#the poor fools who want to 'Make America Great Again' believe it still

[teeg]

I'm not sure America is America anymore (or if it ever was…I think America was a lie we were all fed when we were young and we bought into it, and by we, I'm including the whole entire world).

"This is America, the greatest country on God's green earth." Except it wasn't, even as it slipped past the lips of all the people who believed the lies and helped to propagate them.

It wasn't for my grandparents who worked the tobacco fields, earning a living for someone else, or for anyone else who's had to eke out a living, getting by on pennies while someone else profits from the dollars your labor brings in.

It wasn't for anyone of a different skin color or with an accent. It wasn't for anyone with a disability, even if they'd received that disability in serving their country, or anyone who believed differently or worshipped differently, and it sure as hell wasn't for anyone who romanced differently.

And it still isn't. It isn't for anyone who struggles to afford each round of chemo they need for their cancer treatments, knowing that there's no country benefits to help them, so they ask over and over, afraid they'll sound like a broken record, but with no better alternative, for someone, anyone, to help with their Go Fund Me. It isn't for the people who lost their jobs in the quarantine and haven't been able to find another even though the news says that employers are desperate for employees, even though stores are closing early rather than actually bringing in people who need the job.

And most likely, it isn't for you and for me, because what they don't tell you when they stand your class up to put their hand over their heart and say the Pledge of Allegiance is that the only way to become a "successful" person in America is by walking on the backs of others, and if you're in public school, you've already been chosen to be one of the ones who have their backs broken, the ones being trod upon.

I'll end with Langston Hughes poem, Let America Be America Again, so that this ends with hope instead of discouragement.

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That’s made America the land it has become. O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore, And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we’ve dreamed And all the songs we’ve sung And all the hopes we’ve held And all the flags we’ve hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives, We must take back our land again, America!

O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP Meme from "Chapter One: The Bad Old Days" in the Bone Gnawers book from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse" Part 2 of 2

"Soon you’ll be blind to the world around you!"

"Oh, and then there was the long-discarded ideal of actually giving a shit about the human race. Remember that?"

"We fought to defend everyone, before we became so damn cynical and skeptical."

"It is our pleasure to serve. And it is a pleasure to entertain you."

"Look at this poor sap. Living off garbage. Sleeping in the street in that smelly cloak."

"What’s so great about being homeless?"

"For what? Money? Power? Privilege? For nothing."

"They say we’re cowards, bastards, lazy, selfish, or worse. Don’t buy it."

"Let me be straight; I’m not dumb enough to try to save

everyone."

"Most folks aren't worth saving."

"The world is corrupt, so people are corrupt."

"Ninety percent of everything is crap, including humanity."

"It’s like a big garbage dump."

"I can’t just laugh off the world."

"My world is different."

"In my world, when I walk down the street, no one looks me in the eye. They lock their doors. They keep their distance."

"People on the sidewalks reach out for help, and all they get is nothing."

"I don’t want to play the fool."

"It’s up to us. It’s time we acted up."

"You’re only a bum if you want to be a bum.

"You want to be a hero? Get to work."

"We had to save the world."

"The meek were set to inherit the Earth, but they were going to get dirt unless they took what they needed."

"We fought for anyone that had been cast out, kept down, or ripped off."

"Clearly the next taleteller has an edge, or perhaps a bit of influence in the right place."

"Quit your growling!"

"Okay, so maybe it went a little easier on us."

"Women laying down with wolves to mate with them, bearing their spawn. Men breeding with beasts in animalistic rites. Stalking demons showing up in the dead of night to claim their children from human parents."

"Millions suspected of witchcraft and heresy writhed on the flames of bonfires."

"No more finding food for the hungry to eat. No more protecting places where the homeless could sleep."

"Cowardly freak."

"Humans found the remains, stripped of flesh and gnawed to the bone."

"No matter where we came from, we came together in America."

"We’ve fought for a lot of ideals, as you can tell, and we’ve certainly suffered when they’ve failed."

"This time, we wouldn’t take the cowardly way out."

"In a sense, the war almost became a game to us — a deadly, glorious game."

"Sweet, glorious freedom."

"If we didn’t have a place of our own in Europe, then we’d have to make a home in America."

"Because we fought for it honorably, we felt like we’d earned it."

"Fair play is the American way, after all!"

"But right now, you’re on my turf!"

"We each tell the story to serve our own ends."

"Maybe I’m just proud of who I am. You got a problem with that, pal?"

"Ancient and powerful undead stalked the corridors of Versailles. Tainted vampires took obscene pleasure in sipping the blue blood of the French nobility. Evil ancients remained content to maintain their facades of power and privilege."

"And we don’t do that sort of thing, do we? Well, do we?"

"They didn’t understand what we were fighting for!"

" And then again, maybe we should have paid less attention to human society and more to our own."

"But if your lot in life involves getting humiliated on a regular basis, it’s time for a change."

"You see, we’ve been cast out and kicked out and beaten up over and over again, but we never gave up, and we never give in."

"Some bit of hope or foolishness kept us going, and enough of us believed in it back then that it started to make a difference."

"If we weren’t good enough for the old traditions, we’d make up new ones."

"And remember, anyone can be a success if they work hard enough!"

"When the Romanovs lost power, the people surged up to retake what was rightfully theirs."

"Hey! I ain’t no Commie! But I got a lot of sympathy for anyone who’s been beaten down for so long."

"Sometimes you have to survive any way you can."

"Someone preaches a high ideal, we do the hard work, someone else reaps the rewards."

"You keep fighting until you win."

"If everyone works, everyone wins."

"You were still a hero."

"We didn’t want to die; we played to win."

"So where the hell are we?"

"Drunk off our asses and freezing cold."

"We should get involved."

"How is the world going to end?"

"Or is the Apocalypse just the dawn of a new age, where everything’s going to be created all over again?"

"I live here and now!"

"I’m alive, and I’m going to stay that way, no matter comes my way!"

"We’re gonna survive, even if we have to scavenge the bones of the carcass of the world!"

"Look into the flames! That is what the world will look like, and soon!"

"THE END OF THE WORLD IS HERE!"

"Life in the shadows continues."

[flowerpowell]

The Royal Holiday Romance

PART SIX

A/N: That was supposed to be a four-part fluffy mini series and it ended being not only longer, but also angstier LMAO. There’s not much left though, like one chapter, maybe two if I end up being too wordy. I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Rating: G (+ some angst, descriptions of a panic attack)

Tagging: @gardeningourmet​ @delightfullypinkglitter​ @lodberg​ @twinkleallnight​ @kingliam-rys​ @sfb123​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @gkittylove99​ @texaskitten30​ @kingliam2019​ @queen-arabella-of-cordonia​ @shanzay44​ @sweatyrysconnoisseur​ ❣

Liam was a King. The Liam she dated was a King. A King.

The King of Cordonia.

King Liam of Cordonia.

The man who asked her to be his girlfriend, the man she opened up to, the man she spent every free minute to think about was a King.

A King he never mentioned he was.

“Tori…? You’re okay?” Hana asked worriedly and Victoria glanced at her, shaking her head.

“I want to be alone, if that’s okay.”

“Of course but… Is there anything I can do?”

“Slap me in the face for being the idiot I am?” Tori suggested.

“You’re not an idiot. He never told you and he should have. I really thought of him highly…” Hana mumbled, still in shock after what she learned. “I’m going to call him and demand answers.”

“No! Hana, don’t,” Victoria asked. “I want to deal with him myself, I just… need a little time. Please, don’t tell anyone I know. Please.”

“If you’re sure…” Hana looked at her friend and she nodded. “Okay then. I’m going to be in my room if you need anything.”

“I’ll be okay,” Tori said with a forced optimism. When Hana left, she was finally alone with her own thoughts.

She closed her eyes, trying to stop the tears that formed in her eyes. She couldn’t cry after a man. Not anymore. Not like this.

Not even if he’s a King.

She still couldn’t wrap her head around it… How could he lie? How could he look into her eyes and never tell her who he really was. She apologized for deceiving him but it was nothing compared to what he did.

Victoria felt a sudden rage within her.

Partially at him, but mostly at herself.

“You idiot!” she yelled. “How could you not see it? How could you be so blind?” The tears were running down her face as she punched her pillow.

“All these empty places that he claimed to be not popular. All his nonsense talk about his job which he never explained. How I could not see it?”

“How could I trust a man that easily again?” She sobbed into the pillow. “Why… Why? What was his point? What did he try to achieve? Why me?”

Her phone beeped and she assumed it was Hana. She unlocked the phone, wiping away her tears so she could see the screen. The message she received wasn’t from Hana, but from Liam.

Victoria felt like crying again.

“How could I let him make me so happy?” she whispered as she debated opening the message. She wished she could just forget about everything. Go back to America as if nothing happened and never have to face Liam again.

But she knew she couldn’t. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she clicked on the message.

She would deal with him. She would face him like she wasn’t hurt. Like she didn’t care. Like she never loved him.

“Good afternoon to my beautiful girlfriend. Would you like to meet up for a coffee and a walk?”

“Only if I can shove this coffee up your—” she stopped herself and took a deep breath. How could a King be such a liar. Hana said so many nice things about him and yet… He wasn’t any better from the douchebags she met in college.

“Sure.”

If Liam didn’t plan on telling her, she would have to make him say it herself.

~~~~

“Hello, love.” Liam greeted her as usual and she forced a smile. He kissed her on the cheek and pulled her into his arms.

Normally, she would savor the smell of cologne and the warmth of his body, but today she wanted nothing more but call him out and never see him again.

She still couldn’t believe he was capable of doing something like that. She thought she knew him. Well, it was a yet another lesson to never trust anyone, at least.

“Is something wrong?” He asked when they parted.

“Were you trained to read people or what?” Victoria pretended to be joking, knowing all to well that he was. His face fell a little but he quickly composed himself and laughed.

“I just can see that something is troubling you. Is it because of the film?”

Liar.

“I’m just tired.” Of your lies. “I’m okay.”

“Perhaps coffee would help?” He suggested and she smiled.

“Yes. Let’s go to that coffee shop we were in the last time. We should support it since not many people visit it as you said,” she answered and watched him turn red. It was so obvious he was hiding something, how could she not see it before? Gosh, she really was dumb.

“I was planning on showing you another coffee shop. It’s also rather unpopular.”

“Wow, so many great places in this country are barely visited by the people. It must be hard to live here for all the owners of these places. The King must be doing a poor job then.”

“Poor job?” Liam frowned.

“Everything is so empty all the time… Does Cordonia have any citizens?” She teased him. She wanted to make him feel stupid, just he made her feel.

“I… um… don’t really know much about politics. But if you really want to go that other coffee shop then we sure can go. Let me just call someone first to—”

“To what, empty the place?”

“… What?” Liam was confused and she could tell his heart started racing.

“Did I say something wrong, your Majesty?”

~~~~

Liam felt like he was going to have a panic attack. He forgot how to breathe and his heart was beating too fast. It was a dream. A bad dream. Or maybe he misheard something. Victoria couldn’t find out. Not like that.

“What happened, your Majesty? Isn’t that how you should address the King?” She looked calm but he could see she was furious. He didn’t blame her. He deserved all that rage and then some more.

No… No… please no.

“Victoria…”

“Yes?”

“I—I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes. This wasn’t happening.

“Isn’t it a little bit too late for that?” She sneered.

“It’s not like that, I really wanted to tell you but—”

“But what? What? I told you about my lie, what was stopping you from confessing yours?”

“Victoria…”

“Did you have fun?” She asked and he looked at her confused.

“I don’t understand…”

“Did you have fun,” she repeated. “This whole game. Playing with me, making a fool out of me. Was it fun? Is it what Kings do for fun?”

“No, Victoria, it’s not like that.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t game, it was real.” Liam was nearly crying.

“No. The only real thing about it was me. I was real. I was honest. You weren’t. Nothing you said was real!”

“Everything I told you was real! My feelings, my—”

“You lied to me! How is that real?! I told you about myself, about my dreams, my life. I know nothing about you. Nothing!”

“You know me! You know the real Liam! I didn’t want to lie but it felt so good to be finally be able to be just Liam.”

“Well, I hope it feels just as good now.”

“Victoria… I know I messed up and I am so terribly sorry. I—”

“Why did you ask me to be your girlfriend?” She asked quietly. Her furious persona was gone. Instead, a vulnerable and severely hurt woman stood in front of Liam and he wanted nothing more but turn back time and be honest with her. Everything to make her happy again.

“I fell for you. My feelings were genuine. I promise.” He took her hands in his and she laughed.

“Your promises are nothing to me.” She pushed his hands away. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you, your Majesty. I’ve already booked my flight. I’m going back home. Your little game is over.”

“Victoria, please let me explain!”

“I don’t want anything from you, okay? I don’t want your explanations, your promises, your lies. I just want to be far away from you and your games. Leave me alone.”

“Victoria…” Liam watched her go away and felt like his whole world was falling apart.

His vision became blurry as he felt his own tears on his face. His legs felt like made of jelly and he was nauseous. When Victoria completely disappeared, he started shaking as he realized, he had lost her.

He lost Victoria.

He lost a person who brought him back to life. A person who loved him for who he really was, without a crown.

Finding a true love while being a King is very, very hard. Finding someone who doesn’t look at our status, our crown, our money. If you happen to be that lucky and find someone like that, make sure to never, ever let go of her.

Liam sniffed as he remember the advice his father gave him a few days before he died. He didn’t think about these words until today, until he lost that someone.

He fell on his knees, burying his face in his hands. He did that. He let her go.

I love her. I love her. I can’t lose her. I can’t…

--

[theheadlesshearseman]

As a progressive independent leftist, I'm voting Howie Hawkins of the Green Party for president. We live in an oligarchy, not a democracy; Biden and Trump are on the same team backed by the same corporate donors. I know the Green Party can't win — I'm not delusional. We vote Green for the purpose of getting the party to a goal of 5% popular vote. When this is achieved, they get federal funding and nationwide ballot access in 2024. 15% popular vote will get them a podium on the debate stage and federal funding for the 2022 mid-term elections.

Biden won't support a Green New Deal, ban fracking, publicized healthcare, police reform, and most other policies progressives stand for. We need these things for the sake of our planet and our people. We are in the middle of a God damned pandemic, and the best the Democrats could offer is the revival of the Affordable Care Act — an act which requires you to have health insurance, or else pay a penalty fee for not having insurance. How are so many unemployed Americans supposed to pull off getting insured? Due to the government mandate, companies have consolidated and the market is monopolized, causing rates to go parabolic. But it's okay because pre-existing conditions are covered. That's great, but I still can't afford my medication for chronic asthma. Thank goodness for the black market! We don't see health insurance; we need health ASSURANCE — publicized healthcare (Medicare4All) is how you guarantee everyone, employed or not, rich or poor, is taken care of.

This notion democracy will cease to exist if Trump is re-elected is a farce, regurgitated by every panicked Biden voter. We have a system of checks and balances in place to prevent his abuse of power, yet media outlets are planting these thoughts of paranoia into the general public, and it's sick. Conversely, the Trump campaign tells their constituents that Biden is a radical leftist Marxist whose constituents hate America. Both sides use fear, division, and hate to keep you voting within the two-party duopoly. Either way, THEY win.

Most of the news outlets in the world are owned by 6 corporations. (It was just 24 corporations back in the 90s.) Each media company shares a board member with a big pharmaceutical company board member. Their goal is to augment their bottom line at our expense by lobbying to politicians of both major parties, donating to them in exchange for policies that further increase their bottom line. Remember in the late 90s/early 2000s when we started seeing ads for prescription drugs on TV for the first time? That's when the media company consolidation started growing.

These big corporations have a lot to lose if a third party gets elected. That's why they do anything in their power to sway public opinion via the news media, making you think you only have a choice between Republican and Democrat, shaming you from dare voting a third party for their ideals because "they can't win," swaying the public to vote "Gucci brand politicians" over that unknown brand at the store you keep passing up, but if you actually tried it, you wouldn't go back to "Kraft". You are going to get the same result with Biden or Trump.

I'm disgusted with Trump privatizing national park land for oil drilling. Native American lands are encroached upon and exploited by big oil. Look at the Keystone Pipeline; that happened with Obama at the helm. When Biden gets elected, he will perpetuate the abuse of our lands that Trump has perpetuated from previous administrations. Colonialism forges onward in the 21st century with an unnecessarily large military budget — $750 billion.

Both are rapists, both are racists, both perpetuate corporate control and exploitation of we the people, and I'm sick and tired of it. Plus, what Biden did to Tara Reade is utterly despicable and disgusting, but what's more disgusting is how people still support Biden after Reade has provided more supporting circumstantial evidence for her rape claims than any of Kavanaugh's accusers.

You have forfeited your integrity to say, "me too" and, "believe women" if you support Biden (and especially if you support Trump) because unlike the line-in-item veto power of the presidency, as voters, you, by default, have to endorse the entire package because you GET the entire package: a 47-year career politician who digitally raped a young intern in '93 that won't assure healthcare for the American people during a pandemic, won't ban fracking despite our climate crisis, authored the '94 crime bill responsible for the mass incarceration of back people and people of color for petty drug charges, responsible for the bank bill that pushed an entire generation of Americans into deep abysmal student loan debts due to high interest rates that his big bank donors profited off of while claiming to have no empathy for millennials who have it hard and statistically own only 4% of the nation's wealth even as the largest generational member of the American population, now running off a campaign of being the voice of reason, the light, the good, and not being Trump.

This IS the reality of it. In a way, I do live in an alternate reality from the rest of the JoeBlowHards that go through life not realizing there is a veil over them. I don't fear a Trump re-election, yet Biden is ahead by 10+ points in the polls, mostly by fools who think you can push Biden, a 47-year bought and paid for politician, left once elected. To push a politician left, you need leverage in the form of dollars — billions and billions and BILLIONS of dollars. What are you gonna do, squirt shampoo on a piece of progressive legislation to get the hair sniffer to sign it?! 😂

Biden CANNOT be pushed left for progressive policies because the very policies you support would directly undermine the big industries that are lining the pockets of the Republicans AND Democrats: Green New Deal VS Oil and Gas; Medicare for All VS Big Pharma; Free College Tuition VS Big Banks, etc. If you want ANY of these policies, we HAVE TO break through the two-party duopoly's choke-hold on the American people.

I feel it would be worse for Biden to get elected because I guarantee you, if he does, people will go back to sleep on all that is wrong with our country. With Trump in office, everything is happening in front of the curtain. With Biden, "nothing will fundamentally change" as he closes the curtain in front of the dark doings of the United States, continuing Trump's destruction behind the scenes. At least with Trump, since he attracts the spotlight, we can keep an eye on our oppressors. With Trump, people will stay mad, and we need to stay mad, not go back to sleep. Oh, and with a Biden victory, I will, once again, get charged a penalty for not having health insurance for my PRE-EXISTING CONDITION that I couldn't afford in the first place.

Disclaimer: I wasn't paid by Russia to type this. And if you're a Republican reading this and sick of Trump, come to the Green side; we support the second ammendment! When you swing far enough left, you get your guns back. ;)

Feel free to share and discuss.

[songtoyou]

Chapter One: Move You

Would You Call That Love

Pairing: Chris Evans x Raina Morrison (OC) Rating: PG-13 (Will be 18+ for some chapters)

Description: There was always one person Chris Evans tended to turn to when he was not in a committed relationship, Raina Morrison. He could confide in her about things going on in his life that he did not feel comfortable talking to his family or close friends about. Chris and Raina were able to establish a way to communicate with one another openly but also being respectful of the other’s time and needs. It was the only constant “relationship” he had, but without all the nonsense of trying to build a life together. A “friends with benefits” situation.However, what happens when Chris starts rethinking his “relationship” with Raina and if either is willing to pursue something more?

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: Mention of anxiety

Word Count: 2,530

Note: This is the first fic I have written in ages. Everything about it is fiction. Sadly, I do not know Chris Evans and this is just a fictional take on his life. I do not permit this fic to be reposted on other platforms.  

Thank you to @southerngracela​ and @sullyosully for the support. I also want to give a shout out to @royallyprincesslilly​​ for the text divider. 

*Updated for grammar edits.

June 2019

The early morning sun was peeking out of the sky, and the air became crisper after a night of pouring rain. It was supposed to be a scorcher day in June, according to the weather reports. That was not something Chris Evans was looking forward to since he would have to be on-set partaking in outdoor scenes wearing sweaters, business suits, and heavy coats for most of the day. Despite the uncomfortableness his job could be at times; it was all worth it in the end. Acting was Chris’s passion, and he was fortunate to do it for a living. Chris knew he was lucky to be where he is at in his career. From the ups and downs to disappointing film projects that either went nowhere or were rejected by critics and moviegoers, it all helped steer Chris to become the actor he is today. 

With Captain America’s story arch now complete, Chris understood that it would take a while for audiences and some of his fans not just to see him as Steve Rogers. Taken on Marvel’s top Avenger’s mantle was one of the best decisions he ever made as it took his career to new heights. Yes, Chris had some reservations at first when he was approached for the role. He did not feel confident enough if he could handle the responsibility of playing such an iconic character. Chris was also worried about losing his anonymity. He liked being able to walk down the street with no one recognizing him or asking for a photo and autograph. Now Chris was lucky to make it a few blocks without someone yelling out at him or screaming “Captain America!”, it most definitely did not help ease his anxieties. 

“You got that Marvel money saved up. You can live comfortably while pursuing projects that people would not expect you to take. It’s a win-win situation for you,” said Raina, one of Chris’s best friends, when mentioning the project, Defending Jacob. 

“You sound like my mom when you say that,” Chris replied.

Raina laughed at that and said, “I take that as a compliment, you know.”

“Good. I meant it as one. You both don’t take shit from anyone. And I know you’ll always have my back as she does.” 

Raina and his mom kept telling him to accept the lead role as Andy Barber in Defending Jacob. And how it would not only be beneficial to his career, but also because 1.) the show was filming in Massachusetts so that he would be in his own home every night, and 2.) it was a role he never played before: a father.

Sipping his coffee, Chris stood on the porch of his house as he watched Dodger relieve himself. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you some breakfast,” Chris waved Dodger over to get inside. The pup was happy to oblige his owner and trotted up the steps into the house.

Chris heard his cellphone buzz just as he put down Dodger’s food bowl. Reaching over the counter to retrieve it, Chris smiled when he saw the name pop up.

Raina: Why didn’t anyone tell me that New York is always hot as balls! I can’t take it!

Chris: I warned you about that, but you didn’t listen to me. What are you doing up so early?

Raina: Couldn’t sleep. Nervous about the preview shows for Moulin Rouge. It is coming up quickly. 

Chris: Again, congrats on Moulin Rouge. You got nothing to be nervous about; you are going to be great. 

Raina: I’m just worried if people will like the show. 

Chris: You and the crew wouldn’t have gotten to Broadway if people weren’t interested in seeing it, especially with you as Satine. This is what you were born to do. Scott, Ma, and I will be there on opening night. Carly and Shanna won’t be able to come but plan to see the show on a girls’ trip to New York later in the summer. I know both are proud of you as well. 

Raina: Stop! You are going to make me cry. All of you are so sweet. Seriously, I am forever grateful to you and your amazing family for supporting me all these years.

Chris: Can you believe it has been ten years since we met at that Vanity Fair photoshoot for West Side Story. 

Raina: Oh God! Do not remind of that shoot. I was a ball of nerves that day.

Chris: I thought the paramedics were going to need to be called for you.

Raina: Haha. Seriously though, they probably would have if you didn’t help calm me down.

 January 2009

“Wait, what is this photoshoot about?” Raina asked her manager, Jerry, who sighed in response.

“Raina, I’ve already told you. It is to celebrate the Broadway revival of West Side Story. The photographer is re-creating scenes from the film version,” explained Jerry.

Now it was Raina’s turn to let out a sigh. Despite being in the music industry since she was 16 years old, the whole idea of photoshoots still did not make her comfortable. Plus, the long hours, the bright lights, and the shoots’ craziness left Raina feeling drained. It was now adding other celebrities to the mix brought on a whole new set of anxieties.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Jerry assured Raina and added, “Today’s going to be easy. You don’t have to worry about being front and center this time. You’ll be in the background so that you can relax.”

“If you say so,” Raina retorted with a small smile. She trusted Jerry.

When Raina finally arrived at the photoshoot, she was whisked away to hair and makeup and then onward to change her costume. She had already been introduced to her fellow photo mates, such as Ashley Tisdale and Robert Pattinson. Both were very pleasant and nice. 

“I am such a huge fan. I have all of your albums,” Ashley gushed admirably. 

“Thank you. That is very sweet of you to say. I loved your album ‘Headstrong,’ by the way. Such great bops,” Raina complimented, and Ashley’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

As the two made their way to the set, each shared what project they were currently working on until Ashley stopped dead in her tracks.

“What is it?” Raina asked, concerned.

“Chris Evans,” whispered Ashley and went on, “Chris Evans is over there.”

“Yeah, didn’t you know he’d be here? Oh my God, you guys didn’t use to date, did you?”

“Ha! I wish. He is just so cute,” Ashley said dreamily.

Raina just laughed and shook her head, “Yeah, he isn’t bad looking.”

They filmed the dance scene from the movie where Maria and Tony see each other for the first time. Camilla Belle and Ben Barnes were assigned the lead roles for the shoot. Raina had to admit; both looked the part. The photographer, Mark Seliger, gathered everyone around to discuss how the scene would go. He started placing people in their spots with Jennifer Lopez and Rodrigo Santoro in their positions as lead Shark dancers Anita and Bernardo, with Camilla and Ben on their respective sides. Ashley was assigned as a Jet girl dancing with Chris’s character, the Jets leader, Riff. 

Raina hid her smile when Ashley shook Chris’s hand and introduced herself. Poor thing looked as if she could faint. Settled in the back, Raina was one of the Sharks. She was perfectly content where she was at standing next to Minka Kelly and Jay Hernandez. The three would even make little side chat here and there. 

Overall, the photoshoot was going well. Until the bright lights, the loud music, and the uncomfortable costume started getting to Raina. She felt like she was going to pass out.  However, Raina was determined to pull through in fear of being labeled a “diva” or, worse, “difficult” to work with; that was not the kind of press she needed now. Remembering what her mother told her to do when the first signs of an anxiety attack were coming on was to breathe in and out. She did that a couple of times as she closed her eyes when Mark said they were changing film and wanted a couple more shots. 

Unsurprisingly, someone else was beginning to get restless during the shoot as well. Chris was not a fan of photoshoots. He always felt awkward and never understood what he was supposed to be doing. He would continuously worry if he were coming off stupid or looking like a fool. 

Chris was more cautious of the types of photoshoots he would take part in and made sure to steer clear of the ones wanting him to be viewed as eye-candy merely. He was working hard to make a trajectory in his career from heartthrob to serious actor. However, Chris knew he had more to prove to audiences and critics for them to see past his ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ or ‘Fantastic 4’ roles. 

Nevertheless, when he got word about Vanity Fair’s West Side Story photoshoot, Chris was immediately on board. He was a theater kid, after all, thanks to his mother. Similarly, with other shoots, it all starts the same. The photographer talks about the art direction of the shoot and expectations for the day.  

During the short breaks on set, Chris looked around to see the other actors and performers. While he knew some of the folks on set, he did not honestly know any of them personally. The only person he was more acquainted with was Camilla, and that was because both filmed the movie Push a year ago.

As Chris’s eyes roamed around the room, they landed on Raina, who was fanning herself with her hands. While others were making small talk, he noticed that Raina took deep breaths and her eyes were closed. She stepped down on the chair she was standing on to take a seat and put her head in her hands. 

Chris felt bad. He knew an anxiety attack when he saw one. Slowly making his way over to Raina, he kneeled in front of her.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chris asked in a whisper.

Raina jumped at the sound of his voice. She did not expect anyone to come up to check on how she was doing. She thought she was doing her best to be discreet.

“I don’t know. It’s too hot in here. The lights are hurting my eyes, and it’s hard to breathe,” Raina said, continuing to fan herself.

Instinctively, Chris reached out to hold one of Raina’s shaking hands to help calm her down. 

“Have you ever tried the 4-7-8 breathing technique?”

Raina shook her head no and said, “Never heard of that technique.”

“Trust me; it has helped me out a lot. Okay, so you’re going to breathe in for four seconds, hold it for seven seconds, and exhale for eight seconds. Do you want to try it with me? Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and exhale 1, 2, 3, 4 ,5, 6, 7, 8. Very good. Let’s do it again,” Chris calmly instructed Raina.

“I’ll get you some water. Just keeping doing the breathing exercises, okay.”

When Chris returned, he again kneeled in front of Raina and handed her the water cup.

“Thank you,” said Raina as she sipped slowly.

“You’re welcome.”

Raina let out a little chuckle, “I can’t believe I had an anxiety attack. I told Jerry I was worried about this happening. Again, thank you. I appreciate you helping me out,” expressed Raina gratefully.

As Raina continued to sip her water, Chris took the time to look at her. She was attractive, and he could tell she was a little bit younger than him. While this was Chris’s first-time meeting Raina, he had seen her before at other Hollywood functions. Neither having their paths cross until now.

“Okay, folks, let’s get back in your positions!” Mark yelled to get everyone’s attention.

“You going to be okay?” asked Chris as he stood up.

“Yes. I’m going to be fine,” answered Raina, standing up as well.

Chris helped her back up on the chair, and he returned to his spot next to Ashley. It was weird. No one else seemed to notice what went on between the two. It was like for those few short moments, Chris and Raina were in their own world. 

Chris kept stealing glances towards Raina for the rest of the shoot. He kept telling himself it was to make sure she was okay, not that he was drawn to her or anything. 

‘Don’t go there, Evans. The last thing you need is to be in a relationship, and she doesn’t look like the type to do hookups,’ Chris scolded himself and added, ‘Most likely won’t ever see her again after this day.’

“I am glad that it didn’t take long for us to meet again after that day. We do have Scott and Shanna to thank for that, by the way,” Chris happily reminded Raina.

He decided to call her that morning after their text exchange. He preferred hearing her voice anyways. 

“Oh yeah, at my concert in Boston. It was fate. We were destined to be friends.”

“Yep. Even though you are a fan of the New York Mets and Giants fan, I still love ya,” teased Chris.

Raina groaned, “Let us not bring up sports, shall we. It can only get ugly from here. Anyways, I’ll let you go. I gotta start heading out for rehearsals. Talk to you later. Bye,” said Raina.

“Bye, sweetheart. Take care,” replied Chris and ended the call. 

He looked over at Dodger, who had finished eating and was now lying in one of his dog beds near the kitchen table. As Chris continued to sip his coffee, he decided to make breakfast and went to the fridge to take some eggs. Once he got everything ready to begin cooking, his mind drifted to Raina. Chris noticed that his mind had been doing that more recently lately. 

For Chris, his relationship with Raina was more than just a friendship. She was someone he could confide in about things he was not comfortable bringing up to his family or close childhood friends. Their friendship evolved when both began a “friends with benefits” type of relationship. This would only occur when both were not in committed relationships with other people. 

Surprisingly, this arrangement only managed to make them closer friends. The boundaries they agreed upon were put in place not to fracture their friendship. He went into the situation not wanting to build some domesticated life with Raina. However, at times, Chris kept thinking if he could turn his friendship with Raina into something more. Something more than friends, more than sex buddies, but as a life partner. A wife and mother to his children.

‘Stop lying to yourself,’ Chris’s inner voice spoke up, ‘You’re in love with Raina. Just admit it!’

Nevertheless, Chris could not admit to himself. He was not ready to deal with those feelings for one of his closest friends. 

Not yet, at least. 

[dancing-crystals]

I caved and bought K.D. Edwards The Hanged Man (sequel to The Last Sun that I posted about earlier). Wonderful book, I highly recommend it. 

Brand is my favorite. He’s violent, rude, blunt, controlling, ruthless, and loves Rune so much (and Rune loves him right back). The two of them have a psychic bond, talk about feelings in spite of claiming to hate talking about feelings, and still manage to be complete dumbasses who work themselves up over their doubts instead of just saying something.

Again, lots of potential triggers in this book. Violence and death (”wholesale slaughter” comes to mind) and the villain is a sexual predator who preys on adolescents (as well as being sadistic murderer who enjoys terrorizing his victims before killing them). The book also has children being injured and endangered, drug use, self-harm, animal abuse (it’s similar to the dragon in Gringotts), mind control, and sex workers and sex trade that, in the words of one of the characters “It is a place that, the deeper you walk into it, disregards any polite fiction of consent and conscious”. I personally found it less upsetting than the first book, probably because there’s no graphic sexual abuse/rape. Also, I’d read the first book so I had a better idea of what to expect.

That said, there’s so much banter and love that the story doesn’t feel dark. Dark things happen, but the story is overall hopeful. The main characters are good people (often violent, but good) who are trying to survive and protect the people they care about. Attempts at “life is not black and white”, “the best way to protect your friend is to sacrifice a stranger”, and "this is just how the world is and you are a fool to think you can change it” are quickly dismissed by the heroes. Most of the characters aren’t out to save the world, but it turns out the best way to protect the people they care about is to stop the bad guy and protect (and care about) more people. 

I’m going to share a couple favorite scenes (from both books). No spoilers and all things I found amusing or touching, but behind a cut for length.

When I straightened from picking it up, I saw that Brand was starting at my ass. I decided to feel flattered.

He said, “I know you’ve been bitching about your weight gain, but, honestly, I was wondering where it was all going. Now I see. That is one magnificent ass. But maybe you should start jogging with me.”

(This is the only one that does not have Brand or people talking about Brand)

“Does anyone have a blade to spare? It would be better if I were armed.”

It clicked. “Oh, I get it. You think this is one of them big, fancy rescues. Boy are you about to be embarrassed.”

(They are naked in a shower together. After Brand won a dick-measuring contest with Rune’s new boyfriend.)

Brand grabbed the sides of my face. He stared in my eyes and said firmly, “Rune of Sun House, I believe that you are meant for great things. I truly, truly do. Your story has barely begun. It is my honor to be along for what has been, and is, and will be one hell of a ride. So don’t leave me on the bench again. That’s all I wanted to say.” 

He gave me a rare smile, untouched by anything except pleasure, and leaned forward to kiss my forehead. Then he shoved me back to my side of the shower.

I ran my palms over my eyes. “We just covered a lot of ground, didn’t we?”

“Fucking emotions. What’s next on our to-do list?”

(Brand’s version of loving people is very rough on other people.)

“It’s one of his training exercises. He’ll make a recording of you sleeping, and then you have to practice breathing like you do when you’re asleep. That way, if you get kidnapped, you can fake being unconscious.”

“I think you’re joking,” Max said uncertainly.

“Not even a little. Wait until the final test. I won’t say that you’ll wake up half-drugged in a Warrens bazaar wearing only a loincloth, but you will.” 

(Brand has always been like this)

“Alliances are about teamwork. Do you remember when we played dodge ball when we were kids? The first thing you did was take out your own teammates before they could stab you in the back.”

(Looking at a battleship)

His gaze sharpened, somewhat hungrily. “And look at the size of those guns.”

I had an image of Brand chiseling away at bolts with a screwdriver, which only got clearer when he added, “How much do you think they weigh?”

“I am very uncomfortable with that question,” I said.

(While in an area with a strict “hand over all your weapons” policy)

Brand cleared his throat. “I may be able to help with that. I...forgot..I had some plastique on me.”

“Brandon,” Lord Tower sighed.

“I brought some accidentally as well,” Mayan said in solidarity with Brand.

(I just love “Quinn is an emotion for me”. Also, this is Rune’s boyfriend talking, and it isn’t a break-up, it’s a “I am totally cool with you and Brand being a unit” talk!) 

 “What you share with Brand? I could spend a lifetime chasing it, and it will always be decades out of my reach. How could I possibly offer something to compare to that which you’ve always known? He isn’t simply a lifelong friend. He is irrevocably linked to your very concept of safety and protection. And I can understand that, because I raised Quinn. Quinn is an emotion for me too.”

(Emotional bonding plus the set-up for a coffee shop AU!)

“What would you say if I wanted to go?

“Go?” I echoed dumbly.

“Will you allow it? If I want to move there, get to know them?”

There was still oxygen in the world. I knew that, rationally. It just felt otherwise. So I pretended I didn’t need to breathe fake oxygen to settle my fake panic because everything was fine. This was fine.

“It’d be fine,” I said slowly. “They need mercenaries in Boston, right? Or something like mercenaries? That’s a skill you can take anywhere. So...It’s your decision. To move or not.”

I’ve never felt his gaze so heavy on me. He stared at me for another few beats, then shrugged and nodded. He dropped his head and kicked at the sand with the heel of a bare foot.

“I mean,” I added, “there are other things I could do, if the mercenary thing didn’t work out for us. I could work as a barista. They have lots of barista jobs in America, right? We could find a huge loft, like all those poor young people in American sitcoms live in. We’d be fine.”

His eyes shot back to me. The tightness around them melted into a small smile.

“What?” I said.

“Idiot,” he whispered.

I sunk back into my chair and wondered why I was an idiot. And why was he so damned relieved? It’s not as if--

“Oh!” I shouted, and stabbed a finger at him. “You were asking if you could leave me.”

“Fuck off,” he said.

“No. Oh, no, you are so stupid. We are going to grow old and die together....Leave me? Move to Boston without me? Are you mental?”

[route22ny]

Essential reading, especially for those who have a warm & fuzzy concept of Dr King that doesn’t extend far past “I Have a Dream”.  I’m putting the entire text in this post, and there’s an mp3 here available for download.  I believe that this is one of Dr King’s most important speeches, certainly worth revisiting on a day we set aside to honor his memory.  It’s also a good time to realize that what was a “dream” in 1963 is still not reality in 2020, which is a tragedy and also a challenge to us all.

Don’t let “Vietnam” fool you into thinking this speech is only about 1960s realities.  If anything the US has since engaged all the more freely in military adventures against people of foreign lands, people of color whose nations don’t threaten America, only American “interests”.  Headlines this very month show us this dynamic in action yet again.

***

“I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight because my conscience leaves me no other choice. I join with you in this meeting because I am in deepest agreement with the aims and work of the organization which has brought us together: Clergy and Laymen Concerned about Vietnam. The recent statement of your executive committee are the sentiments of my own heart and I found myself in full accord when I read its opening lines: ‘A time comes when silence is betrayal.' That time has come for us in relation to Vietnam.

“The truth of these words is beyond doubt but the mission to which they call us is a most difficult one. Even when pressed by the demands of inner truth, men do not easily assume the task of opposing their government's policy, especially in time of war. Nor does the human spirit move without great difficulty against all the apathy of conformist thought within one's own bosom and in the surrounding world. Moreover when the issues at hand seem as perplexed as they often do in the case of this dreadful conflict we are always on the verge of being mesmerized by uncertainty; but we must move on.

“Some of us who have already begun to break the silence of the night have found that the calling to speak is often a vocation of agony, but we must speak. We must speak with all the humility that is appropriate to our limited vision, but we must speak. And we must rejoice as well, for surely this is the first time in our nation's history that a significant number of its religious leaders have chosen to move beyond the prophesying of smooth patriotism to the high grounds of a firm dissent based upon the mandates of conscience and the reading of history. Perhaps a new spirit is rising among us. If it is, let us trace its movement well and pray that our own inner being may be sensitive to its guidance, for we are deeply in need of a new way beyond the darkness that seems so close around us.

“Over the past two years, as I have moved to break the betrayal of my own silences and to speak from the burnings of my own heart, as I have called for radical departures from the destruction of Vietnam, many persons have questioned me about the wisdom of my path. At the heart of their concerns this query has often loomed large and loud: Why are you speaking about war, Dr. King? Why are you joining the voices of dissent? Peace and civil rights don't mix, they say. Aren't you hurting the cause of your people, they ask? And when I hear them, though I often understand the source of their concern, I am nevertheless greatly saddened, for such questions mean that the inquirers have not really known me, my commitment or my calling. Indeed, their questions suggest that they do not know the world in which they live.

“In the light of such tragic misunderstandings, I deem it of signal importance to try to state clearly, and I trust concisely, why I believe that the path from Dexter Avenue Baptist Church -- the church in Montgomery, Alabama, where I began my pastorate -- leads clearly to this sanctuary tonight.

“I come to this platform tonight to make a passionate plea to my beloved nation. This speech is not addressed to Hanoi or to the National Liberation Front. It is not addressed to China or to Russia.

“Nor is it an attempt to overlook the ambiguity of the total situation and the need for a collective solution to the tragedy of Vietnam. Neither is it an attempt to make North Vietnam or the National Liberation Front paragons of virtue, nor to overlook the role they can play in a successful resolution of the problem. While they both may have justifiable reason to be suspicious of the good faith of the United States, life and history give eloquent testimony to the fact that conflicts are never resolved without trustful give and take on both sides.

“Tonight, however, I wish not to speak with Hanoi and the NLF, but rather to my fellow Americans, who, with me, bear the greatest responsibility in ending a conflict that has exacted a heavy price on both continents.

The Importance of Vietnam

“Since I am a preacher by trade, I suppose it is not surprising that I have seven major reasons for bringing Vietnam into the field of my moral vision. There is at the outset a very obvious and almost facile connection between the war in Vietnam and the struggle I, and others, have been waging in America. A few years ago there was a shining moment in that struggle. It seemed as if there was a real promise of hope for the poor -- both black and white -- through the poverty program. There were experiments, hopes, new beginnings. Then came the buildup in Vietnam and I watched the program broken and eviscerated as if it were some idle political plaything of a society gone mad on war, and I knew that America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic destructive suction tube. So I was increasingly compelled to see the war as an enemy of the poor and to attack it as such.

“Perhaps the more tragic recognition of reality took place when it became clear to me that the war was doing far more than devastating the hopes of the poor at home. It was sending their sons and their brothers and their husbands to fight and to die in extraordinarily high proportions relative to the rest of the population. We were taking the black young men who had been crippled by our society and sending them eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East Harlem. So we have been repeatedly faced with the cruel irony of watching Negro and white boys on TV screens as they kill and die together for a nation that has been unable to seat them together in the same schools. So we watch them in brutal solidarity burning the huts of a poor village, but we realize that they would never live on the same block in Detroit. I could not be silent in the face of such cruel manipulation of the poor.

“My third reason moves to an even deeper level of awareness, for it grows out of my experience in the ghettos of the North over the last three years -- especially the last three summers. As I have walked among the desperate, rejected and angry young men I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. I have tried to offer them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent action. But they asked -- and rightly so -- what about Vietnam? They asked if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of violence to solve its problems, to bring about the changes it wanted. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today -- my own government. For the sake of those boys, for the sake of this government, for the sake of hundreds of thousands trembling under our violence, I cannot be silent.

“For those who ask the question, 'Aren't you a civil rights leader?’ and thereby mean to exclude me from the movement for peace, I have this further answer. In 1957 when a group of us formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, we chose as our motto: To save the soul of America. We were convinced that we could not limit our vision to certain rights for black people, but instead affirmed the conviction that America would never be free or saved from itself unless the descendants of its slaves were loosed completely from the shackles they still wear. In a way we were agreeing with Langston Hughes, that black bard of Harlem, who had written earlier:

O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath-- America will be!

“Now, it should be incandescently clear that no one who has any concern for the integrity and life of America today can ignore the present war. If America's soul becomes totally poisoned, part of the autopsy must read Vietnam. It can never be saved so long as it destroys the deepest hopes of men the world over. So it is that those of us who are yet determined that America will be are led down the path of protest and dissent, working for the health of our land.

“As if the weight of such a commitment to the life and health of America were not enough, another burden of responsibility was placed upon me in 1964; and I cannot forget that the Nobel Prize for Peace was also a commission -- a commission to work harder than I had ever worked before for 'the brotherhood of man.' This is a calling that takes me beyond national allegiances, but even if it were not present I would yet have to live with the meaning of my commitment to the ministry of Jesus Christ. To me the relationship of this ministry to the making of peace is so obvious that I sometimes marvel at those who ask me why I am speaking against the war. Could it be that they do not know that the good news was meant for all men -- for Communist and capitalist, for their children and ours, for black and for white, for revolutionary and conservative? Have they forgotten that my ministry is in obedience to the one who loved his enemies so fully that he died for them? What then can I say to the 'Vietcong’ or to Castro or to Mao as a faithful minister of this one? Can I threaten them with death or must I not share with them my life?

“Finally, as I try to delineate for you and for myself the road that leads from Montgomery to this place I would have offered all that was most valid if I simply said that I must be true to my conviction that I share with all men the calling to be a son of the living God. Beyond the calling of race or nation or creed is this vocation of sonship and brotherhood, and because I believe that the Father is deeply concerned especially for his suffering and helpless and outcast children, I come tonight to speak for them.

“This I believe to be the privilege and the burden of all of us who deem ourselves bound by allegiances and loyalties which are broader and deeper than nationalism and which go beyond our nation's self-defined goals and positions. We are called to speak for the weak, for the voiceless, for victims of our nation and for those it calls enemy, for no document from human hands can make these humans any less our brothers.

Strange Liberators

“And as I ponder the madness of Vietnam and search within myself for ways to understand and respond to compassion my mind goes constantly to the people of that peninsula. I speak now not of the soldiers of each side, not of the junta in Saigon, but simply of the people who have been living under the curse of war for almost three continuous decades now. I think of them too because it is clear to me that there will be no meaningful solution there until some attempt is made to know them and hear their broken cries.

“They must see Americans as strange liberators. The Vietnamese people proclaimed their own independence in 1945 after a combined French and Japanese occupation, and before the Communist revolution in China. They were led by Ho Chi Minh. Even though they quoted the American Declaration of Independence in their own document of freedom, we refused to recognize them. Instead, we decided to support France in its reconquest of her former colony.

“Our government felt then that the Vietnamese people were not 'ready' for independence, and we again fell victim to the deadly Western arrogance that has poisoned the international atmosphere for so long. With that tragic decision we rejected a revolutionary government seeking self-determination, and a government that had been established not by China (for whom the Vietnamese have no great love) but by clearly indigenous forces that included some Communists. For the peasants this new government meant real land reform, one of the most important needs in their lives.

“For nine years following 1945 we denied the people of Vietnam the right of independence. For nine years we vigorously supported the French in their abortive effort to recolonize Vietnam.

“Before the end of the war we were meeting eighty percent of the French war costs. Even before the French were defeated at Dien Bien Phu, they began to despair of the reckless action, but we did not. We encouraged them with our huge financial and military supplies to continue the war even after they had lost the will. Soon we would be paying almost the full costs of this tragic attempt at recolonization.

“After the French were defeated it looked as if independence and land reform would come again through the Geneva agreements. But instead there came the United States, determined that Ho should not unify the temporarily divided nation, and the peasants watched again as we supported one of the most vicious modern dictators -- our chosen man, Premier Diem. The peasants watched and cringed as Diem ruthlessly routed out all opposition, supported their extortionist landlords and refused even to discuss reunification with the north. The peasants watched as all this was presided over by U.S. influence and then by increasing numbers of U.S. troops who came to help quell the insurgency that Diem's methods had aroused. When Diem was overthrown they may have been happy, but the long line of military dictatorships seemed to offer no real change -- especially in terms of their need for land and peace.

“The only change came from America as we increased our troop commitments in support of governments which were singularly corrupt, inept and without popular support. All the while the people read our leaflets and received regular promises of peace and democracy -- and land reform. Now they languish under our bombs and consider us -- not their fellow Vietnamese --the real enemy. They move sadly and apathetically as we herd them off the land of their fathers into concentration camps where minimal social needs are rarely met. They know they must move or be destroyed by our bombs. So they go -- primarily women and children and the aged.

“They watch as we poison their water, as we kill a million acres of their crops. They must weep as the bulldozers roar through their areas preparing to destroy the precious trees. They wander into the hospitals, with at least twenty casualties from American firepower for one 'Vietcong'-inflicted injury. So far we may have killed a million of them -- mostly children. They wander into the towns and see thousands of the children, homeless, without clothes, running in packs on the streets like animals. They see the children, degraded by our soldiers as they beg for food. They see the children selling their sisters to our soldiers, soliciting for their mothers.

“What do the peasants think as we ally ourselves with the landlords and as we refuse to put any action into our many words concerning land reform? What do they think as we test our latest weapons on them, just as the Germans tested out new medicine and new tortures in the concentration camps of Europe? Where are the roots of the independent Vietnam we claim to be building? Is it among these voiceless ones?

“We have destroyed their two most cherished institutions: the family and the village. We have destroyed their land and their crops. We have cooperated in the crushing of the nation's only non-Communist revolutionary political force -- the unified Buddhist church. We have supported the enemies of the peasants of Saigon. We have corrupted their women and children and killed their men. What liberators?

“Now there is little left to build on -- save bitterness. Soon the only solid physical foundations remaining will be found at our military bases and in the concrete of the concentration camps we call fortified hamlets. The peasants may well wonder if we plan to build our new Vietnam on such grounds as these? Could we blame them for such thoughts? We must speak for them and raise the questions they cannot raise. These too are our brothers.

“Perhaps the more difficult but no less necessary task is to speak for those who have been designated as our enemies. What of the National Liberation Front -- that strangely anonymous group we call VC or Communists? What must they think of us in America when they realize that we permitted the repression and cruelty of Diem which helped to bring them into being as a resistance group in the south? What do they think of our condoning the violence which led to their own taking up of arms? How can they believe in our integrity when now we speak of 'aggression from the north' as if there were nothing more essential to the war? How can they trust us when now we charge them with violence after the murderous reign of Diem and charge them with violence while we pour every new weapon of death into their land? Surely we must understand their feelings even if we do not condone their actions. Surely we must see that the men we supported pressed them to their violence. Surely we must see that our own computerized plans of destruction simply dwarf their greatest acts.

“How do they judge us when our officials know that their membership is less than twenty-five percent Communist and yet insist on giving them the blanket name? What must they be thinking when they know that we are aware of their control of major sections of Vietnam and yet we appear ready to allow national elections in which this highly organized political parallel government will have no part? They ask how we can speak of free elections when the Saigon press is censored and controlled by the military junta. And they are surely right to wonder what kind of new government we plan to help form without them -- the only party in real touch with the peasants. They question our political goals and they deny the reality of a peace settlement from which they will be excluded. Their questions are frighteningly relevant. Is our nation planning to build on political myth again and then shore it up with the power of new violence?

“Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence when it helps us to see the enemy's point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic weaknesses of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who are called the opposition.

“So, too, with Hanoi. In the north, where our bombs now pummel the land, and our mines endanger the waterways, we are met by a deep but understandable mistrust. To speak for them is to explain this lack of confidence in Western words, and especially their distrust of American intentions now. In Hanoi are the men who led the nation to independence against the Japanese and the French, the men who sought membership in the French commonwealth and were betrayed by the weakness of Paris and the willfulness of the colonial armies. It was they who led a second struggle against French domination at tremendous costs, and then were persuaded to give up the land they controlled between the thirteenth and seventeenth parallel as a temporary measure at Geneva. After 1954 they watched us conspire with Diem to prevent elections which would have surely brought Ho Chi Minh to power over a united Vietnam, and they realized they had been betrayed again.

“When we ask why they do not leap to negotiate, these things must be remembered. Also it must be clear that the leaders of Hanoi considered the presence of American troops in support of the Diem regime to have been the initial military breach of the Geneva agreements concerning foreign troops, and they remind us that they did not begin to send in any large number of supplies or men until American forces had moved into the tens of thousands.

“Hanoi remembers how our leaders refused to tell us the truth about the earlier North Vietnamese overtures for peace, how the president claimed that none existed when they had clearly been made. Ho Chi Minh has watched as America has spoken of peace and built up its forces, and now he has surely heard of the increasing international rumors of American plans for an invasion of the north. He knows the bombing and shelling and mining we are doing are part of traditional pre-invasion strategy. Perhaps only his sense of humor and of irony can save him when he hears the most powerful nation of the world speaking of aggression as it drops thousands of bombs on a poor weak nation more than eight thousand miles away from its shores.

“At this point I should make it clear that while I have tried in these last few minutes to give a voice to the voiceless on Vietnam and to understand the arguments of those who are called enemy, I am as deeply concerned about our troops there as anything else. For it occurs to me that what we are submitting them to in Vietnam is not simply the brutalizing process that goes on in any war where armies face each other and seek to destroy. We are adding cynicism to the process of death, for they must know after a short period there that none of the things we claim to be fighting for are really involved. Before long they must know that their government has sent them into a struggle among Vietnamese, and the more sophisticated surely realize that we are on the side of the wealthy and the secure while we create hell for the poor.

This Madness Must Cease

“Somehow this madness must cease. We must stop now. I speak as a child of God and brother to the suffering poor of Vietnam. I speak for those whose land is being laid waste, whose homes are being destroyed, whose culture is being subverted. I speak for the poor of America who are paying the double price of smashed hopes at home and death and corruption in Vietnam. I speak as a citizen of the world, for the world as it stands aghast at the path we have taken. I speak as an American to the leaders of my own nation. The great initiative in this war is ours. The initiative to stop it must be ours.

“This is the message of the great Buddhist leaders of Vietnam. Recently one of them wrote these words:

Each day the war goes on the hatred increases in the heart of the Vietnamese and in the hearts of those of humanitarian instinct. The Americans are forcing even their friends into becoming their enemies. It is curious that the Americans, who calculate so carefully on the possibilities of military victory, do not realize that in the process they are incurring deep psychological and political defeat. The image of America will never again be the image of revolution, freedom and democracy, but the image of violence and militarism.

“If we continue, there will be no doubt in my mind and in the mind of the world that we have no honorable intentions in Vietnam. It will become clear that our minimal expectation is to occupy it as an American colony and men will not refrain from thinking that our maximum hope is to goad China into a war so that we may bomb her nuclear installations. If we do not stop our war against the people of Vietnam immediately the world will be left with no other alternative than to see this as some horribly clumsy and deadly game we have decided to play.

“The world now demands a maturity of America that we may not be able to achieve. It demands that we admit that we have been wrong from the beginning of our adventure in Vietnam, that we have been detrimental to the life of the Vietnamese people. The situation is one in which we must be ready to turn sharply from our present ways.

“In order to atone for our sins and errors in Vietnam, we should take the initiative in bringing a halt to this tragic war. I would like to suggest five concrete things that our government should do immediately to begin the long and difficult process of extricating ourselves from this nightmarish conflict:

End all bombing in North and South Vietnam.

Declare a unilateral cease-fire in the hope that such action will create the atmosphere for negotiation.

Take immediate steps to prevent other battlegrounds in Southeast Asia by curtailing our military buildup in Thailand and our interference in Laos.

Realistically accept the fact that the National Liberation Front has substantial support in South Vietnam and must thereby play a role in any meaningful negotiations and in any future Vietnam government.

Set a date that we will remove all foreign troops from Vietnam in accordance with the 1954 Geneva agreement.

“Part of our ongoing commitment might well express itself in an offer to grant asylum to any Vietnamese who fears for his life under a new regime which included the Liberation Front. Then we must make what reparations we can for the damage we have done. We most provide the medical aid that is badly needed, making it available in this country if necessary.

Protesting The War

“Meanwhile we in the churches and synagogues have a continuing task while we urge our government to disengage itself from a disgraceful commitment. We must continue to raise our voices if our nation persists in its perverse ways in Vietnam. We must be prepared to match actions with words by seeking out every creative means of protest possible.

“As we counsel young men concerning military service we must clarify for them our nation's role in Vietnam and challenge them with the alternative of conscientious objection. I am pleased to say that this is the path now being chosen by more than seventy students at my own alma mater, Morehouse College, and I recommend it to all who find the American course in Vietnam a dishonorable and unjust one. Moreover I would encourage all ministers of draft age to give up their ministerial exemptions and seek status as conscientious objectors. These are the times for real choices and not false ones. We are at the moment when our lives must be placed on the line if our nation is to survive its own folly. Every man of humane convictions must decide on the protest that best suits his convictions, but we must all protest.

“There is something seductively tempting about stopping there and sending us all off on what in some circles has become a popular crusade against the war in Vietnam. I say we must enter the struggle, but I wish to go on now to say something even more disturbing. The war in Vietnam is but a symptom of a far deeper malady within the American spirit, and if we ignore this sobering reality we will find ourselves organizing clergy- and laymen-concerned committees for the next generation. They will be concerned about Guatemala and Peru. They will be concerned about Thailand and Cambodia. They will be concerned about Mozambique and South Africa. We will be marching for these and a dozen other names and attending rallies without end unless there is a significant and profound change in American life and policy. Such thoughts take us beyond Vietnam, but not beyond our calling as sons of the living God.

“In 1957 a sensitive American official overseas said that it seemed to him that our nation was on the wrong side of a world revolution. During the past ten years we have seen emerge a pattern of suppression which now has justified the presence of U.S. military 'advisers’ in Venezuela. This need to maintain social stability for our investments accounts for the counter-revolutionary action of American forces in Guatemala. It tells why American helicopters are being used against guerrillas in Colombia and why American napalm and green beret forces have already been active against rebels in Peru. It is with such activity in mind that the words of the late John F. Kennedy come back to haunt us. Five years ago he said, 'Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.’

“Increasingly, by choice or by accident, this is the role our nation has taken -- the role of those who make peaceful revolution impossible by refusing to give up the privileges and the pleasures that come from the immense profits of overseas investment.

“I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values. We must rapidly begin the shift from a "thing-oriented" society to a 'person-oriented’ society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

“A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand we are called to play the good Samaritan on life's roadside; but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring. A true revolution of values will soon look uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth. With righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa and South America, only to take the profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the countries, and say: 'This is not just.' It will look at our alliance with the landed gentry of Latin America and say: 'This is not just.' The Western arrogance of feeling that it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from them is not just. A true revolution of values will lay hands on the world order and say of war: 'This way of settling differences is not just.' This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of people normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love. A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.

“America, the richest and most powerful nation in the world, can well lead the way in this revolution of values. There is nothing, except a tragic death wish, to prevent us from reordering our priorities, so that the pursuit of peace will take precedence over the pursuit of war. There is nothing to keep us from molding a recalcitrant status quo with bruised hands until we have fashioned it into a brotherhood.

“This kind of positive revolution of values is our best defense against communism. War is not the answer. Communism will never be defeated by the use of atomic bombs or nuclear weapons. Let us not join those who shout war and through their misguided passions urge the United States to relinquish its participation in the United Nations. These are days which demand wise restraint and calm reasonableness. We must not call everyone a Communist or an appeaser who advocates the seating of Red China in the United Nations and who recognizes that hate and hysteria are not the final answers to the problem of these turbulent days. We must not engage in a negative anti-communism, but rather in a positive thrust for democracy, realizing that our greatest defense against communism is to take offensive action in behalf of justice. We must with positive action seek to remove those conditions of poverty, insecurity and injustice which are the fertile soil in which the seed of communism grows and develops.

The People Are Important

“These are revolutionary times. All over the globe men are revolting against old systems of exploitation and oppression and out of the wombs of a frail world new systems of justice and equality are being born. The shirtless and barefoot people of the land are rising up as never before. 'The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.' We in the West must support these revolutions. It is a sad fact that, because of comfort, complacency, a morbid fear of communism, and our proneness to adjust to injustice, the Western nations that initiated so much of the revolutionary spirit of the modern world have now become the arch anti-revolutionaries. This has driven many to feel that only Marxism has the revolutionary spirit. Therefore, communism is a judgement against our failure to make democracy real and follow through on the revolutions we initiated. Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go out into a sometimes hostile world declaring eternal hostility to poverty, racism, and militarism. With this powerful commitment we shall boldly challenge the status quo and unjust mores and thereby speed the day when 'every valley shall be exalted, and every moutain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight and the rough places plain.'

“A genuine revolution of values means in the final analysis that our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Every nation must now develop an overriding loyalty to mankind as a whole in order to preserve the best in their individual societies.

“This call for a world-wide fellowship that lifts neighborly concern beyond one's tribe, race, class and nation is in reality a call for an all-embracing and unconditional love for all men. This oft misunderstood and misinterpreted concept -- so readily dismissed by the Nietzsches of the world as a weak and cowardly force -- has now become an absolute necessity for the survival of man. When I speak of love I am not speaking of some sentimental and weak response. I am speaking of that force which all of the great religions have seen as the supreme unifying principle of life. Love is somehow the key that unlocks the door which leads to ultimate reality. This Hindu-Moslem-Christian-Jewish-Buddhist belief about ultimate reality is beautifully summed up in the first epistle of Saint John:

Let us love one another; for love is God and everyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love. If we love one another God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.

“Let us hope that this spirit will become the order of the day. We can no longer afford to worship the god of hate or bow before the altar of retaliation. The oceans of history are made turbulent by the ever-rising tides of hate. History is cluttered with the wreckage of nations and individuals that pursued this self-defeating path of hate. As Arnold Toynbee says : 'Love is the ultimate force that makes for the saving choice of life and good against the damning choice of death and evil. Therefore the first hope in our inventory must be the hope that love is going to have the last word.'

“We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked and dejected with a lost opportunity. The 'tide in the affairs of men' does not remain at the flood; it ebbs. We may cry out desperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is deaf to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residue of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: 'Too late.' There is an invisible book of life that faithfully records our vigilance or our neglect. 'The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on...'  We still have a choice today; nonviolent coexistence or violent co-annihilation.

“We must move past indecision to action. We must find new ways to speak for peace in Vietnam and justice throughout the developing world -- a world that borders on our doors. If we do not act we shall surely be dragged down the long dark and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.

“Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter -- but beautiful -- struggle for a new world. This is the calling of the sons of God, and our brothers wait eagerly for our response. Shall we say the odds are too great? Shall we tell them the struggle is too hard? Will our message be that the forces of American life militate against their arrival as full men, and we send our deepest regrets? Or will there be another message, of longing, of hope, of solidarity with their yearnings, of commitment to their cause, whatever the cost? The choice is ours, and though we might prefer it otherwise we must choose in this crucial moment of human history.

“As that noble bard of yesterday, James Russell Lowell, eloquently stated:

Once to every man and nation Comes the moment to decide, In the strife of truth and falsehood, For the good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah, Off'ring each the bloom or blight, And the choice goes by forever Twixt that darkness and that light.

Though the cause of evil prosper, Yet 'tis truth alone is strong; Though her portion be the scaffold, And upon the throne be wrong: Yet that scaffold sways the future, And behind the dim unknown, Standeth God within the shadow Keeping watch above his own.

“And if we will only make the right choice, we will be able to transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of peace. If we will make the right choice, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our world into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. If we will but make the right choice, we will be able to speed up the day, all over America and all over the world, when 'justice will roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.’"

[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #6 (1978)

Is The Secret a story about Cerebus manifesting reality because that's what he winds up doing pretty near constantly, right? Like Elrod and the Regency Elf and the Black Tower and his relationship with Jaka and running a tavern?

I just developed a massive migraine thinking about doing reviews for the Latter Days Woody Allen issues and had to lie down for three weeks. Based on the cover alone, I have no idea which Cerebus story this is. Is it the one where he first meets Jaka and gets drunk on Apricot Brandy? Or is it the one where we learn he's a hermaphrodite and there are three aardvarks? No, no! Probably too soon for that! Dave didn't yet realize he wanted smart and interesting people reading his comic book; he was just looking for us fantasy loving fools hoping for some chainmail bikini side boob with a little black and white barbarian battle gore to go with it. Although for people wanting side boob and gore that was also in color, there was a better option out there: the four collected Elfquest volumes. Especially Volume Four! Elf orgy, baby! Skywise dicks like five elf maidens at once! Although how that's possible, I don't know. It should have been Nightfall taking five elf cocks at once. Maybe six. They're small! Deni announces in the "A Note from the Publisher" bit that she and Dave are getting married! Is that exciting enough for an exclamation point even though we know it ends in tragedy? Is divorce a tragedy? Probably not on the scale of, say, the sinking of the Titanic. But then again, was that really a tragedy? I know a lot of poor people died but don't forget a lot of robber barons did too! If there had been a Schoolhouse Rock song about Astor and Guggenheim and Straus drowning when the Titanic sunk, it probably would have been my favorite Schoolhouse Rock song. The chorus (and maybe title!) would have been about Archibald Butt and, sadly, that, as opposed to the "Eat the Rich" theme, is probably why I would have liked it so much. In Dave Sim's Swords of Cerebus essay, he explains how he came up with Jaka. She represented every girl Dave ever had an unrequited crush on. Not that he knew the crush was expressly unrequited since he never actually spoke to any of the girls he had a crush on. He decided stalking was easier. I get it! That's exactly how somebody who thinks women as objects is a much more attractive package than a woman who can express their own agency and beliefs! Dammit. That last statement hurt my feelings because I also had a problem expressing my feelings toward the ladies. Although that time Marilyn Mendoza came up to me in the library and said, "I hate being stared at," I did stop staring at her! It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life but I stopped! I didn't stop obsessing about her and wishing we could do whatever it was two people in love did to each other (hold hands and drink milkshakes out of one straw while staring in each others' eyes?). Eventually she, apparently, couldn't take not being stared at anymore so she began talking to me again. She also slipped me a note that said, "I love you anyways," and she tried to give me one of her school pictures unsolicited and she convinced her friends to take the phys ed class I was in and she asked for the rose I had on my desk that I was going to give her for her birthday but had chickened out giving it to her. And if that doesn't convince you that by not staring at her, I won her affection because you're a cynical jerk who still thinks the rom-coms where the guy wins the girl through sheer determination is a pox on society (which, I mean, it kind of is but that admission goes against my real life experience I'm relating), this is what she wrote in my 9th grade yearbook:

Sure, it sounds like a 9th grade Yearbook form letter! But check out the kind of jealous shade thrown at Kim and the "Luv ya kid!" up the side!

If you're wondering how I didn't immediately sweep her up in my arms after reading this and declare my undying adolescent love (You know? The kind of undying love that only adolescents can have which, also, dies rather quickly), it's because my friend Sal noticed the "Luv ya kid!" which I had failed to notice. This was halfway through summer and Marilyn wound up going to a different high school than I did. Although Mr. Edwards in my Spanish 2 class called her name for attendance on the first day of 10th grade! Stupid cruel life! After that slight confessional, you'll realize why I was primed for the Cerebus/Jaka will they/won't they drama to come. Cerebus has arrived in Iest and quickly meets a dying man who may or may not have expressed to him The Secret. Judging by the way the guys who were chasing and/or killed him, E'lass and Turg, are fantasizing about a future full of gold crowns, my guess is The Secret is the location of some treasure and not the means to bend the universe to your will simply by desiring shit. They believe Cerebus has learned The Secret so Turg tries to beat it out of him. But as we, the enraptured and attentive readers, have learned from the previous five issues, Cerebus can't be bested in battle. And since force doesn't work like it almost always does 100% of the time which is why America's diplomatic policy is "Don't even tell us your problems because we'd rather just beat the shit out of you until you shut the fuck up," E'lass decides to get Cerebus drunk. People always blab secrets when they're drunk! Which is why I try not to write more than 35% of my reviews while drunk. That way, you can't tell when I'm actually confessing to some gross misconduct I engaged in in my youth or I'm just writing a satirical joke about how reckless and terrible young men are in general.

This scene makes me think of Bill Cosby which makes me think of the Picture Pages song which makes me sad that I can only now sing it as, "Picture pages! Picture pages! Now it's time for Picture Pages! Time to grab your condoms and Rohypnol!"

I'm ignoring the spelling error because I'm above petty gripes. Once Cerebus is drugged, E'lass turns Cerebus' attention to the dancer, Jaka.

Love at first sight of side boob.

Cerebus climbs on stage to watch Jaka dance and nobody cares because he's an animal. Animals can get away with murder around pretty women! They can sniff their crotches and paw at their breasts and put their tongues straight up their noses. It's like, if you're going to scold me for doing it, maybe scold animals for doing it too? Be consistent in your messaging, women! Is it funny and slightly embarrassing when your crotch is sniffed or is it the actions of a sex pest?! Would it help if I wore a dog costume everywhere I went, especially yoga?

I'm going to pretend this doesn't read like a Cerebus getting an erection joke so that I appear more intelligent and sophisticated.

Jaka tells Cerebus he is cute. Jaka also refers to Jaka in the third person exactly like a princess from Palnu wouldn't. But that's what makes her stripping disguise so excellent! What also makes it excellent is that Dave Sim didn't really know who Jaka was yet. Which is fine! It's much harder to come up with a 300 issue story all at once and then remember it and then write it exactly as you conceived it without changing and updating it as you learn and grow with the work. It's much easier to write an off the cuff story about a stripper and a barbarian and unrequited love. It doesn't make it any less entertaining because it wasn't pre-planned. Also, the fun thing about comic books is when a writer takes a story from the past and recontextualizes it. That's why Geoff Johns and Grant Morrison have always been so popular! That's all they fucking do! A brawl breaks out because Cerebus is in a bar. It's the kind of thing that has to happen once the protagonist walks in a bar. And you can even role-play your very own bar brawl in my introductory Places & Predators module, "Welcome to Poorchaghoul!" While Cerebus is distracted by the brawl, E'lass and Turg go backstage to threaten Jaka. If she doesn't get The Secret from Cerebus, they'll make sure she never dances again. So that's how the Cirinists eventually take over Iest! Jaka decides not to help them and instead of breaking her legs like the reader assumes their threat means, they bring in the Cirinist matriarchy to take over and outlaw dancing! They're so clever! Jaka lies to Cerebus and tells Cerebus E'lass and Turg will kill her if she doesn't help them. But that's not what they said at all! Oh, those wily women and their words and sex appeal! Cerebus, desperate to drink apricot brandy out of one of Jaka's orifices (is the belly button an orifice or is it more of a scar? Let me check the dictionary definition: "an opening, as of a pipe or tube, or one in the body, such as a nostril or the anus." Woah, dictionary! You couldn't have chosen a different second example?!), beats the shit out of E'lass. After that, things get sexy (if you're into woman-on-animal action).

Unbeknownst to Cerebus, rich is the last thing Jake wants to be again. Her dream is to settle down with a cuck with a Messiah complex while dancing illegally for rent until she gets her boss killed. Now that's the life!

Cerebus lays out his future plans with Jaka once they're rich. You can read about those adventures in Going Home which won't happen for another two hundred or so issues. Because before that happens, Cerebus has to come down from his Rohypnol trip, forget about Jaka, become Prime Minister, remember Jaka, be rude to Jaka, become Pope, lose everything, live as a guest in Rick and Jaka's apartment, travel through space, talk to "God," and finally run a bar and lose all of his friends. While shopping for a present for Jaka, Cerebus sobers up, forgets about Jaka, and decides to get unsober again as quickly as possible. Meanwhile Turg and E'lass get their comeuppance. It's such a great comeuppance that I think they never again appear in Cerebus. I could be wrong but I think they basically get replaced by the more entertaining McGrew Brothers, Dirty Fleagle and Dirty Drew. Cerebus runs into Jaka one final time but doesn't remember her.

Deni said this final page was her wedding present from Dave.

In "A Note from the Publisher," Deni writes, "This issue is special to me in that the ending is my wedding present from Dave. No joke!! It's different and when you read it, I think you'll understand." Dave, in his essay, writes, "I can remember trying to come up with the ending for a few days. I knew that Cerebus would have to snap out of it eventually. It was at that point that I realized the essence of the problem. I had been thinking of Cerebus' point of view of the situation, but I hadn't stopped to consider how Jaka was reacting to him." So Deni's wedding present from Dave Sim was to give a female character in his book a point of view? To give her agency? To show her as not an object of Cerebus' lust but as a human being with feelings of her own? Nice one! And it was cheap! This month's Aardvark Comment contains a letter from Elric creator Michael Moorcock! Holy smokaroonies! He was entertained by Elrod but just wanted to point out that Elrod looked nothing like Elric based on Moorcock's writing. It was really based on an artist's rendition of another artist's rendition of Elric and the first rendition wasn't based on any written description at all! I have a vague memory of reading the Elric books and referring to the cover and thinking, "Is that supposed to be Elric? Weird." This issue begins the one page of reader art that Sim pays $150.00 for. This one is of a kid doing art while his "lacks discipline" report card lies at his feet. I think Dave Sim might have screwed up this first one because there's no attribution other than the artist's signature which you can't really make out. I'm sure he'll correct that next issue since he made a correction from the previous issue here: he added the rest of the Swords of Cerebus essay that was missing last issue. Cerebus #6 Rating: A-. This is a solid effort and begins to really show Sim's plotting ability and narrative control. It's got a lot of good jokes in it as well, both in dialogue and slapstick forms. One thing I haven't mentioned is just how good Dave Sim is at slapstick. It might seem like the easiest humor to work into a comic book but it takes some really well-crafted writing and careful planning of action across panels which not a lot of writers and artists can pull off. It really helps that Dave's doing both so that one or the other job isn't the cause of it all falling apart. Also, it was Jaka's first appearance!

[bluboothalassophile]

Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler

There was one thing, one really important thing, Duke had learned from having a family like the Bats: Life Was Short, So Live It Like It Was Your Last Day Every Day.

With that philosophy in mind, because while it was a grim, honest philosophy, it was the only thing which was propping him up with the courage to do this.

Duke could sit here all day and point out the reasons that he should do this, mainly he wasn’t his brothers. But a talk with Jason, last night on patrol after Jason had taken a bullet for him had changed his mind. Dick and Kori were dead. Tammy was about to be pulled off life support. And… life was short, and Duke didn’t want to die not knowing if he even really had a shot with the most amazing, beautiful, smart, funny girl he had met. He didn’t want to be like Jason, Duke didn’t want to love his best friend and never know if he even had a shot. He had asked her out this morning.

Which was what brought him to right this minute as he lifted his hand and hesitantly knocked on the door.

The dorm was grimy, used, lived in. The door, the ominous door; he’d busted in one that was bigger last night with Jason when they’d been hunting down a dangerous killer; a man who killed kids. Shaking the grim thoughts from his head he watched the door open. She smiled brightly, her hair pulled up, the many braids were elegantly pulled up in a twist, her gold clips were lovely, he thought her the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

“Hey!” she stopped out, into the hall, shutting the door. He noted her white big scarf, the lovely grey sweater, a yellow jacket, her black jeans, and the black boots. She looked like a goddess; and he could say that after having met a few goddesses. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he smiled as he offered her his arm.

“Duke?”

“I have an older brother and grandfather who’d kick my butt if I wasn’t a gentleman, a perfect gentleman,” he smiled charmingly.

“It’s archaic!” she said taking his arm.

“No, it’s manners, and my mama would insist I use them,” he corrected.

“Fine, but I’m getting the doors,” she decided.

“Nope, I promised to be a perfect gentleman,” he countered.

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes as she smiled good naturedly.

“So, where are we going on this mystery date!?” she asked with a light tone and a happy smile, her amber eyes were glinting in anticipation.

“Coffee, with some live music, I found a hole in the wall book café.” He admitted, grabbing the door before she could, and she walked through before they linked arms again. Jason had actually told him about it, but a little white lie for good coffee and good music weren’t a crime.

“Sounds lovely,” she smiled. “So… done any of the clubs sign ups or sports teams?” she asked.

“I was looking to join a club, but I just can’t see the time, and I am on a team, the Princeton Rowing Teaming,” he smirked.

“How did I not know this!?” she sputtered.

“‘Cause no one pays attention to rowing, what about you? Any clubs or sports?”

“Sports are out, because… you know,” she giggled mischievously with a delicate shrug. He laughed, Naomi McDuffie could lift a building, throw and asteroid, punch a crater in the earth, he guessed sports wouldn’t have the same thrill if it was a fight to be normal. “Instead I joined Spoon and Tiger Magazine,” she smiled happily.

“Damn, you’re busy,” he chuckled.

“Well, I figured those would be fun compared to my actual journalism courses,” she defended.

“Those must be terribly dry,” he decided in mock humor. She laughed as she leaned on him a bit.

“And what about you?”

“History and the Practice of Diplomacy and Translation and Intercultural Communication,” he answered.

“But you’re a…”

“I’m the middle child of an insanely large family, and feel that I want to make a difference, a real difference, in my personal and hero life. Also, there’s some jazz studies, cause its music my mama loved,” he smiled. “I hope to work for the State Department.”

“You want to be a politian?”she grimaced in obvious distaste.

“No, no I do not. I want to help people, actually do something to help people, and after many talks with my brothers, and family, I think working for the State Department will offer me that opportunity best,” he said. “And you?”

“I want to tell the truth, not enough people have access to the truth, I mean, there’s so much the world doesn’t know with other countries having blocks on media and what the people can and cannot hear about. America is great, because we can tell the truth, and I want to do that. I want to be an investigative reporter, and I want to help people get the truth.”

“Ah, so you want to be like Uncle C!” he smiled as they made it to their café.

“Yes, but I want to be like Lois Lane,” she smiled.

“Wise, Lois is formidable, but I can put in a word for you,” he offered.

“I…”

“Look, she’s family, of sorts, giving her your number isn’t me doing the work for you, you’ll have to prove yourself to her, this is just me introducing you to connections you might not make otherwise.”

“Alright, but no pushing it, if she says no, she says no.”

“Agreed.” As he grabbed the door and they joined the small line.

“Ooo! They have Raspberry Escargot! You HAVE to try this, it’s amazing!” she gasped stared at the pastry case.

“You’re competing with Gateau a L’Orange, but I’ll have a bite of yours if you try a bite of mine. They make it like my granmè, not even Alfie or Jay can make it this good!”

“Isn’t that a desert?”

“Aren’t all pastries?” he challenged with a wicked smile.

“No, no they are not, but I don’t even care because I’m hungry and I miss Raspberry Escargot so much I nearly cried the other night craving it and not finding it.”

“Fair,” he agreed.

They placed their order, with a brief battle of who was paying at the register. He won, but she paid the tip; they took a seat near the window.

“You said granme?” she said with a questioning look as she put her bag down.

“Granmè,” he corrected with a thick accent.

“You speak French!?” she smiled.

Dropping into his old accent with ease he smiled. “Non, non, non, cheri, mwen pale kreyòl! Kreyòl Ayisyen, ki diferan de kreyòl Lwizyana. Ak diferan de franse.”

“Whoa, I have no idea what you said, but that was the prettiest thing I have ever heard,” she blinked at him with large amber eyes. “Where’d you learn that?”

“My family is from Haiti, or was, we were refugees of Hurricane Georges back in ‘98,” he said. “I didn’t speak English until I was eight and going to school, and then it was poor. My mama tutored me. I still speak Creole, Jay’s the only other one of the family that does so I’m not out of practice. The rest of the time I speak French or Spanish with the family, David used to only speak French.”

“That’s way cooler than being an orphan from another dimension,” she decided.

He chuckled as their orders were called out. Getting up he went to get their food and drinks, picking up napkins, and utensils as he walked back, he evaded a grumpy looking customer and put their food down at the table.

“Thank you,” Naomi smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

“You know, having a gentleman isn’t bad, my last date was not a gentleman,” she said as she started in on the Raspberry Escargot.”

“Then you were wasted on a fool,” he decided as he slowly started in on the Gateau a L’Orange, he nearly moaned in delight. It tasted like old memories, good times, and just as his granmè would make it.

“If you could travel anywhere, where would it be?” Naomi prompted.

“New Orleans,” he answered without hesitation.

“Really?”

“Wi.”

“Why?”

“The music, the food, the history, the vodou.” He said. “Laissez les bon temps rouler!”

“Really? The voodoo?”

“No, vodou,” he corrected. “And yes, my granmè was a big believer, it’s all familiar.”

“You believe in that?”

“I don’t not believe in it,” he decided.

“Okay… why?”

“Well, my big brother’s best friend was an all-powerful, magic wielding demoness, and the JL regularly works with Zatanna and Fate, so while I do not practice or necessarily believe, I have not ruled it out as real,” he said.

“Makes sense, the world’s too weird to rule out anything.” Naomi nodded. “Here, try,” she offered him a bit of her Raspberry Escargot. Taking it, he popped it in his mouth, letting the tart sweetness wash over his taste buds. “Eh! Isn’t it good!?” she asked with a smile and a happy looked.

“Very delicious, here try,” he cut her a bite of his. She stabbed it and took it quickly. He laughed at her delighted expression.

“Dude, I… whoa,” she blinked and stared at his food.

“Pretty good, isn’t it?”

“That’s amazing!” she decided. “Okay, so weird q, but… why don’t you have the cool island accent when you speak English?”

“You mean this accent?” he asked, letting his old accent shine through.

“Yeah! It’s just… it’s warmer than a Gotham accent,” she chuckled.

“I learned English in Gotham, Gotham’s accent is hard not to pick up when you’re learning,” he chuckled.

“Cool!” she grinned broadly. He smiled, this was fun, and nice. “What about you?”

“Nothing cool other than the you know, from my dimension. I don’t even remember my birth parents. But I got lucky, I got an awesome set of parents who love me,” she decided.

“Always awesome to have a family that loves you,” he said.

“Agree,” she mused enthusiastically.

“So, other than being a journalist, what do enjoy doing.”

“Outside of studying my butt off, I like Hulu or Netflix & Chill, because those go together,” she promised. “You.”

“Same,” he chuckled.

“Oh my god! Okay, we got to compare shows!” she decided.

Thus started the great debate of the drastically different tastes in shows. Naomi was in love with This is Us , Brooklyn 99, Black Mirror, Orange is the New Black, and the Twilight Zone.

He was more along the crime shows; and firefighter shows; as it was the only thing the entire family would agree to watch without arguing. He also like the Resident, Chicago Fire, Mind Hunter, the Crown, and Supernatural.

It was about an hour later when his phone buzzed, his alarm for class.

“Oh, this has been an awesome date,” she giggled.

“I wish it didn’t have to end,” he sighed as he picked up their garbage and tossed it. Turning back to Naomi he offered her his hand, she gave him an exasperated look, but accepted it as she was hoisted to her feet, grabbing her small purse. Offering her his elbow again, she slipped her arm in his as he lead her to the door.

“We should do this again,” he said.

“We should,” she smiled.

“Dinner and a movie next time?” he asked.

“Sounds lovely,” she decided.

“Excellent,” he smiled.

“You know, I was not expecting a successful date, there’s always some calamity whenever we hang out, like in Metropolis.”

“To be fair, that was entirely Dami and Tim’s doing,” he defended.

“Oh sure, and Luthor’s baby clone had nothing to do with it,” she snorted.

“Matt is an innocent, devious baby!” he defended.

“He’s a baby!” she defended.

“He’s a member of the family, so he’s devious, it’s in our genetic code even if we are not related.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, our last kidnapper offered to pay us to take Terry and Helena back,” he defended.

“Oh God!” she laughed.

“B’s children, we’re nightmares,” he promised.

She was howling with laughter and leaning heavily on him. “This is fun, I like you Duke. I had an awesome time.”

“Me too, and the world didn’t end!” he grinned.

“So this second date…?”

“Tuesday at seven o’clock sound good?” he asked quickly.

“Sounds… are you stalking me?” she demanded.

“Never, I’m free, Tuesday.”

“Oh, good, so am I,” she smiled.

“Great, Jay told me of this Italian place and he swears it’s to die for.”

“Cool, but I’m not going to some sappy chickflick, so I’ll pick the movie we go to, so as to save you from the humiliation of taking me to something like Last Christmas,” she decided.

“Fair.”

“See you Tuesday, at seven,” she said.

“See you then,” he smiled. He caught her hand and pulled her to him, Naomi looked startled, so he moved slow, leaning over and kissing her lips lightly. She still tasted of raspberries, a small smile was on her lips when he pulled away.

“You call that a kiss Duke?”

“No, I call that a preview of a kiss, see you Tuesday,” he said as she walked into her building. Naomi paused, waved at him before she disappeared into the dorm. He waited a minute for her, then he ran like hell for his class before he could be late.

[blackkudos]

John Donaldson

John Wesley Donaldson (February 20, 1891 – April 14, 1970) was an American baseball pitcher in Pre-Negro league and Negro league baseball. In a career that spanned over 30 years, he played for many different Negro league and semi-professional teams, including the All Nations team and the Kansas City Monarchs. Researchers so far have discovered 667 games in which Donaldson is known to have pitched. Out of those games, Donaldson had over 400 wins and 5,081 strikeouts as a baseball pitcher. According to some sources, he was the greatest pitcher of his era.

Statistics

Researchers have documented most of his career, which stretched from 1908 to 1940. Published totals from local newspaper accounts covering his 30-plus year career provide a glimpse at his prowess on the diamond. Despite what has been found regarding Donaldson's career, over 150 games that Donaldson pitched in state no strikeout game totals, consequently his overall totals are under-reported.

Newspaper coverage of Donaldson games reveal 413 wins and 161 losses and a winning percentage of .737. He also notched 5,081 strikeouts, an ERA of 1.37, and 86 shutouts against all levels of competition. He completed 296 of 322 starts (92%).

Donaldson can be credited with 14 no-hitters, a perfect game, and dozens of one-hitters. He also has two 30 strikeout games, 11 games with more than 25 strikeouts (including two back-to-back 25 strikeout games), 30 games with more than 20 strikeouts, 109 games with more than 15 strikeouts, and a total of 203 double digit strikeout games. Donaldson could also hit well, batting .334 in over 1,800 at bats.

Early years

Donaldson's early career was spent in and around his hometown of Glasgow, Missouri. He played for the Missouri Black Tigers of nearby Higbee, Missouri, in 1908, and subsequently for the Hannaca Blues, an all-black contingent from Glasgow during the 1909-10 seasons.

Tennessee Rats

He pitched for Brown's Tennessee Rats, which were managed by W.A. Brown of Holden, Missouri. The team traveled with a complement called "Brown's Tennessee Minstrels". Together, the group of about 20 players crisscrossed the upper Midwest, playing ball during the day and providing an evening minstrel program for their mostly white ticket buyers.

Donaldson established himself as a stellar pitcher, posting a reported record of 44-3. Known highlights of that season include an 18-inning 31 strikeout game, a 27 strikeout performance and on at least four separate occasions, he whiffed 19.

All Nations

He contracted to pitch for the World's All Nations team based in Des Moines, Iowa, in 1912, for a reported sum of $150 per month. Donaldson went on to star for the team, which included a female player named Carrie Nation, as well as players of several different races. The experiment of an interracial ball club was successful as the All Nations thrived traveling throughout the Midwest and Upper Midwest from 1912 to 1917.

During Donaldson's 1915 season, he struck out an average of 18 batters a game and fanned 30 in a marathon 18-inning contest. Donaldson not only struck out more than 500 batters that season, but did it three years straight. Most of his accomplishments were against semi-professional competition, but Donaldson also did very well in his relatively few contests against highest level professional baseball teams, and there were a number of first-person reports of his talent from such opposing managers and players.

Donaldson and his ball-clubs prior to the organization of the Negro National League in 1920 played ball all year round, both in the Midwest and venues as far west as Los Angeles as far east as Palm Beach, Florida.

In an interview in the Kansas City Call in 1948, J. L. Wilkinson said Donaldson was "one of the greatest pitchers that ever lived, white or black." He also said Donaldson suggested the name "Monarchs" when Wilkinson was preparing a team for the Negro National League in 1920.

Tumultuous times, 1918 to 1920

In 1917, 26-year-old Donaldson registered for the WWI Draft. He lists his current occupation as a baseball player for the Schmelzer's Arms Company of Kansas City, Missouri. He is listed as single, with his mother listed as a dependent.

During the time of World War I, the 1918 flu pandemic and many of the nation's racial unrest such as the Red Summer of 1919, Donaldson was present in many of these same cities during those dates, playing and pitching in some of the United States' most populous cities like Indianapolis, Brooklyn, Detroit, and Chicago. After being in the middle of all that turbulence, Donaldson made his way back to Kansas City, Missouri to play again for J. L. Wilkinson.

Kansas City Monarchs

After World War I, J. L. Wilkinson formed the Kansas City Monarchs in 1920, where the 29-year-old Donaldson worked as a pitcher and center fielder. In fact, it has been reported that Donaldson came up with the name "Monarchs." A Kansas City newspaper even reported that Donaldson would manage the Monarchs, but it appears there was a change in the 11th hour, and José Méndez was chosen as the Monarchs manager. Donaldson played with the Monarchs at different times through much of the 1920s. He also played in at least one pre-season game with the All Nations in 1920, and in 1921.

Donaldson also played part-time with various semi-pro barnstorming teams during this era. However, for at least two years, Donaldson managed and played on the revamped All Nations baseball team, which now served as a way to train, recruit and make money for Wilkinson's "parent club", the Kansas City Monarchs. Players for the All Nations would show up on the roster one week, then appear on the Kansas City Monarchs roster in the next week. Crowds of over 5,000 people sometimes watched these exhibition games, well into the mid-1920s.

Post-Negro league playing career

Perhaps most impressive, Donaldson played in towns in Minnesota, the Dakotas, and Canada, sometimes as the only black player on a small-town semipro team. This was at a time when the Ku Klux Klan was active in the state, and three years after the notorious lynchings of three black circus workers in 1920 in Duluth, Minnesota, Donaldson led a barnstorming troupe into Duluth. Here, he pitched and beat a team of white all-stars from the Iron Range, 6-3.

Donaldson made a comfortable living traveling through rural America, even during the Depression. Like many black barnstormers of the time, Donaldson faced white Major Leaguers and fared well enough to prompt New York Giants manager John McGraw to say, "I think he is the greatest I have ever seen." McGraw is also alleged to have said about Donaldson: "If I could dunk him in calamine lotion, I'd sign him."

Baseball historian Pete Gorton has said that Donaldson's charisma, composure and stellar character were a countermeasure to the deep-seated prejudices of the time, "But I don't want anyone to look at the career of John Donaldson and think 'Oh, here's another poor black ball player exploited by the "Man" or by the times he lived,'" the writer noted. "This is a story of a man who was covered by the media and adored by the fans and had an outstanding career on the baseball diamond."

A May 17, 1928, Letter to the Editor in Melrose, Minnesota tells of one fan's appreciation of watching Donaldson: "Two-thirds of the attendance at Melrose wanted to see Donaldson, the great. They did not come because they wanted to see the Melrose or Scobey ball teams, but they wanted to see Donaldson, the master of base ball."

Donaldson was playing mostly semi-pro ball in the mid- to late-1930s, and by the end of 1939 was asked by Satchel Paige to play again in the Upper Midwest as the star pitcher on the days when Paige wasn't pitching. Local papers reported the 39-year-old Donaldson lacked speed, but that he still had enough experience to "fool the batters." Newspapers and ball players often lied about their age throughout their career, for birth, marriage, and other government records show Donaldson was about 48 years old at the time. Currently, the last known game Donaldson pitched in professionally, was in a 1940 game against the House of David baseball team.

After more than 30 years as a player, Donaldson retired in 1941. Settling in Chicago, some historians believe he worked for the U.S. Postal Service.

He made appearances on the mound in far less serious games, as late as 1949. However, by then Donaldson was in his late 50s.

Major League scout

Although Donaldson never gained the full recognition for his pitching skills during his lifetime and was never admitted into Major League Baseball during his career, he made history by becoming the first full-time black talent scout in the big leagues, for the Chicago White Sox of the American League, in 1949, working into the 1950s. He pursued Willie Mays and Ernie Banks for the team and is credited with the signing of several prominent Negro leaguers of the time, including Bob Boyd and Sam Hairston.

Anecdotes

Research also suggests that Satchel Paige owes much of his style and acumen to Donaldson, whose barnstorming efforts pre-dated Paige's by two decades.

Elden Auker, a former major league pitcher, who had played against Donaldson, related this anecdote when he (Auker) was 95 years old, in 2006: "I played against Donaldson in 1929. I was in college and we played at an Arapaho Indian reservation in Kansas. I pitched against Paige and I won, 2-1. Donaldson played center field. Donaldson got out in center field and squatted like a catcher", Auker related. "The Monarchs had a catcher named Young, and he squatted behind home plate and they played catch from 300 feet. They threw the ball on a line. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it."

Efforts to resurrect his career after his death

At age 60, Donaldson was voted a first-team member of the 1952 Pittsburgh Courier player-voted poll of the Negro leagues best players ever.

Donaldson died of bronchial pneumonia at age 79, in Chicago, and is buried in Burr Oak Cemetery in Alsip, Illinois. in an unmarked grave at the cemetery. In 2004, Jeremy Krock, of Peoria, Illinois, raised enough money for a proper headstone via the Negro Leagues Baseball Grave Marker Project. He started the project with Jimmie Crutchfield and lead to Donaldson, and has continued to more than 20 other unmarked graves.

Donaldson was nominated for a special ballot of pre-Negro leagues candidates for inclusion in baseball's Hall of Fame. A 12-member voting committee, appointed by the Board of Directors and chaired by former Major League Baseball Commissioner Fay Vincent, however, did not choose Donaldson for membership in the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, in a vote in February 2006.

As of 2016, researchers working as a networking team calling themselves "The Donaldson Network", living and working in several states around the United States, have located Donaldson's 5,081 career strikeouts and 413 career wins as a pitcher.

Film footage

Amateur film footage made on August 16, 1925, of Donaldson at a game in Fergus Falls, Minnesota, was uncovered in 2010. Thirty-nine seconds exist. Donaldson faced off that day against Joe Jaeger, who made two relief appearances for the Chicago Cubs in 1920, and advertisements for the game called Donaldson "the colored wonder pitcher."

[1dffexchange]

One Thing Lead to Another

To: Emma @ninetyfovr​

From: Vanessa @halfwaygones​

Summary: Ellie Frost might have a secret crush on Harry Styles, but it’s not like she ever expected him to reciprocate the feeling. In fact, she was completely fine with being alone. Her mom always did say man equal trouble - and Harry Styles should come with a warning sign.

a story about slow burn crushes, trust issues and how a phone switch can bring two people together

O C T O B E R

I have a little bit of a crush on Harry Styles. I was brought to that conclusion on a bright sunny day about a year ago, when I couldn’t stop smiling after he left. I could lie to you about it, as I do to my friend Amy, who asks me about him every two days. But I reckon we should make that clear from the start.

It isn’t like I planned it. I swear it just happened. In fact, if we’re going to blame someone, we should blame him. The guy is just too nice – and handsome – for his own good. Also, it was him who walked into Memory Lane like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had been coming into this very vintage store since he was little and was just making yet another visit.

Let me tell something, he hadn’t. Because if he had, I’d known. And if I knew, I wouldn’t have been taken by surprise and acted like a fool.

Memory Lane is my aunt’s pride and joy. She opened the store when she was thirty years old, with a toddler to care for and no job in sight. Even though I’m not exactly great at sharing my feelings, I’ve always admired her for having the courage to do something by herself, with no guarantee it would work out and, if we’re honest, a very high risk of failure. Fortunately, she was successful and now, twenty years later, she’s thrilled to have me help out on afternoons so she can take care of her grandson, Max (who’s the happiest and cutest child in earth and, also, my godson).

Right. Back to Harry.

What I mean is, if he had been coming in, my aunt would’ve told me. She’s a huge X Factor fan and has known about him since he was on it. Also, Danny Jones from McFLY once came in and she talked about that day for months, repeating over and over again how awesome it was that her store had the same name as one of their songs. I already knew that, as my first concert was one of theirs, so I just pretended to be surprised for as long as I could to keep her enthusiasm going. The point is, she would have raved about it and I would have been prepared.

Instead, on that rainy day in early 2016, I had my nose buried in a book and a pencil pressed hard to my forehead (I know that for sure because that’s what I do when I’m one-hundred percent focused on my studying) for about fifteen minutes before I realized there was someone else in the store. Granted, I only noticed because he cleared his throat to get my attention. When I looked up, he was closer than expected and I was startled for a second, which resulted in a frightened little jump, an oh sound, and my pencil falling on the floor with a loud thud. Harry was too nice to laugh at me, apologizing instead for being too quiet (that’s what I mean when I say nice), and I probably blushed as red as humanly possible. I don’t even think my reaction had anything to do with his celebrity status. No, it was honestly because he was the most gorgeous human being I had ever laid my poor eyes on and, thus, I wasn’t prepared for the impact.

Oblivious to my racing heart, Harry proceeded to ask me if we happened to have any old Rolling Stones tour t-shirts and I could have cried when I told him we didn’t. He didn’t seem too bothered, though, and proceeded to wander around the store, telling me one of his friends had recommended Memory Lane and he was glad they did. I probably muttered something affirmative (which I do not have any memory of) and he found a few knick knacks to buy. That day, he said goodbye with a smile and I probably didn’t say a coherent sentence until the day after.

That was how my little infatuation began and, to be honest, I didn’t even notice until I realized I was looking forward to seeing him again. A few months later, after following him on Instagram and half believing he wouldn’t ever come back, I found a t-shirt from The Rolling Stones 1975’s tour of the americas and saved it religiously anyway, just in case.

With a recent haircut, Harry came back to Memory Lane five months later, when my hope had long died.

I should have known by then, that he keeps coming back when I least expect him to.

&&

Today’s not a good day.

It all started with a pink sweater. I’m not a wear pink on wednesdays kind of girl, but when October 3rd falls on a Wednesday, how can you not make it a thing? Even if only to instagram it and make your little cousin think you’re the coolest (which she definitely already thinks, so I need to keep it up). My baby pink sweater was, then, set to be worn since last week - it was planned, it was decided, it was like the rest of my wardrobe didn’t even exist. So, when I put it on this morning and saw the huge stain on my left sleeve, I wanted to cry. I honestly still don’t know how it got there.

Then, with my red sweater on and ready to leave the flat, my weather app told me the probability of rain was 5%. Now, I think you can agree when I say that’s low - the leave-the-umbrella-home kind of low. Unfortunately, my blonde hair was soaked and sticking to my face before I even got to the subway.

Finally, when I got home from my thesis meeting, more than ready to take a warm bath, the first thing I noticed was Honey - the little puppy I got not even a month ago - hadn’t ran to me. She was not in her grey bed next to the couch (her usual spot) and her food was still in her bowl (a huge warning sign). With my heart threatening to jump out of my chest, I found her curled on my side of bed, whining when she spotted me on the door. Now, maybe she was just having an off day like me, but she hadn’t been acting like her playful self the night before either. With a sigh, I called my aunt and asked if I could take the puppy with me to the store, promising she would behave nicely. If I’m completely honest, I don’t think she was thrilled - but she said yes nevertheless.

¨

Now, a few hours later, I let out a tired breath, thanking God I’m fifteen minutes away from closing up. I’m still in a bit of a mood since this morning, so having to make small talk to each client this afternoon tired me down more than any other day. It also doesn’t help that Memory Lane is now a stopping spot for every damn tourist. Truth is, I only have myself to blame and, even though I normally beam with pride, today it makes me even madder. Between decorating the store in a new style every month and creating the most aesthetically pleasing Instagram for it (it had a few thousand followers within a couple of weeks and they’re still rapidly growing), the number of customers keeps on increasing.

I’m organizing a pile of books in the front when Honey whimpers from the back room where I left her with a toy. She’s been like this all afternoon, so I stop what I’m doing (once more) and go behind the counter, opening up the door that leads to a tiny office and letting her come to me. She takes a few seconds but then decides to come out. Recognizing I’m probably done for the day, I kneel so I can reach my dog properly, petting her head softly. “What’s going on with you, love?” I whisper, letting her crawl into my lap for a cuddle. I let out a giggle, deciding it’s probably better to finish the book pile after closing up for the day anyway.

Needless to say, I’m less than pleased when I hear the door open a few minutes later.

I let them wander around for a bit as I need to recharge enough energy to put yet another smile on my face. Despite feeling irritated towards anything that moves, I’m also feeling worry as I’ve never felt before. This new-found responsibility I have for this tiny being in my lap was overwhelming from the start but seeing her slightly sick is not doing wonders for my well-being either. I just want to go to the vet and put all my worries to rest.

I sigh, rubbing her belly one last time. “C’mon now, I’ll be with you in a second.” I whisper, giving her a little kiss and placing her down. She turns her face slightly to the left as if she’s begging me not to go. 

Damn dog.

It takes all in me to take my eyes off her soft golden hair - I look up, only to see a grinning face peeking through the counter.

“God, you scared me,” I hiss, taking my right hand to my chest. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this!”

“Sorry, sorry” Harry damn Styles chuckles, pausing as I get myself on my feet. Wearing a grey sweater and an orange beanie on his head, he leans on the counter carelessly, as if he’s been in that spot his whole life (while I know for a fact he hasn’t visited us for a few months). He has an amused expression on and, just like that, I feel my heartbeat increase its pace. “I was wondering where you were and then I heard you - I see you finally got yourself a puppy!” He recalls a previous conversation, when I mentioned I was thinking about getting a dog. I smile and we both look at the little one, now sitting and looking up to both of us.

“Yes, I got her a few weeks ago.” I smile, thinking back on the day I took her home with me; my house is a lot less lonely now I have her there with me. “She’s not even three months old. Do you want to meet her?”

“Of course,” Harry drops his phone on the counter and makes his way around it quickly. “What’s her name?”

“Honey.” I grin, kneeling down next to him. “Honey, this is Harry - he’s nice so please don’t bite him.”

Harry laughs and takes her in his arms. Honey immediately lies her head on his leg and closes her eyes, sighing softly when Harry pets her head. “Uh, are you sure she bites?”

“I know it’s hard to believe when she’s like that,” I acknowledge my dog’s perfect behaviour. I blame it on whatever’s bugging her lately, because I know for sure that, on a normal day, she’d be biting on his hand by now. “But lets just say her definition of playing and biting is still a little mixed up. She does like to cuddle in the evenings, though, which is great.”

“I mean, it’s hard to imagine her biting me when she’s like this.” Harry laughs, adjusting himself so he’s sitting with his back to the wall. In this new position, he can face me properly. “Is it like you imagined? You seemed really excited last time we talked.”

“It’s better,” I murmur, adjusting my own back so it hits the wooden door behind me. “She makes great company.”

“I imagine she does.” Harry agrees. “My sister has a cat. She told me it made her house feel more like a home.”

“I agree, especially because I’m here by myself. What ‘bout you? Ever thought of getting a pet?”

“I think about it sometimes,” he answers, dropping his eyes to Honey for a second. “It’d probably be nice. But I travel a lot, it wouldn’t be the best.”

“Oh,” I suddenly remember who I’m talking to. “Yeah.”

I stop there, though, because even though we’re sitting on this floor and he’s petting my dog, I wouldn’t say Harry and I are friends and I certainly don’t feel comfortable in exploring the restrictions his job imposes on him.

He’s always been nice, but we only got talking by his third visit to the store and that was because my aunt was here. I was too startled on his first visit and, then, too shy on his second. But my aunt’s above his charm, so she rapidly pulled him into an hour conversation about his favourite old items to collect, Nick Grimshaw (I told you she’s aware of Harry) and the good things that come from fame. Fortunately, a few minutes in, I broke out of my shell and was able to put my two cents in their discussion, so Harry learned a few things about me too (how I moved to London in 2014 and how I’m studying Interior Design).

My aunt was obviously an ice breaker and, for that, I’m thankful. The fourth time, Harry started the conversation asking me more about my aunt and how the store started; we spent a good half an hour talking about her. By then, I was felt confident enough to ask him how he had been doing – he was on tour (in fact, he had done a show in London the night before) and he was tired, but it was all good. He returned the favour and I told him the course was doing my head in but it’d all be fine. His last visit had been three months ago. After I broke out of my shell again, we had chatted about the tv series we’d been watching and I mentioned my desire to have a puppy.

So, yes, we’ve had conversations about life in general, but we aren’t friends.

“Anyway,” I change the subject; after all, my aunt doesn’t pay me to sit on the floor with the customers. “I’m sure you didn’t come in just to meet my puppy. What’re you looking for today?”

“Hm, I was just passing by and decided to look around.” He gets himself up, with Honey now curled up in his arm, and shows me what he brought to the counter. I didn’t even notice he had something else with him. “You outdid yourself this time, Ellie.”

“Oh, I see you’ve found it!” I grin, looking at the Stevie Nicks shirt I saved up two weeks after he last visited. We kind of have a secret hiding place, where I put the stuff I save him and he goes there to find them (my aunt probably knows about it too, but since it technically is still up for sale, she hasn’t said anything). “It’s got a few holes on it, but I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“You were right, I don’t.” He states, examining it for a few seconds. I can see his dimple and it’s actually improving my mood a little. “I really thought I was going to catch you off guard!”

“Truth is, I wasn’t expecting you for another few months,” I agree. “but I also like to be prepared. It’s been there for a while now.”

“Thank you.” I smile back at him when he curls his lips upwards. He drops the shirt on the counter again, still admiring it. “This is really great.”

“No need to thank me.” I shrug with ease. “My aunt, however, should give me a raise. I keep making the customers happy.”

“Oh, you do this for everyone, then?”

He’s teasing. I know he is. I roll my eyes and grin, but I also think I’m blushing a little and I hope to God he doesn’t notice. “Don’t be jealous, Harry.”

“To think I believed I was special.” Harry snickers, bending down his head to whisper something to Honey. I can’t catch exactly what he says, but it sounds a lot like “We both know she’s lying, don’t we?”.

“Nope, this store is full of hiding spots. That’s the main job here, keeping track of which is which.” I tease and he gets it, because he shakes his head and laughs.

I realize I keep smiling when he turns around and wanders around the store, one arm with Honey in it and a finger pickering on his lower lip. I decide I better make myself useful and go towards the book pile I was arranging before.

“My friend sent me your Instagram a while ago,” Harry comments from his spot, where he is admiring a decorative bicycle. “I had already noticed the store’s layout is always different, but I didn’t realize you guys do it monthly. Is it you?”

“Yeah,” I look up, catching his eye. “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Is it not anymore, then?”

I shrug. Truth be told, I love this store like it is my own but it’s hard to come up with new layouts every month when you have a considerable amount of course work to do. “It’s still exciting but it’s not as easy to conciliate with school as it was before. It’ll be even harder when I start my internship next year.”

“I’m sure Elena will understand.” He refers to my aunt. “If it means anything, you’re doing a great job. It definitely keeps people interested.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

“I was talking to my friend the other day and we both agree this is one of the best vintage stores in London,” He adds. “Your aunt just has the best eye.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that on.” I nod, agreeing with his point.

“She once told me she makes a lot of buying trips, does she still do that?”

I nod. “Yeah, she’ll just look out for the most random stuff and bring it back to England.”

“That’s so cool.”

Honey whimpers on his arms, interrupting our conversation, and I bite my lip, immediately feeling my lips turn into a frown. Harry looks down at her and then looks at me. “I don’t think she’s been feeling alright today.” I offer with a sad smile. “Might have to visit the vet, actually.”

He looks down at his watch quickly. “Is it still open?”

“It closes at eight. It’s not even seven yet, right?” I confirm the time on my phone. I realize there’s two white iPhones with pink cases on the counter and I bring mine a little to the side (I also smile because hey, we both have great taste).

“It’s past your closing time, isn’t it? ’m the worst.” He seems to decide he won’t look for anything else this evening, coming back towards the counter and handing me the t-shirt. “I’ll take this, then. I’ll come back another day for more.”

“You can look around now, I don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. You have to go check out what’s happening with this little babe,” I accept Honey when he hands her over to me so he can find his wallet. “That’s the priority here.”

“I do.” I keep her in my arms and give Harry his bag, making sure I don’t need to give him any change. “Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he nods to the bag, a smile on his face. “Well, I’m staying in England for a bit so I’ll see you soon, Ellie.” He pets Honey on her forehead on last time and goes to the door. “Oh, bye Honey.” He turns as if he can’t believe he forgot the other being in the room, waving slightly.

“Bye Harry.” I say in a weird voice, saying goodbye with Honey’s paw.

Harry laughs before closing the door behind him.

¨

I know something’s wrong when my thumb doesn’t immediately unlock my phone after I finish tidying everything up. I’m distracted with Honey, though, so it takes me an extra couple of seconds to realize the screensaver I’m looking at isn’t mine. Instead of the picture I took last Sunday of my puppy with a cute pink bandana on, I’m staring at Harry Styles holding a baby.

My mind goes blank for a second before realization hits me - Harry just took the wrong phone.

I press my thumb again, as if this phone will miraculously turn back into mine. What does one do in this situation? I run towards the front door, even though Harry has been gone for, at least, fifteen minutes. I look to both sides of the street, looking for a black Range Rover (he had been driving one last time I saw him). Unsurprisingly, I don’t see anything, so I go back inside.

The phone is locked, but I can see he has his data turned on, so I try calling Siri out and, fortunately, she responds. Unlike all the other times I’ve talked to Siri, I go straight to business. I don’t remember if Siri calls a number if you dictate it, but I try it anyway and, within seconds, I’m ringing myself.

I wait for a few seconds before someone picks up. “’ello?” It’s him.

“Harry?” I grab the phone with both hands. “Uh, it’s Ellie, from Memory Lane!” I add, just in case he needs the reference. “I think- I think we just switched phones?”

“We did?” He seems confused. He probably didn’t use his phone until now, and he wouldn’t have notice he has the wrong phone with an incoming call since I never changed the iPhone’s predefined ringtone.

“I noticed we had the same case earlier so I moved my phone closer to the cash register but, uh, I guess you didn’t notice and grabbed mine instead of yours.” I try to explain, even though he might think I did it on purpose. I mean, could he think that? Did he know me enough to know I would never do something like that? “I was going to call the vet and noticed this wasn’t my screensaver.”

“I have two phones, I use the pink one for work stuff – I was talking to a producer when I came into the store.” I think he’s relieving his steps as a way of understanding how this could have happened. “How are you calling me- well, I mean, you, right now?”

“I used Siri to call my number.” I explain. “Smart, eh?”

He laughs. “Indeed. I guess you need your phone back?”

I’m nodding even though he can’t see me. “Please tell me you’re still close?”

He pauses and I just know he’s not anywhere near Memory Lane anymore. “Actually… I’m heading home to Holmes Chapel for a week or two.” What? I try to conceal my feelings, but I swear he notices a change in my breathing because he rushes to calm me. “I could drive back but I still have three hours to go, mum would probably be asleep by the time I got there.” He seems to stop to think while I nervously bite my nails. “Hm, would you mind using mine for a bit, maybe?”

“But- what about you?”

“I have two, I won’t need that one. I’ll keep yours safely and, since I’m the one halfway to Manchester now, you’ll use mine? Does that sound okay to you?”

“I mean… that’s fine, yeah, but- are you sure you’re okay with me going through your phone? I mean, ‘m not going to snoop around but I’d still be using it.”

“I have some pictures in there and, yeah, some song ideas… hm, I think the apps are locked for precaution.” He makes a pause, as if he’s just now thinking of the implications that come from me using his phone. “I’ll ask you not to listen. But I believe I know you enough to know you won’t be selling those to tabloids, even if you do listen to them. So, do you want my passcode or not?”

“Are you sure?” I ask again because this phone suddenly feels like it weights five extra pounds. “I can drive up there to get mine, if you want.”

“You’re insane,” he shuts my idea down right away. “That’d take you all night. You’re going to put my passcode in, call your vet and use my phone for a few days, alright?”

I consider asking again if he’s sure, but I need the phone and he doesn’t seem keen on turning back to sort this all out. So I hang up and type the four zeros he tells me to. I’m met with yet another picture, this time of a crowd.

I sigh, hoping to God Amy does not text me before I do. She asks on a daily basis if Harry’s come over and, even though I laugh each time and tell her to bugger off, I don’t want him to see that. Then again, I also don’t want Amy to know I have Harry’s phone as she would make it a thing.

I don’t want this to be a thing.

So, I cross my fingers and hope for the best.

&&

I’m snuggled up on my couch with Honey’s nose on my neck when the phone buzzes on the coffee table where I deliberately put it. I decided over dinner that distance was best. Even though I logged off his Whatsapp without even a little glimpse at any of his conversations (and, let me tell you, he had been talking to Chris Martin that morning), as well as his Instagram and e-mail, and switched them all up to mine, there’s still some dangerous stuff on that device I’m not ready to see.

For instance, the gallery. Eventually, I’ll have to take a photo and, then, go to the album to see it. The thing is, I’m afraid there’ll be all kinds of personal photos. So right now, distance is best. It’s cute to have a crush when you don’t know the person; it gets weird when you suddenly are close to them.

Except now it’s buzzing and I have to check if it��s something important. Honey’s asleep on me so I try not to move too much while I gather it from the white surface.

Hiiiii, did you make it to the vet? - H

Now, the plan was to get away from him. Not to start texting. I look up to the ceiling as if asking God why is this happening to me. He could test me all He wanted, though, because when I make my mind up, I generally act accordingly – and this crush on Harry has to end tonight.

Hi. Yes, I have! It’s an otitis in a very early stage, she’ll be fine in a few days

That’s great! You must be relieved, uh?

Yes!!

Did I look as worried as I felt?

Probably more, I thought you were gonna start crying when she cried

I’m sorry

She’s like my baby, i can’t deal with her being sick

Hopefully she’ll be fine soon

The vet said to give it a week max

You got home safe, then?

Yeah, thanks. Just sitting with my mom now

That must be nice!

Def feels good to be back for a bit

A friend of yours texted you earlier

Do you want me to turn your phone off?

Amy? I type as I close my eyes in fear.

That’s her

She asked “Did he come in today?”

Oh, I’m sorry

Turn the phone off please

Now

Hahaha ok, it’s done

So… was that important?

Were you waiting for someone?

No, not really

Anyway, I’m going to bed now

g’night harry!

Night Ellie x

&&

I’m watching last night’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy when the phone buzzes next to me. Honey lifts her head slightly, eyeing me before giving up and going back to resting it on my leg. She’s much better now, which makes me much more relaxed to leave her alone when I go to work.

I already suspect it to be Harry, since he’s been texting me every day. Initially, he’d ask me about Honey and then the conversation progressed from that. However, it has been a week and yesterday I told him she was biting me every morning which had to mean she was completely fine so, today, he opted to ask if my thesis had been delivered on time (I’ve been stressing during the past week and it inevitably came up during our conversations) and then we talked during the day about what we were doing (he was basically living on his mom’s couch while I made small talk with foreign customers).

I don’t expect him to send two pictures, though. I zoom in the first, trying to make sense of the scrabble board I’m seeing. It was obviously taken in a second so no one would notice and I can see two blurry arms I bet belong to his mother and a hand full of rings that, judging by the perfectly manicured nails, also belongs to a woman. The second photo, naturally, are his remaining letters. They come with a Help me!!!! underneath.

I can practically hear him scream it and I let out a laugh. Honey lifts her head again and looks up at me. “Don’t look at me like that.” I eye her, petting her head for a second as I think how am I supposed to help my new found friend.

QUETZALS, I finally offer a word. If anyone asks, it’s the national bird of Guatemala

Thx

You’re a genius

No, i simply know how to use the internet

But thanks

I’m flattered you decided to ask me instead of googling it

Do you think i’m that smart?

Smarter than me yeah

You wrote sign of the times, that’s pretty smart

Ahh, thanks

Didn’t know you listened to any of my songs

Eh, just that one really

Liar

I caught you and now you don’t want to admit it

Excuse me

You haven’t ‘caught me’, i TOLD you

Also, focus on your game

I already won

My sister’s fuming

I love it

Ahahah, you’re something else, Styles

Thank you?

&&

It’s been two weeks since we’ve swapped phones. Harry texted this morning informing me he left Holmes Chapel, bringing my phone with him (which comes in handy since I’ve ran out of excuses on why I can only speak with my mom via Whatsapp and Facebook).

It’s ten to six p.m. and Harry’s nowhere to be seen. I look at my watch and sigh. I’ve been at Memory Lane since this morning and I’m dying to get out for fresh air. I’ve cleaned all that I had to clean and organized all that was out of place. I’m ready to go, but I can’t because he’s yet to make an appearance.

My aunt said I was in a weird mood this morning. I didn’t want to agree with her, but the truth is I’m finding it hard to cope with the stress that rushed over me when I delivered my course thesis last week. I’m an over-thinker, so all I do while at home is think about its presentation and how my upcoming internship is going to be like. That’s why I came in earlier to the store today (and why I’ll probably come tomorrow).

I’m applying my ‘oh yeah’ chapstick as my lips are slightly chapped due to the cold weather outside (though the slogan is ‘your daily dose of happiness’, so I’m also counting on that), when Harry decides to walk in.

“Hi!” he grins as soon as he spots me. His eyes linger for an extra second on the melon chapstick in my hand and then on my lips, settling for my light eyes as he steps towards me with open arms. I accept the quick hug he offers, noticing for the first time just how close in height we are. “All good?”

“Yes,” I nod as I take a step back. Before we go any further, however, I immediately hold out my hand suggestively. “Now, give me my phone back.”

“Jeez,” He laughs. “For a second I thought you were happy to see me.”

“I am! But I’m also dying to have my own apps and pictures back!”

“Here.” He takes it from his jacket’s pocket and places it on my open palm. “Now, mine.”

I run to the counter and give him his. “I’ve deleted all the pictures I took after I e-mailed them to me. Which were majorly of Honey so it’s really your loss.”

“There’s no doubt there.” I grin, turning my phone on as he talks. I think he’s doing the same until I notice him moving to the side, “Can I have a look around?”

“Of course,” I nod. “I think I’m going to close up anyway, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He’s looking at a few books as I turn the open sign to closed. Then, I go up to the counter and hop on it, scrolling through Honey’s photos from the last month. Sometimes I like to go through them because she was the cutest puppy when I got her. I remember a few minutes later to check on the few texts I received before I could let people know not to text me. However, I want to dig a hole and bury myself in there when I read the very first one: Amy’s text from October 3rd.

She didn’t ask me if he had come in. She texted if Harry had come in.

He read that.

I still don’t know what to do when he materializes in front of me.

“Everything alright?” I want to slap the cute frown from his face. That probably wouldn’t make me feel better but if he hadn’t lied to me, I would have sorted this mess out two weeks ago, from a distance.

“Yes, yes,” I desperately try to think of something to get his focus off of me, as I’m probably as red as an eight year old’s cheeks after being left alone with their mother’s blush. “Uh, you’re not going to look in your spot?”

He looks confused for a bit but decides to overlook my sudden nervousness. “I thought you didn’t have time to get me anything, I was trying to make you a favour!”

“I told you I like to be prepared!” I hop off the counter, almost falling on top of him on the process. He holds his hands out but I walk right past them. “I feel like this one is a big risk, though, so you can tell me the truth.”

Instead of answering me, he walks right to the corner of the store and gets on one knee to open up the desk door (my aunt will never sell that desk as she loves it so much, so I knew that was the safest thing to hide Harry’s stuff in).

“It barely fit there.” I comment as he takes the old vinyl player out. “The previous owner told us it still works, but I think it’s pretty cool even if you use it as a piece of decoration.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to lose you next January,” Harry jokes after a moment, even though I think he’s only half joking. He knows I’m going to start my internship and my hours at Memory Lane are going to drop enormously. “Look what I’m gonna be losing!”

“I’ll still be in on weekends, probably. I’ll keep hiding the good stuff and you’ll find them eventually – you just won’t see me.” I shrug. “I’ll tell you something, I almost stole that one for me.”

“Oh?” He seems surprised. “You can have it, if you want.”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “I have two already – a vintage one I got from my grandad and a recent one. That’s why I thought I’d save it for the next best person. You.”

“Aw, thank you.” He smiles big. “Also, going back to what you said - we’re friends now, so I don’t need to come up here to see you anymore. Right?” He asks as he takes the record player to the counter.

I open my mouth to say yes but I end up nodding instead. Two weeks ago, I was hoping he’d come in before January so I could see him one last time and kiss my crush goodbye. Now, an accidental phone swap after, we’re friends (and I still need to kiss that crush goodbye, preferably as quickly as possible).

I close up the cash register once he’s paid. “Do you, hm, want to grab a coffee, maybe?”

A part of me thinks I’ve heard him wrong, so I turn my head to face him. He’s now holding the record player effortlessly, his eyes locked on me as he waits for my answer. My mind goes back to that text and I wonder why he’s asking me out, or even calling me a friend. Still, I don’t feel like going home when I can spend more time with him.

“Yeah, sure.” I put the jacket on and grab my handbag. “Go ahead, I have to turn off the lights.” He does what I tell him, waiting by the door until I get there and lock everything up. “Where do you want to go?”

“My car, for starters. I need to put this bad boy on my trunk.”

“That makes sense.”

I walk behind him as he crosses the street to get to a grey Audi parked a few meters down. “Damn it, I can’t get the key while holding this.”

“Do you have them in your pocket?” I offer my help, signalling to his jacket’s left pocket (where I saw him put his wallet). “This one?” I sign to the right one when he shakes his head.

“Uh, my jeans.”

I swallow before I drag my eyes to his own. He doesn’t look bothered. In fact, he turns a little so I can access his bottom better. I’m probably two shades darker when I lift his (heavy) jacket and dig his keys out as swiftly as I can.

I mean, I barely touched his butt.

“Open the truck, please.” I do as I’m told while pretending he can’t notice my flamed cheeks. It’s a curse I’ve had to deal with since I was a child but I don’t think it’ll ever stop being awkward, so I use my long hair as a sort of shield. Within a minute, his hands are free and he’s taken the keys from my hands. “So, where do you want to go?”

“You choose.”

We let a comfortable silence settle as we walk side by side on the sidewalk. I point to two coffee shops but Harry shakes his head both times, so we end up walking for about ten minutes. I don’t know if he has a specific one in mind or if he’s just looking for a quiet space, but I’m enjoying the company so I don’t complain.

I’m thinking how I’m feeling much better since he’s appeared on the store when Harry suddenly holds my arm and points to the other side of the road. We both cross the street and I sigh when we’re taken by the warmth of the coffee shop he’s chosen.

“I made you walk quite a bit in the cold.” Even though he’s grinning, I can see the apology. “There’s just too many people everywhere.”

“That usually happens in London, yes.” I grin as I follow him to a booth in the back. “I get it, though. It’s fine.”

“Thank you.”

A waitress comes to us and I order a hot chocolate and a muffin, while Harry asks for a water.

“Didn’t you ask me out for coffee?”

“Didn’t you order a hot chocolate?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” I explain. “But hot chocolate’s acceptable. Water? Not so much.”

“Hey, don’t bully me!”

“I’m not bullying you. But I can’t believe you just asked for water.”

“Be nice to me!”

“I’m not being mean!” I laugh and he opens a big smile, shaking his head as if I’m being impossible. “Alright, let’s move on.”

“So, how’s Honey?”

“She’s great, I took her for a little walk this morning and she jumped in all the leaves she could find.”

The waiter comes back with our requests and I eagerly accept my hot chocolate. I’m sipping to test the temperature when I notice he has his phone directed up at my face. “What’re you doing?”

“I like to have pictures in my contacts,” he shrugs, turning his phone to me so I can see the picture he took. Though the mug is hiding my lips and part of my nose, the picture captures how my eyes are shinning under the lamp above us and I think my rosy cheeks give me a little more life. “You look really nice.”

My lips curve upwards and I thank him, tucking the shorter ends of my hair behind my ears. I’ve cut it a few weeks ago, thinking long bangs looked cute, but now I don’t think it’s worth it, since they keep getting in my face every. I don’t think I’m cutting them again soon.

I drink a little more, as he messes with his phone (I assume he’s setting my picture up), thinking back to the damn text Amy’s sent. I don’t want to, but I feel like I should address the issue.

“Harry?” My voice comes out low but he looks up from his phone. “Uh, I’ve read Amy’s text.” I confess, looking down at my muffin as I speak the next words. “I know she mentioned your name, not a ‘he’. I feel like I should explain that.”

“You don’t.”

“No, I do- I do.” I insist. It’s not like I want to have this conversation. But I also don’t want him to think I had this master plan to hang out with him. “Like, I know it must sound pretty bad. We swapped phones even though I noticed we had the same case and then my friend asks about you. But it’s not like that,” he seems like he wants to comment but I stop him. “I’ve told her about you once. You were a guest on the Graham Norton’s show and she said something about all celebrities being asses and I mentioned you were nice. Well, I think she misunderstood what I meant because she now believes I’m in love with you and asks me every day if you’ve come in.” Harry’s laughing before I can finish. “I’m serious, it’s not funny!”

“She thinks you’re in love with me because you said I was nice?”

“Well, I mean, that’s partly my fault.” I’m probably as pink as they come, even though he’s clearly finding it all hilarious. “I might have said you were handsome, ok? And like, I never comment on guys. Ever. So she took it the wrong way.”

“You don’t ever comment on guys, but you said I’m handsome?” His grin only gets bigger. I don’t know how I got myself in this position but I want out. “I’m flattered, Ellie Frost.”

“Oh God.” I hide my face on my hands.

&&

Do you have plans for tomorrow?

Yes, walking honey and watching netflix. Why?

Can I join?

On the dog walk or the netflix session?

Both?

We could also squeeze lunch in between

Does that sound good to you?

&&

I’m putting my sneakers on when the bell buzzes. Before I can get up from the couch, Honey’s running towards the door barking. I laugh, still amused even if she does it every time. With one bare foot, I open up the building door and take the little time I have left to put the other shoe on. The bell’s buzzing again just when I’m coming back from getting Honey’s leash from its drawer.

Harry’s on the other side of the door, black shorts with black tights underneath and a grey hoodie. You’d think we’re dressed to jog instead of walking an almost four-month-old puppy, as I’m in a pair of leggings and a hoodie myself, but I guess we both opted for comfortable.

Not like I’d agree to go for a jog. My body may seem athletic, but it’s all down to my metabolism. I’m really more of a couch potato rather than a gym rat.

“Hello there.” I greet him with a brief hug, stepping aside so he can come in for a moment. “I’m sorry the house’s a bit of a mess, as you can see, someone’s excited,” I point to the tiny one, still barking, and Harry laughs. “She’s been like that since I got up. She’s used to going out right after I have breakfast so she’s passed her time by getting all her toys out as I put them away.” He gets down to pet her as I complain, quickly realizing she’s not the same puppy he met a few weeks ago, running around instead of letting him hold her. I point it out as I grab two bottles of water from the cabinet. “See? Maybe you’ll get lucky later.”

“She’ll be licking my face by lunchtime.” He sounds confident so I don’t doubt it. I notice he’s given up, though, opting to look around the kitchen and living room instead (it’s actually one big room divided into two areas). “Your flat’s amazing.”

“Thanks! It was my grandparents’ but I’ve redecorated since I moved. This is basically it, there’s just my room and the bathroom that way,” I point towards the door that leads to the hallway, noticing after that he’s stopped to stare at the shelves above my TV cabinet. “Those are my vinyl records.” I note, pointing at them.

He makes his way towards it, so he has a better look. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you! I told you before I have two vinyl players,” I remind him. “My grandparents have a huge collection and I’ve always liked how they look, so I started my own. My grandpa gave me a few over the years, though. Like this one.” I grab an old Fleetwood Mac vinyl, knowing he’ll love it. “I don’t even own any CD’s, I buy everything in vinyl.”

“Can I take a picture of this?” He asks, pointing at the shelf in general.

I shrug. “Be my guest.”

I wait until he’s done to hand him the leash and his water bottle, grabbing my phone from the counter afterwards. “Let’s go?”

I notice he’s smirking when he comes towards the door, so I stop to return his stare. “What?”

“You’re quite chatty today.”

I frown. “I am?”

“I think you are, yeah.” He kneels to put the leash on Honey’s collar. “Usually it takes you a bit longer to start chatting like that. I think you’re warming up to me.”

“Uh,” I try to think of something to follow his statement, but I’m taken aback so I decide to move on and change the subject (truly Ellie fashion). “Let’s go so I can chat in the car, then.”

We made puppy walking arrangements late last night, when he asked me about my Saturday plans. We ended up deciding he’d come pick us up and we’d go up to Belsize Park, where we could grab lunch afterwards.

I’m reliving our conversation when we get to his Range Rover and he opens the back door. I widen my eyes when I see he’s bought himself a pink blanket to protect his seats and a seat belt for dogs.

“You’ve gone late night shopping.” I point out. He smirks, letting me buckle Honey up so she travels safely. She immediately lies down and I’m already taking a picture of her when I squeal “She looks so cute. Thanks for this.” I say, turning my body to look at him properly.

“S’nothing.” He shrugs. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”

Harry was probably right when he said I was chatty today because, for some reason, I don’t shut up for the whole car ride. I tell him my new idea for the store’s Halloween layout and how the Christmas layout will probably be the last one I’ll work on for a while, as I’ll be pretty busy afterwards.

I tell him I’m stressing over my thesis presentation but I’m working on distracting myself. How I subscribed to Netflix a few days ago and started a new documentary series called I’m a Killer (which is creepy in a lot of ways) – and proceed to tell him, in detail, the three episodes I‘ve seen so far.

In my defence, Harry’s pretty into what I’m saying – no matter the topic. Which I’m trying to ignore, because if I focus on the smile craved into his face right now, I’d probably go into a whole new crisis and I’m keen on keeping things right as they are. (That being the whole reason why I try not to think about how my crush has not gone away yet. In fact, it gets a little worse every time my phone buzzes with one of his texts - it’s actually a little bit worrying, since he keeps on texting).

I’m talking about the last Grey’s Anatomy episode I’ve watched (even though I get the feeling he only watched a few loose episodes and he’s not exactly sure who’s who) when he parks the car. Honey lifts her head up for the first time and barks, which makes me get another picture because I’m a proud mother.

Harry’s the first one to get out of the car and gets her out as well. I accept the leash so he can look for a beanie, even though it’s not that cold. I’m not sure if he’s looking for comfort or a way to go unnoticed, but I accept when he offers me a black one.

“All set?” He questions before locking the car. I nod, phone in my little bag and water bottle in my hand.

Harry puts his keys in his shorts’ pocket and we’re off. Honey’s finally a happy girl, jumping from leaf to leaf and I think Harry’s enjoying seeing her, judging by his tiny smile.

“Here, you take her.” I hand him the leash. He takes it quickly, clearly ready to let her go wherever the hell she wants. I don’t mind, as I’m free to take all the photos I want. “So how did your session go yesterday?” I ask, knowing he’s writing his second album at the moment.

“Wrote a shit song.” He makes a face, shrugging afterwards. I can see he’s not at all happy with that, however he shrugs it off. “Monday’ll be better, hopefully.”

“For sure, it can’t always be a hit.” I try to comfort him. I don’t know anything about writing songs but, from my experience, you never get things right on first try; take the Halloween layout for the store, for instance – took me three whole ideas to get it right. “Are you writing mostly alone?”

“Not in the studio, I have other people with me in there.” he explains. “Right now, I’m writing with two of my bandmates, actually.”

“Band, as in One Direction?”

He laughs. “No, as in the band that comes with me on tour. Mitch and Sarah – they’re actually dating now.”

“Ah, that’s cute! Were they dating when you met them?“

“No,” he shakes his head, “They didn’t even know each other.”

“Oh my God,” I don’t know why I’m loving this story so much. “You brought two people together, Harry!”

“You seem excited with the prospect of love,” I can feel his tease before his next words come out, judging by his smirk when he turns his head from Honey’s spot in front of us to me. “For someone who claims to not even comment on guys, let alone date.”

“There you go again,” I roll my eyes theatrically. He’s been messing with me every chance he gets. “See, you can’t know anything! I regret trying to clear up my name now!”

“You didn’t have a name to clear up,“ he’s quick to point out. ”You know I’m only joking, Ellie.”

“No, you’re so not!” I fight, though holding back a smile. “You love to tease me! Just yesterday you asked me if Jesse Williams rated higher than you on my non-existent scale!“

He’s laughing before I even finish my rant. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re a liar! You tell me one day you don’t comment on guys and the next you’re texting me he’s hottest male actor on Grey’s Anatomy right now. Why were you texting me that?”

“Well, I told my friend you were handsome, didn’t I? It seems like sometimes I can’t help myself.” I’m not even sure how this is coming out of my lips, but it is. “Also, I bet even you wouldn’t resist Doctor Avery!”

He actually shrugs.

“Let’s move on, then!” I’m end the conversation and walk faster, away from this conversation.

We stop after a little, sitting down on the grass. Honey’s licking my face as soon as my butt touches the ground and I’m laughing as I get attacked. I notice Harry’s laughing next to me, deciding to finally help me out only after about five minutes and a dozen photographs saved on his phone.

Honey lets him take her away from me, though only to lick his cheek. He doesn’t mind, but I have to yell out a warning so she stays still. It takes Harry a few minutes after that, but he manages to have her lie in his legs.

I’m about to congratulate him on being right (Honey did lick him after about an hour), when he turns to me with a question.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“That depends, what kind of question?”

“A personal one.” I motion for him to continue. “How come you’re really not interested in dating?”

He looks genuinely interested so I decide to give him half the reason.

“I’m just not looking for a relationship right now. There’s too much going on with the internship; I need to make it count- no distractions allowed.“ I answer honestly. I don’t tell him, however, how my parents relationship scarred me for life and how I spend most of the time comparing the guys I meet with my father, so I don’t make the same mistakes as my mom, instead of actually getting to know them. "Also, there hasn’t been anyone to catch my eye lately.” I add, trying to get those thoughts out of my head for the moment.

“I get it,” he’s nodding. "Work normally gets in the way of things.”

I’m not sure if I should, but since he asked me, I’m asking right back. "Has it ever happened to you?”

Surprisingly, he answers with no reservations. "Yeah, my last few relationships, actually. We’ve always been in different stages in our careers.” I’m sitting with my legs crossed, my attention fully on him. We’re both in the middle of a park, sulking in the sun and petting a puppy - maybe that’s why he doesn’t stop there. “Can I be completely honest?”

I nod.

"I don’t think either of us really put in the work when things got complicated. We enjoyed while it lasted and, when it started going downhill, we let it.”

"Would you say you haven’t truly been in love, then?”

What kind of questions am I making? I’m half expecting him to say I’m being too nosey, but he just shrugs slightly and shifts his gaze to the park instead of me, as if he’s just now trying to decipher his past feelings.

“Hm, I don’t know. Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” He finally answers. "When you put it that way, if I had truly loved them, I probably would have tried harder, right?”

“Don’t ask me!” I laugh. "I know nothing about love.”

"Define nothing.”

I know what he’s after and, after everything he just revealed, I feel like I have to give back. “I had one boyfriend, in 12th grade. Let’s just say I thought I did but I didn’t cry over him all that much after it was done – so, looking back, I don’t think I loved him.”

“Why did you guys break up?”

“I wanted to come to London, he was going to Oxford.” I shrug. “Life, I guess.”

He hms, though I don’t know if he believes that was it, and we go back to a comfortable silence, enjoying the little sun we’re getting and each other’s company, before picking up our walk and chatting our way back down the park.

&&

My sister has found the pictures I took of Honey in the park

I don’t think she’s happy

Why wouldn’t she be happy?

She says I’m supposed to be a cat person

It’s really not my fault her cat hates me, she scratches me all the time

Honey bit you twice that day and you didn’t seem to mind

Honey was playing, Olivia does it on purpose

I don’t think she likes me either

Well, if it makes you feel better, I think Honey likes you back

&&

Exactly four weeks since this whole thing started, I find myself in a pumpkin patch just outside London, holding Honey as I watch Harry and my godson a few meters down, picking up the biggest pumpkin I’ve ever seen.

I put Honey down when I see them walk over, picking my own pumpkin from the ground. Harry’s holding the pumpkin they just picked and a medium-sized one, while Max is holding a rather small one (we agreed we’d each get one according to our size). I think about asking Harry if he needs any help but he’s not looking bothered – in fact, I reckon he’d carry another one and still look like he’s not even trying. I try not to think much on how his muscles must look behind his thick coat, but my mind goes there anyway.

Max runs to me, though I’m not sure how, with the amount of clothes he has on (it’s too cold to be outside). He repeatedly shouts my name, until he gets close enough for me to hear him. “El, look at Hawwy’s pumpin!”

“I see he’s got a rather big one,” I raise my eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

“Max thought I should get the biggest,” Harry begins to explain.

My godson puts his hand on my leg to get my attention. “Yeah, Hawwy’s big like daddy! Daddy always gets the big pumpin!”

I laugh. “But why does he have two, then?”

“I couldn’t possible carve this massive one, so the smaller one’s for carving.” Harry explains. “We agreed I’d paint the other one with him.” He manages to tousle Max’s hair in a fond gesture. “Right, Max?”

“Yes!”

I mirror the little one’s big smile and look up at Harry, knowing exactly what he’s done.

Earlier today, before Harry arrived to come with us, I told Max he was going to paint his pumpkin, since was still too young to actually carve one. Needless to say, the five-year-old was not too pleased and threw a tiny fit, crying real tears and yelling he didn’t want to celebrate Halloween, then. I tried not to laugh at that and let him cry until he got over it; he still had his eyes slightly red when Harry knocked on the door and I had to explain it to him on the way over. Therefore, it’s no coincidence Harry’s now going to paint a pumpkin with Max.

“Are we ready to go, then? We’ve got a lot to do!”

Max is nodding before I finish. “Can I paint Spidaman?”

“Yes, you can.” I agree. “But what should Harry paint?”

“Don’t give him any ideas,” Harry mutters next to me. “I can’t draw for my life.”

I eye him with the smallest smirk, “Sure you can.”

“Sure I can’t.”

“Max, should Harry draw a skeleton?”

“Noooooo,” the boy makes a face. “Hawwy should dwaw spidaman like meeee!”

Harry’s the one making a face now. “Cause that’s so much easier,” He laughs, reaching the car as he speaks. I open the trunk and he puts his two pumpkins in there. Max drops his tiny one and, suddenly, Harry’s picking him up in the air. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you, little fella?” The boy’s laughter fills the air and I realize I’m frozen, looking at them - pumpkin stuck below my left arm and Honey pulling her leash on my right hand, trying to get into the fun. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Harry tickles him before he places him on the floor again.

Harry looks at me and I jump slightly, almost dropping my pumpkin. He raises his eyebrow and I blush (when will I stop?).

Without a word, I drop the pumpkin in the trunk and close it, hurrying to get Honey in her seat – and to get away from Harry’s eyes, that seem to be following my every move.

I finish buckling Honey up just as Max puts his seat belt on and Harry sits in the passenger seat. He tried to persuade me to drive up here but I stood my ground, so he seems to have drop it.

I hold back a giggle as I sit in the driver’s seat. My car is rather small, a white Fiat 500c that is great to drive around London, but Harry does look rather small in it.

“What?” He’s asking as soon as my eyes land on him.

“Nothing!” I hold my hands up in the air and start the car.

“You had that look on your face,” he points out. “Like you were about to burst in laughter.”

“You look funny in my car, that’s all.”

“Ah, I look funny, do I? Must be why I wanted to bring my own car!” He complains, though I see amusement in his expression. He pauses before he continues. “It’s been worth it, though.”

“What do you mean, it’s been worth it?”

“You look cute while driving,” he notes. I must look startled because I certainly feel it, as I don’t expect him to make a comment like this. “You purse your lips a little. It’s well cute.”

“Uh,” I’m not sure the reaction he’s expecting, just as I’m not sure the reaction I should have. So, unsurprisingly, I change the subject. “What do you want to listen to, Bubba?”

“One Diwection!”

I close my eyes just enough to avoid the redness to grace my cheeks. “Besides that, honey.”

“Whyyy?” He cries.

“He can listen to whatever he wants.” Harry points out. “So, you like One Direction, mate?”

“Yes!”

“We have a teen cousin who loved your band very much. That meaning, this” my finger moves between me and the five-year-old. “Didn’t come from me.”

“Aw, are you sure, Ellie?” Harry’s smirk is so wide I want to slap it off of his face. “I didn’t know you were a One Direction fan!”

“I’m actually not,” I break it out to him. Then, I think about his reaction to listening to his first album from start to finish. “Well, One Direction it is Max.” I eye Harry. “I reckon you have Up All Night somewhere on your phone?”

“You think you’re punishing me but I love it, Frost.”

To my dismay, the man laughs and sings with Max the whole journey home.

¨

Harry’s following my every move as I finish laying down all the supplies we’ll need to our Halloween shenanigans. I feel my skin burn under his gaze but don’t acknowledge it. Max has disappeared into my room after Honey, so I was left alone with a man with sudden staring problems.

I’m calling Max as soon as my kitchen counter is perfectly protected (I paid good money for it to be stained with paint). Harry picks him up and places him on middle stool.

I sigh and make my way to the kid’s left stool. I decided earlier to carve a ghost so I get on with it. I’m not even properly started when Max looks up to me. “Can I have a photo of Spidaman, pwease?” I laugh, nodding. I put a photo on my phone and put it in front of him, so he can see the blues and the reds.

We start carving/painting in silence, only broken by Honey’s toy and/or Max making questions regarding his little Spiderman. I reckon he’ll give up and paint the whole pumpkin soon, but until then I humour him with little pieces of advice.

I look beyond my godson’s blonde hair, catching a glimpse of a focused Harry Styles. He’s been silent for a while, so I decide to check on him. I look at his pumpkin, realizing he’s taken all his seeds and he’s not carving a small line. I notice he has his tongue out in concentration and I smile involuntarily. 

Max’s finishing his Spiderman when Harry puts his knife down and sights in relief. “Mine’s done!”

I look over.

“You carved an H?”

“I carved a very well carved H,” Harry giggles. “I’m quite happy with it, if you must know.”

“Congratulations?” I laugh. “Now, onto painting that one. Max’s almost finished, aren’t you, bubba?”

He nods proudly. “El? Can I paint it all now?”

“Let me take a picture to show your parents first, yes?” I ask the little one, staring at my hands after. Harry’s washing his hands in the sink so he can paint the next one, so I ask him. “Can you take the picture, please?”

He nods, picking my phone for me and taking a picture of the boy and his pumpkin. He, then, proceeds to take a picture of me. I wrinkle my nose and smile at him.

“You look great,” He tells me, showing me the picture. “Though that’s not a surprise.”

I blush, staring at my own reflection. My blonde locks are tamed in a high ponytail and my cheeks are slightly rosy due to the room temperature, but I agree it’s a nice picture – I might even post it on Instagram later.

I’m glad that I only look over at Harry’s pumpkin after I finish mine, otherwise my perfectly carved ghost would turn out more like a sack.

He’s painted a pink ‘E’ with cute flowers around it.

¨

N O V E M B E R

I’m taking the last pumpkin out of the store – Halloween has been done for about a week – when Amy shows up. She’s carrying two hot drinks and hands me one as soon as I get my hands free. Wearing a brown skirt and orange blouse, she’s got the whole blogger vibe going on. I don’t dress up nearly as much as she does, even if I take pride in looking at least decent, mostly opting for one of the fifty pairs of skinny jeans I own and a sweater accordingly to my mood. I also never take my two silver necklaces off.

“We need to talk.” She declares, before turning to get into the store.

I follow, taking my seat behind the counter. She sits on the counter and eyes me accusingly – I cringe, sipping my drink. “What have you been up to lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she rolls her eyes. “There’s something going on and you won’t tell me!”

“There isn’t.”

Amy eyes me. “Fine.” I know it isn’t and she proves it after a second. “Why don’t you trust me?” She whines. “I can handle whatever it is! Did I do something?” I’m about to say no when she continues. “I mean, I know I didn’t but, like, why else would you avoid me?”

“I’m not avoiding you!”

“Riiiiight.” She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t text me for two weeks last month.”

I curse myself.

“Ok. Do you want to know what’s happening?” I close my eyes and gather the courage to tell her I’ve been hanging out with Harry Styles. I might even tell her she was right all along and I do have a crush on him while I’m at it. I do need to talk to someone about it as I keep dreaming about him.

When I open my eyes again, I see the man himself coming into Memory Lane. Great, now I can’t even admit my darkest secret to my best friend.

“There.” I point to the door and Amy turns.

I can see her shock as her eyes widen and she turns back to me with an opened mouth. I would’ve laugh if I wasn’t so afraid of what might come out of said mouth when she recovers from the shock.

“You’re doing Harry Styles?”

I flinch. Even with her half-whispered tone, her voice is strong enough to be heard from the other side of the store. As my luck goes, Harry’s just a few steps away.

“No!” I yell back, hiding my face in my hands. I must be as red as a tomato right now. “Shut up.”

“Did I come in in a bad time?” Harry announces his presence, pointing backwards to the door. I want to say Yes, but he’s wearing actual blue jeans and a black jacket with a wool collar – he’s so handsome, my hormones take over me. “I can come back?”

I want to shout “No”.

I gather my thoughts, laying my cup on the counter and getting up to greet him. I whisper an “You’re early” while hugging him briefly, all the while, feeling Amy’s eyes on us (probably about to fall off her face). I bite my lower lip nervously. “Uh, this is Amy – my best friend.”

“Hi.” She manages to say with a little wave.

“’m Harry.” He takes a step towards her and they greet each other with two kisses. “But you know that, right? Ellie told you-”

“Not now, Harry.” I roll my eyes, cutting him, as I’m positive he was about to bring up that time I told her he was handsome. I pat his chest so he takes a step back. He laughs, though he moves accordingly.

It takes Amy’s gaze to drop to my hand for me to realize I kept it there a second too much. I take it back as if he just burned me.

“Go fetch something,” I shoo him away, gesturing to the farthest end of the store with my hands. “I’m almost closing and then we’ll go.” He shakes his head but does as I say. He’s not stupid, he knows he just walked in on something.

“Now us.” Amy takes a step closer.

“Right. Ok.” I fiddle with my sweater. “Ok. Uh, so, we switched phones about a month ago.”

“What? He was here and you didn’t tell me?”

“Uh, yeah - no, I didn’t. But that’s your fault.” I point out. “You’re always bothering me, I would never hear the end of it!”

“I’m not sure if I should take offense to that.” she stops. Her curiosity, however, takes the best of her pretty quickly. “Keep going!”

“So that’s why I didn’t talk to you much those weeks. I had Harry’s phone and I was afraid you’d text him instead of me – as he had my phone.”

“Ohh, I see.” She giggles. “And then what?”

“Then he texted me and we got talking.” I shrug. I see Harry turning his head slightly and eyeing us from the corner of his eye. I eye him back, making sure he knows he isn’t being discrete. He chuckles and goes back to what he was seeing before. “I swear we’re just friends.”

“Oh, you swear?”

“Yes, I do!” She looks like she doesn’t believe me. “I’m serious. I don’t need, or want, a boyfriend right now!”

My voice must have powered through, since Harry’s head turns a little. He doesn’t fully turn, but I can tell he overheard me.

Good.

“Alright, alright,” Amy doesn’t press. “I can see why you haven’t told me.” I sigh in relief – too soon, because she continues in a hushed voice. “But you gotta hit that!”

I roll my eyes and decide to not comment, checking the time. It’s six on the dot, so I go up to the door and turn the sign over to closed.

“I must say these glasses aren’t what I expected to find today.” Harry comes up to me with the fake reading glasses I saved him last week. “Do you really think they suit me?”

I pretend he doesn’t look as good as he does with them on. “Yes, I thought they would. But, also, you used to give me a few months to choose something, you’ve barely gave me two weeks this time round.”

He smiles, as if he’s happy it has been so little time. “You do know it’s fine if you don’t have anything waiting for me, right?”

I nod, though I don’t want that to happen. It’s our thing, I don’t want to change it.

“I don’t come in for that anymore.”

One day he’s going to kill me; on that day, he better feel remorseful for dropping little bombs like that on me so often. I try not to show emotion, even if my mind starts racing. “I mean,” Harry runs a hand through his hair and continues. “I do love it. But we’re friends now. I come in to pick you up and stuff.” I eye him, nodding as if he’s making perfect sense. “Uh, are you ready, then?”

“Yes. Uh, yes.”

“Do you want to come with us, Amy?” Harry addresses my friend, who’s been eyeing up a poorly done painting as a way of pretending she wasn’t listening in to our conversation. I know her better than that. “We’re meeting a couple of my friends in a pub.”

Amy moves her eyes from Harry to me and I plead with my eyes. It’s not as if I’m not excited to meet Mitch and Sarah – it’s that I’m anxious as hell. I wasn’t even supposed to take a shift at Memory Lane today, but I asked my aunt to take the afternoon off so I could take my mind of things. She thought it was my presentation; instead, it was meeting Harry’s friends.

It had just come up during our daily texts. He was telling me about his day on the studio and mentioned they were going to go for drinks on Friday, after their session. I didn’t even realize I was agreeing to come with until he said he’d pick me up (that’s when I started freaking out).

“I’m in.” Amy locks her arm with mine. “Go grab your handbag, Frosty.” I roll my eyes at her nickname and go through the back door to get my things.

I’m sure to fasten my pace so Amy isn’t left alone with Harry for long. Luckily, when I get back, they’re talking about the pub we’re going to (I wouldn’t know if it’s good, as it’s not really my scene).

I move to the door and they follow suit.

“Wait,” Harry realizes he still has the glasses on. “I haven’t paid for these yet.”

“Consider it a gift.” I tell him, waiting for him to go through the door.

“That’s not our deal, but thanks El.”

I curse myself as I lock the door. I can’t possibly be affected each time he smiles at me – it just won’t work. We’re friends. He’s allowed to use a nickname without my insides melting down at his voice.

I’m put together when I turn to them again.

Harry’s Range Rover is parked right in front of the store and Amy makes sure I get onto the passenger door. Harry lets me choose the music and he starts a conversation with my friend, asking her if she’s studying the same as I (the answer is yes) and how did we meet (second week of the second semester). She’s telling him she’s focusing on her blog right now, not on her thesis, when we get to the pub.

When Harry mentioned getting drinks, I didn’t realize we were going to end up in the poshest pub in all of London, though it makes sense. I notice as soon as we get in the people don’t look back at him, which probably makes it easier for him. He sees his friends sitting in the corner and turns to me, close behind him, grabbing my arm in an unconscious gesture. I let him guide me.

“You guys are here on time!” He exclaims, a huge grin forming in his face. I drag my eyes from him to the couple sat close next to each other. “This is Ellie,” his arm leaves my arm and wraps around my waist instead. “These are Mitch and Sarah!”

“Hello!” I’m instantly at ease with Sarah’s welcoming tone, her lips forming a big smile. She gets up to greet me just as Harry remembers he brought another guest and introduces Amy to them. “It’s so nice to meet you!” The brunette says in between kisses.

“You too.” I smile, turning to her boyfriend so I can say hi too.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ellie,” Mitch smiles and moves on to Amy,

Introductions done, I turn to Harry and notice he’s already sitting, his arm resting on the chair next to him. He signs for me to sit down and I do, accepting his help to hold things out for me as I take my over-the-shoulder bag, scarf and coat off.

“Thanks,” I whisper to him when I’m finally free of the extra pieces of clothing. I notice he’s still wearing the accessory I picked up for him, so I point it out. “You’re still wearing the glasses - y'know that, right?”

He grins, responding with the same hushed tone I used. “Thought you liked ‘em?”

“I do,” I realize Mitch and Sarah are watching our exchange closely as I answer, immediately blushing in consequence. “Uh,” I turn back go my normal tone. “So, how was the studio session today?

"What do you think, H?” Sarah shoots the answer back to the man beside me and the three of them laugh.

I look to my right. “They’re teasing,” he explains. “I thought I had a smash but it ended up being the worst song I’ve ever written.”

“Do you even have any good days in the studio?” I eye him and then turn back to his bandmates. “I swear he tells me every day he’s written a shit song.”

“Shitty for him.” Mitch points out. “I reckon we have a great start on album two.”

“You’ve been lying, then.” I squeeze my eyes at him.

“’M not. I just think we can do way better.” He defends himself. “Let’s not talk about that though, what are we drinking?”

I eye Amy next to me. She stares back, nudging her head slightly as the tiniest sign of reassurance.

Mitch takes the lead and asks for a beer, the other three following his lead. I have my eyes locked on the drink menu when I feel a nudge. Harry eyes me and, then, the menu. “What ‘bout you?”

“Hm, I don’t drink.”

“What do you mean you don’t drink?” Mitch furrows his eyebrows in honest surprise.

Amy answers for me. “She doesn’t care for alcohol.” In truth, she’s lying. I do care for alcohol - I choose not to drink it because of exactly that. “Just order your coke, Frosty.” I hold my tongue out at her teasing tone. She’s right though, that’s what I’m ordering. “She once ordered a milkshake at a rooftop bar.”

I glance at Harry while they laugh, noticing he’s wearing a fond expression. I let out a sigh, forcing my heartbeat to slow down. I hate justifying why I don’t drink.

His laugh turns into a full-on smile and I give him a tiny one in return, wrinkling my nose slightly as if dismissing her comment; I decide right then that’s my favourite kind of smile on him, when there’s still a trace of a good laugh and it reaches his eyes so completely.

I also realize thoughts like these aren’t going to take me anywhere good, so I try to stop them altogether.

“I’ll go get it for you,” Harry mumbles, as the waiter is no longer near our table.

I thank him, following him with my eyes as he makes his way through the bar.

I’m about to take my eyes off him and focus my attention on the conversation between Mitch and Amy when I notice a girl taking a picture of Harry as he talks to the man behind the bar. I see his attention turn to the phone being held in his direction at a distance, but he only sighs and shakes his head slightly. I’m not sure if the girl notices this, but she turns to her friend and decides to keep taking photographs – or filming, I’m not close enough to see.

A new-found wave of anger overwhelms me.

I’m not a confrontation kind of girl. In fact, if there’s anyone who’s able to listen a string of insults without fighting back, it’s me. Right now, however, I feel like going on to the girl and knock that phone onto the ground, preferably shattering the screen into a thousand pieces. No-one is more surprised than me, then, when I excuse myself from the table once I see the girl heading to the restroom.

I’m not sure what I’m doing, even when I do get there. The girl has just gone into one of the cubicles so I just wait outside, my insides bumbling with anger. I never actually stopped to think about what Harry has to go through every day, even that first time when we went out to get coffee for the first time - I just acknowledged how people stared at him a little longer and how he tried to escape it by looking for a quieter place. I wasn’t confronted with this side of things. And now that I am, I find I don’t like it very much.

Before I can think it through, however, the girl is leaving the cubicle and heading towards the sink. I walk over to the sink next to hers.

As we wash our hands together, I stare at her through the mirror and break my silence. “What you just did out there,” she seems startled, looking at me in confusion. “That was wrong on many levels.” I ignore her as she opens her mouth slightly, maybe to ask what I’m referring to, maybe to defend herself. “You may be used to seeing him in magazines so your perception is a little clouded, but I assure you he’s, in fact, a real person – and in real life, you don’t take pictures of people without their consent.” I’m already drying my hands as I finish, throwing the paper towel into the trash and eyeing her hard on my way to the door.

The second I walk out of that bathroom, I realize what I’ve done. I breathe in, and then out, hard. It’s probably not very clever to be waiting outside for her to come out, so I walk fast towards out table, where Harry’s sat with a beer in front of him and an iced Coke next to it.

Amy eyes me weirdly. “Where have you been? You left like you were on a mission.”

“Uh- just the restroom, really.” I pick up my glass and take a large sip.

“Why are you shaking?” I jump a little when I feel Harry’s breath on my skin due to his proximity. He’s whispering again and I bet Sarah’s eyes won’t take long to catch us. “’m sorry.” He places a hand on my leg as if to relax me.

“I’m not shaking,” I hold his stare with one of my own. “Thanks for the drink.”

I don’t think he believes me but he lets it go. Instead, he focuses on the conversation happening between the other three and gives his two cents here and then. I try to do the same, but I feel as if all the nerves in my body are electrified and I want to cry.

It’s not a new feeling. Sometimes I forget how much I really don’t like confrontation. If you tick just the right box, I’ll explode – and then I’ll feel like shit. I contemplate if I should go apologize to the girl, as I imagine she really likes Harry and didn’t mean to be rude - I even try to look for her, but she’s not at her table anymore (probably for the best, since deep down I know I’m right).

My phone buzzes with a text.

You’re acting weird

What’s going on?

I look to Harry but he’s looking forward, as if he didn’t just text me. I guess that was the point, though – to be discrete. I exhale, trying to feel normal again. I don’t want to ruin the night – I don’t want Mitch and Sarah to think I’m rude because I’m not joining in the conversation.

Instead, I only get more rattled.

I’m feeling weird, I’m sorry.

I notice Harry flips his phone as soon as he gets the text. He doesn’t look at me – instead, he drags his hand to my thigh, his palm upwards, barely touching my jeans. I swallow hard, discretely placing my hand on his.

This was not supposed to be happening. The part of me who’s crushing hard, however, doesn’t mind a single bit. Instead, it takes her only a few minutes to win over the other. I grab my coke again and laugh at Sarah’s latest tour story.

I’m not sure if they notice we’re holding hands for the next two hours, but no one mentions it.

Harry closes the door to my apartment behind him. He didn’t ask me If he could come in, he informed he was going to, after he parked the car. Honey comes running from her little bed beside the couch and I kneel to pet her, bringing her to the couch with me.

Harry’s taking his coat off when he finally asks the question on his mind since we left the pub. “What happened in the restroom?”

“Nothing bad.”

“Right.” He locks his jaw, deciding to sit on the couch next to me. “’Cause nothing bad made you shake life a leaf.”

“I was not shaking like a leaf.” I eye him. “Maybe like a medium sized tree branch.” He does not look amused, so I shrug my shoulders down. “I’m not sure if you’re going to like what I did.” I confess, turning on the couch and crossing my legs, facing him completely. Honey seems undecided as if she wants to stay on my lap on go straight to Harry’s. “Did you notice a girl getting your photo when you were at the bar?”

“Yes,” He nods. His jaw immediately locks again and I wonder what scenarios he’s making in his head. “Why?”

“Uh, I might have followed her down to the restroom and told her off.”

I think he’s trying to hold on a laugh but I’m not entirely sure. “You what?”

“I basically told her that what she did was wrong and that people don’t just take pictures of other people without their consent.” I shrug, biting the inside of my cheek. “Wait- are you laughing?”

“I just-” He laughs adorably, his eyes almost shut. “I’ve been worried sick imagining someone messed with you and, instead, you messed with them.”

I curve my lips slightly upwards. “I felt bad afterwards, though, that’s why I acted so weird.”

“You shouldn’t.” He tells me. “I mean, you definitely shouldn’t be picking up my fights for me, but you shouldn’t feel bad for sticking up for what you think is right either.”

 “I don’t like confrontation.”

He nods, thinking for a second before he voices another question. “Then why did you go after her?”

“I guess I don’t like people disrespecting you more.”

“Come here.” He opens his arms and I make the quick decision to crawl closer to him. He places his left arm around my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “That was very sweet of you, El. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I mumble. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Nah, no one noticed except me.” I doubt that, but I pretend that’s the case. “Are you sleepy or can we watch something on Netflix?”

I immediately turn my tv on, as it is the perfect opportunity to make him start watching Brooklyn 99. I’ve been telling him to watch for about a week, since I love it so much – however, as the episode starts and jokes are made, all I can focus on is his warmth around me and how his body shakes when he laughs.

&&

This guy was filming me in the gym. Could you please come here and teach him some manners, please?

Stooooop

It’s not funny

I just wish I could have seen your face

You look so sweet all the time, I wonder what you look like when you’re mad at someone

Thank you?

&&

I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible as I listen to the take Harry just sang in the booth. Sarah, Mitch and their other bandmate, Adam, are all focused – ready to point every note Harry should change next. If you ask me, it sounded perfect four takes ago. That’s probably why they don’t ask.

Once again, I’m not sure how I got here. We’d been texting two hours ago, as we’ve been since that first day, when Harry asked me what I was doing. I was just returning home from my morning walk with Honey and had to revise my PowerPoint presentation, as my thesis presentation is quickly approaching. One second, I was coming out of the shower, sweatpants ready to be worn in my bed, and the next I was digging a pair of black skinny jeans from the closet and going out the door with my Mac in a backpack.

I’m not sure who I was trying to fool when I agreed I could work in the studio – it’s no surprise that I have made exactly one change since I got here, an hour ago. I’m not sure if it’s Harry’s raw voice coming out of every column in the room or his laid back style for the day – a pair of sweatpants and the Stevie Nicks t-shirt I chose for him, but something’s messing with my head more than usual. It might also be the cuddling mess three nights ago, that hasn’t left my head since.

Either way, if I let myself get lost in Harry’s voice right now, I’m not sure my eyes wouldn’t turn into hearts and everyone in this room would realize how big of a crush I have on that guy. Which is dangerous for everyone (myself the most).

I’m hiding behind the screen when Sarah comes sit on the ground. I’m lying of the couch, occupying the whole space – I told myself Harry couldn’t come sit by me this way, but Sarah just proved me wrong. I look at her, eyeing my PowerPoint out of the corner on my eye. I shut the computer, deciding it was a lost cause from the start.

“Harry told us what you did the other day.” She mumbles, I reckon a bit unsure if she should be bringing it up.

“I lost it,” I chuckle, thinking back on the whole thing. After a few days, the dust has settled and I’m now fine with my actions. I’m not sure if I’d do it again, but I was right to do so. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

“I might have a good guess.” Sarah comments and I frown. Did she exchange numbers with Amy? That’d explain the use of the same words my friend spoke to me. Sarah surprises me with her next words, however. Instead of addressing what I might, or might not, feel, she gives me an inside on what Harry’s feeling. “He cares about you a lot, y’know?”

“I guess,” I shrug it off. “We’ve become good friends.”

“You have.” She agrees, spreading her legs on the carpet and resting her head on the free spot next to mine. “You reckon you could be more than that?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m his friend, I like to know what’s going on.” I make an ‘hm’ sound to let her know I get it. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to tell him your answer.”

I look at Harry, again in the booth. He has his eyes closed, headphones on, singing his heart out. I sigh. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” I decide to be honest, even if she ends up telling him every word I say right now. “I don’t think I can do more than friends right now – with anyone.”

“Why’s that?” She inquires. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“That’s a long story you’re after.” I chuckle. “I have some daddy issues, let’s leave it at that.”

“Oh.” She lets out a chuckle as well, eyeing the ceiling above us. “Can I give you a piece of advice, though?”

“Sure thing.”

“Take it from me – don’t fight it. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, and you’re just going to end up regretting all the time you lost.” I listen closely, even if skeptical. “If there’s anyone able to make you overcome whatever you have going on, that’d be him.”

I don’t respond, as I’m not sure I agree with her – and she doesn’t say anything else either. We lay quietly next to each other, listening to the guys talk.

Here, completely sucked in Harry’s world, I realize I’ve been playing with fire since the start.

I mean what I just said to Sarah, I’m not ready to date anyone. However, I’m spending my days texting Harry and arranging time to meet up. I’m dreaming with his little smiles and out of the blue compliments. I’m thinking back to his warmth and how it makes me feel when he calls me El.

I don’t think I’m crushing anymore.

I know I’m falling.

“What do you think, El?” His voice wakes me from my deep thoughts and I jump out of my skin. Sarah jumps too as a reflex. “Ellie?”

“Uh?”

He steps towards me, wearing the cutest frown I’ve ever seen. I want to poke his dimple and drag him to this couch so we can cuddle. I also want to hit myself. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I was just thinking.” I dismiss him, forcing a smile. “What was it?”

“I was asking what do you think of the song so far,” He points to the booth, as if I need a visual reference. “Do you want to listen to the whole thing again?”

“I do,” I nod, getting up from the couch. “But only because I love it already.”

He smiles big. “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” I grin, following him to where the others are. “I’d pay you big bucks to have you cover all my favourite songs.”

“Anytime.”

I curse myself, because I suddenly hope to God he really means it.

&&

Ellie, you awake?

Yes

What’s that show you watch with Kristen Bell?

The Good Place

Why?

Nick was describing it but didn’t get the name right

Nick as in… Nick Grimshaw?

Yeah, you want me to say hi?

Uh, no, thanks. that’d be weird

It wouldn’t

He’s seen your photo

What? Whyyy?

No reason

He thinks you’re pretty

&&

For once, it’s me who asks Harry if he wants to hang out. He’s been spending most of his days in the studio and going on countless meetings with his record label – or so he tells me, though Sarah confirmed it last night when she texted me (apparently, Harry heard her talk about a TV show I watch and passed on my number so we could discuss), so it has been a few (long) days since we’ve seen each other.

Harry said he was out of the studio by eight so he should be home when I arrive (he decided we should hang in his house since he’s been to mine a few times already) but gave me the code to his gate nonetheless. I punch the numbers while trying not to think on how domesticated this all feels.

I’ve decided to block all negative thoughts for the time being.

I went for brunch with Amy the other day. In between bites, I finally broke it down to her - she made a little victory dance when I confessed I had a crush on Harry from the start. I think she even wanted to punch the air when I told her I like him more than that now, but my worried expression must have held her back.

Now, acknowledging my feelings isn’t going to change anything between us, but it does change something in me. Every time I look at him, I’ll be thinking how it’d be like to hold his hand or run my fingers through his hair. Don’t get me wrong, that’d be a good thought- if only I weren’t scared to death of relationships.

I see light coming from inside the house, indicating Harry must be home. I park my car next to his, picking my handbag and the bag of groceries I just bought on my way here.

Harry’s on the front door by the time I emerge from behind the Range Rover, waving his hand with an adorable smile. I walk faster, not only because it’s starting to rain but also because I want to feel his warmth. I pray he doesn’t notice my rosy cheeks as I hug him with my free arm and he kisses my temple in a quiet greeting. I inhale his familiar scent before we let go of each other, closing my eyes for a split second to remind myself to play it cool.

“You smell good,” Harry comments, as if he’s just done the same as I did. “Is that a new perfume?”

I’m glad I’ve already turned to go into his house as I’m sure he’d noticed my blush now. “Uh, yeah. I just bought a winter-y one.”

I stop in the hall, not completely sure on what to do. “Should I take my shoes off?”

“Only if you want – I can get you a pair of slippers.” He offers, hurrying to get the grocery bag from me once he lays eyes on it. “Sorry, let me take this to the kitchen – make yourself at home”

I do as I’m told, observing the huge mirror on the hall. There’s a pair of his boots next to it, so I take my own black ones and place them next to his. I take my coat off and hang it on the other wall, where he has two of his. Finally, I fix my hair and go further inside, running my fingers through a paint hanged on the wall. When I go through the door, I meet the living room of anyone’s dreams.

There’re two couches, both black with soft pillows, and an enormous grey carpet covers a good portion of the area. Everything yells chic; however, it still has a cosy feel to it. It looks as if it belongs in a magazine and I’m compelled to take a few photographs to save it on my ‘inspiration folder’. I can only hope I do a job like this in the future.

I’m still in awe of all the choices that brought this room together when Harry comes from a hallway to the left. For some reason, his laid-back style mixed with the luxurious room makes me smile.

“Do you like it?”

“This is amazing, who did you hire?” I gesture to the room, though I don’t give him any time to answer. “Is the rest of the house like this?” He nods, slightly shrugging. He might be used to this, but I’m not. “Can you show me?”

Harry laughs, gesturing for me to follow him. “To answer your initial question, I had Kelly Hoppen do it.”

I stop in my tracks, staring at him, mouth wide open and googly eyes. It doesn’t go unnoticed how naturally he just said that. “The Kelly Hoppen?” I might have a heart attack. I think he wants to laugh again as I look around me and gasp at everything once more. “Oh my God, Harry.” He does laugh then, dragging me by my arm all the way to the next room. “You don’t understand, I applied for a job there and cried when they didn’t answer.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s their loss.” I eye him sideways. Really? Did he just say that? “I did some research on your internship, y’know. Taylor Howes is one of the best studios in the country.”

“Yeah, but Kelly Hoppen is amazing. She did the Beckham’s house,” I point out. “and yours, apparently.”

“That means nothing.” He shrugs. “You can still apply in a while, right? After you have some experience?”

“I think so. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I’ll learn as much as I can on Taylor Howes” I comment while observing the details in this room. “but then I’m not sure. My initial idea was to open a small studio, I guess we’ll see.”

I look back and he’s leaning against the door, arms crossed and a grin on his face. “I’m sure you’ll be great.”

Tour done, I get on to cooking us a lasagna for dinner. Harry said he’d help but right now he’s sat on a stool, elbows resting on his kitchen counter, watching me. He gave up after he peeled and sliced an onion– that was his entire contribution to this meal.

“How did you learn to cook?” He asks after a few minutes of silence.

“My mom taught me,” I answer as I work on the first layer of lasagna sheets. “but I got a bit more practice after I moved to London.”

“That was three, four years ago, right?”

“Five, actually.” I tell him. “I was still seventeen, my grandparents got the house ready for me and I moved in late September – my birthday is in December. So, yeah, I was still really young.”

He nods in understanding. “How did you find it?”

“It was a bit lonely but, for the most part, I’m good with that.” I answer truthfully, focusing my attention on finishing with a layer of white sauce. “How did you find it when you left?”

He chuckles. “I missed my mom and my sister but I had a lot to entertain myself with.”

“Like going on live television.” I grin, finally putting the dish on the stove. I lean on the counter and look at him, arms crossed.

“Yeah – like that.” He chuckles but doesn’t take the bait to talk about it. Apparently, he’s solely focused on me tonight. “You have a brother, right?.”

“Jasper.” I nod, thinking back to when I last saw him in person in early October. We facetime often, but it’s not the same. “He’s six years older than me - works and lives in Brighton.”

“So, it’s just your mom and dad back in Birmingham?” He recalls a conversation where I told him where I was from. He told me about his childhood home that day and we shared our favourite things about our moms.

I shake my head. “Just mom and my childhood dog – Marty. Uh,” I scratch my neck, searching for the right words. “My parents got divorced when I was fifteen. I haven’t been in touch with my dad much since then.”

He seems conflicted, as if he wants to know more but he’s unsure if it’s okay for him to ask. I make it easier for him. “He was insufferable – the definition of drunk, liar and sexist. Those three are a dangerous combination. Believe me, I was more than okay when they went their separate ways.”

Harry’s chewing on his lower lip when I finish, a serious expression clouding his usual chirpy face, so I shut up. I don’t want to delve on it anyway, so I just check the lasagne. I bite my own lip in worry – did I talk too much? When I move to get back to my spot, though, Harry’s occupying it. He holds my right hand and pulls me slightly to him, enough to get our bodies just a few inches from each other. I stare at our hands while he mumbles “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I know what he means. I’m sorry your dad’s a douche. I’m sorry you don’t have a lot of good memories. I’m sorry he gave you enough trust issues you’re dead afraid of loving anyone. My face turns into a frown.

“Ha. Don’t be, it made me tougher.” I force a smirk, though he doesn’t follow. “Seriously, it’s fine.” I take my hand from his and move both to his face, holding his cheeks and curling his lips as upwards as I can. He pouts and we break into laughter at the same time. I realize my mouth’s moving only when my ears listen to what I’m saying. “You’re cute, y’know that?”

He grins, moving his hands from the counter to my waist. He brings me even closer, though he keeps his arms stretched enough so we’re still not quite touching. “Is that a compliment?”

I cross my arms, as I don’t know where else to safely put my hands. “What, you’re one of those guys who can’t be called cute?”

Harry shakes his head. “Course not. You can call me whatever you like.” I grin, unable to fight the urge to pull a piece of his hair backwards. He’s got a weird length going at the moment. “Was it ugly – the divorce?”

“Uh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, figuring out a way to get out of this conversation after I answer this. The largest part of me doesn’t want to share any of it, but there’s a tiny piece that wants to tell everything to this man. I let my hand fall from his hair to his shoulder. “A little.”

“How so?”

The tiniest begins a fight the other, urging for the words to leave my mouth. I think Harry notices, but I start talking before he can tell me it’s okay not to. “The divorce wasn’t that ugly, I guess he just decided he was done one day. I think he got himself a girlfriend and took off.” I start, though I’m not looking at him. Instead, I stare at our feet. One of his thumbs rubs my skin, over the shirt, encouraging me to go on. “It was a relief. It meant the fights were over.” I continue. “But it left a whole other problem. My dad was one of those men who thinks women belong in the kitchen, taking care of the kids, y’know the type? Having met my father really young, my mom didn’t go to college. She was forty years old when they divorced, never had worked a day in her life - it was harder to get back on our feet afterwards.”

“Did you have anyone helping?”

I shake my head. “My grandparents lived close. They live comfortably – they lived on the flat I live in when they were younger and then moved to Birmingham, where they bought their house now. They aren’t rich though. They helped as they could.” I shrug. “Mom had to take two cleaning jobs – it’s as honourable as any other job, but I can’t help but wonder what could have been, y’know? She loves kids, I think she’d have been a great teacher. Maybe.”

“I bet she would.” Harry smiles a little, his tone gentle. “Does she still work two jobs now?”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “My brother started working shortly after so he took care of himself. She helped with my tuition but my aunt pays me the hours I put in Memory Lane, and since I don’t pay rent, she’s free from her kids now.” I chuckle, though I stop when I start sharing a little too much again. I don’t know why I’m talking so much but it just feels safe. Harry feels safe. “Do you remember the boyfriend I told you about?” Harry frowns, nodding nevertheless. “He didn’t want me to come to London.”

“But you came here to study.” Harry points out, his frown deepening.

“Exactly.” I nod. “That’s the real reason I broke up with him.”

Harry smiles as my words hit him and I feel as if I don’t have any air right now. There’s a flash of pride in his eyes and I’m not sure how to deal with it. Fortunately, the oven’s time alarm rings and I look over.

Harry brings his right hand from my waist to the nape of my neck and brings his lips to my forehead. “I like you even more than I did before.” He whispers and moves to get the plates, as if he didn’t just make my heart beat three times faster than its normal rate.

&&

I’m coming round

I’ve got Wagamama for two

I let my face hit the kitchen counter, groaning in desperation. When I texted him saying I was stressed, I just wanted reassuring words – I didn’t mean for him to come running!

No! Go back to the studio!

I text quickly, even though I’m sure he’s not going to do as I say. My thesis presentation is tomorrow and I’m pretty sure I have my speech memorized, but my mind keeps making up ugly scenarios, so I keep rehearsing (and maybe crying).

I realize how close Harry was when the bell rings and I’m still in the same position. I groan, following Honey up to the door. “Hi.” I mumble, resting my weight on it. “Told you to go back.”

“Yeah, I ignored you.” He grins, stopping to plant a kiss on my cheek before making his way towards the kitchen. He places the bag on the counter and picks Honey up, placing a kiss on her head as well. “I need to distract you.”

“No, you do not!” I sit back on the stool and stare at my PowerPoint presentation. “I need to go over this two more times and then I’m going to bed.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, you’re going to eat dinner with me and then you’ll practice one more time” I’m making a face, but he doesn’t notice, as he’s going through cupboards in search of cutlery. I don’t help. “With me as an audience. Then, I’ll clean and you’ll go to sleep.”

I groan and turn my attention back to my papers. To no one’s surprise, I can’t really focus on the written words when Harry’s going through my drawers, now in search of forks and knifes. Naturally, I give myself thirty seconds to properly look at him, before going back to my project.

He has a little stubble going on today, probably due to his studio life, and his hair’s a bit messy, a few strands falling on his face. I really don’t think he’s taking the time to do his hair lately, but I decide I like how it is.

I go back to reading my notes, though I’m thinking how good he looks in blue jeans and how I’d pay him to wear them every day. I also take the time to note I’m wearing a pair of leggings and the oldest sweater I own, regretting the choices I made this morning when I got myself dressed.

“Here.” Harry hands me a plate and goes around the counter to sit next to me. “You had that same expression the first time we met,” He points, his lips curving upwards. “’s adorable.”

I blush, though it must not be the same, as I really was focused on studying that day and now, I might focused, but on other things. “Do you remember that day?”

“Yeah, I scared you to death,” He laughs. “You seemed so startled it’s funny.”

“Uh, you did scare me.” I agree. “And then all I could think about was how we didn’t have any Rolling Stones t-shirts.”

He laughs. “D’you wanna know something?

I eye him, nodding just enough so he continues.

A flash of mischief flashes through his eyes as he confesses, “That was mostly an excuse to talk to you.”

I feel my eyes widen and my cheeks redden as his words hit me, suddenly at loss for words.

He gets it, because he swiftly moves forward. “Anyway, did you walk Honey yet?”

I nod, my words coming out as a whisper. “Uh, I walked her this morning.”

“Don’t you walk her in the evening as well?” He narrows his eyes, probably trying to recall the exact conversation I told him that. “I’ll walk her while you get ready for bed.”

It’s like he didn’t just tell me he wanted to talk to me that first day. I gulp, trying to shake it off as well – at least for right now (I can think about it again tomorrow).

“There’s no need, she’s fine.”

Harry eyes me. “Are you always this annoying when you’re stressed?”

Despite his dig, I smile. “Yeah, I am.”

He chuckles, mentioning it’s always good to know that, and moves on to tell me about the new song he’s working on. I don’t get half of what he’s saying, but he seems excited, so I nod and look excited for him.

He takes the plates when we’re both finished and sits on the couch with Honey on his lap. Under his strict orders, I plug the laptop on the TV and stand next to it. I soon find that, if I can deliver this presentation under Harry’s gaze, I must deliver it swiftly tomorrow.

I exhale heavily once I’m done, exactly twenty minutes later. Though I messed up once, I quickly recovered from it so, for the first time today, I’m actually feeling positive.

Harry looks well impressed when I sit next to him. “That was pretty good, yeah?”

I hold back a grin, nodding. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“S’nothing.” He smiles. “Go get ready for bed while I walk Honey. If you really want to, I’ll let you go over it one more time before I go.”

“Yes please!”

He returns my smile and gets up, picking the leash I left on the side couch. He stops just before he goes through the front door, Honey already completely out and currently pulling him. “You sure I can’t go tomorrow?”

“I’m sure,” I try to dismiss him as nicely as I can. This is the third time he’s asked and I can tell he’d really like to show support, but I’ve thought long and hard about it. “I don’t want anyone there.”

He nods, resigned, and closes the door behind him.

¨

I can barely contain my grin, even if it’s been hours since my presentation was over. I had lunch with my aunt and Amy, who both congratulated me a million times. After that, I drove to a park with Amy and Max to have a little walk with Honey and eat huge pancakes because it’s a happy day (it’s justified). I’ve been home for an hour now, yet it still doesn’t feel real that I’m completely done with school. This is it – I’m on holiday until the beginning of January (when a whole new adventure will start).

I’m scrolling through my TV show app when my bell buzzes. Frowning, I ask who it is on the intercom and Harry Styles’s voice comes from it. I open the door up, taking the little time I have to check what time it is – it’s ten minutes past six pm. He should be at the studio right now, not on my building’s lift making his way to me.

I open the door as I hear the lift opening and Harry takes large steps until he’s right in front of me.

“Congratulations!” He grins widely, opening his free arm (he was a white box on his left hand) and pulling me in. “I knew you’d ace it!”

“Yeah, cause you’re an expert in interior designing and all.” I wrinkle my nose, letting him in. “What have you got there?”

He grins even wider, placing the box in the kitchen counter. I take a step closer as he takes a cake out of it. “Thought the occasion deserved a cake.”

I laugh when I see the white letters on the cake – it reads ‘Masters’ and has the checked emoji in front of it. “Thank you!”

“It’s carrot cake,” he informs me. “Do you like carrot cake?”

“Of course I like it! Let’s have a piece right now.” I dig for two plates as well as a cake knife and two forks. I’m cutting a piece for each when Honey finally comes from my room and he kneels down to pet her head. “H, take yours.” I hand in the plate, waiting for him to get up.

When he does, he has a strange smile on his face. “You just called me H.”

“I guess it came out.” I shrug. “You call me El all the time. C’mon, eat your cake.”

He takes it from me and we both head to the couch. “Shouldn’t you be at the studio?” I ask in between bites.

“I gave everyone an early night today.”

“Do you have anything else to do?”

He eyes me. “No – I told everyone to go home because I had to celebrate your win, not because anything else.”

“Thank you.” I smile. “Have you made much progress since last week?”

“I have one more song done – another two in the making.” He tells me. “’m not sure if they’ll all be used but I have a good start.”

“Uh, what are they about?” I’m now cross-legged on the couch again, staring at him. I smile with the familiarity of it all. Harry’s chewing his last piece of cake, so I elaborate. “Like, does the album have a theme or something?”

“Hm,” he swallows. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of different stuff going on at the moment. ‘m not sure.”

“Are you not sure or do you not want to share?”

“Ah, a little of both.” Harry chuckles, but I swear I catch a glimpse of apprehension in his expression. I think my eyes are deceiving me when his cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. What is he hiding?

I try to persuade him. “C’mon, it’s me! I had your phone for two weeks and I didn’t snoop a thing!”

“Uh,” He puts his plate down on the centre table and does the same to mine. I raise an eyebrow. “You’ll soon see, I promise you’ll be one of the firsts to have a listen.”

I make a face – unsure of what to take from it.

“Don’t make that face.” Harry laughs, poking my cheek with his finger. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I just don’t want to freak you out.”

I don’t take his answer as he intends to. Instead, I become even more suspicious. “How would your album freak me out?”

“Ellie…”

“Harry.” I mimic him. “Tell me.”

He sighs. “You’re so stubborn.” I smile as he shakes his head, seemingly convinced. “There might be a song or two about you.”

I feel my eyes widen. My heart races. What did he just say?

“See? You’re freaked out.”

Harry chews on his bottom lip, waiting for me to react. I open my mouth to say something. Anything. But I’m not sure what to make of it. What are the songs about? Does he mean it in a friendly way? Is he even planning to use them?

“Why?” I finally ask, my voice low. I can’t take my eyes off of him, who closes his own for a second before opening them up and opening his mouth to speak.

“I think you know why.”

“I really don’t.”

“I could say it,” Harry pauses and I notice the moment he chooses his next words, determination flashing through his eyes. “Or I could show you.”

My eyes widen again and I’m at loss for words – does he mean…?

Suddenly, he drags himself on the couch and I have a warm hand on my left cheek. He tilts his head slightly, as if to ask permission, and I don’t even realize I have nodded my head until he brings his other hand to the nape of my neck and he kisses me.

Though it takes me a second before I realize what’s actually happening, I respond by pressing my own lips to his, covering them hard. I bring my own hand to rest on his, still on my cheek, and he takes it as a sign to deepen the kiss, bringing me closer with his reassuring grip. My other hand goes straight to his chest, gripping his t-shirt and bringing him to me, as if I’m willing to fight gravity to have his body as close to mine as humanly possible.

I think he notices we can’t get any closer with my legs crossed, so he brings his hands down to my legs and lifts me just enough to bring me halfway through his lap. Our lips don’t part as he does so, but we both release a content sigh as my butt lays on his thigh.

We don’t have time to think about what we’re doing, though, as he immediately takes my top lip in between his – a quiet groan exiting his body. I grip him by his shoulders, allowing the kiss to deepen once again.

We need air, however, so we both back away slightly. Our foreheads are touching when we both open our eyes and stare at each other. I immediately feel myself blushing, realization hitting me like a truck over the speed limit.

“I’ve been dying to do that for a very long time.” Harry whispers, pecking my lips once more, before he lets his head hit the couch’s pillow behind him. A giggle erupts from his chest and I can’t fight the smile that breaks through my lips.

“Oh God.” I hide my face on his neck, pure bliss, with a dash of embarrassment, invading my body at the same time. His arms wrap themselves around me and I decide I don’t want to think about anything else.

I want to be here, with him. I want to shut my insecurities and kiss the hell out of this man once more.

“I know you don’t want a relationship,” I close my eyes when his soft words hit my ears. “But I feel like I’ll regret it if I don’t take a shot anyway.”

“Harry…”

“Just,” He bites the inside of his lower lip. “Let’s hang out like we’ve been doing… but kissing in between.” I pull my head back just enough to look up at him. He stares back at me with a hint of a smile. “Don’t think, just answer me right now – do you think that would be nice?”

I’m nodding my head just enough for him to take it as an answer. “Yes.” I whisper. “There’s no doubt about that. But-”

“No buts. Don’t think about it.” He holds me tighter to him. “No labels – no anything. We’ll just be trying. Okay?”

My heart races as I think about what he’s suggesting. Will I be able to just go with the flow? To not think about what every gesture means – every peck on the lips, every hug, every cuddle? I’m almost certain I won’t – it’s against my nature.

So, I’m not sure why I’m nodding my head a second after and planting kiss on his neck, proceeding to rest my head on his shoulder and beginning an hour-long cuddle.

¨

D E C E M B E R

I think I’m going to die.

It’s been two days since I’ve seen Harry (or if you prefer: two days since we kissed like the world depended on it). We were supposed to have dinner yesterday, however I had the world’s biggest headache and fell asleep at six p.m.. I think Harry thought I was ignoring him, only realizing it was serious when I sent him a video message at midnight (when I transferred from the couch to the bed), looking like the newest addition to the The Walking Dead cast (playing a walker, obviously).

I’m not sure what prompted this flu, but it sure has progressed quickly. I’m still lying on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me, when my phone buzzes next to me.

Open the door for me please

I look down on my clothes while I get up from the couch, realizing I’m still in my pyjamas. The trousers have little lambs on them and the shirt is actually the face of one but, right now, I couldn’t care less. I have no energy to change. Instead, I wrap the blanket over me and make the way to the front door.

I feel a shiver come from the tips of my toes and spread through my body and I squeeze the blanket around me, sneezing afterwards. I huff, suddenly feeling hot. I leave the door opened and make my way back to the couch as Harry’s taking his time to come up.

My body has never ached this much and I let out a small cry while lying down again. My mom always told me I’m a big baby when sick but she should see me now – I can be even worse when sick and on my own.

After a few minutes, I finally hear the lift doors open and the footsteps that follow. I try to turn enough to see the front door from here, but since the couch faces the wall opposite to it, I quickly give up.

“El?”

“In here.” I answer, barely lifting an arm. “What took you so long?”

He doesn’t need to answer as he comes into my line of vision and I see the big Christmas tree he’s carrying.

“Hi,” Harry peeks from the side of the tree. “Where should I put this?”

The flu must have affected my thought process because I take a few extra seconds to respond. “Did you just buy me a tree?”

“Duh.” Harry chuckles, deciding to let it on the floor for a second. “You were upset earlier, so I brought it to you. Now you can have your tree up on December 1st, like tradition.”

When I woke up this morning, my first thought was that I was supposed to go buy a Christmas tree in the morning and decorate it in the evening. Since I was little, my tree always went up on December 1st. Therefore, to say I was upset was an understatement – I made sure I shared my disappointment with everyone I knew, including Harry.

I pout, as if I’m about to cry. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

Harry laughs, leaning down to plant a kiss on my temple. My lips curve in small smile as he sits by my side. “How’re you feeling?”

“My body hurts and I think I might have a fever.” I answer, pressing my cheek onto his palm when he cups my face. His hand’s a bit cold, but it is his hand. I decide it’s worth it. “I feel like shit. I probably look like it too.”

He moves his hand to my forehead and, then, takes a few hair strands out of my face. “You’re warm. Have you checked your temperature?”

I regrettably shake my head.

Harry purses his lips. “Do you have a thermometer?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Wait a sec, I’m going to get it.” He stands up and heads to the bathroom.

He comes back after a minute, handing me the thermometer. I accept it, placing it below my pyjama’s shirt without another word. Meanwhile, Harry finally decides to take his coat off. I know the room temperature is too high, since I made sure I set the heater on the maximum temperature a few hours ago, so it’s not really a surprise when he decides to take off his black hoodie too, settling for a white t-shirt. I shiver just by looking at him, though.

“While we wait, tell me where to put the tree.”

“It goes on that corner. You have to move the TV cabinet a little.”

He nods, jumping into action. I lie still as he drags the cabinet further away until he thinks it’s enough to fit the tree. He’s securing it up when the thermometer beeps. He doesn’t listen, so I sit up a little and drop my eyes to the black and white screen showing 38,5oC. I pout, placing it on the table and lying back again.

I’m covering my face with the blanket when Harry turns back to me. He snickers and closes the distance between himself and the couch, probably taking a peek at the thermometer on the way. He grabs the blanket and uncovers my face.

“You need to take something for the fever.” He tells me as if I’m a big baby. “Tell me where it is so I can grab it for you.”

“It’s in the cabinet above the microwave,” I mumble. I watch as he gets up, waiting until he comes back with medicine and water to continue. “God, I hate being sick.”

He half smiles. “I can see that.”

I eye him, as if daring him to say another word.

“Even your dog ran away from you,” Harry has the audacity to laugh. “I saw her snuggled in the bathroom.”

I make a face. “I take it back, you’re not kind. You’re mean.”

“’m sorry,” he chuckles, taking the water from me and placing it on table. “Lie down while I cut the net on the tree. We’ll leave it be for a few hours until we decorate.”

“We?” I ask. “You do know you’re doing it alone, right? I can’t move!”

“Let the medicine take effect and then we’ll see about that.” He orders. “Maybe take a nap. I’ll walk Honey and watch Netflix while you’re at it.”

I get comfy, gazing at him as he cuts the net and frees the branches. I’m thinking how nice it’d be to have a photo of this moment when I black out.

The first thing I notice when I wake is the lack of light coming in through the windows - I must have been asleep for a few hours. The second thing I notice is Harry sitting at the end of the couch.

I take a few seconds to look at him. He’s focused on whatever he’s watching (I don’t turn so he doesn’t notice movement), running his index finger on his lower lip and squinting his eyes a little when he listens to specific parts. He’s wearing his hoodie again and his hair is a little more tamed today, which makes me smile.

I decide I’ve stared enough, so I turn a little and his eyes immediately find me.

“Hey.” I whisper, stretching just enough to test how my body feels. Still hurts a little. “What time it it?”

“A little over six,” He tells me without checking. “You’ve been asleep for two hours. I’ve taken Honey out and searched for your Christmas decorations.”

“Did you find ‘em?”

“Yes,” He points to the boxes on the floor, with a sleeping Honey next to them. “You told me this morning you couldn’t possibly go down to the garage. I just needed to find the key and which door to open.”

I giggle. “Did you take long?”

“Nah.” He smiles. “Do you feel better?”

“My head’s not hurting that much, but I still feel like a truck ran me over.”

“I went to the pharmacy on our walk,” he signs between him and Honey. “I bought Afrin for your blocked nose and more Ibuprofen.” He doesn’t notice the face I pull, so he continues. “I also brought that water bottle from my car so you drink more water. It’s full.”

I look over to the table and notice the rainbow letters spelling ‘treat people with kindness’ over the bottle. He has the same sentence written over his black hoodie. “Are you always surrounded by your own merch?”

“Maybe.” He laughs. “Anyway, you think you can help me decorate the tree?”

“I can take the baubles and bows out of the boxes while you put the lights on.” I offer, choosing something I can do while sitting down. “Do you think you can handle that?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me to move them over at least ten times, but I’ll do it anyway.”

I laugh because he’s right.

For the next twenty minutes, Harry struggles with the lights, taking steps back and forward as he changes the spots he places the lights on. I try not to notice the cute frown that appears on his face every time he’s indecisive, focusing on my task instead, but it’s a rather difficult thing to do.

I find myself looking back at him more than I care to admit.

I’ve acknowledged that I’ve always had an interest in Harry. That’s the truth – he had the ability to suck me in right from that first day. However, I find that, as of lately, I feel the overwhelming need to watch his every movement. Every frown, pout or raised eyebrow. Every smile, grin or laugh. I want to hear every word he has to say.

Harry steps away from the tree again. This time, though, he nods his head and looks at me. I push the scary thoughts away and look over at the tree, nodding my own head in the process.

“Nice job.”

He seems surprised. “You like it?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “There’s not a spot missing. You’ve done well.”

“Thanks, I’ve not done this in a long time.”

I lie back on the couch, surrounded by baubles. I pull the blanket a little tighter, even though I’m not as cold as before. “What do you mean?”

“Usually, my mom already has the tree up when I get home for Christmas.” He explains, accessing all the baubles beside me on the couch, plus the little red bows on the floor. “Are we supposed to use all of these?”

“That depends on the colour scheme we choose.”

“Colour scheme?!” His eyes widen.

I giggle. “Red and white or red and gold?”

Harry looks at the baubles on more time, before telling me his preference. “Let’s go red and gold. What d’you think?”

“Seems good. C’mon, I’ll help with this part.” I say as I get up from the couch, leaving the blanket behind. “So,” I choose a bauble and go over to the tree. “Your mom puts the tree up before you go home. What about your house? Do you not have a tree here?”

“I don’t.” He places his own bauble beside mine as he answers.

I look over at him, mouth slightly opened in surprise. What does he mean, he doesn’t have a tree? “Why?”

“Sometimes I’m in LA, sometimes I go on vacation.” He shrugs. “I don’t see the point if I’m not spending Christmas there.”

“But the leading up to Christmas is the most fun!” I argue while we get new ornaments. “What about this Christmas? You’ve been in London for a while. Are you planning on going on holiday?”

He shakes his head in response. “I don’t know what to tell you,” He chuckles. “I guess my definition of home is a little messed up for now. For Christmas, anyway, my home is Holmes Chapel. I’m fine if I have no tree wherever I am, as long as I have one there.”

I stare at him, not sure if I find his situation quite adorable or a bit worrying. He notices my indecisiveness, holding me by the shoulders and dragging me back to the couch.

“Don’t read too much into it,” He says while handing me a bow. “I never even thought about it.”

“But that’s sad, Harry!” I argue, pouting. “You haven’t decorated a tree in what, four years?”

“More like six.” He’s fighting a smile, though I don’t understand why. “I haven’t missed it, I promise! Let’s go back to decorating yours before you get too tired to stand, alright?”

I do as he says, though I’m thinking on how I can improve his Christmas spirit this year. I think about the Memory Lane’s Christmas layout and make it a point to show him my plans. Maybe I can persuade him to join me next week to make it happen.

We work beside each other for another few minutes, until I get too tired and land back on the couch. I don’t think Harry minds when I tell him to place the other ornaments himself while I give him orders, though I’m not sure he appreciates when I tell him to stand by the tree so I can take a few photos. In fact, he rolls his eyes (he does fix his hair and hoodie before posing, so that must mean he doesn’t mind that much, right?).

I lie down with my eyes closed while Harry puts the ornaments we didn’t use back on the boxes and puts them by the front door. I hear Honey following him through the house and my lips curve into a small smile, picturing it in my head.

Harry offers to make dinner and we end up eating scrambled eggs and toast, as I can’t think of eating anything more. We’re back on the couch shortly after, Harry’s lap serving as my pillow as we watch The Holiday to keep my little tradition going. He’s running his fingers through my blonde locks and I fight the urge to close my eyes, though it’s getting harder by the minute.

Cameron Diaz has not yet discovered that Jude Law’s a widower when I give up. I close my eyes and sigh, suddenly feeling like I wouldn’t mind if this turned out to be a new tradition. Falling asleep on Harry’s lap isn’t so bad.

“El?”

I hm when I hear his voice, not quite opening my eyes.

“You should take a shower and go to bed, babe,” he takes the hair out of my face so he can see me, so I open my eyes just enough to look at him. “Can you breathe fine?”

I shrug. “I think I have to sleep with a few pillows tonight.”

He’s nodding in understanding when I hear myself again. “You could stay.” It’s barely a whisper, but I’m sure my eyes give away the panic I feel when I register the words I just said. “I mean, if you want to. Uh. You know what? Nevermind, I-”

“El.” He stops me with a chuckle. “Of course I’ll stay with you.”

I hold back a smile. “Thank you.”

“Now go take a shower and change your pyjamas,” He shoos me. “I have to make a bed out of this couch.”

I furrow my eyebrows as I get up. “This couch is small.” I say, folding the blanket and droping it on the couch. “I can’t sleep on here and we’re practically the same height. You can sleep on the bed.”

Harry smirks. “Are you sure, Frosty?”

“I’m sure you won’t take advantage of a sick girl, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “Also, I look like shit. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to anyway.”

“Are you one-hundred percent sure about that?”

I stop when I notice his smile. “Uh, yeah?”

“Because you’re the most beautiful sick person I’ve seen in my life.”

“Uh.” I cough. Unfortunately, it’s not an awkward cough. As a matter of fact, it’s a side effect of having the flu and I have to take a gulp of water to calm it down. “Ugh. Do you stand by your sentence now?”

Harry looks smug. “One-hundred percent.”

&&

How’re you feeling?

Much better, I can finally breathe again

Not snoring anymore, then?

You’ll never sleep next to me again!!

You wanna bet on that?

Anyway, I’m leaving my sister’s birthday dinner now

Do you want a piece of cake?

First: you’re sounding way too confident

Second: you’re not bringing me a piece of your sister’s cake

Why not?

She offered!

Fine, I’ll have a bit

But say thank you for me!

&&

It’s Friday when Harry and I can both align our schedules to work on Memory Lane’s Christmas layout.

I’ve ran my ideas past my aunt as soon as I felt better, going on shopping trips with both her and Amy. Though I’d prefer not to, I also had to ask them if it was fine by them to have Harry come by to help. Unsurprisingly, Amy gave me a knowing smile and said it was fine by her. My aunt, however, stared at me for a few seconds before breaking into a grin and nodding.

I close the store’s blinders as soon as we close, leaving the four of us protected from prying eyes.

“Let’s start!” I clap, picking the few pieces of paper I brought along. “Aunty and Amy, you’ll be doing the display. Do you have all the little bears you’ll need?” I eye both of them, nodding when I see the

huge box Amy picks up. “Right. Harry, you and me will move the furniture around so we can put the Christmas tree in the middle. I’ll need you to pick up the boxes, that thing is huge.”

He nods assertively, trying to hold in a grin. “Right, m’am.”

I eye him. “It’s a serious task.”

“’Course it is.” He chuckles. “I just like when you’re bossy.”

Amy coughs and I turn to her, catching my aunt’s knowing grin in the process.

I blush, hitting Harry’s bicep. “Shush.”

“What?”

“We’ll pick up those boxes now,” I say loudly, more for my aunt to hear than Harry. I grab his arm and drag him through the back door. I wait until we go downstairs to the storehouse to turn to him, arms crossed. “You can’t say things like that in front of my aunt!”

“I didn’t say anything bad!”

“It’s how you said it.” I eye him. “She picks up on things fast. She’s also super close to my mom, she’ll open her mouth before we even leave the store!”

He nods. “Alright-”

I’m agreeing with him as he’s saying “Only if I get a kiss first”.

He grins, closing the distance between us. “I haven’t kissed you since that first time,” He comments, taking my hand on his. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you got sick on purpose.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause kissing you is such a burden.”

He wiggles his eyebrows, a grin breaking through his lips. “Oh, you like it, then?”

“Shut up.”

“Alright.”

He’s still chuckling when he brings his mouth to mine. He starts slow, but soon his tongue is in my mouth like he’s been there his whole life and he knows exactly what to do. He wraps his hands around me, bringing me closer to him – our chests come together beneath the Christmas sweaters I brought for everyone and I bring my hand to his hair, pulling him towards me just as he starts to slow down.

He gives me a small peck on the corner of my mouth before he pulls back, a grin in his face.

“Uh.” I unconsciously touch my lips, feeling my lips curve upwards to mirror his grin. “Right.”

“Should we go?”

I nod, though I burst in laughter just as we grab the first box.

He’s laughing too, though he seems lost as to why. “What?”

“I mean,” I shake my head, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “If you’d told me we’d be here today, making out behind my aunt and best friend’s backs, I’d tell you you were crazy.”

“I wouldn’t.”

I widen my eyes at his response. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that.” He grins, pulling me closer to him again. “I mean that I’ve always had a thing for you, though you didn’t seem too interested.”

“What do you mean I didn’t seem interested?” I cry. “I was a blubbering mess the first time we spoke!”

“Well,” He shrugs. “I didn’t know if you were shy with everyone or just with me.”

I rest my forehead on his shoulder. “I’ve had a crush on you since that first time.”

I feel him laughing, before he keeps going. “The feeling’s mutual.”

I pull back just enough to look at him, failing to hold back a happy smile. ““Shall we go back now?” He nods.

I give him a peck and we both go back to our boxes.

Neither Amy or my aunt say anything when we come back up, both carrying huge boxes. We end up bringing them all up before re-arranging the furniture.

We start on the tree shortly after. I help Harry with the lighting, since this one’s a little more complicated than mine was – we need a ladder, after all. Harry’s wrapped in fairy lights, wearing a Christmas sweater and a Santa hat when I take a picture of him, promising to send him later so he can text it to his mom (I also set it as my contact picture). Then, we proceed to the decoration and both my aunt and Amy come to help us.

It’s a few hours until we’re finally done and both of them leave, leaving Harry and I alone, under the pretence of taking Instagram pictures.

Instead, we lay down on the floor next to the Christmas tree, making out like two adolescents.

&&

Should I buy popcorn for our B99 marathon?

Sure

Are you coming before or after dinner?

I have to organize myself, I need to walk and bathe Honey today

Before

In fact, I’m coming right now

Wait for me to give her a bath, I want to see that!!

&&

It’s December 10th. Some would say you still have loads of time to buy Christmas gifts, while others will have theirs already bought and wrapped, stuffed under their tree and ready to go. As for me, I like to start once the month begins - although, most likely, I’ll still have something to buy by December 23rd.

That’s how Harry and I end up on Regent Street on a Monday. It’s still early – barely fifteen minutes after nine, but we established from the start that we should go early so we’d avoid crowds. We both have hot drinks on our hands – coffee for him, hot chocolate for me – while we walk and decide which stores we want to go in.

I’ve decided I want to give a Timberland watch to my brother, though I have no clue what to give to my mom. Harry, on the other hand, has told me he has a lot of gifts to buy for children, as he has a lot of cousins and friends’ kids. We decided we would start with clothes and accessories, and end on a toy’s store, as I have to buy something for Max too.

When I realize, Harry’s turning to the Burberry store. I gulp, it suddenly hitting me just with whom I’m shopping. Nevertheless, I follow him, holding my cup of hot chocolate tightly with both hands.

There are two women working the store. They both have a sparkling dress on and their makeup is flawless. Suddenly, I feel underdressed, in my jeans and furry coat. If this is the kind of store Harry’s going to drag me in, I’m glad I, at least, wore my heeled boots today.

The first one eyes my cup as I take a sip and I notice she’s about to tell me off, but then she looks to the man next to me and her eyes grow in size.

Her scowl instantly turns into a grin and she walks over to us.

"Mr. Styles, how can we help you today?” Her tone is overly sweet, though I’m sure that wouldn’t be the one she was going to use on me. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“Hi,” Harry smiles at her. “We’ll just look around for a bit, thank you.”

I move behind him when he walks over to one of the displays, holding my cup carefully - if I spill the hot drink on this floor, I’ll have nightmares for a week.

“What are you looking for?” I ask while admiring the trench coats.

“I think my mom likes these handbags.” He runs his index finger on his lip, an almost unnoticeable frown appearing in his expression.

I smile, deciding to walk the few steps between us and look over at the handbags.

“They’re pretty!”

“’M not sure which to buy, though.” He seems undecided, looking from bag to bag. “My sister usually comes with me when I buy stuff for my mom.”

“Well, I can try to help you,” I offer. “But you can also wait for your sister input. Are you seeing her again soon?” I ask, since I knew he was with her over the weekend.

“She’s coming over for dinner next Wednesday.” He answers, picking a handbag up from the display. “I think I’m good with your help though. What do you think of this one?” He’s turning it around so he can analyse every angle.

"I like it,” I nod. It’s a tote bag, Burberry’s new model, with a simple enough design, though it has a belt as its main feature. The one Harry picked up comes in white and blue, but I personally think it’s a safer choice if he chooses a standard colour. “I’d prefer it in grey or black. Maybe maroon. Does your mom have a go-to colour?”

“She likes black.” He puts it down and picks up the black one. “Are we sure about the model? Should we go for this one or for one of those?”

I walk over to the display he just pointed out. Its main feature is the sides, where they printed Burberry’s classical pattern. I purse my lips, looking over to the first one again to compare both.

“How many handbags does your mom own?”

“I don’t know!” He seems offended that I just asked such a question. I chuckle. “A few? I gave her a Michael Kors for her birthday last year.”

“Then I’d give her that one.” I point to the handbag still in his hands. “This one’s great if you don’t have a lot cause it’s a timeless design. But if she has more designer bags, I’d choose that one.” I explain, my eyes slowly dropping to the price tag attached to one of these, since I could use a nice handbag to take to work in January.

I gulp at the price, quickly turning back to Harry.

“You’re good, then?”

“I think so,” He nods. “Do you want to take a look around?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I shake my head, almost telling him this is all way over my pay check. I think he knows that, though. “Go pay, I’ll go finish my hot chocolate outside.”

I eye the handbags one more time and leave, enjoying the little sun we’re getting.

I take the time to finally tell my mom I’m going home on Saturday, as she’s been asking me just about every day since I got sick. According to her, I may have a relapse and I should be home so she can take care of me. I don’t tell her I was good enough in Harry’s care, as she’s better off without knowing that for now.

She’s also better off not knowing I only decided when I was going home this morning, when Harry told me he’s flying to Los Angeles next Sunday.

I can admit now that I wasn’t sure when I should head to Birmingham because I didn’t know when Harry was leaving London for Holmes Chapel. As much as I want to hit myself because of that, it’s the truth. I have come to terms that I want to spend as much time as I can with him and I’m not sure what’s going to happen in January, so I want to enjoy while I can.

I’m answering Amy’s snapchat with a selfie when Harry materializes next to me, jumping in on my picture. I nearly jump when I feel his lips on my cheek, holding their position until I get the shot. He pulls back, though he throws an arm around my shoulders and brings me to him just enough to plant a kiss on my temple.

I forget Amy and put the phone back in my pocket.

“There are people out, Harry.” I remind him, bringing my fingers to his wrist so he understands what I’m implying. I bite the inside of my cheek, missing the extra weight as soon as he withdraws his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I should be the one aware of that. Instead, I just want to touch you.”

I blush. “Alright, you can hold my pinky for the next minute.”

Even though he understands I’m joking, he hooks his little finger on mine. I laugh, but I really want to cry with what he’s making me feel. I look around us, spotting exactly five people – there’s a couple around their fifties on the other side of the street, a lady who looks like she could be my grandmother and a group of three guys that look like they rather listen to 21 Savage then Harry Styles.

I try not to think about how I can regret it later. Instead, I unlock our fingers and grab his hand. I agreed to trying – this is trying.

“El,” Harry warns, looking around us as well. “Thinking we’re in the clear doesn’t mean we actually are.”

“I know.” I nod, plastering a smile on my face, even though he just fuelled my fear. “I can see Timberland from here, though, let’s just enjoy until we get there and that’s it. Yeah?”

Harry laughs. “Alright. Your wish is my command.”

“You do realize I’m granting you your wish, right?” I wrinkle my nose. “You just said, and I quote, ‘I just want to touch you’. Needy much, Styles?”

“Yeah,” He nods his head vigorously. “I won’t even deny that. I am needy when it comes to you.”

I don’t even care that I’m blushing again. I bet he’s used to it by know. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. It’s been too many days since I last kissed you.”

“That’s on you – you could have dropped by yesterday.” I tease, since I know he wanted to but the producer he was meeting with dragged their session through the night.

“You’re mean to me.” He brings his hand to his heart, as if I just shot him. “Thanks for the selfie, by the way. Your grey-ish eyes and cute bun inspired me immensely.”

“Stop making me blush, Harry!” I groan, bumping my shoulder into his.

“Alright.” Harry laughs. “Anyway, I was thinking, do you want to come over for dinner of Wednesday?”

I gulp. “As in, dinner with you sister?”

“My sister and Michael, her boyfriend, yeah.” Harry nods, as if he didn’t just throw a damn bomb at me.

What am I supposed to do? Can I even say no without sounding like a bitch?

I pull a lock of hair behind my ear, trying my best not to look as nervous as I just became. “Uh, are you sure?”

“I can see your mind racing.” Harry chuckles, brushing his shoulder on mine. “It’s just dinner with my sister, she’s known about you for awhile anyway.”

“Knowing and meeting are two different things.” I point out.

He nods slowly. “It’s ok if you think it’s too fast. You can say no, El.”

“I’m not saying no.” I blurt. “You just took me by surprise. I’ll go.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I stick my tongue out, just as we arrive in front of the store.

&&

Does your sister like cheesecake?

I think so, why?

I’m making dessert

I won’t say no to that

Also, bring Honey

Your sister’s not a dog person! I’m not taking Honey

She does like dogs, she was just teasing me that time

I miss Honey

Bring her to me!

Alriiiiight

&&

I arrive at Harry’s at five.

I don’t even bother to lock my car, as I’m holding Honey’s leash, a thermal bag with the cheesecake in and an enormous Christmas wreath. I don’t have enough hands to press Harry’s bell either, so I’m glad when he shows at the door when I’m still a few steps away from it.

Honey immediately tugs on the leash to get to him, so I let the leash go and she runs free. I try not to get jealous that she gets a hug before me, but I haven’t seen him yesterday and I want a hug too. I try not to fasten my pace.

“What have you got there?” Harry smiles, looking over from Honey to me.

“A Christmas wreath for your front door!” I return his wide smile, holding the wreath so he can see it clearly as I approach him. “I just thought you should have something in your house – especially with your sister coming and everything. I thought about getting a small Christmas tree – like, the really tiny ones, but I was ninety-nine per cent sure you wouldn’t have any baubles... so I got this instead. Do you like it?”

He chuckles. “Yes, I do like it.”

I’m now in front of Harry, waiting for him to stand up so I can greet him. He’s petting Honey while looking up at me, though. He could have been the needy one last Monday, but we’ve changed positions and I am the one wanting contact now.

Therefore, in a complete un-Ellie fashion, I bend down just enough to peck him on the lips.

Harry looks surprised, his eyes sparkling with amusement. I giggle, stepping beside him to get to the kitchen (my cheesecake needs to get to the freezer ASAP).

I feel his presence behind me just as I pass the front door, though he only makes it noticeable when I take the box out of the bag and put the dessert into the freezer. I’ve barely closed its door when Harry turns my body around and presses me to the fridge.

I gulp.

“Hi,” He grins, taking my bottom lip in between his a second later.

I let him deepen the kiss, feeling both breathless and the most alive at the same time. I join both my hands on the base of his neck, letting out a small whimper as his tongue touches mine. It’s probably not the time, but I find myself wondering how the hell did we get here.

He parts the kiss, making a way of small open-mouthed kisses from my mouth to my neck. I pant, giggling as a school girl. “Now,” I manage to say. “This puts my little peck in the corner.”

He laughs, his breathing hitting my neck. I squirm, suddenly ticklish. “Well, I liked it.”

“Good.” I bring him to my eye level again. “I liked it too, though I liked your version better.”

He doesn’t even bother to respond verbally, joining our lips together again.

“Uh,” I manage to say as I plant my hands on his cheeks to move his face backwards. “We have to hang the wreath, H.”

“We can do it later.” He tries to close the distance I created, pouting when I take a step to the side.

“We can do that later.” I laugh, taking enough pity to land my lips on his one last time – it’s quick, a peck at best. “Now c’mon, it’ll take five minutes.”

I think he wants to complain, but he does what I say.

Gemma petted Honey for the majority of the night, told me embarrassing stories of Harry and ate two pieces of my cheesecake by half past nine.

Though we started off making out in his kitchen, Harry and I both agreed we’d keep the PDA to a minimum (if any, really) in front of his sister. I was introduced as his friend. As I thought, Gemma knew all about Memory Lane, our switched phones and the sheenigans we’ve found ourselves in since then. I also believe she knows all about the kisses and ‘giving it a try’ but she doesn’t mention it, and neither do we.

I find myself sat next to her on the couch, talking about life. I tell her how scary it feels to go from studying interior design to actually working on the area, especially in a renown firm. She tells me her own experience and hands enough advices to calm my racing heart.

By the time Harry and Michael come join us (after the first five seconds of girly talk, they left the dinner table to go outside with Honey), Gemma and I have decided we want to watch the new A Christmas Prince movie on Netflix - neither of them decide to argue our choice, probably because they know better.

Everything goes downhill about ten minutes before the movie ends.

I don’t grab my phone from my pocket right when it buzzes for the first time. It’s a text, I can reply later. However, it keeps buzzing, so I give in and find a string of texts from Amy.

I know it’s bad right from the moment I read the first one.

I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but I think you should know

What is it?, I text her back right away, eyeing Harry from the corner of my eye. He’s been keeping his distance, even throughout the movie, so I don’t think he can read what we’re saying.

There’s a photo of you and Harry going around

She sends the picture right after and I want to excuse myself and hide in the bathroom. The picture is not bad – in fact, I know it could be a lot worse. Someone pictured Harry and I saying goodbye to each other when he dropped me off at Memory Lane. It’s a busy street at lunchtime, so we settled for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek for him (Harry does love to give me forehead kisses, so he chose that spot this time around too).

What scares me the most is I thought no one was noticing us. I could have grabbed his hand like I did that morning – or worse, I could have kissed him goodbye.

His words ring in my mind - “Thinking we’re in the clear doesn’t mean we actually are”. He knew what he was saying, but I thought it would be fine. Was this the only photo from that day? What else did they have?

That’s not all though

What do you mean?

I found out because Ashley texted me

I cringe, feeling the need to close my eyes as I wait for her next text. Ashley was one of our colleagues in college – and not a nice one at that, so I only expect the worse. If Amy found out through her, it means Ashley saw the photo.

Amy seems to lack the words because, after what feels like forever, she ends up sending me a screenshot of their conversation. I read through it, feeling like someone just put a dagger through my stomach. I read through the texts quickly, feeling a knot when she gets her point across – she thinks I got into Taylor Howes because I have “friends in high places”.

Amy texts Please don’t freak out right after, but she’s too late.

I want to bring my legs up to my chest, hide my face in between my knees and sob.

This - this is what I was afraid of.

“El?”

I jump, startled. I look to Harry, then to the TV – the movie is over.

“Is everything alright?”

“Uh,” I try to come up with an excuse, fast. “I- I have to go.”

He furrows his eyebrows, standing up right after me. “Hey, what’s going on?” He grabs my forearm gently, his tone merely a whisper.

I look over at Gemma, who’s half asleep on her boyfriend’s shoulder. I’m torn between going without another word or saying goodbye. “Amy texted me.” I blurt. “She had a fight with her boyfriend, she asked if she could go over to my flat.I said yes.” I lie through my teeth. The urge to cry only deepens when I see his expression soften in understanding.

I feel like the worst person on Earth.

I end up saying goodbye to Gemma and Michael, standing by my story. I pick Honey up from her spot on Harry’s carpet and walk to the door with Harry behind me.

I barely let him give me a goodbye peck on the lips, before I turn and go home.

&&

El, can I come over today?

We need to talk

Ellie?

Don’t do this, let me talk to you

You can come by after seven.

&&

I’m lying on my couch, wondering how this is going to go when Harry knocks on my door – no text to give a girl a warning this time. I gulp at the same time Honey jumps from her spot to run to the door. Unlike the last few times he’s visited, I take my time to get there.

My heart is threatening to jump out of my chest. I want to start crying now, knowing fully well this is not going to end up well. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard when I open the door, I taste blood. I swallow, barely forcing a smile when I lay my eyes on him.

Harry frowns deeply when he looks at me. “You look tired.”

“Yeah,” I purse my lips. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

The truth is I lied in bed all night, wide awake, thinking about how could I ever let this happen. There was a reason why I didn’t want a boyfriend for the time being. I knew things almost never went perfectly – I had the perfect example at home. However, instead of listening to myself, I had to go and give it a try with Harry Styles.

He nods slightly, stopping to acknowledge Honey when she hits his leg with her tiny paw. “Hi there, baby,” he kneels to pet her. “Did you give your mommy lots of cuddles today?”

Despite the sadness that overwhelms me, my lips curve upwards. I want to take a picture of this moment and place it in my fridge so I can look back at it in a few months and see how things were.

Harry decides to pick her up and move to the couch, leaving me to close the door and drag my feet behind him.

I’m barely on the couch when he goes straight to the point

“There was no Amy yesterday, was there?” His tone is not accusatory, which eases my racing heart.

I shake my head. “No.”

He bites his lower lip as he nods. “You saw the photo.” It isn’t a question. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“The problem wasn’t the photo, necessarily.” I confess, barely holding his gaze. I’ve had enough time to decide how I want this conversation to go. I won’t lie to him. “There’s more to it.”

“Then tell me,” He asks, letting Honey go to the floor so he can focus his attention on me.

Instead of returning his gaze, however, I watch as Honey picks her toy from the floor and takes it to her small bed.

“You can talk to me, Ellie.”

I meet his eyes, sighing. “I don’t know if you noticed but my thesis project was ambitious. I worked my ass off. I think it was why Taylor Howes showed interest in me.” I watch as he nods, even if confused. I can tell he’s not sure where my train of thought is leading. “I had big partnerships as well, they were not easy to get – especially to me, as I don’t have any connections in the area. There’s a reason I didn’t let you come watch my thesis, Harry.” I confess, biting my lip hard.

I watch as realization hits him.

“I was afraid the jury wouldn’t take me seriously if they recognized you,” I make myself say the words, as I’m sure they’ll hurt him. “I was afraid they’d think you got me all the connections I had worked to get.”

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “Okay.” He nods, as if he’s trying to accept it. I’m not sure if I want him to. “That’s not related to the photo, though. What happened?”

“Someone I know texted Amy last night,” I gather my thoughts. “She implied you got me the Taylor Howes internship.”

“That’s obviously bullshit.”

“Yes, you and me both know that.” I say. “But that photo burst the bubble I put us in, Harry. I can’t have people ask me about you on my first day! I won’t have my co-workers doubting my job. Worst, what if the partners think you did help me?”

I flinch when I catch a glimpse of hurt in his expression. I know I’m being extremely selfish. But I’m afraid not being selfish about this will bite me in the ass in a few years. I don’t want to be in my mother’s position.

I won’t be.

“I can’t take that photo down, Ellie.” His shoulders sag down, realizing he can’t do anything about it.

I want to cry when he lets out an exasperated sigh. “I know.”

“What do you want, then?” He stands up, walking towards the window and looking outside, as if it’ll make the situation any better. He turns back to me when I don’t answer immediately. “Do you want to end this?”

I feel my eyes fill with tears. “I-”

Harry looks as if I just slapped him. “You do.”

“I don’t know.” I cry, getting up as well. “I just know I can’t be seen with you. People will doubt me.”

“You know,” He seems as if he can’t believe he’s living this moment. “I thought our biggest enemy was your past and it’d be okay because I could prove I would never hurt you.” He laughs in irony, quickly concluding his train of thought. “But I now realize I’m fighting myself and that’s a battle I’m never going to win.”

“I’m sorry.” I go to him, catching both his arms with my hands before he can escape. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt either of us.” I choke back a sob. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid we’ll break up one day anyway and I’ll be the one who has to deal with the consequences.”

“Ellie,” He shakes his head. “You can’t be always expecting things to end. We could work out, babe, I know-”

I’m shaking my head as the words leave his mouth. “You said so yourself, Harry, it’s happened to you before. Your last girlfriends, you were in different stages and-”

“Don’t.” He points a finger at me, setting himself free from my hold. “Don’t do that. My past girlfriends were nothing like you. There’s no comparison there.”

“Still,” I try to argue.

He doesn’t let me. “No. Both of them had to travel as much as I did – we’d never see each other. God, they wanted to be seen with me!”

“We’ll never see each other, Harry!” I yell, ignoring the last part. “You’re going to Los Angeles, aren’t you? You have your whole life there! I’ll stay here!”

I have thought about it a lot since last night. How will it be when he goes to Los Angeles? Will I trust him to be the man I know he is, or will doubt creep in and I’ll end up sabotaging things for myself? What will be my reaction when a photo of him with a girl finds its way to the Internet?

The reasonable part of me wants to think I’ll be fair; but I have my father’s example to go on and I just know I won’t always be understanding.

“I might not!” He yells back, pushing his hair back when he realizes what he just said. His expression gives it away – he didn’t want to share that. “I asked Jeff if I could record the album in London. I didn’t want to go back with you here.” He confesses in a whisper.

I don’t feel the two tears that fall from my eyes until Harry takes two steps towards me and wipes them away with his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” I cry. “You- you shouldn’t move back because of me. I-”

“This is such bullshit.” He turns back around, clearly frustrated. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

I feel myself choking.

“You said you weren’t ready for a relationship, but I feel like if I was any other bloke, you’d be all in by now.” He says, his voice sturdy.

“That’s just it, though. I don’t want it with anyone else, but I can’t be with you.”

“That’s it, then? We’re done, just like that?”

“The time is just not right,” I try to explain the best I can. “If it was in a year. A few months, even,” I’m not sure what I’m saying, but I keep going, even if he’s shaking his head. “I’m sorry, H. I don’t know what to say, I-”

“You don’t need to say anything.” He pauses in the middle of my living room, taking a second to asess the situation we found ourselves in. “It’s just so unfair, Ellie.” He shakes his head, grabbing his coat.

I open my mouth to stop him from leaving, but nothing comes out.

I watch as he leaves, feeling my heart break in two.

&&

I’m sorry I took off, I want to talk to you before I go to LA

I’m back home for Christmas already

I’m sorry

&&

It’s Christmas Eve today. It’s also my birthday.

I’ve been awake since eight, since my lovely brother broke a glass in the kitchen and it stirred me awake. By half past ten, I’m driving myself nuts. I keep looking at my phone, hoping for a simple Happy Birthday text from Harry, even if I haven’t heard from him since the Friday after our falling out, when he texted me saying he wanted to talk.

I might not deserve it, but my heart aches for it. I miss him.

It’s been two and half hours of agony. I don’t think my mom and brother know what to do with me anymore. They’ve given me my gifts and tried to engage conversation a zillion times, but I keep checking my phone. I don’t have the right to expect a birthday text when I broke things off because of who he is, but I can’t help it.

I got home at about two o’clock in the morning after our fight - if you call it a fight, considering we were both more upset than angry with each other, and as soon as my mom opened the door for me, I broke down in tears; she asked me about it that night, but I shook my head and decided not to share.

Since then, I feel like both she and my brother have been walking on eggshells around me. Jasper has tried to ask me about it as well, probably my mother’s doing, but I shut him down too. I think I’m afraid they’ll tell me I’m making a mistake. I know I’m being selfish – however, I don’t know how not to be.

I decide to go for a walk with Honey in order to clear my head, and I decide to leave my phone purposely at home, hoping it does me good. There’s a woodland near my mom’s house, so I take Honey by the leash and wander around it for what feels like forever. My mind’s been racing for days. I don’t know if I’m making the right choice. I don’t want to hurt him, but at the same time I need to protect myself.

I’m tugging on Honey’s leash to stop her from heading to a poodle when I hear footsteps behind me.

Though I’ve always felt relatively safe around here, I hold my breath, immediately equating what to do if I turn around to see a creepy guy staring at me.

When I turn my head slightly, however, who I see from the corner of my eyes stops me altogether.

Harry smiles, taking a few steps towards me. “Happy birthday.”

I look back ahead, trying to figure out if my mind’s playing tricks on me. I keep listening to the sound of crushed leaves, however, so I turn my body to him.

“You-” I gulp. “You’re here.”

He nods with a chuckle. “I’m here.”

I grab his arm, proving to myself it is him. I’m not having Bella Swan’s type of hallucinations in New Moon – this is him, right here.

“Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“I was at home,” He explains. “But then I got in the car and drove to you.”

I smile, my right-hand tightening around his forearm. My left one is still holding Honey’s leash, who clearly hasn’t seen him yet.

“I,” I look for words, my heart threatening to jump. “I don’t deserve this.” I shake my head. “You shouldn’t-”

“Hey.” He stops me, placing both his hands on my shoulders.

My hand drops from his forearm and I try to look to the side but he moves his head in that direction, forcing me to look right at him.

“I’m not proud of how I handled the situation back in London,” He declares. “I shouldn’t have left. Your feelings are valid and I should respect them.”

I shake my head, covering my eyes with my now-free hand. After a second, I take it back and sigh. “I’m being selfish, H. You have every right to be mad at me.”

“Well, I’m not anymore.” He shrugs. “What we have is worth it. I like you, El. I’m falling for you.”

I feel like I’m floating, surrounded my tree branches and yellows, oranges and browns. I want to grab him by the neck and kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone in my life.

Instead, I stand still – looking at him without blinking.

“You can take a step back – hell, you can take a few steps back.” Harry grins. “I’ll take a step back too. I’ll follow your lead. When you’re ready – when it doesn’t feel like a problem anymore, you can come find me.”

I’m in denial. “That’s not fair to you.”

“Did I ask you if it was fair?” He doesn’t follow my lead on this, though. Instead, he chuckles, slowly dragging my body to his. “I’m telling you I’ll still be here if you want me, whether if you think it’s fair or not.”

“I’m really not worthy all that, Styles.” I finally grin, letting his sweet words sink in. “Thanks for liking me back, though.”

“Back?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I laugh. “Yes. It might not seem like it, but I like you back. Probably too much.”

“Can I kiss you right now?” He asks, his breath hitting my cheek from his close proximity. “I promise it’ll be the last until you say so. But it’s Christmas – and your birth-”

I interrupt him, getting in the tips of my toes to press my lips on his. I kiss him slowly, his head following mine when I drop down on my heels. His fingers intertwine on my blonde locks, bringing me closer and closer to him. I sigh, holding on to him for as long as I can because, when we part, I don’t know when it will happen again.

I’m not done yet when Honey comes to us barking, clearly noticing him just now. I step back, laughing.

“Hello, girl.” Harry laughs, kissing my temple before kneeling. “How’ve you been?”

“She’s loving the country life.” I kneel down next to them. “We’ve been coming here for walks the last few days.”

“’s a nice spot,” He smiles. “Your mom told me where to find you.”

I widen my eyes. “Oh my God. You’ve met her?”

“Your brother, too.” He nods. “They seemed startled for a second.”

“I didn’t tell them about you.” I confess.

“I figured.” He doesn’t seem to think much about it. “They mentioned it all made sense now, though. You must not be as sly as you think.”

I blush. “Yeah – uh, I haven’t exactly been in a cheery mood.”

“Well, I brought presents to cheer you up.” He gives Honey a last pet and stands up. “Let’s go back?”

“Sure,” I stand next to him, handing him the leash. “You can walk her now. I know you like it.”

“Thanks.” He kisses my cheek. “Last one, I promise.”

I chuckle. “What did you tell your mom to justify leaving on Christmas eve?”

“Uh,” He messes with the hat he’s wearing. “She might have helped make the final decision.”

“You go around and tell everyone everything, don’t you?” I shake my head in disbelief.

“Hey!” He fakes outrage. “Just my mom and my sister.”

I eye him.

“Fine, I obviously told Mitch and Sarah too,” He shrugs. “Also, Jeff – but he’s my manager and he thought it was weird that I wanted to stay in London.”

“What about Grimmy?” I raise an eyebrow, recalling a previous conversation we had. “You have such a big mouth.”

He laughs, resigned.

I ask him how was Los Angeles and he tells me he spent his time in meetings for the album. I nod, just listening to him talk – he’s thinking he’ll have the album ready by February, probably release it by April/May, where he’ll announce a new tour.

By the time we get back to my house, Harry’s told me everything that I missed in the past week. I think he doesn’t believe me when I tell him there’s nothing to tell on my end – but I don’t share that all I did was sulk around.

“By the way,” He turns to me when we’re crossing the road. “I invited your mom and brother for lunch. It seemed rude to take you and leave them behind.”

I gasp. “Why are you so nice?”

He laughs, stopping by his car on the driveway. I take the leash from him, letting Honey sniff my mom’s flowers. I notice she’s peeking in the kitchen window so I wave to her – she widens her eyes and takes two steps back.

I grin, turning back to Harry.

“I have two gifts for you.” He states, with two bags in his hands. “This one I know you’ll like.” He hands me the biggest one and I grab it, handing him the leash in return.

I lean on the car, opening it slowly. I gasp when I see a Burberry handbag inside. It’s the design I liked back in the store. I thought I had been pretty discrete, but he must have been looking back at me more than I thought.

“Harry, this is so expensive,” I’m shaking my head as the words leave my mouth. “I saw the price tag on it at the store.”

He dismisses me. “I can afford it and you liked it. Just accept it, alright?”

I give him a disapproval noise, though I open a big smile to thank me afterwards. “What’s the other one?”

“This,” He twists it around. “Is the sentimental gift. I hope you like it.”

I put the handbag on his car seat for the time being, taking the other present from him. There is a wrapped present inside the bag, so I take it and unwrap it carefully. I frown when I see the vinyl inside.

The cover is a photo he took of me in the park – I have my eyes slightly squeezed and my eyes never looked so bright, while my blonde hair, falling down my shoulders, looks almost golden. I smile, though I don’t get what’s inside. I turn it around, meeting the 10-song track list written on the back. James Bay’s Us, George Ezra’s All My Love and Lany’s If You See Her are just a few of the listed songs.

“These are all my favourites,” I look up to him, my lips curving upwards. “Did you make me a playlist?”

“Look closer.”

I frown, until I finally read ‘By Harry Styles’ on the left corner. My eyes widen. “You recorded all of these?”

He’s looking back at me with a huge grin. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“Don’t think you can, even if you really wanted to.” I shake my head forcibly. “Thank you, H.” I take the step between us and wrap my arms around him. “I love it!“ I plant a kiss on his cheek.

He grins and we both head inside, where my brother raises his eyebrows at me and I make a face, hoping to God he’ll play nice.

To no-one’s surprise, they’re nearly best friends by the time lunch is served.

¨

J A N U A R Y

Good luck on your first day tomorrow!

Thank you, H

&&

I went to Memory Lane yesterday, found the watch you chose for me

Ahh, good! Did you like it?

Of course

How’ve you been?

Been here a week and I’m already in a big project

Went home at 10 pm yesterday

Ahh, good luck Frosty!

You can do this!!

&&

What have you done

I can’t stop listening to your version of ‘Habits of my Heart’

Ha, don’t flatter me, El

Honest to God, BEST GIFT EVER

&&

Passed by Memory Lane yesterday

I haven’t gone since the New Year’s... I’m sorry you didn’t have anything picked out this time..

Don’t worry about it

Everything okay, though?

Yeah, I just don’t have any free time :(

&&

By the time I leave the Taylor Howes office, I’m sleep-deprived and hungry. Though I should be used to it by now (after all, it’s been a month of late nights and early mornings), I can’t fight the tears threatening to fall as I leave the lift on the ground floor. I don’t want to cry, however, so I mumble a quiet goodnight to the security guy and walk through the tourniquet, telling myself it will all look better in the morning.

I’ve been telling myself that everyday.

I always thought my problem would be adjusting to the company values, the teams or the clients. Instead, I’ve found a problem with their working schedule. For a girl who’s slept at least eight hours per night, every day of her life, I’ve been getting four hours maximum. I’m basically a walking zombie.

I know I’ve hit a new low when I have to fight not to fall asleep in the bathroom.

It doesn’t help that I haven’t kept in touch with anyone lately. I only have Sundays off and they are usually spent at home, sleeping. I don’t have time to keep a conversation – either by text or by call. I’ll text Amy back, answering whatever she’s asked and saying it’s all good – but I won’t text her back more than twice each time. My aunt has called me a thousand times for advices for a new display she’s working on, but I can’t take the time to talk to her, let alone plan something for Memory Lane. I haven’t seen Max in two and half weeks (and I only saw him because his parents brought him over to my house for a Sunday lunch).

As of lately, I also haven’t been a good dog parent either. Honey gets to walk in the mornings and get a little fresh air in my balcony at about two/three in the morning. I don’t have the energy to play

with her during the week and she only gets cuddle time because she created the habit of sleeping next to me. On Sundays, I just don’t have the energy.

I’ve cried more about this than I care to admit.

On top of it all, it feels like I’ve been carrying an extra weight on my heart. I haven’t seen Harry in over a month, though we tried to hang out two weeks after my birthday (he texted before flying to Los Angeles, where he had a meeting he couldn’t pass on, but he was flying on Saturday night and I had to work until late that day). Our texts decreased since then and I’ve never missed someone this much before.

Though I know we haven’t talked because we’re both busy, it doesn’t help that I feel like this is happening because I wanted both of us to take a step back.

Late at night, right before I fall asleep, I can’t help but think how I’d be so much happier if, at least, I had him to come home to. I daydream about Sundays spent together and late-night Uber rides home talking to him on the phone.

It’s raining when I step out of the building and I huff, putting the Burberry handbag Harry gave me on my birthday over my head. I usually grab an Uber home when I leave at this hour, however there’s a bus passing in two minutes and I could use the money it’ll save me. The bus stop is a couple of meters down the street so I walk faster.

I’m almost there when the bus passes through me, making me sprint down the street.

I don’t know if it’s the shoes, the rain or my tiredness, but I might as well be walking in slow motion because I watch the bus stop when I’m still a few meters away. I take off running, though I see it drive away just as I feel my heel slide down the thin layer of ice on the sidewalk. I cry out when my ass hits the pavement, my hands letting go of the handbag so I can try to prevent my head from doing the same thing. I watch as it falls next to me, spilling a few of its contents on the street.

The rain keeps on pouring as I try to gather myself for a few seconds. Though my hands hurt like hell, it’s not close to the pain I feel on my right ankle – I know I won’t be able to get up, even if I attempt to. I look around, only to find a deserted street.

The tears are running down my face as I try to find my phone (fortunately, I find it still inside my bag). I dial my aunt’s number by memory, swallowing hard as I wait for her to pick up.

She picks by the fifth ring. “Ellie, honey?”

“Aunty,” I cry, breathless. “I need your help.”

I notice she goes into alert mode, her tone changing from sweet to alarmed. “What happened?”

“I- I fell, I don’t think I can get up.” I test my theory again, pressing my right foot into the ground. I hiss. “I was running to catch the bus but- there’s ice on the streets.”

“Oh my,” She gasps. “Honey, I have Max over tonight. I can’t leave him alone.”

I nod as I hear her words, feeling a knot forming in my throat. “Oh. Okay, I-”

“I know who to call!” She cuts me in a hurry. “Where are you exactly? I’ll have someone pick you up in no time.”

I tell her the details and hang up, putting the phone back in the bag. Then, as I wait, I turn to collect my belongings from the pavement. My planner is completely soaked, as is a pack of tissues, but I put them in regardless. I turn slightly to see if there’s anything else, only to find a wrapped box out of reach.

My heart sinks.

Harry’s birthday.

I let out an angry whimper, cursing myself that I needed to see his gift for it to hit me, at three-fifteen in the morning, that I promised on my (rushed) birthday text that I would call him later. It pisses me off even greater because it was all I could think about for hours afterwards. However, I was submerged in work at six in the afternoon and I didn’t have enough time to take a breath, let alone think about anything personal.

I crawl enough so I can grab the box, saving it inside the handbag, just as a car comes to a stop next to me.

I look to the side, locking eyes with Harry.

I don’t have time to process that my aunt called him, as he comes out of the car in a flash and runs to me. “God, what’s happened?” His eyes are wide and his beautiful hair is getting soaked. I open my mouth to speak but only a whimper gets out, my tears and the rain fogging my vision. He kneels next to me, pulling my hair backwards with a hand and touching my arm with the other. “Ellie, tell me where it hurts.”

“Uh, my ankle.” I point to my right leg. “I- I twisted it when I fell.”

“Alright.” He nods forcibly. “I’m going to get you up and move you to the car,” He speaks slowly. “I’m going to try my best not to touch your ankle, but I can’t make any promises.”

I nod, watching as he opens the Range Rover’s back door. I wrap my arms around his neck when he tells me to, bracing myself.

Harry wraps his right arm around my waist and secures my leg with his left hand, moving me swiftly to the car. He, then, picks my handbag from the ground and closes the door, jogging back to the driver’s seat.

I move backwards on the seat so I’m slightly turned, just enough to rest my ankle on the it. I hiss every time it hits the leather.

“What were you doing here at three in the morning?” Harry asks as he starts driving, looking at me through the mirror.

“I just left work,” I explain, wiping down the tears and rain from my face. “I was going to catch the bus.” I admit, cursing myself for that stupid decision before he can.

I notice he’s breathing heavily, shaking his head once he hears my words.

“The bus?” He asks as if he can’t believe it. “Have you ever heard of Uber before?”

“I have.” I roll my eyes, not in the mood for a scowling. “The bus was passing so I thought I’d take it. Taking Uber everyday is expensive.” I don’t let him answer before I continue. “Where are you taking me?”

“The hospital.” He states, turning his head just enough to eye my ankle. “I rather be sure you haven’t broken it.”

I nod, choosing to stay silent for the rest of the drive.

I’m too exhausted for words.

It takes almost an hour until we can leave the hospital. Harry looks tired, though I’m sure I look way worse than he does. He’s given me one of his merch hoodies, so I’m rocking a pair of suit trousers and a blue hoodie with Harry on it. My hair has yet to dry completely and I’m so cold, I’m sure even a hot bath will fail to warm me up.

To top it all, I haven’t eaten anything so far and my stomach is growling like crazy.

“You’re coming to my house.” Harry states once he helps me into the passenger seat of his car. “I won’t have you walk around this weekend.���

“Alright.” I agree easily, since I’ve noticed he’s been on the edge from the moment he parked his car next to me on the street. He hasn’t stopped moving for a minute, even when we couldn’t do anything more than wait, taking deep breathes and cursing lowly to himself. “We have to get Honey, though. She needs to be walked soon.” I add when he comes into the driver seat.

“Of course.” Harry nods, starting up the car.

He doesn’t say anything after that, so I stay silent as well. I feel like crying again, so I’m actually thankful he doesn’t want to talk about any of it, since the tears would start rolling down again.

My mom wants me to quit. Though the hours are long and I haven’t any time for myself, I feel like it’s a necessary evil so I can succeed in the future. I’m learning like I never did before and I’m creating spaces I’ve never even dreamed of – it’s not all bad. Granted, I’m always exhausted and I don’t think I’m going to be able to handle this for a long period of time, but I need to hold on for, at least, a couple more months.

By the end of next year, I’ll have Taylor Howes on my CV for enough time to search for another firm. I have to make do until then.

Harry asks for my key when we arrive to my house, leaving the car quietly after that. Though I’m glad he hasn’t touched the subject, it almost feels like he’s angry at me. I feel two tears running down my cheek while I’m alone in the car, but I’m quick to wipe them out. When he comes out of the building, Honey walking ahead of him while he brings her bed, a toy and food in his hands, my face is completely dry again.

I accept Honey when he puts her in my lap (clearly prioritizing my current state over safety), waiting for him to put down her things on the trunk. When he comes back to his seat, I turn a little to him.

“Do you have snacks in the house?” I ask quietly, getting a nod in response. “I haven’t eaten since seven.”

I watch as he tightens his hold on the steering wheel, giving me a simple nod as an answer.

Feeling like it’s best to just stay put, I watch the lights on the streets until we get to his house. I let Honey run free to the front door while Harry helps me out of the car and into the house.

He drops me on his couch and goes to the kitchen.

“Here,” He hands me a tray after a few minutes, a mug with hot chocolate and a piece of toast on it. “I’ll run a bath for you.” He states once I pick it up, disappearing up the stairs into the first floor.

I wait for a few minutes, texting my aunt to ease her mind while I eat. Though it’s just a sprain, the doctor decided to immobilize it and ordered me to not put any weight on it for, at least, three to four days.

I’ve just sent the text when Harry materializes next to me. “C’mon, let’s go.” He picks me up again and climbs up the stairs, as if my weight is nothing.

He lets me down next to a giant bath, now full with hot water and bubbles. I see him turn to leave and, suddenly, I feel like I can’t take his silence anymore, even if it means sobbing into his chest. I’m ready to share, as long as he talks.

“H.” I call out, watching as he comes to a stop before he reaches the door. Despite the cold, I blush when I say the next words. “Stay with me.”

His eyebrow raises. “In the bath?”

“Uh,” I gulp. “Yeah, it’s big enough.”

“Ellie...”

“You’ve been in the cold too.” I argue.

Finally, he nods, coming back towards me. He helps me take my trousers off, careful when it comes to my ankle. I take off the hoodie and I deliberate if I should take my bra off. I decide against it, eyeing Harry instead, as he takes off his skinny jeans and hoodie, meeting my gaze when he’s just in a pair of boxers.

I take a breath, suddenly feeling the need to run my fingers through his tattoos. I’ve never seen them before.

Harry clears his throat. “Uh, I’ll help you in.” He says, giving me a shock of electricity when his skin meets mine.

He’s careful when laying me in the bath, since my ankle should stay clear off water. He comes into the water next, lying behind me.

A moan comes out of my lips when I take in the hot water and I rest my back on his chest as he wraps his arms around my middle.

After a few minutes, I whisper. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He denies, his voice low but finally relaxed. “It’s just - you look exhausted, Ellie.”

I shrug lightly. “That’d be the word, yes. I haven’t slept more than four hours since the New Year’s.”

“I noticed you were working a lot, you told me so a few weeks ago, but I didn’t know it was this much.”

“Yeah,” I say, lacking for anything else. “But it’s not all bad. I’m enjoying the work.” I try to look back at him the best I can. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course I worry about you.”

I give him a small smile. “I think it’ll get better soon, not all projects are like this. It’s just a big client and there’s not enough people in our team – we’re almost finishing it, though.”

“Well, you won’t be finishing anything this next week.” He tells me as a matter of fact. “You’re taking a leave so you can heal your ankle.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

“Ellie.”

“I can’t miss work so soon.” I try to reason with him. “But we’ll see how I feel Monday. I might take the day off.”

I don’t feel like he’s too convinced, but he lets the subject die.

We stay quiet for another few minutes, until I break silence again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you today.” I whisper, my head resting in his shoulder so I can gaze at him. “I meant to.”

He shakes his head, his lips curving upwards. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

“I do worry.” I admit. “You deserve the best, Harry. I haven’t been that, right from the start.”

Harry brings his hands to my shoulders so I take my head off his and turn just enough so he can look at me. “Hey, you’re the best to me. That’s all that matters.”

I blush. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He chuckles, taking me back in his arms. “Let’s not let work take all our time again, yeah?”

I nod, smiling though I’m not facing him anymore.

We don’t stay in the bath much longer, as the water starts to run cold. Harry doesn’t ask if I prefer to sleep in the guest bedroom; instead, he helps me dress in one of his sweatpants and hoodies (though I look like I’ve bought clothes two sizes too big, I’m surprisingly comfy) and then drops me into his bed.

Just before he drops himself into the other side of the bed, and even though I’m two minutes away from sleep, I ask him to get my bag downstairs.

I take his gift from it, handing him the carefully wrapped box.

“Happy birthday, H.”

I watch hazily as he smiles and rips the paper until he’s met with a blue velvet box. “It’s vintage,” I mention as he opens it up to find a silver ring. “It was my great grandfather’s.”

Harry’s eyes widen, looking from the ring to me. “Are you sure you want to give it to me?”

I chuckle, my eyes only half opened. “Of course, I wouldn’t otherwise.”

He nods silently, taking the ring out and trying it on. It’s a simple enough ring, but I knew it was Harry’s style right from the moment I saw it on my grandparent’s house on Christmas. My grandfather doesn’t wear jewelery, so he gave it to me without blinking. I adjusted it to Harry’s size the week after, though I knew I’d only give it to him on his birthday.

“Thank you, El.”

I could blame it on sleep, but it’s a deliberate move when I reach for him and my lips rest on his for a few seconds.

I fall asleep a moment after.

&&

Harry didn’t let me go back to work on Monday, since my ankle was still swollen as hell.

On Saturday morning, he went to my house while I was still asleep and gathered enough of my belongings for a week. Initially, I thought it was adorable that he picked so many pieces of clothing for me to choose from. By Sunday evening, I figured he didn’t – in fact, he chose exactly ten outfits, enough to last me until next week. I opened my mouth to fight him but, when nothing came out, I figured I didn’t really want to.

I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Harry drove me to work and picked me up at the early hours of dawn. I had a cooked meal waiting for me at his place every night and, despite the time, we managed to keep ourselves awake for an extra hour to catch up on our days. Lying in bed, on our respective side, he’d tell me about how Mitch came up with the most genius guitar drift he had ever listened to and I’d tell him the about the sofa I picked for a living room.

Somehow, we’d wake up tangled in each other (alas, it was the only time we let ourselves fully enjoy each other).

It only comes to me on the following Tuesday, while driving to work (Harry made me take my car from now on, going as far as buying me a parking space near the office), that he’s driven me to work for four days and I didn’t give it a second thought. It suddenly feels a lifetime away since I’ve worried about it.

I’m in the middle of purchasing a dinner table when my phone buzzes with a text. I take it from the table and open it.

Thought you needed to see my face this morning,

You know, after a week of seeing me every day, you must miss me

Ha ha, you wish

I don’t wish, I know

Have a great day, El x

I put my phone down, only to notice Martha, a work friend, staring at me with a knowing smile.

“I’m sorry, my eyes just landed on your screen,” She blushes, though I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t do it on purpose. “You know Harry Styles?”

This time, I’m the one blushing. “Uh, yeah. We’re friends.”

“That’s so cool.” She gushes, forgetting her own tasks for a moment. “How’s he like in person?”

“Hm,” I think about my next words. “He’s very thoughtful. He’s the kind of person who’s always there when you need him.”

“I’ve always thought he was nice.” She seems happy to confirm it.

I laugh. “He is.”

We’re interrupted by our boss, who asks to see me for a sec. I try to stop my heart from racing, but nerves invade my thoughts.

I follow her to her office, sitting in the leather chair I bet cost more than all the furniture in my living room. She sits down in front of me and smiles, which makes me feel better (and wonder if I look so terrified, she felt the need to calm me). She starts by recalling when I asked her for feedback last week, taking her by surprise and, then, proceeds to tell me she’s ready to do so now.

My eyes widen when she starts saying a bunch of good things, finally grinning when I start feeling like the long hours are paying off.

She tells me I was a ‘good choice’ and ’definitely not a let down’, and I can’t contain my smile when I leave her office, going back to work with a new-found will.

¨

If my boss knew the wave of thoughts she caused, she wouldn’t have called me this morning. I’m not able to focus on my work for the rest of the day, though it’s only when I drive home from work that I try to make sense of it all.

The conversation with my boss means I have proved my worth in this past month, which not only makes me more confident in my work and eager for my next project on Taylor Howes, it also prompts my brain to another topic. I was afraid my relationship with Harry would make people doubt me. However, I find myself equating the probability of my boss’s opinion changing based on a relationship and it seems low – too low. My work is corresponding to what they expected it to and I know I’ll only improve from now on, so there won’t be a reason for her to second think it over Harry Styles.

This train of thought makes me think back on Martha’s comments when she saw Harry’s name on my phone. She didn’t seem to think much on it, besides being thrilled to know someone who knows him (a common reaction). I’ve been friendly with all the colleagues in my project and, part of me, already knows none of them will think twice about it, if they ever come to realize I’m friends with Harry. Even if they do, though, at the end of the day, it’s my boss’ opinion that matters.

Ashley implied I got my job because of him – but, then again, she was always bitter anyway. I just didn’t think about it at the time, because it all seemed too overwhelming. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

I’m parking my car in front of my house when I come to the conclusion that my issue with work has vanished over time and, suddenly, it feels like there’s nothing in between Harry and I anymore.

The past week has been an eye-opener in other fronts, as well. I was frustrated, exhausted and crying myself to sleep every night before I twisted my ankle. I was living and breathing Taylor Howes. Without even trying, just by being there, Harry brightened my days; I went from that to grinning from ear to ear, exchanging enough texts during the day to keep a smile on my face. The few hours of sleep I was getting weren’t enough, but now I don’t mind sleeping even less if it means I get to talk to him.

Sarah was right all along – there’s no use in fighting it.

If there’s anyone who can prove men aren’t all like my father, it’s Harry.

And I finally feel like I’m ready to be with him.

&&

Where you at?

Home, why?

Do you need a ride?

I squeeze the steering wheel, taking a deep breath.

It’s now Friday, four days after I’ve come to the earth-breaking conclusion that I want to be all in with Harry. And though I figured that out pretty quickly on that particular day, like a fog had lifted and, suddenly, I could see it all very clearly, I decided I was going to wait until I made my move.

Especially because we wouldn’t have time to enjoy it if I did it on a Tuesday.

No, I was going to knock on his door on a Friday night and tell him I wasn’t going to leave that house until the next Monday.

With that in mind, I move the car and punch in his gate’s passcode, parking the car in between his. I walk out of the car and move to the door, knocking twice as I gather the courage.

He opens the door two seconds later, his eyebrows rising when he sees me. It’s still ten p.m., which means I got myself an early night at the office. I smile, accessing his sweatpants and t-shirt situation – he looks like he was just asleep in his couch.

“Hey,” He messes his hair, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I nod. “I know.”

“Come in.” Though he looks confused, he closes the door behind me and takes my coat from me.

I smile, taking the opportunity to take my heels off. I’m left in a black high neck shirt (which is going to be too hot for the room temperature he has going) and a pair of suit trousers.

“So,” I bite my lower lip, starting the speech I memorized once we get to the living room. He eyes me strangely, sitting on the coach while staring at me, still standing in front of him. “I’ve had a revelation this week.”

I can tell he’s not sure how to react, so he simply raises his eyebrow.

I feel my palms turning sweaty.

“Okay, uh, alright,” I fidget with my sweatshirt, suddenly realizing this isn’t like a work presentation. I can’t come up here and deliver a speech.

There are feelings involved!

“So, uh, do you remember,” I make a short pause, enough to get my heart pounding five times faster. “back on my birthday, when you said you’d wait for me?”

It seems like he wants to smile, but he just nods with a blank expression in.

I gulp. “Uh, I’m ready.”

I don’t know what I was expecting. However, as soon as my words get to him, I can barely register Harry standing up when, suddenly, I’m up in his arms. I recognize his laughter, and then my own. He makes a path of open-mouthed kisses from my neck to my mouth, taking my lips on his with a hungry force.

I pull away just enough to keep going. “I got too scared, but I’m not anymore.” I curve my lips upwards, pressing my lips on his. “You make me happy, I shouldn’t run from that.”

Harry picks me up without a word and, suddenly, we’re moving.

Where’s he taking me?

“Where are you taking me?” I voice my thoughts, holding on to him. He ignores me, heading for the stairs. “Harry!” I let out a laugh, I pulling back enough to look at him. His eyes are shinning. “H!”

 “You can finish your little speech later, I want to hear how you’re so in love with me you can’t keep your distance,” He grins, reaching the top of the stairs. “But right now, unless you have something against it, I’m taking you up to my bedroom.”

I laugh, meeting his lips with mine.

I think that’s just the answer he wanted.

T H E  E N D

¨

… O R  I S  I T ?

“Try the other one,” I yell from a few feet away, watching as Harry dumps the Christmas tree he was just holding and holds another one to his left. “I think this one’s better. What d’you think, Gorgeous?”

I notice his smile as soon as the nickname leaves my lips and I mirror it. He can try, but he’ll always fail not to show emotion when I call him pet names, and it seems that Gorgeous has definitely stick with me.

He does his best to look down at the tree, though it’s so big he won’t get the whole picture standing so close. He frowns. “Did I not point this one out on the way here?”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Though it doesn’t matter, that’s definitely the one for your living room.”

He nods and tells the man assisting us (who was just minding his own business, since we’ve been here for a while and I’m too undecisive) that we’ll take this one.

I watch as he makes his way to me, holding his hand when he offers it. “Do we have all, then?”

“We needed two for your house and one for mine,” I think out loud. “So, yeah. We have everything.”

Though we don’t live together yet (we spend our time between his house and mine), Harry and I are hosting Christmas dinner for both our families. His house was obviously the chosen spot, as everyone wouldn’t fit on mine, so we’re bringing the Christmas spirit into that place for the first time since he moved there.

“Careful,” I warn him, as he kneels down to pet Honey. Her paws are muddy and she loves to call his attention by putting her not-so-little-anymore paws on his legs, dirtying his clothes every time. I don’t see him moving. “H, she’ll put her paws all over you!”

“It’s fine, El.” He shakes his head, petting the dog’s head. “Right, Honey? You’ll behave today for daddy, won’t you?”

I roll my eyes, knowing exactly how this’ll end.

To prove me right, her paw meets his expensive black jeans and he pulls away, barely keeping himself on his feet. I shake my head, not able to hold back my laughter.

“Told you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” He chuckles, bringing me closer to him by my middle. “She just takes after you, she loves me so much.”

I can’t fight a smile, accepting when his lips head for mine. I sigh, bringing my fingers to his hair, now a bit longer.

“I do love you.” I whisper when we part, not missing the chance to say it.

“Me too, babe,” He grins. “Me too.”

[kaziklubaby]

Title: The Bonnie Lass of Dublin

Chapter 01

Words: 1.7k

Pairings: Dutch van der Lind x Molly O’Shea x Kieran Duffy

Warnings: None.

Summary: fluff, angst and smut.

What is love but a kaleidoscopic illusion? What is happiness but sadness pending? What is sorrow but the prospect of joy? What is hate but unrequired love?

Comment: I write improbable couples and can change your mind.

*

Molly O’Shea was crying. It was not the first time she had cried, and she was certain that it would not be her last. In these moments, she couldn’t help but remember the day that she boarded the ship to this new land, allegedly full of opportunities.

When they asked her why she did it, why did she come to the US, she merely said that she came in the whim of finding adventures and excitement, which was only partly true. Why would a lass from a wealthy family board on a ship and come to that wild country, with no means to live? There were parts of her story that even she didn’t want to look at.

She didn't sign up for that kind of life, though. Living in the run, sleeping in tents like savages, almost never getting a glimpse of society, much less the fair part of it. Who would have thought that Molly O’Shea, entitled the Bonnie Lass of Dublin – a title given by Seamus O’Brien, a man with means and influence – would be running with outlaws and eating beans with meat like some kind of peasant?

If she knew that beforehand, she would have stayed in Ireland. She should have married that poor shoemaker, or at least accept old Seamus O’Brien, then she would have had a roof over her head, and a comfortable life, even if not one of the great romances.

Great romances... they have lied to her as well, that’s why she didn’t read them anymore. They were all but cover, much like her relationship with Dutch was turning.

He was the reason she traded all. She could have returned Ireland before when she had the opportunity, but no. She met him, and for him, she would walk to the ends of the Earth, or so she thought.

In the beginning, she was stunned by his looks and words, it was like a spell had fallen over her eyes. His dark eyes were much like the ones of a Selkie, dark and mysterious, his voice was like music to her ears. When he told her about his vision of the world, how he valued freedom and liberty above all else and dreamed of living an independent existence, exulting that facade of Robin Hood, she thought that she had found a hero. Her hero, a rogue that had a heart of gold, believing he and his crew could make a difference in the world.

Also, it was he who taught her about pain and pleasure and showed her the many ways to satisfy a woman, even if he wasn’t paying that attention to her now. He had been her first and she dreamed that he would be her last too.

She truly believed that she had found her hero, the perfect guy from the tales she heard, and he swept her off her feet. First, he was around as a protector, then, slowly he became – and without any resistance of the Bonnie Lass of Dublin – her lover.

Or was the other way around?

She was his lover. Who was she here? No one, nothing. Just the same as the next girl.

At first, she couldn’t care less about what other people thought of her, she was with him and nothing could change her love for him, all she needed at the end of the day was Dutch and him alone, his presence filled her in a way she never experienced before, however, as the time went by, little by little, she noticed that their relationship turned into a sour convivence and that she wasn’t enough to him anymore. Her love only grew as his feelings merely shrink.

Why was that? She wasn’t being good enough? She loved him so much, why her love wasn’t enough to him? Why Dutch was ignoring her like a bad habit? Had she lost the gleam of “new thing”, then? What was Molly O’Shea now but a conquer for him?

These ideas filled her head and heart with distress.

Had he become tired of her?

At first, she thought that it was just a day thing, maybe he needed some space – all men need space sometimes, right? – in the end, she was only trying to ignore what she could obviously see, for Molly O’Shea was no fool.

Sooner than she expected, Dutch was already leaving her alone all the time, cornered in their tent by her thoughts.

How much time would it take for him to leave her by the side of a road? Or worse, for her to become like Miss Grimshaw, watching him take younger girls as lovers, because she wasn’t blind to the silent stories of the camp.

She was a proud Irish girl, and if he left her on a road, she would survive, but she didn’t want to. She needed him to acknowledge her, to be with her, he promised her. Dutch promised to love and cherish her, was all of that a lie? He said he would take care of her, where was he now?

That was her life now. No more Bonnie Lass of Dublin, no more balls, no more Seamus O’Brien holding her hand and trying to persuade her into being his lover, nor a poor shoemaker and his promises of a happy family. Just Miss O’Shea, plain and boring in the eyes of the man she loved.

She didn't come to America to be a servant and a diminished lover, much less the reason for mockery. People at camp made fun of her, or despised her, and never back home someone would treat her like that! She was better than them all.

And she cried, near the lakeshore, as the sun was up high in the sky. She had nowhere else to go. What could she do?

-You okay Miss? – someone said.

She looked at the owner of that voice with despise and anger.

-What do you want? – she tried to brush her tears away, but they just kept coming.

He noticed that when she cried, her green eyes seemed bluer, and he imagined that they looked like the greenish oceans of her land.

-I’m sorry, didn’t want to bother – Kieran said, ashamed of disturbing her – You seemed...

-What I seem or not isn’t your concern – she said.

-I’m sorry Miss... – he said, walking away.

That boy Kieran was noisy, she didn’t trust him, nor she desired to engage in conversation with someone that treated their horses, it was below her.

Molly made up her mind, she was going to talk to Dutch about these things that bothered her, maybe... their relationship still had a chance to be more than a source of sadness.

She hoped and she waited for him.

  [...]

 When they argued, she simply was taken by her anger and there was nothing in the world that would make her cry, but soon as her blood cooled down, she would feel how her heart was broken, every time it seemed one step away from mending it. She was walking by the shore of the lake, she needed to get away from the camp, no more people seeing her cry, no more small talk about her.

She needed space, and she needed to cry. All her being felt torn apart because of his words, Dutch could be so cruel when he wanted to be.

She walked until she couldn’t hear or see the camp anymore, then fell on her knees by the water, without caring that the dirt would ruin her beautiful skirt. She was so tired of it all.

Only the wind heard her, and carried her cries of sorrow in itself. Or so she thought.

A few paces away, there was a Kieran relaxing near the water. He enjoyed the quiet and calm, and the sounds of nature, much more pleasant than the talk of people. He had just taken a bath and now was drying in the warm light of the sun.

He couldn’t forget his status in the gang, being a former O’Driscoll and all, people still mistrusted him and talked about killing him, however, Kieran Duffy wasn’t sad at that moment, in fact, he felt in peace, for fish was plenty, nature was beautiful, sun was warm against his skin, like a caress, and life was good, after all.

The singing of the birds had been disturbed by an ugly cry, and his peace was broken. Who was crying at that hour of the day? It could not be a lady in white, for they only appeared in the dead of the night.

He looked around until his eyes found who was crying at distance.

It was her again, sad Miss O’Shea.

Kieran sighed. What was a cry but a broken call to arms?

Miss O’Shea was a proud one, of that he was sure, but he didn’t hate her, he didn’t even dislike her. She was sad all the time, that’s all. He couldn’t blame her too, he always thought that love could be tricky sometimes, yet, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her in the same way he would feel sorry for a bird with a broken wing, although she should never know about it – she wouldn’t understand.

A part of him was a little scared of talking to her too. Who was he but the guy who treated horses? He had no right to talk to her. She wouldn’t enjoy talking to him either – as it happened before – and probably would think he was prying.

Still, he wanted to do something. It wasn’t right to just let her drown in sorrows, without not even a slight of happiness. A pretty girl like her should enjoy flowers, maybe red ones to match her hair.

When Molly O’Shea returned to camp, her eyes were red and plump from crying so much, and she wished for nothing more than to lay down and sleep, but as she approached the tent she shared with Dutch, she saw flowers over her bed, a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers, red and green.

As she picked it up, smelling them, her face lost her sad and tired expression, lightening herself, as she embraced that bouquet.

Kieran saw it from afar, as he mended a horse cell, and again he couldn’t help himself but feel a warm sensation within his chest. She looked so beautiful, and the smile in her face made her look angel like. Molly O’Shea was amazing indeed.

-Dutch! I knew you weren’t serious! These flowers are beautiful, thank you! – she said, as Dutch approached.

He seemed confused for a moment, but only enough to plot his way through it.

-Yes, I made it for you, darling. All for you. – he said.

[shotfromguns]

Good, long thread by @TheMittani on Twitter on “neoconfederacy” in the South:

if you ever wonder why i got politically 'radicalized' it's because i grew up in alabama as an atheist child of two biochemistry professors; at 17 i graduated and moved away forever. reminder: Alabama came within 1.7% of sending a known pedo to the senate~

any '13th dimensional chess' tweets about how the AL leg composed this abortion ban to provoke a court fight has never met an actual neoconfederate this is what they want 100%, it's a white supremacist aristo fertility cult and all the moves make sense when understood that way

source: i have been to an unironic country club debutante ball in dear old mountain brook and folks have no idea how much intergenerational wealth transfer has carried over from the days of slavery in that society's upper class

for context, when i was in high school there were three country clubs, maybe 20k citizens, and zero black students; every street is named after a civil war battle, and 'houses' there would be called mansions anywhere else

best public schools in the state though~

folks have no clue how rich and well-educated the ruling class in alabama is, going to mountain brook means if you don't get into one of the better ivys you're probably a bitter slacker like me legislation like this isn't from stupid hicks, it's the goal

southern aristos can be incredibly intelligent and well-traveled and are all the more dangerous politically because they are happy to play dumb in public with the aw-shucks jesus loving hick routine in order to quietly run an antebellum society and pit poor whites against blacks

it's almost comically effective, I do this stuff all the time in Eve - say laughably wrong things, act like a fool, and then it's much easier to outmaneuver people. The most dangerous enemy is one who is comfortable with being publicly underestimated.

I mean to say, 'ha ha eat my ass look at me I'm so great at spaceship games', please interpret my above tweet as evidence of hubris and ignorance rather than giving up an actual tactic I've employed so often it's been nicknamed the 'tee hee, flounce flounce' by my chief of staff

'I'm the fucking Mittani, I know everything in this game,' another good one wearing red shirts? stupid gimmick, keep doing it because it's a stupid gimmick, it's far better for our competitors/enemies to see me as a joke luv2club? tee hee, flounce flounce, same shit

anyhoo yeah it's the same dance, play god-fearing jesus lover to keep the poor whites on your side, maintain that patriarchy with the complicity of ruling class women who enjoy the economic benefits of neoconfederacy, and live over the mountain so no one spots all the lexuses

it's interesting to see the term neoconfederate finally get some use but it implies that there isn't already an actual working confederate states of america right in front of everyone's eyes that's been there since reconstruction, none of that shit is an accident

if you put 'hail hydra' on statues in every town in the region you don't have to bother saying 'hail hydra' or announce in print that you're down with hydra, everyone who lives there gets it

the issue is not being part of a traitorous conspiracy against the united states government (i mean hydra, not the neoconfederacy, ha ha!) the problem comes when you state it where those not in on it can hear you. Viz: ”Alabama newspaper editor calls for Klan return to ‘clean out D.C.’”

i kind of like the hydra analogy for the neoconfederacy, because all this shit - 'states rights', 'pro-life', 'voter fraud', these disparate causes are actually all the same cause: the ~lost~ cause

southern politics makes a lot more sense when viewed through the lens of pro/anti-confederacy politics; confederate society is based upon a ruling gentry descended from the cavaliers see generally https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albion%27s_Seed actual /aristos/ not merely rich people

so basically you have an entrenched aristocracy that traces their lineage back 10+ generations running a plantation society and fighting like fucking hell to maintain that privilege, privilege most people in the usa cannot even begin to imagine

generic usa high ~net worth individuals~ have nothing on the cunning and unity maintained by ancient proud cavalier aristocratic families in the south with shitloads of money who will do anything to protect the universe they and their forefathers have created (via slavery)

the whole 'the south will rise again' thing is a huge joke because the structure of the society immediately returned to functional slavery as soon as it could get away with it, the south already 'rose' after reconstruction, it's right in fucking the open

if they get away with the abortion thing, they'll gun for brown v board next; these people remember life before MLK and they have not forgotten or forgiven the civil rights movement those behind this aren't hicks, they very smart confederates acting like hicks to fool you.

many old privileged families come with a legacy and a purpose imposed on you from birth it's not a stretch of the imagination that the quest of a lot of these old aristo families is to restore the society to antebellum life and get their privileges (slavery) back

the civil war was only a few generations ago, these families have not forgotten and they have not let their children forget the monuments, the street named for war battles, that's why it matters still to them

southern aristos are pro-life because the whole point of the society is the poor whites fight the poor blacks, and restricting abortion = more labor and poverty to exploit by the gentry the goal of their flavor of white supremacy is about getting rich off slaves, not death camps

not that they have a problem with a death camp or three, it's difficult to communicate how utterly disposable the lives of people outside of their class are, this is a society whose rulers believe that god has anointed them to rule over their lessers

its not rocket science, you take a slaveholding landed gentry and take away their slaves and land (good!) that gentry is going to spend its time fanatically scheming to get its land and slaves back (bad, what we see in southern politics)

anyhoo what i'm saying is that this isn't about random kooks trying to put women 'in their place' (there's a bunch of them too, useful idiots) but part of a broad campaign across generations by a dispossessed cavalier nobility to get all their lost privileges (slavery) back

conveniently the rest of america doesn't have much of an entrenched aristo/gentry culture anymore so the maneuvers of the 'neo' confederates just look like random right wing lashing out rather than a deliberate series of moves to benefit the southern aristocracy

the reality of the modern confederacy reminds me a lot of 'The City and the City' in that it's clearly visible to those raised within it, yet its contour is completely alien to outsiders who don't know how to 'see' it the 'right' way.

shit like Roy Moore being a pedo but coming within 1.7% of winning a senate seat makes a buttload more sense than 'alabama voters will send anything not a democrat', Moore is a proud and loud confederate and Doug Jones is anti-confederate it's the confederacy - always.

Pro-life? Confederacy. State's Rights? Confederacy. Gun rights? Confederacy. Religious Freedom/Gay Cake Stuff? Confederacy. Anti-union? Confederacy. If you're a Cavalier or one of their foremen, it all fits~ 

Robert Caro basically spelled out in intricate detail how the confederacy works in his LBJ bios but particularly Master of the Senate, read these if you want a primer on actual power and its uses: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Years_of_Lyndon_Johnson

when LBJ shifted to supporting voting rights, the confederacy simply switched its support from the democrats to the republicans. it's a real thing and its moves make perfect sense once you grok the core motivations of the southern gentry and their henchmen~

you see this repeatedly through history where one side stops fighting after a victory and the other side loses but keeps trying to find ways to win, the Union torched the south and moved on, but the confederacy has /never stopped fighting/ using whatever means they have available

tl;dr "it's the confederacy, stupid" also explains those crazy 'obama is the antichrist' memes; if you're a confederate, a black president existing is against everything your flavor of pro-slavery jesus stands for

None of this thread really applies to Texas. I was born in Houston, moved to AL at 10; completely different culture in Texas. Going to rodeos, oil/cattle, science, ranching. When I say the 'South' I'm talking about the plantation society of the Cavaliers.

As a quick example of using the Lost Cause to understand Cavalier political behavior, Lindsey Graham's 'hypocrisy' makes perfect sense. He doesn't give a shit about spewing nonsense or lying to Yankees, all he cares about is Dixie. He's not dumb at all; the Union is his enemy.

Expanded May 17, 2019:

oh yeah and Mitch McConnell was born and raised in Alabama and then Georgia from 8yrs on, so heyoooo

look up how long jeff sessions family has been naming their kids after jefferson davis on his bio dixie is real; it's the confederacy, the political moves the cavaliers and their overseers are making on behalf of the lost cause as plain as day if you know what to look for

just gonna spend Friday night reading Albion’s seed to learn more fun ~cavalierfacts~ like how their royalist gentry is literally all one big interrelated family and coordinates retribution and uses debt to control the poor

“It is difficult to think of any ruling elite that has been more closely interrelated since the Ptolemies” holy lawl (it is a history insult as he’s basically calling the cavaliers a nest of outright incest, the Ptolemaic dynasty was Targaryen-style sibling marriage)

Hey guess what turns out the control of women is deeply ingrained in cavalier society because uh... kidnapping / human trafficking / sexual slavery and a massively skewed male to female ratio lovely people, these confederates

“These patterns did not develop by chance. Virginia’s great migration was the product of policy and social planning. Its royalist elite succeeded in shaping the social history of an American region partly by regulating the process of migration” (p 232) fucking hell it’s all here

May 22, 2019:

by req: another ‘understanding the confederacy’ thing, all the protest tweets saying “the cruelty is the point” are wrong, the point is opportunities for race-based policing (a la weed), disenfranchisement, reinforcing patriarchy, and more labor/babies to exploit + compliance

sure there’s a bunch of cruelty in there too but the whole thing is a means to the ends of rolling back the civil rights movement and restoring the structure of Dixie as the gentry/cavaliers prefer; the confederates may be slavers at heart but they’re not cartoon villains

(they're way worse)

In case I get hit by a bus, I currently think the concept of hegemonic liberty is the most misunderstood aspect of the cavalier mindset, so here’s three key pages from Albion’s Seed~

And the cavalier conception of condescension and deference as two sides of God’s hierarchy and order is a fracture point, that’s why incivility towards one’s ‘betters’ is so provocative - milkshakes would probably work over here, too

Also by hiding and lying about the existence of Dixie, they fragment their opposition into issue-based groups - pro-choice, gun control, voters rights, anti-racism - instead of each opposition group recognizing that they are fighting the same confederate foe

Not like they really hid that much, they had confederate flags flying over their capitols ever since the Civil War until recently, but the Union won the war and moved on, so folks think they’re fighting random bigots and not the CSA

May 23, 2019:

the lack of a concerted effort by the democratic party to win and develop victories in the south has allowed the bulwark of the RNC power to be unchallenged, if you erode the Dixie Wall in the Senate the republicans pretty much lose all their functional power

as the DNC is incompetent one doesn't need to rely upon them, state by state in Dixie voting rights and organization must be pushed to undermine the structure of confederate power, that's the fracture point, that and forcing their true nature as confederates into the open

I'll develop all this crap into more useful tactics on the upcoming blog thing but this is all just-in-case 'yo guys, if I get hit by a bus, take Albion's Seed, drive through Mountain Brook for proof of everything I'm saying (crestline doesn't count lawl) go fight hydra'

as someone will inevitably discover not EVERY street in Mountain Brook is named for civil war battles (there's a lot), the really old money lives on streets named for old british estates/towns + they're episcopalians (anglican 2.0) not baptists, of course

[eddycurrents]

BPRD: Being Human - “The Dead Remembered”

Story: Mike Mignola & Scott Allie | Pencils: Karl Moline | Inks: Andy Owens | Colours: Dave Stewart | Letters: Clem Robins

Originally published by Dark Horse in BPRD: The Dead Remembered #1-3 | April-June 2011

Collected in BPRD: Being Human

Plot Summary:

In 1976, Professor Bruttenholm takes Liz with him to investigate a haunting in Massachusetts that may have ties to the witch trials. While there, Liz experiences her first real crush, trying to come to terms with her powers and the ghosts that haunt her, both from the past and the present.

Reading Notes:

(Note: Pagination is in reference to the chapter itself and is not indicative of anything found in the issues or collections.)

pg. 1 - Interesting cold open, on the confrontation of a “witch” by a mob threatening to do her ill. The terror in her eyes is aptly captured by Karl Moline, Andy Owens, and Dave Stewart here in the art.

It’s also interesting in that in our current understanding and hindsight, witches as envisioned by witch hunters, priests, and such during the height of the Salem Witch Trials don’t exist. These women were generally falsely accused out of politics, jealousy, spite, etc. or in the rare case where they exhibited some natural or scientific knowledge. No magic powers. No communion with the devil. So, in general, we often find stories in which these women are accused, the women are given a sympathetic outlook, because we don’t believe they’re actually “witches”.

In a world like Hellboy though, magic witches and demons do exist. The women can actually be what the people accuse them of. As such, it adds a certain level of doubt as to the veracity of the claims that otherwise wouldn’t be there. So you wonder, is she really a witch? And, if so, is she a good witch or a bad witch?

pg. 2 - And we’re into the present of the story in 1976. I absolutely love Hellboy and Bruttenholm here interacting as adults. It’s an interesting dynamic, also when it comes to Bruttenholm getting nostalgic about young Hellboy. It is funny to see a kind of inversion of HB wanting to go on a trip.

pg. 3 - It’s also great to see Hellboy acting like a big brother.

pg. 5 - One hell of a nightmare to carry around with you as baggage. Compared to the somewhat neutral palette (other than the vibrant reds), it’s interesting to see this explosion of bright colour for Liz’s memory from Stewart. It gives a very nice impact to how overwhelming it can be to Liz.

Also, there’s an idea put forward here that her “minders” are terrified of her. That’s got to do one hell of a number on a kid.

pg. 7 - Hellboy’s probably the most human and humane of any person at the Bureau. You really get the impression that he wants Liz to succeed and be “normal” (whatever that normal may be).

pg. 8 - I hate this car game. I have a few friends who do it still, and I always see it as a kind of gatekeeping and flouting of knowledge rather than the sharing of information that I know at least one of them means it as. I’m probably guilty of it in some regards as well.

The song is “Loves Me Like a Rock”, by the way. Which is kind of interesting since it involves the devil and being fooled.

Though Liz’s response of ultimately diving into reading is the perfect teenager reaction, regardless of time period.

pg. 9 - The Father’s dilapidated house is interesting. Who puts a priest out to pasture in the middle of nowhere?

pg. 11 - The incorporation again of Henry Hood is nice, as is the possible ties to the Whittier family we met earlier in The Whittier Legacy. That gives further credence that Anne perhaps actually is a witch.

I like the simple purple wash Stewart uses for the flashback.

pg. 13 - I like that the priest is building the possibility here of Anne’s innocence throughout the terrible ordeal. It sets up the idea that this could be a revenge haunting.

pg. 14 - It’s somewhat funny that the witch, or whatever it is at this point, would use fire to spook Liz. It feels like something intentional that a spirit would utilize in order to sew doubt in Bruttenholm.

pg. 15 - Which seems to have worked. You get the impression that Bruttenholm thinks that Liz caused the fire.

pg. 18 - Why is it always smudging? There are other ways to cleanse and purify an area, especially when you consider that Bruttenholm is a stodgy Brit (even if he has been living in America for at least 30 years at this point).

pg. 19 - Liz is also downright mean to Teddy here. I mean, it’s understandable given what just happened with the professor, but wrong target.

pg. 22 - Now that’s just creepy. The bullet hole in the back of her head just makes it even more terrifying.

pg. 24 - You’d think that this happening in the woods would clue the professor and the priest that it’s not necessarily the house that’s the problem, but no.

pg. 25 - It’s also kind of sad that Liz is effectively being unheard, disbelieved, and denied here. It would only further her feelings of alienation.

pg. 28 - It ultimately didn’t seem to stop Teddy, though...

pg. 30 - Teddy emphasizes that it always does seem to be the kids who know the truth. Also, that adults tend not to believe the kids.

pg. 31 - There’s something about those shell wind chimes.

pg. 33 - I think it’s kind of weird that Bruttenholm is still pursuing the ghost as if it’s in the house and not tied somewhere else. Sure, there are manifestations within the house, but his previous attempt at purification didn’t even get a little bit of cupboard rattling.

pg. 34 - Being concerned about occult methods now is a weird quirk.

pg. 36 - It would have to be scary to find out that you’re developing pyrokinetic powers. Add that to the usual problems that any adolescent goes through and this is just a recipe for a firebomb.

pg. 39 - It’s a wonder that Liz didn’t go into a permanent state of shock from this. Actually seeing the full flashover event that caused the death of her family, friends, and more is just horrifying.

pg. 40 - Also the guilt from knowing that her mother knew about her lie is clearly eating at her.

pg. 42 - Awkward...

pg. 43 - More about those wind chimes. Also, regardless of whether Anne Caldwell was guilty or not, the mob “justice” is just nasty. 

pg. 44 - The repetition of “Behold, I am against thee, saith the lord of hosts.” is interesting.

pg. 46 - I like the seeds of doubt planted as to who or what the ghost is, though Bruttenholm still seems to be looking in the wrong direction.

pg. 47 - This has got to be hard for a kid to understand. Also, Bruttenholm really isn’t great at interpersonal skills. He does at least seem to be trying.

pg. 48 - Third time’s the charm, right?

pg. 49 - It is good, though, that Bruttenholm seems to have finally clued in on what Liz really needs. Locking her up and treating her like a feral animal definitely isn’t good for her.

pg. 51 - I do like that the kids are taking the approach ultimately that the witch was the wronged party here.

pg. 52 - Or maybe she is evil.

Also, if this was what happened the first time I ever tried a cigarette, I’d never smoke. Ever. (I don’t and never have, but you get my point).

pg. 53 - The increasing severity of the storm is wonderfully depicted.

pg. 54 - Definitely evil.

pg. 55 - Just great art from Moline, Owens, and Stewart. The horror feel is intense.

pg. 58 - Liz being forced through the stages of Anne’s death in the present is very weird. It gives the impression that the witch wants her to experience something, 

pg. 60 - There’s an interesting line here about power. Giving you the impression that maybe Anne wants Liz as a vessel.

pg. 62 - That’s an impressive column of fire.

pg. 64 - Poor kid.

pg. 66 - Good on them. This is sweet.

Final Thoughts:

Liz is probably my favourite character outside of Hellboy himself. For a character who was going to die because Mike Mignola didn’t know what to do with her, she’s come very far, suffered a lot of adversity, come to terms with her own agency, and become the fire. This origin story, delving further into what happened regarding the death of her parents and also some of the formative events that clearly imprinted on who she became, paints a complicated picture out of fear, self-doubt, and building an abrasive personality in response to it.

It’s also really nice to see more art from Karl Moline. His art on the Liz-centric issue of War on Frogs was wonderful and he, with inks here from Andy Owens, was the perfect choice to come back to flesh out this period in her life. Also, his witches are creepy fantastic.

d. emerson eddy does not want to burn the witch.

[t-al-damiri-phd]

hey, I just saw [ tereik al-damiri ] walking down the streets of crownsville. they’ve lived in town for [ a year ], and you can catch them around town working as an [ archaeologist ]. I hear they’re known to be [ intelligent & charismatic ] and [ awkward & dramatic]. if asked, they would say their aesthetic would be [ wrinkled suits after a long commute, well-loved history books, replicas of ancient statues, & quiet shy smiles ] 

//Hey guys, I’ve been playing T on and off for a few years and I’ve actually played in this RP before, ages ago, but I wanted a new start and I’m really looking forward to getting to know you all and getting T out there!  Feel free to message me for plotting, wanted connections, just to chat, anything! 

Things to Know

Tereik is the youngest of 7 children and is his parents’ only son.  His six older sisters are some of his best friends and they all stay in touch with each other, but he’s especially close to his oldest sister, Huriye, and his youngest sister Kamilah, who lives across the street from him with her 15 year old son.

T had a very loving childhood, but was in very poor health from birth until his mid teen years.  He was born with a condition called Ebstien Anomaly, which required an intense heart surgery when he was seven, and he was diagnosed with epilepsy at the age of three. Once his heart problem was fixed, his overall health began to improve, and his seizures lessened in frequency, going from 1 to 2 dozen a month, to 2 to 3 a month until he was 33 when his health took a turn again.

In 2014, Tereik was working alone in tomb he had discovered several years earlier when he had a seizure that resulted in a serious concussion, but because he was alone, he wasn’t found for several hours, leaving him with severe heatstroke as well.  He’s never fully recovered from this illness, and has to battle not only with more frequent seizures, but with being underweight and slightly immunosuppressed as well. 

From mid November 2011 to July of 2014, Tereik was in a relationship with a woman named Gyda Lance and he was head over heels in love with her, but she blamed herself for his accident (claiming she should have checked up on him sooner) and left him just days after the incident occurred. 

Following his illness and breakup, Tereik’s mental health took a dive, and after Adult Protective Services was notified by one of his older sisters that he was unable to care for himself alone, he spent two months in a kind of watered down mental hospital.  There he was diagnosed with Clinical Depression (and learned that he’d actually been experiencing symptoms of this disorder for most of his life, he just hadn’t realized it) and started on some medication that helped him get back on track. 

In August of 2017, Tereik received word that his father was terminally ill and wanted all his children to be close to him at the end of his life, so T left his apartment in Cairo and his job as an archaeologist, and moved back to Atlanta

After he arrived in Atlanta, he got in touch with a few friends from his school days, and once suggest he look into getting a service dog, which wasn’t something he had any idea was an option, but he looked into it and was paired with a German Shepherd named Meeko, who’s been his sidekick ever since, and has saved his life a dozen times since they met.

Following his father’s death, Tereik dealt with his grief by doing a complete overhaul of his life.  He bought a house across the street from his sister in Crownsville, got a job at a museum in Atlanta, and got back together with Gyda.  It was dramatic, but he’s glad he did it, because those changes are what led to their upcoming wedding.

Work/Career Stuff

T has been fascinated with ancient Egyptian history for as long as he can remember, which is what inspired him to pursue a career in archaeology and then move back to Egypt as soon as he was able.

One of the biggest moments in his archaeology career,  was being chosen to be part of a team that was going to do a series of CAT scans and DNA tests on the mummy of King Tutankhamun.  He was the youngest member of the group, so the exciting work went to the more experienced archaeologists, but he couldn’t complain about that, he was honored to be allowed to participate at all. 

His fascination with King Tut is largely due to the symmetry he sees in their lives.  They both had six older sisters, fathers who expected them to follow in their footsteps but they couldn’t, and were both in very poor health for most of their lives.

The incident that brought him the most notoriety as an Egyptologist, was the discovery of a small, but totally untouched tomb.  He applied for a position as the head of a dig and was awarded it, despite not yet having finished his PhD, and most people believed there was nothing for them to find, but a sudden sandstorm covered their original dig and while inspecting the area, he suddenly fell down a slight of ancient stairs.   His tomb (called KV65) was the burial place for a nobleman, rather than a royal, but it was a major find and made him a household name in the Egyptology world.

After the discovery of KV65, Tereik was thrust into the spotlight in Egypt and was talked into writing a book about his rather extraordinary career.  He called it “Fool’s Errand” in honor of the people who told him he’d been assigned an area that had been searched for decades with no discoveries. The book sold very well in Egypt, but hasn’t been sold in America before, but an English version is going to be released in the next month or two. 

After the death of his father in early 2018, Tereik applied for a position at a museum in Atlanta.  They were looking to open a new department and were taking suggestions from applicants who wanted showcase their area of expertise, and after several interviews, Tereik was awarded the position.  He developed their Egyptology department with only the help of three unpaid interns, and they opened on October 1st of 2018.  So far, the exhibit has been a completely success and he is very happy working there, though he still remains undecided on whether or not he’ll ever return to doing digs again.

Wanted Connections

Close Friend/Driver/Groomsman- Due to his inability to drive and the commute he has to do, Tereik has hired a full time driver to help him out.  This man would be someone he spends a great deal of time alone with, but also someone he has to trust with his life, so the two have become very very good friends and Tereik chose him as one of his groomsmen for his wedding in May.  If you’re interested in making this person, it’s posted as an official wanted connection, so just let me know and we’ll talk it out.

Old Friends- This one is less intense than the last one, but Tereik lived in Atlanta from 1993 to 1999 and attended a fairly prestigious boarding school (though that doesn’t have to be how they know each other) and he would like some friends that he could have known during his school days that he could reconnect with now. 

Work Friends- Tereik works as the Head of Egyptology at the Atlanta History Center, but he’s met plenty of people though his work there, even if they don’t work in the same place.  These could be people he’s met during his lecture tours, or the book tour he’s planning for after his wedding, it could be museum workers from any museums, or even interns who’ve worked with him before. 

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Young K X Reader

So your a Gryffindor and he’s a Slytherin

In another time it would be unacceptable because of that Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry like the North/South in America back then and now it’s acceptable

And it didn’t really matter to you if it wasn’t acceptable you still would have tried to like him nonetheless

Guess what you do like him no matter what he does, even if he acts like a brat so you and that other Gryffindor call him Brian when he does so, and you started doing it on purpose acting like it was a slip off. Because honestly he was so hot when he was angry at it. You wouldn’t admit out loud but you can’t deny me thinking that is one of the hottest thing he does

The first night you ever interacted was because you had just joined the group and everyone is into doing dares on the weekend and you were perfectly fine with that, so that night, Friday you were all talking and then someone showed you, your dare.

What kind you ask? A very fun kind... One where you had to kiss Young-hyun, at that time you didn’t even know who he was until you asked your buddy in Gryffindor and she tells you it’s the one who you thought was really hot that first time, and your like, ‘I have to kiss him’ she’s like if you don’t want kiss him we can assign it to someone else, and your like no that’s not it...And she’s like *wiggles eyebrows* Ohhh? and you just glare at her and shove her slightly. You put the slip of paper into your back pocket drop down in front of him and put your hand under his chin and kiss him

No it wasn’t that kind of kiss where you see sparks it more like that awkward kiss that your like, ‘oooh... that’s what a kiss is...’ no you weren’t a first year but a second year and he was a third year so it was just odd that you gotten in so late but you wanted to focus on studying anyways.

You both move from each other a blush evident on our cheeks

And that’s really all that happened for about a month

Neither of you talked about it, seeing as there was nothing really talk about, but your ever growing crush on him that pissed you off to no end that you developed a crush over someone that you kissed once, and it’s no longer only physical attraction but also emotional attraction. Like his personality was so great

That’s when your gryfindor best friend that you had made that day tells you about ‘Brian’ and you’re like who is that? And she’s like, ‘your crush’ ‘pfft like I have a crush’ and they just give you a side glare and that’s how it started again

You started calling him, ‘Brian’ and he started calling you, ‘Dork’ and you weren’t going to deny it but one of these days when you develop confidence your going to be like, ‘but I’m not just any dork’ and he’ll be like, ‘what’ and you’ll be like, ‘I’m your dork’ and everything will fall into place, right?

No not really because it was 3rd year and he’s a 4th year and he said ‘dork’ to you after you called him ‘Brian’ and you said, ‘I’m not just any dork’ and he’s like, ‘yeah, your a big dork’ and wow did you kick yourself over that for about a week

Your poor pillow was abused to no end due to like those dream and also punching it. The dream where you just droll all over that thing and you were like, ‘eww’ you wouldn’t believe how many times that Gryffindor took pictures and sent them to the group, ‘like look at this disgusting dork’ now you didn’t mind it as much when others called you dork because your like I am a dork what am I to hide it, but when Young K does it just pushes your buttons to no ends like why can’t he just like me instead of calling me a dork and acting all buddy buddy with me... I just wanna date him

That really was where you were just like, ‘come on you have to be kidding me’ if you were one of those people who believed that love potions don’t hurt anyone except it hurts both sides of the part because you have to force someone to fall in love with you and then the person never really loves you or that the person is only going under this and it’s really just hurting their system and desensitizing them to love. Love potions are just hazardous and you do your best to avoid them. Even when you go into ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ the twins are such a pair (okay I don’t care what you think Fred was one of my favorite characters and J.K can suck it because he’s alive) they act like the brothers you never had and you loved it.

Really every time you enter the shop their just like, ‘how’s my favorite little prankster’ okay you would be lying if you didn’t pull pranks. That was just you, poor Longbottom good thing he’s able to take a joke. And doesn’t deduct your points or grade as long as you clean up the room. Minerva doesn’t mind a joke but will deduct your points for your house even though she’s the head of the house and wants Gryfindor to win. But with you in the house it take twice as much work to keep the points steady... That just means, you having to get the highest grades in the class to make up for it.

Seriously, you are an over achiever even getting extra credit when you don’t need it so, your pranks don’t do your house in. After all, you need to win the house cup

You’ve pulled one or two pranks... okay really understatement... Let’s just say April Fool’s is your favorite holiday besides Halloween. And one year-- your now in 4th year--you didn’t pull any pranks on April Fools in the 3rd year and everyone was on edge when you finally pulled it a week later giving everyone a relief and a heart attack at the same time to be honest.

If you could count how many times you’ve pulled a prank on Young K you would need a calculator because there is not enough fingers or toes for this, it’s just that many...

Maybe it was because you liked him? You would deny that to yourself even though you were sure you liked him.

You’ve been plotting this prank for about a month, getting everyone in on it, meaning the teachers. Needless to say the prank is simple, but it’s not noticeable at first, being as a star student and a prankster, the teachers like you, but Minerva asked since she never seen the prank done, she could get all the teachers in on it, and it will be the greatest, Hogwarts has ever seen. Exception to Fred and George’s leaving to start Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.

We will have changed all the classrooms by tomorrow morning, and people will head to class as usual, except, when they get there they will find something very different...

What once was Transfiguration room is now the defense of dark arts room, what once was the defense of the dark arts room is now the charms room, what once was the charms room is now the arithmetic room, and so and so on.

All the professors will be in their room, of that period

Everyone will think they have it figured out, that they have phones that they text people, but every period it will change, the last period before dinner, the end of the day essentially will be placed in the original classroom.

How will the professor’s pull it off you ask? They have floo powder and an opening and they already have the place where the are going, by word of mouth from mine to Minerva. We even got good ol’ Filch in on it, against his will, he already hates the students its more of, he especially can’t give them directions day.

The thing is the whole group is thinking I’m only doing a little prank, for Merlin’s sake, which  just because it’s my 4th doesn’t mean I should make it anymore light should I?

I have a simple classy prank of dying everyone’s hair a sickly color, that doesn’t look good on them, like me will be receiving Neon green, black and pink, which modified into a spell will have neon green, black stripes, and pastel (so they clash) pink polka dots. Everyone will be receiving a different treatment being as I was dared by a Hufflepuff named Dowoon, and I’m going to make his sickly too don’t worry. To get everyone’s hair charmed ugly colors.

To make sure no one will expect it right I know you don’t really get what I mean by saying I will be receiving that, and Brian won’t? Well, it’s because revenge is sickly, and I’m going to make sure everyone in the whole school thinks he’s the culprit, oh and do you think I left the professors out on this one? No, I asked Minerva to make everyone wigs, charmed for tomorrow to be different raunchy colors.

Why am I blaming it on Brian? Let’s just say last year in 3rd year he blamed me for a terrible prank that had people coughing up bugs for 4 days, gross right? I was one of them, the rest of the group wasn’t making me seem suspicious, not this time buddy oh boy.

I’ll take credit for the big prank with teachers, but not this little one. The poor group, my best friend found out that I was doing it and brought some hair dye to school, she doesn’t know about the big prank. But I do.

It ended up being a riot, where people literally gave up and went outside and sat on the lawn, busying themselves, except when they were shooed to get to class by Filch

Whilst I was glared at for, being the cause of his turmoil of the day

I get to dinner and everyone is mumbling about the big prank, when I get up on the Gryfindor table and announce that I was the cause

And that’s when Brian yells, “NO! I WAS!”

We started literally fighting over it

Both of us knowing I was, but no one else exception to Filch and the professors knew. (giggling like the little kids they are)

When Minerva gets up as headmaster and says, “Settle down... Now, can you please talk it out who did it outside, people are trying to have a lovely dinner, children.” I scowl and I mutter something like, “traitors” knowing full-well she heard me.

We get out there and I’m ready to fite, like I know I was the one, who did and I’m about to spew about how all my hard work has just been thrown away because he decides that he is the one that is-

When that’s not what happens at all I feel myself pushed towards the brick wall, his lips smacking against mine, I was in shock, I slowly wrap my arms around his neck, as I kiss him back

That’s when I hear hoots and whistles I pull away and shy into my robe, great these raunchy colors will not help me blend at all, so I decide to pull my hood up and shove my face into his sweatshirt when I hear an incantion being muttered under his breath and I look up to see my hair back to normal and his the color I dyed mine, I laugh

“So who did the big prank”

Brian answers, “She did both-”

“I’ll let you take some credit, for making this bigger than it was-”

“And I take some credit” he laughs and kisses my forehead

“You two a thing?” I hear Minerva ask from the back

I nod up at Brian, “I guess we are-”

“Officially? Thank Merlin, I couldn’t live without kissing you for another day” With that he places a swift kiss on my lips, grinning from ear to ear.