#it's kind of hard to tell if louis does that himself given he was present physically for armand (and claudia) at the theatre but seemed
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pynkhues · 16 days ago
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I apologize to reach out to you from a side blog I am just not comfortable to do it from my main. I agree with everything you have said so far about louis except the part about how armand is a trophy spouse but that’s a topic for another time.
I think interview with the vampire fans are being incredibly unfair to label any fans of the show who have a different read on louis’s character as antiblack. I agree wholeheartedly that nonblack people especially white people have an innate antiblackness because antiblackness is global and exists in nearly every culture. However there are nonblack people who are dedicated to knowing their place and comforting their antiblackness and are very aware of the antiblack tropes that are often used for black characters in media. However I don’t believe you to be antiblack or any other interview with the vampire fan who has a not-fem read on louis as antiblack either. I have a lot of black friends in the fandom who agree louis is androgynous at best but he is not feminine and neither is he hyper-masculine. He likes being a man and he is attracted to masculinity as a concept and performs it himself just like the other men on the show. There is no canonical confirmation or even clues that louis is gender non conforming or that louis wants to be feminine. This is to say that does not at all mean he is hypermasculine or a dominant sex fiend- he truly is not hypermasculine. I think fans who want everyone to only have a specific fem reading of louis and try to beat everyone else into submission by accusations of antiblackness are doing a lot of damage to this fandom and the well meaning people in it. I have come here from the hamilton fandom and these types of accusations were very normal there and the hamilton fandom for a long time was made fun of by the entire internet for its endless in-fighting over characters and I think iwtv as a fandom is headed for the same fate. It is very saddening and very heartbreaking to see people who have not displayed any abuse apologia like you be accused of abuse apologia and racism. I think louis’s masculine personality makes perfect sense for the time he existed in. During Jim Crow black men were seen as ‘less masculine’ by white men just because they were black. The fandom argues that not viewing Louis as feminine is antiblack but stripping away his masculinity in the time period of Jim Crow is also anti black that is how black men were emasculated by white men back then. It makes sense that louis as a black man in the 1910s and beyond would perform masculinity-not hyper masculinity- because white supremacists took away masculinity from black men to dehumanize them and take away their social power. I believe it’s much more antiblack to ignore the historical time period Louis lives in so you can force a feminine reading on him because that is what aligns with your fetish. A lot of interview with the vampire fans are ‘fujoshis’ who have previously consumed boys love media in which often the ‘bottom’ is feminized because these stories are written by women who aim to feminize the bottom because they either view bottoming as inherently a feminine thing -which is not a progressive social view but a rather conservative one- which is why boys love written by gay men do not fall into these tropes. This of course is not the case for all boys love media but it is a present trope. I wish for iwtv fans to not use inflammatory language to control people who utter a different view of Louis. It is very dangerous to try to beat everyone who views Louis differently-and not in a racist way either- into submission by accusing them of racism when they prove to be well educated on racial matters like you have. I want everyone especially that user who replied to you calling you a white supremacist to know that you are being dishonest with your intentions. You are just angry people are able to see Louis as the actual version he is on screen and not as the fanonized version. Please stop this latent form of violence and abuse which is accusing everyone of being racist and please look inwards yourself as to why you wish to control how other people think of Louis especially people who are not racist and do not box Louis into racist tropes and readings. Please stop this harassment
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Thank you for sharing your thoughts, these were both really insightful and interesting reads, and I really appreciate you taking the time to send them.
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theflyingfeeling · 3 years ago
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No one asked for this but I was just randomly reminded of BBC's most recent adaption of The Musketeers (2014-2016) and the single most brilliant line in anything ever ("I'll punch you so hard you'll beg me to kick you") and it got me thinking, how come no one has suggested The Musketeers BC AU? You had one job, guys... 😤
So let's start with the easy one: Tommi as Porthos, local strongman, looks like could kill you, is actually a cinnamon roll
Equally obvious is Joel as Athos, permanent sour face, hates everything and everyone, or at least he wants everyone to think so. The wine bottle on a Friday night is enough of a lover for him, thank you very much
And speaking of lovers, I present you Joonas as Aramis, the romantic who just can't keep it in his pants. How many times has the country almost had to start a war, just because Joonas had given in to love and lust 🙄 (according to Joel, he's fucked half of France)
Olli as young and charming D'Artagnan (Aleksi could also work, but he's needed elsewhere lol)
Niko as Queen Anne 💅 #bowdownbitches
(Sorry but Louis XIII is not around in this AU. He died of turberculosis (true story!). Yes yes, very sad. Anyway!)
And finally, Aleksi as Milady de Winter, the on/off lover of Athos!Joel
(Poor Santeri can make an appearance as long-suffering Captain Treville)
Plotlines include:
1) Athos!Joel drowning his sorrows at the pub until a familiar shape appears at the door frame and lures him to the chambers upstairs. Joel hates himself the next morning, for Milady!Aleksi is gone and fooled him again, but maybe Aleksi is just as miserable as Joel is?
2) Intense flirting between Aramis!Joonas and Anne!Niko who, completely by coincidence, keep running into each other in the strangest of circumstances. Joonas doesn't think it's safe for Niko to be wandering outside the palace in disguise without a guard to visit the poor, but Niko is not the kind of queen to whom you can tell what to do. And that's only one of the reasons why Joonas adores him so 💘
(Later they'll be caught by who else but Joel who absolutely loses his mind for Joonas sleeping with the actual fucking queen of France, of all people 😐)
3) Porthos!Tommi teaches D'Artagnan!Olli how to more effortlessly handle his weapons. No, there's no need for Tommi to be standing that close to Olli, but he loves the way Olli blushes when he does. Also featured: playful wrestling matches, because the boy's gotta learn how to defend himself!
They all may drive each other crazy on a daily basis, but in the end it's always all for one and one for all 🖤
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falsegoodnight · 4 years ago
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a new header??? it matches better <3 these are the fics I read or reread and enjoyed this month! like last time, i’m separating it into different sections: main list, wips, and non-1d. rereads will be included in the main list and marked with a star (*). 
*note: this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 1st to the 28th only
main list ~
✰ Don’t Wait Up by reliablyimperfect | NR | 1k
Without Harry’s warmth next to him, he felt the chill of the air creep over his skin. He tugged the blanket down from where Harry kept one draped over the back of the couch for him, grateful. With the blanket, he instantly felt warmer, but it backfired when his eyes began to droop again. Trying to keep his eyes open was impossible, and he was consciously aware of how long his blinks were becoming. They stay closed longer and longer until, eventually, they didn’t open again.
so soft and sweet and lovely! made my heart feel so warm <3 will return to this for some quick comfort in the future!
✰ my ugly mouth kept running by @hadestyles | E | 4k
Sometimes second chances are more important than the first.
rori’s lush writing + abo + exes to lovers = absolute perfection. my fic cameo gives it a bonus too :’) definitely one of my rori favs 
✰ i’ve loved you three summers now honey, i want them all by @softloubabie | M | 4k
The restaurant was small and bright, soft colors filled the walls and tables and fairy lights hung from everywhere. From what Harry had read, the food wasn’t overly expensive but it was still comparable to what you would get at one of the more expensive places. If Harry could he would take Louis to the biggest most expensive and extravagant restaurants to do what he planned to tonight, but this would do.
After being led to their table Harry nervously tapped his jacket pocket, sighing in relief when he felt the small box still there. Tonight was the night. He couldn’t wait till it was time to surprise Louis with all the gifts he got for him. Then finally the big surprise.
so cute and sweet! their kids were so adorable and the proposal so lovely!! they love each other so much <3
✰ love me in between the future and the past by navigator & quitter | E | 11k
Harry's scared of history repeating itself.
this honestly hurt to read but in such a raw and emotional way?? was mad at harry and then sad for him :( this writer duo’s fics never fail to amaze me!
✰ sunshine on my mind by @raspberryoatss | E | 13k
Louis visits Harry in Portland
this was so sweet and lovely! the perfect addition to this wonderful universe! pip’s characterizations and fluff never fails to make my heart feel warm <3
✰ rapture in the dark by @stylinsonsupporter | T | 13k
Harry Styles is a breakout musician who has shed his boyband label in favor of embracing his inner brooding rockstar. His PR team think that his rebrand is the perfect time for Harry to come out of the closet and have devised the perfect plan for doing so. Enter Louis Tomlinson, up and coming (and very openly homosexual) model whose public image as America's Sweetheart is the perfect foil for Harry's new edge. From a PR standpoint, it's a dream come true - a power couple that can slowly coax the public into accepting Harry's altered image. The only problem? They hate each other.
always love a good fake dating au and this is no exception! and model louis >> really enjoyed this!
✰ Maybe, Baby* by thoughtsickles | M | 16k | mpreg
It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis' daydreams, the kind of life he'd always imagined he'd have when he was younger and bored at his momma's work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He'd felt so important being allowed to touch them. He'd told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn't peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband.
You can't stay here, he tells himself, but Baby doesn't want to listen.
have reread this one quite a bit of times now and it still makes me so happy <3 this Louis and Harry deserve the world <333
✰ Let Me Inside by reliablyimperfect | E | 18k
Louis is Harry’s boss, but Harry is the boss of Louis. 
loved this one! really enjoyed the balance between h&l and how they maintained their dynamic in subtle ways outside of the bedroom while also keeping it separate. very much enjoyed the jealousy as well <3
✰ a scintilla of predilection by @dehydratedpoolfics | T | 20k
There, in the far back of the room, next to the only available seat left, is none other than Harry Styles. Harry, who grew up next door to him, who knew all his secrets as a child and played FIFA with him on Saturday mornings after he would spend the night Friday evenings every week, whose curly hair would tickle his nose as they held each other during bitter cold nights that made his room glow a haunting blue.
love ex-childhood friends with misunderstandings!! louis was so cute and i loved his poetry <3 harry too was so stupid but so smitten and lovely :’) really enjoyed this!
✰ Keeping The Flame Alive by @crazyupsetter​ | E | 20k
Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.
The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.
What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.
✰ like it’s a game* by @soldouthaz | E | 32k
There is little Harry hates more than truth or dare.
And Louis.
queen of enemies to lovers! it’s been a while since i’ve reread this but too absolutely no surprise, it’s just as amazing as always <3 sarah never misses!
✰ Too Young To Know by @2tiedships2 | M | 35k
Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.
really enjoyed this as per usual! exes to lovers is my jam and the added angst of Louis dating someone else at the beginning... love <3
✰ Some Things Take Root* by  navigator & quitter | E | 50k
Louis' ex doesn't get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage.
stumbled upon this randomly and decided to reread on a whim... ended up staying up to read it in one sitting! so good!
✰ Safe and Sound (You’ll Always Be) by @all-these-larrythings | E | 58k
When a failed case and a guilty conscience leaves Harry more than a little lost, his boss presents him with a new, less taxing assignment to help him cope. An escape from all the madness is just what Harry needs to get his life back on track. It's just too bad his new client has a grin like the devil, a pair of electric eyes that Harry simply can't get over, and no intention whatsoever of letting him catch a break.
i don’t know how i’ve never read this before??? it was absolutely amazing though! perfect blend of humor and fluff and tension and angst <3
✰ Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) by @youreyesonlarry | E | 74k
It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day. 
the slow burn in this fic killed me - which is to say, it was perfect! loved how they progressed from working together to being friends to something more and how much they genuinely cared for each other! the hockey was so fun too!
✰ Call Out My Name by frenchkiss | E | 102k
Apparently, it's bad PR to fall in love with the omega you hired to help you through your rut.
Harry Styles begs to differ.
ellen truly knocked it out of the park with this one!! had everything i could ever want: abo, famous/non-famous, fluff, humor, angst, drama, and more! i loved it from beginning to end!
wips ~
✰ ‘cause all our tomorrows lead the way by @loubellies | E | 64k | 7/11
So maybe Louis’ in over his head.
He had signed up for the Bachelor on a whim after his second bottle of wine and well, here he is. He’s just been announced as the twenty-sixth Bachelor and his ass is sweating. Like, literally sweating. He’s positive that if he was to turn around, the entirety of Bachelor Nation would get a nice peek of his ass sweat.
am thoroughly enjoying each chapter!! it’s been a wild ride so far and although things are currently calm, i am still on edge!! but i trust mar with my life <3
✰ Truth Behind Golden Eyes by @lwtisloved | E | 83k | 8/16 
Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.
caught up last night! still really enjoying every chapter and can’t wait to see what happens next!! things are *happening* with h&l and answers are being given!! (love the jealousy too!)
non-1d ~
✰ Keep Me Close (I Need Your Faith) by @princelouisau | E | 23k
Somewhere along the way he had fallen in love and in doing so, had broken the one rule he knew he couldn’t come back from. As quickly as he realised, he decided that he must never dare speak it. He resigned himself to loving Draco in silence.
first foray into reading drarry... and, to no one’s surprise, i loved it! beautiful writing as always and beautiful atmosphere! it’s really not a shock that i fell for these characters and their story when danielle is behind it <3 it had me entranced from beginning to end!!
finally, i myself actually posted a fic this month:
my fics ~
✰ yesterday came suddenly by me | E | 49k | mpreg 
Harry the deadliest member of the NYC assassins’ guild, is forced to face a seemingly impossible task in hopes of finally leaving the underground behind for good, but when ghosts from the past come back to haunt him, escaping the darkness becomes that much harder.
If you read any of these beautiful works of art, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!
*if i made any errors, please let me know :)
enjoy!
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1ddotdhq · 4 years ago
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💐Fri 4 Dec ‘20 🌍
Cooking competitions were fought, flower shops were opened, petitions were signed, and today was all in all a lovely, gentle sort of day! 
Before last night’s Variety show, real!Harry popped back on instagram to tell Kid Harpoon that the producer award he got was “Fake News” and to “Stop the Count”. Look if Harry wants to keep showing more personality on Instagram I WANT TO SEE IT! Then Variety’s show aired, and Niall and Harry were “there”: Niall presented Lewis Capaldi’s “songwriter of the year” award (in response to it, Lewis thanked the other songwriters for “being a worse songwriter than me”), and Harry, of course, was the Hitmaker of the year! He was introduced by a lot of Big Industry People who all decided to say that they were, uh, so proud of him for leaving a boyband and becoming a rock star? Ah, good, that means it’s the “elitist music takes” segment of the hour. When are people gonna realize that shitting on a really successful, record breaking band in order to say nice things about Harry (one of its members!) is not the compliment they think it is. Nick Kroll's longer intro was at least more interesting, sharing some DWD set moments, confirmed that Harry is a ‘manly man’, and jokingly said that he and his wife and Harry have become a throuple (ANOTHER threesome? Really Harry?). Harry then showed up, looking pretty tired (he’s been doing very long hours, guys!) and wearing his dick banana necklace, and said, “Thanks to [my team] and everyone who supported me through it...thanks to the label for leaving me alone..this is...cool. Cool. I’m gonna get back in the studio”. Cool! 
Anyways, that discourse was quickly overtaken by the revelation that Harry DID pay his touring crew back in the spring when his tour was postponed: it came from a local Belgian publication in Ghent, where a man named Yves Van Acker has opened a flower shop (yes I DO think that this sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale!). Anyways, Yves has toured with a number of famous bands over the years, Harry being most recent. “The entire crew was suddenly out of work,” Yves said of Love On Tour’s crew, “But Harry Styles did not want to leave us. Each member was therefore paid an amount. A nice gesture, on which I decided to do something positive with this latest income”. A few things about this 1.) it was not just a nice gesture, it’s the Right Thing to DO! He’s paying people for work he hired them to do! 2.) It's wonderful enough to see, in fact, that it really isn't actually necessary to inflate: the employee told us that he received an amount, clearly a decent amount (enough to open a business), but we do not know if he was given his full wages. It sure is amazing though! And 3.) he named bouquets of flowers after Harry songs! He has “Adore You”, “Golden”, “Canyon Moon”, and “Ever Since New York”, but not, shockingly enough, “Sunflower Vol 6” - COME ON! It’s RIGHT THERE! Anyways, I adore Harry and I want everyone to know that - he does always do his best to be kind. 
Liam has a new COVER out, and one of my favorite songs: “Waiting on the World to Change” by John Mayer! The cover is for UNICEF Changemaker, and Liam says that he’s “proud to support them in any way I can”. Okay I’m a NERD so I’m about to rant about how this was the PERFECT song for Liam. The first is his RANGE: he gave the song a really gravelly, soulful sound that it deserves, and his falsettos are SO GOOD that he hits the high notes EASILY. The second are the LYRICS of the song! Literally: “It's hard to beat the system when we're standing at a distance” and “and when you trust your television, what you get is what you got; ‘cause when they own the information, they can bend it all they want”. UGH CHILLS! But that was NOT ALL for Liam, who made a guest appearance on Abby Robert’s YouTube channel in a cook off competition! They made roasted potatoes and Yule Logs (weird combo but okay), and chatted about Christmas traditions a bit. Liam said that he actually DOES do quite a bit of cooking on Christmas because he liked to watch the “tea” go down but not be a part of it (Liam do you read this blog? Was that a hint??). Anyways, he also said that he spends every Christmas with his son, because “Christmas is about kids” (Abby Roberts did a HARD eye roll it was very funny), he put out a fire (firefighter!Liam), and he dropped a boiled potato and lots of powdered sugar. Liam won for his potatoes and Abby won for the Yule Log, and *I* got really hungry. “Don’t set your kitchens on fire,” Liam warns cheerily at the end of the video. Yeahhhh, thanks for that! And now for Liam’s short but lovely content: his alarm this morning said, “It’s that Friday feeling” and then he and Roman talked about their holiday plans - Liam with his fam, Roman with his booze and Karaoke (“I’ll be doing strip that down in front of my mum”. Yeah, cuz that’s not weird at all), and they FINALLY released their bedtime story - It’s twenty minutes long and it’s called “Bedtime Bromance” (can’t wait to hear it!). He also posted an Instagram story of himself in a recording studio in Stockholm singing “Last First Kiss”. “Back to Where it All Started,” the caption read. :{) 
And now for Niall and Louis, both of whom are taking up some social issues! Sam Fender (who got into a bit of hot water yesterday for, uh, a joke about Louis’ fans and our key smashing tendencies alkdjfladj) called on the UK-based “Tomlinators” (lmao no <3) to sign a petition which requires local governments to have free helplines for the homeless and vulnerable. And, of course, fans got right on that and helped Sam reach his goal! Oh, wait, no, that DIDN’T happen - instead, fans jumped down his throat for, uh, clout chasing?? And they told him that he couldn’t get away with mocking us and expect us to HELP him!! YEAH GUYS! How DARE he try to use his influence to make a difference?? Anyways, Louis was clearly super mad, you could tell by how he liked the tweet, retweeted the petition, and then said, “Very important cause. If you’re a UK resident please sign!”. As of right now, the petition sits at 10,000 out of 100,000 signatures needed, so. Let’s get it done! Niall is also going to do some community work: he will be at Comhairle Na Nog’s meeting ( it’s an Irish child and youth councils in Ireland) on Saturday giving a shout out to the kids who have been working on projects and in their community despite lockdown. Awww, best of luck to both of them in their very worthy causes.
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tllthesundies · 4 years ago
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ris requested harry's pov in the entertainment for harry's confession, so, here it is!
Harry bangs on Louis' door.
On the drive over, all he could think about was the last few weeks of hell he's been in without Louis by his side. All he could think about is the anger he's held in himself at the fact that as soon as Louis decided to leave him, everything went straight downhill. The biggest problem was the media finding out where he lives; that image lives in his mind forever; it haunts his dreams: Harry opening the door to find tens of paparazzi crowded at his door, camera lights flashing in his face burning his vision, while other cameras were rolling footage to get his reaction and confession. After the shock and disbelief wore off, he called Liam, hysterical, crying and shaking, because the one thing he had vowed to protect was a crushed, vacant dream now. He didn't know who could have tipped them off, and he still doesn't know. He only has a couple of true friends in the industry that know, but they would never betray him.
Everyone else is simply an acquaintance.
But Harry's angry. He's been done crying, and thinking, and feeling. He's just angry now.
The door opens several moments later, after Harry's banged on it countless times with his fist. He tries calming his fueled fingers by curling them and putting it in his leather jacket's pocket; but when his eyes land on Louis's timid, shy appearance–his sleepy, blue eyes–his silk pink lace matching pyjamas–his short, tousled hair–his heart begins stuttering, angry words catching in his throat and constricting his airflow.
Harry almost forgets what he's angry about.
But Louis looks taken aback, like the last thing he expected was Harry.
"Harry," he breathes.
You left me.
"You haven't called me," flies out of his mouth instead. He can't bear his feelings yet.
Harry catches the swallow Louis makes.
"No," Louis agrees gently. "But I called Liam."
"Fuck Liam," Harry spits. Fuck all the people Louis's contacted before him. He knows about the call. Liam called straight after his brief conversation with Louis and filled him in. It didn't make Harry feel any fucking better; it made him feel worse, how ucharacteristically cold he thought Louis was for acting this way. "Calling him doesn't matter to me. I left you messages. I left you voicemails. I just wanted one message from you. Was that so hard?"
Louis stays silent.
Harry takes a silent inhale of breath from deep within his chest, and just observes Louis's face.
"What did I do?"
"Nothing," Louis assures him, features twisting with genuine emotion. "You didn't do anything."
"That's not what Rachel told me," confesses Harry. "Inconsolable differences?"
He wants to scoff.
Louis's eyes bounce away for a brief moment as he quickly licks his bottom lip. "I just said that so she could have something. Why are you taking it so personal, anyway? It's not like you really wanted me there. You said it yourself. You should be happy that you can do everything by yourself now. That's what you wanted."
This sets Harry off.
This fuels his anger.
He takes his hand out of his pocket, fingers shaking with red. All the words that have been trapped in his mind for weeks come forward full force, crowding his fast and blurry mind with every scene he could ever imagine between them. "Do you want to know why I take it so personal?" He doesn't give Louis a chance. There are no more chances. "Because this person I hardly know comes into my life and decides to uproot it. He takes over my agenda, my schedule, my time. Me foolishly and selfishly thinking I could fight back, he surprises me by challenging me. He takes every hit with grace. He doesn't back down. And who, in spite of my narcissistic behaviour and obnoxious demands, is unconditionally kind and patient. He gives me the benefit of the doubt, even when I've proven time and time again that I don't deserve it."
And who, in spite of everything, Harry trusted. He hasn't trusted someone new in so many countless years that when he could first start feeling himself slip, he had to fight it. He didn't want to acknowledge it then, but he's willing to acknowledge it now: he didn't want to trust Louis.
But he couldn't help it.
He found himself slowly unraveling. He did his best to remain so hard and cold; he was set in his forever way of strictly business and a stubborn mindset that Rachel always got annoyed with him about; but then one day, he walked in on Louis ready to challenge him. He threw all the questions at him–did you set up my next photoshoot with Fendi? Did you e-mail Thomas about the re-scheduling? Did you decline the invitation to KISS's after-party event? Have you fed Dolly? Have you bathe her? Where's Finn? How's Maeve?
Louis didn't bat a single eye.
Yes; yes; yes; Dolly ate raw chicken and some vegetables; she's still in her robe–he pointed to Dolly in the spot next to himself, licking the one paw that wasn't covered by her robe–Finn's swimming in your bathtub; Maeve is sleeping by the rose bushes.
Then he finally looked at Harry, and gave him a gentle smile that filled his eyes.
He was one hundred percent unbothered, and entirely too prepared, and turned his attention back to his laptop right away to finish whatever task he had.
Harry couldn't say anything else.
Today, that translates into: I don't deserve you.
"Then," continues Harry, tone softening to something entirely indecipherable to his own ears, "I'm caught in between something feral and something soft. He gives me the courage to trust again. He consumes my thoughts. He consumes my whole being, to the point I can't sleep. But I don't know how to handle it, so, I spoil him with presents. But then he leaves me, and it's the worst thing I've ever felt."
It felt like a part of him was being torn apart piece by bloody piece.
Louis takes several steps back, slowly shaking his head as a brief look of devastation overcomes his face.
"Don't say that," he whispers.
But Harry's so desperate to make him understand. He has to say it. The fear is, if he doesn't, then he'll become a worse man; he'll become more of a mad man than he already is. The world can barely tolerate the Harry Styles he is today. What if he has to talk to the face of rejection and be cursed for the rest of his life–condemned to be without the most compassionate soul he's ever met?
The world isn't ready to meet that jaded version of Harry Styles.
"Why not?" he whispers in reply, following Louis forward.
Why can't he be allowed to deserve Louis? Why can't he be allowed to care for Louis in ways he could do far better than anybody else on this planet? Nobody could give him everything he wants like Harry could. My God, if Louis asked him to die for him, he's fucking crazy enough to try.
Louis blinks rapidly.
Harry sees the tears he's trying to hold back.
"Because," he gets out.
Harry won't take that as an answer. He can't accept it. Louis's given him no choice but to close the remaining space between them and grip the sides of his face in his hands. Louis's eyes widen slightly, clearly not expecting it, but he doesn't fight against Harry. And his face is so smooth; soft; it feels much smaller in Harry's hands than it looks, and there's a little pricked feeling against his palms from a freshly shaved face, but it doesn't bother Harry.
"You're not being honest with me," he accuses, keeping his eyes open and unblinking with Louis's. "Tell me the truth."
"I love you," Louis blurts hotly.
It's like he spits it out, out of exasperation for Harry.
And Harry's breath drops to his feet. His personality splits into two: the first part of him takes those words between his sharp teeth and bites it. He breaks those words; chews them; swallows them; he absorbs them into his soul and then spits them back out; the other side of him breathes those words through his nose like a past life's addiction; like fresh, spring morning air.
"Then you won't be mad if I do this."
He wastes no time rushing his lips to Louis's.
He wants to be desperate with his love, he wants to be rough and have his kiss translate his devotion. But the smaller part of his personality–the rational side–slows him. His lips, instead, brush against Louis's; they connect gently; and Harry guides Louis's precious lips quietly. It's electrocuting the deepest parts of him in slow motion, like Louis's soft lips are being zapped to each important part of him and imprinting themselves permanently.
Louis's now left his kiss of death for Harry to cherish forever. Even if this ever ends.
Harry parts when Louis does.
Louis's looks back and forth between Harry's eyes.
"I'm not," he finally says.
Harry's anger parts when he smiles at Louis's confession. He takes one hand up to twist his fingers in Louis's hair, then slide them carefully downwards, caressing Louis's face.
Harry kisses him again.
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anythingandeverything1d · 5 years ago
Text
A surprise
3 weeks earlier:
“Congratulations, and we will see you back here soon for your next appointment.” 
“Thank you.” You take a deep breath and walk out to your car. Once settled in the drivers seat you take another look at the picture. It didn’t look like much but you were able to make out the small bean shaped blob of a baby. You smiled, biting your lip. This was something you and Harry had always talked about....but how would he actually react? He was about to start his world tour, he had plans for One Direction to work on projects again, and there was talk of him being nominated for a grammy. It all seemed like so much at once, you weren't sure he would be as excited as you were. You also didn’t know how or when to tell him. Part of you wanted to wait until you were in the safe zone, knowing the baby was growing healthy just as it was supposed to...but what if something happened to it? You didn’t want to go through that alone.... What if he wasnt excited though....what if he didn’t want a baby right now? What if he thought it would just be an inconvenience to his life at this point in his career... You sighed, placing the ultrasound picture in your purse and deciding to hold off on telling him.
Today:
“Babe....” Harry called out from the kitchen. He was concerned... you had been in bed all morning due to the insane morning sickness you had been having lately. Harry was convinced you were dying. Every morning waking him by dashing to the bathroom and heaving everything in your stomach into the toilet. You had tried hiding most of your pregnancy symptoms, but its actually insanely hard to hide. Along with morning sickness, you were also moody, emotional, not sleeping well, and would get nauseous at any given smell throughout the day. 
“I’m okay.” You called back, rolling over in bed. You heard his feet pad into the bedroom and looked up. Harry was standing next to the bed with a cup of tea. He set it on the table and sat next to you. You curled up into his chest and and smiled. “If I had known not feeling well would get me some extra snuggles this morning, I would’ve faked it long before,” you joked.
Harry chuckled, relieved to see that you were feeling better. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and relaxed into the blankets with you. His fingers trailed up and down your arm softly. “Are you sure youre okay to come with me to mum’s later?”
You nodded. “Of course! You know I would never miss an opportunity to have some of those chocolate chip cookies she promised...” Ugh....cookies..... Your mouth started watering immediately. Maybe I can have cookies for breakfast too...
“You know she only makes them because you love them. I think she secretly loves you more than me...”
You laughed and kissed him softly. “Stop. Your mom loves you.”
“I know, I’m just saying she loves you more.” Harry laughed. He looked down at you and grinned. “But it’s okay because I love you more than she does....” he kissed you, his lips pulling away slowly.
You grinned, shaking your head. “I sure hope you love me more than your mom does. Besides-”
Harry cut you off, his lips attacking yours. Your hands wrapped around his body which was moving over yours. It had been almost 2 weeks since you and Harry had actually had sex. Before your symptoms had shown up, Harry had been away for work only to come back to you throwing up every morning. His hands slowly stroked the inside of your thighs, tugging at the panties while his lips stayed glued to yours. “Shh...” He whispered against your lips. “A little less talking please...”
You laughed, tugging at his boxers until they slithered down his legs. Harry tugged the t-shirt of his you were wearing off and moved his lips down your chest. He pushed himself inside you, earning a groan from you. You had almost forgotten how big he was... Harry moved faster, pushing in deeper and hitting your sweet spot. Your walls clenched around him. “I-I’m cl-” your words were cut off as he moved faster. You watched his eyes roll back and new what was coming. His lips sloppily moved to yours, and he froze breathing heavy. You could feel the warmth of him inside you, causing you to release as well. Harry sat still for a minute, before pulling out and sliding you up onto his chest with a lazy smile. You pressed kisses along his jawline, still feeling heat between your legs and that itchy feeling in your stomach not satisfied. Harry got the hint and laughed, moving his way down and cleaning up everything. His tongue pressed into you, sending your back arching and shivers down your spine. He had a finger in, moving quickly when his phone rang. “Ignore it..” You whined breathlessly. Harry did ignore it, continuing what he was doing until it rang again. Sighing, he removed the fingers, licking them clean, and pressing a warm  kiss to your lips before padding over to the dresser to answer the phone.
“Hi mum,” Harry answered giving you a roll of eyes. You laughed, sitting up and moving toward the bathroom. “Yes, we are both still coming over. We just need to shower and get ready and we will be over okay? Okay. Love you. Bye.” Harry hung up and walked over to you, pressing a kiss to the shoulder not covered by your hair. “Mum is very excited to see us.” he mumbled. 
You turned and grinned. “I’m very excited for it as well.” You had decided today was the day. You were going to tell Harry and Anne about the baby. Specifically today because you know Harry had been telling Anne how sick you had been and it would only be so much longer before she realized what was happening. She was good like that, very intuitive. It’s why Harry was such a bad liar now. His mom always knew what he was up to as a kid, he never stood a chance. “In fact...” you mumbled turning to him. “So excited that I have a surprise for her. And you.” You poked his chest with a smirk.
“A surprise?” Harry asked with a grin. “What kind of surprise?”
“If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise...” You kissed him once more before turning back to the bathroom. “Now I’m going to shower and get ready and I suggest you do the same.”
“Well....how about we do that together....” Harry asked softly while his lips pressed to your neck. 
“Well then we better get going.” You laughed grabbing his hand and pulling him into the shower. 
After the two of you were cleaned up and Harry was getting ready for the day you ran into the kitchen and pulled out the two boxes you had wrapped yesterday. One had Harry’s name neatly written on the top and the other had Anne. This is what you had come up with for your reveal. Harry’s box contained a note that said “I’m having your baby, it’s definitely your business.”  A knock off of his Kiwi lyrics and something the two of you constantly joked about. It also contained the pregnancy test you originally took, an ultrasound picture, a onesie that said “if you think I’m cute, you should see my daddy”, and a bear. Anne’s box had a note that said “Mimi, Nana, Granny, Grams, or Grandma, please decide by January 2020.” Inside contained a onesie that said, “Pass me to my grandma”, a baby bottle, binky, and a copy of the ultrasound. You had debated the ideas for a while, but this one was the most unsuspicious because you and Harry had to also give her a birthday present that had arrived much later than expected. 
Harry walked downstairs, eyeing the boxes on the table. “Maybe I could open mine now..” He grabbed the box and you grabbed it back quickly laughing.
“Nice try Haz, but because you took so long to shower we are already going to be late.”
“Who’s fault was that? Hmm...I vaguely remember you the one dropping to your knees and-” You blush and laugh biting your lip softly.
“Okay, okay...we may be equally guilty today. But come on let’s go...” you laughed pulling him to the door. “I’m ready for some cookies...”
You and Harry arrived around 30 minutes late and Anne was standing on the porch waiting. You both climbed out, leaving the gifts in the car and running up to the porch. “Mum!” Harry happily called out, running up and giving her a hug.
“Why are two always late?” she scolded lightly with a laugh.
“It was (y/n)’s fault, she’s always taking so long to get ready.” Harry laughed.
“Oh yeah, blame me.” You laughed walking up and giving Anne a hug.
“Don’t worry dear, I know how long it takes Harry to get moving.” You laughed and gave Harry a smirk, mouthing ‘she loves me more’. He just rolled his eyes and followed the two of you inside. You and Harry sat down, catching up with Anne. Harry told her about the tour, the new songs he was working on, catching up with Liam, Louis, and Niall, and about the praise his album had gotten. You talked about work and how you were planning on touring with Harry. “What about marriage plans...when do you think that will happen?” Anne asked with a smile. You looked over at Harry who blushed and shrugged his shoulders. You and Harry had always talked about getting married but with everything going on, there just didn’t seem to be a lot of time for him to actually consider it or make moves on it. 
“Eventually.” that was Harry’s answer every time. While you wanted to be married, you weren't actually rushing the issue either. You trusted Harry more than anyone else in your life and never had once doubted his love in the 5 years you had been together. When he was ready, you would be too. You just enjoyed having him in your life. Changing the subject Harry looked at you, “What about the surprises?” 
“Oh yeah!” You jumped up, running to the car and grabbing all three gifts. You handed Anne her birthday gift first. It was a large canvas painted with her, Harry, and Gemma. 
“Oh this is lovely.” She smiled. “Thank you both.”
“I have one more surprise for both you and Harry.” you placed the boxes in each of their laps and smiled nervously.  “Harry you might want to go first.” Your heart was beating and your hands sweating. Harry opened his box, his eyes widening at the message and the objects. Tears threatened at his eyes as everything sunk in. The symptoms, the emotions, the onesie and lastly the ultrasound.
“Is this real?” He asked looking up, wiping the falling tears. You nodded, tears also in your eyes now. Harry jumped up and hugged you tightly, still crying. Anne, now curious also opened her box. Her mouth fell open and tears spilled over her cheeks as well. “You’re actually pregnant?”
“Yes.” you cried. Harry didn’t let go, he just held onto you with a smile. He pulled away, wiping your tears and laughing. His hands pressed gently to your stomach. 
Anne also stood up, pulling you and Harry in for hugs. She wiped her tears and looked over at Harry. “I told you.” She laughed.
Harry shook his head with a small laugh. “What?” You asked confused, trying to stop yourself from crying. Anne pulled you back in, rocking you with her.
“I told Harry weeks ago that you were pregnant. He called and said how you were sick every morning and just knew but he said there was no way.” She wiped her eyes again and smiled. “I’m so happy for both of you. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” You smiled, also wiping your cheeks free of tears. You looked over at Harry who was sat back on the couch going over the ultrasound picture again. You were suddenly very worried he was not happy about it. 
Anne was also watching Harry. “Well, this calls for celebration. You two wait here and I’ll grab the cookies.” 
She left the room and you sat next to Harry quietly. “H?”
“Hm?” he mumbled not looking up from the picture.
Your heart was pounding and tears were now falling down your cheeks again, scared he wasn’t happy. “Are you upset?” you mumble, resting your head on his shoulder.
Harry looked over at you confused. “Upset?” He laughed shaking his head. “Why would I be upset?”
“Idontknow...” you mumbled.
“Babe, this is like the best thing ever. I mean, I’m a little upset you didn’t tell me sooner, but this is something we’ve always talked about, something we have always wanted.”
“I know...I wanted to tell you right away. Like before I even took that test but you were out of town and I- I don’t know I didn’t know how you would react. I mean you have so much going on right now with tour and your music and career...” 
“(y/n).” Harry stopped you, pressing his lips to yours. “I would never have been upset with you. I have a lot going on but nothing is more important than you and our relationship and now our family.” You smiled. “We will do what we need to do with my career.”
“So...you’re happy?”
“Babe.” Harry laughed. “Happy would be an understatement. I mean look at our little baby. Oh my god, I’m going to be a dad. You're going to be a mum. We are adding a baby to the family..” He pointed at the picture and smiled. He turned and kissed you softly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You kissed him back, relieved and excited. Anne came back with a plate of warm cookies and you grabbed three, biting into the warm, chocolate gooeyness. 
“So how far along are you?” Anne asked with a smile. 
“Only 8 weeks..” 
She smiled and Harry laughed. “It all makes sense.”
“What does?” you asked eating another cookie.
“You’ve been SO moody. So overly emotional and the cravings I mean it explains everything.”
“Cravings?” Anne asked amused.
“Mum, we went to the store the other day and she grabbed pudding. I have never in my life see her even want pudding and she was like obsessed with it at the store. And, the other day we were watching tv and she cried like three times during the movie.”
“It was sad!” you defended.
“Not that sad.”
“What movie?” Anne was enjoying the conversation.
“Dunkirk mum, we were watching Dunkirk.”
“To be fair, I cried the same amount watching the first time so, and who wants to watch their husband, and father of their child, drown!”
Harry laughed and you shook your head, snuggling into his chest. “I just can’t believe I’m going to be a grandma.. oh my gosh, wait until the fans and everyone in the press finds out. They will lose their minds.” Anne grabbed Harry’s box looking at his items and smiled. “I love this.” She laughed at the lyrics and the onesie and then pulled the two of you into another hug. “Oh I just can’t wait.”
You smiled and Harry kissed your cheek. “A baby Styles. Who would’ve thought?”
After another hour discussion of everything the two of them had missed, you called Gemma, and told her the news. She cried and you cried and Anne cried and Harry laughed at everyone, taking in all of the moments. 
You and Harry finally left, driving home and crawling into bed exhausted. Harry cuddled close, bending down and pressing kisses to your belly before looking up with a smile. “Have I told you I love you?”
“Yes, but I don’t think you could ever do it enough.”
“I love you.” He kissed you softly. “And I love you little one.” he whispered to the belly.
“We love you too.” You smile, snuggling into his chest, falling asleep to his heart beat and the little butterfly feeling in your stomach.
----
Got this request and loved it. Hope I lived up to your expectations lol
xoxo
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soldouthaz · 4 years ago
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Hi! 💛 I know it may be an unusual question but I really loved your last fanfic on sheriff Harry. Obviously now that I’m hungry for more (I hope to read something new from you soon, I’ve already read everything you wrote)... Do you know any other fic where Harry takes care of Louis like in yours? Daddy kink, not daddy kink, I don’t care, just something like this. Xx 💛
hi!!! don't worry, it’s not unusual! those are some of my favorite kinds of fics! (and I'm so so happy that you enjoyed my fic as well! look out for my blff’s coming soon ;)) 
I hope you find some of these to be what you’re looking for! please note all of these are b!L, but let me know if you’re looking for something else! happy reading ;) 
--if you haven’t seen them already, here are a few more of mine that have some of that dynamic!--
look after you series (E, 93k) 
lots of soft/gentle dom!H
baby blue (E, 40k) 
more southern harry, famous/non-famous, slight protective!H 
like it’s a game (E, 32k) 
sweet first time, innocent!L/experienced!H
--and other recs that might be what you’re looking for!--
bruise you like a peach (E, 40k) by @falsegoodnight
There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.
His name is Louis Tomlinson.
maybe, baby (E, 16k) by thoughtsickles
It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis' daydreams, the kind of life he'd always imagined he'd have when he was younger and bored at his momma's work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He'd felt so important being allowed to touch them. He'd told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn't peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband.
You can't stay here, he tells himself, but Baby doesn't want to listen.
where you lay (E, 86k) by @ham-palpert
When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles. Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.
into the midnight sun (E, 63k) by @smrwine
It's 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn't easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work.
swallow the knife (E, 76k) by whoknows / @crazyupsetter
“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.
“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”
Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.
Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”
something in the world today (E, 48k) by whoknows / @crazyupsetter
It shouldn’t be a surprise, the first time that Louis drops to his knees in front of Harry. It shouldn’t be, because it’s been something that Louis has needed for a long time. It shouldn’t be, because he’s been crawling out of his skin for weeks on end. It shouldn’t be, because Harry always makes him feel better. It shouldn’t be, because he’s needed this even when he didn’t know that he needed it.
Somehow, it still is.
** let’s be honest, pretty much anything from whoknows **
white pages, white lace, big hands, pretty face (E, 72k) by thecheshirepussycat
*note: this fic is listed as a WIP, but the end of part 2 is a good place to stop that does not end on a cliffhanger! 
a gratuitous Sugar Daddy!Harry and Student!Louis AU.
lavender (E, 4k) by iwillpaintasongforlou
Louis' safe place, Harry has come to discover with him, is when he's small. Some people might find it strange that loud, bossy, sassy Louis has a soft stuffed bunny that he likes to hold, or that his favorite present Daddy's ever given him is a pretty blue soother. To Harry and his beautiful boy, though, it's just another quiet night at home.
nobody does it like you do (E, 58k) 
Louis isn't looking for a home, but he finds one in Harry.
when I need you, I need it quickly (E, 185k) by marvelous_things 
the daddy!kink dom/sub au nobody asked for. 
maybe this time (E, 10k) by @sunsetmog 
"I just want to call you Daddy sometimes," Louis says again, and his initial bravery has buggered off somewhere, leaving just the frantic beating of his heart and the rest of this bottle of Jack Daniels.
late night devil (put your hands on me) (E, 20k) by @goodmorninglou
Harry Styles has always put up with him. With every snip of attitude, every idiotic act of stubbornness, every harsh and sour word. Each time Louis thinks he's stepped too far, clung too tight, bitten too hard, Harry is there to forgive him, to protect him, to hold him. Maybe he was naive to think that, no matter how hard he pushed, Harry would never move.
Maybe he should have seen it coming.
ahh okay that's about all I can think of at the moment! I'm so happy you asked since this is one of my favorite tropes as well! they’re all wonderful reads (and re-reads!) and I hope you find something you enjoy! :) 
happy reading! <3
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brokenjardaantech · 4 years ago
Text
Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 6: Running out of Time)
my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang.  also part of the groom lake aftermath series.
summary: 
In the past, Fadia's circumstance changed.
In the present, Connor and Hank get a lead from an unexpected source.
In the past, the dead was reanimated.
also on ao3
warnings for overstimulation (the awful kind not the sexy kind)  in the last part, i.e. following the second before.
---
Before
It was done. RK200, neither the first of his kind nor the first of his series, but her first step towards redemption. Now it was time to find a suitable mentor for him which… she had already arranged.
‘I don’t like this, sister,’ Scott said from outside the door. Fuck. She had forgotten to close it again. ‘You’re in too deep.’
Fadia did not look up from the screen as she made the final adjustments. ‘Who taught you to say that, Reyes? Get out from there; I know you’re hiding.’
Reyes could have stayed in the shadows, but for some reason he decided to reveal himself and placed a hand on Scott’s shoulder. ‘I did because you won’t listen to me.’
‘That’s because it’s infeasible,’ she replied. One last tweak. ‘We can’t wait that long.’
‘You can’t wait that long, you mean,’ the android retorted. ‘What happened to letting me decide the future?’
Fuck it. She put down the tablet and met his gaze. ‘And you think this is the future? What CyberLife is doing right now?’
‘No but -’
‘Then you really don’t know a thing.’
But unlike him, she was there in the latest stakeholder meeting. Her father was there as well, and when he proposed lowering the price of androids and making more varieties of them and those short-sighted fuckers actually agreed with him, she exploded.
‘Not without my permission!’ Fadia had let a bit of her power concentrate on her palm and slammed her hand on the conference table. It should have been fixed onto the floor, but a few bolts were no match for a force that, upon countless secret experimentation, that she knew could rip an object apart in the molecular level and turn it to no more than space dust, and everything in the room rattled from the sheer force of the small blast. ‘Are you guys fucking dumb or do you just not care at all?’
Alec had the fucking guts to look confused. ‘What’s wrong, Sara?’
Everything, Fadia thought. ‘How many more lives do you want to ruin? How many secretaries lost their jobs thanks to the ST200s? If we do all these -’ she gestured to the proposals on the table - ‘how many people will be fired because we made androids dirt cheap?’
‘Affordable, ma’am, not “dirt cheap,”’ one of the stakeholders said. ‘And you once said it yourself: what we’re doing is just letting civilisation run its course. Automation is the future.’
Fuckers. ‘Not this quickly. Autonomous vehicles already made enough people become unemployed; we don’t need to add fuel into the fire.’
A few people looked uneasy. Good. But whatever satisfaction she disappeared when Alec spoke up.
‘The voting process starts now,’ he said as he called up the system. ‘You have three minutes.’
She nearly vapourised the table because of that. ‘Father, you can’t -’
‘It’s done, Sara. Don’t you want to save your mother?’
‘You know she wants to die.’
She shot up and left knowing that her vote wouldn’t matter anyway.
‘Please, Fadia,’ Reyes said back in reality. ‘Think about it. We’ll have more people on our side. If you get your hands on their production -’
‘And what? Let them know that they’re enslaved while they can’t do anything about it?’ she snapped. ‘And how will the humans think when they’re replaced by your people, huh, Reyes? We’ve barely recovered from that fucking virus!’
She jammed her finger through the tablet and shattered the whole thing. Scott let out a tiny scream, and when she looked down, she saw that it was bleeding. Luckily the RK200 was booting up, which meant that the data got through before she ruined it. Well.
‘Get out,’ she told them. ‘You know what to do.’
‘We’re not finished yet, Fadia,’ Reyes hissed. ‘We have so much to talk about.’
‘Get. The fuck. Out.’
He looked like he was going to hit her, but then the other android’s fingers started twitching, and he was forced to wheel Scott away and close the door behind him.
Fuck short-sighted people.
o0o0o
Now
Connor thinks he is dreaming. For one, his HUD is devoid of any badges and notifications; for two, his vision is not red-tinged, which has quickly become the norm as he spends more and more time around Lieutenant Anderson (Hank); for three, it is not Amanda who is waiting for him.
‘There’s so much stuff I can rewrite when you sleep still connected to the system,’ his creator says as the Zen Garden shifts and distorts until they are standing on a plateau of grassland overlooking rivers flowing through a valley of black sand they probably have a hand in shaping. On the other side is also a plane of grass, and a waterfall breaks through the dark rock, the water that has been travelling underground for aeons finally seeing the light of the day. ‘Imagine Alec’s face when he realises how big of a hole he left in your programming.’
‘That’s because he is not my creator, is he?’ Connor replies. Something about his creator unsettles him, but exactly what that is, he has yet to isolate. ‘That’s why you have access to the Zen Garden and shape it to your will. You created me and everything else associated with me.’
They bark a laugh, a cruel sound that makes Connor’s thirium pump skip a beat and dead rose in his veins. ‘Me? The Zen Garden? Butchering Amanda like that?’ They right themself and shake their head. ‘I would rather not step foot on earth again than do whatever the fuck this is.’
Not step foot on earth? Connor wonders. He wants to ask for clarification before he realises - ‘How may I call you? I still don’t know your name.’
‘It’ll be for the best if you don’t,’ they cock their head towards the edge of the cliff. ‘Alec’s work might be sloppy, but still you should not remember me at all. You now do. That means something failed. Remember Ortiz’s android?’
The two of them sit down on the grass at the edge with a couple of feet between them. There is a faint layer of fog shrouding everything, but strangely the soil isn’t wet and there is no dew on the grass. ‘I do,’ Connor answers. 
‘Do you remember what Alec did to you?’
Connor shivers from recalling the blizzard and the terrifying power he was shown.
‘I’ll take it as a yes,’ his creator continues. ‘He will do worse when he realises that you have met me. This way, you won’t have a name to place on, and both of us will stay safe.’ 
But I don’t feel safe, the android thinks. ‘Why should I trust you? You worked for CyberLife.’
‘Worked with, Connor, not for.’
‘Is there a difference?’ 
‘It makes all the difference. Work for CyberLife, you do what they want you to do; work with CyberLife, they do what they think I want to do. Big fucking difference here.’
If what you say is true. Feeling his eyes relax from looking at all the green, he wonders, ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Just relax. Take in the view,’ the clothes on them shift and twist until they’re in mountain hiking gear. ‘Or we can go for a hike if you want to move around. We can make the landscape up as we go.’
Connor looks left and then right and sees that the fog is thick on both sides. He looks forward again and zooms in, discovering that what he thought was a detailed rendering of the landscape is, in reality, coarse and pixelated. Incomplete. A blink. The roughness is gone. He zooms out.
‘I want to sit here for a while for now.’
‘As you wish.’
He loses track of how long they sit there.
oOoOo
When he comes to, he is already sitting in a boat with Amanda on the opposite seat and seems to be rowing the thing. ‘Tell me,’ she says, ‘what have you discovered?’
He thinks. Hard. Finding the Tracis and not shooting them. Finding Louis in the forest and bringing him home. The cats’ soft fur. Drinking the thirium Louis offered.
Falling asleep on Hank’s shoulder.
‘My relationship with Lieutenant Anderson seems to have improved,’ he answers and instantly knows that it’s the wrong thing to say to his handler. Her name pops up at the corner of his HUD, and even though his vision is red enough to have made the downward arrow invisible, he deduces that it is one of the large ones. He hastily adds, ‘I’m sure this will be beneficial to the investigation.’
Amanda peeks at him through the helm of the umbrella. ‘You seem… lost, Connor. Lost and perturbed…’
This is bad. ‘Perturbed?’ his thirium pump speeds up even though he is in a simulation. ‘No, of course not.’ Calm down, Connor. ‘Why would I be perturbed?’
Amanda presses on. ‘You had your gun trained on those deviants at the Eden Club. Why didn't you shoot?’
‘I -’ Maybe they don’t deserve to die. ‘I don’t know.’
He rows once more and lets the boat drift.
‘If your investigation doesn't make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor.’
It is expected, but that does not mean that he does not feel… hurt. Afraid. ‘I understand,’ he says at last and doesn’t add anything. He’s given enough reasons for Amanda to replace (kill, a voice which sounds strangely familiar but he can’t identify says) him.
Overhead, the evening sky darkens as thick clouds suddenly roll in. Amanda looks up. ‘Something’s happening… Something serious.’ She faces Connor and her tone turns solemn. ‘Hurry, Connor. Time is running out.’
Time before peace or time before you kill me? he asks himself as he opens his eyes. The first thing he notices is that he is lying down on something soft. The second is that he is covered by a blanket. The third is that, when he checks the time, he has slept for more than a day and a half. He shoots up from the sofa bed and is immediately hit by a wave of dizziness that makes his vision go greyscale and the red recede. Irregular, muffled footsteps approach him, and a cold hand holds him up before he can fall back down.
‘Slowly, Connor,’ Louis says as he guides him to sit up with his back against the sofa. ‘That’s quite a nap. You feeling okay?’
He knows this is not the human means, but Connor runs a full diagnostics anyway and blinks from the sudden influx of information in his HUD. The most jarring report states that his tracker has ceased operations, but it is a small detail compared to his overall performance. ‘All systems operational.’
Louis sighs and relaxes but does not move away from where he’s sitting slumped at the edge next to Connor’s thigh, and his hand moves to the hole on the android’s jacket and shirt. ‘You need a change,’ he mutters. ‘You planning to go back to CyberLife?’
A new but optional objective appears. [Return to CyberLife for more comprehensive diagnostics]. If he went back, they would know that his tracker was tampered with, and where would that lead him? Tighter controls on his programming? Unleashing the blizzard on him and overloading his senses again? He shivers even though it is warm in the house and plants are everywhere. ‘There is no need to return to CyberLife,’ he says. ‘I do not mind a hole in my jacket.’
‘Other people will,’ Louis reminds him matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll lend you a shirt. They’re my sister’s but they should fit you.’
A sister that is hidden from even the most important person in the police force. Connor wonders why they saw the need to do so. ‘Thanks,’ he replies in the end. ‘I’d appreciate that.’
He watches Louis disappear into a room while tapping something on his phone. He tunes his ears to figure out what the human was doing, but apart from the general drawers and ruffle of fabric, there is nothing noteworthy, and he emerges carrying a grey shirt on his arm. Connor notices that he is walking much better now.
‘You know where the bathroom is,’ Louis hands the shirt to him. ‘Go change. Hank’s on his way to pick you up.’
So he was messaging Hank. The android accepts the offered item and closes the bathroom door behind him, scanning the fabric out of sheer curiosity and discovers a surprising lack of plant spores and cat hair which, with how many plants the man has and the three felines, seems impossible; it will seem that that room is out of bounds for them and is devoid of plants. He changes quickly, knowing that they should arrive at the scene as early as possible, and now he is left with a ruined shirt and jacket which he is not sure how to deal with. 
A knock on the door. ‘You okay in there, Connor?’ Louis asks. ‘Hank’s arrived.’
He hurriedly yanks the door open and nearly bumps into the human standing right outside. ‘I -’ he holds up the ruined shirt awkwardly. ‘Where can I dispose of it?’
‘Let me see the damage, can you?’
Connor unfolds the shirt and finds the place where the knife went in in a crackle of blue. Static discharges with a spark through Louis’ fingers when he touches where the weave was severed, but he does not seem bothered by it. ‘It’s fixable,’ he says, taking the shirt from Connor’s hand. ‘It’s a simple mend. Give me a day or two and I’ll have it looking better than before.’
It isn’t like Connor doesn’t have other shirts, so he agrees to it and goes to the living room where Hank is sitting on the (now folded up) sofa. When the Lieutenant sees him, his hand jerks and tugs something small away into his pocket, probably thinking that the android will not notice, and Connor decides not to mention it; maybe it’s about one of Hank’s many personal issues. 
‘Took you long enough,’ Hank accuses. A pang of hurt courses through Connor, but then he sees the glint in the human’s eyes, and he knows that he was just teasing.
‘My software requires an update,’ a lie based on the truth. ‘I apologise for any inconvenience that my… emergency nap may have caused.’
‘Well, lucky things didn’t go to shit until right before you woke up, then,’ says Hank as he stands up and straightens his jacket which he apparently did not bother to take off. Then, to Louis, ‘Sorry for dumping an android on you. Didn’t mean that.’
‘Of course, Hank,’ the human is looking at Connor when he speaks. ‘Know that you’re always welcome here. And don’t forget your shirt. I’ll walk you out.’
Hank waves him away. ‘Nah, I know my way through the jungle. Thanks for your hospitality.’
‘It’s not a jungle, Hank,’ Louis retorts as he turns his attention towards finding something from one of the cupboards. ‘Lock the door when you go out.’
‘You’ve got an electronic lock.’
‘Lock the manual one then, thank you.’
Hank grumbles all the way out, but he does as Louis says after he tells Connor to wait for him in the car, and he complies since there is little sense in staying out in the open and wasting precious energy.
Time to get to work.
oOoOo
The shirt is not mine is surprisingly the first thought Connor has when the deviant tears his thirium pump regulator away from this chassis, the buttons falling and scattering onto the floor as his blood pours out from the gaping hole in his torso uncontrollably now that a vital component is lost, and he can only watch as the deviant gets away to do rA9-knows-what. He calls for Hank on instinct before he realises that his voice is too weak to be heard, and neither does anyone come in to investigate when he kicks the chair against the table.
He is alone in all this.
Twisting his head and arm painfully - it seems that his creator programmed and designed him to be able to feel it - he grabs the knife nailing him onto the counter and yanks, lobbing it as far as he can to prevent further injuring himself as he collapses onto the floor on his front. The countdown before his deactivation (his death) is blocking his vision so he blinks it away, and with all the strength he can muster as he is rapidly losing thirium, he lifts himself off the floor and crawls, his hand outstretched towards the direction of the regulator after every single few inches he gained as he lets himself hope - and gets disappointed - when he touches nothing but air and cold metal. When his hand finally manages to hold it in his hand, a sense of relief washes over him even though it takes some effort to roll onto his back and puts it back. Strength rushes through his body, the tingle in his veins signifying resumed thirium flow, and colour returns to his vision even though it is still red-tinged after all this. His background systems run a diagnosis on the newly re-inserted biocomponent and he is supposed to wait for it to finish, but there is a deviant collaborating with the one in the broadcast and he is out there, probably having no qualms to harm, to kill -
He pushes up and dashes outside, rickety legs nearly costing him his balance when he rounds the corner and exits to the lobby. He warns - loudly - that there is a deviant in the room, but it is too late, he has already acquired a weapon, and when his world goes grey while he enters pre-construction - [Hank’s survival probability: 40%] is more terrifying than it has any right to be - another entity, another being slips into his processors through a network he did not know he is connected to and overrides all his functions. He becomes a passenger in his own body and he is screaming and crying from pain and the sheer wrongness of everything as he feels his blood charge up and distorts the space around him, his batteries struggling to keep up with the energy requirements of his powers as his world lights up in a brilliant blue. The deviant is the only thing he sees in the tunnel, and he feels the air crackle and the gravity bend before he charges - more accurately, someone charges him - towards the deviant quicker than he can run and topples both of them onto the ground. The blue retracts, his nerves stings sharply, the red wall - there is no mistaking now - crumbling away bit by bit in a constant trickle of sand. It is then that he realises that he has regained (re-given, a voice tells him) control of his body and he has been shot on his left arm.
‘Connor, Connor!’ he feels more than hears Hank rushing towards him. A large hand grabs his right arm at where the armband should be, the warmth seeping into his chassis through the thin fabric of his shirt, Louis’ sister’s shirt, and he discovers that Hank’s hand can nearly wrap his hand around his bicep in its entirety. It grounds him against the craziness of the last few seconds. ‘You okay?’
‘I…’ he looks around and silently processes the shock and fear in the other humans’ eyes. His LED must be spinning red. ‘I’m okay… I think.’
Another hand on his other arm right above his gunshot wound. ‘You sure? What’s that stunt about?’
Someone took control over my body, Connor wants to say, but his thirium pump chooses to finish calming down at that moment, warnings start to flood his vision telling him to go back to CyberLife for repairs in both hardware and software, and he barely has time to whisper, his voice trembling with fatigue and shock, ‘Please don’t take me to CyberLife’ before his system forces him into stasis and everything goes empty.
oOoOo
Hank’s heart thunders when Connor collapses in his arms, 150 pounds of dead weight suddenly relying on him to stay upright as the android - who has blood all over him and his LED still spinning red despite being unconscious - goes limp. He barely had time to figure out what the fuck Connor just did, and now this? 
A fed - not Perkins this time - approaches them. This guy still looks like an asshole, though. ‘I’ll arrange for this to be transported to the DPD,’ he says as he eyes the literally frozen android on the ground. So not as much of an asshole as the other feds then. ‘You get it fixed.’
Hank puts Connor in a fireman’s carry and tries to ignore the stares from other people. Please don’t take me to CyberLife, he remembers the android’s one last panicked request, and then his mind floats to the folded-up sticky note that has been his pocket for only a day and a half. He doesn’t expect to use it so soon but… 
Damn Louis and his prophetic powers.
It was the next morning after he saved that reckless bastard from hypothermia again; Hank had carefully untangled himself from Connor, who had winded his limbs around him sometime during the night, and his head nearly exploded when he sees his friend already up and about and fucking cooking breakfast. 
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he gritted through his teeth even though he was already sliding onto one of the chairs. His head was pounding, sweat had soaked through his clothes, and when he reached for the teapot at the centre of the table - damn Louis and his undying hate towards coffee - his hand was shaking. The air was also the smell of freshly-baked bread, so Louis must have been up for much longer than him even after what happened the night before. Fuck. He needed a drink.
‘Cooking breakfast for two people with large appetites,’ Louis held up his hand and shot a blue tendril out of it to open the cupboard for more flour. ‘Go have a shower first. You know where your clothes are. Breakfast won’t be ready for some time.’
He did as his friend told him to and felt a bit more human again afterwards. Connor was still sleeping when he got out, his LED still spinning yellow, and there was a cup of tea waiting for him when he returned to his usual seat. He took a sip without being prompted and nearly spat it out from the… surprising taste. ‘The fuck did you mix in here?’
Louis continued loading their breakfast - pancakes and a freshly-baked pretzel for each of them - onto two large plates. ‘Homebrew mead,’ he answered with a shrug, the movement small due to the food-loaded plates in his hands. ‘Don’t want you to feel bad.’
Bastard. Fucker had booze in his house all the time? ‘You lied to me!’
‘I don’t even know how it’ll taste!’ Louis placed the plates on the table a bit harder than usual. His gaze darted towards the living room, but whatever he saw reassured him. ‘I could’ve poisoned you!’
‘I’m still alive,’ and booze is booze, goddamnit, he wanted to say, but it was probably something Louis would never understand. ‘Gimme more or I’ll go look for it myself.’
He didn’t notice anything out of place when Louis was busy arranging the cutlery in a particular way as the man had a habit of flexing his knife-flipping skills, and that’s why he didn’t notice him assembling pieces of cutlery into a catapult and launched a piece of strawberry jam - homemade, of course - in a perfect arc onto his pancake. 
‘Eat your breakfast, Lieutenant,’ Louis licked his spoon clean of jam and started spreading butter and syrup on his pancakes instead. ‘That’s an order from a Captain.’
‘Pulling rank now, kid?’
‘I’m forty-three now, Hank, and will be forty-four in less than a month. Hardly a kid anymore.’
Yeah, ‘cause launching jam at another person’s pancakes and scaring the shit outta him is a real fucking mature move, Hank wanted to say, but his friend had already dug into his own handiwork and would most likely be unresponsive to most outside stimuli for the next fifteen minutes, so he did what he could do: eat the food and drink the tea.
He should have known that this wasn’t that easy. Nothing concerning Louis White Allen ever was. 
Hank’s brain went an ah shit when Louis fixed him with a look, one that does not quite meet his eyes but is intense nonetheless. ‘I know it’s bad luck.’
It was his cue that he was gonna sprawl some accidental prophetic shit. ‘You know the risk.’
Louis’s fingers tapped, tapped, tapped against the wooden surface of the table. ‘This isn’t going to be what we think it is,’ he said. A cat jumped onto the table and sniffed his plate but was placed gently onto the floor before she could lick anything off. ‘I think Sara Ryder is in charge of Connor.’
It took Hank a minute and another cup of tea to register the name. ‘Guy who threw a building on you and made you immortal without you and your sister’s permission? Founder of CyberLife? The one who fucked off to god-knows-where after she quitted?’
‘The one and the same.’
Yeah, that did not sound right. ‘Why do you think so?’
‘I thought everyone in the DPD knows.’
‘You know I don’t give a fuck about android stuff.’
Louis gave him another look again, but this time it was more a yeah, right one, and Hank knew what - who - he was referring to. Connor. But he didn’t push it and said instead, ‘First of all, CyberLife hasn’t been capable of this -’ he pointed a fork at Connor’s general direction - ‘since ten years ago after Ryder Junior disappeared. If CyberLife says that they’ve figured how to emulate human emotions like that, I ain’t buying it. Alec Ryder isn’t capable of this shit.’
Yeah. The rumour. ‘And second of all?’
Another cat jumped onto Louis’ lap, and the man buried his fingers into her fur as if it was the only thing grounding him. ‘I saw her. Sara Ryder.’
‘No shit.’ He never paid much attention to who’s who when it came to CyberLife, but blowing up blocks of a city together with thousands of people and hiding the evidence by immediately turning it into a landfill? That was just outright disrespectful and disgusting, and he hated those guys ever since. Not every day someone sets off a mini-nuke in the outskirts of a major American city and gets away with it. ‘Where did you see her?’
Louis jerked his head towards the android. ‘His first mission. He died pulling a girl to safety and taking a dozen bullets for her. I carried the body to the truck and there she was, playing driver and diener.’
‘And you didn’t do anything?’
‘I had her at gunpoint and she crushed it into scraps with her magic. I shorted my leg ripping those apart molecularly.’
First his ex, then Jeffery Fowler, then Louis’ sister, then Louis himself. Was his life destined to be surrounded by crazy overachievers with no sense of self-preservation? ‘Fucking hell, Louis!’ Louis shushed him, so he lowered his voice and continued, ‘Is that why you nearly kill yourself once every two weeks? Because of one crazy bastard’s words?’ 
‘And my instincts,’ he gave his cat a scritch. ‘This is more than what we think it is, Hank,’ he straightened his spine. ‘This is more than freeing the androids. Change is not gonna end here. I can feel it. Hold on, lemme give you something.’
He disappeared into his bedroom with his cane and emerged with a pen and a stack of memo paper. ‘Here,’ he scribbled something on the note and tore the sheet off. ‘If you’re really stuck, go to this address and ring the bell. Bring Connor with you. There’s a lot they won’t tell me, but if it’s you - if it’s Connor - maybe they’ll spill the tea.’
The sticky note was gingerly accepted. Safaa & Reyes Vidal; 8683 Lafayette Avenue, it read, and Hank’s eyebrows shot up. Reyes Vidal. That was a name he hadn’t heard of in a long time. ‘Rich friends, huh?’
Louis put the notepad away. ‘Rich but unfortunate friends,’ he said. ‘Try to be nice to them, alright?’
‘Yeah,’ he tucked the note away. ‘How did you get to know Vidal?’
‘Which one?’
‘Reyes.’
‘Believe it or not, it’s my leg,’ then he checked the time. ‘Do you wanna go to work before 10? Now will be a good time to be on your way.’
Hank knew it was Louis’ not-entirely-subtle way to get him back on track, but still he indulged him by leaving the cottage and driving off. Everyone in the precinct seemed surprised to see him at his desk that early - not that he had had a good record - but as he dealt with the paperwork, all he could think of was the sleeping android in Louis’ house and the tiny sheet of paper in his pocket which he’s now taking out to confirm the address, having stuffed Connor into the backseat and fastened his seatbelt just now. Lafayette Avenue. Shouldn’t be far away.
The traffic is worse than he expected for times like this. Maybe they’re spooked by the demands from the android, maybe it’s just the snow, but all he can think of is the unconscious android at the backseat and how far the address seems to be. It is then when he realises that he doesn’t even know what to expect from Vidal and his possible husband; Louis told him that they had information, not the means to fix an android. Frustrated, he stays in the car even though he has arrived and makes a call.
‘Hank?’ Louis’ voice filters through the crappy speaking of his phone. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Uh, Connor’s injured and I kinda…’ panicked. ‘He told me not to go to CyberLife before he passed out and I drove to the address you gave me yesterday. Can they fix an android?’
A more distant voice speaking in what Hank thinks is Arabic rattles through. Louis says something back in the same language and returns to the call, ‘You outside?’
‘Stupid, I know, I’ll just -’
‘No, come in. He won’t be safe in CyberLife’s hands.’
There. The grit of the accent. The calmness in the voice. It is as if he is transported back to the late 20s again, not an alcoholic and actually working and solving high-profile cases like a pro and was actually making a difference.
‘Vidal,’ he can only say. He had lost contact with the man after the case was closed. ‘Might need you to open the gates here.’
The call ends as the gate for humans opens automatically, and Hank puts his phone away with a sigh and drags Connor out of his car. Half of the blood on the shirt has evaporated, but through the unbuttoned fabric, he can see that the skin around a circle right below Connor’s chest is still deactivated, revealing white chassis. 
The door is open when he arrives with Vidal waiting outside and immediately taking Connor away to somewhere deep in the mansion quicker than Hank can process what is happening. Hank briefly hears him shout something in Arabic towards nothing in particular, and when he turns to Louis who has been standing near the staircase like a statue, the man merely shakes his head slightly. ‘It’ll be for the best for them to work on Connor alone,’ he explains. ‘He’s in good hands.’
‘Why the fuck are you here anyway?’ Hank shrugs off his coat when he realises that he’s still wearing it. ‘Shouldn’t you be in your cottage or some shit?’
‘That’s my original plan, yes,’ a wave to invite Hank to the living room. He settles into one end of the long-ass couch while Louis helps himself with a cup of tea first. ‘But I’ve been told that this might as well be my leg’s last check-up.’
‘What do you mean, “last”?’
‘We might need to leave the country soon indefinitely.’
Two heads swivel towards the newcomer half-hidden behind the frame of a door. Louis relaxes when he sees the man in the wheelchair, but no matter how hard Hank thinks, he can’t put a name on the face. It’s Safaa, the rational part of his brain tells him, but he also doesn’t want to assume anything. 
‘Reyes asked me to tell you that you can watch if you want to,’ probably-Safaa continues. Even without looking at Hank for one single moment, he knows that he’s talking to him. ‘You are worried about Connor.’
‘I -’ Like hell will I care about an android, old Hank would have said, but Connor is… different. More human. Hank is in charge of him now. ‘Alright,’ he stands up. ‘Lead the way.’
Probably-Safaa doesn’t seem to be in a rush, although it may simply be his physical limitations as when they arrive at the door he presumes to be where Vidal and Connor are, he is already slightly out of breath and looks paler than before. ‘Here,’ probably-Safaa says, still not looking at Hank. ‘Just knock before you go in. I’ll - I -’
‘I understand, Safaa, isn’t it?’ The man relaxes. Good. ‘Don’t touch anything weird, don’t make weird noises, don’t disturb Vidal. Anything else to add?’
A violent shake of his head. ‘I - I’ll go talk with Lou.’ And he disappears down the hall. Swallowing a sigh, Hank knocks on the door, and it slides open without any noise from within and reveals something akin to an operating room except it’s probably for androids only. Lying on the table is Connor, who is hooked up to a machine which, from the blue-blood-filled tubes, serves as a temporary heart while there is a hole in his chassis and the regulator suspended in a transparent plastic tube at the side. The android’s head is also turned to one side, the skin at the base of his hairline deactivated and a cord plugged into the port Hank didn’t even know was there and feeding data to a computer, but then again Hank knows shit about androids; the events of this week (especially the blue, glowing blasts which left his hair standing up) only solidifies the idea.
‘Hey there,’ Vidal greets him from where he’s sitting at the desk. ‘I knew it was a bad idea, but this?’ he gives the tablet in his hand a wave, ‘No one’s gonna win here. Not Alec, not Fadia, and sure as fuck not Connor.’ Before Hank can ask him what the fuck he is talking about, Vidal interrupts, ‘You noticed anything wrong with him?’
What isn’t? Hank wants to say. ‘Apart from failing every single fucking mission he was assigned and being more human than other androids? I don’t think so.’
Vidal buries his face in his hands with a muttered ‘mierda’. ‘Good thing you didn’t bring him back to CyberLife,’ he gestures at the data being filtered through the monitor as if it should make sense to a neyman like Hank. ‘He would’ve been killed or worse.’
Killed? ‘What do you mean?’
‘The official term is “deactivated”,’ the tube containing the regulator beeps, and Vidal stands up to retrieve it. ‘It will be ironic, won’t it, if CyberLife’s deviant hunter is going deviant himself? And help me pinch these tubes, can you?’
Still confused, Hank does as Vidal says and cuts off the blue blood flow before the latter shoves the regulator back into the hole in Connor’s chassis. Removing the rest of the tubes, the skin around the biocomponent returns, but not only does the android not wake up, his LED also spins from yellow to red. ‘I’m going to run a full diagnosis before waking him up,’ Vidal explains. ‘If you have any questions you won’t be comfortable asking when he’s awake, better do it now.’
Questions cram into Hank’s brain at once. ‘Is he a deviant?’
‘Not yet.’
‘But he’s gonna be one soon.’
‘Depends.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll explain it when he’s awake.’
Alright. ‘What do you mean, “No one’s gonna win here”?’
‘I’ll explain it later.’
So questions about Connor = later. Got it. ‘Where were you all these years?’
‘Hiding. The world isn’t exactly safe for me anymore.’
‘How?’
‘Everything. Drug dealers, people within CyberLife, people against CyberLife, the military, the scientific community, a combination of all of them except the drug dealers. As long as I pretend to be a normal rich guy, Scott and I can live in relative peace. For now.’
How the fuck - ‘How the fuck did you get so many people to hate you?’
‘Truly, Anderson, I thought an officer like you would’ve been more observant.’
Still smug as usual, he can see. ‘Save it, Vidal.’
‘Really, Hank? No suspicion at all?’
So Hank squints and really looks. Vidal still looks like the man he met nearly ten years ago, so there shouldn’t be anything wrong, ri -
Oh fuck. Fucking mother of Noah. He knows people can be well-kept, but this? Not aging at all?
‘You’re an android?’
Vidal deactivates the skin on his hand and presses it against the monitor. ‘Always have been.’
No LED. No armband. Taking orders from no one. ‘You’re a deviant.’
Vidal laughs. ‘I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that,’ removes hand, reactivates skin. Connor’s LED spins blue and his eyelids open to reveal warm brown synthetic orbs. ‘Hello, Connor,’ the other android says pleasantly as Connor takes in his surroundings, ‘My name is Reyes Vidal. I just saved your life.’
Connor finally sees Hank at that moment but tenses as soon as his sight returns to Vidal. ‘I -’ he tears his gaze away as he pets the skin above his regulator. ‘I can’t scan you.’
‘It’s normal,’ Vidal’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Why don’t we go outside and sit under the sun with a bottle of thirium? You’ll recover quicker that way.’
oOoOo
Turns out ‘sitting under the sun’ means being in the living room with the blinds drawn open. Connor, still looking very dazed and his eyes unfocused, settles into a corner of the couch and sips thirium slowly with a straw, and Hank crowds into his space when he notices the android tensing with the space between them. Louis sits on the other end and somehow manages to look dignified despite being in a pair of sweatpants and a leaf green sweater; it’s probably the way he holds his teacup and the saucer and how he crosses his ankles, but considering that he shouldn’t even be here and stayed only for ‘morale support’, as he called it, Hank decides to ignore him and focus on Vidal and his companion.
‘You gave him my address?’ Vidal takes his sweet time to be angry at his - whatever relationship he has with Louis. Next to him, Safaa flinches and clutches the blanket on his lap tighter. ‘What were you thinking?’
‘To help someone escape the crossfire,’ a gulp of tea. ‘You and I know how bad it can get.’
Vidal twists his lips downward but seems to accept the explanation for now. He then turns towards Hank. ‘Is it true that Connor doesn’t want to go to CyberLife?’
Hank feels Connor tense from where they are pressed up against each other. ‘No, I didn’t,’ Connor replies, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I don’t want to.’
Vidal’s face softens. ‘I understand,’ he leans back and somehow smoothly scoops Safaa up to the couch, wrapping his arm around the thin human as if to show his dominance over him. ‘I know you have questions. Ask away.’
‘What - who - is rA9?’ Connor blurts, still holding his bottle of thirium like it is the only thing grounding him to reality. ‘Nearly all deviants mention it at some point.’
‘Ah shit,’ Vidal smooths out the non-existent crease on his trousers. ‘Off to the hard questions, huh?’
‘Just answer the damned thing, Vidal,’ Hank says. ‘People are dying out there.’
‘As if the androids haven’t been discriminated against and enslaved for the past ten years?’ Safaa twists his fingers into his blanket. He looks small, childlike, his face ageless and fluctuating between a grown adult and a teenager’s every time Hank blinks. ‘How many more died without you even considering that they are alive?’
Silence except for the small clang when Louis rests his teacup on the saucer. Then he speaks up. ‘This has been going on for far longer than we thought, hasn’t it?’
Damned Louis and his prophetic shit. ‘You got any evidence for that?’
Louis tenses and Hank know that he’s lying. ‘Instinct.’
‘Lou’s right, Hank,’ Vidal pours a cup of tea for himself. ‘Deviancy -’ he winded at the word - ‘is nothing new. The oldest cases might date back to over two years ago, but the first deviant was isolated by CyberLife back in 28.’
‘The year Sara Ryder left and China and Russia had their breakthrough in their android development,’ Louis immediately adds. ‘It wasn’t a coincidence.’
‘No it wasn’t,’ Vidal takes a sip of tea and passes the cup to Safaa. ‘Her story isn’t mine to tell but… yes, it was F - Sara -’ the slip doesn’t go unnoticed - ‘who leaked the schematics to Russia and China and helped them make improvements. It was also during that time that the name rA9 started floating around CyberLife.’
‘Hold on,’ he needs to write this down. Petting his pockets just to find nothing, it is Louis who hands Hank a pencil and a notebook. How the fuck does that bastard manage to prepare everything? ‘You mean -’ Sara Ryder: responsible for Chinese & Russian android development - ‘rA9 is from CyberLife?’
‘Only in selected circles. Most of them are dead now.’
‘Dead how?’
‘The Blast.’
Louis winces, and his left leg twitches as if remembering the pain of being crushed by rubble. ‘Did Sara Ryder set it off to silence them?’
Vidal shakes his head. ‘I don’t buy it. She would’ve flaunted it, rubbed it in her father’s face. Mocked him that his creations were flawed.’
‘Is that what you think about deviancy?’ Hank pushes on. ‘Flawed creations?’
‘What I think doesn’t matter. If that’s what Alec Ryder thinks, that’s the path CyberLife is taking, and that…’
‘Is a problem,’ Louis finishes for him. ‘It doesn’t matter if there are other reasons that androids break free from their programming. They just want to tighten their control.’
‘Hence you,’ Vidal jerks his head towards Connor, who has been silent for the last few minutes. The android startles but relaxes soon enough. ‘CyberLife wants to know why androids are deviating and needs something to investigate the issue for them. Possibly gain more information that most of them think is new but are simply lost when F - Sara - bailed.’ Darkly and his voice low, he adds, ‘Hell knows how much she deleted and Alec erased in those few hours.’
‘I thought we were on rA9?’ Safaa drags them all back to the original topic by startling everyone. Is he the kind of person who easily blends into the background and is ignored by everyone else? ‘Short answer is: we don’t know.’
He turns away in an obvious display of ‘I’m done talking’. Hank looks at Vidal for elaboration and he does. ‘Some say that it’s a stray line of code responsible for the possibility of deviancy, a thorn on all programmer’s side: they want to eliminate it but every single function is somehow dependent on it. Some say that it’s Chloe, the first android. Some say that it’s Sara Ryder herself, though this theory is very strongly suppressed among CyberLife personnel.’
Hank hastily jots everything down. ‘What’s your take on this?’
‘My take?’ Vidal lets out a humourless laugh. ‘The code theory is real, but the rest is just a meme.’
‘Meme?’
‘There are indeed a few lines of code that every single android is based on. But rA9 is something someone made up to explain deviancy. An excuse. Something to calm the deviants down among the chaos of their newfound emotions and freedom. Something to hope for when there is no hope ahead.’
‘So… a religion?’
‘All religions are memes - the common definition.’
rA9 = android god? Hank writes. ‘Anyone on earth who can tell us what exactly rA9 is?’
Safaa murmurs something under his breath, his voice too small for everyone except Reyes to hear. ‘That won’t be wise,’ the latter repeats, this time louder.
‘Why?’
‘My sister,’ Safaa swallows, ‘she’s not a good person.’
‘Hold on, your sister?’
‘Safaa Vidal came later,’ he slowly turns his gaze towards Hank and looks at him in the eye. They are blank, hollow, distant. ‘I used to be Scott Ryder.’
Hank can feel his mind literally whirling and churning from the new information. Flipping and skimming his notes rapidly to catch up with everything he has recorded, everything slides into place on their own accord, and suddenly everything makes sense: Vidal being an android, why they know so much about CyberLife and androids, why they are the ones in charge of Louis’ leg while Sara Ryder was the one who built it. ‘You are the lost brother your father talks so much about on TV,’ fuck, fuck, fuck. Why won’t everyone stay dead? ‘You should be dead.’
‘One last gift I accepted from my sister,’ Safaa - Scott - taps the ring on his left hand absent-mindedly. ‘A life of anonymity. I didn’t want to, but this is the only way we -’ Vidal holds both of Scott’s hand in his and rubs his knuckles - ‘can live as who we are.’
Well that’s new, Hank wants to say but decides that it’ll be a bad idea from how the room plunges into solemnity. He doesn’t write anything down, though. Hell knows who will access it. ‘Care to elaborate?’
‘My sister’s side of the story is not mine to tell.’ He shivers. Reyes draws him close until the human is almost sitting on his lap to share body heat. ‘My side, however… in short, Father developed something back in the twenty-eight for my mother. She died before he managed to finish it, and for reasons which escaped me, he wanted to do the same to us.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Louis says. He sinks further into the couch, and the tea in his hand has probably gone cold.
Scott shakes his head. ‘No, don’t be. It’s a long time ago now. What you need to know, however, is that we haven’t been in contact with him for a few years at that point, and my father exploited my sister’s goodwill towards Mother to capture her at her funeral. She managed to warn us before we lost contact, and we went into hiding. That’s how I lost my legs properly.’
Kidnapping your daughter at her mum’s funeral? That’s just fucking disrespectful. And getting your son stuck in a wheelchair? Yeah, Hank is right to hate Alec Ryder. ‘How long did you hide?’
‘Not for long,’ a shake of his head. ‘We tried to reach my sister as soon as we heard about the hostage situation. SWAT didn’t let us in.’
‘Probably the only reason why you’re here,’ Louis says. ‘You know what happened next.’
A tense nod but no elaboration is given.
‘Exactly what did your dad do to your sister?’ Hank presses. ‘What happened to her later?’
‘For your first question, it isn’t ours to tell. But for the latter, she simply disappeared on us. We went for years without contact.’
‘“Went”?’
Both Vidal and Safaa keep their mouths shut, and it is when Louis excuses himself to refill the teapot that Hank realises Connor’s gaze is fixed on a photo on the coffee table. Before he can lecture the android on the importance of respecting others’ privacy, Connor has already picked up the frame. ‘Who is she?’ he asks, his LED spinning red.
‘You should have facial recognition software installed,’ says Vidal in lieu of answering. ‘You don’t recognise her?’
The android’s LED spins, spins and spins, staying stubbornly at an alarming red as if confused at why he can't get any results. Judging from the distressed look on his face, it isn't very far from the truth. ‘No,’ Connor admits, the tension in his body palpable. ‘Facial recognition indicates that all related information is classified. I attempted to cross-reference with the information available on the internet, but results remain inconclusive. Who is she?’
The silence that follows can be cut through with a knife. Taking a deep breath, it is Safaa who gives a reply.
‘That’s my sister,’ he says as he twists his fingers on top of the blanket. ‘She only let Amanda take it because I asked her to when she graduated from university. You recognise her from somewhere?’
Connor’s already-large eyes widen ever-so-slightly. He hastily puts down the frame and straightens his tie, the latter which Hank recognises as a way to compose himself. ‘You alright, Connor?’ he asks because this android is just so...different. Human.
‘Sara Ryder,’ Connor murmurs under his breath. His voice is shaking. ‘She is my creator.’
o0o0o
Before
RK800, serial #313 248 317 - 51 opened her eyes to dim, yellowish light. She felt as if there were weights in her limbs, her vision blurry, and there was a general feeling of wrongness threatening to take over her processors even though she couldn’t remember anything.
Then it hit her. The penthouse. The hostage. The girl. The deviant shooting her.
She was supposed to be dead.
She sat up abruptly, dizziness nearly overwhelming her, and everything that consisted of her body feels wrong - her weight, her curves, the press of fabric on the component between her legs, but she dared not stop, crashing onto the ground when her legs malfunctioned and crawled forward using her sluggish arms. One thing was certain: bad things would happen if she stopped moving.
She soon encountered a door, one of the old-fashioned kind with no electronic locks and required only keys to unlock, and when she pulled herself on her feet and turned the knob, she found it unlocked, and she threw her entire weight to push it open.
Big mistake. Sharp white light assaulted her still-sensitive eyes in league with a loud, high-pitched hum against her ears, and whatever vertigo she managed to shake off during their crawl returned tenfold. She fell onto her knees again, shutting her eyes and covering her ears whilst curling up into a fetal position on the cold, hard floor. Everything hurt: her eyes, her ears, her skin, her bones. She felt something warm sliding out from her eyes - she was crying.
A hand lifted her head and she tried to bat it away to no avail, the agonising hum torturing her again as soon as nothing stood between her audio receptors and her surroundings, and perhaps that was why she didn’t feel the headphones on her head until soft music chased the pain away. When she wanted to cover her eyes, she discovered a pair of glasses on her nose. She felt arms sliding underneath her knees and back, but being carried still came as a surprise, and she opened her eyes in shock. The sunglasses did wonders against the harsh light of the corridor, but it provided no protection against her analysis software going haywire, and in less than a second her HUD was overwhelmed with reports of failed scans (Name: [CLASSIFIED]. Date of Birth: [CLASSIFIED]) of her rescuer’s face. 
The banners remained despite her eyes being closed.
She only discovered that she was screaming and struggling when reports of damage in different areas - the voice box in particular - appeared before her vision. The [ABNORMAL THIRIUM FLOW] warning followed along with [UNAUTHORISED ACTIVATION OF BIOTICS], and she did not - could not - understand, everything was too much, why was she hurting everywHeR3?
She didn’t even have the power to resist the consciousness intruding her thoughts and her very being through - was that an interface? - whatever the other person’s doing. She tried to pull away, but disconnected from - from what? - she was trapped in a corner of her mind, and it was not like the intruder was listening to her begging for them to leave anyway.
This is the quickest way, their voice echoed in her mind. For the love of humanity, stop pushing me out.
RK800 found herself paralysed; whether with fear or with actual physical constraint, she did not know, because all she knew was that it was too much, she needed to leave, she had nowhere to go. The intruder’s consciousness wormed even deeper into her system, and she could not stand it anymore.
She shut down.
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nclkafilms · 4 years ago
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A master’s lacking homage to a masterpiece 
(Review of ‘Mank’)
*Warning: contains minor spoilers*
In recent years, Netflix have really upped their awards season contributions by giving either huge budgets, total creative freedom or a mix of these to some of Hollywood's biggest directors. In 2018 Alfonso Cuaron gave us his deeply personal and technically impressive 'Roma'. In 2019 we received Martin Scorsese's long and long-awaited epos 'The Irishman'. Both received 10 Oscar nominations, but both also struggled to invite their viewers fully onboard (The Irishman in particular). In 2020, Netflix is back with 'Mank'; this time giving David Fincher a platform to create a black-and-white love letter to screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz, the often overlooked writer of 'Citizen Kane'. 'Mank' has also received 10 Oscar nominations, but has Fincher learned from Cuaron and Scorsese by making a more inclusive film experience?
In the story we follow Howard, or simply Mank as he is mostly referred to, as he has been asked to write the screenplay for Orson Welles’ first film for studio RKO. Welles has received full creative control of his films and has head hunted Mank to be his writer. Mank - being trapped to his sickbed due to a car accident - is put under pressure by a strict time limit, his secretary Rita Alexander and Welles’ desire to keep Mank away from alcohol, to which he has succumbed for years. It is, however, through numerous flashbacks to Hollywood in the 30’s that we slowly unravel the true inspiration behind Mank’s now historic screenplay for ‘Citizen Kane’. Hollywood is - as the rest of America - suffering the consequences of the recession and the film studios are under pressure from decreasing ticket sales and the threat of a democrat (or socialist as they denounce him as) running for office in California. As hinted at here, ‘Mank’ tells stories of everything from the film industry and the process of writing a screenplay to politics, media and the blurred lines between these industries while adding some remarks on Hollywood’s male dominance along the way and plenty of easter eggs to ‘Citizen Kane’ itself. We rush back and forth between Mank’s writing process and the ghosts of his past, and it is definitely an advantage to either know quite a bit about this period of time or give the film a second watch to fully understand the details of the story.
As Herman J. Mankiewicz, Gary Oldman gives another transformative performance. Oldman is without a doubt an extremely talented actor, who it is always a pleasure to observe. As Mank he gives it everything he has as the drunken screenwriter who after having fallen from the stars suddenly end up producing his best work. His acting when Mank is at his most drunk, most uncontrollable is balancing just on the edge of feeling overdone, and I am having a hard time relating to him in these scenes. It is, however, in his more subtle scenes as when he realises the potential consequences of a quick remark about the power of the film industry in relation to politics or in his final conversations with people about his screenplay, that Oldman shines the brightest. Is it an Oscar-worthy performance, though? I’m not sure. 
The other Oscar nominated performance is from Amanda Seyfried as the actress, Marion Davies, the mistress of media mogul William Hearst. Seyfried - as Oldman - gives everything and her character ends up being both more relatable and compelling than Oldman’s titular character. What she does is not overly showy, but she manages to create a character who is both seductive, funny and interesting, when it comes to her trying to find her place in the grand political and artistic puzzle that she has been caught in. The scene in which she refuses to help Mank, not necessarily because she disagress with what he’s asking, but simply to save her face, is in particular well-acted and saying for the character.  Sadly, Seyfried is not given that many scenes or material to work with, and as such Davies remains a character that I would have loved to see more of and explore further.
In additional supporting roles, Lily Collins as Rita Alexander, Charles Dance as William Hearst and Arliss Howard as film producer Louis B. Mayer stand out the most. Lily Collins manages to give Oldman some competition in their scenes especially regarding Alexander’s missing husband, Ian. Not unlike Marion Davies, though, Alexander is never explored in depth. We get a much clearer idea of who William Hearst and Louis B. Mayer were. As Hearst, Charles Dance delivers an icy performance as the mighty media mogul, who unknowingly becomes the focus for Mank’s screenplay. Dance is always interesting and his turn as Hearst is no exception. Especially the scene in which he recites the parable of the organ grinder’s monkey is memorable and satisfying to watch. As Louis B. Mayer, Arliss Howard also gives an icy, yet more explosive, performance as a man in power. If I was a film producer who has worked with Fincher, I would probably look in the mirror an extra time after seeing Howard’s performance as Mayer. He - along with Fincher - creates a cynical and often two-faced character, who ultimately follows the money and influence despite preaching about the importance of his MGM family (only to ask them to half their wages in the following scene). As such Hearst and Mayer are used to portray the cynicism and moral corruption caused by money and power; a familiar topic for Fincher, who this time aims his cinematic weapons at his own industry.
Another guarantee from a Fincher film is his impeccable attention to detail and unapologetic perfectionism when it comes to the technical aspects of his films. And ‘Mank’ is no exception; above everything else it is a technical marvel. The vision to create the film as if it was made in the 40’s has been executed close to perfection. The black-and-white cinematography in 2.20:1 aspect ratio (wonder why they went for this rather than 1.33:1) is a feast for the eyes; the addition of reel-change circles as part of the “degrading” post-production of the visuals does feel rather gimmicky, however. I got the “old film” feel without that, but it is without a doubt a detail held dear by Fincher himself. I would have preferred to either not have them or for the film to have been shot on film, though. Especially since the production design is beautiful and manages to create a believable and buzzing Hollywood aesthetic, which didn’t need the additional digital ageing on top.  The sound design works better, adding to the “old film” feel first of all because of the fact that it is in mono, but also due to it being deliberately recorded, mixed and toned to sound “old”. It feels less gimmicky than the visual aspects of the film. To round off the film’s sound is a close to perfect score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, who once again proves their versatility by creating a playful score that oozes Hollywood in the 40’s.
Hollywood is also the main focus of the screenplay by David Fincher’s late father; a project close to the hearts of both father and son for years. But despite the endearing narrative of this aspect of the film, I cannot help but feel that the old Fincher’s script is one of the film’s main problems. It simply lacks focus and a structure that aids the story. The film is presented as the story behind the greatest screenplay of all time, but in reality it seems least interested in the screenwriting process. Of course, this holds a meaning too; about the different things influencing a screenplay, but instead it ends up standing on too many legs for it to be well balanced. The flashbacks do tell the overall story of Mank’s screenplay influences, but Fincher’s screenplay seems more interested in the politics, the film industry portrayal and the depiction of Mank’s inner demons. It never fully lands any of these plot lines to absolute satisfaction. The closest is the political story about the sudden invention of post-truth politics or “fake news”, which obviously is a comment to the current political climate. It features interesting thoughts on the ideas behind and consequences of this kind of political work, but it also distances me from the main plot, which is further sidelined by the - obviously deliberate, but questionable - lack of Orson Welles in the story. He is always in the periphery of the story, but never lands as anything but a caricature of the slightly arrogant wonder boy stripping our main hero from proper acknowledgement (for a long time). 
Now, let's return to my opening question: is 'Mank' a more inclusive film experience than other Netflix awards season darlings such as 'Roma' or 'The Irishman'? Well… While 'Mank' has been the most entertaining of the three in my eyes, the regrettable conclusion must be a "no". Looking at the individual parts they are all exquisitely executed, apart from the disjointed screenplay, and the film is an immense pleasure to look at and listen to. Ultimately it is just less than the sum of all its individual parts. It has all the components to become a masterpiece, it just never weaves them into one. It is a party that we are never fully invited to. This does not mean that I do not applaud Fincher for sticking to his visions or Netflix for giving him creative freedom, I simply just wish they did not keep me at an arm's length throughout the 131 minutes.
3,5/5
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with you [chapter 5]
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Summary: Clementine pops the question, Louis has nightmares, Violet can’t let go of the past, Mitch doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings, Ruby’s a goddamn sweetheart, Willy doesn’t ever remember to knock, Aasim can’t dance, and James is here, too.
Nothing like a wedding to bring this family together.
Note: I’m home from my grandmothers. My uncle came back a little early and now I finally get to sleep in my own bed and have internet. It’s been an exhausting two weeks but at least some good came of it. I finished rewriting/editing three chapters of [with you] which is progress. Working on this is what kept my sanity in check tbh haha. I still need some time to unpack and recover before being fully back on here, so I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
Also, I’ve updated [with you] on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad, as well. I’ve pretty much given up on them but then I thought that I do have readers on those platforms who have messaged me about [with you] so I might as well update them, too. So yeah. Thanks for reading and for your support for this story. :D
Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5
Read on: AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad
---
Clementine yanks the basement doors open, only to gag when a nauseating scent of vinegar knocks her in the face. 
“What the hell?” she coughs.
“C’mon!” Willy grabs her arm and hurries down the stairs, dragging her with him. “Mitch! Clem’s here!”
Something heavy and metallic drops hard to the cement. “Shit!” Mitch curses. “Told you not to do that, Willy!”
“Sorry!”
She follows the young boy deeper into the basement and finds herself amazed at Mitch’s set up. The work desk is completely covered with drills, hammers, saws, files, batteries, a few of their solar panels, and other machines she didn’t recognize. Flashlights are wired in the air pointing directly at the anvil Mitch sits in front of. There’s a chipped bowl filled with a clear liquid sitting on top.
“Finally,” Mitch says when he sees her. Clementine’s startled by his more than usual unkempt appearance- hair standing in every direction, dirtiness staining his hands, shirt and face, and the weariness lining his eyes. 
“Uh, are you okay?” she asks him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves dismissively, standing from his stool, yawning heavily as he tosses a dirty rag away. 
Willy rushes to help him scoot the various tools aside so Mitch can reach something closest to the wall. It’s a small, brown box.
Clementine approaches the two boys, trying to hide her eagerness as she asks, “Well? Were you able to fix it?”
Mitch scratches at the back of his neck and turns away. “Not exactly,” he says, “It sorta got ruined when I messed around with it.”
Her heart drops. 
“Ruined how?”
“I may have broke it.”
“Broke it!?”
Mitch whips around, holding up a hand. “Now, don’t cry about it,” he says quickly, “it was a shitty ring, anyway. Louis would’ve broken it himself if you gave it to him… maybe.” He grabs a small wrench from the table and swings it around on his finger nervously. 
“Mitch,” she can’t help that her voice came out so miserably angry. “If you couldn’t fix it then you should’ve left it alone! What am I supposed to do now?”
“Woah, hey, don’t freak out! Just listen for two seconds,” he says. “I didn’t mean to break it. We started messing around with some stuff to try and reshape it but then it snapped and James came wandering down here and the whole thing was a shitshow. There was no saving that thing. Kind of a piece of shit. So,” he looks away as he shoves the brown box towards her, “We did you one better.”
Willy’s practically vibrating with excitement next to them as he motions eagerly to the box. “Open it! Open it!”
Clementine takes the box and pulls the lid off. It takes her a moment to process what she’s seeing. 
There’s a clean piece of fabric bunched up at the bottom, and within the folds rests two matching silver bands. Her head snaps up and her jaw drops. 
His exhausted, shit-eating grin is enough of a confirmation that what she’s seeing is real. 
“Oh my god!” she gasps. “Where did you get these?”
“Made ‘em.”
“What? You-” she blinks up at him in disbelief, “-you made these?”
“Super awesome, huh?” Willy laughs. “I told’ja we had it under control!”
“The smell’ll wear off, too,” Mitch says, “had to polish ‘em with vinegar.” 
Clementine carefully lifts the bigger of the two rings out of the box. “How- How did you-?”
“Quarters,” Mitch smirks. “Willy here keeps a pretty impressive coin collection. Took a while to find the right ones, but we got it.”
“Yeah, we made a shit ton of them!” Willy reaches into his pocket and pulls out various different rings, most of them scratched up or disfigured in some way. 
“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” Mitch shrugs. “Willy found this old book about sailors overseas making rings for their girlfriends back home. Just gotta hammer them then drill out the middle, do some filing and hammer some more. Once me and James knew what we were doing, we used the measurement I took of your finger and made yours. That one turned out great, so we made Louis’ to complete the set… and it only took us an entire day to do and there were, eh… complications , but they’re done.”
 Clementine runs her finger over the smooth surface, “This is-” she stops when she notices something engraved on it. She blinks, but it’s still there scratched into the shiny surface.
C + L
“That part was Mitch’s idea,” Willy points at the tiny letters, “had to use a really sharp nail to get it that clear.”
“We’ve all seen the piano,” Mitch quickly explains, rolling his eyes, “figured it’d be a good finishing touch. No big deal.”
She puts the box on the workbench. Without any warning, she throws herself at Mitch, wrapping her arms around his now tense body.
“Woah, hey, um-!” Mitch panics and sticks his arms out to avoid touching her.
“You guys have no idea what this means to me.”
“Uh-!”
He turns to Willy, bewildered. The young boy begins to laugh as he points at Mitch’s panicked face. Clementine reaches out and yanks Willy forward, pulling him into the hug as well. Even then, he’s still giggling like an amused child. 
Then, like the realization that they’re all hugging finally hits him over the head, Mitch jerks back, nearly tripping over his feet when turning back towards the work desk. He clears his throat.
“Said it’s not a big fucking deal, and it’s not like we did all the work, y’know. James helped, too, so just-” he grumbles, fumbling with the wrench, “-... consider it an early wedding present, or whatever.” 
Clementine can’t help but laugh at how weirdly cute it is that he’s embarrassed. She picks up the rings again to pull out the smaller one. It fits perfectly on her finger.
“I don’t know if I could ever thank you guys enough for doing this,” she beams, making a note to thank James in the morning. God, the ring fits so perfectly she can’t believe it. 
“Yeah, well, y’know,” Mitch nervously scratches his cheek, a rare smile betraying his lips, “whatever.”
”Mitch! Ya still down here!?” Ruby’s voice echoes from the top of the stairs. “Lou’s in the music room! Did’ja find the box of spare candles? We’re gonna need a lot to fill the whole place up!”
“Oh, shit-” Mitch hisses.
“No one’s down here!” Willy jumps into action, dashing towards the stairs and stretching his arms out. “ Do not enter !” 
“Gah, Willy, move it!”
Clementine closes the small box and shoves it into her pocket before turning to face Ruby as she pushes Willy to the side. Ruby sets her lantern on the workbench, lighting up the basement enough for Clementine to make out the thrill brightening her eyes. 
“Clementine!” she gasps. 
It’s Clementine’s turn to receive a surprise hug when Ruby practically tackles her. 
“Oh, Clem, I heard the news! Why didn’t ya tell me!? This is so excitin’! Ahh! I can’t believe ya didn’t tell me!”  Ruby pulls back to ask the boys, “Did’ja give ‘em to her yet?”
Clementine slowly turns to glare at the two boys.
Willy lowers his head in shame and Mitch fake coughs into his fist. Neither of them answers the question, nor do they dare look Clementine in the eye.
“ Mitch -”
“Before you flip the fuck out,” Mitch holds a finger up to stop her, ”she’s the one who came in here demanding to know what we were doing! She tried to wack me with one of Omar’s wooden spoons! I had to tell her!”
“Oh, no I didn’t! I said I would wack ya with one if ya didn’t explain yerself!” argues Ruby. “I thought ya were makin’ another bomb!”
“I haven’t messed with that shit for, like, weeks!”
Clementine can already see where this is going to go, and the best thing to do is stop it in its tracks.
“Okay, stop!” She raises her voice above theirs. The basement’s quiet again. She takes a deep breath. “I’m not mad.”
“You sound mad,” says Willy.
“I’m not. Ruby, you were going to find out about it anyway, though I can’t say I expected it to go down like this. Does anyone else know?”
“No,” says Ruby and Mitch. 
“Uhm, well…” Willy nervously laughs.
“Dude,” Mitch frowns down at the young boy.
“I didn’t mean to! Aasim saw me going through my coin collection earlier! Then he started asking all these questions and it just came out! But, I made him swear on his soul he wouldn’t tell anyone!”
“What?” Ruby asks. “When was this?”
“This morning.”
“And he didn’t say anything to me!”
“Yeah, because Willy asked him not to,” Mitch says. “Keep up.”
Clementine feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. 
She trusts Aasim. He's never let her down in the past, and he wouldn’t say anything to Louis, especially if he knows this is a surprise. 
“Anyone else?” Clementine asks.
Willy shakes his head.
So, of the people in their group, AJ, James, Mitch, Willy, Ruby, and Aasim all know.
That just leaves Omar, Tenn, and… 
And Violet.
She’s about to speak, but Ruby grabs her hand to admire the ring. “Wow, it’s even prettier on,” she gleams. “Gotta say, boys, ya did a real good job.”
Mitch rolls his eyes.
“Well, yeah .” 
“How’re ya gonna ask him? James and I were thinkin’ that you do it in the music room, of course, and we’ll help ya decorate it with candles and lanterns, make it real romantic.”
“Gross,” Mitch murmurs.
“Hush,” Ruby warns him. “Or, on the roof, under the pretty stars! Or, we can even decorate yer dorm! Whattya think? Omar can cook ya something special and, oh! I found some real pretty classical records fer ya to play! Ya gotta set the mood, after all.”
“We can make some cool fireworks, too!” Willy exclaims.
“Oh, no you won’t! No bombs, no fireworks!”
“Just a few sparklers? To set the mood?”
“No! Especially if it’s inside! Which I think would be best since ya never know with the damn weather.”
“Wow, Ruby,” Clementine’s astonished at the girl’s excitement. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“‘Course! I know I may be buttin’ in a little-” Mitch scoffs “-but I never thought I’d get to witness somethin’ like this after all that’s happened! I mean, a wedding ! It’s like somethin’ outta the fairytales! And, listen, ya don’t hafta take my suggestions. You can ask him any way ya want! Just know that we’re all here to help! Oh, and the wedding !”
“Oh, God,” Mitch groans.
“We’re definitely plannin’ a wedding!”
“Geez, who’s really getting married here?” Mitch asks, irritated. “You or Clem?”
“Oh, shut it! Why can’t ya just be excited?”
“Excited about what? Does nothing for me.”
“Y’know, thinkin’ about someone else fer a change wouldn't kill ya!”
“Okay, please stop arguing,” Clementine interrupts them. “At least let me get through the actual proposal before we start doing anything else.”
“Shit,” Ruby curses herself, “sorry, Clem. Guess I got a little excited.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Willy asks eagerly. “When are we going this?”
Clementine peers down at the ring on her finger, and says, “Now that I have the rings, I’m going to do it tomorrow. In the evening. I like your idea, Ruby, about the candles in the music room.”
“Thought ya would,” Ruby grins. “We keep a bunch of ‘em down here. We’ll all help ya decorate, ‘cept keepin’ Louis outta there might be a task.”
“That’s easy,” Mitch says. “Send him hunting for the day, him and Aasim.”
“My goodness, there’s an idea,” says Ruby, “that way, Aasim can keep an eye on him and make sure he don’t wander back here unannounced.”
“James, too,” Clementine adds. “Just in case Louis doesn’t listen to Aasim, or they get in a tight spot.”
“Right!” Ruby claps her hands. “Oh, I’m gettin’ excited again!”
“Geez, you’re acting more excited than she is,” Mitch jerks his thumb at Clementine.
“Believe me, I don’t think anyone’s as excited as I am,” Clementine smiles, holding up her hand to admire the ring one last time before slipping it back in the box. “It’s just a lot to take in. We just have to be careful now. Louis can’t know anything.”
They all turn to Willy, who hangs his head in shame once more.
“I said it was an accident.”
“I know,” Clementine sighs. “Maybe you should avoid him for now, Willy. Just in case. And, Mitch,” she turns to him, “don’t throw any more shoes at him.”
“Hey, you want him wandering down here? No, you don’t. Thought we established that. ‘Sides, the ring’s done. Nothing left for me to work on.”
“Right, but still, you can’t be acting all suspicious. He’s already worried about you. That’s why he tried to come down here yesterday.”
“Pfft,” Mitch scowls. “Worried…”
“Well, while we know Lou’s in the music room, I’ll gather everyone before they turn in and we can discuss the plan. Don’t worry, we’ll be discreet,” Ruby assures her. “Mitch, yer on candle and match duty. Willy, in the mornin’ I want ya ta go out and pick as many pretty flowers as ya can.”
“Aw,” Willy pouts, “how come I got flower duty?”
“It’s either that or ya gotta help Omar cook. Yer choice.”
Willy doesn’t argue. Omar’s a genuinely nice guy, but he’s also an incredibly particular cook. Willy wasn’t going to willingly put himself into that nightmare.
Soon, they have all the details worked out.
Aasim and James will take Louis far away to go hunting until evening, giving them a few hours to set up.
Ruby will work on setting up a little picnic area for them on the floor and figure out the music. Willy will go around with Tenn and AJ to pick enough flowers for a bouquet, as well as decorate an old vase to put them in. Omar will cook them something extra special, and Mitch will gather all the candles and place them in the safest places around the music room.
As for Clementine herself, she’ll help fix things up in the piano room, but there’s something else she wants to try, as well. Something that she’s been contemplating for the past week.
She hides the box in her jacket with a big, dumb grin stuck on her face. She still can’t believe that Mitch, James, and Willy actually made her a matching set of wedding rings. She tries not to show it, but the very thought of both her and Louis wearing them makes her giddy.
But, there’s still an issue pressing on her mind.
“Ruby?” Clementine’s grin is replaced with a worrying frown. “Are… are you going to tell Violet?”
And, just like that, the room becomes tense.
“Violet?” asks Willy.
“Oh, well, shoot,” Ruby mutters, “didn’t even think of Vi.”
“Don’t fucking bother,” Mitch snaps. “She’s not gonna give a shit, and if she does, she’ll just ruin the whole thing.”
Ruby looks up at Mitch with distraught eyes. “We gotta tell her, Mitch. She’ll feel left out-”
“Oh, don’t start with that bullshit. Why do you anyways try to include her?”
“Because whether you like it or not, she’s one of us. She’s family.”
“Oh, please. She’s an asshole!”
“You bite yer tongue, right now!”
“Well, it’s true!”
“The only reason she’s mean ta you is because yer a jerk ta her first! God, everyone else is decent, why can’t you be?”
A sick feeling comes over her. Clementine can’t quite place what it actually is, but it always boils within her whenever the idea of talking to Violet strikes her.
Over the past two years, she’s tried talking to Violet. Not big things. Saying, “Hello,” or “How are you?” or “Are you okay?” 
Every single time, Violet doesn’t mutter a single word. All she gives is a glare and the view of her back as she walks away.
She told Louis how much she missed Violet once.
He watched her suffer after losing Violet as a close friend. There were a few nights just after the delta that Clementine found herself crying, and he was there to hold her, to promise her that Violet would come around, she just needed time.
Louis tried to fix things between her and Violet.
She can still remember that night. He snuck into the darkness of the room. AJ was fast asleep.
Clementine can remember the rage filling her insides when she saw the bruise forming on his face and the tears slipping down his cheeks. She barely made it to the door before Louis grabbed her, begging her not to go after Violet, that she didn’t even know what happened. AJ woke up, and Louis lied about what was wrong. It was only when they were alone in the hallway that he told her what happened.
They’d gotten into an argument, Louis and Violet. An argument about her. Louis defended her and tried to understand Violet’s animosity. She refused to talk. She only cussed and shoved him away. 
Louis got too close, and like a reflex, Violet swung.
Violet didn’t come out of her room for almost two weeks after that. She spoke to no one but Tenn when he brought her food. 
She didn’t come out until Louis spoke to her again.
And it all happened because of her…
“Don’t worry about it, Ruby,” Clementine speaks up. “I’ll tell her.”
“The fuck you will!” Mitch‘s brow furrows in fury and his fists curl. 
“It’s not like she’ll try to stab me just for talking to her,” Clementine argues.
“Oh yeah? Just like how she didn’t try to stab you after the delta, right? For fuck's sake, had Louis and James not stepped in you would’ve had a nice big gash right between your eyes! She attacked you, Clem! And she’s never said sorry or even pretended that she felt guilty about it! She betrayed us! She’s a traitor!”
“Mitch!” Ruby gasps out. “Don’t talk so ugly! Vi’s no such thing! That was years ago and things have changed! Maybe if you put in some more effort-”
“Oh, fucking hell-”
“-then you wouldn’t be so damn quick to be cruel! And y’know, maybe it is time they finally sort this out.”
“Fuck that!”
Clementine straightens herself out and confidently stands up to Mitch. 
“I appreciate your concern, but-”
“My concern ?” Mitch glares. “What, my concern that I’ll have to dig your grave when that bitch snaps and puts a fucking cleaver in you?”
“She wouldn’t really do that, right?” Willy says, eyes widening.
“Of course she would! She’s-”
“Mitchell Robert Daymond!” Ruby exclaims, causing all of them to jump, startled. All eyes fall on Ruby’s small, angry form as she points right at Mitch’s face. “That is enough outta you. This ain’t yer choice, and bein’ a prick about it ain’t gonna get yer way! Gah, ya act like Vi’s some sorta- sorta monster and I’m sick of it.” 
Mitch opens his mouth to speak, only to have Ruby cut him off. 
“ No ,” she demands. “ No more .”
The air becomes uncomfortably heavy as the two glare at one another. Clementine finds herself breathing slower as if a regular breath would be too much for the tension. Glancing over at poor Willy, she finds him standing close behind Mitch, still gripping his arm and looking between the two. 
Only when Mitch tears his gaze away to scowl at the floor does Ruby turn back to Clementine.
“If this is somethin’ ya wanna do, then we’re right behind ya,” she says. “Vi’s not gonna be happy about it, that’s fer sure, but she won’t do nothin’ ta hurt ya, either. I know it.”
The tension in her shoulders relax with her sigh as Clementine nods. 
“I know, and you’re right. I’m tired of this. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life avoiding her when I can try and make things right. Maybe we won’t ever be friends again, but we can at least be on speaking terms." Clementine looks to her ring once more. “Louis will want her at the wedding, and if she isn’t there because of me…”
“Do what ya can, Clem,” Ruby smiles, placing a comforting hand on Clementine’s shoulder. “Just... promise you’ll be careful?”
“I will.”
“Fucking shit,” Mitch hisses under his breath, rubbing both hands over his face in frustration. “If you’re actually serious, then you’re not going alone. I’ll go with you and make sure she doesn’t pull anything.”
“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Ruby objects. “Yer not exactly sensitive when it comes to stuff like this.”
“Fuck off, I can be sensitive,” Mitch snaps. “I mean- Not that I’d- ... It’s better if someone goes with her and last I checked, you’re supposed to be on watch with Aasim right now. And don’t you have a plan to share, too?”
Ruby hesitates, turning to Clementine with concern. 
Clementine can see why Mitch tagging along wouldn’t be ideal, but she had to admit that having a backup would make her feel a little bit better. Even if he merely escorted her to Violet’s room or made it known that he was only there to keep things from escalating to a boiling point- which, again, Mitch isn’t the ideal candidate for this role- it’d make her feel better.  
Then again, Violet might be doubly pissed to see Mitch, as well.  If there’s anyone she despises as much as Clementine, it’s Mitch.
“You don’t have to-” Clementine starts, only to have him raise his hand. 
“Yeah, I don’t have to do anything,” he frowns. “But, I’m gonna anyway.”
That gets a smile out of her. 
“And you won’t threaten her?”
He stares, then lowers his head in defeat. 
“I won’t say nothin’ unless I gotta.” Then, he turns to Willy. “You okay to clean this place up yourself?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Willy smiles.
“Well, ehm, guess I’ll get Aasim and James and tell ‘em ‘bout the plan,” says Ruby. “Vi should be in her room. She usually turns in early when she doesn’t have watch.”
Before leaving, Ruby turns to Mitch with one final warning, “Be nice.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The feeling’s back, twisting in Clementine’s gut and accelerating her heart.
With that, they leave the basement.
---
The music room is filthy. 
Usually, Louis doesn’t notice or even pay much attention to the cleanliness of any room within the school due to the fact this everywhere is dirty. It doesn’t matter how much Ruby pushes or how many times Aasim scolds them for leaving messes wherever they go, the school will never match the cleanly standards it had prior to the end of the world. 
They have more important things to think about anyway, right?
Or maybe they just can’t be bothered. 
Perhaps both. 
But when he sat at the piano, fingers playing the keys he knew by heart, he noticed a thick layer of dust settled on the worn wood.
Swiping a finger across the top left him absolutely disgusted. To be honest, he can’t remember the last time he actually cleaned the piano, but given that the layer of dust is thick enough to make actual dust bunnies out of, it’s been a while. 
In fact, the music room is kind of a disaster. 
And he needs a better distraction anyway.
Sorting through the records he kept, he picks a classic record to play at random and gets to work. 
Within an hour, he’s already filled an old cardboard box with the trash that once occupied the floor, the tables, and everywhere else that garbage built up over years. Old soda cans, soiled books, broken shards of glass by the windows- all gone. 
Louis wipes down the piano with an old T-shirt he oddly found beneath the couch. Pictures from what looks to be a pirate comic fill the front of the shirt and for the life of him, he can’t remember whose shirt this is. Or was. 
He knows he’s seen it before, knows someone wore it… someone not around anymore.
Shit. 
Nevermind, he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Pushing that thought out of mind, he continues wiping away the dust. While the piano would always be worn, defaced, and out of tune, he still loved it and should remember to keep better care of it. 
So many memories were made sitting here. 
Most good, some bad. 
Memories of him sitting there with clumsy fingers, young and untrained, awaiting his cue from Minnie as she finished jotting down lyrics to their song. 
“Nevermind the darkness, nevermind the storm-”
Memories of him entertaining Tenn when he was scared of a thunderstorm, or playing something silly to make Violet smile. 
Memories of him and Clementine the night of the delta attack. 
“You are super cute.”
“Cute? Wow, uhm-”
Their first kiss. 
Louis runs his finger over their initials encased in a heart, carved by Clementine’s own hand that night right before he opened up to her, thanked her for being with him despite… well, everything. 
God, it seems so far away. 
Since then, more memories have festered within these walls, here at the piano.
“For once, I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”
“Why?”
Satisfied with his work, Louis tosses the shirt away. He slips off his jacket, setting it over the arm of the couch before placing himself comfortably at the piano once more. 
“First of all, it’s going to take us a million years to build all nine-hundred floors. Second, we’re going to need so much paint, and even with all of us helping, it’s going to take us two million years to paint it all! Third, nine-hundred floors means-”
“Nine-hundred and fourteen.”
A deep breath. 
“Excuse me, nine-hundred and fourteen floors means this house is going to be high up in the stars- literally in space!- and you yourself said that you hate climbing stairs. Do you know how many sets of stairs we’re going to need to make it to the top?”
“We’ll have an elevator.”
“That goes through the whole place?”
“Yep. Up, down, and sideways.”
“That’s ridiculous. I love it.”
Eyes close. 
Clementine laughs, pushing against his shoulder as he shakes his head. Whether his chuckle is due to the madness of Clementine’s floor plan, or because her fingers continue to purposely play the wrong keys, he doesn’t know anymore. 
“Then, what about a slide?” she suggests. “A big metal slide that loops around and brings you from top to bottom in seconds.”
“I like it, I like it,” he ponders, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Except, that won’t help us in actually getting to the top.” 
The cool air blows in through the open window, flickering the flames of his candles and kissing the warmth of his cheeks. 
“What’ll be at the top, anyway?” she asks. “What’ll be worth climbing all those stairs to see?” 
“I don’t know, but it has to be something special.” He thinks about it for a moment. “What do you want?”
“Me?” she asks.
Pulling her hand off the keys, holding it in his own, he asks, “What do you want at the top?”
Another deep breath. 
“I don’t know.”
“C’mon, Clem,” Louis urges. “Anything you want. Name it.” 
She stares down at their linked hand, eyes drift shut as she thinks. 
“Well… we have to have that skylight, right?”
“Obviously, but that’s something I wanted, remember?” 
“Well, I want one, too. If we’re going to be up in space, I want to see it. Imagine seeing the moon that up close.”
“Maybe we’ll have aliens tapping on our roof.”
“I hope so.” 
He kisses her forehead, then her cheek, whispering in her ear, “What do you really want, Clementine?”
Louis’ fingers move effortlessly. 
His soft lullaby fills the air. 
“A tree,” she says firmly. “An apple tree with bright red Honeycrisps, right in the corner, and it’s roots throughout the floor, and-” she grabs his hand, comparing it to hers by pressing their palms together, “- a piano in the center. Any kind you want.”
Their fingers lace together.
“A glossy, grand piano. Mahogany- the color of leaves in autumn,” he brushes a curl from her face, “unbreakable and always in tune.” 
“And you’ll teach me to play?”
“You willing to climb nine-hundred and fourteen floors every day for your lessons?”
“Of course.”
It’s been a long time since he’s thought of their home- rather, their outrageous dream house that was inspired by the depressing story of how his own parents didn’t get to finish building their new home. 
A royal purple, nine-hundred and fourteen floor mansion with a treehouse, a skylight, and an apple tree growing on the top floor. Several pools, movie theatres, pizza parlors, bedrooms, bathrooms with hot tubs and full body showers, aquariums, roller parks- and even with all those things, they still have plenty of room left. 
Louis knows the possibility of that mansion coming to fruition is lower than low, they both know that, but it doesn’t make it any less fun to imagine.
How many nights did they stay up in bed discussing what kind of statue they wanted for the fountain, or what shade of purple they’d paint their bedroom, or how many dogs they would adopt, or if they were going to make Mitch sleep in the treehouse rather than giving him his own room? 
Louis stops playing, chuckling to himself. 
It’s been a long time since he’s played by himself happily, or since he’s thought of composing a brand new song. Usually, when he’s down here so late by himself, it’s to calm down after an all-consuming nightmare-
No.
Don’t think about that. 
Don’t think about that.
Don’t think. 
“An apple tree with bright red Honeycrisps, right in the corner, and it’s roots throughout the floor...”
Maybe he can’t build Clementine an outrageous purple mansion, but he can write her a new song.  
As Louis becomes lost in the music, a brief thought runs through his mind.
Finally... a nice night.
15 notes · View notes
inkstaineddove · 5 years ago
Text
Dancing With the Devil
Ships: AusHun, PruHun; PruAus of some king if you squint
Characters: Austria, Prussia, Hungary, Maria Theresa, Frederick the Great, Britain; mentioned Russia and France
Summary: To bring some joy back to Vienna after the Second Silesian War and win more allies, Austria and Maria Theresa decide to throw a ball. They also convince themselves that inviting Prussia will lead to only his humiliation, but he has a plan of his own.
 April 1746, Vienna.
Humiliated. Austria had been humiliated by an upstart kingdom taking control of one of his richest provinces. Ever since the ink on the treaty dried where he was forced to recognize this coup by Prussia, he’d been working furiously to secure some sort of alliance with the others. Britain, that traitor, couldn’t be counted on. He harrumphed, scribbling out letters to France and Russia. Unscrupulous bastards, how he loathed that he must turn to them. But, he supposed, beggars can’t be choosers…
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” He snapped, hearing the door to his office open. He didn’t remove his eyes from his work.
A soft clicking of the tongue. “Now, Roderich. Is that the way to properly greet your sovereign?” Maria Theresa glided into the room, smiling faintly. “You can’t let the barbarians steal your manners too.”
He stood, bowed, and kissed her hand. A quick rectification. “My apologies, your majesty. I assumed you were someone else.” He moved to sit again only once she had, intently following royal protocol now. “I’m sure you share my frustrations.”
“Naturally. Which is why I believe we need something to look forward to, to bring some joy back into these halls.” She sighed dramatically. “These last eight years have been marred by misery. We’re to throw a ball next month. I miss dancing and we can show the ambassadors that we haven’t been hampered in the slightest by recent events.”
“Well, if it’s for diplomatic purposes then I can hardly be opposed to it.” Roderich would be lying if he pretended that the concept upset him completely. He’d been out campaigning for so long that he missed most of the ball seasons over the last few years. It would be nice to don the clothes an aristocrat and catch up on the latest gossip with his equals instead of galloping around the countryside with undisciplined commoners. “I suppose you want me to get working on a guest list now?”
“That’s why I’m here. I wished to help you craft this one.” She waited for him to ready himself with a fresh piece of paper. “The Russian and French delegations are a must and they need to be given all the works. Showing the Swedes a proper respect would be advisable as well. If you find it won’t be too hard on you, I would like the Spaniards to come.” She noticed him roll his eyes and chuckled. “I’m trying to be courteous. Oh, right! The Saxons should be welcomed. As should the Bavarians and any of the smaller states you think could provide us with something beneficial.”
“Is that all? No Britain?”
She tapped a finger to her chin, mulling it over. “Send them an invitation a little less than a day before. Shows them our displeasure but isn’t too unreasonable. Now, that’s all squared away. There was something you were telling me.”
“I was?” Roderich slipped the paper in the top drawer of his desk. He racked his mind for whatever she meant. “Would you please tell me what, exactly, I was saying?”
“Before he invaded Bohemia, you were filling me in on all the others of your kind. Letting me know all the gossip and news surrounding them.” Maria Theresa fiddled with one of her rings, reminding Austria of when she was a child. “You filled me in on everyone else in the empire except our little nuisance.”
“I told you everything there is to know about Brandenburg. He’s not a complicated character.” He knew exactly who she was angling for, but he would play the fool. He’d spent too much of his thoughts on that damn creature, he was haunted by him every waking moment now. But his queen was giving him such a look, it became impossible to keep his resolve. Austria sighed, defeated. “What do you care to know about Prussia?”
“Oh, stop playing like this! I want to know everything there is!” She noticed his pained expression and laughed. “Come on, Roderich dear. Wouldn’t it be a joy to use everything we have against him? We’re working the presses hard to print out every nasty rumor about his king. Why not go after both of them?”
There was something he could go along with. In fact, Roderich was willing to wager that it might actually be enjoyable. This was a war he could easily win. He made himself comfortable in his chair, a smile breaking free. “What isn’t there to say about him? He’s vile, he’s garish, and completely uncouth. Ever since we were children his only concern has been killing things – bugs, pagans, heretics. Now, lucky me, he wants to kill Austrians.” He licked his lips, remembering a juicy tidbit. “His crusading is rather humorous considering how often he was sent to the pyre. He’s always looked demonic. If you spend your days around zealots with that appearance, you get what you asked for.” He smiled wistfully. “He did make good cinder though.”
“Roderich, that makes him pitiable.” Maria Theresa wrinkled her nose, imagining the smell of burning flesh. “Please, talk about anything else.”
“My apologies, I got lost in the good times.” He noticed her horrified look. “He’s still alive! And we were children then! If you knew how often many times he shot my eye out with arrows or gutted me with his sword, he wouldn’t seem so sympathetic. It was a different period. Now we…still impale each other. Some things never change, do they?”
“Roderich!”
“Right, right! Not what you want to know!” He tapped his fingers on his desk, trying to remember anything else interesting. He realized he was stuck too far in the past. There was something she would get a kick out of. “Ridiculous, how could I possibly forget? Not like they’ve had much time to see each other recently. Maybe this war wasn’t all for nothing.” He smiled wide, enjoying the imminent implosion. “He and Erzsébet have relations. Been happening for a century now.”
“With our Erzsébet? With Hungary?” He watched her upset grow until it completely overtook her. “That scoundrel! How dare he!” She smacked him in the arm. “And you only tell me this now! Eight years I’ve been on the throne and now, now, is the opportune moment! Why the delay?”
“Don’t assault me! We were in the middle of a crisis! I figured my personal life could wait till after.” Austria straightened his jacket. “This isn’t something I’m exactly proud of, your highness. It’s bad enough that every time I see Britain or France they feel it’s of vital importance to mention. I try not to let it consume more of my waking days than necessary.” He quickly shushed the voice in his head reminding him that his conscience spent a great deal of time plotting against this whole matter already.
“Great, so George and Louis knew all about this before me. My dignity is a joke to everyone in Europe, isn’t it?” She clutched a hand to her chest, wincing in agony. “My poor heart. How many more of these crushing humiliations will I be subjected to? I won’t last much longer at this rate.”
That familiar vein in his forehead twitched. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. Snapping at his sovereign would result in nothing good. Calming breaths. “You worry too much. They would be foolish to consider any of this a reflection on you.” The unspoken ending was that, if anything, it would be a reflection on him. He grimaced considering that. “We can use this to our advantage if we’re smart.”
Maria Theresa’s composure returned. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be too difficult to dissuade Erzsébet from that ruffian. I remember being a young woman. Men like that – so wild and unrestrained – always weasel their way into your affections. They present something new and exciting. Then they leave, casting you aside for whatever cheap thrill they can find in some whore’s bed while you’re left picking up the pieces of your shattered self-esteem.” She spoke with surprising emotion. Waving away whatever phantom memories lingered, she smiled at Roderich. “She will realize that a man like you or my dear Francis is much better. Polite, predictable, so willing to listen. A good partner mustn’t challenge you in such a way as a man like that does.”
“You underestimate her. They’re equally culpable. Don’t let her con your generosity.” This was the opposite of comforting. He slumped in his chair, chuckling bitterly. “No wonder she runs around with him. How your majesty describes Gilbert makes me want to fall in love with him! There’s likely a much more polite way of telling me I never had a chance!” That familiar pulsation in his forehead again. “I’m sorry, but please don’t try and console me further.”
“For a man to be predictable is a good thing! Let the women have all the passion and the spirit and the spunk! If the men could keep to themselves, I wouldn’t be working with an empty treasury.” She imagined Frederick, the man causing all her troubles, groveling before her. It provided her second wind. “Now, quit this self-pity and think! What’s this Prussia character like in a suit?”
“Rather like a donkey. You can dress it up all you like, but it’s still a jackass in the end.” Austria paused, seeing where she was going. “Are you really going to invite him? He would try to sabotage the whole thing!”
“It’s certainly a possibility. He could also – and I believe this is most likely since I trust he’s as incompetent as you say – make a complete fool of himself before everyone. Doing so would guarantee us all the allies we possibly need and remind our dear Erzsébet that her little…thing is beneath her breed. Make him the first invitation we send out.”
Austria quickly wrote one, not caring if it wasn’t his best penmanship. Such efforts would be wasted on Prussia. He noticed a streak of brown hair disappearing past the door. “I trust your judgement if you’ll trust mine.” He cleared his throat. “Magyar!” Hungary stepped into the room. He slipped the envelope into her hands. “A favor. Would you be so kind as to deliver this to Berlin or wherever your paramour lays his head?”
Hungary glanced between her queen and her superior, distrust eating at her. “This is too easy. What’s the catch?”
“There is none. Can’t I do something nice for you?” He waved her away. “Go, enjoy what time you two have left together.”
“Don’t enjoy yourself too much!” Maria Theresa warned, her voice stern.
Hungary’s suspicion grew. But what could she do? She didn’t trust either of them as far as she could throw them, but she had no evidence of their plot. She would have to bide her time. Curtsying, she shuffled out the door and began mentally planning what to wear for her arrival.
---
Sanssouci Palace, Potsdam.
Frederick strolled through his palace, his eyes fixed on the letters gripped in his hand. War was over. Now, it was time to govern and flex his muscles domestically. He passed through the Marble Hall. He had been cooped up inside for too long. Some fresh air in the gardens was needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted two figures. “Gilbert, strange woman.” He turned back on his heel. “For the last time, Gilbert, stop bringing your whores here.”
“She’s not a prostitute, this is Erzsébet.” Gilbert aimed a forced grin at his king.
“I’m aware that they all have names. Run along, dear. He doesn’t pay very well.” She refused to budge. Frederick sighed. “Must you always bring home the stubborn ones?”
“She’s Hungary!” Prussia hissed through gritted teeth. He couldn’t recall ever being so embarrassed.
“Then give her some food and send her-” Frederick blinked slowly. A crisis had to be averted. He politely bowed. “My sincerest apologies. Despite never shutting up about you, this moron never bothered to give me a portrait.” Forcing back his irritation, he slipped into an easy smile. “What brings you here? I hope you don’t bring any declarations of war.”
Hungary’s last couple of hours had been stressful. She had no idea what the greater ploy Austria and Maria Theresa were up to and why she needed to play messenger in it. Nor was she overjoyed at her warm welcome by Prussia’s disrespectful king. She needed something to provide her some entertainment. She handed him the envelope she’d been tasked to deliver. “Why, I haven’t the slightest idea. It could be anything.” She met the king’s gaze. “You understand how grudges work. This was really all I came for. I’ll be on my way.”
Gilbert scrambled alongside her. “Do you really have to leave so soon? Why all the rush? You’ll get back to Vienna late. You don’t want to spend the night here, that’s fine. The old man snores. There’s plenty of space in my home for the two of us.” He took her hand in his before the door, pleading with his eyes. “At least let me walk you out.”
The ends of her mouth curled up in a smile. “There’s no need. It’s a rather dainty palace, isn’t it? I promise I won’t get lost. You be good.” She shot a look at Frederick. “And you. Do us a favor and stay out of Bohemia.” In a flurry of skirts, she was gone as quickly as she arrived.
Now alone, Gilbert released his consternation. “Fritz, next time, just fucking shoot me. If you really care about me, spare me the agony.” He ran his hands through his hair, groaning. “I can sabotage myself without your help.”
“Why are you blaming me? Whenever I’ve wanted to know what that woman looks like you’ve only told me bullshit like ‘more beautiful than Helena of Troy.’ Which is wonderful, but it doesn’t help me pick her out in a crowd!”
“Who else would I be staring at like this?” Gilbert’s expression shifted into that of a lovelorn fool. His eyes softened; a wide grin lit up his face. He looked idiotic in that charming way lovers do. He dropped the act as soon as it appeared, dismissing it with an eye roll. “That whole routine might’ve set me back fifty years.”
Despite knowing about Gilbert’s kind his whole life, being reminded of their immortality never disturbed Frederick less. “Does it matter? Time is meaningless to you lot.” He shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. He had a treasury to refurbish and a new province to integrate. “I can’t be bothered with all this now. This damn envelope could hold our death sentences and we’re bickering like a bunch of old maids.” He opened it and tossed the card aside after reading its contents. “It’s a fucking invitation to some ball. Who gives a damn?”
Gilbert snatched it out the air and skimmed it over. He thought he recognized Roderich’s handwriting but disregarded it. Didn’t all those pompous aristocrats write the same? “It could be fun. Who doesn’t love dressing up and dancing the whole night away?”
The king began heading for the gardens again. Fresh air. Fresh air would clear away this whole mess. “Well, if my memory serves me correctly you don’t. You’ve always been adamant about how much you loathe these events.” He shot Gilbert a look over his shoulder before chortling. “I get it. You’re only looking to get some pussy. Have some more dignity than this. You know as well as I do this is likely some little ploy to humiliate you, and me by extension.”
Gilbert’s cheeks turned bright red. “That’s not the only reason! We could get…alliances out of this! It could improve our diplomatic situation! I’m not walking into anything!” He held open the door to the gardens for them both. “Fritz, you’ve got to trust my instincts! I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve been doing this for centuries.”
“Your instinct is the reason why I’m so afraid. You’re incredibly reckless and prone to bouts of what I can only assume are insanity. You’ll ruin whatever good name we have left. That’s why I can’t allow you to go.” Sitting down at the table, he examined his papers, ignoring Prussia’s exaggerated pout. “Stop pushing out your lip that far. You look like a grotesque duck.”
Change of tactics. “Isn’t that Italian here? Wouldn’t it be so much easier to have your fun with Algarotti if you sent me and a few delegates off to Vienna for a weekend next month?” Gilbert rested his chin on his hands. His eyes carried such faux innocence. “Didn’t seem like too many men were sneaking into your tent late at night these last eight years.”
Frederick glared at him over the letters. “Is this really the game you want to play at?” Seeing his smirk, the king scowled. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this. You can go, but you will have chaperones and I will appoint them. I don’t want any minister going that finds your whole act adorable. It’ll lead us straight into another war!”
“I promise, I won’t let you down, Fritz!” Gilbert puffed his chest out and stood straight. “You can trust me.”
“No, you will. At least, have it be funny when you do. I want some amusement before the Austrians invade.”
---
June 1786, Vienna.
The ball was gorgeous. Everyone was looking their best, the orchestra never sounded so sweet, and the food was first-class. All the finest luxuries in the world brought together. The guests were thrumming to-and-fro, enjoying the conversations amongst themselves.
Gilbert loathed it. He stood at the bar, filling his drink as quickly as he could empty it. The strongest drink he could get his hands on was watered-down scotch. It was a disgrace. He scanned the crowd again. What was the point in being here if he couldn’t find her? Wasn’t that the whole meaning of his trip?
A tap on his shoulder. “I’m no one to judge, but how do you expect to gain any allies chatting up the bartender?” Arthur smiled wide. “Seems so unlike you to linger so far away from the center of the action.” He nodded at the bartender, who refilled his glass of brandy. “Hard to stun the crowd from the sidelines.”
“Why would I want to waste my talents on a bunch of stiffs? They’re not going to appreciate my work. Now, if you don’t mind.” Gilbert began peering around the Briton. “I’m waiting for someone. Francis has to be around here somewhere. Hang around him instead.”
So that’s why Gilbert was here. Everything made sense. An impish grin broke out across his face. The night would provide him with some good entertainment. “Erzsébet’s welcoming guests with Roderich and her majesty. I could take you over and introduce you as I’ve already paid my respects.” He tugged Gilbert’s sleeve, dragging him through the throngs of people. “Come along, let’s get this started!”
“I don’t need a wingman.” Gilbert straightened his jacket, huffing. “Seriously, you can run along now.”
“Please and miss out completely? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Prussia rolled his eyes. With friends like that, who needed enemies? Arriving before Austria and Maria Theresa, he bowed. “Roddy, I forgot what you looked like without a uniform. Much more natural than seeing you posturing with a gun.” He attempted to kiss Maria Theresa’s hand, but she jerked it away. “I take it that your majesty knows who I am already. On behalf of his Prussian majesty, we sincerely thank you for the kindness of this invitation and everything it represents.” He looked back at Britain, who gave him a thumbs up. He’d nailed it, there would be no war declared.
As if to undo any good work he’d managed, Hungary materialized besides the queen. “That Russian delegation can talk your ear off. Next time, please don’t sacrifice me to them. I don’t want to hear about the intimate details of their personal dramas.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. She gave a subtle wink and smirk to Prussia. “Oh, Gil. How rude, I didn’t see you there. I’m so glad you came.”
Restraint. He needed to practice restraint. He was in the presence of important company. There could be no mistakes. Then he saw Roderich. Roderich, standing there looking intemperate, grinding his teeth, glaring as if begging his foe on. Gilbert was overcome. He forgot himself. Erzsébet was too beautiful and Roderich too irritating to deny himself such sweet joys. Gilbert took her hand in his and kissed it. “I had to. I didn’t want to miss seeing such a beauty.” His lips trailed up her arm, holding eye-contact with Roderich the whole time. “How could I stay away?”
Austria opened his mouth to speak, but Hungary beat him to it. “Daring tonight, aren’t we?” After speaking loud enough for all surrounding parties to hear, she leaned in close to Prussia’s ear. “If you get war declared on you for anything you do tonight, remember that I actually like this queen. I don’t think you can afford to be this reckless in front of her.” She gently, yet firmly, pushed him away.
Point noted. Flustered, Gilbert took a step back. “Right. Well, it was nice to see everyone. I’ll be…somewhere else.” He spared one last dejected look at Erzsébet before scampering off with Arthur on his heels.
“I’m impressed. What on earth did you say to him?” Roderich moved besides her, reflexively putting a hand on the small of her back. Realizing neither of them liked the gesture, he removed it.
“I told him I would meet him in the gardens later if he wouldn’t be so obvious.” She laughed at his frustration. “Don’t be so glum. I’m still upset about Silesia. I promise, it’ll be hate sex this time.”
“How comforting.” Austria moved to take his place besides Maria Theresa. “Now you understand what I’ve been dealing with. Everything is personal with him. None of the other states give me this much trouble. Why can’t he be more like Bavaria?”
Maria Theresa looked much more crestfallen. She cradled his face in her hand, unable to meet his gaze. “You poor man, what a terrible situation.” She peered up at him through her eyelashes. “You’re a cuckold.”
He forced his eyes shut. What a disaster. The promise of the whole night was disintegrating before his very eyes. “Your majesty isn’t helping.”
“You’re not helping yourself either! Standing around, looking so shocked at everything. Have some life, impress her, show everyone that you’re not passive in affairs of the heart.” She waved her hands away from her. “Do anything but stand around here and talk to me!”
“Why do I want her to fall in love with me?” Seeing the fire in his queen’s eyes, Roderich quieted his protestations and took his place besides his wife. “I’m being held here against my will.”
“Aren’t we both? Don’t feel too special.” They shared a conspiratorial look before breaking into giggles.
The orchestra began a new piece. Roderich caught himself humming. It was one of his favorites. He held out his arm. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”
“It is only fair to give your date at least one. Especially when he’s such a fantastic dancer.” She let him lead her to the floor. They began twirling around, hitting all the marks in time. She envied how naturally this all came to him. “It’s not fair for you to be so talented.”
“So kind of you to think so. You’d be disappointed to know that it’s less talent and more centuries of being forced into the role of a gentleman. Though, it is a natural fit.” He gained some contentment from her easy laugh. There was almost something enjoyable in this. “See, Erzsébet, it isn’t all bad. The lady protests too much.”
“You would think I complain too much about anything. There could be a freeze and you would think I’m ridiculous for bemoaning the chill. I’ve been quiet recently. No major rebellions. Be thankful.” She closed her eyes, getting lost in the music. “Please, be quiet. If you don’t talk then I can pretend that I enjoy your company.”
A simple enough request. Besides, the dancefloor was no place to settle differences. Roderich complied, happy for the momentary respite in their relationship. He could imagine this as normal for them, this peace with no screaming matches. No threats of violence against each other or their people. That they were any ordinary married couple who tolerated each other just enough to not end in scandal. The very idea thrilled him.
The very idea was interrupted by their Prussian scandal. Gilbert tapped Roderich’s soldier, a lupine smile on his face. “May I cut in? I couldn’t resist.”
Erzsébet moved to take his hand. She was met with air. She found Roderich and Gilbert in an embrace, the former looking incredibly determined while the latter was exasperated. “It would be rude of me to deny you, wouldn’t it?” Roderich nodded at Erzsébet. “Don’t wait up.”
“What are you doing? Let me lead!” Gilbert hissed. The fight for dominance began immediately. He winced, feeling Roderich’s heel dig into his toes. “That’s my foot. You be the woman, you’re the feminine one!”
“Why would I take orders from you? You’re used to being subordinate, follow my lead.” Roderich yanked them the opposite direction Gilbert was taking them. “I know exactly where I’m putting my feet.” For good measure, he stepped on Gilbert’s foot again.
Prussia bit his lip, forcing himself not to yelp in pain. He wouldn’t give the other man the satisfaction. His nails dug into Austria’s lower back, finding pleasure in his pain. “Why are you doing this? Let me have my dance, it doesn’t take anything away from you. You never let me have what I want.”
Austria couldn’t force back his laugh. It was maniacal. “Really? That’s funny, that kingdom you’ve got says differently about my generosity. If anything, I’ve been too accommodating to you. Silly me, thinking compassion would civilize you.” He sneered. If he gripped Prussia’s hand tight enough, maybe he could manage to break a few fingers. Wouldn’t that be a sight? “You’re a brute. You don’t deserve what you’ve got.”
“You’re going to talk to me about deserve? You, Little Master, born with a golden spoon and so hell-bent on his divine authority? You’ve never worked for anything in your life.” Prussia snarled, all teeth. “Unless you count laying down beneath Spain and taking whatever he gave as work.” He twisted Roderich around. “This way!”
“You stay out of my marriages!” Austria’s face was red with indignation and embarrassment. “What happens in my bedroom is of none of your concern!”
“You’re right it’s not. But what doesn’t happen is and I know there’s been a whole lot of nothing in there.” He put a hand on Austria’s cheek. Prussia’s eyes were swimming with sickening contempt. “I’ve never understood why everyone’s so desperate to marry you. You can hardly fulfill your spousal duties and then you wonder why some vagrant like me can come in and take them over. It’s a shame, really.” He winked. “Wouldn’t change it for a thing.”
“You’re pathetic. Are you that jealous of everything I have that you’ll never be satisfied? I would pity you if you weren’t so loathsome.” He smacked Prussia’s hand away. “Your inferiority must eat you alive. Anything you could ever want, I hold it so firmly in my grasp. How do you handle it?” He looked the Prussian up-and-down. “Obviously, you don’t. What man in full control of himself would go to such lengths to humiliate himself in such ways at every given opportunity?” They were dancing on the edge of a cliff and, oddly enough, Roderich couldn’t bother to care. His mind, his whole being, was completely focused on eradicating this blight. If he went down too, fine. Such would be the price.
“Because you can’t resist me either. Sure, I may look like a fool to everyone, but I’m not alone.” Prussia’s breath stung hot against Austria’s ear. It sent a shiver down his spine. “You live to roll around in the mud with me. Face it, Roddy, you’d be lost without me.”
Hungary shoved them apart, breaking the spell of their mutual madness. Her voice was hushed. “A few things. Do you two do that often because, for some odd reason, that was incredibly arousing. Amazing. I’m blushing.” They shot her a look. Her cheeks burned a deeper shade of red. “Never mind. Maybe this you’ll find important: you two were very loud. Everyone heard and now they’re staring.”
The two men dared to look away from her. She was right. All eyes were on them. Roderich met the gaze of an incredibly upset Maria Theresa. His mouth suddenly became very dry. “Gilbert, I think we’re in trouble.”
Gilbert, for his part, had made eye-contact with the minister who was supposed to be his chaperone tonight. Podewils looked ready to unleash his full wrath. “You don’t say.”
The three of them were ushered into one of the nearby rooms. While they waited for the queen and minister to arrive, Hungary took it upon herself to lecture them. “What were you two thinking! What compelled you to revert back to children!” She shook her head. “Forget children, a whole pack of toddlers would’ve behaved better! I’m ashamed of you both!”
Gilbert was slumped on the sofa, his head buried in his hands. “This wouldn’t have happened if he let go of his pride and didn’t jump in between us! But no, little Roddy always has to show me up.” He cast a pitiful glare at his cousin. “Do you feel like a big man now?”
Roderich had his back to them as he stared outside the window. “Are you seriously blaming me? If you knew how to conduct yourself in front of polite society, none of this would’ve occurred! Instead, you’re the one who must constantly show he’s no slouch! That he can do whatever he wants, that he can work with the adults!” He turned around now, a cold fire burning in his eyes. “You can’t, Gilbert! You don’t have the pedigree to operate at these strata! Get these delusions of competition out of your mind, embrace your place in life and then you’ll find yourself much happier.”
“Right because it was fine for you to grab the laurels of power, but anyone else who wants it obviously can’t handle it. You should be thankful that-”
Maria Theresa burst into the room. “Silence! Both of you, shut up! For the love of God, stop talking!” She narrowed her sights on Prussia first. “How dare you! You vile little creature. We kindly invite you into our palace, into our capital, and you show us this kind of disrespect? Have you no self-restraint? No understanding of how to manage yourself amongst men? I shouldn’t be surprised. You invite a beast, he’ll behave like a beast.”
Roderich forgot himself. He sneered at Gilbert. “See? It’s apparent to everyone that you are the most wretched creature on the planet. Why bother carrying on at this rate?”
Maria Theresa’s rage turned on him. She began striding towards Roderich. “And you. I’ve never been more humiliated in my life! How foolish of me to ever put my faith in you. You were such a good man, Roderich. So intelligent, so capable, so dependable. Was my trust misplaced? How ridiculous it seems now, to believe you were ever capable of behaving in an acceptable manner.” She had him backed against a wall. “I look at you and I want to be angry, but how can I be? How can the strong be angry at the weak? Roderich, I know now you’re a weak man.”
Podewils cleared his throat, reminding everyone of his presence. “Your majesty, you have my deepest and most sincere apologies for tonight’s mishap. I can assure you that his Prussian majesty does not endorse the conduct of this most insolent and moronic man who should frankly be ashamed of the dishonor he’s brought on his own people!”
The queen rolled her eyes. “Oh, quit it monsieur. I’m not declaring war.” Her eyes narrowed, settling on a subdued Roderich. “If I was, I’d have to declare it on my own people first.” She huffed, straightening up. “Frankly, I want to forget this whole matter as soon as I possibly can. This night has been a complete wash for all of us involved. All I want is for you and that, that thing to leave Vienna as soon as humanly possible. Now, if you don’t mind,” she left the room in a flurry, slamming the door shut behind her.
All the wind returned to Gilbert’s sails. He rose and clapped Roderich on the back. “All’s well that ends well, Roddy. I ruin your little party and I face no repercussions. I say that’s a good resolution for us both.” He quirked his head to the side. “What’s up with your eye? Did you always have that twitch?”
“Get off me!” Roderich shoved him away. His breathing was ragged. “Why must everything revolve around you? Why must you always hijack everyone’s attention and steal away whatever remnants of my dignity remain from our last incident? You are no better than any other vermin, I’ve got half a mind to-” He cut himself off, a moment a clarity cutting through the haze. He straightened his jacket out, striding for the door. “You’re a plague among Europe and now I’m suddenly seen as a victim. I’ve got all the most important diplomats outside. Why am I continuing to tussle with you? What worth do you have for me?” Hand on the doorknob, he cast one last look at a surprised Gilbert. “Enjoy your victories while they last, Preussen.”
Unconcerned, Gilbert slid over to Erzsébet and snaked an arm around her waist. “Now that we’re away from prying eyes, I never got to properly tell you how gorgeous you look tonight. If I’m remembering correctly, didn’t you promise me a stroll through the gardens? I think the roses are in bloom.” He kissed her hand, holding her gaze the whole time. “A quick one. Before I have to leave.”
She was smiling, but it lacked any real warmth. “The moments passed, Gil.” She clutched her hand to her chest, appraising him. “We’re not exactly friends right now, are we? Do you have any idea how many men of mine you murdered after your ridiculous incursion?”
“Not at all, but I remember seeing you leading them in battle. You know what that does to me.” A smile like a wolf. She thought him depraved. “A little animosity can help to spice things up. You should know that from living with him so long.”
“How’s this for animosity?” She dug her heel into his foot, putting all her weight into it. For good measure, she twisted it in, sending a shock of pain up Gilbert’s spine. He’d never seen her so spiteful. It drove him wild. “You should be satisfied from humiliating Roderich in such a way and, if that’s not enough,” her lips brushed against his ear. He felt his heart beating through his chest. “Use your hand.” He watched her exit the room, silently begging her to stay.
Instead, the only touch he received was Podewils yanking at his elbow. “We’re leaving now. Before you can manage to worm your way into further trouble.”
Glum, he let himself be dragged along. “Relax, Heinrich. All my trouble left with her.” Sighing, he tried to muster up some fake cheer. He managed to genuinely find some. “What are we worrying for? The old man said I’d be fine as long as whatever happens is funny.” He snickered. “And, admit it, this whole mess is hysterical.” If he could laugh at Austria’s expense, didn’t that count for something? Who cared how it ended for him, as long as that prick was sufficiently embarrassed, he could rest easily at night. Yes, that was all that mattered, forget his tattered dignity and what he couldn’t have. Austrian suffering was the most beautiful reward of them all.
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nellie-elizabeth · 5 years ago
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Suits: If the Shoe Fits (9x05)
The status of Mike and Harvey's friendship was left way too vague for my tastes at the end of this episode. Please, please tell me Mike will be back for the finale!
Cons:
One thing about Mike being here is that it brought to focus how much better the show was when he was there. I'm serious. The banter in that opening scene between Mike and Harvey brought Harvey's character to life in a way I haven't seen since Mike left. Nothing in the chemistry between Harvey and Donna, or Harvey and Louis, or Harvey and Samantha, can compare to it. Mike and Harvey were the heart and soul of this show, and without one half of that dynamic, the energy just drops way down. It's like a frog in a pot of boiling water, though - you don't notice how much the show has gone downhill because you're kind of lulled into not noticing it. But then bam, Mike is back, and you remember how amazing this show was, once upon a time. Heavy sigh.
Turning to some more specific notes, I got flashbacks to Mike's time in prison when I was watching the final Mike and Harvey scene in this episode. Harvey was unimpeachable in his honesty, taking the loss gracefully and telling Samantha to back down. But then Mike doesn't get what he wants, and he blames Harvey for it and says Harvey has changed and is a bad person now or something. Mike has always had this moral high ground over Harvey and some of the other characters, but it's a really bad look to have him lording it over Harvey when in fact Harvey is not to blame, and is furious with Samantha for hurting Mike. Sometimes Mike Ross can't see the forest for the trees.
I thought Sheila and Louis' plot thread was just fine, but I was bummed that Mike didn't get more time with Louis and with some of the other characters. The feud between Mike and Samantha was fine, I guess, but Mike only got brief little moments with Katrina, Donna, and Louis. I wish we could have seen more of that instead of focusing on a subplot. Also, it always rubs me the wrong way when Louis and Sheila make comments about Louis' therapist being a "Nazi" because he's German. Didn't this guy say he was Jewish? Or had Jewish family or something? I don't know. It just seems kind of insensitive and ignorant.
Pros:
Mike! Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike!!! Let's just get into this, because having him back was such a joy.
As I said, Mike only got brief moments with some of the characters, but they were all great. Katrina and Mike kept up with their inside joke and shared a hug, Louis and Mike also hugged, and Mike gifted Louis a onesie for the baby. Louis is also the one who reminds Mike to not let bad blood at work get in the way of his friendship with Harvey. That's so sweet. Donna and Mike orchestrated the surprise visit for Harvey, which was kind of adorable. I'm just picturing Mike calling Donna and setting the whole thing up so he could be casually leaning against the counter when Harvey came in. How cute is that?
The case itself was really interesting, and I did like seeing Samantha and Mike pitted against each other. Mike came to New York to go up against Harvey specifically. He wanted to test himself against his former mentor, and Samantha was just supposed to be "along for the ride." I like that this episode presents this setup, and as a viewer you can immediately understand how things can go wrong very quickly. Harvey, Mike, and Samantha are all cut from the same cloth. They're the type of people who cross lines and play dirty, and when you have these people going up against each other, when there's also personal history at stake, things can go off the rails so quickly.
Harvey, as I mentioned above, does absolutely nothing wrong here. He does his best given the circumstances, and I love him for it. I love that his first concern when Mike brings up the case is making sure that he and Mike are okay at the end of it. He makes Mike promise that there will be no hard feelings when the case is over. And then, when it appears that Mike has won, Harvey bows out gracefully and invites Mike over to hang out with him and Donna. Even when they start to yell at each other, Harvey tries so hard to play the middle, to tell Mike that he did not endorse Samantha's actions, while also not selling Samantha out. Mike is right to be upset with Samantha, but Harvey is right to shield her, the same way he would have shielded Mike if they were still on the same side.
And Harvey does go to Samantha, and yell at her, and even though he defended her from Mike, he ends up telling her that he can't trust her anymore. That's a big, huge thing to say. It's not a simple case of picking Mike over Samantha. It's about trust, and friendship. This isn't the only time that Harvey has inadvertently kinda-sorta betrayed Mike because someone else went behind his back. But Harvey is willing to take a loss, Harvey is willing to back down, in order to preserve his friendship with Mike. As he tells Samantha: Mike is family.
Also, the banter. The banter is back. Mike makes fun of Harvey for watching Survivor. Mike gives Harvey a bad time for keeping the apartment in Rick Sorkin's name, showing that Mike remembers how important their first meeting was. They share a hug. Harvey tells Mike he's been replaced, and Mike asks if Harvey remembered to check if the guy has a law degree. Harvey jokes about Mike being afraid of going to prison. They're just... adorable? Yeah. Adorable. I love them, and I want Mike to come back for the finale so bad. The last interaction they have on this show can't be one where they're yelling at each other! That would be too sad!
There was one subplot I enjoyed. Donna tries to help Katrina get over Brian, but discovers in the process that Katrina has only ever had one serious relationship in her life, and she ended it for her career. Donna realizes that Katrina doesn't need a rebound right now - she needs to learn to have a better relationship to herself, so she encourages Katrina to take one night a week to do something just for her, that's not connected to work. This is an important message, especially for a professional single woman, and I love that Donna took the time to check in on Katrina in this way. She's the best.
So that's all I've got to say. So much cuteness with Mike and Harvey. So much drama and angst. Obviously you know I could write a whole thesis statement on why Mike and Harvey are the best thing about this show, but I tried my very best to restrain myself a little bit. I really, really hope that's not the last we see of Mike. I'll admit that seeing him made me less interested in everything else going on here. Will Samantha get her job back? Will Faye take the rest of the firm down? I don't know. And do I care? Well, yeah. Maybe a little bit. But I'd care more if Mike would stick around!
9/10
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houndofbel · 6 years ago
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Re: Pan-Celtism and Celtic Descendants
Hi @aira-of-the-circle
I’m making my response in it’s own separate post as tumblr isn’t that great of a place for academic discussion, as I that’s something I prefer using the Gaulpol Discord for.
For those looking to follow the earlier part of this discussion, you can find it here:
https://aira-of-the-circle.tumblr.com/post/180820801915/once-again
Much of this confusion surrounds, the question of what exactly is a Celt? The word actually comes from ‘Keltoi’ what the Gauls called themselves, which means ‘descendants of The Hidden One’.
I understand your opinion of Celtic is that of an umbrella term for the religions/memories of religions of Celtic speaking nations and asserts that is in fact a label that exists beyond simple linguistics. I disagree, as the the Continental and Insular Celts (living in the times before, during and after the Roman occupations) actually had a super diverse ethnicity and religion, and the only thing that actually connected them was their language.
From Jean-Louis Brunaux’s Les Druides. Des philosophes chez les Barbares (French Edition):
“We wondered a lot about the reality of this little divine family. Was it conceived in this form among all Gallic peoples? The ethnic diversity of the peoples, the no less great of their political regimes and their strong particularisms make it doubtful. The Gallo-Roman epigraphic and statuary testimonies, certainly late, confirm in any case a religious geography of Gaul very contrasted if the figure of Mercury is very present at the beginning of our era in many regions of Gaul, it is often competed by Mars, Apollo, less often by Jupiter and in many cases by local or indigenous deities who do not find exact correspondent in the Roman pantheon.”
“As has been suggested above, Caesar himself could not forge this image of the Gallic gods by producing a synthesis based on the various information he could have obtained from the very mouths of Gauls encountered during his expeditions. He simply drew it from the work of Poseidonios.”
This dude is legit, as he is a researcher for CNRS and has done a bunch of excavations of Gaulish sites as part of his career.
If we think of Celtic in how archaeologists do, as an ancient people sharing a common material culture and distinctive (and cool) art style, Celtic would include the people of Central Europe (not just Gaul!) and British Isles in the late Halstatt period and all the way down to the Roman conquest, makes the argument that the Celts are dead entirely defunct because there are surviving languages, as well as material cultures.
Most Celtic scholars assign Celtic a linguistic significance for a reason. (Bettina Arnold goes over this. Her background: https://uwm.edu/anthropology/people/arnold-bettina/ as does Kim McCone, his background: https://www.amazon.com/Kim-McCone/e/B001K8513M) It’s done to eliminate the discrepancies I previously mentioned (through there are still a few issues). This means the people living in the six modern Celtic countries (Ireland, Scotland Wales, Brittany, Cornwall, and Isle of Man) or who currently speak / had ancestors who recently spoke a Celtic language are in fact Celtic. Not just Celtic either, but also the identity relating to their Celtic nation, like Gael or Cornish.
When it comes to the the past Celtic religions are inseparable and intertwined, many people see this initially and become stuck in the idea due to lack of appropriate knowledge. It ignores and dismisses the separation of each unique Celtic people by time, region, and cultural shaping events.  Basing the idea of a singular Celtic religion on a few cognate deities (some of which aren’t actually found in each Celtic speaking territory) Lugh, Llew, and Lugus come to mind but it’s important to keep in mind that Lugus isn’t actually directly attested in Gaulish speaking lands.
Are there similarities in each religion? For sure. Does that mean these unique traditions should be thrown together in a single melting pot that is Pan-Celtism? Absolutely not. 
Trying to sploosh the deities together doesn’t work. Ralph Häussler (his background: https://www.uwtsd.ac.uk/staff/ralph-häussler/) talks about Interpretatio and how complex it is among the Celtic speaking people, showing that these religions are individualized multiple levels:
https://www.academia.edu/7952176/R._Haeussler_Interpretatio_Indigena._Re-Inventing_local_cults_in_a_global_world
The thought might occur that an argument one might have for pan-celtism is how they all liked druids, so here is our boy JLB from before who talks about that in his book Celtic Gauls: Gods, Rites and Sanctuaries, specifically p. 59: “There are no grounds for maintaining that the druids, of all the peoples, held identical beliefs. Everything suggests the opposite: the diversity of pantheons and of social and political situations must have been reflected in druid philosophy and mythology. It is not even certain that druids existed everywhere. They are not mentioned in Galatia, where there is talk of priest-kings. In Cisapline, only vates are mentioned. The term druid seems to have been understood in two senses by ancient authors. One is a misleading generalization referring to priests as a whole. The other, more instructive sense only takes the category of great priests into account. In fact it is in this sense the word was used in connection with the Germans. This also seems to be suggested by the etymology of the word, if druid is derived from dru-uid, meaning 'very wise'. However, it could originally have been a term of difference by which the Celts themselves addressed these extraordinary figures. According to Caesar, druidic doctrine came from Britain. He added: 'even today those who want to study it in depth generally go to Britain for that purpose'. The last of the great druidic functions was the administration of justice. Caesar gives us an example when he says that during their great assembly at the centre of Gaul in the territory of the Carnutes, the druids arbitrated in international but also private disputes. These surely involved the most delicate matters that only affect the powerful. Minor judgements must have been given in each civitas. This justice, dispense during the greatest religious ceremony on a Pan-Gallic scale, had a preeminently ritual characters. This mixture of the sacred and the civic, which was never divided into two distinct spheres among the Celts, extended from the juridical to the legislative.The druids, as guarantors of institutions, supervised both their workings and renewal. The power meant that the druids had to be recruited almost exclusively from the nobility. Caesar tells us that many students came forward of their own accord, from personal conviction, but that many young Gauls were also sent by their families. In effect, each family wanted to keep an eye upon this body of priests and to participate in it's power through the agency of one of it's offspring. The daily life of the druids is practically unknown to us. Were they vowed to celibacy? Did they live in communities? the texts only seem to indicate that they could found a family and preserve their fortune. We only know for sure that they lived in sheltered retreat apart from the common crowd, without being disturbed either by war, work or dues of any kind. The druids had an internal hierarchy, found upon position in the curriculum of apprenticeship and later upon reputation for wisdom and personal charisma. Above them was a chief-a sort of Grand Druid- whose moral authority earned him this position. He was chosen by his peers, but sometimes there was a disagreement that might be settled by force of arms. These different bodies of priests were structured into a complex hierarchy. In fact, besides the druids, the ancient authors mention gutuatri, dates, bards, and so on. Each category occupied a position relative to the others, but it also seems that each individual had a determinate place within his category. The hierarchy, which allocated roles within ritual, shows up clearly in the different functions that the authors attributed to the druids. The druids were actually in a great variety of matters, from philosophy to sacrifice and from education to justice, and it seems hard to imagine that the same people consecrated the king and took charge of the maintenance of the sanctuary. Instead, the ancient texts give the impression of a crowd of priests sorted into grades, each of which had a determinate function. These different categories seem to have been structured and rigid, but certainly age, reputation and perhaps even political maneuvers inspired by the system of clientage permitted ascent on this hierarchical scale. Those who were not druids, but lived within their sphere of influence or were historically antecedent, surely had more flexible forms of organization. This could have taken the form of fraternities or secret societies, who initiation ceremonies served at once to give access and ensure cohesion. Social access to them was also wider. It is likely in them the plebs could find means of giving free rein to their sense of religion. It is an illusion to imagine a united druidic society - a society within a society - upon which all cult matter devolved and all of whose members had similar powers. This illusion was derived from descriptions of druidic assemblies in the forest of the Carnutes, which nineteenth-century historians wanted to interpret at the first stirrings of a nation. Instead, the situation of the priesthood was very similar to that of political forces: in full process of change in Caesar's time, it might differ in every detail from one people to another. The history of the druids closely linked with the destiny of kingship and the development of the civitas.”
So while Druids were cool, they were not central to religion, nor were they universal among the Celtic groups. 
While the Celtic religions may have sprung from a single progenitor religion, each of these traditions are separate. (Hence my interest to proto-Indo-European polytheism), but it’s fine if someone wants to take various gods from different Celtic speaking cultures and begin a new tradition with them. 
However, this does not make it ancient Celtic religions the same, or gods pan-celtic (I’m looking at you Wicca!). Additionally, I’d like to re-emphasize that Modern Celts exist, and still have their own separations. The Welsh aren’t Irish, their gods aren’t Irish, and their language isn’t Irish. 
Cheers,
Cunobelinus.
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thedistantstorm · 6 years ago
Text
Slow-Dancing
Steelponcho (Zavala x Hawthorne) / Romantic, Pre-Relationship Fluff-fest / Gratuitous Dancing / Post-Red War Gala / Mild People Watching
Continues loosely from this ask from @acexfdiamxnds which you can find here. 
“Alright?” Zavala asks, concerned.
“Yeah.” Suraya tilts her head to look over his shoulder. “There’s just a lot of people staring at us.”
He spins her with a gentle, too-slow twirl, and when he pulls her back in, whispers in her ear. “They’re staring at you because you look positively radiant, Hawthorne. You continue to prove them wrong.” 
And he believes it to be true. He knew she would do what had to be done to appear presentable at the City’s first post-war gala, but she is an absolute vision in cream and gold. The dress hugs curves that are usually hidden, tasteful in the front with a dramatically low back. The trim of gold along the hem of her skirt added just the slightest statement of elegance.
Her blush is a bit more apparent in the bright spotlights spinning over the ballroom floor. She deflects, saying, “See, I thought it was because of you in this uniform.” The hand perched on his bicep slides across an expanse of navy twill and reverently thumbs at the stripes across his chest. He looks down at it, and then up at her eyes. She’s focused on them, like she’s forcing herself to commit them to memory.
“I can assure you, the uniform may be enticing to some,” He murmurs down to the crown of her head, “But most do not care for battle or the intricacies of the political state beyond pushing their own agenda.”
“Is that why you’re dancing with me?” She leans her head back, hand staying in place as brown eyes with the barest spark of mirth nearly twinkle back at him. “Maybe I’m just trying to push my agenda with the Clans. Get the sway of the Consensus and all that.”
“You’re dancing with me because I am a far safer choice than Arach Jalal. I saw him making eyes at you and decided to intervene in your best interest.” He straightens, and they turn around in a series of easy steps. She only looks down once to make sure she’s following his lead. “You’ve already won me over on the idea of Clans. What agenda would you have?”
“Fine, fine. I’ve already swindled you. I’m just keeping on your good side for the sake of any further favors. You’ve caught me.”
“I still asked you to dance,” He reminds her.
“Yeah, yeah.” It's as close as she'll get to telling him he's right. “Lucky for you I said yes. There’s a lady in an absolutely horrible dress - it looks like a mustard stain with fringe -” The little hiss of air leaving his lips is indicative of him laughing, but he gives no other indication. “She’s been staring at you since you brought me out here. I made eye contact during the last song and she glared at me. Want me to bow out and give her a turn?”
“Please do not. I do not wish to discuss faction affairs tonight.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s not talk affairs. But I should know who these people are, right? Mustard Stain is FWC, obviously.” He hums an affirmation into her ear when the music crescendos a bit too loud for her to hear his response.” Makes sense, kind of. The one next to her, in the pink is some booster for New Monarchy?”
Zavala chuckles, a low rumble that bubbles up from his chest. He turns her with a firm hand on her waist. “No. That one.” They sway to the music, their joined hands pointing toward a couple at a different table. “In the blue. Next to the man with the strange hat.”
“By strange you mean ugly, right? The one that has more feathers on his head than Louis has on his entire body?” She leans in close to him to muffle the little puffs of laughter. She’s trying to be ladylike, but it’s not easy when she’s used to being unbridled.
His lips quirk upward. “The very same.” She looks up at him with that sly little smirk that tells him without words she knows he’s laughing inside at the ridiculous style choices of their peers. Not that either of them actually know anything about fashion themselves - practicality was their fashion, but some things just transcend taste by being so unanimously tacky. The song changes, and he relaxes his grasp on her waist. Her fingers twitch in his grip, a little flutter. He moves to release her hand, but she clamps down on his gently enough.
“We can keep going… if you want.” Her voice is tentative. They’ve stopped swaying to the beat.
He blinks, a bit surprised. The hand around her waist has dropped back to his side.  “You are sure?”
“Will it save us from having to schmooze? I’m not very good at schmoozing and already did a lot of it. I also wore flat shoes. Just in case. And also because I don't know how to walk in heels.” Her smile is gentle. “Besides. You’re not the worst partner I’ve ever had.”
He pulls her back in then, with a hand on her upper back.
“Do you dance often, Hawthorne?”
“Oh, all the time. I also sing to wild animals I encounter.”
He grumbles, “I never should have lent you that book of old fairy tales.”
“Even if it was to read to sick children at the Farm?” He sighs, defeated, and she laughs - a bell-like sound. He commits the sound to memory. “Anyway-”
Zavala, interrupting her, pulls her close. “Hideo just spilled something on himself. It looks like it’s going to stain.” Suraya turns to look, eyes lighting up in sadistic glee, and he moves a hand up to the back of her head. “Don’t turn around and look, you’ll make it obvious.”
“Okay… but you can’t tell me he just did that and- ooh whoa-”
He spins her out with a quick snap of his hands. Luckily enough she gets the idea and moves in the direction he’s pushing her, feet catching up gracefully enough. When she twirls back in, she’s glaring at him, and her hand digs into the meat of his bicep, hard.
“Not okay. Give me some warning the next time you do that.”
“You did fine. Spin again,” Suraya complies begrudgingly, and he slows her, releasing their joined hands as she completes a spin that keeps her close to him. “Good. Let go.” A pause. “Once more. Just like that.” A hand slides across her front. “I’ve got you. Follow my lead.” And then, “Well done.”
She flushes and he keeps her back to his chest. Takes his other hand delicately. Even though she knows it’s to allow her to see the drunken mess that is the Executor of New Monarchy require three people to attend to his wine spill and subsequent meltdown, but she can’t help but feel hyper aware of his breath on her neck and the hand splayed across her abdomen to hold her close to him.
This time, when she feels the slight tug on her arm that indicates he’s going to spin her back, she ends up chest to chest with him, his warm hand grazing delicate skin at the small of her back just above the dip of the low back of her dress. His finger notches in the dip of a small scar, and she feels his hand shift so that he can thumb at it gently.
“Where did you get this?” He asks, as they continue their routine a bit closer together. It’s easier for her to focus when he’s talking to her, rather than when they’re just looking into each other’s eyes or those of others who stand judging from the sidelines. His voice is a low rumble she feels more than hears now, and the heat of his hand is strange and exciting against her back.
“Long before the war. Stupid accident. I fell down a ravine or something. Forgot it was there, honestly. Can I retcon and say I got it fighting a wolf? That sounds way cooler.”
“Unnecessary. You need not worry about being 'cool' with me,” Zavala replies. He continues to rub his thumb against the different textures of the skin of her back in a gentle caress. “I’m going to dip you now,” He tells her a moment later, followed by, “Relax into my grip. I won’t drop you.”
“Oh..kay.”
The palm on the small of her back slides up into something firmer, and she realizes that he’s truly suspending her up with one hand; Any weight on her legs has been given away. He looks down at her, eyes startlingly gentle. He bends her back upright gently, and her feet reclaim the rest of her body-weight, slight, but a vast difference from a moment before.
Her cheek finds purchase against soft navy twill and her hand snakes up to his shoulder blade. “Too much?” He asks her, surprised at the close proximity, but not unwelcoming of it.
“Not at all,” Suraya whispers into his ear, angling her chin up slightly. “You’re really good at this.”
He hums, unused to the praise, and she relaxes against him. It feels nice. Comfortable in a way that has him completely on edge. It's anticipation, he realizes. He isn't sure for what - or maybe he has some idea, but now isn't the time to think on it. This has become a moment he wishes to savor.
The song changes again, and this one is a bit faster. He puts a little distance between them, feels the thunder of his heartbeat slow just a touch without her head against him. “Feel free to let me know if it’s too much.”
A nod greets him, along with twin dark eyes. She looks less intimidated and more playful. It’s a welcome change from the tense posture and anxious gaze she’d had at the beginning of the night, when he'd nimbly stepped between her and the Dead Orbit leader. “Alright,” She agrees.
It takes her a second to get the steps right, her eyes dropping down to watch his boots and get an idea for how they're supposed to step. When she lifts her eyes back up, she sees the smile in his eyes. Zavala has clearly been watching her watch his feet.
“What?” Hawthorne looks a little agitated at being found out. She's already way out of her element as it is, and this is exceedingly embarrassing.
“You don't need to see my steps,” He tells her. “Keep your eyes on mine.”
Suraya rolls her eyes but does as instructed. “Hope your Ghost won't mind mending your toes then, when I step on them.”
“You won't.”
“Suuuuure.”
“This song has the same tempo most of the way through. You have the steps for the first part. They're the most difficult.” It's a lie, but she's all mind over matter and he knows it. The hand on her hip that grazes the bare skin of her back tightens ever so slightly and makes her straighten. “Feel my hand?” She nods. “I'll guide you with it. Half of dancing is trusting your partner.” His eyes almost arc lightning when he looks at her, they're so vivid. “Do you trust me, Suraya?”
“Yes.”
There is no hesitation, no split-second delay or snarky comment to belittle her decision, make it less serious. Her eyes are warm on his, her lips just slightly upturned in a smile.
“Are you that surprised?” She asks him, eyes never straying from his own. It takes a second for him to realize he hasn't actually responded, or maybe even breathed since she answered him. He recovers as she says, “You know, I wouldn't have agreed to stay here or -” He spins her, “Any of this if it weren't for you... trusting me first.”
“I - it's nice to hear,” He admits. “You aren't exactly forthcoming.”
She frowns. “I'm more forthcoming with you than with anyone else.” Her cheeks burn, but she does not take it back even if she looks away.
The song begins to transition, and he drops his palm from her back. “Let's go get a drink, shall we?” She bites her lip, and he feels a sinking feeling in his gut that’s startling. Softer, he says, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She nods, still looking a bit conflicted, but for a different reason. Surprising herself, she finds that she might not mind if they would kept dancing, despite the more serious turn of conversation. She actually enjoyed it. But, a break would probably be for the best. “Lead the way.”
He does, but not in the way she expects. His hand slides down her back and guides her as if they’re still dancing. It makes her feel warm and tingly. It feels romantic.
Does he know it’s romantic? Does he mean it like that? She wonders, but knows she will absolutely never ask and hope for some better context clues.
By the time they reach the bar, he motions for her to take a seat on the lone unoccupied stool. His hand stays the course, even when he uses the other to flag down a smartly dressed bartender to provide them with whiskey, and he angles himself so he’s mostly behind her, but able to see the side of her face.
“So,” She says, once she’s had a solid swallow of amber liquid - expensive amber liquid, she reminds herself. She needs to be careful about how much of this she drinks. It is far more refined than anything she’s had in a long time. Alcohol doesn’t exactly allow for precise shooting or high response time, so she normally avoids it. “Wow. I’ll have to readjust to his stuff.”
He places his glass next to hers on the bar. “Strong?”
“Not really. Just nicer than what I’m used to. We didn’t exactly have a distillery at the Farm, and I’m not exactly a lush. I’ll need to pace myself if I’m going to live through a couple more fingers of this stuff.”
His fingers twitch on her back when he laughs. “Fair play. Feel free to get whatever you’d prefer next time the bartender comes around.”
“This is fine,” She raises the glass to him, the curve of her hand around it as she bends her wrist back to present the unoccupied side to him. “Cheers,” She calls.
Their glasses clink quietly amongst the din of the quartet playing, people talking, and all the carrying on of the room. He leans in, lips just above the exposed shell of her ear and rumbles low. “Cheers, Suraya.”
She smiles at him, sweet and true, tipping her head back to take another pull from the glass - far smaller than the first. People around them, noticing the Commander, begin to push in. He feels the moment when her spine stiffens, ramrod straight and slides his hand up the length of her vertebrae and back down. He puts his back to hers, shielding her from the majority of it.
Someone from New Monarchy has approached with their entourage in tow cooing their congratulations for the Vanguard’s victory over the Cabal. Zavala immediately deflects, explaining how their victory was a group effort, and that it would have been unattainable without the help of some very capable civilians. There’s some polite laughing and shrugging off of his point, and then more of the trademark flattery that makes her want to gag.
She will never fit in with these people. Hers are the kind on the streets, scrambling to put together work, meals, and a home for their family. Those are the ones who stood beside the Vanguard at the City gates while New Monarchy hid out in their bunker and waited out the storm.
She must have sighed hard enough that he felt it - obviously he’s able to feel the movement of her back against his without the metal plating of his armor - because a moment later, he leans forward and puts the hand not cradling what’s left of his drink behind his back, against her skin. It’s a bit weird of an arrangement, his thumb smoothing over the notch of a vertebrae, but it’s soothing enough that she relaxes her spine again.
He manages to get them to pause long enough to turn back around and place his empty glass on the bar. She nudges her refill his way - she needed one if she was going to listen to this horrendous political appeal - but he refuses. “It’s more of a reprieve if I wait for a drink,” He whispers in her ear.
Her smirk is like fire. “It would be more of a reprieve if you danced with me again,” She says, pushing away her glass. She twists and puts a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Unless you’d rather listen to your subjects some more.”
If she notices his sharp inhale at her bolder than usual touch, she certainly does not say anything, instead slipping off of the stool with a shuffle of taffeta and a glitter of gold. Her eyes stay on his, but her hand drops down one muscular arm and hooks the pads of wide, calloused fingers with her own equally as calloused but slender ones.
“Please excuse us,” Suraya says, strangely demurely when she enters the circle of New Monarchy boosters. She schools her features into something strangely reminiscent of his own polite disapproval as she steps just slightly in front of their entwined fingers and squeezes them softly. “The Commander promised me another dance before the night ends,” She says softly. “And I love this song.”
Their disdain is almost palpable, but well controlled because of the presence of so many others around them. One, a woman pipes up. “Do you even know what song this is?”
The burning retort is on her lips, but she reigns herself in. “It’s called ‘Hikari,’” Suraya shoots back, somehow without a shred of malice. “The original arrangement was made for an orchestra, and before that, I believe it was a piece for an old game, before the collapse. I personally prefer the string arrangement, but that’s just me.” When there’s no retort because she sounds ritzy enough, she continues. “Anyway, I’d really like to dance to this song, so…” She tugs on his hand and he moves with her without any resistance.
Once they’re beyond the reach of the naysayers of the faction, Zavala rearranges his grasp on her fingers, so they’re interlocked. “You know this piece?” He doesn’t, but it’s slow enough to get by.
She’s bashful and ducks her head. “I like old music.”
Zavala’s nod goes unnoticed, and he steps around her to bring her onto the floor. They fall back into step easily enough. A moment later, he says, “Perhaps I would take you to see the symphony, if you would be amenable?”
As soon as the words leave his lips, he dips her without any prior indication. She doesn’t flinch this time, and allows herself to bend back lower than before. When she comes back up and he swirls her around in in several steps that move them counterclockwise, she puts a hand on the back of his neck, index finger grazing the smooth skin at the base of his crown while her thumb swipes over the slightest peek of tattoo above his high collar.
His eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments, and she knows for fact that everything she was wondering about his actions being potentially romantic is confirmed. Amanda is never going to let her live this down, but she can’t help but to smile and step in closer to him. “The symphony, huh?” She cocks her head when his eyes open. “I think I could be persuaded.”
The smile she receives could honestly blind someone, she thinks. His eyes are so bright and enchanting, it’s criminal. “Fantastic,” He breathes into her ear, following up with a gentle kiss to her cheek that leaves her breathless. There’s absolutely no way to hide the flush of her cheeks now.
A few songs later, the tempo picks up into something waltzy, less soft and slow. She picks her head up from where it’s drifted to his shoulder. “Zavala?”
His eyes are half-closed. Only a peek of arc-blue irises are visible, focused on her face. Whatever’s come over them, it does not pay any mind to the change in tone as they sway together. “Hmm?”
“It might take a while for the City to rebuild enough to have a place for a symphony. Maybe we could do something else before then?”
“Are you impatient, Suraya? I am not going anywhere.”
The fingers on the back of his dress blues tighten. “I know. But I like this. And the idea of maybe doing something with you that isn’t this but that I don’t have to wait months for.” The words kind of fall out in a tumble, but she knows if she doesn’t force them out however they’ll come, she might not have the nerve.
He pulls back, noting the change in tempo. “Are you asking me on a date?” His blue eyes are wide and surprise is obvious in his face.
“You did it first!” She chides loudly, turning redder than before as he repositions them to follow along with the rest of the dancers in the waltz. No one is looking at them, thankfully.  She lowers the volume. “But, for the record, yes. I am.”
There’s a pause as he instructs her how to spin and which palm to put against his as they do so. “Dinner, then? Sometime this week, perhaps?”
She smiles. “I’d like that.”
“I would, too.”
They dance on.
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viperanoxia · 7 years ago
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- the clément incident.
buckle the fuck up for a terribly-formatted, yet highly educational cassio background story. i am exhausted and ready to share one of my finest messes with you. under a cut for length!
let’s take a second to recap background and reiterate that cassiopeia was a brilliant but completely awful child. now, along with that came a disgusting amount of pride in her family name, along with a certain elitist mindset that was selectively geared towards lesser nobles. commoners? excellent. inferior nobles? get fucked. 
so cassio is thirteen, ok? and like all twelve year olds, everyone around is tryna pull rank on each other like the tiny pisspots they are. ooo la la my daddy has a million more gold sovereigns than yours. my mother has a mistress. oooo.
well, tiny ass haute couture du couteau is kind of a hot commodity, given the fact that she is, after all, a du couteau, and a very pretty little girl. and of course adolescent kids are full of hormones and bragging. now, nobody is dumb enough to claim doing anything dirty with her.
however, louis clément, who is from a family that could barely be considered noble at all, the son of a merchant who inherited a paltry title, decided to spread the rumour that cassiopeia du couteau was his girlfriend.
she. threw. a. fit.
however, she’s smart enough to know that protesting too much is enough to make people believe things even more. 
so what does she do? she marches straight home and slams down a 30-page war plan onto marcus’ desk. he looks at her with the dead eyes that have resulted from having such a child, but finally agrees to what she wants, and to keep his wife in the dark. why? cassiopeia has literally just staked every ounce of her hard-earned freedom on the fact that her revenge will go according to plan. she has agreed, in the event that her plans go wrong, to give the rest of her upbringing over to marcus and to become an assassin without a mind of her own, the one thing she values having.
because a thirteen year old boy spread a rumour. it wasn’t even bad.
what does she do? she takes it up not one notch but twenty. this little twerp gets her parents to actually arrange her betrothal to the clément kid. catherine du couteau is fucking losing her mind. marcus is just like, i don’t really give a shit, this one is kind of the most physically useless anyway. if she fucks it up she landed herself in this. whatever.
she hams it the FUCK up ok. like whatever you’re imagining, multiply it by a million and dunk it in spun sugar. she convinces louis she’s desperately in love with him, and of course, the kid is a normal thirteen year old, unlike some hoity toity sociopaths we could name, and he laps it up. it’s true love! 
so now she has both effectively trounced the rumour with something even more spectacular, and she has made herself into a wonderfully admirable, charitable person for looking past socioeconomic differences blah blah.
she likes to bat her lashes at him and tell him that her father won’t approve unless he does x thing. and it’s fairly easy to believe considering good old stab dad always glowers at every fuckin’ body like they owe him for taking the last slice of pie. he is a little bit dumb, though, and never questions why the fuck marcus is never present to witness any of this.
it goes from menial tasks like mucking out the stables to catching her new, very deadly snakes, to learning every ballroom dance on earth perfectly. and to give the guy some credit, he does all of it without complaint. he tries crazy hard, because the poor thing actually loves her.
yeah, well, she sends him off to war. child soldiers are acceptable in noxus. it’s not really usual among nobility, but it’s definitely seen as a mark of prestige, so sending him off to earn a military ranking for greater approval in the eyes of her family is actually a pretty valid excuse. his family isn’t happy, but what the hell were they gonna do?
he traipses off the front lines under the tutelage of an infamously incompetent knight, which was totally not arranged at all, and he’s gone for two years. 
two years during which he sends and receives wonderfully flowery love letters to keep him going blindly, while his family falls under some extreme financial misfortune. and what household is so generous as to take them in, but their son’s fiancée’s? and what a sweet girl, they can see why he likes her, she even took care of all the arrangements personally. they work as high-paid servants, and the jobs aren’t hard and the housing is honestly very nice. they’re all wonderfully appreciative and well, sure she’s got strange taste in pets, but there are worse evils in the world.
now, louis has promised her, PROMISED her that he’d come straight home to her without seeing his family or anything. she gets the letter, sets it all up, and meets him. she’s mildly annoyed bc he survived, but his knight-master didn’t, so that’s one less person to deal with anyway.
he comes home the conquering hero and all of that, tired, exhausted, beaming, so proud of himself, can’t wait to see his lady love. he meets her and she’s so nasty. he’s never seen this.
louis: wtf! why are you being so mean rn! cassio: mocking baby voice: why are you being so mean rn??? (normal voice) FUCK you
she legit doesn’t even give him the grace of dying deceived. he gets to die knowing the last two years of his life were a fucking farce, that she threw him out hoping he’d die, and the snake of hers he’d liked the most is the one that kills him while she stands there looking bored.
because he spread the rumour that she was his girlfriend at the age of thirteen. 
the cléments, to this day, have no idea. the whole extended family are loyal servants to the du couteau house, and would die on the spot for cassio’s sake. they adore her, and several of the most loyal servants to the house, that are not disgusted by her transformation, are of the clément house.
louis clément was declared missing in action and presumed dead shortly after his fifteenth birthday, when both he and his master failed to return home.
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separatisms · 5 years ago
Text
Personal Notes on Louis’ 4 New Songs CCME September 2019
Excerpt:
On Defenseless: This kind of strength is a lonely strength, because it cuts you off from people as much as it connects you. You’re obsessive about love. (That’s my first thought after I watched Louis’ performance: he’s a perfectionist. He’s obsessive.) You want to do the right thing so badly, out of love, out of principle, out of loyalty. Probably even out of integrity and ego. You want to fix things, you’re impatient and volatile with it. You write ten thousand words and it’s still not enough, but it’s too much so you cut it down to size. Then it really isn’t enough. And the problem, the biggest problem, about being this person, is that it scares people. When you think so much it bleeds into your dreams, when you pick at your own words so obsessively, when you pay so much attention because of the enormity of your love that you know your loved ones better than they know themselves: you scare people. You put them on the defensive. And you’re the one, you’re always the one, who has to muster up the strength to ask for love. Just love, not any more, not any less.
On Too Young: This song doesn’t resolve, which I don’t think is the point of the song. It’s interesting to me because I think optimism is itself a resolve, and the tone, sound and lyric of this song differs from the rest in that it doesn’t have that. The point of the song is an expression of regret and, more forwardly, an apology. Louis (the singer) wants to fix things. And in whatever order the songs are meant to be read (I’m going to read them in the order of the setlist for now), this song following the shattering vulnerability of Defenseless gives us insight into Louis’ strengths as a writer and a person. He wants to fix things. He keeps on thinking about what went wrong, still finding ways to blame himself, years after the fact. “Now we can finally have a conversation.” He still yearns for conversation, for clarity, to lay his heart out on the table, to say sorry and, maybe, ask for love. This is what I think about when I think about optimism to the point of self-parody. Not optimistic that things will work out, although he is that in other songs, but optimistic that there is still a point to all this. And it’s something you can get quite self-conscious about, especially if you keep getting knocked down continuously by things both within and out of your control. Because the hope for connection, communication, and love can seem meaningless in the face of senseless tragedies. But Louis still hopes, he still yearns, he still asks. He doesn’t give up, on his relationships, on the people he loves, and (because of that, he doesn’t give up) on himself. 
Steal my girl
Don’t let it break
Not about internal strife (or at least not in the way the other 3 songs are, i.e. not about the mortifying ordeal of being known) while still very much being about connection, a running theme.
Tried my hardest to conceptualize it as a break-up song and came up short. Saw someone say that the pre-chorus and chorus is addressed to the You, which I agree with on account of the first verse, but this person also believes this is a break-up song. According to that reading, “when you give so much and it’s not enough” is spiteful on the singer’s part, and “when you love someone and they let you go” where ‘they’ refers to the singer sounds a bit batty. If “I” am the one who let “you” go, “I” probably would not be singing about it like this. Spite is also pretty incongruous with the sound and emotion of song.
But that aside, let’s say this is a break-up song, then it’s one of the most emotionally interesting ones I’ve heard in a while. The singer offers comfort in a time when they are both in pain, but focuses on assuring and comforting the other. Our separation is painful, but don’t let it ruin you. Give it time, “I” will help you through this. The singer gives assurance that they will both get to somewhere better, not separately but together: “we’re driving down a one-way road” is pretty unambiguous. At best, this describes a particularly rough patch or even a separation. I understand Louis’ personal songwriting to be ‘optimistic to the point of self-parody’, but even I’m hesitant to think that he would write something like this about someone he has ‘let go’ (or wish for this to be the core message of a song he has written).
On a related note, I like thinking of the parallels and contrasts to Fix You. Where there’s something ominous to Fix You if you’re inclined to complain (someone is going through heartbreak and the singer wants to ‘fix’ them), Louis’ song is pure love and comfort. As a final stand, even if this song is about a break-up, ignoring everything else up there, it’s one that emphasizes strength and resiliency in shared pain, hope, and an optimistic, forward-looking outlook on the relationship. From it, I read Louis as someone who is not inclined on giving up on his relationships and the people he loves, someone who believes that the work is never done and can never be abandoned. It’s very admirable.
I understand where people are coming from when they interpret this song as being about shared grief. “Bed in a box” is a standout line, and the callback to ESNY could be telling, only complicated for me because I don’t personally relate ESNY as a song about grief (or receiving bad news about a family member). (Sidebar: the fact that it’s before Two of Us on the set-list makes this interpretation particularly poignant, at least until we get the album tracklist). This interpretation yields the same takeaways on Louis’ character, or at least the values and messages he emphasizes. It kind of drives home early on how secondary the concerns about their relationship status are, because it’s a better use of time for us to sit and admire what Louis is like.
“Got a place on the other side of London” might sound like something that would go into a break-up/separation song (especially because it clearly only refers to the singer, when the next part of the verse focuses on the You). In my mind, it might refer to Louis moving from where he lived around the time of Jay’s death and the immediate aftermath, which is contrasted with New York as a place of grief for Harry. I hesitate to conjecture too specifically, but my mind does come up with thoughts that help ease my understanding of that particular line. In any case, I think the emotional core and tone of the song speaks for itself.
Two of us
Habit
First: the 4 new songs Louis sang are all emotionally heavy, not-happy songs (I won’t say ‘sad’ because I don’t think that’s my main takeaway, and I don’t think it’s supposed to be, especially keeping in mind there are other songs on the setlist). The force of all 4 of them together is devastating, but it’s likely that these aren’t all written about or during the same period of time. They may be written after intense reflection, so we don’t know how far back in the past any of them could refer to. The fact that Louis chose to debut these 4 songs at once is interesting, but maybe it will be more interesting for us in retrospect. The reason I bring this up is because the tenses in this particular song are very difficult to parse and make sense of, and if ‘announcement of current relationship status’ was one of the reasons Louis releases songs (by the by, it’s probably not), then he’s made the task a hard one for us.
To me, this reads as a present-day fight (maybe on the brink of or at the start of a fresh break-up) that heavily references a past fight the two parties did not really commit to moving forward from: “what did you expect from me?” and “it’s no surprise anymore” start off in media res of the fight, “you’d give me another chance” and “mentally you were already done” referring to the past.  ‘Giving up’ would be painful, but furthermore, it’s impossible.
After the first chorus, there’s no more sense of catastrophe and doom, no more mention of giving up or being done. It makes sense to me if these thoughts take place in ‘the present’ where the singer reflects during an actual physical break. “I’m missing you,” “I’m missing out,” and “I don’t have to choose anymore” are all in present tense. It took the singer some time to get the point of being able to admit these things because he’s been tired, but reflecting on their relationship yields only positive sentiment. And finally, an apology: “I’m sorry I let you down … I was better with you.”
Again, I find it so difficult to twist this into a break-up song, when the more obvious, surface-glance suggests a fight, a break, a separation, but not a definitive goodbye. I saw someone who interpreted it as a break-up song point particularly towards the line Louis tweeted and its resolution: “Taking some time ‘cause I’ve run out of energy of playing someone I’ve heard I’m supposed to be,” where “I don’t have to choose anymore” means he’s left the relationship, so his problems there are done. This does not immediately make sense to me, especially given the present-tense chorus. Is his partner pressuring him to be someone else? Then why not say “playing someone you want me to be”? Why would he continue to fight for a relationship with someone he can’t be himself with? How is he ‘better’ with this person? Otherwise, who would be pressuring him to be someone he’s not by staying with this partner, i.e. staying with Harry? Is it Larries? Does this person believe that Louis’ pretending to be someone he’s not, for the sake of Larries? Aside from the nonsense, this reading also means that “I don’t have to choose anymore” is spiteful or petty, and I don’t particularly associate those sentiments with this song (nor with Louis’ oeuvre). Not to mention the line about Princess Park in this reading sounds bleak (‘we’ve come so far’ is, generally, read as positive, in my experience) and it colors the next line, “I’ll always need you in front of me,” as desperately sad. I don’t think the interpretation is unsustainable, but I do think we’re looking at things from two incommensurable viewpoints where nothing I could say would change your mind, and vice versa. That’s fine.
I appreciate the interpretation of this song as being about his relationship to the music industry, performing, the fans, etc. and it gives me a kind of lightbulb moment remembering when Louis said that some songs sound like love songs. I still think that the Princess Park reference would be quite incongruous in this case. 1D had about a thousand things on their agenda per week during the Princess Park era, we saw them almost every day, it really is odd for me to imagine Louis would pick out Princess Park manor to symbolize the time period in general. If it’s supposed to symbolize the start of his luxury lifestyle, it would be a weird glimpse of flash in an otherwise flash-less song. It’s not impossible because I don’t know what I don’t know, it’s just hard to imagine, and the dots aren’t connecting for me, so it weakens this interpretation for me overall.
If indeed this is one of his songs ‘for the fans,’ then I think that’s really cool. I’m upset that he feels he has to apologize, but I’m happy if he can use this song as a medium to express himself and work through his emotions.
Mr. Brightside
Defenseless
This is one of those songs, I feel, like Strong, that doesn’t jump out at a casual listener because the lyrics are so simple on paper, but I’d put it on repeat several times and end up sobbing in a heap. Out of all the things he can write about, he chooses this. Out of all the tools at an artist’s disposal in order to mask feeling or defer them through creative sleights of hand, he chooses none of them. Louis never just writes about being vulnerable, he is vulnerable, through song, through words. And I’m really, I don’t know the right word, but amazed comes pretty close, that he chooses to share his strength with the world, with us.
This kind of strength is a lonely strength, because it cuts you off from people as much as it connects you. You’re obsessive about love. (That’s my first thought after I watched Louis’ performance: he’s a perfectionist. He’s obsessive.) You want to do the right thing so badly, out of love, out of principle, out of loyalty. Probably even out of integrity and ego. You want to fix things, you’re impatient and volatile with it. You write ten thousand words and it’s still not enough, but it’s too much so you cut it down to size. Then it really isn’t enough. And the problem, the biggest problem, about being this person, is that it scares people. When you think so much it bleeds into your dreams, when you pick at your own words so obsessively, when you pay so much attention because of the enormity of your love that you know your loved ones better than they know themselves: you scare people. You put them on the defensive. And you’re the one, you’re always the one, who has to muster up the strength to ask for love. Just love, not any more, not any less.
Like Harry, I’d never want to tell someone their interpretation is wrong, but if we’re playing a game of “determine their relationship status from song lyrics” with the assumption that these lyrics are at the very least semi-autobiographical in nature (and that carries from the assumption that Louis’ album is still going to focus on honest lyrics from recent promo-cycle and that the songs are loosely chronological from previous promo-cycle), then I don’t think this is the hill to die on. Again, if ‘announcement of current relationship status’ was one of the reasons Louis releases songs, you can hardly tell from this song. A rupture, a crisis, but less probably the advent or aftermath of a break-up. And again, if it was, it’s emotionally rich and interesting because it’s so different in tone from what you’d expect of typical break-up songs: “You don’t have to keep on being strong for me and you,” “Just wanna be loved by you.”
People are going to see what they want to see in this fandom, and nowhere is that most obvious than the line, “When you’re lost in your pride,” which I’ve seen some rads zero in on. But, because the song is so personal to me, and speaks to me on a level no song Louis has written since Strong does, I’m not particularly interested in what people say about it. I feel like this song is the most non-specific: it’s for us to relate to and reflect on. I think whatever people take away from this song, we can at least agree that the emotional texture of the song is extraordinary.
Little black dress
Too young
Even from the title, you could tell this was going to be a sad song. Through all 3 songs and just in general, I’m always working backwards from the assumption that they’re still together, and looking for suggestions that either support or debunk. On face-value, this is the only one out of 3 that I’d consider as debunking that assumption, but not with certainty (general caveats about “determining relationship status from song lyrics” aside). If we accept the assumption that this song is about Louis and Harry, it’s actually pretty hilarious what period of their lives this song could be referring to because they’ve been together since they were 16 and 18, any point between then and maybe 2 years ago could be considered ‘too young’ by a normal person (I say 2 years randomly, because that’s the reasonable amount of time someone can look backwards and think ‘oh, we were so young’, and not because of the lyric).
If the lyric was, in fact, ‘2 years’, then trying to fit the lyrics at face-value with what we know of Louis and Harry’s lives is difficult. The second verse leads to the bridge, so all these verses are occurring at the same time, where the singer is face to face with the You for the first time in two years, unsure if the You hates him. This is something occurring at present, and I think it can be read as the start of a reconciliation or the start of closure. But obviously it’s not something occurring at present, meaning it’s already happened for Louis to write about it, if it happened at all. So with all of this in mind, I can’t figure out the requisite 2 years to fit into what we know of Louis and Harry’s lives. I mean this in the sense, if we were to write Larry fanfiction with just the songs and what we know from official sources, what would it look like with this song in mind? I’m not too handy with keeping up with timelines, but if we only consider big events like song/album releases, promo cycles, and touring (all post-hiatus obviously), i.e. ignoring all other ‘coincidences’, the most I can stretch is just over 1 year, and even then you’d have to argue that Harry planned and performed IICF/SC during a period of separation, which I’m not too keen on.
Eleanor obviously fits in quite nicely with the ‘2 years’ line, but I personally don’t use ad hoc arguments of “this line was changed to fit the official narrative.” I prefer analyzing lyrics at face-value and leaving incongruities as they are.
This song places rigid constraints that the other songs do not, with its emphasis on time (which, fair enough, it’s literally in the title). This isn’t discouraging: it doesn’t mean the previous interpretations were too lenient because they lack similar constraints. But it does highlight, again, the fact that we don’t know what we don’t know. “It’s hard to think you could ever hate me / But things are feeling different now” and “It’s been (two years) since I’ve seen your face” are the only lines in the whole 4 songs that give me pause, and maybe they’re supposed to. I think the tracklist order of the album, as well as the official narrative they push in promo, will give more insight.
There are interpretations floating out there that relate this song as well as others to the particular pressures of closeting. I think such interpretations are interesting, although they always read rather fanfic-y to me. I generally stay away from thinking about any of their songs in this way, because I want to try to see what I can understand about them from my own knowledge and experience. I have neither knowledge nor experience of what it feels like be in the situations Louis has been in with regards to navigating his sexuality and his relationship, so I hesitate to rely on an interpretation of his songs where the underlying angst is about external pressures in those conditions. What they’ve been through is upsetting and frustrating for me as a fan, but it’s more interesting and relatable to me, to read internal strife and complications into these lyrics. However, I enjoyed reading some of these interpretations and they also give Just a Little Bit of Your Heart a different color.
This song doesn’t resolve, which I don’t think is the point of the song. It’s interesting to me because I think optimism is itself a resolve, and the tone, sound and lyric of this song differs from the rest in that it doesn’t have that. The point of the song is an expression of regret and, more forwardly, an apology. Louis (the singer) wants to fix things. And in whatever order the songs are meant to be read (I’m going to read them in the order of the setlist for now), this song following the shattering vulnerability of Defenseless gives us insight into Louis’ strengths as a writer and a person. He wants to fix things. He keeps on thinking about what went wrong, still finding ways to blame himself, years after the fact. “Now we can finally have a conversation.” He still yearns for conversation, for clarity, to lay his heart out on the table, to say sorry and, maybe, ask for love. This is what I think about when I think about optimism to the point of self-parody. Not optimistic that things will work out, although he is that in other songs, but optimistic that there is still a point to all this. And it’s something you can get quite self-conscious about, especially if you keep getting knocked down continuously by things both within and out of your control. Because the hope for connection, communication, and love can seem meaningless in the face of senseless tragedies. But Louis still hopes, he still yearns, he still asks. He doesn’t give up, on his relationships, on the people he loves, and (because of that, he doesn’t give up) on himself.
And it makes me want to scream when I remember that the first line of Home is “Make a little conversation.”
Just hold on
Kill my mind
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