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#until louis talked about how she had it better than him which was also subjective thus biased
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We have spoken about it lots of times before but is it even really an achievement for Harry if he puts out a song and it is a hit. No matter how bad the song is, no matter how bad his album is, it’s going to be a hit. It will be played a million times on radio and will be on top of any playlist imaginable. Not because it’s good, only because it’s released by Sony Columbia under his name. His last album was so bad that his own fans were calling it a spoof album when it was leaked. That it couldn’t be the real album he was putting out. Then when it became official it was treated as Jesus’ second coming.
Yes, Louis has to swim against the tide but at least that will keep him motivated to put out music he really feels like creating, that he really feels like putting out. He doesn’t atleast have to sing songs about women’s vaginas while also pretending to be gay in front of a brain dead audience.
Louis has this freedom, which he’s talked about at concerts. His audience allows him the breadth of exploration and experimentation to keep his musical mind sharp, and to keep making music that both he and fans will like. He’s a musician making music, not the latest trend wagging the “musician” as we so often hear on the radio.
The other day I heard a song from Harry’s House for the first time (something cinema), and tbh I didn’t recognize that it was Harry until almost the end of the song. On first listen, it wasn’t bad or good. The song was like any background music that someone uses to promote an IG reel or TikTok makeup tutorial: a generic, inoffensive copy of an idea someone had decades ago, with a hook that repeats ad nauseum.
To be fair, pop music isn’t the Mona Lisa and most of it is generic and derivative. Art is hard. Originality is hard. Beauty is subjective and almost impossible to do commercially.
The Grammy has become an award given by industry to reward its pet projects. The votes are meaningless. There is no integrity. The same goes for the Brits, MTV EMA, and every major music award.
Still, there is a difference between a musician whose primary focus is music, and someone who is simply a celebrity. People might gossip about the Beatles fallout, but there is never any question that the Beatles signature will always be music-> not nail polish, not costumes, not romances, not perfumes.
Taylor Swift is a mega-celebrity, but decades later, she will be known for her songs and her discography.
Elvis and Michael Jackson are modern pop culture myths, but they are remembered for their songs and performances.
No one cares that Beyoncé has never won AOTY. She has made her mark in music history. These milestones have become so corrupted that they became meaningless.
The reason is because music still has meaning for ordinary people. Heartbreak, compassion, grief, and solace are, and always will be, part of the human experience.
Louis isn’t there yet in terms of establishing his discography, but he has a good chance and he’s on the right path. Of course there are no guarantees that his future work will be good, but a promising sign is that Walls was already better than anything from 1D, and FITF was a huge leap ahead still. The best songs came from not mimicking a specific genre or artist but creating something new — Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy or Written All Over Your Face would be prime examples.
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neondiamond · 1 year
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🍂 Recently Read Fics - November 2022 🍂
These are all the amazing fics I read over the past month (from shortest to longest). Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show the authors your appreciation if you read any of these! 🧡
🍂 empty by @larrieblr (900, NR)
I didn’t know where to go. I only thought of you, and then I was here.
🍂 Don’t You Know (That I Am Right Here) by @tommokat (1k, T)
Louis has a new job and Harry just wants to talk.
🍂 Not Nearly Vertical by @letthemusicmoveyou28 (1k, E)
The one where Louis broke his arm which sucks, but Harry's there to make it better.
🍂 hey, babe by @greeneyesfriedrice (1k, E)
when we're finished saying nothing, could we please get back to loving?
🍂 You Can Plan On Me by @tommokat (2k, G)
Harry and Louis are hosting Christmas this year and they couldn’t be more excited. The lights are twinkling, the cookies are ready to frost; what could go wrong?
🍂 You All the Time by @londonfoginacup (2k, T)
At age sixteen, Harry knows that his parents have found him a husband to marry.
🍂 A Piece of Home by @almightyprincess (3k, G)
Louis spends the Day with his mother-in-law and maybe that's just the piece of home he needed.
🍂 Cookbooks and Toothpicks and One Lizard by @londonfoginacup (3k, G)
If there is one thing that Harry hates about Halloween, it’s what a spectacle everyone suddenly makes around him.
Sure, he loves his friends, but he really wishes that this one, singular day of the year they could all just be chill. It’s as if for 364 days they forget what his profession is entirely, and then all remember at the same moment on the morning of October 31st. Oh yeah! I have a friend who is a witch! I should reconnect with him on this particular day, I’m sure he’s not already got plans of any kind!
Well not this year. This year he's going to the library.
🍂 Chicago by @hellolovers13 (3k, G)
They hadn't seen each other in four years, why was Louis still writing songs about Harry?
🍂 lazy days and pancakes for two by @cyantific (4k, T)
They haven't seen each other in eighteen days. What better way to spend a much-needed tour break than having a lazy day watching shit TV and having breakfast in bed with your husband.
Domestic fluff, so much fluff... They love each other, y'all... so, so much!
🍂 i am easy to find by @larrieblr (4k, M)
Where two people try to follow their dreams but time isn't on their side.
🍂 With This Wing, I Thee Wed by @ladyaj-13 (4k, T)
“Nando’s?”
Niall crosses his arms and pouts, a little line appearing between his eyebrows. “I want Nandos. I like Nandos.”
“And I like my dignity,” Louis mutters.
🍂 Love In Conversation by @hellolovers13 (4k, T)
Louis has a severe baking breakdown.
Thankfully, he gets help from baking-hotline operator Harry.
🍂 purr and shout by anditsonlyforthebrave (5k, NR)
The sound that escapes Harry's mouth couldn't possibly be a purr. He's an alpha, alphas don't purr. Or do they?
🍂 come my love be one with the sea by @larrydoinglaundry (6k, M)
Pirate captain Louis gets saved from the storm by mermaid Harry, and grows particularly fond of this mysterious creature.
🍂 Not Sure How To Say This Right by @wabadabadaba (7k, M)
Louis had resigned herself to be Florence's best friend and watch from the sidelines as Florence gave her all to someone who didn't appreciate her. That was until she came home to Florence in her kitchen with a new hair cut, brownies and newly single.
🍂 Liquid Gold by @wabadabadaba (9k, E)
Louis has a biting kink and the only person he thinks can fulfill it is his vampire friend, Harry.
🍂 Somebody Get Me Through This Nightmare by @lululawrence (11k, NR)
“I am not subjecting you to my poor dog in his moment of vulnerability!” Louis cried. “That would be cruel to you, but also to Clifford.” Louis got up and started pacing again like he had been before. “He is so cuddly and honestly is also quite spoiled, and now he probably thinks I’ve abandoned him over this. And I essentially have! I’m serious, Harry, I close my eyes and the visuals of his bald head haunt me. God, how am I going to sleep tonight? I can’t even bring myself to walk back into the house.”
“You are always welcome to sleep on my couch if you need,” Harry offered immediately. “I still don’t think it’s quite as bad as you seem to believe it is, but I’d much rather you be next door than fifteen or twenty minutes away at someone else’s house.”
Louis was flooded with relief. “God, if you really don’t mind, I would really appreciate that.”
🍂 anything you want until the morning by honey_beeing (12k, M)
A Late Night Talking AU where Harry and Louis find each other on the way to work every night and then learn to not let go of each other ever again.
🍂 snapshots of moments by @onlythebravest (13k, M)
Harry and Louis have been together for as long as they’ve been in the spotlight. Over the years, they’ve made a lot of memories - happy and sad, sexy and unsexy, good and bad - memories of all kinds. This is just a few of them.
🍂 Every Snowflake Is Different (Just Like You) by @hellolovers13 (20k, E)
Turns out, getting snowed in with your not quite One-Night Stand wasn’t actually that bad.
But the snow wouldn’t last forever.
Was there a chance for love even after the snow had melted?
🍂 Home for Christmas by @haloeverlasting (22k, G)
The Shameless Hallmark Movie AU you probably didn't ask for.
Or, the one where Harry didn't think he wanted a family, but with a little Christmas magic (and maybe one Louis Tomlinson) he realizes that he is very, very wrong.
🍂 enough to make a girl blush by @disgruntledkittenface (22k, E)
When Louis moves from her small hometown to the city, she runs into her childhood friend Niall. Despite her surprise at learning that Niall presented as an alpha, she’s immediately drawn to her. As their relationship progresses and Louis settles into life in the city, she learns that love, sex and identity aren’t always as simple as she’d been taught growing up.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
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emweach · 3 years
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I find it pretty upsetting that Louis thought Domi was luckier and more loved than him. Make no mistake I am not saying that Louis didn't suffer because he obviously did, and his envy he had for Domi was justified, it just that they suffered in different ways, and it's not like he actually knew how his sister suffered.
I get this impression that Louis assumed that Domi was loved and appraciated because she was kept around, but frankly the Sade household isn't really functional either. As she has told him Domi was forced into all the noble bs, and rather than loved she was and still is constantly taunted and belittled by the family, say, Veronica and Antoine. The fact that she always looked forward to going to Averoigne seems to stemmed from the lack of compassion that she received in her household rather than simply strict noble upbringing. Domi is so deprived of agency that she picked up Louis' personality to toughen herself up, and devotes her entire life purpose to Noé. Even when she was lost in an existential crisis, the persona that replicates Louis (the stronger and wiser one) was the one that guided her way.
Domi's childhood is so tragic and unstable that her entire identity is a a projection of the two figures that had given her affection in her primitive years. And even now, she still bases her entire life purpose on Noé, rather than any motivation that she creates within herself. She literally sees no worth in herself but a desperate attempt to protect what has given her love. And yes Jeanne has also given her genuine affection but Domi hasn't accepted herself to sincerely open up to it without feeling inferior.
Louis and Domi are that one pair of tragic twins, but their respective tragedies are vastly different.
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midautumnnightdream · 3 years
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Family
For Cosette Appreciation Week
*
Cosette doesn’t remember much of the day her father died.
She has no idea how long she spent kneeling on the bare floor, her cheek pressed against the rough fabric, her hands clasping a larger one, that only recently had been stroking her head. She vaguely recalls Marius speaking to the portress. The doctor had been called back, though for what purpose, she couldn’t say. When Marius helped her to her feet, she could hardly stand without support.
Upon re-entering No. 6 Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, she had gone straight to her chambers, leaving Marius to explain matters to his aunt and grandfather. He had followed her soon, in a state of great agitation: Cosette had watched him marching back and forth, filling the air with rambling, disjointed explanations that she barely listened to, and understood even less. The flood of broken self-recriminations surrounded her like an ocean, and she knew that she should care, but her papa was gone, and she felt cold and helpless and so very alone.
At some point, Marius had turned to her, and whatever he had seen in her face had stopped him short. There was something indescribable in his expression, an odd mix of realisation and dismay. He had reached out his hand, as if to touch her, and glanced at the door, as if to flee. In the end he had done neither, instead perching on the edge of the bed, several feet away from her. They sat together in silence for a long time.
Grandfather Gillenormand had been full of effusive sympathy and condolences. He had offered to take care of the funeral arrangements, but Marius had corralled him with great care, and had cited the wishes of the deceased, that a minimal fuss should be made. In the end, the funeral party had consisted only of the four members of the household, joined by Toussaint, whom Marius had invited on Cosette's behalf. It had also been Marius, who encouraged the rest of their party to say their farewells after the church service, leaving the young couple in their privacy at the graveside; and it was Marius, who had penned the odd little verse on the otherwise unmarked gravestone. Cosette had stood silent and numb, all the words she wished she could say threatened to choke her. Only tears flowed.
The morning after the funeral, Marius had finally explained it all; slow and hesitant in a way that carried nothing of his earlier agitation. In brief words he had explained the nature of her papa’s best kept secret, the confession he had made and the facts he had left out. Without sparing a single detail, he had described Jean Valjean's actions in saving his life, and his own actions in driving him away. At times, the familiar tone of self-recrimination would seep into his voice again, but then he would break off mid-sentence, seeming more ashamed of that bitter flood of guilt than the actions themselves. Cosette couldn’t say she wasn’t relieved: she was quite sure she didn’t have it in her to reassure him.
She should be angry, she knew. At Marius, certainly, probably even at papa. Marius certainly seemed to expect it from her, but she didn’t have it in her to conform to his expectations either. Perhaps she was angry, but her heart was heavy with exhaustion and grief, and she desperately didn’t want to be alone. When Marius placed a tentative hand on her wrist, she turned, wrapped her arms around him and wept.
Marius walks on eggshells around her after that day. Where before he would declaim expansively on any and all topics with an air of authority, he now seems to hesitate on every word, his eyes searching hers for approval. He’s attentive to her every mood, fidgeting around her like a great dark guardian, and yet disappearing instantly when she gives the slightest indication of wanting to be alone. She has no idea where he goes when he leaves her. He seems lost. It is both a relief and a concern.
Right at this moment, he’s doing a poor job of pretending to read a newspaper, his gaze flickering over to Cosette in her window seat and to the long forgotten needlework in her lap. Cosette can feel the weight of his eyes on her, distracting her from her reverie.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks eventually, his voice painfully hesitant. Cosette sighs and tears her gaze away from the window.
“My mother,” she answers honestly.
“Oh?” Cautious, encouraging.
“Papa used to talk to me about her when I was little. Then he stopped. I suppose he thought once I was older, I might start asking questions he couldn’t answer.”
“Do you remember her at all?” Marius asks.
Cosette shakes her head. “I don’t remember much of my childhood. I think I remember being held and I know it must have been my mother, who sang to me and rocked me to sleep. After...” She hesitates. “I was fostered, I think, or maybe just left behind. I was terribly unhappy there. Then  papa came and took me away.” It was so strange and dark and confusing, that part of her life, filled with bizarre recollections, many of which must have surely been just nightmares of her childish mind. She had never liked thinking about it and papa hadn’t liked talking about it. Now, she supposes she will never know.
“I don’t remember my mother either,” Marius says suddenly. “At least not well. I remember what she looked like, but that might be just her picture on grandfather’s mantelpiece.” He’s lost in thought for several moments, before continuing. “I remember her illness, and being taken to her bedchamber to say goodbye. We were staying with grandfather then; my father was away in the war. Afterwards, grandfather wouldn’t let him see me, and told me he had abandoned me. And then he died. My father died alone, because my grandfather lied to me and kept me away. I hated him for this. I walked out of his house, left him behind and hated him for many years. And now I’ve done the same –” His jaw snaps shut. “But this isn’t about me.”
Cosette would like nothing more than to close the subject, to turn away and let their wounds heal in peace, until such time would come when she is ready to soothe them away. She had done the same with her papa, countless times – and look how that had turned out. Every instinct tells her they are on the cusp of something that may yet define the rest of their life together. She suppresses her fear.
“Marius. What are you saying?”
The look in Marius’ eyes is full of anguish and uncertainty. “This isn’t about me,” he repeats, his voice holding a cadence of a mantra. “Your grief for your father, the relationship the two of you shared, the memories you still hold dear – none of this has anything to do with me at all, does it? My guilt and my fervent regret for how things turned out are superfluous to the issue at hand.” He hesitates, as if trying to explain some great revelation he doesn’t quite have the words for. “Your grief matters more than my experience of it. I’ve been in your place, but now I’m not. What matters is how you feel.”
Cosette doesn’t reply, unsure of what to say. She’s never heard Marius speak like that, isn’t quite sure she understands all that he’s trying to communicate.
He does that sometimes, thinking and brooding about an issue for so long that when he resurfaces, he’s bringing with him conclusions that are so profoundly simple as to be self-evident at the first glance, despite the layers of meaning visible only to him. Yet his usual ruminations tend towards the greater social questions and his own views on them. This? This feels different.
Something of her thoughts must have reflected on her face, for Marius expression grows rueful. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that I've never been very good at listening, at paying attention. I see what I expect to see, hear what I expect to hear and discard the rest. But bemoaning my foibles doesn’t help – the important thing is to do better. I will do better, for you.”
Cosette takes a deep breath. “Do you promise not to lie to me any more?”
“I promise!” Marius answers instantly, then hesitates. “I gave him my word to keep his secret before I even knew what it was.”
“You also promised he could visit,” Cosette replies quietly. “Why keep one promise and not the other?”
Marius has no reply to that.
“I swear I will not lie to you again,” is all he says.
“And you will not keep from me anything that has to do with me?”
“I swear,” Marius says. After a moment he adds. “I know it is a paltry excuse, but hurting you was the last thing that either of us wished to do. We were trying to protect you from suffering, and in doing that, we made the wrong choices. I made the wrong choices, because I failed to keep your feelings in mind, and that is something I can never make up for.”
For a long moment, the young couple sits in silence.
“Perhaps,” Cosette says eventually. “There was no good choice you could have made, because the choice wasn’t yours to make in the first place.”
“I’m your husband,” Marius says, grieved. “If I cannot do right by you, what’s the use of me?”
“Marius,” says Cosette. “Do we not, in this house, live in a republic?”
Marius huffs out a laugh. “I believe Monsieur Louis-Philippe would have something to say about that.”
“Do we not agree that it is no good, one person making all the decisions?” Cosette continues, unperturbed. “Your grandfather has made some terrible choices, both for you and for your aunt. My papa chose badly, in leaving me. I do not wish for any children of ours to live like we did, alone in their grief and helpless in their ignorance.”
“Never,” Marius assures vehemently. Cosette doesn’t meet his gaze, but she can see his expression growing horrified. “You do not believe me.”
“Marius,” Cosette answers, equal parts fond and exasperated, and perhaps just a bit resentful. “I think I need you to know, that before anything else, you are my family. The only family I have left. Do you know what that means to me, an orphan several times over, registered in my marriage documents under the surname given to me through kindness of strangers? I love you.”
“You say that you love me and I believe you,” Marius replies quietly. “But you won’t say that you trust me.”
“Marius,” Cosette says. “Do you trust me?”
“Always,” Marius replies instantly, the grows quiet under the weight of the promise.
Cosette takes his hand in hers. “Then, as long as you keep trusting me, I endeavour to trust you. How does that sound?”
Marius remains quiet and pensive for a long minute. Then, for the first time in weeks, he smiles.
“That, I believe, is what my friend Bahorel would have called a treaty.”
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deniigi · 4 years
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anyways the discord has fucked me up 6 ways to hell.
Have some Sam/Ned/Peter/Johnny/MJ
Because we couldn’t pick a ship and we discovered Sam/Ned, and now we’re all devastated by it.
Title: Anenome’s an Enemy
Summary: The polycule welcomes Sam into its ranks.
Notes: So the polycule consists of Ned, Peter and MJ who are all romantically involved and established. Peter is also in an on/off relationship with Johnny, but Johnny is just friends with Ned and MJ. Oh. And these are Inimitable Verse characters.
--
It started with Ned and MJ reading the texts from the groupchat in order to psychoanalyze Peter’s teammates.
This was not new.
Peter let them read the bullshit fairly regularly. It was only fair that they got to see what he was giggling about.
What was new was Ned asking who BT was.
Peter had thought that they’d met at Matt and Foggy’s wedding, but Ned couldn’t remember Sam being there, and, to be fair, Peter had noticed that Sam had an extraordinary ability to blend himself into the background when there were multiple people having a conversation.
MJ barely remembered Sam, too, for that reason precisely, so Peter asked Sam if he could send a selfie ‘for the home team to admire.’
Sam said that he wasn’t comfortable with that.
It was super surprising.
Peter apologized for asking and Sam waved it off, saying that he just didn’t know how to take selfies for anyone besides his sister and friends and he just didn’t want to screw it up. Which was code for ‘I am actually really fucking uncomfortable with this whole thing; please don’t ask me why I’m saying no.’
Peter dropped it.
MJ didn’t forget about it, though, and so he had to explain that Blindspot was a little camera shy.
Ha.
Get it?
Because Blindspot?
Ned told him that it was kind of weird that Sam didn’t want to take a picture for him when he was cool taking them for his other friends; MJ said that it was probably because he didn’t want her and Ned to see his face and Ned relented a little bit.
“We’ve already met him, though?” he pointed out. “Surely that was worse in this scenario?”
Well. In Sam’s world, it was probably better, actually, Peter thought. In real life, he could smile and duck out of sight and stay out of range. A picture was forever.
“He’s probably got a reason,” MJ continued. “Or his folks were probably those ‘put it on the internet and it never goes away’ types.”
Uh.
Probably?
“I think,” Peter said quietly, because he didn’t actually know—because Sam never actually said the words out loud—“That he might be undocumented?”
He got two sets of eyes his way immediately.
“Oh,” Ned said. “That’s completely understandable then.”
“Yikes,” MJ said. “Does he need help? I’ve got some stuff saved if he needs legal stuff.”
No. No, Peter thought that Sam probably knew more about his situation than any of them did. He knew what kind of help he needed and he might take offense at links or brochures passed his way, so he shrugged and told the others that Sam probably had the situation under control.
The other two dropped the subject after saying that the next time Sam was in the area, they should all get dinner or something.
Peter extended this invite to Sam and got back a simple ‘thanks 🙂’.
Sam didn’t talk to him for the rest of the week.
 --
 At about week two of radio silence in the chat and in personal texts, Peter asked Matt if he’d overstepped.
Matt didn’t answer the question. What he said was that, as far as he could tell, Sam was okay at work and in their training. He noted that Sam went through cycles of being very open and chatty and then withdrawing into himself for days and weeks at a time. He left it at that.
He didn’t say ‘he has been violently reminded about all the shit he can’t do and is protecting himself from you and your ilk.’
He didn’t say that.
But Peter still felt it.
 --
 SM: hey BT, hope you’re okay. Didn’t mean to overstep the other day. Sorry about that. Let me know if you need anything.
BT: I’m okay
BT: I’ll let you know.
BT: ❤
 --
 MJ told Peter that he was blowing things out of proportion.
“If Matt says he goes through cycles, then he goes through cycles, Peter,” She scolded. “Matt can’t lie for shit. Not about people he cares about.”
…Right.
But what if—
What if—
“I just feel like shit because I don’t know how to make him feel better,” Peter admitted. “I feel like I broke his trust or something.”
“He’s not not talking to you,” MJ said. “He’s just not info-dumping. And you don’t know his life, it might not have been you making him feel bad. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your mistakes, you know.”
Right, right.
Yeah, he knew.
 --
 PP: hey matt did I fuck up?
MM: ?
PP: I think I fucked up. can you tell Sam I’m really really sorry?
MM: Sammy’s fine?
MM: He’s discovered jalapeño Cheetos and he and foggy are making my life hell.
MM: they’re both very cheerful right now.
MM: did something happen?
PP: I think so? I asked him for a picture a while ago for Ned and MJ and he hasn’t spoken to me in 2 weeks. I mean like really spoken. I said sorry but I’m not getting back more than 5 word responses
MM: ah
MM: he’s okay Peter
PP: is he really tho??
MM: lol
MM: yeah buddy he’s okay
PP: what is ‘lol???’
MM: lol
PP: Matt.
MM: I’m a confidante I cannot say. But it is very cute.
PP: ????
PP: Matt I’m spiraling
PP: can you just like tell me I haven’t single handedly ruined our friendship?
MM: HA
PP: MATT
MM: no can do. You’ll have to ask him, friend.
PP: god when did you turn into such a dad?
MM: when I got all these fuckin kids I didn’t ask for. Fuck off squirt
PP: I hate you too
MM: ❤
 --
 Johnny held Peter’s face between two palms and told him he was being a dramatic piece of shit and it was Johnny’s turn this month.
Johnny was offended.
Peter made sad sounds at him until he relented and agreed to come sit at the table with MJ to psychoanalyze all Peter’s Bad Friend behaviors.
Johnny did not like to sit at the table with MJ, mostly because MJ kept stabbing him with her eyes, but he came along and gave Ned a big hug in the doorway.
MJ stabbed him with her eyes for that, too.
Johnny paged through the texts Peter had screenshotted and printed out and tossed on the table with a collection of pens and after a while, blinked once and jerked his head up suddenly to stare into MJ’s eyes.
MJ glared at him languidly.
Peter sat on his hands, all highlighters and pen privileges having been revoked after the second guilt spiral two minutes ago, and looked between them, back and forth.
They said nothing to him.
They spoke only in narrowing eyes and squirming eyebrows.
Peter hated when they did shit like this.
“Peter,” MJ finally said after a good three minutes of awkward silence. “When you went back west to stay with Matt and Fogs, where did you stay?”
Where?
Well, their house?
“Where in their house?” MJ asked like she already knew the answer. She tangled a hand into her hair in exasperation. Johnny brought both hands up to his face to hide a huge smile.
Wh—
Where?
In the house?
Well, Angel and Louis had taken the couch and Ellie and Wade had been in the guest bedroom, so he’d stayed in Sam’s room with him.
Ned sighed loudly from the couch. His typing slowed down as he slouched lower and lower into the cushions.
Peter didn’t get it.
Why was everyone staring at him?
“Buddy,” Johnny said kindly. “You’re so fucking stupid, you make me look smart.”
“You are smart,” Peter said. “Why am I stupid?”
MJ held out her hand for his phone. He gave it to her without question.
 --
 PP: hey matt its MJ.
PP: does Sam have a crush on Peter?
MM: I don’t know MJ, does he?
 --
 MJ held the phone up to Peter’s face while Johnny shriek-giggled into his palms.
Peter felt a little like jelly.
All wobbly and shit.
“He likes me?” he blurted out.
MJ blinked slowly. Johnny pounded a fist against the table, wheezing.
“He thinks you want a picture for your friends,” he said. “He thinks you’ve friendzoned him. Oh my god. Peter.”
WHAT WHAT WHAT
“Give me that,” Peter said, snatching his phone.
 --
 PP: matt this is peter this is not a drill
PP: he likes me??? Like likes-likes? Or just likes?
MM: why do you children keep asking me stupid questions?
MM: ask each other stupid questions
 --
 No.
“What do I do?” Peter asked the other two.
Johnny hummed and poked at his chin. MJ leaned over towards the couch with an outstretched hand. Ned took it in a show of moral support.
Once she’d powered back up, MJ turned back to Peter with infinite patience.
“Do you like him too?” she asked.
Did he—did he like Sam?
Well, obviously he liked Sam. Sam was funny and brilliant and always down to get in a bit of trouble. He was sensitive to others and he picked himself back up every time shit hit him.
He was warm.
His energy was warm. And welcoming. And he seemed to constantly be fighting that.
But he was Matt’s. Not in that way.
Like, he was Matt’s apprentice. Functionally, he was Matt’s apprentice, but actually, even back when Peter had just met him, he’d known that Sam was more than that to Matt.
Sam denied it. Matt denied it. But they were very, very close. Closer than Peter had been allowed to be with Matt.
Matt would fight to the death for Peter, Peter knew this; there had been a few close calls over the years. But Matt gave off this weird vibe with Sam.
It was a buzz. Peter felt it low in his neck. Humming.
The Spidey Sense didn’t like Matt being behind him when Peter was with Sam. It thought he was a threat.
And that? That was not normal. Matt had stood behind Peter for more than a decade and never, not once, had the Spidey Sense reacted that way to him.
Peter had told Wade about it and Wade’s eyes had softened. He’d clasped Peter’s shoulder and said that he was ‘touched as hell,’ which Peter didn’t understand at first.
He kind of got it more now.
Sam was Matt’s. What he was exactly wasn’t super clear. But Matt was willing and ready not just to die, but potentially to torture, for Sam and he didn’t fucking like anyone being too close to him—especially not another vigilante.
Sam was off limits.
Touch him and suffer the consequences.
That message was loud and clear.
So even if Peter thought that Sam was warm and brilliant and so easy to sink into, it didn’t matter.
Johnny and MJ and Ned considered this by drumming fingers on noses and chins and making humming sounds.
“Red seems okay with BT having a crush on you, though?” Johnny said. “He’s joking about it, after all. Maybe he just doesn’t want you to make the first move? You do kind of have a track record, Peter.”
That made a lot of sense actually.
“So what, I have to wait for Sam to say something or to get over me?” Peter asked.
“Pretty much,” MJ said. “Unless anyone else has a better idea?”
No one did.
Man, bummer.
 --
 Sam came back into contact a few days later like nothing had happened. He was concerned about definitions of seals. He needed people to help him work through them. Evidently, Matt, Foggy, and Kirsten hadn’t done the job.
Matt said nothing about no one, which was infuriating as always.
And so it went.
 --
 BT: heyyyyyyyyyyyyy peter
SM: lol hey you what’s up?
BT: m drunk
SM: oh word?
BT: Leilani told me no to taext no one butttttt I hate meself so here we are
SM: Leilani?
BT: fremd
SM: dude red said you finish all your girlfriends drinks?
BT: is my scared duty
BT: scared
BT: sacred
SM: sam you’re like 140 pounds
BT: 😘
SM: okay sure I’m proud of you. how many did you chug
BT: hey teach says that you’re a people eater is that true?
SM: people eater? No. I am spider
BT: hello spider I am dog
SM: ASDF:SAfasFDf
BT: no like he says that you go through people a lot
SM: I have a lot of exes
BT: oh neat
BT: I have none exes
SM: what?? Really??
BT: rly
SM: have you ever dated someone?
BT: I don’t date
BT: fuck em and leave em
SM: oh
SM: does that work for you?
BT: easy
SM: wow okay
BT: I don’t want to be your ex. Can we just fuck and say notging about it?
BT: nothing
BT: like it doesn’t have to matter
BT: donst have to go anwhere
SM: yeah. I’m down with that, I guess?
BT: !!!!
SM: I mean if you are. Next time we’re in the same area we can do smth
BT: nice
BT: I think Imma puke
SM: uh?? Don’t puke in bed
SM: BT?
SM: Sam?
BT: did not we’re good hey thanks
BT: that’s cool of you.
BT: I promise Ima a good lay ❤
SM: you could be more than that too, you know?
BT: Good night!!!
 --
 MJ held her face as Peter straddled her hips with his phone two inches from her nose.  
Ned snickered.
“Help me,” MJ begged of him.
He shook his head. Peter shook his phone.
“Friend,” he said.
“Fuckbuddy,” MJ told him. “Don’t fall in love with him, Peter.”
Too fuckin’ late, babe.
Ned started shaking with laughter.
 --
 Once.
It happened once.
Kirsten was in New York for reasons. She brought backup in the form of Sam and some of his coworkers. They were on a 3 day mission, then Sam was catching a train to go help Clint out with a case down in Florida on Matt’s request.
Three days was plenty of time to get up to some shenanigans.
And Sam’s sides were tight. Strong.
Weirdly flexible?
“You’re great,” Sam told him immediately after their ‘shenanigans.’ “I’m leaving.”
Woah, woah, woah, there cowboy.
What’s the rush?
Sam, already back in his black hoodie, blinked owlishly and then squinted.
“Is this not how this works?” he asked.
Uuuuuuuh.
No?
“Stay,” Peter told him, pulling at his sweater. “Have dinner with me and my partners. They want to meet you.”
Sam smiled at him.
It was a bitter one.
“I’ve gotta jet, Pete,” he said. “For real. Thanks, though. Tell them I said hi.”
When he left Peter felt a little like slamming his hand against the bedside table. But that would shatter the bedside table, so he laid back and let the self-loathing begin.
 --
 Johnny thought that Sam was maybe a little insecure and so Peter should chill the fuck out.
“He’s probably never been with a polyamorous person,” he told Peter. “He might be trying to respect MJ and Ned.”
That made sense.
Too much sense.
“And anyways, your agreement was ‘fuck and leave,’” Johnny said. “If you want more than that you’re gonna have to—”
Don’t say it.
“You’re gonna have to—”
Stop singing.
“You’re gonna have to communicate, boo-bear.”
Fuck off.
No words. Only unrequited feelings and misery.
Johnny laughed.
“You’re a mess,” he said.
Whatever.
 --
 Okay, but once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern, no?
Matt sent a text to Peter that said simply ‘I will end you.’
That was basically proof, right?
That was Matt’s shovel talk, right??
MJ and Ned stared at him in horror.
“I think, Peter,” MJ said, “This is a warning.”
Yeah, a shovel talk. Peter had been through infinite shovel talks.
“Maybe you should talk to BT,” MJ said.
“Rephrasing that,” Ned said. “You should definitely talk to BT.”
Okay, fine.
 --
 SM: hey sam
SM: what are we doing, man?
SM: Matt’s threatening to end me
BT: ignore him he’s got zero right
SM: are you sure?
BT: I thought we weren’t talking about this
SM: I kinda want to talk about it?
BT: 🙂 I don’t
SM: oh
SM: sorry
SM: I thought that maybe there was just something more there?
BT: there isn’t. Sorry Peter.
SM: …are you sure?
BT: yes
SM: you’re kind of not giving me confidence that you’re sure, sam. Not enough emojis.
BT: I don’t want to talk
BT: thanks for trying tho!
BT: it means a lot ❤
SM: is it okay if I talk then?
BT: I will not stop you
SM: okay great because I’m kinda? Falling? For you?
SM: like you’re really cute? And funny? And insanely smart and really nice and super good at everything you do? And you have your ideals and you don’t waver?
SM: and idk if you know anything about me or my people that that’s uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh
SM: how to say
SM: my type
BT: I’m not a type 🙂
SM: no, obviously you’re a person. And I just.
SM: I’ve got love disease
BT: don’t say that word
SM: okay?
SM: are you uncomfortable?
BT: yes
BT: profoundly
SM: okay sorry I’ll stop
BT: peter I like you but I can’t be anything more to you
SM: ?? Why not??
BT: why not????
BT: because DD is my teacher, okay?? And you’re his mentee/brother/teammate whatever.
BT: and I’m not ruining what I have with him because I can’t control my fucking emotions.
BT: this is my shot.
BT: I only have one.
BT: and you’re great. You’re amazing. But I can’t throw it away.
SM: oh
SM: no yeah. That’s fair.
SM: sorry I didn’t mean to push
BT: its fine
SM: is that why you don’t date?
BT: I don’t date because no one cares.
SM: sam that’s not true
BT: can we just? Not?
SM: no? On this thing? No? People care about you? And they would be lucky to have you if you wanted them?
BT: I don’t want them
SM: are you aro?
BT: idk what that means
SM: Aromantic? You don’t feel romantic attraction?
BT: I still don’t know what that means
SM: okay well if you are, then that’s totally cool just so you know.
BT: I’m sorry
SM: don’t be sorry, you’re fine. I was the one pushing.
BT: no this is how it always goes. I’m sorry. I’m just gonna step back if that’s okay
SM: ? you don’t have to. Lol. If you think a rejection is the kind of thing to put a dent in my relationships with people, you got another thing coming pal.
BT: I didn’t mean it like that
SM: it’s okay if you did
SM: but sam you also know that it’s okay to be known a little bit, right?
BT: its not.
 --
 Hhhhhhhhhhng.
“Peter,” Ned said. “Bud, look at me.”
Peter did--with maximum misery.
“I love you,” Ned said. “You are cornering this guy.”
FFFFFFFFfffffffffffffffffuck.
“I’m never texting again,” Peter said.
“Bro, chill,” Ned said. “He likes you, okay? He literally said that. And he also said that he doesn’t want to fuck things up with his teacher. We know that Matt’s polyamorous. We know that he gets it. But does BT know that? Have they actually talked about this kind of thing? Hell no. Matt won’t talk to Foggy about romantic shit, why would he talk to BT about it?”
Fffffffffffffffffffffair point.
“Dramatic,” Ned scolded. “Here, let me try.”
Beg your pardon, sir?
“I just want to calm him down,” Ned said. “You know, apologize for my idiot’s pressure.”
Ah.
Right.
Phone’s all yours then.
 --
 PP: hi BT, this is Ned. I’m peter’s bf.
PP: listen man I just want to say that you’re completely fine. Don’t worry about this stuff too much. Me and MJ don’t mind you two hanging out and doing stuff. We’ve already talked through a lot of this for another guy.
PP: but also like, if you like Peter, that’s okay? He’s infuriatingly likeable. I know, I’ve been here since 3rd grade. If that feels weird to you, though, it might help if you talked to Matt about Kirsten and how they came to be.
PP: it’s okay
PP: whatever you decide, I promise: it’s okay. And you seem super nice and you make my partner really happy (fuckin dopey tbh) so if you ever just want to come and chill, that’s totally good. We’d like to meet you at some point, but no pressure if that makes you uncomfortable.
PP: I’ll be honest, BT, I don’t know much about you.
PP: MJ’s started following you on twitter tho and she says youre funny af. So if you want to join the nerdcrowd over here (unless you’re startrek trash) you’ll always be welcome to our place.
PP: anyways sorry that Peter’s Like That™
PP: he never learned how to quit
PP: hope you get a moment to chill and process dude. –Ned
Read 12:24
BT: are you sure?
PP: oh hey. About what?
BT: all of it?
PP: yeah man I’m sure. MJ is too, she’s just on Peter-beating duty rn so she can’t come to the phone
BT: ok
PP: hey are you shy?
BT: what? No. why do you ask?
PP: no reason. you just seem a little shy.
BT: ☹
PP: lol
PP: you okay?
BT: yes
PP: you want to process?
BT: no
PP: have you already processed?
BT: how do you know that?
PP: because you’re shy and I used to be more shy so you probably either talked it out to yourself or you called your mom or bff or something
BT: I don’t have
BT: sry yeah I talked it out with foggy
PP: you don’t have a mom?
BT: …or a bff. But there is foggy. He’s been helpful.
PP: dude how do you not have a bff? You need a bff
BT: I have plenty of friends ☹
PP: but no bff
BT: AND a sister
PP: but no bff
BT: I COULD have a bff. I just choose not to. For style.
PP: lolololol
PP: peter’s right you’re cute. Okay I’ve gotta give him back his phone before he implodes. Nice talking to you.
BT: okay byeee
 --
Peter straddled Ned and held the phone two inches from his face.
This was witchcraft.
Dark magic.
The least he could do was share.
“I literally just took the pressure off, dude, I don’t know what’s hard about this,” Ned said while MJ watched them over the back of the couch like a cat.
“Teach me your ways, sorcerer,” Peter said.
Ned grabbed his elbow.
“You will never attain my power,” he said.
Peter dropped his full weight on top of him.
 --
 Sam came around eventually.
Peter’s heart fucking stopped. Johnny clapped for him when the text came in that said, ‘DD says he doesn’t mind and he’s already doled out threats. So? Do you maybe want to start over?’
Peter screamed.
Johnny took his phone from him and let him scream better.
“I want to seeeee,” Johnny hummed. “Give us a picture, Blindspot. Are you a little hottie?”
“Shortie,” Peter whimpered.
The phone went down and Johnny’s head came up.
“That’s deadly,” he said.
“I know,” Peter told him.
 --
 Sam was…how to say.
Light touch.
Skittish.
Not good with even the slightest bit of pressure.
Peter hadn’t realized how much of a front he put up in front of other people until he tried to get him talking about shit that mattered and only then did he fully realize the extent to which Sam was exactly like Matt.
Trying to steer him towards emotions and negotiation and heartfelt discussion was like telling a fish that it could only swim one direction.
Sam’s reaction in every case was ‘okay that’s fine, let’s never mention this again--also I’m not going to do that; you just do what you want to me and I’ll figure everything else out on my own.’
Mind boggling.
Zero skills in that department.
Ned thought it was absolutely adorable.
MJ thought it was funny as fuck.
“Matt is useless,” Peter told them. “Absolutely useless. He’s done this shit for twenty fucking years and he’s just letting Sam work it out on his own?”
“Maybe that’s his teaching method?” Ned pointed out.
No, it absolutely was his teaching method. But that was the problem.
Fuck.
“Sam,” Peter said on the phone a while later, “Listen, buddy. I recognize that you are allergic to feelings, but this is what we have to do to get what we want.”
Sam hung up.
Dude.
“Threatened,” Ned said. “Come on. Gimme.”
 --
 Ned accused Peter of not telling him that Sam was Chinese. Peter told him that Sam’s twitter was literally half-written in Chinese.
Ned accused MJ of not telling him that Sam was Chinese and MJ said simply ‘my bad’ and got away with that shit, like she always did.
Unbelievable.
Johnny asked if Sam was interested in a superhero-sandwich and Peter got to take his aggression out on his pressure points.
Still, though, Peter was kind of glad that Ned was leading the charge on this. Firstly, because Ned so rarely stepped into these things with authority and it was really warming and lovely to see him so interested in bringing another person into their polycule. And secondly because Ned had the lightest touch of them all.
Peter, MJ, and Johnny were all helmet heads wielding hammers. The only thing keeping them from self-destruction were all the YIELD signs they’d set around their circle.
Ned typically just waded in between them all to tug Peter and MJ out of the battlezone and into a semblance of humanity.
So it was nice—no, it was cute that Ned was developing a little crush on Sam.
MJ thought so, too.
“I do love fresh meat to tenderize,” she said.
Peter stared.
“That is not the vibe we’re going for,” he reminded her.
MJ waved him off.  
 --
 “Peter.”
What’d he do now?
Ned held the phone seriously out to him.
“Tell Sam I want a picture of him to put on the wall next to my mirror,” he said.
Peter blinked.
“That’s creepy, dude,” he said.
“It will make him laugh and he’s still not comfortable sharing yet,” Ned said. “But he trusts you more than me.”
Ah.
Right.
Okay sure.
Peter texted.
Sam sent back only eye emojis.
Ah.
“So,” Peter said while Ned tapped a foot impatiently on the kitchen linoleum. “There’s something you should know.”
Ned cocked his head at him.
 --
 “Dude,” MJ said. “That’s wild.”
Sam’s eyes were, uh, how to say.
Inhuman.
Johnny shrieked, took the phone and climbed into Peter’s lap.
“He’s so cute, Peter, bring him home, I’ll be so nice,” he pleaded.
Johnny was not the one who was going to need reminders to be nice.
“How does he see?” Ned asked.
Uhhhhhhh.
Oh, you know…
Not well.
Johnny lowered the phone.
“He’s blind?” he asked.
“Not blind,” Peter said. “But low vision.”
The room seemed to go quiet for a minute.
“Is Matt his—”
“No,” Peter sighed.
“Are you sure?” MJ asked. “These coincidences are stacking.”
“No,” Peter repeated. “His dad’s Chinese. He was born in Fuzhou, I think.”
“Oh,” MJ said.
“So he can’t see very well,” Ned repeated.
“He does okay in daytime,” Peter said. “And he does best with high contrast. But like, pictures can be hard sometimes if they’re too light or too dark. He doesn’t really ask for much help, but he and Matt kinda puzzle over stuff if you’re not careful. And if you’re extra not careful, they’ll make their own memes and they’ll be full of blind jokes.”
The room held still for another moment.
“Okay, so what do we need to do?” Ned asked.
 --
 The first time the others met Sam, Peter had to chase him down the hall and even then, it was only via Matt’s aid that he was placed back in Peter’s apartment.
Matt pointed a finger at Sam’s eye and told him that he was to stay ‘right fuckin here’ until he was done at the courthouse.
“Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars,” Matt said as Sam tried and failed to bite that finger. “I want an intact paralegal by the end of this trip, and I will not have an intact paralegal if you go around gettin’ noticed by the fuckin’ Irish, yes?”
“I can take ‘em,” Sam said.
Matt sneered.
“I don’t know why I bother,” he said. “Stay. Those are orders.”
“Fuck your orders,” Sam shot back at him, to the horror of everyone else in the room.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘fuck your orders,’ whatever,” Matt said. “Stay put.”
Sam bared his teeth after him.
Only when the door closed, did he finally give notice that other people were in the room. Johnny lit up.
“You’re short and angry,” he said.
Sam rounded on him.
 --
 MJ loved Sam now.
MJ told everyone else to get out, Sam was the only person who mattered.
Johnny thought that Matt needed to come back and take his rabid dog with him. Sam told him to stay out of his face and they wouldn’t have any more problems, but, seeing as Johnny was incapable of not adding fuel to fire, Peter kept him behind himself for the time being.
Ned was probably the person in the most shock of Sam, however.
Peter forgot how Sam came off to other people.
Very unassuming. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. His prosthetics hid his black sclera, and even if he did tend to lift his face towards the light more often than other people, he did it so subtly, you’d think he was nodding along to a tune in his head.
Sam looked like your friend.
Your neighbor. Your classmate. The one with the baby face, you know.
His hair was getting longer, Peter noticed. He pointed it out and Sam softened enough to tell him that he was going for something a little more hipster.
“If I let it keep going, it’ll start swooping,” he told Peter. “The swoop is very in right now, Peter.”
Peter believed him.
He had no idea what that meant. But he believed him.
“You know what’s not in?” Johnny asked. “Friendly fire.”
Sad sneered at him.
“I ain’t know you from Adam,” he snapped.
Ned lifted a fist to his face in a sign that Peter recognized well and it took everything in him not to smirk and start teasing.
“Okay, let’s start over,” Peter said. “Sam, these are my friends, or, uh. Our polycule, if you will.”
He had Sam’s attention now.
“Polycule?” he asked.
Indeed.
“’Cause it’s shaped like a molecule,” MJ said. “And everyone here is also a nerd.”
Sam looked at her.
“You’re MJ,” he said.
“You’re Blindspot,” MJ said. “What makes you blind?”
“The trauma,” Sam said without missing a beat.
Peter waved Johnny off and set his hands on Sam’s shoulders.
“Sam’s made an invisibility suit,” he said.
He had everyone’s attention now.
“You did what?” Ned said.
Sam blinked and then shrugged a shoulder.
“What, like it’s hard?” he asked.
Oh yeah.
He was gonna fit in fine.
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Text
A surprise
3 weeks earlier:
“Congratulations, and we will see you back here soon for your next appointment.” 
“Thank you.” You take a deep breath and walk out to your car. Once settled in the drivers seat you take another look at the picture. It didn’t look like much but you were able to make out the small bean shaped blob of a baby. You smiled, biting your lip. This was something you and Harry had always talked about....but how would he actually react? He was about to start his world tour, he had plans for One Direction to work on projects again, and there was talk of him being nominated for a grammy. It all seemed like so much at once, you weren't sure he would be as excited as you were. You also didn’t know how or when to tell him. Part of you wanted to wait until you were in the safe zone, knowing the baby was growing healthy just as it was supposed to...but what if something happened to it? You didn’t want to go through that alone.... What if he wasnt excited though....what if he didn’t want a baby right now? What if he thought it would just be an inconvenience to his life at this point in his career... You sighed, placing the ultrasound picture in your purse and deciding to hold off on telling him.
Today:
“Babe....” Harry called out from the kitchen. He was concerned... you had been in bed all morning due to the insane morning sickness you had been having lately. Harry was convinced you were dying. Every morning waking him by dashing to the bathroom and heaving everything in your stomach into the toilet. You had tried hiding most of your pregnancy symptoms, but its actually insanely hard to hide. Along with morning sickness, you were also moody, emotional, not sleeping well, and would get nauseous at any given smell throughout the day. 
“I’m okay.” You called back, rolling over in bed. You heard his feet pad into the bedroom and looked up. Harry was standing next to the bed with a cup of tea. He set it on the table and sat next to you. You curled up into his chest and and smiled. “If I had known not feeling well would get me some extra snuggles this morning, I would’ve faked it long before,” you joked.
Harry chuckled, relieved to see that you were feeling better. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and relaxed into the blankets with you. His fingers trailed up and down your arm softly. “Are you sure youre okay to come with me to mum’s later?”
You nodded. “Of course! You know I would never miss an opportunity to have some of those chocolate chip cookies she promised...” Ugh....cookies..... Your mouth started watering immediately. Maybe I can have cookies for breakfast too...
“You know she only makes them because you love them. I think she secretly loves you more than me...”
You laughed and kissed him softly. “Stop. Your mom loves you.”
“I know, I’m just saying she loves you more.” Harry laughed. He looked down at you and grinned. “But it’s okay because I love you more than she does....” he kissed you, his lips pulling away slowly.
You grinned, shaking your head. “I sure hope you love me more than your mom does. Besides-”
Harry cut you off, his lips attacking yours. Your hands wrapped around his body which was moving over yours. It had been almost 2 weeks since you and Harry had actually had sex. Before your symptoms had shown up, Harry had been away for work only to come back to you throwing up every morning. His hands slowly stroked the inside of your thighs, tugging at the panties while his lips stayed glued to yours. “Shh...” He whispered against your lips. “A little less talking please...”
You laughed, tugging at his boxers until they slithered down his legs. Harry tugged the t-shirt of his you were wearing off and moved his lips down your chest. He pushed himself inside you, earning a groan from you. You had almost forgotten how big he was... Harry moved faster, pushing in deeper and hitting your sweet spot. Your walls clenched around him. “I-I’m cl-” your words were cut off as he moved faster. You watched his eyes roll back and new what was coming. His lips sloppily moved to yours, and he froze breathing heavy. You could feel the warmth of him inside you, causing you to release as well. Harry sat still for a minute, before pulling out and sliding you up onto his chest with a lazy smile. You pressed kisses along his jawline, still feeling heat between your legs and that itchy feeling in your stomach not satisfied. Harry got the hint and laughed, moving his way down and cleaning up everything. His tongue pressed into you, sending your back arching and shivers down your spine. He had a finger in, moving quickly when his phone rang. “Ignore it..” You whined breathlessly. Harry did ignore it, continuing what he was doing until it rang again. Sighing, he removed the fingers, licking them clean, and pressing a warm  kiss to your lips before padding over to the dresser to answer the phone.
“Hi mum,” Harry answered giving you a roll of eyes. You laughed, sitting up and moving toward the bathroom. “Yes, we are both still coming over. We just need to shower and get ready and we will be over okay? Okay. Love you. Bye.” Harry hung up and walked over to you, pressing a kiss to the shoulder not covered by your hair. “Mum is very excited to see us.” he mumbled. 
You turned and grinned. “I’m very excited for it as well.” You had decided today was the day. You were going to tell Harry and Anne about the baby. Specifically today because you know Harry had been telling Anne how sick you had been and it would only be so much longer before she realized what was happening. She was good like that, very intuitive. It’s why Harry was such a bad liar now. His mom always knew what he was up to as a kid, he never stood a chance. “In fact...” you mumbled turning to him. “So excited that I have a surprise for her. And you.” You poked his chest with a smirk.
“A surprise?” Harry asked with a grin. “What kind of surprise?”
“If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise...” You kissed him once more before turning back to the bathroom. “Now I’m going to shower and get ready and I suggest you do the same.”
“Well....how about we do that together....” Harry asked softly while his lips pressed to your neck. 
“Well then we better get going.” You laughed grabbing his hand and pulling him into the shower. 
After the two of you were cleaned up and Harry was getting ready for the day you ran into the kitchen and pulled out the two boxes you had wrapped yesterday. One had Harry’s name neatly written on the top and the other had Anne. This is what you had come up with for your reveal. Harry’s box contained a note that said “I’m having your baby, it’s definitely your business.”  A knock off of his Kiwi lyrics and something the two of you constantly joked about. It also contained the pregnancy test you originally took, an ultrasound picture, a onesie that said “if you think I’m cute, you should see my daddy”, and a bear. Anne’s box had a note that said “Mimi, Nana, Granny, Grams, or Grandma, please decide by January 2020.” Inside contained a onesie that said, “Pass me to my grandma”, a baby bottle, binky, and a copy of the ultrasound. You had debated the ideas for a while, but this one was the most unsuspicious because you and Harry had to also give her a birthday present that had arrived much later than expected. 
Harry walked downstairs, eyeing the boxes on the table. “Maybe I could open mine now..” He grabbed the box and you grabbed it back quickly laughing.
“Nice try Haz, but because you took so long to shower we are already going to be late.”
“Who’s fault was that? Hmm...I vaguely remember you the one dropping to your knees and-” You blush and laugh biting your lip softly.
“Okay, okay...we may be equally guilty today. But come on let’s go...” you laughed pulling him to the door. “I’m ready for some cookies...”
You and Harry arrived around 30 minutes late and Anne was standing on the porch waiting. You both climbed out, leaving the gifts in the car and running up to the porch. “Mum!” Harry happily called out, running up and giving her a hug.
“Why are two always late?” she scolded lightly with a laugh.
“It was (y/n)’s fault, she’s always taking so long to get ready.” Harry laughed.
“Oh yeah, blame me.” You laughed walking up and giving Anne a hug.
“Don’t worry dear, I know how long it takes Harry to get moving.” You laughed and gave Harry a smirk, mouthing ‘she loves me more’. He just rolled his eyes and followed the two of you inside. You and Harry sat down, catching up with Anne. Harry told her about the tour, the new songs he was working on, catching up with Liam, Louis, and Niall, and about the praise his album had gotten. You talked about work and how you were planning on touring with Harry. “What about marriage plans...when do you think that will happen?” Anne asked with a smile. You looked over at Harry who blushed and shrugged his shoulders. You and Harry had always talked about getting married but with everything going on, there just didn’t seem to be a lot of time for him to actually consider it or make moves on it. 
“Eventually.” that was Harry’s answer every time. While you wanted to be married, you weren't actually rushing the issue either. You trusted Harry more than anyone else in your life and never had once doubted his love in the 5 years you had been together. When he was ready, you would be too. You just enjoyed having him in your life. Changing the subject Harry looked at you, “What about the surprises?” 
“Oh yeah!” You jumped up, running to the car and grabbing all three gifts. You handed Anne her birthday gift first. It was a large canvas painted with her, Harry, and Gemma. 
“Oh this is lovely.” She smiled. “Thank you both.”
“I have one more surprise for both you and Harry.” you placed the boxes in each of their laps and smiled nervously.  “Harry you might want to go first.” Your heart was beating and your hands sweating. Harry opened his box, his eyes widening at the message and the objects. Tears threatened at his eyes as everything sunk in. The symptoms, the emotions, the onesie and lastly the ultrasound.
“Is this real?” He asked looking up, wiping the falling tears. You nodded, tears also in your eyes now. Harry jumped up and hugged you tightly, still crying. Anne, now curious also opened her box. Her mouth fell open and tears spilled over her cheeks as well. “You’re actually pregnant?”
“Yes.” you cried. Harry didn’t let go, he just held onto you with a smile. He pulled away, wiping your tears and laughing. His hands pressed gently to your stomach. 
Anne also stood up, pulling you and Harry in for hugs. She wiped her tears and looked over at Harry. “I told you.” She laughed.
Harry shook his head with a small laugh. “What?” You asked confused, trying to stop yourself from crying. Anne pulled you back in, rocking you with her.
“I told Harry weeks ago that you were pregnant. He called and said how you were sick every morning and just knew but he said there was no way.” She wiped her eyes again and smiled. “I’m so happy for both of you. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” You smiled, also wiping your cheeks free of tears. You looked over at Harry who was sat back on the couch going over the ultrasound picture again. You were suddenly very worried he was not happy about it. 
Anne was also watching Harry. “Well, this calls for celebration. You two wait here and I’ll grab the cookies.” 
She left the room and you sat next to Harry quietly. “H?”
“Hm?” he mumbled not looking up from the picture.
Your heart was pounding and tears were now falling down your cheeks again, scared he wasn’t happy. “Are you upset?” you mumble, resting your head on his shoulder.
Harry looked over at you confused. “Upset?” He laughed shaking his head. “Why would I be upset?”
“Idontknow...” you mumbled.
“Babe, this is like the best thing ever. I mean, I’m a little upset you didn’t tell me sooner, but this is something we’ve always talked about, something we have always wanted.”
“I know...I wanted to tell you right away. Like before I even took that test but you were out of town and I- I don’t know I didn’t know how you would react. I mean you have so much going on right now with tour and your music and career...” 
“(y/n).” Harry stopped you, pressing his lips to yours. “I would never have been upset with you. I have a lot going on but nothing is more important than you and our relationship and now our family.” You smiled. “We will do what we need to do with my career.”
“So...you’re happy?”
“Babe.” Harry laughed. “Happy would be an understatement. I mean look at our little baby. Oh my god, I’m going to be a dad. You're going to be a mum. We are adding a baby to the family..” He pointed at the picture and smiled. He turned and kissed you softly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You kissed him back, relieved and excited. Anne came back with a plate of warm cookies and you grabbed three, biting into the warm, chocolate gooeyness. 
“So how far along are you?” Anne asked with a smile. 
“Only 8 weeks..” 
She smiled and Harry laughed. “It all makes sense.”
“What does?” you asked eating another cookie.
“You’ve been SO moody. So overly emotional and the cravings I mean it explains everything.”
“Cravings?” Anne asked amused.
“Mum, we went to the store the other day and she grabbed pudding. I have never in my life see her even want pudding and she was like obsessed with it at the store. And, the other day we were watching tv and she cried like three times during the movie.”
“It was sad!” you defended.
“Not that sad.”
“What movie?” Anne was enjoying the conversation.
“Dunkirk mum, we were watching Dunkirk.”
“To be fair, I cried the same amount watching the first time so, and who wants to watch their husband, and father of their child, drown!”
Harry laughed and you shook your head, snuggling into his chest. “I just can’t believe I’m going to be a grandma.. oh my gosh, wait until the fans and everyone in the press finds out. They will lose their minds.” Anne grabbed Harry’s box looking at his items and smiled. “I love this.” She laughed at the lyrics and the onesie and then pulled the two of you into another hug. “Oh I just can’t wait.”
You smiled and Harry kissed your cheek. “A baby Styles. Who would’ve thought?”
After another hour discussion of everything the two of them had missed, you called Gemma, and told her the news. She cried and you cried and Anne cried and Harry laughed at everyone, taking in all of the moments. 
You and Harry finally left, driving home and crawling into bed exhausted. Harry cuddled close, bending down and pressing kisses to your belly before looking up with a smile. “Have I told you I love you?”
“Yes, but I don’t think you could ever do it enough.”
“I love you.” He kissed you softly. “And I love you little one.” he whispered to the belly.
“We love you too.” You smile, snuggling into his chest, falling asleep to his heart beat and the little butterfly feeling in your stomach.
----
Got this request and loved it. Hope I lived up to your expectations lol
xoxo
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songtoyou · 3 years
Text
Chapter 8: Wine Before Whiskey
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Tolerate It
Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character
Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).
Word Count: 2,827
Warnings: None
Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.
A/N: I wanted Tommy and Rose to connect on a more personal level in this chapter. I wanted them to become comfortable with each other outside of the bedroom. I don’t want their relationship to be solely about sex. 
I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.
Tag list: @owenniasstars​
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Wine. A nice tall glass of wine. That is all Rose wanted to cap off the day. She decided not to respond to the text messages from her friends or mother. Rose was not in the mood to come up with some bullshit excuse for being photographed out with Tommy. Also, it was not their business, and she didn’t need to justify anything with an excuse.
With a glass of wine in hand, Rose sat on the couch in the living room with her feet up. As Rose flipped through the television, the front door opened and slammed shut.
When Rose saw Louis rush up the stairs, she called out to him, “Hey, Louis!” He ignored her. Sighing, Rose got up to follow her son upstairs.
“Louis,” she spoke through the door while knocking. “Is everything okay?” Still nothing. “Louis, honey, what is wrong? From the way you slammed the front door, you seem upset. Did something happen at school today?”
Louis opened his bedroom door to come face-to-face with his mother. “Did something happen at school today,” he said mockingly. “How about the fact that my mother was photographed out with a rumored gangster. Or the fact that some of my classmates are referring to you as one of Tommy Shelby’s whores. You know he has been rumored to date escorts mom. Did you not know when you first started seeing him? In fact, how did you even meet him in the first place?”
Shifting from one foot to the other, Rose looked down at the floor. She was too embarrassed to meet her son’s accusatory gaze. “All of that stuff, the rumors about Tommy, are just that, rumors.” Rose felt sick lying to her son. “And Tommy isn’t a gangster. He is a businessman.”
“That is not what I hear. There is a whole sub-Reddit about how he really earned his millions. I should show it to you. Maybe it would rethink your association with the man,” Louis rambled on. “How did you get introduced to him anyway? It isn’t like you both run in the same social circle.”
Rose sat down on the bed and drew her knees up. It was her way of buying time to formulate a believable response, or rather lie. Thankfully, she had already thought up different scenarios that would be the most believable.
“Do you remember that business trip I took with Linda back in March? It was to a conference up in Birmingham, the educators and practitioners conference,” she explained, which that part was actually the truth. She did go to a conference up north with her boss back in March. However, here comes the lie, “Well, Tommy was there as well. He just showed up unexpectedly. He wasn’t on the agenda, but he gave a speech, something about…I don’t know, I can’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention. But it was at one of the social networking gatherings where I ran into him. We talked most of the night. He asked for my number, which I gave him, not thinking he would actually call. But we have been in contact for a while. It was only recently that we have gone on dates.” Again, all lies. Rose started to feel sick. She could feel bile began to rise in her throat.
Sighing, Louis folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his desk. He still wasn’t looking at his mother. “It’s all weird. You never really dated. Or not date so out in the open before.”
“Is one of the reasons why you’re upset with me dating is because of dad? Are you still hoping your dad and I get together?” Rose asked, concerned about what he would say. She wished Louis weren’t so hung up on the idea of her and Nick ending up together. It was never going to happen. 
He only shrugged. “Is it so wrong that a kid would want their parents to be together?”
There wasn’t much she could say to that concept. “How about we get pizza for dinner, okay,” she suggested hoping to move on from the subject.
“Fine. I got homework to finish up,” said Louis defeated. The look on his face broke Rose’s heart. 
“Alight. I’ll tell you when the pizza arrives. The usual?” she asked.
“The usual,” replied Louis nonchalantly while opening his school books and notebooks.
Rose left his room and walked down the stairs. She hated herself at that moment.
While Rose waited for the pizzas to arrive, she decided to send a quick text to Tommy.
As Tommy sat at his desk looking over contracts, it would be another late night at the office; he received Rose’s text. 
Rose: Tommy, we need to talk. Can I stop by your office around 3 PM tomorrow?
The message took him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting to hear from Rose or for her to ask to meet up with him.
Tommy: Yes, you can stop by. However, instead of 3:00, let’s meet at 4:00.
His reply back was his way of maintaining control. He found it rather amusing that Rose felt comfortable requesting, or rather ordering, Tommy for a meeting. Tommy was tempted to ask what the meeting would be about but didn’t really think too much of it. 
If the meeting turned out to be fruitless, he could end with Rose bent over his desk and punish her for wasting his precious time. The thought was already getting him hard. 
Leaning back in his chair, Tommy began to rub his hardness through his pants. Taking his cock out of his pants, he began to stroke back and forth. As Tommy continued to stroke, he only thought of Rose, which was unusual. Whenever Tommy was pleasuring himself alone, he would always think of Grace. He would picture his wife on her knees or bent over his desk or taking her up against the wall. It was always Grace.
But now, Tommy was picturing Rose. He saw her face clearly in his head. He imagined Rose under his desk pleasuring him with her mouth and hands. He wanted Rose bent over on his desk, taking her from behind, on the floor, the conference table, against the wall, and the floor. Tommy began to realize he wanted Rose all of the time.
At that thought. Tommy soon began to worry about why Rose asked for a meeting out of the blue. He began to wonder if she was regretting their arrangement due to being in the press. However, Tommy told Rose that being in the press was likely, and she appeared to understand that fact. No, something must have alarmed her. He would find out what it was. He would get it out of her one way or another. Tommy wasn’t going to let her go that easy. 
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Friday! The day Father Time preferred to drag on and on. The hours on the clock appeared to move slower and slower, Rose noted. She was at work catching up on what she missed yesterday morning. It was the usual task; looking over budgets, setting up meetings, working on meeting agendas, finishing up the minutes from past meetings, and making sure the office was stocked with supplies. It was the same thing every day. Nothing changed, and the more she stayed at the job, the more fed up she became. Rose knew she needed to get out there and look for a better job. One that matched the college degree that she worked hard to obtain. A job that paid well where she would no longer have to be an escort to make a living. 
However, the money Tommy was offering to Rose was better than any standard 9 to 5 job could offer.
When 3:15 finally rolled around, Rose gathered her belongings and headed to meet Tommy. 
“Ms. Turner!” someone shouted at her. 
Thankfully, Rose knew that voice. She turned around to see Isaiah with a megawatt smile, waving her over to his car. 
“Let me guess, Tommy sent you to deliver me to him?” Rose questioned sarcastically. “And I told you to call me Rose.”
“Yes, he did, and yes, you did. Come on, we don’t want to be late,” Isaiah answered and opened the passenger door for Rose. She got in the car.
“You saw my son take the car this morning and let Tommy know, huh?”
“Yep,” was all Isaiah said and began to drive out of the College’s parking lot. 
With the way Isaiah drove, he managed to make it to the building that held Tommy’s office in half of the time. He smoothly moved the car around the building’s underground parking garage. 
“Okay, we are here. You can take the elevator to Tommy’s office,” he instructed and told Rose which floor to select.
“Thank you, Isaiah. I appreciate it. I figure Tommy is going to ask you to take me home?”
“That is to be determined. He might want to take you home himself. Have a nice evening, Rose. Take care,” said Isaiah and waved goodbye.
She selected the floor instructed by Isaiah and waited. Tommy was on the building’s top floor, so the elevator continuously stopped and let people on and off. When the elevator finally reached her destination, the doors opened. Rose only saw a few people pass by. There was no one at the front desk, so she stood by and waited until someone showed up.
Looking at her phone, it read 3:50. She still had ten minutes to spare. “Rose, hi. How are you?” She turned to see Andrew walk towards her. 
“Andrew, hi. I’m good. You?”
“Same. Can I get you some coffee or tea?” he asked. “Mr. Shelby is finishing up a call at the moment. Please, have a seat.”
“Okay. Water would actually be great, thanks.”
Andrew managed to get Rose’s water before Tommy emerged from his office. However, he was not alone. He was followed by a very tall and lanky man with a full beard and similar hairstyle to Tommy, but longer on top. 
“Arthur, continue to keep me posted on Changretta,” Rose heard Tommy whisper but pretended not to hear anything. She made it look like she was too preoccupied with her phone to notice the two men not far from her. 
“Esme is working on it, Tom. She is having trouble with a few firewalls, or whatever she called them, but assures she can crack ’em,” Arthur shared. “Said she would get a file on your desk by Monday.”
“Okay, good. That is good. I’ll talk to you later, brother,” Tommy responded, patting Arthur’s back.
Arthur said his goodbye and left for the elevators. Tommy turned towards Rose.
“Rose,” he spoke to get her attention. He motioned with his hand for her to follow him into the office. 
Closing the door behind him, Tommy told Rose to take a seat.
“Your text seemed rather…urgent,” Tommy began as he poured himself a whiskey. He offered on to Rose, but she declined. “Everything okay?” 
“Yeah, well…no, not really. I…uh…I don’t really know…” Rose began but was having trouble forming the words. “I don’t really…oh my God, it’s my son. He isn’t too keen on the idea of me ‘dating’ you. He saw the pictures. Apparently, some of the kids at school were making fun of him because of them. I have friends asking questions. Even my mom saw them, and I don’t talk to her at all. Everything has gotten out of hand. I mean, I wasn’t quite expecting this kind of outcome. It is a lot to take.”
Gulping down the whiskey, Tommy proceeded to pour another one for himself and one for Rose. 
“Drink,” he ordered, handing Rose the glass that held the amber color liquid, which she took and gulped it down. She placed the now empty glass on Tommy’s desk. “Feel better?” 
“Not really. Can I ask you something? It is kind of a personal question, but I’m asking you for some advice,” Rose asked and continued when Tommy gave her the go-ahead to proceed. “You have a kid yourself, a son. When I originally agreed to our deal, I never fully thought of the consequences that could occur. I didn’t think of how it would affect my child. To put it blankly, he is upset that I’m with you. It’s all about his stupid dad and wanting us to be together. So my question to you is, how do you go about lying to your child?”
Once again, Rose caught Tommy completely off guard with her question. That was not what he was expecting. The fact that she had the audacity to bring up his son didn’t even bother him as it would if it were anyone else. He was craving a cigarette at the moment. “My son, Charlie, spends most of his time at boarding school. He is only home on holidays and special occasions. When I have my son with me, he only wants to spend time with his cousins or me. He never really gave my ‘relationship’ with Lizzie much thought. To him, she was only daddy’s friend. Plus, the observation skills of an eight-year-old doesn’t quite compare to the observation skills of a sixteen-year-old.”
Tommy had a point, Rose thought. She motioned to him if she could refill her glass of whiskey. With Tommy’s go-ahead, she got up and poured herself a drink. This time Rose took small and sat back down.
Taking in a deep breath, Rose mentioned, “You’re lucky. It is so much easier when your kid is younger. They don’t ask so many questions or notice things that don’t add up. You can tell them pretty much anything, and they’d believe you. But when your kid gets older, prepare yourself for the questions he will no doubt ask.”
She looked up when Tommy sighed. He was leaning in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Charlie turned eight back in February. He is beginning to ask me questions about his mother, like where she was from and if we can visit the town, how we met, what made me attracted to her, all that stuff. The one question that scares me…” Tommy began, but Rose could sense hesitation. 
“He’s going to ask why did mummy have to die?” Rose finished for him. Tommy only nodded his head. “I don’t envy you on that part.”
Quite soon filled the office as Tommy and Rose sat in silence and sipping down whiskey. “Who was that guy that in here earlier?” Rose asked to kill the silence.
“That was my older brother, Arthur,” Tommy answered. “He and my younger brother, John, both own a couple of bars and clubs around England. They have been working on a new line of Peaky Blinders Vodka to go with our whiskey and gin brand.” 
“You really dabble in everything, don’t you. Where do you go from here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should try my hand at politics, eh. An MP to go with my OBE” teased Tommy with an exceedingly rare boyish grin on his face. Rose noticed that Tommy’s smile was rather sweet and brightened his facial features. “Yeah, that is exactly what my family needs is me in politics.” 
Rose softly scoffed, “I don’t think we need any more millionaires in politics, no offense.”
“No offense taken,” Tommy chuckled and downed his drink. He got up to grab his jacket and swung it on. He took Rose’s glass and finished it for her. “Come on, let’s go.” 
Tommy grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled her up from the chair. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to dinner. We can talk more there,” Tommy proposed and guided Rose out of the office. 
“I won’t be able to stay the night if that is what you were considering,” she stated while in the elevator.
“Not what I was considering,” uttered Tommy, honestly. He put his hands on Rose’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “Only dinner.”
“Only dinner?”
“Nothing more, nothing less,” Tommy replied, placing a soft kiss on Rose’s lips. He entwined his hand in Rose’s and walked her to his car.
He took Rose to Bar 61, London’s most famous Spanish tapas restaurant. When they were seated, Rose liked the relaxed and upbeat charm of the establishment. She was surprised that Tommy chose the place since it was more family-friendly rather than high-end/upscale. But the man before her was always full of surprises. They sat in a more secluded area of the restaurant where they wouldn’t be disturbed.
Tommy ordered a bottle of wine for them to share. He raised his glass for a toast. “What are we toasting?” Rose asked with a smile.
“How about to good health and new friends,” Tommy suggested and clinked his glass with Rose’s.
“And to new adventures,” Rose added, now with a sly smile on her face.
“To new adventures,” Tommy repeated, and they clinked their glass again.
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abundanceofsoph · 3 years
Text
SkyFire 3: Chapter 10
I’m free as a bird when I’m flying in your cage: Nov/Dec 2017  
Word count: 3k
SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST
Please for the love of god, if you like the story just hit the reblog button. I really don’t know how to say it nicely but it’s really starting to bother me and maybe that makes me a dick but so be it.
>Instagram posts
Thankfully, after a day and a half of vocal rest, Harry was ready to go for the Manchester show and he very much dialled his performance up to 11 for his hometown crowd. Just as she had told Grimmy, Aurora stayed off social media in the days following the interview, but she heard from others that a small section of the fandom was absolutely furious with her and the social media manager that Mark had hired years ago to clear out her comment sections was working overtime to keep some of the nastier shit from her feeds. As much as Aurora herself was able to avoid it all together, she knew that a lot of her fans would be reading the comments and she wanted to keep it safe for them. Harry’s team was also working to keep his own accounts clear as well, and while they couldn’t hide from what was being said about them or Louis and Elanor, they could try to filter out the worst of it. This was the one part of celebrity that they all agreed was the worst. It was the unfortunate consequence of having such passionate fans. Ella had no such inclination to avoid the comment sections and was spending her free time picking fights with Larries and attempting to set them straight on the reality of Harry and Louis’ relationship as nothing more than brotherly love. Aurora tried to urge her to let it go, but unfortunately her best friend was feisty and easy to anger which was not a good combination with how overprotective she was about her loved ones. By the time they stepped out onto the Manchester stage, both Rori and Harry were happy to put aside the drama and focus on the music.  Things started to cool down over the following week which took them up to Glasgow and then on to Stockholm, Berlin, Amsterdam, and Milan. By the time they returned to London on the 11th, the music video for Kiwi had been live for 3 days and the fans had thankfully moved on from Aurora’s interview in exchange for raving about the new video.  
They spent the first few days relaxing at home before Rori headed to North London to meet up with Liam at the recording studio he liked to use to work on the song he had mentioned at Niall’s launch party. Aurora had spent the last few weeks listening to the demo on repeat while pouring over the sheet music Liam had emailed her. She was obsessed with the song and the two had been messaging back and forth constantly, discussing the arrangement and which parts each of them would take. Stepping back into a recording studio, even one she’d never visited before, felt like coming home after weeks on the road and her face lit up immediately as soon as she caught sight of Liam,  wrapping her arms around him in a rib crushing hug.
“Ready to jump straight in?” he asked after letting her go.
“Absolutely,” she replied excitedly before following him as he introduced her to the producer and technicians that they would be working with for the following few days.
With a full week before Harry and Rori were due to  fly to Shanghai, neither she nor Liam were on a tight schedule to finish the song. This meant that the environment in the studio was very chilled and there were many tangents and breaks taken while they worked.
“How attached are you and Lou to the lyrics?” Rori asked on their second day in the studio.
“Of course, you want to change something,” Liam laughed in a response. “Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Rori replied with a laugh of her own. “I am who I am.”
“I know,” Liam agreed. “So, show me what you’re thinking.”
“I’ve been tossing around the pre-chorus and I was wondering if instead of what you lads have there, instead we go with this.”
I'm free as a bird When I'm flying in your cage I'm diving in deep And I'm riding with no brakes And I'm bleeding in love You're swimming in my veins You got me now
“Well fuck,” Liam replied. “Think I need to stop writing with Louis and start writing with you more often.”
“You like it?”
“Rors, I love it,” he said. “It’s way better than what we came up with. Let’s get back in the booth and record it.”
They ended up spending four days finishing the song which left Aurora with a few remaining days to catch up with Ella and also relax at home with her husband before they were thrown back into work.
xXx
The day before they were set to fly to China, Aurora headed over to Ella’s flat in Wimbledon. “I brought cake,” she yelled as she let herself into the flat with the spare key Ella had given her when Rori first moved back to London.
“Fuck yes!” Ella cheered in response, her voice carrying down the hall from the kitchen. “I’m just making us tea,” she continued as Rori made her way inside. “Get yourself comfy on the sofa and I’ll meet you in there, babe.”
Rori made herself at home in the living room, Ella’s elderly tabby cat Elliot, immediately padding over to make himself comfortable in her lap.
“You were recording with Liam this week yeah?” Ella asked as she joined Rori on the sofa, placing mugs of tea in front of them. “How was it?”
“God, it was so much fun El,” Rori sighed. “I didn’t realise how much I missed being in the studio. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love touring and I’m having an incredible time on the road, but it felt so good to be back recording again and it just has me itching to write again.”
“You should make sure to do more of it over the Christmas break then,” Ella pointed out. “Speaking of which are you going to be in New York or are you coming home for winter?”
“We’re planning a bit of both. Christmas and my birthday in New York with my dads and then we’ll come back here for February before the tour kicks off again in March. I think Gemma and Anne are going to join us for Christmas too and then when we get back Liam and I have made plans to have a writing session together. ”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Ella nodded before taking a sip of her tea. “Selfishly I’m glad you’ll be spending a decent chunk of time here. I miss you.”
“Urggh,” Rori groaned. “I miss you too. Was thinking of maybe doing something for Harry’s birthday and getting you, Lou, Liam, and Niall over to our flat for a game’s night or something. I feel like Harry could use something a little more lowkey this year after the insanity of tour.”
“Don’t feel like you need to invite me,” Ella replied awkwardly. “I mean, if you’re inviting the band over, I’m not really part of that group.”
“Oh bullshit,” Rori laughed. “They boys love you just like I do. You all get along great whenever we were all together for wedding stuff or the album launch. Why on earth would you feel like I shouldn’t invite you too?”
“Rori,” Ella sighed. “While yes, I have gotten along with yours and Harry’s friends in the past, that doesn’t mean that I run in the same circles as they do. They’re celebrities, you are a celebrity and I just think that sometimes you forget that I’m just your old friend from school. It’s two separate worlds that you live in.”
Aurora rolled her eyes in response, taking a sip of her tea while she compiled her rebuttal. “That’s such a load of shit El. They are mine and Harry’s friends and so are you. When we are away from the paparazzi, they are no different to you and me. I get that we grew up with their pictures on our bedroom walls but once you put that aside they’re just a bunch of really great guys that I think could become your close friends too if you let them in and stop freaking out around them.”
“Ok fine,” Ella agreed after a moment of silent staring between the two women. “I’ll try to get over myself and give them a chance next time we’re all in the same room. Can we change the subject now?”
“That’s all I’m asking for and absolutely we can change the subject. How’s things with Tim? Feel like we haven’t talked about him in a while.” Ella made a face and Aurora felt her heart break for her best friend. “When?” she asked softly. “What happened, love?”
“He broke it off a few weeks ago,” Ella explained. “Said he didn’t feel a spark or something.”
“I’m sorry babe, things seemed to be going so well when I left for the tour.”
“They were. At least I thought they were. We barely made it past 3 months before he gave up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were half a world away having the best time,” Ella replied. “If I’d told you then you would have just felt guilty for not being here.”
“And now instead I feel guilty for not even being able to be a sympathetic ear since I couldn’t provide a shoulder. How are you now?”
“I’ll be ok. I’ve been a bit down in the dumps, but I think it’s for the best. He made some good points about me not really knowing what I wanted and he’s right. I think I’m gonna swear off dating until I really figure out who I am and what I’m looking for.”
“Well if you ever want help figuring out who you are, I think I know you pretty well by now.”
“I might take you up on that offer,” Ella said with a small smile before changing topic. “Now enough moping, you said you brought cake with you? You are never going to believe the scandal that’s broken out amongst some of the girls in my Colonial History class.”
xXx
Occasionally something would happen in Aurora’s life that would give her pause and remind her how incredibly ludicrous her life had become. Standing behind her keyboard in the middle of a Victoria Secrets show in Shanghai while her husband sang and danced his heart out in front of her while literally supermodels strutted past them was one of those moments.
It was hard for her to believe that only 2 days ago she was sitting on her best friend’s sofa eating a chocolate cake from Sainsbury’s and discussing the latest high school drama playing out in Ella’s classroom. She found herself thinking about how her mother would react if she somehow had a way to travel back in time seven years and tell her about this moment and all the other life changing moments that had occurred since they parted. It was while her thoughts were caught on her mother that Harry turned, catching her eye, a mile-wide smile lighting up his face as he winked at her, causing her own smile to grow in response. No matter how strange her life had become and how much everything had changed since she was an average teenager living above a small bar, she knew that she wouldn’t change a single thing that had happened if it meant ending up here with Harry smiling at her like that.
xXx
Following the Victoria Secrets show, the band arrived in Singapore early and spent a few days exploring before their show there after which the flew on to Australia, a country that Harry had toured many times over the years with One Direction, but Aurora had never managed to visit herself. They had a week in the land Down Under, with shows in both Sydney and Melbourne and Aurora made it her mission to see as much as she could of the 2 state capitals, often dragging Harry or other members of the band along on her adventures. Given that it was the last week of November everywhere was getting into the Christmas spirit, however since it was the southern hemisphere the weather was scorching hot and the group found the combination highly entertaining, if somewhat baffling.
While in Sydney they took in the iconic sights such as Bondi beach, the Opera House, and the Harbour Bridge, as well as a day trip out to explore the Blue Mountains. In Melbourne they visited the Eureka Tower with it’s Skydeck that offered an amazing view of the city spread out beneath them. They also spent some time at the Melbourne Zoo and National Gallery of Victoria, then the day after their show at the Forum, they were taken on a drive out of the city and down along the coastal Great Ocean Road.
The tour stop in Auckland was similarly packed out with touristy opportunities where Aurora’s highlight was the art gallery Toi o Tāmaki. While the laid back vibes in both Australia and New Zealand captured Aurora’s attention, it was the week they spent in Tokyo that held Harry’s, so much so that while everyone else headed home the day after the last show, the young couple made a last minute change to their travel plans and extended their stay by an additional week to explore the city more.
Once again, Tokyo was somewhere that Harry had visited many times with the band while Aurora had never been, and he enjoyed to opportunity to show her his favourite parts. Something Aurora noticed almost immediately about Tokyo was that unlike in the US or the UK, people either didn’t recognize them when they were out and about or they did but respected their privacy and left them alone. She pointed this out to Harry on their second day wandering the city streets and he smiled back at her, agreeing that it was something he’d also noticed in a previous visit and had definitely played a role in him falling in love with the city.
They spent their days wandering the streets, ducking into quirky shops that caught their eye and just revelling in the normalcy of being together in public. As they walked, they both realized that they had never had this; a chance to be like everyone else crowding the sidewalks around them. Save for stolen moments in the early days of their relationship like their first date in Hampstead Heath or when they were able to sneak into galleries on quiet days, they’d never really been able to be themselves within a crowd. They’d always needed to wrap a scarf that little bit higher around their chins or wear a hat a little lower on their heads or glasses a little bit larger. To walk hand in hand like any other couple was freeing in a way that Rori hadn’t realized she’d been missing, and she soaked up every moment of their time in Tokyo. If only for a week she felt like she was living the life she would have had if her mother hadn’t died. If she had continued living as a normal girl from Wimbledon instead of being thrust into the spotlight, free to live her life without the scrutiny of the press and the public. Of course, it wasn’t lost on her that the man holding her hand wouldn’t be Harry in this parallel universe and for that she would happily trade in her freedom. She could accept that the price she paid to be married to Harry and be Steve and Tony’s daughter was that she would never really be allowed to have this normality, so she simply tried to make the most of their time before they flew on to New York for Christmas. They never spoke about any of this during their little vacation away from their lives but even without voicing her thoughts, Rori was certain that Harry was thinking the same thing and would willingly make the same sacrifices for the life they had built together.
xXx
Both Aurora and Harry were exhausted by the time they reached New York and were grateful to find Happy waiting for them as soon as they exited the arrivals terminal at JFK. He offered a quick hug to Rori before collecting their bags from them and leading them to the town car waiting for them. She leant against Harry in the back seat as they made the hour long drive into Manhattan. Her blinks began to lengthen as the airport shrank in the rear-view mirror and she was fast asleep before they reached Queens. Harry had to gently coax her awake once they finally reached the tower and she slowly made her way out of the car and into the elevator up to the penthouse. Tony and Steve were waiting up for their arrival and excitedly pulled their daughter into tight hugs the moment she stepped out of the elevator. It was Steve that noticed the way both Rori and Harry’s eyelids seem to droop and their gazes glazed over while Tony asked them a dozen questions about their recent adventures, and Rori was grateful when her Pops shooed them both off to bed with promises that they could catch up properly over a homecooked breakfast the next morning. They were barely conscious by the time they stripped out of their clothes and crawled into bed, however Aurora remained awake just long enough the think about how good it felt to be home.
NEXT CHAPTER
OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3                               
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You’re all I need (the air I breathe)
One - in which Niall and Stella make a great team 
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The love-at-first-sight, falling-too-fast, uni au that will make your heart ache (in a good way)
catch up here 
Stella followed Veda up the steps of Zayn’s flat, a bag of takeaway in her arms. Was Stella nervous for game night? Maybe. There was a rumor that Niall would come along. 
When Veda opened the door, Stella’s breath caught in her throat. Veda gave her a look as they walked in as if to tell her to chill. Stella laughed, shaking her head. 
“Stella Bella,” Louis declared, taking the bag from her. “And Veda.”
“Fuck off,” Veda muttered, handing him the bag she had. “We’ve been friends just as long and you still love Stella more than me.”
“Stella is actually nice,” Louis shot back. “And I was hoping she’d be on my team tonight because we’re playing Trivia Pursuit.” 
“Right,” Stella laughed, shaking her head as she took her shoes off. “That makes more sense.” 
“I was hoping Stella would be on my team,” Zayn announced, emerging from the living room. “I bought that wine you like.”
“Wow,” Stella grinned, eyebrows raising. “Keep the offers coming.”
“I’ll do you laundry for a month!” Veda exclaimed. 
“Tempting,” Stella agreed. “I think you can do better than that.”
“Are we picking teams already?” A voice asked from behind her. Stella turned around, surprised that she hadn’t even heard the door open. 
“We are,” Louis nodded. “Trying to make Stella decide who she wants. She’s an absolute genius.”
“Z offered her wine, I offered her laundry for a month,” Veda explained. “You have anything to offer?” 
“Unfortunately, no,” Niall shook his head, eyes meeting Stella’s. “I am a history major, though.”
“Shit!” Louis exclaimed. “I forgot about that. Stella don’t do it. Please. Niall’s also a genius. Niall pick me, yeah?”
“I want Niall,” Stella decided, her lips spreading into a smile. 
“That’s completely unfair,” Veda argued in a petulant way that made Stella shake her head. 
It’s possible that it was unfair but as they all settled in various spots around the coffee table, Stella didn’t have it in her to care. Niall was beside her, dangerously close for someone that had a lover in London. 
It wasn’t a surprise when Niall and Stella cleaned up. Question after question, until the rest of the lot called it quits on account of being unfair. 
The Xbox was pulled out and then Stella had drifted away, sipping wine coolers on the balcony with Veda. It was a wonder they never got sick of each other. 
“I texted Heather,” Veda told her, eyes on her phone. “She’s gonna bring Liam and Danielle over. Liven the place up.”
“Great,” Stella muttered. 
“Again with this heather stuff?” Veda asked with a laugh. 
“She doesn’t like me,” Stella laughed. “And it’s so obvious. Pretty sure she’s in love with you too.”
“It comes from a place of jealously,” Veda explained, sitting up. “Heather’s told me how jealous of you she is.”
“Why?” 
“I don’t know,” Veda shrugged, looking over to Stella. “You’re funny, beautiful and incredibly smart and kind. It makes sense if you really think about it.”
“So is Heather,” Stella argued. “And like I’m not jealous of her. I’ve tried to be friendly but she just gives me the cold shoulder. Ignores me.”
“I know,” Veda chuckled, nodding. “I can’t offer any advice. She just needs to get over herself.”
“Did you find out if Niall has a girlfriend?” Stella asked, effectively changing the subject. 
Veda sighed, shaking her head, “I have no idea. His Instagram is practically ancient. Hasn’t posted anything in over a year. Louis didn’t know.”
“Fine,” Stella sighed. “I’ll just ask him.”
“The only logical way to solve this problem,” Veda agreed. She finished the last of her drink. “Want another?”
“Sure,” Stella nodded, watching her stand up. “Thanks.” 
“Anything for you, Stella Bella,” Veda grinned, ruffling her hair. 
Stella laughed, pushing her prodding fingers away. Veda went back in, sliding door slamming behind her. Stella couldn’t bring herself to move from her spot. The sun was setting but it was so warm for the beginning of September. Fall was coming soon, she could tell. 
The door opened again a few minutes later and Stella was surprised to see Niall handing her a drink. He had his own beer in his hand when he sat down in the patio chair beside her. 
“Thanks,” Stella smiled, looking over at him. 
“We make a great team, you know,” Niall told her, holding her gaze. 
“I agree,” Stella nodded, pulling her eyes from him and back to the setting sun. She wouldn’t think too much into that. 
“Veda’s smoking,” he told her after a second. 
“Figures,” Stella chuckled. She looked at Niall for a moment and asked, “can I ask you something?” 
“Of course,” he nodded, meeting her eyes. 
“Do you have a girlfriend?” 
Niall chuckled, scratching the back of his neck as he looked away, “that’s quite literally the million dollar question.”
“Sorry,” Stella murmured, watching the smile fade from his face. “I was just curious. You don’t have to tell me.”
After a long moment, he answered, “yes and no. It’s a bit complicated, t’be honest.” 
“Gotcha,” Stella nodded, feeling a twinge in her stomach at that. 
“We’re like on a break, I guess,” Niall shrugged. “Dunno. It was my idea. Just...” he trailed off looking over to Stella. “I haven’t really talked to anyone about it.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Stella asked, eyebrows furrowing. 
“I don’t know,” he shrugged again, looking away. “Maybe.”
“My longest relationship was on again off again for a year so I don’t know if I’d be of much help in regards to advice,” Stella told him with a chuckle. “But I’m all ears if you want to.”
“We’ve been together for three years,” he told her and that surprised Stella. Her eyes widened almost comically. Niall chuckled, “I know. A long time.”
“I can’t even imagine...” Stella trailed off, not willing to finish her thought. “Wow.”
“That’s exactly it,” Niall nodded. “I’m a completely different person than who I was when we started dating. And we’ve been though a lot but it feels like I’m at a different spot. Like-like I’ve grown faster than her.”
“That’s understandable,” Stella nodded. 
“And it’s comfortable, I guess,” Niall shrugged. “Long distance isn’t ideal but I’m willing to do it.”
“What do you mean by comfortable?” Stella asked, eyebrows furrowing as she looked at him. “And you guess?” 
Niall chuckled, shaking his head, “I don’t know. It’s- I don’t know if I can put it into words. The firsts are over and it feels like the spark isn’t there. Like there are things that I feel obligated to do or feel.”
“Like you’re obligated to love her?” Stella asked. 
“Kind of,” he nodded. 
“That sounds tough,” Stella murmured. 
“I feel really guilty,” he admitted quietly. “I just find myself thinking about someone else instead of her.”
“Oh,” Stella mumbled, eyes darting over his face. “Maybe you should tell her. Your girlfriend not the... the other girl.”
“Just a tough conversation, yanno,” Niall shook his head. “We agree to talk over the holidays.”
“That’s a long time away,” Stella said, before she could help herself. “A lot could change.” 
“A lot could change,” he agreed, looking up at her. “A lot’s already changed, though.”
“What does a break even mean?” Stella asked. “I’m sure you’d hate for a Ross and Rachel fiasco to happen.”
Niall laughed, nodding, “yeah I don’t really know what it means. We just don’t text all day, I guess. Don’t call each other. Some time away. At least, that’s what I take it as.”
“Shouldn’t you have clarified what a break means before you go on a break?” Stella asked, eyebrows raising. 
“Shit, Stella, I don’t know,” Niall laughed, rubbing his forehead. “This isn’t exactly a situation I’ve been in before.”
“Well I haven’t been in it either,” Stella shrugged with a laugh. “I’m trying to be helpful.”
“You are being helpful,” he nodded. “More than you know.”
Stella felt her eyes drift back over to him. And she hated to be this person. The one adoring every feature on his face while he talks about his girl at home. It was devastating in one of the worst ways. And to know that someone else was on his mind. Doubly devastating. 
Before Stella could tear her eyes away, the sliding glass door opened and Louis poked his head out, “Liam’s here. We’re gonna play FIFA. You in?”
“Yeah,” Niall nodded, looking over his shoulder at Louis. “I’ll be in.”
The door closed and Stella let out a breath, turning away from him. Niall cleared his throat, sitting up, “I’m gonna...”
“Yeah,” Stella nodded, giving him a smile. 
“Thanks for your help,” Niall told her. “It means a lot, you know. I don’t know many people besides Louis, and you know he’s not too great in the advice department.”
“I know,” Stella chuckled, nodding. 
“If you need any advice...” he stood up. “I’m your guy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stella nodded with a smile. 
Stella watched Niall leave, wondering where she went wrong. She took a gulp of her drink, shaking her head. The door opened once more and she didn’t have to look over to know that it was Veda. 
“What the fuck,” Veda laughed, almost breathless. “What happened.”
“He’s got a girlfriend,” Stella told her, head lulling to look at her. “Of three fucking years, V.”
“Shit,” she breathed out. “I’m sorry.”
“He asked me for advice,” Stella continued. “He doesn’t know if he really loves her. He’s apparently been thinking of someone else. Thinks he needs to tell her.”
“That’s just...” Veda trailed off. “I’m sorry.”
“Is there something tattooed on my forehead that says ‘I’m one of the guys’?” Stella asked, incredulously. “First Conner and now Niall. Honestly. This friendzone shit is too much.” 
“Conner is not all guys,” Veda argued. “He was objectively an asshole douchebag idiot. Niall is no Conner. I can tell that much.”
“It’s the same thing!” Stella cried, beginning to feel the anger already. She wanted to punch something. She shook her head, “I think I’m gonna go back to the room.”
“Stel,” Veda murmured. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but why do you think you’re not the person he’s thinking about?” 
“Because,” she sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know.”
“It could be you,” Veda urged. “Who does Niall hang out with? Louis? And you?” 
Niall said it himself, he didn’t know very many people in Manchester. The thought was ridiculous, though. That Niall couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was absurd. 
“Veda don’t get my hopes up,” Stella snapped, looking away from her. “I think I’m gonna go back.”
“Let’s talk about this,” Veda groaned, leaning forward. “If you’re the person he can’t stop thinking about, hanging out with him will make it that much easier for him to break up with his girlfriend.”
“Easier!” Stella echoed with a dry laugh. “You don’t just end a three year long relationship because of the first uni girl you meet.”
“Stay,” Veda urged softly, a hand on her arm. “Have another drink. Kick Louis’s ass in FIFA and see how you feel then.”
The idea was tempting. Stella thought it over as she met Vedas eyes. She could convince her to do anything. Stella swore Veda had magic powers that could change her mind in an instant. 
Stella gave in. She found herself on the sofa between Louis and Zayn, controller in hand. Louis was already defeated. Stella thought she psyched Louis out more than anything. 
By the time she beat Louis, Heather, Danielle and Liam arrived. She was relieved and dreadful at the same time. Danielle was nice enough, and so was Liam. Heather didn’t even have to say anything and she was on edge. 
Stella went to the kitchen, grabbing her third wine cooler of the night when Louis leaned on the counter beside her. “Ya alright?” 
“I’m alright,” Stella nodded, meeting his eyes only for a second. She knew she’d give herself away. 
“What is it?” Louis urged, straightening up. “Come on,” he nudged her. “Spill.”
“Nothing,” Stella shook her head. “Really.” 
“Veda asked me if Niall had a girlfriend and I knew that she wasn’t interested in him which could only mean that you are,” Louis decided, voice quiet. 
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she whispered, looking up at him. “Please.”
“I just want to tell you that the other day when you left, he wouldn’t stop talking about you,” Louis told her. “Asked me a million and one questions.”
“Louis,” she warned, shaking her head. “I don’t want you to get my hopes up.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m just saying, though. I’ve heard him talk about Nadia and it was nothing even remotely close to the way he talks about you.”
“Leaving now,” Stella decided, walking toward the living room. 
Stella sat down on the floor beside Veda, hoping she didn’t look as grumpy as she felt. Veda gave her a reassuring pat on the knee and a bright smile. 
Only when her eyes met Niall’s from across the room did her grumpiness begin to fade. That smile on his face was what she never wanted to get tired of seeing. The softness. It was too much. Stella had to look away. 
But then Heather was on the couch beside him and they started talking and Stella felt like she couldn’t look anywhere else. Just eyes on Niall, watching his face. Watching the way he shifted away from her. The way she just didn’t get it. 
“You’re staring,” Veda whispered, leaning toward Stella. “And he has a girlfriend, remember?” 
“I’m not,” Stella whispered back but she was and she didn’t care that she was. She really wanted to be sitting where heather was. Stella felt the jealousy burn in her belly. 
Despite the millions of conversations going on around her, Stella simply didn’t care. It took a while but finally, Niall caught her glance. He rolled his eyes at her and Stella had to smile. And then Niall smiled and she felt the jealously fade. 
“What’s so funny?” Heather asked, eyes locked on Stella. 
“Nothing,” Stella answered. “Just an inside joke.”
“Care to share?” She asked, a bite to her tone that made Stella’s eyebrows raise. 
“Not particularly,” Stella answered, an equally as harsh bite. “Not with you, anyways.”
“Stel,” Veda mumbled quietly. 
“She literally made it so awkward,” Stella expressed, exasperated. “Why do you constantly take her side?” 
“I’m not taking anyone’s side I’m just...” Veda trailed off, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I don’t want it to be like this where you guys don’t get along.”
Stella shook her head, standing up, “I’m just gonna go.”
“Stella,” Veda sighed.
“I’m just beyond the point in my life where I need to put up with the Heathers of the world,” Stella said, setting her half drank bottle on the table. 
“It’s not even that serious,” Heather laughed, looking around the room as if everyone would agree with her. 
Stella had one shoe on and was working on the second one when Louis beat her to the door. “You’re not leaving by yourself,” he said. 
“I am leaving by myself,” Stella retorted, slipping her other shoe on. She stood up, looking more defeated than she should have. “Let me go, please.”
“I’m going with you,” Veda said from behind her. 
“I don’t want you to come with me,” Stella shook her head. 
“I don’t care,” Veda shot back. “I’m coming anyways.”
Stella didn’t have it in her argue. She pushed the door open, stepping out into the hallway. Veda was two steps behind her, closing the door. 
“Stella, why do you always think I won’t choose you?” Veda asked, voice soft as they got out onto to street. 
Goosebumps rose on Stella’s skin as the cool air hit her. She shook her head, eyes glued to the cracks of the concrete, “I don’t know.”
“It’s been 8 years, of course I’m always going to be on your side,” Veda told her, arm slung over her shoulders. 
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lady-plantagenet · 3 years
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What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2
Episode 3: GOOD Grief! (we finally have a good episode on our hands)
To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)
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Drawing of Thomas More’s Son AKA who Margaret Pole at this point wants to be the step baby momma of ;).
To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.
Without further ado...
First Scenes: 
LMAO the way Wolsey suggests they break their alliance with Spain is freaking hilarious because the actor delivers the lines as if he were a high school girl making a personal attack by suggesting the prom change its theme to 70s disco to the chagrin of the peppy up-and-coming rival.
Also @ Henry VIII looking like the peppy up-and-comer’s bff and shy stan with that pencil bite and small smirk when Catherine loses her cool against Wolsey.
I’m sorry... who is Henry married to again?
Also what is Margaret Pole doing at the council meeting?? I’m not saying I don’t like it.
Margaret Pole warning against certain repetitive thinking creating madness :(((
Attempted Naked Twister:
Oh Catherine, what is with you and all the other STARZ protagonists and that weird politcky bedroom talk? Who actually finds this sexy?
‘Catherine you are unnatural’ ooof that line delivery was somehow haunting.
Was the whole ‘I can’t be rushed you are off-putting with your overpowering’ a callback to Arthur and Catherine? Apparently there’s another writer for this episode so I won’t put all subtly past them. 
Scotland:
‘Shitey men’ asdkjashd
Look I’m tired of all this ‘my children won’t be safe’ line getting repeated. Look mate, murder of royal infants and children was not exactly a common occurence, even in cases of deposition. The Princes in the Tower are an exception to this but a very infamous case for that reason. Child murder was extremely taboo. In situations like this with an infant kid, no one is going to bother murdering the babies and taking their thrones, the lords will just vie for power and make themselves de facto rulers and oust the queen. It’s not a question of safety but a question of holding power. Stop giving all women characters perma mummy brains.
Maggie being all caring:
‘Barnaby’ *scoffs* ‘Such an English name’ - OH MAN 0_0 is Catherine mocking them for trying to adapt ? Like I know it’s meant to show her envy for Lina, but it’s coming out all messed up.
Our girl Maggie’s smile screams I’m beating your ass in chess.
Anyhow this is the least histrionic we’ve seen Catherine so far.
Chaplain vs Catherine:
I’m interested how Catherine will feel at Stafford’s execution given that I have noticed this show build up to a friendship between them.
Why is everyone laughing at the whole ‘will you delight us with new schemes’ line was not that funny?
LMAO at Thomas Boleyn’s attempted brown-nosing. 
You know what? Ruairi is a decent actor. When he says ‘so you admit it? you lost the child because you tried to be a man?” the actor conveys Henry’s troubled mind, lowkey scare towards Catherine and bewilderment all in one. The way his eyes do not move but just widen emotionlessly also gives this sense that he is being manipulated (which I guess they are going for with Wolsey). Then the whole choir music in the background.. I don’t know.. I’m liking this, it’s creating a vibe of a king of haunted and increasingly paranoid Henry. I’m sure they are going for that, so good.
Ursula Pole and Mama:
Maggie Pole say ‘riches don’t keep you safe’ with tears in her eyes :’(. Please tell me how this is not her thinking on her parents and granddad Warwick and what befell them ;’(.
I find Ursula refreshing actually, don’t get those types of heroines often. But they are making her similar to a gold-digger, an exhalted marriage was first and foremost considered a thing of honour. Noblepeople wouldn’t speak in such mercenary terms regarding their marriages. 
Post Mary Defiance:
I love the ‘horse’ nickname from Brandon n’awwww
Also just realised what made TWQ so atmospheric - that wierd ‘oooo’ sound effect in the background when a character was being paranoid or worrying. They are using it during Henry’s ‘How is it that I have no sons?’ and it is just... so effective.
Catherine calling them ordinary children... she just keeps striking me as more and more classist. Like ok, I know every royal was... but still, I thought she was meant to see Lina as a friend and equal despite her race and status. To add the race element, this kind of rubs me the wrong way.
Also it is so clear by the end when Catherine states how the king is upset with her, she expects Maggie to ask her about it.. but she doesn’t lmao.
Back to Scotland until Sexy boy fencing:
I love me this soft boi. Angus <3 <3
I like how they address that some men don’t really like killing and that violence isn’t inherent in a man’s nature.
Oh man, are we supposed to look at Lina’s house and deplore the impoverished conditions? It would go for at least 3,000,000 pounds in today’s property market?
Is Catherine being particularly classist again with ‘Why u not becoming a butcher Wolsey, ey?’. 
Though I will admit the ‘but giving meat to the poor is also good’ was one of her only smart comebacks.
Just realised, Catherine’s pink dress pretty as it is, looks straight out of the 1570s... why?
Montage and After:
You guys are right, there is this weird longing between Henry and Wolsey lmao. It is actually insane.
So basically Catherine is officially depressed
OOOFF we have Stafford as regent instead of Catherine. (edit: I suppose it’s cause they go to France which they didn’t historically? Also if Stafford is at home then what is his son later doing in France, why would he be there without his father. This show didn’t think this through)
Meg Singing:
An impassionate speech is not too anachronistic. But despite the title of this post (what hasn’t been said) I will reiterate that 16th century and Medieval people’s problem wasn’t that they were ashamed of their grief and didn’t cry. In fact, crying was somewhat more socially acceptable then than it even is now! Even manly men like Arthur were written as crying in literature such as Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Obviously you couldn’t go overboard, but in truth crying was indeed often too performative rather than hidden too much behind doors.
Pole and More UWUWU in France and after:
I LIKE THIS INTELLECTUAL FLIRTING
It’s nice to see a depiction of romantic feelings between mature and level-headed subjects.
God Mary Tudor is so beautiful in this scene jesus. and the music when she was being presented was also very beautiful.
Maggie Pole getting given ‘a modest income’ yeah... she was one of the wealthiest peers of her day.
Also Maggie’s lady cousin not lady aunt Frost!
‘shaking of the sheets’ lmaoooo
William Compton cracks the hell out of me. I love this guy. He is just so creepy and twisted yet super keen and friendly. ahaha He looks like a riot, I hope we see him more. lmao tiles.
Also this palace feels very anachronistic almost 18th century-ish.
I like the Louis and Mary sequence, it’s nice seeing him trying to make her feel less scared, but OMFG when he lay on that chair.. for one second I thought they were trying to kill him off already.
Scotland: ‘Love is an open doooooorrrrr’ + Last Scene:
I ship Meg and Douglas ahhhh this soft boi x strong woman match is everything Henry and Catherine could have been.
I wonder... why is Lina speaking in Spanish more than Catherine. hmmm Are they trying to foreshadow Lina’s eventual return home and how Catherine become a true englishwoman?
Conclusion:
7.5/10
I cannot in all fairness believe it. This was actually decent. I’ve given up on historical accuracy long ago so by this point I’m focusing more on how it stands as as drama. I mean, TWQ was also a flop when it came to grasping the complex issues of that era but why do I feel compelled to rewatch it every year? Because it had atmosphere when it came to acting, music, certain aesthetics (though the costumes let me down often). It felt adequately gothic and dark, yet bright and jewel-lish when it had to be, sometimes both at the same time. Some one-liners were also memorable etc...
So far TSP 2 did not have any of this. Everything felt way too off and anachronistic. But not even consistently anachronistic. The music was also often very meh (though I just noted the absence of the spanish stringy theme that kept playing in season 1 - I guess I understand why), the dialogue very clichéd (‘alright lads let’s throw in the words: king, crown, power, fight, battle + other buzzwords and we have ourselves Shakespeare’) and so on... but I saw a change in this episode and I couldn’t initially point out what it was.
Upon rewatch, I identified some of the improvements (noted above) but above all: The producer was different! Boy does it show. Unfortunately, I think she is only for this one episode which really sucks. Come back! There is more chemistry between the couples, less predictable interactions, pervy Compton, cinnamonroll Douglas, better music, more scenic shots (e.g Douglas and Margaret in church) e.t.c. I hope it will match the rest of the STARZ productions in getting better towards the end.
Look it’s no masterpiece. But I’ll give credit where it’s due because at least this time it didn’t leave me feeling wanting and unsatisfied (if that makes sense).
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~HENRY TUDOR: A SOCIOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION.~
Today, I'll be discussing a character who left his mark in History, fathering a dynasty whose most proeminent members were his (second) son Henry VIII and his granddaughter Elizabeth I. Often overshadowed by his descendants, Henry's own deeds as a king and as an individual of his own days have been neglected until recently, when efforts from British historians have been working hard to change that. 
The reason why I decided to bring him here was not only due to personal affections, though they certainly helped it, but because there are aspects overlapped in social structures that shaped him. In other words: what's Henry Tudor as a sociological individual? Can we point him out as a constant foreigner or someone whose socialization process were strongly marked by the addition of two different societies? 
Henry Tudor was born in Pembroke, located in Wales, in January 28th 1457. His mother was Margaret Beaufort, a proeminent lady whose grandfather John Beaufort was the son of John of Gaunt, son in turn of King Edward III of England. The duke of Lancaster fathered four ilegitimated children (who were legitimated in posterity) by his (third marriage to his then) lover Katheryn Swynford, amongst whom John Beaufort was the oldest. Therefore, Henry was  3x grandson. to the duke and, despite what some might argue when Henry IV became king, in great deal to inherite the throne. Well, it's not my intention to deepen the discussion as to Henry's legitimacy or the Beauforts. 
Though his father's ancestry, Henry's blood led him to the royal house of Valois. His paternal grandmother, Katherine de Valois, was the sister of Isabella, who had been the second wife of the ill-fated king Richard II. She was also descended of Louis IX and his spanish wife, Blanche de Castille. Henry was also a royal man from the Welsh lands, as Owain Tudor, his grandfather, was related to several princes of Wales. By all these I said, the first thing one might think (considering 15th century and it’s nobility) Henry would receive a proper education due to his status. However, this would not happen in the strict sense of the word. Let us not forget that England was collapsing by the time of Henry Tudor's birth and his childhood. Why am I using the word 'collapse' to qualify the civil war we know named as wars of the roses?
Émile Durkheim, a french sociologist, would write several centuries later, about how a society is formed: he compared it to the working of a human body. If the head, the brain of our body does not work well, what happens? The body will not work well, certainly. Neither would the head work well if other parts hurt somehow. Although if you did break a leg, you could still make use of your brain, but as a whole how limited wouldn't you be? He'd also say that when the human body, or as he called, the society was sick, it was because of the social structures which imposed the human being to the point where there would be no individuality, no matter of choice. 
Such created social facts that were completely external (althoug well internalized through means of a process we call socialization) but coercitive. If they are not working, what does this mean? That soon another social facts will be replacing the former one. But between one and another, we have a "very sickly" society. Taking this understanding back to England's 15th century, it is not difficult to see what Durkheim was talking about. 
The king was the head of the English body. If we have here two kings fighting over one crown, fighting over the rule of an entire body... Well, then? We have the collapse, a civil war that lasted for the next 30 years. Here, it's less about discussing who started what but why they did what they did, and the explanation for it. Power is power. It's crystal clear, and a statement that, however simple might it sound, points to the obvious. Factions that fought for power intended to dominate others, using the concept very well developed by sociologists as Pierre Bourdieu and Norbert Elias. This domination is a large field, a concept that embrace all sorts of it. Looking back to England's latter half of the century, domination was peril. The head was about to explode. The society was ill... and dominated by it.
What were the values? What was the racionalization proccess of social action led by individuals that were not only individuals but a group? How would all of this affect Henry Tudor? It was not about merely blaming the capitalism, because such coercitive system wasn't present yet. But Henry was, directly or not, linked to the royal house of Plantagenets, whose eagerness for dominating one another and by extension the rest of the country would include him in the game. 
"Game." For Durkheim, this would imply an agitation, like a wave of sea, from which no one could escape from. Let's not forget that Institutions created ideas, renewed them, shaped them to the practice whether to dominate the weaker or to defeat the stronger. Whatever the purpose, we here have the Church, not the religiosity, but the precursor of ideas would subdue individuals to share (or manipulate to their own goals anyways) values in order to keep determined mentality to it. But also, monarchy was too an institution which held control over the lives and deaths of thousands of people. A monarch, as we know, is never alone regardless of how "absolut" they could be in different times and contexts. They were not above the law, either. At least where the socialization process is concerned. For the monarch embodied the content which was the law back then. He was literally the law. 
Furthermore, Henry's education would foresee this fighting, which I'm not merely referring to custody going from his mother to another, before finally staying under his uncle's responsibilities, as well as the civil war itself. (Anyone remembers Warwick executing Herbert before the boy?) 
See, we all know and comprehend today what trauma are capable of doing to someone. Such experience is the main responsible for shaping ideas, values and even costumes. Now, a society which is very much sick by it's own values and moral costumes (a point here must be made: the public consciousness always preached for a warrior, strong king, but has no one thought how this "common sense", validated by a general expectation towards the head of society, was what led it to... well, for the lack of better word, suicide itself? 
For it's widely accepted that weak kings do not last long. But that is when we deal with a good deal of expectations that, when turned to frustrations, bring awful results. If England's society was ill in it's very extreme sense of the word, was because the values they created turned against themselves and that would leave it's mark in a boy as Henry. And until the age of 14, he was still absorbing these concepts, these morals, values, costumes from institutions (let's not forget that a monarch shares such with the nobility that surrounds him, as was the case of House Lancaster,f.e) before he was casted out to Bretagne and, in posteriority, to France. Now, I believe you all know what was done whether in England or with our king during these 14 years spent outside his own country before he became king upon the victory settled on the battle of Bosworth field.
I am not interested in discussing historical facts. At least not now, as we are finally dealing with Henry Tudor as a social actor
----/-HENRY TUDOR: A FOREIGNER? AN EXILED? OR AN OUTCAST?--
These questions mobilized me as I came to read a text written by 19th century sociologist named Georg Simmel. He wrote an essay (pardon by any mistakes in translations done from here on) entitled "The Foreigner", in which he brings a sociological question at why  foreigners are seen as strangers who are never entirely immersed in the society they attempt to be part in. 
Here's an excerpt translated by me in which he explains it:
"Fixed within a determined social space, where it's constancy cross-border could be considered similar to the space, their position [the foreigner's] in it is largely determined by the fact of not belonging entirely to it, and their qualities cannot originate from it or come from it, nor even going in it." (SIMMEL, 2005: 1.)    
Furthermore, he adds:
“The foreigner, however, is also an element of the group, no more different than the others and, at the same time, distincted from what we consider as the 'internal enemy'. They are an element in whose position imanent and of member comprehend, at the same time, one outsider and the other insider." (SIMMEL, 2005: 1).
Here's why Henry, as Earl of Richmond, was not well seen by the Britons and the French, in spite of being "accepted" by them. Never forget that he would still be seen as an outsider by his own fellows. As Richard III would call Henry a bastard, one could understand this accusation with sociological  implications. English back then detested these foreigners and by the concept brought here by me from Simmel we can understand why. But we could also see being called a bastard as a way to point out Henry's localization. Where can the Earl of Richmond & soon-to-be king be located?
I have pointed this far the structures which were raised and caused a collapsed society to live broken in many, many ways and how this affected Henry this far. Seeing how foreigner he was, nonetheless, he did not belong neither to England (at first) nor to the Continent.
On that sense of word, says Simmel (2005: 3): 
"A foreigner is seen and felt, then, from one side, as someone absolutely mobiled, a wanderer. As a subject who comes up every now and then through specific contacts and yet, singularly, does not find vinculated organically to  anything or anyone, nominally, in regards to the established family, locals and profissionals”
Even though we find a dominant group of foreigners in France, as we are talking about of nobles displeased with the Yorkist cause and supporters of the Lancastrian House, they were not majority. Where can we locate Henry, then? We don't, because he was not a French and however well he could speak the language, it was not his birth language. The French culture was not passed nor naturalized by him through the teachings of a family or the church by the institutions: monarchy, church, family, parliament, etc; he would have been defeated a long time. But that he did manage to, using this popular expression, put things together and become the first king to die peacefully since Henry V, it tells us a lot. Not rarely an immigrant is accepted by a society whose demands are forced upon him, most of the times in aggressive ways. But it's not often either that we see a king occupying such place in society. 
Indeed, one might say that kings as Henry II and the conquerors before him were too foreigners, but not in the sociological way I'm explaining. Because the social structures were different. Henry's government were settled in a more centralized ruling, far more just and peaceful, more economic and less concerned with waging wars than his antecessors. The need to migrate was not 'forced', neither 'imposed' and even back to the 11th and 12th centuries were motivated by different reasons. That's to accentuate how English society evolved throughout the centuries. And I used again and again Georg Simmel to prove my point about casting a sociological light towards Henry VII not as a historical character so distant of us and who remains an object of controversial discussions, but a man of his times who was forced to deal with expectations that placed him in social positions nearly opposed to one another to fulfill each role whether as king or as a man. For some reason, the broken society shaped Henry as an immigrant, but as history shows us, it was this immigrant who helped shape medieval society, directing it towards the age of Renaissance and in posteriority to Modern Age.
Finally, to close this thread I leave here another quote (translated to English by me) found in the text written by Simmel: 
"The foreigner, strange to the group [he is in], is considered and seen as a non-belonging being, even if this individual is an organic member of the group whose uniform life comprehends every particular conditioning of this social [mean]. (...) [the foreigner] earns in certain groups of masses a proximity and distance that distinguishes quantities in each relationship, even in smaller portions. Where each marked relationship nduced to a mutual tension in specific relationships, strenghtening more formal relations out of respect to what's considered 'foreigner' of which are resulted." (SIMMEL, p 7). 
Bibliography: 
AMIN, Nathen. https://henrytudorsociety.com/
DURKHEIM, Émile. "The Division of Labor in Society”.
KANTOROWICZ, Ernst H.”The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieavel Political Theology.”
PENN, Thomas. Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England.
SIMMEL, Georg. The Foreigner. In: Soziologie. Untersuchungen über die Formen der Vergesellschaftung. Berlin. 1908.
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Chapter 14. Something Old, Something New
'i can't exactly describe how i feel but it's not quite right and it leaves me cold’ F. Scott Fitzgerald
He touched my waist.
It’s hard to imagine things would have turned out differently if he hadn’t, but in reviewing the events of that night, that was the first moment I knew I couldn’t ignore it anymore. ‘It’ being the astonishingly big shadow in the corner of my eye line that I had been pretending wasn’t there for the past five months, a shadow uniquely shaped like a tall, ginger, British man. For five months, I had successfully ignored a lot, Harry included, but the moment he touched my waist all my efforts were drained.
“Marie.” He said, as soon as I turned back to apologize when our arms collided reaching over the same general direction in the table with the seating chart.
“Harry. Hi.” I replied, feeling awe-struck.
We froze in place like that, standing before a table with folded, named cards, him behind me, trying to figure out where to go next. All I could think was that he was still calling me ‘Marie’, my name, but with an English accent. Like ‘Mary’, but slightly French. Like us, but also not.
“Excuse me?” Someone called to my left. 
We startled, and I quickly picked the card with my name, and the one with his I now saw right next to it, so we could both move out of the way. Then, imperceptibly if not for the way my heart jumped in my chest, his hand cupped the curve of my waist as he pulled me away from the crowd forming around the table. 
I still looked down as I followed him, feeling my skin warm and my conscience heavy, until the doors to the reception where I had told Stella I would wait for her. Harry right behind me. He put his hands in his pockets.
We stared at each other, then quickly looked away. The awkwardness could kill me, and yet, all I wanted was to look at him. So, telling myself this is a normal conversation, I took in a deep breath.
“It’s good to see-”
“So, how have you-?”
We spoke at the same time, immediately stopping when we the other did, and looking down in embarrassment. I couldn’t help but giggle, feeling my cheeks warm, but wanting to cry at how easy it had been to talk before. How had we ever talked before? Had it really been easy once?
“It’s good to see you, too.” He said, and I looked up, relieved to see his cheeks were reddened too.
I sighed. “I’m good. How are you?”
He smiled, and shrugged, non-committal. “The same.”
I nodded, appreciative of his honesty. 
“You?”
I looked down at my hands, and confessed, thinking back to the past few months. “I’m not that great, actually.”
He was quiet, so I forced myself to look back at him. He was looking back, intensely. His lips half-smiled, and he nodded once, understanding. I knew he did, but at once I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Just two seconds, and it was already the most honest conversation I had had in five months.
Suddenly, inexplicably, I wanted to cry, so instead I looked at my hands again. One of my cards said ‘Harry Windsor’, so I handed it to him.
“Oh, thanks.” He said, opening it up. “Table fourteen. You?”
Gulping, I looked at my card. “Fourteen.” It said. Of course.
“Nice.” He smiled. “We can catch up.”
I hoped he couldn’t tell how uncomfortable the idea of catching up made me. How… guilty and trapped it made me feel. I suddenly felt as guilty as when I had stopped texting him when Louis was first taken to the hospital, like I had done something wrong not talking to him in months even though he hadn’t reached out, either. Even though the last time we spoke he had witnessed me in a mental breakdown bigger than any other I had ever had. Even though I had then tried to kiss him and gotten angry when he pulled back, even though we were at a funeral. For my brother.
Just as I was feeling my cheeks redden even more, and trying to think of a way to have a normal conversation, I felt someone else’s hands in my waist – the effect humongously different.
“Hey, did you get your place card? We’re not on the same table as the guys, can you believe it?” Christopher looked at the mimosa in my hand, “Where did you get a drink?”
“Over there.” I answered, taking in a deep breath, and preparing for a very awkward introduction.
“You didn’t get me one?” he complained, to which I didn’t know what to say.
“Here.” I gave him my glass, which he held, and took a sip.
“Chris, this is –” I started, just as a friend of ours approached, and Christopher turned around to shake his hand.
I exchanged a look with Harry. Embarrassed, I tried to give him an apologetic smile, but he didn’t return it. This, too, felt like the most honest interaction I had in months.
“Mags was just saying that!” Christopher said, passing an arm around my shoulders now and turning me towards Kent, a friend of ours from France, who had gone to School with him.
“Margueritte, there you are!” Kent said, approaching to kiss my cheeks. “We were just saying that we need to schedule a big reunion for the gang, what do you think?”
“Yes, we do!” I smiled. “I feel like I haven’t seen anyone in years.”
He laughed, and leaned in to say his next words in a conspiratorial tone. “We gotta do it before you two are crowned, or you won’t have time for us peasants anymore!”
We laughed; Christopher sheepishly, a grin he tried to cover scratching his chin, tightening his grip around my waist. Kent fully, joyfully. Me, awkwardly, staring at the floor.
I decided I should introduce Harry now, who was still standing next to us. It was, I decided, as good a subject change as any.
“Did you see Bronn inside?” Kent asked us, but looking pointedly at Christopher. “His father is trying to get him to run for office.”
Christopher rolled his eyes. “Of course he is, why else would he have gone to Oxford? He always hated school.” They laughed. “Let’s go say hi.”
He turned to me, kissed my cheek quickly, and gave me his place card. “Meet you at our table, Maggie. Get me a drink if you see a waiter?”
They left. I bit my lip, fidgeting with my handbag and cards, before looking up at him, and getting the wind knocked out of me as I once again realized he was already looking at me.
Christopher was nice, he was the picture of politeness and manners; he likely just didn’t see Harry. It was a crowded room. I tried to think of an excuse to give him, but they all felt… superficial.
“So.” I started. “What–?” “He didn’t have mimosas.” Stella said, joining us, two wine glasses in hand. “So I got two wines out of spite – what are you–?” I got one of the glasses and started drinking. “Stella, this is Harry.” He offered her a polite smile. “Hello.” “Oh, of course! From the… tour, right?” She looked at me. “Yes, feels like a long time ago.” “How’s Cressida?” She asked; Harry’s smile faltered. “I’ve met her a couple of times, our parents know each other, I think. They’ve mentioned you.” She explained. “Oh. She’s– she’s good. She’s good.” There was a silent pause during which I tried to squash the desire to ask. Instead, I said, “We should go sit.” Stella looked at the cards in my hand. “Sure. What table are we in?”
As we moved into the reception room, Harry fell out of step with us when someone stopped him to say hello. I waited until we were seated to, as casually as I could, ask Stella:
“Who’s Cressida?” “What? Oh, daughter of some friends of my mother. I don’t know a lot about her, actually. Aristocratic, well raised, good schools, you know the deal.” “Why were you asking Harry about her?” “She’s his girlfriend.” She said, inexplicably knocking the wind out of me, “You should have heard the way they talked about it when her mom called to tell mine. They’re so pleased with themselves.” “Ha.” I gulped, feeling slightly nauseated. “You know how it is.” Stella continued, oblivious. “For aristocratic families the goal is to marry their children to other old money, aristocratic families, the higher the title the better. An actual royal is the holy grail.” I drank more wine, wincing. I looked at her, feeling embarrassed to even ask, but incapable of not doing so. “Do people think like that about me?” She smiled. “Of course, angel. Look at you. Pretty face, fancy degree, Queen-to-be… The entire country, dare I say, the world is holding their breaths for who’ll be the chosen one to claim you.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. I forced myself to mimic. “They can’t wait to call him Prince Christopher.” I laughed, a little harder at this.
Stella and I had flown to northern England that morning to watch our friend Clara marry her English boyfriend in a traditional, small ceremony in a quaint country chapel covered in greenery, wearing the small tiara that had been in her family for generations, contrasting with the modern, elegant, flowy dress she had helped design. Clara, Savoyen-born, had never told me she - or her boyfriend - knew British royalty, but it wasn’t a shock. It’s a small world, when you’re royal. It made total sense, if I thought about it. I should have known better. I should have made an excuse. People already didn’t expect me to go, after all; It was the first social event I attended after Louis’ death other than Christmas and New Year’s.
“Margueritte!” Aayla approached us, smiling. “I’m so happy to see you!”
I got to my feet, and caught up with her, and then with another friend who approached after her. Smiling, but not too much. My new secretary, Auguste, had made the directions for this wedding very clear. Other than going to quit my job and meeting friends very privately for dinner a couple of times, this was my first time in an actual social event. Other than this, I had spent all of my time helping my mother work through her deep grief by finding and organizing old photos of Louis, deciding what to do with his furniture and items, and the basic upkeep of the palaces, frequently helping her staff deal with work issues related to her charity initiatives seeing as she was still too unfocused to do so.
So Auguste was worried that my ‘come back’ would be an attendance in a high society event. I had to actually insist to him and my father’s advisors that I wanted to come -- even though half of me wanted nothing more than to stay home. 
So projecting the right image was important. It was why I was wearing a muted green dress, as well. Long sleeves, flats, and hair up. Conservative. Traditional. No heels. Louis would have hated it.
Time and time again I repeated my lines: I am doing okay. Not good, not great. Can’t have people thinking I’m doing too good. Thank you for your condolences. Of course I’ll let you know if there’s anything you can do for us. Right now we’re just taking it one day at a time. Thank you for your condolences. I’m glad you think my eulogy was beautiful. Thank you for your condolences. Yes, it was very touching how the entire world came together to mourn him. Thank you for your condolences. No, I’m not terrified at the prospect of being queen. No, I’m not excited I’m Crown Princess now. No, I don’t think I was meant to rule. Sure, God knows what He’s doing. Thank you for your condo–
As I repeated the lines I had been told to, I took this time to remind myself of the following things: There's no reason why I shouldn’t be here. It’s Clara’s wedding day and she’s my friend. It’s been five months and there’s nothing that staying home could do to bring my brother back. The press will say it’s weird that I’m enjoying myself no matter how long I wait to go back to my life. And it’s not like I’m so busy at home.
Eventually, I found myself sitting again.
To my right, Christopher looked handsome in his three piece suit. He kept his arm around my shoulders, looking around to raise a hand as a greeting to friends passing by. To my left, Stella was leaning forward to talk to our friend Gabrielle, who was sitting across from her. To Stella’s left, sat Harry.
Too close, but too far all at once.
"Speaking of true love, how's Ricky?" Gabrielle asked.
Sighing, Stella got to her feet, and walked around the table to crouch next to her, likely to start the long story of her latest break up with on-again, off-again boyfriend Richard.
"Please, take my seat." Harry said.
I watched it, almost in slow motion, Harry move to Stella's seat so she could take his to talk to Gabrielle. She thanked him profusely, and we exchanged a small smile when our arms brushed against each other as he sat. Chris chose this time to lean over me and offer his hand to him in an introduction, accompanied by what I knew as his cover-page smile.
"Hi, Christopher Ratté," he said, shaking Harry's hand in front of my face as I leaned back, eyes focused on the table, "I don’t think we’ve been introduced, and this is my girlfriend, Crown Princess Marie-Margueritte of Savoy." I looked at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape, blushing. "I'm not-- I'm-- just-- Margueritte, it's--it's fine!" "Right, of course," Chris laughed, casually. To me, he fake-whispered, "I'm still not used to the new title." "Ha." I smiled, awkwardly. Harry smiled politely, looking at me. "I actually already know Marie." I nodded. "Yep." "Oh? From the funeral?" Chris asked, too casually. "Or is there a royalty-only group chat I don't know about?" he laughed. Harry and I exchanged an awkward smile. "I-- I met Harry on my last royal tour of England, with my father last year?" He looked confused, “When were you in England?” My polite smile was the one that faltered now. "We– we were broken up." "Ah. Right.“ To Harry, he said, ”So, are you a friend of the bride or the groom?“ ”Groom. He and I went to school together. You?“ ”Clara and I were on boarding school together.“ I told him. ”And I know Clara through Mags.“ Chris said. ”Although we also have a lot of mutual friends. She dated my friend Tanner when we were teenagers, but you know how those things always end up…“
Chris went on, but though Harry was still turned to our direction, his eyes were decidedly on me. Breathlessly, I wondered if he was thinking back to the State Dinner when I had told him about my one year in school in Savoy, and about how the girls didn’t like me, and I eventually convinced my parents to let me study abroad. I wished I could have explained Clara was one of the good ones, someone I already knew because our families were friends when we started school. I wished I could have explained that she had been a year ahead of me, so knowing her didn’t save me at the time. But then again, there was a lot I wish I could say to him.
The waiters appeared as if out of thin air, laying in front of us small plates with three small entrées each. “Prosciutto-Wrapped Persimmons With Goat Cheese”, they told us.
“What are persimmons?” Harry leaned in to ask, making me giggle.
“Fruit.” I told him. “It’s sweet. It’s good.”
Chris snapped his fingers to call the attention of a waiter before he left. “Hey, champ. Could you bring me some Cabernet and-- is your wine done? Some Sauvignon Blanc, too. Thanks!”
“I’m-- I’m good--” I interjected, but the waiter was gone. I bit my lower lip, anxiously.
“I keep telling you, it’s not wrong to ask for things.” Chris said, laying a quick kiss on my cheek. 
A lady, sitting to Christopher’s other side, looked at us. “So how do you folks know Clara and John?” 
“Friends in common, and my girlfriend went to school with Clara.” He replied, pointing at me. “Christopher Ratté, and--”
“Margueritte.” I interjected, forcefully, my skin crawling at the thought of him introducing me with my title again.
The woman, Jasmin, introduced herself as a family friend of John’s, before launching into a story about how her estate in Surrey neighboured John’s family’s estate and how their parents started sharing costs for the upkeep of something or other and that’s how the two families developed such a strong friendship. I tried to focus on it as much as I could, but really Christopher was more interested in the ins and outs of it more than me, so eventually I stopped pretending and turned to Harry.
“So what have you been up to?” I asked.
He smiled, finished chewing his entrée, and looked at me. “I tracked in the South Pole in December.”
I didn’t attempt to hide my surprise. “Well, you’ve been burying the lead. Tell me more.”
“It’s not as impressive as it sounds. It was just a part of the full trek, in support for Walking with the Wounded… it’s an organization that works with disabled veterans.”
“That’s still incredible. It must have been… horribly challenging.”
“It was amazing. And grueling. And awful. All at once.” We exchanged a smile; one long enough to make me slightly dizzy as I lost myself into his blue eyes. “And you? How-- how have you been?”
“Working with my mother, mostly.” I answered, fast enough not to fall to temptation to be too honest. “Helping her figure out ways to memorialize my brother for future generations, and do the upkeep of her own work.”
I took a sip of my new wine glass, which the waiter had only just brought. It was weird; something important had happened on the three days Harry and I had spent together. Something big enough that made me feel that saying even a well intentioned half-truth was lying. Something big enough that made a lie feel like betrayal. Why? That was the only way I had answered that question -- to anyone. Even Stella, Constance, Sophie, Larissa. Even Lourdes, Natalie, Catarina. Even Christopher. It was just… the truth, only in a light way. Why did it feel so uncomfortable not to tell him every feeling I’d had in the past five months?
The waiters came back, this time delivering a salad with fresh greens and bell peppers enveloped by cucumbers, a selection of roasted vegetables and a side of garlic crostini. I started to eat to avoid talking any more about my own life, because, in truth, I felt I had done nothing in the past five months.
What was worse, the press seemed to know it. Just when the world media decided to show an interest in the Savoy Royal family -- there seemed to be more stories than ever about us in outlets that had never seemed to know who we were --, all signs pointed to some sort of leak problem in the Palace. The stories Louis’ last months of life were particularly brutal, they mentioned his classes, they interviewed ‘anonymous’ sources that claimed to have studied with him, know him, dated him. They started interviewing friends of Louis’ only ex-girlfriend, whom they claimed had ‘always known they were going to get back together eventually’, and was ‘preparing mentally to be Queen one day’. When the palace staff reached out, she swore she hadn’t spoken to anyone. She started being followed by paparazzi and it became such a dangerous situation, my father was trying to get approval from the King’s Council to dispatch a security officer to stay with her until this attention blew over. 
On my end, there were stories claiming I had ‘abandoned important projects at work’, and left a number of my co-workers ‘having to work overtime to finalize work I had left unfinished’. It wasn’t… untrue. Of course I had left things undone, I was forced to quit very suddenly. But I had left very detailed and specific notes and made all of my work available for whomever was given my projects. Additionally, this was concerning because my former-firm had a very strict NDA code. Lawyers weren’t allowed to mention any part of our work, even petty office gossip, due to our bosses’ very strict attorney-client privilege contracts. Which meant that either someone from the firm was risking having to pay a lot of money and being disbarred or someone who knew me, someone I was close enough to to have told all of this detail to, had decided to break my confidence for some easy money or just to have an in with some media person. Either option was terrifyingly disheartening. 
By Harry’s side, Stella threw her arms up and sighed as she slumped in her chair. "I know!" She told Gabrielle, dramatically.
Harry and I exchanged a smile, and he gave me a funny look. "She seems nice.”
"She is."
"How long have you known each other?"
"Oh." I sighed. “It would be easier to count every star in the sky than to figure out the first time we met.” 
He grinned. “That long?”
In a different time, he would have preceded that question with ‘truth or dare?’. But just as it happened at a different time, it was still as easy to talk to him as it had ever been, and it made my heart ache all the more. His eyes, as he continued to stare me down, were still full of a yearning that made my skin warm and my breath rare. 
I took another sip of wine. “So, Cressida.” I said, before I could stop myself. Harry’s eyes widened. “Stella said she’s nice.”
He nodded. “She is.”
“How have you met?”
“Cressida?” I nodded. “Mutual friends.”
“...what does she-- do? For a living?”
“She’s just finishing school. Theater.” 
I smiled. Of course, he’s dating someone with one of the few careers you can’t have in order to be a royal. Of course he would go for someone who just as much as him wants a completely different life from the one we were raised in. Someone who, unlike me, has a choice on the matter.
I closed my hands tightly in fists in my lap, reminding myself I had a boyfriend. Whom I love. The waiters showed up to remove our plates. I leaned in to Christopher and hooked my arm with his, laying my head in his shoulder. He intertwined our fingers together, and I made a point to lean in to kiss his cheek, breathing in deeply, eyes closed, reminding myself of a few things.
One: Christopher always smelled of fresh roses after he showered, and his hair always looked perfectly in place even when he got so busy with work he couldn't get a haircut in months. Two: At a party when I was sixteen, Christopher punched a guy who made fun of me for wearing a Guns N' Roses t-shirt while being unable to name more than one of their songs. Three: Christopher was a really nice kisser. Four: Christopher was thoughtful, having refused to start a serious relationship with me until after we had both graduated secondary school because he was afraid it was too soon.
He was a good boyfriend, and I spent the better part of the last decade in love with him. 
After the main course, Clara’s father took to the microphone and the speeches started. As we listened, I used the time to remind myself of another few things:
Five: He once drove to Harvard to surprise me and the girls on my Political Research lecture saw us together and the following week they all came to compliment me on my hot boyfriend. Six: Christopher wasn't even upset I adopted a dog without asking him when we were living together in New York after graduation. Seven: After dinners or nights out, Christopher always offered to give our friends who didn't have a car a ride home so they didn't have to pay for ubers. 
I was shaken off my daze when the room started applauding; Clara got to her feet from the main table in the front and hugged her father. Her brother then took to the microphone and started his speech.
"Her dad reminds me of yours." Christopher said in my ear, "That's totally the type of speech he'll do when we get married."
Leaning back to look at him, I found no hesitation, no teasing smile about to break in. He looked calm as he watched Clara's brother introduce himself.
I looked back at Stella, reminded now of a conversation we'd had once when Constance and I were desperately trying to convince her Rick simply wasn't as committed to her as she seemed to think he was. 'You're planning your wedding in your head, but we know for a fact Rick thinks getting married is a death sentence! He jokes about it all the time! Why would you want to marry him?!', Constance told her, aggravated. Stella looked at me, instead, and asked: 'Well, they're men. They just don't think about it. Does Christopher ever talk about marriage?'
The answer was no. We had dated for eight years, ignoring the couple of months we were broken up after he graduated University, and the last break up the past year. In all that time, I had always wanted to marry him. As a teenager, it was easy to dismiss this. I was a kid. What did I know? But in University, or after? Even then, whenever I made a reference to our future, he would shrug, overly casual, and say, 'Who knows what will happen? We have time'. But he now seemed to have… grown. Changed. 
"I'm sure most of you know the maid of honor is a role traditionally filled by the closest female friend of the bride... But my sister has never been one to do what's expected of her." Clara's brother was saying, smiling sweetly at her. “So, I’m Clark, I’m Clara’s younger brother, and I’m her maid of honor. Clara and I have known each other since June 18th, 1992--” the room laughed, making him smile. “The best day of her life… but today is a close second.” 
From the main table, Clara rolled her eyes, laughing.
“Clara was the one who took me to my first University party…” there was a loud appreciative murmur around the room, and a few more laughs. “There, I got a glimpse of what life would be like outside of mom and dad’s house… I’ll be honest, it was pretty great.”
As people laughed again, I was hit by an unforgiving old memory. Me, 20-years-old, Harvard. Louis, 17, coming to spend a long weekend to tour the school, decide if he wants to apply. My friend Kat dragging us to Kappa Sigma’s year end party. Louis, the social butterfly, making friends with everyone, becoming instantly known as ‘British dude’, because Americans could never place the Savoyen accent. Chanting it loudly to cheer for him during beer pong. Jumping on the pool. Teaching him what a beer pong was. Holding his head above a toilet as he puked. Trying to get him to look normal so our security didn’t tell our parents anything too problematic. Laughing about it the next day as we vowed never to tell anyone. 
My heart ached.
“The first time I saw John was when Clara sent me a screenshot of his Tinder profile…”
From the front, the bride’s brother was still doing his speech, getting laughs from the room.
“He looked good.” He shrugged, jokingly. “My sister texted me, ‘I’m gonna marry this guy’. I wrote back, ‘sure Clara, whatever’. But sure enough, three months later there was John on our family vacation to Cancun.” Beside him, Clara and John exchanged a sweet look. “On the first night we were on the bar together and he slid a ten pound bill across the bar, at an all-inclusive resort, and said, ‘two Jack and coke and keep’em coming’. I don’t remember much after that, but I do remember thinking he and Clara were perfect together.”
There was murmur of appreciation, just as another memory came back to haunt me. One I’d been trying to suppress since Christmas. It was a mix, really, of little moments. Ever since I found the playlist Louis had intended on gifting me for Christmas, I had turned off his phone and refused to turn it on again. I hid his notebook in a box for safe keeping and refused to look at it. I could hear his voice on every word in it, and it his voice seemed to be trying to tell me things that hurt too much to hear – and I had enough of that from everywhere else. The press was saying that I wasn’t a hard worker, that I couldn’t handle my new role, quoting insiders from the government who believed it too, and I had no reason to believe my father felt any differently seeing as he refused to treat me like an adult.
It was easier to shut everyone off. It was easier to just carry his phone with me, feel him close when I needed it, but refuse to look too hard inward. But when Clara’s brother spoke, it was hard not to. It was impossible not to think of him, particularly after Chris’ comment about what my father might say at our wedding, it was impossible not to wonder… what would Louis have said?
“I need to use the bathroom.” I told Christopher. He looked at me, smiled and removed his arm from mine.
I locked eyes with Harry as I delicately pushed my chair back, and looked down quickly. I walked out of the reception room staring at the floor, almost holding my breath until I was in the hallway.
The reception was taking place at an old Manor home, a few hundred years old. There were no ‘ladies’ bathroom, rather just normal home bathrooms. There were a couple of waiters near the one nearest to the reception room, so I turned the other way and walked until I found another. Instead of going in, however, I just walked to the velvet lined chairs on the other side of the hall and sat down, heavily. My head hit the wall with a thud as I relaxed my body and tried to breath in deeply, slowly, trying to keep the tears at bay. But the memories kept coming. 
The one I couldn’t shut off was happened one day after Christopher had broken up with me the year before. I had just gotten home from work late, and started my usual routine: let my bags on the floor near the door, kicked off my shoes, put my hair up in a tight bun, remove my blazer and jewelry, and throw myself on the sofa for a few minutes before becoming a person again. This time, the phone ringed, and it was Louis. Mom had just told him about the break up, and he wanted to talk, to check in. ‘I’m okay’, I told him. ‘That’s not your okay voice’, he returned. We talked for a while. He let me vent about my frustrations over Chris, about not seeing this coming, about us having been fine all this time, about us having dealt with bigger distances than our current ‘long distance’. Louis let me rant, and then he sighed, asked if I wanted his opinion, and didn’t wait for my answer before he started speaking:
‘Honestly, Maggie, I don’t think he broke up with you because of the distance. I don’t think he really cares about the press harassment and all the negative sides of dating a royal, either, because he’s had enough time to break up with you over this and he never has. I think it’s much simpler. I think Christopher just doesn’t know how great and out of his league you truly are. I don’t think he values you for the things that make you amazing. I think the things that make you amazing are why he is breaking up with you. I think he might not realize it, but he doesn’t know how to handle dating someone who is so clearly so much better than him at everything. And honestly? He’s had enough time to deal with that. If he can’t crack it, that’s his problem. You deserve better.’
I wondered, again, what Louis would have said in his speech at my wedding. What tales would he have relayed about meeting Christopher for the first time? Finding out we were dating for the first time? Hearing we had broken up for the first time? And second time? Would he have said we were perfect for each other? ‘Chris didn’t deserve you. You know that, right?’, his voice rang in my ears.
I hadn’t been there long when I heard:
“Hey.”
I sat up, quickly, my breath caught in my throat. Harry walked over slowly, and sat down by my side.
“You okay?”
I considered how to answer. He wouldn’t have told anyone if I told the truth. He would have understood if I lied. He was just like that, somehow I just knew that. Instead what I went with was,
“Every time I think I’m back to normal… every time I think I’m okay again… it’s like something will always happen and a memory will hit me like a brick… and I’m right back to the funeral.”
He gulped, sighed, and finally laid his head back like me. “I know what you mean.”
“I want to cry about the most ridiculous things.” I confessed. “I want to scream about the silliest things… I feel so… irrationally angry all the time.”
From teary eyes, I thought I saw his head move as he nodded. “Yeah. I know that, too. A bit too much.”
It felt… so unbelievably freeing to hear that. To know I wasn’t going insane with pain.
“I thought I was being stupid, thinking I shouldn’t have come. It’s been so long. And I can’t stay home forever, right? But the moment her brother started speaking I couldn’t help but remember that Louis won’t be at my wedding.”
Harry looked at me; brows worried, lips pale as he pressed them together. He seemed to reconsider for only a second too long before reaching over and grabbing hold of my hand, which had been holding my clutch, and holding it in his, our arms resting delicately in my lap.
His hand was so much bigger than mine, particularly after losing some weight over the last few months. It was rough, muscly, warm. It made me feel warm, too. It didn’t just make me want to cry more; it made me feel I should, it felt like being given a gift. Like a blessing.
“It’s easy wanting to be okay again.” He said. “But the road to okay after something like this happens… it’s long. Too long. It’s okay to take time to not be okay. There’s no… schedule. It’s not a race. The only way out of the bad is through it. You can’t get to okay if you don’t just… walk the road first. Does that make sense?”
We looked at each other; it was in this moment I realized how close he was to me. Had his eyes always been this warm? My heart had the answer ready. 
“The only way out is through.” I repeated, making his lips flex up in a soft, gentle smile.
When I smiled in response, my own small, barely-there smile, even through tears, it felt like sunshine was hitting the dark corners of my soul for the first time in years.
--- ---- ---
Wedding outfit
[A/N: I knoooooooow, but don’t worry! The wedding aint over yet! Any bets on whats happening next week??? Thank you so much for reading! Please give me a shout to know youre here? Let me know your thoughts, I’m always open to suggestions and requests on what you’d like to see more of =) Next week: Marie finds out something Chris has been secretly planning...]
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tamorasky · 3 years
Text
Cursing Sharp Stones Chapter 2
Summary: It wasn’t uncommon for the women to be eventually cast aside, Elsa knew this all too well. Yet was unable to protect her sister.
Rating: T
Relationship: Elsa/Honeymaren, Kristoff/Anna (background)
Canadian Frontier AU
Words: 2,583
Part 2 of Mistress Anna
AO3
Tags: Canadian Frontier AU, Metis Culture, Friends to Lovers, Illness, Colonization/Colonialism.
Her bottom hurts as the cart rocks slowly side-to-side. She shifts her weight to relieve some of the pain from one side of her body. Elsa resists the urge to ask the man next to her for longer until they reach their destination, not wanting to sound like her sister.
“Have you heard from Anna yet?” The blonde man inquires, his eyes focusing on the road in front of him. Elsa glances to Kristoff, who is slouching slightly as his forearms rest on his thighs, the reigns hanging loosely from his hand.
She smiles at him knowingly. “I have; she told me to say ‘hello’ to you.” A small smile crosses Kristoff’s features. The brunette woman suppresses a smile at his response. It is no small secret between Elsa and Kristoff’s older sister, Angelique, that the man next to her is hopelessly in love with Anna.
Elsa rolls up the sleeves of her blouse, wishing she could be rid of the garment during the hot June day. She and Kristoff are practically siblings. The act would not bother him. But also knows she would be on the receiving end of Iduna’s switch if her mother found out about her indecency.
Kristoff mimics Elsa’s action, rolling the sleeves of his tan shirt to his elbows. “Make sure to tell her I say ‘hello’ back. Is she having a good time in Arendelle?”
“She is. Her maid at our father’s house is apparently a little gruff but is well-meaning.” Elsa responds, deciding to leave out her sister’s mention of a Mr. Westergaard, not wanting to cause Kristoff unnecessary worry.
“I am glad to hear she is doing well. Ma and the girls were concerned when they heard Anna was going to Arendelle.” The young man says.
“Why are we going to the Cree encampment?” Elsa inquires, changing the subject. She is unaware why the pair of them were leaving Ahtohallan for the day. Kristoff had shown up at the river lot that morning, insisting she joined him on a journey.
“I have a connection at the encampment for pelts.” Kristoff states. The young woman raises a brow at him, knowing Kristoff is capable enough to trap beavers and trade them by himself. The blonde man sighs, observing her confusion. “He’s a better hunter than I am, and the Hudson’s Bay pays me better for the furs than they would him.”
“You two are breaking the law,” Elsa states, glancing up at the canopy of pine trees providing them with sporadic shade.
Kristoff shrugs. “So does the Hudson’s Bay.”
“Yo-.” She sighs, knowing that he is right. It is something they never discuss at their house, out of fear that Iduna will say something to Agnar, and Anna never cared for trade politics, always wanting to remain in blissful ignorance.
Glancing up at the sky, Elsa observes smoke rising from the treeline, wondering if that is perhaps where they are travelling to. Kristoff guides the horse towards the spot, confirming Elsa’s suspicions.
The encampment is surrounded by pine and birch trees, seven tipis nestled between each tree. Kristoff guides the horses to the side of the beaten path, making Elsa’s departure from her side of the wagon impossible. She watches as Kristoff hoists himself from the cart, making his way to the back of the cart as Elsa shifts to where he had sat only moments ago. She slides off of the cart, grunting as her feet hit the earth with some force.
Elsa places her hand on the shaft of the cart, waiting as Kristoff grabs a few satchels of tobacco out of the wagon. As he grabs the small packages, the blonde man comes to Elsa’s side, offering her a smile before meandering towards the village. She does not offer to help carry the sachels, knowing she should not touch the tobacco as she is nearly three days into her cycle.
The young woman follows after Kristoff from a slight distance, watching as children flock to Kristoff’s side as they enter the encampment. The children tug on his clothes, trying to gain his attention by yelling and showing him tricks.
Elsa cannot help but smile at his interactions with each child. With four nieces and nephews, Kristoff had plenty of experience with children. As well as every community or church event they attended in Ahtohallan, Anna and Kristoff are always left to care for the young children. Anna always believed it was due to their ability to keep children entertained. But Elsa has remained convinced that it is a plot by the young mothers to push the two into marriage.
The two walk through the encampment, smiling at the people they pass as they move towards the small encampment's northern point. A young man, perhaps Anna’s age, stands next to a travois, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed as he stares pensively at the ground.
The brunette man glances up from the ground, removing himself from the travois to greet Kristoff and Elsa. As the young man reaches Kristoff, shaking hands before pulling one another into a hug, their laughter echoing throughout the encampment.
Elsa stands awkwardly behind them, her hands folded in front of her as she stares up at the sky, avoiding staring at the men in front of her. Her eyes follow the clouds passing in the sky as the two men talk with one another.
Kristoff calls out to her, taking her attention away from the sky back to the men. The brunette man’s gaze meets Elsa’s, offering the young woman a smile. Kristoff steps off to the side, waiting for Elsa to stand next to him.  
The brunette woman steps forward, extending her hand out towards the stranger, who takes her hand. “I am Elsa Arneson.”
“Nice to meet you. I am Otêhtapiw. But feel free to call me Ryder.” The Cree man shakes her hand, withdrawing from her. “I work with Kristoff whenever he is in the territory.”
“I am not gone that often.” Kristoff rolls his eyes, nudging the younger man with his shoulder. Ryder chuckles in response, hitting the blond man in the bicep. Elsa grins at the interaction, never having seen Kristoff act this way around anyone else but herself and Anna, not even his younger adopted brother.
“You ready to see the yield?” Ryder inquires, wiping his hands on his trousers. He turns from the pair, walking further into the encampment.
“Yeah, let’s see what you caught.” Kristoff agrees, following after the other man. Elsa trails after the two men into the bush, stepping out of the way of children racing through the camp.
She increases her pace to catch up with Kristoff, walking beside the man. “How do you know this guy?”
“Pa used to bring Louis and me to the encampment to trade with the tribe as children. Since Louis started working at Fort Carleton, it has been just Pa and I.” Kristoff shrugs.
“I did not know you came here often.” Elsa raises a brow. “I thought that all your free time was spent wasting time with Anna.”
She smiles as Kristoff’s cheek become flush, glancing away from the young woman with a cough. Elsa would never tire of teasing him for his feelings towards her sister.
The trio walk to the edge of the encampment, where one tipi is nestled against the trees. A lone woman sits on the ground, cleaning the animal skin in front of her. Various pelts hang on a wooden rack, drying out in the sun as the woman finishes up.
“Êy! Are you almost done?” Ryder calls out, catching the woman’s attention. Elsa stops at the sight of her, the same woman from the riverbank nearly two weeks ago. Honeymaren.
“If you helped me, instead of pissing off at every chance you get, it would go a lot faster,” Honeymaren spits, returning to her task before muttering audibly. “Fucking tugeye.”
Elsa’s hand fly to her face as a snort emits from her in response to the woman’s cursing. This reaction catches Honeymaren’s attention, causing her to finally look at Elsa and smile at the other brunette.
Honeymaren stands from the ground, taking the pelt with her before hanging it on the rack with the other beaver pelts. Kristoff and Ryder come to stand beside her, asking her various questions about the furs.
After a minute of questions, Honeymaren throws her hands up in the air in frustration. “You two are the traders. You decide which pelts are of better quality!”
Elsa giggles, feeling sympathy towards the Cree woman having to deal with Kristoff and Ryder in nearly every transaction. Honeymaren crosses towards Elsa, wiping her bloodied hands on her rust-coloured skirt.
In a moment, Elsa steps forward, meeting the other woman with a smile. “Honeymaren, right?” delighted as the Cree woman nods in response.
“It is nice to see you again…” Honeymaren trails off, cocking a brow in question. “Elsa?”
“That is correct,” Elsa confirms, glancing back to the men still looking over the pelts, inspecting each one at a painfully slow rate. She rolls her eyes, unable to believe how long it is taking them. “Are they always this meticulous?”
“Unfortunately.” Honeymaren sighs, glancing over her shoulder to the men before facing Elsa again. “Honestly, I do not believe company men can tell the difference between a beaver pelt or a muskrat. But Ryder insists we take our time.”
“Jesus, I thought this was going to be a quick trip.” Elsa groans, glancing up at the sky. She stops talking, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she wonders if she is complaining too much.  
Honeymaren’s giggles provide relief to the Metis woman, who glances at Honeymaren with wide eyes. The Cree woman’s hand is balled in front of her mouth as if to stifle her laughter.
“It could be at least another hour.” Honeymaren peers up at Elsa, a glimmer in her chocolate eyes as her laughter dies down. “Would you like to help me with the traps? You know, to pass the time.”
“Traps?” Elsa inquires, intrigued by the woman’s offer.
Honeymaren nods in response, holding her hand out to Elsa. “Come with me.”
Elsa nods, hesitantly taking Honeymaren’s hand into her own, knowing that Stony Cree could be quite affectionate with people they know. The Metis woman allows herself to be guided through the encampment towards the bush, her heart pounding in her chest for an unknown reason.
The two women walk through the forest, ducking under branches to avoid hitting them. Their voices and laughter resound throughout the trees as they inch closer to Honeymaren’s traps.
They encroach onto the rabbit trails, and Honeymaren lets go of Elsa’s hand as they come to the area where the snare is. The Cree woman curses in her native language at the sight of no rabbit, but her trap having been chewed.
“What is it?” Elsa asks, trying to peer over Honeymaren’s shoulder to get a better look at the trap.
“I caught one. See the tracks?” Honeymaren indicates with her hand. She inches over, leaving room for Elsa by her side. The Metis woman goes to the other woman’s side, kneeling on the earth, noticing the indentation on the forest ground. “But he chewed himself free.”
Elsa nods, seeing the bite marks in the snare wood, nodding as Honeymaren further explains the process of snaring rabbits. Elsa clings to every word out of the Cree woman’s mouth, finding the process fascinating.
Honeymaren glances at Elsa questioningly, wondering why the woman in front of her is listening to every word she says with such intensity. The Cree woman does not even realize she has ceased talking as she stares at Elsa.
“My mother never lets me snare rabbits,” Elsa explains her fascination with the instruction.
Honeymarens hums in response, sitting back on her legs. “White mother?”
“White father. Metis mother.” Elsa corrects, resting her hands on her lap. Her fingers brush against the fabric of her trousers. The corner of her mouth twitches, trying to suppress her smile. For the first time in her life, someone did not know who her family was.
“Why not?” Honeymaren questions, her hands running against the forest floor.  
“She thinks it is unladylike. I wanted to learn as a child, but my mother always barred the men in our community from teaching me.” Elsa explains, scratching her nail against her pants. “I think she would prefer me to be more compliant like my sister.”
“Your sister?”
Elsa nods, smiling down to the ground. “Anna. She is at Fort Arendelle with our father.” Her face falls as she begins to bite her bottom lip, her concern for her younger sister’s wellbeing.
“I understand the sentiment,” Honeymaren comments, causing Elsa to glance up at the other woman. “My mother works at the fort for a family. I know how you must be feeling. It is such a strange and dangerous place; you never know if it is truly safe.”
“Precisely, I like to think my father would help Anna. But, I don’t know if he actually would.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Honeymaren states, her gaze slowly taking in Elsa’s appearance. Her long brown hair braided into a single plait, like her own. The young woman thinks it is odd that Elsa wears men’s clothing instead of a skirt or dress.
Elsa shrugs nonchalantly with a sigh. “My father has always been one to look out for himself. He’d be willing to whore Anna or me out to any man if it meant it would elevate his status in life.”
“That is horrible. I am glad you have Kristoff by your side to dissuade your father from using you as a bargaining tool.” Honeymaren sighs as she shakes her head, unable to believe that any father would use a daughter as currency.
“O-oh wait, no Kristoff and I…uh…” Elsa stammers, taken aback by the other woman’s assumption regarding her and Kristoff. “W-We are not together. In any capacity.” Elsa waves around her arms frantically, as if she is clearing smoke around them.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed because you two seem close.”
“We are…close, that is. Just not…in regard to…that.” Elsa feels as if she is speaking louder than needed, clamping her mouth to stop herself from continuing. Deciding that the woman before her did not need to know that her interests do not lie with men.
“I can teach you.” Honeymaren offers, smiling at the other woman as she changes the subject. Elsa’s brows furrow in confusion, not understanding what Honeymaren is offering. The Cree woman looks pointedly towards the snare then back to Elsa. “I even promise not to tell your mother.”
In a moment, the Metis woman understands the offer. Elsa giggles at the promise, covering her mouth with her hand. Withdrawing it, her hand comes to rest on her knee once more. “I would like that.”
Honeymaren stands from the ground, not bothering to wipe the dirt from her skirt or hands as she reaches out to help Elsa stand. Without any hesitation, Elsa takes her new friend’s hand, her knees cracking as she stands.
The two women smile at one another, venturing further into the forest to check Honeymaren’s other traps. As they walk, Elsa tries desperately to ignore her heart pounding in her chest as Honeymaren takes her hand into her own as they continue on their journey.
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scullyy · 4 years
Text
I Know A Place
Word Count: 2.2K Summary: On one fine spring afternoon, Clementine and Louis discuss the logistics of building a house. A/N: This is totally self-indulged just gimme them talking about their house pls ;-; and this is my 30th clouis oneshot?? What??? Doesn’t feel like it, but thank you to those who have been with me since the start. I’m very much in my feels :’) also pls listen to the song it was my inspo for this, it is such a beautiful song okie ily enjoy <3
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DIqngAXHzTI
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Louis let the dandelion twist within his fingers, focused on how its seeds flew away with the soft spring breeze. The warmth of the fresh sun relaxed every limb, his eyes fluttering each time the piercing rays danced through the leaves above. There was no need for a jacket today, which he took as a good sign. Overgrown grass pricked his arms as he lay at mercy to nature, he could easily fall into the green earth if given the chance. Swim in spring forever.
"Earth to Louis!" A quick and sudden hand wave in front of his face broke him away from his minds quiet slumber. He instinctively reached up and pulled it down to his chest, resting it above his heart. He smirked at the resulting groan. "Did you hear anything of what I just said?"
"One hundred per cent. You were going on about my dashing good looks."
She broke her hand free and prodded at his chest. "Ha, you wish." Clementine focused back on the task at hand...whatever it was remained a mystery to him. She refused to show Louis until it was done, it seemed to involve a lot of flowers though, as she had a small pile of yellow and purple flowers resting beside her.
"You were talking about having a balcony." He chimed in, letting the sunrays consume him once again.
Surprising her, Clementine looked back at him, letting the peaceful moment truly sink in. His soft face glowed beneath the afternoon sun, the desire to brush a loose dread from his face grew a little stronger, but she decided against it, letting him rest instead. "My friend at school had one and I thought it was the coolest thing ever."
Louis could totally tell she was watching him, smirking a small bit. "They are cool. My parents' bedroom had a balcony and when they weren't home I'd sit out there and people watch."
"You would watch...people?"
His eyes fluttered open, trying to decipher her emotions. Concern, perhaps? "Well, I would watch them and try to guess what their lives were like. So, a balcony it is! What else do you want?" He swiftly changed the subject in hopes it would get rid of the definite look of concern on Clementine's face. Luckily (and surprisingly) her lips softened back into a smile.
"You said you wanted a piano, so where do you want it to be?" She went back to the flowers in front of her, her fingers swirling in between the petals and stems. It had been a long time since she had done any sort of craft, let alone this task specifically.
"Hmmm, perhaps in front of the fireplace."
"Oh, so there's a fireplace now?"
Louis winked and gave her a finger gun with both hands. "Yes, on floor three hundred and twelve. That can be my music room, I'll have sheet music neatly filed away, different songs for different occasions. I'll have the piano leaning against a tall window, so I can look out at the world while I play." Reminiscent of his old house in a way. The family piano was on the second floor, propped against a wide window in the corner.
Clementine let that image soak in; Louis in clean clothes, jazzing up their home as the sun - bright as the one now above them - poured itself over his shiny, mahogany piano. Maybe she would sit beside him or just watch him from the door, either way, what bliss. "We're really doing all nine hundred and fourteen floors?"
"Hey, it was your idea."
She chuckled to herself as she ripped off a loose stem from her creation. "Hell yeah. You still wanna teach me how to play?"
"Damn right I do, you'll soon be able to play better than I can!" Whenever Clem sat beside his piano his heart skipped a few beats, she fit there so perfectly beside him. The bench was made for two, but he couldn't imagine anyone else taking up that space beside him. He didn't want to, it was always her.
"I'll never be able to play as good as you." She muttered, fiddling with the yellow petals of one of the smaller flowers. Her mind drifting away to his musical prowess, he was truly a king behind the keys.
The non-human sputtering noise Louis made almost put her to tears. "Puh-lease! You can shoot better than me, hunt better than me, run faster than me-" He began to count off his fingers on how she was practically perfect in every way.
"Not anymore, dummy." She wiggled her bandaged knee above them, showing off just how redundant his point was.
He waved it off, his head shaking rapidly. "That don't mean nothing! I've seen you zip around on those crutches, but just to make things easier, how does an elevator sound? Wait-no no! A massive staircase that can turn into a slide."
"You and your damn slides." Total dork. Her dork.
"What? They're fun!"
"This house is gonna look ridiculous from the outside." Nine hundred and fourteen floors, slides, windows reaching the roof and purple to top it all off. It seemed like a house that had 'Louis' written all over it.
Louis brushed it off with another dramatic wave of his hand. "Nah it'll be 'right, speaking of the outside, what do we want? A garden? Perhaps a jumping castle? A trampoline!?"
"As long as there's a treehouse I'm fine."
"Hell yeah! A woman of fine taste," Her giggles echoed all around him, he could live in that sound forever if it were possible. "Also, no roads around the house. I lived in a city, it's not fun waking up to morning traffic every day."
"No roads? How the hell are we gonna travel?"
He shrugged casually, seemingly having an answer for every question and rebuttal she threw his way. "We'll walk. Besides, given your luck with cars, it's probably the safest option."
Clementine scoffed, clutching at her chest. "Okay ouch. At least I know how to drive."
"Is that what you call it?"
She prodded at his ribs, bringing out a meek giggle from him. "If you're gonna bully me I'll leave."
"Okay, I'll stop," He held his hands up in defence, his grin growing wildly when she grabbed one and laced her fingers through it. "It'll be quiet. No guns or weapons, no walkers, no violence. We'll be able to forget every bad thing that happened." His thumb graced along her bumpy tattoo, rubbing away at the dried dirt that hid it away. Remembering the story behind it, he winced at the sordid ending
For Clementine, there was a lot she would like to forget. Somehow Louis made it all better, his superpower. Taking the bad and reminding her that they don't spoil the good and there were always more good memories than bad when it came to their intimate time together. "Can it be by the sea?"
"The sea, huh?" He purred, surprised at this revelation.
"Yeah. I always liked the beach. Maybe we'll get lucky and find an old beach shack, stay in there."
"The sea it is! I promise to remember the sunscreen," He was sure there would be a red tinge to his cheeks after today, but the risk of a painful burn was worth it to talk to Clementine. Weather like this was rare, it reminded him of how the world was before. He and Marlon used to play soccer beneath this sun, running back and forth on the grass till one eventually fell to the ground in defeat. "Y'know, I fall more in love with this house every day."
"Me too," They stayed in silence for a while, the only sounds being the raw Earth; chirping birds, a distant cricket. One could forget about what was happening beyond the walls of the school. "Okay, done!"
Louis opened one eye, trying to get a good peek at what was within her hands. "Whatcha got there?"
"Sit up!"
Her wish was his law, Louis pulled himself up beside her, their knees brushing against the other. His smile was totally goofy and lop-sided; a combination of drowsiness, warmth and love.
Within her hands lay two crowns, made with a bunch of yellow and purples flowers. "It's kinda messy but..." She gently placed one atop of his head, covering her shy smile at how it slightly drooped to one side. "Every king needs a crown."
Louis' fingertips pinched one of the vibrant petals, shivering at how soft it was. "You've been making this for me the whole time?"
Clementine threw on her own crown, grinning from ear to ear. "My babysitter taught me how to make them, haven't done it in a while." It balanced neatly on her curls, the petals bouncing in the breeze. A mighty fine matching pair they were, a king and queen of no land but they didn't mind one bit.
Louis shimmied in closer and pecked the tip of her nose. "I love them." He was truly the grandest king in all the land, with the most beautiful and charming queen with him.
Clem wasn't sure if the burning of her cheeks was from the sun or from her cheeky boyfriend. Most likely a combination. "I dunno about you but if I spend any longer out here I'll fry."
"Me too, wanna go find AJ?" He stretched his arms up to the sky, glancing around the courtyard. The only other kids he could see was Willy on the watchtower and Ruby and Violet by the greenhouse.
Clementine stretched her own leg, trying her best to conceal the oncoming cramp. A dull ache she was slowly getting used to as the days went by. "Yeah, I've left him alone for too long."
Her crutches were leaning against the picnic table, waiting diligently as ever. He passed them over to her, waiting till she was comfortable before taking off, his arms at the ready to grab her, just in case. "Maybe we can have a throne room."
It took Clementine a second to register what he had said. "Hold up, a throne room? Really?"
"Of course! We shall live like royalty, only the finest for us." He opened the hallway door for her, letting her go in first.
"Says the guy who grew up on expensive taste." She didn't even try to hide the sarcastic tone, having an ex-rich boyfriend provided ample jokes for her and by god, she was gonna take up the chance to use them.
"Okay, perhaps, but you have not experienced fine dinging until you have tried a Pâté-" He immediately stopped talking when he saw Clem's face drop. Following her stare, his face too fell at the sight before them.
Clem disturbed the silence by letting out an obvious and fake cough. "AJ, what are you doing?"
The tot dropped a paintbrush from his grasp, specks of purple paint splattering on the wooden floor. "Oh...hi Clem, hey Louis." He had the same innocent glare in his eyes that Louis gets whenever he fucked up, which was a face he had on the daily. Like a puppy caught eating away at a shoe.
Who? Me?
"Where did you find all of this paint?" Louis peered into the dirty tin bucket, his eyes bombarded with more purple paint than he had ever seen before. It was a bright lavender shade, reminding him of the plants in his mothers' garden.
AJ slowly rose to his feet, hands held tightly behind his back and eyes glued to the floor. Guilty. "It was in Tenns' old room. Please don't be mad."
Clem couldn't take her eyes off the door, who could? It was bright purple! She stuttered for a moment, trying to process what could possibly be going through AJ's mind. "I don't even know what you're doing." Is this the reaction her parents had when they found her drawing on her bedroom walls? Just pure confusion and a dumbfounded wonderment??
AJ looked up at her, his big brown eyes pleading his innocence. "Well, you and Louis always go on about your purple house but I don't have enough paint for the whole school, so I thought I'd paint your door."
The couple stood solemnly with both their jaws wide open, their eyes locked onto the wet paint, making their once simple brown door a pastel purple. They both had to admit, it was a lovely colour. Briefly sharing a knowing glance, Louis kneeled down to AJ first, shocking the young boy with his sudden and wide smile. "How could we ever be mad? This is awesome, kiddo."
Clem admired the smooth stroke of his handiwork, he had been practising his colouring a lot more than usual recently. He would be a natural talent in no time. "This is so nice of you, goofball," She motioned for him to come closer, giggling when he barreled his small body into hers. "Thank you, for giving us our purple home."
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sir-silly · 3 years
Text
TWDG S3 First Playthrough
So, here’s my main problem with season 3. I like the story and I like a lot of the characters, but what I don’t like is how it makes me feel. I’m not inclined to make the choices that I actually want to make. I want to defend Clementine to the death and shoot Conrad (i love his character, i just hate how he treated Clem there) and stay behind to fight with her, but as Javier, it just doesn’t make sense.
He just met this girl and has no idea who she is, rather than us who have known her for so much longer. And personally, I don’t ship him with Kate. But it feels so forced that I feel like I have to go along with it. It’s so ugh. So, this first playthrough, I’m going to be acting as Javier, not as me, and I’m going to hate it and be salty so be prepared for that.
wE WERE SUPPOSED TO GET A FLASHBACK WITH SANDRA??? AND WE DIDN'T??!?!?!!! WHAT THE FUCK??????? I'M LOOKING THROUGH THE CONCEPT GALLERY AND WHAT THE HELL?!??!?! I'M SO MADDDD!!!!
I'm already angry and we haven't even started yet. Kate was going to have a katana???? And Gabe was gonna get a fucking AXE??????? WHY DID WE NOT GET THESE THINGS??!?!?!?!! Also, JAVIER IS SO FUCKING SLOW. I also played all of season 3 in one day lmao.
E1 - I’ll never not find the opening amazing. It’s so well done and just that, “No, Yaya. Pipo’s awake.” with the cut is so damn good. They did a really good job with that. However, I do have to complain when we get to present day because Mariana looks just as old as Clem and Gabe. She’s supposed to be 10 while they’re 13 and 14, which I don’t buy just from looking at her. Like, I thought she and Gabe were twins the first time I saw them. ALSO Mariana has an eyebrow slit and cuffs her pants. Bisexual confirmed.
I love the reintroduction to Clementine. She’s such a badass and her, “How about I shoot you and take the van anyway?” is just YASS QUEEN. She’s such a baddie and I love it. I think it’s kind of dumb that you get locked up if you tell a believable lie, but you’re allowed to roam free if you tell the questionable truth. It just doesn’t make sense. As Tripp, I would have done it the other way around.
I’ll always be so mad about Mari’s death. I wish they would have kept her alive because it would have been totally doable. Have that moment of shock come from Kate getting shot in the stomach and make us question if she’s alive until we run over to her. That way, we still get the anger and the reason to go to Richmond, but this sweet little child gets to come along. I would have loved to see her reaction with seeing David again because she would see how bad he was immediately, unlike Gabe.
E2 - I didn't get into Kate and David's fight because I don't care and it has no impact. The only time we see Gabe with his axe is him just using it on an already dead walker, which is bull. Calling him pudding boy makes the game much more enjoyable, 10/10 would recommend (I’m literally Louis, I had to use spellcheck for that word). Thanks CallMeKevin.
Conrad annoys the hell out of me this episode just because of how pissy he is with Clem. I know he just lost his wife or girlfriend or something, but no one shall mess with Clemmy without feeling the full force of my anger. I hate giving her up to Richmond. This episode is pretty boring, tbh. I wish they would have just combined 1 and 2 (I know it was originally all one episode) and just given us 4 because not a whole lot interesting happened. Definitely ranked last out of my favorite episodes for season 3.
E3 - The flashbacks from Javi just annoy me after the first one. They just have no impact and don't add anything since we know how it ends up anyway. The blowing out the candle and closing the door transitions were beautiful though. Tripp is all like "I didn't even know you had a brother" like bruh you met Javi two days ago and you've hardly talked to each other about anything other than what's been going on.
I think episode 3 is one of my favorites because it has a lot of good moments and hard choices in it. I'm really surprised that only 56% of people chose to bring Max back to Richmond, like, I thought a lot of people would go for that. I really don't understand Clint still backing Joan after they all learn she was behind the raids. From the little bit we get from his character, he seems to prefer peace and negotiation rather than violence so I don't understand how he lets this all happen. Lingard makes sense because how else would his addiction get fed, but Clint siding with her, I just don't understand. However, the cliffhanger if you don't bring Max is like a million times better.
E4 - Clem getting her period is always such a thing for me. Like, this girl has never had a constant in her life, so here she is asking a total stranger what periods are because she doesn't understand. I always have Javi explain to her because he totally realizes that she has no parental figure and thus never learned anything or that menstrual cycles used to be a "taboo" subject for a lot of people.
David is so GRRRR. Like, bruh, I just took a good ass deal and you have the aUDACITY TO SHOOT THE MAN???!?!!? THEN YOU BLAME ME?!?!!?!?! WTF!?!!! Also, I love how Javi is literally like “let me just hide behind these civilians” while he’s getting shot at lmao.
I did such a bad, y'all. When Kate was driving to the square, I was jokingly saying "what if I just let her hit me" because I thought it would be funny because I have such a hard time playing season 3 seriously just because it's my least favorite. But I was like "nah I don't wanna have to replay a section" so I pushed the dodge button bUT APPARENTLY I WASN'T FAST ENOUGH AND CONRAD PUSHED ME OUT OF THE WAY AND GOT HIT!!?!?!?!! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT COULD HAPPEN!!! I THOUGHT HE LIVED FOR GOOD IF YOU GOT HIM THROUGH EPISODE 3?!?!?!! I'M SO UPSET ASDFGHJKL
E5 - I’m so fuckingn mad about Conrad. I’d rather Kate have died than him lol. I’m so angry. I told her that she killed him because I’m still so damn salty about it. I’m never getting over that shit. Fucking BULL.
I have such mixed feelings about David during this episode. Like, he loses his shit a lot during episode 5 with the whole Fern/Rufus thing then again when Kate fuckin outs y’all at the worst possible time. But the reason I get so conflicted about him is because of that scene on the roof. I think he’s a shitty person for thinking a soldier can’t also be a husband or a father because that’s wrong on so many levels.
But I also really feel sympathy for him when he talks about if he hasn’t changed because he doesn’t know how or if it’s impossible to change who you really are. Because, in my opinion, people can change - but he brings up a really interesting point here. People can change, but to what extent? Are they happy about the change or do they miss the way things were? Did they change because it was something they wanted or was it for someone else? He just really makes me think here and the way he questions himself like that makes me feel very connected with him in a strange way, simply because I ask myself a lot of the same things.
I was so freaking worried when it came to everyone splitting up, you have no damn idea lmao. Even though I don’t like Kate, I still wanted to get the “happy ending” so I was so fucking thankful when Clem said she’d go with whoever I didn’t since that’s the only way to get both her and Gabe. Speaking of which, he’s fucking adorable. I know a lot of people find him annoying, and I did too at first, but he’s just a really sweet kid.
I’m excited to go back through the game and actually make the choices I want to make lol.
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caerwynherondale · 4 years
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Wedding Bells
Caerwyn bounced on the toes of her stockinged feet, unable to stay still as she walked the length of her bedroom and back again, steps muffled by the carpet. She wrung her hands together, peeking up at the blue, cat shaped clock on her bedside table, the hands drifting silently across the face of it. She hated ticking clocks, the noise drove her batty, so this one had been a blessing when her parents had found it for her when she’d been about six. They could have simply gone with a digital one, but Caerwyn liked the classic look of the numbers and hands, in this case, each minute increment was marked by a tiny paw print and the numbers white on top of black cat head silhouettes. It was super cute, making her smile in that way girls who liked cute things did when they saw them. Most wouldn’t have pinned Caerwyn for liking adorable things like that, but she did. She supposed the only people who knew were her family and Rose, though, Louis may have picked up on it by now considering her usual go-to purse was shaped like a bunny.
“Winnie, I swear to fucking god...” Cleo, the girl’s sister spoke up from where she laid on her bed. The pair couldn’t have been any more different from one another. Caerwyn’s hair was inky and her body shapely while Cleo’s hair was light and she was skinny. At the moment, Cleo was on her stomach, knees bent, legs swaying as her ankles crossed and she perused whatever magazine she was currently interested in. She was on spring break from her school was well, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way considering she went to one of the local high schools and lived at home throughout the year instead of boarding like Caerwyn did. She had actually been quite excited to see Caerwyn when the girl had gotten off the train, showing it with the way she grabbed at her sister’s hand and dragged her along to the car without a single word. The past winter break had been the first they’d ever really spent apart and while they didn’t get along on a regular basis, Christmas time had always been a very important thing for their family. Not having one of them home had been kind of a big deal actually.
Carnegie had been even more thrilled to have Caerwyn home, clinging onto her the moment she walked through the door and refusing to leave her side even at bedtime for the first couple of days. She’d let him sleep in her bed, curled up against her stomach, a little warm package of heat. She loved it, his blond hair smelling still of newness and baby shampoo, his fingers slightly sticky in that way all little kids seemed to be. He was five now, having had his birthday a couple months back and he had even more to talk about now than ever. He’d jabbered on about everything under the sun. His favorite toys, his friends and teachers at school, all of the new things he was learning, and showing off how he could read simple worded books now.
As far as Caerwyn’s parents went though, things were still… strained to say the least. She was happy to see them, to have their loving arms around her and hear her dad’s dry jokes, but there was still that lingering sensation of worry underneath. The discussion they had had over the winter break was still fresh in her mind, but they had promised her that it wouldn’t be a subject they talked about this time. They would simply enjoy the holiday together. Both of her parents had been a bit on edge though, when Caerwyn told them she’d been invited to attend Victoire’s wedding. They knew who Victoire was, the nurse at the school Caerwyn attended, but she was also the cousin of their daughter’s best friend, Rose. Caerwyn had, conveniently, left out the information that she was actually going as a date for Victoire’s little brother, who also happened to be her boyfriend. She had thought it better to tell them it was Rose who had invited her along, easier to get them to agree that way. It had taken a bit of convincing, but her parents had finally conceded into letting Caerwyn spend the remainder of the break with the Weasleys.
“They’ll be along fucking soon.” Caerwyn shot back, but she flopped down anyway, sitting on the window seat between the two large built in bookcases. The bedroom was split evenly in two, everything matching, picked out by a mother who didn’t want her daughters fighting. Whites, light yellows, and laces decorated most of the room. White satin bed covers dotted with little silk roses sat upon the twin beds, curtains of tulle hanging down over the curved, white headboards, fairy lights intertwined into them. A bench sat at the foot of each bed, serving as both seating and storage, matching nightstands and lamps beside the beds. The walls were decorated with yellow wallpaper dotted with a small, pretty floral print. Each of the girls had taken over their own side though, adding their own touches to create a kind of drastic separation. Caerwyn’s bed boasted more throw blankets and her wall décor consisted of several of her own paintings and a limited amount of photos displaying friends and family. Her half of the bookcases was filled with old school texts, empty potion bottles, broken quills, and fairy tales. Cleo’s side of the room was nearly bursting in comparison. Posters, photos, a cork board and sticky notes plastered the walls. Clothes were scattered here and there on the floor and her bookcase held more girly items, like perfume, jewelry displays and magazines. There was still a faded bit and sticky residue on the carpet from the long piece of duct tape they had run across the floor years ago to make sure the other stayed on their side.
“You’ve got at least another hour.” Cleo chided, sitting up on the bed and tossing her magazine down in frustration. She stared at Caerwyn, eyeing her up and down. The way she kept tugging at the front of her baggy sweater, how she’d put on a pair of thigh highs instead of her usual tights, though, one wouldn’t be able to tell under her dress, and the little bit of make-up she’d used to accentuate her eyes and lips. She had even taken time to really brush out her hair, sitting down and running through it over and over again until she was certain all the knots were gone. “So, are you going to tell me who the boy is or not?”
“What boy?” Caerwyn asked, glancing up from where she had started picking at her finger nails. They were clean, the blue polish upon them fresh, but she swore she could still feel some dirt underneath them. She followed Cleo’s gaze to the newer photos by above her bed. The ones Louis’s aunt had taken on Christmas. She had kept the ones of just her and Louis hidden away in her things, but she’d hung up several of her, Louis, Rose, and Albus that she hadn’t noticed being taken on Christmas Eve. She didn’t look too terrible in them, with her hair all pulled back prettily and in the outfit Fleur had helped her pick out. She was particularly fond of the one where she was turned, drinking from a glass as Rose spoke to her and Louis was sat beside her, looking down at her as he tugged a loose bit of confetti from the Christmas crackers from her hair.
“The redhead.” Cleo pointed, her eyebrows raised in question. It wasn’t the first time she had asked, nor would it be the last. The answer was the same though, as it always was.
“None of your goddamn fucking business.” Caerwyn shot back, pushing up from the window seat. She snatched her duffle bag from the floor where it had been stuffed with the things she’d brought home from school, but also things she would need while she was staying with the Weasleys.  She dug through it, double checking the contents. Extra pajamas, her clothes for the wedding, a toothbrush… Last time she’d shown up with nothing but the clothes on her back, a book, her cat, and Louis’s Christmas gift. This time she was prepared. She already had Manson’s wicker carrier by the front door, his favorite cushy blanket inside of it for when it was time to go.
Cleo was, unfortunately right about the time. It took an hour and then a little bit before the doorbell was ringing through the house. Little feet scampered, slapping across the wooden floor of the downstairs portion of the house as Carnegie raced for the door. He loved answering it, though, there was usually always someone coming right behind him in case he didn’t know the person there, which was rarely. He reached up with both of his small hands, grabbing hold of the knob and twisting it, tugging the big white door open, a giant smile on his little face. The little boy was dressed in nothing more than a pair of overalls and a red towel tied around his neck as a cape. He’d refused a shirt that morning, saying superheros didn’t need them.
“Creoso!” The little boy stepped back from the door, his bare arms spread wide, eyes closed for a moment as he greeted the three teenagers standing on the front porch. He finally looked up at them, his head tilting back in wonder as his eyes moved up, and up, and up. The redheaded girl wasn’t too tall, but both of the boys standing behind her were quite a lot bigger than anyone Carnegie was used to seeing on a regular basis. He gaped for a moment before turning his little head and calling over his shoulder. “Mama! Da! Mae ffrindiau Winnie yma!”
“Ydw, ydw, Carnegie.” A woman’s voice called back. Her heels clicked against the floor as she appeared in the front room, her brown hair falling in curls around her shoulders as she stopped behind her son, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Hello there. How do you do? You must be Rosie and... I don’t believe Winnie mentioned your names. Come in, come in.”
“You fucking bitch!” A scuffling from above sounded as both Caerwyn and Cleo made for the door of their room. There was a small battle of pushing and shoving, the door banging against the wall as they both tried to get through it first. Cleo won as she tripped her sister, using her thinner frame to squeeze through. Caerwyn was right on her heels though, both of them using the corner of the banister to turn rapidly on the landing before they were heading down the stairs. Cleo skidded to a hault beside her mother, her hair pulled back into it’s usual messy bun on top of her head. She stared at the three strangers and then laughed, pointing with a victorious ‘ha!’ at the sight of Louis. The boy from the photo. He’d come along with Rose to get her sister, as well as a dark haired fellow.
“Rhosynie!” Caerwyn called brightly as she finally hit the bottom of the stairs. She laughed, reaching out to snatch at her best mate, hugging her tightly as Carnegie moved to close the door behind her friends. He took a few steps, his tiny hand reaching up to tug at Louis’s much bigger one, gazing up at him with big blue eyes.
“Ai chi yw'r dyn talaf ar y blaned?” The five-year-old asked curiously.
“Nac ydw, Carnie. Yw'r dyn talaf dw i.” A man’s voice filted into the living room as he came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel. Carnegie laughed, releasing Louis’s hand to race to his father, arms outstretched so he could be scooped up properly.
“Albus!” Caerwyn grinned, hugging him as well before she released him and stepped back a bit. Her eyes fell on Louis and she stared up at him, a small smile pressing at her lips, cheeks a bit pink at the sight of him. God, she’d missed him so much. It had only been a week away. She sighed, closing the distance between them more rapidly than she had with the other two. Her arms came up around his waist, face burying against his chest as she breathed him in. Fuck, he smelt so good. “Fuckface.”
*Welcome! Mama, Winnie’s friends are here.
*Yes, yes.
*Are you the tallest man on the planet?
“No, Carnie. I’m the tallest man.
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