#her writin is good yeah but--and not to come across a certain way--i have yet to meet a nigerian writer who didn't have an insane handle of

[angelsaxis]

as a nigerian i find it rather insulting that the only nigerian feminists that exists to westerners is chimamanda ngozi adichie. like we need someone else quickly

[chemiste]

Foresight ~ ch. 9

a/n : cool cool, heres ch 9, ALSO i will be posting y/n’s assignment when it’s all finished so that’ll be a couple chapters later, that’s why you’re not seeing certain pics rn. love y’all, please talk to me if you want id love to hear what y’all have to say, any thoughts theories about the story? whats going on in your life? tell meeeeeeeeee!!!!!

mah masterlist

“Guys, we’ve got a problem.” 

Mitch said from the main section of the tour bus. You had been trying to get a few more hours asleep, but the soft rumble of the tour bus was changed to screams from outside the bus. 

You moved your curtain back and stepped out into the bedroom compartment, rubbing the sleep from your eye. 

“What is that…” 

The words died on your tongue as you looked through the blackout veils in the living room. It was crazy. It was like all of Denmark was there, crowding around the Royal Arena, excitedly anticipating Harry’s arrival.

“So this is what 10,000 people looks like huh.” 

You said, still a bit gobsmacked. You looked around at who was in the main compartment and saw Harry sitting on the left couch. 

You plopped down beside him and threw your legs up onto the remaining part of the couch, leaning arm again his chest. With his right hand, the poster had been scrolling through Instagram, looking at all the postings from fans for tonight. 

On the other couch, Jeff was on a call chatting with someone about the new people barrier they’d need to get through. 

He ended the call, “The good news is our other buses were able to get here early enough and unload in the back before the crowd started. The problem now is getting us through the crowd, I called ahead and we’re gonna turn around and take an SUV in to try and be more inconspicuous. Everyone, what you need for the show cause we wont be able to get back to the tour bus till afterwards.”

The group complied and went into the back rooms as the tour bus exited the Arena parking, heading to the secret location where you all would switch vehicles for attempt number two. 

You straighten your duvet out, having not pulled out anything during the drive so you didn’t have anything to pack. You glanced over to Harry who was shoving a stray piece of paper that had scribbles all over them into a journal that seemed overstuffed. “

Are those lyrics?” You asked, slinging your backpack onto your shoulder. His eyes looked up at you briefly and then he nodded. 

“Yeah, uh, just writin’ whenever I can yeh know?” 

You put your shoes back on and headed into the living compartment. 

“Alright everyone off and into the SUV pronto so any fans that decided to follow the tour bus don’t intercept our exit.” 

Jeff said, taking the keys from the rental man who handed them to him. 

You all piled into the SUV, you and Clare in the very back, then Hélène, Harry squished in the middle, Sarah, and then Mitch with Jeff in the front. 

“I’m a big boy why I’m I the one sitting ‘ere in the middle!” 

He whined as the SUV pulled out onto the road, making his knees hit the console. 

You laughed and pulled out your phone for a quick picture, but you weren’t fast enough as Harry snatched your mobile device out of your hand. 

“Hey! Give that back you, thief!” 

“Nope! I think we need som’ pictures of you know junebug,” the poster cackled, turning the flash on and leaning into Sarah’s lap to take a bunch of snaps of you crawling from the backseats. 

You groaned and put your hand up to block the flash dots that had been clouding your eyes. 

“Come on! Do better than that Y/N!”

 He teased, you responded by changing you hand briefly to flip him off and then to a rocker hand sign. Satisfied, the boy handed you your phone back, that stupid smirk donned on his face.

Cute stupid smirk…

Huh? Psh, yeah whatever.

“Okay crouch everyone, we’re pulling in.” 

Jeff called as he pulled into the Arena parking lot again. You watched as the SUV got through easier than last time. You could see from your crouched position some of the fans lined up, or walking together to the doors. 

Some were holding signs, others had matching t-shirts. They all seemed so elated to be here, and it made you proud of Harry. 

You looked up and saw Harry doing what you had been, watching his fans. A small smile grew on his face and you could see how truly appreciative he was of his fans.

Finally the SUV got to the back gate where the other tour buses had been stationed, Jeff rolled down his window and gave the man at the booth his pass. After it had been approved, the gate opened and allowed the SUV in, closing immediately as some fans tried to slip through but to no avail.

“One more time everyone, 3, 2, 1.” 

The beats for Carolina started to play, and the band started up again, Harry standing in the middle of the stage still in sweats, hanging not changed yet.

 It had been a few hours since they were able to get and now were just adjusting a few things for the performance like always. 

You were sitting on the stage off to the side, laptop in lap. Those assignments didn’t do themselves. You were going through your photos, trying to see if any recent pictures matched some of the words you needed for your last assignment.

After that you head back to the dressing room, having time to kill as the band gets dressed and pampered. You decide to check in with Maggie and give her an update.

It was March 30th now, you were in Barcelona sprinting through the aisles as Harry performed Kiwi. 

The concerts had been going well, Norway and Germany were beautiful but it all went by so fast that your memories seemed blurry. 

But you remembered your off day yesterday with crystal-like perspective.

“Harry, look at this field oh my god have you seen anything more beautiful!?!” 

You and Harry had taken the day off to find something of nature since the only thing y’all had been around the previous week were cement walls. 

The both of you stumbled along a lovely meadow in a hill dip about an hour away from Barcelona, where he would be performing tomorrow night. The grass was tall and vivacious, little purple and pink flowers sprang up in between the stems. 

H turned to you with a smile that resembled a kid on Christmas Day. He looked absolutely soft and sweet, wearing that blue and white striped hoodie. You matched him slightly, wearing a white sweater and blue skirt complemented by thigh-high boots to keep your legs warm. 

“Woohoo!”

 He yelled as he ran straight into the flowery abyss and flopped into the ground. You trotted over to him, laughing and snapping photos of the hill line and the fluffy white clouds. 

He giggled and you looked down to the boy underneath you. You took a picture of him and smiled. 

Scanning back through the photos on the small screen, you think if you’d been a least a foot farther from him you wouldn’t have heard what he said quietly.

“You’re very pretty yeh know.”

You snapped up to look at him, a bit surprised from the compliment.

“Oh, thank you. You are too.”

 He crinkled his nose at your response, groaning and then sitting up enough to wrap an arm around your was it and drag you down to his level. 

“Harry!”

You scream, sorta laughing as your fall was buffered by the flower bed. The sky was lovely, a bright blue. Clouds were scattered around and the wind slightly pickup, making you shiver. 

“Come ‘ere.”

 He said softly, pulling you rest your head don his chest. You held your camera up to his face, showing him a picture. 

“This one is gonna be for ‘silly’.” You said. 

“It’s perfect.” 

You thought so too.

A cheer shook you out of your trip down memory lane.

Right, the concert.

You gripped you camera in your hand and scanned the stage to find the boy you were suppose to be taking shots over.

Or off of…

Stop it Y/N!

He looked good, decked out in the black and white patterned suit.

 “ ‘ve ripped man trousers!” You heard him say with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes, this boy. After a few more songs, he starts up Anna and you laugh. Oh this song.

You’re taking photos, bopping slightly to it, hey it’s a catchy song!

But then he turns to you and gives you a smile.

Oh no.

The lights shining off his suit and hair make him seem like he’s sparkling, and that smile just made your heart stop. 

It’s like you’re fully seeing him in a different light and it’s breathtaking.

Oh, fuck, maybe I do like him.

You’re pacing in your hotel room.

Slightly freaking out.

“I like him! I can’t believe it, Maggie was right I’ve got a stupid crush! I can’t— this, how?” 

You talk to yourself, trying to figure out when it all added up for you. The little touches, him saving you from the crowd that one time, sneaking out and touring Amsterdam, even the way you interacted with each other was different from the rest of the band. 

“I’m—I’m totally overthinking this right? There’s no way…”

 You’ve never felt this way before, the heart races when he smiles, the look he gives you after a laugh, when you hug or snuggle into him on the couch, how his cologne smells making you feel at home and loved.

You stopped pacing.

“Oh my god, am I in love with Harry Styles?!”

Yes, yes I am.

You turn, gobsmacked and flop onto your bed.

What am I gonna do…

You’re in the terminal in at 5am, waiting for the flight to Milan.

It’s dead quiet sans the occasional custodian worker of business group getting off an all-night flight. 

You’re standing at a sunglass kiosk, trying on different pairs in the little round mirror set up. The band is across the wide walkway sitting on various chairs waiting for the flight. 

Maybe or maybe not you’d been slightly avoiding Harry since the night of your little proclamation. During the Madrid show, you’d opted out of taking photos, instead going out to look around the city and maybe pick up enough stupid tourist gifts to make you forget. 

Thankfully Harry didn’t seem to notice your sudden change in moods, unfortunately it meant he was coming over to you right now and you couldn’t stop it.

“Like any of the sunnies?” 

He asked, grabbing a pair and popping them on and making a funny face at. You shrugged, not answering. 

Oh great, now he seemed to have picked up on your inner turmoil when you didn’t speak, taking the glasses off and putting them back in their rightful place. 

“You okay?” 

He asked quietly, concern coating the edge of his words. 

You nodded, pushing back some of you hair behind your ear and turning to the small mirror to look at your reflection. 

“ ‘m just a bit tired.” You answered, hoping that would be enough for him. 

He nodded, thinking for a moment then holding up his phone. 

“Picture?” 

You smiled, “H it’s 5am I don’t look the nicest for a picture right now” 

“Oh come on Y/N you’re gorgeous any time of day.”

Not helping.

“Fine fine, but I don’t want to be seen.” 

He opened the camera and pointed it into the mirror, “Okay then how are we gonna take this picture love?” 

You wrapped you hands around his head to cover his eyes, “Like this goofball.”

 He smiled, “You’re the goofball right now.” 

After throwing up a peace sign with his spare hand, he snapped the picture and then checked to see if it was good. 

“I like, ‘m gonna post it.” 

You yawned and nodded to his statement.

Guess I wasn’t fully lying, I am pretty tired.

“H, we’re ready to go.” 

Mitch called, you both grabbed your suitcases and rejoined the group, following the flight attendant into the small plane. 

You were first in line down the aisle and quickly found a seat in the back of the plane, hoping Harry would opt to sit with someone else a few seats in front of you, after all there were only about 20 seats in the plane, hopefully he’d pick not pick the one right next to you.

I’ve got too much to think about, I might burst into flames if I have to smell his vanilla spice cologne for the next two hours.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Fuck.

“Yeah sure.” 

He slid into the seat with ease, tucking his bag under the chair. You curled into the corner of your seat, trying to put a small bit of distance between you but not too much to make him worried. 

Harry turned to look at you, propping his left elbow up on the squishy armrest between the two of you. 

“I remember the first tour we did fo’ 1D, got ’t was hectic. Stupid, teenagers on the road wit’ too much money an’ not enough discipline. The first month was crazy, all of us high on the feelin’ of performing once we’d gotten over the stage fright, then immediately going t’ a new town, meetin all these people, ’t was a dream. But then a couple months later we could feel the toll, I don’t think I really realized how exhausted I was from touring until the last night where instead o' celebratin, I went to sleep right when we entered the hotel an’ didn’t wake up till 3pm the next day.” 

Harry’s little heart spill didn’t help you too much with your dilemma, might’ve just made you fall for him even more, but you appreciated the fact that he was trying to let you know he knew the feeling. 

“Thanks H.” 

You mumbled, face squished into the headrest of your seat. 

He patted his shoulder, “Come ‘ere, yeh can fall asleep on me.” 

Your eyes widen, “Oh, don’t worry about it, I’m fine—“ 

“Nonsense, come on, you’ll wake up without a creak in yo’r neck yea?”

Fuck it.

“Alright.” 

You scooched over and nestled into the British heart-throb, soaking in that damn vanilla cologne you’d sworn to avoid.

He laid his head on top of yours and you made yourself relax, cause you couldn’t deny it, it was pretty comfy like this with him.

Pretty comfy indeed.

During the concert, all you can think about while taking pictures is how the Styles boy might be sweeping you right off your feet. 

The little dance moves he makes, so erotic but beautiful in the same way, like he’s in another room dancing on his own in the dark. The way he throws he head back during certain parts of a song, caught up in the moment—

She’s such a good girl,

“Be professional! You’re on job for gods sake,” You muttered to yourself, raising the camera again.

She feels so good,

She feels so good,

But then you lower the camera again to watch as he rocked his hips with the beat, jaw-dropping at the sight. You looked up to his face as he turns, that was now looking at you.

He started to strut on the stage, slowing making his way to you, eye contact unwavering.

“I met her once and wrote a song about her

I wanna scream, yeah

I wanna shout it out

And I know she hears me now.”

Hold on, knows?!

He finally let his eyes drift back to the crowd, singing la la las with the rest of the band. 

You on the other hand, were having a miniature heat attack.

The gesture was so raw, so real, too real. It’s like he was talking to your soul, reaching out to tell you—

Does this mean he likes me too?

telephone hour for this chapter!

mah masterlist

<3

[ripleyink]

In Such Grief - John Shelby

Author’s Notes: Don’t really know what came over me, just wanted to write something angsty and emotionally brutal. Not sure if I achieved it but if I did... excellent *tents fingers*. Length: Not too long. It’s a shorty. Rating: A. For Angst. Not really, I’d call this one mature but only for the language.

John couldn't look at the body.

He could picture it, definitely; serene expression, saturated skin, dressed in the finest clothes she could afford with dirty blonde hair brushed carefully and laid precisely beside her head. He could picture her lying along the floor of the wagon with beads, fabrics and all the little things she owned decorating the inside with some of the things their children left for her. She wouldn't be wearing shoes, though. Not her. Not the one who ran the streets of Birmingham without them for so long.

John leaned close to Polly who stood solemnly on his left. "She's not wearin' shoes, is she?"

Polly glanced up at John, her features faintly masked by the black, lace veil she wore over her face. "No, John. She's not wearin' shoes," Polly answered, rubbing John's back.

John nodded his head, swallowing the lump in his throat before he bowed his head. "Good. Wouldn't be right if she wore shoes... only wore shoes when she 'ad to..."

Polly's brow deepened, the brims of her lined eyes filling with tears, "We know, John..."

A choked sob managed to escape through John's lips, exiting past the hold he was trying to keep over his emotions in the field just a little way outside of the city. Other civilians kept away from the ceremony but looked upon it with curiosity; some forcing sympathy to appear in their gazes when they came to the realization it was a funeral. The whole family and a small gathering of their closest friends stood in their best black clothing on the damp grass, having left pieces of themselves on the adorned wagon they now studied with melancholic stares.

Ada had been ill for the past week but forced herself out of bed to attend, unfortunately needing a chair to rest in during the ceremony. Arthur and Tommy remained silent, little Finn stayed with his Aunt Polly and Jeremiah stood in front of the wagon for everyone to see him. John's children, all four of them, didn't approach their father nor were they allowed to. Each of them were kept in the hold or attention of a member of the family or a family friend. It wasn't that John couldn't be near them, it was more he couldn't stand for them to be near him. He'd been in war, he'd seen men die but it didn't kill him as much as it did when they told him Martha had.

Not her, he thought at the time. Not her, please, fucking God or anyone, tell me it's not her. She's the good one, she's the good one. Not her...

John bit down hard on his lip. He was practically splitting the skin apart by now with his teeth, but his emotions overwhelmed him to the point that the pain there was more bearable than the pain inside. Hell, he could be shot, stabbed, burned or beaten at this very moment and he'd thank the person who did it. It would take away from the agony he was feeling. John had lost people before but this loss was something else.

He had left his heart in Martha's hands and he could've sworn it died with her. The sky above began to shift. Clouds were rolling further and further across the sky, mixing and blending and darkening until the threat of a storm became all too possible for the group of people standing below. 

Just as the first drum of thunder occurred, John cleared his throat in the presence of the people he trusted most.

"I got somethin' ta say before Jeremiah starts," he nodded at Jeremiah and Jeremiah nodded in return. John swallowed the lump in his throat again. "Martha... Martha would want me to say somethin'... woman would bloody come back from the dead and cut me bollocks off if I didn't... I met 'er when she was five and I was seven. I thought I 'ad it rough bein' the fuckin' middle child of four kids livin' in the shithole we did... I met Martha and I learned she was the eighth child of fourteen kids in one 'ouse. I thought I was lucky then because I didn't have thirteen other siblings like 'er, but when I got older I realized I was lucky for another reason. I met 'er.

"We got older and got closer and I was certain about one thing: I wanted only one person in my life tha' I would love the way I did. God seemed ta think so too because before we knew it Martha was up the fuckin' duff and I 'ad to get a proper job; work full time to take care o' 'er. It was okay though... we'd been takin' care of each other since we was kids so... it was a'right. Went off to war I never stopped writin' to 'er... every time she'd write back 'I'm with ya. Always with ya.' I know she always will be. She'll always be with me and the kids..."

Tommy spoke up, hoping to provide some structure to his brother's speech. "Talk about 'er. Talk about the good things. What she was like."

Arthur nodded, joining his brother in encouragement. "Yeah, John, it's a'right." John didn't turn his head to see his brothers. Instead, he glanced over to Polly, seeking her out with a pained yet desperate look in his pale blue eyes. Polly inclined her head in support.

"She's listenin', John."

Anybody else would've accepted this but no one could really say whether she was or she wasn't. Anybody else would've gone on with the speech, releasing every piece of tension that was twisting their organs and tearing their heart. Anybody would've taken this as something hollow; something one says to a grieving person when they don't know what to say at all. But this was Aunt Polly and she meant it so John believed it. His grieving mind may have clouded his lack of belief in anything but this was something he was desperate to believe and so he did. He genuinely believed Martha was listening to him.

"Martha, you were always better at words than I was. You were a good writer and brilliant at makin' things up for the kids; tellin' them all those stories jus' so they'd go to sleep. You were the most organized person I knew; I can tell ya now if I 'ad married anyone else I wouldn't 'ave been treated as well as you treated me. You were smart, bloody funny, a brilliant mum to our kids, and most of all you were the most important person ta me," John's voice cracked, tears finally falling from his eyes. "Ever since we were lit'le and even when it felt like we weren't goin' to make it, we always did. We always did because of you. Because you were so fuckin' brilliant. You were fuckin' brilliant."

No one dared to correct John or remind him that his children, all four of them, were present during his speech. No one dared to tell him not to curse in front of them or to at least try to watch his language. It was clear to everyone present at the funeral of Martha Shelby that John was somewhere else; he had already faced the reality of the situation and even while attending Martha's funeral he still seemed trapped in the moment when she was no longer in this world.

John's children were removed before the burning of the Romani wagon, and frankly, John wanted to go with them. There was not a single part of him that wanted to stay there and watch the wagon go up in flames knowing Martha was inside. The only reason he stayed was because he knew she would have - if it had been him instead. Martha would have stayed until she knew he was completely gone, watched everything turn to ash before leaving. Martha made sure he was never alone and she would have made sure he wasn't if he had died instead.

Thinking about this only made the sense of loss more prominent for John Shelby because he was facing something he didn't want to before: he just lost the only woman who went the extra mile to love him. He was going to take cues from her even if it tore him to do so.

"John..." Tommy spoke up from behind his brother, "if you want to leave early... no one's goin' to call you any less of a man."

Polly's eyes rolled in her head, biting her lip to fight back an incredulous scoff.

John shook his head and forced his eyes to stay on the wagon. "She would've stayed for me; I'm goin' to stay for 'er."

It was Tommy who lit the wagon on fire. John, Polly, Tommy and Arthur and the rest of the people attending - none of them being any of Martha's family members - stood back a safe distance watched the flames dance back and forth. In the middle of it, John's mind was carried off elswhere - deep into the recesses of his mind where he was reminded of the way Martha danced. Leaping, twirling, jumping and swinging all over the tiny living room of their home together, wearing a dress too big for her so it billowed with the movement. There was no music he could hear but then again she always did have a good imagination, he wouldn't have been surprised if she said it was all in her head where she heard it. Her thin, pale legs with the thin, near-invisible blonde hairs, the way her hair cascaded before sweeping and swinging along with her movement seemed to entrance him, the small strip of sunset shining upon her...

"Fuckin' 'ell, Martha..." he muttered, his eyes tracing the thick plumes of dark smoke reaching to touch the sky above. "Why'd ya 'ave ta leave me?"