subject that is just as thrilling as any date he could possibly have.

That's a lie, of course. He longs for a break, an excuse to run wild and free just one night.

Luckily for him, that opportunity comes this Friday.

___________________

Anne's in love with the early sunlight, that warm, clear light that slips through her window every morning to announce a new day with no mistakes in it yet was about to start.

She loves the quiet, how time slows down for her while she pours a second cup of tea for her morning readings before heading to school. She loves the muffled noises Diana and Cole make while getting up, letting her know she has to hurry if she wants to start her routine on time.

She's a simple young woman (a very new one at that, if she was honest) and the little things still manage to give her a thrill that parties or any kind of social interaction simply can't.

That's half a truth, of course. She misses the weekly reunions with her Highschool friends, the bike rides with Jerry, her old neighbor, whenever they needed someone to rant about stupid things and none of their friends was around to do so.

Despite all this, she is fine. Anne follows the path to her dream: to become a successful writer for all kinds of people, to tell the stories that people need most at the moments when all hope seems lost and love is scarce.

However, when her Highschool friends text her and Diana about a much-needed reunion, she didn't have to think twice before replying with 'Oh god, YES.'

___________________

The Orchard was fairly known for its homely 'aesthetic' as some would call it, which attracted the younger people that needed a break from their crazy student lives. The diner had originally belonged to Gilbert's dad, but when he passed away, it fell onto Gilbert's hands and him, not wanting to close the place that had so many memories of his childhood, decided to add Bash's name into the papers.

Their dads had been good friends most of their lives, and although Gilbert and Bash aren't the same age, he thinks of him as some kind of older brother who always helped him get through the hard times, especially right after his father was gone. It was only natural that Bash owned half of the diner, after all, he loved the place as much as Gilbert, for his father had worked there in the bar while Mr. Blythe served the costumers.

The two lousy boys had dedicated most of their free, youthful time, to run around the place like they owned it. Now that they did, it was pretty much the same, only that this time they run around placing food on the tables and scribbling people's orders.

After a few months of hectic confusion, Bash's mother practically forced them to hire more staff, since they had their hands full and Gilbert was breaking under the pressure that it was to keep the business going the same as his career.

They hired one of Gilbert's old friends and a few students that lived near the diner. Moody Spurgeon, Prissy Andrews, Charlie Sloane, and the Pauls (They weren't related, they just happened to be named Paul).

That Friday was the last before their winter break, so it was packed with tons of eager students wanting to eat their money away now that most of them were returning home for the holidays. This meant two wonderful things to Gilbert:

One, the diner was going great.

Two, he was getting the well-deserved sleep he'd been lacking for months.

Excluding that night, because that night he was going to get utterly shitfaced with Moody and company after their evening shift.

___________________

"I've never heard of that place before," Anne replied distractedly as she kept grabbing things from the table and putting them inside her bag.

"Students love that place, Ruby says they serve the best food and she's always there, but Jane says she's actually crushing on one of the waiters, though Ruby refuses to either confirm or deny..."

"Ruby's always crushing on someone, though," Cole replied. "If she's still going after all this time, the food must be worth it as much as any cute boy."

"I honestly don't care as long as there's enough room to sit and have a long, long chat with all of you," Anne smiled dreamily. "I've missed them so much! Even Josie– And you know how often she tends to get on my nerves!"

"You wouldn't be missing them so much if you could put the books down every once in a while to hang with us," Diana rolled her eyes. "Honestly Anne, it's a miracle you're not blind or wear glasses at all after all the hours you stay with your face glued to the pages."

"I'd look awful with glasses!" Anne grimaced. "I hope my eyesight stays the same for the rest of my life."

"Well then, take care of your eyes and take a break from those books. Leave your bag here, you won't need it," Cole grinned.

Anne's eyes landed on the bag laying on top of their table. That bag was used for one thing only: To carry as many books as possible in case she got bored, so she could read at any time, any place. Also to carry her keys and pads, but those weren't as important.

"But... what if the girls arrive late?"

"You can talk to us, or are we too boring for you now, Miss Literate?" Diana teased.

"You know that's not it," She rolled her eyes. "Okay, if you want I'll leave the books."

"Perfect," Cole clapped once and got up excitedly. "Let's go!"

___________________

"Gilbert, come back to earth and take this to table three, will you?" Charlie hissed, putting the plate in front of his nose and waking the boy abruptly.

"Sorry!" He jumped, walking hurriedly to said table.

When he got back, Charlie was still there, examining his face.

"Are you sure you want to go out, man? I can tell you're worn out, maybe you should take a–"

"No!" Gilbert growled. He cleared his throat and continued on a much lighter voice after noticing this. "I- Uh, I'll be fine. I'll sleep all I want tomorrow, but today I really want to go out, before you and the boys go back to your homes for Christmas."

Charlie nodded with uncertainty.

"Maybe you should change places with Bash? The kitchen might keep you alert instead of sitting here and wait for people to call you over."

"Yeah..."

"I'll get him," His friend decided, walking back to the kitchen.

Gilbert heard the entrance's bell ring and turned to see Ruby Gillis and a few other girls enter.

Ruby was a good and constant client. He was glad about Bash taking his place because he believed that Ruby had a crush on Moody, and the waiter always took her orders no matter the table she was in, he didn't have enough energy to watch them ogle at each other.

"You okay, Blythe?" Bash patted his back once he and Charlie reappeared behind him. "You're sure you want to go out? With that look, you're likely to scare all the ladies away instead of getting a date for our Christmas party."

"Very funny," Gilbert scoffed. "I'm fine, I just need to stay active."

Before either Bash or Charlie could reply, he rushed into the kitchen, missing the exact moment when three new costumers arrived at the place.

***

"I see why people love it here," Anne said. "I feel cozy just by looking at it!"

"Yeah," Cole agreed, frowning slightly. "We are going to a bar after this, aren't we?"

"Cole!" They replied.

"I'm just asking!" He exclaimed. "It's lovely and all, but I'm not spending my last weekend away from my maniac siblings eating a freaking burger."

"It's likely," Diana retorted. When she noticed Anne's eyes widening, she quickly added. "No one will force you to get drunk, I know you hate how... uhm– Well, how crazy you get."

"I love drunk Anne!" Cole laughed. "Last time I saw her we were playing truth or dare and she was dared to kiss one of my friends, but then I convinced Josie to change the dare and after that Anne grabbed me by the collar and whispered very loudly. 'Thank you Cole. I actually want to kiss you now' and when I reminded her I was gay, she retorted 'Oh, sorry Gay, I thought you were Cole' "

Diana and Cole chortled, Anne shook her head in horror.

"Drunk me is terrible!"

"No! Only her puns are."

"Can we just get a table, please?"

"Oh!" Diana grabbed her arm, pulling her to a distant corner. "They're here already!"

The next few hours passed way too fast. Anne, finally reunited with her best friends, felt as if she was finally coming back to life.

As Diana had predicted, they decided to go to a bar a few streets down the road from The Orchard. A place their waiter, a young man named Moody and who Anne suspected was the waiter Ruby had feelings for, had recommended to them, casually letting them know that he was going to be there after work with a few of his friends. Ruby practically dragged them to the bar as soon as they paid the bill.

"Bet Ruby ends up declaring her love to that waiter in less than an hour, and ends up spending the rest of the Holidays mourning because she scared him away," Josie whispered audibly to Jane and Anne. The former sniggered and nudged Josie's arm. Anne frowned worryingly towards her friend, really hoping that wasn't the case.

___________________

"Who's ready to lose all memories from whatever happens tonight?" Paul asked loudly over the music, placing a bunch of drinks in front of the group.

The boys answered by chugging down drink after drink, getting clumsier as time went by.

Gilbert was having a blast, most of his days he wishes he could go back to being a teenager, slightly more different than the one he was. One that wasn't all that quiet and reserved and bitter about his dad's fate.

He longed for his lost youth, where he would attend parties and go to prom looking sharp, accompanied by a pretty girl beside him. All those teams and clubs he had to leave to stay home and spend the last days of his father's life next to his bed, all those gatherings he missed with people from other places because he had to get the best grades so one day he could be a doctor, so he could save the people he loved... so he didn't have to live through the uncertainty and the uselessness again.

Tonight he was finally getting that, he could pretend he was still just a boy, a stupid boy who didn't know how to drink and most certainly would end up throwing up half his stomach out of his body, but a happy boy at least.

"You know," He yelled to no one in particular. "Did you know, that you guys are my best friends?"

The boys replied with words of appreciation, patting his back harshly. Charlie even hugged him.

"I mean it!" He continued. "These last few months have been shit. There, I said it. Shit."

"What you need," One of the Pauls said, he wasn't as drunk as Gilbert, but he was definitely almost there. "What you need is to get laid."

The boys erupted into mayhem, agreeing with Paul. All of them except for Gilbert.

He frowned, not understanding what they meant.

"I said I'm not tired," Gilbert shook his head, his whole body losing stability and crashing against Moody, who held him in place as if it was normal to lose your ground while sitting on a chair. "I don't need to lay in bed just yet."

"I meant sex," Paul retorted, chugging down half of what he had in his glass.

"Oh," Gilbert sat back, eyebrows raising as if he'd never thought about it before. "Well, that's different."

"You need a break," Charlie slurred. "Or is the good doctor too much of a saint to touch a strange girl?"

"I'm not," Gilbert huffed, drinking what was left of his drink. "I can have sex. I like sex!"

"But Gilbert, you've never had–" Moody started, but was soon cut off by Gilbert's sudden movement.

The young man stood up, leaning on the table and losing all the color on his face. The rest of the group moved away as Moody grabbed Gilbert by the shoulders and straightened him up.

"Gilbert?" He asked, slightly coming back to his senses.

"Bathroom," He said quietly.

"Alright," Moody gulped. "Be right back, guys. Gilbert needs a moment."

___________________

Anne spent the majority of the night talking with everyone, and the problem with that is that she gets thirsty when that happens. Which is a dangerous thing to be at a bar.

Still, Cole -what a great friend he was- made sure to always keep her glass full so she could take sip after sip without having to wait.

She knew she was far from sober when she found herself in the middle of an argument with Josie and Tillie about zodiac signs. Anne was talkative on the daily, but after a few drinks she was simply unstoppable- There was no soul on earth or heaven that could follow her train of thoughts, and right now she wasn't even sure she was following them herself.

"I have to pee," She said, interrupting her own story and sliding out of their booth to stand up.

"I'll go with you," Ruby said, impatient to have an excuse to stand up and look around for Moody, she'd barely touched her drink all night.

"Okay, but it's not like I need help or anything," Anne rolled her eyes, accidentally stepping on Tillie's foot. "Woops! Sorry, Tillie!"

Cole watched her along with Diana, both raising their glasses and making a silent toast for their friend. Anne was finally having fun after such a dull term and it was simply amusing watching her act so recklessly during her drunken state.

"Don't stay for too long Anne," Ruby warned her. "Last time you fell asleep inside the stall and Diana had to crawl underneath to get you out!"

"It wasn't my fault!" She replied loudly. "I hadn't slept at all that week, and the alcohol makes wonders to my insomnia."

"I think you've had enough for tonight as well," Ruby grinned. "I'll get you a cold glass of water once where back in our table, okay?"

Anne nodded, silently making her way into the girl's toilet. Since it was just one bathroom, Ruby had to stand outside, leaning on the sink and examining her reflection on the mirror. Two men, one dragging the other, walk past her in a rush and opened the boy's bathroom harshly, the one who'd been dragged quickly fell to his knees and started vomiting his guts out.

"Oh my god!" Ruby gasped, covering her mouth in horror. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," The guy said without turning to see her. "He doesn't drink this much often, that's all."

The young man stood up once he made sure Gilbert was doing fine on his own, not choking or anything, and turn to meet the blonde's eyes.

"Oh," His cheeks reddened. "Hi!"

"Moody!" She exclaimed happily. "You weren't lying, you came here after all!"

"Yeah," He smiled. "We wanted to give our buddy Gilbert a good night before we return home. Now I'm not so sure about it..." He grimaced at hearing his friend's grunts and gags.

"I'm with my friends as well, but I..." Ruby blushed lightly, even that she managed to make enchanting. "If you have time, we could seat together for a moment? Just the two of us?"

"Right now?" Moody asked in surprise.

"Well, no," Ruby peered over his shoulder at the boy's bathroom. "Not if you can't, I see your friend is feeling terrible..."

"He'll recover," Moody brushed it off. "He's studying to become a doctor, you know? I bet he'll see his way out now that the alcohol's out of his system"

"You're sure?" The girl inquired.

"Are you able right now?" Moody looked behind her to see the girl's door. "Were you waiting in line or is one of your friends there?"

"A friend, she's also wasted," Ruby said, pondering her options. "But... I guess if she managed to walk all the way here on her own... she can walk back just fine?"

Moody's smile widened.

"We better go get those drinks, then?"

"Sure!" Ruby exclaimed, holding Moody's wrist and dragging him back to the bar.

A minute after her friend had left, Anne walked out of the toilet, mid-conversation with a Ruby she didn't know was no longer there.

"... and the toilets here are so comfortable, I almost felt tempted to have a nap right there, but a promise is a promise– See, Ruby? I didn't stay for too long!" She looked up to find the spot empty, her confidence falling. "Or perhaps I did..?"

Lightly stumbling her way over to the sink, she focused on washing her hands before going back. Her reflection looked back at her and smiled happily, putting some strands of loose hair behind her ear and failing to notice the boy's door opening.

There was a small slate on her right with the words 'Wash your hands before you leave! :)' written with purple chalk that she found adorable. She picked it up to examine it further when a body clumsily crashed against her side.

"Woops!" The man said, not looking up. "Sorry."

Anne raised her brow for a second before turning her attention back to the slate.

Gilbert washed his face and hands, the world less blurry than before but still awfully intoxicated. Paul's comment came back to him and feeling the girl's presence behind his back he decided it was rather convenient.

"Excuse me," He asked, looking up and facing the girl's reflection. "Can I ask you something?"

It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her, the man kept staring at the mirror instead of turning to face her, but she could sort of see his face under the dim lights looking back at her though, and since she was feeling rather chatty, she obliged.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Do I look like I need sex?"

Anne laughed.

"Dunno, why're you asking?"

"My life sucks," Gilbert shook his head casually. "And I'm about to have the worst hangover ever."

"That makes two of us, dude."

Gilbert tilted his head, turning to see her now, taking in her appearance.

"You would have sex with me?"

"Excuse me," Anne frowned. "I barely know you!"

"Yeah, but am I attractive?"

"It doesn't matter, I wouldn't have sex with a stranger."

"Very well, then imagine that I'm not a stranger," Gilbert rolled his eyes, having to hold on to the corner of the sink so as not to lose his balance. "Would you do it?"

Anne started to imagine, she imagined a great deal so she could give a precise answer.

"Well, I'd have to know your medical records cause I don't wanna get any diseases, and then I'd have to find you likable because looks aren't everything– and if I'm having sex with you I probably want something that lasts–"

"Nevermind," Gilbert snorted. "I think we're both better if we don't have anything at all."

"Why's that?" Anne asked irritatedly, this guy was making no sense to her.

"You overthink a lot and I already do that way too much for my own good," Gilbert explained.

"Oh, so you'd rather take advantage of a dumb girl, is that what you're saying?"

"That's what you're saying," He scoffed. "I only asked if you'd have sex with me in a hypothetical scenario but you rambled on with the rest, Carrots."

"I was giving an honest reply," She stated. "And don't call me, Carrots. You sound like a child."

Gilbert laughed loudly at that.

"Better a child than a grumpy librarian," He walked up to her, grabbed a strand of her hair and pulled lightly, with a taunting voice, he added. "Carrots."

Anne's fingers gripped the slate harder than ever as she flung it to the man's head. It was small and thin, so it didn't cause severe damage, but the slate broke in half with a nasty 'crack' that pleased her a bit too much.

"How dare you!" She yelled in drunk anger. "I don't know who the hell you are, but I'm certain no one would have sex with a jerk!"

She stormed off, giving Gilbert no opportunity to apologize. Although he didn't seem to mind that much at the moment, the things around him spun once more and he had to return to the toilet to vomit what was left of his evening drinks, dreading the following morning.

___________________

Anne, Cole, and Diana returned home with rosy cheeks and loud laughter surrounding them. The trio intoxicated in happiness and many, many margaritas and shots.

"Best night ever!" Anne yelled as she let herself fall on the couch, kicking off her shoes.

"Told you it was going to be fun!" Diana grinned, laying beside her.

"My favorite part was to find Ruby making out with the waiter when I went to ask for the check," Cole cackled. "No wonder why she abandoned you in the bathroom!"

"Don't even tell me about it, I had the most unpleasant encounter–"

"Oh my god!" Diana sat up, looking at her phone with wide eyes. "It's four in the morning! We have to be back in Avonlea in less than eight hours!"

Cole and Anne groaned.

"Can't we have a nap first? We packed all of our things already!" Anne whined.

"Please?" Cole fell on the couch opposite to them. "I'm exhausted!"

"Fine..." Diana sighed. "But I'm certain my mom's gonna kill me for arriving late."

"What can she do? Forbid you to go to their Christmas dinner?" Cole chuckled. "Just sleep, Diana."

"Goodnight, guys."

"Goodnight!"

"Sweet dreams," Anne mumbled, half-asleep.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

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[dsoe-masteroftheheavenlyyard]

Chapter 5–BLACKBOX; Scene 5

master of the heavenly yard pages 115-123

Arth took refuge inside the palace with everyone who had been nearby.

It was a spur of the moment action, but it appeared to be a fairly correct decision.

“We should be able to hold out here for a little while.”

“…But there’s no guarantee we’ll remain safe here,” Anne replied, remaining calm even as she listened to the illusory palace creak.

Someone staggered as they came down the stairs.

“Miss Lily!”

Yukina went to go greet her, supporting her by the shoulder as she walked her over to Arth and the others.

“Looks like you’ve been through an ordeal, young miss Muchet.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be much use, Your Majesty. …What is that box?”

“Not sure…But we figure it’s the ‘method for erasing souls’ that Mariam was talking about. Judging by the fact that its effect seems weaker against this palace—an imaginary object that souls have created—”

“So it really is a weapon that specializes in the erasure of souls. I wonder what’ll come first, the destruction of the palace or the abatement of the box’s power…”

“Nothing’s going to get resolved from wishing. We have to do something about it…”

But there was no one who could make any suggestion to the king on how.          

“…”

Despair.

The word that Arth hated the most.

But he couldn’t think of any other phrase that could convey their current situation.

Is there…is there nothing we can do!?

.

“—My my, look at the man who was king of Lucifenia of all people making such a timid expression.”

Everyone present turned to look toward the voice they could hear from the entrance.

The first to give a cry of surprise was Yukina. “M-miss Gumillia!?”

But the other woman shook her head.

“…No. It’s just an accidental resemblance?”

“B-but, even so you look just like her—”

“In this world, people who resemble each other come in threes.” Then she briskly walked up to Arth. “King, don’t lose hope. The more agitated everyone becomes, the faster the palace will be destroyed.”

“…What’s the meaning of this?”

“The palace has taken shape by the imagination of everyone here. If their will wavers then naturally—"

“I’m not asking about that! I want to know why your appearance has changed.”

An expression of shock came to her face at those words. “--! You—know my identity…”

“Though it sounds like I’m the only one who’s realized.”

“Looks that way…But please, call me ‘Nemesis’ for right now. I want to avoid riling everyone up any further.”

“Alright. Well then—Nemesis. Do you have some idea?”

“I do. Just leave everything to me now. I shall safely put a stop to that box.”

“…Then I will rely on you. Try not to do anything rash.”

Nemesis nodded and then walked past Arth.

--She was heading for the roof of the palace.

.

The force of the “Blackbox” had not grown weaker, the black vortex continuing to spread.

The box itself had gotten quite close to the palace.

Nemesis looked upon it with an air of composure.

At this range…it should connect.

The “Blackbox” could make use of a power that was unrivaled when it came to souls.

However, when it came to a soul like Nemesis, protected by a physical body—a “spirit cage”—it had no effect.

That “black box” wasn’t a weapon to start with.

It’s simply a device for use in experiments. It’s delicate equipment.

Kyle had been unable to destroy the box.

A monster making use of the power of the “Demon of Pride” was without a doubt the strongest around—but ultimately he was nothing more than a soul himself.

I’ve come to know…quite a bit about that box, and the rules of this world.

It was true that even if one was a soul, they could still touch physical objects, and have an effect on them.

But it seemed this had limits.

If a soul were to attack an item or person that actually existed, their power level was reduced dramatically.

I was never really the type to play computer games, but…

Nemesis recalled a conversation she had once exchanged with a friend long, long ago.

.

“—Ah, that’s not right, Miss Barisol. Magic doesn’t work on that guy.”

“…Hey. Do I have to keep doing this? I want to get back to my research soon.”

“You need to take a breather every once in a while. Play a game, even.”

“…Feels like I’m getting more stressed, not less.”

“Anyway, the cyclops has a magic resistance of 90%, so you’ve gotta attack him with physics.”

“I don’t get this. How can such a puny man as the protagonist have any effect on such an enormous monster just by swinging a sword around?”

“It’s a game.”

“Sigh…”

“You should learn the combat system of this game first, Miss Barisol. Generally attacks on things with opposite attributes doesn’t work in this. Use physics for physics, and magic for magic!”

“Alright alright, I got it…Miss Hazuki—"

.

Evillious, Lucifenia, Elphegort—

All of these names had been given by Hazuki.

She had said that they were names that featured in her favorite game.

If this is like the “Blackbox” that I know, then its structure should be largely unchanged. The frailest point in it that’s the easiest to break should be…”

Nemesis readied her gun.

The bullets were loaded.

But she only had five shots left. She didn’t have any spares.

She couldn’t waste a single one.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth…

She carefully set her aim.

She aligned her sight towards a gap in the box…a place where wiring could faintly be seen.

…Physics for physics!

As she cried that out in her mind, she pulled the trigger.

.

The tremors in the palace stopped.

Upon seeing that, Arth looked up to the ceiling.

--Did you succeed, Elluka!?

Yukina ran to the window, and immediately let out a cheer.

“…She did it! The box is falling to the ground!”

.

Allen looked on in amazement as the box ceased functioning and started to fall, shooting out fireworks.

--But he quickly regained himself and shouted at everyone, “Fall back! It’s heading this way!”

Germaine and the others heeded his words and started to run in the opposite direction from the box.

A few seconds later—

.

BOOOM!

.

With an enormous thud, the box crashed to the ground.

“…There was no need to get so worked up,” Leonhart muttered, turning around. The box had landed farther away than they’d anticipated, as though it had changed course mid-fall.

They all decided to watch it for a little while, to be on guard against any explosions.

“—It’s over,” Mariam said to Allen, her expression one of great suffering.

“Yeah. But…at the cost of a lot of victims.”

“…I wonder what happened to the people who were sucked up into the box?”

“Nemesis said that the ‘Blackbox’ might have the function to shift souls to an alternate dimension.”

“Nemesis?”

“Ah, erm…I mean Elluka. Some things have happened, and that’s the name she’s going by now.”

“--! Where is she now--?”

“She came to the battleground with me. I’m positive that she’s the one who brought the box down just now.”

“I see…Then well done, Elluka,” Mariam whispered earnestly.

But then her expression immediately grew grave again.

“If it can move them to another dimension, then that means—”

“…We may never see them again…”

.

The battle had ended in favor of the improvised Lucifenian army.

But the souls that had been swallowed up by the dreadful box would never return…

.

…Or so they thought.

.

“Heeey, yannow!”

They could hear a careless shout from the direction of the box.

Everyone there immediately knew who it was from.

“Chartette!”

Germaine broke into a run, and others followed suit.

--Chartette was walking towards them, supporting a once again human Kyle on her shoulder.

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[cctinsleybaxter]

2020 in books

2020 was a year of changed reading habits; people reading more than ever or not at all, some changing their tastes and others turning to old comforts. While there weren’t any huge overhauls on my end, more free time did mean a total of 32 in a wider range of genres. In the past couple of years I found a lot of the things I read to be kind of middling and ranked them accordingly, but this year had some strong contenders in the mix. With college officially behind me I love nonfiction again, and I really need to stop being drawn in by novels with long titles that ‘sound interesting.’ A piece of advice to my future self: they will only make you angry.

The Good

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky I loved the BBC radio play when I first listened to it back in 2017, but didn’t know if I could stomach the idea of actually reading the 700-page book, especially since I already knew the plot (spoiler alert: this had no effect and I gasped multiple times despite knowing what was going to happen; Fyodor’s just that good at atmosphere.) The story follows Prince Lev Myshkin, a goodhearted but troubled man entering 1860s Petersburg high society and meeting all of the wretched people therein as he navigates life, laughs, love, unanswerable questions of faith, and human suffering. I care about it in the same way I think other people care about reality TV shows and soap operas. I’m so personally invested in the drama and feel so many different emotions directed at these clowns that it’s like being a fan of Invitation to Love (with an ending equally upsetting to that of the show ITL is from, Twin Peaks.)

Salt: A World History by Mark Kurlanksy I adored this book. The first half reads a little like a Wikipedia article, and I was worried that it was leaning too clinical and would be disaffected with colonialism and indigenous peoples, but even that oversight is corrected for as the text goes on. It’s not going to be for everybody because it really is just the world’s longest encyclopedia entry on, well, salt, but it’s written with such excitement for the topic and is so well-researched and styled for commercial nonfiction that I think it deserves any and all praise it’s gotten. We have to talk about that time Cheshire was literally sinking into the ground, and companies who were over-pumping brine water to steal each other’s brine water said ‘no it’s okay it’s supposed to that’ so were legally dismissed as suspects.

Midnight Cowboy by James Leo Herlihy Cried. 10/10. The plot of Midnight Cowboy is very classic and actually has a lot in common with The Idiot, as 20-something Joe Buck moves from the American Southwest to NYC and meets myriad challenges as a sex worker. I’ve been obsessed with the movie for a few years now and the book made me appreciate it anew; I think it’s rare for an adaptation to take the risk of being so different from its source material while still capturing its spirit. The movie doesn’t include quieter moments like the full conversation with Towny or time spent in the X-flat, nor does it attempt to touch Joe’s internal monologue or his and Rico’s extensive backstories, but these things are essential to the book and are some of the best and most affecting writing I’ve ever read. Finally! The Great American Novel!

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones I would firmly like to say that this is probably the best horror novel ever written. The setup is very traditional in that it’s about a group of friends facing supernatural comeuppance for a past mistake, but delivery on that premise is anything but familiar. A story about personal and cultural trauma that raises questions about what we owe to each other and what it means to be Blackfeet, with a cast that’s unbelievably real and sympathetic even at their absolute worst. Creepypasta writers trying to cash in on the cultural mythos of lumped-together tribes wish they were capable of writing something a tenth as gruesome and good as this. It could very well be a movie the visuals and writing style were so arresting, and I can’t wait to read whatever Jones writes next.

Found Footage Horror Films: Fear and the Appearance of Reality by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas This is the least accessible title on the list since it’s a college textbook for people with background in film, but it was so nice to read a woman unpacking film theory with the expertise and confidence it deserves that I have to rank it among the best. I had an absolute blast reading it and am going to have to stop myself from bringing up the horror of 1960s safety films as a cocktail icebreaker.

Blood in the Water: The Attica Prison Uprising of 1971 and Its Legacy by Heather Ann Thompson

The year’s toughest read by far, but also its most rewarding. Thompson uses mountains of documents, government-buried intel, and personal interviews to explain what happened at Attica from beginning to end, and does a fantastic job of balancing hard facts and ‘unbiased journalism’ with much-needed emotion and critical analysis. It’s more important reading in the 2020s than any kind of ‘why/how to not be racist’ book club book is going to be, and the historical context it provides is as interesting as it is invaluable. The second half drags a bit in going through lengthy trial processes with some assumed baseline knowledge of legalese (which I did not have. All that criminal minds in 2015… meaningless), but aside from that editing and prose are some of the best I’ve seen in nonfiction. 

The Bad

The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn A friend and I decided to read this together because I’m obsessed with how insane the author is and wanted to know if he can actually write.

He cannot.

The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All by Laird Barron Barron is an indie darling of the horror fiction scene, so I was excited to finally read one of his collections but can now attest that I hate him. If you’re going to do Lovecraft please deconstruct Lovecraft in an interesting way. I had actually written a lot about the issues I have with how he develops characters and plots, but one of the only shorthand notes I took was “he won’t stop saying ‘bole’ instead of tree trunk” and I feel like that’s the only review we need.

Bats of the Republic by Zach Dodson Look up a photo of this author because if I had bothered to glance at the jacket bio I honest-to-god wouldn’t have even tried reading this.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone I went in with high expectations since this is an epistolary novella I’d seen praised on tumblr and youtube but oh my god was there a reason I was seeing it praised on tumblr and youtube. This is bad Steven Universe fanfiction. Both authors included ‘listening to the Steven Universe soundtrack throughout’ in the acknowledgements, and to add insult to injury there’s a plug from my nemesis Madeline Miller.

The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton The premise of this one plays with so many tropes I like that I should have been more suspicious. It’s a dinner party with stock characters one would expect of Clue, and rather than our protagonist being the detective he’s a man with amnesia stuck in a 24-hour time loop. Body-hopping between guests, he must gather evidence using the skillsets of each ‘host’ until he either solves Evelyn Hardcastle’s murder or the limit of eight hosts runs out. I read a lot of not-very-good books, and it’s so, so much worse when they have potential to be fun. This is how you lose the most points, and how I abandon decorum and end up writing a list of grievances: • Our protagonist can only inhabit male hosts, which I think is a stupid writing decision not because I’m ‘woke’ but because wouldn’t it make sense for him to also be working with the maids, cooks, and women close to the murder victim? • Complaining about the limitations of hosts makes some sense (e.g- there’s a section where he thinks that it’s hard to be an old man because it’s difficult to get to the places he needs to be quickly), but one of his hosts is a rapist and one of his hosts is fat. Guess which one gets complained about more. • One of the later hosts is just straight-up a cop with cop knowledge that singlehandedly solves the case. We spend some time being like ‘wow I couldn’t have done it without the info all eight hosts helped gather’ but it was 100% the detective and he solves the murder using information he got off-screen. • The mystery itself is actually well-paced and I didn’t have a lot of issues with it (e.g, there’s a twist that I guessed only shortly before the end), which makes it all the worse that the metanarrative of this book is INSANE. No spoilers but the reveal as to why our unnamed protagonist is even in this situation is stupid. I just know they’re going to make it into a movie and I’m preemptively going to aaaaaaaaa!!!

Trust Exercise by Susan Choi The fact that this was the worst book I read all year, worse even than the bad Steven Universe fanfiction, and it won multiple awards makes my blood boil. I could rant about it for hours but just know that it’s a former theater kid’s take on perception and memory, and deals with sexual abuse in a way that’s handled both very badly and with a level of fake deepness that’s laughable. Select fake-deep quotes I copied down because at one point I said ‘oh barf’ aloud: -I’m filled with melancholy that’s almost compassion. It’s sad the same way. -[On a friendship ending] We almost never know what we know until after we know it. -Because we’re none of us alone in this world. We injure each other.

There are also bad sex scenes that I can’t quite make fun of because I think (HOPE?) they’re supposed to be a melodramatic take on how teenagers view sex, but I very much wanted to die. Flowers were alluded to. Nipples were compared to diamonds.

Honorable/Dishonorable Mentions (categorized as the same thing because, well,)

The Life and Death of Sophie Stark by Anna North This book was frustrating because the first third of it is fantastic. It’s set up to be a takedown of the manic pixie dream girl trope, jumping from person to person discussing their relationship with the titular Sophie, and indirectly revealing that she was just some girl and not the difficult and mysterious genius they all believed her to be. Then in the third act, BAM! She was that difficult and mysterious genius and she’s now indirectly brought all the people from her past together. I wanted to scream the plot beefed it so bad, but the good news is I really liked this octopus description.

It was the size of a three-year-old child, and it seemed awful to me that something could be so far from human and obviously want something as badly as it wanted to get out of the tank.

Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women by Kate Moore Cool new nightmare speedrun strat is to hear a 2-second anecdote from a documentary that people used to get radium poisoning from painting watch faces, be curious enough that you buy a book to learn more, and be met with medical and legal horror beyond anything you could have imagined. This was almost one of my favorite books of the year! Almost.

Radium Girls is very lovingly crafted and incredibly well-researched; one of those things that’s hard to get through but that you want to read sections of again as soon as you’ve finished. The umbrage I take with it is that it’s very Catholic. The author and many of her subjects are Irish and their religion is important to them, but it casts a martyr-y narrative over the whole thing that I found uncomfortable. Seventeen-year-old girls taking a factory job they didn’t know was dangerous are framed as brave, working-class heroes, but there’s not a set moral lesson to be gained from this story. Sarah Maillefer didn’t make “a sacrifice” when she agreed to the first radium tests, she agreed because she was terrified. She didn’t think she was helping she was begging for help.

The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins by Anna Tsing Tsing is an incredibly skilled researcher and ethnographer; there are so many good ideas in this book that I’d almost consider it essential leftist text… if I could stand the way it was structured. Tsing posits that because nature is built on precariousness she will build her book the same way, allowing it to grow like a mushroom, and thus chapters don’t progress linearly and are written more like freeform poetry than a series of academic arguments. Some people are really going to love that, but I’m me and a mushroom is a mushroom and a book is a book. I don’t think in the way Tsing does, and while I tried to keep an open mind it’s hard to play along when something is this academically dense and makes so many ambitious claims. As if to prove how different our structuring methods are, I’ve made my own thoughts into a pros and cons list

Things I liked: • ‘Contamination’ as something inherent to diversity • ‘Scalability’ as a flawed way of thinking (Tsing has written whole essays about this that I find very compelling, but a main example here is that China and the US have come down on Japanese matsutake research for being too ‘site specific’ and not yielding enough empirical data) • Discussing how Americans were so invested in self-regulating systems in the 1950s we thought they could be applied to literally everything, including ecosystems • “The survivors of war remind us of the bodies they climbed over- or shot- to get to us. We don’t know whether to love or hate the survivors. Simple moral judgements don’t come to hand.” • Any and all fieldwork Tsing shares is amazing; I especially liked reading about the culture of mushroom pickers living in the Cascades and their contained market system

Things I didn’t like: • Statements that sound deep but aren’t, e.g- “help is always in the service of another.” (Yep. That’s what that means. Unless an organism is doing something to help itself which then nullifies your whole opening argument.) • A very debatable definition of utilitarianism • “Capitalism vs pre-capitalism,” which seems like an insanely black-and-white stance for a book all about finding hidden middle ground • A chapter I found really interesting about how intertwined Japanese and American economies are, but it tries to cover the entire history of US-Japan relations. Seriously, starting with Governor Perry and continuing through present day, this could have been a whole different book and it’s a good example of what I mean when I say arguments feel too scattered (the conclusion it reaches is that in the 80s the yen was finally able to hold its own against the dollar. Just explain that part.) • A chapter arguing that ‘true biological mutualism’ is rarely a focus of STEM and is a new sociological development/way of thinking which is just… flat-out not true

For all the comparisons art gets to ‘being on a drug trip’ this anthropology textbook has come the closest for me. Moments of profound human wisdom, intercut with things I had trouble understanding because I wasn’t on the same wavelength, intercut with even more things that felt false or irrelevant. I can’t put it on the nice list but I am glad I read it.

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 1

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: Will be listed on a per chapter basis. This one’s good.

A/N: Reader’s presence in the world causes some significant changes. Will not be a straight retelling. And canon is dead to me both for plot and some of the rules of the world. Be prepared. I couldn’t wait so you get this one early. Chap 2 will post monday and then weekly thereafter. 

Enjoy!

***

“Are you sure you don’t mind comin’ with me tonight, Y/N?” Sookie Stackhouse asked as she ran her hands down her dress, making sure it was laying right.

You glanced over and gave her a soft smile. “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded, Sook.” You’d overheard her having an argument with Sam about heading to the vampire bar in Shreveport and you immediately offered to go with her. You had a rather extensive history with vampires and knew all the ins and outs. Not that Sookie would listen to you or she would have worn something else. Still, you were reluctant to send your friend to Fangtasia with only a vampire for backup. “When’s Bill supposed to get here?”

You’d no sooner asked the question than there was a knock at the door. Sookie opened it with a smile. Bill returned the gesture until you stepped up behind her and his gaze fell on you. “Y/N. I wasn’t aware you would be accompanying us.”

“Surprise,” you said with a smile you didn’t mean at all. You and Bill tolerated each other but it was clear you didn’t care for one another. You didn’t trust him and he knew it. 

He moved his gaze back to Sookie. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” She gave a little curtsey and beamed at the compliment. He offered her his arm to lead her to the car and you trailed behind. You pursed your lips as you ran your eyes over the both of them. Bill seemed to thrive on your friend’s innocence. With him it wasn’t about Sookie being dressed in a manner that would help her blend in at the bar. No, it was about him being able to walk in and show off the pure, sweet girl on his arm. As if he would win some sort of prize by being deserving of her. Or at least having others think he was.

You slid into the back seat and kept your opinions to yourself. Nothing was going to happen to Sookie. Not as long as you were around. You were nearly to Shreveport before Bill spoke up. “Now, Sookie, you will be fine this evening as I am accompanying you. Just follow my lead.” His gaze darted to the review mirror to make contact with you. “Y/N, it is imperative that you do nothing to draw attention to yourself. Do not make eye contact. Do not appear too interested in anything that may be happening around you. Vampires value their privacy. I will not be able to claim both you and Sookie.”

“I believe I’ve mentioned before that I know vampires, Compton. It’s why I offered to come with Sookie tonight. I don’t need a lecture on vamp etiquette.”

Your friend glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “He’s just trying to help, Y/N. He wants to make sure you’re all right is all.”

You answered with an arched brow and a hum, biting back the other things you wanted to say. You’d try to tolerate him for Sookie’s sake.

***

As you approached the front of the bar, Bill wrapped an arm around Sookie’s waist to steer her inside. You trailed behind once more, hands in your pockets as you took in the chaos around you. Wow. This place was goth central. The vampires were really playing up the whole creature of the night persona. Of course, that’s how places like this made money. They sold the fiction of vampire life. Showed people the parts they expected to see.

“Bill,” a voice greeted. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m mainstreaming.”

“Good for you. Who’s the doll?” By this point you were grinning. You knew that voice. And you also knew she was just giving Bill a hard time by feigning interest in Sookie. Or perhaps she actually was interested in your friend, but she was wasting her time there.

“Pam this is Sookie. Sookie this is Pam.”

“Pleased to meet you,” came your friend’s bubbly response and you bit back a laugh.

“Can I see your ID?” Pam asked.

Sookie was stunned for a moment before she began babbling. You cut her off with a hand on her shoulder. “She’s good,” you announced.

Pam arched a brow and shifted her gaze to you while Bill growled your name. The irritation slid from her face to be replaced by a smirk. “Y/N Y/L/N. What brings you to these parts?”

You shrugged and glanced at your two companions. You didn’t really care to discuss your past in front of either of them. Fortunately, Pam was smart and simply gave you a nod. She turned a smile on Sookie. “You should have said you were with Y/N. Come on in.”

The three of you stepped past her and her hand slid along your arm as she leaned into you. “You and I should talk.” You looked at her. The tone of her voice said more needed to be discussed than your change in locale.

“Sure.”

You followed her through a door, the music becoming infinitely more tolerable when it shut behind you. “How do you listen to that shit all the time?”

“I simply think of the money the sheep bring in.” She smiled as she leaned against a desk. “What are you doing here?”

You could understand her wariness. The two of you hadn’t met under the best of circumstances. “I retired. Sophie was always one of the better options so I came here.” Sophie-Anne ruled Louisiana. Well, the vampires in it at any rate. “I wasn’t aware you were living so close to me or I would have been in sooner.”

Pam tilted her head in agreement then crossed her arms over her chest. “And the girl? Why is she here? Bill’s not the type to flaunt what he is simply to impress.”

You pursed your lips. “She’s a friend. Sweet but a little naïve. Thinks someone here will tell her something about a couple of women that have been killed. They both had bite marks. I would have asked around myself, but they were strangled not drained. Besides, every vamp I know is better about cleaning up after themselves. But that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about.”

There was that smirk again. “Eric is here.”

“Your sire? That Eric?”

She rolled her eyes. “What other Eric would I possibly be referring to?”

You slumped against the wall behind you. “Well, shit.” The first time you met Eric Northman, the two of you had been instantly insanely attracted to one another. You had been on a job for the Authority at the time. Once Eric discovered that, no amount of arguing or pleading from you would convince him that your relationship with him had nothing to do with it. It was one of the many reasons you had finally quit. It was hard to maintain friendships if they were always afraid you were spying on them.

A member of the Authority had taken you in off the streets as a child when it was discovered you couldn’t be glamoured. When you proved to be faster and stronger than your human counterparts all the better. Add enhanced hearing and vision to that and you were just about the perfect spy. No vampire would suspect a human was gathering information for the Authority. And on the off chance you were caught, you were more apt to be able to get yourself out of trouble.

You had always been paid well for your efforts. The man you called father insisted on it. But you yearned for relationships outside of the scope of the Authority. Losing Eric had nearly broken you. So, you quit. Your father had been less than pleased with the decision. Hence, the relocation. The two of you were in the process of making up but you had no intention of running home to daddy as the case may be.

You cleared your throat and focused on Pam again. “Maybe it would be better if I left.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “You two have been behaving like children long enough. It’s past time for you to put this behind you.”

“Me? He’s the one that flipped his shit, remember? He refused to listen to anything I had to say.”

Pam shrugged. “Yes. And you left. You could have tried harder.”

You sighed and ran a hand down your face. Damn vampire logic. “Does he even want to talk to me?”

“Who cares? Make him listen. I’m tired of him moping.” She reached past you to open the door and you placed a hand on her arm to stop her.

“I haven’t seen him in three years, Pam, but I do remember that Eric Northman is not the moping type. You can’t expect me to believe that he even cares enough to think of me, let alone be affected by my absence.” You’d love to believe that. You really would. Eric was it for you. He was your first everything. Your only, if you were honest and you’d had every notion of him being the last. You’d kind of hoped that would be from the two of you being together forever as opposed to your heart not being willing to move past him.

“Believe what you want, Y/N, but I know my sire. He may appear to be his usual uncaring self, but I know better. If you leave without speaking to him, I will see to it that he sets his sights on your little blonde friend.” She disappeared through the door without giving you a chance to respond.

***

You found a seat that hid you from the view of Eric’s throne on the stage (which was a bit much if you were honest) but allowed you to keep tabs on both him and Sookie. She’d frowned when you didn’t join her and Bill, but you waved her off. Later, you mouthed and she’d simply nodded. You sipped at your drink and ran your eyes over the Viking where he slouched in his seat. He’d let his hair grow out and you couldn’t decide if you liked it or not.

A man groveled at his feet and you rolled your eyes when Eric kicked the man sending him flying through the air. Eric hated shit like this so you found it odd he was playing the role. He could just as easily order his minions to hold court.

Movement from Sookie’s direction caught your eye. Bill took her hand in his and led her toward the stage and Eric. Shit. You turned back to your Viking and saw Pam standing beside him, a smirk playing on her lips. Apparently, she didn’t like your dallying and had decided to force your hand. Fuck.

You moved along the edge of the room, getting close enough to hear, but not close enough to draw attention to yourself. Not yet.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sookie told Eric and you bit back a chuckle. She was nothing if not overly polite.

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” Disdain dripped from Eric’s words.

“Not really,” Sookie snapped back and Bill gave her a warning tug.

But you, well you laughed outright at that. There was a reason you and Sookie were friends that went beyond her not being able to hear your thoughts. You liked the sharp tongue she didn’t let everyone see.

“Do you find something amusing, human?” Eric’s voice rode the line between irritated and bored. Though he still hadn’t seen you, he had evidently heard your laughter.

“I usually do when Sookie’s around.” Bill turned to scowl at you. Pam covered her mouth with a hand to hide her smile and Eric moved Bill to the side so he could see you.

His eyes went wide as he sat up in the chair and his mouth gaped slightly. “Impossible,” he breathed.

“Apparently not.” You tilted your head and took the opportunity to look him over again. “Hello, Eric.”

“Bill, why don’t you and your friend take a seat. We need to catch up, you and I.” His eyes never left yours.

“Indeed,” Bill answered.

“Why are you here?” he finally asked you.

“Sookie’s my friend.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have friends.”

You ignored the spike of hurt that accompanied the words. Pam barked something at him in a language you didn’t understand and he turned to speak with her. After a moment, he turned back to you, looking even more surprised than before.

“Is it true?”

You lifted your brows in question. You had no idea what they’d said to one another.

“Are you no longer under the thumb of the Authority?” He’d dropped his voice so no one beyond you would hear him. Bill’s head jerked to you in surprise and his jaw went tight.

“I don’t work for anyone at the moment. They paid well, but the cost was too high.” You left the fact you were referring to him unspoken. That was a conversation for another time with different company.

He sat silent as he studied you. He seemed uncertain of what to say and you didn’t push him. You were taking the fact he hadn’t already tossed you out of his bar as a win.

“We need to get out of here,” Sookie said suddenly and you all turned to look at her.

“Sookie,” Bill snapped.

“Stuff it, Compton. What is it, Sook?”

“A raid.”

“Tell me you’re not an undercover cop,” Eric ordered your friend.

“I’m not, but the man in the hat is.”

“Regardless, we do nothing illegal here.”

“One thing I have learned in the short time I have known her is Sookie always knows what she’s talking about,” you told him. “We should go.”

Before anything else could be said, police swarmed into the club.

“This way.” Eric wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you along with him. He led you to a back door. Bill swept Sookie up in his arms while Eric pulled you more tightly against his side. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Stackhouse. You will return.”

“Y/N!” Sookie called after you.

You shook your head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you later.”

She started to protest to Bill but he quickly quieted her. Eric put you in his car and told Pam he would see her later. Moments after Sookie warned of the danger you were all a safe distance from the bar and the raid being conducted. As you glanced over at Eric and took in the set of his jaw, you had a feeling your evening was just getting started.

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.7.9 “A Place For Convictions”

I wish I was good at drawing because I’ve always wanted to draw this description of courtroom, as a sort of double-image of what Vajean is seeing in present with an overlaid, desaturated echo of what he remembers on top and slightly shifted. Anyway.

“...where all the machinery of a criminal trial was unfolding with its petty yet solemn gravity” I just really like this description. It sounds so, I don’t know, exasperated? Annoyed at the way unimportant things are treated as important and important things are brushed aside? I don’t know.

Was green the color of the legal authority back then? The judges’ chamber had a table covered with green fabric and now we get “tables covered with serge, more nearly yellow than green.”

“...for men felt there the presence of that great human thing called law, and that great divine thing called justice.” Hugo calls law human but justice is divine. I feel like this is such a good summary for what’s going on in this courtroom. The law is human, and can be completely wrong, like it is right here in this courtroom. People assume Champmathieu is Valjean, and there’s nothing he can do to change their minds. But Valjean, who is morally compelled to enter and to reveal himself, exists in the room as the entity of justice, perhaps divinely wrought since he is the only person in the room with the power to save Champmathieu and reveal the truth.

My FMA translation doesn’t do this, but the Hapgood translation italicizes “the” in our first view of Champmathieu: “This man was the man.” Which, just. That repetitiveness. “Jean, voila Jean.” Like, that’s the only other connection I can make.

“He thought he was seeing himself, older, undoubtedly, not exactly the same in features, but alike in attitude and appearance, with that bristling hair, those wild restless eyes, with that shirt--just as he had been on the day he entered Digne, full of hatred, and concealing in his soul that hideous hoard of frightful thoughts he had spent nineteen years harvesting on the prison floor.”

He said to himself, with a shudder, “Great God! Will I return to that?”

The Hapgood translation online has a typo that I wish wasn’t a typo (It says “concealing his soul in”). Valjean sees a reflection of his past self. What I find interesting is that Valjean notes that it’s not exactly their features that are similar, but their characteristics are. It’s not his looks that Javert and the other prisoners recognized, but his mannerisms. But Madeleine-Valjean has evolved and buried and changed many of those mannerisms in order to remain disguised, in order to both “conceal his name and sanctify his soul.” I don’t think he fears returning to that simply because it means returning to prison. He’s also done so much work trying to become a better person, the person Myriel bought his soul for him to become. He’s done so much work building himself into a respected leader, a knowledgeable dependable person. And to return to what he sees before him is to have eight years of hard work, hard internal change, whisked away in a flash. The notion of being broken down again and having to either accept that or try and build himself back up is terrifying.

Back in 1.7.3, Hugo tells us that what Valjean’s goal is is to “conceal his name and sanctify his soul,” “to escape men and return to god.” If he reveals his identity, he will be undoing nearly all of that. Obviously, his name will no longer be concealed. But if he returns to prison and, as he fears, returns to the state he had been in while at Toulon, he will be losing god and religion as well, falling back into the darkness. And he will be thrown back in to the thick of it, unable to “escape men,” watched all the time, surrounded all the time by other prisoners and guards, never able to be alone with himself except that at the same time he will only ever be alone with himself. The difference being he will be alone with himself without the slightest chance of reaching out to either god or community. But if he does reveal his identity, the one thing he will be doing is sanctifying his soul. He will be acting selflessly, sacrificing himself and his freedom for a stranger in a way that feels almost saintly.

“And by a tragic trick of fate that was stirring all his ideas and driving him almost insane, it was another self that faced him. This man on trial was being called Jean Valjean!” That night just outside Digne, Valjean faced a spectre of himself, his convict-self, the spectre which was then faced by the light of the Bishop. Here, he is again facing himself. This is another prospect of his convict-self, the fear that he will, as said above, return to that fear and hatred and darkness. And there is no bishop to face it down. Valjean must do it himself.

Except that this time, there is the smallest difference. Valjean has a moment of double-vision, seeing his own trial 27 years prior overlaid onto this one. He notices that “But above the head of the judge was a crucifix, something not in courtrooms at the time of his sentence. When he was tried, God had been absent.” God is present for this trial. Not in the bishop, like Valjean’s inner “trial” outside of Digne. He’s present in Valjean himself, who has the power to do the Right Thing, to save Champmathieu.

“Monsieur Bamatabois was one of the jurors.” This gets its own line, and then is never mentioned again. But I like that. Just like Bamatabois harassed Fantine and escaped unscathed, he’s here at this trial, with the potential to make the decision that ruins Champmathieu, and he will escape from this unscathed as well. We don’t need to be told that that’s what will happen; we just saw it on the street with Fantine, of course the same thing is going to happen in the court with Champmathieu.

Article 383 of the Penal Code of 1810 states “Thefts, committed on the highways, shall also be punishable with perpetual hard labour.” As far as I can tell he would have the same sentence for having a weapon/using violence? They don’t mention the weapon/violence here, which is interesting, because Javert mentioned it back in 1.6.2.

“He made gestures signifying denial, or else he gazed at the ceiling. He spoke with difficulty, answered with embarrassment, but from head to foot his whole person denied the charge.” The word “embarrassment” is weird to me here. That’s mostly what I have to say about this line. But also just, like, imagine people asking you questions in weird rhetorical styles and jargon you don’t really understand, about events that you were not present for, while they assume you’re someone you’re not, but you don’t have the the education or grasp of language to explain why they’re wrong, and you know they won’t believe you anyway.

“He seemed like an idiot in the presence of all these intellects ranged in battle around him, and like a stranger in the midst of this society by whom he had been seized.” God, no wonder Valjean’s fury at society led him to educate himself. He spent 15 or so years in prison boiling in that anger and probably thinking about this feeling, the feeling of being the ignorant and stupid one surrounded by people given power over him because they were educated. It only makes sense that he would see that the way to get on their level, to get revenge over them in some way would be to become educated.

The way Hugo describes all the people in the courtroom watching Champmathieu and wondering what’s going to happen etc reminds me of the way he describes onlookers waiting for the condemned to be executed by guillotine in The Last Day Of A Condemned Man. A grave decision about a man’s life has been turned into a spectacle. The courtroom is packed with judges, clerks, soldiers, gendarmes, and spectators who are “cruelly curious.” It’s the ultimate culmination of “to see is to devour.”

Hugo goes on a long tangent about the lofty style of language used by the defending lawyers, and how it’s really not suited to talking about the theft of apples. It’s interesting that he emphasizes this, because I imagine there are plenty of other crimes that really don’t sound very pretty to talk about in that lofty language. I feel like this is in line with his description of the court as “petty yet solemn.” Things like this lofty provincial language are taken so seriously despite how ridiculous and unrelated they should be to the actual result of the case. Except that I’m sure that they unfortunately affect the outcome--if someone follows the language rules better than the other lawyers, that’ll be the outcome. A digression, but when I was in community college I was on the speech & debate team, only we didn’t do the debate part of the competitions, because my professors hated that it wasn’t about who gave a better argument in terms of evidence and eloquence, but about who followed the rules to the letter. I feel like this weird provincial language tradition is a similar situation. In this case, the “violent and flowery” language of the prosecuting attorney, and the way he speaks so well obviously is going to affect the outcome of the case.

(Also, no wonder Champmathieu is staring about him like an idiot. This rhetorical style sounds obnoxious and confusing to listen to, especially when referring to something like stolen apples.)

The Bossuet reference about mentioning a hen at a funeral oration is something about him giving a funeral oration for Anne of Cleves, if I remember correctly. Unfortunately I can’t find the full text of that specific oration anywhere so I don’t know the context.

Autonomasia is a rhetorical style in which the use of generalizations or common nouns replaces specificity. For example, “he is from the city” instead of “he is from Paris.”

La Quotidienne was a French royalist newspaper. I can’t find anything on Oriflamme but I assume it’s a similar publication.

I do not know enough about the Romantics and their dissenters, but Hugo was definitely being catty when he described how the prosecutor “thundered against the immorality of the romantic school--then in its dawn, under the name of the Satanic school...And not implausibly, he attributed to the influence of this perverse literature the crime of Champmathieu, or rather of Jean Valjean.” Hugo himself was a Romantic author, and I do know that his play Hernani caused an actual riot in the theatre, but I don’t know enough about Royalist and Classicist criticisms of Romanticism to know exactly what Hugo is referencing here.