#I can easily say the worst thing Harry did was signing that contract. and I mean it.

[privately-andre]

A bit of me rambling in the tags just for getting things out of my chest, before I put a closure on them, and never talk about it again 👇

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

U N P L A N N E D, part four

Knowing what Harry wanted was a relief. It made you sleep better, even that first night after you drove home and reported back to Lexi over dinner. 

Sure--the stakes were now higher in a sense, right? You were going through with it. Something about that felt completely surreal and still somehow impossible, but deep inside of you, buried beneath the fear and the doubt, was a tiny speck of hope. And it was decidedly apple-seed shaped. 

When you were five or six, you insisted on pushing your dolls around in a carriage, so much so that you refused one day to go to kindergarten without them. Your mother had you all buckled in the car, your doll beside you and the toy-sized stroller folded in the trunk. 

It had always been something you wanted, something you saw in your future--but you’d always thought that it would be in a different order. In fleeting moments, when you made your peace with that, the hope managed to fight it’s way through all of the other feelings, letting you know that it was there and real and maybe things would work out okay. 

The reality was this: you were pregnant. You’d decided that you were going to have the baby. Harry seemed involved enough at this stage, and frankly, you were fine enough for now to just push any other thought out of your head. 

Where would you live? Where would he live? How often would he see the baby? Would you even have full custody or were you making a terrible assumption? Would he be on tour when you went into labor?

There were a thousand questions that tried to keep you up at night, but apparently growing a human took enough out of you that you fell asleep easily these days. And Harry had warned you it was coming--a quick text to give you a heads up. 

310-324-9090 (8:24am): Spoke with Jeff some more last night after I got home. He thinks it’s best if we have a meeting with some of my team. Can you call me later and I’ll give you some details?

You did as he asked--stepped out on your lunch break and spoke to him in the courtyard, careful to keep your voice quiet. 

It wasn’t that people at work were nosy--it was more that a random Facebook employee getting knocked up by a famous musician was sure to be a good headline that someone would be killing to write if they got wind. So for now, you tried your best to speak in code. 

“They want to have a meeting. Just to talk about some logistics and privacy things and whatnot.” He made it sound so casual.

“The logistics of the current situation?” 

He sounded a bit confused. “Of you being pregnant with my baby--yes.”

“This feels like something I would need a lawyer for.”

“You don’t need a lawyer.”

“Aren’t you the opposing side? Isn’t this going to become some weird negotiation around what I can and can’t do with your--you know.”

“I don’t know…”

“Your baby,” you whispered the word quietly, a hand over your mouth to be safe. “Who is mine, too, by the way.”

“Y/N--this is just a meeting, okay? There’s a few things for you to sign--basically just saying that you’re not going to sue me or try to blackmail me.”

Glenne had mentioned that. She threw back another margarita that night in your kitchen and said you’d have to sign an NDA. It’s just something a bunch of people sign, confidentiality, basically. You’ll be fine.

It made sense. Jeff wanted to be sure you wouldn’t sell your story or try to cash in on the undoubtedly pricey offspring you were producing--that’s what Lexi had joked about. Can you imagine how much someone would pay for his baby? 

You reminded her that it was yours, too. She threw her head back and laughed, yeah, but his DNA would make it more expensive--like a purebred. 

And this was the easy phase, after all--that’s what your mom had told you on the phone when you told her you’d be keeping it. Things were still normal. You weren’t showing, you had no symptoms. Other than the apple-seed growth in your uterus, everything was still completely normal. For now. 

You agreed to meet Harry on Saturday afternoon--some office building in Westwood that felt eerily empty on the weekend. Hallways that all looked the same, meeting rooms and conference tables stared back at you. 

He’d met you in the lobby, offered a quick hug when you walked in from the fresh air. He took you up in an elevator, fourth floor, second room down on the left. 

Jeff was inside with a few others, a small smile when you walked in behind Harry, clad in a graphic tee. 

“Hey,” he said, standing and rounding the table to give you a hug. “How are you feeling?”

You could hear the guilt that laced his voice. “Good--I’m fine.”

“I’m, uh--I’m sorry about the other night. I was just--you know, kind of freaked.”

Harry let out a quick laugh, sarcasm threaded through his words. “We were doing totally fine--not freaked out at all.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, sat back down and introduced you to the other faces in the room. Lola, Harry’s publicist, John, a PR guy from his label, Dave, a lawyer. His assistant, Emma, a small smile on her face when you made eye contact. 

You turned to Harry quickly--he sat on the other side of the table beside Jeff, fumbled with the top of his water bottle. He said you didn’t need a lawyer--but for some reason, he had one.

That’s when the anxiety kicked in--the swirling questions of what they all thought. They offered smiles when Jeff began talking and you did your best to wipe the sweat from your hands every few seconds on your pants. 

“So--obviously, this is big news for everyone here--uh, we wanted to have this meeting, really, to just get a few things agreed upon.”

You nodded, watched Harry for a second until he looked at you. 

Dave spoke now--black rimmed glasses sat atop his nose. You wondered what his life was like. A lawyer for top musicians? He probably drove a Tesla, too.“We have to have you sign something, Y/N--just saying that you won’t discuss any of this with the press. It includes no social media posting, no interviews, limited disclosure to friends and family.” 

Another nod--that was a given, and it seemed to be for your own protection, too. Lexi had brought it up first. What happens when people find out he’s the father?

“We don’t expect you to hide the pregnancy altogether--to be clear. But for now, the parentage needs to be confidential.”

“Okay,” you said. “But not like, with everyone, right?” Maybe it was a dumb question. “I already told my mom.”

“No--your mom is fine.” Harry answered the question for them, which is when you realized that you were the only one on your side of the table. They sat in a line, the five of them elbow to elbow, their team and against yours. 

The only problem was that right now, no one was on your team. 

“How much did you tell her?” Dave’s head tilted like you’d said the wrong thing.

“Just a little--she knows it’s his,” your eyes went back up to Harry’s now. He held your gaze for a minute, looked over to Dave and cleared his throat. 

“That’s fine,” Harry said.

The look on Dave’s face told you otherwise. “We need to keep the number of people who know to a minimum.”

“Well I certainly don’t expect her to not tell her mother,” Harry retorted, anger more present in his voice than before. You shrunk in your chair, feeling incredibly isolated as they sat across from you.

“Who does know?” Jeff leaned in, hoping to ease the tension between Harry and Dave--a welcome distraction when he looked towards you.

“Aside from people in this room, my mom, Lexi, Glenne--and my doctor, but, I think she’ll be fine.”

Dave started writing on the notepad in front of him. “I can draw up non-disclosures for them, too.”

Emma sipped at her water--you peered past her out the window. It was sunny--a good day for anything but this. 

“So--we can move to the financial aspect,” Dave put his pen down and thumbed through some papers. “I know this is always the worst part, but--has to be done.”

You looked around the room, still feeling a step behind the others, confused. You watched as Harry twisted his hands together, stared down at them on the table. It felt like no one even wanted to make eye contact with you, like you were somehow wearing a scarlet letter. 

“This agreement details the child support he’ll pay. Monthly until the child turns eighteen. Visiting rights, partial custody if he so chooses. If you sign, it means you agree to the terms and conditions and will hereby agree to share custody, barring any legal changes, of course. Anything you don’t agree to will be settled in arbitration, along with any changes to the agreements set forth here.”

He pushed a packet across the table, the paper was crisp and thick, stapled in the top left corner. 

You looked up at him. “Do I get time to read it over?”

“Of course,” Jeff spoke quickly. “We’ll need it either way by Monday. 

You tried not to roll your eyes. A whole two days. You swallowed, nodded, ignored the pen that Dave flipped over in his hand, apparently hoping you’d agree to sign now. 

“We also have this,” he said, lifting another packet of papers from the stack in front of him. “We’d like a paternity test. This can be completed after seven weeks gestation. The previous agreements and contracts will become null and void if the paternity test proves Mr. Styles is not the father. That’s all detailed in here, though.”

There was a heat on your cheeks, one that felt like it threatened to bring tears. You stared down at the paper already in front of you, words like custodial and proprietary suddenly left your mouth feeling dry.

You didn’t have a chance to respond, Dave slid more papers towards you, this time the pen came with them. “We need you to sign the agreement to DNA testing for paternity confirmation and the basic non-disclosure today.”

You looked up at Harry--he watched as Dave fumbled through more papers, seeing if there was another dotted line for you to put your name on. Jeff stared at the glass of water in front of him, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t his friend, someone who came to his birthday parties or texted memes to his girlfriend.

“I need a minute,” you said, voice hoarse and unsteady. You pushed back from the table, turned and headed for the door without a response from anyone in the room. 

“You can have time with the other documents, it’s just the paternity testing we need signed,” Dave’s voice faded when you got to the hallway, you counted the stripes on the carpet as you put more distance between you and your side of the conference table. The hallways were a maze, more rooms and tables and rolling office chairs that didn’t help calm your nerves. 

There were footsteps behind yours--Harry’s, no doubt--but you kept moving, the end of the hallway was in sight, a door to a balcony, fresh air, a moment to breathe. 

He was right behind you when you pushed it open, the cool metal of the door was prickly on your skin, hot and flushed. You squinted in the sun, he was quiet for a moment, the door shut. 

“M’sorry,” he said after a second. You looked down at the cars that were parked on the streets below, people on sidewalks, a breeze from the ocean. “We have to do that--they’d never just believe it was mine without the actual proof.”

You turned around to face him. “Feels kind of shitty, though. They’ll think I’m lying until I can prove that I’m not.”

He rolled his eyes a bit. “Well people lie, Y/N! You might not be crazy but people out there are--so we have to just, I don’t know, they have to take precautions.”

“This isn’t just happening to you, Harry! I know that’s all that they care about--all that Jeff cares about right now--but this is happening to me, too! This is changing my life, too. You’re not the only one with a career and a family and a life.”

“I know!” He said, looking up to the sky as if it were the hundredth time you said it. “I know it is--I’m doing the best I can, okay? I need to know for sure that it’s mine, too, okay? I trust you, I do--but I have to know for sure.”

“Right--cause somehow this is my fault and it all falls on me at the end of the day, right?”

“I never said that,” he said, more hushed now.

“Well, this is on you, too. You’re the father and if I have to take a fucking paternity test I will but--you’re the only person I’ve slept with in the last, like, year.”

His eyes went a bit wide at that--you let out an annoyed laugh and turned back to the view, wishing you were home, beneath the tree in your mom’s backyard in Santa Paula. A good book and a sense of calm, something that felt all too fleeting these days. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

You tried to ignore the smirk on his face, crossed your arms over your chest when you turned back to see him again. “So--there’s literally no chance it’s anyone else’s.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth still lifted toward the sky. 

“What? What are you smiling for?”

“Dunno,” he laughed a little. “Just--I kind of thought you left that night because you were seeing someone or something like that.”

“What? No--I haven’t--I had a boyfriend a while ago but we broke up.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

He shrugged, dropped your gaze for a moment. “Well, when I met you in the fall at that dinner--I don’t know, I asked Glenne about you and she said you were kind of,” he glanced back up at you, “unavailable. Or, you were dealing with something. So I figured when you left and never called it just--had to do with him.” 

You thought back to that first night in October, long before the sex and the sneaking out. Sushi and drinks and butterflies when he walked in to the restaurant. You always knew that they knew him--heard his name and heard his songs on the radio. You’d seen him from afar once, a party at Jeff’s old house, you were on your way out when he strolled in, sometime in 2017, hugging other people and shaking hands with beautiful women. You never even thought he noticed you until you found yourself drunk on his couch two years later.

You knew why Glenne said it. You’d ended a relationship in the spring of 2018 and it took you all summer to even want to go out again. Lexi would beg and plead and apparently, a celebration in Glenne’s honor was what it took in the fall for you to finally put on a pair of heels and have a few drinks. 

“I wasn’t unavailable--I just--I don’t know, her and Lexi can be protective.”

He nodded, quiet for a minute when he looked out over the hills in the distance. 

Your break up was tough, not so much about losing him, but losing the vision you had. There were plenty of red flags--so big that even Lexi could pick up on them. But you brushed it off, pretended like it didn’t matter that he was unreliable and immature. When you finally had enough, you were more upset about the fact that it threw you off course. 

What am I supposed to do, now? You’d asked Lexi in the living room, crying on the couch with a glass of wine in hand. How am I supposed to get married at 27 and have a baby at 29 if he’s not the one?

He wasn’t--he was far from it. Lexi poured more wine and said she’d order you a vibrator on Amazon. He’s a fucking dickface, dude, you’ll meet someone else. And fuck that timeline. It’s bullshit. 

Maybe it was a gust of wind or the thoughts of how terribly off track this put you, more tears in your eyes when you sighed. 

“I’m sorry you have to sign all this shit.”

You bit at your lip, a tiny thud in your chest when his eyes met yours. 

“S’not how it should typically be and that’s because of me--or my job, at least.”

You nodded. He was right. If this was anyone else it’d be a lot easier. A lot less paperwork, a lot less questions. 

“Do you want to go get dinner?”

“Right now?”

“Well,” he looked over his shoulder--Jeff was down the hall, his figure blurred through the glass. “You probably have to sign at least the NDA if you want them to let you out of the building. But--after that.”

You took a deep breath, wishing you could ignore the guilt that sat on your shoulders. He shouldn’t have spend time with you. You didn’t want him to feel tied down, trapped, you didn’t want to be the ball and chain that would inevitably be blamed for changing his life and ruining his career. 

“No, no, we don’t have to, I should go home.”

“It’s Saturday,” he said. “What do you have to do?”

You didn’t expect his question--or pushback at all, really. “I have to clean. I have to organize stuff.”

“Stuff?” A smirk on his face told you he was on to you. 

“You don’t have to take me to dinner. We don’t have to pretend like we’re friends.”

He watched you for a second, his eyes scanning your face as if he didn’t know what to say. He pushed his lips out in thought and then scratched at the back of his neck. 

“Am I at least allowed to get to know you? If you’re having my baby--if we’re doing this--you’re kind of stuck with me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you tried to backtrack. 

“However you meant it--I still want to take you to dinner.”

“Fine,” you said, heat on your cheeks when he smiled, eyes crinkling by the side. “But I have some things to sign first.”

“Right,” he nodded, a stifled laugh under his breath. He turned around and grabbed the door, gesturing for you to head back inside. “After you.”

**

Another burger, this time, hold the pickles. He teased you at the drive through window that you’d be keeping them in business alone for the next nine months, you parked this time near a beach north of Santa Monica. 

“You said I didn’t need a lawyer,” you didn’t look at him, focused instead on the half-eaten burger in your hands before you took another bite. “Feels like I do.”

He looked over at you and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I mean--I didn’t want to freak you out. You don’t need one. You could have someone read over the papers for you. Do you have one?”

You racked through your brain. Maybe Simone would be your best bet, you could bring them into work on Monday and let her give it a read, but, then again, there was no way Dave and Jeff would let you tell another person before the paternity test results came in. 

You shook your head. “Lexi watches a lot of Law & Order.”

He stifled a laugh, sipped from his soda and adjusted the dark sunglasses perched on his nose. “I don’t think she counts, love, sorry.”

You picked up your own drink and took a swig, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach when he smiled down at you. 

“Hey, it’s alright. I can, uh, I can have Jeff find someone--not Dave--who can read them and you can meet with them, maybe. Go over it all and make sure it makes sense.”

You nodded, a feeling of gratitude swept through you. You offered a small smile of appreciation, another bite of your burger before Harry let out a laugh. 

“See? M’not the enemy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

“Hey, I mean it,” he turned towards you now, the sleeve of french fries on his lap shifted, one fell down to the clean carpet of his car. “I know they’re requiring the test, but, I trust you. And we’re in this together.”

You crumpled up the garbage of your dinner, tossed it in the bag that sat by your feet, suddenly too nervous to sit so close to him in the confines of his car. “Let’s take a walk,” you said, unsure of how to respond to his words. It was hard to believe him, he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and walked beside you towards the beach, another stark reminder of the difference between your life and his. 

It was obvious again, when the teenager behind the ice cream window at a beach front shop begged for a photo. You took it and prayed she didn’t even remember that you were with him. Hopefully the adrenaline in her system would wipe your face from her memory. 

“This is the most beautiful ice cream cone I’ve ever gotten,” he said, sitting on the bench of a picnic table a decent ways away from the counter where you’d ordered. He twirled it around, inspecting it from all angles when you pulled the straw of your milkshake up to your lips. 

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen one before,” you teased, reaching for a napkin from his other hand. 

“S’just so perfect looking.” He reached for his phone, lifted his dessert up in front of the setting sun that sprawled over the ocean’s horizon. “Wow--do you see this?” He clicked the button on his phone, his thumb successfully capturing the moment.

You rolled your eyes, took a quick peek around to make sure no one was nearby. He’d already warned you that he couldn’t stay long. Typically only 30 minutes after you take a photo with someone, otherwise people start to show up. 

“I’m sending this to you,” he laughed. “I understand if you want it framed or just as reminder of this beautiful evening.”

He pressed a few buttons and then your screen lit up on the bench in between you. 

He peered down at it, then brought his eyes back up to yours. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before he took the first lick of his ice cream. “Ever gonna save my number in your phone?”

You laughed, a bit embarrassed that a part of you had refused to do it. What if one day you woke up and he backed out? Said you were on your own and wrote you a check to never seek him out?

“Yeah, I just--I dunno, it felt weird at first.”

He raised his eyebrows a bit, finally took another lick from his ice cream. “Too personal?”

You laughed, “a bit.”

“Nothing quite as personal as having a baby together, if you ask me.” He took another lick and then dropped your gaze, a small smile on his face when he looked back at the sunset. “M’not going anywhere. Promise.”

**

When Aarav showed up at your desk on Monday morning, you knew you’d fucked up. When Simone showed up only ten minutes later, you knew you’d really fucked up. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I totally forgot it was tonight.”

“You forgot our bi-weekly Monday night bitch session about work was on a Monday night? On the Monday night after we didn’t hang out last week?” Simone tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at you. Aarav let out a sigh. 

“I’ve been busy, I’ve been so busy.”

“Well are we still on? Simone and I are free as birds, so--we’re waiting on you.”

You looked at your work calendar, pulled up on your screen. Your last meeting was 3pm--then you were supposed to head towards Westwood to meet Harry and Dave and Jeff and probably the other people who had been at the first meeting. 

“Yes, I can--I just, I have to cancel something else. But it’s fine. Not a big deal. That’s on me.”

You picked up your phone and tried to open the message discreetly. Simone pulled up her own and kept talking. “I’ll make us a reservation at Diego’s, yeah?” 

“Sure,” Aarav said, “that’s the place with the good guac, right?”

“Right,” she said, clicking her phone shut and bringing her eyes back to you. “But also--can we talk tonight about how Carson told me he heard Levi mention something about talking with someone at Apple?”

Your eyes went wide. “Shut up--did you actually?”

“I’ll fill you in tonight,” she smiled, taking a step back from your desk and heading for the door of your office. “Over a nice, tall, frozen margarita.”

You leaned back in your chair and groaned, playfully insinuating that waiting that long would be torture. Aarav laughed and picked up a stress ball on your desk. He tossed it in the air once Simone walked away. 

“You alright lately?”

You looked up from your screen, a half written text to Harry was typed out. 

Hey--any chance we can rain check the meeting tonight? I know I have to sign it but something at work

“What?” You looked up at him and clicked your phone to sleep. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You seem distracted, or just stressed.”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, a lilt in his voice like he didn’t quite believe you. 

You mulled it over for a second. You could tell him, you could tell both of them. They were good people and they’d sat through many intolerable staff meetings when Carson tried his best to shit on your team as if he wasn’t everyone’s least favorite coworker. 

You swallowed it down and looked up at him. “All good--just, busy, really. Really hoping that there’s some movement here, soon.”

He knew what you meant--he was the one you’d been most transparent with. 

“I think it’s gonna happen, don’t worry.”

You nodded, let out a sigh, wishing you could tell him that the apple seed in your uterus made things slightly less black and white than just getting a promotion.

And you wished you could have explained that to them that night--especially when they grilled you for not drinking. You shoveled chips and dip into your mouth like it was going out of style--only coming up for air when Simone reminded you about her news. 

“So do you want the scoop on Levi or what?”

“Do not get my hopes up,” you warned her. “I’m not in a good place for getting jerked around.”

Aarav laughed and sipped on his margarita. “Jerk her anyway.”

“I think he had an interview.”

“No he didn’t,” you whined, worried it was either false or too good to be true. You loved Levi. He was funny and talented and he taught the three of you a lot. Plus, he didn’t really care that you’d been working from home a lot more often lately. 

But you’d been hoping he’d leave Facebook for the last eight months. Ever since he told you that he’d certainly recommend you to the higher ups as his replacement. 

“I swear on my life. On Mark Zuckerberg, even. I heard Levi telling Dan from Tech Support about it in the cafeteria the other day.”

Instead of responding, you shoveled in another mouthful of guac, wide eyes when they looked at you for some sort of response. But what were you supposed to say? How were you to supposed to be excited for something that had long been building, moving in that direction, but was now suddenly threatened by a one night stand?

You’d worked at Facebook longer than both Aarav and Simone. Simone came on only a few months after you, but Aarav was a whole year behind. They were also marketing geniuses, Aarav came from a top school in Chicago, Simone from the Bay Area with a degree in New Media and Internet Marketing. Your small team was responsible for digital promotions, those run online or in commercials. As the team’s Visual Designer, you worked closely with the rest of them to bring their ideas to the screen, however that looked.

So when the Team Lead, Levi, had started making mentions about heading to a new job, he casually tried to gauge your interest over coffee in the first floor cafe. 

But this was shitty timing. How were you supposed to take maternity leave in the first few months in a new job? Would someone fill your spot while you were gone? The questions that started to race through your mind felt overwhelming, so much so that you wished you could reach for the margarita in Aarav’s hand. 

But you didn’t. And you bit your tongue when they asked you again why you weren’t drinking. You didn’t tell them, though you wanted to, that the reason you had to miss work in the afternoon the next day was because you had to sign an NDA, agreeing to keep them and others in the dark about what was sure to be the most wild adventure yet. 

And when you hugged them goodbye in the parking lot, you blinked back tears, hoping that one day, they’d know the truth. 

**

You sent the documents to your mom. She was far from a lawyer, but she was likely the safest option you had. Lexi tried to grab them when you left them on the counter, push some sunglasses on her face and read the biggest words she saw in a posh Transatlantic accent. Both individuals agree that any proceedings will be confidential, she giggled and pretended to rip it up, collapsing on the sofa beside you to watch Netflix before bed. 

It didn’t make much more sense to your mother, either, she sighed over FaceTime and apologized for not being able to help. That was your cue to text Harry. Is there actually someone I could meet with to go over these papers? Aside from Dave?

He set it up--claimed that Jeff found someone easily and then two days later, a woman with short blonde hair stood on your front step, Jeff in tow. 

She sat at your small dining room table--one your mom had tucked away in the basement when you were little--the perfect spot for arts and crafts. You prayed, while your blonde-haired lawyer looked over all the words on the endless pages, that she didn’t notice the paint splotches or pools of glitter that had long been stuck on the dark, stained wood.

You sat there for hours, Lexi came and left twice in the time that the three of you huddled around the papers, Jeff with a baseball cap on as he told you about why these things were important. Rita--who you learned was a connection through Harry’s record label--had already signed an NDA and promised to explain the clauses and constraints in layman's terms. 

So you felt slightly less stupid and insecure walking back into the same conference room Tuesday afternoon, alone on your side of the table. 

Harry was already seated when you arrived, he offered a smile and a nervous scan over your body before you sat across from him. Jeff ended whatever call he’d been on, Dave’s hand immediately extended to receive the manila folder he’d previously sent you home with. 

Another sunny Los Angeles day smiled through the window, Harry’s assistant was nowhere to be seen, the label rep wasn’t there, either. Three against one, this time. 

You didn’t admit it to them, but your hand shook a bit when you reached across the table, handed over the packet of papers that somehow felt like you were giving up freedom, giving up your say in things and like you didn’t even know what you’d now lose. It was all in writing now. You were carrying this baby to term and that was the one thing that would keep Harry in your life, for better or for worse.

The only thing you took solace in was the fact that you had access to Jeff and Glenne, and maybe Rita, now, too. You could ask questions or get clarification over cups of coffee or take out. 

So maybe that explained the calmness in your gut when you sat on top of an exam table in Doctor Weston’s office, Harry pacing nervously in front of you. 

“Can you relax?” You asked, finally letting out the breath you’d been holding for the last few minutes. 

Was it okay for you to say that? You still felt like you were walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what would tick him off and how to react. The truth was that you were still strangers--he was still someone you didn’t know. Someone who had his own pet peeves and his own fears and anxieties. He’d met you in the parking lot, he was already out of his car when you pulled in beside him the next week and met him after work. 

You’re kind of late, he’d said. A frown on his face when he used sunglasses to shield his eyes. 

You’d been in a meeting. You left as soon as you could. Now, he still couldn’t shake the nerves after he’d listed off the things that were keeping him up at night.

“I can’t relax,” he retorted, his words charged. He turned on his feet, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I have to figure out a lot of stuff right now. And I’m nervous, okay? This is a big day.” He motioned over to the sonogram machine, a box of purple gloves was tucked alongside it. 

“You’re not the one who has to have someone’s fingers in her--you know.”

He rolled his eyes at that, let out a breathy sigh and sat in the chair against the wall. He clasped his hands together but then looked up at you. You wondered if he thought you looked stupid in the blue and white gown the nurse had left for you on the table. You’d locked him out of the room when you changed, now he smirked up at you. 

“Cute dress.”

“Shut up.”

“S’nice!”

“It’s ratty and old and--not very flattering,” you plucked at the fabric with your fingers, looking back at him when he sighed again. 

“M’sorry--I just--I had a meeting with Jeff today and we decided to push the album back.”

You were quiet, the air in the room felt stiff and cold. Goosebumps on your skin when you swallowed back the thought: it was all your fault. 

“I--”

He cut you off before you could string any words together. “S’fine, Y/N, really. Gives me more time to sit on it and plan some music videos and talk about marketing stuff.”

You would have asked more about it. Asked about the songs or the process or anything in between, but the door opened and Dr. Weston smiled when she stepped into the white-tiled room. 

“Hello, hello, how’s mom feeling?”

The m-word got caught in your throat, color drained from your face when Harry looked between you and the doctor. “Good, right, love?” He stood and took two steps over to you, some sort of instinct in him took over, a hand on your back when he realized how frozen you were. “Headaches, she’s said, a funny taste in your mouth, right?”

You nodded.

Dr. Weston sat on the rolling stool and moved towards the sonogram machine, an apologetic smile for the panic she’d caused in you. “Are the headaches helped by something over the counter? Advil? Tylenol?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Advil. Is that alright?”

“Perfectly fine. Just take the recommended dose, no more than it says on the bottle.”

You and Harry both nodded at that--as if he would remember her advice, too. 

“Alright,” she reached for some gloves and looked up at you, eyes wide. “Ready to lean back? The gel will be cold but it will give us a good look at what’s going on in there. This will be the first of many ultrasounds.”

You did as she told, pushed your bum back on the table and let your back rest flush against it. She was right--the gel was sticky and cool and the probe that came from the machine poked at your stomach. You ignored the nervousness that pooled in your chest when you exposed your skin in the room, that last time Harry had seen you like this, it was dark and his vision was likely blurred by the alcohol. 

“Okay,” Dr. Weston’s voice was calm, she moved along your lower stomach for a few seconds, all eyes were glued to the screen. “So, the big dark circle there in your uterus,” she pointed at the screen and clicked something to capture it. “That’s the lining, there, where it turns to a lighter gray.”

Harry nodded, his lips slightly parted as his arms crossed over his chest. 

“And that, the tiny little thing inside of it--” she adjusted the probe again and pointed to the screen, tugging at the whole machine a bit so you could see it more easily. “That’s your baby.”

Quiet for a second, the first time in a while that your pulse slowed and you felt alone again, even if it was just inside your head. The thoughts slowed, your breathing slowed, and Harry’s hip bumped against your arm when he looked down at you. 

There was a small smile on his face. One that looked genuine but slightly terrified at the same time. He pointed towards the screen, “s’right there, that’s it.”

“I see it,” you nodded.

He tilted his head to the side. “It’s more--like a pea now.”

You laughed a little, immediately bringing levity to the room. “It wasn’t going to be an apple seed forever.”

Dr. Weston smiled, rolled away from the machine when you pushed yourself up on your elbows. “Do you want to do a vaginal ultrasound? We can possibly hear the heartbeat that way--obviously less comfortable.”

Harry looked over at you, all you did was nod. She asked you to slide off the hospital shorts you’d tugged on beneath the gown. Harry twisted around to offer privacy, this time, the probe was more uncomfortable and there was a tinge of pink on your cheeks when he turned back to face you, his gaze trailed down to notice Dr. Weston’s hand under the blanket that was now splayed out on your lap.

Quiet for a second, then she smiled. “That sound, the whooshing--that’s the heartbeat. That’s the baby, again,” she pointed. “Right there.”

“Huh,” you said, once again, eyes on the screen and hands clasped over your stomach. Harry looked down at you when Dr. Weston captured the image again. 

“So,” Dr. Weston’s voice was quieter now, she removed the probe and discarded her gloves into the trash. “Still too soon to tell the sex. But--we’ll do another one in about four weeks. If anything changes, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out. You can email me on the patient portal or just call the front desk.”

“Okay.”

“I'll print these for you.”

“Can you print two copies, please?”

She nodded, another reminder of how off track things were from the plan. You ignored the weight on your shoulders, the guilt that passed through your veins when she shut the door behind her and left you alone in the room with him. 

You sat up, the paper crumbled beneath you and Harry stood awkwardly in the center of the room. 

“I, uh--I still haven’t told my family.”

You bit at your lip, unsure. Was it because he was ashamed? Embarrassed? Angry? You didn’t ask.

“I want to, I just--I haven’t seen them in a bit. So. I’m supposed to go home for a while next week.”

You nodded. “You should go.”

“It’s supposed to be for, like, six weeks.”

“That’s fine.”

“No--I’m not--I can’t miss whatever happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

He pulled his head back, confused by your words. “I don’t think that’s how pregnancy works.”

You stood from the table and hopped down, suddenly much shorter than you felt before, barefoot on the tile. “Just go.”

He let out a sigh. “I might for a week, but, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you snapped suddenly. “You don’t have to come to every appointment and act like we’re actually--I don’t know, together, or something. We can still live separate lives.”

“I’m not acting like that,” he said, eyebrows pointed inwards now. “I’m just doing what’s right. I’m in this, too, Y/N.”

You turned around, shimmied the shorts down from your hips and held the gown in place. You grabbed for your underwear on the chair beside his, neatly folded in a pile as if your life wasn’t a mess.

“I think you should do it. Tell them in person.” You pulled up the elastic band over your hips, still keeping the gown close to your body. 

He handed you the black shorts you’d been wearing earlier, the gesture didn’t match the tone of his voice. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m not like anything,” you said, one foot in first, then the other. “I just don’t want you to feel trapped in LA with me. I’m fine.”

You dropped the gown now, holding it to your chest when you turned to reach for your bra. He averted his gaze, stared directly at the vagina poster on the wall. “Right.”

You tugged on your bra quickly, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head. “Right what?”

“You’re right. You’re fine. You don’t need me,” a shrug of his shoulders. “Is that what you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to relax.”

“Well I’m sorry that I can’t,” he spoke quickly now, the anger on his face stopped you in your tracks. “But the last thing I need is for you to act like none of this is a big deal.”

You didn’t mean to do it again--you didn’t feel it coming until the tears were already on your cheeks, wet and falling towards the floor. He sighed at that, steadied his own breathing and pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, words broken by the heavy breathing. “It just happens now--I just cry on command.”

He shook his head, watching as you folded the gown neatly on the table, left it there to be discarded by the nurse. “No--I--it’s fine. You can cry as much as you want.”

You turned to look at him, a few breaths to try to steady your pulse. He stepped forward, his arms wrap around your shoulders. You were still for a moment, unsure if you were allowed you let your arms wrap around his waist, or if it would make the crying worse. But you did, and when you did, he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. 

“S’alright. I’ll go home for a week. Then I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” you said. “Okay.”

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

author’s note: longer than usual!!! so excited for all of you to read what’s coming! I hope everyone is staying safe and staying home. I wanted to put this chapter out a bit early since I know everyone is (hopefully) stuck inside. keep all of the messages coming i love chatting with all of you about Harry and Y/N and their little apple seed!!!! 

tag list: @stepping-into-the-light @thurhomish @afterstylesmadeit @iconicharry @stylesfics-xx @harryspirate @mellamolayla @harryinsweatersandbandanas @stylesfantasy @clorenafila @mell-love @anssu-amry @yelllowgrass @littlesoldierelleora @styles217 @rachkon @c-h-e-r-r-y-y @myhat  @rosegoldbel @passionate-dreamerr @grammyforstyles @haute-romance-quotidienne@dontgiveupthedayjob @ursamajor603 @craic-head-horan @heavenspidey @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @blackxxmagicc @winter-soldier-007 @ssllbb @wanderlustiing @jdcharliewhiskey  @caritocp @kaybee87 @wildbeee @hsunflowervol @harrys-medicines @tobe-sogolden @theresnooneheretosave @1d-tommo5 @soullikestyles @mrsfstyles

[whitehotharlots]

Previewing the 2024 Democrat Primary

Within a couple weeks of his being sworn in, just about every person on earth will wish Joe Biden was no longer president. Sure, the few surviving John B. Anderson voters will be thrilled to see 4 years of crushing austerity and half-assed attempts at Keynesian stimulus. But most people will begin dreaming about a brighter future.

Good news! The 2024 Democratic primary field is going to contain dozens of options. Bad news! They are all going to be disgusting piles of shit. 

The “top tier”

While it’s too early to do any handicapping, these are the candidates the media will treat as having the most realistic chances of securing the nomination. 

Kamala Harris

Kamala did not win a single primary delegate in 2020. This is because she dropped out before the first primary, and that was because no one likes her. She has no base beyond a few thousand of twitter’s most violent psychos. Her disingenuousness approaches John Edwards levels: any halfway incredulous person can see immediately beyond her bullshit. She has no principles whatsoever, and while that may be par for the course for Democrats, she lacks even the basic politician’s ability to intuit anything that might, hypothetically, constitute a principle. 

Even better: she is an awful public speaker. She sounds like how a talking dog would speak if he were just caught stealing people food off the kitchen table. She communicates in weird grunts and faux sassy squeaks, which is how she imagines real black women sound like, but something about her is unable to sell the bit. She begins her sentences in halfhearted AAVE, stops and panics halfway through as she realizes that maybe this sounds fake and offensive, and then reminds herself oh wait, no, this is okay since I’m black. This doesn’t happen once or twice per speech. This is how every single sentence sounds. 

Kamala is like Nancy Pelosi in that no sketch show will ever impersonate her correctly, because anything that came close to authenticity would be considered far too cruel. This might benefit her in the primaries, as she exists in the minds of Democrats as someone and something she absolutely is not in reality. Nominating her would be like allowing your child’s imaginary friend to attempt to drive you to the store. 

Andrew Cuomo

Easily one of the 50 worst people alive, Cuomo has a solid chance because Democrats, same as Republicans, are unable to differentiate between electability and self-serving ruthlessness. Cuomo used the deadliest public health crisis in American history as a pretext for cutting Medicaid and firing 5,000 MTA workers, and his approval rating increased. New York Dems are little piggies who love eating shit. If we assume that the political media will continue their habit of refusing to discuss the legislative history of right wing Democrats, Cuomo might well cruise to the nomination and then lose to literally any human being the GOP nominates by an historic margin. 

Joe Biden

The party loves him because he is a right wing racist. “Progressives” tolerate him because black primary voters over 40 supported him, and their opinion is supposedly a magic window into god’s truth. Everyone else can tell he is manifestly senile. I don’t put it above the DNC to pick a candidate who is in horrible health, dying, or even dead--whatever the financial sector wants, they’ll get. But I would be shocked if his approval rating is above 39% by mid-2023, and by that point deep fake technology will be advanced enough they’ll put out a very lifelike video in which the Max Headroom version of Joe explains he’s proud of his accomplishments--that budget’s almost balanced already--but, man, I gotta abd--I gotta abdica--, uhh, I gotta, I, uhh, I gotta move down, man. 

Wild Cards

These candidates would have all have a chance if they ran, but they could all much more easily retire to Little Saint James off of kickbacks they’ve gotten from Citibank and I.G. Farben. 

Rahm Emanuel

Rahm is going to receive some hugely influential post in the Biden administration. Let’s say he becomes Secretary of Education. His signature achievement will be replacing all elementary school teachers with Amazon’s Alexa, which saved the taxpayers so much money we were able to quadruple the number of armed police officers we put into high schools. This will give him several thousand positive profiles on network news programs and the near-universal support of the Silicon Valley vampires who will own 99% of the country by the time Biden’s term ends. They will use their fancy mind control devices to convince geriatic primary voters that Rahm’s the one who will bring Decency back to the white house. His candidacy will be the paragon of wokeness, as expressing concern toward the fact that he covered up the police murder of a black guy will get you called a racist. 

Rahm has a bonus in that Jewish men are now Schrodeniger’s PoC. When they are decent human beings, they are basic, cis white men who are stealing attention from disabled trans candidates of color. When they love austerity and apartheid, they become the most vulnerable people of color on earth and criticizing them in any way is genocide. No one will be able to mention a single thing Rahm has ever done or said without opening themselves to accusations of antisemitism, and that gives him a strong edge against the rest of the field. The good news is that an Emmanuel candidacy would result in over 50% of black voters choosing the GOP candidate--which, I guess that’s not really good but it would certainly be funny. 

Gavin Newsom

Newsom is every bit as feckless as Cuomo, but he doesn’t put off the same “bad guy in an early Steven Segal movie” vibes. He will mention climate change 50 times per speech and no one will bother to mention how he keeps signing fracking contracts even though his state is now on fire 11 months of the year. If anything, this will be spun into an argument about how he’s actually the candidate best suited to handle all the water refugees gathering on the southern border. Look for his plan to curb emissions by 10% by the year 2150 to get high marks from Sierra Club nerds. He’s also a celebate librarian’s idea of what constitutes a handsome man, so he’ll have some support from the type of women who claim to hate all men. 

Larry Summers

I mean, why not? Larry, like most members of the Obama administration, has politics that are eerily similar to those of Jordan Peterson. In normal circumstances, this makes a person a dangerous fascist who should not be platformed. But if that person has a D next to their name this makes them a realistic pragmatist who has what it takes to bring suburban bankers into our tent. If current trends in Woke Phrenology continue apace, Larry’s belief that women are inherently bad at STEM will be liberal orthodoxy by 2023, and his dedication to the Laffer Curve could see him rake in massive donations. Seriously, I’m not kidding: cultural liberalism is now fully dedicated to identity essentialism and balanced budgets. Larry is their ideal candidate. If he were black and/or a woman, I’d put him in the very top tier. 

Jay Inslee

Unlike Newsom, Inslee’s attempt to crown himself the King of Global Warming won’t be immediately derailed, since his state is only on fire because of protestors. This, however, poses a different problem. He’s going to be a good test case for the Democrat’s uneasy peace with the ever increasing share of the electorate who become catatonic upon hearing a pronoun. On the one hand, you need to take their votes for granted. On the other hand, they’re not like black people or regular gays: most voters actively, consciously despise wokies, and associating yourself with them will ruin a campaign even in deep blue areas. There’s still gonna be riots in a year. Biden’s gonna announce the sale of all our nation’s potable water to the good folks at Nestle and some trans freak named Sasha-Malia DeBalzac is going to use that as an opportunity to sell their new pamphlet about how it’s fascist to not burn down small businesses. No matter what Inslee does in response, it’ll end his career. 

AOC

I’m not one of those “AOC is a secret conservative” weirdos, but I am aware enough of basic reality to know she has zero chance of coming close to the nomination. The right and the center both regard her as a literal demon. The party is already blaming her for the fact that a handful of faceless Reagan acolytes failed to flip their suburban districts even though they ran on sensible pragmatic proposals like euthanizing the homeless. The recriminations will only get more unhinged when the Dems eat shit in the 2022 midterms. She will be a Russian, she will be white male, she will be a communist, she will be a homophobe: any insult or conspiracy theory you can name, MSNBC will spend hours discussing. Her house seat challenger will receive a record amount of support from the DNC in 2024 and it’ll be all she can do to remain in congress.

Larry Hogan

Don’t be dissuaded by the fact that he’s a Republican. Larry is the DNC’s ideal candidate: a physically repulsive conservative who owes his entire career to appealing to the most spiteful desires of suburban white people. He’s an open racist in a material sense--if you’re old-school enough to think racism is a matter of beliefs and actions, rather than the presence of cultural signifiers--but his is the beloved “never Trump” style of racism that Dems covet. He’s also a Proven Leader who thinks the role of government should be to finance the construction of investment property and give police the resources they need to run successful drug trafficking operations. Few people embody the Democrat worldview more than Larry. 

The Losers Bracket

These people will have at least a small chance due solely to the fact that the Democrats love losing. They have lost in the past, and in the Democrat Mind that makes them especially qualified.

Joe Kennedy

The man looks like a mushroom-human hybrid from a JRPG. Trump proved that physical hideousness need not doom a presidential bid, but a candidate still needs some kind of charm or oratorical abilities or, god forbid, a decent platform. Joe aggressively lacks all of these things. A vanity campaign would be a good way to raise money and perhaps secure an MSNBC gig, so Joe might still run. 

Mayor Pete 

I am 100% convinced that Pete’s 2020 run was a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. I am also 100% aware that Democrats are dumb enough to enthusiastically support a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. If we have some sort of military or terror disaster between now and 2023 the Dems are sure to want a TROOP, and wait wait wait you’re telling me this one is a gay troop? Holy hell there’s no way that could lose!

Stacy Abrams

Never underestimate the power of white guilt. She lost the gubernatorial race to Gomer Pyle’s grandson, and her spiritual guidance of the Dems saw the party lose black voters in Georgia in 2020. Nonetheless, she is regarded as a magic font of fierceness within the DNC. She might stand a chance if she can establish herself as the most conservative non-white candidate in the field, but there’s going to be stiff competition for that honor.

Elizabeth Warren

Liz is probably angry that the party so shamelessly sold her out even after she was a good little girl and sabatoged Bernie’s campaign for them--yet another example of high ranking US government officials reneging on their promises to the Native American community. Smdh. The fact that this woman hasn’t been bankrupted a dozen times over by various Wallet Inspectors genuinely astounds me. So Liz is probably going to run again, and her campaign will be even sadder the second time around. 

It might surprise you to hear this if you don’t work at a college or NGO, but Liz diehards actually do exist. She’ll get even less support this time because there will be no viable leftist in the field for her to spoil, but she’ll still hang in long enough to make sure the very worst possible candidate beats out the second worst possible candidate. Maybe she’ll fabricate a rape accusation against Sherrod Brown. Maybe she’ll spend her entire allotted debate time doing a land acknowledgment. With Liz, anything is possible--so long as it ends in failure. 

Amy Klobuchar 

Amy was the most bloodthirsty of the 2020 also rans. She will double down on the unpopular failures of the Biden administration, explaining that if you weren’t such a selfish idiot you’d love the higher social security retirement age and oh my god are so such a moron you think you shouldn’t go bankrupt to get a COVID vaccine? There’s a non-unsubstantial segment of the Democratic base that’s self-hating enough to find this appealing, but it won’t be enough to make her viable. 

Martha Coakley

She lost Ted Kennedy’s senate seat to a retarded man who was pretending to be even more retarded than he actually was. Then she lost a gubernatorial race to a guy who openly promised Massachusetts voters that he would punish them for electing him. Her record of failure is unparalleled, making her perhaps the ideal Democrat standard bearer for the twenty twenties. 

[ahtohallan-calling]

thank you for the prompt!!! this is in plane au verse but i think it can be read as its own thing too :)

                                             Hey, guess what.

U GOT IT????

KRIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                             Yeah. Goodbye adjunct life, hello full-time. 😊

im so proud of u!!!

knew u could do it

i love u so much 💕💕💕

                                   I want to take you someplace special tonight to celebrate.

😭😭😭 what did i do to deserve u

well celebrate after that too 😘😘😘

if u catch my drift

oh im in a publisher meeting g2g love uuuu

                                  Love you too. ❤️

He slid his phone into his back pocket and headed down the stairs, grinning so broadly his face hurt. Being in such a specialized field-- really, the fact that he had as many students as he did was still shocking-- meant becoming a full-time professor of Scandinavian studies was a long shot, and getting tenure was a total pipe dream. 

But by some miracle this spot had opened up for him in the History department, and they’d needed someone who could cover a couple of lit classes, too, and he’d just so happened to have done his dissertation on Old Norse epic poems and done some background research on similar things and that had been exactly what they needed-- and when he’d explained all of this to Anna, breathless and rambly as only she usually was, she’d squealed and thrown herself into his arms. “You’re a shoo-in, babe,” she’d insisted, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“I mean, I still have to get through the interview--”

“A shoo-in. Trust me. And they know it too.” 

“I just--”

She’d moved her attention to his mouth, already twining her legs around his waist and tangling her hands in his hair. “Shh. Stop worrying.”

And he had, or at least he’d tried to, but the fact was that more than just his career was depending on this. He’d been dating Anna for a year now, living with her for a couple of months, and had been looking at engagement rings not quite casually for a few weeks; but the fact remained that as long as he was just an adjunct, there was no guarantee of stability, no sense in putting down roots when the rug might get pulled out from under him without much warning. And there wasn’t exactly a high demand for professors of any kind in the whole state, let alone just Boulder, especially ones who specialized in Viking mythology instead of chemistry or composition or something else far more practical.

But somehow it had happened; he’d signed the contract and everything, no gotchas! or take-backs now, and he knew exactly how he wanted to celebrate with Anna. He texted that he’d pick her up outside of the publishing office, then ran a couple of errands, picking up what he knew they’d need right away tonight.

He parked in the garage, somehow nabbing a spot by the doors on the right floor and everything-- it really was his lucky day. She was already waiting for him, dancing from one foot to the other. She flung the door of his beat-up Honda open and threw herself inside, leaning so far over the console she was nearly in his lap. “You did it!”

“I did, yeah,” he said with a laugh, meeting her fevered kisses with equal enthusiasm. “But we have to-- mmf-- hurry because-- Jesus, Anna-- they close at six.”

“What sort of fancy dinner place closes at six?” she asked all in one gasp as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her collarbone.

“We’re not having dinner there,” he mumbled against her skin, wishing he’d thought to wait for her in the backseat.

“Then what--”

A honk sounded as someone nearby unlocked their car, and they jumped apart, both flushing scarlet. Her hair had fallen half out of its neatly coiled bun, and he reached over, carefully freeing the rest and letting it fall in waves over her shoulders. He tucked an errant strand behind her ear and let his hand linger there, running his thumb over her cheekbone. “Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

“Yes. All the time. And I’d love to hear you say it again except if this place closes at six we’d really better get a move on. And there’s lipstick on your-- here.”

She dabbed it carefully off his chin and gave him a quick peck on the lips for good measure. “There-- all set.”

“Thanks. Don’t forget to buckle.”

“I never do,” she said cheerily, already plugging in her phone to play her special “Very Good Day Playlist” she kept handy for special occasions and always begged him to sing along to. 

He pulled out of the parking garage to the sound of Queen and the dinging of the no-seatbelt alarm. “Anna,” he groaned, pretending to be exasperated, and she giggled, fastening the belt. “Sorry, sorry.”

As they got through the worst of the city traffic, he set his right hand on her knee, rubbing gentle circles on it as he drove past the city limits. She rolled the window down, singing at the top of her lungs for all the world to hear, and he couldn’t help but grin, knowing that she was this happy because something good had happened to him. 

They pulled up in the gravel parking lot, and she went quiet as he turned off the car. Neither of them opened the doors.

“Kris?”

“Hmm?”

“You really...we’re really...you’re serious? We’re going to do it?”

She turned to look at him, eyes wide, as if she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. He’d felt that way quite often ever since he’d found himself sitting next to the prettiest woman he’d ever laid eyes upon on a flight that had turned out to be anything but routine.

He reached over and took her hand. “Well, you know I’m going to marry you someday. Sooner, rather than later, if I can swing it.”

She already knew that, but she let out a little gasp of surprise at hearing him say it anyway. He grinned and squeezed her hand. “But now that I know we can stay here in Boulder for the long-term, I know there’s something else we’ve both been really wanting, too. And now we don’t have to worry about what’ll happen if we have to move or something.”

“But we haven’t got--”

“My meeting was this morning, and I knew you wouldn’t be ready til three. So I ran a few errands. We’re all set.”

She was sniffling now as she put her other hand on top of his; her fingers were trembling, just barely. “You mean it? We’re really doing this?”

“Yeah. If you’re ready, I mean, or we can wait a little--”

She dropped his hand and leaped out of the car, barely remembering to unfasten her seatbelt. He grinned and followed after her, setting his hand on her lower back as they walked through the doors into the brightly lit lobby. A woman with gray threaded throughout her long braid was waiting there at the counter and greeted them with a bright smile. “Hi! How can I help you two today?”

“We’d like to adopt a cat,” Anna said, bouncing a little next to him. “We’ve sent in the preliminary paperwork before and got approved, we just haven’t come in yet.”

(In fact, they’d done that hardly a week after moving in together; they’d known it would be a while before it could actually become a reality, but still-- you never know. Never hurts to be prepared.)

The woman quickly found them in the system and then led them to the back of the animal shelter. “Our kittens are all here,” she said, gesturing to a playpen full of tumbling balls of fluff, “and the kennels are all in the next room.”

They’d talked only a little about what kind of cat they’d like to adopt; Anna had insisted that when she saw the right one, she’d know right away. She seemed determined to prove that correct and immediately crouched beside the playpen, inspecting the kittens carefully. To both Kristoff and the woman’s surprise, she shook her head. “No, they’re lovely but-- not quite right. I think I’d rather adopt a grown-up cat. One who needs us.”

God, he’d never loved her more; he had half a mind to take her to the courthouse as soon as they finished here and marry her right then and there. The shelter employee beamed at her. “I think I may have just the cat for you.”

She led them to the back of the room of kennels and opened a crate, cooing softly and holding up her arms. “Come on, baby,” she coaxed, and a fuzzy, gray-and-brown head peered out. 

One of the cat’s ears looked like it had had a bite taken out of it, and there was a bit of a scar under one eye. Kristoff felt a little brush against his fingers and glanced down to see Anna taking his hand. 

The cat finally emerged fully, climbing into the woman’s arms, and he heard Anna whisper, “oh, bless him,” as they both noticed at the same time that the cat was missing a front leg.

The woman turned, scratching the cat behind the ears. “This is our Marco. He’s been here for a few months now. We think he was a stray, got brought in when someone accidentally backed over him.”

Anna stepped shyly forward and held her hand up near the cat. When he didn’t hiss, she reached out carefully, stroking him behind the ears. He nuzzled against her hand, letting out a little purr, and a smile bloomed on her face. 

“This is him, Kris,” she said, only tearing her gaze away from the cat for a moment. “This is our cat.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, knowing that she and he both already were, and she nodded enthusiastically. 

The woman beamed and held out her arms slightly; Anna did the same, and to Kristoff’s delight the cat went easily into her arms, meowing as if he was saying the same, yes, you’re mine.

He reached over and stroked the cat behind the ears, knowing he was grinning just as broadly. The cat looked up at him with bright green eyes; he nodded solemnly and was rewarded with a loud miaow. “Welcome to the family, buddy,” he said, and Anna let out a little whoop of joy.

He handled the rest of the paperwork and the adoption fee quickly while Anna kept cuddling the cat, muttering different names as she looked him over. “You really don’t look much like a Marco, do you? Maybe-- maybe Tom, like the cartoon-- no, that’s not it-- Crookshanks? No, I don’t actually like Harry Potter that much...maybe something literary, maybe Eliot…”

Kristoff led them back out to the car and pulled out the travel carrier from the trunk. Before Anna slipped the cat inside, she looked up at him, clearly still thinking hard. “What do you think, Kris? What does he look like his name should be?”

He met the cat’s gaze, reached out and ran his hand down his back before scratching behind his ears. “He looks like a Sven to me.”

Anna laughed. “What a funny idea-- but I like it. Sven it is, then.”

She kissed the top of the cat’s head and guided him into the carrier. He curled up quietly, and she settled the box on her lap as Kristoff turned the keys. “Sven, my darling, let’s go home.”

[hpdabbles]

Darry and “Well, /you/ weren’t who I was expecting.” please!

“But why do I have to do this?” Harry whines trailing behind Sirius who was fussing over the cuffs of his jacket suit for the fifth time. A few months ago, he would have never thought about whining too much with a guardian but ever since his Godfather crash into his life, screeching and forming around the mouth like his animagus form, a lot has changed for the young boy.

“Because, despite the fact I hate it too, this is a very important tradition in pureblood culture.” Sirius huffs. Once the older man gets his cuffs to settle he is twirling around to look over Harry’s outfit. He shakes his head, reaching forward to fix the collar until the Potter Family Chest is visible. It is adjusted to the Black Family Chest on the other side of Harry’s collar.

It feels awful like dog tags to identify who owns him. 

“If we follow the traditions, at least the less supremest ones, we can find some allies. We need allies.” Sirius continues taking a step back. His face is twisted as if the words disgust him deeply which cracks a smile out of Harry. “All we have to do is show up. I’m not going to allow you to be trap in a stupid contract.”

Harry raises a brow. “You can stop them?”

“I’m the Head of the Noble and Ancient House of Black. There is very little I can do with that title.”

“Then why do we even need allies?”

Sirius sighs bending down so his eyes are at Harry’s eye level. It makes the boy aware of his small stature but in a good way. Almost all his life he had people looking down at him: his uncle, his aunt, his cousin and everyone in the neighborhood who believed he was no good. 

Harry, in their eyes, was nothing but a mistake at best and a monster at worst.

Not Sirius. He always made an effort to look Harry on even grounds asking for his opinion and his thoughts acting like they mattered. With him, Harry felt like any other nine-year-old kid.

“We need allies because no man can do everything by himself. My title holds a lot of power but people are still wary of me, a lot of them truly believe I betrayed your parents and that I’m a Death Eater.” Sirius says gently but there is an undertone of frosty rage.  It may be a little odd to notice things like that but Harry always used to look for the undertone in conversations. You never know what could set off Vernon. You had to watch out for the signs.  “They think I paid my way out of Azkaban.”

“But you did pay you way out of Azkaban” Harry didn’t mean to point that out but the words came tumbling out of his mouth. It’s always been a problem for him quick like his fiery temper.

Sirius’ smile is proud like somehow Harry pleased him. It’s like mischief is what he strives on, happy to see it in any form.  His godfather is weird like that  “I’ll have you know I only persuaded a guard with a bit of gold to see if he could find the record of my trial. He’s the one that realizes there wasn’t a trial and brought it to the attention of the higher-ups. Very different brat.”  

Harry attempts to make a doubtful face but the way Sirius is wagging his eyebrows has him giggling instead. His godfather grins, reaching out to rough up his hair and Harry actually leans into the touch. 

“Now come. We have a ball to get to and it’s not proper to be late.” Sirius rolls his eyes voice turning to mock towards the end as he straightening up to his full height. He adjusts his top hat making his long wavy hair spill over to touch his shoulders. 

Harry finds it weird that wizards dress in robes and Sirius is apparently rebellious for being in victorian era outfits even if they are still considered formal. As long as they are accepted it’s all fine. 

His Godfather tilts his head walking the special way he taught Harry to step, graceful and no wasted effort.

You must walk as if though you are gliding. People can spot those without proper manners a mile away. You must learn to be graceful and walk with the importance of someone of your standing, Harry.

It took him a while but he learned how to be half as elegant as Sirius. There were still some days where he fell back into his old habits- shoulder’s slouching, steps too quick and pressing on his toes instead of his heels- but he likes to think he was getting better.

 “A Potential Marriage Ball, where everyone tries to marry up. Oh, the joys of purebloods.” Sirius sighs shaking his head. Harry stumbles over his dress shoes- having dressed in a victorian fashion as well but with green color, theme compares to the red of his guardian-  which makes him glare at the almost thoughtless way the older man walks. 

It’s not thoughtless, it’s a lot of work!

“Is Mr. Lupin going to be there as your potential marriage?” Harry asks innocently just to watch his godfather trip over his graceful legs. He giggles again when Sirius attempts to fight off the blush as he pretends he doesn’t have a crush on Moony.

Harry thinks it’s stupid. Everyone with eyes can tell and that’s coming from him, who admits that he can be rather dense.

“Why don’t we drive around your old school and make people jealous of our money tomorrow? We can rent the most expensive limo and have the windows down.” Sirius suggests clearing his throat. Harry perks up. He loves it when he can rub it into all those peoples faces that now Harry was much better then they are. 

He also recognizes it as a distraction from the conversation but takes the bait anyway. “Can we buy ice-cream too?”

“Sure.”

The ball is supposed to be his formal introduction to the Wizarding world. Harry has been with Sirus for months but he has been kept out of the public eye only being allowed one guest, Remus Lupin, to visit him. 

Sirius had wanted to get them both comfortable around each other and prepare Harry for his fame and role as the Boy Who Lived. It still boggles his mind that he’s famous. 

The ball when they walk in is the most magical thing he’s ever seen. The ballroom is lightened with flouting candles, all that hover around the top of the room near a sparkling glass chandelier. The light bounces off the glass through sparks along the walls.

The entrance is at the top of stairs, which gives the whole view of the room, and everything is a level lower, spreading out into a wide dance floor of marble. There seem to be house elves walking around offering floating trays to guests, while classical music plays but he can’t see any bands. He doubts the high-class wizard world has speakers so the music must be a charm.

People are waltzing near the big windows in the far back while on the right side tables are set up. To the left, the area is reserved for conversating. Harry can see kids in all these but even they move more gracefully then Harry.

He swallows a gulp.

 All-around him people in expensive robes and dresses mingle, some with shimmering jewelry and others in makeup. Harry personally thinks most of the men with makeup have nothing on Sirius’s eyeliner and red lipstick. 

Padfoot is the most attractive male in the room, and he walks down the stairs well aware of it. Harry hurries behind him, aware of multiple stares after the little house elf shouts  “The Head of the Noble and Ancient House of Black with his Heir have arrived. Presenting Lord Sirius Black and Heir Harry Potter” 

“Remember your lessons,” Sirius whispers to him while they move down the wide stairway. “Try to not offend anyone but don’t let them walk all over you. Please dance with one person before the night ends. And remember, I love you no matter what.”

“I love you too.” 

As soon as they make it to the bottom of the stairs Sirus is surrounded by people who wish to say hello after so many years apart. His godfather greets them with a charming smile, easily sidestepping the pointed questions and passive-aggressive comments with ease. They crowd coo and aww over Harry congratulating him and staring at him like he’s a prize to be won. It makes him shiver.

Harry slips away the moment he sees an opening and makes his way to the other side of the room, ducking underneath dancing pairs until he can find a nice little nock in the windows sills to hide. He’s out of sight and unless people search for him deliberately no one will find him.

One useful skill he picked up from the Dursleys at least.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry slumps. The lessons that Sirus attempting to stuff in his head - walking, breathing, speaking, manners, traditions,- all flew from his head the moment he was surrounded. He no doubts just made it harder for them to get allies.

Sirius would have to do some serious damage control. He feels very ashamed of himself for making things harder for Padfoot when their situation is bad enough as it is. 

They need allies, allies with influence because of the Ministry. They have been in waiting to look for any reason, any hint, of Sirius, messing up and dragging him back to Azkaban or at the very less take Harry away from him. 

Neither wanted this, but they needed the backing of powerful families should it does come to a legal battle.  And now, because of him, there may have gone any help they could get.

Harry feels tears prick at his eyes suddenly filled with dread that he may have to go back to the Dursleys. He’s doesn’t want to go back. Please don’t make him go back. Don’t take Sirius away. Please please please, please-

“Well, you weren’t who I was expecting” A voice breaks through his haze of fear. Blicking through tears Harry sees a boy his age at the entrance of his little nook. He’s wearing grey robes, resembling liquid mercery, and a family crest on his collar tells Harry he’s an Heir. Of what family he’s not sure.  

The boy is also really pretty. His hair is so fair it almost seems white, with pretty clear skin and storming grey eyes. 

He’s looking Harry up and down. The pretty pureblood seems unimpressed “I didn’t think the Boy-Who-Lived would find my hiding place. Mother swore no one would know- hey are you okay?”

There is little space between them so when the boy raises his hand to wipe a trail of tears off Harry’s face, he steps into his personal bubble. This makes Harry stiffen. He likes it when Sirius or Remus touches him, but not when others- especially people he isn’t sure won’t hurt him - do it. 

He doesn’t push him away, however, because he doesn’t want to make things worse for Sirius. And the boy is actually really nice, his eyes are soft with worry, almost like he cares. He’s seen some kids in school look like that with their friends but he’s never had someone he’s age do the same to him.

Harry feels more tears fill his eyes.

“Don’t cry.” The boy continues gently taking Harry’s hand. “Are you lost? I can help you find your way.”

“N-no” Harry hiccups frustrated with himself.  “I’m fine.” 

The boy stares a little more before one his thumbs run over Harry’s knuckles in a soothing motion. “Alright. You can stay. I’ll allow it. My names Draco Malfoy.”

“Ha-ary Po..tter” Harry gasps out through his hitching breath. Draco tugs his hand until they find a seat on the window shills, the large pillar keeping them out of sight. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Draco tells him still holding his hand and Harry smiles just a bit.  “Do you like Quidditch?”

“A little. I play with my godfather sometimes. My favorite position is Seeker”

“Mine too.” Draco smiles please and the Harry swears the music must have timed it because at that moment it syncs up to play a light-hearted melody that fits the glow of his face. He can’t look away. 

He squeezes the hand in his palm and is thrill by the squeeze he gets in return. Did he just make his first-ever friend? 

For the rest of the evening, Draco and Harry talk about things the boys like and the hours’ tick by. They eventually switch to games, verbal ones and ones they can play with their hands -  Draco is determined to win at rock, paper, scissors even though Harry refuses to let him add in Wand because it’s too powerful- and the fear he felt at the began chips away. 

Eventually, a woman appears at their hiding place with a very put upon frown. Draco twists his head up from where he’s attempting to do a handstand with Harry holding his knees to his chest to give him room.  He claims he could do it and Harry had called his bluff. 

“Mother!” The Malfoy blurts tumbling forward with a blush. “I was ugh that’s to say-I’m. This…this is Harry Potter! Harry this is my mother.”

“It’s very lovely to meet you, ma’am,” Harry says remembering to wave his wrist in a slight twirl like Sirius told him to do when meeting female purebloods. Once he’s older, he’s supposed to kiss their hands. He thinks….or was it the other way around?

 She gives them both a long look before her face clears. “It’s lovely to meet you as well Mr. Potter. Draco, darling, you have yet to dance and the night is almost full.”

Draco flushes more looking down at his feet as if though he’s been scowled but Harry had picked up the amuse undertones in her voice. She’s not angry at her son, she’s just teasing.  Still, he finds himself saying. “That’s my fault! I kept Draco here all night. I’m sorry,”

“It’s quite alright.” She says tilting her head. Harry doesn’t like the calculating look in her eye.  “I assume this means your dance card is empty as well? Would you do Draco the honor of being your first partner? He’s quite the catch.”

“Mother!”

It takes a moment to remember what that means. He just stares up at her in confusion before he snaps.  “Yes! Yes, it’s empty.”

He turns to the mortified Draco. Sirius did ask him to do one dance and he thinks it’s nice to dance with a friend instead of a stranger.   “Do you want to dance with me?”

Draco’s whole face turns red.  “Y-yes?”

Mrs. Malfoy makes a slight cooing noise before she ushers them out into the crowd. Harry pulls Draco’s hand until they are on the dance floor and they start a Walz. It’s a simple one since the Potter Heir hasn’t been taking lessons on this topic for long but Draco’s just as two left feet as him- the reason he hides at balls apparently- and they end up laughing through the whole thing. 

Harry can’t stop staring at the prettiest boy he’s ever seen spin in the candlelight with a wide smile. Sirius throws him a thumbs up when Harry gestures at the Malfoy mouthing  I made a friend!  and the man looks genuinely pleased. 

Somewhere he hears Mrs. Malfoy say.  “Lucius go fetch the Pensieve. I must never forget this night!”

Harry whole-heartily agrees with her. 

[bakagamieru]

Hi!!! I’m hoping you can help - do you know why Zayn left One Direction? He was partying with Louis on March 14 in Thailand and left the band on March the 25th. So what happened in those 9 days for him to leave? I just don’t get it!! TIA!!

Hello,

It wasn’t anything in those 9 days that made him leave.  In fact, I don’t think it was his idea to leave at all.

I have a masterpost outlining most of my speculation relating to this: http://bakagamieru.tumblr.com/post/120840259353/zayn-stunt-summary

Of course there are other fans/bloggers (known as Team Stunt mostly) that have speculated about this as well.

Disclaimers

Please bare with me here and read the whole post (and preferably the other posts in my masterpost) before writing this theory off.  I 100% believe that if anyone takes the time to look at the evidence, it will become obvious that something very fishy is going on.  It’s just logic.

If you’re not coming into this post with the knowledge of 1D’s adversarial relationship with their team or with the knowledge that there are closeted gay couples within the 1D band (Louis and Harry, Liam and Zayn), then you might want to check that out first.  There are good resources out there for all of it.  I have some of it linked on my “ziam resources” and “larry resources” tags or on my Projects and Posts and Tags and Links pages.

It’s important to know what’s going on with these things and the history of 1D and their team because Zayn leaving being a stunt is a part of and a continuation of that.  

It might also help to check out who Zayn really is since a false and negative characterization of him has taken hold because of his public persona since his leaving.  I’ve got a few things linked on my summary masterpost.  Another tag on my blog to check out would be “pairing masterpost” (look for any including Zayn).  There’s also this post and this post and this post that show who Zayn is beyond the broody bad boy image he’s always been saddled with, extremely so in his solo career.  Myself, I think the lyrics from his solo albums, particularly Mind of Mine but also the Icarus part of Icarus Falls, shows who he is better than anything.  There’s no way to fake the gentleness and thoughtfulness inherent in the sentiments he chooses to express.  

Even if you know Zayn well already, it’s always good to revisit these because it can be hard to fully avoid the effects of being bombarded by everyone telling you he’s a selfish, erratic, rash, and disloyal person.  It’s good to be reminded of exactly how dorky, geeky, sweet, protective, thoughtful, intelligent, and caring he is.

Let’s Get Into It

The thing that made us start wondering about a stunt was the way Zayn left.  It doesn’t particularly make sense for a lot of reasons.

1) He had been more engaged than usual at the start of the OTRA tour, talking to fans on social media and practicing to get better at giving speeches on stage.  He was also just as affectionate with the other boys on stage as ever.

2) The reasons they gave for Zayn leaving were many and yet none of them ever made sense.  The WAY he left is also baffling.

Originally the implication was that Zayn left because he was caught “cheating again” on Perrie.  This is unlikely because 1) Zayn was never truly dating Perrie as it was a PR/bearding relationship (yes there is proof), and 2) Zayn and Perrie officially broke up that August anyway and if Zayn left for her, that would take away his reason for leaving and yet he didn’t return.  The same sort of theory popped up with the idea of Naughty Boy luring him away, but again, 1) Naughty Boy had been very pro-1D the year before, and 2) Zayn and Naughty Boy had a “falling out” and yet Zayn didn’t return to 1D.

They said anxiety immediately after he left, but then he started a solo career that’s bound to be more anxiety-inducing if someone has stage fright.  If the worst part of the job is dealing with people, then why would you get rid of the people who distracted most of the interviewer’s attention during interviews and the people who shared the stage with you?

They said he never liked being in the band, but if he likes the music/performing part (he ostensibly did because of going solo) and he likes the boys (there’s no real proof he doesn’t), that only leaves his management team to be causing the problem.  One Direction was just about to end their active contract with Syco/Modest, so why leave the band and risk penalties and censure instead of sticking it out until the end of the year?

Some said he left to go solo first and get the spotlight, but he didn’t actually release solo music until after the hiatus started, he risked a really negative public image by doing so, Simon Cowell had actually claimed the fall before that 1D members could do solo music while in the band, and he missed one of the concerts he’d been really looking forward to (Dubai) instead of at least waiting until the end of that tour leg when there would be a month-long break.  

Additionally, even though Zayn is supposed to be “free of Syco”, it’s pretty clear that his own team is sabotaging his solo career with a complete lack of promo and unnecessarily negative print interviews.  Zayn can’t be blamed for this because even if those things were his choice, they’re not going to earn money and his team has a vested interest in that and yet would apparently be doing nothing about it.  Going back to the theory that Zayn left because of not liking how Syco/Modest did things, clearly him going solo didn’t fix that problem whatsoever and Zayn is too smart to cut ties and burn bridges only to jump from one bad situation into another.

Some people say all of the above things were lies to cover the fact that Zayn and 1D just didn’t get along.  There’s no proof of this.  Like I said, he was just as affectionate with them leading up to his departure.  He was very complimentary of them right after he left, and then suddenly there were Twitter fights with Louis out of nowhere (very suspicious Twitter fights by the way), a supposed feud with Harry (that has only ever existed in the headlines as there is literally no proof other than “a source said”), and negative and then positive and then negative and then positive comments in print interviews despite this being very inconsistent with the official narrative of what’s happened.  Zayn has never from his own mouth said something vitriolic about the other boys.  In fact, the way he talks about them in his few radio/tv interviews is far more positive than his supposed words in print interviews (which can be manipulated very easily).

They claim that Zayn up and decided to leave and then caught a plane without anybody knowing and went back to the UK.  This is very unlikely considering all of the people around him that would notice like the bodyguards, etc.  Also, this assumes Zayn is the type of person who would make such a rash, snap decision.  They also announced him officially leaving not long after which begs the question, did Syco/Modest do nothing to try to persuade/coerce 1/5 of their biggest money-maker to at least finish the tour?

The way it was announced was quite odd, considering it was posted on Facebook of all places immediately after the end of a concert and sounded extremely impersonal like a PR person wrote it (which Zayn later confirmed).  The Mirror also reported on the announcement almost immediately which means they had to be tipped off because they wouldn’t have had time to find the announcement and create an article about it otherwise.

The other odd thing is that there were never any consequences for Zayn leaving.  He’s part of a huge money-making band and he broke a contract with his team, so you would assume that they would 1) sue him, 2) demand he pay the very high fee for getting out of the contract, or 3) drop him from the label/management agency and make sure no one else will work with him in the industry.  None of these things happened.  There’s obviously been no suit as it would have made news.  There was no payoff because Zayn’s net worth never changed in such a dramatic way.  Originally the story was that Syco ONLY let Zayn leave if he signed to them for his solo career, but then Syco claimed to have dropped Zayn BECAUSE he left, but then Syco was still listed on his first solo release (which is sketchy in and of itself).

And let’s talk about the timing once more because there’s a little more to it.  He left 7 shows before the end of the Asia/Africa leg of OTRA.  This meant that he missed the Dubai show which was in an area of the world where he was very popular, where he has cultural ties, and where he had explicitly said he was excited to perform.  That leg was the last leg before a planned 1-month tour break, which would have been a much more logical time to leave, break it to the fans, deal with the paperwork, etc.  That tour was also the last tour before the hiatus.  No, it wasn’t announced until later, but it’s very unlikely it wasn’t planned before that.  Even the fans kind of assumed there would be some sort of break after the album since as far as anyone could guess, that was going to be the end of the Syco/Modest contract time period.  

If Zayn couldn’t stand the band or wanted to go solo or couldn’t stand his management team, there was an obvious out coming up that would have been way less complicated and would have had way fewer potential negative consequences.  For any reason but anxiety (which is eliminated because of the baffling solo career decision), it doesn’t make sense for him to leave instead of waiting out the year.  

There are any number of oddities about the way he left and the given reasons for him leaving.  No matter what theory you look at, it isn’t consistent with logic OR with Zayn’s character and past actions.

So these things were why some of us were suspicious from the start and paid close attention as the events unfolded.  As we did, we just caught more and more inconsistencies and suspicious things.

3) Finally, I need to point out one massive area of evidence about Zayn’s leaving being a (particularly long-lived [although only a couple months longer than babygate]) stunt.  The shade.

The 1D boys have a long history of throwing shade that contradicts the official narrative, thus cluing fans in that some lie is being told.  There’s hella shade around Zayn’s leaving from both him and from the other boys.

The masterpost I linked at the top contains several posts about this, so I’m not going to rehash that here.  However, I will briefly go into what I think is the most compelling evidence that Zayn was actually planned to return to the band in August 2015.

The reason I find this particular shade so compelling is because it’s actually a pattern of shade, and not only is it a pattern of shade, it’s actually 5 overlapping and coordinated patterns of shade.  

The basic idea is that Zayn was scheduled to return on August 5th, around July 26th the boys learned that the return was delayed, the 2nd scheduled return was probably August 18th, and then that return was also delayed/cancelled.

First is Niall’s all-black pattern.  Niall had never worn an all-black outfit on stage before and he’d never repeated the same outfit more than 2 times in a row during a tour, but starting from the concert before Zayn left, he wore all black for 8 shows in a row until the end of that tour leg.  He stopped for the European leg and some of the NA leg.  Then, 8 shows before the August 5th show, Niall starting wearing all black again, like a bookend.  He didn’t make it to 8 shows consecutively because plans got changed, but he did continue wearing some amount of black at almost every show until the end of a tour in an organized pattern.

Second is Rainbow Bondage Bear’s (“RBB”) stickers.  In mid to late August, people started associating the recurring blue and green stickers on RBB with Louis and Harry because of their blue and green mic grips.  In fact, there were orange and yellow stickers (Niall and Zayn) before that, and a red sticker (Liam) showed up after that at strategic times.  The interesting thing is, Zayn’s yellow sticker was up for exactly 8 shows, ending on, you guessed it, August 5th.

Third is the Batman references.  With Liam taking the lead, the references to Batman skyrocketed in August.  Participants included Liam, some of the musical band members, Naughty Boy, and Zayn (yes, both sides participated).  Three particularly compelling references when put together are 1) the bat symbol that was put on the big screen at the 1D concert in Kansas City after the show (the bat signal traditionally calls Batman to come to it), 2) Zayn posting a fanart of his own name in the bat symbol (indicating himself as Batman), and 3) Naughty Boy posting a quote from Batman about the darkest moment being just before the dawn, which he posted with the hashtag “comesoon” (indicating a positive change coming soon).  All together, it’s hard not to read them as a sign that Zayn was supposed to return to the 1D stage soon.  Incidentally, RBB wore a Batman costume on, yes, August 5th.

Fourth is the 5th of the month pattern.  On the 5th of the month, from June 2015 to September 2015, something Ziam-related always happened with the exception of August 5th.  On June 5th Liam wore a ring (unusual for him at the time) in concert.  Surrounding circumstances point to it being Zayn-related.  On July 5th there was a video taken of Liam singing and coming out of the shower where surrounding circumstances point towards Zayn being the one filming.  On September 5th, Zayn and Liam started posting Instagram pictures that seemed to mirror each other or hint at Ziam in some way.  On August 4th, the Zerrie break up was announced, but on August 5th there was nothing in particular.  However, there would have been if that had been the first concert Zayn returned.

Fifth and final is related to the in-ears the boys wear on stage (and specifically to the 2nd return date this time, August 18th).  Oddly enough, the boys seem to change their in-ears in overly patterned ways and although I can’t identify what exactly they’re marking all the time, some of the ones I can link match up to Zayn’s leaving and potential return.  Liam wore a different set of in-ears for the last 5 concerts of the Asia/Africa leg of OTRA, starting on the Jakarta concert which was the first after Zayn’s official leaving announcement was made.  Later, starting on the Winnipeg show on July 24, the first show after Niall’s all-black bookend was disrupted (indicating Zayn’s return date was probably in flux at that point), Niall wore different in-ears for 3 shows.  Then Niall switched back to his regular and Liam picked up the pattern seamlessly by wearing different in-ears for 3 shows and 1 TV performance.  There are 2 possible ways this pattern could have ended that would make sense.  1) Liam could have counted the TV performance, worn in-ears for 1 more show and that would have completed Liam’s bookend of 5 different in-ears ending the show before Zayn’s (2nd scheduled) return on August 18th.  This would have resulted in a total of 8 performances with different in-ears counting both Liam and Niall and both concerts and TV performances, which partially (it doesn’t end on the concert Zayn would return)matches Niall’s bookend pattern.  2) Liam could have not counted the TV performance (the in-ears are almost exclusively a concert pattern) and worn in-ears for 2 more concerts, resulting in 8 total different in-ear shows ending on Zayn’s 2nd return date, completing Niall’s bookend pattern.  This would also mean Liam wore his in-ears for 5 performances, partially matching his bookend pattern (but not ending before the concert Zayn would return).  Again, I think the pattern was disrupted because Zayn’s return was again delayed (indefinitely as it turns out).

All of these patterns are explained in more detail (and with visuals because heaven knows it’s just a lot of dates and numbers without seeing it) in posts that are linked to my masterpost.  

There are also several other surrounding events that seem to confirm Zayn’s delayed returns such as:

the Zerrie break up;

an aborted Zayn-Naughty Boy fight;

the advent of positive 1D-Zayn relations leading up to August and then negative press resuming around August 17th;

a few things that might match up relating to Niall’s Where We Goin’ Today Mark video shade pattern; and 

the release of Drag Me Down which seems to have possibly been moved up by a week or so, indicating it originally might have been an OT5 song meant to be released around Zayn’s return.

To me, the fact that these patterns were so obviously deliberate (they’re way too organized not to be) and that they all overlap and point to the same dates, along with the fact that people from both camps participated in the Batman pattern, points to a definite return plan that was positively anticipated by both the boys and Zayn.

If I were to ever wonder if maybe Zayn really didn’t want to return even if leaving wasn’t his idea in the first place, this is what makes me positive that he did.  

If I ever wonder if maybe there was a falling out with Zayn and the boys after he left, even if he didn’t want to leave to start with, the shade from both sides makes it obvious to me that there never was any real bad blood.  If they all go to the trouble to contradict the official story, then clearly the official story must be a lie and the boys must all be on the same page.

Conclusion

I know this is a long post, but this is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the sketchiness around Zayn leaving.  

Unfortunately, I haven’t followed through on organizing all the evidence like I had planned to at one point, but I think the masterpost I put together does cover a lot even if it’s a bit repetitive with some posts and a bit disorganized.

If anyone has questions that aren’t already covered in the masterpost, go ahead and send me an ask.

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift is the artist of the decade

By: Courteney Larocca for Insider Date: December 16th 2019

Not only has Swift been putting out No. 1 hit after No. 1 hit this decade, but her music has latched onto its listeners in deeply intimate ways. The singer has also been actively using her platform as a successful artist to shed light on injustices within the music industry to ensure a younger generation of musicians can thrive in an environment that cares about their work, as opposed to commodifies it.

Taylor Swift knows that if you're the smartest person in the room, then you're in the wrong room. Oddly enough, Swift usually is the smartest person in any room.

While the casual observer may see Swift as nothing more than a pop star, she's one of the few people who has actively been making her industry - and the lives of her fans - better in irreversible and notable ways throughout the decade.

Swift was barely 20 years old when she became the youngest artist to ever win album of the year at the Grammy Awards on January 31, 2010, for her sophomore album, "Fearless." While the album came out in late 2008, it set Swift up to become an international phenomenon over the course of the 2010s; it even landed at No. 98 on this decade's overall Billboard Hot 200 list.

Her early success made sense - audiences love a wunderkind, plus there was something so incredibly relatable about a teenager telling her crush, "you belong with me."

But for me, and other fans of Swift, it was more than that. She was someone we could see ourselves in as we navigated our own lives and romances. And with the release of "Speak Now," in late 2010, Swift proved she wasn't capable of just reinventing optimistic love stories, she had a complete grasp on heartbreak and pain, too.

Swift demonstrated her songwriting prowess early on, and her music only continued to get stronger all the way through her 2019 album, 'Lover'

"Speak Now" is an entirely self-written album that charted on the Billboard Hot 200 for 137 weeks, which was not only a huge middle finger to critics who claimed Swift didn't write her own music, but also proof she was one of the most promising songwriters of her generation.

Arming herself with lyrics like "I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe," and "The lingering question kept me up / Two a.m., who do you love?" Swift created a bulletproof foundation for a career built around her uncanny ability to pinpoint crucial moments of intimacy and turn them into universal anthems of heartbreak, love, and loss that became soundtracks to real fans' lives.

Obviously, the stellar music never stopped coming. With 2012 came "Red," an album that's aged so gracefully that it's landed on numerous best albums of the 2010s lists.

Swift dropped her pop masterpiece, "1989," in 2014 - an album that boasts her biggest Billboard Hot 100 hit to date, "Shake It Off," which stayed on the chart for 50 consecutive weeks. "1989" also earned Swift another album of the year win at the Grammys, making her the first woman to ever be honored with that award twice.

Swift continued her career growth with "Reputation" in 2017, which helped her break The Rolling Stones' record for highest-grossing US tour in history by earning a whopping $266.1 million. Then, capping off the decade came 2019's "Lover," an album that showcased all of Swift's immense musical talents, but stands out in her catalog as the first album that she outright owns - a triumph that goes far beyond the music itself.

It's important to note, though, that there is no singular album that can easily be delegated as the "fan favorite," largely because each album is so special within Swift's discography. If you picked seven different fans off the street, they could very easily all have a different answer to the question, "What is your favorite Taylor Swift album?"

Even critics can't fully answer that question. While "Red" is known for being critically beloved (and is my own personal favorite), Billboard had six of its writers argue for one of her first six studio albums as being her best. Also, when I ranked Swift's best and worst songs for Insider earlier this year, songs from every single one of her albums made the "best" list.

One of the reasons Swift's fans constantly latched onto her music this decade - leading to her chart-topping dominance - was because her lyrics always felt so personal, yet relatable at the same time.

Take "All Too Well," for instance. It was a deep cut tucked cleverly away at track No. 5 on "Red." It was never released as a single, but this mighty pop-rock ballad became the sort of musical zenith most artists only dream about writing.

Hearing Swift weave in intimate details about listening to her ill-fated lover's mother tell stories about his childhood or leaving her scarf at his sister's house might seem too specific to reach a larger audience outside of her piano room, but it's exactly that candor that makes Swift's best songs feel so ubiquitous.

Swift's relatability proved crucial in 2017 when it came to her impacts on societal shifts outside of the music industry

Two months before the New York Times exposé of Harvey Weinstein was published, Swift stood up in a Denver courthouse against an ex-radio DJ who groped her at a 2013 meet-and-greet and then had the gall to sue her for damages after he was fired from his job.

The phrases from her testimony, "I'm critical of your client sticking his hand under my skirt and grabbing my a--," and "I'm not going to let you or your client make me feel in any way that this is my fault," will forever be ingrained in Swift's fans' minds alongside the lyrics she wrote in her high school diaries.

After she won her symbolic $1, which she sought out for "anyone who feels silenced by a sexual assault," The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network, or RAINN, told ABC that its national hotline saw a 35% increase in calls over the weekend following her testimony.

"Seeing someone that they respect, that they identify with [state they've been assaulted], has a big impact," RAINN's president Scott Berkowitz told ABC News at the time.

It's easy to look at a statistic and not think about the people behind it, but I can say that for myself, Swift played a pivotal role in how I viewed my own sexual assault.

Even before her fearless testimony, I turned to her 2010 ballad, "Dear John," for validation that I wasn't the only woman who ever counted her footsteps, praying the floor won't fall through again while dating a man with a "sick need to take love away." I later found solace in "Clean," the atmospheric "1989" closer that promises its listener that they'll one day be able to finally breathe after a roller-coaster relationship.

There's no doubt in my mind that I'm not the only one who saw their own pain reflected in Swift's lyrics, allowing them to grieve. After all, she wouldn't have become the artist with the highest-ever amount of American Music Awards, which is a fully fan-voted show, if her music was just OK.

Swift has also made strides at bettering the music industry for her fellow artists as well as herself

I won't rehash the recent legal woes brought on by Scott Borchetta selling Swift's former label Big Machine Records - and thus, all of Swift's catalog up through 2017's "Reputation" - to Scooter Braun (because who needs Big Machine anyway?). I will say that Swift fighting to own her art, and by proximity her fight for all artists to own their art, is just one example of the work she's done this decade to protect artists' rights.

You may remember that she got endlessly dragged for taking her music off Spotify or writing a letter to Apple condemning its policy of not paying artists during a three-month free trial period of Apple Music. But underneath all of the misogynistic, "she's only out for money" criticisms spat at her, you'll find she did those things to bring light to issues within her industry that hurt up-and-coming artists who don't have the millions of dollars that Swift has. Within less than 24 hours, Swift received a direct response to her open letter to Apple, saying the company had decided to reverse its decision.

When Swift chose to leave Big Machine behind in 2018, she didn't just leave for the sake of leaving. She instead negotiated a deal with Universal Music Group that not only granted her the rights to everything she would create under the label but also included a clause in her contract stipulating that "any sale of [UMG's] Spotify shares result in a distribution of money to their artists, non-recoupable."

She also said the label had agreed to this "at what they believe will be much better terms than paid out previously by other major labels."

That means that with her contract, Swift made sure other favorite artists of this decade, like Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, and Kanye West, will benefit from the revenue their art brings in. The same goes for lesser-known and newer artists signed to the label.  

Even other artists have given credit to Swift for the way she changed the way we consume pop music

It's hard to imagine today's pop stars like Ariana Grande would be able to name-check their former lovers in songs like "Thank U, Next," and have them be the successful hits we know today if Swift hadn't previously crafted breakup songs like 2010's "Dear John" and 2014's "Style" that made it clear who the tracks were about - John Mayer and Harry Styles - right there in the titles.

Halsey, another artist who rose to prominence this decade, has even lionized Swift as one of her songwriting heroes, notably for her smart bridges.

"The bridge [of a song] is a fortune cookie. It pulls the whole thing together, it's the punchline, it's one of the most important parts of a song. Ask Taylor Swift, she writes the best ones in history," Halsey said in a November 2019 interview with Capital FM.

Anyone who's listened to "Out of the Woods," "Don't Blame Me," or "Lover" knows this to be true.

Swift deserves to be the artist of the decade because her music validated women while she simultaneously fought for a younger generation to make new music in a better environment

It took 13 years for Swift to come out with a track contemplating the misogynist double standards she's had to face as a woman in the music industry, and it's easy to agree with her sentiment: If Swift were a man, then she would, no doubt, be "The Man."

But while she maybe would have faced fewer obstacles and overtly sexist criticisms throughout her career if she were a man, she may not have touched as many women's lives with her music.

Being someone who has idolized Swift since I was 11 years old, I can say that the reason she matters is because not only does she produce beautifully-worded tracks that resonate with fans on extremely personal levels, but she also wants to make the world a better, fairer place - one music contract, open letter, and song lyric at a time.

And that's something that should never be shaken off.

[gr4ntair3]

125: "Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait…are you…what?!” Please

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG KWJDHJKDHFSF IM USELESS WHEN I HAVE UNIVERSITY WORK TO DO, again, this is ExR because I’m incapable of writing anyone else without accidentally writing about them anyway.

______________________________________

For the third time in thirty minutes, Enjolras felt an elbowdig into the small of his back. The mattress had been constantly shifting formost of the night, as Grantaire tossed and turned trying to make himselfcomfortable. What had started as sympathy for the other man’s sleepingdifficulties had very quickly dissolved into pure fury – did he not understand Enjolras had things to do in the morning?!

“Grantaire, quit moving, I’m trying to sleep!” He snapped.It was filled with more contempt than intended and he winced at himself,hearing Grantaire gasp as the words fell out of his mouth.

“I… didn’t know you were awake,” wait, Enjolras’ brain worked furiously, why does his voice sound so raw? It took a moment for his sleepdeprivation to catch up and he felt guilt twist around his stomach at therealisation. Grantaire was crying. Enjolras noted now the way the mattressshuddered slightly every time Grantaire moved, as if he was shaking.

“Wait… are you… what?!” He wrapped an arm around Grantaire’sstomach to coax him to turn over and face him. There was a moment ofhesitation, and Enjolras’ chest tightened at the sight of his friend when hesaw him.

4:58AM didn’t suit Grantaire at all. Dark circles cloudedhis eyes and his cheeks were stained pink and purple – from trying to hide this from me,the thought was like a pinprick, jolting Enjolras into action.

“Hey, c’mon Taire, what’s up? I know you didn’t want toshare a bed with me, but I didn’t think our friendship had devolved so much youcan’t even bear to be next to me? Is this because of what I said in the meetingearlier?” Enjolras had perhaps been a little too harsh. Grantaire had trippedover the doorway into the Musain, the stench of whiskey and cigarettesbillowing in after him, and announced he’d been kicked out of his flat.

This was a surprise to exactly nobody – Grantaire spent allof his money on whiskey and wine and Pall Mall Superking Green’s (“A packet of 20 cigs for 7 euros is the bestI can hope for these days boys”) and his landlord had come to expectpayments two, even three months late (payments that were usually borrowed fromBahorel or Joly). Apparently four months was a step too far, and the landlord hadbeen waiting that evening when Grantaire returned from work, having alreadylined up another tenant, with a notice saying Grantaire’s contract wasterminated effective immediately. So instead of making any attempt to resolvethis situation (that would be far toomuch to ask) Grantaire had made his way to the closest bar and bought twobottles of top shelf whiskey with the rent money he had been about to give hislandlord.

Grantaire had been inundated with offers to stay with peopleupon announcing his new state of homelessness – Eponine had offered her sofa, Bossuetand Joly had offered their spare bedroom, even Bahorel had offered his bathtub(“Well it’s better than the street!”)but the whole room had been stunned into silence when Enjolras had piped up.

“I’m the closest to here, stay with me tonight Grantaire,then we can take you to get some new accommodation sorted tomorrow – I’ll makesure you don’t sign up for anything that’ll give you a disease like that lastplace,” Grantaire had guffawed at this. Everyone else looked like they wantedto follow suit but were slightly more concerned about the way Enjolras wouldreact than the drunken man. “What’s so funny Grantaire, sharing is caring?”

“Why would you offer your home to me? I’ve had offers fromthe others, let’s not pretend to like each other simply because I’ve outdonemyself in the fuck up department Enjolras,” there was no hint of a joke inGrantaire’s voice, he stated this as a matter of fact. It riled Enjolras morethat Grantaire seriously thought he wouldn’t help him than the fact that he’dgotten himself in this situation, and he told him so.

“You are incapable of living, you act like a child. I don’ttrust that you’ll do yourself any favours this evening without someone watchingover you that ISN’T Eponine, Bossuet or Bahorel,” he turned to his friends ashe said this, “I mean no offence to you all, but you know how easily you canall be convinced by him that drinking yourselves into stupidity is the bestoption.” It was true. Of all the people that could have offered, the three thathad were the worst offenders when it came to encouraging Grantaire’s drinkinghabits. He would never find somewhere else to live given somewhere to stay withthem. He wheeled back around to Grantaire, brow furrowed. “You need to staywith me because I won’t let your dumb ass drink yourself into oblivion tonight,I won’t let you get away with putting this off for weeks because I do not wantto share a bed with you for that long, and I will march you around everyletting agent in the city tomorrow and pay your damn deposit on a place thatyou will not fuck up because you will OWE ME.” He spat the last two words witha little more venom than intended and watched Grantaire pale.

“…Sharing a bed with me? Wh-why would we be doing that? I-I’llsleep on the couch,” Grantaire stuttered his way through the sentence, and ared flush was rising against the white of his cheek.

“I live in a studio apartment Grantaire, my bed is my couch,does anybody else have anything to say on the matter or are we all in agreement?”Enjolras dared them all to question him with a slow spin, looking at each ofthem in turn. Nobody did. “Good, then let’s begin the meeting.”

The meeting was less than successful. Enjolras had put everyoneon edge with his cutting words about Grantaire and nobody wanted to be the oneto push the button that caused full-blown volcanic eruption. Enjolras adjournedthe meeting and waved them away with a sigh, collecting his papers and damninghimself for his temper when he noticed Grantaire hadn’t moved, his head on thetable.

“Can you help me gather these papers?” He asked, Grantairestill didn’t move. He balled up a blank sheet of paper and bounced it at theother man’s head. He shuffled, but again, made no effort to move. He’s fucking asleep, Enjolras realised,feeling fury course through him. “GRANTAIRE!” He yelled, forcing all of hisfury into the name and hoping it would make Grantaire more alert. Grantairelifted his head, noticed his friends were gone and stood up slowly.

“Are we going then?” He smiled lazily, completely ignoringthe shorter man who’s blonde curls were almost static with electric anger.

“Pick these papers up for me, please, then we’re going,” thatwas all he said for the rest of the evening, save hissing in Grantaire’sdirection every time he complained he couldn’t find a drop of alcohol anywherein Enjolras’ tiny flat. He fished a Harry Potter movie out of the cupboard andput it on to entertain Grantaire whist he settled under the covers and sleeptook over. He managed an hour of sleep according to the digital clock on hiswindowsill, before Grantaire’s shuffling had roused him. It had continued likethis for four hours.

Grantaire’s face looked gaunt, none of the pink that haddanced across his cheeks at the thought of sharing a bed with Enjolras earlier.His hands were trembling and his eyes darted between them and Enjolras, as if frightenedthey would do something of their own accord if he didn’t keep looking at them.

“It’s not about what you said,” Grantaire replied, his eyesdrifting downwards. His voice was thick with something Enjolras couldn’t quitegrasp. “I need a drink.” He buried his head in his arms at that and Enjolrasunderstood. He was ashamed.

Enjolras felt his own shame flame up in his chest. He’dknown Grantaire for months, had seen him once a week plunging himself into thebottom of a bottle and heard countless stories about drunken escapades but hadnever even once considered that Grantaire did it because he needed to. He’d assumed his friend didit because it garnered attention and there was always a good story to be hadfrom it. He hoped his next action would speak, because his brain couldn’t comeup with anything to express how terrible he felt about not realising, andpulled the other man towards him, wrapping his arms around his neck and lacinga hand through the dark curls on his head. Grantaire dipped his head intoEnjolras’ neck and Enjolras felt the warmth of tears sliding down onto hisshoulder.

“I don’t do this on purpose, to rile you up, I didn’t losemy flat on purpose,” Grantaire whispered into his skin, “I need help… but I don’tknow how to get it.”

Enjolras sank back into the mattress, pulling his frienddown with him until Grantaire’s head was laid across his chest.

“I… I’m sorry Grantaire. I didn’t even consider that youwere struggling with this kind of thing. I don’t like sharing my bed at allbut, if you need to, you’re welcome to stay until we can find you a place andsomeone to talk to about this that has a lot more experience than me,” Enjolrassqueezed at Grantaire’s shoulder, “does that sound okay?”

Grantaire sat up, still shaking, and pulled himself out ofbed, shaking his head ferociously. He pulled a black hoodie on and stepped intohis jeans. Before Enjolras could process what he was doing, Grantaire was gone.

[usatrendingsports]

NBA commerce deadline: Six errors groups make when wheeling and dealing

There are a number of the way a trade-deadline deal can go horribly improper. That is the time of yr the place determined groups make dumb selections. Executives swing for the fences attempting to save lots of their jobs. Draft picks change palms in difficult, complicated, multi-team trades. With Thursday’s Three p.m. ET cutoff proper across the nook, listed below are six of the commonest errors groups make: 

The pricey, ill-fated rental

If you happen to run a group that’s underachieving, injury-plagued or theoretically a chunk away from successful a sequence/turning into a contender, it’s straightforward to persuade your self to sacrifice a future asset for some short-term assist. This may be disastrous, significantly in case your group shouldn’t be really able to make a playoff run. And it occurs on a regular basis. 

Final yr, the Washington Wizards gave up the first-round decide that turned Jarrett Allen to the Brooklyn Nets in change for a couple of months of Bojan Bogdanovic and a mulligan on their Andrew Nicholson signing. This was comprehensible on condition that their bench was so skinny, however bench manufacturing remained a weak point within the postseason and Bogdanovic signed with the Indiana Pacers in the summertime. Allen seems like a keeper for Brooklyn. 

One other latest instance: In 2016, the Los Angeles Clippers despatched a first-round decide to the Memphis Grizzlies with Lance Stephenson with the intention to purchase Jeff Inexperienced. Their Jeff Inexperienced expertise ended with a first-round loss, after which he signed with the Orlando Magic in free company. 

There are fascinating 2018 unrestricted free brokers obtainable now, together with DeAndre Jordan, Derrick Favors, Tyreke Evans, Dewayne Dedmon, Joe Harris and Avery Bradley. If you happen to’re going after a kind of guys, although, you have to be comfy with the danger you’re taking. 

Giving up on a younger participant too early

Damian Lillard lately met with Portland Path Blazers proprietor Paul Allen to debate the state of the franchise, and the star guard introduced up the 2015 commerce that despatched then-24-year-old wing Will Barton to the Denver Nuggets with the intention to hire veteran guard Arron Afflalo. The thought was to attempt to salvage the season as greatest as they might after swingman Wesley Matthews tore his Achilles, with star massive man LaMarcus Aldridge’s impending free company hanging over the group. Afflalo by no means fairly discovered his footing in Portland and left in the summertime, whereas Barton broke out in Denver.  

One other corollary of this sort of unhealthy deal is needlessly blocking a great, younger participant, and this Afflalo deal is an instance of that, too: Portland might have performed nothing and easily let CJ McCollum (and Barton) play extra minutes. 

Essentially the most egregious instance of giving up on a younger participant too early is when the Boston Celtics despatched a rookie Joe Johnson and a first-round decide to the Phoenix Suns for Rodney Rogers and Tony Delk 16 years in the past. My favourite reality about this sort of commerce, although, is that Tobias Harris has been concerned in two of them — the Bucks dumped him to Orlando in 2013, and the Magic despatched him to Detroit for no actual cause three years later. 

It must be famous that there’s a flip aspect to this: You’ll be able to maintain on to a younger participant for too lengthy. Simply ask any Philadelphia 76ers fan about how the Jahlil Okafor and Nerlens Noel conditions have been dealt with. 

Appeasing a star

The Aldridge state of affairs would not even come near the worst instance of attempting to please a veteran participant on the expense of the group’s long-term future. The 2012 Nets infamously traded a first-round decide to the Blazers for Gerald Wallace. Deron Williams was months away from free company and needed rapid assist, however that decide become Damian Lillard. 

(I thought of making a separate class for not closely defending first-round picks, which wound up haunting the Nets in that deal. It is usually how the Cavs wound up with Kyrie Irving — on the 2011 commerce deadline, they ate Baron Davis’ contract with the intention to purchase the Clippers’ first-round decide. That decide received the lottery.)

This, by the best way, is what Cleveland is afraid of now. If it sacrifices the Brooklyn decide with the intention to give LeBron James a greater likelihood of competing for a title this season, it may very well be costing itself the possibility so as to add somebody like Luka Doncic, Marvin Bagley or Trae Younger to the roster in June. There’s an argument for doing all the things doable to maintain James completely satisfied, however there’s not a deal on the market that can assure he re-signs. If he doesn’t re-sign, then the draw back could be very actual.

Not buying and selling a star

It has develop into a cliche to say that the most effective offers are typically those you do not make, however the reverse can also be true. Do you suppose Hawks normal supervisor Travis Schlenk would have appreciated the earlier entrance workplace to have acquired one thing for Al Horford or Paul Millsap earlier than they left city? Even when the commerce gives weren’t good, it’s mind-boggling 60-win group was damaged up with so little to point out for it. Certain, Atlanta acquired a first-rounder for Kyle Korver and Taurean Prince for Jeff Teague, however dang. 

This kind of miscalculation can apply to non-stars, too, and it is why you hear names like Marcus Good and Aaron Gordon popping up now. Even with restricted free brokers, in the event you do not suppose a brand new contract goes to be greatest for each side, you will need to discover the commerce market. Getting lower than honest worth is healthier than getting nothing in any respect.   

Overlooking chemistry

Keep in mind the 2013-14 Pacers? They traded Danny Granger to Philadelphia for Evan Turner and Lavoy Allen on the commerce deadline, lower than three weeks after signing Andrew Bynum. The Bynum signing had rattled Roy Hibbert, and Turner wound up getting in a scuffle with Lance Stephenson when the group was making ready for a playoff sequence. A ebook might and must be written about that season; Indiana began out not solely dominating the East, however with a well-defined id and powerful chemistry. That every one fell aside, and so they one way or the other made it to the Japanese Convention finals anyway. 

Three years later, Paul George introduced up the Granger commerce for instance of the Pacers not doing proper by a participant who gave them all the things he had. George didn’t suppose it was honest to ship him to the tanking Sixers whereas he was attempting to get wholesome. 

That is a part of why the prospect of a Good commerce is so fascinating. Past the protection, playmaking and flexibility he brings to the desk, his teammates love his competitiveness. He’s a part of what makes the Celtics the Celtics. I’m wondering if buying and selling him for a draft decide would lead to Boston shedding a few of its edge.  

Undervaluing your individual participant

It’s uncommon normal supervisor publicly says he made a foul commerce a yr after making it, however the Suns’ Ryan McDonough did simply that with the deal that despatched Isaiah Thomas to the Boston Celtics on the loopy 2015 commerce deadline. Thomas needed an even bigger function, McDonough mentioned, however all Phoenix acquired in return was a Marcus Thornton rental and a first-round draft decide that hasn’t conveyed but. Thomas, after all, turned an All-Star in Boston, and Phoenix — a group that had Thomas, Goran Dragic and Eric Bledsoe on the roster at first of that yr — continues to be looking for a solution on the level guard place.

Is there a Thomas-like participant on the commerce block now? It is onerous to say, however it can be crucial for groups to correctly venture the event of fellows they see on daily basis. What do the Magic suppose Gordon may be in a couple of years? Do the Nets imagine Spencer Dinwiddie can construct on his breakout season? As a lot because the Lakers crave cap area, are they certain they should not make Julius Randle part of their core? These will not be straightforward inquiries to reply. 

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[jewelrymkr]

Hello Luvs,

Back in 1999, I left my career as an Interpreter for the Deaf and had to go on disability. I was approved first attempt and that doesn’t happen often. When I was set to go to the appointment with the physicians from the SSDI, they called the day prior to my appointment and spoke to my husband. They told him that they received my team of physician’s reports. They let him know that I did not have to attend that appointment because they said “Suzanne is the worst case of childhood trauma/abuse that we’ve seen in the past 36 years.  We don’t want her to have to tell her story to even one more person.”  I was approved and then things got medically worse from there.  In 2002, I was in the car with my husband, on our way to have a little dinner out alone together & a man ran through a red light.  Within seconds, our lives changed forever!

I was unconscious for about 20 – 30 minutes, I am told. I awakened a couple of times in the ambulance and again at the hospital. But I have no other memories of that day except for extreme pain and hearing my own screams during the X-ray exams. I was really lucky that my husband was unhurt and that the kids were not in the car. I spent the next 3 years in daily brain injury rehabilitation.  Also, I spent the following 8 1/2 years in Physical and Occupational Therapy along with going through approximately 8 or 9 surgeries.  I had knee surgeries, open shoulder surgery including 2 screws in my left shoulder, 2 torn rotator cuffs and then Adhesive Capsulitis. There were mouth, jaw and left facial surgeries, along with 2 pacemakers and total pectoral reconstruction.  I endured many hours of MRI’s and other more invasive tests. After the pacemaker, I had to undergo the painful, barbaric and old CT Arthrograms in both shoulders and both of my knees. I can no longer have an MRI due to the pacemaker.  As far as aids for daily living, I ended up with 2 AFO’s (ankle foot orthotic braces for foot drop), a shoulder brace (for nerve damage, pain & winged scapula) for very painful Long Thoracic Nerve Neuropathy, wrist brace (R), 2 forearm/hand/wrist braces for night time, a wheelchair, seated walker, motorized scooter, forearm crutches and a cane. All of which are still used today intermittently, depending on the activity.

In 2003, I got a pacemaker because I’d been fainting constantly. I was found to have a heart issue called “Sick Sinus Node Syndrome”, along with Dysautonomia, POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) and Prinzmetal Angina. Later in 2005, I had a heart attack. They found it to be a very real heart attack, but it was caused from something called “Broken heart Syndrome”. For this I won’t go into details, but I was also diagnosed with Atrial Fibrillation and was put on blood thinners. Then in 2006, I suffered a CVA or a stroke due to the A-fib. I was put on a higher dosage of the blood thinners. Then in 2007, I had right foot surgery and came out with worse pain than before I went in. I was told that I had RSD/CRPS or “Complex Regional Pain Syndrome” in my right foot at my 6 week, post-op check up. I couldn’t believe it!  After I read up on the disease, I decided to get a second opinion. The foot/ankle Orthopedic Dr. agreed with that diagnosis and he sent me directly back to the pain clinic.  I had first gone to the pain clinic for:  cervical and lumbar herniated/bulging discs, Degenerative Disc disease, Scoliosis, Long Thoracic Nerve Neuropathy, PolyNeuropathy In Collagen Vascular disease (*which is really the same as EDS type IV-Vascular) & Chiari I etc.,right after that car accident. I went through epidural nerve blocks, trigger point injections and much more. The pain clinic saw me for those first several years but later turned me over to my G.P., because I was a patient with true high pain issues but not a candidate for an SCS (spinal cord stimulator) or an intrathecal pain pump because it was determined that I have C.I.D. or “Combined Immune Deficiency Disease”. I can contract an infection in my spine more easily than the average person and/or become paralyzed. I was put on pain medication that I had tried to refuse several times; because I was afraid of it at first. Sometimes we are afraid of the unknown and I’d never had pain medication prior to that time except for during my C-Sections. I received a letter from the pain clinic’s, Pain Psychologist, stating that “I do not have an addictive personality”. I took the pain medications and after many many attempts with bad side effects, swelling, vomiting, fainting etc.; we finally found some pain medication that helps me and it lowers my chronic & CRPS pain.

Luckily, the auto insurance paid for drivers to take me to and from the TBI rehab and all of my numerous medical appointments. I suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury and had to endure several of those long Neuro-Psych testing sessions for years. They always ended with the same comments, which were:  “short term memory is in the toilet, problem solving difficulties, emotional difficulties (because I cry more easily), concentration is very low “, and more.  Nothing has improved very much, in those areas since that time.  As far as the TBI goes; I’ve just learned to live with it and adapt. At the time of the car accident, I was in the middle of reading the 5th “Harry Potter” book. I could not & cannot read those books any longer. When I put down a book and go back to start reading it again; I find that I’ve forgotten everything I had already read. I do best with articles and short stories now and that’s just how it is and how I’ve had to adapt. The TBI or Brain Injury Rehabilitation center did not cure me, but did teach me how to adapt and live with my brain injury. Nobody who meets me can tell that anything like that is wrong with me. But the persons around me often or those who live with me can clearly see the differences from before the MVA and now.  I cannot remember movies and can see the same movie several times.  If you tell me something today, I won’t remember it next week and probably not tomorrow. I cannot remember anything short term, unless I write it down. I don’t remember appointments or some other information that I’m told.  I feel very bad when I meet new friends, especially online “friends”.  When people have similar names, I get confused and feel embarrassed. They’ll say “remember me, from —?” But I truly don’t and I feel so bad. But if I feel comfortable, I just tell them about my TBI and ask for clarification. It’s sad because even new physicians will say “Well, at least you look good”! Or they’ll put on their report that “patient doesn’t look sickly”. What a stupid thing to put on a Dr.’s report!  I have recently been diagnosed with Gastroparesis and you can’t see it!  Suppose a person has a heart &/or lung condition, you would not “SEE” that and they might appear to be “not sickly”.  It is what’s happening on the inside, that is important.

The brain injury has caused several of my medical problems/issues as well. I was evidently born with “Arnold Chiari Malformation I” because they found it on the MRI’s s/p the MVA. But it was “sleeping”, they told me; and after the accident, it was “awakened”.  Since then,  it’s been difficult to hold my head up for long periods of time without pain and weakness. I get something called “Chiari Migraines” in back of my head and neck; which are very painful and cause nausea and at times vomiting.  I also have eye/vision problems due to the TBI, including: a Convergence Insufficiency, lowered vision,  extreme dry eyes and Nystagmus. The Convergence Insufficiency means that my eyes won’t work together as a team and get fatigued easily. The other issues are self explanatory, except the Nystagmus. It means that my eyes sometimes shake a bit, when looking to the right, left, upwards and downwards without moving my head. I’ve had punctal plugs put in my eyes several times and had prisms in my glasses s/p the MVA for a couple of years.

I went to University and graduated with honors in Sign Language Studies/Interpreting.  I worked for a local school district’s Hearing impaired program and at a Major University hospital as an Interpreter for the Deaf; prior to my TBI & other injuiries. I went from being an Interpreter for the Deaf, to a Hearing Impaired person  with 2 hearing aids. Prior to the TBI, I remembered phone numbers and other data.  Now I depend on my smart phone, using:  Google, reminders, Notepad and “Siri” on a daily basis, along with the Calendar features.

I try to be a person who uses “Hope” as a verb. That is my slogan, as I’d said in one of my other articles. You must “do” something in order to help yourself “Keep Hope Alive”. This is a venue for me to hopefully help as many other chronic pain patients as possible. I try to be as positive as I’m able to be. But on any given day, I can feel negativity creep in as some of you do. I know we can all have that happen. It’s what we do with that negativity that matters. We can lash out at others like my ill mother did. Or we can take the negative thoughts and throw them out the window as far away from us as possible!!  Sure, there are those darker days, but like a Phoenix, we must rise up against this monster called “Chronic Pain”.

From Interpreter for The Deaf To Hearing Impaired, in 10 Seconds! Hello Luvs, Back in 1999, I left my career as an Interpreter for the Deaf and had to go on disability.